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The ''CouNTRr Life 












My own young Days i 

The Children's Garden and the Play-House . 7 

Early Weeds 24 

Seeds . . . . . . . . . -31 

Cowslip Time 44 

Smells and Shapes 49 





Botany 58 

My First Garden 65 

Flowers for your own Gardens .... 76 


Adventures on the Lawn 81 

Various Amusements 89 

Pussies in the Garden 98 




The Good Place for Gudgeons 


Where the Beer-cooler was launchec 



The Mill-pond from the Mill . 


The Play-House . 


Plan of Play-House and Garden 


The old Play-House 


Mustard and Cress 


Two Little Washerwomen 


Hanging out Dollies' Wash . 


Hairy Bitter Cress 


Hairy Bitter Cress 


Hairy Bitter Cress 


Dandelion .... 




Among the Big Lilies . 


The Great Pumpkin 


Broad Bean .... 


Gourd Seed .... 


Seed of Hawkweed 


Seed of Cle7natis montana 


Seed of Scotch Fir 


Pricking out Seedlings . 


Newly saved Seeds 





China Asters in Seed-Leaf 

Incarvillea Seedlings 

Seed-Pod of Bell-Flower 

Seed-Pod of Honesty 

Snapdragon-Pod as Old Woman 



How a Cowslip Ball is made 

Making a Primrose Ball 

A Primrose Ball 

May-day Trophy 

Morell . 



A Delphinium Freak 

Primrose with leafy Calyx 

Deformed Pears . 

Pea Flowers and Pods 

Bell-Flowers . 

Umbelliferous Flowers 

Cruciferous Flowers 

Jean and Ann 

White Foxgloves . 

Plan. My Sister's Garden and Mine 

Male Fern in the Cool Hedge 


Hard-heads . 

Edgings of White Pinks 

The Seat 

Wheelbarrow good to sit in 

My best Snapdragon 

Elevation, etc., of some Common Things 

How to make a Right Angle . 





58 J 








68 _ 










In the Big Weeding Basket 

Watering Garden Borders 

The Builder's Square 

The Garland Rose 

Spring Flowers 

Canterbury Bells . 

Thrift in Pavement 

Reef Knot and Granny 


Small Bell-Flowers in Steps 

Hedgehog half untucked 

Hedgehog on the Lawn . 

The Bat . . . 

Scarlet Toadstools 

Chantarelle . 

The Owl's House . 

Hedgehog out for an Evening Prowl 

" It's a prickly job" 


The proper Place for Shoes and Stockings 

The Sand-House . 

In the Sand-Pit . 

The Sand-Pit 

Gathering Fir-Cones 

Fern Pegs . 

'* There are two more Cones " 

Raking out Baked Potatoes 

The Tea-Kitchen . 

Dabbling Toes in the Tank 

The Tea-Kitchen . 

Just out of the Tank 

The Artesian Well 

Tabby in the Basket 










Tabby takes possession . 



Tabby in the Cerastium . 




Blackie and the Catmint 


Tabby in the Catmint . 

lOO ' 

Tabby in the Catmint 


Tabby and the Photograph Basket 


Still more comfortable . 


Tittlebat .... 


Tittlebat .... 


Tavy ..... 


Pinkie ..... 


Pinkie : Two Elevations 

. 104/ 

Two Little Waifs . 

. 104 

Dorothea and Dinah 


Three Kittens — Plan 


Five Kittens — Plan 


Four Kittens — Plan 


Three Kittens— Plan 






Well do I remember the time when I thought there 
were two kinds of people in the world — children and 
grown-ups, — and that the world really belonged to the 
children. And I think it is because I have been more 
or less a gardener all my life that I still feel like a 
child in many ways, although from the number of years 
I have lived I ought to know that I am quite an old 
woman. But I can still — when no one is looking — 
climb over a five -barred gate or jump a ditch ; but 
then I was always strong and active in my limbs, and 
in many ways more like a boy than a girl. This was 
no doubt because my place in the family came in the 
middle of four boys ; two brothers older and two 
younger. I had no girl companions, for my only sister 
was seven years older, so that we were not much 
together. It was therefore natural that I should be 
more of a boy than a girl in my ideas and activities, 
delighting to go up trees, and to play cricket, and take 
wasps' nests after dark, and do dreadful deeds with 
gunpowder and all the boy sort of things. 



But when my brothers went to school I had to find 
my own amusements. There was a dear old pony 
Toby and the dog Crim, and we three used to wander 
away into the woods and heaths and along all the 
little lanes and by-paths of our beautiful country. 

Soon I came to notice the wild flowers and wanted 
to know about them ; but had no one to tell me till 
I was given a capital book that you will hear about 
presently ; but I had got to know them as friends long 
before I could find out what their names were. 

The old home, not very far from where I live now, 
had biggish spaces of garden and shrubbery and two 
ponds — one a large mill-pond covering some acres ; 
and three streams, so that I was always watching the 
ways of water. Where one quick-running stream, after 
tumbling down in a cascade, ran into the mill-pond, 
was a grand place for gudgeons. We used to catch 
them both with a rod and with a round dip-net, and 
sometimes had them fried for tea. This pond had a 
large island near the upper end, but no bridge. In our 
earlier years we had no boat, but belonging to the 
house was a set of brewing tackle, and among its items 
a beer-cooler. This is a wooden thing about five feet 
long and three feet wide, with sides eight or ten 
inches high, like a large shallow box or tray. My 
father had this taken down on the pond for something 
that was to be done near the pond edge, and we children 
surreptitiously used it as a boat to make perilous 
journeys over to the island. It was very riaughty 
indeed — it was strictly forbidden, and was really 
dangerous, but mercifully we came to no harm. The 




island was a sort of enchanted land. It had some 
great Poplars growing on it, and a tangle of under- 
growth. Some of this came down and dipped into the 
water, and here the moor-hens built and brought out 
their broods of lovely little round black-velvet chicks. 
On the fringe of the island were the grandest Lady 
Ferns I have ever seen, and in its depths I first found 
the curious plant Twayblade. 

Where another of the streams, a slower one, came 
into the pond, was a fringe of the beautiful Water 
Forget-me-not. I never can forget — how could I, when 
it is just as keen to this day I — my delight in the pure 
blue of this sweet little plant, with its clean-looking 
bright green leaves, and its faint scent that I used to 
think like the small quiet smell of the little wild Pansy 
that you find in cornfields among the stubble. 

Just above the pond was a damp meadow, called 
the Nunnery Meadow, where there were quantities of 
the bright yellow Marsh Marigolds that flower in April. 
I remember the rather deep ditch that ran all along 
in the middle length of the meadow, and the bright red 
colour of the mud at the bottom, and a thin film of 
many colours that was always on the water. I was 
told that it was because there was much iron in the 
soil. Later in the year the meadow grew quantities of 
the pretty Ragged Robin and Meadowsweet and Marsh 

I was born in London : we came to live in the 
country when I was nearly five years old. Among the 
clearest of my recollections of London are some of 
grass and flowers. We lived in Grafton Street, close 


to Berkeley Square. When it was too hot to walk in 
the Green Park we borrowed the key at Gunter's and 
played in the Square garden. I remember a kind man 
at Gunter's, because with the key he always gave a 
nice goody ; one of those oblong ones with pink or 
white sugar outside and an almond in. Later, my 
taste in goodies became less refined, because as soon 
as I came to know them, I thought that the best of all 
goodies were the vulgar peppermint bull's-eyes ; and I 
think so still. 

It was in the garden in Berkeley Square that I learnt 
to make a daisy-chain. I can still remember how 
difficult it was at first ; how, when I had transfixed 
the stalk with the pin, the pin got restive and dragged 
the slit right out instead of stopping short of the 
free end of the stalk to leave the loop large enough to 
pass the stalk of the next Daisy through, but not large 
enough to let the head go through too. How well 
I remember the smell of the mown grass. To this 
day the scent of cut lawn grass is the smell of that 
Square garden. It was long before the days of mowing 
machines, and I remember seeing the man sweep up 
the grass that he had cut in the early morning. When 
short grass is cut with the scythe it is always done in 
the early morning, because when it is wet with dew it 
stands up better to the edge of the blade. 

When we walked in the Green Park earlier in the 
year I was attracted by the Dandelions, and wanted to 
bring them home to the nursery. But our nurse, 
Marson, for some reason of her own, did not like 
Dandelions. She always said they were Nasty Things, 


and though I looked at them longingly and sometimes 
picked one to smell, I don't think I ever brought them 
home. But Dandelion also remains with me as a 
London smell, and one other growing thing — the little 
flowering grass that botanists call Poa annua^ of which 
there is a great deal in the London parks and gardens. 
These are quite the brightest of my London recollec- 
tions. Of people, besides Marson, I remember a 
nursery-maid Letitia, and a tall footman called George, 
and the butler Poulter, and Mdlle. Bichet, my sister's 
French governess. I take them in the sequence in 
which they concerned me. There was a small room 
next to the entrance hall that was the schoolroom, 
looking to the street. Sometimes I was allowed to 
go in to see the carriage at the door. Sixty years ago 
carriages were grand things, well worth looking at. 
It was a yellow chariot hung high on great C-springs, 
and the coachman was a glorious object in silk 
stockings and a powdered wig, with his seat draped 
with the imposing hammer-cloth ; for in those days a 
certain amount of state was observed, and servants 
wore full-dress liveries in the afternoon. 

When we moved to the country the yellow chariot 
— always called " charrot " — went into the depths of 
the big coach-house, and was never used again till my 
sister came out, when post-horses were harnessed to 
it for her to be taken to balls. 

The shrubberies of the old country home had been 
very well planted, so that from early years I was 
familiar with a number of the best shrubs and garden 
trees. There were several kinds of Magnolia, and 


Ailanthus and Hickory, the pretty cut-leaved Beech 
and the feathery deciduous Cypress, Then there were 
Rhododendrons, mostly the purple ponticmn, and the 
sweet Azalea pontica, and Kalmias and bush Andromedas 
and Buttercup Bush. And there were Ayrshire Roses 
and Cinnamon Roses and Rosa lucida, and the sweet 
Moss Roses, but hardly any herbaceous plants. These 
in fact were so few, that I remember with special 
adoration one tuft of the large blue Cornflower. 
This and a spreading patch of broad-leaved Saxifrage 
were the only interesting plants in a rather large 
extent of shrubbery — though there were a certain 
number in the borders of the kitchen garden that 
was some way from the house. 


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There is so much in this chapter that must be 
decided by your fathers and mothers that you must 
ask them to read it and to give it their most kind and 
careful consideration ; for it is they who are to decide 
whether a suitable space of garden ground is to be 
devoted to the children's use, and in what state it is to 
be given over to their keeping. 

It is not at all an uncommon thing to find children's 
gardens in some unattractive, out-of-the-way corner, or, 
most commonly of all, under or too near trees, whose 
roots invade the space and render it a place that would 
be difficult to make anything of, even for persons of 
long experience. It is neither fair nor reasonable to 
give a child who wishes for a garden a place that is 
full of difficulties. I even think it is better that the 
children should not have to make their gardens at all 
from the beginning, unless any enterprising individual 
specially wishes to do so. 

A child will naturally answer a leading question 
in the obvious way. If an elder asks, in a tone meant 
to appeal to pride and self- respect, " Wouldn't you 



like to make and plant your own garden, and do it all 
yourself?" the answer will probably be "Yes," but 
show him two spaces of garden ground, one a charming 
little flowery place and the other a blank, and then 
ask which he would rather have ; can there be any 
doubt about the answer? 

The fact is that the good planning and making 
of ever so simple and small a garden wants most of 
the qualities, the knowledge, and the technical ability 
that go to the making of a large one, and I think that 
to help children in the best way to love and value 
a garden is to give them a pretty one ready made. 
The actual planting, though it must be learnt in time, 
would seem to come better a little later. The daily 
tending of an already made garden is better to begin 
with ; it is more interesting and inspiring, and the 
needs of the flowers can be seen and attended to with 
immediate result. It is in every way more delightful 
and encouraging to a child to have the lovely flowers 
to tend at once than to have to flounder through a 
mass of failure and mistake, and then to wait the best 
part of a year before there is anything whatever to be 
seen. The time will come soon enough when some 
plants will have to be taken up for dividing and 
replanting, and then this replanting will come as an 
interesting incident and a new bit of practical work. 

Before having the care of a garden of their own the 
children should be taught to use their tools. There is 
always some vacant plot in the kitchen garden where 
they can practise, under careful teaching, the three 
most important manual operations — digging, hoeing, 


and raking. If one of the elders of the family is a 
practical gardener, and will give some good lessons in 
the use of tools and the care of tools, it is much better 
than that the children should be left to pick it up by 
themselves on those occasions only when the use of the 
tools is wanted in their own gardens. A good straight 
bit of digging in clear ground for half an hour at a 
time will soon train the young hands and arms and 
backs ; so it is also with hoeing and raking. Raking 
wants a good deal of practice, it is quite difficult at 
first ; the rake wants to stick its teeth into the ground. 
It needs some dexterity to bring the tool back with 
the light level stroke that does the work, whether of 
levelling dug ground or of collecting stones or bits of 
stick and rubbish, or whatever it may be. It would be 
useless in a book to attempt to teach these operations, 
because, like all tool work, to be shown how to do it is 
worth volumes of description. The thing concerning it 
most useful to print is to advise the beginner to get 
into the way of using rake, hoe, and broom quite equally 
with both hands. It not only helps general dexterity 
and convenience, but it is much less tiring to work a 
bit with right hand up and left hand down, and then to 
change hands and work the other way. This does not 
apply to the spade, which is always used one way. 

It is important that the children should be provided 
with proper tools. I much doubt whether good small 
tools can be bought ready made. What are kept in 
ironmongers' shops as " ladies' tools," with varnished 
handles and blue blades, and that are usually given 
to children, are wretched things, — badly shaped, badly 


balanced, and generally weak where they should be 
strongest. The tools should be made by a clever 
country blacksmith, and the handles carefully adapted 
to the use of the little hands ; perfectly smooth but not 
varnished. The smallest size of the well-made steel 
rakes that are sold ready-made will do, but the handle 
will have to be replaced by a thinner, lighter one. 

The necessary tools are spade, rake, hoe, a little 
wooden trug-basket, and a blunt weeding-knife ; a good 
cutting-knife, a trowel, a hand-fork, and a little barrow. 
There will also be wanted some raffia for tying, some 
hazel sticks, and a little white paint. A tiny tool-shed, 
with a well-lighted fixed bench, is most desirable, the 
tools hanging in their proper places on the wall. Tools 
should never be put away dirty. A little wooden imple- 
ment, that any child can whittle for himself, should be 
kept on the bench for scraping off any earth that sticks 
to spade or trowel. The gardener will show you how 
to make it. A birch broom will also be wanted. 

The late summer or early autumn is the time to 
begin the little gardens. The ground should be got 
ready not later than September, so that it will have 
time to settle before it is planted. Every detail should 
be exactly thought out beforehand, in order that, by 
the end of October or beginning of November, the 
plants may be put in their places. The children can 
be learning all the time. They should watch the whole 
operation and ask questions, and be told why every- 
thing is done. 

Then, when in early spring the tips of the plants 
are pushing above ground and the Snowdrops are 





showing their little white buds, the year's work will be 
beginning. The experienced elder should keep a close 
watch on the little gardens and their owners, and, week 
by week, should teach and show what is to be done. 
Weeding will be the first thing, and the little trugs will 
come out and the blunt weeding-knives to save fingers, 
and so on throughout the year. 

It will have to be considered, in cases where there 
are two or three children, whether it is better to have a 
separate garden for each, or whether they shall have one 
garden in common. The pleasure of individual pos- 
session is so great among children that, if they are 
offered their own choice, they will, in their own un- 
thinking way, be most likely to say they would like 
separate gardens. But they should understand that in 
this way it is very difficult to make anything pretty of 
it, whereas in a garden all together it may be made 
extremely pretty. They have also to remember that 
now and then one of them may be ill or away on a 
visit, or a boy who loves his garden may be at school. 
In all such cases the garden with an individual owner 
gets neglected, while with the common ownership this 
does not happen, and all parts of the garden are 
equally attended to. 

If the parents will give the children that greatest of 
delights, a real, well-built little house, with a kitchen 
and a parlour, where they can keep house and cook 
and receive their friends, the garden would naturally 
be close to it and form part of its scheme. 

It must be confessed that a good play-house is a 
somewhat costly toy, but its value is so great, apart 


from the intense interest and delight that it is to the 
children, that it is well worth the consideration of 
parents whose means allow them to provide it. 

It is a little house somewhere in garden or shrub- 
land, consisting of a kitchen and a sitting-room. If it 
can have an enclosed porch so much the better. In 
the kitchen the children make and bake little scones 
and cakes, and serve them at the tea that is laid in the 
adjoining sitting-room, and learn the elements of even 
more serious cookery, such as jam-making and simple 
ways of cooking eggs, and any advance on these 
beginnings that their taste or capacity may seem to 
ask for. The little house would be provided with all 
necessary fittings — a cooking-stove in the kitchen, a 
dresser, a cupboard, and a stout little kitchen table with 
a drawer. If it can have a small pantry containing a 
water supply and a sink, where the crockery is washed 
up and water drawn, and a round towel handy, it will 
be better than if these necessaries were in the kitchen 

The sitting-room would also have a fireplace, for 
though the little house might not be used perhaps for 
three winter months, yet by the time March comes, with 
its long bright afternoons, many would be the teas out 
at the play-house. The sitting-room would be appro- 
priately fitted with two glass-fronted corner cupboards, 
to hold the tea things and glasses, for — who knows ? — 
perhaps there might be an occasional luncheon party 
on birthdays or other great occasions. There would 
also be a little narrow sideboard with shelves, that would 
hold things both for use and ornament, and drawers for 


table-cloths, spoons, and so on. A set of chairs would 
be ranged round the wall. These main pieces of 
furniture would be provided, but other niceties, even if 
not bought by the children themselves, should at least 
be made by them, so that they would make up window 
curtains, and hem and mark the table-cloths, dusters, 
and kitchen cloths. 

The elders would often be invited to tea, and it 
would probably help matters if a specially praiseworthy 
culinary effort or other evidence of good housewifeliness 
suggested a little gift of money, to be expended on the 
perfecting of the play-house's equipment. 

There are thousands of little girls in England, and 
small boys too, who would not only delight in working 
the play-house, but who would in after years visit it 
again with delight, and look back on its lessons of 
play-work with thankfulness, both for joyful memories 
and for the abiding usefulness of all that it had taught 

The pretty lady in the picture is a German Princess. 
She has brought out her work to the old play-house, 
and is trying to think herself a child again, remember- 
ing all the happy hours she spent here a few years ago. 
The picture was done by my friend Miss Willmott, the 
greatest of living women-gardeners, and given me by 
her for your book. 

The plan gives an idea of the accommodation 
required. The tiny cottage stands in a region where 
shrubbery gives place to woodland. In many places it 
might come conveniently at an angle of the kitchen 
garden wall, and would suggest the making of a pretty 


building, such as so often adorned the angles of wall- 
enclosed spaces in the gardens of old. And where 
there are boys who would worthily use a workshop it 
might be combined under the same roof, but with a 
separate entrance. 

The sense of possession is keenly enjoyed by 
children ; their own garden, their own little house ! 
They would have a pleasant pride in showing it all, 
pretty and useful, and well kept ; it would also be 
delightful to think of the many things they could make 
for it. These would all be sources of keen interest and 
enjoyment, and of encouragement for the inventiveness 
and ingenuity of busy little brains and fingers. 

Then there would be the combined use of house and 
garden ; for the garden should have one little vegetable 
strip, perhaps behind, that would provide the tea-table 
with Radishes and Lettuce and Mustard and Cress, 
while the flower garden would give a little bunch of 
flowers on the tea-table and perhaps another for the 
window-board. It would be best if the little garden 
was held in common, rather than be, as is more usual, 
cut up into separate sections for each child ; for as a 
whole it could be made much prettier, and would better 
maintain its relation to the play-house, while all the 
young hands would have plenty of scope for work for 
the supplying of its many needs. 

It is very nice to grow Mustard and Cress in the 
letters of one's name. You prepare a little long-shaped 
bed, and stretch two strings with wooden pegs at their 
ends about eight inches apart. Between these strings 
you scratch out the shallowest possible hollow, an inch 


wide, in the shape of the letters. It looks more finished 
if you have a border all round. You can make the 
sowing-place for the border by laying down the handle 
of a rake before you take up the strings that were your 
guide for the height of the letters. You just press on 
the lying-down rake handle, and it leaves a little shallow 
trough, just right for sowing the seeds in. Then you 
barely cover the seeds with earth and wait till they 
come up. I advise leaving the strings while you are 

„^.i«» u «« s '.i ■ .^1 - J" . ^ r-~e< y- ' V ' "> ''' ^ ' " "■' ' " ^i ' '^ ^ 


doing the border, because you can either measure from 
them to the ends of the rake handle, so as to get a nice 
parallel line, or at least you can look at them and get 
it right by your eye. 

For Lettuces you must watch the gardener some 
day when he is planting them. Then, when you want 
to plant them in your own garden, you must look out 
for a time when the ground is damp (but not soaking) 
after rain, or some day when there is a soft drizzle going 
on, and you ask the gardener for some young Lettuce 
plants and plant them with a dibble as you have seen 
him do. You will see that there are two kinds of 
Lettuces — Cos Lettuces, with rather smooth leaves, 
which stand upright, and Cabbage Lettuces, that have 
blobby wrinkled leaves that fold over and make low 


dumpy plants. When the Cos kind are within a few 
days of being the right size to cut they have to be tied 
up to blanch, as it is called, that is, to make them white 
and tender. 

When you have a lunch at the play-house you will 
want a nice salad, so I will tell you the right way to 
make it. Your Lettuces must be perfectly clean and 
quite dry. Sometimes they are clean as they grow, 
and do not want washing, but if they are dusty or in 
any way not quite clean, they must be washed in plenty 
of perfectly fresh water and then dried, first by swishing 
the whole Lettuce about in the open to get rid of most 
of the wet, and then by separating the leaves and 
putting them in a clean cloth. Then you cut or tear 
the leaves to pieces into your salad-bowl. You must 
have ready on a plate three little heaps of chopped 
herbs — Tarragon, Chervil, and some kind of Onion, 
chopped very small, or the tops of Chives ; a level tea- 
spoonful of Tarragon, a heaped tea-spoonful of Chervil, 
and a not quite full spoonful of chopped Onion. Now 
you want oil and vinegar, pepper, salt, and pounded 
sugar. You measure into a table-spoon one spoonful 
of oil — it must be the best possible oil, not at all easy 
to get in England, but your home people will see to 
that — and you pour the oil over the Lettuce in the 
bowl, and turn it well over, so that every bit of leaf has 
a coating of oil. Then you put into the spoon a heaped 
salt-spoonful of sugar, a level salt-spoonful of salt, and 
two or three shakes of pepper ; you half fill the spoon 
with vinegar and half with water. Then you mix this 
all together in the spoon, pour it over the salad, and 


turn it well over so that it is all mixed. Then you put 
in the chopped herbs, give it another mixing, and you 
have a delicious French salad. Some people like the 
seasoning of herbs to be either Tarragon and Chervil or 
Onion, not both together. I like them all together. 

You should have these herbs in your little kitchen 
garden. Tarragon is a perennial plant that comes 
from a warmer country, and likes the warmest place you 
can give it. Chervil is an annual ; to have a nice supply 
you should sow it two or three times a year. You 
will soon be able to keep your own seed, and can keep 
on sowing little patches here and there. It is of a nice 
fresh green colour, grows easily, and looks well any- 
where. Chives is a kind of small onion ; it is planted 
in tufts. You could have a row of tufts as a bit of 
your kitchen-garden edging ; it is often grown like this 
in cottage gardens. When you want Chives for salad 
you just go out and cut what you want off the growing 
plant. I think you should have a little supply of 
Parsley too. You sow it where it is to be ; it also 
makes a good neat edging. You will want it for 
decorating cold dishes for lunch, and for soups, and 
other cookery when you learn to do it. 

Now I will tell you how to make some very nice 
play-house soups. First the true French Julienne and 
then some milk soups. They want no meat — only 
vegetables, and they are nicest done in those capital 
French earthenware pots that are called " marmites " ; 
you can get them anywhere now. Years ago I used to 
make them in pipkins, which are very much the same 
sort of thing. 



Julienne. — 2 oz. butter, a small onion, i lettuce, i 
large carrot, i small turnip, 3 sprigs of parsley. Melt 
the butter in the bottom of the pot ; slice the onion, 
after cutting it nearly through across and across. Put 
it in the butter and keep moving it about to prevent 
the onion catching on the bottom of the pot and 
burning. It should cook for ten minutes to a medium 
brown colour. It must not be dark brown or at all 
burnt. Then cut the lettuce into shreds and put it in 
the pot. It soon melts down, for it is a succulent or 
juicy thing, nearly all water. Then you add the carrot 
and turnip. You cut them into what are called Julienne 
strips, and the way to do it is this. The outer part of 
the carrot only is used — the nice red part. The paler 
yellowish inside of a full-grown carrot is tougher and 
more tasteless. You cut the raw carrot across into 
bits a little less than an inch long. Then you take 
one bit at a time, and with the knife held the long way 
of the carrot, you pare off the red part round and round 
till you come to the yellow core. It is as if you were 
cutting the outside of a cork to make it smaller. You 
do this with all the pieces, and then flatten them out 
and lay two or three one over the other, fitting them 
together as nicely as you can. Then you cut neat 
little strips, cutting through all the layers, and you 
have your Julienne strips. The turnip you square a 
little at the outside edges and slice one-eighth of an 
inch thick, fit the slices together again and cut once 
across the middle. Then turn it the other way and 
cut your little strips. Everything in cooking must be 
done very carefully, very exactly, and in perfectly clean 


ways. Add your carrot and turnip strips to what is 
already in the pot, which will look like a sort of 
vegetable mash at the bottom, and then put in one 
and a half pint of hot water. You must now arrange 
your pot and fire so that it goes on cooking for quite 
an hour. About ten minutes before it is done you 
chop the parsley and put it in ; if you add it earlier 
the flavour will be lost. Remember in using chopped 
parsley that the stalks are as good as the leaves ; in 
fact they really give the best flavour, though the bits 
of leaf look nicest. 

Bonne Femme Soup. — This is a milk soup, and is 
more quickly made. Begin as before with the onion 
and butter, but stop the cooking of the onion before it 
gets brown ; it must not be deeper than pale yellow. 
Have ready half a large lettuce and an equal quantity 
of the broad-leaved sorrel. Remember that the sorrel 
has a strong acid juice that is rather unwholesome. 
You have to get rid of most of this by what is called 
blanching. Note that there is a blanching in cookery 
and a blanching in vegetable growing, and that they 
mean different things. Blanching in gardening means 
making the hearts of plants white by tying them up, 
as you do Cos Lettuces, or covering them with a bank 
of earth, as in the case of celery and some other salad 
plants. Cabbages and Cabbage Lettuces blanch their 
own insides themselves by folding their top leaves over. 
Any plants get blanched or whitened by having the 
light kept from them when they are in a growing state. 
Blanching (from the French blanchir), according to the 
true meaning of the word, ought always to mean making 


white. In some cases in cooking it does mean this, as 
in blanching almonds, when by putting them for a 
minute in boiling water the brown skin is loosened and 
the white almond is easily taken out. I think the word 
as used in cooking must have come from this, only 
that instead of the meaning of the word being that the 
thing blanched is made white, it has come to mean 
that the thing is put for a minute or two in boiling 
water, for this is what blanching now means in cookery. 

So to get rid of the harmful acid in the sorrel 
it is blanched in boiling water. Two or three minutes 
is enough. It is then cut into shreds, and the lettuce 
also, and both are added to the slightly frizzled onion, 
and it is all stewed together for a quarter of an hour. 
Then you add a pint of water and let it cook another 
quarter of an hour. Near the end I like to add two tea- 
spoonfuls of white sugar and three teaspoonfuls of salt. 
Then you pour it into the tureen, wait a minute, and 
then add to it in the tureen half a pint of milk that 
has been slightly warmed. You cannot add the milk to 
the boiling soup, or it would curdle. 

Potato Milk Soup. — For this I generally use some 
spare potatoes that have been boiled. You begin just 
the same way with the butter and onion, and when the 
onion is done enough — you should do it as much as 
you can without its turning colour ; it should be only 
the very palest yellow, not the least brown — you add 
a very little hot water (about a wineglassful) and the 
potatoes, cut up into bits the size of a lump of sugar. 
Then add what will make up a pint of water in all, 
and let it cook for a quarter of an hour. Put in some 


sugar and salt, as in the last recipe, pour into the 
tureen, let it cool the least thing, and then put in the 
half-pint of warmed milk as before. Some of the 
potato will have gone into a pur^e (thinnish sludge), 
and some of it remains in soft knobs. This is the 
pur^e de pomme de terre of smarter dinner-tables, but 
to make it all look smooth the cook passes it through 
a sieve. But I like it best the real French middle-class 
way, with the knobs of potato and shreds of onion left in. 

Any of these soups, with some good cheese to come 
after (perhaps a cream cheese, which looks so nice laid 
on a vine-leaf), and the salad I have told you of, and 
perhaps a little fruit, is a dinner or supper fit for a 
king ! 

In colder weather it is nice to have toasted cheese. 
English cheddar is one of the best cheeses for toasting. 
You slice 4 oz. thin and put it in a shallow, flattish 
pan ; add to it rather more than a tablespoonful of beer 
and a good teaspoonful of brown sugar. I don't know 
why brown sugar improves it, but it certainly does. 
You must have ready on a hot dish a nice piece of toast, 
cut rather thicker than ordinary toast, and the whole 
size of the loaf, with the crust cut off. As soon as the 
cheese is melted, and looks quite smooth and all alike, 
you pour it over the toast. 

Scrambled eggs is another capital thing, and this is 
the best way to make it. Cooks generally spoil it and 
get rid of all the nice eggy taste by working it about 
too much in the bottom of a saucepan. You can make 
it in one of those nice clean round or oval French 
fireproof dishes with short ears, and you serve it in the 


dish it is cooked in. Melt a bit of butter in the dish, 
big enough to cover all the bottom when it is melted, 
add a good pinch of salt and a dust of white pepper. 
Break the eggs (two or three according to the size of 
the dish) on to the fizzling butter ; have a silver fork 
in your hand and break up the eggs gently. Keep on 
moving it about with the fork, mostly with a lifting 
action, because this lets the uncooked egg run on to 
the hot dish where you have just raised what has 
already cooked and thickened. Directly it has all 
thickened, or even a moment before, take it off the 
fire, because you must remember that it goes on cook- 
ing in the hot dish. If you do it like this you will 
know what a good thing scrambled egg can be. 

For tea, nothing is better than mustard and cress 
sandwiches, or watercress sandwiches, or sandwiches of 
the little weed cress I shall tell you about in the next 
chapter. But when you have invited your elders, or on 
any other important occasion, you should have some 
freshly-made scones, or some little cakes. 

Scones. — |- lb. flour, 3 oz. butter, a pinch of salt, 
I dessertspoonful of baking-powder, i egg, 2 table- 
spoonfuls of milk. Mix the flour, salt and baking- 
powder and rub in the butter. Beat the egg and milk 
together and pour to the rest. Mix it lightly with the 
blade of a knife, roll out on a floured board, half an 
inch thick, and either cut it into rounds with a 2;|^-inch 
cutter (a tin thing made on purpose), or cut it into 
triangles. Bake 5 to 10 minutes, according to the 
heat of the oven. They are served split, buttered both 
sides and put together again. 



Fairy Cakes. — \ lb. flour, 4 oz. butter, a large tea- 
spoonful of baking-powder, 4 oz. castor sugar, i ^%g, 
4 oz. sultanas, or 2 oz. sultanas and 2 oz. currants. 
Mix the baking-powder with the flour and rub in the 
butter. Add the sugar and the dried fruit. Beat 
together the milk and &%% and put to the rest. Mix 
lightly and put into shallow tins (the sort used for 
mince-pies) and bake in a quick oven 15 to 20 

In the play-house pantry, or better still, in summer 
weather somewhere near but out-of-doors, we wash the 
dollies' clothes. If the sun is very hot we put on our 
sun-bonnets, and we pin ourselves up in bath-towels so 
that no splash matters, and turn up our sleeves as high 
as they will go, and have out that nice red pan and 
wash all their things. Cotton, muslin and flannel ; 
little frocks and petticoats and shimmies, and their 
tiny pocket-handkerchiefs, and hang them on the line 
to dry. 



By the time March comes you should look out for 
weeds. Of course you must learn to know your weeds, 
just as you must learn to know your flowers, and you 
must know them, too, in quite a young state. Like 
garden flowers, weeds are either annual, biennial, or 
perennial. The word "annual," applied to a plant, 
means one whose whole lifetime is begun and finished 
within one year. Biennial means one that grows one 
year and flowers the next, like Sweetwilliam and 
Foxglove and Canterbury Bell. Perennials are the 
plants that will go on for ever if they are divided every 
few years. Some are the better for being divided 
every year. These are the ones whose roots spread 
out quickly, like Michaelmas Daisies and some of the 
Sunflowers. Any of you who have learnt a little Latin 
will see from the word itself what annual, biennial, and 
perennial mean ; and will see that the words them- 
selves describe, as I have just done, the length of the 
plant's lifetime. Those who have not learnt Latin 
must take my word for it. 

We generally sow annuals in March, to flower in 


middle and late summer, though most hardy annuals 
are stronger and better and bloom earlier if they can 
be sown in autumn. But there is a difficulty about 
autumn sowing, which means sowing in August and 
September, because just then gardens are filled with 
plants at their full growth ; and, especially in your own 
little gardens, I should not expect you to be able to do 
it. But some day, when some pretty annual has shed 
its seed and come up by itself — some Poppy or Love- 
in-a-Mist, or whatever it may be, and you had left it at 
weeding-time, seeing that it was not one of the familiar 
weed seedlings, you will see what I mean about its un- 
usual strength. This is the way plants sow themselves. 
There are three troublesome weeds, one annual, the 
others perennial, that show quite early in spring. They 
are up in February, though, if you don't want to do 
much gardening in February, it will not matter if you 
don't look out for them till March. They are a little 
Cress, Dock, and Dandelion ; we will take the Cress 
first. The little plants 
come up early and look 
neat and harmless. It is 
the Hairy Bitter Cress. 
The botanical name is Car- 
damine hirsuta — hirsuta 
means hairy. You think 
the plant is quite smooth ; 
but if you look at the full- 


grown leaf quite close you 

will see tiny hairs upon the surface and at the edges. 

When it is young it looks like this. 




In March it comes into flower, 
and then is the time to look out 
for it, unless you have trained 
your eyes to see it sooner. But it 
shows up brightly when the little 
flower is out. You must not miss 
a single one, for this is what 
happens. Directly the flower is 
over the stem elongates ; each 
seed-pod lengthens, and the little 
seeds inside swell and ripen. By 
this time the plant looks like this. 

Then look out ! for as soon as 
the seed is quite ripe, at the least 
touch the outer covering of the 
long pod curls itself up and acts 
like a catapult, scattering the seeds 
about quite a long way and filling 
the garden again with weed-seeds. 
And you must remember that this 
crafty little plant has a sly trick 
of turning a dark bronzy colour 
that makes it difficult to see. 
But if you are careful, and get hold 
of it when it is full-grown, but has 
not yet thrown up the flower-stem, 
you can have a glorious revenge. 
You know the old story of some 
savage tribes who kill and eat their 
enemies, and who believe that 
when they have swallowed some 



doughty warrior they become imbued with his best 
qualities. You can do the same with Cardamine 



hirsuta. You pull it up and cut off the little root, 
and, if it is not perfectly clean you wash it, and dry it 
in a clean cloth, and you eat it for nursery tea. Put 





between two bits of bread and butter 
it is delicious ; just as good as Water- 
cress. And if it transmits to you its 
fine quality of perseverance, why, you 
will be none the worse. 




The other worst early weed is Dande- 
lion. It is a perennial. There can be 
no doubt about that when you look at its 
root. Many are bigger and deeper-rooted 
than the one I have drawn. And it is no 
use just to pull off the top. When you are 
weeding you should always use a little blunt 
knife ; there is a good sort of short strong 
knife with a smooth horn handle that costs 
sevenpence. It should be one of your 
regular tools. If you cannot get the Dan- 
delion root right up you should scratch away 
some of the top soil and cut the root as far 
down as you can reach with the blade of 
the knife. If you cut it only an inch under- 
ground it will make fresh crowns and be 




worse than ever. Notice that word "crown." 
Applied to a plant it means the thick growing 
part next above the root, the preparation for 
the whole of the plant that will come up above 
ground. It is not every perennial plant that 
will make new crowns when you cut the top off 
an inch below ground. But Dandelions and 

Thistles and Docks, and some other persistent 
weeds, have such vigour that they can make new 
plants in this way. I have made you pictures 
of Dock and Dandelion roots, to show what 

-ZJX l:Z- 




mighty things they are even when the leaves are only 

You will see all about crowns when you come 
to dividing perennial plants in autumn. Among the 
died-down or cut-off stems of the past year you will 
see the little whitish points of the growth for the year 
to come. These are the crowns, that will grow into 
stem, leaves, and flowers ; one or more crowns with 
some roots is considered a safe division or suitable 
new piece to plant. Of course, if a Dandelion plant 
should grow up among other things and escape notice 
you will know it at once by its flower. Then you 
must make sure to have it up and not let it make 
its pretty "puff" of seed, or you will be bothered next 
year with a very troublesome crop of weeds. But 
you must be always on the look-out for them, for even 
if you are as careful as possible in your own garden 
you cannot help the seeds sailing in from fields and 
hedges and road-sides ; and they will sail from a long 

Thistle seeds sail in just in the same way. If you 
ever find a little seedling Thistle in your garden you 
must dig down and get the root out whole. If you 
don't get it out young you will never get it out at all. 





When March comes we have to think about seed- 
sowing. From the middle to the end of the month is 
the time for garden annuals, though Sweet-Peas are 
best sown earlier, towards the end of February. 

One cannot help observing what different-looking 
things seeds are ; how endlessly they vary in shape 
and size. There are some so tiny that one can 
scarcely see them, and some, like 
a kitchen-garden Broad Bean, as 
wide as a shilling ; to say nothing 
of great monsters like Cocoa-nuts. 
For all nuts are only single seeds. 
Think of all the different ways 
seeds grow : in loose papery shucks 
like Indian Corn, in neat pods like Peas, in beautifully- 
shaped urns like Poppies, and in 
hundreds of other ways. Then 
think of all the different seeds of 
fruits. Sometimes it is a big longish 
seed like a Plum or Peach-stone in- 
side a delicious pulp, or a smaller one like a Cherry-stone 





or an Orange-pip. Generally in a fruit the seed is inside, 
but sometimes it sticks on outside. The little yellow 
flecks on the outsides of Strawberries are the seeds. 

Then in handling seeds one notices differences of 
touch and texture. There are fluffy ones like those 
of Anemones, and rough -coated ones like little bits 
of coal cinder, such as Love-in-a-Mist, and others so 
slippery that you can scarcely hold them, such as the 
shiny black seeds of Columbines. 

Then just think, when the seed is ripe and ready 
to be sent away from the parent plant to find its place 
in the earth and make new plants, how the various 
kinds are fitted with different ways of finding a new 
home. Many, it is true, fall to the earth and spring up 
near the old plant, but others have all sorts of curious 
mechanical contrivances. There is a common road- 
side plant that grows all round the Mediterranean 
called the Squirting Cucumber. When the seeds are ripe 
and the pod falls off its stalk, a little hole is left where 
the stalk fitted. The inside of the fruit is all watery 
stuff and seeds ; at the time of ripeness the wet stuff 
seems to be explosive, like ginger-beer that is well 
" up." It flies out of the hole, carrying the seeds with 
it and scatters them away to a distance of several 
yards. It any of you go to the Riviera in the winter, 
you would be sure to find this plant. The least touch 
sends the ripe seeds flying, even the vibration of the 
earth when any one walks near will make them go off; 
only take care, for you might get hit in the face. It 
is a greyish plant, growing close to the ground, with 
biggish leaves something like our roadside Burdock. 




There are other seeds that are shot out with a 
catapult action, and there is a thing that grows in the 
West Indies whose seeds, if you bring them indoors, go 
off in the night like pistol-shots and alarm the whole 
house. All these are what one may call violent seeds. 
But most of those that we have to do with are passive 
and gentle, and many have delight- 
fully graceful ways of moving about 
with pretty sails or wings. Look at 
this seed of Clematis fnontana, with a 
tail just like a squirrel's ! And think 
how in the autumn one sees Thistle 

seed sailing away high up 

in the air, and think of 

the Dandelion puffs that 

you may watch sailing 

shorter distances close at hand. The 

Hawkweed seed in the picture is one of 

this kind. 

The seeds of many trees travel quite 

a good way. When the first hot sunny 
days come in March, if you are in a wood of Scotch 
Firs, or, better still, somewhere at its sunny edge, you 
will hear the last year's cones opening with a sharp 
snick. Then look about and see if you don't see the 
seeds fluttering down, looking like little live things. 
Just catch one or two seeds as they come down and 
look at them, for if you do not catch them at once, 
and they lie on the ground for a few hours, the seed 
will have dropped out of its lodging in the butt of the 
wing, where it is only slightly held by one edge, 




something in the same way as precious stones are held 
in the setting of a jewel, only with the purpose that 
they should fall out easily instead of being firmly held. 
You will see how like the wing is to a big fly's or 
beetle's wing, with one strong front 
edge and little veins. These seed- 
wings shine as they lie on the 

SCOTCH FIR. , /- , . , . 

ground, for the texture is somethmg 
between the thinnest paper and the finest gauze. The 
seed is nearly black, but the wing is pale buff with brown 
ribs and veins. As it lies within the woody partitions 
of the cone, the wing is slightly curved. This is what 
makes it flutter and helps the lightest air or wind to 
carry it a little way away. 

And don't forget to keep your noses snuffing about, 
for these early hot days bring out the sweet scent of 
the Pines, and it is a smell you will love to the end of 
your days. 

The seeds of the Sycamore-tree flutter away on 
strong wings that are almost exactly like the wings of 
a large beetle. Acorns are solid heavy things, that just 
flop down under the tree they grow on, but the little 
wood people — squirrels, mice, and birds — carry them 
about. Some they let fall on the way, but the greater 
number they hide in all sorts of places. Many of 
these places they never find again, and acorns grow 
where they are left, often a good distance from the 

Before sowing you should see that your garden is 
quite clear of weeds. You will just be able to see the 
crowns of the perennial plants pushing up through the 


ground. You must go all round these carefully with 
the hoe, hoeing quite shallow so as not to disturb any 
of their roots that are near the surface, and then go 
over the ground roughly with the rake, not for the 
sake of tidying and gathering up any bits of rubbish 
only, but also to break up any cloddiness of surface and 
let in the air, and to let the seeds fall into the tiny 
holes made by the teeth of the rake. 

Always remember that you can never sow seed thin 
enough. The very small seeds you can prepare like 
this. Take a tiny pinch of seed, not half a quarter of 
what is in the packet, and get about a tablespoonful of 
fine dry earth or sand. Mix the seed with the earth 
and sow a very little of the mixture. You should 
always do this with Poppy seed, and until you become 
expert it is much better to do it with all seeds except 
fair-sized ones, that you can be sure to sow thinly. 
Big seed like Lupine or Sunflower can be sown quite 
singly, putting in one seed just where you want the 
plant to be. But if there are many slugs about, it is 
safer to sow three seeds, a couple of inches apart, 
instead of one ; then if a hungry slug comes along he 
may perhaps eat one, or even two, with a good chance 
of the third being left. If no slug comes and all three 
are growing well, and have got beyond the size when 
the slugs like them best, which is when they are still 
in seed-leaf, then if there comes a nice day when the 
ground is damp after a shower, you can take up the 
two extra plants very carefully with a trowel, so as not 
to disturb the third, and plant them elsewhere ; or, if you 
have no room for them, you can pull up the two worst 


plants, leaving only the best. The smaller the seed the 
shallower it should be in the ground. All ordinary 
seeds may just be scattered over the ground that has 
been freshly scratched over with the rake. Then you 
pass the rake over again, and that is quite enough to 
cover the seed. The hoeing will have killed any weed 
seeds that would have been beginning to grow, so that 
when you see little green things coming up, you may 
be pretty sure that they are your flowers and not weeds. 
You will very soon get to know the difference, even 
when the tiny plants are in their first pair of seed-leaves, 
but meanwhile, when you see in your sown patches seed- 
lings coming up that look all alike, you may take it that 
they are what you have sown. As soon as they are 
big enough to handle you must thin them out. How 
much to thin, that is to say, how near to each other 
the little plants may stand, is a thing that you must 
partly learn by experience ; but of course small plants, 
such as Virginian Stock, can stand much nearer than 
big things like Lupines. To begin with, you can teach 
yourself this way. Look in your seed-merchant's list. 
The good ones give the height to which the plant 
grows. Most plants spread to nearly the same measure 
as their height, some a great deal more ; but as a 
general rule you may let the seedlings stand at a 
distance apart equal to half their height. Therefore 
if you see in the seed list that the plant grows a foot 
high, let the seedlings stand six inches apart. But if 
they have been sown too thick, and in some places 
come up quite close together like a turf, you must pull 
these up altogether ; they will never make good plants, 


but leave enough of those that stand so singly, that 
any thinning you have to do round them does not 
disturb the roots of those that are left. 

When I was young one used often to see what I 
think is a very silly way of sowing annuals. A little 
ring, about as big as a dinner plate, was scratched in 
the ground, the seed was sown in this much too thick, 
and the seed-paper, with the name of the plant on it, 
was pushed into a cleft in the top of a short stick 
which was stuck in the middle of the ring. Bits of 
paper always look bad about a garden, and it is a lazy 
way of marking the plant. Gardens look much better 
if you can do without any labels, but if you must have 
them the nicest are bits of hazel stick cut about a foot 
long and pointed, with the top end shaved flat for a 
length of about two inches to write on. It must not 
be shaved too deep, because in the middle of the stick 
there is a little pithy hollow. Then you have a little 
pot of white-lead paint ; you take a very little of this 
on the end of some other bit of stick and smear it over 
the shaved part. Then with a bit of rag or paper you 
smooth it over and rub most of it off. Then you write 
the name of the plant with a soft pencil in the thin 
coating of wet paint. I always have the paint in the 
bottom of a small-sized jam-pot, and have a bit of rag 
big enough to crumple into the top of the pot with- 
out touching the paint, so that it keeps most of the 
air away that would dry it up and make it unfit to use. 
I can only think of one sort of seed that should be 
sown fairly thick, that is Mustard and Cress. This 
small salad is generally sown in frames, and the seed 


merely scattered on the surface ; but you cannot do 
that out-of-doors ; the birds would have it directly, so 
you must just cover it up. 

Of course I suppose that you not only attend to 
your own gardens but also watch all that is being done 
in the big home garden. Some day you will grow up, 
and perhaps have big gardens of your own, and if you 
have learnt to know a lot about it when you were little, 
it will make you fit to take charge and to say how things 
are to be done, and to make the garden a glory and 
delight to yourselves and everybody else. So at seed- 
sowing time you should see what the gardener is doing 
inside — that is to say, in frames and greenhouses — as 
well as out. You will find he is sowing lots of seed in 
pans and little shallow boxes. Some of these are 
half-hardy annuals ; grand things like African Marigolds 
and Zinnias, and Stocks and Asters. They want a 
warmer climate than ours for growing straight out-of- 
doors, so we sow them " in heat," as gardeners say, or at 
any rate with the protection of a frame. This is the 
best chance to watch the way the little seedlings come 
out of the ground and to get to know them in the seed- 
leaf state. For most plants begin their growth with a 
pair of seed-leaves that are of a simple shape, quite 
unlike that of the leaves that are to follow. When the 
next pair of leaves comes we speak of the seedling as 
being "just out of seed-leaf," and about a fortnight later 
we speak of the seedlings as being " big enough to 
handle" ; many of them are then "pricked off" separately. 
" Pricking off" means separating the little plants and 
planting them in rows in other boxes, where they re- 




main till they are of the right size, and the right time 
has come to put them in their places for the summer. 
The gardener will show you how to do it, and the 
blunt wooden tool to do it with, which you can make 

To go back to the seedlings that have just come up. 
You see them quite conveniently if the boxes are 
standing on the greenhouse staging. Here and there 
among them you will see what an odd way some have 
of carrying up the coating or husk on the tips of the 


seed-leaves. I have drawn this to show you from a 
pan of China Asters. The pair of seed-leaves want to 
open flat, but sometimes they are held clipped together 
by the husk. The seedling will be very thankful if 
you will gently release them by lifting off the husk. 
The best way to do it is with a little flat feather, push- 
ing the feather between the two leaves and working it 
upwards, very gently, or the seedling may be pulled 
out of the ground. The husk often sticks on the end 
of one seed-leaf, though it is more often thrown off 

The seedlings with the little ace-of-spades shaped 



leaves are Incarvillea Delavayi^ a handsome perennial 
plant. When the husks hold on to this they do it in 
a very clever way and stick rather tight. The coating 
of the seed has a broad back on one side and a pointed 
tongue on the other, so that it rides astride of the leaf- 
tip with a rather firm hold. 

In your own gardens it is best, when the flowers 
are running to seed, to cut them off directly the flower 
is over. You see you want all the flowers you can get 


to keep your garden bright, but the plant wants to 
make its seed as soon as possible. When seed-pods 
are forming the plant tries to give all its strength to 
the seed-pods, but it is very patient, and if you go on 
cutting off the seed-pods it will make more flowers, in 
the hope that next time you will not see or will forget. 
But by watching carefully and cutting off every pod, it 
is quite wonderful how you can make a plant go on 

Most likely you will find plants going to seed some- 
where in the home garden. Towards the end of the 
summer you should look out for these to save the seed, 



and then you will see the curious variety of the seed- 
pods, and the ways the pods have of protecting the 
seeds till they are ripe, and then sowing them them- 
selves ; and you will see what odd things some of the 
pods are. Look at the picture of the pretty Love-in-a- 
Mist The plant has two English names, Love-in-a- 
Mist and Devil-in-a-Bush. I always think that one 
name belongs to the flower and the other to 
the seed-pod. 

Some seed-pods, when the seed is ripe, 
have little holes near the top. I have drawn 
you a Bell-flower seed to show this ; Snap- 
dragons have two holes, they are the eyes of 
the little old woman that I will tell you 
about ; and you must know the look of the 
row of holes under the crowning top of a 
Poppy pod. And get somebody to show 
you how to make a seed-paper, to keep 
seeds in. Most seedsmen now use the little 
seed pockets and gum them up, but a few 
still use the good old-fashioned folded seed-papers. If 
you can get hold of one of these you have only to 
unfold it to see how it is made. 

A curious seed is that of Honesty. I daresay you 
have seen the silvery insides of Honesty pods used as 
winter ornaments. If not, and you have Honesty 
plants going to seed, I advise you to watch them in 
August. I am not very fond of winter bouquets of 
anything that looks dry and rather artificial, but I must 
say I do like the silvery Honesty. It is only good 
if the plant dries off naturally in fine dry weather, 



because if, while it is drying, it is wetted by any con- 
tinuous rain, the brown seeds stain the tender tissue 
that you want to keep. The seed-pod is quite flat. 
It has two outer coats like whity- brown paper, and 


generally three to five seeds, some on one side and 
some on the other of another middle papery partition. 
It is this partition that is kept. It is of delicate 
texture, half transparent, and has the silvery-satin 
lustre that makes it such a pretty thing set up in a 
room in some handsome blue-and-white Chinese jar or 
Japanese bronze. I have drawn it as it 
looks held up to the light. I know no 
better practice in careful handling for 
young fingers than the preparing of the 
pods, doing it so as to get off the two 
outside paper covers and the seeds with- 
out injuring the middle. 

It is amusing to dress up a Snapdragon 
seed-pod, when it is brown and dry, as an 
old woman. If you look at it you will 
SNAPDRAGON POD gee how curiously like a face it is, with 


OLD WOMAN. large eyes and open mouth. You must 
break off the projecting spike so that it leaves a little 




turned-up snub nose. Then you get a cork and whittle 
away a bit at the top, and you send a pin through the 
pod and down into the cork. She must have a large 
mob cap with a frill round the face, a shawl, and a 
petticoat. Any one who can dress dolls can make this. 
If you shake her she weeps little black tears. 



If you live in a Cowslip country you will naturally 
want to make Cowslip balls. You prepare the flowers 
by cutting off the stalks just under the heads, and 
stretch a bit of very fine string by tying it to the backs 
of two chairs ; or you may tie the string to the back of 
one chair and hold the other end in your left hand. 
Then you take the prepared flowers one by one and 
make them ride astride the string, heads downwards. 
When there are as many on the string as you think 
will be enough to make the ball, you press them as 
close up together as they will go, bring up the two 
ends of the string and tie them. I cannot tell you how 
many heads it will take, because that depends on the 
size of the cowslips and the number of flowers on the 
heads — you must try for yourselves and find out. The 
ball must be tight and round, and made of flowers that 
are about the same length. If they are of different 
lengths the ball will have an uneven surface. It should 
be even and plump and round. The little Birds'-foot 
Trefoil that grows by road-sides in the summer makes 
very pretty little balls, and you can make them of any 





flowers that grow in the same way. Primrose balls can 
be made too, not only of Polyanthus Primroses, that 
grow something like Cowslips in a head of a number 
of flowers at the end of a stalk, but also of common 
Primroses, by tying six or eight flowers together 
with a bit of thread at the stalk end, keeping the 
stalks of all the flowers the same length, and then 
using the bunch of six or eight as you would a 
Cowslip. The longer the stalks are the larger the ball 
will be. 

Once I made an immense Cowslip ball two feet in 
diameter. It was not at the old home, but at an 
intermediate home in the valley of the Thames, on a 
chalky soil where Cowslips abounded, and where, on a 
big island in the river, there grew a quantity of the 
summer Snowflake, like gigantic Snowdrops. The 
village children used to come round on May-day with 
bunches of flowers, but they did it in a scrappy sort of 
way, and we wanted to help them to do it better. So 
besides the bunches of flowers on peeled willow sticks, 
and the hoops of flowers carried by two children by 
passing a white willow stick through the hoop, that they 
made for themselves, I undertook to make a grand 
May-day trophy. Here is a picture of it. The frame- 
work was made of strong, light willow poles tied tightly 
together with iron wire. All the straight parts in the 
picture are these poles. Then, to support the round 
sort of cage at the top, two strong willow rods were 
bent up to a nice bow-shape, and fastened where they 
crossed, and also to the frame at their four ends. Then 
the cage itself was made of four rods bent round into 


hoops, passed through each other, and firmly wired at 
the top and bottom, so as to make a hollow ball with 
eight ribs standing at equal distances apart. The next 
thing was to cover the straight parts of the framework 
with moss, all but the carrying ends, the upper horizontal 
rails, and the bowed supports. The moss was put plain 
on the carrying poles, but in a ropy pattern that was 
more ornamental on the four uprights. After that the 
heavy swags for the four sides were made of Laurel 
twigs, thickest in the middle. Something was put 
inside to puff it out — I forget what, but some sort of 
bushy branches. And the four big tassels that hung 
under the Cowslip collars at the corners were made too, 
and the evergreen parts of the bunch -after -bunch 
patterns on the bowed ribs. These had flowers added 
afterwards. All this was got ready quite three days 
before the ist of May, and in the next two days the 
flowers were collected and bunched. The flowers were 
Cowslips, Primroses, Daffodils, Snowflake, Bluebells, and 
Ribes (the red flowering Currant). The four big upright 
bouquets were made of white Snowflake at the top, 
with some stiffish pale green leaves. I think these were 
the young leaves of some of the river flags. Next below 
the Snowflake came red Ribes and then Daffodils. The 
bouquet crowning the cage was made to match, with a 
red collar of Ribes just on top of the cage. The ribs 
of the cage were of Primroses and Cowslips alternately, 
showing as pale and deep yellow with a very pretty 
effect. A bunch of Daffodils hung inside. Then there 
were four ropes of balls, a Cowslip and a Primrose ball 
coming alternately all along the rope. These, as you 


see, all started from one point under the cage, and had 
their ends fastened to the four inside angles of the 
frame. The horizontal rails of the frame were covered 
with Bluebells tied on so as to look ropy. Then there 
were ropes of Primroses — quantities of small bunches 
tied on to a thick string — wound round the heavy 
swags of evergreen. 

But the glory of the whole trophy was the great Cow- 
slip ball that hung in the middle. It was made like this. 
First, Cowslips with long stalks were tied in bunches, 
leaving a string hanging out at the ends of the stalks. 
The bunches were tied all the way down the stalks. 
Then six bunches were tied together by the strings 
coming out at the ends. When enough of these bunches 
of bunches were made ready — they were left in water 
all the day before — each bunch of bunches was treated 
as you would treat a single Cowslip head, and slung 
head downwards over a very strong string, the ends of 
which were brought together and tied, as in an ordinary 
Cowslip ball. 

There was a lot of work in it, as you may imagine, 
but I had several kind helpers in the dear girls at the 
vicarage, for no one pair of hands could possibly have 
either collected or bunched the flowers, or have got 
them into place on the May-day morning. The whole 
thing was most amusing, but then it is always the 
greatest fun to invent and contrive and get over 
difficulties. The trophy was carried by twelve little 
schoolgirls, two to each end of the long poles, and one 
at each end of the shorter ones that went across. It 
had a great success, and brought the children quantities 


of pennies in its progress round the village and its visits 
to neighbouring houses. 

Cowslips always make me think of Morells, one of 
the best things to eat of the fungus tribe. Most of 
these come in the autumn, but Morells grow in Cowslip 
time — often among them — in parks or old pastures, 
generally near groups of Elm-trees. They look like 
small sponges standing up on short hollow stalks. 



When I was a child I was very much alone, and nearly 
always in my playtime found my own amusements in 
the garden and shrubbery. There was a large rambling 
shrub garden with broad turf paths ; and though it 
must even then have been planted for many years — and 
in those days a well-planted shrubbery was a rare thing 
— yet it contained many delightful shrubs and trees, 
such as are the very best to this day. A part of it was 
in moist, peaty soil, and in this region were Rhodo- 
dendrons, Azaleas, Kalmias, and Andromedas. One 
Andromeda I used almost to worship ; it was a bush, 
with the flowers on a level with my head. I did not 
know its name then, but, to myself, used to call it the 

I got to know every flower in the place most inti- 
mately, not only for shape and colour and marking, 
but also for smell. How well I knew all the different 
Rose smells ! There were not then the hosts of lovely 
Roses that we have now, but each one of the kinds 
that were there I could distinguish with my eyes shut, 
and the remembrance of each individual scent has 

49 E 


always remained with me. In the shrubbery there was 
a quantity of the single American Rose called Rosa 
lucida. It has reddish stems and no prickles. The 
smell is very faint, but quite distinct ; and there were 
bushes of the double Cinnamon Rose, with a sweeter 
kind of scent, but also not strong ; and Damask Rose 
and Cabbage Rose, with its variety the Moss Rose, with 
the delicious strong scent of its sticky mossiness in 
addition to the Rose's own smell. I may say that my 
young nose became thoroughly trained to the smell of 

Among all the many delicious flower-smells there 
was, now and then, a nearly nasty one. There was 
one flower-smell that I always thought odious ; that of 
the common Barberry — the prickly shrub that makes 
the pretty long-shaped red berries. The flower had 
one attraction, because, on examining it, I had dis- 
covered the sensitiveness of the stamens. These are 
the little threads inside the flowers that carry the 
powdery pollen on tiny cushions called anthers on their 
ends. In this flower and some others the stamens lie 
back against the inside of the petals. If they are 
touched — the slightest tickle with the end of a blade 
of grass is enough — they fly together to the pistil^ 
which is a little post with a knob on the top that most 
flowers have in some shape or other right in the 
middle, the root end of the pistil going right down 
into the throat of the flower. It is so amusing to see 
a flower make some quick movement, just like a live 
thing, that this was a great inducement to go to the 
Barberry bushes in spite of the smell. After a time, 


when I learnt how the wind carries scents, I used to 
approach it cautiously from the windward side. The 
smell is not really very bad, but of a faint and sickly 
kind, but I remember years when to me it was so 
odious that it inspired me with a sort of fear ; and 
when I forgot that the Barberries were near and walked 
into the smell without expecting it, I used to run away 
as hard as I could in a kind of terror. 

Since I grew up I have only once met with a smell 
of a growing thing that gave me the same sort of 
feeling of intense repulsion. It is a spongy weed 
looking like green coral, that grows in the mud in shallow 
water. I used to see it in a backwater of the Thames 
at a later home, when I was leaning over the side of 
a boat looking at the curious things in the mud at the 
bottom. I noticed it first when fishing for mussels 
with a stick. The mussels lie half imbedded in the 
mud, with their shells a little bit open. If you feel 
down gently with some small stick like a twig of 
willow, and get the end just inside the opening, the 
mussel shuts up tight and you can pull it up on the 
stick. The mussel is no use when you have got it, so 
you pull out the stick gently without hurting the 
creature inside, and throw him back into the water. 
One day among the mussels I saw the curious green 
weed. I thought at once that it looked like a soft 
green coral with rather thick branches. Of course I 
wanted to examine it, so I scooped some up on the 
blade of my oar and got hold of it, and turned it over 
to see it in all positions, and smelt it. The smell to 
me was horrible, and yet, curiously enough, it was not 


a really nasty smell ; it was certainly aromatic, very 
much like the smell of myrrh. But though I was 
then twenty-four I felt again that curious sense of fear 
that I remembered in childish days about the Barberry. 
The thing attracted me in an odd sort of way, for I 
smelt it again and again, always with a more intense 
dislike. Then I threw it away in disgust, but found 
that though I had got rid of the thing itself, the horrible 
smell haunted me ; for days and days I could not get rid 
of it ; I always seemed to be smelling it. The curious 
part of it, when I came to think of it, was that I could 
not truthfully say that the smell was really a bad one. 
Of course there are a few really very bad smells among 
growing things, evil-smelling funguses, and the Dragon 
Arum, and one or two other flowers, though happily 
bad-smelling flowers are very rare. But this myrrh-like 
green coral was not absolutely nasty, though to me it was 
horrible and even frightening. I wonder whether other 
people would find it the same, or whether it is a case 
of idiosyncrasy. Now, there is a dreadful long word, 
but as you will have to know what it means some 
day you may just as well learn now, and after all 
it is not a much worse word than Rhododendron, and 
has exactly the same number of letters. It means 
something that some one person feels differently from 
others, and in a way peculiar to himself. 

Now I have told you these things only to show 
that one finds out a great deal about flowers and 
plants by smelling them, and that it is one of the most 
important ways of getting to know them. Then it is 
not flowers only but also leaves and even stems of 


plants. You know the delicious smell of the leaves 
of Sweet Verbena and the sweet-scented Geraniums. 
Then there is Balm of Gilead and one of the dwarf 
Rhododendrons, and Bog Myrtle and Candleberry 
Gale and the true Myrtle. The leaves of all these 
shrubby things are sweetest when they are bruised. 

It seems a loss when a flower has no smell, like the 
lovely Kalmia. This beautiful bush was one of the 
treasures of the old home shrub-garden. The beauty 
of the flower was always an unending delight. When 
June came I used to look out eagerly for the red-ribbed 
buds that soon opened out into the wonderful five- 
pointed, rose - flushed flower. Each point keeps its 
outer colouring of purest rose, and the whole flower is 
a pink-white of a clean, clear, and most charming 
quality. Outside there are ten little knobs or shoulders, 
one exactly below and one between each point. You 
will see how these knobs give char- 
acter to the flower. When you look 
inside you see that they are ten little 
hollow caves, in which the anthers on 
the ends of the stamens rest, and that 
just above each cave is a tiny spot of 
crimson colour, strongest above the 
hollows that come under the points, 
and much fainter (sometimes wanting 
altogether) in those that come under 
the cuts where the edge of the flower is lowest. Then 
you will also see the loveliest little zigzag ring of colour 
close down to the throat, each upper point of the zig- 
zag corresponding exactly with the stamens lying across 


it The Kalmia stamens are also sensitive, and will 
close up to the pistil if they are touched, though they 
do not do it quite so readily as the Barberry. When 
you first look at the Kalmia flower you think it has 
a quite smooth surface, but if you look at it closely out- 
of-doors in the sun you will see that it has tiny whitish 
hairs all over the outside, and, among them and on 
the inside too, little glistening points like the tiniest 

Now if you will take any flower you please and 
look it carefully all over and turn it about, and smell 
it and feel it and try and find out all its little secrets ; 
not of flower only but of leaf, bud, and stem as well, 
you will discover many wonderful things. This is 
how to make friends with plants, and very good 
friends you will find them to the end of your lives. 

When you are looking at the leaves you should 
observe their shape, whether they are entire like the 
Kalmia, or pinnate like the Rose, or two or three times 
pinnate ; this is when they branch out again and 
again, like the leaves of most of the umbelliferous 
plants and many of the Ferns ; or whether their shape 
is a trefoil (three-leaf) like Clover, or linear, a long 
line without much width, like Pinks and grasses, or 
any of the many other shapes that leaves take. Then 
you will notice how the edge is shaped ; whether it is 
quite smooth like the Kalmia leaf, and in that case 
whether the edge is flat or waved. The Kalmia is 
a little waved, the Sweet Bay much more waved. 
Then you will see whether it has some pattern on the 
edge. Many leaves have the edges toothed like saws, 


therefore the botanical word for this is serrate. And 
I daresay you know already that the name of the 
Dandelion is really Dent-de-Lion, because of the lion's 
teeth it has at the edge of the leaf. Some leaves, such 
as Violets, are heart-shaped, and these in botany are 
called cordate, and some kidney -shaped, and so on. 
Then as to surface, some leaves are polished, like 
Laurel, and some are quite woolly, like Stachys, and 
there are leaf- surfaces that represent everything in 

Now I will not go on about details of all these 
different shapes and edges and surfaces, but will only 
say once more that the more you look at them for 
yourselves the more you will be amused and interested, 
and the better it will be for you later, when some of 
you will want to study botany in earnest. 

When you get into the habit of watching plants 
and flowers closely, you will now and then come 
across some freak or monstrosity. Generally these 
flower-freaks are ugly things, like an absurd Delphinium 
that once grew in my garden, whose picture I have 
made for you, as a warning not to encourage that 
sort of thing. Instead of making a beautiful, tall, 
graceful eight-foot-long spike, the thing made a bare 
stalk about six feet high with an ugly bunch of 
crowded flowers on the top, as if the silly thing was 
trying to be a Rose ! Foxgloves sometimes do the' 
same. Now the whole beauty of the Foxglove is in 
the way the spike spires up to a graceful point, and all 
this is lost when the spike ends suddenly in a large, 
ugly cup-shaped thing like a bad Canterbury Bell, 



These ugly monstrosities, which, I am sorry to say, 
some seedsmen sell as " desirable novelties," should 
never be encouraged in gardens, for we should do all we 
can to teach our eyes to see what is the most beautiful 
form and most beautiful colour that any of our garden 
flowers can take. 

The only kind of freak-plants that I don't much 
mind are the Hen and Chickens Daisy, that has a 
whole circle of little Daisy-flowers on stalks growing out 
of the edge of the main Daisy, and is certainly an 
amusing little thing to see now and then ; and some 
of the Primroses that grow with 
a leafy calyx, like the one I have 
drawn for you that was found in 
a wood by some children neigh- 
bours of mine. But this leafy 
thing is not half so pretty as a 
common Primrose. If it was the 
other way about, and Primroses in general 
had these leafy calyxes, and then one day 
one found among them a true Primrose, 
what a beautiful thing we should think it ! 
Freakish forms also occur among fruits. 
Look at these shocking pear monstrosities. 
Think of the lovely shape of the pear 
debased into these ridiculous blobby forms, 


LEAFY CALYX, with wrctchcd little leaves coming out of 
them. It is curious and interesting to see, just now 
and then, but one is so sorry for a poor fruit that, 
instead of showing its own beautiful lines takes these 
useless and ugly freakish shapes. 



But there are many curious things that are natural 
to plants and are not ugly ; such as the little complete 
plants that come upon the fronds of one of the green- 


house Ferns, and the reserves of water in the pitchers 
of the Pitcher-plants {Nepenthes), and hundreds of other 
wonderful things that you will see and find out if you 
use your eyes and brains well. 



Now, don't be afraid of the word " Botany." I am 
going to show you that it is not at all a tiresome study. 
Of course botany books in general are apt to be dull 
and dry and alarming. They frighten one by calling 
things names. For instance, they talk about Systems 
and Classes ; and when you begin with Class I., 
Dicotyledones, they expect you to learn that this 
class has four sub-classes, namely : ( i ) Thalamifiorce, 
(2) CalyciflorcB, (3) CorolliflorcB, (4) Monochlamydecz, and 
so on through twenty different classes ; all with heaven 
knows how many sub-classes. 

Now I don't think that is at all the way to begin, 
and that is not my botany. But I do want you to 
learn my botany, which is amusing, and is quite simple 
and easy. Botany means classification of plants ; and 
when you know my sort of botany, then some day you 
will very likely want to learn botanist's botany, but I 
don't think it is any use to you just now. What does 
concern you to know is that the plants we know best, 
and want in our flower gardens and kitchen gardens, 
are, most of them, members of a few large families, and 





you can know them by the family likeness of the 

We will begin with the Rose family. For the 
sake of clearness let us think of a single Rose ; a 
Sweetbrier or a wild Dog Rose, with its five petals. 
You will see what " petals " and all such words mean 
as we go on. The petals are the five coloured " rose- 
leaves " that fall off after the flower has been out for 
two or three days. Besides these, the Rose flower has 
an outer fringe of green leafy things, and a knobby 
base where it joins the stalk. The leafy bits that show 
between and behind the petals are called sepals. It is 
the outside of the sepals that you see when the flower 
is in bud; and all the sepals together, joined to the 
knobby thing next the stalk, form what is called 
the calyx. The knobby part will swell into the fruit. 
In the case of the Rose, by the end of the summer it 
will have grown into the Rose-fruit that we call the 
hip ; in the case of the Apple-tree it grows into an 
Apple ; and when the Apple is formed you can still see 
the sepals making a little ornament round the sunken 
eye. For Apples belong to the Rose family. You 
may easily see this by looking at an Apple-tree in 
flower. In some Apples the blossom is almost exactly 
like a single Rose. Plums and Pears and Cherries are 
all relations of the Rose, and so are Medlars and 
Quinces. Look at a bit of May-blossom (Hawthorn), 
there again you have a cluster of little Roses ; Black- 
thorns too — they are wild Plums. And Strawberries, 
Raspberries, and Blackberries — all little Roses. 

Some others of the Rose tribe are less like Rose- 


blossoms, because the flowers are arranged in flat 
clusters, as in the case of Mountain Ash and White 
Beam, or in other shaped clusters, as in the Meadow- 
sweet, that is so pretty along the banks of streams and 
ditches in July and August. But whenever you meet 
with a flower with five petals, whether large or small, 
that is at all the shape of a Rose, with a short knobby 
base, you may be sure it belongs to the Rose tribe. 

Then another of the great plant families is the Pea 
and Bean tribe. The Pea-shaped flowers make them 
easy to distinguish. There are the garden Sweet-Peas 
and the kitchen-garden Peas, and Broad Beans and 
Runner Beans, and the Everlasting Pea, and in fields 
and wild places the Clovers and Vetches. It does not 
matter whether the flowers are large and only two on 
three together, as in the Sweet-Pea, or whether they 
are tiny and arranged in a round head, like the Bird's- 
foot Trefoil, or in a crowded head two inches long, like 
the beautiful purple Tufted Vetch, or set all along long 
branches, as in the Broom ; you will see that the general 
shape of the flower is always the same. 

Now I will not attempt to go through all the plant 
families, but will just show you one or two of the 
others that are among the most important. 

There are the Composites or Daisy flowers, with a 
middle of tiny little flowers of one short kind packed 
close together, generally flat and yellow, but sometimes 
of other colours, and a little bit raised, or even quite 
raised up like a thimble. This part is called the disc. 
Then all round are the rays, which are of long shape. 
Think of the common Daisies of our lawns, and the 


Ox-eye Daisies of the fields, and you will see that 
they are as I describe. There are some exceptions to 
this arrangement, but we need not bother about them. 
What concerns us now is to learn the broad dis- 

Then there are the Bell-flowers or Campanulas, 
so distinct that it is impossible to mistake them ; 
Canterbury Bells and wild Hare-bell, and all the flowers 
of that shape. 

The Cruciferce or cross-shaped flowers you know by 
their having only four petals, as in Wallflowers, single 
Stocks, Arabis, and the Cresses. 

The Labiates or lipped tribe you will soon learn to 
distinguish. They have mouths that you can pull 
open to look inside, and a hanging lower lip. Salvias 
belong to this, and Sage, and a number of other kitchen 
herbs, and Lavender and Rosemary. 

The Figwort tribe, named from a common waterside 
plant, the Water Figwort, is the only other plant family 
you are likely to mix up with the Labiates, for the 
flowers are rather the same shape, and have mouths 
and lips that can be opened and shut. The Foxglove 
holds its mouth open, but the pretty Toad-flaxes and 
the Snapdragons keep theirs shut, though they are 
easily opened. It is amusing to see one of the small 
bumble-bees go into a Snapdragon flower to get the 
honey. He has to shove it open with his head and 
then works himself well inside. Then if you have 
got any little tool or a bit of stick in your hand, just 
hold it for a moment under the lip of the flower to 
keep it shut. Very soon he will have got all the 


honey he wants, and will try to back out. When he 
finds he can't he gets into a regular rage, and buzzes in 
a very angry way. You must let go after a moment, 
because after all he is about his rightful business, and 
it is only justifiable on your part to thwart him for 
an instant — perhaps not at all. But it is certainly 
amusing to see how short his temper is. 

But this is not Botany ; it is Natural History, 
though of course the two sciences are closely allied. 

There is just one more of the important families 
of plants that you will very soon learn to recognise. 
They are called the UnihellifercE. You will see more 
of them in the hedges than in the garden, but if there 
is a big bog-garden at your home I daresay there will 
be plants of the giant Cow-parsnip, the biggest of the 
umbelliferous things. All the Parsley -Carrot- Fennel 
sort of plants have their flowers in umbels. The flowers 
in themselves are generally tiny, and mostly white and 
yellow. They are on a number of little stalks that 
all branch away from one point on the top of a larger 
stalk, so that sometimes they make a roundish head 
and sometimes a flat one, or anything between. You 
may always know the flower of the wild Carrot by its 
having in the middle of its head of white flowers one 
little one of a chocolate-red colour. 

Now, I think this is nearly all the botany we want 
for the present ; stop, though, we mustn't forget bulbs. 
When you see a plant with plain, straight, rather fleshy 
leaves coming up from the root, and an unbranched 
flower-stem coming up from the root too, you may be 
pretty sure that the root is a bulb. Just think of 




Hyacinths, Daffodils, and Snowdrops, and you will see 
what I mean. 

Every now and then you have a birthday. I 
advise you, the next time somebody says, " What 
would you like for a birthday present ? " that you answer : 
" Please I should like Johns' Flowers of the Field!' 
This is not a book of garden flowers but of wild flowers ; 
but, if I were to try and think of the three books that 
throughout my life have given me most pleasure and 
profit, this would be one of them. You can learn 
about garden flowers from the wild flowers you find in 
your daily walks, and be learning my sort of botany 
all the time ; because, if you are observant, which is 
one of the ways of being happy, you will want to know 
all you can about the wild flowers you see ; and you 
will soon find out how many of them are near relations 
to garden flowers. 

When I was a child I used to bring home any wild 
flowers I found and look them up in Johns. Many 
a time I came to something puzzling, but I never gave 
it up till I had found my flower in the book ; and 
the trouble it took, though it was quite a pleasant 
trouble, helped to fix it in my memory. 

Jean and Ann, who are resting from the labours ot 
lesson-learning by doing some quiet knitting on the 
lawn, tell me that during their summer holiday in 
Lincolnshire they found two hundred different kinds 
of wild flowers ; among them the tall pink Soapwort 
{Saponaria officinalis) ; and that their mother found a 
white variety of the Greater Knapweed {Centaurea 
Scabiosd). It was a grand place for wild flowers, and 


there was a shallow river to paddle in, and heavenly 
places for paddling where there was mud like thick 

I daresay you wonder why plants have got Latin 
names as well as English ones. It isn't only because 
botanists are so proud that English ones are not 
grand enough for them, but also because, as there are 
botanists of all nations, it is convenient that they shall 
all know the names of the plants in one language. 





Great was my pride and delight when I was first 
given a garden of my own, to do just what I liked 
with. It was in a long-shaped strip of ground notched 
out of the far end of the shrubberies of the big home 
garden, between them and a rising hedge-bank. At 
the foot of the bank was a shallow ditch ; on the 
farther side a wide field at a higher level that soon 
began to slope upwards till it met the foot of a steep 
wooded hill, where we used to go primrosing. Hazels 
grew on the top of the bank on the field-level, and the 
cool face of the bank was a grand place for Ferns and 
Foxgloves, Primroses and Columbines. This was a 
great gain to my garden, for big clumps of the hardy 
Male Fern form a delightful background for flowers, 
and they are in beauty the whole summer and autumn, 
and even far into the winter. Here is a plan of the 
garden, or rather of the two gardens, for mine and my 
sister's were together, end to end. The arrangement is 
very simple, but, considering the space and position, 
I do not think it could have been laid out better. The 
narrow borders had neat Box edgings. I am sure you 

6s F 


will understand the plan, because a plan is the same 
thing as a map, and you will have learnt to use a 
map in the schoolroom. But I will tell you something 
more about plans presently. 

The plan shows how the little gardens lie between 
the shrubbery and the field. One of the shrubbery 
paths, or rather, one of its many grassy ways, comes 
in from the south just at the seat and arbour of my 
sister Carry's garden. Then the gravel path turns 
sharp to the right, passes first her garden and then 
mine, and goes on to farther masses of shrubbery 
and plantation, finally turning round and coming back 
towards the house, which is a good way off. The 
planted borders are shown by the diagonal lines 
that in plans are called " hatching " or " hatched 

In the spring we had Primroses and Forget-me- 
nots, yellow Alyssum, white Arabis and Aubrietia, and 
a few patches of the common double yellow Daffodil. 
This was fifty years ago, when the great numbers of 
beautiful sorts of Daffodils that we have now were, with 
but few exceptions, unknown in gardens. Another 
spring flower that I remember was the little purple 
Corydalis that comes and goes so quickly. Now that 
we have such quantities of beautiful kinds of flowers 
this old cottage-garden plant is generally forgotten, 
but I have always loved its modest, rather dull purple 
flowers, and its funny, nearly round, bright yellow 
bulby roots. I don't remember that we had any Tulips 
in our gardens, but, like many of the other bulbous 
plants that are so easily to be had now, they were not 



so freely planted, though nice patches were often to be 
seen in cottage gardens. 

For summer flowers we had Monkshoods — a plant 
I should never now put in a child's garden, because it 
is so poisonous. Then Lupines and Columbines, with 
annual Larkspurs and Pot Marigolds, and some of 
the delicious old garden Roses — Damask Roses and 
Cabbage and Moss Roses, and white Pinks. Over 
our arbour grew the lovely Blush Boursault, of the 
clearest pink and pinkish - white colouring of any 
Rose I know. In many gardens — especially in dry 
soil — it never has well-shaped flowers, but here they 
were fully developed, and the sweetest things that one 
could see. I used to wonder at its smooth red stems 
without any prickles. In those old days I did not 
even know what Rose it was ; we were content to call 
it the old Arbour Rose. In the shrubberies there 
were two other bushy Roses that I did not then know 
by name, but that I now know to be Rosa lucida and 
the double Cinnamon Rose ; and there were sweet 
Azaleas and Magnolias, and thickets of the old purple 
Rhododendron, and various evergreens. 

The two little gardens were separated by a hedge of 
Sweet-Peas, and there was a bush of a white Rose that 
must have been Madame Plantier. We grew no late 
summer or autumn flowers, for we always went to the 
Isle of Wight for August and September, and I can 
remember that when we came back there were sad 
scenes of overgrowth and neglect, and it took a lot of 
cleaning up to make the little places tidy for the winter. 

Later I was given another bit of ground close by. 



It was more a general messing-place than a garden, 
though I grew some lettuces and radishes and mustard 
and cress, and did a great deal of work that had not 
much result, but was absorbingly interesting to the 
solitary worker. It was only a few yards behind my 
flower garden, and had the same hedge for its southern 
boundary. On the west was another hedge -bank 
standing up high — I should say nearly six feet — above 
the ground-level. It was not only high but thick ; 
about four yards across. Hazels and biggish Oaks 
grew in it, and there were clumps 
of Brambles where pheasants used 
to make their nests. In one part 
of the hedge there was a thick 
growth of the Black Knapweed 
or Hard-head that you play 
" Soldiers " with. It is surprisingly 
tough in the stem and hard in the 
head. There was a peaty ditch 
on my side, with a slight drain 
of water from the higher ground, 
but never enough to run. It was 
one of my delights to scramble up 
into the high hedge and jump 
down across the ditch into my 
garden. Just at the corner, at the 
angle where the two hedges met, there was a wider place 
in the ditch, and I was always digging out the black 
peaty mud to make a place deep enough to fill my 
watering-pot. On the other sides, away from the 
hedges, there were high old Laurels, great places for 




blackbirds' and thrushes' nests. On one side there 
was a space of about nine feet between the Laurels, 
and here I made my hut. I did not know anything 
about building then, so it was simply made of supple 
willow stems bent over and tied, with other sticks of 
willow and hazel wattled in. I had read somewhere 
about making walls of wattle and clay, and had found 
a place where there was a little clay, but it was some 
way from my garden and in a swampy place, difficult 
to get at. So after digging one or two of my little 
barrowfuls and making a great mess of myself, so that 
I was not very well received in the schoolroom after- 
wards, I gave it up, and my hut remained a hut of 
branches only — in fact a sort of skeleton arbour. The 
only furniture was a stool I made 
of some bits of board. The con- 
struction was not good, and it 
always wobbled when I sat on it, 
but I soon found out how to sit 


very carefully, so as to avoid a 

collapse. If I had only known about putting in a bit 
on edge underneath, and nailing it through the top and 
at the ends, it would have been firm. Meanwhile, I 
used always to think that a grown-up wheelbarrow was 
a very comfortable thing to sit in when you were tired, 
particularly if you had got a cushion or even an old 
sack in it. 

I said I would tell you about plans. A plan is a 
map of a small space on a large scale — you will see 
what scale means presently. The plan shows what it 
represents as if you were looking at it from above. 


If you He on a table on your stomach and look over 
the edge, and if exactly below your eyes there is a 
dinner-plate on the floor, you see the plate in plan. 
But when a house is to be built or a garden is to be 
planned on uneven ground, you must also have a 
section. I have drawn a section below the garden plan 
to show you what it means. It supposes a cut straight 
through the ground. It is very seldom that such a cut 
is actually made, but it is a convenient way of showing 
levels. You see at once by the section how the field 
stands higher than the garden, and you see the steeply- 
sloping hedge-bank with the Foxgloves and Ferns. If 
you look at the plan you will see a dotted line with 
the letters A and B at the two ends, and the title of 
the section says, " Section at A-B." This shows you 
where the section is taken. Then there is another 
point of view that is shown in drawings of buildings 
and in some ground-work. This is called the Elevation. 
It is the view of anything upright, like any side of a 
house when you stand and look straight at it. You 
do not see a thing exactly as it is drawn in the eleva- 
tion, because of perspective ; neither can you see things 
exactly in plan ; but we need not bother about that — 
you will see what is meant. 

So to set out anything that is to be built, or ground- 
work that is to be shaped, you must have Plan, Section, 
and Elevation. In some of the pussy pictures, as at 
p. 1 06, the kittens are shown in plan, while the picture 
of Pinkie at p. 104 gives two elevations. If you put a 
cake on the floor and look at it from above, so that 
you see all the top and none of the sides, you see it in 








plan ; if you stand it up on anything about the level 
of your eye, you see it in elevation ; if you cut it in 
half, each cut surface shows a section. I have drawn 












a few well-known objects in elevation, section, and plan, 
so that I am sure you will understand. 

Some day you will perhaps have big gardens of 
your own, and it will help you immensely to know 
about plans, and still more to be able to make them. 


But I must just tell you something about scale. There 
is a scale on every good plan. It is to show the relation 
between the size of the drawing and the actual size of 
the ground or house. House plans are generally done 
on what is called an eighth scale. That means a scale 
of eight feet to an inch, so that every eighth of an inch 
on the plan means one foot in the house. You will see 
inches divided into eighths on a two-foot rule. 

Now I am telling you all about this because it 
helps so much to understand the shapes of houses and 
gardens when you can see what it means on a plan, 
just as easily as you see the counties of England on a 
map or the printed words on a page ; and further, I 
am telling you about it because when I was grown up 
I should have been so thankful if anybody had shown 
it me when I was small, for I had to find out all about 
it for myself when I was getting quite oldish, and then 
it is not nearly so easy to learn new things. 

I daresay many of you are learning to draw — 
learning freehand drawing. Making plans is called 
mechanical drawing, because it has nothing to do with 
freehand or picture drawing, and is all done with 
instruments and appliances, not with the hand alone. 
If you are wise you will ask to learn just a very little 
mechanical drawing, with a drawing-board and a 
T-square and a set-square, and dividers to mark off 
spaces, and delightful pencil compasses, with which at 
odd times you can make all sorts of amusing patterns. 
The name mechanical drawing sounds rather dull, and 
yet it is full of curious and amusing things. I will 
just tell you one, and the simple way to do it ; then 


the brothers who go to school and learn Euclid will 
tell you the rule of it If you want to set out what 
we commonly call an oval, but which is really an 
elliptical flower-bed, you stick two sticks upright in 
the ground, say eight feet apart. Then you get a 
piece of strong string, put it round the two sticks and 
tie the two ends together about a yard away from the 
stick nearest you when you stand just beyond the two 
sticks and see them in a line. Now you take another 
stick and hold it upright in your hand inside the string 
and pull it so that it tightens the string against the two 
sticks that stand in the ground. Then you walk 
round, always keeping the string tight and the stick 
upright, and scratch a line in the ground with the 
upright stick you are holding — you will find that the 
scratched line is a perfect ellipse. If you want to have 
the bed a certain length and width you must fumble 
about with the fixed sticks and the length of your 
string till you get it. This is called doing it by rule 
of thumb. There is another way of doing it, which is 
the scientific or learned way. This you must find out 
from the mathematical brother who understands Euclid. 
But the rule-of-thumb way is the most amusing — you 
will soon find out that the farther apart you put the 
sticks the narrower and smaller will be the ellipse. 
You can practise it at home by putting a piece of paper 
on a board and driving in two strong pins to represent 
the sticks, and using a bit of thread or stout sewing 
cotton in place of the string, and a pencil for the 
upright stick that you draw the ellipse with. 

One more of these nice dodges I should like to tell 


you, because in setting out ground for garden work it is 
the one that is oftenest wanted. That is to find a right 
angle. Suppose you have a bit of straight path and 
you have to make a path running out of it at a right 
angle. You must have a strong cord with a peg at 
one end — nothing is better than a garden-line, because 
it is all ready and you can wind and unwind it so con- 
veniently ; besides both the peg at the end and the 


winder have nice points to go into the ground. First 
you stick the end peg into the point where the middle 
of the new path has to leave the old one — marked A 
in the diagram. Then from A you mark any length 
(but say about five yards) along the edge of the old 
path to B. Then you hold the line so that you know 
exactly the length from A to B, and you carry it past 
A to C. You mark both the points B and C with a 
little wooden peg. Then you pull up the end line-peg 
from A and drive it in at B. Then you let out the line 


till it is long enough to reach from B to C, and with the 
peg of the winder you scratch a curving line in the 
direction of D, keeping the line tight and the peg 
upright as you scratch. Then you pull up the end 
line-peg from B and drive it in at C, and, keeping the 
cord the same length as before, you scratch another 
curving line in the direction of D. This point, which 
you mark with a wooden peg where these two lines 
cross each other, is an exact right angle from A. 
Now you have a peg at A, and another where the 
scratched lines cross. You go to A and stand behind 
it, and make that peg come in a line with the one at D, 
and this gives you the measuring line, so that you can 
stick pegs straight with these two, or set the garden 
line, and make as long a line as you 
please. This is Euclid too, and 
you can also practise it at home 
with pins and thread, and easiest of 
all on paper on the drawing-board, 
with the T-square and set-square. 
There is another way of doing it 


out of doors with a builder's square, 

— a wooden thing like the letter L, with a brace across 

to keep it in shape ; but unless you have a very true 

line to put it against on one side you are apt to go 




I SUPPOSE your own garden is quite a little place, 
and if that is so you cannot have a great many different 
kinds of plants in it ; so I want to tell you what I think 
are just the best things for you to have. The very best 
gardener finds it difficult to keep one bit of garden full 
of flowers from spring to autumn, so it will be well if 
you can have some plants from the big garden, planted 
in the autumn for your spring display, and then taken 
up after flowering and put in a bit of reserve ground 
to be replanted in the autumn ; and to fill their places 
with good half-hardy annuals, such as dwarf African 
and French Marigolds, Ageratum and China Asters, 
with a few Verbenas, Heliotropes, or any kinds you 
like best of what are called bedding-plants, that you 
can beg from the gardener and plant in the beginning 
of June. 

But you should have a few tufts of Daffodils, 
Crocuses, and Snowdrops, with Aubrietia, Cerastium, 
yellow Alyssum and double Arabis, and some of that 
pretty Forget - me - not, Myosotis dissitiflora. Then I 
should advise a few Tulips : Chrysolora (yellow), White 




Swan (white), and Cottage Maid (pink). The Aubrietia, 
Cerastium, and Forget-me-not are the plants that could 
be taken away to make room for the later things. 
There should be a plant of Iberis, not taken up, for, 
though it flowers only in spring, the fine dark foliage 
looks well with other plants all the year ; and there 
must be Columbines (the large white is the best), 
because they are such lovely and amusing flowers, with 
their flights of little doves sitting all round facing each 

There must be some tufts of white Pinks, or better 
still, a part of the garden might be edged with it, and 
part with London Pride. Here is a picture of one end 
of my own spring garden, but you cannot have yours 
quite so full of flowers in April and May, because mine 
is in a corner that is given entirely to spring flowers, 
and I do not expect it to be anything but a spring 

You should have, if possible, a plant or two of Phlox 
divaricata^ with its masses of pretty pale bluish -lilac 
bloom, and one or two of the little Irises that flower 
in May ; the prettiest is the Crimean Iris {Iris pumila 
cosrulea). If your garden has a cool corner it should 
have Musk, and a plant of Foam-flower {Tiarella). 

Perennial Lupines are biggish things, and so are the 
Flag Irises and the old garden Peonies ; but if there is 
space there should be a tuft of each. Then for June 
there should be a clump of orange Lilies and one or 
two white Foxgloves, and again in the cool place the 
beautiful blue Cranesbill {Geranium ibericum platy- 


Among Roses you should certainly have the pompon 
Rose called Mignonette, the sweetest little neat bush 
with pale-pink flowers, and a China Rose, and one each 
of Damask and Cabbage Roses. I am afraid you will 
not have room for more ; but if there is an arbour or 
any sort of hedge or fence that you can grow Roses 
over, you could have one or two of the rambling kinds ; 
and if your garden should be next to a Holly or any 
tall-growing shrub, you could have any of these, or, best 
of all, a Garland Rose, and let it run up the tree and 
partly tumble out, so that some of its charming bloom 
is within nose reach. Rose arches are always pretty, 
but whether they will be desirable will depend on the 
shape of your garden, and how you approach it. 

You must, of course, have some Snapdragons, 
begged from the gardener, who will have sown them 
early in March, and pricked them off in April into 
boxes or frames. You should learn how to do this, 
and when you get handy I daresay the gardener will 
be glad of your help. You must also ask him for 
some Canterbury Bells in October or November, for 
they are some of the very best plants in July. And 
you should have one tuft of the pretty white Bell- 
flower Campanula persicifolia. 

From July till the autumn the brightness of your 
little garden will depend a good deal on the half-hardy 
annuals and other bedding things, that were planted 
out in the first days of June, to follow the spring 
plants that were taken up, and to fill all bare places. 

There should be, if possible, one or two plants of 
the short -growing Michaelmas Daisies ; the prettiest 




are called acris and Amellus. I am afraid you will 
have no room for the big grand plants of late summer 
and autumn, the Delphiniums, Dahlias, Hollyhocks, 
Tritomas, and so on. But you will enjoy these and be 
learning how to use them in the bigger home garden. 

You may not even have room for all the plants I 
have named ; if not you must choose from them the 
ones you like best. You should, if possible, have a 
little hedge of Sweet-Peas — sown early in March they 
flower in July, and remember, with these especially, 
but also with all other flowers, that if you want them 
to go on blooming you must cut off" the faded flowers 
before they grow into big seed-pods. 

If there should be any places where you can 
sow seeds of annuals in March, I think the nicest 
are Mignonette, blue Nemophila and Phacelia (two 
beautiful blues), pink Hawkweed, Love - in -a -Mist, 
double rose Godetia and dwarf Nasturtiums. 

If you have any rough stone steps or a bit of paving 
in front of a seat or anywhere, remember how pretty 
it is to have some little plant like the small Bellflower 
Campanula pusilla running along under the steps, or 
Arenaria balearica growing all over their upright fronts, 
if these are in shade ; or how nice it is to have some 
pretty little thing here and there in the joints of the 
paving. You see Thrift growing like this in the 
picture — do you see Blackie on the seat ? — and there 
is a charming little tiny thing, an annual, called 
lonopsidium, acaiile that should be sown in the joints 
of the stones early in September to flower next year, 
and that will ever after sow itself again. 


All the year you must be looking out for weeds and 
must see that you pull them up before they flower or 
seed. Nothing in gardening is more true than the old 
saying, " One year's seeding makes seven years' weed- 
ing " ; and you must be watching to see if a plant 
wants a stick. Canterbury Bells and Columbines are 
sure to want sticks. When you tie a plant to a stick 
it is safest to give the raffia a whole turn round the 


stick before passing it round the stem of the plant, 
then it does not slip ; and mind you tie a proper knot, 
not what sailors call a " granny." The right knot 
holds tight, but the granny has a nasty twist in it that 
easily pulls into a treacherous slip-knot, or pulls out 
at one end. I have drawn the knots before they are 
pulled up to show more clearly how they go. You 
should practise these knots, so as to be sure to get it 
right. The proper knot is called a reef-knot, because 
it is the knot always used by sailors in reefing, or tying 
up sails. 




Perhaps you will say that the lawn is not the sort 
of place where you expect to meet with adventures. 
Well, perhaps it is not, and yet such odd and unex- 
pected things happen on it, things that are so 
deliciously thrilling, that I think I am hardly using too 
strong a word when I say " adventures." This summer 
it is hedgehogs. They are such interesting, mysterious 
creatures. I do not know how many there are about, 
but hardly a day passes without my seeing or hearing 
one. Of course they are easy to see when they come 
out on the lawn, and when I say " hearing one " I 
don't mean that it squeaks or grunts or makes any 
vocal sound, but that I hear the harsh noise of its 
bristles as it pushes through the low-lying branches of 
the shrubs at the edge of the grass. 

The first one I met this year was on the narrow bit 
of lawn between the house and the wood. He was 
close to the Scotch Brier hedge that runs right and 
left of the steps that go up from the path on the south 
side of the house to the grass. Last year there was 
only one of his kind that we knew of; he used to 

8i G 


come into the back-yard when it was getting dark and 
drink up what was left of the milk in the pussies' 
saucers. I thought perhaps this one would like some 
milk, but I am afraid I had begun to make his 
acquaintance badly by touching him with the tip of 
a stick instead of making him some complimentary 
speeches, for he had rolled himself up into a tight, 
prickly ball, and was very huffy. I left him for half 
an hour to see if he would recover his temper, and 
when I came back to do his photograph he was half 
unrolled. I thought this looked promising, so I got 
him a saucer of milk and then photographed him. 
But it was no good, for an hour later I went to the 
place and found Piggy gone and the milk untouched. 
Tavy came round just then and lapped it up. 

But there is another one that comes to the part of 
the lawn where it is bigger and wider. He is much 
tamer, and seems to like to be talked to. The natural 
history books say that the hedgehog is an animal of 
nocturnal habits, meaning that it lies quiet and hidden 
in the day-time and wanders about and hunts for food 
at night. But this one lies out for hours in the sun on 
the lawn and seems to enjoy it. After I had photo- 
graphed him he kept so still for quite a long time that 
I really began to think he must be dead, for though I 
looked quite close I could not see the slightest move- 
ment of the soft fur under the bristles that I thought I 
should see move as he breathed. I waited, watching 
quite quietly. Presently a blue -bottle fly came and 
settled on his snout ; still he did not move. But the 
blue-bottle, fussing about his face got on to the edge 



of one of his eyes, and then he seemed to wake up, for 
he jerked his head suddenly to one side. I was quite 
relieved, and went to the kitchen and got the cook to 
give me a little sliver of raw meat off an uncooked 
leg of mutton, and stuck it on the end of a thin stick 
with a sharp point and took it to him. Cautiously I 
approached him and slowly brought the meat close to 
his nose. He sniffed it, and then at once took it in 
his mouth and chumped it up, and seemed to enjoy it 
immensely. It really was quite an adventure. 

Once the gardener came running to me, much excited, 
and said — " There's a tortoise-shell on the lawn." I 
thought he meant a strange tortoise-shell cat, but went 
to see what it was, and, behold, there was a big tortoise ! 
How it got there I cannot think, for there are only 
three houses within a near walk, and none of their 
owners had had tortoises. It has always remained an 
unexplained mystery. But I like mysteries, and hope 
you do too. 

One day I had just come off the lawn on to the 
narrow terrace just above it against the west side of the 
house. I wanted to enjoy a good look at the lovely 
blue Convolvulus called " Heavenly Blue." It was 
climbing over the lower part of a vine. Moving some 
of the vine leaves with my hand I saw something dark 
against the stone wall. Looking closer I saw it was a 
bat. There he was, fast asleep, hanging up, as bats 
always do, by his hind feet, that were tight into a crack 
between the stones. One of his wings was partly 
unfolded, and the little claw at the end was also cling- 
ing to the stone. I thought it too good a chance 


to be lost, so I ran and got the camera and then tied 
back some of the vine branches to get a clear view of 
him. I was half afraid he would wake up and be off, 
but he never stirred. Their way is to sleep in the day- 
time and to fly about in the evening, as soon as it is 
nearly dark. 

Perhaps my lawn in itself is more interesting than 
lawns in general. The soil is sandy with a very little 
peat, and the fine grasses and little flowers that grow in 
it are the grasses and flowers of the wild heath-land 
that I have always loved. A good deal of actual heath 
grows among the grass, and quantities of the sweet Wild 
Thyme and the pretty little Mouse -ear Hawkweed 
and white Bedstraw, and the small Milkwort. Nearly 
always where this pretty little plant grows it bears 
flowers of three colours ; each colour on a different 
plant. So it does here, for in one patch the flowers are 
light blue, in another pink, and in another white. I 
love the lawn just before it has to be mowed, for when 
this is done the cruel machine cuts off all the sweet 
little flowers ; the only patch of Thyme that escapes 
grows just at the top of some steps, out of the way of 
the machine. 

This year there was a new lawn incident — a patch 
of the curious Dodder. It looks like a sort of badly- 
made pink cobweb of no particular pattern ; just pink 
threads crossing and tangling, and odd little stiff, tight, 
waxy flowers without stalks — nothing else — no leaves, 
only pinkish threads and flowers. It is one of those 
curious plants called parasites that do not grow honestly 
in the ground, but, like vegetable vampires, suck the 












blood of other plants. Dodder generally grows on 
Clover or Heath. Of course it is very bad for the 
unfortunate plant it grows on, but, all the same, as it 
is not a very common thing, and is so very curious, I 
like to see it on the lawn. 

After rainy weather in August there are always a 
few real Mushrooms, and later, among a number of 
other funguses, a handsome show of the great red Toad- 
stools that always come where there are Birch-trees. 
Their proper name is Fly Agaric. They are a brilliant 
scarlet-red on top, with little white knobs ; the gills 
underneath are white. They are very poisonous. Close 
to them grow other funguses, some of them eatable, the 
Parasol Mushroom being very good indeed, but I won't 
describe this, because it is rather like some other kinds 
that are dangerous. But 
there is one capital fungus 
that you cannot mistake if 
you attend carefully to what 
I describe. This is the 
Chantarelle. It does not 
grow in the lawn or even 
in open grassy places, but 
there are some in the wood 
close by, and I had better 
tell you about it. It gener- 
ally grows under Oaks in 
cool, rather hollow places, 
where leaf-mould has ac- 
cumulated. You will see 
what it looks like by the picture, and it has just the 



colour and the smell of a ripe apricot. The picture 
makes it look a little harder than it really is, for the 
texture of the gills is almost buttery. It shows one of 
medium size, but they are often larger, and when they 
are of the larger sizes the edges are more waved and 
stand more upright, like an umbrella blown inside out. 
If there is good rain towards the end of August it 
wakes up the Chantarelles and makes them grow, and 
they generally go on till about the middle of Sep- 
tember. They are nice plain broiled, like Mushrooms, 
or stewed in stock and finished with a little cream. I 
always delight in them, not only because they are very 
good to eat, but because the looking for them takes 
one into such pretty woody places. 

I must tell you about my owl. When my house 
was built eleven years ago I had a little opening left 
in one of the end gables. You 
know the ceilings of bedrooms do 
not go right up to the top of the 
roof. The ceiling is flat and the 
roof pitches up both ways to the 

THE OWL'S HOUSE. . ,. v-v- IIJ^u 'J 

top Ime, which is called the ridge, 
so that there is a triangular space inside between the 
ridge and the woodwork that supports the ceiling. Owls 
are fond of getting into places of this sort, but though I 
hoped an owl would come I didn't want to have him 
flopping about all over inside the roof, and perhaps 
hooting or screaming just over our beds at night, and 
frightening us out of our wits ; so just inside the 
opening I had a wooden enclosure made so that he 
would have a nice little room to himself. Year after 


rrs A PRICKLY job: 


year passed but no owl came. But this spring I saw 
a dark roundish object lying on the paving just under 
the opening I had provided for his entrance. I seized 
upon it, for I thought it meant that an owl had come 
at last. I broke it up and found it was what I ex- 
pected. It was an owl's pellet. They hunt in the 
late evening and catch and eat numbers of mice, and 
seem to swallow them whole. Their insides, after 
digesting the flesh of the mice, work up the fur and 
bones into long-shaped balls, which the owls throw up. 
How I should have liked to see my owl sitting at 
the door of his house disgorging his pellet ! This is 
evidently what he does, for I have found a number of 
them in the same place. I have never yet actually 
seen him myself, but the gardener saw him one light 
summer night flying back to his door, no doubt with 
a mouse, and we often hear him round about the house 
at night. It is one of my adventures. 

Another of my adventures is stalactites. It is an 
adventure in three chapters. 

Chapter I. — As children we used to have an old book 
with pictures about all sorts of wonderful natural things, 
icebergs and Niagaras and whirlpools and volcanoes, 
and the immense caves and subterranean lakes that 
are found in the hearts of some mountains. It was 
called Wonders of Creation, or something like that, I 
used to look at the pictures with a sort of dreadful 
pleasure, but I think nothing delighted my excited 
imagination so much as the picture of some vast 
cave where there were stalactites, the curious great 
stone icicles that form where water impregnated with 


lime drips slowly, and where corresponding ones called 
stalagmites rise up from the floor of the cave to meet 

Chapter II. — When I built my barn and stable, 
there was a place made at one end that I thought 
would do to grow Mushrooms in. It has never been 
used for that purpose, though it is very useful in other 
ways, but it is always called the Mushroom-house. It 
is partly underground, the walls are thick and of solid 
stone, and the top is solid stone too, built barrel-shaped. 
It is made so because I wanted to have a large open- 
air tank over it that would collect the rain-water from 
the barn. This was done, and the floor of the tank 
over the Mushroom-house was cemented. But when 
the tank is full there is an immense weight of water 
pressing upon the roof of the Mushroom-house, and 
just a very little water seems to be squeezed through 
the cement and stone. It does not come into the 
lower place, but makes a very slow drip just at the 
rough stone arch over the door. 

Chapter III. — Little stalactites are forming, to my 
great delight ! Look at the picture and you will see 
them ! 



There can be no doubt that the proper place for our 
shoes and stockings is on or near a garden bench, 
where we kicked and grabbed them off, as the picture 
shows, even if we so far conformed to the ways of 
civilisation as to put them on at all. In fact they are 
generally left indoors. How happy we are nowadays, 
that we can be allowed the comfort of going barefoot. 
Do you know, when I was a child we did not even 
paddle when we were at the sea-side ; that delight had 
not been invented. We went to bathe in a horrible 
bathing-machine ; there was not even such a thing as 
a bathing-tent or hut by the shore. It is true we had 
wooden spades, and made moated castles, when the 
incoming tide first filled the moat and then melted the 
castle, but it was all done in shoes and stockings. But 
in many places we can do sand-games at home, for if 
there should happen to be somewhere just on the edge 
of the home garden that delightful thing a sand-pit, it 
is a place of everlasting joy when one is small, and even 
when one is growing fairly biggish. We dig out arched 
recesses to sit in, and we build castles and all sorts of 



houses with the heap of loose sand at the bottom. It 
is a great help to have a few common roofing tiles, or 
half tiles, because they are so useful for making the 
tops of doors and windows, and the sides too. And 
then we get some flowers and make quite a pretty- 
garden round the house. Of course it is grand if our 
father happens to be an architect, and sometimes likes 
■ to play too, and shows us how to do buildings. A 
large round castle is a good thing to make, with thick 
walls carried up as high as we can get them, and one 
door in the bottom. Then we put some dry grass and 
leaves and sticks inside, with paper under, and light it 
at the door hole, and have quite a fine castle on fire. 

But you will find out endless ways of playing with 
the sand-pit. Perhaps there will be some loose stones 
lying about for all sorts of play-building. The pit need 
not be so deep as the one in my picture, where 
Christopher is climbing up the dizzy heights, having 
deposited his small brother on a safe shelf at a lower 
level. Do you see the row of holes in the face of 
the pit rather high up — they are made by the sand- 
martins, pretty little birds of the swallow kind that 
migrate, as naturalists say, meaning that the bird is 
in England only a part of the year. They come in 
March or April and are gone early in September. They 
make neat round holes in the sand, boring deep into 
it, so that the nests are nearly two feet from the 
entrance hole. They are what is called gregarious, 
meaning that a number of them make their homes 
near together. In digging their holes they carefully 
choose just the kind of sand that suits them best. 




-»i-»'' ""V, 

r/y£ SAND PIT. 



You can tell this by seeing that the nest holes are 
always in rows. The sand lies in what geologists call 
strata. A geologist is a man who knows all about 
stones and how the earth is made. A stratum (which is 
really a Latin word adopted by the English language) 
means a layer. Nearly all our earth is in layers or 
strata of one kind or another. In a sand-pit or any 
quarry you can generally see the strata, because either 
they are different in colour, or the harder ones stick 
out a little because the softer get dislodged or washed 
out by wind and rain. So you see the sand-martin 
looks out for a stratum that just suits him for digging 
— not too hard for his tender little bill, and not so soft 
that it would crumble away. You see they like playing 
in the sand-pit too, only their play is in good earnest. 

Where there are sandy places there are generally 
Fir-trees. We look out for the fallen cones. They 
are well worth collecting ; they are such capital things 
to brighten up a dull fire in the nursery or schoolroom. 
Even the smallest of us who are big enough to do any- 
thing can collect fir-cones. Dorothea is only six, and 
does it capitally. There should be a big bag or box 
filled with them for the fire of the play-house parlour. 

Then where there are sand and Fir-trees there is 
pretty sure to be Bracken Fern, and we make fern- 
pegs for pegging down Verbenas and Phlox Drummondi^ 
and for layering Carnations. The gardener is very 
glad to have them, and he does so much for us that 
it is nice to be able to do something really useful for 
him. It is not work for the younger but for the older 
children, because it has to be done with a sharp knife, 


also the Fern is best cut with a fag-hook, another 
sharp-edged thing. The pegs are best cut in August, 
when the Fern stems are firm and hard. You cut the 
whole fronds with the fag-hook and lay them all one way 
in some nice shady place near, carrying the cut fronds 

very carefully so as not to 
break them. You have some 
low seat to sit on, and put it at 
the stalk end of the ridge of 
cut Fern. Then you take a 
frond by the thick end and cut 
off the side branches an inch 
from the stem. Each stem 
makes two, sometimes three 
good pegs. Then you cut the 
FERN PEGS. stem so that each peg will be 

three and a half to four inches long. It is not much use 
leaving both crooks on the peg, but when the stem 
is big and strong the thickest one can have the stem 
sliced right down, making two pegs. The pegs can be 
used the same year, but it is much better if they are 
made one year to use the next ; they dry up so nice 
and hard. Besides, if you use them the same year you 
have to cut them early in July, when the Fern is not 
so strong, because by the middle of July you want 
them for use. I never advise that the growing fronds 
should be cut with a knife, because you are so likely to 
get a cut finger, not from the knife but from the outer 
edge of the fern stem, which has a coating almost like 
glass. By using a fag-hook or reaping-hook your 
hand is well away from where the cut is made. 



I had always great delight in watching and feeding 
the fire at the garden burn-heap. I have the same 
pleasure in it now that I am old. It is such a clean, 
tidy, satisfactory way of getting rid of all the cart-loads 
of rubbish that come out of a well-kept garden, and it 
makes such a nice excitement, and then there is such a 
good smell, and one has to be up to all sorts of dodges 
to keep out of the smoke. What a smoke it does make 
if there has been rain and a good deal of the stuff is 
rather wet, or if there are many green weeds to burn 
up. Then when it is all burnt, and the great heap of 
ashes is left, still with a smouldering heart of red fire 
inside, we beg some big potatoes and put them in at 
the bottom — not too far in or they would be burnt, 
but far enough for them to be nicely roasted in about 
three-quarters of an hour. We time it to suit a play- 
house tea or supper, and they just are good with a 
little butter, pepper, and salt ; and it is all the more 
amusing because our plates get rather messed with the 
remains of the burn-heap ashes that stick to their 

While we are about fires, I want to tell you my 
way of making a picnic fire. In many places there is 
rough ground adjoining the aome garden, where it is 
nice to take out the tea and boil the kettle and have 
a sort of home picnic, and of course the same way of 
making the fire applies to any more distant place. 
I never make a great sprawling untidy blaze, that 
perhaps in dry weather sets fire to the bushes near, 
and leaves a nasty great space of black and grey ashes. 
When I used to make picnic fires in all sorts of beautiful 


places all over the country, it was necessary to make 
them small and neat, for most of the places were on 
heath -land, where, if you are not careful, you may 
set fire to the whole place and do a great deal of 
damage. I always choose a place in uneven ground ; 
if possible a bit of steep bank, which should face the 
direction of the wind. 

You hold up a handkerchief to find out which way 
the wind is, or if the wind is very slight burn a bit of 
paper, when the smoke will show you the way it blows. 
Even if there is hardly any wind it is comfortable to 
have the smoke blow away from you ; besides, it helps 
the draught of the fire. 

I always took a spade and a pair of bellows, and 
made it a point of honour to have the kettle boiling 
within five minutes of lighting the fire. It is much 
better to take a bag of fuel than to depend on what 
you can pick up ; I always had bits of deal about six 
inches long and anything from a quarter to three- 
quarters of an inch thick. These go in the fuel-bag, 
with the box of matches and some bits of newspaper. 
My square, flat-shaped kettle I had made on purpose. 
The upper part is tinned iron and the bottom copper. 
The picture shows it ; it is nine inches long and seven 
wide ; the sides are two inches high. Then I have 
two small iron bars, square in section, fourteen inches 
long by three-eighths of an inch thick. Having found 
out the way of the wind and chosen the bit of bank 
facing it, I cut a neat hole in the bank with the spade, 
the same width as the kettle, that is seven inches, and 
the other way two inches longer than the length of the 


kettle. The kettle is nine inches long, so that makes 
eleven inches. It is more convenient to get at if the 
bottom of the fire-hole is a little way up the bank, as 
you see in the drawings, not quite down on the lowest 
ground-level. Then at the height where the kettle 
will sit, which is barely five inches from the bottom of 
the fire, I cut the bank nice and level on each side of 


iw\/MfA ,M ^ P i).*."^'.'/'/!., ■ 

^ ^— 


i Turf p"^T^ Tt/Rr ] M"> 




fc:*. /n.. 

— ^ / * ' 


"", 'vj FIRE }.\>'-'.«"' " 

')i « ,..'ji'„, (II 

\ » ' 




In the right-hand figure the bottom of the fire is shown by a dotted line, and the side 
turfs are omitted for the sake of clearness. 

the fire-hole for about ten inches to right and left. 
On this level the irons are laid, about five inches apart, 
and the kettle is put on. You will find you have two 
inches between the back of the kettle and the bank. 
You must see that it is all nice and level, and that the 
kettle sits quite firm and comfortable. Now you take 
the spade again and look out where you can cut two 
good solid turfs, twelve inches long by ten wide and 
three inches thick. You lay them carefully, turf side 
up, over the ends of the irons by the side of the kettle. 
Unless the bank is quite steep it is as well to put 
another turf across the back of the fire-hole. 

All this sounds much more elaborate than it really 
is. When you know what to do it takes barely three 
minutes, and if you will get a flat-bottomed kettle, and 


do it exactly as I have described, I don't think you 
will ever want to make a picnic fire any other way as 
long as you live. 

When you have done with the fire you pour the 
spare water from the kettle on it, taking care that not 
a single live spark remains, you put back the turfs 
where they came from, and leave the place looking as 
much as possible as if it had never been disturbed. 
No debris or rubbish of any kind must be left lying 
about. Bits of paper go back into the picnic basket, 
and not even a chicken-bone must be left on the 
ground. You have the spade, and can bury everything, 
or you can bury things in the fireplace. 

Sometimes I have built little tea-kitchens for per- 
manent use, but with fire-bricks, in some favourite place 
in private ground near home, but they were always on 
the same pattern. Their only advantage is that you 
save a few minutes' time and need not take the spade, 
but then they are not always right for the wind. 

Nothing is more delightful than any sort of playing 
with water. In places where there is no safe pool or 
stream we can get some fun out of a fountain basin or 
a garden tank ; even if it is only sitting on the edge 
and dabbling our toes on hot summer days. 

I used to invite Bar and Pam to what we called a 
tank-party (of only ourselves) whenever my stone-built 
tank, which is ten feet square and two feet deep, was 
nicely cleaned out and had had fresh water let in. A 
stout bit of plank floats in it, called the pussies' safety- 
plank, because, if a pussy slipped in and the water 
happened to be low, he could not get out, but he could 



get on the plank and then jump out. One day when 
they were in the tank — not bathing, as they did some- 
times, but only paddling — I found they had borrowed 
a hand-bowl from my workshop close by, and having 
filled it with water were sailing it backwards and for- 
wards across the tank. " Look," they said, " this is an 
artesian well ; it is crossing the Channel, sent by the 
King as a present to the President of the French 
Republic. You know we have just been learning all 
about artesian wells." I complimented them on having 
so accurately grasped the idea of the nature and 
properties of artesian wells, and only wished I were 
another of their size, that I too might paddle in the 
tank and delight in my funny imaginings. 




My garden would not be half the pleasure it is to me 
without the pussies. I hope you love them as much 
as I do. They are perfect garden companions. When 
I am out at work there is sure to be one or other of 
them close by, lying on my jacket or on a bench if 
there is one near. When it is Tabby, if there is an 
empty basket anywhere handy he is certain to get into 
it. When I take one of my baskets for flowers — of the 
pattern that I invented and always use — if I put it 
down for a moment Tabby takes possession. One day 
I was bringing the basket home full of Hydrangeas, 
and put it down to see if there were any figs ripe. I 
did not see what was going on behind my back, but 
when I turned round to take up the flowers there he 
was established in the basket ; some of the Hydrangeas 
were pushed out on to the grass, and Tabby had com- 
posed himself to sleep among the rest. 

Another day I was doing photographs down the 
garden with spare plates in a palm-leaf basket. When 
I wanted more plates he had made himself so com- 
fortable that I could not bear to disturb him, so I went 




indoors and got more plates and made his picture. 
When I had done one he stretched himself, gave an 
immense yawn, and settled himself again in a still more 
reposeful position. 

He is particularly fond of the spring garden, where 
there is a patch of grass and a wooden seat, and Nut- 
trees and Oaks. It is sheltered and secluded, and there 
are banks where he can lie in the sun, and cool retreats 
when it is too hot, and also Yews and Hollies, under 
which he can always find a dry place when other parts 
of the ground are damp. One bank is covered with 
Cerastium ; this he thinks is just suitable for his bed. 
I often find him there, and though it is not quite the 
best thing for the Cerastium I cannot help admiring 
his beautiful rich tabby coat, with its large black clouds, 
so well set off by the velvety grey of the little downy 
plant. He is an old pussy now, and when you meet 
him coming along a path it must be confessed that he 
is too fat and has lost his figure. But it only shows 
when he is walking, for when he is sitting, or lying 
comfortably curled or tucked, and especially when he 
is on his gate-post, looking out so proud and fine — 
his picture is at the beginning of the book — you 
would never call him a fat old cat. When he was 
younger I would hold the gate open, and he would 
jump from post to post. When I am near his favourite 
region and do not see him, I call to him ; if he does 
not come at once and I walk on I am pretty sure to 
hear him asking where I am within a minute or two. 

There is a little bit of turf between the two wings 
of the house that is another of his favourite haunts. I 


did his picture as he lay stretched out quite flat, asleep, 
with his back to me, one fine summer day. When I 
had done I said "Tabby." He just turned straight 
over, presenting his tummy, and I did the second 

Like most cats he is devoted to the pretty plant 
Catmint. It is in several places in the garden. He 
knows where every plant is and never passes one when 
we are walking together without stopping to nuzzle 
and nibble it. If I stop to watch him, when he has 
had his first taste he will push himself right into the 
middle of the plant and sometimes lie down and roll 
in it to get all he can of the sweet smell. 

But you should see Blackie in the Catmint. He 

seems to go quite crazy with delight, jumps straight up 

in the air and comes down flop 

"^^^^ into the middle, dances in it and 

^^m twists about, and then comes 

^^^^^^ out and does it all over again. 

^^^^9f^ ^^ ^^ '^'^^y ^^ ^^^ kitten as yet, 

^JH^^^ and extremely agile, but the 

^^^^^K^Si Catmint seems to inspire him 

-V/ with a sort of frenzy of frantic 

pleasure and excitement. I wish 

■*V' ^ 1^. I could have photographed him, 

^ ,>— ^"X :')L C0 4?''/'- but my camera is not quick 

^ii,,' / ^ ' '-"^^ : <r ' enough, and I have to be con- 

BLACKiE AND THE CATMINT, tent with glvittg you a sketch 

from recollection. He had a 
pretty trick when he was quite a little fellow ; I would 
hold out my hand about a foot from the ground, 

,^^^t :> - 






say " Come, Blackie," and he would jump into my 

Tittlebat is only too sociable both indoors and out. 
When I settle mysel." before the fire with a book or 
newspaper he jumps up on my lap and insists on being 
petted ; pushes the book away with his beautiful sleek 
head and nuzzles his nose into my hand again and 
again, and only consents to be quiet when I have given 
him the amount of attention that he considers his due. 
One day I had to go to the Rectory as it was getting 
dark, and did not know that he was following me. 
The way is across the lawn and through a region of 
Oaks and Hollies, then through the frame yard and all 
the length of the kitchen garden, past some Quince- 
trees and out into the main road by the gardener's 
cottage. It is not far beyond that to the Rectory. 
When I came back it was quite dark. Passing the 
Quince-trees I heard a disturbance in one of them, and 
something scrambled down to the ground. I thought it 
was some neighbour's cock or hen gone to roost in the 
tree, but the thing said May-ow, and I knew my dear 
Tittlebat's voice. He had followed me down and got 
up into the Quince to wait till I came back. 

He is quite the most affectionate pussy I have 
ever known, and nothing, except dogs or a strange cat 
stalking about, has ever been known to ruffle his 
temper. I brought him as a kitten from the Isle of 
Wight, where I went one autumn to a farm lodging. 
I had left a family of little kittens at home, and on 
arriving felt rather desolate at having no small pussy 
playmates. But the next morning, to my delight, I 


saw two very shy little faces peeping out of some 
shrubs and garden plants that were opposite my 
sitting-room window, with only a narrow strip of grass 
between. As soon as I had finished my breakfast I 
went out to try and make friends, but the kittens were 
very wild ; they had never been tamed or handled. 
There was a Dahlia just in front of my window at the 
edge of the bushes. One of its branches stuck out a 
little, and to this I tied a string with a bit of white 
paper fastened in the end, so that it swung about. 
Then I went in and watched. Presently the darker 
and more handsomely marked of the two little brothers 
(my future Tittlebat) came out very cautiously and 
examined the strange object. It moved and he made 
a dart at it, which made it swing still farther. He 
soon found out that it was a capital thing to play with. 
Then his brother came too, and they had a great game. 
Next morning at breakfast I poured a little milk into 
a saucer and put it on the grass near the plaything. 
They came to it by little cautious advances, and 
lapped up the milk while I stood within sight at the 
open window. Then I made another plaything, the 
same as the Dahlia one, only on a stick, like a fishing- 
rod, so that I could play it from the window. After a 
little hesitation they came to play with it. This was 
a grand step, because they saw me at the window 
all the time. Next I put the saucer of milk on the 
window-sill, and great was my pleasure when Tittlebat 
came to it. He was the bigger and stronger of the 
two, and always took the lead. The next thing was 
to have the milk on a table put close to the window 




inside the room. They were attracted to it by means 
of the plaything, played first on the grass and then on 
the window-sill. They came up and on to the table. 
This was a great advance, and while they were lapping 
I just stroked them a little, very gently, taking care 
to bring my hand near them very slowly. A quick 
movement would have frightened them. Then I knew 
that I had got their confidence. I think this was about 
five days after the first offer of friendship. Then I 
pretended to take no notice of them, but you may be 
sure I was keeping a good watch out of the corner of 
my eye, and the next day they came up to the window 
and into the room of their own accord. Before my 
fortnight was over Tittlebat came to me as a regular 
thing, sitting on my lap or my shoulder and purring 
me his little song while I read or worked. You may 
imagine that when I went away I could not bear to 
leave him, so I begged to have him and took him 
home with me, where I at once gave him into the 
charge of Pinkie, a young pussy of my own rearing only 
a few months older. They took to each other at once, 
and very soon became quite inseparable ; in fact, if 
they were ever apart Pinkie was miserable, and would 
cry most lamentably, looking about for his dear 

You might think from his picture that Pinkie was 
nearly white, but though his white tummy is very 
extensive all his back is tabby. The tabby comes 
down into the white on his sides in a way that always 
makes me think of geography. On the west side two 
large portions of the Cat-back continent, like two 



Indias, jut out into the white, which is the Indian 
Ocean. On the east side there is only one India 
or South Africa, extending into the Catlantic Ocean, 
but on his shoulder there is a large blunt promontory, 
and a nearly round, almost black island, which has a 
very handsome effect on the ground of white fur. 

p ( N 1^ I E' 





Tavy is very fond of that place just at the top ot 
the steps opposite the door of the sitting-room to the 
garden. He likes to sit there when he knows I am 
near him inside, and keeps an eye on the wood close 
by, where there are always some objects of interest, if 
not in sight at least within hearing. He is red tabby 
and white. He does not come with me so much in 
the garden as the others, but indoors he is my most 

, - — -■ ; _^ _, 

i^-i— '■ 

*" " Ol* i. ■■ ■ W -» ' 

^ — - 





constant companion of all. His fur is deliciously soft 
and fine, and he has dainty pretty ways, quite little 
lady-ways, we always say. He has one odd trick that 
I do not remember having seen in any other cat. He 
puffs out his tail when he is pleased — usually a 
short-haired cat puffs out his tail only when he is 
frightened, or angry, or fighting. But Tavy makes a 
beautiful tail when we are playing together, and he is 
quite pleased with himself and with me. On the rare 
occasions when he walks with me in the garden — he 
is jealous, and will never come if any other cat is 
present, he makes a beautiful tail and walks in a very 
odd way — a sort of waddling strut ; we call it Tavy's 
ingratiating waddle ; purring hard all the time and 
expecting a great deal of praise and attention. 

Dorothea's home is a short mile away. It is a 
delightful house, with beautiful wild ground and garden 
all round it. Pussies are much loved there. A 
curious thing happened. One morning two tiny long- 
haired kittens, one black and one red, were found on 
the doorstep, crying with hunger and begging to be 
taken in. Where they came from, or how they found 
their way to the house will always be a mystery, for 
they were baby things, almost too small to have left 
their mother. No other house is near, and what 
wonderful instinct guided the little waifs to that kind 
door no one will ever know. They were cold and 
starving and bedraggled, as if they had travelled far. 
They were taken in and fed and cleaned and given 
warm beds, and very soon became quite strong and 
lively. When I went there a few days later, to take 



Dorothea a wreath of white roses, the little black 
kitten was frisking about, and Dorothea said, " Kitty 


has been trying to climb the Passion-tree." This was 
a Passion -Flower, with the lower part of the stem 
grown thick and woody, that grew against the house, 



just beyond these steps of the Dutch Rose garden that 
you see in the picture. 

I was told of a little girl who invented a beautiful 



word to describe a pussy purring. She said, " Puss 
has got the flutter-mill going." 

It is amusing to see the different patterns that 
kittens lying in a round basket will sometimes get into. 
I have seen five kittens almost symmetrically arranged 
like cutlets in a dish, and four with their little paws all 
up in the middle like a pigeon pie. It was almost 
impossible to believe that only four small people could 
have so many little toes. Three kittens at nearly equal 
distances round a saucer of milk make quite a pretty 
pattern. The architect said it was an equicateral 
triangle ! 


Annuals, 24, 79 ; sowing, 35 ; half- 
hardy, 76 
Arbour Rose, 67 
Artesian well, 97 

Barberry, 50 

Bare feet, 89 

Bat, 83 

Beer-cooler, 2 

Bell-flowers, 61 

Blackie, 100 

Blanching, 19 

Bonne-femme soup, 19 

Botany, 58 

Bulbs, 62 

Bumble-bee in Snapdragon, 61 

Burn-heap, 93 

Campanulas, 61, 78 
Catmint, 100 
Chantarelle, 85 
Chervil, 17 
Children's gardens, 7 
Chives, 17 
Columbines, 65, 77 
Composites, 60 
Cowslips, 44 

ball, 44, 47 
Cress, Hairy Bitter, 25 
Crowns, 30 
Cruciferje, 61 
Cucumber, Squirting, 32 

Daisy-chain, 4 
fiimily, 60 

Dandelions, 4, 28 
Devil-in-a-bush, 41 
Dock, 28 
Dodder, 84 

Elevation, 70 
Ellipse, to draw, 73 
Euclid, 73 

Fairy cakes, 23 
Ferns, 3, 65 

pegs, 91 
Figwort tribe, 61 
Fir-cones, 33, 91 
Fire, picnic, 93 
Forget-me-not, 3 
Foxglove, 61, 65, 77 
Freaks in flowers, 55 ; in fruits, 56 

Gudgeons, 2 

Hard-head, 68 
Hedgehog, 81 
Honesty, 41 

Husks on seed-leaves, 39 
Hut, 69 

Johns' Flowers of the Field, 63 
Julienne, 18 

Kalmia, 53 
Kittens, 105 
Knots, 80 

Labels, 37 




Labiates, 6i 
Latin names, 64 
Lavender, 61 
Lawn, 81 
Lettuces, 15 
London days, 3 
Love-in-a-Mist, 41 

Marsh Marigolds, 3 
May-day trophy, 45 
Mechanical drawing, 72 
Mill-pond, 2 
Monstrosities, 55 
Morell, 48 
Mushrooms, 85 
Mussels, fishing for, 51 
Mustard and Cress, 14 

Owl, 86 

Paving, plants in, 79 

Pea and Bean tribe, 60 

Pear freak, 56 

Picnic fire, 93 

Pinkie, 103 

Pinks, 77 

Pitcher-plants, 57 

Plans, 69 

Play-house, 1 1 

Potato milk soup, 20 

Potatoes, roasted in ashes, 9: 

Pricking off, 38 

Primrose freak, 56 

Pussies, 98 

Right angle, to draw, 74 
Rose family, 59 
Rosemary, 61 
Roses, 67, 78 
Rule of thumb, 73 

Sage, 61 
Salad, 16 
Sand-martins, 90 
Sand-pit, 89 
Scale, 72 
Scones, 22 
Scrambled eggs, 2 1 

Section, 70 

Seed-pods, 41 

Seeds, 31 ; of Gourd, 31 ; Broad 

Bean, 31 ; Hawkweed, 33 ; 

Clematis, 33 ; Scotch Fir, 34 ; 

Sycamore, 34 
Sensitive stamens, 50, 54 
Shapes of leaves, 54 
Shrubbery, 5 
Smells and shapes, 49 
Snapdragon, 61 

dressed as old woman, 42 
Sorrel, 20 
Soups, 17 
Sowing seeds, 35 
Spring flowers, 66, 76 
Square, builder'.-;, 75 
Stalactites, 87 
Steps, plants in, 79 
Summer flowers, 77 
Sweet-smelling leaves, 53 

Tabby, 98 

Tank, bathing and paddling in, 97 

Tarragon, 17 

Tavy, 104 

Tea in the play-house, 13 

Tea-kitchen, 94 

Thistle, 30 

Tittlebat, loi 

Toadflax, 61 

Toadstools, 85 

Tools, 8 

Tortoise, 83 

Tulips, 76 

Umbelliferae, 62 

Vegetables, 14 

Washing dolls' clothes, 23 
Water, playing with, 96 
Weeds, 24, 34 
Wild flowers, 2, 63 
in lawn, 84 

Young days, my own, i 

Printed by R. & R. Clark, Limited, Edinbu7-gk. 


Edited by E. T. Cook, Editor of '• The Garden,'' and Garden ^ 
Editor of '' Cou7itry LifeJ" A Comp7-ehe7isive Work for every Lover i 
of the Garden. 624 pages, with about 600 Illustratio7is, many of 
them full-page dfto. (12 in. by 8| in.^. A?-t Canvas. 

21s. Net; by post, 21s. lod. 1 

" No department of gardening is neglected, and the illustrations of famous 
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gardener. If The Century Book of Gardening does not make all who see it 
covet their neighbours' gardens through sheer despair of ever making for them- 
selves such gardens as are there illustrated, it should, at any rate, inspire everyone 
who desires to have a garden with an ambition to make it as beautiful as he 
can." — Tunes. 


(^A Handbook to the Gardeii^ By K. T. Cook, assisted by Experts 
hi the various branches oj Horticulture. With 7iearly one htmdred 
diag7-ams in the text, arid rmiety full-page Illustrations from 
photographs of selected specimens of Plants, Flowers, Trees, Shrubs, 
Fruits, etc. New and enlarged Edition. , 

\2s. 6d. Net; by post, 12s. lod. \ 

" One cannot speak in too high praise of the idea that led Mr. E. T. Cook 
to compile this Gardening for Beginners, and of the completeness and succinct- 
ness with which the idea has been carried out. Nothing is omitted. ... It 
is a book that will be welcomed with enthusiasm in the world of gardeners. 
. . . One only regrets that the book was not published years ago." — Morning 

" One of the handsomest and one of the most useful of its kind that we have 
come across. Gardening for Beginners justifies its title, and can be highly 
commended. A very charming feature of the book is the fine illustrations, of 
which there are a large number." — Westminster Gazette. 


By Eden Phillpotts. 12s. 6d. Net; by post, 12s. \od. 

" It is a thoroughly practical book, addressed especially to those who, like 
himself, have about an acre of flower garden, and are willing and competent to 
help a gardener to make it as rich, as harmonious, and as enduring as possible. 
His chapters on irises are particularly good." — World. 

"... will attract no less for its literary charm than for the varied an<^B 
interesting experiences which it details. . . . Mr. Phillpotts is a gardenerH 
every inch of him, whatever else he may be, and his book is not only a sound 
contribution to the literature of gardens, but withal a very captivating one." — 
Westminster Gazette. 


By George Bunyard and Owen Thomas. 507 pages. 

Size, \6\ in. by ']\ in. \2s. 6d. Net ; by post, 13^. od. 

" Without any doubt the best book of the sort yet published. There is a 
separate chapter for every kind of fruit, and each chapter is a book in itself — 
there is, in fact, everything that anyone can need or wish for in order to succeed 
in fruit growing. The book simply teems with illustrations, diagrams, and 
outlines. The diagrams on pruning are particularly admirable, we cannot speak 
too highly of them, and from them anyone should be able to teach himself to be 
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Published at the Offices of Country Life, Ltd., 20, Tavistock Street, Covent Garden, 
W.C, and by George Newnes, Ltd., 7-12, Southampton Street, Strand, W.C. 


By Gertrude Je;kyi,i,. Containing instructions a7id hints on the 
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marsh pools, lakes, ponds, tayiks, and water margins. With 133 
full-page Illustrations. Large 8vo, 186 pages. Buckram. 

\2S. 6d. Net ; by post, 12s. iid. 

"Wall and Water Gardens. He who will consent to follow Miss Jekyll 
aright will find that under her guidance the old walls, the stone steps, the 
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kinds of flowers undreamed of, and become marvels of varied foliage. More than 
a hundred photographs help to enforce Miss Jekyll 's admirable lessons." — T/ie 

" Miss Jekyll shows us how the straight terrace and steep places and hard 
dry walls may blossom as a rose, and up and down the stone steps our feet walk 
on a carpet of moss and verdure, and sweet-scented things are at our side to 
pick. ' ' — Spectator. 


By K. T. Cook. 12s. 6d. Net; by post, 12s. iid. 

" It contains a mass of instruction and illustration not always to be found 
altogether when required, and as such it will be very useful as a popular hand- 
book for amateurs and others anxious to grow trees and shrubs. The work 
would be a welcome present to anyone fond of shrubs and trees, and it well 
deserves a place in every good garden and country house library." — The Field. 


By Gertrude Jekyli.. With over 100 Illustrations and 
planting plans. \2S. 6d. Net; by post, i^s. 

" Miss Jekyll is one of the most stimulating of those who write about what 
may be called the pictorial side of gardening. . . . She has spent a lifetime in 
learning how to grow and place flowers so as to make the most beautiful and 
satisfying effects, and, as far as the fruits of such an experience can be imparted, 
she has imparted them in these delightful pages. ' ' — Daily Mail. 


By Gertrude Jekyi^i. and E. Mawi^ey, with 190 full-page 
Illustrations. \2S. 6d. Net; by post, 12s. iid. 

"The first section is occupied by a description from the pen of Miss Gertrude 
Jekyll of the many kinds of flowers that are now grown, and of the many ways 
in which they may be set off. . . . The second part is written by Mr. Edward 
Mawley, who gives his readers the benefit of his experience and study as a 
practical rosarian, and tells how the rose should be planted, pruned, and pro- 
pagated, how cared for during its growth, and how best shown off in exhibitions. 
. . . It appeals with equal force to amateurs and to professional gardeners." 
— Scotsman . 

"A delightful proof of the increased devotion shown to rose-growing is 
supplied by the latest addition to the Country Life Library, which has for its 
aim to show ' not only how roses may best be grown, but how they may be most 
beautifully used, and that will also help the amateur to acquire some idea of 
their nature and relationships.' There is a happy combination cf authorship, 
for no one can better suggest the artistic value of garden roses old and new than 
Miss Jekyll, while the Secretary of the Rose Society, Mr. Edward Mawley, is a 
Rosarian who would satisfy Omar Khayyam." — Manchester Courier. 

Published at the Oflfice,s of Country Life, Ltd., 20, Tavistock Street, Covent Garden, 
W.C., and by George Newnes, Ltd., 7-12, Southampton Street, Strand, W.C. 


By Professor R. Hartig. Royal 8vo, buckram. 

los. 6d. Net ; by post, \os. lod. 


By F. Eden. An account of the author's beaiitifiil ga?den on the 
Island of the Guidecca at Venice. With 21 Collotype and ^o other 
Illustrations. Parchment, limp. 10s. 6d. Net ; by post, \os. lod. 

" We congratulate all who have any relation with the book on the fine taste 
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" Written with a brightness and an infectious enthusiasm that impart interest 
even to technicalities, it is beautifully and rarely pictured, and its material 
equipment is such as to delight the lover of beautiful boots." — Glasgow Herald. 


Written aiid compiled by GerTrude Jekyli,. 

8.f . dd. Net ; by post, 8s. lod. 

"Lilies for English Gardens is a volume im the Country Life Library, 
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easily and successfully to grow the Lily — which, considering its great beauty, is 
not grown nearly so much as might be expected. We certainly think that in the 
future there will be less neglect of this flower, for after looking at some of the 
illustrations (all admirable and admirably produced) there will not be many 
garden owners who will be content to be Lilyless." — Westminster Gazette. 


By Mrs. K. ly. Davidson. 85. 6d. Net ; by post, Ss. lod. 

" An infinity of pleasure can be obtained from the due use of an unheated 
house built under proper conditions, audit is the function of Mrs. Davidson's 
book to provide hints and directions how to build such a house, and how to 
cultivate the plants that can be cultivated with advantage without artificial 
heat. The information is conveyed in a form that is easily to be followed, and 
the methods she puts forward are stated with admirable clearness and 
practicality. No amateur can fail to profit by this excellent manual, and 
professional gardeners can avail of it with profit." — Pall Mall Gazette. 


By Gertrude Jekyli.. 65. Net ; by post, 6f. \d. 

"Miss Jekyll is most suggestive and helpful, the illustrations embracing 
flowers of every season, rare and common, and, indeed, the wild flower bouquets 
shown are among the most beautiful, while the practical matters of how to 
support the flowers and keep them fresh are fully dealt with." — JVestem 
Morning News. 


By Gertrude Jekyli^. A gaj-den book for children, treating 
not only of their own little gardens and other outdoor occupations, 
but also of the many amusing and interesti?ig things that occur in 
and about the larger home garden and near grouiids. Thoroughly 
practical and full of pictures. ds. Net ; by post, 6s. ^d. 

Published at the Offices of Cotjntry Life, Ltd., 20, Tavistock Street, Covent Garden, 
W.C., and by George Newnes, Ltd., 7-12, Southampton Street, Strand, W.C. 


By Alfred Gaut, F.R.H.S. An interesting and histrudive book 
dealing with a phase of arboriculture hitherto not touched upon. It 
is profusely illustrated, and diagrams are give?i explaiyiing certain 
details. Those who have gardens and estates on exposed coasts will 
find the book of i?nme?ise assistance, and, judging by the remarks of 
the "Writer, it is astonishing the beautiful results that may be achieved 
on such coasts whefi sufficient protectio7i is afforded. 

55. Net ; by post, 5^. ^d. 

"Mr. Gaut has accomplished a piece of very solid and extremely useful 
work, and one that may not be without considerable influence upon the future 
development of coast-side garden work and agriculture." — Liverpool Courier. 


Edited by E. T. Cook. 35. 6d. Net ; by post, 2,s- rod. 

" Those who add this volume to their library of garden books will obtain 
more information concerning the interesting family of garden and wild pinks than 
is to be found in the majority of books that have come under our notice." — 
Westminster Gazette. 


Written by several authorities, and Edited by E. T. Cook. This 
interestiyig subject has never been treated in the same way as set forth 
in this illustrated book. There are chapters upoyi the culture of Sweet 
Violets in winter and in the open garden, tcpon Heartsease and the 
Tufted Pansies ( Violas), and upon the Wild Violets that have been 
introduced from Atnerica and elsewhere. The i7iformation is 
thoroughly practical. It is a dai?ity gift-book to gardening friends. 

35. 6^. Net ; by post, 35. \od. 

" Altogether excellent, and must be useful both to the grower of prize 
flowers and to the amateur who wishes to cultivate some of the many beautiful 
Alpine and other species which are so effective as hardy plants in the borders 
or on rockeries." — The Guardian. 


By Chas. T. DruEry, F.I,.S., V.M.H., President of the British 
Pterido logical Society. 35. 6d. Net ; by post, ^s. lod. 

"Has been most carefully done, no fewei^ than 700 choice varieties are 
described. The book is well and lucidly written and arranged ; it is altogether 
beautifully got up. Mr. Druery has long been recognised as an authority on the 
subject." — St. James's Gazette. 


By the Editor of " The GardenJ'^ An instructive and practical 
gardening book of 200 pages and 23 Illustrations, all showing the 
way certain garden operations should be performed. Every phase of 
gardening is included. The beginner will find this a most helpful 
guide in the cultivation of fiowers, vegetables and fruits. It is the 
A.B.C. of gardening. is. Net; by post, is. ^d. 

"It contains a vast amount of information in easily understood language 
that will be most helpful to persons who love to look after their own garden." — 

Published at the Ofl&ces of Codntry Life, Ltd., 20, Tavistock Street, Covent Garden, 
W.C., and by Gborge Newnes, Ltd., 7-12, Southampton Street, Strand, W.C. 


(^The Country House a7id its Gaiden Environment.') Edited by 
H. AvRAY Tipping, M.A., the Illustrations being from Photo- 
graphs specially taken by Charles I^ATham. Crown folio (15 in. 
by 10 iii.y Handsomely bound in cloth, gilt edges. Vols. /., //. 
and HI. now ready. £2 2s. Net each ; by post, £2 $s. 

The foIio«vins are the principal Houses Illustrated— 

Alton Towers, Staffordshire 
Ashbridge Park, Great Berkham- 

Athelhampton Hall, Dorchester 
Barlborough Hall, Chesterfield 
Helton, Grantham 
Blickling, Norfolk 
Brick wall, Sussex 
Brome Hall, Norfolk 
Broughton Castle, Banbury 
Bulwick Hall, Northampton 
Casa de Pilatos, The, Seville 
Charlton House, Kent 
Chatsworth, Derbyshire 
Cleeve Prior Manor, Worcester- 
Clevedon Court, Somerset 
Clifton Hall, Nottingham 
Compton Beauchamp, Berkshire 
Condover, Shropshire 
Drayton House, Northampton 
Elvaston Castle, Derbyshire 

Agecroft Hall, Manchester 
Albury Park, Surrey 
Aldenham House, Herts 
Amesbury Abbey, Wiltshire 
Balcarres, Fifeshire 
Barncluith, Lanarkshire 
Barrow Court, Somerset 
Brockenhurst Park, Hants 
Castle Ashby, Northants 
Chastleton House, Gloucestershire 
Chirk Castle, Denbighshire 
Chiswick House, Middlesex 
Compton Wynyates, Warwick- 

Cranborne Manor, Dorset 
Drakelowe Hall, Staffordshire 
Drumlanrig, Dumfriesshire 
Drummond Castle, Perthshire 
Easton Hall, Grantham, Lines 
Eaton Hall. Cheshire 
Eydon Hall, Northants 
Frogmore and Windsor 
Grimston Park, Yorkshire 


Fountains Hall aad Abbey, York- 
Franks, Kent 

Great Tatigley Manor, Surrey 
Guy's Cliff, Warwick 
Hall Barn, Buckinghamshire 
Hall, The, Bradford-on-Avon 
Ham House, Richmond 
Hardwick Hall, Derbyshire 
Heckfield Place, Hampshire 
Henbury Court, Gloucestershire 
Heslington Hall, York 
Hever Castle, Kent 
Holme Lacy, Hereford 
Ightham Mote, Kent 
Kelly House, Tavistock 
King's Weston, Gloucestershire 
Kingston Lacy, Dorsetshire 
Levens Hall, Westmoreland 
Lilleshall, Shropshire 
Longford Castle, Wiltshire 
Loseley Park, Surrey 
Lypiatt Park, Gloucestershire 

Groorabridge Place, Kent 
Gwydyr Castle, Denbighshire 
Hackwood Park, Hants 
Haddon Hall, Derbyshire 
Hadsor, Worcestershire 
Hampton Court, Middlesex 
Harewood House, Yorkshire 
Highnam Court, Gloucestershire 
Hoar Cross, Burton-on-Trent, 

Inwood House, Somerset 
Kedleston Hall, Derbyshire 
Kentwell Hall, Suffolk 
Leighton Hall, Welshpool 
Linton Park, Maidstone, Kent 
Littlecote Hall, Berkshire 
Lochinch, Wigtownshire 
Longleat, Wiltshire 
Mapperton House, Beaminster 
Margam Park, Glamorganshire 
Marks Hall, Essex 
Melford Hall, Suffolk 
Mere Hall, Droitwich 

Melbourne Hall, Derbyshire 
Montacute, Somerset 
Newstead Abbey, Nottingham 
Norton Conyers, Yorkshire 
Old Place, Lindfield 
Panshanger, Hertfordshire 
Penshurst, Kent 
Prior Park, Bath 
Ragley Hall, Warwickshire 
Renishaw Hall, Chesterfield 

Rous Lench Court, Worcestershire 
St. Catherine's Court, Bath 
Shipton Court, Oxford 
Stoneleigh Abbey, Warwickshire 
Studley Royal, Yorkshire 
Sutton Place, Guildford 
Sydenham House, Devonshire 
Tissington Hall, Derbyshire 
Trentham, Staffordshire 
Ven House, Somerset 
Wilton House, Salisbury 
WoUaton Hall, Nottinghamshire 

Moyns Park, Essex 
Munstead, Surrey 
Newbattle Abbey, Midlothian 
Okeover Hall, Derbyshire 
Orchardleigh Park, Somerset 
Orchards, Surrey 
Packwood House, Birmingham 
Pain's Hill, Surrey 
Parham Park, Sussex 
Penrhyn Castle, N. Wales 
Penshurst, Kent 
Pitchford Hall, Shropshire 
Powis Castle, Montgomeryshire 
St. Fagin's, Cardiff 
Sedgwick Park, Sussex 
Shrubland's Park, Suffolk 
Smithill's Hall, Lancashire 
Stoke Edith Park, Hereford 
Stoke Rochford, Lincolnshire 
The Vyne, Hants 
Westwood Park, Droitwich 
Wickham Court, Kent 
Wilton House, Wiltshire 

Bradfield, Devon 

St. Catherine's Court, Somerset- 
Canons Ashby, Northamptonshire 
Llangedwyn Hall, Denbighshire 
Gayhurst, Buckinghamshire 
Keevil Manor, Trowbridge 
StibbingtonHall, Huntingdonshire 
Hutton-in-the-Forest, Cumberland 
Treworgey, Cornwall 
Newton Ferrers, Cornwall 
Wilton House, Salisbury 

' ' These beautiful books owe their charm to the wonderful collection of photo- 
graphs of gardens and garden architecture which such a paper as Country Life 
has had a unique opportunity of making. The principle conveyed in the letterpress 
is that held by all great gardeners and architects — that house and garden are, or 
should be, intimately associated, and that the character of the possessors should be 
reflected in both. The accounts of lovely garden after lovely garden are most 
agreeable reading. There is no country in the world where man created sylvan beauty 
can be found comparable to this in England, and as albums of charming pictures for 
the garden lovers and a mine of elegant suggestion to the garden-maker, these 
volumes are the best thing of their kind we have ever seen." — Daily Chronicle. 

Athelhampton Hall, Dorsetshire 
South Wraxall Manor, Wiltshire 
Faulkbourne Hall, Essex 
Layer Marney Towers, Essex 
Giffords Hall, Suffolk 
St. Osyth's Priory, Essex 
Speke Hall, Lancashire 
Great Tangley Manor, Surrey 
Castle Ashby, Northamptonshire 
Montacute House, Somerset 
Hatfield House, Hertfordshire 
Holland House, Kensington 

Bramham Park, Yorkshire 

Wrest Park, Bedfordshire 

Bicton, Devonshire 

Lyme Hall, Cheshire 

Castle Howard, Yorkshire 

Wotton House, Aylesbury 

Bowood, Wiltshire 

Arley Hall, Cheshire 

The Deanery GJirdens, Sonning, 

Easton Lodge, Essex 
Goddards, Surrey 


Edited by H. Avray Tipping, M.A. The internal character, fur- 
nittire, and adorninenis of some of the most notable Houses of England 
depicted from Photographs taken by Ch ARISES Latham. Vols. I. a7id 
II. now ready. Price £2 2s. each net. 

The following are the principal Houses Illustrated In the worki— 

Agecroft Hall, Lancashire 
Apethorpe, Northampton 
Audley End, Essex 
Belton House, Grantham 
Birtsmorton Court, Gloucester- 
Bowood Park, Wiltshire 
Boston House, Middlesex 
Bradfield, Devon 
Bramall Hall, Cheshire 
Bramshill Park, Hampshire 
Broughton Castle, Oxfordshire 
Burton Agnes, Yorkshire 
Cassiobury Park, Hertfordshire 
Castle Ashby, Northamptonshire 
Castle Howard, Yorkshire 
Chastleton House, Oxfordshire 
Chawton House, Hampshire 
Cobham Hall, Kent 
Combe Abbey, Warwickshire 
Crewe Hall, Cheshire 
Dtakelowe Hall, Burton-on-Trent 
Dunster Castle, Somerset 
'^.astnor Castle, Herefordshire 


Gifford's Hall, Suffolk 
Godinton, Kent 
Goodwood House, Sussex 
Grimsthorpe, Lincolnshire 
Groombridge Place, Kent 
Haddon Hall, Derbyshire 
Hampton Court, Middlesex 
Hardwick Hall, Derbyshire 
Hatfield House, Hertfordshirs 
Hewell Grange, Worcestershire 
Holme Lacy, Plereford 
Kedleston Hall, Derbyshire 
Kingston Lacy, Dorset 
Knowslay Hall, Lancashire 
Lanhydrock, Cornwall 
Levens Hall, Westmorland 
Littlecote, Wiltshire 
Longleat, Wiltshire 
Melbury House, Dorset 
Old Place, Sussex 
Oxburgh Hall, Norfolk 
Parham Park, Sussex 
Ragley Hall, Warwickshire 
Red Lodge, Bristol 

Rufford Abbey, Nottinghamshire 
Rushbrooke Hall, Suffolk 
Saltram, Devon 
Sandringham, Norfolk 
Smithills Hall, Lancashire 
Speke Hall, Lancashire 
Stanway House, Gloucestershire 
Stoke Park, Buckingham 
Stourhead, Wiltshire 
Sutton Place, Surrey 
Sydenham House, Devon 
The Deanery Gardens, Sonning 
The Vyne, Basingstoke, Hampshire 
Tythrop House, Oxfordshire 
Waddesdon Manor, Buckingham- 
Wakehurst Place, Sussex 
Wentworth Castle, Yorkshire 
West Dean Park, Sussex 
Westwood Park, Worcestershire 
Wilton House, Salisbury 
Wolfeton House, Dorset 
Wroxton Abbey, Oxfordshire 

Adlington Hall, Cheshire 
Aston Hall, Birmingham 
Athelhampton, South Dorset 
Baddesley Clinton, North War- 
Beningbrough Hall, Yorkshire 
Blicklmg Hall, Aylsham, Norfolk 
Bolsover Castle, Chesterfield, 

Burton Constable, Hull, Yorkshire 
Canons Ashby, South Northants 
Chicheley Hall, Newport Pagnell, 

Clouds, South-West Wiltshire 
Cotehele, Cornwall 
Dorton House, Thame, Oxford- 
Drakelowe, Burton, Derbyshire 
East Sutton Park, Maidstone, Kent 
Glynde, Lewes, Sussex 
Hanford House, Blandford, Dor- 


Hever Castle, Kent 
Hill Hall, Epping, Essex 
Hoghton Tower, Blackburn, Lanca- 
Holland House, Kensington 
Hornby Castle, Richmond, York- 
Hutton-in-the-Forest, Penrith, Cum- 
Ightham Mote, Sevenoaks, Kent 
Knebworth House, Hertfordshire 
Langleys, Great Waltham, Essex 
Lyme, Cheshire 

Marshcourt, Stockbridge, Hamp- 
Maxstoke Castle, North Warwick- 
Methley Hall, Leeds 
Newburgh Priory, Yorkshire 
No. 12, Welshback, Bristol 
Park Hadl, Oswestry, Salop 
Prinknash Park, Gloucestershire 

Quenby Hall, Leicestershire 
Ragdale Old Hall, Leicestershire 
Ribston Hall, Knaresborough, York- 
Rothamsted, Harpenden, Hertford- 
St. Donats Castle, Glamorganshire 
Samlesbury Hall, Lancashire 
Sizergh Castle, Kendal, Westmor- 
Stockton House, Wiltshire 
Temple Newsam, Yorkshire 
The Grange, Honiton, Devonshire 
Treasurer's House, York 
Welbeck Abbey, Worksop, Notting- 
Westonbirt House, Tetbury, Glou- 
Woodsome Hall, Huddersfield, 

Woollas Hall, Pershore, Worcester- 

" A veritable revelation of the wealth of internal adornments, architectural and 
other, contained in the great country mansions of England. To turn over the pages 
of the volume is to obtain keen pleasure, as well as enlightenment, concernmg a 
treasury of domestic art and archaeology, which to a large extent is kept closed from 
the common eye." — Scotsman. 

"A very dignified volume with an immense number of fine photographs and 
historical and descriptive letterpress." — Times. 

" Such a work as In English Homes comes as something of a revelation. One 
may have a general idea, or even some particular knowledge of the splendours of 
architecture, decoration, furniture, and works of art appertaining to our country 
mansions, and yet be astonished at all the taste and magnificence represented in the 
profusion of excellent photographs." — Morning Post. 

Published at the Ofi&ces of Country Life, Ltd., 20, Tavistock Street, Covent Garden, 
W.C., and by George Newnes, Ltd., 7-12, Southampton Street, Strand, W.C. 


Being a series of Illustrations from Photographs specially taken by 
Charles IvATham, of the most famous examples of those magnificent 
features of garden arrangeme7it and ayxhitecture for which Italy, 
pre-eminently the earliest home of the garden, is noted, with descrip- 
tive text by Evelyn March Phillipps. This most important 
work, which forms a handsome companion to " Gardens Old and 
New," contains about 300 Plates, and is issued iyi two volumes, 
handsomely bound in cloth. £2> 3*- ^^^ > ^y Post, £2, 45. 

The follov^ine are the principal Gardens Illustrated— 


Villa Albani, Rome. 

Villa Pamphilj Doria, Rome. 

The Vatican Gardens, Rome. 

Villa Borghese, Rome. 

Gardens of the Quirinal, Rome. 

Villa Medici, Rome. 

The Colonna Gardens, Rome. 

Palazzo Borghese, Rome. 

Fountain of Trevi, Rome. 

Palazzo Doria, Rome. 

Palazzo Barberini, Rome. 

Palazzo Brancaccio, Rome. 

Villa Parisi, Frascati. 

Villa Sciarra, Rome. 

The British Embassy, Rome. 

Villa Barberini, Castel Gandolfo. 

Villa D'Este, Tivoli. 

Villa Falconieri, Frascati. 

Mondragone, Frascati. 

Villa Torlonia, Frascati. 

Villa Aldobrandini, Frascati. 


Villa Farnese, Caprarola. 
Villa Lante, Bagnaia. 
Villa Palraieri, Florence. 
Villa Garroni, Collodi. 
The Boboli Gardens, Florence. 
Villa Bondi, Florence. 
Villa Salviati, Florence. 
Villa Medici, Florence. 

Villa I Collazzi, Florence. 

Castello and Petraja, near Florence. 

Villa Gamberaia, Florence. 

Villa Capponi, Florence. 

Villa Fabricotti and Villa Stibbert, 

Villa Montalto, Florence. 

"The two volumes are worthy of their splendid subject, and it would be 
hard to wish for a better companion in an English garden than these exquisite 
pictures, gathered from the best of all in Italy. Scarcely a single garden of the 
first importance seems to have been omitted. We are sure that no one who 
knows Italy, even in the scantiest way, will put down Mr. Latham's volumes till 
he reaches the last of these exquisite reproductions." — Daily Telegraph. 

"The natural and artistic beauties of the famous palace or villa gardens of 
Iialy are most admirably illustrated, and with such variety and success as must 
be reckoned among the triumphs of photographic work." — IVestminster Gazette. 

"In the two handsome volumes a clear idea is given, by illustrations and 
letterpress, of the wonderful beauty of places to which the ordinary tourist 
seeks admittance in vain." — Yorkshire Post. 

"The illustrations are among the best of their kind that we have seen, 
especially in their rendering of distances of contrasted effects of light and shade. 
The grouping of architectural subjects — often an insurmountable difficulty — is 
managed with skill, the artist's feeling for composition enabling him frequently 
to make a good picture out of the material which is hardly within the photo- 
grapher's customary limits." — Globe. 

Published at the Offices of Country Life, Ltd., 20, Tavistock Street, Covent Garden, 
W.C., and by George Newnes, Ltd., 7-12, Southampton Street, Strand, W.C. 


By Mrs. F. Nevill Jackson. Price 21s. Nit. 

An interesting history of the playthings of children from prehistoric times 
up till the first half of the 19th century. Although a book of absorbing interest 
to the little ones, it is also a volume for connoisseurs ; for fine examples of 
miniature furniture, toy services of Leeds and Staffordshire, salt glaze and 
specimens of silver toys from famous European collections, are among the 
subjects ably described by the authoress. Over 200 fine illustrations. 


By M. E. Francis. Author of "Pastorals of Dorset," " Fiandir's 
Widow," etc., tuith Illustrations by Mr. H. M. BROCK. Price 6s. 

"In certain moods there is no one with whom ive would more contentedly 
settle down to a quiet tale of country life and character than Mrs. Francis 
Blundell. She knows and sympathises with the people she describes, and is 
always abundantly conscious of their humour." — Times. 

"This is a collection of small masterpieces. Mrs. Blundell has studied 
shrewdly and affectionately the peasant of the North and the South and the 
Emerald Island, and reproduced their characteristics in a series of idylls in 
which sentiment and humour, the real and the ideal, are delightfully and 
convincingly blended." — Pilot. 


By EvELYNE E. Rynd. Price 6s. 

Miss Rynd, the brilliant young writer who made such a hit with "Mrs. 
Green," has written a book much in the same vein, only that the humour is 
much brighter and touched with a finer pathos, while the wit is keener than 
ever. The scene is the same as before, viz., a village in Kent, and the characters 
are for the most part in the status in society as the immortal charwoman. 
But light as is the vein, the authoress touches some of the deepest issues of life, 
and although it is always with a laugh, it is also with tenderness and insight. 
The book will be found to be a great advance on her previous work. 


By Fiona Macleod, being a Series of Nature Essays. 

6s. Net ; by post, 6s. 4^. 

" No other than Fiona Macleod could so have transfigured Nature into 
dream, no other writer could have expressed with such unity of spirit the Celtic 
attitude in terms of country things. She finds the charm of the mountain in 
their contemplation from the valley, the forest most vividly itself when the twigs, 
are bare and the mosses shrouded in snow, the most luminous moment of the 
cuckoo's year in its first days of silence, and her love of all things greatest when 
they have just been taken away." — Morning Post. 

" There is everywhere a sense of the haunting mystery of the processes of 
the world viewed through the eyes of a simple unsophisticated nature, vrhich, 
from perpetual brooding upon the face of the deep, has caught something of the 
misty air and broken music of the waves. Suggestion, rather than doctrine, is 
the atmosphere of the work ; and in a certain vague, but beautiful suggestive- 
ness, the strange but eager-hearted prose of this writer abounds to the very 
brim." — Daily Telegraph. 


A New and Important Work on Dairying, by Mr. Ernest Mathews 
(the well-known Judge and Expert). ys. 6d. Net ; by post, 75. 10^, 

" The author of this book is so well-known among farmers, especially those 
interested in the selection and judging of cows, that his name and experience 
alone will go far to ensure that his views receive the attention they deserve. He 
has for many years past been judge in all the most important butter tests which 
have been held at our principal agricultural shows." — The Journal of the Bath 
and West 0/ England Society. 

Published at the Ofi&ces of Country Life, Ltd., 20, Tavistock Street, Covent Garden, 
W.C., and by George Newnes, Ltd., 7-12, Southampton Street, Strand, W.C. 

"Country Life" Library of Sport 

Edited by Mr. Horace G. Hutchinson. 

A Series devoted to Sport and Pastime, each branch 
being dealt with by the most qualified experts on the 
subjects which they have made peculiarly their own. 
A special feature has been made of the reproduction of 
old sporting prints. 


In Two Volumes. 



25/- Net. 12/6 Net per Volume. 

The Globe. 

" Mr. Hutchinson and his colleagues have done their work thoroughly. A notable 
feature of the work is the wealth and excellence of the pictorial illustrations. Most of 
these are from photographs, admirably reproduced ; but there are also some quaunt 
woodcuts as headpieces and tail-pieces. We may feel pretty sure that these two 
volumes will be speedily added to many a country-house library." 


"All that relates lo the rearing and preservation of game, the situation of coverts, 
the arrangement of drives, and the selection of 'guns' is so exhaustively set out in these 
pages, that the purchaser of the book will have little need to consult either Lord 
Walsingham or Sir Ralph Payne Galway, or any other recognised authority, for infor- 
mation on the subject." 


In Two Volumes. 

With Coloured Plates of Salmon and Trout Flies. Over 

250 Full Page Illustrations with various diagrams. 

25/- Net. 12/6 Net per volume. 

Fishing Gazette. 

" I know pretty well every book in our language, and in French and German, on 
the subject of fishing, but I know no work which is so good, comprehensive and 
cheap as this. Would be worth buying if it were merely for the illustrations, for there 
are more than two hundred full-page plates, chiefly, if not entirely, from original photo- 
graphs of fishing scenes in this country, in Norway, America, etc. ; then there are many 
bead and tail pieces reproduced from old prints, and angling books, and the coloured 
plates, the whole forming a most interesting piscatorial pictorial album." 

Morning Post. 

"Few books on any sport, and perhaps none on fishing, have ever deserved 
better the description 'thorough.' To its title-page might well have been added the 
motto of the Royal Agricultural Society, ' Science with Practice,' and to the title 
itself, 'The Angler's Encyclopsedia.' From Cornwall to John O'Groats, from Wales to 
Norway, from Florida to India and Burma — here you may find what there is to be 
caught and how to catch it. And no detail seems to have been overlooked. Localities, 
badt, tackle, choice of rods, methods of casting, likely times — all are fully covered by 
experts who write from long experience, and not because they spend odd days of the 
week going a-fishing and resolved to write a book about it. . . . The book is pro- 
fusely, delightfully, and usefully illustrated. The salmon flies are excellent, and so are 
the prints showing right and wrong methods of casting, bringing in a fish, and gaffing." 


With over 80 Illustrations taken from the most 
interesting of the old Cricketing Prints. 

12/6 Net. 

The Sportsman. 

" Clearlv printed and ably turned out, the volume consists of some 450 pages of 
literary matter, but its chief feature is without a doubt the photographic reproductions 
of historieal pictures and prints. They number some eighty, and depict the game under 
its varied phases of the last 160 years, the humorous as well as the instructive side 
finding a place. There are illustrations of play and novel surroundings, portraits of 
old-time celebrities, and lastly, but not least, reproductions of pencil drawings by 
G. F. Watts, R.A., of the various strokes, 'the draw,' 'the leg volley,' 'the cut,' 'the 
block,' and ' forward play.' " 

Glasgow Herald. 

"Its most distinctive feature is that it presents a collection such as has never 
before been given to the public of interesting old prints illustrative of England's 
national game. These form in some measure a picture-history of the game." 


In Two Volumes. 

With over 200 Illustrations from Photographs showing 

Animals in their actual habitat and natural environment. 

25/- Net. 12/6 Net per Volume. 

The Scotsman. 

"The illustrations demand special notice. Instead of the somewhat banal 
'trophies' with which works of the kind are illustrated, the Editor has gathered together 
a number of admirable photographs of wild beasts in their haunts, the work of men who 
are themselves experienced game shooters. Many of these are of the utmost interest." 

Sporting Life. 

" The names of those who have assisted in the compilation of the work starnp it at 
once as being the standard work of the day on the sport in question. . . . Eminently 
practical. . . . Will rank, without doubt, as the authority on Big Game Shooting for 
many a long day to come." 


The origin and development of the game and the 
methods and practice of modern Polo. 

12/6 Net. 

The Field. 

"'Polo Past and Present ' deals with the subject to the minutest detail, and the 
book is filled with useful hints and maxims. The style in which the information is 
proffered gains for the author the confidence of the reader, and to those who are inter- 
ested in the subject comes the satisfaction, as they lay the book aside, that they have 
gained knowledge in the historical, theoretical, and practical views of polo. It is given 
to few writers to thoroughly realise the niceties which surround the modern circum- 
stance. In this Mr. Dale is particularly fortunate, for not only may the novice become 
initiated in what best concerns him, but the experienced may find pleasure in digesting 
the reminiscence of an observant mind. Regimental polo, elementary polo, and the 
training of the polo pony, each has its chapter, to be followed with an excellent treatise 
on tournament polo and team-play, certainly the most instructive message the book 
contains, and well worthy the consideration of the player. Mr. Dale gives detailed 
consideration to combination in match teams, and explains the why and wherefore, not 
always an easy task even for those who are high exponents of the game. Umpires and 
referees are given their corner, and many wholesome words of advice are spoken to 
guide the fulfilment of their duties. A very good chapter on the management and care 
of polo grounds will prove of service to the troubled spirits of hard worked secretaries, 
and the book closes with varied and complete information on polo in Australia and 
America; rules ot England and India; a full-fledged appendix of useful information ; 
and last, but not least, a thoroughly efl&cient index." 

London: Published at the Offices of "Country Life," Ltd., Tavistock Street, 
CovBNT Garden ; and by George Nbwnks, Ltd., Southampton St., Strand, W.C. 




Edited by Horace G. Hutchinson. 
Price 10/6; by Post, 10/11. 

THE principal intention of this volume is that 
it shall serve as a guide to the man who 
finds himself confronted with the very- 
considerable problems involved in laying out a new 
Golf green, and also as an aid to the green-keeper 
and the green committee who are entrusted by a 
Golf club with the duty of maintaining the green in 
the best possible condition. 

"The practicaF worth of the volume is nearly equal to the 
combined worth of all the books that have been written on the theory 
and practice of golf." — Yorkshire Daily Post. 


Being extracts from the shooting journals of Jambs 
Edward, second Earl of Malmesbury, with a 
prefatory memoir by his great-grandson the fifth 

Edited by F. G. Aflalo. 

Price 10/6 net; by Post, 10/11. 

" While primarily of fascinating interest to the sportsman, the 
work will be cordially welcomed by the nature lover, who will place it 
alongside the masterpiece of Gilbert White." — Manchester Courier. 




Subscription Prices per annum (Post free) : Inland, 29s. 2d. : 
Foreign, 47s. Weekly, Price, 6d. 

COUNTRY LIFE is a weekly journal addressed to all interested in country 
liieand country pursuits. One of its main features is the celebrated 
series of Country Homes and Gardens Old and New ; in each 
number a country seat, remarkable either for its beauty or something 
peculiarly instructive in the architecture of the house, gardens or grounds, is 
elaborately illustrated in a manner that has proved of high service to those 
engaged in building and laying out or improving their estates. Other 
features of rural life are dealt with in an equally thorough manner. The 
methods pursued on our most famous estates and farms are minutely 
described, and photographs of the finest pedigree stock and the best 
machinery are given. All forms of healthy outdoor sport are described and 
illustrated in their season. In no case, however, are the facts set forth dry, 
as the journal numbers among its contributors some of the most graceful and 
accomplished writers of the present day. New books are also described and 
discussed by competent critics, so that altogether the journal is calculated to 
give the best news and views on all subjects that are of interest in cultivated 
circles, and the wholesomeness and fine open-air feeling that pervades its 
pages have almost become proverbial. CouNXRy Life has, in fact, become 

Daily Telegraph. — '"Country Life' is generally admitted to be the most beautifully 
produced of all the weeklies. Its process illustrations are unmatched, and the letterpress is 
alwajrs carefully selected and good in quality." 

Westminster Gazette. — "To say of 'Country Life" that it is one of the best of our 
illustrated productions is stating only half a fact, inasmuch as in some of its features it stands 
alone. Its splendid gallery of stately mansions, beautiful interiors, and grand old gardens are 

Dally Mail. — " ' Country Life ' has established itself as the most beautifully produced 
weekly journal in the world." 

Dally New*. — " There is no (eature of life in the country that is untouched, and a bound 
volume of ' Country Life ' is a real joy to possess and frequently to turn over." 

Spectator. — " ' Country Life " amply fulfils its promise of being ' the journal for all 
interested in country life and country pursuits.' " 

Liverpool Dally Courier. — " There is scarcely a number without one or more contributions 
of literary or other interest which will stand reading, re-reading and study," 


The Leading Gardening Newspaper for Amateur and Professional 




Since "The Garden" has been reduced from threepence to one penny, its 
success has been extraordinary. It meets the requirements of both PROFESSIONAL 
and AMATEUR GARDENERS. It is circulating rapidly amongst BEGINNERS 
IN GARDENING, and the great feature of helping readers by greatly extending the 
ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS has been much appreciated. All branches 
of gardening are fully considered, and descriptions and illustrations in colour and 
black and white of new plants, the Flower Garden, Rose Garden, Kitchen Garden, 
Fruit Garden, and Wall and Water Garden are givea 

"The Garden" is THE gardening paper wherein to learn the best ways of 
making a success of the smallest and largest gardens. It is a paper for all to study 
who wish to thoroughly master the art of gardening. 






Specimen Copy post free from the Manager, "The Garden," 
20, Tavistock Street, Covent Garden, W.C. 


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