Part 9

A writer says of this plant: "The Coboea is an old favorite and it is worthy of remark that but few of the novelties introduced of late years can equal some of the old favorites that we have been accustomed to grow. The Coboea is a native of Mexico, from which country it was introduced in 1792. It was named in honor of Bernandez Cobo, a Spanish priest and botanist. The growth of the vine is very luxuriant, and it is equally easy of cultivation, the only essentials to success being warmth, a rich, light soil, and sufficient water. If allowed to become very dry, it will soon wither away. It requires sun and a warm room to grow it to perfection; yet it is not a tender plant, that is, it will live anywhere, provided the frost does not touch it, and is one of the few plants which will flourish luxuriantly in parlors lighted with gas and kept almost at fever heat. If grown in a hanging basket or pot, it must be large and the roots allowed plenty of room to spread out in. In the summer the pots can be removed from the interior room to a balcony or piazza, or plunged until they are again wanted. Then clip off the growth of branches and leaves, place the pot back again in a sunny window, where it will soon start afresh, with new arms and leaves to cover the window. It is one of the best vines for parlor decoration, as it will drape and festoon the window, and stretch forth its tendrils, running up even to the ceiling. The tendrils are so clinging in their nature that they will attach themselves to anything which comes within their reach--curtain cords, branches of other plants, brackets, etc.,--throwing out new branches everywhere.

"I advise all who adopt the plan of plunging the plant in the pot in the open air during the summer, either to shift into a pot two sizes larger, or else to take it out of the pot and reduce the ball of earth nearly one-half, and repot it in fresh compost before removing it to the house. This should be done not later than September 10th. The plants will amply repay this little attention by an increased luxuriance of both foliage and flowers during the winter months, while plants not so treated will become sickly and unhealthy before spring, and beside, when pot-bound, they soon become the prey of numerous insects."

There are several varieties of the Coboea, though _scandens_ is the most generally known. The large bell-shaped flowers are greenish at first, but rapidly change to a dull purple. Coboea Scandens _Alba_ has greenish white flowers. Coboea _variegata_ is one of the most magnificent ornamental climbers, the leaves being broadly margined with yellowish white, the variegated foliage forming a beautiful contrast with its large purple flowers. It is of strong habit, a rapid grower, attaining frequently the height of fifty feet in a short time. It is, however, difficult of propagation, rooting with difficulty. The seeds vegetate as readily as the common sort, but the plants are apt to die off soon after attaining their seed leaves. Layering in the manner already specified, is the best method of increase.

Coboea scandens _argentea_ is another variegated leaved variety, differing from _variegata_ in that its leaves are of a purer white. It is described by some as being identical with Coboea scandens, Schuerens Seedling, but by Messrs. Leeds & Co., of Richmond, Indiana, as being "a great improvement on the old variegated variety. Leaves large, green, bordered with creamy white; calyx of the flowers variegated like the leaves."

CLEMATIS.

Clematis (_Virgin's Bower_), derives its name from _klema_, a vine-branch. The popular name, Virgin's Bower, was given to _Clematis Viticella_ upon its introduction into England during the reign of Elizabeth, 1569, and was intended as a compliment to that sovereign, who liked to be called the Virgin Queen.

There are, it is said, two hundred and thirty described species, the majority of them free-growing, hardy climbers. They are among the most gorgeous perpetual-blooming of the class under consideration. Great improvements have been made during the past twenty-five years by hybridization, but the finest varieties have originated within ten years. Of the new English hybrids _Jackmanii_ stands in the front rank. The flowers are from five to six inches in diameter, and consist of from four to six sepals which have a ribbed bar down the center; the color is of an intense violet-purple, remarkable for its velvety richness, and a shading of reddish-purple toward the base, and they are furnished with a broad central tuft of pale green stamens. It originated with Jackman & Son, England, and was first exhibited at Kensington, 1872. It is a cross between _Clematis Viticella_ and _Clematis Lanuginasa_. From this cross many excellent seedlings have been raised, closely resembling the parent stock in color and general character.

Of Jackman's Clematises the English _Gardener_ has the following: "They are magnificent; and more than this, they do give us some of the grandest things in the way of creepers the horticultural world has ever seen, making glorious ornaments either for walls, verandas, or rustic poles or pillars, varying in color from deep rich violet hue to dark velvety maroon, and in the newer seedlings, forms beautiful shades of pale bright blue."

Mr. Vick says of the Clematis: "Having a rather unsightly pile of stones in the back part of our grounds, we had them thrown together more in the form of a stone-heap, perhaps, than of anything worthy of the name of rockery, and planted _Jackmanii_ and other fine sorts in the crevices, and for three summers this stone-heap has been covered most gorgeously. Thousands of flowers, in fact a mound of flowers, every day for months, has been the delight of visitors, causing one to exclaim, 'Nothing since Paradise has been more beautiful.'"

These fine hybrids will endure our Northern winters if somewhat protected. A gentleman in Rochester, N. Y., had a Jackmanii which bore full exposure without protection and came out in the spring uninjured to the height of nine feet. The extremities of the shoots for about two feet were winter-killed.

_Clematis Sieboldii_ is a native of Japan, whence it was introduced by Mr. Low in 1837. It is of a slender free-growing habit. "The flowers which are produced from July to September are composed of six ovate sepals of a creamy white color, which form a fine background for the large rosette of purple stamens which occupy the center and render the flowers particularly attractive."

_Clematis graveolins_ is a native of the mountains of Thibet. It is of comparative recent introduction. The flowers are produced on long stalks at the axils of the leaves, and are of a light yellow--an unusual color in this genus. It grows to the height of from ten to fifteen feet, and blooms freely during the entire season.

A lady writes to Vick's Magazine that she has a Clematis graveolins which is a wonderful sight. It grew from a feeble plant planted out in spring, two inches in height, into a column twelve feet high and three feet broad by August, and was a mass of yellow blossoms, and then, of the most exquisite, long-haired, silvery seed pods until hard frost. It lived through the winter, to its extreme tips, and then grew so rapidly, shading such an important part of her garden, that she had to remove it in the autumn, cutting it back severely. The seedlings from it grow, she adds, to eight or ten feet in a season.

_Clematis crispa_ is of Southern origin; the flowers are one and a half inches long, produced singly on long stalks, and delightfully fragrant, a rapid grower, and perfectly hardy. _Clematis coccinea_ is of recent introduction from Texas, the flowers are bell-shaped, of a most brilliant scarlet, and are produced in great abundance. This rare variety is offered only by Woolson & Co., Passaic Falls, N. J., who make a specialty of hardy herbaceous plants. _Vesta_, a Jackman, is large and of fine form; dead white, with a creamy tinge over the center bar, delicate primrose fragrance, an early bloomer. _Mrs. James Bateman_, pale lavender, and _Thomas Moore_, violet, superb, are Jackman seedlings, which flower in the summer and autumn, successionally, in masses, on summer shoots. These are all high priced. Many fine sorts can be purchased at prices ranging from thirty cents to one dollar.

The Clematis requires only ordinary garden soil. Where there are severe winters it is best to give the young plants at least some protection. They can be propagated by layering, which is rather a slow method, or rapidly by seed.

WISTARIA.

Very beautiful among the hard-wooded Climbers, is the Chinese Wistaria when in bloom. Its long, pendulous racemes of blue flowers are exceedingly graceful. They are frequently twelve inches in length and highly fragrant. The flowers appear about the last of May and first of June. It is not a continuous bloomer like the Clematis, but often gives a few flowers in August. It is rather slow at first, but after getting a good start the second or third year grows very rapidly. It is hardy after it gets strong, but young plants need some protection.

The Chinese White Wistaria was introduced by Mr. Fortune, and is regarded as a great acquisition. The _Double Purple_ is illustrated in Ellwanger & Barry's Catalogue, by a full page engraving, which gives one an idea of its beauty better than the description which is as follows: "A rare and charming variety, with perfectly double flowers, deeper in color than the single, and with racemes of remarkable length. The plant is perfectly hardy, resembling Wistaria _Sinensis_, so well known as one of our best climbing plants. The stock which we offer was purchased of Mr. Parkman, who received this variety from Japan in 1863, and was the first to bloom and exhibit it in this country."

_White American Wistaria_ is a seedling originating with Messrs. Ellwanger & Barry, of Rochester, N. Y. Flowers clear white; bushes short. Free bloomer.

CHINESE WISTARIA AS A STANDARD.

A novelty has been offered to the horticultural public of London this spring (1880), in the shape of standard trees of Wistaria Sinensis, raised in tubs, having heads five or six feet in diameter and covered with clusters of bloom. The plants were raised in Rouen, France, and sent to London for sale. It requires several years to attain plants of good size in this style, and as a matter of profit, a strict account would no doubt show a balance on the wrong side. In this country where the Wistaria is "at home," it may be raised in tree-shape in the open ground without expense, save the necessary care in pinching in and shaping. "So completely did the plants offered in London strike the popular taste, that there was quite a competition to become purchasers of them, and large sums were offered by those anxious to possess them. The general public, unaccustomed to this fine Chinese climber, looked on with wonder at "Lilacs" of such unwanted size and beauty of color."--_Vick's Magazine._

Mr. Vick evidently does not deem this method an improvement on the natural graceful climber, for it reminds him of an anecdote which he thus relates in reply to an inquirer respecting the Wistaria as a standard.

"Once upon a time some kind of a steam cannon was invented, and a day of trial was arranged at Portsmouth, England, to which the Lords of the Admiralty and the Duke of Wellington were invited. After the exhibition, which we believe was somewhat successful, opinions of its merits were freely expressed, but the Iron Duke said nothing. When urged to give his opinion, he replied that he was thinking--'thinking if the steam gun had been first invented, what a grand improvement gunpowder would have been.' If the Chinese Wistaria had been a tree, and some one could have induced it to climb and cover our porches and arbors and old trees and buildings, what a grand improvement it would have been."

Thoughts in My Garden.

My faultless friends, the plants and flowers, Have only smiles for me. When drought withholds refreshing showers, Through hot and dreary summer hours, They then droop silently.

When tired and worn with worldly care, Their fragrance seems like praise, A benediction in the air; Pure as an unfallen angel's prayer, Sweet'ning the saddest days.

No frowns, no pouting, no complaints, In my bright garden fair, A colony of sinless saints, Whose beauty Nature's pencil paints, Are my fair darlings there.

No inattention can awake Envy or jealousy; Their alabaster boxes break, As Mary's did, and I partake Of their rich fragrancy.

Sometimes with weary soul and sad, I taste their sweet perfume; And then my soul is very glad, I feel ashamed I ever had A hateful sense of gloom.

Flowers are the sylvan syllables, In colors like the bow, And wise is he who wisely spells The blossomed words where beauty dwells, In purple, gold and snow.

O! sacred is the use of these Sweet gifts to mortals given. Their colors charm, their beauties please, And every better sense they seize, And bear our thoughts to Heaven.

GEORGE W. BUNGAY.

A Talk About Several Things.

"Spake full well in language quaint and olden, One who dwelleth by the castled Rhine, When he called the flowers, so blue and golden, Stars, that in earth's firmament do shine. Wondrous truths, and manifold as wondrous, God hath written in those stars above; But not less in these bright flowerets under us, Stands the revelation of His love."

What changes have been manifested--how unceasingly and with what deftness Nature has silently wrought in tapestry and embroidery, sculpture and painting, till beauty is all around us, in the green carpet of earth, brightened with flowers and leafage of every hue! No wonder the birds sing praises to Him who gave them life with its fullness of blessings. Sad to think that man, high over all, and under the greatest obligation, too often is silent in thanksgiving for the gifts of a Father's love.

No month to me has such charms as June, when nature's robes are so fresh and clean, and the balmy air is redolent with fragrance. How delightful to be abroad with the early worm and early bird, working in the garden, while the songsters give free concerts, and the hum of the honey bird, and buzz of the bee, set forth a good example of cheerful industry!

The house plants have become established in the open border, and are so glad to get away from artificial heat and confined atmosphere into the broad sunlight of heaven, and breathe in full draughts of pure air and sweet dew, that they put on their best attire, and most attractive ornaments. Before the roses bloom, the bed of geraniums looks bright with flowers, each ambitious to excel his or her neighbor, either in beauty of color, or form, or duration of bloom, thus leaving me in perplexity as to choice. When _Pliny_ bloomed everybody admired who saw his beauty; then _Romeo_ with quite another style looked charming, but when _Naomi_ unfolded her large trusses of double pips, of a rare, peculiar shade, nobody ever saw a geranium quite so lovely, and then its duration of bloom--full six weeks! _Jennie Dolfus_, however, became a dangerous rival--a deeper, richer shade, and not a pip would she allow to fade so long as _Naomi_ looked so pert. Some said, "I like _Naomi_ the best;" others said, "I think _Jennie_ is the prettiest." But _Beauty_, close by, hearing the praises lavished on her sisters, and perchance trusting in her good name, came forth one day in dress of white with deep pink ornamentation. Never had such unique beauty as this ever been seen in Geranium before, and, "Isn't it lovely!" "Just splendid!" "What a beauty!" were uttered with exclamation points, till she blushed with becoming modesty--the flush spread and deepened until her face was completely suffused with the delicate tint, making her yet more attractive. _Wellington_ donned his crimson suit, and _De Gasx_ an orange yellow; _Pauline Lucca_, prima donna though she be, appeared in dress of pure white, and _Richard Dean_ in scarlet with a white star that was very becoming. _New Life_ thought to draw special attention by odd freaks, and came out in a parti-colored dress of the most singular combinations; part of it was scarlet dotted with white--part of it half scarlet, half salmon, part of it widely striped, and part white with just a flush of pink! I must call him the clown of the family!

I have only named a few of the rare Geraniums that adorn one of the beds of my garden. For beauty, free flowering, and duration of bloom they cannot be surpassed.

Interspersed with them are ornamental leaved Geraniums, _Crystal Palace Gem_, an improvement on _Cloth of Gold_; _Marshal McMahon_, the best of all the bronzes; _Cherub_, deep green, white and orange, flowers carmine; _Glen Eyre Beauty_, _Dr. Livingstone_, a new, sweet-scented, fine cut-leaved Geranium; _Happy Thought_, one of the most attractive, with its dark green leaves and creamy white center. Here and there are commingled Anchryanthus of divers hues, and Coleosus, giving a fine effect to the whole. This is now the most attractive bed of all, but when the Lilies are in bloom, and the dear little Tea Roses, the bed parallel with it will be the sweetest, if not so brilliant.

This year I have a tropical bed of oblong form. A Castor Bean rises majestically in the center, two beautiful Cannas each side, while a Dracæna, a splendid Croton, two fancy Caladiums, and a few other choice plants fill the space, the whole bordered with Coxcombs. In a few weeks this bed will look gorgeous, and those filled with annuals will have changed from their present inattractiveness to delightful bloom. August is really the month of fullness of blossom, and of restful enjoyment of beauty and fragrance. The weary days of preparation, of bedding out and of weeding, are over, and one may now give themselves up to the enjoyment of the fruit of their labor, till the chill nights of autumn bring a renewal of the toil.

"Does the brief period of restful enjoyment repay for the many weary days antecedent and subsequent?"

Yes, richly, fully, for there is pleasure with the toil, and to me health-giving influences that energize the physical system for indoor work, and stimulate the brain for literary pursuits. To me my garden is a God-send, fraught with blessings.

"Gardening is a pleasant pastime." I am prepared to adopt that sentiment to-day, if I did demur somewhat last month. It is a delightful pastime, in the early morning, to spend an hour among the flowers, trowel in hand, rooting out the weeds, loosening the soil around your plants, and tying up here and there the tall and fragile, while the birds are singing in the trees around you their morning song of gladness. How the dew-laden grass and shrubs impart sweetness to the air, and your lungs inhaling its purity, are expanded and invigorated, your whole system feels the better for the tonic, and prepares for breakfast, and the work that shall follow.

It is a pleasant pastime, when wearied with toil you go forth for a time among your flowers and search for the buds, or examine the newly-opened flower. How it rests you!

It is a pleasant pastime, when the labors of the day are over, and the sun is throwing long shadows from the west, you take watering-pot in hand, and shower the refreshing spray upon your plants, cleansing them from the dust, and cooling them after the heat. How they thrive, and bud and bloom!

The Love of Flowers.

"We should love flowers, for when we are gone From this forgetful world a few short years-- Nay, months, perhaps--those whom we hold most dear, Cease to bedew our memories with tears, And no more footsteps mark the paths that lead To where we dreamless lie; but God's dear flowers Give to our very graves the loveliness That won our tender praise when life was ours."

LAST WORDS OF THE POET HEINE.

Of the many touching tributes paid to flowers, there is a beautiful one associated with the closing hours of Henry Heine, the poet. He was dying in Paris. The doctor was paying his usual visit, when Heine pressed his hand and said: "Doctor, you are my friend, I ask a last favor. Tell me the truth--the end is approaching, is it not?"

The doctor was silent.

"Thank you," said Heine calmly.

"Have you any request to make?" asked the doctor, moved to tears.

"Yes," replied the poet; "my wife sleeps--do not disturb her. Take from the table the fragrant flowers she brought me this morning. I love flowers so dearly. Thanks--place them upon my breast." He paused, as he inhaled their perfume. His eyes closed, and he murmured: "Flowers, flowers, how beautiful is Nature!" These were his last words.

THE OLD MAN AND THE FLOWERS.

A few years since the Belfast (Me.) _Journal_ gave this touching incident: "One day last week an elderly man, known to our people as an honest and hard-working citizen, was walking slowly up Main street. There was sorrow in his countenance, and the shadow of grief upon his face. Opposite the Savings Bank his eye caught sight of the flowering Oleander, that with other plants fill the bay-window of the banking-room. He looked at it long and wistfully. At length he pushed open the door, and approaching Mr. Q., said:

"'Will you give me a few of those flowers?'

"The cashier, leaving the counting of money and the computing of interest, came around the counter, bent down the plant, cut off a cluster of blossoms, and placed it in the man's toil-hardened hand. His curiosity led him to ask:

"'What do you want them for?'

"'My little granddaughter died of scarlet fever last night,' the man replied with faltering voice, 'and I want to put them in her coffin.'

"Blessed be flowers, that can thus solace the bereavement of death and lend their brightness as a bloom, to the last resting-place of the loved one."

CONVERTED BY A FLOWER.

There is a beautiful incident told of a Texas gentleman who was an unbeliever in the Christian religion. One day he was walking in the woods, reading the writings of Plato. He came to where the great writer uses the phrase, "God geometrizes." He thought to himself, "If I could only see plan and order in God's works, I could be a believer." Just then he saw a little Texas Star at his feet. He picked it up and then thoughtlessly began to count its petals. He found there were five. He counted the stamens, and there were five of them. He counted the divisions at the base of the flower, there were five of them. He then set about multiplying these three fives to see how many chances there were of a flower being brought into existence without the aid of mind, and having in it these three fives. The chances against it were one hundred and twenty-five to one. He thought that was very strange. He examined another flower, and found it the same. He multiplied one hundred and twenty-five by itself, to see how many chances there were against there being two flowers, each having these exact relations of numbers. He found the chances against it were thirteen thousand six hundred and twenty-five to one. But all around him were multitudes of these little flowers, and they had been growing and blooming there for years. He thought this showed the order of intelligence, and that the mind that ordained it was God. And so he shut up his book, picked up the little flower, kissed it, and exclaimed: "_Bloom on little flowers; sing on little birds; you have a God, and I have a God; the God that made these little flowers made me_."

A Talk About Abutilons.