Part 16

Caprice is a very peculiar variety. Its thick, waxen petals of rosy carmine are heavily blotched and striped with dark red, shading to crimson. It is most pleasing when the flower begins to expand.

Perle des Jardins is a most lovely Rose, of almost as rich a color as the famous Marechal Neil,--a deep, glowing yellow,--lovely beyond description. It is a very free bloomer, and should be given a place in all collections.

Sunset--another good bloomer--is a tawny yellow in color, flamed with fawn and coppery tints. It is an exquisite Rose.

Clothilde Soupert does not properly belong to either of the four classes mentioned above, though of course closely related. It is catalogued as a Polyantha. Its habit is peculiar. It bears enormous quantities of flowers, with the greatest freedom of any Rose I have ever grown, but its blossoms are small, and are produced in clusters quite unlike those of the other members of the ever-blooming class. Indeed, its habit of growth and flowering is quite like that of the Rambler varieties, on a small scale. But, unlike the Ramblers, its flowers are very double. They are produced at the extremity of the new branches, in clusters of fifteen to twenty and thirty. So many are there to each branch that you will find it advisable to thin out half of them if you want perfect flowers. In color it is a delicate pink on first opening, fading to almost white. At the centre of the flower it is a bright carmine. Give this variety a trial and you will be delighted with it.

It must not be understood that the above list includes all the desirable sorts adapted to general culture. It is simply a list of the most distinct varieties that respond satisfactorily to the treatment outlined, and from which the amateur gardener can expect the best results. There are scores of other varieties possessing exceptional merit, but many of them require the attention of the professional in order to give satisfaction, and are not what I feel warranted in recommending the amateur to undertake the culture of if large quantities of flowers are what he has in mind. Every one on the list given is a standard variety, and you will find that you have made no mistake in confining your selection to it.

I would advise the purchase of two-year-old plants. Younger plants seldom bloom with much profusion the first season.

Order your plants in April. Get them into the ground about the middle of May. Mulch the soil about them well. This will do away with the necessity of watering if the season happens to prove a dry one. In planting, be governed by the directions given in the chapter on "The Rose."

Try a bed of these ever-bloomers for a season and you will never afterward be without them. Other flowers will rival them in brilliance, perhaps, and may require less attention, but--they will not be Roses! One fine Rose affords more pleasure to the lover of the best among flowers than a whole garden full of ordinary blossoms can, and this is why I urge all flower-loving people to undertake the culture of the ever-blooming class of Roses, for I know they will give greater satisfaction than anything else you can grow.

In fall, the plants can be taken up, packed away in boxes of earth, and kept in the cellar over winter. Cut away almost the entire top when the plants are lifted. All that one cares to carry through the winter is the root of the plant.

THE DAHLIA

Thirty or forty years ago the Dahlia was one of our popular flowers. That is, popular among those who aspired to "keep up with the times," and grow all the new plants that had real merit in them. At that time but one form of it was considered worth growing, and that was the very double, globular type of flower. The single varieties were looked upon as worthless.

After a time the popularity of the flower waned for some reason hard to account for, except on the theory that there are fashions in flowers as in clothes. I presume that the true explanation is that we Americans are prone to run to extremes, and when we take up a plant and it becomes a favorite we overdo matters and tire of it because we see so much of it. Then we relegate it to the background for a time, and after awhile we drag it out of the obscurity to which we temporarily consigned it as a penalty for its popularity, and straightway it comes into greater prominence than ever, precisely as does the cut of a sleeve or the style of hair-dressing. This explanation may not be very complimentary to American good sense or taste, but I think it goes to the root of the matter. It is sincerely to be hoped that the time will come when our flower-growing will have no trace of the fad about it, and that whatever we cultivate will grow into favor solely because of real merit, and that its popularity will be permanent. I am encouraged to think that such may be the case, for some of the favorite flowers of the day have held their own against all newcomers for a considerable period, and seem to be growing in favor every year. This is as it should be.

It used to be thought that the Dahlia could not be grown successfully at the north if it were not started into growth in the house, or greenhouse, very early in the season. Nine times out of ten the result was a weak, spindling plant by the time it was safe to put it into the ground--which was not until all danger from frost was over. Generally such plants were not strong enough to bloom until about the time frost came in fall, for it took them the greater part of the season to recover from the effect of early forcing, in which the vitality of the plant suffered almost to the point of extinction, and to which was added the ordeal of the change from in- to out-door conditions. "Our seasons are too short for it," was the universal verdict. "At the south it may do well, but there's no use in trying to do anything with it at the north unless one has a greenhouse, and understands the peculiarities of the plant better than the rank and file of flower-loving people can expect to." So it came about that its cultivation was given up by small gardeners, and it was seen only on the grounds of the wealthier people, who could afford the services of the professional gardener.

We have learned, of late years, that our treatment of the plant was almost the opposite of what was required.

Some eight or ten years ago, I ordered a collection of choice varieties of the Dahlia. I ordered them early in the season, expecting to start them into growth in pots as usual. For some reason they did not come until the last day of May. It was then too late to start them in the usual way, and I planted them in the garden, expecting they would amount to nothing.

The result was, to me, a most surprising one.

The place in which I planted them was one whose soil was very rich and mellow. It was near a pump, from which a great deal of water was thrown out every day.

In less than a week after planting, the tubers threw up strong shoots, and these grew very rapidly under the combined effects of rich soil, warmth, and plenty of moisture at the roots. Indeed, they went ahead so rapidly that I considered their growth a discouraging feature, as I felt sure it must be a weak one.

The result was that when the State Horticultural Society held its summer meeting in the village in which I resided, on the twenty-eighth of August, I placed on exhibition some of the finest specimens of Dahlia blossoms the members of the Society had ever seen, and carried off eight first premiums.

Since then I have never attempted to start my Dahlias in the house. I give them an extremely rich soil, spaded up to the depth of at least a foot and a half, and made so mellow that the new roots find it an easy matter to work their way through it. Water is applied freely during the season. I consider this an item of great importance, as I find that the plant fails to make satisfactory development when located in a dry place. A pailful of water a day is not too much to apply to each plant in a dry season.

The soil must be rich. In a poor soil development will be on a par with that of plants which have been given a dry place.

Because of the peculiar brittleness of the stalks of the Dahlia it is quite necessary to furnish them with good support. My plan is to set a stout stake by each plant, at planting-time. This should be at least five feet tall. I put it in place at the time of planting the tuber, because then I know just where the root of the future plant is, and can set the stake without injuring it. But if stake-setting is left until later in the season one runs a risk of breaking off some of the new tubers that have formed about the old one. I tie the main stalk of the plant to the stake with a strip of cloth instead of a string, as the latter will cut into the soft wood. Sometimes, if the plant sends up a good many stalks, it will be necessary to furnish additional support. Unless some kind of support is given we are likely to get up some morning after a heavy rain, or a sudden wind, and find our plants broken down, and in attempting to save them we are pretty sure to complete the wreck, as a slight twist or turn in the wrong direction will snap the stalk off at its junction with the root.

The Dahlia will be found one of our very best plants for use in the border where something is needed for a filler. It is very effective as a hedge, and can be used to great advantage to hide a fence. Single specimens are fine for prominent locations on the grounds about the house. In fact, it is a plant that can be made useful anywhere.

In fall, when our early frosts come, it will be necessary to protect it on cool nights, as it is extremely tender. This can be easily done by setting some stout sticks about the plant and covering it with a sheet. If tided over the frosty weather that usually comes for two or three nights about the middle of September, it will bloom profusely during the weeks of pleasant weather that almost always follow the early frosts, and then is when it will be enjoyed most.

When the frost has killed its stalks, it should be dug and got ready for winter. Lift the great mass of roots that will have grown from the little tuber planted at the beginning of the season, and do this without breaking them apart, if possible. Spread them out in the sun. At night cover with a blanket, and next day expose them to sunshine again. Do this for several days in succession until the soil that is lifted with them will crumble away easily. Exposure to sunshine has the effect of relieving them of a good deal of moisture which they contain in great quantity when first dug, and which ought to be got rid of, in a large degree, before they are stored in the cellar.

The tubers should never be placed on the cellar-bottom, because of the dampness that is generally found there. I spread mine out on shelves of wire netting, suspended four or five feet from the floor. If they show signs of mould I know they are too damp, and elevate the shelves still more, in order to get the tubers into a dryer stratum of air. If they seem to be shrivelling too much, I lower the shelves a little. Cellars differ so much that one can only tell where the right place is by experimenting. Watch your tubers carefully. A little neglect will often result in failure, as mould, once given a chance to secure a foothold, is rapid in its action, and your tubers may be beyond help before you discover that there is anything the matter with them. As soon as you find a mouldy root, throw it out. If left it will speedily communicate its disease to every plant with which it comes in contact. Some persons tell me that they succeed in wintering their Dahlia tubers best by packing them in boxes of perfectly dry sand. If this is done, be sure to elevate the box from the floor of the cellar.

Quite naturally persons have an idea that the best results will be secured by planting out the whole bunch of tubers, in spring. This is a mistake. One good tuber, with an "eye," or growing point, will make a much better plant than the whole bunch set out together.

To sum up the treatment I advise in the cultivation of the Dahlia: