It is one o'clock P. M.; I am at Hyde-Park Corner; I hail the nearest
'Hansom,' and am quickly dashing away for Chiswick. The road leading
thither is always a scene of great bustle: on a Chiswick fête-day,
this is very much augmented. But I am early, and the increase of
vehicles is not yet great. A few carriages and cabs, mostly filled
with ladies, who, like myself, are early on the road, and eager to be
at the scene of action, are occasionally passed; for my horse is a
good one, and the driver seems to desire to do the journey in good
style. The majority of passengers and conveyances are chiefly of the
everyday character, and such as are always met with on this great
thoroughfare. Omnibuses, with loads of dusty passengers; carts and
wagons, filled with manure, and each with a man or boy dozing upon the
top; teams baiting at the roadside inns; troops of dirty children at
the ends of narrow streets; with carriers' carts, and travel-stained
pedestrians, make up the aggregate of the objects on the road. But in
another hour the scene will change; the aristocratic 'turn-out,' with
its brilliant appointments and spruce footmen--the cab, the brougham,
and the open chariot, all filled with gaily-dressed company, will
crowd the way; for a Chiswick fête is one of the events of a London
season. People go there as they do to the Opera--to see and to be
seen. As I journey onward, I catch glimpses of blooming fruit-trees,
and green hedges, speaking of the approach of summer. The little
patches of garden by the wayside are gay with flowers, but sadly
disfigured with dust. Even they, however, look quite refreshing in
contrast with the close and crowded streets I have left behind. The
spire of the church on Chiswick green is peeping above the houses in
the distance; and by the time I have noticed the increase of bustle on
the road, and about the inn-doors, the cab has stopped at one of the
garden entrances. Early as I am, many others are before me, and are
waiting for the hour of admission--two o'clock. The carriages of those
already arrived are drawn up in rank upon the green; policemen are
everywhere to preserve order; ostlers are numerous, with buckets of
water and bundles of hay; groups of loungers are looking on, carriages
are every minute arriving, and the bustle is becoming great. As it yet
wants ten minutes to two o'clock, I shall occupy the time by giving
the reader a little introduction to what we are presently to see.
There are three of these fêtes every year--one in May, another in
June, and a third in July. When the weather is fine, there is always a
brilliant gathering of rank, and beauty, and fashion; but the June
show is usually the best attended. English gardening is always well
represented here. The plants and fruit brought for exhibition astonish
even those who are best acquainted with what English gardeners can do.
For several seasons past, it was thought that cultivation had reached
its highest point; yet each succeeding year outvied the past, and
report tells me, that the plants exhibited to-day are in advance of
anything previously seen. They are sent here from widely distant parts
of the country--many of them are brought one or two hundred miles; but
most of the large collections are from gardens at a comparatively
short distance from Chiswick. The principal prize is contended for by
collections of thirty stove and greenhouse plants; and their large
size will be apparent, when it is stated that one such collection
makes eight or ten van-loads. There are never more than three or four
competitors for this prize. Their productions are generally brought
into the garden on the evening previous to the day of exhibition. At
about daylight on the morning of the fête, the great bustle of
preparation begins. Everything has to be arranged, and ready for the
judges by ten o'clock A. M., at which hour all exhibitors, and others
interested in the awards, are obliged to leave the gardens; and they
are not readmitted until the gates are thrown open to those who may
have tickets of admission, at two o'clock.
At last they _are_ open. (How expectation clogs the wheels of time!) I
join the throng; and in a few minutes I am among the flowers, which
are arranged in long tents, on stages covered with green baize, as a
background to set off in bold relief their beautiful forms and tints.
There are three military bands stationed in different parts of the
grounds, to keep up a succession of enlivening strains until six
o'clock, the hour when the proceedings, so far as the public are
concerned, are supposed to terminate. One of them is already
'discoursing most eloquent music.' Company rapidly arrives;
well-dressed persons are strolling through the tents, sitting beneath
the trees, or on the benches, listening to the music. The scene is a
gay one. The richness and beauty of the masses of flower, rivalled
only by the gay dresses and bright eyes of hundreds of fair admirers;
the delicate green of the trees clothed with their young foliage, and
the carpet-like lawns, all lit up by a bright May sun, and enlivened
by the best music, combine to form a whole, the impression of which is
not easily forgotten.
But I am forgetting the flowers. Suppose we enter the nearest tent,
and note the more prominent objects on our way. Here is a somewhat
miscellaneous assortment; geraniums are conspicuous. The plants are
remarkably fine, averaging nearly a yard across, and presenting masses
of flower in the highest perfection. One is conspicuous for the
richness of its colouring; its name is magnet (_Hoyle._) There is a
collection of ferns, too; their graceful foliage, agitated by every
breeze, adds much to the interest of this tent. Among the most
remarkable are the maidenhair-ferns (_adiantum_), and a huge plant of
the elk's horn fern, from New South Wales. It derives its name from
the shape of its large fronds. Before us is a quantity of Chinese
hydrangeas, remarkable in this case for the small size of the plants,
and disproportionately large heads of pink blossoms. Cape
pelargoniums, too, are well represented: they are curious plants,
indigenous to the Cape of Good Hope; specimens of them are very often
sent to this country, with boxes of bulbs, for which the Cape is
famous. When they arrive, they look like pieces of deadwood; but when
properly cared for, they rapidly make roots and branches, and produce
their interesting flowers in abundance.
Passing to the next tent, we enter that part devoted to the fruit. A
delicate aroma pervades the place. Directly before us is a large plant
of the Chinese loquah, loaded with fruit. This is yellow, and about
the size of a small plum. The plant is a great novelty; for although
hardy enough to be grown out of doors in this country, it produces its
fruit only in a hothouse. Associated with it are some large vines in
pots, with a profusion of fine bunches of grapes. Then there are
dishes of strawberries (_British Queens_), numerous pine-apples,
cherries, peaches, bananas (grown in this country), melons, &c.;
besides some very fine winter apples and pears, which have been
admirably preserved. Of the former, the winter-queen, old green
nonpareil, and golden harvey are conspicuous; of the latter, the
warden and Uvedale's St Germain are fine.
The most attractive feature of these shows appears to be the
orchideous or air-plants, as they are popularly known. A greater
number of persons are always collected round them than in any other
part of the tents; nor is this to be wondered at. Nothing can be more
singular in appearance or gorgeous in colouring. Their fragrance, too,
is so delightful. Description can convey but a faint idea of their
great beauty and diversity of character. They seem to mimic the insect
world in the shapes of their blossoms; nor are the resemblances
distant. Every one has heard of the butterfly-plant: there is one on
the stage now before us, and as the breeze gently waves its slender
stalks, each tipped with a vegetable butterfly, it becomes almost
difficult to imagine that we are not watching the movements of a real
insect flitting among the plants. Here is a spike of _Gongora
maculata_, bearing no faint resemblance to a quantity of brown insects
with expanded wings collected round the stem. Close to it are some
_Brassias_, mimicking with equal fidelity insects of a paler colour,
besides hundreds of others equally curious and beautiful. Some bear
their flowers in erect spikes, or loose heads; others have drooping
racemes a yard in length, as some of the _dendrobiums_. More have a
slender flower-stalk making a graceful curve, with the flowers placed
on the uppermost side, as _Pholænopsis amablis_, which bears a
profusion of white blossoms closely resembling large moths with
expanded wings. Here are some remarkable plants we must not pass
without noticing: they are equally attractive both by their beauty and
associations. They are two plants of _Stanhopea tigrina_, exhibited by
Her Majesty, and a fine specimen of _Acincta Humboldtii_, named in
honour of the philosophic traveller. They are all worthy of the
associations they call up; they grow in open baskets, and the flowers
are produced from below, directly opposite the leaves. The ordinary
law of flowering-plants is reversed in them.
We pass on: everywhere gorgeous masses of flower are before us. Huge
plants of Indian azaleas, filling a space of several feet, literally
covered with blossoms of every hue. Heaths from the Cape, far
outrivalling their brethren in their native wilds; rhododendrons from
the Himalaya; and cactuses from the plains of South America. In fact,
here are collected examples of the flora of almost every known country
of the globe. But we must not be carried away by these more showy
plants to the exclusion of some very curious and interesting little
things which I see we are in danger of forgetting. Here, carefully
covered by a bell-glass, is a fine specimen of _Dionæa muscipula_, or
Venus's fly-trap. Every reader of natural history is familiar with its
economy; but one does not often get a sight of it. By the side of it
are many other curious plants, covered with equal care.
_Anoectochillis argenteus_, a little dwarf plant, with leaves which,
both in their beautiful lustre and peculiar markings, resemble a green
lizard, must serve for an example. Among other curiosities, is a small
plant of one of the species of rhododendrons, recently introduced by
Dr Hooker from the mountains of Sikkim Himalaya; close to it are some
azaleas imported from the northern parts of the Celestial Empire.
There are also some very rare and valuable specimens of hardy trees,
from the mountains of Patagonia. They belong to the very extensive
family of coniferous plants, and have been named respectively
_Fitz-Roya Patagonica_ and _Saxe-Gothea conspicua_. There is also a
remarkably handsome creeper, _Hexacentras mysorensis_, having pendent
racemes of large flowers in shape resembling the snap-dragon, and of a
rich orange and chocolate colour.
To revert to the little Sikkim rhododendron, I shall give here the
description of a still more diminutive specimen, met with by Dr Hooker
during his journey, and which he has figured and described in his
beautiful work, _The Rhododendron of Sikkim-Himalaya_. It is called
_R. nivale_, or snow-rhododendron. 'The hard, woody branches of this
curious little species, as thick as a goose-quill, struggle along the
ground for a foot or two, presenting brown tufts of vegetation where
not half-a-dozen other plants can exist. The branches are densely
interwoven, very harsh and woody, wholly depressed; whence the shrub,
spreading horizontally, and barely raised two inches above the soil,
becomes eminently typical of the arid, stern climate it inhabits. The
latest to bloom, and earliest to mature its seeds, by far the smallest
in foliage, and proportionally largest in flower, most lepidote in
vesture, humble in stature, rigid in texture, deformed in habit, yet
the most odoriferous, it may be recognised, even in the herbarium, as
the production of the loftiest elevation on the surface of the
globe--of the most excessive climate--of the joint influences of a
scorching sun by day, and the keenest frost by night--of the greatest
drought, followed in a few hours by a saturated atmosphere--of the
balmiest calm, alternating with the whirlwind of the Alps. For eight
months of the year, it is buried under many feet of snow; for the
remaining four, it is frequently snowed on and sunned in the same
hour. During genial weather, when the sun heats the soil to 150
degrees, its perfumed foliage scents the air; whilst to snow-storm and
frost it is insensible: blooming through all; expanding its little
purple flowers to the day, and only closing them to wither after
fertilisation has taken place. As the life of a moth may be
indefinitely prolonged whilst its duties are unfulfilled, so the
flower of this little mountaineer will remain open through days of fog
and sleet, till a mild day facilitates the detachment of the pollen
and the fecundation of the ovarium. This process is almost wholly the
effect of winds; for though humblebees, and the "Blues" and
"Fritillaries" (_Polyommatus_ and _Argynnis_) amongst butterflies, do
exist at this prodigious elevation, they are too few in number to
influence the operations of vegetable life.' To this Dr Hooker adds:
'This singular little plant attains a loftier elevation, I believe,
than any other shrub in the world.'
But here is a plant, or rather flower, more curious than any we have
seen. The corolla is on a long stalk, a foot or more high; but how to
describe it is the difficulty. Imagine a bat with expanded wings, with
the addition of a tail, spread out before you, having on its breast a
rosette of narrow ribbon, of the same dusky colour, and you will gain
some idea of its form and colour. Its botanical name is _Attacia
cristata_.
Here is the rose-tent. In no previous season have the plants appeared
in finer condition. A few years ago, nobody could grow roses fit to be
seen in pots; many said it was impossible to do so: now, one can
scarcely imagine anything finer than they are seen at the metropolitan
flower-shows. Both in healthy appearance, and in fineness of flower,
they exceed those which we admire so much in the open garden in
summer. One or two are conspicuous, though all are beautiful.
_Souvenirs d'un ami_ has pale flesh-coloured flowers, exceedingly
delicate; nor is the perfume they emit less attractive. _Niphetus_,
pure white; _Adam_, very pale; and _Géant des Batailles_, of the
richest crimson, are among the most attractive; but there are numerous
others, rivalling them in beauty and fragrance.
As the afternoon wears away, the more fashionable visitors depart. At
six o'clock, the several bands of music form one, the National Anthem
is played, and the fête is over.