Gardeners divide the chrysanthemums into three classes—the incurved (the petals turned inwards), the reflex (the petals turned outwards), and the anemone flowered, which has a centre like a German aster. Of these species the anemone flowered are the most rare and difficult of cultivation, the incurved are the nearest to perfection, and the reflex are somewhat out of fashion. The little plants called pompones, which, as I have said before, have very lately been introduced from France, are, as their name implies, button like flowers, the pompone being the button which certain French regiments are privileged to wear in front of their caps. These are the pet flowers with all horticulturists.
The height of the Chrysanthemum varies from seven to three feet. The Anaxo (red orange) and the Temple de Salomon (yellow) grow to the former height—the Anakim of the race,—while the Queen Victoria (delicate peach) and the Princess Royal (rose) only attain the minimum of three feet. There are now in cultivation about 100 of the large varieties of the flower, of all colours, blush and pale pink, rose and lilac, rose and carmine, red and crimson, orange and red, &c., &c.; of the pompones more than 100 also, plum and violet, rose and carmine, buff and salmon, scarlet and brown, &c.
Favourite as our flower is, like all good people it has its enemies,—who must be named in defence of its rights—mildew and earwigs, sparrows and aphis, or green fly. The greatest care should be taken to guard the young plant from these foes.
In Messrs. Broome and Dale’s collection of chrysanthemums it is noteworthy how many of the names are French. It is true that we have Antigone, Mr. Dale, Bob (late, good habit), Frederick Peel (dwarf, very free), Old Princess Royal, Goliath, and Mrs. Coombes; but these are flanked on all sides by Le Grand Napoleon (good border flower), Eugenie, Voltaire, General Marceau, Madame Godereau, Julie Lagravere, Leon Lequay, and fifty other Gallic cognomens.
About this time the beautiful gardens of the Temple present a most brilliant appearance. The flowers are in perfection, both under the protecting tent and in the open border. Bend your steps into the gardens as soon as you find there is such a sight within earshot of Fleet Street. Find out the three gems of the year, Florence (pompone), a red reflex flower; Phidias, lilac and rose, large reflex; and Queen of England, large incurved. Thank Messrs. Broome and Dale for providing such a treat for you in the mouth sacred to ennui and suicide, as well as to lawyers and Lord Mayors, and—mind you don’t smoke over the flowers.
A WALK FROM ROCHESTER TO MAIDSTONE.
Among the scenes of natural beauty, combined with antiquarian and historic interest, that are now easily accessible from London, the lower part of the valley of the Medway claims an important place. A summer day’s excursion to this portion of the “Garden of England” has left some pleasant memories, which we would now, for the information of pedestrian readers more especially, endeavour to revive.
The Mid Kent Railway, traversing, first, the undulating woody district around Bromley and Beckenham, and afterwards the fair meadows and rich hop-grounds which diversify the smiling valleys of the Cray and the Darent, lands us finally at Strood, within sight of the ancient towers of Rochester. That old city, rising boldly from the right bank of the broad and navigable Medway, at once impresses the beholder by the strength and dignity of its position, as well as by the lofty and venerable towers which surmount its other buildings. Its commanding situation, doubtless, gave it that importance which it possessed in the days of the Heptarchy, and even during the period of the Roman occupation. The internal aspect of the town, notwithstanding its proximity to the dockyards of Chatham, and the changes which railway operations have effected in its neighbourhood, is still in tolerable harmony with its picturesque site. Ancient houses and gateways meet the eye while we ascend its steep and winding streets, and bright glimpses of the river and the surrounding green hills are obtained from unexpected openings. Near the centre of traffic we observe a market-house in the quaint style—half French, half Flemish—which prevailed, at least in provincial towns, towards the close of the seventeenth century. An inscription records the fact of its erection at the expense of one of England’s unforgotten worthies—the valiant Sir Cloudesley Shovel, at that time one of the members for Rochester. Remembering his important services to his country and to the cause of freedom in the days of King William and Queen Anne, and the tragical fate which overtook his fleet and terminated his career on the rocks of Scilly, we hasten towards the objects of highest interest in Rochester—its castle and cathedral. The former, crowning the verdant and here well-shaded bank of the Medway, is admirable on account of its massive yet elegant tower and the pure and magnificent Norman architecture of its interior. No assemblage of buildings in England, indeed, affords a better study of this interesting style than does this castle, together with the adjoining west front of the cathedral. The latter, especially, with its interlacing arches, rich ornamentation, and singular statuary, leaves a peculiar and lasting impression on the mind. Though rebuilt in the Norman period, it suggests, by the great antiquity and originality of its style, thoughts of that earlier and more national Saxon period which witnessed the foundation of the see and the first erection of Ethelbert. If we miss the aspiring elevation and the grand comprehensive unity of the subsequent pointed styles, we have here not merely the interest of variety, but also a distinct impression awakened by the solemn and mysterious massiveness, the cloistral depth and seclusion which seem to prevail. Those ponderous arches, those barbaric but rich capitals and mouldings, seem to bring us into contact with a remoter and more primitive state of society, when the bold free life of the northern races was but newly engrafted on the expiring civilisation of the old nations. Entering the cathedral, we find the western end still completely
