# Once a Week (magazine)/Series 1/Volume 5/The temple chrysanthemums

THE TEMPLE CHRYSANTHEMUMS.
When a many-acred, well-timbered country gentleman leaves his ancestral home in Blankshire for his annual fortnight in London, during the month of May, he is rather pleased than otherwise with the metropolis. He thinks the park and Kensington Gardens beautiful, the trees and the flowers worthy of Blankshire itself, and so on. But let a letter from his family lawyers—Messrs. Kaisay and Fyfay, of Grabbem’s Inn—summon him to town on urgent private affairs, towards the beginning of November. As the good squire grumbles forth his disgust at the aspect of London, tell him that within a stone’s throw of those filthy streets, under that murky, foggy atmosphere, and on the borders of that pestiferous stream, which he would sooner die than venture on, there is to be seen the finest collection of one of the most beautiful flowers in cultivation, growing and thriving, like the gods and goddesses in “the Groves of Blarney,” “all standing naked in the open air,” and, at the end of October, simultaneously flowering into millions of most lovely blossoms of all sorts, in lively welcome of their lords, the lawyers, to their dens in the Temple—what will he think of the sanity of his informant? It is odd news enough for a country gentleman to be told that in a London climate such delicate plants as the calceolaria, the scarlet geranium, and the clove carnation live and flourish; that on the walls of a certain parsonage in Tothill Fields is as large and healthy a fig-tree as is to be found in most parts of England, as also a noble vine, of which its reverend owner receives none of the abundant fruit only because like Ovid’s walnut-tree, it grows by the wayside, and juvenile depredators steal the tempting bunches before they are ripe; and that some of the choicest and best cultivated plants are to be seen outside humble window sills, in Spitalfields and Bethnal Green;—but a flower-show—and such a flower-show—in November, down Fleet Street way—preposterous!
About the time when these pages find their way into Blankshire, our young Prince, after opening the library of the Temple, and being duly elected a Bencher of one or both of its Inns, will pay a visit to the famous gardens, which by the talent and perseverance of two intelligent horticulturists have been, within a very few years, made the pride of the Inns, the paradise of little children, and the delight of the weary clerk and the jaded servant of Captain Pen. The annual chrysanthemum show has not, I believe, been held for more than fifteen years, while the pompone, which is the favourite flower, is of very recent introduction into this country.
The chrysanthemum (χρυσεὸν ἄνθος) or golden flower, is of the order compositæ in the natural system, and in that of Linnæus comes under the head of Syngenesia superflua. It has only been common since the beginning of this century, but it was introduced from China in the year 17(3-t. Neglected for a time about the first quarter of this century, it has again become very popular of late years. It will grow in almost any soil, but to be cultivated with success, a compost of three parts sound loam and one part well rotted dung should be prepared for its reception. For specimen-flowers liquid manure (a spadeful of horse droppings or half a spadeful of sheep droppings to four gallons of water) should be occasionally used. In the earlier days of the flower’s popularity, it used to be planted in composts of goose-dung, sugar-baker’s scum, decayed willow shavings, and goose blood, but that is never done now, I am informed. Planting commences about the last week in March. In April and May the plant likes a south aspect best, but, in the summer months, should be kept a good deal shaded. When eight or ten inches high the young plants are pegged down to prevent too tall growth, and when at a height of one foot or one foot six inches may be tied to slender sticks. During the month of August the plants are watered copiously with liquid manure until the buds are as large as Spanish nuts, when only pure water should be given them. From about the middle of October they are covered over at night, the frosts retarding the swelling of the buds and the free expansion of the flowers, and when the flowers are quite open they should be covered during the day also, as is now to be seen in the Temple Gardens.
​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.
C. B. B.