kill any and either of them; it is equally impatient
with them of excessive humidity, especially
if combined with chilly weather. As Loudon
says, it is a tender annual; so are the
others. Treat it like them, and it will equally
display its rampant vigorous growth and its
abundant fructification. Subject a melon-plant
to the same free-and-easy and let-alone culture
as you do a ridge-cucumber, or a pumpkin, and
it will astonish you. Only a melon, to be ripe,
demands a longer space of time between the
setting of the fruit and the cutting than does a
green cucumber, or a quarter-grown vegetable
marrow. At Ispahan even, the melon does not
find a high temperature constantly maintained
without remission, like that which routinier
forcers aim at; it has hot days and cool nights.
The night temperature of our southern and
midland counties, during July, August, and
September, is quite sufficient. In fine summers,
our days are hot enough for its prosperity; in
cold, wet summers, like that of 1816 and of
1844, the melon is a failure all over France, and
therefore we ought not to grumble at its failing
here. What we need, in average years, is a
longer summer. We must lengthen it artificially;
and the end at which it is easiest and most
seasonable to lengthen it is at the beginning.

Proceed in your attempts somewhat after the
following fashion, and dare to leave the beaten
path, regardless of your neighbours, who will
talk about innovation, quackery, and presumptuous
boasting, until they witness your success.

Between the middle of April and the middle
of May, make several—say half a dozen—conical
hillocks, disposed either in rows or in quincunx
order, according to the convenience of your
ground, so that their centres shall be five feet
apart every way, and their perpendicular height,
when finished and planted, two feet above the
level of the soil. An inch or two more or less
is of no consequence. The basis of each hillock
is a hole, round or square, dug in the ground,
half a yard in diameter and eight inches deep.
The holes are then filled, and the hillocks are
built up with well-rotted manure, carefully
piled and stacked into shape, in order that your
peaks of Teneriffe may sink or settle as little as
possible, and that they may retain their form
and elevation until the month of October. When
your mountains are nicely made and rounded,
cover them to the depth of six or seven inches
with a stratum of earth rich in humus or
vegetable mould, stiffish rather than light, and
prepared if possible a year beforehand. If your
soil for this outer coating is too compact and
clayey, mix it with old leaf-mould, or better with
heath-mould, until it is friable without being
light. In default of earth thus prepared, good
kitchen-garden mould will do. The prosperity
of our melons depends on no quack composts,
and shall be checked by no futile, self-raised
difficulties. We have made the first step; our
melon-ground is ready to receive its inmates.

The young melon-plants must be forced and
brought forward somehow; in a frame and
hot-bed is the ordinary way; but you may
start your youngsters thus: in your study
there may be a cast-iron stove (with an
open fireplace) called a prussienne. In
March plant melon-seeds, two in each pot,
and cover them with a cracked beer-glass or
tumbler; then put them to bake on the top of
the stove, watering as required. In a few days,
the seed-leaves are above ground, when the
plants are removed to the windows (inside, of
course) to enjoy the sunshine, and their place
on the stove is taken by successional pots. When
the real leaves appear between the cotyledons,
the pots are removed to a south border to be
brought forward and gradually inured to air and
light under bell-glasses, which cover them closely
at night. We thus arrive at the middle of May.
In one of the Waltonian cases recommended by
Mr. Shirley Hibberd, enough melon-plants might
be raised to cover Hyde Park with their foliage
by the end of the summer. But, although
you begin late this season, yet, from a plant
started by the prussienne and growing all
summer in the open ground with no other
artificial heat than the shelter of a bell-glass,
you may cut your first melon on the 16th of
August: in a latitude, too, which, though south
of London, may be north of the Isle of Wight.
Nor does the crop consist of one single fruit,
but of many. One-third at least of England
might do the same; because the greater length
of the days northwards is a compensation for the
shorter summer.

In the middle of May, or earlier if you dare,
slightly level the tops of your hills, so as to
make a little platform on their summit; in the
middle of the platform scoop out a round hole,
and in it plant a couple of your seedlings, turning
them out of their pots adroitly, so as to
keep their balls of earth entire. Water them,
and cover them close with a bell-glass, which is
most convenient; or with a hand-light; or with
an oiled-paper cap, rather than give up your
experiment for want of appliances. You may
have given the first pinching to your plants
(above the second true leaf), while still in pot.
After these two operations of pinching and
planting, your young pupils will sometimes
appear to stand still for a fortnight or so, and their
vegetation to flag. Do not make yourself uneasy
on that account; perhaps they are working hard,
unseen, at the root. Cover at night with mats,
if spring frosts threaten; admit air by day;
carefully weed your hillocks and give them a
slight scratching; and then encase them with a
paletot of well-rotten manure, an inch and a half
thick; raise your bell-glasses on three bricks,
crutches, or pot-hooks, and the thing is done.
When the branches peep out from under their
bell, you may pinch their extremities; before
that time, do not touch a leaf. As such branch
successively gets half-way down the mountain,
pinch it; when it reaches the bottom, pinch it
again, and afterwards only stop them when they
become troublesome and run out of bounds.
Perhaps, on the whole, these are too many pinchings;
but high authority recommends them. Dig
well round the root of the mountain, to allow the