About Orchids, a Chat — 02 - Chapter One: My Gardening, Sections 2 & 3

II.

I was my own gardener, and sixteen years ago I knew nothing whatever of the business.

The process of education was almost as amusing as expensive; but that fashion of humour is threadbare.

In those early days I would have none of your geraniums, hardy perennials, and such common things.

Diligently studying the "growers'" catalogues, I looked out, not novelties alone, but curious novelties.

Not one of them "did any good" to the best of my recollection.

Impatient and disgusted, I formed several extraordinary projects to evade my ignorance of horticulture.

Among others which I recollect was an idea of growing bulbs the year round!

No trouble with bulbs!

you just plant them and they do their duty.

A patient friend at Kew made me a list of genera and species which, if all went well, should flower in succession.

But there was a woeful gap about midsummer--just the time when gardens ought to be brightest.

Still, I resolved to carry out the scheme, so far as it went, and forwarded my list to Covent Garden for an estimate of the expense.

It amounted to some hundreds of pounds.

So that notion fell through.

But the patient friend suggested something for which I still cherish his memory.

He pointed out that bulbs look very formal mostly, unless planted in great quantities, as may be done with the cheap sorts--tulips and such.

An undergrowth of low brightly-coloured annuals would correct this disadvantage.

I caught the hint, and I profit by it to this more enlightened day.

Spring bulbs are still a _spécialité_ of my gardening.

I buy them fresh every autumn--but of Messrs. Protheroe and Morris, in Cheapside; not at the dealers'.

Thus they are comparatively inexpensive.

After planting my tulips, narcissus, and such tall things, however, I clothe the beds with forget-me-not or _Silene pendula_, or both, which keep them green through the winter and form a dense carpet in spring.

Through it the bulbs push, and both flower at the same time.

Thus my brilliant tulips, snowy narcissus poeticus, golden daffodils, rise above and among a sheet of blue or pink--one or the other to match their hue--and look infinitely more beautiful on that ground colour.

I venture to say, indeed, that no garden on earth can be more lovely than mine while the forget-me-not and the bulbs are flowering together.

This may be a familiar practice, but I never met with it elsewhere.

Another wild scheme I recollect.

Water-plants need no attention.

The most skilful horticulturist cannot improve, the most ignorant cannot harm them.

I seriously proposed to convert my lawn into a tank two feet deep lined with Roman cement and warmed by a furnace, there to grow tropical nymphæa, with a vague "et cetera."

The idea was not so absolutely mad as the unlearned may think, for two of my relatives were first and second to flower _Victoria Regia_ in the open-air--but they had more than a few feet of garden.

The chances go, in fact, that it would have been carried through had I been certain of remaining in England for the time necessary.

Meanwhile I constructed two big tanks of wood lined with sheet-zinc, and a small one to stand on legs.

The experts were much amused.

Neither fish nor plant, they said, could live in a zinc vessel.

They proved to be right in the former case, but utterly wrong in the latter--which, you will observe, is their special domain.

I grew all manner of hardy nymphæa and aquatics for years, until my big tanks sprung a leak.

Having learned by that time the ABC, at least, of _terra-firma_ gardening, I did not trouble to have them mended.

On the contrary, making more holes, I filled the centre with Pampas grass and variegated Eulalias, set lady-grass and others round, and bordered the whole with lobelia--renewing, in fact, somewhat of the spring effect.

Next year, however, I shall plant them with _Anomatheca cruenta_--quaintest of flowering grasses, if a grass it must be called.

This charming species from South Africa is very little known; readers who take the hint will be grateful to me.

They will find it decidedly expensive bought by the plant, as growers prefer to sell.

But, with a little pressing seed may be obtained, and it multiplies fast.

I find _Anomatheca cruenta_ hardy in my sheltered garden.

The small tank on legs still remains, and I cut a few _Nymphæa odorata_ every year.

But it is mostly given up to _Aponogeton distachyon_--the "Cape lily."

They seed very freely in the open; and if this tank lay in the ground, long since their exquisite white flowers, so strange in shape and so powerful of scent, would have stood as thick as blades of grass upon it--such a lovely sight as was beheld in the garden of the late Mr. Harrison, at Shortlands.

But being raised two feet or so, with a current of air beneath, its contents are frozen to a solid block, soil and all, again and again, each winter.

That a Cape plant should survive such treatment seems incredible--contrary to all the books.

But my established Aponogeton do somehow; only the seedlings perish.

Here again is a useful hint, I trust.

But evidently it would be better, if convenient, to take the bulbs indoors before frost sets in.

Having water thus at hand, it very soon occurred to me to make war upon the slugs by propagating their natural enemies.

Those banks and borders of _Saxifraga hypnoides_, to which I referred formerly, exact some precaution of the kind.

Much as every one who sees admires them, the slugs, no doubt, are more enthusiastic still.

Therefore I do not recommend that idea, unless it be supplemented by some effective method of combating a grave disadvantage.

My own may not commend itself to every one.

Each spring I entrust some casual little boy with a pail; he brings it back full of frog-spawn and receives sixpence.

I speculate sometimes with complacency how many thousand of healthy and industrious batrachians I have reared and turned out for the benefit of my neighbours.

Enough perhaps, but certainly no more, remain to serve me--that I know because the slugs give very little trouble in spite of the most favourable circumstances.

You can always find frogs in my garden by looking for them, but of the thousands hatched every year, ninety-nine per cent.

must vanish.

Do blackbirds and thrushes eat young frogs?

They are strangely abundant with me.

But those who cultivate tadpoles must look over the breeding-pond from time to time.

My whole batch was devoured one year by "devils"--the larvæ of _Dytiscus marginalis_, the Plunger beetle.

I have benefited, or at least have puzzled my neighbours also by introducing to them another sort of frog.

Three years ago I bought twenty-five Hyloe, the pretty green tree species, to dwell in my Odontoglossum house and exterminate the insects.

Every ventilator there is covered with perforated zinc--to prevent insects getting in; but, by some means approaching the miraculous, all my Hyloe contrived to escape.

Several were caught in the garden and put back, but again they found their way to the open-air;

and presently my fruit-trees became vocal.

So far, this is the experience of every one, probably, who has tried to keep green frogs.

But in my case they survived two winters--one which everybody recollects, the most severe of this generation.

My frogs sang merrily through the summer; but all in a neighbour's garden.

I am not acquainted with that family; but it is cheering to think how much innocent diversion I have provided for its members.

Pleasant also it is, by the way, to vindicate the character of green frogs.

I never heard them spoken of by gardeners but with contempt.

Not only do they persist in escaping; more than that, they decline to catch insects, sitting motionless all day long--pretty, if you like, but useless.

The fact is, that all these creatures are nocturnal of habit.

Very few men visit their orchid-houses at night, as I do constantly.

They would see the frogs active enough then, creeping with wondrous dexterity among the leaves, and springing like a green flash upon their prey.

Naturally, therefore, they do not catch thrips or mealy-bug or aphis; these are too small game for the midnight sports-man.

Wood-lice, centipedes, above all, cockroaches, those hideous and deadly foes of the orchid, are their victims.

All who can keep them safe should have green frogs by the score in every house which they do not fumigate.

I have come to the orchids at last.

It follows, indeed, almost of necessity that a man who has travelled much, an enthusiast in horticulture, should drift into that branch as years advance.

Modesty would be out of place here.

I have had successes, and if it please Heaven, I shall win more.

But orchid culture is not to be dealt with at the end of an article.

III.

In the days of my apprenticeship I put up a big greenhouse: unable to manage plants in the open-air, I expected to succeed with them under unnatural conditions!

These memories are strung together with the hope of encouraging a forlorn and desperate amateur here or there; and surely that confession will cheer him.

However deep his ignorance, it could not possibly be more finished than mine some dozen years ago; and yet I may say, _Je suis arrivé_!

What that greenhouse cost, "chilled remembrance shudders" to recall; briefly, six times the amount, at least, which I should find ample now.

And it was all wrong when done;

not a trace of the original arrangement remains at this time, but there are inherent defects.

Nothing throve, of course--except the insects.

Mildew seized my roses as fast as I put them in; camellias dropped their buds with rigid punctuality; azaleas were devoured by thrips; "bugs," mealy and scaly, gathered to the feast; geraniums and pelargoniums grew like giants, but declined to flower.

I consulted the local authority who was responsible for the well-being of a dozen gardens in the neighbourhood--an expert with a character to lose, from whom I bought largely.

Said he, after a thorough inspection: "This concrete floor holds the water; you must have it swept carefully night and morning."

That worthy man had a large business.

His advice was sought by scores of neighbours like myself.

And I tell the story as a warning; for he represents no small section of his class.

My plants wanted not less but a great deal more water on that villainous concrete floor.

Despairing of horticulture indoors as out, I sometimes thought of orchids.

I had seen much of them in their native homes, both East and West--enough to understand that their growth is governed by strict law.

Other plants--roses and so forth--are always playing tricks.

They must have this and that treatment at certain times, the nature of which could not be precisely described, even if gardening books were written by men used to carry all the points of a subject in their minds, and to express exactly what they mean.

Experience alone, of rather a dirty and uninteresting class, will give the skill necessary for success.

And then they commit villanies of ingratitude beyond explanation.

I knew that orchids must be quite different.

Each class demands certain conditions as a preliminary: if none of them can be provided, it is a waste of money to buy plants.

But when the needful conditions are present, and the poor things, thus relieved of a ceaseless preoccupation, can attend to business, it follows like a mathematical demonstration that if you treat them in such and such a way, such and such results will assuredly ensue.

I was not aware then that many defy the most patient analysis of cause and effect.

That knowledge is familiar now; but it does not touch the argument.

Those cases also are governed by rigid laws, which we do not yet understand.

Therefore I perceived or suspected, at an early date, that orchid culture is, as one may say, the natural province of an intelligent and enthusiastic amateur who has not the technical skill required for growing common plants.

For it is brain-work--the other mechanical.

But I shared the popular notion--which seems so very absurd now--that they are costly both to purchase and to keep: shared it so ingenuously that I never thought to ask myself how or why they could be more expensive, after the first outlay, than azaleas or gardenias.

And meanwhile I was laboriously and impatiently gathering some comprehension of the ordinary plants.

It was accident which broke the spell of ignorance.

Visiting Stevens' Auction Rooms one day to buy bulbs, I saw a _Cattleya Mossiæ_, in bloom, which had not found a purchaser at the last orchid sale.

A

lucky impulse tempted me to ask the price.

"Four shillings," said the invaluable Charles.

I could not believe it--there must be a mistake: as if Charles ever made a mistake in his life!

When he repeated the price, however, I seized that precious Cattleya, slapped down the money, and fled with it along King Street, fearing pursuit.

Since no one followed, and Messrs. Stevens did not write within the next few days reclaiming my treasure, I pondered the incident calmly.

Perhaps they had been selling bankrupt stock, and perhaps they often do so.

Presently I returned.

"Charles!"

I said, "you sold me a _Cattleya Mossiæ_ the other day."

Charles, in shirt-sleeves of course, was analyzing and summing up half a hundred loose sheets of figures, as calm and sure as a calculating machine.

"I know I did, sir," he replied, cheerfully.

"It was rather dear, wasn't it?"

I said.

"That's your business, sir," he laughed.

"Could I often get an established plant of _Cattleya Mossiæ_ in flower for 4s.?"

I asked.

"Give me the order, and I'll supply as many as you are likely to want within a month."

That was a revelation; and I tell the little story because I know it will be a revelation to many others.

People hear of great sums paid for orchids, and they fancy that such represent only the extreme limits of an average.

In fact, they have no relation whatsoever to the ordinary price.

One of our largest general growers, who has but lately begun cultivating those plants, tells me that half-a-crown is the utmost he has paid for Cattleyas and Dendrobes, one shilling for Odontoglots and Oncidiums.

At these rates he has now a fine collection, many turning up among the lot for which he asks, and gets, as many pounds as the pence he gave.

For such are imported, of course, and sold at auction as they arrive.

This is not an article on orchids, but on "My Gardening," or I could tell some extraordinary tales.

Briefly, I myself once bought a case two feet long, a foot wide, half-full of Odontoglossums for 8s.

6d.

They were small bits, but perfect in condition.

Of the fifty-three pots they made, not one, I think, has been lost.

I sold the less valuable some years ago, when established and tested, at a fabulous profit.

Another time I bought three "strings" of _O.

Alexandræ_, the Pacho variety, which is finest, for 15s.

They filled thirty-six pots, some three to a pot, for I could not make room for them all singly.

Again--but this is enough.

I only wish to demonstrate, for the service of very small amateurs like myself, that costliness at least is no obstacle if they have a fancy for this culture: unless, of course, they demand wonders and "specimens."

That _Cattleya Mossiæ_, was my first orchid, bought in 1884. It dwindled away, and many another followed it to limbo; but I knew enough, as has been said, to feel neither surprised nor angry.

First of all, it is necessary to understand the general conditions, and to secure them.

Books give little help in this stage of education; they all lack detail in the preliminaries.

I had not the good fortune to come across a friend or a gardener who grasped what was wrong until I found out for myself.

For instance, no one told me that the concrete flooring of my house was a fatal error.

When, a little disheartened, I made a new one, by glazing that _ruelle_ mentioned in the preliminary survey of my garden, they allowed me to repeat it.

Ingenious were my contrivances to keep the air moist, but none answered.

It is not easy to find a material trim and clean which can be laid over concrete, but unless one can discover such, it is useless to grow orchids.

I have no doubt that ninety-nine cases of failure in a hundred among amateurs are due to an unsuitable flooring.

Glazed tiles, so common, are infinitely worst of all.

May my experience profit others in like case!

Looking over the trade list of a man who manufactures orchid-pots one day, I observed, "Sea-sand for Garden Walks," and the preoccupation of years was dissipated.

Sea-sand will hold water, yet will keep a firm, clean surface; it needs no rolling, does not show footprints nor muddy a visitor's boots.

By next evening the floors were covered therewith six inches deep, and forthwith my orchids began to flourish--not only to live.

Long since, of course, I had provided a supply of water from the main to each house for "damping down."

All round them now a leaden pipe was fixed, with pin-holes twelve inches apart, and a length of indiarubber hose at the end to fix upon the "stand-pipe."

Attaching this, I turn the cock, and from each tiny hole spurts forth a jet, which in ten minutes will lay the whole floor under water, and convert the house into a shallow pond; but five minutes afterwards not a sign of the deluge is visible.

Then I felt the joys of orchid culture.

Much remained to learn--much still remains.

We have some five thousand species in cultivation, of which an alarming number demand some difference of treatment if one would grow them to perfection.

The amateur does not easily collect nor remember all this, and he is apt to be daunted if he inquire too deeply before "letting himself go."

Such in especial I would encourage.

Perfection is always a noble aim; but orchids do not exact it--far from that!

The dear creatures will struggle to fulfil your hopes, to correct your errors, with pathetic patience.

Give them but a chance, and they will await the progress of your education.

That chance lies, as has been said, in the general conditions--the degree of moisture you can keep in the air, the ventilation, and the light.

These secured, you may turn up the books, consult the authorities, and gradually accumulate the knowledge which will enable you to satisfy the preferences of each class.

So, in good time, you may enjoy such a thrill of pleasure as I felt the other day when a great pundit was good enough to pay me a call.

He entered my tiny Odontoglossum house, looked round, looked round again, and turned to me.

"Sir," he said, "we don't call this an amateur's collection!"

I have jotted down such hints of my experience as may be valuable to others, who, as Juvenal put it, own but a single lizard's run of earth.

That space is enough to yield endless pleasure, amusement, and indeed profit, if a man cultivate it himself.

Enthusiast as I am, I would not accept another foot of garden.

[1] FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: It is not inappropriate to record that when these articles were published in the _St.

James' Gazette_, the editor received several communications warning him that his contributor was abusing his good faith--to put it in the mild French phrase.

Happily, my friend was able to reply that he could personally vouch for the statements.

]