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.]
