in this lower world. I cannot forbear to indicate
one picture in the grand gallery. Fancy a corridor
four hundred feet long, six wide, roofed with square
baskets hanging from the glass as close as they will
fit. Suspend to each of these—how many
hundreds or thousands has never been computed—one
or more garlands of snowy flowers, a thicket overhead
such as one might behold in a tropic forest, with
myriads of white butterflies clustering amongst the
vines. But imagination cannot bear mortal man
thus far. “Upon the banks of Paradise”
those “twa clerks” may have seen the like;
yet, had they done so their hats would have been adorned
not with “the birk,” but with plumes of
Odontoglossum citrosmum.
I have but another word to say. If any of the
class to whom I appeal incline to let “I dare
not wait upon I would,” hear the experience of
a bold enthusiast, as recounted by Mr.
Castle in his
small brochure, “Orchids.” This gentleman
had a fern-case outside his sitting-room window, six
feet long by three wide. He ran pipes through
it, warmed presumably by gas. More ambitious
than I venture to recommend, “in this miniature
structure,” says Mr. Castle, “with liberal
supplies of water, the owner succeeded in growing,
in a smoky district of London”—I will
not quote the amazing list of fine things, but it numbers
twenty-five species, all the most delicate and beautiful
of the stove kinds. If so much could be done
under such circumstances, what may rightly be called
difficult in the cultivation of orchids?
This is a subject which would interest every cultured
reader, I believe, every householder at least, if
he could be brought to understand that it lies well
within the range of his practical concerns. But
the public has still to be persuaded. It seems
strange to the expert that delusions should prevail
when orchids are so common and so much talked of; but
I know by experience that the majority of people,
even among those who love their garden, regard them
as fantastic and mysterious creations, designed, to
all seeming, for the greater glory of pedants and
millionaires. I try to do my little part, as occasion
serves, in correcting this popular error, and spreading
a knowledge of the facts. It is no less than
a duty. If every human being should do what he
can to promote the general happiness, it would be
downright wicked to leave one’s fellow-men under
the influence of hallucinations that debar them from
the most charming of quiet pleasures. I suspect
also that the misapprehension of the public is largely
due to the conduct of experts in the past. It
was a rule with growers formerly, avowed among themselves,
to keep their little secrets. When Mr. B.S.
Williams published the first edition of his excellent
book forty years ago, he fluttered his colleagues
sadly. The plain truth is that no class of plant
can be cultivated so easily, as none are so certain
to repay the trouble, as the Cool Orchids.
