About Orchids.

by Frederick Boyle.

PREFACE.

The purport of this book is shown in the letter following which I addressed to the editor of the _Daily News_ some months ago:--

"I thank you for reminding your readers, by reference to my humble work, that the delight of growing orchids can be enjoyed by persons of very modest fortune. To spread that knowledge is my contribution to philanthropy, and I make bold to say that it ranks as high as some which are commended from pulpits and platforms. For your leader-writer is inexact, though complimentary, in a.s.suming that any 'special genius'

enables me to cultivate orchids without more expense than other greenhouse plants entail, or even without a gardener. I am happy to know that scores of worthy gentlemen--ladies too--not more gifted than their neighbours in any sense, find no greater difficulty. If the pleasure of one of these be due to any writings of mine, I have wrought some good in my generation."

With the same hope I have collected those writings, dispersed and buried more or less in periodicals. The articles in this volume are collected--with permission which I gratefully acknowledge--from _The Standard_, _Sat.u.r.day Review_, _St. James's Gazette_, _National Review_, and _Longman's Magazine_. With some pride I discover, on reading them again, that hardly a statement needs correction, for they contain many statements, and some were published years ago. But in this, as in other lore, a student still gathers facts. The essays have been brought up to date by additions--in especial that upon "Hybridizing," a theme which has not interested the great public hitherto, simply because the great public knows nothing about it. There is not, in fact, so far as I am aware, any general record of the amazing and delightful achievements which have been made therein of late years. It does not fall within my province to frame such a record. But at least any person who reads this unscientific account, not daunted by the t.i.tle, will understand the fascination of the study.

These essays profess to be no more than chat of a literary man about orchids. They contain a mult.i.tude of facts, told in some detail where such attention seems necessary, which can only be found elsewhere in baldest outline if found at all. Everything that relates to orchids has a charm for me, and I have learned to hold it as an article of faith that pursuits which interest one member of the cultured public will interest all, if displayed clearly and pleasantly, in a form to catch attention at the outset. Savants and professionals have kept the delights of orchidology to themselves as yet. They smother them in scientific treatises, or commit them to dry earth burial in gardening books. Very few outsiders suspect that any amus.e.m.e.nt could be found therein. Orchids are environed by mystery, pierced now and again by a brief announcement that something with an incredible name has been sold for a fabulous number of guineas; which pa.s.sing glimpse into an unknown world makes it more legendary than before. It is high time such noxious superst.i.tions were dispersed. Surely, I think, this volume will do the good work--if the public will read it.

The ill.u.s.trations are reduced from those delightful drawings by Mr. Moon admired throughout the world in the pages of "Reichenbachia." The licence to use them is one of many favours for which I am indebted to the proprietors of that stately work.

I do not give detailed instructions for culture. No one could be more firmly convinced that a treatise on that subject is needed, for no one a.s.suredly has learned, by more varied and disastrous experience, to see the omissions of the text-books. They are written for the initiated, though designed for the amateur. Naturally it is so. A man who has been brought up to business can hardly resume the utter ignorance of the neophyte. Unconsciously he will take a certain degree of knowledge for granted, and he will neglect to enforce those elementary principles which are most important of all. Nor is the writer of a gardening book accustomed, as a rule, to marshal his facts in due order, to keep proportion, to a.s.sure himself that his directions will be exactly understood by those who know nothing.

The brief hints in "Reichenbachia" are admirable, but one does not cheerfully refer to an authority in folio. Messrs. Veitch's "Manual of Orchidaceous Plants" is a model of lucidity and a mine of information.

Repeated editions of Messrs. B.S. Williams' "Orchid Growers' Manual"

have proved its merit, and, upon the whole, I have no hesitation in declaring that this is the most useful work which has come under my notice. But they are all adapted for those who have pa.s.sed the elementary stage.

Thus, if I have introduced few remarks on culture, it is not because I think them needless. The reason may be frankly confessed. I am not sure that my time would be duly paid. If this little book should reach a second edition, I will resume once more the ignorance that was mine eight years ago, and as a fellow-novice tell the unskilled amateur how to grow orchids.

FREDERICK BOYLE.

North Lodge, Addis...o...b.., 1893.

ABOUT ORCHIDS.

MY GARDENING.

I.

The contents of my Bungalow gave material for some "Legends" which perhaps are not yet universally forgotten. I have added few curiosities to the list since that work was published. My days of travel seem to be over; but in quitting that happiest way of life--not willingly--I have had the luck to find another occupation not less interesting, and better suited to grey hairs and stiffened limbs. This volume deals with the appurtenances of my Bungalow, as one may say--the orchid-houses. But a man who has almost forgotten what little knowledge he gathered in youth about English plants does not readily turn to that higher branch of horticulture. More ignorant even than others, he will cherish all the superst.i.tions and illusions which environ the orchid family.

Enlightenment is a slow process, and he will make many experiences before perceiving his true bent. How I came to grow orchids will be told in this first article.

The ground at my disposal is a quarter of an acre. From that tiny area deduct the s.p.a.ce occupied by my house, and it will be seen that myriads of good people dwelling in the suburbs, whose garden, to put it courteously, is not sung by poets, have as much land as I. The aspect is due north--a grave disadvantage. Upon that side, from the house-wall to the fence, I have forty-five feet, on the east fifty feet, on the south sixty feet, on the west a mere _ruelle_. Almost every one who works out these figures will laugh, and the remainder sneer. Here's a garden to write about! That area might do for a tennis-court or for a general meeting of Mr. Frederic Harrison's persuasion. You might kennel a pack of hounds there, or beat a carpet, or a.s.semble those members of the cultured cla.s.s who admire Mr. Gladstone. But grow flowers--roses--to cut by the basketful, fruit to make jam for a jam-eating household the year round, mushrooms, tomatoes, water-lilies, orchids; those Indian jugglers who bring a mango-tree to perfection on your verandah in twenty minutes might be able to do it, but not a consistent Christian. Nevertheless I affirm that I have done all these things, and I shall even venture to make other demands upon the public credulity.

When I first surveyed my garden sixteen years ago, a big Cupressus stood before the front door, in a vast round bed one half of which would yield no flowers at all, and the other half only spindlings. This was encircled by a carriage-drive! A close row of limes, supported by more Cupressus, overhung the palings all round; a dense little shrubbery hid the back door; a weeping-ash, already tall and handsome, stood to eastward. Curiously green and snug was the scene under these conditions, rather like a forest glade; but if the s.p.a.ce available be considered and allowance be made for the shadow of all those trees, any tiro can calculate the room left for gra.s.s and flowers--and the miserable appearance of both. Beyond that dense little shrubbery the soil was occupied with potatoes mostly, and a big enclosure for hens.

First I dug up the fine Cupressus. They told me such a big tree could not possibly "move;" but it did, and it now fills an out-of-the-way place as usefully as ornamentally. I suppressed the carriage-drive, making a straight path broad enough for pedestrians only, and cut down a number of the trees. The blessed sunlight recognized my garden once more. Then I rooted out the shrubbery; did away with the fowl-house, using its materials to build two little sheds against the back fence; dug up the potato-garden--made _tabula rasa_, in fact; dismissed my labourers, and considered. I meant to be my own gardener. But already, sixteen years ago, I had a dislike of stooping. To kneel was almost as wearisome. Therefore I adopted the system of raised beds--common enough.

Returning home, however, after a year's absence, I found my oak posts decaying--unseasoned, doubtless, when put in. To prevent trouble of this sort in future, I subst.i.tuted drain-pipes set on end; the first of those ideas which have won commendation from great authorities. Drain-pipes do not encourage insects. Filled with earth, each bears a showy plant--lobelia, pyrethrum, saxifrage, or what not, with the utmost neatness, making a border; and they last eternally. But there was still much stooping, of course, whilst I became more impatient of it. One day a remedy flashed through my mind: that happy thought which became the essence or principle of my gardening, and makes this account thereof worth attention perhaps. Why not raise to a comfortable level all parts of the area over which I had need to bend? Though no horticulturist, perhaps, ever had such a thought before, expense was the sole objection visible. Called away just then for another long absence, I gave orders that no "dust" should leave the house; and found a monstrous heap on my return. The road-contractors supplied "sweepings" at a shilling a load.

Beginning at the outskirts of my property, I raised a mound three feet high and three feet broad, replanted the shrubs on the back edge, and left a handsome border for flowers. So well this succeeded, so admirably every plant throve in that compost, naturally drained and lifted to the sunlight, that I enlarged my views.

The soil is gravel, peculiarly bad for roses; and at no distant day my garden was a swamp, not unchronicled had we room to dwell on such matters. The bit of lawn looked decent only at midsummer. I first tackled the rose question. The bushes and standards, such as they were, faced south, of course--that is, behind the house. A line of fruit-trees there began to shade them grievously. Experts a.s.sured me that if I raised a bank against these, of such a height as I proposed, they would surely die; I paid no attention to the experts, nor did my fruit-trees.

The mound raised is, in fact, a crescent on the inner edge, thirty feet broad, seventy feet between the horns, square at the back behind the fruit-trees; a walk runs there, between it and the fence, and in the narrow s.p.a.ce on either hand I grow such herbs as one cannot easily buy--chervil, chives, tarragon. Also I have beds of celeriac, and cold frames which yield a few cuc.u.mbers in the summer when emptied of plants.

Not one inch of ground is lost in my garden.

The roses occupy this crescent. After sinking to its utmost now, the bank stands two feet six inches above the gravel path. At that elevation they defied the shadow for years, and for the most part they will continue to do so as long as I feel any interest in their well-being.

But there is a s.p.a.ce, the least important fortunately, where the shade, growing year by year, has got the mastery. That s.p.a.ce I have surrendered frankly, covering it over with the charming saxifrage, _S. hypnoides_, through which in spring push bluebells, primroses, and miscellaneous bulbs, while the exquisite green carpet frames pots of scarlet geranium and such bright flowers, movable at will. That saxifrage, indeed, is one of my happiest devices. Finding that gra.s.s would not thrive upon the steep bank of my mounds, I dotted them over with tufts of it, which have spread, until at this time they are clothed in vivid green the year round, and white as an untouched snowdrift in spring. Thus also the foot-wide paths of my rose-beds are edged; and a neater or a lovelier border could not be imagined.

With such a tiny s.p.a.ce of ground the choice of roses is very important.

Hybrids take up too much room for general service. One must have a few for colour; but the ma.s.s should be Teas, Noisettes, and, above all, Bengals. This day, the second week in October, I can pick fifty roses; and I expect to do so every morning till the end of the month in a sunny autumn. They will be mostly Bengals; but there are two exquisite varieties sold by Messrs. Paul--I forget which of them--nearly as free flowering. These are Camoens and Mad. J. Messimy. They have a tint unlike any other rose; they grow strongly for their cla.s.s, and the bloom is singularly graceful.

The tiny but vexatious lawn was next attacked. I stripped off the turf, planted drain-pipes along the gravel walk, filled in with road-sweepings to the level of their tops, and relaid the turf. It is now a little picture of a lawn. Each drain-pipe was planted with a cutting of ivy, which now form a beautiful evergreen roll beside the path. Thus as you walk in my garden, everywhere the ground is more or less above its natural level; raised so high here and there that you cannot look over the plants which crown the summit. Any gardener at least will understand how luxuriantly everything grows and flowers under such conditions.

Enthusiastic visitors declare that I have "scenery," and picturesque effects, and delightful surprises, in my quarter-acre of ground!

Certainly I have flowers almost enough, and fruit, and perfect seclusion also. Though there are houses all round within a few yards, you catch but a glimpse of them at certain points while the trees are still clothed. Those mounds are all the secret.

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 quant.i.ties, 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 _specialite_ 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 nymphaea, 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 nymphaea 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 gra.s.s and variegated Eulalias, set lady-gra.s.s 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 gra.s.ses, if a gra.s.s 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 _Nymphaea 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 gra.s.s 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-sp.a.w.n 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 circ.u.mstances. 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 larvae 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, c.o.c.kroaches, 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 arrive_! 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.