About Orchids | Page 2

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
assuredly 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 assure 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 passed 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, Addiscombe, 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
superstitions 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 space 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 assemble those members of the cultured class
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 space available be
considered and allowance be made for the shadow