About Orchids | Page 3

of all those trees,
any tiro can calculate the room left for grass 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 substituted 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 assured 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 space 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 cucumbers 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 space, the least important fortunately, where the shade,
growing year by year, has got the mastery. That space 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 grass
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 space of ground the choice of roses is very important.
Hybrids take