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.
Mildew seized my roses as fast as I put them in; camellias dropped their
buds with rigid punctuality; azaleas were devoured by thrips; "bugs,"
mealy and scaly, gathered to the feast; geraniums and pelargoniums grew
like giants, but declined to flower. I consulted the local authority who
was responsible for the well-being of a dozen gardens in the
neighbourhood--an expert with a character to lose, from whom I bought
largely. Said he, after a thorough inspection: "This concrete floor
holds the water; you must have it swept carefully night and morning."
That worthy man had a large business. His advice was sought by scores of
neighbours like myself. And I tell the story as a warning; for he
represents no small section of his class. My plants wanted not less but
a great deal more water on that villainous concrete floor.
Despairing of horticulture indoors as out, I sometimes thought of
orchids. I had seen much of them in their native homes, both East and
West--enough to understand that their growth is governed by strict law.
Other plants--roses and so forth--are always playing tricks. They must
have this and that treatment at certain times, the nature of which could
not be precisely described, even if gardening books were written by men
used to carry all the points of a subject in their minds, and to express
exactly what they mean.
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