_The "Lady's" Conservatory_
Meantime, the dear "Lady" (who had anticipated our coming to the Mansion
House, by a sudden resolve to commit her burden of housekeeping to
younger and abler hands--and retain of her old establishment but a
single personal attendant--as faithful friend, companion, and
amanuensis) wheeled into the very thick of action--had watched with
anxious eyes this removal of ancient landmarks--this general upheaval of
things. An almost helpless invalid--wheeled daily through eight patient
summers into her beloved garden--she had sat with her beautiful silver
hair arranged in careful curls, a big white sun-bonnet shading her kind
old face, to receive her friends (both gentle and simple) with a cordial
hospitality, and an old-time courtesy in fine keeping with herself and
her surroundings.
Innately conservative, the Lady was scarce in touch with innovation of
any sort. A passionate lover of flowers, but scantily endowed with
horticultural talent, and without a spark of creative genius, she smiled
with dubious complacency on this awful devastation--comforting herself
with the sweet anticipation of spring tulips and summer roses, in her
very own garden! Dear Lady--her absolute trust in my gardening ability
was indeed touching! One must "live up to the blue china" of one's
reputation; so I did my very best; and when all was done, and the
out-door darlings nestled safely beneath their winter coverlet, came the
pleasure of looking after the house-plants--(by this time well-recovered
from the vicissitudes of repotting and removal) and the bestowal of each
in its winter quarters; and this leads me to a description of "The
Conservatory."
In a warm southwestern angle of "The Mansion House" there nestled a
narrow piazza-like structure--opening, by long French windows, from both
drawing and sitting room, and leading by a short flight of steps into
the old garden.
This erection--having been enclosed by sash-work of glass--and furnished
with rugs, a big easy chair, a round table, and a penitential hair-cloth
sofa, and supplied with rocking chairs, was, when the temperature
permitted, the favorite lounging place of family and guest.
Though warmed only by the sun, it had always been known as "The
Conservatory" (probably because herein every autumn, the Lady's
geraniums and fuchsias, taken in from the early frost, stood on the
corner table, recovering from the fall potting on their way to winter
quarters on the broad ledge of a sunny south window of her own bed
chamber). Through the winter this unwarmed place was neither available
for plant or man.
Long before the possibility of ever moving to the Mansion House had
entered my head, I had looked upon this conservatory with loving eyes,
and, in fancy, pictured it, warmed and filled all winter long with
lovely flowering plants.
A Conservatory had been the dream of my life! And when _this_ fell to my
lot, and, abolishing the stuffy cylinder stoves that had, heretofore,
warmed the Mansion House, we put in a big furnace, I had directed the
leading of a roomy pipe to this glass-enclosed quarter, and the out-door
work well over, I pleased myself with arranging this new winter home for
my darlings. The light sashes--warped by Time--had become "ram-shackly."
I wedged them securely, and stuffing gaps with cotton batting carefully
listed the outer door against
"The west wind Mudjekeewis,"
and when all was done delightedly watched the vigorous growth of my
well-housed darlings. Alas! short and sweet was my day of content.
One fatal January night the mercury dropped suddenly to zero, and (as
luck would have it) the furnace fire followed suit, and, in the morning,
I awoke to find my precious plants stark and stiff against the panes.
We promptly showered them with ice-cold water ("a hair of the dog that
bit you" advises the old proverb). In vain! The blighted foliage stood
black and shriveled in the morning sunshine!
"All the King's horses and all the King's men
Couldn't bring Humpty Dumpty up again!"
All that could be done was to clip away the frost-bitten members, mellow
the soil, and await a fresh supply of sap from the uninjured roots.
As a matter of course the slowly recuperating plants could no longer be
left to the random winter gambols of tricky "Mudjekeewis," but must be
relegated to the old-time safety of window-seat and flower-stand.
Thus ended my day-dream of a conservatory!
Under this dispensation I consoled myself by nursing the invalids back
to health and comparative prosperity, and, in late February, they amply
repaid my care by abundant leafage and wealth of bloom.
Meantime, the Freesias, and Narcissi, the Hyacinths and Tritelias, came
one after another from the dark cellar, to sit in the sun, and cheer our
wintry days with odor and bloom, and give delight to the dear invalid
Lady.
And here let me say that of all winter gardening I have found the house
cultivation of bulbs most interesting and repaying.
First there is the eager looking over the autumn catalogues and the
well-considered selection of your bulbs. If your purse is long enough to
warrant it, you may put on your list the costly _named_ varieties of
your favorite colors among the hyacinths; if otherwise, you may still
have the satisfaction of making a dollar or two go a long way; since
after putting on your list a few choice bulbs, you get, at the
department store, oceans of five-cent hyacinth bulbs, and, taking your
chance as to color, have the added pleasure of the surprises thus
secured.
As the other desirable bulbs are comparatively inexpensive, you can
finish your list from the catalogue, and thus have as many as you
desire.
The Oxalis has, presumably, been saved over from last winter's stock,
and so, too, have the best of the Freesias. These are, no doubt,
well-started about the first of September.
Early in October some of the newly bought Freesias and some of all the
other bulbs may be planted. The remainder may be potted in instalments,
two or three weeks apart, the _last_ as late as December. You may use
for hyacinths, at a pinch, quite small pots--say four-inch ones; but
success is more certain in the five or six-inch sizes. The smaller bulbs
may be planted in clumps in such sized pots as you like, about two
inches apart. You may use prepared soil furnished very reasonably by the
florist, or, if preferred, prepare it yourself after this formula:
one-half mellow garden loam, one-quarter well-rotted cow manure, and for
the remainder use leaf-mold, well-pulverized peat, and a good
trowel-full of fine beach sand. Bulbs, though needing rich food, should
never come directly in contact with their manure supply.
In potting the larger bulbs leave about quarter of an inch above ground,
but entirely bury the smaller ones.
The big bulbs should be pressed firmly down, as they have a way of
working up from the covering soil.
Water well, and set in a cool, dark cellar. The oxalis and freesia
sprout more quickly, and must not be left to send long pale shoots up in
the dark, but the hyacinths and narcissi, though promised in six weeks,
are often two months, and even longer, getting ready to come into the
light.
This should be done with caution, as they must first be greened in a
shaded window, and not until later exposed to the direct beams of the
sun. They may be given water in moderate supplies, and I have sometimes
found a weekly allowance of "Bowker's Flower Food" desirable.
My own selection of house bulbs usually comprises oxalis, freesia, the
narcissi, hyacinth, and tritelia; many other desirable ones are to be
had, but with a good supply of the above-named varieties, including a
generous number of such inexpensive bulbs as the Paper-white Narcissus,
and the Yellow "Daffies," one may count on a sweet succession of bloom
from Christmas to May-time.
In this connection I add a reprint of a paper long ago published in the
"American Garden."
It was originally prepared by me for the "Cambridge Plant Club," whose
members were so kind as to assure me that they found it helpful and
entertaining. It was copied from the "Garden" by the _Cambridge
Tribune_, but may, nevertheless, be new to the present reader: