_The House Garden. The Selection, Arrangement, and Culture of House
Plants_
Apart from that æsthetic satisfaction which house plants afford, the
principle of growth, which they exemplify, has its own strong and almost
universal attraction. Thus it is that we behold in dust-blurred windows
of squalid tenements rows of dented tomato cans, desolately holding
their stunted geraniums, fuchsias, and other feeble bits of greenery.
Such half-pathetic attempts at floriculture are, indeed, "touches of
nature" that "make us kin" to the forlorn inmates of these shabby,
ill-conditioned dwellings who, amid poverty and its possible
degradation, have still courage for, at least, _one fine endeavor_.
The sole purpose of this paper is to impart some simple knowledge gained
through a long and earnestly-loving experience in the beautiful art of
plant-culture. Our first step is the choice of our plants; and we shall
do wisely to select such as will best accommodate themselves to the
somewhat adverse conditions of furnace-heated and gas-lighted rooms such
as most of us occupy. First and foremost in our collection should stand
sweet-scented plants; not only because these impart to our rooms a
delicious air of summer, and etherealize the atmosphere of our homes,
but also because of their sanitary value, medical authority having
distinctly declared that the perfume of growing flowers, exhaling on the
in-door air, tends to neutralize fever and other disease-germs. For
delicacy of perfume and continuity of bloom the heliotrope may take the
first rank among odorous house plants. Its very name--derived from two
Greek words, Helio, the sun, and trope, to turn--is charmingly
suggestive of summer-time. The plant does not belie its name. It cannot
have too many sun-kisses. As a cut-flower it is perishable and
unsatisfactory, but its growing bloom lasts long, and holds its odor
even in decay; it is delightful up to its very last breath.
To secure good winter bloom from the heliotrope, begin in early summer
with the plant while in the ground, and by repeated pinching-back make
it sturdy and robust. This done, choose some cloudy afternoon, about the
middle of August, for potting. Your soil should be thus prepared:
one-third good loam, one-third leaf-mold, and one-third well-rotted
manure; a few pinches of soot may be added, and enough white sand mixed
through the whole to keep it light and dainty. Pot carefully, and with
as little root disturbance as may be. Water thoroughly, and keep the
plant in shade until its leaves recover their tone. After this it may
stand in the sun, if given plenty of water, for a week or two, while
the buds get under way.
Be sure to house before the faintest suspicion of frost, as this
sun-lover is extremely tender, and the slightest nipping harms it. Give
it a southern exposure in your room, and place close to the glass; and
if you have not a double window, leave the fly-screen in to save the
leaves and blossoms from immediate contact with frosty panes. A
heliotrope should never once become wholly dry, and should have a weekly
drink of manure-water, which must be about the color of moderately
strong coffee. For insect pests, dust the leaves with a light
feather-brush, and then wash thoroughly. This process must be repeated
as often as the insects appear.
The odorous sacred lily of China we all, no doubt, grow yearly in water,
with a bottom layer or two of pebbles. It is well to make incisions
lengthwise of the bulb with a sharp knife before planting, and there
should be lumps of charcoal among the pebbles to keep the water sweet. A
single bulb, thus treated, will give one seven flower-stalks. The
old-fashioned plant, the calla, though less common than it was twenty
years ago, if grown in an artistic vase and given an entire window, is
beautiful.
It has been said of the calla that "it needs water like a mill, heat
like a furnace, food like an army, and absolute rest during the summer."
"Keep its feet in water," says the florist. In its native habitat it is
in water to the depth of a foot or more, in broad open sunlight, and in
soil as rich as decayed vegetation can make it. Soon after flowering
season the water subsides, and the soil becomes as dry as it is possible
to get in the tropics. Here, nature teaches us how to cultivate the
calla. The canna thrives admirably as a house plant, and has a happy way
of accommodating itself to circumstances, which makes it especially
desirable for decorative effect. In a sunny window it will flower all
winter if given abundant heat. In a north window of the same room it
will give one beautiful foliage, and it will, "at a pinch," take a back
seat and hold its own in the shade, grouped with the statuary and
screens, where, with its large, handsome leaves, it will impart to the
drawing-room a certain air of oriental languor and magnificence. The
canna should be lifted early in September and placed in rich loam, in a
large, well-shaped pot or vase, and kept for a week or two in the open,
in partial shade, and well watered. It must be carefully housed before
the lightest frost appears. Its vigor and beauty are increased by the
addition of wood soot to the soil.
All the begonias thrive well as house plants. My experience with the new
and choice varieties has not been sufficient to enable me to give
valuable advice in regard to their culture. I had formerly supposed that
a north window might suit a begonia. It was a mistaken impression. The
plant, I find, needs sunlight and a warm atmosphere. It must be
regularly and carefully watered, and I have found it best to give the
small-leaved begonia its water from the saucer. The smooth-leaved
begonias are said to affect a Sunday morning cup of coffee by way of
gloss to their foliage. I have seen a superb one thus treated, but have
never tried the experiment. The plant likes an occasional watering with
soot tea while making its summer growth in the garden.
The coleus, as a window plant, affords fine color effects, but the plant
is too tender to be agreeable for house-culture. It requires an
invariably high temperature, a fair amount of sunlight, regular
moisture, and very rich soil. This given it will grow superbly, but if
overtaken, in some unguarded hour, with the slightest chill, it loses
its beauty and vigor. The house coleus is almost sure to become infested
with mealy-bugs. These may be picked off, and thereafter the plant
should be given a careful wash of kerosene water, which must be repeated
as often as the pests appear. The formula for this spray, which is used
for roses at Mount Auburn, was thus given me by an expert. It is simply
one wine-glass of kerosene oil to a gallon of water.
Ferns, as decorative plants, are beautiful and easily grown, though all
do not succeed with the maidenhair. All ferns should have an abundance
of light, but not too much sun. I have found an eastern exposure the
very best possible. Ferns should be placed in the full light of a
window, given a high temperature and watered evenly, but not too much.
The soil should be partially renewed annually, and care should be taken
with the roots, which do not like disturbance; especially is this to be
observed with the maidenhair, which, if possible, should _never_ be
transplanted, and should have its stated period of entire rest, during
which it should be kept almost dry. The fuchsia is, properly, an
out-door bloomer, but with care can be brought to flower in winter. To
this end, pinch back in summer, and in September house, and place in a
north or east window. Give much light, water freely with warm water, and
give liquid manure and soot tea about twice a week. If given an entire
window both flower and foliage will be superb, with this treatment. Time
would fail me to enumerate all the desirable plants for house-culture;
there is the orange tree, the costly palm, the delicate asparagus, the
achyranthes, anthericum, and curculigo, the aspidistra, cyclamen, and
many more equally beautiful and practicable, and last, but not least,
the inevitable rubber plant, a little stiff and heavy perhaps, but as a
single plant decidedly effective. In arranging a table or stand of mixed
plants, care should be taken to give each its proper growing place
without marring the general effect. Heliotrope, that ardent sun-lover,
should have the front row, close to the window-glass. Beside it should
sit a begonia or two, and some flowering geraniums. A petunia and a
bridal-rose might come next--the petunia twined among the others to hide
its scraggy limbs. A nicotiana, well in the light, might make the
evenings sweet with its perfume, and if the room be not over-warm, a pot
of mignonette might sweeten the air by day, and at night be removed to
cooler quarters. In the "middle aisle" an achyranthes or two may stand
with sunlight sifting through its fiery leaves, which have thus all the
color-effect of blossoms without their perishability. Further back,
anthericum may flourish, with curculigo spreading queenly its fluted
palm-like leaves, and always craving moisture. And in the "pauper's pew"
Wandering Jew will contentedly sit, like charity, kindly covering the
entire defects of staring pots that needs must hold its betters; and on
the floor, at the foot of all, aspidistra may seem to "choose darkness
rather than light." If you need a growing amaryllis or two to eke out
your foliage display, they will take a shady place, though to bring them
into flower you need a strong, steady sunlight.
Nicotiana, or tobacco plant, is another fragrant and desirable plant. It
thrives in about the same soil as the heliotrope, but needs an entirely
different exposure, being one of the few plants that flower perfectly in
a sunless window. Experimenting with the nicotiana as a house plant, I
found that in a south window the plant was not robust, was scant of
bloom, and the flowers quite perishable in comparison with the blossoms
in a north window, where the plants grew to a height of more than five
feet, and, together, produced one hundred and fifty-six flowers.
Through the entire winter no ray of sunlight reached them. They were
trained on stout strings quite close to the glass of a double window,
kept moist, and given an even temperature of from sixty-five to seventy
degrees, and were watered well with liquid manure.
[Illustration: The Circle on the Lawn]
At evening the blossoms expand, and all through the night it is as if
the room were
"Perfumed from an unseen censer, swung by angels."
Among the sweet-scented tribe mignonette ranks high as an out-door
plant, and as a window bloomer it is exquisite. It rarely outlives
transplanting, but may be sown in pots about mid-summer, and pinched
back for the house. Another method is to obtain the plant from the
florist when in bud. The cost is trifling, and if kept cool and in a
sunny window, it will continue in bloom for weeks. Mignonette needs much
sunlight, but not too high a temperature, and the plant is much weakened
by a single day's omission in watering.
Another--now almost obsolete--fragrant house plant is the night-blooming
jasmine. Its odor is peculiar and intense, and--as its name implies--is
only emitted by night. Its foliage is not especially delicate, but
nothing can be more dainty than its slender spikes of pale,
greenish-white bloom. It is a thrifty plant, making in a single summer a
growth of five or six feet. It is a shrub, but one could fancy that,
ages ago, it must have been a "sport" of a climber, so slender and rapid
is its habit of growth. After flowering-time, which begins late in July
and continues until late in October, it drops most of its foliage, which
is soon replaced by young, delicate shoots and fresh leaves and buds.
The Daphne odora, which combines in its small clusters of bloom the
exquisite perfume of many sweet flowers, may not be lightly passed by.
It is not an easy plant to manage, and often drops its buds just as they
seem ready to open. By placing it in the sunny window of a cool room,
and watering evenly and not too copiously, it may be brought into
flower; and then nothing can be finer than its fragrance.
The more homely and familiar hyacinth is not only delightful in form,
color, and odor, but may be recommended as a "safe investment," as it
seldom fails to flower and needs comparatively little care.
The mahernia is another desirable fragrant plant. It is very effective
in a hanging-basket. It comes in flower about the first of February, and
its tiny yellow cups are brimful of delicious odor. A home-bred mahernia
makes fine foliage, but seldom blooms abundantly; it is, therefore, best
to procure the plant from the florist when fully budded. It will then
flower well in a sunny window, and for three or four weeks one's room
will be as sweet as summer. The wax-plant, though properly a summer
blooming plant, sometimes flowers in winter. Its blossoms are very
odorous, especially by night, and in structure and color they are
exquisite. It is a long-lived plant, easily raised and tended, and,
being a climber, may be tastefully trained on a trellis, where,
with its glossy, rubber-like leaves, it is very effective. The
petunia, as a window plant, blooms freely, and the white variety is
fragrant--especially by night. The plant is rather ungainly in its habit
of growth. To conceal its scragginess of structure twine its stems among
other foliage on your stand, and place it close to the glass, and you
will find it pretty and effective. And now that sweet-smelling plants
are under consideration, may I not give you the details of an experiment
with the common lilac as a house plant? It was made some fifteen years
ago, and before I had the slightest knowledge of lilac-forcing, which is
now quite common among our florists.
Early in December a stout, low bush of the hardy purple variety was,
with the aid of a pickaxe, dislodged from the frost-bound earth, and
with its frozen ball of sod still adhering, thus treated: a large
nail-keg, having an auger-hole in its bottom on which some bits of crock
were strewn, was filled to about half its depth with warm stable manure;
on this the dry leafless bush, with its frozen soil, was set, and the
keg filled in with mellow loam. After a good watering, the keg was
placed in a deep pan, which was then filled with boiling water, and the
whole set near a huge hall stove. The hot water was daily renewed at the
bottom, and before many days leaf and flower-buds began to swell on the
hard, bare stems of the bush. When these were well formed and the tiny
buds quite distinguishable among the pale green foliage, the lilac was
removed from its dim corner beside the stove, and given an entire east
window in the long hall, where the temperature ranged from forty to
sixty, and sometimes as high as seventy degrees. In about two months
from the time of housing fourteen large and perfect clusters of
pearl-white lilacs rejoiced our eyes. These blossoms were far more
delicate in odor than out-door lilacs, and made a delightful atmosphere
of spring-time in the homely old farm-house which was then our
dwelling-place. We had, too, the novel pleasure of surprising our
friends with clusters of fresh lilac in February.
French florists, who give much attention to lilac-forcing, lay great
stress upon the necessity of keeping the bush in the dark in order to
bleach the flowers--white lilacs being most marketable, and the common
purple lilac most available for forcing on account of its superior
vitality. Fortunately I stumbled upon the right treatment, and mine
seemed to come white of their own sweet will.
For a hanging-basket use the oxalis, of which there are many beautiful
varieties. It flowers abundantly, but as the season advances, must be
stimulated with repeated applications of liquid manure and soot tea,
that its foliage may not lose its vigor and become straggly. Wandering
Jew, though structurally coarse, is a good hanging plant, and will
accommodate itself to any exposure, really doing its very best in a
north window. Ivy geranium is another hanging plant, beautiful in
structure, and with its double rose-pink blossoms, as in the improved
varieties, most fair to see. It demands strong food, much moisture, and
oceans of sunlight. Madeira vine and German ivy both make effective
hanging-baskets. The latter is too alluring to the green fly to make its
house-culture easy or satisfactory. Smilax, if trained on strings, in a
sunny window, is exquisitely delicate, and its blossom is odorous. The
English ivy, as in-door greenery, is delightful. I have attempted its
culture, but my experience being but a series of ignoble defeats, is not
commendable. I wish it were! The odious scale has at last compelled me
to abandon the field. I must also confess to repeated failure with
in-door geraniums. Mine have not bloomed well, and a geranium without
its blossoms is a poor affair (not including the scented varieties).
Last autumn, after having tried many methods with many kinds, I turned
over a new leaf in geranium culture. All my best geraniums were
consigned to an upper room, where no furnace heat could reach them, and
where, in cold nights, the temperature falls perilously near to freezing
point. The plants have a southern window, and through the day the room
is moderately warmed from the ascending heat of the kitchen. Geraniums
(and fuchsias and nasturtiums as well) have taken kindly to this low
temperature, the geraniums blooming as finely as in the open during
summer. Many of us have, no doubt, seen floating about in print, the
little story of that pot of geranium which was the sole bequest of a
dying man to his family, who carefully tended this precious, though not
pecuniarily valuable legacy. When spring came the pot was reverently
committed to the cemetery lot to summer close beside the grave of the
buried husband and father. On removing it in autumn, the plant was found
to have outgrown its quarters, and was tenderly dislodged for repotting.
To the great surprise of these good people a hollow false bottom was
found in the original pot, and on its removal a little fortune in bank
notes was disclosed, which, as the story ran, had obligingly kept
themselves intact for the heirs in this odd storing-place. This tale has
been cited of late by a scientific floriculturist, as evidence of the
deplorable ignorance of the common mind in regard to absolutely
necessary conditions for growth demanded by a plant. "A geranium," he
authoritatively tells us, "cannot exist without drainage, hence an
account which asserts that one has for months survived the ordeal of a
tight-bottom pot can have no foundation in fact." So we have been
taught, but, alas for the infallibility of time-honored theories! In the
material world new discoveries are continually upsetting old
conclusions; and we are now told that our geraniums and fuchsias have a
natural affinity for tight-bottomed tomato cans! The finest geranium in
my present collection has the proud distinction of growing in a
water-tight lard kettle. Though a young and blooming plant, it was held
in light esteem by its owner because of a vicious tendency to magenta,
and in the autumn, no pot being at hand, was given this apparently thin
chance of survival. Not only has it carried its buds and blossoms
straight on through the entire winter, but it has graciously overcome
its perversity in the matter of color, changing from a glaring magenta
to a deep and lovely rose. In the same group is a large white geranium
three years old, which, after blooming all summer in the garden, has
never once, throughout the winter, been out of bud and blossom. This
well-behaved plant grows in an old butter tub which stands squarely on
its "own" sound "bottom," unmutilated by gimlet or auger. The plant had,
in late winter, ten clusters of bud and bloom, while its small neighbor
of the lard kettle had six. A nasturtium, in the same window, flowers
abundantly, and a fuchsia beside it is a paragon among plants. All these
have had weekly applications of manure water and soot tea, and have not
been kept over-wet. Especially is this true of the geraniums--which may,
perhaps, partly explain their dispensing with drainage. The finest
hyacinth I have ever grown in the house perfected in a handleless fancy
pitcher which had no outlet at the bottom. Having no pot of the right
size, some lumps of charcoal were thrown into this make-shift affair,
the soil tossed in, and the bulb, not without serious misgivings,
carefully planted. It flowered late, but its foliage was abundant and
its bloom exquisite. It gave me five perfect rose-colored spikes. These
all, in common with my other plants (excepting ferns and aspidistras)
were well fed with liquid manure and soot tea, and, in potting, a little
wood ashes was added to the soil.
That very old-fashioned plant, the bridal-rose, is a free winter
bloomer, and has a kindly way of sending up a perpetual supply of shoots
for one's neighbors and friends. But, taking roses altogether, they are
not profitable house plants. The constant battle with insect pests is
fatiguing, and one cannot spray and fumigate and spray and fumigate
incessantly, as the florist does. Now and then, after hard labor, virtue
has its reward in the shape of an exquisite rose or two, but even then,
"the play is scarce worth the candle."
The same may be said of carnations, which not only teem with insects,
but require a much lower temperature than we have in our living rooms,
as also do winter violets.
As to the finer uses of house plants, I have but time to suggest, in
conclusion, that whoever cultivates them from sheer material
satisfaction in their growth, from mere pleasure in their structural
perfection, or with an eye single to their market value (as a florist
naturally must), overlooking their poetical--I had almost said their
religious side--has grasped but a small portion of the delight to be
derived from floriculture, and has wholly missed that divine
inspiration, that mental help, which emanates from "a thing of beauty"
and makes it "a joy forever."