SCIENCE.
I had a high appreciation of the superiority of learning in cultivating
the earth. Beside the dazzling statements of the brilliant writers on
agriculture, the humdrum notions of the plodding workers were little
less than disgusting. What is the few bushels of potatoes which an acre
yields under common management when compared with the hundreds of
barrels which it should give by scientific appliances? Under such
manipulation the compost heap becomes a mountain of wealth, and morass a
mine of gold. Of course, I discussed these points with Weeville, and
impressed upon him frequently the great value of science. Inspired by
this feeling, it is not surprising that none of my failures had in the
least disheartened me. I was still a firm believer in high art, and
studied out every new suggestion that could be made applicable to the
restricted area of five acres. I had read all the latest books on the
farm, the garden, trees, vegetables, plants, berries, fruits, and every
thing whatever which the earth produced for the service of man, except
what pertained to the mineral kingdom. No sooner would a seed-store
issue a new catalogue than I had it, and devoured the contents for the
purpose of discovering novelties; I corresponded with distant florists
for whatever they produced as a specialty, or to obtain their
descriptive catalogue, and I really began to feel as though I were a man
of science myself.
My particular attention had been given to the flowers. This department
had been under my charge from the commencement, Patrick confining his
exertions to the supply of edibles. I had run through the general list
of flowers, had purchased all the hardy bedding sorts which could be
obtained ready to be set out, and had at last succeeded in compelling
them to grow in spite of their vigorous opposition. I had conquered
asters, columbine, anagallis, Jacobœa, snap-dragon, phlox, foxglove,
Canterbury bells, hyacinths, tulips, crocuses, balsams, Callirrhoe,
coreopsis, pansies, poppies, lobelias, sweet peas, garden rockets,
larkspurs, verbenas, zinnias, and many more of the common varieties,
besides innumerable shrubs; but, not content with these, my attention
was turned to another world, a higher one to overcome, and deeper
science to be applied.
This awakening came through a very full and complete catalogue and list
of seeds and plants published by a firm strongly indorsed by the ablest
periodical on farming in the country, and which I believe in next to the
prayer-book. Of course, this approval was sufficient to entitle to
implicit confidence what the seedsmen might say, and I fairly devoured
the glowing descriptions of new plants that this work--for it contained
some one hundred and fifty pages--presented. I made quite a large
selection of seeds, and among them ordered a double quantity of a
strange plant described in the following enthusiastic manner:
DATURA (TRUMPET-FLOWER), Nat. Ord. _Solanaceæ_.--An ornamental
class of plants, many of which possess attractions of the highest
order, and are not nearly so extensively cultivated as they ought
to be. In large clumps or borders of shrubbery they produce an
excellent effect. The roots may be preserved in sand through the
winter in a dry cellar. _Half-hardy perennials._
DATURA WRIGHTII (_Meteloides_).--A splendid variety, with
bell-shaped flowers eight inches long, white bordered with lilac,
and sweet scented; continues in bloom from July to November;
beautiful beyond description; from Asia.
Here was a magnificent future--a perennial, with flowers eight inches
long, “beautiful beyond description.” To be sure, I was a little
troubled about the name. I could not make up my mind positively whether
it was “Datura” or “Meteloides.” They were both good names, however, and
that, in science, is half the battle. Still, accuracy is a weakness of
mine, and it was unpleasant to call these new seeds half the time
Datura, and the other half Meteloides. But I felt that, under either
appellation, they were invaluable, and I carefully concealed the
possession of the new treasure, that I might at last have a satisfactory
triumph over Weeville, who, with his practical and most incomprehensibly
successful mode of gardening, was quite a thorn in my scientific side.
The papers inclosing the purchase contained minute directions for its
cultivation, and I followed these most exactly, resolved that there
should be no failure this time, if the strictest attention could prevent
it. I supervised the preparation of the hot-bed personally; I saw that
the material was properly turned over and worked, and the mould
carefully prepared; and two distinct sowings were made, so that in case
any untoward accident happened to one, the other might succeed.
Anxiously I waited the issue, and my exultation may be imagined when
both came up. Datura, even in its earliest stages, exhibited its
aristocratic extraction. There is usually some little difficulty in
distinguishing a youthful weed from a plant by its mere appearance; but
Meteloides was peculiarly elegant and graceful. The first leaves were
not two coarse lobes, but long, slender, delicate, and refined spears of
a pale green color, supported by a tall, spare stalk. They gathered
strength slowly, and, under assiduous care, frequent watering, and
careful shading from the sun, became robust, and finally put forth the
permanent foliage. There were a good many of them; in fact, they took up
a considerable share of my hot-bed, and they soon began to grow large
and strong, till I could hardly wait for the warm weather to transplant
them into the garden. This change was also effected with the utmost
precaution, dull or rainy days being selected; and so determined was I
to oversee every step myself, that a slight rheumatism remains to remind
me of the circumstance.
However, my labors were rewarded, and, once established in the garden,
the Daturas began to grow vigorously. If they occupied considerable room
in the hot-bed, they demanded still more in the open air, and the
assurance of a wonderful abundance was no longer questionable, the only
doubt remaining as to whether there would be place for the other
inhabitants. Still, it was apparent that flowers “eight inches long, of
white bordered with lilac, and sweet scented,” could hardly be
surpassed, and that it was impossible to have too many of a plant which
was “beautiful beyond description,” and the roots of which could “be
preserved in sand through the winter,” and secure a succession of
loveliness for years to come. As the foliage expanded and the branches
spread, the difference between this plant and the others, its neighbors,
became more and more apparent. It was certainly remarkable, and, the
ground having been doubly enriched to receive it, it grew amazingly.
Precisely at what point in its existence doubts about Meteloides arose
in my mind, I can not say; and, although they were pooh-poohed and
discarded at first, they pressed themselves upon me, and forced me to
notice a very strange and unpleasant resemblance. These suspicions grew
stronger as the Daturas grew larger, and when the latter began to
overshadow all the other flowers, the former became painfully
oppressive. I began to suspect that my new purchase was not all right,
and awaited anxiously the appearance of those flowers “eight inches
long.” To be sure, it was an immense reassurance to recall the words of
the catalogue, and to read over the indorsement of the seedsmen in the
well-known agricultural paper, which was most severe on humbugs; and I
felt that my doubts were so unworthy that I was careful never to
mention them, but awaited patiently the _dénouement_. Unfortunately, at
this precise moment of suspense, Weeville called to see me; and although
I endeavored to distract his attention--for his way was always so
painfully abrupt--and tried to beguile him with the seductions of the
mint-bed, one of his first questions was,
“Well, how goes on the garden? Have you discovered any new way of
growing beans wrong end up, or inducing potatoes to produce a dozen
sprouts to every eye?”
I replied that my garden was getting along very well; and when he
insisted upon a personal inspection, that he might get a lesson or two
in science, as he expressed it, I did my best to lead him to the
vegetable department. But the attempt was vain. He spied my strange
flowers at once, and hastened directly toward a Datura with an
expression of countenance that was far from reassuring.
“What on earth have you got there?” he burst forth, before he was near
the plant, so that I, skillfully pretending to misunderstand him, and
assuming that his question applied to a shrub near by, replied,
“Oh, that is a spiræa. A handsome one, is it not? Growing finely; it
will soon cover the entire path.”
“I don’t mean that--”
“By the way,” I inquired, interrupting him, “have you any egg-plants to
spare? Ours are not as successful as they ought to be.”
“Yes, yes; plenty. But I want to know why you have filled your garden--”
“Walk this way, if you please,” I again broke in. “There’s a remarkably
pretty double Jacobœa that I should like to show you.”
“In a minute; but tell me first--”
“And our Lima beans, they are really remarkable; and such carrots and
turnips, to say nothing of many other excellent vegetables.”
I was becoming a little incoherent, and not sticking to the absolute and
naked truth, for Weeville was not to be moved. He stopped resolutely
before a wonderful specimen of Datura, and said positively,
“Before I go any where else, I want to know what you call that?”
“Oh, that,” I replied, with affected indifference, “that is a Datura.”
As he broke into unpleasantly convulsive laughter, I added, hastily,
“I mean to say Meteloides.” As he still appeared unconvinced and
somewhat choked with merriment, I further explained: “Datura Wrightii
Meteloides; a plant which ought to be more extensively cultivated;
bears flowers eight inches long, white bordered with lilac, sweet
scented, beautiful beyond description.”
“Beautiful!” he shouted; “sweet scented! Why, that is a stink-weed. If
you don’t believe me, just touch it.”
It was. I am sorry to confess the fact, but my fears and suspicions were
confirmed. I had succeeded in producing about a hundred stink-weeds.
There is one disadvantage about science, which consists in the
difficulty of understanding it. Datura and Meteloides are so little like
stink-weed that the common mind could hardly connect the two together,
although the latter have sweet-scented flowers eight inches long.
Moreover, I had supposed that stramonium was the learned name, but it
would appear that science had altered that. It was a good deal of
trouble to get rid of those Daturas. I could not touch them, for by
either name they smelt equally, although not absolutely sweet. It was
out of the question to pull them up, and almost as difficult to cut them
down. During the operation of their removal they gave forth an odor
which seemed to me quite a satisfactory reason why they were not more
“extensively cultivated,” and which rivaled the best efforts of the
American civet, an animal vulgarly known by a more plebeian name. When
they were finally eradicated the garden looked quite bare, and a fresh
application had to be made to the florists for bedding plants to fill up
the vacancies. I still believe in science, but seedsmen should be more
full in their descriptions or more careful in their selections;
certainly stink-weeds are not very desirable flowers, even under the
romantic name Datura or Meteloides.
[Illustration]