--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. Experience alone, of rather a dirty and
uninteresting class, will give the skill necessary for success. And then
they commit villanies of ingratitude beyond explanation. I knew that
orchids must be quite different. Each class demands certain conditions
as a preliminary: if none of them can be provided, it is a waste of
money to buy plants. But when the needful conditions are present, and
the poor things, thus relieved of a ceaseless preoccupation, can attend
to business, it follows like a mathematical demonstration that if you
treat them in such and such a way, such and such results will assuredly
ensue. I was not aware then that many defy the most patient analysis of
cause and effect. That knowledge is familiar now; but it does not touch
the argument. Those cases also are governed by rigid laws, which we do
not yet understand.

Therefore I perceived or suspected, at an early date, that orchid
culture is, as one may say, the natural province of an intelligent and
enthusiastic amateur who has not the technical skill required for
growing common plants. For it is brain-work--the other mechanical. But I
shared the popular notion--which seems so very absurd now--that they are
costly both to purchase and to keep: shared it so ingenuously that I
never thought to ask myself how or why they could be more expensive,
after the first outlay, than azaleas or gardenias. And meanwhile I was
laboriously and impatiently gathering some comprehension of the ordinary
plants. It was accident which broke the spell of ignorance. Visiting
Stevens' Auction Rooms one day to buy bulbs, I saw a _Cattleya Mossiae_,
in bloom, which had not found a purchaser at the last orchid sale. A
lucky impulse tempted me to ask the price. "Four shillings," said the
invaluable Charles. I could not believe it--there must be a mistake: as
if Charles ever made a mistake in his life! When he repeated the price,
however, I seized that precious Cattleya, slapped down the money, and
fled with it along King Street, fearing pursuit. Since no one followed,
and Messrs. Stevens did not write within the next few days reclaiming
my treasure, I pondered the incident calmly. Perhaps they had been
sellin