CHAPTER XI 

 THE IRIS (concluded] 



I DO hope and trust that a touch of soil is over all 

 this little book. I should like it to appear in the 

 words, as it actually does on the pages. If you could 

 see the MS. you would often observe trails of red or 

 black or brown colour, according to the medium of 

 loam, or peat, or leaf mould in which I was grubbing 

 when moved to rush and set things down. Some- 

 times yellow or scarlet pollen is smeared upon the 

 folio. My typewriter forgives these things. Nothing 

 dismays her not even the botanical names as they 

 appear in my writing. Let me thank her here for 

 her invincible courage and amazing accuracy. 



I am now come from digging about certain beard- 

 less irises, and shall immediately begin upon that 

 subject. Sibirica needs no more than grateful 

 mention. Its various purples, creams, and whites 

 are invaluable. The iris is a marsh lover, but my 

 clumps of half-a-dozen sorts thrive in a half-shady 

 corner far from water, and get no more moisture 

 than heaven sends them. They have, however, a 

 mulch of ripe cow-manure every autumn ; and upon 

 this fare they increase in vigour yearly. A giant 

 libertia flourishes along with them. 



152 



