298 
THE FLORIST. 
don’t you give more air ?” we ask. “ Oh! it wouldn’t do for the 
Grapes.” So that in order to try and have both, both are spoiled, and 
for what purpose? That A. may, on some grand gala day, have a 
bunch or two of seedy looking Grapes on his table, and say “ These are 
out of my own greenhouse.” And now let us step across to friend B. 
He, too, has a greenhouse—it has been built against a wall where 
a* Grape-vine had stood for many years ; he could not find it in 
his heart to exclude it, any more than that eccentric but kind-hearted 
old Colonel could bear to have the Hyde Park Elms cut down, and 
there it is at the back of the house. But B. wants a little of everything, 
and so here are Fuchsias, Heaths, Cacti, Oleanders—“ all things great 
and small ”—crowding his shelves and spoiling one another. Old 
Geraniums, of six and eight years’ growth, are there too, and everything 
in most admired disorder. Well, it is easy to find fault, and I am far 
from saying that mine is what it ought to be; but I will say, as briefly 
as possible, what my place is. 
1. ^45 to filling it. —I strive, as far as possible, to have young stuff, 
my object being to keep bedding plants over the winter, and also to have 
the house gay during the spring and summer; hence I do not grow 
Geraniums after the second year’s growth, and had I time should 
almost be inclined only to grow cuttings of the year. I keep them in 
small-sized pots during the winter months—giving them a shift in the 
spring, when Thumbs and suchlike bedding things can be trusted in 
cold frames, or, indeed, in more exposed situations still. The top shelf, 
which in small houses is very difficult to water, I appropriate to Tom 
Thumb—he is not a thirsty soul—and the hardening he gets up there 
is not against him when he is turned out of doors in the summer; the 
bedding plants occupy every little nook and corner into which they can 
be put, and as they are not encouraged to make growth they take up 
but little room during the winter. 
2. As to heating. —If a burnt child dread the fire, a frozen one 
clings to it. Who can picture the consternation with which, in the 
Crimean winter, I saw all my plants frozen to death? Yea, positively, 
not a single one left me—a more complete rout than even the Russians 
suffered at Inkermann. The previous winter having been compara¬ 
tively mild, a small suspension stove had been sufficient; but, alas ! it 
did nothing now, and had it not been for the kindness of my neighbours 
I should have had a long while to wait ere the house was replenished. 
Of course I soon altered my plan of heating, though as my tenure here 
was uncertain I did not like to go to the expense of a brick flue (which 
is of all plans the best for a small greenhouse, if you can afford it), but 
have now an iron one on the suspension plan, but much more adapted 
for a greenhouse than the original one; when once lighted it keeps in for 
a long time. I have filled it up with coke at ten o’clock, and found it 
with a nice fire in it at seven the next morning. One has, unless in 
such a winter as that, very little need of a fire—you want it sometimes 
in the cold domp days which we often have before Christmas, and, of 
course, whenever the thermometer indicates a likelihood of frost; but 
persons who have a fire often do a great injury to their plants by 
keeping it going much oftener than they need. I know to some the 
