If you are fond of flowers, and cannot have even a small garden, perhaps you can have a window-box, or some plants in pots or bulbs in glasses. A window garden should face south, east, or west, so that it gets plenty of sun. If you are obliged to have a north window you must grow plants that do not need much sun, such as Creeping Jenny, Musk, Golden Privet, Euonymus, Crocuses, Snowdrops, and hardy Ferns. Have your window-box made as long and as wide as the window-ledge will allow, and see that there are several holes bored in the bottom to allow waste water to run away. There must then be a layer of broken pots for drainage. The earth with which you now fill the box must be the very best you can obtain—if possible, a mixture of good loam, leaf-mould, and sand. In front you should put plants that will hang down, such as Petunias, Nasturtiums, Convolvulus, Carnations, Canariensis, Musk, or the Ivy-leaved Geraniums. The Giant Nasturtium and Convolvulus and Canariensis can all be grown from seed sown early in May, and they can either hang or climb upwards round strings or wires put for them from an upper window to your box. You must, of course, study the colours of the plants you grow in this way, and not choose Petunias and Nasturtiums in one season. Alternate pink Petunias and pink Ivy-leaved Geraniums would look well hanging down. Behind them you could have a row of pink Geraniums standing up, and behind these a row of white Marguerite Daisies. Another pretty combination would be Creeping Jenny to hang down, then Heliotrope, and then yellow Marguerite Daisy. In London the Heliotrope might be a little uncertain, as it likes pure air, but Calceolarias should thrive if properly treated, or mauve Violas. A box filled with healthy plants in the first week of May should flower till late in September.

You must never let your window-box get quite dry, and never water your plants when the sun is on them. Give a good soak (not a sprinkle) every evening after sunset. All faded flowers and dead leaves should be carefully cut off, and a little Clay’s Fertilizer—a teaspoonful to half a gallon of water—given once a fortnight.

In the autumn, when your summer flowers are over, remove them, roots and all, and turn over the soil well with a hand-fork. If you can add some fresh soil, so much the better. Then fill your box with bulbs for the spring. You might put Snowdrops, or Crocuses, or Siberian Squills in front, and then Daffodils of medium height, such as Princess Victoria, Sir Watkin, or Golden Spur. The back of the box can either be filled with small evergreen shrubs or with late Daffodils, such as Emperor or Empress, or with Hyacinths and Tulips. A box filled entirely with Tulips will make a splendid show for three weeks. When a hard frost comes, or rather a little while before it comes, you should protect your bulbs with a covering of cocoanut fibre.

For many years of her life one of the authors of this book was obliged to live mostly in London without a square yard of garden, but so great was her love of flowers and her desire to grow them that by degrees she made a ‘room garden’ for herself, and found endless interest and pleasure in it. She was prepared from the first to spend some time each day in feeding, washing, watering, and shifting her plants; otherwise success would have been impossible. Unfortunately, most of us know how miserable neglected or misunderstood plants soon get to look in a room—their leaves yellow and dusty, their flowers stunted, their soil either baked hard for want of water or sour and mossy through having more than they can digest.

We fear that if you are unlucky enough to have gas in your room you cannot have healthy plants at all—at any rate, you would have to content yourself with one or two that you could carry out of your gas-poisoned air every evening. But if you have no gas, and a sunny window in which you can place a good-sized plain wooden table, you may have a delightful room garden, as well as some pot plants in other places. To begin with, you would want some of the well-known hardy foliage plants that you can get from any good nurseryman. One of the best known is the Aspidistra, or Parlour Palm. You can get it with plain green or with variegated leaves. If it is in good health it sends up new leaves every spring, and makes queer dwarf flowers. When it seems too crowded for its pot you can either give it a bigger one, with some fresh soil, or divide it. This should be done in April or May. Young gardeners often make the mistake of giving a plant too big a pot when they change it. They hope in this way to persuade their plant to grow to a great size, but what they really do is to give its roots more soil than they can keep healthy, so it languishes or dies. One, or at most two, sizes larger than the last pot should be used, or, in the case of Aspidistras, you can divide and repot into the same size, or even smaller ones. Some people say these plants are impatient of disturbance, but we have found them easy to manage with a little care. Never use pots that are not both dry and clean. If they are dirty they must be well scrubbed with soap and hot water, and then well dried before you use them. You must also get a little good soil from a nursery gardener before you divide or repot any of your plants.

Besides Aspidistras, you can have some of the hardy Ferns, of which the Holly Fern is the most enduring; Aralias, which look like little Fig-trees; Indiarubber plants, whose young unfolding leaves it is such a pleasure to watch; various hardy Palms (Phoenix and Kentia, for instance); and some of the hardy Cactuses. The Indiarubber (Ficus Indica) and Palms are plants that you must be careful not to overpot. We know that from sad personal experience, as well as from some of the great authorities. In our early gardening days we often used to get a healthy Palm or Indiarubber from a good nursery, thinking when we bought it that the nurseryman was rather stupid and neglectful to leave the poor thing caged in that little pot of hard soil. We would bring it home, turn it out, find its roots in a thick mat, plunge them into a pot about four times the size of the old one, full of nice, loose, fresh soil, and expect it to grow like Jack’s Beanstalk in its happy new conditions. The ungrateful thing usually died. So remember that if you repot Indiarubber plants and Palms at all, take a pot only slightly larger than the last. Remember, too, that if you overwater an Indiarubber plant its leaves will turn yellow and drop off, while Palms must not be allowed to suffer from drought. It is death to nearly all plants to be allowed to stand in stagnant water. We mean that you must not leave the water in the saucer that has run out of the pot. When a plant is dry it is a good plan to plunge it in water nearly, but not quite, up to the brim of the pot, and to leave it there till the top of the soil is moist. That will show you that it has had enough to drink, and it should then be lifted out and allowed to drain before being replaced in its saucer. If you let plants stand in stagnant water day after day, they soak up more than they can digest—their leaves turn yellow, their roots rot, and they die. You can generally judge by the state of the pot whether you should give water. At least we know one good amateur gardener who would never water a plant in a moist pot, but only one in a pot that felt dry to the touch.

All foliage plants must be sponged once a week with a soft sponge and lukewarm water, as dust chokes and kills them. If you can put them out on some leads after sponging and spray them well with a syringe, so much the better, but this must be only done in mild weather. Remember, too, not to use ice-cold, hard water from a tap. In summer let them stand out in soft warm rain as often and as much as possible.

Many plants in pots die of starvation. When you drench them with water, the water that runs off carries plant food with it, and this is often not replaced. We used to use a little Clay’s Fertilizer, about half a small teaspoonful to a half-gallon of water, well mixed; but lately we have used Shefa, a new kind that is especially suitable for ferns. These liquid manures must never be given more than once a month, and never to flowering bulbs.

If you have more plants than will stand on your table in the window, you must shift some of them every week, and bring those that have had several days of semi-darkness to the light. You must also be careful not to let your plants stand in a draught. It is most injurious to them, especially when it is a cold one. If you have a light bathroom, with a good-sized window, and are allowed to use it, you would find it a help, as the air of a bathroom is sometimes steamy, and never as dry as that of a sitting-room. You could put plants that you wanted to nurse there, and more especially a succession of bulbs when they have made their roots in darkness and first need the light.

The real joy and glory of room gardens are the flowering bulbs, and the more you can have the better; but grow a few of many kinds rather than many of a few kinds, because then you will have a longer and more continuous succession. You do not want your room over-crowded at one time, and then empty of scent and colour. In September you should muster your glasses, bowls, and pots, and decide what you want and can afford to buy, and you must also choose what you will grow your bulbs in. Hyacinths, as you no doubt know, do well in water, and nowadays you can buy pretty squat glasses instead of the ugly tall ones we used to have. The bulb should almost, but not quite, touch the water; if it gets sodden, blue mould forms on it, and it decays. Crocuses are also grown in water in small glasses sold now for this purpose. The early Roman Hyacinths and the Polyanthus Narcissus will also flower well in this way. When you grow bulbs in water you will find that you must often add a little. The amount a Hyacinth in flower will drink is surprising. Many people change all the water in their bulb glasses once or twice in the season. A scrap of charcoal in each glass keeps the water clean and wholesome.

Many mixtures for growing bulbs are recommended. The one we like best for bowls without drainage is gravel mixed with a little carbon. You buy it in little sacks mixed ready for use at any of the big London shops that have a gardening department, and probably at any good florist’s elsewhere. Moss-fibre is satisfactory, too, but the gravel is cleaner to handle, and the carbon keeps the water sweet. From the moment that bulbs are planted in bowls they must not be allowed to become quite dry. If you think there is too much water, however, you must put your hand over the top of the bowl to keep your bulbs in place, tilt it a little, and drain off the water. For ordinary flower-pots a mixture of leaf-mould and sand is good, and while these are in the dark you must not water much, or the soil will get sour and unhealthy. In planting bulbs for a room garden, do not set them deeply in the gravel or moss-fibre. The point of the bulb should just show above ground. This applies also to bulbs grown in ordinary pots. Whatever medium you use should be damp when you finish your planting. Your bulbs must then be put into a dark, cool place for four weeks to make their roots. An airy cellar is good, but many people use a cool cupboard. They usually choose one that is sometimes opened, and therefore aired for a moment. At the end of the four weeks the bulbs must be brought into a light and cool, but not cold, place, and it was at this stage that we found a bathroom window so useful. When the green is well up and the flowers beginning to show, they may be moved to a light place in your warm sitting-room.

The first bulbs to push up are the white single Roman Hyacinths. These, if planted in September, will bloom in November, and will give you a little of the promise and fragrance of spring in the dull, dark days. Two dozen bulbs would be enough to buy, and of these one dozen should be started in September and the other dozen in October for succession. Next come the red and yellow Duc Van Thol Tulips, Crocuses, Trumpet Daffodils, and Hyacinths. The two earliest Daffodils are Trumpet-Major and Sir Henry Irving, and they should be planted in September. The Hyacinths look well either singly in glasses or three together in a bowl. In October plant some of the later Daffodils—for instance, Golden Spur, Princess Victoria, Emperor, and Empress. These may all be treated in the same way: set in gravel with a little carbon added, kept from frost and in the dark for four or five weeks, then brought to a cool, light place, and, when in bud, to the warm room. The Japanese Sacred Lily, which is so largely advertised, is only a large kind of Polyanthus Narcissus. It is easy to grow in a sunny window; but we should always buy Narcissus Gloriosa instead, as it is very like it, just as sweet, and about a quarter the price. All these Polyanthus Narcissi bloom well in pots without drainage, and if you have a blue-and-white bowl you should fill it with the one called Soleil d’Or. Scilly White, too, is easy to grow in a room.

So far our description of the room garden has dealt with foliage plants and spring flowers, but there are also many summer flowers that do well in a light window. In most parts of England the cottage windows show you that. For instance, you often see the blue or white hanging Campanula Isophylla, such a mass of flower that it covers the pot. It is an easy plant to manage and propagate. If you get a healthy specimen of it in May, it should flower all the summer. In the autumn cut it back a little and give a mild dose of liquid manure. It will flower for years without being repotted, and can be increased by cuttings put round the edge of a pot and stood in a window. Gardeners always put anything they want to strike near the edge, and not in the middle of a pot. Begonias make handsome room plants; so do Fuchsias, Heliotropes, and Geraniums. We have seen a big plant of Heliotrope that had lived for years in a Paris window, but it does not like the sooty air of our big cities. Some of the vigorous Ivies grow well in pots, and in Germany you often see them trained round picture-frames. We once brought a spray from the country that was so determined to grow that it rooted itself in an earthenware jug, lived for more than two years on an occasional drink of fresh water, and only died when we were away from home and could not attend to it. Geraniums would rather be dry than wet. The pretty white SpirÆa and the little trailing yellow Musk are both very thirsty plants, and flag at once if you neglect them. The Vallota Purpurea, the Scarborough Lily, is a splendid window plant. When once you have potted it you should not disturb it, as it flowers best when it is almost bursting the pot with its big onion-shaped bulbs. The Vallota never cares to be wet, and after it has flowered it needs very little water; yet it must not become bone-dry. You will say these are difficult directions, and we can only agree with you. Gardening is an art that in the end must be largely learned by experience, and the earlier you begin to practise it the sooner you will find out some of the things all the books in the world cannot tell you. You cannot give a recipe for watering as you can give one for a cake or a pudding, because the same plant will need different quantities in different conditions and at different times. When you see leaves flag in their flowering season, they probably want water; when they turn yellow and drop off, they have probably had too much. In winter you must not water in a room likely to feel frost at night, as that would help to freeze the roots. You are sure to have some failures and some successes with your plants to the end of your gardening days, but every failure ought to teach you, and every success will spur you on. The true gardener loves his art so well that he will grow what he can even under difficult conditions.

Three Golden Rules for the Room Garden.

Keep your plants free from dust on their leaves.

Keep stagnant water out of their saucers. See that those in undrained bowls are just moist, but not wet.

Give all the light and air possible, but remember that draughts are injurious.

The Japanese Garden.

This is the story of a Japanese garden made by one of the authors when she was in her London home, and had to grow all her plants in a window-box and in a room. The Japanese, as you probably know, think that size in a garden does not matter, provided that everything is in proportion, and they produce the most wonderful effects of landscape gardening in a small space. The one in the room was copied as nearly as possible from a photograph of a real one. To begin with, a zinc tray was made, five feet long, two feet wide, and four inches deep. At one end a hill was arranged of good-sized stones bedded in earth. Halfway up the hill grew a dwarf Japanese Fir-tree. It was really in a pot, but the pot was hidden by Moss and stones. On the other side of the hill, a little lower down, there was an Orange-tree, covered with small red oranges. These are to be had at any good flower shop for five shillings. The Orange-tree lasted a year with care, but the Fir-tree lasted five years in London, and is still alive in a West Country garden. Down the centre of the hill a staircase was made of small, flat stones wedged into the earth, and beside this several sorts of tiny hardy Ferns grew. At the base of the hill a good many plants in pots were arranged to look as natural as possible, but all the pots were bedded in earth and covered with Moss. Some paths were arranged with flat stones, and one of them led to the lake. This was made of a green earthenware dish eighteen inches long and an inch and a half deep. Ferns hung over its edge, and one or two hardy water-plants grew on its surface, while over a corner of it there was a wooden bridge. At the back of the lake there was a tall Umbrella Fern that looked like a Bamboo. Stones were artfully arranged so as to break the straight lines of the dish, and in the spring bulbs grown in very small pots were flowering near it. Some of the miniature Daffodils do well for such a purpose, and so do Crocuses, Snowdrops, and Squills. The dwarf Japanese trees you need for such a garden are rather expensive, but if you do not mind that you can get many beautiful kinds. Any of the Japanese curio dealers would sell little china temples, houses, lanterns, and figures that add to the quaint charm of a garden made in this way. If you please, you may call it artificial, but that is a word you may apply to any form of gardening. When you have made your Japanese garden with great skill and patience, and kept it in good order by unfailing care and attention, you will be rather vexed if other people who cannot keep a Fern alive exclaim: ‘Very curious, certainly, but quite artificial.’ Of course you will smile politely and say nothing, but in your mind there will be some lines from Shakespeare’s ‘Winter’s Tale’ which will comfort and support you. They come in that scene where Perdita says so many beautiful things about the flowers in her garden—when she talks of the Marigold that goes to bed with the sun and with him rises weeping; and of Daffodils that come before the swallow dares, and take the winds of March with beauty. But in her garden she has no streaked Gillyvors (Stocks), and she tells Polixenes, the King, that she will not grow them because they are ‘artificial.’ ‘There is an art,’ she says, ‘which in their piedness shares with great creating Nature.’ And Polixenes answers her:

‘Say there be;
Yet Nature is made better by no mean,
But Nature makes that mean: so, o’er that art,
Which you say adds to Nature, is an art
That Nature makes.’

But you mustn’t take this quotation as an excuse for carpet-bedding.