The Rosery Folk. Fenn George Manville

breakfast time yet, Jack, and you are in for my lecture. As I was about to say, nous avons changé tout cela. We build our orchard house handsome or plain, according to our means, and in that shelter we have an artificial climate, such as made some gentlemen from the South of France exclaim, when visiting the gardens of the late Mr Rivers, of Sawbridgeworth, the introducer of the system, ‘Ah! Monsieur Rivers, voici notre climat!’ In fact the above gentleman, in his interesting work, says: ‘An orchard house in the south of England will give as nearly as possible the summer climate of Toulouse.’ And this, mind, from sun heat and earth heat alone – heat which, so far from needing increase, has to be modified by abundant ventilation.”

      “Ah! that’s what I want you to mind, old fellow,” said the doctor; “you are not a plant, and I don’t want you to get yourself in a state of heat under the glass here, and then expose yourself to abundant ventilation.”

      “Only like cooling after a Turkish bath,” said Sir James.

      “I don’t like Turkish baths,” said the doctor, “the overheating affects the nerves.”

      “You are always croaking about the nerves,” said Sir James; “but as I was saying – ”

      “Oh! go on, preach the orchard house down,” said the doctor, “I’ll listen.”

      “I’m preaching it up, man,” said Sir James. “Given the matter of the orchard house, then, what next? Presuming that you have taken advantage of the possession of a south or south west wall already covered with trees, and against which you have placed glass roof and simple front and ends, all else necessary is to plant the space unoccupied by nailed-up trees moderately full of little bushes and standards.”

      “I always thought peaches and nectarines ought to be nailed-up against walls till I saw yours,” said the doctor.

      “Yes; if you like to torture them into that position; but they will grow and bear better like ordinary apple-trees or pears, only asking for abundant pruning, plenty of water, and freedom from insect plagues. If you prefer so doing, you may grow them in large pots, the same as you would camellias, and ornament your dining-table with a beautiful little eighteen-inch or two-feet high Early Louise peach, an Elruge nectarine, or Moor Park apricot, bearing its dozen or so of perfectly-shaped fruit. And to the man of frugal mind this has its advantages; for every one exclaims, ‘Oh, it would be a pity to pick them!’ and the dessert is saved.”

      “My dear James, I shall never say that, I promise you.”

      “You’re a humbug, Jack. Here we are, and all this place, asking you to run down and share some of its fruits, but you will never come. But to proceed. I think I shall write a pamphlet on this subject.”

      “I would,” said the doctor, drily.

      “I don’t care for your chaff, my boy. I want to see poor people refine their ways, – working-men growing vines, old ladies with orchard houses.”

      “And I hope you may get it,” said the doctor.

      “My dear Jack,” continued Sir James, “such a structure as an orchard house for a long period of the year is ‘a thing of beauty,’ and a walk down the central avenue, with the little trees blooming, leafing, and fruiting, is ‘a joy, for ever’ so long. There is a large sound about that ‘central avenue,’ but, believe me, there is great pleasure to be derived if the little path be only six feet long, and this is a pleasure that can be enjoyed by the man of very humble means, who may make it profitable if he has the heart to sell his pets. Even in the simplest structure there is infinite variety to be obtained.”

      “I daresay,” said the doctor. “I say, how this leaf has curled up. It has killed the insects, though.”

      “So would you curl up if a giant held a red hot cigar end against your body,” said Sir James. “Do I bore you?”

      “Not a bit, my dear boy; not a bit,” cried the doctor. “You do me good. Your verdant prose refreshes me, and makes me think the world is better than it is.”

      “Get out. But I’ve nearly done. I say, Jack, I’m trying this on you. It’s part of a lecture I’m writing to deliver at our National School.”

      “And here have I been sitting admiring your eloquence. Oh! James Scarlett, what a deceitful world is this! But there: go on, old enthusiast.”

      “Some of the commonest plums,” continued Sir James, “are lovely objects when grown under glass; so are the dwarf cherries, trees which are clusters of coral from root to top, while those who have not partaken of that wonderfully beautiful fruit, the apple, when a choice American kind is grown in an orchard house, have a new sensation before them in the way of taste. The modern Continental mode of growing fruit on cordons, as they are termed, a simple stick, so to speak, without an extraneous branch, all being fruit spurs, enables the lover of such a form of horticulture to place an enormous number of trees beneath his glass in a very small space, as they will flourish well at a distance of two feet apart all along the back and sides, and three feet apart in the centre, while as to expense, the choicest of young trees can be purchased for from eighteenpence to half-a-crown each. In fact, if I wanted an orchard house, I would start with quite a small one, erected and stocked for a five-pound note, and if I could not raise so large a sum, I would do it for half the money with old sashes from some house-wrecker’s stock, and grow it to a better by-and-by.”

      “How much did this place cost?” said the doctor.

      “Five hundred,” said Sir James. “But listen to the finish, old fellow. Ajax, if he builds himself such a structure, can defy the weather – the much-abused weather, which, in spite of all that has been said, seems much the same as ever, people forgetting that they ask it to perform the same miracles of growth that it does in Eastern and Southern climes. Nature meant England to grow sloes, blackberries, and crabs, and we ask her to grow the pomegranate, the orange, and the date. She definitely says she won’t, though she does accord the fig, but in a very insipid, trashy way. Put up the glass umbrella however, and shut out her freezing winds, and she will perform wonders at our call. Our grandfathers thought they had done everything when they had planted their trees against a sheltering wall. Our fathers went farther, and gave us the idea of growing grapes and pines in a house of glass. But, the pine and grape were luxurious affairs, not to be approached by the meek, to whom these ideas are presented as facts that will add another pleasure to their lives.”

      “As the celebrated Samuel Weller observed, when he had listened patiently to the Shepherd’s discourse, ‘Brayvo! Very pretty!’ But I say, I’m getting hungry.”

      “Not seven yet,” said Sir James; “go and get yourself a glass of milk, and I’ll have a walk with you till breakfast time. Here, I’ll come with you now.”

      “But, my dear boy, you are not coming out of this hot, moist atmosphere without first putting on a coat?”

      “Stuff! Nothing hurts me, I’m used to it.”

      “My dear fellow, you’ll have a bad attack some day,” said the doctor.

      “Not if I know it, Jack. Get out, you old rascal, you want to run me up a bill. I’m as sound as a roach, and shall be as long as I lead my country-life. I say, I’m going to empty the pond to-day. We’ll get the water out, and then the ladies can come and see us catch the fish.”

      “Us?” said the doctor, “us?”

      “Yes, you shall have a landing-net at the end of a pole. You’ll come?”

      “Is Prayle going to be there?”

      “Of course.”

      “Then I think I shall stay away.”

      “Nonsense, you prejudiced humbug. I want you to see the fun. You will come?”

      “My dear James Scarlett, I do not get on at my profession, I know now why. It is from weakness of will. I see it now. You have taught me that lesson this morning. First, I find myself listening to a rigmarole about growing fruit under glass. Now I am weakly consenting to make myself as much a schoolboy as you in your verdant idyllic life.”

      “Then