It is always desirable to use the rich, mellow leaf mould that is found in the woods. You can easily take up your plants with enough of it clinging about them; and it is so loose and light it will not add materially to the bulk or weight. Not much is needed for the fernery; two or three inches of it only above the bed of drainage, mixed with a little sand. In the cities it can be obtained from greenhouses. Many of the plants would flourish if only moss was put in.
In ours we placed a good layer of such soil; and the first plant we set out was a tall, beautiful fern which reached nearly to the roof, for we wanted it to look pretty all at once without waiting for things to grow. Then a pitcher-plant, purple polygala, creeping snow-berry, lots of partridge-berry, with the scarlet berries on, and nearly all of the wild things I have named. Then we went into the garden and dug up lilies-of-the-valley that we were sure were going to bloom, which is indicated by the bluntness and plumpness of the crown just above ground (the leaves were gone), also roots of pansy and fragrant single violet. These we put into the corners where they would have the most light. We packed the tray full, too full, perhaps, not forgetting roots of maiden-hair fern. We had not much faith in trailing arbutus, though we set out a root or two; our hopes for that sweet flower we based on the clusters of buds we gathered from the woods, and these we put in a small tumbler of water and set among the greenery.
Then we gave our little garden under glass a thorough sprinkling, put the roof on, and set it in the light. Occasionally we raised it and admitted the air for a short time, but it does not answer to do this often. It must be kept covered, watered perhaps once a month, kept in the light and warmth.
The result to us was beyond our highest anticipations. Though the pansies did nothing but grow tall and rank, there was always a violet to give a friend—a delectable violet which made the room fragrant when it was taken out; there were “many flowers” week after week; mitre-wort bloomed, princes’ pine, gold-thread, and other little things; and while snow yet lay on the ground, the lilies-of-the-valley blossomed. Greatest success of all, and to our utter amazement, the pitcher-plant flowered, maiden-hair thrived, the great fern spread off till its tips touched the glass, the rattle-snake plantain sent up a spire of bloom, and everything was beautiful.
I have told you now the method, the expense, and how simple a thing it is to fit up a fernery. Another winter we shall put in tulip bulbs and some other garden plants there may be room for. Things will bear packing quite closely if you are careful to keep those that like the shade in the background, and let the others have the best chance for the light. Occasionally the fernery needs turning so the sun can reach all; otherwise it requires but little care.
XVII.—A BOY’S RAILWAY AND TRAIN.
IN a certain old-fashioned house that I visit, a large attic is set apart as a playroom for the boys, in which to keep their tools, their jig-saw, and their treasures of all sorts, dear to the hearts of young people.
All around the edge of this room runs a small railway with curves and switches complete, with bridges and tunnels, and an elegant station, made of a deserted dog house, and painted in the newest style.