A beautiful accident.—A colony of Myrrhis odorata, established in shrubbery, with white Harebells here and there. (See p. 60.)
CHAPTER VIII.
THE COMMON SHRUBBERY, WOODS AND WOODLAND DRIVES.
It must not be thought that the wild garden can only be formed in places where there is some extent of rough pleasure–ground. Excellent results may be obtained from the system in comparatively small gardens, on the fringes of shrubberies and marginal plantations, open spaces between shrubs, the surface of beds of Rhododendrons, where we may have plant–beauty instead of garden–graveyards. I call garden–graveyards the dug shrubbery borders which one sees in nearly all gardens, public or private. Every shrubbery and plantation surface that is so needlessly and relentlessly dug over by the gardener every winter, may be embellished in the way I propose, as well as wild places. The custom of digging shrubbery borders prevails now in every garden, and there is in the whole course of gardening no worse or more profitless custom. When winter is once come, almost every gardener, although animated with the best intentions, simply prepares to make war upon the roots of everything in his shrubbery border. The generally–accepted practice is to trim, and often to mutilate the shrubs, and to dig all over the surface that must be full of feeding roots. Delicate half–rooted shrubs are disturbed; herbaceous plants are destroyed; bulbs are displaced and injured; the roots as well as the tops of shrubs are mutilated; and a sparse depopulated aspect is given to the margins, while the only “improvement” that is effected by the process is the annual darkening of the surface by the upturned earth.
Illustrations of these bad practices occur by miles in our London parks in winter. Walk through any of them at that season, and observe the borders around masses of shrubs, choice and otherwise. Instead of finding the earth covered, or nearly covered, with vegetation close to the margin, and each individual plant developed into something like a fair specimen of its kind, we find a spread of recently–dug ground, and the plants upon it with an air of having recently suffered from a whirlwind, or some calamity that necessitated the removal of mutilated branches. Rough–pruners precede the diggers, and bravely trim in the shrubs for them, so that nothing may be in the way; and then come the diggers, plunging their spades deeply about plants, shrubs, or trees. The first shower that occurs after this digging exposes a whole network of torn–up roots. There is no relief to the spectacle; the same thing occurs everywhere—in botanic gardens as well as in our large West–end parks; and year after year is the process repeated.
While such is the case, it will be impossible to have an agreeable or interesting margin to a shrubbery or plantation. What secrets one might have in the central hidden portions of these now dug and bare shrubberies—in the half–shady spots where little colonies of rare exotic wildlings might have their first introduction to our wild garden! Of course all the labour required to produce this miserable result of dug borders is worse than thrown away, as the shrubberies would do better if let alone, and by utilising the power thus wasted, we might highly beautify the positions that are now so ugly.
Large White Achilleas spread into wide masses under shade of trees in shrubbery.
If we resolve that no annual manuring or digging is to be permitted, nobody will grudge a thorough preparation at first. When a plantation of shrubs is quite young it is well to keep the ground open by lightly stirring it for a year or two. Then the planting should be so arranged as to defeat the digger. To graduate the vegetation from the taller subjects behind to the very margin of the grass is of much importance, and this could be done best by the greater use of dwarf evergreens. Happily, there is quite enough of these to be had suitable for every soil. Light, moist, peaty, or sandy soils, where such things as the sweet–scented Daphne Cneorum would spread forth its dwarf cushions, would be somewhat more desirable than, say, a stiff clay; but for every position suitable plants might be found. Look, for example, at what we could do with the dwarf–green Iberises, Helianthemums, Aubrietias, Arabises, Alyssums, dwarf shrubs, and little conifers like the creeping Cedar (Juniperus squamata), and the Tamarix–leaved Juniper, in spreading groups and colonies. All these are green, and would spread out into dense wide cushions, covering the margin, rising but little above the grass, and helping to cut off the formal line which usually divides margin and border. Behind them we might use other shrubs, deciduous or evergreen, in endless variety; and of course the margin should be varied also as regards height.
In one spot we might have a wide–spreading tuft of the prostrate Savin pushing its graceful evergreen branchlets out over the grass; in another the dwarf little Cotoneasters might be allowed to form the front rank, relieved in their turn by pegged–down Roses; and so on without end. Herbaceous plants, that die down in winter and leave the ground bare afterwards, should not be assigned any important position near the front. Evergreen Alpine plants and shrubs, as before remarked, are perfectly suitable here; but the true herbaceous type, and the larger bulbs, like Lilies, should be in groups between spreading shrubs. By so placing them, we should not only secure a far more satisfactory general effect, but highly improve the aspect of the herbaceous plants themselves. To carry out such planting properly, a little more time at first and a great deal more taste than are now employed would be required; but what a difference in the result! All that the well–covered borders would require would be an occasional weeding or thinning, and, in the case of the more select spots, a little top–dressing with fine soil. Here and there, between and amongst the plants, such things as Forget–me–nots and Violets, Snowdrops and Primroses, might be scattered about, so as to give the borders interest even at the dullest seasons; and thus we should be delivered from digging and dreariness, and see our once ugly borders alive with flowers. The chief rule should be—never show the naked earth: clothe it, and then allow the taller plants to rise in their own way through the turf or spray. Here is a little sketch of what is meant. A colony of the white Arabis carpets the ground in which strong hardy Lilies are growing; and the Lilies are pushing up their bold unfolding shoots. The latter are none the worse in winter for this light carpet of foliage over the border; and then for a long time in spring it is bedecked with white flowers. Indeed, in fairly good seasons it blooms in winter too. It would take a big book to tell all the charms and merits belonging to the use of a variety of small plants to carpet the ground beneath and between those of larger growth. It need hardly be said that this argument against digging applies to two or three beds of shrubs, and places where the “shrubbery” is little larger than the dining–room, as much as to the large country seat, public park, or botanic garden.
Lilies coming up through carpet of White Arabis.
There are great cultural advantages too, in leaving the whole of the leaves to nourish the ground and protect it from frost or heat. I append a note from a correspondent inquiring about what he supposes practical difficulties, and an answer to them:—
You draw a pretty picture of what a shrubbery border should be and how it should be kept in winter. There should be no digging, and the fallen leaves should be left. I fully agree, except as to the leaves. Theoretically, it seems quite right to allow the leaves to lie and decay amidst the surrounding plants, but in practice it does not answer. There are, for instance, in most gardens such things as slugs and snails. These delight in a leafy covering, and, protected from frost by the shelter, will prey upon the perennial green leafage and the starting crowns of the herbaceous plants, and do an immense amount of mischief. Then there are usually in gardens in winter, especially in hard weather, blackbirds and thrushes, which in their efforts to obtain food set all notions of tidiness at defiance. A troop of fowls would hardly turn a flower border more topsy–turvy than would a few of these birds. The first storm that came would whirl the disturbed leaves all over the place, much to the disgust of the cultivator, and the hardy plants would find that the theory of a natural dressing of leaf manure had broken down. I detest the forking of borders so common in winter. A moderate stirring of the surface first with a two or three–tined rake is good, then a dressing of soot or guano, or both, and over all a thin surfacing of old pot soil, or the rough screened produce of the rubbish heap, or, in fact, any kind of refuse soil that may offer. I think that most cultivators will agree that such a plan would answer better than the natural, but very inoperative leaf–dressing.—A.
Colony of Narcissus in properly spaced shrubbery.
How do the swarming herbs of the woods and copses of the world exist in spite of the slugs? A good protection for them is hard gravel walks and paths, where they lay their eggs without danger. Against the door one may do what one likes, but not one leaf would I ever allow removed from a clump of shrubs or trees on my lawn or in my pleasure ground. I would prefer the leaves all over the place to a dug border, but I would, if need be, meet that difficulty by scattering a light dressing of soil over them. In what I should call a properly managed shrubbery or clump, with the bushes well spaced, and their branches resting on the ground, with low shrubs between, and evergreen and other herbs, there are natural impediments to the leaves rushing about in the way you suppose. This is a subject of the greatest interest and the utmost practical importance. Our annual digging mutilation, scraping away of leaves, and exposing on bare sloppy borders plants that in Nature shelter each other, and are shielded from bitter frost and burning heat by layers of fallen leaves, gradually sinking into excellent light surface soil for the young roots, are ignorant and brutal practices that must be given up by all who really look into the needs of our hardy garden flora.
With reference to this point, I print this letter from an observer of what goes on in the woods of New England. Our own woods are full of lessons, and so it is in all countries. Mr. Falconer’s letter is very suggestive of the revolution in method which must be carried out in the gardens of the future:—
I go into the woods in the spring time, and find them carpeted with Dog’s–tooth Violets, Wood Anemones, blue and purple Hepaticas, Spring beauty, Trilliums, Blood–root, Star–flowers, False Solomon’s Seal, Gold Thread, trailing Arbutus, wild Ginger, and a host of other pretty little flowers, all bright and gay, arising from their bed of decaying herbage and tree leaves, and many of them are in perfection, too, before a tree has spread a leaf; and thus they glow and revel in their cosy bed, fed and sheltered by their tree friends. When their petals drop and their leaves are mature, the trees expand their leafy canopy and save the little nurslings from the torture of a scorching sun. And early as the earliest, too, the outskirts of the woods and meadows with hosts of Violets are painted blue and white, and speckled everywhere with Bluets, or little Innocents, as the children call them. Woodsias, tiny Aspleniums, and other Ferns are unfolding their fronds along the chinks among the stones; the common Polypody is reaching over blocks and boulders; and even the exposed rocks, with their rough and Lichen–bearded faces, are aglow in vernal pride. Every nook and cranny among them, and little mat of earth upon them are checkered with the flowery print of the Canada Columbine, the Virginia Saxifrage, and the glaucous Corydalis. But to the carpet. What can be prettier or more appropriate than the Partridge–berry (Mitchella repens), the Twin–flower (Linnæa borealis—does well with us), Creeping Winter Green (Gaultheria procumbens), Bearberry (Arctostaphylos Uva–Ursi), Cowberry (Vaccinium Vitis–idæa), Dwarf Cornel (Cornus canadensis), Fringed Polygala (P. paucifolia), the Common Pipsissewa (Chimaphila umbellata) with its shining deep green leaves, the Spotted Pipsissewa (C. maculata), the sombre–hued Pyrola and Galax, and that bright and easily–grown Club Moss (Lycopodium lucidulum)? Add to these such plants as Winter Aconite, Apennine Anemone, Creeping Forget–me–not, and the like, together with a few of the most suitable kinds of the host of bulbous ornamental plants which we now possess, and our shrubbery carpets may be replete with garden jewels. It is now generally conceded that shrubs thrive better in beds whose surface is undisturbed than where it is annually loosened by digging or pointing. This, coupled with a yearly top–dressing of decayed leaf–soil or light rich vegetable heap compost, is equally beneficial for the shrubs and their carpet.
The American White Wood–Lily (Trillium grandiflorum) in Wild Garden, in wood bottom in leaf–mould.
“One day last spring, when strolling through the Medford wood, I came upon an open meadow with a high bank—cleared timber land—on one side. Adown this bank in a rough and rocky course, came a little stream of water, bordered on both sides with streaks and patches of Blood–root in its gayest state. The large and showy blossoms, clasped erect in their own leaf–vases and sparkling in the sun, while the sward and other vegetation around were yet dormant, had a cheerful influence indeed. True, near by in the hollow, the malodorous Skunk Cabbage was rank in leaf and flower, and the Indian Poke was rushing out its plaited, broadly oval leaves, and away in the streamlet a few Marsh Marigolds glittered on the water. But the Blood–root is neither an aquatic nor a bog plant, but most at home in the leaf–mould beds and linings of rich woodlands.”
“Hereabout, a little wild flower (Erythronium americanum) more commonly known as Dog’s–tooth Violet, is a charming plant, with variegated handsome leaves, and comely flowers in earliest spring. In low copses in rich deposits of vegetable mould it grows around here in the utmost profusion. In one place by the side of a wood is a sort of ditch, which is filled with water in winter but dry in summer, and wherein is collected a mass of leaf–soil. Here the Erythronium runs riot, and forms the densest kind of matted sod, all bespeckled with yellow blossoms before a bush or tree has spread a leaf. Then blackberry bushes get a growing and sprawling everywhere, the trees expand their leafy shade, and Grass and weeds grow up and cover the surface of the earth. But all too late for evil, the Adder’s–tongue’s mission for a year is ended; it has blossomed, matured, and retired. The next densest mass I know of is in a low piece of cleared timber land, where, besides the profusion in the hollow, the carpet extends, thinner as it ascends, for many yards up the slope of the hill. As garden plants they are at home anywhere, underneath bushes, or in any out of–the–way corner, merely praying to be let alone. But what I desire to urge is their naturalisation in your rich woodlands, where Anemones and Primroses, Buttercups and Violets, grow up and flower together.”
I cannot better conclude this chapter than by showing one of the most interesting aspects of vegetation I have ever seen.[1] It was in an ordinary shrubbery, forming a belt round a botanic garden. In the inner parts, hidden from the walk probably from want of labour, the digging had not been carried out for some years. Some roots of the common Myrrh (Myrrhis odorata), thrown out of the garden in digging, had rooted by accident and spread into a little colony. The plant grows freely in any soil. Among the graceful tufts of Myrrh were tall white Harebells, and the effect of these, standing above the elegant spreading foliage of the Myrrh in the shade of the trees, was very beautiful. Note particularly that the front of the shrubbery in which this exquisite scene was discovered was as stiff and hideous as usual in winter—raw earth, full of mutilated roots, and shrubs cut in for the convenience and according to the taste of the diggers. The beds in the botanical arrangement near were ugly beyond description.
Longleat is one of the first places in which the idea of the wild garden was practically carried out and ably by the forester, Mr. Berry. With such a fine variety of surface and soil, the place naturally offers numerous positions in which the plants of other countries as cold or colder than our own could be naturalised, or so planted that they would increase and take care of themselves in the woods. A forester’s duties and opportunities are generally such as make it extremely difficult for him to carry out such an idea. To know the plants even that are likely to succeed is, in itself, a species of knowledge which every planter does not possess; however, the idea was clearly understood and carried out well, so far as possible in the face of rabbits, which are the great destroyers of almost all flowering ground vegetation. To get the necessary quantities of subjects necessitated a little nursery in which a sufficient number could be raised of the more vigorous perennials, bulbs, and climbers. If this new idea in gardening be carried out on the old dotting principle of the herbaceous border, its great value and its charming effects cannot be realised. To do it rightly we must group and mass as Nature does. Though we may enjoy a single flower or tuft here and there, the true way is natural fringes and masses of plants, one or two species prevailing in a given spot; in that way we may secure several important ends—distinct effects in different places, a variety as we walk along, and better means of meeting the wants of a plant, inasmuch as, dealing with a group, or mass, or carpet, we can best observe the result of our judgment in putting them in any soil or place. Therefore, although the quantity of vigorous hardy flowers essential for making good effects in a place of this size has not yet been planted out, some very charming effects have been obtained. Among the features that Mr. Berry is working to introduce are vigorous hardy exotic creepers on old and inferior trees, Thorn, and other bushes of little value. Many are already planted, but will be some time before they show their full beauty—among them Japanese and other Honeysuckles, Virginian Creepers, Clematis, Wistarias, and others. A part of the arboretum is more particularly devoted to this kind of decoration, and will eventually form a very wild wood and wild garden, where the Poet’s Narcissus may be found among Sweet Briers, Lilacs, and many kinds of fragrant–flowering shrubs and vigorous perennials. While carrying out the scheme of wild gardening, pure and simple, that is to say, the naturalisation of foreign hardy plants, opportunity has been taken to establish beautiful native kinds where they do not happen to be present in sufficient abundance. Thus the Lily of the Valley has been brought in quantities and planted in wide–spreading colonies along the drives, and so have the Meadow Saffron and the Snowflakes and Daffodils. To group and scatter these in a natural and easy way has required considerable care, the tendency of the men being invariably, and almost in spite of themselves, to plant in stiff and set or too regular masses.
The Lily of the Valley in a copse.
Few things are more delightful to anybody who cares about hardy plants than naturalising the Lily of the Valley in pleasant spots about a country house. It is in every garden, of course, and very often so crowded and so starved that it seldom flowers well. A bare garden border is not so suitable for it as that in which it may be found in a thin wood, or in little openings in a copse, where it enjoys enough light, and gets shelter too. Frequently the fresh wood soil would be more welcome to it than the worn–out soil in a garden; also by planting it in various positions and soils, we may secure an important difference as regards blooming. In a cool woody place it would bloom ten days later than in an exposed warm garden border, and this difference could be increased by carefully selecting the position. Apart altogether from the wild garden and its charms, this difference in the time of blooming of the Lily of the Valley would be a great advantage to all who have to provide cut flowers, inasmuch as it would give them late bloom in plenty without trouble. However, giving reasons for the naturalisation of the Lily of the Valley is surely unnecessary. The only surprising thing is that it has not been done to a large extent already, because it is so very easy and so very delightful. Recently a good many different varieties of Lily of the Valley—nearly as many as twenty—have been collected, and are beginning to be cultivated by some of our growers of herbaceous plants. The difference in these is not owing to soil or situation. When grown in the same place they manifest differences in length of spike and size of foliage; and also in time of blooming. In some the spike is short, and in others nearly one foot long. This important fact should, of course, be noted by any who would, in places where the Lily of the Valley does not grow wild, interest themselves in establishing it.
There are advantages in wood–culture for many hardy plants—the shelter, shade, and soil affording for some things conditions more suitable than our gardens. The warmth of the wood, too, is an advantage, the fallen leaves helping to protect the plants in all ways. In a hot country plants that love cool places could be grown in a wood where they would perish if exposed. Mr. G. F. Wilson has made himself a remarkably interesting and successful wild garden in a wood, from which he sent me in the autumn of last year (1880) a flowering stem of the American Swamp Lily (L. superbum) eleven feet high. No such result has ever been seen in any garden or border of the ordinary type. These Lilies of his grow in a woody bottom where rich dark soil has gathered, and where there is shelter and shade.
Placing every plant in one border with the same conditions as to soil and exposure was a great mistake. A great many beautiful plants haunt the woods, and we cannot change their nature easily. Even if we should grow them in open places their bloom will not be so enduring as in the wood. A curious instance of the advantage of planting in a wood is at Bodorgan in Anglesey, where a much later bloom was gathered off a colony of the popular Hoteia japonica, owing to planting it in a cool wood. A little woodland planting may indeed be worth doing for the sake of a prolonged or later bloom, even from plants that thrive in sunny places.
The Orchard Wild Garden.
Although three years have elapsed since the illustrations of this book were commenced, I regret to issue it without a satisfactory one showing the beauty which may be obtained in the orchard from flowers in the grass or fences around. In our orchard counties—pity it is that all our counties are not worthy of the name within the possibilities of their position and climate—one may now and then see a cloud of Daffodils or a tuft of Summer Snowflake, enough to suggest what happy places they would be for many bulbous flowers in the grass.
A Wild Orchard.
A correspondent of the “Garden” writes:—
After reading in the “Garden” of November 16, about the Bullace there named, and the Cranberries, the idea struck me of adding unto our Orchard in Sussex “a wild Orchard,” with fruit trees such as follows, viz.—Quince, Medlar, Mulberry, Bullace, Crab, Pyrus Maulei, Barberries, Blackberries (the large kinds for preserving), Filberts, and in a suitable place, Cranberries. All these, besides the interest of cultivating them, would yield fruit for preserving, etc. For instance, we have old–fashioned receipts for making an excellent Bullace cheese, Crab jelly, Quince jelly, etc. I venture to trouble you with a view to asking if you can suggest any other similar fruit–bearing trees or shrubs, as we should like to carry out our idea well. Our house is in Sussex, between Midhurst and Haslemere.—C. S. R.
[An excellent idea! There are many fruits which could be grown this way that people do not usually give space to, and this applies to the varieties of cultivated fruits, as well as species that are never cultivated. The natural order to which most of our fruit trees belong contains many other species, not without merit as fruits, scattered throughout the temperate regions of the northern world. These trees and shrubs happen also to be most beautiful of flowering trees and shrubs in spring, and are well worthy of culture on that account alone. In Japan, North America, and even the continent of Europe, one frequently sees fruits that are never seen in our gardens; such fruits will be quite at home in the wild orchard. For the sake of growing one family of fruiting bushes alone—the fruiting brambles of America and other countries—a considerable piece of ground might be profitably devoted. Even amongst the English wild Blackberries there is considerable variety and a good deal of unrecognised merit. Such plants can only be grown fairly where there is considerable space. If so much beauty and interest, and even good fruit, may be found in one neglected family, it suggests how interesting the subject is when considered in relation to the great number of our hardy fruit trees and shrubs. A good feature of such a garden would be plantations of such Apples and Pears as are most remarkable for the beauty of their flowers and fruit, some being much more striking in that respect than others.]
CHAPTER IX.
THE BROOK–SIDE, WATER–SIDE, AND BOG GARDENS.
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Solomon’s Seal and Herb Paris, in copse by streamlet.
Nearly all landscape gardeners seem to have put a higher value on the lake or fish–pond than on the brook as an ornament to the garden; but, while we allow that many places are enhanced in beauty and dignity, by a broad expanse of water, many pictures might be formed by taking advantage of a brook as it meanders through woody glade or meadow. No such beauty is afforded by a pond or lake, which gives us water in repose—imprisoned water, in fact; and although we obtain breadth by confining water, still, in many cases, we prefer the brook, or water in motion, as it ripples between mossy rocks or flower–fringed banks. The brook–margin, too, offers opportunities to lovers of hardy flowers which few other situations can rival. Hitherto we have only used in and near such places aquatic or bog plants, and of these usually a very meagre selection; but the improvement of the brook–side will be most readily effected by planting the banks with hardy flowers, making it a wild garden, in fact. A great number of our finest herbaceous plants, from Irises to Globe–flowers, thrive best in the moist soil found in such positions; numbers of hardy flowers, also, that do not in nature prefer such soil, would exist in perfect health in it. The wild garden illustrated by the water–side will give us some of the most charming garden pictures. Land plants would have this advantage over water ones, that we could fix their position, whereas water plants are apt to spread everywhere, and sometimes one kind exterminates the rest; therefore it might, in many cases, be better not to encourage the water or water–side vegetation, but to form little colonies of hardy flowers along the banks. The plants, of course, should be such as would grow freely among Grass and take care of themselves. If different types of vegetation were encouraged on each side of the water, the effect would be all the better. The common way of repeating a favourite plant at intervals would spoil all: groups of free hardy things, different in each place as one passed, would be best; Day Lilies; Phloxes, which love moisture; Irises, mainly the beardless kinds, which love wet places, but all the fine Germanica forms will do; Gunnera; Aster; American swamp Lilies in peaty or boggy soil; the deep rose–coloured variety of the Loosestrife; Golden Rods; the taller and stouter Bell–flowers (Campanula); the Spider Wort (Tradescantia virginica), of which there are a good many forms, differing in colour; the Broad–leaved Saxifrages; the Compass plants (Silphium); Everlasting Peas; Monkshood; the Goats Rues (Galega); Baptisia; the free–flowering Yuccas; the hardiest flame–flowers (Tritoma); the stouter kinds of Yarrow (Achillea); the common perennial Lupin—these are some of many types of hardy flowers which would grow freely near the water–side apart wholly from the plants that naturally frequent such places or which are usually placed there. With these hardy plants too, a variety of the nobler hardy ferns would thrive, as the Struthiopteris; the finer types of the Umbellate order (Ferula and others) would also come in well here. We will now consider the plants that naturally belong to such situations so to say.
Colony of hardy exotic Flowers, naturalised by brook–side.
Water–plants of northern and temperate regions, associated with those of our own country, add much beauty to a garden if well selected and well grown. A great deal of variety may be added to the margins, and here and there to the surface, of ornamental water, by the use of a good collection of hardy aquatics arranged with taste; but this has not yet been fairly attempted. Usually we see the same monotonous vegetation all round the margin if the soil be rich; in some cases, where the bottom is of gravel, there is little or no vegetation, but an unbroken ugly line of washed earth between wind and water. In others, water–plants accumulate till they are only an eyesore—not submerged plants like Anacharis, but such as the Water Lilies when matted together. A well–developed plant or group of plants of the queenly Water Lily, with its large leaves and noble flowers, is an object not surpassed by any other in our gardens; but when it increases and runs over the whole of a piece of water—thickening together and being in consequence weakened—and water–fowl cannot make their way through it, then even this plant loses its charms. No garden water, however, should be without a few fine plants or groups of the Water Lily. Where the bottom does not allow of the free development of the plant, earth might be accumulated in the spot where it was desired to encourage the growth of the Nymphæa. Thus arranged it would not spread too much. But it is not difficult to prevent the plant from spreading; indeed I have known isolated plants, and groups of it, remain of almost the same size for years. The Yellow Water Lily, Nuphar lutea, though not so beautiful as the preceding, is well worthy of a place; and also the little N. pumila, a variety or sub–species found in the lakes of the north of Scotland.
Valley in Somersetshire, with Narcissi, Marsh Marigolds, and Primroses.
Then there is the fine and large N. advena, a native of America, which pushes its leaves boldly above the water, and is very vigorous in habit. It is very plentiful in the Manchester Botanic Garden, and will be found to some extent in most gardens of the same kind. The American White Water Lily (Nymphæa odorata) is a noble species, which would prove quite hardy in Britain. It is a pity this noble aquatic plant is not more frequently seen, as it is quite as fine as our own Water Lily. Rose–coloured varieties are spoken of, but are not yet in cultivation here.
One of the prettiest effects I have ever observed was afforded by a sheet of Villarsia nymphæoides belting round the margin of a lake near a woody recess, and before it, more towards the deep water, a group of Water Lilies. The Villarsia is a charming little water–plant, with its Nymphæa–like leaves and numerous golden–yellow flowers, which furnish a beautiful effect on fine days, under a bright sun. It is not very commonly distributed as a native plant, though, where found, generally very plentiful.
Not rare—growing, in fact, in nearly all districts of Britain—but beautiful and singular, is the Buckbean or Marsh Trefoil (Menyanthes trifoliata), with its flowers deeply fringed on the inside with white filaments, and the round unopened buds blushing on the top with a rosy red like that of an Apple–blossom. It will grow in a bog or any moist place, or by the margin of any water. For grace, no water–plant can well surpass Equisetum Telmateia, which, in deep soil, in shady and sheltered places near water, often grows several feet high, the long, close–set, slender branches depending from each whorl in a singularly graceful manner. It will grow on the margins of lakes and streams, especially among water–side bushes, or in boggy spots in the shade.
For a bold and picturesque plant on the margin of water, nothing equals the great Water Dock (Rumex Hydrolapathum), which is rather generally dispersed over the British Isles; it has leaves quite sub–tropical in aspect and size, becoming of a lurid red in the autumn. It forms a grand mass of foliage on rich muddy banks, and, unlike many water–plants, has the good quality of not spreading too much. The Cat’s–tail (Typha) must not be omitted, but it should not be allowed too much liberty. The narrow–leaved one (T. angustifolia) is more graceful than the common one (T. latifolia). Carex pendula is excellent for the margins of water, its elegant drooping spikes being quite distinct in their way. It is rather common in England, more so than Carex pseudocyperus, which grows well in a foot or two of water or on the margin of a muddy pond. Carex paniculata forms a strong and thick stem, sometimes 3 ft. or 4 ft. high, somewhat like a tree Fern, and with luxuriant masses of drooping leaves, and on that account is transferred to moist places in gardens, and cultivated by some, though generally these large specimens are difficult to remove and soon perish. Scirpus lacustris (the Bulrush) is too distinct a plant to be omitted, as its stems, sometimes attaining a height of more than 7 ft. and even 8 ft., look very imposing; and Cyperus longus is also a desirable plant, reminding one of the aspect of the Papyrus when in flower. It is found in some of the southern counties of England. Poa aquatica might also be used. Cladium Mariscus is another distinct and rather scarce British aquatic which is worth a place.ill73
Cyperus Longus.
If one chose to enumerate the plants that grow in British and European waters, a very long list might be made, but those which possess no distinct character or no beauty of flower would be useless, for it is only by a judicious selection of the very best kinds that gardening of this description can give satisfaction; therefore, omitting a host of inconspicuous water–weeds, we will endeavour to indicate others of real worth for our present purpose.
Those who have seen the flowering Rush (Butomus umbellatus) in blossom, are not likely to omit it from a collection of water–plants, as it is conspicuous and distinct. It is a native of the greater part of Europe and Russian Asia, and is dispersed over the central and southern parts of England and Ireland. Plant it not far from the margin, and it likes rich muddy soil. The common Arrow Head (Sagittaria), very frequent in England and Ireland, but not in Scotland, might be associated with this; but there is a very much finer double exotic kind, which is really a handsome plant, its flowers white, and resembling, but larger than, those of the old white Double Rocket. This used to be grown in abundance in the pleasure gardens at Rye House, Broxbourne, where it filled a sort of oblong basin, or wide ditch, and was very handsome in flower. It forms large egg–shaped tubers, or rather receptacles of farina, and in searching for these, ducks destroyed the plants occasionally. Calla palustris is a beautiful bog–plant, and I know nothing that produces a more pleasing effect over rich, soft, boggy ground. It will also grow by the side of water. Calla æthiopica, the well–known and beautiful Lily of the Nile, is hardy enough in some places if planted rather deep, and in nearly all it may be placed out for the summer; but, except in quiet waters, in the south of England and Ireland, it will not thrive. However, as it is a plant so generally cultivated, it may be tried without loss in favourable positions. Pontederia cordata is a stout, firm–rooting, and perfectly hardy water–herb, with erect and distinct habit, and blue flowers, not difficult to obtain from botanic garden or nursery. The Sweet–flag will be associated with the Water Iris (I. Pseudacorus), and a number of exotic Irises will thrive in wet ground, i.e. I. sibirica, ochreleuca, graminea, and many others. Aponogeton distachyon is a native of the Cape of Good Hope, a singularly pretty plant, which is hardy enough for our climate, and, from its sweetness and curious beauty, a most desirable plant to cultivate. It frequently succeeds in water not choked by weeds or foulness, and wherever there are springs that tend to keep the water a little warmer than usual it seems to thrive in any part of the country. The Water Ranunculuses, which sheet over our pools in spring and early summer with such silvery beauty, are not worth an attempt at cultivation, so rambling are they; and the same applies to not a few other things of interest. Orontium aquaticum is a scarce and handsome aquatic for a choice collection, and as beautiful as any is the Water Violet (Hottonia palustris). It occurs most frequently in the eastern and central districts of England and Ireland. The best example of it that I have seen was on an expanse of soft mud near Lea Bridge, in Essex, where it covered the surface with a sheet of dark fresh green, and must have looked better in that position than when in water, though doubtless the place was occasionally flooded. A suitable companion for the Marsh Marigold (Caltha) and its varieties is the very large and showy Ranunculus Lingua, which grows in rich ground to a height of three feet or more.
Day Lily by margin of water.
If with this water–garden we combine the wild garden of land plants—herbaceous, trailers, etc.—some of the loveliest effects possible in gardens will be produced. The margins of lakes and streams are happily not upturned by the spade in winter; and hereabouts, just away from the water–line, almost any vigorous and really hardy flower of the thousands now in our gardens may be grown and will afterwards take care of itself. The Globe–flowers alone would form beautiful effects in such positions, and would endure as long as the Grass. Near the various Irises that love the water–side might be planted those that thrive in moist ground, and they are many, including the most beautiful kinds. Among recently introduced plants the singular Californian Saxifraga peltata is likely to prove a noble one for the water–side, its natural habitat being beside mountain watercourses, dry in the autumn when it is at rest; both flowers and foliage are effective, and the growth very vigorous when in moist ground. It would require a very long list to enumerate all the plants that would grow near the margins of water, and apart from the aquatics proper; but enough has been said to prove that, given a strip of ground beside a stream or lake, a garden of the most delightful kind could be formed. The juxtaposition of plants inhabiting different situations—water–plants, water–side plants, and land–plants thriving in moist ground—would prevent what would, in many cases, be so undesirable—a general admixture of the whole. Two distinct classes of effects could be obtained, the beauty of the flowers seen close at hand, and that of the more conspicuous kinds in the distance, or from the other side of the water of a stream or lakelet.
An interesting point in favour of the wild garden is the succession of effects which it may afford, and which are suggested by the illustrations on the next pages, both showing a succession of life on the same spot of ground. In gardens in early summer at present the whole of the portion devoted to flower–gardening is dug up raw as a ploughed field, just when the earth is naturally most thickly strewn with flowers. A very little consideration and observation will suffice to make it clear that a succession of effects may be secured without this violent disfigurement of our gardens in the fairest days of early summer. These are not the days for digging or planting either, and the system that necessitates them is pernicious in its effects on our gardens.
It is equally an enemy of all peace or rest for the gardener, who, having trenched, dug, enriched, planted, and sown, through the autumn, winter, and spring, might certainly begin to look for the fruits and flowers of his labour, when he has to face the most trying effort of all—the planting of the flower–garden in May and June with a host of flowers too tender to be committed to the earth at an earlier season.
Marsh Marigold and Iris in early spring. (See p. 77.)
The bog–garden is a home for the numerous children of the wild that will not thrive on our harsh, bare, and dry garden borders, but must be cushioned on moss, and associated with their own relatives in moist peat soil. Many beautiful plants, like the Wind Gentian and Creeping Harebell, grow on our own bogs and marshes, much as these are now encroached upon. But even those acquainted with the beauty of the plants of our own bogs have, as a rule, but a feeble notion of the multitude of charming plants, natives of northern and temperate countries, whose home is the open marsh or boggy wood. In our own country, we have been so long encroaching upon the bogs and wastes that some of us come to regard them as exceptional tracts all over the world. But when one travels in new countries in northern climes, one soon learns what a vast extent of the world’s surface was at one time covered with bogs. In North America day after day, even by the margins of the railroads, one sees the vivid blooms of the Cardinal–flower springing erect from the wet peaty hollows. Far under the shady woods stretch the black bog–pools, the ground between being so shaky that you move a few steps with difficulty. One wonders how the trees exist with their roots in such a bath. And where the forest vegetation disappears the American Pitcher–plant (Sarracenia), Golden Club (Orontium), Water Arum (Calla palustris), and a host of other handsome and interesting bog–plants cover the ground for hundreds of acres, with perhaps an occasional slender bush of Laurel Magnolia (Magnolia glauca) among them. In some parts of Canada, where the painfully long and straight roads are often made through woody swamps, and where the few scattered and poor habitations offer little to cheer the traveller, he will, if a lover of plants, find conservatories of beauty in the ditches and pools of black water beside the road, fringed with the sweet–scented Buttonbush, with a profusion of stately ferns, and often filled with masses of the pretty Sagittarias.
The same spot as in opposite sketch, with aftergrowth of Iris, Meadow Sweet, and Bindweed. (See p. 77.)
Southwards and seawards, the bog–flowers become tropical in size and brilliancy, as in the splendid kinds of herbaceous Hibiscus, while far north, and west and south along the mountains, the beautiful and showy Mocassin–flower (Cypripedium spectabile) grows the queen of the peat bog. Then in California, all along the Sierras, there are a number of delicate little annual plants growing in small mountain bogs long after the plains have become quite parched, and annual vegetation has quite disappeared from them. But who shall record the beauty and interest of the flowers of the wide–spreading marsh–lands of this globe of ours, from those of the vast wet woods of America, dark and brown, and hidden from the sunbeams, to those of the breezy uplands of the high Alps, far above the woods, where the little bogs teem with Nature’s most brilliant flowers, joyous in the sun? No one worthily; for many mountain–swamp regions are as yet as little known to us as those of the Himalaya, with their giant Primroses and many strange and lovely flowers. One thing, however, we may gather from our small experiences—that many plants commonly termed “alpine,” and found on high mountains, are true bog–plants. This must be clear to anyone who has seen our pretty Bird’s–eye Primrose in the wet mountain–side bogs of Westmoreland, or the Bavarian Gentian in the spongy soil by alpine rivulets, or the Gentianella (Gentiana acaulis) in the snow ooze.
Bogs are neither found or desired in or near our gardens now–a–days, but, wherever they are, there are many handsome flowers from other countries that will thrive in them as freely as in their native wastes.
Partridge Berry (Gualtheria).