ROSES FOR THE WILD GARDEN, AND FOR HEDGEROWS, FENCES, AND GROUPS.
The wild Roses of the world, had we no other plants, would alone make beautiful wild gardens. The unequalled grace of the Wild Rose is as remarkable as the beauty of bloom for which the Rose is grown in gardens. The culture is mostly of a kind which tends to conceal or suppress the grace of shoot and foliage of the Rose. Therefore the wild garden may do good work in bringing before the many who love gardens, but have fewer chances of seeing the Roses in their native haunts, the native grace of the well–loved Rose, which even in its obesity, and trained into the form of a mop, still charms us. The Rev. H. N. Ellacombe writes:—
I have here a very large and thick Box bush, in the centre of which there has been for many years an Ayrshire Rose. The long branches covered with flowers, and resting on the deep green cushion, have a very beautiful effect. Other Roses may be used in the same way. The Musk Rose of Shakespeare and Bacon would be particularly well suited for this, and would climb up to a great height. Rosa scandens or sempervirens, Rosa multiflora, and perhaps some others, might be grown in the same way; and it would be worth while to experiment with other garden forms, such as Aimée Vibert, purple Boursault, etc. If grown against a tree of thin foliage, such as a Robinia, they would grow quicker and flower sooner; but this is not necessary, for even if grown near a thick–foliaged tree they will soon bring their branches to the outside for the light. But besides climbing Roses, there is another way in which Roses may be combined with trees to great advantage, viz. by planting some of the taller–growing bushes in rough grassy places. These would grow from 6 feet to 10 feet high, and would flower well in such a position. For such a purpose the old Dutch Apple Rose (Rosa villosa var. pomifera) would be very suitable, and so would R. cinnamomea, R. fraxinifolia, R. gallica, R. rubifolia, and the common monthly China. And if growers would rear the perpetual and other Roses by autumnal cuttings instead of by budding, they might have hundreds and thousands of fine Roses which would do well planted in the woods and plantations.
Another correspondent, Mr. Greenwood Pim, writes referring to the preceding note:—
I have two large exotic Hawthorns—round–headed standards, growing close together, so that their edges touch, forming, as it were, two gentle hills with a valley between, and sloping down to within about 6 ft. of the lawn. Of these one is Cratægus Crus–galli; the other C. tanacetifolia. Behind, and partly through these, climbs a very old Noisette Rose—all that now remains of an arched trellis—producing a vast number of bunches of white flowers, six or eight together, and about 1½ in. or 2 in. across. The old gnarled stem of the Rose is scarcely noticeable amongst those of the Thorns till it reaches the top of them, whence it descends between the trees in a regular torrent of blossom, in addition to occupying the topmost boughs of the Cockspur Thorn. The general effect is almost that of a large patch of snow between two bright green hills—a combination very common in the higher districts of Switzerland. A smaller plant of the same Rose has recently been trained up a large Arbor–vitæ which, from moving, has lost its lower branches for some 4 ft. or 5 ft., and has its stem clothed with Ivy. It is now festooned with snowy flowers hanging down from and against the dark green of the Arbor–vitæ and Ivy, forming a charming contrast. It seems a great pity that we do not oftener thus wed one tree to another—a stout and strong to a slender and clinging one, as Virgil in the “Georgics” talks of wedding the Vine to the Elm, as is, I believe, done to this day in Italy.ill83
Wild Rose growing on a Pollard Ash in Orchardleigh Park, Somerset.
“We have,” says a correspondent, “a pretty extensive collection of Roses, but one of the most attractive specimens on the place is an old double white Ayrshire Rose, growing in a group of common Laurel in the shrubberies. We cannot tell how old the plant may be, but it has probably been in its present situation for thirty years, struggling the best way it could to keep its place among the tall–growing Laurels, sometimes sending out a shoot of white flowers on this side and sometimes on that side of the clump of bushes, and sometimes scrambling up to the tops of the tallest limbs and draping them with its blossoms throughout June and July. Nearly three years ago we had the Laurels headed down to within six feet of the ground, leaving the straggling limbs of the Rose which were found amongst them, and since then it has grown and thriven amazingly, and now fairly threatens to gain the mastery. We had the curiosity to measure the plant the other day, and found it rather over seventy feet in circumference. Within this space the plant forms an irregular undulating mound, nearly in all parts so densely covered with Roses that not so much as a hand’s breadth is left vacant anywhere, and the Laurel branches are quite hidden, and in fact are now dying, smothered by the Rose. A finer example of luxuriant development we never saw. The plant has been a perfect sheet of bloom for a month or more, and there are thousands of buds yet to expand, and hundreds of bunches of buds have been cut just at the opening stage—when they are neater and whiter than a Gardenia—to send away. The tree has never received the least attention or assistance with the exception of the removal of the Laurel tops before mentioned, to let the light into it. It is growing in a tolerably deep and strong dry loam, and this, together with head room, seems to be all it requires. We record this example simply to show of what the Rose is capable without much cultural assistance. No doubt, in order to produce fine individual blooms certain restricted culture is necessary; but almost any variety of Rose will make a good–sized natural bush of itself, and as for the climbing or pillar Roses, the less they are touched the better. Of course we are not alluding to the Rosery proper, but of Roses in their more natural aspect, as when planted to hide fences, cover rockeries, or as striking objects on lawns. Except against walls, and in similar situations, there is no occasion to prune climbing Roses. Left to themselves, they make by far the grandest display, and to insure this it is only necessary to provide them with a good, deep, strong soil at the beginning, and to let them have a fair amount of light on all sides. Whether planting be carried out with the object above described, or for the purpose of covering naked tree stumps or limbs, or for draping any unsightly object whatever, liberal treatment in the first instance is the main thing. A good soil makes all the difference in time and in the permanent vigour of the tree, and were we desirous of having a great Rose tree (whether it be a common Ayrshire or a Gloire de Dijon, that we expected to produce thousands of blooms in a few years), we should, if the soil were not naturally strong and deep, provide a well–drained pit and fill it with two or three good cartloads of sound loam and manure; thus treated, the result is certain, provided an unrestricted growth be permitted.”
White Climbing Rose scrambling over old Catalpa Tree.
Roses on grass are a pleasant feature of the wild garden. No matter what the habit of the rose, provided it be free and hardy, and growing on its own roots, planting on the grass will suit it well. So treated, the more vigorous climbers would form thickets of flowers, and graceful vigorous shoots. They will do on level grass, and be still more picturesque on banks or slopes.
The following description, by Mr. E. Andre, of Roses in the Riviera is suggestive of what we may obtain in our own climate later, by using the free kinds on their own roots, or on stocks equally hardy and not less vigorous, as in the case of the Banksian Roses mentioned below:—
On my last excursion from Marseilles to Genoa, I was greatly struck, as any one seeing them for the first time would be, with the magnificence of the Roses all along the Mediterranean shores. The Rose hedges, and the espalier Roses, especially, offer an indescribably gorgeous sight. Under the genial influence of the warm sun of Provence, from the Corniche to the extremity of the Riviera di Ponente, that is as far as the Gulf of Genoa, and protected to the north by the mountains, which gradually slope down to the sea–coast, Roses attain the size of Pæonies, and develop a depth and brilliancy of colour and fragrance of unusual intensity. But this is in part due to another cause, or rather two other causes, which lead to the same result, the main point being the choice of suitable subjects for stocks to graft upon. These stocks are, Rosa Banksiæ and Rosa indica major. The Banksian Rose presents three varieties, namely, White Banksian, producing a profusion of small white flowers, scarcely so large as those of the double–flowered Cherry, and of a most delicious fragrance; Yellow Banksian, with still larger clusters of small nankeen–yellow scentless flowers; Chinese Thorny Banksian, flowers less numerous and about three times as large as in the two preceding, and of the most grateful odour. These three forms attain an unsurpassable vigour in this region. In two years one plant will cover an immense wall, the gable of a house, or climb to the top of a tall tree, from which its branches hang like flowery cascades, embalming the air around with a rich perfume during the months of April and May. Now, if these be taken for stocks upon which to bud some of the choicer Teas, Noisettes, and Bourbons, the growth of the latter will be prodigious. The stock should be two years old, having well ripened, though still smooth, wood. In this way such varieties as Gloire de Dijon, Maréchal Niel, Lamarque, Safrano, Chromatella, Aimée Vibert, le Pactole, and all the Teas, attain such dimensions as to be no longer recognisable.
Rosa indica major is almost naturalised throughout the whole of this region. It possesses the additional claim to favour of flowering nearly all the winter, forming beautiful hedges of dark green shining foliage, from which thousands of clusters of lovely flowers rise, of a tender delicate transparent pink, or almost pure white, with a brighter tinge in the centre and at the tips of the petals. This Rose is an evergreen, and makes an excellent stock for grafting or budding. It is either planted in nursery beds, where it quickly throws up a stem suitable for standards in the same way as we employ the Dog Rose, or in hedges, and left to its naturally luxuriant growth to produce its own charming flowers in rich profusion, or rows of cuttings are put in where it is intended to leave them, and subsequently budded with some of the varieties of the diverse tribes we have named.
Climbing Rose isolated on grass.
WILD GARDENING ON WALLS OR RUINS.
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Arenaria balearica, in a hole in wall at Great Tew.
There are many hundred species of mountain and rock plants which will thrive much better on an old wall, a ruin, a sunk fence, a sloping bank of stone, with earth behind, than they do in the most carefully prepared border, and therefore their culture may be fittingly considered here, particularly, as once established in such positions they increase and take care of themselves unaided. Indeed, many an alpine plant which may have perished in its place in the garden, would thrive on any old wall near at hand, as, for example, the pretty Pyrenean Erinus, the silvery Saxifrages of the Alps, pinks like the Cheddar Pink, established on the walls at Oxford, many Stonecrops and allied plants, the Aubrietia and Arabis.
A most interesting example of wall gardening is shown on the opposite page. In the gardens at Great Tew, in Oxfordshire, this exquisite little alpine plant, which usually roots over the moist surface of stones, established itself high up on a wall in a small recess, where half a brick had been displaced. The illustration tells the rest. It is suggestive, as so many things are, of the numerous plants that may be grown on walls and such unpromising surfaces.
Cheddar Pink, Saxifrage, and Ferns, on cottage wall at Mells.
A mossy old wall, or an old ruin, would afford a position for many rock–plants which no specially prepared situation could rival; but even on well–preserved walls we can establish some little beauties, which year after year will abundantly repay for the slight trouble of planting or sowing them. Those who have observed how dwarf plants grow on the tops of mountains, or on elevated stony ground, must have seen in what unpromising positions many flourish in perfect health—fine tufts sometimes springing from an almost imperceptible chink in an arid rock or boulder. They are often stunted and diminutive in such places, but always more long–lived than when grown vigorously upon the ground. Now, numbers of alpine plants perish if planted in the ordinary soil of our gardens, and many do so where much pains is taken to attend to their wants. This results from over–moisture at the root in winter, the plant being rendered more susceptible of injury by our moist green winters inducing it to make a lingering growth. But it is interesting and useful to know that, by placing many of these delicate plants where their roots can secure a comparatively dry and well–drained medium, they remain in perfect health. Many plants from latitudes a little farther south than our own, and from alpine regions, may find on walls, rocks, and ruins, that dwarf, ripe, sturdy growth, stony firmness of root medium, and dryness in winter, which go to form the very conditions that will grow them in a climate entirely different from their own.
In many parts of the country it may be said with truth that opportunities for this phase of gardening do not exist; but in various districts, such as the Wye and other valleys, there are miles of rock and rough wall–surface, where the scattering of a few pinches of Arabis, Aubrietia, Erinus, Acanthus, Saxifrage, Violas, Stonecrops, and Houseleeks, would give rise to a garden of rock blossoms that would need no care from the gardener. Growing such splendid alpine plants as the true Saxifraga longifolia of the Pyrenees on the straight surface of a wall is quite practicable. I have seen the rarest and largest of the silvery section grown well on the face of a dry wall: therefore there need be no doubt as to growing the more common and hardy kinds.
A few seeds of the Cheddar Pink, for example, sown in a mossy or earthy chink, or even covered with a dust of fine soil, would soon take root, living for years in a dwarf and perfectly healthful state. The seedling roots vigorously into the chinks, and gets a hold which it rarely relaxes. A list of many of the plants which will grow on walls will be found among the selections near the end of the book.
The Yellow Fumitory on wall (Corydalis lutea).
Large Japan Sedum (S. spectabile) and Autumn Crocuses in the Wild Garden.
SOME RESULTS.
In addition to Longleat, and other cases previously mentioned, a few of the results obtained, where the system was tried, and so far as known to me, may not be without interest. How much a wild garden intelligently and tastefully carried out may effect for a country seat is fairly well shown in a garden in Oxfordshire. Here is one of the earliest, and probably one of the largest wild gardens existing, and which, visiting it on the 27th May, I found full of novel charms. No old–fashioned garden yields its beauty so early in the year, or over a more prolonged season, than the wild garden, as there is abundant evidence here; but our impressions shall be those of the day only. It may serve to throw light on the possibilities of garden embellishment in one way at a season when there is a great blank in many gardens—the time of “bedding out.” The maker of this had no favourable or inviting site with which to deal; no great variety of surface, which makes attempts in this direction so much easier and happier; no variety of soil, which might enable plants of widely different natural habitats to be grown; only a neglected plantation, with rather a poor gravelly soil and a gentle slope in one part, and little variety of surface beyond a few gravel banks thrown up long before. The garden is, for the most part, arranged on each side of a Grass drive among rather open ground, few trees on the one hand and rather shady ground on the other. The most beautiful aspect at the end of May of a singularly ungenial spring, which had not allowed the Pæonies to unfold, was that of the German Irises, with their great Orchid–like blossoms seen everywhere through the wood, clear above the Grass and other herbage, stately and noble flowers that, like the Daffodils, fear no weather, yet with rich and delicate hues that could not be surpassed by tropical flowers. If this wild garden only should teach this effective way of using the various beautiful and vigorous kinds of Iris now included in our garden flora, it would do good service. The Irises are perfectly at home in the wood and among the Grass and wild flowers. By–and–by, when they go out of flower, they will not be in the way as in a “mixed border,” tempting one to remove them, but grow and rest quietly among the grass until the varied blossoms of another year again repay the trouble of substituting these noble hardy flowers for some of the familiar weeds and wild plants that inhabit our plantations.ill94
Crane’s Bill wild, in grass.
In the wild garden the fairest of our own wild flowers may be happily associated with their relatives from other countries. Here the sturdy Bell–flowered Scilla (S. campanulata) grows wild with our own Bluebell (S. nutans); the white and pink forms also of the last–named look beautiful here associated with the common well–known form. The earlier Scillas are of course past; they are admirably suited for the wild garden, especially S. bifolia, which thrives freely in woods. The Lily of the Valley did not inhabit the wood before; therefore it was pleasant to thin out some of its over–matted tufts and carry them to the wild garden, where they are now in fullest beauty. It is associated with its tall and stately relation the Solomon’s Seal. The Solomon’s Seal, which is usually effective when issuing forth from fringes of shrubberies, is here best arching high over the Woodruff and other sweet woodland flowers, among which it seems a giant, with every leaf, and stem, and blossom lines of beauty. The additional vigour and beauty shown by this plant when in rich soil well repays one for selecting suitable spots for it. The greater Celandine (Chelidonium majus) and its double form are very pretty here with their tufts of golden flowers; they grow freely and take all needful care of themselves. The same may be said of the Honesty, the common forms of Columbine, and Allium Moly, an old–fashioned plant, and one of the many subjects at home in the wild garden, and which are better left out of the garden proper. The myriads of Crocus leaves dying off without the indignity of being tied into bundles as is common in gardens, the dense growth of Aconite and Snowdrop leaves, of coloured and common Primroses and Cowslips, suggest the beauty of this wild garden in spring. The yet unfolded buds on the many tufts and groups of the numerous herbaceous Pæonies, promise noble effects early in June; so do the tufts of the splendid Eastern Poppy (Papaver orientale) and the Lilies, and Sweet Williams, and Adam’s Needles, and many other subjects, that will show their blossoms above or among the summer Grass in due time. Among the best of the Borageworts here at present, are the Caucasian Comfrey (Symphytum caucasicum), an admirable wood or copse plant, and red–purple or Bohemian Comfrey (S. bohemicum), which is very handsome here. And what lovely effects from the Forget–me–nots—the wood Forget–me–not, and the Early Forget–me–not (M. dissitiflora) are here! where their soft little clouds of blue in the Grass are much prettier than tufts of the same kind surrounded by the brown earth in a prim border. Here the pushing of the delicate Grass blades through the blue mass and the indefinite way in which the fringes of the tufts mingle with the surrounding vegetation are very beautiful.
Large–leafed Saxifrage in the Wild Garden.
The only noticeable variation of surface is that of some gravel banks, which are properly covered with Stonecrops, Saxifrages, and the like, which would, as a rule, have a poor chance in the Grass. Surfaces that naturally support a very sparse and dwarf vegetation are valuable in a garden, as they permit of the culture of a series of free–growing alpine and rock plants that would not be able to hold their own among Grass and ordinary weeds and wild flowers. One of the happiest features of this wild garden results from the way in which dead trees have been adorned. Once dead, some of the smaller branches are lopped off, and one or more climbers planted at the base of the tree. Here a Clematis, a climbing Rose, a new kind of Ivy, a wild Vine, or a Virginian Creeper, have all they require, a firm support on which they may arrange themselves after their own natural habit, without being mutilated, or without trouble to the planter, and fresh ground free to themselves. What an admirable way, too, of growing the many and varied species of Clematis! as beautiful as varieties with flowers as large as saucers. Even when an old tree falls and tosses up a mass of soil and roots the wild gardener is ready with some subject from his mixed border to adorn the projection, and he may allow some choice Bramble or wild Vine to scramble over the prostrate stem. A collection of Ivies grown on old tree–stems would be much more satisfactory than on a wall, and not liable to robe each other at the roots, and interfere with each other in the air. Ferns are at home in the wild garden; all the strong hardy kinds may be grown in it, and look better in it among the flowers than in the “hardy Fernery” properly so called. Even more graceful than the Ferns, and in some cases more useful, because they send up their plume–like leaves very early in the year, are the giant Fennels (Ferula), which grow well here, and hold their own easily among the strongest plants. The common Fennel is also here, but it seeds so freely that it becomes a troublesome weed, and shows a tendency to overrun plants of greater value. This reminds us of certain subjects that should be introduced with caution into all but the remotest parts of the wild garden. Such plants as Heracleum, Willow Herb, and many others, that overcome all obstacles, and not only win but destroy all their fellows in the struggle for life, should only be planted in outlying positions, islands, hedges, small bits of isolated wood or copse, where their effects might be visible for a season, and where they might ramble without destroying. In short, they never should be planted where it is desired to encourage a variety of beautiful subjects. Rabbits—dreaded vermin to the wild gardener—are kept out here effectually by means of wire fencing. The presence of these pests prevents all success in the wild garden. The encouragement of creatures that feed on slugs is desirable, as these are the most potent cause of mischief to hardy flowers. To succeed with the wild garden, one should have a good collection of hardy flowers from which it can be supplied. Here one has been formed, consisting of about 1100 species, mostly arranged in borders. From these, from time to time, over–vigorous and over–abundant kinds may be taken to the wilderness. In a large collection one frequently finds species most suited for full liberty in woods. The many subjects good in all positions, may increase in these borders till plentiful enough for planting out in some quantity in the wild garden. The wild garden here has been wholly formed by the owner, who planted with his own hands the various subjects that now adorn it throughout the year. It has been done within four or five years, and therefore many of the climbers have not as yet attained full growth.
Tew Park will long be interesting, from the fact that it was there J. C. Loudon practised agriculture before he began writing the works which were such a marked addition to the horticultural literature of England. The Grove there is a plantation of fine trees, bordering a wide sweep of grass, which varies in width. This grove, unlike much of the rest of the ground, does not vary in surface, or but very little, so that one of the greatest aids is absent. Originally this now pleasant grove was a dense wood, with Gout–weed mainly on the ground, and troublesome flies in the air. A few years ago the formation of a wild garden was determined upon, and the first operation was the thinning of the wood; light and moving air were let into it, and weak or overcrowded trees removed. This, so far, was a gain, quite apart from the flowers that were in good time to replace the few common weeds that occupied the ground. Of these the unattractive Gout–weed was the most abundant, and the first thing to do was to dig it up. It was found that by deeply digging the ground, and sowing the wood Forget–me–not in its place, this weed disappeared. Who would not exchange foul weeds for Lilies of the Valley and Wood Forget–me–nots! The effect of broad sheets of this Wood Forget–me–not (Myosotis sylvatica) beyond, and seen above the long waving Grass gradually receding under the trees, was very beautiful; now (June) its beauty is not so marked as earlier, when the colour was fuller, from the plants being more compact; but one charm of the wild garden is that the very changes of plants from what may be thought their most perfect state, may be in itself the source of a new pleasure instead of a warning, such as so often occurs in the garden, that we must cut them down or replace them.
Tiger Lilies in Wild Garden at Great Tew.
Not to mow is almost a necessity in the wild garden: considering that there is frequently in large gardens much more mown surface than is necessary, many will not regret this need. Here the Grass is designedly left unmown in many places, and thereby much labour is saved. Of course it may be cut when ripe, and most of the spring flowers have past and their leaves are out of danger; even in parts where no flowers are planted the Grass is left till long enough to cut as meadow. Except where actually required as a carpet, Grass may often be allowed to grow even in the pleasure ground; quite as good an effect is afforded by the unmown as the mown Grass—indeed, better when the long Grass is full of flowers. Three–fourths of the most lovely flowers of cold and temperate regions are companions of the Grass—like Grasses in hardiness, like Grasses in summer life and winter rest, like them even in stature. Whatever plants may seem best to associate with in gardens, an immense number—more than two thousand species of those now cultivated—would thrive to perfection among our meadow Grasses, as they do on the Grassy breast of the mountain in many lands. Some, like the tall Irises or Columbines, will show their heads clear above the delicate bloom of the Grass; others, like the Cerastiums, will open their cups below it, in this way multiplying the variety of effects that may be obtained. The varieties of Columbine in the Grass were perhaps the prettiest flowers at the time of my visit. The white, purplish, and delicately–variegated forms of this charming old plant, just seen above the tops of the long Grass, growing singly, in little groups, or in spreading colonies, were sufficient in themselves to form a wild garden for June. Established among the Grass, they will henceforward, like it, take care of themselves. The rosy, heart–shaped blooms of the Dielytra spectabilis are recognised at some distance through the Grass, and, so grown, furnish a bright and peculiarly pretty effect. Tree Pæonies succeed admirably, and their great heads of flower quite light up this charming wilderness. Plants of the Goat’s Beard Spiræa (S. Aruncus) are very stately and graceful, even now, before their flowering, being quite 6 ft. high. In a few weeks, when the numerous flowers are open, they will present quite another aspect. In the wild garden, apart from the naturalisation of free–growing exotics, the establishment of rare British flowers is one of the most interesting occupations; and here, under a Pine tree, the modest, trailing Linnæa borealis of the northern Fir–woods is beginning to spread. The Foxglove was not originally found in the neighbourhood; now the ordinary kind and the various other forms of this fine wild flower adorn the woods. In this way also the Lily of the Valley has been introduced and is spreading rapidly. Many climbing Roses and various other climbers have been planted at the bases of trees and stumps, but, though thriving, the plantation is as yet too young to show the good effect that these will eventually produce. There is no finer picture at present to be seen in gardens than a free–growing flowering creeper, enjoying its own wild way over an old tree or stump, and sending down a rain of flower–laden shoots. A Clematis montana here, originally trained on a wall, sent up some of its shoots through a tree close at hand, where, fortunately, they have been allowed to remain, and now the long shoots hang from the tree full of flowers. The large plumes of the nobler hardy Ferns are seen here and there through the trees and Grass, and well they look—better here among the Grass and flowers, partially shaded by trees, than in the hardy Fernery, which is so often a failure, and when a success, often “too much of a muchness,” so to say. The wild garden of the future will be also the true home of all the more important hardy Ferns. The rivals of the Ferns in beauty of foliage, the Ferulas, and various other umbelliferous plants with beautifully cut foliage, have also their homes in the wild garden. The Welsh Poppy thrives, as might be expected, admirably in the grove, its rich yellow cups just showing above the meadow.
Large–flowered Clematis.
In another part of the grounds there is a raised walk quite away from trees, open and dry, with sloping banks on each side. This may be called a sun–walk, and here quite a different type of vegetation is grown; Scotch Roses, Brooms, Sun Roses, Rock Roses, etc. It is quite recently formed, and will probably soon accommodate a more numerous and interesting flora. Such an open sunny walk, with dry banks near, is a capital position in which to carry out various phases of the wild garden. Peculiarly suitable, however, in such a position is a good illustration of the vegetation of the hot, rocky, and gravelly hill–sides of the Mediterranean region, and this is quite easily represented, for the various leguminous plants and dwarf Pea–flowered shrubs, such as the Spanish Broom, many of the beautiful Rock Roses (Cistus), the Sun Roses (Helianthemum), and the Lavenders, will, with a host of companions, for the most part thrive quite as well on a sunny sandy bank in England as in Italy or Greece. In the wild garden it is easy to arrange aspects of vegetation having a geographical interest, and a portion of such a sunny bank as I allude to might be worthily furnished with the various aromatic plants (nearly all hardy) which one meets with on the wild hill–sides of Southern France, and which include Thyme, Balm, Mint, Rosemary, Lavender, and various other old garden favourites.
True taste in the garden is unhappily much rarer than many people suppose. No amount of expense, rich collections, good cultivation, large gardens, and plenty of glass, will suffice; all these and much more it is not difficult to see, but a few acres of garden showing a real love of the beautiful in Nature, as it can be illustrated in gardens, is rare, and when it is seen it is often rather the result of accident than design. This is partly owing to the fact that the kind of knowledge one wants in order to form a really beautiful garden is very uncommon. No man can do so with few materials. It is necessary to have some knowledge of the enormous wealth of beauty which the world contains for the adornment of gardens; and yet this knowledge must not have a leaning, or but very partially, towards the Dryasdust character. The disposition to “dry” and name everything, to concern oneself entirely with nomenclature and classification, is not in accordance with a true gardening spirit—it is the life we want. The garden of the late Mr. Hewittson, at Weybridge, contained some of the most delightful bits of garden scenery which I have ever seen. Below the house, on the slope over the water of Oatlands Park, and below the usual lawn beds, trees, etc., there is a piece of heathy ground which, when we saw it, was charming beyond any power of the pencil to show. The ground was partially clad with common Heaths with little irregular green paths through them, and abundantly naturalised in the warm sandy soil were the Sun Roses, which are shown in the foreground of the plate. Here and there among the Heaths, creeping about in a perfectly natural–looking fashion, too, was the Gentian blue Gromwell (Lithospermum prostratum), with other hardy plants suited to the situation. Among these naturalised groups were the large Evening Primroses and Alstrœmeria aurea, the whole being well relieved by bold bushes of flowering shrubs, so tastefully grouped and arranged as not to show a trace of formality. Such plants as these are not set out singly and without preparation, but carefully planted in beds of such naturally irregular outline, that when the plants become established they seem native children of the soil, as much as the Bracken and Heath around. It is remarkable how all this is done without in the least detracting from the most perfect order and keeping. Closely–shaven glades and wide Grass belts wind about among such objects, while all trees that require special care and attention show by their health and size that they find all they require in this beautiful garden. It is more free from needless or offensive geometrical–twirling, barren expanse of gravelled surface, and all kinds of puerilities—old–fashioned and new–fangled—than any garden I have seen for years.
The following, from a correspondent, shows what may be done with few advantages as to space or situation:—
We have a dell with a small stream of spring water running through it. When I first came to Brockhurst I found this stream carried underground by a tile culvert, and the valley sides covered with Rhododendrons, the soil between carefully raked and kept free from weeds, so that it was only during springtime that flowers relieved the sombre effect of this primness. After five years this has all been changed into what I think you would call a wild garden, and we have cheerfulness and beauty all the year round.
Sun Roses (Cistus) and other exotic hardy plants among heather, on sandy slope.
Wood and herbaceous Meadow–sweets grouped together in Mr. Hewittson’s garden.
In the first place the brooklet was brought to the surface, and its course fringed with marsh plants, such as Marsh Marigolds, Forget–me–nots, Celandines, Irises, Primroses, and Ranunculuses, together with Osmundas, Hart’s–tongues, and other Ferns. Many large–growing Carexes and ornamental Rushes are also here. Little flats were formed and filled with peat, in which Cypripediums, Trilliums, Orchises, Solomon’s Seal, and many rare bog plants find a home. In the valley we have planted bulbs by thousands—Crocuses, Snowdrops, Daffodils, Narcissi, etc. The Rhododendrons were thinned and interspersed with Azaleas, Aucubas, and other handsome–foliaged shrubs, to give brightness to the spring flowering, and rich colour to the foliage in autumn. In the spaces between we introduced wild Hyacinths everywhere, and in patches amongst these the Red Campion, together with every other pretty wild flower we could obtain—Forget–me–nots, Globe–flowers, Columbines, Anemones, Primroses, Cowslips, Polyanthuses, Campanulas, Golden Rods, etc. All the bulbs which have bloomed in the greenhouses are planted out in these spaces, so that there are now large clumps of choice sorts of Crocus, Tulip, Narcissus, and Hyacinth. We have also planted bulbs very extensively, and as they have been allowed to grow on undisturbed we have now large patches of Daffodils, Narcissi, and other spring flowers in great beauty and exuberance. When we trim the garden all the spare plants are brought here, where they form a reserve, and it is thus gradually getting stocked, and all the bare ground covered with foliage and flowers. Lastly, for autumn blooming we raised large quantities of Foxgloves in every colour, and the larger Campanulas, and these were pricked out everywhere, so that we have a glorious show of Foxglove flowers to close the year worth all the trouble. A wild garden of this sort is a very useful reserve ground, where many a plant survives after it has been lost in the borders. Such spare seedlings as the Aquilegias, Campanulas, Primulas, Trolliuses, and other hardy plants can here find space until wanted elsewhere, and one can frequently find blooms for bouquets in the dell when the garden flowers are over. The Lily of the Valley and Sweet Violet also flourish here, creeping over heaps of stones, and flower more freely than they do in more open situations. Visitors often say that the dell beats all the rest of the garden for beauty, and it certainly gives less trouble in the attainment.
Brockhurst, Didsbury. In Garden.
Wm. Brockbank.
Probably many of your readers will ask, “What is a wild garden?” When I came to London, about fifteen years ago, “flower–gardening” had but one mode of expression only, viz. “bedding out,” and that in its harshest form—ribbons, borders, and solid masses of flowers of one colour and one height. The old hardy flowers had been completely swept away; the various and once popular race of so–called florist’s flowers were rarely or never seen. As a consequence, gardens were indescribably monotonous to any person with the faintest notion of the inexhaustible charms of the plant world. This kind of flower–gardening has the same relation to true art in a garden which the daubs of colour on an Indian’s blanket have to the best pictures. In fighting, some years later, in the various journals open to me, the battle of nature and variety against this saddening and blank monotony, I was occasionally met by a ridicule of the old–fashioned mixed border which the bedding plants had supplanted. Now, a well–arranged and varied mixed border may be made one of the most beautiful of gardens; but to so form it requires some knowledge of plants, as well as good taste. Nevertheless, the objection was just as concerned the great majority of mixed borders; they were ragged, unmeaning, and even monotonous.
I next began to consider the various ways in which hardy plants might be grown wholly apart from either way (the bedding plants or that of the mixed border), and the wild garden, or garden formed in the wilderness, grove, shrubbery, copse, or rougher parts of the pleasure garden, was a pet idea which I afterwards threw into the form of a book with this name. In nearly all our gardens we have a great deal of surface wholly wasted—wide spaces in the shrubbery frequently dug over in the winter, plantations, grass–walks, hedgerows, rough banks, slopes, etc., which hitherto have grown only grass and weeds, and on these a rich garden flora may be grown. Hundreds of the more vigorous and handsome herbaceous plants that exist will thrive in these places and do further good in exterminating weeds and preventing the need of digging. Every kind of surface may be embellished by a person with any slight knowledge of hardy plants—ditch–banks, gravel–pits, old trees, hedge–banks, rough, grassy places that are never mown, copses, woods, lanes, rocky or stony ground.
The tendency has always been to suppose that a plant from another country than our own was a subject requiring much attention, not thinking that the conditions that occur in such places as mentioned above, are, as a rule, quite as favourable as those that obtain in nature throughout the great northern regions of Europe, Asia, and America. Here some common plants of the woods of the Eastern States are considered rarities and coddled accordingly to their destruction. It is quite a phenomenon to see a flower on the little Yellow Dog’s–Tooth Violet, which I remember seeing in quantity among the grass in your noble Central Park. When one has but a few specimens of a plant, it is best no doubt to carefully watch them. But an exposed and carefully dug garden border is the worst place to grow many wood and copse plants (I mean plants that grow naturally in such places), and in many uncultivated spots here the American Dog’s–Tooth Violet would flower quite as freely as at home. Your beautiful little May–flower, Epigæa repens, we have never succeeded in growing in our best American nurseries, as they are called, which grow your Rhododendrons and other flowering shrubs so well. If a number of young plants of this were put out in a sandy fir–wood, under the shrubs and pines, as they grow in New Jersey, we should succeed at once. Your beautiful Trillium grandiflorum is usually seen here in a poor state; but I have seen a plant in a shady position in a shrubbery, in rich, moist soil, quite two feet through and two feet high.
Woodruft and Ivy.
I mention these things to show that the wild garden may even have advantages from the point of view of cultivation. Another advantage is the facilities it affords us for enjoying representations of the vegetation of other countries. Here, for example, the poorest soil in the most neglected copse will grow a mixture of golden rods and asters, which will give us an aspect of vegetation everywhere seen in American woods in autumn. This to you may appear a very commonplace delight; but as we have nothing at all like it, it is welcome. Besides, we in this way get the golden rods and coarser asters out of the garden proper, in which they used to overrun the choicer plants, and where they did much to disgrace the mixed border. So, in like manner, you may, in New England or New Jersey, make wild gardens of such of our English flowers as you love. For example, the now numerous and very handsome varieties of our Primroses, Polyanthuses, and Oxlips would probably succeed better with you in moist places, in woods, or partially shaded positions, than in the open garden. There can be no doubt in which position they would look best. But let us suppose for a moment that there was no other object for the wild garden in America than growing the many lovely wild flowers that inhabit the land, it is sufficient. Here some of your wildlings are the darlings of our rock–garden growers, though we are far from possessing all the bright flowers and graceful trailers that adorn the bogs and woods and heaths of the Eastern States. It would be most wise, in case of possessing a little bit of wood or copse, adorned naturally with the trailing Partridge Berry, and the rosy Lady’s Slipper (Cypripedium acaule), which I noticed growing so plentifully, to preserve the spot as a wild garden, and add to it such home and foreign, free and handsome hardy plants, as one could obtain.
It is impossible in this letter to speak of the various kinds of wild gardens, but the opportunity which the system offers for embellishing cool shady places is one which should make it interesting to the people to whose language belongs the term “shade trees.” Usually flower beds and borders are in the full sun—a very proper arrangement in a cool country. But even in our climate, there are in the warm months many days in which the woodland shade is sought in preference to the open lawn, and when the fully–exposed garden is deserted. Therefore, it is clearly desirable that we have flowers in shady as well as sunny places. Many plants, too, love the shade, and we only require to plant the most suitable of these to enjoy a charming wild garden. It need not be pointed out to Americans that a vast number of herbaceous plants naturally inhabit woods. In America, where shade is such a necessity, the wild garden in the shade will be the most delightful retreat near the country house. In it many of the plants common in the gardens of all northern countries will, without wearisome attention, flower in the spring.
For the early summer months flowers of a somewhat later period will be selected, as, for example, the later Irises—lovely hardy flowers, the tall Asphodel A. ramosus, the Day Lilies (Hemerocallis), the Solomon’s Seal and some of its allies, the Veronicas, tall Phloxes, the great Scarlet Poppy (Papaver bracteatum), Symphytums in variety;—these are all free–growing and admirable plants for the wild wood–garden. Mulleins (Verbascum), Salvias, Harebells (Campanula), Willow herbs, tall Lupines, Geraniums, Spurges, Meadow Rues, Columbines, Delphiniums, and the latest wind flowers (Anemone).
Later still, and in the sunny days, would come the various beautiful everlasting peas, various plants of the Mallow tribe, the Poke Weeds, broad–leaved Sea Lavender, and other vigorous kinds, the Globe Thistles, Acanthuses, the free–flowering Yuccas, such as Y. flaccida and Y. filamentosa, the common Artichoke, with its noble flowers; and in autumn, a host of the Golden Rods and Michaelmas Daisies. These are so common in America that adding them to the wild garden would probably be considered a needless labour; but the substitution of the various really beautiful species of aster for those commonly found and of inferior beauty would well repay. In case it were thought desirable in making a wild garden in a shady position to grow plants that do not attain perfection in such positions, they might be grown in the more open parts at hand, and sufficiently near to be seen in the picture.