Mid-August and the lists beginning to come in! Mr. Eden Phillpotts, in
his delightful garden book, says that no one is a true garden lover who
is not instantly lost in every nurseryman’s list, who does not
immediately draw out orders far beyond his means, and spend his time in
plans and combinations that shall transcend Kew as well as Babylon. What
garden lovers are we in this respect! It is only when the orders are
written out and the prices totted up that sober reason obtrudes its
forbidding countenance—and then the painful process of “knocking off”
begins. Nevertheless we are becoming adepts in combining lavishness with
economy. There are delightful firms whose plants are literally to be had
at a quarter of the price of others, with results quite as happy.
There is the Dutchman who sends us our bulbs. He has grown to be a
friend, and his English letters are charming, “Dear Mrs.,” he wrote when
Gladioli, “The Bride,” arrived in a state no Bride should be in, really
without a wedding garment—“Dear Mrs., She is a flower the most agreeable
in the garden, but she is very unpleasant to travel.”
His catalogue makes equally fascinating reading. The quaint spelling and
phraseology are more than attractive. Who, for instance, would not wish
to invest in Narcissus, thus described:
“Astrardente, white and apricot orange, edged fiery scarlet magnificent
and nice flowers.”
“Nothing,” says another grower, “can equal, much less excel, early
single Tulips.”
“Pottebakke White,” cries a third, “is a very large pure white flower,
and not to surpass better.”
“Of snow-like variety and delicious fragrance a most beloved flower,”
thus our special Hollander labels Lilium Longiflorum Takesima, in words
that have a certain charm of poetic simplicity which would not have
misbecome the artistic Japanese himself.
[Sidenote: DUTCH BULBS]
However tempted by other nationalities, we choose to be Dutch in our
bulbs. This is the list we have just dispatched to Haarlem:
“600 China blue single Hyacinths.
1 dozen Cavaignac pink Hyacinths.
1 dozen Fabiola blush Hyacinths.
50 Roman Hyacinths.
100 Scarlet Duc van Thol Tulips.
50 Rose Duc van Thol Tulips.
300 Thomas Moore Tulips.
1000 Darwin Tulips, best mixed.
500 Parrot Tulips, in the finest mixture, bright colours.
100 Gladiolus Brenchlyensis.
100 Gladiolus Hollandia.
1000 mixed striped Crocus.
1000 Scilla Siberica praecox.
1000 blue Grape Hyacinths.
1000 Snowdrops Elweseii.
1000 Poeticus recurvus Narcissus.
100 Hyacinthus Candicans.
1000 Single Trumpet Daffodils mixed.
500 Double Daffodils mixed.”
Of these some of the scarlet and rose “Duc van Thol” Tulips, and all the
“Cavaignac” and “Fabiola” Hyacinths are for forcing; and, of course, the
Roman Hyacinths also. The other bulbs are destined for the open ground.
Gladiolus Hollandia is described as the “Pink Brenchlyensis,” and is
much recommended. We have never grown her yet, but her scarlet cousin is
a great success in our garden. We find our Gladioli do so much better
when planted in the spring, that we are asking the firm not to send them
to us for another seven months. But they are included in the autumn list
so that he may reserve us good sound tubers.
It is evidently against garden decorum to mention the name of a
horticulturist, for some garden writers make a point of assuring the
reader that they will never be guilty of such an indiscretion; but we
see no harm at all in paying, by the way of this discursive pen, a
tribute to the perfect satisfaction hitherto afforded us by our chosen
bulb grower, Mr. Thoolen, of Haarlem. His Tulips, Hyacinths, and
Narcissi have stood the test for three years. Of course, in our soil we
cannot expect more than one good season out of anything except Crocus,
Scilla, and Narcissi.
Daffodils, which up till now have been unaccountably absent from our
garden plans, are to be heavily indulged in this year. Besides what
appears in the above list we are venturing on another thousand from a
certain Mr. Telkamp, likewise in the land of windmills.
[Sidenote: MORE DUTCH BULBS]
The following is the order which we have just dispatched to him:
“1000 Daffodils for naturalization.
100 Retroflexa Tulips, soft yellow.
100 Bouton d’Or Tulips, deep golden yellow.
100 Caledonia Tulips, orange, dark stems.
100 Golden Eagle Tulips, fine yellow.
200 Count of Leicester, yellow orange tinted.”
He advertises a thousand Daffodils for ten shillings—two and a half
dollars! Miraculous, if true! It is worth the plunge.
* * * * *
We have decided to take a slice off the kitchen garden to be kept
entirely for bulbs and tubers for cutting. There a hundred “Madonna”
Lilies, three dozen Auratum, a hundred Tigrinum, and a few hundreds of
other kinds shall be given all the chances that completely fresh soil
and good exposure can afford. Five hundred Parrot Tulips, three hundred
“Thomas Moore,” and a hundred “Bizarres” are to make a field of glory
for the harvest. The hundred Gladiolus Brenchlyensis and the hundred
Hollandia will rear their scarlet and pink spears; and Iris shall stand
in ranks.
The Mistress of the Villino has still an hour of bliss before her in
picking out Iris for her list. The “Florentina” shall certainly be
largely of the company, and preference is to be given generally to the
misty blue and purple kinds. Then the speculation in cheap bulbs
provides a thousand mixed May flowering Tulips.... Adam’s face will be a
study when he finds how much of his cherished potato and cabbage land
will be required. But what a span of beauty it will make; and what
sheaves of delight for ourselves and our friends!
[Sidenote: FOND DREAMS, AND MISDOUBTS]
Every year the extravagant woman above mentioned, who has got the vice
of garden-gambling into her very system, extends her ambitions. But how
much is there not still to be accomplished before she is satisfied, if
ever a garden-lover is satisfied!
For a long time she has dreamt of a shady pool—somewhere. And, after
beholding the adorable vision before described in Messrs. Wallace’s
exhibit at Holland House this summer, she had been quite sure that it
would be difficult to exist another year without a nook with Irises
about it and a sunk basin, and a little statue mysteriously contrived in
the green. Coming across an advertisement in _Country Life_, where an
artistic firm of garden-decorators offers just what she wants, a small
round stone pond with a Faun sitting cross-legged on the brim of it, it
becomes quite clear to her that there are cravings which must be
satisfied. She is willing to give up the vision of a new Azalea dell
‹for this year only, of course› and of a paved walk with Cypresses on
each side, ending in a _rondpoint_ hedged about with more Cypresses,
with a stone bench in the middle, for the more immediately alluring
claim. But, O, ye gods and little fishes, how insatiable are still the
needs of the Villino on the hill!
There is the orchard for the slope above the sunk tennis court; to be a
glory some Spring with Apple and Pear blossom, while Daffodils, Narcissi
and Scilla riot underneath. And there is the round Autumn Garden to be
dug out and levelled in the wood, where Sunflowers, Michaelmas Daisies,
“Fire King” Antirrhinums, Nasturtiums and flaunting orange and saffron
Dahlias are to make a rim of splendour against a cropped green hedge.
The centre of this blazing circle is to be flagged and consecrated to
“Herbs.” That will be something to live for; to see accomplished some
golden autumn of the future!
So much has already been done in what was, most of it, a mere sodden
tangle, impenetrable not only to human beings but even to the light of
heaven, that it gives one heart for what may be achieved in the future.
Yet never does the Grandmother of Loki feel the uncertainty of life more
keenly than when she is in the midst of her garden dreams. Every winter
indeed, when the bulbs are planted, she wonders, with a pang, if she
will see them come up in the Spring; how much more does she now ask
herself whether the hidden Autumn Garden, or the Italian walk, or the
Bowery Orchard, or even the Sunk Fountain, are ever destined to rejoice
her.
Well, after all, she gets an extraordinary amount of pleasure out of the
mere mental picture, and who can say if the very uncertainty of all
things here below does not add to their zest?
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[Illustration: THE MOOR]
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