EXAMPLE FROM THE GLOBE FLOWER ORDER.
Let us next see what may be done with the Buttercup order of plants.
It embraces many things widely diverse in aspect from these burnished
ornaments of northern meadows and mountains. The first thing I should
take from it to embellish the wild wood is the sweet–scented Virgin’s
Bower (Clematis flammula), a native of the south of Europe, but as
hardy and free in all parts of Britain as the common Hawthorn. And
as the Hawthorn sweetens the breath of early summer, so will this
add fragrance to the autumnal months. It is never to be seen half so
beautiful as when crawling over some tree or decayed stump; and if
its profuse masses of white bloom do not attract, its fragrance is
sure to do so. An open glade in a wood, or open spaces on banks near
a wood or shrubbery, would be charming for it, while in the garden
or pleasure–ground it may be used as a creeper over old stumps,
trellising, or the like. Clematis campaniflora, with flowers like a
campanula, and of a pale purplish hue, and the beautiful white Clematis
montana grandiflora, a native of Nepaul, are almost equally beautiful,
and many others of the family are worthy of a place, rambling over
old trees, bushes, hedgerows, or tangling over banks. These single
wild species of Clematis are more graceful than the large Hybrids now
common; they are very hardy and free. In mild and seashore districts
a beautiful kind, common in Algeria, and in the islands on and the
shores of the Mediterranean (Clematis cirrhosa), will be found
most valuable—being nearly evergreen, and flowering very early in
spring—even in winter in the South of England.
[Illustration: The Mountain Clematis (C. montana).]
Next in this order we come to the Wind Flowers, or Anemones, and here
we must pause to select, for more beautiful flowers do not adorn this
world of flowers. Have we a bit of rich grass not mown? If so, the
beautiful downy white and yellow Anemones of the Alps (A. alpina and A.
sulphurea) may be grown there. Any sunny bushy bank or southern slope
which we wish to embellish with vernal beauty? Then select Anemone
blanda, a small but lovely blue kind; place it in open bare spots to
begin with, as it is very dwarf, and it will at Christmas, and from
that time onward through the spring, open its large flowers of the
deepest sky blue. The common garden Anemone (A. Coronaria) will not be
fastidious, but had better be placed in open bare sandy places; and the
splendid Anemone fulgens will prove most attractive, as it glows with
fiery scarlet. Of other Anemones, hardy, free, and beautiful enough
to be made wild in our shrubberies, pleasure–grounds, and wilds, the
Japan Anemone (A. japonica) and its white varieties, A. trifolia and
A. sylvestris, are the best of the exotic species. The Japan Anemones
grow so strongly that they will take care of themselves even among
stiff brushwood, brambles, etc.; and they are beautifully fitted for
scattering along the low, half–wild margins of shrubberies and groups.
The interesting little A. trifolia is not unlike our own wood Anemone,
and will grow in similar places.
[Illustration: The White Japan Anemone in the Wild Garden.]
Few plants are more lovely in the wild garden than the White Japan
Anemone. The idea of the wild garden first arose in the writer’s
mind as a home for a numerous class of coarse–growing plants, to
which people begrudge room in their borders, such as the Golden Rods,
Michaelmas Daisies, Compass plants, and a host of others, which are
beautiful for a season only, or perhaps too rampant for what are called
choice borders and beds. This Anemone is one of the most beautiful of
garden flowers, and one which is as well suited for the wild garden
as the kinds alluded to. It grows well in any good soil in copse or
shrubbery, and increases rapidly. Partial shade seems to suit it; and
in any case the effect of the large white flowers is, if anything, more
beautiful in half–shady places. The flowers, too, are more lasting here
than where they are fully exposed.
As for the Apennine Anemone (the white as well as the blue variety),
it is one of the loveliest spring flowers of any clime, and should be
in every garden, in the borders, and scattered thinly here and there
in woods and shrubberies, so that it may become “naturalised.” It is
scarcely a British flower, being a native of the south of Europe; but
having strayed into our wilds and plantations occasionally, it is now
included in most books on British plants. The yellow A. ranunculoides,
a doubtful native, found in one or two spots, but not really British,
is well worth growing, thriving well on the chalk, and being very
beautiful.
The large Hepatica angulosa will grow almost as freely as Celandine
among shrubs and in half–shady spots, and we all know how readily the
old kinds grow on all garden soils of ordinary quality. There are about
ten or twelve varieties of the common Hepatica (Anemone Hepatica) grown
in British nurseries and gardens, and all the colours of the species
should be represented in every collection of spring flowers.
[Illustration: Anemones in the Riviera. Thrive equally well in any open
soil here, only flowering later.]
There are many of the Ranunculi, not natives of Britain, which would
grow as freely as our native kinds. Many will doubtless remember with
pleasure the pretty button–like white flowers of the Fair Maids of
France (Ranunculus aconitifolius fl. pl.), a frequent ornament of
the old mixed border. This, and the wild form from which it comes—a
frequent plant in alpine meadows—may also be enjoyed in our wild
garden. Quite distinct from all these, and of chastest beauty when well
grown, is R. amplexicaulis, with flowers of pure white, and simple
leaves of a dark glaucous green and flowing graceful outline; a hardy
and charming plant on almost any soil. This is one of the elegant
exotic forms of a family well represented in the golden type in our
meadows, and therefore it is welcome as giving us a strange form. Such
a plant deserves that pains be taken to establish it in good soil, in
spots where a rank vegetation may not weaken or destroy it.
Of the Globe Flowers (Trollius), there are various kinds apart from our
own, all rich in colour, fragrant, and hardy in a remarkable degree.
These are among the noblest wild–garden plants—quite hardy, free of
growth in the heaviest of soil and wettest of climates, affording a
lovely type of early summer flower–life, and one distinct from any
usually seen in our fields or gardens; for these handsome Globe flowers
are among the many flowers that for years have found no place in the
garden proper. They are lovely in groups or colonies, in cold grassy
places, where many other plants would perish.
[Illustration: The Green Hellebore in the Wild Garden.]
The Winter Aconite (Eranthis hyemalis) should be naturalised in every
country seat in Britain—it is as easy to do so as to introduce the
thistle. It may be placed quite under the branches of deciduous trees,
will come up and flower when the trees are naked, will have its foliage
developed before the leaves come on the trees, and be afterwards
hidden from sight. Thus masses of this earliest flower may be grown
without the slightest sacrifice of space, and only be noticed when
bearing a bloom on every little stem. That fine old little plant, the
Christmas Rose (Helleborus niger), likes partial shade better than
full exposure, and should be used abundantly, giving it rather snug
and warm positions, so that its flowers may be encouraged to open
well and fully. Any other kinds might also be used. Recently many
kinds of Helleborus have been added to our gardens, not all of them
so conspicuous at first sight as the Christmas Rose, yet they are of
remarkable beauty of foliage and habit as well as of blossom, and they
flower in the spring. These, too, show the advantage of the wild garden
as regards cultivation. They will _thrive much better in any bushy
places, or copses, or in mutually sheltering groups on warm banks and
slopes, even in hedge banks, old quarries, or rough mounds, than in the
ordinary garden border_. Of the difference in the effect in the two
cases it is needless to speak.
Some of the Monkshoods are very handsome, but all of them virulent
poisons; and, bearing in mind what fatal accidents have arisen from
their use, they are better not used at all in the garden proper.
Amongst tall and vigorous herbaceous plants few are more suitable
for wild and semi–wild places. They are hardy and robust enough to
grow anywhere in shady or half–shady spots; and their tall spikes,
loaded with blue flowers, are very beautiful. An illustration in the
chapter on the plants suited for the wild garden shows the common
Aconite in a Somersetshire valley in company with the Butterbur and
the Hemlock. In such a place its beauty is very striking. The larger
rich blue kinds, and the blue and white one, are very showy grown in
deep soils, in which they attain a great height. When out of flower,
like many other stately Perennials, they were often stiff and ugly in
the old borders and beds. In the wild garden their stately beauty will
be more remarkable than ever under the green leaves in copses and by
streams. And when flower–time is gone, their stems, no longer tied into
bundles or cut in by the knife, will group finely with other vigorous
herbaceous vegetation.
The Delphiniums, or tall Perennial Larkspurs, are amongst the most
beautiful of all flowers. They embrace almost every shade of blue, from
the rich dark tone of D. grandiflora to the charming cærulean tints
of such as D. Belladonna; and being usually of a tall and strong type,
will make way among long grasses and vigorous weeds, unlike many things
for which we have to recommend an open space, or a wood with nothing
but a carpet of moss under the trees.
[Illustration: Tall Perennial Larkspurs, naturalised in Shrubbery
(1878).]
One of the prettiest effects which I have ever seen was a colony of
tall Larkspurs. Portions of old roots of several species and varieties
had been chopped off when a bed of these plants was dug in the autumn.
For convenience sake the refuse had been thrown into the neighbouring
shrubbery, far in among the shrubs and trees. Here they grew in
half–open spaces, which were so far removed from the margin that they
were not dug and were not seen. When I saw the Larkspurs in flower they
were certainly the loveliest things that one could see. They were more
beautiful than they are in borders or beds, not growing in such close
stiff tufts, but mingling with and relieved by the trees above and the
shrubs around. Little more need be said to any one who knows and cares
about such plants, and has an opportunity of planting in such neglected
places. This case points out that one might make wild gardens from the
mere parings and thinnings of the beds and borders in autumn in any
place where there is a collection of good hardy plants.
The engraving on the next page represents one of the most beautiful
effects obtained in his wild garden by an acquaintance of mine who
began when he knew very little of plants and their favoured haunts,
and succeeded well in a not very favourable site. Herbaceous Pæonies
were amongst those that succeeded best. The effect was very beautiful,
either close at hand or seen at a considerable distance off. Herbaceous
Pæonies are amongst the most free, vigorous, and hardy of perennial
plants, and with them alone most novel and beautiful effects may be
carried out in most places where there is room. Even in comparatively
small gardens, a group or two outside the margin of a shrubbery would
be desirable. The effect of the blooms amongst the long grass of the
wild garden is finer than any they present in borders, and when out of
flower they do not seem to be in the way, as they often are thought
to be when in borders and beds. It is almost needless to speak here
of the great variety of forms now obtainable amongst these herbaceous
Pæonies, many of which are agreeably scented. The older forms were not
remarkable in that respect, but rather the contrary. In addition to the
splendour of colour for which Pæonies are long and well known, there
are now many delicately–coloured and tinted varieties. The whole race
is undeservedly neglected. People spend plenty of money on greenhouses
which will never produce anything so handsome as a well–grown group of
herbaceous Pæonies in the open garden; yet when they are grown they are
often begrudged a few feet of good soil, though that is all they would
require for years at a time. My friend’s Pæonies formed a group that
could be seen from a distance; when I saw them they were surrounded by
long and waving grass. I cannot give any idea of the fine effect.
[Illustration: Double Crimson Pæonies in grass.]
The Clematis–like Atragene alpina is one of my favourite flowers—seldom
seen now–a–days, or indeed at any time, out of a botanical garden, and
till lately not often seen in one. It likes to trail over an old stump,
or through a thin low bush, or over a rocky bank, and it is a perfectly
hardy plant. Speaking of such plants as this, one would like to draw
a sharp distinction between them and the various weedy and indistinct
subjects which are now creeping into cultivation owing to the revival
of interest in hardy plants. Many of these have some botanical
interest, but they can be only useless in the garden. Our chief danger
now is getting plants into cultivation which are neither very distinct
nor very beautiful, while perhaps we neglect many of the really fine
kinds. This Atragene is a precious plant for low bush and bank wild
garden.
Among plants which one never sees, and which, indeed, one never
ought to see, in a flower garden, are the Meadow Rues; and yet there
is a quiet beauty and grace about these plants which entitle them
to some consideration; and the flowers, too, of certain species,
particularly the one here shown in the illustration on page 1, are of
singular beauty. When it is considered that all the species will grow
anywhere—in any hedgerow or lane or byeway, or among coarse grass, or
in a copse, or under the shrubs, in places usually abandoned to common
weeds, there is no reason why numbers of them should not be rescued
from the oblivion of the botanic garden.