THE BROOK–SIDE, WATER–SIDE, AND BOG GARDENS.
[Illustration: 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.
[Illustration: 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.
[Illustration: 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.
[Illustration: 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.
[Illustration: The Cape Pond Weed in an English ditch in winter.]
[Illustration: 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.
[Illustration: 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.
[Illustration: 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.
[Illustration: Partridge Berry (Gualtheria).]