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 MY GARDEN 
 Series. Edited by 
 R. Hooper Pearson, 
 Managing Editor, 
 
 Gardeners 1 
 
 Chronicle. 
 
 My Garden in Spring
 
 Uniform Volumes in Preparation. 
 
 MY GARDEN IN SUMMER. 
 
 MY GARDEN IN AUTUMN 
 AND WINTER.
 
 2088069
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 By E. A. Bowles, M.A. 
 
 New York 
 Dodge Publishing Company 
 
 214-220 East 23rd Street
 
 TO 
 
 MY FATHER 
 HENRY C. B. BOWLES 
 
 WHO HAS SO KINDLY AND PATIENTLY ALLOWED 
 TO EXPERIMENT WITH HIS GARDEN FOP 
 THE LAST TWENTY-FIVE YEARS
 
 PREFACE 
 
 IT is a pleasure and a privilege to be asked to write about 
 a real garden. There are nowadays so many gardeners 
 that gardens are growing every year more rare. Every 
 one must have their " rock-work," and the very rich are 
 out to purchase the glories of the Alps at so much a 
 yard with all the more contentment if the price be heavy, 
 so that their munificence may be the more admired. 
 Passion for display appears the ruling note in English 
 horticulture of every kind and in every period : we want 
 a show. It is now not so very long since carpet-bedding 
 went out of fashion with a roar of contemptuous execra- 
 tion ; and for a short period we were all for a return to 
 what we spoke of as " Nature," but what was merely 
 wobbly anarchy reduced to a high art. But in those 
 days at least the rock garden was a place of plants, and 
 if such a thing existed in one's ground at all, it was not 
 a mere dog's grave to trail Nasturtiums over, but a fabric 
 framed because its owner really wanted to do his best for 
 Dianthus glacialis or Campanula pulla. But now the accursed 
 thing is once more rearing its head, and carpet-bedding is 
 bursting up to life again in the midst of the very rock 
 garden itself, of all places impermissible and improbable. 
 For the rich must have their money's worth in show ; 
 culture will not give it them, nor rarity, nor interest of
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 the plants themselves : better a hundred yards of Arabis 
 than half a dozen vernal Gentians. So now their vast 
 rock-works are arranged like the pattern of a pavement : 
 here is a large triangle filled neatly with a thousand plants 
 of Alyssum saxatile, neatly spaced like bedded Stocks, and 
 with the ground between them as smooth and tidy as a 
 Guardsman's head ; then, fitting into this, but separated 
 by stone or rock, more irregular great triangles of the 
 same order one containing a thousand Aubrietia " Laven- 
 der," and the next a thousand Lithospermum prostratum 
 But nothing else ; neither blending nor variety nothing 
 but a neat unalloyed exhibit like those on " rock- works " 
 at the Chelsea Show. But what a display is here ! You 
 could do no better with coloured gravels. Neat, unbroken 
 blanks of first one colour and then another, until the 
 effect indeed is sumptuous and worthy of the taste that 
 has combined such a garden. But " garden " why call 
 it ? There are no plants here ; there is nothing but 
 colour, laid on as callously in slabs as if from the paint- 
 box of a child. This is a mosaic, this is a gambol in 
 purple and gold ; but it is not a rock garden, though tin 
 chamois peer never so frequent from its cliffs upon the 
 passer-by, bewildered with such a glare of expensive 
 magnificence. This is, in fact, nothing but the carpet- 
 bedding of our grandfathers, with the colour-masses laid 
 on in pseudo-irregular blots and drifts, instead of in 
 straight stretches ; and with outlines of stone between 
 each definite patch, instead of the stitching that divides 
 similar colour patch from patch in the crazy quilt. Well, 
 such artists in the grand style have their reward.
 
 Preface 
 
 What would they say now if they were led into the 
 garden through which we are now going to be conducted 
 by its creator ? Never before having seen a place for 
 growing plants in, never having heard the names of Ella- 
 combe or Wolley-Dod or, if they have, connecting them 
 with no vitalising work or idea how will their noses not 
 corrugate in scorn on merely perceiving plants only 
 plants, plants well grown, plants happy, plants well suited 
 and consulted and made at home. But there are others, 
 less rich, who will be glad of traversing such holy ground, 
 and learning how the hills can be made to yield up their 
 secret, and their children taught to forget the far high- 
 lands of their birth, and feel themselves contented and 
 at home within a dozen miles of London. The essence 
 of the real garden is the insignificance of the garden 
 itself ; the soul of the real garden lies in the perfect pros- 
 perity of the plants of which it is the home, instead of 
 being merely, by the modern reversal of right laws, the 
 expensive and unregarded colour-relief of its titanically- 
 compounded cliffs of stucco and Portland cement. Come 
 into Mr. Bowles's garden and learn what true gardening 
 is, and what is the real beauty of plants, and what the 
 nature of their display. 
 
 A lowly piece of ground, wandering here and there 
 in gentle natural ravines and slopes. No vast structures, 
 but bank added to bank as the plants require it, and 
 nothing asked of the structure except that it be simple 
 and harmonious, and best calculated to serve the need of 
 the little people it is to accommodate to accommodate, 
 and not be shown off by. For here the plants are lords,
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 and the rocks take their dim place in the background as 
 helps and comforts indeed, but by no means as the raison 
 d'etre and pompous origin of the whole edifice. And the 
 result ? Let the lovers of display go home abashed before 
 a display such as not a hundred bedded-out Aubrietias 
 can give. If it were ever to be thought for a moment 
 that the real rock garden is a place of minute moribund 
 plants and microscopic minutenesses, so that the only 
 alternative lies between this and the gorgeous soullessness 
 of the Portland cementery, let those who have held such 
 notions only visit Mr. Bowles's garden at almost any 
 moment of the year, and wander past great tuft after 
 tuft of the rarest and most difficult brilliancies that have 
 quite forgotten they are rare or difficult at all or in exile, 
 but are here making individual masses individually be- 
 loved and tended, as full of rich colour and the blood of 
 life as they were on the Cima Tombea or the Col de 
 Tenda. There is no lack of show, indeed, as we wander 
 past blazing old clump after clump of glorious Tulips that 
 no one else can make survive two seasons, or wonder at 
 the glowing rows of Primulas that no one else can flower, 
 here gorgeous in their patches as on the ridge of the 
 Frate di Breguzzo itself. Indeed, the most passionate 
 admirer of Aubrietia will have to confess that his eye is 
 no less completely filled here, and filled with more satis- 
 faction and less monotony than in the most expensive 
 show-garden, filled with plants at so much per thousand. 
 And what are the secrets of this display, this freshness 
 of effect, this profound satisfaction that one takes away 
 with one, wrapped up in sighs of envy ? Far be it from
 
 Preface 
 
 me to bring a deeper blush to the cheek of Mr. Bowles 
 than mantles on his Primulas in May, but facts, as Sairey 
 has so justly said, are stubborn and not easy drove. 
 Therefore we must speak the plain truth : Mr. Bowles 
 is a real gardener, and the real gardener works with love 
 and knowledge and personal devotion, and not with money 
 and orders issued to a nurseryman. The highest art is to 
 conceal art ; and accordingly the first and last essential 
 of the good rock garden is that it should not look like a 
 garden at all, but like the unharvested flower-fields of the 
 hills effortless, serene, and apparently neglected. And 
 to achieve this effect, as all who have tried it well know, 
 is the final ambition of the real gardener, and the very 
 last to be attained. For nothing is harder, in any walk 
 of art, than to strike the perfect note of calm assurance 
 which is the supreme success, and nothing short of it 
 without falling into the death in life of spick and spanness 
 on the one hand, or the more ferocious life in death of 
 slovenliness and anarchy on the other. But at first sight, 
 like all great works, from the Monna Lisa downwards, the 
 really good garden looks so simple and unaffected and 
 easy that those who base their admiration on a sense of 
 money spent and obvious artificial difficulties surmounted, 
 will be inclined to conclude at a glance that such a mass 
 of intermingled happy plants is a simple matter of luck 
 and neglect that any one could achieve. And this verdict 
 is the crowning prize of the good gardener, more worth 
 than many Standard cups. For let these complacent 
 people only try, that's all ; let them learn by experience 
 what it is to cope with things that want to be weeds, in 
 xi
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 such a way that they do not succeed, and yet retain their 
 own spontaneous happiness ; then they will ere long begin 
 to learn that right letting alone and right meddling are 
 the beginning and the ending of good gardening, and that 
 the simplest effects are just precisely those which defy 
 money and ambition and effort, and everything but tireless 
 patience, attention, and knowledge bought at first hand 
 with pain. 
 
 Come straight from the high hills into this garden of 
 Mr. Bowles, and it is not by any difference in the look 
 of the ground or its plants that you will know you are 
 not still there : here are no precious plants pining for 
 company in a grim and tidy isolation ; here are no vener- 
 able ancient persons perpetually picking weeds until all 
 the soil between every plant is bald as a billiard ball. 
 But here only the noxious is removed, the plants are 
 given free scope for enjoying themselves in the company 
 they love, and rare difficult treasures are jostled into health 
 and happiness again by the rough-and-tumble of life as 
 they lived it on the hills ; and the earth is clothed in a 
 thousand new promises, each one of which may in time 
 reveal some treasure in the way of Crocus or Pink or 
 Pansy, until here, more than ever, does one realise the 
 devilish damage done by weeding in the ordinary garden 
 where, in fact, there should be a local black-list Cress 
 and Groundsel, and so forth (though Mr. Bowles would 
 even leave the Groundsel on the chance of its one day 
 producing ray-florets or a striped leaf) while all other 
 offers of the gods are left to flower and show what gift 
 indeed it was they were suggesting. There is one special
 
 Preface 
 
 corner of Mr. Bowles's garden of which I know that he 
 will not choose adequately to talk, but of which I, there- 
 fore, must, seeing that it has long appeared to me quite 
 the finest piece of real gardening that I know. It is a 
 roughly triangular piece of ground, and is filled with the 
 Dwarf Almond, a blaze of pink and white in spring. But 
 in spring, too, all its ground is surfaced and crammed and 
 overflowing with rare Crocus and Primrose and Bland 
 Anemone, and every vernal bulb that is usually looked 
 after and cleansed and cossetted, but here left alone to 
 make itself a wild plant and seed and establish in perfect 
 naturalness under the eye of the gardener who knows and 
 loves each one as a shepherd knows his lambs. So much 
 for early spring ; and then, barrenness ? Or else digging 
 and fussing and planting ? Not a spade touches that holy 
 ground, any more than iron had been laid to the un- 
 harvested meadow of Hippolytus, but as the Anemones 
 and the Crocus fade, up spring Daffodils and rare Tulips 
 and difficult Fritillaries that are everybody else's despair 
 and have to be treated as annuals, but here look as if they 
 had just been poked in casually and forgotten by our late 
 sovereign lady Queen Elizabeth, so that the whole patch, 
 under the light trellis of the Almonds growing green, 
 becomes anew, or continues, a dancing sea of light and 
 colour. 
 
 And so the tale goes on, and the glories of spring 
 give way to those of summer, till the sea turns blue 
 with Campanulas, and the copse, for so it now has grown, 
 is floating in blue peat-reek of Campanula patula, while 
 high overhead tower the stately heads of C. lactiflora, 
 xiii
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 which carry on the generosity of the world, while the 
 great waxen snow-cup and stars of Hellebore are begin- 
 ning to think of the autumn, and keep the copse in loveli- 
 ness until everywhere the Winter Cyclamen light up their 
 little lamps of incandescent carbuncle. So is the wheel 
 of nature followed in a good garden, and loveliness brought 
 to birth from day to day, as no money and no loveless or 
 ignorant desire for display could ever breed it. And how 
 different here is the apparently effortless compilation of 
 nature's best wealth from the " display " (admirable word) 
 of those gardens that are always yelling of the number of 
 bedded plants they contain. There was once a man who 
 stood upon the Mont Cenis when all the earth was indeed 
 a burning deck of blossom, filmed into the uttermost dis- 
 tances with the gold and violet veils of the Pansies, and 
 with the flanks of the great mountains snow-flaked with 
 Anemone alpina; he stood with one boot on a foot- wide 
 patch of Gentiana verna, and the other trampling a blossom- 
 hidden carpet of Dryas, and he looked round with that 
 scorn-corrugated nose of which I lately spoke, and he 
 bitterly observed, " I don't think much of this for a dis- 
 play." Only such wealthy-minded persons, I am sure, 
 could have such a feeling about any garden so real as 
 this of Mr. Bowles, where nature's poor little efforts are 
 so watched and followed, and nature's wide carpet of blue 
 and saffron and gold and rose and violet rewoven in 
 a tissue of loveliness, how different from the neatly- 
 partitioned unhappiness of Alpines bought by the hun- 
 dred and bedded out for show. It is from such a garden 
 as this that one comes away both humbled and consoled 
 xiv
 
 Preface 
 
 to think such things can be done, and that one has never 
 yet succeeded in doing them oneself ; comes away also 
 uplifted by the encouragement of the garden's wizard, 
 as well as weighed down beneath the precious treasures 
 he will so casually lop off and pile into your crowded 
 basket, until at last you grow quite bashful in your efforts 
 to avoid the crowning generosity of a Nettle with variegated 
 foliage, or a Plantain mottled with some perennial leprosy, 
 which may have kept this nature-worshipper kneeling in 
 an ecstasy for a quarter of an hour upon the mountains 
 in the teeth of a bitter snow-gale, and despite the hardly 
 less bitter cries of his escort, not in the least enthusiastic 
 for such things, and longing to exclaim " Excelsior ! " did 
 not a certain lingering knowledge of Latin forbid. 
 
 REGINALD FARRER. 
 
 xv
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAP. PAGE 
 
 I. WHEN DOES SPRING COMMENCE? . i 
 
 II. THE GARDEN 9 
 
 III. EARLY IRISES 21 
 
 IV. SNOWDROPS 40 
 
 V. SPRING CROCUSES 62 
 
 VI. NUMEROUS EARLY COMERS 95 
 
 VII. DAFFODILS 117 
 
 VIII. PRIMULAS. 134 
 
 IX. MARCH WINDS 149 
 
 X. APRIL SHOWERS 161 
 
 XL THE LUNATIC ASYLUM 178 
 
 XII. TOM TIDDLER'S GROUND 191 
 
 XIII. ANEMONES 203 
 
 XIV. THE IRIS WALK IN MAY 221 
 
 XV. TULIPS 234 
 
 XVI. MY ROCK GARDEN 252 
 
 XVII. THE CULMINATION OF SPRING 279 
 
 INDEX 297
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 BLACK AND WHITE PLATES 
 The Morning-room Window in May .... Frontispiece 
 
 FACING 
 PAGE 
 
 Galanthus Imperati var. Atkinsii " Backhouse's Variety " . . 8 
 
 Primula longiflora 24 
 
 Primula pulverulenta, " Mrs. Berkeley " 40 
 
 Magnolia stellata in the Rock Garden ...... 56 
 
 Some of the Lunatics 72 
 
 Double-flowered Anemone appenina . . . . .88 
 
 Anemone nemorosa purpurea 104 
 
 Anemone sylvestris grandi flora . . . . . . .120 
 
 The Pond the large Bog Myrtle and the Steps . . . .148 
 
 Steps at end of Terrace with London Bridge Balusters . .152 
 
 Tulipa Kaufmanniana . . .156 
 
 Helicodiceros crinitus 168 
 
 Hardy Palm in Flower 184 
 
 Eremurus Elwesianus 200 
 
 Eremurus Bed 216 
 
 Iris florentina in May 222 
 
 Eucalyptus cordata 232 
 
 A Happy Accident in grouping 248 
 
 One of the Slopes in the Rock Garden 260 
 
 Sundial in the Pergola Garden 264 
 
 Old Cross from Enfield Market-place ...... 272 
 
 Solanum crispum in May 280 
 
 Symphytum asperrimum 288
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 COLOUR PLATES 
 
 FACING 
 PAGE 
 
 Iris bucharica : one of the best of the Early-flowering Species . 16 
 
 Hybrids of Narcissus triandrus 32 
 
 Narcissus, Grand Monarque. By E. Fortescue Brickdale . . 48 
 
 Narcissi: Christalla (w/h'te) and Homespun 64 
 
 Narcissi : Elegance (top flower) and Gloria Mundi ... 80 
 
 Crown Imperials. By Margaret Waterfield 96 
 
 Crown Anemone. By E. Fortescue Brickdale . . . .112 
 
 Iris longipetala : a fine Apogon Iris 128 
 
 Iris Susiana : A typical Oncocycluo Iris 144 
 
 Tulipa praestans .160 
 
 Darwin Tulips : Mr. Farncombe Sanders, Suzon . . . .176 
 Darwin Tulips: Euterpe, Frans Hals ...... 192 
 
 Cottage Tulips : Beauty of Bath, Carnation 208 
 
 Saxifraga Burseriana Gloria (white) and S. oppositifolia . . 224 
 
 Four White, Rayless Violas : Purity, Mrs. H. Pearce, Mad. A. 
 
 Gray, Snowflake . 240 
 
 Four Yellow Violas : Redbraes Yellow, Klondyke, Maggie Clunas, 
 
 General Baden-Powell 256 
 
 XX
 
 MY GARDEN IN SPRING 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 When does Spring Commence ? 
 
 IF we could take a census of opinion on the question, 
 " When does Spring commence ? " the answers would be 
 almost as variant in character as in number. 
 
 The majority of people would most likely declare 
 that the 2ist of March was the first day of Spring, though 
 there still exists a sentimental preference for the i4th of 
 February, the feast of St. Valentine, while a large number 
 of people over a certain age would insist that Spring 
 no longer exists, and would probably endeavour to prove 
 this assertion by lengthy reminiscences of halcyon days 
 of yore, which provided early opportunities for picnics 
 and thin raiment. 
 
 Who has not heard their great-aunt Georgina hold 
 forth on the Indian muslins that in bygone Mays were 
 all-sufficient for her comfort ? 
 
 Argument with such is useless, and it is much better 
 to pile fresh logs on the fire and shut the windows to 
 preserve her tweed-clad frame from a chill. 
 
 "Many lands, many climates," is as true as the old saying,
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 " Many men, many minds," so of necessity the answers to 
 this question must be as varied as the aspects from which 
 the subject is viewed, and I think some of them possess 
 sufficient interest to warrant investigation. 
 
 First we may take the astronomical point of view, and 
 I like the impression of powder and pigtails and snuffboxes 
 derived from this pompously-worded quotation from an 
 eighteenth-century writer : 1 " Spring in cosmography 
 denotes one of the seasons of the year commencing in the 
 northern parts of the world on the day the sun enters the 
 first degree of Aries, about the tenth day of March, and 
 ending when it leaves Gemini. More strictly, when the sun's 
 meridian altitude from the zenith, being on the increase, 
 is at a medium between the greatest and least." Which 
 holds back Spring until the Snowdrops have departed, 
 and the equinox gives us March, in its most violently 
 leonine mood. To go much further back, we learn from 
 Hesiod's Works and Days, which dates from an age 
 but little later than Homer's poems, that the Greeks 
 reckoned the commencement of Spring by the evening 
 rising of Arcturus, sixty days after the winter solstice. 
 Happy Greeks, with a southern sky to light the fire of 
 scarlet Anemones on the hillsides and announce the lesser 
 Eleusinia ! It was once my good fortune to spend early 
 March in Athens, and enjoy the feast of the Greek Anemone 
 (A. hortensis, var. graeca), the most glorious of all scarlet 
 flowers. I often long to do so again, but next 
 time I hope some epidemic may have destroyed the 
 goats of the district, that all the buds may escape 
 
 1 Encyc. Brit. 1796. 
 2
 
 When does Spring Commence ? 
 
 their hungry mouths, and not only those growing among 
 thorny plants. 
 
 Here is another view from Pliny's Natural History* 
 as translated by Philemon Holland : " To proceed, then, 
 the Spring openeth the sea for sailors ; in the beginning 
 whereof the west winds mitigate the winter weather, at 
 what time as the Sun is in the twenty-fifth degree of 
 Aquarius, and that is the sixth day before the Ides of 
 February." 
 
 Meteorologists give us a more exact and practical con- 
 ception in dating the beginning of Spring when the 
 average daily temperature reaches 48 F. 
 
 This of course varies with the latitude, and works out 
 like this for Europe : 
 
 March i. Bordeaux, Barcelona, Marseilles, Genoa. 
 
 15. Brest, Turin, Venice. 
 
 April i. S.W. Ireland, Land's End, Paris. 
 
 ,, 15. N.W. Ireland, London, Brussels. 
 
 May i. Edinburgh, Moscow, N. Alps. 
 
 15. N. Scotland, St. Petersburg. 
 
 June i. N.W. Norway. 
 
 15. S. Iceland. 
 
 July 1-15. N. Cape. 
 
 It is, however, from the gardener's point of view we 
 must regard the question, and the wise one will follow 
 Bacon, and be content with nothing less than ver perpetuum 
 in his garden. Reference to the celebrated Essay shows 
 that Bacon was satisfied with mere evergreens for the 
 greater part of winter, and he writes : " For December 
 
 1 Plin. i, II, Cap. xlvii, C. p. 23. 
 
 3
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 and January and the latter part of November, you must 
 take such things as are green all winter ; holly, ivy, bays, 
 Juniper, cypress trees, yew, pine-apple trees, fir trees, 
 rosemary, lavender ; periwinkle, the white, the purple, and 
 the blue ; germander, flags, orange leaves, lemon trees, 
 and myrtles, if they be stoved; and sweet marjoram 
 warm set." So that, so long as a plant bore green leaves, 
 even though they were fully developed and no fresh growth 
 was being produced by it, it was all he demanded to keep 
 his perpetual Spring alive ; but in these later times, when 
 so much more of the world has been rummaged and 
 ransacked to provide treasures for our gardens, it must be 
 a very poor one that, except during times of severe frost 
 or deep snow, cannot show some plants if not actually in 
 flower yet in active growth. Surely this starting into 
 growth is the true Spring in plant life, whether it be an 
 awakening due to the melting of a covering of snow 
 as with the high alpines, or the commencement of the 
 rains in the African veldt ; and so long as we can see some 
 plant in the garden starting off vigorously for its annual 
 round of existence, so long in that spot is Spring with us. 
 It is interesting to note how differently certain plants 
 behave when removed from their native surroundings. 
 Some will quickly become acclimatised, and accommodate 
 themselves to the new conditions ; others seem to get 
 confused, and attempt to flower at most unseemly times. 
 This is especially noticeable with certain recently collected 
 Alpine plants, and Soldanellas, Gentians, and certain Pri- 
 mulas such as P. pedemontana, P. minima, and P. Auricula, 
 which are accustomed to form their flower buds or crowns 
 4
 
 When does Spring Commence ? 
 
 in the early autumn and then to go to rest until the 
 Spring under a covering of snow. These evidently miss 
 Jack Frost's annual visit to their bedsides, to tuck them up 
 with his icy fingers, and to bid them good-night till the 
 sunshine of next May shall pull off their snow duvets 
 layer by layer. A November frost may close their eyes 
 for a few days, and then a sou'wester in December with 
 its warm rain will trick them into the belief that winter is 
 over, and they lose their heads actually as well as 
 figuratively, for the poor little blooms they produce all in 
 a hurry are mere caricatures, and generally fall a prey to 
 a roving slug. 
 
 On the other hand, I find that most species of Dian- 
 thus, Ranunculus, Anemone and Leontopodium from the 
 same localities are never deceived into making a too early 
 start. I think all New Zealand plants accept our seasons 
 within a twelvemonth of their arrival, and alter their flower- 
 ing time to suit them, but certain Cape and S. American 
 plants never swerve from the traditions of their race ; thus 
 Oxalis lobata from Chili, and the S.African O.purpurata, better 
 known as Bowiei, will not learn to start into growth before 
 autumn, although O. vespcrtilionis from Mexico, O. brasiliensis 
 and O. floribunda from Brazil come up smilingly in early 
 Spring. I suspect the reason is that plants which have in 
 nature a season of rest imposed by drought or heat, of 
 which Amaryllis Belladonna and certain autumn flowering 
 Croci are good examples, have become thoroughly adapted 
 to rushing into flower and growth with the advent of 
 autumn rains. At the same time there is a kind of freewill, 
 an individuality that leads plants of one genus in a similar 
 
 5
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 environment to take opposite lines of action, as may be 
 seen in two of our wild Scillas, S. verna and S. autumnah's, 
 which are so plentiful on some of the sea cliffs but have 
 totally different seasons of growth and flowering. 
 
 I feel I have now freed my conscience from any need 
 to adhere to the almanac for the limitation of Spring, the 
 plants themselves having taken a like licence, but as in 
 the case of house-hunting with no obligation of being 
 within reach of some special town, and the world to 
 choose from, the difficulty of choice is enormously 
 increased, so if we allow that any freshly-started flower 
 brings its own Spring with it, as fire to frying-pan or 
 Charybdis to Scylla so stands the fresh basis of choice to 
 the old. 
 
 I have a strong conviction that the first real breath 
 of Spring that I inhale in the garden comes from Iris 
 unguicularis. I always look for, and generally find a bud 
 or two in the last week of September, or in later 
 seasons in mid-October, usually before Crocus longiflorus 
 is fully open. The scent of those two flowers is remark- 
 ably alike. When we were children one of our favourite 
 games was a trial of nose-power : one of us was blind- 
 folded and the others submitted samples of leaves and 
 flowers to be smelt and recognised. In those days we had 
 neither this Iris nor Crocus to play with, but I feel sure 
 the two would have proved indistinguishable. We then 
 relied mostly on the similarity of the odours of an untimely 
 shed cucumber, begged from the peppery but kindly old 
 gardener, and young growths of Philadelphus crushed and 
 matured to the acme of redolence by confinement in a 
 
 6
 
 When does Spring Commence ? 
 
 chubby hot hand ; or a well-sucked Gooseberry skin and a 
 spray of Shepherd's Purse or Arabis. 
 
 Many people admit that the sense of smell brings 
 things more vividly to the memory than that of sight. I 
 know that it is so with me, and a whiff of Ins unguicularis 
 or Crocus longiflorus, though several other Crocuses are 
 almost equally endowed (C. laevigatus and vitellinus among 
 the autumnal species and C. Imperati in early Spring cer- 
 tainly are), recalls a feeling of Spring in autumn far more 
 vividly than the sight of the flowers of a Snowdrop such 
 as Galanthus Olgae, which is in bloom at the same time. 
 We greatly want a chart of scents with descriptive names 
 for the distinct groups, and when it comes I should like to 
 patent the name of " Pure Spring " for the odour of these 
 flowers. It is fuller than the scent of Primroses, with 
 a promise of honey in it strong enough to wake any bee, 
 yet you feel it is not such brown-heather honey as Alyssum 
 maritimum and Buddkia globosa advertise, for there is a 
 correcting sharpness in it, like that of lemon with the 
 sugar of a Shrove Tuesday pancake, and such as we find 
 in the scent of Cylisus racemosus and stronger still in 
 Narcissus Tazetta. 
 
 Again, in the soft lilac colouring and crystalline texture 
 and frail substance of their blooms these two Irids are 
 markedly springlike. Except in orchids from seasonless 
 glasshouses and Iris Kaempferi, summer and autumn 
 flowers, so far as I can remember, lack the crystalline 
 texture of Spring flowers such as Daffodils, Hyacinths, 
 Crocuses, and all early Irises. 
 
 Begonias have it, but I do not like their fat, meaty 
 7
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 blossoms and floppy habits, and cannot be bothered with 
 them, however much their petals may sparkle. 
 
 So as this chapter has already wandered too far, like 
 Campanula excisa in the sand-moraine, I shall elect Iris 
 unguicularis as the first flower of Spring, and arrange 
 further chapters more on the flowers themselves than on 
 the dates of their flowering.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 The Garden 
 
 BEFORE touching the flowers I must speak of the garden 
 itself, as its conditions are answerable for many of the 
 limitations that govern the variety and conditions of its 
 occupants. 
 
 The garden, then, is situated in the parish of Enfield 
 in the county of Middlesex, but so near to the Hertford- 
 shire boundary that our postal address is Waltham Cross, 
 Hertfordshire : and I envy but do not share the celebrated 
 rose-growing soil of that district. By comparing a bench- 
 mark in the wall with the Ordnance Survey maps, I learn 
 we are 111.4 f eet above the sea-level. Helleborus niger 
 tells me that this is not a sufficient altitude for its comfort, 
 and I must provide it with shade, and moisture beyond 
 that of the atmosphere, if I wish it to " grow for me," as 
 Irish gardeners say so pleasantly. I like the personal 
 reciprocal touch in these words. How different a vision 
 of mutual understanding they conjure up from that mild 
 reproach and suggestion of wilful suicide conveyed in the 
 other Hibernian garden phrase, " It died on me," which 
 so neatly lays the blame on the plant. 
 
 The nearest milestone tells me it is but ten miles from 
 London, and smutty evergreens, blackened tree trunks, 
 and grimy fingers continually corroborate that milestone, 
 
 9
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 in spite of the richness of our avian fauna and well-wooded, 
 countrified surroundings. Fortunately, being due north 
 of London, we do not get so many second-hand London 
 fogs as our nearness suggests. South winds rarely follow 
 a period of fog, nor do fogs often last for several days in 
 London, until their own weight spreads them out as far as 
 this place, so we do not get the genuine article so badly or 
 so often as do Kew and Acton and other places on the 
 south side of London. 
 
 I cannot believe there is a drier garden to be found 
 in England. It is on the edge of that district which I 
 think is classed with Yarmouth as having the lowest rain- 
 fall of Great Britain, and lies in a centre seldom visited by 
 heavy thunderstorms ; the higher ground running from 
 Enfield to Potter's Bar and Hatfield, and the Lea Valley 
 on our other side, seem to lure away our rain-clouds. 
 Storms often divide within sight of khaki-coloured lawns 
 and flagging flowers to flood the railway lines at Ponder's 
 End and Waltham, and do equally damp and doughty deeds 
 for St. Albans, leaving us as dry as ever, an insulting sort 
 of wind perhaps blowing down a barrowful of dead Lime 
 leaves on to the lawn even in mid-July. This alone seems 
 sufficient to make the garden as designed by nature fit 
 only for xerophytic plants from desert and steppe and 
 soilless cliff, or even the Moon itself when a collector gets 
 as far. But the wonder is that anything else besides 
 Opuntias, Sedums, and Houseleeks can exist through a 
 summer, for the soil is in league with the climate. In the 
 greater part of the garden, digging below the surface 
 brings one face to face with gravel, splendidly healthy 
 10
 
 The Garden 
 
 drainage to build one's house upon of course, and when it 
 is a good red binding sample, a positive luxury for garden 
 paths. There the advantages end, however, for although 
 we have made plenty of paths, gravelled them unstintingly, 
 and got out a good deal of the material from the garden 
 itself, there still remain untold supplies below, and much 
 of it so coarse and unprofitable that getting it out entails 
 carting it away and finding some pond or hollow that 
 needs filling to justify the labour. This coarse gravel 
 discouraged all my childish schemes for digging ponds, 
 gold mines, and that passage to the Antipodes that generally 
 has to be tried during some flowerless month in the 
 children's gardens. Perhaps it turned my mind off from 
 all thoughts of engineering and drove it to the surface and 
 the tilling thereof. As in our deepest excavations in all the 
 upper part of the garden, we have never yet got through 
 this vein of coarse gravel, perhaps I may be forgiven for a 
 belief that our gravel runs right through the centre of the 
 earth to our antipode whatever it is ; I don't know, but I 
 hope it is New Zealand, because then perhaps the water that 
 soaks away so quickly here may be interesting hot geysers 
 at the other side and my nourishing manurings conveyed 
 to the roots of antipodean Cabbage Palms and Ratas. 
 
 The greatest evil of a gravel subsoil is its unsuitability 
 for deep roots. Trees will not enter it, but they turn 
 their main roots out over its surface, and so go a-hunting 
 into all the newly dug and enriched beds. 
 
 Old trees are precious possessions in gardens, and 
 must be respected, but I do feel cross with them when I 
 find an underground bird's nest of strong, fibrous roots 
 II
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 in a vacant spot in a newly-arranged border kept empty 
 for a month or so for some choice plant. I have very 
 seldom come across a gardener who does not complain of 
 his soil or climate, or both, and there are but few so 
 happily placed that his complaints would be easily detected 
 as absurd and groundless, for there can always be too 
 much lime for some Rhododendrons or too little for an 
 exacting Clematis or two. Yet in grumbling at my 
 gardening conditions I do not feel a parallel case to the 
 lunatic who, in spite of believing himself in heaven, was 
 never happy, and told an inquirer it was because he had 
 a second-hand halo that did not fit and his harp was out 
 of tune, and I turn and rend any who base their claims 
 for pity and indulgence for starved plants on the possession 
 of a sandy soil, for well do I know the way trees make 
 long tap roots and find moisture deep down in most 
 varieties of sand, in which, besides showing an honest re- 
 spect for the nutriment allotted to surface rooters, these 
 tap rooters anchor themselves so pleasantly and save much 
 labour and worry of staking. But here young Conifers 
 and hobbledehoy Eucalypts are sources of anxiety and 
 often of farewell lamentation at every equinox. So on 
 most days in the year I would barter my smooth, firm 
 paths for a good deep sand, with its storage of moisture 
 deep down. 
 
 Of water there seems to be plenty, for the New River runs 
 right through the very centre of the garden ; but though it 
 may carry many millions of gallons through it, clever 
 Sir Hugh Myddleton made its clay banks so strong that 
 even after 300 years they let no water soak away, and I 
 12
 
 The Garden 
 
 smile quietly when people say, " Of course your Irises do 
 so well all along by the river, as they get moisture from 
 it," for I know those beds under the old Yews are about 
 the driest in Europe. The water is there in the river bed, 
 but as a gardener once said to me, " Yes, sir, there's 
 plenty of water but it's very low down." I often think of 
 his plaint when I too have been dragging it up in fat, 
 lumpy water-cans, and wish I had standpipes and hose 
 and sprinklers and the many luxuries of people lucky 
 enough to have water high up, on the top of their own 
 hill, like good old Tom Smith's ideal nursery at Newry, or 
 in the water-tower of the neighbouring town. I must 
 enumerate my difficulties, or my readers will not appre- 
 ciate the skill and energy necessary here to grow the 
 things they have to tear up as weeds in their own gardens, 
 and one of my troubles is the well-known hardness of 
 New River water. Derived mainly from chalk wells, it is 
 so hard that one feels it would be scarcely a miracle to 
 walk on it, and when the well nearest to us is in full work 
 there is a distinct bluish-green colour in the river, rather 
 attractive to look at, but as I have found by experience, 
 rendering it an absolute poison for certain calcifuge plants. 
 A liberal dose of New River water given in a spirit of 
 kindness to a collection of dwarf Rhododendrons during 
 a time of drought killed all but one in about a fortnight. 
 The survivor is with me still, being evidently a lime lover, 
 a hybrid of R. hirsutum. 
 
 With these limitations to the possibilities of watering 
 and manuring I dread a spell of drought, and always 
 prefer that a garden visitor coming for the first time 
 13
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 should do so before the middle of June. A wise old 
 farmer once said to me, in speaking of the new Parlia- 
 mentary candidate, " Why, he promises 'em anything, a 
 shower of rain every night and a shower of manure on 
 Sundays." I have ever since felt that the fulfilment of 
 those promises is what my garden and I need, from June 
 to October anyway. 
 
 As gardens go, I suppose this must be called an old 
 one, for as far as I can make out it seems to be about 
 400 years since a certain row of Yews were planted. 
 They are in a crescent-shaped line, and the course of the 
 river follows the same bend. Those who are knowledg- 
 able about the rate of growth of Yews in a hungry soil 
 declare them to be older than the river. So it seems 
 probable that their owner in 1609, to save his trees, 
 insisted on this otherwise meaningless bend in the river. 
 It was not until another century had passed that my 
 Huguenot ancestors bought the property and settled down 
 here, and I was always told that two quaint old Flemish 
 figures in carved stone were in the garden when they 
 bought it. Huguenots ought to have left a heritage of 
 Mulberry and Catalpa. The old Mulberry tree was 
 blown down before my day, but the remains of a Catalpa, 
 starved and driven to a horizontal line of growth by a fine 
 old Beech, may be of their planting, for certainly no one 
 with a grain of gardening sense would have placed it so near 
 even a half-grown Beech. It is so fascinating to hunt up 
 evidence in the trees themselves of otherwise unrecorded 
 work of one's forbears that I am sorely tempted to linger 
 among these vegetable documents, but will try to confine
 
 The Garden 
 
 myself to those that are necessary to explain the present 
 condition of the ground. 
 
 The most evident signs of gardening date from the 
 earliest years of the nineteenth century, when the place 
 belonged to my great-grandmother, the last of the 
 Garnaults, for on her marriage in 1799 the pleasant old 
 French name was changed for the unromantic-sounding 
 patronymic which I think must be the longest mono- 
 syllable in the English language, and unless carefully spelt 
 as well as pronounced in shops and stores suffers strange 
 vagaries in form, some of them exceedingly unpleasing to 
 the polite eye. This Ann Garnault has left her mark on 
 the garden by planting a deciduous Cypress (Taxodium 
 distichum}, which, in spite of a subsequent draining of the 
 pond by which it was planted, has grown into a really 
 fine tree. 
 
 In one favourable season it matured a few cones, but 
 the catkins seldom get a fair chance of full development. 
 They are formed in the autumn, and remain green when 
 the foliage turns to that deep red so characteristic of this 
 tree the red of a fox's coat, or of Devon cattle. They 
 remain on the tree after the falling of the leaves has covered 
 the beds with an apparent mulch of cocoanut fibre, but 
 severe winters bring many of them down, and even the 
 few tassels of male catkins left generally fail to effect 
 perfect fertilisation of the queer little solitary female 
 blossoms for lack of dry sunny days with mild breezes 
 in early Spring. The good example of Great-grand- 
 mother Ann has been followed by the two succeeding 
 generations, but the younger Cypresses are of course 
 15
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 far behind the big tree. After his wife's death my great- 
 grandfather pulled down the old red-brick gabled house 
 and built the present one of the then fashionable yellow 
 brick brought from as far away as Suffolk, wherefore it 
 has been my constant aim to smother it in creepers of 
 all kinds. Some contemporary water-colours of the old 
 house show a hearty middle-aged Larch on what was 
 then the bowling-green, but before I can remember it 
 had lost its formal rectangular shape and become an 
 ordinary lawn, bounded by various paths. The Larch 
 still stands, and is a venerable specimen, but has only 
 been able to grow on its northern side, having always 
 been crowded on the south by other trees. Plantations 
 of Scots Pines shown in these drawings as saplings are 
 now replaced by either fine old trees, or some dead and 
 dying trunks rather puzzling to deal with, and spaces 
 from which others have gone. For the period of active 
 planting must have been followed by one of passive 
 inattention, taken advantage of by certain Horse Chestnuts 
 and Sycamores to place their greedy, grabbing offspring 
 out in the world. How these robbers grow ! They 
 throw a light on the Psalmist's phrase of lurking in 
 thievish corners : unobserved they get a foothold and 
 turn their corner into a den for receiving stolen goods, 
 and then up they go, and their betters are choked and 
 starved by these arboreal garotters. I can scarcely 
 believe, when looking at the garden, that I have one by 
 one displaced such a forest of these coarse, garden un- 
 desirables. It has been a very gradual process, spread 
 over twenty years, for I only garden in my father's 
 16
 
 Iris bucharica : one of the best of the early flowering species
 
 The Garden 
 
 garden, and I hope something of filial piety, as well as 
 the realisation of the impossibility of having one's own 
 way under such circumstances, has led me in the path 
 of gentle and gradual elimination of these devouring 
 hordes, which from other views are of course trees, and 
 therefore not to be lightly felled. 
 
 One of the last of the Horse Chestnuts dropped several 
 stout limbs on a row of garden seats last summer, and pro- 
 vided a powerful argument for the removal of the trunk 
 that shed them. So from the garden proper they have 
 gone to the timber yard, and as firelogs serve to warm my 
 bones instead of offending my eye. To anyone who may 
 follow my example I offer this hint : be quite sure the 
 wood is well dried before sawing it up for bringing into 
 the house ; otherwise the scent of sour sap will be as 
 offensive to the nose as the misplaced tree was to the 
 eye. To sum up the present conditions of the garden ; 
 climate, soil, and trees contrive to make it the driest and 
 hungriest in Great Britain, and therefore arises the line of 
 gardening I have been driven into. It is perhaps better 
 described as collecting plants and endeavouring to keep 
 them alive, than as gardening for beautiful effects or the 
 production of prize-winning blossoms. Many find the 
 garden too museumy to please them. I plead guilty to 
 the charge, knowing there is more of the botanist and 
 lover of species and natural forms and varieties in me 
 than there is of the florist or fine cultivator. In fact 
 I gladly give a home to the class of plant the writers in 
 early numbers of the Botanical Magazine and Botanical 
 Register faintly praise as being suitable for the gardens 
 17 B
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 of the curious. It gives me more pleasure to have got 
 together the three distinct forms grey-leaved, golden, 
 and major of Sedunt spathulatum, and to make them 
 share a flat-topped rock with at least six other species 
 of Sedum, than to have the same space monopolised 
 by Sedunt pilosum, new, rare, and lovely though it be. 
 
 Again, Euphorbias are plentiful here, but Zinnias, 
 Clarkias, and bedding Begonias find no welcome, and 
 Gaillardias, Cactus Dahlias, and such plants are few. After 
 such a confession will you care to wander round my 
 garden with me? Will you have enough patience to 
 let me talk of the differences between the blue Wood 
 Anemones of Norway and those of Southern Ireland 
 or Western England and Wales? It is only fair to 
 state that colour scheming is impossible in the circum- 
 stances, and though I have enjoyed having eight fingers 
 and two thumbs in several iridescent pies for other 
 folks' gardens (and some of them have proved " pretty 
 eating," as is said in Ireland and seems to fit the 
 metaphor), except for one effort in grouping coloured 
 foliage with suitable flowers of which I am rather proud, 
 most of my effects, blends, and contrasts have been 
 the result of accident, or rather the placing and grouping 
 of plants in surroundings I hoped would be suitable for 
 their health rather than their appearance. 
 
 I fear I am a little impatient of the school of garden- 
 ing that encourages the selection of plants merely as 
 artistic furniture, chosen for colour only, like ribbons 
 or embroidery silks. I feel sorry for plants that are 
 obliged to make a struggle for life in uncongenial situa- 
 18
 
 The Garden 
 
 tions because their owner wishes all things of those shades 
 of pink, blue, or orange to fit in next to the grey or 
 crimson planting, and I long to shift the unhappy Lilium 
 pardalinum away from its sun- loving Alstroemeria part- 
 ners and plant it across the path among the shade-loving 
 Phloxes. The distribution of plants in this garden has 
 been governed chiefly by a sort of extra sense that seems 
 to be developed by many enthusiastic gardeners, a sym- 
 pathetic understanding derived from a new plant's appear- 
 ance only when the power is perfected ; but in others, 
 less qualified as clairvoyants, a knowledge of its native 
 country will often suggest its future neighbours. 
 
 One of the finest collections of trees and shrubs to 
 be found in any private garden in England is arranged 
 by grouping them according to their native continents 
 or the larger countries, such as China. But that garden 
 is so well favoured in situation and climate that almost 
 any plant will grow in almost any part of it. Without 
 such a strict geographical system, however, one finds that 
 certain portions of the garden get allotted to N. American, 
 Mediterranean, and other plants with marked preferences 
 for sun or shade. But the sense I mean is an inexplic- 
 able knowledge and feeling, a sort of wireless message 
 from the plant to the invisible antennae of the gardener. 
 Such an one sits down to unpack a box of novelties 
 and can divide them out Trilliums to the left-hand basket 
 for the cool border, Viola bosniaca to the right for the 
 sand-moraine, with Wahlenbergia gracilis and Leucocrinum 
 montanum for companions. 
 
 So here my sixth gardening sense, as in the last 
 19
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 instance, does not shrink from associating eastern Euro- 
 pean plants with New Zealanders and Californians, and 
 it is rather the physical geography of the borders than 
 the native countries of their occupants that has settled 
 the question of position. 
 
 It would be more pleasant to be able to refer to a 
 border as China or South Africa instead of such names 
 as position or quality of soil suggest. Here, for instance, 
 we have the Damp Bed, but I must warn all who read 
 that it is but a courtesy title, due to the fact that it is 
 not quite so dry as other beds because it lies on the 
 north side of some tall trees, and when last we turned 
 it out during autumn manoeuvres, we put a good layer 
 of peat moss two feet underground. 
 
 20
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 Early Irises 
 
 SUPPOSE a wicked uncle who wished to check your gar- 
 dening zeal left you pots of money on condition you grew 
 only one species of plants : what would you choose ? I 
 should settle on Iris ungm'cularis, as in summer one could 
 get whiffs of other folks' roses and lilies and all the dull 
 season enjoy the flowers of this beautiful Iris. It was some 
 twenty-four years ago I first saw it in the gardens at La 
 Mortola. Sir Thomas H anbury parted its forelock of long 
 leaves and displayed a mass of lilac blossoms, and then 
 and there I vowed I must grow it, and grow it well too. 
 
 I had some difficulty in finding out where to get it, 
 and I suppose it was not so well known then as now, as I 
 could hear of no one among my gardening neighbours 
 who could flower it. I was fortunate in getting hold of 
 a good variety for my first plant, and in trying to imitate 
 its warm home at La Mortola, I planted it against the 
 front wall of a peach-house, where a southern exposure and 
 warmth from the water-pipes brought it into flower within 
 a year of planting, and set me to work to get other forms 
 and find further suitable sites for them. So many people 
 complain of its shyness of flowering that I feel bound to 
 give my experiences of it rather fully, hoping to help 
 others thereby. I soon found that the varietal forms in 
 21
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 commerce had very well-marked idiosyncrasies, not only 
 as to outward appearance but in period and freedom of 
 flowering. The paler flowered forms are those that flower 
 earliest and most surely in autumn. That known as 
 ntarginata is generally the first, and the white one and the 
 variety liladna often come in a dead heat for second place. 
 Pale colouring is correlated with early flowering, it seems, 
 and the varietal name liladna is fully justified, both it and 
 marginata bearing flowers of a softer and bluer shade than 
 any others ; marginata has a narrow but regular white 
 edge to the falls, not wide or distinct enough to add to the 
 beauty of the blossom, but sufficient to warrant the use of 
 the name, and both forms have wider leaves than the type, 
 and, what is better, larger flowers. I strongly advise any- 
 one wishing for autumn and early winter flowers to plant 
 these two forms along with the white one. Half a dozen 
 good plants of each ought to provide buds for picking in 
 constant succession through November, December, and 
 in open weather in January. It is curious that the white 
 form should flower with the pale lilac ones, as in appear- 
 ance it is evidently an albino of the type, having leaves of 
 medium width and flowers rather diminished in size, as is 
 so often the case with an albino form. 
 
 I once heard of a larger, white form, but diligent 
 inquiry and an ever-open eye have failed to discover it. 
 I believe all the white flowered plants in cultivation in 
 Britain are divisions from a single plant found about 
 thirty-five years ago by Mr. Edwyn Arkwright when 
 riding through the then wild scrub on the hillside near 
 Algiers, but seedlings raised from it ought to show variation, 
 22
 
 Early Irises 
 
 and careful selection should give us larger forms. I am 
 watching a family of yearling babes, and hoping the leaves 
 are increasing in width sufficiently to promise good results. 
 
 What I imagine must be the type form, because it is 
 the commonest in cultivation, has medium-sized flowers 
 of a distinctly warm lilac : perhaps it is not going too far 
 to say they are flushed with rose, after the manner of the 
 compilers of catalogues. I never expect them to flower 
 until New Year's Day has come and gone, so in making a 
 planting for picking purposes it will save time and trouble 
 by keeping the early flowering sorts together, for except 
 during spells of settled mild weather, which Heaven knows 
 are as rare as spare moments, it is best to pick the buds a 
 day before they open, and at that time they are not very 
 conspicuous, as the under sides of the falls are then of a 
 pale, dingy buff shade, slightly tinged with greyish lilac at 
 their edges, and are very hard to distinguish from browned 
 tips of old leaves. In consequence of this it is often 
 necessary, not only to examine the clumps at close 
 quarters, but to lift the longer leaves with one's hand, and 
 all that means stooping, and a gardener's back never 
 requires more of that sort of physical drill than is 
 absolutely necessary, neither is it good for his temper to 
 hunt over clumps of late flowering forms before the reward 
 for so doing is due. 
 
 This plan of inconspicuous colouring for unexpanded 
 buds and closed flowers has been adopted by many winter- 
 flowering plants. It would seem they are cryptically 
 coloured for the purpose of avoiding observation and 
 consequent destruction by enemies. Thus many of the 
 23
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 early lilac Crocuses have the outer surface of the exterior 
 segments coloured buff, as in Crocus Imperati and C. etruscus, 
 or of a neutral grey shade, as in C. Tomasinianus, while 
 others are striped or freckled with browns and purples in 
 a manner that renders them very hard to see among 
 their own leaves or grass in the case of stripes, or against 
 bare ground on a dull day or when closed for the night 
 if suffused externally. A spell of sunshine changes this 
 in a few minutes, and the glowing interior of the flower 
 shows up from afar, and is ready for fertilisation by any 
 insect visitor which may be rendered active and hungry 
 by the same bright spell. I have been unable to discover 
 what are the enemies of such flowers in their own homes, 
 but judging from the evil habits of that vulgar little pest 
 the sparrow, one is inclined to fancy they may be birds 
 of sorts. But for the sake of those to whose charitable 
 sentimentality all members of the avian fauna are the " dear 
 little birds," repaying winter doles of crumbs with spring 
 carols, I will offer a scapegoat in the form of some 
 beetle of the family of Cantharidae such as our British 
 Oil Beetle, Meloe Proscarabaeus, to which a fresh young 
 flower is a toothsome breakfast, for I notice that those 
 who can overlook anything in a bird " a dear little bird" 
 of course, ostriches and eagles being outside their 
 spheres of experience are ever ready to denounce or 
 bring about the destruction of nasty creeping things." 
 For myself, I am too light a sleeper to appreciate the 
 cheeping of newly-awakened sparrows in the Wistaria 
 round my window, and too fond of its flowers to forgive 
 their chewing the swelling bloombuds. 
 24
 
 Primula longiflora. (Seep 138.)
 
 Early Irises 
 
 I think the longest word in the Greek Lexicon was 
 invented for use in a maledictory imprecation against 
 sparrows. One feels that to pronounce it rapidly, or to 
 write it clearly on lintel and sidepost, ought to kill them 
 off in flocks. Try it ; it is quite simple, only this : opOpotyoi 
 ToirvKocpavToSiKOTaXaiTrwpo?, which being translated is 
 " early -prowling base -informing sad-litigious plaguey 
 ways," almost as beautiful in its hyphened English as in 
 the original Greek. 
 
 The success of 7. unguicularis as a cut flower depends 
 so much on careful picking, and experience has taught me 
 how to grapple with so many sources of difficulty and 
 injury, that details are perhaps worth recording. The 
 first thing to note is that this Iris, after the fashion of the 
 Crocus and Colchicum, produces no flower stem above- 
 ground at flowering time, a long perianth tube doing duty 
 for it until the seedpod is raised up on the true stem just 
 before the seeds are ripe. A careful examination will 
 show that this Iris has a short scape among the bases of 
 the leaves, and that in healthy specimens it is about half 
 an inch in length and bears three buds at its apex. 
 Scape and buds are wrapped by one or two tough green 
 spathes, and each separate bud has two more spathes of 
 its own, of thinner texture and closely wrapped round the 
 fragile perianth tube. The central bud of these three is 
 always first to lengthen and flower, and generally is ready 
 for picking before the other two show above the tough 
 outer spathes. Therefore to avoid picking all three buds 
 at once, and so wasting the two undeveloped ones, it is 
 necessary to pull away the two outermost tough spathes 
 25
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 a little, until you are sure you are holding only the two 
 belonging to the bud ready to be gathered. Then a 
 sharp pull will generally bring it away, leaving the other 
 two buds to push up a week or ten days later. They 
 sometimes do this simultaneously, and as it is not difficult 
 to see whether the central bloom has been already 
 gathered, one can then allow oneself the luxury of picking 
 the whole stiff bunch of spathes and buds. 
 
 If the nights are mild it is as well to leave the buds 
 on the plant until the perianth tube has lengthened 
 sufficiently to stand above the surrounding spathes. But 
 although the perianth segments when exposed just above 
 the spathes will safely stand several degrees of frost, I 
 find once the perianth tube is out in the world and un- 
 protected, a few degrees of frost will render it transparent 
 and limp, burst its cell walls in fact, and ruin that 
 blossom's future. 
 
 So in doubtful weather I prefer to pull the buds when 
 the coloured parts of the flower appear just above the 
 spathes. I find it best to place them at once in water 
 and to immerse them up to their necks. Then they 
 lengthen rapidly, and one by one burst open and are 
 ready to transfer to the flower vases. If placed directly 
 after picking in water that only reaches an inch or so up 
 their length, they are rather inclined to flag and fall over, 
 and even to get too much exhausted of sap to open 
 properly. Their own foliage is rather too coarse to 
 arrange with them, so I often use the leaves of young 
 plants of Libertia formosa, which are of the same shade of 
 green but neater than the Iris leaves. They look best 
 26
 
 Early Irises 
 
 arranged in the old-fashioned tall champagne glasses with 
 Libertia leaves, but when they are plentiful I like to fill a 
 bowl with some short sprigs of Cypress greenery and 
 spear the Irises into it. 
 
 The deepest coloured variety is known as speciosa, and 
 has narrow leaves and throws its blossoms up well above 
 them, and so is much more showy in the garden than the 
 paler forms, whose broad, arching leaves often hide the 
 flowers a good deal. Also it seldom flowers before 
 February, so that the blossoms can generally open and 
 escape injury better than those of the earlier forms. 
 Later still comes the variety now known as angustifolia, 
 which has also masqueraded under the names of Eliza- 
 bethae, cretensis, and latterly agrostifolia. This last would 
 be a good name for it, as its leaves are very narrow and 
 grassy, but it is possibly a result of copying angustifolia 
 from some indistinct handwriting or worn-out label, as it 
 has no authority that I know of beyond a catalogue or 
 two and labels at shows. Anyway, this narrow-leaved 
 form is a good thing, and when established it flowers very 
 freely, and is a suitable subject for a warm nook in the 
 rock garden or at the foot of a pedestal or stone in a 
 southern exposure. I grow it in both such situations, and 
 during March and April the clumps frequently open halt 
 a dozen or so of their showy flowers at one time. They 
 stand up well among the leaves, and have a dainty, 
 butterfly expression about them as the standards arch 
 outward at a pleasant angle. They vary somewhat in 
 the amount of white markings on the fall, but all of them 
 have far more white than other forms of Iris unguicularis, 
 27
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 some so much that the falls appear to have a white centre 
 edged with a bluish lilac band. The texture of the 
 flowers is rather firmer and crisper than in the larger 
 varieties, and I find they last quite two or three days 
 longer, either when picked or when left in the open. 
 These endearing qualities make them well worth growing. 
 
 I grow one other form, but I do not care much for 
 it. I got it first from Herr Sprenger of Naples as Iris 
 unguicularis, var. pontica, and lately from Holland as 
 /. lazica. It has wide leaves, which somewhat resemble 
 those of Iris foetidissima, and the flowers are of a rather 
 starry, poor form, and a washy, pinkish lilac, the falls 
 being mottled with a yellow brown much too freely to 
 look clean and fresh. It has some rather interesting 
 botanical characters, such as a trigonous pedicel and 
 markedly keeled spathe, but though I should be sorry to 
 lose the variety I do not want any more plants of it. 
 
 The growth of the pollen tube and its passage down 
 the style must be as remarkable and rapid in these Irises 
 as in any known flower. If you examine the distance it 
 has to go from the stigma down to the ovary and consider 
 the very short duration of the blossom you will readily 
 see what I mean. It is quite worth while dissecting a 
 full-blown blossom and extracting the slender style from 
 out of the perianth tube to get an idea of the delicacy and 
 wonder of its mechanism. As great length of style is such 
 a marked character of this Iris it is a pity that Desfon- 
 taine's name slylosa cannot be maintained for it, but as 
 Poiret's Voyage en Barbarie, in which the first description 
 of it occurs, was published in 1789, his name of unguicularis 
 28
 
 Early Irises 
 
 must stand by the law of priority, for the other was not 
 published until nine years later. 
 
 In most gardens the best position for planting a good 
 row of this useful plant is along the south front of a 
 greenhouse. It frequently happens that there is such 
 a low space of wall quite unutilised where a narrow 
 border can easily be made. I believe in planting them 
 just after their flowering season, that is to say as soon as 
 they can be procured in late April or May ; and I like to 
 jam them up against the foot of the wall, pressing the root- 
 stock right against it, as I believe they will flower much 
 sooner if they cannot spread out on both sides. 
 
 I have seen good results obtained by raising their bed 
 a few inches and placing a shallow board along the front 
 of it to hold up the soil, and I should strongly advise this 
 plan in moist or heavy soils. If there are hot-water 
 pipes on the other side of the wall against which they are 
 planted so much the better, you will be all the more sure 
 to get flowers in the winter months. But look carefully 
 to the guttering that almost always forms a roof over 
 their heads in such positions, as a leak into the heart of 
 a clump will soon destroy it. Another trouble may arise 
 from the melting of snow on the glass of a heated house 
 from the warmth within, and the consequent drip and 
 formation of icicles on the young leaves. It is worth 
 while to keep a piece of board to lay over them during 
 such times of trouble. Once planted they need but little 
 care. It is wise to pull away in Spring any of their leaves 
 that have died, to let air and sunlight in to ripen the 
 rootstock. In autumn any dead leaves that have blown 
 29
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 into their hearts are best removed before they rot, and a 
 careful search should be made from time to time for 
 slugs and snails, which are very fond of the tender, juicy 
 buds. By carefully bending the leaves forward from the 
 wall and peering down among the crowns these evil 
 gasteropods may generally be discovered ; but the cater- 
 pillars of the Yellow Underwing and Angleshades Moths 
 are more troublesome to catch. The only successful 
 method is to go out on a mild evening with an acetylene 
 bicycle lamp, which will show up the marauders in their 
 true colours. 
 
 Patience seems to be the only manure these Irises 
 need, poor soil inducing flowering instead of production 
 of leaf, and the older a clump grows the better it flowers, 
 so long as it does not raise itself too much out of the 
 ground to be able to get nourishment ; but I have 
 some old clumps that by pressing their rhizomes against 
 the wall have climbed up it some six or seven inches ; 
 these aspiring individuals flower well, and I respect their 
 ambitious habit so long as the leaves look strong and 
 vigorous and I receive my rent in flowers. 
 
 Last winter we picked about fifty buds a week from 
 the time the frosts had killed off the Asters and outdoor 
 Chrysanthemums until March brought us sufficient 
 Daffodils to keep the dinner-table supplied. As a 
 producer of ver perpetuum during the dullest months of 
 the year I feel sure no outdoor plant can beat Iris 
 unguicularis. 
 
 Next in order as bringers in of Spring among the 
 Irises come the members of that puzzling little group of 
 30
 
 Early Irises 
 
 bulbous-rooted ones known as the reticulata section, from 
 the curiously beautiful coat that covers their corms. This 
 tunic is well worth examining with a good lens. To the 
 naked eye it looks as if composed of parallel strands of 
 a towlike substance, but if pulled away from the corm 
 the strands stretch away from each other, and show 
 lesser strands branching out from them and uniting the 
 stronger ones, so that then it becomes a veritable net- 
 work. So many local forms and varieties exist in this 
 section that their systematic arrangement is not easy, and 
 certain of them get chivied about as varieties of first 
 one species, then of another, according to various 
 authors' views, and this is the case with an old favourite 
 of mine. I used to call it Iris reticulata, var. sophenensis, 
 but Mr. Dykes, in his sumptuous new monograph of the 
 genus, points out that it resembles /. histrioides in its 
 manner of increase, viz. by a host of tiny cormlets 
 surrounding the base of the parent corm, and in its stout 
 leaves and hasty way of bursting into flower soon after 
 the leaves and spathes have pierced through the ground, 
 so as /. histrioides, var. sophenensis, it must now be known. 
 If it flowered at Midsummer we should either fail to 
 notice it or turn up our rose and lily-surfeited noses at 
 its humble charms, but in the darkest days of the year, in 
 old December or young January, it is a joyous sight. 
 Quite unintentionally it found its way into the cold frames 
 sacred to my rarer Crocuses, and at once showed me 
 plainly that it liked the treatment given to its neighbours, 
 by multiplying as rapidly as the rabbits the small girl who 
 was slow at sums envied so much.
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 The small spawnlike corms are but feebly attached to 
 the large central one, and fall off so easily that it is hard 
 to lift the colony intact, and once off they are hard to 
 collect, many of them being about the same size and dingy 
 colour as the pupal cocoons of the common black ant, 
 known as ants' eggs to bird-fanciers and gamekeepers. 
 These soon get dispersed in the dry soil, and apparently 
 every one grows into a fair-sized corm with babes of its 
 own before next lifting-time. In the open border they are 
 rather more delicate, and require a very warm, well- 
 drained corner and frequent lifting. They are worth 
 some trouble, for the sturdy little flowers are prettily 
 shaded with plum-purples and deep blues, and last fresh 
 and fair for several days, but they open so close to the 
 ground that they are not suitable for picking, though a 
 patch of a dozen or so is worth looking at in the rock 
 garden at that flowerless time of year. The typical form 
 of /. histrioides varies a good deal in size and in period of 
 flowering, so that a clump of it, unless formed of off- 
 sets from one form, will send up a flower or two at a 
 time for some weeks. In its best forms it is very lovely, 
 and surprisingly large and blue to be smiling at one from 
 the surface of the cold, wet soil so early in the year. 
 
 The best form I have came from Messrs. Van Tubergen, 
 who seem to have been fortunate in receiving this superior 
 variety from their collector, for they allow it to appear in 
 their list without any additional varietal name, but I have 
 seen it labelled "var. major" when shown by others. 
 
 It is not only larger than the old form, but also earlier 
 and of a better substance, and as 45. will purchase 
 32
 
 Hybrids of Narcissus triandrus
 
 Early Irises 
 
 a dozen, no garden should be without a good clump of it. 
 The variety has never increased with me as lavishly as little 
 sophenensis does, but then I have not tried it in the cold 
 frame which is the main source of my compound interest 
 harvest of the ants' eggs produced by sophenensis. 
 
 I do not believe it would prove so prolific as that 
 generous-minded midget however it were treated, for I 
 sent a few corms of sophenensis to a friend who gardens 
 in Cheshire, and she wrote to tell me that now after three 
 years they have grown to the number of 168. Yet the 
 last time I saw it shown in flower at Vincent Square its 
 proud owner named 35. 6d. as the price of its departure 
 into other hands. 
 
 There are other early Irises, but they are not found 
 here, for I have been obliged to renounce as expensive 
 luxuries needing annual renewal such delights as 7. histrio 
 and 7. Vartanii. They insist on producing long and tender 
 leaves before they flower, and winds and frost soon take 
 the tucker out of them, and, limp and browned, they cannot 
 collect the necessary carbon dioxide to feed the plant, and 
 no fat corm results for next season. Wise old histrioides, 
 to be contented with those stumpy, stiff leaves until 
 warmer days advise their lengthening ! 7. alata ought to, 
 and sometimes does, illuminate this dark spell, but though 
 it lives in sunny rock- nooks here it is only after excep- 
 tionally grilling summers that it plucks up heart to flower 
 outside. It used to do fairly well in the Crocus frame, 
 but has been crowded out for my more beloved children. 
 
 Before the last lag-behind forms of 7. histrioides have 
 faded, I look to some precocious seedling forms of 7. 
 33 C
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 reticulata. These were surprise gifts to me from my 
 garden, spontaneous seedlings, unbirthday presents, as the 
 Red Queen called such pleasant windfalls. I believe their 
 mother was the dwarf, early plum-red form known as 
 Krelagei, which is a great seeder here, but, as so often 
 happens with plants that seed freely, after producing well- 
 filled pods it feels it has done its duty, and is content 
 to die. Except for its precocity in flowering, and its 
 motherliness, 1 do not greatly care for this variety, but 
 as a parent I advise all to grow it until they have a 
 generation of its babes from which to select better forms. 
 Experiments carried out by Mr. Dykes and others 
 show that the purple red colouring of Krelagei appears 
 in self-fertilised seedlings of the deep blue form known 
 in gardens as the typical reticulata. This dark blue is 
 furthermore the rarest colour form in its native home, 
 and here without artificial fertilisation I have never seen it 
 set seed. The red forms, on the contrary, bear pods in 
 most seasons when left to natural causes for pollination. 
 If their seeds only reproduced the squat, liver-coloured 
 charms of their dowdy mother they would not be worth 
 sowing. But among the gifts of the gods that appeared 
 round my dead-and-gone Krelagei's label, then only its 
 tombstone, first came a deep, indigo-blue youngster with 
 only a slight improvement in stature, not a first-class 
 plant, but as early as ever its mother was, then came 
 one of the greatest surprises and joys of this garden, a 
 posthumous son and heir to a once-cherished treasure, 
 /. reticulata, var. cyanea. This variety cyanea is now 
 nothing more than a mysterious memory. Mr. Dykes 
 34
 
 Early Irises 
 
 thinks it may be identical with the form now known as 
 Melusine. Both have " died on me " here, alas : but as I 
 recall them to mind, I would gladly get cyanea again, but 
 do not wish for Melusine. Mr. Dykes in the great 
 monograph, says of it, " In the best examples the colour 
 is an approach to a light Cambridge blue." If my memory 
 is not too much affected by the weakness which makes 
 all long-past summers warm and sunny, all childish 
 haunts vast and magnificent, and in a fuller development 
 turns all passably good-looking grandmothers into noted 
 beauties of their day my cyanea was fit to compare 
 with a turquoise, and taller than all the Melusines I see 
 now. Its clear blue colouring and length of perianth 
 tube have passed into my joy of a seedling, and so far, it 
 has proved of good constitution, and has steadily increased. 
 Please note that I have said " so far," for here I must 
 make a confession. I rather pride myself on being free 
 from superstitions about most things, and have even 
 lectured at local debating societies on the inconsistency of 
 superstitious fears with a Christian belief. But I believe 
 most people, though able to make light of certain super- 
 stitions, and perhaps ready to walk under ladders, or 
 dine comfortably though one of thirteen, yet cannot quite 
 shake off some idea, probably an ingrained result of 
 nursery teaching, that it is just as well to avoid giving 
 and receiving scissors, or cutting one's nails on a Friday. 
 A curious chain of experiences in the former case, and a 
 haunting doggerel rhyme in the latter, make me weak 
 about these. My greatest weakness of all, however, takes 
 the form of an uncomfortable feeling, that the unseen 
 35
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 powers lie in wait with trouble or failure for him who 
 boasts of continued success, just as surely as the clerk of 
 the weather does with a sudden shower, for those who 
 venture afield without mackintosh or umbrella. 
 
 At no time am I more timid of these avenging fates 
 than when openly rejoicing in some garden success, and 
 more especially so in print. So often has dire calamity, 
 sudden death, or uprooting by storm, followed the publi- 
 cation of a photograph and exultant note describing one 
 of my best specimens, not only with Clematis, and 
 Mezereon, and such "here to-day and gone to-morrow" 
 subjects, but with many steady-going old plants, that I feel 
 an uncanny dread creeping over me, that unless I touch 
 wood in some way to disarm the overlooking witch and 
 blind the Evil Eye, I had better not describe my successes. 
 Now, as I do not wish for a blasted heath, or a landscape 
 like that around the chemical works at Stratford, in place 
 of my crowded old garden, and as I always use a stylo- 
 graph pen made of vulcanite, and won't go back to a 
 wooden penholder, my epistolary method of touching 
 wood must consist of an assumed distrust in the future 
 prosperity of my treasures, and so readers will please help 
 me by understanding that the "so fars" and " apparently 
 establisheds " I must sprinkle among my descriptions of 
 flourishing colonies of healthy plants are amulets designed 
 to protect my darlings from the maw of the mollusc and 
 the blasting of the bacillus. 
 
 So far, then, my turquoise treasure which I call 
 Cantab has thriven, and besides two clumps here, I have 
 been able to send it out a little way into the world, J?y 
 36
 
 Early Irises 
 
 sharing its offsets with a few friends whose openly ex- 
 pressed raptures have convinced me it would find a good 
 home and loving care in their gardens. 
 
 I think it is one of the loveliest of Spring flowers, and 
 do not believe it is only that sort of paternal pride vented 
 in one's own seedling, that leads me to believe it is of the 
 colour of a Delphinium Belladonna, and that the bee guide 
 on the fall is just the right shade of apricot-orange to 
 attract any flying insect and please an artistic eye with its 
 colour contrast, producing much the same effect that you 
 get in the deeper colouring of Linaria alpina. 
 
 The same crop of seedlings gave me a tall red-purple 
 form, and yet one more that, so far as I can see, is iden- 
 tical with that sometimes sold as /. reticulata major. 
 These two last flower in the order in which I have 
 placed them, and are both somewhat earlier than the 
 old garden form, which is too well known to need my 
 praise. It is generally recommended that they should be 
 lifted frequently, and just after the leaves have died down, 
 to be stored in dry sand till September. But I found 
 this plan unsatisfactory when I tried it, and prefer to re- 
 plant them just as they are going out of flower. The 
 ground is generally moist enough then to prevent their 
 flagging, and the corms grow larger and stronger for 
 their shift to fresh soil, and also at that time of year 
 one can see just the sort of place and neighbours that 
 will suit them at flowering time better than when the 
 autumn plants are in full swing. If I have missed this 
 golden opportunity I have sometimes lifted them in 
 early August, but have then replanted them within 
 
 37
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 an hour or so. They are among the plants that deterio- 
 rate rapidly when out of the ground, so when buying 
 new ones it is as well to get them as early as possible 
 after the bulb lists appear. Although they bloom with 
 the Daffodils, some of the Juno Irises deserve a place 
 among the early ones. They are queer creatures with 
 folded leaves arranged in two ranks, bulbs that produce 
 long storage roots from their base, which it is very diffi- 
 cult to avoid breaking off in planting, and yet most essen- 
 tial to the plant's well-being that they should remain 
 intact, and again they have standards that refuse to stand, 
 but either hang downwards or sprawl out horizontally. I 
 can think of no better word to express such unstandardly 
 conduct unless I draw upon the forceful legends on con- 
 tinental railway carriage windows, and anglicise them into 
 sporgering and hinauslehning. They appear to me to 
 prefer a stiff bit of soil to root into, but to have their 
 bulbous body in something lighter, and unless I fuss over 
 them they do not grow very vigorously. My favourite is 
 the variety of I. persica whose right name is stenophylla, but 
 which often appears as Heldreichii. The combination of 
 its lavender-blue groundwork with the white and deep ame- 
 thyst purple of the tips of the falls is so lovely, that I have 
 not grudged renewing my little stock when bad seasons 
 have brought it low. /. Sindjarensis is more reliable but not 
 so lovely, but its hybrid Sind-pur Amethyst is a gem quite 
 worth the trouble of constant lifting and rebedding in choice 
 soil, even sand and leaf of the best the garden can produce. 
 The most satisfactory here, and capable of being left 
 alone for several seasons, are the forms of /. orchioides 
 38
 
 Early Irises 
 
 and the closely-allied 7. bucharica. The old yellow form 
 of orchioides is really the best, the white one having a 
 lingering taint of the hue of jealousy too much in evidence, 
 and the so-called coerulea form is a very washy affair and 
 no bluer than a basin of starch, but I rather like sulfurea, 
 its name being justified by its colouring. ' All are suitable 
 for a sunny slope in the rock garden, but if you have 
 room for only one, choose /. bucharica. It is a charming 
 plant with its tier upon tier of paired, gracefully arching 
 leaves, like some design for free-hand drawing, and its 
 creamy-white flowers with bright yellow falls, and in my 
 garden it is the strongest and tallest of the Junos, and 
 I think must rank as the last of the earlies. 
 
 39
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 Snowdrops 
 
 ONE can hardly picture an English garden without the 
 Snowdrop. Yet not only are we forbidden by the com- 
 pilers of lists of British plants to say it is indigenous to 
 our woods, but much has been written to prove it was 
 but little known in our gardens till well into the seven- 
 teenth century. The chief evidence for this view is found 
 in Bacon's omission of the Snowdrop from his list of 
 plants for the early months of the year, and Johnson's 
 remark, when editing his edition of Gerard, published in 
 1633, that "some call them also Snowdrops," as though 
 the plant as well as the name were still not well known. 
 One great writer on such subjects, who so seldom makes 
 a mistake that I feel almost as though I must be dream- 
 ing and ought not to believe my own eyes, has stated 
 that Gerard omitted the Snowdrop in 1597 and Parkinson 
 did so also in the first edition of the Paradisus in 1629, 
 but it appears in both as Leuconium bulbosum praecox minus, 
 and there are figures given in both books. Anyway, 
 whatever the seventeenth century gardens contained, I 
 should be greatly disappointed if this twentieth century 
 one could not show me a Snowdrop at all times from late 
 October until the advent of April brings so many other 
 flowers that one scarcely notices their disappearance. 
 40
 
 Primula pulverulenta, "Mrs. Berkeley." (See p. 147.)
 
 Snowdrops 
 
 This garden is not very well suited to Snowdrops: 
 they do not colonise or settle down and require no further 
 treatment as in cooler soils, but I take so much interest 
 in the various forms and seedling varieties that I have 
 diligently collected all I can get, and labour earnestly 
 to keep them here. Most of them require frequent 
 division and replanting, and I believe in doing this just 
 as they are going out of flower, and if the roots are 
 not broken in lifting but carefully spread out in their 
 new soil, they seem to gather up nourishment for the 
 newly-forming bulb without a check. The bulb of a 
 Snowdrop is well worth examining. If dug up and 
 well washed at flowering time, you will find it consists 
 of first a very thin brown skin, easily broken and rubbed 
 off, leaving a shining, white surface below, which is the 
 outside of a thick, fleshy wrapping enclosing the whole 
 bulb, and having a small round opening at the top, out 
 of which the shoot of the present year has grown. By 
 carefully slitting one side of this white wrapper you 
 can peel it off, and will see that it is about the same 
 thickness throughout, and has an inner membranous 
 lining that is only attached to it at the top and base. 
 What remains of the bulb appears wrapped in a second 
 similar fleshy covering, but by slitting and removing 
 this you will find that its inner surface is three times 
 as thick on one side of the bulb as on the other, and 
 the thicker side is fluted with nine or more ridges, which 
 remind one of those on the corrugated cardboard so 
 useful for packing fragile objects (and even plants for 
 the post when one cannot find a long and narrow box
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 just to fit). This second bulb scale has an inner lining 
 similar to the first, and so has the third and innermost 
 one, which also has one side fluted and thicker than the 
 other, and its fluting is on the opposite side of the bulb 
 to that of the second scale. These three scales form the 
 whole of last season's bulb, and directly inside them you 
 will find a long tube, thick and fleshy below and gradually 
 becoming thinner upwards, till it emerges in the centre as 
 the almost transparent sheathing leaf that wraps round 
 the lower part of the two real leaves. A section of its 
 base will show that it is of uniform thickness, and is the 
 counterpart of the outer scale of the bulb, only a year 
 younger, and will form the outer scale of next season's 
 bulb. Inside this sheath come the two leaves, and if you 
 can follow them down carefully to the point where they 
 join on to the base of the bulb, you will notice that one 
 grows gradually wider and thicker till it wraps right 
 round the other, and by cutting through their thickened 
 bases and examining them with a lens, traces of ridges 
 may be seen, and also that one side is thicker than the 
 other. So we learn that the bulb is formed annually of 
 the bases of the sheathing leaf and the two true leaves, 
 which swell out and store up all the nutriment gathered 
 by roots and leaves during the period of growth. I do 
 not know of any other bulb so wonderfully yet simply 
 constructed from three pieces, and that yields up its secret 
 so easily to the inquirer. 
 
 Another interesting characteristic of the Snowdrop 
 that gives me annual pleasure to notice is its method of 
 piercing through the hard ground. The two leaves are 
 42
 
 Snowdrops 
 
 tightly bound round by the sheathing leaf, so that their 
 tips are pressed together to form a sharp point that cleaves 
 the ground and makes way for the fragile flower, in much 
 the same way that you put your two hands together and 
 hold them in front of your head when diving into the water. 
 The point of the uprising Snowdrop is strengthened for 
 pushing aside stones and hard substances by a thickening 
 of the tip of each leaf into a tough white cushion, a 
 plan also followed by the leaves of Daffodils, Hyacinths, 
 and many other bulbous plants, but I think only in 
 Snowdrops do these white or cream-coloured tips persist 
 so noticeably in the full-grown leaf. 
 
 Forbes-Watson has rhapsodised very beautifully about 
 the artistic value of these dots, but I think their mechanical 
 service to the plant is their raison d'etre and perhaps 
 more admirable side. 
 
 There is much pleasure to be derived from watching 
 the thrusting through of one's plants in the dull, wintry 
 days. I love to see a great cracking and upheaval of the 
 soil as forerunner to the appearance of the blunt, white 
 nose of a really strong Eremurus Elwesianus, and would far 
 rather see this vegetable mimicry of an enlarged poached 
 egg in the border than any Venus rising from the sea. If 
 the white, sheathing leaves appear in this knob-like form 
 you know there is a good strong spike below, and that 
 forking over in the autumnal cleaning up has not injured 
 the shoot ; but if a point of green leaves first appears it 
 is too often presage of a flowerless crown. The arch 
 method employed by many dicotyledons is worth contrast- 
 ing with the plan of spearing through adopted by most 
 43
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 monocotyledons. It is marvellous what power lies in a 
 growing shoot of a Crocus. It makes light work of a 
 hard, well-rolled gravel path. A single Crocus leaf is a 
 flaccid, weak instrument, but the whole series of leaves, 
 varying from four to fifteen according to the species, when 
 tightly bound by the tough, sheathing leaves, and the 
 sharp and toughened points of the true leaves thus all 
 brought together, form almost as sharp and strong a 
 weapon as the underground shoot of one of the running 
 bamboos. Still more wonderful are those, mostly 
 autumnal bloomers, that flower without leaves, for in their 
 case it is only the tips of the sheathing leaves that pierce 
 the soil, and once through into daylight open a little way 
 to allow the fragile flower-bud to pass upwards. But this 
 seems to me as child's play compared with the task under- 
 taken by the Winter Aconite, the Wood Anemones, Bon- 
 gardia Rauwolfii, and the Epimediums, which bring their 
 flower-buds almost to maturity below ground, and then 
 lift them through backwards by means of an increased 
 rate of growth in the lower portion of the floral stem and 
 the consequent raising of the centre of the arch into 
 which they are bent. It is the same method by which so 
 many dicotyledons lift the cotyledons out of the seed husk, 
 and is a case of " Don't push, just shove," as boys say, the 
 top of the arched stem being forced straight ahead until 
 it is not only through the surface of the ground but has gone 
 up high enough to lift the flower-buds clear of the soil, 
 when they will straighten up, and further growth may be 
 uniform throughout the length of the flower-stalk. 
 
 Certain of the autumnal-flowering Snowdrops blossom 
 44
 
 Snowdrops 
 
 before the leaves are produced, and with them, as with 
 the naked flowering Crocuses, the sheathing leaf opens 
 the road to the surface only, and, once there, parts to 
 allow the blossom to emerge from its protection ; but they 
 have not the same charm for me as those which flower 
 with their leaves, looking rather forlorn, hanging above 
 bare earth. Most of these come from Greece, and one, 
 Galanthus corcyrensis, from Corfu, and are generally regarded 
 as forms of the common Snowdrop G. nivalis. 
 
 Except in time of flowering there is not much differ- 
 ence between them, and they are none of them very easy 
 to please, evidently expecting the winter to be mild and 
 sunny and kind to their young leaves in return for their 
 early heralding of Spring. So they are only safe in the 
 open in specially sheltered nooks, while a cold frame makes 
 a still happier home for them. Galanthus Olgae is the first 
 to appear here, and generally does so in the latter part of 
 October, and looks sadly out of place at that season. It 
 has been described as a species, and retained as such by 
 some authors, because it is said to have no green marking 
 on the inner segments. But the original description 
 distinctly states that when dried the inner segments appear 
 to have no green markings, and I notice that in this form 
 more than in any other the green fades to yellow, and 
 sometimes disappears altogether if an elderly blossom is 
 dried. It has been rather largely collected of late years, 
 and can be bought much more reasonably than other 
 autumnal Snowdrops, and is well worth a trial wherever 
 a cosy nook can be spared to it. G. Rachelae is my 
 favourite of the first comers, but alas ! it is so rare that it 
 45
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 can only be procured by love and not for money. It was 
 found in Greece by Professor Mahaffy on Mount Hymettus 
 in 1884, and found a home with that kindest of good 
 gardeners the late Mr. Burbidge, at Trinity College, Dublin. 
 From him it found its way into a few gardens whose 
 owners could love an autumnal Snowdrop. From Mr. 
 Arnott's generous hand it came to me, and I am glad to 
 say, when some years later he unfortunately lost his plants, 
 I was able to restore him of his own. For some years it 
 seemed to be very happy with me in the rock garden, and 
 I was able to make two clumps of it, then the larvae of the 
 Common Swift Moth (Hepialus lupulmus), one of my worst 
 enemies, found it toothsome and hollowed out its bulbs. 
 One clump disappeared altogether, and I am still strug- 
 gling anxiously with the remnant of the other, but hoping 
 some day to recover the lost ground, and be able to send 
 it still further afield. When robust it sends up two or 
 three blossoms from a strong bulb, and they are larger than 
 those of any other early autumnal form, but for all that 
 leafless. I have a bed I call the sand-moraine because 
 parts of it are surfaced with granite chips, and it is pro- 
 vided with an underground pipe for watering, and because 
 it must have some name, and further it is fashionable now 
 to call any bed of carefully-mixed, gritty soil a moraine. 
 Anyway, in a corner of this bed which is filled with yellow 
 builders' sand mixed with a little good leaf mould, G. 
 Rachelae has so far looked happy again, and has escaped 
 gnawed vitals. I have lately been converted to this parti- 
 cular sand, which I believe is called yellow builders' sand 
 by those who stock such things, meaning of course that 
 46
 
 Snowdrops 
 
 the sand is somewhat yellow not that the builder is 
 a Mongolian but it is the old friend we have bought 
 from grocers and seed-merchants as birdcage sand, and 
 is really a reddish-orange in colour. 
 
 Plants love it, at any rate when new, and even if it 
 deteriorates with age I hope to find some means of 
 doctoring it up to full fertile strength again. I should 
 never have thought of trying Snowdrops in it but for Mr. 
 Wilks's kindness in letting me dig up a fine specimen of 
 Galanthus Allenii from his garden for me to figure ; and 
 when I saw how clean its bulb looked, and how strong 
 and fair were its roots in that sandy soil, I resolved it 
 should go into this newly-made sand-moraine, and its 
 apparent content there has caused other kinds to gather 
 round about it. G. octobrensis behaved badly here, and 
 flowered later and later each season, until it became 
 merged with the ordinary Snowdrop. I had hoped it 
 would have continued, and after becoming the latest of all 
 would go on until it was a summer flowerer, and then 
 come round to October again, but it has never done so. 
 G. byzantinus is my great link between Autumn and Spring. 
 It is interesting as being a supposed natural hybrid 
 between Elwesii and plicatus, having the flowers of the 
 former with their extra basal green spot, and the folded- 
 edged leaf of the latter. I find that freshly-imported 
 bulbs, if planted as soon as received, generally in August, 
 will give a succession of flowers from November to 
 February. Some of the earliest flowering forms I have 
 removed to the rock garden, and I find, though not so 
 early as in their first season, yet they have been in flower 
 47
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 before Christmas for the last four years. So every year I 
 like to buy a few hundred collected bulbs to make fresh 
 colonies, and enjoy their early flowers. G. Elwesti, though 
 not quite so early, yet will make a fair show in December 
 if planted as soon as the bulbs are imported in August or 
 September. Until I bought and planted them so early in 
 the season I never had much success with either of these, 
 but last season a three-year-old planting had not only 
 increased well by offsets but seedlings appeared in most 
 promising profusion, and especially round the byzantinus 
 parents. Before the old year has gone I look for G. cilicicus 
 to be showing buds at least. It is a tall, slender form of 
 G. nivalis, with very glaucous leaves. Although described 
 in catalogues as November flowering, I do not get 
 blossoms here until late December or January, and expect 
 it is only newly-imported bulbs that flower in November. 1 
 It was especially good in the winter of 1911-12, as though 
 it appreciated the extra cooking it got that summer. 
 
 Between Christmas and the New Year I like to clean 
 up some corners where I have clumps of a very fine form 
 of the Neapolitan Snowdrop, G. Imperati. I believe it to 
 be the one that should be called var. Atkinsit, after its 
 introducer, Mr. Atkins, of Panswick in Gloucestershire, 
 whose name lives also in the fine garden form of Cyclamen 
 ibericum known as Atkinsii. Canon Ellacombe gave me 
 this Snowdrop and quite half of my garden treasures 
 besides, and it is one of the floral treats of the year to see 
 it in January growing over a foot high under the south 
 
 1 G. cilicicus has given me the lie, as plants love to do, by opening several 
 Bowers on the 3oth November 1913 on clumps undisturbed for three years. 
 48
 
 Narcissus, Grand Monarque. I5y E. Kortescue Brickdale
 
 Snowdrops 
 
 wall at Bitton. As I have neither the soil, climate, nor 
 south wall of Bitton to give it, it is never quite so fine 
 here, but every season when I see it reappear I hail it as 
 one of the finest if not the loveliest of all Snowdrops. 
 The outer segments are wonderfully long and very perfect 
 in shape, making the flower resemble a pear-shaped pearl, 
 and it stands up well except, of course, during days of keen 
 frost. Very near to it in early flowering and stature, but 
 falling short in symmetry, is a form that I believe should 
 be known by the rather House-that- Jack-built sort of 
 name of G. Imperati, var. Atkinsii of Backhouse. It is a 
 fine thing, but very seldom produces a perfectly sym- 
 metrical flower, for either one of the inner segments is as 
 long as the outer ones, or there are four outer segments, 
 or yet again a petaloid bract may appear just below the 
 ovary but not quite so purely white as the flower proper, 
 and all these vagaries give a clump rather an untidy 
 appearance when looked at closely. I find it hard to say 
 which I consider the most beautiful Snowdrop, and 
 should pick out four as candidates for the prize, but I have 
 never ranged them all four together for comparison, so 
 when I look at any one of them I wonder whether the 
 others can possibly be more beautiful. I think if only I 
 could grow it here as I once received it for figuring straight 
 from its home in Ireland, the Straffan Snowdrop would 
 win the golden apple. It is a Crimean form, and like its 
 relations bears two flowers from each strong bulb, one 
 rather earlier and taller than the other. It is a fine large 
 form, but so beautifully proportioned that it is not a bit 
 coarse or clumsy, as I think some of the very globose 
 49 D
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 forms of G. Elwesii are. It is known botanically as 
 G. caucasicus grandis, and is a late flowering form of the 
 Caucasian form of nivalis. It was brought to Straff an by 
 Lord Clarina on his return from the Crimean War together 
 with bulbs of G. plicafus, which was the Snowdrop that 
 spoke so sweetly of home to our soldiers when the Spring 
 melted the snow and the trenches were covered with white 
 blossoms instead. Lovely grandis has never been really 
 comfortable here, and I fear is decreasing in numbers, 
 though its few flowers were very lovely last March. 
 
 As this beauty returns my affection and care so 
 coldly I turn to a more generous-natured form which 
 the late Mr. Neill Eraser sent me without a name, so 
 shortly before his death that my letter of thanks and 
 inquiries was too late to bring an answer. The bulb 
 he gave me has grown so well that I am now re- 
 minded of his pleasant friendship from several corners 
 of the garden, but the original clump is the best placed. 
 It is at the foot of a large bush of Erica scoparia, a 
 heath seldom seen in English gardens, as it has little to 
 recommend it save a very graceful habit and good ever- 
 green colour, the flowers being very inconspicuous, small, 
 and of a brownish green, but an interesting plant, as it 
 is one of the species of heath which produce burrs or 
 knots on the roots, and though the best are those from 
 E. arborea, in the Landes district (where E. scoparia is 
 very plentiful) its root-burrs are collected and exported 
 for making the pipes known here as briar-root pipes, a 
 corruption of the French name Bruyere. I grubbed up 
 my plant in the woods round Arcachon, and though I 
 5
 
 Snowdrops 
 
 tried many that looked like removable seedlings, it was 
 some time before I hit upon one that had not a root 
 fit for a pipe-factory with many large knobs already 
 formed, and even if such as these were likely to live I 
 jibbed at the postage I should have to pay. Now, twenty 
 years after, it is a fine bush five feet in height, and at 
 its feet and under its spread my souvenir of Patrick 
 Neill Fraser attracts everyone in February more than any 
 other Snowdrop clump in the garden. I take it to be a 
 hybrid, and the parents probably nivalis and some form of 
 caucasicus. It is rounder in flower than the Straffan one, 
 but has much the same graceful outline on a slightly 
 smaller scale, but has not inherited the Crimean character 
 of bearing a second flower from each pair of leaves. It is 
 at its best as the Ditto n Imperati is going over, and while 
 the Straffan princess is still a sleeping beauty, so these 
 three can reign as queen each for her season. 
 
 The fourth claimant may not appeal to everyone, 
 for it is somewhat of a freak, the best-known of the 
 so-called white Snowdrops, which means the flowers 
 have little or no green marking on them. It is known 
 as G. nivalis poculiformis, and appears now and then 
 among the typical common Snowdrops. It originated at 
 Dunrobin among seedlings raised by Mr. Melville, who 
 kindly sent me plants of it. It is inclined to revert 
 to the normal form, but when a flower is as it should 
 be, it makes up for a few lopsided ones. The inner 
 segments should be long and pure white just like the 
 outer ones, and in this condition it is very graceful 
 when half expanded, as without the usual stiff green- 
 Si
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 spotted petticoat to hide the golden anthers they show 
 out more, and set off the purity of the six equal seg- 
 ments. It is a lowly gem, but it is worth bending 
 one's back and knees to enjoy it from its own level, 
 rather than playing King Cophetua. In fact, no Snow- 
 drop looks so well plucked as growing, unless one cuts 
 it off at ground level, so preserving it between its twin 
 leaves and bound by the sheathing leaf, and Heaven 
 forbid I should so treat and sacrifice poculiformis. Mr. 
 Allen raised an interesting seedling from it, which he 
 called Virgin. The inner segments are about two-thirds 
 the length of the outer, and curiously shaped, their 
 sides being rolled and forming two semi-cylindrical tubes 
 with the tips bent inwards, and the usual green horse- 
 shoe mark is reduced to two round green specks ; it is 
 curious and interesting, but not so beautiful as its mother. 
 One Snowdrop time, when Mr. Farrer was here, he 
 astounded me by scorning the charms of poculiformis, 
 even of a perfectly-formed blossom, because he said 
 he possessed a much larger, taller, and finer form, 
 also earlier in flowering, and therefore over for that 
 season, so I bottled up my curiosity for eleven months 
 until, in the following year, he bade me make pil- 
 grimage to Ingleborough and see the marvel. It was 
 a long, cold journey, and how I hated it ! but at last, 
 on my knees before the object, I felt well rewarded, 
 for it was a fine form of G. Elwesii that had poculiformed 
 itself with great success. Moreover, it had increased to 
 an extent that permitted of division, and my kind host 
 and I dug it up, replanting the bulbs with great care, 
 52
 
 Snowdrops 
 
 with the exception of one fine specimen, with which he sent 
 me home rejoicing. Both our gardens have benefited 
 (so far, of course) by this replanting. He tells me his 
 have been much finer ever since, and mine was re- 
 planted and spread out a little this February. It has a 
 solid, waxy white flower of great beauty, not so dainty 
 as the nivalis form, and of rather a colder or greener 
 white, but is a noble and early white Snowdrop. 
 
 Yellow Snowdrops sound abominable, and look some- 
 what sickly when the blossoms are young, for the green 
 of the ovary and inner segments is replaced by a rather 
 straw-coloured yellow ; but on a sunny day a well- 
 expanded bloom, showing the yellow glow that the mark- 
 ings lend to the inside of the flower, is not to be 
 despised, and makes an interesting change from the 
 green and white garb of the rest of the family. The 
 best known is lutescens, a form of nivalis, but a larger 
 and more robust form is called flavescens. Both were 
 found in gardens in Northumberland, the first by Mr. 
 Sanders and the other by Mr. W. B. Boyd, who has 
 a better collection of Snowdrops and knows more about 
 them than anyone else. To his generosity I am in- 
 debted for roots of the lovely double-yellow one which 
 was found in a garden near Crewe, a loosely-formed, 
 graceful double, with the usual markings of the inner 
 segments of a good bright yellow, and a very charming 
 thing when looked full in the face. 
 
 It seems to revert occasionally to its ancestral green 
 markings, and I was rather dismayed to see so much 
 green where I looked for yellow this season, but Mr. 
 53
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 Boyd tells me it behaves similarly with him after removal, 
 but after a season or two repays patience with pure gold. 
 
 Green Snowdrops suggest the dyed atrocities seen in 
 continental flower-markets, and even our own streets at 
 times, whose unopened buds have been placed in ink 
 instead of water, and so forced to drink up the dye and 
 fill their vessels with gaudy hues foreign to their nature. 
 But several Snowdrops have chosen to add to their 
 greenness by natural means. One of these is a charming 
 little plant. It appeared in the Vienna Botanical Garden, 
 and from thence travelled into Max Leichtlin's garden at 
 Baden Baden, that wonderful centre of distribution for 
 rare plants which, alas ! is now a thing of the past. It is 
 said that he sent two bulbs to England, one to Mr. 
 Harpur-Crewe, the other to Mr. Allen, and I believe all 
 that exist over here now are descendants of that brace 
 of bulbs. It is known as virescens, and thought to be a 
 variety of G. caucasicus, though except that it flowers very 
 late in the season it has no character that I can recog- 
 nise as connecting it with that tall Russian. It is a very 
 dwarf form, with glaucous leaves and stem, and the outer 
 segments of the flower are striped from their junction 
 with the ovary for two-thirds of their length with a 
 delicate duck's-egg green, and the inner segments are 
 wholly green, except for a narrow white margin that 
 gives a delightful finish and charm to a very lovely 
 flower. Better known is a very curious freak form of G. 
 nivalis, which was found in a wood in Western Prussia 
 and named G. Scharlokii by Prof. Caspary of Konigsberg 
 after its discoverer. Its claim to greenness rests in a 
 patch of short green strips on the tips of the outer seg- 
 54
 
 Snowdrops 
 
 ments, but its chief peculiarity is the very curious pair of 
 leafy spathes that replace the narrow green keels with 
 their membranous connective that are common to all other 
 Snowdrops. In G. Scharlokii, these queer little leaves 
 stand up and spread out over the flower with an expres- 
 sion like that of hares' ears. In some seasons a number of 
 the flowers may have the leafy spathes partially united, 
 even for about half their length, and then after a year 
 or two all may be divided to the base again. Mr. Allen 
 raised some seedlings that showed a slight inheritance 
 of these characters, but they are not improvements : one 
 of them is a double flowered form, and I think quite the 
 ugliest Snowdrop I possess, only having enough sugges- 
 tion of green on the outer segments to make it look dingy. 
 I have also a form known as Ward which has the 
 green-tipped segments without the leafy spathes, and is 
 rather pretty. The greenest of all I have saved to the 
 last, a double green Snowdrop that doesn't hang its head, 
 which sounds what children call " perfectly hijjous," but 
 I assure you it has a quiet beauty and charm of its own. 
 One might not wish for a bouquet of it, or to decorate 
 a dinner-table with nothing else, but when Mr. Boyd 
 kindly sent it to me I greatly enjoyed examining and 
 painting it, and am very proud of possessing so great a 
 rarity. It was found at Ashiesteel near Melrose, in a 
 garden where no Snowdrops but the common G. nivalis 
 are grown, so its peculiarities must be entirely its own 
 invention, a parallel case to that of the small girl charged 
 with biting, scratching, and spitting at her dear kind nurse, 
 who in answer to Mother's explanation that such be- 
 haviour was very bad as being put into her head by the 
 55
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 Devil, replied, " Perhaps the biting and scratching were, 
 but I assure you the spitting was entirely my own inven- 
 tion." But it is a very curious case of a sudden mutation, 
 for every one of the segments have become long and 
 narrow and heavily striped with green as bright as that of 
 the leaves. The outer segments are slightly longer than 
 the inner, which still retain the emarginate apex, to drift 
 into botanical terms, but in more ordinary English, the little 
 snick round which the green horseshoe mark is generally 
 found. The whorls of these segments occur fairly regu- 
 larly and alternately till a tassel-like flower is formed, but 
 instead of hanging as tassels, and good little Snowdrops 
 should, it holds its head up with a "bragian boldness" 
 unsurpassed even by Bailey Junior. 
 
 I have a pretty form of G.plicatus with green markings on 
 the outer segments, and have had, and heard of, similar va- 
 garies in forms of Elwesii, and Mr. Allen had some very well- 
 spotted forms of Fasten, so green spots evidently run in the 
 family, and encourage the idea that perhaps a cross between 
 a Snowdrop and the Spring Snowflake might be possible. 
 
 Many of the species hybridise freely, and some beauti- 
 ful seedlings were raised by the late Mr. Allen of Shepton 
 Mallett. Unfortunately many of these have quite died out, 
 and are only known from the mention of their names in 
 his paper on Snowdrops in the R. H. S. Journal of August 
 1891, in many cases, alas! without any description. 
 These seedlings were never distributed by the nurserymen, 
 and so are only to be found in a few gardens of the per- 
 sonal friends of Mr. Allen, and as I began collecting this 
 family too late to get in touch with him I am indebted to the 
 kindness of his friends for most of my varieties. I think 
 56
 
 Snowdrops 
 
 Robin Hood is one of the best of his hybrids ; it is Elwesii 
 X plicatus, and a fine bold flower with a great deal of deep 
 green on the inner segments. Galatea is a very well- 
 formed, glistening white seedling, apparently nivalis x plicatus. 
 A distinct one is Magnet, in which the pedicel is very long 
 and slender, and the large nivalis-formed flowers hang and 
 sway in the breeze in a way that reminds one of a 
 Dierama. He also raised a double form with the same 
 peculiarity of a long foot-stalk that I like very much, be- 
 cause, like another of his doubles called Charmer, there 
 are no more than three outer segments, the doubling 
 consisting entirely of a neat rosette of inner segments, 
 instead of the mixed muddle of inner and outer segments 
 found in the ordinary double form of G. nivalis. The 
 beautiful G. Allenii named after him is a wild species, and 
 very remarkable for its immense leaves, which at maturity 
 measure about a foot in length and an inch and a half in 
 width. When the flower is at its best they are much shorter, 
 however, but even when first they unfold they look more 
 like the leaves of some Tulip than of any Snowdrop. The 
 flower is very round in form and of a good size, though 
 not in proportion to the promise of the leaves for then 
 it would have to be as large as a good-sized Daffodil. 
 
 There is more than one form of this species, and 
 I have some that it is hard to decide whether they should 
 be placed as varieties of Allenii or of the much smaller but 
 similarly-shaped G. latifolius, a dull little thing that might be 
 attractive if it could be induced to flower more freely. 
 The leaves have a very cheery appearance, being very 
 bright green and beautifully polished, but here the flowers 
 are always few, and too insignificant for the foliage. There 
 57
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 is another broad-leaved Snowdrop, G. Ikariae from the 
 Island of Nikara, which is a much better thing, and 
 valuable as being one of the latest to flower. Its broad, 
 glossy leaves look as though they belong to some species 
 of Scilla, but are charming in the way they curve outwards 
 and set off the large flowers, which are of a very pure 
 white, and have a particularly effective, large green spot on 
 the inner segments. In one part of the garden it is sowing 
 itself freely, and I hope for great things from these babes in 
 years to come. I think it likes a warmer situation than 
 most other Snowdrops, except perhaps G. Imperati, for both 
 of these do best under a south wall or in a very sunny spot. 
 I have never seen more than one variety of it, that is 
 an early flowering seedling with deeper coloured leaves 
 that appeared under the celebrated south wall at Bitton. 
 A bulb, kindly given to me by Canon Ellacombe, has re- 
 tained its character here, and is always over before the 
 true Ikariae is out. By the side of this in the rock garden 
 I grow another beautiful seedling given me by Mr. Elwes, 
 who found it among a group of G. Elwesii at Colesborne. 
 I call it Colesborne Seedling, and believe it must be a 
 hybrid between Elwesii and caucasicus, as it has the inner 
 segments marked with the second green spot of the former 
 but has the leaves of the latter. The flowers are very 
 large and of a fine globose form, but it has too short 
 a stem to lift them up sufficiently, otherwise I should rank 
 it among the most beautiful of all. I suppose I must not 
 linger much longer over my beloved Snowdrops, nor 
 mention all the forms I grow, but must say a word 
 in praise of a few more. One of these is G. nivalis 
 58
 
 Snowdrops 
 
 Melvillei, another Dunrobin Snowdrop, and named after its 
 raiser. It is a very well-shaped, round flower, but still 
 quite of the nivalis type, and very slightly marked with 
 green ; in fact in one form I have, sent to me by Mr. 
 Melville, the horseshoe has disappeared, leaving in its 
 place only the heads of two of its nails, little round green 
 dots on each side of the nick. It is a dwarf form, but so 
 sturdy that it lasts a very long time in flower. Dwarfer 
 still is a curious seedling of Elwesii that my own garden 
 gave me. When first it begins to flower the immense glo- 
 bular flowers are borne on such short stems that when the 
 buds hang free from the goldbeater-skin covering of the 
 spathe, their tips rest on the ground, but later the stems 
 lengthen and lift them. Mr. Farrer suggested the name 
 of " Fat Boy " for it, when he first saw its solid obesity, 
 and it now behaves as strangely in his rock garden in 
 Yorkshire as it does here. The most curious thing about 
 it is that it produces three and sometimes four flowers 
 from between each pair of leaves, and these follow each 
 other, and each succeeding one is lifted on a taller stem above 
 the swelling ovary of the last and now fading flower. So 
 that it begins as a dwarf early form and ends as a tall and 
 late one. Among some imported bulbs of Elwesii I picked 
 out a very late flowering one ; I see by the figure I made 
 of it that it was on the 6th of March 1906. It was also 
 very large, and had the second green spot converted into 
 a band across the centre of the inner segment. This one 
 bulb has flowered every year until this, but has made no in- 
 crease, and in some seasons the flower has lasted quite fresh 
 into April, being the latest of all my Snowdrops. This year 
 59
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 I noticed it had failed to open its flower-bud, so I dug it 
 up to see what was wrong, and found some evil under- 
 ground grub (the Swift Moth, probably) had tunnelled right 
 through it. I much doubt whether it can possibly recover 
 after such an injury, and I shall have to rely upon one of 
 Mr. Allen's plicatus seedlings called Belated to keep up my 
 Snowdrop supply from October to April by filling up the last 
 fortnight after G. Ikariaehzs turned its attention to seedpods. 
 
 The Spring Snowflake is so nearly a Snowdrop and 
 flowers with the later ones that I shall praise it here. 
 My favourite form is that known to science as Leucoium 
 vernunt, var. Vagneri, but which lies hidden in catalogues 
 and nurseries as carpathicum. Both are larger, more 
 robust forms than ordinary vernutn, and strong bulbs 
 give two flowers on each stem, but whereas carpathicum 
 has yellow spots on the tips of the segments, Vagneri has 
 inherited the family emeralds. It is an earlier flowering 
 form than vernum, and a delightful plant to grow in bold 
 clumps on the middle slopes of the flatter portions of the 
 rock garden. Plant it deeply and leave it alone, and learn 
 to recognise the shining narrow leaves of its babes, and to 
 respect them until your colony is too large for your own 
 pleasure, and you can give it away to please others. 
 
 L. Hernandezii, also known as L. pulchellum, has won a 
 place in my affections by its useful preference for wet feet. 
 Like the larger and finer, but later L. aestivum, it thrives 
 well on the very edge of water, and looks so much better 
 there than anywhere else, that I advise such a planting. 
 Hernandezii flowers over a long period, throwing up a succes- 
 sion of flower-stems, and it comes in Daffodil days, at a time 
 60
 
 Snowdrops 
 
 when other white water-side flowers are asleep. A clump 
 of it that has been slightly overrun by our beautiful 
 evergreen Sedge, Cladium mariscus, makes a pretty picture 
 every Spring, growing an extra few inches under shelter 
 of the Cladium. How seldom one sees this grand plant 
 in a garden, and I think no nurseryman stocks it. Yet 
 there are acres of it in the Norfolk Broads, and half of 
 Wicken Fen is full of it too full for my taste, for it is 
 only fed upon by one of the rare insects of the district, 
 and crowds out reed and other suitable food plants, and 
 seems to be increasing rather fast in the fen. My plants I 
 hauled up and lugged home from Norfolk not a very easy 
 job, as I was entomologising at the time, and a pocket-knife 
 and my own fingers were my only digging weapons, whilst 
 its root system is a wide-spreading mass of the toughest 
 fibres, interlaced with those of every imaginable sedge and 
 rush and weed. Once home it made up for all pains of 
 transit, and its great arching leaves are a rich green 
 throughout the year, unlike those of any other water-side 
 plant, resembling some extra fine Pampas-Grass. With the 
 exception of the New Zealand Arundo conspicua, which alas ! 
 is none too hardy here in wet places, nor too vigorous in 
 dry ones, Cladium the Fen Sedge is, so far as I know, the 
 only truly evergreen plant of similar bold grassy habit, fit 
 for the water-side. The effect of its deep green among 
 the tawny browns of reeds and bulrushes in autumn and 
 winter is very fine. Nurserymen take note, also take a 
 holiday in the Broads, take a spade and a sack, and make 
 a fortune out of three-and-sixpenny snippets in thumb-pots 
 of Cladium mariscus. 
 
 61
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 Spring Crocuses 
 
 FOR me, starting this chapter, there are great searchings 
 of heart, compared with which those of the divisions of 
 Reuben were as nothing. If but one of them possessed a 
 flat object with diverse and recognisable sides to it they 
 might toss up and decide whether to go and help smash 
 up Sisera or stay and listen to the music of their baa- 
 lambs, and they seem to have decided pretty unanimously 
 for the ovine concert. But for me, the very inmost cockle 
 of whose heart glows more for a Crocus than for the most 
 expensive Orchid, every cockle in me (though I haven't a 
 notion what portion of my internal anatomy is meant by 
 that borrowed appellation of marine molluscs) is full of 
 searchings and divisions how to do justice to my first 
 garden love and avoid wearying and driving away readers 
 to whom my raptures may appear the vapourings of a 
 love-sick monomaniac. 
 
 We treat Crocuses au grand se'rteux in this garden, 
 giving over two double-light frames to their service in the 
 very sunniest part of the kitchen garden, and we always 
 have two sets of pots sunk in ashes containing the seeds or 
 seedlings of two past seasons, finding that method the best 
 way to prevent the worm who will turn from waltzing the 
 seeds of one variety into the middle of a patch of another, 
 62
 
 Spring Crocuses 
 
 as invariably happens when they are sown in parallel lines 
 in open ground. Also Crocus seedlings have a habit of 
 descending about an inch each season, and not always 
 perpendicularly. Their method of obtaining what Maud's 
 young man desired in his delirium is curious and worth 
 noting. 
 
 They bury themselves deeper by forming a peculiar 
 outgrowth called a starch root, which is a semi-transparent, 
 fleshy affair, something like the storage root of an 
 Alstroemeria, and at first serves the same purpose of con- 
 taining a store of nutriment, but there the similarity ends, 
 for Alstroemerias retain these storage roots throughout 
 their resting period, whereas a Crocus at the ripening-off 
 season loses its starch root, its store of starch being 
 absorbed into the newly-formed corm. The starch root 
 withers and contracts in a series of corrugations after the 
 manner of closing of a concertina, and as its long lower end 
 is firmly fixed in the soil the corm is pulled down lower 
 into the space formerly occupied by the once plump 
 starch root, which has now grown as lean as the soup-hating 
 Augustus of the Struwwelpeter. It frequently happens 
 that one of these roots grows out from one side of the 
 corm, and will then cause an oblique descent, and in two 
 seasons carry a corm more than an inch out of the line 
 in which it was planted. 
 
 So that what with worms and starch roots it is 
 necessary either to leave a wide space between each row 
 of seedlings or to place buried slates between them to 
 prevent the different stocks becoming hopelessly mixed. 
 Slates are costly and space is precious, for I hate a vacuum 
 63
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 in a bed of good soil as much as Nature does universally. 
 So we sow each variety of seed in a separate pot, and 
 sink the pots, and their gradually narrowing sides not only 
 prevent the wandering of the babes but force them to 
 draw nearer, and after two years in pots, if all is well 
 with them, it should be possible to turn them out in 
 August and find a layer of corms, each about the size of a 
 pea, a tender young green pea of the first picking, and all 
 at the bottom of the pot. Raising Crocus seedlings has 
 proved such a source of interest and pleasure to me, and 
 such a means of enrichment to my collection, that I wish 
 I could persuade more garden lovers to carry it on. It 
 has certainly the great disadvantage of a wait of at least 
 three years for the first flowering, but years pass only too 
 swiftly in a garden, and once that period is over every 
 succeeding season brings fresh babes to flowering strength, 
 and I know no garden joy equal to a visit on a sunny 
 morning to the Crocus beds when seedlings are in full 
 flowering. To see a dozen, a score, or better still a 
 century, of some old favourite reproduced in a new 
 generation is good, but still better is the thrill of spotting 
 a pure white bloom in a row of orthodox lilac ones. 
 Forms with larger flowers, deeper or lighter colour, or 
 extra markings as compared with the normal type, fill the 
 heart with joy and pride when found in one's own seed- 
 beds, and it is a happy being who carefully lifts them out 
 from among the common herd with the only instrument 
 really suited to the purpose, a cook's fork. Poor mere 
 man that I was, I stumbled along for years in unenlightened 
 masculine ignorance, using a mason's trowel, old dinner- 
 64
 
 Narcissi : Christalla (white} and Homespun
 
 Spring Crocuses 
 
 knives, and such bungling, root-cutting tools for the fine 
 work of seedling selecting, until a practical cousin of the 
 fairer sex caught me using one of the best silver forks that 
 I had taken out in a bowl of breakfast scraps, the daily 
 portion of my gulls, and she said, " What you want is a 
 cook's fork, and I will send you one." How was I to know 
 cooks had forks designed by Heaven for the use of gar- 
 deners ? But when it came I wanted others, and as I often 
 leave them stuck about in jungles of the rock garden I am 
 a frequent customer at the ironmongery counter of the 
 Army and Navy Stores, where cook's forks are obtainable. 
 Go thou and buy two, one of the largest size for general 
 use and one a size smaller for weeding out grass, Poa 
 annua especially, among delicate bulbous things, and you 
 will bless me every time you use them, or ought to do if 
 your heart is not of stone. The Crocus treasure-troves go 
 from the seed-beds into the Crocus frame, and generally 
 suffer no check from their removal, but ripen up a good 
 bulb for next August's lifting. I wish I could breathe some 
 germs of the Crocus Seedling Fever into the words I write 
 and set all who read aflame to embark on such interesting 
 work. Do start this very spring. When you see your 
 Crocuses wide open in flower sally forth with a stick 
 of sealing-wax or the amber mouthpiece of an old pipe 
 in your hand, not as a charm, talisman, phylactery, or 
 whatever you call that sort of thing, but for practical use. 
 Rub whichever of the two unusual accompaniments of a 
 garden stroll you have chosen, on your coat-sleeve if it 
 be woollen, and hold the rubbed portion as soon as pos- 
 sible after ceasing rubbing near the anthers of an open 
 6 5 E
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 Crocus, and you will find the electricity thereby generated 
 will cause the pollen grains to fly up on to the electrified 
 object, and, what is more, to stick there, but so lightly that 
 directly they are rubbed against the stigma of another 
 Crocus they will leave the amber and be left where you, 
 and Nature before you, intended them to be. For fer- 
 tilising flowers with small pollen grains you will find this 
 plan much more satisfactory than the use of a camel's-hair 
 brush. The sealing-wax can be wiped clean very easily 
 between each crossing, but pollen grains work in between 
 the hairs of a brush, and are not easily induced to leave 
 it and adhere to a stigma, so that it is hard to be sure you 
 have not left some to work out afterwards and muddle up 
 your crosses. It is best to label the bulb with the name 
 of the pollen parent, and either to remove other flowers 
 from it or fertilise them with similar pollen as they appear. 
 The ovary of a Crocus flower is below ground, of course, at 
 flowering time, and does not appear in the upper world 
 until the seeds are nearly ripe. From early May onwards 
 and throughout June the ripening capsules may be looked 
 for, and it is best to pick them before they split and scatter 
 their contents. A gentle pinch will soon tell you whether 
 the seeds inside are hard enough for gathering. I find the 
 nested willow-chip boxes used so much by entomologists 
 very useful for keeping the seed in : the capsules ripen well 
 in such dry quarters, and the names of the sorts can be 
 written in pencil on the lid. Next best and less bulky are 
 those strange wee packets sold for about nothing three 
 farthings the hundred as pence envelopes. I have often 
 wondered who uses them for their original purpose, buying 
 66
 
 Spring Crocuses 
 
 them by the hundred for it, but cannot imagine a grade of 
 society so refined as to clothe their pennies in these paper 
 jackets. 
 
 For seed collecting they are Ai though, and I generally 
 wear half a dozen in the ticket pocket of my coats, even 
 my Sunday best, and have often acquired a new plant by 
 having one at hand when a pod or two of poor little orphan 
 seeds were crying out for adoption. Next time I go to the 
 A. and N. Stores for some cook's forks and pence envelopes 
 shall I find a queue at either counter ? The seeds are best 
 sown as the year's harvest is gathered in, but they will be 
 none the worse (unless lost or devoured of mice) for being 
 kept unsown until the middle of September. Then you 
 will remember the pots are plunged out in the open in a 
 bed of ashes for two years, until the cormlets are gathered 
 together as peas in a pod at the bottom of the pots. 
 
 Then they get turned out in August, cleaned a little 
 of worn-out coats, and are pricked out in rows in a specially 
 prepared bed of rather gritty soil in an open, sunny place, 
 and are left there to flower. Here we always have two 
 seasons' pots sunk in the ashes, and three seed-beds, each 
 with one year's seedlings in it, so that in their third year 
 the seedlings go out into a bed and should begin flowering, 
 but it is in their fourth year that the main crop of flowers 
 should appear, and in the fifth the lag-behinds should show 
 if they are good for anything. After that we turn that bed 
 out, sort out what is left, and prepare it for another batch 
 of two-year-olds. 
 
 Yes, we treat Crocuses seriously here, even alluding to 
 them sometimes as Croci, but I could never bring myself to 
 67
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 use the correct Greek pronunciation and call the first syllable 
 Crock. I should like to do so if I could remember, and 
 thought anyone would know what I was talking about, for 
 I like to be consistent, and one always uses the short o for 
 Crocodile, and it would be pleasant to try to believe in the 
 derivation of KpoKo-Sei\os (Crocus-fearer) given by some of 
 the ancients. 
 
 It is not very likely that the huge reptile of the Nile, 
 than which, according to Pliny, " there is not another crea- 
 ture againe in the world, that of a smaller beginning groweth 
 to a bigger quantity," ever came in contact with the Crocus, 
 or would take the slightest notice of it if he did, unless he 
 turned up his nose at it, as his movable upper jaw would 
 permit. But one must remember that the word Croco- 
 deilos was also used for smaller Saurians, even for his poor 
 relations the lizards, and on the authority of Stephanus we 
 learn that Saffron mixed with honey was good to anoint 
 beehives and scare off the land Crocodiles. 
 
 It is interesting, too, to note that the Latin name Crocus 
 has entirely supplanted the English one of Saffron in 
 popular use for the plant, providing a handy argument 
 against the inventing of lengthy and often confusing new 
 English names for plants, such as Cape Fuchsias for Correa 
 and Cape Cowslip for Lachenalia. 
 
 Saffron is now used almost entirely for the drug, and 
 Meadow-saffron as a name for the Colchicum is not 
 commonly used for the garden forms, and I hope never 
 will be, for the Crocus and Colchicum are too frequently 
 confused as it is. "What is the Crocus found in the 
 meadows in the Alps, or Germany, in the autumn ? " is a 
 68
 
 Spring Crocuses 
 
 question I am asked so frequently I have sometimes 
 thought of having a short reply form printed to hand or 
 post to the inquirers. It should state that a Colchicum 
 belongs to the Lily family, and shows it by having six 
 stamens, while Crocus, as an Irid, has only three. 
 
 This very elementary fragment of botanical lore once 
 stood me in good stead. Very many years ago, more 
 than I care to count up exactly, when I was a fledgeling 
 gardener and beginning to learn and collect plants, I was 
 taken to Coombe-Fishacre, a veritable Golconda of floral 
 treasures, and Mr. Archer Hinde, their kind custodian, was, 
 I knew, a great authority on plants. Imagine, then, my 
 nervousness when on going out to the garden I was asked 
 the name of a group of rosy-lilac flowers. " A Colchicum," 
 I cautiously replied, " but I am not sure which," and then 
 came the reassuring remark, "Oh, that will do. It's 
 speciosum, and I knew, but I always ask people, and if they 
 call it a Crocus I won't give them a thing." 
 
 I still grow and value many of the plants I carried 
 away with me that afternoon, and bless my luck in having 
 known just enough to avoid calling a Colchicum a Crocus. 
 
 I feel Meadow-saffron to be almost as bad a misnomer, 
 for Saffron is only the Arabic Zahferan, and in but slightly 
 altered forms the word is found in both Oriental and 
 European languages to denote Crocus sativus itself or the 
 drug procured from it. 
 
 Crocus must be one of the oldest names given to a 
 
 flower and still in common use. If there is an older I 
 
 cannot recall it. It is the Latin form, from the Greek, of 
 
 a very ancient word-root which appears in Sanskrit as 
 
 69
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 Kunkuma, in Indian languages as Kurkum, and in Hebrew 
 as Karkom. In these Eastern languages the consonants 
 are more important than the vowels, and are written first, 
 the vowels being mere dots and dashes placed above or 
 below the line. So K.R.K.M. would represent this word, 
 the name of the drug so highly prized in the ancient world 
 as a sweet scent, a golden dye, and a medicine. It is easy 
 to imagine how merchants would carry it about the world 
 for sale, and how nations speaking different languages 
 would alter the name a little ; Crocum is a form found 
 in the writings of some Romans, and doubtless the result 
 of their not quite catching the pronunciation of the name 
 by which the Phoenician merchants called the precious 
 drug. We have plentiful instances in our own land of 
 the way a vowel gets tranferred from before to after an r 
 as one tracks the word northward. 
 
 I shall not speak here of autumnal Crocuses, though 
 I know it is not quite consistent with my plan and the 
 way I treated Iris unguicularis and the Snowdrops, but I 
 like a change, and hope you do. The Spring and Autumn 
 bloomers are not varieties of the same species, unless 
 graveolens be, as botanists declare, a form of vitdlinus. 
 Nor, except in the case of three widely differing species, 
 do any flower continuously from Autumn to Spring. Of 
 these last, two (C. caspius and laevigatus) flower mainly in 
 the autumn, with just a few poor remnants of flowers for 
 the New Year, so are best classed as autumnal. The 
 third species, C. Cambessedesii, is the only one with 
 sufficient originality of mind to baffle all attempts at 
 classification by time of flowering. 
 70
 
 Spring Crocuses 
 
 It is a lovely but tiny species, endemic to the Balearic 
 Isles, and was quite lost to cultivation until a few years 
 ago, when a cousin of mine, who lives in Spain, kindly 
 managed to get some collected for me ; but not before 
 every species of Merendera, Romulea, and Colchicum 
 found on Majorca and Minorca had arrived here, trium- 
 phantly announced as the precious Crocus. This is ever 
 the case when the amateur collects some wild Crocus for 
 me, and in many places Sternbergias are also to be met 
 with, and come along regardless of their weight for 
 postage ; and then, when all these members of other genera 
 are exhausted, if my friends' patience holds out there will 
 arrive a specimen of the real thing, with the query, " Can 
 this common weed be the one you want ? It is so 
 common here, we thought it cannot be any good." So 
 C. Cambessedesii came at last. It is one of the smallest 
 of all, and looks as though it might have been the fairies' 
 first model when they were designing C. Imperati, being 
 very much like it, only so much smaller, and only just 
 washed with colour. Its segments are about half an inch 
 long, palest lilac within, and the three outer ones are pale 
 straw colour externally, and beautifully marked with purple 
 featherings. The flowers appear at intervals from October 
 till March, among leaves almost as slender as a hair. I 
 always like to pay a visit to the Crocus frames, on my 
 way back from church on New Year's Day, to see what 
 promise of Spring they have as a present for me. For 
 many years I have been greeted by newly-arrived blooms 
 of the typical brilliant yellow form of C. chrysanthus, and 
 in most seasons it will have appeared, in the open border
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 too ; and as among the autumn Crocuses only the first, 
 C. Scharojanii, and the last, C. vitellinus, are yellow, and 
 both of these are very rare, the golden buds of C. 
 chrysanthus are a veritable foretaste of Spring. It is quite 
 otherwise with Spring-flowering Croci, a large proportion 
 of which have either yellow flowers or at least the three 
 outer segments of some shade of buff or straw colour on 
 the outside. Of those now in cultivation, for the one truly 
 autumnal yellow, Scharojanii, we have eleven Spring ones, 
 with flowers entirely yellow on the inner surface, four 
 that have yellow forms as well as white or lilac ones, and 
 several with buff outer segments, at any rate in some of 
 their forms. They may be divided as follows : 
 Normally yellow : 
 
 Aureus, susianus, stellaris, ancyrensis, gargaricus, Korol- 
 kowii, Olivieri, Suterianus, graveolens, Balansae, chry- 
 santhus. 
 With yellow forms : 
 
 Candidus, reticulatus, biflorus, a?rius. 
 With buff exterior : 
 
 Imperati, suaveolens, dalmaticus, etruscus, versicolor, and 
 
 vernus. 
 
 The two last are seldom seen with any yellow about 
 them, but I have some versicolor collected near Mentone 
 that in some forms have straw-coloured outer segments, 
 and a seedling I got here from vernus Mme. Mina has quite 
 a Nankeen tint outside when in bud. I have never seen 
 a yellow Crocus growing wild, and without close acquaint- 
 ance with them in their homes it is impossible to say what 
 causes this preponderance of yellow in vernal species. 
 72
 
 Spring Crocuses 
 
 It may be more conspicuous to insect visitors among 
 withered grass and stones or bare earth, while the lilac and 
 white of autumnal species form a greater contrast with the 
 browns and tawny reds of fallen or dead leaves. 
 
 I have before alluded to the way external stripes, after 
 the manner of those of the zebra and tiger, render the 
 buds and closed flowers inconspicuous, and it is worth 
 noting that these stripes are particularly well developed on 
 Spring Crocuses, and in the yellow species ; in fact only 
 three, gargaricus, Olivieri, and Suterianus, have so far 
 never been found with stripes or feathered markings, for 
 ancyrensts, which has been described as never varying in 
 this way, has of late years given me seedlings with 
 featherings and suffusions of dark brown. The most 
 extreme of all in this respect is C. Balansae, one form of 
 which has the three outer segments externally of a deep 
 mahogany colour, and in bud looks nearly black and is 
 very hard to see, but the moment these deep-coloured 
 segments part, the rich orange of the inner segments 
 makes a most conspicuous and beautiful object of the 
 flower. A half-expanded one forms as striking a colour- 
 contrast as any flower I can think of. Every one who sees 
 it for the first time is astonished at its beauty, and can 
 hardly believe it is real, like the little girl at the Zoo, who 
 after gazing at the Anteaters said, " But there aren't really 
 such animals as those, are there, Nurse ? " Other forms 
 of C. Balansae are pretty, especially those well feathered 
 with bronze on the orange ground, but they are quite 
 credibly tame and dull after the mahogany one. It has 
 never borne a varietal name, so it is not possible to buy 
 73
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 it for certain from any nursery I know of, and it does not 
 come quite true from seed. 
 
 Of yellow Crocuses the best known is the old Dutch 
 form of aureus, too well known to need description, but it 
 deserves mention as it is a very curious plant, for though 
 its anthers are larger than those of any other Crocus it 
 has a deformed, atrophied stigma, and is quite sterile, 
 never producing seeds, and has been like that for a very 
 long time, and so must have been propagated solely by 
 offsets, by vegetative instead of sexual reproduction, and 
 yet it shows no sign of deterioration, and is, I should say, 
 one of the most widely cultivated of all plants that cannot 
 be raised from seeds, for there can be but few gardens 
 that do not contain a few hundreds of the common yellow 
 Crocus. The Saffron Crocus (C. sativus) is another similar 
 case. It has been cultivated for centuries for the sake of 
 its stigmata, which being dried become the Saffron of 
 commerce, from Kashmir to the Bay of Biscay, and was 
 at one time largely grown in England at Saffron Walden. 
 But it has never produced seeds in the memory of man 
 or since he has written about it. I have a curious, dull- 
 coloured, and smaller flowered form of aureus that in 
 other respects is much like the Dutch Crocus, but does 
 produce a few seeds in favourable seasons. I cannot 
 trace its origin, but have heard rumours of a stock of 
 yellow Crocus that exists in Holland and is of an inferior 
 quality, and I suspect it is my fertile but dingy old friend. 
 The wild type of C. aureus is a very free seeder, and varies 
 a good deal in its seedlings. The best forms of it are of 
 an intense glowing orange : one I get from Mr. Smith's 
 74
 
 Spring Crocuses 
 
 wonderful nursery at Newry under the name of moesiacus 
 (which is rightly but a synonym of aureus) is larger and 
 deeper in colour than any other orange-coloured Crocus 
 that can be grown outside. I think these deep orange 
 aureus forms grow best in slight shade such as is given 
 by some small light bush, and when they are allowed to 
 seed about and colonise are simply glorious in the rock 
 garden. 
 
 Sometimes I get a seedling which is the form Dean 
 Herbert named lutescens and figured in the Botanical 
 Magazine, a beautiful flower of several shades, as though 
 cream were mixed with apricots, and there was more 
 cream than apricot at the edges of the segments. This 
 season I have a white seedling which is of course the old 
 named form, v. lacteus, but I hope from this year's 
 behaviour it will prove an earlier flowerer like the type, a 
 few flowers of which generally flare up before the paler 
 Dutch appears, whereas the old lacteus is the latest of all 
 the forms of aureus to pierce through, and often manages 
 to keep back a flower or two to be company for vernus 
 var. obesus and compete for the honour of being the last 
 Crocus of that Spring. Lacteus is an ivory white in 
 colour, distinct from any other, and you can see it is a 
 yellow turned white, reminding one of that beautiful 
 softened shade of white that in old age replaces red hair of 
 the shade euphemistically called auburn, but colloquially 
 carrots or ginger. 
 
 No present-day seedlings of the orange wild aureus 
 are anything like the old Dutch variety, whose origin is 
 lost in mystery, as also is that of another section of this 
 75
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 species, which is most likely of garden origin. It is of 
 slender build and pale colouring, and is known as sulphureus, 
 and there are three varieties of it : a self-coloured one known 
 as sulphureus concolor, almost as pale as butter ; a rather 
 faded-looking one, shading nearly to white at the tips of 
 the segments, which is sulphureus pallidus ; and the other, 
 sulphureus striatus, is slightly larger and deeper in colour 
 than concolor, and striped outside with reddish brown. 
 All of them are pretty and interesting, especially in the 
 rock garden, and they have always been perfectly sterile, 
 and the anthers are reduced to mere rudiments. It is 
 curious that C. aureus should have been so sportive long 
 ago and produced such widely different breaks and then 
 ceased to give more, and the sterility of the new forms is 
 so contrary to general experience with a sportive form, 
 which nearly always, if the flowers are not double, shows 
 greater fertility. Every garden ought to have large clumps 
 of the old yellow Crocus to brighten up the bare soil in 
 February, and I find a good place for such is towards the 
 back of borders, round the feet of deciduous shrubs or 
 permanently planted herbaceous plants that cover a large 
 space when in full leaf. They have a fine effect in such 
 places, especially if planted in a thick central mass and 
 with outlying smaller groups as if naturally spreading 
 from the main clump, and to my mind look better than 
 when in bands or small clumps in the front of a border, 
 and they are quite capable of taking care of themselves in 
 the middle distance, whereas the edge is so valuable for 
 more delicate plants. Wherever they can be planted in 
 grass that can be left unmown till their leaves ripen they 
 76
 
 Spring Crocuses 
 
 show to the very best advantage, and the yellow Crocus 
 is best planted alone, unless some early flowering white 
 vernus form be mixed with it, each in fairly large clumps, 
 and a few outliers of both kinds hobnobbing occasionally. 
 I meant to treat of the yellow Crocuses first, but find 
 it a bore to be too systematic, and I want to go on talking 
 of bold plantings in big borders and grass. The fat, 
 prosperous, gone into trade and done well with it, garden 
 forms of Crocus vernus are best used for colour masses. 
 The individual blooms strike me as coarse after the refined 
 true species. But used as I like the Dutch Yellow, they 
 look well. Margot, a soft lavender one, is best of all, and 
 looks more like some species a giant Tomasmt'anus, per- 
 haps than a florist's vernus, and I should like to have it in 
 thousands, and generally plant a new patch of about a 
 hundred each season. Purpureus grandiflorus is a fine 
 effective thing, especially if near a clump, and the scouts of 
 either army intermingling, of some lilac or striped variety 
 such as Mme. Mina or Sir Walter Scott. I do not care so 
 much for large clumps of any white form. At the back 
 of the borders they look too cold, and suggest unmelted 
 snowpats. One of the lawns here is divided from meadow 
 land by a light iron fence, and as usually happens the 
 mowing machine spares a strip a few inches in width of 
 the grass at the foot of the fence on the lawn side. I 
 noticed in a Norfolk garden a charming effect, where such 
 a sanctuary was peopled with a long line of Harebells and 
 Lady's Bed-straw, and the following autumn we turned 
 back our turf at the foot of the fence and planted Crocuses 
 as thickly as we could set them, and replaced the turf 
 77
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 counterpane, tucking them snugly in bed. In the first 
 stretch I planted we mixed up three forms, purpureus 
 grandijlorusj Mme. Mina, and Mont-blanc, stirring them well 
 together, but in a later planting we did a stretch with one 
 colour, and then began mixing in another form, about one 
 of the new to four of the old, and gradually increased the 
 percentage of the new until we had used up our stock of the 
 old, and the line became all of one sort again. This has 
 a very good effect, and if colours that blend prettily are 
 chosen is the better plan to follow. 
 
 Now back to the Yellows. Among them are some very 
 dainty gems, suitable for the rock garden. C. ancyrensis has 
 several good points; it is inexpensive, early, seeds freely, and 
 sows itself, and it has such a rough netted jacket that it is 
 avoided by mice (has been so far, I must write, or perhaps 
 to-morrow I shall find holes, empty corm tunics and room 
 for repentance). That does seem to be a fact, though : 
 they will dig out certain species with soft jackets, especially 
 Salzmannii and Tournefortei, and finish off a whole clump if 
 not trapped first, but they leave Sieberi, susianus, and such 
 reticulated armoured kinds alone. I suppose it would be 
 rather like having the tennis-net entangled in our front 
 teeth to chew such tunics. C. Korolkowii, especially Van 
 Tubergen's large forms from Bokhara, are good for a warm 
 nook, and often commence flowering in the old year. They 
 are mostly of a glistening clear yellow, like that of a Lesser 
 Celandine, and have deep bronze and purple frecklings on 
 the outside. They make the largest corms of any Crocus 
 I know, and when first sent from Bokhara were planted 
 for a Gladiolus species. The older form of Korolkowii from 
 78
 
 Spring Crocuses 
 
 further East is a washy little imitation of these better 
 forms, greenish on the back, rather the colour you some- 
 times find on the outside of the yolk of a hard-boiled egg, 
 and suggestive of dirty metal German silver, or Britannia 
 metal, " which goes green and smells nasty," as Mrs. 
 Brown knew by experience. C. Olivieri is for all intents 
 and purposes an orange-coloured Balansae without external 
 markings but gargaricus has character of its own, its first 
 flowers coming without leaves, and they are of a soft 
 warm orange, like the reflected depth in the heart of a 
 Van Zion Double Daffodil. It has an original sort of corm 
 too, very small and round, and it splits up in some seasons 
 into a multitude of little yellow pills, very hard to collect 
 out of the soil at lifting time, and you know will require 
 two seasons to grow to flowering size again. But a patch 
 in flower on the rock garden makes up for it all. One 
 little yellow Crocus has an obnoxious trait in its character, 
 and is a little stinking beast, as Dr. Johnson defined the 
 stoat. It is well named graveolens, and its heavy scent is 
 generally the first intimation I get of its having opened its 
 flowers. Sometimes I get a whiff of it even before I reach 
 the Crocus frame an abominable mixture of the odour 
 of blackbeetles and imitation sable or skunk, or one of 
 those awful furs with which people in the next pew or in 
 front of you at a matinee poison you. A dried specimen 
 of this Crocus retains its scent for years, and so does the 
 blotting paper it has been pressed in. I think it emanates 
 from the pollen grains, and I suppose it must be of some 
 use to it in its native country perhaps attractive to some 
 insect of perverted olfactory tastes. It is a vegetable 
 79
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 equivalent of the egg of the Fulmar Petrel, which retains 
 much the same awful scent for years after it has been 
 blown. 
 
 Though I began with a reference to it I have saved my 
 account of Crocus chrysanthus for the last of the Yellows 
 because it is my favourite, and also it varies into so many 
 other colours it will lead us away from the livery of 
 jealousy. In most of its forms it is one of the smaller- 
 flowered species, but it produces buds so lavishly that a 
 few corms give a solid colour-effect when in full bloom, 
 though of course this means they should be placed at the 
 edge of the border among choice and neat plants, or in 
 the rock garden. One race of chrysanthus, of which 
 more must be said later, shows promise of great increase 
 in size, and there may be a great future for my favourite if 
 size can be added to its other charms of varied colouring 
 and beauty of shape. It is what the older Crocus-lovers 
 called gourd-shaped, and would have borne the latinised 
 equivalent laganae-florus, better than the form of aureus 
 to which it was once applied. I greatly admire a gourd- 
 shaped Crocus ; it means that the throat is wide and full, 
 and the segments ample and rounded, at least at their 
 bases, so that an unopened blossom has a distinct waist 
 about two-thirds of the way down, and below that there 
 is a second swelling oval formed by the throat ; when 
 fully expanded the segments bend outwards from above 
 this waist, forming a round rather than starry flower, as 
 the segments in well-developed gourd-mimics overlap 
 well. In bud, then, we have the outline of a Pilgrim's- 
 bottle Gourd, standing on its head but not flattened 
 80
 
 Narcissi : Elegance (top flower) and Gloria Mundi
 
 Spring Crocuses 
 
 enough to stand the other way as a real one should, and 
 in an open flower we get a solid effect that would charm 
 the eye of such a florist as the great Glenny. 
 
 I wish I could show you the Crocus frame and the 
 seed-beds on a sunny morning in early February, that you 
 might see these gems in the flesh instead of through this 
 printed page. Let us be childish enough to "make 
 believe " we are doing it. I will take my garden basket 
 and all its contents, almost as varied a collection as Alice's 
 White Knight had, but certainly more useful, even the 
 mouse-trap on too frequent occasions, while the cook's 
 forks to extract new treasures, and painted wooden labels 
 to mark them withal, are indispensable. It is noon, for I 
 have waited for you, my visitors, and your train was late, 
 delayed by a fog in town which here was only a rime 
 frost and white mist that the sun has conquered, and the 
 lawns are only dewy now in the shadows, so we can take 
 the short cut over them, passing the Snowdrop clumps and 
 Aconite carpets and hurrying on to make the most of the 
 sunshine, over the New River by the bridge guarded by 
 the weird lead ostriches, which are six feet high and give 
 some visitors a turn when they first see them. Into the 
 kitchen garden, and don't look at the peach-house Crocus 
 clumps yet, but hurry along past the vineries round by 
 the stove and then are they open ? Yes, even in the 
 seed-beds in the open air bees are busy on the lines of 
 colour. There are several lines of uniform lilac without 
 a break of a pure white or deep purple original-minded 
 babe ; the labels at their heads tell us they are Sieberi or 
 Tomasimanus, while solid yellow families are proclaimed 
 81 F
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 as ancyrensis, Korolkowii, or aureus, but the variegated lines 
 are our objects of veneration, where white, cream, sulphur- 
 yellow, and lilac look as if all the seeds of the season had 
 been mixed. The label on one such will perhaps say 
 chrysanthus good white, another c. pal/idus, or even striped 
 seedling, but except those labelled c. superbus there is no uni- 
 formity, thank Heaven. You must not mind if I suddenly 
 yell with joy, for perhaps yesterday was an R.H.S. day, and 
 I was in Vincent Square from early till late, and Monday 
 was wet and no Crocuses open, and Sunday had so many 
 services and Sunday-school classes, I have not seen my 
 seedlings since Saturday. So, if there is an extra fine 
 white flower with orange throat, a deeper blue self than 
 ever before, or some specially peacocky chameleon with an 
 inventive genius for external markings, I shall shout and 
 flop on my knees regardless of mud and my best knickers 
 donned for the visitors, and the cook's fork will tenderly 
 extract the prize, and you can admire it without going on 
 the knee, while I am writing a label for it, and before it 
 goes into a place of honour in the frame. It is not every 
 day, though, that my variety-spotting eye lights thus 
 easily on a tip-topper, and even now we must look care- 
 fully along the flowering rows for promising breaks, 
 bending some flowers to one side if fully open to see 
 what external markings they carry. Some will be replicas 
 of good forms selected in former years, but very seldom 
 sufficiently exact a copy to be mixed with that stock, so 
 they, and some that are obviously from the same studio 
 but by a prentice hand, can be cook's-forked out for you 
 to carry away if you are bitten with Crocomania. Now 
 82
 
 Spring Crocuses 
 
 move on to the frames. They have four divisions, but 
 two only are ablaze, for the other twain are devoted 
 to autumnal varieties, and now contain leaves only, save 
 for a few rare and tender bulbous plants that share their 
 home, Romuleas that came masquerading as Croci, and 
 such people. In the upper part of the frames are squares 
 of twenty-five to fifty of some Crocus that has increased 
 well, but nearer the front we get almost as many labels as 
 plants, for here are the seedlings selected during the last 
 few seasons, and the miffy, peevish, no-pleasing-'em kinds 
 that simply won't increase ; but among them are some of 
 the loveliest, and you will see at a glance that there is a 
 very large preponderance of varieties labelled as chrysan- 
 thus seedlings, and yet no two are quite alike. When 
 I see them here I long to be transported by magic carpet 
 to the Bithynian Olympus, where C. chrysanthus is found 
 in its most variable mood. George Maw records in his 
 magnificent monograph of the genus that it was from 
 thence he brought the white form he named albidus, the 
 white with blue external markings which is his variety 
 coerulescens, and best of all the sulphur form now known 
 as variety pallidus, which has proved the best seed parent 
 of all, and given us the race of Anakim of this species 
 which I have mentioned. 
 
 They originated at Haarlem in that centre of creation 
 of new plant forms, the Zwanenburg Nursery, where Mr. 
 Van Tubergen and his two nephews, Mr. John and Mr. 
 Thomas Hoog, always have some fresh revelation of beauty 
 awaiting the visitor, and frequently delight me by most 
 kindly posting me some new development among Crocuses. 
 83
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 One season they sent a large white form with cream- 
 coloured outer segments richly suffused with crimson 
 purple, asking what I thought had produced this sudden 
 break among seedlings of chrysanthus pallidus. Three 
 years previously I flowered a batch of seedling chrysanthus 
 here, among which were forms almost identical with the 
 Haarlem wonder, but raised from forms of variety coeru- 
 lescens, so I was able to reply that I believed them to be 
 pure chrysanthus in descent, and this has been proved by 
 the seeds of this blue and white form, which is now dis- 
 tributed and known as " Warley Variety," giving a per- 
 centage of typical pallidus forms at Haarlem. 
 
 These blue and whites are lovely forms and very strong 
 growers, and I recommend a free use of Warley Variety 
 for the rock garden and also as a seed parent. For the 
 best form of my kindred race I have an even greater affection, 
 perhaps as my own raising to begin with, but it is a rounder 
 flower with more cream colour in the outer segments, and 
 the crimson markings are divided into more distinct feather- 
 ings. I call it Bowies' Bullfinch, having adopted the plan 
 of calling the best of my chrysanthus seedlings after birds' 
 names. Yellow Hammer, a light yellow striped with deep 
 brown, Siskin with bright yellow exterior to the outer 
 segments but the inner pure white, a very effective little 
 chap, and Snow Bunting, white with grey lines on cream- 
 coloured outer segments, have gone forth into the world, and 
 I wish them to bear the genitival form of my patronymic 
 before their avian pet name, so as to distinguish seedlings 
 raised here from others that I know are coming along in 
 friends' and neighbours' seed-beds. The 22nd of February 
 84
 
 Spring Crocuses 
 
 1905, stands out as an event in the Crocus world for me, 
 for a little packet post-marked Haarlem lay on my break- 
 fast table, and had brought me five blooms from Mr. Hoog 
 of C. chrysanthus pallidus seedlings which for size and de- 
 licious creamy moonlight yellows surpassed anything I 
 had dreamt of. One had a band of deep purple on the outer 
 segment, another greenish-blue feathering, and the largest 
 of all was as soft a yellow as the pat of butter in front of 
 me, and with a feathering patch of warm brown-madder 
 at the base of each segment that set off the yellow in much 
 the same manner as the apical patch of brownish black 
 does on the forewing of the lovely Pale Clouded Yellow 
 Butterfly. My admiration of this new race went to Holland 
 by return of post, and had a pleasant sequel in a generous 
 gift of corms of these varieties and the naming of the butter- 
 coloured giant after me. I wish I possessed a tenth of the 
 vigour and good temper of my namesake ! " So far " he 
 has increased well and smiled back at me in the weak 
 wintry sun, in Crocus frame, rock garden, or ordinary 
 border, and every one singles it out at a glance as the best 
 of all the Yellows. Except in the typical, early-flowering 
 yellow form, the stigmata of these chrysanthus forms I have 
 described are bright scarlet, and give a brightness and finish 
 to the open blossoms, but there is another race of chrysan- 
 thus with gourd-shaped throats but then a falling off, for the 
 segments are rather pointed and make too starry an open 
 flower. This race is invariably freckled or feathered ex- 
 ternally with brown of various shades, and they were called 
 by Maw vars. fusco-tinctus or fusco-lineatus according to 
 the patterns of their freckles. They all have plain yellow 
 85
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 stigmata, and a curious line of their own in anthers, the 
 ground colour instead of yellow being smoky -grey or 
 greenish-black, which, of course, is most conspicuous in a 
 newly-opened one, before the anther valves have rolled back 
 and the pollen broken loose. These dusky anthers seem 
 to be correlated with starry flowers rather than the brown 
 markings, and are puzzling to account for without getting 
 inside a bee and seeing with its compound eyes and thinking 
 with its decentralised ganglionic brains. In the other chry- 
 santhus forms, with very rare exceptions the little barbs at 
 the base of the arrow-shaped anthers are tipped with black. 
 There again, what can that be for ? Why should chrysan- 
 thus alone of yellow Croci benefit by these minute spots ? 
 One has to look rather closely to see them at all even in 
 an expanded flower, and they cannot be visible to a bee 
 until it has settled on it, and I cannot think they are put 
 there to help good patient botanists to recognise this other- 
 wise variable species, or they would surely be on the fusco- 
 tinctus forms too. At the same time they do often help to 
 point out a chrysanthus without reference to the corm tunic, 
 but I have known them absent in some pure yellow and 
 pallidus forms. 
 
 One of the smallest of Crocuses, known as C. biflorus 
 Pestalozzae, but deserving specific rank I believe, and which 
 I hope some day to reinstate in that proud position, 
 always has minute black spots just where the filament 
 joins on to the perianth, making the flower look as 
 though some grains of soil had dropped into it. Again, 
 C. Crewei and a very strange rare little blue one thought 
 to be a form of C. tauri and called v. melanthorus, have 
 86
 
 Spring Crocuses 
 
 the anthers jet black, and so has a winter flowering one 
 from Palestine, C. hyemalis, var. Foxii. 
 
 Without the means for private interviews with the 
 bees of their native land these questions must remain 
 unanswered, and for the present be placed with those 
 things " no fellah can understand." 
 
 Another of these insoluble riddles is why Miller 
 in the great Dictionary originated the name biflorus for 
 his species No. 4. It is quite the ordinary rule for 
 Spring Crocuses to produce at least two flowers from 
 each set of leaves wrapped round by a spathe or sheath 
 as Miller puts it. C. gargaricus is the only one I can 
 recall that is usually one-flowered, but Miller knew 
 others bore two, and described his No. 3 as so doing. 
 Dean Herbert goes further, and in his diagnosis states 
 " scapo (vidi ipse) interdum furcato bifloro," so reading a 
 deeper meaning into Miller's simple words. Like the 
 Snark : 
 
 " He summed it so well that it came to far more 
 Than the witnesses ever had said." 
 
 But expositors of Browning and commentators on the 
 deep sayings of other poets as well as Herbert are 
 equally Snarkish in their powers of summing. 
 
 C. biflorus in some forms is hard to distinguish from 
 chrysanthus. There is a sheet of specimens in Maw's 
 herbarium in the British Museum, collected above Scutari, 
 and labelled C. biflorus nubigenus, but most of them have 
 the tell-tale black barbs, and I find living plants of them 
 that I have here give me regular chrysanthus seedlings. 
 87
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 I have lately raised and received from others forms inter- 
 mediate between the two species, of the build of biflorus 
 v. Weldenii, the Dalmatian form of this widely-spread 
 species biflorus, but instead of a white ground-colouring 
 they are of exquisite shades of pale sulphur, and variously 
 freckled or feathered externally, like some Weldenii forms, 
 with soft lilac, and are very lovely things apart from their 
 interesting intermediate relationship. Their mixed blood 
 is further shown by a tendency to grey on the anther, 
 either as spots on the barbs or on the whole length. This 
 Dalmatian form Weldenii is represented further east in 
 Servia and Bulgaria by a large form known as biflorus v. 
 Alexandri with yet more intense external markings, and 
 when these form a broad band of amethyst purple, leaving 
 only a narrow margin of white, it is one of the most lovely 
 of Spring Crocuses ; the contrast of the pure white inner 
 surface and the rich purple outer segments is a thing to 
 sit down and look at. I have now seedlings that have the 
 ground colour of various shades of lilac and the outer 
 markings as in Alexandri. The first one appeared with- 
 out warning in the rock garden, evidently self sown, and 
 another unbirthday present from the garden, a little thing 
 of its own compose, as the parish clerk called his doggerel 
 version of the Psalm of the hopping hills, for it appeared a 
 year before I had obtained the wild lilac-grounded bi- 
 florus var. Adami a pretty form from the Caucasus 
 but not over-robust in the open ground. 
 
 C. biflorus is best known in its old garden form of the 
 Scotch Crocus, large flowered and white, beautifully striped 
 outside with deep purple, and like other old garden favour- 
 88
 
 Spring Crocuses 
 
 ites quite sterile. Many smaller wild forms come from 
 Italy, especially from round Florence, where they have a 
 pale lilac ground-colouring, and vary into the pretty form 
 estriatus, which has no stripes on the external buff of the 
 outer segments. This, as a hardy, dainty, and early flower- 
 ing form, should be in every rock garden and sunny 
 border where tiny bulbous things have a chance. "Crocuses 
 everywhere " is my motto here, and the lower shelving 
 slopes of the rock garden make splendid homes for the 
 rarer gems, but even there they must fit in with herbaceous 
 plants such as (Enothera speciosa, Veronica filifolia, &c., which 
 cover the ground after the Crocuses have finished with it. 
 And here you will find the forms of aerius, which one 
 would say was a blue counterpart of chrysanthus from 
 its round shape and narrow leaves, but below ground 
 it has a thin jacket instead of the hard, shell-like covering 
 of chrysanthus. Some of its forms have rich outer mark- 
 ings as nearly crimson as one can hope for in a Crocus, 
 and its variety,major,is one of the finest of all lilac Crocuses, 
 almost deserving to be called blue. There is no real blue 
 one so far as 1 know, the nearest approach to it being a 
 quaint, rather ill-tempered midget Messrs. Barr imported 
 as C. tauri, but not a bit like the great tall thing Maw 
 figured under the name a'nd pronounced to be more 
 robust than any Eastern form of biflorus. The autumnal 
 C. speciosus is in some forms nearly blue, but in many 
 forms of biflorus there is a spot or line or two of real 
 Prussian blue at the base of the inner segments, and if 
 only it could be persuaded to spread over the segments 
 we might have a turquoise-blue Crocus. How dread- 
 89
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 fully its colour would fight with the present mauves and 
 lilacs of its family ! 
 
 I must not prattle of the multitude of Crocus forms 
 for which I have labels. They all possess distinctions 
 and differences for me, but in many cases are better seen 
 than read about, and even I am beginning to be alarmed 
 when I see the rows of labels sticking up in the frames 
 and seed-beds in August just after replanting. <f Looks 
 rather like a cemetery, doesn't it ? " friends mockingly ask. 
 " I don't mind," say I, " so long as it has an annual re- 
 surrection." I may be forgiven, however, for discoursing 
 of what should be everybody's Crocuses, such as Imperati 
 for the first. There are two distinct races going about 
 under the name. One is the wild plant from the country 
 round Naples, the other I have never yet traced to its 
 native home, and rather suspect it is of garden origin. 
 Herbariums appear to have only the Neapolitan fellow. 
 The two are very distinct ; the unmistakable point of dif- 
 ference is in the spathe valves, those wonderful wrappings 
 of living tissue-paper that enclose every Crocus bud in its 
 youth. There are either two or only a single one, and 
 as a rule the number of these floral spathes is a good 
 specific feature, and a whole species has either a mono- 
 phyllous or diphyllous spathe, but in Imperati all the 
 wild Neapolitan ones, so far as I can find out, have 
 diphyllous spathes, and every author who describes the 
 wild plant mentions the two spathes but makes no 
 mention of a form with a monophyllous spathe. Both 
 have the same colour-scheme, warm rosy lilac within, and 
 the outside of the three outer segments striped or feathered 
 90
 
 Spring Crocuses 
 
 with purple on a buff ground, but from a garden point of 
 view the diphyllous form is in most respects the better 
 plant, having larger flowers and varying endlessly in the 
 degree, or even absence, of the outside purple featherings, 
 and even varying in this respect from season to season, I 
 am sorry to say, for I have sometimes selected especially 
 fine seedlings for their richness, or absence, of feather- 
 ing, but after a season or two they have reversed their 
 scheme of decoration. Except a few forms of C. versicolor 
 I have never known another species of Crocus vary as to 
 the markings of the offsets. The diphyllous form flowers 
 over a long period, and that means that one seldom gets 
 a mass out at one time on a clump. 
 
 On the contrary, the monophyllous form scarcely 
 varies at all in feathering, and is most punctual in blossom- 
 ing in the early part of January, and almost every plant 
 in a clump will be flowering at the same time. It stands 
 up higher among its upright leaves than the diphyllous 
 one among its longer recumbent foliage. I used to 
 know which of the two forms the different nurserymen 
 stocked, but both forms have done well here, and it is 
 years since I bought any, and so have lost touch with their 
 sources. The diphyllous form has sometimes been listed 
 as C. Imperati longiflorus, or purpureus, and such a name 
 would, I expect, still bring you that form, but there was 
 never any distinguishing name to the monophyllous race. 
 There are some good white forms of the diphyllous one 
 pure white except for a cream-coloured exterior to the 
 outer segments, which is the var. albiflos of Herbert. 
 Another has the rich purple featherings of the type on
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 the white ground, and is a fine variety. Both forms are 
 delightful in the rock garden or in any sunny corner, and 
 the diphyllous race are great seeders, and soon colonise 
 in a kind home where hoes harrow not too harshly. 
 
 C. Sieberi is another indispensable one of the earliest 
 to appear, generally showing up about Twelfth Night. It 
 is chubby in shape and a cool, bluish-lilac in colour, with a 
 very rich yellow throat ; it is a good increaser both from 
 seed and offsets, and though it comes from sunny Greece 
 is very hardy, and the blossoms stand snow and frost 
 better than many others. Max Leichtlin sent out a good 
 deep-coloured form of it as C. aftt'cus, but it is certainly 
 no more than a good variety of Sieberi. The Cretan form 
 is one of the most glorious of all known Crocuses, for the 
 ground is white, the throat a very rich orange colour, and 
 the outer segments are marked externally with bands or 
 streaks of a curious shade of purplish-crimson unlike that 
 in any other Crocus. Unfortunately it is very rare in 
 gardens, and has not been collected for a great many 
 years, as it is said Cretan brigands will murder even good 
 little plant-collectors honest root-gatherers as Parkinson 
 would call them for the value of their skins, and C. Sieberi 
 versicohr grows up among their mountain strongholds. 
 Although it has as large and conspicuous scarlet stigmata 
 as any Crocus it produces but little pollen, and flowers 
 later than other forms of Sieberi, so I, and a neighbour 
 who has caught Crocus fever from me, have hard work to 
 get any seeds from this variety, and think ourselves lucky 
 if we can sow half a dozen each season. Some of the 
 results have been very encouraging, and we have got a few 
 with the red markings on a pale lavender ground colour. 
 92
 
 Spring Crocuses 
 
 C. Tomasinianus is the Crocus for spreading by seed into 
 natural drifts, or filling a border or slope of rock garden. 
 It replaces vernus in Eastern Europe, and it is not easy 
 to find any definite botanical character to distinguish it 
 from that variable species. Here it certainly hybridises 
 with some forms of vernus. Maw states that its glabrous 
 throat distinguishes it from vernus, but I have never yet 
 seen a flower of it that lacks a plentiful supply of white 
 hairs in the throat, and can only imagine he had some 
 peculiar form of it. On the other hand, I have a beardless 
 form of vernus. Tom, as I feel inclined to call it for short 
 and knowing him so well, is a variable plant ; some races 
 have nearly white outsides and in bud look dull, but half- 
 opened and showing the lavender interior are very pretty. 
 I prefer the deeper-coloured ones though, and have selected 
 some warm, rosy-purple forms, and have got still deeper- 
 coloured seedlings from them. I have also a pure white 
 that is good for contrast, but not an improvement in a 
 species whose chief charm lies in its peculiarly amethystine 
 shade of lilac. One day I went into the garden to try 
 and forget a raging toothache, and nearly succeeded, for 
 a lovely Tom seedling caught my eye, a rosy-hued one 
 with the addition of nearly white tips to each segment, 
 and under each white mark a spot of violet-purple, after 
 the style of the form of vernus called leucorhynchus. The 
 treasure was removed to the frame and has increased to 
 hundreds, and has gone into many other gardens, but if 
 you want to know the end of the tooth you must ask my 
 dentist ; it passed from my keeping to his. I want to get 
 Tom freely grouped in the grass, but it does not increase 
 much there : in a sunny border it conquers new territory 
 93
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 at a surprising rate, being a great seeder, and also splitting 
 into many small offsets from the larger corms. It is appear- 
 ing in tufts all along the path edges of the rock garden, 
 the result of seeds getting swept in among the edging stones. 
 
 C. versicolor is the last I shall insist upon your regard- 
 ing as a garden necessity, and if you cannot get hold of 
 the wild form from the Alpes Maritimes or the Riviera, 
 variable, delicately coloured, and feathered beauties of 
 endless kaleidoscopic possibilities, you should grow a 
 garden form known as var. picturatus, with white ground- 
 colour and crimson-purple featherings. Versicolor is the one 
 Crocus in which the inner segments are as a rule striped or 
 feathered on the inner surface. A few garden forms of vernus 
 and the wild one siculus are slightly so, but versicolor seems 
 to take a pride in internal decoration beyond all others. 
 
 I cannot pass to another chapter without mentioning 
 C. Fleischeri, a starry little creature, but one that wears a 
 scarlet feather in the centre, the finely-divided stigmata of 
 course. They are so brightly coloured that they glow 
 through the white segments of the closed bud much as 
 the yolk of a woodpecker's egg does through the shell, 
 giving it a pink glow that, alas ! disappears as soon as it is 
 blown. Then too there is C. carpetanus, which is peculiar in 
 two respects ; it has a pale lilac stigma, but not so hand- 
 some or bright as that of the autumnal byzantinus, and 
 it also has a leaf that in section is semi-cylindrical, with 
 raised ribs on the under side, and no lateral blades as in 
 other Crocuses. It has a very pretty soft lilac flower, but 
 is not a robust grower. Underground even it is peculiar, 
 and wears a covering of fibres more like tow than the coat 
 of a respectable Crocus. 
 
 94
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 Numerous Early Comers 
 
 FOLLOWING close on the heels of the Crocuses come Sct'tta 
 bifolia and Chionodoxa sardensis racing Anemone blanda for 
 the honour of forming the first blue carpeting of the year, 
 for not one of these is much use as dots or stiff little rings 
 in front of a large label, and all are quite unsuitable for the 
 modern millionaire's made-by-contract, opulent style of gar- 
 dening a thing I hate rather than envy, so don't make 
 mental remarks about the proverbial acidity of the immature 
 fruit of the vine. The filling of so many square yards of 
 prepared soil with so many thousands of expensive bulbs, 
 to yield a certain shade of colour for a fortnight and then 
 to be pulled up to make place for another massing, gives 
 me a sort of gardening bilious attack, and a feeling of pity for 
 the plants and contempt for the gardening skill that relies 
 upon Bank of England notes for manure. But I love a 
 large colony of some good plant that you can see has 
 spread naturally in a congenial home, aided by the loving 
 care of an observant owner. It has the same charm of 
 refinement and antiquity that one gets from an old house 
 where the Chippendale chairs and cabinets have stood on 
 the same polished boards and time-toned carpets ever 
 since they were new. It is a case of good taste and 
 knowledge from the first, and watchful care and apprecia- 
 95
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 tion and absence of the weathercock giddiness that is 
 influenced by gusty Fashion with a large F if you please. 
 Buy as many Scilla bifolia as you can afford, then, but 
 choose them a permanent home. Among the roots of a 
 wildish group of briar roses is a good situation, or even 
 among dwarf heaths, so long as they are not the red carnea 
 the flowering periods of these two coinciding and proving 
 somewhat too competitive to please me ; but almost any- 
 where will do among permanently planted larger plants that 
 can stand a spring carpet of blue at their feet. Then leave 
 them alone to seed and multiply and replenish the earth. 
 
 There is a great charm about the red, polished noses 
 they thrust through so early, and which, on a sunny 
 day, suddenly split asunder and reveal the neatly-packed 
 flower-buds, looking like a blue ear of wheat. This is 
 only promise, and the reward comes when the two leaves 
 lie close to the ground, and the blue spikes are feathery 
 sprays. It sometimes happens that the collected bulbs 
 have a few Chionodoxas mixed among them, but there 
 is no harm in this, as the colours do not fight at all, 
 and the Chionodoxas carry on the flowering for a week 
 or two. I have purposely mixed them in a large bed of 
 briar roses that I am allowing to carpet itself with them. 
 The Scilla comes first, then C. sardcnsis, followed by the 
 interesting bi-generic hybrid forms known as Chionoscillas, 
 which are sure to appear wherever the two genera are 
 grown together. I believe C. Ludliae enters into most of 
 these rather than sardensis, but the early flowering of 
 Scilla is almost always inherited, and the hybrids flower 
 before Ludliae is fully open. The most easily noticed dis- 
 tinction between Scilla and Chionodoxa is the difference 
 96
 
 Crown Imperials. By Margaret Waterfield
 
 Numerous Early Comers 
 
 of the filaments of their stamens ; in Scilla they are filiform, 
 that is slender and threadlike, but in Chionodoxa they are 
 flattened out, wide at the base, and tapering upwards, so 
 that they lie close to one another, forming a cone in the 
 mouth of the flower, and are conspicuously white. In the 
 hybrids they are of every intermediate width, and readily 
 catch the eye even if they are the only mark that shows 
 the mixed parentage. C. gigantea can be used to follow 
 Luciliae, but its colouring is rather too pink a blue to carry 
 on the same effect, and the form sold as Luciliae Boissier is 
 a better colour, being very nearly Luciliae only flowering 
 later and having more white in the eye, and leading on to 
 C. Tmoli (wrongly spelt Tmolusii sometimes, as if named 
 after a man instead of the mountain), but which I, and 
 also the Dutch growers, find has a habit of dying after 
 seeding, otherwise it would be a pleasant wind-up to the 
 Chionodoxa season. Some of the Chionoscillas are worth 
 looking after, and several have been named. Mr. Allen 
 took an interest in them, and selected several good ones. 
 His variety, Volunteer, is one of the best of a good sardensis 
 blue and very free, and his Queen, a charming soft pink, is 
 one of my most precious gems, but alas ! a great rarity. 
 Now and then, a large or extra bright one has appeared 
 here, and tempted me to burrow to the bowels of the 
 earth for its bulb, so as to remove it to a safe corner of 
 the rock garden. This burrowing is difficult when one 
 has to go some eight or more inches among the plants, 
 and I use another special tool of my own compose for it. 
 An ordinary " lady's fork " of four tines furnishes the 
 raw material for my inventive genius to work upon, a 
 coarse file my coadjutor : mind and muscle and metal 
 97 G
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 then get to work, and off come the two outer tines, and I 
 have a lovely giant's toothpick that almost always accom- 
 panies me when in the garden. Hark to a list of its virtuous 
 uses. It goes to the root of the evil in cases of Dandelions 
 and Docks unlike any other weapon : a plunge, a twist, and 
 the tap-rooted fiend lies vanquished at my feet. More 
 gently and lovingly inserted, it fetches up a choice bulb, a 
 rogue among the Tulips, or a new seedling of great price 
 and depth. Again, when the gardening visitor comes with 
 a basket and wants a bit of something good, nothing 
 removes a side crown so neatly, without disturbing the 
 main plant, or so unerringly extracts the very piece your 
 critical eye selects as best spared, and your affection for 
 your guest settles the extent of, as this two-pronged 
 walking-stick. It nearly got patented and put on the 
 market by an enterprising firm who read Mr. Donald 
 McDonald's praises of it after a visit here, and I gave 
 measurements and inspected models, but the Bowles Fork 
 has not appeared, and being so easily made from the four- 
 tined variety is perhaps not yet needed. 
 
 I have a very superior form of Scilla bifolia here, that 
 we call var. taurica. It was given me many years ago 
 by Dr. Lowe of Wimbledon, one of the many mementoes 
 I possess of his kindness and generosity, and a very 
 pleasant friendship that has left many marks of betterment 
 on me and my garden. 
 
 Although it is many years since the Scilla came to me, 
 I have but one small clump, for it never bears seed, and 
 increase by offsets is rather slow, as friends admire it 
 so, and I have such a foolishly soft heart that will 
 persuade me I can spare just one more bulb. Its great 
 98
 
 Numerous Early Comers 
 
 beauty lies in the crimson anthers of a freshly-opened 
 flower, and a neatness of habit, stiff, sturdy stalks, and 
 close-set spikes of larger flowers, and a softer tone of blue 
 than in the type. Those I have bought at various times 
 bearing the same name have been nothing but strong bulbs 
 of ordinary bifolia. It is hard to get hold of the forms 
 of bifolia, for few lists include any but alba and carnea. 
 The former is a lovely little thing, most suitable for the 
 rock garden, and carnea is very much like it but only 
 carnea by courtesy, for, unless within a few hours of its 
 opening, it will have faded to an ivory white. The rare old 
 var. rubra is a lovely thing, rosy-salmon in colour, and so big 
 and strong-looking you would expect it to ramp and fill the 
 garden, whereas in reality it seldom makes an offset, and 
 has never set seed here. Mr. Allen's seedling raised from 
 it and called Pink Beauty is rather earlier and a fainter, 
 more rosy pink, and rather better at increasing. Another 
 of his raising, var. purpurea, has deep-red stamens and a 
 purplish tone of blue, and is distinct but rather heavy in 
 colour, and not so pleasing as the type unless looked at 
 closely. There is a little colony of these forms in the rock 
 garden, in a flat bed that is overrun later in the year by 
 Convolvulus tenuissimus (the plant generally wrongly labelled 
 as C. althaeoides, which has a much larger and paler flower 
 with purple eye, and is more tender, living but refusing to 
 flower here), which throws a veil of silver leaves and bright, 
 rose-coloured flowers over the summer sleep of the Scillas. 
 In the same bed I have the form I like best of Scilla 
 stbirica, known as var. multiflora. It won my affection by 
 its habit of blossoming three weeks earlier than the type, and 
 I prefer its lighter, less aggressively Prussian blue colouring 
 99
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 for associating with other Scillas. It seeds freely, and 
 its children inherit the parental colouring and early rising 
 habit. The white 5. sibirica grows near, and is also lavish 
 in seminal increase, and a few early-flowering whites have 
 appeared that I am watching anxiously, and hoping they 
 have inherited the best traditions of both families. 
 
 Hyacinthus azureus is one of the most exquisite of the 
 small and earlies, but like eating soup with a fork, one 
 never gets enough of it. It is cheap enough, only three 
 shillings a hundred, yet I never saw a garden that 
 could show so many. I vow that next planting season 
 I will let six sixpences go bang and try to grow 
 a century of spikes of its pure turquoise bells. It is 
 very lovely grown beside Crocus aureus; their colours 
 are not too violent in contrast, as at their early appear- 
 ance there is plenty of brown earth for background. Two 
 quaint, squat little Ornithogalums flower in the very 
 beginning of the year, opening a flower at a time during 
 any intervals of decent weather ; one is O. Haussknectii, 
 which I advise the inventors of English names to call the 
 Horse's Necktie Bird's-milk, and the other O. libanoticunt, 
 and Pompey and Caesar are very much alike, especially 
 Pompey. I won't say they are strikingly beautiful, but 
 in January one is pleased to see their greyish-white, green- 
 streaked flowers flattened down among their rosettes of 
 leaves. One dreadful winter I was obliged to spend in 
 London helping to nurse my brother through typhoid 
 fever and all its complications, and on a dreary December 
 day kind Dr. Lowe came to inquire, and brought with him 
 from his garden of treasures a bulb or two of a charming 
 little Muscari in full bloom. He told me he went round 
 100
 
 Numerous Early Comers 
 
 his garden to see what he could bring to cheer me, and 
 this bright little Grape Hyacinth suggested itself. It lived 
 in my window in that London square until I could bring 
 it and my Convalescent home, so for association's sake alone 
 I should treasure it, but I also rejoice in its wee blue 
 flowers, which never fail to appear in a succession from 
 December to March. 
 
 I never had a name for it, but have called it Dr. Lowe's ; 
 it is probably a form of M. botryoides, and I have forgotten, 
 if he ever told me, where he got it from. He was one of a 
 delightful old school of amateur gardeners, a friend of Miss 
 Hope, Harpur-Crewe, Miss Marianne North, Isaac Henry, 
 and many others, only venerated names to me, but many 
 of their treasures have passed into my hands through 
 Dr. Lowe's kindness to me when a struggling beginner. 
 Puschkinia scilloides, the Striped Squill, I owe to him, a 
 pretty little grey thing like the ghost of a Scilla come back 
 to earth ; and if you buy what is offered as P. libanotica you 
 will get scilloides, for they are but one and the same, though 
 often listed as distinct, and sometimes you are invited to pay 
 more for one than for the other, so always buy the cheaper. 
 
 Cyclamen Count and C. ibericum and their garden-raised 
 hybrid offspring Atkinsii should have been showing crimson 
 or white buds lying on the earth since mid-December, and 
 be raising them up and turning back their petals before the 
 days grow perceptibly longer. The two first are constantly 
 confused with each other, but are easy to distinguish, as 
 Coum has plain green leaves, while those of ibericum have 
 more or less of handsome, grey spotting or zonal bands, and 
 it is altogether the larger and handsomer plant. I won't 
 say that puzzling hybrid intermediates besides Atkinsii do 
 101
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 not exist, for I believe there are several in Bitton Garden, 
 where the two species have grown side by side for nearly a 
 century, that are distinctly intermediate, but not large and 
 handsome enough to rank for garden purposes as C. 
 Atkinsii, which is a bolder plant with larger flowers than 
 those of either parent. C. Coum album is a difficult plant 
 to obtain. Many lists contain the name, but the plants 
 that arrive bearing it are either C. ibericum, as rosy as red 
 tape, or C. cilicicum, an autumn-flowering member of the 
 family with conspicuously mottled leaves. One or two 
 such names seem to exist in catalogues simply to provide 
 aliases for plants. It is rather amusing to gamble with 
 some and see what you will get for them. Crocus lactiflorus 
 I especially recommend ; it is a bran-pie, lucky dip, and 
 surprise packet all in one ; you never know whether an 
 order for half a dozen will produce an autumnal or vernal 
 species, and many of my rarities came to me so named. 
 Lathyrus magellanicus is another, Anacyclus formosus a third. 
 I imagine no plant is grown by the author of the list 
 under these names, and so the packer turns round three 
 times and catches what he can. I am not sure that I am 
 not getting rather extravagant over Cyclamen. I love them 
 so that I order a few hundreds each season, and sow seeds 
 as well, but I never yet saw a garden containing too many 
 of them, and it will be a long day before this one provides 
 enough to please me. With one species and another they 
 are in flower very nearly all the year round. Coum and 
 ibericum begin with the year, and before they are over 
 C. repandum has opened out its ivy-shaped leaves, pushing 
 them along underground until they come up far away 
 from the centre of the corm, making you think they must 
 102
 
 Numerous Early Comers 
 
 belong to seedlings. They appear above-ground folded in 
 two like a butterfly with closed wings, and soon after them 
 come the buds. I was greatly pleased with a form I got 
 from Holland in the autumn. It is called var. roseum, and 
 is a pretty pale pink and marvellously floriferous. I used 
 to have a fine plant of a pure white form, but it died and 
 I cannot get another as good, all I have bought lately 
 for white being nothing but a faded or overworn pink as 
 the sixteenth century gardeners call it. The bright, rosy 
 type form is very good, and carries on the season until 
 C. europaeum, the sweetly-scented gem from Italian woods 
 and Tyrolean hillsides, begins to flower. It does so about 
 the end of May here, and goes on until September is 
 middle-aged and the truly autumnal forms are in full swing. 
 The largest flowerer of the hardy forms is C. libanoticum, 
 unfortunately rare, rather expensive, and none too easy to 
 grow. The happiest I possess are on a burnt-up dry 
 slope of rock garden overhung by an old thorn ; the soil is 
 dry as dust all the summer, and I suppose the slopes of 
 Lebanon are not very different at that season, and so it 
 feels at home where nothing else but a few Sempervivums 
 exist for long together. 
 
 I am very fond of the Spring-flowering Colchicums, but 
 unfortunately slugs are also, and those greedy gasteropods 
 and I have a race for who can see the flower-buds first. 
 If I win I go out after dark with an acetylene lamp and a 
 hatpin and spear the little army of slugs making for the 
 tea-party at the sign of the Colchicum. C, hydrophilum and 
 libanoticum are two closely-related eastern species ; the 
 former from the Taurus has the more richly-coloured 
 flowers, and the Lebanon one the larger and better shaped. 
 103
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 Both are attractive so early in the year, but the two I like 
 best are C. luteum, the only yellow one of the family, and 
 C. crociflorum, a charming, little white flower with purple 
 lines running up the back of each segment, a very good 
 imitation of a small Crocus. They have existed for some 
 years in the rock garden in ordinary soil, but I believe the 
 sand moraine with underground waterpipe would suit them 
 best. It certainly agrees with their wilful cousin Bulbocodium 
 vernum, a plant I could never induce to settle down and be 
 cosy until I indulged myself in the luxury of what, for 
 want of a better name, I call a sand moraine. 
 
 As I suppose it is inevitable that I write of my moraines, 
 we might as well discuss the subject here. No one would 
 read a gardening book nowadays that did not deal with 
 this latest fashion in gardening. The name and popularity 
 and prattle of the thing are new, but many good cultiva- 
 tors had their porous, gritty, raised or sunk beds for alpines, 
 whatever they called them, long ago. Mr. Wolley-Dod 
 laughingly called his narrow raised mounds "potato-ridges." 
 But they proved the ideal home for many difficult plants 
 that would not exist domiciled otherwise on the cold, sticky 
 clay at Edge Hall. The ridges were, as I remember them, 
 about twenty yards long, and mainly composed of grit and 
 leaf soil, and ever full of rare and healthy plants. The 
 ridge system was the important factor of success at Edge, 
 but in the hungry, arid, gravel soil at Cambridge, Mr. Lynch 
 found a sunk bed of gritty soil made a happy home for 
 Saxifrages that repined and went into a decline under other 
 treatment. Then arose the prophet. The abundant rain- 
 fall of Ingleborough and the local limestone (three or four 
 lumps of which make any sort of rock gardening a thing 
 104
 
 Numerous Early Comers 
 
 of beauty if only one side of the block be bedded up with 
 earth), aided and abetted by river silt from the lake's mouth 
 and chips of all sizes from the mountain side, were only 
 waiting for Mr. Farrer's master mind to plan their com- 
 bination and lo ! a new era dawned. The most discon- 
 tented of his alpine treasures flourished, the great news 
 went forth to the world, a series of books in slate-coloured 
 covers became the foundation of conversation, even at 
 dinner, to the great annoyance of those who wait and there- 
 fore should expect all things to come to them. This is a 
 fact: a head gardener, in speaking of the extraordinary wave 
 of the fashion of gardening, told me that the men in the 
 house complained bitterly that, whereas once upon a time 
 they picked up innumerable sporting tips and had much 
 interesting gossip to listen to, nowadays the talk at dinner 
 was all Latin names and about soils and gardening books. 
 Now the moraine holds the field. I wonder will the name 
 live unrivalled until these words are published, or will 
 someone invent a terse term for the bed with underground 
 pipes that promises to replace the plain granite chip 
 arrangement ? I hope it won't be called the glacier j it is 
 bad enough to misname as moraine a square yard or two 
 of a hole in the ground filled up with road-mending 
 material and bristling with labels, but underground-water- 
 bed savours of chronic invalids and hospitals, and is also 
 cumbrous. Melting-snow sounds Japanesque and is what 
 one is trying to imitate, but as I did not invent the system 
 I do not feel bound to name it, and I hope it will be in 
 common use and have gained a familiar name before this 
 is read. Mr. Grove has perfected the idea in his marvel- 
 lous garden near Henley, and I have seen hosts of plants 
 105
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 that I believed were impossible, in health and vigour and 
 jostling each other in his piped beds, and we must look to 
 him for light and guidance. Mr. Malby has experimented 
 on a smaller scale with beds with impervious floors and an 
 inlet above and outlet below, and has found them very 
 successful. 
 
 Of course I was an early victim of the moraine 
 measles after my first visit to Ingleborough, and when 
 next the Moraine Magician came to see me, he helped in 
 planning my first attempt at a granite chip one. My 
 previous experiments had not been over successful; a 
 range of the rock garden had been built with the debris 
 of broken Welsh slate, the result of the re-roofing of my 
 brother's house, but I and the plants find it rather 
 uninteresting too dry and lean, like a diet of cracknel 
 biscuits or pulled bread. Another mound composed of 
 old ceilings, brick rubble, cinders, and gravel exactly suits 
 my outdoor Cactuses and other succulents, of which more 
 anon. A sloping pocket of the slate-roof range was 
 cleared out and filled to the depth of two and a half feet 
 with granite chips, smaller in gauge than Mr. Farrer 
 usually advises to meet any arid climate half-way, and 
 mixed with leaf soil it has suited some plants admirably, 
 but contrary to all my hopes needs watering morning 
 and evening in dry weather, and so is not much better in 
 labour saving than any ordinary bank of the rock garden. 
 In it Androsace hedraeantha is happy and seeds about ; 
 Cerastium alpinum, var. lanatum, which refused to live with 
 me before, now wishes to fill this bed. Edraianthus 
 species have ceased to be an anxiety, and give me pleasure 
 and flowers. Saponaria lutea is as happy as the proverbial 
 106
 
 Numerous Early Comers 
 
 king, though no more yellow than the paper of the typical 
 bun-bag, and were it not a rarity and collected by myself 
 in happy hunting-grounds I should not greatly care if it 
 miffed itself away as under former treatment. But some 
 of them do not like overhead watering in hot weather, so 
 I tried experiments in a corner of this bed to see whether 
 I could keep it from burning up so quickly by mixing 
 sand, my favourite birdcage variety, with the chips and 
 leaf soil. Plants loved it and grew wondrously, but wore 
 it out rather quickly, and still it needed watering oftener 
 than I liked. The next new bed was made on the opposite 
 side of the path, and planned to hold a rather richer com- 
 post of leaf soil, peat and sand, with occasional surfacings, 
 admixtures, or even unadulterated patches of granite chips : 
 but the most important innovation was a leaden pipe with 
 a funnel-shaped mouth at one end to receive water, and 
 two rows of holes bored on the under surface at intervals 
 of 3 inches. This is buried in the bed at a depth of 6 to 8 
 inches according to the slope of the bed, and the funnel 
 comes to the surface and is covered with a flat stone, that can 
 be easily lifted off when it is wished to pour a can or two 
 of water in. We arranged the fall of the pipe so that the 
 water ran out fairly evenly from all the holes, and found it 
 needed to be very slightly lower at the end farthest from 
 the mouth. This bed is now nearly two years old, and 
 has been great fun. In the richer peaty end Primula 
 pedemontana and P. Bowlesii, the latter a hybrid from 
 P. pedemontana and P. viscosa, have recovered their strength 
 after the shock of being collected when in full flower, and 
 flowered well this Spring. Astrantia minor, said to be 
 impossible in England, has done well and given me a 
 107
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 fine crop of seed. Gentiana verna, collected forms from 
 Mt. Cenis, mostly of the angulosa type, and G. brachyphylla 
 have spread into good tufts. Campanula cenisia is a good 
 test plant, and has settled down in the chippy patch, 
 while Papaver rhoeticum looks as happy as it did in its 
 Tyrolean shale beds. 
 
 Then in the following Spring the rock garden was 
 enlarged, a new wing thrown out, and there was a chance 
 for a fresh venture in underground watering. A steep 
 bank was divided into large pockets, and some slabs of 
 old slate from a demolished water-tank were used to pave 
 the bottom of the pockets, following the line of the slope. 
 Partition walls of brick and cement below ground and 
 stone above were arranged so that water, poured down 
 a portion of drainpipe at the top of the hill, would fill 
 each pocket up to a certain height and then flow through 
 to the next. It took some time to construct and harden, 
 and so was empty for a week or two, and I was chaffed 
 by all my garden visitors on my fish hatchery or filter 
 beds, and many pleasantries arose from my adopting Mr. 
 Malby's ingenious plan of inserting half a hock bottle at 
 advantageous corners, so that in winter the corks might 
 be removed and the beds drained. But once filled up 
 with various cunning mixtures of sand and leaf in some 
 parts, and old mortar rubble, or even our local gravel 
 screened and stirred up with something a little more 
 feeding in others, it looked like any ordinary new rock 
 garden bed, and many things have astounded me by the 
 way they have approved of it and spread or seeded. 
 Viola bosniaca never liked me and my ways before, and I 
 was quite as much ashamed of myself as any really keen 
 108
 
 Numerous Early Comers 
 
 gardener need be, for so constantly begging bits of it 
 from more successful growers. Now I weed it up as 
 well as supplying all who come. Douglasia Vitaliana 
 never lived here long enough to make it worth while 
 looking up its synonyms, so as to make up my mind 
 whether to call it Aretia, Androsace, Gregoria, Primula, 
 Macrotybus or Vitaliana primuloides, for it has received a 
 new name almost as often as it has died under my tender 
 care. After a year in the fish hatchery it has spread 
 into a grey mat and flowered this Spring almost as solidly 
 as it does on Mont Cenis, and I have turned its history up 
 in Pax and Knuth's Primulaceae volume of Das Pflanzenreich, 
 and hope it will live here as long as it shall remain a 
 Douglasia, for surely no one will dare alter the genera as 
 settled by that redoubtable pair during my time. Of 
 course one must always discount such successes by 
 realising that many plants will flourish in newly-disturbed 
 soil for a season or two and then either render it un- 
 suitable for them or they themselves grow sick of it. 
 Linaria alpina is an instance of this ; even in the Alps it is 
 only on landslides or new earthworks that one finds it in 
 profusion. I have even seen it on a heap of grit that 
 had been left by the roadside after a part of it had been 
 used for mixing cement for a new house. Here it will 
 always thrive in a newly-constructed bit of rock garden, 
 and after a year or two refuse to grow even if carefully 
 sown. But to see Soldanellas, Primula frondosa, and the 
 alpine form of Parnassia palustris, growing in apparently 
 dry sand, and a little way below Lewisia Howelliis salmon 
 and orange-coloured flowers contrasting deliciously with 
 that exquisite gem of Campanulas called C. caespitosa 
 109
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 Miranda by Mr. Fairer (but with a big query at present, 
 and which I owe to his generosity, for it goeth not forth 
 for pelf at present), the rounded bells of which are a pearly 
 grey of indescribable delicacy to see all these so con- 
 tiguous and so happy makes my visitors wonder and fills me 
 with pride in my fish hatchery. The New River is so close 
 to the top of it that it is an easy job to pour a can or two 
 of its contents into the mouths of my two drainpipes, and 
 this done once a day even in the hot dry time of the last 
 summer proved sufficient to keep the lower soil moist. 
 
 That, then, is the history of my moraines. I call the 
 first granite chip one the " Farrer " moraine, the second 
 the "sand" moraine, and the "lead pipe bed" and "fish 
 hatchery" will refer to the others. 
 
 Now to go back to the Bulbocodium, which flourishes 
 in the lead pipe bed, but do not imagine, in spite of this 
 lengthy digression, that the moraines were made on 
 purpose to accommodate it. I put it in there because 
 I was so pleased to see the way it grew among the 
 Gentians in certain gullies by the Mt. Cenis lake, and then 
 found my little purple friend liked it. I am hoping it 
 will also agree with the Spring-flowering Merendera 
 caucasica and sobolifera, for although the autumnal M. 
 Bulbocodium is fairly happy here the other two require 
 frequent renewal, and I am so fond of their quaint wee 
 flowers, so much like a Colchicum when first open but so 
 ragged and untidy when the segments part company after 
 a day or two of prim neatness. The mark of this genus 
 is the lack of a perianth tube : the segments are connivent 
 at first opening, that is, they hang together at the throat, 
 but when they rise a little out of the leaves each segment 
 JIQ
 
 Numerous Early Comers 
 
 starts away from its neighbour, and you see that they are 
 divided right down instead of joining to form a tube as in 
 Crocus and Colchicum. Bulbocodium vernwn behaves in 
 the same way, but the segments of the perianth are 
 furnished at the base with spurlike outgrowths which 
 make them arrow-shaped, and keep them together longer 
 and more perfectly than in Merendera. I like to grow 
 these plants and to admire the transition they show from 
 free perianth segments to the long, perfectly-formed tube 
 as found in Colchicum. 
 
 Tucked away in a sunny corner among Semper- 
 vivums lives another of my minute favourites. I have 
 often been accused of growing and loving too many 
 microscopic plants, and perhaps Allium Chamaemoly is 
 alone sufficient evidence to convict me. For some years 
 I was surprised to find seedpods and yet to have 
 missed its flowers, then a sharp look-out showed me 
 that they appeared much earlier than I expected, and 
 were very much smaller than I had hoped. A careful 
 search in late December and throughout January generally 
 reveals a flower or two. They are certainly very small, 
 about the size of a bee's knee their detractors might 
 say, but they are dainty little green and white stars, 
 and in January it is very pleasant to find anything 
 that is a flower. 
 
 Another first comer of the year, but different in 
 every way from Chamaemoly, except that you do not see 
 it in many gardens, is the Toothwort of the Pyrenees, 
 Lathraea dandestina. It ought to be in every garden, 
 for it is very beautiful when in full flower, looking like 
 a colony of some very dwarf purple Crocus, but when 
 in
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 you look closer you see the flowers are of an unfamiliar 
 shape, more like those of some large Sage or Dead 
 Nettle, but not a labiate ; indeed, it is a plant hard to place, 
 for its relations, the Orobanches, are not as a rule well 
 known to gardeners. The fact that it is a parasite makes 
 it difficult to establish. First, one must find a suitable 
 host in a suitable place, and with roots in a condition 
 to be pounced on by the Lathraea. Poplar and Willow 
 are the most likely trees to prove hospitable to it, but 
 it is a queer, cranky sort of plant, and you cannot 
 reckon on what it will do. After careful planting it 
 may apparently die away, and then after two or more 
 years some January day may reveal its white scales 
 leaves it has none breaking through the ground perhaps 
 a yard away from the place you planted it in ; a few 
 years later still, when seeds have had time to form 
 and fly and grow, it may appear, healthy and vigorous, 
 far from the range of the roots of the tree. I know 
 of an instance where it chose to board itself out on a 
 Gunnera, and in Cambridge Botanic Gardens it thrives 
 as well across the streamlet in the grass as on the other 
 side among the willows. Here I chose a Weeping 
 Willow for its foster mother, thereby paying off a small 
 grudge I owed it. I made a luxurious bed of good 
 soil at its feet some years ago for Japanese Irises, but 
 the Willow said, " First come, first served," and ate up 
 the fatness and starved out the /. Kaempferi, filling the 
 bed with its fibrous roots. Among these I planted a 
 sod or two of Lathraea, some of them kind gifts from 
 Mr. Lynch, others sent by my Spanish cousins, and 
 later on some seeds also from Cambridge. I cannot 
 112
 
 Numerous Early Comers 
 
 say which attached themselves, but I know I was plan- 
 ning a fresh attack, both on the Willow and Mr. 
 Lynch's generosity, as after three years of waiting I 
 saw nothing of the Toothwort, and then it appeared 
 in several places, and since then has spread rapidly. 
 First it pushes the scale-clad stem out of the ground, 
 a strange-looking creamy-white mass, of seaweedy or 
 coral-like appearance or is my memory playing me 
 tricks ? Yes, I think it is, and you had better not 
 believe me, good reader, for now it dawns upon me 
 that I really mean neither a seaweed nor a coral, but 
 two products of the Mollusca that one finds washed 
 up at high tide level. The first is Flustra foliacea, some- 
 times called Scented Seaweed, but really the dry house of 
 a dead colony of one of those strange compound molluscan 
 animals called the Polyzoa, and the other is the empty 
 egg mass of the whelk, both when dry being of the 
 same creamy white as the Lathraea's scales. Yes, these 
 are what I am reminded of by the rosette of scales. 
 
 It is a foolish plant to appear so early, for although 
 the white scales seem to be unhurt by severe frosts, 
 the purple buds which emerge from between them are 
 ruined by a very few degrees, and look brown and 
 sick after a cold night. In mild spells of weather I 
 have enjoyed the soft lilac mass of colour in late January 
 and February, but it is not until the Crocuses are over, 
 that is to say early April, that one gets the full effect 
 from it. It pushes up fresh flowers out of the rosettes 
 for some weeks longer, and as the grass grows and 
 shelters them the later flowers are larger and more 
 attractive than the earlier ones. 
 
 113 H
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 They are followed by fleshy capsules of a dull purple, 
 not beautiful, but of great and exciting interest, for when 
 the seeds are ripe enough to go out into the world the 
 walls of these capsules become tensely turgid and the two 
 valves press inward on each other very powerfully, so that 
 a slight shock or touch at the summit causes them to split, 
 and each valve to curl inwards with such force that 
 the two enclosed seeds are shot out to a considerable 
 distance. I greatly enjoyed taking some examples of ripe 
 capsules up to one of the meetings of the Scientific 
 Committee of the R.H.S., and as they were new to the 
 members present, aided by my position as acting chair- 
 man at the head of the long table, while I was describing 
 the mechanism I gave them a pinch, and startled the 
 members at the other end of the table by the sudden 
 impact of several Lathraea seeds. At the right season I 
 can always get some amusement by inducing a visitor to 
 press a bunch of ripe capsules and noting how high he 
 jumps when the seeds fly into his face, and after this 
 initiation we aim over the pond with other capsules to see 
 what distance we can shoot the seeds into the tell-tale 
 water. This season a self-sown plant has appeared in the 
 grassy bank of the pond, perhaps the result of one of 
 these contests. 
 
 I have sown our native Lathraea Squamaria on Hazel 
 roots several times, but have not yet seen it above-ground. 
 Experience with its more showy relation preaches hope 
 and patience, so I still look for its appearance, but shall 
 continue to sow seeds or plant clumps whenever I can 
 get them. 
 
 The list of earliest arrivals cannot be closed without 
 114
 
 Numerous Early Comers 
 
 mention of Winter Aconites. The common one, Eranthis 
 ht'emah's, like Chionodoxa, is one of the test plants of the 
 established maturity of gardens : your parvenu, architect- 
 planned, and colour-schemed affair can seldom include 
 such a fine drift of its cheery yellow faces in their green 
 Toby frills as one may see in the garden of many a 
 parsonage or quiet old grange. It is difficult to establish 
 a new colony of it unless one can rob an old one, for it 
 is one of those plants which suffer terribly from being 
 kept out of the ground any length of time, and here I 
 find the best time to transplant it is during its period of 
 flowering. Roots bought in autumn are generally sick 
 unto death. 
 
 This season the extraordinary mildness of early 
 December brought it into flower quite a week before 
 Christmas, and the blooms were small, dingy, of thin 
 texture, with no staying power in them, and they came out 
 a few at a time and so made no display, being one of the 
 few flowers that are better for a severe winter if it comes 
 before their flowering time. Gerard knew this, and writes : 
 " The colder the weather is, and the deeper that the snow 
 is, the fairer and larger is the floure, and the warmer that 
 the weather is, the lesser is the floure, and worse coloured." 
 This I have noticed, and take to mean that the flowers are 
 better for being kept back until they are thoroughly 
 matured as under a covering of snow, and then burst out 
 with the thaw in full strength and numbers. 
 
 The behaviour of seedlings is worth noting : they con- 
 tent themselves for their first season with no leaves other 
 than the pair of cotyledons, but find them all-sufficient 
 to gather enough carbon dioxide from the air to add to
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 their root-collected store of nutriment to form a neat little 
 tuber before the summer heat dries them up. E. cilicica 
 is worth having too, as it comes after the older species has 
 gone out of flower, and its red stems and more finely 
 divided frills are attractive. It is beginning to colonise 
 here by self-sown seedlings, but I fear will never rival the 
 friend of one's childhood, which is in more than one sense 
 first in the field. 
 
 Are you nervous of scorpions ? If so plant a wide 
 ring of Winter Aconite, and during its growing season at 
 any rate you can feel safe in the centre of this magic 
 circle, for Gerard tells us quite gravely it " is of such 
 force, that if the scorpion passe by where it groweth and 
 touche the same, presently he becometh dull, heavy, and 
 senseless, and if the same scorpion by chance touch the 
 white Hellebor he is presently delivered from his drow- 
 sinesse." What fertile imaginations those old gentle- 
 men had ! 
 
 116
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 Daffodils 
 
 THE people who talk about flowers may be roughly 
 divided into two classes, those who ask and those who are 
 expected to answer the question, " What is the difference 
 between a Narcissus and a Daffodil ? " 
 
 I appear to belong to the latter division, and answer, 
 " None whatever, one being the Latin and the other the 
 English name for the same plant " ; but the other class 
 are never satisfied therewith, for they want a difference, 
 and like a certain fretful baby we have all seen pictures 
 of won't be happy till they get it. So I take down 
 Parkinson's Paradisus and, having impressed them with the 
 antiquity and authority of that great man, read them his 
 words of wisdom, for he writes : " Many idle and ignorant 
 Gardeners . . . doe call some of these Daffodils Narcisses, 
 when, as all that know any Latine, that Narcissus is the 
 Latine name and Daffodill the English of one and the same 
 thing ; and therefore alone, without any other Epithite 
 cannot properly distinguish severall things." If that does 
 not subdue their inquisitive spirit Gerard may be called as 
 second witness to testify that " Generally all the kindes 
 are comprehended under the name Narcissus, in English 
 Daffodilly, Daffodowndilly, and Primerose Peereless." 
 
 Clearly these two great fathers of English gardening 
 117
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 saw no difference except of language between a Narcissus 
 and a Daffodil. All the same it would be useful to have 
 a name for those Narcissi that we somehow feel ought not 
 to be called Daffodils, even though we may not be able 
 to find one better than the word Daffodil with some 
 " other Epithite." In spite of Gerard and Parkinson we 
 shall be in good company in feeling thus, for Turner in 
 The Names of Herbes writes : " This that we take for 
 Daffodil is a kind of Narcissus." So in 1548 it was felt 
 that though all Daffodils were Narcissi yet some Narcissus 
 might not be a Daffodil : but where they gave Parkinson 
 a chance of calling them hard names, was in the way they 
 used the Latin name of the whole genus for certain 
 members of it, instead of choosing some distinguishing 
 English word for that particular group. In much the 
 same way now people use the generic term Viola as 
 though it belonged only to the particular race of perennial 
 garden-raised Violas that have been well named Tufted 
 Pansies. It would be equally wise to start calling the 
 Irish Single Tea roses, Rosas, or those hairy oubits of dogs, 
 the now fashionable Pekinese, Canis. 
 
 It is unfortunate that our modern idea of a true 
 Daffodil is not that of Parkinson's day. Hear him on 
 the subject. "Now to cause you to understand the 
 difference between a true Daffodil and a false, is this : It 
 consists only in the flower, and chiefly in the middle cup 
 or chalice ; for that we do in a manner only account 
 those to bee Pseudonarcissos, bastard Daffodils, whose 
 middle cup is altogether as long and sometimes a little 
 longer than the outer leaves that doe encompasse it, so that 
 it seemeth rather like a trunke or long nose than a cup 
 118
 
 Daffodils 
 
 or chalice, such as almost all the Narcissi or true Daffodils 
 have." In fact all those long-nosed ones which we like 
 to call true Daffodils he calls bastard, which is not a 
 pleasant " Epithite " to give to an honest flower. 
 
 Still we need not let Parkinson's views weigh too 
 heavily on our conscience, for does he not include as 
 Narcissi, Sternbergia, Pancratium, and Zephyranthes, this 
 last as he says tl not finding where better to shroud it " ? 
 A still more glorious dispensation may be found in Spre- 
 kelia's appearance as the Indian Daffodil with a red flower ! 
 Narcissus Jacobaeus ! ! The vaunted pink daffodils, this 
 year's most sensational exhibits, cannot vie with this 
 crimson glory. Their stripes or flushed yellow perianths 
 remind one of a hen's egg that was left too long under the 
 maternal breast to be appetising when boiled, or " lightly 
 poach " we will hope, for as Mrs. Green knew, "A poach 
 hegg you sees naked before you, an' if it ain't what it should 
 be, back it can go without no committin' of yourself in the 
 way of a broken shell." 
 
 Furthermore the word Daffodil is such a thoroughly 
 home-made English corruption of Asphodel that it was 
 probably made for our one unquestionably wild species, 
 N. Pseudo-narcissus, the Lent-lily, which is certainly the 
 swallows' precursor of Shakespeare, and the Daffodil of 
 Herrick and the poets generally. 
 
 The initial D has never been satisfactorily accounted 
 for, according to the New Oxford Dictionary, and one 
 must bow down before its pontifical authority, even though 
 one misses certain traditional derivatives that lack docu- 
 mentary support, omitted by its strict plan of relying only 
 on historical evidence. I am sadly disappointed if an 
 119
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 English history omits the tale of Alfred the Great's failure 
 as a cook, and would like to believe many fanciful deriva- 
 tions of words to be true. It is a tempting text for a 
 philological sermon that D, but I must not give you unto 
 fifthly and lastly, so condense it into the half sheet of notes 
 which, if cunningly concealed in a book, gives a preacher 
 or lecturer a reputation for extempore fluency, (i) The 
 D may be due to playful distortion, as in Ted from Edward ; 
 (2) part of the definite article ; (3) the final d of and, or the 
 Flemish article de. I hope it is the playful friendliness of 
 No. i. 
 
 Anyway in English use it was at first confined to the 
 Asphodel, then confused with the Narcissus, some think 
 through both plants once bearing the fanciful name Laus 
 tibi, but I would rather try to believe it was from a desire 
 to find some wild English equivalent for the Asphodel, 1 and 
 what would give us as flowery a mead as the wild Lent-lily ? 
 Both Turner and Lyte testify to this confusion. Turner 
 speaks of " Asphodillus ... in English whyte affodil or 
 duche daffodil." Lyte writes of his third kind of Asphodel 
 " in English also Affodyl and Daffodyl." Botanists, after 
 unsuccessfully resisting this mis-application, compromised 
 the matter by retaining affodil ivi the Asphodel, and accept- 
 ing the more popular daffodil for the Narcissus, which has 
 lived on as a familiar word, while the other has been 
 rectified to a form nearer its classic original. That 
 Daffodil is Affo dyle, " that which cometh early " has been 
 confidently asserted by some (see Sowerby's English Botany 
 
 1 Turner, Herbal, I. b. iii. 6, supports this : " I could never se thys herb 
 (asphodelos ryght affodil) in England but ones, for the herbe that the people 
 calleth here affodil (or daffodill) is a kind of narcissus." 
 120
 
 Anemone sylvestris grandiflora. (See p. 218.)
 
 Daffodils 
 
 for an instance), but is ignored by the Oxford Dictionary, 
 and as I have found no evidence for it beyond bare asser- 
 tions, this time I thankfully avail myself of the authority 
 of the great work. Again, that Saffron-lily has given us 
 Daffadowndilly, and thence Daffodil, is argued by Dr. Prior, 
 but he confesses the explanation is merely conjectural, and 
 wants the test of historical evidence. It is a modern idea, 
 though, that a Daffodil must be yellow, for both Parkinson 
 and Gerard speak freely of white Daffodils, in describing 
 N. poeticus, both double and single, and also for polyanthus 
 varieties, so there is no reason why we should not talk of 
 Poet's Daffodils instead of using the Latin name Narcissus 
 for that group or we might revive Gerard's name Narcisse 
 for them, and Parkinson's name Peerless Daffodil seems 
 to me a charming one for the Incomparabilis section, 
 better than the contemporary ones " nonpareille," " none- 
 such," and " incomparable," and the hideous modern nick- 
 name of " incomps " one often hears from the lips of Daffodil 
 growers. Then the scientific name Narcissus might be 
 reserved for botanical purposes, when the species or their 
 wild hybrids and varieties are referred to. 
 
 Do not expect me to write of the Daffodils of this 
 garden as an expert. I sit among the great of the 
 Daffodil world, and see their latest productions, but the 
 garden knows them not. Birds must be of a feather to 
 flock together, and Croesus and White Emperor consort not 
 with paupers. So I have no list of latent novelties to make 
 your mouths water, only some few that, though neither 
 new nor worth double figures in pounds, yet are beautiful 
 enough to be worthy of a sentence or two. Many are 
 mementoes of kind friends and their richly-stored gardens. 
 
 121
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 I shall begin with my greatest favourite, Dawn, a very 
 appropriate name for a first comer. I need hardly 
 describe so well-known and much-shown a flower, but 
 must rejoice in some of its good points. It has a butterfly 
 expression in the reflexed white perianth and the graceful 
 way the segments stand out at rather variant angles, 
 especially where the twin flowers of each stem touch 
 each other, and push the segments forward, and cause 
 their tips to bend over. The slender stem and pendant 
 twin flowers make it charming as a cut flower, and the 
 flat, yellow cup is of such a pure colour that it sets off the 
 white perianth to perfection. I have hitherto grown it 
 in the peach-house border, a warm and sheltered home 
 reserved for new and precious plants until they increase 
 enough to send out their offspring to test their powers of 
 endurance in less secure quarters. It is a long, narrow bed 
 facing due south, backed by the peach-house and its low 
 wall, with water-pipes, heated in Spring, just behind it. It 
 has been a successful nursery for many a good thing, when 
 not only protection from chills, but also constant watching 
 is advisable. I believe many a treasure has done better 
 here, because the border is so narrow, and the delicate 
 things are so easily got at to be fingered, or have their 
 surrounding soil pressed down or scratched up, or some 
 other slight attentions paid to them, which sometimes make 
 all the difference to a plant while still half-hearted about 
 living and growing, much as those of a watchful and tactful 
 nurse can help an invalid to recovery. Next Spring I 
 hope to see Dawn out of this nursery, or nursing home, 
 and waving its butterflies in the rock garden. I have not 
 outgrown my admiration of Weardale Perfection. There 
 122
 
 Daffodils 
 
 may be more beautiful bicolors for millionaires, but they 
 have not come my way yet. Lord Muncaster was taking 
 a proud place in lists quite lately at six guineas each, and I 
 felt much inclined to sell all mine but one, and lay out the 
 result in Weardales, but I have never yet sold a plant, and 
 I hope I am too old to begin. So his lordship is still here. 
 
 I will try to tell you what charms I find in Weardale. 
 It is quite large enough for me. I do not want to sit 
 under a trumpet during a shower. Beyond a certain point, 
 size nearly always means coarseness, and I greatly dislike 
 the huge race of trumpet Daffodils so much to the fore in 
 some Dutch gardens. A small man might almost feel 
 nervous of looking down some of their trumpets, for fear 
 of falling in and getting drowned in the honey, and a life- 
 belt or two should be hung among the beds. As we have 
 not yet come to viewing our gardens from aeroplanes, we 
 can do without Rafflesia Arnoldii in the rock garden, and 
 the Waterbutt Trumpet Daffodil for mixed' borders. Even 
 the loveliest of fair damsels, magnified to the size of two 
 and a half elephants, would be an appalling object to the 
 stock-sized suitor, and until I have to take to much 
 stronger spectacles, Weardale is large enough for me. 
 
 I like its proportions : the trumpet has not ceased to 
 be a trumpet and become instead a gramophone's mouth- 
 piece, but the wide, overlapping perianth segments make 
 the balance more perfect than would be the case were the 
 segments of a narrower type such as in the variety Duke 
 of Bedford. But I lay most stress on the colouring, 
 and the soft blending of its two main shades that is 
 so delightful to look at or imitate in paint. The base 
 of the trumpet pales a little at its base, and also picks up 
 123
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 some reflected light from the perianth, so that its high 
 lights are almost of the same tone as the main ground- 
 colour of the segments, and the soft lemon-yellow of the 
 trumpet runs out a little at the base of each segment, 
 preventing any sudden break of colour, and I always 
 marvel at the amount of pearly grey in its shadows, 
 especially in the channelling at the sides of the broad 
 central beam of each segment. This beam when present 
 in a Daffodil adds greatly to my delight. It strengthens 
 the lines of the drawing so well, and generally proclaims 
 a firm substance and good lasting quality in the flower. 
 I do not despise Duke of Bedford. It is a fine flower 
 both in the border and cut, but for lingering over, painting, 
 or dining in front of, I prefer the softer blending of lemon 
 and cream of Weardale to the amber and milk of his 
 grace, but both are lovely flowers, and fortunately they 
 may be bought for shillings. 
 
 For a self-yellow trumpet, if there really is such a 
 thing, or near enough to be called one if there is not, 
 Hamlet has proved sturdy and generous with its soft, canary- 
 coloured blossoms, and is one of the earlier flowerers ; as 
 a late one I can recommend The Doctor, a tall, clear yellow 
 ^Esculapius with a hearty, breezy look that must mean a 
 cheery bedside manner. All of which good qualities, save 
 the colour, are typical of the popular physician for whom, 
 as Americans say, it was named, and who I believe is now 
 growing Daffodils as well as he does Sweet Peas. This 
 flower, The Doctor, is very welcome in the garden, in sick- 
 ness or health, as he comes when other big trumpets have 
 given us up (this season he was at his best about the 
 2oth of April), and there is a charm about the long, narrow 
 124
 
 Daffodils 
 
 perianth segments and the fascinating backward curve they 
 take when fully blown, which added to the King Alfred type 
 of colouring urges one to send for this Doctor. Monarch 
 I like and I give him a little square kingdom of border. 
 Golden Bell is very effective for an irregular planting ; my 
 best group is among some species of Rosa, but I think its 
 wide-mouthed bell too heavy for cutting. On the other 
 hand, I can never quite forgive the long-nosed, drainpipe 
 effect of Mme. Plemp's trumpet, and even Dorothy Kings- 
 mill's lovely colouring is marred by the narrow mouth, and 
 I feel as if the glove-stretchers should be applied gently at an 
 early stage. On the other hand, in the Pyrenean wildling 
 N. muticus the use of Nature's scissors has balanced the 
 flower, and I like the stiff, straight trumpet. One of my 
 greatest treasures (I feel tempted to write " so far " as a 
 recurring decimal to guard it from ill for aeons) is the white 
 muticus. It has been found more than once in Pyrenean 
 pastures, but so far as I know the only stock in cultivation 
 came from a single bulb found by Mr. Charles Digby, the 
 Rector of Warham. It increased slowly with him, but his 
 generous spirit led him to give away a bulb or two when 
 offsets appeared, but nowhere have they proved very 
 vigorous, and many have died out. A promising youngster 
 came to me from Warham, and a happy inspiration caused 
 me to plant it on a northern slope of the rock garden. The 
 cool conditions and good drainage have suited it so far; and 
 I had seven of its lovely white blossoms this Spring, and 
 learning of its total disappearance at Warham had the 
 great pleasure of returning three bulbs to its kind dis- 
 coverer. White Minor is another of the very elect of the 
 earth : it was found in an old Irish garden, and has not gone 
 125
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 far afield yet, but arrived here last autumn, a token of the 
 kindly heart and good memory of Mr. Bennett Poe, who 
 recalled my raptures over its refined beauty when I saw a 
 bunch of it in his drawing-room at one of those delightful 
 gatherings for a cup of tea after a long R.H.S. day, alas I 
 too seldom possible for me, who throughout the Spring have 
 ever a train to catch to be in my place at a night school 
 that has grown to be part of my existence. Even among 
 the choicest orchids and rare exotics from his collection of 
 rare and lovely plants that always fill his vases, and make 
 one feel the R.H.S. Hall ought to have a subterranean 
 passage ending in a door into that room, to let Fellows see 
 what cut flowers for decoration of a room should be like 
 even in such company, White Minor held its own as a gem. 
 I was a prisoner in a sick-room when it flowered this year, 
 but it came to my bedside and filled me with pride and 
 gratitude and hope for next season. It is just the plant 
 for a choice corner of the rock garden, a fitting companion 
 for N, triandrus, cyclamineus, minimus, and their hybrid off- 
 spring minicycla, an early flowering, long-lasting darling, 
 with the charm of both parents. Minimus is not so pro- 
 lific here as I wish : it once seeded along a path edge, and 
 I hoped would go on doing so, but no further strays have 
 appeared. N. juncifolius is rather a late flowerer, but very 
 charming even though the rock garden is by then full of 
 flower, and all the Hoop Petticoats in the world may come 
 to me if they like and I will try to find room for them. I 
 once collected bulbs of citrinus near Biarritz, and by getting 
 my feet wet in their boggy home caught a bad cold, but 
 learnt a valuable lesson as to the right position for this 
 thirsty soul. This year I flowered and have seeded the 
 126
 
 Daffodils 
 
 true N. dubius, kindly sent me from its wild home by M. 
 Denis of Iris fame. It is very small, but such a perfectly 
 formed little flower, and so white that one longs to give a 
 doll's dinner-party to decorate the table with it. It loves heat 
 and drought, so I am hoping it will thrive here, and some 
 bulbs I keep in the Crocus frame have been lifted and re- 
 planted, and I found they had increased in size. I like any 
 wild Narcissus in the rock garden, and some of the distinct 
 hybrids, such as Dawn, Moonbeam, and other triandrus 
 crosses, but the beds and shrubberies are the homes for 
 most Daffodils. I have tried to group some of the cool- 
 coloured ones in the centre of the piece of ground I have 
 alluded to as my sole bit of colour scheming. This grouping 
 contains Poets such as Rhymester, Almira, Cassandra and 
 Lovelace, a few Leedsii varieties, White Lady and Ariadne 
 among them, and nothing more yellow than Argent, Alba- 
 tross, and Seagull, and coming between a mass of grey-leaved 
 things and golden-leaved forms, with silver variegations 
 among the daffodils, and the whole backed by purple foliage, 
 the early Spring effect is delightfully clear and cool. White 
 Lady is fine for this use, being far enough in the middle of 
 the bed for the cup to pass unnoticed. I quarrel with her 
 name on account of that cup, for no lady would go out with 
 so clean and fresh a white skirt over such a bedraggled 
 petticoat worse than bedraggled, it is a lace-edged one, but 
 with the lace frayed and torn and wanting mending. The 
 distant effect may be a white lady, but close at hand the 
 rags spell white slut. Argent I could never over-praise 
 either for the border or as a cut flower, whatever rich and 
 rare adjectives I might bestow upon it : the mingling of its 
 silver and gold is charming. I have thoroughly enjoyed 
 127
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 trying to paint it, and though failing to express the brilliancy 
 of the reflected gold of the scattered sections of its cup on 
 the glistening silvery perianth, yet my dull daub brings back 
 some reminiscence of the real thing. I think it the very 
 best of all double Daffodils, as it has gained in contrasting 
 light and shade by its repeated sections of cups, and is not 
 a bit heavy, owing to the length and scattered position of 
 the perianth segments. 
 
 Plenipo I like, but not nearly so much, as the perianth 
 is of too deep a yellow to make the contrast so pleasing. 
 
 I could fill many pages with prattle of my newer, choicer 
 treasures, the ordinary garden furnishing of other folks' 
 beds most probably, so I will only say that they live in 
 what we call the Pergola garden, where some paved paths 
 divide it into rectangular beds, and oneof our later additions, 
 the New Wall, cuts off the east wind, so that there is found 
 a sheltered home for good little daffs, and one can get at 
 them easily to admire their beauty or fuss over their needs. 
 Lemon Queen, White Queen, Solfatare, Lord Kitchener, 
 Great Warley, Outpost, Incognita, and May Moon are some 
 of this pampered company, and the end of one bed is filled 
 with a double row of a fine giant Leedsii of Dutch origin, 
 named H. C. Bowles after my father. At first we thought 
 it rather shy flowering, and I was a little disappointed at 
 its likeness to an enlarged White Queen, only with a less 
 symmetrical base to the cup. But it has certainly improved 
 since it became a British subject, and has shown a remark- 
 able vigour of growth and freedom of flowering, and has 
 a great deal of substance in it, so that as a cut bloom it 
 lasts a long time, and the pale sulphur of its cup gradually 
 tones down with age to a most delicate ivory white. White 
 128
 
 Iris longipetala : a fine Apogon Iris
 
 Daffodils 
 
 Queen is not to be despised, but she must play second fiddle 
 when this anglicised Dutchman tunes up and plays his best. 
 
 Another naturalised Mynheer is Whitewell. I have 
 always admired it since the day I first saw it among its 
 sisters and its cousins and its aunts, more numerous than 
 those of that First Lord who could be reckoned by dozens, 
 Whitewell's went into hundreds, and yet among them all 
 this fine cream and soft buff-orange thing kept on catching 
 my eye. I was in Holland, and for the first time in my 
 life in that part of the country which is the real Holland 
 for a flower-lover. I had the good fortune to be there 
 with Mr. Joseph Jacob, and therefore under his wing, and 
 for his sake found a kindly welcome in many a quiet, out- 
 of-the-world nook where the making of new garden plants 
 was going on. Pleasant as are my memories of those 
 sunny or showery April days, none please me more than 
 the mornings in Mr. Polman Moy's holy of holies, where 
 the pick of his last season or two's seedlings are gathered 
 together under mystic numbers. Mr. Jacob was choosing 
 some of these to go to England to keep up the reputation 
 of Whitewell Rectory for the good things that are always 
 to be seen in Spring in the long, straight beds of his garden. 
 
 He was good enough to pretend he valued my advice 
 in this selection, and extol as he might the charms of others, 
 I always declared I preferred this X over a thing like a 
 fish's tail, No. 1234, and so many notches, or whatever 
 other hieroglyphics then guarded the identity of the future 
 Whitewell. I loved the set of its perianth, three ears for- 
 ward and three back. Not show form, perhaps, but so 
 good to look at, and the forwards casting such delicious 
 shadows on the backwards in the sunlight. 
 
 129 I
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 My constancy and a close comparison with other attrac- 
 tive stocks gradually eliminated its rivals, and one morn- 
 ing when we met at breakfast I heard the news that an 
 early visit to the bulb garden had ended in the arrangement 
 that the stock of my favourite was to go to the Rectory in 
 Wales. I am glad to say Whitewell made a successful 
 debut on the show stand and was eagerly sought after, 
 and its purchaser often tells me he is glad he was overruled 
 by the fascination the flower had for me. My plants of it 
 were a gift from him, and every Spring they recall pleasant 
 memories of my first visit to Haarlem and its bulb gardens. 
 Hall Caine I first saw during that same visit, and was much 
 struck by its beauty. A large, loosely-built, sulphur-tinted 
 Peerless (I mean to live up to my views and use this name), 
 it seemed just the thing for cutting as well as for a good 
 effect in a broad planting. The veteran grower who was 
 showing us his stocks declared it to be "just incomparabilis," 
 and quoted what we thought a ridiculously low figure 
 for it, and we made vows to invest largely in this "just 
 incomparabilis," but alas ! at the office we learnt it was an 
 unnamed seedling, and thought too much of to be acquired 
 as easily as we were expecting. Now it has a name, and 
 though it is a very charming thing its price is not prohibi- 
 tive. It is soft and uncommon in colour, and with a fine 
 tall stem and graceful poise, and is none too well known. 
 
 The celebrated white trumpet Peter Barr is among my 
 choice and petted forms in the bed under the new wall. 
 I wish he were a trifle taller in the stem and knew how to 
 make more of his beauty. He came to me by means of ex- 
 change. I did not give fifty guineas for him fifty shillings 
 would be more than I should dream of giving for any one 
 130
 
 Daffodils 
 
 bulb and I often wish Mr. Pope had never set the big 
 price ball a-rolling by paying down ^100 for those three 
 bulbs of Will Scarlett. 
 
 I was one day asked what I thought the most beautiful 
 novelty of the Daffodil shows of the year, and with happy 
 unconsciousness replied without hesitation, " Lavender, 
 which I saw at Birmingham." " How nice of you," came the 
 reply ; " it is one of my raising, and as you like it you shall 
 have a bulb," and in his characteristically generous way 
 my host led me to a newly-planted line and extracted the 
 treasure just beginning to root, and each succeeding Spring 
 I have revelled in the delicate colouring of that cup. The 
 poor dear's perianth is not a thing to boast of, buckling and 
 curling unless treated in some cunning way unknown to 
 a simple soul who, like me, is not up to the tricks of the 
 showing profession, but the cup would save it even if 
 the perianth were made of spiders' legs. It is more like 
 some enamelled jewel than a flower. The central hollow 
 is of a soft emerald green of solid opaque enamel, then 
 the flattish cup glistens all over and shows radiating lines 
 of brightness and has an almost indescribable touch of pink 
 in it. (In painting it I found a wash of Rose madder 
 needful tmt difficult to subdue.) I think it suggests a 
 transparent white enamel laid over engraved copper, or 
 gold heavily alloyed with copper. Then the rim of the 
 cup is stained with soft orange, of almost a salmon shade, 
 and exquisite in combination with the green of the eye. 
 This lovely beauty must never be stared at by the sun, but 
 should be gathered directly the bud bursts and brought 
 into the house to open, and I am rather glad to feel that some 
 flowers are best gathered, and enjoy a vase of Lavender 
 131
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 all the more for the knowledge that out-of-doors it would 
 not look so happy. 
 
 Writing of gathering leads me to the final aspect of 
 Daffodil-growing that I must dwell upon. I grudge pick- 
 ing blossoms so much from even well-flowered groups, 
 that we have planted some lines of useful cutting varieties 
 in the spaces between the currant and gooseberry bushes, 
 not needing that space for the crop nurses told us in our 
 early days emanated from that special bit of ground. The 
 daffodils get a bit of protection there and grow stiff and tall, 
 and are out of the way before fruit-picking begins. What 
 have we put there ? Let me see now Sir Watkin of 
 course, a fine healthy lot of bulbs of giant proportions from 
 a certain Dutch field of many acres I once crossed with 
 Sir Watkin up to my knees. I never saw such a sight, and 
 vowed I must test their vigour here. In this their first 
 year they have surprised all who had not seen them at 
 Noordwyk ; and now comes the question, Will they be able 
 to do so again ? Queen Bess is another indispensable as she 
 is so early. Hall Caine, whose praises I have already sung 
 Mrs. Camm, as she is one of the most useful, a delightful 
 size for old and tall champagne glasses, delicate in colour 
 and lasting well. Mr. Camm is there, too, but not so much 
 approved of. Seagull, Albatross, several Poets, and a long 
 line of mixed Dutch seedlings are those that come to my 
 mind as most successful. Some beds of Tea Roses are 
 planted pretty thickly with Barrii conspicuus, the Camms, 
 and Golden Mary, and provide many a good bunch, while 
 I hope and believe the Daffodil leaves protect the Rose 
 shoots. It is good to see that Barrii conspicuus is still in 
 favour even with experts, for in the voting list returns as 
 132
 
 Daffodils 
 
 shown in the R.H.S. Daffodil Year Book, it heads the list 
 of cut flowers from the open, those suitable for planting in 
 grass, and also of the yellow-perianthed Barn't, and is well 
 up in lists for other purposes. William Backhouse must 
 have been a happy and proud man when he first saw it in 
 his seed-bed. I have a great affection for its white peri- 
 anthed sport Branston, and am amused rather than an- 
 noyed when some of the flowers come half and half, and 
 look like cream poured on custard. 
 
 133
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 Primulas 
 
 I USED to think this garden was unsuitable for Primulas 
 other than the commonest forms of Primroses, but 
 patience and a certain amount of manoeuvring have some- 
 what increased the possibilities, though still an extra hot 
 and dry year like 1911 frizzles up the double garden 
 varieties and parches P. rosea beyond recovery. The 
 earliest to flower is P. megasiaefolia, or perhaps I should say 
 to try to flower, for from December onward this foolishly 
 precocious plant gets a flower-bud irretrievably damaged 
 about once a fortnight, and seldom succeeds in opening 
 one. P. cashmireana often shoots up a mushroom-shaped 
 mass of buds in January only to be blackened and end in 
 decay, but P. marginata manages better and, by keeping 
 close under its leaves at first, opens the earliest of its 
 flowers with the Hepaticas. It is such a good-tempered 
 and lovely thing, both in flower and leaf, I wonder one 
 does not see it oftener. In a real Primrose-beloved 
 garden it should be possible to have edgings of it, and how 
 lovely they would be. Here I have to find a cool corner 
 with stones to keep its roots moist to make it happy, and 
 some clumps in the rock garden reward my care with a 
 fine show of flowers : one is a particularly blue form, and 
 having deeply-toothed leaves is good to look at all its days 
 134
 
 Primulas 
 
 pays rent all the year in fact. I have a rather interesting 
 set of named forms with widely-differing shapes of leaves 
 and the much-praised garden form Mrs. Hall Walker, 
 whose flowers I have not seen yet, but have great hopes of 
 them next season founded upon the present fatness of the 
 central crown. I spent a very happy day up in the 
 Cottian Alps this last June collecting some lovely forms, 
 and hope to make a good planting as soon as I can get 
 them out of the sand frame where they are making their 
 new roots after being pulled to bits. 
 
 I once thought I did not greatlycare for Alpine Primulas, 
 they seemed to me so much given to thin magenta colour- 
 ing, but a few weeks among them in Tyrol, with Mr. 
 Farrer as interpreter of their charms, converted me, and 
 he likes to remind me of my declaration that I should not 
 collect more than two or three of each and the contra- 
 dictory reality of the full tins I carried on my poor old 
 back down those mountain sides. A few of the purple, 
 almost blue, bells of P. glutinosa on the Venna Thai en- 
 lightened me, and a mountain side rosy-purple for a mile 
 or more with P. spectabilis in full bloom, as a Scotch hill- 
 side might be with heather, finished the work. But then 
 both in their native hills are revelations of what Primulas 
 can be. Picking out the largest white-eyed forms of spec- 
 tabilis and selecting the most rosy and least aniline I found 
 as fascinating as any bit of collecting I had ever done. 
 Just picture to yourself a turfy mountain side, worn by 
 weather and sheep, or goats, into countless horizontal 
 miniature terraces such as one often finds in a steep bit of 
 the South Downs, and under the brow of each terrace 
 fancy clumps of a dozen to twenty rosettes of a green- 
 135
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 leaved garden Auricula whose large heads of flowers are of 
 every shade of rose and crimson, so that looking up the 
 hill you get the full stare of their friendly eyes and every 
 one you look at seems to possess some varietal charm of 
 its own a clearer white eye, a warmer rose tint, or fuller 
 and rounder flower. Can you wonder that I was on my 
 knees every other minute plunging my trowel into the 
 tufts to extract half a dozen of the rosettes ? Just two or 
 three of the best indeed ! that tin was a heavy load to 
 carry down, and there was much work sorting and packing 
 my chosen few. Just the same when I found myself face 
 to face with it in another district, and where, meeting with 
 P. minima, there were interesting hybrids, exciting to look 
 for and so entrancingly beautiful when found that I dis- 
 covered I could not bear to live without P. Facchinii and 
 P. Dumoulinii. P. oenensis had to follow, and longiflora with 
 its charming, mealy stem filled my gardening soul with 
 greed and every spare corner of my tin with its neat 
 rosettes, and eventually the boot-bag I carry in a pocket 
 in case of overcrowding had to come out and hang round 
 my neck to hold that mealy-leaved golden glory P. Auri- 
 cula Bauhinii. 
 
 A few days later Mr. Farrer took me to another ridge 
 just to look at other interesting Primulas, but I think he 
 had long ceased to believe in my intention of just gazing 
 and then picking out a trinity of mementoes of the vision, 
 so he was not surprised that, when I had at last got over 
 staring at the unbelievable, fantastic beauty of the great 
 Dolomite peak that hung over our heads, I fell to eagerly 
 on the crevices which harboured P. tyrolensis and hunted 
 the open turf for its very local minima-bred hybrid P.Juri- 
 136
 
 Primulas 
 
 bella, and at last owned myself vanquished by the beauty 
 of Alpine Primulas at home, when I saw the peaty hillside 
 blue with P. glutinosa, there as common as Cowslips in a 
 home meadow, instead of dotted singly as on the Brenner. 
 Home they went in the largest tins I could cajole out of 
 reluctant head waiters, and how will they behave here is 
 now the burning question. On arrival they were all 
 pulled asunder, and as separate rosettes planted in lines in 
 a frame in almost pure sand and leaf soil. By the autumn 
 they Icoked fat and leafy above, and by experimental lift- 
 ings were proved to have made long, white roots and to 
 be ready to go out. An overgrown portion of the rock 
 garden, hitherto sacred to Geranium species, was torn down 
 and rebuilt to imitate the Tyrolean homes from which I 
 had exiled my Primulas. I had to leave out the Cimon 
 della Parla and the Drei Zinnen, but hope the carefully- 
 mixed soils I have given them will make them so happy 
 that they will not look up and miss such trifles. 
 
 Peat in small quantities, leaf mould used generously, a 
 stiffening of the sourfl resulting from these two by a liberal 
 dose of the old soil, and the main geological formation of 
 this miniature range was ready for adaptation to the special 
 wants of its flora. Feeling too poor to invest in granite 
 chips or even birdcage sand, I commandeered a load of our 
 native red gravel, well screened, from the estate mason's 
 storehouse and worked it into my too sticky compost in 
 varying quantities. The lower slopes, reserved for P. 
 minima, longiflora, and glutinosa, had only enough to make 
 the soil feel sharp and gritty, but vertical crevices prepared 
 for Auricula and tyrolensis had the upper two or three inches 
 well reddened with the gravel. The hybrids had a middle 
 137
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 position of intermediate grittiness and spectabilis has gone 
 to the upper slopes. How magnificent it sounds ! That 
 is the fun of writing of one's garden : a steep bank can be 
 a cliff, a puddle a pool, a pool a lake, bog and moraine 
 sound as though a guide were needed to find your way 
 across them, and yet may be covered by a sheet of The 
 Times. My Dolomites lie within the compass of my out- 
 stretched arms, and there is not much wasted space now 
 the Primulas are settled in. So far they have thriven 
 amazingly, and this Spring, when the curtain rang up, the 
 Auricula forms first took the stage. The Bauhinii troupe 
 were quite as fine with their large Daffodil-yellow, white- 
 eyed flowers on stout stems as on their own hillside. The 
 ciliata lot with their deep green mealless leaves gave 
 blossoms as nearly orange as when found wild. Oenensis 
 took the next turn, and pleased me more here than when 
 at home : the flowers looked less aniline in colour and had 
 such pleasant white eyes, but perhaps I had picked out the 
 best forms only. Longifloras was the star performance, 
 however. Before going to rest for the winter they formed 
 fat crowns like small cabbages, and this May each rosette 
 sent up two stems, and the main one bore twenty or more 
 blossoms, instead of the half dozen or so I had found them 
 contepted with at home. I had never seen this species 
 alive before I went to its home to meet it, as it is 
 apparently seldom grown in gardens, and in spite of all 
 this appearance of vigour I cannot help feeling there must 
 be something wrong about its constitution to have pre- 
 vented its sharing cottage-garden edgings with Thrift and 
 Daisies. 
 
 So I have saved some seeds to prepare for squalls, and 
 138
 
 Primulas 
 
 I noticed that where the rosettes have waxed so strong they 
 insist on sending up ridiculous, dwarfed, flower-crowded 
 stems at intervals all the summer through, and doing 
 nothing towards a fat cabbage for next winter's sleep. 
 Several have gone off yellow, as its near relative farinosa 
 so often does after a good orgy of flowering, and I rather 
 expect it will be best to starve longiflora into less ambitious 
 displays or, if it comes easily from seed, treat it as a 
 biennial. If it can be so grown it will be well worth the 
 trouble : the mealy calyx and reddish-purple flowers 
 "reether redder than I could wish " as Bailey Junior said 
 of his imaginary beard were wonderfully good to see 
 when at their best. P. glutinosa lives and grows, but, as I 
 believe to be only too usual in English gardens, has offered 
 no trace of a flower. No more has tyrolensis, but has made 
 such deep green rosettes and wide leaves that they must 
 surely mean a promise of good things later on. Minima 
 and the hybrids looked so chubby and cheery on their 
 return to greenness I expected great things of them, but 
 never a bud appeared until I had given up looking for 
 them, and at the end of June I was astonished by a goodly 
 sprinkling of rosy-purple and a few pure white blooms, all 
 as large and well-coloured as when I selected them. But 
 the stupid things were so pleased at pleasing me they have 
 tried to go on with it, and through the Dog Days have kept 
 on sending up mean, flabby, starry caricatures of their 
 former successes. P. spectabilis opened a very few eyes, 
 but has been so busy working up a stock of large green 
 leaves that it had no time for such frivolities as flowers 
 this season. 
 
 P. pedemontana behaved in the same way its first season 
 139
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 in the pipe-bed, and made up for it by a charming display 
 this May. Its ugly duckling hybrid child P. Bowlesii shot 
 up its taller scape too. It is ungrateful of me to speak 
 slightingly of this plant after its dedication to me, but in 
 case you are thinking of rushing off to Mt. Cenis to hunt 
 for it I had better be honest and say it is very scarce : a 
 whole morning of careful search this June rewarded Mr. 
 Farrer and me with three plants of it, and between us 
 we do not miss much when we hunt for a thing systema- 
 tically. Also it is fair to say that in spite of its lovely 
 parents, rosy pedemontana and the true viscosa of imperial 
 purple, it is a mawkish magenta in all the specimens we 
 have found save one, which was a cheery crimson-purple, 
 and so good that at first sight I thought it too good to be 
 true Bowlesii. I wonder how this name will be pronounced 
 should it be tried by Poles and Russians, Germans, Turks 
 or Prooshians, or an I-talian. I rather fear it will become 
 Bovvleaysiee. Anyway I was glad to be the first to flower 
 my Primrose, and to be able to send a scape and leaves 
 to the British Museum, though it was not in time to appear 
 at the Primula Conference. It has made the most curious 
 long and narrow leaves this summer, and at present looks 
 totally unlike either parent. 
 
 P. frondosa is a good plant for the sand and water-pipe 
 moraine even in fullest sun, and never looked so well here 
 with other treatment. Whether it be the true frondosa of 
 Janka or no, has been much debated, and at present it is 
 comforting to know that the latest authorities pronounce it 
 genuine, as the type specimen is suspected of having lost 
 its mealiness through maturity, and therefore Pax and 
 Knuth's upsetting decree that it must be without meal 
 140
 
 Primulas 
 
 need not be regarded. 1 Where farinosa refuses to settle and 
 be comfortable frondosa makes a fine substitute, though it 
 lacks in my eyes the grace of our native plant, and is 
 rather too leafy and clumsy in build. The new Chinese 
 P. Knuthiana is a still larger form of the same type of 
 Primrose, but after flowering appears to make rosettes 
 without sufficient roots, and so is liable to turn flabby and 
 then yellow in hot weather, and seems hard to restore to 
 health. Old plants look very queer here now, in the pipe- 
 bed, but what appear to be self-sown seedlings are racing 
 along to fill up their places. 
 
 P. Jtiliae, the new comer from Trans-Caucasia, has 
 behaved here as a real lady, just as the bearer of such a 
 name should. Two tuffets came from Herr Siindermann 
 early in the year, their canary-coloured labels the showiest 
 part of them. Cossetted for a little in a frame and then 
 put out in cool, leafy soil they flowered brilliantly in late 
 April. The astonishing crimson-purple of their flowers is 
 in such sharp contrast with the brilliant yellow eye that every 
 one exclaims " Oh ! " " Marvellous ! ! " " My stars ! ! ! " 
 " Crikey ! ! ! ! " or something else according to the richness 
 of their vocabulary, when they first see it. Not only have 
 they developed their characteristic runners with new crowns 
 at their ends, but when I parted the leaves to enjoy a sight 
 of these promises for next year I found they were indulging 
 in a little quiet practice for next Spring's flowering, and had 
 several half-sized blossoms hidden away below, but as 
 brilliant in colouring as ever. Of the two I possess, the 
 plant in fat soil in a half-shaded border has done better 
 
 1 Since writing this I have seen a plant straight from its native Balkans which 
 is as mealy as any miller.
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 than the other in the poorer soil of an old portion of the 
 rock garden, and it looks as though the right treatment 
 for it is the same that one would give to the choicer 
 double Primroses. 
 
 They, poor dears, are not very happy here, except in 
 wet seasons, and a Spring visit to Ireland always fills me 
 with envy, and longings for a climate that can produce 
 such double whites, French greys, and lilacs, and also 
 clumps of Polyanthus of such size, and flowers of such 
 texture and colouring. Short of digging a ditch for them 
 I fear I must not expect to see them thrive here. 
 
 In this neighbourhood Cowslips are wild in some of 
 the meadows, but Primroses are very scarce, only occur- 
 ring along a ditch or two, and possibly not truly wild 
 there. Among the wild Cowslips in one of our meadows 
 there occurs an interesting form in which the orange 
 spots, so characteristic of the plant, are wanting. I have 
 brought it into the garden, and it remains perfectly true, 
 and is seeding about freely, and I hope to soon observe 
 how large a percentage will resemble the parents. I 
 always look at Cowslips in other places to see if they too 
 show this variation, but have never seen it elsewhere. 
 Knuth in his Handbook of Flower Pollination mentions 
 that " Flowers devoid of this (orange-red) patch have 
 been observed by Kirchner in Wurtemberg and Appel 
 (as he tells me in a letter) at Wiirzburg." I have a 
 great affection for Cowslips, and so grow all the forms 
 I can get now, and long for the curious green and 
 double ones figured in the old herbals. A beautiful orange- 
 coloured form was given to me by Mrs. Robb, who told me 
 she remembered it from her early childhood, but had 
 142
 
 Primulas 
 
 lost sight of it for many years, till, staying at her old 
 home Great Tew, one of the children came to say good- 
 night and carried a bunch of Cowslips, among them the 
 orange one. " Don't take that dear child to bed, Nurse, 
 until she has found the plant she picked these from, and 
 put in a stick beside it," said this imperious old lady, and 
 as she was generally obeyed the Cowslip found its way to 
 her charming garden at Goldenfield and thence to me. 
 " Pick out the best you can see," she bade me ; " they won't 
 all come true, but you might as well start with the best 
 form," and I greatly treasure this memento of her generosity 
 and happy days at Goldenfield. A silver Cowslip of palest 
 yellow Canon Ellacombe gave me, and other interesting 
 forms are due to my always collecting a plant or two from 
 every alpine district in which I meet with it. Most of them 
 are the form known asColumnae,with cordate leaves on long 
 petioles and flowers approaching P. elatior. On Mt. Cenis 
 one finds every sort of intermediate, and a botanist might 
 spend years there cataloguing their variations. Elatior 
 itself has overrun a portion of the rock garden, but is so 
 charming it may keep on running as long as Charlies Aunt. 
 There have been bold men who declared true elatior 
 never hybridised, but Mr. Wolley-Dod gave me some living 
 proofs that such statements were inaccurate, for these 
 plants have elatior form but the colouring of various red 
 and pink Primroses, and I myself have found several seed- 
 lings with flowers bearing traces of Primrose characters. 
 Pax and Knuth give no less than two pages to the various 
 hybrid forms due to its liaisons with P. acaulis and P. 
 officinalis. One of them, P. anisiaca, has been praised for 
 its floriferous character by Mr. Farrer, and he kindly gave
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 me part of each of his forms of it, but here it suffers so 
 from thirst in summer that it does not flower through the 
 whole Winter and Spring as with him, but is a dwarf and 
 Interesting form. 
 
 I am very fond of the various purple or lilac forms 
 of Primrose that come from Turkey and the Near East. 
 The good old plant, sold so unblushingly as P. amoena 
 the true plant belonging to that name not being in culti- 
 vation at present should be known as P. acaulis, var. rubra, 
 say Pax and Knuth, but Dr. MacWatt has raked up the 
 name of Sibthorpei Pax for it, in spite of the great man 
 and his coadjutor having placed it as a synonym in their 
 monograph. It is the single form of the old double lilac, 
 and in its best forms of that same charming cool colour. 
 I have also a deeper form, almost a purple another of 
 Mrs. Robb's good things. She saw it on Mount Olympus, 
 and much to the annoyance of her magnificent dragoman, 
 who was dressed in a uniform richer in gold lace than 
 that of the most distinguished general, she insisted on 
 his dismounting from his horse and digging up some roots 
 with a broken potsherd, the only weapon that offered 
 itself. She told me its purple glory always reminded her 
 of the rueful face of that glittering dragoman. 
 
 These forms require, at any rate here, frequent divi- 
 sion and replanting in soil freshened by leaf mould and cow 
 manure. They dwindle if left alone for more than two 
 years, but if well looked after are very charming in good 
 broad plantings. P. cortusoides and its garden descendants, 
 who have not descended but have very much gone up in 
 the world as to size, appearance, and general affluence, 
 need more leaf mould and choicer, cool corners than the 
 144
 
 Iris Susiana : A typical Oncocyclus Iris
 
 Primulas 
 
 garden can commonly afford, so they are not broadly 
 planted, and only to be found in a few nooks of the rock 
 garden, where the white and lavender forms of Sieboldii 
 are very welcome to spread if they will do it on their own 
 responsibility. 
 
 P. Veitchii I have tried to like, and failed to do more 
 than tolerate. A white form I could love, but the type 
 is so defiantly aniline in its choice of red that I should 
 neither cry nor purchase a successor should it die of my 
 cold neglect. On the contrary the smaller-flowered, equally 
 aniline, Cortusa Matthioli has a firm hold on my affections, 
 perhaps grounded in the memories of pleasant mornings 
 in the cool gully, where among fallen boulders and a 
 dwarf forest of Alnus viridis I first saw its downy leaves 
 and crimson buds planted by Nature's own hand. It is a 
 strange place, that gully, part of the only woodland for 
 miles around, on the shady side of the Mt. Cenis lake. 
 You must mount up to the col and cross into France and 
 begin to descend before you find another thicket of the 
 Alder, but there you will find no Cortusa, for on the Cenis 
 it is wholly confined to this gully. There it is very abun- 
 dant under the straggling stems of the Alder, growing in 
 rich leaf soil, or tufts of moss, or apparently nothing but 
 rock and atmosphere, but always, always in shade. Snow 
 lies late in this hollow, and must be very deep in winter, 
 for the Alders are flattened under it as though a steam 
 roller had been over them, and what looks from below 
 like a slope of dwarf bushes is the most difficult thing to 
 climb among I can imagine ; the long, prostrate stems give 
 under your feet, catch round your ankles, and whip your 
 legs, and the upright portions are no good to catch hold of 
 145 K
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 for support, as they join on to the long and supple stems 
 that lie on the ground, but do not root again, and so pull 
 away with your weight and sway about, and are less help- 
 ful than a broken reed. But wherever there is a space 
 among their stems, Cortusa, Soldanella tnontana, and Saxifraga 
 rotundifolia fill it up. I had often purchased Cortusa and 
 tried it in various positions in the rock garden, and always 
 failed to make it happy enough to live the round of a year, 
 but some of those I brought away from this shady grove 
 have thriven and increased among Hepaticas and Wood 
 Anemones in a border shaded by Purple-leaved Hazels. 
 
 The Spring Primulas wind up with the dumb-waiter- 
 like whorled flower-heads of P. japonica and its family. 
 Their idea of luxury is mud, and it suits their requirements 
 as well as those of a cockle-gatherer. The margin of a 
 pond and the bottom of a not too wet ditch provide a 
 happy home for them, and failing these the richer and 
 moister soil you can give them, the better will be the result. 
 There are some good colour forms of japonica, a so-called 
 salmon, which is much more like anchovy sauce if one must 
 give it a fishy name, a pure white with large orange eye, 
 one of the loveliest of Primroses, and a very deep coppery 
 red one, so there is no need to tolerate the old magenta 
 forms and still less the speckled and ring-straked abomina- 
 tions that a bad white strain produces so freely among its 
 seedlings. Even P. pulverulenta is crude and twangy beside 
 the best deep japonica. I planted some seedlings along the 
 pond edge and grouped pulverulenta with the deep red and 
 white japonicas, and directly I had done so was sorry, 
 believing the Chinese pulverulenta would kill the colour of 
 the Japanese. When they flowered it was the Chinese that 
 146
 
 Primulas 
 
 were defeated, and had to be removed to a separate canton- 
 ment for sake of peace to the eye. By itself the Chinese, 
 mealy-stemmed fellow is not bad, and among wildish grass 
 on the edge of a small pool at the bottom of the rock gar- 
 den I thought its crimson tiers quite lovely enough to leave 
 them to seed if they will, as their own mother did higher 
 up, by the trickle that overflows from one little pool and 
 fills another. From these, poor lady, she was ejected as 
 she was so cabbage-like in profusion of foliage and so 
 smothering to choicer neighbours, white Calthas and 
 Cyananthus lobatus, and this last, like the Princes in the 
 Tower, died this very stuffy death before I noticed what was 
 going on. I could forgive almost any plant's death by 
 overcrowding if it were done by that lovely new mutation 
 or sport, or whatever the style of its origin may be described 
 as, which was shown at the Royal International Show and 
 named Mrs. Berkeley. I understand it appeared at Coombe 
 Wood without warning among a batch of ordinary 
 pulverulenta seedlings, and although it has a good sturdy 
 constitution, so far as I can learn it has refused to bear 
 seed. I put two plants out in a sort of ditch we made 
 across a newly-arranged bed. This ditch idea is a try-on 
 to see if its northern facing slope will be cool and accept- 
 able to ferns and Primulas of thirsty habits. This one 
 liked it, and the spikes of flowers were in beauty for a long 
 period. I cannot think of any name to describe their colour, 
 but I believe I could mix Naples yellow and Rose madder 
 and arrive at something like its creamy flesh tint, and it 
 shades into apricot and tawny orange in the eye, which 
 gives the flower a warm glow. Yes, I hope it will spread 
 and the ferns be obliged to flee before it. P. Cockburniana 
 147
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 at present has a place in the ditch, but I lose it here after 
 flowering, but mean to try it up in the fish hatchery, where, 
 dry above and wet below, it may behave as luckier folk 
 have found it to do, and grow into a clump. 
 
 The lovely hybrid " Unique Improved " did well at first, 
 and allowed me to split it up into a nice colony, then some- 
 thing offended it, and every crown yellowed and decayed, 
 leaving nothing but an orphaned seedling which flowered 
 this year and was little more than a living image of its 
 grandpa, Cockburniana. 
 
 148
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 March Winds 
 
 A PECK of dust in March, we have all been taught, is worth 
 a king's ransom. The farmer may find it so ; he generally 
 wants it dry when others would like it wet, and then 
 grumbles because some crop has not grown. He is 
 always waiting for dry weather to get on the land himself 
 or to get something off it, so he may put that hateful 
 peck of what the schoolboy defined as mud with the juice 
 squeezed out, on his credit side, but I do not suppose I am 
 alone among gardeners in feeling it is more likely to cost 
 a king's ransom to renew the plants it kills. Those cruel, 
 drying March winds do so much terrible damage, or at 
 least they put a finishing stroke to many a struggling 
 invalid, shaken but not killed by the winter's frosts. If 
 only they could tide over another week or two the warmer 
 ground would help along the growth of their new roots, 
 and enough sap would run up to equalise their loss by 
 transpiration, but with imperfect roots and an east wind 
 they shrivel up and give up the struggle in an hour or 
 two. An aged Cistus bush will often be the first to 
 show the bill is coming in ; Bamboos, Miscanthus, and 
 Choisya jot down fresh items, and you are lucky if the 
 young green shoots of Crown Imperials, Eremuri, and 
 precocious Lilies are not included. It is an anxious and 
 149
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 a trying time, not only because it roughens one's own 
 skin, making shaving a painful bore, and the corners of 
 one's smile less expansive, but it is then one notes day 
 by day some pet plant's failure to put in an appear- 
 ance, or the flagging and browning of a cherished 
 specimen. 
 
 I hate the grey, sapless look of the pastures during this 
 spell of dry cold, and the arrest of progress in the flower 
 beds. They look emptier than a week before, and plants 
 seem to shrink, and the ground turns lighter in colour and 
 shows out more conspicuously. There is no scent of 
 growth or pine trees on the wind, and often a numbing 
 suggestion of snow that seems to paralyse one's nose just 
 below the bridge. Spring has come, but one cannot 
 enjoy it or feel that any plant is safe, for any night 
 the temperature may drop low enough to kill treasures 
 January and February have spared. 
 
 Here nothing lies between us and the North Pole to 
 take the teeth out of the north-east wind. By the time 
 it has bitten and shaken our tender things it has lost much 
 venom, and before it reaches the west of England is by 
 comparison a refreshing breeze. Or so it seems to me 
 when I leave my wind-scorched garden and go west of 
 Swindon, and find everything green and smiling, and hear 
 tales of what the east wind has been doing. It suits a few 
 things to get this dry spell, but chiefly those that are 
 lowly and sheltered by higher ground and protecting 
 hedges. Some of the later Crocuses open out wide in the 
 sunny hours, and are successfully fertilised by insect 
 visitors. The Spring Mandrake, Mandragora ojficinarum,Qiten 
 fails to get its earlier February-born flowers set, and now
 
 March Winds 
 
 rushes out the remaining buds. Dingy grey-green things 
 they are, but some insects see and visit them, and if I 
 happen along and find them agape, I use my amber or 
 sealing-wax to transfer some pollen, for though I do not 
 greatly admire the dull flowers, nor later on the coarse, 
 floppy leaves, I do like to see a good crop of fruit, like 
 a clutch of emerald-green pheasant's eggs, or a dish of 
 unripe tomatoes, closely packed in the heart of each plant. 
 They are at their best when full grown but still unripe, 
 for they only lose in brightness of green and take on a 
 dull yellowish tinge when they begin to scent the air 
 with a mixed odour of bananas and pineapple, and their 
 next stage is to roll off and rot, and, unless removed, to 
 produce a crowd of seedlings where they fall. A very 
 much finer thing is Mandragora autumnalis, but like many 
 other good things it is as scarce, at any rate in England, 
 as it is beautiful. Fancy a rosette of handsome deep 
 green leaves, as it might be those of a mullein, lying flat 
 on the ground, and clean and vigorous all through the 
 winter months, and then fill up the centre of this rosette 
 with a score of purple blossoms, much resembling stem- 
 less flowers of Anemone Pulsatilla, and you have some idea 
 of what the Autumnal Mandrake should be. Ever since 
 last November I had been watching for the reappearance 
 of two specimens, and though it was not until the middle 
 of May I rejoiced over their safe return, I write of them 
 here as they should be in flower at the same time as their 
 dowdy sister, and I believe should have kept up a succes- 
 sion of their purple blossoms from the late autumn. But 
 it is an unpunctual creature, and you never know when it 
 will choose to flower from season to season. Its name
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 certainly implies an autumnal habit when at home, but 
 don't rely on names plants are no more bound by them 
 than Irish railway officials by the time-table. " Sure, sorr, 
 and aren't you taking the time-table too seriously ? " was 
 an Irish guard's reply to a query whether it was possible 
 the train could make up for an unauthorised stop of three- 
 quarters of an hour ! Carlina acaulis grows a fine, tall stem 
 in English gardens, and Caltha polypetala never had a petal, 
 let alone many of them, so never take a name too seriously. 
 The only plant of M. autumnalis I have known intimately 
 for any length of time is the magnificent old specimen 
 under the south wall at Bitton, and for many years it has 
 flowered in the early spring, but last autumn it began to 
 justify its name by an autumnal flowering. I had heard 
 of plants in Trinity College Gardens, Dublin, and it is in 
 the Kew Hand-List, so I hope flourishes there, though I 
 have never seen it, but beyond that I never met it else- 
 where in England except in extreme youth yearlings, 
 that I had grown myself or seen at Bitton, raised from 
 the fruits of the venerable specimen. But neither here 
 nor there could these one-year-olds be induced, whatever 
 treatment was offered them, to reappear when once they 
 had disappeared below ground. They formed a fat little 
 white root, but it slept like the Sleeping Beauty, and no 
 prince could be found to wake it. A friend of mine once 
 described a plant he had seen in Sicily, and I recognised 
 my long-desired Mandrake, and railed at him for bringing 
 no roots, so when another good friend told me he was 
 going to Sicily, and asked could he send me any plant, I, 
 imagining that island was paved from end to end with 
 Mandrake rosettes, begged for a couple of middle-aged 
 152
 
 d of Terrace with London Bridge balusters. (See p. 235.)
 
 March Winds 
 
 ones, and they came, rather dry in the leaves after their 
 journey, but with rich purple flowers still fresh enough to 
 proclaim them as good forms. Only later I learnt that 
 my friend, having hunted diligently but in vain, consulted 
 a high authority, and was told that they only grew in a 
 limited area near Messina, many miles from his intended 
 wanderings. Such is the kindness of the hearts of good 
 gardeners that in spite of all this, those two good men 
 contrived to get me the plants, and now they have revived 
 from their first and perilous sleep in their new home. 
 
 It must have been to get a higher price for the roots, 
 and deter others from collecting them, that the herbalists 
 invented such lies as to the difficulties of digging up the 
 Mandrake. They declared that it screamed so fearfully 
 during the operation that all who heard it died, so the 
 best way to obtain it was to loosen it a little in the ground 
 and tie it to the tail of a hungry dog and set his meal be- 
 yond his reach. His struggles to reach it pulled up the 
 root, its screams killed the dog, and you returned later on 
 to collect your prize from the corpse. I have dug up 
 many a one, and though I found the large root took a 
 deal of digging 
 
 " There was silence supreme ! Not a shriek, not a scream, 
 Scarcely even a howl or a groan," 
 
 and I, and moreover my dog who watched the operation, 
 were none the worse. Nor have I ever found one with a 
 root showing more resemblance to the human form than 
 any bifid Parsnip does. The usual run of old drawings 
 represented the human-shaped body as below ground 
 forming the roots, and the leaves and fruits issuing from 
 153
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 the head, but in the wonderful old map of the world 
 which is one of the treasures of Hereford Cathedral may 
 be seen a Mandrake whose body branches up above- 
 ground, the head resting on the surface like a Turnip and 
 the hairs of the head growing down as roots. 
 
 The Lesser Celandine, Ranunculus Ficaria, often flowers 
 during the windy, leonine blustering of this month. The 
 common wild forms one constantly struggles with but 
 cannot entirely expel from the garden, but the major form 
 from Italy does not increase too quickly, and is a fine 
 thing when well grown, quite three times as large as the 
 undesirable native. I like the white form of our wild one, 
 though ; it has a charming, creamy tint and is as beauti- 
 fully varnished as any Buttercup. It begins to flower very 
 early in the year, but the later flowers are the larger. 
 The double form is worth growing, and in ordinary 
 seasons I notice it flowers when those of the hedgerow 
 and meadow are almost over. A variegated one I found 
 in a hedge has kept up its character for two seasons, 
 and its leaves are prettily blotched with creamy white. 
 
 Blotched leaves suggest the Pulmonarias, and though 
 we need not believe, with those who upheld the Doctrine 
 of Signatures, that the white blotches proclaimed it a 
 sovereign remedy for ulcerated and spotted lungs, because 
 as Robert Turner states, " God hath imprinted upon the 
 Plants, Herbs, and Flowers, as it were in Hieroglyphicks, 
 the very signature of their vertues," yet we may admire the 
 "browne greene leaves sprinkled with divers white spots 
 like drops of milke," as Lyte has described them. I have 
 a great liking for them all, and have collected together all 
 I have met with that show any variation, and the working 
 154
 
 March Winds 
 
 out of the assemblage is one of the jobs I have in store 
 for that day when I shall have some spare time. Perhaps a 
 broken leg might fix the date, but at present it does not 
 appear on my list of engagements. My first affection 
 for Lungworts dates from a day when I collected some 
 very distinct forms of P. saccharata from a little wood near 
 Bayonne, where they grew mingled with Narcissus pallidus 
 praecox. Purple and red-flowered forms were there, 
 charming with the sulphur of the Daffodil, and also their 
 leaves varied with larger or smaller mottling, and one form 
 had almost the whole leaf grey and white save for a narrow 
 edging of green. P. saccharata is one of the earliest to 
 flower, and the redder forms are very attractive ; they look 
 happier after a little frost than a frozen and thawed blue 
 one does, and if you cut away the seed heads and so induce 
 really strong leaves, the variety of their patterns is good to 
 see till flowering time comes back again. The best of all 
 red ones is a species, P. rubra, with large, pale green, 
 unspotted leaves. Its flowers are of a charming soft 
 scarlet-red, and never die off purple. If frequently 
 divided, and grown in good soil in sheltered corners, it 
 will often begin flowering in December and go on im- 
 proving accordingly as the weather does until May. The 
 best blue is a mysterious form known by many names, and 
 as my legs are still both sound I cannot yet hunt it down 
 accurately. It is generally known as P. azurea, which 
 authorities make but a form of angustifolia. I have long 
 known it as Mawson's Blue, and as it has short, wide, heart- 
 shaped leaves I hope it is not an angustifolia and doomed 
 to live under so false a name. It is dwarf, free flowering, 
 early, and easy to grow if divided every third year in fact 
 155
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 all that a good little plant should be, and its colour is not 
 ashamed to sit close by Chionodoxa sardensis. Its leaves 
 are unspotted and do not become coarse, and it will not 
 spread too far, for all who see it and have it not are ready 
 to carry off a portion. The best white is the albino of 
 saccharata, but it, like ojficinalis alba, is slow of increase : 
 both are pretty, -with really white flowers that go well 
 with the spotted leaves. The only other white I know is 
 a form of P. arvernensis, but though there are many flowers 
 to a head they are small and crowded, and I do not care 
 so greatly for it or its typical dark blue form as I do for 
 the larger flowered species. 
 
 I have not yet lit upon a really satisfactory Cambridge 
 blue form. One that I first saw at Wisley looks as though 
 it should be a pale edition of Mawson's, but has never 
 grown or flowered freely here. Half way up a mountain 
 side in Tyrol I found a pale form lovely to behold in the 
 shade of its rocks : it disappointed me this Spring, appearing 
 washy, but did not flower very heartily, and may be all I 
 fancied it when it settles down. Of purple-flowered sorts 
 thereare many. P.grandifloralhzve fromGlasnevin,ashowy 
 thing when fully out, but rather on the coarse side, and not 
 very long in full beauty. A strong-growing, long-leaved 
 one from Spain, variable in depth of colour, is good in its 
 best forms, and very hardy and early, but takes up a great 
 deal of room in summer with its immense, unspotted and 
 therefore rather dull leaves. I have a set of puzzling 
 intermediates, many of them seedlings I expect, from 
 Captain Pinwill's wonderful garden, and still others from 
 Bitton, the like of which I have been quite unable to trace 
 in either of the good monographs by Du Mortier and 
 156
 
 Tulipa Kaufmanniana. (See p. 237.)
 
 March Winds 
 
 Kerner, but that leg-mending period may some day reveal 
 them among their pages. 
 
 Pulmonarias make a good bold edging to a shrubbery 
 or bed of coarse herbaceous plants : the saccharata forms 
 are perhaps best used thus, as their handsome leaves 
 survive ordinary winters so cheerfully. P. arvernensis is 
 best in the rock garden, and it and our native P. angusti- 
 folia, which I have collected in the New Forest, die down 
 entirely in winter. 
 
 Among other brave plants that take the winds of 
 March amicably Hacquetia (Dondia) Epipactis is a good 
 thing for a shady corner. It looks at first sight like a 
 green Hellebore, but a closer glance shows that the 
 golden centre is an umbel of small yellow flowers set in 
 an involucre of green leaves, and is almost an Astrantia, 
 and only just saved from such a relationship by a very 
 slight difference in the shape of the fruit. It has a very 
 bright and cheerful appearance in these nippy, cold days, 
 when its glossy green leaves and yellow heads take the 
 place of the Winter Aconites, but it increases slowly, and 
 so is never seen in profusion. 
 
 Adonis amurensis should also be making a show, but 
 slugs love its fat round flower-buds when they are first 
 through and still a bronze colour, and they often lose 
 their hearts as early in the day as the heroine of a penny 
 novelette. The double forms are quaint and interesting, 
 but always flower later than the far prettier single form. 
 Several Corydalis species join the procession now. C. 
 angustifolia is generally first, an ivory white, and too 
 delicate-looking a thing to be out so early ; then follow 
 the more robust creamy white C. Allenii and C. bulbosa 
 157
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 with its dingy, faded-lilac flowers. I have never yet 
 made up my mind as to whether I like bulbosa to spread 
 about or no. On the one hand it is so early and 
 does no harm, but on the other it is not very attractive 
 and takes up a certain amount of space. C. cava is 
 brighter in colour and also has a good white form, and 
 both are welcome to spread where they will. C. Lede- 
 bouriana and C. Semenowii did well for some years, 
 but have died, I am sorry to say, for I liked their 
 glaucous leaves and the pink flowers of the one and 
 the orange of the other. They would travel under- 
 ground in their supposed resting season and come up in 
 most unexpected places, and this made it hard to prevent 
 their being dug into or getting smothered by a neighbour. 
 I have not seen them for some years, but always look out 
 for their reappearance each Spring, hoping they may have 
 returned from their travels. The beauty of the family is 
 C. nobilis from Siberia, but it does not produce its light 
 yellow flowers till May. Each blossom has a curious 
 blackish-green tip to it, as though a beetle sat upon it. 
 Except Adlumia cirrhosa, a very near relation, and some 
 hateful weeds like Cardamine hirsuta, I can remember no 
 plants that ripen seeds so quickly as this Corydalis family. 
 It seems one day the flowers look a little faded and wan, 
 and then the next they fall off, leaving a fat green pod, and 
 if you break it open the seeds are black and shining and 
 look ready for sowing. 
 
 Petasites nivea is not common in gardens, but is very 
 
 much so in subalpine regions : it lacks the delicious scent 
 
 of P. fragrans, the Winter Heliotrope, but then it does not 
 
 run so violently and become such a nuisance, and its 
 
 158
 
 March Winds 
 
 flowers are more attractive to the eye, with bright green 
 bracts and creamy-white blossoms. They generally appear 
 with the New Year, but are dwarf until March, when they 
 run up on long stems among the fresh young leaves. It is 
 a good plant to fill up odd corners among shrubs, especially 
 at the back of borders where tall herbaceous plants are 
 grown in front. P. japonica gigantea is not very lavish with 
 its large flower heads, but a few go a long way, as each 
 one in the distance looks like a large clump of Primroses, 
 leaves and all. Its immense leaves are its best part, of 
 course, and are those one sees in Japanese pictures being 
 used as umbrellas. They want a swampy bit of ground 
 and good feeding to grow large over here, and in this dry 
 garden the poor things look tired and finally sit down on 
 hot dry days. P. palmata is seldom seen ; its handsome 
 leaves are worth having, especially as they are happy in 
 any rough corner. The variegated form of Tussilago 
 Farfara is one of the most beautiful of variegated plants, 
 but is as hard to establish and keep as the common green 
 form is to destroy. It will walk underground quite a yard 
 between dying down and reappearing, which is annoying 
 if you have it among other plants which would not 
 appreciate the cold poultice of a half dozen of its great 
 leaves pressing down on their chests. It has walked along 
 one border until it has reached a triangular corner and the 
 gravel walk, and here it has received a check and huddled 
 itself together to think how to proceed. It got such a 
 snubbing for appearing in the middle of the path that I 
 hope it will not try again and get across to the strawberry 
 beds. Its flowers are quite pretty ; the stems have much 
 red and brown on them, but otherwise they are similar to 
 159
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 the small dandelion affairs that star the railway banks so 
 early in the year and puzzle many travellers as to their 
 identity both when in flower and afterwards in seed, when 
 they are balls of silvery pappus silk. Very few people 
 recognise the flowers of this variegated one in the garden, 
 coming as they do without any leaves, and they do not think 
 of the old Colt's-foot. Prunus cerasifera atropurpurea, is 
 the name the authorities command us to use for what 
 we know better as P. Pissardii. Both it and the newer 
 form known as Moseri, which has double pink flowers, have 
 flowered marvellously freely here the last two seasons, and 
 have been very beautiful throughout March, and would 
 have been still more so had not the sparrows breakfasted, 
 lunched, dined, and supped, besides taking odd meals such 
 as elevens and five o'clock tea in them, the Plum flowers 
 alone constituting the menu of each meal. 
 
 I find it a charming plant to cut before the flower-buds 
 open, for they expand and last well in water. As a rule 
 I dislike mixing different kinds of flowers in vases, and 
 only put their own leaves with them, but the brown 
 of these Plum leaves is really charming with bright yellow 
 Daffodils, such as Henry Irving, and Almond blossom 
 makes a delightful harmony with Iris unguicularis. Some 
 seasons the early Chinese Almond, Prunus Davidiana, is a 
 beautiful sight in January, but the last two years when 
 other things were so forward they hung back, and only 
 came out a very little before the common Almond. The 
 white and pink are both worth having because of their 
 flowering early, but are not to be compared with the real 
 Almond. I find it is useful to spray them before the 
 buds swell with quassia and soft soap, to discourage the 
 sparrows from holding their feasts in and on them. 
 1 60
 
 Tulipa praestans
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 April Showers 
 
 WHAT a blessed time it is for garden and gardener when 
 the wind goes round to the south-west and warm April 
 showers begin to fall. The real thing, of course, not the 
 chilly, wind-driven sorts compounded of sleet, hail, or ice- 
 cold rain that come from the north with slight variation 
 to east, and seem arranged on purpose to destroy the 
 Plum blossoms. They leave the air several degrees 
 colder, and if followed by a clear sky after sunset are the 
 forerunners of a killing frost. This form of April shower 
 belongs to what old country folk call Blackthorn Winter, 
 an annual spell of bad weather that we never escape in 
 the Eastern Counties. The only time I have been in 
 Cornwall in April, my familiar native Blackthorn Winter 
 accompanied me, and I saw the Rhododendrons and 
 Camellias turned brown as leather, young Colt's Foot 
 leaves singed by frost, and thick ice on tanks and pools. 
 Therefore I trembled to think of what Arctic conditions 
 must be prevailing here, but on my return found nothing 
 worse than usual had happened, and the plants, being more 
 backward than the pampered Cornish ones, had not 
 suffered very much. 
 
 After a week or more of blizzards and squalls, and just 
 when everybody has decided that it is the most curious 
 161 L
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 and disagreeable season they remember, round goes the 
 wind, hands can be taken out of pockets and yet no 
 longer turn blue and numb, the dove-coloured flush on 
 the trees of the woodland turns to a varied shimmer of 
 tender greyish yellows and faint greens, even the oaks 
 show raw sienna specklings, somebody hears the cuckoo, 
 it rains for twenty minutes and the sun then hurries out 
 and makes a rainbow on the retreating clouds, every 
 plant glistens with sunlit raindrops, and the air smells all 
 the sweeter and feels all the warmer for the shower. 
 
 Then it is that grass turns to the true green of Spring, 
 both on lawn and meadow, and the flower stems grow by 
 inches, leaves fall outwards instead of standing up stiffly 
 at attention, and in a good garden the borders should look 
 full once more, and the bare earth should disappear for 
 the next six months. Then the days are not long enough 
 to enjoy the rush of flowers and to do all the thinning, 
 replanting and tying up, and a hundred other things that 
 always want doing in a garden in full growth. 
 
 We always try to anticipate the coming of the April 
 showers by removing the row of lights, a heritage from an 
 ancient dismantled vinery, from the bank of the rock garden 
 devoted to succulent plants hardy enough to stand frost if 
 kept dry, but too tender to battle through damp and cold 
 together. If I could have foreseen the trouble and the 
 ugly effect of this row of lights from November till April, 
 and the pain caused by their wicked little barbed spines, I 
 should never have purchased the first three species of 
 Opuntia that captivated me on the rockwork in Robert 
 Veitch's Exeter Nursery. That trio grew so well that I 
 added a few more, and learning that Mr. Andrews of 
 162
 
 April Showers 
 
 Colorado issued a list of many other kinds, besides certain 
 Cereus and Mammillaria species that were reputed hardy, I 
 wrote for that list, and then for those Cacti, and by degrees 
 some of the more ordinary plants have been banished from 
 this bank and the soil replaced by a mixture of all the 
 gritty, moisture-scorning materials I could lay hands on, 
 such as plaster from a fallen ceiling, brick and mortar 
 rubble from demolished buildings, well-weathered cinders 
 from the furnaces, road sand and silver sand, until nothing 
 but a Cactus or other xerophytic succulent plant could 
 be expected to live in it. It is an anxious moment that 
 recurs each Spring when the lights are off, and I can once 
 more get at the fat green lumps I have only been able to 
 gaze at through the glass before, and can poke them gently 
 with a bit of stick to discover whether they are hard and 
 healthy or soft and decaying. By being bold enough to 
 try almost any succulent plant that came my way and of 
 which any reasonable hopes of hardiness could be enter- 
 tained, I have got together a large collection of plants that 
 look as though they have no business to be out in the open 
 air. Sir Thomas Hanbury always took a great interest in 
 this bank when he came to see me, and sent me many 
 baskets of treasures from La Mortola to experiment with, 
 Mr. Lynch helped me from the rich collection grown in 
 front of the houses at Cambridge, and I bought kinds I 
 thought worth trying from the Continental nurseries. It is 
 perhaps as well that about half of them have proved too 
 tender for our winters, or the congestion of prickly things 
 would have been worse than it is now. I greatly enjoy seeing 
 these wrinkled Opuntias swell out in the Spring rains and 
 then show red points where the new growths are budding, 
 163
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 and trying to make up my mind which are flower-buds 
 and which new branches, for years of experience have not 
 yet taught me any means of distinguishing them at this 
 initial stage. Then there is Senecio tropaeolioides to look at : 
 so far, after clearing off its dead leaves, the tuberous root 
 has contained some sound portions, and these have soon 
 responded to warm moisture and sent up their glaucous 
 leaves, as peltate as those of any Tom Thumb Nasturtium, 
 and quite remarkable even in such a family of mimics as 
 the Groundsel tribe. 
 
 A gentle tug at the centres of various Bromeliads, 
 Rhodostachys species mostly, with a Dyckia or two, and 
 most marvellous of all Bilbergia nutans, which is usually 
 seen in a greenhouse, will show whether they still adhere 
 to the roots or have rotted off at the collar. Mesembry- 
 anthemum linguaeforme and M. uncinatum generally show that 
 they have got to work and begun Spring growth before the 
 glass lid came off; Agave Parryi and A.utahensis I have never 
 yet found affected by a winter. A few of our Cape plants 
 share this protected corner ; a fine old Gerberajamesonii dies 
 down but regularly reappears soon after the rain reaches 
 it, and Hypoxis Rooperi and Haplocarpa scaposa, two free- 
 blooming, yellow-flowered plants that are seldom seen 
 thriving in the open, behave in a similar way. We try to 
 remove these overhead lights on the ist of April each year, 
 to let the rain moisten and wake the plants of course, and 
 not at all because it is All Fools' Day as you might think, 
 dear reader. Perhaps some summer day you will see 
 these Prickly Pears and vegetable sea-urchins with their 
 great yellow, salmon, or white blossoms wide open in the 
 sun, and will be allowed to touch the anthers of the 
 164
 
 April Showers 
 
 Optmtias and watch them close spirally like the tentacles 
 of a sea anemone on a shelled winkle, and then perhaps 
 you will forgive and justify our apparent folly in giving 
 them overhead protection during the dull months ; only 
 overhead, remember, for the sides are not closed in at all, 
 so that we feel we grow these fat fleshy things in a way 
 that we can describe as in the open air. 
 
 Now comes the rush of the Daffodils, and one can 
 indulge oneself in picking freely, and getting down extra 
 flower vases from the shelves, and feel that from now 
 onwards, till the frosts damage the latest Michaelmas 
 Daisies, there should always be a plentiful supply of flowers 
 to pick from the open ground. Crown Imperials (Fritil- 
 laria imperialis) now shoot up another foot and take on 
 their full beauty. The two best are those known as maxima 
 lutea and m. rubra. I prefer the yellow one, but that may 
 be because it does not grow so well here as the red, and 
 one always loves most the delicate child. The old red one 
 does well anywhere I put it, and increases only too fast, 
 necessitating lifting and dividing the clumps oftener than I 
 like, for the right moment to do this comes when one is 
 full of other work, and it is unwise to touch them at all if it 
 cannot be done soon after the leaves turn yellow, as they 
 root very early, and soon deteriorate if kept out of the 
 ground. I have the scentless form here, Fritillaria imperialis 
 inodora, but it has never done very well and is always a dwarf 
 plant, very unlike those I have seen in better condition in 
 Holland, where there exists also a glorious plum-coloured 
 form that I long to see in this garden, but cannot induce 
 to cross the water. A good race of scentless Crown Im- 
 perials would be worth working for. Surely some student 
 165
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 of Mendelism might investigate the family to see whether 
 tall, scentless, and yellow may not be a possible combina- 
 tion of Mendelian characters. The old forms possess such 
 an awful stink, a mixture of mangy fox, dirty dog-kennel, 
 the small cats' house at the Zoo, and Exeter Railway 
 Station, where for some unknown reason the trains let out 
 their superfluous gas to poison the travellers. The various 
 species of Codonopsis possess a similar odour, but have 
 the decency only to let it loose when broken, and then of 
 course it is fair for them to retaliate, but Crown Imperials 
 waft it abroad on a lovely Spring day without being touched. 
 One can do without the stinking Phuopsis stylosa (the 
 Crucianella and Old Foxy of my childhood) in the garden, 
 but I cannot forego Crown Imperials even though I have 
 to hold my nose sometimes when near them. Like most 
 things, however, this is a matter of taste, and hunting folk 
 enjoy this odour in gardens. I love showing children the 
 tears in a Crown Imperial's eyes, and of all the monkish 
 legends, I like best that which tells of the origin of these. 
 How that when Our Saviour entered the Garden of Geth- 
 semane all the flowers bowed their heads, save the Crown 
 Imperial, which was too proud of its green crown and up- 
 right circle of milk-white blossoms to show humility, but on 
 the other hand expected admiration. When gently reproved 
 by its Creator, it saw its error and bowed its head, flushing 
 red with shame, and has ever since held this position and 
 carried tears in its eyes. These honey drops are very 
 curious, and though the cavities which distil them and in 
 which they hang are to be found in some degree in other 
 Fritillarias, they reach their highest development in F. itn- 
 perialis, and being lined with white they have a wonderfully 
 166
 
 April Showers 
 
 pearly effect when filled with the honey. What animal in 
 its native Persia looks up into the flowers and is attracted 
 by these glistening drops ? Observers have watched honey- 
 bees alight on the stigma and crawl up to it to reach the 
 honey, and as this flower is protogynous it can only 
 receive pollen from an older flower, thus ensuring cross- 
 fertilisation. These observations were made in gardens in 
 Germany, but surely this tall drink, this pool of nectar, is 
 not so cunningly arranged for nothing larger than honey- 
 bees. 
 
 The double flowered forms are not free in flowering nor 
 very pretty when they do overcome their ungenerous habits, 
 and if they die, I shall not buy others. The Crown-upon- 
 crown variety is curious with its second tier of green crown 
 leaves, and like the fasciated form known as Slagswaard it 
 is only a very strong, well-grown bulb that produces the 
 abnormal structure, and in most seasons my clumps cannot 
 be recognised from the ordinary form. I am fond of the 
 two variegated forms, both the golden and the silver ; the 
 mingling of burnt sienna, green and cream colour in a 
 young shoot, is very beautiful especially when backed by 
 a group of the green-leaved forms. 
 
 F. perstca exists but without happiness, and I should 
 like more of its curiously metallic effect : the glaucous 
 leaves suggest weathered copper, greened with age, and 
 the flowers are like .bronze bells wrought by some 
 Japanese artist. F. pyrenaica has somewhat similar 
 flowers, but they are parcel-gilt, and also lack the plum- 
 like bloom so suggestive of aged and weathered metal 
 which is the great charm of persica. I have a fine 
 tall form with yellow flowers, which is by repute and 
 167
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 tradition a form of pyrenaica, but quite unlike it in appear- 
 ance and habit, as here pyrenaka increases so freely it 
 requires frequent thinning to get a good flowering, but 
 this yellow beauty is very slow to spread. A single bulb 
 given me by Dr. Lowe, who told me he had it from Miss 
 Hope of -Edinburgh, has in twenty years only trebled 
 itself. Very much like it in build, but with a pleasing 
 dull crimson bell, F. gracilis is both rare and beautiful. 
 It came to me through a kind friend who travels to strange 
 out-of-the-way places and often sends me unusual plants 
 from distant lands. This one has a very limited range in 
 certain Montenegrin woods, but is making itself happy in 
 this rock garden, and seeds so freely I hope it will soon 
 grace many others. Several forms of our native Snake's 
 Head, in fact as many as I can get, find welcome here 
 even the curious double form, that looks like a bunch of 
 fragments of the marbled cover of the exercise books we 
 used in our schoolroom days. The pure white is my 
 favourite of all, and I like to see it rising out of Erica 
 carnea as well as anywhere, and it appears to like such 
 company too, and seeds freely there. The curious narrow- 
 belled form known as var. contorta is worth growing. I 
 only knew of the white until recently, when I saw a good 
 stock of the mottled type in a Dutch nursery, so now I 
 grow both, but the white is the more attractive ; the 
 squared shoulders of the type have disappeared, and the 
 long, tubular, white flower is very graceful. This cylin- 
 drical aberration has been noted as occurring among the 
 normal form at Wulfshagen, and has been observed to be 
 too narrow to admit the humble bees which are the chief 
 insect visitors of this species, but further evidence is 
 168
 
 Helicodiceros crinitus. (See p. 280.)
 
 April Showers 
 
 wanted to show whether these flowers are fertile and 
 whether this is a cleistogamous line of development of 
 service to the plant, or a useless variation. One of the. 
 best of the family is F. pallidiflora, and if it has a fault it 
 lies in the shortness of stem, which seems insufficient for 
 the large bunch of soft yellow flowers. It grows well 
 here in semi-shade, and I wish I could say the same of 
 pudica, recurva, and the latifolia forms, all of which have 
 left me. v, 
 
 Why does one so seldom see good patches of San- 
 guinaria canadensis ? It seems to ask nothing more than 
 planting and leaving alone, but I rather expect suffers 
 from being lifted and stored, as is almost necessary for pur- 
 poses of sale, and so is difficult to obtain in robust health. 
 
 I have found it good-tempered enough if divided 
 when in full growth, and it is one of the plants I am over 
 generous with, as I do so enjoy lifting a piece and seeing 
 the realistic imitation of bleeding given by a broken root. 
 It does this in the manner of a grazed wound, a gradual 
 oozing of blood from several pores, and not a gushing out, 
 which might upset some who watched the process. 
 
 A good clump in full flower is one of the joys of 
 April. The thick white petals have a wonderful brilliancy, 
 while the anthers are of a soft yellow, rather unusual with 
 a white flower. It is a very variable plant, and its varieties 
 have borne many names. That known as grandiflora is 
 the best, but I see by Das Pflanzenreich that it ought to be 
 known as var. Dilleniana, a pretty compliment to Dillenius 
 and his beautiful figure of it in the Hortus Elthamensis. 
 He also figures the minor form, and one he calls flore 
 pleno, but which is hardly worthy of the name, having only 
 169
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 a slightly increased number of petals and all of them about 
 half the proper width. I have such a form here, but do 
 not like it as well as the wide-petalled ones. I also have 
 a rose-coloured form, but I find that only in certain 
 seasons is there any trace of the rose, and only then on 
 newly-opened flowers. I have no wish to see Niagara or 
 New York sky-scrapers, but I should like to stand in a 
 wood full of Bloodroot when the flowers are wide open. 
 The blossoms do not last long, but to catch a clump with 
 fifty or so widely agape is a treat worth lingering over, 
 perhaps even a camp stool and a long visit, for it is only 
 on a really fine warm Spring morning it deigns to open, 
 and if a few days of bad weather follow you may find 
 every petal lying on the ground by the end of them. 
 
 Magnolia stellata in full flower is not unlike a magnified 
 Bloodroot growing on a bush. I have only one specimen 
 in the garden, but it is a large one, about 12 feet high by 
 13 feet through, and being in the rock garden and too 
 near a path I am obliged to cut off large boughs at times. 
 It seems a dreadful thing to do, but if done early in the 
 season, just after the last flowers have gone, the vigour of 
 the new growths resulting from air and space and an extra 
 allowance of sap quite makes up for the removals, and the 
 increase being in more convenient parts of the tree adds 
 to the beauty and size of the specimen. In 1912 I 
 realised for the first time how strongly scented the flowers 
 are ; a delicious whiff of bean fields reached my nose and 
 set me sniffing around to locate its origin, and I tracked 
 it down to the Magnolia. The bruised bark emits quite a 
 different scent ; you might shut your eyes and think 
 Homocea was being used to touch some injured spot. 
 170
 
 April Showers 
 
 One day when sawing off a rather large bough to clear 
 the legs of the bush I was struck by the resemblance of 
 the scent of the wood to that peppery fragrance peculiar 
 to wooden Japanese cabinets, and I can believe it possible 
 that Magnolia wood may be employed in their construction. 
 It usually happens that once or twice during its flower- 
 ing season the glorious white flowers are browned by 
 frost, but after a few days of mild weather and a good 
 shaking to knock off the browned petals, the show will be 
 almost as good as before the calamity. 
 
 Last year I noticed a number of fruits forming, but 
 later on, when I looked hoping for seeds, they had dis- 
 appeared, and I have never seen this species bearing ripe 
 seed anywhere in England yet. Another bush we are 
 proud of and that is generally in flower in April is the 
 hardy Orange Aegle sepiaria, or Citrus trifoliata as we once 
 called it. When covered with its large, starry white 
 blossoms on the spiny, leafless, but bright green twigs, it 
 is a goodly sight. I grew mine from pips taken out of 
 an orange given me by Canon Ellacombe, that had ripened 
 in his garden, and two of the resultant youngsters planted 
 side by side in the rock garden have grown wonderfully 
 quickly. They are now 10 feet high and 9 feet through, 
 and I have to cut them in severely or they would be half 
 across the path, and scratch all who pass by. I am 
 gradually trimming away the lower boughs, and hope 
 some day to be able to walk under a crop of Orange 
 blossom and later in the season of oranges themselves. 
 The flowers are interesting because most of those that 
 open first bear stamens only. Later there will generally 
 be a few that are perfect hermaphrodite flowers, and the 
 171
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 latest buds bear only stigmas. Some seasons my plants 
 bear no female flowers until the pollen-bearing ones have 
 fallen, and then of course I get no oranges. They fruited 
 freely in 1911 after the hot summer, and I have raised a 
 nice row of babes from the pips. I should like to make 
 a hedge of them some day, as many of the spines are quite 
 3 inches long, and so stiff and sharp that the interlacing 
 boughs armed freely with these fierce weapons would be 
 worse than barbed wire, and not even a boy could get 
 through a close hedge of Aegle. Little sprays when cut 
 off are useful to discourage birds and fourfooted beasts. 
 A faithful old dog, who always thought he helped me to 
 garden by lying on cushions of plants, ruined a fine speci- 
 men of the white Erica carnea until I insinuated a chip or 
 two of Aegle in among its growth. Poor old Taffy ! how 
 he jumped the next time he tried that bed, and he never 
 attempted to lie on it again. Aegle has another charm in 
 its beautiful autumnal colouring ; in suitable seasons it 
 takes on a brilliant yellow, and the leaves remain on after 
 many other plants are bare. 
 
 Some interesting hybrids were raised in America be- 
 tween Aegle and some edible Oranges, and three of these 
 intermediates have been fairly widely distributed. I have 
 got them here close to the New Wall, and they have 
 passed quite unhurt through the last three winters, but 
 though they have grown into good specimens, there has 
 been no sign of flowers yet, still I hope I may some day 
 eat marmalade made from these home-grown oranges. 
 The handsomest of them is called Colman, and has fine 
 broad leaves that look much like those of an ordinary 
 sweet Orange. Those on the younger growths are not 
 172
 
 April Showers 
 
 always sufficiently ripened to pass through the winter 
 without scorched tips, but this kind shows no signs of the 
 deciduous habit of its hardy parent. Morton is nearest to 
 Aegle, having long thorns and shedding many of its leaves 
 during winter and the third, named Savage after a man, 
 not its thorns, as it well might be is intermediate between 
 these in general appearance. They have acquired the 
 pleasant name of Citrange in America, and the fruits are 
 used for marmalade and what is there called orangeade. I 
 tried the Bitter Orange which grows so well on the hills 
 around Florence, and drops ripe oranges on to the snow 
 in severe winters up there. But although I planted them 
 in the most sheltered position I could afford, they lost 
 their less ripened growth every winter, until precious little 
 was left alive, and I believe the only survivor is at its last 
 gasp this season, and so I must rest content with Aegle 
 and its offspring. I believe Aegle is much hardier than 
 most people think, for I have seen finer plants in places 
 where the winters are severe than in Cornwall or Ireland, 
 where it usually looks yellow and sickly, and refuses to 
 start away upward, but to flower well it needs a hot sun 
 and thorough ripening of the wood. One Spring it had a 
 bad shaking here, and that was because it was in full 
 flower and shooting into leaf-growth, when a severe frost 
 on a Good Friday simply split the sap-laden shoots and 
 every bit of even two-year-old growth was killed ; and 
 every bud, whether of leaf or flower, was destroyed, and 
 the trees looked very sad for about a month, then adven- 
 titious buds formed on three-year-old wood, and by the 
 end of the summer the young growths had grown out 
 beyond the dead wood. 
 
 173
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 Azara microphylla has done well here until this Spring, 
 and I had two fine standard specimens, then on one gusty 
 afternoon that in the rock garden was blown down, and 
 all its roots snapped beyond cure, and about half of the 
 other was torn out, yet no other tree in the garden was 
 injured, and these two were a long distance from each 
 other. I missed the Vanilla-ice-cream scent of its funny 
 little blossoms that had always pervaded the rock garden 
 at flowering time, and called my attention to the bloom 
 which is so much hidden under the leaves that it needs a 
 careful scrutiny to notice it. Xanthorhiza apiifolia was not 
 blown over, nor ever could be, for it is a lowly shrub, 
 and makes so many suckers that an interlacing mass 
 soon develops. It grows close to the vacant site of the 
 defunct Azara, and I like its quaint beauty. In late March 
 and on through April it bears its tassels of tiny livid 
 flowers, but so freely that when the sunlight catches it, 
 especially the low beams of a setting sun, the whole group 
 appears reddish-purple. It is quite an oddity, for it 
 belongs to the great Ranunculus family, and yet is a 
 woody shrublet, and except in Paeonia and Clematis 
 woody stems are not common in that family. Its leaves 
 do not appear until the flowering is well advanced, and they 
 are prettily divided, but the root is astonishingly yellow, 
 and it is worth pulling up some of the too-widely spread- 
 ing suckers to see the golden roots which give it its generic 
 name of Golden root in Greek words, while the specific ap- 
 pellation is simply Celery-leaved turned into Latin. I seem 
 to have taken you to the rock garden, for the Magnolia, the 
 largest Aegles, and Xanthorhiza live there, and the poor 
 overturned Azara used to, so now you are there you might 
 174
 
 April Showers 
 
 as well look at the large bush of Golden-fruited Ivy, by 
 the side of the Magnolia. Just now, when its fruits are 
 turning yellow, and before the birds have given picnics to 
 all their friends to come and eat them, it is worth looking 
 at. It has grown so large and looked so heavy that as 
 you see I have short-coated it, trimmed off its petticoats 
 up to its knees, like the good lady of nursery rhyme fame, 
 and this gives a better chance in life to the Crocus Tomasi- 
 nianus colony of February beauty, and the mass of the 
 orange-coloured Welsh Poppy which glows beneath it in 
 May. I am very fond of these fruiting bush Ivies, and 
 whenever I see Russell's wonderful groups of them at the 
 shows I long to be able to buy and group the whole lot in 
 the garden. They are not separate arboreal varieties but 
 only the fruiting branches of various Ivies cut off and 
 struck, and if really woody flowering portions are chosen 
 for this they very seldom send out any creeping shoots, 
 but grow into wonderfully shapely bushes, good to look at 
 all the year round. This golden-fruited form Hedera Helix, 
 var. chrysocarpa, is one of the best, and very pretty when in 
 fruit. It has also been called Hedera poetarum as it is 
 plentiful in Italy and Greece, and was the Ivy associated 
 with the worship of Bacchus, and much more suitable for 
 garlands with its cheerful golden fruits than our native 
 variety and its dull black berries. 
 
 I have an Ivy that was given to me with the reputation 
 of bearing scarlet berries. No book mentions it, and had 
 it been offered me by any ordinary gardener I should not 
 have believed in its refulgent fruit, even if I accepted the 
 plant, but my generous friend its donor knows plants as well 
 as anyone, so I anxiously await the production of berries. 
 175
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 Now come and see the other Magnolias. Having no 
 wall for them, they are grown as standards in the open, 
 and in some seasons this is an advantage, for exposed to 
 all the winds that blow they flower later there than speci- 
 mens on south walls, and their blossoms escape when the 
 pampered, wall-protected ones are frost-bitten. It is very 
 hard to get a plant of the true M. conspicua now, and I 
 was told in Holland that it cannot be layered in the same 
 way as its varieties are. It should be pure white, but even 
 that form known as spedosa which comes nearest to it, has 
 a certain amount of rose colour on the outside petals, and 
 my tallest tree is of this second best variety. From the 
 latter half of April and half through May it is generally a 
 beautiful sight, but I am afraid its head has got up into 
 the wind, and it will not go much higher. The best 
 and quickest grower of the conspicua forms is that named 
 Alexandrina, and it has made a fine shapely tree here, and 
 flowers well, but is an early form, and so Sometimes gets 
 cut by frost when at its best. The flowers are rosy-pink 
 on the outside and nearly white inside, and very large. 
 The sensible one of the family is M. Lennei, a hybrid 
 between conspicua and obovata discolor, for it flowers later, 
 and is seldom damaged. The flowers are like immense 
 rose-coloured Tulips, and after the main flowering a con- 
 stant succession of a few blooms at a time is kept up all 
 through the summer. The habit of growth is rather lax, 
 one might even say sprawling, so it needs careful pruning 
 if one wishes to grow it as a compact specimen, but if it 
 had abundance of room allowed it I expect a naturally- 
 grown sprawling dwarf would be very beautiful after some 
 years. Mine has not very much space allowed it, for it 
 176
 
 Darwin Tulips : Mr. Farncombe Sanders Suzon
 
 April Showers 
 
 has many neighbours, and grows in the turf in a piece of 
 garden that has come to be known as the Lunatic Asylum, 
 for most of its occupants are cranks or eccentrics, showing 
 some departure from the normal habits or appearance of 
 their genus or species. I suppose this sensible Magnolia 
 is there as a keeper now. It went there at first because I 
 had an idea of collecting Japanese plants in this corner, 
 but it and some Cherries and Bamboos had no sooner got 
 established than the freaks were put under their protection, 
 and they have increased in number sufficiently to demand 
 a chapter to themselves. 
 
 177 M
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 The Lunatic Asylum 
 
 IN the days of my early youth a vast clump, or so it then 
 seemed to me, of evergreens occupied the space which now 
 forms my home for demented plants. It was the sort of 
 planting one sees at one end of a London square. Portugal 
 Laurels there were, and the still more objectionable 
 Common Laurel ; Laurustinus bushes, which in showery 
 weather exhale an odour of dirty dog-kennel and an even 
 dirtier dog ; leprously spotted Aucubas and Privet jostled 
 one another round the feet of two Weymouth Pines and 
 a dead Yew covered with Ivy, the whole dismal crew being 
 rendered more awful and uninteresting by having all their 
 attempts to show any beauty that might be inherent in 
 their natural manner of growth nipped in the bud by the 
 garden shears. This agglomeration consequently bore the 
 semblance of a magnified dish of Spinach with a few trees 
 emerging from the top, where a giant poached Roc's egg 
 or two might have lain. A thick wall of such snubbed 
 greenery of course had a hollow interior of dead branches, 
 a playground ever desired by the child, and never per- 
 mitted by the nurses and guardians, who foresaw the black 
 hands and faces, torn clothes, and missing buttons that 
 would result from a scramble in that unknown wilderness. 
 Most of this has now been cleared away, but the Wey- 
 178
 
 The Lunatic Asylum 
 
 mouth Pines were left, and also the tower of Ivy that 
 smothered the Yew, a very fine specimen of tree Ivy, 
 rather too much the shape of a gigantic button mushroom 
 perhaps, but a wonderful sight when in full flower, and 
 the resort of a crowd of old pauper wasps and bluebottle 
 and drone flies that, at the end of the honey season, live 
 on its charity. 
 
 Some large blocks of Kentish rag were placed to form 
 two rocky mounds round the stems of the trees, an irregu- 
 larly shaped bed or two left, and the rest of the circular 
 patch where the evergreen clump had stood was first 
 planted with Crocuses and then turfed over. The beds 
 were to have held Japanese plants, and the whole might 
 have developed into a sort of imitation Japanese garden, 
 but before it had got far that sort of thing became 
 fashionable, and bronze cranes and stone lanterns met one 
 in all sorts of unsuitable surroundings, the Temple Show 
 began to bristle with giant toads, and pagodas, and jingling 
 glass bird-scarers frightened the last idea of reproducing a 
 page of Conder right out of my head. Then a home was 
 needed for some trees and shrubs of abnormal charac- 
 teristics that I had been collecting, and the Lunatic Asylum 
 sprang into existence. 
 
 The twisted Hazel was the first crazy occupant, and is 
 perhaps the maddest of all even now. It was first found 
 in a hedge by Lord Ducie, near Tortworth, who moved 
 it into the garden, increased it by layering, and so distri- 
 buted it to a few friends, my plant being a sucker given me 
 by Canon Ellacombe from his fine specimen. It is a most 
 remarkable form, for it never produces a bit of straight 
 wood ; the stem between each leaf is curved as though one 
 179
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 side had grown much faster than the other, and alternating 
 lengths are generally curved in opposite directions ; fre- 
 quently they are twisted spirally as well, so that the whole 
 bush is a collection of various curves and spirals, a tangle 
 of crooks and corkscrews from root to tip. They do not 
 straighten out with age and thickening, and in winter, when 
 leafless, the interlacing twigs are beautiful as well as curious, 
 but when covered with the large crumpled leaves it has a 
 heavy and somewhat diseased look, for each leaf is twisted 
 or a little rolled, and they look as though attacked by 
 leaf-rolling caterpillars. I have not seen catkins or nuts 
 on it, and wonder whether the former would be curly 
 lambs' tails, and the latter coiled like rams' horns. A 
 young plant of a similarly twisted Hawthorn has now come 
 to be a companion to the nut, but has not had time to 
 develop its mania very fully. As a contrast there is the 
 fastigiate form of the common Elder, the wood of which 
 grows as stiff and straight and upright as a grenadier. A 
 good specimen is an attractive object, as the leaves come in 
 congested bunches at intervals on the straight wood, and 
 though the leaflets are large, they are closely packed owing 
 to the shortness of the central leafstalk, and look very much 
 more like those of a Mulberry than an Elder. 
 
 Close to its feet grows a pigmy form of Elder that 
 was a discovery of mine. It appeared one Spring in an 
 old tree in the garden as a dark, heavy mass, and at first 
 I watched it to see what strange bird's nest it was, but it 
 constantly increased in size and altered its shape and I 
 never saw a bird near it, so I climbed up to investigate 
 closer, and found it was a Witch's Broom and then about a 
 foot in diameter. When the leaves fell from the rest of the 
 180
 
 The Lunatic Asylum 
 
 tree they still remained green on this mass until long after 
 Christmas, and had not all fallen when new growth com- 
 menced. A year or two after, a violent February gale 
 blew down many trees, and this Elder among them. I was 
 loth to lose my quaint Witch's Broom, and so cut it off with 
 a foot of stem of ordinary Elder wood, and planted it in 
 the Lunatic Asylum, treating the stem as a root, and it 
 has never shown any sign of discontent nor shot up any 
 normally strong Elder shoots from below ground, and the 
 masses of small congested growths have perfectly retained 
 their very original character. 
 
 Cuttings struck from them make very interesting, round, 
 bushy plants, and though they increase fairly rapidly in 
 width do not grow more than 8 to 10 inches high in several 
 years, and are practically evergreen, as the old leaves last 
 on until the new ones push them off. 
 
 Yet another Elder has been certified insane and admitted 
 to this select company. Its madness consists in the greater 
 portion of the lamina of the leaf blades being reduced to a 
 mere thread, and it looks as though an army of locusts or 
 caterpillars had halted to dine on it, but for all that has 
 rather a soft, ferny look from a distance. 
 
 Two Laburnums have developed strange habits, and 
 qualified for admittance : one pretends to be an Oak, and 
 has, so far as it can, imitated its leaves, and the name of 
 quercifolium has been added to its own of Laburnum vulgare- 
 The flowers are of a good rich yellow, but of course turn 
 to ordinary pods, not acorns. The second is var. involu- 
 tum, and has every leaflet rolled inward, giving the whole 
 tree a heavy, congested appearance, and at close quarters 
 one would think the leaves must be full of green fly to be so 
 181
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 much rolled up. I see a self-sown seedling has appeared with 
 the same curious leaves, so evidently this form of madness 
 is hereditary insanity. A Buckthorn, RhamnusFrangula,var. 
 asplemfolia, has leaves consisting of little more than the mid- 
 rib with just a serrated margin of lamina on either side, with 
 a few irregular projections that produce a fern-like outline. 
 
 One of the strangest is a little Ash that is quite a dwarf, 
 and has crimped leaves which are nearly black and beauti- 
 fully polished. It bears the fine name of Fraxinus excelsior, 
 var. atrovirens nana, which is nearly as long as itself, for 
 it is a very slow grower, and makes but a few inches of 
 wood in a season. It looks very strange even in winter, as 
 the little black buds are set so closely together. 
 
 The Viburnum family have sent some inmates. V.Opulus, 
 the Guelder Rose, has a curiously Japanese-looking dwarf 
 variety. It makes a beautifully rounded bush, covered 
 with small leaves, but it is a seriously minded lunatic, suf- 
 fering from melancholy madness, for it never flowers. I 
 have a similarly afflicted form of Philadelphus, but it is not 
 so attractive, and therefore is banished to a private home 
 for incurables under the farmyard wall. V. lantana foliis 
 punctatis is a pleasingly silver-spangled form of the Way- 
 faring Tree, and almost too sane for the company, but its 
 eccentricity appears when it comes to ripening its seeds, 
 for then it cannot make up its mind what colour they shall 
 be, and some turn white while others remain green, and 
 red and black ones may all appear on the same head. The 
 variety called foliis auriis variegatis has just arrived, and I 
 like its soft, downy, sulphur-yellow leaves, and am waiting 
 to see what coloured fruit it will produce. 
 
 Ring-leaved Laurel and Ring-leaved Willow share the 
 182
 
 The Lunatic Asylum 
 
 same mania for leaves curled into rings, but are very dif- 
 ferent in appearance otherwise. A charming little narrow- 
 leaved Laurel, Prunus Laurocerasus angustifolius, has 
 been very sick since its arrival, but is settling down and 
 growing a new crop of its tiny leaves. Several Ivies might 
 be moved here, but are quite harmless and look very happy 
 elsewhere, so Hedera Helix, vars. minima and congesta, 
 remain in the rock garden, but var. Russelliana has gone 
 here. It is the most distinct in appearance of all these 
 curiously, small-leaved Ivies, of which minima is most 
 commonly seen. They are extremely interesting morpholo- 
 gically, for they combine the two-ranked arrangement of 
 leaves of the juvenile, creeping condition with the free 
 woody habit of the fruiting mature state, in which a 
 f phyllotaxy is normal. 
 
 These stiff, free shoots, with the tiny leaves placed very 
 closely one above the other, and in two ranks only, have a 
 very striking appearance. 
 
 Russelliana grows taller towers of leafy shoots than 
 any other of them, and makes a curiously upright, narrow 
 plant if carefully kept from falling out by its own weight. 
 As a contrast I have planted the var. obovata close to it. 
 This makes a round-headed bush, and has remarkably short 
 and rounded leaves. Where it touched a block of stone 
 my bush put out a climbing shoot which has now nearly 
 covered the rock, and it is interesting to have both the 
 creeping and tree form thus on one little plant. 
 
 Two forms of Butcher's Broom make another good 
 
 contrast ; one is Ruscus aculeatus, var. lanceolatus, a very 
 
 elegant form I get from Continental nurseries, but little 
 
 known in England. Its cladodes are very narrow and 
 
 183
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 sharply pointed and greyer in colouring than other forms, 
 so that it is a light and graceful-looking plant, showing 
 some family resemblance to its not very distant relations, 
 the Asparagus family. 
 
 R. hypoglossum, on the other hand, has very broad 
 cladodes and fine, long tongues growing out of them, really 
 the bracts from between which and the cladode the flowers 
 ought to spring forth. This plant is not over hardy here, 
 and so does not flower often, and alas ! has never fruited. 
 Close to them are some Docks. Rumex flexuosus is as mad 
 as any plant well can be, for it has long, narrow leaves so 
 brown in colour that they look more like a seaweed than 
 a land plant. In early Spring when they first appear 
 they have a most peculiar effect. The same plant has 
 sown itself rather freely among the joints in the paved walks 
 of the Pergola garden, and springing from between the 
 stones looks wonderfully like some Laminaria on rocks 
 between tide marks. Later on they throw up a tangle of 
 slender, straggling flower-stems from which I suppose the 
 specific name is derived, and then they look rather untidy, 
 but if cut down a fresh crop of seaweed soon appears. 
 R. scutatus with grey-green, arrow-shaped leaves, grows 
 next to the brown species, and a little further along is the 
 Fiddle Dock, Rumex pulcher, a rare British plant from 
 Romney Marsh. This looks very much like an ordinary 
 weed of a Dock, unless the leaves have developed the curious 
 narrowed tuck-in on each side that suggests their musical 
 name. Plantains are strongly represented. There is the 
 Bush Plantain, Plantago cynops, a very strange, narrow- 
 leaved slender bush that no one would dream was a Plantain 
 unless they saw its characteristic flower spikes. P. argentea, 
 184
 
 Hardy Palm in flower. (See p. 282.)
 
 The Lunatic Asylum 
 
 a silver-leaved one, is a really pretty thing, and is also 
 allowed an honoured place in the rock garden, and P. 
 nivalis, which is whiter still, and looks very miffy, has 
 been put into the moraine for greater safety, but the grass- 
 leaved Plantain P. graminifolia, and P. asiatica, a very 
 lanky sort of Ribwort, are weird enough in appearance for 
 the Asylum. I have several times found variegated forms, 
 but they have poor constitutions, and never live long. One 
 gloriously blotched cream and green P. media I found on 
 Mt. Cenis was thriving grandly till a bough was blown off 
 the Weymouth Pine overhead, and the end of it pierced 
 the heart of my piebald treasure and it rotted away in a 
 most unromantic fashion. The red-leaved Plantain is a 
 handsome thing when well grown: a form of P. major, it 
 grows into a big plant, and has leaves as red as those of a 
 Beetroot, but with a dull surface to them quite unlike the 
 glossy Beet leaves. The most remarkable, though, are the 
 two Rose Plantains, whose flower-spikes are furnished with 
 leaf-like bracts. The neater of the two is a form of P. 
 media, and bears pretty green rosettes instead of a flower- 
 spike, and I think neither flowers nor seeds. It must be 
 the fifth kind of Gerard's Herbal, of which he writes: 
 "The fifth kinde of Plaintains hath beene a stranger in 
 England, and elsewhere, untill the impression hereof. 
 The cause why I say so is the want of consideration of 
 the beauty which is in this plant, wherein it excelleth all 
 the other. Moreover because that it hath not bin written 
 of or recorded before this present time, though plants of 
 lesser moment have beene very curiously set forth. This 
 plant hath leaves like unto them of the former, and more 
 orderly spread upon the ground like a rose, among which
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 rise up many small stalks like the other plaintaines, having 
 at the top of every one a fine double Rose altogether unlike 
 the former, of an hoary or rusty greene colour." 
 
 Johnson in editing the second edition has given the 
 plate from Clusius' Rariorunt Plantarum Historia, and inter- 
 polates this remark : " I take this set forth by our Auther 
 to be the same with that which Clusius received from 
 James Garret the yonger, from London, and therefore I 
 give you the figure thereof in this place, together with this 
 addition to the history out of Clusius : That some of the 
 heads are like those of the former Rose Plantaine : other 
 some are spike fashion, and some have a spike growing as 
 it were out of the midst of the Rose, and some heads are 
 otherwise shaped, also the whole plant is more hoary than 
 the common Rose Plantaine," which contradicts Gerard's 
 statement that his plant has at the top of every stalk a fine 
 double Rose. The heads that are "otherwise shaped" 
 are in Clusius' figure either spiked or branching, and my 
 plant never produces any but the fine double Roses, so I 
 feel sure it is the plant Gerard praised so highly. It came 
 to me from Glasnevin, and is a much rarer plant than the 
 other Rose Plantain, which is a form of P. major and the 
 same thing as that figured in Gerard and Parkinson. This 
 last produces both spiked and rose-shaped flower heads, 
 some of them attractive but others very untidy, shapeless 
 masses of small leaves, in the axils of which a good number 
 of flowers appear and bear seed freely, so that young 
 seedlings are plentiful round the old plants, quite unlike 
 the other, the P. media form, which is quite barren, at least 
 here, and must be increased by division. The green and 
 yellow Snowdrops, both double and single, which I have 
 186
 
 The Lunatic Asylum 
 
 already described, have a place in one of these beds. The 
 viviparous form of Poa alpina still bears its crop of young 
 plants instead of flowers just as it did on the banks of the 
 roadside at Lanslebourg. Several Strawberries are suffi- 
 ciently crazy to come here. First and foremost the 
 Plymouth Strawberry, which is one of the strangest of 
 plants, and has a wonderfully curious history. It is 
 certainly wrong in the head if ever a plant was, for it is 
 just an ordinary wild Strawberry in every way until it 
 blossoms, then every portion of the flower is seen to have 
 been changed into leafy structures ; the petals are little green 
 leaves, even the anthers and carpels are replaced by tufts of 
 tubular leaves, but this does not prevent it from ripening 
 a kind of fruit which has a central portion of red flesh 
 studded with the tubular leaves instead of pips, and with 
 two ranks of leaflets round the base which are the sepals and 
 petals. In this state it is a pretty green and red object. 
 It is first mentioned by Parkinson in the Paradisus in 
 1629, and he gives a very rough but quite recognisable 
 figure of it. His description of it is so exact it is worth 
 quoting. He writes : " One Strawberry more I promised 
 to shew you, which although it be a wilde kinde, and of no 
 use for meate, yet I would not let this discourse passe 
 without giving you the knowledge of it. It is in leafe 
 much like unto the ordinary, but differeth in that the 
 flower, if it have any, is greene, or rather it beareth a 
 small head of greene leaves, many set thicke together like 
 unto a double ruffe, in the midst whereof standeth the fruit, 
 which when it is ripe, sheweth to be soft and somewhat 
 reddish, like unto a Strawberry, but with many small 
 harmlesse prickles on them, which may be eaten and 
 187
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 chewed in the mouth without any maner of offence, and 
 is somewhat pleasant like a Strawberry: it is no great 
 bearer, but those it doth beare, are set at the toppes of the 
 stalks close together pleasant to behold, and fit for a 
 gentlewoman to weare on her arme etc as a raritie instead 
 of a flower." Johnson adds a paragraph about it in the 
 1633 edition of Gerard, and tells us its history thus : " Mr 
 John Tradescant hath told me that he was the first that 
 tooke notice of this Strawberry, and that in a woman's 
 garden at Plimouth, whose daughter had gathered and set 
 the roots in her garden in stead of the common Straw-berry : 
 but she finding the fruit not to answer her expectation, 
 intended to throw it away : which labour he spared her, 
 in taking it and bestowing it among the lovers of such 
 varieties, in whose gardens it is yet preserved." Then 
 Marret in his Pinax published in 1667, declares he found 
 it growing in woods in Hyde Park and Hampstead. Ray 
 mentions that it was in cultivation in the Cambridge 
 Garden for many years, and then it disappeared so entirely 
 that Dr. Hogg, as quoted by Dr. Masters, wrote of it as a 
 " botanical Dodo," saying that " though a century and a 
 half have passed since there was any evidence of its exis- 
 tence, it serves still as an illustration for students in 
 morphology of one of those strange abnormal structures 
 with which the vegetable kingdom abounds." In 1766 
 M. Duchesne informed the world of the generosity of 
 M. Monti of Bologna, who divided with him a dried 
 specimen in his herbarium. Some time after the publi- 
 cation of his Vegetable Teratology, from which I have quoted 
 these facts, Dr. Masters came across his botanical Dodo 
 alive and happy in Canon Ellacombe's garden, and carried 
 188
 
 The Lunatic Asylum 
 
 off plants of it to grow in his own. From these came my 
 original stock, for Dr. Masters gave me some plants and 
 at the same time told me the account of his re-discovering 
 them. I had the pleasure of sending some to Cambridge 
 this year, for they had disappeared there, and I am quite 
 willing to send others to Plymouth if the descendants of 
 that good woman's daughter want them. 
 
 The double-flowered Strawberry is really pretty ; the 
 first flowers of the season are like little white Roses, but 
 later on they come only semi-double, and these turn into 
 small fruits. The one-leaved Strawberry is not often seen. 
 It is only a variety of the wild Fargaria vesca, and known 
 as var. monophylla. Now and then the normal number 
 of three leaflets are produced on a leaf stalk, but as a rule 
 only the central and terminal one is developed, so that the 
 plant hardly looks like a Strawberry until it flowers and 
 fruits. This variety has appeared in several places ; Linnaeus 
 found it in his travels in Lapland, it is to be seen in a 
 picture by Holbein now at Munich, and Duchesne, the 
 author of the Historic des Fraisiers, raised it from seed of 
 the wild Strawberry. A handsomely variegated Strawberry 
 which bears large white fruits is the last of that family in 
 this plot of ground, for I have lost a white-fruited Alpine 
 form that ought to be here. 
 
 I cannot describe all my maniacs so fully as these, and 
 will only mention a white-flowered Ajuga reptans, and that 
 strange form A. metallica crispa a Hen-and-chicken form 
 of the common Daisy, the Green Primrose, Parsley-leaved 
 Anemone japonica, the dwarf form of Daphne Laureola 
 known as Philippiana, and a form of Campanula lactiflora, 
 that instead of growing 6 feet is content with one, and has 
 189
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 narrow lanceolate leaves from its childhood instead of the 
 ample ovate leaves of its brother seedlings, and constantly 
 correlated with these peculiarities is a curious dialysis of 
 the coralla similar to that seen in Campanula rotundifolia, 
 var. soldanalliflora, in which the bell is divided into five 
 narrow petals. I can always recognise a C. ladiflora that 
 inherits these oddities even when its first leaves appear 
 above the cotyledons, by their singularly narrow outline. 
 
 Does my Lunatic Asylum appeal to you or appal you ? 
 I cannot tear some visitors away from it, and others who 
 do not care about the demented inmates are pleased with 
 the effect of the surroundings. When the Cherries and 
 Magnolias are out, and later when some standard Wistarias, 
 both sinensis and multijuga, in both lilac and white 
 varieties, and the white brachybotrys are in flower, I some- 
 times think it looks rather like a Japanese garden after all. 
 
 190
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 Tom Tiddler's Ground 
 
 I HAVE never felt the disgust for variegated foliage evinced 
 by so many good gardeners, and in many cases I warmly 
 admire it. For instance Iris pallida, Astrantia major (as 
 seen at Bitton, for it does little more than just exist here), 
 Acer Negundo, and A. calif ornica aurea, Hypericum Mose- 
 rianum tricolor and Polemonium coeruleum in their widely 
 different lines of variegation are to my idea delightfully 
 delicate in colour harmonies. The cream and soft yellow 
 alternating with grey-green in Iris pallida, and forming 
 endless intermediate shades of colour where one overlays 
 the other, make a leaf worth examining closely, while a 
 good clump of it is a strikingly beautiful thing among other 
 Iris foliage. 
 
 Towards the end of summer, and before the autumnal 
 tints begin to brighten them up, most of our shrubs and 
 trees become very heavy in their tone of green, and we 
 miss the contrasting shades of Spring vegetation. Then the 
 value of a Silver Elm or Acer Negundo, the Ghost Tree, and 
 of golden-leaved shrubs is apparent, and even in the borders 
 variegated herbaceous plants seen in fine specimens and 
 bold groups give relief from the uniformly heavy greens of 
 late summer and the glaring brilliancy of crowded flowers. 
 But even if a plant is not improved in beauty by varie- 
 191
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 gation, there are the scientific sides of the question, and 
 how very little we know of the causes of variegation, or 
 the answers to such questions as, " Why should golden 
 forms do best in full sunlight and most silver ones in 
 shade ? Why does variegation sometimes appear on one 
 half of a stem only, and is it generally true that the varie- 
 gation in such cases occurs in a self-sown plant towards 
 the magnetic north as has been solemnly averred ? Is it 
 a disease, and if so is it communicable ? " Mr. Wollaston 
 of Chislehurst, of fern-growing fame, believed it was, and 
 used to associate plants of which he desired to obtain varie- 
 gated forms with the piebald or skewbald representatives 
 of others more plastic than they, and showed many results 
 of what those who deprecate variegation would call cor- 
 ruption of good greenery by evil company. 
 
 I have given a hearty welcome to all forms that have 
 come my way. Some few are only fit for the Lunatic 
 Asylum, but I have for the last three years been trying to 
 group the really beautiful forms of variegated plants in an 
 irregularly-shaped parcel of ground that was available for 
 planting after the downfall of sundry Horse-chestnuts and 
 Portugal Laurels. I thought it might be effective as well 
 as interesting to group them according to the nature and 
 colour of their variegation, and so it began with a planting 
 of purple-leaved things at one end and golden forms at the 
 other, and a witty friend christened it Sennacherib's corner. 
 But since then much silver has been added, in grey-leaved 
 things at one corner and as an edging stretching both 
 ways from it and reaching on one side to the commence- 
 ment of the golden plants, and a central planting of white 
 variegation forms a wedge-shaped group with the narrow 
 192
 
 Darwin Tulips : Euterpe 
 
 Frzins Hals
 
 Tom Tiddler's Ground 
 
 end of the wedge running between the purple and gold 
 groups. As purple-leaved plants are not very numerous, 
 and many of them lose their depth of colouring somewhat 
 in late summer, the general effect is rather of gold and 
 silver, and therefore Tom Tiddler's ground is now a fitter 
 name. Some of the colour effects persist throughout the 
 seasons, especially in the grey corner where Centaurea 
 Clementei, perhaps the most silvery of all white-leaved things, 
 has come through the last two winters with a brave show. 
 The leaves of Cineraria maritima, though dulled by damp, 
 soon dry up and look white an f d fresh in Spring sunshine. 
 Santolina incana is best cut down annually, but I like to 
 leave a few of the plants unshorn till the scissor-snubbed 
 ones have reclothed themselves, to carry on the grey tradi- 
 tion of their clump. The powdered stems of Rubus tibetanus 
 and Rosa Willmottiae rise up among the lowlier plants, 
 and are very effective in Winter and early Spring, but 
 Rubus biflorus is the most startlingly white-stemmed of all, 
 and I am frequently asked why I have whitewashed it. It 
 puts the others so completely out of court that I have it 
 among the variegated silver plants rather than the greys, 
 and there, when most of its neighbours are leafless, it stands 
 out in its coat of paint. Except for Osmanthus ilicifolius 
 fol. purpureis and some dark-leaved Antirrhinums the 
 purple end retires from business in Winter. Cornus 
 Spaethii in the golden end has bright red bark to its young 
 shoots, but Golden Thyme, and a grass or two, with the 
 golden Juniperus sinensis, and the old, old golden Fever- 
 few, keep up the reputation of the golden corner, while 
 Ajuga reptans fol. var., white-flowered Lamium maculatum, 
 Barbarea vulgaris, and this last year a fine specimen of Jack- 
 I 93 N
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 by-the- Hedge (Sisymbrium Alliaria), half of whose leaves 
 were white, from a neighbouring hedge, perform the same 
 good work in the central silver portion. But as the best 
 Spring effect is to be seen when the Tulips are in flower, it 
 is then that I shall lead you forth to see Tom Tiddler's 
 ground. We will approach it over the old bowling green 
 lawn, and so arrive at the grey corner where Artemisia 
 Halleri, bicolor, and a good form of Absynthium I found 
 plentiful at Lanslebourg are all showing up in the front. 
 A. borealis, a lovely lacy and silvery edition of Old 
 Man which might well be called Old Lady, backs a 
 patch of the brilliantly white A. stelleriana, which is 
 allowed to sprawl on to the gravel walk, ^thiopappus 
 or Centaurea pulcherrima is newly arisen, and also won- 
 derfully white. The Centaurea, Cineraria, and Santolina 
 before mentioned form higher mounds behind, and Cer- 
 astium tomentosum makes a mat before the entrance, 
 for, as the ground was too wide to reach over com- 
 fortably, I ran an irregularly curved line of stepping- 
 stones across it to give access to the central portions, 
 and they start from among the Cerastium, and various 
 dwarf plants are planted between the stones. Ajuga 
 reptans with silver leaves is very effective used thus. 
 The tall, silvery-grey leaves of two giant Onions rise up 
 among the silver plants ; Allium Rosenbachianum has the 
 more gracefully recurved ones, but those of A. Babingtonii 
 are taller. Both plants send up large round heads of 
 mauve flowers ; those of Rosenbach's are very handsome 
 and come in May, but Babington's not till July, and 
 they think nothing of reaching a height of six feet, but 
 quite half the buds are transformed into bulbils, and 
 194
 
 Tom Tiddler's Ground 
 
 unless one wishes for a large crop of this rare British 
 plant, the heads must be cut off before these bulbs drop 
 and plant themselves. Among large subjects Atriplex 
 Halimus has made a big bush of itself in spite of constant 
 applications of my secateurs, and now is very silvery and 
 charming, so much so that one wonders why it is so 
 seldom to be seen except on gardens on sea fronts. 
 Eucalyptus Gunnii, I believe the true thing and therefore 
 the hardiest of all, is shooting up above everybody else, 
 and these with the Rose and Bramble and a young Picea 
 pungens glauca form the tall centre of the grey corner ; 
 the lawn front contains other Artemisias, Salvia argentea 
 with its immense leaves like grey plush, Anthemis Cupa- 
 nanii, a plant too little known, for besides feathery grey 
 leaves it has white daisies that are singularly well shaped 
 and brilliant. Suaeda fruticosa and Artemisia maritima 
 from the Norfolk coast are here, but Diotis maritima 
 refuses their company, and will only live in the rock 
 garden. Onopordon bracteatum comes for a short stay, 
 and flowers and dies when at its best, in its silly biennial 
 way. Anemone Pulsatilla does well here, and thrusts up 
 fluffy, lilac flowers with Chinchilla fur boas round their 
 necks among the steely blue-grey leaves of Cerinthe alpina. 
 Seseli gummiferum, a strange, stiff -habited, glaucous, umbel- 
 liferous biennial, is very effective just before it starts 
 flowering, but Festuca glauca, the grass with imitation 
 hoar frost eternally on its leaves, is the best of the 
 whole lot, and finishes the grey plants by running as a 
 wedge into the beginning of the golden things. Golden 
 Thyme is the first plant in the golden edging, and 
 then comes a fine striped form of Foxtail Grass that 
 '95
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 is very brilliant in its young growth, and remains good 
 till late in summer if the flowering stalks are kept pulled 
 out. Golden Ling, a Viola cornuta with white flowers 
 and golden leaves, the Feverfew (Pyrethrum Parthenium), 
 the beautiful, golden-leaved Veronica Teucrium that origi- 
 nated in Captain Pinwill's garden, and a corner clump 
 of Cornus Spaethii are the main features of the front 
 rank. Laburnum, Lilac, Mountain Ash, Robinia Pseud- 
 acacia, Ptelia trifoliata, Ribes sanguineum, the Common 
 and the Cut-leaved Elders, have all provided golden- 
 leaved forms, and are represented here. Acer californica 
 aurea is perhaps the most brilliantly yellow of all, though 
 Sambucus racemosa plumosa aurea, runs it very close, 
 but ought to be ashamed of its pre-Linnean length of 
 name. The Ptelea does not come out golden, but the 
 leaves become spangled and afterwards almost suffused 
 with gold as they age, and therefore it stands out as 
 the best when the others are losing their brilliancy. The 
 Laburnum's gold vanishes as soon as that of a spend- 
 thrift, while the Ribes is a good colour throughout the 
 season. I have derived great pleasure from this golden 
 group, and am trying to extend their effect by planting 
 more golden forms in a line with it to carry the colour 
 on until the Bamboos and Yews by the river are reached. 
 Two Alders have come into this, and Alnus incana aurea 
 is a very beautiful thing, the colour of the winter bark 
 is so brilliant, like red coral. Golden Acer campestre 
 also pleased me much this year. But to come back to 
 Tom Tiddler's ground and the undergrowth of the golden 
 grove, there is Creeping Jenny and Meadow Sweet, pure 
 gold both of them, and another form of the latter with 
 196
 
 Tom Tiddler's Ground 
 
 gold blotches. Thalictrum glaucum tl Illuminator " is very 
 effective when in young growth, but afterwards turns 
 glaucous, though if beheaded it soon springs up golden 
 again. Iris Pseud-acorus, with striped leaves, and forms 
 of /. versicolor and I. spuria, with the young growth bril- 
 liantly yellow, grow up among a wonderful grass I first 
 saw in the Birmingham Botanic Garden, instantly asked 
 for, and shortly after gratefully received. I have not found 
 a name for it yet, but it is the lightest, clearest yellow 
 of any leaf I know, and seeds freely, and comes true 
 from seed a veritable treasure. I planted a clump of 
 the Early Tulip, Yellow Prince, with golden variegated 
 leaves, and they looked so well when in flower that 
 Daffodils were introduced to help the early golden glow, 
 and yellow Tulips to carry it on. Of Daffodils, Olympia, 
 Duke of Bedford, Hamlet, Lord Roberts, Butterfly a 
 pretty light double Whitewell, and Henry Irving have 
 all done well, and join on to the planting of cooler- 
 coloured ones that I have mentioned in an earlier chapter. 
 But the supreme moment is reached when the late Tulips 
 are out. Yellow Rose, the fine old double, is at the 
 corner by the Cornus, and if a few short twiggy branches 
 are put among the buds as they rise, they get enough 
 support, and the full-blown flowers hang gracefully from 
 among them instead of fainting on to the walk. Ellen 
 Willmott, Solfatare, and Mrs. Moon are good tall yellows, 
 and are planted in the middle distance. Ixioides, with 
 its rich black base, is very effective, and a great favourite 
 of mine. Moonlight is the best pale yellow, a lovely 
 colour, and in front of the others shows up well. Ingles- 
 combe Yellow, Jaune d'ceuf, Golden Spire, Primrose Beauty, 
 197
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 and other yellow Tulips are there, but those I have 
 named I consider the best. Starting at the grey corner, 
 I planted pale lavender-coloured Darwin Tulips, working 
 into lilac and mauve sorts, and then carried them down 
 either side of the stepping-stones in small patches of 
 eight or a dozen, dotted here and there among the 
 variegated plants, and as they approach the purple-leaved 
 things at the end the shades of the Tulips grow darker, 
 until we end with the deepest purple ones we can find. 
 Erguste, Bleu Aimable, Rev. H. Ewbank are in fairly 
 large clumps to represent the lilac shades, and then 
 come Franz Hals, Greuze, The Bishop, Vespuccio, and 
 Velvet King, which are fine rich purples. Purple Per- 
 fection, Fra Angelico, Grand Monarque are rather deeper, 
 and of redder or browner shades, and Faust is the finest 
 and darkest of all. I have not planted anything nearer 
 black in this bed, such as Sultan, Zulu, and La Noire, 
 as they would not be effective against the Prunus ceras- 
 ifera atropurpurea, Purple Barberry, and Hazel that form 
 the background. The most beautiful of all purple-leaved 
 things is certainly the Purple-leaved Peach. It keeps 
 its colour to the end, and constantly sends out young 
 crimson growths through the whole summer. Its flowers 
 are as rosy and large as those of the Almond, and in 
 1911 it bore a crop of hard, purple Peaches. 
 
 We sowed some of their stones and got a purple-leaved 
 plant from each of them. A good specimen occupies the 
 post of honour in the foreground here where the shaded 
 lines of Tulips end, and the newer form of purple Plum (I 
 cannot write its long but correct Latin name again) which 
 I bought as Pissardii nigra is certainly very deep in colour. 
 198
 
 Tom Tiddler's Ground 
 
 The purple Sloe looks rather dingy beside these two, 
 and the purple Euonymus europaeus atropurpureus is best 
 in its autumn coloration, and so far I have been rather 
 disappointed with a purple Acer campestre that has been so 
 only in name. The central gathering of silver variegation 
 is becoming very interesting to me as the collection grows, 
 and I can begin to reckon what main lines variegation 
 follows. It seems that but few plants have leaves naturally 
 and always marked with white in their typical form. Of 
 course there are the Lungworts, Lamium maculatum, and 
 the well-known Milk Thistle, and I have here, too, a smaller 
 Thistle with white markings which are evidently permanently 
 specific characters. It was sent to me by a good friend 
 who found it wild in Italy, and kindly remembered my 
 collection of such things. It is only an annual, but sows 
 itself most obligingly, and its autumn rosettes are very 
 charming. I have been trying to think of other hardy 
 plants with a regular design of white or grey marks on 
 their leaves as usual specific characters, and either my 
 memory is bad or their number is small. I recall Red 
 Clover, several Buttercups, all Crocuses, except such as 
 have struck out a line for themselves, and I hope you will 
 believe me when I say that until I had written that last 
 sentence I was quite unconscious of its punning sense, but 
 leave it as it is so absolutely true, for the two species with 
 semi-cylindrical leaves, Crocus carpetanus and C. nevadensis, 
 and the four- winged leaf of Scharojanii have dispensed with 
 the usual conspicuous white line of the rest of the family. 
 Scolymus hispanicus, Echium and Cerinthe in several 
 species have small, white spots. Cyclamen leaves, except 
 those of true Coum, vary from small spots to zones of great 
 199
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 beauty, Richardia albo-maculata, which is quite hardy here 
 in warm corners, but once caused my herbaceous exhibit 
 to be disqualified at a local show, has along with its near 
 relations the many white transparencies on the leaves that 
 provide its specific name. It has been said that no plain 
 green form is known of Pachysandra terminalis, that strange 
 Euphorbiaceous plant from Japan. So many of the older 
 introductions from that country were garden forms, as 
 witness Anemone japonica, first known as a semi-double 
 red form, then by the white, and it is only lately that the 
 var. hupehensis has arrived, which is clearly the wild rose- 
 coloured form. Again, Rosa rugosa, and from China the 
 Chrysanthemum, all came to us first in garden forms, so 
 that I suspect Pachysandra has been treated in the same 
 way, for I have lately seen the green form in the Cambridge 
 Botanic Garden, and hope it will soon be in this one too. 
 And the figure in Somoku-Dzuzetsu, the Sowerby of Japan, 
 shows no trace of variegation. The variegated form we 
 now possess is an attractive plant with narrow white 
 margins to its leaves. In greenhouse and stove natural 
 marbling is common enough, and I need not make lists of 
 Begonias, Caladiums, &c. 
 
 Variegated leaved shrubs are numerous, and cannot all 
 be squeezed into Tom's silver mine. Cornus varieties 
 number three, and the best is C. siUrica elegantissima, a 
 free grower with large leaves, the major portion of each 
 being white. C. brachypoda variegata is slow to grow tall ; 
 most likely it starts life as a layered shoot, and like all such 
 is loth to shoot up strongly, but a sharp knife and a hard 
 heart and patience are training my specimen in the path 
 of uprightness and it begins to show the whorled char- 
 200
 
 Eremurus Ehvesianus. (See p. 283.)
 
 Tom Tiddler's Ground 
 
 acter of branching, a dumb-waiter effect, that this species 
 is noted for. C. Mas aureus elegans is very soft and pretty, 
 with a creamy-white variegation. Elegans may pass, but 
 aureus is an untruthful epithet ; it is weaker in golden 
 glow than an Australian sovereign, and so has been placed 
 among the silver plants. Weigela rosea and Philadelphus 
 coronaria have good silver forms. The variegated Ruta 
 graveolens, if kept sheared over twice in the season, makes 
 a wonderfully beautiful, hoary-headed specimen, looking 
 more like a plant in full flower than mere variegation when 
 seen from a distance. Euonymus europaeus aucubaefolius 
 has up to the present only come out in spots towards the 
 end of summer, but an older specimen may be more effec- 
 tive earlier. Of herbaceous plants also only a few of the 
 best forms of variegation have been planted here as yet. 
 Scrophularia aquatica is one of the most effective, broadly 
 blotched with cream colour and good at most times 
 of the year. Mentha rotundifolia, fol. var., requires look- 
 ing after. It runs and spreads with marvellous rapidity, 
 and is inclined to go back green, but makes up for 
 it by giving a large number of wholly white shoots ; so it 
 is wise to keep on replanting from the most variegated 
 portions. Acorus Calamus has a very effective variegated 
 form, with a certain amount of burnt sienna and rich red 
 about the bases of the leaves. It is best in a bog, but 
 consents to live in a not too dry border. Artemisia vulgaris 
 [the Mugwort], Lychnis dioica, a Chrysanthemum, several 
 Funkias, Crown Imperial, and Sweet Violet all have good 
 green and white forms, and grasses provide Phalaris 
 arundinacea or Gardeners' Garters, but in the better form 
 with the centre of each leaf broadly white. Arrhenatherum 
 
 201
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 bulbosum is a very good variegated grass, but the whitest 
 and most effective of all dwarf ones is Molinia coerulea, 
 fol. var.; it grows near the stepping-stones with Funkia 
 undulata (also fol. var.) for a neighbour, and the two are 
 about as pretty as any variegated plants I know. In 
 earliest Spring I get an effect of blue among these silver 
 things from Hepaticas, Pulmonaria Mawson's variety, 
 Scilla bifolia, Chionodoxa sardensis, and a few other things 
 of lowly habits, and later in the season these are replaced 
 by Violas, especially forms of V. gracilis, and deep purple 
 bedding Violas, as of course the blue groundwork has to 
 disappear before the lilac Tulips claim the field. To take 
 their places later still there are other flowering plants 
 hiding among them, but that is another story, or rather 
 a chapter of another volume, for this book must end with 
 the commencement of Summer. 
 
 
 202
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 Anemones 
 
 THERE is a charm in the simple form of a single Anemone 
 that goes straight to my heart. The central boss of 
 carpels, and the surrounding ring so rich in innumerable 
 stamens, start the flower on pleasantly concentric curves ; 
 then the segments of the coloured floral whorl are 
 generally so ample and delightfully hollowed that their 
 outlines are always bold and good. 
 
 It is botanically correct to deny petals to an Anemone, 
 but I never feel quite happy about considering all the 
 coloured segments as sepals, as it often happens in certain 
 species that the outer ones have a slightly more woolly 
 texture, especially on the outer side, and the inner are 
 rather more perfect in shape and coloration, and look 
 more like petals. On the other hand, I must own that 
 when doubling occurs by the anthers becoming petaloid 
 they as a rule take a narrow lanceolate form quite different 
 from the ample coloured sepals. 
 
 It is rather curious that this particular form of double 
 flower should bear the name of " Anemone-flowered," and 
 be used for any family in which there are double flowers 
 with a ring of large regular outside segments, and the 
 central portion is filled with quilled or narrow rays. 
 The term " Anemone-flowered " surely ought to bring to 
 203
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 one's mind the original simply beautiful design of the single 
 Wind flowers and not the double freaks of garden origin. 
 
 I lately saw some huge China Asters with an outside 
 fringe of ray florets of extra length and narrowness, and 
 the disc a mass of large quilled florets. Anything more 
 unlike an ordinary Anemone could hardly be imagined, yet 
 everyone who saw them at once dubbed them "Anemone- 
 flowered," having in mind the race of Chrysanthemums so 
 called, I suppose. 
 
 Analogous instances may be noticed in the way fully 
 doubled flowers are called Rose-flowered, and thus when 
 a double Rose is more than usually rich in petals it has to 
 borrow an epithet from the Cabbage, and the most solid of 
 Cabbages from a drumhead. Let us hope that the limit 
 has been reached there. 
 
 Certain double-flowered Anemones are by no means 
 to be despised : that known as Chapeau de Cardinal, a pure 
 scarlet A. coronaria with the regular centre so well be- 
 loved by the old Dutch painters, is a very glorious thing. 
 It and its brethren the other coronarias are never happy 
 here for long, and their cultivation must be pursued on 
 the buy-and-die system, which I dislike as wasteful and 
 unkind to the plants. But their price is so low that 
 I occasionally invest in a hundred or so to get at least one 
 season's fun out of them. I will not go into raptures over 
 their well-known beauty, nor describe the way we struggle 
 with plants that others can grow with ease, but in spite 
 of their resemblance to stale fruit of Castanea sativa I must 
 indulge myself by retelling tales about coronaria that I 
 myself enjoy. The first is of good Umberto, Bishop of 
 Pisa, who arriving in the Holy Land just too late to be of 
 204
 
 Anemones 
 
 any use when the Crusaders were returning home de- 
 feated, determined some good should come of his enter- 
 prise and so filled his ships with earth from Palestine, 
 carried it to Italy, and filled the Campo Santo at Pisa with 
 it that the dead might lie in the holy soil. There within 
 those lovely cloisters the scarlet A. coronaria was seen for 
 the first time in Italy, having been imported with the soil 
 no doubt, but its appearance there was regarded as the result 
 of a miracle, and to typify anything the fertile fancy of 
 medieval monks might suggest about the blood of holy 
 martyrs shed on that soil. It is more pleasing to think of 
 the certain pleasure thus given to the living than of the 
 advantages that were imagined for the dead. The other 
 story has avillain for hero,a Dutch burgomaster who coveted 
 a magnificent strain of Anemones possessed and jealously 
 guarded by a burgher. Seed was refused to the great 
 man, so he plotted, arranged a visit to Mynheer's garden 
 at Anemone seed-time but before the harvest ; he arrived in 
 state and clad in his civic robes, and by cunningly allowing 
 his furred mantle to brush over the seed heads went home 
 with a plentiful supply of the fluffy seeds caught in the fur. 
 Now that I have written it out I perceive a second villain 
 in the tale, and cannot decide which was the worse, the thief 
 or the miserly gardener who refused to share his plants. 
 
 I try to keep a little colony on the rock garden of the 
 Palestine A. coronaria, known as van syriaca. Like other 
 Palestine members of the family, Adonis and Ranunculus, 
 the type form is pure scarlet, and lacks the usual white eye. 
 I have had white forms, though, among collected roots. It 
 is a fine thing for a sunny rock bank, and especially glow- 
 ing if backed by grey stones and silvery-leaved things as I 
 205
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 had it this Spring. A. hortensis has been mentioned in an 
 early chapter as having typified and announced the Spring 
 in Greece to me, a wanderer on its hillsides. I wish this 
 race might have borne some other name, for it is one of the 
 most magnificently coloured of all wild plants : its varieties, 
 fulgens of the Pau district and graeca from Greece, have 
 never been improved upon by garden-raised seedlings. 
 Sutton's Strain, or the Aldboro' lot, fall far short of those 
 I saw on a bank edging the Olive gardens on the road to 
 Kephissia, outside Athens. There grow the true broad- 
 sepalled graeca form, and not only scarlet forms but of 
 every shade of cerise, salmon, and some pure white all 
 over, others with broad, white rings in the centre of the 
 rosy flowers. I had seen a few of these mixed with the 
 normal scarlet being sold in tight little bunches in the 
 market-place, but could not learn whence they came. 
 Daily excursions from Athens did not reveal the secret 
 until, chasing a magnificent Lacerta ocellata (the great- 
 eyed lizard), I crossed this bank, forgot the Saurian and 
 dug the plants. 
 
 The first Anemone of the season here is another Greek 
 plant, A. blanda. I have seen it in flower before Christ- 
 mas at Bitton, but never before mid-January here. Our 
 earliest form is in a broad edging at a corner of the large 
 herbaceous bed, and resulted from a planting of some 
 collected tubers. They are mostly of rather a pale blue, 
 and have well-marked, white eyes, and are not so good, 
 in spite of their early appearance, as the deep blue 
 form sometimes known as var. Ingramii. This band 
 has been lengthened by a patch of that darker variety, 
 and in the end of February and onwards the two are 
 206
 
 Anemones 
 
 generally out together, and make a fine display in the 
 sunshine. 
 
 The pure white is pretty if a really good form is pro- 
 cured, but the variety scythinica, at one time misnamed 
 cypriana, is particularly lovely, as it is rich sapphire blue 
 outside but pure glistening white within, and a half ex- 
 panded flower showing the contrasting colouring is a sight 
 worth looking at. Both in this band, and in the rock 
 garden, this form not only thrives but seeds freely, and the 
 greater number of the babes are as handsome as their 
 parents : a few washy ones have appeared, but I suspect 
 them of being bastards, and should say if grown isolated 
 from other blanda forms the seedlings would all come true 
 scythinica. It comes into flower rather later than the 
 blue forms here, and lasts on longer than any. There is 
 a lovely rose-coloured form, but rather scarce, and it is wise 
 only to buy var. rosea when seen in flower, for some shades 
 of mauvy pink and pinky mauve are quite unnecessary in 
 a plant with good blue and pink forms. I complained to 
 a friend that I could no longer obtain the best pink form 
 from a certain nursery, and he owned up that he had over- 
 hauled their stock one Spring and left them none to send 
 to me. In reparation he most kindly gave me the best 
 form I have ever seen. 
 
 A few years ago Bishop Umberto's miraculous Anemone 
 was surpassed, for the bed under the south wall of Bitton 
 garden presented its scholarly chronicler and venerable 
 master with a tribute of its affection in return for his wise 
 and kindly rule of over half a century, in the shape of a 
 set of seedling A. blanda beautifully double and ranging 
 in colour from pale lavender blue to deep ultramarine. 
 207
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 A note from the Canon brought me to gaze and wonder 
 at their beauty. The doubling is interesting and of a two- 
 fold nature, for not only is there an increased number of 
 sepals, but the anthers are transformed into short petaloid 
 bodies set among the whorls of sepals, and are in some 
 forms deeper in colour than they, reminding one of the 
 doubling of a Narcissus such as Butter and Eggs, where 
 the pale perianth segments are repeated mingled with the 
 smaller and deeper-coloured sections of the corona. It 
 must by this time be quite apparent to my readers that 
 half of my choicest treasures are due to visits to Bitton 
 and the generosity of Canon Ellacombe, and they will not 
 be surprised to learn that both a pale and dark form of 
 this glorious miracle are now thriving in a bay of my 
 rock garden and annually remind me of his kindness. A. 
 appenina everybody should know it ranges from Italy to 
 Turkey ; but save a pure white form, one of Dr. Lowe's 
 many valued gifts to me, I have not seen any other that I 
 could think of as approaching blanda or an intermediate 
 between the two species. This white one is earlier than 
 any other appenina, and rather dwarfer too, and is a true 
 albino, with no trace of pale Prussian blue on the 
 backs of its sepals as there is in most white varieties of 
 appenina, and the leaves are of quite a yellow shade of 
 green. A rose-coloured form has been offered, but has 
 very little claim to the title. One clump that I bought as 
 var. rosea is tinged with pale lilac outside instead of the 
 Prussian blue of the common white ones. A lilac form 
 that originated with Messrs. Van Tubergen forms a pleasant 
 contrast, and is prettily irregular and starry in shape, but 
 the double form also sent out by them is a poor, thin thing 
 208
 
 Anemones 
 
 compared with the double blanda, but is interesting in 
 spite of its rather washy colour. 
 
 The typical blue form is one of the best plants for 
 naturalising in semi-wild parts of the garden. I have 
 planted some among rough grass at the edge of the pond 
 and running back into the border among deciduous 
 shrubs, and those among the grass do quite as well as 
 those in the border soil, and like most flowers rising out 
 of grass look all the prettier for it. The Anemones that 
 thrive best here and so give most pleasure and effect are 
 those of the nemorosa section, with running, stoloniferous 
 growths that ask to be kept plump and cool or even moist 
 throughout the season. It puzzles me why they should 
 do so much better than those with tubers that can stand 
 any amount of baking and drying off. You can keep A. 
 coronaria and hortensis dry for weeks or months without 
 injuring them otherwise than causing them to grow out 
 of their chosen season, but try the same treatment on any 
 nemorosa and you will find it as dead as Rameses the 
 Great, and in this dry garden one would think I could 
 give a happy home to the sun-lovers on grilling ledges of 
 the rock garden more easily than I could imitate the cool 
 woodland home of the nemorosa section. Of course I do 
 what I can for them by finding western or northern ex- 
 posures for them, and tucking up their little naked brown 
 limbs with a new leaf-soil quilt when I see they have worn 
 a way through the old one, and most of them have spread 
 into good-sized carpets and are among my greatest joys 
 of Spring. Two round beds cut in the turf, and full of 
 dwarf shrubs and herbaceous plants, are almost carpeted 
 by them in April. Shaded, low-lying parts of the rock 
 209 O
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 garden hold some of the rarer varieties, and most beds of 
 permanently planted, mixed plants are annually receiving 
 the overflow from the Crowded patches, as I do love to 
 carpet bare spots under deciduous shrubs and round 
 tall-growing things with such plants. The ordinary wild 
 nemorosa is worth collecting from different districts, as it 
 varies greatly in shape, tint of colour, and time of flower- 
 ing, and keeps up its old customs in the new home. I 
 have a very early form and a very late one, and the common 
 type of the Cotswolds, which has the outside, especially of 
 the buds, more or less pink, and of a charming creamy- 
 rosy tint. It is so noticeable in the bud stage, when the 
 flowers still hang their heads, that one of the most noted 
 botanists, when first shown them in a Gloucestershire wood, 
 mistook them for a Cyclamen. 
 
 Two varieties are listed as rubra and rubra fl. pi., but 
 though they are worth growing they open quite white, and 
 only flush to a red as they age. The red, it must be con- 
 fessed, is rather too cold, and suggestive of that little devil 
 whose name is Legion as well as Magenta who too often 
 possesses and ruins pink flowers. They are both effective 
 when contrasted with white and blue forms, and seem to 
 linger on longer than the white ones, loth to shed the 
 flowers that have gradually deepened to such a fine colour. 
 The so-called fl. pi. is not much more than semi-double, 
 having at its fullest no more than a second row of sepals. 
 
 There -is a dainty little pure white one called Vestal 
 which Herr Max Leichtlin sent out into the world, but I 
 do not know where it originated. The anthers are nearly 
 as white as the sepals, and make the flowers look like A. 
 trifolia, but the leaves are those of nemorosa right enough. 
 
 210
 
 Anemones 
 
 Two very fine forms are listed under the one name of 
 grandiflora ; one is a tall grower with long and narrow 
 leaflets, and the flower also is rather starry and slightly 
 doubled and faintly flushed with pink, and I believe it was 
 found in Ireland some years ago by Lady Doneraile. I 
 do not like it so much as the other form, which I have 
 always called Leeds' variety, as Dr. Lowe gave it to me 
 under that name, and told me he had it from Leeds him- 
 self, but I do not know whether he was the finder of it. 
 
 There is a good figure of it in the Garden for October 
 15, 1887, and Burbridge wrote about it later as "a large, 
 pure-white form, very distinct and beautiful. I first saw 
 it at Munstead, and I think it was there called Dr. Lowe's 
 Variety. In general size and stature it resembles the 
 lovely pale or lavender-blue Robinsoniana which may 
 possibly be a form of it, varying mainly in colour." I 
 have always felt the same about it, and have tried to find 
 out where both of them grow wild, and hope that at last 
 I am on the right scent, for a year ago I saw in a 
 Herefordshire garden a form of blue Anemone evidently 
 Robinsoniana, but with a redder tint on the stalks and young 
 leaves, and learnt that it came from a wood in Norway. 
 I am now the happy possessor of some of this stock, and 
 am watching its behaviour beside the older form. But I 
 want very much to see what Norwegian white Wood 
 Anemones are like, as I hope they may prove to be Leeds' 
 Variety. I have never seen any wild forms from Britain 
 or Ireland that approach these in the width of segments 
 and good form. Leeds' is perhaps even more perfectly 
 shaped and formed like a single Rose than is Robinsoniana, 
 and its bright green, ample leaves make a fine background 
 
 211
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 for the large flowers, which when doing well are nearly 
 two inches in diameter. 
 
 I do not believe A. Robinsoniana originated in Ireland, 
 as I have several wild blue forms sent me from Irish woods, 
 and they have all been of ordinary nemorosa type. Mr. 
 Robinson has told me that he first saw his blue Anemone 
 at the foot of a wall in the Oxford Botanic Garden. 
 Baxter, who was then the curator, told him it had been 
 sent to him by a lady in Ireland. 
 
 I think this started the idea of its Irish origin, but 
 of course she may have had it from Norway. I am 
 quite convinced Leeds' Variety is the best of the white 
 forms, but will not say that Robinsoniana is peerless among 
 the blues. For I can never forgive it for closing so readily 
 on dull days and towards evening in a rather sulky, short- 
 tempered way, and then displaying what I can only call 
 a cotton back, a poor greyish-tinted outside not much 
 better than a dirty white. When open its soft, glowing, 
 rosy-lilac flowers are certainly very lovely and a large 
 patch of it glistening with April raindrops in its leaves, 
 but its flowers open to the sunshine, makes one want to 
 cease worrying about weeds and just enjoy the Spring 
 scents and flowers. But A. Allenii has eclipsed it in beauty, 
 being larger in all its parts yet beautifully proportioned, and 
 of a slightly deeper shade of lilac within and flushed with 
 rosy purple on the outside, so that a bud and closed flower 
 are warm, glowing things like snow mountains flushed with 
 a sunset glow, while a closed Robinsoniana is like the 
 effect of death pallor that follows when the light leaves 
 the peaks. 
 
 How Mr. Allen must have enjoyed his first sight of 
 212
 
 Anemones 
 
 this, the largest and loveliest of blue Wood Anemones, when 
 he first saw it among his seedlings. 
 
 It is still rather a rare plant, and is one of those that 
 all who see long for so passionately that it has not spread 
 into a very large clump here yet, but it seems a good 
 grower, and so I hope soon to get broader effects from it. 
 The most effective blue form I have is known as A. 
 nemorosa, var. purpurea, because the closed flowers are 
 quite rosy-purple even in the bud stage, but the open 
 flowers are of a good soft blue. It grows very freely, and I 
 have been able to make several colonies of it. It will 
 grow well in sun or shade, but the flowers are taller 
 and larger and last longer in the shade. It has been 
 found wild more than once in the neighbourhood of Pau, 
 and was mainly distributed by Herr Max Leichtlin. 
 
 Much like it, but of varying shades, are some beautiful 
 forms sent to me from Lismore woods by Miss Currey, 
 who told me that those growing along the banks of the 
 streams were mostly blue, but in the rest of the woods 
 only the ordinary white form occurred. Mr. Allen also 
 raised a beautiful seedling he named Blue Queen and 
 which is the brightest blue of any, quite a Forget-me-not 
 blue and a pretty early flowering form, but on the small 
 side. Celestial is much the same but paler, and I believe 
 another of his seedlings. Then there is the form known 
 as var. coerulea, which is plentiful in certain districts 
 of Wales where the slate crops out. It varies from rosy 
 tinted forms almost as deep as purpurea, to others only 
 flushed with blue in very young blossoms, and the pale 
 forms flower earlier than the deeper ones at least so I 
 find here. 
 
 213
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 A late flowering and distinct form from Co. Wicklow 
 I owe to The O'Mahony, who found it wild in wet land 
 close to the river. It has some likeness to the one known 
 as Blue Bonnet, which was found in Wales and taken to 
 Daisy Hill, Newry, where Mr. Smith's magic wand makes 
 everything grow. Blue Bonnet is the latest of all the 
 nemorosa section to flower, and is very distinct in appear- 
 ance, being more waxy in texture than the others, and of 
 such good substance that it lasts on till the middle of May 
 in shady nooks, and I have never noticed it flag with the 
 warmer temperature. 
 
 There is yet another called Robinsoniana cornubiensis, 
 but I have never seen it doing really well anywhere or 
 looking very much like Robinsoniana : it strikes me as a 
 lanky form of nemorosa purpurea, but if it were really 
 strong and vigorous it might improve. I think much 
 might be done by collecting these blue forms and sowing 
 all the seed they give. Besides the so-called double rose- 
 coloured one mentioned above, there are two distinct 
 double white ones commonly grown : the best is a very old 
 inhabitant of gardens, with six well-formed and regular 
 sepals, and then the whole centre rilled up with a rosette 
 of petaloid bodies, beautifully neat and regular, looking 
 like a small double Daisy. It is well figured in Maund's 
 Botanic Garden and in Wooster's Alpine Plants, but with- 
 out any hint in the text of either as to its origin. I like 
 to think it was the plant that Gerard grew, and of which 
 he writes : " There is in some choice gardens one of this 
 kinde with white flowers very double as is that of the 
 scarlet anemone, and I had one of them given me by a 
 Worshipfull Merchant of London called Mr. John Fran- 
 214
 
 Anemones 
 
 queville my very good friend." There is no figure of it in 
 the original 1597 edition, and Johnson has used Clusius' 
 figure, and in his additional note mentions that, unlike the 
 single form, it has leaves in two places on its stalk, which, 
 together with the beautiful old woodcut, show that it is 
 not the neat double form that he is referring to but the 
 one we now know as A. nemorosa bracteata, fl.pl., a ragged, 
 untidy thing that never comes two seasons alike. 
 
 Now Clusius tells us the history of this and a double 
 purple form which seems to have been lost, how that they 
 had only recently been discovered, and had not been 
 described elsewhere. He had not seen their flowers until 
 the April of 1593, though one John Boisot had sent him 
 the plants two years previously, directing that they should 
 be kept in pots and somewhat starved, for with excessive 
 luxury they would degenerate and bear single flowers. 
 Both had bracteate leaves under the flowers as well as 
 the usual involucre of three leaves, and had been found by 
 chance a few years previously in two woods, of which he 
 gives the names, in Belgium. It is very unlikely, then, that 
 Gerard knew of them prior to the publication in 1601 of 
 Clusius' Historia, and I am sure if he had seen one with 
 the two sets of involucral leaves he would have mentioned 
 that peculiarity. 
 
 I much prefer the neat, double form to that eccentric 
 Mad Hatter and March Hare in one, the variable bracteata, 
 which in some seasons may be nearly single, then in 
 another the green bracts will be mixed among the white 
 sepals, or they may be striped with green, or at other 
 times stained with a dull purple. There is a mild excite- 
 ment to be obtained from growing such an unreliable 
 215
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 plant and watching its vagaries, and those people who 
 enjoy statistics might like to tabulate the periodical re- 
 appearances of any particular form. 
 
 The yellow Wood Anemones are not so effective in the 
 borders as the white and blue, but are pleasing in contrast 
 with them. A. ranunculoides in its typical form is rather 
 small flowered, but makes up for that defect when in good 
 health and vigour, by producing two blossoms on each 
 scape, and as the second one does not open until the first 
 has fallen, the flowering period of a clump is lengthened. 
 There is a larger flowered form of it which I believe is found 
 in Italy, and is a good thing, but not plentiful as yet, nor 
 does it spread so quickly here as the older one, which has 
 made wide carpets in some borders. Quite lately a semi- 
 double form has been introduced, and is pretty and well 
 worth growing, as it is not too double to interfere with the 
 central fringe of stamens. My favourite form is one 
 known as var. pallida, with fairly large primrose yellow 
 flowers, but it increases very slowly, and does not form so 
 dense a clump as the others. There is a very interesting 
 hybrid between ranunculoides and nemorosa that is found 
 growing among its parents in Silesia, Saxony, Baden, and 
 Alsace-Lorraine, and is named A. intermedia. It is small 
 in flower, rather thin in texture, and a pale sulphur colour, 
 but is quite worthy of a place in the rock garden, as it is 
 always the first of the nemorosa section to flower, and 
 often breaks through the ground in February, and opens 
 its blossoms a few days after the arched stems have lifted 
 them through the soil. The Italian and Austrian A. trifolia 
 differs from nemorosa chiefly in the curious deep green of 
 216
 
 Anemones 
 
 its leaves, that look as though they should be evergreen, 
 they are so dark and of such firm texture : the flowers are 
 of a very cold white, and perhaps rather small for the 
 important-looking leaves. I have brought home a blue- 
 flowered form of singular beauty from the Dolomites, but 
 it has not yet grown strong enough to show its beauty here, 
 and whether or no in changing its sky it will not change 
 its sky colour also. The Japanese A. flaccida is good for 
 a moist position, but gets thirsty and tired and then faints 
 on warm days in an ordinary border. The leaves are very 
 attractive, as they vary in colour from youth to age. At 
 first they are a golden bronze, then turn a bright green 
 spotted with white, and end by being dark green marbled 
 with grey, and a good-sized clump will bear many shades 
 of green at one time. They suggest the leaves of a 
 Buttercup in shape and general appearance, but are seen 
 to be too glossy for any common one when looked at 
 carefully. The flowers are about the size of Wood Ane- 
 mones, but more creamy in colour. The various forms 
 and near relatives of A. Pulsatilla are delightful plants for 
 edgings to borders or grouping among other plants in 
 good, broad masses. I find the best way to establish them 
 is to sow seed as soon as ripe, either where you want 
 them or in a reserve ground, and pricking out the resulting 
 plants when about a year old. Sown as soon as gathered 
 they germinate freely in a few weeks, and look wonder- 
 fully like small Buttercups for their first season, and not 
 till the following Spring will they produce the finely-cut 
 leaves they bear ever after. They dislike disturbance and 
 interference with their long tap-root, so are rather difficult 
 217
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 to transplant when elderly. The large, pale-flowered form 
 is the most effective to plant freely, but there is a good 
 one often sold as A. H alien, with even finer cut leaves 
 than the common form and deep purple flowers. It looks 
 well mixed among the others, but is not Halleri, which may 
 be easily recognised by its silky pinnatifid leaves. I have 
 lately got as A. rubra a deep chocolate-red form of Pulsatilla 
 that is very distinct, but some sad fate has always decreed 
 the destruction of the white form just as it was settling 
 down here. The most frequent cause of failure here 
 among the Pulsatilla family is some evil but undeter- 
 mined underground animal that eats holes in the collar 
 of that plant which are followed by decay and a sudden 
 flagging of leaves, and if the injured part is not at once 
 removed the whole plant is liable to rot off. A very fine 
 old clump of the form called A. pratensis montana has 
 lost more than three-quarters of its many crowns in this 
 way this season. This is a very tall growing variety with 
 nodding flowers of very deep purple : unfortunately they 
 do not open widely enough to be as beautiful as they seem 
 to promise, but the seed heads are very fine, great balls 
 of grey-green feathers borne on stems two feet in height. 
 
 I struggled for years with A. sylvestris, and got for my 
 pains thin carpets of rather unattractive leaves, and after 
 a season or two a bare centre and an ever-widening circle 
 of the flowerless tufts. Then the var. baicalensis came, 
 and I thought was better, as though rather stingy in the 
 way of bloom it generally produced a half dozen or so 
 that were pretty with their rosy purple exterior. Then 
 some ten years ago I got the var. grandiflora from a Con- 
 218
 
 Anemones 
 
 tinental nursery, and I could soon see the other forms 
 might be allowed to die out for want of replanting, for the 
 newcomer gives abundance of larger and purer white 
 flowers, does not travel too rapidly, as every one who sees 
 it wants it and carries off the outliers, and best of all it 
 does not die out in the centre when it has occupied the 
 ground for more than two seasons, so the crevice in the 
 rock garden in which it was first planted is still full of it, 
 and the large, white flowers come in Spring, then the ripe 
 seeds like lumps of cotton wool follow, and are very white 
 and ornamental, and till late in the autumn the plant is 
 continually throwing up a fresh flower-stem or two. I still 
 keep the double-flowered form because I like its wonder- 
 fully full flowers when they appear, and also because it 
 has taken possession of the slate bank of the rock garden 
 and would be hard to dislodge. 
 
 Some day I hope A. alpina and A. sulphur eaw\\\ be worth 
 writing about here ; at present they are mostly playing the 
 role of foliage plants, which any Carrot or Parsley could 
 do as effectively. Some are only seedlings, and so cannot 
 be blamed, but others I brought from Mt. Cenis, where 
 one walks for miles among knee-high tufts, and now and 
 then is obliged to stop and admire the extra light turquoise 
 back of one, the soft sulphur tint or pure dazzling white of 
 another, the semi-double or extra wide sepalled flowers of 
 more, and wonder which is the most beautiful. Unless 
 Ranunculus Lyallii covers the Alps of New Zealand with 
 a wonderfully lavish profusion of flowers I feel sure A. 
 alpina on Mt. Cenis must afford the most beautiful floral 
 display of the world. It looks so hardy and easy to 
 219
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 manage when seen springing up in the mountain turf that 
 I am rather disappointed that so far only one of my care- 
 fully-nursed plants has recovered its spirits enough to 
 flower ; but the one splendid white flower it gave me this 
 Spring makes me feel no trouble is too great that will help 
 them to grow strong. 
 
 220
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 The Iris Walk in May 
 
 THE northern bank of the New River provides us with 
 a long grass path and one of the most sheltered walks in 
 the garden. For it is protected from the cold winds by 
 the row of fine old Yews I have chronicled in an earlier 
 chapter, and the southern side is bounded by the river, 
 and so is open to catch all the sunlight, and the first Daisy 
 of the season always appears close to the water's edge on 
 the slope of the bank. The long beds that flank this path 
 were at one time monopolised by a dreary collection of 
 Laurels, Laurustinus, and the other dull things that former 
 generations planted so largely and called shrubbery, but 
 they have all disappeared to make way for my principal 
 collection of Irises, especially those of the Bearded section. 
 This group suffers much at the hands of catalogue makers, 
 and members of it are often dubbed German Irises, though 
 very few of those included under the heading have any 
 affinity with /. germanica. I have seen and heard them 
 called Rhizotomous a travesty of rhizomatous and all 
 the while the pleasant title of Bearded Flags is good 
 English and faithfully descriptive. 
 
 Three of these borders are very much overhung by 
 the old Yews, and of course the roots fill and drain them 
 very effectually, and though they lie so close to the river, 
 221
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 not one drop of its water soaks through to them, for to 
 begin with Sir Hugh Myddelton saw to the proper con- 
 struction of its clay banks three hundred years ago, and 
 vigilant officials, first of the New River Company and now 
 of the Metropolitan Water Board, have ever since been on 
 the watch for weak spots and ready to apply fresh clay 
 when needed. So that in spite of the nearness of so much 
 water, these beds are about as dry and starved as any in 
 the world, and very few plants will grow in them so 
 happily as the Flag Irises. 
 
 Where the row of Yews ceases, the beds are wider and 
 more open at the back, and there is one between river and 
 pond that runs back a good way, and holds two fine old 
 Scots Pines, and a group or two of flowering trees. The 
 Chinese Almond, Prunus Davidiana, in both its pink and 
 white forms opens the season, often flowering in early 
 February, but sometimes in late January, when the Witch 
 Hazels race it for first place. Hamamelis arborea is always 
 the first of these, and its rich orange threads catch the 
 sunlight on bright days and make a brave show. Then 
 the newer H. mollis opens its rather larger blossoms, and 
 is followed by japonica and its variety Zuccariniana, which 
 have paler yellow flowers and show up well from a dis- 
 tance. These grow towards the pond side, but at that 
 period of leaflessness can be seen from the river bank 
 across the Iris bed and through the central group of 
 Crabs which later on completely hides them. A Siberian 
 Crab behind and two Pyrus Malus floribunda in front make 
 a lovely picture when full of flower, especially while 'the 
 /loribunda's buds are still round and crimson. Three 
 purple-leaved Birches rise just behind them and form the 
 
 222
 
 Iris florentina in May. (Sec p. 223.)
 
 The Iris Walk in May 
 
 background. A Judas tree, Cercis Siliquastrum, leans out 
 over the Irises, but not a very large specimen, as my forbears 
 forgot to plant one, and it is one of the trees that a thoughtful 
 great-grandfather should plant for his descendants. So 
 this is of my planting, but has grown quickly and flowered 
 well in some seasons, and seems to be an especially brightly 
 coloured variety, approaching a crimson, though not of so 
 deep a shade as the flowers of a glorious row I saw in full 
 bloom in the chief square of Corfu one Spring. The whole 
 front of this bed is planted with a band some 8 feet deep 
 and 20 yards long of Iris florentina, with every now 
 and then a clump of I. germanica among them. At first 
 it was all florentina, but a purple germanica got in by 
 accident, and I saw how greatly its presence improved the 
 general effect, which was rather too cold before, so I 
 planted others at regular intervals. When this bed is in 
 full glory in the middle of May it is as beautiful as 
 anything in the garden, whether viewed end on to get the 
 solid mass of blossoms or from the opposite bank to see 
 the line of grey and purple flowers reflected in the water. 
 Looking eastward you get the bend of the river as back- 
 ground, and the terrace with its beds of Darwin Tulips 
 reflected in it, and the other way looking down westward, 
 the view is blocked by a fine old Weeping Willow, growing 
 on the pond bank and hanging right over the grass path, 
 so that we have to keep an arch cut in it to make a way 
 through. Next to the Willow is a good specimen of the 
 Weeping Ash which carries on the series of arches, and 
 makes when in leaf a very pleasing colour-contrast with 
 the paler green Willow. The Weeping Willow is a tree 
 that is full of interesting associations, so we will sit on the 
 223
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 seat under this one to review some of them. The use of 
 the Willow as an emblem of grief is older than the intro- 
 duction of the weeping variety, for most of our older 
 English poets have connected the ordinary Willow with 
 sorrow, and especially that of forsaken lovers. Shakespeare 
 writes of it in connection with grief at least eight times ; 
 and Ophelia fell into the stream when endeavouring to 
 hang her garland on a Willow. Was it then on account 
 of the wailing sound of the English name, or, as some 
 think, did the literary association arise from the Bible 
 translation of the hundred and thirty-seventh Psalm : 
 " By the waters of Babylon we sat down ; yea, we wept 
 when we remembered Zion. We hanged our harps upon 
 the Willows in the midst thereof " ? This latter seems 
 the most likely explanation I have met with. It has 
 frequently been asserted that the Willow growing along 
 the banks of the Euphrates is actually this Weeping Willow, 
 and on that account its scientific name is Salix babylonica. 
 Linnaeus certainly gave it the name under this impression, 
 and I must own to a feeling of disappointment in having to 
 bow to such great authorities as Messrs. Elwes and Henry, 
 who declare in their great joint work that the trees of that 
 Psalm are Populus euphratica, and that this Willow does 
 not occur now in Babylonia, and its original home is 
 Central and Southern China. But if this fond old belief 
 has to be abandoned, it is pleasant to have this tree thus 
 surely connected with the familiar one on the Willow 
 Pattern plates that has provided the name for that cele- 
 brated Chinese landscape design, in spite of the fact that 
 the acrobatic pair of forky-tailed birds and the wonderfully 
 fertile apple tree that bears such a crop of fruit without 
 224
 
 The Iris Walk in May 
 
 a single leaf, are far more remarkable than the moribund, 
 sparsely-branched Willow. The date of its introduction 
 to England is doubtful, but it was before 1730, for it was 
 included as " S. orientalis, the weeping Willow vulgo " 
 in a catalogue of trees and shrubs of that date, and from 
 Dillwyn's Hortus Collinsonianus we learn " Mr Vernon, 
 Turkey merchant at Aleppo, transplanted the Weeping 
 Willow from the River Euphrates and brought it with him 
 to England and planted it at his seat at Twickenham 
 Park, where I saw it growing anno 1748. This is the 
 original of all the Willows in our gardens. In July 1765 
 I measured a Weeping Willow at Mr. Snelling's at 
 Godalming, Surrey, of about fifteen years' standing ; it 
 measured six feet in girth, or two feet in diameter, and 
 the height in proportion," and therefore we must not 
 credit Pope with its introduction, though we may still 
 believe the tale that he was visiting Lady Suffolk when 
 she received a present from Turkey which was bound 
 round by Willow twigs, and he noticed that some of them 
 were alive, and took them to plant, saying, " Perhaps these 
 may produce something which we have not in England." 
 One of them grew in the garden of his villa at Twicken- 
 ham into the Weeping Willow afterwards so celebrated, 
 and which was cut down in the year 1801, by the then 
 owner of the villa, because he was so much annoyed by 
 the numbers of people who came and asked to see it. 
 Shortly after this the Weeping Willow became associated 
 with Napoleon. When General Beatson was Governor of 
 St. Helena, he had some trees sent out from England to 
 plant in the island, and a Weeping Willow was among 
 them, and had grown into a fine tree by the time of 
 225 P
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 Napoleon's imprisonment on the island. He had a seat 
 placed under it, and frequently sat there, as it was close 
 to a spring, the water of which he liked to drink. About 
 the time of the Emperor's death, a storm shattered the 
 tree, and Mme. Bertrand planted some cuttings of it round 
 Napoleon's grave. Before the opening of the Suez Canal, 
 ships touched at St. Helena on their way home from the 
 East round the Cape of Good Hope, and the passengers 
 generally visited Napoleon's tomb and brought away 
 cuttings of the Willow, which quickly rooted in a bottle of 
 water, and were ready to be planted by the time they 
 reached England. Several trees in this neighbourhood 
 are known to have been brought in this way from St. 
 Helena, and I believe the tree here was a cutting from one 
 of them. An Arabian legend tells that the Weeping 
 Willow sprang from the tears David wept when he re- 
 pented of the murder of Uriah. 
 
 It is a favourite plant throughout the temperate 
 regions for planting in cemeteries. The pendant branches 
 I suppose are thought to resemble the hanging head of a 
 mourner, and so we term such forms of trees weeping 
 varieties, but it always strikes me as unfair to associate 
 the Weeping Willow with grief. The grey-leaved Willows 
 are sombre and sad-looking in summer among green- 
 leaved trees, but S. babylonica is always the first of decidu- 
 ous trees to look green in Spring, remains a tender light 
 green all through the summer, and is often one of the 
 latest to shed its leaves, and has the appearance of a 
 flourishing, happy, and gaily-clad tree for a longer period 
 than most others. It is a curious fact that, unlike the 
 other weeping trees, Ash, Beech, Elm and so forth, of 
 226
 
 The Iris Walk in May 
 
 which the upright forms are the commoner, the supposed 
 upright form of 5. babylonica known as var. pekinensis is 
 exceedingly rare, and has been but lately introduced to 
 Kew. 
 
 Now, then after this rest on the seat under the Willow, 
 let us cease our musings over dead poets and emperors 
 and get back to the flowers. Either end of the Iris 
 ftorentina bed is rounded off by one of the two bays 
 formed by the pond ; the Willow benefits by rooting into 
 one of these, and the other helps a clump of Gunnera 
 chilensis, as we nowadays must call G. manicata, the finest 
 of its family, for though its leaves are not so much indented 
 as those of G. scabra, its longer petioles raise them some 
 foot or two higher. In May these leaves are not fully 
 developed, but, unless sharp frosts have been worrying 
 them, should be large enough to be worth looking at and 
 yet not too large to hide the huge cone-shaped heads of 
 insignificant little flowers which show up more then 
 than at any other time. I like to leave one or two of 
 these heads to show what sort of flower these plants 
 think fit to produce, each floret about the size of a 
 housefly's head, while a leaf is five feet across and on a 
 stalk six feet or more high. But I cut off the remainder 
 of the dozen or so flower-heads that my clump produces, 
 as I think their loss encourages it to put its strength into 
 the leaves. 
 
 A round bed in the turf comes between the pond and 
 river here, and a fastigiate Hawthorn grows in its centre 
 and makes a good contrast to the Weeping Ash of 
 the other bay of the pond. Now we will turn to the 
 left and follow the pond edge until we get a view right 
 227
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 across its width to the stone steps. I built them out of 
 the debris of an old house that was pulled down on an 
 outlying part of the estate. The old doorsteps, copings, 
 and window-sills and some black and white hall flooring 
 have met again here, and look as though they had been 
 quarried for the purpose, and that some centuries ago, 
 now that various plants have sprung up in the cracks and 
 holes. They make a convenient place to stand a collection 
 of Agaves, Aloes, and other specimen succulent plants 
 during the summer ; the first arrivals, Agaves and Agapan- 
 thus in tubs had just been placed there when the photo- 
 graph facing p. 1 48 was taken. The large Bog Myrtle on the 
 left bank behind the clump of Scirpus lacustris is a fine 
 specimen of which I am very proud. Round its feet I 
 grow a collection of various forms of Caltha palustris, and 
 one of the best is var. semi-plena, not quite so heavy as the 
 other doubles. But all of them look well from the windows 
 of the house as seen growing on the water's edge and 
 reflected in it. It is astonishing how many forms there 
 are of this plant. Monstrosa, fl. pi., is the earliest to 
 flower here, and makes a compact mass of glowing yellow 
 bloom very wonderful when doubled by reflection in water : 
 var. purpurascens is a deeply coloured single form with 
 purple stems, very rich and effective. Tyerman's var., 
 a large pale but clear yellow form, has the most perfectly 
 formed flowers : var. sibirica has small flowers and a 
 habit of rooting at the ends of the long stalks that bear 
 them, so that it soon founds a colony, and seems to prefer 
 to grow in shallow water, and so carries out the golden 
 effect further from the bank. A minor form I found in 
 the New Forest keeps its character here, and flowers late. 
 228
 
 The Iris Walk in May 
 
 A somewhat similar one from Ingleborough, that Mr. 
 Farrer led me up to see and advised me to collect, 
 is interesting in that it has the appearance of the rare 
 northern C. radicans, with sagittate leaves, but it does 
 no radio-ing as do the true species and var. sibirica 
 and the emperor of the whole family, C. polypetala. I 
 do so greatly regret that the introducer to Britain of 
 this last noble plant denies the lovely legend that was 
 invented about it, and declares that the Vatican gardener 
 willingly presented portions of it to Miss H anbury, and 
 of course once it had reached La Mortola everyone knows 
 how generously it would be distributed. It was such a 
 good lie that I still try to believe it. I dare not grow 
 this giant among the others, or it would soon be all giant 
 and no others, so it has a corner of the pond to itself. 
 The white species of Caltha, C. biflora, C. leptosepala, and 
 C. rotundifolia, are in a choice corner of the rock garden 
 as they are such neat growers, but alas ! very stingy in 
 giving me any of their Grass of Parnassus-like flowers. 
 Right about turn and back to the river bank, please, 
 and on our left we find the Iris borders again. It is too 
 early for their great show of bloom, but the race of 
 Intermediate Irises raised and distributed by Mr. Caparne 
 of Guernsey come out in late May. Those I like best 
 are Golden Fleece, a large-flowered free form like a soft 
 yellow florentina ; Edith, a starch blue with darker shadings, 
 and Ivorine, creamy white. All of these have very showy 
 orange-coloured beards. The beds are mostly edged with 
 dwarf Irises, which keep up a succession of flowers from 
 the beginning of April to the end of May. These dwarf 
 forms have been known as pumila varieties, but except 
 229
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 for the two pale blue forms that open the season for 
 bearded Irises, there is not a true pumila among them. 
 
 Chamaeiris has provided several purple and yellow 
 forms, and /. Reichenbachii others, all of which have un- 
 branched flower stems. /. aphylla gives us innumerable 
 shades with many flowered stems, and under this name are 
 now included the rich purple, blue-bearded plant we used to 
 call /. Benacensis, and that strange, dingy-flowered thing 
 formerly known as /. pumila gracilis. The colour is about as 
 lovely as the waistcoat of a defunct toad, being a pale buff 
 bun-bag shade, mottled irregularly with smoky grey, but it 
 flowers with such freedom that one can hardly see leaves 
 for flowers, and in the afternoon sunlight a length of it 
 planted as an edging lights up in such a charming way that 
 I always enjoy the effect thus produced, especially where 
 the flower-stems fall out over the grass path. It is also 
 good for cutting, for even the youngest buds will open in 
 water, and they are much lighter and more pleasing in 
 colour when opened in a room. The best of this section 
 is a garden-raised plant known as Leander, a really good 
 yellow, and very floriferous ; Bluebeard and Blanche an- 
 nounce their colours in their names, and are good com- 
 panions for Leander. The old blue germanica is a 
 wonderfully useful plant, quite the best tempered and 
 most generous I ever met for dry, overhung, or starved 
 positions, therefore it appears in large bands and masses 
 at the back of these borders round the old Yew trunks, and 
 is a grand bit of colour when in full flower. The purple 
 form known as Kharput does almost as well under this 
 studied neglect, but its flower-stems being taller it is inclined 
 to drive forward towards the light and then to fall over. 
 230
 
 The Iris Walk in May 
 
 It has the longest fall of any Iris I know. Here and there 
 among the broad-leaved flag Irises appear the long, narrow 
 leaves of the Little Widow, La Vedorina of Italian gardens, 
 no longer allowed to be an Iris, and obliged even to change 
 her sex and reappear as Hermodactylus tuberosus. What 
 a pity it is that the question of votes for women cannot be 
 as easily settled by allowing Mary and Jane to appear on 
 the register as Tom and Harry. I love this weird little 
 flower, made up of the best imitation I have ever seen in 
 vegetable tissues of dull green silk and black velvet in fact 
 it looks as if it had been plucked from the bonnet of some 
 elderly lady of quiet tastes in headgear. I am fond of 
 picking just enough for a vaseful to stand among other 
 vases holding Daffodils ; both the sombre Little Widow 
 and the gay bachelor Daffs gain by the contrast. 
 
 A portion of one of the Iris beds was taken out to a 
 depth of three feet and then treated as nearly as we could 
 arrange it in imitation of the wonderful hollow of shell- 
 sand among the sand-hills outside Haarlem where the 
 celebrated Regelio-cyclus Irises have their happy home 
 under the protection of Mynheer van Tubergen. I have 
 no shell-sand and no dunes, but my favourite birdcage 
 variety of sand and the screening Yew trees are used as 
 substitutes. We, as well as the Dutch, have cows, so we 
 can provide the same form of nutrition for the Irises here 
 as that which agrees so well with them in Holland. The 
 lower portion of this hole we fill with manure collected 
 directly from the meadows where the cows are browsing, 
 and then cover it with about six inches of the yellow sand 
 in which lie the rhizomes of the precious Irises, while 
 their roots can wander down and feed fatly. Artemis, 
 231
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 Hera, Charon, and Isis were very beautiful this May after 
 two years in the sand, and Gladiolus atroviolaceus, a dainty 
 Spring-flowering species of lovely amethyst colouring, 
 shares their bed and seems to enjoy the same treatment. 
 
 I think more could be made of this layered mixture of 
 sand and manure for voracious but easily-rotted plants. 
 I am now trying a few of the Oncocyclus species here, and 
 in this, their first year, we rejoiced in fine blooms of 
 susiana, &c., but I can hardly hope to solve the difficulty 
 of their cultivation so easily. 
 
 Of course Irises are to be found in other parts of the 
 garden, but these beds are so well suited for those that 
 love drought and heat, such as the Bearded Flags, that 
 they contain the main collection, and those that prefer a 
 cooler root-run find it elsewhere. /. longipetala and its 
 near relations, for instance, are planted among herbaceous 
 plants, and are very useful for flowering in late May, and 
 good for cutting. The Crocus frame has been found to 
 be the only satisfactory home for /. Sisyrinchium, the 
 most widely distributed species of the whole family. I 
 have collected it in Egypt, where it is so abundant on the 
 lower flats of desert round Cairo that it colours the land- 
 scape with a purple haze for miles from noon to teatime, 
 just while the fugacious flowers are open. It has been 
 said that it is the flower a business man never sees, except 
 on Sundays and Whit Monday, for when brought to 
 England it still adheres to its hours of opening and closing 
 as punctually as a public-house. The little flowers are 
 very lovely when you do see them, and so many are pro- 
 duced on one scape that a good succession is kept up. I 
 found some charming white-flowered ones in the desert, 
 232
 
 Eucalyptus cordata. (See p. 285.)
 
 The Iris Walk in May 
 
 but they have long since disappeared, and only the purple 
 type with its conspicuous white-spotted falls now appears 
 in the frame. I have had it sent to me from Spain, Malta, 
 and Afghanistan, but can see no difference among them. 
 Iris mellita flowered well this year in the rock garden in 
 early May. It is very dwarf, with large, well-formed flowers 
 of a dull rosy plum colour, but very distinct and pleasing, 
 quite welcome to its sunny ledge, and too small in stature 
 to be trusted even in the very front of the Iris beds. 
 
 I hope in another volume to lead you along these beds 
 on a June day among the pallidas and other summer 
 glories, but now we will pass by them, and try not to 
 tread on the Fantail pigeons that will walk under our feet, 
 leave the Lunatic Asylum on our left, gaze for a minute 
 or two at the fine bole of the isolated Yew, the last of the 
 row in this direction, a pillar of clustered columns that I 
 am never tired of admiring, and so past the first of the 
 leaden ostriches that guard the bridge over the river, and 
 then looking through the ivy-clad arch into the kitchen 
 garden I hope the stretch of May-flowering Tulips under 
 the wall will hold your attention long enough to let me 
 turn over a page and begin a new chapter. 
 
 233
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 Tulips 
 
 BEFORE I can permit you to go through the archway and 
 down by the Tulip beds I want to air some of my views about 
 Tulips in general, so let us lean on the iron rail of the bridge 
 for a while. It is a very good resting-place in mid-May, 
 for just then it commands the two best views of Tulips in 
 the garden. To our left we can see the long line of choicer 
 sorts growing in a narrow bed under the fruit wall. We 
 look all down this long bed, in which several hundreds of 
 varieties are grown, and seen through the archway the mass 
 of colour is a fine sight on a sunny day. We try to group 
 them in their classes and then again by colours, so that 
 those nearest to us are all Darwins and pink or rose 
 coloured, next come purple and then crimson Darwins, 
 and following them, further away still, are Cottage Tulips, 
 and then the English to finish with. Turning our heads 
 to look straight along the course of the river, we see a 
 stretch of old Yew hedge on our immediate left running 
 parallel with the river bank and starting from the right- 
 hand side of the arch that leads to the kitchen garden and 
 the Tulip beds. The river takes a long curve here, and 
 about half-way along this bend the Yew hedge divides, 
 turning down at a right angle to the path and river, and 
 making room for a terraced garden before the correspond- 
 234
 
 Tulips 
 
 ing second portion of Yew hedge, with a similarly down- 
 turned end, is reached. In my childhood's days the space 
 between these two hedges was filled by a steep grass slope 
 very suitable for rolling down when no nurse was on guard. 
 Then a wall was built at the foot of the slope and filled in 
 behind with soil and the Terrace formed. It is backed by 
 a low parapet with a wide stone coping, on which a row 
 of stone vases stands all the year and a large collection of 
 succulent plants in pots during the summer months. 
 Stone steps lead down to the kitchen garden at both ends, 
 and between them are fifteen box-edged beds and several 
 stone vases. A stone seat in the centre is made out of 
 portions of the balustrade of Old London Bridge, and 
 three of the balusters stand at the heads of the flights of 
 steps and bear stone vases. I found them hidden away 
 among the shrubs here, but could only find three, so one 
 has for its fellow a stone group of The Three Graces with 
 a stone vase on their lovely heads. These beds are filled 
 with Tulips for Spring, and when at their best look very 
 well viewed from the bridge, and reflected in the river. 
 They are backed by flowering fruit trees below the wall, 
 and then the trees of the park rise up behind on the side 
 of the hill. So rest here and gaze while I tell you that in 
 this garden the word Tulip stands only for true species 
 and the May-flowering garden varieties, for I have long 
 ago lost every scrap of affection for the early-flowering 
 garden varieties that are still the most conspicuous Tulips 
 in most public parks and many gardens. I cannot afford 
 them here space is too valuable, and though of low price 
 they are costly in the end, because very few of them find a 
 sufficiently congenial home in an English garden to think 
 235
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 it worth their while to settle down and produce a good 
 flowering bulb for a second year. They are dumpy, easily 
 destroyed by the bad weather they are almost certain to 
 meet with in April, and need to be renewed or largely 
 reinforced annually from Dutch-grown stocks to give a 
 really good effect. I make an exception in favour of a few 
 of intermediate season of flowering combined with good 
 constitution that are neither dumpy nor difficult to keep, 
 and these I should not like to be without. They flower 
 about the last week of April and the first in May. The 
 variegated form of Yellow Prince that lives in Tom Tiddler's 
 ground is one. White Swan is fairly tall, and bears a 
 beautiful white flower good for borders or cutting. Thomas 
 Moore is an old favourite and a charming shade of soft 
 orange, and Couleur Cardinal is a fiery scarlet when fully 
 open, but in bud and when half expanded has a wonderful 
 plum-like bloom on its crimson external ground-colour. Mr. 
 Van Waveren once told me that he bought the stock of this 
 Tulip when it was first offered. It was one of his earliest 
 purchases, and he gave rather a high price for it. His 
 father, who was present at the sale, asked, " What fool has 
 bought that ? " and was very angry when he learnt that it 
 was his son. It proved to be a wise investment, however, 
 and has been for many years the best of all red Early Tulips. 
 When I can speak of a plant as the Tulipa something-or- 
 other it is of course more precious to my botanical mind, 
 and I should like to grow every species of Tulipa, even the 
 starry green and white early flowering ones such as biflora 
 and its near relations, one of which tries to make a floral 
 display in December, but has been so severely snubbed 
 by the Clerk of the Weather that I fear its courage is 
 236
 
 Tulips 
 
 evaporating and it will end the struggle by dying of a 
 broken heart. These look more like some Star-of-Bethle- 
 hem than a Tulip, so I feel the real Tulip season commences 
 with the appearance of T. Kaufmanniana. Plant it six 
 inches deep at least, and leave it alone, and every March its 
 large, water-lily-shaped flowers should herald in the Tulip 
 days. It varies from white to crimson, and on the way 
 can be pure rich yellow flushed outside with red. Many 
 varieties have been selected and named ; aurea and coccinea 
 the two finest are very dazzling and wonderful when 
 fully open in the sunshine. I believe in all its forms it 
 has the deep yellow base that helps to make it look like a 
 water-lily on land. T. dasystemon has a somewhat similar 
 appearance on a smaller scale. It is dwarf, and a good 
 bulb will bear several flowers which are pure glistening 
 white when open, with a very bright yellow centre, but 
 when closed they are dull and green and still look like 
 some small Nymphaea bud. 
 
 It is a charming plant for the rock garden, and is easy 
 to grow. T. linifolia and T. Maximowiczii are so much 
 alike that it is very hard to distinguish them, but one need 
 not grumble at whichever comes under either name, for 
 both are brilliant scarlet with a black base, of beautiful 
 salver shape when open, and have the neatest possible 
 habit and narrow leaves with waved margins. They do 
 not increase much, but keep in health for many years if 
 occasionally lifted and cleaned by the removal of some of 
 their old jackets. A very curious tuft of woolly hairs orna- 
 ments the top of the bulb, and is worth noticing. Batalinii 
 is very closely related to these two, and differs chiefly in 
 the colour of its flowers, which are of a lovely soft butter- 
 237
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 yellow, but also in increasing well by offsets. Seedlings 
 vary in colour a good deal : I have had buff, salmon, and 
 orange-coloured forms, and one almost as scarlet as linifolia, 
 but the base was a light slate grey, not nearly so deep in 
 colour as in linifolia. It is quite possible, though, that these 
 colour varieties may be hybrids. One of them was selected 
 some years ago and named Sunset, and received an award 
 at a Temple Show, and I was delighted when I found its 
 exact counterpart among some of my seedlings. T. Batalinii 
 is one of the few Tulips that will sow itself in the rock 
 garden. T. firaestans is a great beauty of pure scarlet, and 
 when robust bears two or more flowers on a stem. Two 
 varieties of it are known, and the earliest and best is called 
 var. Tubergeniana. It makes such an early appearance above- 
 ground that it is best planted in a sheltered position facing 
 west or south-west, where it will not be tempted into growth 
 too soon, and the morning sunshine will not fall on its downy 
 leaves while they are still frozen. I have a clump in the 
 rock garden sheltered by some dwarf conifers that in most 
 seasons flares out in its glowing vermilion before one has 
 such a Pomegranate-blossom colouring elsewhere in the 
 open. T. primulina is a refined little many-flowered species, 
 and very charming when open in sunshine, but is rather 
 shy about showing off its charms, and too green outside 
 to make much show when closed. T. stellata is the 
 Himalayan representative of the well-known T. Clusiana, 
 the Lady Tulip, and like it runs about too much at the 
 root making small bulbs, and therefore seldom sends up 
 enough flowers. When they do appear they are very 
 lovely, star-shaped and of a soft sulphur shade, with a 
 deep red base and rosy tints on the outside of the segments, 
 238
 
 Tulips 
 
 T. oculus solis is rare in English gardens, but grows plenti- 
 fully round Florence, and it was from thence I obtained it. 
 It appears to be impossible to buy the true plant from 
 nurserymen, as T. praecox is so largely grown under the 
 other's name. Praecox is a good thing, but is almost 
 always damaged in our gardens by the frosts that worry 
 its large, early flowers. It is taller than oculus solis, and 
 has lighter red flowers, which are greenish on the outside 
 of the three outer segments and wider than they are long. 
 The true oculus solis is deep crimson, and has long, pointed 
 segments ; the basal eye is composed of a greater pro- 
 portion of black and less of yellow than that of praecox, and 
 it is also wise enough to wait for finer weather to open 
 its flowers in. 
 
 I must not attempt to describe all the species of 
 Tulipa I tuck away in the rock garden and choice corners 
 of sheltered beds, but cannot leave out two which are 
 special favourites. T. Fosteriana is one, and so brilliantly 
 coloured that at times I think it almost too gorgeous. 
 The vivid scarlet, with the pure yellow or black and 
 yellow of the eye, is absolutely dazzling in the sunlight, 
 and the flowers are so very large for their height ; but 
 a long bed of it in Zwanenburg Nursery at Haarlem 
 is one of the most marvellous floral displays I have ever 
 seen. It is none too vigorous here, and has to be care- 
 fully nursed in the peach-house border, where only rare 
 or tender treasures are admitted. I will close the list of 
 species with the latest of all, Tulipa Sprengeri, an elegant 
 and tall species with crimson-scarlet flowers ; but it is 
 always rather sad to see the first one open, for it means 
 the close of the Tulip season, and that a day or two onward 
 239
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 the hot sun and old age will tell on the Darwin and 
 English Tulips that still remain, and it will be time to go 
 round snapping off the fat green seedpods. It is rather 
 fascinating to place a forefinger on the stalk, and then, 
 pressing it towards you, bend over the seed head with your 
 thumb in the opposite direction, until you feel the sudden 
 snap with which the juicy stalk breaks, and it is good to 
 think that you are thereby aiding the ripening of a fat 
 bulb for next season, but I much prefer gently opening 
 the segments of a half-expanded new variety to see what 
 sort of eye it has, and feeling that its full beauty is still to 
 come. Well, "them's my sentiments" about earlies and 
 species, and now we had better move on and look at the 
 May flowerers before snapping-off time comes upon us. 
 First, then, to the Terrace beds. The shape of the first 
 one we come to is a semicircle, and it is bounded on the 
 straight side by a dry wall built up by the side of the 
 flight of steps and which has a cascade of Rosa Wichuraiana 
 hanging down over the stones and mingling with Othon- 
 nopsis cheirifolia, a good, grey-leaved, succulent plant that 
 thrives in this dry garden in a way that often astonishes 
 people from warmer but moister climates. It is a large 
 bed, and takes a good deal of filling, so we use three kinds of 
 Tulips of orange shades, La Merveille, Billietiana " Sunset," 
 and Gesneriana aurantiaca, but, excepting this and the two 
 central beds, all the others are filled with one variety only. 
 Thus the next contains Mr. Farncombe Sanders. Tall, 
 and of dazzling rose-scarlet with immense blooms, I do not 
 know a better Tulip for distant effect, and can only charge 
 him with one fault, and that is, he loses his head in sudden 
 danger, for a heavy shower coming quickly after sunshine 
 240
 
 Four White, Rayless Violas : 
 Purity 
 Mrs H. Pearce 
 
 Mad. A. Gray 
 Snowflake
 
 Tulips 
 
 catches the immense flowers half open and weights them 
 with water till they bend over and snap, and I have seen 
 a bed decimated in this manner in a few minutes. A bed 
 of Clara Butt comes next, and her lovely, soft, warm pink 
 blends well with the scarlet on one side and the deep rich 
 maroon-crimson of King Harold in the next bed. The 
 fine old scarlet Gesneriana, with its wonderful blue eye, is 
 one of the most effective of all Tulips, and so fills two 
 beds on this terrace, and looks very well between King 
 Harold and a bed of the still deeper brown-purple of 
 Philippe de Comines, described in bulb lists as velvety- 
 black. Next we come to the two circular central beds on 
 either side of a fine tripodal stone vase, and these are 
 filled with two yellow varieties in alternating rings. Retro- 
 flexa flowers first and goes over rather too soon, so 
 Parisian Beauty, which is a later bloomer, then takes up 
 its duties and keeps the yellow beds bright to the end. We 
 have generally had a bed of La Noire for the next, but 
 although it looks well next to the yellow, it is too dark to 
 be effective from a distance, and most likely will be re- 
 placed by something lighter next season. Europe is my 
 favourite of the glowing orange-salmon shades ; it is one 
 of the few Darwins with a pure white base, and the bed 
 devoted to it is a lovely sight when full of its flowers. 
 The next bed we thought rather a bold venture when we 
 first planned it, for we were half in doubt whether the 
 cool lilac tint of Erguste would look well between the two 
 salmon scarlets, Europe of the last bed and Laurentia of 
 the next, which are very similar in general outside appear- 
 ance, but Laurentia differs in possessing a rim of pale blue 
 round the white of the base. However, we were delighted 
 
 2 4 I Q
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 with the effect both when standing among the beds and 
 also from a distance. I have long preached that Erguste 
 is the best of the lilac Darwins, but many people think 
 otherwise and cry up The Rev. Ewbank. I must confess 
 that I am rather particular, and I dislike any Darwin that 
 has a paler edge to the segments, and a dingy grey look 
 about the central darker portion, and I find both of these 
 unpleasing features in Ewbank. To my mind they make 
 it look faded and weary even when young, whereas Erguste 
 is as nearly self-coloured throughout as one could expect, 
 and looks as clean and fresh as a newly washed and 
 starched lilac sunbonnet, until the segments are ready to 
 drop. All these lilac Darwins seem to inherit one fault 
 with their colour, they are more open to flattery than 
 their red brethren, and the west winds of Spring can per- 
 suade them that they are indispensable and the world is 
 waiting for them, and that they must hurry up at once, and 
 they generally push out leaves sooner than they should. 
 
 The flowers of purple and lilac Darwins, as a rule, 
 open before those of other colours, but that could be 
 forgiven them, and their particular foolishness and un- 
 forgiveable sin lies in starting into growth too soon. 
 Last winter was very bad for them in that respect. The 
 west wind roused them in their beds before Christmas, 
 and in a lying spirit declared it was half past winter and 
 time to get up ; their hot water was provided by warm 
 showers, and they popped their noses out of the curtains 
 and found it was so pleasant and muggy that they grew 
 away as fast as they could, and so had large, tender 
 leaves and exposed buds by the end of March that would 
 have done them credit a month later ; all those bitter winds 
 242
 
 Tulips 
 
 and cold hail-showers of last April bruised and worried 
 them, and large patches of decay began to show themselves, 
 and then the dreadful ravages of the disease that Tulip- 
 growers call " fire " spread through the bed, and ate into 
 the flower-stems, and robbed us of the fine effect we had 
 enjoyed the season before. Another bed of Gesneriana 
 follows Laurentia, and then one of elegans alba, one of the 
 most lovely of Spring flowers. I love the pointed shape 
 of this and its sisters, elegans, fulgens, and retroflexa. 
 They have been named as though they were wild specific 
 forms, but I was told by a Dutch grower that he had 
 spoken to an old man who remembered the first appear- 
 ance of all four of them in one seed-bed in Holland. 
 It is supposed that they are crosses between T. acuminata 
 and some other form of Gesneriana, the pointed reflexing 
 character of the flowers coming from acuminata, which 
 from its curious, long, slender segments has gained the 
 name of the Chinese Tulip I imagine because they suggest 
 the finger-nails of a mandarin. Elegans alba is much more 
 like a white form of fulgens than of elegans in its greater 
 height, later time of flowering, and less recurved segments. 
 These are pure white, beautifully edged with the finest 
 imaginable wire-edge line of crimson. It is very effective 
 in this bed, but equally good for planting in borders among 
 herbaceous plants. The last of the Terrace beds has for 
 many years been filled with the white-eyed Gesneriana that 
 has two names, Gesneriana albo oculata and Rosalind. It 
 is rather later than the others on the Terrace, and I must 
 confess of too blue a rose colour to go anywhere but at 
 the end, and I expect you can guess that the white bed 
 is placed next to it on purpose to cut it off from the 
 243
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 scarlet and salmon shades. Everybody admires it when 
 thus isolated, especially with the evening sunlight shining 
 through it, but in all lights the purity of its white base, 
 with a wee touch of ivory in its very eye, is wonderfully 
 satisfying against the vivid rose segments. It appears to 
 have one of the best constitutions of all, and once pur- 
 chased should never fail to fill its allotted space and pro- 
 vide offsets for growing on as well. All these beds have 
 to be lifted annually to make way for summer bedding 
 plants, and it is therefore necessary to get the Tulips ripened 
 off as early as possible. So as soon as the segments fall 
 I snap off the seed-heads, and it is wonderful how soon 
 one can lift after the loss of their seedpods has removed 
 all inducement to keep their roots actively at work. We 
 apply the old test of Tulip-growers of bygone days, and as 
 soon as we can curl a flower-stem round a finger without 
 its snapping feel it safe to lift the bulbs and lay them in a 
 dry bed of light soil to ripen off. With this treatment we 
 can generally rely on sound, large bulbs for another season, 
 but we keep a certain number of offsets planted up in the 
 kitchen garden to draw upon should one of our Terrace 
 varieties fail in size or number. So let us turn down the 
 steps at this end of the Terrace and go past these beds of 
 offsets. Many varieties we shall see are flowering freely 
 from the small bulbs, but though as a matter of course the 
 blossoms are not so fine as those from full-sized ones, they 
 are very useful for cutting. Turning to the left, we pass 
 the Strawberry beds, and then the range of vineries and 
 the Crocus frames we visited in February, and so reach 
 the wall and the long bed of Tulips. I have generally 
 planted it in alternate rows of Tulips and Carnations for 
 244
 
 Tulips 
 
 economy's sake, on the same principle as the excuse of the 
 child rebuked for extravagance in eating butter and jam 
 on one piece of bread, that it was economical to make the 
 same slice do for both. But this year we tried separating 
 the quondam partners, a::d were rather pleased at being 
 able to harvest the Tulips earlier than Carnation-layering 
 time, and to manure and crop the vacant ground to get it 
 ready for next season's bulbs. By this route we come first 
 to the English varieties, the very lite of the Tulip world, 
 for after the Dutch, Flemish, and French florists had de- 
 veloped the Tulip to a certain standard, the English florists 
 took it in hand, and became much more exacting in their 
 requirements, and succeeded in producing a strain of more 
 symmetrical, cup-shaped flowers with purer bases and 
 ground colours than had been known before. 
 
 The love of the English Tulip may be an acquired 
 taste, but I am sure it is really good taste, and just as an 
 art connoisseur will turn away from showy, meretricious 
 objects to a really fine piece of work even though it may 
 need looking into and handling to appreciate its best points, 
 so will anyone who compares many Tulips, and has access 
 to really well-grown English florists' varieties, grow to love 
 the beautiful proportions and delicate featherings or rich 
 contrasts of the best of them more than any gorgeous 
 display of Darwins. Not that I wish in any way to dis- 
 parage Darwin Tulips for garden display, or even for 
 cutting for large vases in halls and large rooms. But one 
 could not hang the walls of a picture gallery with Limoges 
 enamels instead of pictures, nor banish the Apollo Belvedere 
 from his pedestal in the Vatican to make room for a Japanese 
 netsuke, and so there are no English Tulips on the Terrace, 
 245
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 but here they are at the end of the Tulip beds to linger 
 over and enjoy, and to cut for some small, good old 
 glass vases for the dinner-table, or the writing-table in 
 my own sanctum, and for these purposes nothing lilia- 
 ceous can vie with them. I am sorry to say they are 
 not easy to grow in their best form here ; the Breeders 
 break too easily, and some of the finer Roses or 
 Bybloemen become flushed or coarse, but a few good 
 flowers appear each year among them and make us hope 
 to do better next time. Let us examine one or two care- 
 fully, that in case you need conversion to a true love for 
 them I may have a chance of effecting it. I wonder how 
 deeply you are steeped in Tulip lore ? If you prefer a 
 Rose fr. to a Rose fld. please skip the next page, but if 
 you do not understand those mystic words pray read on. 
 Now I will pick this exquisitely soft-rose coloured one. It 
 is labelled Annie McGregor, Breeder. Notice first the 
 proportions : in outline it is a sphere with the upper one- 
 third removed : see how smoothly rounded the edges of the 
 segments are, how clean and white the base is, and how 
 distinctly it ends and the rose colour commences. This 
 is the form in which this beautiful Tulip first appeared 
 when it flowered in the seed-bed many years ago, and it 
 and one called Mabel are still the best Rose Breeders 
 known. You think Breeder is an ugly name for such a 
 lovely flower ? Perhaps it is, but it has a meaning, and 
 tells us how that at one time these self-coloured Tulips 
 were not valued at all for their pure self-colour, but only 
 because they were the possible parents of striped forms. 
 For all seedling florists' Tulips are self-coloured as seedlings, 
 and remain so for a number of years, seldom less than six 
 246
 
 Tulips 
 
 but sometimes many more, then a few bulbs of the stock 
 are liable to suddenly change (" break " is the technical 
 term for it), and the old ground-colour then appears as 
 stripes on whichever colour, white or yellow, was most 
 prevalent in the eye or base of the self-coloured Breeder. 
 Now look at the next row ; it is labelled Annie McGregor 
 Rose fld., and you will see that though exactly similar in 
 shape and size, and with the*same white eye, this form is 
 practically a white Tulip with finely-pencilled, rose-coloured 
 featherings round the edges of the segments, and up the 
 centre of each there is a broad band, called a flame, of the 
 same rose shade. This is the broken form of the same 
 Tulip, Annie McGregor, and would be shown in the class 
 for Flamed Roses : now you know what fld. means. The 
 next row is labelled similarly, but has " fr. " instead of " fld." 
 at the end, and you can see at a glance that the flowers are 
 much the same as the last, but the segments are pure white 
 except for the featherings of rose-colour round their edges, 
 and so are Feathered Roses this time, and I may tell you 
 that you are very lucky if you do find this last one as 
 I describe it, for it is precious seldom I can manage to 
 grow a perfect feather in this garden. Higher up the bed 
 you will find Byb. fld. on labels, and will notice that here 
 again we may have the same variety as a lilac self with a 
 white base or as a white flower feathered, or feathered and 
 flamed, with some shade of lilac or purple instead of rose, 
 and these bear the old Dutch name of Bybloemen. Further 
 on we have some selfs, purple, chocolate, or rich red and 
 almost scarlet, but in all of these the bases are bright 
 yellow instead of white, and when they break the ground- 
 colour becomes yellow with marvellous, rich tones of copper, 
 247
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 bronze, black, brown, or crimson, mixing or lying alongside, 
 to form the feathers and flames. This group bears the 
 name Bizarre, and they also can be Breeders or fr. or fld. 
 Sir Joseph Paxton is one of the best, and a good instance 
 of a flower that can appear in all three forms of a Bizarre. 
 The flamed Sir Joseph is one of my greatest favourites, and 
 the colouring is like some grand old piece of buhl, and I 
 keep on turning such a flower round and round to try and 
 settle which of its segments is the most perfectly coloured 
 and the best to place towards me as I dine or write. I 
 believe the love for the English Tulip will some day revive 
 and perhaps grow into a rage, and that the noble little band 
 who keep up its cultivation and the Royal National Tulip 
 Society are doing a great work for future gardeners. How 
 many conversions has this sermon produced ? The outward 
 and visible sign of one is the posting of a letter to the 
 Secretary of the Society (W. Peters, Farcet House, Cam- 
 bridge) asking for full particulars and election as a member, 
 and help in the shape of a few bulbs to start your collection. 
 After the rows of English end we come to Cottage Tulips, 
 a very elastic term, for it includes all the late kinds that 
 are not true species, Darwins or florists' forms. I have 
 too large a collection to be fully described here. 
 
 The beautiful illustration (facing p. 176) shows two of 
 my favourites, but it is hard to pick out any and leave out 
 others in such a wonderful range of colours and forms. 
 Walter T. Ware is certainly the best deep yellow, Louis XIV 
 is a wonderful combination of rich plum-purple and golden 
 bronze, and looks as though shot with the two colours. Don 
 Pedro is a rich brown, John Ruskin long and egg-shaped 
 and apricot-orange shaded with rose and lilac, and as if that 
 248
 
 Tulips 
 
 were not enough has an edge of yellow just the- shade of 
 a beaten-up egg. Sir Harry is a lovely mauve-pink, and 
 breaks into a still more wonderful thing known as Striped 
 Beauty, in which the original rosy-lilac shade has crimson 
 and cerise stripes added to it. There are many kinds of 
 various shades of yellow, reckoned as cottage varieties, and 
 some of them have been already mentioned as forming part 
 of the golden store of Tom Tiddler's ground, but a reserve 
 fund of some of the best is kept here. Pure whites are scarce; 
 Albion and L'Innocence are the best, but Picotee with a 
 rose-coloured edge, and Carnation with more and deeper 
 rose colour, are exquisite pale flowers, and this class includes 
 the two varieties of the Green Tulip, T. mriciiflora praecox 
 and tardiva ; the former and earlier one is the best with a 
 larger flower, and of a better and softer green ; the other 
 has a wide yellow edge to its segments and is not so pleas- 
 ing. The early one is very pretty when cut and grouped 
 with rose-coloured Tulips. Then we reach the Darwins, 
 and the first few rows here are like the horrid child's sweet 
 and were pink once, but have broken and so become what 
 the Dutch nurserymen have christened Rembrandt Tulips. 
 Some of them are very beautiful with bold splashes of 
 crimson and scarlet on a white ground, but when they 
 break they always lose a few inches of their stature, and I 
 am afraid some of their grand sturdy constitution goes too, 
 for they never seem as healthy as their breeder forms, the 
 Darwiris. Among the red Darwins Isis stands out as the 
 very brightest and best. La Noire is the nearest to black 
 I grow, and quite as near as one wants a flower to be. 
 Margaret is the palest pink I care about. Nigrette is a 
 curious and beautiful brown red, the Bishop the best bright 
 249
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 purple and Faust the best dark purple. In among these 
 various kinds, and always in what we consider the choicest, 
 cosiest place, irrespective of what are its neighbours, we 
 plant my best beloved of all Tulips, a wonderful old Dutch 
 variety called Zomerschoon. It has a groundwork of old 
 ivory or softest primrose heavily striped and flamed with a 
 glorious,glowing salmon-red; the base is sulphur yellow,and 
 in the sunlight casts a primrose glow over the whole interior 
 of the flower, especially in a newly-opened blossom. It is 
 seen at its best in the morning sunlight, and when the first 
 blossoms open I find it hard to tear myself away from them, 
 so intensely do I enjoy the glow of the blend of salmon 
 and primrose tints in their cups. As the flowers age the 
 sulphur fades to ivory white and the red markings deepen 
 a good deal : they are still beautiful, but not so marvellously 
 glowing and subtle as in the day-old blossoms. It is a 
 very old Tulip, and I have a rather poor figure of it in a 
 Dutch book dated 1794, but it has always been scarce, as 
 it does not increase so fast as others, and so has always 
 been rather high in price, but the last two years have seen a 
 change, and now eighteen pence will buy a good bulb of it. 
 The tallest of all Tulips is T.fulgens, one of the pointed- 
 petalled set I have already mentioned. Three feet of stem 
 I should say would be its average height. It is a glowing 
 pure crimson, and its beautiful, soft-yellow base is too pale 
 to be open to an accusation of gaudiness even when seen 
 by the side of so bright a crimson. Some years ago I 
 planted a clump among some patches of Iris ochroleuca, and 
 the effect of the great, sword-shaped leaves of the Iris 
 among the tall Tulips was very good, but the group had to 
 be removed to make way for a new Yew hedge, and I have 
 250
 
 Tulips 
 
 always meant to make another similar planting, but time 
 and space have not allowed it as yet. This grand Tulip is 
 good almost anywhere, and very suitable in a bed of tall 
 herbaceous plants, as it produces a grand mass of colour in 
 May, and is well out of the way before Delphiniums and 
 other tall plants are clamouring for head-room. 
 
 Like other Tulips planted in groups in the permanent 
 borders, it requires lifting and thinning every second or 
 third year, or the bulbs scrouge each other, and grow 
 smaller and weaker until nothing but leaves appear, and 
 Tulips are not worth space as foliage plants. 
 
 25*
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 My Rock Garden 
 
 MY rock garden is a home-made affair, that is to say I 
 planned, built, and planted it, and have had the chief hand 
 in caring for it for twenty years. When I say built I mean 
 I chose out the stone for each position, helped to move it 
 and generally gave it the final lift or shove, or jumped up 
 and down on the top of it, to fix it in place just as I 
 wanted it, but, of course, several heads and hands helped 
 me, especially with the large blocks and the excavating 
 and shovelling up of soil. It was formed a bit at a time, 
 and always under the belief that the present piece of work 
 was to be the very utmost extent that was likely to be 
 undertaken, and so of necessity it possesses many faults. 
 I can see that had it been planned as a whole I could have 
 greatly improved it, and as the oldest portion, which dates 
 from 1893, was my first piece of work of the kind, I have 
 learnt something since then. It is a rock garden but by 
 no means an alpine garden, for though alpine plants have 
 a first choice of places I have always been ready to plant 
 any bush or even tree in it, that I think will grow better 
 for the advantages of drainage and protection the chosen 
 site will afford it. I often say that I must reserve a new 
 wing for choice alpines only or clear out an older range 
 for them, then I come along with a choice young Euca- 
 lyptus in a pot, or one of the giants of the Eryngium 
 family such as E. serra or E. Lasseauxii, or some other 
 252
 
 My Rock Garden 
 
 son of Anak ; a suitable cosy nook is given to the poor 
 homeless waif, and so long as plants flourish I cannot 
 bring myself to destroy their happiness. So do not ex- 
 pect the orthodox grouping of dwarf alpines, or even care- 
 fully-stratified stones, for I have never hesitated to stand 
 a large, flat block up on end tp form a miniature south 
 wall for tender sun-lovers, but I have always had the sense 
 to fill in the back of such an one with soil and continue 
 the rise above the stone, and so treated the bank looks 
 natural enough. I have used Kentish rag throughout, 
 and until my ship comes home with a cargo of more 
 guineas than I know what to do with I shall not change 
 it for mountain limestone. The rag weathers well here, 
 grows as much moss as I care about, and tones to a good 
 soft grey colour ; it has enough sandstone facing on some 
 blocks to make a little crumbling surface for some of the 
 plants to root into, and yet is solid enough to resist the 
 weather. It may flake a little its first winter, but not 
 sufficiently to do any harm. 
 
 Much of the rock garden is built on a steep clay bank 
 that Sir Hugh Myddelton constructed three hundred years 
 ago to support this loop of the New River and so carry it 
 round the valley instead of, as now, across it in pipes : 
 that means the upper edge of my rock garden must be a 
 straight line bounded by the walk along the riverside. A 
 second straight walk had been made along the foot of the 
 bank, and this also has had to be respected, but a triangular 
 portion of the meadow was cut off, in two bites and with 
 several years between each mouthful, and forms the main 
 expanse of rock garden and saves it from the stiff outline that 
 253
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 would have been the result of only using the bank. We 
 reach the newest portion first, a good long stretch of bank 
 between the river above and the meadow below. In the 
 centre of this is the fish-hatchery moraine bed I have de- 
 scribed in a former chapter, and as the whole bank faces 
 due south such a sheltered home for new plants has filled 
 up with marvellous rapidity. I was obliged to plant a 
 screen of Hollies and other evergreens at the top by the 
 river-walk, as otherwise there would be no intervening pro- 
 tection between the rock garden and the North Pole. This 
 bank has had a year to get covered, and this May morn- 
 ing is full of flowers. 
 
 From a long way off one sees a glowing orange patch 
 that at close quarters turns out to be Meconopsis hetero- 
 phylla, the only member of the family that comes from 
 America. It is hard to beat when well grown, but an 
 annual, and unless self-sown is difficult to induce to grow 
 into a strong tuft. The plants we are looking at appeared 
 last autumn, and though they looked very sad during cold 
 and wet spells of winter weather, they battled through, 
 keeping a few of their many-patterned leaves green in spite 
 of frosts and slugs, and starting off into rapid growth in 
 Spring. Now they bear a thick crop of orange coloured 
 flowers of a particularly beautiful shade that is greatly 
 improved by the deep chocolate-red eye. Above them 
 Linum arboreum is a solid sheet of the clearest Daffodil 
 yellow, very effective wedged between two large blocks of 
 grey stone. Helianthemum umbellatum is full of its dainty 
 white flowers, and one of the most refined and beautiful 
 members of this sun-loving family, and very different in 
 254
 
 My Rock Garden 
 
 its very neat, narrow leaves and upright growth from the 
 sprawling, coarser-growing kinds. Its near relation, H. 
 libanoticum, which is practically a yellow-flowered counter- 
 part of it, and the still more dwarf lunulatum, are equally 
 neat growers. 
 
 At the foot of the steps that lead up to the moraines 
 Aquilegia viridi 'flora is in full bloom. It is a very unusual- 
 looking flower, for its petals are dark purplish-brown, and 
 its sepals a curious dull green that harmonises beautifully 
 with the dark circular petticoat. The spurs are long and 
 without hooks at their ends, and the anthers protrude and 
 add to the grace of the flower. There is a charming 
 figure of it in Jacquin's I cones Plantarum Rariorum. It 
 is not an easy plant to please, but in this spot it is as 
 happy as I ever saw it. 
 
 One seldom sees Lotus Tetragonolobus in England, but 
 it is well worth a place at the foot of the rock garden, 
 where it makes a cheerful green carpet for many months, 
 and now and then gives out a scent so much like cow's 
 breath that the first time I got a whiff of it I turned round 
 to look for the cow, and finding none traced the milky 
 odour to the plant. I do not understand the conditions 
 under which this scent is produced, for I often try to 
 smell it myself or present it to the noses of others and fail, 
 and then occasionally it is quite strong on the air even 
 without touching the plant. The large, solitary, pea-shaped 
 flowers are of a delightfully soft yellow, and in a garden 
 specimen are much more freely produced than those one 
 sees scattered here and there in the Alpine pasture. The 
 seeds are four-sided and bear prominent wings on each 
 2 55
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 angle, and so have provided it with the majestically sono- 
 rous word once its generic but now reduced to its specific 
 name. When it was followed by siliquosus it was mightily 
 filling for a label, but sounded as though it might be an 
 efficacious spell against witches if pronounced impressively. 
 Viola bosniaca is a mass of bloom up among the higher 
 rocks, and has sown itself so freely that a dozen or so large 
 plants are staring at us with their friendly rosy faces. I 
 wish I could say the same of V. calcarata, which was 
 planted close by it and has grown into a yard-wide bed of 
 leaves of a Watercress appearance, and is bearing three 
 blooms and no promise of more. Yet these very plants 
 were solid bunches of flowers when I dug them up on Mt. 
 Cenis two years ago. Helichrysum bellidioides has lived 
 here through three winters, but was so badly cut that it 
 had all it could do to try and look green again during 
 summer, and found no time to waste on flowers until I 
 planted a bit at the foot of a stone facing due south and 
 gave it a lean-to of glass. The mild winter has favoured 
 it, and it is now thickly covered with pure white Daisies and 
 well repays the little extra trouble. A fine specimen of 
 Muehlehbeckia varians stands as the boundary post between 
 this newly-built rock bank and the older portion, mainly 
 devoted to succulent plants. I find it hardier than M. 
 complexa, and though it looks a bit shabby by the end of 
 the winter, after I have cut its hair and the warm rains 
 come and shampoo its head it is soon covered with its 
 characteristic fiddle-shaped leaves, and later in the season 
 produces heart-shaped ones as well, and bunches of minute 
 greenish flowers, but I have not yet had berries on it. It 
 256 ^
 
 Four Yellow Violas : Redbraes Yellow Maggie Chinas 
 
 Klondyke General Baden-Powell
 
 My Rock Garden 
 
 is trained up poles and is now about nine feet high. Here I 
 grow a good many of the giant Eryngiums, such as serra 
 with rosettes of green, two-edged saws, agavifolium with 
 sword-fish snouts for leaves, Sanguisorba with glaucous 
 grassy leaves and flower heads, anyone might be forgiven 
 for believing to be a true Sanguisorba ; Lasseauxii, the 
 giant of the family, with narrow leaves six feet long, 
 looking like some great Pandanus, and a set of queer 
 hybrids that defy classification and have taken up posi- 
 tions where I could permit them to remain and deve- 
 lop. A few good Yuccas share the bank with these, 
 and lead one's mind gently on to the Prickly Pears and 
 other Cacti, Bromeliads, Dasylirions, Agaves, and other suc- 
 culents for which the rest of this bank is reserved. We 
 must stop to admire two Oxalis species that grow among 
 the Eryngiums. Oxalis purpurea is full of flowers which are 
 large and crimson by courtesy, but rather close to magenta 
 I fear in fact, a colour I can forgive in an Oxalis though 
 not in a zonal Pelargonium. Just above it 0. brasiliensis 
 is only commencing to flower, and is a better shade of 
 crimson. These two have lived amicably in this nook for 
 many years, and are very brilliant in Spring, and look well 
 among the subtropical foliage around them, though neither 
 would be pleasing near scarlet flowers. Cereus paucispinus 
 is full of fat flower-buds promising a gorgeous patch of scar- 
 let for next month, and several of the Echinopsis section 
 of Cereus show grey tufts of wool where their large white 
 or pink flowers are to come. The young growths of the 
 Opuntias have not yet taken on the round outline that means 
 flowers or flattened out to show they are only fresh branches. 
 257 R
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 It is too early in the year to fully enjoy this bank of 
 prickly things, so turn and look at the opposite side of the 
 path, for here one of the corners of the triangular main por- 
 tion of this rock garden has its commencement. A northern 
 slope is crowned with tall growing plants to give more shade 
 lower down. A fine specimen of silver-leaved Rue is now 
 very effective, the young leaves as white as ivory. A fine 
 purple effect is given by Clematis Pallasii fol. purpureis. 
 It has the habit and flowers, later on of course, of C. recta, 
 but is as rich in colour as a Copper Beech while its leaves 
 are young. The large spherical heads of Allium Rosen- 
 bachianum rise up beside it, and their mauve colouring is 
 charming against its purple leaves. The double Welsh 
 Poppy Meconopsis cambrica fl. pi. is rather inclined to play 
 the weed on the lower slope, and tries to smother Saxifraga 
 sarmentosa, which is as happy here round the feet of the 
 stones as it is in cottage windows, where it is known as 
 " Mother of Thousands." Ranunculus nyssanus runs about 
 freely, and its large varnished Buttercup flowers are good 
 with the deeper orange of the Poppy. Orchis sambucina 
 from Mt. Cenis is giving me half a dozen lovely sulphur 
 spikes charming in contrast with a colony of a good blue- 
 lilac form of Phlox divaricata, var. canadensis. Of course 
 my usual space-grudging views have led me to pack a hun- 
 dred and one other plants among these, so that the ground 
 is full of bulbs, Dianthus species, Primula marginata, P. 
 Auricula and several others, Saxifrages, Potentillas, and too 
 long a list to remember, let alone to write out, but at this 
 moment the effect is produced by those I have named as 
 being in flower. Such totally different styles of shrubs as 
 258
 
 My Rock Garden 
 
 two Caraganas, a fine specimen of the mop-headed Bladder 
 Senna, Colutea arborescens, var. bullata, Viburnum bullatum, 
 Hedera conglomerate and a spreading tree of the pink double 
 Cherry J. H. Veitch, form the forest of the slopes and 
 ridge, and in their shade Ramondias have made some fine 
 rosettes. Anemone nemorosa forms are happy in a level 
 bay, and other woodland things like Trillium grandiflomm 
 and Snowdrops as well as a clump of Lilium Marhan find a 
 home. 
 
 We are now opposite an old ivy-covered summer-house, 
 that was here long before the rock garden was begun, and 
 tucked away under a fine old Thorn it is not too incon- 
 gruous to be left and utilised as a tool-shed and a refuge in 
 sudden storms. Opposite its door the main path turns down 
 the slope to the south, runs through the centre of the 
 triangle of rock garden and leads at the lower end to a 
 wooden bridge over a pool, and then through a meadow and 
 into the park, and as it forms the short cut between us and 
 my brother's house on the other side of the park it is a 
 rather wider path than is necessary in a rock garden. 
 Branch paths run right and left from it, and lead down into 
 two excavated hollows with high mounds to flank each of 
 them on all their sides, which mounds form the four some- 
 what parallel ranges of mountains that are the main portion 
 of the rock garden. We will take the left-hand path, and so 
 find a bank facing due south and a level bay at its feet full 
 of treasures, but we must only stop to notice a few of those 
 which are in flower now in May. Viola gracilis was first 
 revealed to me here. I got it from Sprenger of Naples several 
 years before it was generally discovered by English nursery- 
 259
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 men, and it soon wedded with V. Munbyana and produced 
 several seedlings of hybrid origin. One of these caught 
 the critical eye of Mr. George Paul, and I gave it into his 
 hands, and he has sent it forth as strong young plants, and 
 named it Mrs. Bowles in memory of my mother. I still 
 keep a little colony of it here, as it flowers for just as won- 
 derfully long a period as Munbyana, and is a good purple 
 blue. The variety known as V. gracilis Purple Robe is much 
 like it, but neither so blue a shade nor quite so good a shape, 
 I think. 
 
 Erodiums are much to the fore among the rocks here. 
 E. amanum has begun its long flowering season, and looks 
 very pretty now with its silvery grey leaves and white 
 blossoms. It is a dioecious species, and the pistil-bearing 
 form is pure white, while the pollen-bearing male has pink 
 anthers and a few rosy lines in the throat and so is the 
 prettier flower, but one needs both to get seed and the 
 self-sown seedlings that I like to see it produce. Next to 
 it is a planting of young plants of E. chrysanthum, one of 
 the rarest and loveliest of this family. It closely resembles 
 the last species, but its leaves are more silky and more 
 finely cut, and its flowers are a most beautiful sulphur that 
 looks rather unusual on such silver foliage. In chrysan- 
 thum the sexes are as rigidly divided as in some Lutheran 
 churches, and here again the male or pollen plant has pink 
 anthers which greatly add to his beauty. I believe that the 
 hybrid between these two, E. lindavicum Sundermann, is 
 not uncommon in gardens where chrysanthum and amanum 
 are grown near one another, but it is not to be desired, being 
 intermediate in colour of flower, a dull yellowish-white, and 
 260
 
 One of the slopes in the Rock Garden. (See p. 270.)
 
 My Rock Garden 
 
 representing the spoiling of two good plants. Above these 
 Storks' Bills and in a crevice is one of the best of all 
 Houseleeks, Sempervivum rubicundum, which reverses the 
 general order of family colouring and has rich red leaves 
 with green tips. It is just now at its best for Spring colouring 
 and wonderfully bright, but is one of the plants that suffers 
 from too many friends, for all who come fall in love with it 
 and carry off a rosette, so that it spreads slowly in the crevice 
 but rapidly into distant gardens. On the level below are 
 some huge rosettes of S. Comollei, another really good one. 
 It makes rosettes as large as those of any Houseleek when 
 generously treated, five inches or more across and of won- 
 derfully beautiful colouring, glaucous green shot with blue 
 and purple, more like an Echeveria than a mere Houseleek. 
 Canon Ellacombe noticed this fine thing in the Jardin des 
 Plantes in Paris, received a rosette from there, and after 
 a few seasons was able to distribute it, and so it came 
 back with me after one of my visits to Bitton. 
 
 A curious plant grows at the corner here, Allium Dios- 
 coridis, often called Nectaroscordum siculum, a tall, strange- 
 looking thing to be one of the Garlicks. It possesses the 
 most pungent and evil smell of any plant I know, and 
 I enjoy breaking a leaf in half and getting my friends 
 to help in deciding whether it most resembles an escape 
 of gas or a new mackintosh. It is already throwing up 
 its curious heads of flowers ; at present they are enclosed in 
 a leafy bag looking like the bud of some very tall Narcissus. 
 Later on they emerge, and the buds hang down and open 
 a few at a time, but after flowering stand upright. The 
 flowers are a shrimp pink marked with green and dull red, 
 261
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 and are very interesting because it regularly happens that 
 the first to open has eight perianth segments and anthers 
 to match, the next few have the normal six of a liliaceous 
 plant, but towards the end of the flowering it can only 
 afford the last few flowers four each. The true Linaria 
 hepaticaefolia is pretty running all about the level bed ; its 
 tiny leaves are those of Cyclamen ibericum in miniature, and 
 are similarly banded with white zones ; the little white 
 flowers are scattered among them very close to the ground. 
 Climbing about on the shady side of a rocky slope close 
 by is L. aequitriloba, which in many lists bears the name of 
 the other. It has purple flowers, and leaves, as the name 
 implies, of three distinct equal divisions like those of the 
 Ivy-leaved Toad-flax L. Cymbalaria, which it closely re- 
 sembles but on a much smaller scale. Now on our right 
 we get a brilliant mass of mixed Aubrietias, the result of 
 self-sown seedlings. Originally I planted Dr. Mules and 
 Bridesmaid here, and they both exist, but as grandparents 
 now among their descendants ; any objectionably violent in 
 colour were pulled up, and the rest left to fight it out or 
 agree amicably as they chose. Behind them Erysimum 
 Allionii sows itself freely among various dwarf Cytisus 
 bushes on the ridge, and its vivid orange is very good here 
 among several dark-leaved plants and against a flowering 
 mass of the pale lilac Veronica circaeoides. Near these 
 are the wonderful leaves of Allium karataviense, var. Ellisii; 
 their wonder consists in the extraordinary metallic colour- 
 ing they show when young, purple-violet on the under 
 side and steel-blue above with a deep red edge. They are 
 especially lovely when a few raindrops are caught in their 
 262
 
 My Rock Garden 
 
 pleated folds, but the head of flowers is not worthy of this 
 early promise, and a very dingy affair, much too large for 
 its short stem. The other side of the walk calls for a glance ; 
 a group of the two heaths, Erica carnea and hybrida, crowns 
 the mound, and white Fritillarias have been making a pretty 
 contrast with its red flowers : both are passing over by now, 
 but some very good Camassia seedlings are taking their 
 place. The first I planted here were some named seedlings 
 of C. Leichtlinii, a pure white, and a very deep purple called 
 Purple Robe ; now seedlings have appeared in all directions, 
 and some are of very good deep blue and purple shades. 
 
 There are several large clumps of C. Leichtlinii in the 
 rock garden, both the typical cream-coloured one and the 
 lilac-blue variety, and if one sees them on an afternoon 
 when they have freshly opened a series of flowers they are 
 a fine sight, but sometimes I wish to impress a visitor with 
 their beauty and find never a bloom open ; yesterday's have 
 all faded and they make the plant look untidy, and the 
 next four or five buds on each stem will not open until the 
 late afternoon. A good-sized bush of Berberis Fremontii 
 astonishes many people who think it needs a wall to do 
 well. It grows in a very exposed position here, and is ex- 
 quisite when the crimson of the young growth contrasts 
 with the steely blue of its prickly little leaves. Corylopsis 
 pauciflora grows in a sheltered nook with Olearia num- 
 mulanaefolia, a Bush Ivy and a prostrate Juniper to keep it 
 company. The Corylopsis gives bunches of flowers like 
 Cowslips on fine twigs in early Spring, and then for the 
 next four months bears imitation Hornbeam leaves of 
 delightful shades of pink and red and tawny brown, more 
 263
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 like Autumn than Spring tints, but in late Summer they 
 turn green and cease to be remarkable. Lower down is a 
 remarkably fine Dead Nettle not often seen, Lamium Orvala, 
 with handsome, deep-green leaves and flesh-pink flowers. 
 On the other side of the path is a plant of Orvala lamioides, 
 by some authorities considered the same as the Lamium, 
 but it has a very different habit and appearance, and leaves 
 that are tinged with red and much like those of a Coleus 
 and that colour finely in Autumn. Hereabouts grow 
 many Violas ; there are three forms of V. cucullata, a deep 
 blue, a white, and a pied, besides F. sorora, another American 
 species with light-blue flowers of great size, F. pubescens, the 
 largest flowered of the yellow Violets, and sagittata, a pretty 
 blue one. These are all tuberous rooted and die down each 
 Winter, after the manner of F. biflora, the wee yellow Violet 
 of the Alps, and its American representative, F. scabriuscala, 
 which scarcely differs from it except in having markedly 
 pointed instead of round leaves. I have one little tuft of 
 F. biflora with pale sulphur flowers that I brought from 
 the St. Gothard district, the only variant I have ever found 
 among the thousands of normal ones I have met with. 
 Much of the right-hand slope is carpeted with two forms 
 of F. canina, both given me by Mr. Wolley-Dod, one a 
 pure white and of very neat habit, which though it seeds 
 all over the place comes quite true from seed, the other 
 a pretty blue and white pied form, but which spreads much 
 less than the white. Another and larger white Violet I 
 believe to be of American origin, and either white 
 Riviniana or very near it. Dr. Lowe gave it to me many 
 years ago, and bade me remember that it was not the white 
 264
 
 Sundial in the Pergola Garden. (See p. 288.)
 
 My Rock Garden 
 
 Dog Violet, whatever people might say to the contrary. I 
 have also a starch-blue one from Wisley that is either a form 
 of it or some closely allied one. These banks are packed 
 with plants, but it would take a whole volume to mention 
 half of them, so we must move on and by turning to the 
 right can avoid walking into the pool, and rejoin the main 
 path. 
 
 We pass a collection of naturally dwarf trees and shrubs, 
 such as the pygmy forms of the Scots Pine and Spruce, 
 several Euonymous japonicus, and a Box or two of dwarf 
 habits. Ligustrum japonicum, var. coriaceum, and its sub- 
 variety involutum have grown into fine specimens, and 
 look wonderfully like dwarf Camellias. But the gems of 
 this corner are a dwarf Cedar of Lebanon, a variety 
 known as Comte de Dijon, and two of the small form of 
 Irish Juniper that I have seen in a catalogue as /. communis 
 hibernica compressa nana. The dwarf Willows, Salix re- 
 ticulata, S. herbacea, and the larger S. lanata are also here, 
 and each has a decided character of its own. The two first 
 are the lowliest of British shrubs, for although reticulata's 
 leaves are large and round, and with their footstalks stand 
 up two inches or more from the ground and the curious 
 brownish catkins, which closely resemble the Plantain- 
 heads that children play the game of Soldiers with, over- 
 top the leaves, yet the woody trunk of this minute tree 
 lies flat upon the ground, however aged and thick it may 
 be. Herbacea has very small leaves and thin twigs that 
 never rise up for more than an inch or two, while the 
 stem prefers to bury itself in the ground after the manner 
 of a root. Lanata should make a handsome bush of 
 265
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 several feet in height, but seldom finds life in a garden 
 sufficiently worth living to stay there long enough to 
 exceed one foot. Its large, round, woolly leaves are 
 very striking, as they are of an unusual shade of grey- 
 green, but the male catkins are its chief glory, from the 
 moment they burst their bud-scales and appear as white 
 as snow till they have successively imitated blue Persian 
 kittens and yellow hairy caterpillars and, their pollen shed, 
 they fall to the ground. Several almost microscopic 
 plants, such as Arenaria balearica, Epilobium nummula- 
 rifolium, Mentha Requienii smelling so strongly of Pepper- 
 mint, Erodium Reichardii, and Veronica repens make carpets 
 under the small trees. At the corner of this bank Saxi- 
 frages behave better than in most parts of this dry garden, 
 and S. Burseriana, Salomonii, Elizabethae, oppositifolia, 
 and sancta are here, also taygetea looking like Soldanella 
 in leaf, and tenella, which I was told by its donor I should 
 not be able to keep long, but has been happy in this, 
 the original site I allotted it, for at least twelve years, 
 an instance of the inevitable happening of the unexpected. 
 I wish S. oppositifolia would do a little better here; it 
 occasionally flowers well and encourages me to plant 
 more, and then for a season or two may look brown and 
 bedraggled, in fact "a positive failure" as a lady once 
 called it. I sat down on a carpet of it to eat my sandwich 
 luncheon up in the Cottian Alps, last June, and looked at 
 the rosy cushions and longed to see a slope of the rock 
 garden similarly furnished, but though S. retusa has settled 
 down most amicably in the piped sand bed, and flowered 
 well this Spring, oppositifolia by its side is slowly dying. 
 266
 
 My Rock Garden 
 
 Look at Allium paradoxum on your left : the little 
 transparent yellowish bulbils struck here and there among 
 the flowers look like Mistletoe berries. Spirea Thunbergii 
 at the opposite corner has been flowering ever since 
 Christmas, and is still full of blossom. It has grown into 
 a fine specimen, I believe chiefly due to the fact that I 
 give it a good clearing out of old wood each season just 
 after flowering. Did you catch a whiff of an unpleasant 
 smell like fish frying ? I often wondered how it was 
 possible to smell kitchen operations down here so far 
 from any house until I discovered it was the scent of 
 Cotoneaster multiflora, the umbrella-shaped specimen 
 growing on the top of the high mound. It is something 
 like the scent of Hawthorn, but much more unpleasant. 
 The tree is graceful, though, and of course the scent passes 
 away with the flowers, and they atone for their wickedness 
 by turning to good red berries in autumn. Among these 
 large cordate leaves you can find the weird blossoms of 
 Asarum Bealei, livid red with three tails, each one of 
 which is nearly three inches long, and close beside it 
 grows A. grandiflorum with very similar flowers, both of 
 them so uncanny and evil-looking that they would make 
 a suitable button-hole for the Devil. Claytonia siberica, 
 both pink and white, seeds about freely in this semi-shady 
 corner, and is comely and welcome now, but later on it 
 becomes aggressive, sprawls out in a chickweedy way that 
 proclaims its rather plebeian lineage, and reminds us of its 
 poor relation C. perfoliata, whose only beauty is the green 
 carpet it provides in hopelessly shady places during the 
 winter months. 
 
 267
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 Hyacinthus amethystinus, both blue and white, lives and 
 seeds about on the sunny side of the main path, and 
 reminds me of a glorious day on Aero-Corinth when I saw 
 it peeping out among fallen blocks of marble. 
 
 Now the path passes between two sheets of water, or 
 so they might appear if carefully brought into the fore- 
 ground of a photograph. One is in an old circular lead tank 
 sunk in the ground and about six feet in diameter, another 
 heritage from the dismantled house. It grows the major 
 form of Ranunculus Lingua very well, three of Marliac's 
 Water-lilies, and Riccia fluitans, a curious water Liverwort 
 that floats about in tufts looking like green isinglass. It 
 also supports a family of rudd that a fish-loving friend 
 caught for me in Norfolk, and the largest of our water 
 snails, Limnaea stagnalis, which devours confervae and 
 respects phanerogamic plants, and so can be admitted 
 where our more plentiful L, auriculata must be excluded. 
 A huge French Edible Frog, one of several brought home 
 from foreign rambles, has settled down here, and generally 
 sits on the edge of the tank sunning himself, and can be 
 watched if cautiously approached, and his metallic eyes 
 and green striped back are good to see, but at any sudden 
 movement he takes a header into the pool in a moment. 
 We hoped great things of the other pool, and cemented 
 rocks together to form its sides, but it suffers from unac- 
 countable low tides occasionally, and is now full of Cyperus 
 longus and other grassy things. It is fed by a drip that 
 is the overflow from three other small pools further up 
 in the rock garden, and where this splashes down off an 
 overhanging stone I have planted a few moisture-loving 
 treasures. A maidenhair fern, Adiantum Capillus-Veneris, 
 268
 
 My Rock Garden 
 
 from the Cornish cliffs is one, and has thriven amazingly 
 for some fifteen years, though often encrusted with icicles 
 in winter. The mountains rise high at the back of this 
 pool of disappointment, for here again I planned won- 
 derful things, and spent money and muscle on some very 
 large blocks and built up a right noble cliff. In spite of 
 its cost it is one of the least interesting bits of the garden 
 too much stone and too little room for plants, in fact. 
 I was foolish enough to plant Lactuca (Mulgedium) alpina 
 on it, and have spent years trying to get rid of it, and but 
 for the concrete I believe it would have filled the whole 
 garden and pushed up through the floors of the house and 
 into the road to stop the traffic, for Atalanta and Charley's 
 Aunt are tortoises compared with such a runner. 
 
 Euphorbia Wulfenii makes a handsome bush and a fine 
 dark mass when out of flower, but now with the great 
 yellow green heads rising up out of the almost indigo blue 
 foliage it is a very fine object. The stems turn over at the 
 tips in autumn if they mean to flower next year, and then 
 the heart leaves of these shoots take on red stripes, and the 
 display gradually unfolds all through the winter until it 
 ends in the immense heads of bloom. This is a Euphorbia 
 corner, and E. pilosa major, which I cannot distinguish 
 from E. polychroma growing next it, almost vies with the 
 Daffodils in yellowness, but certainly beats them in having 
 a second season, for in some autumns it turns a dazzling 
 scarlet. E. corollata is only springing up at this season, 
 and will not get its curious, corolla-like, white bracts before 
 June. E. Cyparissias and even Lathyris the Caper-spurge 
 are here, and several poorer relations less worthy of notice, 
 269
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 but E. Characias has always grown on the older range, and 
 so is not represented again here. I like its curious dull 
 green heads of flowers with their conspicuous black spots, 
 and like to call it by a name I learnt from Mr. Burbidge. He 
 overheard a garden-boy at Trinity College, Dublin, showing 
 some people round and answering their questions, and 
 when asked the name of this Spurge he said, " Sure an' I 
 do not rightly know what it is designated, but we boys call 
 it the Frog Spawn bush." E. melifera crowns the next 
 mound, but is often severely punished in winter here, so 
 has never reached to eight feet in height as I have seen it 
 at Fota, where I gathered the seed that produced my 
 plant. 
 
 Now we turn up a little path of steps to the left and 
 cross a flat stone that serves as a bridge over the overflow 
 channel from the pools. The photograph facing page 164 
 will show you better than my pen can describe the view 
 from the bridge in the last week of May when Columbines 
 and Thalictrums and pink Geranium sylvaticum run riot 
 on the left-hand bank. Only an edge is shown, though, 
 of the Trollius and Sedges that fringe the pools on the 
 opposite side of the path. The big Golden-fruited Ivy 
 stands out well at the end, and the outermost boughs of 
 the large Magnolia stellata can be seen at the extreme right, 
 but the flowers of the orange-coloured Welsh Poppies that 
 cover all the bank between them are almost invisible even 
 with a lens, though their seed heads are discernible just 
 under the Ivy, and Rosa altaica and R. hispida show up well 
 behind. If we go up the path shown we can turn to the 
 right at the head of the largest pool, and after passing the 
 270
 
 My Rock Garden 
 
 Magnolia, we must stop and wonder at the rose-like 
 beauty of a large bush of Rubus deliciosus, that arches 
 out every which way as Huck Finn would say, and bears 
 its snow-white flowers all down the arching branches. It 
 is prettier thus than as one generally sees it crucified flat 
 on a wall, and as it is quite happy in a very draughty spot 
 here must be hardier than people think. One thing is 
 essential to success, and that is to cut out all old wood 
 after flowering, in order to give plenty of room for the 
 yellow-skinned new shoots to spring out into air and 
 light. Mandrakes and Crocuses share the next bank with 
 Oenothera speciosa, now just appearing with its red shoots, 
 and a queer little black Viola tricolor that starting from 
 this point has gone about the world a good deal lately 
 under the name of Bowies' Black. It is an old garden 
 form of V. tricolor, authorities say, and I got it from Dr. 
 Lowe, who told me it always bred true, and so it does if 
 kept to itself, and I rather think its own seedlings decline 
 to be influenced by foreign pollen, though I have made 
 no decisive tests, but I know that it readily influences 
 other Violas, and its dusky charms appear in Mulattoes, 
 Quadroons, and Octaroons all over the place. I am not 
 responsible for its new name, though I know of no old 
 one. (I see. that Kew calls it V. tricolor nigra now, but 
 it does not appear in the 1902 Hand-List.) Canon 
 Ellacombe saw it here, and having lost it at Bitton, carried 
 it back again, where it was seen, admired and coveted by 
 the stream of visitors that ever flows to view the perennial 
 display of good plants in that garden. They were told 
 that Bowles was throwing it away, and many a begging 
 27!
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 letter came here asking for my black Pansy, and most of 
 those to whom I sent it labelled it Bowies' Black, and 
 soon after sent it on to other gardens under that hideous 
 name. Not so bad, though, as one I saw at the last 
 Chelsea Show, for there it was labelled Viola Black 
 Bowles ! I am not so black as I was painted on that 
 label, so I altered it. It is a very charming little weed, 
 sowing itself freely, and when in full bloom it has a 
 wonderfully friendly and cheerful look in the yellow 
 Cyclopian eye in the middle of its almost black face. 
 Where we rejoin the main path just opposite the Er odium 
 chrysanthum and amanum corner we stopped at on our 
 downward way, the path is overspread by Acaena Bucha- 
 nanii, a light, glaucous-green species that behaved so badly 
 and greedily in the border that I turned it out, as I have 
 also done with inermis and argentea, to spread as much as 
 they like on the path, where they are quite a success, and 
 do not mind being walked on. The only trouble is that 
 all stray seeds anchor in them and germinate and pro- 
 vide perpetual labour for the garden-boy. A forest that 
 looks as if it were primaeval spreads over the left-hand 
 corner, and it is entirely composed of Prunus Amygdalus 
 nanus, and when one rosy glow of blossom and bud is 
 really lovely. 
 
 Mr. Farrer always lingers lovingly over this corner, and 
 declares it to be his idea of good gardening, and I suppose 
 it really is good, and I may say so, for it is not mine but 
 Nature's work, the Almond having walked all over the 
 ground in its own wild way, and the Crocuses and Muscaris, 
 Camassias and Narcissi, Snowdrops and Campanulas that 
 272
 
 Old Cross from Enfield Market-place. (See p. 291.)
 
 My Rock Garden 
 
 live among its stems have not been disturbed for certainly 
 sixteen years, and have done much seeding and rearrange- 
 ment on their own account in that period. So all the 
 credit I can claim is for having wit enough to leave it 
 alone. To the left of the old summer-house lies the oldest 
 bank of the rock garden. It is hard to deal with now, for 
 though many portions are rather exhausted and need re- 
 modelling, it contains many good old specimen plants on 
 it that it would be sacrilege to interfere with ; a large 
 Cytisus cinereus is one, and now is one mass of the most 
 dazzlingly clear yellow that the garden yields in the whole 
 season. A large bush of Rosa indica, the real crimson 
 form, known as Miss Lowe's from her beautiful drawing 
 of it, given me by Dr. Lowe, is opening its first flowers, and 
 will, all being well, continue to do so until close on Christ- 
 mas. It is the parent of the Monthly Roses ; its flowers 
 are single and purest crimson. Olearia virgata, var. lineata, 
 above it is a wonderfully light bush with its wand- 
 like growth and tiny, linear leaves, very unlike any other 
 Olearia in habit. It bears dull little flowers like those of 
 Groundsel, only white instead of yellow, but its graceful 
 habit makes it good to look at all the year round. Large 
 bushes of Rosa rubrifolia and sericea crown the top, and 
 going up the main steps we come to a flat hollow filled 
 with peat that I sometimes flatter by calling a bog. 
 Sanguinaria and Podophyllum, Caltha radicans, Andromeda 
 polifolia, Trilliums and other peat-loving things live here, 
 and the fern Hypolepis millefolium runs about all through 
 it. I started Saxifraga peltata in one corner, and it wanted 
 to walk over everybody with its enormous caterpillars of 
 273 S
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 rhizomes, but this could not be allowed, and so it got cut 
 back, and then took to climbing up the dry wall that holds 
 up the river bank at the back. It has now reached the 
 top, and looks so happy clinging to the stones that I have 
 cleared it out altogether from the peat bed. Just now, 
 before its huge, Lotus-shaped leaves have grown up, the fat 
 marbled rhizomes and tall naked scapes bearing the flat 
 heads of pretty pink flowers look very strange clinging to 
 and springing from the wall. 
 
 They may be seen in the right-hand corner of the 
 illustration of the fine old Tamarix tetrandra that now, 
 in late May, is the glory of the whole garden. It is 
 one soft cloud of Strawberry-ice pink, as fluffy and 
 light as Marabou feathers, not a green leaf as yet visible ; 
 and against the background of oaks it stands out like 
 a bush in a pantomime scene of the Fairy Princess' 
 Garden, and one almost expects to see it suddenly lit 
 up with electric lights, and then divided asunder to 
 reveal the Princess reclining on a gilded couch, &c., &c. 
 It does look most astonishingly unreal' out here in the 
 open air, and what surprises me is that it is so seldom 
 seen in gardens. It is perfectly hardy, easy to strike 
 from cuttings, grows rapidly, is graceful in outline, truly 
 marvellous when in flower in May, and beautifully feathery 
 when in leaf from June to November. Yet you rarely 
 see it, while Dorothy Perkins scratches your nose and 
 claws your hat off in every garden you go into. Coto- 
 neaster horizontalis tries its best to block the path up here, 
 and would manage to do so were it not for me and my 
 secateurs. Hedera conglomerata has monopolised the top 
 274
 
 My Rock Garden 
 
 corner by the river, but is very beautiful, and I have 
 sown Orobanche hederae among it, and every season in- 
 creasing numbers of its quaint brown flower-spikes push 
 through the tangle of Ivy stems. Here steps lead us 
 down again, and under the shade of the Oaks which 
 hang out from the meadow not much will grow, but 
 the Alexandrian Laurel, Danae Laurus (Ruscus racemosus 
 as we used to call it) and Epimediums manage to be 
 cheerful in spite of the canopy of oak boughs. The 
 former has never fruited here yet, though it has grown 
 well, and plenty of victors might be crowned with its 
 wreaths of neat, glistening laurels. " Happy Medium ! 
 what a funny name ! " said an American lady, and I am 
 sure you will not blame me from refraining from cor- 
 recting her, and so allowing her to collect the imagined 
 name as her latest-found curio. They are happy, too, on 
 this slope, and very beautiful when in flower and young 
 leaf, and as I have collected them rather assiduously and 
 seldom bought the same plant twice under the same name, 
 and never found leisure to work them out, you must 
 not take my names too seriously. E. pinnatum is so 
 large and distinct and brilliant in its tone of yellow, that 
 it is beyond dispute the finest of them. I can never 
 make up my mind which is the better plan to follow, 
 whether to cut down the leathery green leaves in winter, 
 and so see the shepherd's crooks of flower-spikes from 
 their first appearance and enjoy the yellow bouquet 
 until a sharp frost burns the tallest of them, or to leave 
 the handsome foliage on, and part it with one's hand 
 to see the flowers below, that thus protected are safe 
 275
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 from cold snaps. E. rubrum, with crimson and yellow 
 flowers and beautifully mottled red and raw-sienna leaves, 
 is my next favourite, and a pale yellow- flowered form 
 with somewhat similar colouring in the young leaves is 
 better than the pale and small form of pinnatum whose 
 flowers are a pretty sulphur yellow, but takes no pains 
 with the painting of its leaves. E. macranthum has lilac 
 flowers with four long horns like those of a snail in 
 shape, and is supposed to be closely related to the 
 lilac and snow-white forms that are known by many 
 catalogue names, but are all lovely and not quite so 
 easy to grow as the yellow and red-flowered species. 
 Our British E. alpinum has the dullest flowers, but I 
 consider the most effective leaves of all, especially for 
 forming a carpet among shrubs. An occasional treat in 
 the way of a mulch of leaf mould will keep these Barren- 
 worts happy for years in many an overhung corner that 
 would be hard to furnish pleasantly with other plants. 
 
 We have almost completed our Spring tour of the rock 
 garden; the only portions that remain to be explored are the 
 path between the oldest bank and the top of the triangle, 
 and the moraines. This path we have now reached by 
 descending the steps and passing the Epimediums. It is 
 wide, and many things sow themselves in it that I like to 
 see there, so please do not tread on Er odium romanum's 
 rosettes of ferny leaves and slender stems of dainty rosy 
 flowers just now commencing to open, for if you do not 
 crush them they will continue blooming all through the 
 season. It grows wild on the walls of the Coliseum at 
 Rome, and my plants are descendants of some brought 
 276
 
 My Rock Garden 
 
 from thence, and the hard gravel path may remind them 
 of their former home, for they grow much better in it than 
 in the border, keeping a neater habit and resisting winter 
 wet better. Geranium atlanticum is making a brave show 
 of blue flowers shot with red ; it does not grow in the 
 Atlantic Ocean as an ingenious friend imagined its name 
 implied, but on Mount Atlas. It is not sufficiently well- 
 known, as the beautiful, finely-cut leaves appear with the 
 autumn rains and make a charming carpet to otherwise 
 bare spots, and Crocuses, especially autumnal species, seem 
 quite happy growing among the leaves. The moraines 
 were described in a former chapter, but I must show you 
 how charming Dianthus microlepis and Freynei are in the 
 edge of the Farrer moraine. Microlepis is a flat tuft of grey 
 set all over with stemless flowers of a rosy-salmon colour, 
 reminding one of Silene acaulis in the Alps, whose green 
 pincushions are here among the granite chips but refuse 
 to wear any pinheads of flower buds in this lowland 
 garden. D. Freynei is a white-flowered counterpart of 
 microlepis as I know it, but I have some doubts as to their 
 distinction, and should never be surprised to find that both 
 my plants were but colour forms of one and the same. 
 Linaria alpina sows itself amiably among its betters, and 
 most of the plants are the self-coloured lilac form called 
 v. concolor, descendants of some collected on Mt. Cenis, 
 and they vary a good deal in the shade of lilac and the white 
 or grey of the spots that decorate their rabbit-shaped noses 
 instead of the glowing orange ones of the type. Lewisia 
 parviflom is flowering in a dry overhung corner, and but 
 for belonging to so renowned a family would not be 
 277
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 thought much of. But look at Ranunculus amplexicaulis 
 major in the piped bed opposite bearing on several tall, 
 branching stems the largest white Buttercups I have 
 ever seen. Here indeed it is a glorious thing. Another 
 plant in ordinary border soil is not so fine, so I feel my 
 lead pipe and sandy mixtures are worth fussing over to 
 produce such a thing as this. There are sixteen of the 
 glistening white flowers open and a few are over, but many 
 buds are preparing to carrying on the display: even 
 R. pyrenaeus, which is very beautiful in other parts of the 
 garden, .takes second place to this. Under it the ground 
 is carpeted with the Blue Daisy, Bellis rotundifolia coeru- 
 lescens, a crop of self-sown seedlings, which found this bed 
 just what they wanted, and the grey-lilac flowers are very 
 pretty in a good mass like this, but blue is only a courtesy 
 title I fear. Androsace Henryi likes its home too, and has 
 sent up a score of its round heads of small, white flowers 
 above the crenate and cordate leaves that look so unlike 
 those of ordinary members of the family. A. earned in 
 several forms, all from Mt. Cenis, whether white or rosy, 
 are pretty among the Gentiana verna. Primula integrifolia, 
 who lives in a marsh in her native Pyrenees, grows and 
 flowers under the shade of a stone just behind the colony 
 of P. pedemontana. Senecio incanus makes tufts of lovely 
 silver fern leaves, but refuses to flower when starved in the 
 granite chips or to live at all if planted in fatter soil. 
 
 These are a few of the plants that catch my eye on 
 this May day, but a week hence others will have taken 
 their places and the face of the rock garden be changed, 
 but this chapter must not go on for another week. 
 278
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 The Culmination of Spring 
 
 IF a fairy godmother or a talking fish offered me three 
 wishes I think one would be to have the clock stopped 
 for six months on a fine morning towards the end of May. 
 Then, perhaps, I might have time to enjoy the supreme 
 moment of the garden. And I am not at all sure the 
 second wish would not be used to extend the period. It 
 must be after those plaguey Ice Saints have finished play- 
 ing the fool with the weather, and when there comes a 
 spell that is neither too hot nor too cold, but just the 
 climate one would expect to meet with in Heaven, and in 
 England sometimes comes to us in late May and Sep- 
 tember. The tall Tulips would be at their best, Iris 
 florentina and its early companions in full glory, Lilacs 
 and Apple-blossom, Hawthorn and Laburnum, all masses 
 of flower. Trees full of tender green, yet not too densely 
 clad to prevent our seeing the architecture of the boughs. 
 The Mulberry would be in leaf and showing that frosts 
 have ceased, for it is the wisest of all trees, and always 
 waits till it is quite safe before it opens its buds. I like 
 to get all my gardening friends to visit me in May ; they 
 respect me and my gardening then, whereas later on they 
 are apt to be critical, seeing how some plants begin to 
 burn up, and noting the poverty of our soil, as shown by 
 279
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 stunted herbaceous plants and gaps where early flowering 
 things have retired below, and we dare not attempt annuals, 
 as might be done in better soils. I grudge no plotting and 
 planning, no preparation and waiting, that will bear full 
 fruit at this period. I was born in the middle of May, and 
 perhaps some mystic influence crept into me from those 
 first weeks of my life. Most of the scents of this time are 
 delicious. Wistaria one can never sniff up too much of ; 
 Azaleas are pleasant if kept out-of-doors, and even Haw- 
 thorn is good blown from a distance, while Irises, Lilacs, 
 Double Gorse, Pansies, Lily of the Valley, and Cowslips 
 are all things to bring close to one's nose. Later in the 
 year come heavy stuffing scents, as the sixteenth-century 
 writers called them Elder, Syringa, Lime, and such far- 
 reaching, Hay-fever producers ; but now it is good to open 
 one's nostrils wide. There is one exception, and that is 
 the most fiendish plant I know of, the sort of thing Beelze- 
 bub might pluck to make a bouquet for his mother-in-law 
 the Hairy Arum, Helicodiceros crinitus, which looks as if it 
 had been made out of a sow's ear for spathe, and the tail 
 of a rat that died of Elephantiasis for the spadix. The 
 whole thing is a mingling of unwholesome greens, livid 
 purples, and pallid pinks, the livery of putrescence in fact, 
 and it possesses an odour to match the colouring. I once 
 entrapped the vicar of a poor parish into smelling it, and 
 when he had recovered his breath he said it reminded him 
 of a pauper funeral. It only exhales this stench for a few 
 hours after opening, and during that time it is better to 
 stand afar off and look at it through a telescope. It attracts 
 all the Green Bottle-flies of the district, who think there 
 280
 
 The Culmination of Spring 
 
 must be some extra gamey carrion down in its bristly 
 throat, and hurry in to the feast, passing easily over the 
 stiff bristles that point inwards in the narrowed portion of 
 the passage. But once in they find these fleshy hairs 
 prevent their getting out again, and on a sunny day the 
 large chamber soon gets filled with flies, chiefly the bur- 
 nished, green-tailed Lucilia Caesar. The females lay quan- 
 tities of eggs on the walls, and in a few days the interior 
 is a putrid mass of dead flies and crawling maggots, and 
 the desired ends of both fly and flower are defeated. For 
 the maggots soon starve for want of more food than is 
 supplied by the bodies of their defunct parents, and the 
 ovaries of the flower are rotted by the damp mass. I 
 suppose in its native Corsican home things happen dif- 
 ferently. Probably it is visited by some more strongly 
 built insect perhaps even carrion-feeding beetles, whose 
 strength helps them to struggle out more easily when the 
 pollen is shed and the stiff bristles begin to grow flaccid ; or 
 again a larger number of plants in flower at one time would 
 mean more accommodation for carrion-loving visitors, and 
 the suffocating crowding of the inner chamber would be 
 avoided. In English gardens there are seldom more than 
 two of the flowers open on the same day, and there is no 
 lack of flies at their period of flowering. I like astonishing 
 people who have not seen this flower before by cutting 
 away a portion of the wall of the lower chamber and 
 allowing the entrapped flies to escape. After a fine morn- 
 ing there will generally be enough of them inside to make 
 a good swarm and to take a minute or two to buzz out of 
 an opening an inch square. I have never seen it set any 
 281
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 seed, even after I have liberated the flies. The commoner 
 black Arum, Dracunculus vulgaris, never gets choked up 
 in the same way, and occasionally bears a few red berries in 
 September, showing that some visitors have effected its 
 fertilisation. The leaves of Helicodiceros are very curious, 
 and worth examining carefully. They are of the general 
 arrow-head plan so frequent among aroids, but are divided 
 into several lobes, and the barbs of the arrow-heads are 
 twisted until they stand upright and form two horns, which 
 peculiarity has furnished the generic name Helicodiceros 
 that is, the spirally twisted two-horned. 
 
 It was on a glorious day in late May that many of the 
 photographs that illustrate this book were taken, and I 
 want to lead you round in the track of the photographer 
 to describe some of the results. 
 
 The Chusan Fan Palm outside the morning-room 
 window was within a few days of opening its large bunches 
 of flowers. At this early stage they look somewhat like 
 yellow cauliflower, but when open are more spread out 
 and lighter in effect. They are particularly interesting, 
 as this specimen appears to be a peculiar one, and though 
 in most seasons its flowers are wholly male, bearing 
 only pollen, now and then a few of the last flowers to 
 open on the spikes are furnished with ovaries, and twice 
 I have known it to set fruits which swelled to a fair size 
 before severe winter frosts destroyed them. I have shown 
 specimens of the two kinds of flowers and also immature 
 fruit at the Scientific Committee of the Royal Horticultural 
 Society, and have not as yet heard of another instance 
 of a monoecious specimen of Trachycarpus excelsus. This 
 282
 
 The Culmination of Spring 
 
 one has stood here about fifteen years, and was when I 
 first planted it quite a small plant, and I used to water 
 it overhead its first summer from an ordinary waterpot; 
 now its stem is about seven feet high. It has a very good 
 position, sheltered from the north-east by the end of the 
 house and from the north-west by the conservatory, so that 
 our worst winds never touch it, though it has to stand the 
 rough and tumble of a sou'-wester now and then which 
 tears its leaves. Wind is the worst enemy of this hardy 
 palm. It smiles at snow, for as the leaves get weighted 
 with it, they slope gently down until an avalanche slides 
 off and up they go again to collect another load. I cut 
 off, the lowest ring of leaves twice in each season, as I like 
 to see the clean outline of the stem. The photograph 
 was taken before I had operated on it this Spring, and it 
 looks rather clumsy on account of the hanging lower 
 leaves. I have several other specimens of the same palm 
 in the garden, but this is the largest and oldest. We call 
 one border the Eremurus bed, because it contains groups 
 of those stately plants from its commencement under the 
 old Cedar down to the portion that is shaded by a vener- 
 able Portugal Laurel shaped like a large umbrella, under 
 which they would refuse to grow. E. Elwesianus, a group 
 of which is shown facing page 200, is the handsomest of the 
 family, and that means a great deal, and its white form 
 grows quite as tall as the pink one. They have not been 
 very happy this season, as the unusually mild January 
 tempted them through, and they were soon as forward as 
 they should have been in mid-March, only to learn that 
 the air was not ready for them, so that the spikes got 
 283
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 checked and did not reach their usual height. We find 
 they like to have their crowns only just beneath the sur- 
 face, and a little raised, so that the long, fleshy roots, radiat- 
 ing from the crown like spokes from the hub of a wheel, 
 or the legs of a Brittle Starfish from its circular body, 
 may slope downwards into the soil. When planting we 
 lay them out in the hole dug for them, pour a potful of 
 sand over the crown, and then gently raise it two or three 
 inches so that the sand runs beneath it and supports it. 
 They are greedy feeders, and enjoy a mulch of good 
 manure ; Wellson's, which is practically dried sheep manure, 
 seems to agree with them. So we spread a layer of it on 
 the soil as soon as the great crown has pushed through, 
 and in a very short time the yellow, feeding rootlets will 
 have found it and pushed up thickly to gather the 
 nutriment. E. himalaicus likes a cooler position than 
 others, but its hybrid him-rob, like robustus, is happiest 
 in full sun and on well-drained soil. It is one of the most 
 vigorous, and falls little short of Elwesianus in size, but is 
 at its best rather later in the season. The yellow and 
 tawny ones mostly belong to next month, and so to another 
 volume. 
 
 E. Tubergenii, however, a hybrid between himalaicus 
 and Bungei, flowers with its white parent, and Bungei 
 praecox should be opening the lowest blossoms of its spike 
 before May has gone. We do not believe in covering the 
 young growths unless something especially arctic in the 
 weather line catches them when the young flower-spikes 
 are visible in the open cups formed by the leaves. If the 
 crowns are covered when first through they are hurried 
 284
 
 The Culmination of Spring 
 
 along too fast, and the leaves are sure to be nipped and 
 disfigured. I like to plant autumn-flowering Crocuses 
 among them and deeper than the Eremuri, so that they 
 may come spearing through between their spokes and make 
 a show in the necessarily large space occupied by the giants, 
 and which would be bare and uninteresting after their rest- 
 ing season commences. I also plant Gypsophila paniculata 
 behind the Eremurus clumps, and keep it staked till they 
 die down and then remove the ties and let it fall over the 
 space. The next long border is backed by a Holly hedge 
 that gives protection to some rather delicate shrubs, and 
 among them are some of my beloved Eucalypts, and one 
 of them is in flower, as the illustration facing p. 232 shows. 
 The buds were formed last autumn, and have been opening 
 a few at a time ever since last November. I am rather 
 proud of this specimen, because it was raised from seed I 
 gathered on a large one that lived many years in the rock 
 garden and was quite a timber tree. The fluffy yellow 
 flowers are very pretty among the wonderfully blue leaves. 
 It is E. cordata, a Tasmanian species, and one of the hardiest, 
 but very difficult to get true to name. It is very similar 
 in appearance to E. pulverulenta from Victoria, which is 
 even more brilliant in its colouring, as the young leaves 
 are shot with pink and the whole plant is very mealy and 
 blue, but is not so hardy as cordata, and has more than 
 once been killed outright by a winter that spared the Tas- 
 manian species. 
 
 Crossing the old bowling-green lawn we get a charm- 
 ing picture of beautiful foliage and soft colouring which 
 is shown facing p. 248. It is at the back of Tom Tiddler's 
 285
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 ground behind the purple-leaved plants, some of which 
 form the background to this picture. The bed is edged 
 with a broad band of Hellebores. The Christmas Rose, 
 H. niger, nearest to us, and various named forms of Lenten 
 Roses at the further end, are planted in a bold group and 
 running right up to the stem of the Yew tree seen at the 
 back. The foreground is part of a band of various species 
 of Geranium which runs for some distance along the lawn 
 front of this bed and contains many treasures, results of 
 my own foreign wanderings and gleanings from other 
 gardens, for I always keep an open eye for a Geranium I 
 have not got. The leaves and buds shown here are of a fine 
 blue-purple form of G. ibericum ; then, as all can see, there 
 is a grouping of Dicentra spectabilis, chiefly of the old pink 
 form, as it is still the best. One plant is the white, or speak- 
 ing more truthfully, flesh-coloured variety, and the dumpy 
 one, the second counting from the right-hand side, is the 
 newer form erecta, interesting to grow with the others 
 but without the graceful beauty of the old form. The 
 rounded bush rising out of this is Conium maculatum, the 
 Hemlock, one of the most poisonous of plants, and generally 
 considered to have furnished the bowl of poison by which 
 Socrates was put to death. Gerard denounces it root and 
 branch, saying : " The greate Hemlock doubtlesse is not 
 possessed with any one good facultie, as appeareth by his 
 lothsome smell, and other apparant signes and therefore 
 not to be used in physicke." But both leaves and seeds 
 are still used to yield the alkaloid Conine, which has a 
 peculiar sedative action on the motor nerves, and therefore 
 is occasionally prescribed. 
 
 286
 
 The Culmination of Spring 
 
 An old man used to supply a great firm of druggists 
 with the dried plant at a much lower rate than they could 
 obtain it from any other source. When through age he 
 announced that he must give up the business he was asked 
 how he had always managed to undersell others, and he 
 told a delightful tale of a cunning practice. He used to 
 wander about in the Eastern Counties sowing Hemlock 
 seeds in any waste corner near cultivated lands, then when 
 the plant was fully grown he called upon the farmer and 
 told him that a dreadfully poisonous plant grew on his 
 land, and would kill beasts if eaten by them, and that for 
 a small sum he would clear it away. He was generally 
 paid for collecting his harvest, grown rent free on other 
 folks' land, and therefore could afford to sell it so cheaply. 
 Besides its medicinal value it is a very beautiful garden 
 plant, so in spite of Gerard I grow it. It is unfortunately 
 biennial or at any rate monocarpic, but makes the most of 
 its short life by keeping brilliantly green through the winter. 
 The leaves are as exquisitely cut as any I know of, and 
 wonderfully glossy. All through last winter these large 
 leaves and the already developing central shoot were as 
 beautiful as anything in the garden, and then from early 
 Spring till the seeds were ripe in July the fine specimen 
 shown in the photograph was always a thing of beauty, 
 although it was growing under the shade of an old Scots Pine, 
 and not the least of the Hemlock's virtues is this amiable 
 habit of growing and looking happy in any waste shady 
 corner. Beyond the Pine stem a good group of Thalictrum 
 aquilegiaefolium was delightfully effective against the purple 
 of Prunus Pissardii and Barbery. It is composed of some . 
 287
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 picked forms with extra rich purple and red colouring in 
 the filaments, some from Mt. Cenis meadows, other seed- 
 lings I have raised here from good forms, but the last one 
 towards the Yew is the pure white form that occurs in 
 sub-alpine woods and came home with me one year from 
 Airolo. These are very ordinary plants, but growing in 
 this grouping they gave me great pleasure. The path 
 shown leads straight away to the river bank, and when 
 viewed from its centre shows as a finish, one of the beds 
 of the Terrace. At this moment it was aglow with Clara 
 Butt Tulip, and through the summer months we keep it 
 flaming away with Salvia splendens, Pride of Zurich. 
 
 The Pergola Garden and its warm, well-sheltered 
 borders are full of interest just now. Erysimum pumilum 
 from Mt. Cenis is happier here than anywhere in the rock 
 garden, and one of the most brilliant, clear-yellow flowers 
 imaginable. I was astounded at its beauty the first time I 
 saw it growing on the rough, rocky shore of the lake among 
 Gentiana angulosa and sheets of Globularia and Dryas, 
 almost dazzling in its brilliancy. It looked so good- 
 tempered and even aged there, that I marvelled why I had 
 never seen it in English gardens. It flowers here as well 
 as there, one solid mass only three inches high of Wall- 
 flower blossoms of purest yellow, but I must own that it 
 has a way of dying off after flowering here, that its woody 
 stock and antique appearance on the Cenis show to be due 
 to something lacking in this lowland situation, and so we 
 have to look out carefully for seeds or self-sown seedlings. 
 Ribes speciosus is a sprawling octopus whose tentacles are 
 covered with brown spines and crimson Fuchsia blossoms. 
 288
 
 Symphytum aspernmum. (See p. 294.)
 
 The Culmination of Spring 
 
 Olearia myrsinites, a good evergreen for the dull months, is 
 now smothered in its white flowers, that make up in their 
 quantity for their rather small size. Round its feet are 
 some clumps of Wild Hyacinths, Dutch-raised seedlings 
 of wonderful charm. I first saw them at the great Jubilee 
 Haarlem Show. The most distinct appears in lists as 
 Scilla nutans delicata, and is of the true nutans type with 
 its pendant bells and long bracts, very nearly white but 
 with a delightful pale blue edge to each segment. Robin 
 Hood is flesh colour and not quite a pure nutans, having 
 just a touch of the open bells of hispanica, as it appears we 
 must now call the Scilla companulata of lists and one's 
 early days. The correct scientific name for the common 
 Bluebell is changed so often, and the highest authorities 
 disagree so endlessly, that I never know what to use for it. 
 The Kew Index and Kew Hand-List and the 1895 edition of 
 the London Catalogue all agree that it is Scilla festalis of 
 Salisbury ; but the 1908 edition of the London Catalogue 
 makes it Scilla nonscripta Hoffmgg and Link ; while the 
 British Museum favours Endymion non-scriptum Garcke 
 Fl. Deutschl. and the Abb< Coste, the latest French 
 authority, prefers Endymion nutans Dumont, and it seems 
 high time that a sort of Esperanto name compounded of 
 the lot was made for it. Whatever its name may be it does 
 well here, and I have it in many colours : the mauve pink 
 forms are very pretty in clumps among a bold massing of 
 the white, and look better there than when planted among 
 the blue form. S. hispanica has many good forms, too 
 red, blue, and white. The best of all is maxima, and when 
 it has become established and likes its home, and takes a 
 289 T
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 pride in its great spikes of cups of palest blue with deeper 
 streaks on them, it is the noblest of all Scillas. There is 
 a white form of maxima that is not so robust as the blue, 
 but is a good thing for semi-shade. I have planted it 
 among some good forms of British ferns in the shade of 
 an Evergreen Oak and the effect is very good. The beds 
 in the garden in front of the wall are edged with stone- 
 paved walks, and I like to plant something along the edges 
 that will grow out over the flags, so one bed has several 
 forms of Cheiranthus alpinus and Alyssum saxatile used 
 thus. The lemon-yellow form var. citrinum is very effective 
 next to the double one of this latter plant, and contrasts well 
 with the many shades of brown, crimson, and purple of 
 what is often wrongly called Cheiranthus mutabilis, the name 
 of a half-hardy, shrubby plant from Madeira. I know that 
 is wrong, but am not sure it is right to call it C. alpinus 
 versicolor as I do. Anyway it is a good thing, and much 
 better than a paler form known as C. Dillenii. The darker 
 and better plant has of late years hybridised spontaneously 
 with C. Allionii in several gardens, and has produced some 
 fine plants with deep orange flowers changing with age to 
 blood red: that known as Miss King's or Newark Park 
 Variety is the best coloured of them, but here it has a 
 lanky habit and flowers itself to death, and we prefer 
 one that appeared spontaneously in the rock garden and 
 has a dwarfer habit and makes more growth. It is a fine 
 mass of rich orange and red brown in May, and especially 
 pleasing here on the grey stones. 
 
 Between this paved garden and the river there is a 
 formal Rose Garden, in the centre of which stands the old 
 290
 
 The Culmination of Spring 
 
 Enfield Market Cross dismissed from the market-place 
 to make way for a King Edward VII Coronation Memorial. 
 After a year or two of unhonoured repose in a builder's 
 yard it came here for a quiet time among the roses, and 
 makes a splendid support and background for that lovely 
 single-flowered climber Rosa laemgata Anemone. The 
 protection suits its habits and the grey of the old stones its 
 complexion, and in the end of May and onwards it is a 
 fine sight flinging its long growths through and over the 
 arches of the old cross, and bearing hundreds of the glori- 
 ous pink flowers as large as teacup saucers. It has now 
 pushed its growths through to the north side, and as the 
 last winter was so mild they bore as many and as fine 
 blooms as those on the south side. A pergola of wooden 
 poles and cross-pieces runs down at right angles to the 
 wall, and divides this Rose Garden from another parallelo- 
 gram of garden with stone-flagged paths, and an octagonal 
 piece of black and white pavement round a sundial some- 
 where about its centre. A second and smaller pergola, 
 devoted to Vines, divides its upper half at right angles to 
 and leading out of the great pergola, and a flagged path 
 leads on from the sundial across this Vine pergola up to a 
 seat and an old stone pedestal and vase. You must come 
 close to this, please, to admire the shower of lilac blossoms 
 of a Solanum crispum that sprawls all over the Privet 
 bushes that cut off the north wind, and hangs down over 
 the pedestal. It is the deeper-coloured one known as the 
 Glasnevin variety, and though it was cut to the ground 
 here one winter has now made a trunk worthy of some 
 tree, and I hope may never suffer so badly again, for every 
 291
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 Spring since that resurrection it has been more beautiful 
 than in the last, and it contrasts well with a neighbouring 
 bush of golden-leaved Bramble trained over poles, which 
 is one of the most brilliant of yellow things in its dress of 
 young leaves. The double-flowered Apple, Pyrus coro- 
 naria fl. pi., grows on the right hand of the Solanum and 
 is now in flower. Its soft, shell-pink flowers are the 
 largest of the Apple family, and charming next the lilac 
 of the Tree Potato. Arenaria montana is climbing into 
 Vitis armata on one of the pergola poles, and has got up 
 for over a foot, and is a wonderful sight, packed so full of 
 its large, white flowers that no leaves are visible. Various 
 Violets and Epimediums line this shady Vine Pergola and 
 appear in the cracks between the stones and make it look 
 a century old instead of its actual five years. A pretty 
 corner of the sundial opening has a carpet of the grey, 
 finely-cut leaves of a good form of Geranium tuberosum, 
 and over this a cloud of its soft, lilac-pink blossoms on tall 
 and slender stems. Some clumps of mauve and pink 
 Darwin Tulips are next it and among it, and behind a 
 bush of Ribes cruenta is covered with its curious half-and- 
 half dark crimson, and pure white flowers. Euphorbia 
 dulcis fol. var. rises out of an edging of pink and lavender 
 dwarf Phloxes, and is a perfect-shaped round bush of 
 green and white leaves crowned with the mass of cream 
 and ivory bracts of its flower-heads. A very beautiful 
 plant, and far too seldom seen, though it needs a little 
 looking after; the plain green shoots that appear among 
 the variegated ones must be removed, and cuttings should 
 be struck every two or three years for renewal, as old 
 292
 
 The Culmination of Spring 
 
 plants are liable to be killed in severe winters more easily 
 than youngsters. 
 
 Another unusual plant growing close by is Bunium 
 rotundifolium, very much like Thaspium aureum but peren- 
 nial instead of biennial like the latter. Both have charm- 
 ingly glossy leaves of the Parsnip persuasion but not so 
 coarse as the real members of that sect, and when old 
 enough to flower they send up foot-high stems with brilliant 
 yellow bracts surrounding the umbels of greenish-yellow 
 flowers, and are wonderfully bright and suggestive of some 
 very good Euphorbia. Both will grow happily in shady, 
 poor ground, and furnish it in the best taste, as advertise- 
 ments put it. 
 
 Parallel with the Vine Pergola and nearer the River 
 the next paved walk has a row of Eucalypts on either side. 
 I have tried for years to get a short avenue of them here, 
 but some grow lanky and blow over, some are too tender 
 for the winters, and others grow into rounded bushes, so 
 that at present they are all heights from four to fifteen 
 feet. E. cocci/era, E. urnigera, and E. obliqua promise to 
 make the best job of it at present. Tufted Pansies, such as 
 Archie Grant and Maggie Mott, line the edges of this path, 
 and the bed alongside the corresponding walk in the Rose 
 Garden opposite is planted under the Roses with white and 
 yellow Pansies gradually shading through pale yellow 
 sorts edged with lilac, such as Skylark and Duchess of 
 Fife, to the lavender Kitty Bell and then to deeper violet 
 varieties. The white and yellow ones have a charming effect 
 planted in blocks of varying sizes. Royal Sovereign, Maggie 
 Clunas, Bullion, and Primrose Dame are good yellows, and 
 2 93
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 Snowflake, White Swan, and Purity hard to beat for white. 
 We have a good creamy white one with deep blue face- 
 marks on it called Beauty of Hedsor, that is very useful 
 for cutting, as like Snowflake it always has a good long 
 stalk. I like to pick plenty of them in May, as they are 
 so delightful in the house in their first freshness, and so 
 doing relieves the young plants and helps them to make 
 a better display later on. Jackanapes with red-brown 
 upper petals and bright yellow lower ones is one of my 
 great favourites, and we have a band of him at the back of 
 one of the Iris beds and on the opposite side of the path 
 to the yellow and white varieties of the Rose bed. But 
 come back again along the Eucalyptus Avenue (how grand 
 it sounds and how short and poor it is !). I want to show 
 you a very beautiful Comfrey that grows at the side of the 
 steps that form the end of this paved walk. It is the 
 Symphytum asperrimum, that such great things were ex- 
 pected of as a perpetual forage crop many years ago, but 
 though now turned out of the farm is worth a choice 
 position in the garden for the sake of its exquisite turquoise 
 blue flowers and rosy buds. It came to me from the 
 Cambridge Botanic Gardens, where I first fell in love with 
 it. It lasts in beauty for a very long period, and if cut 
 down is soon up again and full of fresh flowers. The 
 dark blue S. causasicum grows close behind it at this 
 corner, and beside a large patch of the blue grass, Elymus 
 glaucus, makes a very pretty picture. But then every way 
 one looks on such a fine afternoon in May makes a picture. 
 Even the square Georgian house as seen from a few steps 
 further on across the pond looks comfortable and homey 
 294
 
 The Culmination of Spring 
 
 in the golden sunlight ; the very Daisies on the lawn speak 
 of Spring, and either blossom, or promise of it, and of 
 fruit, is on most of the trees and shrubs ; the ground is still 
 moist enough for planting or transplanting, weeds are 
 young, and one feels even if left for another day or two 
 will not do great harm, so very different from the im- 
 pression one gets from the seed-laden sow-thistles and 
 groundsels of summer days. Yes, when May is in good 
 humour and smiling I always feel it is the moment to 
 enjoy the garden, but once it is past and summer takes its 
 place there is still plenty to do and more to enjoy than 
 one has time for, and so each season brings its joys as 
 well as its regrets, and the wise gardener will give himself 
 over to making the most of the former and find no time 
 for the latter. If you have enjoyed strolling round the 
 Spring garden with me and listening to my prattle, per- 
 sonal and egotistical as much of it has been, and if you 
 have any sympathy with my point of view of using the 
 garden for the plants' welfare and not just for making the 
 plants furnish your garden with art shades, dividing hedges, 
 or shade to sit in, I hope later on you will accompany me 
 on a second journey to review the summer aspect of the 
 place and plants. For that is one of the greatest charms 
 of a mixed collection of plants it gives you a new garden 
 at least once a month, and in another ten days it will be 
 no longer " My Garden in Spring," but " My Garden in 
 Summer." 
 
 295
 
 INDEX 
 
 Acaena aygentea, 272 
 
 Buchananii, 272 
 
 inermis, 272 
 Acclimatisation of plants, 4 
 Acer californica aurea, 191, 196 
 
 campestre, 196, 199 
 
 Negundo, 19 1 
 Aconite, Winter, 44, 115 
 Acorus Calamus, 201 
 Adiantum Capillus-Veneris, 268 
 Adlumia cirrhosa, 158 
 Adonis amurensis, 157 
 
 ,4/, 171, 174 
 
 hybrids, 172, 173 
 
 sepiaria, 171 
 Aethiopappus, 194 
 Jgwe, 44, 228, 257 
 
 Paryyi, 164 
 
 utahensis, 164 
 Ajuga metallica crispa, 189 
 
 reptans, 189, 193, 194 
 Alders, 196 
 
 Allen, Mr., 52, 54, 55, 56, 97, 212, 
 
 213 
 Allium Babingtonii, 195 
 
 Chamaemoly, in 
 
 Dioscoridis, 261 
 
 karataviense, 262 
 
 paradoxum, 267 
 
 Rosenbachianwm, 194, 258 
 Almond trees, 160, 222, 272 
 Alnus incana aurea, 196 
 Aloes, 228 
 Alpine plants, acclimatisation of, 4 
 
 beds for, 104 
 
 Primulas, 135 
 Alstroemerias, 19, 63 
 Alyssunt maritimum, 7 
 
 saxatile, 290 
 Amaryllis Belladonna, 5 
 Anacyclus formosus, 102 
 Andromeda polifolia, 273 
 
 Androsace carnea, 278 
 
 hedraeantha, 106 
 
 Henryi, 278 
 
 Anemone, acclimatisation of, 5, 203 
 
 alpina, 219 
 
 appenina, 208 
 
 blanda, and varieties, 95, 206, 
 207 
 
 Blue Bonnet, 214 
 
 Blue Queen, 213 
 
 Chapeau de Cardinal, 204 
 
 coronaria, 204, 205, 209 
 
 double, 204, 214 
 
 flaccida, 217 
 
 H alien, 218 
 
 hortensis, 206, 209 
 
 intermedia, 216 
 
 japonica, 189, 200 
 
 Leeds' Variety, 211, 212 
 
 legends of, 204, 205 
 
 naturalisation of, 209 
 
 nemorosa, 209, 210, 213, 214, 
 215, 216, 259 
 
 pratensis montana, 218 
 
 Pulsatilla, 195, 217, 218 
 
 ranunculoides, 216 
 
 Robinsoniana, 211, 212, 214 
 
 rubra, 218 
 
 sulphurea, 219 
 
 sylvestris, 218 
 
 trifolia, 210, 216 
 - Vestal, 210 
 
 -- wood, 44, 211, 213 
 
 yellow, 216 
 Anthemis Cupananii, 195 
 Antirrhinums, 193 
 Apple blossom, 222, 279 
 
 double flowered, 292 
 
 April showers, 161 
 Aquilegia viridiflora, 255 
 Arenaria balearica, 266 
 
 montana, 292 
 
 297
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 Arkwright, Mr. Edwyn, 22 
 Arnott, Mr., 46 
 Arrhenatherum bulbosum, 201 
 Artemisia, 195 
 
 Absynthium, 194 
 
 Halleri, 194 
 
 vulgaris, 201 
 Arum, the Hairy, 280-2 
 Arundo conspicua, 61 
 Asarum Bealei, 267 
 
 grandiflorum, 267 
 Ash, dwarf, 182 
 
 weeping, 223, 226, 227 
 Asphodel, the name, 119 
 Asters, China, 204 
 Astrantia minor, 107 
 Atkins, Mr., 48 
 Atriplex Halimus, 195 
 Aubrietia, 262 
 Aucubas, 178 
 
 Azaleas, 280 
 
 Azara microphylla, 174 
 
 BACON, quoted, 3, 40 
 Bamboos, 149, 177, 196 
 Barberry, Purple, 198. See 
 
 Berberis 
 
 Barrenwort, 275, 276 
 Beetles as pests, 24 
 Begonias, 7, 18 
 
 Bellis rotundifolia coerulescens, 
 Berberis Fremontii, 263 
 
 purple, 198 
 vulgaris, 193 
 
 Bilbergia nutans, 164 
 Birches, purple-leaved, 222 
 Blackthorn, winter, 161 
 Bladder senna, 259 
 Blood root, 169, 170 
 Bluebells, 289 
 Bog Myrtle, 228 
 Bongardia Rauwolfii, 44 
 Box, dwarf, 265 
 Boyd, Mr. W. B., 53, 55 
 Bramble, golden-leaved, 292 
 Bromeliads, 164, 257 
 Buckthorn, 182 
 Buddleia globosa, 7 
 Bulbocodium vernum, 104, no, 
 Bunium rotundifolium, 293 
 Burbidge, Mr., 46, 270 
 Butcher's Broom, 183 
 
 also 
 
 278 
 
 CACTI, 106, 163, 257 
 Caltha biflora, 229 
 
 leptosepela, 229 
 
 monstrosa, 228 
 
 palustris, 228 
 
 polypetala, 152, 229 
 
 radicans, 229, 273 
 Camassia, 272 
 
 Leichtlinii, 263 
 Campanula, 272 
 
 caespitosa Miranda, 109 
 
 Cenisia, 108 
 
 lactiflora, 189 
 
 rotundifolia, var. soldanalli- 
 flora, 190 
 
 Caparne, Mr., 229 
 Caper Spurge, 269 
 Caragana, 259 
 Cardamine hirsuta, 158 
 Carlina acaulis, 152 
 Caspary, Prof., 54 
 Catalpa tree, 14 
 Cedars, 283 
 
 dwarf, 265 
 Celandine, Lesser, 154 
 Centaur ea Clementei, 193 
 
 pulcherrima, 194 
 Cerastium alpinum, 106 
 
 tomentosum, 194 
 Cercis Siliquasirum, 223 
 Cereus, 163 
 
 paucispinus, 257 
 Cerinthe, 199 
 
 alpina, 195 
 Chamaeiris, 230 
 Cheiranthus Allionii, 290 
 
 alpinus, 290 
 
 Dillenii, 290 
 Cherry trees, 177 
 
 pink double, 259 
 Chionodoxa gigantea, 97 
 
 Luciliae, 96, 97 
 
 sardensis, 95, 96, 97, 202 
 Tmoli, 97 
 
 Chionoscillas, 96, 97 
 Choisya, 149 
 Christmas roses, 286 
 Chusan Fan Palm, 283 
 Cineraria, 193, 194 
 Cistus bushes, 149 
 Citrange, 173 
 Citrus trifoliata, 171 
 
 298
 
 Index 
 
 Cladium mariscus, 61 
 
 Clarkias, 18 
 
 Clay Ionia perfoliata, 267 
 
 siberica, 267 
 
 Clematis pallasii, fol. purpureis, 258 
 
 recta, 258 
 
 Clover, Red, markings on, 199 
 Clusius, Rariorum Plantarum His- 
 
 toria, 1 86, 215 
 Creeping Jenny, 196 
 Codonopsis, 166 
 Colchicum, 68, 69 
 
 crociflorum, 104 
 
 hydrophilum, 103 
 
 libanoticum, 103 
 
 luteum, 104 
 Collecting spirit, the, 17, 1 8 
 Colour schemes, 18, 192 
 Columbines, 270 
 Columnae, 143 
 
 Colutea arborescens, 259 
 
 Comfrey, 294 
 
 Conifers, 12 
 
 Conium maculatum, 286, 287 
 
 Convolvulus tenuissimus, 99 
 
 Cornus brachypoda variegata, 200 
 
 Mas aureus elegans, 201 
 
 sibirica elegantissima, 200 
 
 Spaethii, 193, 196 
 Cornwall in April, 161 
 Cortusa Matthioli, 145 
 Corydalis Allenii, 157 
 
 angustifolia, 157 
 
 bulbosa, 157, 158 
 
 cava, 158 
 
 nobilis, 158 
 
 Semenowii, 158 
 Corylopsis pauciflora, 263 
 Cotoneaster horizontalis, 274 
 
 tnultiflora, 267 
 Cowslips, 142 
 Crocuses, 62-94, 2 7 2 
 
 a'erius, 72, 89 
 
 atticus, 92 
 
 ocyrtfsi's, 72, 78, 82 
 
 aureus, 72, 74, 75, 76, 82 
 
 autumnal, 6, 7, 44, 70, 94 
 
 Balansae, 72, 73, 79 
 
 biflorus, and varieties, 86, 87 
 
 byzantinus, 94 
 
 Cambessedesii, 70 
 
 carpetanus, 94, 199 
 
 Crocuses, caspius, 70 
 
 chrysanthus, 71, 78, 80, 83, 84, 
 86, 87, 89 
 
 colourings and markings of, 72, 
 
 Crewei, 86 
 
 derivation of name, 68, 69 
 
 etruscus, 24 
 
 fertilisation of, 66 
 
 Fleischer i, 94 
 
 gargaricus, 72, 73, 79, 87 
 
 graveolens, 70, 72, 79 
 
 growing shoots of, 44 
 
 habits of, 62 ct seq. 
 
 hymenalis, var. Foxii, 87 
 
 Imperati, 7, 24, 71, 90 
 
 Korolkowii, 78, 82 
 
 lacteus, 75 
 
 lactiflorus, 102 
 
 laevigatus, 7, 10 
 
 longiflorus, 6, 7 
 
 mice as enemies of, 78 
 
 tnoesiacus, 75 
 
 Neapolitan, 90 
 
 nevadensis, 199 
 
 Olivieri, 72, 73, 79 
 
 planting and arrangement of, 
 76, 77 
 
 purpureus grandiflorus, 77 
 
 saffron or sativus, 69, 74 
 
 Scharojanii, 72, 199 
 
 seedling raising, 64 
 
 Sieberi, 78, 81, 92 
 
 speciosus, 89 
 
 spring, 62, 70 
 
 sulphureus, 76 
 
 swst'anws, 72, 78 
 
 Suterianus, 72, 73 
 
 tauri, 86, 89 
 
 nianus,24, 77,81,93,175 
 72, 75, 77, 93, 94 ' 
 
 versicolor, 72, 91, 94 
 
 yellow varieties, 72 
 
 Crown Imperials. See Fritillaries 
 Crucianella, 155 
 Currey, Miss, 213 
 Cyananthus lobatus, 147 
 Cyclamen cilicicum, 102 
 
 coum, 101, 102, 199 
 
 europaeum, 103 
 
 ibericum, 48, 101, 102, 262 
 
 libanoticum, 103 
 
 299
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 Cyclamen, markings of, 199 
 
 repandum, 102 
 Cyperus longus, 268 
 Cypresses, 15 
 Cytisus, 262 
 
 cinereus, 273 
 
 DAFFODILS, 117-133. For species 
 see Narcissus 
 
 application and derivation of 
 name, 119 
 
 Albatross, 127, 132 
 
 Almira, 127 
 
 Argent, 127 
 
 Ariadne, 127 
 
 Branston, 133 
 
 Butterfly, 197 
 
 Cassandra, 127 
 
 Dawn, 122, 127 
 
 Doctor, 124 
 
 Dorothy Kingsmill, 125 
 
 Duke of Bedford, 123, 197 
 
 Dutch, 127 
 
 Golden Bell, 125 
 
 Great Warley, 128 
 
 H. C. Bowles, 128 
 Hall Caine, 130, 132 
 
 Hamlet, 197 
 
 Henry Irving, 197 
 
 Incognita, 128 
 
 Lavender, 131 
 
 Lemon Queen, 128 
 
 Lord Kitchener, 128 
 
 Lord Muncaster, 123 
 
 Lord Roberts, 197 
 
 Lovelace, 127 
 
 Mme. Plemp, 125 
 
 May Moon, 128 
 
 Monarch, 127 
 
 Moonbeam, 127 
 
 Mr. Camm, 132 
 
 Mrs. Camm, 132 
 
 Olympia, 197 
 
 Outpost, 128 
 
 Peter Barr, 130 
 
 Plenipo, 128 
 
 Poet, 127, 132 
 
 Queen Bess, 132 
 
 Rhymester, 127 
 
 Seagull, 127, 132 
 
 Sir Watkin, 132 
 
 Solfatare, 128 
 
 Daffodils, Weardale Perfection, 122, 
 123 
 
 White Lady, 127 
 
 White Minor, 125, 126 
 
 White Queen, 128 
 
 Whitewell, 129, 130, 197 
 Dahlias, 18 
 
 Daisy, Blue, 278 
 
 Hen and Chicken, 189 
 Danae Laurus, 275 
 Daphne laureola, 189 
 Darwin Tulips. See Tulips 
 Dasylirions, 257 
 
 Dead Nettle, 264 
 Dianthus, 5, 258 
 
 Freynei, 277 
 
 microlepis, 277 
 Dicentra spectabilis, 286 
 Digby, Mr. Charles, 125 
 Dillenius' Hortus Elthamensis, 169 
 Dillwyn's Hortus Collinsonianus, 
 
 225 
 
 Diotis maritima, 195 
 Docks, 184 
 Dondia, 157 
 Douglasia vitaliana, 109 
 Dryas, 288 
 
 Dracuncultts vulgaris, 282 
 Duchesne, M., 188, 189 
 Ducie, Lord, 179 
 Dykes, Mr., 31, 34, 35 
 Dyckias, 164 
 
 Echinopsis, 257 
 
 Echium, 199 
 
 Edraianthus, 106 
 
 Elder trees, 180, 181, 196 
 
 Ellacombe, Canon, 48, 58, 148, 
 
 171, 178, 179, 188, 207, 208, 
 
 261, 271 
 Elm, silver, 191 
 Elwes, Mr., 224 
 Elymus glaucus, 294 
 Endymion, 289 
 
 Epilobium nummularifolium, 266 
 Epimedium, 44, 275 
 
 alpinutn, 276 
 
 macranthum, 276 
 
 pinnatum, 275 
 
 rubrum, 276 
 Erauthis cilicica, 116 
 
 hiemalis, 115 
 
 300
 
 Index 
 
 Eremurus Bungei praecox, 284 
 
 Elwesianus, 43, 283 
 
 himalaicus, 284 
 
 Tubergenii, 284 
 Erica arborea, 50 
 
 carnea, 172, 263 
 
 hybrida, 263 
 
 scoparia, 50 
 Erodium amanum, 266, 272 
 
 chrysanthum, 260, 272 
 
 lindavicum, 260 
 
 Reichardii, 266 
 
 romanum, 276 
 Eryngium agavifolium, 257 
 
 Lasseauxii, 252, 257 
 
 Sanguisorba, 257 
 
 setra, 252, 257 
 Erysimum Allionii, 262 
 
 pumilum, 288 
 Eucalyptus, 12, 252, 285, 293 
 
 cocci/era, 293 
 
 cordata, 285 
 
 Gunnii, 195 
 
 obliqua, 293 
 
 pulverulenta, 285 
 
 urnigera, 293 
 
 Euonymus europaeus atropurpureus, 
 199 
 
 aucubaefolius, 201 
 
 japonicus, 265 
 Euphorbia, 181, 200 
 
 Characias, 270 
 
 corollata, 269 
 
 Cyparissias, 269 
 
 dulcis, 292 
 
 Lathyris, 269 
 
 melifera, 270 
 
 pilosa major, 269 
 
 polychroma, 269 
 
 Wulfenii, 269 
 
 FARRER, Mr., 52, 59, 105, 106, 
 no, 135, 136, 140, 143, 229, 
 272 
 
 Festuca glauca, 195 
 
 Feverfew, 193, 196 
 
 Flag Irises, 222, 231 
 
 Forbes Watson, 43 
 
 Foxtail grass, 195 
 
 Fragaria vesca, 189 
 
 Fraser, Mr. Neill, 50, 51 
 
 Fraxinus excelsior nana, 182 
 
 Fritillaria, 165, 168, 263 
 
 gracilis, 168 
 
 imperialis, 165, 166, 201 
 
 pallidiflora, 169 
 
 persica, 167 
 
 pyrenaica, 167, 168 
 
 Slagswaard, 167 
 Frog, the Edible, 268 
 Funkias, 201, 202 
 
 GAILLARDIAS, 18 
 
 Galanthus Allenii, 47, 57. Se o/so 
 Snowdrops. 
 
 6y^ahns, 47 
 
 caucasicus, 50, 54 
 
 cilicicus, 48 
 
 corcyrtfnsis, 45 
 
 Elwesii, 47, 48, 50, 52, 56, 58, 
 59 
 
 flavescens, 53 
 
 green, 54, 186 
 
 hybrid varieties, 57, 58 
 
 Ikariae, 58, 60 
 
 Imperati, 51, 58 
 var. Atkinsii, 48, 49 
 
 latifolius, 57 
 
 lutescens, 53 
 
 m'wa/ts, 48, 50, 51, 54, 57, 59 
 
 octobrcnsis, 47 
 
 Olgae, 7, 45 
 
 plicatus, 47, 50, 56 
 
 Rachelae, 45, 46 
 
 Scharlokii, 54, 55 
 
 Straffan, 49, 50, 51 
 
 virescens, 54 
 
 Warei, 55 
 
 yellow, 53, 186 
 
 Garden, the author's, 9, 14, 17, 
 
 18 
 
 Gardener's Garters, 201 
 Garlicks, 261 
 Garnault, Ann, 15 
 Gentiana angulosa, 288 
 
 brachyphylla, 108 
 
 verna, 108, 278 
 Geranium atlanticum, 277 
 
 ibericum, 286 
 
 sylvaticum, 270 
 
 tuberosum, 292 
 
 Gerard's Herbal, 115, 116, 117, 118, 
 
 121, 185, 188, 214, 215, 286 
 Gerbera Jamesonii, 164 
 
 3 OI
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 Ghost tree, 191 
 
 Gladiolus atroviolaceus, 232 
 
 Globular ia, 288 
 
 Golden Ling, 196 
 
 Golden Thyme, 193, 195 
 
 Gorse, double, 280 
 
 Grape Hyacinths, 100, 101. See 
 
 also Muscari 
 
 Grasses, variegated, 195, 197, 202 
 Gravel subsoil, 10, 11 
 Grouping of plants, 19 
 Grove, Mr., 105 
 Guelder Rose, 182 
 Gunnera chilensis or manicata, 
 
 227 
 
 scabra, 227 
 Gypsophila paniculata, 285 
 
 Hacquetia Epipactis, 157 
 
 Hamamelis, 222 
 
 Hanbury, Sir Thomas, 21, 163 
 
 Haplocarpa scaposa, 164 
 
 Hawthorns, 180, 279, 280 
 
 Hazels, 179, 222 
 
 Heaths, 50. See also Erica 
 
 Hedera conglomerates, 259, 274 
 
 Helix, 175, 183 
 
 poetarum, 175 
 Helianthemum libanoticum, 255 
 
 lunulatum, 255 
 
 umbellatum, 254 
 Helichrysum bellidioides, 256 
 Helicodiceros crinitus, 280-2 
 Heliotrope, winter, 158 
 Helleborus, 9, 286 
 Hemlock, 286, 287 
 Hepatica, 202 
 
 Herbaceous plants, variegated, 201 
 
 Herbert, Dean, 87 
 
 Hermodactylus tuberosus, 231 
 
 Hesiod, quoted, 2 
 
 Hinde, Mr. Archer, 69 
 
 Hollies, 254 
 
 Hoog, Messrs., 83, 85 
 
 Horse Chestnuts, 16, 17 
 
 House Leeks, 10, 261 
 
 Hyacinths, wild, 289 
 
 Hyacinthus amethystinus, 268 
 
 azureus, 100 
 
 Hypericum moserianum tricolor, 
 191 
 
 Hypolepis millefolium, 273 
 Hypoxis Rooperi, 164 
 Iris, 21-39, 221, et seq, 
 
 alata, 33 
 
 aphylla, 230 
 
 Artemis, 232 
 
 bearded, 221, 232 
 
 Benacensis, 230 
 
 Blanche, 230 
 Bluebeard, 230 
 
 bucharica, 39 
 
 Chamaeiris, 230 
 
 Charon, 232 
 
 dwarf, 229 
 
 early, 21 
 
 Edith, 229 
 
 flag, 222, 231 
 
 florentina, 223, 279 
 
 germanica, 221, 223, 230 
 
 Golden Fleece, 229 
 
 Hera, 232 
 
 histrio, 33 
 
 hislrioides, 31-33 
 
 intermediate, 229 
 
 Isis, 232 
 
 Ivorine, 229 
 
 Juno, 38 
 
 Kaempferi, 7 
 
 Kharput, 230 
 
 lazica, 28 
 
 Leander, 230 
 
 - Little Widow, 231 
 
 longipetala, 232 
 
 mellita, 233 
 
 method of picking, 25 
 
 orchioides, 38 
 
 ochroleuca, 250 
 
 Oncocyclus, 232 
 
 pallida, 191 
 
 persica stenopkylla, or Hel- 
 dreichii, 38 
 
 pseud-acorus, 197 
 
 pumila, 229, 230 
 
 Regelio-cyclus, 231 
 
 Reichenbachii, 230 
 
 reticulata and varieties, 30, 31, 
 32, 34. 35, 37 
 
 scent of, 280 
 
 sindjarensis, 38 
 
 Sisyrinchium, 232 
 
 spuria, 177 
 
 treatment of, 231 
 
 302
 
 Index 
 
 Iris unguicularis and varieties, 6, 
 7, 8, 21, 25, 27, 28, 160 
 
 Vartanii, 33 
 
 versicolor, 197 
 
 Ivy, 183, 274. See also Hedera 
 
 bush, 175 
 
 golden fruited, 175, 270 
 
 JACK-BY-THE-HEDGE, 194 
 
 Jacob, Mr. Joseph, 129 
 
 Jacquin's I cones Plantarum Rario- 
 
 rum, 255 
 Japanese Garden, the, 179, 190 
 
 plants, 200 
 
 Johnson, editor of Gerard's Herbal, 
 
 186, 188, 215 
 Judas tree, 223 
 Juniper, 263 
 
 Irish, 265 
 Juniperus sinensis, 193 
 
 LABURNUM, 181, 196, 279 
 Lactuca (Mulgedium) alpina, 269 
 Lamium maculatum, 193, 199 
 
 orvala, 264 
 Larch, 16 
 
 Lathraea clandestina, 111-113 
 
 Squamaria, 114 
 Lathyrus, 269 
 
 magellanicus, 102 
 Laurels, 178, 183, 221 
 
 Alexandrian, 275 
 
 ring-leaved, 182 
 
 Leichtlin, Herr Max, 54, 92, 210, 213 
 Lent-lily, 119 
 Lenten Roses, 286 
 Leontopodium, 5 
 Leucocrinunt montanum, 19 
 Leucoium aestivum, 60 
 
 Hernandezii, or pulchellum, 60 
 
 vernum Vagneri, or carpathi- 
 cum, 60 
 
 Lewisia parviflora, 277 
 
 Hpwellii, 109 
 Libertia formosa, 26 
 Ligustrum japonicum, 265 
 Lilacs, 196, 279, 280 
 Lilium Marhan, 259 
 
 pardalinwn, 19 
 Lily of the Valley, 280 
 Linaria aequitriloba, 262 
 
 alpina, 109, 277 
 
 Linaria Cymbalaria, 262 
 
 hepaticaefolia, 262 
 Linum arboreum, 254 
 Liverwort, 268 
 
 Lotus Tetragonolobus, 255 
 
 Lowe, Dr., 98, 100, 168, 208, 211, 
 
 264, 271, 273 
 Lunatic Asylum, the, 177, 178, et 
 
 seq. 
 Lungworts, 154, 199, 202. See also 
 
 Pulmonaria 
 Lychnis dioica, 201 
 Lyte, 120, 154 
 Lynch, Mr., 104, 112, 163 
 
 MAGNOLIA, 174, 176, 190 
 
 conspicua, 176 
 
 Lennei, 176 
 
 stellata, 170, 270 
 Mahaffy, Prof., 46 
 Malby, Mr., 106, 108 
 Mammillaria, 163 
 
 Mandr agora autumnalis, 150, 151, 
 152 
 
 officinarum, 150, 271 
 Mandrake. See Mandragora 
 March winds, 149, et seq. 
 Markings, variegated, 199 
 Marret's Pinax, 188 
 Masters, Dr., 188, 189 
 Maund's Botanic Garden, 214 
 Maw, Mr. George, 83, 85, 93 
 Meadow saffron, 68, 69 
 Meadowsweet, 196 
 Meconopsis cambrica, 258 
 
 heterophylla, 254 
 Melville, Mr., 51, 59 
 Mentha Requienii, 266 
 
 rotundifolia, 201 
 Merendera Bulbocodium, no 
 
 caucasica, no 
 
 sobolifera, no 
 Mesembryanthemum linguaeforme, 
 
 164 
 
 uncinatum, 164 
 Mice, as pests, 78 
 Milk Thistle, 199 
 Miller, on Crocuses, 87 
 Miscanthus, 149 
 Molinia coerulea, 202 
 
 " Moraine " beds, 46, 104-110, 254, 
 277 
 
 303
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 Moths as pests, 46, 60 
 Mountain Ash, 196 
 Moy, Mr. Polman, 129 
 Muehlenbeckia, 256 
 Mugwort, 20 1 
 Mulberry, 279 
 
 Muscari, 272. See also Grape 
 Hyacinth 
 
 botry aides, 100, 101 
 
 NARCISSUS, application of name, 
 117. For varieties see under 
 Daffodils 
 
 Barrii conspicuus, 132 
 
 citrinus, 126 
 
 cyclamineus, 126 
 
 dubius, 127 
 
 juncifolius, 126 
 
 Leedsii, 127, 128 
 
 minicycla, 126 
 
 minimus, 126 
 
 muticus, 125 
 
 poeticus, 121 
 
 triandrus, 126, 127 
 
 Tazetta, 7 
 
 Nectar oscordum siculum, 261 
 New River, 12, 13, 221, 253 
 New Zealand plants, acclimatisa- 
 tion of, 5 
 
 Oenothera speciosa, 271 
 
 Old Man, 194 
 
 Olearia myrsinites, 289 
 
 nummularifolia, 263 
 
 vergata, var. lineatae, 273 
 Onions, Giant, 194 
 Onopordon bracteatum, 195 
 Opuntias, 162, 162, 165, 257 
 Orange, hardy, 171 
 
 hybrids, 172 
 Orchis sambucina, 258 
 Ornithogalum Haussknechtii, 100 
 
 libanoticum, 100, 101 
 Orobanchae, 112 
 
 hederae, 275 
 Orvala lamioides, 264 
 Osmanthus ilicifolius, 193 
 Othonnopsis cheirifolia, 240 
 Oxalis brasiliensis, 5, 257 
 
 floribunda, 5 
 
 /ofcate, 5 
 
 purpurata, or Bowiei, 5 
 
 Oxalis purpurea, 257 
 
 vespertillionis, 5 
 
 Pachysandra terminates, 200 
 Palms, 282 
 
 Pansies, tufted, 280, 293 
 Papaver rhoeticum, 108 
 Parkinson's Paradisus, 117, 118, 
 
 119, 121, 186, 187 
 Parnassia palustris, 109 
 Paul, Mr. George, 260 
 Pax and Knuth, 109, 140, 142, 143, 
 
 144 
 
 Peach, purple-leaved, 198 
 Pergola garden, 128, 288, 291 
 Petasites japonica, 159 
 
 nivea, 158 
 
 palmata, 159 
 Phalaris arundinacea, 201 
 Philadelphus, 182 
 
 coronaria, 201 
 Phlox, 19, 292 
 
 divaricata, var. canadensis, 258 
 Phuopsis stylosa, 166 
 
 Picea pungens glauca, 195 
 Pines, dwarf, 265 
 
 Scots, 222 
 
 Weymouth, 178, 179 
 Pinwill, Capt., 156, 196 
 Plantago argentea, 184 
 
 asiatica, 185 
 
 cynops, 184 
 
 graminifolia, 185 
 
 major, 185, 186 
 
 media, 185, 186 
 
 nivalis, 185 
 
 rose, 185, 1 86 
 Plantains. See Plantago 
 Plum, purple, 160, 198 
 Poa alpina, 187 
 Podophyllum, 273 
 
 Po5, Mr. Bennet, 126 
 Poiret's Voyage en Barbarie, 28 
 Polemonium coeruleum, 191 
 Poppies, Welsh, 175, 258, 270 
 Potentillas, 258 
 Primulas, 4, 134-148 
 
 acaulis, 143, 144 
 
 anisiaca, 143 
 
 Auricula, 4, 136, 137, 138, 
 258 
 
 Bowlesii, 107, 140 
 
 304
 
 Index 
 
 Primula, Cashmiriana, 134 
 
 Cockburniana, 147 
 
 cortusoides, 144 
 
 Dumoulinii, 136 
 
 elatior, 143 
 
 Facchinii, 136 
 
 frondosa, 109, 140, 141 
 
 glutinosa, 135, 137, 139 
 
 hybrids, 136, 139, 143, 148 
 
 integrifolia, 278 
 
 japonica, 146 
 
 Juliae, 141 
 
 Juribella, 137 
 
 Knuthiana, 141 
 
 longiflora, 136, 137, 138, 139 
 
 marginata, 134, 258 
 
 megaseaefolia, 134 
 
 minima, 4, 136, 139 
 
 Mrs. Berkeley, 147 
 
 Mrs. Hall Walker, 135 
 
 oenensis, 136, 138 
 
 officinalis, 143 
 
 pedemontana, 4, 107, 139, 278 
 
 pulverulenta, 146 
 
 rosea, 134 
 
 SibthoYpei Pax, 144 
 
 Sieboldii, 145 
 
 spectabilis, 135, 138, 139 
 
 treatment of, 137 
 
 tyrolensis, 136, 137, 139 
 
 Unique Improved, 148 
 
 Veitchii, 145 
 
 viscosa, 107 
 Prickly Pears, 164, 257 
 Primroses, double, 142 
 
 green, 189 
 
 purple and lilac, 144 
 Privet, 178 
 
 Prunus Amygdalus nanus, 272 
 
 cerasifera atropurpurea, 160, 
 198 
 
 laurocerasus angustifolius, 183 
 
 Pissardii, 160, 287 
 
 var. moseri, 160 
 Ptelia trifoliata, 196 
 Pulmonaria, 154, 202 
 
 arvernensis, 156, 157 
 
 azurea or angustifolia, 155 
 
 grandiflora, 156 
 
 Mawson's Blue, 156 
 
 rubra, 155 
 
 saccharata, 155 
 
 Pulmonaria, white, 156 
 Purple-leaved plants and trees, 198, 
 222 
 
 Plum, 198 
 Puschkinia scilloides, 101 
 Pyrus coronaria, fl. pi., 192 
 
 M alus floribunda, 222 
 Pyrethrum Parthenium, 196 
 
 Rafflesia Arnoldii, 123 
 Ranunculus, 5 
 
 amplexicaulis major, 278 
 
 ficaria, 154 
 
 Lingua, 268 
 
 Lyalli, 219 
 
 nyssanus, 258 
 
 pyrenaeus, 278 
 Rhamnus Frangula, 182 
 Rhodostachys, 164 
 7?j'fces cruenta, 292 
 
 sanguineum, 196 
 
 speciosus, 288 
 Ribwort, 185 
 Riccia fluitans, 268 
 Richardia albo-maculata, 200 
 Ring-leaved laurel, 182 
 
 willow, 182 
 Robb, Mrs., 142, 144 
 Robinia Pseudacacia, 196 
 
 Rock garden, the, 108, 252 e* 5j. 
 /?05a altaica, 270 
 
 hispida, 270 
 
 indica, 273 
 
 laevigata Anemone, 129 
 
 vubrifolia, 273 
 
 rugosa, 200 
 
 sericea, 273 
 
 Wt'c/zwraiawa, 240 
 
 Willmottiae, 193 
 Rose garden, the, 290 
 
 plantains, 185, 186 
 
 Royal National Tulip Society, 248 
 Rubus bifloYUs, 193 
 
 deliciosus, 271 
 
 tibetanus, 193 
 Rue, silver-leaved, 258 
 Rumex flexuosus, 184 
 
 pulcher, 184 
 
 scutatus, 184 
 Ruscus aculeatus, 183 
 
 hypoglossum, 184 
 jRwta graveolens, 201 
 
 305
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 SAFFRON, 68, 69, 74 
 Salix babylonica, 224, 226 
 
 herbacea, 265 
 
 lanata, 265 
 
 reticulata, 265 
 Salvia argentea, 195 
 
 splendens, 288 
 
 Sow&wctts racemosa plumosa aurea, 
 
 196 
 
 Sanders, Mr., 53 
 Sanguinaria, 273 
 
 canadensiSy 169 
 Santolina incana, 193, 194 
 Saponaria lutea, 106 
 Saxifraga, 104, 258, 266 
 
 Burseriana, 266 
 
 Elizabethae, 266 
 
 oppositifolia, 266 
 
 peltata, 273 
 
 retusa, 266 
 
 rotundifolia, 146 
 
 Salomonii, 266 
 
 sancta, 266 
 
 sarmentosa, 258 
 
 Taygetea, 266 
 
 tenella, 266 
 
 Scents of spring flowers, 6, 7, 280 
 Scilla autumnalis, 6 
 
 bifolia, 95, 96, 98, 202 
 
 festalis, 289 
 
 hispanica, 289 
 
 nutans delicata, 289 
 
 sibirica, 99, 100 
 
 striped, 101 
 
 twna, 6 
 
 Scolymus hispanicus, 199 
 Scirpus lacustris, 228 
 Scrophularia aquatica, 201 
 Sedge, Fen, 61 
 
 Sedum pilosum, 18 
 
 spathulatum, 18 
 Seed envelopes, 16 
 Sempervivum Comollei, 261 
 
 rubicundwn, 261 
 Senecio incanus, 278 
 
 tropaeolioides, 164 
 Seseli gummiferum, 195 
 Shrubs, 178 
 
 dwarf, 265 
 
 variegated, 191, 200 
 Silene acaulis, 277 
 Sisymbrium Alliaria, 194 
 
 Sloe, purple, 199 
 
 Slugs, as pests, 103, 157 
 
 Smith, Mr., of Newry, 13, 74, 214 
 
 Snake's Head, 168. See Fritillaria 
 
 Snails, water, 268 
 
 Snowdrops, 7, 40, 272. See Ga/- 
 
 306 
 
 autumn, 44 
 
 bulb of, 41 
 
 green, 54, 186 
 
 hybridisation of, 56 
 
 Straffan, 49, 50, 56 
 
 treatment of, 41 
 
 yellow, 53, 186 
 Solanum crispum, 291 
 Soldanella, 4, 109 
 
 montana, 146 
 
 South African plants, 5, 164 
 
 American plants, 5 
 Sparrows, 24, 25, 160 
 Spiraea Thunbergii, 267 
 Sprenger, Herr, 28, 259 
 Spring, date of commencement, i 
 Spring Snowflake, 60 
 
 Spruce firs, 265 
 
 Spurges, 269, 270 
 
 Squill, 101. See Scilla. 
 
 Stork's Bill, 261 
 
 Strawberries, double flowered, 189 
 
 one-leaved, 189 
 
 Plymouth, 187 
 Suaeda fruticosa, 195 
 Succulent plants, 162, 257 
 Sundermann, Herr, 141 
 Sycamores, 16 
 Symphytum asperrimum, 293 
 
 causasicum, 294 
 
 Tamarix tetandra, 274 
 Taxodium distichum, 15 
 Thalictrum, 270 
 
 aquilegifolium, 287 
 
 glaucum, 197 
 
 " Illuminator," 287 
 Thaspium aurewn, 293 
 Thistles, variegated, 199 
 Thyme, Golden, 195 
 Toadflax, 262. See Linaria 
 Tom Tiddler's ground, 191 et seq. 
 Tools, author's gardening, 66, 
 
 97 
 Toothwort, 111-113
 
 Index 
 
 Tracliycarpus excelsus, 282 
 Tree Potato, 292 
 Trees, dwarf, 265 
 Trillium, 19, 273 
 
 grandiflorum, 259 
 Tulipa acuminata, 243 
 
 Albion, 249 
 
 Annie Macgregor, 246, 247 
 
 Batalinii, 237, 238 
 
 Bittietiana " Sunset," 240 
 
 Bishop, 198, 249 
 
 Bizarre, 248 
 
 Bleu aimable, 198 
 
 Breeders, 246 
 
 Bybloemen, 246, 247 
 
 Carnation, 249 
 
 Chinese, 243 
 
 Clara Butt, 241, 288 
 
 Clusiana, 238 
 
 Cottage, 234, 248 
 
 Chapeau de Cardinal, 236 
 
 Darwin, 198, 223, 234, 240, 
 241, 245, 248, 249, 292 
 
 dasystemon, 237 
 
 Don Pedro, 248 
 
 Ellen Willmott, 197 
 English, 234, 245, 248 
 
 Erguste, 198, 241, 242 
 
 Europe, 198, 250 
 
 Faust, 198, 250 
 
 Fosteriana, 239 
 
 Fra Angelico, 198 
 
 Franz Hals, 198 
 
 fulgens, 250 
 
 Gesneriana, 240, 241, 243 
 
 Golden Spire, 197 
 
 Grand Monarque, 198 
 
 green, 249 
 
 Greuze, 198 
 
 Inglescombe Yellow, 197 
 
 Isis, 249 
 
 Ixioides, 197 
 
 Jaune d'oeuf, 197 
 
 John Ruskin, 248 
 
 Kaufmanniana, 237 
 
 King Harold, 241 
 
 Lady, 238 
 
 La Merveille, 240 
 
 La Noire, 198, 241, 249 
 
 Laurentia, 241, 243 
 
 linifolia, 237, 238 
 
 L' Innocence, 249 
 
 Tulipa, Louis XIV, 248 
 - Mabel, 246 
 
 Margaret, 249 
 
 May-flowering, 234 
 
 Maximowiczii, 237 
 
 Mrs. Farcombe Sanders, 240 
 
 Mrs. Moon, 197 
 
 Nigrette, 249 
 
 oculus solis, 239 
 
 Parisian Beauty, 241 
 
 Philippe de Comines, 241 
 
 Picotee, 249 
 
 praecox, 239 
 
 praestans, 238 
 
 Primrose Beauty, 197 
 
 primulina, 238 
 
 purple and lavender, 198 
 
 Purple Perfection, 198 
 
 Rembrandt, 249 
 
 vetroflexa, 241 
 
 Rosalind, 243 
 
 rose, 246 
 
 Sir Harry, 249 
 
 Sir Joseph Paxton, 248 
 
 Solfatare, 197 
 
 Sprengeri, 239 
 
 stellata, 238 
 
 Striped Beauty, 249 
 
 Sultan, 198 
 
 Velvet King, 198 
 
 Vespuccio, 198 
 
 viridiflora, 249 
 
 Walter T. Ware, 248 
 
 White Swan, 236 
 
 yellow, 197 
 
 Yellow Prince, 197, 236 
 
 Yellow Rose, 197 
 
 Zomerschoon, 250 
 
 Zulu, 198 
 
 Turner, quoted, 118, 120, 154 
 Tussilago Far far a, 159 
 
 UMBERTO, Bishop, story of, 204 
 Underground watering, 105 
 
 VARIEGATED plants and shrubs, 
 
 191, 199 
 
 Van Tubergen, Mr., 83, 208 
 Van Waveren, Mr., 236 
 Veronica circaeoides, 262 
 
 repens, 266 
 
 teucrium, 196 
 
 307
 
 My Garden in Spring 
 
 Viburnum, 182 
 
 bullatum, 259 
 
 lantana foliis punctatis, 182 
 
 Opulus, 182 
 Vine pergola, 291 
 Violas, 118 
 
 biflora, 264 
 
 bosniaca, 19, 108, 256 
 
 Bowies' Black, 271 
 
 calcarata, 256 
 
 canina, 264 
 
 cornuta, 196 
 
 cucullata, 264 
 
 gracilis, 202, 259, 260 
 
 Munbyana, 260 
 
 on rock garden, 264 
 
 pubescens, 264 
 
 sagittata, 264 
 
 sorora, 264 
 
 sweet, 20 1 
 
 tricolor, 271 
 Vitis armata, 292 
 
 Wahlenbergia gvacilis, 19 
 Water lilies, 268 
 
 Watering of garden, 12 
 
 underground, 107 
 Wayfaring tree, 182 
 Weigela rosea, 201 
 Weymouth pines, 178 
 Welsh Poppy, 175, 258, 270 
 Wilks, Mr., 47 
 
 Willow, dwarf, 265 
 
 ring-leaved, 182 
 
 weeping, 223-6 
 Wistaria, 280 
 
 standard, 190 
 Witch Hazel, 222 
 Witch's Broom, 180, 181 
 Wollaston, Mr., 192 
 Wolley-Dod, Mr., 104, 143, 264 
 Wood Anemones, 18, 216 
 Wooster's Alpine Plants, 214 
 
 Xanthorhixa apiifolia, 174 
 
 YEWS, 14, 196, 221, 233, 234 
 Yuccas, 257 
 
 ZINNIAS, 18 
 
 2/14 
 
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