One of the first orders we give a new gardener is that nothing is to be slain at Villino Loki except the Green Fly and the Rose-Beetle. The birds may devour all our buds, strip up our crocuses, and denude our raspberry canes ‹if they get a chance›. The mole may tunnel and burrow and raise his convulsive mounds in our most cherished lawn—and that is certainly a test of garden endurance—we will have no traps! As for the squirrels, we are afraid we have cleared too much in our wilderness to tempt them now. But one of the family actually bought little green tables in order to spread repasts for them near their favourite haunt.
In certain wild corners of Dorsetshire squirrels become almost familiars in such households as are kindly enough to set forth a dainty, now and again, for the frolicsome company. One understanding person of our acquaintance was given to spreading nuts on a certain window-sill, where every day the squirrels used to come and fetch them. One morning she was a little later than usual in this attention; on coming into the room, she was startled by a knocking on the window, and there on the sill sat a thing, all fur and bright eyes, knocking with its fairy paw! We think Loki has a good deal of the squirrel in him. There are no end of nice little beasts that Loki resembles. Sometimes we declare that he is least of all dog.
THE WILD PATCH
It is a wonder that people do not make more use of Broom in their Wild Gardens. We have seen a woodland path where great bushes of alternate white and yellow Plantagenista made riot in the sunshine; but it was too regular an arrangement to harmonize with scene. A wild garden, however cultivated secret, should grow as naturally as possible. It is a rather interesting experiment to fling the contents of a packet of wild flower seeds about one’s banks and unkept spaces. One forgets all about it; and, behold! after the second year, there are all kinds of engaging discoveries to be made: patches of grey-blue Campanulas, bold Foxgloves, Loose-strife, white Campions, all the more delightful because forgotten and unexpected and fitting into their surroundings as no amount of planting in can make them do. A giant Mullein has just made itself a home under the fir-trees and stands as if it had always been there, boldly and defiantly established in its proper place and determined to maintain it.
We caress the project of planting tall Ericas and Mediterranean Heaths on the borders of a certain rough path; and in between the Heather we shall make drifts of Colchicum, so that it may look lovely in all seasons. We do not consider that Colchicum is properly placed in the garden. Its summer leaf is too coarse, and it is hideous when it dies off. Mrs. Earle has made the same remark in one of her delightful books.
VISCOUNTESS, AND OTHERS