The following books are thus referred to, the illustrations in them being of a trustworthy character. After the name of each book is the abbreviation used in the present work when it is necessary to quote it:—
The first five on this list have coloured plates. To these we may be allowed to add Plant Form (P. F.), a work prepared by the author for the especial use of designers.
The plants described in the following pages are, to facilitate reference, arranged in regular alphabetical sequence, according to their English names, since most of my readers will more readily recognise a plant by its familiar title than by its botanical appellation. Thousands are familiar with the little daisy who would never recognise it in any description headed Bellis perennis. At the same time, we in every case give the scientific nomenclature as well, since in most works you may desire to consult, that will be of greater prominence than the one used colloquially. A difficulty here arises from the fact that several of our English flowers have numerous synonyms given to them; we have, however, chosen the name which we believe to be most commonly used, referring also to the others in the course of our remarks on the plant.
In the introduction of vegetable growth into any ornamental composition, we must be careful to remember that what is wanted is not so much a direct imitation of nature, which after all can only be faulty at the best, as a due adaptation of the natural form to the purpose of our design—a recognition of the impossibility of a close copy of nature, together with a feeling of its undesirableness even if it could be accomplished. Our representations must therefore be more or less conventional: in a flower-painting we naturally expect to see a direct transcript of nature, while in decorative art a direct transcript offends us.
“In the multitude of counsellors there is safety;” we will, therefore, here quote some few passages from the works of those whom we think we can all agree are entitled to speak with authority and to be heard with respect. Ruskin, in speaking on this subject, says,—“All noble ornamentation is the expression of man’s delight in God’s work;” and again, “Ornamentation should be natural, that is to say, should in some degree express or adopt the beauty of natural objects; it does not hence follow that it should be an exact imitation of, or endeavour to supersede, God’s work; it may consist only in a partial adoption of, and compliance with, the usual forms of natural things, without at all going to the point of imitation, and it is possible that the point of imitation may be closely reached by ornaments which nevertheless are entirely unfit for their place, and are the signs only of a degraded ambition and an ignorant dexterity. Bad decorators err as easily on the side of imitating nature as of forgetting her, and the question of the exact degree in which imitation should be attempted under given circumstances is one of the most subtle and difficult in the whole range of criticism.” Wornum thus defines the difference between naturalism and conventionalism: “A natural treatment implies natural imitation and arrangement, but an ornamental treatment does not necessarily exclude imitation in the parts, as, for instance, a scroll may be composed of strictly natural parts, but as no plant would grow in an exactly spiral direction, the scroll form constitutes the ornamental or conventional arrangement; we may, however, have conventionalism of details as well as conventionalism of arrangement.” Hudson says,—“There is a great difference between the terms applied and adapted; they, in fact, express the wrong and the right use of vegetable forms. All natural forms require certain modifications to adapt them for other than their own natural situations, and it is the neglect of this, and the simple application of these forms without adapting them, which constitute a false principle.” Dresser thus illustrates the difference: “Mere imitation is not ornamentation, and is no more art in the higher sense of the term than writing is itself literature. Vegetable nature treated conventionally will not be found to be far removed from truth, but will be merely a natural form, or a series of natural forms, neither marred by blights nor disturbed by winds, adapted to the fulfilment of a special purpose, and suited to a particular position—for the most perfect examples of what is usually termed conventionalised nature are those which express the intention of nature, if we may thus speak, or are manifestations of natural objects as undisturbed by surrounding influences and unmarred by casualties.” In the same way we might bring forward passages from the works of Owen Jones, Sir Gardiner Wilkinson, and many others, in illustration of our remarks; enough, however, has, we trust, been brought forward to confirm the position taken up.
We will now, without further prelude, proceed to the brief consideration of the few representative plants we have selected for our remarks.
The Agrimony. This plant, the Agrimonia Eupatoria of botanists, and the Agremoine of old writers, is ordinarily met with in hedgerows and waste places by the roadside. The flowers are bright yellow, and are arranged in what is termed botanically a spike (Lat. spica, an ear of corn; when the flowers grow in succession direct from a central stem). The leaves are very ornamental in character, the central line giving off large side leaflets, and the intermediate spaces being filled by smaller ones. The edges of all the leaves are deeply serrate (Lat. serra, a saw; notched like the teeth of a saw). Very suitable and suggestive for lace or wall-papers, where a somewhat delicate form with a decidedly upright mode of growth is desirable. Drawings of the plant may be seen in S. B. 126; E. B. 417; F. L. vol. v. 32; and M. B. 258. The natural plant will be found in flower during July and August.
The White or Wood Anemone (Anemone nemorosa), or, as it is often termed in old botanical works, the Wind-flower. This older name refers to the same fact alluded to in its generic name, Anemone, the fragility and delicacy of the flowers, and their exposure to the bleak and boisterous winds that sweep through the almost leafless woods in early spring, or, as others believe, from an old fancy that the flowers will not open until buffeted by the gales of March, anemone being derived from the Greek word, anemos, the wind. The second name, nemorosa, signifies woody, and bears obvious reference to the localities most favourable to
