No garden is complete without its Violet bed. Ours was started eight years ago. We selected for it a spot "half in shade and half in shine," with a southern frontage, sheltered from the north by tall shrubs.
Two packets of choice Russian Violet seed were then sown in friable soil, well sifted, and made rich with a bottom layer of old cow manure. The bed had been laid out, prepared, and sown by the dear hands of one whose gardening is now "all done."
After all his care the seed never germinated, and early in the following autumn the bed was set with well-grown double Russian Violet plants bought of the florist. For a year or two these plants throve finely, blossomed abundantly, and increased fourfold. The third year the flowers degenerated in size and beauty, and though still, at May-time, the bloom punctually puts in an appearance, the Russians are, on the whole, far less satisfactory than the single English Violets brought from the Cambridge garden and growing in the end of the same bed. These flower most generously and come into bloom about ten days earlier than the Russians.
The Violet has an obliging way of sowing its own seed, projecting them from its capsule with dynamic force. My English darlings have a lavish habit of scattering themselves about the lawn, in that fashion, and filling in the bare places in the bed. The Russians choose rather to be propagated from runners. Friends I have who grow year after year big velvety Russian Violets. Would that I had the skill to do likewise, but to me heaven denies the power of bringing these beauties to perfection. Yet (such as they are) I hold my Violets dear, and without them spring would scarce be spring.
In all the old floral usages of the English the Violet holds a place next to the Rose. It was used at weddings, and had its place in other and sadder religious ceremonials.
With the Troubadours it was an emblem of constancy. Their prize of a golden Violet to the best versifier of the flower's graces and beauties proves in how much esteem they held this April blossom.
The Pansy, one of the Violas, was much celebrated by the elder English poets, who gave it the charming name of "Heartsease."
Pansies may be easily grown from seed. As they are less troubled by cold than most flowers—being half hardy—the seedlings may be treated as biennials. Transplant them from seed bed in September, and in November cover well with old manure, then add piled leaves and evergreen boughs, and the minute spring opens uncover.