Crane’s Bill wild, in grass.
In the wild garden the fairest of our own wild flowers may be happily associated with their relatives from other countries. Here the sturdy Bell–flowered Scilla (S. campanulata) grows wild with our own Bluebell (S. nutans); the white and pink forms also of the last–named look beautiful here associated with the common well–known form. The earlier Scillas are of course past; they are admirably suited for the wild garden, especially S. bifolia, which thrives freely in woods. The Lily of the Valley did not inhabit the wood before; therefore it was pleasant to thin out some of its over–matted tufts and carry them to the wild garden, where they are now in fullest beauty. It is associated with its tall and stately relation the Solomon’s Seal. The Solomon’s Seal, which is usually effective when issuing forth from fringes of shrubberies, is here best arching high over the Woodruff and other sweet woodland flowers, among which it seems a giant, with every leaf, and stem, and blossom lines of beauty. The additional vigour and beauty shown by this plant when in rich soil well repays one for selecting suitable spots for it. The greater Celandine (Chelidonium majus) and its double form are very pretty here with their tufts of golden flowers; they grow freely and take all needful care of themselves. The same may be said of the Honesty, the common forms of Columbine, and Allium Moly, an old–fashioned plant, and one of the many subjects at home in the wild garden, and which are better left out of the garden proper. The myriads of Crocus leaves dying off without the indignity of being tied into bundles as is common in gardens, the dense growth of Aconite and Snowdrop leaves, of coloured and common Primroses and Cowslips, suggest the beauty of this wild garden in spring. The yet unfolded buds on the many tufts and groups of the numerous herbaceous Pæonies, promise noble effects early in June; so do the tufts of the splendid Eastern Poppy (Papaver orientale) and the Lilies, and Sweet Williams, and Adam’s Needles, and many other subjects, that will show their blossoms above or among the summer Grass in due time. Among the best of the Borageworts here at present, are the Caucasian Comfrey (Symphytum caucasicum), an admirable wood or copse plant, and red–purple or Bohemian Comfrey (S. bohemicum), which is very handsome here. And what lovely effects from the Forget–me–nots—the wood Forget–me–not, and the Early Forget–me–not (M. dissitiflora) are here! where their soft little clouds of blue in the Grass are much prettier than tufts of the same kind surrounded by the brown earth in a prim border. Here the pushing of the delicate Grass blades through the blue mass and the indefinite way in which the fringes of the tufts mingle with the surrounding vegetation are very beautiful.
Large–leafed Saxifrage in the Wild Garden.
The only noticeable variation of surface is that of some gravel banks, which are properly covered with Stonecrops, Saxifrages, and the like, which would, as a rule, have a poor chance in the Grass. Surfaces that naturally support a very sparse and dwarf vegetation are valuable in a garden, as they permit of the culture of a series of free–growing alpine and rock plants that would not be able to hold their own among Grass and ordinary weeds and wild flowers. One of the happiest features of this wild garden results from the way in which dead trees have been adorned. Once dead, some of the smaller branches are lopped off, and one or more climbers planted at the base of the tree. Here a Clematis, a climbing Rose, a new kind of Ivy, a wild Vine, or a Virginian Creeper, have all they require, a firm support on which they may arrange themselves after their own natural habit, without being mutilated, or without trouble to the planter, and fresh ground free to themselves. What an admirable way, too, of growing the many and varied species of Clematis! as beautiful as varieties with flowers as large as saucers. Even when an old tree falls and tosses up a mass of soil and roots the wild gardener is ready with some subject from his mixed border to adorn the projection, and he may allow some choice Bramble or wild Vine to scramble over the prostrate stem. A collection of Ivies grown on old tree–stems would be much more satisfactory than on a wall, and not liable to robe each other at the roots, and interfere with each other in the air. Ferns are at home in the wild garden; all the strong hardy kinds may be grown in it, and look better in it among the flowers than in the “hardy Fernery” properly so called. Even more graceful than the Ferns, and in some cases more useful, because they send up their plume–like leaves very early in the year, are the giant Fennels (Ferula), which grow well here, and hold their own easily among the strongest plants. The common Fennel is also here, but it seeds so freely that it becomes a troublesome weed, and shows a tendency to overrun plants of greater value. This reminds us of certain subjects that should be introduced with caution into all but the remotest parts of the wild garden. Such plants as Heracleum, Willow Herb, and many others, that overcome all obstacles, and not only win but destroy all their fellows in the struggle for life, should only be planted in outlying positions, islands, hedges, small bits of isolated wood or copse, where their effects might be visible for a season, and where they might ramble without destroying. In short, they never should be planted where it is desired to encourage a variety of beautiful subjects. Rabbits—dreaded vermin to the wild gardener—are kept out here effectually by means of wire fencing. The presence of these pests prevents all success in the wild garden. The encouragement of creatures that feed on slugs is desirable, as these are the most potent cause of mischief to hardy flowers. To succeed with the wild garden, one should have a good collection of hardy flowers from which it can be supplied. Here one has been formed, consisting of about 1100 species, mostly arranged in borders. From these, from time to time, over–vigorous and over–abundant kinds may be taken to the wilderness. In a large collection one frequently finds species most suited for full liberty in woods. The many subjects good in all positions, may increase in these borders till plentiful enough for planting out in some quantity in the wild garden. The wild garden here has been wholly formed by the owner, who planted with his own hands the various subjects that now adorn it throughout the year. It has been done within four or five years, and therefore many of the climbers have not as yet attained full growth.
Tew Park will long be interesting, from the fact that it was there J. C. Loudon practised agriculture before he began writing the works which were such a marked addition to the horticultural literature of England. The Grove there is a plantation of fine trees, bordering a wide sweep of grass, which varies in width. This grove, unlike much of the rest of the ground, does not vary in surface, or but very little, so that one of the greatest aids is absent. Originally this now pleasant grove was a dense wood, with Gout–weed mainly on the ground, and troublesome flies in the air. A few years ago the formation of a wild garden was determined upon, and the first operation was the thinning of the wood; light and moving air were let into it, and weak or overcrowded trees removed. This, so far, was a gain, quite apart from the flowers that were in good time to replace the few common weeds that occupied the ground. Of these the unattractive Gout–weed was the most abundant, and the first thing to do was to dig it up. It was found that by deeply digging the ground, and sowing the wood Forget–me–not in its place, this weed disappeared. Who would not exchange foul weeds for Lilies of the Valley and Wood Forget–me–nots! The effect of broad sheets of this Wood Forget–me–not (Myosotis sylvatica) beyond, and seen above the long waving Grass gradually receding under the trees, was very beautiful; now (June) its beauty is not so marked as earlier, when the colour was fuller, from the plants being more compact; but one charm of the wild garden is that the very changes of plants from what may be thought their most perfect state, may be in itself the source of a new pleasure instead of a warning, such as so often occurs in the garden, that we must cut them down or replace them.
