First, because hundreds of the finest hardy flowers will thrive much better in rough and wild places than ever they did in the old–fashioned border. Even comparatively small ones, like the ivy–leaved Cyclamen, a beautiful plant that we rarely find in perfection in gardens, I have seen perfectly naturalised and spread all over the mossy surface of a thin wood.[ill5]
A “mixed border” with tile edging, the way in which the beautiful hardy flowers of the world have been grown in gardens hitherto, when grown at all. (Sketched in a large garden, 1878.)
Secondly, because they will look infinitely better than ever they did in gardens, in consequence of fine–leaved plant, fern, and flower, and climber, grass and trailing shrub, relieving each other in ways innumerable and delightful. Any one of a thousand combinations will prove as far superior to any aspect of the old mixed border, or the ordinary type of modern flower–garden, as is a lovely mountain valley to a piece of the “black country.”
Thirdly, because, arranged as I propose, no disagreeable effects result from decay. The raggedness of the old mixed border after the first flush of spring and early summer bloom had passed was intolerable, bundles of decayed stems tied to sticks, making the place look like the parade–ground of a number of crossing–sweepers. When Lilies are sparsely dotted through masses of shrubs, their flowers are admired more than if they were in isolated showy masses; when they pass out of bloom they are unnoticed amidst the vegetation, and not eyesores, as when in rigid unrelieved tufts in borders, etc. In a wild or semi–wild state the beauty of individual species will proclaim itself when at its height; and when out of bloom they will be succeeded by other kinds, or lost among the numerous objects around.[ill6]
Blue flowered Composite plant; fine foliage and habit; type of noble plants excluded from gardens. (Mulgedium Plumieri.)
Fourthly, because it will enable us to grow many plants that have never yet obtained a place in our “trim gardens.” I allude to the multitudes of plants which, not being so showy as those usually considered worthy of a place in gardens, are never seen therein. The flowers of many of these are of the highest order of beauty, especially when seen in numbers. An isolated tuft of one of these, seen in a formal border, may not be considered worthy of its place, while in some wild glade, in a wood, as a little colony, grouped naturally, or associated with like subjects, its effect may be exquisite. Among the subjects usually considered unfit for garden cultivation may be included a goodly number that, grown in gardens, are no addition to them; subjects like the American Asters, Golden Rods, and like plants, which merely overrun the choicer and more beautiful border–flowers when planted amongst them. These coarse subjects would be quite at home in copses and woody places, where their blossoms might be seen or gathered in due season, and their vigorous vegetation form a covert welcome to the game–preserver. To these two groups might be added subjects like the winter Heliotrope, the handsome British Willow herb, and many other plants which, while attractive in the garden, are apt to spread about so rapidly as to become a nuisance there. Clearly these should only be planted in wild and semi–wild places.
Fifthly, because we may in this way settle also the question of spring flowers, and the spring garden, as well as that of hardy flowers generally. In the way I suggest, many parts of every country garden, and many suburban ones, may be made alive with spring flowers, without interfering at least with the geometrical beds that have been the worthless stock–in–trade of the so–called landscape–gardener for centuries. The blue stars of the Apennine Anemone will be seen to greater advantage “wild,” in shady or half–shady bare places, under trees, than in any conceivable formal arrangement, and it is but one of hundreds of sweet spring flowers that will succeed perfectly in the way I propose.
Sixthly, because there can be few more agreeable phases of communion with nature than naturalising the natives of countries in which we are infinitely more interested than in those of which greenhouse or stove plants are native. From the Roman ruin—home of many flowers, the prairies of the New World, the woods and meadows of all the great mountains of Europe; from Greece and Italy and Spain, from the sunny hills of Asia Minor; from the alpine regions of the great continents—in a word, from almost every interesting region the traveller may bring seeds or plants, and establish near his home the pleasantest souvenirs of the various scenes he has visited.