FAN PY \SIS AN. \A\DaL
CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY
In compliance with current Copyright law, Cornell University Library produced this replacement volume on paper that meets the ANSI Standard Z39.48-1992 to replace the irreparably deteriorated original.
2005
Gornell Mniversity
Fthaca, New York
COLLEGE OF ARCHITECTU RE LIBRARY
GARDENS NEAR THE SEA
THE MAKING AND CARE OF GARDENS ON OR NEAR THE COAST WITH REFERENCE ALSO TO LAWNS AND GROUNDS AND TO TREES AND SHRUBBERY
BY ALICE LOUNSBERRY
AUTHOR OF “SOUTHERN WILD FLOWERS AND TREES,” “A GUIDE TO THE WILD FLOWERS,” “A GUIDE TO THE TREES,” “THE WILD FLOWER BOOK FOR YOUNG PEOPLE,” AND “THE GARDEN BOOK FOR YOUNG PEOPLE”
WITH EIGHT FULL-PAGE COLOR-PLATES FROM PAINTINGS BY
H. W. FAULKNER AND FROM PHOTOGRAPHS
TOGETHER WITH SIXTY-FOUR FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS FROM PHOTOGRAPHS IN BLACK-AND-WHITE
NEW YORK
FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY PUBLISHERS
Copyright, 1910, by Freperick A. STOKES CoMPANY
vas
LS October, 1910
THE + PLIMPTON » PRESS [w-p-o] NORWOOD + MASS-U-S-A
FOREWORD [= ois as is its charm, the sea cannot hold
us by its side, spellbound in contemplation of its calm and restless moods. Mingled with its turbulent roar we hear a cry for beauty along its shores, and for intimacy with a gentler and more familiar life. The dwellers by its side long for the fragrance of flowers as an occasional relief from its strong saline scent. Indeed, dwelling along a barren strip of seashore can never have the captivating grace of living where the coast line shows the green things of the earth, either as nature placed them or in skil- fully devised gardens.
The impetus to garden building has swept over and beyond our inland towns and villages with the result that the shores of America are now dotted with many beautiful gardens, large and small, costly and simple. Moreover, many of the oldest gardens of this country, which are associated with history and romance, are found in places partly bounded by the sea.
It is not unusual now, nor has it ever been, for that matter, to find gardens near the sea. It is merely because of their universality in these days that they cannot escape the eye of the wanderer through the populous towns along the seacoast. This is as it should be, since along the coasts the number of summer
[v]
FOREWORD
homes has of late increased greatly, and the garden is but the home out-of-doors. In fact, wherever there is one, there should, if possible, be the other. The summer home without a garden seems like a city without the clang of bells, the shriek of whistles, and the busy, throbbing traffic of humanity.
It is not difficult to fall under the domination of a garden, to the charms of which one becomes, indeed, a most willing captive. The first step, perhaps, is taken in admiration of a neighbor’s garden; the second may be made with a few experimental plants, or a handful of seed packages; the third follows with the care of these, wherein lurks the desire to have them grow, to see them bloom, and to walk among them as one’s own. Once these three steps are taken, few would turn back. Each year the number of plants is increased; the boundaries of the garden are extended, and the care and attention which it demands form a source of pleasure that few wish to relinquish.
While riding last summer in a dusty train, through the full length of Long Island, I heard a man tell his little daughter to remain quietly in her seat while he went into another car to smoke a cigar.
On his return he asked her if she were tired.
“Oh, no,” she answered; “I have been counting the gardens. There is another! That makes one hundred and twenty.”
The train had passed by a hundred and twenty gardens while this man was smoking a cigar.
These were not the gardens of fine estates, but of very small houses bordering the railway. Some
[vi]
FOREWORD
of them held but a few kinds of flowers, and among them a great sameness prevailed, for almost without exception they represented the conspicuously thrifty plants of that locality which were then in bloom. Their owners had planted them without a thought that there might be failure to fulfil their expectations. Still, here and there could be seen plants that had been introduced within the last few years. Undoubtedly, they had first been experimented with in the gardens of adjacent large estates, and some one had reproduced them by means of a clipping or a root in the gardens of the unpretentious.
I noticed especially that the crimson rambler rose bloomed in the majority of these wayside gardens. It occurred as generally as did geraniums, climbing up the side of the houses, peeping into the windows, mounting the fences, and in every way showing the characteristics of a truly domesticated plant. Its apparent thriftiness, however, merely proclaimed it to be admirably adapted to the surrounding soil of the island and its climate. Although a native of Japan, it held its own with the indigenous plants, sometimes even showing with outstretched zeal the wish to oust them from their places.
To construct a good seaside garden it is necessary, as with all other gardens, first to learn what plants are best adapted by nature to its special conditions. Nature in her wild haunts gives many hints as to the kinds of plants she employs in various places, as, wherever there is opportunity, she sends up some green thing to soften the surface of the earth. The
[ vii ]
FOREWORD
scrub, the vines, and the more delicate wildlings that belong to particular seaside soils can frequently be used more advantageously in the garden than plants whose needs, both below and above ground, are at variance with their surroundings. For unless plants can have just what they need, it is better to give up growing them at all. Their roots require food and a firm anchorage, and according to their individualities they must have either light or shade and a helpful soil to bring them to their best development.
All seaside gardens, however, do not fall under the same laws. Gardens adjoining bare strips of sand have different possibilities from those near a rocky coast. The gardens along the Sound and many parts of Long Island produce, in the majority of in- stances, the same flora as that known to the inland places of the northeastern states. There is even a remarkable luxuriance of growth about many of these gardens barely rivaled by those more sheltered.
It must not be thought that the gardens referred to in these pages, and the plants which, among myriads of others, have been selected for description, are merely those that follow the sea snugly as its own boundary line. They are, rather, those that exist and thrive in the cities and townships lying close to the water. Some of these gardens are almost touched by the sea; others are farther away; but none are absolutely beyond the reach of its salt, vivifying breath. The desire underlying these descriptions is to give still another testimony to the real joy gained through lawn making, shrub and tree planting, garden building, and
[ viii ]
FOREWORD
general work in the open about the home, to urge the best and fullest growth along the shores, and to spread the earth with flowers, undaunted even by the wild, fierce moods of the uncontrollable sea.
The originals of the colored illustrations which this book contains were painted by Mr. Herbert W. Faulkner. They represent seaside gardens of different personalities. One, as the peony garden, is flamboyant under the full sun; another shows a garden swayed by the mystic influence of twilight. Each in its individual way portrays the dominant spirit of the garden, working for magnetic charm and beauty.
The many photographs should also prove helpful to garden builders near the sea.
[ix]
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
FOREWORD (THE SEASIDE GARDEN) THE SOIL AND LAWNS OF SEASIDE PLACES THE SEASIDE GARDEN UNDER DIFFICULTIES THE TREES OUTSIDE THE GARDEN EVERGREEN TREES BROAD-LEAVED EVERGREEN SHRUBS
peat SHRUBS FOR SEASIDE PLANTING HEDGES . Beech CONCERNING VINES A FEW WORDS ABOUT STANDARDS THE PLACING OF THE GARDEN BULBOUS PLANTS OF DIFFERENT SEASONS . THE PLANTING OF THE SPRING AND SUMMER AUTUMN WORK IN THE GARDEN ANNUALS OF ADVANTAGEOUS COLORS FAVORITE PERENNIALS OF THE SALT SPRAY AN IRIS GARDEN THE GARDEN LILIES GARDENS OF ROSES GARDENS OF FEW FLOWERS . GARDENS OF SWEET SCENT AND SENTIMENT INDEX
PAGE
102 111 127 143 152 168 192 202 210 245 255
267
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PLATE FACING PAGE I AN UNPRETENTIOUS GARDEN 3” ae Os 2 II A SEASIDE GARDEN ....... . 6 II] AN ATTRACTIVE SLOPING LAWN. . . . . 10 IV AN ENCLOSED LAWN... .... . 14 V oA TRYING PLACE FOR FLOWERS. . . . . 18 VI VETERAN TREES ABOUT THE HOUSE... . 20 VII WHITE WILLOWS, SALEM, MASS. as eee Q4 VIII oaKS NEAR THE WATER... .. . .. 28 IX MAGNOLIA STELLATA. . . . . . .. 32 XX WELL-GROWN SPRUCES, PORTSMOUTH, N. H. . 36 XI =SPRUCES THAT PLANT OUT A BUILDING... 40 XII prmInes NEAR THE WATER, COHASSET, MASS. . 44 XIII CLIPPED EVERGREENS IN A FORMAL GARDEN . 46 XIV Ich PICTURES. 2.0 2 2. «© . » « « 60 XV THE OUTER BORDER OF A FORMAL GARDEN (color): saaeerss Sy Crary Care 54 XVI RHODODENDRONS IN AN OLD GARDEN... 58 XVII RHODODENDRONS AND NARCISSUS POETICUS . 62 XVIII THE WAY TO THE BATH HOUSE, OAK BLUFFS, MASS. PO oy he, oe le ee 66 XIX sPIRHA VAN HOUTTEI ....... 70 XX HYDRANGEAS AT BABYLON, L.I. . . .. 74 XXI GRAPE VINE SCREEN AND PRIVET HEDGE. . 78 XXII BUCKTHORN HEDGE ......... 82 XXIII THE OUTER AND THE INNER HEDGE... 86 XXIV TULIPS BEFORE A HEMLOCK SPRUCE HEDGE . 88 XXV A BOX-EDGED PATH .. ; 92
XXXVI WISTARIA IN AN OLD SALEM GARDEN (color) . 96 [ xiii]
XXX XXXI
XXXII XXXII XXXIV
XXXV XXXVI
XXXVIT XXXVIII XXXTX
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
FACING PAGE
AN OLD WISTARIA VINE . 100 ARCH OF VIRGINIA CREEPER 104 CLEMATIS PANICULATA AND NASTURTIUM VINE 106 SUR LA MER, MARTHA’S VINEYARD, MASS. 110 STANDARD CATALPAS AND HELIOTROPES, INDIAN HARBOR, CONN. . , 114 AN EARLY AMERICAN GARDEN : 118 GARDEN WITH CENTRAL WATER BASIN 122 WHERE AN ENTRANCE IS MADE THROUGH AGATE 124 A GARDEN OF MANY ARCHES 128 CROCUSES : cS . 182 MIXED SINGLE HYACINTHS PLANTED EN MASSE 136 GRAPE HYACINTHS 140 GUINEA-HEN FLOWERS 144 CROWN IMPERIALS 148 PEONIES IN A SUNLIT GARDEN (ecleiye 152 TYPES OF ANNUAL POPPIES . 156 PEONIES IN AN OLD GARDEN 160 PHLOX 162 TIME-TRIED PERENNIALS 166 A MASS OF TANGLED FOLIAGE 170 SHRUBS DONE UP FOR THE WINTER 174 MASS PLANTING OF PETUNIAS 178 THE DAY OF THE PHLOXES (color) 182 PHLOX SUBULATA 186 ADONIS VERNALIS . 190 AQUILEGIA CALIFORNICA . 2 = G94 DELPHINIUMS NEAR THE SEA (calor) . Frontispiece CANTERBURY BELLS : 198 SEASIDE GARDENS IN BOATS f . 202 THE WATER GARDEN, EASTHAMPTON, L. I. (color) 206 SPANISH IRISES 208 DIKE IN THE WATER GARDEN 212
JAPANESE IRISES IN THE WATER GARDEN [ xiv ]
216
PLATE LX LXI LXII LXUI LXIV LXV LXVI LXVII
LXVIII LXIX
LXX LXXI LXXII
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
FACING PAGE
THE LOTUS LILY ;
LILIUM SPECIOSUM RUBRUM
THE ABUNDANCE OF SUMMER (ealan)
MME. CAROLINE TESTOUT
FRAU KARL DRUSCHEKI ee:
STEPS LEADING FROM AN UPPER GARDEN .
CLIMBING CLOTILDE SOUPERT a
OLD-FASHIONED GARDEN SHOWING FEW FLOW- ERS, SSO cuit Co
A FORMAL GARDEN IN MAGNOLIA, MASS.
AN ARRANGEMENT BOTH FORMAL AND NATU- RALISTIC . .
AN OLD GARDEN IN SALEM, MASS. :
A GARDEN OVER A HUNDRED YEARS OLD .
TWILIGHT AT SYLVESTER MANOR, SHELTER ISLAND (color)
220 224 228 232 236 240 242
246 250
254 256 260
264
GARDENS NEAR THE SEA
CHAPTER I
THE SOIL AND LAWNS OF SEASIDE PLACES
sandy and the surroundings saline, and where all verdure appears to turn its head inland toward a milder air and a richer soil, it has sometimes been thought impossible to raise a good turf, let alone a fine lawn. Undoubtedly, it is in such places that plant life needs encouragement. Even a sustained effort may be necessary before satisfactory lawns can be established and gardens started on their way. Still, before the lawn or the garden is made there is the ever-present soil to be taken into consideration. Usually the soul near the sea is abundantly sandy and porous, and a heavier earth is sometimes added to it, or an ample supply of well-rotted manure, that the plants my obtain sufficient nourishment and the soil about them be able to hold moisture longer than is possible when it is very light. Before grass seed is sown, a top-dressing of about two inches of rich soil should almost invariably be placed over the sand in order to make a strong turf; one that, if sprinkled and tended during dry weather, will be permanent. If the turf lies so near the sea that it is occasionally dashed with salt spray, its chances of life and perma- nence are of course very slight. Apart from this
[1]
[ places bordering the coasts where the soil is
GARDENS NEAR THE SEA
drawback, however, the long roots of the seeds started in the top-dressing strike down deeply into the under- lying sand and take a hold that enables them to endure for many years.
The lawns of homes which are close to the sea should naturally be located well out of reach of the salt spray, an enemy turning green into black and leaving devastation in his wake. It then depends entirely on the quality of the soil of the proposed lawn whether a top-dressing is desirable, or whether the lawn may be made by relying solely on such fertili- zation and enrichment as plays a part in most plant cultivation.
To have a successful garden, the soil about a country place must be good. It is almost as important as the foundation of the house. For although there are plants so long-enduring that they will live and bloom under adverse conditions of soil and situation, yet their beauty is then not seen at its best, nor will they live for a particularly long time. They become but weaklings among their kin, and are out of the running as are sickly people in the human race.
It is sometimes difficult to establish a fine lawn about many country homes where the ground has been filled in and much grading done, since, almost invariably, the soil supplied by the contracters has been of the poorest quality. For years afterward the plaint is heard, “Nothing does well here, the soil is so poor.” By giving some attention, however, to the character of the soil used for such purposes, the lawn could at once be started advantageously, and the
[2]
1 GALV1d
SOIL AND LAWNS
work of the future become simply that of additional planting and embellishment.
There are, besides, many places by the sea where nature herself supplies an admirable soil for lawn building and flower growing. The soil of New England’s rocky coast and that of both sides of Long Island Sound, as well as that of northern New Jersey and some states farther south, seldom show the need of a complete top-dressing. However, if one wished to make a lawn at Atlantic City, it would surely be necessary to cover the soil there with another of some richness and body.
Colonel Young has built a garden on the million dollar pier at Atlantic City that divides attention with his sea-lions and his statuary. The garden is ostensibly one for the casual sightseer. In it gera- niums, sweet alyssum, ageratums, and other well- known plants live through their day much as they do in other places. The position of the house acts as a wave break for the garden, giving it the protection from salt spray without which it could not live. The soil in this garden appears almost black, somewhat like swamp earth, while through it the native sand shines as grains of silver. The remarkable stretches of turf about the Oriental and the Manhattan Beach Hotels of Long Island have only been made possible by covering the sand with a layer of rich soil.
A sandy soil, in fact, enriched with one of more body and nourishing properties, is likely to favor the ambition of garden builders. A clayey, hard soil inclined to cake is the one of all others that is most
[3]
GARDENS NEAR THE SEA
undesirable in a garden, and fortunately one that makes small claim to seaside space.
As soon as the soil about a country home has passed under scrutiny and is regulated, the lawn should receive a full share of attention. The lawn is not merely grass; it forms the greensward outlining the spaces held free for different forms of growth. Gleaming from under the snow in emerald patches, sometimes in the very heart of winter, it whispers of spring sooner than do the flowers. Its beauty cannot be overestimated, and when it is unsightly the effect upon the appearance of the home and garden cannot be too deeply lamented.
Such problems of drainage, grading, and road and path construction as are present should naturally be worked out in detail prior to sowing grass seed. As a rule the makers of lawns and gardens come into their own after the engineering features of a place, its bound- aries, and the question of its soil have been settled. Only then can the lawn be rightly started; a work that, in its turn, should be followed by the planting of trees, shrubs, and vines — individuals outside the garden, yet which unlock for it the door of expecta- tion. Later the garden itself becomes the center of interest. It should then be remembered that, as well as beauty, a garden should have permanence, such as is given largely by herbaceous plants. Such plants will not, however, thrive in a shallow soil.
Each one of the innumerable seaside gardens in this country includes, perhaps has approaching it, beside it, or in its vicinity, a greensward that, if justice
[4]
SOIL AND LAWNS
were done, should have as constant and thorough attention as the garden itself. To set up one position or style of lawn over all others would be useless, since each individual lawn must be treated according to its location, its size, and its governing characteristics. To step from the veranda to a secluded greensward, in which each blade of grass holds itself as proudly as a plant in bloom, and to wander over it seeking, perchance, the garden, is one of the exquisite pleasures of life in a well-cultivated bit of country.
At many English country homes tea is served on the lawn when the increasing scent of the flowers gives token of the coming twilight. In this country too, more than ever before, it is now regarded as the home without walls. In seasons to come, when, no doubt, the ubiquitous mosquito shall have been properly conquered, it is likely that lawns will be still more appreciated and fostered than at present.
The greater number of lawns in this country have not, as yet, reached a high state of perfection. This is owing partly to the difficulty in securing pure grass seed, and also to a lack of deep culture and sustained vigilance in combating weeds. Indeed, when one has a warlike nature, a lawn is an excellent field in which to break it; for, after a season of grappling with weeds and scarce an interval to lay down arms, it is almost against the natural order of things that the most mar- tial spirit should not be tamed and humiliated on seeing them spring up again with undiminished ardor. New lawns are frequently made with selected sods that soon settle in place and quickly form a good and
[5]
GARDENS NEAR THE SEA
permanent lawn. Too much care, however, cannot be given to the quality of the sods thus employed. It is as necessary to see that they are of an enduring variety of grass and free from weeds as it is to plant rose bushes that are untouched by disease. Lawns formed in this way are naturally more costly than those produced from seed.
Deep culture of the soil is of the utmost advantage to a lawn about to be made with seed; that is, the ground should be dug or plowed over to the depth of about a foot, stones and all objectionable matter should be removed, and the roots of weeds, especially, should ' be taken away and burned. Then, not until the soil has been repeatedly forked and worked and the last weeds despatched, is it time to cover it liberally with well-decomposed manure.
But before this work is done the ground, as pre- viously intimated, must have been graded, and, if necessary, drained, which fortunately is not usually required. When plans are made for small lawns they very seldom need much grading; but when they are to be large, the work should be guided by a master hand, or at least by some one who has made a close observa- tion of lawns.
The most attractive lawns are not always those that are the most level. Slight undulations of the ground leading, perhaps, to some recognized point of interest are more in accordance with the varying lines of nature, showing little that is rigidly executed. Pronouncedly steep slopes are rather to be avoided, since they take away from the sense that a lawn is a
[6]
GARDENS NEAR THE SEA
that while one variety will do well in a particular soil, it may do but poorly in another. Redtop grass seed, one of the most generally used varieties, is not well suited to the sandy soil of many seaside places, as it is very susceptible to droughts and the sunshine on the sand during the early stages of its growth. Ken- tucky blue grass, one of the most enduring of grasses, takes, on the contrary, a good hold on sandy ground and forms a strong turf, although not of so fine a quality as other varieties that demand more from the soil. Red or creeping fescue has been found to resist droughts and to form a durable turf on soils that are light and sandy.
Seedsmen and others skilled in making fine lawns suggest, as has been intimated, various kinds of grass seed for diverse soils, and although individual experi- ments are apt to bring out many unexpected and interesting phases of the way in which particular seeds act on certain soils, there is already enough systematized knowledge on the subject to start the amateur lawn maker cheerfully on his way.
The grass seed of lawns should, moreover, be sown by one skilled in this art, which requires much care. Then, after the seed has been worked into the soil with a fine-toothed rake, it should be rolled heavily. This rolling is important to form an even surface, and should be repeated at intervals even after the ground is green with the upspringing blades. Frequent mowing tends to strengthen and thicken the growth of grass, and heavy rolling, when the earth is moist, helps to keep its surface even. In times of drought the lawns
[8]
SOIL AND LAWNS
should be watered frequently; persistent weeds should be taken out with a knife; the bare spots, if any occur, should be resown, and every autumn and spring the ground should be fertilized again. The idea that a lawn once made can endure unaided forever is as fallacious as the belief that hardy plants will thrive without the assistance of the gardener.
Grass, it is true, is a perennial, recurring year after year. It is not so strong, however, as many weeds, and therefore can be quickly overridden, since it is dependent on unstinted nourishment.
Every one, perhaps, has his ideal of a lawn. There comes now to my mind one, of such exquisite texture and dignity of position, that it seems as if but one opinion could exist concerning its beauty. It is placed, not at the front of the house, but at the rear, and is approached by way of a large, formal garden. When one passes this garden the lawn comes into view as a broad and expanding picture, such as nature plans when in her pleasantest mood. From the garden it slopes slightly downward to a level, extensive center, and then appears to be graded gradually upward until lost at the base of the trees bounding it on all sides but that of the garden. These trees actually seclude the lawn as completely as if it were hidden by the dense thickets of the woods. Not until one is on this lawn can its size really be appreciated. Seats snuggled under the great trees and a rustic house at a far side give it points of interest. I noticed, also, that a few large rocks had been left in their original places. The surfaces of these were softened by the red honeysuckle
[9]
GARDENS NEAR THE SEA
vine, Lonicera sempervirens, with brilliant leaves nearly evergreen. Following the outline of the trees of this lawn, in irregular groups many flowering shrubs pecul- iar to that part of the country may be seen. With native vines they form a close, almost interwoven growth that quite dispels the thought of man having planted them.
Passing from the garden to this lawn, one feels no regret for the brilliant flowers that are left behind but rather a sense of peace, since the place is one of infinite quiet, without the slightest disturbing element.
Such a bit of nature presents a different conception of a lawn from an immense round space of green sur- rounded by a circular driveway, leading up, probably, to some imposing mansion. The one can become the living ground, the home out-of-doors, while the other is valuable for convenience and ornamentation. Each serves its purpose, as do also the infinite number of very small lawns about seaside homes, the chief beauty of which is their stalwart greenness.
[10 }
CHAPTER II
THE SEASIDE GARDEN UNDER DIFFICULTIES
sea and the surrounding plant life seem to come
into peculiar harmony. Along the Mediter- ranean flowers bloom, fruits ripen, and all the out- pourings of nature take on their full strength of beauty. In other places by the sea, however, there is a constant struggle to keep its immense power from overriding and ruining the garden. Yet, almost, before all else there is the wind to regard as an ever-present force both friendly and baneful.
Before a seaside garden is located, the ways of the wind and as many of its vagaries as possible should be taken under consideration. It should be observed whether its average play about the proposed site of the garden is rough or gentle, also whether there are any natural or artificial breaks in its way. Along certain stretches by the ocean, where young trees have been planted, it is pitiful to see that repeated onslaughts of the wind have bent their stems almost to semi- circles, and that, from year to year, their growth is so slight as to be barely perceptible. To plant these trees in a place so dominated by the wind was to pit them in an unequal struggle. Some shrub of twisted and thick-growing habit, or an evergreen, having the
[11]
[ is true that there are many places in which the
GARDENS NEAR THE SEA
power to resist and to form a break against the wind, might better have been used.
Even in many very slightly exposed gardens near the sea, the wind at times becomes so devastating that those wise in its ways have omitted all palms, elephant’s ears, Caladium esculentum, and other plants bearing large leaves which, at short notice, can be battered and torn into innumerable strips. Thus, in a few hours of rough wind play, the thick leaves of a beautiful magnolia that had withstood many gales were made almost unrecognizable. The wind can work as sad havoc with a seaside garden as can the salt spray, another element the strength of which must be gaged before a successful garden can be sustained.
To fight the wind there are evergreen shrubs that form into dense walls; natural slopes and buildings also play their part in staying its strongest attacks. But the only way to save a garden from salt spray is to place it absolutely out of the sea’s reach.
A few years ago, along the Connecticut side of the Sound, there raged a storm of such fierceness as to have few equals in the memories of the oldest inhabitants. The water and the spray overleaped their natural boundaries and entered gardens supposed to be well out of their reach. For months afterward the withered, blackened foliage of the shrubs and plants was a melancholy sight, while many of the delicate flowers had been killed. Fortunately, such a storm is not in the regular order of summer weather, and need only be remembered as illustrating the undesirability of too great a familiarity between the sea and the garden.
[12]
GARDEN UNDER DIFFICULTIES
Besides the sea there is the sun to make one ponder before locating the garden. Undoubtedly, the greater number of plants are sun lovers and dependent on its light and warmth for much of their beauty. Many plants, even, that are classified as shade loving, and that are found in their natural haunts in secluded, dimly lighted places, take on a briskness of growth that is fairly surprising, when planted so that they can enjoy the sunshine. The lily of the valley will lift its stalk of elfin-like flowers as well in a place visited by the sun as when planted in the shade of trees as conventionally prescribed. Near the sea, however, where the sun lingers and burns on the sand, its heat and light are often so intense that plants droop under them. To defy the sun, therefore, by planting shade- giving trees and shrubs, is a means necessary to over- come this difficulty.
Still another obstacle is encountered by garden builders who do not go to their country homes until the first or the middle of June on account of their cold, exposed positions. It is then late in the season to sow many annuals, to reset perennials, and to do other things that help make a pleasing garden. Naturally, many annuals would grow and bloom if planted this late, but they would reach their maturity so near the day of frost that their beauty would be short-lived. Cosmos, for instance, which has been sown in some seashore gardens about the first of June, has rewarded its sower by blooming just in time to have its lovely heads nipped by Jack Frost, and this in spite of its being one of the annuals
[13]
GARDENS NEAR THE SEA
that usually withstand the first bite of autumn weather.
In order to overcome this difficulty the owners of many gardens so situated often cast their cares on the shoulders of a local gardener, who then in his pride makes of them conventional beds and borders with bedding plants. One recognizes his hand in the large, circular flower beds holding cannas, plants of variegated foliage, red geraniums, or, perhaps, helio- trope, if it suits his fancy better. Petunias, most irrepressible of annuals, and salvias are also of great ’ convenience to the gardener left to his own devices. As late as mid-July, salvia can be lifted from the pot where it has been placed in its seedling stage and transplanted to the bed or border without showing a sign of wilting, provided it is kept well watered.
But to those who have become wise in garden possibilities such stiff beds of mixed flowers have completely lost their charm. While there are a few places where they appear appropriate, there are many others where there is no excuse for their existence. Yet the majority of trained gardeners take inordinate pride in bedding plants, beside which they seem to regard hardy perennials as not only poor but impudent relatives.
For the seaside home, nevertheless, where the season opens late, a garden of hardy perennials should prove satisfactory, with naturally such additions of other plants as are adaptable to the general conditions of the climate. The more work that can be done
[14]
GARDEN UNDER DIFFICULTIES
in the autumn at such places, the better will be the result the following season.
Specialized gardens have also been made very beautiful in some soils of seaside places that would have been ill suited for growing a variety of plants. Roses, unfolding in June, the time of many desires, and irises, with their prolonged period of bloom, in a number of instances have been treated so charm- ingly as to make one almost forget the existence of other flowers.
Builders of successful seaside gardens must, in truth, put a curb on the wish for all sorts and varieties of flowers. At the very outset of planting, a selection should be made of the plants best adapted to the pec idiar positions they are desired to hold permanently. The old saw, “‘ Work well begun is half done,” especially applies to all garden building.
To start a garden with plants whose natural habitat is away from the sea can but result in sore disappointment and the labor of replacing them at the price of dearly bought experience. Even in the most desirable situations, the intense heat of the American summer, the usual summer drought, and the brilliant, almost unfailing, light prevent the gardens here from thriving as freely as they do under the moister atmosphere of England. Many seeds brought from there and planted in our gardens show unusual brilliancy of color the first year, but quite lose their superiority in the seeds they produce. To keep up their high note of color the seeds must be imported each year from the old country. Still, the atmosphere
[15]
GARDENS NEAR THE SEA
of many seaside places has a humid quality that causes much plant life to flourish at its best. In many places by the sea there are to be seen varieties of plants attaining a richness and fulness of growth such as is seldom noticed inland. On Long Island to-day there are plants of no particular association with the sea that have rivaled the proportions of exaggerated dreams.
To attempt garden building by the sea, without placing this curb on the natural preference for certain plants, is indeed a folly. The story has been told of a northern woman, a seaside dweller, who, when visiting the southland, became enraptured with the Cherokee rose. In her mind’s eye she saw it climbing, twining, and bursting out into a great luxuriance of bloom about the walls of her own home. On her return she made elaborate preparation for its planting. This rose, however, is not hardy in the North — a fact so well known that no one ventured to repeat it to this energetic woman, whose apparent confidence in the matter made it seem as if she had found some unique method of making it withstand the cold. But the trouble and the expense and all the thoughts of beauty she had entertained amounted to nothing. In the end she was content to plant the climbing roses which had proved hardy in that locality and which were also very beautiful. The experience, therefore, was not futile; for had she not seen in the South the possibilities of the Cherokee rose, she might never have become interested in the northern hardy climbers, and thus might have been without the pleasure that growing them can give.
[16]
GARDEN UNDER DIFFICULTIES
There is, of course, a flora peculiar to the sea and the sand. The sea cactus, Thyone briarcus, follows the coast from Connecticut to Florida, growing Just below low tide. There is the sea daffodil, sea bind- weed, marsh rosemary, sea pea, and innumerable other plants of the beaches and salt marshes that have fear neither of salt spray nor of the sea itself. Such plants as these, however, are not those that should form a garden, wherein upright growth and brilliancy are desired. A garden exclusively of sea weeds and plants would be a curiosity; beautiful, perhaps, if viewed under a magnifying glass, but not at all such a one as the average summer resident desires.
To acknowledge the difficulties of a seaside garden is, In a measure, to have overcome them. To locate the garden in a spot sheltered from the fiercest blasts of the wind, away from the salt spray, and where the sun will not burn it too strongly, and especially to discriminate in the selection of its plants, is to outline the road to success.
[17]
CHAPTER III
THE TREES OUTSIDE THE GARDEN
side the garden, that years must pass before
they attain their kingdom of majestic size and beauty. Indeed, trees of average growth put forth an annual amount which appears very slight when viewed in the open with the great expanse of blue above. To overcome this characteristic of slow growth there is a tendency abroad to plant trees, and espe- cially shrubs, very closely together, on the ground that a foliage effect is desired, not for future generations, but for the enjoyment of the present builder of the home and garden. Before many years have passed, trees thus planted begin to interfere with each other, and their individual development is hindered. Many trees of the dense woods and forest, when crowded closely together, appear as tall, slender stems with crowns but sparingly leaved; while, on the open lawn, the same trees, planted singly, produce great, dome-shaped crowns of stirring green. As arule, nurserymen favor a close planting of trees and shrubs outside the garden; and when their advice is followed blindly, it is usually found that there must be a thinning out within a comparatively short time. For the planting of shrubs and trees at a small place in Greenwich on the Sound,
[18 ]
IE is difficult to realize, when planting trees out-
TREES OUTSIDE THE GARDEN
the nurseryman’s list was cut down one-third; and yet in three years’ time the question of thinning out most of the shrubs and few of the trees was imminent.
Naturally the character of a tree and the purpose for which it is planted should determine, to a great extent, how much or how little it should be crowded. Too much space could hardly be given the American elm, that its full beauty might mark a landscape, while birches, although attractive as individual speci- mens, form also charming pictures when planted fairly close together.
In general, trees chosen for permanence on the open lawn should be set from seventy-five to a hundred feet apart, and although this may produce at first a somewhat barren effect, it can always be overcome by shrubbery massed in particular places, and by the use of dwarf varieties of trees. The development of the large trees is then not hindered; and the melan- choly work of uprooting them, made necessary by over- crowding, is avoided.
Unless for special reasons, the hardwood, deep- rooting trees are to be preferred for lawn planting, since those with surface roots are likely to cause the grass to die out, leaving bare spots of earth.
Trees should not be planted about a home only for their beauty, but also to give shade and to produce a cool, comfortable effect. It is by their assistance that many of the landscape pictures have been made at Newport and other places where an unusual amount of thought has been expended on the home grounds. The trees mentioned in this chapter are neither great
[19]
GARDENS NEAR THE SEA
rarities nor in any way extraordinary, but invariably those that have proved worthy of planting outside the seaside garden. Naturally not all American trees do well in proximity to the water, but there are still a sufficient number that thrive near it to give abundant shade and variety.
The white willow, Salix alba, with silvery gray foliage, and the weeping willows, S. Babylonica, of golden leaves in early spring and green throughout the summer, are both charming trees about seaside homes, since they and the water are long-time friends. By the side of small inlets from the sea, in which their reflections can be seen, they give a note of coloring peculiarly their own. They are among the first trees to respond to the caressing touch of spring and retain throughout the summer a look of cool freshness. In the autumn, when their gray-green tones contrast with the more brilliant, ruddy hues of other foliage, they appear to take on a solemnity of bearing, as if they, alone, were to be left to meet the mist from the sea, and the oncoming winter. Even through the coldest weather their bark remains bright and pretty.
Neither the white nor the weeping willow is indig- enous to this country. Still, after their introduction, at the time of various settlements, they shortly began to grow so lustily as to appear like natives of the region. Plate vii., the illustration of white willows, shows trees averaging a circumference of nine and a half feet, at a distance of five feet from the ground. They were planted in April 1801, at Salem, Massa-
[20]
ABOUT THE HOUSE
TRIES
PLATE VI
TREES OUTSIDE THE GARDEN
chusetts, very near the water, which seems conducive to rapidity of growth and longevity.
To those who have a fondness for it, the weeping willow is an indispensable tree when a selection is made for planting outside the garden. At one of the large places in a town by the Sound, it has been employed quite to the exclusion of other trees. Not fewer than a hundred weeping willows, possibly fifteen feet high, have been planted there in various groups and groves; and although trees of this size have not the majesty of those that are old and time-tried, they are exquisitely graceful, and cast over the landscape something of the charm of their mist-tinted foliage. The surrounding country has been transformed by them into a picture worthy the brush of Corot.
The weeping willow, S. aurea pendula, is invariably remarkable for its beautiful golden bark.
Sweet gum trees, Liquidambar styraciflua, do well in low, marshy ground and on lawns closely border- ing the seashore. With their neat, star-shaped foliage they stand out clearly against their background, pro- claiming themselves with distinct elegance. These trees are quite in harmony with places where the planting is formal and stately. In the autumn they take on an added note of brilliancy, their foliage turn- ing to variegated shades of bright red and yellow, and although always strikingly ornamental trees, it is at this time, particularly, that they appear most beautiful. The sweet gums grow best when planted in the spring.
The Kentucky coffee tree, Gymnocladus dioica, thrives near the sea almost without fail. It grows
[21]
GARDENS NEAR THE SEA
fairly large, and although its sweet-scented June flowers of greenish white are not particularly beautiful or conspicuous, the remarkably large pods that follow them make the tree at once known and remembered. The foliage, which is acacia-like in outline, is set, moreover, in such a way as to allow air and light to slip through it freely, while its great abundance forms a screen from the sun. The tree is regarded as giving the most agreeable shade.
The honey locust, Gleditschia triancanthos, is in somewhat the same class with the Kentucky coffee tree, since its habit of growth is also drooping and picturesque, and its aspect light and graceful because of the number of its long, compound leaves. It is extensively used for hedges (page 80), while, perhaps, the most disagreeable thing that can be said of it is that it waits until late in the spring before unfolding its leaves.
The plane tree, buttonball, or the sycamore as it is more generally and erroneously called, Platanus orientalis, is not unlike the American buttonwood, although in general a more satisfactory tree. The peculiarity of its mottled bark makes it a well-known figure; and since it is very hardy and grows rapidly it has become something of a favorite. It is, however, a gaunt individual, with foliage ruggedly formed and quite lacking the elegance which marks that of the sweet gum. This tree is almost the last of all to show its leaves in the spring and the first to drop them in the autumn. A few years ago, when the season was
unusually backward in early June, the plane trees of [ 22
TREES OUTSIDE THE GARDEN
Long Island appeared to be either dead or dying, but later they responded to the warm weather and put forth their usual show of life. Still, a salient objection to them is that they continually drop their dead leaves. To keep a walk or an avenue near them clean requires daily attention. Many experts, nevertheless, include them among the best of our hardy shade trees.
At the botanical garden in Algiers, there is an avenue flanked by plane trees which have attained such astonishing proportions that they dwarf everything else within the garden, raising themselves toward the sky like mute specters. There they are in truth at home, while in America they are foreigners to the soil and their growth in comparison is as that of pygmies to giants.
Among the poplars, the Carolina poplar, Populus deltoides, has been used extensively as a shade tree along our coasts. Unfortunately, like most of its relatives, it falls under the bane of being short-lived, and also has the sad habit of dropping its leaves. But it is a tree of more rapid growth than any other of the northeastern states, which in a measure makes up for its other defects. Very often this characteristic is underestimated, and the trees, in consequence, are set much too closely together.
The member of the ash family that is often seen where the sea is not far distant is the green ash, Fraxinus lanceolata. It is especially adapted to lawn planting, as it develops a beautiful crown of delicately formed, brilliantly green leaves, which change their color but little in acknowledgment of the autumn. To plant
[ 23 ]
GARDENS NEAR THE SEA
a green ash in a place where an ornamental tree is desired is to plant one for permanence, so seldom does it die out if given an average chance to live. This particular ash is an intense lover of sunlight.
The great family of oaks must not be forgotten when trees are planted outside the garden; for there are no others among the deciduous trees that have a person- ality of such force and endurance. Of late years the oaks have, to some extent, lost their stigma of being slow of growth, and are now thought, when planted in favorable situations, to make average strides toward height and greatness.
The willow oak would scarcely be recognized as a member of the genus by one unacquainted with its narrow, willow-like leaves. Near the sea it has great endurance, often becoming noticeably handsome, though it never attains the great size of some of its relatives. In midsummer it is especially attractive, showing then the light gray-green of its foliage, which it also retains until very late in the year.
The swamp white oak, like others of the group of chestnut oaks, has interesting foliage and is not par- ticular as to whether it is planted in wet or in dry soil. Sometimes it proves an excellent tree for a background, or to use in exposed places where it is desirable to break the sky line.
The red oak is one of the sturdiest trees of spreading form, and a rapid grower, living to a great age besides. Its leaves are not so delicately formed or so beautiful as those of the scarlet oak, but they are well shaped and turn to a deep, rich red in the late season.
[24]
SSVIN SINATWS “SMOTTLM OLLIAAL TA GALVTd
TREES OUTSIDE THE GARDEN
The oak of oaks for seashore planting is the pin oak, Quercus palustris, which grows rapidly, lives long, and throughout its day presents a personality of much beauty. It can always be recognized by its pyramidal form, the pendulous droop of its branches, and its comparatively small leaves with projecting ribs as sharp as pins, which are responsible for its common name. Vividly green throughout the summer, the glory of many an autumn landscape is in part owing to the pin oak, which then becomes almost a solid mass of clear, bright red. Even until December, it is not unusual to see the tree waving some of its ruddy leaves. In marshy places heavy with moisture, it sometimes attains its maximum proportions, as is also true of it when planted in drying ground away from the sea. Perhaps from the pin oak was derived the expression, “hardy as an oak.”
Among the birches and the beeches, there are the weeping forms that are almost without rivals for ornamental lawn planting. The weeping beech espe- cially, though no very generally seen, invariably compels admiration by its grace and the brightness of its summer foliage. Against a winter landscape, its curious framework is none the less inspiring. It is then a host in itself and undoubtedly merits a place on the lawn, perhaps at some distance, from the other trees outside the garden.
Another weeping tree used increasingly for lawn planting is Weir’s cut-leaved maple. At best it reaches a height of thirty-five or forty feet and has the lure of finely cut, beautiful foliage. Like most of the
[ 25 ]
GARDENS NEAR THE SEA
maples, it is remarkable for the speed with which it grows.
There is a quality about weeping trees that places them much in harmony with the sea. They seem to have realized its unconquered power and to have laid down their arms, contenting themselves with growing in a way that acts as a protection against its fury. Weeping trees also seem more suitable to plant in hollows or slight declivities than on rising ground. They then sink into their environment and help its completeness, while it seems as if an elevation were better carried out and accentuated by upright, pyra- midal trees. Two minds, however, do not always work identically in the planting of trees outside the garden. It is as largely a matter of taste as is the arrangement of the interior of the home. A solitary weeping willow set on the top of a steep slope is an offense to the eye of one, while to that of another it but holds a proper position of prominence.
In fact, no general directions can be given concerning which tree is best to plant here and which one is best to plant there, because each home ground is governed by its own position. But whether the place be very near to or at a considerable distance from the sea, in either case a strong effort should be made to plant trees on and about the lawn, that the house may be surrounded with an atmosphere of shade and comfort.
I shall never forget the first impression of a sea- shore place I was once asked to visit in the enchanting month of June. The house, built like a castle, sat at the top of an elevation which rose abruptly from the
[ 26 ]
TREES OUTSIDE THE GARDEN
side of the sea. It had the sky as a background and a foreground of barren earth. There was no lawn worthy the name; no garden. Dame Nature shunned the place as completely as if it were plague-stricken. The driveway was outlined with electric lights which cropped up as freely as mushrooms. But more than all else about the place, I resented the deception of its name. It was called “Everglade”!
The family who built it dwelt there but a few weeks during the summer and then merely for the purpose of enjoying the sea. Its members were not horticulturally inclined, caring neither for oak nor ash. One day a relative came to visit this place and spoke openly about the barrenness of palaces and boats without the soothing influences of nature. For a time he was looked upon as a mild sort of lunatic, but happily, in the end, his influence told, and “Everglade”’ was placed for embellishment in the hands of an expert landscape gardener. Since then I have heard that it is transformed as if by a fairy’s wand, and that one member of the family’s interest in the garden has become so intense that she forsakes every other pastime to spend her days there among the flowers.
On lawns by the seashore that afford their trees some protection, I have seen Asiatic magnolias fairly covered with blooms in the early days of spring. They have not the hardiness of most trees, especially when young; nor can they endure fierce winds that tear their leaves to pieces. Still, their beauty is so pronounced — their early bloom so appealing — that
[27]
GARDENS NEAR THE SEA
one is tempted to give them an opportunity to grow wherever they are likely to thrive.
Magnolia stellata, a Japanese variety, leads the others in point of early flowering. It is a dwarfish, shrublike tree that unfolds its myriads of pink buds into star-shaped white flowers casting forth a delicate fragrance. A fairer sight is seldom seen. But this little Japanese is neither so well known nor so much be- loved as the large, noble Chinese magnolia, conspicua. When in early spring it is covered with its large, pure white blossoms, it appears to vanquish all shrubs and even to pale the thought of other flowers. Like the stellata, the flowers open before the leaves, a charac- teristic of some plants that makes them particularly lovable. It seems as if they wish to do their best at once; as if the slow process of getting rid of winter has become irksome to them. Thus they send out quickly the best that they have, regardless of the chance that a late frost or even a fall of snow may completely destroy their efforts.
I have seen Chinese magnolias on Long Island of remarkable size and wondrous beauty; and I have also seen them in a town by the Sound during the time of their bloom, making the dooryard of a modest cottage the most enchanting spot in the place. New palatial houses were forgotten; lawns planted by experts were overlooked, when these magnolias burst open their buds beside the broken gateway. How, when, and by whom they were planted are facts so old as to have outlived the memory of the present occupant of the cottage. In such a situation, — the
[ 28 ]
TREES OUTSIDE THE GARDEN
roadway before them, the cottage behind, and the Sound at some distance farther back,— they have a protection from the elements that has made them live long. To plant such trees, however, in face of high gales or very near the water would be to insure their death.
M. soulangeana, also a well-known Asiatic variety, is more hardy than the conspicua and therefore a better tree to plant in places where the climate is severe.
Sometimes I have heard people say that they would not plant magnolias outside their seaside gardens because these trees could not live under such condi- tions. Yet, given the chance, the probability was strong that they not only would have lived, but would have done well.
The word magnolia carries the mind of the north- erner southward, to where the native magnolias hold ° sway.
Never can they be seen in such perfection in the northlands. Still, there are varieties of even these native magnolias, acuminata, glauca, and tripetala, which can be successfully grown as ornamental trees. The great leaved, tropical looking macrophylla has been known to live and to bloom in a part of the North where the thermometer falls to ten degrees below zero. In places where it is possible for them to live, their great beauty makes a strong claim for their encouragement, and when the planting ground is so situated as to put their hardiness to too great a test, they can only be discarded with intense regret.
[ 29 ]
GARDENS NEAR THE SEA
Besides the regular deciduous trees for lawn plant- ing, there are many dwarf varieties, and others grown as standards, that serve to beautify the grounds of seashore places.
The Camperdown elm, with its graceful habit of sending out its branches almost horizontally and then downward until they nearly touch the ground, has formed a summer house within which many children have played or hidden in high glee. For a grafted tree it is remarkably sturdy.
Tea’s weeping mulberry droops to the ground, and thus forms a shady roof more complete than that of a green parasol. Its heart-shaped foliage gives it an individual look, and although the direction of its growth has been so changed by the art of man, it nevertheless bears and ripens its mulberries at the scheduled time. Not two hundred feet away from the Sound, I have noticed two of these trees making good growth and withstanding the severest winters imaginable. In fact, a pair of chipmunks observed them as well as I. In earliest spring, almost with the snowdrops, they made their appearance about the trees, coming as if from nowhere. They were chased by dogs and by cats, and fired at by children; but in every case, their ark of safety was the shelter of the mulberry trees, from the branches of which they loudly ridiculed their pursuers. But in the fruiting time their pleasure was keenest. Then most pertly they sat on the drooping boughs, eating their full of mulberries day after day.
Of marked beauty is the Japanese weeping cherry,
[ 30 ]
TREES OUTSIDE THE GARDEN
one of the best of the small, ornamental trees. Its _ flowers, of a delicate, rose color, open before the leaves and fairly cover the slender branches, drooping almost to the ground. By its early and fascinating bloom the tree is of great advantage to a lawn, since it makes everything about appear gay and beautiful. Indeed, the Japanese have contributed largely to the number of flowering trees, and trees of brilliant foliage, that are now used to serve many definite and special pur- poses outside the garden.
It is to be regretted that some of the most important trees do not like the scent and the nearness of the sea. The swamp and the silver maples, the tulip tree, and many others of unusual beauty are not identified with seashore planting. At a distance inland, however, they can be used with the average amount of success. But if the lordly American maples will not show them- selves in perfection along our coasts, their little rela- tives from Japan, which are not expected to grow tall and stately, serve somewhat as a consolation for their loss.
Although, in truth, the Japanese colored maples are trees, they are often so dwarfed in size that they find a place among shrubbery, to which they give color and accent. Their appropriateness for small spaces cannot be overestimated, since they seldom grow sufficiently large to produce a crowded effect. There are a large number of these wonderful, dwarf trees, always resplendent with color, and yet which change and deepen in hue as the season advances. There are some of blood red; others of golden yellow
[31]
GARDENS NEAR THE SEA
with slight markings of green; and still others of green, veined with silver and margined all about with rose color. In the outline and texture of their leaves, these maples also show great variety, some being palm-shaped, others like stars, while others are fernlike or cut and lobed in fantastic fashions.
Indeed, so many of these little trees are now known to be hardy in this country that the purchaser has ample scope to please his fancy when choosing them for planting outside the garden. The golden yellow leaves, slightly marked with green, of Acer Japonicum aureum make it of value in places where a cheerful color is desired. A. polymorphum atropurpureum is always interesting from its habit of changing its blood-red leaves of spring to purplish red during the summer, and then to bright crimson for the autumn. A. polymorphum septemlobum, with its deeply cut, glossy, green leaves, has a distinct purpose when planted as a contrast to the reds of the atropurpureum.
Through the employment of Japanese maples, the lawn can be provided with charming masses of color. In June, when the genus of maples is at its best, their foliage gleams brightly, as yet undimmed by dust or the intense heat of summer. In the autumn again, the days of the reds and the gold, they cast off the little laxity they have shown during the summer and shine most radiantly.
Intense heat occasionally harms these fascinating dwarf trees, and an exposed position in winter will cause them to suffer from cold. Nevertheless, I have known them to live lustily from year to year in a
[ 32]
TREES OUTSIDE THE GARDEN
place where only a wide spreading lawn and a break- water separated them from the Sound.
Lately, it has been somewhat of a fad to plant many varieties of these maples together or in groups where they are valuable for striking foliage effects. They are much seen also in proximity to dwarf conifer trees, the usefulness and beauty of which are more keenly appreciated each year. Very often the two are used to bring the house and the surrounding grounds together.
The ailanthus, tree of Heaven, Ailanthus glandulosa, although seen in perfection in many dry, inland places, forms notable groups very near the water at many places on Long Island and by the Sound. It is of an imposing presence, with long, wandlike leaves of many leaflets, and invariably attracts attention when its great bunches of samaras are ripening. The odor from the staminate trees when in bloom is rather generally thought to be offensive. By keeping the main stem of the ailanthus cut down, abundant suckers arise from the base, which then form an effect of waving shrubbery as graceful as that of bamboo. In this way, this tree is useful for screening objectionable things.
Of late the catalpa, grown as a standard, Catalpa Bungei, has become an immensely popular, formal tree outside the garden. At a distance of possibly an eighth of a mile from the sea, I know one quaint yet precise garden, the lines of whose outer bound- aries are marked by these trees. There they seem to thrive as well as they do inland, showing globe-
[ 33 ]
GARDENS NEAR THE SEA
shaped heads of symmetrical beauty and large green leaves that remain fresh looking until late in the season.
There are many trees besides those mentioned in this limited space that have endured for years outside the seaside garden. In the selection of them much depends on the distance of the planting ground from the sea, and the knowledge of whether they are to have artificial protection from its mad moods, or whether they are to act as the protectors of more delicate forms of growth. The question of position can never be overlooked when trees are to serve as the out- guards of the seaside home and garden.
About country homes where the ground is limited to a small area, trees should be planted, if at all, with great discretion. In the majority of such cases, it is wiser to treat the lawn and the surrounding ground with evergreen and deciduous shrubs, rapid in their growth and often wonderful in their beauty One or a few trees may then be added to give emphasis to certain points, and to foster a variety of skyline; but many large trees on a small plot of ground inva- riably produce the impression of overcrowding and contraction.
»
[34]
CHAPTER IV
EVERGREEN TREES
f | 0 complete the planting of trees outside the garden and not to give a place to those that are evergreen would show little feeling for
the eternal and unchanging element of nature, for these trees have not only distinct and varied beauty, but great stability. After those that are deciduous have dropped their leaves, they still hold their marvel- ous green. In fact, without the evergreens this color would be almost lost to the out-of-door world for several months in the year. The grass throughout the winter is pale and dead looking, the framework of the decidu- ous trees appears gray against a cold sky, and the leaves of plants have gone. It is then that the evergreens give a hopeful message, recalling the verdure of summer and encouraging the thought that it but waits its time to return.
The planting of evergreens should be especially considered by those who live near the sea, since there the winters often show a severity that is disconcerting to the most sanguine temperaments. Snow, ice, and sleet are picturesque companions for a time, but most people gladly see them take their departure. Evergreen trees, more than any others, have been chosen to com- bat the wind by forming breaks against its power.
[ 35 ]
GARDENS NEAR THE SEA
In the early days of this country, when improve- ments in heating facilities had not yet been begun, wind-breaks were planted near dwellings purely for warmth and protection. They should still be used for this purpose near the sea to-day, especially since it is known that they also have esthetic value. To form a wind-break for the protection of a house or a garden requires much less ground space than is generally supposed.
The positions that evergreens are to hold should be decided, if possible, with more care than is given to deciduous trees. In a few years after their establish- ment, many of them grow very tall. Through inju- dicious setting, I have seen them completely mar a distant view; while the same trees differently placed would have made an appeal like long-tried constant companions.
The late summer or early autumn is the best time to plant evergreens. The ground then is warm, and although the spring growth of the trees is over, the circulation of the sap and the activity of the roots are in admirable condition to sustain them. Naturally, after planting, they should be kept abundantly moist.
The spruces are among the most useful as well as the most ornamental of evergreens. They can be grown as low hedges (page 80) or as high wind-breaks, and as individual specimens they develop symmetri- cally, showing much beauty.
The native white spruce, Picea alba, is one of the most attractive evergreens, although neither so well known nor so generally planted as the Norway spruce,
[ 36 ]
EVERGREEN TREES
P. excelsa. The latter tree has made a strong appeal to planters for a long time. It is easily recognized by its large, handsome cones. The native tree, how- ever, while of less rapid growth than the one from Norway, lives longer, is more hardy, and not so subject to injury. The two appear well when planted together.
The golden Norway spruce, P. aurea, is, as its name indicates, a variety of the better known tree. It is desirable in ornamental planting, because of the clear, golden tints of its foliage.
The weeping Norway spruce, P. excelsa inverta, appears an eccentric tree when so placed that the full droop of its boughs is displayed. Unfortunately, it is of very slow growth.
One of the most bold appearing, compact, and hardy of the family is the oriental spruce, P. orientalis, the nature of which is to grow tall and large. It is of particular worth in producing attractive winter effects.
To produce color in evergreens seems, at present, to be the chief desire of many planters, and no better example of diversity of tone can be found than the Colorado blue spruce, P. pungens. The foliage of this tree is indeed much more blue than green, espe- cially through the month of June. This blue, how- ever, is the kind that suggests green underneath, reminding one of the bloom over a purple grape. The blue spruce, in fact, is not only much used for contrast effects among other evergreens, but is in itself such a beautiful, symmetrical tree that to have it about the home is now a recognized luxury. It is typically an evergreen for formal, highly cultivated effects.
[37]
GARDENS NEAR THE SEA
A number of years ago a friend, who had spent much of his leisure in studying evergreens and rare shrubs, planted at his country place about twenty- five blue spruces from the Rocky Mountains. At that time such trees were little seen among the orna- mental planting of the northeastern states. Gradually, however, they made their way into fashion. Last summer a nurseryman passing through my friend’s place stopped to make him an offer for his blue spruces. It was in four figures, since the trees were then large and well developed. My friend refused the offer, but could not help feeling gratified in discovering that his investment in blue spruces had advanced at a rate equal to that of some stocks and bonds.
Another beautiful member of this family, a silver and gold variety of the white spruce, is called “glory of spruces.” P. Engelmanni is very handsome, a Rocky Mountain species not altogether unlike the blue spruce.
The hemlock spruce, Tsuga Canadensis, a tree of renowned loveliness, presents itself particularly for planting in groups or through semi-wild woodlands, inasmuch as it is one of the few evergreens that do well in shade, often reaching there its finest develop- ment. When the home ground is sufficiently large, it can have no greater attraction than a grove of these trees. At a short distance inland from the Sound are two estates that, to my knowledge, were primarily purchased for their natural hemlock groves. In June, when the young growth is on the trees, these groves, now well ordered, appear in verity to harbor the sweetest woodland spirits.
[ 38 ]
EVERGREEN TREES
Sargent’s pendulous hemlock, a variety of T. Cana- densis, is a tree of much unique attraction; while one from Japan, T’. Sieboldit, is rare and very pleasing.
Although there is a beauty and delicacy of foliage about the pines which transcends that of the spruces, they are, in general, more difficult to transplant and more uncertain about standing the climate of many seaside places.
The king of the family is undoubtedly the American white pine, Pinus Strobus. When well established on a lawn, free from crowding, and developed to its full, distinctive outline, there is hardly another tree, unless it be the white oak, that can vie with it in majesty of bearing. Of it there are several varieties, both dwarf and bushy, that are considerably used as ornamental specimens.
P. excelsa, generally known as the Bhotans pine, bears some resemblance to the native white species, although its leaves are longer, very graceful, and delicately green in color. When winter claims the landscape, there is no more attractive pine. It is also desirable because of the rapidity of its growth.
For heavy planting, by the seashore, the Austrian pine, P. Austriaca, is a tree not only of strong, rapid growth, but of bold, refreshing appearance. On entering one of the large estates of Long Island, in which the house comes as a surprise at the end of a long driveway, one sees that this pine has been used extensively to plant the ground lying near the road. The impression after passing through the gates is that of entering a forest of pine, with a breath as
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GARDENS NEAR THE SEA
refreshing as the pine lands of New Jersey. Of the hundreds of Austrian pines here planted, not one has died or shown signs of serious weakness.
The Scotch pine, P. sylvestris, with its silvery foliage, is a favorite for places where winds are high and unmerciful, as it makes a satisfactory break against their force.
Almost all of the rare dwarf pines are charming as foreground trees when taller species, massed, per- chance, with spruces, are used in the background.
The dwarf mountain or Mugho pine, P. mughus, is one of the most noticeable among those of low growth. It spreads into shapely, compact masses, covering the bare earth in winter with a wealth of vigorous green.
In all planting of pines, whether large or dwarf, the shape of the tree as well as its peculiar coloring should have full emphasis, and especially in places where it is used for winter consolation.
There is a noble beauty about the silver fir trees not often gainsaid. They have, indeed, great charm against a winter landscape and also when covered with their young growth. But they are trees that require care and judicious pruning to be seen at their best. It is, moreover, advisable to plant only those that have had their roots properly developed in a nursery by pruning and frequent transplanting, for these trees do not take to the soil with the avidity of some evergreens, and unless they can be seen in the full expression of their stately outlines, it is better to dispense with them altogether. An_ irregularly developed fir presents a melancholy picture.
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EVERGREEN TREES
Nordmann’s fir, with its abundance of shimmering silvery leaves, has, when well grown, true grandeur of bearing. It is one of the most hardy of firs, but unfortunately slow in its growth.
Abies concolor, the Colorado silver fir, is another species well known and desirable. <A. pectinata pen- dula is charming to introduce among the evergreens planted among rocks. It is so unique in habit and so suggestive of a column of green that it should invariably be given a place where it can be seen to advantage.
The arbor vite, especially the American, Thuja occidentalis, of which there are a number of forms, is particularly valuable near the sea to form wind-breaks and hedges (page 80). These trees are readily trans- planted, are not fastidious about the soil they occupy, and in many ways are most useful. Often they are employed within the garden for unique formal effects, being then cut into fantastic shapes.
Some forms take naturally a pyramidal outline; others are dwarfish and bushy; others quite rounded. Peabody’s golden arbor vite produces foliage of bril- liant gold, and is altogether a desirable tree; while the Siberian variety, owing to the unusually dark green tones of its foliage, is the more pleasing tree during winter.
Such trees as the Mt. Atlas cedar, resembling the blue spruce in the color of its leaves, and the time- tried cedars of Lebanon are distinctive marks of some of the oldest estates on Long Island. Even after gardens have perished and generations of non-flower lovers have succeeded those who sowed and planted,
[41]
GARDENS NEAR THE SEA
these trees still breathe their faint aroma, telling us a story of a splendor long past.
The hardiness of the red cedar, Juniperus Vir- giniana, combined with its ability to accommodate itself to almost every condition of soil, has been influ- ential in its wide distribution as well as in its selection for much landscape work. In its tall, slim outline it suggests the cypresses of Europe. Its forms, how- ever, are varied, since it occurs as a low bush or again as a tree possibly a hundred feet high. It is very satisfactory to introduce among rockwork.
The low, trailing forms of Juniperus, such as J. prostrata and J. Sabina prostrata, are evergreens that should be included in the rock garden that it may not be dreary in the days of snow and ice, and also to hide rocks of too great prominence. These junipers, moreover, have a use on sloping ground where it is difficult to keep the grass from drying out under the intense sun of midsummer.
There is invariably a fresh look about the low- growing junipers which, with their evergreenness and the beauty of their piquant blue fruit, makes them of value at many places near the sea. J. communis aurea is a variety known as Doughla’s golden juniper, one most lovely in June when the gold-tinted young growth is projected from every point and angle. J. Virginiana glauca is one of the bluest tinted of the family, extremely attractive in early summer, and one of the desirable evergreens for specimen planting.
Of late years the Japanese cedars, Retinosporas, have become the fashion for landscape work, owing
[42]
EVERGREEN TREES
to the many colors in which they occur and the light, feathery quality of their foliage. This beauty of foliage is particularly noticeable in winter, when the more common evergreens often look dull and weather- beaten. Some of the golden varieties of retinospora show, then, a contrast to the prevailing tones of the landscape as cheery and vivid as that of the yellow bells with the awakening browns and greens of early spring. In general, they are perfectly hardy, doing well at short distances from the sea. They are not adverse to being sheared, and through this means can be advantageously used as hedge plants or made to develop into fine, bushy specimens.
Many retinosporas are by nature very dwarfish, never exceeding two or three feet in height. Reti- nospora obtusa var. nana is used by the Japanese as dwarf evergreens, prominent features of their miniature gardens. The varieties of them now well established in this country are very numerous. For formal work they have become almost indispensable.
At a country place in Connecticut, where the lawn slopes down to the water, the planting immediately about the house is confined exclusively to collections of retinosporas and Japanese maples. Scarcely a more bleak or exposed place can be imagined than this very spot in winter; yet these Japanese trees have thriven remarkably, showing no damage from their nearness to the sea. The color effect of this plantation of rare trees is suggestive of the American autumn at its most vivid stage of gold and crimson.
The English yew, Tarus baccata, is most pleasing
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GARDENS NEAR THE SEA
in the variety aurea, since in early summer its wonder- fully bright golden growth makes it one of the most noticeable of all evergreens.
To comment on the appearance of evergreens in summer seems at variance with the fixed idea that they should be planted for winter greenness, or for beauty at a time when deciduous plants are bare of leaf. This tree illustrates, however, what is true of various other species, that June is their high day of beauty, and that as winter comes on they lose their brilliancy, becoming dull and brownish in tone. Before planting evergreens, T. baccata especially, one should consider whether the tree is desired for early summer or for winter effect. For the former purpose baccata is exquisitely lovely; for the latter it cannot hold its own with the majority of other evergreens.
This new growth which comes on evergreen trees in early summer is one of the enchanting sights of nature, even in her month of roses. The color is so ethereal, it so lights up the somberness of the trees, that it appears in truth like a child leading a gray- haired man.
Numbers of Norway spruces in June planted among maples afford a sight not soon forgotten.
Evergreen trees are one of nature’s means of securing contrasts. Against the horizon, they appear as restful and as distinct as statues in a drawing-room, for it is only when putting forth their new growth that there is the apparent energy about them so noticeable in connection with deciduous trees. No landscape can be truly beautiful without them; few gardens are
[ 44]
EVERGREEN TREES
complete unless the smaller ones are used for con- trasts. When winter descends in all its whiteness, they hold out firm, strong arms to support its snow and to make pictures in the ice storms that make us
think of them as the mysterious dwellings of Jack Frost.
CHAPTER V
BROAD-LEAVED EVERGREEN SHRUBS
HE selection of evergreens for cultivation with- out and within the garden need not end with the conifer specimens. There are still
the broad-leaved evergreen shrubs to claim attention; those that appear more like deciduous plants than conifers, and yet which deservedly are termed ever- greens on account of their ability to hold their bright, lustrous leaves over the winter.
In truth, a seashore garden gauges the depth of melancholy during the winter. The near-lying sea is then dominated by fierce and wild moods; its motion never abates; the salt spray carries death in its wake. Were it not for the evergreens, Nature herself would seem to have fled from the garden. Steadfastly then, they raise themselves above the frozen earth; unchanged in color they face the strongest gales.
Among broad-leaved evergreens the rhododendrons stand out prominently. They are powerful shrubs, and in their season of bloom show flowers as delicately tinted as a rose. In small gardens they hold a distinct place, and also in massive planting about the lawn, and in various places chosen for naturalistic treatment. Few gardens can afford to do without them, since they give not only beauty at the time when flowers
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BROAD-LEAVED SHRUBS
are expected, but deck their surroundings in green through twelve months of the year.
Rhododendrons delight in shade, in a moist atmos- phere, and in a cool, deep bed richly made. They will generally thrive a short distance back from the sea.
Any one who has seen the rhododendrons as they transform the Appalachian Mountains into riven clouds of alluring color, stretching far and reaching high, must hold an affection for the native species Rhododendron maximum and R. Catawbiense, and must wish to see them in the home garden. The Cataw- biense blossoms first, and a month later when its flowers are faded, as are those also of the hybrids, the mazi- mum or beautiful rose bay unfolds. To keep this fact in mind when planting is of assistance in prolong- ing the rhododendron bloom of the garden.
There are shrubs easier to transplant and un- doubtedly of hardier nature than the rhododendrons. Occasionally they winter-kill or show damage to their foliage if the winter sun shines upon it too brightly. In the lee of trees, amidst the sturdy growth walling a garden, or in the shade cast by buildings, there can usually be found a place to make their bed, one where they will live satisfactorily year after year.
The English hybrid rhododendrons include charm- ing varieties, and are regarded by many as the hardiest and best sorts to plant, in spite of the increasing popu- larity of the native species.
At seaside places, the beauty of rhododendrons appears to increase fourfold. There is a brave, brilliant
[47]
GARDENS NEAR THE SEA
look about their flowers which makes them fit mates for the sea, and in winter they greatly modify its gloom. Even though comparatively few owners of seaside gardens visit them during the winter, it must be a consolation to know that these green shrubs are there making homes, perchance, for improvident birds.
Azaleas, which seem the natural companions of rhododendrons from the contrasting piquancy of their look, lose their leaves, for the most part, with the first touch of frost. There is one, however, — the little Azalea amena, — which is as strictly evergreen as the most dignified conifer. It is used as an edging plant about beds of rhododendrons, and in fact appears well wherever a low, brilliant evergreen is desired. In June it unfolds masses of claret-colored flowers which act as deep shadows when interspersed with blooms more soft and delicate in tone.
The laurels should find a place in every seaside garden, or about the lawn where a shady nook can hide them from too intense a sun. Under rhododendrons they serve as well as azaleas to grade the planting down to the earth. The native laurel, Kalmia lati- folia, with its curiously formed, daintily colored flowers, is invariably attractive, perhaps particularly so where natural effects are desired. Sometimes it evokes the complaint that after a year or two of garden life, or a highly civilized existence near a lawn, its desire to bloom seems to lessen and it has to be replaced. Never- theless I have seen the native laurel in a seaside garden, well protected by a friendly dwelling, live on indefinitely,
[ 48 ]
BROAD-LEAVED SHRUBS
producing its blossoms apparently in greater numbers each season.
In the woods by the great South Bay, the little laurel, Lambkill, K. angustifolia, can also be seen thriving amazingly and sending out its deeply colored flowers in numbers sufficient to brighten their whole surroundings. Shade and a rich, loamy bed fertilized with fallen leaves is the gift of Dame Nature when caring for her rhododendrons, azaleas, and laurels. In the garden one can do no better than to try to emulate her ways.
Laurel is of comparatively recent introduction into the garden, owing, perhaps, to the idea that, like the trailing arbutus, it is difficult to move successfully. Expert nurserymen, however, now grow the plants so that they can be transplanted with but a small percentage of loss, if any at all.
Plants not less lovely than the laurels, to grow under the shade of rhododendrons or large azaleas, are the Andromedas floribunda and Japonica. Their delicate flowers appear as if molded in wax, while the intense greenness of their foliage lasts over the winter.
This power of evergreens to endure is a charm that never varies. When other shrubs succumb, they hold out bravely, undaunted by the most unaccountable of all combatants, the weather. Sometimes this attribute of evergreenness is found in plants of delicate appearance and dainty blossoms.
The little Daphne cneorum, with its tiny leaves and pink-faced flowers, is among the most green of evergreens. It is hardy and sweet and so attractive
[ 49 ]
GARDENS NEAR THE SEA
that it could not be out of place no matter where planted. In the average garden it is unusual, occur- ring more in those devoid of salvia, geraniums, and other homely plants, and in which are seen specimens more rare and costly. It looks well among the fine planting of rocks, and invariably holds its individual air when used as an edging plant about beds and borders of promiscuous flowers. Its heads of bloom peep out alluringly, pleasing also by their exquisite fragrance. They show no fear of high gales and salt air. Often heavy plantings of rhododendrons, azaleas, laurels and the like can be effectively carried down to shrubs as low as the arbutus and the beautiful Daphne cneorum.
When choosing evergreens for a garden, there are also the hollys, of which the American holly, Ilex opaca, is perhaps the best known and beloved. Except under very drastic conditions it is hardy along the coast as far north as the southern part of Maine. The remarkable luster of its green leaves and its con- spicuous red drupes make up its attraction. As it extends southward it grows into a large and imposing tree, beautiful as an individual specimen. About gardens it has a distinct use in giving stability to plant- ings of deciduous shrubs. It can, moreover, be used as a low hedge, as I have seen it about one of the New Jersey coast gardens. This holly, however, like the flowering dogwood, makes vandals of people other- wise sane and righteous. When the note of Christ- mas is in the air the holly suffers much as the dogwood does when the gayety of May lures home-dwellers
[50 ]
PLATE XIV ICE PICTURES
BROAD-LEAVED SHRUBS
into the woods and open country. Garden fences then seem built for ornament rather than for any sort of protection.
Ilex crenata is a pretty Japanese holly, considerably used for evergreen effects. Its drupes are black.
The mahonia or evergreen barberry, Berberis aquifolium, shows glistening leaves which remind one of the holly. It is one of the evergreens desirable for shady, somewhat sheltered places.
The Japanese mahonia is even a more successful shrub that B. aquifolium. It winters better, for though neither of the mahonias actually die from cold, it sometimes affects them to the extent of causing them to lose their foliage, or rather to become deciduous. The May flowers of the Japanese mahonia are bright yellow, while the fruit appears as inviting in the autumn as a small bunch of bright, blue grapes.
In regarding up-to-date American planting, the thought of the Japanese invasion must occur. A pleasant invasion it has been, covering the land with an otherwise unknown beauty. Each year the list of plants from the Land of the Rising Sun grows longer; each year the newcomers bloom with a show of luxuriance and hardiness equal to, if not surpassing, that of the native species.
One Scotch plant of world-wide renown adapts itself well to the sand and the moisture of gardens near the sea. It reserves its soft-tinted flowers for July, while its delicate, bright green foliage survives the winter. The Scotch heather, Calluna vulgaris, is indeed a dwarf evergreen adapted to grow in gardens,
[51]
GARDENS NEAR THE SEA
to edge beds of rhododendrons or other shrubs, or, since it works in well among stones, to become an inhabitant of rockeries. The light quality of the foliage makes it appear, in truth, a child of the sea.
Leucothoé Catesbei, for which there is no common name of more sentiment than dog hobble, is a native of the southern states and possessed of much beauty. It is well suited to live near the sea. It is, however, a shrub scarcely seen at all under cultivation. In the spring its little, waxlike flowers are very numerous and effective, and in the autumn the flower buds, already developed for the following year, turn to a vivid shade of rich red, quite in keeping with the bright leaves of the upper stem. The foliage of the main body of the shrub remains green throughout the winter, forming thus a most striking contrast to the remaining parts of the plant.
L. racemosa, a relative of Catesby’s leucothoé, is found in wild, swampy places along the coast. Near the great South Bay it gives in June a gay, undisputed charm to jungles of wild growth, including lambkill and many shy orchids. From the woods it might be taken advantageously to the outskirts of the garden in antici- pation of its early summer beauty. But it is not an evergreen as the Catesbei, and therefore less replete with charm.
When broad-leaved evergreens are chosen for the garden it is time to turn to the yuccas, or Adam’s needles. Usually they make their appeal simply as perennials, because of their high stalks of distinctive flowers. Nevertheless the winter is not severe enough
[ 52]
BROAD-LEAVED SHRUBS
to drive the green from their clumps of long, lance- shaped leaves.
Yucca filamentosa, christened by the Indians, is the one generally known, although the varie- ties pendulifolia and floriosa recurva are much planted.
In several seaside gardens, I have noticed yuccas stretching to extraordinary proportions. They like a well-drained soil, somewhat sandy, and require full exposure to the sun, and protection from rough winds likely to tear their foliage. They should not be cramped for room, since such a condition would prevent their characteristic beauty from appearing. Rather they are seen to advantage in bold groups near plants with green foliage that offset, instead of detract from, their personalities. In garden borders they are charming when not planted in a straight line, but allowed to weave themselves in and out among other plants. Except under unusual circumstances they are not the best choice for beds. Yuccas are remarkably hardy, living to a considerable age. It is the part of wisdom to divide their roots from time to time, and thus to secure for the garden an increase in their num- ber.
I like to see them planted against evergreens, where the midday sun can illumine the whiteness of their flowers. Once, I saw numbers of them in the full glory of bloom before a hemlock hedge. The sun shone upon them, radiating their whiteness until it appeared as if liquid silver had been poured over the spot. An hour later this peculiar effect was
[ 53 ]
GARDENS NEAR THE SEA
quite lost, the sun having turned from them. Then each line stood out distinctly; each nod of the
waxen bells was clearly seen against the feathery green.
[54]
OhLW Tel
CHAPTER VI
SHRUBS FOR SEASIDE PLANTING
) EFORE the garden is definitely planned and planted, there are also innumerable shrubs that cry for place and consideration. And
well may this be so, since they offer to the seaside . dweller a wealth of beauty equal to that given by the flowers. Shrubs are really the advance guard of the garden; in turn they are protected by the great, endur- ing trees. They form the middle link between the trees and the garden.
There are many seashore homes that have no gardens, and yet the grounds about them are kept gay as a carnival by various shrubs which unfold in succession from early spring until the autumn, and even hold their greenness over the winter. In general, they can be planted near the sea more indiscriminately than trees, that is, if it is ever well to plant anything without due regard to character and location. While the majority of shrubs can do well near the sea, or rather in its vicinity, they cannot be expected to thrive if placed in its very jaws.
Shrubs respond quickly to the first warm touch of spring. Like other green things of nature, they make the calendar of the year. Even when spring is wild and uncouth, color and force return to their
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GARDENS NEAR THE SEA
twigs, and their buds swell in expectancy of its gentler moods.
To place shrubs well about the lawn and outside the garden is a most delicate art. Many of them stand for an endurance almost as great as that of the trees. As the years pass over them they grow large, increasing the area over which their flowers can be produced. They should often, therefore, be planted with the idea of holding their places permanently. There is an irreverence in ousting shrubs from soil in which they have once become established. When thoughtfully arranged, they are capable of apparently. contracting spaces, while imparting to others a look of extent and broadness to which they are not entitled. Many an optical illusion has been devised by cleverly planted shrubs; many small bits of ground have been hopelessly belittled by those set in the wrong places. Almost invariably it is a mistake to allow shrubs or other planting to encroach on the open, center lawn.
There are few who would deny that shrubs form the most remarkable decoration of the greater number of seaside homes. In motoring along the Sound from New York to Bridgeport, passing from one town to another it is not the gardens one notices about the homes as much as the flowering shrubs. In May and June especially they gladden the way of the motorist as a series of great bouquets. In most cases, the gardens are farther back from the roadway, more hidden from view.
In the choice of shrubs, the question of the particu- lar fitness of each one to the place it is to occupy,
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SHRUBS FOR PLANTING
and the purpose it is to fulfil, should be uppermost. There are those that illumine the spring; others that show their flowers in summer; others that reserve their glory for the autumn, and still others that remain green, showing indifference to the winter. To obtain special effects for each season should be the aim of planters. A lawn bestrewn with shrubs giving flowers only in spring would hold its beauty for but a short time: the summer and autumn would find it an extremely dull place.
The various golden bells, Forsythias, are veritable shrubs of the spring, adapted to plant outside the garden. They show themselves prominently not only about the lawns of the large estates of this country, but are also seen by many an humble doorway. All love them, young and old, especially those, it seems, who do not know their names. They unfold after the red maples have lost their blossoms and when the hepaticas of the woods have become scarce; they also follow the snowdrops, Siberian squills, and cro- cuses that have had the courage to smile in the face of March. But they are not far behind these early comers. Innumerable little flowers burst from the buds that sit jauntily on the vividly colored twigs, and transform the whole shrub into a bold mass of bright yellow.
Forsythia viridissima is the variety most generally planted, although suspensa, the drooping golden bell, is rapidly becoming the greater favorite, since the curve of its slender, vinelike branches is extremely effective when covered with the wondrously gay
[57]
GARDENS NEAR THE SEA
flowers. To overhang a bank or to place among rockwork, there are few better shrubs. After their bloom is passed, the golden bells with their deli- cate, unobtrusive leaves still present a chaste, re- fined appearance. For this reason the erect forms, viridissima and Fortunit, of which the latter while growing tall is inclined to bend, are much used in the massing of shrubbery. Throughout the early spring, they give cheer to the whole mass, while later they lose themselves in a green background for other shrubs.
It is customary to prune the Forsythias rather severely as soon as their bloom is past, that they may be relieved of all spent wood and have their vigor turned in the direction of producing strong flowering shoots for the next season.
Before these early, brilliant shrubs have shown signs of waning, the wood of Cydonia Japonica, or the Japanese quince, is fiery red, with rounded blossoms which have won for it, among the people, the name of fire bush. Throughout its season of bloom, this shrub remains a most marked figure among deciduous plants. As it grows old and sizable, it becomes very beautiful, being then fairly covered with well-shaped, exquisite blossoms. The fire bush is extremely hardy and possessed of daintily formed, vividly green foliage often ruddy tinged.
It seems strange that these shrubs are not more often planted in clumps and used in high contrast to the Forsythias. They would then produce, in early spring, much the same color effect as is wrought by
[58 ]
SHRUBS FOR PLANTING
the changed leafage of the red and the silver maples in the autumn.
There is a lovely Cydonia of pure white blossoms, alba simplex, which shows to advantage when planted beside the more familiar fire bush. Other varieties are seen with delicate pink, salmon-colored, and even red and white striped flowers, all of which have indi- vidual attraction.
The use of the Japanese quinces for flowering hedges is well known (page 77).
After the golden bells, the early magnolias, and the Japanese quinces have had their day, the shrubs of May unfold as with sudden energy. The month, indeed, shows spring clothed in exquisite luxury. The dogwood is seen not only outside the garden, but peeping through the edges of the woods.
The flowering dogwood tree, Cornus florida, is natu- rally the member that has made its family famous. Some of its relatives, however, which have not the beautiful white involucre of the Cornus florida are still desirable among shrubbery on account of the brilliancy of their twigs in winter and their bright colored berries. As a rule they do well in seaside places; often where the soil is moist. One species is remarkable for its golden yellow foliage, another for its blue berries, while the red-flowered dogwood has become highly popular through the extreme beauty of its spring offering. So many varieties of dogwood shrubs are now avail- able that it is possible to produce many effects of color with them, either when planted among shrubbery or as single specimens on the lawn. In the garden
[59 ]
GARDENS NEAR THE SEA
they occur but seldom unless space is free and they can be used as background shrubs, alive with color. Almost invariably the dogwoods do well in shady places.
May is also the time when the lilacs perfume the air with their subtle, indescribable scent. Indeed, he who owns a veteran lilac bush has at least one trusty, springtime friend. Of late, these bushes have been planted rather sparingly, as they are subject to a scale that causes their foliage to rust and turn un- sightly. Some of the Persian and Chinese lilacs show daintily formed foliage and exquisite blooms in great profusion, and are thought to be less subject to disease than the common purple lilac, Syringa vulgaris, guar- dian of many modest gateways in America.
A treelike shrub, not so well known as the lilacs, is the silver bell, or snowdrop tree, Halesia tetraptera. In early spring, it is fairly hung with silvery white bells appearing like snowdrops turned upside down. I have seen it at the back of a hardy border of plants, its branches, laden with white bells, hanging over azaleas, bursting peonies, and innumerable other flowers. It stood possibly an eighth of a mile from the water, snuggled in among much shrubbery having for protection a high arbor vite wind-break. The quaintness of the bloom and its delicacy make the shrub a marked individual even in a spot of pluri- color. The leafage of the silver bell is not fine, although the four-winged seed pods occurring later in the season are interesting.
At no time of the year are flowers more desired
[ 60 |
SHRUBS FOR PLANTING
than in early spring. The out-of-door world is then — alive with expectancy. At this season one of the bush honeysuckles, Lonicera fragrantissima, shows from drooping branches its delicate white flowers tinted with pink. The fragrance of this shrub is an attrac- tion and it is, moreover, almost an evergreen.
L. phylomele barely allows April to pass without pushing forth its flowers, while L. tatarica, a decidedly pretty shrub for the border, waits until June to unfold its bloom, which is followed in late summer by red berries.
A fleecy flowered shrub, on which I believe no common name has been bestowed, is Deutzia gracilis. In May, it seems to lose its identity in that of a white cloud. In comparison with most shrubs, it grows low and, therefore, often finds its way into the garden borders, where its bushy growth and generous out- pouring of flowers make it very desirable. It can be used with great effect for ornamental hedging within the garden (page 78).
Like most good shrubs, D. gracilis has several interesting relatives. D. scabra candidissima grows tall, reserving its white flowers until July; the variety called rosea sends out pink flowers. The Pride of Rochester is a form that bears double white flowers; D. crenata grows tall and produces double pink flowers. The latter is often used as a single specimen on the lawn, owing to its height and its effective display of flowers. It is from Japan, extremely hardy, and of rapid growth.
The Azaleas are among the hardy shrubs that
[61]
GARDENS NEAR THE SEA
seem especially appropriate to take into the garden as well as to use in front of tall plants forming beds or borders. Again they compose stunning masses in spots of intense dark verdure where the vivid color of their flowers shows to advantage.
Early in May, the large flowers of Azalea mollis mark their immediate vicinity as the spot of all others for deep admiration, even wonder. For their flowers come out in all the varied tints and harmonies of an undaunted flame. From lemon yellow they pass through the shades of orange, saffron, and carmine to one of vivid vermilion, paling again to orange and returning at length to the fiery hue. Of all the hardy shrubs this one seems to me the most compelling in early spring. I have seen it used to form large rect- angular beds, marking the driveways of great estates, mingled with perennials in hardy borders, in front of extensive plantings of rhododendrons, and also banked before solemn looking evergreens, in which situation I liked it best of all. It is equally valuable for the formal garden and for general planting, and, happily, it does extremely well in the heat of many seaside places. A. mollis is a Japanese, another in- stance of the beauty that has come to America from that land. In extreme exposures, it may need pro- tection for a year or two after its planting; but as a rule it is quite hardy, improving in size and the abundance of its flowers with each succeeding season.
The Ghent or hybrid American azaleas are among the most hardy shrubs, occurring in so many pleasing colors that there is scarcely a limit to the effects that
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NARCISSUS POETICUS
AND
RHODODENDRONS
PLATE XVII
SHRUBS FOR PLANTING
can be produced with them. They are of particular merit within the garden, but they hold back their bloom for two or three weeks after that of the Japanese beauty, and are therefore not so electrifying an incident of the early spring.
A. nudiflora, the wild honeysuckle or pinxter flower, which is at home in the woods, is beautiful through naturalistic stretches of planting. Its deli- cate pink flowers are seen as spring moves on toward summer. A. viscosa, also a native species, does not open its white flowers until July. These native azaleas have about them a wild, woodsy charm, quite different from that of the hybrids bred for the garden. It is a charm less pronounced, more elusive. For this reason they appear best when chosen for secluded nooks outside the garden.
A. amena is the most dwarfish of the group and of distinctive personality because of the evergreen quality of its leaves, tinted with tones of blood-red overlaid with bronze (page 48).
The Tamarix, less known than many other shrubs, is a worthy seaside dweller, since its delicate sprays of pastel pink flowers, opening in May, are as soft as the mist and its asparagus-like foliage sways. grace- fully with the wind. There are several varieties of Tamarix, but the one called gallica is most often seen in seashore places. It is planted occasionally for shade. This shrub, especially, requires judicious prun- ing, that its slender, willow-like growth may not render it scraggly and unkept looking.
No one could pass by the deciduous shrubs without
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GARDENS NEAR THE SEA
pausing before the spirzeas, a group that, from early May until the autumn, shows some representative member in bloom. In May, even before its leaves have opened, the pendulous branches of Spirea Van Houttei are crowded with blossoms which give it the appearance of a colossal snowball. S. Thunbergw also loosens its white flowers early in May and holds its distinction throughout the season by its unusually light, fine foliage. The well-known, upright bridal wreath, S. prunifolia, than which there is no fairer shrub, comes into abundant bloom in late May. When landscape effects are desired or shrubbery borders are to be planted, the spirwas are seldom overlooked, for they are capable of helping out many designs. S. opulifolia aurea serves as a plant of golden leafage to give cheer to somber looking masses of foliage, besides being in itself a highly attractive individual.
The type opulifolia is one of the notable June- blooming spireas: S. Billardi shows its upright, steeple- shaped spikes of pink flowers in late June, when one begins to regret the passing of the flowering shrubs.
It is Anthony Waterer, S. Bumalda, however, that, standing upright, produces its flat, soft crimson flower heads throughout the summer. At Shelter Island, the Anthony Waterer is in full bloom about the fourth of July, and there I have seen it regarded, not with the formal admiration that usually falls to a shrub, but as a veritable picking garden. This was in a large estate to which the owners returned too late in the season to give personal direction to the gardener. He, it seemed, had a special fondness
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SHRUBS FOR PLANTING
for Anthony Waterer, either because of its hardiness in that situation or because of its generous offering of flowers. It was planted in beds as one might treat roses, made into hedges, where, indeed, it was very effective (page 77), and used extensively wherever there was excuse. The children of the place looked upon it as a flowering plant and treated it with the familiarity that they would extend to Joe Pye weed. They gathered large bouquets of it, made it into wreaths, and fairly reveled in its abundance. In the dining room it was used for a decoration, and also to fill large vases on the veranda. How these shrubs eventually weathered the season, I never knew. They were, at least, saved from the period of ugliness this species undergoes when the flower heads are faded.
Many, indeed, are the shrubs of late April and May that open, bloom, and pass before the entrance of June. But they are not forgotten, for frequently they have relatives, as has been mentioned, that keep their families in remembrance throughout the season.
The opening of the Weigelias is a sign of June, although in seasons of advanced growth they scarcely wait until then before letting free their masses of flowers. With its long sprays covered with blossoms, Weigelia rosea suggests a huge bouquet intensified against an early summer sky. It is much used among shrubbery and also as a single specimen.
Until a year ago, I had a pricking prejudice against this group of shrubs, thinking their foliage coarse and their trumpet-shaped flowers of no special attrac- tion. But one day I passed through several towns
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GARDENS NEAR THE SEA
by the Sound and saw then that the Weigelias were the true glory of the way. Many were very large, old shrubs, and there was scarcely a spray or a twig that was not laden with flowers. As a contrast to the rosea, W. candida was frequently planted and bore its pure white flowers in great numbers.
There is still another variety that bears variegated leaves and pink flowers, another with striped flowers, and also the remarkable Weigelia Eva Rathke, which holds its deep scarlet offering until the bloom of all the others is over.
The Weigelias can be found in almost every notable group of shrubs. It is in their favor that they grow rapidly and are of hardy, robust habits.
June or even late May is the time of the snowballs. Viburnum opulus var. sterile, the best known member of the group, occurs on many lawns. While it is often used for mass effects, the idea that it should stand alone to show its distinctive beauty is gaining ground. About its great white snowballs standing out clearly against the intense green leaves, there is somewhat the artistic quality that is associated with the flowering dogwood. This snowball, besides, has its place in the garden as guardian of prominent posi- tions. It is charming in company with tree peonies, and also admirable for many formal effects.
V. plicatum, a Japanese relative of the snowball, and regarded by many as a better shrub, comes into bloom in late May or early June and remains a glad- dening sight for a considerable time. It should be planted in the spring.
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SHRUBS FOR PLANTING
With the exception of the snowballs, the Viburnums, for the most part, bear flat heads of fleecy looking, white flowers, not particularly effective. For this reason these shrubs are not so valuable for their flowers as for their colored berries and their brilliant autumn foliage. V. tomentosum, the Japanese single snowball, ripens its berries as early as August, and its plicated, amber-colored leaves make it a leader of autumnal beauty. V. dentatum, or arrow wood, is useful to fill moist places, but is not particularly desirable for the lawn or entrance into the garden.
The bloom of the fringe tree, Chionanthus Virginicus, is identified with June, and casts over this attractive relative of the ash a look of having been artificially decorated. Indeed, the loose panicles of fringelike blossoms give it an air apart, one quite distinct and lovely. It does well in shady places, illuminating its surroundings, and is also admirable in prominent places on the lawn, as throughout the year its form is very pleasing. This low growing tree does not like much pruning. In fact, without clipping it becomes more beautiful each year.
Many of the most perfect shrubs that I have seen were those that had not been fretted with much pruning. As arule, shrubs have a very individual and excellent manner of growth and require, instead of severe pruning merely a little helping out in the case of unforeseen difficulties. For so perverse are the ways of nature, that occasionally a shrub with a pendulous habit will send up a shoot as tall and straight as if it were aimed forthesky. To retain, then, the character of the shrub,
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GARDENS NEAR THE SEA
this irreverent offspring must be sacrificed. Shrubs of symmetrical habit should be kept in the right and narrow path by judicious pruning. All dead and unsightly wood should be removed without fail. Again, with some shrubs, as the Forsythia, it is necessary to remove the spent flowering wood as soon as the bloom is over. Pruning, in truth, should be a matter of special observation in connection with each shrub. Experience alone teaches when and to what extent they will brook shearing, and also that many prefer to be left untouched.
The Hercules club, Aralia spinosa, claims a certain dominion over many garden builders,—not, however, for its flowers, but for its extreme grace of personality. Its enormous compound leaves are very picturesque and the shrub grows rapidly into an imposing lawn specimen. It is also much used at the back of lower growing shrubs. It likes rich, somewhat dry soil and does not care to encounter too strongly the atmos- phere of the sea. When planted about two hundred feet away from the water, I have noticed it cringe and show exceedingly feeble spirits. Yet, the same shrub and another that had died down to the ground came up in renewed splendor when transplanted to the outskirts of a garden at the rear of the house and considerably farther back from the sea.
Almost every group of shrubbery includes the mock orange, known by its waxen, sweet-scented flowers. Philadelphus coronarius is the one familiar to all, recalling by its wafts of strong fragrance the romance of many an old-time gateway. There are
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SHRUBS FOR PLANTING
several varieties of mock oranges now in use, of which the aureus is useful among other shrubs on account of the golden tones of its foliage. As with the For- sythias, it is customary to prune the mock oranges shortly after their bloom is over.
Calycanthus floridus is also a shrub of old-time memory and sentiment. It is the strawberry-scented shrub, the reddish brown blossoms of which have been laid away among mouchoirs and trifles innumerable. Indeed, this shrub is well worth a place either within or without the garden. Its habit of growth is rounded and bushy and the little flowers give pleasure as long as they endure. In mass planting it is rather lost.
The common elder, Sambucus Canadensis, will often do well in damp soil, where it is difficult to grow many other shrubs. In June, its flat heads of white flowers are very pleasing.
So many, indeed, are the shrubs of spring and early summer, so many the varieties ever on the increase, and so unrelentingly do they follow each other in succession, that the pageant wanes almost before we have become used to its gaiety. July opens with the greater number of shrubs disburdened of their bloom; it presents an open field for those that are yet to come.
The rose of Sharon (Althea), Hibiscus Syriacus, is particularly effective in July, opening then its white, pink, lavender, or even china blue flowers, according to the variety, and holding them until early autumn. When grown as specimens, these shrubs develop a symmetrical form of considerable dignity,
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GARDENS NEAR THE SEA
and are therefore useful to mark particular points on the lawn or to accentuate lines within the garden. Another of their uses is to form ornamental hedges (page 76).
The true shrubs of the late summer, however, and of the autumn, are the hydrangeas. So popular, indeed, have they become in this country that the humblest doorway is apt to show at least one of their kind. The variety paniculata, the original Japanese form, is most often seen, and holds its great panicles of flowers as if proud of their size and beauty. For broad, generous effects at seashore places, these shrubs are particularly well adapted. ‘They have great hardi- ness and are apparently indifferent to the nearness of the sea.
Hydrangea paniculata grandiflora, the most notice- able of the autumn shrubs, is an alluring sight when planted en masse and when, after several years of uninterrupted growth, it has attained its maximum proportions.
H. radiata is serviceable in places where foliage effects are desired, as the undersides of its leaves are a silky, silvery white.
Several varieties of hydrangeas are in favor which produce bright, glossy foliage and flat heads of flowers composed of sterile ones around the edges while those that are fertile are within the centers. Owing to the insignificance of these blooms in comparison with those of the varieties bearing panicles of flowers, it is inexplicable to me that they should be chosen.
H. paniculata grandiflora seems to combine all the
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SHRUBS FOR PLANTING
excellencies of the group. As the summer moves on, its great panicles of bloom turn to pastel pink, a pleas- ing color. Later they take on tones of olive and a dulled red which proclaims the first nip of Jack Frost.
H. Hortensea otaksa is one of the varieties which is familiarly seen in tubs and which sends forth either pink or blue heads of flowers. For formal work and the decoration of large estates, these particular hydran- geas of Japanese origin are used most effectively. They are under the ban of plants dominated by fashion. One year at Newport they were seen, about the lawns of many places, colored blue, another year the mandate went forth that they should all occur in pink. To color, indeed, they are not constant. This kind of hydrangea, moreover, is not absolutely hardy, requiring protection over the winter.
It might almost be said that the season of flowering shrubs ends when autumn touches the flowers of the hardy hydrangeas, and that the eye must then turn for satisfaction to shrubs of radiant autumn foliage. The sumacs, of which none is finer than the stag’s horn, Rhus typhina, become, at this season, striking individuals on account of their velvety, rich-toned panicles of fruit and brilliant leaves.
Rhus glabra laciniata, with its finely divided sprays of foliage, is one of the best for forming large clumps, and is more vividly red perhaps than the better known species.
Once, in the late autumn, I passed a meadow where the sumacs reigned in unrivaled splendor. Through the reds, the browns, the olive greens, and the yellows
[71]
GARDENS NEAR THE SEA
of surrounding growth subdued by the autumn mist, they arose as the highest note of color. The meadow represented a bit of nature’s planting, one seldom out- done by even the most skilfully devised schemes.
In the late season, the barberry, Berberis Thun- bergut, a low growing shrub from the land of the Mikado, comes into its kingdom of scarlet foliage and sprays fairly bejeweled with red berries that persist over the winter. It is one of the hardiest shrubs, standing unusually cold exposures. It should not be omitted from plantings of any importance. Its special field is to make hedges (page 79) and to outline garden boundaries.
The deciduous holly, Jlex verticillatus, holds its berries in quite a different way from the Japanese barberry, and also enlivens the oncoming days of winter. As its leaves fall the berries come into marked prominence, clinging closely and in abundance to the twigs.
As a contrast to the red berries of the deciduous holly, those of the common snowberry, Symphoricarpos racemosus, are large and waxen, white as the snows of winter which they remain to greet.
[72]
CHAPTER VII
HEDGES
HE many beautiful hedges that are seen in America to-day, instead of the various fences which, until comparatively a few years ago,
held a strong place here, are a sign of an increased love of nature and a knowledge of her available material. Whether planted for the virtue of ever- greenness or for the ability to produce flowers, the hedge is now recognized as a living thing of interest and beauty.
The hedges of England have been as much admired as the ivy covering the battlements of her castles; and although some Englishmen have praised America because the homes of her people are not enclosed by hedges, but on the contrary face the open, it is most assuredly true that the aspect of England would suffer greatly by the removal of her hedges.
In seashore towns, not far from large cities, where the order of detached houses prevails, the hedge should be especially encouraged. In such places little enough of nature is allowed to remain; for houses set closely together along the street, pavements, and other restric- tions almost put an end to the real benefits of the country. The more greenness, then, that can be kept near the houses, the greater their attraction. At
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GARDENS NEAR THE SEA
large estates, where abundant planting is done inside the gates, the employment of hedges to shut off the property is not so necessary as in many other cases, although to some minds desirable.
The California privet, Ligustrum ovalifolium, has, in the last few years, made its way as a hedge plant faster than any other. It is not evergreen, but its dark, abundant foliage holds until late in the autumn. The shrub grows rapidly and, with the exception of the necessary summer pruning to keep it at a desired height, requires little care. It will not live in the extremely bleak and cold situations of the far north. L. ibota, a Japanese variety which is very hardy, is a better combatant of severe climatic conditions.
There are, besides, privets of golden variegated foliage, — and one especially of pendulous habit, — which are useful to mingle with shrubbery or to plant singly. For the hedge, however, they have scarcely the restful, sturdy qualities of the better known varieties.
Another hedge plant that makes an appeal pre- eminently through its green, although non-evergreen, foliage, is the buckthorn, Rhamnus cathartica, one well known, but of more general use in old gardens than in those of to-day. The wonderful buckthorn hedge shown in plate xxii. is over eighty years old,—a fact worthy of comment, even though a century ago buckthorn was most popular for making hedges and forming arches. This hedge is seven feet high and seven feet across its top. It can be seen at Salem by the shore of the river and scarcely a mile away
[74]
HEDGES
from the outer harbor. So remarkably does it with- stand time, climate, and the onslaught of insects, that in summer it remains in almost perfect condition, with apparently no loss of leaves. The value of such a hedge, from the standpoint of both beauty and senti- ment, is inestimable.
The osage orange, Tozxylon pomiferum, has long been regarded as a valuable plant with which to form hedges, especially those that are desired for naturalistic rather than formal effects. Its best use, perhaps, is to traverse large areas where something in the nature of a hedge wall is required, or a low, dense wind-break, for which it is suitable on account of its free branching habit. The osage orange is partial to sunlight, though it is also tolerant of shade; and its great hardiness enables it to adapt itself to various soils and climatic conditions.
Barberry was used for many early American hedges. The employment of the native variety, Ber- beris vulgaris purpurea, however, has now given place almost entirely to the Japanese relative, B. Thunbergit. This form does not grow within a foot so high as the native, and is thought by many to be best of all plants to form a low, bushy hedge. The gay, autumn color of its leaves is a decided attraction, enhanced greatly by sprays of multitudinous, bright, red berries, which would last well into the winter did not the birds find them so satisfying to the appetite. I have seen this barberry used not only for low hedges about an estate, the front lawn of which lost its outer boundary in the sea, but also to outline paths in the garden and to fill
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GARDENS NEAR THE SEA
crescent-shaped beds not far distant from Japanese maples and small, rare evergreens. In the early season, it appeared as if its planting had been a trifle overdone, although later, when the dreary, half-gray days lingered, and when each plant was aglow with red berries, they were seen with a sense of gratitude.
The period of occupancy of a home should be one of the points considered when the surrounding hedges are planted. When the house is closed for the winter months, evergreen hedges are not so important as when it is kept open during the whole year, that is, unless the completeness of the place itself is aimed at rather than personal gratification. With those, how- ever, who occupy their summer homes only during the warm weather, the wish to see them then at the high tide of their beauty is entirely natural. In this country, flowering hedges are used more extensively each year, and although it will probably be a long time before they can vie with those of England, they still have attained considerable perfection.
A tall, dignified, flowering hedge is formed by the rose of Sharon (Althea), Hibiscus Syriacus. It is not uncommon to see it twelve feet high, although eight feet is a more usual height. It grows compactly and serves in many instances the purpose of a strong fence. Sometimes the white and crimson varieties are set alternately, and when their flowers unfold in mid-summer they produce together an effect at once striking and beautiful. The great burst of bloom from the majority of shrubs has then passed, making the flowering of this hedge all the more acceptable.
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HEDGES
The rose of Sharon requires winter pruning to induce an abundance of blossoms for the following season.
The Japanese quince, or fire bush, Cydonia Japonica, makes one of the most lovely of early spring flowering hedges. It does not grow so high as the rose of Sharon, seldom reaching five feet at the best. It is ideal, however, where a hedge of medium height is desired, and where the cheer of its exquisite blooms can be appreciated in the days of the tulips, the white wistaria, and the varying opalescent tints of unfolding spring. Often these shrubs are planted as the roses of Sharon, a white variety alternating with one of fiery red blos- soms. Flowering hedges of solid color, however, are thought by many to be the most pleasing.
That plants are set as a hedge does not mean, as many seem to think, that ever after they must be left to grow unaided even as the flowers of the field. On the contrary, each year they require fertilizing, and! generally pruning, that they may bear as great an abundance of flowers as possible, and this is true in spite of their having been planted originally in very rich soil. A line of shrubs with only a scattered blossom here and there is unworthy the name of a flowering hedge.
Anthony Waterer, Spirea Bumalda, has come into use to make a low, bushy hedge of soft-tinted flowers. It is very sturdy, growing well near the sea. The objection to it is that its flat-topped flower heads turn in fading to an unattractive shade of brown, which casts over the whole hedge a dingy, half-dead appear- ance. It is, of course, possible to cut off the bloom as
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GARDENS NEAR THE SEA
it begins to lose its color; but this process in turn gives the hedge a look of being shorn and unfinished.
Spirea Van Houtter grows into one of the most beautiful flowering hedges imaginable. It must be given considerable space to spread its pendulous branches, which, in late May and early June, are strewn to their tips with cloudlike, dainty flowers. I have seen one such hedge in perfection. It stands, perhaps, six miles away from the ocean, yet the same effect might be produced nearer wave and spray, as the shrub is not one of shrinking nature. This par- ticular hedge is planted on both sides of a long walk and is visited when in blossom by people from far and near who call it universally, “the Bride’s Way.”
Hydrangeas and snowballs are also used for flower- ing hedges. I think, however, with many others, that in this connection they do not strike the exact note of appropriateness. In almost every case, it seems preferable to keep them for lawn specimens for plant- ing among clumps of shrubbery.
Deutzia gracilis, on the contrary, is exceedingly charming when grown as a low hedge. It is often selected to lead the way up to heavy planting or to outline paths in the garden. It sends out its fleecy blossoms in May, and then rests upon its laurels for the remainder of the season. One woman of much taste in garden building uprooted her hedge of D. gracilis flanking the walk which led in a winding way to her garden. She felt that it struck such a high key during its season of flowers that without them the rest of the year seemed tame and uneventful, and that
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SEN AND PRIVET HEDGE
SCRE
GRAPE VINE
PLATE XXI
HEDGES
the whole locality had a hopelessly barren look when the Deutzia hedge had stopped flowering. Eventually, she replaced them with evergreens never reaching so great a climax of beauty, yet changing little throughout the year. She found these evergreens more restful than the remarkable flowering hedge.
A Japanese rose, Rosa rugosa, and its hybrids has, of late years, been found to make a most useful hedge of medium height and close growth. In fact, when well established a dog turns back discouraged before the prospect of pushing through its prickly branches. The growth of this rose is extremely vigorous, the bushes increasing in size rapidly. The large single blossoms, which are bright crimson or pure white, unfold early, slightly before the June roses, for which they pave the way. Later they are followed by hips of unusual size and vividness of color. For a hedge about or near a rose garden these bushes have value; although it is a matter of individual taste whether to have a hedge in bloom at the same time as the roses or to choose one that will unfold either before or after the garden has lost its own treasures.
For a dwarf rose hedge the crimson baby rambler is steadily making its way. It is a marvelous little plant, showing each day throughout the season large clusters of crimson roses, yet never lifting them higher than twenty inches. In brilliancy and endurance, the crimson baby rambler forms a low hedge unrivaled for many purposes.
For tall, fencelike hedges there are, besides the rose of Sharon, the cockspur thorn, Crategus Crus-galli,
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GARDENS NEAR THE SEA
one well known; also the American white thorn, C. coccinea, showing scarlet fruit as an aftermath to its white blossoms.
High hedges have been made of lilacs, moreover, although not with general success. When lovely they are abundantly so, but they are apt to be most dis- appointing if not well grown.
The honey locust, Gleditsia triancanthos, free and graceful in its growth, forms one of the truly successful large hedges. It has a dislike to close clipping, and is therefore not suitable for formal effects or for small, conservative boundaries. To mark off a domain from the wild, it is not only very beautiful, but satisfactory.
When the deciduous or the flowering hedge is set aside in favor of one that is evergreen, the American arbor vite, Thuja occidentalis, presents itself as a plant of merit. It is often used near the sea as a wind- break, and is especially adapted for hedges, as it stands pruning well, grows very compactly, and has a soft, harmonious form. Arbor vite can be used for formal hedges or for those that are naturalistic in character. In fact, it requires but little ingenuity on the part of the garden builder to make it serve his will.
I have seen a hedge of arbor vite some fifteen feet high, through which one passed by means of a clipped-out archway into the garden lying beyond, no hint of the beauty of which could be gained until this stately wall of green was left behind.
Smaller hedges within this garden were made of the Norway spruce, Picea excelsa, kept low and in rigorous outline by pruning. Undoubtedly, there is
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HEDGES
a prim look about this spruce when used as a low hedge, yet in the case mentioned it was rather advan- tageous to the garden.
I have noticed other formal gardens in which many plants not remarkable for their hardiness were able to live simply because they were walled in by unbroken hedges of spruces. These hedges averaged about four feet high, being kept down by shearing. In a seaside town, I also remember one very large garden, the outer planting of which consisted exclu- sively of shrubs well adapted to the situation and climate. As I came near the center of this garden, however, I saw a low hedge in the form of a rectangle, which enclosed many delicate, even rare plants. It was formed also of spruces, showing four attractively made entrances. These evergreens thus treated were not only of use as protectors of plant life, but they gave a very dignified aspect to the whole garden.
The hemlock spruce, Tsuga Canadensis, does not resent pruning and forms a hedge of unrivaled beauty. For bordering stretches of woodland or semi-wild planting there is no better tree. It prefers a situation partly shaded to one of full sunlight, a fact which is often a strong reason for its selection. The branches of the hemlock spruce are very flexible and fleecy looking, and when seen-in dark, glenlike places they impart grace and an open, light quality to the sur- rounding planting. Plate xxiv. shows such a hedge before which a number of crocuses, freshly opened, raise their dainty cups.
That box is an evergreen is undoubtedly one
[81]
GARDENS NEAR THE SEA
reason for its having been the all-desired low hedge plant of old gardens, and one that is of prime importance in many places that are new. Its prim, wholesome air has remained unchanged from one generation to another, and the odor of its leaves, so dear to some and so disliked by others, is intertwined with many tales of mystery. In olden days, box was planted shortly after the entrance to a place was established, and usually it endured long after the gate had been unhinged for repairs.
At present, it is frequently said that box winter- kills; still there are innumerable instances of its having lived long and well under what are considered severe climates. The Puritans, in their early New England winters of hardships, had with them the box as a cheering companion. To-day at Sylvester Manor, Shelter Island, a place not of gentle temper in the winter, the box is of far-famed age, strong, sturdy stems, and almost unmarred foliage. The oldest of it stands sixteen and eighteen feet high. It was planted in 1652 by the first mistress of the garden, and by its strong personality and mystic odor it still has the power to turn the thoughts of those visiting it to distant scenes and people long dead.
About the homes of the southern coast towns, box does not winter-kill, but rather grows to propor- tions seldom attained in the northern states.
To enumerate the gardens that have been enclosed in box and that have had their beds and borders edged with it would fill a volume, touching the history and romance of many nations. Long ago, its unvary-
[82]
LEV Tal
LESSEN
ONUWOHLMOLLE
WOCUH
HEDGES
ing personality was appreciated as a becoming foil to the multitudinous colors of flowers and their different shapes and expressions. In modern gardens, box has still this purpose,— to offset the beauty of flowers and to define the spaces in which they grow. Years are required to form a sizable hedge of box; but when one is attained, its owner has a valuable possession. In Plate xxv. is given an illustration of a Salem garden well over a hundred years old, the paths through which are edged with box. Here the vividness of its small, lustrous leaves snugly set together makes the green of all else in the garden appear more brilliant than its wont, while the colors of the surrounding flowers seem to scorn the hour of fading.
Box requires considerable care and very judicious pruning, yet this is given freely by those who love it, since for them no other shrub can take the place of. this evergreen of long traditions and unspoken messages.
A plant adaptable for low hedges, one which com- bines the merit of evergreenness with that of bearing beautiful wine-colored flowers, is Azalea amena. The test of climate, however, must be made before it is planted, as it has rather a dislike to intense cold. I have seen it, nevertheless, about four hundred feet away from the sea, fulfilling all that was expected of it in the way of producing myriads of flowers and leaves, which in rich shades of bronze and red remained fresh over the winter. The plant will never make a high hedge, but is an excellent one for low outline work inside the garden limits.
[83 ]
CHAPTER VIII
CONCERNING VINES
f |” the beauty of the garden and the home grounds, vines are as necessary as the lawn, the shrubs, and the trees. Occasionally they
enter into the garden proper, and again they grace the entrance of one that is enclosed. The uses of vines are many, for they are the beneficent plants of nature, willing to cover up unsightly things, often of rude necessity. Under the hand of man they become adaptable screens, besides often ‘giving agreeable shade and a generous outpouring of bloom.
As soon as the bolder growth —the trees and
the shrubs —of a country place has been located, and assuredly before the garden is planned or planted, the vines should come under consideration. Fences, arches, trellises, the veranda, and the now fashionable pergola would be poor indeed were it not for the vines that cover their outlines and bring them into harmony with the surrounding plant life. So beautiful and so varied are the vines known to be hardy near the sea that individual taste can be consulted when those for planting are chosen.
It is, of course, the hardy perennial vines that are the all-desired, since by their permanence and their freedom in growing old and stately, they have attained
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CONCERNING VINES
a position almost equal to that of the trees. A vine covering a large space which it showers with blossoms is often referred to as proudly as a lordly oak that has been an object of admiration for generations.
About new places, especially those built in rather barren spots by the sea, it is often the custom to plant annual vines for decoration, until the perennial ones have become sufficiently well established to give the expected results. Japanese morning glories, Japanese moonflowers, and Japanese hops are all excellent annual vines for this purpose. In one season they frequently make a growth of ten or twelve feet. They are, in fact, very luxuriant, showing keenly the desire to occupy as much of the soil as the wind and the weather will permit. Many are so eager to spread that after the first year it is a risk to plant them among perennial vines, the growth of which they will in all probability impede, if not completely choke to death. Because of their great beauty, however, it is often desirable to reserve space for annual vines and to sow them each year.
Climbing nasturtiums are often given preference when a vine of quick and lively growth is desired, and when colored flowers of long duration are courted. In many unusually cold places not far from the sea, I have seen these vines growing most vigorously and producing incredible numbers of pluri-colored flowers. They formed a bold, artistic decoration, and it seemed a pity that they should fall so completely a prey to the winter.
Cobea scandens, a tender perennial, but a vine of
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slender grace and hung with large bell-shaped, purple flowers, makes an astoundingly rapid growth during its first season. To accelerate this characteristic, the seeds should be started early in a hot bed or in the house. This is one of the vines much used on newly built pergolas.
The gourds are a remarkable family of climbing annuals particularly noticeable on account of the many and curious forms taken by their fruit. The calabash, bearing dipper-shaped fruit, is a well-known member, also the Chinese loofa, or sponge gourd, so called from the fibrous network of the interior of the fruit. This substance when dried has a recognized use, like the sponge. Most of the gourds appear best on fences or arbors. They are too pronounced in growth to mingle with other vines.
June is undoubtedly the month of months in which to enjoy the bloom of climbing vines. It then seems as if they could keep their buds closed no longer, as if they craved to give the delight of flowers as well as the peculiar benefits of their supple stems and dense foliage. Sometimes this June outburst is preceded by the upholding of the wistarias in May, although in places of harsh climate or when the season is back- ward, they wait until June before putting forth their flowers.
For many years in this country, the wistaria has been the vine par excellence for the veranda. Its long, graceful bunches of delicate purple flowers are familiar to every one, although it is only by examining them closely that one can realize their exquisite formation
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THE OUTER AND INNER HEDGE
PLATE XNIITI
CONCERNING VINES
and coloring. Thousands of bees stir among these blossoms, and their steady drowsy humming makes one wish to bask near the vine, drink in the perfume of the flowers, and forget all else but the subtle delights of summer.
Although natives of China, the wistarias have proved very hardy in this country. I know one instance where the sturdy, intertwined growth of such a vine has covered the whole side of a large house, and another where a small house has been fairly enwrapped by a wistaria.
The Chinese white wistaria is without a rival in beauty, but it is not so generally hardy as the purple variety. In appearance, it is much more delicate. Nevertheless, in a particularly cold situation on Long Island, there is a white wistaria of great age and aston- ishingly robust growth. Although I have never seen this vine, I have listened often to its remarkable story. Like the two purple wistarias, already mentioned, it is looked upon as a distinct and well-known personality for many miles about its home.
In the southern United States, there is a native wistaria, Kraunhia (wistaria) frutescens. Its racemes of bloom, however, have not the length nor regal beauty of the Chinese varieties.
Next to the wistarias, it would seem that the honey- suckles should be considered for endurance outside the garden. The family to which they belong is a large one, including many members of individual attraction and noted mostly for the rapidity of their growth.
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GARDENS NEAR THE SEA
The Japanese honeysuckle, Lonicera Hallena, makes an especially quick growth, soon becoming a delight through the fragrance shed by its deep cream-colored and yellow flowers. It holds its leaves until late in the autumn, being almost evergreen. The rapid growth of this vine and the endurance of its foliage make it doubly desirable for covering fences, although its most subtle charm lies undoubtedly in its perfume.
Not far from New York City and near the Sound, there is a fence that extends for a long distance so completely covered with this vine that it appears like a veritable hedge of honeysuckle. When in bloom, it fills the air with its sweet scent. It entices thou- sands of automobilists that pass by it each season to stop and acknowledge its charming and inspiring beauty.
The Belgian honeysuckle, L. Belgica, is the popular striped red-and-white variety which bears its fragrant flowers throughout the greater part of the summer.
The trumpet honeysuckle, or woodbine, L. semper- virens, is an attractive native vine well known by its long, trumpet-shaped scarlet flowers and later by its scarlet fruit. Its fleshy leaves have the peculiarity of uniting about the stem. The flowers, however, are without fragrance, an attribute of much charm in other members of the family.
Akebia quinata, a Japanese vine of delicate, attract- ive foliage and fragrant, odd-colored flowers occurring early in the season, is also rapid in its growth and looks especially well on rocks and on banks and trellises.
The Virginia creeper, Ampelopsis quinquefolia, is
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CONCERNING VINES
another vine of notably rapid growth. It is much beloved, not for its flowers, which are insignificant, but for the artistic quality of its foliage and the wonder- fully brilliant colors to which it turns in the autumn. This vine, moreover, is hardy to the point of being declared difficult to kill in places where it has once established a foothold. It has the power to cling closely to the support over which it grows, and can be relied on to enhance many natural effects. Invari- ably it forms a graceful arch or bower and is at home on rustic, irregular constructions. No other vine, perhaps, would have suited the arch shown in plate XXvill. as well as the Virginia creeper. All about this arch there is a profusion of blossoms. A flowering vine, therefore, was not necessary, while in the autumn the red tones of the foliage of the Virginia creeper give richness and warmth to the scene.
The Boston or Japanese ivy, A. Veitchit, a relative of the Virginia creeper, and perhaps the most generally known climber in the world, has a particular use where a vine of close, clinging propensities is desired. It seems especially eager to attach itself to the sides of flat stone walls or the stonework of houses, for which purpose there is no better vine. In the autumn it shows its leaves in all their lustrous beauty, richly changed to many shades of red and green, and becomes then one of the most striking effects of nature. It is not so rapid in its growth as the Virginia creeper.
In 1860, when the sacred mountain of Fujiyama in Japan was first ascended by Europeans, Mr. John Gould Veitch discovered this vine there, and after an
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GARDENS NEAR THE SEA
interval of about eight years its distribution became almost world-wide.
The trumpet vines cling well to walls and trellises and form graceful arches. Tecoma (Bignonia) radicans is the common variety, native of the southwestern United States, and yet widely known northward through cultivation. Its boldly formed and beautiful scarlet flowers open at the time of the purple wistaria. Humming birds know them well and the drop of nectar at the base of their tubes. In fact, the only nest of these birds that I have ever been able to find was attached very snugly to a powerful old trumpet vine.
The foliage of the Dutchman’s pipe, Aristolochia Sipho, through being broad and well formed, is very serviceable in places where dense close shade is desired. The green blossom of this vine, however, while curiously in the shape of a pipe, is of little ornamental value. Frequently the Dutchman’s pipe is planted at the sides of verandas from which it is desired to block out the sight of a neighboring house or other object. It is also used to form arbors and to cover architectural introductions in the garden. In places where bloom is abundant, the bold greenness of this vine is as restful as that of a tree. In late summer the foliage becomes very effective and massive.
The density required of a vine should be given some thought before one is chosen to plant by a veranda. When the outlook from such a place is attractive, there is no reason for a close screen, because the light and air passing through a vine and the glimpses afforded of a distant scene assist greatly in making a veranda
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CONCERNING VINES
an agreeable place. It seems truly that the wistarias cannot be improved on as protection for verandas, and that to them the Japanese honeysuckle plays a good second.
The family of Clematis provides a number of lovely vines, among which the paniculata is now the most generally seen, although it is one of comparatively recent introduction from Japan. It is of value in late August and September when bloom is at low tide in the garden, unfolding then its starry white flowers of luscious scent in quantities that make it appear like a dense, white cloud. This vine is much grown on porches, although after a few years’ establishment it becomes somewhat ponderous. This can be con- trolled, however, by cutting it rather severely at the approach of winter. It flourishes well on fences, trellises, and old tree stumps, and invariably becomes a thing of beauty in its day of blossoming.
The illustration (plate xxix.) is of a place in Marble- head, Massachusetts, that would be vastly ugly were it not for the high pillar formed by this vine through which a climbing nasturtium has wound its way. The delicacy of the white blossoms is here seen in contrast to the bold, brilliant hues of the nasturtiums.
This member of the Clematis family has become a vine of the people. In a small seaside town through which I passed in early September, the atmosphere was fairly redolent with its perfume. The houses, standing back but a few feet from the road, showed almost without exception the C. paniculata rising triumphantly over the front porches.
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GARDENS NEAR THE SEA
C. Jackmanii, with its large, flat, star-shaped flowers, is also a Japanese vine generally hardy near the sea and noticeable during the warm, sweet days of June. It is useful in places where bloom rather than close leafage is desired. In fact, its foliage is not at all impressive. It is most beautiful when planted against the soft gray tones of stucco houses and in places where there is no strong, combative color to vie with the deep bluish purple of its flowers.
There are also large-flowered clematises of lighter color than the Jackmanii, such as C. lanuginosa, and C. Henryi, a beautiful white type.
The wild clematis of America, traveler’s joy, or virgin’s bower, C. Virginzana, is a beautiful vine about which much lore and many pleasant things have been written. Its white, slightly scented flowers are not only attractive in summer, but they leave as a remem- brance of them many seed vessels with fantastic feathery styles, curious enough to look upon. The foliage is well cut and attractive. The habit of this vine is to form clumps and to intertwine in masses on low walls. It is extremely hardy and can usually be successfully transplanted frem its wild haunts to the home grounds.
C. crispa, a native of the southern United States, is not nearly so well known as the traveler’s joy. Its fragrant, solitary, nodding flowers, crimped about their edges like tissue paper and of an exquisite shade of blue with silver sheen, are infinitely lovely. This vine grows best in somewhat low, wet ground, con- ditions which seldom prevail by the sides of porches
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CONCERNING VINES
and trellises. I have never seen it in a seaside garden, yet it seems that there are many that might afford it an opportunity to show its beauty. The blossom follows along with the June pageant.
The flowers of the perennial pea, Lathyrus latifolius, are unlike those of the annual sweet pea because they are produced in clusters, are without fragrance, and are restricted in color to white and shades of pink and carmine. They occur in July and August. The plant is an attractive climber for many places. It reaches a maximum height of eight feet.
There are those who, in garden building, like the well-tried, the renownedly hardy, and reliable plants to fill their spaces and to entwine about their homes; and there are those who seek ever some rarity, some plant difficult to acclimatize, which requires untold effort to make it grow and bloom. In such experi- mental work, there is much pleasure and often keen surprise at the way plants, strange to their surround- ings, will go through a reconstructive process to accommodate themselves to their new conditions. The plant lover delights to observe the success or failure of his imported treasures. It becomes the most poignant interest of his life. The Japanese, as a nation, understand better than any other people the benefits humanity may gain from a close association with growing plants.
Near many seaside gardens, the American bitter- sweet, or staff vine, Celastrus scandens, can be used to cover rough roadside walls. At several places I have seen it employed thus most charmingly. In the last
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days of the autumn, its red and yellow fruit appears in tune with the changed coloring of nature’s whole world, and earlier in the season its compact foliage gives a sense of coolness and strength. The bitter- sweet likes a somewhat harsh climate, and for this reason it seems feasible to give it a trial in suitable spots not far distant from the rush and the roar of the sea. Planted over a wall alternately with Clematis Virginiana, the impression of nature’s handiwork is given.
The poison ivy, Rhus radicans, is the vine of vines to spy out and to excommunicate from contact with the home grounds and garden. It is truly a beauty in the autumn, but often remarkably mischievous. To walk about one’s home with a friend not immune to its evil ways, and to have him show later the effects of such a stroll by a swollen face and half-closed eyes, is to put one’s hospitality in question. The vine need not, however, be torn from the fences of pasture lands, as horses and other animals eat its foliage without harmful results.
That vines are as essential to the home grounds as trees and shrubs has already been asserted, and also that it is necessary for each planter by the sea to ascertain his need regarding this class of plants. The list of hardy vines is one to which new members are not infrequently added. The pergola, seen so often now in comparison with a few years ago, has, moreover, made the study of vines a thing of much importance.
As the benefits of out-of-door life have been realized, so people have come to appreciate that the garden
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CONCERNING VINES
without a seat or resting place replete with shade lacks one of its possible pleasures. For the home grounds and garden should not represent merely places of brilliant ornamentation, but should be made livable, cool, and inviting during the warm months of summer. Shade of the right quality is essential to comfort. It should not be too dense, nor should it be too open to the burning rays of the sun. It should be a gentle screen, somewhat like a shadow.
The suppleness of vines places them in a class by themselves, and gives opportunity for their employ- ment in a way that would be impossible with other kinds of plants. Nature, in her wild ways, uses vines in plenty, spying out with striking accuracy the ugly, barren places that they can so amply beautify. Thou- sands of stems of trees have been held prominently on a landscape by the Virginia creeper, making all forget that it climbed unfalteringly on dead things, long past their usefulness.
In garden building and in nature’s undisciplined domain, ugliness can be eliminated by the persistent clinging of a vine.
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CHAPTER IX
A FEW WORDS ABOUT STANDARDS
T is in the formal garden that the standard has its true place, and the purpose to give accentua-
tion to carefully devised outlines. Pride, more- over, has entered into the cultivation of standards. To be able to have them live and bloom about the home is the chief desire of many flower lovers. This fact denotes appreciation of skill in the treatment of plants and illustrates the pleasure that things a little out of the ordinary are apt to give.
The bleak seaside garden is not always a sym- pathetic home for standards, as the moods of the sea are not tempered to suit plants diverted from their natural ways of growth. At the same time, many beautiful standards are to be seen in gardens approaching the sea. But before standards are accepted for such gardens, the surrounding conditions should be weighed and some thought given to the care and labor involved in growing them success- fully.
The rose is the most wished for of all plants as a standard, and particularly so in gardens devoted exclusively to these flowers. To walk through a rosarium and to be able to stoop slightly and to bury
one’s nose in a huge bouquet of fragrant roses is a [96]
FEW WORDS ABOUT STANDARDS
pleasure not experienced every day. The ornamental value of standard roses is inestimable.
During the last few years, growers have made use of a hardier stock for budding than formerly, which fact, with an accumulation of experience, has greatly lessened the problematic character of the tree rose. To-day such well-known roses as Paul Neyron, Mrs. John Laing, Margaret Dickson, La France, General Jacqueminot, Ulrich Brunner, Madame Caroline Test- out, Belle Siebrecht, Frau Karl Druschki, the Maman cochets, American beauty, and many others are recom- mended as standards likely to give satisfactory results. That they demand much petting, protection, and fer- tilization is true, but in return they are very generous.
In the gardens of Long Island, the New Jersey coast, and those along the Sound, there are many examples of thrifty rose trees. Wind is their enemy. The place selected for them should, therefore, be one well shielded from high gales by either natural or arti- ficial breaks.
Standard peonies have an aristocratic, altogether charming look, when covered with ‘their gorgeous, often slightly fragrant flowers. Many of the old, well-known varieties are grown in this way, which for a space of several weeks in the spring shows the flowers to extreme advantage. To uphold the approaches to beds of flowers, or to accentuate entrances into formal rose gardens, they are very desirable, especially if, in the latter case, their passing is marked by the blossoming of rose trees. Although the appear- ance of the peony is bolder and more pronounced than
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that of the rose, its colors are soft and very delicate. The two plants, however, are not long in bloom at the same time, the peony acting as a forerunner of the rose.
The various forms of standard azaleas are almost as beautiful as tree roses and peonies. They are fairly hardy and very lovely for formal effects in early spring.
The rose of Sharon is also much seen in tree form. In one large seaside garden, I noticed many such standards showing the blue flowers that are among recent novelties. They did not appeal to me as especially pretty, perhaps because the garden was very large and somewhat heterogeneously planted. The colors were wild and flamboyant where I first saw the blue rose of Sharon. Nevertheless, I can imagine them in a garden where blue coloring pre- vailed and where the sea and the skyline were not lost sight of in high, scraggly growth. But blue seems as strange to the roses of Sharon as it does to the hydrangeas, and I cannot think it an improvement on the spotless white or the warm rose tints that nature gave these flowers.
Among the snowballs, there are varieties.grown in standard form which appear very beautiful when laden with their heavy heads of flowers. In fact, the rounded grace of these flower heads takes away from the rather stilted look of the shrub when grown as a standard, and makes it particularly pleasing for many formal effects. In a certain garden unusually near the sea are three standard snowballs which have
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FEW WORDS ABOUT STANDARDS
proved extremely hardy, never disappointing in their bloom. The flowers open, however, about ten days later in the year than those of their relatives growing in the regular way. This is no disadvantage, but, on the contrary, lengthens the snowball season.
Last year a neighbor’s boy so keenly appreciated the beauty of these snowballs that, in the pink of dawn when the robins first chirruped, he crept from his bed, stole out of the house, across the lawn, and plucked them one by one. He did it hastily and with great damage to the symmetrical form of the tree. It was a melancholy day for the owner of the standard who had tended it well, and I have even heard that it ended sadly for the boy, although I did not penetrate into the details of his grief.
Hydrangea paniculata takes the tree form well and appears very striking’ and massive. It is the most worthy of all standards for autumn effects. Through its extreme hardiness, it can be planted with almost the surety of steady growth and long life. It faces the sea dauntlessly. In the formal and also in the wild garden, it is an attractive member, in the latter case defining outlines wey might otherwise appear too vague.
One of the most charming standards to plant near the sea is the tamarix. Its pastel pink flowers identify themselves with the early season, while long after they have passed, the asparagus-like foliage gives lightness and beauty to the scene.
Standards have a place not only in the garden, but on the lawn, where almost invariably they give
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GARDENS NEAR THE SEA
an air of elegance and detail to the surrounding planting.
Among the bedding plants, the heliotrope and fuchsia seem to be the ones in present favor to use as standards. Naturally, they are only serviceable to those who have glass houses in which to keep them over the winter. When set out in the spring, however, the amount of rough weather they can withstand is astonishing. The heliotrope, especially, thrives lustily very near the sea.
In Commodore Benedict’s garden at Indian Harbor, Connecticut, the standard heliotropes form a conspicu- ous feature. There they grow very closely to the sea, yet in a spot considerably elevated from the edge of the water. The house shelters this garden on two sides from the wind; and, much to the liking of the heliotrope standards, the sun shines upon them with great intensity, giving them the inspiration requisite to their growth.
Fuchsias also can stand rough weather, provided the sunshine is abundant. They make stately little standards of very formal appearance. Their colors and the pendulous grace of the flowers are without flaws. I find them, nevertheless, lacking in charm, although it is difficult to say what is absent.
It seems to me the worst possible taste to plant standard heliotropes at points of accentuation through beds of petunias. Yet I have seen it done on more than one important estate, where the gardens, on the whole, denoted much taste and skill. I could only believe that the head gardeners were guided by certain
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OLD WISTARIA VINE
AN
PLATE XXVII
FEW WORDS ABOUT STANDARDS
traditions or hidden reasons of their own in making so hideous a combination.
The tree most used as a standard is naturally Catalpa Bunget (page 33). It looks well in many places, especially in formal gardens suggested by those of Italy.
[101]
CHAPTER X .
THE PLACING OF THE GARDEN
N the mind of every one enchanted with out-of- | door life there exists an ideal of a garden, an individual conception of what it should be. In various places and at different times, particular types of gardens have prevailed, each claiming its admirers. The story of the birth and employment of various styles of gardens would in itself fill a volume.
To-day, more than ever before, the garden builder acts as a free lance, since he is able to plant, without discord with time and custom, the very garden that suits him best. To please one’s fancy in a garden is the privilege of the day and of the builder.
But before the character of the garden is decided upon, the place of its setting should be most carefully considered. It is but few among many who control more than a limited amount of the surface of the earth, and always a goodly part of this individual possession must be given over to the necessary engineering features of a place. It is not implied that only left-over space should be regarded as available for a garden, but rather that one cannot be fully enjoyed if the real utilitarian things and comforts of the place have been sacrificed to its prominence.
About every home it should be an object to devise [ 102 ]
PLACING OF THE GARDEN
some particular landscape picture as broad and com- prehensive as permissible under surrounding conditions. The foreground, middle distance, and background of this picture should be held in their proper relation, one which may even be accentuated at times by judi- cious planting. Instances are frequent in which, as a means of depriving the picture of abruptness, the middle distance of a landscape has apparently been lifted up to meet the background by the planting of groups of tall, slender trees.
As soon as the topography of a place is established, its decoration may be begun conscientiously, the garden giving to the whole the final, exquisite touch.
The success of a garden depends, to a greater extent than is generally believed, upon its placing. At seaside homes, one must remember to build it as far back from the water as necessary, and to give it the needed protection by means of a break, which may become an artistic feature. It is also well to decide definitely the interior plan before beginning any work.
A southern exposure is undoubtedly of advantage to a garden, and when this fact is remembered at the time of the building of the house, there is usually no reason why it cannot be given this situation. In many cases, however, where ground is limited the garden must simply be placed where there is room for it, without choice or consideration.
The ideal garden should give a sense of seclusion. It should have the charm of privacy and be held aloof from the lawn, the driveways, and other features of a place. For when one enters a garden, its inherent
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GARDENS NEAR THE SEA
qualities should be sufficient to make one forget the outside world, — other forms of life and other pleasures than those which lurk in its bursting buds and unfolding leaves.
At the present time, there seems to be a return to favor of small gardens placed near the house, and with several styles of architecture now in vogue such a situation for them is entirely practical. They should, however, be constructed in conjunction with the house, that a certain sense of proportion may be established. A small garden, not adjacent with, but somewhat apart from, the house is seldom an artistic success. It might better be moved to a spot more isolated. But a small garden built as a feature of a house, almost as a room out-of-doors, affords an opportunity for intimate knowledge of its life such as is not always enjoyed when it is placed farther away.
It is from the veranda of Commodore Benedict’s house at Indian Harbor that one steps into the formal garden shown in plate xxx. A closer relation between house and garden is hardly imaginable. In truth, this garden saves the house from appearing to stand too abruptly on the sea. In this particular spot, only a formal garden would be appropriate. Its trees and shrubs appear to live contentedly very near the water. The flowers, that here produce bold masses of color, are mostly bedding plants, begonias, geraniums, dusty millers, verbenas, and standard heliotropes. In the autumn the half-hardy hydrangeas are brought into prominence.
In the very formality of this garden, there is a
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PLATE XXVIII ARCH OF VIRGINIA CREEPER
PLACING OF THE GARDEN
sense of restraint. It does not call forth the desire for intimacy. It forms, nevertheless, a picture delight- ful to the eye. If it were entirely without flowers, its setting is still so pleasing that it would serve its purpose and produce a feeling of repose in contrast to the incessant motion of the water. In plan, this garden is very simple.
Often the simpler the internal arrangement of a formal garden, the more pleasure it gives. In such instances, it is the plan as much as the planting that strikes the eye and soothes the taste. In many of the famous Italian gardens, flowers are conspicuously absent, yet there are few other examples of planting grounds that give the same restful sense of being at peace with nature. At Bar Harbor, Newport, South- ampton, and other places near the sea, there are many formal and extensive gardens, while those in imitation of the gardens of Italy have been handled most skil- fully. It is not at every seaside home, however, that there is opportunity for a really formal garden, one stately and complete in outline.
More general by far than those purely formal are the so-called old-fashioned gardens, placed to suit the convenience and filled with hardy perennial plants. Such gardens were the pride of the early settlers of America. The New England colonists, especially, brought with them to the New World the conception of such flower gardens as then prevailed in the home country. These gardens, while placed for the most part at short distances from the houses, seldom approached them closely. In arrangement they were
[105 ]
GARDENS NEAR THE SEA
often four-square, including many separate plots, each one being in the form of a rectangle. These plots, or beds, were frequently bordered with box, while arches, seats, fountains, and sundials were features looked upon with complete satisfaction. These early American gardens were very homely and sweet, and serve to-day as suggestions from which many modern ones are planned.
The illustration in plate xxxii. is of an early Ameri- can garden, and is notable because its form has not been changed for over a hundred years. Many of the plants within it are very old. Its masses are inter- grown, often tangled. Yet this is not displeasing; rather it seems to be a place of abundant offering, rich in bloom and delicate foliage.
The pretty garden illustrated in plate xxxill. has been placed directly at the back of a modern colonial house, and is, if one might so describe it, an up-to-date interpretation of an old-fashioned plan. Its flower beds are fewer than in the old-time gardens, and box plays no part as a border plant. This garden is, never- theless, fairly well walled in by tall shrubs, in front of which there is a hedge of low spruces. When one en- ters the front door of this house, he has no suspicion of the nearness of a garden. It is only after travers- ing the central hallway and reaching the veranda which extends across the back of the house that this spot of enchantment is seen lying openly in the sun. No corner of it then escapes the eye. It is visible in its entirety, forming a pretty pic- ture. The central water basin is planted with lilies,
[ 106 }
CLEMATIS PANICULATA AND NASTURTIUM
PLATE XXIX
VINE, MARBLEHEAD, MASS
PLACING OF THE GARDEN
among which gay gold fish appear to play a game of tag.
A Salem garden, well over a hundred years old, has, as can be seen in plate xxxiv., its boundaries well defined by box. The entrance into it is made by means of an arched gateway. In fact, the act of passing into a garden through a gate has a pleasant moral effect. It seems when the gate is opened as if one had at last reached the desired destination; and when the click of the gate is heard, the outside world seems to be left behind. Only the garden then lies before one, in all its sweetness and beauty.
Few modern gardens are entered by a gate, although they are often led into by an arch.
I noticed that one seaside garden, generally admired by passing visitors, is walled all the way around by a high hedge of California privet, through which a number of arches clipped from the hedge proper indicate the way of entrance. Once within this garden, the impres- sion produced by passing through an arch is prolonged by others of light and graceful build standing at inter- vals along the paths and at several of the cross-sections. They are all covered with crimson rambler rose vines, which in their season of bloom glorify all the surround- ings. This garden, nevertheless, appeared to me as one vast planting ground. I walked through it as through a nursery. In vain I searched for a seat, and when reluctantly I sank on a bit of turf, I felt that there was altogether too little turf and too many flowers. As a rule the grass plots of a garden should predominate.
[107]
GARDENS NEAR THE SEA
Still, there is much about this garden that is distinct- ive. To my mind, however, it loses the high mark it might have attained, by its defective setting. It is too large to be so near the house. It appears to bear down on this structure and to obliterate its position of prominence. Undoubtedly, a garden should not be very large when placed near a house of moderate proportions, unless it can by its setting be so detached that the house and surrounding grounds are only seen as glimpses through some vista.
Often gardens that are a little elevated are saved from unpleasant contrasts with the house by their situation, one which must have been fostered in the beginning by the surface of the earth. To take advantage of slight elevations of grounds, or of certain well-placed declivities, is sometimes the keynote of placing a garden.
There is nothing out of the ordinary about a seaside barn that I have observed frequently. Simply the graciousness of the surrounding planting relieves it from too great a plainness. It stands but a short dis- tance back from the house, about which there is no space available for a garden without encroaching upon the lawn, a practise far from desirable. This par- ticular bit of property is deep and narrow.
The path, that branches off from the main drive- way and runs backward along the side of the barn, leads to a garden deep in seclusion and effulgent in beauty. The path itself presents a pleasant way, being bordered with trees, shrubs, and quaint, well- known flowers that give abundant fragrance. At the
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end of the path, there lurks a surprise when the garden comes into view. It is in no way formal, nor is it naturalistic; it is a plain, convenient garden, very sweet and appealing. The paths through it are of turf and the flower beds are in the form of rectangles. Those of the borders are about four feet wide, which is regarded as a desirable width when they are open to approach from one side only. When both sides can be approached, such beds may be made possibly two feet wider.
At the far end of this garden, a slightly raised pergola gives it the appearance of meeting the back- ground halfway, and affords, besides, a pleasant resting place from which the whole planting ground may be surveyed.
Without this garden of medium size, this country home would possess small opportunity for life in the open. The ground and lawn in front of the house are necessarily formal and compact, and face, moreover, a dusty road, while the space immediately back of the house is taken up with the driveway, barn, drying ground, and a number of well-selected trees and shrubs. It is only the open space beyond that gives an oppor- tunity to place a garden successfully. Here it is at once a retreat and an outlet for the family.
The naturalistic garden should be kept as far away from a house as possible. Its ideal situation is by the edge of a woodland that acts as a boundary line or background to an estate. It should not be tinged with formality, but should appear as if planned and strewn by nature when in a gay, decorative mood.
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In fact, before placing a naturalistic garden it is well to look about in the surrounding country and notice the soil and the position that is occupied by various families of plants. It is often then not only possible, but simple, to give those wildlings, about to live in the garden, a similar food and housing. The more attractive native plants that can be brought into such a place, the nearer the fulfilment of the scheme.
The paths through a naturalistic garden should invariably be of turf and circuitous in outline. Some of the beds should be large enough to hold tall and bold masses of plants acting as screens to other parts of the garden. For it is not desirable to have a wild garden come under view all at once, as is usually the case with those that are formal. It should be, rather, a series of surprises and appear as a cultivated bit of the absolute wild. Invariably, it should be as isolated from other forms of planting as possible. When once well established, such a garden requires little care.
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YARD, MASS
PLATE XXX
CHAPTER XI
BULBOUS PLANTS OF DIFFERENT SEASONS
massive blooms that cross the threshold of
spring, but rather the tremulous ones whose air is that of having come from a fairy’s revel. Yet these first comers that break through the crust of winter are inwardly as stalwart as the flamboyant flowers living under the midsummer sun.
In this chapter many plants are referred to under the general heading of “bulbous plants,” but it is not to be understood that each and every one of them springs from a true bulb. They are, nevertheless, all sold by bulb dealers, and are placed together here more for convenience than to follow the dictates of botanists. While to the mind of the latter, knowing a crocus to come from a corm, it is an offense to hear it spoken of as a bulb, the distinction is thought unneces- sary by either the gardener or the dealer.
Gladioli are not produced by bulbs, although they are advertised and bought as such. They have at their base a corm. Many irises have rhizomes as their seat of life, while the English and Spanish varieties spring from bulbs. Neither these plants nor lilies have been treated in this chapter because consider- able space has been given to them elsewhere.
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if is not the large and conspicuous plants with
GARDENS NEAR THE SEA
The correct terms to apply to the rootstocks of the so-called bulbous plants is a subject that is not entered by the average planter, to whom it matters little whether a begonia grows from a tuber or a bulb so long as it makes his seaside garden beautiful.
In March, the snowdrops, undaunted by bleak winds and violent weather, send forth their dainty, pendulous flowers. At Babylon, Long Island, how- ever, and at various places along the coast of New Jersey, I have seen them in bloom on Washington’s Birthday, and from then on they held their beauty in spite of the snows of March. They clung snugly to the ground and lifted their heads so slightly that it seemed as hopeless to photograph them as a flight of white moths. Their message, nevertheless, was clear. Winter could not endure much longer; spring and the flowers were determined to prevail.
It is the little single snowdrop, Galanthus nivalis, that ventures to appear thus early. Its large, double- flowered relative, G. Elwesii, a native of Asia Minor, is quite two weeks behind it in unfolding its bloom.
The small snowdrops which, in late February, so pleased my fancy were not planted in a garden, but were scattered at random over a beautiful lawn. The shrubs near them had scarcely begun to bud; the deciduous trees were entirely destitute of leaves. The evergreens alone seemed in harmony with these earliest of flowers.
The lawn is, in fact, a most appropriate place to plant snowdrops. In a large garden they would make little effect, while rather accentuating the bareness
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of the beds and borders. On the lawn they give thus early the impression that nature has taken matters in hand and that she alone is responsible for their presence. Nevertheless, many people still cling to the old custom of using them for the permanent edging of garden beds and borders. Snowdrops, as well as crocuses and squills, look especially well in front of geometrically planned beds, and also in various borders and places backed by evergreens.
The snowdrops delight in shade, and I have seen extensive plantings of rhododendrons enlivened by the presence of these fairy-like bells at their base, while their broad, lustrous foliage still held the snows of winter.
Places of small area, moreover, where there is limited lawn space, and where a crescent-shaped bed or a hardy border is, perhaps, the principal abode of flowers, would sadly miss these early visitors peeping out shyly when all else is bare of leaf.
The snowdrops hold their bloom until the crocuses have pierced the earth. From that time on they vanish gradually.
The spring, or dwarf, snowflake, Leucojum vernum, blossoms in the early spring, seeming almost as if it would take the place of the fairy-like snowdrops. One of its varieties, called carpathicum, is exceedingly pretty, and tipped with yellow. The species estivum grows taller and blooms a few weeks later than the vernum, and is sometimes called the summer snow- flake. The snowflakes add greatly to the witchery of the border and are easily grown. Their bulbs should be planted in the autumn.
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Crocuses, which appear in early spring, not far behind the snowdrops, have also become favorites to plant in the grass of well-ordered lawns. They present many varieties from which to choose, including those of yellow, white, purple, blue, and differently striped colors. It is the yellow ones, however, which show the most cheery faces in the early season; and although they are usually seen intermingled with those of various colors, I have wondered whether the variety called “giant yellow”? would not have given greater pleasure if planted to the exclusion of all the others. When planted on sloping banks, yellow crocuses seem to rob the surrounding earth of all the harshness asso- ciated with March.
Other delightful harbingers of spring, conspicuous at the time of the crocuses, are the so-called scillas, or squills. Of this group of bulbous plants the Siberian squill, Scilla Sibirica, is the one generally recognized. It is as hardy as the snowdrops and crocuses, its bulb living in the ground for several years and sending up flowers regularly with the call of spring. Intensely blue in color, the beauty of the squill is accentuated beside the pure white of the snowdrop and the cheery yellow of the crocuses. These three plants form a gay company, eager to welcome a rude and _ blustering month, For March is their day; it is then that they appear at their best. As soon as the warm days come, they shrivel and disappear as swiftly as do the hepaticas in the woods. The squills, however, outlive their two early companions, often showing their bloom beside that of the daffodils.
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For early flowers on lawns snowdrops, crocuses, and Siberian squills are especially well adapted, because their flower and even their foliage dies down to the bulb before it is time to mow the grass. They are, besides, sufficiently pretty to appear as the young bloom of the grass. A show of more conspicuous flowers on a lawn is undesirable.
Before the golden bells unfold; before the blossoms burst from the wood of the red maples; before the twigs on the shrubs are tinged with color, snowdrops, crocuses, and squills have ventured to cross the threshold of spring. The alder in wild places then showers pollen from its fringelike catkins; the skunk cabbage is awake in the moist country, and pussy willows can be found by those who seek them. In spots of the woods where the sun steals and lingers, hepaticas show themselves wrapped in their silky fuzz. The grass about the bases of the trees has turned to shades of emerald green; the arbutus has formed its buds. Too quickly then pass these days of high hopes and expectancy. Suddenly, with a warm, swift touch, spring fully awakes. Myriads of tiny leaves unfold; color appears in every twig and branch. April creeps in enlivened by daffo- dils, hyacinths, tulips, and the blossom of numbers of flowering shrubs.
Daffodils or Narcissi next become the reigning beauties of many formal gardens, while in naturalistic places they are invariably a delight to the eye. They are, besides, practical plants, since once well established they live for years and increase rapidly. They have not, like the crocuses, the habit of running out or of becom-
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ing exhausted after a few seasons of bloom. When planted closely together in a garden, daffodils soon become overcrowded and should be divided and reset about every three years.
In both the formal and the naturalistic garden, daffodils look best when each variety is planted sepa- rately either in large masses or in small clumps. Groups of daffodils among the herbaceous plants of a garden are charming, and when planted in front of shrubbery, they seem to possess a particularly elfin grace.
In using daffodils at seashore places, care must be taken to guard them from the wind, an element of which they are not fond. But, with the exception of the Polyanthus narcissus, they are perfectly hardy and grow ruggedly in almost any soil, although their preference is for one somewhat stiff in texture. It is a mistake to think that the trumpet daffodils cannot be naturalized as far north as the New England coast.
The popular classification of daffodils divides them into three classes: the large crown, or those which show their central tubes or crowns about as long as the segments of their perianths, and which are true daffodils or Lent lilies; the medium crowns, with central tubes about half as long as the perianth segments; and the small crowns, or those with flat, saucer shaped tubes. This classification, however, is much broken into by such hybrid groups as Leedsit, Barrit, Humei, and others, and is likely to become, in the future, even more difficult to follow than it is at present, since the hybrid- ization of daffodils is pursued most actively.
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Among the large crowns, or trumpet daffodils, few are more satisfactory than the maximus, which very early in the season shows its deep, golden yellow bloom fringed about the edges. The Emperor is an excellent variety, familiar to all; as is also the Empress, with its yellow crown and white perianth segment. The Horsfieldi is also an excellent variety of the bicolor group. Glory of Leiden sends out flowers of clearest yellow and is conspicuous for its unusual size. The famous old Von Sion bears a double trumpet, as does also the Capaz plenus.
Among daffodils of medium crowns are found the Barruw conspicuus, with an orange scarlet ring around its yellow crown; Narcissus incomparabilis, bearing its flowers early in the season; the Leedsii; the orange Phoenix with double chalice, called unromantically eggs and bacon, on account of its white and deep orange coloring, and the double “butter and eggs,’’ showing orange colored crowns and yellow perianth segments.
N. poeticus, or the pheasant’s eye narcissus, is one of the best beloved of the family. It belongs to the class of small crowns. Scattered in the grass, along rustic walks, in spaces by trees and shrubs, and for delicate mass effect in the formal or unpretentious garden, it is always lovely. Poeticus ornatus blooms earlier than this type and has larger flowers.
The jonquils, which are closely related to the daffo- dils, are equally graceful plants and deliciously fragrant. Among them the Campernelle and the Odorous rugulosus are attractive varieties.
With the spring pageant of bulbous plants the
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Hyacinths pass in their many soft colors and fan- tastic forms, sending forth their seductive though somewhat heavy scent. They occur in blue, red, white, and yellow, and in intermediate shades, which show the intermingling of the innumerable varieties that have been produced from the original Hyacinthus orientalis.
L’innocence is one of the white hyacinths with sin- gle large flowers that open at the time of the daffodils. La Peyrouse is charming in its tones of light porcelain blue, and is adapted for planting in bold masses in the grass. The variety called “Charles Dickens” shows one form in an enchanting shade of salmon rose which is seen early.
It is a point of vantage, however, to select hyacinths of pure color rather than those that are indefinite in tone. A pure deep blue hyacinth is infinitely more pleasing than one of bluish white or even one of lavender. In early spring many charming pictures are made up of these flowers in clear, different colors all lifted to about the same height. If planted in succession, hyacinths can be kept from passing before the last of May. As a rule, I prefer them in formal parks rather than about the home grounds.
Hyacinths which bloom simultaneously should have their bulbs set at the same depth from the level of the ground. Usually about six inches is given to the bottom of the bulb. Otherwise, they will not all bloom together. In order to bring late-blooming varieties into flower with those of earlier habit, the bulbs of the former should be set less deeply in the
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ARDEN
AMERICAN G
CARLY
AN
PLATE XXNXIL
BULBOUS PLANTS
ground than those of the latter. This practise is also followed with tulips.
October is naturally the time to plant hyacinth, as well as many other bulbs. These bulbs like a light soil and much sunlight. In seashore gardens, the soil is not often heavy, but, if for special reasons this should be the case, it can be lightened by mixing considerable sand through it when the beds are pre- pared. Expert gardeners, moreover, usually hold a handful of sand about a bulb, no matter what kind it is, at the time that it is set in the earth. Good drainage is thus secured and the bulb is protected from contact with manure. In exposed positions by the sea, bulbs should be covered in early winter, after the ground has frozen, with a few inches of coarse manure and litter.
The single hyacinths are now almost universally thought more attractive than the double ones. Some- times they are even seen planted through the grass in a naturalistic way. There is, however, something about the appearance of hyacinths that demands the setting of a garden, or at least of a formal bed. There is so little that is unconventional in their appearance, their look is so formal, that it seems as if the way should be cleared for their coming.
_ Hyacinthus candicans might in truth be called
the giant of the family, since its spikes of bloom are
frequently three feet high and crowned with well-
formed, waxen-white flowers, suggesting inverted cro-
cuses. This tall hyacinth, however, has no opportunity
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all had their day long before it opens its flowers. It is a plant of midsummer and early autumn, its bold, distinctive presence giving character to many places in a garden. It can stand cold situations so long as they are exposed to the sun. Through the cool days of the autumn it holds itself proudly, although, unlike the more delicate appearing members of its race, it has not the courage to test the uncertain weather of the early spring.
The pretty little grape hyacinths, of which Muscari Botryoides, showing purple flowers, is commonly seen, are particularly hardy bulbous plants, doing well in almost any soils and situation. They are useful in many garden borders and equally attractive to scatter in short grass, where they cleverly hide the fact that they are foreigners to the soil. They sink so snugly into the grass and illumine it so completely with their prim pert-looking bloom that they generally give the impression that they are true plants of the wild.
Muscari Botryoides alba is the white companion of the purple variety, and M. commutatum bears a pure, dark blue flower. There are also other varieties of merit. The grape hyacinths come at a time when shrubs and trees are still suspicious of the spring and loth to wear its clothing.
A spring garden can hardly be imagined without numbers of tulips, chaste and exquisite among the early flowers. In outline they are very simple, and in color exceedingly pure. They suggest neither subtlety nor complexity.
Tulips are especially valuable in borders and beds
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where strong color effect is desired. For, in truth, they show uncompromising color, unsoftened by much foliage. Many gardeners delight to form conventional beds of tulips in the three distinct colors of red, white, and yellow. The most beautiful of such beds that I have seen, however, were those of only two colors, — yellow and white. The yellow ones were planted to meet the green of the grass, while the white ones held the central, slightly elevated position of the bed. From a distance this arrangement appeared like some mammoth white flowers deepening to yellow at its edges. In the garden, it is usually a better plan to keep the variously colored tulips apart in masses rather than to intersperse them.
As a rule, tulip bulbs should be planted four inches deep and about five inches apart. They will live in the ground year after year provided their foliage is allowed to ripen before it is cut down. Every third year they should be taken up and divided and their bed made over before they are reset.
The earliest of all tulips to bloom is the Duc van Thols, of which variety there is one of most brilliant red. They are dwarf in habit, a point which must not be forgotten if they are to be used with others for early spring decoration. The Duc van Thols is followed by many varieties of early Dutch tulips, after which the Darwin and Cottage varieties unfold in numbers.
Gesnertana is one of the most showy of the species of tulips; and the varieties of Parrot tulips bloom after all the others have faded. These latter, which prefer sunny exposures, are most picturesque and unusual.
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With their feathered edges and many colors they form groups in the garden not easily forgotten.
An effective border for spring bloom can be made by placing German irises at its back and filling in the front spaces with clumps of hyacinths and _ tulips, each variety reigning over its own little kingdom. The whole border can then be edged with squills, crocuses, and snowdrops, extending into the grass. By such an arrangement abundant bloom is provided from the beginning until the end of spring.
Bulbous plants should hold special places in every attractive garden. They produce their radiant flowers before either annuals or perennials have waked to their duty in life. By their employment the garden may truly blossom from the first peep of the snow- drops in February until the end of May, when the lingering tulip droops its head.
As the yellow bells lead the shrubs into bloom, the daffodils are gay in the garden; the fire bush projects its blossoms while the early red tulips are full of life; and as the soft tints of the lilacs are seen, the hyacinths make the earth more fair.
It is unfortunate that many seaside dwellers do not go to their summer homes until the early spring shrubs and flowers have passed their beauty. I have many friends who never see the snowdrops, crocuses, and squills, the narcissi, hyacinths, and tulips that beautify their own grounds and gardens. Owing to the convenience of motor cars, however, people are now inclined to remain later each autumn in their homes by the sea, and to return to them earlier each spring.
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GARDEN
PLATE XXNIII
BULBOUS PLANTS
Late April, even, would be a melancholy time in the garden without the bulbous plants.
A curious dwarf plant that greets the spring is the guinea-hen flower, Fritillaria meleagris. Its large flowers hang on the stems like broad, open bells and are mottled not unlike guinea hens, although their colors are more varied and cheerful. These bulbs are quite hardy in seaside gardens, doing best in rich soil. Customarily they are planted about four inches deep in the ground.
The most stately of the Fritillarias is the crown imperial, F. imperialis, with its bold handsome look of a tropical plant. The early spring sees these flowers produce most startling effects, since they have the pro- nounced beauty of midsummer rather than the tender grace of the early months. There are now many new varieties of Fritillarias brighter in hue than the old dull red one. Among them vivid crimsons and bright yellows are especially pronounced.
In English gardens, Fritillarias are used in goodly numbers in the central positions of beds filled with other bulbous plants identified with spring bloom. I have seen them there also planted in dark, cool spots where their flowers showed to great advantage. All of the Fritillarias are exceedingly graceful. It is a matter for regret, however, that they seem to be much less cared for than the majority of bulbous plants.
Gladioli are bulbous plants none the less important because they wait until late July and August before showing their flowers. They are, however, not alto-
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gether hardy, being classed with bedding plants. Their corms will not live in the ground over the winter, but must be taken up in the late autumn after their foliage has been nipped and ripened by the frost, dried thoroughly, and stored in a cool place free from moist- ure. In the following spring, they can be again planted with the expectation of a wealth of bloom.
Tigridias, which flower profusely, although for a short period, through the summer, should also have their bulbs planted in the spring when the danger of frost is past.
So conspicuous is the summer blossom of the gladioli in every garden of note that it would now be difficult to place them satisfactorily with other plants. They occur in many varied and exquisite colors. Through hybridization they have of late been improved wonder- fully. The size and depth of the individual flowers is extraordinary and their texture suggests velvet.
The practise of planting gladioli through gardens and beds composed of June roses has spread widely, probably because their bulbs are small and do not take the nourishment of the soil away from the roses, and also because they enliven such places after the roses have faded. I have seen most extensive plantings of roses and gladioli together near the sea. The so-called June roses, however, do not all pass with the last day of the month. Many of them bloom until late in the season, and when the bloom of the rose and that of the gladiolus are seen at the same time, they seem to me not altogether congenial companions.
I like far better to see gladioli among the irises
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BULBOUS PLANTS
that live in rich dry soil. They blossom after the irises, and therefore give continuity to the planting. There is, moreover, complete harmony between the foliage of the irises and the gladioli, which cannot be said when they are used in connection with roses.
But, in the majority of cases, it is individual taste that governs their planting ground, and wherever gorgeous rich bloom is desired at a time when other flowers are scarce in the garden, gladioli should be encouraged.
There is one bulbous plant which bears the same relation to the autumn that the crocus holds to the spring. Colchicum autumnale, the meadow saffron, or more commonly and erroneously called the autumn crocus, is preéminently lovely. It looks like a very large crocus, delicately rose lavender in hue. It stands two or three inches above the ground, and is not seen alone, but in groups of five or six flowers, entirely without foliage. This is because the bulb makes its lance-shaped leaf growth in the spring and early sum- mer, showing with it the seed pod of the preceding year. The meadow saffron, therefore, should always be planted in places where the grass need not be cut until after this growth has died down to the ground.
The meadow saffron forms enchanting little colonies in the grass of borders, which in turn provides it with a gracious green background. If planted in beds, it is apt to look shorn of its natural belongings, with only the bare earth to offset its delicate color. It requires a rich soil.
In England, several varieties of Colchicums are
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features of gardens in the autumn. In this country, the meadow saffron is the one that is mostly seen, becoming better known each year. In the middle eighteenth century, however, it was used in the gardens of the Massachusetts coast.
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CHAPTER XII
THE PLANTING OF THE SPRING AND SUMMER
NCE the garden is placed and its internal arrangement is settled, the question as to its planting naturally arises. In the spring,
the desire to plant the green things of the earth is undoubtedly keener than at any other time of the year; and it is then that the greater number of new gardens are started, and old ones replenished. As soon as the frost has left the ground, even the most laggard spirits feel the impetus to sow seeds rich in their promise of flowers, and to keep pace with the unfolding buds and leaves.
Gardeners then busy themselves in setting out pan- sies and such plants as they have forced under glass, that there may be an early show of bloom. They are not content to trust their gardens entirely to the beauty of early bulbous plants. In fact, unless some thought for the spring has been taken, by way of sowing seeds and planting bulbs during the preceding autumn, the month of April and the greater part of May must pass before any reward can be expected from the planting done in the spring.
A new garden made entirely in the spring will assuredly not glow with beauty the first season. As with all desirable things, plants take time to reach
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perfection. There are identified with the planting of spring and summer, however, many plants which, if set in the ground at these seasons, at once accom- modate themselves to the soil and begin to grow vigorously.
Among the trees, there are those that stand a much better chance of success if planted or moved in the spring than at other times of the year. The Japanese maples, flowering cherries, magnolias, sweet gums, the oaks, the beeches, and the birches — all desirable trees to plant outside a seashore garden — are among those that, unless attended by unusually favorable circumstances, have uncertain chances of establishing themselves well if planted at any other time than in the spring.
In places where intense summer heat and a pro- longed drought are habitual, the conditions governing the planting seasons are naturally so altered that this practise must frequently be changed. Im fact, climate and situation must always be regarded as the great modifier of planting rules. There comes into play, besides, the proverbial luck of certain individuals who appear to be able to put a stick into the ground at any time of the year and to see it blossom like the rose.
Similarly with trees, success is more easily attained with certain shrubs that do well at the seashore if they are planted in the spring rather than in the autumn. Weigelias, snowballs, roses of Sharon, deutzias, azaleas, and ever-blooming roses are customarily reserved for spring planting.
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PLANTING
The box, Buzus sempervirens, generally used as an edging plant for formal gardens, is apt to give the best and quickest results if planted in the spring. This is good news to those starting a garden where much depends on getting the outlines of the beds and borders well defined, a purpose for which this evergreen plant is without a rival.
When the thought of building a garden in the spring is presented, the mind naturally turns first to the seeds that should then be sown. The spring seems to be the natural time to sow seeds, as the autumn is the time to reap their produce.
The amateur gardener is often surprised at the amount of time consumed by spring-sown, annual seeds in germinating and developing their flowers. A young lady who sowed sweet peas ardently during the last week in March was more than amazed and even piqued on learning that it would be near the last of June before she could gather bouquets from the vines. She had sown in early spring and she wished for a spring result.
It is because of the length of time it necessarily takes for annual seeds to grow and to bloom, and also because of the long time most perennials require to come into flower, that it is so essential to have the garden made gay in early spring with bulbous plants that have been set in the ground the preceding autumn.
Many hardy annuals are particularly useful to garden builders. They require merely to be sown in late April or May, according to the season, and when there is no longer any doubt that the frost has left
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the ground. Among them are those which, like sweet alyssum, Shirley poppies, candytuft, mignonette, portu- lacca, and others, do not require to be transplanted, but can be sown in the open ground where they are to remain. Usually, then, such seeds are sown again at intervals of from two to four weeks, so that their flowers may be had in succession.
All annuals, especially those that are half hardy, can be hastened into bloom by sowing their seeds early in a hot bed, greenhouse, or even in a shallow box placed on a warm, sunny window. Boxes from two to three inches deep and filled with fine, sandy loam make excellent homes for young sprouting seeds.
Newly sown seeds require plenty of air and moisture. Too vigorous and frequent watering, however, causes them, in the words of gardeners, to “damp off.” Small seeds, moreover, should always be watered with a fine rose sprayer. When well out of the seed leaf, they should be transplanted into other boxes or pots and then allowed to grow until sufficiently strong to plant in the open ground. After this final transplant- ing, they require to be well watered and cultivated and have their beds kept free from weeds. In general, seedlings that have been transplanted are more vigor- ous and more able to resist a prolonged drought than those that have reached maturity in the same places in which they have been sown.
Although all hardy and half-hardy seeds are hastened into bloom by sowing them early under cover, it is also quite feasible to wait until the soil is warm and then to sow them in the open garden. Their flowers
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PLANTING
will merely appear later than if their seeds had been started earlier in the season. No one need give up raising flowers from seeds because one possesses neither a hot bed nor a greenhouse in which to start them.
Annuals should have a place in every garden, for among them there are some of the loveliest flowers, vividly brilliant and of high decorative value. They are not to be discarded because they die completely at the end of one season. They are worth sowing and tending each year.
In a young garden where the perennials have not been long established, annuals are of the greatest value in filling up the gaps that must otherwise occur the first season. But as the perennials grow and increase, it often becomes a necessity to assign the annuals to a place by themselves, in order that the cultivation and disturbance of the soil, which must take place from time to time for their benefit, may not interfere with the roots of the perennials already in the ground.
There is little spring planting, perhaps, that can be done with the thought of the coming season alone. The fact that one year surely follows another must help the imagination to picture perennials grown large and run together, forming solid masses.
Some annuals, such as poppies, portulacca, and bachelor’s buttons, which may have been used to accelerate the bloom of a garden while the perennials were becoming established, are often found to sow themselves so abundantly that there is no need to plant them after the first year. Very often it is difficult to dislodge them from the soil originally allotted to them.
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Portulacca, gay and cheery among the low-growing annuals, should not be sown until near the first of June, as a good deal of heat is needed to germinate its tiny, silverlike seeds. They do not need to be covered with soil, but merely to be pressed into the earth with a flat board or the palm of the hand to prevent their becoming dry before their roots take hold of the soil. Hardly another garden annual shows such fear- lessness of the sea as the bright-flowered, indomitable portulacca. The sandier and sunnier a spot the more abundantly it throws out its blossoms, laughing in the face of droughts, caring not for the closeness of the sea. A sandy beach is a fit home for portulacca so long as it is out of reach of the tide. To garden builders by the sea it is of great value, since it will flourish in places where no other plant will grow.
As a low edging plant about beds and borders it has a distinct use, ranking almost with a perennial from its habit of resowing itself generously. Not- withstanding all its good qualities, it must be treated with discretion, since, like its plebeian relative, pusley, it will not take the hint to leave a place when its presence is no longer wanted. At a place on Long Island where portulacca was generously sown in the days when the garden was young, it grew and bloomed, it seemed to me, as nowhere else under the sun. Then came a reversal of feeling. The mistress of the garden wished to root it up and establish in its place a high- class edging plant, Alyssum sazatile, or gold dust, a perennial bearing myriads of bright yellow flowers. She wished for the early bloom and grayish green
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foliage of gold dust, as the whole color scheme of the garden was to be simplified. The tussle with portulacca began. Each succeeding year it peeped up through the earth, showing its pluri-colored blooms in spite of digging, spading, and making the bed entirely over. In the end, the human force used against it accomplished its destruction, although it undoubtedly would have ousted gold dust if the latter had not been so strongly reénforced.
What, indeed, cannot be done with poppies? The annual varieties are simple to handle because they can develop fully in the same places that they are sown; and, although their long tap root is reputed to render them difficult to transplant, it can, nevertheless, be done readily, provided enough earth is taken up at the same time with the plants.
To sow annual poppies in the beds and borders early in the spring is to pave the way for an abundance of dainty,sparkling bloom. Through the grass of pasture lands they can be scattered and also in grain fields after the manner in which they are seen growing in England. Not many fields of grain, however, wave near seaside gardens. In the ubiquitous vegetable garden, they produce delightful surprises when sown between the rows, where they serve as flowers for picking.
Annual poppies thrive best in a sandy loam. Their seeds should be sown thinly or merely sprinkled over the ground and pressed down as soon as the frost has disappeared. When well up they should be thinned out to about a foot apart. By sowing the
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seeds in the autumn, the flowers can be secured earlier in the spring, and by repeated sowings they can be kept in the garden for a long period. As the last tulip droops its head, the poppies, held high on their graceful stems, begin to unfold. The list of annual varieties is long and varied and well deserves a place in spring planting, even that of a limited nature.
The perennial poppies, of which the oriental and its varieties are the most amazing in size and vividness of color, can be planted in early spring, although many think the undertaking uncertain at this season and greatly prefer to plant or to move them in late August. The advantage then is gained of their becoming well settled and able to store up plenteous energy long before it is time for them to send forth their most startling bloom of the next season. As the plants then lift their great flowers, they become the high note of the whole garden. For this reason, it is well to place them at points which need accentuation, rather than to mix them indiscriminately with other flowers, whose appearance they are likely to belittle and to pale. The oriental poppy looks very gorgeous in long beds that border paths, especially where there is an abundance of bloom about it. It is a native of Siberia.
The Iceland poppy, Papaver nudicaule, and its varieties, are also perennials, dwarf in habit and well adapted to grow among rocks, against which the brightly colored flowers form a pleasing contrast. They look well in masses. Perennial poppies, when raised from seeds, should be sown between June and August.
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Perennials, as is well known, are among the happy plants that can be moved at almost any time of the year. Still, there are a few that seem to flourish better if set in the ground when things are bud- ding. Lavender, hollyhocks, chrysanthemums, blanket flowers, dahlias, red-hot poker plants, and anemones are emphatically among the number. The anemones which blossom late in the autumn should naturally be planted in the spring; those for spring bloom, however, should be planted in the autumn.
Red-hot poker plants do not always winter well in places where the climate is severe, and therefore assurance of at least one year of bloom is obtained by planting them in the spring. If it is then feared that they cannot withstand the winter, their roots should be taken up and stored in a cellar until the return of their planting time.
The advantage of these plants is that they hold their bloom until late in the autumn, often producing in somber places vivid patches of salmon red and yellow, suggesting a flame. There is a wide diversity of opinion concerning their charm. In some seaside gardens, I have seen them producing beautiful effects when grouped with grasses. In other places, I have liked them not at all. There is a strange look about their bloom, detaching them from their neighbors.
Blanket flowers, Gazllardias, should have a place in every garden, since they are not only decorative in the open, but hold this attribute in a marked degree when taken into the house as cut flowers.
Among the dahlias, half-hardy perennials, there
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are varieties, as for instance the Jules Crétien, that will bloom the first season provided the seeds are sown early in the spring. Very few, however, of this group of plants, seen in seaside gardens, have been raised from seeds. The custom usually prevails to buy their roots or the growing plants and to set them in their places, about eight inches deep in the soil, during the latter part of April. After the first autumn frosts have touched their foliage, their roots should be taken up and stored in a dry cellar over the winter. The ensuing spring they can be divided before resetting in the gar- den, reserving three or four tubers for each hill.
There are many dahlias that are very rich in color and are also valuable because they hold their bloom after that of most summer flowers has faded. They do well in seaside gardens; but, like the poker plants, they are not universally liked. The single varieties are less stiff and artificial looking than the double ones, and those of yellow and deep maroon please the taste of artistic people more than any of their other colors. Dahlias of the cactus variety, which have many and stanch admirers, will grow against a wall or a fence like a high hedge. I have known several flower lovers, however, of taste and cultiva- tion, who lived happily in gardens in which there were no dahlias. They require careful staking.
Cannas more than either gladioli or dahlias seem to have taken the lead among bedding plants, and of their striking beauty and usefulness in certain places there isno doubt. They also are half-hardy perennials, requiring to have their tubers taken up in the late
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NTHS PLANTED
MINED SINGLE HYACI
I
f XXAV
PLAT
MASSE
EN
PLANTING
autumn and to be stored in a cool place until the return of spring, which is their planting season. These dor- mant tubers should then be divided and cut up like potatoes, leaving two or three eyes to a tuber, and then planted so that an eye may show near the surface of the ground. The practise of starting their tubers indoors in boxes in March or April is also pursued and then setting the plants out in the open when the earth has become warm. Their increase, like that of dahlias, is very rapid. Gladioli, on the contrary, do not mul- tiply their corms to any great extent, and are therefore more costly members of the garden.
The French varieties of cannas have long been thought the most beautiful, though many of the Amer- ican hybrids have now equaled if not surpassed them in size, color, and striking beauty. In fact, cannas have been so greatly improved of late that even those who have cared little for them in the past have been won over to a recognition of their many attractions. They are par excellence plants for formal mounds and beds, and in some cases appear to advantage at the backs of borders. They love the full sun and a deep, moist soil well enriched with manure.
At various seaside homes, I have seen beds of cannas so well situated that they added to the general beauty of their surroundings; more often, however, I have seen them where other styles of planting should have prevailed. The sea, when it approaches a garden, especially one by a rocky coast, seems often so elemental and wild that plants which show the florist’s art strongly are somewha’ out of tune in its vicinity.
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Rock gardens and those of naturalistic tendencies are more pleasing in such places than formal mounds of cannas of the highest class.
The seeds of hollyhocks should be sown in the seed bed every year in April or May, that the plants may be ready to transplant and blossom the following season. They are undeniably hardy, lasting many years in a garden. But the flowers of young plants are so much larger and more beautiful than those of the older ones that it well repays the interest of the garden to keep up its stock and sow them each spring. Hollyhocks a year old are usually bought to plant in new gardens, in order that their bloom may be seen the first season instead of being deferred until the second year.
One of the finest of these plants that I have ever seen, standing erect and tall as a chieftain, was in a garden of Shelter Island and was self-sown. It had chosen to grow at one of the most conspicuous points of the garden, from where it appeared to have command over the smaller plants. These great plants would be sadly missed from seaside gardens, for they are strong in personality and lend an air of stalwartness to their surroundings.
Lavender is on the list for spring planting. It is seen in few gardens of this country, very rarely in those that stretch far northward, where it often winter- kills. In many of the coast towns, however, moderately temperate in climate, I have known it to grow vigor- ously. It is not a showy plant, but the fragrance of its leaves and flowers, and the delicate steel-gray color
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PLANTING
of its foliage, cause it to be loved as dearly as many plants more brilliantly arrayed.
Spring is also an admirable time of year in which to plant ornamental grasses which are used to give tropical. effects in certain places as well as to supply backgrounds for perennials. Clumps of ferns can be planted in naturalistic places in the spring as long as the work is done before their fronds have made enough growth to render them liable to break in trans- portation. Ferns that are not moved until the autumn should be in their new homes not later than the middle of September.
As with nearly all rules for garden building, the time of planting is subject to many exceptions and modifications. Peonies are much planted in the spring, especially in gardens that are new. They seldom, however, give much satisfaction the first year, often causing disappointment to their owners, who had thought to see them rise and bloom like old and well- established plants. August is the really ideal time to plant peonies. Their bed should then be made deep, amply enriched with manure, and given, if possible, a position open to full sunlight. Barring a liberal mulch in the autumn, the plants can then take care of themselves, and in the following season will give to the garden a wealth of gorgeous bloom.
The so-called piny of olden gardens, Peonia offici- nalis flora plena, may be aghast to-day at the number and diversity of relatives which horticultural skill has attained for it, provided that, like other plants, it has the sensibility accredited to it by some observant
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people. Peonies now occur in all shades of white, pink, lilac, carmine, crimson, and red, and there is even the P. solfatare, which shows blossoms of sulphur yellow. P. tenuifolia is peculiar on account of the fernlike cut of its leaves. Among white peonies none is more beautiful than the well-known festiva maxima. Wonderful effects can be gained by a massive planting of peonies. In China and Japan, this fact has been appreciated for generations. By using the early, the intermediate, and the late varieties, the bloom of a garden of peonies may be extended for a considerable period.
It is frequently argued that peonies are for distant and rather bold effects. It seems to me, on the con- trary, that the nearer and the more intimately they are grown in a garden the better for its beauty.
The peony is in no sense a vulgarian; it is an aristo- crat among aristocrats, the royal flower of China, and believed by the Greeks to be of divine origin. Pests, blights, and diseases never touch the plant. It will not run out in a garden, but once having shown its loyalty, steadfastly regards it as its home and increases in size and beauty until the last day.
The old gardens of New England towns snuggling closely to the sea were rich in peonies. In a garden in Salem, one old plant has borne a hundred flowers in a season, another has borne sixty, another forty, deemed there a small number. Like a rare work of art, the peony becomes more beautiful as it grows old.
The exquisite water-color illustration (plate xli.) represents the peonies in a modern garden at Stonington,
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PLATE XXXVIII
PLANTING
Connecticut. This garden is set well in the sun and built around a dial marking the passage of hours. A tall hedge protects it on one side. Free from the annoyance of riotous gales, well at their ease in a place fitted to their comfort, these peonies can revel in their own gorgeousness. To walk among them is to sense the mystery of the world of flowers.
Late summer is also an excellent time to set out the gas plant, Dictamus frazinella. In growth and longev- ity, this plant is something like the peony, although its spikes show curious flowers of a delicate outline. They are very fragrant. On warm evenings the plant, as its name suggests, exudes a gas so strong that the flowers will ignite and produce a bright flash when a lighted match is held near them. It is not very generally planted, although it might well be, both as a curiosity and for its beauty.
Evergreens should be planted in late August. In fact, there are few months in the year so favorable for setting out the coniferous evergreens. The warmth of the soil and the likelihood of plenteous moisture then assist them greatly in becoming well settled before the winter. When it is necessary to plant them in the spring, late April or early May are propitious times, since their growth of the season rarely begins before the last of May or the first of June. It is to avoid the exhaustion incident on the production of new growth which follows so quickly after spring transplanting that the majority of gardeners prefer to put them in the ground in August. Their growth for the season is then over, but their roots
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are still sufficiently active to take a good hold of the soil before the early frosts.
August is a pleasing month to the garden builder. The spring days of haste are over, the garden has shown most of its bloom, and the real work of the autumn has not begun. It is a time of pause and com- parative rest, although early in the month the seeds of nearly all perennials, if desired, can be sown in the seed bed. It seems truly as if the planting done in August were so much time gained on the autumn and on the following spring.
[142]
CHAPTER XIII
AUTUMN WORK IN THE GARDEN
HEN seasons are gentle, the days of summer linger in a garden, loth to go, unwilling to pass out before the crude hint of Jack
Frost is given. It seems then as if there were some- thing more to do, — a few backward buds to mature, a few seed pods to fill, an injured plant to restore,— since a summer never leaves with all its work quite done. The autumn steps in to complete this work; and wise is the gardener who acknowledges its entrance, even though he may regret the passing of summer.
In the early autumn days, a great deal of work can be done in a garden. 'If it is delayed through mis- apprehension that the summer has overridden the autumn, frost will find the plants unprepared for its severity, much damage will be suffered, and precious time, perchance, lost in regaining an advantage already established. In many gardens, so much work is now done in the autumn that the following spring becomes more a time of watchfulness and expectancy than one of haste and labor. .
Autumn is preéminently the time -to rectify mis- takes in a garden. It is, moreover, a time to make changes, to rebuild and replant, and to proceed with
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the clear eye of experience gained from knowledge of conditions during the last summer.
In the spring, when plants are sprouting, the size to which they grow is not fully realized, as in the autumn, when they still stand tall and bushy, showing that they monopolize a good deal of space. Neither is the poignancy of color so clearly before the mind in the days of spring as in the autumn, when perchance a belated flower still lives to testify to its importance. The imagination can see the perfected future of a garden in the autumn infinitely better than it can in the early spring days.
The greater number of trees are successfully planted in the autumn, eliminating always such ones of soft wood as the magnolias, sweet gums, poplars, and wil- lows, and also the beeches, birches, and oaks, although belonging to the hard-wooded class. Azaleas, Japanese snowballs, and hydrangeas, besides a few other shrubs, are seldom planted by experts except in the spring, while the great multitude of flowering shrubs have identified themselves with autumn planting. Naturally there are many successful exceptions to prove a complete disregard to those rules. In the majority of cases, how- ever, it is well to adhere to them closely.
Many perennials, especially irises, lilies, phloxes, larkspurs, and sweet williams, should be planted in the autumn, which is also a fit time to divide and reset the older ones of a garden. When this work is begun about the middle of September, while the ground is still warm, the root fibers of the plants take sufficient hold of the soil to begin to grow before the advent of cold
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GUINEA-HEN FLOWERS
PLATE XXXIX
AUTUMN WORK IN GARDEN
weather. Moisture, moreover, is more likely to be supplied to them at this season than after spring planting, which in this country is often followed by a protracted summer drought. But when the location of a seaside garden is very bleak and exposed, autumn planting frequently gives way in a measure to that of the spring, as the cold comes so early that it would be difficult for plants to establish themselves well in the soil before the winter. Again the climate must be gaged and the result applied as a modification of all set rules and theories concerning plant cultivation.
The autumn is the recognized time for the general planting of bulbs, those identified with other seasons being few in comparison to the many varieties that are set in the ground at this time. Snowdrops, crocuses, squills, jonquils, hyacinths, tulips, and the large com- pany of so-called bulbs planted in the autumn show little to the material eye of the color and fragrance they hold within their dull exteriors. Yet if planted when the leaves begin to change and the autumn haze is in the air, they work steadily toward sending forth their fantastic beauty in answer to the call of spring in the early, spotless days.
Growers and importers of bulbs invariably urge their patrons to order them early, and to plant them early; that is, in late September, an especially excellent time when gardens are near the sea. But a bulb should not be dug before it has stored a sufficient supply of food to enable it to produce its leaf and flower the next season; and this fact must necessarily control its time of planting. All bulbs are not ripe enough
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GARDENS NEAR THE SEA
to be planted in late September. Some of the choicest imported bulbs, such as those of auratum lilies, do not reach this country until November, simply because to dig them before they are ripe would be to make them worthless. The sooner they can be planted, however, after they have ripened, the more likely they are to live and to attain a high state of development. Madonna lilies and Spanish irises should not be planted later than September, since unlike most bulbs they make a leaf growth in the autumn.
To keep a garden up to its best, additional bulbs should be planted each year; for there are those that die out after a time, others deteriorate, and again new places present themselves to be planted with this class of flowers. To plant bulbs in the autumn is neither a costly nor an arduous undertaking. ‘To the flower lover it is a delight; for he feels that through the dull days, when nature apparently rests, they will be working under the ground for the future beauty of the garden.
In the autumn, the beds of hardy, hybrid, perpetual roses should not be overlooked, in case transplanting is to be done or an addition made to their numbers. This class of roses moves best at this season, although spring is a better time to set the more delicate tea and hybrid tea rose bushes (page 212).
The vines near the garden require attention in the late autumn. Many of them, like the Clematis paniculata, should then be pruned, to induce a vigorous growth for the following spring. It is also necessary to inspect them the same as rose bushes and to see that
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no tall, outstraying shoots are in such a position as to be tossed about by the wind, as in this way the plant is apt to lose its firm hold on the soil. Even in cases where spring pruning is desirable, it is necessary to take off those unruly members likely to cause harm to their owners.
Besides being a time of general supervision in a garden, the autumn is also the day to clean up, make things tidy, and at length to cover it all warmly.
The borders of beds and the edges of hardy borders should be straightened, widened, or adjusted to suit the taste in the late season. In fact, after the grass has stopped growing, edges that have been improved remain in this condition and gradually harden until the warmth of the following spring coaxes the frost out of the ground. Ground that is freshly broken in the autumn for either new beds or borders, and soil that is properly cleansed and fertilized, will settle well during the winter and be in complete readiness the following spring to receive new plants or the sowing of annual seeds.
I have known several excellent gardeners who make their sweet pea beds in the autumn and sow the seeds then, thinking that by this method they would secure the flowers earlier for the oncoming season. Sometimes the plan is successful, although in gardens rendered cold by the nearness of the sea, I have known many cases of failure, owing to its pursuance. The middle of March, when the season is favorable, seems to be a safe time to plant these seeds, and one which assures their bloom by the last of June, or slightly after
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the hardy roses have faded. Indeed, this is a fitting moment for these elfin flowers to come into the garden, for earlier the bulbous plants, the roses, and some perennials have made it gay and given enough flowers to please the most exacting.
One of the highly successful first-year gardens that I have known had its plan perfected, and all its beds and borders made, in the autumn. They were, besides, deeply manured and built up with rich soil. In Sep- tember and October, they were plentifully planted with bulbs and perennials and given later a liberal covering of litter for the winter. When spring came, the edges of this garden were ready to hold innumerable plants, while the interiors of the beds were filled with more plants and strewn, where opportunity offered, with annual seeds. The position of the plants that had been set in the autumn had been carefully studied, and when they sent up their sprouts it became an easy matter to allot the spaces to the new plants and to the annuals.
During the winter, the soil of this garden had taken its just position, and was free from such sinking and packing as gften retards growth.
In design this garden was colonial, and while it held most of the plants which made the old gardens beau- tiful, it still gave space to a great many of the newer, rarer species. It produced a succession of bloom most delightful, something that was not expected of the gardens of our grandmothers. After the spring and early summer flowers of these gardens had passed, many of them ceased to show color, or they pre-
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PLATE XL CROWN IMPERIALS
AUTUMN WORK IN GARDEN
sented, rather, a period of complete greenness before the opening of the autumn blossoms. The remark- able photograph (plate xlvi.) represents a garden in Salem, Massachusetts, which is well over a hundred years old and lies not far distant from the sea. As a tangled mass of foliage, it is ineffably charming, yet there is not a blossom to be seen in it. To-day, however, owing to the results of hybridization, the importation of foreign plants, and the multitudinous varieties from which a garden can be made, the necessity of seeing it pass out of bloom temporarily is overcome, even as the winter garden is now made less dreary than formerly through the encouragement of ever- green plants.
Undoubtedly, the most important autumn work of the garden is to prepare its inhabitants to meet the winter. This must be done judiciously, since some plants require but slight protection, while others need a truly heavy winter coat. As a rule, seaside gardens can stand a fairly warm winter covering. Iam familiar with several gardens, even at considerable distances from the sea, wherein not a hardy plant is left unpro- tected; and at these places there is little, if any, loss during the winter.
In some gardens placed near the edge of the sea, extraordinary protection is required to keep the plants and shrubs from freezing or from being hopelessly injured by cold salt spray. Gnomes, goblins, romping children, and witches might be thought to chase each other through one garden by the Sound, should a stranger venture there on a cold, moonlit night of
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winter. The young shrubbery, besides having a heavy root protection of manure and litter, is completely . tied up in burlap bags, presenting a curious scene against a cold blue sky. Yet in gardens of the same township, set farther back from the sea, and better protected by buildings, these same shrubs go through the winter with merely a light root protection. So again is heard the refrain concerning the study of special climate conditions for each garden.
In highly exposed gardens, the custom is pursued of putting a light covering about the roots of plants as soon as the days become cold and show real indica- tions of autumn. This is then added to after the first frosts and made especially heavy and compact before the winter. In this way, the ground is kept from becoming chilled —a fact which is most desirable, especially where transplanting has been done in the late season.
Hardy roses should be covered late, as a slight nip of frost merely helps them to mature. Tea roses and the more delicate kinds require, in the majority of seaside gardens, both heavy root protection and a good wrapping of straw.
To prepare a garden to meet the winter is more of a duty than to plant it for the spring. Frequently plants that have been discarded with the comment that they would not survive the winter in such and such a place would have lived if they had been properly covered. This is especially true of many of the so- called hardy perennials, about which the mistaken idea seems to exist that they have merely to be planted
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in order to live, bloom, and increase in a garden for all time. Asa matter of fact, even the hardiest perennials require care. They must be pruned, divided at certain times, reset, and protected against cold, or, even if their inherent hardiness prevents them from dying, they will show but feeble examples of their possi- bilities. It is also astonishing how many amateur gardeners will content themselves with blooms inferior in size and color. Those who love flowers, however, will strive always to give the plants opportunity and their just requirements, that they may live in health and comfort and bountifully produce their finest flowers.
There is complete satisfaction in a garden well prepared to meet the winter. It has earned its rest, its long sleep, during which the mind of the gardener can turn to other things. For at length comes the snow, —a covering of nature warmer than any he could fashion.
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CHAPTER XIV
ANNUALS OF ADVANTAGEOUS COLORS
HE will of the annual is to germinate its seed, to raise its plants, to bloom, to form seed, and to die, all between the days when the
frost leaves the ground in the spring and reinstates itself in the autumn. During this period, the annual would exist, accomplish its mission, and pass into oblivion. It pretends to no lasting affection for, or interest in, the garden that makes its home. It is not like the old-time roses, or the sturdy perennials that graced their abiding places from one year to another. All that the annual demands, or rather hopes, is that it may be left in undisturbed peace until it has sown its seed and enjoyed the luxury of dying.
On this determination of the annual, the gardener lays a deterring hand. He picks its blossoms up to the very day of frost without allowing it to mature and to form seed, since he knows that by so doing he will encourage the plant to try again and to put forth fresh flowers destined to make seed, but which prove to be merely objects for his culling. In this way, the natural course of things is interrupted in modern gardens, as the longer a plant can be kept from forming seed, the longer will be its period of bloom. Of many
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gardens, therefore, annuals form par excellence the picking flowers.
They are a cheery, gay race, never stinting their bloom, or diminishing in vigor when the proper chance to flourish is given them. They are, besides, plants that can be relied upon to act in much the same way, even under diverse circumstances.
Many annuals are indifferent to the nearness of the sea, delighting in sandy stretches of coast and the broad glare of the sun. Very frequently they are sown for convenience to fill spaces where it is expected that later other things will grow permanently. Again, it is often the color of the blossom that is thought of to the exclusion of all other interests.
Among the annuals are to be found many of the most brilliant and startling colors known to the world of flowers. Nasturtiums show their vivid, almost bar- baric colors to advantage when near the sea. They are natives of Peru, where strength of color is more identi- fied with the climate than it is with that of the United States.
A child may grow nasturtiums with success. The process is merely to sow their seed in early May and then to await the unfolding of their flowers. As border plants growing about a foot high, they are valuable, and they are also useful to work in among rockeries. The climbing varieties give satisfaction in many places. Nasturtiums are annuals with a liking for sandy soil, although I have also seen them growing very acceptably in soil that was poor and abundant in clay.
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But to plant nasturtiums without due appreciation of the intensity of their red and yellow flowers, their copper and their bronze shadings, has more than once proved fatal to the beauty of a seaside garden. They destroy most other reds, pale the majority of yellows, and harmonize with few shades of blue. Once I saw their flowers near sweet williams of carmine colors, and the impression they produced was sharply painful. They should be kept distinctly apart from portulacca, else one might wish that neither the one nor the other had ever lived. Yet, I have seen them about a bed of salvia, and was agreeably surprised at the highly decorative effect of the planting. When grown at the base of masses of white-flowered cosmos, they have pleased me extremely. A powerful nasturtium vine intertwining itself among the fleecy flowers of Clematis paniculata is an equally attractive sight. (Plate xxix.)
It may indicate a hypersensitiveness to color, but several times a few of these plants in full bloom have spoiled for me the beauty of many square feet of planting, merely because due regard had not been paid to the strength of their colors.
Petunias do so well in open, sunny situations near the sea, resist the drought so stoutly, and continue to bloom so generously until the frost, that gardeners are fre- quently led to plant them in great profusion. They appear best when massed, especially if looked at from a distance. In an old garden (plate xlviii.) outlined by box and having the fascination of steps which occur at intervals in the long walk, the petunias form every year an attractively colored picture, for there enough of them
[154]
ADVANTAGEOUS COLORS
are seen together to radiate their various tones and shades. A few petunias interspersed with other plants are seldom particularly pleasing.
Pansies, with faces reputed to appear as merry as those of children, are among the annuals of many gardens near the sea. Yet all pansy faces do not seem intent on smiling. I have seen those that appeared the embodiment of spite, others that simply looked cross, and often some with most pompous expressions. All of them, nevertheless, give the idea of being wide awake and on the qui vive to lend an ear to garden chat and gossip. I have yet to see a pansy that looked dull or sleepy. It seems as if no one should be lonely when near a number of these irresistibly pert little flowers.
Pansies delight in a moist, cool soil, one also that has been well fertilized. Bone meal acts upon them admirably.
The finest specimens that I have seen, that would have attracted attention at a show, were those whose seeds had been sown in July in a shady bed behind a stable. In early October, when the plants had reached a considerable size, they were transplanted to the places in which it was intended they should bloom the follow- ing spring, and which had been well enriched for their reception. They were not allowed to blossom that autumn, although a few of them showed strongly that such was their inclination. As a protection against the winter, they were covered with litter before the first frost.
When the scent of spring was in the air this covering
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was removed, and even then a few of the most nimble- minded of the plants were in bloom. A fortnight later they made as admirable a show as the plants that gardeners had then set out to enliven city parks and window boxes. They held their bloom fairly well until the last of July, one reason for which was that they were not allowed to go to seed.
A practise now preferred by many is to use pansies in monotone for border edgings and other purposes, rather than to plant them of all and varied colors. Beds of solid yellow pansies offset by others of royal purple, winding in and out in conventional designs, was the plan of decoration pursued one year in the beautiful gardens of Monte Carlo. These gardens are necessarily very formal, and under such constant and expert supervision that no leaf or flower is ever seen except in its full development of health and beauty. The least sign of frailty in a plant is the cue for its removal, that the place may be at once filled by one more worthy to hold its own in the race for the sur- vival of the fittest.
Pansies planted in this way, however, are exclusively for color effect. The pleasure of noticing the curious piquancy and many expressions of their faces is greatly modified.
Fairest among annuals are the sweet peas. All flower lovers should have them, although perhaps not in the garden. Like the large flowering shrubs and the stately trees, sweet peas are more appropriately placed outside the borders of the garden. The reason for their exclusion is that they demand a trellis on which
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to climb. Usually a place can be readily found for this, as a line of sweet peas serves not only as an ex- quisite screen, but also asa picking garden. This trellis should be strong and long, since there are few people who could have too many of these elfin-like flowers. Their colors, while many, never clash; in outline they rival each other in piquancy, while with unerring instinct they bend their firm fingers to grasp and uplift their stems on the trellis. In fact, their tendrils do not hesitate to strangle the leaves of a neighbor to death, provided it stands in the way of their reaching the desired support and giving their flowers the right poise in which to show their translucent grace.
The mixed varieties of sweet peas that unfold in innumerable colors are seldom sown now. It is prefer- able to choose a number of distinctive varieties and place one after the other along the trellis. There may then be seen groups of deep cream-colored flowers, as shown by the Queen Victoria; others of exquisite lavender, as the variety called “admiration.” The “navy blue”’ is well known and deeply toned; the early Blanche Ferry is seen in pink and white; Dorothy Eckford, with its broad, high standard, is pure white, and the white Spencer of more recent introduction is very beautiful. Some of the salmon-colored varieties are lovely, and the black knight, in deepest maroon, offsets them well. There are, besides, so many others of clear or striped colors and distinctive forms that it would be vain to try to recall them all.
When the aphis attacks them, as is not unusual, they should be sprayed consistently with kerosene
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emulsion. In times of dry weather, moreover, they should be kept well watered to prevent them from drying up. The care that they require, which in truth is slight, is more than repaid by their delicate beauty. It would be as fulsome to criticize them as to malign a band of fairies mounting towards the sky.
Sweet peas should not be omitted as flowers for picking purposes. When in the house, the charm of their deep, sweet fragrance is fully realized (page 147).
The perennial peas, Lathyrus latifolius (page 93), can never vie with the annual sweet peas in power to please, since they are not so exquisite in color and quite without their impelling scent.
Pluri-color in annuals, as instanced by nasturtiums, pansies, portulacca (page 154), sweet peas, and other flowers, requires a much more conservative treatment than when it is shown in monotone.
Ageratums, half-hardy annuals which occur in a pastel shade of blue, could hardly be placed amiss in a garden, since their soft mat color is without variation and appears to harmonize graciously with all others. When grown among foliageplants of light, stirring green, ageratums have a look suggestive of the mist from the sea. These plants were seldom omitted from the gardens of fifty years ago, and often it seems a pity that they are not more generally planted to-day. In places where a low edge is desired, the dwarf ageratum appears most charming, and its bloom covers a long period. Blue is always a very valuable color in a seaside garden.
Centaurea cyanus, bachelor’s buttons, cornflowers,
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ragged sailors, blue tops, blue bonnets, or plants known by various other names, among which hawdods is reputed to be the most ancient, shows bright blue with attractive variations. They enter the garden early, forming a strong patch of color, which runs into glints of carmine and purple, or pales to a soft azure-tinted white. Their personalities present a wayward, almost careless, beauty for a space of quite three months, provided the blossoms are kept cut. It is to the advantage of these plants that they reseed themselves generously, occurring year after year with much the same regularity characteristic of perennials. For bouquets in the house they are very pretty, especially in rooms decorated in green. Even when worn in the buttonhole of a supposed-to- be-disgruntled bachelor, they have sufficient esprit to remain fresh for a whole day.
About the colors of Phlox Drummondi, another an- nual that can be had in bloom for at least three months, so long as it is prevented from making seed, there cannot be the same freedom in planting as when dealing with bachelor’s buttons or annual larkspurs. P. Drum- mondi sings a note of caution. Among the many colors in which it occurs, there is undoubtedly the sting of harshness. There is, besides, much brilliancy, the kind that might be cruel. In a few gardens by the sea, I have known it to produce effects that compelled instant admiration. This, however, was where it was handled judiciously, and given a fair field of its own and plenty of atmosphere. Again, I have seen it scattered at random among other flowers and have thought that a kaleidoscopic nightmare could not hold more terrors.
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Phlox, which is, in truth, an American plant, appears to have the brilliancy and the harshness of the atmos- phere of the New World. It occasionally makes one recall the theory that magenta, the unloved color, is the one peculiar to her zone.
The facility with which P. Drummondi can be grown, its extreme hardiness, and the fact that it seldom grows over a foot high, combine to make it valuable in many gardens. In the white form, it is always pleasing, the lack of color apparently modifying the hyperprimness of the flowers.
The German ten-week stocks are softly tinted annuals, which show sufficient grace to win a permanent place in seaside gardens. Once, before a villa border- ing the Mediterranean, one covered with a bourgain- villia vine, I saw them blooming as nowhere else. They appeared fairly to undulate color. One might fancy them the shore-cast offering of that sparkling sea. In America, I have often wished to see such an effect of stocks. There they were the commanding flower. In the gardens here, they are not planted in such unconquered quantities, and are usually hedged in with other plants that detract from their importance. By the Mediterranean villa, the very thought of the. existence of other flowers slipped away. It simply seemed that the earth there was gently colored.
But the atmosphere and the sky have a wonderful effect on flowers near the sea. Against this same white villa, the bourgainvillia vine poured its flowers in heavy masses until hardly a spot was left untouched by them. Yet they gave no feeling of crude color.
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The display of bloom was such as to make the heart glad. In Algiers, also, the Arab’s ideal of a diamond set in an emerald frame, a city hugged by the sea, white villa after white villa is noticed to be covered with the marvelous bourgainvillia, robing them in beauty.
In America, however, where the atmosphere is sharp, the sun very fierce, and the sea less blue than the Mediterranean, many would shudder before a white house covered with a magenta flower. Yet, as already mentioned, magenta is the color reputed to belong to this particular zone. Perhaps the dislike of magenta, which is now a recognized fact in garden building, is after all only an idea or a mistaken feeling.
It is, nevertheless, the flowers of scarlet, red, carmine, and magenta that are most apt to cast the apple of discord into a garden. The blues, the yellows, and the whites seldom cause inharmony. Last summer a sweet william of carmine magenta opened beside the late blooming Celestine iris. The effect of the two flowers together was hideous. Still, there was no thought at the time that the iris was at fault; while the wish to banish the sweet william at any cost was rampant.
The annual larkspurs, which by sowing in succession can be had for a long period of bloom, provided the withered flower stems are cut off, occur in many ex- quisite and translucent colors, blending like the tones of an opal. The flesh-colored and lilac varieties fairly rival the beauty of some orchids. As the flower stalks lift themselves above their distinctively cut leaves, there is something dolphin-like in the shape and bearing
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of each flower, and wherever they are seen they show fair color, having no sting.
Among the perennial varieties of larkspurs, usually called delphiniums, there are those of a blue as deep as the sea, and one most white and stately. Often the annuals and the perennials of a garden are closely related; yet, as is well known, one is destined to die at the end of the summer, the other to live on, perhaps, through many succeeding years. As they bloom in the garden together, they sometimes exhibit to the world the same outline, the same colors, and often send forth the same scent.
Sweet alyssum, white candytuft, and baby’s breath in soft tones of rose are annuals to be relied on for border edgings, wherever one desires daintiness and un- obtrusive color. Still, the perennial Alyssum savatile, or gold dust, makes a more effective edging than the white annual; and the perennial varieties of candy-tuft are better to establish permanently before a herbaceous border or with rockwork than the annual relative. Both members of the perennial baby’s breath, Gypso- phila paniculata and acutifolia, are likewise more satisfactory to grow than the annual variety on account of their permanence. Still, to fill spaces that have been overlooked and to start new gardens on their way, the annuals are a rich company to bring into service.
Shirley poppies (page 130), in their various shades of pink, red, and white, have such an ethereal look that their colors seldom jar on the senses. They suggest a flight of butterflies passing through the garden.
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ADVANTAGEOUS COLORS
It is pleasant to see them planted in strong masses from which they extend in lessened numbers through other parts of the garden, occurring singly here and there. Like the cornflowers, they attend to the matter of reseeding themselves, so that a garden in which they have once been liberally sown need not pine thereafter for their presence.
These poppies, nevertheless, must be kept out of the wind that in some localities sweeps over a seaside garden. Not that the plants do not stand it admirably, bowing gracefully to its onslaughts; but the petals of the flowers are not attached strongly enough at their base to offer to it any resistance. Even a modest wind will carry them off, leaving the plants unharmed, though stripped of their crowning glory. Ina sheltered spot, on the contrary, Shirley poppies hold their petals for four days.
The California poppies, Eschscholtzias, are of ines- timable value in a garden, the silver sheen of their foliage forming an artistic setting for their bright yellow flowers. They bloom early and remain fresh until late in the autumn. Like all yellow flowers, they give sparkle to the surrounding planting. In fact, there is no other color that gives a garden so cheerful a look as does yellow. It is identified with the early spring, with midsummer, and also with the late autumn. At all seasons, it is full of radiance. Marigolds, calendulas, and annual coreopsis, or calli- opsis, bear it bravely into the jaws of winter.
Yellow is one of the colors in which zinnias appear at their best, although through what potent charm they
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have entered so many gardens it would be difficult to say. In themselves, zinnias are coarse and ugly looking, worthy only to form a distant mass of color after blooms that are choice and beautiful have had their day. At the side of one enchanting rose garden, I have seen zinnias in bloom in late October. Here and there a rose lingered, looking lonely enough among the numbers of barren bushes. Yet this very nearness of the aristo- cratic queen to the blatant zinnias accentuated their lack of delicacy. They appeared like beggars without the palace gate.
There comes a time in the garden when it seems as if all else had gone to sleep but the snapdragons, Antirrhina. In fact, they remain so constantly in bloom throughout the summer that sooner or later they have an opportunity to catch their neighbors napping. Of them, all the large ones of clear daffodil yellow are strikingly attractive. Those of deep crimson and blood-red have somewhat the texture of velvet, and there is one lovely variety with flowers of deep rose. The snapdragons are much used as border plants, and are equally desired in the house as cut flowers.
Balsams, camellia flowered, especially the pink variety, look well in a summer garden. After a long lapse into obscurity, they seem lately to have regained their popularity.-
Asters should no more be excluded from the planting list of annuals than sweet peas. At present they are seen in so many and varied forms; their colors are so gay and diverse, including pure white, pink, blue, and the deep crimson of the one called, like the rose, General
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Jacqueminot; and they can be had in bloom for so long a time that a garden without them appears robbed of its due. They open, moreover, at a time when the heat of the summer has had its effect on the garden. Growth has become tangled, often scraggly; the determination of plants to form seed can no longer be hidden. Then the early varieties of asters unloosen their buds as though intent on giving again to nature the unsullied look of early spring. There is a prim- ness yet a softness about these flowers which gives them distinct and pleasing personalities. Their colors, although numerous and generally pure pigments, are apt to keep in tune, no matter how indiscriminately they are planted. Perhaps it is due to the cut character of the flowers that their colors are prevented from becoming harsh and combative. I recall one lovely border of asters standing about a foot and a half high. The colors of these flowers were blue, white, and deep rose. Naturally, the effect they produced was very brilliant, especially when the sun shone intensely. When asters are sprayed with tobacco water, and wood ashes are used about their base, the miserable pests that attack them can usually be routed. The lice that prey on their roots can make well-grown and thrifty plants, abundantly supplied with buds, topple over and die without a nod of warning to those who have watched them develop from the time that their seeds first sprouted. The aster black beetle is a pest as cordially despised as the scrawly legged rose bug. Spraying him with insecticides seems to increase his strength and appetite. Often the only way to [165 ]
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get rid of him is to hold a pan of kerosene under each plant and then to tap it until he, with his swarming companions, falls therein.
In certain countries, Germany, Austria, and Japan, there is a strong feeling against asters. They are called death flowers, and regarded in much the same way as tuberoses in this country, from which painful association it seems impossible to separate these waxen flowers. In Italy, the tuberose is the favorite flower of the people, and it is also the one used for decorations on state and formal occasions.
I have also met a few Americans of deep floral discernment who had no love for asters. But I hope they will not spread the sentiment, for in gardens kept moist by the nearness of the sea, they give their bloom so freely, and appear so bright and alert, that they would be sadly missed from the growth of the late season.
Cosmos, with its fleecy foliage, its white, pink, and soft crimson flowers, is one of the daintiest and most effective annuals that cheerfully meet Jack Frost, even though it dies with his touch. Fortunately, there are both early and late varieties of cosmos. Moreover, by cutting back the partly grown plant, it can be induced to flower sooner than otherwise. Cosmos is used extensively for forming clumps in a border, where almost invariably it requires staking. But, like the sweet pea, it has an appropriate place outside the garden, as it forms delightfully into blooming screens. In fact, the late varieties of cosmos are sometimes planted in front of a line of sweet peas, so that, when
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eT
TIME
TRIED
PERENNIALS
ADVANTAGEOUS COLORS
these flowers have passed, the cosmos may take their places.
For cut flowers, cosmos shares in the autumn the honors with chrysanthemums. The personality of the flowers is as alert as that of a daisy, while its pink and crimson tones are too mellow to clash with its neighbors.
An annual of soothing grace is the mignonette. The sweet scent of its flowers and its quiet green tone, reddish or yellow tinted among the new varieties, is universally pleasing. It is strange, sometimes, to come upon simple folk with dooryard gardens who regard mignonette as exclusively a hothouse plant far out of their reach. Yet, it is one of the least costly and the simplest to grow of all annuals. It does not like to be transplanted, but should be left in peace exactly where the seeds have been sown. Then throughout the summer it sends out its tribute of flowers — pro- vided, of course, that its great desire to form seed is prevented.
Mignonette is often the peacemaker in a garden, holding all others in harmony through its neutral color.
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CHAPTER XV
FAVORITE PERENNIALS OF THE SALT SPRAY
ERENNIALS like the salt spray; that is, the P truly hardy kind that live on and bloom each year as bravely and consistently as the flowers of the field. There are now an infinite number of this class of plants that grace many gardens near the sea, and to name and sing the praises of them all would require a volume of many pages. Often it is the time-tried, well-known plants that give the greatest pleasure. To see them laden with blossoms is as gratifying as to hear an old melody without change or variation.
It is a mistake to believe, for an instant, that the whole care of perennials ends with their planting, although in abandoned gardens they sometimes are seen making a noble effort to disregard neglect. The hypercultivation, however, of modern gardens makes certain demands. There are insect pests to frustrate, overcrowding to prevent, seed making to interrupt, and considerable dividing and resetting to be done with judgment. Such work claims the attention of the gardener. Nevertheless, perennials give the least trouble of any class of plants, and their beauty is pronounced and acceptable. They are the steadfast members of the garden.
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Many flower lovers young in experience are loth to raise perennials from seed, because in the majority of cases it is then the second season before they blossom. Besides, excellent plants, almost ready to bloom, can be purchased at small cost from reliable nurserymen; and it is often better policy to buy them than to wait the recognized time for seedlings to reach their maturity. They increase very rapidly. The stock once bought, therefore, can be relied on to multiply itself over and over again.
Years ago a single plant of phlox was an object of interest to the owner and friends of an old New England coast garden. To-day the same planting ground shows an extensive mass of brilliant phloxes that have sprung from this sturdy parent.
To raise perennials from seed, on the other hand, is interesting work, and should be done in all large gardens where it is required that plants should be kept up to their best development.
A seed bed should always be planned as an assistance to the raising of perennials. It need not, of course, be a part of the garden. It is better to locate it in some out-of-the-way, inconspicuous place, as it is merely to be used as a nursery for seedlings, and is not destined to show their bloom. In such a bed, the seeds of peren- nials can be sown early in the season, be transplanted later, and at length set in their permanent places before the end of the autumn. The next year they will come up with the determination to hold their own among the other flowers of the garden. A seed bed, in truth, enables a gardener to raise large quantities of plants
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at very small expense, and does not in the meantime disturb the appearance of the garden.
Among those who have true feeling for flowers, and who do not regard them merely as pretty things to make their gardens attractive, there is a desire to see the trailing arbutus snugly covering the home ground in earliest spring. The plant has, however, invariably been found difficult, and even thought by many im- possible, to transplant; and it is true that success in the undertaking can only be expected when it is lifted up with sufficiently large blocks of earth to leave the running rootlets undisturbed.
The arbutus delights in a rich, sandy soil, a spot well shaded; and likes to enjoy, as nearly as possible, the unfettered freedom and exemption from publicity that it has in its wild home. In several gardens of the New England and New Jersey coasts, I have seen the arbutus fairly well established, and in at least one Long Island garden it unclasps its buds simultaneously with those of its relatives in the nearby wood from which it was originally carried.
To preserve the arbutus, if not in the garden proper, at the edge of a clump of shrubbery, or where some bit of wild planting begins, is indeed a pleasure, for on its successful transplanting to the’ home grounds may depend its continuance among us, since it now seems likely to be rapidly exterminated through the thoughtlessness and lack of knowledge of wild flower gatherers.
The dainty little flowers called bluets, or Quaker ladies, Houstonia cerulea, have found their way from
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FAVORITE PERENNIALS
the low, moist meadows into the garden border. The plants are suggestive of moss, and their pretty blue flowers with bright yellow eyes open in such unstinted quantities that they fairly color the earth. Quaker ladies seldom grow over four inches high, and are, therefore, very useful in edging beds where color is desired in the very early season, and which can afford to do without it later. The soft mosslike foliage of the bluets becomes unobtrusive after the flowers have passed, and looks merely as if the grass had raised itself a bit to surround the planting line.
The creeping forget-me-not is another small blue flower that should be included in the planting of the garden. It will live and do well for years if placed in a suitable situation. It likes not only moisture, but water, and I have seen it growing luxuriantly among Japanese irises, the roots of which sank deeply in mud.
The bloodroot, Sanguinaria Canadensis, comes into prominence in early spring, and is almost a dream flower in loveliness of outline and color. It is as purely white as the snow and appears regal with its center of gold. The protection that the leaves afford the tender buds, and their own grace, make the plants interesting garden features. But the duration of the bloom of the bloodroot is very short; and for this reason much space should not be allotted to it in places where sus- tained color is desired. Under trees, as a ground cover among shrubbery, and especially through stretches of wild planting, it is very desirable.
The rock cress, Arabis alpina, is most charming to use among rockeries or in the borders of beds. It
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shows its white flowers in April, then holds them throughout the day of grape hyacinths and daffodils, and sometimes even lingers to greet the roses.
There is another little perennial, Phlox subulata, the moss pink, which occurs in white and in rose, and which gives great delight to seekers of bloom in the first days of spring. It grows no higher than the grass, with which it harmonizes well, and it also does well about the edges of rocks. It grows in scant, poor soil, asking nothing, giving a great deal. In truth, it spreads a veritable carpet of its white or rosy- tinted flowers, and is so beautiful at the time of the blossoming of the golden bells that I have often won- dered why it is not more extensively seen through lawns apt to become sunburned, and in various rocky nooks of seaside places.
Armeria maritima, the sea pink, or thrift, is also a pretty plant with pink flowers that well outline a rock- ery. It grows taller than the moss pink, approaching usually a height of one and one-half feet.
Adonis vernalis, with its large yellow flowers, is also in the group of charming, low-growing spring plants. The shape of the blossom suggests cosmos, and fairly startles one as it unfolds near the ground.
The English primrose, Primula vulgaris, makes a charming border for beds of irregular outline in which the early blooming bulbous plants have occurred. It does well by the sea in moist spots where the mid- summer sun cannot burn it severely.
Dicentra spectabilis, bleeding heart, an introduction from northern China, .is a fine thing for shady nooks
[aye
FAVORITE PERENNIALS
or rockeries where in early May it can show its rosy, heart-shaped flowers. Its fernlike foliage remains beautiful all summer.
Its relative, D. eximia, is one of the notable features of the Alleghany Mountain flora. There the plants grow to a large size and bear loosely in compound racemes many nodding, rose-colored flowers. In shape they are similar to the well-known Dutchman’s breeches that children seek in the woods before the hepaticas have entirely disappeared.
Among the perennials of May are numbered the rockets, Hesperis matronalis, in white and soft shades of purple; and surely there is a fascination about them, with their sweet night scent and their unpretentious personalities. They sow themselves with such eager- ness that it often seems as if they intended to elbow their neighbors out of the garden.
Irises, poppies, and peonies are also perennials that thrive near the salt spray, but for special reasons they have all been treated elsewhere than in this chapter.
In every old-time garden of note, there stood a stately clump of Valerian officinalis. In late May it began to unfold its flowers, which rested lightly on its tall stems. In the bud they were delicately pink, but on opening turned to pure white. Still, it was the powerful vanilla-like fragrance which drew many to the plant and which imprinted it indelibly upon the memory. For the household tabby it had the same lure and intoxication as catnip,— the reason of its folk name in England, “‘cat’s fancy.”
To-day it is advertised by nurserymen under the
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common name of garden heliotrope, and has again taken its place in many gardens of importance.
As attractive, piquant perennials opening in the early days of the German iris, the columbines are well established. Their foliage is especially dainty, and their flowers occur in so many colors and such varied forms, their spurs being short, of medium size, or astonishingly long, that it is futile to attempt to keep pace with them all.
They are among the easiest of all perennials to raise from seed. When sown in the late summer, the plants will make good growth, and be ready to bloom the next year. They prefer to be sown where they are to blossom, requiring merely to be thinned out about a foot apart as they leave the seedling stage.
Aquilegia Canadensis, the native rock bell, with flowers of clear red and yellow, is one of the most suitable of the family to introduce among rockwork. It is also an interesting plant to preserve near the home, since it is one of our wild flowers that is speedily vanishing.
A. chrysantha, golden columbine, which comes from the mountains of California, is one of the best varieties, not only on account of the beauty of its long spurs, but because of the unusual duration of its bloom. A. cerulea is the well-known blue-and-white variety of the Rocky Mountains, and A. Californica is distinct and striking in type.
There is a garden not more than four hundred feet from the Sound wherein a collection of different types
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and hybrids of columbines shows them in all their fantastic grace. There they seem fit companions for the irises, peonies, and the wonderful Azalea mollis, leading them in the carnival of color.
In early summer the sweet william, Dianthus bar- batus, unfolds im the garden, sparingly at first, then more generously, until it bears a mass of small flowers in a compact, erect head. They appear well at the edge of a border, making a considerable display. The crimson variety is perhaps the least pleasing, and the most difficult to handle on account of its pronounced color.
D. plumarius, the pheasant’s eye pink, or cushion pink, holds its bloom through July. It is really a prettier plant than the sweet william, and one of delight- ful fragrance. For edging a border it is also more desirable, as it seldom grows higher than eight inches.
Gaillardias, or blanket flowers, are satisfactory peren- nials to grow near the salt spray, since they bloom
- particularly freely. Usually, they begin about the tenth of June, and from then on until overcome by frost, each day shows a greater number of effective yellow flowers with deep red centers. Blanket flowers come from the western United States. In fact, their appearance suggests that they might feel at home in the land of the red man. When used in narrow garden beds, no edging plant is necessary, as their long-stemmed flowers droop over and form a border. They require considerable winter protection.
For cutting purposes blanket flowers are very accept- able, and they remain fresh in water for the greater
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part of a week. Unfortunately, they are lacking in foliage, the little that belongs to the plants not being particularly attractive. I therefore pick to combine with them the leaves of the meadow rue, which are exquisitely shaped and soft in color. The two together appear very handsome.
Thalictrum dioicum, the meadow rue that I know best, is a wild inhabitant of the woods. Yet when transplanted to the garden, it thrives extremely well, increasing greatly in size as the years pass. Its flower is insignificant, and for charm it depends entirely upon its fernlike foliage. From the naturalistic gar- den, or any moist, woody corner, it should not be omitted. It is not seen in many gardens, which seems a pity.
The pearl, Achillea Ptarmica, is now much noticed among the small double white flowers of June. It lasts throughout the summer and its effect is light and delicate. As the plants reach their maximum height, about one and a half feet, they have a tendency to lean over on the ground in a scraggly way unless so arranged that they can give each other support. For tangled masses, or for planting before clumps of shrubbery, the pearl has considerable popularity, the rapidity of its increase being desirable in new gardens. It is a relative of the yarrow of the fields.
Other Achilleas there are, especially A. millefolium roseum and A. tomentosa, which bloom attractively all summer.
The evergreen candytuft, Iberis sempervirens, is one of the best edging plants, and also useful to form
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clumps through rockeries where the bloom of June is especially encouraged.
The perennial baby’s breath, Gypsophila acutzfolia and paniculata, which come from the Caucasus, take a month longer to open their flowers than this candy- tuft, although they then retain them until the early autumn.
Moneywort, or creeping Jenny, as it is called more familiarly, is sometimes used to edge a hardy border completely. When in blossom its flowers might be mistaken at a distance for a band of yellow ribbon defining the planting ground; and, although they are rather strong in tone, they have a sufficiently cheery air to give pleasure to the sense and eye. In several gardens near the sea I have seen moneywort employed extensively. In fact, it thrives so well that it needs watching lest its underground runners extend beyond the limit justly ascribed to them and interfere with the growth of larger plants.
Astilbe Japonica, known in old gardens as Spirea Japonica, is one of the most graceful among the herba- ceous perennials. Its panicles of fleecy-looking cream- white bloom are held well above its sharply defined foliage, and form strong, beautiful masses in the garden. Queen Alexandra is a new variety as hardy as the A. Japonica, and bears pink flowers similar in tone to that of the bridesmaid rose.
With July there come to the garden many great, luscious visitors. It is the month when bloom cannot be held back; when there is a strife to show colors as vivid and intense as the tones of the sky and the
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sun. Inland gardens often suffer at this time from drought and dry, hot atmosphere. Those near the sea are then greatly helped by the moisture it wafts toward them.
In July, the phloxes in multitudinous colors become the reigning beauties of the plant world. They are as necessary to the success of a garden at this season as poppies and peonies have been formerly. They can be planted to show bold masses of solid color or arranged heterogeneously. To select and arrange them is in truth a matter of taste, since all grow and increase with enduring hardiness.
At East Hampton, Long Island, I saw a garden of phloxes in which their beauty was most pronounced. I also have seen their full splendor at many places away from the sea. But in that particular garden, they struck a note that I have never forgotten. It may have been due to their setting, or it may have been due to my mood.
The phlox is indigenous to America, and when allowed its own fancy, delights in showing itself in a crimson purple or magenta color. But, happily, since this color is altogether rampant in character, the desire of the plant has been skilfully curbed, and through hybridization and much crossing it has been led to produce instead an immense number of charm- ing and subtle shades. Many of them are self-colored; others show a combination of two colors, while still other varieties are striped. Untold effects can be gained for the garden through their employment. Still, there is a persistence about plants that will some
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day have its way. Many of the choicest hybrids revert to magenta with more eagerness than is agree- able to their planters.
In planting phloxes it is a good plan to mix white phloxes with the red or crimson shades; for, should surprise shoots of magenta occur among the latter, the white ones would not only harmonize the various colors, but enhance their beauty.
General Chanzy, generous in its outpouring of brilliant, yet soft pinkish, red, unmarred by magenta, is one of the most charming varieties for the back of a border. In front of it pure white phloxes, somewhat shorter than the General Chanzy, can be used to offset its startling color.
The lower part of the stalks of these plants is not pretty, especially when, owing to insect attacks, drought, or other causes, they have dropped their leaves. It is therefore well to plant in front of them either foliage or herbaceous plants that can form a screen for them.
There are no perennials more easy to cultivate than phloxes. Every three years their roots can be divided into thrice the original number. The blossom also can be made to repeat itself by cutting off the stalks as soon as the flowers have faded. In gratitude for a rich, loamy soil, and a liberal top-dressing each year, the individual flowers grow much larger than if treated less luxuriously.
Larkspurs, or delphiniums, are favorite perennials to grow near the salt spray. As tall as the tallest of phloxes, the beauty of many is equally dazzling when
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the flowers open closely together along the tall spikes in purest shades of blue. They are as stately as holly- hocks. Their color alone, apart from their other excellent characteristics, should give them place by the sea, where blue is invariably most enchanting. They occur in many tints of this color, some of which have a soft, mistlike quality. From a distance, delphin- iums catch and hold the eye by the power of their upright brilliancy. In tall mass planting, they have a distinct place; at the back of beds and borders, they appear well, and as backgrounds for shorter growth, the gardener turns to them eagerly.
The water color (frontispiece) illustrates these beautiful plants enjoying the intimacy of a formal garden near the sea. Asa rule they require surround- ings of green, and many think that white flowers near them — lilies or phloxes — lend them unusual attrac- tion, the white acting as do clouds on a blue sky.
Two larkspurs, natives of California, which produce scarlet flowers, have been introduced into gardens. There is also a variety with flowers of sulphur yellow. Hybridization has been busy with delphiniums. But for no other color would I forsake the blue larkspurs, and those blue in their clearest, most. unsullied tones.
The tall bee larkspur, Delphinium elatum, often showing its spikes in loops before they straighten into their final position, has been for many years a dearly loved member of the group. D. Brunonianum is known by the musklike scent emanating from its clear blue flowers. D. formosum is one of the handsomest varieties. There are also Chinese delphiniums that are
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favorites with many. Mr. Burbank has contributed one or two hybrids.
As is true of phloxes, the bloom of larkspurs can be induced to last over its natural time by cutting down the stalks as soon as the flowers are faded. Others then spring up quickly to take their places.
Perennial larkspurs are not difficult to raise from seed. Often the seed which is sown in the late sum- mer will produce plants ready to bloom the following season. The seedlings, however, “damp off” quickly. I have seen a whole row of them vanish in a night merely through an excess of moisture.
Another happy trait of delphiniums, shared also by the phloxes, is that they do not require to be staked, but stand ever erect, without assistance or artifice.
Asphodels, which in the early garden lore of this country were often mentioned for the lily-like beauty of their white or yellow flowers and for their distinct fragrance, have again come under the eye of gardeners and now shine brightly in many gardens near the sea. In June or July they open their flowers, held erect on stems three or four feet high. By the side of a stream or in a moist, woodsy corner where the soil is deep and rich, Asphodelus luteus, the variety generally planted, appears to distinct advantage. These plants particularly grace such spots as are the true homes of irises, and are ideal to plant in connection with them, since the brilliant yellow of their bloom keeps the local- ity from paling after the beauty of the iris is past.
Yellow camomile, or hardy Marguerite, Anthemis tinctoria, is like a large golden daisy, and remains a
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cheery thing in the garden from June until killed by the frost. It is not a tall plant, but very useful to fill in places behind low plants that are used for edging.
Among favorites of old gardens that have not been routed from their places are the foxgloves, Digitalis, doing best in cool, partly shaded places, yet also bloom- ing freely when facing the full sun. They open at the time of peonies and sweet williams, before the garden is yet aglow with the July burst of color.
Foxgloves, like Canterbury bells, are hardy bien- nials. Every year their seed should be sown in April in the shaded part of the seedbed, and, when the plants are found to be well grown, about the middle of July, they should be transplanted to some other tranquil place of rich soil, where they many continue their growth until the autumn. They will then be ready to set permanently in the garden proper, and can be expected to blossom in the following June. The stalks they then send up will probably reach their maximum height of about three feet, and their flowers will approach a pleasing state of perfection.
The improved strains of foxgloves produce flowers closely suggesting gloxinias in size, depth, and beauty of markings. I like best the white and the yellow ones, and next to them those of purple and pale lilac, the colors generally known. When planted in clumps through the garden, the white foxgloves have as dig- nified a look as the spire of a church looming above a country village. It must be admitted, however, that the foliage of these plants is coarse and unattractive.
Canterbury bells, associated closely with foxgloves
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as flowers beloved in olden gardens, are used to enrich and grace the majority of modern ones. The accom- panying illustration (plate liv.) shows them planted en masse, now a fashionable way of treating them, although the photograph was taken in a seaside garden far from the walk of any gay throng. It represents rather a quaint, homely garden much tangled and overrun. Among these plants scarlet poppies lifted their heads, and roses also bloomed. But it was the blueness of the Canterbury bells that cast over all the subtle charm of nature’s world. To place in a border and to form high lights throughout a garden, they are ideal flowers.
Platycodon, or Campanula grandiflorum, the largest bellflower in general use, is a Chinese variety, which opens its shallow bell from a bud inflated like a balloon, showing the deepest blue. It is a striking looking plant, but has not, I think, the charm of the Canterbury bell. It is not a biennial, however, but a hardy peren- nial —a strong point in its favor.
Campanula carpatica, a pretty little variety with heart-shaped leaves and broad, bright blue flowers, is also a hardy perennial, and from the Carpathian Mountains. Because of its low growth, it is useful to plant along edges. At the best it seldom stretches up higher than eight inches.
There are numbers of other bellflowers, all pretty plants and recognized as among the most satisfactory dwellers of gardens near the sea.
Few flower lovers do not welcome the day of the hollyhocks. First one large flower has the courage to
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unfold on its stalk, then another, and another, until they command the interest of the garden, towering above shorter growth, and gleaming in innumerable colors with silver sheen. In old gardens hollyhocks held their place for generations, and were deeply beloved by all. Against the landscape they formed most striking pictures. The formal garden of to-day cannot do without them, while the charm they lend to the naturalistic one is keenly felt when they are seen in some deserted garden, standing proudly erect and making a struggle for their former prestige. They can be grouped effectively in front of evergreens, and as guardians of walls and fences they have few rivals. Although often planted at the back of hardy borders, they have there less raison d’étre than in most other places. As the season advances, their lower leaves become exceedingly large and heavy, and unless they are taken off several times before the bloom occurs, the less vigorous plants in front of them are apt to be overpowered.
The range of color in hollyhocks is very great. The yellow ones, the delicate pinks, and the white ones are especially lovely. But although there has been much improvement in the double varieties, they have not the free grace of the single flowers; this is similarly true of the double Shirley poppies, which lack the enchantment of those that are without added petals.
The bloom of the young plants is larger and finer than that of individuals which have lived for several years. The stalks, however, seldom grow over four
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feet high the first season. It is now customary to sow the seeds every year, that a high standard of size may be retained. Hollyhocks also, if not renewed, are apt to blossom sparingly after the third year.
A native plant blooming in delightful shades of sky blue, and of an exterior as handsome and cultivated as that of the best China asters, is the Stokesia cyanea. Indeed, over the annual asters it holds an advantage, since being a perennial it does not have to be sown and transplanted each season. Once well established it will live, increase in size, and beautify a garden for years. It grows about a foot high, the flowers appear- ing almost too large for the plant. For borders where the inclosed growth is gradually lowered to meet an edging plant, it is highly attractive, but the Stokesia really retains its individual beauty wherever it is placed. The bloom, opening in July, lasts well into October.
Burbank’s shasta daisy has proved satisfactory in many gardens near the sea, its large showy flowers being conspicuous from July to September. They are not only ornamental in the garden, but very desir- able for picking purposes.
For places where a rugged effect of color is desired, the bee balm, or Oswego tea, Monarda didyma, is often a good choice. Its flowers exhibit a very deep red and grow so closely together in dense heads at the top of the stems that the plants seem to be spread with bloom. Bee balms, however, are for distant observation; when viewed closely they appear a little coarse and weedlike. Their great hardiness is their
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recommendation, and also that they blossom for at least two months of the summer. They also are visited by the beautiful hummingbird moth.
The purple loosestrife, Lythrum Salicaria, is more elegant in its bearing than the bee balm, and equally capable of producing a startling effect when luxuriant masses of its rosy purple flowers are seen. In low, almost wet ground, the plant is very desirable, since it then spreads rapidly, claiming the place as its own domain.
Both the Oswego tea and the loosestrife are to be found among American wild flowers, and although cultivation has somewhat improved them, I have inva- riably found them very beautiful under the unmolested treatment of nature. I have seen the loosestrife when it covered acres of low land and grew so high that its nodding tassels of bloom touched the stirrups as my horse made his way with difficulty among the entangled growth, where the marshlike ground gave an uncertain footing. The only variation to its color was given by many tall cattails.
The butterfly weed, Asclepias tuberosa, and the cardinal flower, Lobelia cardinalis, are among other North American wild flowers that have found a per- manent place among the herbaceous plants of gardens. The butterfly weed prefers a dry, rocky soil, and is capable of producing wonderful effects with its dense umbels of orange-colored flowers. It is undoubtedly better adapted to the rockery than to either the garden beds or borders.
The cardinal flower belongs in moist places where
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aS
ULAS
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green abounds. Its remarkable brilliancy of color carries all else before it, fairly illuminating the landscape.
A near relative, Lobelia syphilitica, shows blooms in a pure and startling shade of blue. Like its relative, it is also much cultivated in naturalistic places. Both of these plants show the strong ruggedness of growth that is noticeable with many of the midsummer wild flowers.
Those that follow the seashore know well that in certain places the first days of August show the large blossom of the rose mallow, Hibiscus Moscheutos, opening in uncountable numbers over the brackish marshes. It is a true lover of the sea, one designed by nature to endure its roughest caress. Of late it has been successfully hybridized with one of the very brilliant hibiscuses of the southern states, such a one as I have seen along the shores of the St. John’s River, shining like a light. The result has been a race of so-called mallow marvels, which indeed bid fair to live up to the extravagant promises of gorgeous beauty and extreme hardiness made for them. In this new race of plants is seen an American creation which no doubt will become as popular in a short time as many of the introductions from Japan.
These mallow marvels are suitable for cultivation at the back of shrubbery and in many places where high growth is required. They stand about eight feet tall. The blossoms occur in white, pink, and various shades of red, and their enormous size is a surprise to those who have not seen their southern relatives.
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The leafage of these plants is more varied and finer than that of the well-known rose mallow, and up to the present time it is reputed, like that of peonies, to be free from blights and insect pests. From the time of the first bloom in August until the early frosts, there is no flower that can vie with that of the mallow marvels in size and gorgeousness, and most deservedly they should prove an acquisition to gardens near the sea.
Golden glow, Rudbeckia lanceolata, and its kin, Coreopsis grandiflora, the sneezeworts, or heleniums, and various sunflowers and golden-rods are all excellent plants for broad, brilliant effects such as go with the days of waning summer and autumn. They should invariably be kept in the background. As members of outstanding clumps of planting, by fences, and before shrubbery, they give much brightness. They are a little too pronounced in character to come near to the heart of the garden proper.
Plants more choice in personality, and especially liked in intimate planting for bloom during the -sum- mer and later season, are the monk’s-hood, Aconitum autumnale, with spikes of quaintly shaped flowers that gleam in shady places; the curious turtle heads, Chelone Lyonit and glabra; the brilliant native gentians, and the red-hot poker plants, Tritomas. These latter plants are not so hardy as is often supposed and have been found unable to winter well in many seaside gardens. They should be planted in the spring in situations not strongly exposed and be given later a very warm winter cover, unless the severity of the climate makes it necessary to take them up altogether
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and to keep them in a dry place during the cold weather. Tritoma express blooms a month earlier than T. uvaria grandiflora.
Before I had seen the poker plant otherwise than as a few spikes reared among promiscuous bloom, I thought it very ugly; but recently in a small, exquisitely planned garden near the sea, I saw a large mass of it near an ornamental grass not unlike its own foliage. There it was the most beautiful thing in the garden, of pronouncedly high type and very gay. I saw it later filling many vases in a large, imposing drawing- room, and again felt the uniqueness of its beauty.
The Japanese windflower, Anemone Japonica, comes into prominence in the autumn, recalling then by its delicate beauty the flowers of early spring. It appears well when massed and is useful to plant before clumps of rhododendrons or other shrubs that have lost their flowers before the windflower unfolds. It also combines well for autumn effects with the monk’s-hood, Aconitum autumnale.
Anemone Japonica alba is the well-known white variety, and rosea the original one with pink flowers. Other varieties bear double flowers, of which the white “whirlwind” is perhaps the prettiest.
These anemones should be planted in the spring and given a liberal covering of litter for over the winter.
There are so many kinds of perennial asters that a catalogue should be consulted for those to bloom early, others to bloom late, for those with flowers of purple, blue, light pink, heliotrope, or white, and for those that grow high, or those that keep near the ground.
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Aster Nove-Anglie is the one best known, growing in the wild beside golden-rod, and along the roadsides, where it makes the gardener pause to wonder whether he cannot duplicate the wonderful autumn effects of nature. In fact, I have seen such wild planting successfully imitated in front of the boundary fences of a large estate. Many varieties of local asters were there intermingled with golden-rod, while the stone fences behind them were covered with Virginia creepers, traveler’s joy, and other native vines. Their colors blended most subtly with the autumn sky and atmos- phere; no planting could have given less care or pleased the senses more.
Among the feverfews there are those that serve as border plant, Pyrethrum parthenifolium aureum, or golden feather, being the favorite for this purpose. There is as well the giant daisy, P. uliginosum, which, while lifting high its head, throws out a mass of deli- cate white flowers lasting well throughout the autumn. As they complete the fine leafage of the tall stems and move with the slightest breeze, they seem as soft and active as the foam of the sea. Inthe boats of the accom- panying illustration (plate lv.) they show their lack of terror at its nearness, and give charm to a spot that might otherwise be most desolate. I have known them to defy the first frosts as stanchly as do the hardy chrysanthemums.
Without these latter plants, no garden has its just membership. They are the ones that apparently hold back the winter. I recall one row of old-fashioned hardy chrysanthemums that regularly lift their bloom
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above the first snows of the season. In this garden, not far from the sea, these chrysanthemums, in shades of white and soft maroon, are usually very late in un- folding, owing to their most unfavorable situation. Earlier in the season, however, they hold their places as foliage plants of a soft, unoffensive shade of green, and as their buds are kept nipped off until the first part of September, they are unusually bushy. When at length their flowers open, they are greeted with double gratitude, for they are the last of all, — the farewell sign of the garden.
Spring is the time to plant, as well as to divide, such hardy chrysanthemums. They like rich soil, abundance of sunshine, and to be befriended by a wall, the side of a house, or even a hedge. They then increase with such rapidity that he who owns a few may soon find himself the owner of a multitude.
There is a wholesome odor about these plants and a general nattiness of expression that cannot fail to please. There is also a large variety of them from which to choose. Naturally, they are out of the class of the marvelous Japanese and Chinese chrysanthe- mums, the pride of shows and much petted by expert gardeners. Glass houses and an infinite amount of attention are the only conditions under which they attain perfection, for in the climate of the northeastern - United States they unfortunately are not hardy.
“Light of a thousand nights,” as one Japanese chrys- anthemum is romantically called, will therefore not lend to the seaside garden the enduring pleasure and rugged beauty of its small pungently scented relatives.
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CHAPTER XVI
AN IRIS GARDEN
near the sea, the flower-de-luce has entered, mak-
ing, to some minds, the rounded symmetry of the rose appear unoriginal and the purity of the lily without radiance. For in a way the rainbow flower is as much a queen as the rose and infinitely more complicated than the lily. It is a fantastic flower of much intricacy, holding many surprises. Its colors, moreover, are of pure and brilliant pigments that do not mar the trans- lucence of its texture.
Ruskin calls it the flower of chivalry, “with a sword for its leaf and a lily for its heart.” In the early gardens of America, its place was acknowledged. From year to year it lived, repeating its story to succeeding generations.
To-day the old flower-de-luce has been reénforced by relatives from distant parts of the earth, and is seen in so many forms of various characteristics that it is possible to have a garden entirely of irises and yet to feel no sense of tameness.
Such a garden is the one at East Hampton, Long Island, of which a few illustrations are herein repro- duced. The photographs show admirably the lay of the land of this garden, making clear also its relation
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[= almost every garden, and especially those
AN IRIS GARDEN
to the house, and they give some idea of the abundance of its bloom; but it is the water-color illustration (plate lvi.) that represents its charm of color and the sultry, poetic mist in which it is usually enveloped.
This garden has so completely embellished a low, far-stretching strip of marshy ground that it has become one of the most notable examples of iris planting in this country. It is a beacon light, attracting visitors from many directions; a water garden as well as an iris garden.
At the termination of a broad lawn sloping down- ward from the house, the garden is entered. Not by any conscious act, however, merely it begins where the lawn ends. And since, in truth, it is a water garden, its paths are raised banks or dikes flanked by irises. The water ways are spanned by bridges. It is then at the end of these separate paths that two tea houses are reached, inviting repose and a calm contemplation of the regal flowers.
This water garden is, besides, so skilfully planted that it appears replete with bloom from early spring until the autumn. Its bloom, therefore, covers the usual months of seaside residence, and during that time it is so satisfying, so enchanting as a whole, that it has banished the wish for other flowers.
Naturally, there is a time when the garden is more laden with blossoms than in the late season, when it is produced sparingly. At its high tide it seems to have sacrificed every thought in the world to sumptuous beauty. Then, the mistress of the garden relates, each morning her gardeners take off about fifteen
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hundred faded flowers, sparing the garden in this way the apparent tragedy of death. Yet in spite of this vast number that disappear daily, there is, for a long time, no diminution of splendor. Other flowers unfold to take their places and are greeted by a kiss of sunshine which lingers until they also fall under the hand of the gardener.
This particular planning represents, more than any other in the country, a Japanese garden of irises. It is, however, built on so broad and so generous a scale that few in the land of the Rising Sun can be more impressive. Even the small trees through the garden, and such other water growth as there exists, have a look peculiarly adapted to the locality. Nature has helped greatly to foster the perfection of this garden.
The Japanese irises prefer plenteous moisture. I have noticed various varieties of them to be deeply rooted in mud. Still, no one need desist from growing irises because they can be given neither so moist and pleasing a situation nor one so rich in mud. There are varieties of irises that bloom lustily on sandy ridges, and many kinds gallantly hide their chagrin in surroundings of clay. Nevertheless, one has but to glance at the wondrous bloom of the water garden at East Hampton to dispel any other thought than that the situation truly congenial for the greater number of irises is a place of unstinted moisture.
The classes and varieties of irises herein grown are numerous. The German irises, those formerly called -flower-de-luce, and now more generally fleur-de-lis, are conspicuous along the crest of the banks and
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wherever the soil is fairly dry and the location sunny. For this group of irises, unlike the Japanese, is not dependent on excessive moisture. They are the ones that are seen in most gardens, outlining paths and filling in broad spaces in borders. After their bloom is past, their foliage is still attractive and very service- able to define lines.
Among the Spanish irises, there are many lovely forms of intricacy and exquisite colors. They are early comers, unfolding in May before the majority of German irises. They stand about two feet high and bear fragrant flowers of quaint delicacy suggestive of orchids. In white, blue, yellow, or golden bronze they charm the eye, being apt to hold to one color rather than to run into two or more.
Spanish irises should be planted in late August or early September, that they may make a strong leaf growth before the winter. The question of their har- diness has not been definitely settled to their advan- tage; and it is therefore a wise precaution, if they are planted in a cold, exposed position, to cover them with about four inches of straw or litter in the cool days of November. As soon as their bloom has matured, they die down completely.
These irises are not costly luxuries. They rank with crocus corms in regard to cheapness. But in appearance they are of the high world. One owner of a beautiful garden told me that he cared for them more than any other flowers. The varieties are almost innumerable. They seed themselves freely, and scientific gardeners have been rewarded for rais-
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ing them from seed by the production of many new forms.
In the water garden they would open the season were it not for the precocity of Iris pumila and its hybrids, which are the earliest of all to show their flowers. Even in late March, if the season is friendly, the dwarf purple varieties open, while April greets those of lilac and yellow. At several places I have heard that these irises grow well on rocky ledges.
I. cristata is a charming dwarf iris of notable crest and a native of the southern states. It never grows more than six inches high, yet it has a perceptible air of nobility and exquisite shades of blue and gold.
These small irises pave, as it were, the way for the more conspicuous and large German varieties, which in May begin to show an inclination to bloom. Suddenly from the swordlike leaf the sheathed buds appear. A shower and a visit of sunshine then unbar their fetters with surprising rapidity. The finest and the greatest number of flowers are seen on clumps that have been long established. In fact, by dividing them every few years and replanting their rhizomes in deep, rich soil, they are saved from deterioration.
Among the German irises, which indeed are a bearded company, Iris pumila and its intimates, as has already been noted, are the first to open. The silver king shows its flower fairly early in the season. This beauti- ful iris, which is almost identical with the far-famed Florentine, occurs in the softest, palest shade of blue, turning at maturity to white with a silver sheen. There is about it, besides, a delicate fragrance.
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The Florentine iris, which also belongs to the group Pallede, has long been famous not only for its snow- white flowers, touched on the fall with blue, but for its rhizomes, from which the grateful orris is? manu- factured.
Iris lovers who have searched for these plants in various parts of the earth, deeming the sport more pleasant than that of hunting wild beasts, have related that they found it in Algiers on the graves of the Arabs’ cemetery. So beguiled, I wandered through the Mus- sulmans’ burial place from early noon until dusk, but saw no trace of the Florentine iris. Other varieties were there in numbers, small, cheery, and alert looking. The air was heavily scented by them.
The Queen of May is a charming variety, foom: ing comparatively early in a shade of rose lilac that approaches pink. Madame Chereau is white and distinctive, because of the small, parallel, blue veins that run in a regular pattern along the edges of both standard and fall. Its beard is faintly yellow.
There are now so many varieties of these beautiful flags that to make a selection among them is often a dificult task. Through hybridization the type of the old violet blue flag has been able to show itself in an infinite number of colors, ranging from deepest purple to pale blue, rose, and white, and from bronze to faint yellow.
Before the last of the German irises has left the garden, the oriental ones are in full bloom. The Iris Siberica, var. orventalis, has delicate foliage, resem- bling somewhat that of the Japanese irises, only it is
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more slender and tinged with blood-red. The flowers are intensely blue, the color being first betrayed by the rich tones of the buds. From about the first to the tenth of June, these irises blossom with great generosity, seldom lagging or showing aught but a keen desire to serve the garden. They are admirably adapted for naturalization near water, although they also do well in comparatively dry places.
After the Siberians have withered, the English irises claim attention. They produce mostly four flowers on a stem, and although their colors include lilac, blue, rose, and purple, it may be that the pure white ones are most lovely. Flowers of the Mont Blane variety are frequently over four inches across their centers.
As with the Spanish varieties, there is some doubt about the complete hardiness of the English irises; but to cover them with litter in the autumn is a simple way out of the difficulty. The spring is the accepted time for their planting.
When all has been said about the many groups of irises, and when all praise has been given to their multitudinous charms, there is still the Japanese iris, I. levigata, or Kempfert, which has yet to find its rival under the sun. It is the iris of irises—the one most beautiful. It reserves its flower until late in the season, opening first in late June or early July. When happily situated, as in the water garden, it is not unusual for its blooms to measure from ten to twelve inches in width.
The ideal treatment for the noble group of levigata
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is supposed to be to plant them in good bog earth. Yet in the water garden many of them thrive in absolute marsh land, even with their roots sunk deeply in water.
Again, these irises will do well in dry ground so long as they are supplied with abundant and frequent drinks of water. In a border where the soil is not particularly rich, I have made them grow and blossom in sufficient luxury to astonish those unacquainted with their results when given a better situation and more copious moisture. This, nevertheless, was an experiment. Ordinarily they will not do themselves justice in dry places.
Of these Japanese irises, there are both single and double varieties, and so many forms and colors of each that to choose among them is often a matter of embar- rassment. To make an unfortunate selection, however, is hardly in the realm of the possible, since they seem to have most skilfully banished hideousness and all its attributes.
Although the iris holds in undisputed sway the government of the East Hampton garden, there occur in the shimmering water above which the dikes are raised, many beautiful pond-lilies. They wait at the feet of the irises and add to their fascinations with a wealth of sweet scents and chaste loveliness; for frequently in gardens one thing builds up another: inspiration follows inspiration quickly. Had this garden never been specialized for irises, an appropriate place for these water-lilies might not have been found.
At many country places near the sea, besides the one
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at East Hampton, there are opportunities for the culti- vation of water-lilies, and also the wonderful lotuses, since springs can be converted into lakes, and small brooks and ponds can be treated to make ideal homes for aquatic plants. Such work is not done success- fully, however, unless the plants are given an unusually rich mixture of manure and mold in which to sink their roots; for water-lilies, as roses, require to draw nourishment from the soil most greedily. At least a foot of well-enriched soil should be laid as a layer over the natural bottom of lakes or streams in which most water-lilies and lotuses are expected to grow perma- nently. The latter like some clay in the soil mixture where they root, that they may be held firmly.
Unless a glass house with suitable tanks is pro- vided where tender varieties can be kept over the winter, it is best to be content with growing the perfectly hardy aquatics, among which, however, are many very lovely water-lilies and the wonderful lotuses. Although, when the cost of the practise is not heeded, such tender varieties as the blue Zanzibars can be bought every year, enjoyed throughout their season of bloom, and then be allowed to perish when unable to withstand the cold weather. In most places, however, where extraordinary effects are not courted, the hardy varieties of pond-lilies can be relied on to embellish many sheets of fresh water near seaside homes.
The lotus Nelumbium speciosum, the flower of ancient impressive history, grows prodigiously when given space and opportunity. It is even necessary
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to thin it out from time to time, that the surface of the water with its many reflections can be seen at intervals, and the lotus not be allowed to give the impression of arising from the earth.
Few nurserymen in America have devoted much time to water-lily culture; still, there are growers who are able to supply excellent aquatics, and to give information concerning the tender and the hardy varieties. In fact, a water garden, wherever feasible, should be allowed to extend the interest of all those who truly love flowers.
In building any sort of a seaside garden, the position that irises are to hold is one of the first things to take into consideration. For these plants should not be moved about much before they have had time toincrease in size and power. They are always distinctive plants, owing to their bold clumps of swordlike leaves, and even when out of flower they give character to their locality.
As the autumn sheds its light and coolness over the water garden and the irises are no longer seen, there occurs through the innumerable clumps of tall leaves a rhythmic motion that is most enchanting. The song that they sing is one of many changes, for with high winds the leaves clash and strike together like veritable swords. Again, with the sultriness of the autumn haze, they settle down into a still, poetic lull. The water is then likewise still. Soon the birds fly away, and the fishes seem to gotosleep. For gradually the uncontrollable frost pushes them out of their places and holds the water garden tightly until the return of spring.
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CHAPTER XVII
THE GARDEN LILIES
: | "HERE is a personality about the lilies as distinct as that of the roses. They also have their lovers, who grow them to the exclu-
sion of other flowers — those who proclaim them the king of flowers when roses are given the throne of the queen. Indeed, it is without question that many lilies are stately and very beautiful. The lily-of-the-valley, on the contrary, one of the most generally beloved connections of the family, has no air of kingship; for it is not a lilium, although placed with them through the power of association; rather it is the baby, the innocent appearing, sweet flower that leads the liliums in time of unfolding.
Happily, almost all lilies do well in gardens near the sea, although the taller varieties should invariably be placed where they need not combat high winds. Against the frosts of winter their bulbs also need protection in the way of a fairly heavy cover of litter composed of lawn clippings, very old manure, or even ashes. Otherwise, they require no more care than the average perennials. While there is a difference in the taste of garden lies, the majority of them like a light, well-drained soil, and to grow where there is shade under which they may nod their pretty heads.
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Early in May, flower lovers look for the lily-of-the- valley, Convallaria majalis, which should then be found in some snug spot visited by both shade and sun. Often it is to be seen outside the garden proper, owing to its permanence and the rapidity with which it increases its dominion. Where the soil is deep and well drained and enriched with leaf mold, the lily-of- the-valley is apt to bloom in great profusion. One of the largest beds, or rather unrestricted masses, of these plants that I know yields each season thousands of sprays of exquisitely scented, unusually large May bells.
When a new bed is made for these plants, it should be done in time to allow the pips to be set out late in the autumn. The following spring they begin early to show their eagerness to extend their boundaries. In fact, when they crowd too closely together, they can be taken up and transplanted on the outskirts of the bed, or in whichever direction it is desired that it should stretch. The spaces they leave then fill up quickly through the natural increase of the neighboring pips.
After the bloom is passed, the leaves of the lily- of-the-valley still form dwarf, compact masses of verdure covering places which, in many cases, it would be dificult to treat were it not for this delightful little plant. It is, in truth, an American wild flower, being localized in the higher mountains of the Alleghanies, where it inhales a humid atmosphere.
In June, opens the beautiful Madonna, or Annuncia- tion, lily, Laliwm candidum. It stands about six feet high at its best and bears on each stalk many pure
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white fragrant flowers. It is the earliest of the tall garden lilies to bloom, and is thought by many to be the most beautiful on account of its look of unspotted purity. It is not unlike the Bermuda lily, LZ. Harrisi, although its flowers are more open and their tubes considerably shorter than those of the Eastertime favorite. The Madonna lilies like the sun. I have seen a great bed of them gleaming under its rays like whitened silver.
As with all lilies that blossom early in the season, the bulbs of the Madonna lily should be planted in the autumn, as they can then make considerable growth before the cold weather. When they are divided, which is periodically necessary on account of the rapidity of their increase, it should also be done in the early autumn or as soon as their stalks have turned yellow. Fortunately, they are bulbs that can be secured early.
Sometimes it is impossible to obtain the bulbs imported from Japan or other countries before November, in which case their bed should be prepared in advance for their reception and covered with leaves or litter that will prevent the ground from freezing before they can be planted. When the shipments of bulbs are especially late, many nurserymen carry them over the winter in pots, that they may thus be kept in readiness for spring planting.
Of the Japanese lilies that now hold so prominent a place in many gardens, the golden-banded lily, L. auratum, is the most stately and the best known. It grows tall and bears a large number of most beautiful
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white flowers daintily spotted with crimson and marked distinctively with a band of gold extending from the base to the tip of each petal. Ten or twelve inches below the surface of the earth is none too deep to plant these bulbs, as they are then afforded protection from frost and the possible drought of the summer. The golden-banded lily thrives best in the shade, although time and again I have seen it blooming, not indif- ferently, in places flooded with sunlight. When it is planted in a hardy border or in garden beds of sunny exposure, it should be given at least the shade of other tall plants. It cannot brook manure, caring simply for a light, rich soil.
Frequently these lilies are seen intermingled with rhododendrons and various other shrubs, where they are of inestimable value, since they blossom after the shrubs have lost their flowers. The bulbs, moreover, take little ground space, while sending above a wealth of unrivaled bloom.
Auratum vittatum rubrum is a variety seen less often than the auratum, although it is also very beau- tiful and noticeable because of its unspotted white flowers broadly banded with crimson. I have seen the flower ten inches in width and have been held long by its fragrance.
L. Batemannia, also a Japanese variety, blooms, like the auratum, in July and August. Its flowers are not so large as many others, and are a clear, unspotted apricot yellow. Six or eight of them appear on each stem. For many places in gardens where brightness and cheer are desired, this lily forms an admirable choice.
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L. speciosum rubrum, another lovely and most popu- lar lily of Japan, is particularly hardy and free in its branching habit of growth. The variety is particularly popular, the flowers being white, shaded with rose, and spotted with red of a deep rich tone. Once planted, this lily, like many others, practically looks after itself, requiring little care from garden builders, but holding strongly their admiration. L. speciosum album, the pure white variety, is very lovely and fragrant.
In August, the speciosum lilies open, and frequently the first frost finds them a prey to its sting. Rubrum likes a place partly shaded; album prefers the full sun.
L. Henryi, the strikingly beautiful speciosum, while coming from northern China, is perfectly hardy in the greater number of American gardens near the sea. It grows vigorously to the height of about six feet, and its flowers are deep apricot yellow, strongly spotted with brown.
L. Hansoni is a bright golden Japanese lily, which seldom grows higher than three feet. Sometimes it is especially planted because it blossoms in June.
One of the most exquisite lilies for garden culture is the longiflorum, so named from its long, trumpet- shaped flowers of pure white. It stands about two feet high and greatly resembles in general appearance the well-known Bermuda lily.
The Japanese elegans lilies, of which there are a number of varieties producing darkly spotted flowers in separate tones of yellow, orange, crimson, or buff, are noteworthy on account of their great hardiness, and also because they produce their effects in June
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and July. They do not grow high, two feet at the most, and they bear generously ten or twelve flowers on each stem. As with all lilies of their strong colors, they appear best when planted among shrubbery or in woody places where few colors disturb the Snerunas ing greenness.
This is also true, I think, of tiger lilies, each found in old-time gardens. There are double and single Tigrinums and a really fine scarlet variety, Tigrinum splendens, which is deeply spotted with black. Tiger lilies increase rapidly and are very loth to give up soil that they have once occupied. Although their lovers are many, I do not count myself among them. But then I care for none of the yellow garden lilies as much as for the infinitely lovely white ones, and even they should be most fitly set or they give to the surrounding plant life a disjointed appearance.
Once through a strip of wild woodland planting, I saw many auratum lilies unfolded in early August. The gardener had planted them there because the soil was light and rich and the shade sufficient. They bore upward of thirty and forty lilies to a stalk, but, to my thinking, they were entirely out of place in that quiet, naturalistic garden. For the formal garden, however, whether large or small, these lilies are charming. They are as necessary to it as holly- hocks, helping it to blend with the landscape, against which they make striking pictures. Yet it is often a melancholy fact that the highly formal garden is lacking in the very shade that these lilies love so well.
For naturalistic effects, wild borders and the like,
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there are still the native lilies, with personalities pecul- iarly adapted to such places.
L. superbum, the “Turk’s cap” lily, is as much a child of light woodland growth as the bee balm and Solomon’s seal. Its flowers of bright orange are com- posed of petals sufficiently recurved to suggest a Turk’s cap, and they are marked attractively with purple.
The meadow lily, L. Canadense, is one of the most graceful of the native species, with nodding, delicate flowers, clear yellow and dots of black. The deep red variety is called L. Canadense rubrum.
L. Philadelphicum, the wild red, or wood lily, holds its orange-red, solitary flower erect, and makes itself known by the peculiarity of narrowing its petals toward their base. It is one of the most brilliant inhabitants of the wild garden.
These native lilies mostly like the seclusion of shade and a light, moist soil, and once well established they live and bloom for generations.
Funkias, a race of plants with effective decorative flowers, are in no sense of the word lilies of the true order. Still, they pass generally as day lilies, the form of their bloom having suggested the name, and they hold in the garden a close association with its more lordly inhabitants. It is for these reasons that they are included in this chapter.
Funkia subcordata is the white day, or plantain, lily that invariably held a conspicuous place in the early gardens of this country. Its clumps of broad, handsome leaves were much used in borders leading
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to the entrance gate, and long after the spikes of bloom had faded, they maintained a bold, attractive presence. In modern gardens the variety designated as F’. undulata variegata is regarded as a better plant for the edging of beds.
The very tall variety is F. Japonica, lifting its flowering stalk upward of six feet high. It bears blue flowers, which is also the habit of such varieties as lancifolia, cerulea, and others.
These day lilies do best in places that are free from intense midsummer sun, yet they do not like a dense shade, preferring abundant light and air.
To give their best effect, lilies should be planted in groups rather than as single specimens. The height of many of the varieties, moreover, is of immense advan- tage in bringing certain sections of the garden into prominence. The candidum forms most lovely com- binations with the June-blooming German irises.
A garden without lilies or plants of similar person- alities is like one without roses. In excluding them, it has failed to touch the inner circle of aristocratic flowers. Naturally, all lilies are not appropriate for all gardens; but for every one, no matter what its character, it seems as if there were some variety that only awaits the call to embellish it with majestic grace. The white lilies in a garden appear never to pale. Even in the twilight they act as beacon lights along the pathways.
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CHAPTER XVIII
GARDENS OF ROSES
EN the love of flowers dwells in the heart, \ \ / even in the smallest degree, it must, sooner or later, make itself felt in a desire to grow the rose. In fact, I have known people who truly loved a rose while regarding other flowers with utter indifference. The rose is very satisfying. It is not only its rounded, well-developed beauty that pleases; it has besides translucent color, the charm of fragrance, and an upright, gracious personality with which no other flower can compare. The rose, moreover, is gen- erous in temperament. About it there is nothing small or calculating. It holds its own; it can defy the sea. Many of the oldest and most far-famed rose gardens of this country have been located in towns bordering the coast. And with the expression, “an old rose garden,” there arises a wealth of sentiment and imagi- native fragrance. Nothing in nature is more beauti- ful, more completely alluring. Even old, uncared-for bushes often send out their flowers in uncountable numbers, making great patches of color on the land- scape. It seems as if they would make up by this means for their diminished size and their lessened ‘perfection. Indeed, from an old rose garden the aroma of romance can never quite fade away. [ 210]
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The rose prefers a garden of its own. It does not like to fraternize with flowers of other classes. When made to do so, it is always at the expense of the beauty and health of the rose. Unlike some individuals, how- ever, it is worthy to be humored.
Naturally, the rose will not thrive directly in face of the sea. It must find its abiding place at a sufficient distance from it to protect it against rough, wild moods and also saline spray. It is no kin of the sea heath or sea lavender. While the rose does not object to the sea, it preserves its friendship for it with much discretion. Under no circumstances is the rose a lover of high winds, although it is necessary for its welfare that it should enjoy a free circulation of air. It likes repose, deep, rich, and sultry.
The garden that is set aside for roses should, if possible, have an exposure from north to south rather than from east to west. Even then, in order to pro- tect it from the wind, it is often necessary to set around it low shrubbery, rhododendrons, clipped spruces, or more enchanting still, such hedge roses as the rugosa varieties or hybrids. When very near the sea, it is frequently necessary to shelter it even on the southern side. Still, a rose garden must not be a place of too much shade. Sunshine must dwell there for at least part of the day. It must, in fact, have an entrance for the sun and an exit for the wind. Large trees are not desirable near a rose garden. Their shade is too abundant and their extending roots absorb too much nourishment from the soil.
In many seaside places, I have seen successful rose
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gardens snuggled up rather closely to the house, which then formed their wind-break. The sun could play over them from his early uprising in the east until two or three o’clock in the day, after which time they rested in complete shade. Sunshine and shade, an abundance of air, and yet protection from high winds, are among the requirements of a rose garden.
Nor is the soil of such a place a matter to pass over lightly. Roses, although it seems a bit unfeeling to accentuate the point, are the greediest feeders of almost any plants. They like rich nourishment given to them very freely.
The danger concerning the soil of many seaside gardens is that it may be too light, sandy, or gravelly to give these plants the firm hold that is essential. In this case, it should be mixed with heavy loam or even with clay. Roses will not do well in a soil that attaches them loosely; they need to be held firmly.
Rose beds should be made deep. Usually they are dug out to the depth of about eighteen inches, covered with a thick layer, or one-third filled with well-decom- posed manure, and finally completed with rich turfy loam and top soil. They should then be given about two weeks in which to settle, before any planting is attempted. This is a plain, simple rule for making a rose bed, yet one that has been tried and found satis- factory over and over again. From time to time, it is necessary to give the plants additional nourish- ment; but with their bed thus deeply and richly made, they have at least an opportunity to start well in the garden.
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At the time of planting, all budded stock should be placed deeply in the ground, the joint being at least three inches below the level of the bed. The roots, moreover, should be spread out like a hand resting on the bottom of the hole, and invariably the soil should be packed about them firmly. Then for two weeks after they are set they should be kept well moistened.
It is true that roses will grow and bloom apart from the practise and conditions herein mentioned, since they are very hardy. They will not live, however, in full luxuriance. They will merely exist, being too gallant to die. Blooms that should be six or seven inches across will be but two or three. Stems that should be stiff and sturdy will be limp and thin. It takes some knowledge of roses to establish for them the proper standards. One young woman, of whom I have heard, boasted broadcast of the beautiful roses that grew in her garden, and there, to be sure, many bushes did live and bloom. The air was redolent with their perfume. They were not such roses, however, as a rosarian would prize, one who knew the possi- bilities of the varieties and how far the quoted flowers fell short of their recognized standards. The garden was indifferently situated, the stock originally bought was poor, and the soil was not sufficiently enriched. There was almost a pathetic side to the delight which they gave their owner.
Still, it is one thing to grow roses well and another thing to grow show roses or to bring the blooms to their highest state of perfection. The majority of
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seaside dwellers in this country endeavor to give their roses ample opportunities to show their beauty. They encourage their abundance and desire them for orna- mentation and picking purposes rather than for per- fection in individual flowers.
It is a mistake to suppress the desire to grow roses because of the oft-repeated plaint about the insects that attack them, and the supposed complications of their pruning. Both of these troubles, if such they are, can be controlled by persistence and judgment.
That sooner or later insects will attack the rose bushes may be taken as a foregone conclusion. But if they are kept up to a high standard of health and vigor, they will pass through the scourge practically unharmed.
Kerosene emulsion and a solution made by boiling
the stems of tobacco until the water covering them is about the strength of weak tea are both insecticides that can be used to keep the green fly, the rose hopper, the red spider, the aphides, and other marauders in check. The rose bug, of disagreeable temperament, can stand unceasing applications of insecticides before forsaking the bushes. Leaf rollers have usually to be picked off by hand. ‘When mildew appears on the foliage, it should be dusted early in the morning, while still moist with dew, with flowers of sulphur. This must, however, be done as soon as the trouble appears, otherwise it will avail nothing.
Pruning is a matter that should be governed largely by individual judgment. Some plants are so neat and
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compact in their manner of growth that they need but slight clipping, while others require severe treatment to keep them within their natural limits.
When the rose bushes are uncovered in the spring, as soon as the frost has left the ground, they should, unless under unusual circumstances, receive their annual pruning. Then one-half or two-thirds of the previous season’s growth should be cut away.
Climbing roses, unless for special reasons, should have their weakly and cross branches cut out and the unripe tips of the other branches pruned slightly.
Standards also should have their shoots cut back in late March, possibly to four buds.
It is a safe rule among all classes of roses to prune the weak growers severely; strong growers can be clipped more sparingly.
When the spring pruning is over, it is a help to roses to have a handful of bonemeal stirred in about their base.
At present, it seems to be the custom to plan rose gardens in formal designs, the flowers being somewhat exclusive in temperament. In fact, the wisdom of the formal rose garden is realized as soon as it is remem- bered that these plants are sticklers about being kept by themselves. It has even been claimed that certain varieties do better when planted in a bed which they alone control, than if several other varieties are inter- mingled with them. The hardy and hybrid perpetual roses, and those that are monthly or ever-blooming, should invariably be kept apart, since the latter require much heavier winter covering than the former, and,
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not growing so large, are apt to be overshadowed by the more hardy bushes.
Roses, in truth, are admirably adapted to the plan of a number of formally designed beds which yet hold together and form a complete design. It can be either large or small. In places where space is limited, the prettiest effects are secured by keeping to an exceed- ingly simple scheme.
So much depends, when a rose garden is planned, upon the position of the land, the number of available feet and inches, the exposure, and the surrounding landscape, that to give general directions for the work would be futile. Once such a garden is scientifically laid out, however, there often seems to be an occult sense which fosters its completion, producing effects little dreamed of in the beginning, and opening unex- pected vistas for the future.
Almost invariably a certain amount of fashion enters into the formal rose garden, for it is encouraged by architects and is highly pleasing to skilled gardeners. Yet sometimes I have thought that the power of many old-time rose gardens lurked in their absolute freedom from fashion, almost from the dictates of law and order. The mistress of the garden planted a bush here, another there, guided by this very occult sense which surely lies hidden in the vicinity of rose gardens. She hardly realized then the wondrous effects that years of growth would bring to her planting ground.
With the years, roses have also multiplied and multi- plied again. It is not enough to-day to know that a rose is a rose possibly of simple English ancestry, and
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of red, white, or yellow. It may be the hybrid of a hybrid having the rose in some far distant garden as its ancestor.
Many early rose gardens of this country grew with pride the beautiful Caroline Testout as well as the general favorite, Merveille de Lyon. To-day the off- spring of these two roses, the Frau Karl Druschki, is the white rose of white roses in modern gardens. Its beauty is similar to that of a perfect bit of sculpture. The absolute whiteness of the rose, without tinge of yellow or blush, is one of its unusual features, while the lack of luster on the petals gives it the mat finish of marble. The bud is like a pigeon’s egg, unfolding leisurely into the glorious flower. The Frau Karl Druschki, as its name indicates, was bred in Germany. In every American rose garden to-day it should have a place. It is more beautiful than either of its parents, although very feeble in its perfume. Still the Caroline Testout and the Merveille de Lyon are roses of such excellent habit and striking beauty that it would be a pity not to grow them in the garden.
Hybrid Perpetual Roses
Frau Karl Druschki belongs among the hardy, hybrid, perpetual roses that fairly claim the month of June as their own. It is their day in all truth, the time when rose gardens fairly glow and smile in the sunshine. These roses have mostly rough leaves of five leaflets. When vigorous shoots appear, showing smoother leaves and seven leaflets, they are generally upstarts from the Manetti stock on which the roses
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GARDENS NEAR THE SEA
are budded and should invariably be removed at the base. The majority of hybrid perpetuals are fragrant, and many of them by judicious pruning can be induced to bloom several times during the summer instead of only through June. Mrs. John Laing is especially noted for continuing its bloom longer than the recog- nized period, and Frau Karl Druschki produces a few flowers well through the summer. This rose is a good offset to the American beauty, the most generally cultivated, hardy hybrid, perpetual in America.
Indeed, there is no need to describe this rose. Its noble bearing and its sweet, spicy fragrance are known to all. In the center of one rose garden, I have seen a circular bed filled with American beauties. They were not young plants, and had grown into large bushes sending up stems approaching a height of five feet. Their blooms would have made a sensation in a florist’s window had they been forced into occurring out of season. In their natural place in the rose garden, however, they looked infinitely more beautiful than under any circumstances that severed them from the bush.
It is sometimes a matter of question how to plant the center of a rose garden so that it shall give character to the whole and yet not strike so high a key that the small, outlying beds are placed at a disadvantage. In the month of June, the central feature of American beauties above mentioned was a success. It gave height and strength to the entire garden and it also held these radiant beauties apart so that their color, which is somewhat damaging to other reds and crim-
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sons, could be seen at its best and not as a discordant note. Just how this garden was affected when these bushes were out of bloom, I do not know. But, as has been mentioned, the American beauty does not entirely lose its flowers with June, and even if it did the bushes are so powerful, the foliage so strong and unmis- takably green, that, while the bed might cease to draw attention, it still would not be detrimental to the garden.
The teas and hybrid tea roses hardly make large enough bushes to hold the center of a garden. When one is composed entirely of them, a sundial or some other bit of garden furniture is often found useful to give it height and dignity.
Again, there are rose gardens that have no particular center, as I once saw illustrated by a beautiful garden planted in the lee of evergreen trees, from where it spread out irregularly over a fine bit of turf. The beds in this garden were mostly in geometrical designs, — stars, crescents, rectangles, and circles, — and they were planned really more for the convenience and number of each kind of rose that they held than for the effect of the garden as a whole. In general, however, the hybrid perpetuals were kept at the back comparatively near the evergreens, while the teas gradually tapered the planting down to the grass. Yet, here and there, tall members pushed forward to dispel the idea that the garden had been laid out with any such definite scheme. It had no boundary or line of demarca- tion unless it were the strong bulwark of evergreens well at its rear. And this garden was very beautiful.
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Through the combined use of the June roses and the monthlies, it never went completely out of bloom, while with few exceptions there was enough life and color to indicate something of its beauty at the time of its great outpouring.
In this garden there was a notable bed filled with the Baroness Rothschild, and another not far distant with Clio roses. The former is one of the most satis- factory hybrid perpetuals in existence. Its globular, cup-shaped flowers are replete with petals of bright rose and at their best are of immense size. It is, however, the manner of the setting of the blossom on the stem that is most striking. The canes are stout and erect and uphold the flower so as to give it a stately look well worthy the queen of flowers. It is one of the few roses of this class that are practically scentless.
Frequently the Baroness Rothschild blooms two or three times during the season instead of confining itself to the month of June. It is not troubled to any great extent by insect attacks, nor is it subject to mildew. It is almost as pronounced an individual in a garden as the American beauty.
The Clio, which is somewhat on the order of the Baroness Rothschild, is a paler rose; the flowers of flesh color, while deepening at the center to deep pink, bleach, as they open, to almost white. Yet, the plant itself is very vigorous and one of the most prolific in flowering. A number of these roses planted in a bed produce a mass of delicate color that is advan- tageous to tone down the superabundance of reds and
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GARDENS OF ROSES
carmines which are apt to become a bit pronounced in many rose gardens.
Among other hybrid perpetuals of pink, none are finer than Paul Neyron, with its very double, delicately scented flowers occurring in immense size, the largest, perhaps, of any pink rose. It has graced innumerable rose gardens and has been the cynosure of many eyes at rose shows. It blooms, incidentally, throughout the summer and is always lovely.
Mrs. R. G. Sharman-Crawford has also held a conspicuous place at rose shows, where to the admira- tion of many it lifted blossoms of deep rose, dwindling in the outer petals to a pale blush. At the base of the petals the color vanishes. There they are pure white. It is, nevertheless, a rose for the simplest garden, even though it has long been conspicuous at great gatherings of the famous.
Countess of Rosebery reverses the order of the Mrs. R. G. Sharman-Crawford. Its petals are a clear shining pink in the center and darken as they extend outward to a deep rose. It looks almost as if composed of two distinct colors. It is far from being a new rose, but firmly holds its place as one of the most attractive inhabitants of the garden.
Mrs. John Laing blossoms unusually freely, bearing exquisite pink flowers on long and stout stems, which make them desirable for cutting purposes. The buds, besides, have a charm of their own, being long and inclined to taper almost to a point.
Madam Gabrielle Luizet is also a pink rose, blended and shaded with faint lavender until it looks to have
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a silver sheen. It blooms in great profusion and its faint, sweet fragrance makes it of added value to gather and arrange for bouquets.
There is no doubt that a rose never appears so well as when on the bush, growing in the open. Still, as bouquets, especially those of roses, are a great acquisi- tion to the home in summer, it is worth while to plant a few varieties that are desirable for picking purposes.
It is also to the advantage of most rose bushes to pick their blossoms freely. Sometimes owners of a rose garden are perplexed to know whether to pick the flowers for the good of the bushes and to decorate the home, or whether to leave them to glorify the garden. Early in the morning the full-blown roses should be gathered, cutting the stems as long as possible or down to where the new growth meets the old. Even then enough half-blown roses and buds will be left to make the garden a mass of flowers again by noon.
It seems that roses love to unfold best at break of day when the robins begin to sing. I have seen bushes at dusk from which every full-blown flower had been cut and which then showed no sign of immediately putting forth others. Still, as early in the morning as the world considers it respectable to arise, they upheld opened flowers, no hint of which had been given in the preceding twilight. Even when the nights are cold and rainy the same thing occurs, the flowers opening to greet the new day.
It is, moreover, at this time the delights of which have been sung more than once, that a rose garden is most inspiring. There is then the freshness of dew and
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scent about it that moderates greatly as the day wears on. The roses do not become less beautiful, but merely heated and overpowered by the sun. Often then the moisture cast by the sea is most grateful.
In planting a rose garden, unless the list of chosen roses is scanned again and again, there is almost a certainty that the abundance of color will rest with red and its different expressions, scarlet, crimson, carmine, maroon, magenta, and the like. Undoubtedly, these shades are all brilliant and gay in a garden. To many minds there is no rose in the world so beautiful as areal red rose — such a one, perchance, as the General Jacqueminot, or the hybrid teas, Liberty and Richmond.
Nevertheless, pink roses can be easily outshone by being placed too near those of the more dominant colors, and since they are in themselves infinitely charming, it should be a matter of care to place them where they run no chance of being hurt by violent clashes with the multitudinous company of reds in the garden. The white roses can always be used to form a barrier between the two.
Again it seems as if a clash of colors were impossible in a rose garden. I remember one large bed of roses planted promiscuously with bushes offered at a great reduction in price by a traveling salesman. As soon as their buds began to open, it was seen with dismay that each one of the bushes was bent on bearing red roses, not reds of the same class but of every shade conceiv- able. It may seem strange, but this very bed proved to have a pronounced charm. As the variously toned roses unfolded, the surrounding green of the foliage kept
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them from interfering with each other and despoiling their individual beauty. The buds that merely showed color, the ones that were half open, and the fully blown flowers all blended indescribably with the spirit of the rose, giving abundant pleasure. In formal gardens, beds of red roses are usually planted with one variety exclusively, that a fine bit of strong brilliant color may be assured, the deep rich shadow of the entire garden.
Ulrich Brunner is a hardy hybrid perpetual some- times used for this purpose. It is full and gracefully shaped and of brilliant carmine, with high lights of scarlet. This rose, moreover, disposes of the old adage; for Ulrich Brunner is without thorns.
Prince Camille de Rohan has long been a favorite, hardy, hybrid perpetual with which to form beds or to plant among others of its class. It has great beauty. About its color there is a tinge of maroon not always liked by the hypercritical, since when cut it appears to intensify, especially as the flowers grow old. Still the maroon shadings of Prince Camille de Rohan approach almost to black, which fact altogether robs it of disagreeable effect. It is the darkest colored rose of all and of especially fine, velvet-like texture.
Madame Charles Wood, one of the best of the scarlet roses, soon loses this dazzling color, passes into crimson, and before it dies is almost suffused with maroon. It is also one of the most generous bloomers of the red, hybrid perpetuals, showing its color two or three times during a season, provided its flowers are cut regularly and the plants pruned in a way to induce the form-
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ing of new shoots. These blooms are delightfully fragrant.
Anna de Diesbach forms a robust bush and is prolific with its very full and carmine-colored roses. Victor Verdier should find a place in every rose garden. About its carmine petals there is a decided outline of purple. The Magna Charta, although of clear rose red, is tinted here and there with crimson running to violet. Louis Van Houtte, Alfred Colomb, Baronne de Bonstetten, and an infinite number of others are among the tried and beautiful members which wave the red standard of rose gardens.
Roses of the hybrid perpetual class are usually so hardy that an amateur is almost sure to succeed in growing them. Often in this very success he finds the inspiration to extend the garden and to include those of more delicate nature, even striving, perhaps, for show roses. Many a rose grower, on the contrary, has been completely discouraged because he started his garden with the less hardy monthly roses and knew not how to take care of them. Then, in despair, he laid down his arms when his roses failed to meet with his expectations.
Hybrid perpetuals, while responding to expert care, will nevertheless live and bloom through seasons of neglect, which they strive to bear with smiling faces. A deserted rose garden is a pitiable sight. I have seen only one of any extent and that was where the home as well as the garden had been forsaken, while those in various parts of the world disputed the ownership of the estate. Even there, the hybrid per-
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petuals strove to bloom in spite of being almost choked to death by weeds and various grasses. The monthlies had long since given up the attempt to live.
There is something, moreover, very satisfactory about the size attained by the perpetual rose bushes. They do not swing their flowers well over the heads of their admirers, as is true of many of the climbers, nor is it necessary to get down to them as is often required in the case of the ever-blooming bushes. They meet those that seek them halfway, holding their blossoms at a level where they can be scanned without discom- fort. They are, in truth, fairly good sized shrubs laden with the most wondrous flowers of all.
Of white roses among the hybrid perpetuals, there are many that vie with each other in exquisiteness of outline and nearness to purity in their particular color, or rather lack of color. Indeed, there is seldom seen a white rose that has thrown off all color; either they are slightly tinged with yellow or flushed with pink. The Frau Karl Druschki (page 217) is, perhaps, the most purely white of any rose.
Margaret Dickson approaches it closely in absence of color. This rose, moreover, attains an extraordinarily large size, having its petals attractively reflexed.
Madame Plantier is among the best of hardy white roses, blooming almost continually. Perle des Blanches is as fine a white rose as Margaret Dickson. Perfection des Blanches and Coquette des Alps are both beautiful, the latter being tinged with pale blush. Coquette des Blanches is of medium size and blooms in clusters, showing also a slight flush over its white flowers.
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Madame Alfred Carriére produces flowers that are very double and fragrant. Their color is ivory white, with a tinge of yellow. Boule de Neige bears flowers more solidly white, seldom noticeably large, but of exquisite fragrance, in itself a rare charm.
The rose named Gloire Lyonnaise is invariably a notable member of the garden, holding a place between the whites and the yellows. In the long, pointed bud, and also when first open, the petals are a rich cream white. Shortly, however, they turn to salmon yellow, intensified at the center. It is very beautiful, and blooms with the length of period that is associated with a hybrid tea more than with a hardy perpetual.
There are few who do not love yellow roses, not for themselves only, but because they give a cheer like sunshine in the garden. Among the perpetual class they are not so numerous as those of other colors, and many complain that they are less hardy. Har- rison’s yellow is one of the old-time roses universally regarded as hardy and very lovely. It is not now generally seen, but still well worth seeking and giving a conspicuous setting.
The soleil d’or rose, which has proved hardy, although perhaps not of easy culture, shows among its petals as many shades of yellow flamed with red as the renowned Azalea mollis. It is one of the most distinctive roses now grown, and is in a class by itself, not belonging strictly to the hybrid perpetuals.
The Persian yellow rose is well known and very hardy. The scent of its flowers is not at all alluring but rather distinctly disagreeable — a statement which
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seems strange in connection with a rose. When planted for distant effect, this peculiarity does not matter so much as when the bushes stand in the way of the flower seeker. As a rule the Persian yellow will not bloom well if too closely pruned.
Naturally, there are other hybrid perpetual roses which possess much merit and extend in numbers fairly in the hundreds. To sing the praises of them all would, indeed, take little short of a lifetime. The few herein mentioned have been included simply because they almost always prove satisfactory when grown in gardens near the sea.
Moss Roses
In some nook of the garden, the moss rose bush should stand replete in its gentle beauty. And, once planted, this class of rose becomes as permanent as the flowers of the fields. The white moss, with its delicate blush, is very lovely, also the variety called Princess Adelaide, which holds under its mosslike sepals flowers of veritable rose. The glory of mosses almost hides its pink buds in sepals like dense moss, while the white, sweet flowers of Blanche Moreau are produced in clusters.
Monthly or Ever-blooming Roses
When it comes to the so-called ever-blooming roses, including the teas and the hybrid teas, it is again an embarrassment of choice, since their number is large and added to each year through the skill of the rose grower. This class of roses blooms more or
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less continuously from early June until the first frosts, and is, therefore, regarded by many seaside dwellers as indispensable for their gardens. Undoubtedly, through June, their more delicate beauty will be over- powered by the gorgeous outbursts from the hybrid perpetuals. Their bloom, nevertheless, is far more continuous, and they are therefore valuable.
Tea-scented Roses
About the tea roses there is usually a refreshing, delicate perfume, very distinct in character. Their young shoots, besides, are colored with rich red, golden, or brown, bringing them strongly into contrast with the hybrid perpetuals, which have green wood. In fact, the young leafage of this class of roses gives them a warm, cheerful beauty even before their flowers unfold. Their buds are invariably exquisite.
There is no doubt that they are lacking in the unvary- ing hardiness of the hybrid perpetuals; still, they are not too tender to be permanent in a seaside garden, many of them being extremely vigorous. They require to be grown in a well-sheltered place and to be covered warmly over the winter. A simple way to preserve them is, in the late autumn, to draw the soil up about them to the height of about ten inches, thus forming little mounds. The spaces about and around them, and in fact the whole bed, should then be spread with a heavy coating of litter. Although the upper, unpro- tected parts of the plants may freeze down to the top of the mounds, the lower wood is safely housed and apt to come through the winter without damage.
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At many seaside homes, where the gardens are well provided with wind-breaks, I have seen tea roses of much hardiness and indescribable loveliness, bloom- ing each month from June until November, casting abroad their piquant sweet scent. They appeared to like the moist closeness of the sea.
As soon as the red roses are settled in a garden, it becomes less difficult to place those of pink, of white, and of yellow; for red is invariably wayward and cannot be treated with a lack of considera- tion.
Freiherr von Marschall, while not a new rose, has still few rivals in the red, tea-scented class. The beauty of the flowers is abetted by the foliage, which is tinged brightly with wine color, giving vivacity to the whole bush.
Among the group of Maman Cochet roses there is one of red which has the hardy characteristics of its near relatives, and the ability to accommodate itself to almost any soil and climate.
The Souvenir de J. B. Guillot produces roses of nasturtium red, very bright and unusual. Francois Dubreuil constantly sends out deep crimson flowers and is notably hardy.
Pink roses of the tea-scented class are even more numerous than those of red. Among them the brides- maid is well known, not only, as some people imagine, for the purpose of carrying at weddings, but also for the garden. It is a sport from the much-beloved old rose, Catherine Mermet, which should on no account be omitted from the planting of the garden because
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its celebrated offspring has seen more of the world and the limelight.
The pink Maman Cochet, like those closely allied to it of red, white, or yellow, is a remarkably hardy tea rose. Its flowers are very beautiful, and the bush has the advantage of freedom from mildew and other evils that sometimes torment ever-blooming roses of less hardy natures.
Souvenir d’un ami has more than its share of spicy tea scent, and its large, globular flowers of bright rose are attractively tinted with carmine. It is particularly well adapted to life in the open and grows vigorously.
The Duchesse de Brabant, while not so much seen as many others of its class, is still charming to place where blooms of bright rose pink are desired.
The old bon silene, with its roses of exquisite form and delicate rose-pink color, is still popular in modern gardens, although it is much less conspicuous than in those of older fame, where the new and multi- tudinous varieties of roses had not entered.
While red and pink roses are plentiful in the garden, the white ones are in truth a necessity, since they keep its members in harmony. White roses, with shadings of yellow, pink, or buff, are particularly attractive among the tea-scented class, which in a way seems to desire to keep away from the more pronounced colors of the hybrid perpetual and even the hybrid teas.
The bride, which requires no description, so uni- versally known has it become, often shows in the garden a more decided shade of pink on its white petals than
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when it is grown under glass. It is, in fact, very suitable for the garden, growing well and bearing its lovely flowers profusely.
Princess Alice de Monaco is always a beautiful rose, and distinctive because of the edging of blush pink about its ivory-white petals. It blooms freely and is one of the best of its class for cutting purposes,
The white Maman Cochet is, like all its kin, a very hardy rose, doing well with a minimum of care.
Maréchal Robert produces white flowers faintly tinged with both pink and yellow. It bears them constantly on long, stiff stems, a particular advantage when they are to be used for bouquets.
Yellow roses are sufficiently numerous among the tea-scented class to afford an ample choice to rose growers. Even large beds of them are made in some rosariums, where they hold their individuality as strongly as those planted for effects of red or pink.
The yellow Maman Cochet, which in form and bearing is the same as the white, the pink, and the red varieties, exhibits a most intense shade of sulphur yellow. It is very hardy and particularly well suited to the open garden.
Etoile de Lyon produces a beautiful yellow rose, as does also Madame Pierre Guillot, the latter showing a delicate veining and border of pink. Marie van Houtte bears roses of a paler yellow than that of the already mentioned varieties. It passes, as the blooms open fully, to cream white flushed with rose. The plant is, besides, valuable for its sturdiness and great
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freedom of bloom. Madame Hoste is also of strong growth, generously producing its roses of canary yellow, daintily edged with cream white.
The Safrano bears a rose of several shades of yellow, tinted here and there with pink. It has stood the test of years, having been the pride of many an old-time garden. The bush seems to have the ability to keep in good condition and to produce its flowers in a long succession.
Souvenir de Pierre Notting has something the same tones of apricot yellow as the safrona rose, and its petals are tinged with deep pink. In form it is very graceful, and the plant grows into a compact little bush. It is one of the most noted and generally pleasing of yellow roses.
In places where the Perle des jardins will thrive, it holds no yellow rose its peer. But it is a lover of much warmth, and should the garden be far northward or greatly exposed to rough weather, it is futile to hope to see it at the height of its beauty showing grace in every outline. It is not a new rose, and has perhaps more admirers than any other yellow rose except the Maréchal Neil.
Sunrise, an offspring of the Perle des jardins, resembles it in general outline and manner of growth and is even a stronger plant, able to endure more trying conditions of weather. In color the flowers lean to the copper tints, with high lights of scarlet, although their interiors are golden. They are truly children of the sun and most beautiful.
The Sunset rose, a fit companion for the Sunrise,
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also shows the electrifying colors of gold and crimson. It can be grown in the rose garden, although it is doubtful whether it ever attains there the perfection that marks it when living under glass. Nevertheless, I have seen it doing fairly well in a rose bed not much cultivated or particularly sheltered.
I remember one bed of yellow tea-scented roses which was planted about the base of a sundial forming the central point of a garden. Among them many bulbs of yellow gladioli sent up their flowers, which gave height to the bed and intensified its various tones of the same color. The arrangement was very notice- able and entirely practical, since the bulbs of the gladioli are sufficiently small not to interfere with or to drain the nourishment from the roses. Neither do the rose bushes grow high enough to screen the air and sunlight from the gladioli.
Tea-scented roses require considerable moisture and to have the ground about them kept well enriched. Soot, as a fertilizer, agrees with them admirably. It is not customary to prune them so severely as the hybrid perpetuals, unless they are weak in their growth. Robust bushes need to be trimmed lightly.
Hybrid Tea Roses
It is undoubtedly among the hybrid teas that the greater number of new roses are to be found to-day; and it is also likely that for many years to come improvements will continue to be achieved in this class of dwarf roses. The hybrid teas, as is well known, are crosses between the hardy, hybrid perpetuals and
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the teas, and in various ways they combine the good qualities of both of these great and distinguished classes. They are more hardy and vigorous in growth than the teas, characteristics inherited from the hybrid perpetuals, while from the teas they have taken a long flowering period and warm, rich tones of twig and leaf. Their flowers are brilliant and clear in tone and they have indeed a distinct and particular beauty. Several rose lovers that I have known, who have devoted their entire space to this class of roses, have done so without regret.
Madame Jules Grolez, a comparatively new rose of bright cherry red, resembles in form and general uprightness the well-known Kaiserin Augusta Victoria. It has proved notably hardy for a hybrid tea and most generous with its bloom.
J. B. Clark, also a new rose, is really startling when seen in all its possible perfection. The very fra- grant flowers are unusually large, and their wonderful dark crimson color is thought by many to surpass even that of the Richmond and the Liberty, which never- theless are both roses of notable brilliancy, although they do not attain the remarkable size of the newer variety.
Souvenir de Wootton is an old rose, yet still a favorite, owing to its strong, free growth and the abundance of its bloom, which is delightfully fragrant and of a bright red that passes gradually to magenta and violet crimson.
The Meteor roses are large and well formed in both bud and flower. They are a rich crimson with
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velvet-like texture and most striking in effect. Like the exquisite Liberty roses, they are much relied on for the general planting of garden beds, although they are also extensively grown in conservatories.
Griiss an Teplitz seems to combine many pleasing and advantageous traits. It is nearly always in blos- som and grows often four feet high, being remarkably hardy. The color of the flowers is bright crimson, spread with a sheen of darker tone. They have, more- over, a fragrance rarely excelled even among the varied forms of the queen of flowers.
With the planting of these few red hybrid teas, their consideration should not cease, for there are many others worthy of place and mention, were time and space not things of cruel reality.
Belle Siebrecht is a hybrid tea of such rich and brilliant pink and general beauty of bud and flower that there are few roses capable of giving more pleasure. It is not so generally planted as the La France, nor so much beloved as the Killarney. Nevertheless, it is worthy of both fame and love.
But among pink hybrid tea roses, the affection turns unconsciously to the Killarney, the rose touched with the wild, sweet charm of the romantic scene of its birth. It grows in a winsome, upright way, the young foliage gleaming with bronze and red. In the bud the Killarney forecasts its wonderful charm, as it is then long and pointed and of a vivifying sea-shell pink. As it unfolds, its beauty increases, becoming so persuasive as to make many believe it the rose of the world.
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My Maryland is one of the new hybrid tea roses which has proved wholly successful both as an in- habitant of the garden and for forcing during the winter. Its flowers are not unusually large, but very fragrant, and of a clear, fine pink, paling somewhat toward their outer margins.
The La France, with its silvery pink recurved petals, is likewise invariably greeted with admiration by all. It blooms freely in the open garden. Although it would seem that the pink La France should suffice for the most exacting, it has been largely used to produce other roses similar to it in general character- istics, yet different in color. There is now in the group a red, a white, and a yellow La France, and even one that is distinctly striped. They are all hardy and almost unexcelled for general planting.
Madame Abel Chatenay shows the same charming tendency to recurve its petals as La France, and is, indeed, as it unfolds, a study in color. From apricot pink it passes swiftly to delicate shades of ivory rose. When half blown it is more attractive in form than when fully developed.
Nor should the rose garden be without Madame Caroline Testout, a celebrated rose of highest stand- ing. From the deeply toned center of its flowers, the petals fade outward to rose color with satin sheen. Lady Ashtown is regarded by many rosarians as an improvement on Caroline Testout.
The Magnafrano roses are very double, deep rich pink, and exquisitely fragrant. Usually several of them can be picked from the bush.
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Among white hybrid teas, the Kaiserin Augusta Victoria is of exceptional merit. It is very beautiful, long and full m outline, and deepening in color to lemon yellow at the base of its petals. It has, moreover, a sweet fragrance. Hundreds of people are familiar with this rose in florists’ windows who yet are without the knowledge that it will bloom freely in the open garden from June until November.
Bessie Brown is a symmetrical rose, very deep and full. Its petals are pure cream white, flushed here and there with rose. The bush grows with remarkable vigor, although it is not thought by many to bloom with the freedom of various other hybrid teas. In England it has been much used as a show variety.
Mildred Grant produces ivory-white flowers, tinted delicately with pink. They are very large and upheld by thick stems. Like Bessie Brown, however, the variety is not particularly free with its blooms, and has also been used more for exhibition purposes than as a popular inhabitant of the garden.
Yellow roses hold always a charm of their own. A garden could hardly be damaged by an abundance of this color.
Of late the deep yellow rose, Franz Deegan, has become a favorite. These flowers are not large, but so intense in tone that they almost approach orange. In fact, the type of this rose is very distinct.
Madame Pernet Ducher, the yellow La France, is known by its medium-sized, canary-colored roses. In the open garden it grows with much of the vigor and grace associated with its parent.
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The Perle von Godenberg should also find favor with lovers of yellow roses. It is very suggestive of the beautiful Kaiserin Augusta Victoria, except in the canary-like color of its petals.
Polyantha Roses
Frequently among the teas and hybrid tea roses a bush that produces its flowers in clusters is used to give variety to the planting and to show the queen of flowers in many phases. For rose clusters make a break in the uniformity of individual flowers, while holding also their own attraction.
The polyanthas, which occur as compact little bushes, are covered plenteously with clusters of dainty flowers from the beginning of summer until the early frosts. They are now considerably used for bedding purposes.
Anny Muller is noted for its large trusses of bright rose-pink flowers, while Katherine Zeimet bears white flowers in equal profusion. These roses are known respectively as the pink and the white baby ramblers, and indeed they are very much like the well-known crimson baby rambler, with the exception of the differ- ence in the colors of their output. The crimson baby rambler, although it seldom reaches two feet high, is very decorative and most constant in its bloom through- out the season. Baby Dorothy is also of the group, producing innumerable flowers of clear pink.
These dainty plants do not ramble like the climb- ing polyanthas. They are content in their useful form of small upright bushes.
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The famous Clotilde Soupert is a tea polyantha and a rose of great beauty and merit.
Climbing Polyanthas and Hardy Climbers
The climbing polyanthas, popularly known as ramblers, have in a comparatively short time become leading features in much garden work. They grow with exceeding strength and place no limit on the abundance of their bloom. They are well adapted for forming pillars and for covering pergolas and arches, often indicating the way to the garden.
Among these roses the crimson rambler, an intro- duction from Japan, is the one of the masses, the rose which adorns a wayside cottage with the same luxuriant beauty that it gives to a secluded rosarium. The glory of Long Island as seen from the railway during the first week of July was the crimson rambler rose, occur- ring in almost every dooryard along the way.
Of this famous rose there is now an offspring which blossoms continuously, the so-called ever-blooming crimson rambler. The joy it gives, therefore, may be had until well into the autumn instead of passing away with July.
The Keystone is also an ever-blooming climber that has lately come into popular favor. The fragrance of its blooms, as well as their deep shade of lemon yellow, gives it a distinct and pleasing attraction. It is reputed to be quite hardy.
Dorothy Perkins, an American hybrid of the wichuraiana, is very lovely. Its flowers are a clear soft pink, the petals being daintily crinkled. For a
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long time they hold their freshness, although the plant belongs in no sense to the ever-blooming class.
Lady Gay also commands attention as a climbing wichuraiana hybrid, since it is one of the most exquisite that can grace a garden. Baltimore belle is another beautiful hardy climber, its pale blush roses occurring in clusters.
Perhaps the most remarkable of the climbing roses are those among the teas and the hybrid teas. In one garden last summer, I saw a climbing La France and a companion vine called Mrs. Robert Perry. The former appeared in every way like the La France roses in the garden beds, except that it wound and rewound itself about a pillar erected for its support. Truly it was a lovely sight. No less fine was the Mrs. Robert Perry, planted in an opposite, although identical position. Its bloom was white, long, deep, and double, and gave more the impression of a rose that had been forced for winter bloom than merely of a climber leaning toward the summer sunshine. Both of these climbers are reputed to be strong and quick of growth.
A climbing ever-blooming Killarney is of recent introduction and is identical with the parent variety apart from its habit of climbing.
Of course, the climbing Clotilde Soupert is one of the best ever-blooming rose vines to plant in places where weather conditions are problematic. Besides its ineffable charm, it is renownedly hardy. The Empress of China, the so-called apple blossom rose, on account of its color, will also flourish where many other hardy climbers have failed utterly.
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As these pages go to print, the much-desired blue rose has made its entrance into this country. It approaches the realization of the rosarian’s dream, marking the triumph of his skill.
The blue rose, Veilchenblau, presents itself as a climber very much like the crimson rambler, only its multiflora trusses swing to the breeze deep blue flowers. At least, there are fortunate individuals who regard these flowers as blue. The one example of the new rose that I have seen impressed me as showing deep crimson blooms heavily blotched with bluish purple. It should, however, be found very use- ful, since abundant deep blue bloom in a climber is far from usual. The blue rose, moreover, is scheduled as possessing great hardiness and as being able to make a remarkable growth during one season. Its foliage is neat and heavy.
Trailing Roses
The Japanese wichuraiana and its hybrid roses may appropriately be cultivated about rose gardens where there are banks to cover, rocky places to hide, or wherever they can comport themselves with the unfailing strength and assurance of a weed. As a class they are recognized by their long trailing stems, bearing dark green lustrous leaves.
Rosa wichurarana itself is particularly well known and admired for its white wax-like single flowers, which are delightfully scented. Its small, shining foliage makes it also of immense decorative value. By a lake made on a large estate, I have seen it covering the banks
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about the entire circle. But there it allowed no other plant to grow, twining itself about any intruder until it had choked it to death. There are varieties that have single, others semi-double, and still others that have quite double flowers. The Jersey beauty is one of the most attractive of the wichuraiana hybrids.
The majority of climbing and trailing roses once well established remain permanently in a garden. Neglect even will not discourage them. Often they are wildly free with their bloom, truly charming inhab- itants of the globe.
Standards naturally have a place within the gar- den, forming a part of it, accentuating its paths and points. For special reasons, however, they have been treated in the chapter devoted to plants grown in this way.
The roses desirable to form hedges and screens have likewise been included in the chapter on Hedges.
Although the rose gardens that follow the coast line of New England and of the middle coast states can show much luxuriance and are strong examples of artistic beauty, which will undoubtedly increase as the years pass on, and although they are places where one cares to linger, they can never, owing to climatic con- ditions, equal the natural wonder of the southern rose gardens.
Very early in the history of this country the south- ern gardens, especially those of the rose, attained a remarkable height of splendor. This was because their owners had not only a love of flowers, but because they kept in touch with and followed most extrava-
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gantly the highest English fashions in horticulture. The fertility of their soil, and their many slaves, fore- stalled in a measure their eminent success.
War and changed conditions have left a sad imprint on many of these gardens; but the naturalness of their beauty, the great luxuriance of their bloom, have not been wiped away. Rose gardens suffocated in roses, roses on walls, pillars, arches, and banks, — roses by the thousands still form the wonder of many of the southern gardens near the sea.
[ 244 J
CHAPTER XIX
GARDENS OF FEW FLOWERS
T is true that there is generally felt in America a love for lavish, exhilarant bloom in a garden, unfolding at will, absolutely without restraint. In no other country, perhaps, are flowers massed in the same dense abundance that is here far from unusual, nor do many other gardens show such numbers of blooms of varied character. This is partly because almost any new variety of plant that is well advertised finds in this country a ready sale. It is introduced first into the principal gardens and shortly afterward becomes more or less general. Indeed, so great is the number of new plants that have been given places in our gardens during the last few years that very often they are re- sponsible for a superabundant, almost confused effect. A great deal has been said and written about the massing of floral colors, and about color harmonies, and undoubtedly our gardens have thereby been much benefited. Still, a Japanese, regarding our luxuri- ant planting grounds, looks upon the massing of their colors as absolutely at the expense of the individuality of the plant, wherein the beauty of both stem and leaf is lost. These artistic people think, moreover, that the gardens of this country display an excessive and barbarous extreme of planting. [245 ]
GARDENS NEAR THE SEA
But the other side of the picture shows that the Japanese have reduced their gardens to a point where the American finds them more unique than decorative. They have touched the opposite extreme. Their gar- dens are invariably those of few flowers, sometimes of one flower. No garden there is so small — and it may be made on ten square feet of ground, or confined to a window box — that it has not its enduring point of interest, meaning infinitely more to its maker than any flower. This may be a tiny pond, a rustic bridge, a stone lantern, a few pebbles, a summer house, and always the little evergreen trees. Flowers may be there or not, according to the circumstances. The question which arises is never how many flowers can be planted, but which ones are best suited to the garden. The Japanese select with great care a very limited number of plants for even the most extensive gardens.
Last winter, at Christmas time, I stopped at a shop in New York to buy a little arrangement of plants that was in the window. A young Jap came forward to attend to me.
“Very pretty garden,” he said; “the prettiest garden of all.”
“Do you call it a garden?” I asked, from motives of curiosity.
“A real garden,” he said. “‘See, a place to sit, a place to walk and to think; sweet water, little tree — a beautiful garden.”
I thought then of the impossibility of reproducing an American garden in a little dish.
[ 246 ]
GARDENS OF FEW FLOWERS
Many of the old-fashioned gardens of America harbored few flowers in comparison with those of to-day; and there came also a time when they went completely out of bloom. This, however, was not through any desire on the part of their owners. The illustration on plate lxvii. is of an old garden noted along the Massa- chusetts coast, and is one most charming. At the time that the photograph was taken of this one section, there was not a flower to be seen in it. The day had passed when the peonies in the center of the circles were gloriously crowned with blooms. Nothing had been planted to take their places, and the garden had simply become a spot where pleasure was gained from the symmetry of the box edgings and the beauty of other forms of greenness. Still, there was about it the true garden feeling. It was a place of seclusion; a place where one might care to linger.
Naturally, the abolition of flowers is not necessary to a peaceful garden. This particular one had infinitely more charm when the peonies upheld their bloom than after it had perished. The peculiar beauty of the period of repose into which it entered later points, nevertheless, to the fact that the majority of gardens in America, and often those near the sea, are sadly overplanted.
I have walked through seaside gardens that were so bewildering in their profusion of varied bloom that I knew not which way to look. This was not because they held too many plants, but because they held too many different kinds which jarred with each other in color and expression. In a garden of specialized
[ 247 ]
GARDENS NEAR THE SEA
flowers, such as the one of irises at East Hampton, this sensation is not present. Although hundreds of irises dwell therein, the reign of harmony is absolute. A rose garden would be a sorry place if planted sparingly.
It is mostly in the gardens of hardy perennials that one is led to wish that there were fewer kinds of flowers.
Still, the expert gardeners of this country have the ability to vindicate all sorts of promiscuous planting. It is natural that they should wish to experiment with as many new forms of plants as possible, and merely unfortunate that they are sometimes lacking in the artistic feeling for color. Often one might believe them blind as well as deaf to inharmonious colors. Moreover, the desire now keenly felt not to allow a garden ever to pass out of bloom urges them to encourage a great variety of growth. It is mostly when it becomes coarse, high strung, and clashing that the practise seems lamentable.
One day, I asked a gardener why he had planted petunias in a section of a garden not far from corn- flowers.
“It ’ad been empty if I ’adn’t,”’ he answered with proper spirit.
And much better it would have been empty than filled with flowers shrieking in the flamboyant color he was pleased to term “pink.”
Throughout this garden there was an abundance of green. Various blooms occurred here and there; it awaited the unfolding of the autumn flowers. All, in fact, would have been well if the gardener had not put in too many flowers.
[ 248 ]
GARDENS OF FEW FLOWERS
One of the most pleasing hardy gardens that I have seen was planned by a young girl on a bit of ground twenty-five feet wide by forty feet long, and amusingly termed a sample garden. In its center there was a bed surrounded by a path of turf which in its turn was bordered by four triangular beds, their hypothenuses being shaped as segments of a circle. These beds were also surrounded by narrow grass paths, while the entire space was then outlined by a flower bed of about three feet wide. The entrance to this garden was through an arch covered with hardy rose climbers, while several outstanding shrubs connected it with the landscape. Tall perennials were used to fill the outer, surrounding bed, while the triangular spaces and the central bed were reserved for lower and some- what choicer flowers.
But the charm of this garden rested not in its de- sign, which nevertheless was simple and good, nor in its suitability to its location. It was found in the fact that too much had not been attempted, and that it was undeniably a garden of few kinds of flowers. Besides the bulbous plants, irises, columbines, daphnes, perennial baby’s breath, alyssum saxatile, cornflowers, phloxes, delphiniums, snapdragons, stocks, coreopsis, perennial asters, and hardy chrysanthemums formed its principal members. Asa whole, it gave a pleasure similar to that of a well-arranged bouquet. It lent beauty to the earth and supplied a wealth of flowers for cutting.
None of its members, besides, were plants that required particular petting or attention. Had pansies
[ 249 ]
GARDENS NEAR THE SEA
been entered, it would have been necessary to pick them each day to encourage a continuance of their bloom; dahlias and hollyhocks would have grown too large for the spaces; salvia and red-hot poker plants would have struck a note of color too high for the rest of the garden.
In fact, it is often by the process of elimination that the comparatively few desirable plants are chosen for special uses.
Not every seaside place, unfortunately, affords space for even a sample garden regularly made in a somewhat formal design. To nearly each one, however, there is a boundary line where at some point a hardy border may be stretched. In regarding many such lines of planting the question often arises: Are they not overplanted?
At one place near Seabright, New Jersey, there is a remarkably lovely hardy border extending over two hundred and fifty feet. At its back it is planted boldly with shrubs, unfolding their respective blossoms in succession, and very gradually it is tapered down to meet the grass with shrubs and plants of lower stature. Here, there are so many plants that they are almost uncountable, yet they represent comparatively few varieties. Their colors, moreover, are so_ skilfully employed that the border appears all yellow at one time, principally pink at another, blue and white at still another, and bright crimson at the high tide of the phloxes.
If this border had been planted heterogeneously instead of held closely to many eliminations, it would
[ 250 ]
PLATO LXVUOI A FORMAL GARDEN IN MAGNOLIA, M:
GARDENS OF FEW FLOWERS
have lost greatly in individuality. As it stands, how- ever, it pampers rather than offends the taste, and denotes clearly that it has been controlled by one with a knowledge of the nature and the colors of plants.
It is not a simple matter to plant a hardy border well with few kinds of flowers. As a rule such plantings are desired for color effect rather than for the outline of the flowers, their expressions, or their perfumes. Their color on the distant landscape alone holds the eye and compels the admiration. It may, therefore, be said to be a matter of personal taste whether the individuality of the plant shall be sacrificed or not to the startling effects produced by masses of color.
In the many beautiful formal gardens which are now found dotted along our coasts, there is not the danger of overplanting that so often breaks through all barriers in the supposed-to-be-unpretentious garden, and especially in hardy borders. This is, perhaps, because the formal garden is recognized as a picture built to abet the landscape, one wherein certain re- strictions and limitations are imperative. I recall one most stately garden at Bar Harbor which includes few flowers. But one would not have their number increased, since those that are there joyously thriving are sufficient in themselves to bespeak the beauty of the entire world of flowers.
Plate Ixviii. represents a formal garden in Magnolia, Massachusetts, one that is well designed and planted with few kinds of flowers. It strikes the high note of cultivation of an estate which in other places portrays, as seen in plate lxix., strong, naturalistic features.
[ 251 ]
GARDENS NEAR THE SEA
The Italian gardens, from which such American ones as the above-mentioned example in Bar Harbor have been copied, include very few flowers. They rely for their beauty on their plan, their setting, and their enduring points of interest. I have even searched through Italian gardens in vain for flowers; yet there are none that equal them in restfulness and dignity. There is a poise and a balance to these gardens that suggests infinite repose. They have also vast endurance.
Italian gardens are not now uncommon in America in places near the sea. A few can no longer be called new, and are very beautiful. Some among the newer ones that I have seen appear incomplete in design and quite unsuited to their surroundings, and seem to rely for beauty mostly upon the effulgent bloom of many kinds of flowers, including tuberous rooted begonias, geraniums, heliotrope, fuchsias, cannas, and many other bedding plants. In such places one grate- fully regards their multiplicity. It seems that nature has privileged them to charm by their: colors, and to pass over to oblivion the defects of their settings.
The greater number of our gardens near the sea are distinctly American in type, one which is more like the English gardens than those of any other country. This is quite natural, since, when the early English settlers began to beautify their grounds, they tried to fulfil the horticultural ideals in their own minds, which were those of home.
The Dutch settlers abetted the beauty of early American gardens by the introduction of many bulbous
[ 252]
GARDENS OF FEW FLOWERS
plants; and a garden planted generously with bulbs and showing a few delft or earthen pots for formal effects was apt, as it also is to-day, to be called a Dutch garden. Such sunken brick-walled gardens as are seen in Holland, however, have never become general in this country, although there are at various places notably fine examples of this conception of a garden plan. The sunken garden is, perhaps, the one of all others that should be laid out under the super- vision of a skilful landscape architect.
At present there is such an abundance of accessible material, both native and foreign, that a prodigious luxuriance is noticed in many of our gardens. Often I have thought that, if they were more simply planted, more influenced by suggestions from the Italian mode of treatment, without at all being made direct copies from the gardens under Italy’s blue sky, it would be to their betterment.
Each year the power of the formal garden becomes stronger in this country; being often preferred because every inch of space in it can be used to advantage. The naturalistic garden is also making its way rapidly, and is now more frequently seen than ever before.
The formal garden gives opportunities to place many bedding plants, palms, ornamental grasses, stand- ards, and forms of growth that have for it a special appropriateness. So also the naturalistic garden invites beautiful flowers to make their home within its boun- daries, and to live there as they do in the absolute wild. For in such a garden, plant life would show no deviation from the original types.
[ 253 ]
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These wild gardens can stand a much more abundant planting than those that are purely formal. Nature, when she strews the earth, is often very lavish. Wild flowers, besides, are fleeting in temperament. They are here to-day; to-morrow they are gone. But nature arranges that one shall come in as another goes out. No wild garden should be without the Black Cohosh or snakeroot, Cimicifuga racemosa, which lifts its long racemes of white flowers several feet high, waving like spooks in the summer moonlight. It is as valuable to the wild garden as auratum lilies are to one that is formal.
It is never pleasing to see, as sometimes happens, a naturalistic garden filled in with flowers denoting hypercultivation; nor to see plants of immature per- sonalities occupying a formal garden. No bloom is invariably better than bloom out of place.
[254]
SSVIN SVTTONDVIN SOLRUSITVUOLYN ONY TIVINHOO TLO
AAT DNVIRY NY NUNT OLLW Td
CHAPTER XX
GARDENS OF SWEET SCENT AND SENTIMENT
FTER many gardens have been considered, and their inhabitants have been located and scanned, it often seems that those in which
the individuality of the owners had run riot were the ones to live longest in the memory. For the garden is not only a place in which to make things grow and to display the beautiful flowers of the earth, but a place that should accord with the various moods of its ad- mirers. It should be a place in which to hold light ban- ter, a place in which to laugh, and, besides, should have a hidden corner in which to weep. But above all, per- haps, it should be a place of sweet scent and sentiment.
A garden without the fragrance of flowers would be deprived of one of its true rights. Fortunately, those near the sea are unusually redolent of sweet scent, the soft moisture of the atmosphere that surrounds them causing their fragrance to be more readily per- ceived than if the atmosphere were harsh and dry. It is still an open question to what extent the memory and the imagination of people are stirred by scents recurring at intervals through their existence. To many the perfume of flowers has more meaning than their outward beauty. In it they feel the spirit and the eternity of the flowers.
[255 ]
GARDENS NEAR THE SEA
Undoubtedly, a particular fragrance will bring back quickly to the mind, and with much vividness, scenes and associations which have apparently been forgotten and which might otherwise lie dormant for a lifetime. The odors of many flowers are very distinctive. The perfume of the strawberry shrub is like none other; fraxinella, lavender, lilacs, and an infinite number of flowers are as well known by their fragrance as by their appearance. And although we smell them a hundred times a season, under many and dissimilar circumstances, there is perhaps only the one association that they will definitely recall. It is the one that has affected us deeply and moved our sentiment.
The first strawberry shrub that I ever saw was given to me when a small child by a red-cheeked boy just as I went into church with my grandmother. I slipped it into the palm of my hand under my glove, and throughout the service I kept my nose closely to the opening of the glove, smelling the flower. I was reproved again and again, but I continually reverted . to my new and exquisite diversion; for, in those days, the time spent in church seemed lJonger than the rest of the whole week. Even now, each spring, when the first of these strange little flowers gives its scent to the air, I am for an instant transplanted, as it were, back to that stiff church pew, aching to be out in the open, and smelling the strawberry shrub in my glove.
Old English herb gardens were regarded by many as places of inherent sentiment, because, no doubt, the strong pungent odors of their herbs were known
[ 256 ]
AN OLD GARDEN IN SALEM, MASS
PLATE LXX
GARDENS OF SWEET SCENT
to possess a most subtle and potent influence. For while the majority of people are susceptible to the sweet odors of flowers, even those that are slight and evasive, there are others who become almost as much intoxicated with the aromatic fragrance of certain stems and leaves as the cat does with a whiff of catnip.
Thyme, about which much has been said by both ancient and modern writers, is reputed to have played strange tricks with the fancy and the imagination. I have even heard of its influence in the life of a man of this generation. According to the story, this man drove one day to the seat of a charitable brother- hood in the vicinity of his country home to make his annual gift. As no one was then in sight about the monastery, he went on into the garden, one filled with homely plants, mostly those of medicinal virtue and pungent scent. Amid these peaceful surroundings Brother Louie, a quaint figure in his brown habit, tended the flowers, his eye lit with the fire of pious enthusiasm.
The man of the world fulfilled his errand and was about to leave the garden when Brother Louie put into his hand a sprig of thyme, with its impressive, never-to-be-forgotten scent. It was carried away: one might have thought the incident closed. But the thyme had its work to do. It perfumed the pocket of the man who took it, and filled his mind with quiet, beautiful thoughts of Brother Louie working among the flowers, happier far than any king. At length its mission was accomplished. The man longed sincerely to wear the brown habit, and presented himself for
[ 257 ]
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admission to the brotherhood. It was a working order, however, and whether he felt aggrieved on being allotted the task of scrubbing the floors and assisting on a Monday with the family wash, in lieu of attending the garden with Brother Louie, is not known. When curiosity concerning him had somewhat abated, and when the populace had had its fill of peeping at him through the monastery windows, a more picturesque account of him was circulated. He was then described as sitting at the organ in the twilight sounding the call for vespers. There, at least, he may be left, a supposed captive of thyme, for he has not returned to his former life and his companions.
In spite of the increased formality of the majority of gardens, and the hundreds that exist principally for show, there are still found many that murmur an underlying note of sentiment. It is not meant that in them there bursts from the plants any unusual show of feeling, but rather that the plan of such places and their flowers are peculiarly destined to call forth the imagination and the romantic sentiment dwelling in those who tread their paths and sit under their arches. Naturally, this more often occurs in old gar- dens than in those that are new; for in the former the growth is so well established and so assured as to lack that element of uncertainty which is always a detriment to peaceful sentiment.
The garden glimpse shown in plate Ixx. is one of the oldest in Salem, where such places have long been noted for their sweetness and their seclusion. This particular garden was laid out in 1782 by an architect,
[ 258 ]
GARDENS OF SWEET SCENT
then well known, who handled its sloping ground in a skilful manner that has endured. The steps, bordered with bloom, form a mark of individuality to which the architectural feature of the simple arch gives dis- tinction. Old chestnut trees and many fruit trees have from the beginning found their home here.
Fruit trees, in fact, were conspicuous members of most of the early gardens of America. Their blossoms spread them with delicate beauty in the early season, and later their fruits typified the fulfilment of life and of their promises especially. No pleasanter spot could be imagined in which to pluck and to eat of the fruit of a tree than such an old garden.
In modern gardens fruit trees are seldom seen. It would not now be regarded as scientific to allow plants to approach them closely, since it is believed that the roots of the trees absorb so much of the nourishment of the soil that they would have, in such positions, but a poor chance of satisfactory development. Still, along the path represented by the photograph, it can be seen that box, irises, and other plants snuggle up very closely to the base of an old chestnut. And it is not for a season only that they have thriven there. They have done so for years, accommodating them- selves to conditions. The inmates of this old garden seem, indeed, to have been blessed with the spirit of willing growth. Few bare spots are visible, and plants unhealthy in appearance are not seen. Sentiment lurks there; whether in its years, its arrangement, or in its imbibed experiences, it would be difficult to relate. The irises and the Madonna lilies bloom
[259 ]
GARDENS NEAR THE SEA
together, while the peonies in the bud await their opportunity.
This terraced garden, while different in arrange- ment, exhales somewhat the same gentle power as the one shown in plate lxxi., also a garden of Salem, one well planned and tended. It holds no rare or unusual plants, but again are seen the fruit trees, box edgings, vine-covered walls and arches, faithful ferns, and garden plants.
Most of the old Salem gardens are well secluded from the surrounding traffic of humanity. They lie usually at the back of the houses, many of them being terraced down to the edge of the water. Often no hint of their existence is gained when the front door of the home is entered. By means of large trees, surrounding fences, and hedges, they are held as com- pletely in privacy as if they were far away from build- ings, street cars, and the varied activities of trade. To the inhabitants of these homes the gardens have been a great solace; the love of them is evident in the tender care they receive, and in their owners’ loyalty to their individualities. For as years come and go, these gardens change slightly. The noises of steam cars, factory bells, and the like cannot be excluded, but they are rendered less poignant by the swish of the wind in the trees, the hum of the bees about the flowers, and the songs of the birds making nests.
Gardens of less regularity than many of those of Salem can hardly be pictured. Flowers have simply been planted where ground was owned and available. Yet it is hardly in this occasional freedom from sym-
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metry of design that their plenteous sentiment is de- tected. Perhaps it is in the knowledge that they have weathered many things without themselves changing. At least, one cannot walk through such places without acknowledging that they exhale a calm and restful influence.
Naturally, there are many flowers associated with special sentiments; a vast number have figured in folklore; there are plants of renownedly romantic traditions. Still, even these mysterious plants cannot alone make up a so-called garden of sentiment. On the other hand, it seems as if incidents that have happened in certain garden sections have left an imprint that cannot be effaced.
A curious story is told in connection with an old garden near Narragansett Pier. The garden is one from which a stone might readily be thrown into the water. There, long ago, a young girl was wooed by an ardent lover, a son of the woman who built the garden. As these two walked up and down its paths in the twilight, they stopped sometimes to sit on a bench placed in front of an old York and Lancaster rose—a rose of the world, one with a vital spirit that has figured bril- liantly in history and romance. The young girl leaned toward the bush to pick one of its buds to place in her lover’s buttonhole; again he plucked a rose to fasten in her hair. The twilight deepened, and then, as sometimes happens, there slipped in a misunder- standing. Harsh words were spoken before the rose bush, swayed violently back and forth by the wind. In a burst of rage the young man fled from the girl,
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and sprang lightly into a boat fastened at the side of the water touching the garden. He put off, knowing not where, and heedless of the rising gale; for in his heart there raged a storm even fiercer—one which knew no calm, since his boat was shortly swamped and he perished without a look backward toward the garden.
The girl remained to weep; but when her tears were dry she married a cousin of her former lover, and together they went to live in a neighboring state.
Years afterward she returned, bringing with her a son on the edge of manhood. She took him to walk in the garden — the garden where she had wept. Now it is related in all seriousness that as they drew near the spot where the bench still stood before the York and Lancaster rose, the boy was seized as with a frenzy. He talked strangely, and at length ran in despair to the nearby water and drowned himself.
The story is followed by the tradition that the rose bush then withered and refused to blossom any longer, and undoubtedly it should have done so if only to make a fitting end for the melancholy occurrence. But beside this account runs another put forth by a purely realistic person, who insisted that the bush not only bore better than ever before, but that he gave away cuttings from it to many of his friends as a very great curiosity. In truth, the power of associa- tion in a garden is inexplicable and very strong.
There are innumerable tales about the phantom spirits of those who have loved and tended certain gardens, walking in them in the moonlight and stooping to smell the flowers, whose perfume is greatly intensified,
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GARDENS OF SWEET SCENT
if not altogether reserved for this hour, when it is sent forth as a call to their insect lovers. I feel it unfortunate that I have never been able to see the wraith of a garden, although in moonlit hours I have scanned many a one very closely.
But apart from this regrettable withdrawing of the ghost from my sight, I have entered gardens that have at once impressed me as places of sentiment and wondrously sweet scents; other gardens have charmed me by their perfection, even though they have evoked no especial feeling nor even fostered a distinct remembrance of them. Why this difference, I cannot tell. One thing, however, I know. A garden of sentiment should never be exposed to the gaze of the passer-by. And if its lines of planting are not at some points especially high, fairly soaring skyward, this impression of enclosed sentiment is lessened. The garden must in places appear as if shut in from the rest of the world, and from too much atmosphere, as well as from people. A garden laid flatly out under the burning sun gives a free escape to senti- ment.
When I passed by the famous box of Sylvester Manor at Shelter Island, box which has witnessed the coming and the passing of ten generations, and which has participated in the joys of each, since on wedding ceremonials it is strewn, even to a recent day, with golden oak leaves, and when I went on beyond the Madonna lilies and entered the garden proper, I knew that I had reached a place of preéminent sentiment. It was a garden not seen at a glance, for I found later
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that it included a lower garden, a terrace garden, and a water garden. There was also a special place for roses. But the dominant feature of the whole was the box set in so rambling and mysterious a fashion that, had not the present mistress of the garden walked by my side to show the way, I should have been lost in its mazelike intricacies.
The flower beds edged with box were laid out about seventy-five years ago, but the incipiency of the garden dates from 1652, at which time it is not unlikely that the thoughts of its builder clung with intense affec- tion to the home land across the sea; for it cannot be overlooked that the garden must originally have been much like an old English maze. In this garden George Fox preached to the Indians.
To-day it rests calmly in its seclusion, happy with fair blossoms. Here grow lavender and many fragrant herbs; here tall lilies glisten in the midday sun, while those floating in the water basin open wide their petals. Here hundreds of perennials live their lives and many annuals grow gayly.
In this garden there is no tense formality, no sense of newness. It is, moreover, a garden of very distinct personality.
The water-color sketch (plate Ixxii.) represents it at twilight, the hour at which the pink night moth seeks the primrose; the time when the whiteness of the tall lilies becomes more subtly fair, when the trickling water in the fountain is as the voice of the garden, and when the thoughts of its visitors are filled to overflowing.
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Such is the purpose of a garden near the sea — to bespeak peace when the waves are high, and to solace with its beauty and sweet sentiment the heart of hurried humanity.
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INDEX
Abies concolor, 41.
Abies pectinata pendula, 41.
Acer Japonicum aureum, 32.
Acer polymorphum atropurpureum, 32.
Acer polymorphum septemlobum, 32.
Achillea millefolium roseum, 176.
Achillea Ptarmica, 176.
Achillea tomentosa, 176.
Aconitum autumnale, 188.
Adam’s needle, 52.
Adonis, spring, 172.
Adonis vernalis, 172.
Ageratums, 3, 158.
Ailanthus glandulosa, 33.
Ailanthus, tree of Heaven, 33.
Akebia quinata, Japanese vine, 88.
Alder, 115.
Alyssum saxatile, 132, 162, 249.
Alyssum, sweet, 3, 130, 162.
Ampelopsis quinquefolia, 88, 95, 190.
Ampelopsis Veitchti, 89.
Andromedas floribunda, 49.
Andromedas Japonica, 49.
Anemone Japonica, 189; var. alba, 189; rosea, 189.
Anemones, 135; Japanese, 189.
Annuals, 129-134; advantageous colors of, 152-167; newly sown seeds, care of, 130; sowing time, 129.
Anthemis tinctorta, 181.
Antirrhinums, 164.
Aphis, destruction of, 157, 214.
Aquilegia Californica, 174.
Aquilegia Canadensis, 174.
Aquilegia chrysantha, 174.
Aquilegia cerulea, 174.
Arabis alpina, 171.
Aralia spinosa, 68.
Arbor vite, Peabody’s golden, 41; Thuja occidentalis, 41, 80.
Arbutus, trailing, success in transplant- ing, 170.
Aristolochia Sipho, 90.
Armeria maritima, 172.
Asclepias tuberosa, 186.
Ash, green, 23.
Asphodels, 181,
Asphodelus lutius, 181.
Aster Nove-Anglie, 190.
Asters, annual planting of, 164-166; perennial, 189; pests of, how to de- stroy, 165; Stokesia cyanea, 185.
Astilbe Japonica, 177; Queen Alexandra, 177.
Auratum lilies, 146.
Azalea amena, 48, 63, 83.
Azalea Ghent, 62.
Azalea mollis, 62, 175, 227.
Azalea nudiflora, 63.
Azalea viscosa, 63.
Azaleas, 48, 61-63, 98, 128, 144.
Baby’s breath, as border edging, 162; perennial, 162, 177, 249.
Bachelor’s buttons, 131, 158.
Baln, bee, or Oswego tea, 185.
Balsam, 164.
Barberry, 51, 72, 75.
Bedding plants, 14, 104, 253.
Bee balm, 185.
Beech, weeping, 25.
Beeches, 128, 144.
Begonias, 104, 112, 252.
Bellflower, 183.
Berberis aquifolium, 51.
Berberis Thunbergii, 72, 75.
Berberis vulgaris purpurea, 75.
Bignonia radicans, 90.
Bindweed, sea, 17.
Birches, 19, 129, 144.
Birch, weeping, 25.
Bittersweet, 93.
Blanket flowers, Gaillardias, 135, 175.
Bleeding heart, 172.
Bloodroot, 171.
Bluets, or Quaker ladies, 170.
Blue bonnets, 159.
Blue tops, 159.
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INDEX
Border, an effective, 122; at Seabright, New Jersey, 250.
Bourgainvillia vine, 160.
Box associated with the Puritans, 82; care of, 83; desirable for hedges, 82; for edging formal gardens, 129; Syl- vester Manor, Shelter Island, at, 263.
Bridal wreath, 64.
Buckthorn, 74.
Bulbs, autumn planting of, 145.
“Butter and eggs,” 117.
Butterfly weed, 186.
Buttonball, or plane tree, 22.
Burrus sempervirens. See Box.
Cabbage, skunk, 115.
Cactus, sea, 17.
Calabash, 86.
Caladium esculentum, 12.
Calendulas, 163.
Calliopsis, 163.
Calluna vulgaris, 51.
Calycanthus floridus, 69, 256.
Camomile, yellow, 181.
Campanula carpatica, 183.
Campanula grandiflora, 183.
Candytuft, 130; evergreen, 176; white, 162.
Cannas, 14; cultivation of, 136-138, 252.
Canterbury bells, 182.
Capaz plenus, 117.
Cardinal flower, 186.
Catalpa, 33, 101.
Catalpa Bunget, 33, 101.
Cat’s fancy, 173.
Cattails, 186.
Cedar, Japanese, 42; Mt. Atlas, 41; red, 42. [See also Juniperus.]
Celastrus Scandeus, 93.
Centaurea cyanus, 131, 158.
Chelone glabra, 188.
Chelone Lyonii, 188.
Cherokee rose, 16.
Cherry, Japanese weeping, 30, 128.
Chinese Loofa, or sponge gourd, 86.
Chionanthus Virginicus, 67.
Chrysanthemums, 135; planting time, 191, 249.
Cimicifuga racemosa, 254.
Clematis, 91; Crispa, 92; Henryi, 92; Jackmanii, 92; Lanuginosa, 92; Pani- culata, 91, 154; Virginiana, 92, 94.
Cobea scandens, vine, 85, 93.
Cockspur thorn, 79.
Cohosh, Black, 254.
Colchicum autumnale, 125.
Colors, floral, massing of, 245.
Columbines, 174, 249.
Convallaria majalis, 203.
Coreopsis, 163.
Coreopsis, annual, 163, 249.
Coreopsis grandiflora, 188.
Cornflowers, 158, 248.
Cornus florida, 59.
Cosmos, 13, 154, 166.
Crategus coccinea, 80.
Crategus Crus-galli, 79.
Creeping Jenny, 177.
Cress, rock, 171.
Crocuses, 57, 114, 122, 145.
Cushion Pink, 175.
Cydonia Japonica, 58, 77; var. alba simplez, 59.
Dahlias, 135, 250; Jules Crétien, 136.
Daisy, giant, 190.
Daisy, shasta, 185.
Daffodil, sea, 17.
Daffodils, 115-117; var. Barrit con- spicuus; Capar Plenus; Emperor; Empress; Glory of Leiden; Horsfieldzi; Leedsti; Orange Phoenix; Von Sion. [See also Narcissus incomparabilis.]
Daphne cneorum, 49, 249.
Delphinium. See Larkspur.
Delphinium Brunonianum, 180.
Delphinium elatum, 180.
Delphinium formosum, 180.
Deutzias, 128; Crenata, 61; Gracilis, 61, 78; Rosea, 61; Scabra candidissima, 61.
Dianthus barbatus, 175.
Dianthus plumarius, 175.
Dicentra eximia, 173.
Dicentra spectabilis, 172.
Dictamus frazinella, 141.
Digitalis, 182.
Dog hobble, 52.
Dogwood, 59.
Dusty millers, 104.
Dutchman’s pipe, 90.
“Eggs and bacon,” 117. Elder, 69.
Elephant’s ears, 12. Elm, American, 19. Elm, camperdown, 30. English primrose, 172.
[ 268 ]
INDEX
Eschscholtzias, 163. Evergreens, coniferous, planting of, 141.
Ferns, transplanting of, 139.
Fescue, red or creeping, 8.
Feverfew, 190.
Fir, Colorado Silver, 41.
Fir, Nordmann’s, 41.
Fir, silver, 40.
Fire bush, 58, 77, 122.
Flower-de-luce. See Iris.
Forget-me-not, creeping, 171.
Forsythia fortunti, 58.
Forsythia suspensa, 57.
Forsythia viridissima, 57, 58.
Foxgloves, sowing and transplanting, 182.
Fraxinella, 256.
Frazinus lanceolata, 23.
Fringe tree, 67.
Fritilaria imperialis, 123.
Fritillaria meleagris, 123.
Fritillarias, in English gardens, 123.
Fuchsias, 252; as standards, 100.
Fujiyama mountain, Boston ivy dis- covered on, 89.
Funkia Japonica, 209.
Funkia subcordata, 208.
Funkia undulata variegata, 209.
Funkias, 208.
Gaillardias, 135, 175.
Galanthus Elwesii, 112.
Galanthus Nivalis, 112.
Garden, arrangement of, 105; autumn work in the, 143-151; Colonel Young’s, at Atlantic City, 3; diffi- culties in locating, 11-17; effects of wind, sun, and salt spray, 11-13; formal, 105; herb, old English, 256; iris, 192-201; Italian, 252; Japanese, 246; naturalistic, 109; of few flowers, 245-254: old-fashioned, 105-107; place of sentiment, 255; placing of, 102-110; rose, 210-244; small, return to favor of, 104; starting of, 15.
Gas plant, 141.
Gentians, 188.
Geraniums, 14, 105, 252.
Ghosts, in gardens, 149, 262.
Gladioli, 111; corms, care of, 123; with irises, 124; with roses, 124, 137, 234.
Gladitschia triancanthos, 22, 80.
Gold dust, 132, 162.
Golden bells, Forsythias, 57.
Golden feather, 190.
Golden glow, 188.
Golden-rod, 188, 190.
Gourds, 86.
Grape hyacinth, 120.
Grass seed, creeping fescue, 8; Ken- tucky blue, 8; red top, 8.
Guinea-hen flower, 123.
Gum tree, sweet, 21, 128.
Gymnocladus dioica, 21.
Gypsophila paniculata and acutifolia, 162, 177.
Halesia tetraptera, 60.
Hawdods, 159.
Heather, Scotch, 51.
Hedges, 73-83; of Anthony Waterer, 77; of arbor vite, 80; of azalea amena, 83; of barberry, 75; of box, 81; of buckthorn, 74; of California privet, 74; of cockspur thorn, 79; of crimson baby rambler, 79; of Deutzia gracilis, 78; of hemlock spruce, 80; of honey locust, 80; of hydrangeas and snowballs, 78; of Japanese quince, 77; of Japanese rose, 79; of Norway spruce, 80; of osage orange, 75; of rose of Sharon, 76; of Spirea van Houttei, 78.
Heleniums, 188.
Heliotrope, 14, 173; as standard, 100, 104.
Heliotrope, garden, 174.
Hepaticas, 5, 7, 116.
Hercules club, 68.
Hesperis matronalis, 173.
Hibiscus Moscheutos, 187.
Hibiscus Syriacus, 60, 128.
Holland, sunken gardens of, 253.
Holly, deciduous, 72; evergreen, Ameri- can, 50; Japanese, 51.
Hollyhocks, 135, 183-185; sowing of, 138, 249.
Honeysuckle, Belgian, 88; bush, 61; climbing, or trumpet, 10, 88; Jap- anese, 87.
Hops, Japanese, desirable for vines, 85.
Houstonia cerulea, 170.
Hyacinth, grape, 120.
Hyacinths, 118-120, 145; var. Charles Dickens, 118; L’innocence, 118; La Peyrouse, 118; with tulips, 112.
Hyacinthus candicans, 119.
[ 269 ]
INDEX
Hyacinthus orientalis, 118.
Hydrangea, paniculata grandiflora, 70, 99; var. Hortensia otaksa, 71; radiata, 70.
Hydrangeas, desirable for shrubbery, 70, 78; planting time, 144; standard, 99.
Iberis sempervirens, 176.
Ilex crenata, 51.
Ilex opaca, 50.
Ilex verticillatus, 72.
Iris cristata, 196.
Iris levigata, 198.
Iris pumila, 196.
Iris Siberica, var. orientalis, 197.
Tris, flower-de-luce, 15, 144; a garden of, 192-201; English, 198; Florentine, 197; German, 122, 194; Japanese, 194, 198; oriental, 197; position of, in seaside garden, 201; Spanish, 146, 195; var. Madame Chereau, 197; Queen of May, 197.
Ivy, Boston, 89; Japanese, 89; poison, 94.
Jonquils, planting time of, 145; var. Campernelle, 117; rugulosus, 117.
Juniperus communis aurea, 42.
Juniperus prostrata, 42.
Juniperus Sabina prostrata, 42.
Juniperus Virginiana, 42.
Juniperus Virginiana glauca, 42.
Kalmia angustifolia, 49. Kalmia latifolia, 48. Kentucky coffee tree, 21. Kraunhia frutescens, 87.
Lambkill, 49, 256.
Larkspur, annual, 161; perennial (del- phinium), autumn planting of, 144, 162, 179-181.
Lathyrus latifolius, 93, 158.
Laurel, lambkill, 49; native, 48.
Lavender, 135, 138.
Lawn, an ideal, 9; drainage, grading, etc., 4, 6; effect of salt spray on, 2; English country homes, of, 5; seaside places, of, 1-10; seeding, 7; mowing, 8; watering, 8.
Leucojum estivum, 113.
Leucojum carpathicum, 113.
Leucojum vernum, 113.
Leucothoé Catesbet, 52.
Leucothoé racemosa, 52.
Ligustrum ibota, 74.
Ligustrum ovalifolium, 74, 107.
Lilacs, Persian and Chinese, 60, 122, 256; use of, in hedges, 80.
Lilies, 144; Bermuda, 204; Chinese, 206; day, 208; Japanese, 204-207; Madonna, 203; meadow, 208; protec- tion of bulbs, 202; tiger, 207; Turk’s cap, 208; water, 199; wood, 208.
Lilium auratum, 204, 207. .
Lilium auratum rubrum, 205.
Lilium Batenannie, 205.
Lilium candidum, 203, 209.
Lilium canadense rubrum, 208.
Lilium elegans, 206.
Lilium Hansoni, 206.
Lilium Harrisi, 204.
Lilium Henryi, 206.
Lilium longiflorum, 206.
Lilium Philadelphicum, 208.
Lilium speciosum album, 206.
Lilium speciosum Henryi, 206.
Lilium speciosum rubrum, 206.
Lilium superbum, 208.
Lilium tigrinum splendens, 209.
Lily-of-the-valley, 13, 203.
Liquidambar styraciflua, 21, 128.
Lobelia cardinalis, 186.
Lobelia syphilitica, 187.
Locust, honey, 22, 80.
Lonicera Belgica, 88.
Lonicera fragrantissima, 61.
Lonicera Hallena, 87.
Lonicera phylomele, 61.
Lonicera sempervirens, 10, 88.
Lonicera tatarica, 61.
Loofa, Chinese, 86.
Loosestrife, 186.
Lotus, 200.
Lythrum Salicaria, 186.
Magnolia acuminata, 29.
Magnolia conspicua, 28.
Magnolia glauca, 29.
Magnolia macrophylla, 29.
Magnolia soulangeana, 29.
Magnolia stellata, 28.
Magnolia tripetala, 29.
Magnolia, Massachusetts, formal gar- den at, 251.
Magnolias, Asiatic, 27, 29; native, 29.
Mahonia, or evergreen barberry, 51.
Mallow, rose, 187.
[270 ]
INDEX
Maple, Japanese, 31, 128; red, 57; silver, 31; swamp, 31; Weir's cut-leaved, 25
Marguerite, hardy, 181.
Marigolds, 163.
Marsh rosemary, 17.
May bells, 203.
Meadow rue, 176.
Meadow saffron, 125.
Mignonette, 130, 167.
Mock orange, 68.
Monarda didyma, 185.
Moneywort, 177.
Monk’s-hood 188; with Anemone Ja- ponica, 189.
Monte Carlo, gardens of, 156.
Moonflowers, Japanese, desirable an- nual vines, 85.
Morning glories, Japanese, desirable annual vines, 85.
Moss pink, 172.
Mulberry, tea’s weeping, 30.
Muscari Botryoides, 120; var. alba, 120; commutatum, 120.
Narcissi. See Daffodils. Narcissus Horsfieldit, 117. Narcissus incomparabilis, 117. Narcissus maximus, 117.
Narcissus poeticus, 117.
Narcissus pocticus ornatus, 117. Narcissus polyanthus, 116. Nasturtiums, 153; climbing, 85, 91. Nelumbian speciosum, 200.
New England, gardens of, 105.
Oak, chestnut, 24; pin, 25; red, 24; scarlet 24; swamp white, 24; willow, 24.
Orange, mock, 68; osage, 75.
Oswego Tea, 185.
Peonia festiva maxima, 140. __
Peonia officinalis flora plena, 139.
Peonia solfatare, 140.
Peonia tenutfolia, 140.
Palms, 12, 253.
Pansies, 127, 155; for border edgings, 156, 249.
Papaver nudicaule, 134.
Pea, perennial, 93, 158.
Pea, sweet, cultivation of, 156-158; var. Black Knight, 157; Blanche Ferry, 157; Dorothy Eckford, 157;
navy blue, 157; Queen Victoria, 157; White Spencer, 157.
Pearl, the, 176.
Peonies, as standards, 97; planting of, 139-141.
Perennials, 168-191; autumn planting of, 144; raising in seed bed, 169.
Petunias, 14, 154; with heliotrope, 100, 154.
Pheasant’s-eye pink, 175.
Philadelphus aureus, 69.
Philadelphus coronarius, 68.
Phlox, perennial, 144, 178; color effects of, 179; Drummondi, 159; General Chanzy, 179.
Phlox subulata, 172.
Picea alba, 36.
Picea aurea, 37.
Picea Engelmanni, 38.
Picea excelsa, 36, 80.
Picea excelsa inverta, 37.
Picea orientalis, 37.
Picea pungens, 37.
Pine, Austrian, 39; Bhotans, 39; Mugho, 40; Scotch, 40; white, 39. Pink, moss, 172; pheasant’s-eye, 175;
sea, 172.
Pinus Austriaca, 39.
Pinus excelsa, 39.
Pinus mughus, 40.
Pinus Strobus, 39.
Pinus sylvestris, 40.
Pinxter flower, 63.
Plane tree, 22.
Planting, spring and summer, 127-142.
Plants, bulbous, 111-126.
Platanus orientalis, 22.
Platycodon grandiflorum, 183.
Poker plants, red-hot, 135, 188, 250.
Pond-lilies. See Water-lilies.
Poplar, Carolina, 23.
Poppies, annual, 131, 133; California,
163; Iceland, 134; Oriental, 134; perennial, 134, 173; Shirley, 130, 162.
Populus deltoides, 23.
Portulacca, 130, 131, 132, 154.
Primrose, English, 172.
Primula vulgaris, 172.
Pruning of roses, 214.
Pruning of shrubs, 67.
Privet, California, 74, 107; Japanese, 74.
Pussy willow, 115.
[271]
INDEX
Pyrethrum parthenifolium aureum, 190. Pyrethrum uliginosum, 190.
Quaker ladies. See Bluets.
Queen Alexandra, 177.
Quercus palustris, 25.
Quince, Japanese, 58, 77; for flowering hedges, 59.
Ragged sailors, 159.
Red-hot poker plant, 135, 188, 250.
Retinospora obtusa, var. nana, 43.
Rhamnus cathartica, 74.
Rhododendron Catawbiense, 47.
Rhododendron maximum, 47.
Rhododendrons, 46, 113, 189; English hybrid, 47.
Rhus glabra laciniata, 71.
Rhus radicans, 94.
Rhus typhina, 71.
Rock bells, 174.
Rock cress, 171.
Rocket, sweet, 173.
Rosa rugosa, 79, 211.
Rose bay, 47.
Rose, Cherokee, 16.
Rose, crimson baby rambler, 79.
Rose, crimson rambler, 79, 239.
Rose, Japanese, 79.
Rose mallow, 187.
Rose of Sharon, 60, 128; as standard, 98; for ornamental hedges, 76, 79. Roses, culture of, 210-244; everbloom- ing, 128, 228; formal designs of, 215; hardy, protection of, 150; injurious insects, 214; standard, list of, 97; trailing, 242-244; Wichuraiana, 240,
242.
Roses, hybrid perpetual, 217-228; var. Alfred Colomb, 225; American beauty, 97, 218; Anna de Dies- bach, 225; Baroness Rothschild, 220; Baronne de Boustetten, 225; Boule de Niege, 227; Clio, 220; Coquette des Alps, 226; Coquette des blanches, 226; Countess of Rosebery, 221; Frau Karl Druschki, 97, 217, 218, 226; General Jacqueminot, 97, 223; Gloire Lyonnaise, 227; Liberty, 223, 235; Louis Van Houtte, 225; Ma- dame Alfred Carriére, 227; Ma- dame Charles Wood, 224; Madame Gabrielle Luizet, 221; Margaret Dickson, 97, 226; Mme. Plantier,
226; Magna Charta, 225; Mrs. John Laing, 97, 218, 221; Mrs. R. G. Sharman-Crawford, 221; Paul Ney- ron, 97, 221; Perfection des Blanches, 226; Perle des Blanches, 226; Persian yellow, 227; Prince Camille de Rohan, 224; Richmond, 223, 235; Soleil d’or, 227; Ulrich Brunner, 97, 224; Victor Verdier, 225; York & Lancaster, 261.
Roses, moss, 228; var. Blanche Moreau,
Princess Adelaide, white.
Roses, Polyantha, bush and climbing,
239-242; var. Anny Muller, 239; Baby Dorothy, 239; Baltimore belle, 241; Clotilde Soupert, 240, 241; Dorothy Perkins, 240; Empress of China, 241; Katherine Zeimet, 239; Keystone (crimson rambler), 240; climbing Killarney, 241; Lady Gay, 241; Mrs. Robert Perry, 241; Veilchenblau, 242.
Roses, tea, 229-234; var. Bon silene,
231; the bride, 231; Bridesmaid, 230; Catharine Mermet, 930; Duchesse de Brabant, 231; Etoile de Lyon, 232; Francois Dubreuil, 230; Freiherr von Marschall, 230; Madame Hoste, 233; Madame Pierre Guillot, 232; Maman Cochet, 97, 230, 231, 232; Maréchal Neil, 233; Maréchal Robert, 232; Marie van Houtte, 232; Perle des Jardins, 233; Princess Alice de Mo- naco, 232; Safrano, 233; Souvenir de J. B. Guillot, 230; Souvenir de Pierre Notting, Souvenir d’un ami, 231; sunrise, 233; sunset, 233.
Roses, hybrid tea, 234-240; var. Belle
Siebrecht, 97, 236; Bessie Brown, 238; Caroline Testout, 97, 217, 237; Franz Deegan, 238; Griiss an Tep- litz, 236; J. B. Clark, 235; Kaiserin Augusta Victoria, 238; Killarney, 236; Lady Ashtown, 237; La France 97, 236, 237; Madame Abel Chatenay, 237; Madame Jules Grolez, 235; Madame Pernet Ducher, 238; Ma- guafrano, 237; Merveille de Lyon, 217; meteor, 235; Mildred Grant, 238; My Maryland, 237; Perle von Godenberg, 239; Souvenir de Wootton, 235.
Rosa wichuraiana and hybrids, 242. Rudbeckia lanceolata, 188. Rue, meadow, 176.
[272]
INDEX
Saffron, meadow, 125.
Salem, gardens of, 107, 149, 258-260; willows at, 20.
Saliz alba, 20.
Saliz aurea pendula, 21.
Saliz Babylonica, 20.
Salvia, 14, 154, 250.
Sambucus canadensis, 69.
Sanguinaria Canadensis, 171.
Scilla Stberica, 114.
Sea bindweed, 17.
Sea cactus, 17.
Sea daffodil, 17.
Sea health, 211.
Sea lavender, 24.
Sea pea, 17.
Sea pink, or thrift, 172.
Sea weeds, 17.
Seed bed, 169.
Seed, grass, Kentucky blue, 8; red or creeping fescue, 8; redtop, 8.
Shirley poppies, 130, 162.
Shrubs, deciduous, 55-72; choosing of, 56; pruning of, 67; strawberry- scented, 69, 256.
Shrubs, evergreen, broad-leaved, 46-54.
Silver bell tree, 60.
Snakeroot, or black cohosh, 254.
Snapdragons, 164, 249.
Sneezewort, 188.
Snowballs, 66, 78, 98, 128, 144.
Snowberry, 72.
Snowdrop tree, 60.
Snowdrops, bulbs should be planted in autumn, 113, 145; effective in border, 122; lawn an appropriate place to plant, 112; single and double, 112; spring, or dwarf, 113.
Snowflake, spring or dwarf, 112.
Snowflake, summer, 113.
Soil, fertilization of, 1, 6; importance of good, 2; of seaside places, 1-10; sandy, favorable to garden builders, 3.
Solomon’s seal, 208.
Spirea Billardi, 64.
Spirea Bumalda, 64, 77.
Spirea Japonica, 177.
Spirea opulifolia aurea, 64.
Spirea prunifolia, 64.
Spirea Thunbergii, 64.
Spirea Van Houttet, 64, 78.
Spireas, 64, 78, 177.
Spruce, Colorado blue, 37; “Glory of
spruces,” 38; hemlock, 38; hemlock, Sargent’s pendulous, 39; Norway, 36; Norway, golden, 37; Oriental, 37; weeping, 37; white, native, 36.
Squills, or scillas, 57, 114, 122, 145.
Staff vine, 93.
Standards, a chat on, 96-101.
Stocks, ten-weeks, 160, 249.
Stokesia cyanea, 185.
Sumac, 71.
Sunflowers, 188.
Sweet alyssum, 130, 162.
Sweet peas, 129, 147, 156-158.
Sweet william, 144, 154, 161, 175.
Sycamore, 22.
Symphoricarpos racemosus, 72.
Syringa vulgaris, 60.
Tamarix, 63, 99.
Tamariz galica, 63.
Taxus baccata, 43.
Taxus baccata aurea, 44. Tecoma radicans, vine, 90. Ten-week stocks, 160, 249. Thalictrum dioicum, 176. Thorn, American white, 80. Thorn, cockspur, 79. Thrift. See Sea pink. Thuja occidentalis, 41, 80. Thyme, 257.
Thyone briarcus, 17. Tigridias, 124.
Torylon pomiferum, 75. Trailing arbutus, 170. Traveler’s joy, 190.
Trees, deciduous, 18-34; evergreen, 35-45; fruit, 259. [See also names of trees.]
Tritoma express, 189.
Tritoma uvaria grandiflora, 189.
Tritomas, 188.
Tsuga Canadensis, 38.
Tsuga Sieboldi, 39.
Tulips, 120-122, 145; var. Cottage, 121; Darwin, 121; Duc van Thol, 121; Dutch 121; Gesneriana, 121; Parrot, 121.
Tulip tree, 31.
Turtle head, 188.
Valerian officinalis, 173.
Verbenas, 104.
Viburnum dentatum, 67.
Viburnum opulus, var. sterile, 66.
[273]
INDEX
Viburnum plicatum, 66.
Viburnum tomentosum, 67.
Vines, annual planting of, 85; beauty of, 84; care of, in autumn, 146; indis- pensable to home grounds, 94.
Virginia creeper, 88, 95, 190.
Waterer, Anthony, 64, 77. Water-lilies, cultivation of, 199. Weigelia candida, 66.
Weigelia Eva Rathke, 66. Weigelia rosea, 65.
Weigelias, 65, 128.
Willow, weeping, 20; white, 20.
Windflower, Japanese, 189.
Wistaria, vine, 86; Chinese white, 87; Kraunhia frutescens, 87.
Woodbine, 88.
Yew, English, 43.
Yucca filamentosa, 53. Yucca floriosa recurva, 53. Yucca pendulifolia, 53. Yuccas, 52-54.
Zinnias, 163.
[ 274 ]