CHAPTER XII. Some Ways and Means

SOME WAYS AND MEANS

“No gardener has made experiments, however small, in the formation of a rock garden and the culture of Alpine plants without bringing a new gladness to himself and others.”—S. REYNOLDS HOLE, A Book About the Garden.

For such as wish to set about creating an Alpine meadow, either as an attractive feature of their pleasure-grounds or—which is more to the point—as a completing part of their rock-garden, let me at once say that this volume is no detailed vade mecum, and that, for the cultural requirements of the plants mentioned, recourse must be had to the many good books already dealing with that phase of the subject. All that is pretended here is to point the way to a much-neglected path in Alpine circumstance and to attempt to arouse the necessary enthusiasm for its better and more just appreciation, incidentally indicating what may be novel in its aspect and untouched by Alpine gardening books. To this end, then, I would try to conjure up a representative field or meadow of the Alps. But, before doing so, let me impress upon the reader that, not only will it be no Alpine field in the popular sense, but that we may occasionally have to descend even to the fields of the Swiss plain in order to find one or two subjects which we can use with advantage to enrich our scheme—plants such as the Star of Bethlehem and Scilla bifolia. The Swiss plains lie high when judged by English standards; rarely, if ever, do they fall below some 1,200 feet.

* * * * *

The field I have in my mind’s eye as I write these lines is one which, “with its early and exquisite diversities of form and colour”—to quote again from Dean Hole’s little book—“is a new and large delight.” It is one in which the bulbs, hundreds upon hundreds in number and about five in kind, burst into life with the grass in the first days of spring. White and purple Crocus vernus, rosy Crocus-like Bulbocodium vernum, and yellow Gagea are the first-comers, quickly followed by the golden Daffodil (Narcissus Pseudo-narcissus), the bright blue Scilla bifolia, the green-and-white Star of Bethlehem (Ornithogalum umbellatum) and its handsome large-flowered relative, O. nutans. Then, following close upon the Violet, Cowslip, and Oxlip, come the earlier of the Orchids—Orchis Morio, O. mascula, and O. maculata. A little later Myosotis sylvestris spreads a blue haze over the field, aiding most admirably the lively pink of Orchis (Gymnadenia) conopsea, and rendering the appearance of Paradisia Liliastrum, the paper-white Paradise Lily, daintier than ever. And now I see a glorious multitude of Pheasant-eye Narcissus (Narcissus poeticus), with here and there a tall, deep blue or purple Columbine. Lemon-yellow Biscutella lævigata, too, clear-blue Linum alpinum, and white Potentilla rupestris blend their blossoms to produce a lovely harmony in true spring-like key. Muscari comosum throws up its curious blue-purple spikes, over-topped by the white sprays of Anthericum Liliago. And in the moister part of the meadow I see great colonies of Ranunculus aconitifolius and the yellow Globe-Flower (Trollius europæus) sown in most happy manner with our Ragged-Robin (Lychnis Flos-cuculi), presently to be joined by bright-pink regiments of Bistort or Snakeweed (Polygonum Bistorta). And then, when Centaurea montana, accompanied by Geranium sylvaticum, Salvia pratensis, Lychnis dioica (the Red Catchfly), Silene Cucubalus (the Bladder Campion), and Polemonium cæruleum usher in the summer, the field is rich indeed in blue, mauve, lilac, red, and pink, with a distinct leaning towards blue, mauve, and lilac. And these colours seem to hold their own to the end. White may come with the Ox-eye Daisy (Chrysanthemum leucanthemum) and the many Umbelliferæ; red may come with brilliant Centaurea uniflora and crimson C. nigra, the common Hard-head; yellow may come with tall Hypochœris uniflora and such Buttercups as Ranunculus bulbosus and R. acris, but blue and mauve and lilac seem always to predominate; for the Rampions (Phyteuma betonicæfolium and P. orbiculare) and Campanulas (C. rotundifolia and C. rhomboidalis) join forces with the Meadow Clary and the Wood Crane’s-bill and linger on until the Martagon Lily is gone out of flower and the field stands more than ready for the scythe. Indeed, long after the scythe has done its worst, and Colchicum autumnale is a thing of yesterday, and autumn’s fires have paled, and

“The few late flowers have moisture in the eye,”

those flowers, or the major portion of those flowers, will be blue and mauve and lilac—Campanula, Geranium, and Salvia.

A field such as this is a garden in itself, and a revelation, surely, for those who know only our home-fields. And it will be noted that in such a field there need be no destruction of effective English field-flowers. Indeed, the addition of Alpine wealth to our home-fields ought not to oust any but rank invaders, such as the Plantain, the Nettle, or the Bindweed, or other “volunteers,” as Californians picturesquely call them. Our Buttercups, Daisies, Orchids, and Red Sorrel should be secure; Dandelions and Ox-eye Marguerites can, and should, continue their reign as of yore; for all of these are constituents of meadows in the Alps. Thus, if we create meadows to companion our rockworks, we should be growing many an Alpine which at present we do not allow among our Alpines; and in this way, if in no other, our Alpine gardens would be far more complete, far more representative, and, therefore, far more worthy the name.

No; because a flower is already common in England is no necessary reason why it should be taboo in any Alpine field we may create in England. Indeed, such common things as the Marsh Marigold (Caltha palustris), the two Buttercups (Ranunculus acris and R. bulbosus) and the Bladder Campion (Silene Cucubalus) are most precious. Who that has seen the Marsh Marigold pencilling with golden lines the course of some mountain rivulet through the spring fields, and lying, with Primula farinosa, a brilliant mass, in some juicy hollow; or the two Buttercups, blending with acres of Ranunculus aconitifolius, and forming a filmy sea of yellow and white; or slopes packed with the Bladder Campion and the tall Rampion (Phyteuma betonicæfolium), a perfect picture of grey-white and blue,—who that has seen these common flowers thus growing but has not vowed rarity to be no essential passport to the ranks of beauty? I remember once—it was at Montroc, near the Col des Montets—passing over a meadow-slope of Bladder Campion and Rampion, with just a sprinkling of that other and closely allied Campion, Silene nutans (the Nottingham Catchfly), and the effect so fascinated me, as to send up these Campions considerably in my esteem, as subjects with decorative possibilities of which I had not dreamed.

Objection may possibly be taken to the large area required for the creation of an Alpine meadow in comparison with its short duration as “a thing of beauty.” It will perhaps be objected that our field must be mown; that the ripening growth cannot be allowed “to lie in cold obstruction and to rot”; that, from July to the end of the year, the field will be a stubbly place of emptiness, whereas our rockwork will bear a continual round of interest until the coming of the frost. And this complaint would be reasonable if we were dealing with just an English meadow set with certain Alpine plants to make it gayer than is its habit. But we are not—not, that is to say, if we are contemplating the meadow as a companioning feature of our rock-garden. A typical Alpine meadow is full of “accident”; there is nothing of the billiard-table about its eventful surface. Palpably, it must have been the scene of utmost violence before Nature decked it out with verdure. Steep depressions; wide gullies; abrupt limits, falling suddenly away in a grassless, rocky bank to a rough path below,—such “accidents” as these break its even tenor. Rocks, grey and lichen-flecked, crop up from it here and there—rocks hurled in some past fury from the heights above or borne from afar upon the breast of some ancient glacier; for an Alpine field, more often than not, is a delightful combination of rockwork and pasture. Hence there is accommodation for a much wider range of plant-life than in a meadow run upon English lines, and the season of interest is, therefore, as long-lived as that of any part of our garden. “Accident,” indeed, is the constant characteristic of it, and floral variety the natural corollary. When the hay has been made upon the richer portions of it, the poorer or more broken parts and the rocks continue to abound in blossom, giving us such things as the Thalictrums, Monkshoods, Peas, Veronicas, Pinks, Saxifrages, Sempervivums, and Sedums.

When, therefore, we choose the parcel of ground to be transformed into a Swiss mountain meadow, we should not be dismayed if its surface is already more than undulating; we should not summon assistance to level it up and smooth it out. We are not proposing to make a croquet-lawn, but are supposed to be inspired by Nature in one of her wild, “irresponsible” moods. Violence, however, should depend upon size. If we are dealing with several acres, we can afford to be grand with regard to “accident”; but if the land at our disposal is, perhaps, half an acre, irregularity should be to scale; for to be artistic we should avoid extravagance.

Rocks, as has been said, are an almost essential feature of an Alpine field. The ground should rise towards them and should be of a poorer nature than where the grass is to be really meadowy; for upon the poorer ground we shall be dependent for many colonies of gay and interesting plants which would be out of place, even they could exist, among the thicker grasses. Here we may count upon brilliance long after the Geranium and its field-consorts have been mown down—brilliance afforded by such subjects as Ononis natrix, Linum tenuifolium, L. alpinum, Jasione montana, Campanula spicata, C. barbata, C. persicifolia, Trifolium alpinum, Eryngium alpinum, Vicia onobrychioides, Veronica urticæfolia, Lathyrus heterophyllus, Anthyllis vulneraria, Carduus defloratus, Verbascum phlomoides, and Onobrychis viciæfolia, the rosy Sainfoin or “wholesome hay,” for which the ass is said to bray.

The rocks employed ought, in greater part, to be of a “generous” nature, not hard and unresponsive. They should if possible be even soft (as rocks go) and somewhat liable to disintegration—rocks upon which, with a little preliminary encouragement, Sedums, Dianthus, and Sempervivums can take root. They ought not to be built up to form what is generally recognised as a rockwork, but should be large, massive, and sparsely set, cropping up from the ground haphazard and as if their greater bulk were beneath the soil. Grass should be encouraged to grow about them, even upon them in places; and Poa alpina, forma vivipara is a suitable, as well as a most interesting, grass for this purpose. The Alpine Clover, too (Trefolium alpinum), may well be encouraged to spread around the base of these rocks and over the ground that slopes up to them. With its large, loose, rosy flower-heads, sometimes white or lilac, it is an ever-welcome June visitor, especially where it luxuriates; as, for instance, at Le Planet, below the French side of the Col de Balme.

I have said that the rocks ought, in greater part, to be of a “generous” nature; and I have said this because a hard and unresponsive rock here and there would not be out of place. Although quantity equally with quality is the predominant note in Alpine floral circumstance, it is not an invariable rule, and something of barrenness only adds to the scene of plenty. Moreover, a cold, bare rock with just one cleft in it where some single tuft of Dianthus, or of Veronica saxatilis, for instance, can cling is often a very precious object amid a surrounding exuberance of blossom. Often in English rock-gardens there is too little unoccupied rock. Ubiquity of plant life in this respect is not so artistic as when there is a modicum of reticence; nor is it so truthful.

Another by no means inappropriate feature is that which can be lent by shrubs or bushes; not as hedges, for Switzerland, when compared with England, may be said to be devoid of

“... Little lines Of sportive wood run wild.”

characteristic commonplaces in England, where, it is said, they cover one and a half million acres, they are rare in Switzerland; or, at any rate, as Leslie Stephen remarked, “those detestable parallelograms, which cut up English scenery with their hedgerows, are sternly confined to the valley.” And in the valley they are comparatively scarce, and lack the charm pertaining to the English hedgerow.

No; if our field is to have an Alpine allure, hedges must be tabu. But a negligent grouping around the rocks or upon the outskirts of the field, of such bushes as Rhododendron ferrugineum, Rosa alpina, Berberis vulgaris, Rosa pomifera, Juniperus nana, Sambucus racemosa, and the two Honeysuckles, Lonicera alpigena and L. nigra, would not only enhance the effect and interest, but would tally with Nature as she generally rules in the Alps. Nor would the Bird Cherry (Prunus avium), if kept in bush form, be out of place. This lovely spring-flowering tree, treated as a hedgerow subject on the plateau at the back of Lausanne, is an arresting object in the fields around Chamonix at the end of May. And here, with the shade and shelter of such bushes, may come the nobly plumed Goat’s Beard (Spiræa Aruncus), the mauve and the cream-plumed Thalictrum aquilegifolium, the deep-blue Aconitum napellus, the violet-blue A. paniculatum, the creamy-white A. Lycoctonum, the rosy Adenostyles albifrons, the ever-graceful Solomon’s Seal (Polygonatum verticillatum), the blue-mauve Mulgedium alpinum, the red-brown Lilium Martagon, the brilliant orange L. croceum, the pale-yellow Salvia glutinosa, the golden Lathyrus luteus, the pink and feathery Dianthus superbus, the Fennel-like Meum athamanticum, the distinctive Umbellifer, Laserpitium latifolium, besides such Orchids as Epipactis atrorubens, E. latifolia, Cephalanthera ensifolia, C. pallens, C. rubra, and Habenaria (Plantanthera) chlorantha.

If we are to have some kind of boundary-mark to our field, let it be by preference a low, mortarless wall of fairly large rough stones or pieces of rock built up with earth—a sort of rockwork wall. These walls may be met with almost anywhere in the Swiss mountains, and are frequently composed of fragments of rock which at one time and another have been strewn about the fields by rockfalls or avalanches. They often become the home of brilliant masses of such plants as Saponaria ocymoides, Silene rupestris, Gypsophila repens, Helianthemum vulgare, Arabis alpina, Calamintha alpina, and Cerastium alpinum, thus adding considerably to the gaiety and charm of the fields—a gaiety and charm which in the case of these walls lasts well into the autumn.

Some difficulty may be experienced over the grass which is to accompany the meadow-flowers. Indeed, it is an objection usually raised whenever I have broached the subject of Alpine fields to gardening enthusiasts; they fear that English meadow-grass would overwhelm the stranger-flowers by leaving them no room to breathe. But is not this obstacle one rather of hasty imagining than of reality? We are not proposing to put Viola alpina, Gentiana verna, or the Soldanella into the field. Moreover, there are grasses and grasses; and I believe a very suitable selection could be made from any of the leading seed-merchants. I should suggest that the ground be sown with smaller, daintier grasses, and only after the flowering-plants have become more or less established; and I imagine that if this were done—and a sharp eye kept for the ever-ready invasion by native weeds—the imported field-flowers would hold their own.

An interesting fact in connection with Alpine fields—one that should not be copied in England—is the tendency of what is usually shade-loving vegetation to creep out into the sunlight. In spite of the intensity and power of the sun’s rays, even certain ferns, such as Aspidium Lonchitis, the Holly-fern, and Polystichum Filix-mas, seem to think nothing of basking upon the hottest slopes. True, their roots are generally sheltered by rock and stone, but the fronds look the sun squarely in the face; and yet, what can possibly be fresher and more engaging than, for instance, the masses of Parsley-fern to be met with in the stony places of the granitic Alps? Wood-Sorrel, too, will come out into the open; so will the little Alpine London Pride (Saxifraga cuneifolia) and the little Yellow Violet; so, also, will the May Lily or False Lily-of-the-Valley (Smilacina bifolia). In England, Astrantia major, when found, is said to seek the partial shade of copse and spinny, but here on these Alpine fields it is in the full sunshine—and looking very much the better for such boldness. It is as though the higher plants climb, the less they fear the light, extraordinarily searching though this latter be; it is as though they revel in the purity, and, casting retirement to the winds, take on a new and healthier joy in life.

There is, perhaps, just one other matter calling for special attention: the grouping of colours. Alpine fields own immense variety in this regard. Some will be almost of uniform tint, while others are of a bewildering, diverse blend. One will be blue and white (Campanula rhomboidalis and Ox-eye Daisy); another will be blue and red (Salvia pratensis and Lychnis diocia); another, yellow and pink (the Globe-Flower and the Bistort); while another will be a close, irregular mixture of some score or more of colours, with no one in particular predominating. Although Nature in her wildness is almost invariably “happy,” it is only natural that some of her results should be happier than others; and it is well to take note of the best she can do. Personally, I find her happiest when she keeps her palette simple, painting broadly, and not indulging in Segantini-like technique. And surely her simpler floral harmonies are among the perpetual delights of the Alps, and incapable of being bettered by even the most fancifully fastidious of “post-impressionists”? What could be more charming than, for instance, the simple combination of pale yellow and paper-white, or of rosy-pink and rich mauve when, as is quite usual, Biscutella and Cerastium, or Saponaria ocymoides and Calamintha alpina are luxuriating around and among the rocks; or when blue Myosotis and white Paradise Lily, or canary-coloured Crepis and sky-blue Veronica, or white Potentilla and rosy-mauve Geranium, or vivid orange Arnica and lilac Orchids are blooming in important numbers side by side among the grasses? I do not advocate formality—the formality depicted in Andrew Marvell’s lines:

“See how the flowers, as at parade, Under their colours stand display’d”:

which suggests the careful horrors of bedding-out. A certain negligence is imperative; we may be studious as regards effect, but we must not show it. The question of colour-grouping is certainly one worthy of careful consideration; for if gardening is not exactly an art that “doth mend Nature,” it is, at all events, a selective art, picking and choosing of Nature’s best and bringing this together within special confines, there to show in a series of close-knit tableaux that which wild Nature spreads out far and wide among much that, æsthetically, is of secondary “happiness.”

L’ENVOI

“But none has hope like thine! Thou through the fields and through the woods dost stray, Roaming the country-side, a truant boy, Nursing thy project in unclouded joy, And every doubt long blown by time away.”

MATTHEW ARNOLD, The Scholar-Gipsy.

Pen- and brush-craft pale their ineffectual fires before the beauty of Alpine grass-lands, and flawful and halting has been the manner of presenting my subject; but I hope a sufficient glimpse of its fascination and importance will have been caught to raise enthusiasm to the point of making amends for a neglectful past. Whatever may be the verdict upon the question of introducing Swiss floral wealth to our meadows generally, perhaps enough has been said to make it plain that very many of the mountain field-flowers cry aloud to be treated as field-flowers in every Alpine garden where there is scope for, and pretensions to, completeness. And I believe that the cry will be answered. I believe that the value of the fields, in the economy of Alpine plant-life, has only to be placed earnestly before conscientious gardeners and lovers of flowers for it to meet with immediate and becoming diligence. I believe it will be seen that a rockwork is not the first, last, and only home we may make for Alpines in England, and that it is as unlovely as it is unjust to tar all of them with one and the same brush and think that, because they are called Alpines, they must necessarily be given a perch dominating the rest of the garden. I therefore believe that one more of our cherished conventionalities will soon be relegated to the “Valhalla of bad taste.”

We “are still looking through a kaleidoscope at ever-changing views,” and “the eternal verities” have as yet by no means been sounded to their bases. If “Badsworth” can find sufficient sanction to talk like this of auction bridge, with how much more reason may it not be said of gardening and the cult of Nature? It is doubtful if we have reached much that is final in anything; certainly not in gardening. Gardening—or flower-gardening, since that is the department with which we are here dealing—flower-gardening is something more than the mere growing of blossoms to please, something more than the mere forming of a living herbarium, something more than the mere creation or collecting of “novelties” for the sole sake of novelty; there is something deeper and more difficult to talk about than that—something none the less real because largely indefinable. As earnest, thinking gardeners, our views and sentiments are not limited to a mere toying with the soil and with attractive vegetation. We are not children—though we ought to be, and are. I mean, we do not garden—we do not build Alpine rockworks and plant them with gay flowers quite so irresponsibly as children build mud-castles and stick them over with coloured oddments. There is a significant profundity in the meanest of our efforts—even in the building of mud-castles; and in the maturer effort of gardening it is only natural that this should be of richer meaning.

Gardening is a saving grace in any nation. It would be invidious to name examples; enough to say that nations with marked propensities for gardening figure prominently in past and present history. Such nations, though “insurgent sons,” are necessarily less so than they would otherwise be; for they live nearer to the truth of things, nearer to Nature. Gardening touches well-springs of being, and helps materially towards the moral advancement of a race. It is affected by the same fundamental “psychic” influence as is painting, or, indeed, any other of our kindred enthusiasms. In it we are striving, not so much to express Nature, as to express ourselves through Nature; not so much to transcribe Nature line for line, as to translate—as creatures who consider ourselves so much apart from, so much above, Nature—what we think we feel, perhaps see, and almost certainly dream in her. And far be it from me to aver that we are not striving even to supplant Nature—seemingly a mad ambition, for in the end, do as we will, Nature, and nothing but Nature, has found expression. Yet it is not quite as mad an ambition as a first inspection would lead us to suppose. Indeed, it is good, if not actually great; for it is the biggest of the many bunches of carrots dangling in front of the human animal’s nose, inducing him to keep “pegging away.”

Independent and original as we may consider ourselves, we yet from time to time have to turn and take our cue from Nature. She, after all, is the source at which we must refresh our jaded imaginations; she is the storehouse from which we must draw new blood, new energy, new ideas; she instigates our ideals and holds the cause and means for inspiration; without her promptings, in fact, we should go bankrupt. In the Buddhist “Sankhya-Karika” we read how, “like a danseuse who retires from the dance after she has shown herself to the crowd, Nature retires after she has shown herself in all her splendour to the soul”—after she has shown herself to the soul. The aim of the best art is not slavishly to copy Nature, but to catch and translate the dreams she suggests.

“Stoop to earth’s service, and behold All heaven shall blossom into gold.”

We may paint as much as we like “from imagination” or “inner consciousness,” but if Nature were not all the time posing at our elbow, and if we did not from time to time cast covert glances at her as our model, our picture would never be “inspired”; it would either harp tediously upon ancient themes and methods, or else “advance” into sheer chaotic incoherence.

And so it is that we have now come, I think, to a time in the history and use of Alpine rockworks when we must turn again to Nature for fresh inspiration, for improved ideals. The time is passing when Alpine conditions were held to be sufficiently represented by the rock-fortresses of the Alps,

“And all the garrisons were flowers.”

Of course, these garrisons are, and must always remain, the most prominent and unique of vegetation’s Alpine marvels, but they cannot properly be thought to speak for all; they are, as it were, the militant éclaireurs set upon the craggy heights and watching over the peaceful hosts of their fellows upon the fields. As is the way in all our activities, we hug a truth a long time before becoming aware that it is not the whole truth. Perception has small beginnings, advance is slow, and exaggeration, meantime, is the very breath of progress. We ill-use a truth by over-kindness; our ecstasy forces it to lie. We dwell extravagantly upon it until it becomes partially false; then we move on. And this, I find, is what has happened, and is happening, in the case of Alpine rockworks. We have for long dwelt alone with them as with the last word upon the housing of Alpine plants; we have been so absorbed in them as the whole truth, that we have seen no need, even no possibility, for further helpful inquiry of Nature. But the time has now arrived when our truth is revealing itself as only a half-truth, and, turning to glance again at our model for a fresh advance in inspiration, we notice in her a feature which had previously escaped us—the fields.

* * * * *

“Many people enter God’s Temple through the doorway of Beauty”; and upon this count, also, the fields of the Alps are of obvious import. I venture to think that an Alpine field, with all its concomitant “accident” and consequent variety, will have more to say to a larger number of men and women than will a rockwork alone; I venture to think that a person who would not stop longer than to patronise a rockwork, would stand arrested and absorbed before the grass-lands and their varied features. To the mass of mortals who are not bespoken specialists in higher Alpines, the meadows have no superiors in breadth, directness, and simplicity of appeal. They are places where the “man-in-the-street” is at once at home. They require no special enthusiasm to make them acceptable. Their beauty is as apparent to the “vulgar” as it is to the elect; their charm is interesting to all.

And this interest means more than mere pleasure, more than a superficial tickling of the senses. It entails a mint of meaning for the soul. Yes, the soul. No gardener, no Nature-lover, need be shy of admitting he has a soul; for it is precisely this which makes Nature-lovers of us all, precisely this which plays so big a part in our admiration of the fields. “Breathes there a man with soul so dead” who will not linger lovingly over mountain meadows tossed or rolling like a multi-coloured sea, with sunlight playing amid the blues, mauves, reds, and yellows, breaking these into endless intermediary tints; and with butterflies seemingly in such light-hearted flight, skipping and flitting blithely, airily, for all the world like flowers come suddenly to sentient life? Breathes there a man who will not find in these meadows and their teeming gaiety “a vitalising passion, calling to life the shrouded thoughts and unsuspected forces of the heart”?

From Crocus to “Crocus”; from the first pale, dainty flush of spring to the last full flush of autumn; from the shy and hesitating youth of the year to the time when all at length “is rounded with a sleep,” these meadows are an intimate joy and refreshment. Nature herself sets so much store by them that when they become, as they must become, recognised components of our Alpine gardens, it shall be said she

“Now was almost won To think her part was done, And that her reign had here its last fulfilling. She knew such harmony alone Could hold all Heaven and Earth in happier unison.”

“Farewell! farewell to the field, Farewell to the sunny lawn!”

SCHILLER, William Tell.

INDEX

Achillea nana, 80

Aconitum Lycoctonum, 173

” napellus, 121, 173

” paniculatum, 173

Adenostyles albifrons, 122, 173

Adonis aestivalis, 69

Ajuga pyramidalis, 31, 77, 83

Alchemilla, 74

” alpina, 83

” vulgaris, 83

Alpine Auricula, 76

” Brier, 85, 105

” Bugle, 83

” Clover, 54, 170, 171

” Crocus, 44

” Crowfoot, 31, 44

” Eglantine, 67, 85, 105, 121

” Flax, 84

” Forget-me-not, 84

” Knotweed, 85

” Lettuce, 122

” London Pride, 176

” Plantain, 76

” Polygala, 31

Anemone alpina, 17, 32

” narcissiflora, 63, 83

” sulphurea, 83, 128

Antennaria dioica, 84

Anthericum Liliago, 84, 164

” ramosum, 84

Anthyllis vulneraria, 77, 84, 116, 170

Antirrhinum, 78

Arabis alpina, 174

Arnica, 72, 116, 129, 177

Artemisia, 77

Asparagus, 137

Aspidium Lonchitis, 175

Aster alpinus, 89, 124

Astrantia major, 120, 129, 154, 161, 176

” minor, 120

Atriplex deltoidea, 81

Autumn Crocus, 130, 134-146

Azalea, 103

Bartsia alpina, 30, 57, 117

Bastard Toadflax, 116

Bearded Campanula, 54

” Harebell, 81

Bell-Gentian, 57, 70, 114

Berberis, 144, 172

Bilberry, 129, 144

Bindweed, 157, 166

Bird Cherry, 173

Bird’s-eye Primula, 46, 135

Bird’s-foot Trefoil, 84

Biscutella lævigata, 31, 57, 84, 115, 164, 177

Bistort, 63, 74, 85, 115, 120, 164, 176

Bladder Campion, 85, 165, 167

Bluebell, 152

Blue Bottle, 74, 84

Box-leaved Polygala, 24

Bramo-Vaco, 139

Brown Gentian, 120

Bugle, 31, 77

Bulbocodium vernum, 146, 163

Butcher’s Broom, 137

Buttercup, 115, 120, 149, 152, 165, 166

Butterfly Orchis, 72, 85, 104

Calamintha alpina, 31, 116, 174, 177

Caltha palustris, 30, 166

Campanula barbata, 72, 81, 115, 170

” persicifolia, 122, 170

” boidalis, 84, 115, 158, 160, 165, 176

” rotundifolia, 84, 165

” Scheuchzeri, 115, 127

” spicata, 121, 170

” thyrsoides, 121

Campion, 84, 85

Cardamine resedifolia, 80

Carduus defloratus, 170

Carlina acaulis, 122

” vulgaris, 122

Carthusian Pink, 84

Catchfly, 84

Cat’s-ear, 84

Centaurea montana, 84, 164

Centaurea nigra, 165

” scabiosa, 120

” uniflora, 120, 165

Cephalanthera ensifolia, 85, 173

” pallens, 173

” rubra, 85, 173

Cerastium arvense, 84

Char de Venus, 121

Cherry-tree, 17

Chrysanthemum leucanthemum, 165

Cinquefoil, 77, 85

Clary, 85, 154

Clover, 72

Cœloglossum viridis, 85

Colchicum alpinum, 140-146

” autumnalis, 130, 134-143, 160, 165

Colchique, 139

Coltsfoot, 45

Columbine, 164

Corn, 118

Cornflower, 69, 99

Coronilla varia, 122

Cowslip, 23, 149, 164

Crepis aurea, 115

Crocus, 23, 24, 71

” nudiflorus, 137

” sativus, 139

” vernus, 163

Cudweed, 84

Currant, 17

Daffodil, 17, 32, 152, 163

Daisy, 149, 166

Dandelion, 19, 150, 166

Daphne, 109

Dendrobium, 75

Dianthus Carthusianorum, 84, 122

” neglectus, 80

Dianthus superbus, 121, 173

” sylvestris, 121, 122

Digitalis ambigua, 121

” lutea, 122

Dog Rose, 108, 129

Dyer’s Weed, 85

Echium vulgare, 84

Edelweiss, 35-39, 124

Eglantine, 17, 144

Epilobium, 80

Epipactis atrorubens, 173

” latifolia, 173

Eritrichium nanum, 42

Eryngium alpinum, 170

Euphrasia alpina, 84

” minima, 84

” officinalis, 72, 73, 84

Everlasting Pea, 67, 169

Exobasidium rhododendri, 108

Eyebright, 73, 84

Fair Maid of France, 85, 115

False Lily-of-the-Valley, 176

Felwort, 41

Field Mouse-ear, 84

Field Gentian, 120

” Poppy, 68, 99

Flax, 122

Foxglove, 152

French Willow, 80

Frog Orchis, 85

Gagea, 163

Garlic, 137

Gentiana amarella, 41

Gentiana asclepiadea, 90

” brachyphylla, 141

” campestris, 115, 120

” excisa, 24, 89, 157

” nivalis, 117, 157

” punctata, 120

” purpurea, 120

” verna, 24, 30, 35-47, 57, 141, 157, 175

Geranium, sylvaticum, 84, 115, 154, 160, 164, 177

Geum montanum, 24, 31

” rivale, 84

Globe-Flower, 23, 56, 85, 164, 176

Globularia cordifolia, 84

Goat’s Beard, 173

Golden Thistle, 122

Grass-of-Parnassus, 127

Greater Astrantia, 82

Grimm the Collier, 120

Groundsel, 80

Gymnadenia albida, 104, 116

” conopsea, 85, 164

” odoratissima, 85

Gypsophila repens, 174

Habenaria bifolia, 85

” chlorantha, 173

” viridis, 85

Hard-heads, 120, 165

Hawkweed, 82, 120

Hawthorn, 152

Heather, 102, 128, 129

Helianthemum alpestre, 116

” vulgare, 174

Helleborine, 85

Hepatica, 23

Herb Paris, 137

Herbst-Zeitlose, 140

Hieracium alpinum, 115

” aurantiacum, 120

Hippocrepis comosa, 84

Holly-fern, 175

Honeysuckle, 109, 121, 173

Horseshoe Vetch, 84

Hypochœris maculata, 115

” uniflora, 115, 165

Hyssop, 122

Jacob’s Ladder, 128, 154

Jasione montana, 122, 170

Juniperus nana, 172

Jupiter’s Distaff, 121

Kidney Vetch, 77, 84

King of the Alps, 42

Knapweed, 84

Knee Holly, 137

Knobweed, 120

Knotweed, 85

Laburnum, 17

Ladies’ Fingers, 84

Lady’s Mantle, 83

” Smock, 80

Laitue des Alpes, 122

Larkspur, 69

Laserpitium latifolium, 173

Lathyrus heterophyllus, 84, 170

” luteus, 173

” sylvestris, 84

Le Bas du Bon Dieu, 41

Leontopodium alpinum, 35-39

Leopard’s Bane, 122

Lesser Foxglove, 122

Lilium croceum, 17, 173

” Martagon, 173

Lily-of-the-Valley, 137

Linaria alpina, 77

Linum alpinum, 84, 164, 170

” tenuifolium, 122, 170

Lœlia, 75

Lonicera alpigena, 173

” nigra, 173

Lotus corniculatus, 84

Lousewort, 85

Lychnis dioica, 84, 161, 164, 176

” Flos-cuculi, 84, 164

” viscaria, 84, 161

Marguerite, 75

Marsh-Marigold, 30, 46, 57, 71, 166, 167

Martagon Lily, 116, 120, 165, 173

Masterwort, 120, 154

May Lily, 176

Meadow Clary, 85, 154, 165

” Rue, 121

” Saffron, 139

” Sage, 85, 154

Mealy Primrose, 46, 56, 71, 135

Mespilus oxyacantha, 79

Meum athamanticum, 173

Micheli’s Daisy, 30, 57, 72

Milkwort, 85

Monkshood, 121, 169

Mountain Cornflower, 84

” Everlasting Pea, 84

” Geum, 71

Mulgedium alpinum, 122, 173

Mullein, 122

Muscari comosum, 84, 164

Myosotis, 24, 177

” alpestris, 84, 164

” palustris, 116

Naked Boy, 139

” Lucy, 139

Narcissus poeticus, 17, 32, 158, 164

” Pseudo-narcissus, 163

Nettle, 166

Nigritella nigra, 85

Nottingham Catchfly, 167

Oak-apple, 108

Œil-de-chat, 41

Onion, 137

Onobrychis viciæfolia, 84, 170

Ononis, 93

” natrix, 122, 170

” rotundifolia, 122

Orache, 81

Orchids, 23, 72, 85, 116, 120, 149, 158, 166, 177

Orchis conopsea, 164

” latifolia, 85

” maculata, 85, 164

” mascula, 164

” Morio, 164

” ustulata, 85

Ornithogalum nutans, 164

” pyrenaicum, 137

” umbellatum, 138, 163

Orobus luteus, 121

Ox-eye Marguerite, 116, 165, 166, 176

Oxlip, 164

Pansy, 69

Paradise Lily, 63, 72, 85, 158, 164, 177

Paradisia Liliastrum, 85, 158, 164

Parsley-fern, 175

Parsnip, 152

Pedicularis tuberosa, 31, 85

Pheasant-eye Narcissus, 32, 164

Phyteutma betonicifolium, 54, 85, 115, 158, 165, 167

” hemisphæricum, 116

” Micheli, 116

” orbiculare, 85, 115, 165

” spicata, 154

Pimpinella magna rosea, 85

Pinguicula, 30

Pink, 169

Pinkwort, 80

Plantago alpina, 54

Plantain, 157, 166

Plantanthera bifolia, 85

” chlorantha, 173

Poa alpina, 171

Polemonium cœruleum, 127, 154, 165

Polygala alpestris, 85

” vulgaris, 85

Polygonatum verticillatum, 173

Polygonum Bistorta, 85, 164

Polystichum Filix-mas, 175

Poppy, 68, 99

Potentilla rupestris, 31, 77, 85, 115, 164, 177

Primrose, 23, 37, 46, 93, 152

Primula farinosa, 30, 62, 167

Prunus avium, 173

Queen of the Fields, 121

Radish, 118

Ragged Robin, 84, 164

Rampion, 54, 85, 115, 120, 154, 165, 167

Ranunculus aconitifolius, 85, 115, 164, 167

” acris, 165, 166

” bulbosus, 165, 166

Raspberry, 17

Red Catchfly, 84, 164

Reseda luteola, 85

Rest-Harrow, 93

Rhinanthus angustifolius, 85

Rhododendron ferrugineum, 41, 89, 102-113, 117, 129, 144, 172

” hirsutum, 102-113

” ponticum, 102

Robin’s Pincushion, 108

Rosa alpina, 85, 105, 172

” pomifera, 172

Rosage, 106

Rose des Alpes, 106

Rue des Alpes, 106

Saffron, 139

Safra dès prats, 139

Sage, 77, 85

Sainfoin, 84, 170

St. Bruno’s Lily, 85, 114

Salvia glutinosa, 121, 173

” pratensis, 69, 74, 77, 85, 115, 154, 158, 160, 164, 176

Sambucus racemosa, 172

Saponaria ocymoides, 31, 77, 116, 174

Saxifraga cuneifolia, 176

Saxifrage, 169

Scabiosa lucida, 85, 115

Scilla, 23

” bifolia, 163

Sedum, 77, 129, 169, 170

Sempervivum, 169, 170

Senecio Doronicum, 80, 122

Sibbaldia procumbens, 54

Silene Cucubalus, 165, 167

” inflata, 85

” nutans, 167

” rupestris, 116, 174

Smilacina bifolia, 176

Snake-root, 85

Snakeweed, 164

Snapdragon, 78

Soapwort, 77

Soldanella, 23, 24, 71, 89, 175

Solomon’s Seal, 173

Sorrel, 151, 166

Speedwell, 9, 73

Spirœa Aruncua, 121, 173

Star of Bethlehem, 137, 163

Strawberry, 17

Stonecrop, 77

Sulphur Anemone, 31, 34, 46, 53, 54

Sylvan Geranium, 63

Thalictrum aquilegifolium, 121, 169, 173

Thesium alpinum, 72, 74, 116

Thyme, 118

Toadflax, 77

Trefoil Valerian, 85

Trifolium alpinum, 54, 170, 171

Trollius europæus, 85, 164

Tue-chien, 139

Turk’s-cap Lily, 121

Umbelliferæ, 116, 165

Umbilicaria virginis, 46

Vache, 139

Valeriana montana, 122

” tripteris, 85

Vanilla Orchis, 85

Veilleuse, 139

Veillotte, 139

Veratrum album, 116, 158

Verbascum phlomoides, 122, 170

Vernal Gentian, 35-47, 58, 72, 104, 127

Veronica Chamædrys, 73

” saxatilis, 116, 171

” spicata, 158

” urticæfolia, 170

Vicia onobrychioides, 121, 170

Viola alpina, 175

” calcarata, 32, 41, 53, 89, 157

” tricolor, 69

Violet, 23, 164

Violon, 139

Viper’s Bugloss, 84

Water Avens, 84

Weld, 85

Willow Gentian, 90

” Herb, 129

Wood Anemone, 23

” Campion, 84

” Crane’s-bill, 84, 154, 165

” Everlasting Pea, 84

” Sorrel, 175

Wormwood, 77

Yarrow, 80

Yellow Eyebright, 84

” Foxglove, 121

” Gentian, 116

” Lousewort, 85

” Rattle, 85, 116

” Violet, 45, 176

PRINTED BY

HAZELL, WATSON AND VINEY, LD.,

LONDON AND AYLESBURY.

┌───────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┐ │ Transcriber's Note: │ │ │ │ The original spelling, hyphenation, and punctuation have been │ │ retained, with the exception of apparent typographical errors │ │ which have been corrected without note. │ │ │ │ Word combinations that appeared with and without hyphens were │ │ changed to the predominant form if it could be determined. │ │ │ │ Ambiguous hyphens at the ends of lines were retained. │ │ │ │ Italicized words are surrounded by underline characters, like │ │ this. │ │ │ │ Mid-paragraph illustrations have been moved between paragraphs │ │ and some illustrations have been moved closer to the text that │ │ references them. The List of Illustrations paginations were │ │ changed accordingly. │ │ │ │ Other corrections: │ │ Page 16: Ansel changed to Ancel (‘the Pas d’Encel.”) │ │ Page 129: prom e changed to promise (“showing promise of a │ │ fiery autumn.”) │ └───────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┘