CAMPANULA. 
‘ 
notes: only perhaps allowed to stand as “silver” by the hospitable 
enthusiasm of catalogues, or with the names of prominent female 
enthusiasts to enhance their value. But such varieties are often to 
be found in such goodly percentage that one day above the Mont 
Cenis will produce you as many, quite as good, blooming nameless 
and unnoted amid their kindred crowds. And among the best 
where all are good is the extra-blue and extra-rampant dolomitic 
form called C. B. tyrolensis—a better name than most, for what heart 
could be so hard as to pile discordant human honorifics and Misses 
and Misters upon such fairies as these, that ask at least for the 
music of an old forgotten tongue—even though C. B. cochlearifolia 
and C. B. Kladniana are not happy notions in the same line, but 
lead the unwary to suppose that these pompous names cover some- 
thing much more interesting than rather indistinct forms of C. 
Bellardii, by no means worthy of special expense. Not only the 
colour but the shape of bell varies, too, in C. Bellardit, and some- 
times one finds wide-trumpet forms, narrow at the base, instead of 
the usual ample and regular bell ; one such, of purest white, I found 
in 1913, and yet another day its sister, a modest person of gentle 
grey-blue. These, not having read the works of Mrs. Florence Barclay, 
my mind is safe in setting aside as “ Little Lady ” and “little White 
Lady,” for such indeed they are. The most wonderful form, how- 
ever, has been long in coming to its own. It was some eight years 
since that under the slopes of the Vorder Wellhorn I came upon a really 
astonishing C. Bellardii, very dwarf, with flowers of enormous size, 
and of a delicate pallor which might almost deserve the name of 
silvery, were it not more feelingly to be painted as a diaphanous and 
pale china-blue, like a fine cloud at night with the moon behind it. 
This treasure was despatched with due care to England, enwrapped 
in many exhortations to special attention in dealing with it. And it 
was never heard of again. All that boxful was potted carefully, 
according to instructions. But nothing was heard of the Campanula 
again ; and all hope of its survival had been lost, when, three seasons 
ago, it suddenly took away the garden’s breath by blooming in the pot 
where it had lain « perdue” for so long. And, having taken the first 
costly step, it went ahead with leaps and bounds—grows and spreads 
now with the rapidity of gout-weed, and takes the winds of August with 
a profusion of soft and delicate beauty far beyond that of all its 
sisters. C. Bellardii Miranda is going to be one of the greatest of 
our rock-garden plants, as those few to whom she has been 
rigidly entrusted from their several gardens and soils independently 
proclaim—prodigiously free in growth, and prodigiously free, from 
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