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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