The best hardy blue flower of March; the Siberian 
squill (Scilla Sibirica) 
drops, for they prefer to ripen their bulbs in a 
moist, partially shaded position, while most 
other bulbs solidify best in dry soil haked by 
the summer sun. 
The earliest snowdrops, however, are those 
which get every bit of sunshine there is in 
March. It hardly seems credible that a 
tree’s bare branches should cast enough shade 
to delay a flower bed a week, yet it is a fact. 
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The giant snowdrop (Galanthus Elwesii), the largest flowered species. 
brave the snow? How have they managed to survive the long, grim process of evolution? ” 
‘May. 
THE GARDEN MAGAZINE 
The snowdrop is one of the very few flowers 
that will do even tolerably well on the north 
side of a house, in a dark, narrow passage- 
way, where only ferns could be expected 
to live. 
It must be confessed that the glory of the 
genus is the giant snowdrop (Galanthus El- 
wesil). Its greater size of flower is not asso- 
ciated with any loss of refinement. But it 
never thrills like the first flower of spring. 
It is a belated herald, appearing a fortnight 
or so after its little brother has brought the 
news. 
Another white flower with green tips that 
is often mistakenly called a snowdrop, is its 
relative, the spring snowflake (Leucojum 
vernum). This is practically the same as the 
kind pictured on this page, except that the 
spring snowflake blooms in March, while the 
summer snowflake flowers about the first of 
(There is also an autumn snowflake, 
which has red tips instead of green, but it is 
not generally considered hardy.) Although 
the snowflakes have larger blossoms than the 
snowdrops, they are not so much celebrated 
by the poets, doubtless because they bloom 
later. 
The distinction between snowflakes and 
snowdrops is a pretty one. The snowflake 
is the simpler flower, its bell being composed 
of six white petals (or more correctly, perianth 
segments) with green tips, all of which are of 
the same size and shape. The snowdrop, on 
the other hand, seems to consist of three white 
petals and a greenish inner tube with six 
lobes. A closer look, however, shows that 
this loose tube is composed of the three un- 
A 
“Who taught these fragile blossoms to 
OctToBER, 1906 
joined inner seg- 
ments of the peri- 
anth, which are 
narrower than the 
petals, and daintily 
marked around the 
two-lobed apex 
with what Rosetti 
calls a ‘“‘heart- 
shaped seal of 
green.” Ordinar- 
ily, green is an 
abnormal and un- 
pleasing color 
among flowers, but 
in the snow-drop it 
is most precious. 
There are earlier 
blue flowers than 
the Siberian scilla, 
and even showier 
ones, but on the - 
whole. this is the 
best of the season. 
The blossom is per- 
haps no more than half an inch across, and 
there are only one to three flowers on a stem, 
but it is the purity and depth of its blue that 
goes straight to the heart The two-leaved 
squill (Scilla bifolia) is earlier, and has a 
graceful spray bearing three to eight flowers, 
but I have never seen it free from the purple 
taint—-except in catalogues. 
Three flowers known to the catalogues by 
the seductive but somewhat “‘too previous” 
name of ‘‘glory-of-the-snow” surpass the 
Siberian scilla in size. The largest is Chion- 
odoxa grandiflora, or gigantea, with solitary 
blossoms an inch and three-quarters across, 
but they are slaty blue. The next largest is 
C. Luciliae, with flowers an inch across, and 
of a genuine sky blue, but the lower half of 
every petal is white, so that the effect is not 
single. C. Sardensis has flowers only half an 
inch across, but there are six or seven on a 
stalk, and the color is nearly sky blue, though 
not as deep as that of Scilla Sibirica. They 
are altogether lovely flowers, but in my judg- 
ment they are fanciers’ flowers, while the 
Siberian scilla is a flower for the people. I 
shall never be happy until every lawn con- 
tains a few dozens of them. Your friends 
will tread on some of them, but they are so 
A late flowering snowflake 
(Leucojum aestivum) 
‘cheap that it is no matter. 
The best hardy blue winter flower of Eng- 
lish gardens is the Grecian anemone (Ane- 
mone blanda). There is a lovely colored 
plate in Mrs. Waterfield’s ‘‘Garden Colour” 
which shows a wood carpeted with myriads 
of these starry flowers before the trees show 
any sign of returning life. They match the 
color of the sky more closely than most of the 
so-called blue anemones. It is to be hoped 
that some wealthy American will try to create 
one of these charming pictures by planting a 
few thousand bulbs this autumn. The 
English plant them in rocky, heavy soil, under 
deciduous trees,and those facing west are said 
to bloom two or three weeks earlier than those 
facing east, sometimes beginning in January. 
The blossoms close in bad weather, and a bed 
will retain its beauty for several weeks. It 
seeds freely in England, and fortunately the 
