26 
JOURNAL  OF  HORTICULTURE  AND  COTTAGE  GARDENER. 
January  10,  1901. 
Wild  Flowers  of  Old  English  Gardens— III. 
Amongst  the  minor  results  of  the  mild  and  sunny  autumn  of  1900 
was  the  blossoming  of  the  common  Sweet  Violet,  which  put  forth 
numerous  flowers  both  in  gardens  and  its  wild  haunts.  A  bad 
prognostic,  our  ancestors  would  have  said,  since  they  had  a  Veli*  f 
that  Violets  in  autumn  foretold  much  illness  during  the  next  year. 
Here  and  there  a  few  flowers  appeared  on  the  familiar  Primrose,  but 
this  is  not  so  ready  to  bloom  late  as  is  the  Violet.  Both  these  popular 
flowers  have  been  mercilessly  raided  for  some  years  past ;  the  garden 
adornment  which  is  aimed  at  being  often  unaccomplished,  since  wild 
plants  dug  up  while  in  flower  and  hastily  planted  are  apt  to  die  off, 
hence  there  is  scarcely  a  lane  near  any  "town  in  which  we  can  find  a 
Violet,  or  a  copse  that  will  now  yield  a  Primrose.  Yet  possibly 
another  cause  operates  in  making  Primroses  less  numerous. 
Every  gardener  knows  how  sparrows  attack  the  flower  buds  of 
Crocuses,  though  it  is  not  agreed  whether  they  are  led  to  this  act  by  a 
liking  for  the  nectar  of  ihe  plant,  or  open  them  in  pursuit  of  insects. 
Darwin  was,  I  believe,  the  first  to  state  that  the  increase  of  Primroses 
was  checked  by  birds  biting  off  the  immature  flowers,  and  other 
observers  witnessed  to  the  fact.  The  common  sparrow  was  not  the  only- 
transgressor,  or,  if  it  is  the  worst,  other  birds,  such  as  the  blackbiid 
and  chaffinch,  have  destroyed  the  flowers  ;  one  friend  conjectures  that 
the  blackbird  is  attracted  "by  their  subacid  flavour  when  he  cannot  get 
fruit.  Again,  persons  have  examined  Primroses  for  insects,  ar,d  found 
none  in  flower  or  scape  ;  and  other  people,  living  where  they  grow 
freely,  have  never  seen  a  bird  touch  them. 
Thus  the  matter  remains  doubtful,  but  we  can  have  no  doubt  that 
the  Primrose  became  a  garden  flower  during  the  middle  ages  ;  indeed, 
probably  came  up  self-sown  in  some,  when  it  was  more  abundant  as  a 
wild  flower  than  it  is  now.  Primrose,  as  written,  is  quite  300  years 
old  or  mere,  but  it  is  a  corruption  of  the  original  “  prymerolle,”  an 
Anglo-Saxon  name,  referring  to  its  appearance  in  the  spring.  (It  is 
true  our  ancestors  used  the  name  “Pose”  inexactly,  applying  it  to 
plants  not  of  the  Pose  family,  still  it  never  belonged  to  the  Primrose). 
But  the  earliness  of  this  flower  seems  to  have  been  specially  noted. 
“It  blooms  in  April,  sometimes  in  March  or  February,”  wrote  an 
author  of  the  sixteenth  century,  though  really  the  Primrose  is 
preceded  by  the  Violet  and  Snowdrop ;  possibly  they  were  less  fre¬ 
quently  noticed  as  spring  pioneers.  Milton,  however,  who  is  generally 
correct  in  his  observations  upon  Nature,  associates  May  with  “  the 
yellow  Cowslip  and  the  pale  Primrose ;  ”  but  we  now  think  them 
nearly  over  when  that  month  arrives.  Also,  in  the  reign  of  Elizabetl  , 
Lyte  mentions  Primroses,  Cowslips,  and  Oxlips.  The  last  name  is 
noteworthy,  showing  that  the  plant  had  been  recognised  then, 
although  it  was  not  discussed  whether  it  was  a  true  species,  a 
variety,  or  a  hybrid  between  the  Cowslip  and  the  Primrose. 
\  arious  references  to  the  Primrose  indicate  that  during  the 
seventeenth  century  gardeners  took  pleasure  in  trying  for  varieties. 
Parkinson  fancied  he  had  obtained  twenty-one  kinds,  and  Gilbert  says 
that  a  friend  near  Chester  sent  him  many  different  seedlings.  We 
may  conjecture  that  amongst  these  were  plants  we  should  call 
Polyanthuses.  Some,  however,  assert  that  the  first  Polyanthus, 
whether  a  variety  of  the  Primrose  or  distinct,  came  to  us  from  France. 
Curtis  remarks  that  he  saw  in  a  garden  at  Maze  Hill,  Greenwich, 
descendants  of  wild  Primroses  that  were,  in  all  but  colour,  perfect 
Polyanthuses.  This  is  evident,  anyhow,  that  if  it  came  from  the 
Primrose  this  flower  does  not  tend  to  return  to  the  original  type. 
Eighty  years  ago  Loudon  reckoned  nine  good  varieties  of  the  common 
Primrose,  mostly  double  ;  two  of  the  best  were  the  Elose-in-hose  and 
a  purple.  Double-headed  Primroses  have  been  found  wild  and  raised 
also  in  gardens,  two  corollas  being  enclosed  within  one  calyx;  and, 
still  more  curious,  triple  flowers  having  a  fourteen-lobed  corolla,  the 
like  number  of  stamens,  and  three  pistils,  two  of  them  joined. 
The  Cowslip  was  quite  as  popular  in  old  gardens  as  was  its 
relative  the  Primrose,  indeed  perhaps  more,  because  though  very 
abundant  along  some  meadows  that  were  its  haunts,  it  could  hardly 
be  called  generally  common.  Then,  again,  gardeners  set  to  work 
trying  to  produce  big  trusses  of  the  flowers  which  would  make  a 
show  along  the  beds  during  spring.  Of  course  they  raised  double 
flowers  and  some  of  varied  colours.  Gibbs,  formerly  a  nurseryman 
at  Old  Brompton,  occupying  land  now  covered  with  big  mansions, 
made  a  great  display  ot  seedlings  in  1818.  The  darker  specimens 
received  much  praise,  and  some  Hose-in-hose.  It  was  noted  that  all 
his  plants  were  quite  distinct  from  the  Primrose  and  the  Oxlip.  The 
latter  never  had  much  cultivation,  hence  few  varieties  have  been 
produced.  If  not  a  hybrid  from  them,  as  Sir  J.  E.  Smith  observes, 
it  shows  peculiarities  of  both  Primrose  and  Cowslip.  From  bogs  or 
pastures  about  the  north  of  England  or  Scotland  people  transplanted 
the  pretty  Bird’s-eye  Primrose  (Primula  farinosa),  at  once  recognisable 
by  its  powdery  stem  and  foliage,  its  small  flowers  growing  in  a 
cluster;  pale  lilac  or  rosy  occasionally.  It  has  a  scent  somewhat  like 
that  of  the  Auricula.  The  Scotch  Primrose  (P.  scotica),  still  smaller, 
and  a  sea-coast  plant,  also  mealy,  with  darker  flowers,  has  not  yet 
made  itself  at  home  in  our  gardens. 
Probably  former  notions  of  the  economic  value  of  the  Cowslip  and 
the  Primrose  encouraged  their  cultivation,  but  th<se  have  nearly 
vanished  now,  though  I  believe  some  folks  keep  up  the  custom  of 
making  Cowslip  wine.  It  is  not  very  long  ago  since  a  trade  was  done 
in  the  corollas,  locally  “  pips,”  of  the  Cowslip,  a  tea  or  infusion  being 
esteemed  a  remedy  for  fevers  and  paralysis ;  the  wine  was  also 
sometimes  used  as  a  medicine.  It  is  stated,  too,  that  when  Lettuces 
were  scarce,  Cowslip  leaves  entered  into  the  composition  of  spring 
salads.  The  old  village  name  of  Paigle  or  Peggie  is  obscure,  but  is 
presumed  to  have  reference  to  the  medical  virtues  of  the  Cowslip, 
which  was  also  oddly  called  the  “petit  Mullein.”  From  the  Primrose, 
again,  a  salve  was  prepared  that  had  considerable  repute. 
Nearly  related  to  the  Primroses  are  the  true  Pimpernels.  This 
French  name,  also  written  Pimpinel,  has  been  vaguely  applied  to  some 
plants  very  different.  Several  Pimpernels  have  been  a  good  while  in 
our  gardens;  the  scarlet  species  indeed,  one  of  our  few  wild  flowers  of 
that  colour,  appears  now  and  then  as  a  weed.  Probably  our  ancestors 
did  not  too  hastily  remove  it,  since  the  plant  is  the  Shepherd’s 
Weatherglass,  and  from  repeated  observations  I  can  testify  that  its 
morning  indications  are  quite  reliable  ;  it  is  one  of  Nature’s  barometers. 
Should  the  flowers  be  open  early  there  is  no  fear  of  rain  for  some 
hours,  but  soon  after  midday  the  scarlet  Pimpernel  closes.  Also,  in 
the  olden  time,  it  was  said  to  be  of  use  against  witchcraft.  Some 
people  think  that  the*  blue  Pimpernel,  Anagallis  coerulea,  a  species 
still  a  favourite,  was  first  grown  in  gardens  from  foreign  seed,  but  we 
have  reliable  evidence  that  it  formerly  occurred  near  London,  at 
Stockwell  and  Camberwell,  where  it  probably  attracted  the  notice  of 
local  gardeners.  It  is  found  now  growing  wild  in  a  few  places, 
though  it  has  become  rare  about  England.  Our  curious  and  pretty 
bog  species  of  Pimpernel,  which  has  occurred  in  Epping  Forest,  was 
at  one  time  of  some  interest  to  Continental  botanists  as  little  known 
there  except  in  a  few  southern  districts.  I  am  not  sure  that  it  has 
been  ever  tried  as  a  garden  plant,  but  it  might  succeed. 
Again,  in  the  genus  Lysimachia,  also  in  the  Primrose  order,  we 
have  some  wild  flowers  which  have  become  familiar,  though  but 
humble,  garden  plants.  One  of  these  is  the  Wood  Loosestrife  or 
yellow  Pimpernel,  not  unfrequent  about  moist  woods,  with  solitary 
golden  yellow  flowers,  having  a  creeping  stem  ;  one  of  our  earlier 
gardeners  styles  it  a  very  elegant  plant.  We  note  that  the  name  of 
Loosistrife  is  given  to  species  of  this  genus,  as  well  as  to  some 
belonging  to  a  quite  different  order.  More  showy  and  of  upright 
growth,  the  Great  Loosestrife  (L.  vulgaris)  might  well  be  introduced 
into  gardens,  but  it  does  not  succeed  except  on  a  damp  soil ;  London 
clay  is  in  its  favour.  It  was  found  both  on  the  Thames  and  Lea  near 
the  metropolis.  It  is  likely,  however,  that  this  plant  was  cultivated 
partly  from  belief  in  its  curative  powers,  said  to  have  been  discovered 
by  Lysimachus,  King  of  Sicily.  Also,  it  was  believed  to  control 
fidgety  horses,  when  some  of  its  leaves  were  placed  under  the  saddle  or 
harness.  Who  does  not  at  once  recognise  the  Moneywort  (L.  nummu¬ 
laris)  though  many  may  not  have  seen  it  wild  in  meadows  or  damp 
woods  ?  We  notice  it  about  London  in  pots  and  window-boxes,  filling 
up  a  corner  in  a  small  garden,  or  spreading  over  a  bank  in  a  larger  one. 
The  flower  is  slightly  hell-shaped,  but  when  you  come  upon  one  fully 
expanded,  it  is  nearly  the  size  of  a  sovereign,  and  evidently  our 
ancestors  compared  it  to  a  gold  coin,  or  copper,  for  it  had  also  the 
name  of  Herb  Twopence.  It  is  more  commonly  propagated  by  division 
than  by  seed. 
We  have  a  somewhat  singular  plant  grouped  by  botanists  with  the 
Primroses,  and  very  popular  at  present — the  Cyclamen — but  they  are 
not  agreed  whether  we  own  one  truly  British  species.  Possibly,  as  some 
suggest,  it  was  first  a  garden  plant  introduced  from  the  Continent, 
then  escaped  from  cultivation,  though  certainly  it  does  not  appear  a 
very  likely  species  to  distribute  itself.  The  Ivy-leaved  Cyclamen, 
C.  hederifolium,  has  been  in  Kent,  Suffolk,  and  the  far  West  of 
England,  flowering  about  September  when  wild.  It  is  remarkable  for 
its  beautifully  variegated  leaves,  which  are  purplish  underneath, 
flowers  white  or  pinkish  ;  the  thick  acrid  root  is  eaten  and  relished  by 
swine  in  countries  where  it  is  abundant. — J.  R.  S.  C. 
- <.#•> - 
The  Advantages  of  Fog-. — According  to  a  meteorological  expert 
there  is  a  bright  side  of  fog.  Recent  researches,  he  writes,  into  the 
composition  of  fogs  have  led  some  authorities  to  suppose  that  these 
sable  visitants  are  not  altogether  baneful  in  their  effects,  and  it  has 
been  pointed  out  that  the  atoms  of  carbon  and  sulphur  act  as 
disinfectants  and  deodorisers.  To  most  people  these  atmospheric 
antiseptics  are  worse  than  the  disease,  and  horticulturists  will  require  a 
considerable  amount  of  proof  before  they  will  acknowledge  the  utility 
of  fogs  as  far  as  plant  life  is  concerned. 
