We will now turn from the Forget–me–not order to a very different type of vegetation—hardy¹ bulbs and other plants dying down after flowering early in the year, like the Winter Aconite and the Blood–root (Sanguinaria). How many of us really enjoy the beauty which a judicious² use of a profusion³ of hardy Spring–flowering Bulbs affords? How many get beyond the miserable⁴ conventionalities of the flower–garden, with its edgings and patchings, and taking up, and drying, and mere⁵ playing with our beautiful Spring Bulbs? How many enjoy the exquisite⁶ beauty afforded by flowers of this class, established naturally, without troubling us for attention at any time? The subject of decorating with Spring–flowering Bulbs is merely in its infancy⁷; at present we merely place a few of the showiest of them in geometrical lines. The little we do leads to such a very poor result, that numbers of people,[16] alive to the real charms of a garden too, scarcely notice Spring Bulbs at all, regarding them as things which require endless trouble, as interfering⁸ with the “bedding–out;” and in fact, as not worth the pains they occasion. This is likely to be the case so long as the most effective and satisfactory of all modes of arranging them is unused; that way is the placing of them in wild and semi–wild parts of country seats, and in the rougher parts of a garden, no matter where it may be situated⁹ or how it may be arranged. This way will yield more real interest and beauty than any other.  
Look, for instance, at the wide and bare belts of grass that wind in and around the shrubberies in nearly every country place; frequently, they never display a particle of plant–beauty, and are merely places to be roughly mown now and then. But if planted here and there with the Snowdrop, the blue Anemone¹¹, the Crocus, Scillas, and Winter Aconite, they would in spring surpass in attractiveness the gayest of spring gardens. Cushioned among the grass, these would have a more congenial medium in which to unfold than is offered by the beaten sticky earth of a border; in the grass of spring, their natural bed, they would look far better than ever they do when arranged on the bare earth of a garden. Once carefully planted, they—while an annual source of the greatest interest—occasion no trouble whatever.
 
Their leaves die down so early in spring that they would scarcely interfere¹² with the mowing¹³ of the grass, if that were desired, but I should not attempt to mow¹⁰ the grass in such places till the season of vernal beauty had quite passed by. Surely it is enough to have a portion of lawn as smooth as a carpet at all times, without sending the mower¹⁴ to shave the[17] “long and pleasant grass” of the other parts of the grounds. It would indeed be worth while to leave many parts of the grass unmown for the sake of growing many beautiful plants in it. If in some spot where a wide fringe of grass spreads out in the bay of a shrubbery or plantation¹⁵, and upon this carpet of rising and unshaven verdure there be dotted, in addition to the few pretty natural flowers that happened to take possession of it, the blue Apennine Anemone, the Snowdrop, the Snowflake, Crocuses in variety, Scillas, Grape–Hyacinths, earlier and smaller Narcissi, the Wood Anemone, and any other pretty Spring flowers that were suitable to the soil and position, we should have a glimpse of the vernal beauty of temperate¹⁶ and northern climes, every flower relieved by grass blades and green leaves, the whole devoid¹⁷ of any trace of man, or his exceeding weakness for tracing wall–paper patterns, where everything should be varied¹⁸, indefinite, and changeful. In such a garden it would be evident that the artist had caught the true meaning of nature in her disposition¹⁹ of vegetation, without sacrificing one jot²⁰ of anything of value in the garden, but, on the contrary, adding the highest beauty to spots devoid of the slightest interest. In connection with this matter I may as well say here that mowing the grass once[18] a fortnight in pleasure grounds, as now practised, is a great and costly²¹ mistake. We want shaven carpets of grass here and there, but what cruel nonsense both to men and grass it is to shave as many foolish men shave their faces! There are indeed places where they boast of mowing forty acres! Who would not rather see the waving grass with countless²² flowers than a close shaven surface without a blossom? Imagine the labour wasted in this ridiculous labour of cutting the heads off flowers and grass. Let the grass grow till fit to cut for hay, and we may enjoy in it a world of lovely flowers that will blossom and perfect their growth before the grass has to be mown; more than one person who has carried out the ideas expressed in this book has waving lawns of feathery grass where he used to shave the grass every ten days; a prairie of flowers where a daisy was not allowed to peep; and some addition to his hay crop as he allows the grass to grow till it is fit for that purpose.
 
It is not only to places in which shrubberies, and plantations²³, and belts of grass in the rougher parts of the pleasure–ground, and shady moss–bordered wood–walks occur that these remarks apply. The suburban²⁴ garden, with its single fringe of planting, may show like beauty, to some extent. It may have the Solomon’s Seal arching forth²⁵ from a shady recess²⁶, behind tufts of the sweet–scented Narcissus, while in every case there may be wild fringes of strong and hardy flowers in the spring sun, and they cannot be cut off by harsh winds as when exposed in the open garden. What has already been stated is, I hope, sufficient to show to everybody the kind of place that may be used for their culture. Wild and semi–wild places, rough banks in or near the pleasure–ground or flower–garden,[19] such spots as perhaps at present contain nothing but weeds, or any naturally rough or unused spot about a garden—such are the places for them. Even where all the lawn must be mown the Snowdrop may be enjoyed in early spring, for its leaves die down, or at all events ripen²⁷ sufficiently²⁸ before there is any occasion to mow the grass.
 
 
But the prettiest results are only attainable²⁹ where the grass need not be mown till nearly the time the meadows are mown. Then we may have gardens of Narcissi, such as men never dared to dream about a dozen years ago; such as no one ever thought possible in a garden. In grass not mown at all we may even enjoy many of the Lilies, and all the lovelier and more stately bulbous flowers of the meadows and mountain lawns of Europe, Asia, and America.
 
On a stretch of good grass which need not be mown, and on fairly good soil in any part of our country, beauty may be[20] enjoyed such as has hitherto only gladdened the heart of the rare wanderer on the high mountain lawns and copses, in May when the earth children laugh in multitudes on their mother’s breast.
 
All planting in the grass should be in natural groups or prettily³⁰ fringed colonies, growing to and fro as they like after planting. Lessons in this grouping are to be had in woods, copses, heaths, and meadows, by those who look about them as they go. At first many will find it difficult to get out of formal masses, but that may be got over by studying natural groupings of wild flowers. Once established, the plants soon begin to group themselves in a way that leaves nothing to desire.