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Siberian Squill
Scilla sibirica.
A TINT of blue in field or garden exercises a mysterious influence. In the later days of spring, when along the margins of woods and coppices our woodland squill, Scilla nutans, also known as Hyacinthus non scriptus, makes a fringe of heavenly blue, we experience a strange thrill of emotion, either because the colour has some spiritual import that the soul understands, or because the assurance it gives of the constancy of the seasons re-establishes the confidence that late frosts and east winds had well-nigh shattered. And yet the influence, whatever its ultimate cause, can scarcely be the result of any special awakening peculiar to the season of the nodding squill, because it comes upon us again as the summer opens and the blue speedwell appears on the banks; and again, later on, when the harebells appear; and perhaps it is not altogether wanting when the blue of the wolf's-bane is seen upon the gravelly slopes, and the delphiniums and aconites appear in the gardens. The Siberian squill is one of the hardiest of our choicest kinds of spring-flowering bulbs. It has but to be planted in a well-drained sandy soil in the autumn, and in the early spring it will show its lovely blue flowers in profusion, a delight and surprise to all beholders. As a potplant it is invaluable, and it requires as such only the same treatment as crocuses, hyacinths, and tulips, all of which demand a somewhat rich and very sandy soil. When planted in rings or clumps, squills may be left untouched for three years, and then it will be as well to lift, divide, and replant. To make a lengthy essay on the out-door cultivation of the Siberian squill would be to waste an opportunity. In the few words already before the reader the subject is practically disposed of. But now we may turn to a proposal of the plant itself, for we seem to hear it say, "Why not associate me with the other choice spring flowers that are grown under glass?" Ah! why not? Well, to dispose of that matter, the Siberian squill and the two-leaved squill (Scilla bifolia) are two of the sweetest spring flowers known. One of the cheapest and least troublesome of delights for a lover of hardy plants is a proper "alpine house," in which a number of early flowering bulbous and fibrous-rooted plants, having all the proper alpine character, can be flowered in early spring. Such a structure should have a low span roof resting on brick walls, with side lights opening as ventilators. A central walk through is a primary necessity, and on each side of this should be a solid bed of earth, supported by the outer walls and the walls on each side of the central path. The whole thing may be on a small scale, but sufficient headroom and width of path should be provided, and the height of the side beds above the walk should be such that the plants can be seen and handled conveniently. As a rule, all stages and platforms are too high; and this may well be thought of in the first instance, for it is better to look down on flowers and see their faces, than look up to them and see less of their faces than of their stems. All the plants in such a house should be grown in pots, and when their flowering is over they should be put outside on a bed of coal-ashes with a north aspect, and they should have careful attention. It is not necessary to supply such houses with any kind of artificial heat. In the alpine house, with earth platforms and ample ventilation, we can have a display every spring of the most exquisitely beautiful flowers the earth produces. We can have drabas more lovely than cushions of gold; reticulated irises that make figured velvet look ridiculous; saxifrages that steal snow from the mountains and make poetry of it that warms one at the very time, perhaps, when the snow that has not been stolen chills one to the core; primulas all dusted with the efflorescence of the granite they delight in; and epimediums that mock all art in the colouring of their simple but delicious leafage. But these, you will say, are things we know so little of that your words fall upon our ears like water on a duck's back. Very well, you know of the hardy alpine cyclamens, the dog's-tooth violets, the grape hyacinths, the hoop petticoat narciss, the American cowslips, and a thousand more such things that appear like spring butterflies that have turned out of bed before the world was warm enough, and are more charming in their half undress than ever they can be in their finished leafage, when the eye is diverted from them by the multitude of out-door flowers. All these can be well grown and perfectly enjoyed in an alpine house, the cost of which should be but trifling, and the joy thereof beyond all price. The spring flowers will banish our cares, and we shall in beholding them feel freshened, and in happy sympathy with the spirit in which Clare wrote his tender sonnet on the opening spring. "Spring comes anew, and brings each little pledge That still, as wont, my childish heart deceives; I stoop again for violets in the hedge, Among the ivy and old withered leaves; And often mark, amid the clumps of sedge, The pooty shells I gathered when a boy: But cares have claimed me many an evil day, And chilled the relish which I had for joy. Yet when crab-blossoms blush among the may, As erst in years gone by, I scramble no Up 'mid the bramble for my old esteems Filling my hands with many a blooming bough; Till the heart-stirring past as present seems, Save the bright sunshine of those fairy dreams."
