CHAPTER II

OF HERBS CHIEFLY USED IN THE PAST

The wyfe of Bath was so wery, she had no wyl to walk; She toke the Priores by the honde, “Madam, wol ye stalk Pryvely into the garden to se the herbis growe?” . . . And forth on they wend Passing forth softly into the herbery.

_Prologue to Beryn_--URRY’S Edition.

ALEXANDERS (_Smyrnum Olusatrium_).

Alexanders, Allisanders, the black Pot-herb or Wild Horse-Parsley, as it is variously called, grows naturally near the sea, and has often been seen growing wild near old buildings. The Italians call it _Herba Alexandrina_, according to some writers, because it was supposed originally to have come from Alexandria; according to others, because its[38] old name was _Petroselinum Alexandrinum_, or _Alexandrina_, “so-called of _Alexander_, the finder thereof.” The leaves are “cut into many parcells like those of Smallage,” but are larger; the seeds have an “aromaticall and spicy smell”; the root is like a little radish and good to be eaten, and if broken or cut “there issueth a juice that quickly waxeth thicke, having in it a sharpe bitterness, like in taste unto Myrrh.” The upper parts of the roots (being the tenderest) and leaves were used in broth; the young tops make an “excellent Vernal Pottage,” and may be eaten as salad, by themselves or “in composition in the Spring, or, if they be blanched, in the Winter.” They were chiefly recommended for the time of Lent, in a day when Lent was more strictly kept than it is now, because they are supposed to go well with fish. Alexanders resemble celery, by which it has been almost entirely supplanted, and if desired as food should be sown every year, for though it continues to grow, it produces nothing fit for the table after the second year. Pliny says it should be “digged or delved over once or twice, yea, and at any time from the blowing of the western wind Favonius in Februarie, until the later Equinox in September be past.” The reference to Favonius reminds one of those lines of exquisite freshness translated from Leonidas.

’Tis time to sail--the swallow’s note is heard! Who chattering down the soft west wind is come. The fields are all a-flower, the waves are dumb, Which ersts the winnowing blast of winter stirred.

Loose cable, friend, and bid your anchor rise, Crowd all your canvas at Priapus’ hest, Who tells you from your harbours, “Now, ’twere best, Sailor, to sail upon your merchandise.”

[38] Britten, “Dictionary of English Plant-Names.”

ANGELICA (_Archangelica officinalis_).

Contagious aire, ingendring pestilence, Infects not those that in their mouths have ta’en, Angelica that happy Counterbane, Sent down from heav’n by some celestial scout, As well the name and nature both avow’t.

_Du Bartas_--SYLVESTER’S TRANSLATION, 1641.

And Master-wort, whose name Dominion wears, With her, who an Angelick Title bears.

_Of Plants_, book ii.--COWLEY.

As these lines declare, Angelica was believed to have sprung from a heavenly origin, and greatly were its powers revered. Parkinson says, “All Christian nations likewise in their appellations hereof follow the Latine name as near as their Dialect will permit, onely in Sussex they call the wilde Kinde Kex, and the weavers wind their yarne on the dead stalkes.” The Laplanders crowned their poets with it, believing that the odour inspired them, and they also thought that the use of it “strengthens life.” The roots hung round the neck “are available against witchcraft and inchantments,” so Gerarde says, and thereby makes a concession to popular superstition, which he very rarely does. A piece of the root held in the mouth drives away infection of pestilence, and is good against all poisons, mad dogs or venomous beasts! Parkinson puts it first and foremost in a list of specially excellent medicinal herbs that he makes “for the profit and use of Country Gentlewomen and others,” and writes: “The whole plante, both leafe, roote, and seede is of an excellent comfortable sent, savour and taste.” No wonder with such powers that it gained its name. Angelica comes into a remedy for a wound from an _arquebusade_ or arquebuse, called _Eau d’Arquebusade_, which was first mentioned by Phillippe de Comines in his account of the battle of Morat, 1476. “The French still prepare it very carefully from a great number of aromatic herbs. In England, where it is the _Aqua Vulneria_ of the Pharmacopœias, the formula is: Dried mint, angelica tops and wormwood, angelica seeds, oil of juniper and spirit of rosemary distilled with rectified spirit and water (Timbs).” It must be borne in mind that Timbs wrote some time ago, and that the knowledge of modern French scientists, like that of our own, has increased since then.

Although it is of no value in medicine (it is next to none when cultivated) our garden angelica also grows wild, and can be safely eaten. Gerarde is amusing on this point. He says it grows in an “Island in the North called Island (Iceland?). It is eaten of the inhabitants, the barke being pilled off, as we understand by some that have travelled into Island, who were sometimes compelled to eate hereof for want of other food; and they report that it hath a good and pleasant taste _to them that are hungry_.” The last words are significant! Formerly, the leaf-stalks were blanched, and eaten as celery is, but now they are chiefly used, candied, for dessert. The art of candying seems to have been brought closer to perfection abroad than at home in Turner’s time, for he says: “The rootes are now condited in Danske, for a friend of mine in London, called Maister Aleyne, a merchant man, who hath ventured over to Danske, sent me a little vessel of these, well condited with honey, very excellent good. Wherefore they that would have anye Angelica maye speake to the Marchauntes of Danske, who can provide them enough.” The fruit is used to flavour _Chartreuse_ and other “cordials.”

BLITES (_Blitum_).

Dr Prior confirms Evelyn, in calling _Bonus Henricus_ Blites, but the older herbalists seem to have given this name to another plant of the same tribe, the _Chenopodiaceæ_, because they treat of _Blites_ and _Bonus Henricus_ in separate chapters. Parkinson is very uncomplimentary to them. “Blitum are of the species Amaranthum, Flower Gentle. They are used as arrach, eyther boyled of itself or stewed, which they call Loblolly.... It is altogether insipid and without taste. The unsavouriness whereof hath in many countries grown into a proverb, or by-word, to call dull, slow or lazy persons by that name.” The context points to the nickname coming from “Blites,” but no such term of reproach now exists, though the contemptuous _sobriquet_ “Loblolly-boy” is sometimes seen in old-fashioned nautical novels. Blites were said to be hurtful to the eyes, a belief that draws a scathing remark from Gerarde, “I have heard many old wives say to their servants, ‘Gather no Blites to put in my pottage, for they are not good for the eyesight’; whence they had those words I know not, it may be of some doctor that never went to school.” Culpepper mentions that wild blites “the fishes are delighted with, and it is a good and usual bait, for fishes will bite fast enough at them if you have but wit enough to catch when they bite.” Altogether this insipid vegetable gives scope for a good many sharp things to be said.

_Blitum capitatum_, usually known as strawberry-spinach, is sometimes grown in flower gardens.

BLOODWORT (_Lapathum Sanguineum_).

The modern Latin name for this dock is _Rumex Sanguineus_, but Gesner had a more imposing title, _Sanguis draconis herba_ (Dragon’s blood plant). These names are, of course, derived from the crimson colour of its veins, and are the finest thing about it. The little notice it does get is not unmixed praise. “Among the sorts of pot-herbes, Blood-worte hath always been accounted a principall one, although I _doe not see any great reason therein_.” This is Parkinson’s opinion, but the italics are mine.

BUCK’S-HORNE (_Senebiera Coronopus_).

As true as steel, As Plantage to the moon.

_Troilus and Cressida_, iii. 2.

And plantain ribb’d that heals the reaper’s wound, And marg’ram sweet, in shepherds’ posies found.

_The School-Mistress._--SHENSTONE.

Buck’s-horne is distinct from Buckshorn Plantain (_Plantago Coronopus_), but it is the latter which is chiefly interesting, and which is meant here. In Evelyn’s day the Latin name was _Cornu Cervinum_, and other names are _Herba Stella_, Herb Ivy and _Corne de Cerf_. Some kinds of plantain were considered good for wounds, but the saying that “plantage” is true to the moon is hard to solve. Buck’s-horne is a plant that has gone altogether out of fashion. In 1577 Hill wrote, “What care and skil is required in the sowing and ordering of the Buck’s-horne, Strawberries and Mustardseede,”--and how odd it looks now to see it coupled with the two other names, as a cherished object to spend pains upon! Le Quintinye says that the leaves, when tender, were used in “Sallad Furnitures... and the little Birds are very greedy of them.” It used to be held profitable for agues if “the rootes, with the rest of the herb,” were hung about the necke, “as nine to men and seven to women and children, but this as many other are idle amulets of no worth or value... yet, since, it hath been reported to me for a certaintie that the leaves of Buck’shorne Plantane laid to their sides that have an ague, will suddenly ease the fit, as if it had been done by witcherie; the leaves and rootes also beaten with some bay salt and applied to the wrestes, worketh the same effects, which I hold to be more reasonable and proper.” Parkinson is very ready to lay down the law as to the limits of empiricism. He is very severe about a superstition connected with Mugwort, but though the same tradition exists of plantain, and (under Mugwort) he quotes Mizaldus as mentioning it, he says nothing about this folly here. Aubrey, however, gives an account of it in his “Miscellanies.” “The last summer, on the day of St John Baptist, I accidently was walking in the pasture behind Montague House; it was twelve o’clock. I saw there about two or three and twenty young women, most of them well habited, on their knees, very busie, as if they had been weeding. I could not presently learn what the matter was; at last a young man told me that they were looking for a coal under the root of a plantain, to put under their heads that night, and they should dream who would be their husbands. It was to be found that day and hour.” This miraculous “coal” also preserved the wearer from all sorts of diseases.

CAMOMILE (_Anthemis nobilis_).

Diana! Have I (to make thee crowns) been gathering still, Fair-cheek’d Eteria’s yellow camomile?

_Br. Pastorals._

Flowers of the field and windflowers springing glad --In airs Sicilian, and the golden bough Of sacred Plato, shining in its worth. . . . With phlox of Phœdimas and chamomile, The crinkled ox-eye of Antagoras.

_Trans. from Meleager._

The healthful balm and mint from their full laps do fly, The scentful camomile.

_Polyolbion_, Song xv.

_Falstaff._ Though the Camomile the more it is trodden on the faster it grows, yet youth the more it is wasted the sooner it wears.--_I. Henry IV._ ii. 4.

The camomile is dedicated to St Anne, mother of the Virgin Mary, and Mr Friend thinks that the Latin name of wild camomile, _Matricaria_, comes from a “fanciful derivation” of this word, from _mater_ and _cara_, or “Beloved Mother.” The name camomile itself is derived from a Greek word meaning “earth-apples,” and its pleasant, refreshing smell is rather like that of ripe apples. The Spaniards call it _Manzanilla_, “a little apple.” It was grown “both for pleasure and profit, both inward and outward diseases, both for the sicke and the sound,” and was “planted of the rootes in alleys, in walks, and on banks to sit on, for that the more it is trodden upon and pressed down in dry weather, the closer it groweth and the better it will thrive.” This was a common belief in earlier days, as Falstaff’s remark shows.

Culpepper is as trenchant as usual on the subject. “Nichersor, saith the Egyptians, dedicated it to the sun, because it cured agues, and they were like enough to do it, for they were the arrantest apes in their religion I have ever read of.” Why his indignation is so much excited is not clear, but probably it is because Agues (being watery diseases) were under the moon, and therefore they should have dedicated a herb that cured agues to the Moon. However, he holds to the view that camomile is good for all agues, although it is an herb of the sun--who has nothing to do with such diseases, as a rule. Turner criticises Amatus Lusitanus with some shrewdness. This writer, who had apparently taken upon him to teach “Spanyardes, Italians, Frenchmen and Germans the name of Herbes in their tongues, writeth that Camomile is commonlye knowne,” and with this bald statement contented himself. “Wherefore it is lykely he knoweth nether of both [kinds of Camomile]. Wherefore he had done better to have sayde, ‘I do knowe nether of both, then thus shortly to passe by them.’ Camomile is still officinal, and is used for fomentations. ‘If taken internally it should be infused with cold water, as heat dissipates the oil.’”

_Feverfew_ is so nearly related to camomile that it may be mentioned here. Indeed some writers call it “a Wild Camomile,” and give it _Matricaria Parthenum_ for a Latin name. Most botanists, however, place it “in the genus _Pyrethrum_.” Mr Britten calls it _Pyrethrum Parthenium_. “Feverfew” comes from “febrifuge,” for it was supposed to have wonderful power to drive away fevers and agues; and it is still a favourite remedy with village people. Nora Hopper brings it in among the fairies:--

There’s many feet on the moor to-night, And they fall so light as they turn and pass, So light and true, that they shake no dew, From the featherfew and the Hungry-Grass.

_The Fairy Music._

CARDOONS (_Cynara Cardunculus_).

This plant is also called Spanish Cardoon or Cardoon of Tours. It is a kind of artichoke “which becomes a truly gigantic herbaceous vegetable. The tender stalks of the inner leaves are sometimes blanched and stewed, or used in soups and salads”; but it is much less used in England than on the Continent. Cardoons are said to yield a good yellow dye.

CLARY (_Salvia Sclarea_).

Percely, clarey and eke sage, And all other herbage.

JOHN GARDENER.

“Clary, or more properly Clear-eyes,” which indicates one of its supposed chief virtues plainly enough. Wild Clary was called _Oculus Christi_, and was even more valued than the garden kind. Clary was once “used for making wine, which resembles Frontignac, and is remarkable for its narcotic qualities.”[39] It was also added to “Ale and Beere in these Northern regions (I think the Netherlands are meant here) to make it the more heady.” The young plant itself was eaten, and an approved way of dressing it was to put it in an omelette “made up with cream, fried in sweet butter” and eaten with sugar and the juice of oranges or lemons. It is now sometimes used to season soups, and Hogg tells us that it was used “in Austria as a perfume; in confectionery, and to the jellies of fruits, it communicates the flavour of pine-apple.” The herbalists speak of a plant called Yellow Clary or “Jupiter’s Distaff,” and Mr Britten suggests that this was _Phlomus fruticosa_.

[39] Timbs.

DITTANDER (_Lepidium Latifolium_).

Dittander or Pepperwort grows wild in a few places in England, but was once cultivated. It was sometimes used as “a sauce or sallet to meate, but is too hot, bitter and strong for everyone’s taste.” These qualities have gained it the names of Poor Man’s Pepper, and from Tusser, Garden Ginger. Culpepper’s opinion is briefly expressed: “Here is another martial herb for you, make much of it.” It is so “hot and fiery sharpe” that it is said to raise a blister on the hand of anyone who holds it for a while, and _therefore_ (on homœopathic principles) it was recommended “to take away marks, scarres... and the marks of burning with fire or Iron.”

ELECAMPANE (_Inula Helenium_).

Elecampane, the beauteous Helen’s flower, Mingles among the rest her silver store.

RAPIN.

“Some think it took the name from the teares of _Helen_, from whence it sprang, which is a fable; others that she had her hands full of this herbe when _Paris_ carried her away; others say it was so called because Helen first found it available against the bitings and stingings of venomous beasts; and others thinke that it tooke the name from the Island Helena, where the best was found to grow.” Parkinson gives a wide choice for opinions on the origin of Elecampane, the two first “fables” are very picturesque. The radiant gold of the flowers would be gorgeous but beautiful, in a loose bunch, in a meadow, though in-doors they would be apt to look big and glaring. Gerarde speaks of them being “in their braverie in June and July,” and adds that the root “is marvellous good for many things.” Since the days of Helen the fairies have laid hold of the plant, and another name for it (in Denmark) is Elf-Dock. Elecampane has had a great reputation since the days of Pliny, and was considered specially good for coughs, asthma and shortness of breath. Elecampane lozenges were much recommended, and the root was candied and eaten as a sweetmeat till comparatively lately. It is said to have antiseptic qualities, and according to Dr Fernie has been used in Spain as a surgical dressing.

FENUGREEK (_Trigonella fœnum græcum_).

Fenugreek “hath many leaves, but three alwayes set together on a foot-stalke, almost round at the ends, a little dented about the sides, greene above and grayish underneath; from the joynts with the leaves come forth white flowers, and after them, crooked, flattish long hornes, small pointed, with yellowish cornered seedes within them.” This description is very exact, and, indeed, the conspicuous horn-like pods, singularly large for the size of the plant, are its most marked characteristic. Turner says: “This herbe is called in Greek Keratitis, y^{t} is horned, aigō keros y^{t} is gotes horne, and ŏ onkeros, that is cows horne.” Fenugreek was a Favourite of the “antients,” and Folkard gives an account of a festival held by Antiochus Epiphanus, the Syrian king, of which one feature was a procession, where boys carried golden dishes containing frankincense, myrrh and saffron, and two hundred women, out of golden watering-pots, sprinkled perfume on the assembled guests. All who went to watch the games in the gymnasium were anointed with some perfume from fifteen gold dishes, which held saffron, amaracus, lilies, cinnamon, spikenard, fenugreek, etc. In England it was used for more prosaic purposes, “Galen and others say that they were eaten as Lupines, and the Egyptians and others eate the seedes yet to this day as Pulse or meate.” The herb, he continues, he has never heard of as being used in England, because it was very little grown, but the seed was used in medicine. Gerarde gives us one of its pleasantest preparations as a drug. In old diseases of the chest, without a fever, fat dates are to be boiled with it, with a great quantitie of honey. In 1868 Rhind[40] writes that the seeds are no longer given in medicine, and but rarely used in “fomentations and cataplasms.” Since that date, I should imagine, it is even more rarely used. Fenugreek was at one time prescribed by veterinary surgeons for horses.

[40] “History of the Vegetable Kingdom.”

GOOD KING HENRY (_Chenopodium Bonus Henricus_).

This plant is otherwise known as Fat Hen, Shoemaker’s Heels, English Mercury, or as Evelyn says, Blite. He begins with praise: “The Tops may be eaten as Sparagus or sodden in Pottage, and as a very salubrious Esculent. There is both a white and red, much us’d in Spain and Italy”; but he finishes lamely for all his praise: “’tis insipid enough.” Gerarde says: “It is called of the Germans _Guter Heinrick_, of a certaine good qualitie it hath,” and its name is much the most interesting thing about it. Various writers have tried to attach it to our successive kings of that name, with a want of ingenuousness and ingenuity equally deplorable. Grimm[41] traces it back till he finds that this was one of the many plants appropriated to Heinz or Heinrich--the “household goblin,” who plays tricks on the maids or helps them with their work, and asks no more than a bowl of cream set over-night for his reward--who, in fact, holds much the same place as our Robin Goodfellow holds here.

[41] Teutonic Mythology.

HERB-PATIENCE (_Rumex Patienta_).

Sequestered leafy glades, That through the dimness of their twilight show Large dock-leaves, spiral fox-gloves, or the glow Of the wild cat’s-eyes, or the silvery stems Of delicate birch trees, in long grass which hems A little brook.

_Calidore_--KEATS.

La _tulipe_ est pour la fierté, Pour le malheur la _patience_.

_La Petite Corbeille._

The Herb-Patience does not grow in every man’s garden.

_Proverb._

Herb-Patience was also called Patience-Dock or Monk’s Rhubarb. The French call Water-Dock, _Patience d’eau_ and _Parelle des Marais_, so the name of the quality that is, in nursery rhyme, a “virtue,” and a “grace,” clings to this dock! Parkinson compares it unfavourably with Bastard Rhubarb, though he says the root is often used in “diet beere”; but Gerarde calls it an “excellent, wholesome pot-herbe,” and relates a tale, in which responsibilities are treated with such delightful airiness that it must be repeated here. He begins by saying that he himself is “no graduate, but a country scholler,” but hopes his “good meaning will be well taken, considering I doe my best, not doubting but some of greater learning will perfect that which I have begun, according to my small skill, especially the ice being broken unto him and the wood rough-hewed to his hands.” Nevertheless, he (who dictates on these matters, to a great extent, through his Herbal) thinks that the learned may gain occasionally from his knowledge. “One _John Bennet_, a chirurgion, of Maidstone in Kent, a man as slenderly learned as myselfe,” undertook to cure a butcher’s boy of an ague. “He promised him a medicine, and for want of one for the present (he himselfe confessed unto me) he tooke out of his garden three or four leaves of this plant” and administered them in ale, with entire success. “Whose blunt attempt may set an edge upon some sharper wit and greater judgment in the faculties of plants.” Any anticipation that his experiment might lead to disaster does not seem to have troubled him! The root of Patience-Dock “boiled in the water of _Carduus Benedictus_” was also given at a venture for an ague, and this experiment was tried by “a worshipfull gentlewoman, mistresse Anne Wylbraham, upon divers of her poore Neighbours, with good success.” Mistress Anne Wylbraham must have been a woman of temerity!

Garden-patience used to be a good deal cultivated as spinach, but is now very much ignored, partly because few people know how to cook it. The leaves should be used early in the spring while they are still tender, and the flavour will be very much improved if about a fourth part of common sorrel is added to them. This way of dressing patience-dock was very popular in Sweden, and is described as “forming an excellent spinach dish.” Patience is sometimes spoken of as “passions,” but this name properly belongs to _Polygonum Bistorta_, the leaves of which were the principal ingredient in a herb-pudding, formerly eaten on Good Friday in the North of England. Parkinson also speaks in this chapter of the “true rhubarb of Rhapontick,” which has “leaves of sad or dark-greene colour... of a fine tart or sourish taste, much more pleasant than the garden or wood sorrell.” Dr Thornton, however, says that Parkinson was mistaken, and that the first seeds of true rhubarb were sent “by the great Boerhaave to our famous gardener, Miller, in 1759”--more than a hundred years later. Very soon after Miller had it, rhubarb was cultivated in many parts of England and in certain localities in Scotland.

HOREHOUND (_Marrubium vulgare_).

Here hore-hound ’gainst the mad dog’s ill By biting, never failing.

_Muses Elysium._

Pale hore-hound, which he holds of most especiall use.

_Polyolbion_, Song xiii.

Folkard says that horehound is one of the five plants stated by the Mishna to be the “bitter herbs,” which the Jews were ordered to take for the Feast of the Passover, the other four being coriander, horse-radish, lettuce and nettle. The name _Marrubium_ is supposed to come from the Hebrew _Marrob_, a bitter juice. De Gubernatis writes that horehound was once regarded as a “contre-poison magique,” but very little is said about it on the whole, and it is an uninteresting plant to look at, and much like many others of the labiate tribe. Long ago the Apothecaries sold “sirop of horehound” for “old coughs” and kindred disorders, and horehound tea and candied horehound are still made to relieve the same troubles. Candied horehound is made by boiling down the fresh leaves and adding sugar to the juice thus extracted, and then again boiling the juice till it has become thick enough to pour into little cases made of paper.

LADY’S-SMOCK (_Cardamine pratensis_).

Then comes Daffodil beside Our ladye’s smock at our Ladye-tide.

_An Early Calendar of English Flowers._

When daisies pied and violets blue And lady-smocks all silver white And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue Do paint the meadows with delight.

_Love’s Labour Lost_, v. 2.

And some to grace the show, Of lady-smocks do rob the neighbouring mead. Wherewith their looser locks most curiously they braid.

_Polyolbion_, Song xx.

And now and then among, of eglantine a spray, By which again a course of lady-smocks they lay.

Song xv.

The honeysuckle round the porch has wov’n its wavy bowers, And by the meadow-trenches blow the faint, sweet cuckoo flowers, And the wild march-marigold shines like fire on swamps and hollows gray.

_The May Queen._--TENNYSON.

“Cuckoo-flower” is a name laid claim to by many flowers, and authorities differ as to which one Shakespeare meant by it. Certainly not the plant under discussion, which is the one we most generally call Cuckoo-flower to-day, for there can be no doubt that this is the “lady’s-smocks” of the line above,--letting alone the fact that the “cuckoo-buds” in the song being of “yellow hue” put the idea out of court. Lord Tennyson’s lines point equally clearly to the _Cardamine pratensis_. Lady’s-smock is said to be a corruption of “Our Lady’s Smock,” and to be one of the plants dedicated to the Virgin, because it comes into blossom about Ladytide; though as a matter of fact the flower is seldom seen so early. It is remarkable how many attentions this graceful, but humble and scentless flower has received; and besides all the poets Isaac Walton mentions it twice: “Look! down at the bottom of the hill there, in that meadow, chequered with water-lilies and lady-smocks.”[42] And later: “Looking on the hills, I could behold them spotted with wood and groves--looking down in the meadow, could see there a boy gathering lilies and lady’s-smocks, and there, a girl cropping culverkeys and cowslips, all to make garlands suitable to this present month of May.” It is difficult to be positive about culverkeys. Columbines, bluebells, primroses and an orchis have all been called by this name at different times. The primrose is cut out of the question here by its colour, for in the poem which has been quoted a little while before Davors sings of “azure culverkeys.” The columbine is rarely found in a wild state and flowers later in the year, the orchis is hardly “azure,” so on the whole it looks as if the likeliest flower would be the wild hyacinth. To return to the lady’s-smocks, Gerarde says they are of “a blushing, white colour,” and like the “white sweet-john.” In the seventeenth century their titles were various and he gives some of them, and in doing so he shows an ingenuous, very pleasing clinging to the names familiar to his youth. “In English, cuckowe flowers, in Northfolke, Canterbury bells, at Namptwich in Cheshire, where I had my beginning, ladiesmocks which hath given me cause to christen it after my country fashion.” Parkinson finds that “these herbes are seldom used eyther as sauce or sallet or in physick, but more for pleasure to decke up the garlands of the country-people, yet divers have reported them to be as affectuall in the scorbute or scurvy as the water-cresses.” The plant was regarded as an excellent remedy for these evils by the inhabitants of those northern countries where salted fish and flesh are largely eaten. The leaves are slightly pungent and somewhat bitter; and in the early part of the nineteenth century it was regarded as an ordinary salad herb, so that its reputation in that respect must have risen since Parkinson’s days.

[42] Complete Angler.

LANGDEBEEFE (_Helminthia echoides_).

Langdebeefe is mentioned with scanty praise. “The leaves are onely used in all places that I knew or ever could learne, for an herbe for the pot among others.” It is difficult to be absolutely certain as to the identity of the plant, for Gerarde places it with Bugloss, and Parkinson, among the Hawkweeds. Mr Britten says, however, that both writers referred to _Helminthia echoides_, but that _Echium vulgare_, Viper’s Bugloss, is the plant that Turner called Langdebeefe, and Viper’s Bugloss is still called Langdebeefe in Central France. Near Paris, however, _Langue de bœuf_ means _Anchusa Italica_. “The leaves,” says Gerarde, “are like the rough tongue of an oxe or cow, whereof it took its name,” and he gives another instance of the _insouciance_ of contemporary physicians. They “put them both into all kindes of medicines indifferently, which are of force and vertue to drive away sorrow and pensiveness of the minde, and to comfort and strengthen the heart.” “Both” refers to Bugloss and “little wilde Buglosse,” which he has just informed us grows upon “the drie ditch bankes about Pickadilla.” Times change!

LIQUORICE (_Glycyrrhiza glabra_).

Gerarde describes two kinds of Liquorice: the first has “woody branches... beset with leaves of an overworne greene colour, and small blew floures of the colour of an English Hyacinth.” From the peculiar shape and roughness of the seed-pods it was distinguished by the name of “Hedge-hogge Licorice.” This kind was very little used. Common Liquorice resembles it very closely, but has less peculiar seed-vessels.

The cultivation of _licorish_ in England began about the year of Queen Elizabeth’s reign, and it has been much grown at Pontefract (whence Pontefract lozenges are named), Worksop, Godalming and Mitcham. It must have been once an extremely profitable crop. “There hath been made from fifty Pound to an hundred Pound of an Acre, as some affirm.” The caution expressed in the last three words is rather nice. “I. W.,” the author of this bit of information (he gives no other signature), published his book in 1681, and was evidently of a very patriotic disposition. He is indignant that “although our English Liquorice exceeds any Foreign whatsoever,” yet we “yearly buy of other Nations,” and Parkinson is of much the same opinion: “The root grown in England is of a fame more weake, sweete taste, yet far more pleasing to us than Licorice that is brought us from beyond Sea,” which is stronger and more bitter. A later writer prefers English roots on the ground that those imported are often “mouldy and spoiled.” “With the juice of Licorice, Ginger and other spices there is made a certaine bread or cakes called Gingerbread, which is very good against the cough.” It is not the light in which Gingerbread is usually looked upon. Liquorice administered in many ways was a great remedy against coughs. Boiled in faire water, with Maiden-haire and Figges, it made a “good ptisane drinke for them that have any dry cough,” and the “juice of Licoris, artificially made with Hyssoppe water,” was recommended against shortness of breath. Extract of Liquorice is to be found in the Pharmacopœia, and it is imported as “Spanish juice.” The extract must be made from the _dried_ root, or else it will not be so bright when it is strained. Dr Fernie says that Liquorice is added to porter and stout to give thickness and blackness.

LOVAGE (_Ligusticum Scoticum_).

Mr Britten says: In Lyte and other early works, this [name] is applied to _Levisticum officinale_, but in modern British books it is assigned to _Ligusticum Scoticum_. It grows wild near the sea-shore in Scotland and Northumberland. Lovage “has many long and great stalkes of large, winged leaves, divided into many parts, ... and with the leaves come forth towards the toppes, long branches, bearing at their toppes large umbells of yellow flowers. The whole plant and every part of it smelleth somewhat strongly and aromatically, and of an hot, sharpe, biting taste. The _Germans_ and other Nations in times past used both the roote and seede instead of Pepper to season their meates and brothes, and found them as comfortable and warming.”[43] Turner mentions Lovage amongst his medical herbs and Culpepper says: “It is an herb of the Sun, under the sign Taurus. If Saturn offend the throat... this is your cure.”

[43] Parkinson.

MALLOW (_Malva_).

With many a curve my banks I fret, By many a field and fallow And many a fair by foreland set, With willow, weed and mallow.

_The Brook._--TENNYSON.

The spring is at the door, She bears a golden store, Her maund with yellow daffodils runneth o’er.

* * * * *

After her footsteps follow The mullein and the mallow, She scatters golden powder on the sallow.

_Spring Song._--N. HOPPER.

Parkinson praises mallows both for beauty and virtue. “The double ones, which for their Bravery are entertained everywhere into every Countrywoman’s garden. The Venice Mallow is called Good-night-at-noone, though the flowers close so quickly that you shall hardly see a flower blowne up in the day-time after 9 A.M.” Some medical advice follows, in which “All sorts of Mallowes” are praised. “Those that are of most use are most common. The rest are but _taken upon credit_.” The last remark comes quite casually, and apparently those that were “but taken upon credit,” would be comprehended in the “all sorts” and administered without hesitation. French Mallows (_Malva crispa_) is most highly recommended as an excellent pot-herb! indeed all wild mallows may be used in that capacity, and the Romans are said to have considered them a delicacy.

Marsh Mallow (_Althæa officinalis_) has very soothing qualities, and was, and is, much used by country people for inflammation outwardly and inwardly. It contains a great deal of mucilage, in the root particularly. Timbs says: “Dr Sir John Floyer mentions a posset (hot milk curdled by some infusion) in which althœa roots are boiled”; and it must have been a “comforting” one. In France, the young tops and leaves are used in spring salads. “Many of the poorer inhabitants of Syria, especially the Fellahs, the Greeks, and the Armenians, subsist for weeks on herbs, of which the Marsh Mallow is one of the most common. When boiled first, and then fried with onions and butter, they are said to form a palatable dish, and in times of scarcity, consequent upon the failure of the crops, all classes may be seen striving with eagerness to obtain the much desired plant, which fortunately grows in great abundance.”[44] In Job xxx. 3, 4 we read: “For want and famine they were solitary, fleeing into the wilderness in former time desolate and waste. Who cut up mallows by the bushes.” Smith’s “Dictionary of the Bible,” however, casts doubt on this mallow being a mallow at all, and though admitting that it would be quite possible, decides that the evidence points most clearly to _Atriplex Halimus_.

Gerarde says the Tree Mallow “approacheth nearer the substance and nature of wood than any of the others; wherewith the people of Olbia and Narbone in France doe make hedges, to sever or divide their gardens and vineyards which continueth long;” and these hedges must have been a beautiful sight when in flower.

The Hollyhock, of course, belongs to this tribe, and was once apparently eaten as a pot-herb, and found to be an inferior one. It has been put to other uses, for Hogg says that the stalks contain a fibre, “from which a good strong cloth has been manufactured, and in the year 1821 about 280 acres of land near Flint in Wales were planted with the Common Holyhock, with the view of converting the fibre to the same uses as hemp or flax.” It was also discovered in the process of manufacture, that the plant “yields a blue dye, equal in beauty and permanence to that of the best indigo.” This experiment however successful in results, cannot have been justified from a commercial point of view, and was not often repeated, and there is now no trace of its having been ever tried.

In other languages, the Hollyhock has very pretty names; “in low Dutch, it was called _Winter Rosen_, and in French, _Rose d’outremer_.”

[44] Hogg.

MARIGOLD (_Calendula Officinalis_).

Hark! hark! the lark at heaven’s gate sings And Phœbus ’gins to rise, His steeds to water at those springs On chalic’d flowers that lies; And winking Mary-buds begin To ope their golden eyes.

_Cymbeline_, ii. 3.

The marigold that goes to bed wi’ the sun, And with him rises weeping.

_Winter’s Tale_, iv. 3.

The purple Violets and Marigolds Shall, as a carpet, hang upon thy grave While summer days do last.

_Pericles_, iv. 1.

Marigolds on death-beds blowing.

_Two Noble Kinsmen._ Introd. Song.

The Marigold observes the sun, More than my subjects me have done. So shuts the marigold her leaves At the departure of the sun; So from the honeysuckle sheaves The bee goes when the day is done.

_Br. Pastorals_, book iii.

But, maiden, see the day is waxen old, And ’gins to shut in with the marigold.

_Br. Pastorals_, book i.

Open afresh your round of starry folds Ye ardent marigolds! Dry up the moisture from your golden lids For great Apollo bids That in these days your praises should be sung. I stood tiptoe, etc.--KEATS.

The marigold above, t’ adorn the arched bar, The double daisy, thrift, the button batchelor, Sweet William, sops-in-wine, the campion.

_Polyolbion_, Song xv.

The crimson darnel flower, the blue bottle and _gold_. Which though esteemed but weeds, yet for their dainty hues And for their scent not ill, they for this purpose choose.

_Ibid._

The yellow kingcup Flora then assigned. To be the badges of a jealous mind, The orange-tawny marigold.

_Br. Pastorals._

The Marigold has enjoyed great and lasting popularity, and though the flower does not charm by its loveliness, the indomitable courage, with which, after even a sharp frost, it lifts up its hanging head, and shows a cheerful countenance, leads one to feel for it affection and respect. In the end of January (1903) here in Devon there were some flowers and opening buds, though ten days before the ice bore for skating. The Latin name refers to its reputed habit of blossoming on the first days of every month in the year, and in a fairly mild winter this is no exaggeration. Marigolds are dedicated to the Virgin, but this fact is not supposed to have had anything to do with the giving of their name, which had probably been bestowed on them before the Festivals in her honour were kept in England, “Though doubtless,” says Mr Friend, “the name of Mary had much to do with the alterations in the name of Marigold, which may be noticed in its history.” There is an idea that they were appropriated to her because they were in flower at all of her Festivals; but on this notion other authorities throw doubt. In ancient days Marigolds were often called Golds, or Goules, or Ruddes; in Provence, a name for them was “_Gauche-fer_[45] (left-hand iron) probably from its brilliant disc, suggestive of a shield worn on the left arm.” Chaucer describes Jealousy as wearing this flower: “Jealousy that werede of yelwe guides a garland”; and Browne calls the “orange-tawny marigold” its badge.

There was a very strong belief that the flowers followed the sun, and many allusions are made to this; amongst them, two melancholy lines which are said to have been drawn from some “Meditations” by Charles I., written at Carisbrooke Castle.

“The marigold observes the sun, More than my subjects me have done.”

Shakespeare refers often to this idea, and the flower was obviously “to earlier writers the emblem of constancy in affection and sympathy in joy and sorrow, though it was also the emblem of the fawning courtier who could only shine when everything is bright.” (Canon Ellacombe). Marigolds have figured in heraldry, for Marguerite of Valois, grandmother of Henri IV., chose for her armorial device a marigold turning towards the sun, with the motto, _Je ne veux suivre que lui seul_. About the fifteenth century the Marigold was called _Souvenir_, and ladies wore posies of marigolds and heartsease mingled, that is, a bunch of “happiness stored in recollections,” a very pretty allegorical meaning. But it has been the symbol of memories anything but happy, for curiously enough, this sun’s flower means Grief in the language of flowers, and in many countries is connected with the idea of death. This thought occurs in Pericles and in the song in “Two noble Kinsmen.” In America, one name for them is death-flowers, because there is a tradition that they “sprang upon ground stained by the life-blood of these unfortunate Mexicans who fell victims to the love of gold and arrogant cruelty of the early Spanish settlers in America.”[46] However, to restore the balance of happiness, one learns that to dream of Marigolds augurs wealth, prosperity, success, and a rich and happy marriage! In Fuller’s “Antheologia, or the Speech of Flowers”--a most amusing tale--the Marigold occupies a prominent place. The scene opens with a dispute in the Flowers’ Parliament between the Tulip and the Rose. “Whilst this was passing in the _Upper House of Flowers_, no less were the transactions in the _Lower House_ of the _Herbs_; where there was a general acclamation against _Wormwood_. Wormwood’s friends were casually absent that day, making merry at an entertainment, her enemies (let not that sex be angry for making Wormwood feminine) appeared in full body and made so great a noise, as if some mouths had two tongues in them.” Wormwood and the Tulip were eventually both cast out of the garden, and lying by the roadside addressed themselves to a passing Wild Boar, telling him of a hole in the hedge, by which he may creep into the garden and revenge them, and amuse himself by destroying the flowers. At the moment he enters, “Thrift, a Flower-Herb, was just courting Marigold as follows: ‘Mistress of all Flowers that grow on Earth, give me leave to profess my sincerest affections to you.... I have taken signal notice of your accomplishments, and among other rare qualities, particularly of this, your loyalty and faithfulness to the Sun, ... but we all know the many and sovereign virtues in your leaves, the _Herb Generall_ in all pottage.” He then proceeds to praise himself, “I am no gamester to shake away with a quaking hand what a more fixed hand did gain and acquire. I am none of those who in vanity of clothes bury my quick estate as in a winding sheet.” The Marigold demurely hung her head and replied, “I am tempted to have a good opinion of myself, to which all people are prone, and we women most of all, if we may believe your opinions of us, which herein I am afraid are too true.” But she is not deceived by his flattery. “The plain truth is you love me not for myself, but for your advantage. It is _Golden_ the arrear of my _name_, which maketh _Thrift_ to be my suitor. How often and how unworthily have you tendered your affections even to a _Penny royal_ itself, had she not scorned to be courted by you. But I commend the girl that she knew her own worth, though it was but a _penny_, yet it is a _Royal_ one, and therefore not a match for every base _Suitor_, but knew how to value herself; and give me leave to tell you that _Matches_ founded on _Covetousness_ never succeed.” At this point in her spirited reply the Boar approached. “There is no such teacher as extremity; necessity hath found out more Arts than ever ingenuity invented. The Wall Gillyflower ran up to the top of the Wall of the Garden, where it hath grown ever since, and will never descend till it hath good security for its own safety.” Other thrilling scenes follow, and finally the Boar is put an end to by the gardener and “a _Guard_ of Dogs.”

Marigolds stood as a standard of comparison, and Isaac Walton uses the common saying, “As yellow as a Marigold.” Among the various titles of different kinds of Marigold Gerarde gives the oddest, for he calls one variety Jackanapes-on-horseback; Fuller calls it the “Herb-Generall of all pottage,” and it was much esteemed in this capacity. Gay says:

Fair is the gillyflour, for gardens sweet, Fair is the marigold, for pottage meet.

_The Squabble._

“The yellow leaves of the flowers are dried and kept throughout Dutchland against winter, to put into broths, in physical potions, and for divers other purposes in such quantity that in some Grocers or Spice Sellers houses are to be found barrels filled with them and retailed by the penny more or less, insomuch that no broths are well made without Marigolds.” One is reminded of the childish heroine in Miss Edgeworth’s charming story “Simple Susan” and how she added the petals of Marigolds, as the last touch, to the broth she had made for her invalid mother! Parkinson observes that the flowers “green or dryed are often used in possets, broths and drinks as a comforter to the heart and spirits,” and that Syrup and Conserve are made of the fresh flowers; also “the flowers of Marigold pickt clean from the heads and pickled up against winter make an excellent Sallet when no flowers are to be had in a garden, which Sallet is nowadays in the highest esteem with Gentles and Ladies of the greatest note.” There is a tone of patronage in this last remark which is rather irritating. “Some used to make their heyre yellow with the floure of this herbe,” says Turner, and severely censures the impiousness of such an act. A hundred years ago, according to Abercromby, the flowers were chiefly used to flavour broth and to adulterate Saffron, but they must be even less employed now than then.

Dr Fernie says that the flowers of Marigold were much used by American surgeons during the Civil War, in treating wounds, and with admirable results. “_Calendula_ owes its introduction and first use altogether to homœopathic practice, as signally valuable for healing wounds, ulcers, burns, and other breaches of the skin surface.” Personal experience leads me to suggest that it is an excellent household remedy.

THE CORN MARIGOLD (_Chrysanthemum segetum_) used to be called Guildes, and it was once so rampant that a law was passed by the Scottish Parliament to fine negligent farmers who allowed it to overrun their lands. Hence the old Scots saying--

The Gordon, the Guild, and the Watercraw Are the three worst ills the Moray ever saw.

[45] Ingram, “Flora Symbolica.”

[46] Folkard.

PENNYROYAL (_Mentha pulegium_).

Peniriall is to print your love, So deep within my heart, That when you look this nosegay on My pain you may impart, And when that you have read the same, Consider wel my woe. Think ye then how to recompense Even him that loves you so. A Handful of Pleasant Delites.

C. ROBINSON.

Then balm and mint helps to make up My chapter, and for trial, Costmary, that so likes the cup, And next it, pennyroyal.

_Muses’ Elysium._

Lavender, Corn-rose, Pennyroyal sate, And that which cats[47] esteem so delicate After a while slow-pac’d with much ado, Ground pine, with her short legs, crept hither too.

_Of Plants_, book ii.--COWLEY.

In France, Italy, and Spain, the children make a _crêche de noël_ at Christmas time; that is, they make a shed with stones and moss, and surround it with evergreens powdered with flour and cotton-wool, to make a little landscape. In and about this shed are placed the _gens de la crêche_; little earthen figures representing the Holy Family, and the Three Kings with their camels, and the Shepherds with their flocks, the sheep being disposed among the miniature rocks and bushes. On Christmas eve, or else sometimes on Twelfth Night, I think, these are saluted with the music of pipes and carol singing. De Gubernatis says that the children of Sicily always put pennyroyal amongst the green things in their _crêches_, and believe that exactly at midnight it bursts into flower for Christmas Day.

Other names for it are Pulioll Royal and Pudding-grasse, “and in the west parts, as about _Exeter_, Organs.” It is still called organs in the “West parts,” and organ-tea used to be a favourite drink to take out to the harvesters. In Italy pennyroyal is a protection against the Evil Eye, and in Sicily, they tie it to the branches of the fig-tree, thinking that this will prevent the figs falling before they are ripe. It is there also offered to husbands and wives who are in the habit of “falling out” with each other. “The Ancients said that it causeth Sheepe and Goates to bleate when they are eating of it.” To produce all those wonderful effects, it must have a great deal of magic about it. Gerarde says it grows “in the Common neare London, called Miles End, about the holes and ponds thereof in sundry places, from whence poore women bring plentie to sell in London markets.” Would that it could be found at “Miles End” now! He gives in passing a sidelight on the comfort in travelling, in the good old days: “If you have when you are at the sea Penny Royal in great quantitie, drie and cast it into corrupt water, it helpeth it much, neither will it hurt them that drinke thereof.” This inevitable state of things, in making a voyage, is faced with philosophic calm. “A Garland of Pennie Royal made and worne on the head is good against headache and giddiness.”

[47] Cat-mint.

PURSLANE (_Portulaca_).

The worts, the purslane and the mess Of water-cress.

_Thanksgiving._--HERRICK.

De la Quintinye thought Purslane “one of the prettiest _plants_ in a _kitchen-garden_, the _red_ or _golden_ being the most agreeable to the eye and the more delicate and difficult to raise than the green. The thick stalks of Purslain that is to run to seed, are good to pickle in Salt and Vinegar for Winter Sallads.” I do not agree with him; the leaves are pretty enough, but thick, fleshy, and of no special charm. The graceful Coriander or the lace-like leaves of Sweet Cicely are far more to be admired. But even Purslane, which looks quite prosaic, was mixed up with magic long ago, for strewn about a bed, it used[48] “in olden times to be considered a protection against evil spirits.” Among a vast number of diseases, for all of which it is highly recommended, “blastings by lightening, or planets, and for burning of gunpowder” are named and Turner says, “It helpeth the teeth when they are an edged,” so it had many uses!

Evelyn finds that “familiarly eaten alone with Oyl and Vinegar,” moderation should be used, but remarks that it is eminently moist and cooling “especially the golden,” and is “generally entertained in all our sallets. Some eate of it cold, after it has been boiled, which Dr Muffit would have in wine for nourishment.” Not a tempting dish, by the sound of it! The Purslanes are found from the Cape of Good Hope and South America to the “frozen regions of the North.” The root of one variety _Leuisia redeviva_, called Tobacco root (because it has the smell of tobacco when cooked), has great nutritive qualities. It is a native of North America, and is boiled and eaten by the Indians, and on long journeys it is of special use, “two or three ounces a day being quite sufficient for a man, even while undergoing great fatigue.” (Hogg.)

[48] Folkard.

RAM-CICHES (_Cicer Arietinum_).

Ram-ciches, Ramshead, or Chick Pea, gains the two first names from the curious shape of the seed pods which are “puffed up as it were with winde in which do lie two, or at the most three seeds, small towards the end, with one sharp corner, not much unlike to a Ram’s head.” Turner says that the plant is very ill for newe fallowed ground and that “it killeth all herbes and most and sounest of all other ground thistel,” which seems a loss one could survive. According to Parkinson the seeds are “boyled and stewed as the most dainty kind of Pease there are, by the Spaniards,” and he adds that in his own opinion, “they are of a very good relish and doe nourish much.” They are still eaten and appreciated by the country people in the south of France and Spain. Like Borage, Ram-ciches is particularly interesting to students of chemistry; for it is said that “in very hot weather the leaves sparkle with very small tears of a viscous and very limpid liquid, extremely acid, and which has been discovered to be oxalic acid in its pure state.”[49]

[49] Hogg.

RAMPION (_Campanula Rapunculus_).

The Citrons, which our soil not easily doth afford, The Rampions rare as that.

_Polyolbion Song_, xv.

De Gubernatis tells a most curious story from Calabria almost exactly that of Cupid and Psyche, but it begins by saying that the maiden, wandering alone in the fields, uprooted a rampion, and so discovered a stair-case leading to a palace in the depths of the earth.

One of Grimm’s fairy tales is called after the heroine, _Rapunzel_ (Rampion), for she was given this plant’s name, and the whole plot hangs on Rampions being stolen from a magician’s garden. There is an Italian tradition that the possession of a rampion (as that of strawberries, cherries, or red shoes), would excite quarrels among children, which would sometimes go as far as “murder.” Even in a land of quick passions and southern blood, it can hardly be thought that this tradition had much ground to spring from, and I have not heard of it as existing further north. Parkinson says that the roots may be eaten as salad or “boyled and stewed with butter and oyle, and some blacke or long pepper cast on them.” The distilled water of the whole plant is excellent for the complexion, and “maketh the face very splendent.” Evelyn thought Rampions “much more nourishing” than Radishes, and they are said to have a “pleasant, nutty flavour”; in the winter the leaves as well as the roots make a nice salad. Even if it is not grown for use, it might well, with its graceful spires of purple bells, be put for ornament in shrubberies. Parkinson has said of Honesty, that “some eate the young rootes before they runne up to flower, as Rampions are eaten with vinegar and oyle”; but Evelyn warns us _apropos_ of this very plant (with others) how cautiously the advice of the Ancient Authors should be taken by the sallet gatherer (Parkinson was probably quoting from the “Ancients” when he said this); “for however it may have been in their countries, in England _Radix Lunaria_ is accounted among the deadly poisons!” One cannot help wondering if Parkinson or Gerarde ever knew those hardy individuals they allude to as “some,” and who tried the experiment!

ROCAMBOLE (_Allium Scorodoprasum_).

Rocambole is a kind of garlic, but milder in flavour, and it is a native of Denmark. De la Quintinye seems to confuse it with Shallots (_Allium ascalonium_), as he writes of “Shallots or Rocamboles, otherwise Spanish Garlick.” Evelyn, speaking of Garlic as impossible--one cannot help feeling with a smothered wistfulness--says: “To be sure, ’tis not fit for Ladies’ Palates, nor those who court them, farther than to permit a light touch in the Dish, with a _Clove_ thereof, much better supplied by the gentler _Rocambole_.”

ROCKET (_Eruca sativa_).

Various plants claim the name of Rocket, but it was _Eruca sativa_ that was used as a salad herb. Parkinson explains the Italian name _Ruchetta_ and _Rucola Gentile_ thus: “This Rocket Gentle, so-called from the _Italians_, who by that title of Gentle understand anything that maketh one quicke and ready to jest, to play.” It is certainly not specially gentle in the ordinary sense of the words, for it has leaves “like those of Turneps, but not neere so great nor rough”; and if eaten alone, “it causeth head-ache and heateth too much.” It is, however, good in Salads of Lettuce, Purslane, “and such cold herbes,” and Turner observes that “some use the sede for sauce, the whiche that it may last the longer, they knede it with milke or vinegre, and make it into little cakes.” It has a strong peculiar smell, and is no longer used in England; though Loudon says that in some places on the Continent it makes “an agreeable addition to cresses and mustard in early spring.” Culpepper found that the common wild Rocket was hurtful used alone, as it has too much heat, but to “hot and choleric persons it is less harmful” (one would have imagined that it would have been the other way) and “for such we may say, a little doth but a little harm, for angry Mars rules them, and he sometimes will be rusty when he meets with fools.” This is altogether a dark saying, but it gives little encouragement to those who would make trial of Rocket.

LONDON ROCKET (_Sisymbrium Irio_).

This plant gained its name in a singular way. It is said to have first appeared in London in the spring following the Great Fire, “when young Rockets were seen everywhere springing up among the ruins, where they increased so marvellously that in the summer the enormous crop crowding over the surface of London created the greatest astonishment and wonder.”[50]

[50] Folkard.

SAFFRON (_Crocus sativus_).

Nor Cyprus wild vine-flowers, nor that of Rhodes, Nor Roses oil from Naples, Capua, Saffron confected in Cilicia. Nor that of Quinces, nor of Marjoram, That ever from the Isle of Coös came, Nor these, nor any else, though ne’er so rare Could with this place for sweetest smells compare.

_Br. Pastorals_, Book I.

_Clown._ I must have Saffron to colour the Warden pies.

_Winter’s Tale_, iv. 2.

You set Saffron and there came up Wolf’s bane. (Saying to express an action which has an unexpected result.)

Saffron has been of great importance since the earliest days, and it is mentioned in a beautiful passage of the Song of Solomon. “Thy plants are an orchard of Pomegranates, with pleasant fruits, Camphire with Spikenard, Spikenard and Saffron, Calamus and Cinnamon, with all trees of Frankincense, Myrrh and Aloes, with all the chief spices,” iv. 13, 14.

Canon Ellacombe says that the Arabic name, _Al Zahafaran_ was the general name for all _Croci_, and extended to the _Colchicums_, which were called Meadow Saffrons. It is pointed out by Mr Friend that, further, the flower has given its name to a colour, and had given it in the days of Homer, and he remarks how much more exactly the expression “Saffron-robed” morning describes the particular tints seen sometimes before sunrise (or at sunset) than any other words can do. Saffron Walden in Essex, whose arms are given on page 101, and Saffron Hill in London (which once formed part of the Bishop of Ely’s garden), are also obviously named after it, and as is seen in the former case it has given arms to a borough. As to its introduction into England Hakluyt writes (1582): “It is reported at Saffron Walden that a pilgrim proposing to do good to his country, stole a head of Saffron, and hid the same in his Palmer’s Staffe, which he had made hollow before of purpose, and so he brought the root into this realme with venture of his life, for if he had been taken, by the law of the countrey from whence it came, he had died for the fact” (“English Voyages,” vol. ii.). Canon Ellacombe thinks that it was probably originally brought here in the days of the Romans, and found “in a Pictorial Vocabulary of the fourteenth century, ‘Hic Crocus, An^{ee} Safryn,’ so that I think the plant must have been in cultivation in England at that time.” In the work of “Mayster Ion Gardener,” written about 1440, one of the eight parts into which it is divided is wholly devoted to a discourse, “Of the Kynde of Saferowne,” which shows that Saffron must have been a good deal considered in his day. The Charity Commission of 1481 mentions two Saffron-gardens; and in the churchwarden’s accounts at Saffron Walden, in the second year of Richard III.’s reign, there is an entry, “Payd to John Rede for pyking of V unc Saffroni, xii.” The town accounts of Cambridge show that in 1531 Saffron was grown there; and at Barnwell in the next parish the prior of Barnwell had ten acres.

Some old wills, too, throw some light on the subject. In the will of Alyce Sheyne of Sawstone, in 1527, “a rood of Saffron” is left to her son. In 1530 (1533?) John Rede, also of Sawstone, leaves his godson a “rood of Saffron in Church Field,” and William Hockison of Sawstone, bequeathed in 1531, “to Joan, my wife, a rood of Saffron, and to my maid, Marger, and my son, John, half an acre.” As may be easily inferred from these legacies, Saffron was very largely grown at Sawstone, and the two adjoining parishes, as well as at Saffron Walden. The first man to introduce it into Saffron Walden to be cultivated on a really large scale was Thomas Smith, Secretary of State to Edward VI., and in 1565, it was grown in abundance. In 1557 Turner speaks of Saffron-growing, as if this was very general, but it must be remembered that he started life in Essex, farmed successively in Suffolk and Norfolk, and returned to his native county to a farm at Fairstead, and having never moved very far from the special home of the industry, he naturally took as an ordinary proceeding, what would have been very unusual in other parts of the country. It can never have been very widely cultivated; for Turner, whose “Herbal” gives an immense deal of information, and who wrote when the industry was in full swing, omits all mention of Saffron, though he speaks of, and evidently knew Meadow Saffron.

This is a strong sign that cultivation must have been confined to certain localities, chiefly in the eastern counties, though in the west it was grown at Hereford and surrounding districts to a very considerable extent. I do not mean to imply that none was grown in neighbouring counties, but the evidence is not easy to get, and I have not gone deeply enough into the subject to find it, but the Saffron of Hereford was famed.

At Black Marston in Herefordshire, in 1506 and again in 1528, leave was granted by the Prioress of Acornbury, to persons to cultivate Saffron extensively.

In 1582, in spite of a continued demand for it, the cultivation of Saffron seems to have decreased, for Hakluyt writes in his “Remembrances for Master S.” [what to observe in a journey he is about to undertake]. “Saffron groweth in Syria.... But if a vent might be found, men would in Essex (about Saffron Walden) and in Cambridgeshire, revive the trade for the benefit of setting the poore on worke. So would they do in Herefordshire by Wales, where the best of all Englande is, in which place the soil yields the wilde “Saffron” commonly.” The soil there still yields the wilde Saffron so commonly that at the present moment it is regarded with disfavour, as being quite a drawback to some pasture lands, but it is no longer grown there for commercial purposes. Neither Gerarde (1596) nor Parkinson (1640) mention Saffron-growing as an industry, but in 1681 “I. W.” gives directions for cultivating and drying it. “English Saffron,” he says, “is esteemed the best in the world; it’s a plant very suitable to our climate and soil.” At Saffron Walden it continued to be grown for commerce for over two hundred years, but has now been uncultivated in that locality for more than a century. In Cambridgeshire, however, it flourished to a later date, and the last Saffron grower in England was a man named Knot, who lived at Duxford in Cambridgeshire, and who grew Saffron till the year 1816.

This is Turner’s advice for cultivating it.

When harvest is gone, Then Saffron comes on. A little of ground, Brings Saffron a pound.

The pleasure is fine, The profit is thine. Keep colour in drying, Well used, worth buying.

And also:--

Pare Suffron between the two St Mary’s days[51] Or set or go shift it, that knoweth the ways... In having but forty foot, workmanly dight Take Saffron enough for a lord or a knight.

_August’s Husbandry._

From old records it seems to have been grown in small patches of less than an acre, and to have been a most profitable crop. “I. W.,” in his directions says, for drying it, “a small kiln made of clay, and with a very little Fire, and that with careful attendance,” is required. “Three Pounds thereof moist usually making one of dry. One acre may bear from seven to fifteen Pound, and hath been sold from 20s. a Pound to £5 a Pound.” The last price sounds as if it existed only in his imagination, and one cannot really think that it was given often! But on one occasion, Timbs says, an even higher sum was reached, for when Queen Elizabeth paid a visit to Saffron Walden, the Corporation paid five guineas for one pound of Saffron to present to her. Though this was exceptional, the usual prices for it were very high; and to show this, and also the enormous amount that was used in cooking, Miss Amherst quotes from some old accounts of the Monastery of Durham: “In 1531, half a pound of ‘Crocus’ or Saffron was bought in July, the same quantity in August and in November, a quarter of a pound in September, and a pound and a half in October.” So much for the quantity; as to the price, a merchant of Cambridgeshire charged them in 1539-1540 for 6½ lbs. Crocus, £7, 8s.

Saffron used to be much employed to colour and to flavour pies and cakes, and it was this reason that Perdita sent the “Clown” to fetch some, when she was making “Warden” (Pear) pies for the sheep-shearing. Saffron cakes still prevail in Cornwall, and come over the border into the next county, and a chemist, in Somerset, said quite lately, that thirty years since, he used to sell quantities of Saffron at Easter-time, but that much less is asked for now. It seems to have been specially used in the materials for feasting at this season. Evelyn tells us that the Germans made it into “little balls with honey, which afterwards they dry and reduce to powder, and then sprinkle over salads” for a “noble cordial.” For medicinal purposes Saffron is imported, for in spite of “I. W.’s” praise, that grown in England is far from equalling that of Greece and Asia Minor, though in any case it is only now used as a colouring matter. The saying which survives, “So dear as Saffron,” to express anything of worth, is a proof of how great its value once was; and it is true that the plant was credited with powers nothing short of miraculous. Perhaps Fuller tells us the most startling news: “In a word, the Sovereign Power of genuine _Saffron_ is plainly proved by the Antipathy of the _Crocodiles_ thereunto. For the _Crocodile’s tears_ are never _true_ save when he is forced where _Saffron_ groweth (whence he hath his name of γξοκό-ςτπλθ or the Saffron-fearer) knowing himselfe to be all Poison, and it all _Antidote_.”

After this, Gerarde’s assertion that for those whom consumption has brought “at death’s doore, and almost past breathing, that it bringeth breath againe,” sounds moderate. On the doctrine of Signatures, Saffron was prescribed for jaundice and measles, and it is also recommended to be put into the drinking water of canaries when they are moulting. Irish women are said to dye their sheets with Saffron, that it may give strength to their limbs. Saffron has long been much esteemed as a dye, and Ben Jonson tells us of this use for it in his days in lines that literally rollick:--

Give us bacon, rinds of walnuts, Shells of cockles and of small nuts, Ribands, bells, and saffron’d linen, All the world is ours to win in.

_The Gipsies Metamorphosed._

Gerarde says: “The chives (stamens) steeped in water serve to illumine or (as we say) limme pictures and imagerie,” and Canon Ellacombe quotes from an eleventh century work, showing that it was employed for the same purpose then. “If ye wish to decorate your work in some manner, take tin, pure and finely scraped, melt it and wash it like gold, and apply it with the same glue upon letters or other places which you wish to ornament with gold or silver; and when you have polished it with a tooth, take Saffron with which Silk is coloured, moistening it with clear of egg without water; and when it has stood a night, on the following day, cover with a pencil the places which you wish to gild, the rest holding the place of silver.”--_Theophilus_, HENDRIE’S Translation.

Meadow-Saffron, or _Colchicum_, yields a drug still much prescribed, of which Turner uttered a caution in 1568. He says it is a drug to “isschew.” He warns those “syke in the goute” (for whom it was, and is, a standard remedy) that much of it is “sterke poyson, and will strongell a man and kill him in the space of one day.” Drugs must, indeed, have been administered in heroic measures at that time--if he really ever heard of such a case at first hand. It is from the corm, or bulb, of the plant that _Colchicum_ is extracted.

[51] July 22nd and August 15th.

SAMPHIRE (_Crithium maritimum_).

_Edgar._ Half way down Hangs one that gathers Samphire, dreadful trade! Methinks he seems no bigger than his head.

_King Lear_, iv. 6.

Samphire is St Peter’s Herb, and gains the distinction either because it grows on sea-cliffs, and so is appropriate to the patron of fishermen, or more probably, because it flourishes on rocks, and its roots strike deep into the crevices. The French call it _Herbe de St Pierre_ and _Pierce-Pierre_, from its peculiar way of growing; and the Italians have the same name, but call it _Finocchio marino_ as well; and this title, translated to Meer-finckell, was also the German and Dutch name, according to Parkinson. It is strongly aromatic, “being of smell delightfule and pleasant, and hath many fat and thicke leaves, somewhat like those of the lesser Purslane... of a spicie taste, with a certaine saltness.” Gerarde praises it pickled in salads. Edgar’s words show that it must have been popular in Elizabethan days, and so it was for more than a hundred years after as “the pleasantest Sauce”; and Evelyn considered it preferable to “most of our hotter herbs,” and “long wonder’d it has not long since been cultivated in the _Potagère_ as it is in France. It groweth on the rocks that are often moistened, at the least, if not overflowed with the sea water,” a verdict which tallies with the saying that Samphire grows out of reach of the waves, but within reach of the spray of every tide. I have found it growing in much that position on rocks on the seashore in Cornwall. Two other kinds of Samphire, Golden Samphire (_Inula Crithmifolia_) and Marsh Samphire (_Salicornia Herbacea_), are sometimes sold as the true Samphire, but neither of them have so good a flavour.

SKIRRETS (_Sium Sisarum_).

The Skirret and the leek’s aspiring kind, The noxious poppy-quencher of the mind.

_The Salad._--COWPER.

“This is that siser or skirret which _Tiberius_ the Emperour commanded to be conveied unto him from Gelduba, a castle about the river of Rhine,” and which delighted him so much “that he desired the same to be brought unto him everye yeare out of Germanie.” Evelyn found them “hot and moist... exceedingly wholesome, nourishing and delicate... and so valued by the Emperor Tiberius that he accepted them for tribute”--a point that Gerarde’s statement hardly brought out. “This excellent root is seldom eaten raw, but being boil’d, stew’d, roasted under the Embers, bak’d in Pies whole, slic’d or in Pulp, is very acceptable to all Palates. ’Tis reported they were heretofore something bitter, see what culture and education effects.” On the top of these congratulations, perhaps it is unkind to say the reported bitterness has a very mythical sound, for long before Evelyn’s time, the Dutch name for skirret was Suycker wortelen (sugar root), and that Marcgrave has extracted “fine white sugar, little inferior to that of the cane” from it. But from Turner’s account there seems to have been formerly some confusion as to the identity of the plant, and one claimant to the title was somewhat bitter, so perhaps this was the cause of the remarks in _Acetaria_. In Scotland, Skirrets were called Crummock. Though few people seem to have appreciated them so much as did our ancestors, they were till lately sometimes boiled and sent to the table, but are now hardly ever seen.

SMALLAGE (_Apium graveolens_).

Smallage is merely wild celery, and all that is interesting about it is Parkinson’s description of his first making acquaintance with sweet smallage--our celery, which has been already quoted. He merely says of ordinary smallage that it is “somewhat like Parsley, but greater, greener and more bitter.” It grows wild in moist grounds, but is also planted in gardens, and although “his evil taste and savour, doth cause it not to be accepted unto meats as Parsley,” yet it has “many good properties both for inward and outward diseases.”

STONECROP (_Sedum_).

Stone-crop, Stone-hot, Prick-Madam or Trick-Madam is a _Sedum_, but which _Sedum_ the old Herbalists called by these names is not absolutely clear, it was probably _Sedum Telephium_ or _Sedum Album_. Evelyn speaks of “Tripe-Madam, _Vermicularis Insipida_,” which seems to point to the latter, as that used to be called Worm-grass. He says Tripe-madam is “cooling and moist,” but there is another Stone-crop of as pernicious qualities as the former are laudable, Wall-pepper, _Sedum Minus Causticum_ (most likely our _Sedum Acre_). This is called by the French, Tricque-Madame, and he cautions the “Sallet-Composer, if he be not botanist sufficiently skilful” to distinguish them by the eye, to “consult his palate,” and taste them before adding them to the other ingredients.

SWEET CICELY (_Myrrhis odorata_).

Sweet Cicely or Sweet Chervil was apparently less of a favourite than its romantic name would seem to warrant, for I can find no traditions concerning it. “Chervil” (of which this is a variety) says Gerarde, “is thought to be so called because it delighteth to grow with many leaves, or rather that it causeth joy and gladness.” There does not seem much connection between these two interpretations. He continues that “the name _Myrrhus_ is also called Myrrha, taken from his pleasant flavour of Myrrh.” Sweet Cicely has a very pleasant flavour, with this peculiarity, that the leaves taste exactly as if sugar had just been powdered over them, but personally I have never been able to recognise myrrh in it. It is a pretty plant, with “divers great and fair spread wing leaves, very like and resembling the leaves of Hemlocke... but of sweet pleasant and spice-hot taste. Put among herbes in a sallet it addeth a marvellous good rellish to all the rest. Some commend the green seeds sliced and put in a sallet of herbes. The rootes are eyther boyled and eaten with oyle and vinegare or preserved or candid.” Sweet Cicely is very attractive to bees, and was often “rubbed over the insides of the hives before placing them before newly-cast swarms to induce them to enter,” and in the North of England Hogg says the seeds are used to polish and scent oak floors and furniture.

TANSY (_Tanacetum vulgare_).

_Lelipa_--Then burnet shall bear up with this Whose leaf I greatly fancy, Some camomile doth not amiss With savory and some tansy.

_Muses’ Elysium._

The hot muscado oil, with milder maudlin cast Strong tansey, fennel cool, they prodigally waste.

_Polyolbion_, Song xv.

The name Tansy comes from _Athanasia_, Immortality, because its flower lasts so long, and it is dedicated to St Athanasius. It is connected with various interesting old customs, and especially with some observed at Easter time. Brand quotes several old rhymes in reference to this.

Soone at Easter cometh Alleluya. With butter, cheese and a tansay.

From _Douce’s Collection of Carols_.

On Easter Sunday be the pudding seen To which the Tansey lends her sober green.

_The Oxford Sausage._

Wherever any grassy turf is view’d, It seems a tansie all with sugar strew’d.

From _Shipman’s Poems_.

The last lines occur in a description of the frost in 1654. None of these quotations refer to the plant alone; but to that kind of cake or fritter called taansie, and of which Tansy leaves formed an ingredient. Tansy must be “eaten young, shred small with other herbes, or else, the juiyce of it and other herbes, fit for the purpose beaten with egges and fried into cakes (in Lent and in the Spring of the year) which are usually called Tansies.” Though Parkinson speaks of their being eaten in Lent (as they no doubt were), the special day that they were in demand was Easter Day, and of this practice Culpepper has a good deal to say. Tansies were then eaten as a remembrance of the bitter herbs eaten by the Jews at the Passover. “Our Tansies at Easter have reference to the bitter herbs, though at the same time ’twas always the fashion for a man to have a gammon of bacon, to show himself to be no Jew.” This little glimpse of an old practice comes from Selden’s _Table Talk_ and the idea of taking this means to declare one’s self a Christian is really delightful. I must quote again from Brand to show another very extraordinary Easter Day custom. “Belithus, a ritualist of ancient times, tells us that it was customary in some churches for the Bishops and Archbishops themselves to play with the inferior clergy at hand-ball, and this, as Durand asserts, even on Easter Day itself. Why they should play at hand-ball at this time rather than any other game, Bourne tells us he has not been able to discover; certain it is, however, that the present custom of playing at that game on Easter Holidays for a tansy-cake has been derived from thence.” Stool-ball was apparently a most popular amusement and Lewis in his _English Presbyterian Eloquence_ criticises the tenets of the Puritans, and observes with disapproval that all games where there is “any hazard of loss are strictly forbidden; not so much as a game of stool-ball for a tansy is allowed.” From a collection of poems called “A Pleasant Grove of New Fancies,” 1657, Brand extracts the following verses:--

At stool-ball, Lucia, let us play For sugar, cakes and wine Or for a tansey let us pay, The loss be thine or mine.

If thou, my dear, a winner be, At trundling of the ball, The wager thou shalt have and me, And my misfortunes all.

Let us hope that the stake was handsomer than it sounds! Brand quotes another very curious practice in which Tansies have a share, once existing in the North. On Easter Sunday, the young men of the village would steal the buckles off the maidens’ shoes. On Easter Monday, the young men’s shoes and buckles were taken off by the young women. On Wednesday, they are redeemed by little pecuniary forfeits, out of which an entertainment, called a Tansey Cake, is made, with dancing. One cannot help wondering how this cheerful, if somewhat peculiar custom originated! In course of time Tansies came to be eaten only about Easter-time and the practice seems to have acquired at one period the lustre almost of a religious rite in which superstition had a considerable share. Coles (1656) and Culpepper (1652) rebel against this and show with force and clearness the advantages of eating Tansies throughout the spring. Coles ignores the ceremonial reasons and says that the origin of eating it in the spring is because Tansy is very wholesome after the salt fish consumed during Lent, and counteracts the ill-effects which “the moist and cold constitution of winter” has made on people... “though many understand it not and some simple people take it for a matter of superstition to do so.” This shows plainly that the idea of eating Tansies only at Easter, was pretty widely spread. Culpepper as usual is more incisive. He first gives the same reason that Coles does for eating Tansies in the spring; then: “At last the world being over-run with Popery, a monster called superstition pecks up his head, and... obscures the bright beams of knowledge by his dismal looks; (physicians seeing the Pope and his imps, selfish, began to do so too), and now, forsooth, Tansies must be eaten only on Palm and Easter Sundays and their neighbour days. At last superstition being too hot to hold, and the selfishness of physicians walking in the clouds; after the friars and monks had made the people ignorant, the superstition of the time, was found out by the virtue of the herb hidden and now is almost, if not altogether left off. Scarcely any physicians are beholden to none so much as they are to monks and friars; for wanting of eating this herb in spring, maketh people sickly in summer, and that makes work for the physician. If it be against any man or woman’s conscience to eat Tansey in the spring, I am as unwilling to burthen their conscience, as I am that they should burthen mine; they may boil it in wine and drink the decoction, it will work the same effect.” “The Pope and his imps” is a grand phrase! A more militant Protestant than Culpepper it would be difficult to find, even in these days.

From other writers, it seems that the phase of associating Tansies exclusively with Easter, must have worn itself out, for we find many descriptions of them on distinctly secular occasions. At the Coronation Feast of James II. and his Queen, a Tansie was served among the 1445 “Dishes of delicious Viands” provided for it, and I must quote some of the others:--“Stag’s tongues, cold; Andolioes; Cyprus Birds, cold and Asparagus; a pudding, hot; Salamagundy; 4 Fawns; 10 Oyster pyes, hot; Artichokes; an Oglio, hot; Bacon, Gammon and Spinnage; 12 Stump Pyes; 8 Godwits; Morels; 24 Puffins; 4 dozen Almond Puddings, hot; Botargo; Skirrets; Cabbage Pudding; Lemon Sallet; Taffeta Tarts; Razar Fish; and Broom Buds, cold.”[52] These are only a very few out of an immense variety that are also named.

Many recipes for a “Tansy” exist, and very often have only the slightest resemblance to one another, but this is rather a nice one and is declared by its transcriber to be “the most agreeable of all the boiled Herbaceous Dishes.” It consists of: “Tansey, being qualify’d with the juices of other fresh Herbs; _Spinach_, _green Corn_, _Violet_, _Primrose Leaves_, etc., at entrance of the spring, and then fry’d brownish, is eaten hot, with the Juice of Orange and Sugar.” Isaac Walton speaks of a “Minnow Tansy,” which is made of Minnows “fried with yolks of eggs; the flowers of cowslips and of primroses and a little tansy; thus used they make a dainty dish of meat.” Our ancestors seem to have had a great love of “batter,” for it is a prominent part in very many of their dishes. Mrs Milne Home says, “In Virginia the Negroes make Tansy-tea for colds and at a pinch, Mas’r’s cook will condescend to use it in a sauce,” but in English cookery, it has absolutely disappeared.

Tansy had many medicinal virtues. Sussex people used to say that to wear Tansy-leaves in the shoe, was a charm against ague.

Wild Tansy looks handsome when it grows in abundance on marshy ground; and, indeed, its feathery leaves are beautiful anywhere, and it has a more refreshing scent than the Garden-Tansy. “In some parts of Italy people present stalks of Wild Tansy to those whom they mean to insult,”[53] a proceeding for which there seems neither rhyme nor reason. Turner tells tales of the vanity of his contemporaries, masculine as well as feminine, for he says:

“Our weomen in Englande and some men that be sunneburnt and would be fayre, eyther stepe this herbe in white wyne and wash their faces with the wyne or ellis with the distilled water of the same.”

[52] Complete Account of the Coronations of the Kings and Queens of England, J. Roberts.

[53] Folkard.

THISTLE (_Carduus Marianus and Carduus Benedictus_).

_Margaret._ Get you some of this distilled Carduus Benedictus, and lay it to your heart, it is the only thing for a qualm.

_Hero._ There thou prick’st her with a thistle.

_Beatrice._ Benedictus! why Benedictus? you have some moral in this Benedictus.

_Margaret._ Moral! no, by my troth, I have no moral meaning; I meant plain holy thistle.

_Much Ado about Nothing_, iii, 4.

That thence, as from a garden without dressing She these should ever have, and never want. Store from an orchard without tree or plant... And for the chiefest cherisher she lent The royal thistle’s milky nourishment.

_Br. Pastorals_, Book i.

The history, legends, and traditions surrounding Thistles in general, make far too large a subject to be entered on here, and only these two varieties can be considered. _Carduus Marianus_, the Milk or Dappled Thistle, has sometimes been called the Scotch Thistle, and announced to be the Thistle of Scotland. As a matter of fact, I believe, that after long and stormy controversy, that honour has been awarded to _Carduus Acanthioides_, but the Milk Thistle’s claims have received very strong support, and so it seems most probable, considering the context, that when Browne referred to the “Royal Thistle,” it was this one that he meant. This supposition is borne out by Hogg, who writes: “As Ray says, it is more a garden vegetable than a medicinal plant. The young and tender stalks of the root leaves when stripped of their spiny part, are eaten like cardoon, or when boiled, are used as greens. The young stalks, peeled and soaked in water to extract their bitterness, are excellent as a salad. The scales of the involucre are as good as those of the artichoke, and the roots in early spring are good to eat.” The seeds supply food to many small birds, and it is from the gold-finch feeding so extensively on them that it has been called _Carduelis_. This partiality of the gold-finch must have been observed in several lands, for the same name occurs in different tongues. In England, it has been called Thistlefinch; in French, _Chardonneret_, and in Italian, _Cardeletto_, _Cardeto_ being a waste covered with thistles. One cannot help remembering the charming line:--

“As the thistle shakes, When three gray linnets wrangle for the seed,”

with the reflection that other birds besides gold-finches have a deep appreciation of it.

But to go back to the Thistle itself, after all these uses made of every part, no wonder that Browne called it a “chiefest cherisher of vital power!” Although, latterly, its reputation in medicine has fallen, in old days, on account of its numerous prickles (Doctrine of Signatures), it was thought good for stitches in the side. Culpepper has further advice: “In spring, if you please to boil the tender plant (but cut off the prickles, unless you have a mind to choke yourself), it will change your blood as the season changeth, and that is the way to be safe.”

_Carduus Benedictus_, called the Holy, or the Blessed Thistle, was considered a great preservative against the plague, and that it was also given for a sudden spasm is shown in the delightful scene between Beatrice and her friends in “Much Ado About Nothing.” It follows the _ruse_ that they have just played upon her, to persuade her that Benedict is already in love with her, in the hope that she may become enamoured of him, and the play upon the name is very charming. Culpepper says that _Carduus Benedictus_ was good against “diseases of melancholy,” which is additional evidence that Shakespeare did not go out of his way to find an imaginary remedy that would suit that occasion, but with exquisite skill took a remedy that would have been natural in his time, and surrounded it with wit. Less than a hundred years ago a decoction used to be made from its leaves, which are remarkable for their “intense bitterness,” and it was said to be an excellent tonic; but, like the Milk Thistle, the Holy Thistle’s virtues in medicine are now discredited. The thistle was once dedicated to Thor, and the bright colour of the flower was supposed to come from the lightning, and therefore lightning could not hurt any person or building protected by the flower. It was used a good deal in magic, and there is an old rite to help a maiden to discover which, of several suitors, really loves her best. She must take as many thistles as there are lovers, cut off their points, give each thistle the name of a man, and lay them under her pillow, and the thistle which has the name of the most faithful lover will put forth a fresh sprout! In East Prussia, says Mr Friend, there is a strange but simple cure for any domestic animal which may have an open wound. It is to gather four red thistle blossoms before the break of day, and to put one in each of the four points of the compass with a stone in the middle of them.

Here ends the list of Herbs, but before finishing the chapter I must add a few names of buds and berries which, though not herbs, were often employed as such, especially to garnish, or to flavour dishes. Evelyn includes many of these in his _Acetaria_. “The Capreols, Tendrils and Claspers of Vines,” very young, may be “eaten alone or mingled with other sallet. So may the ‘buds and young Turiones of the Tendrils’ of Hops, either raw, ‘but more conveniently being boil’d’ and cold, like asparagus.” Elder Flowers, infused in vinegar, are recommended, and “though the leaves are somewhat rank of smell, and so not commendable in sallet... they are of the most sovereign virtue, and spring buds and tender leaves excellent and wholesome in pottage at that season of the year.” Evelyn experimented with “the large _Heliotrope_ or Sunflower (e’er it comes to expand and show its golden face), which, being dress’d as the artichoak, is eaten for a dainty. This I add as a new discovery: I once made macaroons with ripe blanch’d seed, but the _Turpentine_ did so domineer over all that it did not answer expectation.” This must have been a disappointment to his adventurous spirit! Broom buds appeared on three separate tables at King James II.’s Coronation feast, and seem to have been popular, when pickled.

Violets were also used, and Miss Amherst quotes from an old cookery book the recipe of a pudding called “Mon amy,” which directs the cook to “plant it with flowers of violets and serve it forth.” Another recipe is for a dish called “Vyolette!” “Take flowrys of vyolet, boyle hem, presse hem, bray (pound) hem smal.” After this they are to be mixed with milk, ‘floure of rys,’ and sugar or honey, and finally to be coloured with violets. Pine-kernels were sometimes eaten. Shelley says of _Marenghi_:

“His food was the wild fig or strawberry; The milky pine-nuts which the autumn blast Shakes into the tall grass.”

And in England Parkinson writes, “The cones or apples are used of divers Vintners in this city, being painted to express a bunch of grapes, whereunto they are very like and are hung up on their bushes, as also to fasten keyes unto them, as is seene in many places. The kernels with the hard shels, while they are fresh, or newly taken out, are used by Apothecaries, Comfitmakers, and Cookes. Of them are made Comfits, Marchpanes and such like, and with them a cunning cook can make divers kech-choses for his master’s table.” Barberries were used as a garnish to salads and other dishes and sometimes as an ingredient. Evelyn mentions them as an item in “Sallet All-sorts,” and Gervase Markham describes the making of “Paste of Genoa,” a confection of Quince, and adds, “In this sort you now make paste of Peares, Apples, Wardens, Plummes of all kindes, Cherries, Barberries or whatever fruit you please.” He adds this fruit to the ingredients required in making aromatic vinegar, and also directs that a good quantity of whole Barberries, both branches and others, be served with Pike “or any fresh fish whatsoever.” Parkinson says, “The leaves are sometimes used in the stead of Sorrell to make sauce for meate, and by reason of their sournesse are of the same quality.” The “delicious _confitures d’épine vinette_, for which Rouen is famous,” are prepared from them, says Dr Fernie, and there is no doubt that they make an excellent jelly. Formerly they were so much prized that, as Miss Amherst quotes from Le Strange’s “Household Accounts,” in 1618, 3s. was paid for one pound of them.

Strawberry leaves were used as a garnish and for their flavour. Parkinson tells us that they were “alwayes used among other herbes in cooling drinks,” and Markham mentions both them and Violet leaves in his directions to “Smoar a Mallard,” and “to make an excellent _Olepotrige_, which is the only principall dish of boyled meate, which is esteemed in all _Spaine_. “For dessert”: The berries are often brought to the table as a rare service, whereunto Cleret wine, creame or milke is added with sugar. The water distilled of the berries is good for the passions of the heart, caused by the perturbation of the spirits being eyther drunk alone or in wine, and maketh the heart mery.” Such a pleasant and easy remedy against the evils arising from “perturbation of spirits” is worth remembering! Gerarde and Parkinson both speak of the prickly strawberry; a plant which is “of no use for meate” but which has “a small head of greene leaves, many set thick together like unto a double ruffe, and is fit for a gentlewoman to wear on her arme, etc. as a raritie instead of a flower.” Gerarde has a curious little note on its discovery. “Mr John Tradescant hath told me that he was the first that took notice of this Strawberry and that in a woman’s garden at Plimouth, whose daughter had gathered and set the roots in her garden, instead of the common Strawberry, but she finding the fruit not answer her expectation, intended to throw it away, which labour he spared her, in taking it and bestowing it among the lovers of such vanities.” The custom of transplanting wild strawberries was very general.

Wife, unto thy garden and set me a plot, With strawberry rootes of the best to be got. Such growing abroade, among thorns in the wood, Wel chosen and picked proove excellent food.

_September’s Husbandry._--TUSSER.

Miss Amherst says that in the Hampton Court Accounts there are “several entries of money paid for strawberry roots, brought from the wood to the King’s garden.” The fact that this is no longer the custom, may explain the disappointment that some have experienced, who, in the hope of enjoying “the most excellent cordial smell” described by Sir Francis Bacon, have haunted their kitchen gardens when the strawberry leaves are dying, and without reward. The strawberries grown there at present are not, as in his day, natives, subjected to civilisation, but are chiefly of American or Asiatic origin (the first foreign strawberry cultivated in England was _Fragaria virginiana_, and was introduced from North America in 1629; four years after the Essay on Gardens was first published), and if their leaves have any fragrance, it must be of the faintest possible description. Anyone, however, who passes through a wood, towards evening, especially if it is a mild and slightly damp day in October, may speedily realise how true and admirable was this counsel given by the Great Lord Chancellor.