The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Book of Herbs, by Rosalind Northcote

Please see the [Transcriber’s Note] at the end of this text.

HANDBOOKS OF PRACTICAL GARDENING—XII
EDITED BY HARRY ROBERTS

THE BOOK OF HERBS

JOHN PARKINSON
(From the statue erected by Mr. H. Thompson at Sefton Park, Liverpool)

THE BOOK OF
HERBS

BY
LADY ROSALIND NORTHCOTE

JOHN LANE: THE BODLEY HEAD
LONDON AND NEW YORK. MCMIII

Turnbull & Spears, Printers, Edinburgh

CONTENTS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

HISTORY OF THE CRIES OF LONDON

Here’s fine rosemary, sage and thyme.
Come, buy my ground ivy.
Here’s featherfew, gilliflowers and rue.
Come, buy my knotted marjoram, ho!
Come, buy my mint, my fine green mint.
Here’s fine lavender for your cloaths,
Here’s parseley and winter savory,
And heartsease which all do choose.
Here’s balm and hyssop and cinquefoil,
All fine herbs it is well known.
Let none despise the merry, merry cries
Of famous London Town.

Here’s penny royal and marygolds.
Come, buy my nettle-tops.
Here’s water-cresses and scurvy grass,
Come buy my sage of virtue, ho!
Come, buy my wormwood and mugworts.
Here’s all fine herbs of every sort.
Here’s southernwood that’s very good.
Dandelion and houseleek.
Here’s dragon’s tongue and wood sorrel,
With bear’s-foot and horehound.
Let none despise the merry, merry cries
Of famous London Town.

Roxburghe Ballads.

THE BOOK OF HERBS

INTRODUCTION

What is a Herb? I have heard many definitions, but never one that satisfied the questioner, and shall, therefore, take warning by the failures of others and make no attempt to define the word here. It is, however, fairly safe to say generally that a herb is a plant, green, and aromatic and fit to eat, but it is impossible to deny that there are several undoubted herbs that are not aromatic, a few more grey than green, and one or two unpalatable, if not unwholesome. So no more space shall be devoted to discussing their “nature,” but I will endeavour to present individual ones to the reader as clearly as possible, in order that from their collective properties he may form his own idea of a herb. The objection may be raised that several plants included in this book are outside the subject. To answer this, I would point out that the boundaries of a herb-garden are indefinite, and that the old writers’ views of them were liberal. Besides this, every garden must have an outside hedge or wall, and if this imaginary herb-garden has a row of elder bushes on the East, barberry trees on the West, some bay trees on the South, and a stray willow or so on the North, who can say that they are inappropriately placed? The bay and barberry hold an undisputable position, and the other trees have each an interesting history in folk-lore, magic and medicine. Herbs have been used in all countries and from the earliest times, but I have confined myself, as a rule, to those spoken of by British authors, and used in the British Isles, though not scrupling to quote foreign beliefs or customs where they give weight or completeness to our own or our forefathers’ practices, or are themselves of much interest. We have forgotten much that would be profitable to us.

Mr Dillon, writing in the Nineteenth Century, April, 1894, on “A Neglected Sense”—the sense of smell—describes a Japanese game, the object of which was that while one of the players burned certain kinds of incense or fragrant woods, singly or in combination, the others ventured opinions from the odours arising, and recorded their conjectures by means of specially marked counters on a board. The delicate equipment for it included a silver, open-worked brazier; a spatula, on which the incense was taken up, also of silver, sometimes delicately inlaid with enamel; and silver-framed mica plates (about one inch square), on which the incense had been heated, were set to cool on “a number of medallions, mother-of-pearl, each in the shape of a chrysanthemum flower or of a maple leaf.”

Both Mr Dillon and Miss Lambert (Nineteenth Century, May 1880) attribute the importance early attached to odours to religious reasons. He says that it was believed that the gods, being spirits, neither required nor desired solid offerings, but that the ethereal nature of the ascending fragrance was gratifying and sustaining to them. Miss Lambert quotes an account of the tribes of Florida “setting on the tops of the trees, as offerings to the sun, skins of deer filled with the best fruits of the country, crowned with flowers and sweet herbs.” Among the Aztecs of Mexico the festival of the goddess of flowers, Coatlicue, was kept by Xochenanqui, or traders in flowers. Offerings of “curiously woven garlands” were made, and it was “forbidden to everyone to smell the flowers of which they were composed before their dedication to the goddess.” The Tahitians had the idea that “the scent was the spirit of the offering and corresponded to the spirit of man,” and therefore they laid sweet-scented offerings before their dead till burial, believing that the spirit still hovered near. These instances show clearly the high regard in which delicate odours were once held.

Herbs and flowers were early used in rites and ceremonies of the Church. Miss Lambert quotes from a poem of Fortunatus, Bishop of Poitiers. “When winter binds the earth with ice, all the glory of the field perishes with its flowers. But in the spring-time when the Lord overcame Hell, bright grass shoots up and buds come forth.... Gather these first-fruits and you bear them to the churches and wreath the altars with them till they glow with colour. The golden crocus is mingled with the purple violet, dazzling scarlet is relieved by gleaming white, deep blue blends with green.... One triumphs in its radiant beauty, another conquers by its sweet perfume; gems and incense bow before them.” In England, the flowers for the Church were grown under the special care of the Sacristan, and as early as the ninth century there was a “gardina sacristæ” at Winchester.[1] Miss Amherst gives a most careful description of the several gardens into which the whole monastery enclosures were often divided, and herbs were specially grown in the kitchen-garden and in the Infirmarian’s garden, the latter, of course, being devoted to herbs for healing. Many herbs were introduced by the Romans, among them Coriander, Chervil, Cumin, Featherfew, Fennel, Lovage, Mallow, Mint, Parsley, Rue and Mustard. Some of these are supposed to have died out after the Romans withdrew from England and have been re-introduced, but it is certain that they have been for a very long time cultivated in England. I cannot refrain from referring to a miracle, an account of which is quoted by Miss Amherst from Dugdale’s “Monasticon” (vol. i. p. 473, new ed.), which was wrought at the tomb of St Ethelreda—:

A “servant to a certain priest was gathering herbs in the garden on the Lord’s Day, when the wood in her hand, and with which she desired to pluck the herbs unlawfully, so firmly adhered (to her hand) that no man could pluck it out for the space of five years.” At the end of this time she was miraculously healed at the tomb, which was much revered by the people.

Banks and benches of mould, fronted with stone or brick, and planted on the top with sweet-smelling herbs, were made in all fifteenth-century gardens. Later, again, Bacon recommends alleys to be planted with “those which perfume the air most delightfully being trodden upon and crushed... to have the pleasure when you walk or tread.” In his “Pastime of Pleasure” (1554) Stephen Hawes speaks of:—

In divers knottes of marveylous greatnes
Rampande lyons, stode by wonderfully
Made all of herbes, with dulset sweetnes
With many dragons, of marveylous likenes
Of divers floures, made full craftely.

More modern still is the delightful notion of a sun-dial made of herbs and flowers, that will mark the time of day by the opening and closing of their blossoms. Linnæus had such a dial, with each plant so placed that at each successive hour a flower should open or fold up. Ingram[2] gives an appropriate list for this purpose, beginning with Goats’ Beard, which he says opens at 3 A.M. and shuts at 9 A.M., and ending with Chickweed whose stars are not disclosed till 9.15 A.M., when they display themselves for exactly twelve hours. Andrew Marvell wrote these pretty lines on this device:—

How well the skilful gardener drew
Of flow’rs and herbs this dial new;
Where, from above the milder sun,
Does through a fragrant zodiack run,
And, as it works, th’ industrious bee
Computes its time as well as we!
How could such sweet and wholesome hours
Be reckon’d but with herbs and flow’rs!

The Garden.

The Quarterly for June 1842 quotes this charming description of a garden in which herbs were not disregarded. “Quaint devices of all kinds are found here. Here is a sun-dial of flowers arranged according to the time of day at which they open and close. Here are peacocks and lions in livery of Lincoln green. Here are berceaux and harbours, and covered alley and enclosures containing the primest of the carnations and cloves in set order, and miniature canals that carry down a stream of pure water to the fish ponds below.... From thence (the shrubbery) winds a path, the deliciæ of the garden, planted with such herbs as yield their perfume when trodden upon and crushed.... It were tedious to follow up the long shady path not broad enough for more than two—the lovers’ walk.” The reviewer himself continues in a less sentimental strain, and his observations make a very proper introduction to a book on Herbs.

“The olitory or herb-garden is a part of our horticulture now comparatively neglected, and yet once the culture and culling of simples was as much a part of female education as the preserving and tying down of ‘rasps and apricocks.’ There was not a Lady Bountiful in the kingdom but made her dill-tea and diet-drink from herbs of her own planting; and there is a neatness and prettiness about our thyme, and sage, and mint and marjoram, that might yet, we think, transfer them from the patronage of the blue serge to that of the white muslin apron. Lavender and rosemary, and rue, the feathery fennel, and the bright blue borage, are all pretty bushes in their way, and might have a due place assigned to them by the hand of beauty and taste. A strip for a little herbary half-way between the flower and vegetable garden would form a very appropriate transition stratum and might be the means, by being more under the eye of the mistress, of recovering to our soups and salads some of the comparatively neglected herbs of tarragon, and French sorrel, and purslane, and chervil, and dill, and clary, and others whose place is now nowhere to be found but in the pages of the old herbalists. This little plot should be laid out, of course, in a simple, geometric pattern; and having tried the experiment, we can boldly pronounce on its success. We recommend the idea to the consideration of our lady-gardeners.”

[1] “History of Gardening in England.”

[2] “Flora Symbolica.”

CHAPTER I
OF THE CHIEF HERBS USED IN THE PRESENT TIME

J’ai des bouquets pour tous les goûts;
Venez choisir dans ma corbeille:
De plusieurs les parfums sont doux,
De tous, la vertu sans pareille.

J’ai des soucis pour les galoux;
La rose pour l’amant fidèle;
De l’éllebore pour les tous
Et pour l’amitié l’immortelle.

La petite Corbeille de fleurs.

Herbs, too, she knew, and well of each could speak
That in her garden sip’d the silv’ry dew;
Where no vain flow’r disclos’d a gaudy streak;
But herbs for use, and physic, not a few,
Of grey renown within those borders grew;
The tufted basil, pun-provoking thyme,
Fresh baum, and mary-gold of cheerful hue;
The lowly gill,[3] that never dares to climb;
And more I fain would sing, disdaining here to rhyme.

Yet euphrasy[4] may not be left unsung,
That gives dim eyes to wander leagues around;
And pungent radish, biting infant’s tongue;
And plantain ribb’d, that heals the reaper’s wound;
And marj’ram sweet, in shepherd’s posie found;
And lavender, whose spikes of azure bloom
Shall be, ere-while, in arid bundles bound
To lurk amidst the labours of her loom,
And crown her kerchiefs clean with mickle rare perfume.

The Schoolmistress.—Shenstone.

John Evelyn once wrote an essay called “Acetaria: a Discourse of Sallets,” and dedicated it to Lord Somers, the President of the Royal Society. The Dedication is highly laudatory and somewhat grandiloquent, comparing the Royal Society to King Solomon’s Temple, and declaring it established for the acquirement of “solid and useful knowledge by the Investigation of Causes, Principles, Energies, Powers and Effects of Bodies and Things visible; and to improve them for the Good and Benefit of Mankind.... And now, My Lord, I expect some will wonder what my Meaning is, to usher in a Trifle with so much magnificence, and end at last in a fine Receipt for the dressing of a Sallet with an handful of Pot-herbs! But yet, my Lord, this Subject as low and despicable as it appears challenges a Part of Natural History; and the Greatest Princes have thought it no disgrace, not only to make it their Diversion, but their Care, and to promote and encourage it in the midst of their weightiest Affairs.” This disquisition casts an unlooked-for air of dignity over the Salad-bowl! The discourse itself is very practical, and begins with the Furniture and Materials of which a Salad may be composed. Eighty-two items are mentioned, but all cannot be called strictly in order, as Oranges, Turnips, Rosemary, and Judas Tree flowers, and Mushrooms are amongst them!

In the table at the end of this list Evelyn, “by the assistance of Mr London, His Majesty’s Principal Gardener, reduced them to a competent number, not exceeding thirty-five,” though he suggests that this may be “vary’d and enlarg’d by selections from the foregoing list.”

The essay finishes with philosophical reasoning on the subject of vegetarianism. History is called upon to furnish examples of sages, of all times, favourably inclined to it, but Noah is allowed to differ on account of the “humidity of the atmosphere” after the Deluge, which must have necessitated a generous diet. Most people would think thirty-five different kinds a liberal allowance for salad herbs alone, but Abercrombie, writing in 1822, gives forty-four, and it is worthy of notice, that within the last eighty years, ox-eye daisy, yarrow, lady’s-smock, primrose and plantain were counted among them.

In this chapter, the herbs mentioned are those chiefly used nowadays; in the next chapter, these that were favourites au temps jadis. It is a difficult line to draw, for the popularity of many of them is, like themselves, evergreen, but I have tried to put in the second chapter those that have passed the zenith of their fame, though they may still ride high in public estimation.

[3] Ground-ivy.

[4] Eye-bright.

Anise (Pimpinella Anisum).

His chimney side
Could boast no gammon, salted well and dried
And hook’d behind him; but sufficient store
Of bundled anise and a cheese it bore.

The Salad. Trans. from “Virgil.”—Cowper.

In Virgil’s time Anise evidently must have been used as a spice. It is a graceful, umbelliferous plant, a native of Egypt, but the seeds will ripen in August in England if it is planted in a warm and favourable situation. Abercrombie[5] says “its chief use is to flavour soups, but Loudon[6] includes it among confectionery herbs.”

[5] “Every Man his own Gardener.”

[6] “Encyclopædia of Gardening,” 1822.

Balm (Melissa officinalis).

The several chairs of order look you scour
With juice of Balm and every precious flower.

Merry Wives of Windsor, V. v. 65.

Then Balm and Mint helps to make up
My chaplet.

The Muses Elysium.—Drayton.

My garden grew Self-heal and Balm,
And Speedwell that’s blue for an hour,
Then blossoms again, O, grievous my pain,
I’m plundered of each flower.

Devonshire Song.

The lemon-scent of Balm makes it almost the most delicious of all herbs, and it is for its fragrance that Shakespeare and Drayton have alluded to it in these passages. In the song it is mentioned for another reason, for the flowers here are used as emblems. The first verse describes a garden of fair blossoms stolen, alas! from their owner. This verse of the song shows she has planted flowers whose nature is to console—Self-heal, Balm and the Speedwell, which, after every shock, hasten to bloom again, but she is again bereft of her treasures, and finally despairs and tells us that she grows naught but weeds and the symbols of desolation. There was once a “restorative cordial” called Carmelite water, which enjoyed a great reputation, and which was composed of the spirit of Balm, Angelica root, lemon-peel and nutmeg. In the early part of the last century, Balm wine was made, and was described as being “light and agreeable,” but now Balm is seldom used, except when claret-cup is improved by its flavour. A most curious legend is told by Aubrey[7] of the Wandering Jew, the scene being on the Staffordshire moors. “One Whitsun evening, overcome with thirst, he knocked at the door of a Staffordshire cottager, and craved of him a cup of small beer. The cottager, who was wasted with a lingering consumption, asked him in, and gave him the desired refreshment. After finishing the beer, Ahasuerus asked his host the nature of the disease he was suffering from, and being told that the doctors had given him up, said, ‘Friend, I will tell thee what thou shalt do.’ He then told him to go into the garden the next morning on rising, and gather three Balm leaves, and to put them into a cup of small beer. He was to drink as often as he needed, and refill the cup when it was empty, and put in fresh Balm leaves every fourth day, and, ‘before twelve days shall be past, thy disease shall be cured and thy body altered.’ So saying, and declining to eat, he departed and was never seen again. But the cottager gathered his Balm-leaves, followed the prescription of the Wandering Jew, and before twelve days were passed was a new man.”

[7] “Miscellanies.”

Sweet Basil (Ocymum basilium) and Bush Basil (O. minimum).

Madonna, wherefore hast thou sent to me
Sweet basil and mignonette?
Embleming love and health which never yet
In the same wreath might be.

To Emilia Viviani.—Shelley.

Basil is beloved of the poets, and the story of Isabella and the Basil-pot keeps the plant in memory, where it is itself never, or very rarely, seen. The opening lines of Drayton’s pretty poem beginning with Claia’s speech:—

Here damask roses, white and red,
Out of my lap first take I—

are well known, and it is a pity that the whole of it is not oftener quoted. Two maidens make rival chaplets, and then examine the store of simples just gathered by a hermit. Claia chooses her flowers for beauty, Lelipa hers for scent, and Clarinax, the hermit, plucks his for their “virtue” in medicine. Lelipa says:—

A chaplet, me, of herbs I’ll make,
Than which, though yours be braver,
Yet this of mine, I’ll undertake,
Shall not be short in favour.
With Basil then I will begin,
Whose scent is wondrous pleasing.

and a goodly number of sweet-herbs follows.

Parkinson[8] says of it, “The ordinary Basill is in a manner wholly spent to make sweete, or washing waters, among other sweet herbes, yet sometimes it is put into nosegays. The Physicall properties are to procure a cheerfull and merry hearte, whereunto the seede is chiefly used in powder.” With such “physicall properties” Basil is too much neglected nowadays. He also refers to the extraordinary but very general idea that it bred scorpions. “Let me, before I leave, relate unto you a pleasant passage between Francisius Marchio, as Advocate of the State of Genoa sent in embassage to the Duke of Milan, and the said Duke, who, refusing to heare his message or to agree unto the conditions proposed, brought an handfull of Basill and offered it to him, who, demanding of him what he meant thereby, answered him, that the properties of that hearbe was, that being gently handled, it gave a pleasant smell, but being hardly wrung and bruised, would breed scorpions, with which witty answer the Duke was so pleased that he confirmed the conditions, and sent him honourably home. It is also observed that scorpions doe much rest and abide under these pots and vessells wherein Basill is planted.” Culpepper,[9] too, had suspicions about it. “This is the herb which all authors are together by the ears about and rail at one another (like lawyers). Galen and Dioscorides hold it not fitting to be taken inwardly, and Chrysippus rails at it with downright Billingsgate rhetoric; Pliny and the Arabians defend it. Something is the matter, this herb and rue will not grow together, no, nor near one another, and we know rue is as great an enemy to poison as any that grows.” Tusser[10] puts both Basils in his list of “strewing herbs,” and also says:—

Fine basil desireth it may be her lot,
To grow as the gilliflower, trim in a pot;
That ladies and gentles, to whom ye do serve,
May help her, as needeth, poor life to preserve.

May’s Husbandry.

To which (in Mavor’s edition, 1812) is appended this prim note, “Garden basil, if stroked, leaves a grateful smell on the hand, and the author insinuates that it receives fresh life from being touched by a fair lady.” Both basils are annuals, though Bush Basil may occasionally live through the winter. They are small plants with oval leaves and white, labiate flowers. A modern gardener writes that sweet basil has the flavour of cloves, that it is always demanded by French cooks, and that it is much used to flavour soups, and occasionally salads. M. de la Quintinye,[11] director of the gardens to Louis XIV., shows that over two hundred years ago French cooks were of the same mind about basil as they are to-day; besides mentioning it for the uses just named, he adds, “It is likewise used in ragouts, especially dry ones, for which reason we take care to keep some for winter.” An Italian name for it is Bacia-Nicola.

[ [8] “Earthly Paradise,” 1629.

[ [9] English Physitian, popularly known as Culpepper’s Herbal, 1652.

[10] “Five Hundred Points of Good Husbandry.”

[11] The Complete Gardener. Trans. by T. Evelyn, 1693.

Borage (Borago officinalis).

Here is sweet water, and borage for blending,
Comfort and courage to drink to your fill.

N. Hopper.

This reference to Borage touches a long-lived belief—

I, borage,
Give courage—

briefly states one reason of its popularity, which has lasted ever since Pliny praised the plant; besides this, it was supposed to exhilarate the spirits and drive away melancholy. De Gubernatis[12] only found one charge against it, amid universal praise, and this is in a Tuscan ninnerella, a cradle song, where it is accused of frightening a baby! But this evidence is absolutely unsupported by any tradition, and he considers it worthless. Borage was sometimes called Bugloss by the old writers.[13] In 1810 Dr Thornton calls it “one of the four grand cardiac plants,” but shows a lamentable lack of faith himself. Dr Fernie[14] finds that Borage has a “cucumber-like odour,” and that its reputed powers of “refreshing” and “invigorating” are not all due to the imagination; “The fresh juice,” he says, “affords thirty per cent. of nitrate of potash. Thornton had already commented on the nitre it contains, and to prove this he advises that the dried plant be thrown on the fire, when it emits a sort of coruscation, with a slight detonation.” Personal experience teaches that this is easier to observe if the plant is set on fire and burned by itself. Borage might be grown for the sake of its lovely blue flowers alone, and Parkinson gives it a place in his “Earthly Paradise,” because, though it is “wholly in a manner spent for Physicall properties or for the Pot, yet the flowers have alwaies been interposed among the flowers of women’s needle-work”—a practice which would add to the beauty of modern embroidery. He adds that the flowers “of gentlewomen are candid for comfits,” showing that they did not allow sentiment to soar uncontrolled! Bees love borage, and it yields excellent honey, yet another reason for growing it. In the early part of the nineteenth century the young tops were still sometimes boiled for a pot-herb, but in the present day, if used at all, it is put into claret-cup. Till quite lately it was an ingredient in “cool tankards” of wine or cider.

[12] La Mythologie des Plantes.

[13] Family Herbal, 1810.

[14] Herbal Simples, 1895.

Bugloss (Anchusa officinalis).

So did the maidens with their various flowers
Deck up their windows, and make neat their bowers;
Using such cunning as they did dispose
The ruddy piny (peony) with the lighter rose,
The monkshood with the bugloss, and entwine
The white, the blue, the flesh-like columbine
With pinks, sweet williams.

Britannia’s Pastorals, Book II.—W. Browne.

A spiny stem of bugloss flowers,
Deep blue upon the outer towers.

Winchester Castle.—N. Hopper.

Gerarde put Bugloss in one chapter, and Alkanet or Wild Bugloss in another, but nowadays Bugloss or Alkanet are names for the same plant, Anchusa officinalis. The drawings of his Bugloss resemble our Alkanet much more closely than they do any other plant called Bugloss, such as Lycopsis arvensis, small Bugloss, or Echium vulgare, Viper’s Bugloss. The old herbalists, however, were most confusing on the subject. They apply the name Bugloss alternately to Borago officinalis and to different varieties of Anchusa, and then speak of Buglossum as if it were a different species! Evelyn describes it as being “in nature much like Borage but something more astringent,” and recommends the flowers of both as a conserve, for they are “greatly restorative.” As Hogg says that Anchusa officinalis had formerly “a great reputation as a cordial,” Evelyn’s description applies to this plant; we may take it that this is the Bugloss he was thinking of. It is a good plant for a “wild garden,” but has a great tendency to spread. I have found it growing wild in Cornwall. Gerarde tells us that the roots of Anchusa Tinctoria were used to colour waters, syrups, and jellies, and then follows a line of scandal—“The gentlewomen of France doe paint their faces with these roots, as it is said.” Rouge is still made from Alkanet.

Burnet (Poterium Sanguisorba).

The even mead, that erst brought sweetly forth
The freckled Cowslip, Burnet and green Clover.

Henry V., V. ii. 48.

Burnet has “two little leives like unto the winges of birdes, standing out as the bird setteth her winges out when she intendeth to flye.... Y^e Duchmen call it Hergottes berdlen, that is God’s little berde, because of the colour that it hath in the toppe.” This is Turner’s[15] information. He has a pleasant style, and tells us out-of-the-way facts or customs in a charming manner. Burnet is the first of the three plants that Sir Francis Bacon desired to be set in alleys, “to perfume the air most delightfully, being trodden upon and crushed.” The others were wild thyme and water-mint. It was a Salad-herb, and has (like Borage) a flavour of cucumber, but it has, most undeservedly, gone out of fashion. The taste is “somewhat warm, and the leaves should be cut young, or else they are apt to be tough. Culpepper and Parkinson advise that a few leaves should be added to a cup of claret wine because” it is “a helpe to make the heart merrie.” Canon Ellacombe[16] says it was “and still is valued as a forage plant that will grow and keep fresh all the winter in dry, barren pastures, thus giving food for sheep when other food was scarce. It has occasionally been cultivated, but the result has not been very satisfactory, except on very poor land, though, according to the Woburn experiments, as reported by Sinclair, it contains a larger amount of nutritive matter in the spring than most of the grasses. It has brown flowers from which it is supposed to derive its name (Brunetto).”

[15] Turner’s Herbal is beautifully illustrated; five initial letters from it are [here] reproduced.

[16] “Plant-lore and Garden-Craft of Shakespeare.”

INITIAL LETTERS FROM TURNER’S “HERBAL”

Caraway (Carum carvi).

Shallow. Now, you shall see my orchard, where, in an arbour we will eat a last year’s Pippin of my own grafting, with a dish of Caraways, and so forth. II. Henry IV. v. 3.

In Elizabethan days, Caraway Seeds were appreciated at dessert, and Canon Ellacombe says that the custom of serving roast apples with a little saucerful of Caraway Seed is still kept up at some of the London livery dinners. It was the practice to put them among baked fruits or into bread-cakes, and they were also “made into comfits.” In cakes and comfits they are used to-day, and in Germany I have seen them served with potatoes fried in slices. The roots were boiled and “eaten as carrots,” and made a “very welcome and delightful dish to a great many,” though some found them rather strong flavoured. “The[17] Duchemen call it Mat kumell or Wishenkumel and the Freses, Hofcumine. It groweth in great plentye in Freseland in the meadows there betweene Marienhoffe and Werden, hard by the sea banke.”

[17] “Turner’s Herbal,” 1538.

Celery (Apium graveolens).

This is quite without romance. The older herbalists did not know it and Evelyn says: “Sellery... was formerly a stranger with us (nor very long since in Italy itself).... Nor is it a distinct species of smallage or Macedonian Parsley, tho’ somewhat more hot and generous, by its frequent transplanting, and thereby render’d sweeter scented.” For its “high and grateful taste, it is ever plac’d in the middle of the grand sallet, at our great men’s tables, and Proctor’s Feasts, as the grace of the whole board.” But though Parkinson did not know the plant under this name, he did see some of the first introduced into England, and gives an interesting account of this introduction to “sweete Parsley or sweet Smallage.... This resembles sweete Fennell.... The first that ever I saw was in a Venetian Ambassador’s garden in the spittle yard, near Bishop’s Gate Streete. The first year it is planted with us it is sweete and pleasant, especially while it is young, but after it has grown high and large hath a stronger taste of smallage, and so likewise much more the following yeare. The Venetians used to prepare it for meate many waies, both the herbe and roote eaten rawe, or boyled or fryed to be eaten with meate, or the dry’d herb poudered and strewn upon meate; but most usually either whited and so eaten raw with pepper and oyle as a dainty sallet of itselfe, or a little boyled or stewed... the taste of the herbe being a little warming, but the seede much more.”

Chervil (Scandix Cerefolium).

Chibolles and Chervelles and ripe chiries manye.

Piers Plowman.

Chervil was much used by the French and Dutch “boyled or stewed in a pipkin. De la Quintinye recommends it to give a ‘perfuming rellish’ to the salad, and Evelyn says the ‘Sweete (and as the French call it Musque) Spanish Chervile,’ is the best and ought ‘never to be wanting in our sallets,’ for it is ‘exceeding wholesome and charming to the spirits.’... This (as likewise Spinach) is used in tarts and serves alone for divers sauces.”

Ciboules, Chiboules or Chibbals (Allium Ascalonium).

Acorns, plump as Chibbals.

The Gipsies Metamorphosed.—Ben Jonson.

Ciboules are a small kind of onion; De la Quintinye says, “Onions degenerated.” From the reference to them in Piers Plowman, they were evidently in common use here in the time of Langlande. The French gardener adds that they are “propagated only by seeds of the bignes of a corn of ordinary gun-powder,” and Mr Britten identifies them with Scallions or Shallot (A. ascalonium).

Cives, or Chives, or Seives (Allium Schænoprasum).

Straightways follow’d in
A case of small musicians, with a din
Of little Hautbois, whereon each one strives
To show his skill; they all were made of seives,
Excepting one, which puff’d the player’s face,
And was a Chibole, serving for the bass.

Britannia’s Pastorals, Book III.

Cives and Ciboules are often mentioned together, as in this account of King Oberon’s feast. The leaves are green and hollow and look like rushes en miniature, and would serve admirably for elfin Hautbois. Miss Amherst[18] says that they are mentioned in a list of herbs (Sloane MS., 1201) found “at the beginning of a book of cookery recipes, fifteenth century.” She also tells us that when Kalm came to England (May 1748) he noticed them among the vegetables most grown in the nursery-gardens round London. They were “esteemed milder than onions,” and of a “quick rellish,” but their fame has declined in the last hundred years. Loudon says that the leaves are occasionally used to flavour soup, salads and omelettes—unlike ciboules, the bulb is not used—but the chief purpose for which I have heard them required is to mix with the food for young guinea-fowls and chickens.

[18] “History of Gardening in England.”

Coriander (Coriandrum sativum).

And Coriander last to these succeeds
That hangs on slightest threads her trembling seeds.

The Salad.—Cowper.

The chief interest attached to Coriander is that in the Book of Numbers, xi. 7, Manna is compared to the seed. It was originally introduced from the East, but is now naturalised in Essex and other places, where it has long been cultivated for druggists and confectioners. The seeds are quite round, like tiny balls, and Hogg remarks that they become fragrant by drying, and the longer they are kept the more fragrant they become. “If taken oute of measure it doth trouble a manne’s witt, with great jeopardye of madnes.”[19] Nowadays one comes across them oftenest in little round pink and white comfits for children.

[19] Turner.

Cumin (Cuminum cyminum).

Cummin good for eyes,
The roses reigning the pride of May,
Sharp isope good for greene woundes remedies.[20]

Cumin is also mentioned in the Bible by Isaiah; and also in the New Testament, as one of the plants that were tithed. It is very seldom met with, but the seeds have the same properties as caraway seeds. Gerarde says it has “little jagged leaves, very finely cut into small parcels,” and “spoky tufts” of red or purplish flowers. “The root is slender, which perisheth when it hath ripened his seed,” and it delights in a hot soil. He recommends it to be boyled together with wine and barley meale “to the forme of a pultis” for a variety of ailments. In Germany the seeds are put into bread and they figure in folklore. De Gubernatis says it gave rise to a saying among the Greeks: “Le cumin symbolisait, chez les Grecs, ce qui est petit. Des avares, ils disaient, qu’ils auraient même partagé le cumin.”

[20] Muiopotmos.—Spenser.

Cresses.

Darting fish that on a summer morn
Adown the crystal dykes of Camelot,
Come slipping o’er their shadows on the sand....
Betwixt the cressy islets, white in flower.

Geraint and Enid.

To purl o’er matted cress and ribbed sand,
Or dimple in the dark of rushy coves.

Ode to Memory.—Tennyson.

Valley lilies, whiter still
Than Leda’s love and cresses from the rill.

Endymion.

Cresses that grow where no man may them see.

Ibid.

I linger round my shingly bars,
I loiter round my cresses.

The Brook.—Tennyson.

Cresses have great powers of fascination for the poets, and “the cress of the Herbalist is a noun of multitude,” says Dr Fernie. Of these now cultivated, St Barbara’s Cress (Barbarea vulgaris) has the most picturesque name, and is the least known. It was once grown for a winter salad, but American Cress (Erysimum præcox) is more recommended for winter and early spring. Indian Cress (Tropæolum majus), usually known as nasturtium, is seldom counted a herb, although it is included in some old gardening lists, for the sake of the pickle into which its unripe fruits were made. Abercrombie adds that the flowers and young leaves are used in salads, but this must be most rare in England; though, when once in Brittany, I remember that the bonne used to ornament the salad on Sundays with an artistic decoration of scarlet and striped nasturtium flowers. Garden Cress (Lepidium sativum), the tiny kind, associated in one’s mind since nursery days with “mustard,” used to be known as Passerage, as it was believed to drive away madness. Dr Fernie continues, that the Greeks loved cress, and had a proverb, “Eat Cresses and get wit.” They were much prized by our poor people, when pepper was a luxury. “The Dutchmen[21] and others used to eate Cresses familiarly with their butter and breade, as also stewed or boyled, either alone or with other herbs, whereof they make a Hotch-Potch. We doe eate it mixed with Lettuce and Purslane, or sometimes with Tarragon or Rocket with oyle, vinegar, and a little salt, and in that manner it is very savoury.”

Water-Cress (Nasturtium officinale) is rich in mineral salts and is valuable as food. The leaves remain “green when grown in the shade, but become of a purple brown because of their iron, when exposed to the sun,” says Dr Fernie. “It forms the chief ingredient of the Sirop Antiscorbutique, given so successfully by the French faculty.” “Water-Cress pottage” is a good remedy “to help head aches. Those that would live in health may use it if they please, if they will not I cannot help it.” This is Culpepper’s advice, but he relents even to those too weak-minded to avail themselves of a cure, salutary but unpalatable. “If they fancy not pottage they may eat the herb as a sallet.”

[21] Parkinson.

Dandelion (Leontodon taraxacum).

Dandelion, with globe and down,
The schoolboy’s clock in every town,
Which the truant puffs amain,
To conjure lost hours back again.

William Howitt.

Dandelion leaves used to be boiled with lentils, and one recipe bids one have them “chopped as pot-herbes, with a few Allisanders boyled in their broth.” But generally they were regarded as a medicinal, rather than a salad plant. Evelyn, however, includes them in his list, and says they should be “macerated in several waters, to extract the Bitterness. It was with this Homely Fare the Good Wife Hecate entertain’d Theseus.” A better way of “extracting the Bitterness” is to blanch the leaves, and it has been advised to dig up plants from the road-sides in winter when salad is scarce, and force them in pots like succory. He continues that of late years “they have been sold in most Herb Shops about London for being a wonderful Purifier of the Blood.” Culpepper, whose fiery frankness it is impossible to resist quoting, manages on this subject to get his knife into the doctors, as, to do him justice, he seldom loses an opportunity of doing. “You see what virtues this common herb hath, and this is the reason the French and Dutch so often eate them in the spring, and now, if you look a little further, you may see plainly, without a pair of spectacles, that foreign physicians are not so selfish as ours are, but more communicative of the virtues of plants to people.” The Irish used to call it Heart-Fever-Grass. The root, when roasted and ground, has been substituted for coffee, and gave satisfaction to some of those who drank it. Hogg relates a tale of woe from the island of Minorca, how that once locusts devoured the harvest there, and the inhabitants were forced to, and did subsist on this root, but does not mention for what length of time.

SWEET CICELY AND OTHER HERBS

Dill (Anethum graveolens).

The nightshade strews to work him ill,
Therewith her vervain and her dill.

Nymphidia.—Drayton.

Here holy vervayne and here dill,
’Gainst witchcraft much availing,

The Muses Elysium.

The wonder-working dill he gets not far from these.

Polyolbion. Song xiii.

Dill is supposed to have been derived from a Norse word “to dull,” because the seeds were given to babies to make them sleep. Beyond this innocent employment it was a factor in working spells of the blackest magic! Dill is a graceful, umbelliferous plant—not at all suggestive of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde—and the seeds resemble caraway seeds in flavour, but are smaller, flatter and lighter. There is something mysterious about it, because, besides being employed in spells by witches and wizards, it was used by other people to resist spells cast by traffickers in magic, and was equally powerful to do this! Dill is very like fennel, but the leaves are shorter, smaller, and of a “stronger and quicker taste. The leaves are used with Fish, though too strong for everyone’s taste, and if added to ‘pickled Cowcumbers’ it ‘gives the cold fruit a pretty, spicie taste.’” Evelyn also praises ‘Gerckens muriated’ with the seeds of Dill, and Addison writes: “I am always pleased with that particular time of the year which is proper for the pickling of dill and cucumbers, but, alas! his cry, like the song of the nightingale, is not heard above two months.”[22]

[22] Spectator, xxv. 1.

Endive (Cichorium Endivia).

The Daisy, Butter-flow’r and Endive blue.

Pastorals.—Gay.

There at no cost, on onions rank and red,
Or the curl’d endive’s bitter leaf, he fed.

The Salad.—Cowper.

Endive is a plant of whose virtues our prosaic days have robbed us. Once upon a time it could break all bonds and render the owner invisible, and if a lover carried it about him, he could make the lady of his choice believe that he possessed all the qualities she specially admired! Folkard quotes three legends of it from Germany, one each from Austria and Roumania, and an unmistakably Slav story—all of them of a romantic character—and we regard it as a salad herb! “There are three sorts: Green-curled leaved; principal sort for main crops, white-curled leaved, and broad Batavian” (Loudon). The green-curled leaved is the hardiest and fittest for winter use. The Batavian is not good for salads, but is specially in demand for stews and soups. All kinds must, of course, be carefully blanched. Mrs Roundell[23] reminds one that endive is a troublesome vegetable to cook, as it is apt to be crowded with insects. The leaves should be all detached from the stem and carefully washed in two or three salted waters. She also gives receipts for endive, dressed as spinach, made into a purée or cooked alone. Parkinson said: “Endive whited is much used in winter, as a sallet herbe with great delighte.”

Succory, Chicory, or Wild Endive may be mentioned as making an excellent salad when forced and blanched, and it is popular in France, where it is called Barbe de Capucin. Its great advantage is, as Loudon says, that “when lettuce or garden-endive are scarce, chicory can always be commanded by those who possess any of the most ordinary means of forcing.” He adds that it has been much used as fodder for cattle, and that the roots, dried and ground, are well known—only too well known, “partly along with, and partly as a substitute for coffee.”

[23] “Practical Cookery Book.”

Fennel (Fæniculum vulgare).

Ophelia. There’s fennel for you and columbines.

Hamlet, iv. 5.

Fenel is for flatterers,
An evil thing it is sure,
But I have alwaies meant truely
With constant heart most pure.

A Handfull of Pleasant Delightes.—C. Robinson.

Christopher. No, my good lord.
Count. Your good lord! Oh! how this smells of fennel!

The Case Altered, ii. 2.—Ben Jonson.

“Hast thou ought in thy purse?” quod he.
“Any hote spices?”
“I have peper, pionies,” quod she, “and a pound garlike
A ferdyng worth of fenel-seed for fastyng dayes.”

Piers Plowman.

Oh! faded flowers of fennel, that will not bloom again
For any south wind’s calling, for any magic rain.

The Faun to his Shadow.—N. Hopper.

“Sow Fennel, sow Sorrow.”—Proverb.

Few realise from how high an estate fennel has fallen. In Shakespeare’s time we have the plainest evidence that it was the recognised emblem of flattery. Ben Jonson’s allusion is almost as pointed as Robinson’s. It is said that Ophelia’s flowers were all chosen for their significance, so, perhaps, it was not by accident that she offers fennel to her brother, in whose ears the cry must have been still ringing,

“Choose we; Laertes shall be king!”

with the echo:—

“Caps, hand, and tongues, applaud it to the clouds,
‘Laertes shall be king, Laertes king!’”

Nor was it only in our own land that Fennel had this significance, for Canon Ellacombe quotes an Italian saying: “Dare Finocchio” (to give fennel), meaning “to flatter.” As to the reason that fennel should be connected with sorrow, the clue is lost, but the proverb is said still to live in New England. The conversation which takes place in “Piers Plowman,” between a priest and a poor woman, illustrates a use to which fennel was put in earlier days. The poor got it, Miss Amherst says, “to relieve the pangs of hunger on fasting days.” But it was by no means despised by the rich, for “As much as eight and a half pounds of Fennel seed was bought for the King’s Household (Edward I., 1281) for one month’s supply.” She quotes from the Wardrobe Accounts. Our use either of Common Fennel, or Sweet Fennel, or Finocchio is so limited that the practice of Parkinson’s contemporaries shall be quoted. “Fenell is of great use to trim up and strowe upon fish, as also to boyle or put among fish of divers sorts, Cowcumbers pickled and other fruits, etc. The rootes are used with Parsley rootes to be boyled in broths. The seed is much used to put in Pippin pies and divers others such baked fruits, as also into bread, to give it the better relish. The Sweet Cardus Fenell being sent by Sir Henry Wotton to John Tradescante had likewise a large direction with it how to dress it, for they used to white it after it hath been transplanted for their uses, which by reason of sweetnesse by nature, and the tendernesse by art, causeth it to be more delightfull to the taste.” “Cardus Fenell” must have been Finocchio.

Goat’s Beard (Tragopogon pratensis).

And goodly now the noon-tide hour,
When from his high meridian tower,
The sun looks down in majesty,
What time about the grassy lea
The Goat’s Beard, prompt his rise to hail
With broad expanded disk, in veil
Close mantling wraps his yellow head,
And goes, as peasants say, to bed.

Bp. Mant.

The habits of Goat’s Beard, or as it is often called, John-go-to-bed-at-noon, are indicated by the latter name. It is less known as Joseph’s Flower, which Mr Friend[24] says “seems to owe its origin to pictures in which the husband of Mary is represented as a long-bearded old man,” but Gerarde gives the Low-Dutch name of his time, “Josephe’s Bloemen,” and says “when these flowers be come to their full maturity and ripeness, they grow into a downy blow-ball, like those of the Dandelion, which is carried away by the winde.” Evelyn praises it, and is indignant with the cunning of the seed-sellers. “Of late they have Italianiz’d the name, and now generally call it Salsifex... to disguise it, being a very common field herb, growing in most parts of England, would have it thought (with many others) an Exotick.” He does not give the full Latin name, so one cannot tell whether it is our Salsify (Tragopogon porrifolius) that he means, or T. pratensis, the variety once more generally cultivated. The latter seems the likeliest, as its yellow flowers are far more common than the purple ones of salsify. T. porrifolius is extremely rare in a wild state, but T. pratensis grows in “medows and fertil pastures in most parts of England.” T. pratensis is never cultivated now, and “Salsify” applies exclusively to Purple Goat’s Beard (T. porrifolium). The old herbalists praised it very highly.

[24] “Flowers and Flower-lore.”

Horse-Radish (Cochlearia Armoracia).

Dr Fernie translates its botanical name, Cochlearia, from the shape of the leaves, which resemble, he says, an old-fashioned spoon; ar, near; mor, the sea, from its favourite locality. “For the most part it is planted in gardens... yet have I found it wilde in Sundrie places... in the field next unto a farme house leading to King’s land, where my very good friend Master Bredwell, practitioner in Phisick, a learned and diligent searcher of Samples, and Master William Martin, one of the fellowship of Barbers and Chirugians, my deere and loving friend, in company with him found it and gave me knowledge of the plant, where it flourisheth to this day.... Divers think that this Horse-Radish is an enemie to Vines, and that the hatred between them is so greate, that if the roots hereof be planted neare to the Vine, it bendeth backward from it, as not willing to have fellowship with it.... Old writers ascribe this enmitie to the vine and Brassica, our Colewortes.” Both he and Parkinson think, that in transferring the “enmitie” from the cabbage to the horse-radish, the “Ancients” have been mistranslated. The Dutch called it Merretich; the French, Grand Raifort; the English, locally, Red Cole. Evelyn calls it an “excellent, universal Condiment,” and says that first steeped in water, then grated and tempered with vinegar, in which a little sugar has been dissolved, it supplies “Mustard to the Sallet, and serving likewise for any Dish besides.”

Hyssop (Hyssopus officinalis).

Hyssop, as an herb most prime,
Here is my wreath bestowing.

Muses Elysium.—Drayton.

Iago. “Our bodies are our gardeners; so that if we will plant nettles, or sow lettuce, set hyssop and weed up thyme... why the power and corrigible authority of this lies in our wills.” Othello, i. 3.

Parkinson opens his “Theatre of Plants” with the words: “From a Paradise of pleasant Flowers, I am fallen (Adam like) to a world of Profitable Herbs and Plants... and first of the Hisopes.... Among other uses, the golden hyssop was of so pleasant a colour, that it provoked every gentlewoman to wear them in their heads and on their arms with as much delight as many fine flowers can give.” It is a hardy, evergreen shrub, with a strong aromatic odour. The flowers are blue, and appear more or less from June till October. The Ussopos of Dioscorides was named from azob, a holy herb, because it was used for cleansing sacred places, and this is interesting when one thinks of Scriptural allusions to the plant, although the hyssop of the Bible is most probably not our hyssop. The identity of that plant has occasioned much divergence of opinion, and a decision, beyond reach of criticism, has not yet been reached. Mazes were sometimes planted with “Marjoram and such like, or Isope and Time. It may eyther be sette with Isope and Time or with Winter Savory and Time, for these endure all the Winter thorowe greene.”[25]

It was more often used for “Broths and Decoctions” than for salads, but the tops and flowers were sometimes powdered and strewn on the top of one. It is not much used nowadays, but I once saw an excitable Welsh cook seize on a huge bunch of “dear Hyssop” with exclamations of joy. In the East, “some plants diverted fascination by their smell,”[26] and hyssop was one of these, and as a protection against the Evil Eye, was hung up in houses.

[25] “Art of Gardening,” Hill, 1563.

[26] Friend.

Lamb’s Lettuce or Corn Salad (Valeriana Locusta).

Lamb’s Lettuce is variously known as mâche, doucette, salade de chanoine, poule-grasse, and was formerly called “Salade de Prêter, for their being generally eaten in Lent.” It is a small plant, with “whitish-greene, long or narrow round-pointed leaves... and tufts of small bleake blue flowers.” In corn-fields it grows wild, but Gerarde says, “since it hath growne in use among the French and Dutch strangers in England, it hath been sowen in gardens as a salad herbe,” and adds that among winter and early spring salads “it is none of the worst.” The fact of its being “recognised” at a comparatively late date, by the English, and even then through the practices of the French, perhaps accounts for the lack of English “pet” names, conspicuous beside the number bestowed on it on the other side of the Channel. De la Quintinye is not in accord with his countrymen on the subject, for he calls it a “wild and rusticall Salad, because, indeed, it is seldom brought before any Noble Company.” Despite this disparaging remark, it is still a favourite in France, and it is surprising that a salad plant that stands cold so well should not be more cultivated in this country. Lettuce is so much more recognised as a vegetable than a herb that it will not be mentioned here.

Marjoram (Origanum).

Lafeu. ’Twas a good lady, ’twas a good lady. We may pick a thousand salads ere we light on such another herb.

Clown. Indeed, Sir, she was the Sweet Marjoram of the Salad, or rather the herb of grace.

All’s Well that Ends Well, iv. 5.

Not all the ointments brought from Delos’ Isle,
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.

Britannia’s Pastorals.

O, bind them posies of pleasant flowers,
Of marjoram, mint and rue.

Devonshire Song.

The scent of marjoram used to be very highly prized, and in some countries the plant is the symbol of honour. Dr Fernie says Origanum means in Greek the “joy of the mountains,” so charming a name one wishes it could be more often used. Among[27] the Greeks, if it grew on the grave it augured the happiness of the departed; “May many flowers grow on this newly-built tomb” (is the prayer once offered); “not the dried-up Bramble, or the red flower loved by goats; but Violets and Marjoram, and the Narcissus growing in water, and around thee may all Roses grow.”

Parkinson writes it was “put in nosegays, and in the windows of houses, as also in sweete pouders, sweete bags, and sweete washing waters.... Our daintiest women doe put it to still among their sweet herbes.” Pusser mentions it among his “herbs for strewing,” and in some recipes for pot pourri it is still included. Origanum vulgare grows wild, and the dry leaves are made into a tea “which is extremely grateful.” The different kinds of marjoram are now chiefly used for soups and stuffings. Isaac Walton gives instructions for dressing a pike, and directs that among the accessories should be sweet marjoram, thyme, a little winter savoury and some pickled oysters!

[27] Friend.

POT MARJORAM

Mint (Mentha).

The neighb’ring nymphs each in her turn...
Some running through the meadows with them bring
Cowslips and mint.

Britannia’s Pastorals, book i.

In strewing of these herbs... with bounteous hands and free,
The healthful balm and mint from their full laps do fly.

Polyolbion, Song xv.

Sunflowers and marigolds and mint beset us,
Moths white as stitchwort that had left its stem,
... Loyal as sunflowers we will not swerve us,
We’ll make the mints remembered spices serve us
For autumn as in spring.

N. Hopper.

“Mint,” says De la Quintinye, “is called in French Balm,” which sounds rather confusing; but Evelyn says it is the “Curled Mint, M. Sativa Crispa,” that goes by this name. Mint was also called “Menthe de Notre Dame,” and in Italy, “Erba Santa Maria,” and in Germany, “Frauen Münze,” though this name is also applied to costmary. This herb used to be strewn in churches. All the various kinds of it were thought to be good against the biting of serpents, sea-scorpions, and mad dogs, but violently antagonistic to the healing processes of wounds. “They are extreme bad for wounded people, and they say a wounded man that eats Mints, his wound will never be cured, and that is a long day! But they are good to be put into Baths.”[28] The “gentler tops of Orange Mint” (Mentha citrata?) are recommended “mixed with a Salad or eaten alone, with the juyce of Orange and a little Sugar.”

The mint we commonly use is Mentha Viridis or Spear Mint. “Divers have held for true, that Cheeses will not corrupt, if they be either rubbed over withe the juyce or a decoction of Mints, or they laid among them.” It has been said, too, that an infusion of mint will prevent the rapid curdling of milk. Being dried, mint was much used to put with pennyroyal into puddings, and also among “pease that are boyled for pottage.” The last is one of the few uses that survives. Parkinson complains of all sorts of mints, that once planted in a garden they are difficult to get rid of!

Cat Mint, or Nep (Nepeta Cataria) is eaten in Tansies. “According to Hoffman the root of the Cat Mint, if chewed, will make the most gentle person fierce and quarrelsome.”[29]

Pepper Mint is still retained, as is Spear Mint, in the British Pharmacopœia. “The leaves have an intensely pungent aromatic taste resembling that of pepper, and accompanied with a peculiar sensation of coldness” (Thornton).

[28] Culpepper.

[29] Folkard.

Mustard (Sinapis).

Bottom. Your name, I beseech you, sir?

Mustardseed. Mustardseed.

Bottom. Good Master Mustardseed, I know your patience well: that same cowardly, giant-like ox-beef hath devoured many a gentleman of your house: I promise you your kindred hath made my eyes water ere now. I desire your more acquaintance, good Master Mustardseed.

Midsummer-Night’s Dream, iii. 1.

In 1664 Evelyn wrote that mustard is of “incomparable effect to quicken and revive the Spirits, strengthening the Memory and expelling Heaviness.... In Italy, in making Mustard, they mingle Lemon and Orange Peels with the seeds.” In England the best mustard came from Tewkesbury. It is a curious instance of the instability of fashion that only twenty-four years before Evelyn made these remarks, Parkinson wrote: “Our ancient forefathers, even the better sort, in the most simple, and as I may say the more healthful age of the world, were not sparing in the use thereof... but nowadayes it is seldom used by the successors, being accounted the clownes sauce, and therefore not fit for their tables; but is transferred either to the meyny or meaner sort, who therefore reap the benefit thereof.” He adds it is “of good use, being fresh for Epilepticke persons... if it be applyed both inwardly and outwardly.” There were some drawbacks to being sick or sorry in the “good old days.” It was customary in Italy to keep the mustard in balls till it was wanted, and these balls were made up with honey or vinegar and a little cinnamon added. When the mustard was required, the ball was “relented” with a little more vinegar. Canon Ellacombe says: “Balls were the form in which Mustard was usually sold, till Mrs Clements of Durham, in the last century, invented the method of dressing mustard flour like wheat flour and made her fortune with Durham Mustard!” We cultivate Sinapis nigra for its seed and Sinapis alba as a small salad herb.

Parsley (Petroselinum sativum).

The tender tops of Parsley next he culls,
Then the old rue bush shudders as he pulls.

The Salad.

Quinces and Peris ciryppe (syrup) with parcely rotes,
Right so begyn your mele.

Russell’s Boke of Nature.

Fat colworts and comforting perseline,
Cold lettuce and refreshing rosmarine.

Muiopotmos.—Spenser.

Parsley has the “curious botanic history that no one can tell what is its native country. Probably the plant has been so altered by cultivation as to have lost all likeness to its original self.”[30] Superstitions connected with it are myriad, and Folkard gives two Greek sayings that are interesting. It was the custom among them to border the garden with parsley and rue, and from this arose an idiom, when any undertaking was talked of, but not begun, “Oh! we are only at the Parsley and Rue.” Parsley was used, too, to strew on graves, and hence came a saying “to be in need of parsley,” signifying to be at death’s door. Mr Friend quotes an English adage that “Fried parsley will bring a man to his saddle and a woman to her grave,” but says that he has heard no reason given for this strange and apparently pointless dictum. Plutarch tells of a panic created in a Greek force, marching against the enemy, by their suddenly meeting some mules laden with parsley, which the soldiers looked upon as an evil omen; and W. Jones, in his “Crowns and Coronations,” says, “Timoleon nearly caused a mutiny in his army because he chose his crown to be of parsley, when his soldiers wished it to be of the pine or pitch tree.” In many parts of England it is considered unlucky, and I quote from a paper read before the Devon and Exeter Gardeners’ Association in 1897. “It is one of the longest seeds to lie in the ground before germinating; it has been said to go to the Devil and back again nine times before it comes up. And many people have a great objection to planting parsley, saying if you do there will sure to be a death in the Family within twelve months.” It is only fair to add that this delightful lapse into folk-lore comes in the midst of most excellent and practical advice for its cultivation. “Quite recently (in 1883) a gentleman, living near Southampton, told his gardener to sow some Parsley seed. The man, however, refused, saying that it would be a bad day’s work to him if ever he brought Parsley seed into the house. He said that he would not mind bringing a plant or two and throwing them down, that his master might pick them up if he chose, but he would not bring them to him for anything.”[31]

The “earliest known, really original work on gardening, written in English,” is, Miss Amherst says, “a treatise in verse,” by Mayster Ion Gardener. It consists of a prologue and eight divisions, and one of these is devoted to “Perselye” alone. The manuscript in the Library of Trinity College, Cambridge, that she quotes from, was written about 1440, but it is thought that the poem is older. Parsley was “much used in all sortes of meates, both boyled, roasted and fryed, stewed, etc., and being green it serveth to lay upon sundry meates. It is also shred and stopped into powdered beefe.... The roots are put into broth, or boyled or stewed with a legge of Mutton... and are of a very good rellish, but the roots must be young and of the first year’s growth.”[32]

The seeds of parsley were sometimes put into cheese to flavour it, and Timbs (“Things not generally Known”) tells this anecdote: “Charlemagne once ate cheese mixed with parsley seeds at a bishop’s palace, and liked it so much that ever after he had two cases of such cheese sent yearly to Aix-la-Chapelle.”

In the edition of Tusser’s “Five Hundred Points of Good Husbandry,” edited by Mavor, it is noted, “Skim-milk cheese, however, might be advantageously mixed with seeds, as is the practice in Holland.” Though not strictly relevant, these lines taken by Mrs Milne-Home (“Stray Leaves from a Border-Garden”) from the family records of the Earls of Marchmont, must find place. They were written by a boy of eight or nine, on the occasion of his elder brother’s birthday.

This day from parsley-bed, I’m sure,
Was dug my elder brother, Moore,
Had Papa dug me up before him,
So many now would not adore him,
But hang it! he’s but onely one
And if he trips off, I’m Sr John.

Horse-radish was treated here as a seasoning, but radish is counted among vegetables proper.

[30] Plant Lore and Garden Craft of Shakespeare.

[31] Friend.

[32] Parkinson.

Sage (Salvia officinalis).

Sage is for sustenance
That should man’s life sustaine,
For I do stil lie languishing
Continually in paine,
And shall doe still until I die,
Except thou favour show,
My paine and all my grievous smart,
Ful wel you do it know.

Handful of Pleasant Delights.

And then againe he turneth to his playe,
To spoyle the pleasures of the Paradise,
The wholesome saulge and lavender still gray.

Muiopotmos.—Spenser.

Sage is one of those sympathetic plants that feel the fortunes of their owners; and Mr Friend says that a Buckinghamshire farmer told him his recent personal experience. “At one time he was doing badly, and the Sage began to wither, but, as soon as the tide turned, the plant began to thrive again.” Most of the Continental names of the plant are like the botanical one of Salvia, from “Salvo,” to save or heal, and its high reputation in medicine lasted for ages. The Arabians valued it, and the medical school of Salerno summed up its surpassing merits in the line, Cur morietur homo cui Salvia crescit in horto? (How can a man die who grows sage in his garden?) Perhaps this originated the English saying:—

He that would live for aye
Must eat Sage in May.

Parkinson mentions that it is “Much used of many in the month of May fasting,” with butter and parsley, and is “held of most” to conduce to health. “It healeth the pricking of the fishe called in Latine pastinaca marina, whych is like unto a flath, with venomous prickes, about his tayle. It maketh hayre blacke; it is good for woundis.”[33] The “Grete Herball” contains a remedy for Lethargy or Forgetfulness, which consists of making a decoction “of tutsan, of smalage and of sauge,” and bathing the back of the head with it.

Pepys notes that in a little churchyard between Gosport and Southampton the custom prevailed of sowing the graves with sage. This is rather curious, as it has never been one of the plants specially connected with death.

Evelyn sums up its “Noble Properties” thus: “In short ’tis a Plant endu’d with so many and wonderful Properties, as that the assiduous use of it is said to render Men Immortal. We cannot therefore but allow the tender Summities of the young Leaves, but principally the Flowers in our Sallet; yet so as not to domineer.... ’Tis credibly affirmed, that the Dutch for some time drove a very lucrative Trade with the dry’d Leves of what is called Sage of Vertue and Guernsey Sage.... Both the Chineses and Japaneses are great admirers of that sort of Sage, and so far prefer it to their own Tea... that for what Sage they purchase of the Dutch, they give triple the quantity of the choicest Tea in exchange.”

“Frytures” (fritters) of Sage are described as having place at banquets in the Middle Ages (Russell’s “Boke of Nurture”). Besides these other uses the seeds of sage like parsley seeds were used to flavour cheese. Gay refers to this:—

Marbled with Sage,
The hardening cheese she pressed,

and to “Sage cheese,” too, and Timbs says, “The practice of mixing sage and other herbs with cheese was common among the Romans.”

[33] Turner.

Savory (Satureia).

Some Camomile doth not amiss,
With Savoury and some tansy.

Muses Elysium.

Here’s flowers for you,
Hot Lavender, Mints, Savory, Marjoram.

Winter’s Tale, iv. 4.

Sound savorie, and bazil, hartie-hale,
Fat Colwortes and comforting Perseline,
Cold Lettuce and refreshing Rosmarine.

Muiopotmos.

Savory, satureia, was once supposed to belong to the satyrs. “Mercury claims the dominion over this herb. Keep it dry by you all the year, if you love yourself and your ease, and it is a hundred pounds to a penny if you do not.” Culpepper follows this advice with a long list of ailments, for all of which this herb is an excellent remedy. Summer savory (S. hortensis) and winter savory (S. Montana) are the only kinds considered in England as a rule, though Gerarde further mentions “a stranger,” which, “because it groweth plentifully upon the rough cliffs of the Tyrrhenian Sea in Italie, called Saint Julian rocke,” is named after the saint, Satureia Sancti Juliani. In other countries summer savory used to be strewn upon the dishes as we strew parsley, and served with peas or beans; rice, wheat and sometimes the dried herb was “boyled among pease to make pottage.” Winter savory used to be dried and powdered and mixed with grated bread, “to breade their meate, be it fish or flesh, to give it a quicker rellish.” Here Parkinson breaks off to deliver a severe reproof to “this delicate age of ours, which is not pleased with anything almost that is not pleasant to the palate,” and therefore neglects many viands which would be of great benefit. Both savories are occasionally used more or less in the way he suggests, winter savory being the favourite. In Cotton’s sequel to the “Complete Angler,” a “handful of sliced horse-radish-root, with a handsome little faggot of rosemary, thyme and winter savoury” is recommended in the directions for “dressing a trout.” One of the virtues attributed to both savories by the old herbalists is still agreed to by some gardeners: “A shoot of it rubbed on wasp or bee stings instantly gives relief.”

Sorrel (Rumex).

Simplest growth of Meadow-sweet or Sorrel
Such as the summer-sleepy Dryads weave.

Swinburne.

Cresses that grow where no man may them see,
And sorrel, untorn by the dew-claw’d stag;
Pipes will I fashion of the syrinx flag.

Endymion.

There flourish’d starwort and the branching beet
The sorrel acid and the mallow sweet.

The Salad.

Here curling sorrel that again
We use in hot diseases
The medicinable mallow here...

Muses Elysium.

Sorrel and mallow seem to have been associates anciently, perhaps because it was thought that the virtues of the one would counterbalance those of the other. “From May to August the meadows are often ruddy with the sorrel, the red leaves of which point out the graves of the Irish rebels who fell at Tara Hill in the ‘Ninety-eight,’ the local tradition asserting that the plants sprang from the patriots’ blood.”[34] The Spaniards used to call sorrel, Agrelles and Azeda, and the French Aigrette and Surelle. In England it used to be “eaten in manner of a Spinach tart or eaten as meate,” and the French and Dutch still do, I believe, and at anyrate did quite lately, use it as spinach. Sorrel was often added by them to herb-patience when that was used as a pot-herb, and was said to give it an excellent flavour. The same recipe has been tried and approved in England as well as (a little) sorrel cooked with turnip-tops or spinach; the former of these dishes is said to be good and the second certainly is. Evelyn thought that sorrel imparted “so grateful a quickeness to the salad that it should never be left out,” and De la Quintinye says that in France besides being mixed in salads it is generally used in Bouillons or thin Broths. Of the two kinds, Garden Sorrel, Rumex Acetosa, and French Sorrel, R. Scutatus, either may be used indifferently in cooking, though some people decidedly prefer the French kind. Mrs Roundell says that sorrel carefully prepared can be cooked in any of the ways recommended for spinach, but that it should be cooked as soon as it is picked, and if this is impossible must be revived in water before being cooked.

[34] Folkard.

THE LAVENDER WALK AT STRATHFIELDSAYE

Tarragon (Artemisia Dracunculus).

“Tarragon is cherished in gardens.... Ruellius and such others have reported many strange tales hereof scarce worth the noting, saying that the seede of flaxe put into a radish roote or sea onion, and so set, doth bring forth this herbe Tarragon.” This idea was apparently still current though discredited by the less superstitious in Gerarde’s time. Parkinson mentions a great dispute between ancient herbalists as to the identity of the flower called Chysocoma by Dioscorides. After quoting various opinions and depreciating some of them he approves the decision of Molinaus that Tarragon was the plant. He describes it “in leaves... like unto the ordinary long-leafed Hisope... of the colour of Cyperus, of a taste not unpleasant which is somewhat austere with the sweetnesse.” It is a native of Siberia, but has long been cultivated in France, and the name is a corruption of the French Esdragon and means “Little Dragon.” Though no reason for this war-like title is obvious, the name is practically the same in several other countries. The leaves were good pickled, and it is altogether a fine aromatic herb for soups and salads. Vinegars for salads and sauce used often in earlier days to be “aromatized” by steeping in them rosemary, gilliflowers, barberries and so forth, but the only herb used for this purpose at the present time is tarragon. Tarragon vinegar can still be easily obtained. “The volatile essential oil of tarragon is chemically identical with that of anise” (Fernie).

Thyme (Thymus vulgaris).