THE MOUNTAIN BOG 229 
dowdy; Alliont is simply dark and dowdy, despite its 
great rarity, which leads one to expect marvels from its 
dense, close carpet of branches, clothed with rounded 
leaves in pairs. Alpina is the bitterest disappointment. 
The name ought to be a guarantee of worth; but Veronica 
alpina is pallid and minute of blossom, totally without 
value; as for balcana, which I had from Servian seed, it 
proved a little weed like our own arvensis. Last, but 
not least, comes the native Speedwell, dear attractive 
thing, to be allowed its full way in the garden wherever 
possible, and no more vigorous and easy than all its 
vigorous, easy clan—excepting only such capricious uglies 
as bellidioeides and alpina. 
Arnica has been left behind by now, and the hillside is 
one soaking sponge of bog. Here and there, on stalwart 
spikes, rise the large lurid goblets of Gentiana purpurea, 
huddled in a head, and ranging in colour through shades 
of dull yellow, brown, and livid bronze. ‘Then comes 
something exquisite beyond all hope—something that 
clothes the wettest moss of the slope in tenderest, softest, 
warmest rose-purple. As we get nearer, straining our 
hearts to be upon this unexpected delight, we gradually 
discern its flowers to be borne in round, fluffy heads. 
What it may be we have no notion. Now it is at our 
feet; we plunge, lay violent hands upon it, possess it 
eagerly, with fondlings. And it is a garlic! And it 
stinks unutterably—and not all the multitudinous seas 
can wash us clean of that clinging stench. As a matter 
of fact, this is the common Chives of our kitchen-gardens, 
Allium schoenoprason, native of wet highlands in our own 
Lake Country no less than of the Alps, and, as another 
matter of fact, a remarkably pretty thing, well worthy of 
admission to any choice territory and marsh, were it not 
for its unutterable odour. And here I will not deal 
exhaustively with possible garlics for the rock-garden, 
