THE KITCHEN GARDEN 173 



two centuries earlier, but if the cult of vegetables had 

 not died out in England by the time of Elizabeth, it 

 had, at any rate, fallen far behind that of Holland. 

 We are even reminded, as we pass the feathery carrots 

 and come to the next bed, that the best parsnip we 

 grow to-day is from stock that grew wild in the fields 

 less than twenty years ago. 



Our kitchen garden gives many evidences of its 

 antiquity in the " weeds " that spring up here in spite 

 of the sternest cultivation. The commonest and most 

 persistent reminder of our ingratitude in calling it a 

 weed is a tallish green-flowered plant with heart- 

 shaped leaves, the under sides of which seem to have 

 been rubbed with soap. It is Chenopodium bonus- 

 Jienricus, Good King Henry, All-good, Fat-hen lastly 

 wild spinach. Some curious people and a faithful 

 cottager or two eat it now. To our ancestors who 

 knew simples better it was one of the best of green- 

 stuffs obtainable, and we do not doubt that in this 

 old garden it was once thoroughly welcome in the 

 beds whence now we chase it with the proverbially 

 vain " furca." " Simple " we have called it. Let 

 any one reflect for a moment, and he will realise that 

 for thousands of years the vegetable has been at most 

 but the garnish or the medicinal corrective of the joint. 

 So deep-rooted is this feeling that we regard even the 

 fat parsnip or the bean, which the analyst tells us 

 contains far more food than the meat, as merely an 

 adjunct. Take away all the vegetables and we can 

 still dine on the joint, but take away the joint and we 

 are lost. That attitude is being rapidly beaten down 

 by the vegetarians, and we may have to take up its 

 exact opposite. But before the advent of the heavy 



