THE WHITE ROCKERY 115 



The sweetest thing in my garden is a marjoram: 

 origanum Maru, the " eau-de-cologne " plant, as we 

 call it. But the odour is too sophisticated like 

 a whiff from a perfumer's. Daphne cneorum is 

 very delicious ; but the best scent I know is that of 

 wild wood hyacinths, in some glade, where sunlight 

 soaks and drips in pure green-gold through a million 

 infant leaves, and the blue and purple beneath gleam 

 in sun and lie cool as a cloud-shadow in shade, while 

 the pale spikes open and droop their countless fairy 

 bells to worship the ground that bore them. Orchid 

 people, of course, say there is nothing like a Vanda 

 for exquisite perfume, and certainly my neighbour's 

 are exceedingly sweet. 



With the lovely lapeyrousias I have failed so far ; 

 but leontice, the lion's leaf, is vigorous of foliage, and 

 free of yellow, dark-veined flowers in February upon 

 a rock-ledge. Hypoxis is another failure, and after 

 several attempts 1 must pronounce him not hardy so 

 far as this garden is concerned. It is a slight conso- 

 lation to read in Professor Nicholson that very few are 

 worth growing ; but one is tempted to fall back on the 

 1 grapes are sour ' theory rather often with half-hardy 

 bulbs. As a matter of fact not half-a-dozen times in 

 as many years have I flowered anything not worth 

 growing. There was a wretched phlomis tuberosa that 

 reached enormous proportions and took two men to 

 drag it to the dustbin ; then there was hyoscyamus 

 orientalis, which I got, hoping that it might be as 

 lovely as our own rare and weird English H. niger, 

 the henbane. But a dingier, meaner, more hang-dog 



