^ The zAromat'tc Herbs (j£ 



herb by a name so lovely and so musical ?), marjoram, 

 lovage, sweet Cicely, woodruff, mullein — those names 

 were not * made.' They grew. The herb-garden is never 

 more lovable than in the full blaze of sunlight on a sum- 

 mer day, for then it is full of bees and fairies. We live in 

 such a hurrying material age that even in our gardens we 

 seem to have forgotten the elves and fairies who surely 

 have the first claim on them. Their inheritance has been 

 wrested from them, but create an old-world herb- 

 garden, fill it with thyme, foxgloves, rosemary, lavender, 

 marjoram, hyssop, bergamot, horehound and the like, 

 and they return as to a familiar haunt. 



I know a herb-garden where the tiny paths are stone- 

 flagged (the stones came from a Cistercian monastery), and 

 between the stones grow varieties of wild thyme whose 

 purplish-mauve tints are beautiful against the weather- 

 beaten stones. There is bergamot with its quaint, glorious 

 red flowers (I think it is the most beautiful red in the 

 garden), masses of it near bushes of horehound ; beyond 

 are the mellow tints of marjoram, catmint, sage and balm, 

 blending happily with the lovely blues of hyssop, borage, 

 succory and flax. There are spaces restful with the soft 

 tones of lavender, not only the mauve but also the pearly 

 white, which was Queen Henrietta Maria's favourite, 

 lad's love, rue, chives, savory, tarragon, dill and lovage, 

 and in between bright splashes of colour — marigolds, 

 valerian, tansy and the like. Here are the stately elecam- 

 pane with its beautiful golden flowers (the herb which 

 Helen of Troy is said to have held in her hand when 

 carried off by Paris), and angelica (whose virtues are said 

 to have been revealed by an angel). As tall as angelica 

 are the bushes of fennel with their curiously polished 



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