HEBBS. 187 



Had I only known of this place in former days how 

 gladly I would have walked the hundred miles hither ! 

 For the old folk, the aged men and countrywomen, 

 have for the most part forgotten, if they ever knew, 

 the plants and herbs in the hedges they had fre- 

 quented from childhood. Some few, of course, they 

 can tell you; but the majority are as unknown to 

 them, except by sight, as the ferns of New Zealand or 

 the heaths of the Cape. 



Since books came about, since the railways and 

 science destroyed superstition, the lore of herbs has 

 in great measure decayed and been lost. The names 

 of many of the commonest herbs are quite forgotten 

 — they are weeds, and nothing more. But here these 

 things are preserved ; in London, the centre of civili- 

 zation and science, is a garden which restores the 

 ancient knowledge of the monks and the witches of the 

 villages. 



Thus, on entering to-day, the first plant which I 

 observed is hellebore — a not very common wild herb 

 perhaps, but found in places, and a traditionary use 

 of which is still talked of in the country, a use which 

 I must forbear to mention. What would the sturdy 

 mowers whom I once watched cutting their way 

 steadily through the tall grass in June say, could 

 they see here the black knapweed cultivated as a 

 garden treasure? Its hard woody head with purple 

 florets lifted high above the ground, was greatly 

 disliked by them, as, too, the blue scabious, and 

 indeed most other flowers. The stalks of such plants 

 were so much harder to mow than the grass. 



Feathery yarrow sprays, which spring up by the 



