RACHEL AND THE MANDRAKES 147 



as soon as ripe, scattering their tiny artillery in 

 all directions. On a fine, dry summer morning 

 it is quite amusing to listen to the constant popping 

 and cracking. Rustic maidens make a face- wash of 

 Fumitory — 



' Whose red and purpled mottled flowers 

 Are cropped by maids in weeding hours. 



To boil in water, milk or whey, 

 For washes on a holiday ; 



To make their beauty fair and sleek, 



And scare the tan from summer's cheek.' 



Fumitory wants no cultivating, but rather repres- 

 sion. Another name for it is Corydalis. 



The Mandrake is a gruesome Herb. We live in 

 hopes of possessing it one of these days, but only 

 know for certain of two plants of it in England : 

 one is at Kew Gardens, the other in the Old 

 Physic Garden, Chelsea. The root is the won- 

 derful part ; it is forked, and has a fanciful resem- 

 blance to a man. Women of the East placed 

 great faith in it. ' Give me, I pray thee, of thy 

 son's Mandrakes,' said the childless Rachel to her 

 sister Leah. When torn from the earth by its 

 roots, the Herb was said to utter a shriek, which 

 none might hear and live. So greatly was the 

 Mandrake dreaded that, according to old legends, 



