The Herb Garden 
121 
very faithfully all his printed writings, trying to 
believe him a great man, a seer ; but I cannot, in 
spite of my gratitude for his flattering though unful- 
filled prophecy, discover in his books any profound 
signs of depth or novelty of thought. In his 
Tablets are some very pleasant, if not surprisingly 
wise, essays on domestic subjects; one, on “Sweet 
Herbs,” tells cheerfully of the womanly care of the 
herb garden, but shows that, when written — about 
1850 — borders of herbs were growing infrequent. 
One great delight of old English gardens is never 
afforded us in New England; we do not grow 
Lavender beds. I have of course seen single plants 
of Lavender, so easily winter-killed, but I never 
have seen a Lavender bed, nor do I know of one. 
It is a great loss. A bed or hedge of Lavender is 
pleasing in the same way that the dress of a Quaker 
lady is pleasing; it is reposeful, refined. It has a 
soft effect at the edge of a garden, like a blue-gray 
haze, and always reminds me of doves. The power 
of association or some inherent quality of the plant, 
makes Lavender always suggest freshness and clean- 
liness. 
We may linger a little with a few of these old 
herb favorites. One of the most balmy and beauti- 
ful of all the sweet breaths borne by leaves or 
blossoms is that of Basil, which, alas ! I see so sel- 
dom. I have always loved it, and can never pass 
it without pressing its leaves in my hand ; and I 
cannot express the satisfaction, the triumph, with 
which I read these light-giving lines of old Thomas 
Tusser, which showed me why I loved it : — ■ 
