Harvesting the Hedges 
boughten Lavender-water, but it is said to be as good 
perfume. 
I am very fond of Marjoram too, and I agree with Boy 
in loving Mint. There is a Greek Folk-song which says 
“ the rose is sleeping beside the Marjoram ; my little child 
is sleeping by his sweet mother’s side in a silver cradle.” 
In Greece and Rome young married couples were crowned 
with wreaths of Marjoram. The virtues of Marjoram are 
many ; the Spirit of Marjoram “ comforts the Heart and 
cheers the Spirit,” while a cataplasm of the Green Leaves, 
beat up with Honey, takes away the “black and blew 
marks of Blows, Bruises, Pinchings, and the like.” 
I have several delightful old recipes — “ recippys,” as an old 
woman of my acquaintance used to call them — for Aromatic 
Vinegar, made with Rosemary-tips and Queen of Hungary- 
water, immortalised by Perrault as the water wherewith her 
maids tried to revive the Sleeping Beauty after she pricked 
her hand with the spindle and swooned. But, alas ! they can- 
not be easily and inexpensively compounded, as in our grand- 
mothers’ days. Proof-spirit, which enters so largely into 
their composition, has disappeared from mansion-houses 
along with its still-rooms and stillroommaids, and, in these 
days of Rimmel and Atkinson’s world-renowned perfumes, 
perhaps it does not matter so much. 
Mint is a very nice vegetable, I think, as it looks so 
flowerlike. Parkinson says of it that soldiers should not 
use it, because it would abate their animosity and courage 
to fight. I have a cherished wildling of variegated Cat 
Mint in a corner of the Rose-garden, but I cannot do as 
Boy would have me do, and put bunches of Sage in the 
beau-pots ; it is too reminiscent of Roast Duck ; but as a 
tiny hedge-flower it is beautiful. The old Scotch word for 
a garden of Herbs was a Herbere — I suppose, from the 
Latin Herbarium. I have a little square patch of Herbere 
with rows of Basil, Burnet, Marjoram, Herb of Grace, 
Savory, Lavender, Mint, and Thyme, and Sage and Borage. 
How pretty a row of Sage is all a-growing, all a- blowing, and 
Borage, with its lang nebbit flowers ! No wonder our fathers 
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