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THE 
 
 PLANT-LORE & GARDEN-CRAFT 
 
 SHAKESPEARE, 
 
 BY 
 Pope Me ENRY: N. -ELLACOMBE, M.A. 
 OF ORIEL COLLEGE, OXFORD, 
 
 VICAR OF BITTON, GLOUCESTERSHIRE. 
 
 PRINTED: FOR“ AUTHOR: BY WILLIAM: POLLARD, 
 NORTH: STREET; EXETER. 
 
a 
 
 i aloo 
 DELS 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 The following Notes on the Plant-Lore and Garden-Craft of 
 Shakespeare were published in The Garden from March to 
 September, 1877. 
 
 They are now republished with additions and with such 
 corrections as the altered form of publication required or 
 allowed. | 
 
 As the Papers appeared from week to week, I had to 
 thank many correspondents (mostly complete strangers to my 
 
 ~ self} for useful suggestions and inquiries; and I would again 
 f) invite any further suggestions or remarks, especially in the 
 way of correction of any mistakes or omissions that I may 
 | — have made, and I should feel thankful to anyone that would 
 NN kindly do me this favour. 
 
 e In republishing the Papers, I have been very doubtful 
 4 whether | ought not to have rejected the cultural remarks 
 on several of the plants, which I had added with a_ special 
 J reference to the horticultural character of The Garden news- 
 
 paper. But I decided to retain them, on finding that they 
 
 o - 
 
 $ interested some readers, by whom the literary and Shake- 
 rae 
 <= spearean notices were less valued. 
 
 x? 
 
 The weekly preparation of the Papers was a very pleasant 
 
 ap * 
 
 study to myself, and introduced me to much literary and 
 
 Iq 
 
 ee eau! information of which J was previously ignorant. 
 > In republishing them I hope that some of my readers may 
 
 meet with equal pleasure, and with some little imformation 
 
 y 
 
 Keo fRaiduuur 
 
 that may be new to thei. 
 
 His Nag it; 
 
 iy 
 
 Bitton Vicarage, Gloucestershire, May, 1878. 
 
 832622 
 
ter. 
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INTRODUCTION. 
 
 ALL the commentators on Shakespeare are agreed upon one 
 point, that he was the most wonderfully many-sided writer 
 that the world has yet seen. Every art and science are more 
 or less noticed by him, so far as they were known in his day ; 
 every business and profession are more or less accurately 
 described; and so it has come to pass that, though the main 
 circumstances of his life are pretty well known, yet the 
 students of every art and science, the members of every 
 business and profession, have delighted to claim him as their 
 fellow-labourer. Books have been written at various times 
 by various writers, which have proved (to the complete satis- 
 faction of the writers) that he was a soldier, a sailor, a lawyer, 
 an astronomer, a physician, a preacher, an actor, a courtier, a 
 sportsman, and I know not what else besides. 
 
 I also propose to claim him as a fellow-labourer. A lover 
 of flowers and gardening myself, I claim Shakespeare as 
 equally a lover of flowers and gardening; and this I propose 
 to prove by showing how, in all his writings, he exhibits his 
 strong love for flowers, and a very fair, though not perhaps a 
 very deep, knowledge of plants; but I do not intend to 20 
 further. That he was a lover of plants I shall have no 
 difficulty in showing; but I do not, therefore, believe that he 
 was ever a professed gardener, and I am quite sure he can in 
 no sense be claimed as a brother-botanist, in the scientific 
 sense of the term. His knowledge of plants was simply the 
 knowledge that every man may have who goes through the 
 world with his eyes open to the many beauties of Nature that 
 surround him, and who does not content himself with simply 
 looking, and then passing on, but tries to find out something 
 of the inner meaning of the beauties he sees, and to carry 
 away with him some of the lessons which they were doubtless 
 meant to teach. But Shakespeare was able to go further 
 than this. He had the great gift of being able to describe 
 what he saw in a way that few others have ever arrived at; 
 he could communicate to others the pleasure that he felt 
 himself, not by long descriptions, but by a few simple words, 
 
2 
 
 a few natural touches, and a few well-chosen epithets, which 
 bring the plants and flowers before us in the freshest, and 
 often in a most touching way. 
 
 For this reason the study of the plant-lore of Shakespeare 
 is a very pleasant study, and there are other things which add 
 to this pleasure. One especial pleasure arises from the tho- 
 roughly English character of his descriptions. It has often 
 been observed that wherever the scenes ‘of his plays are laid, 
 and whatever foreign characters he introduces, yet they really 
 are all Englishmen of the time of Elizabeth, and the scenes 
 are all drawn from the England of his day. This is certainly 
 true of the plants and flowers we meet with in the plays; they 
 are thoroughly English plants that (with very few exceptions ) 
 he saw in the hedgerows and woods of Warwickshire,* or in his 
 own or his friends’ gardens. The descriptions are thus tho- 
 roughly fresh and real; they tell of the country and of the 
 outdoor life he loved, and they never smell cf the study lamp. 
 In this respect he differs largely from Milton, whose descrip- 
 tions (with very few exceptions) recall the classic and Italian 
 writers. He differs, too, from his contemporary Spenser, who 
 has certainly some very sweet descriptions of flowers, which 
 show that he knew and loved them, but are chiefly allusions 
 to classical flowers, which he names in such a way as to show 
 that he often did not fully know what they were, but named 
 them because it was the right thing for a classical poet so to 
 do. Shakespeare never names a flower or plant unnecessarily ; 
 they all come before us, when they do come, in the most 
 natural way, as if the particular flower named was the only 
 one that could be named on that occasion. We have nothing 
 in his writings, for instance, like the long list of trees described 
 (and in the most interesting way) in the first Canto of the 
 First Book of the “Faerie Queene,” and indeed he is curiously 
 distinet from all his contemporaries. Chaucer, before him, 
 spoke much of flowers and plants, and drew them as from the 
 life. In the century after him Herrick may be named as 
 another who sung of flowers as he saw them; but the real 
 contemporaries of Shakespeare are, with few exceptions,f 
 very silent on the subject. One instance will suffice. Sir 
 
 * The country around Stratford presents the perfection of quiet English 
 scenery; it is remarkable for its wealth of lovely wild flowers, for its deep 
 meadows on each side of tae tranquil Avon, and for its rich, sweet woodlands.”— 
 HE. DownEn’s Shakespeare in Literature Printers, 1877. 
 
 t+ The two chief exceptions are Ben Jonson (1574-1637) and William Browne 
 (1590-1645), Jonson, though born in London, and living there the greatest part 
 of his life, was evidently a real lover of flowers, and frequently shows a practical 
 knowledge of them. Browne was also a keen observer of nature, aud J have made 
 several quotations from his ‘ Britanuia’s Pastorals,”’ 
 
3 
 
 Thomas Wyatt’s poems are all professedly about the country 
 —they abound in woods and vales, shepherds and swains— 
 yet in all his poems there is scarcely a single allusion to a 
 flower in a really natural way. And because Shakespeare 
 only introduces flowers in their right place, and in the most 
 purely natural way, there is one necessary result. I shall 
 show that the number of flowers he introduces is large, but 
 the number he omits, and which he must have known, is also 
 very large, and well worth noting. He has no notice, under 
 any name, of such common flowers as the Snowdrop, the 
 Forget-me-Not, the Foxglove, the Lily af the Valley, and 
 many others which he must have known, but which he has 
 not named; because when he names a plant or flower, he 
 does so not to show his own knowledge, but because the par- 
 ticular flower or plant is wanted in the particular place in 
 which he uses it. 
 
 Another point of interest in the plant-lore of Shakespeare 
 is the wide range of his observation. He gathers flowers for 
 us from all sorts of places—from the “‘turfy mountains” and 
 the “flat meads;” from the “ bosky acres” and the “ un- 
 shrubbed down;” from “yrose-banks” and “hedges even- 
 pleached.” But he is equally at home in the gardens of the 
 country gentlemen with their “pleached bowers” and “leafy 
 orchards.” Nor is he a stranger to gardens of a much higher 
 pretension, for he will pick us famous Strawberries from the 
 garden of my lord of Ely in Holborn; he will pick us White 
 and Red Roses from the garden of the Temple; and he will 
 pick us “ Apricocks” from the royal garden of Richard the 
 Second’s sad queen. I propose to follow Shakespeare into 
 these many pleasant spots, and to pick each flower and note 
 each plant which he has thought worthy of notice. I do not 
 propose to make a selection of his plants, for that would not 
 give a proper idea of the extent of his knowledge, but to note 
 every tree, and plant, and flower that he has noted. And as 
 _ I pick each flower, I shall Jet Shakespeare first tell us all he 
 has to say about it; in other words, I shall quote every 
 passage in which he names the plant or flower; for here, 
 again, it would not do to make a selection from the passages, 
 my object not being to give “ floral extracts,” but to let him 
 say all he can in his own choice words. There is not much 
 difficulty in this, but there is difficulty in determining how 
 much or how little to quote. On the one hand, it often 
 seems cruel to cut short a noble passage in the midst of which 
 some favourite flower is placed; but, on the other hand, to 
 quote at too great a length would extend these papers beyond 
 
reasonable limits. The rule, therefore, must be to confine 
 the quotations within as small a space as possible, only taking 
 care that the space is not so small as entirely to spoil the beauty 
 of the description. Then, having listened to all that Shake- 
 speare has to say on each flower, I shall follow with illustra- 
 tions (few and short) from contemporary writers; then 
 with any observations that may present themselves in the 
 identification of Shakespeare’s plant with their modern repre- 
 sentatives, finishing each with anything in the history or 
 modern uses and cultivation of the plant that I think will 
 interest readers. 
 
 For the identification of the plants, we have an excellent 
 and trustworthy guide in John Gerarde, who was almost an 
 exact contemporary of Shakespeare. Gerarde’s life ranged 
 from 1545 to 1612, and Shakespeare’s from 1564 to 1616. 
 Whether they were acquainted or not we do not know, but it 
 is certainly not improbable that they were; I should think 
 it almost certain that they must have known each other’s 
 published works.* 
 
 My subject naturally divides itself into two parts— 
 
 First, The actual plants and flowers named by Shakespeare ; 
 Second, His knowledge of gardens and gardening. 
 
 I now go at once to the first division, naming each plant 
 in its alphabetical order. 
 
 * IT may mention the following Works as more or less illustrating the Plant- 
 ore of Shakespeare :— 
 
 1.—‘‘ Shakspere’s Garden,” by Sidney Beisly, 1864. I have to thank this 
 author for information on a few points, but on the whole it is not a satis- 
 factory account of the plants of Shakespeare, and I have not found it of 
 much use. 
 
 2.—‘* Flowers from Stratford-on-Avon,” and 
 
 3.--Girard’s Flowers of Shakespeare and of Milton,” 2 vols. ‘These two 
 works are pretty drawing-room books, and do not profess to be more. 
 
 4,—‘* Natural History of Shakespeare, being Selections of Flowers, Fruits and 
 Animals,” arranged by Bessie Mayou, 1877. ‘This gives the greater number 
 of the passages in which flowers are named, without any note or comment. 
 
 5.-—** Shakespeare’s Bouquet—the Flowers and Plants of Shakespeare,” Paisley, 
 1872. This I have not seen, but I believe it is only a small pamphlet. 
 
 6.—<**'The Rural Life of Shakespeare, as illustrated by his Works,” by J. C. 
 Roach Smith, 8vo. London, 1870. A pleasant but short pamphlet. 
 
 ? 
 
PART TL 
 
 THE PLANT LORE OF SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 ‘Here’s flowers for you.’——PERDITA. 
 
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ACONITUM. 
 
 K. Henry. The united vessel of their blood 
 Mingled with reason of suggestion 
 (As force perforce, the age will pour it in), 
 Shall never leak, though it do work as strong 
 As Aconitum or rash gunpowder. 
 2nd Henry IV, act iv, se. 4. 
 
 There is another place in which it is probable that 
 Shakespeare alludes to the Aconite; he does not name it, but 
 he compares the effects of the poison to gunpowder, as in the 
 passage above. 
 
 Romeo. Let me have 
 A dram of poison, such soon spreading geer 
 As will disperse itself through all the veins, 
 That the life-weary taker may fall dead ; 
 And that the trunk may be discharged of breath, 
 As violently as hasty powder fir’d 
 Doth hurry from the fatal cannon’s womb. 
 Romeo and Juliet, act v, se. 1. 
 
 The plant here named as being as powerful in its action as 
 gunpowder is the Aconitum Napellus (the Wolt’s-bane or 
 Monk’s-hood). It is a member of a large family, all of 
 which are more or less poisonous, and the common Moak’s- 
 hood as much so as any. ‘Two species are found in America, 
 put, for the most part, the family is confined to the northern 
 portion of the Eastern Hemisphere, ranging from the 
 Himalaya through Europe to Great Britain. It is now found 
 wild in a few parts of England, but it is certainly not indi- 
 genous; it was, however, very early introduced into England, 
 being found in all the English vocabularies of plants from the 
 tenth century downwards, and frequently mentioned in the 
 early English medical recipes. 
 
 Its names are all interesting. Its Anglo-Saxon name was 
 
8 
 
 thung, which primarily meant anything very poisonous ;* it 
 was then called Aconite, as the English form of its Greek and 
 Latin name, but this name is now seldom used, being, by a 
 curious perversion, solely given to the pretty little early- 
 flowering Winter Accnite (Eranthis hyemalis), which is not a 
 true Aconite, though closely allied; it then got the name of 
 Wolt’s-bane, as the direct translation of the Greek lycoctonum, 
 a name which it had from the idea that arrows tipped with 
 the juice, or baits anointed with it, would kill wolves and 
 other vermin; and, lastly, it got the expressive names of 
 Monk’s-hood and the Helmet-flower, from the curious shape 
 of the upper sepal overtopping the rest of the flower. 
 
 As to its poisonous qualities, all authors agree that every 
 species is very poisonous, the A. ferox of the Himalaya being 
 probably the most so. Every part of the plant, from the 
 root to the pollen dust, seems to be equally powerful, and it 
 has the special bad quality of being, to inexperienced eyes, so 
 like some harmless plants, that the poison has been often 
 taken by mistake with deadly results. This charge against 
 the plant is of long standing, dating certainly from the time 
 of Virgil—mseros fallwnt uconita tegentes-—and, no doubt, 
 from much before his time. 
 
 Yet, in spite of its poisonous qualities, the plant has always 
 held, and deservedly, a place among the ornamental plants of 
 our gardens; its stately habit and its handsome leaves and 
 flowers make it a favourite. Nearly all the species are woith 
 growing, the best, perhaps, being A. Napellus, with its white 
 variety, A. paniculatum, A. japonicum, and A. autumnale. 
 All the species grow well in shade and under trees. In 
 Shakespeare’s time Gerarde grew in his London garden four 
 species—A. lycoctonum, A. variegatum, A. Napellus, and A. 
 pyrenaicum. 
 
 ACORN, see Oak. 
 
 * ¢ Aconita, thung.’ Ailfric’s Vocabulary, 10th century. 
 
 ‘ Aconitum, thung.’ Anglo-Saxon Vocabulary, 11th century. 
 
 ‘ Aconita, thung.” Durham Glossary of the names of Worts, 11th century. 
 
 The ancient Vocabularies and Glossaries, to which I shall frequently refer, are 
 printed in 
 
 I. Wright’s Volume of Vocabularies, 1857. 
 
 II. Leechdoms, Wortcunning, and Starcraft of Early England, by Rey. O. 
 Cockayne, published under the direction of the Master of the Rolls, 3 vols, 1866. 
 
 III. Promptorium Parvulorum, editedby Albert Way, published hy the Camden 
 Society, 3 vols, 1843-65. 
 
ALMOND. 
 
 Thersites. The parrot will not do more for an Almond. 
 Trovlus and Cressida, act v, se. 2. 
 
 .“ An Almond for a parrot” seems to have been a proverb 
 for the greatest temptation that could be put before a man. 
 The Almond tree is a native of Asia and North Africa, but it 
 was very early introduced into England, probably by the 
 Romans. It occurs in the Anglo-Saxon lists of plants, and 
 in the “* Durham Glossary ” (11th century) it has the name of 
 the “ Easterne nutte-beam.” The tree was alway a favourite 
 both for the beauty of its flowers, which come very early in 
 the year, and for its Biblical associations, so that in Shake- 
 speare’s time the trees were “in our London gardens and 
 orchards in great plenty” (Gerarde). Before Shakespeare’s 
 time, Spenser had sung its praises thus :— 
 
 Like to an Almond tree ymounted hye 
 On top of greene Selinis all alone 
 With blossoms brave bedecked daintily. 
 Hy Qyiis TBR: 
 
 The older English name seems to have been Almande: 
 
 ‘And Almandres gret plente,’ 
 Chaucer, Romaunt of the Rose ; 
 
 ‘Noyz de l’almande, nux Phyllidis,’ 
 Alexander Neckam ; 
 
 and both this old name and its more modern form of 
 Almond came to us through the French amande (Provengal, 
 amondala), from the Greek and Latin, amygdalus. What 
 this word meant ig not very clear, but the native Hebrew 
 name of the plant (shaked) is most expressive. The word 
 signifies “awakening,” and so isa most fitting name for a 
 tree whose beautiful flowers, appearing in Palestine in 
 January, show the wakening up of Creation. The fruit also 
 has always been a special favourite, and though it is strongly 
 imbued with prussic acid, it is considered a wholesome fruit. 
 By the old writers many wonderful virtues were attributed to 
 the fruit, but [ am afraid it was chiefly valued for its supposed 
 virtue, that “five or six being taken fasting do keepe a man 
 from being drunke” (Gerarde). ‘This popular error is not 
 yet extinct. 
 
10 
 
 As an ornamental tree the Almond should be in every 
 shrubbery, and, as in Gerarde’s time, it may still be planted 
 in town gardens with advantage. There are several varieties 
 of the common Almond, differing slightly in the colour and 
 size of the flowers; and there is one little shrub (Amygdalus 
 nana) of the family that is very pretty in the front row of a 
 shrubbery. All the species are deciduous. 
 
 ANEMONE. 
 
 By this the boy that by her side lay killed 
 
 Was melted like a vapour from her sight ; 
 
 And in his blood that on the ground lay spilled, 
 
 A purple flower sprang up checkered with white. 
 
 Resembling well his pale cheeks, and the blood, 
 
 Which in round drops upon their whiteness stood. 
 Venus and Adonis. 
 
 Shakespeare does not actually name the Anemone, and I 
 place this passage under that name with some doubt, but I 
 do not know any other flower to which he could be referring. 
 
 The original legend of the Anemone as given by Bion was 
 that it sprung from the tears of Venus, while the Rose sprung 
 from Adonis’ blood— 
 
 @ 5 ! , Sy 4 , > , 
 CULL po OV TLKTEL, TA OE OakKpua TAUVY GVEULWVAY, 
 
 Bion Idyll, i, 66. 
 
 ‘« Wide as her lover’s torrent blood appears 
 So copious flowed the fountain of her tears ; 
 Lhe Rose starts blushing from the sanguine dyes, 
 
 And from her tears Anemones arise.”’ 
 Polwhele’s Translation 1786. 
 ’ 
 
 But this legend was not followed by the other classical 
 writers, who made the Anemone to be the flower of Adonis. 
 Theocritus compares the Dog-rose (so called also in his day, 
 xvvosBeros) and the Anemone with the Rose, and the Scholia 
 comment on the passage thus—‘* Anemone, a scentless flower, 
 which they report to have sprung from the blood of Adonis; 
 and again Nicander says, that the Anemone sprung from the 
 blood of Adonis.’ 
 
pil 
 
 The storehouse of our ancestors’ pagan mythology was in 
 Ovid, and his well-known lines are— 
 
 ‘Cum flos e sanguine concolor ortus 
 Qualem, que lento celant sub cortice granum 
 Punica ferre solent; brevis est tamen usus in illis, 
 Namque male herentem, et nimia brevitate caducum 
 iixcutiunt idem qui preestant nomina, venti,’— 
 
 Thus translated by Golding in 1567, from whom it is very 
 probable that Shakespeare obtained his information :— 
 
 ** Of all one colour with the bloud, a flower she there did find, 
 
 Fiven like the flower of that same tree, whose fruit in tender rind 
 
 Have pleasant graines enclosede—howbeit the use of them is short, 
 
 For why, the leaves do hang so loose through lightnesse in such 
 sort, 
 
 As that the windes that all things pierce* with everie little blast 
 
 Do shake them off and shed them so as long they cannot last.” 
 
 I feel sure that Shakespeare had some particular flower in 
 
 view. Spenser only speaks of it as a flower, and gives no - 
 
 description— 
 In which with cunning hand was pourtrahed 
 The love of Venus and her Paramoure, 
 The fayre Adonis, turned to a flowre. 
 He GQ tu at 
 When she saw no help might him restore 
 Him to a dainty flowre she did transmew. 
 i. Q., iii., 1-38. 
 Ben Jonson similarly speaks of it as ‘ Adonis’ flower,’ 
 (Pan’s Anniversary) but with Shakespeare it is different ; he 
 describes the flower minutely, and as if it was a well-known 
 flower, ‘ purple checkered with white, and considering that 
 in his day Anemone was supposed to be Adonis’ flower, 
 (as it was described in 1647 by Alexander Ross in his 
 Mystagogus Poeticus, who says that Adonis ‘ was by Venus 
 turned into a red flower called Anemone,’) and as I wish, if 
 possible, to link the description to some special flower, I con- 
 clude that the evidence isin favour of the Anemone. The 
 ‘purple’ colour is no objection, for ‘purple’ in Shakespeare’s 
 time had a very wide signification, meaning almost any bright 
 colour, just as ‘purpureus’ had in Latin,fwhich had so wide 
 
 * Golding evidently adopted the reading ‘qui perflant omnia,’ instead of the 
 reading now generally received, ‘ qui preestant nomina.’ 
 
 + In the ‘Nineteenth Century’ for October 1877, is an interesting article by Mr. 
 Gladstone on the ‘ colour-sense’ in Homer, proving that Homer, and all nations in 
 the earlier stages of their existence, have a very limited perception of colour, and a 
 very limited and loosely applied nomenclature of colours. The same remark would 
 certainly apply to the early English writers, not excluding Shakespeare. 
 
i223 
 
 a range that it was used on the one hand as the epithet of 
 the blood and the poppy, and on the other as the epithet of 
 the swan (purpureis ales oloribus,—Horace) and of a woman's 
 white arms (brachia purpurea candidora nive,—Albinovanus). 
 Nor was ‘checkered’ confined to square divisions, as it 
 usually is now, but included spots of any size or shape. 
 
 We have transferred the Greek name of Anemone to the 
 English language, and we have further kept the Greek idea 
 in the English form of ‘ wind-flower.’ The name is explained 
 by Pliny: ‘The flower hath the propertie to open but when 
 the wind doth blow, wherefore it took the name Anemone in 
 Greeke,’ Nat. Hist. xxi, 11, Holland’s translation. This, how- 
 ever, is not the character of the Anemone as grown in English 
 gardens; and so it is probable that the name has been 
 transferred to a different plant than the classical one, and I 
 think no suggestion more probable than Dr. Prior’s that the 
 classical Anemone was the Cistus, a shrub that is very abun- 
 dant in the South of Europe; that certainly opens its flowers 
 at other times than when the wind blows, and so will not 
 well answer to Pliny’s description, but of which the flowers 
 are bright coloured and most fugacious, and so it will answer 
 to Ovid’s description. This fugacious character of the 
 Anemone is perpetuated in Sir William Jones’ lines (Poet. 
 Works, i, 254, ed. 1810)— 
 
 Youth, like a thin Anemone, displays 
 His silken leaf, and in a morn decays ; 
 
 but the lines, though classical, are not true of the Anemone, 
 though they would well apply to the Cistus. 
 
 Our English Anemones belong to a large family inhabiting 
 cold and temperate regions, and numbering seventy species, of 
 which three are British.* These are A. Nemorosa, the com- 
 mon wood Anemone, the brightest spring ornament of our 
 woods; A. Apennina, abundant in the South of Europe, and 
 a doubtful British plant; and A. pulsatilla, the Passe, or 
 Pasque flower, 2.e., the flower of Easter, one of the most 
 beautiful of our British flowers, but only to be found on the 
 chalk formation. 
 
 *The small yellow A. ranunculoides has been sometimes included among 
 the British Anemones, but is now excluded. It is a rare plant, and an alien, 
 
(1) Sebastian. 
 
 (2) Malvolio. 
 
 (3) Antonio. 
 
 (4) Antonio. 
 
 (5)  Zranio. 
 Biondello. 
 
 (6) Orleans. 
 
 (7) Hortensio. 
 
 (8) Porter. 
 
 APPLE. 
 
 I think he will carry the island home and give it 
 his son for an Apple. 
 Tempest, act ii, se. 1. 
 Not yet old enough for a man, nor young enough 
 for a boy, asa Codling when ’tis almost an 
 Apple. 
 | Twelfth Night, act i, sc. 5. 
 An Apple cleft in two isnot more twin 
 Than these two creatures. 
 Twelfth Night, act 5, se. 1. 
 An evil soul producing holy witness 
 Is like a villain with a smiling cheek, 
 A goodly Apple rotten at the heart. 
 Merchant of Venice, act i, se. 3. 
 He in countenance doth somewhat resemble you. 
 As much as an Apple doth an oyster. 
 Taming of the Shrew, act iv, sc. 2. 
 English mastiffs . . run winking into the 
 mouth of a Russian bear, and have their heads 
 crunched like rotten Apples. 
 Henry V, act iil, se. 7. 
 Faith, as you say, there’s small choice in rotten 
 Apples. 
 Taming of the Shrew, act i, se. 1. 
 These are the youths that thunder at a play- 
 
 house, and fight for bitten Apples. 
 Henry VILL, act v, se. 3. 
 
 (9) Song of Winter. 
 
 (10) Puck. 
 
 When roasted Orabs hiss in the bowl, 
 Then nightly sings the staring owl. 
 Love's Labour’s Lost, act v, sc. 2. 
 And sometimes lurk I in a gossip’s bowl 
 In very likeness of a roasted Crab ; 
 
 _ And when she drinks, against her lips I bob, 
 
 (11) Fool. 
 
 Lear. 
 Fool. 
 
 And on her withered dewlap pour the ale. 
 Midsummer Night's Dream, act 31, se. 1. 
 
 Thy other daughter will use thee kindly; for 
 though she is as like thee as a Crab to an 
 Apple, yet I can tell what I can tell. 
 
 Why, what can’st thou tell, my boy? 
 
 She will taste as like thee as a Crab to a Crab. 
 
 Lear, acti, se. 5. 
 
14 
 
 (12) Caliban. TI prythee let me bring thee where Crabs grow. 
 Tempest, act il, sc. 2. 
 
 (13) Petruchio. Nay, come, Kate, come, you must not look so 
 sour. 
 Katherine. It is my fashion when I see a Crab. 
 Petruchio. Why, here’s no Crab, and therefore look not sour. 
 Taming of the Shrew, act u, se. 1. 
 
 (14) Ienenius. We have some old Crab-trees here at home that 
 will not be grafted to your relish. 
 Coriolanus, act 11, se. 1. 
 
 (15) Suffolk. Noble stock 
 Was graft with Crab-tree slip. 
 2nd Henry VI, act ii, se. 2. 
 
 (16) Porter. Fetch me a dozen Crab-tree staves, and strong 
 ones. Henry VIII, act v, se. 3. 
 
 (17) Fulstaf My skin hangs about me like an old lady’s loose 
 gown; I am withered like an old Apple-john. 
 1st Henry IV, act 111, se. 3. 
 (18) 1st Drawer. What the devil hast thou brought there ? Apple- 
 johns? Thou knowest Sir John cannot endure 
 an Apple-john. 
 
 2nd Drawer Mass! thou sayest true; the prince once set a 
 dish of Apple-johns before him, and told him 
 there were five more Sir Johns; and putting 
 off his hat, said, I will now take my leave of 
 
 these six dry, round, old, withered knights. 
 2nd Henry IV, act u, se. 4. 
 (19) Shallow. Nay, you shall see mine orchard, where in an 
 arbour we will eat a last year’s Pippin of my 
 own graffin, with a dish of Carraways, and so 
 
 forth. 
 Davey. There’s a dish of Leather- coats for you. 
 2nd Henry LV, act v, se. 3. 
 (20) Evans. I pray you begone; I will make an end of my 
 
 dinner. There’s Pippins and cheese to come. 
 
 Merry Wives of Windsor, act i, se. 2. 
 
 (21) Zolofernes. The deer was, as you know, in sanguis—blood ; 
 
 ripe as a Pomewater, who now hangeth like a 
 
 jewelin the ear of calo—the sky, the welkin, 
 
 the heaven; and anon falleth like a Crab on 
 
 the face of terra—the soil, the land, the earth. 
 
 Love's Labow’s Lost, act iv, se. 2. 
 
 (22) Mercutio. Thy wit is a very Bitter sweeting ; it is a most 
 sharp sauce. 
 
 Lomeo. And is it not well served in to a sweet goose ? 
 Romeo and Juliet, act u, se. 4. 
 
15 
 
 (23) Petruchio. What’s this? Asleeye? ’Tis like a demi-cannon. 
 What! up and down, carved like an Apple-tart ? 
 Laming of the Shrew, act iv, sc. 8. 
 (24) How like Eve’s Apple doth thy beauty grow, 
 If thy sweet virtue answer not thy show. 
 Sonnet xcui. 
 
 Here Shakespeare names the Apple, the Crab, the Pippin, 
 the Pomewater, the Apple-john, the Codling, the Carraway, 
 the Leathercoat, and the Bitter-Sweeting. Of the Apple 
 generally I need say nothing, except to notice that the name 
 was not originally confined to the fruit now so called, but was 
 a generic name apphed to any fruit, as we still speak of the 
 Love-apple, the Pine-apple, &e. The Anglo-Saxon name for 
 the Blackberry was the Bramble-apple; and Sir John Mande- 
 ville, in describing the Cedars of Lebanon, says :—“And 
 upon the hills growen Trees of Cedre, that ben fulle hye, and 
 they beren longe Apples, and als grete as a man’s heved.” 
 (Cap. ix.) In the English Bible it is the same. The Apple 
 is mentioned in a few places, but it is almost certain that it 
 never means the Pyrus malus, but is either the Orange, Citron, 
 or Quince, or is a general name for a tree fruit. So that when 
 Shakespeare (24) and the other old writers speak of Eve’s 
 Apple, they do not necessarily assert that the fruit of the 
 temptation was our Apple, but simply that it was some fruit 
 that grew in Eden. The Apple (pomum) has left its mark 
 in the language in the word “ pomatum,” which, originally 
 an ointment made of Apples, is now an ointment in which 
 Apples have no part. 
 
 The Crab was held in far more esteem in the sixteenth 
 century than it is with us. The roasted fruit served with hot 
 ale (9 and 10) was a favourite Christmas dish, and even 
 without ale the roasted Crab was a favourite, and this not for 
 want of better fruit, for Gerarde tells us that in his time 
 *“ the stocke or kindred of Apples was infinite,” but because 
 they were considered pleasant food. Another curious use of 
 Crabs is told in the description of Crab-wake, or “ Crabbing 
 the Parson,” at Halesowen, Salop, on S. Kenelm’s Day, 
 (July 17), in Brand’s “ Popular Antiquities” (vol. i, p. 342 
 Bohn’s edition). Nor may we now despise the Crab tree, 
 though we do not eat its fruit. Among our native trees 
 there is none more beautiful than the Crab tree, both in 
 flower and in fruit. An old Crab tree in full flower isa sight 
 that will delight any artist, nor is it altogether useless; its 
 wood is very hard and very lasting, and from its fruit verjuice 
 
16 
 
 is made, not however much in England, as I believe nearly: 
 allthe verjuice now used is made in France. 
 
 The Pippin, from being originally a general name for any 
 Apple raised from pips and not from grafts, is now, and 
 probably was in Shakespeare’s time, confined to the bright- 
 coloured long-keeping Appies (Justice Shallow’s was “ last 
 year’s Pippin,”) of which the Golden Pippin (“the Pippin 
 burnished o’er with gold,” Phillips) is the type. 
 
 The Bitter-Sweeting (22) was an old and apparently a 
 favourite Apple. It is frequently mentioned in the old 
 writers, and Steevens quotes from Gower; Conf. Aman. vill, 
 174—- 
 
 For all such time of love is lore, 
 And like unto the bitter-swete, 
 For though it think a 1aan fyrst swete 
 He shall well felen at laste 
 That it is sower. 
 
 Parkinson names it in his list of Apples, but soon dismisses 
 it,—** Twenty sorts of sweetings, and none good.” The name 
 is now given to an Apple of no great value as a table fruit, 
 but good as a cider apple, and for use in silk dyeing. 
 
 It is not easy to identify the Pomewater (21). It was 
 highly esteemed both by Shakespeare (“it hangeth like a 
 jewel in the ear of calo,’) and many other writers. In 
 Gerarde’s figure it looks like a Codiing, and its Latin name 
 is Malus carbonaria, which probably refers to its good 
 qualities as a roasting Apple. The name Pomewater (or 
 Water Apple) makes us expect a juicy but not a rich Apple, 
 and with this agrees Parkinson’s description :—‘ The Pome- 
 water is an excellent, good, and great whitish Apple, full of 
 sap or moisture, somewhat pleasant sharp, but a little bitter 
 withall; it will not last long, the winter frosts soon causing 
 it to rot and perish.” It must have been very like the 
 modern Lord Suffield Apple, and though Parkinson says it 
 will not last long, yet it is mentioned as lasting till the New 
 Year ina tract entitled ‘ Vox Graculi, 1623. Speaking of 
 New Year’s Day, the author says,— This day shall be given 
 many more gifts than shall be asked for; and apples, egges,. 
 and oranges shall be lifted to a lofty rate ; when a pomewater 
 bestuck with a few rotten cloves shall be worth more than 
 the honesty of a hypocrite.” Quoted by Brand, vol. i, 17 
 (Bohn’s edition). | 
 
 We have no such difficulty with the “dish of Apple-johns” 
 (17 and 18). “The Deusan (dewa ans) or Apple-john” says 
 
17 
 
 Parkinson, “is a delicate fine fruit, well rellished when it 
 beginneth to be fit to be eaten, and endureth good longer 
 than any other Apple.” With this description there is no 
 difficulty in identifying the Apple-john with an Apple that 
 goes under many names, and is figured by Maund as the 
 Easter Pippin. When first picked it is of a deep green 
 colour, and very hard. In this state it remains all the 
 winter, and in April or May it becomes yellow and highly 
 perfumed, and remains good either for cooking or dessert fo1 
 many months. 
 
 The Codling (2) is not the Apple now so called, but is the 
 general name of a young unripe Apple. 
 
 The “dish of Carraways” (19) is by many supposed to be 
 a dish of Carraway seeds, which I should think most 1m- 
 probable, or of cakes made of Carraways, which is possible; 
 but looking at the context I have little doubt that it refers to 
 the Carraway or Carraway-russet Apple, an excellent little 
 Apple, still so called, that seems to be a variety of the 
 Nonpareil. (See ‘ CARRAWAYS.’) 
 
 The “ Leathercoats” (19) are the Brown Russets. 
 
 APRICOTS. 
 
 (1) Zitania. Be kind and courteous to this gentleman 
 Feed him with Apricocks and Dewberries. 
 Midsummer Night’s Dream, act iii, se. 1. 
 (2) Gardener. Go, bind thou up those dangling Apricocks, 
 Which, like unruly children, make their sire 
 Stoop with oppr ession of their prodigal weight. 
 Richard IT, act ii, se. 4. 
 
 _Shakespeare’s spelling of the word ‘ Apricocks’ takes us at 
 once to its derivation. It is derived undoubtedly from the 
 Latin preecox or preecoquus, under which name it is referred 
 to by Pliny and Martial; but, before it became the English 
 Apricot it was much changed by Italians, Spaniards, French, 
 and Arabians. ‘The history of the name is very curious and 
 interesting, but too long to give fully here; a very good 
 account of it may be found in Miller and in “ Notes and 
 Queries,” vol. ii, p. 420 (1850). It will be sufficient to say 
 bere that it acquired its name of “the precocious tree,” 
 because it flowered and fruited earlier than the Peach, as 
 explained in Lyte’s ‘“ Herbal,” 1578:—“ There be two kinds 
 of Peaches, whereof the one kinde is late ripe . . . the 
 
 Cc 
 
18 
 
 other kinds are soner ripe, wherefore they be called Abrecox 
 or Aprecox.” Of its introduction into England we have no 
 very certain account. It was certainly grown in England 
 before Gerarde’s time, but the only account of its introduction 
 is by Hakluyt, who states that it was brought from Italy by 
 one Wolf, gardener to King Henry the Eighth. If that be 
 its true history, Shakespeare was in error in putting it into 
 the garden of the queen of Richard the Second, nearly a 
 hundred years before its introduction. 
 
 In Shakespeare’s time the Apricot seems to have been grown 
 asa standard; I gather this from the description in No. 2 
 (see the entire passage s.v. ‘Pruning’ in Part II.) and from 
 the following in Browne’s “ Britannia’s Pastoral,” 
 
 Or if from where he is * he do espy 
 
 Some apricot upon a bough thereby 
 
 Which overhangs the tree on which he stands, 
 
 Climbs up, and strives to take them with his hands. 
 Book ii, Song 4. 
 
 ASH. 
 
 Aufidius. O let me twine 
 Mine arms about that body, where against 
 My grained Ash a thousand times hath broke. 
 Coriolanus, act iv, se. 5. 
 
 Varwickshire is more celebrated for its Oaks and Elms 
 than for its Ash trees. Yet considering how common a tree 
 the Ash is, and in what high estimation it was held by our 
 ancestors, it is strange that it is only mentioned in this one 
 passage. Spenser spoke of it as “the Ash for nothing ill;” 
 it was “the husbandman’s tree,” from which he got the wood 
 for his agricultural implements; and there was connected 
 with it a great amount of mystic folk-lore, which was carried 
 to its extreme limit in the Ygedrasil, or legendary Ash of 
 Seandinavia, which was almost looked upon as the parent of 
 creation: a full account of this may be found in Malet’s 
 ‘Northern Antiquities”? and other works on Scandinavia. 
 It isan English native tree,t and it adds much to the beauty 
 
 * In a cherry tree in an orchard. 
 + It is called in the Promptorium Parvulorum ‘ Esche,’ and the seed vessels 
 Esche key,’ 
 
ye 
 
 of any English landscape in which it is allowed to grow. 
 
 But to see it in its full beauty it must be seen in our northern 
 
 counties, though the finest in England is said to be at Woburn. 
 The Oak, the Ash, and the Ivy tree 
 
 O, they flourished best at hame, in the north countrie. 
 Old Ballad. 
 
 In the dales of Yorkshire it is especially beautiful, and 
 any one who sees the fine old trees in Wharfdale and Wensley- 
 dale will confess that, though it may not have the rich 
 luxuriance of the Oaks and Elms of thesouthern and midland 
 counties, yet it has a grace and beauty that are all its own, 
 so that we scarcely wonder that Gilpin called it “the Venus 
 of the woods.” 
 
 ASPEN. 
 
 (1) Marcus O, had the monster seen those lily hands 
 . Tremble like Aspen leaves upon the lute ? 
 Titus Andronicus, act 2, se. 5. 
 
 (2) Hostess. Feel, master, how I shake . ; . Yea, in 
 
 very truth do I as ’twere an Aspen leaf. 
 2nd Henry IV, act ii, se. 4. 
 
 The Aspen or Aspe * (Populus tremula) is one of our three 
 native Poplars, and has ever been the emblem of enforced 
 restiessness, on account of which it had in Anglo-Saxon times 
 the expressive name of quick-beam. How this perpetual 
 motion in the “ light quivering Aspen” is produced has not 
 been quite satisfactorily explained ; and the medieval legend 
 that it supplied the wood of the Cross, and has never since 
 ceased to tremble, is still told as a sufficient reason both in 
 Scotland and England. 
 
 Oh! a cause more deep, 
 More solemn far the rustic doth assign, 
 To the strange restlessness of those wan leaves ; 
 The cross, he deems, the blessed cross, whereon 
 The meek Redeemer bowed His head to death, 
 Was formed of Aspen wood; and since that hour 
 Through all its race the pale tree hath sent down 
 A thrilling consciousness, a secret awe, 
 Making them tremulous, when not a breeze 
 Disturbs the airy thistle-down, or shakes 
 The light lines of the shining gossamer. Mrs. Hemans. 
 
 *¢Espe’ in Promptorium Parvulorum. * Aspen’ is the case-ending of ‘ Aspe,’ 
 2 
 
20 
 
 Its grey bark and leaves, and its pleasant rustling sound 
 make the tree acceptable in our hedgerows, but otherwise it is 
 nota tree of much use. In Spenser’s time it was considered 
 ‘“‘oooc for staves ;” and before his time the tree must have 
 been more valued than it is now, for in the reign of Henry V 
 an Act of Parliament was passed (4 Henry V, c. 3) to prevent 
 the consumption of Aspe, otherwise than for the making of 
 arrows, with « penalty of an Hundred Shillings if used for 
 making pattens or clogs. This Act remained in force till the 
 reion of James I, when it was repealed. In our own time the 
 wood is valued for internal panelling of rooms, and it is used 
 in the manufacture of gunpowder. Gerarde’s use of the tree 
 must not be omitted, though it is probably the rudest remark 
 that even he ever wrote :—‘ In English Aspe and Aspen tree, 
 and may also be called Tremble, after the French name, con- 
 sidering it is the matter whereof women’s tongues were made 
 (as the poets and some others report), which seldom cease 
 wageing.” 
 
 BACHELORS’ BUTTONS. 
 
 Hostess. What say you to young Master Fenton? he capers, 
 he dances, he has eyes of youth, he writes verses, he 
 speaks holiday, he smells April and May; he will 
 carry’t, he will carry’t; ’tis in his Buttons; he will 
 carry ’t. Merry Wives, act ii, se. 2. 
 
 “Though the Bachelor’s buttons is not exactly named by 
 Shakespeare, it is believed to be alluded to in this passage ; 
 and the supposed allusion is to a rustic divination by means 
 of the flowers, carried in the pocket by men and under the 
 apron by women, as it was supposed to retain.or lose its 
 freshness according to the good or bad success of the bearer’s 
 amatory prospects.*” 
 
 The true Bachelor’s button of the present day is the double 
 Ranunculus acris, but the name is applied very loosely to 
 almost any small double globular flowers. In Shakespeare’s 
 time it was probably applied still more loosely to any flowers 
 
 *Mr, J. Fitchett Marsh of Hardwicke House, Chepstow, in the ‘Garden.’ I 
 have to thank Mr, Marsh for much information kindly given both in the ‘ Garden’ 
 and by letter. 
 
21 
 
 in bud ( according to the derivation from the French bouton). 
 Button is frequently so applied by Chaucer. 
 
 The 
 
 more desire had I to goo 
 
 Unto the roser where that grewe 
 
 The 
 
 Rut 
 
 freshe bothum so bright of hewe. 
 
 ) thing lyked me right welle ; 
 
 I was so nygh, J myght fele 
 
 Of the bothom the swote odour 
 And also see the fresshe colour ; 
 And that right gretly liked me. 
 
 Romaunt of the Rose. 
 
 BALM, BALSAM, OR BALSAMUM. 
 
 (1) K. Richard. 
 
 (2 KK. Richard. 
 (3) A. Henry. 
 
 (4) A. Henry. 
 
 (5) A. Henry. 
 (6) Lady Anne. 
 
 (7) Zrotlus. 
 
 (8) 1st Senator. 
 
 (9) Lrance. 
 
 (10) A. Henry 
 
 Not all the water in the rough, rude sea 
 Can wash the Balm from an anointed king. 
 Richard IT, act iii, se. 2. 
 ‘ith mine own tears I wash away my Balm. 
 Richard LI, act iv, se. 1. 
 Tis not the Balm, the sceptre, and the ball. 
 Henry V, act iv, se. 1. 
 Thy place is filled, thy sceptre wrung from thee, 
 Thy Balm washed off, wherewith thou wast 
 anointed. 
 brad Henry VI, act iii, se. 1. 
 My pity hath been Balm to heal their wounds. 
 dra Henry VI, act iv, se. 8. 
 I pour the helpless Balm of my poor eyes. 
 hichard ITT, act i, se. 2. 
 
 But saying thus, instead of oil and Balm, 
 ‘Thou lay’st in every gash that love hath given me 
 The knife that made it. 
 Troilus and Cressida, act i, sc. 1. 
 We sent to thee, to give thy rages Balm. 
 Timon of Athens, act v, sc. 5. 
 Balm of your age, 
 
 Most best, most dearest. 
 
 King Lear, act i, se. 1. 
 Let all the tears that should bedew my hearse 
 
 Be drops of Balm to sanctify thy head. 
 2nd Henry LV, act iv, se. 5. 
 
22 
 
 (11) Norfoli. I am disgraced, impeached, and baffled here : 
 Pierced to the soul with slander’s venom’d spear ; 
 The which no Balm can cure, but his heart-blood . 
 Which breathed this poison. 
 Richard I, acti, se. 1. 
 (12) Dronio of Syracuse. Our fraughtage, Sir, 
 I have conveyed abroad, and I have brought 
 The oil, the Balsamum, and aqua vite. 
 Comedy of Errors, act iv, se. 1. 
 (18) Alcibiades. Is this the Balsam that the usuring Senate 
 Pours into captains’ wounds ? 
 Timon of Athens, act.ili, sc. 5. 
 (14) Jlacheth. Sleep that knits up the ravell’d sleeve of care. 
 The death of each day’s life, sore labour’s bath, 
 Balm of hurt minds, great Nature’s second course, 
 Chief nourisher in life’s feast. 
 . Macbeth, act 1, se. 2. 
 (15) Quickly. The several chairs of order, look you, scour 
 With juice of Balm and every precious flower. 
 Merry Wives, act v, se. 5. 
 (16) Cleopatra. As sweet as Balm, as soft as air, as gentle. 
 Antony and Cleopatra, act v, sc. 2. 
 
 In all these passages, except the two last, the reference is 
 to the Balm or Balsam which was imported from the East, 
 from very early times, and was highly valued for its curative 
 properties. The origin of Balsam was for a long time a 
 secret, but it is now known to have been the produce of 
 several Gum-bearing trees, especially the Pistacia lentiscus 
 and the Balsamodendron Gileadense ; and now, as then, the 
 name is not strictly confined to the produce of any one plant. 
 But in Nos. 15 and 16 the reference is no doubt to the Sweet 
 Balm of the English gardens (Melissa officinalis), a plant 
 highly prized for its medicinal qualities (now known to be of 
 little value) by our ancestors, and still valued for its pleasant 
 scent and its high value as a bee plant, which is shown by its 
 old Greek and Latin names, Melissa, Mellissophyllum, and 
 Apiastrum. The Bastard Balm (Melittis melissophyllum) is 
 a handsome native plant, found sparingly in Devonshire, 
 Hampshire, and a few other places, and is well worth growing 
 wherever it can be induced to grow; but it is a very capri- 
 cious plant, and is apparently not fond of garden cultivation. 
 “Trés jolie plante, mais d’une culture difficile ” (Vilmorin), 
 It probably would thrive best in the shade, as it is found in 
 COPSes. 
 
BARLEY. 
 
 (1) Zris. Ceres, most bounteous lady, thy rich leas 
 Of Wheat, Rye, Barley, Vetches, Oats, and Peas. 
 Tempest, act iv, sc. 1. 
 (2) Constable. Can sodden water, 
 A drench for surveined jades, their Barley broth, 
 Decort their cold blood to such valiant heat? 
 Henry V, act iii, sc. 5. 
 
 These two passages require little note. The Barley (Hor- 
 deum vulgare) of Shakespeare’s time and our own is the same. 
 We may note, however, that the Barley broth (2) of which 
 the French Constable spoke so contemptuously as the food of 
 English soldiers was probably beer, which long before the 
 time*of Henry V was so celebrated, that it gave its name to 
 the plant, (Barley being simply the Beer-plant), and in 
 Shakespeare’s time, “ though strangers never heard of such a 
 word or such a thing, by reason it is not everyewhere made,” 
 yet “‘our London Beere-Brewers would scorne to tearne to 
 make beere of either French or Dutch” (Gerarde). 
 
 BAY TREES. 
 
 (1) Captian. ’Tis thought the King is dead. We will not stay. 
 The Bay trees in our country are all withered. 
 Richard LIL, act ui, se. 4. 
 (2) Bawd. Marry, come up, my dish of chastity with Rosemary 
 and Bays ! Pericles, act iv, sc. 6. 
 (3) Zhe Vision—Enter, solemnly tripping one after another, six 
 personages clad in white robes, wearing on their heads 
 garlands of Bays, and golden vizards on their faces, 
 branches of Bays or Palms in their hands. 
 
 Henry VII, act iv, se. 2. 
 It is not easy to determine what tree is meant in these 
 passages. In the first there is httle doubt that Shakespeare 
 copied from some Italian source the superstition that the Bay 
 trees in a country withered and died when any great calamity 
 was approaching. We have no proof that such an idea ever 
 prevailed in England. In the second passage reference is 
 made to the decking of the chief dish at high feasts with 
 garlands of flowers and evergreens. But the Bay tree had 
 been too recently introduced from the south of Europe in 
 Shakespeare’s time to be so used to any great extent, though 
 
24 
 
 the tree was known long before, for it is mentioned in the 
 Anglo-Saxon vocabularies by the name of Beay-beam, that 
 is, the Garland tree; but whether the Beay-beam meant our 
 Bay tree is very uncertain. We are not much helped in the 
 inquiry by the notice of the “flourishing green Bay tree ” 
 in the Psalms, for it seems very certain that the Bay tree 
 there mentioned is either the Oleander or the Cedar, certainly 
 not the Laurus nobilis. 
 
 The true Bay is probably mentioned by Spenser in the 
 following lines :— 
 
 The bay, quoth she, is of the victours born, 
 
 Yielded them by the vanquisht as theyr meeds, 
 
 And they therewith doe Poetes heads adorne 
 
 To sing the glory of their famous deeds. 
 Amoretti—Sonnet xxix. 
 
 And in the following passage (written in the life-time of 
 Shakespeare) the laurel and the bay are both named as the 
 Same tree :— 
 
 And when from JDaphne’s tree he plucks more baies 
 His shepherd’s pipe may chant more heavenly lays. 
 Christopher Brooke—Introd. verses to Browne’s Pastorals. 
 
 In the present day no garden of shrubs can be considered 
 complete without the Bay tree, both the common one and 
 especially the Californian Bay (Oreodaphne Californica), 
 which, with its bright green lanceolate foliage and powerful 
 aromatic scent (to some too pungent), deserves a place every- 
 where, and it is not so liable to be cut by the spring winds 
 as the European Bay.* Parkinson’s high praise of the Bay 
 tree (forty years atter Shakespeare’s death) is too long for 
 insertion, but two short sentences may be quoted:—“ The 
 Bay leaves are of as necessary use as any other in the garden 
 or orchard, for they serve both for pleasure and profit, both 
 for ornament and for use, both for honest civil uses and for 
 physic, yea, both for the sick and for the sound, both for the 
 living and for the dead . . . so that from the cradle to 
 the grave we have still use of it, we have still need of it.” 
 
 The Bay tree gives us a curious instance of the capricious- 
 ness of English plant names. Though a true Laurel it does 
 not bear the name, which yet is given to two trees, the common 
 (and Portugal) Laurel, and the Laurestinus, neither of which 
 
 * The Californian Bay has not been established in England long enough to form 
 a timber tree, but in America it is highly prized as one of the very best trees for 
 cabinet work, especially for the ornamental parts of pianos. 
 
25 
 
 are Laurels, the one being a Cherry or Plum (Prunus or 
 Cerasus), the other a Guelder Rose ( Viburnum ).* 
 
 BEANS. 
 
 (1) Puck. When I a fat and Bean-fed horse beguile. 
 Midsummer Night’s Dream, act ii, sc. 1. 
 (2) Carrier. Pease and Beans are as dank here as a dog; and 
 that is the next way to give poor jades the bots. 
 lst Henry LV, act ii, sc. 1. 
 
 The Bean (Faba vulgaris), though an Eastern plant, was 
 very early introduced into England as an article of food both 
 for men and horses. It is not apparently a romantic plant, 
 and yet there is no plant round which so much curious folk- 
 lore has gathered. This may be seen at full length in 
 Phillips’ “History of Cultivated Vegetables.” It will be 
 enough here to say that the Bean was considered as a sacred 
 plant both by the Greeks and Romans, while by the Egyptian 
 priests it was considered too unclean to be even looked upon ; 
 that it was used both for its convenient shape and for its 
 sacred associations in all elections by ballot; that this custom 
 lasted in England and in most European countries to a very 
 recent date in the election of the kings and queens at Twelfth 
 Night and other feasts; and that it was of great repute in all 
 popular divinations and love charms. I find in Miller another 
 use of Beans, which we are thankful to note among the obso- 
 lete uses:—“'They are bought up in great quantities at 
 Bristol for Guinea ships, as food for the negroes on their 
 passage from Africa to the West Indies.” 
 
 As an ornamental garden plant the Bean has never received 
 the attention it seems to deserve. A plant of Broad Beans 
 grown singly is quite a stately plant, and the rich scent is an 
 additional attraction to many, though to many others it is 
 too strong, and it has a bad character— Sleep in a Bean-field 
 all night if you want to have awful dreams or go crazy,” is a 
 Leicestershire proverbt : and the Scarlet Runner (which is also 
 a bean) is one of the most beautiful climbers we have. In 
 
 * For an interesting account of the Box and the Laurels, giving the history of 
 the names, &c., see two papers by Mr. H. Evershed in “ Gardener’s Chronicle,” 
 September, 1876. 
 
 + Copied from the medieval proverb :—‘‘ Cum faba florescit, stultorum copia 
 crescit.” 
 
26 
 
 England we seldom grow it for ornament, but in France | 
 have seen it used with excellent effect to cover a trellis-screen, 
 mixed with the large blue Convolvulus major. 
 
 BILBERRY. 
 
 Pistol. Where fires thou find’st unraked and hearths unswept, 
 There pinch the maids as blue as Bilberry— 
 Our radiant Queen hates slutts and sluttery. 
 Merry Wives, act v, se. 5. 
 
 The Bilberry is a common British shrub found on all 
 mossy heaths, and very pretty both in flower and in fruit. 
 Its older English name was Heathberry, and its botanical 
 name is Vaccinium myrtillus, and we have in Britain four 
 species of Vaccinium, the Whortleberry or Bilberry (V. 
 myrtillus), the Large Bilberry (V. uliginosum), the Crow- 
 berry (V. vitis idea), and the Cranberry (V. oxycoccos). 
 These British species, as well as the North American species 
 (of which there are several) are all beautiful little shrubs in 
 cultivation, but they are very difficult to grow; they require 
 a heathy soil, moisture, and partial shade. 
 
 BIRCH. 
 
 Duke. Fond fathers, 
 Having bound up the threatening twigs of Birch, 
 Only to stick it in their children’s sight 
 For terror, not to use, in time the rod 
 Becomes more mocked than feared. 
 Measure for Measwre, act i, se. 4. 
 
 Shakespeare only mentions this one unpleasant use of the — 
 Birch tree, the manufacture of Birch rods; and for such it 
 seems to have been chiefly valued in his day. “I have not 
 red of any vertue it hath in physick,” says Turner ; “* howbeit, 
 it serveth for many good uses, and for none better than for 
 betynge of stubborn boys, that either lye or will not learn.” 
 Yet the Birch is not without interest. The word “ Birch” is 
 
27 
 
 the same as ‘‘ bark,” meaning first the rind of a tree and then 
 a barque or boat (from which we also get our word “ barge”), 
 and so the very name carries us to those early times when the 
 Birch was considered one of the most useful of trees, as it 
 still is in most northern countries, where it grows at a higher 
 degree of latitude than any other tree. Its bark was especially 
 useful, being useful for cordage, and matting, and roofing, 
 while the tree itself formed the early British canoes, as it still 
 forms the canoes of the North American Indians, for which it 
 is well suited, from its lightness and ease in working. We 
 still admire its graceful beauty, whether it grows in our woods 
 or our gardens, and we welcome its pleasant odour on our 
 Russia leather bound books; but we have ceased to make 
 beer from its youug shoots,* and, on the whole, we hold it in 
 almost as low repute (from the utilitarian point of view) as 
 Turner and Shakespeare seem to have held it. 
 
 BLACKBERRIES. 
 
 (1) Falstaff. Tf reasons were as plenty as Blackberries 
 I would give no man a reason on corapulsion. 
 1st Henry IV, act ii, se. 4. 
 
 (2) Falstaff. Shall the blessed sun of Heaven prove a micher and 
 
 eat Blackberries ? Ibid. 
 (3) Thersites. That same dog-fox Ulysses is not proved worth a 
 Blackberry. 
 
 Troilus and Cressida, act v, sc. 4. 
 
 (4) Rosalind. There is a man hangs odes upon Hawthorns, and 
 elegies on Brambles. 
 As You Like ft, act iii, se. 2. 
 
 (8) The thorny Brambles and embracing bushes, 
 As fearful of him, part, through whom he rushes. 
 Venus and Adonis. 
 
 * © Although beer is now seldom made from Birchen twigs, yet it is by no means 
 an uncommon practice in some country districts, to tap the white trunks of Birches, 
 and collect the sweet sap which exudes from them for wine making purposes. In 
 some parts of Leicestershire this sap is collected in large quantities every spring, 
 and Birch wine, when well made, is a wholesome and by no means an tnpleasant 
 beverage.”—B. in Garden, April 1877.—— “ The Finlanders substitute the leaves of 
 birch for those of the tea plant ; the Swedes extract a syrup from the sap, from 
 which they make a spitituous liquor. In London they make champagne of it. 
 The most virtuous uses to which it is applied are brooms and wooden shoes.”— 
 Tour Round my Garden, Letter xix. 
 
28 
 
 I here join together the tree and the fruit, the Bramble 
 and the Blackberry (Rubus fruticosus). There is not much 
 to be said for a plant that is the proverbial type of a barren 
 country or untidy cultivation, yet the Bramble and the Black- 
 berry have their charms, and we could ill afford to lose them 
 from our hedgerows. The name Bramble originally meant 
 anything thorny, and Chaucer applied it to the Dog Rose, 
 
 He was chaste and no lechour, 
 And sweet as is the Bramble flower 
 That bereth the red hepe. 
 
 But in Shakespeare’s time it was evidently confined to the 
 Blackberry-bearing Bramble. 
 
 There is a quaint legend of the origin of the plant which is 
 worth repeating. It is thus pleasantly told by Waterton :— 
 ** The cormorant was once a wool merchant. He entered into 
 partnership with the Bramble and the bat, and they freighted 
 a large ship with wool; she was wrecked, and the firm became 
 bankrupt. Since that disaster the bat skulks about till mid- 
 night to avoid his creditors, the cormorant is for ever diving 
 into the deep to discover its foundered vessel, while the 
 Bramble seizes hold of every passing sheep to make up his 
 loss by stealing the wool.” 
 
 As a garden plant, the common Bramble had better be kept 
 out of the garden, but there are double pink and white- 
 blossomed varieties, and others with variegated leaves, that 
 are handsome plants on rough rockwork. The little Rubus 
 saxatilis is a small British Bramble that is pretty on rock- 
 work, and among the foreign Brambles there are some that 
 should on no account be omitted where ornamental shrubs 
 are grown. Such are the R. leucodermis from Nepaul, with 
 its bright silvery bark and amber-coloured fruit; R. Noot- 
 kanus, with very handsome foliage and pure white rose-like 
 flowers; R. Arcticus, an excellent rockwork plant from N. 
 Europe, with very pleasant fruit, but difficult to establish; 
 Rk. Australis (from New Zealand), a most quaint plant, appa- 
 rently without any leaves, and hardy in the south of England ; 
 and R. deliciosus, a very handsome plant from the Rocky 
 Mountains. There are several others well worth growing, but 
 I mention these few to show that the Bramble is not alto- 
 gether such a villainous and useless weed as it is proverbially 
 supposed to be. 
 
29 
 
 BOX. 
 
 Marva. Get ye all three into the Box tree. 
 . Twelfth Night, act ii, se. 5. 
 
 The Box is a native British tree, and in the sixteenth 
 century was probably much more abundant as a wild tree than 
 it is now. Spencer noted it as “ The Box yet mindful of his 
 olde offence,” and there were probably more woods of Box 
 in England in Shakespeare’s time, than the two which still 
 remain at Box Hill, in Surrey, and Boxwell, in Gloucester- 
 shire. From its wild quarters the Box tree was very early 
 brought into gardens, and was especially valued, not only for 
 its rich evergreen colour, but because, with the Yew, it could 
 be .cut and tortured into all the ungainly shapes which so 
 delighted our ancestors in Shakespeare’s time, though one of 
 the most illustrious of them, Lord Bacon, entered his protest 
 against such barbarisms:—‘‘I, for my part, do not lke 
 images cut out in Juniper or other garden stuff; they be for 
 children.”—Hssay of Gardens. 
 
 BRAMBLE, see BLACKBERRIES. 
 
 BRIAR. 
 
 (1) Ariel. So I charmed their ears, 
 : That calf-like they my lowing followed through 
 Toothed Briars, sharp Furzes, pricking Gorse 
 and Thorns. Tempest, act iv, se. 1. 
 (2) Fairy. Over hill, over dale, 
 Through bush, through Briar. 
 Midsummer Nights Dream, act ii, se. 1. 
 (3) Zhisbe. Of colour like the red Rose or triumphant Briar. 
 Lbid, act 11, se. 1. 
 (4) Puck. [ll lead you about a round, 
 Through bog, through bush, through Brake, 
 through Briar. Lbid, act iti, se. 1. 
 
30 
 
 (5) Puck: For Briars and thorns at their apparel snatch. 
 Ibid, act iii, se. 2. 
 (6) Helena. Never so weary, never so in woe, 
 Bedabbled with the dew and torn with Briars, 
 Lbid, act iii, se. 2. 
 (7) Oberon. Every elf and fairy sprite 
 Hop as light as bud from Briar. 
 Ibid, act v, se. 2. 
 (8) Adriana. If aught possess me from thee, it is dross, 
 Usurping Ivy, Briar, or idle Moss. 
 Comedy of Errors, act ii, se. 2. 
 (9) Plantagenet. From off this Briar pluck a white Rose with me, 
 lst Henry VI, act ii, se. 4. 
 (10) Rosalind. O! how full of Briars is this working-day world ! 
 As You Like It, act i, se. 3. 
 (11) Helena. The time will bring on summer, 
 When Briars shall have leaves as well as thorns, 
 And be as sweet as sharp. 
 All’s Well, act iv, se. 4. 
 (12) Potyxenes Tl have thy beauty scratched with Briars. 
 Winter's Tale, act iv, se. 8. 
 (13) Zimon. The Oaks bear masts, the Briars scarlet hips. 
 Timon of Athens, act iv, se. 8. 
 (14) Cortolanus. Scratches with Briars, 
 Scars to move laughter only. 
 Coriolanus, act iii, se. 8. 
 (15) Quintus What hole is this, 
 Whose mouth is covered with rude-growing 
 Briars ? Titus Andronicus, act ii, se. 4. 
 
 In Shakespeare’s time the “ Briar” was not restricted to 
 the Sweet Briar, as it usually is now; but it meant any sort 
 of wild Rose, and even it would seem from No. 9 that it was 
 applied to the cultivated Rose, for there the scene is laid in 
 the Temple Gardens. In some of the passages it probably 
 does not allude to any Rose, but simply to any wild thorny 
 plant. That this was its then common use, we know from 
 many examples. One is enough from “A Pleasant New 
 Court Song,” in the Roxburghe Ballads :~- 
 
 I stept me close aside 
 Under a Hawthorn Bryer. 
 
 It bears the same meaning in our Bibles, where “ Thorns,” 
 ‘¢ Brambles,” and “ Briars,” stand for any thorny and useless 
 
31 
 
 plant, the soil of Palestine being especially productive of 
 thorny plants of many kinds. Wickliffe’s. translation of 
 Matthew vii, 16, is “‘ Whether men gaderen grapis of thornes ; 
 or figis of breris?” and Tyndale’s translation is much the 
 same—‘* Do men gaddre grapes of thornes, or figges of 
 bryeres ? ” 
 
 BROOM. 
 
 (1) Lris And thy Broomed groves, 
 Whose shadow the dismissed bachelor loves. 
 Tempest, act iv, se. 1. 
 (2) Puck. Vm sent with Broom before 
 To sweep the dust behind the door. 
 | Midsummer Night’s Dream, act v, sc. 2. 
 (3) Mfan. Imade good my place; at length they came to the 
 Broomstaff with me. 
 Henry VIII, act v, se. 3. 
 
 The Broom was one of the most popular plants of the 
 Middle Ages. Its modern Latin name is Cytisus scoparius, 
 but under its then Latin name of Planta genista it gave its 
 name to the Plantagenet family, either in the time of Henry 
 II, as generally reported, or probably still earlier. As the 
 favourite badge of the family, it appears on their monuments 
 and portraits, and was embroidered on their clothes, and 
 imitated in their jewels. Nor was it only in England that 
 the plant was held in such high favour; it was the special 
 flower of the Scotch, and it was highly esteemed in many 
 countries on the Continent, especially in Brittany. Yet, in 
 spite of all this, there are only these three notices of the 
 plant in Shakespeare, and of those three, two (2 and 3) refer 
 to its uses when dead; and the third (1), though it speaks 
 of it as living, yet has nothing to say of the remarkable 
 beauties of this favourite British flower. Yet it has great 
 beauties which cannot easily be overlooked. Its large, yellow 
 flowers, its graceful habit of growth, and its fragrance, 
 
 ‘Sweet is the Broome-flowre, but yet sowre enough,” 
 Spencer — Sonnet xxv, 
 
 at once arrest the attention of the most careless observer of 
 Nature. We are almost driven to the conclusion that 
 
32 
 
 Shakespeare could not have had much real acquaintance with 
 the Broom, or he would not have sent his “ dismissed 
 bachelor” to “ Broomed groves.” I should very much doubt 
 that the Broom could ever attain to the dimensions of a 
 erove, though Steevens has a note on the passage that “ near 
 Gamlingay, in Cambridgeshire, it grows high enough to con- 
 ceal the tallest cattle as they pass through it; and in places 
 where it is cultivated still higher.” Chaucer speaks of the 
 Broom in somewhat the same way, but does not make it so 
 much of a tree :— 
 
 ‘¢ Amid the Broom he basked in the sun.’’ 
 
 As a garden plant it is perhaps seen to best advantage when 
 mixed with other shrubs, as when grown quite by itself it 
 often has an untidy look. There is a pure white variety 
 which is very beautiful, but it is very liable to flower so 
 abundantly as to flower itself to death. There are a few 
 other sorts, but none more beautiful than the British. 
 
 BURS. 
 
 (1) Celia. They are but Burs, cousin, thrown upon thee in holi- 
 day foolery. If we walk not in the trodden paths 
 our very petticoats will catch them. 
 
 Rosalind. I could shake them off my coat—these Burs are 
 in my heart. As You Like It, act i, se. 3. 
 
 (2) Lucio. Nay, friar, I am a kind of Bur, I shall stick. 
 Measure for Measure, act iv, se. 3. 
 
 (3) Lysander. Hang off, thou cat, thou Bur. 
 
 Midsummer Nights Dream, act iii, se. 2. 
 
 (4) Pandarus. They are Burs, I can tell you—they will stick 
 where they are thrown. 
 
 Troilus and Cressida, act iii, sc. 2. 
 
 (5) Burgundy. And nothing teems 
 But hateful Docks, rough Thistles, Kecksies, Burs. 
 
 Henry V, act v, sc. 2. 
 
 The Burs are the unopened flowers of the Burdock (Arctium 
 lappa), and their clinging quality very early obtained for 
 them expressive names, such as amor folia, love leaves, and 
 philantropium. This clinging quality arises from the bracts 
 of the involucrum being long and stiff, and with hooked tips 
 which attach themselves to every passing object. The Bur- 
 
33 
 
 dock is a very handsome plant when seen in its native habitat 
 by the side of a brook, its broad leaves being most picturesque, 
 but it is not a plant to introduce into a garden. There is 
 another tribe of plants, however, which are sufficiently orna- 
 mental to merit a place in the garden, and whose Burs are 
 even more clinging than those of the Burdock. These are 
 the Acszenas; they are mostly natives of America and New 
 Zealand, and some of them (especially A. sarmentosa and A. 
 microphylla) form excellent carpet plants, but their points 
 being furnished with double hooks, like a double-barbed 
 arrow, they have double powers of clinging. 
 
 BURNET. 
 
 Burgundy. The even mead that erst brought sweetly forth 
 The freckled Cowslip, Burnet, and Sweet Clover. 
 Henry V, act v, se. 2 
 
 The Burnet (Poterium sanguisorba) is a native plant of 
 no great beauty or horticultural interest, but it was valued as 
 a good salad plant, the leaves tasting of Cucumber, and 
 Lord Bacon (contemporary with Shakespeare) seems to have 
 been especially fond of it. He says (Hssay of Gardens) :— 
 *¢ Those which perfume the air most delightfully, not passed 
 by as the rest, but being trodden upon and crushed, are three, 
 that is, Burnet, Wild Thyme, and Water Mints, therefore you 
 are to set whole alleys of them, to have the pleasure when 
 you walk or tread.” It also was, and still is valued as a for- 
 age plant that will grow and keep fresh all the winter in dry, 
 barren pastures, thus often giving food for sheep when other 
 food was scarce. It has occasionally been cultivated, but the 
 result has not been very satisfactory, except on very poor 
 land, though, according to the Woburn experiments, as re- 
 ported by Sinclair, it contains a larger amount of nutritive 
 matter in the spring than most of the Grasses. It has brown 
 flowers,* from which it is supposed to derive its name 
 (Brunetto). 
 
 * «Burnet colowre, Burnetum, burnetus.”—Promptorum Parvulorum. 
 D 
 
34 
 
 CABBAGE. 
 
 Evans. —- Pauca verba, Sir John, goot worts. 
 
 Lalstaff. Good worts! good Cabbage. 
 Merry Wives, act 1, se. 1. 
 
 The Cabbage of Shakespeare’s time was essentially the same 
 as ours, and from the contemporary accounts it seems that the 
 sorts cultivated were as good and as numerous as they are 
 now. ‘The cultivated Cabbage is the same specifically as the 
 wild Cabbage of our sea-shores (Brassica oleracea) improved 
 by cultivation. Within the last few years the Cabbage has 
 been brought from the kitchen garden into the flower garden, 
 on account of the beautiful variegation of its leaves. This, 
 however, is no novelty, for Parkinson said of the many sorts 
 of Cabbage in his day: “There is greater diversity in the 
 form and colour of the leaves of this plant than there is in 
 any other that I know groweth on the ground. : 
 
 Many of them being of no use with us for the table, but for 
 delight to behold ‘the wonderful variety of the works of God 
 herein.” 
 
 ‘CAMOMILE. 
 
 Lalstaff. Though the Camomile the more it is trodden on the 
 faster it grows, yet youth the more it is wasted the 
 sooner if wears. . lst Henry LV, act 11, se. 4. 
 
 The low-growing Camomile, the emblem of the sweetness 
 of humility, has the lofty names of Camomile (Chamzmelum, 
 i.e, Apple of the Earth} and Anthemis nobilis. Its fine 
 aromatic scent and bitter flavour suggested that it must be 
 possessed of much medicinal virtue, while its low growth 
 made it suitable for planting on the edges of flower-beds and 
 paths, its scent being biought out as it was walked upon. 
 As a garden flower it is now little used, though its bright 
 starry flower and fine scent might recommend it; but it is 
 still to be found in herb gardens, and is still, though not so 
 much as formerly, used as a medicine. 
 
35 
 
 CARDUUS (see Hoty THISTLE). 
 
 CARNATIONS. 
 
 (1) Perdita. The fairest flowers of the season 
 Are our Carnations and streaked Gillyflowers, 
 Which some call Nature’s bastards. 
 Winter’s Tale, act iv, sc. 3. 
 (2) Polyxenes. Then make your garden rich in Gillyvors, 
 And do not call them bastards. Ibid. 
 
 There are two other places in which Carnation is mentioned, 
 but they refer to carnation colour—7.e., to pure flesh colour. 
 
 (3) Quickly. ’A could never abide Carnation, ’twas a colour he 
 
 never liked. Henry V, act 2, se. 3. 
 
 (4) Costard. Pray, sir, how much Carnation riband may a man 
 buy for a remuneration ? 
 
 Love's Labours Lost, act iii, se. 1. 
 
 Dr. Johnson and others have supposed that the flower is so 
 named from the colour, but that this is a mistake is made 
 very clear by Dr. Prior. He quotes Spenser’s “ Shepherd’s 
 Calendar” :— 
 
 Bring Coronations and Sops-in- Wine 
 Worn of Paramours. 
 
 and so it is spelled in Lyte’s “ Herbal,” 1578, coronations or 
 cornations. ‘This takes us at once to the origin of the name. 
 The plant was one of those used in garlands (corone), and 
 was probably one of the most favourite plants used for that 
 purpose, for which it was well suited by its shape and beauty. 
 Pliny gives a long list of garland flowers (Coronamentorum 
 genera) used by the Romans and Athenians, and Nicander 
 gives similar lists of Greek garland plants (oreQavapearinae dyén), 
 in which the Carnation holds so high a place that it was 
 called by the name it still has—Dianthus, or Flower of Jove. 
 
 Its second specific name, Caryophyllus—i.e. Nut-leaved— 
 seems at first very inappropriate for a grassy-leaved plant, 
 but the name was first given to the Indian Clove-tree, and 
 from it transferred to the Carnation, on account of its fine 
 Clove-like scent Its popularity as an English plant is shown 
 by its many names—Pink, Carnation, Gilliflower (an easily- 
 
 D? 
 
36 
 
 traced and well-ascertained corruption from Caryophyllus), 
 Clove, Picotee,* and Sops-in-Wine, from the flowers being 
 used to flavour wine and beer.t There is an _ historical 
 interest also in the flowers. All our Carnations, Picotees, 
 and Cloves come originally from the single Dianthus cary- 
 ophyllus; this is a not a true British plant, but it holds a 
 place in the English flora, being naturalized in Rochester 
 and other castles. It is abundant in Normandy, and T found 
 it (in 1874) covering the old castle of Falaise in which 
 William the Conqueror was born. Since that I have found 
 that it grows on the old castles of Dover, Ludlow, Deal, and 
 Cardiff, all of them of Norman construction, as was Rochester, 
 which was built by Guthlac, the special friend of William. 
 Its occurrence on these several Norman castles make it very 
 possible that it was introduced by the Norman builders, 
 perhaps as a pleasant memory of their Norman homes, though 
 it may have been accidentally introduced with the Normandy 
 (Caen) stone, of which parts of the castles are built. How 
 soon it became a florist’s flower we do not know, but it must 
 have been early, as in Shakespeare’s time the sorts of Cloves, 
 Carnations, and Pinks were so many that Gerarde says :— 
 “A great and large volume would not suffice to write of every 
 one at large in particular, considering how infinite they are, 
 and how every yeare, every clymate and countrey, bringeth 
 forth new sorts, and such as have not heretofore bin written 
 of;” and so we may certainly say now—the description of the 
 many kinds of Carnations and Picotees, with directions for 
 their culture, would fill a volume. 
 
 * Picotee is from the French word “ Picoté,” marked with little pricks round the 
 edge, like the ‘‘ picots’ on lace, ‘ picot,’ being the technical term in Fiance for the 
 small twirls which in England are called ‘ purl’ or ‘ pearl.’ 
 
 + Wine thus flavoured was evidently a very favourite beverage. ‘ Bartholemeus 
 Peytevyn tenet duas Caracutas terre in Stony-Aston in Com. Somerset de Domino 
 Rege in capite per servitium unius (a) Sextarii vini Gariophilati reddendi Domino 
 Regi per annum ad Natale Domini. Et valet dicta terra per ann. xt.’ 
 
 (a) ‘A Sextary of July-flower wine, and a Sextary contained about a pint and a 
 half, sometimes more.’—BLOUNT’s Antient Tenures. 
 
37 
 
 CARRAWAYS. 
 
 Shallow. Nay, you shall see mine orchard, in which in an 
 arbour we shall eat a last year’s pippin of my own graffing, with 
 a dish of carraways and so forth. 
 
 2nd Henry IV, act v, se. 8. 
 
 Although I think that the “ dish of Carraways” were the 
 Apples so named (see APPLE), yet as many of the commen- 
 tators consider it to have been a dish of Caraway seeds or 
 eakes flavoured with Caraway seeds, I think it best to 
 mention it under both heads. 
 
 Caraway seeds are the fruit of Carum carni, an umbelli- 
 ferous plant of a large geographical range, cultivated in the 
 Eastern Counties, and apparently wild in other parts of 
 England, but not considered a true native. In Shakespeare’s 
 time the seed was very popular, and was much more freely 
 used than in our day. “The seed,’ says Parkinson, “is 
 much used to be put among baked fruit, or into bread, cakes, 
 &e., to give them a rellish. It is also made into comfits and 
 put into Trageas or (as we call them in English) Dredges, 
 that are taken for cold or wind in the body, as also are served 
 to the table with fruit.” 
 
 Carraways are frequently mentioned in the old writers as 
 an accompaniment to Apples. Stevens quotes several writers 
 to this effect, and in a very interesting bill of fare of 1626, 
 extracted from the account book of Sir Edward Dering, is the 
 following :— 
 
 Carowaye and comfites, 6d. 
 A warden py that the cooke 
 Made—we fining y° wardens. 2s. 4d. 
 
 Second Course. 
 A cold warden pie. 
 
 Complement. oe 
 Apples and Carrawayes.—Wotes and Queries, i, 99. 
 
38 
 
 CARROT. 
 
 Evans. Remember, William, focative is caret, 
 Quickly. And that’s a good root. 
 Merry Wives, act iv, se. 1. 
 
 Dame Quickly’s pun gives us our Carrot, a plant which, 
 originally derived from our wild Carrot (Daucus Carota), was 
 introduced as a useful vegetable by the Flemings in the time 
 of Elizabeth, and has probably been very little aitered or 
 improved since the time of its introduction. In Shake- 
 speare’s time the name was applied to the “ Yellow Carrot ” 
 or Parsnep, as well as to the Red one. The name of Carrot 
 comes directly from its Latin or rather Greek name, Daucus 
 Carota, but it once had a prettier name. The Anglo-Saxons 
 called it ‘ bird’s-nest,” and Gerarde gives us the reason, and 
 it is a reason that shows they were more observant of the 
 habits of plants than we generally give them credit for :-— 
 “The whole tuft (of flowers) is drawn together when the seed 
 is ripe, resembling a bird’s nest; whereupon it hath been 
 named of some Bird’s nest.” 
 
 CEDAR. 
 (1) Prospero. And by the spurs plucked up 
 The Pine and Cedar. Tempest, act v, se. 1. 
 
 (2) Duman. As upright as the Cedar. 
 Love's Labours Lost, act iv, se. 8. 
 
 (3) Warwick. As on a mountain top the Cedar shows, 
 That keeps his leaves in spite of any storm. 
 2nd Henry VI, act v, se. 1. 
 
 (4) Warwick. Thus yields the cedar to the axe’s edge, 
 Whose arms gave shelter to the princely eagle, 
 Under whose shade the ramping lion slept. 
 Whose top branch o’erspread J ove’s spreading tree, 
 And kept low shrubs from winter’s powerful wind. 
 ord Henry VI, act v, se. 2. 
 (5) Cranmer. He shall flourish, 
 And like a mountain Cedar reach his branches 
 To all the plains about him. 
 Henry VIII, act v, se. 4. 
 
39 
 
 (6) Posthumus. When from a stately Cedar shall be lopped 
 branches, which being dead many years shall after revive. 
 Cymbeline, act v, sc. 43; and act v, sc. 5. 
 (7) Soothsayer. The lofty Cedar, royal Cymbeline, 
 Personates thee. Thy lopped branches 
 a ane are now revived, 
 To the majestic Cedar joined. 
 Cymbeline, act v, sc. 
 (8) Gloucester. But I was born so high, 
 Our aiery buildeth in the Cedar’s top, 
 And dallies with the wind and scorns the sun. 
 Richard IT, act i, se. 
 (9) Ooriolanus. | Let the mutinous winds 
 Strike the proud Cedars ’gainst the fiery sun. 
 Coriolanus, act v, sc. 8. 
 
 Gn 
 
 G3 
 
 (10) Zitus. | Marcus, we are but shrubs, no Cedars we. 
 Titus Andronicus, act lv, sc. 3. 
 (11) The sun ariseth in his majesty, 
 
 Who doth the world so gloriously behold, 
 That Cedar tops and hills seem burnished gold. 
 Venus and Adonis. 
 (12) The Cedar stoops not at the base shrub’s foot, 
 But low shrubs wither at the Cedar’s root. 
 Rape of Luerece. 
 
 The Cedar iz the classical type of majesty, and grandeur, 
 and superiority to everything that is petty and mean. So 
 Shakespeare uses it, and only in this way; for it is very 
 certain he never saw a living specimen of the Cedar of 
 Lebanon. But many travellers in the East had seen it and 
 minutely described it, and from their descriptions he derived 
 his knowledge of the tree; but not only, and probably not 
 chiefly from travellers, for he was well acquainted with his 
 Bible, and there he would meet with many a passage that 
 dwelt on the glories of the Cedar, and told how it was the 
 king of trees, so that “the Fir trees were not like his boughs, 
 and the Chesnut trees were not like his branches, nor any 
 tree in the garden of God was like unto him in his beauty, 
 fair by the multitude of his branches, so that all the trees 
 of Eden that were in the garden of God envied him” 
 (Ezekiel xxxi, 8,9). It was such descriptions as these that 
 supplied Shakespeare with his imagery, and which made our 
 ancestors try to introduce the tree into England. But there 
 seems to have been much difficulty in establishing it. Evelyn 
 ‘tried to introduce it, but did not succeed at first, and the tree 
 
40 
 
 is not mentioned in his “Sylva” of 1664. It was, however, 
 certainly introduced in 1676, when it appears, from the 
 gardeners’ accounts, to have been planted at Bretby Park, 
 Derbyshire (Gardeners’ Chronicle, January, 1877). I believe 
 this is the oldest certain record of the planting of the Cedar 
 in England, the next oldest being the trees in Chelsea 
 Botanie Garden, which were certainly planted in 1683. 
 Since that time the tree has proved so suitable to the 
 English soil that it is grown everywhere, and everywhere 
 asserts itself as the king of evergreen trees, whether grown 
 as a single tree on a lawn, or mixed in large numbers with 
 other trees, as at Highclere Park, in Hampshire (Lord Car- 
 narvon’s). Among English Cedar trees there are probably 
 none that surpass the fine specimens at Warwick Castle, 
 which owe, however, much of their beauty to their position 
 on the narrow strip of land between the Castle and the river. 
 I mention these to call attention to the pleasant coincidence 
 (for it is nothing more) that the most striking descriptions 
 of the Cedar are given by Shakespeare to the then owner of 
 the princely Castle of Warwick (Nos. 3 and 4). 
 
 The medizval belief about the Cedar was that its wood 
 was imperishable. “ Heec Cedrus, A° sydyretre, et est talis 
 nature quod nunquam putrescet in aqua nec in terra” (English 
 Vocabulary—15th century); but as a timber tree the English- 
 grown Cedar has not answered to its old reputation, so that 
 Dr. Lindley called it “the worthless though magnificent 
 Cedar of Lebanon.” 
 
 CHERRY. 
 
 (1) Helena. So we grew together, 
 Like to a double Cherry seeming parted 
 But yet a union in partition. 
 Two lovely berries moulded on one stem. 
 Midsummer Nights Dream, act ii, se. 2. 
 
 (2) Helena. O, how ripe in show 
 Thy lips, those kissing Cherries, tempting show. 
 Lbid, act iii, se. 2. 
 (3) Constance. And its grandam will 
 Give it a Plum, a Cherry, and a Fig. 
 King John, act ii, se. 1. 
 
 (4) Lady. "Tis as like you 
 As Cherry is to Cherry. 
 Henry VIII, act v, se. 1. 
 
4] 
 
 (5) Gower. She with her neeld composes 
 Nature’s own shape of bud, bird, branch, or berry ; 
 That even her art sisters the natural Roses, 
 Her inkle, silk, twin with the rubied Cherry. 
 Pericles, act v, (Chorus). 
 (6) Dromio of Syracuse. 
 Some devils ask but the paring of one’s nail, 
 A rush, a hair, a drop of blood, a pin, 
 A Nut, a Cherry-stone. 
 Comedy of Errors, act iv, sc. 3. 
 (7) When he was by, the birds with pleasure lvok, 
 That some would sing, some other in their bills, 
 Would bring him Mulberries and ripe Red Cherries. 
 He fed them with his sight, they him with berries. 
 Venus and Adonis. 
 
 Besides these, there is mention of “cherry lips”* and 
 “ cherry-nose,”f and the game of “cherry-pit.”t The Cherry 
 (Prunus cerasus) is not a true native, for we have the 
 authority of Pliny for stating that it was introduced into 
 Britain by the Romans. But it has now become completely 
 naturalized in our woods and hedgerows, while the cultivated 
 trees are everywhere favourites for the beauty of their 
 flowers, and their rich and handsome fruit. In Shake- 
 speare’s time there were almost as many, and probably as 
 good varieties, as there are now. 
 
 CHESTNUTS. 
 
 (1) Witch. A sailor’s wife had Chestnuts in her lap, 
 And mounched, and mounched, and mounched. 
 Macbeth, act i, se. 8. 
 
 (2) Petruchio. And do you tell me of a woman’s tongue 
 That gives not half so great a blow to the ear 
 As will a Chestnut in a farmer’s fire ? 
 Taming of the Shrew, acti, sc. 2. 
 (3) Rosalind. Tfaith, his hair is of a good colour. 
 Celia. An excellent colour, your Chestnut was ever the 
 only colour. As You Like It, act iii, se. 4. 
 
 This is the Spanish or Sweet Chestnut, a fruit which seems 
 to have been held in high esteem in Shakespeare’s time, for 
 Lyte, in 1578, says of it, “ Amongst all kindes of wilde fruites 
 
 * Midsummer Nights Dream, act v, sc. 1. Richard III, act i,{sc. 1. 
 + Midsummer Night’s Dream, act v, sc. 1. t Twelfth Night, act ili, se, 
 
42 
 
 the Chestnut is best and meetest for to be eaten.” The tree 
 cannot be regarded as a true native, but it has been so long 
 introduced, probably by the Romans, that grand specimens 
 are to be found in all parts of England; the oldest known 
 specimen being one at Tortworth, in Gloucestershire, which 
 was spoken of as an old tree in the time of King John; 
 while the tree that is said to be the oldest and the largest in 
 Europe is the Spanish Chestnut tree on Mount Etna, the 
 famous Castagni du Centu Cavalli, which measures near the 
 root 160 feet in circumference. It is one of our handsomest 
 trees, and very useful for timber, and at one time it was 
 supposed that many of our oldest buildings were roofed with 
 Chestnut. This was the current report of the grand roof at 
 Westminster Hall, but it is now discovered to be of Oak, and 
 it is very doubtful whether the Chestnut timber is as lasting 
 as it has long been supposed to be. : 
 
 CLOVER. 
 
 (1) Burgundy. The even mead that erst brought sweetly forth 
 The freckled Cowslip, Burnet, and green Clover. 
 Henry V, act v, se. 2. 
 (2) Zamora. I will enchant the old Andronicus | 
 With words more sweet and yet more dangerous 
 Than baits to fish or Honey-stalks to sheep, 
 When, as the one is wounded with the bait, 
 The other rotted with delicious food. 
 Titus Andronicus, act iv, se. 4. 
 
 “ Honey-stalks” are supposed to be the flower of the 
 Clover. This seems very probable, but I believe the name 
 is no longer applied. Of the Clover there are two points of 
 interest that are worth notice. The Clover is one of the 
 plants that claims to be the Shamrock of St. Patrick. This 
 is not a settled point, and at the present day the Woodsorrel 
 is supposed to have the better claim to the honour. But it 
 is certain that the Clover is the “clubs” of the pack of cards. 
 “Clover” is a corruption of “Clava,” a club. In England 
 we paint the Clover on our cards and call it ‘‘clubs,” while 
 in France they have the same figure, but call it “ trefle.” 
 
43 
 
 CLOVES. 
 
 Biron. A Lemon. 
 
 Zongaville. Stuck with Cloves. 
 Love's Labours Lost, act v, sc. 2. 
 
 As a mention of a vegetable product, I could not omit this 
 passage, but the reference is only to the imported spice and 
 not to the tree from which then, as now, the Clove was 
 gathered. The tree is the Eugenia caryopbyllata, and the 
 Clove of commerce is the unexpanded flower. 
 
 COCKLE. 
 
 (1) Biron. Allons! allons! sowed Cockle reaps no corn. 
 Love’s Labours Lost, act iv, sc. 3. 
 
 (2) Coriolanus. We nourish ’gainst our senate 
 The Cockle of rebellion. 
 Cortolanus, act iii, sc. 1. 
 
 In Shakespeare’s time the word “Cockle” was becoming 
 restricted to the Corn-cockle (Lychnis githago), but both in 
 his time, and certainly in that of the writers before him, it 
 was used generally for any noxious weed that grew in corn- 
 fields, and was usually connected with the Darnel and Tares. 
 So Latimer :—“ Oh, that our prelates would bee as diligent 
 to sowe the corne of goode doctrine as Sathan is to sow 
 Cockel and Darnel.” . . . “There was never such a 
 preacher in England as he (the devil) is. Who is able to tel 
 his dylygent preaching ? which every daye and every houre 
 laboreth to sowe Cockel and Darnel” (Latimer’s Fourth 
 Sermon). And to the same effect Spenser :— 
 
 ‘* And thus of all my harvest-hope I have 
 
 Nought reaped but a weedie crop of care, 
 Which when I thought have thresht in swelling sheave, 
 Cockle for corn, and chaff for barley bare.” 
 
44 
 
 The Cockle or Campion is said to do mischief among the 
 Wheat, not only, as the Poppy and other weeds, by occupying 
 room meant for the better plant, but because the seed gets 
 mixed with the corn, and then “ what hurt it doth among 
 corne, the spoyle unto bread, as well in colour, taste, and 
 unwholsomness is better known than desired.” So says 
 Gerarde, but I do not know how far modern experience 
 confirms him. It is a pity the plant has so bad a character, 
 for it is a very handsome weed, with a fine blue flower, and 
 the seeds are very curious objects under the microscope, being 
 described as exactly like a hedgehog rolled up. 
 
 COLOQUINTIDA. 
 
 Jago. The food that now to him is as luscious as Locusts, shall 
 be to him shortly as bitter as Coloquintida. 
 Othello, act i, se. 8. 
 
 The Coloquintida, or Colocynth, is the dried fleshy part of 
 the fruit of the Cucumis or Citrullus colocynthis. As adrug 
 it was imported in Shakespeare’s time and long before, but 
 he may also have known the plant. Gerarde seems to have ~ 
 grown it, though from his describing it as a native of the 
 sandy shores of the Mediterranean, he perhaps confused it 
 with the Squirting Cucumber (Momordica elaterium). It 
 is a native of Turkey, but has been found also in Japan. 
 All the tribe are handsome-foliaged plants, but they require 
 room. On the Continent they are much more frequently 
 grown in gardens than in England, but the hardy perennial 
 Cucumber (Cucumis perennis) makes a very handsome carpet 
 where the space can be spared, and the Squirting Cucumber 
 (also hardy and perennial) is worth growing for its curious 
 fruit.—(See also PUMPION.) 
 
COLUMBINE. 
 (1) Armado. I am that flower, 
 Dumain. That Mint. 
 Longaville. That Columbine. 
 
 Love’s Labours Lost, act v, se. 2. 
 
 (2) Ophelia. There’s Fennel for you and Columbiazes. 
 Hamlet, act iv, se. 5- 
 
 This brings us to one of the most favourite of our old- 
 fashioned English flowers. It is very doubtfnl whether it is 
 a true native, but from early times it has been “ carefully 
 nursed up in our gardens for the delight both of its forme and 
 colours” (Parkinson); yet it had a bad character, as we see 
 from two passages quoted by Steevens— 
 
 _ « What's that—a Columbine ? 
 
 No! that thankless flower grows not in my garden.” 
 Alt Fools, by CuarpMAn, 1605. 
 
 and again in the 15th Song of Drayton’s “ Polyolbion ”— 
 ‘The Columbine amongst they sparingly do set.” 
 
 Spenser gave it a better character. Among his “ gardyn of 
 sweet floures, that dainty odours from them threw around,” 
 he places 
 
 ‘Her neck lyke to a bounch of Cullambynes ;”’— 
 
 And, still earlier, Skelton (1463-1529) spoke of it as “the 
 “ Columbine commendable.” 
 
 Both the English and the Latin names are de- 
 scriptive of the plant. Columbine, or the Dove-plant, 
 calls our attention to the “resemblance of its nectaries 
 to the heads of pigeons in a ring round a dish, a 
 favourite device of ancient artists (Dr. Prior) ;” or to “ the 
 figure of a hovering dove with expanded wings, which we 
 obtain by pulling off a single petal with its attached sepals” 
 (Lady Wilkinson); while the Latin name, Aquilegia, is 
 generally supposed to come from aquilegus, a water-carrier, 
 alluding to the water-holding powers of the flower; it may, 
 however, be derived from aquiia, an eagle, but this seems 
 more doubtful. 
 
 As a favourite garden flower, the Columbine found its 
 way into heraldic blazonry. “It occurs in the crest of the old 
 
46 
 
 Barons Grey of Vitten, as may be seen in the garter coat of 
 William Grey of Vitten (Camden Society 1847), and is thus 
 described in the Painter’s bill for the ceremonial of the funeral 
 of William Lord Grey of Vitten (MS. Coll. of Arms, i, 13, 
 fol. 35a):—‘ Item, his creste with the favron, or, sette on a 
 leftehande glove, argent, out thereof issuyinge, caste over 
 threade, a braunch of Collobyns, blue, the stalk vert.” Old 
 Guillim also enumerates the Columbine among his “Coronary 
 Herbs,” as follows:—“ He beareth argent, a chevron sable 
 between three Columbines slipped proper, by the name of 
 Hall of Coventry. The Columbine is pleasing to the eye, as 
 well in respect of the seemly (and not vulgar) shape as in 
 regard of the azury colour thereof, and is holden to be very 
 medicinable for the dissolving of imposthumations or swell- 
 ings in the throat.”-- P. DE M. GREY EGERTON in Gardeners’ 
 Chronicle. 
 
 As a garden plant the Columbine still holds a favourite 
 place. Hardy, handsome, and easy of cultivation, it com- 
 mends itself to the most ornamental garden and to the cottage 
 garden, and there are so many different sorts (both species 
 and varieties) that all tastes may be suited. Of the common 
 species (A. vulgaris) there are double and single, blue, white, 
 and red; there is the beautiful dwarf A. pyrenaica, never 
 exceeding six inches in height, but of a very rich deep blue ; 
 there are the red and yellow ones (A. Skinneri and A. formosa) 
 from North America; and, to mention no more, there are the 
 lovely A. coerulea and the grand A. chrysantha from the Rocky 
 Mountains, certainly two of the most desirable acquisitions to 
 our hardy flowers that we have had in late years. 
 
 CORK. 
 
 (1) Rosalind. I prythee take the Cork out of thy mouth, that I 
 may hear thy tidings. As You Like It, act iii, se. 2. 
 (2) Clown. As good thrust a Cork into hogshead. 
 Winter's Tale, act iii, sc. 8. 
 (3) Cordeha. Bind fast his Corky arms. 
 King Lear, act iti, se. 7. 
 
 It is most probable that Shakespeare had no further 
 acquaintance with the Cork tree than his use of Corks. The 
 living tree was not introduced into England till the latter 
 
47 
 
 part of the seventeenth century, yet it is very fairly described 
 both by Gerarde and Parkinson, The Cork, however, was 
 largely imported, and was especially used for shoes. Not 
 only did “shoemakers put it in shoes and pantofles for 
 warmness sake,” but for its lightness it was used for the high- 
 heeled shoes of the fashionable ladies. I sup ose from the 
 following lines that these shoes were a distingu'shing part of 
 a bride’s trousseau :— 
 
 Strip off my bride’s array, 
 
 My Cork-shoes from my feet, 
 
 And, gentle mother, be not coy 
 
 To bring my winding sheet. 
 
 The Brides Burial.—Roxburghe Ballads. 
 
 The Cork tree is a necessary element in all botanic gardens, 
 but as an ornamental tree it is not sufficiently distinct from 
 the ex. Though a native of the south of Europe it is hardy 
 in England. 
 
 CORN. 
 
 (1) Gonzalo. No use of metal, Corn, or wine, or oil. 
 Tempest, act ii, se. 1. 
 
 (2) Duke. Our Corn’s to reap, for yet our tithe’s to sow. 
 Measure for Measure, act iv, se. 1. 
 
 (3) Zitania. Playing on pipes of Corn, 
 
 The green Corn 
 Hath rotted ere his youth attained a beard. 
 Midsummer Night's Dream, act ii, se. 2. 
 
 (4) K. Edward. What valiant foemen, like to autumn’s Corn, 
 Have we mowed down in tops of all their pride! 
 3rd Henry VI, act v, se. 7. 
 
 (5) Pucelle. Talk like the vulgar sort of market men 
 That come to gather money for their Corn. 
 1st Henry VI, act ii, se. 2. 
 
 Poor market folks that come to sell their corn. 
 Lhid, 
 
 Good morrow, gallants ! want ye Corn for bread ? 
 Lbid. 
 
Burgundy. 
 
 (6) Duchess. 
 
 (7) Warwick. 
 
 (8) Mowbray. 
 
 (9) Macbeth. 
 (10) Longaville. 
 (11) Biron. 
 
 (12) Edgar. 
 
 (13) Cordelia. 
 (14) Demetrius. 
 
 (15) Marcus. 
 
 (16) Pericles. 
 
 (17) Clown. 
 (18) Menenius. 
 
 Mareus. 
 
 Marcus. 
 Citizen. 
 Brutus. 
 Coriolanus. 
 
 48 
 
 T trust, ere long, to choke thee with thine own, 
 And make thee curse the harvest of that Corn. 
 Ibid. 
 Why droops my lord like over-ripened Corn 
 Hanging the head at Ceres’ plenteous load ? 
 2nd Henry VI, act i, se. 2. 
 
 His well-proportioned beard made rough and 
 
 ragged ! 
 Like to the summer’s Corn by tempest lodged. 
 Ibid, act i, se. 2. 
 We shall be winnowed with so rough a wind 
 That even our Corn shall seem as light as chaff. 
 2Qnd Henry IV, act iv, se. 1. 
 
 Though bladed Corn be ladged and trees blown 
 
 down. Macbeth, act 4, sc. 1. 
 He weeds the Corn, and still lets grow the 
 weeding. Love's Labours Lost, acti, se. 1. 
 
 Allons! allons! sowed Cockle reaped no Corn. 
 Ibid, act iv, se. 3. 
 Sleepest or wakest thou, jolly shepherd ? 
 Thy sheep be in the Corn. 
 King Lear, act iii, se. 6. 
 All the idle weeds that grow 
 In our sustaining Corn. Ibid. act iv, sc. 4. 
 
 First thrash the Corn, then after burn the straw. 
 Titus Andronicus, act 11, sc. 3. 
 First let me teach you how to knit again 
 This scattered Corn into one mutual sheaf. 
 7 Ibid, act v, se. 38. 
 
 Our ships are stored with Corn to make your 
 needy bread. Pericles, acti, sc. 4. 
 Your grace that fed my country with your Corn. 
 Ibid, act iii, se. 3. 
 For Corn at their own rates. 
 Coriolanus, acti, se. 1. 
 The gods send not Corn for the rich men only 
 Ibid.. 
 The Volsci have much Corn.—Jévd. 
 We stood up about the Corn.—Jbid, act 11, se. 3. 
 Corn was given them gratis.—Jbid, act ili, sc. 1. 
 Tell me of Corn !—Jéid. 
 The Corn of the storehouse gratis.—JLdid. 
 The Corn was not our recompense.—bid. 
 This kind of service 
 Did not deserve Corn gratis.—J bid. 
 
49 
 
 (19) Cranmer. Iam right glad to catch this good occasion 
 Most thoroughly to be winnowed, where my chaff 
 And Corn shall fly asunder. 
 Hensy VITT, act v, se. 1. 
 (20) Cranmer. Her foes shake like a field of beaten Corn 
 And hang their heads with sorrow. 
 Lbid., act v, se. 4. 
 (21) K. Richard. We'll make foul weather with despised tears ; 
 Our sighs and they shall lodge the summer Corn. 
 Richard IT, act iti, se. 3. 
 (22) As Corn o’ergrown by weeds, so heedful fear 
 
 Is almost choked by unresisted lust. 
 Rape of Luerece. 
 
 I have made these quotations as short as possible. They 
 could not be omitted, but they require no comment 
 
 COWSLIP. 
 
 (1) Burgundy. The even mead that erst brought sweetly forth 
 The freckled Cowslip, Burnet, and sweet Clover. 
 Henry V, act v, sc. 2. 
 (2) Queen. ‘The Violets, Cowslips, and the Primroses 
 Bear to my closet. Cymbeline, act 1, se. 6. 
 (3) Lachimo. On her left breast 
 A mole, cinque-spotted, like the crimson drops 
 LP the bottom of a Cowslip. Jiid., act uu, se. 2. 
 (4) Ariel. | Where the bee sucks there lurk I, 
 In a Cowslip’s bell I he. Tempest, act v, sc. 1. 
 (5) Thisbe. Those yellow Cowslip cheeks. 
 Midsummer Night's Dream, act v, se. 1. 
 (6) Fairy. ‘The Cowslips tall her pensioners be ; 
 In their gold coats spots you see ; 
 Those be rubies, fairy favours, 
 In those freckles live their savours ; 
 I must go seek some dewdrops here, 
 
 And hang a pearl in every Cowslip’s ear. 
 Ibid., act ii, se. 1. 
 
 “ Cowslips! how the children love them, and go out into 
 the fields on the sunny April mornings to collect them in 
 their little baskets, and then come home and pick the pips 
 
 KE 
 
50 
 
 to make sweet unintoxicating wine, preserving at the same 
 time untouched a bunch of the goodliest flowers as a harvest- 
 sheaf of beauty! and then the white soft husks are gathered 
 into balls and tossed from hand to hand till they drop to 
 pieces, to be trodden upon and forgotten. And so at last, 
 when each sense has had its fill of the flower, and they are 
 thoroughly tired of their play, the children rest from their 
 celebration of the Cowslip. Blessed are such flowers that 
 appeal to every sense.” So wrote Dr. Forbes Watson in his 
 very pretty and Ruskinesque little work, “Flowers and 
 Gardens,” and the passage well expresses one of the chief 
 charms of the Cowslip. It is the most favourite wild flower 
 with children. It must have been also a favourite with 
 Shakespeare, for his descriptions show that he had studied it 
 with affection. Milton, too, sings in its praise :— 
 
 Now the bright morning star, day’s harbinger, 
 Comes dancing from the East, and leads with her 
 The flowering May, who from her green lap throws 
 The yellow Cowslip and the pale Primrose. 
 Song on May Morning. 
 Whilst from off the waters fleet, 
 Then I set my printless feet 
 O'er the Cowslip’s velvet head 
 That bends not as I tread. 
 Sabrina’s Song in ‘* Comus.”? 
 But in Lycidas he associates it with more melancholy 
 ideas :— 
 With Cowslips wan that hang the pensive head, 
 And every flower that sad embroidery wears. 
 
 This association of sadness with the Cowslip is copied by 
 Mrs. Hemans, who speaks of “ Pale Cowslips, meet for 
 maiden’s early bier ;” but these are exceptions. All the other 
 poets who have written of the Cowslip (and they are very 
 numerous) tell of its joyousness, and brightness, and tender 
 beauty, and its “bland, yet Iuscious, meadow-breathing 
 scent.” 
 
 The names of the plant are a puzzle; botanically it is a 
 Primrose, but it is never so called. It has many names, but 
 its most common are Paigle and Cowslip. Paigle has never 
 been satisfactorily explained, nor has Cowslip. Our great 
 etymologists, Cockayne, and Dr. Prior, and Wedgwood, are 
 all at variance on the name, and Dr. Prior assures us that it 
 has nothing to do with either “cows” or “lips,” though 
 the derivation, if untrue, is at least as old as Ben 
 
51 
 
 Jonson, who speaks of ‘Bright Dayes-eyes and the lips of 
 Cowes.’ But we all believe it has, and without inquiring 
 too closely into the etymology, we connect the flower with 
 the rich pastures and meadows of which it forms so pretty a 
 spring ornament, while its fine scent recalls the sweet breath 
 of the cow, “just such a sweet, healthy odour is what we find 
 in cows; an odour which breathes around them as they sit at 
 rest on the pasture, and is believed by many, perhaps with 
 truth, to be actually curative of disease” (Forbes Watson). 
 
 Botanically, the Cowslip is a very interesting plant. In 
 all essential points the Primrose, Cowslip, and Oxlip are 
 identical; the Primrose, however, choosing woods and copses 
 and the shelter of the hedgerows, the Cowslip choosing the 
 open meadows, while the Oxlip is found in either. The 
 garden “ Polyanthus of unnumbered dyes” is only another 
 form produced by cultivation, and is one of the most 
 favourite plants in cottage gardens. It may, however, well 
 be grown in gardens of more pretension; it is neat in growth, 
 handsome in flower, of endless variety, and easy cultivation. 
 There are also many varieties of the Cowslip, of different 
 colours, double and single, which are very useftl in the 
 spring garden. 
 
 CRABS (see APPLE). 
 
 CROCUS (see SAFFRON}. 
 
 CROW-FLOWERS. 
 
 Queen. Therewith fantastic garlands did she make 
 Of Crow-flowers, Daisies, Nettles, and Long Purples. 
 Hamlet, act iv, se. 7. 
 
 The Crow-flower is now the Buttercup, but in Shakespeare’s 
 time it was applied to the Ragged Robin (Lychnis flos-cuculi), 
 and I should think that this was the flower that poor Ophelia 
 wove into her garland. Gerarde says, “They are not used 
 either in medicine or in nourishment; but they serve for 
 garlands and crowns, and to deck up gardens.” We do not 
 
 EF? 
 
52 
 
 now use the Ragged Robin for the decking of our gardens, 
 not that we despise it, for it is a flower that all admire in 
 the hedgerows, but because we have other members of the 
 same family as easy to grow and more handsome, such as the 
 double variety of the wild plant, L. chalcedonica, L. lagasce, 
 L. fulgens, L. Haagena, &c., 
 
 CROWN IMPERIAL. 
 
 Perdita. Bold Oxlips and 
 The Crown Imperial. Winter's Tale, act iv, se. 3. 
 
 The Crown Imperial is a Fritillary (I. imperialis). It is 
 a native of Persia, Affghanistan, and Cashmere, but it was 
 very early introduced into England from Constantinople, and 
 at once became a favourite. Chapman, in 1595, spoke of it 
 as-— 
 Fair Crown Imperial, Emperor of Flowers 
 Ovin’s Banquet of Sence. 
 
 Gerarde had it plentifully in his garden, and Parkinson 
 gave it the foremost place in his “ Paradisus Terrestris.” 
 “The Crown Imperial,” he says, “for its stately beautifulnesse 
 deserveth the first place in this our garden of delight, to be 
 here entreated of before all other Lillies.” And if not in 
 Shakespeare’s time, yet certainly very soon after there were 
 as many varieties as there are now. The plant, as a florist’s 
 flower, has stood still in a very remarkable way. Though 
 it is apparently a plant that invites the attention of the 
 hybridizing gardener, yet we still have but the two colours, 
 the red and the yellow (a pure white would be a great 
 acquisition), with double flowers, flowers in tiers, and with 
 variegated leaves. And all these varieties have existed for 
 two-hundred years. 
 
 As a stately garden plant it should be in every garden. It 
 flowers early, and then dies down. But it should be planted 
 rather in the background, as the whole plant has an evil 
 smell, especially in sunshine. Yet it should have a close 
 attention, if only to study and admire the beautiful interior 
 of the flower. I know of no other flower that is similarly 
 formed, and it cannot be better described than in Gerarde’s 
 words :—* In the bottome of each of the bells there is placed 
 six drops of most cleere shining sweet water, in taste like 
 
53 
 
 sugar, resembling in shew faire Orient pearles, the which 
 drops if you take away, there do immediately appeare the 
 like ; notwithstanding, if they may be suffered to stand still 
 in the floure according to his owne nature, they wil never 
 fall away, no, not if you strike the plant untill it be broken.” 
 How these drops are formed, and what service they perform 
 in the economy of the flower has not been explained, as far 
 as Jam aware; but there is a pretty German legend which 
 tells how the flower was originally white and erect, and grew 
 in its full beauty in the garden of Gethsemane, where it was 
 often noticed and admired by our Lord; but in the night of 
 the agony, as our Lord passed through the garden, all the 
 other flowers bowed their head in sorrowful adoration, the 
 Crown Imperial alone remaining with its head unbowed, but 
 not for long—sorrow and shame took the place of pride, she 
 bent her proud* head, and blushes of shame, and tears of 
 sorrow soon followed, and so she has ever continued, with 
 bent head, blushing colour, and ever-flowing tears. It isa 
 pretty legend, and may be found at full length in “ Good 
 Words for the Young,” August, 1870. 
 
 CUCKOO BUDS AND FLOWERS. 
 
 (1) Song of Spring. 
 When Daisies pied, and Violets blue, 
 And Lady-smocks all silver-white, 
 And Cuckoo-buds of yellow hue 
 Do paint the meadows with delight. 
 Love’s Labours Lost, act v, sc. 2. 
 
 (2) Cordelia He was met even now 
 As mad as the vexed sea—singing aloud ; 
 Crown’d with rank Fumiter and Furrow weeds, 
 With Burdocks, Hemlock, Nettles, Cuckoo-flowers, 
 Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow 
 In our sustaining Corn. 
 King Lear, act iv, se. 4. 
 
 There is a difficulty in deciding what flower Shakespeare 
 meant by Cuckoo-buds. We now always give the name to the 
 Meadow Cress (Cardamine pratensis), but it cannot be that in 
 either of these passages, because that flower is mentioned 
 
 * The bent head of the Crown Imperial could not well escape notice :— 
 “he Polyanthus, and with prudent head 
 The Crown Imperial, ever bent on earth, 
 Favouring her secret rites, and pearly sweets,” —Sorster, 
 
54 
 
 under its other name of Lady-smocks in the previous line 
 (No.1), nor is it “of yellow hue ;” nor does it grow among 
 Corn, as described in No. 2. Many plants have been sug- 
 gested, and the choice seems to me to lie between two. Mr. 
 Swinfen Jervis * decides without hesitation in favour of cow- 
 slips, and the yellow hue painting the meadows in spring 
 time gives much force to the decision; but I think the 
 Buttercup, as suggested by Dr. Prior, will still better meet 
 the requirements. 
 
 CURRANTS. 
 
 Clown. What ain I to bring for our shearing feast ? Three 
 pounds of sugar, five pounds of Currants. 
 Winter's Tale, act iv, se. 2. 
 
 These are the Currants of commerce, the fruit of the 
 Vitis Corinthiaca, whence the fruit has derived its name of 
 Cor: ‘Currants. The English Currants are of ¢ irel 
 
 orans, or Currants. 1e English Currants are of an entirely 
 different family. 
 
 CYPRESS.+ 
 
 (1) Suffolk. Then sweetest shade, a grove of Cypress trees! 
 2nd Henry VI, act iti, se. 2. 
 (2) Aufidius. I am attended at the Cypress grove. 
 | Coriolanus, act 1, sc. 10. 
 (3) Gremio. In ivory coffers I have stuffed my crowns, — 
 
 In Cypress chests my arras. 
 : Taming of the Shrew, act i, se. 1. 
 
 The Cypress (Cupressus sempervirens), originally a native 
 of Mount Taurus, is found abundantly through all the south 
 of Europe, and is said to derive its name from the Island of 
 Cyprus. It was introduced into England many years before 
 
 * Dictionary of the language of Shakespeare, 1868. 
 + Cypress or Cyprus (for the word is spelt differently in the different editions is 
 also mentioned by Shakespeare in the following :—- 
 
 (1) Clown. In sad Cypress let me be laid. Twelfth Night, act ii, se. 4. 
 (2) Olivia. To one ef your receiving 
 
 Enough is shown ; and Cyprus, not a bosom, 
 
 Hides my poor heart. Ibid, act iii, se. 1. 
 3) Autolycus. Lawn as white as driven snow, 
 
 Cyprus, black as e’er was crow. Winter's Tale, act iv, se. 3. 
 
 But in all these cases the Cypress is not the name of the plant, but is the fabric 
 which we now call crape, the ‘sible stole of Cypre’s lawn’ of MILTON’s Penseroso. 
 
55 
 
 Shakespeare’s time, but is always associated in the old authors 
 with funerals and churchyards; so that Spenser calls it the 
 ‘Cypress funereal,’ which epithet he may have taken from 
 Pliny’s description of the Cypress ;— Natu morosa, fructu 
 supervacua, baccis torva, foliis amara, odore violenta, ac ne 
 umbra quidem gratiosa—Diti sacra, et ideo funebri signo ad 
 domos posita.”—Nat. Hist., xvi, 33. 
 
 Sir John Mandeville mentions the Cypress in a very 
 curious way :—‘ The Cristene men, that dwellen beyond the 
 See, in Grece, seyn that the tree of the Cros, that we callen 
 Cypresse, was of that tree that Adam ete the Appule of; and 
 that. fynde thei writen.”-—-Voiage, c., cap. 2. 
 
 “In the Arundel MS. 42 may be found an alphabet of 
 plants. . , The author mentions his garden ¢ by Steben- 
 aythe by syde London,’ and relates that he brought a bough 
 of Cypress with its Apples from Bristol ‘into Estbritzlond,’ 
 fresh in September, to show that it might be propagated by 
 slips.”"—-Promptorium Parvulorum, app. 67. 
 
 The Cypress is an ornamental evergreen, but stiff in its 
 growth till it becomes of a good age; and for garden purposes 
 the European plant is becoming replaced by the richer forms 
 from Asia and North America, such as C. Lawsoniana, macro- 
 carpa, Lambertiana, and others. 
 
 DAFFODILS.* 
 
 (1) Autolycus. When Daffodils begin to peer, 
 With heigh! the doxy o’er the dale, 
 Why, then comes in the sweet 0 the year. 
 Winter’s Tale, act iv, se. 8. 
 (2) Perdita. Daffodils 
 That come before the swallow dares, and take 
 The winds of March with beauty. 
 Ibid., act iv, se. 4. 
 
 Of all English plants there have been none in such constant 
 favour as the Daffodil, whether known by its classical name 
 of Narcissus, or by its more popular names of Daffodil, or 
 Daftadowndilly, and Jonquil. The name of Narcissus it gets 
 from being supposed to be the same as the plant so named 
 
 * This account of the Daffodil, and the accounts of some other flowers, I have 
 taken from a paper by myself on the common English names cf plants read to the 
 
 Bath Field Club in 1870, and publjshed in the Zransactions th Club, and after- 
 wards privately printed.- H.N.E. 
 
56 
 
 by the Greeks first and the Romans afterwards. It is a 
 a question whether the plants are the same, and I believe 
 most authors think they are not; but I have never been able 
 to see very good reasons for their doubts. The name Jonquil 
 comes corrupted through the French, from “ juncifolius” or 
 “ yush-leaf,” and is properly restricted to those species of the 
 family which have rushy leaves. ‘ Daffodil” is commonly 
 said to be a corruption of Asphodel, with which plant it was 
 confused (as it is in Lyte’s “ Herbal,”) but Lady Wilkinson 
 says very positively that “it is simply the old English 
 word ‘affodyle, which signifies ‘that which cometh early.” 
 “ Daffadowndilly,” again is supposed to be but a playful 
 corruption of © Daffodil,” but Dr. Prior argues (and he is 
 a very safe authority) that it is rather a corruption of 
 “ Saffron Lily.” Daffadowndilly is not used by Shakespeare, 
 but it is used by his contemporaries, as by Spenser, frequently, 
 and by H. Constable, who died in 1604 :-— 
 
 Diaphenia, like the Daffadowndilly, 
 White as the sun, fair as the Lilly, 
 Heigh, ho! how I do leve thee! 
 
 But however it derived its pretty names, it was the favourite 
 flower of our ancestors as a garden flower, and especially as 
 the flower for making garlands, a custom very much more 
 common then than it is now. It was the favourite of all 
 English poets from the time ef Shakespeare to our own time. 
 Shakespeare must have had a special affection for it, for in 
 all his descriptions there is none prettier or more suggestive 
 than Perdita’s short but charming description of the Daffodil 
 (No. 2). A small volume might be filled with the many 
 poetical descriptions of this “delectable and sweet-smelling 
 flower,” but there are two especially which are almost classical, 
 and which can never be omitted, and which will bear repeti- 
 tion, however well we know them. There are Hervick’s well 
 known lines :—- 
 
 Fair Daffodils, we weep to see 
 You haste away so soon, 
 As yet the early-rising sun 
 Has not attained his noon ; 
 Stay, stay, 
 Until the hastening day 
 Has run 
 But to the even-song ; 
 And having prayed together, we 
 Will go with you along. 
 
57 
 
 We have short time to stay as you, 
 We have as short a spring, 
 As quick a growth to meet decay, 
 As you or anything. 
 We die, 
 As your hours do, and dry 
 Away, ) 
 Like to the summev’s rain, 
 
 Or as the pearls of morning dew, 
 Ne’er to be found again. 
 
 And there are Keats’ well known and beautiful lines which 
 
 bring down the praises of the Daffodil to our own day. He 
 says :— 
 
 A thing of beauty is a joy for ever, 
 
 Its loveliness increases, it will never 
 
 Pass into nothingness. . . . 
 
 ae Oe 2s In spite of all 
 
 Some shape of beauty moves away the pale 
 From our dark spirits, Such the sun, the moon, 
 Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boon 
 For simple sheep ; and such are Daffodils 
 
 With the green world they live in. 
 
 But it is time to come to prose. The Daffodil of Shake- 
 speare is the wild Daffodil (Narcissus pseudo-Narcissus) that 
 is found in abundance in many parts of England. This is the 
 true English Daffodil, and there is only one other species that 
 is truly native—the N. biflorus, chiefly found in Devonshire. 
 But long before Shapespeare’s time a vast number had been 
 introduced from different parts of Europe, so that Gerarde 
 was able to describe twenty-four different species, and had 
 “them all and every of them in our London gardens in great 
 abundance.” The family, as at present arranged by Mr. 
 J.G. Baker, of the Kew Herbarium, consists of twenty-one 
 species, with several sub-species and varieties; all of which 
 should be grown, They are all, with the exception of the 
 Algerian species, which almost defy cultivation in England, 
 most easy of cultivation—-“ Maena curd non indigent Nar- 
 cissi.” They only require after the first planting to be let alone, 
 and then they will give us their graceful flowers in varied 
 beauty trom February to May. The first will usually be the 
 grand N. maximus, which may be called the King of Daffodils, 
 though some authors have given to it a still more illustrious 
 name. ‘The “ Rose of Sharon was the large yellow Narcissus, 
 common in Palestine and the East generally, of which 
 
58 
 
 Mahomet said—‘ He that has two cakes of bread, let him 
 sell one of them for some flower of the Narcissus, for bread 
 is the food of the body, but Narcissus is the food of the soul.’ ” 
 From these grand leaders of the tribe we shall be led through 
 the Hoop-petticoats, the many-flowered Tazettas, and the 
 sweet Jonquils, till we end the Narcissus season with the 
 Poets’ Narcissus, (Ben Jonson’s ‘chequ’d and purple-ringed 
 Daffodilly’) certainly one of the most graceful flowers that 
 grows, and of a peculiar fragrance that no other flower has; 
 so beautitul is it, that even Dr. Forbes Watson’s description 
 of it is scarcely too glowing :—* In its general expression the 
 Poets’ Narcissus seems a type of maiden purity and beauty, 
 yet warmed by a love-breathing fragrance; and yet what 
 innocence in the large soft eye, which few can rival amongst 
 the whole tribe of flowers. The narrow, yet vivid fringe of 
 red, so clearly seen emidst the whiteness, suggests again the 
 idea of purity, gushing passion—purity with a heart which 
 ean kindle into fire.” 
 
 DAISIES. 
 
 (1) Song of Spring. When Daisies pied and Violets, &c. 
 Love's Labours Lost, act v, sc. 2. (See Cuckoo-Bups). 
 (2) Lucius. Let us 
 Find out the prettiest Daisied plot we can, 
 And make him with our pikes and partizans 
 A grave. Cymbeline, act iv, sc. 2. 
 (3) Ophelia. There’s a Daisy. Hamlet, act iv, se. 5. 
 (4) Queen. Therewith fantastic garlands did she make 
 OfCrow-flowers, Nettles, Daisies, and Long Purpies. 
 Ibid., act 4, se. 7. 
 (5) Without the bed her other faire hand was 
 On the green coverlet, whose perfect white 
 Showed like an April Daisy on the Grass. 
 Lape of Lucrece. 
 See APPENDIX. 
 
 DAMSONS. (See PLums ) 
 
DARNEL. 
 
 (1) Cordelia. Darnel and all the idle weeds that grow 
 In our sustaining Corn. 
 iting Lear, act iv, sc. 4. (See Cuckoo-FLowErs). 
 
 (2) Burgundy. Her fallow lees, 
 The Darnel, Hemlock, and rank Fumitory, 
 Doth feed upon. Henry V, act v, se. 2. 
 
 Virgu, in his Fifth Eclogue, says :— 
 Grandia seepe quibus mandavimus hordea solcis 
 Infelix Jolium et steriles dominantur avenz. 
 
 Thus translated by Thomas Newton, 1587 :— 
 
 Sometimes there sproutes abundant store 
 Of baggage, noisome weeds, 
 
 Burres, Brembles, Darnel, Cockle, Dawke, 
 Wild Oates, and choaking seedes. 
 
 And the same is repeated in the first Georgic, and in both 
 places loliwm is always translated Darnel, and so by common 
 consent Darnel is identified with the Lolium temulentum’or 
 wild rye grass. But in Shakespeare’s time Darnel, like Cockle 
 (which see), was the general name for any hurtful weed. In 
 the old translation of the Bible, the Zizania, which is now 
 translated Tures, was sometime translated Cockle.* and 
 Newton, writing in Shakespeare’s time, says :—‘¢ Under the 
 name of Cockle and Dernel is comprehended all vicious, 
 noisom and unprofitable graine, encombring and hindring 
 good corne.”—Herball to the Bible. The Darnel is not 
 only injurious from choking the corn, but its seeds become 
 mixed with the true Wheat, and so in Dorsetshire—and 
 perhaps in other parts—it has the name of “Cheat” 
 (Barnes’ Glossary), from its false likeness to Wheat. It 
 was this false likeness that got for it its bad character. - 
 ** Darnell or Juray,” says Lyte (Herball, 1578), “isa vitious 
 graine that combereth or anoyeth corne, especially Wheat, 
 and in his knotten straw, blades, or leaves is like unto 
 Wheate.” 
 
 * “When men were a sleepe, his enemy came‘ and oversowed Cockle among the 
 
 wheate, and went his way.” —Rheims Traits., 1582. us 
 
60 
 
 DATES. 
 
 (1) Clown. I must have Saffron to colour my warden pies; 
 Mace; Dates, none; that is out of my note. 
 Winter's Tale, act iv, se. 2. 
 (2) Nurse. They call for Dates and Quinces in the pantry. 
 Romeo and Juliet, act iv, se. 4. 
 (8) Parolles. Your Date is better in your pie and your porridge 
 than in your cheek. 
 All’s Well that Ends Well, act i, se. 1. 
 (4) Pandarus. Do you know what aman is? Is not birth, beauty, 
 good shape, discourse, manhood, learning, gentle- 
 ness, virtue, youth, liberality, and such like, the 
 spice and salt that season a man ? 
 Cressida. Ay. aminced man; end then to be baked with no 
 Date in the pye ;—for then the man’s date is out. 
 Trotlus and Cressida, act i, se. 2. 
 
 The Date is the well-known fruit of the Date Palm (Phoenix 
 dactylifera) the most northern of the Palms. The Date Palm 
 grows over the whole of Southern Europe, North Africa, and 
 South-eastern Asia; but it is not probable that. Shakespeare 
 ever saw the tree, though Neckam speaks of it in the tweifth 
 century, and Lyte describes it, and Gerarde made many 
 efforts to grow it; he tried to grow plants from the seed, ‘*the 
 which I have planted many times in my garden, and have 
 grown to the height of three foot, but the first frost hath 
 nipped them in such sort that they perished, notwithstanding 
 mine industrie by covering them, or what else I could do for 
 their succour.” The fruit, however, was imported into England 
 in very early times, and was called by the Anglo-Saxons 
 Finger-Apples, a curious name, but easily explained as the 
 translation of the Greek name for the fruit, dezrvarce. 
 
 DEWBERRIES. 
 
 Titania. Feed him with Apricocks and Dewberries. 
 Midsummer Nights Dream, act 11, se. 1. 
 
 The Dewberry (Rubus cesius) is a handsome fruit, very 
 like the Blackberry, but coming earlier. It has a peculiar 
 sub-acid flavour, which is much admired by some, as it must 
 
61 
 
 have been by Titania, who joins it with such fruits as 
 Apricots, Grapes, Figs, and Mulberries. It may be readily 
 distinguished from the Blackberry by the fruit being com- 
 posed of a few larger drupes, and being covered with a 
 olancous bloom. 
 
 DOCKS. 
 
 (1) Burgundy. And nothing teems 
 But hateful Docks, rough Thistles, Kecksies, Burs. 
 Henry V, act v, se. 2. 
 (2) Antonio. He’d sow it with Nettle seed, 
 Sebastian. Or Docks, or Mallows. Zempest, act ii, se. 1. 
 
 The Dock may be dismissed without further note or 
 comment. 
 
 EBONY. 
 
 (1) King. The Ebon-coloured ink. 
 Love's Labours Lost, act i, se. 1. 
 (2) King. By heaven, thy love is black as Kbony. 
 Biron. Is Ebony like her? O wood divine! 
 A wife of such wood were felicity. 
 Ibid., act iv, se. 3. 
 (3) Clown. The clearstores towards the south north are as. 
 lustrous as Ebony. Twelfth Night, act iv, se. 2. 
 (4) Pistol. Rouse up revenge from Ebon dew. 
 2nd Henry LV, act ii, se. 4. 
 
 The Ebony as a tree was unknown in England in the time 
 of Shakespeare. The wood was introduced, and was the 
 typical emblem of darkness. The timber is the produce of 
 more than one species, but comes chiefly from Diogpyros 
 Ebenum, Ebenaster, Melanoxylon, Mabola, &e. (Lindley), all 
 natives of the Kast. 
 
EGLANTINE. 
 
 (1) Oberon. I know a bank whereon the wild Thyme blows, 
 Where Oxlips and the nodding Violet grows; 
 Quite over-canopied with lush Woodbine, 
 With sweet Musk-Roses, and with Eglantine. 
 Midsummer Night’s Dream, act ii, se. 2. 
 (2) Arviragus. Thou shalt not lack 
 The flower that’s like thy face, pale Primrose ; nor 
 The azured Harebell, like thy veins; no, nor 
 The leaf of EKglantine, whom not to slander, 
 Out-sweetened not thy breath. 
 Cymbeline, act iv, se. 2. 
 
 If Shakespeare had only written these two passages they 
 would sufficiently have told of his love for simple flowers. 
 None but a dear lover of such flowers could have written these 
 lines. There can be no doubt that the Eglantine in his time 
 was the Sweet Brier—his notice of the sweet leaf makes this 
 certain. Gerarde so calls it, but makes some confusion— 
 which it is not easy to explain—by saying that the flowers 
 are white, whereas the flowers of the true Sweet Brier are 
 pink. In the earlier poets the name seems to have been 
 given to any wild Rose, and Milton certainly did not con- 
 sider the Eglantine and the Sweet Brier to be identical. He 
 says (L’ Allegro) :— 
 
 Through the Sweet Briar or the Vine, 
 Or the twisted Kglantine. 
 
 But Milton’s knowledge of flowers was very limited. Herrick 
 has some pretty lines on the flower, in which it seems most 
 probable that he was referring to the Sweet Brier :— 
 
 From this bleeding hand of mine 
 Take this sprig of Eglantine, 
 
 Which, though sweet unto your smell, 
 Yet the fretful Briar will tell, 
 
 He who plucks the sweets shall prove 
 Many thorns to be in love. 
 
 It was thus the emblem of pleasure mixed with pain— 
 
 Sweet is the Eglantine, but pricketh nere. 
 SPENSER, Sonnet xxvi. 
 
63. 
 
 and so its names pronounced it to be; it was either the Sweet 
 Brier, or it was Eglantine, the thorny plant (Fr: aiglentier\. 
 There was also an older name for the plant, of which I can 
 give no explanation. It was called Bedagar. “Bedagar 
 dicitur gallice aiglentier.”—John de Gerlande. “ Bedagrage, 
 spina alba, wit-thorn.”—Harl. MS., No. 978 in Reliquie 
 Antique, i, 36.* 
 
 It is a native of Britain, but not very common, being 
 chiefly confined to the South of England, I have found 
 it on Maidenhead Thicket. As a garden plant it is 
 desirable for the extremely delicate scent of its leaves, but 
 the flower is not equal to others of the family. There is, 
 however, a double-flowered variety, which is handsome. The 
 fruit of the single flowered tree is large, and of a deep red 
 colour, and is said to be sometimes made into a preserve. In 
 modern times this is seldom done, but it may have been com- 
 mon in Shakespeare’s time, for Gerarde says quaintly—* The 
 fruit when it is ripe maketh most pleasant meats and 
 banqueting dishes, as tarts and such like, the making whereof 
 I commit to the cunning cooke, and teeth to eat them in the 
 rich man’s mouth.” “Eglantine has a further interest in being 
 one of the many thorny trees from which the sacred crown of 
 thorns was supposed to be made—* And afterwards he was led 
 ‘Into a garden of Cayphas, and there he was crowned with 
 Kglantine.”--Sir John Mandeville. 
 
 ELDER. 
 
 (1) Arviragus. And let the stinking Elder, grief, entwine 
 His perishing root with the increasing Vine. 
 Cymbeline, act iv, sc. 2. 
 (2) Hostess. What says my Zisculapius? my Galen? my heart 
 of Elder ? Merry Wives, act ii, se. 8. 
 
 (3) Saturninus. Look for thy reward 
 Among the Nettles at the Elder tree, 
 
 This is the pit and this the Elder tree. 
 3 Titus Andronicus, act ii, se. 4. 
 (4) Williams. That’s a perilous shot out of an Elder gun, that a 
 poor and private displeasure can do against a 
 monarch. Henry V, act iv, se. 1. 
 
 * Est et cynosrodos, rosa camina, ung eglanticr, folia myrti habens, sed paulo 
 majora; recta assurgens in mediam altitudinem inter arborem et fruticem : fert 
 spongiolas, quibus utuntur medici, ad malefica capitis ulcera, la malle tigne, 
 vocatur antem vulgo in officinis pharmacopolarum, bedegar.—Stephani de ve 
 h ortensi libellus, p. 17, 1586. 
 
64 
 
 (5) Holofernes. Begin, sir, you are my Elder. 
 Biron. Well followed; Judas was hanged on an Elder. 
 Love’s Labours Lost, act v, sce. 2. 
 
 There is, perhaps, no tree round which so much of contra- 
 dictory folk-lore has gathered as the Elder tree.* With many 
 it was simply “the stinking elder,” of which nothing but 
 evil could be spoken. Biron (No. 5) only spoke the common 
 medizval notion that “ Judas was hanged on an Elder ;” ard 
 so firm was this belief that Sir John Mandeville was shown 
 the identical tree at Jerusalem, “and faste by is zit, the 
 Tree of Eldre that Judas henge himself upon, for despeyr 
 that he hadde, when he solde and betrayed oure Lord.” This 
 was enough to give the tree a bad fame, which other things 
 helped to. confirm—the evil smell of its leaves, the heavy 
 narcotic smell of its flowers, its hard and heartless wood,t 
 and the ugly drooping black fungus that is almost exclu- 
 sively found on it (though it occurs also on the Elm), which 
 was vulgarly called the Ear of Judas (Hirneola auricula 
 Jude). This was the bad character; but, on the other hand, 
 there were many who could tell of its many virtues, so that 
 in 1644 appeared a book entirely devoted to its praises. 
 This was *“ The Anatomie of the Elder, translated from the 
 Latin of Dr. Martin Blockwich by C. de Iryngio” (7.e. Christ. 
 Irvine), a book that, in its Latin and English form, went 
 through several editions. And this favourable estimate of 
 the tree is still very common in several parts of the Continent. 
 In the south of Germany it is believed to drive away evil 
 spirits, and the name “‘ Holderstock’ (Elder Stock) is a 
 term of endearment given by a lover to his beloved, and is 
 connected with Hulda, the old goddess of love, to whom the 
 Elder tree was considered sacred. In Denmark and Norway 
 it is held in like esteem, and in the Tyrol an “ Elder bush, 
 trained into the form of a cross, is planted on the new-made 
 erave, and if it blossoms the soul of the person lying beneath 
 it is happy.” And this use of the Elder for funeral purposes 
 was, perhaps, also an old English custom; for Spenser, 
 speaking of Death, says :— 
 
 The Muses that were wont greene Baies to weare, 
 Now bringen bittre Eldre braunches seare. 
 Shepherd's Calendar, November. 
 
 Nor must we pass by the high value that was placed on the 
 
 * Called also Eldern in the 16th and 17th centuries. 
 + From the facility with which the hard wood can be hollowed out, the tree was 
 from very ancient times, called the * Bore-tree,’ 
 
65 
 
 wood both by the Jews and Greeks. It was the wood chiefly 
 used for musical instruments, so that the name Sambuke was 
 applied to several very different instruments, from the fact 
 that they were all made of Elder wood. The “sackbut,” 
 “dulcimer,” and “pipe” of Daniel iii are all connected 
 together in this manner. 
 
 As a garden plant the common Elder is not admissible, 
 though it forms a striking ornament in the wild hedgerows 
 and copses, while its flowers yield the highly perfumed Elder- 
 flower water, and its fruits give the Elder wine; but the tree 
 runs into many varieties, several of which are very ornamental, 
 the leaves being often very finely divided and jagged, and 
 variegated both with golden and silver blotches There is a 
 handsome species from Canada (Sambucus Canadensis) which 
 is worth growing in shrubberies, as it produces its pure white 
 flowers in autumn. 
 
 ELM. 
 
 (1) Adriana. Thou art an Elm, my husband, I a Vine, 
 Whose weakness, married to thy stronger state, 
 Makes me with thy strength to communicate. 
 Comedy of Errors, act ii, sc. 2. 
 
 (2) Titania. The female Ivy so 
 Enrings the barky fingers of the Elm. 
 Midsummer Niyht?s Dream, act iv, se. 1. 
 
 (3) Poins. Answer, thou dead Elm, answer ! 
 2nd Henry IV, act ii, se. 4. 
 
 Though Vineyards were more common in England in the 
 sixteenth century than now, yet I can nowhere find that the 
 Vines were ever trained, in the Italian fashion, to Elms or 
 Poplars. Yet Shakespeare does not stand alone in thus 
 speaking of the Elm in its connection with the Vine. 
 Spenser speaks of “the Vine-prop Elme,” and Milton— 
 
 They led the Vine 
 To wed her Elm ; she spoused, about him twines 
 Her marriageable arms, and with her brings 
 Her dower, the adopted clusters, to adorn 
 His barren leaves. 
 
 F 
 
66 
 
 And Browne 
 
 She, whose inclination 
 Bent all her course to him-wards, let him know 
 He was the Elm, whereby her Vine did grow. 
 Britannia’s Pastorals, book i, song 1. 
 An Elm embraced by a Vine, 
 Clipping so strictly that they seemed to be 
 One in their growth, one shade, one fruit, one tree ; 
 Her boughs his arms; his leaves so mixed with hers, 
 That with no wind he moved, but straight she stirs. 
 | Ibid., ui, 4. 
 But I should think that neither Shakespeare, or Browne, 
 or Milton, ever saw an English Vine trained to an Elm; they 
 were simply copying from the classical writers. 
 
 ERYNGOES. 
 
 Falstaff. et the sky rain Potatoes ; let it thunder to the tune 
 of Green Sleeves, hail kissing comfits, and snow 
 Eryngoes. Merry Wives, act v, se. 5. 
 
 Gerarde tells us that Eryngoes are the candied roots of the 
 Sea Holly (Eryngium maritimum), and he gives the recipe for 
 candying them. Jam not aware that the Sea Holly is ever 
 now so used, but it isa very handsome plant as it is seen 
 growing on the sea-shore, and its fine foliage makes it an 
 ornamental plant fora garden. Butas used by Falstaff I am 
 inclined to think that the vegetable he wished for was the 
 Globe Artichoke, which is a near ally of the Eryngium, was a 
 favourite diet in Shakespeare’s time, and was reputed to have 
 certain special virtues which are not attributed to the Sea 
 Holly, but which would more accord with Falstaff’s character. 
 I cannot, however, anywhere find that the Artichoke was called 
 Eryngoes. 
 
 FENNEL. 
 
 (1) Ophelia. There’s Fennel for you and Columbines. 
 Hamlet, act iv, se. 5. 
 (2) Falstaff. He plays at quoits well, and eats conger and Fennel. 
 2nd Henry IV, act ii, se. 4. 
 
 Like all strongly-scented plants, the Fennel was supposed 
 to abound in “ virtues,” which cannot be told more pleasantly 
 than by Longtellow :— 
 
67 
 
 Above the lowly plants it towers, 
 
 The Fennel with its yellow flowers, 
 
 And in an earlier age than ours 
 
 Was gifted with the wondrous powers— 
 Lost vision to restore. 
 
 It gave men strength and fearless mood, 
 
 And gladiators fierce and rude 
 
 Mingled it with their daily food : 
 
 And he who battled and subdued— 
 A wreath of Fennel wore. 
 
 “Yet the virtues of Fennel, as thus enumerated by 
 Longfellow, do not comprise either of those attributes of the 
 plant which illustrate the two passages from Shakespeare. 
 The first alludes to it as an emblem of flattery, for which 
 ample authority has been found by the commentators. 
 Florio is quoted for the phrase ‘ Dare finocchio,’ to give fennel, 
 as meaning to flatter. In the second quotation the allusion 
 is to the reputation of fennel as an inflammatory herb with 
 much the same virtues as are attributed to Eryngoes.— 
 Mr. J. F. Marsh in The Garden. 
 
 The English name was directly derived from its Latin 
 name fceniculum, which may have been given it from its 
 hay-like smell (foenum), but this is not certain. We have 
 another English word derived from the Giant Fennel of the 
 south of Europe (ferula); this is the ferule, an instrument 
 of punishment for small boys, also adopted from the Latin, 
 the Roman schoolmaster using the stalks of the Fennel for 
 the same purpose as the modern schoolmaster uses the cane. 
 
 As a useful plant, the chief use is as a garnishing and sauce 
 for fish. Large quantities of the seed are said to be imported 
 to flavour gin, but this can scarcely be called useful. As 
 ornamental plants, the large Fennels (IF. tingitana, F. cam- 
 pestris, F. glauca, &c.) are very desirable where they can 
 have the necessary room. 
 
 FERN. 
 
 Gadshill. We have the receipt of Fern-seed—we walk invisible. 
 Chamberlain. Now, by my faith, I think you are more beholden 
 to the night than to Fern-seed for your walking invisible. 
 
 lst Henry IV, act 1, sc. 1. 
 
 There is a fashion in plants as in most other things, and in 
 none is this more curiously shown than in the estimation in 
 which Ferns are and have been held. Now-a-days it is the 
 
 2 
 F 
 
 ” 
 
68 
 
 fashion to admire Ferns, and few would be found bold enough 
 to profess an indifference to them. But it was not always so. 
 Virgil gives the Fern a bad character, speaking of it as “ filicem 
 invisam. Horace is still more severe, “ neglectis urenda filix 
 innascitur agris.” The Anglo-Saxon translation of Boethius 
 spoke contemptuously of “the Thorns, and the Furzes, and 
 the Fern, and all the weeds” (Cockayne). And so it was in 
 Shakespeare’s time. Butler spoke of it as the 
 
 Fern, that vile, unuseful weed, 
 That grows equivocably without seed. 
 
 And later still Gilpin, who wrote so much on the beauties of 
 country scenery at the close of the last century, has nothing 
 better to say for Ferns than that they are noxious weeds, to be 
 classed with “ Thorns and Briers, and other ditch trumpery.” 
 The fact, no doubt, is that Ferns were considered something 
 “uncanny and eerie ;” our ancestors could not understand a 
 plant which seemed to them to have neither flower nor seed, 
 and so they boldly asserted it had neither. ‘“ This kinde of 
 Ferne,” says Lyte in 1587, “ beareth neither flowers nor sede, 
 except we shall take for sede the black spots growing on the 
 backsides of the leaves, the whiche some do gather thinking 
 to worke wonders, but to say the trueth it is nothing els but 
 trumperie and superstition.” A plant so strange must needs 
 have strange qualities, but the peculiar power attributed to it 
 of making persons invisible arose thus :—It was the age in 
 which the doctrine of signatures was fully believed in; 
 according to which doctrine Nature, in giving particular 
 shapes to leaves and flowers, had thereby plainly taught for 
 what diseases they were specially useful. Thusa heart-shaped 
 leaf was for heart disease, a liver-shaped for the liver, a 
 bright-eyed flower was for the eyes, a foot-shaped flower or 
 leaf would certainly cure the gout, and so on; and then when 
 they found a plant which certainly grew and increased, but of 
 which the organs of fructification were invisible, it was a clear 
 conclusion that properly used the plant would confer the gift 
 of invisibility. Whether the people really believed this or 
 not we cannot say, but they were quite ready to believe any 
 wonder connected with the plant and so it was a constant 
 advertisement with the quacks. Even in Addison’s time “ it 
 was impossible to walk the streets without having an adver- 
 tisement thrust into your hand of a doctor who had arrived 
 at the knowledge of the Green and Red Dragon, and had dis- 
 covered the female Fern-seed. Nobody ever knew what this 
 
69 
 
 meant.”—Tatler, No. 240. But to name all the super- 
 stitions connected with the Fern would take too much space. 
 Its history as a garden plant is, however, worth a few lines. 
 So little has it been esteemed as a garden plant that Mr. J. 
 Smith, the ex-Curator of the Kew gardens, tells us that in 
 the year 1822 the collection of Ferns at Kew was so extremely 
 poor that “he could net estimate the entire Kew collection 
 of exotic Ferns at that period at more than forty species” 
 (Smith’s Ferns, British and Hxotic”—Introduction). Since 
 that time the steadily increasing admiration of Ferns has 
 caused collectors to send them from all parts of the 
 world, so that in 1866 Mr. Smith was enabled to describe 
 about a thousand species, and now the number must be much 
 larger; and the closer search for Ferns has further brought 
 into notice a very large number of most curious varieties and 
 monstrosities, which it is still more curious to observe are, 
 with very few exceptions, confined to the British species. 
 
 FIGS. 
 
 (1) Titania. Feed him with Apricocks and Dewberries, 
 With purple Grapes, green Figs, and Mulberries. 
 Midsummer Nights Dream, act 11i, se. 1. 
 (2) Constance. Av’ its grandam will 
 Give it a Plum, a Cherry, and a Fig. 
 King John, act ii, se. 1. 
 (2) Guard. Here is a rural fellow 
 That will not be denied your Highness’s presence, 
 He brings you Figs. 
 Antony and Cleopatra, act v, sc. 2. 
 (4) 1st Guard. A simple countryman that brought her eee i 
 ad. 
 Ditto. These Fig-leaves 
 Have slime upon them. | Ibid., act v, sc. 2. 
 (5) Pistol. When Pistol lies, do this; and Fig me, like 
 The bragging Spaniard. 
 Qnd Henry LV, act v, se. 3. 
 (6) Pistol. Die and be damned, and Figo for thy friendship. 
 Fluellen. It is well. oe 
 Pistol. The Fig of Spain. Henry V, act 1, se. 6. 
 (7) Pistol. The Fig for thee, then. Ibid., act iv, sc. 1. 
 
 (8) lags. Virtue! a Fig! Othello, act i, se. 3. 
 
70 
 
 (9) Lago Blessed Fig’s end! Othello, act 11, se. 1. 
 (10) Horner. V’ll pledge you all, and a Fig for Peter. 
 2nd Henry VI, act ii, se. 8. 
 (11) Pustol. Convey, the wise it call; steal! a Fico for the 
 phrase. Merry Wives, acti, se. 8. 
 (12) Charmian. O excellent! I love long life better than Figs. 
 Antony and Cleopatra, act i, se. 2. 
 
 In some of these passages (as 5, 6,7, and perhaps in more) 
 the reference is to a grossly insulting and indecent gesture 
 called “making the fig.” It was a most unpleasant custem, 
 which largely prevailed throughout Europe in Shakespeare’s 
 time, and on which I need not dwell. It is fully described in 
 Douce’s Illustrations of Shakespeare, i, 492. 
 
 In some of the other quotations the reference is simply to 
 the proverbial likeness of a Fig to a matter of the least 
 importance.” But, in the others, the dainty fruit, the green 
 Fig, is noticed. 
 
 The Fig tree, celebrated from the earliest times for the 
 beauty of its foliage, and for its “ sweetness and good fruit ” 
 (Judges ix, 11), is said to have been introduced into England 
 by the Romans; but the more reliable accounts attribute its 
 introduction to Cardinal Pole, who is said to have planted 
 the Fig tree still living at Lambeth Palace. Botanically, 
 the Fig is of especial interest. The Fig, as we eat it, is 
 neither fruit nor flower, though partaking of both, being 
 really the hollow, fleshy receptacle enclosing a multitude of 
 flowers, which never see the light, yet come to full perfection 
 and ripen their seed. The Fig stands alone in this peculiar 
 arrangement of its flowers, but there are other plants of 
 which we eat the unopened flowers, as the Artichoke, the 
 Cauliflower, the Caper, and the Clove. 
 
 FILBERTS. 
 
 Caliban. Til bring thee to clustering Filberds. 
 Tempest, act li, sc. 2. (See Hazzt). 
 
 * This proverbial worthlessness of the Fig is of ancient date. Theocritus speaks of 
 
 aN . pe . . 
 guxivot ayvoess, useless men; and Horace, ‘‘Olim truncus eram ficulnus, inutile 
 lignum.” 
 
71 
 
 FLAGS. 
 Cesar. This common body 
 Like to a vagabond Flag upon the stream 
 Goes to and back, lackeying the varying tide, 
 To rot itself with motion. 
 Anthony and Cleopatra, act i, se. 4. 
 
 We now commonly call the Iris a Flag, and in Shake- 
 speare’s time the Iris pseudo-acorus was called the Water 
 Flag, and so this passage might, perhaps, have been placed 
 under Flower-de-luce. But I do not think that the Flower- 
 de-luce proper was ever called a Flag at that time, whereas 
 we know that many plants, especially the Reeds and Bul- 
 rushes, were called in a general way Flags. This is the case 
 in the Bible, the language of which is always a safe guide in 
 the interpretation of contemporary literature. The mother 
 of Moses having placed the infant in the ark of Bulrushes, 
 *Jaid it in the Flags by the river’s brink,” and the daughter 
 of Pharaoh “saw the ark among the Flags.” Job asks, 
 “¢ Can the Flag grow without water ?” and Isaiah draws the 
 picture of desolation when “the brooks of defence shall be 
 emptied and dried up, and the Reeds and the Flags shall 
 wither.” But in these passages, not only is the original 
 word very loosely translated, but the original word itself was 
 so loosely used that long ago Jerome had said it might mean 
 any marsh plant, quidquid in palude virens nascitur. 
 And in the same way I conclude, that when Shakespeare 
 named the Flag he meant any long-leaved waterside plant 
 that is swayed to and fro by the stream, and that therefore 
 this passage might very properly have been placed under 
 _ Rushes. 
 
 FLAX. 
 
 (1) Lord. What, a hodge-pudding ? a bag of Flax ? 
 Merry Wives, act v, sc. 5. 
 (2) Clifford. Beauty, that the tyrant oft reclaims, 
 
 Shall to my flaming wrath be oil and Flax. 
 2nd Henry VI, act v, sc. 2. 
 
72 
 
 (3) Ser Zoby. Excellent, it hangs like Flax in a distaff. 
 Twelfth Night, act 1, se. 3. 
 (4) 38rd Servant. 
 Go thou: I'll fetch some Flax and white of eggs 
 Lo apply to his bleeding face. 
 King Lear, act iii, se. 7. 
 (5) Ophelia. His beard was as white as snow, 
 All Flaxen was his poll. Hamlet, act iv, sc. 
 
 (6) Leontes. My wife deserves a name 
 As rank as any Flax-wench. 
 Winter’s Tale, acti, se. 2. 
 
 Qn 
 
 The Flax of commerce (Linum usitatissimum) is not a true 
 native, but it takes kindly to the soil, and soon becomes 
 naturalized in the neighbourhood of any Flax field or mill. 
 We have, however, three native Flaxes in England, of which 
 the smallest, the Fairy Flax (1, catharticum), is one of the 
 most graceful ornaments of our higher downs and hills.* 
 The Flax of commerce, which is the plant referred to by 
 Shakespeare, is supposed to be a native of Egypt, and we 
 have early notice of it in the Book of Exodus; and the 
 microscope has shown that the cere-cloths of the most ancient 
 Egyptian mummies are made of linen. It was very early 
 introduced into England, and the spinning of Flax was the 
 regular occupation of the women of every household, from the 
 mistress downwards, so that even Queens are represented in 
 the old illuminations in the act of spinning, and “the 
 spinning-wheel was a necessary implement in every house- 
 hold, from the palace to the cottage.”—Wright, Domestic 
 Manners. The occupation is now almost gone, driven out 
 by machinery, but it has left its mark on our language, at 
 least on our legal language, which acknowledges as the only 
 designation of an unmarried woman that she is “a spinster.” 
 
 A crop of Flax is one of the most beautiful, from the rich 
 colour of the flowers resting on their dainty stalks. But it 
 is also most useful; from it we get linen, linseed oil, oileake, 
 and linseed-meal; nor do its virtues end there, for “Sir John 
 Herschel tells us the surprising fact that old linen rags will, 
 when treated with sulphuric acid, yield more than their own 
 weight of sugar. It is something even to have lived in days 
 when our worn-out napkins may possibly reappear on our 
 tables in the form of sugar.”—Lady Wilkinson. 
 
 * “From the abundant harvests of this elegant weed on the upland pastures, 
 prepared and manufactured by supernatural skill, the ‘good people’ were wont, 
 in the olden time, to procure the necessary supplies of linen !”— JoHNSTONE. 
 
23 
 
 As a garden plant the Flaxes are all ornamental. There 
 are about eighty species, some herbaceous and some shrubby, 
 and of almost all colours, and in most of the species the 
 colours are remarkably bright and clear. There is no finer 
 blue than in L. usitatissimum, no finer yellow than in L. 
 trigynum, no finer scarlet than in L. grandiflorum. 
 
 FLOWER-DE-LUCE. 
 
 (1) Perdita. Lilies of all kinds, 
 The Flower-de-luce being one. 
 Winter's Tale, act iv, sc, 3. 
 (2) King Henry. What sayest thou, my fair Flower-de-luce ? 
 Henry V, act v, se. 2. 
 (3) Messenger. Cropped are the Flower-de-luces in your arms, 
 Of Hngland’s coat one half is cast away. 
 lst Henry VJ, acti, se. 1. 
 (4) Pucelle. Iam prepared; here is my keen-edged sword 
 Decked with five Flower-de-luces on each side. 
 Lbid., act i, sc. 2. 
 (5) York. A sceptre will I have, have I a soul, 
 On which [ll toss the Flower-de-luce of France. 
 2nd Henry VI, act v, sc. 1. 
 
 Out of these five passages four relate to the Fleur-de-luce 
 as the cognizance of France, and much learned ink has been 
 spilled in the endeavour to find out what flower, if any, was 
 intended to be represented, so that Mr. Planché says that 
 “next to the origin of heraldry itself, perhaps nothing con- 
 nected with it has given rise to so much controversy as the 
 origin of this celebrated charge.” It has been at various 
 times asserted to be an Iris, a Lily, a sword-hilt, a spear- 
 head, and a toad, or to be simply the Fleur de St. Louis. 
 Adhuc sub judice lis est—and it is never likely to be satis- 
 factorily settled. I need not therefore dwell on it, especially 
 as my present business is to settle not what the Fleur-de-luce 
 meant in the arms of France, but what it meant in Shake- 
 speare’s writings. But here the same difficulty at once meets 
 us, some writers affirming stoutly that it is a Lily, others as 
 stoutly that it is an Iris. For the Lily theory there are the 
 facts that Shakespeare calls it one of the Lilies, and that the 
 other way of spelling it is Fleur-de-lys. I find also a strong 
 
74 
 
 confirmation of this in the writings of S. Francis de Sales 
 (contemporary with Shakespeare); “Charity,” he says, “‘com- 
 prehends the seven gifts of the Holy Ghost, and resembles a 
 beautiful Flower-de-luce, which has six leaves whiter than 
 snow, and in the middle the pretty little golden hammers.”— 
 Philo, book xi, Mulholland’s Translation. This description 
 will in no way fit the Iris, but it may very well be applied to 
 the White Lily. Chaucer, too, seems to connect the Fleur- 
 de-luce with the Lily— 
 Her nekke was white as the Flour de Lis. 
 
 These are certainly strong authorities for saying that the 
 Flower-de-luce is the Lily. But there are as strong or 
 stronger on the other side. Spenser separates the Lilies 
 from the Flower-de-luces in his pretty lines-— 
 
 Strow mee the grounde with Daffadown-Dillis, 
 And Cowslips, and Kingeups, and loved Lillies ; 
 The pretty Pawnce 
 And the Chevisaunce 
 Shall match with the fayre Floure Delice. 
 Shepherd’s Calendar. 
 
 Ben Jonson separates them in the same way— 
 Bring rich Carnations, Flower-de-luces, Lillies. 
 
 Lord Bacon also separates them: “In April follow the 
 double White Violet, the Wall-flower, the Stock-Gilliflower, 
 the Cowslip, the Flower-de-luces, and Lilies of all Natures. ’ 
 
 In heraldry also the Fleur-de-lis and the Lily are two dis- 
 tinct bearings. Then, from the time of Turner in 1068, 
 through Gerarde and Parkinson to Miller, all the botanical 
 writers identify the Iris as the plant named, and with this 
 judgment most of our modern writers agree. We may, there- 
 fore, assume that Shakespeare meant the Iris as the flower 
 given by Perdita, and we need not be surprised at his classing 
 it among the Lilies. Botanical classification was not very 
 accurate in his day, and long after his time two such cele- 
 brated men as Redouté and De Candolle did not hesitate to 
 include in the “ Liliace,’ not only Irises, but Daffodils, 
 Tulips, Fritillaries, and even Orchids. 
 
 What Iris Shakespeare especially alluded to it is useless to 
 inquire. We have two in England that are indigenous—one 
 the rich golden-yellow (I. pseudacorus), which in some 
 favourable positions, with its roots in the water of a brook, 
 is one of the very handsomest of the tribe; the other the 
 Gladwyn (I. foetedissima), with dull flowers and strong- 
 
75 
 
 smelling leaves, but with most handsome scarlet fruit, which 
 remain on the plant and show themselves boldly all through 
 the winter and early spring. Of other sorts there is a large 
 number, so that the whole family, according to the latest 
 account by Mr. Baker, of Kew, contains ninety-six distinct 
 species besides varieties. They come from all parts of the 
 world, from the Arctic Circle to the South of China; they 
 are of all colours, from the pure white Ivis florentina to the 
 almost black I. Susiana; and of all sizes, from a few inches 
 to four feet. They are mostly easy of cultivation and 
 increase readily, so that there are few plants better suited 
 for the hardy garden or more ornamental. 
 
 FUMITER, FUMITORY. 
 
 (1) Cordelia. Crowned with rank Fumiter and Furrow weeds. 
 King Lear, act iv, sc. 4. (See Cuckoo-FLowERs). 
 
 (2) Burgundy. Her fallow leas 
 The Darnel, Hemlock, and rank Fumitory 
 Doth feed upon. Henry V, act v, se. 2. 
 
 Of Fumitories we have five species in England, all of 
 them weeds in cultivated grounds and in hedgerows. None 
 of them can be considered garden plants, but they are closely 
 allied to the Corydalis, of which there are several pretty 
 species, and to the very handsome Dielytras, of which one 
 species—D. spectabilis-- ranks among the very handsomest 
 of our hardy herbaceous plants. How the plant acquired its 
 name of Fumitory—fume-terre, earth-smoke—is not very 
 satisfactorily explained, though many explanations have been 
 given; but that the name was an ancient one we know from 
 the interesting Stockholm manuscript of the eleventh century 
 published by Mr. J. Pettigrew, and of which a few lines are 
 worth quoting. (The poem is published in Archwologia 
 vol. xxx )— 
 
 Fumiter is erbe, I say, 
 
 Yt spryngyth i April et in May, 
 In feld, in town, in yard, et gate, 
 Yer lond is fat and good in state, 
 Dun red is his flour 
 
 Ye erbe smek lik in colowur. 
 
76 
 
 FURZE. 
 (1) Ariel. So I charmed their ears, 
 That, calf-like, they my lowing followed through 
 Toothed Briars, sharp Furzes, pricking Goss, and 
 Thorns. Tempest, act iv, sc. 1. 
 (2) Gonzalo. Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for 
 
 an acre of barren ground, long Heath, brown 
 Furze, anything. Lbid., act i, se. 1. 
 
 We now call the Ulex Europzus either Gorse, or Furze, or 
 Whin; but in the sixteenth century I think that the Furze 
 and Gorse were distinguished (see GoRSE), and that the brown 
 Furze was the Ulex. It is a most beautiful plant, and with 
 its golden blossoms and richly scented flowers is the glory of 
 our wilder hill-sides. It is especially a British plant, for 
 though it is found in other parts of Europe, and even in the 
 Azores and Canaries, yet I believe it is nowhere found in 
 such abundance or in such beauty asin England. Gerarde 
 says, “The greatest and highest that I did ever see do grow 
 about Excester, in the West Parts of England ;” and those 
 who have seen it in Devonshire will agree with him. It 
 seems to luxuriate in the damp, mild climate of Devonshire, 
 and to see it in full flower as it covers the low hills that abut 
 upon the Channel between Ilfracombe and Clovelly is a sight 
 to be long remembered. It is, indeed, a plant that we may 
 weli be proud of. There is a well-known story of Linneus 
 that when he first saw the Furze in blossom in England he 
 fell on his knees and thanked God for sparing his life to see 
 so beautiful a part of His creation. The story may be 
 apocryphal, but we have a later testimony from another 
 celebrated traveller who had seen the glories of tropical 
 scenery, and yet was faithful to the beauties of the wild 
 scenery of England. Mr. Wallace bears this testimony :— 
 “ T have never seen in the tropics such brilliant masses of 
 colour as even England can show in her Furze-clad commons, 
 her glades of wild Hyacinths, her fields of Poppies, her 
 meadows of Buttercups and Orchises, carpets of yellow, 
 purple, azure blue, and fiery crimson, which the tropics can 
 rarely exhibit. We have smaller masses of colour in our 
 Hawthorns and Crab trees, our Holly and Mountain Ash, our 
 Broom, Foxgloves, Primroses, and purple Vetches, which 
 
v7 
 
 clothe with gay colours the length and breadth of our land.” 
 —Malayan Archipelago, ii, 296. 
 
 As a garden shrub the Furze may be grown either as a 
 single lawn shrub or in the hedge or shrubbery. Everywhere 
 it will be handsome both in its single and double varieties ; 
 and as it bears the knife well, it can be kept within limits. 
 The upright Irish form also makes an elegant shrub, but does 
 not flower so freely as the typical plant. 
 
 GARLICK. 
 
 (1) Bottom. And, most dear actors, eat no Onions nor Garlick, 
 for we are to utter sweet breath. 
 Midsummer Night’s Dream, act iv, sc. 2- 
 (2) Lucio. He would mouth with a beggar, though she smelt 
 brown bread and Garlick. 
 Measure for Measure, act iii, sc. 2. 
 (3) Hotspur. JI had rather live 
 With cheese and Garlick in a windmill. 
 lst Henry IV, act iii, se. 1. 
 (4) Menenwus. You that stood so much 
 Upon the voice of occupation, and 
 The breath of Garlick eaters. 
 Coriolanus, act iv, sc. 6. 
 (5) Dorcas. Mopsa must be your mistress; marry, Garlick to 
 meud her kissing with. Winter's Tale, act iv, se. 8. 
 
 There is something almost mysterious in the Garlick that 
 it should be so thoroughly acceptable, almost indispensable, 
 to many thousands, while to others it is so horribly offensive 
 as to be unbearable. The Garlick of Egypt was one of the 
 delicacies that the Israelites looked back to with fond regret, 
 and we know from Herodotus that it was the daily food of 
 the Egyptian labourer; yet, in later times, the Mahomedan 
 legend recorded that “when Satan stepped out from the 
 Garden of Eden after the fall of man, Garlick sprung up 
 from the spot where he placed his left foot, and Onions from 
 that which his right foot touched, on which account, perhaps, 
 Mohammed habitually fainted at the sight of either.” It was 
 the common food also of the Roman labourer, but Horace 
 could only wonder at the “dura messorum ilia” that could 
 digest the plant “cicutis allium nocentius.” It was, and is 
 
78 
 
 the same with its medical virtues. According to some it was 
 possessed of every virtue, so that it had the name of Poor 
 Man’s Treacle (the word treacle not having its present 
 meaning, but being the Anglicised form of theriake, or 
 heal-all*), while on the other hand Gerarde affirmed “ it 
 yieldeth to the body no nourishment at all; it ingendreth 
 naughty and sharpe bloud.” 
 
 It we could only divest it of its evil smell, the wild 
 Wood Garlick would rank among the most beautiful of 
 our British plants. Its wide leaves are very similar to 
 those of the Lily of the Valley, and its starry flowers 
 are of the very purest white. But it defies picking, and 
 where it grows it generally takes full possession, so that I 
 have known several woods—especially on the Cotswold Hills 
 —that are to be avoided when the plant is in flower. The 
 woods are closely carpeted with them, and every step you 
 take brings out their foetid odour. There are many species 
 grown in the gardens, some of which are even very sweet- 
 smelling (as A. odorum and fragrans); but these are the 
 exceptions, and even these have the Garlick scent in their 
 leaves and roots. Of the rest many are very pretty and worth 
 growing, but they are all more or less tainted with the evil 
 habits of the family. 
 
 GILLIFLOWERS (see CARNATIONS). 
 
 GINGER. 
 
 (1) Clown. I must have saffron to colour the warden-pies— 
 mace—dates, none, that’s out of my note ;—nutmegs, 
 seven—a race or two of Ginger, but that I may beg. 
 
 Winter's Tale, act iv, sc. 2. 
 
 (2) Sir Toby. Do’stthou think, because thou art virtuous, there 
 shall be no more cakes and ale. 
 
 Clown. Yes, by Saint Anne, and Ginger shall be hot 7’ the 
 
 mouth too. Twelfth Night, act 11, sc. 3. 
 
 (3) Clown. _ First, here’s my Master Rash, he’s in for a com- 
 modity of brown paper and old Ginger, nine score and 
 seventeen pounds, of which he made five marks ready 
 money; marry, then, Ginger was not much in request, 
 for the old women were all dead. 
 
 Measure for Measure, act iv, se. 3. 
 
 * Crist, which that is to every harm triacle. 
 Cuaucer, Man of Lawes Tale. 
 
79 
 
 (4) Salarnio. I would she were as lying a gossip in that as ever 
 knapped Ginger. Merchant of Venice, act iii, se. 1. 
 
 (5) Second Carrier. I have a gammon of bacon and two razes of 
 Ginger to be delivered as far as Charing Cross. 
 lst Henry IV,‘ act ii, se. 1 
 
 (6) Orleans. He’s of the colour of the nutmeg. 
 Dauphin. And of the heat of the Ginger. 
 Henry V, act iii, se. 7. 
 
 (7) Julia. What is’t you took up 
 So Gingerly ?—7Ziwo Gentlemen of Verona, act i, sc. 2. 
 
 (8) Costard. Had I but a penny in the world, thou should’st 
 have it to buy Ginger-bread. 
 Love's Labours Lost, act v, se. 1. 
 
 (9) Hotspur. Swear me, Kate, like a Jady, as thou art, 
 A good mouth-filling oath, and leave ‘forsooth,’ . 
 And such protest of pepper-Ginger-bread 
 To velvet guards and Sunday citizens. 
 lst Henry IV, act iii, se. 1. 
 
 Ginger was well known both to the Greeks and Romans. 
 It was imported from Arabia, together with its name, Zingi- 
 berri, which it has retained, with little variation, in all 
 languages. , 
 
 When it was first imported into England is not known, 
 but probably by the Romans, for it occurs as a common 
 ingredient in many of the Anglo-Saxon medical recipes. In 
 Shakespeare’s time it was evidently very common and cheap. 
 
 It is produced from the roots of Zingiber officinale, a 
 member of the large and handsome family of the Ginger- 
 worts. ‘The family contains some of the most beautiful of 
 our Greenhouse plants, as the Hedychiums, Alpinias, and 
 Mantisias; and, though entirely tropical, most of the species 
 are of easy cultivation in England. Ginger is very easily 
 reared in hotbeds, and I should think it very probable that it 
 may have been so grown in Shakespeare’s time. Gerarde 
 attempted to grow it, but he naturally failed, by trying to 
 grow it in the open ground as a hardy plant; yet “it 
 sprouted and budded forth greene leaves in my garden in 
 the heate of somer;” and he tells us that plants were sent 
 him by “an honest and expert apothecarie, William Dries, 
 of Antwerp,” and “that the same had budded and grown in 
 the said Dries’ garden.” 
 
80 
 
 GOOSEBERRIES. 
 
 Falstaff. All the other gifts appertinent to man, as the malice 
 of this age shapes them, are not worth a Gooseberry. 
 2nd Henry 1V, act i, se. 2. 
 
 The Gooseberry need not detain us, except to make a 
 passing note that the name has nothing to do with the goose. 
 Dr. Prior has satisfactorily shown that the word is a corrup- 
 tion of “ Crossberry.” 
 
 GORSE or GOSS. 
 
 Ariel. Toothed Briars, sharp Furzes, pricking Goss and Thorns. 
 Tempest, act iv, sc. 1. 
 
 In speaking of the Furze (which see), I said that in 
 Shakespeare’s time the Furze and Gorse were probably 
 distinguished, though now the two names are applied to 
 the same plant. Mr. Beisley has, I think, proved this, 
 when he says:—% The plant here called Pricking Goss is 
 the Genista anglica, Petty Whin,” called Goss in and pre- 
 viously to the time of Shakespeare. In the 15th Henry VI. 
 (1436), Humfrey, Duke of Gloucester, had license to enclose 
 200 acres of land—‘* pasture, wode, Hethe, Vrises, and Gorste, 
 Bruere, et Jampnorum.”—Rot. Parl. iv, 498 (Shakspere’s 
 Garden, p. 12.) This does not prove that Gorse=Genista 
 anglica, but it proves that the “Gorst” was different from 
 the “Vrise,” and it may very likely have been the Petty 
 Whin. “Pricking Goss,” however, may be only a generic 
 term, like Bramble and Brier, for any wild prickly plant. 
 
 GOURD. 
 
 Pistol. For Gourd and Fulham holds. 
 Merry Wives, act i, se. 3. 
 
 I merely mention this to point out that “Gourd,” though 
 probably originally derived from the fruit, is not the fruit 
 here, but is an instrument of gambling. 
 
81 
 
 GRAPES (see VINES). 
 
 GRASS. 
 
 (1) Gonzalo. How lush and green the Grass looks. 
 Tempest, act ii, se. 1. 
 
 (2) Lris. Here, on the Grass-plot, in this very place 
 
 To come and sport. Ibid., act iv, se. 1. 
 (3) Ceres. Why hath thy Queen 
 
 Summoned me hither to this short-grassed green ? 
 | Lbid. 
 (4) Lysander. When Phoebe doth behold 
 
 Her silver visage in the watery glass, 
 Decking with liquid pearl the bladed Grass. 
 Midsummer Night's Dream, act i, se. 1. 
 
 (5) Hing. Say to her, we have measured many miles 
 To tread a measure with her on this Grass. 
 Boyet. They say, that they have measured many a mule. 
 To tread a measure with you on the Grass. 
 Love's Labours Lost, act v, se. 2. 
 
 (6) Clown. I am no great Nebuchadnezzar, sir, I have not 
 
 much skill in Grass. 
 All’s Well that Ends Well, act iv, se. 5. 
 
 (7) Luciano. Tf thou art changed to aught, ’tis to an ass. 
 Dromio of Syracuse. Tis true; she rides me, and I long for 
 Grass. Comedy of Errors, act ii, se. 2. 
 (8) Bolingbroke. Here we march 
 Upon the Grassy carpet of the plain. 
 Richard II, act ii, se. 3. 
 (9) King Lichard. And bedew 
 Her pasture’s Grass with faithful English blood. 
 Lbid. 
 (10) #ly. Grew like summer Grass, fastest by night, 
 Unseen, yet crescive in its faculty. 
 Henry V, acti, se. 1. 
 (11) Aing Henry. Mowing like Grass 
 Your fresh-fair virgins and your flowering infants. 
 LThid., act ii, se. 3. 
 G 
 
82 
 
 (12) Grandpre. 
 And in their pale dull mouths the gimmal bit 
 Lies foul with chew'd Grass, still and motionless. 
 Henry V, act iv, se. 2. 
 (18) Suffolk. Though standing naked on a mountain top 
 Where biting cold would never let Grass grow. 
 2nd Henry V1, act ii, se. 2. 
 (14) Cade. All the realms shall be in common, and in Cheap- 
 side shall my palfrey go to Grass. 
 Ibid., act iv, se. 2. 
 (15) Cade. Wherefore on a brick wall have I climbed into 
 this garden, to see if I can eat Grass or pick a Sallet 
 another while, which is not amiss to cool a man’s 
 stomach this hot weather. Ibid., act iv, se. 10. 
 (16) Cade. IfI do not leave you all as dead as a door-nail, I 
 pray God I may never eat Grass more. Lhid. 
 (17) 1st Thief. We canrot live on Grass, on berries, water, 
 As beasts and birds and fishes. 
 Timon of Athens, act iv, sc. 3. 
 (18) Saturninus. 
 These tidings nip me, and I hang the head 
 As Flowers with frost or Grass beat down with storm. 
 Titus Andronicus, act iv, sc. 4. 
 (19) Hamlet. Ay, sir, but ‘while the Grass grows’—the proverb 
 is something musty. Hamlet, act iii, se. 2. 
 (20) Ophelia. He is dead and gone, lady, 
 He is dead and gone ; 
 At his head a Grass-green turf, 
 At his heels a stone. Lbid., act iv, se. 5. 
 (21) Salanio. I should be still 
 Plucking the Grass to know where sits the wind. 
 Merchant of Venice, act i, se. 1. 
 
 In and before Shakespeare’s time Grass was used as a 
 general term for all plants. Thus Chaucer :— 
 
 And every grass that groweth upon roote 
 Sche schal eek know, to whom it will do boote 
 Al be his woundes never so deep and wyde. 
 The Squyeres Tale. 
 
 In the whole range of botanical studies the accurate study 
 of the Grasses is, perhaps, the most difficult as the genus is 
 the most extensive, for Grasses are said to “constitute, 
 perhaps, a twelfth part of the described species of flowering 
 plants, and at least nine-tenths of the number of individuals 
 comprising the vegetation of the world” (Lindley), so that a 
 
83 
 
 full study of the Grasses may almost be said to be the work 
 of a lifetime. But Shakespeare was certainly no such student 
 of Grasses: in all these passages Grass is only mentioned in a 
 generic manner, without any reference to any particular 
 Grass. ‘The passages in which hay is mentioned, I have not 
 thought necessary to quote. 
 
 HAREBELL. 
 
 Arviragus. Thou shalt not lack 
 The flower that’s like thy face, pale Primrose, nor 
 The azured Harebell, like thy veins. 
 Cymbeline, act iv, sc. 2. (See EaLantIne). 
 
 The Harebell of Shakespeare is undoubtedly the Wild 
 Hyacinth (Scilla nutans), though we must bear in mind that 
 the name is applied differently in various parts of the island; 
 thus “the Harebell of Scotch writers is the Campanula, and 
 the Bluebell, so celebrated in Scottish song, is the wild 
 Hyacinth or Scilla; while in England the same names are 
 used conversely, the Campanula being the Bluebell and the 
 Wild Hyacinth the Harebell” (Poets’ Pleasaunce)—but this 
 will only apply in poetry; in ordinary language, at least in 
 the south of England, the wild Hyacinth is the Bluebell, and 
 is the plant referred to by Shakespeare as the Harebell. 
 
 It is one of the chief ornaments of our woods, growing in 
 profusion wherever it establishes itself, and being found of 
 various colours—pink, white, and blue. As a garden flower it 
 may well be introduced into shrubberies, but asa border plant 
 it cannot compete with its rival relation, the Hyacinthus 
 orientalis, which is the parent of all the fine double and 
 many-coloured Hyacinths in which the florists have delighted 
 for the last two centuries. 
 
 HARLOCKS. 
 
 Cordelia. Crowned with rank Fumiter and furrow weeds, 
 With Harlocks, Hemlock, Nettles, Cuckoo-flowers. 
 King Lear, act iv, sc. 4. (See Cuckoo-FLOWERS). 
 
 I cannot do better than follow Dr. Prior on this word :— 
 “ Harlock, as usually printed in King Lear and in Drayton, 
 ecl, 4— 
 The Honeysuckle, the Harlocke, 
 The Lily and the Lady-smocke, 
 @? 
 
84 
 
 is a word that does not occur in the Herbals, and which the 
 commentators have supposed to be a misprint for Charlock. 
 There can be little doubt that Hardock is the correct reading, 
 and that the plant meant is the one now called Burdock.” 
 
 HAWTHORNS. 
 
 (1) Rosalind. There’s a man hangs odes upon Hawthorns and 
 elegies on Brambles. 4s You Lvke It, act iii, se. 2. 
 
 (2) Quince. This green plot shall be our stage, this Hawthorn 
 brake our tyring house. 
 Midsummer Night's Dream, act iii, se. i. 
 (3) SLTelena. Your tongue’s sweet air, 
 More tuneable than lark to shepherd’s ear, 
 When Wheat is green, when Hawthorn-buds appear. 
 Loid., acti, se.1. 
 
 (4) Falstaff. I cannot cog and say thou art this and that, like a 
 many of these lisping Hawthorn-buds. 
 Merry Wives, act iii, se. 3. 
 (5) K. Henry, Gives not the Hawthorn-bush a sweeter shade 
 To shepherds looking on their silly sheep, 
 Than doth a rich embroidered canopy 
 To kings that fear their subjects’ treachery ? 
 O yes, it doth; a thousand fold it doth. 
 38rd Henry VI, act ii, se. 5. 
 (6) Ldgar. 
 Through the sharp Hawthorn blows the cold wind (bis). 
 - -King Lear, act ii, se. 4. 
 
 Under its many names of Albespeine, Whitethorn, Haythorn 
 or Hawthorn, May, and Quickset, this tree has ever been a 
 favourite with all lovers of the country. 
 
 Among the many buds proclaiming May, 
 Decking the field in holiday array, 
 
 Striving who shall surpass in braverie, 
 
 Mark the faire blooming of the Hawthorn tree, 
 Who, finely cloathed in a robe of white, 
 
 Fills full the wanton eye with May’s delight. 
 Yet for the braverie that she is in 
 
 Doth neither handle card nor wheel to spin, 
 Nor changeth robes but twice ; is never seen 
 Tn other colours but in white or green. 
 
85 
 
 _Such is Browne’s advice in his Britannia’s Pastorals (ii, 2). 
 He, like the other early poets, clearly loved the tree for its 
 beauty; and in picturesque beauty the Hawthorn yields to 
 none, when it can be seen in some sheltered valley growing 
 with others of its kind, and allowed to grow unpruned, for 
 then in the early summer it is literally a sheet of white, yet 
 beautifully relieved by the tender green of the young leaves, 
 and by the bright crimson of the anthers, and loaded with a 
 scent that is most delicate and refreshing. But not only for 
 its beauty is the Hawthorn a favourite tree, but also for its 
 many pleasant associations—it is essentially the May tree, 
 the tree that tells that winter is really past, and that summer 
 has fairly begun. Hear Spenser— 
 
 Thilke same season, when all is yclade 
 With pleasaunce ; the ground with Grasse, the woods 
 With greene leaves, the bushes with blooming buds, 
 Youngthes folke now flocken in everywhere 
 To gather May-buskets and smelling Brere ; 
 And home they hasten the postes to dight, 
 And all the kirk-pillours eare day-light, 
 With Hawthorne-buds, and sweet Eglantine, 
 And girlondes of Roses, and soppes-in-wine. 
 Shepherd's Calendar—HMay. 
 
 Yet in spite of its pretty name, and in spite of the poets, 
 the Hawthorn now seldom flowers in May, and I should suppose 
 it is never in flower on May Day, except perhaps in Devonshire 
 and Cornwall; and it is very doubtful if it ever were so found, 
 though some fancy that the times of flowering of several of 
 our flowers are changed, and in some instances largely changed. 
 But “it was an old custom in Suffolk, in most of the farm- 
 houses, that any servant who could bring ina branch of Haw- 
 thorn in full blossom on the Ist of May was entitled to a dish 
 of cream for breakfast. This custom is now disused, not so 
 much from the reluctance of the masters to give the reward, 
 as from the inability of the servants to find the Whitethorn 
 in flower.”--Brand’s Antiquities. Even those who might 
 not see the beauty of an old Thorn tree, have found its uses 
 as one of the very few trees that will grow thick in the most 
 exposed places, and so give pleasant shade and shelter in 
 places where otherwise but little shade and shelter could be 
 found. 
 
 Kvery shepherd tells his tale 
 Under the Hawthorn in the dale.—Mutron. 
 
 And “at Hesket, in Cumberland, yearly on 8S. Barnabas’ 
 
86 
 
 Day, by the highway side under a Thorn tree is kept the 
 court for the whoie forest of Englewood.” — History of 
 Westmoreland. 
 
 The Thorn may well be admitted as a garden shrub either 
 in its ordinary state, or in its beautiful double white, red, and 
 pink varieties, and those who like to grow curious trees should 
 not omit the Glastonbury Thorn, which flowers at the ordinary 
 time, and bears fruit, but also buds and flowers again in 
 winter, showing at the same time the new flowers and the 
 older fruit. 
 
 Nor must we omit to mention that the Whitethorn is one 
 of the trees that claims to have been used for the sacred 
 Crown of Thorns. It is most improbable that it was so, in 
 fact, almost certain that it was not; but it was a medieval 
 belief, as Sir John Mandeville witnesses :—“* Then was our 
 Lord yled into a gardyn, and there the Jewes scorned hym, 
 and maden hym a crowne of the branches of the Albiespyne, 
 that is Whitethorn, that grew in the same gardyn, and 
 setten yt upon hys heved. And therefore hath the White- 
 thorn many virtues. Tor he that beareth a branch on hym 
 thereof, no thundre, ne no maner of tempest may dere hym, 
 ne in the howse that it is ynne may non evil ghost enter.” 
 
 And we may finish the Hawthorn with a short account of 
 its name, which is interesting :——“ Haw,” or “hay,” is the 
 same word as “hedge” (sepes, id est, haies—John de 
 Garlande), and so shows the gieat antiquity of this plant as 
 used for English hedges. In the north, “haws” are still 
 called “haigs;” but whether Hawthorn was first applied to 
 the fruit or the hedge, whether the hedge was so called 
 because it was made of the Thorn tree that bears the haws, or 
 whether the fruit was so named because it was borne on the 
 hedge tree, is a point on which etymologists differ. 
 
 HAZEL. 
 
 (1) Mercutio. Her [Queen Mab’s| chariot is an empty Hazel nut, 
 Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub, 
 Time out of mind the fairie’s coachmakers. 
 Romeo and Juliet, act i, se. 4. 
 (2) Petruchio. Kate, like the Hazel twig, 
 So straight and slender, and as brown in hue 
 As Hazel-nuts and sweeter than the kernels. 
 Taming of the Shrew, act ii, se. 1. 
 (3) Caliban. Vl bring thee to clustering Filberds. 
 Tempest, act ii, se. 2. 
 
87 
 
 (4) Touchstone. Sweetest Nut hath sourest rind, 
 Such a Nut is Rosalind. 
 As You Like It, act iii, sc. 2. 
 (5) Celva. For his verity in love I do think him as concave 
 as a covered goblet or a worm-eaten Nut. 
 Lbid., act iti, se. 4. 
 (6) Zafeu. Believe me, my lord, there can be no kernel in 
 this light Nut. 
 All’s Well that Fnds Well, act ii, sc. 5. 
 (7) Mercutio. Thou wilt quarrel with a man for cracking Nuts, 
 having no other reason but because thou hast Hazel 
 eyes. Romec and Juliet, act iii, se. 1. 
 (8) Zhersites. Hector shall have a great catch if he knock out 
 
 either of your brains, a’ were as good crack a fusty 
 Nut with no kernel. : 
 
 Troilus and Cressida, act ii, se. 1. 
 (9) Gonzalo. Vll warrant him for drowning, though the ship 
 . were no stronger than a Nut-shell. 
 Tempest, acti, se. 1. 
 (10) Zitania. { have a venturous fairy that shall seek 
 The squirrel’s hoard and fetch thee new Nuts. 
 Midsummer Nights Dream, act iv, se. 1. 
 (11) Hamlet. O God! I could be bounded in a Nut-shell and 
 count myself a king of infinite space, were it not 
 that I have bad dreams. Hamlet, act 11, sc. 2, 
 (12) Dromio of Syracuse. 
 Some devils ask but the paring of one’s nail, 
 A. rush, a hair, a drop of blood, a pin, 
 A Nut, a Cherry-stone. 
 Comedy of Errors, act iv, sc. 3. 
 Dr. Prior has decided that “*‘ Filbert’ is a barbarous com- 
 pound of phillon or feuille, a leaf, and beard, to denote its 
 distinguishing peculiarity, the leafy involucre projecting 
 beyond the nut.” But in the times before Shakespeare the 
 name was more poetically said to be derived from the nymph 
 Phyllis. Nux Phyllidos is its name in the old vocabularies, 
 and Gower (Confessio amantis) tells us why :-- 
 
 Phyllis in the same throwe 
 Was shape into a Nutte-tree, 
 That alle men it might see; 
 And after Phyllis philliberde, 
 This tre was cleped in the yerde—(Quoted by Wright), 
 
 and so Spenser spoke of it as ‘¢ Phillis’ philbert,” (Elegy 17).* 
 * «Flic fullus—a fylberd-tre.”— Nominale, 15th cent. 
 
 ** Fylberde, notte—Fillum. 
 ** Filberde, tree—Phillis.”—Promptorium Parvulorum. 
 
85 
 
 The Nut, the Filbert, and the Cobnut are all botanically 
 the same, and the two last were cultivated in England long 
 before Shakespeare’s time, not only for the fruit, but also, and 
 more especially, for the oil. 
 
 There is a peculiarity in the growth of the Nut that is 
 worth the notice of the botanical student. ‘The male blossoms, 
 or catkins (also anciently called “agglettes or blowinges”) 
 are mostly produced at the ends of the year’s shoots, while the 
 pretty little crimson female blossoms are produced close to the 
 branch; they are completely sessile or unstalked. Now in 
 most fruit trees, when a flower is fertilized, the fruit is pro- 
 duced exactly in the same place, with respect to the main 
 tree, that the flower occupied; a Peach or Apricot, for instance, 
 rests upon the branch which bore the flower. But in the Nut 
 a different arrangement prevails. As soon as the flower is 
 fertilized, it starts away from the parent branch; a fresh 
 branch is produced bearing leaves and the Nut or Nuts at the 
 end, so that the Nut is produced several inches away from the 
 spot on which the flower originally was. I know of no other 
 tree that produces its fruit in this way, nor do I know what 
 special benefit to the plant arises from this arrangement. 
 
 Much folk-lore has gathered round the Hazel tree and the 
 Nuts. The cracking of Nuts, with much fortune-telling 
 connected therewith, was the favourite amusement on All- 
 Hallows Eve (Oct. 31), so that the Eve was called Nutcrack 
 Night. I believe the custom still exists; it certainly has not 
 been very long abolished, for the Vicar of Wakefield and his 
 neighbours “religiously cracked Nuts on All-Hallows Eve.” 
 And in many places “an ancient custom prevailed of going 
 a Nutting on Holy Rood Day (Sept. 14), which it was 
 esteemed quite unlucky to omit.’”— Forster. 
 
 A greater mystery connected with the Hazel is the divining 
 rod, for the discovery of water and metals. This has always 
 by preference been a forked Hazel-rod, though sometimes 
 other rods are substituted. The belief in its powers dates 
 trom a very early period, and is by no means extinct. I 
 believe the divining-rod is still used in Cornwall, and firmly 
 believed in; nor has this belief been confined to the unedu- 
 cated. ven Linnzus confessed himself to be half a convert: 
 to it, and learned treatises have been written, accepting the 
 facts, and accounting for them by electricity or some other 
 subtle natural agency. Most of us, however, will rather agree 
 with Evelyn’s cautious verdict, that the virtues attributed to 
 the turked stick “ made out so solemnly by the attestation of 
 magistrates, and divers other learned and credible persons, 
 
59 
 
 who have critically examined matters of fact, is certainly 
 next to a miracle, and requires a strong faith.” 
 
 HEATH. 
 Gonzalo, Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for 
 an acre of barren ground, long Heath, brown Furze, 
 anything. Tempest, act i, sc. 1. 
 
 There are other passages in which the word Heath occurs 
 in Shakespeare, but in none else is the flower referred to; the 
 other references are to an open heath or common. And in 
 this place no special Heath can be selected, unless by “ long 
 Heath” we suppose him to have meant the Ling (Calluna 
 vulgaris). And this is most probable, for so Lyte calls it. 
 “There is in this countrie two kindes of Heath, one which 
 beareth the fowres alongst the stemmes, and is called Long 
 Heath.” But it is supposed by some that the correct reading 
 is “ Ling, Heath,” &c., and in that case Heath will be a 
 generic word, meaning any of the British species (see Ling). 
 Of British species there are five, and wherever they exist they 
 are dearly prized as forming a rich element of beauty in our 
 landscapes. ‘They are found all over the British Islands, and 
 they seem to be quite indifferent as to the place of their 
 growth. They are equally beautiful in the extreme High- 
 lands of Scotland, or on the Quantock and Exmoor Hills of 
 the South—everywhere they clothe the hill-sides with a rich 
 garment of purple that is wonderfully beautiful whether seen 
 under the full influence of the brightest sunshine, or under 
 the dark shadows of the blackest thundercloud. And the 
 botanical geography of the Heath tribe is very remarkable; 
 it is found over the whole of Europe, in Northern Asia, and 
 in Northern Africa. Then the tribe takes a curious leap, 
 being found in immense abundance, both of species and indi- 
 viduals, in Southern Africa, while it is entirely absent from 
 North and South America. Not a single species has been 
 found in the New World. <A few plants of Calluna vulgaris 
 have been found in Newfoundland and Massachusetts, but 
 that is not a true Heath. 
 
 As a garden plant the Heath has been strangely neglected. 
 Many of the species are completely hardy, and will make 
 pretty evergreen bushes of from 2 ft. to 4 ft. high, but they 
 are better if kept close-grown by constant clipping. The 
 species best suited for this treatment are E. Mediterranea, 
 K. arborea, and E. codonoides. Of the more humble-growing 
 
90 
 
 species, E. vagans (the Cornish Heath) will grow easily in 
 most gardens, though in its native habitat it is confined to 
 the serpentine formation; nor must we omit E. herbacea, 
 which aiso will grow anywhere, and, if clipped yearly after 
 flowering, will make a most beautiful border to any flower- 
 bed ; or it may be used more extensively, as it is at Dodding- 
 ton Park, in Gloucestershire (Sir Gerald Codrington’s), where 
 there is a large space in front of the house several yards square 
 entirely filled with E. herbacea. When this is in flower (and 
 it is so for nearly two months, or sometimes more) the effect, 
 as seen from above, is of the richest Turkey carpet, but of 
 such a colour and harmony as no Turkey carpet ever attained. 
 
 Several of the South-European Heaths were cultivated in 
 England in Shakespeare’s time. 
 
 HEBENON. 
 
 Ghost. Upon my secure hour thy uncle stole, 
 With juice of cursed Hebenon in a vial, 
 And in the porches of my ear did pour 
 The leperous distilment ; whose effect 
 Holds such an enmity with blood of man 
 That swift as quicksilver it courses through 
 The natural gates and alleys of the body, 
 And with a sudden vigour it doth posset 
 And curd, like eager droppings into milk, 
 The thin and wholesome blood. 
 
 Hamlet, act i, se. 5. 
 
 It is not easy to determine what plant is meant by Hebenum. 
 There are two families of plants to which the name of Ebenus 
 has been given, of which the Ebony is one, and the other is 
 a Pea-blossomed plant of the south of Europe. Archdeacon 
 Nares and Mr. Douce considered that the Ebony was meant, 
 and there is no doubt that Ebony was sometimes so spelt, 
 
 A gentle youth, his dearly loved squire, 
 His speare of Heben-wood behind him bare. 
 SPENSER, Laerie Queen, i, vii, 87. 
 Soon after this I saw on the other side 
 A curious coffin made of Heben wood. 
 SPENSER, Ruines of Time. 
 
 and that “the juice of Ebon” is mentioned in conjunction 
 with other deadly poisons by some of the old writers. Mr. 
 Beisley suggests that it is a mistake for Enoron, one of the 
 old names of the Deadly Nightshade, but I can see no reason 
 
91 
 
 for this suggestion. The most usual interpretation is that 
 Henbane (Hyoscyamus niger) is meant. This is a native 
 plant of undoubted poisonous qualities, though not now 
 considered so poisonous as it was in Shakespeare’s time. 
 Gerarde says of it:—“The leaves, seed, and juyce taken 
 inwardly causeth an unquiet sleepe like unto the sleepe of 
 drunkenesse, which continueth long and is deadly to the 
 party.” This plant, then, will satisfy the requirements of 
 the Hebenon of Hamlet, but in the general uncertainty I 
 am inclined to think that both Hebenon and Henbane are 
 generic words for any strong poison. Henbane certainly was 
 so used by the writers of that date and later, and Gerarde 
 confuses several plants under that name, and called Tobacco 
 the Henbane of Peru. It should be noticed that the “bane” 
 in the name has no reference to its poisonous qualities, the 
 original name being “ Henne-belle.” 
 
 HEMLOCK. 
 (1) Burgundy. Her fallow leas 
 The Darnel, Hemlock, and rank Fumitory 
 Doth root upon. Henry V, act v, se. 2. 
 (2) 8rd Witch. Root of Hemlock digged in the dark. 
 Macbeth, act iv, sc. 1. 
 (8) Cordeha. Crowned with rank Fumiter and Furrow weeds, 
 With Harlock, Hemlock, Nettles, Cuckco-flowers. 
 King Lear, act v, sc. 4. 
 
 One of the most poisonous of a suspicious family (the 
 Umbelliferee), “the great Hemlocke doubtlesse is not 
 possessed of any one good facultie, as appeareth by his 
 lothsome smell and other apparent signes,” and with this 
 evil character the Hemlock was considered to be only fit for 
 an ingredient of witches’ broth— 
 
 ‘‘T ha been plucking (plants among) 
 
 Hemlock, Henbane, Adder’s Tongue, 
 
 Nightshade, Moonwort, Leppard’s-bane.” 
 | Bren Jonson. 
 
 Yet the Hemlock adds largely to the beauty of our hedge- 
 rows; its spotted tall stems and its finely cut leaves make 
 it a handsome weed, and the dead stems and dried umbels 
 are marked features in the winter appearance of the hedges. 
 As a poison it has an evil notoriety, as being the poison by 
 which Socrates was put to death, though this is not quite 
 
92 
 
 certain. It is not, however, altogether a useless plant—* It 
 isa valuable medicinal plant, and in autumn, the ripened 
 stem is cut into pieces to make reels for worsted thread.” 
 Johnstone. 
 
 HEMP. 
 
 (1) Pistol. And let not Hemp his windpipe suffocate. 
 Henry V, act iii, sc. 6. 
 (2) Chorus. And in them behold 
 Upon the Hempen tackle ship boys climbing. 
 Henry V, act iti, chorus. 
 
 (3) Puck. What Hempen homespuns have we swaggering 
 here? Midsummer Night's Dream, act iii, se. 1. 
 (4) Cade. Ye shall have a Hempen caudle then, and the pap 
 of a hatchet. 2nd Henry VI, act iv, sc. 7. 
 (5) Hostess. Thou Hemp-seed. 
 
 2nd Henry IV, act ui, se. 1. 
 
 In all these passages, except the last, the reference is to 
 rope made from Hemp, and not to the Hemp plant, and it 
 is very probable that Shakespeare never saw the plant. It 
 was introduced into England long before his time, and largely 
 cultivated, but only in few parts of England, and chiefly in 
 the eastern counties. I do not find that it was cultivated in 
 gardens in his time, but it is a plant well deserving a place 
 in any garden, and is especially suitable from its height and 
 regular growth, for the central plant of a flower bed. It is 
 supposed to be a native of India, and seems capable of culti- 
 vation in almost any climate.* 
 
 HERB OF GRACE (see RUE). 
 
 HOLLY. 
 
 Song. Heigh-ho! sing, heigh-ho! unto the green Holly: 
 Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly: 
 Then, heigh-ho, the Holly! 
 This life is most jolly. 
 As You Like It, act ii, se. 7. 
 
 From this single notice of the Holly in Shakespeare, and 
 from the slight account of it in Gerarde, we might conclude 
 * In Shakespeare’s time the vulgar name for Hemp was Neckweed, and there is 
 
 a curious account of it under that name by William Bulleyn, in ‘‘The Babee’s 
 Book,” published by the Early English Text Society. 
 
93 
 
 that the plant was not the favourite in the sixteenth century 
 that it is in the nineteenth; but this would be a mistake. 
 The Holly entered largely into the old Christmas carols. 
 Christmastide 
 Comes in like a bride, 
 With Holly and Ivy clad. 
 
 And it was from the earliest times used for the decoration of 
 houses and churches at Christmas. It does not, however, 
 derive its name from this circumstance, though it was 
 anciently spelt “holy,” or called the “holy tree,” for the 
 name comes from a very different source, and is identical 
 with “holm,” which, indeed, was its name in the time of 
 Gerarde and Parkinson, and is still its name in some parts of 
 England, though it has almost lost its other old name of 
 Hulver,* except in the Eastern counties, where the word is 
 still in use. But as an ornamental tree it does not seem to 
 have been much valued, though in the next century Evelyn 
 is loud in the praises of this “ incomparable tree,” and ad- 
 mired it both for its beauty and its use. It is certainly the 
 handsomest of our native evergreens, and is said to be finer 
 in England than in any other country; and as seen growing 
 in its wild habitats in our forests, as it may be seen in the 
 New Forest and the Forest of Dean, it stands without a rival, 
 equally beautiful in summer and in winter; in summer its 
 bright glossy leaves shining out distinctly in the midst of 
 any surrounding greenery, while as “ the holly that outdares 
 cold winter’s ire” (Browne), it is the very emblem of bright 
 cheerfulness, with its foliage uninjured in the most severe 
 weather, and its rich coral berries, sometimes borne in the 
 greatest profusicn, delighting us with their brilliancy and 
 beauty. And as a garden shrub, after all the fine exotic 
 shrubs that have been introduced into our gardens during the 
 present century. the Holly still holds its own. It can be 
 grown as a single shrub, or it may be clipped, and will then 
 form the best and the most impregnable hedge that can be 
 grown. No other plant will compare with it as a hedge 
 plant, if it be only properly attended to, and we can under- 
 stand Evelyn’s pride in his “ glorious and refreshing object,” 
 a Holly hedge 160 ft. in length, 7 ft. in height, and 5 ft. in 
 diameter, which he could show in his “ poor gardens at any 
 time of the year, glittering with its armed and vernished 
 leaves,” and “blushing with their natural corale.” Nor 
 
 * € Hulwur-tre (huluyr), hulmus, huleus aut huscus.’—Promptorium Parvu- 
 lorum. 
 
94 
 
 need we be confined to plain green in such a hedge. The 
 Holly runs into a great many varieties, with the leaves of all 
 shapes and sizes, and blotched and variegated in different | 
 fashions and colours. All of these seem to be comparatively 
 modern. In the time of Gerarde and Parkinson there seems 
 to have been only the one typical species, and perhaps the 
 Hedgehog Holly. 
 
 I may finish the notice of the Holly by quoting two most 
 remarkable uses of the tree mentioned by Parkinson :— 
 “With the flowers of Holly, saith Pliny from Pythagoras, 
 water is made ice; and againe, a staffe of the tree throwne 
 at any beast, although it fall short by his defect that threw 
 it, will flye to him, as he lyeth still, by the speciall property 
 of the tree.” He may well add“ This I here relate that 
 you may understand the fond and vain conceit of those 
 times, which [ would to God we were not in these dayes 
 tainted withal.” 
 
 HOLY THISTLE. 
 
 Margaret. Get you some of this distilled Carduus Benedictus, 
 and lay it to your heart; it is the only thing for a 
 
 qualm. 
 
 Hero. There thou prickest her with a Thistle. 
 
 Beatrice. Benedictus! Why Benedictus? You have some 
 moral in this Benedictus. 
 
 Margaret. Moral? No, by my troth, I have no moral meaning: 
 
 I meant plain Holy Thistle. 
 Much Ado About Nothing, act ii, se. 4. 
 
 The Carduus benedictus, or Blessed Thistle, is a handsome 
 annual from the south of Europe, and obtained its name 
 from its high reputation as a heal-all, being supposed even to 
 cure the plague, which was the highest praise that could be 
 given to a medicine in those days. Cogan,in his “ Haven of 
 Health,” 1595, says :--- This herbe may worthily be called 
 Benedictus or Omni-morbia, that is a salve for every sore, not 
 known to Physitians of old time, but lately revealed by the 
 speciall Providence of Almighty God” (quoted by Steevens). 
 The plant has long lost this high character. 
 
 HONEYSTALKS (see CLOVER). 
 
95 
 
 HONEYSUCKLE. 
 
 (1) Hero. And bid her steal into the pleached bower 
 Where Honeysuckle, ripened by the sun, 
 Forbids the sun to enter. 
 Much Ado About Nothing, act iii, se. 1. 
 (2) Ursula. So angle we. for Beatrice, who even now 
 Is couched in the Woodbine coverture. Ibid. 
 (3) Zitania. Sleep thou, and I will wind thee in my arms, 
 So doth the Woodbine, the sweet Honeysuckle 
 Gently entwist. The Female Ivy so 
 Enrings the barky fingers of the Elm. 
 Midsummer Night’s Dream, act iv, sc. 1. 
 (4) Hostess. O thou Honeysuckle villain. 
 2nd Henry IV, act ii, se. 1. 
 (5) Oberon. I know a bank whereon the wild Thyme blows, 
 Where Oxlips and the nodding Violet grows, 
 Quite over canopied with lush Woodbine. 
 Midsummer Night’s Dream, act ii, se. 2. 
 
 I have joined together here the Woodbine and the Honey- 
 suckle, because there can be little doubt that in Shakespeare’s 
 time the two names belonged to the same plant, and that the 
 Woodbine was (where the two names were at all discriminated, 
 as in No. 3), applied to the plant generally, and Honeysuckle 
 to the flower. This seems very clear by comparing together 
 Nos. 1 and 2. In earlier writings the name was applied very 
 loosely to almost any creeping or climbing plant. In an 
 Anglo-Saxon vocabulary of the eleventh century it is applied 
 to the wild Clematis (“ Viticella—Weoden-binde”); while in 
 Archbishop ilfric’s Vocabulary of the tenth century it is 
 applied to the Hedera nigra, which may be either the Common 
 or the Ground Ivy (“ Hedera nigra—W ude-binde”); and in the 
 Herbarium and Leechdom books of the twelfth century it is 
 applied to the Capparis or Caper-plant, by which, however 
 (as Mr. Cockayne considers), the Convolvulus Sepium is 
 meant. After Shakespeare’s time again the words began to 
 be used confusedly. Milton does not seem to have been very 
 clear in the matter. In “ Paradise Lost ” he makes our first 
 parents “ wind the Woodbine round this arbour” (perhaps he 
 had Shakespeare’s arbour in his mind); and in “Comus” he 
 tells us of — 
 
96 
 
 A. bank 
 With ivy canopied, and interwove 
 With flaunting Honeysuckle. 
 
 While in “ Lycidas” he tells of — 
 The Musk Rose and the well-attired Woodbine. 
 
 And we can scarcely suppose that he would apply two such 
 contrary epithets as “ flaunting” and “well attired” to the 
 same plant. And now the name, as of old, is used with great 
 uncertainty, and I have heard it applied to many plants, 
 and especially to the small sweet-scented Clematis (C. 
 flammula. ) 
 
 But with the Honeysuckle there is no such difficulty. The 
 name is an old one, and in its earliest use was no doubt indif- 
 ferently applied to many sweet-scented flowers (the Primrose 
 amongst them); but it was soon attached exclusively to our 
 own sweet Honeysuckle of the woods and hedges. We have 
 two native species (Lonicera periclymenum and L. xylosteum), 
 and there are about eighty exotic species, but none of them 
 sweeter or prettier than our own, which, besides its fragrant 
 flowers, has pretty, fleshy, red fruit. 
 
 The Honeysuckle has ever been the embiem of firm and 
 fast affection—as it climbs round any tree or bush that is 
 near it, not only clinging to it faster than Ivy, but keeping 
 its hold so tight as to leave its mark in deep furrows on the 
 tree that has supported it. The old writers are fond of 
 alluding to this. Bullein in “The Book of Simples,” 1562, 
 says very prettily, “Oh, how swete and pleasant is Wood- 
 binde, in woodes or arbours, after a tender, soft rain ; and how 
 friendly doe this herbe, if | maie so name it, imbrace the 
 bodies, armes, and branches of trees, with his long winding 
 stalkes, and tender leaves, openyng or spreading forthe his 
 swete Lillis, like ladie’s fingers, emog the thornes or bushes ” 
 (quoted by Johnstone); and Chaucer gives the crown of 
 Woodbine to those who were constant in love :— 
 
 And tho that weare chaplets on their hede 
 
 Of fresh Woodbine, be such as never were 
 
 To love untrue in word, thought, ne dede, 
 
 But aye stedfast; ne for pleasaunce ne fere, 
 Though that they should their hertes al to-tere, 
 Would never flit, but ever were stedfast 
 
 Till that there lives there asunder brast. 
 The Flower and the Leaf. 
 
 The two last lines well describe the fast union between the 
 Honeysuckle and its mated tree. 
 
HYSSOP. 
 
 Lago. "Tis in ourselves that we are thus or thus. Our bodies 
 are our gardens; to the which our wills are gardeners ; 
 so that if we will plant Nettles or sow Lettuce; set 
 Hyssop, and weed up Thyme; supply it with one gender 
 of herbs or distract it with many, either to have it steril 
 with idleness, or maimed with industry ; why the power 
 and corrigible authority of this lies in our wills. 
 
 Othello, act 1, se. 8. 
 
 We should scarcely expect such a lesson of wisdom drawn 
 from the simple herb-garden in the mouth of the greatest 
 knave and villain in the whole range of Shakespeare’s writings. 
 It was the preaching of a deep hypocrite, and while we hate 
 the preacher we thank him for his lesson.* 
 
 The Hyssop (Hyssopus officinalis) is not a British plant, 
 but it was held in high esteem in Shakespeare’s time. Spenser 
 spoke of it as— 
 
 Sharp Isope good for green wounds remedies— 
 
 and Gerarde grew in his garden five or six different species 
 or varieties. He does not tell us where his plants came from, 
 and perhaps he did not know. It comes chiefly from Austria 
 and Siberia; yet Greene in his “ Philomela,” 1615, speaks of 
 “the Hyssop growing in America, that is liked of strangers 
 for the smell, and hated of the inhabitants for the operation, 
 being as prejudicial to the one as delightsome to the other.” 
 It is now very little cultivated, for it is not a plant of much 
 beauty, and its medicinal properties are not much esteemed ; 
 yet it is a plant that must always have an interest to readers 
 of the Bible; for there it comes before us as the plant of puri- 
 fication, as the plant of which the study was not beneath the 
 wisdom of Solomon, and especially as the plant that added to 
 the cruelties of the Crucifixion. Whether the Hyssop of 
 Scripture is the Hyssopus officinalis is still a question, but at 
 the present time the most modern research has decided that 
 it is. 
 
 * Tt seems likely from the following passage from Lilie’s ‘‘ Huphues, the anatomy 
 of wit,” 1617, that the plants were not named at random by /ago, but that there 
 was some connection between them. ‘‘ Good gardeners, in their curious knots, 
 mixe Isope-with Time, as aiders the one with the others; the one being dry the 
 
 other moist.” The gardeners of the sixteenth century had a firm belief in the 
 sympathies and antipathies of plants. 
 
 H 
 
98 
 
 INSANE ROOT. 
 
 Banquo. Were such things here as we do speak about? 
 Or have we eaten of the Insane Root 
 That takes the reason prisoner ? 
 Macbeth, act i, se. 1. 
 
 It is very possible that Shakespeare had no particular plant 
 in view, but simply referred to any of the many narcotic 
 plants which, when given in excess, would “take the reason 
 prisoner.” The critics have suggested many plants—the 
 Hemlock, the Henbane, the Belladonna, the Mandrake, &c., 
 each one strengthening their opinion from coeval writers. 
 In this uncertainty I should incline to the Hemlock from 
 the passage in Green’s “ Never Too Late,” 1616 (quoted by 
 Steevens)—“ You gazed against the sun and so blemished 
 your sight, or else you have eaten of the roots of Hemlock, 
 that makes men’s eyes conceit unseen objects.” 
 
 IVY. 
 
 (1) Zitania. ‘The female Ivy so 
 Enrings the barky fingers of the Elm. 
 Midsummer Nights Dream, act iv, se. 1. 
 (2) Prospero. That now he was 
 The Ivy which had hid my princely trunk 
 And sucked my verdure out on’t. 
 Tempest, act i, se. 2. 
 (3) Adriana. If ought possess me from thee it is dross, 
 Usurping Ivy, Brier, or idle Moss. 
 Comedy of Errors, act ii, se. 2. 
 (4) Shepherd. They have scared away two of my best sheep; 
 if anywhere I find them ’tis by the seaside browsing 
 on Ivy. Winter's Tale, act iti, se. 8. 
 
 The rich evergreen of “the Ivy never sear” (Milton) recom- 
 mended it to the Romans to be joined with the Bay in the 
 chaplets of poets— 
 
99 
 
 Hane sine tempora circum 
 
 Inter victrices hederam tibi serpere lauros.— Virgil. 
 Seu condis amabile carmen 
 
 Prima feves hederee victricis preemia.— Horace. 
 
 And in medizval times it was used with Holly for Christmas 
 decorations. But the old writers always assumed a curious 
 rivalry between the two— 
 
 Holly and Ivy made a great party 
 Who should have the mastery 
 In lands where they go. 
 
 And there is a well-known carol of the time of Henry VI, 
 which tells of the contest between the two, and of the 
 mastery of the Holly; it is in eight stanzas, of which I 
 extract the Jast four— 
 
 Holly he hath berries as red as any Rose, 
 
 The foresters, the hunters, keep them from the does ; 
 Ivy she hath berries as black as any Sloe, 
 
 There come the owls and eat them as they go, 
 
 Holly he hath birds, a full fair flock, 
 
 The nightingale, the popinjay, the gentle laverock ; 
 Good Ivy, say to us, what birds hast thou ? 
 
 None but the owlet that cries ‘‘ How, how!” 
 
 Thus the Ivy was not allowed the same honour inside the 
 houses of our ancestors as the Holly, but it held its place 
 outside the houses as a sign of good cheer to be had within. 
 The custom is now extinct, but, formerly, an Ivy bush (cailed 
 a tod of Ivy) was universally hung out in front of taverns in 
 England, as it still is in Brittany and Normandy. Hence 
 arose two proverbs—‘ Good wine needs no bush ”—1.¢., the 
 reputation is sufficiently good without further advertisement ; 
 and “ An owl in an Ivy bush,” as “ perhaps denoting originally 
 the union of wisdom or prudence with conviviality, as ‘ Be 
 merry and wise.’ ”—Nares. 
 
 The Ivy was a plant as much admired by our grandfathers 
 of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries as it is now by us. 
 Spenser was evidently fond of it— 
 
 And nigh thereto a little chappel stoode 
 
 Which being all with Yvy overspread 
 
 Deckt all the roofe, and, shadowing the rode 
 
 Seem’d like a grove faire branched over hed. 
 
 Faerie Queen, vi, Vv, 25. 
 
 In another place he speaks of it as 
 
 Wanton Yvie, flouring fayre.—Fuirie Queen, ii, v, 29. 
 
 Hi” 
 
100 
 
 And in another place— 
 Amongst the rest the clambering Ivie grew 
 Knitting his wanton armes with grasping hold, 
 Least that the Poplar happely should rew 
 Her brother’s strokes, whose boughs she doth enfold 
 With her lythe twigs till they the top survew, 
 And paint with pallid greene her buds of gold. 
 Virgil’s Gnat. 
 Chaucer describes it as 
 The erbe Ivie that groweth in our yard that mery is. 
 
 And in the same poem he prettily describes it as ~ 
 The pallid Ivie building his own bowre. 
 
 As a wild plant, the Ivy is found in Europe, Asia, and 
 Africa, but not in America, and wherever it is found it loves 
 to cover with its close and rich drapery old walls and build- 
 ings, and trees of every sort, and where it once establishes 
 itself it is always beautiful, but not always harmless. Both 
 on trees and buildings it requires very close watching. It 
 will very soon destroy soft-wooded trees, such as the Poplar 
 and the Ash by its tight embrace, not by sucking out the 
 sap, but by preventing the outward growth of the shoots, and 
 checking—and at length preventing— the flow of sap; and in 
 buildings it is no doubt beneficial as long as it is closely 
 watched and kept in place, but if allowed to drive its roots 
 into joints, or to grow under roofs, the swelling roots and 
 branches will soon displace any masonry, and cause immense 
 mischief. 
 
 We have only one species of Ivy in England, and there are 
 only two real species recognised by present botanists, but there 
 are infinite varieties, and many of them very beautiful. These 
 variegated Ivies were known to the Greeks and Romans, and 
 were highly prized by them, one especially with white fruit 
 (at present not known) was the type of beauty. No higher 
 praise could be given to a beauty than that she was “ hedera 
 formosior alba.” These varieties are scarcely mentioned by 
 Gerarde and Parkinson, and probably were not much valued; 
 they are now in greater repute, and nothing will surpass them 
 for rapidly and effectually covering any bare spaces. 
 
 I need scarcely add that the Ivy is so completely hardy 
 that it will grow in any aspect and in any soil; that its 
 flowers are the staple food of bees in the late autumn; and 
 that all the varieties grow easily from cuttings at almost any 
 time of the year. 
 
101 
 
 KECKSIES. 
 
 Burgundy. And nothing teems 
 But hateful Docks, rough Thistles, Kecksies, Burs, 
 Losing both beauty and. utility. Henry V, act v, se. 2. 
 
 Kecksies or Kecks are the dried and withered stems of the 
 Hemlock, and the name is occasionally applied to the living 
 plant. It seems also to have been used for any dry weeds:— 
 
 ‘« All the wyves of Tottenham came to se that syght, 
 With Wyspes, and Kexis, and ryschys ther lyght, 
 To fech hom ther husbandes, that wer tham trouth plyght.” 
 —‘¢The Tournament of Tottenham,” in 
 Rirson’s Ancient Songs and Ballads. 
 
 KNOTGRASS. 
 
 Lysander. Get you gone, you dwarf, 
 You minimus, of hindering Knot-grass made, 
 You bead, you Acorn. | 
 Midsummer Night's Dream, act ii, se. 2. 
 
 The Knot-grass is the Polygonum aviculare, a British 
 weed, low, straggling, and many-jointed, hence its name of 
 Knotgrass. There is no doubt that this is the plant meant, 
 and its connection with a dwarf is explained by the beliet, 
 probably derived from some unrecorded character detected 
 by the “doctrine of signatures,” that the growth of children 
 could be stopped by a diet of Knot-grass. Steevens quotes 
 Beaumont and Fletcher to this effect, and this will probably 
 explain the epithet “hindering.” But there may be another 
 explanation. Johnstone tells us that in the north, “ being 
 difficult to cut in the harvest time, or to pull in the process 
 of weeding, it has obtained the soubriquet of the Deil’s- 
 lingels.” From this it may well be called “ hindering ” just 
 as the Ononis, from the same habit of catching the plough and 
 harrow, has obtained the prettier name of “ Rest-harrow.’ 
 
 But though Shukespeare’s Knot-grass is undoubtedly the 
 
102 
 
 Polygonum, yet the name was also given to another plant, for 
 this cannot be the plant mentioned by Milton— 
 
 The chewing’ flocks 
 Had ta’en their supper on the savoury herb 
 Of Knot-grass dew-besprent.— Comus. 
 
 In this case it must be one of the pasture Grasses, and 
 may be Agrostis stolonifera, as it is said to be in Bek 
 Natural History of Wilts, (Dr. Prior). 
 
 LADY-SMOCKS. 
 
 Song of Spring. When Lady-smocks, all silver-white, 
 Do paint the meadows with delight. 
 Love’s Labours Lost, act v, se. 2. 
 
 Lady-smocks are the flowers of Cardamine pratensis, the 
 pretty early meadow flower of which children are so fond, and 
 of which the popularity is shown by its many names, Lady- 
 smocks, Cuckoo-flower, Meadow Cress, Pinks, Spinks, Bog- 
 spinks, and May-flower, and “in Northfolke, Canterbury 
 Bells.” The origin of the name is not very clear. It is 
 generally explained from the resemblance of the flowers to 
 smocks hung out to dry, but the resemblance seems to me 
 rather far-fetched. According to another explanation “ the 
 Lady-smock, a corruption of Our Lady’s-smock, is so called 
 from its first flowering about Lady-tide. It is a pretty 
 purplish-white, tetradynamous plant, which blows from Lady- 
 tide till the end of May, and which during the latter end of 
 April covers the moist meadows with its silvery-white, which 
 looks at a distance like a white sheet spread over the fields.’ 
 —Cirele of the Seasons. Those who adopt this view called 
 the plant Our Lady’s-smock, but I cannot find that name in 
 any old writers. Drayton, co-eval with Shakespeare, says— 
 
 Some to grace the show, 
 Of Lady-smocks most white do rob each neighbouring mead, 
 Wherewith their loose locks most curiously they braid. 
 
 And Isaac Walton, in the next century, drew that pleasant 
 picture of himself sitting quietly by the waterside—* looking 
 down the meadows I could see here a boy gathering Lilies 
 and Lady- smocks, and there a girl cropping Culverkeys and 
 Cowslips.” 
 
103 
 
 There is a double variety of the Lady-smock which makes 
 a handsome garden plant, and there is a remarkable botanical 
 curiosity connected with the plant which should be noticed. 
 The plant often produces in the autumn small plants upon 
 the leaves, and by the means of these little parasites the 
 plant is increased, and even if the leaves are detached from 
 the plant, and laid upon moist congenial soil, young plants 
 will be produced. This is a process that is well known to 
 gardeners in the propagation of Begonias, and it is familiar 
 to us in the proliferous Ferns, where young plants are pro- 
 duced on the surface or tips of the fronds; and Dr. Masters 
 records “the same condition as a teratological occurrence 
 in the leaves of Hyacinthus Pouzolsii, Drosera intermedia, 
 Arabis pumila, Chelidonum majus, Chirita sinensis, Epicia 
 bicolor, Zamia, &c.”— Vegetable Teratology, p. 170. 
 
 LAUREL. 
 
 (1) Clarence. To whom the heavens in thy maturity 
 Adjudged an Olive branch and Laurel crown 
 As likely to be blest in peace and war. 
 8rd Henry V1, act iv, se. 6. 
 (2) Titus. Cometh Andronicus bound with Laurel boughs. 
 Titus Andronicus, act 1, sc. 
 (3) Cleopatra. Upon your sword 
 Sit Laurelled victory. 
 Antony and Cleopatra, act 1, se. 3. 
 (4) Ulysses. Prerogative of age, crowns, sceptres, Laurels. 
 Troilus and Oressida, act i, sc. 3. 
 
 bo 
 
 This is one of the plants which Shakespeare borrowed from 
 ‘the classical writers; it is not the Laurel of our day, which 
 was not introduced till after his death, but the Laurea Apol- 
 linis, the Laurea Delphica, 
 
 The Laurel meed of mightie conquerors 
 And poets sage,—Spenser ; 
 
 that is, the Bay. There can be little doubt that the Laurel 
 of Chaucer also was the Bay, the 
 
 Fresh grene Laurer tree 
 That gave so passing a delicious smelle 
 According to the Eglantere ful welie. 
 Myn herte and al my lymes ben as grene 
 
7 104 
 
 He also spoke of it as the emblem of enduring freshness : 
 
 As Laurer, through the yeer is for to seene. 
 The Marchaund’s Tale. 
 
 The Laurel in Lyte’s Herbal (the Lauriel or Lourye) seems 
 to be the Daphne Laureola. But unconsciously Chaucer and 
 Shakespeare spoke with more botanical accuracy than we do, 
 the Bay being a true Laurel, while the Laurel is a Cherry 
 (see BAY). 
 
 LAVENDER. 
 
 Perdita. Here’s flowers for you, 
 Hot Lavender, sweet Mints, Savory, Marjoram. 
 ? } ‘ ? J : 
 Winter's Tale, act iv, se. 8. 
 
 The mention of Lavender always recalls Walton’s pleasant 
 picture of ‘an honest ale-house, where we shall find a cleanly 
 room, Lavender in the windows, and twenty ballads stuck 
 against the wall, and my hostess, I may tell you, is both 
 cleanly and handsome and civil.” Whether it is from this 
 familiar old-fashioned picture, or from some inherent charm 
 in the plant, it is hard to say, but it is certain that the smell 
 of Lavender is always associated with cleanliness and fresh- 
 ness.” 
 
 It is not a British plant, but is a native of the south 
 of Europe, in dry and barren places, and it was introduced 
 into England in the sixteenth century, but it probably was 
 not a common plant in Shakespeare’s time, for though it is 
 mentioned by Spenser as ‘the Lavender still gray,” (Muio- 
 potmos), and by Gerarde as growing in his garden, it is not 
 mentioned by Bacon in his list of sweet-smelling plants. The 
 fine aromatic smell is found in all parts of the shrub, but the 
 essential oil is only produced from the flowers. Asa garden 
 plant it is found in every garden, but its growth as an exten- 
 sive field crop is chiefly confined to the neighbourhood of 
 Mitcham and Carshalton in Surrey; and there at the time of 
 
 * The very name suggests this association. Lavender is the English form of the 
 Latin name, Lavendula; ‘‘lavendula autem dicta quoniam magnum vectigal 
 Genevensibus mercatoribus prebet quotannis in Africam eam ferentibus, ubi 
 lavandis fovendisque corporibus Lybes ea utuntur, nee nisi decocto ejus abluti, 
 inane domo egrediuntur.”—Stephani Libellus de ve Hortensi, 1536, p. 54. The 
 old form of our ‘‘laundress” was ‘a Lavendre.” 
 
105 
 
 the picking of the flowers, and still more in the later autumn 
 when the old woody plants are burned, the air for a long 
 distance is strongly and most pleasantly impregnated with 
 the delicate perfume. 
 
 LEATHERCOAT (See APPLE). 
 
 LEEK. 
 
 (1) Zhasbe. His eyes were green as Leeks. 
 Midsummer Nights Dream, act v, sc. 1. 
 (2) Pistol. Tell him I'll knock his Leek about his pate upon 
 . Saint Davy’s Day. Henry V, act iv, se. 1. 
 (3) Fluellen. If your majesties is remembered of it, the Welsh- 
 man did goot service in a garden where Leeks did 
 grow, wearing Leeks in their Monmouth caps, which 
 your majesty knows to this hour is an honourable 
 padge of service; and I do pelieve your majesty takes 
 
 no scorn to wear the Leek upon Saint Tavy’s Day. 
 
 Ibid., act iv, se. 7. 
 (4) In act v, se. 1, is the encounter between Fluellen and Pistol, 
 when he makes the bully eat the Leek; this causes 
 such frequent mention of the Leek that it would be 
 necessary to extract the whole scene, which, therefore, 
 
 I will simply refer to in this way. 
 
 We can scarcely understand the very high value that was 
 placed on Leeks in olden times. By the Egyptians the plant 
 was almost considered sacred, “ Porum et cepe nefas violare 
 et frangere morsu”—Juvenal; we know how Leeks were 
 relished in Egypt by the Israelites; and among the Greeks 
 they “appear to have constituted so important a part in 
 ancient gardens, that the term pao, or a bed, derived its 
 name from zoacov, the Greek word for Onion,” or Leek— 
 (Daubeney) ; while among the Anglo-Saxons it was very much 
 the same. The name is pure Anglo-Saxon, and originally 
 meant any vegetable; then it was restricted to any bulbous 
 vegetable, before it was finally further restricted to our Leek; 
 and ‘‘its importance was considered so much above that of 
 any other vegetable, that leac-tun, the Leek-garden, became 
 the common name of the kitchen garden, and leac-ward, the 
 
106 
 
 Leek-keeper, was used to designate the gardener.”—Wright. 
 The plant in those days gave its name to the Broad Leek 
 which is our present Leek, the Yne Leek or Onion, the Gar- 
 leek (Garlic), and others of the same tribe, while it was applied 
 to other plants of very different families, as the Hollow Leek 
 (Corydalis cava), and the House Leek (Sempervivum tecto- 
 rum). Its popularity still continues among the Welsh, by 
 whom it is still, I believe, very largely cultivated ; but it does 
 not seem to have been much valued in England in Shake- 
 speare’s time, for Gerarde has but little to say-ef its virtues, 
 but much of its “hurts.” ‘It heateth the body, ingendreth 
 naughty blood, causeth troublesome and terrible dreames, 
 offendeth the eyes, dulleth the sight, &c.” Nor does Parkin- 
 son give a much more favourable account. ‘Our dainty eye 
 now refuseth them wholly, in all sorts except the poorest ; 
 they are used with us sometimes in Lent to make pottage, 
 and is a great and generall feeding in Wales with the vulgar 
 gentlemen.” It was even used as the proverbial expression of 
 worthlessness in Chaucer’s day, for speaking of “ Phiciciens 
 and Advocates,” he says— 
 
 For by her wille, without leese, 
 Everi man shulde be seke, 
 And though they die, they settle not a leke. 
 Romaunt of Rose. 
 
 LEMON. 
 
 Biron. A Lemon. 
 
 Longaville. Stuck with Cloves. 
 Love's Labors Lost, act v, se. 2. 
 
 (See ORANGE. ) 
 
 LETTUCE. 
 
 Iago. If we will plant Nettles or sow Lettuce.—(See Hyssop.) 
 Othello, act i, se. 8. 
 
 This excellent vegetable with its Latin name probably came 
 to us from the Romans. It was cultivated by the Anglo- 
 Saxons, who showed their knowledge of its narcotic qualities 
 
107 
 
 by giving it the name of Sleepwort; it is mentioned by 
 Spenser as “cold Lettuce” (Muiopotmos). And in Shake- 
 speare’s time the sorts cultivated were very similar to, and 
 probably as good as, ours. 
 
 AB 'G, 
 
 Cy fries: Thy banks with Peonied and Lilied brims. 
 Tempest, act iv, sc. 1. 
 (2) Lance. Look you, she is as white as a Lily and as small 
 as a wand. Two Gentlemen of Verona, act ii, sc. 5. 
 
 (3) Julia. The air has stained the Roses in her cheeks, 
 And pinched the Lily tincture of her face. 
 Ibid., act iv, se. 4. 
 
 (4) Zhisbe. Most radiant Pyramus, most Lily-white of hue. 
 
 Midsummer Nights Dream, act iii, se. 1. 
 Thisbe. These Lily brows. Lbid., act v, sc. 1. 
 (5) Perdita. Lilies of all kinds, 
 
 The Flower-de-luce being one. 
 Winter's Tale, act iv, sc. 3. 
 (6) Princess. Now by my maiden honour, yet as pure 
 As the unsullied Lily. 
 Love’s Labors Lost, act v, sc. 2. 
 (7) Queen Katharine. Like the Lily 
 That once was mistress of the field and flourished, 
 Pll lay my head, and perish. 
 Henry VIII, act ii, sc. 1. 
 (8) Cranmer. Yet a virgin, 
 A. most unspotted Lily shall she pass 
 To the ground. Lbid., act v, sc. 4. 
 (9) Zroius. Give me swift transportance to those fields, 
 Where I may wallow in the Lily beds 
 Proposed for the deserver. 
 Troilus and Oresida, act ili, se. 2. 
 (10) Marcus. Oh, had the monster seen those Lily hands 
 Tremble like Aspen leaves upon the lute. 
 Titus Andronicus, act 11, sc. 5. 
 (11) Titus. Fresh tears 
 Stood on her cheeks as doth the honey-dew 
 Upon a gathered Lily almost withered. 
 Lbid., act ii, se. 1. 
 
108 
 
 (12) Zachimo. How bravely thou becomest thy bed, fresh Lily! 
 Cymbeline, act 11, sc. 2. 
 (13) Gucdervus. Oh, sweetest, fairest Lily ! 
 My brother wears thee not one half so well, 
 As when thou grewest thyself. JZbid., act iv, sc. 2. . 
 (14) Constance. Of Nature’s gifts thou may’st with Lilies boast, 
 And with the half-blown Rose. 
 King John, act ii, se, 1. 
 (15) Salisbury. To gild refined gold, to paint the Lily, 
 To throw a perfume on the Violet, — 
 
 Is wasteful and ridiculous excess. 
 | LIbid., act iv, se. 2. 
 (16) Kent. . A Lily-livered, action-taking knave, 
 King Lear, act 11, sc. 2. 
 (17) Macbeth. Thou Lily-livered boy. Macbeth, act v, se. 2. 
 (18) For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds— 
 Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds. 
 Sonnet xciv. 
 (19) Nor did I wonder at the Lilies white, 
 Nor praise the deep vermilion of the Rose. 
 Sonnet xeviil. 
 (20) The Lily I condemned for thy hand. Sonnet xcviii. 
 (21) The silent war of Lilies and of Roses 
 Which Tarquin viewed in her fair face’s field. 
 Rape of Lucrece. 
 
 (22) Her Lily hand her rosy cheek les under, 
 
 Cozening the pillow of a lawful kiss. Lbid. 
 (25) The colour in thy face 
 
 That even for anger makes the Lily pale 
 
 And the red Rose blush at her own disgrace. Ibid. 
 
 (24) A Lily pale with damask die to grace her. 
 Passionate Pilgrim. 
 (25) Full gently now she takes him by the hand, 
 A Lily prisoned in a jail of snow. Venus and Adoms. 
 
 Which is the queen of flowers? There are two rival candi- 
 dates for the honour—the Lily and the Rose; and as we look 
 on the one or the other, our allegiance is divided, and we vote 
 the crown first to one and then to the other. We should 
 have no difficulty “were t’other fair charmer away,” but with 
 two such candidates, both equally worthy of the honour, we 
 vote for a diarchy instead of a monarchy, and crown them 
 both. Yet there are many that would at once choose the 
 
109 
 
 Lily for the queen, and that without hesitation, and they 
 would have good authority for their choice. ‘“O Lord, that 
 bearest rule,” says Esdras, ‘of the whole world, Thou hast 
 chosen 'Thee of all the flowers thereof one Lily.” Spenser 
 addresses the Lily as 
 
 The Lily, lady of the flow’ring field. / Q., 11, 6, 16. 
 
 which is the same as Shakespeare’s “mistress of the field ;” 
 (7), and many a poet since his time has given the same vote 
 in many a pretty verse, which, however, it would take too 
 much space to quote at length; so that I will content myself 
 with these few lines by Alexander Montgomery (coeval with 
 Shakespeare) :— | 
 I love the Lily as the first of flowers 
 Whose stately stalk so straight up is and stay ; 
 To whom th’ lave ay lowly louts and cowers 
 As bound so brave a beauty to obey. 
 
 Montgomery here has clearly in his mind’s eye the Lily 
 now so called; but the name was not so restricted in the 
 earlier writers. ° Lilium, cujus vox generali et lcentiosa 
 usurpatione adscribitur omni flori commendabili.”—Laurem- 
 bergius, 1632. This was certainly the case with the Greek 
 and Roman writers, and it is so in our English Bible in most 
 of the cases where the word is used, but perhaps not uni- 
 versally so. It is so used by Bullein when speaking of the 
 flower of the Honeysuckle (see Honeysuckle), and it must 
 have been used in the same sense by Isaak Walton, when 
 he saw a boy gathering “ Lilies and Lady-smocks” in the 
 meadows. 
 
 We have still many records of this loose way of speaking 
 of the Lily, in the Water Lily, the Lily of the Valley, the 
 Lent Lily, St. Bruno’s Lily, the Scarborough Lily, the Bella~ 
 donna Lily, and several others, none of which are true Lilies, 
 
 But it is time to come to Shakespeare’s Lilies. In all the 
 twenty-five passages the greater portion simply recall the 
 Lily as the type of elegance and beauty, without any special 
 reference to the flower, and in many the word is only used to 
 express a culour, Lily-white. But in the others he doubtless 
 had some special plant in view, and there are two species 
 which, from contemporary writers, seem to have been most 
 celebrated in his day. The one is the pure White Lily (Lilium 
 candidum)\, a plant of which the native country is not yet 
 quite accurately ascertained, but whether a European plant or 
 not, it probably came to England from the East in very early 
 times, It was certainly largely grown in Europe in the 
 
110 
 
 Middle Ages, and was universally acknowledged by artists, 
 sculptors, and architects, as the emblem of female elegance 
 and purity, and none of us would dispute its claim to such a 
 position. There is no other Lily which can surpass it, when 
 well grown, in stateliness and elegance, with flowers of the 
 purest white and the most graceful shape, and sweet scented, 
 and crowning the top of the long leafy stem with such a 
 coronal as no other plant can show. On the rare beauties 
 and excellences of the White Lily it would be easy to fill a 
 volume merely with extracts from old writers, and such a 
 volume would be far from uninteresting. Those who wish 
 for some such account may refer to the “ Monographie 
 Historique et Littéraire des Lis,” par Fr. de Cannart 
 d@’Hamale, 1870. There they will find more than fifty pages 
 of the botany, literary history, poetry, and medical uses of 
 the plant, together with its application to religious emblems, 
 numismatics, heraldry, painting, &c. Two short extracts 
 will suffice here :—‘ Le lis blanc, surnommé la fleur des 
 fleurs, les délices de Venus, la Rose de Junon, qu’Anguillara 
 désigna sous le nom d’Ambrosia, probablement & cause de son 
 parfum suivant, et peut étre aussi de sa soidisante divine 
 origine, se place tout naturellement 4 la téte de ce groupe 
 splendide.” ‘ C’est le Lis classique par excellence, et en 
 méme temps le plus beau du genre.” The other is the large 
 Scarlet or Chalcedonian Lily; and this also is one of the 
 very handsomest, though its beauty is of a very different kind 
 to the White Lily. The habit of the plant is equally stately, 
 and is indeed very grand, but the colours are of the brightest 
 and clearest red. ‘These two plants were abundantly grown 
 in Shakespeare’s time, but besides these there do not seem to 
 have been more than about half-a-dozen specimens in cultiva- 
 tion. There are now forty-six recognised species, besides 
 varieties in great number. 
 
 The Lily has a very wide geographical range, spreading 
 from Central Europe to the Philippines, and species are 
 found in all quarters of the globe, though the chief homes of 
 the family seem to be in California and Japan. Yet we 
 have no wild Lily in England. Both the Martagon and the 
 Pyrenean Lily have been found, but there is no doubt they 
 are garden escapes. 
 
 As a garden plant it may safely be said that no garden can 
 make any pretence to the name that cannot show a good 
 display of Lilies, many or few. Yet the Lily is a most 
 capricious plant; while in one garden almost any sort will 
 grow luxuriantly, in a neighbouring garden it is found 
 
TEL 
 
 difficult to grow any in a satisfactory manner. Within the 
 last few years their culture has been much studied, and by 
 the practical knowledge of such great growers of the family 
 as G. F. Wilson, H. J. Elwes, and other kindred liliophilists, 
 we shall probably in a few years have many difficulties 
 cleared up both in the botanical history and the cultivation 
 of this lovely tribe. 
 
 But we cannot dismiss the Lily without a few words of 
 notice of its sacred character. It is the flower specially 
 dedicated to the Virgin Mary, and which is so familiar to us 
 in the old paintings of the Annunciation. But it has, of 
 course, a still higher character as a sacred plant from the 
 high honour placed on it by our Lord in the Sermon on the 
 Mount. After all that has been written on “the Lilies of 
 the field,” critics have not yet decided whether any, and, if 
 so, what particular plant was meant. Each Eastern traveller 
 seems to have selected the flower that he most admired in 
 Palestine, and then to pronounce that that must be the Lily 
 referred to. Thus, at various times it has been decided to be 
 the Rose, the Crown Imperial, the White Lily, the Chalce- 
 donian Lily, the Oleander, the Wild Artichoke, the Tulip, 
 and many others, but the most generally received opinion 
 now is, that if a true Lily at all, the evidence runs most 
 strongly in favour of the L. Chalcedonicum ; but that Dean 
 Stanley’s view is more probably the correct one, that the 
 term “Lily” is generic, alluding to the many beautiful 
 flowers, both of the Lily family and others, which abound in 
 Palestine. The question, though deeply interesting, is not 
 one for which we need to be over-curious as to the true 
 answer. All of us, and gardeners especially, may be thankful 
 for the words which have thrown a never-dying charm over 
 our favourites, and have effectually stopped any foolish objec- 
 tions that may be brought against the deepest study of 
 flowers, as a petty study, with no great results. To any such 
 silly objections (and we often hear them) the answer is a very 
 short and simple one—that we have been bidden by the very 
 highest authority to “consider the Lilies.” 
 
112 
 
 LIME. 
 
 (1) Ariel. All prisoners ae 
 In the Line-grove which weather-fends your ceil. 
 Tempest, act v, se. 1. 
 
 (2) Prospero. Come, hang them on this Line. Jd7d., act iv, sc. 1. 
 
 It is only in comparatively modern times that the old 
 name of Line or Linden, or Lind,* has given place to Lime. 
 The tree is a doubtful native, but has been long introduced, 
 perhaps by the Romans. It is a very handsome tree when 
 allowed room, but it bears clipping well, and so is very often 
 seen tortured into the most unnatural shapes. It was a very 
 favourite tree with our forefathers to. plant in avenues, not 
 only for its rapid growth, but also for the delicious scent of 
 its flowers ; but the large secretions of honey-dew which load 
 the leaves, and the fact that it comes late into leaf, and sheds 
 its leaves very early, have rather thrown it out of favour of 
 late years. As a useful tree it does not rank very high, 
 except for wood-carvers, who highly prize its light easily-cut 
 wood, that keeps its shape, and is very little liable to craek 
 or split either in the working or afterwards. Nearly all 
 Grinling Gibbons’ delicate carving is in Lime wood. To 
 gardeners the Lime is further useful as furnishing the material 
 for bast mats, which are made from its bark, and interesting 
 as being the origin of the name of Linneus. 
 
 LING. 
 
 . ¢ 
 Gonzalo. Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an 
 acre of barren ground, Ling, Heath, brown Furze, any- 
 thing. Tempest, act i, se. 1. 
 
 If this be the correct reading (and not Long Heath) the 
 reference is to the Heather or Common Ling (Calluna vul- 
 garis). ‘This is the plant that is generally called Ling in the 
 south of England, but in the north of England the name is 
 given to the Cotton Grass (Eriophorum). It is very pro- 
 bable, however, that no particular plant is intended, but that 
 it means any rough, wild vegetation, especially of open moors 
 and Heaths. 
 
 * Be ay of chier as light as lyf on Lynde.- CHavcrr, The Glerke’s Tale, Venvoi. 
 
113. 
 
 LOCUSTS. 
 
 Tago. That food that to him now is as luscious as Locusts, shall 
 be to him shortly as bitter a Coloquintida. 
 Othello, act i, se. 3. 
 
 The Locust is the fruit of the Carob tree (Ceratonia siliqua), 
 a tree that grows naturally in many parts of the south of 
 Europe, the Levant, and Syria, and is largely cultivated tor 
 its fruit.* These are like Beans, full of sweet pulp, and are 
 given in Spain and other southern countries to horses, pigs, 
 and cattle, and they are occasionally imported into England 
 for the same purpose. The Carob was cultivated in England 
 before Shakespeare’s time. ‘They grow not in this countrie,” 
 says Lyte, ‘“ yet, for all that, they be sometimes in the gardens 
 of some diligent Herboristes, but they be so small shrubbes 
 that they can neither bring forth flowers nor fruite.” It was 
 also grown by Gerarde, and Shakespeare may have seen it ; it 
 is now very seldom seen in any collection, but the name is 
 preserved among us, as the jeweller’s carat weight is said to 
 have derived its name from the Carob Beans, which were 
 used for weighing small objects. 
 
 The origin of the tree being called Locust is a little 
 curious. Readers of the New Testament, ignorant of Kastern 
 customs, could not understand that St. John could feed on 
 the insect locust, which, however, is now known to be a 
 common and acceptable article of food, so they looked about 
 for some solution of their difficulty, and decided that the 
 Locusts were the tender shoots of the Carob tree, and that 
 the wild honey was the luscious juice of the Carob frnit. 
 Having got so far it was easy to go farther, and so the 
 Carob soon got the names of St. John’s Bread and St. John’s 
 Beans, and the monks of the desert showed the very trees by 
 which St. John’s life was supported. But though the Carob 
 tree did not produce the locusts on which St. John fed, 
 there is little or no doubt that “the husks which the swine 
 did eat, and which the Prodigal Son longed for, were the 
 produce of the Carob tree. 
 
 * Pods of the Carob tree were found in a house at Pompeii. For an account of 
 the use of the Locust as an article of food, both in ancient and modern times, see 
 Hoaa’s Classical Plants of Sicily, p. 114, 
 
 1 
 
114 
 
 LONG PURPLES. 
 
 Queen. Therewith fantastic garlands did she make 
 Of Crowflowers, Daisies, Nettles, and Long Purples, 
 That liberal shepherds give a grosser name, 
 But our cold maids do Dead Men’s Fingers call them. 
 Hamlet, act iv, se. 7. 
 
 In “ Flowers from Stratford-on-Avon” (a pretty book pub- 
 lished a few years ago with plates of twelve of Shakespeare’s 
 flowers) it is said that “there can be doubt that the Wild 
 Arum is the plant alluded to by Shakespeare as forming part 
 of the nosegay of the crazed Ophelia ;” but the authoress gives 
 no authority for this statement, and I believe that there can 
 be no reasonable doubt that the Long Purples and Dead Men’s 
 Fingers are the common purple Orchises of the woods and 
 meadows (Orchis morio, O. maseula, and O. maculata). The 
 name of Dead Men’s Fingers was given to them from the pale 
 palmate roots of some of the species (O. latifolia, O. maculata. 
 and Gymadenia conopsea), and this seems to have been its 
 more common name. 
 
 Then round the meddowes did she walke, 
 Catching each flower by the stalke, 
 Such as within the meddowes grew, 
 As Dead Man’s Thumb and Harebell blew ; 
 And as she pluckt them, still cried she, 
 Alas! there’s none ’ere loved like me. 
 —Roxburghe Ballads. 
 
 As to the other names to which the Queen alludes, we need 
 not inquire too curiously: they are given in all their “ liber- 
 ality’ and “ grossness” in the old Herbals, but as common 
 names they are, fortunately, extinct. Nor are the names of 
 Long Purples and Dead Men’s Fingers still in use, as far as 
 I am aware, for I can find only one exampie— 
 
 Round thee blow, self-pleached deep, 
 Bramble Roses, faint and pale, 
 And Long Purples of the dale. 
 A Dirge, Tennyson. 
 
 And the meadow Orchis, though so common, is without any 
 common English name, for though I have often asked country 
 people for its name, I have never obtained one; and go it is 
 another of those curious instances which are so hard to explain, 
 
115 . 
 
 where an old and common English word has been replaced by 
 a Greek or Latin word, which must be entirely without mean- 
 ing to nine-tenths of those who use it.* There are similar 
 instances in Crocus, Cyclamen, Hyacinth, Narcissus, Anemone, 
 Beet, Lichen, Polyanthus, Polypody, Asparagus, and others. 
 The Orchid family is certainly the most curious in the 
 vegetable kingdom, as it is almost the most extensive, except 
 the Grasses. Growing all over the world, in any climate, and 
 in all kinds of situations, it numbers 3000 species, of which 
 we have thirty-seven native species in England; and with 
 their curious irregular flowers, often of very beautiful colours, 
 and of wonderful quaintness and variety of shape, they are 
 everywhere so distinct that the merest tyro in botany can 
 separate them from any other flower, and the deepest student 
 can find endless puzzles in them, and increasing interest. 
 Though the most beautiful are exotics, and are the chief 
 ornaments of our stoves and hothouses, yet our native species 
 are full of interest and beauty. Of their botanical interest 
 we have a most convincing proof in Darwin’s “ Fertilization 
 of Orehids,” a book that is almost entirely confined to the 
 British Orchids, and which, in its wonderfully clear state- 
 ments, and its laborious collection of many little facts all 
 leading up to his scientific conclusions, is certainly not the 
 least to be admired among his other learned and careful books. 
 And as to their horticultural interest, it is most. surprising 
 that so few gardeners make the use of them that they might. 
 They were not so despised in Shakespeare’s time, for Gerarde 
 erew a large number in his garden. It is true that some of 
 them are very impatient of garden cultivation, especially 
 those of the Ophrys section (such as the Bee, Fly, and Spider 
 Orchises), and the rare O. hircina, which will seldom remain 
 in the garden above two or three years, except under very 
 careful and peculiar cultivation. But, on the other hand, 
 there are many that rejoice in being transferred to a garden, 
 especially O. maculata, O. mascula, O. pyramidalis, and the 
 Butterfly Orchis of both kinds (Habenaria bifolia and chlo- 
 rantha). These, if left undisturbed, increase in size and 
 beauty every year, their flowers become larger, and their leaves 
 (in O. maculata and O. mascula) become most beautifully 
 
 * Though country people generally have no common namie for the Orchis 
 morio, yet it is called in works on English Botany the Fool Orchis ; and it has the 
 local names of ‘* Crake-feet” in Yorkshire; of ‘ giddy-gander” in Dorset ; and 
 ‘* Keatlegs and Neatlegs” in Kent. Dr. Prior also gives the names ‘‘ Goose and 
 goslings” and “ Gandergooses” for Orchis morio, and ‘‘Standerwort” for Orchis 
 mascula. This last is the Anglo-Saxon name for the flower, but it is now, I 
 believe, quite extinct. 
 
 r 
 
116 
 
 spotted. They may be placed anywhere, but their best place 
 seems to be among low shrubs, or on the rockwork. Nor 
 must the hardy Orchid grower omit the beautiful American 
 species, especially the Cypripedia (C. spectabile, C. pubescens, 
 C. acaule, and others). They are among the most beautiful 
 of low hardy plants, and they succeed perfectly in any peat 
 border that is not too much exposed to the sun. The only 
 caution required is to leave them undisturbed; they resent 
 removal and broken roots; and though I hold it to be one of 
 the first rules of good gardening to give away to others as 
 much as possible, yet I would caution any one against 
 dividing his good clumps of Cypripedia. The probability is 
 that both giver and receiver will lose the plants. If, however, 
 a plant must be divided, the whole plant should be carefully 
 litted, and most gently pulled to pieces with the help of water. 
 
 LOVE-IN-IDLENESS, (see PANsy). 
 
 MACE. 
 
 Clown. I must have Saffron to colour the warden-pies—Mace 
 —Dates, none. Winter’s Tale, act iv, se. 2. 
 
 The Mace is the pretty inner rind that surrounds the 
 Nutmeg, when ripe. It was no doubt imported with the 
 Nutmeg in Shakespeare’s time.—( See NUTMEG). 
 
 MALLOWS. 
 Antonio. He’d sow it with Nettle seed. 
 Sebastian. Or Docks, or Mallows.  Zempest, act i1, se. 1. 
 
 The Mullow is the common roadside weed ( Malva sylvestris), 
 which is not altogether useless in medicine, though the Marsh 
 Mallow far surpasses it in this respect. But the common 
 Mallow is a dear favourite with children, who have ever loved 
 to collect, and string, and even eat its “ cheeses;”’ and these 
 cheeses are a delight to others besides children. Dr. Lindley, 
 certainly one of the most scientific of botanists, can scarcely 
 find words to express his admiration of them. ‘“ Only com- 
 pare a vegetabie cheese,” he says, ‘ with all that is exquisite 
 
117 
 
 in marking and beautiful in arrangement in the works of man, 
 and how poor and contemptible do the latter appear. ; 
 Nor is it alone externally that this inimitable beauty is to be 
 discovered; cut the cheese across, and every slice brings to 
 view cells and partitions, and seeds and embryos, arranged 
 with an unvarying regularity, which would be past belief if 
 we did not know from experience, how far beyond all that the 
 mind can conceive, is the symmetry with which the works of 
 Nature are constructed.” 
 
 As a garden plant of course the Wild Mallow has no place, 
 though the fine-cut leaves and faint scent of the Musk Mallow 
 (M. moschata) might demand a place for it in those parts 
 where it is not wild. But our common Mallow is closely allied 
 to some of the handsomest plants known. The Hollyock is 
 one very near relation, the beautiful Hibiscus is another, and 
 the very handsome Fremontia Californica is a third that has 
 only been added to our gardens during the last few years. Nor 
 is it only allied to beauty, for it also claims as a very near 
 relation a plant which to many would be considered the most 
 commercially useful plant in the world, the Cotton-plant. 
 
 MANDRAGORA, OR MANDRAKES. 
 (1) Cleopatra. Give me to drink Mandragora. 
 
 That I may sleep out this great gap of time, 
 My Antony is away. 
 Antony and Cleopatra, act 1, se. 
 (2) Lago. Not Poppy, nor Mandragora, 
 Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world 
 Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep 
 Which thou own’dst yesterday. 
 Othello, act 111, sc. 
 (3) Falstaff. Thou Mandrake. 2nd Henry IV, act i, se. 
 (4) Ditto. They call’d him Mandrake. Lbid., act iti, 8c. 
 (5) Suffolk. Would curses kill as doth the Mandrake’s groan. 
 2nd Henry VI, act iii, se. 
 (6) Juliet. And shrieks like Mandrakes torn out of the earth 
 That living mortals hearing them run mad. 
 Romeo and Juliet, act iv, sc. 3. 
 
 Or 
 . 
 
 b bb Cs 
 
 nN 
 
 There is, perhaps, no plant on which so many books and 
 treatises (containing for the most part much sad nonsense’ 
 
118 
 
 have been written as the Mandrake, and there is certainly no 
 plant round which so much superstition has gathered, all of 
 which is more or less silly and foolish, and a great deal that 
 is worse than silly. This, no doubt, arose from its first 
 mention in connection with Leah and Rachel, and then in 
 the Canticles, which, perhaps, shows that even in those days 
 some strange qualities were attributed to the plant; but how 
 from that beginning such, and such wide-spread, superstitions 
 could have arisen, it is hard to say. I can scarcely tell these 
 superstitious fables in better words than Gerarde described 
 them,—* There hath been many ridiculous tales brought up 
 of this plant, whether of old wives or some runagate surgeons 
 or physicke-mongers I know not. . . . They adde that 
 it is never or very seldome to be found growing naturally but 
 under a gallowes, where the matter that has fallen from a 
 dead body hath given it the shape of a man, and the matter 
 of a woman the substance of a female plant, with many 
 other such doltish dreams. They fable further and affirme 
 that he who would take up a plant thereof must tie a dog 
 thereuntu to pull it up, which will give a great shreeke at the 
 digging up, otherwise, if a man should do it, he should surely 
 die in a short space after.” ‘This, with the addition that the 
 plant is decidedly narcotie, will sufficiently explain all Shake- 
 speare’s references. Gerarde, however, omits to notice one 
 thing which, in justice to our forefathers, should not be 
 omitted. These fables on the Mandrake are by no means 
 English medizval fables, but they were of foreign extraction, 
 and of very ancient date. Josephus tells the same story as 
 held by the Jews in his time and before his time. Columella 
 even spoke of the plant as “ semi-homo,” and Pythagoras called 
 it “ Anthropomorphus .” and Dr. Daubeney has published in his 
 fioman Husbandry a most curious drawing from the Vienna 
 MS of Dioscorides in the fifth century, “ representing the 
 Goddess of Discovery presenting to Dioscorides the root of 
 this Mandrake” (of thoroughly human shape) “which she 
 had just pulled up, while the unfortunate dog which had 
 been employed for that purpose is depicted in the agonies of 
 death.” All these beliefs have long, I shculd hope, been 
 extinct among us; yet even now artists who draw the plant 
 are tempted to fancy a resemblance to the human figure, and 
 in the Flora Groca, where, for the most part, the figures of 
 the plants are most beautifully accurate, the figure of the 
 Mandrake is painfully human.* 
 
 * For some curious early English notices of the Mandrake, see Promptorium Par- 
 vulorum, p. 324, note. See also Brown's Vulgar Livors, book ii, ¢. 6. 
 
119 
 
 As a garden plant, the Mandrake is often grown, but more 
 for its curiosity than its beauty; the leaves appear early in 
 the spring, followed very soon by its dull and almost in- 
 conspicuous flowers, and then by its Appie-like fruit. This 
 is the Spring Mandrake (Mandragora vernalis), but the 
 Autumn Mandrake (M. autumnalis or microcarpa) may be 
 grown as an ornamental plant. ‘The leaves appear in the 
 autumn, and are succeeded by a multitude of pale blue 
 flowers about the size of and very much resembling the 
 Anemone pulsatilla (see Sweet’s Flower Garden, vol. vil, 
 No. 325). These remain in flower a long time. In my 
 own garden they have been in flower from the beginning of 
 November till May. I need only add that the Mandrake is a 
 native of the south of Europe and other countries bordering 
 on the Mediterranean, but it was very early introduced into 
 England. It is named in Archbishop Atlfric’s Vocabulary in 
 the tenth century with the very expressive name of “ Earth- 
 apple ;” it is again named in an Anglo-Saxon Vocabulary of 
 the eleventh century (in the British Museum), but without 
 any English equivalent; and Gerarde cultivated both sorts 
 in his garden. 
 
 MARIGOLD. 
 
 (1) Perdita. The Marigold that goes to bed with the sun, 
 And with him rises weeping. These are flowers 
 Of middle summer. Winter's Tale, act iv, se. 3. 
 (2) dlarina. The purple Violets and Marigolds 
 Shall, as a chaplet, hang upon thy grave 
 While summer days do last. Pericles, act iv, se. 1. 
 (3) Song. And winking Mary-buds begin 
 . To ope their golden eyes. Cymbeline, act ii, sc. 8. 
 (4) Great princes’ favourites their fair leaves spread 
 But as the Marigolds at the sun’s eye. Sonnet XXv. 
 (5) Her eyes like Marigolds had sheathed their light, 
 And canopied in darkness sweetly lay 
 Till they might open to adorn the day. Rape of Lucrece. 
 
 There are at least three plants which claim to be the old 
 Marigold. 1——The Marsh Marigold (Caltha palustris). This 
 is a well-known golden flower-— 
 
 The wild Marsh Marigold shines like fire in swamps and 
 hollows gray. - | Tennyson. 
 
120 
 
 And there is this in favour of its being the flower meant, 
 that the name signifies the golden blossom of the marish or 
 marsh ; but, on the other hand, the Caltha does not fulfil 
 the conditions of Shakespeare’s Marigold—it does not open 
 and close its flowers with the sun. 2—The Corn Marigold 
 (Chrysanthemum segetum), a very handsome but mischievous 
 weed in Corn-fields, not very common in England and said 
 not to be a true native, but more common in Scotland, where 
 it is called Goulands. I do not think this is the flower, 
 because there is no proof, as far as I know, that it was calied 
 Marigold in Shakespeare’s time. 3—The Garden Marigold 
 or Ruddes (Calendula officinalis). Ihave Jittle doubt this 
 is the flower meant; it was always a great favourite in our 
 forefathers’ gardens, and it is hard to give any reason why 
 it should not be so in ours. Yet it has been almost com- 
 pletely banished, but may often be found in the gardens of 
 cottages and old farmhouses, where it is still prized for its 
 bright and almost everlasting flowers (looking very like a 
 Gazania) and evergreen tuft of leaves, while the careful 
 housewife still picks and carefully stores the petals of the 
 flowers, and uses them in broths and soups, believing them to 
 be of great efficacy, as Gerarde said they were, “to strengthen 
 and comfort the heart.” 
 
 The two properties of the Marigold—that it was always in 
 flower, and that it turned its flowers to the sun and followed 
 his guidance in their opening and shutting—made it a very 
 favourite flower with the poets and emblem writers. T. For- 
 ster, in the Circle of the Seasons, 1828, says that “this plant 
 received the name of Calendula, because it was in flower on 
 the calends of nearly every month. It has been called Mari- 
 gold for a similar reason, being more or less in blow at the 
 times of all the festivals of the Blessed Virgin Mary, the word 
 gold having reference to its golden rays, likened to the rays 
 of light around the head of the Blessed Virgin.” This is 
 ingenious, and, as he adds, “thus say the old writers,” it is 
 worth quoting, though he does not say what old writer gave 
 this derivation, which I am very sure is not the true one. 
 The old name is simply goldes. Chaucer spoke of them as 
 the “ yellow goldes ;”* in the Promptorium Parvulorwm we 
 have “ Goolde, herbe, solsequium, quia sequitur solem, elitro- 
 pium, calendula ;” and Spenser says— 
 
 * «That werud of yolo guldes a garland.” 
 The Knightes Tale. 
 
121 
 
 And if I her like ought on earth might read 
 
 I would her liken to a crowne of Lillies, 
 
 Upon a virgin brydes adorned head, 
 
 With Roses dight and Goolds and Daffadillies. 
 Colin Clout. 
 
 But it was its other quality of opening or shutting its 
 flowers at the sun’s bidding that made the Marigold such a 
 favourite with the old writers, especially those who wrote on 
 religious emblems. It was to them the emblem of constancy 
 in affection, and sympathy in joy and sorrow, though it was 
 also the emblem of the fawning courtier, who can only shine 
 when everything is bright. As the emblem of constancy, it 
 was to the old writers what the Sunflower was to Moore— 
 
 The Sunflower turns on her god when he sets 
 The same look which she did when he rose. 
 
 It was the Heliotrope or Solsequinm or Turnesol of our 
 forefathers, and is the flower often alluded to under that 
 name. ‘ All yellow flowers,” says 8. Francis de Sales, “ and 
 above all those that the Greeks call Heliotrope, and we call 
 Sunflower, not only rejoice at the sight of the sun, but follow 
 with loving fidelity the attraction of its rays, gazing at the 
 sun, and turning towards it from its rising to its setting.” 
 —Divine Love, Mulholiand’s Translation. 
 
 Of this higher and more religious use of the emblematic 
 flower there are frequent examples. I will only give one 
 from G. Withers, a contemporary of Shakespeare’s later life— 
 
 When with a serious musing I behold 
 
 The grateful and obsequious Marigold, 
 
 How duly every morning she displays 
 
 Her open breast when Phoebus spreads his rays ; 
 How she observes him in his daily walk, 
 
 Still bending towards him her small slender stalk ; 
 How when he down declines she droops and mourns, 
 Bedewed, as ’twere, with tears till he returns ; 
 And bow she veils her flowers when he is gone. 
 When this I meditate, methinks the flowers 
 
 Have spirits far more generous than ours, 
 
 And give us fair examples to despise 
 
 The servile fawninys and idolatries 
 
 Wherewith we court these earthly things below, 
 Which merit not the service we bestow. 
 
 From the time of Withers the poets treated the Marigold 
 very much as the gardeners did—they passed it by altogether 
 as beneath their notice. 
 
MARJORAM. 
 
 (1) Perdita. Here’s flowers for you, 
 Hot Lavender, Mints, Savory, Marjoram. 
 | Vinter’s Tale, act iv, se. 3. 
 (2) Clown. Give the word. 
 Fadgar. Sweet Marjoram. 
 Lear. Pass. King Lear, act iv, se. 6. 
 (3) The Lily I condemned for thy hand, 
 And buds of Marjoram had stolen thy hair. 
 Sonnet xcix. 
 (4) Clown. Indeed, sir, she was the Sweet Marjoram of the 
 Salad, or rather the Herb-of-grace. 
 All’s Well that Ends Well, act iv, se. 5. 
 
 In Shakespeare’s time several species of Marjoram were 
 grown, especially the Common Marjoram (Origanum vulgare), 
 a British plant, the Sweet Mayjoram (O. Majorana), a plant of 
 the South of Europe, from which the English name comes, 
 and the Winter Marjoram (O. Heracleoticum). They were 
 all favourite pot herbs, so that Lyte calls the common one 
 “a delicate and tender herb,” ‘a noble and odoriferous 
 plant ;” but, like so many of the old herbs, they have now 
 fallen into disrepute. The comparison of a lady’s hair to the 
 buds of Marjoram is not very intelligible. 
 
 MARYBUDS (see MARIGOLD). 
 
 MEDLAR. 
 (1) Apemantus. There’s a Medlar for thee, eat it. 
 Timon. On what I hate I feed not. 
 
 Apemantus. Dost hate a Medlar ? 
 Timon. Ay, though it looks like thee. 
 Limon of Athens, act iv, se. 3. 
 (2) Lucio. They would have married me to a rotten Medlar. 
 Measure for Measure, act iv, se. 3. 
 
123 
 
 (3) Zouchstone. Truly the tree yields bad fruit. 
 Rosalind. Vl graff it with you, and then I shall graff it with 
 a Medlar; then it will be the earliest fruit in the country, 
 for you'll be rotten ere you be half ripe, and that’s the 
 right virtue of the Medlar. As You Like It, act iii, se. 2. 
 (4) ercutio. Now will he sit under a Medlar tree, 
 And wish his mistress were that kind of fruit 
 As maids call Medlars when they laugh alone. 
 Romeo and Juliet, act ii, se. 1. 
 
 The Medlar is an European tree, but not a native of Eng- 
 land; it has, however, been so long introduced as to be now 
 completely naturalized, and is admitted into the English 
 flora. It is mentioned in the early vocabularies, and Chaucer 
 gives it avery prominent place in his description of a beautiful 
 garden :— 
 
 I was aware of the fairest Medler tree 
 That ever yet in alle my life I sie, 
 As ful of blossomes as it might be ; 
 Therein a goldfinch leaping pretile 
 Fro’ bough to bough, and as him list, he eet 
 Here and there of buddes and flowres sweet. 
 The Flower and the Leaf. 
 
 And certainly a fine Medlar tree “ful of blossomes” is a 
 handsome ornament on any lawn. There are few deciduous 
 trees that make better lawn trees. There is nothing stiff 
 about the growth even from its early youth; it forms a low, 
 irregular, picturesque tree, excellent for shade, with very 
 handsome white flowers, followed by the curious fruit; it will 
 not, however, do well in the north of England or Scotland. 
 
 Shakespeare only used the common language of his time 
 when he described the Medlar as only fit to be eaten when 
 rotten. Chaucer said just the same— 
 
 That ilke fruyt is ever lenger the wers 
 
 Till it be rote in mullok or in stree— 
 
 ‘We olde men, I drede, so fare we, 
 
 Till we be roten, can we not be rype.—TZhe LReeve’s Tale. 
 
 And many other writers to the same effect. But, in fact, the 
 Medlar when fit to be eaten is no more rotten than a ripe 
 Peach, Pear, or Strawberry, or any other fruit which we do 
 not eat till it has reached a certain stage of softness. There 
 is a vast difference between a ripe and a rotten Medlar, though 
 it would puzzle many of us to say when a fruit (not a Medlar 
 only) is ripe, that is, fit to be eaten. These things are 
 matters af taste and fashion, and it is rather surprising to find 
 
124 
 
 that we are accused, and by good judges, of eating Peaches 
 when rotten rather than ripe. ‘The Japanese always eat 
 their Peaches in an unripe state. In the Gartenflora, Dy. 
 Regel says, in some remarks on Japanese fruit trees, that the 
 Japanese regard a ripe Peach as rotten.” 
 
 There are a few varieties of the Medlar, differing in the 
 size and flavour of the fruits, which were also cultivated in 
 Shakespeare’s time. 
 
 MINTS. 
 
 1) Perdita. Here’s flowers for you, 
 Hot Lavender, Mints, Savory, Marjoram. 
 Winter’s Tale, act iv, se. 2. 
 (2) Armado. I am that flower. 
 Duman. That Mint. 
 Longueville. That Columbine. 
 Love's Labowrs Lost, act v, se. 2. 
 
 The Mints are a large family of highiy-perfumed, strong- 
 flavoured plants, of which there are many British species, but 
 too well known to call for any further description. 
 
 MISTLETOE. 
 Tamora. The trees, though summer, yet forlorn and lean, 
 
 O’ercome with Moss, and baleful Mistletoe. 
 Titus Andronicus, act ii, se. 3. 
 
 The Mistletoe was a sore puzzle to our ancestors, almost as 
 great a mystery as the Fern. While they admired its fresh, 
 evergreen branches, and pretty transparent fruit, and used 
 it largely in the decoration of their houses at Christmas, 
 they looked on the plant with a certain awe. Something of 
 this, no doubt, arose from its traditional connection with the 
 Druids, which invested the plant with a semi-sacred character, 
 as a plant that could drive away evil spirits ; yet it was also 
 looked upon with some suspicion, perhaps also arising from its 
 use by our heathen ancestors, so that, though admitted into 
 houses, it was not (or very seldom) admitted into churches. 
 
125 
 
 And this character so far still attaches to the Mistletoe, 
 that it is never allowed with the Holly and Ivy and Box 
 to decorate the churches, and Gay’s lines were certainly 
 written in error :— 
 
 Now with bright Holly all the temples strow, 
 
 With Laurel green and sacred Mistletoe. 
 
 The mystery attaching to the Mistletoe arose from the 
 ignorance as to its production. It was supposed not to grow 
 from its seeds, and so how it was produced was a fit subject 
 for speculation and fable. Virgil tells the story thus :— 
 
 Quale solet sylvis brumali frigore viscum 
 Fronde virere nova, quod non sua seminat arbos, 
 Et crocceo foetu teretes circumdare truncos. 
 Afneid, vi, 205. 
 
 In this way Virgil elegantly veils his ignorance, but his 
 commentator in the eighteenth century (Delphic Classics) 
 tells the tale without any doubts as to its truth. ‘“ Non 
 nascitur e semine proprio arboris, at neque ex insidentum 
 volucrum fimo, ut putavere veteres, sed ex ipso arborum 
 vitali excremento.” This was the opinion of the great Lord 
 Bacon; he ridiculed the idea that the Mistletoe was propa- 
 gated by the operation of a bird as an idle tradition, saying 
 that the sap which produces the plant is such as “ the tree 
 doth excerne and cannot assimilate,” and Browne ( Vulgar 
 Errors) was of the same opinion. - But the opposite opinion 
 was perpetuated in the very name (‘ Mistel; fimus, muck.’ 
 Cockayne),* and was held without any doubt by most of the 
 writers in Shakespeare’s time :— 
 
 Upon the oak, the plumb-tree and the holme, 
 
 The stock-dove and the blackbird should not come, 
 
 Whose mooting on the trees does make to grow 
 
 Rots curing hyphear, and the Mistletoe. 
 
 Brown, Brit: Past: 1, 1. 
 
 So that we need not blame Gerarde when he boldly said that 
 “this excrescence hath not any roote, neither doth encrease 
 himselfe of his seed, as some have supposed, but it rather 
 comniethe of a certaine moisture gathered together upon the 
 boughes and joints of the trees, through the barke whereof 
 this vaporous moisture proceeding bringeth forth the Missel- 
 
 * < Mistel est a mist stereus, quod ex stercore avium pronascitur, nec aliter 
 pronasci potest’’--WacHTER, Glossary—(quoted in Notes and Queries, drd series, 
 vii, 157. In the same volume are several papers on the origin of the word). Dr. 
 Prior derives it from mist? (differents, and tan (twig), being so unlike the tree it 
 grows upon. 
 
126 
 
 toe.” We now know that it is produced exclusively from 
 the seeds probably lodged by the birds, and that it is easily 
 grown and cultivated. It will grow and has been found on 
 almost any deciduous tree, preferring those with soft bark, and 
 growing very seldom on the Oak. Those who wish for full in- 
 formation upon the proportionate distribution of the Mistletoe 
 on different British trees will find a good summary in Notes 
 and Queries, vol. iii, p. 226 
 
 MOSS. 
 
 (1) Adriana. If ought possess me from thee it is dross, 
 Usurping Ivy, Brier, or idle Moss. 
 Comedy of Errors, act ii, se. 2. 
 (2) Tamora. The trees, though summer, yet forlorn and lean, 
 O’ercome with Moss and baleful Mistletoe. 
 Titus Andronicus, act 11, se. 3. 
 (3) Apemantus. These Mossed trees 
 That have outlived the eagie. 
 Limon of Athens, act iv, se. 3, 
 (4) LHotspur. Steeples and Moss-grown towers. 
 lst Henry LV, act iii, se. 1. 
 (5) Oliver. Under an Oak whose boughs were Mossed with age. 
 As You Like It, act iv, se. 8. 
 
 (6) Arviragus. | The ruddock would, 
 With charitable bill, 
 
 bring thee all this ; 
 Yea, and furr’d Moss besides when flowers are none, 
 To winter-ground thy corse. 
 | Cymbeline, act iv, se 2. 
 
 If it were not for the pretty notice of Moss in the last 
 passage (6), we should be inclined to say that Shakespeare had 
 as little regard for “ idle Moss” as for the “ baleful Mistletoe.” 
 In his day Moss included all the low-growing and apparently 
 flowerless carpet plants which are now divided into the many 
 families of Mosses, Lichens, Club Mosses, Hepatice, Junger- 
 mannie, &e., &e. And these plants, though holding no rank 
 in the eyes of a florist, are yet deeply interesting, perhaps no 
 family of plants more so, to those who have time and patience 
 to study them. ‘The Club Mosses, indeed, may claim a place 
 
127 
 
 in the garden if they can only be induced to grow, but that is 
 a difficult task, and the tenderer Lycopodiums are always 
 favourites when well grown among greenhouse Ferns; but 
 for the most part, the Mosses must be studied in their native 
 haunts, and when so studied, they are found to be full of 
 beauty and of wondertul construction. Nor are they without 
 use, and it is rather strange that Shakespeare should have so 
 markedly called them “idle,” or useless, considering that in 
 his day many medical virtues were attributed to them. This 
 reputation for any medical virtues they have now all lost, 
 except the Iceland Moss, which is still in use for invalids ; but 
 the Mosses have other uses, The Reindeer Moss (Cladonia 
 rangiferina ) and Rock-hair( Alectoria jubata) are indispensable 
 to the Laplander as food for his reindeer, and Usnea florida 
 is used in North America as food for cattle ; the Iceland Moss 
 (Cetraria Islandicus) is equally indispensable as an article of 
 food to all the inhabitants of the extreme North; and the 
 Tripe de la Roche (Gyrophora cylindrica) has furnished food 
 to the Arctic explorers when no other food could be obtained ; 
 while many dyes are produced from the Lychens, especially 
 the Cudbear (a most discordant corruption of the name of the 
 discoverer, Mr. Cuthbert), which is the produce of the Rock 
 Moss (Lecanoro tartarea). So that even to us the Mosses 
 have their uses, even if they do not reach the uses that they 
 have in North Sweden, where, according to Miss Bremer, 
 “the forest, which is the countryman’s workshop, is his store- 
 house, too. With the various Lichens that grow upon the 
 trees and rocks, he cures the virulent diseases with which he is 
 sometimes afflicted, dyes the articles of clothes which he wears, 
 and poisons the noxious and dangerous animals which annoy 
 him.” 
 
 As to the beauty of Mosses and Lichens we have only to ask 
 any artist or go into any exhibition of pictures. Their great 
 beauty has been so lovingly described by Ruskin (“ Modern 
 Painters”), that no one can venture to do more than quote his 
 description. It is well known to many, but none will regret 
 having it called to their remembrance—* placuit semel— 
 decies repetita placebit ”—space, however, will oblige me 
 somewhat to curtail it, “ Meek creatures! the first merey of 
 the earth, veiling with hushed softness its dentless rocks: 
 creatures full of pity covering with strange and tender honour 
 the sacred disgrace of ruin, laying quiet fingers on the trembling 
 stones to teach them rest. No words that I know of will say 
 what these Mosses are; none are delicate enough, none perfect 
 enough, none rich enough. . . They will not be gathered 
 
128 
 
 like the flowers for chaplet or love-token ; but of these the wild 
 bird will make its nest and the wearied child its pillow, and as 
 the earth’s first mercy so they are its last gift tous. When all 
 other service is vain from plant and tree, the soft Mosses and 
 grey Lichens take up their watch by the headstone. The 
 woods, the blossoms, the gift-bearing Grasses have done their 
 parts for a time, but these do service for ever. Trees for the 
 builder’s yard, flowers for the bride’s chamber, corn for the 
 granary, Moss for the grave.” 
 
 MULBERRIES, 
 
 (1) Zitanta. Feed him with Apricocks and Dewbertries, 
 With purple Grapes, ripe Figs, and Mulberries. 
 Midsummer Night?’s Dream, act ii, se. 1. 
 (2) Volumnia. Thy stout heart 
 Now humble as the ripest Mulberry 
 
 That will not bear the handling. 
 Coriolanus, act 11, se. 
 
 bo 
 
 (3) Prologue. Thisbe tarrying in Mulberry shade. 
 Midsummer Nights Dream, act v, se. 1. 
 (4) The birds would bring him Mulberries and ripe red Cherries. 
 Venus and Adonis (sce CHERRIES). 
 
 We do not know when the Mulberry, which is an Eastern 
 tree, was introduced into England, but probably very early. 
 We find in Archbishop /#lfric’s Vocabulary, ‘‘morus vel 
 rubus, mor-beam,” but it is doubtful whether that applies to 
 the Mulberry or Blackberry, as in the same catalogue Black- 
 berries are mentioned as “‘flavi vel mori, blace-berian.” There 
 is no doubt that Morum was a Blackberry as well as a Mul- 
 berry in classical times. It is probably the fruit mentioned 
 by Horace --- 
 
 Ile salubres 
 /Estates peraget, qui nigris prandia moris 
 Finiet ante gravem que legerit arbore solem. 
 Sat. ii, 4, 24. 
 And it certainly is the fruit mentioned by Ovid— 
 In duris heerentia mora rubetis. -A/etam., 1, 105. 
 
 In the Dictionarius of John de Garlande (thirteenth century)* 
 
 * The Dictionarius of John de Garlande is published in Wright’s Vocabularies. 
 His garden was probably in the neighbourhood of Paris, but he was a thorough 
 Englishman, and there is little doubt that his description of a garden was drawn as 
 much from his English as from his French experience. 
 
129 
 
 we find, “ Hee sunt nomina silvestrium arborum, qui sunt in 
 luco magistri Johannis; quercus cum fago, pinus cum lauro, 
 celsus gerens celsa,” and Mr, Wright translates “‘celsa” by 
 “‘ Mulberries,” without, however, giving his authority for this 
 translation.* But whenever introduced, it had been long 
 established in England in Shakespeare’s time. 
 
 It must have been a common tree even in Anglo-Saxon 
 times, for the favourite drink Morat was a compound of honey 
 flavoured with Mulberries (Turner’s Anglo-Saxons ).+ 
 
 Spenser spoke of it :— 
 
 With love juice stained the Mulberie, 
 The fruit that dewes the poet’s braine. Hlegy, 18. 
 
 Gerarde describes it as “high and full of boughes,” and 
 growing in sundry gardens in England, and he grew in his own 
 London garden both the Black and the White Mulberry. 
 Lyte also, before Gerarde, describes it, and says:—“ It is 
 called in the fayning of Poetes the wisest of all other trees, 
 for this tree only among all others bringeth forth his leaves 
 after the cold frostes be past.” 
 
 As an ornamental tree for any garden, the Mulberry needs 
 no recommendation, being equally handsome in shape, in 
 foliage, and in fruit. It is a much prized ornament in all old 
 gardens, so that it has been well said that an old Mulberry 
 tree on the lawn is a patent of nobility to any garden ; and it 
 is most easy of cultivation; it will bear removal when of a 
 considerable size, and so easily can it be propagated from 
 cuttings that a story is told of Mr. Payne Knight that he cut 
 large branches from a Mulberry tree to make standards for 
 his clothes-lines, and that each standard took root, and became 
 a flourishing Mulberry tree. 
 
 Though most of us only know of the common White or 
 Black Mulberry, yet, where it is grown for silk culture (as it 
 is now proposed to grow it in England, with a promised profit 
 of from £70 to £100 per acre for the silk, and an additional 
 profit of from £100 to £500 per acre from the grain (eggs)! !), 
 great attention is paid to the different varieties ; so that M. 
 de Quatrefuges briefly describes six kinds cultivated in one 
 valley in France, and Royle remarks, “ so many varieties have 
 been produced by cultivation that 1t is difficult to ascertain 
 
 * The authority may be in the Promptorium Parvulorum ; “ Mulberry, Morum 
 (selsus).” 
 + Moratum potionis genus, f. ex vino et moris dilutis confecte. 
 Glossavium Adelung. 
 
 K 
 
130 
 
 whether they all belong to one species ; they are,” as he adds, 
 ‘nearly as numerous as those of the silkworm” (Darwin). 
 
 We have good proof of Shakespeare’s admiration of the 
 Mulberry, in the celebrated Shakespeare Mulberry growing in 
 his garden at New Place at Stratford-on-Avun. ‘ That Shake- 
 speare planted this tree is as well authenticated as anything 
 of that nature can be . . . . and till this was planted 
 there was no Mulberry tree in the neighbourhood. The tree 
 was celebrated in many a poem, one especially by Dibdin, but 
 about 1752, the then owner of New Place, the Rev. Mr. 
 Gastrell, bought and pulled down the house, and wishing, as it 
 should seem, to be ‘damned to everlasting fame, he had some 
 time before cut down Shakespeare’s celebrated Mulberry tree, 
 to save himself the trouble of showing it to those whose 
 admiration of our great poet led them to visit the poetick 
 ground on which it stood” (Malone). The pieces were made 
 into many snuff-boxes and other mementoes of the tree ; 
 
 The Mulberry tree was hung with blooming wreaths ; 
 The Mulberry tree stood centre of the dance; 
 The Mulberry tree was hymn’d with dulcet strains; 
 And from his touchwood trunk the Mulberry tree 
 Supplied such relics as devotion holds 
 Still sacred, and preserves with pious care. 
 Cowrrr, Zask, book vi. 
 
 MUSHROOMS. 
 
 (1) Prospero. You demy-puppets, that 
 By moonshine do the greensome ringlets make, 
 Whereof the ewe not bites, and you whose pastime 
 Is to make midnight Mushrooms. Tempest, act v, se. 
 
 (2) Hany. Ido wander everywhere. 
 Swifter than the moones sphere ; 
 And I serve the fairy queen, 
 To dew her orbs upon the green. 
 Midsummer Night's Dream, act ii, se. 1. 
 (8) Quickly. And nightly, meadow fairies, look you sing, 
 Like to the garter’s compass, in a ring: 
 The expressure that it bears, green let it be, 
 More fertile-fresh than all the field to see. 
 Merry Wives, act v. se. 5. 
 (4) Ayan. Toadstool, learn me the proclamation. 
 Lrovlus and Cressida, act ii, se. 1. 
 
 _— 
 
131 
 
 The three first passages, besides the notice of the Mushroom, 
 contain also the notice of the fairy-rings, which are formed by 
 fungi, though probably Shakespeare knew little of this. No.4 
 names the Toadstool, and the four passages together contain 
 the whole of Shakespeare’s fungology, and it is little to be 
 wondered at that he has not more to say on these curious plants. 
 In his time “ Mushrumes or Toadstooles ” (they were all classed 
 together) were looked on with very suspicious eyes, though they 
 were so much eaten that we frequently find in the old herbals 
 certain remedies against “a surfeit of Mushrooms.” Why 
 they should have been connected with toads has never been 
 explained, but it was always so :— 
 
 The grieslie Todestoole growne there mought I see, 
 And loathed paddocks lording on the same. Spenser. 
 
 They were associated with other loathsome objects besides 
 toads, for ‘* Poisonous Mushrooms groweth where old rusty 
 iron lieth, or rotten clouts, or neere to serpents’ dens or rootes 
 of trees that bring forth venomous fruit. . . . . Fewof 
 them are good to be eaten, and most of them do suffocate and 
 strangle the eater. ‘Therefore, I give my advice unto those 
 that love such strange and new-fangled meates to beware of 
 licking honey among thornes, lest the swectnesse of one do not 
 counteracte the sharpnesse and pricking of the other.” This 
 was Gerarde’s prudent advice on the eating of * Mushrumes 
 and 'Toadstooles,” but now-a-days we know better. The fung- 
 ologists tell us that those who refuse to eat any fungus but the 
 Mushroom (Agaricus campestris) are not only foolish in re- 
 jecting most delicate luxuries, but also very wrong in wasting 
 most excellent and nutritious food. Fungologists are great 
 enthusiasts, and it may be well to take their prescription cum 
 grano sulis; but we may qualify Gerarde’s advice by the well- 
 known enthusiastic description of Dr. Badham, who certainly 
 knew much more of fungology than Gerarde, and did not re- 
 commend to others what he had not personally tried himself. 
 After praising the beauty of an English autumn, even in com- 
 parison with Italy, he thus concludes in his pleasant and useful 
 book, “The Esculent Funguses of England”: —‘*I have myself 
 witnessed whole hundredweights of rich, wholesome diet 
 rotting under trees, woods teeming with food, and not one 
 hand to gatherit. . . . . Ihave, indeed, grieved when 
 I reflected on the straitened conditions of the lower orders to 
 see pounds innumerable of extempore beefsteaks growing on 
 our Oaks in the shape of Fistula hepatica; Ag. fusipes, to 
 pickle, in clusters under them ; Puffballs, which some of our 
 
 K? 
 
132 
 
 friends have not inaptly compared to sweet-bread for the rich 
 delicacy of their unassisted flavour; Hydna, as good as 
 oysters, which they very much resemble in taste; Agaricus 
 deliciosus, reminding us of tender lamb’s kidneys; the beauti- 
 ful yellow Chantarelle, that kalon kugathon ot diet, growing 
 by the bushel, and no basket but our own to pick up a few 
 specimens in our way; the sweet nutty-flavoured Boletus, 
 in vain calling himself edulcs when there was none to believe 
 him; the dainty Orcella; the Ag. hetherophyllus, which 
 tastes like the crawfish when grilled; the Ag. ruber and Ag. 
 virescens, to cook in any way, and equally good in all.” 
 
 As to the fairy rings (Nos. 1, 2 and 3) a great amount 
 of legendary lore was connected with them. Cowley said :— 
 Where once such fairies dance, 
 
 No grass does ever grow ; 
 
 and in Shakespeare’s time the sheep refused to eat the grass on 
 the fairy rings (1); I believe they now feed on it, but I have 
 not been able to ascertain this with certainty. Others, besides 
 the sheep, avoided them. ‘ When the damsels of old gathered 
 may-dew on the grass, which they made use of to improve their 
 complexions, they left undisturbed such of it as they perceived 
 on the fairy rings, apprehensive that the fairies should in 
 revenge destroy their beauty, nor was it reckoned safe to put 
 the foot within the rings, lest they should be liable to fairies’ 
 power.”—Douce’s Illustrations, p. 180. 
 
 MUSK ROSES (see Rose). 
 
 MUSTARD. 
 
 (1) Doll. They say he has a good wit. 
 Falstaff. Hea good wit? hang him, baboon! his wit is as 
 thick as Tewkesbury Mustard; there is no more conceit 
 in him than in a mallet. 2nd Henry IV, act ii, se. 4. 
 
 (2) Titania. Peas-blossom! Cobweb! Moth! and Mustard-seed ! 
 
 Bottom. Your name, I beseech you, sir. 
 
 Mustard-seed. Mustard-seed. 
 
 Bottom. Good Master Mustard-seed, I know your patience 
 well; that same cowardly giant-like ox beef hath de- 
 voured many a gentleman of your house. I promise 
 you your kindred hath made my eyes water ere now. 
 I desire your more acquaintance, good Master Mustard- 
 seed. Midsummer Night's Dream, act iii, se. 1. 
 
135. 
 
 (3) Bottom. Where’s Monsieur Mustard-seed ? 
 
 Mustard.seed. Ready. 
 
 Bottom. Give me your neaf, Monsieur Mustard-seed. Pray 
 
 you, leave your courtesy, good monsieur. 
 
 Mustard-seed. What's your will ? 
 
 Bottom. Nothing, good monsieur, but to help Cavalero 
 
 Cobweb to scratch. ) Ibid, act iv, se. 1. 
 (4) Grumio. What say you to a piece of beef and mustard ? 
 
 Katharine. A dish that I do love to feed upon. 
 
 Grumio. Ay, but the mustard is too hot a little. 
 
 Katharine. Why then the beef, and let the mustard rest. 
 
 Grumio. Nay then, I will not, you shall have the mustard, 
 
 Or else you get no beef of Grumio. 
 Katharine. Then both, or one, or anything thou wilt. 
 Grumv. Why then, the mustard without the beef. 
 Taming of the Shrew, act iv, sc. 3. 
 (5) Rosalind. | Where learned you that oath, fool? 
 
 Touchstone. Of a certain knight, that swore by his honour 
 they were good pancakes, and swore by his honour the 
 mustard was nought; now I’ll stand to it, the pancakes 
 were nought, and the Mustard was good, yet was the 
 knight not forsworn. . 
 You are not forsworn, no more was the knight swearing 
 by his honour, for he never had any; or if he had, he 
 had sworn it away before he ever saw those cakes or 
 that Mustard. As You Inke It, act 1, se. 2. 
 
 The following passage from Coles, in 1657, will illustrate 
 No. 1 :—“ In Gloucestershire about Teuxbury they grind Mus- 
 tard and make it into balls which are brought to London and 
 other remote places as being the best that the world affords.” 
 These Mustard balls were the form in which Mustard was usually 
 sold, until Mrs. Clements, of Durham, in the last century in- 
 vented the method of dressing mustard-flour, like wheat-tlour, 
 and made her fortune with Durham Mustard ; and it has been 
 supposed that this was the only form in which Mustard was 
 sold in Shakspeare’s time, and that it was eaten dry as we eat 
 pepper. But the following from an Anglo-Saxon leech-book > 
 seems to speak of it as used exactly in the modern fashion. 
 After mentioning several ingredients in a recipe for want of 
 appetite from meat; it says :—“ Triturate all together—eke 
 out with vinegar as may seem fit to thee so that it may be 
 wrought into the form in which Mustard is tempered for 
 flavouring, put it then into a glass vessel, and then with bread, 
 or with whatever meat thou choose, lap it with a spoon, that 
 will help.”— Leech Book, ii, 5, Cockayne’s translation. And 
 Parkinson’s account is to the same effeet:—* The seeds hereof, 
 
134 
 
 ground between two stones, fitted for the purpose, and called 
 a quern, with some good vinegar added to it to make if quid 
 and running, is that kind of Mustard that is usually made of 
 all sorts to serve as sauce both for fish and flesh.” 
 
 MYRTLE. 
 (1) Huphronius. I was of late as petty to his ends 
 As is the morn-dew on the Myrtle-leaf 
 To his grand sea. 
 Antony and Cleopatra, act ii, se. 12. 
 (2) Lsabella. Merciful Heaven, 
 Thou rather with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt 
 Split’st the unwedgeable and gnarled Oak 
 Than the soft Myrtle. 
 Measure for Measure, act i, se. 2. 
 (3) Venus, with young Adonis sitting by her, 
 Under a Myrtle shade began to woo him. 
 Passionate Pilgrim. 
 
 (4) Then sad she hasted to a Myrtle grove. 
 Venus and Adonis. 
 
 The Myrtle, though a most abundant shrub in the south of 
 Europe, and though probably introduced into England before 
 the time of Shakespeare, was only grown in a very few places, 
 and was kept alive with difficulty, so that it was looked upon 
 not only as a delicate and an elegant rarity, but as the esta- 
 blished emblem of refined beauty. In the Bible it is always 
 associated with visions and representations of peacefulness 
 and plenty, and Miltcn most fitly uses it in the description of 
 our first parents’ “ blissful bower ”:—- 
 
 The roofe 
 Of thickest covert was inwoven shade, 
 Laurel and Mirtle, and what higher grew 
 Of firm and fragrant leaf. Paradise Lost, iv. 
 
 In heathen times the Myrtle was dedicated to Venus, and 
 from this arose the custom in medieval times of using the 
 flowers for bridal garlands, which thus took the place of 
 Orange blossoms in our time. 
 
 The lover with Myrtle sprays 
 Adorns his crisped cresses. Drayton. 
 
139 
 
 And I will make thee beds of Roses, 
 And a thousand fragrant posies, 
 A cap of flowers, and a kirtle 
 Embroidered o’er with leaves of Myrtle. 
 Roxburghe Ballads. 
 
 As a garden shrub every one will grow the Myrtle that can 
 induce it to grow. There is no difficulty in its cultivation, 
 provided only that the climate suits it, and the climate that 
 suits it best is the neighbourhood of the sea. Virgil describes 
 the Myrtles as “ amantes littora myrtos,” and those who have 
 seen the Myrtle as it grows on the Devonshire and Cornish 
 coasts will recognise the truth of his description. 
 
 NETTLES. 
 (1) Cordelia. Crowned with rank Fumiter and Furrow Weeds, 
 With Harlocks, Hemlock, Nettles, Cuckoo Flowers. 
 King Lear, act iv, se. 4. 
 (2) Queen. Crow-flowers, Nettles, Daisies, and Long Purples. 
 Hamlet, act iv, sc. 7. (See CROW-FLOWERS. ) 
 (3) Antonio. He’d sow it with Nettle seed. 
 Tempest, act 11, sc. 1. 
 (4) Saturninus. Look for thy reward 
 Among the Nettles at the Elder Tree. 
 Titus Andronicus, act u, se. +. 
 (5) Str Toby. How now, my Nettle of India? 
 Twelfth Night, act 11, sc. d. 
 (6) King Richard. Yield stinging Nettles to my enemies. 
 Richard LT, act iii, se. 2. 
 (7) Hotspur. I tell you, my lord fool, out of the Nettle, danger, 
 we pluck this flower, safety. 1st Henry IV, act ui, se. 3. 
 (8) Ely. The Strawberry grows underneath the Nettle. 
 Henry V, act i, se. 1. 
 (9) Cressida. Vl spring up in his tears, an ’twere a Nettle 
 against May. Troilus and Cressida, act 1, sc. 2. 
 (10) Menenius. We call a Nettle but a Nettle, and 
 The fault of fools but folly. 
 
 Coriolanus, act 11, sc. 1. 
 
 (11) Zaertes. Goads, Thorns, Nettles, tails of wasps. 
 Winter’s Tale, act 1, sc. 2. 
 
 (12) Jago. If we will plant Nettles or sow Lettuce. 
 Othello, acti, sc. 8. (See Hyssop.) 
 
136 
 
 The Nettle needs no introduction; we are all too well 
 acquainted with it, yet it is not altogether a weed to be 
 despised. We have two native species (Urtica urens and U. 
 dioica) with sufficiently strong qualities, but we have a third 
 _U. pilulifera) very curious in its manner of bearing its female 
 flowers in clusters of compact little balls, which is far more 
 virulent than either of our native species, and is said by 
 Camden to have been introduced by the Romans to chafe 
 their bodies when frozen by the cold of Britain. The story 
 is probably quite apocryphal, but the plant is an alien, and 
 only grows in a few places. 
 
 Both the Latin and English names of the plant record its 
 qualities. Urtica is from wro, to burn; and Nettle is (etymo- 
 logically) the same word as needle, and the plant is so named, 
 not for its stinging qualities, but because at one time the 
 Nettle supplied the chief instrument of sewing; not the instru- 
 ment which holds the thread, and to which we now confine 
 the word needle, but the thread itself, and very good linen it 
 made. The poet Campbell says in one of his letters—*“ I have 
 slept in Nettle sheets, and dined off a Nettle table-cloth, and 
 I have heard my mother say that she thought Nettle cloth 
 more durable than any other linen.” It has also been used for 
 making paper, and for both these purposes, as well as for rope- 
 making, the Rhea fibre of the Himalaya, which is simply a 
 gigantic Nettle (Urtica or Béhmeria nivea), is very largely 
 cultivated. Nor is the Nettle to be despised as an article of 
 food.* In many parts of England the young shoots are 
 boiled and much relished. In F ebruary, 1661, Pepys made 
 the entry in his diary—* We did eat some Nettle porridge, 
 which was made on purpose to-day for some of their coming, 
 and was very good.” Andrew Fairservice said of himself— 
 “Nae doubt I should understand my trade of horticulture, 
 seeing I was bred in the Parish of Dreepdaily, where they 
 raise lang Kale under glass, and force the early Nettles for 
 their spring Kale.”—-Rob Roy, ce. 7. Gipseys are said to cook 
 it as an excellent vegetable, and M. Soyer tried hard, but 
 almost in vain, to recommend it as a most dainty dish. 
 Having so many uses, we are not surprised to find that it 
 has at times been regularly cultivated as a garden crop, so 
 that I have somewhere seen an account of tithe of Nettles 
 being taken; and in the old churchwardens’ account of St. 
 Michael’ s, Bath, is the entry in the year 1400, “ Pro urticis 
 
 venditis ad Lawrencium Bebbe, 2d.” 
 * $i forte in medio positorum abstemius herbis 
 Vivis et urtici.—Horace, Xp. i, 10, 8. 
 Mihi festa luce cequatar urtica,—PeRstus vi, 68. 
 
137 
 
 The ‘ Nettle of India” (No. 5\ has puzzled the com- 
 mentators. It is perhaps not the true reading; if the true 
 reading, it may only mean a Nettle of extra-stinging quality ; 
 but it may also mean an Eastern plant that was used to pro- 
 duce cowage, or cow-itch. “The hairs of the pods of Mucuna 
 pruriens, &c., constitute the substance called cowitch, a me- 
 chanical Anthelmintic.”—Lindley. This plant is said to have 
 been called the Nettle of India, but I do not find it so named 
 in Shakespeare’s time. 
 
 In other points the Nettle is a most interesting plant. Micro- 
 scopists find in it most beautiful objects for the microscope ; 
 entomologists value it, for it is such a favourite of butterflies 
 and other insects, that in Britain alone upwards of thirty 
 insects feed solely on the Nettle plant, and it is one of those 
 curious plants which mark the progress of civilization by 
 following man wherever he goes. 
 
 But as a garden plant the only advice to be given is to keep 
 it out of the garden by every means. In good cultivated 
 ground it becomes a sad weed if once allowed a settlement. 
 The Himalayan Bohmerias, however, are handsome, but only 
 for their foliage; and though we cannot, perhaps, admit our 
 roadside Dead Nettles, which however are much handsomer 
 than many foreign flowers which we carefully tend and prize, 
 yet the Austrian Dead Nettle (Lamium orvala, Bot. Mag. v, 
 172) may be well admitted as a handsome garden plant. 
 
 NUT (See Hazut). 
 
 NUTMEG. 
 
 (1) Orleans. He’s [the horse] of the colour of the Nutmeg. 
 
 Henry V, act i, sc. 7. 
 (2) Clown. I must have Saffron, Mace, Date, Nutmegs. 
 
 Winter’s Tale, act iv, se. 2. 
 
 (3) Armado. The omnipotent Mars, of lances the almighty, 
 
 Gave Hector a gift— 
 Dumain. A gilt Nutmeg. 
 
 Love's Labours Lost, act v, sc. 2. 
 
138 
 
 Gerarde gives a very fair description of the Nutmeg-tree 
 under the names of Nux moschata or Myristica; but it is 
 certain that he had not any personal knowledge of the tree, 
 which was not introduced into England or Europe for nearly 
 200 years after. Shakespeare could only have known the 
 imported Nut and the Mace which covers the Nut inside the 
 shell, and they were imported long before his time. Chaucer 
 speaks of it as— 
 
 Notemygge to put in ale 
 Whether it be moist or stale, 
 Or for to lay in cofre.—Sir Thopas. 
 
 And in another place :— 
 
 And trees ther were gret foisoun, 
 That beren notes in her sesoun, 
 Such as men Notemygges calle 
 That swote of savour ben withalle. 
 Romaunt of the Rose. 
 
 The Nutmeg tree (Myristica fragrans) is a native of tropical 
 India. 
 
 OAK. 
 
 (1) Prospero. If thou more murmur’st, I will rend an Oak, 
 And peg thee in his knotty entrails. 
 Tempest, act i, sc. 2. 
 (2) Prospero. To the dread rattling thunder 
 Have I giv’n fire, and rifted Jove’s stout Oak 
 With his own bolt. Ibid, act v, se. 1. 
 (3) Quince. At the Duke’s Oak we meet. 
 Midsummer Night’s Dream, act i, se. 2. 
 (4) Benedick. An Oak with but one green leaf on it would have 
 answered her. Much Ado About Nothing, act ii, se. 1. 
 (5) Isabella. Thou split’st the unwedgeable and gnarled Oak. 
 Measure for Measure, act ii, sc. 2 (see Myrruz). 
 (6) 1st Lord. He lay along 
 Under an Oak, whose antique root peeps out 
 Upon the brook that brawls along this wood. 
 As You Like It, act ii, se. 1. 
 (7) Olwer. Under an Oak, whose boughs were Mossed with age, 
 And high top bald with dry antiquity. 
 LIhid, act iv, se. 3. 
 
139 
 
 (8) Paulina. As ever Oak or stone was sound. 
 Winter's Tale, act 11, se. 3. 
 (9) Messenger. And many strokes, though with a little axe, 
 Hew down and fell the hardest-timbered Oak. 
 ord Henry VI, act u, se. 1. 
 
 (10) Jirs. Page. There is an old tale goes that Herne the Hunter, 
 Sometime a keeper here in Windsor Forest, 
 Doth all the winter time at still midnight 
 Walk round about an Oak, with great ragged horns. 
 
 Page. ‘There want not many that do fear 
 In deep of night to walk by this Herne’s Oak. 
 
 Urs. Ford. That Falstaff at that Oak shall meet with us. 
 Merry Wives of Windsor, act iv, sc. 4. 
 
 Fenton. To night at Herne’s Oak. Ibid, act iv, sc. 6. 
 Falstaff. Be you in the park at midnight at Herne’s Oak, and 
 you shall see wonders. Ibid, act v, se. 1, 
 
 Urs. Page. They are all couched in a pit hard by Herne’s Oak. 
 
 Urs. Ford The hour draws on; to the Oak, to the Oak! 
 Ibid, act v, sc. 3. 
 Quickly. Till ’tis one o’clock 
 Our dance of custom round about the Oak 
 
 Of Herne the Hunter, let us not forget. 
 Ibid, act v, se. 5. 
 
 (11) Zimon. That numberless upon me stuck, as leaves 
 Do on the Oak, have with one winter’s brush 
 Fell from the boughs, and left me open, bare 
 For every storm that blows. 
 Timon of Athens, act iv, se. 3. 
 
 (12) Timon. The Oak bears masts, the Briers scarlet hips.—Jdzd. 
 
 (13) Montano. What ribs of Oak, when mountains melt on them, 
 Can hold the mortise ? Othello, act 11, se. 1. 
 
 (14) Jago. She that so young could give out such a seeming 
 To seal her father’s eyes up close as Oak. 
 Ibid, act iii, se. 3. 
 (15) MMarcius. He that depends 
 Upon your favours swims with fins of lead 
 And hews down Oaks with rushes. 
 Coriolanus, act 1, sc. 1. 
 
 (16) Arviragus. ‘To thee the Reed is as the Oak. 
 Cymbeline, act iv, sc. 2. 
 
 (17) Lear. Oak-cleaving thunderbolts. 
 King Lear, act iii, se. 2. 
 
140 
 
 (18) Nathaniel. Though to myself forsworn, to thee Pll faithful 
 prove ; 
 Those thoughts to me were Oaks, to thee like 
 Osiers bowed. Love's Labours Lost, activ, se. 2. 
 [The same lines in the ‘‘ Passionate Pilgrim.” | 
 (19) Nestor. When the splitting wind 
 Makes flexible the knees of knotted Oaks. 
 Triolus and Cressida, act 1, sc. 3. ~ 
 (20) Volumnia. To the cruel wars I sent him, from whence he 
 returned his brows bound with Oak. 
 Coriolanus, act i, sc. 3. 
 
 Volumnia. Fle comes the third time home with the Oaken 
 
 garland. | Ibid., act ii, se. 1s 
 Cominius He proved best mani’ the field, and for his meed 
 
 Was browbound with the Oak. Ibid., act i, sc. 2, 
 2nd Senator. The worthy fellow is our general ; he is the rock. 
 
 the Oak, not to be wind-shaken. Ibid, act 5, se. 2. 
 Volumnia. To charge thy sulphur with a bolt 
 
 That should but rive an Oak. Ibid, act v, se. 3. 
 
 (21) Casca. I have seen tempests when the scolding winds 
 Have rived the knotty Oaks. 
 Julius Cesar, act i, se. 3. 
 (22) Celia. I found him under a tree like a dropped Acorn. 
 Rosalind. It may well be called Jove’s tree, when it drops 
 forth such fruit. As You Like It, act iii, se. 2. 
 (23) Prospero. Thy food shall be 
 The fresh-brook muscles, withered roots, and husks 
 Wherein the Acorn cradled. Tempest, act i, sc. 2. 
 (24) Puck. All their elves for fear 
 Creep into Acorn cups, and hide them there. 
 Midsummer Night's Dream, act i, se. 1. 
 
 (25) Lysander. Get you gone, you dwarf—you bud—you Acorn! 
 Ibid, act iii, se. 2. 
 
 (26) Posthumus. Like a full-Acorned boar—a German one. 
 Cymbeline, act 11, sc. 5. 
 
 Here are several very pleasant pictures, and there is so much 
 of historical and legendary lore gathered round the Oaks of 
 England that it is very tempting to dwell upon them. There 
 are the historical Oaks connected with the names of William 
 Rufus, Queen Elizabeth, and Charles II.; there are the won- 
 derful Oaks of Wistman’s Wood (certainly the most weird and 
 most curious wood in England, if not in Europe); there are 
 the many passages in which our old English writers have loved 
 to descant on the Oaks of England as the very emblems of un- 
 
141 
 
 broken strength and unflinching constancy ; there is all the 
 national interest which has linked the glories of the British 
 navy with the steady and enduring growth of her Oaks; there 
 is the wonderful picturesqueness of the great Oak plantations 
 of the New Forest, the Forest of Dean, and other royal forests; 
 and the equally, if not greater, picturesqueness of the English 
 Oak as the chief ornament of our great English parks; there is 
 the scientific interest which suggested the growth of the Oak 
 for the plan of our lighthouses, and many other interesting 
 points. It is very tempting to stop on each and all of these, 
 but the space is too limited, and they can all be found ably 
 treated of and at full length in any of the books that have 
 been written on the English forest trees. 
 
 OATS. 
 
 (1) Jris. Ceres, most bounteous lady, thy rich leas 
 Of Wheat, Rye, Barley, Vetches, Oats, and Peas. 
 Tempest, act iv, se. 1. 
 (2) Spring Song. When shepherds pipe on Oaten straws. 
 Love's Labours Lost, act v, se. 2. 
 (3) Bottom. Truly a peck of provender. I could munch your 
 good dry Oats. Midsummer Nights Dream, act iv, se. 1. 
 (4) Grumio. Ay, sir, they be ready, the Oats have eaten the 
 horses. Taming of the Shrew, act 111, se. 2. 
 (5) Hirst Carrier. Poor fellow, never joyed since the price of Oats 
 rose—it was the death of him. 
 lst Henry IV, act ui, sc. 1. 
 (6) Officer. I cannot draw a cart, or eat dried Oats, 
 If it be man’s work, I will do it. 
 King Lear, act v, sc. 38. 
 Shakespeare’s Oats need no comment. 
 
 OLIVE. 
 
 (1) Clarence. 'To whom the Heavens in thy nativity 
 Adjudged an Olive branch. 
 3rd Henry VI, act iv, sc. 6 (see LAUREL). 
 (2) Alcibiades. Bring me into your city, 
 And I will use the Olive with my sword. 
 Timon of Athens, act v, sc. 5. 
 
142 
 
 (3) Cesar. Prove this a prosperous day, the thrice-mocked world 
 Shall bear the Olive freely. ; 
 Antony and Cleopatra, act iv, se. 6. 
 (4) Rosalind. If you will know my house, 
 Tis at the tuft of Olives here hard by. 
 As You Inke It, act iii, se. 5. 
 (5) Oliver. Where, in the purlieus of this forest stands 
 A sheepcote fenced about with Olive trees ? 
 Ibid, act iv, se. 3. 
 (6) Viola. I bring no overture of war, no taxation of homage; 
 I hold the Olive in my hand, my words are as full of peace 
 as matter. Twelfth Night, act i, se. 5. 
 (7) Westmoreland. There is not now a rebel’s sword unsheathed, 
 But peace puts forth her Olive everywhere. 
 2nd Henry IV, act iv, se. 4. 
 
 (8) | And peace proclaims Olives of endless ages.—Sonnet evil. 
 
 There is no certain record by which we can determine when 
 the Olive tree was first introduced into England. Miller gives 
 1648 as the earliest date he could discover, at which time it 
 was grown in the Oxford Botanic Garden. Bat I have no 
 doubt it was cultivated long before that. Parkinson knew it 
 as an English tree in 1640, for he says :—“ It flowereth in the 
 beginning of summer in the warmer countries, but very late 
 with us; the fruite ripeneth in autumne in Spain, &e., but 
 seldome with wus.”—Herball, 1640. Gerarde had Oleaster 
 in his garden in 1596, which Mr. Jackson considers to have 
 been the Olea Europea, and with good reason, as in his account 
 of the Olive in the “ Herbal” he gives Oleaster as one of the 
 synonyms of Olea sylvestris, the wilde Olive tree. But I 
 think its introduction is of a still earlier date. In the Anglo- 
 Saxon “ Leech Book,” of the tenth century, published under 
 the direction of the Master of the Rolls, I find this preserip- 
 tion, “ Pound Lovage and Elder rind and Oleaster, that is 
 wild Olive tree, mix them with some clear ale and give to 
 drink.”—Book i, ¢. 37; (Cockayne’s translation). As I have 
 never heard that the bark of the Olive tree was imported, it 
 is only reasonable to suppose that the leeches of the day had 
 access to the living tree. If this be so, the tree was probably 
 imported by the Romans, which they are very likely to have 
 done. But it seems very certain that it was in cultivation in 
 England in Shakespeare’s time and he may have seen it 
 growing. 
 
 But in most of the eight passages in which ‘he names the 
 Olive, the reference to it is mainly as the recognised emblem 
 
143 
 
 of peace; and it is in that aspect, and with thoughts of its 
 touching Biblical associations that we must always think of 
 the Olive. It is the special plant of honour in the Bible, by 
 “ whose fatness they honour God and man,” linked with the 
 rescue of the one family in the ark, and with the rescue of the 
 whole family of man in the Mount of Olives. Every passage 
 in which it is named in the Bible tells the uniform tale of its 
 usefulness, and the emblematical lessons it was employed to 
 teach; but I must not dwell on them. Nor need I say how it 
 was equally honoured by Greeks and Romans. As a plant 
 which produced an abundant and necessary crop of fruit with 
 little or no labour (péreup’ dyeipwrov avrémovov—NSophocles ; 
 non ulla est oleis Cultura—Vorgil), it was looked upon with 
 special pride, as one of the most blessed gifts of the gods, and 
 under the constant protection of Minerva, to whom it was 
 thankfully dedicated. 
 
 We seldom see the Olive in English gardens, yet it is a good 
 evergreen tree to cover a south wall, and having grown it for 
 many years, I can say that there is no plant—except, perhaps, 
 the Christ’s Thorn—which gives such universal interest to all 
 who see it. It is quite hardy though the winter will often 
 destroy the young shoots ; but not even the winter of 1860 did 
 any serious mischief, and fine old trees may occasionally be 
 seen which attest its hardiness. There is one at Hanham 
 Hall, near Bristol, which must be of great age. It is at least 
 30 ft. high, against a south wall, and has a trunk of large 
 girth; but I never saw it fruit or flower in England, until this 
 year (1877) when the Olive in my own garden flowered, but 
 did not bear fruit. Miller records trees at Campden House, 
 Kensington, which, in 1719, produced a good number of 
 fruit large enough for pickling, and other instances have 
 been recorded lately. Perhaps if more attention were paid 
 to the grafting, fruit would follow. The Olive has the 
 curious property that it seems to be a matter of indifference 
 whether, as with other fruit, the cultivated sort is grafted on 
 the wild one, or the wild on the cultivated one; the latter 
 plan was certainly sometimes the custom among the Greeks 
 and Romans, as we know from St. Paul (Romans xi, 
 16—25) and other writers, and it is sometimes the custom now. 
 There are a great number of varieties of the cultivated Olive, 
 as of other cultivated fruit. 
 
 One reason why the Olive is not more grown as a garden tree 
 is that it is a tree very little admired by most travellers. Yet 
 this is entirely a matter of taste, and some of the greatest 
 authorities are loud in its praises as a picturesque tree. One 
 
144 
 
 short extract from Ruskin’s account of the tree will suffice, 
 though the whole description is well worth reading. ‘The 
 Olive (he says) is one of the most characteristic and beautiful 
 features of all southern scenery. . . . . What the Elm 
 and the Oak are to England, the Olive is to Italy. . . It 
 had been well for painters to have felt and seen the Olive tree, 
 to have loved it for Christ’s sake. . . . to have loved it 
 even to the hoary dimness of its delicate foliage, subdued and 
 faint of hue, as if the ashes of the Gethsemane agony had. been 
 cast upon it for ever; and to have traced line by line the 
 gnarled writhing of its intricate branches, and the pointed 
 fretwork of its light and narrow leaves, inlaid on the blue 
 field of the sky, and the small, rosy-white stars of its spring 
 blossoming, and the heads of sable fruit scattered by autumn 
 along its topmost boughs—the right, in Israel, of the stranger, 
 the fatherless, and the widow—and, more than all, the softness 
 of the mantle, silver-grey, and tender, like the down on a bird’s 
 breast, with which far away it veils the undulation of the 
 mountains.”-—Stones of Venice, vol. iii, p. 176. 
 
 ONIONS. 
 
 (1) Bottom. And most dear actors, eat no Onions nor Garlick, for 
 we are to utter sweet breath. 
 Midsummer Night’s Dream, act iv, se. 2. 
 (2) Lafeu. Mine eyes smell Onions, I shall weep anon: 
 Good Tom Drum, lend me a handkercher. 
 Ali’s Well that Ends Well, act v, se. 3. 
 (3) Enobarbus. Indeed the tears live in Onion that should water 
 this sorrow. Antony and Cleopatra, act i, se. 2. 
 (4) Enobarbus. Look, they weep, 
 And I, an ass, am Onion-eyed. bid, act iv, se. 2. 
 (5) Lord. And if the boy have not a woman’s gift 
 To rain a shower of commanded tears, 
 An Onion will do well for such a shift, 
 Which in a napkin being close conveyed 
 Shall in despite enforce a watery eye. 
 Laming of the Shrew (Introduction). 
 
 There is no need to say much of the Onion in addition to 
 what I have already said on the Garlick and Leek, except to 
 note that Onions seem always to have been considered more 
 refined food than Leek and Garlick. Homer makes Onions 
 
145 
 
 an important part of the elegant little repast which Hecamede 
 set before Nestor and Machaon :— i 
 
 Before them first a table fair she spread, 
 
 Well polished and with feet of solid bronze ; 
 
 On this a brazen canister she placed, 
 
 And Onions as a relish to the wine, 
 
 And pale clear honey and pure Barley meal. 
 
 Iliad, B. xi, (Lord Derby’s Translation). 
 
 The name comes directly from the French oignon, a bulb, 
 being the bulb par excellence, the French name coming from 
 the Latin wnio, which was the name given to some species of 
 Onion, probably from the bulb growing singly. It may be 
 noted, however, that the older English name for the Onion 
 was Ine, of which we may perhaps still have the remembrance 
 in the common “ Inions.’” The use of the Onion to promote 
 artificial erying is of very old date, Columella speaking of 
 “Jacrymosa cepe,” and Pliny of “cepis odor lacrymosus.” 
 There are frequent references to the same use in the old 
 English writers. 
 
 The Onion has been for so many centuries in cultivation 
 that its native home has been much disputed, but it has now 
 “according to Dr. Regel (Gartenflora, 1877, p. 264) been 
 definitely determined to be the mountains of Central Asia. 
 It has also been found in a wild state in the Himalaya 
 Mountains.”—Gardener’s Chronicle. 
 
 ORANGE. 
 
 (1) Beatrice. The count is neither sad nor sick, nor merry nor 
 well; but civil, count; civil as an Orange, and some- 
 thing of that jealous complexion. 
 
 Much Ado about Nothing, act 1, se. 1. 
 
 (2) Claudio. Give not this rotten Orange to your friend. 
 
 Ibid, act iv, se. 1. 
 
 (3) Bottom. I will discharge it either in your straw-coloured 
 beard, your Orange-tawny beard. 
 
 Midsummer Night’s Dream, acti, sc. 2. 
 
 (4) Bottom. The ousel cock so black of hue 
 
 With Orange.tawny bill. Ibid, act ii, se. 1. 
 
 (5) Menenius. You wear out a good wholesome forenoon in 
 hearing a cause between an Orange wife and a fosset 
 seller. Coriolanus, act 11, se. 7. 
 L 
 
146 
 
 I should think it very probable that Shakespeare may have 
 seen both Orange and Lemon trees growing in England. The 
 Orange is a native of the East Indies, and no certain date can 
 be given for its introduction into Europe. Under the name 
 of the Median Apple a tree is described first by Theophrastus, 
 and then by Virgil and Palladius, which is supposed by some 
 to be the Orange, but as they all describe it as unfit for food, 
 it is with good reason supposed that the tree referred to is 
 either the Lemon or Citron. Virgil describes it very exactly — 
 
 Ipsa ingens arbor, faciemque simillima lauro 
 Et si non alium late jactaret odorem 
 
 Laurus erat; folia haud ullis labentia ventis 
 Flos ad prima tenax.—Georgie, ii, 131. 
 
 Dr. Daubeney, who very carefully studied the plants of 
 classical writers, decides that the fruit here named is the 
 Lemon, and says that it “is noticed only as a foreign fruit, 
 nor does it appear that it was cultivated at that time in Italy, 
 for Pliny says it will only grow in Media and Assyria, though 
 Palladius in the fourth century seems to have been familiar 
 with it, and it was known in Greece at the time of Theo- 
 phrastus.” But if Oranges were grown in Italy or Greece in 
 the time of Pliny and Palladius, they did not continue in culti- 
 vation. Europe owes the introduction or re-introduction to the 
 Portuguese, who brought them from the East, and they were 
 grown in Spain in the eleventh century. The first notice of 
 them in Italy was in the year 1200, when a tree was planted 
 by 8. Dominic at Rome. The first grown in France is said to 
 have been the old tree which lived at the Orangery at Versailles 
 till November, 1876, and was called the Grand Bourbon. “ In 
 1421 the Queen of Navarre gave the gardener the seed from 
 Pampeluna; hence sprang the plant, which was subsequently 
 transported to Chantilly. In 1532 the Orange tree was sent 
 to Fontainebleau, whence, in 1684, Louis X1V transferred it 
 to Versailles, where it remained the largest, finest, and most 
 fertile member of the Orangery, its head being 17 yds. round.” 
 It is not likely that a tree of such beauty should be growing 
 so near England without the English gardeners doing their 
 utmost to establish it here. But the first certain record is 
 generally said to be in 1595, when (on the authority of Bishop 
 Gibson) Orange trees were planted at Beddington, in Surrey, 
 the plants being raised from seeds brought into Engiand by 
 Sir Walter Raleigh. The date, however, may be placed earlier, 
 for in Lyte’s “* Herbal” (1578) it is stated that ‘In this coun- 
 trie the Herboristes do set and plant the Orange trees in there 
 
147 
 
 gardens, but they beare no fruite without they be wel kept 
 and defended from cold, and yet for all that they beare very 
 seldome.” There are no Oranges in Gerarde’s catalogue of 
 1596, and though he describes the trees in his “ Herbal,” he 
 does not say that he then grew them or had seen them growing. 
 But by 1599 he had obtained them, for they occur in his 
 catalogue of that date under the name of ‘** Malus orantia, the 
 Arange or Orange tree,” so that it is certainly very probable 
 that Shakespeare may have seen the Orange as a living tree. 
 As to the beauty of the Orange tree, there is but one 
 opinion; its handsome evergreen foliage, its deliciously-scented 
 flowers, and its golden fruit— 
 A fruit of pure Hesperian gold 
 That smelled ambrosially, Tennyson. 
 
 at once demand the admiration of all. It only fails in one 
 point to make ita plant for every garden: itis not fully hardy 
 in England. It is very surprising to read of those first trees at 
 Beddington, that “they were planted in the open ground, 
 under a movable covert during the winter months; that they 
 always bore fruit in great plenty and perfection; that they 
 erew on the south side of a wall, not nailed against it, but at 
 full liberty to spread ; that they were 14 ft. high, the girth of 
 the stem 29 in., and the spreading of the branches one way 
 9 ft., and 12 ft. another; and that they so lived till they were 
 entirely killed by the great frost in 1739-40.”—Miller.* These 
 trees must have been of a hardy variety, for certainly Orange 
 trees, even with such protection, do not now so grow in Eng- 
 land, except in a few favoured places on the south coast. There 
 is one species which is fairly hardy, the Citrus trifoliata, 
 forming a pretty bush with sweet flowers, and small but useless 
 fruit (seldom, I believe, produced out-of-doors); it is often 
 used as a stock on which to graft the better kinds, but 
 perhaps it might be useful for crossing, so as to give its hardi- 
 ness to a variety with better flower and fruit. 
 
 Commercially the Orange holds a high place, more than 
 20,000 good fruit having been picked from one tree, and Eng- 
 land alone importing about 2,000,0C0 bushels annually. These 
 are almost entirely used as a dessert fruit and for marmalade, 
 but it is curious that they do not seem to have been so used 
 when first imported. Parkinson makes no mention of their 
 being eaten raw, but says they ‘‘are used as sauce for many 
 sorts of meats, in respect of the sweet sourness giving a relish 
 
 * In an “ Account of Gardens Round London in 1691,” published in the 
 Archeologia, vol. xii, these Orange trees are described as if always under glass. 
 
 L 
 
148 
 
 and delight whereinsoever they are used ;” and he mentions 
 another curious use, no longer in fashion, I believe, but which 
 might be worth a trial :—‘ the seeds being cast into the 
 groundeinthe spring time will quickly growup, and when they 
 are a finger’s length high, being pluckt up and put among 
 Sallats, will give them a marvellous fine aromatick or spicy 
 tast, very acceptable.” 
 
 OSTER— (See WILLow). 
 
 OXLIPS. 
 
 (1) Perdita. Bold Oxlips, and 
 The Crown Imperial. 
 Winter's Tale, act iv, sc. 3. 
 (2) Oberon. J know a bank whereon the wild Thyme blows, 
 Where Oxlips and the nodding Violet grows. 
 Midsummer Nights Dream, act ii, se. 2. 
 
 The “bold Oxlip” (Primula elatior) is so like both the 
 Primrose and Cowslip that it has been by many supposed to 
 be a hybrid between the two. Sir Joseph Hooker, however, 
 considers it a true species. It is a handsome plant, and is 
 a great favourite in cottage gardens.—(See COWSLIP and 
 PRIMROSE). 
 
 PALM TREE. 
 
 (1) Rosalind. Look here what I found on a Palm tree. 
 As You Like It, act iii, se. 2, 
 (2) Hamlet. As love between them like the Palm might flourish. 
 Hamlet, act v, sc. 2. 
 (3) Volumnia. And bear the Palm for having bravely shed 
 
 Thy wife and children’s blood. 
 Coriolanus, act v, sc. 3. 
 
 (4) Cassius. And bear the Palm alone. 
 Julius Cesar, act i, sc. 2. 
 (5) Painter. You shall see him a Palm in Athens again, and 
 
 flourish again with the highest. 
 Timon of Athens, act v, se. 1. 
 
149 
 
 (6) The Vision. Enter, solemnly tripping one after another, six 
 personages clad in white robes, wearing on their heads 
 garlands of Bays, and golden vizards on their faces, 
 branches of Bays or Palm in their hands. 
 
 Henry VITT, act iv, sc. 2. 
 
 To these passages may be added the following, in which 
 the Palm treeis certainly alluded tothough it isnot mentioned 
 by name ; 
 Sebastian. That in Arabia 
 There is one tree, the Phosrix’s throne; one Phoenix 
 At this from reigning there. Tempest, act iii, sc. 3.* 
 
 ‘Two very distinct trees are named in these passages. In 
 the last five the reference is to the true Palm of Biblical and 
 classical fame, as the emblem of victory, and the typical repre- 
 sentation of life and beauty in the midst of barren waste and 
 deserts. And we are not surprised at the veneration in which 
 the tree was held, when we consider either the wonderful 
 erace of the tree, or its many uses in its native countries, so 
 many, that Pliny says that the Orientals reckoned 360 uses to 
 which the Palm tree could be applied. Whether Shakespeare 
 ever saw a living Palm tree is doubtful, but he may have done 
 so—(see DATE). Now there are a great number grown in the 
 large houses of botanic and other gardens, the Palm-house at 
 Kew showing more and better specimens than can be seen in 
 any other collection in Europe: even the open garden can 
 now boast of a few species that will endure our winters with- 
 out protection. Chamerops humilis and Fortunei seem to 
 be perfectly hardy, and good specimens may be seen in 
 several gardens; Corypha australis is also said to be quite 
 hardy, and there is little doubt but that the Date Palm 
 (Phoenix dactylifera), which has long been naturalized in the 
 south of Europe, would live in Devonshire and Cornwall, and 
 that of the thousand species of Palms growing in so many 
 different parts of the world, some will yet be found that may 
 grow well in the open air in England. 
 
 But the Palm tree in No. 1 is a totally different tree, and 
 much as Shakespeare has been laughed at for placing a Palm 
 tree in the forest of Arden, the laugh is easily turned against 
 those who raise such an objection. The Palm tree of the 
 
 *J do not include among “Palms” the passage in Hamlet, act i, sc, 1,—‘‘In 
 the most high and palmy state of Rome,” because | bow to Archdeacon Nares’ 
 judgment that ‘palmy’ here means “grown to full height, in allusion to the 
 palms of the stag’s horns, when they have attained to their utmost growth.” He 
 does not however decide this with certainty, and the question may be still an 
 open one. 
 
150 
 
 Forest of Arden is the Early Willow (Salix caprea), and I 
 believe it is so called all over England, as it is in Northern 
 Germany, and probably in other northern countries. There 
 is little doubt that the name arose from the custom of using 
 the Willow branches with the pretty golden catkins on Palm 
 Sunday as a substitute for Palm branches. 
 
 In Rome upon Palm Sunday they bear true Palms, 
 
 The Cardinals bow reverently and sing old Psalms ; 
 
 Elsewhere those Psalms are sung ’mid Olive branches, 
 
 The Holly branch supplies the place among the avalanches ; 
 
 More northerz climes must be content with the sad Willow. 
 Goethe (quoted by Seeman). 
 
 But besides Willow branches, Yew branches are sometimes 
 used for the same purpose, and so we find Yews called Palms. 
 Evelyn says they were so called in Kent; they are still so 
 called in Ireland, and in the churchwarden’s accounts of Wood- 
 bury, Devonshire, is the following entry :—“ Memorandum, 
 1775. That a Yew or Palm tree was planted in the church- 
 yard, ye south side of the church, in the same place where 
 one was blown down by the wind a few days ago, this 25th of 
 November.” * 
 
 How Willow or Yew branches could ever have been substi- 
 tuted for such a very different branch as a Palm it is hard to 
 say, but in lack of a better explanation, I think it not unlikely 
 that it might have arisen from the direction for the Feast of 
 Tabernacles in Leviticus xxiii, 40:—‘ Ye shall take you on 
 the first day the boughs of goodly trees, the branches of 
 Palm trees, and the boughs of thick trees, and Willows of 
 the brook.” But from whatever cause the name and the 
 custom was derived, the Willow was so named in very early 
 times, and in Shakespeare's time the name was very common. 
 Here is one instance among many :— 
 
 Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day, 
 The Palms and May make country houses gay, 
 And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay— 
 Cuckoo, jug-jug, pee-we, to-witta-woo. 
 ZT. Nash. 1567-1601. 
 
 * In connection with this, Turner’s account of the Palm in 1538 is worth 
 quoting ;~—-** Palma arborem in anglia nunq’ me vidisse memini. Indie tamen 
 ramis palmarti (ut illi loqintur) scepius sacerdoté dicent@ andivi. Bendic etia et hos 
 palmari ramos, qui preeter salignas frondes nihil omnino videre ego, quid alii 
 viderint nescio. Si nobis palmarum frondes non suppeterent ; preestaret me 
 judice mutare leetionem et dicere. Benedic hos salici ramos q’ falso et mendaciter 
 salicum frondes palmarum frondes vocare.”—LIBELLUS De ve Herbaria, s.v. Palma 
 
151 
 
 PANSIES. 
 
 (1) Ophelia. And there is Pansies—that’s for thoughts. 
 Hamlet, act iv, se. 5. 
 (2) Lucentio. But see, while idly I stood looking on, 
 T found the effect of Love-in-Idleness. 
 Taming of the Shrew, acti, sc. 1. 
 (3) Oberon. Yet marked I where the bolt of Cupid fell : 
 It fell upon a little western flower, 
 Before milk-white, now purple with love’s wound, 
 And maidens call it Love-in-Idleness. 
 Midsummer Nights Dream, act ii, sc. 2. 
 
 The Pansy is one of the oldest favourites in English gardens, 
 and the affection for it is shown in the many names that were 
 given to it. The Anglo-Saxon name was Banwort or Bone- 
 wort, though why such a name was given to it we cannot now 
 say. Nor can we satisfactorily explain its common names of 
 Pansy or Pawnce (from the French, pensées—* that is, for 
 thoughts,” says Ophelia), or Heart’s-ease,* which name was 
 originally given to the Wallflower. The other name, Love- 
 in-idle, or idleness, is said to be still in use in Warwickshire, 
 and signifies love in vain, or to no purpose, as in Chaucer ;-— 
 “ The prophet David saith; If God ne kepe not the citee, in 
 ydel waketh he that kepitt it’ * And in Tyndale’s trans- 
 lation of the New Testament, “I have prechid to you, if 
 ye holden, if ye hav not bileved ideli.”--1 Cor.,) xv, *2. 
 “ Beynge plenteuous in werk of the Lord evermore, witvnge 
 that youre traveil is not idel in the Lord.”—1 Cor., xv, 58. 
 
 But besides these more common names, Dr. Prior mentions 
 the following :—“ Herb Trinity, Three faces under a hood, 
 Fancy, Flamy, Kiss me, Cull me or Cuddle me to you, 
 Tickle my fancy, Kiss me ere I rise, Jump up and kiss me, 
 Kiss me at the garden gate, Pink of my John, and several 
 more of the same amatory character.” 
 
 Spenser gives the flower a place in his “ Royal aray” for 
 Elisa— 
 
 * The Pansie Heart’s-ease Maiden’s call,” Drayton Hd., ix. 
 * And again 
 “The other heste of hym is this, 
 Take not in ydel-my name or amys.” Pardeners Tale. 
 
152 
 
 Strowe me the grounde with Daffadowndillies, 
 And Cowslips, and Kingcups, and loved Lillies, 
 The pretie Pawnce, 
 And the Chevisaunce 
 Shall match with the fayre Flower Delice. 
 
 And in another place he speaks of the “ Paunces trim,”— 
 LS cvs tery 1b 
 Milton places it in Eve’s ecouch— 
 Flowers were the couch, 
 Pansies, and Violets, and Asphodel, 
 And Hyacinth, earth’s freshest, softest lap. 
 
 He names it also as part: of the wreath of Sabrina— 
 Pansies, Pinks, and gaudy Daffadils; 
 
 and as one of the flowers to strew the hearse of Lycidas— 
 
 The White Pink and the Pansie streaked with jet, 
 The glowing Violet. 
 
 PARSLEY, 
 
 Biondello. I knew a wench married in the afternoon as she 
 went to the garden for Parsley to stuff a rabbit. 
 Taming of the Shrew, act iv, sc. 4. 
 
 Parsley is a common name to many umbelliferous plants, 
 but the garden Parsley is the one meant here. This well- 
 known little plant has the curious botanic history that no one 
 can tell what is its native country. It is found in many 
 countries, but is always considered an escape from cultivation. 
 Probably the plant has been so altered by cultivation as to 
 have lost all likeness to its original self. | 
 
 PEACH. 
 
 (L) Prince Henry. To take note of how many pair of silk stockings 
 thou hast, viz., these, and those that were thy Peach- 
 coloured ones! 2nd Henry IV, act ii, se. 2. 
 
 (2) Clown. Then there is here one Master Caper, at the suit of 
 Master Threepile the mercer, for some four suits of 
 Peach-coloured satin, which now peaches him a beggar. 
 
 : Measure for Measure, act iv, sc. 3. 
 
153 
 
 The references here are only to the colour of the Peach 
 blossom, yet the Peach tree was a well-known tree in Shake- 
 peare’s time, and the fruit was esteemed a great delicacy, and 
 many different varieties were cultivated. Botanically the 
 Peach is closely allied to the Almond, and still more closely 
 to the Apricot and Nectarine; indeed, many writers consider 
 both the Apricot and Nectarine to be only varieties of the 
 Peach. We are probably indebted to the Romans for the 
 introduction of the Peach into England. It occurs in 
 Archbishop lfric’s Vocabulary in the tenth century, 
 ‘¢ Persicarius, Perseoc-treow,” and John de Garlande grew it 
 in the thirteenth century, “ In virgulto Magistri Johannis, 
 pessicus fert pessica.” It is named in the Promptorvwm 
 parvulorum as “Peche, or Peske, frute—Pesca Pomum 
 Persicum,”—and in a note the Editor says; ‘‘In a role of 
 purchases for the Palace of Westminster preserved amongst 
 the miscellaneous record of the Queens remembrance, a pay- 
 ment occurs, Will le Gardener, pro iij koygnere, ij pichere 
 iijs.—pro groseillere iijd, pro j peschere vjd.” A.D. 1275, 4 
 HKdw:.1—" 
 
 We all know and appreciate the fruit of the Peach, but few 
 seem to know how ornamental a tree is the Peach, quite inde- 
 pendent of the fruit. In those parts where the soil and cli- 
 mate are suitable, the Peach may be grown as an ornamental 
 spring flowering bush. When so grown preference is generally 
 given to the double varieties, of which there are several, and 
 which are not by any means the new plants that they are 
 generally supposed to be, as they were cultivated both by 
 Gerarde and Parkinson. 
 
 PEAR. 
 
 (1) Falstaf. I warrant they would whip me with their fine wits 
 till I were as crestfallen as a dried Pear. 
 Merry Wives of Windsor, act iv, se. 5. 
 
 (2) Parolles. Your virginity, your old virginity, is like one of 
 our French withered Pears; it looks ill, it eats drily ; 
 marry, ’tis a withered Pear ; ; it was formerly better ; 
 marry, yet ’tis a withered Pear. 
 
 All’s Well that Ends Well, act i, sc. 1. 
 
 (3) Clown. I must have Saffron to colour the Warden pies. 
 Winter’s Tale, act iv, sc. 2. 
 
 (4) Mercutio. O, Romeo . . thou a Popering Pear. 
 Romeo and Juliet, act ui, sc. 1. 
 
154 
 
 If we may judge by these few notices, Shakespeare does not 
 seem to have had much respect for the Pear, all the references 
 to the fruit being more or less absurd or unpleasant. Yet 
 there were good Pears in his day, and so many different kinds 
 that Gerarde declined to tell them at length, for “the stocke 
 or kindred of Pears are not to be numbered ; every country 
 hath his peculiar fruit, so that to describe them apart were to 
 send an owle to Athens, or to number those things that are 
 without number.” 
 
 Of these many sorts Shakespeare mentions by name but 
 two, the Warden and the Popering, and it is not possible to 
 identify these with modern varieties with any certainty. The 
 Warden was probably a general name for large keeping and 
 stewing Pears, and the name was said to come from the Anglo- 
 Saxon wearden, to keep or preserve, in allusion to its lasting 
 qualities. But this is certainly a mistake. In an interesting 
 paper by Mr. Hudson Turner, “ On the State of Horticulture 
 in England in early times, chiefly previous to the fifteenth 
 century,” printed in the Archeological Journal, vol. v, p. 
 301, it is stated that “the Warden Pear had its origin and 
 its name from the horticultural skill of the Cistercian Monks 
 of Wardon Abbey in Bedfordshire, founded in the twelfth 
 century. Three Warden Pears appeared in the armorial 
 bearings of the Abbey.” 
 
 In Parkinson’s time the name was still in use, and he men- 
 tions two varieties, “ The Warden or Lukewards Pear are of 
 two sorts, both white and red, both great and small.” (The 
 name of Lukewards seems to point to St. Luke’s Day, October 
 18, as perhaps the time either for picking the fruit or for its 
 ripening). ‘The Spanish Warden is greater than either of 
 both the former, and better also.” And he further says, ‘The 
 Red Warden and the Spanish Warden are reckoned amongst 
 the most excellent of Pears, either to bake or to roast, for the 
 sick or for the sound—and indeed the Quince and the Warden 
 are the only two fruits that are permitted to the sick to eat 
 at any time.” The warden pies of Shakespeare’s day, coloured 
 with Saffron, have in our day been replaced by stewed Pears 
 coloured with Cochineal.* 
 
 I can find no guide to the identification of the Popering 
 Pear, beyond Parkinson’s description—* The summer Popperin 
 and the winter Popperin, both of them very good, firm, dry 
 Pears, somewhat spotted and brownish on the outside. The 
 green Popperin is a winter fruit of equal goodnesse with the 
 
 * The Warden was sometimes spoken of as different from Pears. Sir Hugh 
 Platt speaks of ‘“‘ Wardens ov Pears.” 
 
155 
 
 former.” It was probably a Flemish Pear, and may have 
 been introduced by the antiquary Leland, who was made 
 Rector of Popering by Henry VIII. The place is further 
 known to us as mentioned by Chaucer :— 
 A knyght was fair and gent 
 In batail and in tornament, 
 His name was Sir Thopas. 
 Alone he was in fer contre, 
 In Flaundres, al beyonde the se, 
 At Popering in the place. 
 
 Asa garden tree the Pear is not only to be grown for its 
 fruit, but as a most ornamental tree. Though the individual 
 flowers are not, perhaps, so handsome as the Apple blossoms, 
 yet the growth of the tree is far more elegant; and an old 
 Pear tree, with its cutiously roughened bark, its upright, tall, 
 pyramidal shape, and its sheet of snow-white blossoms, is a 
 lovely ornament in the old gardens and lawns of many of our 
 country houses. It is now considered a British tree, but it 
 is probably only a naturalized foreigner, originally introduced 
 by the Romans. 
 
 PEAS. 
 
 (1) Jris. Ceres, most bounteous lady! thy rich leas 
 Of Wheat, Rye, Barley, Vetches, Oats and Peas. 
 Tempest, act iv, sc. 1. 
 (2) Carrier. Pease and Beans are as dank here as a dog. 
 [st Henry IV, act ii, sc. 1—(see BEans). 
 
 (3) Biron. This fellow picks up wit, as pigeons Peas. 
 Love’s Labours Lost, act v, se. 2. 
 
 (4) Bottom. I had rather have a handful or two of dried Peas. 
 Midsummer Night’s Dream, act iv, sc. 1. 
 
 (5) Fool. That a shelled Peascod ? King Lear, act i, se. 4. 
 
 (6) Zouchstone. I remember the wooing of a Peascod instead of 
 her. As You Like It, act ii, se. 4. 
 
 (7) Malvolio Not yet old enough to be a man, nor young enough 
 for a boy, as a Squash is before ’tis a Peascod, or a 
 
 Codling when ’tis almost an Apple. 
 Twelfth Night, acti, se. 5. 
 
156 
 
 (8) Hostess. Well, fare thee well! I have known thee these 
 twenty-five years come Peascod time. 
 2nd Henry IV, act ii, se. 4. 
 (9) Leontes. How like, methought, I then was to this kernel, 
 this Squash, this gentleman. Winter's Tale, acti, sc. 2. 
 (10) Peascod, Pease Blossom, and Squash—Dramatis persone in 
 Midsummer Night's Dream. 
 
 There is no need to say much of Peas, but it may be worth 
 a note in passing that in Old English we seldom meet with 
 the word Pea. Peas or Pease (the Anglicised form of Pisum) 
 is the singular, of which the plural is Peason. The Squash 
 is the young Pea, before the Peas are formed in it, and the 
 Peascod is the ripe shell of the Pea before it is shelled. The 
 garden Pea (Pisum sativum) is the cultivated form of a plant 
 found in the south of Europe, but very’much altered by culti- 
 vation. It was probably not introduced into England as a 
 garden vegetable long before Shakespeare’s time. It is not 
 mentioned in the old lists of plants before the sixteenth 
 century, and Fuller tells us that in Queen Elizabeth’s time 
 they were brought from Holland, and were “fit dainties for 
 ladies, they came so far and cost so dear.” 
 
 The beautiful ornamental Peas (Sweet Peas, Everlasting 
 Peas, &c.) are of different family (Lathyrus, not Pisum), but 
 very closely allied. There is a curious amount of folklore 
 connected with Peas, and in every case the Peas and Peascods 
 are connected with wooing the lasses. This explains Touch- 
 stone’s speech (No. 6). Brand gives several instances of this, 
 from which one stanza from Browne’s “ Pastorals” may be 
 quoted : 
 
 The Peascod greene, oft with no little toyle, 
 He’d seek for in the fattest, fertil’st soile, 
 And rend it from the stalke to bring it to her, 
 And in her bosom for acceptance wooe her. 
 Book ii, song 3. 
 
 PEONY (see Piony). 
 
157 
 
 PEPPER. 
 (1) Hotspur. Such protest of Pepper gingerbread. 
 lst Henry IV, act iii, sc. 1—(see GINGER, 9.) 
 
 (2) Falstaf. An Y have not forgotten what the inside of a 
 church is made of, I am a Pepper-corn, a brewer's 
 horse. lst Henry IV, act iii, se. 3. 
 
 (3) Poins. Pray God, you have not murdered some of them. 
 Falstaff. Nay, that’s past praying for, for I have Peppered 
 
 two of them. lst Henry IV, act ii, se. 4. 
 (4) Falstaff. I have led my ragamuffins, where they are 
 Peppered. lst Henry IV, act v, se. 3. 
 
 (5) Mercutio. I am Peppered, I warrant, for this world. 
 Romeo and Juliet, act ili, se. 1. 
 (6) Ford. He cannot ’scape me, ’tis impossible he should; he 
 cannot creep into a halfpenny purse or into a Pepper- 
 box. Merry Wives, act 11, sc. 5. 
 (7) Sir Andrew. Here’s the challenge, read it; I warrant there’s 
 vinegar and Pepper init. Twelfth Night, act i, sc. 4. 
 
 Pepper is the seed of Piper nigrum, “ whose drupes form 
 the black Pepper of the shops when dried with the skin 
 upon them, and white Pepper when that flesh is removed by 
 washing.”—Lindley. It is, like all the pepperworts, a native 
 of the Tropics, but was well known both to the Greeks and 
 Romans. By the Greeks it was probably not much used, but 
 in Rome it seems to have been very common, if we may judge 
 by Horace’s lines :— 
 
 Deferar in vicum, vendentem thus et odores, 
 Et piper, et quidquid chartis amicitur ineptis. 
 Epistole ii, 1-270. 
 
 And in another place he mentions “ Pipere albo” as an 
 ingredient in cooking. Juvenal mentions it as an article of 
 commerce, “piperis coemti” (Sat: xiv, 293). Persius speaks 
 of it in more than one passage, and Pliny describes it so 
 minutely that he evidently not only knew the imported spice, 
 but also had seen the living plant. By the Romans it was 
 probably introduced into England, being frequently met with 
 in the Anglo-Saxon Leech books. It is mentioned by 
 Chaucer :— 
 
 And in an erthen pot how put is al, 
 
 And salt y-put in and also paupere. 
 Prologue of the Chanoune’s Yeman. 
 
158 
 
 It was apparently, like Ginger, a very common condiment 
 in Shakespeare’s time, and its early introduction into England 
 as an article of commerce is shown by passages in our old 
 law writers, who speak of the reservation of rent, not only in 
 money, but in “ pepper, cummim, and wheat ;” whence arose 
 the familiar reservation of a single peppercorn as a rent so 
 nomimal as to have no appreciable pecuniary value.* 
 
 The red or Cayenne Pepper is made from the ground seeds 
 of the Capsicum, but I do not find that it was used or known 
 in the sixteenth century. 
 
 PIG-NUTS. 
 
 Caliban. I prythee let me bring thee where Crabs grow, and I 
 with my long nails will dig thee Pig-nuts. 
 Tempest, act 11, se. 2. 
 
 Pig-nuts or Karth-nuts are the tuberous roots of Conopodium 
 denudatum (Bunium flexuosum ), a common weed in old upland 
 pastures ; it is found also in woods. ‘This root is really of a 
 pleasant flavour when first eaten, but leaves an unpleasant 
 taste inthe mouth. It is said to be much improved by roast- 
 ing, and to be then quite equal to Chesnuts. Yet it is not 
 much prized in England except by pigs and children, who do 
 not mind the trouble of digging for it. But the root lies deep, 
 and the stalk above it is very brittle, and *‘ when the little 
 ‘howker’ breaks the white shank he at once desists from his 
 attempt to reach the root, for he believes that it will elude his 
 search by sinking deeper and deeper into the ground” (John- 
 stone). I have never heard of its being cultivated in England, 
 but it is cultivated in some European countries, and much 
 prized as a wholesome and palatable root. 
 
 PINE. 
 (1) Prospero. She did confine thee, 
 
 Into a cloven Pine ; 
 
 It was mine art, 
 When [arrived and heard thee, that made gape 
 The Pine and let thee out. Tempest, act 1, sc. 2. 
 * Littleton does not mention Pepper when speaking of rents reserved otherwise 
 
 than in money, but specifies as instances, “fun chival, ou un esperon dor, ou un 
 clovegylofer”—a horse, a golden spear, or a clove gilliflower. 
 
159 
 
 (2) Suffolk. Thus droops this lofty Pine and hangs his sprays. 
 2nd Henry VI, act il, se. 3. 
 
 (3) Prospero. And by the spurs plucked up 
 The Pine and Cedar. Lempest, act v, se. 1. 
 
 (4) Agamemnon. As knots, by the conflux of meeting sap, 
 Infect the sound Pine, and divert his grain 
 Tortive and errant from his course of growth. 
 Troilus and Cressida, act i, sc. 8. 
 (5) Antony. Where yonder Pine doth stand 
 I shall discover all. 
 
 This Pine is bark’d 
 That overtopped them all. 
 Antony and Cleopatra, act i, se. 8. 
 (6) Belarius. As the rudest wind 
 That by the top doth take the mountain Pine, 
 And make him stoop to the vale. 
 Cymbeline, act iv, se. 2. 
 (7) 1st Zord. Behind the tuft of Pines I met them. 
 Winter’s Tale, act ii, se. 1. 
 (8) #tvchard. But when from under this terrestrial ball 
 He fires the proud top of the eastern Pines. 
 Richard LT, act iii, se. 
 (9) Antonio. You may as well forbid the mountain Pines 
 To wag their high tops and to make no noise 
 When they ave fretted with the gusts of heaven. 
 Merchant of Venice, act iv, se. 1. 
 (10) Ah me! the bark peeled from the lofty Pine, 
 His leaves will wither, and his sap decay ; 
 So must my soul, her bark being peeled away. 
 Rape of Lucrece. 
 
 i) 
 
 In No 8 is one of those delicate touches which show Shake- 
 speare’s keen observation of nature, in the effect of the rising 
 sun upon a group of Pine trees. Mr. Ruskin says that with 
 the one exception of Wordsworth no other English Poet has 
 noticed this. Wordsworth’s lines occur in one of his Minor 
 Poems on leaving Italy ; 
 
 My thoughts become bright like yon edging of Pines 
 On the steep’s lofty verge—how it blackened the air! 
 
 But touched from behind by the sun, it now shines 
 With threads that seem part of its own silver hair. 
 
 While Mr. Ruskin’s account of it is this; “ When the sun 
 rises behind a ridge of Pines, and those Pines are seen from 
 a distance of a mile or two against his tight, the whole form 
 
160 
 
 of the tree, trunk, branches and all, becomes one frost-work 
 of intensely brilliant silver, which is relieved against the 
 clear sky like a burning fringe, for some distance on either 
 side of the sun.”—Stones of Venice, i, 240. 
 
 The Pine is the established emblem of everything that is 
 “high and lifted up,” but always with a suggestion of dreari- 
 ness and solitude. So it is used by Shakespeare and by Milton, 
 who always associated the Pine with mountains ; and so it has 
 always been used by the poets, even down to our own day. 
 Thus Tennyson— 
 
 They came, they cut away my tallest Pines— 
 
 My dark tall Pines, that plumed the craggy ledge— 
 High o’er the blue gorge, and all between 
 
 The snowy peak and snow-white cataract 
 
 Fostered the callow eaglet ; from beneath 
 
 Whose thick mysterious boughs in the dark morn 
 
 The panther’s roar came muffled while I sat 
 
 Down in the valley. Complaint of Ainone. 
 
 Sir Walter Scott similarly describes the tree in the pretty 
 and well-known lines— 
 
 Aloft the Ash and warrior Oak 
 
 Cast anchor in the rifted rock ; 
 
 And higher yet the Pine tree hung 
 
 His shattered trunk, and frequent flung, 
 Where seemed the cliffs to meet on high, 
 His boughs athwart the narrow sky. . 
 
 Yet the Pine which was best known to Shakespeare, and 
 perhaps the only Pine he knew, was the Pinus sylvestris, or 
 Scotch Fir, and this, though flourishing on the highest hills 
 where nothing else will flourish, certainly attains its fullest 
 beauty in sheltered lowland districts. ‘There are probably 
 much finer Scotch firs in Devonshire than can be found in 
 Scotland. This is the only indigenous Fir, though the Pinus 
 pinaster claims to be a native of Ireland, some cones having 
 been supposed to be found in the bogs, but the claim is not 
 generally allowed— (there is no proof of the discovery of the 
 cones)—and yet it has become so completely naturalized on 
 the coast of Dorsetshire, especially about Bournemouth, that 
 it has been admitted into the last edition of Sowerby’s 
 *¢ English Botany.” 
 
 But though the Scotch Fir is a true native, and was 
 probably much more abundant in England formerly than it 
 is now, the tree has no genuine English name, and apparently 
 never had. Pine comes directly and without change from 
 
161 
 
 the Latin, Pinus, as one of the chief products, pitch, comes 
 directly from the Latin, paw. In the early vocabularies it is 
 called ‘“* Pin-treow,” and the cones are “ Pin-nuttes.” We 
 also find ‘*Fyre-tree,” which is a true English word meaning 
 the “ fire-tree,” but I believe that “Fir” was originally con- 
 fined to the timber, from its large use for torches, and was not 
 till later years applied to the living tree. 
 
 The sweetness of the Pine seeds, joined to the difficulty of 
 extracting them, and the length of time necessary for their 
 ripening, did not escape the notice of the emblem-writers of 
 the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. With them it was 
 the favourite emblem of the happy results of persevering 
 labour. Camerarius, a contemporary of Shakespeare and a 
 great botanist, gives a pretty plate of a man holding a Fir- 
 cone, with this moral—‘ Sic ad virtutem et honestatem et 
 laudabiles actiones non nisi per labores ac varias difficultates 
 perveniri potest, at postea sequuntur suavissimi fructus.” He 
 acknowledges his obligation for this moral to the proverb of 
 Plautus—‘ Qui e nuce nucleum esse vult, frangat nucem.”— 
 Symbolorum, &e., 1590. 
 
 In Shakespeare’s time a few of the European Conifers were 
 grown in England, including the Larch, but only as curi- 
 osities. The very large number of species which now orna- 
 ment our gardens and Pineta from America and Japan were 
 quite unknown. The many uses of the Pine—for its timber, 
 production of pitch, tar, resin, and turpentine—were well 
 known and valued. Shakespeare mentions both pitch and tar. 
 
 PINKS. 
 Romeo. A most courteous exposition. 
 Mercutio. Nay, 1 am the very Pink of courtesy. 
 Romeo. Pink for flower. 
 
 Mercutio. Right. 
 Ltomeo. Why, then is my pump well flowered. 
 Romeo and Juliet, act 11, se. 4. 
 
 The Pink or Pincke was, as now, the name of the smaller 
 sorts of Carnations, and was generally applied to the single 
 sorts. It must have been a very favourite flower, as we may 
 gather from the phrase “ Pink of courtesy,” which means 
 courtesy carried to its highest point; and from Spenser’s 
 pretty comparison— 
 
 M 
 
162 
 
 Her lovely eyes like Pincks but newly spred. 
 ‘“* Amoretti”’—-Sonnet 64. 
 
 The name has a curious history. It is not, as most of us 
 would suppose, derived from the colour, but the colour gets 
 its name from the plant. The name (according to Dr. Prior) 
 comes through Pinksten (German), from Pentecost, and so 
 was originally applied to one species—the Whitsuntide Gilli- 
 flower. From this it was applied to other species of the same 
 family. It is certainly “a curious accident,” as Dr. Prior 
 observes, “that a word that originally meant ‘fiftieth’ should 
 come to be successively the name of a festival of the Church, 
 of a flower, of an ornament in muslin called pinking, of a 
 colour, and of a sword-stab.” Shakespeare uses the word in 
 three of its senses. Jirst, as applied to a colour— 
 
 Come, thou monarch of the Vine, 
 Plumpy Bacchus with Pink eyne. 
 Antony and Cleopatra, act ii, se. 7. 
 
 Second, as applied to an ornament of dress in Romeo’s person, 
 
 Then is my pump well flowered; 
 Romeo and Juliet, act 11, se. 4. 
 
 ié., well pinked. And in Grumio’s excuses to Petruchio for 
 the non-atteudance of the servants— 
 
 Nathaniel’s coat, Sir, was not fully made, 
 And Gabriel’s pumps were all unpinked 
 I’the heel. Taming of the Shrew, act iv, se. 1. 
 
 And thirdly, as the pink’d ornament in muslin— 
 
 There’s a haberdasher’s wife of small wit near him, that 
 railed upon me till her Pink’d porringer fell off her 
 head. Henry VIII, act v, se. 8. 
 
 And as applied to the flower in the passage quoted above. 
 He also uses it in another sense— 
 This Pink is one of Cupid’s carriers ; 
 Clap on more sail—pursue ! 
 Merry Wives of Windsor, act ii, se. 7, 
 
 where Pink means a small country vessel often mentioned 
 under that name by writers of the sixteenth century. 
 
163 
 
 Prony 
 
 Tris. Thy banks with Pionied and Lilied brims, 
 Which spongy April at thy hest betrims, 
 To make cold nymphs chaste crowns. 
 Tempest, act iv, sc. 1. 
 
 There is much dispute about this passage, the dispute turn- 
 ing on the question whether “ Pionied” has reference to the 
 Peony flower or not. The word by some is supposed to mean 
 only “digged,” and it doubtless often had this meaning,* 
 though the word is now obsolete, and only survives with us in 
 “pioneer,” which, in Shakespeare’s time, meant “ digger ” 
 only, and not as now, “ one who goes before to prepare the 
 way ”—thus Hamlet, 
 
 Well said, old mole, cans’t work in the earth so fast ? 
 A worthy pioneer ! Hamlet, acti, se. 4. 
 
 But this reading seems very tame, tame in itself, and doubly 
 tame when taken in connection with the Lilies and the 
 ‘nymphs’ chaste crowns.” I shall assume, therefore, that the 
 flower is meant, spelt in the form of “ Piony,” instead of 
 Peony or Peony. 
 
 The Pony (P. corallina) is sometimes allowed a place in 
 the British flora, having been found apparently wild at the 
 Steep Holmes in the Bristol Channel and a few other places, 
 but it is now considered certain that in all these places it is 
 a garden escape. Gerarde gave one such habitat :—‘ The 
 male Peionie groweth wilde upon a Coneyberry in Betsome, 
 being in the parish of Southfleet, in Kent, two miles from 
 Gravesend, and in the ground sometimes belonging to a 
 farmer there, called John Bradley ;” but on this his editor 
 adds the damaging note-——“ I have been told that our author 
 himself planted that Peionee there, and afterwards seemed to 
 find it there by accident; and I do believe it was so, because 
 none before or since have ever seen or heard of it growing 
 wild since in any part of this kingdome.” 
 
 But, though not a native plant, it had been cultivated in 
 England long before Shakespeare’s and Gerarde’s time. It 
 occurs in most of the old vocabularies from the tenth century 
 downwards, and in Shakespeare’s time the English Gardens 
 
 * Which to outbarre, with painful pyonings, 
 From sea to sea, he heapt a mighty mound !—SrensEr, /. Q. ii, 10, 46, 
 
 M’ 
 
164 
 
 had most of the European species that are now grown, in- 
 cluding also the handsome double-red and white varieties. 
 Since his time the number of species and varieties has been 
 largely increased by the addition of the Chinese and Japanese 
 species, and by the labours of the French nurserymen, who 
 have paid more attention to the flower than the English. 
 
 In the hardy flower garden there is no more showy family 
 than the Peony. ‘They have flowers of many colours, from 
 almost pure white and pale yellow to the richest crimson; and 
 they vary very much in their foliage, most of them having 
 large fleshy leaves, “ not much unlike the leaves of the Walnut 
 tree,” but some of them having their leaves finely cut and 
 divided, almost like the leaves of Fennel (P. tenuifolia). They 
 further vary in that some are herbaceous, disappearing 
 entirely in winter, while others, Moutan or Tree Pzeonies, are 
 shrubs; and in favourable seasons, when the shrub is not 
 injured by spring frosts, there is no grander shrub than an 
 old Tree Pony in full flower. 
 
 Of the many different species the best are the Moutans, 
 which, according to Chinese tradition, have been grown in 
 China for 1500 years, and which are now produced in great 
 variety of colour ; P. corallina, for the beauty of its coral-like 
 seeds; P. Cretica, for its earliness in flowering ; P. tenuifolia, 
 single and double, for its elegant foliage; P. Whitmaniana, 
 for its pale yellow but very fleeting flowers, which, before 
 they are fully expanded, have all the appearance of immense 
 Globe-flowers (trollius\; P. lobata, for the wonderful richness 
 of its bright crimson flowers ; and P. Whitleji, a very old and 
 very double form of P. edulis, of great size, and most delicate 
 pink and white colour. 
 
 PIPPIN (see APPLE). 
 
 PLANTAIN. 
 
 (1) Costard. O sir, a Plantain, a plain Plantain, no l’envoy, no 
 Venvoy, no salve, sir, but a Plantain. 
 Moth. By saying that a costard was broken in a shin. 
 Then called you for the lenvoy. 
 Costard. True! and I for a Plantain. 
 Love’s Labours Lost, act iti, se. 1. 
 
165 
 
 (2) Romeo. Your Plantain leaf is excellent for that. 
 Benvolio. For what, I pray thee ? 
 Romeo. For a broken shin. 
 Romeo and Juliet, act i, sc. 2. 
 (3) Zroilus. As true as steel, as Plantage to the moon. 
 Troilus and Cressida, act 11, se. 2. 
 
 The most common old names for the Plantain were Way- 
 broad (corrupted to Weybread, Wayborn, and Wayforn), and 
 Ribwort. It was also called Lamb’s-tongue and Kemps, while 
 the flower spike with the stalk was called Cocks and Cock- 
 fighters (still so called by children). The old name of 
 Ribwort was derived from the ribbed leaves, while Waybroad 
 marked its universal appearance, scattered by all roadsides 
 and pathways, and literally bred by the wayside. It has a 
 similar name in German, Wegetritt, that is Waytread ; and 
 on this account the Swedes name the plant Wagbredblad, and 
 the Indians of North America Whiteman’s Foot, for it springs 
 up near every settlement the colonists make, having sprung 
 up after the English settlers not only in America, but also in 
 Australia and New Zealand :— 
 
 Whereso’er they move, before them 
 
 Swarms the stinging fly, the Ahmo, 
 
 Swarnis the bee, the honey-maker: 
 
 Wheresoe’er they tread, beneath them 
 
 Springs a flower unknown among us, 
 
 Springs the ‘‘ White man’s foot” in blossom. 
 
 Lonerettow’s Liawatha. 
 
 And “so it is a mistake to say that Plantain is derived from 
 the likeness of the plant to the sole of the foot, as in Richard- 
 son’s Dictionary. Rather say, because the herb grows under 
 the sole of the foot.”—Johnstone. How, or when, or why the 
 plant lost its old English names to take the Latin name of 
 Plantain, it is hard to say. It oceurs in a vocabulary of the 
 names of plants of the middle of the thirteenth century— 
 “ Plantago, Planteine, Weibrode,” and apparently came to us 
 from the French, “ Cy est assets de Planteyne, Weybrede.” 
 —Walter de Biblesworth, thirteenth century. But with the 
 exception of Chaucer * I believe Shakespeare is almost the 
 only early writer that uses the name, though it is very certain 
 that he did not invent it; but “ Plantage” (No. 3), which is 
 doubtless the same plant, is peculiar to him. 
 
 It was as a medical herb that our forefathers chiefly valued 
 
 * His forehead dropped as a stillatorie 
 
 Were ful of Plantayn and peritorie. 
 Prologue of the Chanoune’s Yeman. 
 
166 
 
 the Plantain, and for medical purposes its reputation was of 
 the very highest. In a book of recipes (Lacnunga) of the 
 eleventh century, by Alfric, is an address to the Waybroad, 
 which is worth extracting at length :— 
 
 And thou, Waybroad ! 
 
 Mother of worts, 
 
 Open from eastward, 
 
 Mighty within ; 
 
 Over thee carts creaked, 
 
 Over thee Queens rode, 
 
 Over thee brides bridalled, 
 
 Over thee bulls breathed, 
 
 All these thou withstood’st 
 
 Venom and vile things 
 
 And all the loathly ones 
 
 That through the land rove. 
 Cockayne’s Translation. 
 
 In another earlier recipe book the Waybroad is prescribed for 
 twenty-two diseases, one after another; and in another of the 
 same date we are taught how to apply it:—‘‘ If a man ache 
 in half hishead . . . . delveup Waybroad without iron 
 ere the rising of the sun, bind the roots about the head with 
 Crosswort by a red fillet, soon he will be well.” But the 
 Plantain did not long sustain its high reputation, which even 
 in Shakespeare’s time had become much diminished. “I find,” 
 says Gerarde, “in ancient writers many good-morrowes, which 
 I think not meet to bring into your memorie againe ; as that 
 three roots will cure one griefe, four another disease, six 
 hanged about the neck are good for another maladie, &c., all 
 which are but ridiculous toys.” Yet the bruised leaves still 
 have some reputation as a styptic and healing plaster among 
 country herbalists. and perhaps the alleged virtues are not 
 altogether fanciful. 
 
 As a garden plant, the Plantain can only be regarded as a 
 weed and nuisance, especially on lawns, where it is very diffi- 
 cult to destroy them. Yet there are some curious varieties 
 which may claim a corner where botanical curiosities are 
 grown. The Plantain seem to have a peculiar tendency to run 
 into abnormal forms, many of which will be found described 
 and figured in Dr. Masters’ “ Vegetable Teratology,” and 
 among these forms are two which are exactly like a double 
 green Rose, and have been cultivated as the Rose Plantain for 
 many years. They were grown by Gerarde, who speaks of 
 “the beauty which is in the plant,” and compared it to “a 
 fine double Rose of a hoary or rusty greene colour.” Parkinson 
 also grew it and valued it highly. 
 
167 
 
 PLUMS, WITH DAMSONS AND PRUNES. 
 
 (1) Constance. Give grandam kingdom, and it grandam will give 
 it a Plum, a Cherry, anda Fig. ing John, actii, se. 1. 
 
 (2) Hamlet. The satirical rogue saith that old men have grey 
 beards, their faces are wrinkled, their eyes purging thick 
 
 amber and Plum-tree gum. Hamlet, act ii, se. 2. 
 (3) Srmpeow. A. fall ott a tree. 
 Wife. A Plum tree, master. 
 Gloucester. Marry, thou lovedst Plums well that would’st 
 venture so. 
 
 Simpeox. Alas! good master, my wife desired some Dam- 
 sons, and made me climb, with danger of my life. 
 2nd Henry VI, act i, se. 1. 
 (4) Evans. I will dance and eat Plums at your wedding. 
 Merry Wives of Windsor, act v, sc. 5. 
 (5) The mellow Plum doth fall, the green sticks fast, 
 Or being early plucked is sour to taste. 
 Venus and Adonis. 
 (6) Like a green Plum that hangs upon a tree, 
 And falls through wind before the fall should be. 
 Passionate Pilgrim. 
 (7) Slender. Three veneys for a dish of stewed Prunes. 
 Merry Wives of Windsor, act i, se. 1. 
 (8) Lalstaf. There’s no more faith in thee than in a stewed Prune. 
 1st Henry IV, act ii. se. 3. 
 (9) Pompey. Longing (saving your honour’s presence) for stewed 
 Prunes. 
 
 And longing, as I said, for Prunes. 
 
 You being then, if you be remembered, cracking 
 the stones of the foresaid Prunes. 
 Measure for Measure, act 11, se. 1. 
 
 (10) Clown. Four pounds of Prunes, and as many of Raisins 
 
 of the sun. 3 Winter’s Tale, act iv, se. 2. 
 (11) Falstaff Hang him, rogue; he lives upon mouldy stewed 
 Prunes and dried cakes. 2nd Henry LV, act ii, se. 4. 
 
 Plums, Damsons, and Prunes may conveniently be joined 
 together, Plums and Damsons being often used synony- 
 mously (as in No. 3), and Prunes being the dried Plums. 
 
168 
 
 The Damsons were originally, no doubt, a good variety from 
 the East, and nominally from Damascus.* They seem to have 
 been considered great delicacies, as in a curious allegorical 
 drama of the fifteenth century, called “ La Nef de Sante,” of 
 which an account is given by Mr. Wright :—‘“* Bonne- 
 Compagnie, to begin the day, orders a collation, at which, 
 among other things, are served Damsons (Prunes de Damas), 
 which appear at this time to have been considered as delicacies. 
 There is here a marginal direction to the purport that if the 
 morality should be performed in the season when real Dam- 
 sons could not be had, the performers must have some made 
 of wax to look like real ones.”—History of Domestic Man- 
 ners, Ke. 
 
 The garden Plums are a good cultivated variety of our 
 own wild Sloe, but a variety that did not originate in 
 England, and may very probably have been introduced by the 
 Romans. The Sloe and Bullace are, speaking botanically, two 
 sub-species of Pyrus communis, while the Plum is a third 
 sub-species (P. communis domestica). The garden Plum is 
 occasionally found wild in England, but is certainly not 
 indigenous. It is somewhat strange that our wild plant is 
 not mentioned by Shakespeare under any of its well-known 
 names of Sloe, Bullace, and Blackthorn. Not only is ita 
 shrub of very marked appearance in our hedgerows in early 
 spring, when it is covered with its pure white blossoms, but 
 Blackthorn staves were indispensable in the rough game of 
 quarterstaff, and the Sloe gave point to more than one English 
 proverb: “as black asa Sloe,” was a very common comparison, 
 and “as useless as a Sloe,” or “not worth a Sloe,” was as 
 common. 
 
 Sir Amys answered, ‘‘ Tho’ 
 I give thee thereof not one Sloe! 
 Do right all that thou may !” 
 Amys and Amylion—Huuis’s Romances. 
 The offecial seyde, Thys ys nowth 
 Be God, that me der bowthe, 
 Het ys not worthe a Sclo. 
 The Frere and his Boy—Rrrson’s Ancient Popular Poetry. 
 
 Though even as a fruit the Sloe had its value, and was not 
 altugether despised by our ancestors, for thus Tusser advises— 
 
 By the end of October go gather up Sloes, 
 
 Have thou in readiness plenty of those ; 
 
 And keep them in bed-straw, or still on the bough, 
 To stay both the flux of thyself and thy cow. 
 
 *Bullein, in his ‘* Government of Health,” 1588, calls them ‘* Damaske Prunes,” 
 
169 
 
 As soon as the garden Plum was introduced, great attention 
 seems to have been paid to it, and the gardeners of Shake- 
 speare’s time could probably show as a good Plums as we can 
 now. “To write of Plums particularly,” said Gerarde, 
 “would require a peculiar volume. . . . . Every clymate 
 hath his owne fruite, far different from that of other countries; 
 my selfe have threescore sorts in my garden, and all strange 
 and rare; there be in other places many more common, and 
 yet yearly commeth to our hands others not before knowne.” 
 
 POMEGRANATE. 
 
 (1) Lafeu. Go to, sir, you were beaten in Italy for picking a 
 kernel out of a Promegranate. 
 All’s Well that Ends Well, act 11, se. 3. 
 (2) Juliet. It is the nightingale and not the lark, 
 That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear ; 
 Nightly she sings on yon Pomegranate tree.* 
 Romeo and Juliet, act iii, se. 5. 
 (8) Francis. Anon, anon, sir; look down into the Pomegranate, 
 Ralph. ist Henry IV, act ii, se. 4. 
 
 There ure few trees that surpass the Pomegranate in interest 
 and beauty combined. ‘ Whoever has seen the Pomegranate 
 in a favourable soil and climate, whether as a single shrub or 
 grouped many together, has seen one of the most beautiful of 
 green trees; its spiry shape and thick-tufted foliage of vigo- 
 rous green, each growing shoot shaded into tenderer verdure 
 and bordered with crimson and adorned with the loveliest 
 flowers; filmy petals of scarlet lustre are put forth from the 
 solid crimson cup, and the ripe fruit of richest hue and most 
 admirable shape.”—-Lady Calcott’s Scripture Herbal. A 
 simpler but more valued testimony to the beauty of the Pome- 
 granate is borne in its selection for the choicest ornaments 
 on the Ark of the Tabernacle, on the priest’s vestments, and 
 on the rich capitals of the pillars in the Temple of Solomon. 
 
 The native home of the Pomegranate is not very certainly 
 known, but the evidence chiefly points to the north of Africa. 
 It was very early cultivated in Egypt, and was one of the 
 
 * Tn illustration of Juliet’s speech Mr. Knight very aptly quotes a similar remark 
 from Russell’s History of Aleppo, adding that a ‘‘ friend, whose observations as a 
 traveller are as accurate as his descriptions are graphic and forcible, informs us 
 that throughout his journeys in the East he never heard such a cnoir of nightingales 
 as in a row of Pomegranate trees that skirt the road from Smyrna to Bondjia.” 
 
170 
 
 Egyptian delicacies so fondly remembered by the Israelites 
 in their desert wanderings, and is frequently met with in 
 Egyptian sculpture. It was abundant in Palestine, and is 
 often mentioned in the Bible, and always as an object of 
 beauty and desire. It was highly appreciated by the Greeks 
 and Romans, but it was probably not introduced into Italy 
 in very early times, as Pliny is the first author that certainly 
 mentions it, though some critics have supposed that the 
 aurea mala and wurea poma of Virgil and Ovid were 
 Pomegranates. From Italy the tree soon spread into other 
 parts of Europe, taking with it its Roman name of Punica 
 malus or Pomum granatum. Punica showed the country 
 from which the Romans derived it, while granatwm (full of 
 erains) marked the special characteristic of the fruit that 
 distinguished it from all other so-called Apples. Gerarde 
 takes advantage of the name to give a queer instance of local 
 etymology :—‘* Pomegranates grow in hot countries, tewards 
 the south in Italy, Spaine, and chiefly in the kingdom of 
 Granada, which is thought to be so named of the great 
 multitude of Pomegranates, which be commonly called 
 Granata.” This derivation, however, may be matched by the 
 fanciful derivation of Yucatan, from the quantity of Yuccas 
 orowing there. The Pomegranate lives and flowers well in 
 England, but when it was first introduced is not recorded. I 
 do not find it in the old vocabularies, but Chaucer gives it a 
 prominent place in “that Gardeyn, wele wrought,” “ the 
 garden that so lyked me.” 
 
 There were, and that I wote fulle well, 
 
 Of Pomgarnettys a fulle gret delle, 
 
 That is a fruit fulle welle to lyke, 
 
 Namely to folk whaune they ben sike. 
 
 Romaunt of the Rose. 
 
 Gerarde had it in 1596, but from his description it seems 
 that it was a recent acquisition. ‘I have recovered,’ he says, 
 “divers young trees hereof, by sowing of the seed or grains 
 of the height of three or four cubits, attending God’s leisure 
 for floures and fruit.” Three years later, in 1599, it is 
 noticed for its flowers in Buttes’s Dyet’s Dry Dinner (as 
 quoted by Brand), where it is asserted that “if one eate three 
 small Pomegranate flowers (they say) for a whole yeare he 
 shall be safe from all manner of eyesore;” and Gerarde 
 
 * Tn a Bill of Medicines furnished for the use of Edward I, 1306-7, is 
 Item pro malis granitas vi. Ix s. 
 Item pro vino malorim granatorun xx lb., lx s. 
 Archeological Journal, xiv, 27. 
 
171 
 
 speaks: of the “wine which is pressed forth of the Pome- 
 granate berries named Rhoitas or wine of Pomegranates,” 
 but this may have been imported. But, when introduced, it 
 at once took kindly to its new home, so that Parkinson was 
 able to describe its flowers and fruits from personal observa- 
 tion. In all the southern parts of England it grows very 
 well, and is one of the very best trees we have to cover a 
 south wall: it also grows well in towns, as may be seen at 
 Bath, where a great many very fine specimens have been 
 planted in the areas in front of the houses, and have grown 
 to a considerable height. When thus planted and properly 
 pruned the tree will bear its beautiful flowers from May all 
 through the summer; but generally the tree is so pruned 
 that it cannot flower. It should be pruned like a Banksian 
 Rose, and other plants that bear their flowers on last year’s 
 shoots, 2.¢., simply thinned, but not cut back or spurred. 
 With this treatment the branches may be allowed to grow in 
 their natural way without being nailed in, and if the single- 
 blossomed species be grown, the flowers in good summers will 
 bear fruit. Last year (1876) I counted on a tree in Bath 
 more than sixty fruit; the fruits will perhaps seldom be 
 worth eating, but they are curious and handsome. ‘The sorts 
 usually grown are the pure scarlet (double and single), and a 
 very double variety with the flowers somewhat variegated. 
 These are the most desirable, but there a few other species 
 and varieties, including a very beautiful dwarf one from the 
 East Indies that is too tender for our climate out-of-doors, 
 but is largely grown on the Continent as a window plant. 
 
 POMEWATER (see APPLE). 
 POPERING (sce Pear’. 
 
 Ole rey. 
 
 Lago. Not Poppy or Mandragora, 
 Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world 
 Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep 
 Which thou own’dst yesterday. 
 Othello, act 111, se. 3. 
 
 The Poppy had of old a few other names, such as Corn- 
 
172 
 
 rose and Cheese-bowls (a very old name for the flower), and 
 being “of great beautie, although of evil smell, our gentle- 
 woman doe call it Jone Silverpin.” This name is difficult of 
 explanation, even with Parkinson’s help, who says it means 
 “‘ faire without and foule within,” but it probably alludes to 
 its gaudy colour and worthlessness. But these names are 
 scarcely the common names of the plant, but rather nick- 
 names ; the usual name is and always has been Poppy, which 
 is an easily-traced corruption from the Latin papaver, the 
 Saxon and Early English names being variously spelt popig 
 and papig, popi and papy; so that the Poppy is another 
 instance of a very common and conspicuous English plant 
 known only or chiefly by its Latin name Anglicised. 
 
 Our common English Poppy “being of a beautiful and gal- 
 Jant red colour,” is certainly one of the handsomest of our wild 
 flowers, and a Wheat field with a rich undergrowth of scarlet 
 Poppies is a sight very dear to the artist, while the weed is 
 not supposed to do much harm to the farmer. But this is 
 not the Poppy mentioned by Iago, for its narcotic qualities 
 are very small; the Poppy that he alludes to is the Opium 
 Poppy (P. somniferum). This Poppy was well known and 
 cultivated in England long before Shakespeare’s day, but only 
 as a garden ornament; the opium was then, as now, imported 
 from the East. Its deadly qualities were well known. 
 Spenser speaks of the plant as the “ dull Poppy,” and describ- 
 ing the Garden of Proserpina, he says:— 
 
 There mournful Cypress grew in greatest store, 
 
 And trees of bitter gall, and Heben sad, 
 
 Dead-sleeping Poppy, and black Hellebore, 
 
 Cold Coloquintida. FQ. By, Wya2) 
 
 And Drayton similarly describes it— 
 
 Here Henbane, Poppy, Hemlock here, 
 Procuring deadly sleeping. Nymphal, v. 
 
 The name of opium does not seem to have been in general 
 use, except among the apothecaries, and I believe that Milton 
 is the first writer of eminence that uses it.* 
 
 Which no cooling herb 
 Or medicinal liquor can asswage, 
 Nor breath of vernal air from snowy Alp; 
 Sleep hath forsook and given me o’er 
 To death’s benumming opium as my only cure. 
 Samson Agonistes. 
 
 * Since writing this, I find that Opium is mentioned by Chaucer : 
 “A clarre made of a certayn wyn, 
 With necotykes, and opye of Thebes fyn.” 
 The Kunightes Tale. 
 
173 
 
 Many of the Poppies are very ornamental garden plants. 
 The pretty yellow Welsh Poppy (Meconopsis Cambrica) 
 abundant at Cheddar Cliffs, is an excellent plant for the 
 rock-work where, when once established, it will grow freely 
 and sow itself; and for the same place the little Papaver 
 Alpinum, with its varieties, is equally well suited. For the 
 open border the larger Poppies are very suitable, especially 
 the great Oriental Poppy (P. orientale) and the grand scarlet, 
 Siberian Poppy (P. bracteatum), perhaps the most gorgeous 
 of hardy plants; while among the rarer species of the tribe we 
 must reckon the Meconopses of the Himalayas (M. Wallichi 
 and M. Nepalensis), plants of singular beauty and elegance, 
 but very difficult to grow and still more difficult to keep, even 
 if once established. Within the last three years they have 
 been successfully grown at Kew and in a few other places, and 
 have been proved to be perfectly hardy, for they have been 
 grown in wonderful beauty in Mr. Elwes’ garden at Miserden, 
 one of the coldest villages on the Cotswold, but whether they 
 can be permanently preserved, time only can show. Besides 
 these Poppies, the large double garden Poppies are very 
 showy and of great variety in colour, but they are only 
 annuals. 
 
 POTATO. 
 
 (1) Thersites. How the devil Luxury, with his fat rump and 
 Potato-finger, tickles these together. 
 
 Troilus and Cressida, act v, se. 2. 
 
 (2) Falstaff. Let the sky rain Potatoes; let it thunder to the 
 
 tune of green sleeves, hail kissing comforts, and snow 
 
 Hringoes. Merry Wives of Windsor, act v, sc. 5. 
 
 The chief interest in these two passages is that they 
 contain almost the earliest notice of Potatoes after their 
 introduction into England. The generally received account 
 is that they were introduced into Ireland in 1584 by Sir 
 Walter Raleigh, and from thence brought into England ; but 
 the year of their first planting in England is not recorded. 
 They are not mentioned by Lyte in 1586. Gerarde grew 
 them in 1597, but only as curiosities, under the name of 
 Virginian Potatoes (Battata Virginianorum and Pappas), to 
 distinguish them from the Spanish Potato, or Convolvulus 
 
174 
 
 Battatas, which had been long grown in Europe. ‘They seem 
 to have grown into favour very slowly, for half a century after 
 their introduction, Waller still spoke of them as one of the 
 tropical luxuries of the Bermudas. 
 
 With candy’d Plantains and the juicy Pine, 
 On choicest Melons and sweet Grapes they dine, 
 And with Potatoes fat their wanton swine. 
 The Battel of the Summer Islands. 
 
 Potato is a corruption of Batatas or Patatas. 
 
 As soon as the Potato arrived in England, it was at once 
 invested with wonderful restorative powers, and in a long 
 exhaustive note in Steevens’ Shakespeare, Mr. Collins has 
 given all the passages in the early writers in which the Potato 
 is mentioned, and in every case they have reference to these 
 supposed virtues. These passages, which are chiefly from the 
 old dramatists, are curious and interesting in the early 
 history of the Potato, and as throwing light on the manners 
 of our ancestors; but as in every instance they are all more 
 or less indelicate, I, of course, refrain from quoting them 
 here. 
 
 As a garden plant, we now restrict the Potato to the kitchen 
 garden and the field, but it belongs to a very large family, 
 the Solanacese or Nightshades, of which many members are 
 very ornamental, though as they chiefly come from the 
 tropical regions, there are very few that can be treated us 
 entirely hardy plants. One, however, is a very beautiful 
 climber— the Solanum jasminoides from South America, and 
 quite hardy in the South of England. Trained against a 
 wall it will soon cover it, and when once established will bear 
 its handsome trusses of white flowers with yellow anthers in 
 great profusion during the whole summer. A better known 
 member of the family is the Petunia, very handsome, but 
 little better than an annual. The pretty Winter Cherry 
 (Physalis alkekengi), is another member of the family, and 
 so is the Mandrake (see MANDRAKE). The whole tribe is. 
 poisonous, or at least to be suspected, yet it contains a large 
 number of most useful plants, as the Potato, Tomato, Tobacce, 
 Datura, and Cayenne Pepper. 
 
175 
 
 PRIMROSE. 
 
 (1) Queen. The Violets, Cowslips, and Primroses 
 Bear to my closet. Cymbeline, act i, sc. 6. 
 (2) @. Mary. I would be blind with weeping, sick with groans, 
 Look pale as Primrose, with blood. drinking sighs, 
 And all to have the noble duke alive. 
 2nd Henry VI, act 8, se. 2. 
 (3) Arviragus. Thou shalt not lack 
 The flower that’s like thy face, pale Primrose. 
 Cymbeline, act iv, sc. 2. 
 (4) Hermia. In the wood where often you and I 
 Upon faint Primrose-beds were wont to lie. 
 , Midsummer Night's Dream, act i, se. 1. 
 (5) Perdita. Pale Primroses 
 That die unmarried ere they can behold 
 Bold Phoebus in his strength. 
 Winter’s Tale, act iv, se. 3. 
 (6) Ophelia. Like a puffed and reckless libertine, 
 Himself the Primrose path of dalliance treads 
 And recks not his own rede. Hamlet, act i, se. 3. 
 (7) Porter. I had thought to have let in some of all professions 
 that go the Primrose way to everlasting fire. 
 Macbeth, act ii, se. 3. 
 (8) Witnesss this Primrose bank where on T lie. 
 Venus and Adonis. 
 
 Whenever we speak of spring flowers, the first that comes 
 into our minds is the Primrose. Both for its simple beauty 
 and for its early arrival among us we give it the first place 
 over 
 
 Whatsoever other flowre of worth 
 
 And whatso other hearb of lovely hew, 
 
 The joyous Spring out of the ground brings forth 
 To cloath herself in colours fresh and new. 
 
 It is a plant equally dear to children and their elders, so 
 that I cannot believe that there is any one (except Peter Bell) 
 to whom 
 
 A Primrose by the river’s brim 
 A yellow Primrose is to him— 
 And it is nothing more ; 
 
176 
 
 —yather I should believe that W. Browne’s “ Wayfaring 
 Man” is a type of most English countrymen in their simple 
 admiration of the common flower— 
 
 As some wayfaring man passing a wood, 
 
 Whose waving top hath long a sea-mark stood, 
 
 Goes jogging on and in his mind nought hath, 
 
 But how the Primrose finely strews the path, 
 
 Or sweetest Violets lay down their heads 
 
 At some tree’s roots or mossy feather beds— 
 Britannia’s Pastorals i, 5. 
 
 It is the first flower, except perhaps the Daisy, of which a 
 child learns the familiar name ; and yet it is a plant of un- 
 failing interest to the botanical student, while its name is one 
 of the greatest puzzles to the etymologist. The common and 
 easy explanation of the name is that it means the first Rose 
 of the year—but like so many explanations that are derived 
 only from the sound and modern appearance of a name—this 
 is not the true account. The full history of the name 1s too 
 long to give here, but the short account is this—“ The old 
 name was Prime Rolles—or primerole. Primerole is 
 an abbreviation of Fr., primeverole: It., primaverola, 
 diminutive of prima vera from flor di prima vera, the first 
 spring flower. Primerole, as an outlandish unintelligible 
 word, was soon familiarized into primerolles, and this into 
 primrose.”—Dr. Prior. The name Primrose was not. at first 
 always applied to the flower, but was an old English word, 
 used to show excellence. 
 
 A fairer nymph yet never saw mine eie, 
 She is the pride and Primrose of the rest— 
 Spenser, Colin Clout. 
 Was not I [the Briar] planted of thine own hande, 
 To bee the Primrose of all thy lande ; 
 With flow’ring blossomes to furnish the prime 
 
 And scarlet berries in sommer time ? 
 Spenser, Shepherd’s Calendar, Februarce. 
 
 It was also a flower name, but not of our present Primrose, 
 but of a very different plant. Thus in a Nominale of the 15th 
 century we have “hoc ligustrum, a Primerose,” and in a Pic- 
 torial Vocabulary of the same date we have “ hoe ligustrum, 
 Ac’ a Prymrose,”—and in the Promptorvwm Parvulorun, 
 “ Prymerose, primula, calendula, ligustrum”—and this name 
 for the Privet lasted with a slight alteration into Shakespeare’s 
 time. Turner in 1538 says, “ligustrum arbor est non herba 
 ut literatorti vulgus credit; nihil que minus est quam a 
 
177 
 
 Prymerose.” In Tusser’s “ Husbandry ” we have “ set Privey 
 or Prim” (September Abstract), and 
 Now set ye may 
 The Box and Bay 
 Hawthorn and Prim 
 For clothe’s trim—(January Abstract). 
 
 And so it is described by Gerarde as the Privet or Prim Print 
 (z.€. primé printemps), and even in the 17th century, Cole 
 says of ligustrum “ This herbe is called Primrose.” When 
 the name was fixed to our present plant I cannot say, but 
 certainly before Shakespeare’s time, though probably not long 
 before. It is rather remarkable that the flower, which we 
 now so much admire, seems to have been very much over- 
 looked by the writers before Shakespeare. In the very old 
 vocabularies it does not at all appear by its present Latin 
 name, Primula veris, but that is perhaps not to be wondered 
 at, as nearly all the old botanists applied that name to the 
 Daisy. But neither is it much noticed by any English 
 name. I can only find it in two of the vocabularies. In an 
 English Vocabulary of the 14th century is “ Hzee pimpinella, 
 A® primerolle,” but it is very doubtful if this can be our 
 Primrose, as the Pimpernel of old writers was the Burnet. 
 But in the treatise of Walter de Biblesworth (13th century) is 
 Primerole et primeveyre (cousloppe) 
 Sur tere aperunt en tems de veyre. 
 
 I should think there is no doubt this is our Primrose. Then 
 we have Chaucer’s description of a fine lady— 
 
 Hir schos were laced on hir legges hyghe 
 
 Sche was a primerole, a piggesneyghe 
 
 For any lord have liggyng in his bedde, 
 
 Or yet for any gode yeman to wedde. 
 
 Lhe Milleres Tale. 
 
 I have dwelt longer than usual on the name of this flower, 
 because it gives us an excellent example of how much literary 
 interest may be found even in the names of our common 
 English plants. 
 
 But it is time to come frum the name to the flower. The 
 English Primrose is one of a large family of more than fifty 
 species, represented in England by the Primrose, the Oxlip, 
 the Cowslip, and the Bird’s-eye Primrose of the north of 
 England and Scotland. All the members of the family, 
 whether British or exotic, are noted for the simple beauty of 
 their flowers, but in this special character there is none that 
 surpasses our own. “It is the very flower of delicacy and 
 
 N 
 
178 
 
 refinement; not that it shrinks from our notice, for few plants 
 are more easily seen, coming as it does when there is a dearth 
 of flowers, when the first birds are singing, and the first bees 
 humming, and the earliest green putting forth in the March 
 and April woods; and it is one of those plants which dislikes 
 to be looking cheerless, but keeps up a smouldering fire of 
 blossom from the very opening of the year, if the weather 
 will permit.”—Forbes Watson. It is this character of 
 cheerfulness that so much endears the flower to us; as it 
 brightens up our hedgerows after the dulness of winter, the 
 harbinger of many brighter perhaps, but not more acceptable, 
 beauties to come, it 1s the very emblem of cheerfulness. Yet 
 it is very curious to note what entirely different ideas it 
 suggested to our forefathers. ‘To them the Primrose seems 
 always to have brought associations of sadness, or even worse 
 than sadness, for the “ Primrose paths” and “ Primrose 
 ways” of Nos. 6 and 7 are meant to be suggestive of 
 pleasures, but sinful pleasures. 
 
 Spenser associates it with death in some beautiful lines, in 
 which a husband laments the loss of a young and beautiful 
 wife— 
 
 Mine was the Primerose in the lowly shade! 
 
 Oh! that so fair a flower so soon should fade, 
 And through untimely tempest fade away. 
 Daphnidia, 232. 
 In another place he speaks of it as “the Primrose trew "— 
 Prothalamion-- but in another place his only epithet for it is 
 ‘¢ oreen,” which quite ignores its brightness— 
 And Primroses greene 
 Embellish the sweete Violet. 
 SHEPHERD’s Calendar, April. 
 Shakespeare has no more pleasant epithets for our favourite 
 flower than “ pale,” “faint,” “that die unmarried;” and 
 Milton follows in the same strain, yet sadder. Once, indeed, 
 he speaks of youth as “ Brisk as the April buds in Primrose 
 season” (Comus) but only in three passages does he speak 
 of the Primrose itself, and in two of these he connects it with 
 death— 
 Bring the rathe Primrose that forsaken dies, 
 
 And every flower that sad embroidery wears.—Lyetdas. 
 O fairest flower, no sooner blown but blasted, 
 Soft silken Primrose fading timelesslie ; 
 Summer’s chief honour, if thou hadst outlasted 
 Bleak winter’s force that made thy blossoms drie. 
 On the Death of a Fair Infant. 
 
179 
 
 His third account is a little more joyous— 
 Now the bright morning star, daye’s harbinger, 
 Comes dancing from the East, and leading with her 
 The flowery May, who from her green lap throws 
 The yellow Cowslip and the pale Primrose. 
 On May Morning. 
 And nearly all the poets of that time spoke in the same 
 strain, with the exception of Ben Jonson and the two 
 Fletchers. Jonson spoke of it as “ The glory of the spring.” 
 Giles Fletcher says— 
 
 Every bush lays deeply perfumed 
 
 With Violets ; the wood’s late wintry head, 
 
 Wide flaming Primroses set all on fire. 
 And Phineas Fletcher— 
 
 The Primrose lighted new her flame displays, 
 And frights the neighbour hedge with fiery rays. 
 And here and there sweet Primrose scattered. 
 
 Nature seem’d work’d by Art, so lively true, 
 A tittle heaven or earth in narrow space she drew. 
 
 I can only refer very shortly to the botanical interest of the 
 Primula, and that only to direct attention to Mr. Darwin’s 
 paper in the Jowrnal of the Linnean Society, 1862, in which 
 he records his very curious and painstaking inquiries into the 
 dimorphism of the Primula, a peculiarity in the Primula that 
 gardeners had long recognised in their arrangement of Prim- 
 roses as “ pin-eyed”” and “ thrum-eyed.” It is perhaps owing 
 to this dimorphism that the family is able to showa very large 
 number of natural hybrids. These have been carefully studied 
 by Professor Kerner, of Innspruck, and it seems not unlikely 
 that a further study will show that all the European so-called 
 species are natural hybrids from a very few parents. 
 
 Yet a few words on the Primrose as a garden plant. If the 
 Primrose be taken from the hedges in November, and planted 
 in beds thickly in the garden, they make a beautiful display 
 of flowers and foliage from February till the beds are required 
 for the summer flowers ; and there are few of our wild flowers 
 that run into so many varieties in their wild state. In 
 Pembrokeshire and Cardiganshire I have seen the wild 
 Primrose of nearly all shades of colour, from the purest white 
 to an almost bright red, and these can all be brought into the 
 garden with a certainty of success and a certainty of rapid 
 increase. There are also many double varieties, all of 
 which are more often seen in cottage gardens then elsewhere ; 
 yet no gardener need despise them. 
 
 N? 
 
180 
 
 One other British Primrose, the Bird’s-eye Primrose, almost 
 defies garden cultivation, though in its native habitats in 
 the north it grows in most ungenial places. I have seen places 
 in the neighbourhood of the bleak hill of Ingleborough, 
 where it almost forms the turf; yet away from its native 
 habitat it is difficult to keep, except in a greenhouse. For 
 the cultivation of the other non-English species, I cannot 
 do better than refer to an excellent paper by Mr. Niven in 
 The Garden for January 29, 1876,in which he gives an exhaus- 
 tive account of them. 
 
 I am not aware that Primroses are of any use in medicine 
 or cookery, yet Tusser names the Primrose among “ seeds and 
 herbs for the kitchen,” and Lyte says “the Cowslips, Prim- 
 roses, and Oxlips are now used dayly amongst other pot herbes, 
 but in physicke there is no great account made of them.” 
 
 PRUNES (see PLUMS). 
 
 PUMPION. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Goto, then. We'll use this unwholesome humidity— 
 this gross watery Pumpion. 
 Merry Wives of Windsor, act iii, sc. 3. 
 
 * Pumpion, Pompion, and Pumpkin were general terms 
 including all the Cucurbitacez such as Melons, Gourds, 
 Cucumbers, and Vegetable Marrows. All were largely grown 
 in Shakespeare’s days, but I should think the reference here 
 must be to one of the large useless Gourds, for Mrs. Ford’s 
 comparison is to Falstaff, and Gourds were grown large enough 
 to bear out even that comparison. ‘ The Gourd groweth into 
 any forme or fashion you would haveit . . . . being 
 suffered to clime upon an arbour where the fruit may hang ; 
 it hath beene seene to be nine foot long.” And the little value 
 placed upon the whole tribe helped to bear out the comparison. 
 They were chiefly good to “‘cure copper faces, red and shining 
 fierce noses (as red as red Roses), with pimples, pumples, 
 rubies, and such-like precious faces.” This was Gerarde’s 
 account of the Cucumber, while of the Cucumber Pompion, 
 which was evidently our Vegetable Marrow, and of which he 
 
181 
 
 has described and figured the variety which we now call the 
 Custard Marrow, he says, “it maketh a man apt and ready to 
 fall into the disease called the colericke passion, and of some 
 the felonie.” 
 
 Mrs. Ford’s comparison of a big loutish man to an over- 
 grown Gourd has not been lost in the English language, for 
 “ bumpkin ” is only another form of “Pumpkin,” and Mr. Fox 
 Talbot, in his Hnglish Htymologies, has a very curious 
 account of the antiquity of the nickname. “The Greeks,” he 
 says, “called a very weak and soft-headed person a Pumpion, 
 whence the proverb zerovoc paXakwrepoc, softer than a 
 Pumpion ; and even one of Homer’s heroes, incensed at the 
 
 timidity of his soldiers, exclaims w wewovec, you Pumpions! 
 So also cornichon (Cucumber) is a term of derision in 
 French.” te) 
 
 Yet the Pumpion or Gourd had its uses, moral uses. 
 Modern critics have decided that Jonah’s Gourd, “ which 
 came up in a night and perished in a night,” was not a 
 Gourd, but the Palma Christi, or Castor-oil tree. But our 
 forefathers called it a Gourd, and believing that it was so 
 they used the Gourd to point many a moral and illustrate 
 many a religious emblem. Thus viewed it was the standing 
 emblem of the rapid growth and quick decay of evil-doers 
 and their evil deeds. “Cito nata, cito pereunt,” was the 
 history of the evil deeds, while the doers of them could only 
 say— 
 
 Quasi solstitialis herba fui, 
 Repente exortus sum, repente occidi. Plautus, 
 
 QUINCE. 
 
 Nurse. They call for Dates and Quinces in the pantry. 
 Romeo and Julvet, act iv, sc. 4. 
 
 Quince is also the name of one of the “ homespun actors ” 
 in “ Midsummer Night’s Dream,” and is no doubt there used 
 asa ludicrous name. The name was anciently spelt “coynes.” 
 
 And many homely trees ther were 
 That Peches, Coynes, and Apples bere, 
 Medlers, Plommes, Perys, Chesteyns, 
 Cherys, of which many oon fayne is. 
 Cuaucer, Romaunt of the Rose. 
 
182 
 
 The same name occurs in the old English vocabularies, as in 
 a Nominale of the fifteenth century, ‘* hee cocianus, a coven- 
 tre;” in an English vocabulary of the fourteenth century, 
 ** Hoe coccinum, a quoyne,” and in the treatise of Walter de 
 Biblesworth, in the thirteenth century— 
 
 Issi troverez en ce verger 
 Histang un sek Coigner (a Coyz-tre, Quince-tre). 
 
 And there is little doubt that “ Quince” is a corruption of 
 * coynes ” which again is a corruption, not difficult to trace, 
 of Cydonia, one of the most ancient cities of Crete, where the 
 Quince tree is indigenous, and whence it derived its name of 
 Pyrus Cydonia, or simply Cydonia. If not indigenous else- 
 where in the East, it was very soon culivated, and especially 
 in Palestine. It is not yet a settled point, and probably 
 never will be, but there is a strong consensus of most of the 
 best commentators, that the Tappuach of Scripture, always 
 translated Apple, was the Quince. It is supposed to be the 
 fruit alluded to in the Canticles, “‘As the Apple tree among 
 the trees of the wood, so is my beloved among the sons; I sat 
 down under his shadow with great delight, and his fruit was 
 sweet to my taste;” and in Proverbs, “ A word fitly spoken 
 is like Apples of gold in pictures of silver;” and the tree 
 is supposed to have given its name to various places in 
 Palestine, as Tappuach, Beth-Tappuach, and Aen-Tappuach. 
 
 By the Greeks and Romans the Quince was held in honour 
 as the fruit especially sacred to Venus, who is often 
 represented as holding a Quince in her right hand, the gift 
 which she received from Paris. In other sculptures “ the 
 amorous deities pull Quinces in gardens and play with them. 
 For persons to send Quinces in presents, to throw them at 
 each other, to eat them together, were all tokens of love; to 
 dream of Quinces was a sign of successful love’-—Rosemmuller. 
 The custom was handed down to medieval times. It was at 
 a wedding feast that “ they called for Dates and Quinces in 
 the pantry ;” and Brand quotes a curious passage from the 
 “Praise of Musicke,” 1586 (“ Romeo and Juliet” was 
 published in 1596)—“I come to marriages, wherein as our 
 ancestors did fondly, and with a kind of doting, maintaine 
 many rites and ceremonies, some whereof were either shadowes 
 or abodements of a pleasant life to come, as the eating of a 
 Quince Peare to be a preparative of sweet and delightful 
 dayes between the maried persons.” 
 
 To understand this high repute in which the Quince was 
 held, we must remember that the Quince of hot countries 
 
183 
 
 differs somewhat from the English Quince. With us the fruit 
 is of a fine, handsome shape, and of a rich golden colour when 
 fully ripe, and of a strong scent, which is very agreeable to 
 many, though too heavy and overpowering to others. But 
 the rind is rough and woolly, and the flesh is harsh and 
 unpalatable, and only fit to be eaten when cooked. In hotter 
 countries the woolly rind is said to disappear, and the fruit 
 can be eaten raw; and this is the case not only in Eastern 
 countries, but also in the parts of Tropical America to which 
 the tree has been introduced from Europe. 
 
 In England the Quince is probably less grown now than it 
 was in Shakespeare’s time—yet it may well be grown as an 
 ornamental shrub even by those who co not appreciate its 
 fruit. It forms a thick bush, with large white flowers, 
 followed in the autumn by its handsome fruit, and requires 
 no care. “They love shadowy, moist places ;” “It delighteth 
 to grow on plaine and even ground and somewhat moist with- 
 all.” This was Lyte’s and Gerarde’s experience, and I have 
 never seen handsomer bushes or finer fruit than I once saw 
 on some neglected bushes that skirted a horsepond on a farm 
 in Kent; the trees were evidently revelling in their state of 
 moisture and neglect. The tree has a horticultural value as 
 giving an excellent stock for Pear-trees, on which it has a 
 very remarkable effect, for “ Cabanis asserts that when certain 
 Pears are grafted on the Quince, their seeds yield more 
 varieties than do the seeds of the same variety of Pear when 
 grafted on the wild Pear.”—Darwin. Its economic value 1s 
 considered to be but small, being chiefly used for Marmalade, 
 but in Shakespeare’s time, Browne spoke of it as “the 
 stomach’s comforter, the pleasing Quince,” and Parkinson 
 speaks highly of it, for “there is no fruit growing in the 
 land,” he says, “that is of so many excellent uses as this, 
 serving as weil to make many dishes of meat for the table, 
 as for banquets, and much more for their physical virtues, 
 whereof to write at large is neither convenient for me nor for 
 this work.” 
 
 RADISH. 
 (1) Falstaff. When he was naked, he was for all the world like 
 a fork’d Radish 2nd Henry LV, act iii, se. 2. 
 
 (2) Falstaff. Tf 1 fought not with fifty of them, I’m a bunch of 
 Radish. lst Henry 1V, act 11, se. 4. 
 
184 
 
 There can be no doubt that the Radish was so named 
 because it was considered by the Romans, for some reason 
 unknown to us, the root par excellence. It was used by 
 them, as by us, “as a stimulus before meat, giving an 
 appetite thereunto ”’— 
 
 acria circum 
 Rapula, lactucee, radices, qualia lassum 
 Pervellunt stomachum,— Horace. 
 
 But it was cultivated, or allowed to grow, to a much larger 
 size than we now think desirable. Pliny speaks of Radishes 
 weighing 40 lb. each, and others speak even of 60 lb. and 
 100 lb. But in Shakespeare’s time the Radish was very 
 much what it is now, a pleasant salad vegetable, but of no 
 great value. We read, however, of Radishes being put to 
 strange uses. Lupton, a writer of Shakespeare’s day, says— 
 “If you would kill snakes and adders strike them with a 
 large Radish, and to handle adders and snakes without harm, 
 wash your hands in the juice of Radishes and you may do 
 without harm.”—WNotable Things, 1586. 
 
 We read also of great attempts being made to procure oil 
 from the seed, but to no great effect. Hakluyt, in describing 
 the sufficiency of the English soil to produce everything 
 necessary in the manufacture of cloth, says—‘So as there 
 wanteth, if colours might be brought in and made naturall, 
 but onely oile; the want whereof if any man could devise to 
 supply at the full with anything that might become naturall 
 in this realme, he, whatsoever he were that might bring it 
 about, might deserve immortal fame in this our Common- 
 wealth, and such a devise was offered to Parliament and 
 refused, because they denied to allow him a certain liberty, 
 some others having obtained the same before that practised 
 to work that effect by Radish seed, which onely made a trial 
 of small quantity, and that went no further to make that oile 
 in plenty, and now he that offered this devise was a 
 merchant, and is dead, and withal the devise is dead with 
 him.”— Vozages, vol. ii. 
 
 The Radish is not a native of Britain, but was probably 
 introduced by the Romans, and was well known to the Anglo- 
 Saxon gardener under its present name, but with a closer 
 approach to the Latin, being called Redic. 
 
 A curious testimony to the former high reputation of the 
 Radish survives in the “ Annual Radish Feast at Levens 
 Hall, a custom dating from time immemorial, and supposed 
 by some to be a relic of feudal times, held on May 12th at 
 
135 
 
 Levens Hall, the seat of the Hon. Mrs. Howard, and adjoining 
 the high road about midway between Kendal and Milnthorpe. 
 Tradition hath it that the Radish feast arose out of a rivalry 
 between the families of Levens Hall and Dallam Tower, as to 
 which should entertain the Corporation with their friends and 
 followers, and in which Levens Hall eventually carried the 
 palm. The feast is provided on the bowling green in front 
 of the Hall, where several long tables are plentifully spread 
 with Radishes and brown bread and butter, the tables being 
 repeatedly furnished with guests.”— Gardener’s Chronicle. 
 
 RAISINS. 
 
 Clown. Four pounds of Prunes and as many Raisins of the sun. 
 Winter’s Tale, act iv, sc. 2. 
 
 Bearing in mind that Raisin is a corruption of racemus, 
 a bunch of Grapes, we can understand that the word was not 
 always applied, as it is now, to the dried fruit, but was some- 
 times applied to the bunch of Grapes as it hung ripe on the 
 tree. So Chaucer uses it :— 
 
 For no man at the firste stroke 
 He may not felle down an Oke ; 
 Nor of the Reisins have the wyne 
 Till Grapes be ripe and welle afyne. 
 Romaunt of the Rose. 
 
 The best dried fruit were Raisins of the sun, 7.¢., dried in 
 the sun, to distinguish them from those which were dried in 
 ovens. They. were, of course, foreign fruit, and were largely 
 imported. ‘The process of drying in the sun is still the 
 method in use, at least, with “the finer kinds, such as 
 Muscatels, which are distinguished as much by the mode of 
 drying as by the variety and soil in which they are grown, 
 the finest being dried on the Vines before gathering, the 
 stalk being partly cut through when the fruits are ripe, and 
 the leaves being removed from near the clusters, so as to 
 allow the full effect of the sun in ripening.” 
 
 The Grape thus becomes a Raisin, but it is still further 
 transformed when it reaches the cook; it then becomes a 
 Plum, for Plum pudding has, as we all know, Raisins for its 
 chief ingredient and certainly no Plums; and the Christmas 
 pie into which Jack Horner put in his thumb and pulled out 
 
186 
 
 a Plum must have been a mince-pie, also made of Raisins; 
 but how a cooked Raisin came to be called a Plum is not 
 recorded. In Devonshire it undergoes a further transforma- 
 tion, for there Raisins are called Figs, and a Plum pudding 
 is called a Fig pudding. 
 
 REEDS. 
 
 (1) 2nd Servant. I had as lief have a Reed that will do me no 
 service, as a partisan I could not heave. 
 Antony and Cleopatra, act i, se. 7. 
 (2) Arviragus. Fear no more the frown o’ the great, 
 Thou art past the tyrant’s stroke ; 
 Oare no more to clothe and eat, 
 To thee the Reed is as the Oak; 
 The sceptre, learning, physick, must 
 All follow this and come to dust. 
 Cymbeline, act iv, sc. 2. 
 (8) Ariel. His tears run down his beard like wintevr’s drops 
 From eaves of Reeds. Tempest, act v, se. 1. 
 (4) Ariel. With hair up-staring—then like Reeds, not hair— 
 Lbid., acti, se. 2. 
 (5) Hotspur. Swift Severn’s flood 
 Who then, affrighted with their bloody looks, 
 Ran fearfully among the trembling Reeds. 
 lst Henry IV, acti, sc. 3. 
 (6) Portia. And speak between the change of man and boy 
 With a Reed voice. | 
 Merchant of Venice, act 111, se. 4. 
 
 Reed is a general term of almost any water-loving, grassy 
 plant, and so it is used by Shakespeare. In the Bible it is 
 perhaps possible to identify some of the Reeds mentioned, 
 with the Sugar Cane in some places, with the Papyrus in 
 others, and in others with the Arundo donax. As a Biblical 
 plant it has a special interest, not only as giving the emblem 
 of the tenderest mercy that will be careful even of “the bruised 
 Reed,” but also as entering largely into the mockery of the 
 Crucifixion: “They put a Reed in His right hand,” and 
 “they filled a sponge full of vinegar, and put it upon a Reed 
 and gave Him to drink.” ‘The Reed in these passages was 
 probably the Arundo donax, a very elegant Reed, which was 
 
187 
 
 used for many purposes in Palestine, and is a most graceful 
 plant for English gardens, being pertectly hardy, and growing 
 every year from 12 ft. to 14 ft. in height, but very seldom 
 flowering. 
 
 But in Shakespeare, as in most writers, the Reed is simply 
 the emblem of weakness, tossed about by and bending toa 
 superior force, and of little or no use—a Reed that will do 
 me no service” (No. 1). It is also the emblem of the 
 blessedness of submission, and of the power that lies in 
 humility to outlast its oppressor. 
 
 Like as in tempest great, 
 Where wind doth bear the stroke, 
 Much safer stands the bowing Reed 
 Then doth the stubborn Oak. 
 
 Shakespeare mentions but two uses to which the Reed was 
 applied, the thatching of houses (No. 3), and the making of 
 Pan or Shepherd’s pipes (No. 6). Nor has he anything to 
 say of its beauty, yet the Reeds of our river sides (Arundo 
 phragmites) are most graceful plants, especially when they 
 have their dark plumes of flowers, and this Milton seems to 
 have felt— 
 
 Forth flourish’t thick the clustering Vine, forth crept 
 The swelling Gourd, up stood the Cornie Reed 
 Embattled in her field. 
 Paradise Lost, book vii. 
 
 RHUBARB. 
 
 Macbeth. What Rhubarb, Senna, or what purgative drug 
 Would scour these English hence ? 
 Macbeth, act v, sc. 3. 
 
 Shakespeare could only have known the imported drug, for 
 the Rheum was first imported by Parkinson, though it had 
 been described in an uncertain way both by Lyte and Gerarde. 
 Lyte said—* Rha, as it is thought, hath great broad leaves ;” 
 and then he says-—‘‘ We have found here in the gardens of 
 certaine diligent herboristes that strange plant which is 
 
 * I have only been able to find one record of the flowering of Arundo donax in 
 England—-‘‘ Mem: Arundo donax in flower, 15th September 1762, the first time I 
 ever saw it, but this very hot dry summer has made many exotics flower. It 
 bears a handsome tassel of tlowers.—P. Collinson.” Hortus Collinsonianus, 
 
188 
 
 thought by some to be Rha or Rhabarbum;” but from the 
 figure it is very certain that the plant was not a Rheum. 
 Atter the time of Parkinson, it was largely grown for the 
 sake of producing the drug, and it is still grown in England 
 to some extent for the same purpose, chiefly in the neigh- 
 bourhood of Banbury; though it is doubtful whether any of 
 the species now grown in England are the true species that 
 have so long produced Turkey Rhubarb. The plant is now 
 grown most extensively as a spring vegetable, though I 
 cannot find when it first began to be so used. Parkinson 
 evidently tried it and thought well of it. “The leaves have 
 a fine acid taste; a syrup, therefore, made with the juice and 
 sugar cannot but be very effectual in dejected appetites.” 
 Yet even in 1807 Professor Martyn, the editor of Mallar’s 
 Dictionary, in a long article on the Rhubarb, makes no 
 mention of its culinary qualities, but in 1822 Phillips speaks 
 of it as largely cultivated for spring tarts, and forced for the 
 London markets, “ medical men recommending it as one of 
 the most cooling and wholesome tarts sent to table.” 
 
 As a garden plant the Rhubarb is highly ornamental, 
 though it is seldom seen out of the kitchen garden, but where 
 room can be given to it, Rheum palmatum will always be 
 admired as one of the handsomest of foliage plants. The 
 finest species of the family is the Himalayan Rheum nobile, 
 but it is exceedingly difficult to grow. Botanically the 
 Rhubarb is allied to the Dock and Sorrel, and all the species 
 are herbaceous. 
 
 RICE. 
 
 Clown. Let me see. What am I to buy for our sheep- 
 shearing feast? ‘Three pound of sugar, five pound of 
 Currants, Rice. What will this sister of mine do with 
 Rice ? Winter's Tale, act iv, sc. 2. 
 
 Shakespeare may have had no more acquaintance with 
 Rice than his knowledge of the imported grain, which seems 
 to have been long ago introduced into England, for in a 
 Nominale of the fifteenth century, we have ‘Hoc risi, 
 indeclinabile, ryse.” And in the Promptorvwm Parvulorum, 
 “ Ryce, frute. Risia, vel risi, n. indecl. secundum quosdam, vel 
 risium, vel risorum granum (rizi vel grarum Indicum).” 
 
189 
 
 Yet he may have seen the plant, for Gerard grew it in his 
 London garden, though “the floure did not show itselfe,by 
 reason of the injurie of our unseasonable yeare 1596.” It is 
 a native of Africa, and was soon transferred to Europe as a 
 nourishing and wholesome grain, especially for invalids — 
 “sume hoc ptisanarium oryze,” says the doctor to his patient 
 in Horace, and it is mentioned both by Dioscorides and 
 Theophrastus. It has been occasionally grown in England 
 as a curiosity, but seldom comes to any degree of perfection 
 out-of-doors, as it requires a mixture of moisture and heat 
 that we cannot easily give it. There are said to be species 
 in the north of China growing in dry places, which would 
 perhaps be hardy in England and easier of cultivation, but I 
 am not aware that they have ever been introduced. 
 
 ROSES. 
 
 (1) Zitania. Some to kill cankers in the Musk Rosebuds 
 Midsummer Night’s Dream, act ii, se. 8. 
 
 (2) Titania. oa stick Musk Roses in thy sleek, smooth head. 
 Ihid., act iv, se. 1. 
 
 (3) Julia. The air hath starved the Roses in her cheeks. 
 Two Gentlemen of Verona, act iv, sc. 4. 
 
 (4) Song. There will we make our beds of Roses 
 And a thousand fragrant posies. 
 Merry Wives of Windsor, act iii, se. 
 
 (5) Autolycus. Flowers as sweet as Damask Roses. 
 Winter's Tale, act iv, se. 8 
 
 (6) Olivia. Czesario, by the Roses of the spring, 
 By manhood, honour, truth, and everything, 
 I love thee so. Twelfth Night, act ii, se. 4. 
 
 (7) Diana. When you have our Roses, 
 You barely leave us thorns to prick ourselves, 
 And mock us with our bareness. 
 All’s Well that Ends Well, act iv, se. 
 (8) Lord Let one attend him with a silver basin 
 Full of Rose water and bestrewed with flowers. 
 Taming of the Shrew (Introduction). 
 (9) Petruchio. I'll say she looks as clear 
 
 As morning Roses newly washed with dew. 
 Lbid., act ii, se. 1. 
 
 Ly 
 e 
 
 e 
 ~~" 
 e 
 
 bo 
 
190. 
 
 (10) Tyrrell. Their lips were four red Roses on a stalk, 
 Which in their summer beauty kissed each other. 
 Richard IIT, act iv, se. 3. 
 
 (11) Friar. The Roses in thy lips and cheeks shall fade 
 To paly ashes. Romeo and Juliet, act iv, se. 1. 
 
 (12) Romeo. Remnants of packthread in old cakes of Roses 
 Were thinly scattered to make up a show. 
 LIbid., act v, se. 
 (13) Hamlet. With two Provincial Roses on my razed shoes. 
 Hamlet, act 111, se. 2. 
 (14) Laertes. O, Rose of May, 
 Dear maid, kind sister, sweet Ophelia. 
 Ibid., act iv, se. 5. 
 (15) Duke. For women are as Roses, whose fair flower, 
 Being once displayed, doth fall that very hour. 
 Twelfth Night, act ii, se. 4. 
 
 (16) Constance. Of Nature’s gifts, thou may’st with Lilies boast, 
 And with the half-blown Rose. 
 King John, act iii, se. 1. 
 
 bond 
 J 
 
 (17) Queen. But soft, but see—or rather do not see— 
 My fair Rose wither. Ltichard IT, act v, se. 1. 
 
 (18) Hotspur. To put down Richard, that sweet lovely Rose, 
 
 . And plant this Thorn, this canker, Bolingbroke. 
 ls¢ Henry IV, acti. se. 3. 
 
 (19) Hostess. Your colour, I warrant you, is red as any Rose. 
 2nd Henry IV, act ii, se. 4. 
 
 (20) York. Then will I raise aloft the milk-white Rose, 
 
 With whose sweet smell the air shall be perfumed. 
 Lbid., act i, se. 1. 
 (21) Don John. I had rather be a canker in a hedge than a 
 Rose in his grace. uch Ado about Nothing, acti, sc. 3. 
 
 (22) Zheseus. But earthlier happy is the Rose distilled 
 Than that which, withering on the virgin Thorn, 
 Grows, lives, and dies in single blessedness. 
 Midsummer Night's Dreams, acti, se. 1. 
 (23) Lysander. How now, my love? Why is your cheek so pale? 
 How chance the Roses there do fade so fast ? 
 Lbid. 
 (24) Titania. The seasons alter: hoary-headed frosts 
 Fall on the fresh lap of the crimson Rose. 
 Lbid., act ii, se. 2. 
 (25) Thisbe. Of colour like the red Rose on triumphant Briar. 
 Lbid., act iii, se. 1. 
 
191 
 
 (26) Biron. At Christmas I no more desire a Rose 
 
 Than wish a snow in May’s new-fangled shows, 
 But like of each thing that in season grows. 
 Love's Labours Lost, act i, se. 1. 
 
 (27) King (reads). So sweet a kiss the golden sun gives not 
 ‘To those fresh morning drops upon the Rose. 
 Lbid., act iv, se. 3. 
 (28) Boyet. Blow like sweet Roses in the summer air. 
 Princess. How blow? how blow? Speak to be understood. 
 Boyet. Fair ladies masked are Roses in their buds, 
 Dismasked, their damask sweet commixture shown, 
 Are angels veiling clouds, or Roses blown. 
 Ibid., act v, se 2, 
 (29) Touchstone. He that sweetest Rose will find, 
 Must find Love’s prick and Rosalind. 
 As You Lnke tt, act iii, se. 2. 
 (30) Countess. This thorn 
 Doth to our Rose of youth rightly belong. 
 All’s Well that Ends Well, act i, se. 38. 
 
 (31) Bastard. My face so thin, 
 That in mine ear I durst not stick a Rose. 
 King John, acti, se. 1. 
 
 (32) Constance. Of nature’s gifts thou may’st with Lilies boast, 
 And with the half-blown Rose. Zbid., act ili, sc. 1. 
 
 (33) Antony. Tell him he wears the Rose 
 Of youth upon him. 
 Antony and Cleopatra, act iii, sc. 11. 
 
 (34) Cleopatra. Against the blown Rose may they stop their nose 
 That kneeled unto the buds. Ibid. 
 
 (35) Boult. or flesh and blood, sir, white and red, you shall 
 see a Rose; and she were a Rose indeed! 
 Pericles, act iv, se. 6. 
 
 (36) Gower. Even her art sisters the natural Roses. 
 Liid., act v, chorus (see CHERRY, No. 5.) 
 
 (37) Juliet. What’sinaname? That which we call a Rose 
 By any other name would smell as sweet. 
 Romeo and Juliet, act ii, se. 2. 
 
 (38) Ophelia. The expectancy and Rose of this fair state. 
 Hamlet, act iii, se. 1. 
 
 (89) Hamlet. Such anact . . . takes off the Rose 
 From the fair forehead of an innocent love, — 
 And sets a blister there. Ibid., act ili, se. 4. 
 
192 
 
 (40) Othello. When I have plucked the Rose, 
 I cannot give it vital growth again, 
 It needs must wither. I’ll smell it on the tree. 
 Othello, act v, sc. 2. 
 
 (41) Timon. Rose-cheeked youth. 
 Timon of Athens, activ, sc. 3. 
 (42) Othello. Thou young and Rose-lipped cherubim. 
 Othello, act iv, sc. 2. 
 (48) Roses have thorns and silver fountains mud, 
 And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud. 
 Sonnet, XXXvV. 
 (44) The Rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem 
 For that sweet odour that doth in it live, 
 The canker blooms have full as deep a dye 
 As the perfumed tincture of the Roses, 
 : : : but they 
 Die to themselves—sweet Roses do not so; 
 Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made. 
 Tbid., liv, 
 (45) Why should poor beauty indirectly seek 
 Roses of shadow, since his Rose is true ? Lbid., \xvii. 
 (46) Shame, like a canker in the fragrant Rose, 
 Doth stop the beauty of thy budding name. Ldrd., xev. 
 (47) Nor did I wonder at the Lilies white 
 Nor praise the deep vermilion of the Rose. Jbid., xcviii. 
 (48) The Roses fearfully in thorns did stand, 
 One blushing shame, another white despair, 
 A third, nor red nor white, had stolen of both 
 And to his robbery had annexed thy breath.  Jobid., xcix. 
 (49) I have seen Roses damasked, red and white, 
 But no such Roses see I in her cheeks. Ibid., exxx. 
 (50) More white and red than doves and Roses are. 
 Venus and Adonis. 
 (51) What though the Rose has prickles? yet ’tis plucked. 
 Lbid. 
 (52) Who, when he lived, his breath and beauty set 
 Gloss on the Rose, smell to the Violet. Thid. 
 
 (53) This silent war of Lilies and of Roses. Rape of Lucrece. 
 
 (54) O how her fear did make her colour rise, 
 First red as Roses that on lawn we lay, 
 
 Then white as lawn, the Roses took away. Ibid. 
 (55) That even for anger makes the Lily pale, 
 And the red Rose blush at her own disgrace. L bid. 
 
 (56) I know what Thorns the growing Rose defends. L hid. 
 
193 
 
 (57) Sweet Rose, fair flower, untimely plucked, soon vaded, 
 Pluck’d in the bud, and vaded in the spring. 
 The Passtonate Pilgrim. 
 In addition to these many passages, there are perhaps 
 thirty more in which the Rose is mentioned, but all 
 have reference only to the Red and White Roses of the 
 houses of York and Lancaster. To quote these it would be 
 necessary to extract an entire Act, which is very graphic, 
 but too long. I must, therefore, content myself with the 
 beginning and the end of the chief scene, and refer the 
 reader who desires to see it an extenso to lst Henry VI, 
 act il, sc. 4. The scene is in the Temple Gardens, and 
 Plantagenet and Somerset thus begin the fatal quarrel :— 
 Plantagenet. Let him that is a true-born gentleman, 
 And stands upon the honour of his birth, 
 If he suppose that I have pleaded truth, 
 From off this Brier pluck a White Rose with me. 
 Somerset. Let him that is no coward, nor no flatterer, 
 But dare maintain the party of the truth, 
 Pluck a Red Rose from off this Thorn with me. 
 
 And Warwick’s wise conclusion on the whole matter is— 
 This brawl to-day, 
 Grown to this faction in the Temple Garden, 
 
 Shall send, between the Red Rose and the White, 
 A thousand souls to death and deadly night. 
 
 There are further allusions to the same Red and White 
 Roses in 38rd Henry VI, act i, sc. 1 and 2, act ii, sc. 5, and 
 act v, sc. 1; lst Henry VJ, act iv, sc. 1; and Rechard IJ, 
 act v, se. 4. 
 
 There is no flower so often mentioned by Shakespeare as 
 the Rose, and he would probably consider it the queen of 
 flowers, for it was so deemed in his time. “The Rose doth 
 deserve the cheefest and most principall place among all 
 ‘flowers whatsoever, being not onely esteemed for his beautie, 
 vertues, and his fragrant and odoriferous smell, but also 
 because it is the honore and ornament of our English 
 Scepter.”— Gerarde. Yet the kingdom of the Rose even 
 then was not undisputed; the Lily was always its rival (see 
 LiLy), for thus sang Walter de Biblesworth in the thirteenth 
 century-— 
 
 En co verger troveroums les flurs 
 
 Des queus issunt les doux odours (swote smel) 
 Les herbes ausi pur medicine 
 
 La flur de Rose, la flur de Liz (lilie) 
 
 Liz vaut per royne, Rose pur piz. 
 
 O 
 
194 
 
 But a little later the great Scotch poet Dunbar, who lived 
 from 1460 to 1520, that is, a century before Shakespeare, 
 asserted the dignity of the Rose as even superior to the 
 Thistle of Scotland. 
 
 Nor hold none other flower in sic dainty 
 As the fresh Rose of colour red and white ; 
 For if thou dost, hurt is thine honesty, 
 Considering that no flower is so perfite, 
 So full of virtue, pleasaunce, and delight, 
 So full of blissful angelic beauty, 
 Imperial birth, honour, and dignity. 
 
 Volumes have been written, and many more may still be 
 written, on the delights of the Rose, but my present business 
 is only with the Roses of Shakespeare. In many of the 
 above passages the Rose is simply the emblem of all that is 
 loveliest, and brightest, and most beautiful upon earth, yet 
 always with the underlying sentiment that even the brightest 
 has its dark side, as the Rose has its thorns; that the 
 worthiest objects of our earthly love are at the very best but 
 short-lived ; that the most beautiful has on it the doom of | 
 decay and death. These were the lessons which even the 
 heathen writers learned from their favourite Roses, and 
 which Christian writers of all ages loved to learn also, not 
 from the heathen writers, but from the beautiful flowers 
 themseives. ‘The Rose is a beautiful flower,” said 8S. Basil, 
 ‘but it always fills me with sorrow by reminding me of my 
 sins, for which the earth was doomed to bear thorns.” And 
 it would be easy to fill a volume, and it would not be a 
 cheerless volume, with beautiful and expressive passages from 
 poets, preachers, and other authors, who have taken the Rose 
 to point the moral of the fleeting nature of all earthly things. 
 Herrick in four lines tells the whole :— 
 
 Gather ye Roses while ye may 
 Old time is still a-flying, 
 
 And the same flower that smiles to-day, 
 To-morrow will be dying. 
 
 But Shakespeare’s notices of the Rose are not all emble- 
 matical and allegorical. He mentions these distinct sorts of 
 Roses—the Red Rose, the White Rose, the Musk Rose, the 
 Provencal Rose, the Damask Rose, the Variegated Rose, and 
 the Canker Rose. 
 
 The Canker Rose is the wild Dog Rose, and the name is 
 sometimes applied to the common Red Poppy. 
 
 The Red Rose and the Provengal Rose (No. 13) are no 
 
195 
 
 doubt the same, and are what we now call R. centifolia, or 
 the Cabbage Rose; a Rose that has been supposed to be a 
 native of the south of Europe, but Dr. Lindley preferred “to 
 place its native country in Asia, because it has been found 
 wild by Bieberstein with double flowers, on the eastern side 
 of Mount Caucasus, whither it is not likely to have escaped 
 from a garden.”* We do not know when it was introduced 
 into England, but it was familiar to Chaucer— 
 
 The savour of the Roses swote 
 Me smote right to the herté rote, 
 As I hadde alle embawmed be. 
 
 Of Roses there were grete wone, 
 So faire were never in Rone. 
 
 7.€., in Provence, at the mouth of the Rhone. For beauty in 
 
 shape and exquisite fragrance, I consider this Rose to be still 
 unrivalled; but it is not a fashionable Rose, and is usually 
 found in cottage gardens, or perhaps in some neglected part 
 of gardens of more pretensions. I believe it is considered 
 too loose in shape to satisfy the floral critics of exhibition 
 flowers, and it is only a summer Rose, and so contrasts 
 unfavourably with the Hybrid Perpetuals. Still, it is a 
 delightful Rose, delightful to the eye, delightful for its 
 fragrance, and most delightful from its associations. 
 
 The White Rose of York (No. 20) has never been satis- 
 factorily identified. It was clearly a cultivated Rose, and by 
 some is supposed to have been only the wild White Rose 
 (R. arvensis) grown in a garden. But it is very likely to 
 have been the Rosa alba, which was a favourite in English 
 gardens in Shakespeare’s time, and was very probably intro- 
 duced long before his time, for it is the double variety of the 
 wild White Rose, and Gerarde says of it:—‘*The double 
 White Rose doth grow wilde in many hedges of Lancashire 
 in great abundance, even as Briers do with us in these 
 southerly parts, especially in a place of the countrey called 
 Leyland, and in a place called Roughford, not far from 
 Latham.” It was, therefore, not a new gardener’s plant in 
 his time, as has been often stated. I have little doubt that 
 this is the White Rose of York; it is not the R. alba of Dr. 
 Lindley’s monograph, but the double variety of the British 
 R. arvensis. 
 
 * We have an old record of the existence of large double Roses in Asia by 
 Herodotus, who tells us, that in a part of Macedonia were the so-called gardens of 
 
 Midas, in which grew native Roses, each one having sixty petals, and of a scent 
 surpassing all others.—-His¢., viii, 138. 
 2 
 
 O 
 
196 
 
 The White Rose has a very ancient interest for Englishmen, 
 for “long before the brawl in the Temple Gardens, the flower 
 had been connected with one of the most ancient names of 
 our Island. The elder Pliny, in discussing the etymology of 
 the word Albion, suggests that the land may have been so 
 named from the White Roses which abounded in it—‘ Albion 
 insula sic dicta ab albis rupibus, quas mare alluit, vel ob 
 rosas albas quibus abundat.’ Whatever we may think of the 
 etymological skill displayed in the suggestion . . . we 
 look with almost a new pleasure on the Roses of our own 
 hedgerows, when regarding them as descended in a straight 
 line from the ‘rosas albas’ of those far-off summers.”— 
 Quarterly Review, vol. exiv. 
 
 The Damask Rose (No. 4) remains to us under the same 
 name, telling its own history. There can be little doubt — 
 that the Rose came from Damascus, probably introduced 
 into Europe by the Crusaders or some of the early travellers 
 in the East, who speak in glowing terms of the beauties of 
 the gardens of Damascus. So Sir John Mandeville describes 
 the city—‘ In that Cytee of Damasce, there is gret plentee 
 of Welles, and with in the Cytee and with oute, ben many 
 fayre Gardynes and of dyverse frutes. Non other Cytee is 
 not lyche in comparison to it, of fayre Gardynes, and of fayre 
 desportes.”"— Voiage and Travaile, cap. xi. And in our 
 own day the author of Héthen described the same gardens as 
 he saw them :—“ High, high above your head, and on every 
 side all down to the ground, the thicket is hemmed in and 
 choked up by the interlacing boughs that droop with the 
 weight of Roses, and load the slow air with their damask 
 breath. There are no other flowers. The Rose trees which 
 I saw were all of the kind we call ‘ damask; they grow to 
 an immense height and size.”—Hdthen, ch. xxvii. It was 
 not till long after the Crusade that the Damask Rose was 
 introduced into England, for Hakluyt in 1582 says:—‘ In 
 time of memory many things have been brought in that were 
 not here before, as the Damaske Rose by Doctour Linaker, 
 King Henry the Seventh and King Henrie the Eight’s 
 Physician.” — Voiages, vol. ii.* 
 
 As an ornamental Rose the Damask Rose is still a favourite, 
 though probably the real typical Rosa Damascena is very 
 seldom seen—but it has been the parent of a large number 
 of hybrid Roses, which the most critical Rosarian does not 
 
 * Yet it is mentioned in a ‘* Bill of Medicines furnished for the use of 
 
 Edward I, 13806-7—‘‘Item pro aqua rosata de Damasc’, lb. xl, iiiili.”’—Archeo- 
 logical Journal, xiv, 271. 
 
197 
 
 reject. The whole family are very sweet-scented, so that 
 “sweet as Damask Roses” was a proverb, and Gerarde de- 
 scribes the common Damaske as “ in other respects like the 
 White Rose; the especiale difference consisteth in the colour 
 and smell of the floures, for these are of a pale red colour and 
 of a more pleasant smell, and fitter for meate or medicine.” 
 The Musk Roses (No. 1) were great favourites with our 
 forefathers. This Rose (R. moschata) is a native of the north 
 of Africa and of Spain, and has been also found in Nepaul. 
 Hakluyt gives the exact date of its introduction. “The 
 turkey cockes and hennes,” he says, “ were brought about 
 fifty yeres past, the Artichowe in time of King Henry the 
 Hight, and of later times was procured out of Italy the 
 Muske Rose plant, the Plumme called the Perdigwena, and 
 two kindes more by the Lord Cromwell after his travel.”— 
 Voiages, vol. ii.* It is a long straggling Rose, bearing 
 bunches of single flowers, and is very seldom seen except 
 against the walls of some old houses. “You remember the 
 great bush at the corner of the south wall just by the blue 
 drawing-room windows; that is the old Musk-rose, Shake- 
 speare’s Musk-rose, which is dying out through the kingdom 
 now.”—My Lady Ludlow, by Mrs. Gaskell. But wherever 
 it is grown it is highly prized, not so much for the beauty as 
 for the delicate scent of its flowers. The scent is unlike the 
 scent of any other Rose, or of any other flower, but it is 
 very pleasant, and not overpowering; and the plant has the 
 peculiarity that, like the Sweet Briar, but. unlike other 
 Roses, it gives out its scent of its own accord and unsought, 
 and chiefly in the evening, so that if the window of a bed- 
 room near which this Rose is trained is left open, the scent 
 will soon be perceived in the room. This peculiarity did not 
 escape the notice of Lord Bacon. “ Because the breath of 
 flowers,” he says, “is far sweeter in the air (when it comes 
 and goes like the warbling of music) than in the hand, 
 therefore nothing is more fit for that delight than to know 
 what be the flowers and plants that do best perfume the air. 
 Roses, damask and red, are fast flowers of their smells, so 
 that you may walk by a whole row of them, and find nothing 
 of their sweetness, yea, though it be in a morning’s dew. 
 Bays, likewise, yield no smell as they grow, Rosemary little, 
 nor Sweet Marjoram ; that which above all others yields the 
 
198 
 
 sweetest smell in the air is the Violet, especially the white 
 double Violet which comes twice a year, about the middle 
 of April, and about Bartholomew-tide; next to that is the 
 Musk-rose.”—LEssay of Gardens. 
 
 The Roses mentioned in Nos. 35, 48, and 49 as a mixture 
 of red and white must have been the mottled or variegated 
 Roses, commonly called the York and Lancaster Roses ;* 
 these are old Roses, and very probably quite as old as the 
 sixteenth century. There are two varieties: in one each 
 petal is blotched with white and pink; this is the R. versi- 
 color of Parkinson, and is a variety of R. Damascena ; in the 
 other most of the petals are white but with a mixture of pink 
 petals; this is the Rosa mundi or Gloria mundi, and is a 
 variety of R. Gallica. 
 
 These, with the addition of the Eglantine and Sweet Brier, 
 are the only Roses mentioned by their names by Shakespeare, 
 and they were the chief sorts grown in his time, but not the 
 only sorts; and to what extent Roses were cultivated in 
 Shakespeare’s time, we have a curious proof in the account 
 of the grant of Ely Place, in Holborn, the property of the 
 Bishops of Ely. “The tenant was Sir Christopher Hatton 
 (Queen Elizabeth’s handsome Lord Chancellor), to whom the 
 greater portion of the house was let in 1576 for the term of 
 twenty-one years. The rent was a Red Rose, ten loads of 
 hay, and ten pounds per annnm; Bishop Cox, on whom this 
 hard bargain was forced by the Queen, reserving to himself 
 and his successors the right of walking in the gardens, and 
 gathering twenty bushels of Roses yearly.”—. Cunningham. 
 We have records also of the garden cultivation of the Rose in 
 London long before Shakespeare’s time. ‘In the Earl of 
 Lincoln’s garden in Holborn in 24 Edw. I, the only flowers 
 named are Roses, of which a quantity was sold, producing 
 three shillings and twopence.”—-Hudson Turner. 
 
 My space forbids me to enter more largely into any 
 aceount of these old species, or to say much of the many very 
 interesting points in the history of the Rose, but two or 
 three points connected with Shakespeare’s Roses must not 
 be passed over. First, its name. He says through Juliet 
 (No. 37) that the Rose by any other name would smell as 
 
 * The York and Lancaster Roses were a frequent subject for the Epigram 
 writers, and gave occasion for one of the happiest of English epigrams: 
 On presenting a White Rose to a Lancastrian lady — 
 If this fair Rose offend thy sight, 
 It in thy bosom wear ; 
 *T will blush to find itself less white, 
 And turn Lancastrian there. 
 
199 
 
 sweet. But the whole world is against him. Rose was its 
 old Latin name corrupted from its older Greek name, and 
 the same name, with slight and easily-traced differences, has 
 clung to it in almost all European countries. 
 
 Shakespeare also mentions its uses in Rose-water and Rose- 
 cakes, and it was only natural to suppose that a flower so 
 beautiful and so sweet was meant by Nature to be of great 
 use to man. Accordingly we find that wonderful virtues 
 were attributed to it, and an especial virtue was attributed 
 to the dewdrops that settled on the full-blown Rose. Shake- 
 speare alludes to these in Nos. 22 and 27; and from these 
 were made cosmetics only suited to the most extravagant. 
 
 The water that did spryng from ground 
 She would not touch at all, 
 But washt her hands with dew of Heaven 
 That on sweet Roses fall. 
 The Lamentable Fall of Queen Ellinor.—Roxburgh Ballads. 
 
 And as with their uses, so it was also with their history. 
 Such a flower must have a high origin, and what better 
 origin than the pretty medizval legend told to us by Sir 
 John Mandeville ?—“ At Betheleim is the Felde Floridus, 
 that is to seyne, the Feld florisched; for als moche as a fayre 
 mayden was blamed with wrong and sclaundered, for whiche 
 cause sche was demed to the Dethe, and to be brent in that 
 place, to the whiche she was ladd; and as the Fyre began to 
 bren aboute hire, sche made hire preyeres to oure Lord, that 
 als wissely as sche was not gylty of that Synne, that He 
 wolde helpe hire and make it to be knowen to alle men, of 
 his mercyfulle grace. And when sche hadde thus seyd, sche 
 entered into the Fuyr; and anon was the Fuyr quenched 
 and oute; and the Brondes that weren brennynge becomen 
 red Roseres, and the Brondes that weren not kyndled becomen 
 white Roseres, full of Roses. And these weren the first 
 Roseres and Roses, both white and rede, that evere ony man 
 saughe.”—Voiage and Travarle, cap. vi. 
 
 With this pretty legend I may well conclude the account 
 of Shakespeare’s Roses, commending, however, M. Biron’s 
 sensible remarks on unseasonable flowers (No. 26) to those 
 who estimate the beauty of a flower or anything else in pro- 
 portion to its being produced out of its natural season. 
 
200 
 
 ROSEMARY. 
 
 (1) Perdita. Reverend Sir, 
 For you there’s Rosemary and Rue; these keep 
 Seeming and savour all the winter long 
 Winter’s Tale, act iv, se. 8. 
 
 (2) Bawd. Marry come up my dish of chastity, with Rosemary 
 and Bays. Pericles, act iv, se. 6. 
 
 (3) Edgar. Bedlam beggars, who, with roaring voices 
 Strike in their numbed and mortified bare arms 
 Pins, wooden pricks, nails, sprigs of Rosemary. 
 Lear, act ii, sc. 38. 
 
 (4) Ophelia. There’s Rosemary, that’s for remembrance; pray 
 you, love, remember. Hamlet, act iv, se. 5. 
 
 (5) Nurse. Doth not Rosemary and Romeo begin both with a 
 letter ? 
 
 Feomeo. Ay, nurse; what of that? both with an R. 
 
 Nurse. Ah, mocker! that’s the dog’s name; R is for the dog. 
 No; I know it begins with some other letter :—and she 
 hath the prettiest sententious of it, of you and Rosemary, 
 that it would do you good to hear it. 
 
 Romeo and Juliet, act ii, se. 4. 
 
 (6) Hvar. Dry up your tears, and stick your Rosemary 
 On this fair corse. Ibid, act iv, se. 5. 
 
 The Rosemary is not a native of Britain, but of the sea- 
 coast of the south of Europe, where it is very abundant. It 
 was very early introduced into England, and is mentioned in 
 an Anglo-Saxon Herbarium under its Latin name of Ros 
 marinus, and is there translated by Bothen, i.e. Thyme; also 
 in an Anglo Saxon Vocalulary of the eleven century, where 
 it is translated Feld-madder and Sun-dew. In these places 
 our present plant may or may not be meant, but there is no 
 doubt that itis the one referred to in an ancient English 
 poem, of the fourteenth century, on the virtues of herbs, 
 published in Wright and Halliwell’s Reliquiw Antique. 
 The account of The Gloriouse Rosemaryne is long, but the 
 beginning and ending are worth quoting ; 
 
201 
 
 This herbe is callit Rosemaryn 
 
 Of vertu that is gode and fyne ; 
 But alle the vertues tell I ne cane, 
 No I trawe no erthely man. 
 
 Of thys herbe telles Galiene 
 
 That in hys contree was a quene, 
 Gowtus and Crokyt as he hath tolde, 
 And eke sexty yere olde ; 
 
 Sor and febyl, where men hyr sey 
 
 Scho semyth wel for to dey ; 
 
 Of Rosmaryn scho toke sex powde, 
 
 And grownde hyt wel in a stownde, 
 
 And bathed hir threyes everi day, 
 
 Nine mowthes, as I herde say, 
 
 And afterwarde anoynitte wel hyr hede 
 With good bame as I rede; 
 
 Away fel alle that olde flessche, 
 
 And yowge i-sprong tender and nessche ; 
 So fresshe to be scho then began 
 
 Scho coveytede conplede be to man. Vol. i, 196. 
 
 We can now scarcely understand the high favour in which 
 Rosemary was formerly held; we are accustomed to see it 
 neglected, or only tolerated in some corner of the kitchen 
 garden, and not often tolerated there. But it was very 
 different in Shakespeare’s time, when it was in high favour 
 for its evergreen leaves and fine aromatic scent, remaining 
 a long time after picking, so long, indeed, that both leaves 
 and scent were almost considered everlasting. This was its 
 great charm, and so Spenser spoke of it as “the cheerful 
 Rosemarie” and “refreshing Rosemarine,” and good Sir 
 Thomas More had a great affection for it. “As for Rose- 
 marine,” he said, “I lett it run alle over my garden walls, 
 not onlie because my bees love it, but because tis the herb 
 sacred to remembrance, and therefore to friendship; whence 
 a sprig of it hath a dumb language that maketh it the 
 chosen emblem at our funeral wakes and in our buriall 
 grounds.” And Parkinson gives a similar account of its 
 popularity as a garden plant:—“ Being in every woman’s 
 garden, it were sufficient but to name it as an ornament 
 among other sweet herbs and flowers in our gardens. In this 
 our land, where it hath been planted in noblemen’s and great 
 men’s gardens against brick walls, and there continued long, 
 it riseth up in time unto a very great height, with a great 
 and woody stem of that compasse that, being cloven out into 
 boards, it hath served to make lutes or such like instruments, 
 
202 
 
 and here with us carpenters’ rules and to divers others 
 purposes.” It was the favourite evergreen wherever the 
 occasion required an emblem of constancy and perpetual 
 remembrance, such especially as weddings and funerals, at 
 both of which it was largely used; and so says Herrick of 
 The Rosemarie Branch— 
 
 Grow for two ends, it matters not at all, 
 Be’t for my bridall or my buriall. 
 
 Its use at funerals was very widespead, for Laurembergius 
 records a pretty custom in use in his day, 1631, at Frankfort: 
 —* Tg mos apud nos retinetur, dum cupresso humile, vel rore 
 marino, non solum coronamus funera jamjam ducenda, sed 
 et iis appendimus ex iisdem herbis litteras collectas, signi- 
 ficatrices nominis ejus que defuncta est. Nam in puellarum 
 funeribus heee fere fieri solent.”—-Horticultwrw, cap. vj. 
 
 Its use at weddings is pleasantly told in the old ballad of 
 The Bride’s Good-morrow— 
 
 Tho house is drest and garnisht for your sake 
 With flowers gallant and green ; 
 
 A solemn feast your comely cooks do ready make, 
 Where all your friends will be seen : 
 
 Young men and maids do ready stand 
 
 With sweet Rosemary in their hand— 
 A perfect token of your virgin’s life. 
 
 To wait upon you they intend 
 
 Unto the church to make an end: 
 And God make thee a joyfull wedded wife. 
 
 Roxburgh Ballads, vol. i. 
 
 It probably is one of the most lasting of evergreens after 
 being gathered, though we can scarcely credit the statement 
 recorded by Phillips that “it is the custom in France to put 
 a branch of Rosemary in the hands of the dead when in the 
 coffin, and we are told by Valmont Bomare, in his Histovre 
 Naturelle, that when the coffins have been opened after 
 several years, the plant has been found to have vegetated so 
 much that the leaves have covered the corpse.” These were 
 the general and popular uses of the Rosemary, but it was of 
 high repute as a medicine, and still holds a place, though 
 not so high as formerly, in the Pharmacopwia. “ Rose- 
 mary,” says Parkinson, “ is almost of as great use as Bayes, 
 both for inward and outward remedies, and as well for civill as 
 physicall purposes—inwardly for the head and heart, out- 
 wardly for the sinews and joynts; for civile uses, as all do 
 know, at weddings, funerals, &c., to bestow among friends ; 
 
203 
 
 and the physicall are so many that you might as well be 
 tyred in the reading as I in the writing, if I should set down 
 all that might be said of it.” 
 
 With this high character we may well leave this good, old- 
 fashioned plant, merely noting that the name is popularly 
 but erroneously supposed to mean the Rose of Mary. It has 
 no connection with either Rose or Mary, but is the Ros 
 marinus, or Ros Maris,—(as in Ovid— 
 
 Ros maris, et laurus, nigraque myrtus olent ; 
 De Arte Aman., iii, 3905) 
 -—the plant that delights in the sea-spray. It was also some- 
 times called Guardrobe, being “ put into chests and presses 
 
 among clothes, to preserve them from mothes and otber 
 vermine.” 
 
 RUE. 
 
 (1) Perdita. For you there’s Rosemary and Rue. 
 Winter’s Tale, activ, sc. 3 (see Rosemary, No. 1). 
 (2) Gardener. Here did she fall a tear; here in this place 
 ll set a bank of Rue, sour Herb of Grace: 
 Rue, even for ruth, here shortly shall be seen, 
 In the remembrance of a weeping queen. 
 Richard II, act 111, sc. 4. 
 (3) Antony. Grace grow where these drops fall. 
 Antony and Cleopatra, act iv, sc. 2. 
 (4) Ophelia. There’s Rue for you; and here’s some for me: we 
 may call it Herb-grace o’ Sundays: O, you must wear 
 your Rue with a difference. Hamlet, act iv. se. 5. 
 (5) Clown. Indeed, sir, she was the Sweet Marjoram of the 
 salad, or rather the Herb of Grace. 
 Lafeu. They are not salad-herbs, you knave, they are 
 ie teche. All’s Well that Ends Well, act iv, sc. 5. 
 Comparing 2 and 3 together, there is little doubt that the 
 same herb is alluded to in both; and it is, perhaps, alluded 
 to, though not exactly named, in the following. 
 Friar Laurence. In man, as well as herbs, grace and rude will. 
 Romeo and Julvet, act 1i, se. 3. 
 Shakespeare thus gives us the two names for the same 
 plant, Rue and Herb of Grace, and though at first sight there 
 seems to be little or no connection between the two names, 
 
204 
 
 yet really they are so closely connected, that the one name 
 was derived from or rather suggested by the other. Rue is 
 the English form of the Greek and Latin ruta, a word which 
 has never been explained, and in its earlier English form of 
 rude came still nearer to the Latin original. But ruth was 
 the English word for sorrow and remorse, and to rue was to 
 be sorry for anything, or to have pity;* we still say a man 
 will rue a particular action, 7.e., be sorry for it; and so it 
 was a natural thing to say that a plant which was so bitter, 
 and had always borne the name Rue or Ruth, must be con- 
 nected with repentance. It was, therefore, the Herb of Re- 
 pentance, and this was soon transformed into the Herb of 
 Grace (in 1838 Loudon said, ‘itis to this day called Ave 
 Grace in Sussex,”) repentance being the chief signof Grace; 
 and it is not unlikely that this idea was strengthened by the 
 connection of Rue with the bitter herbs of the Bible, though 
 it is only once mentioned, anc then with no special remark, 
 except asa tithable garden herb, together with Anise and 
 Cummin. 
 
 The Rue, like Lavender and Rosemary, is a native of the 
 more barren parts of the coasts of the Mediterranean, and 
 has been found on Mount Tabor, but it was one of the ear- 
 liest occupants of the English Herb garden. It is very 
 frequently mentioned in the Saxon Leech books, and entered 
 so largely into their prescriptions that it must have been 
 very extensively grown. Its strong aromatic smell,} and 
 bitter taste, with the blistering quality of the leaves, soon 
 established its character as almost an heal-all. 
 
 Rew bitter a worthy gres (herb) 
 Mekyl of myth and vertu is. 
 Stockholm MS., 1305. 
 
 Even beasts were supposed to have discovered its virtues, 
 so that weasels were gravely said, and this by such men as 
 Pliny, to eat Rue when they were preparing themselves for 
 a fight with rats and serpents. Its especial virtue was an 
 eye-salve, a use which Milton did not overlook— 
 
 To nobler sights 
 Michael from Adam’s eyes the filme removed 
 Which that false fruit which promised clearer sight 
 Had bred; then purged with Euphrasie and Rue 
 The visual nerve, for he had much to see: 
 Paradise Lost, B. xi; 
 
 * Rewe on my child, that of thyn gentilnesse 
 Rewest on every sinful in destresse. 
 CHaucER.—The Man of Lawes’ Tale. 
 + Ranke-smelling Rue --SPENCER, Juiopotmos. 
 
205 
 
 and which was more fully stated in the old lines of the Schola 
 Salerni— 
 
 Nobilis est Ruta quia lumina reddit acuta; 
 Auxilio rutee, vir lippe, videbis acute ; 
 
 Cruda comesta recens oculos Caligine purgat ; 
 Ruta facit castum, dat lumen, et ingerit astum ; 
 Cocta facit Ruta et de pollicibus loca tuta. 
 
 After reading this high moral and physical character of 
 the herb, it is rather startling to find that “It is believed 
 that if stolen from a neighbour's garden, it would prosper 
 better.” As other medicines were introduced the Rue de- 
 clined in favour, so that Parkinson spoke of it with qualified 
 praise—“ Without doubt it is a most wholesom herb, although 
 bitter and strong. Some do rip up a bead-rowl of the virtues 
 of Rue . . . but beware of the too frequent or overmuch 
 use therof.” And Dr. Daubeny says of it, “it is a powerful 
 stimulant and narcotic, but not much used in modern 
 practise.” 
 
 As a garden plant, the Rue forms a pretty shrub for a 
 rock-work, if somewhat attended to, so as to prevent its 
 becoming straggling and untidy. ‘The delicate green and 
 peculiar shape of the leaves give it a distinctive character, 
 which forms a good contrast to other plants. 
 
 RUSH. 
 
 (1) Rosalind. He taught me how to know a man in love, in 
 which cage of Rushes I am sure you are not prisoner. 
 As You Inke tt, act iii, se. 2. 
 (2) Phebe. Lean but on a Rush, 
 The cicatrice and capable impressure 
 Thy palm some moment keeps. Jdzd., act iii, se. 5. 
 
 (3) Clown. As fit as Tib’s Rush for Tom’s fore-finger. 
 Alls Well that Ends Well, act 11, sc. 2. 
 
 (4\ Romeo. Let wantons light of heart 
 Tickle the senseless Rushes with their heels. 
 Romeo and Juliet, act 1, se. 4. 
 (5) Dromio. Some devils ask but the parings of one’s nails, 
 A Rush, a hair, a drop of blood, a pin, 
 A Nut, a Cherry-stone. 
 Comedy of Hrrors, act iv, sc. 8. 
 
206 
 
 (6, Bastard, A Rush will be a beam 
 To hang thee on. King John, act iv, se. 3. 
 
 (7) 1st Groom. More Rushes, more Rushes. 
 2nd Henry IV, act v, se. 5. 
 
 (8) Hros. He’s walking in the garden—thus; and spurns 
 The Rush that lies before him. 
 Antony and Cleopatra, act iii, se. 5. 
 
 (9) Othello, Man but a Rush against Othello’s breast, 
 And he retires. Othello, act v, sc. 2. 
 
 (10) Grumio. Is supper ready ? the house trimmed, Rushes 
 strewed, cobwebs swept? 
 Taming of the Shrew, act iv, sc. 1. 
 
 (11) Katherine. Be it moon or sun, or what you please, 
 And if you please to call it a Rush candle, 
 Henceforth 1 vow it shall be so for me. 
 Ibid., act iv, se. 5. 
 
 (12) Glendower. She bids you on the wanton Rushes lay you down 
 And rest your gentle head upon her lap. 
 lst Henry IV, act ii, se. 1. 
 (18) Mareius. He that depends 
 Upon ycur favours swims with fins of lead 
 And hews down Oaks with Rushes. 
 Coriolanus, act 1, se. 1. 
 
 (14) Lachimo. Our Tarquin thus 
 
 Did softly press the Rushes. 
 Cymbeline, act ii, se. 2. 
 
 (15) Senator. | Our gates 
 Which yet seem shut, we have but pinned with 
 Rushes ; 
 They’ll open of themselves. Corvolanus, act 1, sc. 2. 
 (16) And being lighted, by the light he spies 
 
 Lucretia’s glove, wherein her needle sticks ; 
 He takes it from the Rushes where it les. 
 Rape of Luerece. 
 
 (See also FLAG.) 
 
 Like the Reed, the Rush often stands for anv water-loving, 
 grassy plant, and, like the Reed, it was the emblem of yield- 
 ing weakness, and of uselessness, ‘The three principal Rushes 
 referred to by Shakespeare are the Common Rush (Juncus 
 eommunis), the Bulrush (Scirpus lacustris), and the Sweet 
 Rush (Acorus calamus). 
 
 The common Rush, though the mark of badly cultivated 
 ground, and the emblem of uselessness, was not without its 
 uses, some of which are referred to in Nos. 1, 3, and 11. In 
 
207 
 
 No. 3, reference is made to the Rush-ring, a ring, no doubt, 
 originally meant and used for the purposes of honest betrothal, 
 but afterwards so vilely used for the purposes of mock 
 marriages, that even as early as 1217, Richard Bishop of 
 Salisbury had to issue his edict against the use of “annulum 
 de junco.” 
 
 The Rush betrothal ring is mentioned by Spenser—- 
 
 O thou great shepheard, Lobbiu, how great is thy griefe! 
 Where bene the nosegayes that she dight for thee ? 
 The coloured chaplets wrought with a chiefe, 
 The knotted Rush-ringes and gilt Rosemarie. 
 Shepherd’s Kalendar.—November. 
 
 But the uses of the Rush were not all bad. Newton, in 
 1587, said of the Rush— it is a round smooth shoote without 
 joints or knots, having within it a white substance or pith, 
 which being drawn forth showeth like long white, soft, gentle, 
 and round thread, and serveth for many purposes. Heerewith 
 be made manie pretie imagined devises for Bride-ales and 
 other solemnities, as little baskets, hampers, frames, pitchers, 
 dishes, combs, brushes, stooles, chaires, purses with strings, 
 girdles, and manie such other pretie and curious and artificiall 
 coneeits, which at such times many do take the paines to 
 make and hang up in their houses, as tokens of good will to 
 the new married Bride; and after the solemnities ended, to 
 bestow abroad for Bride-gifts or presents.” It was this “ white 
 substance or pith” from which the Rush candle (No. 11) was 
 and still is made: a candle which in early days was probably 
 the universal candle, which, till within a few years, was the 
 night candle of every sick chamber (in which most of us can 
 recollect it as a most ghastly object as it used to stand, 
 “stationed in a basin on the floor, where it glimmered away 
 like a gigantic lighthouse in a particularly small piece of 
 water "—Pickwick, till expelled by the night-lights, and 
 which is still made by Welsh labourers, and, I suppose, in 
 Shakespeare’s time was the only candle used by the poor. 
 
 If your influence be quite damm’d up 
 
 With black usurping mists, some gentle taper, 
 
 Though a Rush-candle from the wicker hole 
 
 Of some clay habitation, visit us 
 
 With thy long levell’d rule of streaming light. Comus. 
 
 But the chief use of Rushes in those days was to strew the 
 floors of houses and churches (Nos. 4,7, 10, 12, and 14). 
 This custom seems to have been universal in all houses of 
 
208 
 
 any pretence. “ William the son of William of Alesbury 
 holds three roods of land of the Lord the King in Alesbury 
 in Com. Buck by the service of finding straw for the bed of 
 the Lord the King, and to strew his chamber, and also of 
 finding for the King when he comes to Alesbury straw for his 
 bed, and besides this Grass or Rushes to make his chamber 
 pleasant.”—Blunt’s Tenures. The custom went on even to 
 our own day in Norwich Cathedral, and the “ picturesque 
 custom still lingers in the West of strewing the floors of the 
 churches on Whit Sunday with Rushes freshly pulled from 
 the meadows. This custom attains its highest perfection in 
 the church of St. Mary Redcliffe at Bristel. On ‘ Rush 
 Sunday’ the floor is strewn with Rushes. All the merchants 
 throw open their conservatories for the vicar to take his 
 choice of their flowers, and the pulpit, the lectern, the choir, 
 and the communion rails and Table present a scene of great 
 beauty.”—The Garden, May, 1877. 
 
 For this purpose the Sweet-scented Rush was always used 
 where it could be procured, and when first laid down it must 
 have made a pleasant carpet ; but it was a sadly dirty arrange- 
 ment, and gives us a very poor idea of the cleanliness of even 
 the best houses, though it probably was not the custom 
 all through the year, as Newton says, speaking of Sedges, 
 but evidently confusing the Sedge with the sweet-scented 
 Rush, “ with the which many in this countrie do use in som- 
 mer time to straw their parlours and churches, as well for 
 cooleness as for pleasant smell.”* This Rush (Acorus cala- 
 mus) is a British plant, with broad leaves, which have a 
 strong cinnamon-like smell. Another (so called) Rush, the 
 Flowering Rush (Butomus umbellatus) is one of the very 
 handsomest of the British plants. Ona long straight stem 
 it bears a large umbel of very handsome pink flowers, so 
 sweet-scented that the old Saxon name of the whole plant 
 was Beewort. Wherever there is a pond in a garden, these 
 fine Rushes should have a place, though they may be grown 
 in the open border where the ground is not too dry. 
 
 There is a story told by Sir John Mandeville in connection 
 with Rushes which is not easy to understand. According to 
 his account, our Saviour’s crown of thorns was made of 
 
 * As I have seen upon a bridal day, 
 Full many maids clad in their best array, 
 In honour of the bride, come with their flaskets 
 Filled full of flowers, other in wicker-baskets 
 Bring from the Marish Rushes, to overspread. 
 The ground whereon to Church the lovers tread. 
 Browne’s Brit. Past., i, 2 
 
209 
 
 Rushes! “And zif alle it be so that men seyn that this 
 Croune is of Thornes, zee shall undirstande that it was of 
 Jonkes of the See, that is to sey, Russhes of the See, that 
 prykken als scharpely as Thornes. For I have seen and be- 
 holden many times that of Parys and that of Constantynoble, 
 for thei were bothe on, made of Russches of the See. But 
 men have departed hem in two parties, of the which on part 
 is at Parys, and the other part is at Constantynoble—and I 
 have on of the precyouse Thornes, that semethe licke a white 
 Thorn, and that was zoven to me for great specyaltee. 
 
 The Jewes setten him in a chayere and clad him in a mantelle, 
 and then made thei the Croune of Jonkes of the See.”— 
 Voiage and Travaile, c. 2. 
 
 I have no certainty to what Rush the pleasant old traveller 
 can here refer. I can only guess that as Rushes and Sedges 
 were almost interchangeable names, he may have meant the 
 Sea Holly, formerly called the Holly-sedge, of which there is 
 a very appropriate account given in an old Saxon runelay 
 thus translated by Cockayne—“ Hollysedge hath its dwelling 
 oftenest in a marsh, it waxeth in water, woundeth fearfully, 
 burneth with blood (7.e. draws blood and pains) every one of 
 men who to it offers any handling.” 
 
 RYE. 
 
 (1) dris. Ceres, most bounteous lady! thy rich leas 
 Of Wheat, Rye, Barley, Vetches, Oats, and Pease. 
 Tempest, act iv, sc. 1. 
 (2) fris. You sun-burned sicklemen, of August weary, 
 Come hither from the furrow and be merry ; 
 Make holiday ; your Rye-straw hats put on. 
 Ibid., act iv, se. 1. 
 (3) Song. Between the acres of the Rye 
 These pretty country folks would lye. 
 As You Inke It, act v, se. 8. 
 
 The Rye of Shakespeare’s time was identical with our own 
 (Secale cereale). It is not a British plant, and its native 
 country is not exactly known; but it seems probable that 
 both the plant and the name came from the region of the 
 Caucasus. 
 
 As a food-plant Rye was not in good repute in Shakespeare’s 
 time. Gerarde said of it, “It is harder to digest than Wheat, 
 
 P 
 
210 
 
 yet to rusticke bodies that can well digest it, it yields good 
 nourishment.” But “recent investigations by Professor 
 Wanklyn and Mr. Cooper appear to give the first place to 
 Rye as the most nutritious of all our cereals. Rye contains 
 more gluten, and is pronounced by them one-third richer 
 than Wheat. Rye, moreover, is capable of thriving in almost 
 any soil.”—Gardeners’ Chronicle, 1877. 
 
 SAFFRON. 
 (1) Ceres. Who (i.e. Iris), with thy Saffron wings upon my 
 
 flowers, 
 Diffusest honeydrops, refreshing showers. 
 Tempest, act iv, se. 1, 
 (2) Antipholus of Ephesus. 
 Did this companion with the Saffron face 
 Revel and feast it at my house to-day? 
 Comedy of Errors, act iv, sc. 4. 
 (3) Clown. I must have Saffron to colour the Warden pies. 
 Winter's Tale, act iv, sc. 2. 
 (4) Zafeu. No, no, no, your son was misled with a snipt- 
 taffeta fellow there, whose villanous Saffron face would 
 have made all the unbaked and doughy youth of a 
 nation in his colour. 
 All’s Well that Ends Well, act iv, se. 5. 
 
 Saffron (from its Arabic name, al zahafaran) was not, in 
 Shakespeare’s time, limited to the drug or to the Saffron- 
 bearing Crocus (C. sativus), but it was the general name for 
 all the Croci, and was even extended to the Colchicums, 
 which were called Meadow Saffrons. We have no Crocus 
 really a native of Britain, but a few species (C. vernus, 
 C. nudiflorus, C. aureus, and C. biflorus) have been so 
 naturalised in certain parts as to be admitted, though very 
 doubtfully, into the British flora; but the Saffron Crocus can 
 in no way be considered a native, and the history of its 
 introduction into England is very obscure. It is mentioned 
 several times in the Anglo-Saxon leech books—-*‘ When he 
 bathes, let him smear himself with oil; mingle it with 
 Saffron.”—Tenth century Leech Book, ii, 37.“ For dimness 
 of eyes, thus one must heal it: take Celandine one spoontul, 
 and Aloes, and Crocus (Saffron in French) ”—Schools of 
 Medicine, tenth century, c. 22. In these instances it 
 may be only the imported drug; but the name occurs in an 
 
211 
 
 English Vocabulary among the Nomina herbarum (4.e., names 
 of herbs or plants)—“ Hic Crocus, A°® Safurroun ;” and in a 
 pictorial Vocabulary of the fourteenth century, “ Hic Crocus, 
 An® Safryn;” so that I think the plant must have been in 
 cultivation in England at that time. The usual statement, 
 made by one writer after another, is that it was introduced 
 by Sir Thomas Smith into the neighbourhood of Walden in 
 the time of Edward III, but the original authority for this 
 statement is unknown. The most authentic account is that 
 by Hakluyt in 1582, and though it is rather long, it is worth 
 extracting in full. It occurs in some instructions in 
 Remembrances for Master S., who was going into Turkey, 
 giving him hints what to observe in his travels :—* Saffron, 
 the best of the universall world, groweth in this realme. 
 
 It is a spice that is cordiall, and may be used in meats, and 
 that is excellent in dying of yellow silks. This commodity 
 of Saffron groweth fifty miles from Tripoli, in Syria, on an 
 high hyll, called in those parts Gasian, so as there you may 
 learn at that part of Tripoli the value of the pound, the 
 goodnesse of it, and the places of the vent. But it is said 
 that from that hyll there passeth yerely of that commodity 
 fifteen moiles laden, and that those regions notwithstanding 
 lacke sufficiency of that commodity. But if a vent might 
 be found, men would in Essex (about Saffron Walden), and 
 in Cambridgeshire, revive the trade for the benefit of the 
 setting of the poore on worke. So would they do in Hereford- 
 shire by Wales, where the best of all England is, in which 
 place the soil yields the wilde Saffron commonly, which 
 showeth the natural inclination of the same soile to the 
 bearing of the right Saffron, if the soile be manured and that 
 way employed. . . . It is reported at Saffron Walden 
 that a pilgrim, proposing to do good to his countrey, stole a 
 head of Saffron, and hid the same in his Palmen’s staffe, 
 which he had made hollow before of purpose, and so he 
 brought the root into this realme with venture of his life, for 
 if he had bene taken, by the law of the countrey from whence 
 it came, he had died for the fact.”—English Voiages, &c., 
 vol. ii, From this account it seems clear that even in 
 Hakluyt’s time Saffron had been so long introduced that the 
 history of its introduction was lost; and I think it very 
 probable that, as was suggested by Coles in his Adam wm 
 iden (1657), we are indebted to the Romans for this, as for 
 so many of our useful plants. But it is not a Roman or 
 Italian plant. Spenser wrote of it as— 
 
 Saffron sought for in Cilician soyle— 
 P? 
 
212 
 
 and Browne—. 
 Saffron confected in Cilicia—Brit. Past., i, 2; 
 
 which information they derived from Pliny. It is a native of 
 Asia Minor, but so altered by long cultivation that it never 
 produces seed either in England or in other parts of Europe. 
 This fact led M. Chappellier, of Paris, who has for many 
 years studied the history of the plant, to the belief that it 
 was a hybrid; but finding that when fertilized with the 
 pollen of a Crocus found wild in Greece, and known as C. 
 sativus var. Grecus (Orphanidis) it produces seed abundantly, 
 he concludes that it is a variety of that species, which it very 
 much resembles, but altered and rendered sterile by cultiva- 
 tion. It isnot now much cultivated in England, but we 
 have abundant authority from Tusser, Gerarde, Parkinson, 
 Camden, and many other writers, that it was largely cultivated 
 before and after Shakespeare’s time, and that the quality of 
 the English Saffron was very superior.* The importance of 
 of the crop is shown by its giving its name to Saffron Walden 
 in Essex, and to Saffron Hill in London, which “was formerly 
 a part of Ely Gardens” (of which we shall hear again when 
 we come to speak of Strawberries), ‘and derives its name 
 from the crops of Saffron which it bore.”—-Cunningham. 
 The plant has in the same way given its name to Zaffarano, 
 a village in Sicily, near Mount Etna, and to Zafaranboly, 
 “ ville située prés Inobole en Anatolie, au sud-est de 
 lancienne Heéraclée.’—Chappellier. The plant is largely 
 cultivated in many parts of Europe, but the chief centres of 
 cultivation are in the arrondissement of Pithiviers in France, 
 and the province of Arragon in Spain; and the chief con- 
 sumers are the Germans. It has also been largely cultivated 
 in China for a great many years, and the bulbs now imported 
 from China are found to be, in many points, superior to the 
 European—‘ l’invasion Tartare aurait porté le Safran en 
 Chine, et de leur coté les croisés l’auraient importé en 
 Europe. ’—Chappellier. 
 
 I need scarcely say that the parts of the plant that produce 
 the Saffron are the sweet-scented stigmata, the Crocei odores 
 of Virgil; but the use of Saffron has now so gone out of 
 fashion, that it may be well to say something of its uses in 
 the time of Shakespeare, as a medicine, a dye, and a confec- 
 tion. On all three points its virtues were so many that there 
 is a complete literature on Crocus. I need not name all the 
 
 * © Our English hony and Safron is better than any that commeth from 
 any strange or foregn land.”—-BULLEIN, Government of Health, 1588. 
 
books on the subject, but the title page of one (a duodecimu 
 of nearly three hundred pages) may be quoted as an 
 example :——“ Crocologia seu curiosa Croci Regis Vegetabilium 
 enucleatio continens Illius etymologiam, differencias, tempus 
 quo viret et floret, culturam, collectionem, usum mechanicum, 
 Pharmaceuticum, Chemico-medicum, omnibus pene humani 
 corporis partibus destinatum additis diversis observationibus 
 et questionibus Crocum concernentibus ad normam et formam 
 S. R. I. Academiz Natur curiosorum congesta a Dan: Fer- 
 dinando Hertodt, Phys. et Med. Doc, &., &c. Jena. 1671.” 
 After this we may content ourselves with Gerarde’s summary 
 of its virtues—‘“ The moderate use of it is good for the head, 
 and maketh sences more quicke and lively, shaketh off heavy 
 and drowsie sleep and maketh a man mery.” For its use in 
 confections this will suffice from the “ Apparatus Plantarum” 
 of Laurembergius, 1632—“In re familiari vix ullus est 
 telluris habitatus angulus ubi non sit Croci quotodiana usur- 
 patio, aspersi vel incocti cibis.” And as to its uses as a dye, 
 its penetrating powers were proverbial, of which Luthev’s 
 Sermons will supply an instance —“ As the saffron bag that 
 hath bene ful of saffron, or hath had saffron in it, doth ever 
 after savour and smel of the swete saffron that it contayneth; 
 so our blessed Ladye which conceived and bare Christe in her 
 wombe, dyd ever after resemble the maners and vertues of 
 that precious babe which she bare.’—Fourth Sermon, 
 1548. One of the uses to which Saffron was applied in the 
 Middle Ages was for the manufacture of the beautiful gold 
 colour used in the illumination of missals, &c., where the 
 actual gold was not used. This is the recipe from the work 
 of Theophilus in the eleventh century—“If ye wish to 
 decorate your work in some manner take tin pure and finely 
 scraped; melt it and wash it like gold, and apply it with the 
 same glue upon letters or other places which you wish to 
 ornament with gold or silver; and when you have polished it 
 with a tooth, take Saffron with which silk is colored, 
 moistening it with clear of egg without water, and when it 
 has stood a night or the following day cover with a pencil 
 the places which you wish to gild, the rest holding the place 
 of silver.”—Book i, c. 23, Hendrie’s Translation. 
 
 Though the chief fame of the Saffron Crocus is as a field 
 plant, yet it is also a very handsome flower ; but it 1s a most 
 capricious one, which may account for the area of cultivation 
 being so limited. In some places it entirely refuses to flower, 
 as it does in my own garden, where I have cultivated it for 
 many years but never saw a flower, while in a neighbour's 
 
214 
 
 garden, under apparently the very same conditions of soil and 
 climate, it flowers every autumn. But if we cannot succeed 
 with the Saffron Crocus, there are many other Croci which 
 were known in the time of Shakespeare, and grown not “ for 
 any other use than in regard of their beautiful flowers of 
 several varieties, as they have been carefully sought out and 
 preserved by divers to furnish a garden of dainty curiosity.” 
 Gerarde had in his garden only six species ; Parkinson had or 
 described thirty-one different sorts, and after his time new 
 kinds were not so much sought after till Dean Herbert col- 
 lected and studied them. His monograph of the Crocus, in 
 1847, contained the account of forty-one species, besides 
 many varieties. The latest arrangement of the family, by 
 Mr. J. G. Baker of Kew, gives forty-seven species, besides 
 varieties; of these all are not yet in cultivation, but every 
 year sees some fresh addition to the number, chiefly by the 
 unwearied exertions in finding them in their native habitats, 
 and the liberal distribution of them when found, of Mr. 
 George Maw, of Broseley, to whom all the lovers of the Crocus 
 are deeply indebted. And the Croci are so beautiful that we 
 cannot have too many of them; they are, for the most part, 
 perfectly hardy, though some few require a little protection 
 in winter ; they are of an infinite variety of colour, and some 
 flower in the spring and some in the autumn. Most of us 
 call the Crocus a spring flower, yet there are more autumnal 
 than vernal species, but it is as a spring flower that we most 
 value it. The common yellow Crocus is almost as much 
 “the first-born of the year’s delight ” as the Snowdrop. No 
 one can tell its native country, but it has been the brightest 
 ornament of our gardens, not only in spring but even in win- 
 ter for many years. It was probably first introduced during 
 Shakespeare’s life. “It hath floures,” says Gerarde, “ of a 
 most perfect shining yellow colour, seeming afar off to be a 
 hot glowing coal of fire. That pleasant plant was sent unto 
 me from Robinus, of Paris, that painful and most curious 
 searcher of simples.” From that beginning perhaps it has 
 found its way into every garden, for it increases rapidly, is 
 very hardy, and its brightness commends it to all. It is the 
 “most gladsome of the early flowers. None gives more 
 glowing welcome to the season, or strikes on our first glance 
 with a ray of keener pleasure, when, with some bright morn- 
 ing’s warmth, the solitary golden fringes have kindled into 
 knots of thick-clustered yellow bloom on the borders of the 
 cottage garden. At a distance the eye is caught by that 
 glowing patch, its warm heart open to the sun, and dear to 
 
215 
 
 the honey-gathering bees which hum around the chalices.” 
 —Forbes Watson. 
 
 With this pretty picture I may well close the account of 
 the Crocus, but not because the subject is exhausted, for it is 
 very tempting to go much further, and to speak of the beau- 
 ties of the many species, and of the endless forms and colours 
 of the grand Dutch varieties; and whatever admiration may 
 be expressed for the common yellow Dutch Crocus, the same 
 I would also give to almost every member of this lovely and 
 cheerful family. 
 
 SAMPHIRE. 
 
 Edgar. Half-way down 
 Hangs one that gathers Samphire, dreadful trade! 
 Methinks he seems no bigger than his head. 
 King Lear, act iv, se. 6. 
 
 Being found only on rocks, the Samphire was naturally 
 associated with St. Peter, and so it was called in Italian 
 Herba di San Pietro, in English Sampire and Rock Sampier;* 
 —in other words, Samphire is simply a corruption of Saint 
 Peter. The plant grows round all the coasts of Great Britain 
 and Ireland, wherever there are suitable rocks on which it can 
 grow, and on all the coasts of Europe, except the northern 
 coasts; and it is a plant very easily recognised, if not by its 
 pale green, fleshy leaves, yet certainly by its taste, or its 
 ‘smell delightful and pleasant.” The leaves form the pickie, 
 “ the pleasantest sauce, most familiar, and best agreeing with 
 man’s body,” but now much out of fashion. In Shakespeare's 
 time the gathering of Samphire was a regular trade, and 
 Steevens quotes from Smith’s History of Waterford to show 
 the danger attending the trade :—“It is terrible to see how 
 people gather it, hanging by a rope several fathoms from the 
 top of the impending rocks, as it were in the air.” In our 
 own time the quantity required could be easily got without 
 much danger, for it grows in places perfectly accessible in 
 sufficient quantity for the present requirements, for in some 
 parts it grows away from the cliffs, so that “ the fields about 
 
 * Dr. Prior. 
 
216 
 
 Porth Gwylan, in Carnarvonshire, are covered with it.” It 
 may even be grown in the garden, especially in gardens near 
 the sea, and makes a pretty plant for rockwork. 
 
 There is a story connected with the Samphire which shows 
 how botanical knowledge, like all other knowledge, may be 
 of great service even where least expected. Many years ago 
 a ship was wrecked on the Sussex coast, and a small party 
 were left on a rock not far from land. ‘To their horror they 
 found the sea rising higher and higher, and threatening 
 before long to cover their place of refuge. Some of them 
 proposed to try and swim for land, and would have done so, 
 but just as they were preparing for it an officer saw a plant 
 of Samphire growing on the rock, and told them they might 
 stay and trust to that little plant that the sea would rise no 
 further, for that the Samphire, though always growing within 
 the spray of the sea, never grows where the sea could actually 
 touch it. They believed him and were saved. 
 
 SAVORY. 
 
 Perdita. Here’s flowers for you— 
 Hot Lavender, Mints, Savory, Marjoram. 
 Winter’s Tale, act iv, sc. 38. 
 
 Savory might be supposed to get its name as being a plant 
 of special savour, but the name comes from its Latin name 
 Satureia, through the Italian Savoreggia. It is a native of 
 the south of Europe, probably introduced into England by 
 the Romans, for it is mentioned in the Anglo-Saxon recipes 
 under the imported name of Savorie. It was a very favourite 
 plant in the old herb gardens, and beth kinds, the Winter 
 and Summer Savory, were reckoned “ among the farsing or 
 farseting herbes as they call them” (Parkinson), 2.¢., herbs 
 used for stuffing.* Both kinds are still grown in herb gardens, 
 but are very little used. 
 
 * His typet was ay farsud ful of knyfes 
 And pynnes, for to give fair wyves. 
 Canterbury Tale, Prologue. 
 
217 
 
 SEDGE. 
 
 (1) 2nd Servant. And Cytherea all in Sedges hid, 
 Which seem to move and wanton with her breath 
 Even as the waving Sedges play with wind. 
 Laming of Shrew (Introduction, se. 2). 
 
 d 
 
 (2) Zris. You nymphs, called Naiads, of the winding brooks, 
 With your Sedged crowns and ever-harmless looks. 
 Tempest, act iv, sc. 1. 
 
 (3) Julia. The current that with gentle murmur glides, 
 Thou knowest, being stopped, impatiently doth rage ; 
 But when his fair course is not hindered, 
 He makes sweet music with the enamell’d stones, 
 Giving a gentle kiss to every Sedge 
 He overtaketh in his pilgrimage ; 
 And so by many winding nooks he strays 
 With willing sport to the wild ocean. 
 Two Gentlemen of Verona, act ii, sc. 7. 
 
 (+) Benedick. Alas, poor hurt fowl! now will he creep into 
 Sedges. Much Ado about Nothing, act ii, sc. 1. 
 
 (5) Hotspur. The gentle Severn’s Sedgy bank. 
 lst Henry IV, act i, se. 3. 
 
 Sedge is from the Anglo-Saxon Secg, and meant almost any 
 waterside plant. Thus we read of the Moor Secg and the Red 
 Secg, and the Sea Holly (Eryngium maritimum) is called 
 the Holly Sedge. And so it was doubtless used by Shakes- 
 peare. In our day Sedge is confined to the genus Carex, a 
 family growing in almost all parts of the world, and contain- 
 ing about 1000 species, of which we have fifty-eight in Great 
 Britain ; they are most graceful ornaments both of our brooks 
 and ditches, and some of them will make handsome garden 
 plants. One very handsome species—perhaps the handsomest 
 —is C. pendula, with long tassel-like flower-spikes hanging 
 down in a very beautiful form, which is not uncommon as a 
 wild plant, and can easily be grown in the garden, and the 
 flower-spikes will be found very handsome additions to tall 
 nosegays. There is another North American species, C. 
 Fraseri, which is a good plant for the north side of a rock- 
 work: it is a small plant, but the flower isa spike of the 
 purest white, and is very curious, and unlike any other flower. 
 
SENNA. 
 
 Macbeth. What Rhubarb, Senna, or what purgative drug 
 Would scour these English hence ? 
 Macbeth, act v, se. 3. 
 
 Even in the time of Shakespeare several attempts were 
 made to grow the Senna in England, but without success ; so 
 that he probably only knew it as an imported “ purgative 
 drug.” The Senna of commerce is made from the leaves of 
 Cassia lanceolata and Cassia Senna, both natives of Africa, 
 and so unfitted for open-air cultivation in England. The 
 Cassias are a large family, mostly with handsome yellow 
 flowers, some of which are very ornamental greenhouse plants, 
 and one from North America, Cassia Marylandica, may be 
 considered hardy in the south of England. | 
 
 SPEARGRASS. 
 Peto. He persuaded us to do the like. 
 Bardolph. Yea, and to tickle our noses with Speargrass to 
 
 make them bleed, and then to beslubber our garments 
 with it and to swear it was the blood of true men. 
 1st Henry IV, act ii, se. 4. 
 
 Except in this passage, I can only find Speargrass mentioned 
 in Lupton’s “Notable Things,” and there without any deserip- 
 tion, only as part of a medical recipe-—* Whosoever is tor- 
 mented with sciatica or the hip gout, let them take an herb 
 called Speargrass, and stamp it and lay a little thereof upon 
 the grief.” The plant is not mentioned by Lyte, Gerarde, 
 Parkinson, or the other old herbalists, and so it is somewhat 
 of a puzzle. Steevens quotes from an old play, “ Victories 
 of Henry the Fifth ”—“ Every day I went into the field, I 
 would take a straw and thrust it into my nose, and make my 
 
219 
 
 nose bleed ;” but a straw was never called Speargrass. As- 
 paragus was called Speerage, and the young shoots might 
 have been used for the purpose, but I have never heard of 
 such a use ; Ranunculus flammula was called Spearwort, from 
 its lanceolate leaves, and so (according to Cockayne) was 
 Carex acuta, still called Spiesgrass in German. Mr. Beisly 
 suggests the Yarrow or Millfoil; and we know from several 
 authorities (Lyte, Hollybush, Gerarde, Phillip, Cole, Skinner, 
 and Lindley) that the Yarrow was called Nosebleed; but there 
 seems no reason to suppose that it was ever called Speargrass, 
 or could have been called a Grass at all, though the term Grass 
 was often used in the most general way. Dr. Prior suggests 
 the common Reed, which is probable. I have been rather 
 inclined to suppose it to be one of the Horse-tails (Equiseta).* 
 They are very sharp and spearlike, and their rough surfaces 
 would soon draw blood; and as I found that a decoction of 
 Horse-tail was a remedy for stopping bleeding of the nose, I 
 have thought it very probable that such a supposed virtue 
 could only have arisen when remedies were sought for on the 
 principle of “similia similibus curantur”; so that a plant; 
 which in one form produced nose-bleeding, would, when other- 
 wise administered, be the natural remedy. But I now think 
 that all these suggested plants must give way in favour of the 
 common Couch-grass (Triticum repens). In the Eastern 
 Counties, this is still called Speargrass ; and the sharp under- 
 ground stolons might easily draw blood, when the nose is 
 tickled with them. The old emigrants from the Eastern 
 Counties took the name with them to America, but applied 
 it to a Poa (Webster’s Dictionary, s.v., Speargrass), the 
 Couch-grass not being found in the United States. 
 
 SQUASH (see PEAs). 
 
 ** Hippurus Anglice dici ur sharynge gyrs.”—TURNER’S Libellus, 1538. 
 
STOVER. 
 
 fris. Thy turfy mountains where live nibbling sheep, 
 And flat meads thatched with Stover them to keep. 
 Tempest, act iv, se. 1. 
 
 In this passage, Stover is probably the bent or dried Grass 
 still remaining on the land, but it is the common word for 
 hay or straw, or for ‘fodder and provision for all sorts of 
 cattle ; from Hstovers, law term, which is so explained in the 
 law dictionaries. Both are derived from Lstowvier in the old 
 French, defined by Roquefort—‘ Convenance, nécessité, pro- 
 vision de tout ce qui est nécessaire.’”— Nares. The word is 
 of frequent occurrence in the writers of the time of Shake- 
 peare. One quotation from Tusser will be sufficient-— 
 
 If house room will serve thee, lay Stover up dry, 
 And every sort by itself for to lie ; 
 Or stack it for litter if room be too poor, 
 And thatch out the residue, nozing thy door. 
 November's Husbandry. 
 
 STRAWBERRY. 
 
 1) Jago. Have you not sometimes seen a handkerchief 
 I Dee aba 
 Spotted with Strawberries in your avife’s hand? 
 Othello, act iii, se. 38. 
 
 (2) Ely. The Strawberry grows underneath the Nettle, 
 And wholesome berries thrive and ripen best 
 Neighboured by fruit of baser quality ; 
 And so the prince obscured his contemplation 
 Under the veil of wildness. Henry V, acti, se. 1. 
 
 (3) Gloster. My Lord of Ely, when I was last in Holborn, 
 I saw good Strawberries in your garden there ; 
 I do beseech you send for some of them. 
 Ely. | Marry, and will, my Lord, with all my heart. 
 
 Where is my lord Protector ? I have sent 
 For these Strawberries. 
 King Richard IL, act iii, se. 4. 
 
221 
 
 The Bishop of Ely’s garden in Hoiborn must have been one 
 of the chief gardens of England in the fourteenth and fifteenth 
 centuries, for this is the third time it has been brought under 
 our notice. It was celebrated for its Roses (see ROSE); it 
 was so celebrated for its Saffron Crocuses that part of it 
 acquired the name which it still keeps, Saffron Hill; and 
 now we hear of its “ good Strawberries;” while the remem- 
 brance of “the ample garden,” and of the handsome Lord 
 Chancellor to whom it was given when taken from the 
 bishopric, is still kept alive in its name of Hatton Garden. 
 How very good our forefathers’ Strawberries were, we have 
 a strong proof in old Isaak Walton’s happy words: ‘* Indeed, 
 my good scholar, we may say of angling as Dr. Boteler said 
 of Strawberries—‘ Doubtless God could have made a better 
 berry, but doubtless God never did ;’ and so, if I might be 
 judge, God never did make a more calm, quiet, innocent 
 
 recreation than angling.” I doubt whether, with our present 
 experience of good Strawberries, we should join in this high 
 praise of the Strawberries of Shakespeare’s or Isaak Walton’s 
 day, for their varieties of Strawberry must have been very 
 limited in comparison to ours. ‘Their chief Strawberry was 
 the wild Strawberry brought straight from the woods, and no 
 doubt much improved in time by cultivation. Yet we learn 
 from Spenser and from Tusser that it was the custom to grow 
 it just as it came from the woods. 
 
 Spenser says— 
 
 One day as they all three together went 
 Into the wood to gather Strawberries.—/”. Q., vi, 34; 
 
 and Tusser— 
 
 Wife, into thy garden, and set me a plot 
 
 With Strawberry roots of the best to be got: 
 Such growing abroad, among Thorns in the wood, 
 Well chosen and picked, prove excellent food. 
 
 The Gooseberry, Respis, and Rose all three 
 With Strawberries under them trimly agree. 
 September's Husbandry. 
 
 And even in the next century, Sir Hugh Plat said-- 
 
 Strawberries which grow in woods prosper best in 
 gardens.— Garden of. Eden, i, 20.* 
 
 * It seems probable tha tthe Romans only knew of the wild Strawberry, of which 
 both Virgil and Ovid speak ;— 
 Qui legitis flores et humi nascentia fraga,—FKicl., ii. 
 Contentique cibis nullo cogente creatis 
 Arbuteos feetus montanaque fraga legebant.—Metam., i, 105. 
 
222 
 
 Besides the wild one (Fragaria vesca), they had the Vir- 
 ginian (I, Virginiana), a native of North America, and the 
 parent of our scarlets ; but they do not seem to have had the 
 Hautbois (I. elatior), or the Chilian, or the Carolinas, from 
 which most of our good varieties have descended. 
 
 The Strawberry is among fruits what the Primrose and 
 Snowdrop are among flowers, the harbinger of other good 
 fruits to follow. It is the earliest of the summer fruits, and 
 there is no need to dwell on its delicate, sweet-scented 
 freshness, so acceptable to all; but it has also a charm in 
 autumn, known, however, but to few, and sometimes said to 
 be only discernible by few. Among “ the flowers that yield 
 sweetest smell in the air,” Lord Bacon reckoned Violets, 
 and “next to that is the Musk-rose, then the Strawberry 
 leaves dying, with a most excellent cordial smell.” In Mrs, 
 Gaskell’s pretty tale, “ My Lady Ludlow,” the dying Straw- 
 berry leaves act an important part. “The great hereditary 
 faculty on which my lady piqued herself, and with reason, for 
 I never met with any other person who possessed it, was the 
 power she had of perceiving the delicious odour arising from a 
 bed of Strawberry leaves in the late autumn, when the leaves 
 were all fading and dying.” The old lady quotes Lord Bacon, 
 and then says :— * Now the Hanburys can always smell the 
 excellent cordial odour, and very delicious and refreshing it 
 is. In the time of Queen Elizabeth the great old families 
 of England were a distinct race, just as a cart-horse is one 
 creature and very useful in its place, and Childers or Eclipse 
 is another creature, though both are of the same species. So 
 the old families have gifts and powers of a different and 
 higher class to what the other ordershave. My dear, remem- 
 ber that you try and smell the scent of dying Strawberry 
 leaves in this next autumn, you have some of Ursula Han- 
 bury’s blood in you, and that gives you a chance. ‘ But 
 when October came I sniffed, and sniffed, and all to no pur- 
 pose; and my lady, who had watched the little experiment 
 rather anxiously, had to give me up as a hybrid.’ *—House- 
 hold Words, vol. xviii. On this I can only say in the words 
 of an old writer, “ A rare and notable thing, if it be true, for 
 I never proved it, and never tried it; therefore, as it proves 
 so praise it.’”* Spenser also mentions the scent, but not of 
 the leaves or fruit, but of the flowers :— 
 
 * Que neque confirmare argumentis neque refellere in animo est ; ex ingenio suo 
 quisque demat vel addat fidem.—TZacitus. 
 
223 
 
 - Comming to kisse her lyps (such grace I found), 
 Me seem’d I smelt a garden of sweet flowres 
 That dainty odours from them threw around : 
 
 Her goodly bosome, lyke a Strawberry bed, 
 
 Such fragrant flowres doe give most odorous smell. 
 Sonnet, \xiv. 
 There is a considerable interest connected with the name 
 of the plant, and much popular error. It is supposed to be 
 called Strawberry because the berries have straw laid under 
 them, or from an old custom of selling the wild ones strung 
 on straws.* In Shakespeare’s time straw was used for the 
 protection of Strawberries, but not in the present fashion. 
 If frost do continue, take this for a law 
 The Strawberries look to be covered with straw, 
 
 Laid evenly trim upon crotches and bows, 
 And after uncovered as weather allows. 
 
 Tusser, December's Husbandry. 
 
 But the name is much more ancient than either of these 
 customs. Strawberry in different forms, as Strea-berige, 
 Streaberie-wisan, Streaw-berige, Streaw-berian wisan, Strebe- 
 rilef, Strabery, Strebere-wise, is its name in the old English 
 Vocabularies, while it appears first in its present form ina 
 pictorial vocabulary of the fifteenth century, “ Hoe ffragrum, 
 A® a Strawbery.” What the word really means is pleasantly 
 told by a writer in Seeman’s Journal of Botany, 1869 :— 
 ‘“* How well this name indicates the now prevailing practice 
 of English gardeners laying straw under the berry in order to 
 bring it to perfection, and prevent it from touching the earth, 
 which without that precaution it naturally does, and to which 
 it owes its German name Hidbeere, making us almost forget 
 that in this instance ‘straw’ has nothing to do with the 
 practice alluded to, but is an obsolete part-participle of ‘ to 
 strew, in allusion to the habit of the plant.” This obsolete 
 word is preserved in our English Bibles, “gathering where 
 thou hast not strawed,” “he strawed it upon the water;” 
 and in Shakespeare— 
 
 The bottom poison, and the top o’erstrawed 
 With sweets,— Venus and Adonis. 
 
 * The wood nymphs oftentimes would busied be, 
 And pluck for him the blushing Strawberry, 
 Making from them a bracelet on a bent, 
 Which for a favour to this swain they sent. 
 Brownr’s Brit. Pas., i, 2. 
 
224 
 
 From another point of view there is almost as great a 
 mistake in the second half of the name, for in strict botanical 
 language the fruit of the Strawberry is not a berry; it is not 
 even “exactly a fruit, but is merely a fleshy receptacle bear- 
 ing fruit, the true fruit being the ripe carpels, which are 
 scattered over its surface in the form of minute grains looking 
 like seeds, for which they are usually mistaken, the seed 
 lying inside of the shell of the carpel.” It is exactly the 
 contrary to the Raspberry, a fruit not named by Shakespeare, 
 though common in his time under the name of Rasps. 
 “When you gather the Raspberry you throw away the 
 receptacle under the name of core, never suspecting that it 
 is the very part you had just before been feasting upon in the 
 Strawberry. In the one case the receptacle robs the carpels 
 of all their juice in order to become gorged and bloated at 
 their expense; in the other case the carpels act in the same 
 selfish manner upon the receptacles.’—Lindley, Ladies’ 
 Botany. 
 
 Shakespeare’s mention of the Strawberry and the Nettle 
 (No. 2) deserves a passing note. It was the common opinion 
 in his day that plants were affected by the neighbourhood of 
 other plants to such an extent that they imbibed each other's 
 virtues and faults. Thus sweet flowers were planted near 
 fruit trees, with the idea of improving the flavour of the 
 fruit, and evil-smelling trees, like the Elder, were carefully 
 cleared away from fruit trees, lest they should be tainted. 
 But the Strawberry was supposed to be an exception to the 
 rule, and was supposed to thrive in the midst of “ evil 
 communications” without being corrupted. Preachers and 
 emblem-writers naturally seized upon this—“ In tilling our 
 gardens we cannot but admire the fresh innocence and purity 
 of the Strawberry, because although it creeps along the 
 ground, and is continually crushed by serpents, lizards, and 
 other venomous reptiles, yet it does not imbihe the slightest 
 impression of poison, or the smallest malignant quality, a 
 true sign that it has no affinity with poison. And so it is 
 with human virtues,” &¢. “In conversation take everything 
 peacefully, no matter what is said or done. In this manner 
 you may remain innocent amidst the hissing of serpents, and, 
 as a little Strawberry, you will not suffer contamination from 
 slimy things creeping near you.”-—S. Francis de Sales. 
 
 I need only add that the Strawberry need not be confined 
 to the kitehen garden, as there are some varieties which 
 make very good carpet plants, such as the variegated Straw- 
 berry, which, however, is very capricious in its variegation ; 
 
225 
 
 the double Strawberry, which bears pretty white button-like 
 flowers ; and the Fragaria lucida from California, which has 
 very bright shining leaves, and was, when first introduced, 
 supposed to be useful in crossing with other species; but I 
 have not heard that this has been successfully effected. 
 
 SUGAR. 
 
 (1) Prince Henry. But, sweet Ned; to sweeten which name of 
 | Ned, I give thee this pennyworth of Sugar, clapped 
 even now into my hand by an under-skinker. 
 
 To drive away the time till Falstaff comes, I pry’thee, 
 do thou stand in some by-room, while I question my 
 puny drawer to what end he gave me the Sugar. 
 
 Nay, but hark you, Francis, for the Sugar thou gavest 
 me, twas a pennyworth, was it not? 
 lst Henry IV, act 11, se. 4. 
 
 (2) Biron. White-handed mistress, one sweet word with thee. 
 Princess. Honey, and milk, and Sugar, there is three. 
 Love's Labours Lost, act v, se. 2. 
 
 (3) Quickly And in such wine and Sugar of the best and the 
 fairest that would have won any woman’s heart. 
 Merry Wives, act 11, se. 2. 
 (4) Bassanio. Here are sever’d lips 
 Parted with Sugar breath ; so sweet a bar 
 Should sunder such sweet friends. 
 Merchant of Venice, act iii, se. 2. 
 (5) Touchstone. Honesty coupled to beauty is to have honey a 
 sauce to Sugar. As You Like it, act iii, se. 3. 
 (6) Northumberland. Your fair discourse hath been as Sugar, 
 
 Making the hard way sweet and delectable. 
 Richard I, act ii, sc. 3. 
 (7) Clown. T.et me see,—what am I to buy for our sheep- 
 shearing feast? Three pounds of Sugar, five pounds 
 of Currants. Winter's Tale, act iv, se. 2, 
 (8) King Henry. You have witchcraft in your lips, Kate; there 
 is more eloquence in a Sugar touch of them than in the 
 tongues of the French Council. = Henry VSBCtvi 8Gn.9) 
 
 Q 
 
226 
 
 (9) Queen Margaret. Poor painted Queen, vain flourish of my 
 fortune, 
 Why strew’st thou Sugar on that bottled spider, 
 Whose deadly web ensnareth thee about ? 
 Richard IT, act i, se. 3. 
 (10) Gloucester. Your grace attended to the Sugared words, 
 And looked not on the poison of their heart. 
 Lbid., act iii, sc. 1. 
 (11) Polontus. We are oft to blame in tlis— 
 Tis too much proved—that with devotion’s visage 
 And pious actions we do Sugar o’er 
 The devil himself. Hamilet, ect iii, se. 1. 
 (12) Brabantio. . These sentences to Sugar or to gall, 
 Being strong on both sides, are equivocal. 
 Othello, act i, se. 38. 
 (18) Zimon. And never learned 
 The very precepts of respect, but followed 
 The Sugar’d game before them. 
 Timon of Athens, act iv, se. 3. 
 (14) Pucelle. By fair persuasion and by Sugar’d words 
 We will entice the Duke and Burgundy. 
 1st Henry VI, act 1, se. 3. 
 (15) King Henry. Wide not thy passion with such Sugar’d words. 
 2nd Henry VI, act ii, se. 2. 
 (16) Prince Henry. One poor pennyworth of Sugar-candy, to 
 make thee long-winded. lst Henry 1V, act iii, se. 3. 
 
 As a pure vegetable, though manufactured, product, sugar 
 cannot be passed over in an account of the plants of Shakes- 
 peare; but it will not be necessary to say much about it. 
 Yet the history of the migrations of the sugar-plant is suffi- 
 ciently interesting to call for a short notice. 
 
 Its original home seems to have been in the East Indies, 
 whence it was imported in very early times. It is probably 
 the ‘sweet cane’ of the Bible; and among Classical writers 
 it isnamed by Strabo, Lucan, Varro, Seneca, Dioscorides, and 
 Pliny. The plant issaid to have been introduced into Europe 
 during the Crusades, and to have been cultivated in the 
 Morea, Rhodes, Malta, Sicily, and Spain. By the Spaniards 
 it was taken first to Madeira and the Cape de Verd Islands, . 
 and, very soon after the discovery of America, to the West 
 Indies. There it soon grew rapidly, and increased enor- 
 mously, and became a chief article of commerce, so that 
 though we now almost look upon it as entirely a New-World 
 plant, it is in fact but a stranger there, that has found a 
 most congenial home. 
 
227 
 
 In Shakespeare’s time Sugar must have been very com- 
 mon,* or it could not so largely have worked its way into the 
 common English language and proverbial expressions; and 
 it must also have been very cheap, or it could not so entirely 
 have superseded the use of honey, which in earlier times 
 must have been the only sweetening material. 
 
 Shakespeare may have seen the living plant, for it was 
 grown as a curiosity in his day, though Gerarde could not 
 succeed with it—* Myself did plant some shootes thereof in 
 my garden, and some in Flanders did the like, but the 
 coldness of our clymate made an end of myne, and I think 
 the Flemmings will have the like profit of their labour,’ 
 But he bears testimony to the large use of sugar in his day ; 
 “of the juice of the reede is made the most pleasant and 
 profitable sweet called sugar, whereof is made infinite confec- 
 tions, sirupes, and such like, as also preserving and conserving 
 of sundrie frnits, herbes, and flowers, as roses, violets, rosemary 
 flowers and such like.” 
 
 SWEET MARJORAM (see MAnsoraM). 
 
 SYCAMORE. 
 (1) Desdemona (singing). A poor soul sat sighing by a Sycamore 
 tree. Othello, act iv, se. 3. 
 
 (2) Benvolio. Underneath the grove of Sycamore 
 That westward roveth from the city’s side, 
 So early walking did I see your son. 
 Romeo and Juliet, act i, se. 1. 
 (3) Boyet. Under the cool shade of a Sycamore 
 
 1 thought to close mine eyes for half an hour. 
 Love's Labours Lost, act v, sc. 2. 
 
 In its botanical relationship, the Sycamore is closely allied 
 to the Maple, and was often called the Great Maple, and is 
 still so called in Scotland. It is not indigenous in Great 
 Britain, but it has long been naturalized among us, and has 
 
 * Tt is mentioned by Chaucer ;--- 
 Gyngerbred that was so fyn. 
 And licorys and eck comyn 
 With Sugre that is trye.—Tule of Sir Thopas. 
 
228 
 
 taken so kindly to our soil and climate that it is one of our 
 commonest trees. | 
 
 The history of the name is curious. The Sycomore, or 
 Zicamine tree of the Bible and of Theophrastus and J)iosco- 
 rides, is the Fig-mulberry, a large handsome tree indigenous 
 in Africa and Syria, and largely planted, partly for the sake 
 of its fruit, and especially for the delicious shade it gives. 
 With this tree the early English writers were not acquainted, 
 but they found the name in the Bible, and applied it to any 
 shade-giving tree. Thus in A‘lfric’s Vocabulary in the tenth 
 century it is given to the Aspen—*“ Sicomorus vel celsa eps.” 
 Chaucer gives the name to some hedge shrub, but he probably 
 used it for any thick shrub, without any very special distine- 
 tion— 
 
 The hedge also that yedde in compas 
 And closed in all the greene herbere 
 With sicamour was del and eglateere, 
 Wrethen in fere so well and cunningly 
 That every branch and leafe grew by measure 
 Plaine as a bord, of an height by and by. 
 The Flower and the Leaf. 
 
 Our Sycamore would be very ill suited to make the sides 
 and roof of an arbour, but before the time of Shakespeare it 
 seems certain that the name was attached to our present tree, 
 and it is so called by Gerarde and Parkinson. 
 
 ‘The Sycamore is chiefly planted for its rapid growth rather 
 than for its beauty. It becomes a handsome tree when fully 
 grown, but as a young treé it is stiff and heavy, and at all 
 times it is so infested with honeydew as to make it unfit for 
 planting on lawns or near paths. It grows well in the north, 
 where other trees will not well flourish, and “ we frequently 
 meet with the tree apart in the fields, or unawares in remote 
 localities amidst the Lammermuirs and the Cheviots, where 
 it is the surviving witness of the former existence of a hamlet 
 there. Hence to the botanical rambler it has a more melan- 
 choly character than the Yew. It throws him back on past 
 days, when he who planted the tree was the owner of the land 
 and of the Hall, and whose name and race are forgotten even 
 by tradition. . . . And there is reasonable pride in the 
 ancestry when a grove of old gentlemanly Sycamores still 
 shadows the Hall.”—Johnstone. But these old Sycamores 
 were not planted only for beauty: they were sometimes 
 planted for a very unpleasant use. ‘They were used by the 
 most powerful barons in the west of Scotland for hanging 
 
229 
 
 their enemies and refractory vassals on, and for this reason 
 were called dool or grief trees. Of these there are three yet 
 standing, the most memorable being one near the fine old 
 castle of Cassilis, one of the seats of the Marquis of Ailsa, on 
 the banks of the River Doon. It was used by the family 
 of Kennedy, who were the most powerful barons of the west 
 of Scotland, for the purpose above mentioned.”’—Johns. 
 
 The wood of the Sycamore is useful for turning and a few 
 other purposes, but is not very durable. The sap, as in all 
 the Maples, is full of sugar, and the pollen is very curious ; 
 “it appears globular in the microscope, but if it be touched 
 with anything moist, the globules burst open with four valves, 
 and then they appear in the form of a cross.”—Miller. 
 
 THISTLE (see also HoLy THISTLE). 
 
 (1) Burgundy. And nothing teems 
 
 . But hateful Docks, rough Thistles, Kecksies, Burs. 
 Henry V, act v, se. 2. 
 (2) Bottom. Good, Monsieur Cobweb, good, monsieur; get 
 your weapons ready in your hand, and kill me a good 
 red-hipped humble bee on the top of a Thistle, and, 
 
 good monsieur, bring me the honey-bag. 
 
 Midsummer Night's Dream, act iv, sc. 1. 
 
 Thistle is the old English name for a large family of plants 
 occurring chiefly in Europe and Asia, of which we have four- 
 teen species in Great Britain, arranged under the botanical 
 families of Carlina, Carduus, and Onopordon. It is the 
 recognised symbol of untidiness and carelessness, being found 
 not so much in barren ground as in good ground not properly 
 eared for. So good a proof of arich soil does the Thistle 
 give, that a saying is attributed to a blind man who was 
 choosing a piece of land—“ Take me to a Thistle;” and 
 Tusser says— 
 
 Much wetness, hog-rooting, and land out of heart 
 Makes Thistles a number forthwith to upstart ; 
 If Thistles so growing prove lusty and long, 
 It signifieth land to be hearty and strong. 
 October's Husbandry. 
 
 If the Thistles were not so common, and if we could get rid 
 
230 
 
 of the associations they suggest, there are probably few of our 
 wild plants that we should more admire: they are stately in 
 their foliage and habit, and some of their flowers are rich in 
 colour, and the Thistledown, which carries the seed far and 
 wide, is very beautiful, and was once considered useful as a 
 sign of rain, for “if the down flyeth off Coltsfoot, Dandelyon, 
 or Thistles when there is no winde, it is a signe of rain.”— 
 Coles. 
 Tt had still another use in rustic divination— 
 
 Upon the various earth’s embroidered gown, 
 
 There is a weed upon whose head grows down, 
 
 Sow Thistle ’tis y’clept, whose downy wreath 
 
 If anyone can blow off at a breath 
 
 We deem her for a maid,—Brownr’s Brit. Past., 1, 4. 
 
 But it is owing to these pretty Thistledowns that the plant 
 becomes a most undesirable neighbour, for they carry the 
 seed everywhere, and wherever it is carried, it soon vegetates, 
 and a fine crop of Thistles very quickly follows. In this way, 
 if left to themselves, the Thistles will soon monopolize a 
 large extent of country, to the extinction of other plants, as 
 they have done in parts of the American prairies, and as they 
 did in Australia, till a most stringent Act of Parliament was 
 passed about twenty years ago, imposing heavy penalties upon 
 all who neglected to destroy the Thistles on their land. For 
 these reasons we cannot admit the Thistle into the garden, at 
 least not our native Thistles; but there are some foreigners 
 which may well be admitted. There are the handsome yellow 
 Thistles of the South of Europe (Scolymus), which besides 
 their beauty have a classical interest. “ Hesiod elegantly 
 describing the time of year, says, 
 
 7/406 OE okoAujoc rv avet, 
 
 when the Scolymus flowers, ¢. ¢. in hot weather or summer— 
 (Op: et dies 582). This plant crowned with its golden 
 flowers is abundant throughout Sicily.”—Hogg’s Classical 
 Plants of Sicily. There is the Fish-bone Thistle (Chame- 
 peuce diacantha) from Syria, a very handsome plant, and, 
 like most of the Thistles, a biennial; but if allowed to flower 
 and go to seed, it will produce plenty of seedlings for a 
 succession of years. And there isa grand scarlet Thistle from 
 Mexico, the Erythrolena conspicua (Sweet, vol. ii, p. 134), 
 which must be almost the handsomest of the family, and 
 which was grown in England fifty years ago, but has been 
 long lost. There are many others that may deserve a place 
 
231 
 
 as ornamental plants, but they find little favour, for ‘ they 
 are only Thistles.” 
 
 Any notice of the Thistle would be imperfect without 
 some mention of the Scotch Thistle. It is the one point in 
 the history of the plant that protects it from contempt. We 
 dare not despise a plant which is the honoured badge of our 
 neighbours and relations, the Scotch; which is ennobled as 
 the symbol of the Order of the Thistle, that claims to be the 
 most antient of all our Orders of high honour; and which 
 defies you to insult it or despise it by its proud mottoes, 
 ‘““Nemo me impune lacessit,” “Ce que Dieu garde, est bien 
 gardé.” What is the true Scotch Thistle even the Scotch 
 antiquarians cannot decide, and in the uncertainty it is 
 perhaps safest to say that no Thistle in particular can claim 
 the sole honour, but that it extends to every member of the 
 family that can be found in Scotland. 
 
 Shakespeare hus noticed the love of the bee for the 
 Thistle, and it seems that it is for other purposes than honey 
 gathering that he finds the Thistle useful. For “a beauty 
 has the Thistle, when every delicate hair arrests a dew-drop 
 on a showery April morning, and when the purple blossom 
 of a roadside Thistle turns its face to Heaven and welcomes 
 the wild bee, who lies close upon its flowerets on the approach 
 of some storm cloud until its shadow be past away. For 
 with unerring instinct the bee well knows that the darkness 
 is but for a moment, and that the sun will shine out again 
 ere long.”—Lady Wilkinson. 
 
 THORNS. 
 
 (1) Ariel. Through toothed Briars, sharp Furzes, pricking 
 Goss and Thorns, 
 Which entered their frail skins, Zempest, activ, sc. 1. 
 
 (2) Quinec. Some one must come in with a bush of Thorns and 
 a lanthorn, and say he comes in to disfigure or to 
 present the person of Moonshine. 
 
 Midsummer Night’s Dream, act iu, se. 1. 
 
 (3) Puck. For Briars and Thorns at their apparel snatch. 
 
 Ihid., act 111, se. 2. 
 
 (4) Prologue. This man with lanthorn, dog, and bush of Thorns, 
 
 presenteth moonshine. Lbid., act v, se. 1. 
 
232 
 
 (5) Thorn. All that I have to tell you is that the lanthorn is 
 the moon; I the man in the moon; this Thorn bush, 
 my Thorn bush; this dog, my dog. Lbid. 
 
 (6) Dumain. But alack! my hand is sworn 
 
 Never to pluck thee from the Thorn. 
 Love's Labours Lost, act 1v, sc. 3. 
 
 (7) Carlisle. The woe’s to come; the children yet unborn 
 
 Shall feel this day as sharp to them as Thorns. 
 Richard I, act iv, se. 1. 
 
 (8) King Henry. The care you have of us 
 To mow down Thorns that would annoy our foot 
 Is worthy praise. 2nd Henry VI, act iu, se. 1. 
 
 (9) Gloucester. And I, like one lost in a Thorny wood, 
 That rends the Thorns and is rent with the Thorns, 
 Secking a way, and straying from the way. 
 3rd Henry Vi, act i, se. 2. 
 (10) King Edward. Brave followers, yonder stands the Thorny 
 wood. Ibid., act v, se. 5. 
 (11) King Edward. What! can so young a Thorn begin to prick. 
 LIbid., act v, sce. 4. 
 (12) Romeo. Is love a tender thing? It is too rough, 
 Too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like Thorn. 
 Romeo and Juliet, act i, sc. 4. 
 (18) Bowlt, A Thornier piece of ground. 
 Pericles, act iv, se. 6. 
 (14) Leontes. Which being spotted 
 Is goads, Thorns, Nettles, tails of wasps. 
 Winter's Tale, act i, sc. 2. 
 (15) Florio. But O, the Thorns we stand upon. 
 Ibid., act iv, se. 3. 
 (16) Ophelia. Do not, as some ungracious pastors do, 
 Shew me the steep and Thorny path to Heaven. 
 Hamlet, act i, sc. 5. 
 
 (17) Ghost. Leave her to Heaven, 
 
 And to those Thorns that in her bosom lodge 
 
 To prick and sting her. Ibid., act i, se. 5. 
 (18) Bastard. Iam amazed, methinks; and lose my way 
 
 Among the Thorns and dangers of this world. 
 
 King John, act iv, se. 3. 
 (See also Rost Nos. 7, 18, 22, 30, the scene in the Temple 
 gardens, and Brier No. 11). 
 
 Thorns and Thistles are the typical emblems of desolation 
 and trouble, and so Shakespeare uses them; and had he 
 
233 
 
 spoken of Thorns in this sense only, I should have been 
 doubtful as to admitting them among his other plants, but 
 as in some of the passages they stand for the Hawthorn tree 
 and the Rose bush, I could not pass them by altogether. 
 They might need no furtber comment beyond referring 
 for further information about them to Hawthorn, Briar, 
 Rose, and Bramble; but in speaking of the Bramble I 
 mentioned the curious legend which tells why the Bramble 
 employs itself in collecting wool from every stray sheep, and 
 there is another very curious instance in Blount’s Antient 
 Tenures of a connection between Thorns and wool. The 
 original decument is given in Latin, and is dated 39th 
 Henry III. It may be thus translated:—‘* Peter de Baldwyn 
 holds in Combes, in the county of Surrey, by the service to go 
 a wool gathering for our Lady the Queen among the White 
 Thorns, and if he refuses to gather it he shall pay into the 
 Treasury of our Lord the King xxs. per annum.” I should 
 almost suspect a false reading, as the editor is inclined to 
 do, but that many other services, equally curious and im- 
 probable, may easily be found. 
 
 THYME. 
 
 (1) Oberon. I know a bank whereon the wild Thyme grows. 
 Midsummer Night’s Dream, act ii, se. 2. 
 (2) Lago. We will plant Nettles or sow Lettuce, set Hyssop 
 and weed up Thyme. 
 Othello, act i, sc. 3. (See Hyssop). 
 
 It is one of the most curious of the curiosities of English 
 plaut names that the Wild Thyme—a plant so common and 
 so widely distributed, and that makes itself so easily known 
 by its fine aromatic, pungent scent, that it is almost im- 
 possible to pass it by without notice—has yet no English 
 name, and seems never to have had one. Thyme is the 
 Anglicised form of the Greek and Latin Thymum, which 
 name it probably got from its use for incense in sacrifices, 
 while its other name of serpyllum pointed out its creeping 
 habit. I do not know when the word Thyme was first 
 introduced into the English language, for it is another 
 curious point connected with the name, that thymum does 
 
234 
 
 not occur in the old English vocabularies. We have in 
 Elfrie’s Vocabulary, “ Pollegia, hyl-wyrt,” which may per- 
 haps be the Thyme, though it is generally supposed to be 
 the Pennyroyal; we have in a vocabulary of the thirteenth 
 century, ‘“‘ Epitime, epithimum, fordboh,” which also may be 
 the Wild Thyme; we have in a vocabulary of the fifteenth 
 century, “Hoe sirpillum, A® petergrys;” and in a pictorial 
 vocabulary of the same date, “ Hoe cirpillum, A°® a pellek” 
 (which word is probably a misprint, for in the Promptorvwm 
 Parvulorum, ce. 1440, it is “ Peletyr, herbe, serpillum 
 prretrum), both of which are almost certainly the Wild 
 Thyme ; while in an Anglo-Saxon vocabulary of the tenth or 
 eleventh century we have ‘serpulum, crop-leac,” 7.¢., the 
 Onion, which must certainly be a mistake of the compiler. 
 So that not even in its Latin form does the name occur, except 
 in the Promptorium Parvulorum, where it is “Tyme, 
 herbe, Tima, Timum—Tyme, floure, Timus.” And it is 
 thus a puzzle how it can have got naturalized among us, for 
 in Shakespeare’s time it was completely naturalised. I have 
 already quoted Lord Bacon’s account of it under BuRNET, but 
 I must quote it again here :—-‘ Those flowers which perfume 
 the air most delightfully, not passed by as the rest, but 
 being trodden upon and crushed, are three, that is Burnet, 
 Wild Thyme, and Watermints; therefore you are to set 
 whole alleys of them, to have the pleasure when you walk or 
 tread ;” and again in his pleasant description of the heath or 
 wild garden, which he would have in every * prince-like 
 garden,” and “framed as much as may be to a natural 
 wildness,” he says, “I like also little heaps, in the nature of 
 mole-hills (such as are in wild heaths) to be set some with 
 Wild Thyme, some with Pinks, some with Germander.” 
 Yet the name may have been used sometimes as a general 
 name for any wild, strong-scented plant. It can only be in 
 this sense that Milton used it. 
 
 Thee, shepherd! thee the woods and desert caves, 
 
 With Wild Thyme and the gadding Vine o’ergrown, 
 
 And all their echoes mourn. Lyevdas. 
 
 for certainly a desert cave is almost the last place in which 
 we should look for the true Wild Thyme. 
 
 It is as a bee-plant especially that the Thyme has always 
 been celebrated. Spenser speaks of it as “the bees-alluring 
 Tyme,’ and Ovid says of it, speaking of Chloris or Flora— 
 
 Mella meum munus; volucres egu mella daturos 
 Ad violam et cytisos, et thyma cana voco; Fasti, v. 
 
235 
 
 so that the thyme became proverbial as the symbol of sweet~- 
 ness. It was the highest compliment that the shepherd 
 could pay to his mistress— 
 
 Nerine Galatea, thymo mihi dulcior Hyble. 
 Virgil, Wel. vii. 
 
 And it was because of its wild Thyme that Mount Hymettus 
 became so celebrated for its honey—* Mella thymi redolentia 
 flore” (Ovid). “Thyme, for the time it lasteth, yeeldeth 
 most and best honni, and therefore in old time was accounted 
 chief (Thymus aptissimus ad mellificum—Pastus gratissimus 
 apibus Thymum est (Plinii His. Nat.) 
 Dum thymo pascentur apes, dum rore cicade. 
 Virgil, Georg. 
 
 Hymettus in Greece and Hybla in Sicily were so famous for 
 Bees and Honni, because there grew such store of Tyme; 
 propter hoe Siculum mel fert palmam, quod ibi thymum 
 bonum et frequens est” (Varro).—The Feminine Monarchie, 
 1634. 
 
 The wild Thyme can scarcely be considered a garden 
 plant,’ except in its variegated and golden varieties, which 
 are very handsome, but if it should ever come naturally in 
 the turf, it should be welcomed and cherished for its sweet 
 scent. The garden Thyme (T. vulgaris) must of course be 
 in every herb garden; and there are a few species which 
 make good plants for the reckwork, such as T. lanceolatus 
 from Greece, a very low-growing shrub, with narrow, pointed 
 leaves; T. carnosus, which makes a pretty little shrub, and 
 others; while the Corsican Thyme (Mentha requieni) is 
 perhaps the lowest and closest-growing of all herbs, making 
 a dark-green covering to the soil, and having a very strong 
 scent, though more resembling Peppermint than Thyme. 
 
 TOADSTOOLS (see MUSHROOMS). 
 
236 
 
 TURNIPS. 
 
 Anne. Alas! I had rather be set quick in the earth and bowled 
 
 to death with Turnips. 
 Merry Wives of Windsor, act ii, se. 4. 
 
 The Turnips of Shakespeare’s time were like ours, and 
 probably as good, though their cultivation seems to have 
 been chiefly confined to gardens. It is not very certain 
 whether the cultivated Turnip is the wild Turnip improved 
 in England by cultivation, or whether we are indebted for it 
 to the Romans, and that the wild one is only the degenerate 
 form of the cultivated plant; for though the wild Turnip is 
 admitted into the English flora, yet its right to the admission 
 is very doubtful. But if we did not get the vegetable from 
 the Romans we got its name. The old name for it was nep, 
 nep, or neps, which was only the English form of the Latin 
 napus, while Turnip is the corruption of terra napus, but 
 when the first syllable was added I do not know. There is 
 a curious perversion in the name, for our Turnip is botanically 
 Brassica rapa, while the Rape 1s Brassica napus, so that the 
 English and Latin have changed places, the Napus becoming 
 a Rape and the Rapa a Nep. 
 
 The present large field cultivation of Turnips is of com- 
 paratively a modern date, though the field Turnips and 
 garden Turnips are only varieties of the same species, while 
 there are also many varieties both of the field and garden 
 Turnips. “ One field proclaims the Scotch variety, while the 
 pluer cast tells its hardy Swedish origin ; the tankard pro- 
 claims a deep soil, and the lover of boiled mutton, rejoicing, 
 sees the yellower tint of the Dutch or Stone Turnip, which he 
 desires to meet with again in the market.” —Phillips. 
 
 It is not very easy to speak of the moral qualities of Turnips, 
 or to make them the symbols of much virtue, yet Gwillim did 
 so: “ He beareth sable, a Turnip proper, a chief or gutte de 
 Larmes. This is a wholesome root, and yieldeth great relief 
 to the poor, and prospereth pest in a hot sandy ground, and 
 may signifie a person of good disposition, whose vertuous 
 demeanour flourisheth most prosperously, even in that soil, 
 where the searching heat of envy most aboundeth. ‘This 
 differeth much in nature from that whereof it is said, ‘And 
 that there should not be among you any root that bringeth 
 forth gall and wormwood.’ ”—Gwillim’s Heraldry, sec. 111, 
 
 pada 
 
VETCHES. 
 
 Tris. Ceres, most bounteous lady, thy rich leas 
 Of Wheat, Rye, Barley, Vetches, Oats, and Peas. 
 Tempest, act iv, se. 1. 
 
 The cultivated Vetch (Vicia sativa) is probably not a 
 British plant, and it is not very certain to what country it 
 rightly belongs; but it was very probably introduced into 
 England by the Romans as an excellent and easily-grown 
 fodder-plant. There are several Vetches that are true British 
 plants, and they are among the most. beautiful ornaments of 
 our lanes and hedges. ‘T'wo especially deserve to take a place 
 in the garden for their beauty; but they require watching, or 
 they will scramble into parts where their presence is not 
 desirable; these are V. craccaand V. sylvatica. V. cracca has 
 a very bright pure blue flower, and may be allowed to scramble 
 over low bushes; V. sylvatica is a tall climber, and may be 
 seen In copses and high hedges climbing to the tops of the 
 Hazels and other tall bushes. It is one of the most graceful 
 of our British plants, and perhaps quite the most graceful of 
 our climbers; it bears an abundance of flowers, which are 
 pure white streaked and spotted with pale blue; it is nota 
 very common plant, but I have often seen it in Gloucester- 
 shire and Somersetshire, and wherever it is found it is gene- 
 rally in abundance. 
 
 The other name for the Vetch is Tares, which is, no doubt, 
 an old English word that has never been satisfactorily ex- 
 plained. The word has an interest from its biblical asso- 
 ciations, though modern scholars decide that the Zizania is 
 wrongly translated Tares, and that it is rather a bastard 
 Wheat or Darnel. 
 
 VINES. 
 
 (1) Zetania. Feed him with Apricocks and Dewberries, 
 With purple Grapes, green Figs, and Mulberries. 
 Midsummer Night's Dream, act iti, se. 1. 
 (2) Menenius. The tartness of his face sours ripe Grapes. 
 Cortolanus, act v, se. 4. 
 
238 
 
 (3) Song. Come, thou monarch of the Vine, 
 Plumpy Bacchus, with pink eyne, 
 In thy vats our cares be drowned, 
 With thy Grapes our hairs be crowned. 
 Antony and Cleopatra, act ii, se. 7. 
 
 (4) Cleopatra. Now no more 
 The juice of Egypt’s Grape shall moist this lip. 
 Ibid, act v, se. 2. 
 (5\ Timon. Dry up thy Marrows, Vines, and plough-torn leas. 
 Timon of Athens, act iv, se. 3. 
 
 (6) Zimon. Go, suck the subtle blood of the Grape, 
 Till the high fever seethe your blood to froth. bid. 
 
 (7) Touchstone. The heathen philosopher, when he had a desire 
 to eat a Grape, would open his lips when he put it into 
 his mouth, meaning thereby that Grapes were made to 
 
 eat and lips to open. As You Lrke lt, act v, sc. 1. 
 (8) Jago. Blessed Fig’s end—the wine she drinks is made of 
 Grapes. Othello, act ui, se. 1. 
 
 (9) Zafeu. ©, will you eat no Grapes, my royal fox ? 
 Yes, but you will my noble Grapes, an if 
 My royal fox could reach them. 
 All’s Well that Ends Well, act ui, se. 1. 
 
 (10) Lafeu. There’s one Grape yet. Tbid., act ii, se. 3. 
 (11) Clown. Iwas in ‘The Bunch of Grapes,” where, indeed, 
 you have a delight to sit. 
 Measure for Measure, act ii, se. 1. 
 (12) Constable. : Let us quit all 
 And give our Vineyards to a barbarous people. 
 Henry V, act iu, se. 5. 
 (13) Burgundy. . Her Vine, the merry cheerer of the heart, 
 Unpruned, dies. ; : 
 
 Our Vineyards, fallows, meads, and hedges, 
 Defective in their natures, grow to wildness. 
 Ibid., act v, se. 
 
 (14) Mortimer. And pithless arms, like to a withered Vine 
 That droops his sapless branches to the ground. 
 lst Henry VJ, act il, se. 
 
 (15) Cranmer. In her days every man shall eat in safety 
 Under his own Vine what he plants, and sing 
 The merry songs of peace to all his neighbours. 
 Henry VII, act v, se. 4. 
 
 (16) Cranmer. Peace, plenty, love, truth, terror, 
 That were the servants to this chosen infant, 
 Shall then be his, and like a Vine grow to him. = _Ldzd. 
 
 bo 
 
 Or 
 
239 
 
 (17) Lear. Now our joy, 
 Although the last, not least ; to whose young love 
 The Vines of France and miJk of Burgundy 
 Strive to be interessed. _ King Lear, act i, se. 
 (18) Arviragus. And let the stinking Elder, grief, entwine 
 His perishing root with the increasing Vine. 
 Cymbeline, act iv, sc. 
 (19) Adriana. Thou art an Elm, my husband, I a Vine, 
 Whose weakness married to thy stronger state 
 Makes me with thy strength to communicate. 
 Comedy of Errors, act ii, se. 2. 
 (20) Gonzalo. Bound of land, tilth, Vineyard, none. 
 Tempest, act li, se. 1. 
 
 ny 
 e 
 
 to 
 
 (21) Lros. Thy pole-clipt Vineyard. Lbid., act iv, se. 1. 
 (22) Ceres. Vines with clustering bunches growing, 
 
 Plants with goodly burden bowing. Lbid. 
 (23) Lichmond. The usurping boar, 
 
 That spoils your summer fields and fruitful Vines. 
 ftichard IT, act v, se. 2. 
 (24) Isabella. He hath a garden circummured with brick, 
 Whose western side is with a Vineyard back’d ; 
 And to that Vineyard is a planched gate, 
 That makes his opening with this bigger key : 
 This other doth command a little door, 
 Which from the Vineyard to the garden leads. 
 Measure for Measure, act iv, sc. 1. 
 (25) For one sweet Grape, who will the Vine destroy ? 
 Lape of Luecrece. 
 
 Besides these different references to the Grape Vine, some 
 of its various products are mentioned, as Raisins,* wine, aqua- 
 vite or brandy, claret (the “thin potations” forsworn by 
 Falstaff ), sherris-sack or sherry, and malmsey. But none of 
 these passages gives us much insight into the culture of the 
 Vine in England, the whole history of which is curious and 
 interesting. 
 
 The Vine is not even a native of Europe, but of the East, 
 whence it was very early introduced into Europe ; so early, 
 indeed, that it has recently been found “ fossil in a tufaceous 
 deposit in the south of France.’—-Darwin. It was no doubt 
 
 * Under the head of Raisins I omitted a passage in which Raisins are certainly 
 alluded to, if not actually named. In Ist Henry LV, act ii, sc. 3, Falstaff says : 
 ““Tf Reasons were as plenty as Blackberries, I would give no man a reason upon 
 compulsion, I.” ‘Tt seems that a pun underlies this; the association of reasons 
 with blackberries springing out of the fact that seasons sounded like raisins.” -- 
 BHARLE, Philology, Xe. 
 
240 
 
 brought into England by the Romans. Tacitus, describing 
 England in the first century after Christ, says expressly that 
 the Vine did not, and, as he evidently thought, could not 
 grow there. “Solum, preter oleam vitemque et cetera 
 calidioribus terris oriri sueta, patiens frugum, feecundum.” 
 Yet Bede, writing in the eighth century, describes England 
 as “opima frugibus atque arboribus insula, et alendis apta 
 pecoribus et jumentis Vineas etiam, quibusdam in locis 
 germinans.” 
 
 From that time till the time of Shakespeare there is 
 abundant proof not only of the growth of the Vine as we 
 now grow it in gardens, but in large Vineyards. In Anglo- 
 Saxon times “a Vineyard” is not unfrequently mentioned in 
 various documents. “ Edgar gives the Vineyard situated 
 at Wecet, with the Vinedressers.”—-Turner’s Anglo-Saxons. 
 “ Domesday Book contained thirty-eight entries of valuable 
 Vineyards; one in Essex consisted of six acres, and yielded 
 twenty hogsheads of wine in a good year. There was another 
 of the same extent at Ware.”— H. Evershed, in Gardeners’ 
 Chronicle. So in the Norman times, ‘Giraldus Cambrensis, 
 speaking of the Castle of Manorbeer (his birthplace), near 
 Pembroke, said that it had under its walls, besides a fish- 
 pond, a beautiful garden, enclosed on one side by a Vineyard 
 and on the other by a wood, remarkable for the projection of 
 its rocks and the height of its Hazel trees. In the twelfth 
 century Vineyards were not uncommon in England.” — 
 Wright. Neckam, writing in that century, refers to the 
 usefulness of the Vine when trained against the wall-front— 
 “ Pampinus latitudine sud excipit zeris insultus, cum res ita 
 desiderat, et fenestra clementiam evloris solaris admittat.”— 
 Hudson Turner. 
 
 In the time of Shakespeare I suppose that most of the 
 Vines in England were grown in Vineyards of more or less 
 extent, trained to poles. These formed the “ pole-clipt 
 Vineyards” of No. 21, and are thus described by Gerarde— 
 “The Vine is held up with poles and frames of wood, and by 
 that means it spreadeth all about and climbeth aloft; it 
 joyneth itselfe unto trees, or whatsoever standeth next unto 
 it”—in other words, the Vine was then chiefly grown asa 
 standard in the open ground. ) 
 
 There are numberless notices in the records and chronicles 
 of extensive vineyards in England, which it is needless to 
 quote; but it is worth noticing that the memory of these 
 Vineyards remains not only in the chronicles and in the 
 treatises which teach of Vine-culture, but also in the names 
 
241 
 
 of streets, &e., which are occasionally met with. There is 
 “Vineyard Holm,” in the Hampshire Downs; the “ Vineyard 
 Hills,” at Godalming ; the “ Vines,” at Rochester and Seven- 
 oaks; the “ Vineyards” at Bath and Ludlow; and the “ Vine 
 Fields,” near the Abbey at Bury S. Edmunds ;* and probably 
 a closer search among the names of fields in other parts 
 would bring to light many similar instances. | 
 Among the English Vineyards those of Gloucestershire 
 stood pre-eminent. William of Malmesbury, writing of 
 Gloucestershire in the twelfth century, says :—“This county 
 is planted thicker with Vineyards than any other in England, 
 more plentiful in crops, and more pleasant in flavour. For 
 the wines do not offend the mouth with sharpness, since the 
 do not yield to the French in sweetness ”—De Gestis Pontif., 
 book iv. Of these Vineyards the tradition still remains in 
 the county. The Cotswold Hills are in many places curiously 
 marked with a succession of steps or narrow terraces; these 
 are traditionally the sites of the old Vineyards, but the tradi- 
 tion cannot be fully depended on, and the formation of the 
 terraces has been variously accounted for. By some they are 
 supposed to be natural formations, but wherever I have seen 
 them they appear to me too regular and artificial; nor, as far 
 as I am aware, does the oolite, on which formation these 
 terraces mostly occur, take the form of a succession of narrow 
 terraces. ‘There seems nothing improbable in the idea that 
 the ground was artificially formed into these terraces with very 
 little labour, and that they were utilised for some special culti- 
 vation, and as likely for Vines as for any other, It is algo 
 certain that as the Gloucestershire Vineyards were among 
 the most ancient and the best in England, so they held their 
 ground till within a very recent period. I cannot find the 
 exact date, but some time during the last century there is 
 “satisfactory testimony of the full success of a plantation in 
 Cromhall Park, from which ten hogsheads of wine were made 
 in the year. The Vine plantation was discontinued or de- 
 stroyed in consequence of a dispute with the Rector on a claim 
 of the tythes.”—Rudge’s History of Gloucestershire. This, 
 however, is not quite the latest notice I have met with, for 
 Phillips, writing in 1820, says :—* There are several flourish- 
 ing Vineyards at this time in Somersetshire; the late Sir 
 
 * At Stonehouse ‘‘there are two arpens of Vineyard.”— Domesday Book, quoted 
 by Rudder. Also “the Vineyard” was the residence of the Abbots of Gloucester. 
 It was at St. Mary de Lode near Gloucester, and “the Vineyard and Park were 
 given to the Bishopric of Gloucester at its foundation and again confirmed 6th 
 Edward VI.”—Rupp_Enr. 
 
 R 
 
242 
 
 William Basset, in that county, annually made some hogs- 
 heads of wine, which was palatable and well-bodied. The 
 idea that we cannot make good wine from our own Grares is 
 erroneous; I have tasted it quite equal to the Grave wines, 
 and in some instances, when kept for eight or ten years, it 
 has been drunk as hock by the nicest judges.”—Pomarium 
 Britannicum. It would have been been more satisfactory if 
 Mr. Phillips had told us the exact locality of any of these 
 “flourishing Vineyards,” for I can nowhere else find any 
 account of them. At present the experiment is again being 
 tried by the Marquis of Bute, at Castle Coch, near Cardiff, to 
 establish a Vineyard, not to produce fruit for the market, 
 but to preduce wine; and as both soil and climate seem very 
 suitable, there can be little doubt that wine will be produced 
 of a very fair character. Whether it will be a commercial 
 success is more doubtful, but probably that is not of much 
 consequence. 
 
 I have dwelt at some length on the subject of the English 
 Vineyards, because the cultivation of the Vine in Vineyards, 
 like the cultivation of the Saffron, is a curious instance of an 
 industry foreign to the soil introduced, and apparently for 
 many years successful, and then entirely, or almost so, given 
 up. ‘The reasons for the cessation of the English Vineyards 
 are not far to seek. Some have attributed it to a change in 
 the seasons, and have supposed that our summers were 
 formerly hotter than they are now, bringing asa proof the 
 Vineyards and English-made wine of other days. This was 
 Parkinson’s idea. ‘Our yeares in these times do not fall out 
 to be so kindly and hot to ripen the Grape to make any good 
 wine as formerly they have done.” But this is a mere asser- 
 tion, and I believe it not to be true. I have little doubt 
 that quite as good wine could now be made in England as 
 ever was made, and wine is still made every year in many 
 old-fashioned farmhouses. But foreign wines can now be 
 produced much better and much cheaper, and that his caused 
 the cessation of the English Vineyards. It is true that 
 French and Spanish wines were introduced into England very 
 early, but it must have been in limited quantities, and at a 
 high price. When the quantities increased and the price was 
 lowered, it was well to give up the cultivation of the Vine for 
 some more certain crop better suited to the soil and the 
 climate, for it must always have been a capricious and 
 uncertain crop. Hakluyt was one who was very anxious that 
 Engiand should supply herself with all the necessaries of life 
 without dependence on foreign countries, yet, writing in 
 
243 
 
 Shakespeare’s time, he says:—“It is sayd that since we 
 traded to Zante, that the plant that beareth the Coren is also 
 broughte into this realme from thence, and although it bring 
 not fruit to perfection, yet it may serve for pleasure, and for 
 some use, like as our Vines doe which we cannot well spare, 
 although the climat so colde will not permit us to have good 
 wines of them.”—Voiages, &c., vol. ii, 166. Parkinson says 
 to the same effect— “ Many have’ adventured to make Vine- 
 yards in England, not only in these later days but in ancient 
 times, as may well witness the sundry places in this land, 
 entituled by the name of Vineyards, and I have read that 
 many monasteries in this kingdom having Vineyards had as 
 much wine made therefrom as sufficed their convents year by 
 year, but long since they have been destroyed, and the know- 
 ledge how to order a Vineyard is also utterly perished with 
 them. For although divers both nobles and gentlemen have 
 in these later times endeavoured to plant and make Vine- 
 yards, and to that purpose have caused Frenchmen, being 
 skilfull in keeping and dressing Vines, to be brought over to 
 perform it, yet either their skill faileth them or their Vines 
 were not good, or (the most likely) the soil was not fitting, 
 for they could never make any wine that was worth the 
 drinking, being so small and heartlesse, that they soon gave 
 over their practise.” 
 
 There is no need to say anything of the modern culture of 
 the Vine, or its many excellent varieties. Even in Virgil's 
 time the varieties cultivated were so many that he said— 
 
 Sed neque quam multe species, nec nomina que sint 
 Est numerus ; neque enim numero comprendere refert ; 
 Quem qui scire velit, Lybici velit equoris idem 
 Discere quam multe Zephyro turbentur arene ; 
 Aut ubi navigiis violentior incidit Eurus 
 Nosse quot Ionii veniant ad littora fluctus. 
 Georgica, ii, 103 
 
 And now the number must far exceed those of Virgil’s 
 time. “The cultivated varieties are extremely numerous; 
 Count Odart says that he will not de1y that there may exist 
 throughout the world 700 or 800, perhaps even 1,000 varie- 
 ties; but not a third of these have any value.”—Darwin. 
 These are the Grapes that are grown in our hothouses; some 
 also of a fine qnality are produced in favourable years out-of- 
 doors. ‘There are also a few which are grown as ornamental 
 shrubs. The Parsley-leaved Vine (Vitis laciniosa) is one 
 that has been grown in England, certainly since the time 
 of Shakespeare, for its pretty foliage, its fruit being small 
 
 Re 
 
244 
 
 and few; it makes a pretty covering to a wall or trellis. 
 The small Variegated Vine (Vitis or Cissus heterophyllus 
 variegatus) is another very pretty Vine, forming a small 
 bush that may be either trained to a wall or grown as a 
 low rockwork bush; it bears a few Grapes of no value, and is 
 perfectly hardy. Besides these there are several North 
 American species, which have handsome foliage, and are 
 very hardy, of which the Vitis riparia or Vigne des Battures 
 is a desirable tree, as “the flowers have an exquisitely-fine 
 smell, somewhat resembling that of Mignonette.”—Don. 
 I mention this particularly, because in all the old authors 
 great stress is laid on the sweetness of the Vine in all its 
 parts, a point of excellence in it which is now generally 
 overlooked. Lord Bacon reckons “ Vine flowers” among 
 the “things of beauty in season” in May and June, and 
 reckons among the most sweet-scented flowers, next to Musk 
 Roses and Strawberry leaves dying, “the flower of the 
 Vines; it is a little dust, like the dust of a bent, which 
 erows among the cluster in the first coming forth.” And 
 Chaucer says—*“Scorners faren like the foul toode, that 
 may noughte endure the soote smel of the Vine roote when 
 it flourisheth.”— The Persone’s Tale. 
 
 Nor must we dismiss the Vine without a few words respec- 
 ing its sacred associations, for it is very much to these asso- 
 ciations that it has been so endeared to our forefathers and 
 ourselves. Having its native home in the Kast, it enters 
 largely into the history and imagery of the Bible. There is 
 no plant so often mentioned in the Bible, and always with 
 honour, till the honour culminates in the one great simili- 
 tude, in which our Lord chose the Vine as the one only plant 
 to which He condescended to compure Himself-—* I am the 
 true Vine!” No wonder that a plant so honoured should 
 ever have been the symbol of joy and plenty, of national 
 peace and domestic happiness. 
 
 VIOLETS. 
 1) Queen. The Violets, Cowslips, and the Primroses, 
 Bear to my closet. Cymbeline, act 1, se. 6. 
 2) Angelo. It is I, 
 
 That, lying by the Violet in the sun, 
 Do as the carrion does, not as the flower, 
 Corrupt with virtuous season. 
 Measure for Measure, act 11, se. 2° 
 
245 
 
 (3) Oberon. Where Oxlips and the nodding Violet grows. 
 Midsummer Nights Dream, act ii, se. 2. 
 
 (4) Salisbury. To gild refined gold, to paint the Lily, 
 To throw a perfume on the Violet, 
 To smooth the ice, or add another hue 
 Unto the rainbow, or with taper-hght 
 To seek the beauteous eye of Heaven to garnish, 
 Is wasteful and ridiculous excess. 
 Iting John, act iv, se. 2. 
 (5) King Henry. 1 think the king is but a man as Iam; the 
 Violet smells to him as it doth to me. 
 Henry V, act iv, se. 1. 
 (6) Zaertes. A Violet in the youth of primy nature, 
 Forward not permanent, sweet not lasting. 
 The perfume and suppliance of a minute ; 
 
 No more. Hamlet, act i, sc. 3. 
 (7) Ophelia. I would give you same Violets, but they withered 
 all when my father died. Lbid., act iv, se. 5. 
 (8) Laertes. Lay her in the earth, 
 And from her fair and unpolluted flesh 
 May Violets spring. Lhid., act v, se. 1. 
 (9) Belarius. They are as gentle 
 
 As zephyrs blowing below the Violet 
 
 Not wagging his sweet head.—Cymbeline, act iv, sc. 2. 
 (10) Duke. That strain again. It had a dying fall : 
 
 O, it came o’er my ear like the sweet south, 
 
 That breathes upon a bank of Violets, 
 
 Stealing and giving odour.—Zwelfth Night, act 1, se. 1. 
 (11) Song of Spring. When Daisies pied and Violets blue, &e, 
 
 (See Cuckoo Bups.)—Love’s Labours Lost, act v, sc. 2. 
 
 (12) Perdita. Violets dim, 
 
 But sweeter than the lids of Juno’s eyes 
 Or Cytherea’s breath. Winter's Tale, act iv, se. 3. 
 
 to 
 
 (13) Duchess. Welcome, my son—Who are the Violets now, 
 
 That strew the green lap of the new-come spring ? 
 
 Richard LI, act v, se. 2. 
 
 (14) Marina. The yellows, blues, 
 
 The purple Violets and Marygolds, 
 
 Shall as a chaplet hang upen thy grave 
 
 While summer days do last. Pericles, act iv, se. 1. 
 (15) These blue-veined Violets wnereon we lean 
 
 Never can blab, nor know not what we mean. 
 Venus and Adonis. 
 
246 
 
 (16) Who when he lived, his breath and beauty set 
 Gloss on the Rose, smell to the Violet. 
 Venus and Adonis. 
 (17) When I behold the Violet past prime, 
 And sable curls all silvered o’er with white, 
 
 Then of thy beauty do I question make, 
 
 That thou among the wastes of time must go, 
 
 Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake 
 
 And die as fast as they see others grow. Sonnet, xii. 
 
 (18) The forward Violet thus did I chide ;— 
 ‘Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet that smells, 
 If not from my love’s breath? The purple pride | 
 Which on thy soft cheek for complexion dwells 
 In my love’s veins thou hast too grossly dyed.” 
 Sonnet, xcix, 
 There are about a hundred different species of Violets, of 
 which there are five species in England, and a few sub-species. 
 One of these is the Viola tricolor, from which is descended 
 the Pansy, or Love-in-Idleness (sce PANsy). But in all the 
 passages in which Shakespeare names the Violet, he alludes 
 to the purple sweet-scented Violet, of which he was evidently 
 very fond, and which is said to be very abundant in the 
 neighbourhood of Stratford-on-Avon. For all the eighteen 
 passages tell of some point of beauty or sweetness that 
 attracted him. And so it is with all the poets from Chaucer 
 downwards—the Violet is noticed by* all, and by all with 
 affection. I need only mention two of the greatest. Milton 
 gave the Violet a chief place in the beauties of the “ Blissful 
 Bower” of our first parents in Paradise— 
 
 Each beauteous flower, 
 Tris all hues, Roses, and Jessamin 
 Rear’d high their flourish’t heads between, and wrought 
 Mosaic; underfoot the Violet, 
 Crocus and Hyacinth with rich inlay 
 Broidered the ground, more coloured than with stone 
 Of costliest emblem ; Paradise Lost, Book iv. 
 and Sir Walter Scott crowns it as the queen of wild flowers— 
 The Violet in her greenwood bower, 
 Where Birchen boughs with Hazels mingle, 
 May boast itself the fairest flower 
 In glen, in copse, or forest dingle. 
 Yet favourite though it ever has been, it has no English 
 name. Violet is the diminutive form of the Latin Viola, 
 which again is the Latin form of the Greek tov. In the old 
 
247 
 
 Vocabularies Viola frequently occurs, and with the following 
 various translations :—* Ban-wyrt,” 7.¢., Bone-wort (eleventh 
 century Vocabulary); ‘ Cloefre,” 2.¢., Clover (eleventh century 
 Vocabulary); “ Violé, Appel-leaf” (thirteenth century 
 Vocabulary) ;* “* Wyolet ’ (fourteenth century Vocabulary); 
 “Vyolytte” (fifteenth century Nominale); “ Violetta, A, 
 a Violet” (fifteenth century pictorial Vocabulary); and‘ Viola 
 Cleafre, Ban-vyrt” (Durham Glossary). It is also mentioned 
 in the Anglo-Saxon translation of the Herbarium of Apuleius 
 in the tenth century as “the Herb Viola purpurea; (1) for 
 new wounds and eke for old; (2) for hardness of the maw.” 
 —Cockayne’s Translation. In this last example it is most 
 probable that our sweet-scented Violet is the plant meant, but 
 in some of the other cases it is quite certain that some other 
 plant is meant, and perhaps in all. For Violet was a name 
 given very loosely to many plants, so that Laurembergius 
 says:—‘* Vox Viol distinctissimis floribus communis est. 
 Videntur mihi aytiqui sttaveolentes quosque flores generatim 
 Violas appellasse, cujuscunque etiam forent generis quasi v1 
 oleant >—Apparat. Plant., 1632. This confusion seems to 
 have arisen ina very simple way. Theophrastus described 
 the Leucojum, which was either the Snowdrop or the spring 
 Snowflake, as the earliest-flowering plant; Pliny literally 
 translated Leucojum into Viola alba. Atl the earlier writers 
 on natural history were in the habit of taking Pliny for their 
 guide, and so they translated his Viola by any early-flowering 
 plant that most took their fancy. Even as late as 1693 
 Samuel Gilbert, in The Florists’ Vade Mecum, under the 
 head of Violets, only describes “the lesser early bulbous 
 Violet, a common flower yet not to be wasted, because when 
 none other appears that does, though in the snow, whence 
 called Snowflower or Snowdrop ;” and I think that even later 
 instances may be found. 
 
 When I say that there is no genuine English name for the 
 Violet, I ought, perhaps, to mention that one name has been 
 attributed to it, but I do not think that it is more than a 
 clever guess. ‘ The commentators on Shakespeare have been 
 much puzzled by the epithet ‘happy lowlie down,’ applied to 
 the man of humble station in Henry IV, and have proposed 
 to read ‘lowly clown,’ or to divide the phrase into ‘ low he 
 down, but the following lines from Browne clearly prove 
 ‘lowly down’ to be the correct term, for he uses it in pre- 
 cisely the same sense— 
 
 * Appel-leaf is given as the English name for Viola in two other MS. Glossaries 
 quoted hy Cockayne, vol iii, p. 312. ‘ 
 
248 
 
 ‘The humble Violet that lowly down 
 Salutes the gay nymphs as they trimly pass.’ ” 
 Poet's Pleasaunce. 
 
 This may prove that Browne called the Violet a Lowly- 
 down, but it certainly does not prove that name’ to have been 
 a common name tor the Violet. It was, however, the character 
 of lowliness and sweetness combined that gave the charm to 
 the Violet in the eyes of the emblem writers: it was for 
 them the readiest' symbol of the meekness of humility. 
 “ Humilitas dat gratiam” is the motto that Camerarius 
 places over a clump of Violets. ‘A true widow is, in the 
 church, as a little March Violet shedding areund an exquisite 
 perfume by the fragrance of her devotion, and always hidden 
 under the ample leaves of her lowliness, and by her subdued 
 colouring showing the spirit of her mortification, she seeks 
 untrodden and solitary places,” &c.-—S. Francis de Sales. 
 And the poets could nowhere find a fitter similitude for a 
 modest maiden than | 
 A Violet by a mossy stone 
 
 Half hidden from the eye. 
 
 Violets, like Primroses, must always have had their joyful 
 associations as coming to tell that the winter is passing away 
 and brighter days are near, for they are among 
 
 The first to rise 
 And smile beneath spring’s wakening skies, 
 The courier of a band 
 Of coming flowers. 
 Yet it is curious to note how like Primroses also they have 
 been ever associated with death, especially with the death of 
 the young. I suppose these ideas must have arisen from a 
 sort of pity for flowers that were only allowed to see the 
 opening year, and were cut off before the full beauty of 
 summer had come; and so they were looked on as apt 
 emblems of those who enjoyed the bright springtide of life 
 and no more. But however it arose, the feeling was con- 
 stantly expressed, and from very ancient times. We find it 
 in some pretty lines by Prudentius :— 
 Nos tecta fovebimus ossa 
 Violis et fronde frequente, 
 Titulumque et frigida saxa 
 Liquido spargemus odore. 
 
 Shakespeare expresses the same feeling in the collection of 
 “purple Violets and Marygolds ” which Marina carries to 
 hang ‘“‘as a chaplet on the grave” (No. 14), and again in 
 
249 
 
 Laertes’ wish that Violets may spring from the grave of 
 Ophelia (No. 8), on which Steevens very aptly quotes from 
 Persius’ Satires— 
 e tumulo fortunataque favilla 
 
 Nascentur Viole. 
 In the same spirit Milton, gathering for the grave of Ly- 
 cidas— 
 
 Every flower that sad embroidery wears, 
 gathers among others “ the glowing Violet ;” and the same 
 thought is repeated by many other writers. 
 
 There is a remarkable botanical curiosity in the structure 
 of the Violet which is worth notice : it produces flowers both - 
 in spring and autumn, but the flowers are very different. In 
 spring they are fully formed and sweet-scented, but they are 
 mostly barren and produce no seed, while in autumn they are 
 very small, they have no petals and (I believe) no scent, but 
 they produce abundance of seed.* 
 
 I need say nothing to recommend the Violet in all its 
 varieties as a garden plant. As a useful medicinal plant it 
 was formerly in high repute— 
 
 Vyolet an erbe cowth 
 
 Is knowyn in ilke manys mowthe, 
 
 As bokys seyn in here langage, 
 
 It is good to don in potage, 
 
 In playstrys to wondrys it is comfortyf, 
 
 W? oyer erbys sanatyf : Stockholm MWS. 
 —and it still holds a place in the Pharmacopzxia, while the 
 chemist finds the pretty flowers one of the most delicate tests 
 for detecting the presence of acids and alkalies; but as to 
 the many other virtues of the Violet I cannot do better than 
 quote Gerarde’s pleasant and quaint words :——‘* The Blacke 
 or Purple Violets, or March Violets of the garden, have a 
 great prerogative above others, not only because the minde 
 conceiveth a certain pleasure and recreation by smelling and 
 handling of those most odoriferous flowres, but also for that very 
 many by these Violets receive ornament and comely grace; 
 for there be made of them garlands for the head, nosegaies, 
 and poesies, which are delightfull to looke on and pleasant 
 to smell to, speaking nothing of their appropriate vertues ; 
 yea, gardens themselves receive by these the greatest orna- 
 ment of all chiefest hbeautie and most gallant grace, and the 
 
 * This peculiarity is not confined to the Violet. It is found in some species of 
 Oxalis, Impatiens, Campanula, EKranthemum, Amphicarpea, Leeisia, &c. Such 
 plants are technically called Cleistogamous, and are all self-fertilizing. 
 
250 
 
 recreation of the minde which is taken thereby cannot 
 but be very good and honest; for they admonish and stir 
 up a man to that which is comely and honest, for flowres 
 through their beautie, variety of colour, and exquisite forme, 
 do bring to a liberall and greatte manly minde the remem- 
 prance of honestie, comelinesse, and all kindes of vertues. 
 For it would be an unseemely and filthie thing (as a certain 
 wise man saith) for him that doth looke upon and handle 
 faire and beautifull things, and who frequenteth and is con- 
 vergant in faire and beautifull places, to have his minde not, 
 faire but filthie and deformed.” With these brave words of 
 the old gardener I might well close my account of this 
 favourite flower, but-I must add George Herbert’s lines 
 penned in the same spirit : — 
 
 Farewell, dear flowers, sweetly your time ye spent, 
 Fit, while ye lived, for smell or ornament, 
 And after death for cures ; 
 I follow straight without complaint or orief, 
 Since if my scent be good, I care not if 
 It be as short as yours. ~ Poems on Lnfe. 
 
 WALNUT. 
 
 (1) Petruchio. Why, tis a cockle or a Walnut-shell, 
 A knack, a toy, a trick, a baby’s cap. 
 
 Taming of the Shrew, act iv, sc. 3. 
 
 (2) Ford. Let them say of me, ‘ As jealous as Ford, who searched 
 
 a Walnut-shell for his wife’s leman.’ 
 
 Merry Wives of Windsor, act iv, sc. 2. 
 The Walnut is a native of Persia and China, and its foreign 
 origin is told in all its names. The Greeks called it Persicon, 
 i.c., the Persian tree, and Basilikon, é.e., the Royal tree; the 
 Latins gave it a still higher rank, naming it Juglans, 2.¢. 
 Jove’s Nut. “Hee glans, optima et maxima, ab Jove et 
 glande juglans appellata est.”-—Varro. The English names 
 tell the same story. It was first simply called Nut, as the 
 Nut pur excellence. “J uglantis vel nux, knutu.”— ZElfric’s 
 Vocabulary. But in the fourteenth century it had obtained 
 the name of “ Ban-nut,” from its hardness. So it is named 
 
 in a metrical Vocabulary of the fourteenth century— 
 
 Pomus Pirus Corulus nux Avelanaque ~ Ficus 
 Appul-tre Peere-tre Hasyl Note Bannenote-tre Fygge; 
 
251 
 
 and this name it still holds in the west of England. - But at 
 the same time it had also acquired the name of Walnut. 
 “Hee avelana, A*® Walnot tree” (Vocabulary fourteenth 
 century).  “ Hee avelana, a Walnutte and the Nutte” 
 (Nominale fifteenth century). This name is commonly 
 supposed to have reference to the hard shell, but it only 
 means that the nut is of foreign origin. “Wal” is another 
 form of Walshe or Welch, and so Lyte says that the tree is 
 called “in English the Walnut and Walshe Nut tree.” “The 
 word Welsh (wilisc, woelisc) meant simply a foreigner, one 
 who was not of Teutonic race, and was (by the Saxons) 
 applied especially to nations using the Latin language. In 
 the middle ages the French language, and in fact all those 
 derived from Latin, and called on that account lingue 
 Romane, were called in German Welsch. France was called 
 by the medizeval German writers daz Welsche lant, and when 
 they wished to express ‘in the whole world, they said, in 
 allen Welschen und in Tiutschen richen, in all Welsh and 
 Teutonic kingdoms. In modern German the name Wélsch is 
 used more especially for Italian.”—Wright’s Celt, Roman, 
 and Saxon.* This will at once explain that Walnut simply 
 means the foreign or non-English Nut. 
 
 It must have been a well-established and common tree in 
 Shakespeare’s time, for all the writers of his day speak of it 
 as a high and large tree, and I should think it very likely 
 that Walnut trees were even more extensively planted in his 
 day than in our own. ‘There are many noble specimens to be 
 seen in different parts of England, especially in the chalk 
 districts, for “it delights,” says Evelyn, “in a dry, sound, 
 rich land, especially if it incline to a feeding chalk or mar! ; 
 and where it may be protected from the cold (though it 
 affects cold rather than extreme heat), as in great pits, 
 valleys, and highway sides; also in stony ground, if loamy, 
 and on hills, especially chalky ; likewise in cornfields.” The 
 grand specimens that may be seen in the sheitered villages 
 lying under the chalk downs of Wiltshire and Berkshire bear 
 witness to the truth of Evelyn’s remarks. But the finest 
 English specimens can bear no comparison with the size of 
 the Walnut trees in warmer countries, and especially where 
 they are indigenous. There they “sometimes attain pro- 
 digious size and great age. An Italian architect mentions 
 having seen at St. Nicholas, in Lorraine, a single plank of 
 the wood of the Walnut, 25 ft. wide, upon which the Emperor 
 
 * See Harle’s Philology of the English Tongue, p. 23. 
 
252 
 
 Frederick III. had given a sumptuous banquet. In the 
 Baidar Valley, near Balaclava, in the Crimea, stands a 
 Walnut tree at least 1000 years old. It yields annually from 
 80,000 to 100,000 Nuts, and belongs tu five Tartar families, 
 who share its produce equally.” —Gardeners’ Chronicle. 
 
 The economic uses of the Walnut are now chiefly contined 
 to the timber, which is highly prized both for furniture and 
 gun-stocks, and to the production of oil, which is not much 
 used in Europe, but is highly valued in the East. “ It dries 
 much more slowly than any other distilled oil, and hence its 
 great value, as it allows the artist as much time as he requires 
 in order to blend his colours and finish his work. Im con- 
 junction with amber varnish it forms a vehicle which icaves 
 nothing to be desired, and which doubtless was the vehicle of 
 Van Eyck, and in many instances of the Venetian masters, 
 and of Correggio.”—Arts of the Middle Ages—Preface. In 
 medieval times a high medicinal value was attached to the 
 fruit, for the celebrated antidote against poison, which was so 
 firmly believed in, and which was attributed to Mithridates, 
 King of Pontus, was chiefly composed of Walnuts. ‘* Two 
 Nuttes (he is speaking of Walnuts) and two Figges, and 
 twenty Rewe leaves, stamped together with a little salt, and 
 eaten fasting, doth defende a man from poison and pestilence 
 that day.”--Bullein, Governmente of Health, 1558. 
 
 Walnuts are still very popular, but not as poison anti- — 
 dotes; their popularity now rests on their use as pickles, 
 their excellence as autumn and winter dessert fruits, and 
 with pseudo-gypsies for the rich olive hue that the juice will 
 give to the skin. These uses, together with the beauty in 
 the landscape that is given by an old Walnut tree, will 
 always secure for it a place among English trees; yet there 
 ean be little doubt that the Walnut is a bad neighbour to 
 other crops, and for that reason its numbers in England have 
 been much diminished. Phillips said there was a decided 
 antipathy between Apples and Walnuts, and spoke of the 
 Apple tree as— 
 
 Uneasy, seated by funereal Yew 
 
 Or Walnut (whose malignant touch impairs 
 All generous fruits), or near the bitter dews 
 Of Cherries. 
 
 And in, this he was probably right, though the mischief 
 caused to the Apple tree more probably arises from the dense 
 shade thrown by the Walnut tree than by any malarious 
 exhalation emitted from it. 
 
253 
 
 WARDEN (see PEARS). 
 
 WHEAT. 
 
 (1) Iris. Ceres, most bounteous lady! thy rich leas 
 Of Wheat, Rye, Barley, Vetches, Oats, and Pease. 
 Tempest, act iv, sc. 1, 
 (2) Helena. More tunable than lark to shepherd’s ear, 
 When Wheat is green, when Hawthorn buds appear. 
 Midsummer Night's Dream, act i, se. 1. 
 (3) Bassanio. His reasons are as two grains of Wheat hid in two 
 bushels of chaff—you shall seek all day till you find 
 them, and when you find them, they are not worth the 
 search. Merchant of Venice, act i, se. 1, 
 (4) Hamlet. As peace should still her Wheaten garland wear. 
 Hamlet, act v, se. 2. 
 (5) Pompey. To send measures of Wheat to Rome. 
 Antony and Cleopatra, act ii, se. 6. 
 (6) Edgar. This is the foul fiend Flibbertigibbet. . . . He 
 mildews the white Wheat, and hurts the poor creatures 
 of earth. King Lear, act iii, se. 4. 
 (7) Pandarus. We that will have a cake out of the Wheat, must 
 tarry the grinding. Troilus and Cressida, act i, se. 1. 
 (8) Dary, Aud again, sir, shall we sow the headland with Wheat? 
 Shallow. With red Wheat, Davy. 
 2nd Henry IV, act v, se. 1. 
 
 I might, perhaps, content myself with mayking these 
 passages only, and dismiss Shakespeare’s Wheat without 
 further comment, for the Wheat of his day was identical 
 with our own; but there are a few points in connection with 
 English Wheat which may be interesting. Wheat is not an 
 English plant, nor is it a European plant; its original home 
 is in Northern Asia, whence it has spread into all civilized 
 countries.* For the cultivation of Wheat is one of the first 
 signs of civilized life; it marks the end of nomadic life, and 
 implies more or jess a settled habitation. When it reached 
 England, and to what country we are indebted for it, we do 
 
 * Yet Homer considered it to be indigenous in Sicily-—Odys., ix, 109-—and 
 Cicero, perhaps on the authority of Homer, says the same-—‘‘ Insula Cereris . 
 ubi primum fruges invent« esse dicuntur.— Zn Verrem, v, 38. 
 
254 
 
 not know; but we know that while we are indebted to the 
 Romans for so many of our useful trees, and fruits, and 
 vegetables, we are not indebted to them for the introduction 
 of Wheat. This we might be almost sure of from the very 
 name, which has no connection with the Latin names, tr2ti- 
 cum or frumentum, but is a pure old English word, signifying 
 originally white, and so distinguishing it as the white grain 
 in opposition to the darker grains of Oats and Rye. But 
 besides the etymological evidence, we have good historical 
 evidence that Caesar found Wheat growing in England when 
 he first landed on the shores of Kent. He daily victualled 
 his camp with British Wheat (frumentum ex agris quotidie 
 in castra conferebat); and it was while his soldiers were 
 reaping the Wheat in the Kentish fields that they were sur- 
 rounded and successfully attacked by the British. He tells 
 us, however, that the cultivation of Wheat was chiefly confined 
 to Kent, and was not much known inland—“ interiores ple- 
 rique frumenta non serunt, sed lacte et carne vivunt.—De 
 Bello Gallico, v, 14. Roman. Wheat has frequently been 
 found in graves, and strange stories have been told of the 
 plants that have been raised from these old seeds—but a 
 more scientific inquiry has proved that there have been 
 mistakes or deceits, more or less intentional, for ‘** Wheat is 
 said to keep for seven years at the longest. The statements 
 as to mummy Wheat are wholly devoid of authenticity, as are 
 those of the Raspberry seeds taken from a Roman tomb.” — 
 Hooker-—“ Botany” in Science Primers. The oft-repeated 
 stories about the vitality of mummy Wheat were effectually 
 disposed of when it was discovered that much of the so-called 
 Wheat was South American Maize. 
 
 WILLOW. 
 
 (1) Viola. Make me a willow cabin at your gate. 
 Twelfth Niyht, act i, se. 5. 
 
 (2) Benedick. Come, will you go with me? 
 Claudio. Whither ? 
 Benedick. Even to the next Willow, about your own business. 
 Much Ado about Nothing, act 11, se. 1. 
 
 Benedick. I offered him my company toa Willow tree, either 
 to make him a garland as being forsaken, or to bind him 
 up a rod as being worthy to be whipped. Ibid. 
 
255 
 
 (3) Nathaniel. These thoughts to me were Oaks, to thee like 
 Osiers bound. Love's Labours Lost, act iv, se. 2. 
 
 (4) Lorenzo. In such a night 
 Stood Dido, with a Willow in her hand, 
 Upon the wild sea-banks. 
 Merchant of Venice, act v, se. 1. 
 
 (5) Bona. ‘Tell him, in hope he’ll prove a widower shortly, 
 Pll wear a Willow garland for his sake. 
 3rd Henry VI, act iii, sc. 3. 
 Messenger. [The same words repeated.] bid., act iv, se. 1. 
 
 (6) Queen. There is a Willow grows ascaunt a brook, 
 That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream. 
 
 There on the pendent boughs her coronet weeds 
 
 Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke. 
 Hamlet, act iv, se. 7. 
 
 (7) Desdemona (singing )— 
 
 The poor soul sat sighing by a Sycamore tree. 
 Sing all a green Willow ; 
 
 Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee, 
 Sing Willow, Willow, Willow. 
 
 The fresh streams ran by her and murmured her moans, 
 Sing Willow, Willow, Willow. 
 
 Her salt tears fell from her and softened the stones, 
 Sing Willow, Willow, Willow. 
 
 Sing alla green Willow must be my garland. 
 
 Othello, act iv, se. 8 
 
 ~ 
 eo 
 e 
 
 (8) Emilia. I will play the swan, 
 And die in inusic. | Singing] Willow, Willow, Willow. 
 Lhid., act v, se. | 
 
 to 
 
 (9) Friar. I must fill up this Willow cage of ours 
 With baleful Weeds and precious juiced Flowers. 
 Romeo and Juliet, act 11, se. 3. 
 
 co 
 
 (10) Celia. West of this place, down in the neighbour bottom, 
 The rank of Osiers by the murmuring stream 
 Left on your right hand, brings you to the place. 
 As You Inke It, act iv, se. 2. 
 
 (13) When Cytherea all in love forlorn 
 A longing tarriance for Adonis made 
 Under an Osier growing by a brook. 
 Passionate Pilgrim, 
 
 me 
 me 
 . 
 
 (12) Though to myself forsworn, to thee Ill constant prove ; 
 Those thoughts, to me like Oaks, to thee like Osiers bowed. 
 Lbid., ix. 
 
256 
 
 Willow is an old English word, but the more common and 
 perhaps the older name for the Willow is Withy, a name 
 which is still in constant use, but more generally applied 
 to the twigs when cut for basket-making than to the living 
 tree. “ Withe” is found in the oldest vocabularies, but we 
 do not find “Willow” till we come to the vocabularies of 
 the fifteenth century, when it occurs as “ Hee Salex, A°® 
 Wyllo-tre ;” “* Hee Salix-icis, a Welogh ;” “ Salix, Welig.” 
 Bcth the names probably referred to the pliability of the 
 tree, and there was another name for it, the Sallow, which 
 was either a corruption of the Latin Salix, or was derived 
 from a common root. It was also called Osier. 
 
 The Willow is a native of Britain. It belongs to a large 
 family (Salix), numbering 160 species, of which we have 
 seventeen distinct species in Great Britain, besides many 
 sub-species and varieties. So common a plant, with the 
 peculiar pliability of the shoots that distinguishes all the 
 family, was sure to be made much use of. Its more common 
 uses were for basket making, for coracles, and huts, or 
 “¢ Willow-cabins” (No. 1), but it had other uses in the 
 elegancies and even in the romance of life. The flowers of 
 the early Willow (S. caprea) did duty for and were called 
 Palms on Palm Sunday (see PALM), and not only the flowers 
 but the branches also seem to have been used in decoration, 
 a use which is now extinct. ‘ The Willow is called 
 Saliz, and hath his name @ saliendo, for that it quickle 
 eroweth up, and soon becommeth a tree. Heerewith do they 
 in some countres trim up their parlours and dining roomes in 
 sommer, and sticke fresh greene leaves thereof about their 
 beds for coolness.”—-Newton’s Herball for the Bible.* 
 
 But if we only look at the poetry of the time of Shake- 
 speare, and much of the poetry before and after him, we 
 should almost conclude that the sole use of the Willow was 
 to weave garlands for jilted lovers, male and female. It was 
 probably with reference to this that Shahespeare represented 
 poor mad Ophelia hanging her flowers on the “ Willow tree 
 ascaunt the brook ” (No. 6), and it is more pointedly referred 
 to in Nos. 2, 4, 5, 7, and 8. ‘The feeling was expressed in a 
 melancholy ditty, which must have been very popular in 
 the sixteenth century, of which Desdemona says a few of the 
 first. verses (No. 7), and which concludes thus :— 
 
 * In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries the Willow does not appear to 
 have had any value for its medical uses. In the present day salicine and salicylic 
 acid are produced from the bark, and have a high reputation as antiseptics and 
 in rheumatic cases, ) 
 
957 
 
 Come all you forsaken and sit down by me, 
 
 He that plaineth of his false love, mine’s falser than she ; 
 The Willow wreath weare I, since my love did fleet, 
 
 A garland for lovers forsaken most meet. 
 
 The ballad is entitled “The Complaint of a Lover Forsaken 
 of His Love--To a Pleasant New Tune,” and is printed in 
 the “Roxburgh Ballads.” This curious connection of the 
 Willow with forsaken or disappointed lovers stood its ground 
 fora long time. Spenser spoke of the “ Willow worne of 
 forlorne paramoures,” and though we have long given up the 
 custom of wearing garlands of any sort, yet many of us can 
 recollect one of the most popular street songs, that was heard 
 everywhere, and at last passed into a proverb, and which 
 began— 
 
 All round my hat I vears a green Willow 
 In token, &e. 
 
 It has been suggested by many that this melancholy 
 association with the Willow arose from its Biblical associ- 
 ations; and this may be so, though all the references to the 
 Willow that occur in the Bibie are, with one notable 
 exception, connected with joyfulness and fertility. ‘The one 
 exception is the plaintive wail in the 137th Psalm :— 
 
 By the streams of Babel, there we sat down, 
 And we wept when we remembered Zion. 
 On the Willows among the rivers we hung our harps. 
 
 And this one record has been sufficient to alter the emble- 
 matic character of the Willow—* this one incident has made. 
 the Willow an emblem of the deepest of sorrows, namely, 
 sorrow for sin found out, and visited with its due punishment. 
 From that time the Willow appears never again to have been 
 associated with feelings of gladness. Even among heathen 
 nations, for what reason we know not, it was a tree of evil 
 omen, and was employed -to make the torches carried at 
 funerals. Our own poets made the Willow the symbol of 
 desparing woe.”—Johns. This is the more remarkable 
 because the tree referred to in the Psalms, the Weeping 
 Willow (Salix Babylonica}, which by its habit of growth is to 
 us so suggestive of crushing sorrow, was quite unknown in 
 Europe till a very recent period. “It grows abundantly on 
 the banks of the Euphrates, and other parts of Asia, as in 
 Palestine, and also in North Africa,” but it was only intro- 
 duced into England during the last century, and then ina 
 curious way. ‘Many years ago, the well-known poet, Alex- 
 S 
 
258 
 
 ander Pope, who resided at Twickenham, received a basket 
 of Figs as a present from Turkey. The basket was made of 
 the supp'e branches of the Weeping Willow, the very same 
 species under which the captive Jews sat when they wept by 
 the waters of Babylon. The poet valued highly the small 
 and tender twigs associated with so much that was interesting, 
 and he untwisted the basket, and planted one of the branches 
 in the ground. It had some tiny buds upon it, and he hoped 
 he might be able to rear it, as none of this species of Willow 
 was known in England. Happily the Willow is very quick 
 to take root and grow. The little branch soon became a 
 tree, and drooped gracefully over the river, in the same 
 manner that its race had done over the waters of Babylon. 
 From that one branch all the Weeping Willows in England 
 are descended.”-—Kirby’s 7'rees. 
 
 There is probably no tree that contributes so largely to the 
 conveniences of English life as the Willow. Putting aside 
 its uses in the manufactnre of gunpowder and cricket bats, 
 we may safely say that the most scantily-furnished house can 
 boast of some article of Willow manufacture in the shape of 
 baskets. Britfsh basket-making is, as far as we know, the 
 oldest national manufacture; it is the manufacture in con- 
 nection with which we have the earliest record of the value 
 placed on British work. British baskets were exported to 
 Rome, and it would almost seem as if baskets were unknown 
 in Rome until they were introduced from Britain, for with 
 the article of import came the name also, and the British 
 “ basket” became the Latin “ bescauda.” We have curious 
 evidence of the high value attached to these baskets. Juvenal 
 describes Catullus in fear of shipwreck throwing overboard 
 his most precious treasures—* precipitare volens etiam pul- 
 cherrima,” and among these “ pulcherrima” he mentions 
 ‘“bascaudas’” Martial bears a still higher testimony to the 
 value set on “ British baskets,” reckoning them among the 
 many rich gifts distributed at the Saturnalia — 
 
 Barbara de pictis veni bascauda Britannis 
 Sed me jam vult dicere Roma suam.— Book xiv, 99. 
 
 Many of the Willows make handsome shrubs for the garden, 
 for besides those that grow into large trees, there are many 
 that are low shrubs, and some so low as to be fairly called 
 carpet plants. Salix Regine is one of the most silvery shrubs 
 we have, with very narrow leaves; S. lanata is almost as 
 silvery, but with larger and woolly leaves, and makes a very 
 pretty object when grown on rockwork near water; S. 
 
259 
 
 rosmarinifolia is another desirable shrub; and among the 
 lower-growing species, the following will grow well on rock- 
 work, and completely clothe the surface:—S. alpina, 8. 
 Grahami, 8. retusa, 8. serpyllifolia, and 8. reticulata. They 
 are all easily cultivated and are quite hardy. 
 
 WOODBINE (see HONEYSUCKLE). 
 
 WORMWOOD. 
 
 (1) Rosalind, 'To weed this Wormwood from your fruitful brain. 
 Love's Labours Lost, act v, se. 2. 
 (2) Nurse. For I had then laid Wormwood to my dug. 
 
 When it did taste the Wormwood on the nipple 
 Of my dug, and felt it bitter, pretty fool. 
 Romeo and Juliet, act i, se. 8. 
 (3) Hamlet. That’s Wormwood. Hamlet, act iti, sc. 2. 
 
 Wormwood is the product of many species of Artemisia, a 
 family consisting of 180 species, of which we have four in 
 England. The whole family is remarkable for the extreme 
 bitterness of all parts of the plant, so that “as bitter as 
 Wormwood” is one of the oldest proverbs. ‘The plant was 
 named Artemisia from Artemis, the Greek name of Diana, 
 and for this reason :—“ Verily of these three Worts which 
 we named Artemisia, it is said that Diana should find them, 
 and delivered their powers and leechdom to Chiron the 
 Centaur, who first from these Worts set forth a leechdom, 
 and he named these Worts from the name of Diana, Artemis, 
 that is, Artemisias."— Herbarvum Apulwi, Cockayne’s 
 translation. The Wormwood was of very high reputation 
 in medicine, and is thus recommended in the Stockholm 
 MS. :— 
 
 Lif man or woman, more or lesse 
 
 In his head have gret sicknesse 
 
 Or gruiance or any werking 
 
 Awoyne he take wt. owte lettyng 
 
 It is called Sowthernwode also 
 
 And hony eteys et spurge stamp yer to 
 And late hy yis drunk, fastined drinky 
 And his hed werk away schall synkyn. 
 
260 
 
 But even in Shakespeare’s time this high character had 
 somewhat abated, though it was still used for all medicines 
 in which a strong bitter was recommended. But its chief 
 use seems to have been as a protection against insects of all 
 kinds, who might very reasonably be supposed to avoid such 
 a bitter food. This is Tusser’s advice about the plant— 
 
 While Wormwood hath seed get a handful or twain 
 To save against March, to make flea to refrain ; 
 Where chamber is sweeped and Wormwood is shown, 
 No flea, for his life, dare abide to be known. 
 What savour is better, if physic be true, 
 For places infected than Wormwood or Rue? 
 It is as a comfort for heart and the brain, 
 And therefore to have it, it is not in vain. 
 July's Husbandry. 
 
 This quality was the origin of the names Muewort* and 
 Wormwood. Its other name (in the Stockholm MS. above), 
 Avoyne or Averoyne is a corruption of the specific name of 
 one of the species, A. Abrotanum. Southernwood is the 
 southern Wormwood, 7.e., the foreign, as distinguished from 
 the native plant. The modern name for the same species is 
 Boy’s Love, or Old Man. The last name may have come 
 from its hoary leaves, though different explanations are given : 
 the other name is given to it, according to Dr. Prior, ‘* from 
 an ointment made with its ashes being used by young men to 
 promote the growth of a beard.” There is good authority 
 for this derivation, but I think the name may have been 
 given for other reasons. ‘ Boy’s Love” is one of the most 
 favourite cottage garden plants, and it enters largely into the 
 rustic language of flowers. No posy presented by a young 
 man to his lass is complete without Boy’s Love; and it is an 
 emblem of fidelity, at least it was so once. It isin facta 
 Forget-me-Not, from its strong abiding smell; so St. Francis 
 de Sales applied it—‘ To love in the midst of sweets, little 
 children could do that; but to love in the bitterness of Worm- 
 wood is a sure sign of our affectionate fidelity.” Not that 
 the Wormwood was ever nemed Forget-me-Not, for that 
 name was given to the Ground Pine (Ajuga chamoepitys) on 
 account of its unpleasant and long enduring smell, until it 
 
 * Tn connection with Mugwort there is a most curious account of the formation 
 of a plant name given in a note in the Promptorium Parvulorum, s.v. Mugworte :-— 
 ““Mugwort, al on as seyn some, Modirwort ; lewed folk that in manye wordes 
 conne no rygt sownynge, but ofte shortyn wordys, and changyn lettrys and silablys, 
 they coruptyn the o in to@and din to g, and syncopyn 7 smytyn a-wey ¢ and + 
 and seyn mugwort.’—Arundel MS., 42, f. 35 v. 
 
261 
 
 was transferred to the Myosotis (which then lost its old name 
 of Mouse-ear), and the pretty legend was manufactured to 
 account for the name. 
 
 In England Wormwood has almost fallen into complete 
 disuse; but in France it is largely used in the shape of 
 Absinthe. As a garden plant, Tarragon, which is a species 
 of Wormwood, will claim a place in every herb garden, and 
 there are a few, such as A. sericea, A. cana, and A. alpina, 
 which make pretty shrubs for the rockwork. 
 
 TOW ie 
 (1) Song. My shroud of white, struck all with Yew, 
 Oh! prepare it. Twelfth Night, act 1, se. 4. 
 (2) 8rd Witch. Gall of goat, and slips of Yew, 
 Slivered in the moon’s eclipse. 
 Macbeth, act iv, se. 1. 
 (3) Seroop. Thy very beadsmen learn to bend their bows 
 Of double-fatal Yew against thy state. 
 Richard I, act iii, se. 2. 
 (4) Tamora. But straight they told me they would bind me here 
 Unto the body of a dismal Yew. 
 Titus Andronicus, act 1, sc. 3. 
 (5) Paris. | Under yon Yew trees lay thee all along, 
 Holding thine ear close to the hollow ground ; 
 So shall no foot upon the churchyard tread 
 (Being loose, unfirm, with digging up of graves) 
 But thou shalt hear it. 
 Romeo and Juliet, act v, sc. 3. 
 (6) Balthasar. As I did sleep under this Yew tree here, 
 I dreamt my master and another fought, 
 And that my master slew him. Lhid. 
 
 The Yew, though undoubtedly an indigenous British plant, 
 has nota British name. The name is derived from the Latin 
 Iva, and “under this name we find the Yew so inextricably 
 mixed up with the Jvy that, as dissimilar as are the two 
 trees, there can be no doubt that these names are in their 
 origin identical.” So says Dr. Prior, and he proceeds to give 
 a, long and very interesting account of the origin of the name. 
 The connection of Yew with iva and Ivy is still shown in the 
 French if, the German ¢ibe, and the Portuguese iva. Yew 
 
262 
 
 seems to be quite a modern form; in the old vocabularies 
 the word is variously spelt iw, ewe, eugh-tre,* haw-tre, new- 
 tre, ew, uhe, and iw. 
 
 The connection of the Yew with churchyards and funerals 
 is noticed by Shakespeare in Nos. 1, 5, and 6, and its 
 celebrated connection with English bow-making in No. 3, 
 where ‘ doubly-fatal” may probably refer to its noxious 
 qualities when living and its use for deadly weapons after- 
 wards. These noxious qualities, joined to its dismal colour, 
 and to its constant use in churchyards, caused it to enter into 
 the supposed charms and incantations of the quacks of the 
 Middle Ages. Yet Gerarde entirely denies its noxious 
 qualities :—‘* They say that the fruit thereof being eaten is 
 not onely dangerous and deadly unto man, but if birds do eat 
 thereof it causeth them to cast their feathers and many 
 times to die—all which I dare boldly affirme is altogether 
 untrue; for when I was yong and went to schoole, divers of 
 my schoolfellowes, and likewise my selfe, did eat our fils of 
 the berries of this~ tree, and have not only slept under the 
 shadow thereof, but among the branches also, without any 
 hurt at all, and that not at one time but many times.” 
 There is no doubt that the Yew berries are almost if not 
 quite harmless,f and I find them forming an element in an 
 Anglo-Saxon recipe, which may be worth quoting as an 
 example of the medicines to which our forefathers submitted. 
 Itis given in a leech book of the tenth century or earlier, 
 and is thus translated by Cockayne :—“ If aman is in the 
 water elf disease, then are the nails of his hand livid, and the 
 eyes tearful, and he will look downwards. Give him this for 
 a leechdom: Everthroat, cassuck, the netherward part of fane, 
 a yew berry, lupin, helenium, a head of marsh mallow, fen, 
 mint, dill, lily, attorlothe, pulegium, marrubium, dock, elder, 
 fel terre, wormwood, strawbery leaves, consolida; pour them 
 over with ale, add holy water, sing this charm over them 
 thrice [here follows some long charms which I need not 
 extract |; these charms a man may sing over a wound.” 
 —Leech Book, iii, 63. 
 
 I need say little of the uses of the Yew wood in furniture, 
 nor of the many grand specimens which are scattered through- 
 out the churchyards of England, except to say that “the 
 
 * The eugh obedient to the bender’s will.—Spensrr, F. Q., i, 9. 
 So far as eughen bow a shaft may send.—/’. @., ii, 11-19. 
 4 There are, however, well-recorded instances of death from Yew berries. The 
 poisonous quality, such as it is, resides in the hard seed, and not in the red 
 mucilaginous skin, which is the part eaten by children. 
 
263 
 
 origin of planting Yew trees in churchyards is still a subject 
 of considerable perplexity. As the Yew was of such great 
 importance in war and field sports before the use of gunpowder 
 was known, perhaps the parsons of parishes were required to 
 see that the churchyard was capable of supplying bows to the 
 males of each parish of proper age; but in this case we 
 should scarcely have been left without some evidence on the 
 matter. Others again state that the trees in question were 
 intended solely to furnish branches for use on Palm Sunday” 
 (see PALM, page 150), “while many suppose that the Yew was 
 naturally selected for planting around churches on account 
 of its emblematic character, as expressive of the solemnity of 
 death, while, from its perennial verdure and long duration, it 
 might be regarded as a pattern of immortality.” —DPenny 
 Magazine, \843. 
 
 A good list of the largest and oldest Yews in England will 
 be found in Loudon’s Arboretum. 
 
 The “dismal Yew” concludes the list- of Shakespeare’s 
 plants and the first part of my proposed subject ; and while I 
 hope that those readers who may have gone with me so far 
 have met with some things to interest them, [ hope also they 
 will agree with me that gardening and the love of flowers 
 is not altogether the modern accomplishment that many of 
 our gardeners now fancy it to be. Here are more than 190 
 names of plants in one writer, and that writer not at all 
 writing on horticulture, but only mentioning plants and 
 Howers in the most incidental manner as they happened 
 naturally to fall in his way. I should doubt if there is any 
 similar instance in any modern English writer, and feel very 
 sure that there is no such instance in any modern English 
 dramatist. It shows how familiar gardens and flowers were 
 to Shakespeare, and that he must have had frequent oppor- 
 tunities for observing his favourites (for most surely he was 
 fond of flowers), not only in their wild and native homes, but 
 in the gardens of farmhouses and parsonages, country. houses, 
 and noblemen’s stately pleasaunces. The quotations that | 
 have been able to make from the early writers in the ninth 
 and tenth centuries, down to gossiping old Gerarde, the 
 learned Lord Chancellor Bacon, and that excellent old 
 eardener Parkinson, all show the same thing, that the love of 
 flowers is no new thing in England, still less a foreign fashion, 
 but that it is innate in us, a real instinct, that showed itselt 
 
264 
 
 as strongly in our forefathers as in ourselves ; and when we 
 find that such men as Shakespeare and Lord Bacon (to 
 mention no others) were almost proud to show their know- 
 ledge of plants and love of flowers, we can say that such love 
 and knowledge is thoroughly manly and English. 
 
 In the inquiry into Shakespeare’s plants I have entered 
 somewhat largely into the etymological history of the names. 
 I have been tempted into this by the personal interest I feel 
 in the history of plant names, and I hope it may not have 
 been uninteresting to my readers; but I do not think this 
 part of the subject could have been passed by, for I agree 
 with Johnstone—“ That there is more interest and as much 
 utility in settling the nomenclature of our pastoral bards as 
 that of old herbalists and dry-as-dust botanists.”— Botany of 
 the Kastern Border. I have also at times entered into the 
 botany and physiology of the plants; this may have seemed 
 needless to some, but I have thought that such notices were 
 often necessary to the right understanding of the plants 
 named, and again I shelter myself under the authority of a 
 favourite old author—* Consider (gentle readers) what shiftes 
 he shall be put unto, and how rawe he must needs be in 
 explanation of metaphors, resemblances, and comparisons, 
 that is ignorant of the nature of herbs and plants from 
 whence their similitudes be taken, for the inlightening and 
 garnishing of sentences.”—-Newton’s Herball for the Buble. 
 
 [have said that my subject naturally divides itself into two 
 parts, first, The Piants and Flowers named by Shakespeare ; 
 second, His Knowledge of Gardens and Gardening. The first 
 part is now concluded, and I go to the second part, which 
 will be very much shorter, and which may be entitled The 
 Garden-craft of Shakespeare. 
 
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 ‘THE GARDEN CRAFT OF SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 ‘‘The flowers are sweet, the colours fresh and trim.” 
 Venus and Adonis. 
 
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 ‘That in trim Gardens takes his pleasure.” 
 Miron, J/ Penseroso. © 
 
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GARDEN-CRAFT. 
 
 Any account of the “ Plant-lore of Shakespeare” would be 
 very incomplete, if it did not include his “ Garden-craft.” 
 There area great many passages scattered throughout his 
 works, some of them among the most beautiful that he ever 
 wrote, in which no particular tree, herb, or flower is mentioned 
 by name, but which show his intimate knowledge of plants 
 and gardening, and his great affection for them. It is from 
 these passages, even more than from the passages I have 
 already quoted in which particular flowers are named, that 
 we learn how thoroughly his early country life had influenced 
 and marked his character, and how his whole spirit was most 
 naturally coloured by it. Numberless allusions to flowers 
 and their culture prove that his boyhood and early manhood 
 were spent in the country, and that as he passed through 
 the parks, fields, and lanes of his native county, or spent 
 pleasant days in the gardens and orchards of the manor- 
 houses and farm-houses of the neighbourhood, his eyes and 
 ears were open to all the sights and sounds of a healthy 
 country life, and he was, perhaps unconsciously, laying up in 
 his memory a goodly store of pleasant pictures and homely 
 country talk, to be introduced in his own wonderful way in 
 tragedies and comedies, which, while often professedly treating 
 of very different times and countries, have really given us 
 some of the most faithful pictures of the country life of the 
 Englishman of Queen Elizabeth’s time, drawn with all the 
 freshness and simplicity that can only come from a real love 
 of the subject. 
 
 “Flowers I noted,” is hig own account of himself 
 (Sonnet xcix), and with what love he noted them, and with 
 what carefulness and faithfulness he wrote of them, is 
 shown in every play he published, and almost in every act and 
 every scene. And what I said of his notices of particular 
 flowers is still more true of his general descriptions—that they 
 are never laboured, or introduced as for a purpose, but that 
 each passage is the simple utterance of his ingrained love of 
 the country, the natural* outcome of a keen, observant eye, 
 joined to a great power of faithful description, and an un- 
 
268 
 
 limited command of the fittest language. It is this vividness 
 and freshness that give such a reality to all Shakespeare’s 
 notices of country life, and which make them such pleasant 
 reading to all lovers of plants and gardening. 
 
 These notices of the Garden-craft of Shakespewre, I now 
 proceed to quote; but my quotations in this part will be 
 made on a different plan to that which I adopted in the 
 account of his Plant-love, 1 shall not here think it necessary 
 to quote all the passages in which he mentions different 
 objects of country life, but I shall content myself with such 
 passages as throw light on his knowledge of horticulture, and 
 which, to some extent, illustrate the horticulture of his day, 
 and these passages I must arrange under a few general heads. 
 In this way the second part of my subject will be very much 
 shorter than my first, but I have good reasons for hoping that 
 those who have been interested in the long account of The 
 Plant-lore of Shakespeare will be equally interested in the 
 shorter account of his Garden-craft, and will acknowledge 
 that the one would be incomplete without the other. I 
 commence with those passages which treat generally of-— 
 
 I—FLOWERS, BLOSSOMS, AND BUDS. 
 
 (1) Quickly. Fairies use flowers for their charactery. 
 Merry Wives of Windsor, act v, se. 9. 
 (2) Oberon. She his hairy temples then had rounded 
 With coronet of fresh and fragrant flowers ; 
 And that same dew, which sometimes in the buds 
 Was wont to swell, like round and orient pearls, 
 Stood now within the pretty flow’rets’ eyes, 
 Like tears that did their own disgrace bewail. 
 Midsummer Night’s Dream, act iv, sce. 1. 
 (3) Gaunt. Suppose the singing birds, musicians ; 
 The grass whereon thou tread’st, the presence strewed ; 
 The flowers, fair ladies. Richard LI, act i, se. 3. 
 
 (4) Katharine. When I am dead, good wench, ° 
 Let me be used with honour; strew me over 
 With maiden flowers, that all the world may know 
 I was a chaste wife to my grave. 
 Henry VIII, act iv, se. 2. 
 (5) Ophelia (sings). White his shroud as the mountain snow 
 Larded all with sweet flowers, 
 Which bewept to the grave did go 
 With true-love showers. Hamlet, act iv, se. 5 
 
269 
 
 (6) Queen. While’s yet the dew’s on ground, gather those 
 flowers. Cymbeline, act 1, sc. 6. 
 (7) Song. Hark! hark! the lark at Heaven’s gate sings, 
 And Phoebus ’gins to rise, 
 His steeds to water at those springs 
 On chaliced flowers that lies. /d7d., act 11, se. 3. 
 
 (8) Arviragus. With fairest flowers, 
 While summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele, 
 I'll sweeten thy sad grave, Lbid., act iv, se. 2. 
 
 (9) Belarius. Here’s a few flowers; but about midnight, more ; 
 The herbs that have on them cold dew o’ the night 
 Are strewings fitt’st for graves. Upon their faces. 
 You were as flowers, now withered: even so 
 These herblets shall, which we upon you strew. /d7d. 
 
 (10) Juliet. This bud of love, by summer’s ripening breath, 
 May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet. 
 Romeo and Juliet, act 1, se. 2. 
 
 (11) Titania. An odorous chaplet of sweet summer-buds. 
 Midsummer Nights Dream, act ii, se. 2. 
 
 (12) Friar Laurence. I must up-fill this osier cage of ours 
 With baleful weeds and precious-juiced flowers. 
 The earth, that’s Nature’s mother, is her tomb ; 
 What is her burying grave that is her womb, 
 And from her womb children of divers kind 
 We sucking on her natural bosom find, 
 Many for many virtues excellent, 
 None but for some and yet all different. 
 O, mickle is the powerful grace that lies 
 In herbs, plants, stones, and their true qualities : 
 For nought so vile that on the earth doth live 
 But to the earth some special good doth give, 
 Nor aught so good but strain’d from that fair use 
 Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse: 
 Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied ; 
 And vice sometime’s by action dignified. 
 Within the infant rind of this small flower 
 Poison hath residence and medicine power: 
 For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each part ; 
 Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart. 
 Two such opposed kings encamp them still 
 Tn man as well as herbs, grace and rude will; 
 And where the worser is predominant, 
 Full soon the canker death eats up that plant. 
 Romeo and Julvet, act 1, se. 3. 
 (13) Jago. Though other things grow fair against the sun, 
 Yet fruits that blossom first will first be ripe. 
 Othello, act 11, sc. 5. 
 
270 
 
 (14) Dumain. Love, whose month is ever May, 
 Spied a blossom passing fair 
 Playing in the wanton air ; 
 Through the velvet leaves the wind, 
 All unseen, can passage find. 
 Love's Labours Lost, act iv, se. 3. 
 
 (14) Fair flowers that are not gathered in their prime 
 Rot and consume themselves in little time. 
 Venus and Adonis. 
 
 (16) The flowers are sweet, the colours fresh and trim, 
 But true sweet beauty lived and died with him. drd. 
 
 (17) Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May. 
 Sonnet xviii. 
 
 (18) With April’s first-born flowers, and all things rare, 
 That Heaven’s air-in this huge rondure hems. 
 Sonnet XX. 
 (19) The summer’s flower is to the summer sweet, 
 Though to itself it only live and die ; 
 But if that flower with base infection meet, 
 The basest weed outbraves his dignity : 
 For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds— 
 Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds. 
 Sonnet xciv. 
 (20) Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell 
 Of different flowers in odour and in hue 
 Could make me any summev’s story tell, 
 Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew. 
 Sonnet xcviii. 
 
 ‘Of all the vain assumptions of these coxcombical times, 
 that which arrogates the pre-eminence in the true science of 
 gardening is the vainest. ‘True, our conservatories are full of 
 the choicest plants from every clime: we ripen the Grape and 
 the Pine-apple with an art unknown before, and even the 
 Mango, the Mangosteen, and the Guava are made to yield 
 their matured fruits; but the real Leauty and poetry of a 
 garden are lost in our efforts after rarity, and strangeness, and 
 variety.” So, nearly forty years ago, wrote the author of The 
 Poetry of Gardening, a pleasant though somewhat fantastic 
 essay, first published in the Carthusian, and afterwards re- 
 published in Murray’s Reading for the Rail, in company 
 with an excellent article from the Quarterly by the same 
 author under the title of The Flower Garden; and I quote 
 it because this “ vain assumption” is probably stronger and 
 more wide-spread now than when that article was written. 
 
271 
 
 We often hear and read accounts of modern gardening in 
 which it is coolly assumed, and almost taken for granted, that 
 the science of horticulture, and almost the love of flowers, is 
 a product of the nineteenth century. But the love of flowers 
 is no new taste in Englishmen, and the science of horticulture 
 is in no way a modern science. We have made large progress 
 in botanical science during the present century, and our easy 
 communications with the whole habitable globe have brought 
 to us thousands of new and beautiful plants in endless 
 varieties; and we have many helps in gardening that were 
 quite unknown to our forefathers. Yet there were brave old 
 gardeners in our forefathers’ times, and a very little acquaint- 
 ance with the literature of the sixteenth century will show 
 that in Shakespeare’s time there was a most healthy and 
 manly love of flowers for their own sake, and great industry 
 and much practical skill in gardening. We might, indeed, 
 go much further back than the fifteenth century, and still 
 find the same love and the same skill. We have long lists of 
 plants grown in times before the Conquest, with treatises on 
 gardening in which there is much that is absurd, but which 
 show a practical experience in the art, and which show also 
 that the gardens of those days were by no means ill-furnished 
 either with fruit or flowers. Coming a little later, Chaucer 
 takes every opportunity to speak with a most loving affection 
 for flowers, both wild and cultivated, and for well-kept 
 gardens; and Spenser’s poems show a familiar acquaintance 
 with them, and a warm admiration for them. Then in 
 Shakespeare’s time we have full records of the gardens and 
 gardening which must have often met his eye, and we find 
 that they were not confined to a few fine places here and 
 there, but that good gardens were the necessary adjunct to 
 every country house, and that they were cultivated with a 
 zeal and a skill that would be a credit to any gardener of our 
 own day. In Harrison’s description of England in Shake- 
 speare’s Youth, recently published by the new Shakespeare 
 Society, we find that Harrison himself, though only a poor 
 country parson, “took pains with his garden, in which, 
 though its area covered but 300 ft. of ground, there was ‘a 
 simple’ for each foot of ground, no one of them being 
 common or usually to be had.”—Edinburgh Review, July, 
 1877. About the same time Gerarde’s Catalogues show that 
 he grew in his London garden more than a thousand species 
 of hardy plants, and Lord Bacon’s famous Essay on Gardens 
 not only shows what a grand idea of gardening he had him- 
 self, but also that this idea was no Utopian idea, but one 
 
272 
 
 that sprung from personal acquaintance with stately gardens, 
 and from an innate love of gardens and flowers. Almost at 
 the same time, but a little later, we come to the celebrated 
 “ John Parkinson, Apothecary of London, the King’s 
 Herbarist,” whose Paradisus Terrestris, first published in 
 1629, is indeed “a choise garden of all sorts of rarest flowers.” 
 His collection of plants would even now be considered an 
 excellent collection, if it could be brought together, while his 
 descriptions and cultural advice show him to have been a 
 thorough practical gardener, who spoke of plants and gardens 
 from the experience of long-continued hard work amongst 
 them. And contemporary with him was Milton, whose 
 numerous descriptions of flowers are nearly all of cultivated 
 plants, as he must have often seen them in English oardens. 
 
 And so we are brought to the conclusion that in the 
 passages quoted above in which Shakespeare speaks so lov- 
 ingly and tenderly of his favourite flowers, these expressions 
 are not to be put down to the fancy of the poet, but that he 
 was faithfully describing what he daily saw or might have 
 seen, and what no doubt he watched with that carefulness and 
 exactness which could only exist in conjunction with a real 
 affection for the objects on which he gazed, “the fresh and ~ 
 fragrant flowers,” “the pretty flow’rets,” “the sweet flowers,” 
 “the beauteous flowers,” “the sweet summer buds,” “ the 
 blossoms passing fair,” “ the darling buds of May.” 
 
 II.— GARDENS, 
 
 (1 King (reads). Ttstandeth north-north-east and by east from 
 the west corner of thy curious-knotted Garden. 
 Love’s Labours Lost, act i, se. 1. 
 
 (2) Isabella. He hath a Garden circummured with brick, 
 Whose western side is with a Vineyard backed ; 
 And to that Vineyard is a planched gate 
 That makes the opening with this bigger key : 
 The other doth commard a little door 
 Which from the Vineyard to the garden leads. 
 Measure for Measure, act iv, se. 1. 
 
 (3) Antonio. The Prince and Count Claudio, walking in a thick- 
 pleached alley in my orchard, were thus much overheard. 
 by amanof mine. uch Ado about Nothing, act 1, se. 2. 
 
273 
 
 (4) Lago. Our bodies are our Gardens, &e. 
 (See Hyssop). Othello, act i, sc. 3. 
 
 (5) Ist Servant. Why should we, in the compass of a pale, 
 Keep law, and form, and due proportion, 
 Showing as in-a model our fair state ? 
 When our sea-walled Garden, the whole land, 
 Is full of weeds; her fairest flowers choked up, 
 Her fruit trees all unpruned, her hedges ruined, 
 Her knots disordered, and her wholesome herbs 
 Swarming with caterpillars. Richard I, act iii, se. 4. 
 
 The flower-gardens of Shakespeare’s time were very different 
 to the flower-gardens of our day; but we have so many good 
 descriptions of them in books and pictures that we have no 
 difficulty in realising them both in their general form and 
 arrangement. Jam now speaking only of the flower gardens; 
 the kitchen gardens and orchards were very much like our 
 own, except in the one important difference, that they had 
 necessarily much less glass than our modern gardens can 
 command. In the flower-garden the grand leading principle 
 was uniformity and formality carried out into very minute 
 details. “The garden is best to be square,” was Lord Bacon’s 
 rule, and this form was determined on because the garden 
 was considered strictly to be a purtenance and continuation 
 of the house, designed so as strictly to harmonise with the 
 architecture of the building. And Parkinson’s advice was to 
 the same effect :—‘* The orbicular or round form is held in 
 its own proper existence to be the most absolute form, 
 containing within it all other forms whatsoever; but few, I 
 think, will chuse such a proportion to be joyned to their 
 habitation. The triangular or three-square form is such a 
 form also as is seldom chosen by any that may make another 
 choise. The four-square form is the most usually accepted 
 with all, and doth best agree with any man’s dwelling.” 
 
 This was the shape of Chaucer’s ideal garden— 
 
 And whan [ had a while goon, 
 
 T saugh a gardyn right anoon, 
 
 Full long and broad; and every delle 
 Enclosed was, and walled welle 
 
 With high walles embatailled. 
 
 T felle fast in a waymenting 
 
 By which art, or by what engyne 
 I might come into that gardyne ; 
 But way I couthe fynd noon 
 
 Into that gardyne for to goon. 
 
274 
 
 Tho’ gan I go a fulle grete pas, 
 Environyng evene in compas, 
 The closing of the square walle, 
 Tyl that I tonde a wiket smalle 
 So shett that I ne’er myght in gon, 
 And other entre was ther noon. 
 Romaunt of the Rose. 
 
 This square enclosure was bounded either by a high wall—- 
 ‘ cireummured with brick,” “with high walles embatailled,” 
 —or with a thick high hedge—“ encompassed on all the four 
 sides with a stately arched hedge.” These hedges were made 
 chiefly of Holly or Hornbeam, and we can judge of their size 
 by Evelyn’s description of his “ impregnable hedge of about 
 400 ft. in length, 9 ft. high, and 5 ft. in diameter.” Many of 
 these hedges still remain in our old gardens. Within this 
 enclosure the garden was accurately laid out in formal shapes, 
 with paths either quite straight or in some strictly mathe- 
 matical figures :— 
 
 And all without were walkes and alleyes dight 
 With divers trees enrang’d in even rankes ; 
 And here and there were pleasant arbors pight, 
 And shadie seates, and sundry flowring bankes, 
 To sit and rest the walkers’ wearie shankes. 
 Faerie Queen, iv, x, 25. 
 
 The main walks were not, as with us, bounded with the turf, 
 but they were bounded with trees, which were wrought into 
 hedges, more or less open at the sides, and arched over at the 
 top. These formed the “ close alleys,” covert alleys,” or 
 ‘“‘thick-pleached alleys,” of which we read in Shakespeare and 
 other writers of that time. Many kinds of trees and shrubs 
 were used for this purpose; “ every one taketh what liketh 
 him best, as either Privit alone, or Sweet Bryer and White 
 Thorn interlaced together, and Roses of one, two, or more 
 sorts placed here and there amongst them. Some also take 
 Lavender, Rosemary, Sage, Southernwood, Lavender Cotton, 
 or some such other thing. Some again plant Cornel trees, 
 and plash them or keep them low to form them into a hedge; 
 and some again take a low prickly shrub that adideth always 
 green, called in Latin Pyracantha.”—Parkinson. It was on 
 these hedges and their adjuncts that the chief labour of the 
 garden was spent. They were cut and tortured into every 
 imaginable shape, for nothing came amiss to the fancy of the 
 topiarist. When this topiary art first came into fashion in 
 
275 
 
 England I do not know, but it was probably more or less the 
 fashion in all gardens of any pretence from very early times, 
 and it reached its highest point in the sixteenth century, and 
 held its ground as the perfection of gardening till it was 
 driven out of the field in the last century by the “ picturesque 
 style,” though many specimens still remain in England, as at 
 Levens* and Hardwicke on a large scale, and in the gardens 
 of many ancient English mansions and old farmhouses on a 
 smaller scale. It was doomed as soon as landscape gardeners 
 aimed at the natural, for even when it was still at its height 
 Addison described it thus: ~‘Our British gardeners, instead 
 of humouring Nature, love to deviate from it as much as 
 possible. Our trees rise in cones, globes, and pyramids; we 
 see the mark of the scissors upon every plant and bush.” 
 
 But this is a digression: I must return to the Elizabethan 
 garden, which I have hitherto only described as a great square, 
 surrounded by wide, covered, shady walks, and with other 
 similar walks dividing the central square into four or more 
 compartments. But all this was introductory to the great 
 feature of the Elizabethan garden, the formation of the 
 “ curious-knotted garden.” Each of the large compartments 
 was divided into a complication of “knots,” by which was 
 meant beds arranged in quaint patterns, formed by rule and 
 compass with mathematical precision, and so numerous that 
 it was a necessary part of the system that the whole square 
 should be fully oceupied by them. Lawn there was none; the 
 whole area was nothing but the beds and the paths that 
 divided them. ‘There was Grass in other parts of the pleasure 
 grounds, and apparently well kept, for Lord Bacon has given 
 his opinion that “nothing is more pleasant to the eye than 
 green Grass kept finely shorn,” but it was apparently to be 
 found only in the orchard, the bowling green, or the 
 “¢ wilderness;” in the flower-garden proper it had no place. 
 The “knots” were generally raised above the surface of the 
 paths, the earth being kept in its place by borders of lead, or 
 tiles, or wood, or even bones; but sometimes the beds and 
 paths were on the same level, and then there were the same 
 edgings that we now use, as Thrift, Box, Ivy, flints, &e. 
 The paths were made of gravel, sand, spar, &e., and sometimes 
 with coloured earths: but against this Lord Bacon made a 
 vigorous protest :—“ As to the making of knots or figures 
 with divers coloured earths, that they may lie under the 
 
 * For an account of Levens, with a plate of the Topiarian garden, see Archero- 
 logical Journal, vol. xxvi, 
 2 
 
 ‘8 
 
276 
 
 windows of the house on that side on which the garden stands 
 they be but toys; you may see as good sights many times in 
 tarts.” 
 
 The old gardening books are full of designs for these knots; 
 indeed, no gardening book of the date seems to have been 
 considered complete if it did not give the “latest designs,” 
 and they seem to have much tried the wit and ingenuity of 
 the gardeners, as they must have also sorely tried their 
 patience to keep them in order; and I doubt not that the 
 efficiency of an Elizabethan gardener was as much tested by 
 his skill and experience in “ knot-work,” as the efficiency 
 of a modern gardener is tested by his skill in “ bedding-out,” 
 which is the lineal descendant of “ knot-work.” In one most 
 essential point, however, the tivo systems very much differed : 
 in “ bedding-out ” the whole force of the system is spent in 
 producing masses of colours, the individual flowers being of 
 no importance, except so far as each flower contributes its 
 little share of colour to the general mass; and it is for this 
 reason that so many of us dislike the system, not only because 
 of its monotony, but more especially because it has a tendency 
 “to teach us to think too little about the plants individually, 
 and to look at them chiefly as an assemblage of beautiful 
 colours. It is difficult in those blooming masses to separate 
 one from another; all produce so much the same sort of 
 impression. ‘The consequence is people see the flowers on the 
 beds without caring to know anything about them or even to 
 ask their names. It was different in the older gardens, 
 because there was just variety there; the plants strongly 
 contrasted with each other, and we were ever passing from 
 the beautiful to the curious. Now we get little of quaintness 
 or mystery, or of the strange delicious thought of being lost 
 or embosomed in a tall rich wood of flowers. All is clear, 
 definite, and classical, the work of a too narrow and exclusive 
 taste.”—Forbes Watson. The old “knot-work” was not open 
 to this censure, though no doubt it led the way which ended 
 in “ bedding-out.” The beginning of the system crept in 
 very shortly after Shakespeare’s time. Parkinson spoke of an 
 arrangement of spring flowers which, when “all planted in 
 some proportion as near one unto another as is fit for them 
 will give such a grace to the garden that the place will seem 
 like a piece of tapestry of many glorious colours, to encrease 
 every one’s delight.” And again—“The Tulipas may be so 
 matched, one colour answering and setting off another, that 
 the place where they stand may resemble a piece of curious 
 needlework or piece of painting.” But these plants were all 
 
277 
 
 perennial, and remained where they were once planted, and 
 with this one exception named by Parkinson, the planting of 
 knot-work was as different as possible from the modern 
 planting of carpet-beds. The beds were planted inside their 
 thick margins with a great variety of plants, and apparently 
 set as thick as possible, like Harrison’s garden quoted above, 
 with its 300 separate plants in as many square feet. These 
 were nearly all hardy perennials,* with the addition of a 
 few hardy annuals, arid the great object seems to have been 
 to have had something of interest or beauty in these gardens 
 at all times of the year. The principle of the old gardeners 
 was that “ Nature abhors a vacuum,” and, as far as their 
 gardens went, they did their best to prevent a vacuum occur- 
 ring at any time. In this way I think they surpassed us 
 in their practical gardening, for, even if they did not always 
 succeed, it was surely something for them to aim (in Lord 
 Bacon’s happy words), “to have ver perpetwum as the place 
 affords.” 
 
 Where the space would allow of it, the garden was further 
 decorated with statues, fountains, “ fair mounts,” labyrinths, 
 mazes,f arbours and alcoves, rocks, ‘“ great Turkey jars,” and 
 such like things. These things were fitting ornaments in 
 such formal gardens, but the best judges saw that they were 
 not necessaries, and that the garden was complete without 
 them. “They be pretty things to look on, but nothing for 
 health or sweetness.” ‘ Such things are for state and magni- 
 ficence, but nothing to the true pleasure of a garden.” 
 
 Such was the Elizabethan garden in its general outlines ; 
 the sort of garden which Shakespeare must have often seen 
 both in Warwickshire and in London. According to our 
 present ideas such a garden would be far too formal and 
 artificial, and we may consider that the present fashion of our 
 gardens is more according to the type of Eden, in which 
 there grew . 
 
 Flowers worthy of Paradise, which not nice art 
 
 In beds and curious knots, but Nature boon 
 
 Poured forth profuse on hill and dale and plaine. 
 Puradise Lost, book iv. 
 
 And none of us probably would now wish to exchange the 
 
 * Jncluding shrubs — 
 ’Tis another’s lot 
 To light upon some gard’ner’s curious knot, 
 Where she upon her breast (love’s sweet repose), 
 Doth bring the Queen of flowers, the English Rose. 
 Browne's Brit. Past., i, 2. 
 + For a good account of mazes and labyrinths see Archwological Journal, xiv, 216, 
 
278 
 
 straight walks and level terraces of the sixteenth century for 
 our winding walks and undulating lawns, in the laying out 
 of which the motto has been “ars est celare artem ”— 
 
 That which all faire workes doth most aggrace, 
 The art, which all that wrought, appeareth in no place. 
 Faerte Queene, ii, xii, 58. 
 
 Yet it is pleasant to look back upon these old gardens, and to 
 see how they were cherished and beloved by some of the 
 greatest and noblest of Englishmen. Spenser has left on 
 record his judgment on the gardens of his day— 
 
 To the gay gardens his unstaid desire 
 Him wholly carried, to refresh his sprights ; 
 
 _ There lavish Nature, in her best attire, 
 Poures forth sweete odors and alluring sights : 
 And Arte, with her contending, doth aspire 
 To excell the natuzall with made delights ; 
 And all, that faire or pleasant may be found, 
 In riotous excesse doth there abound. 
 
 There he arriving around about doth flie, 
 
 From bed to bed, from one to other border ; 
 
 And takes survey, with curious busie eye, 
 
 Of every flowre and herbe there set in order. , 
 Muiopotmos 
 
 Clearly in Spenser’s eyes the formalities of an Elizabethan 
 garden (for we must suppose he had such in his thoughts) 
 did not exclude nature or beauty. 
 
 It was also with such formal gardens in his mind and 
 before his eyes that Lord Bacon wrote his Essay on Gardens, 
 and commenced it with the well-known sentence (for I must 
 quote him once again, for the last time), “‘ God Almighty first 
 planted a garden, and indeed it is the purest of all human 
 pleasures ; it is the greatest refreshment to the spirits of man, 
 without which buildings and palaces are but gross handi- 
 works; and a man shall ever see, that when ages grow to 
 civility and elegancy, men come to build stately sooner than 
 to garden finely, as if gardening were the greater perfection.” 
 And, indeed, in spite of their stiffness and unnaturalness, 
 there must have been a great charm in those gardens, and 
 though it would be antiquarian affectation to attempt or wish 
 to restore them, yet there must have been a stateliness about 
 them which our gardens have not, and they must have had 
 many points of real comfort which it seems a pity to have 
 lost. Those long, shady “ covert alleys,” with their ‘ thick- 
 
279 
 
 pleached ” sides and roof, must have been very pleasant places 
 to walk in, giving shelter in winter, and in summer deep 
 shade, with the pleasant smell of Sweet Brier and Roses. 
 They must have been the very places for a thoughtful student, 
 who desired quiet and retirement for his thoughts— 
 
 And adde to these retired leasure 
 That in trim gardens takes his pleasure, 
 Il Penseroso. 
 
 and they must have been also “ pretty retiring places for 
 conference ” for friends in council. The whole fashion of the 
 Elizabethan garden has passed away, and will probably never 
 be revived ; but before we condemn it as a ridiculous fashion, 
 unworthy of the science of gardening, we may remember that 
 it held its ground in England for nearly two hundred years, 
 and that during that time the gardens of England and the 
 flowers they bore won not the cold admiration but the warm 
 affection of the greatest names in English history, the 
 affection of such a queen as Elizabeth,* of such a grave and 
 wise philosopher as Bacon, of such a grand hero as Raleigh, 
 of such poets as Spenser and Shakespeare. 
 
 e 
 
 IlI.—GARDENERS. 
 
 (1) Queen. But stay, here come the gardeners, 
 | Let’s step into the shadow of these trees. 
 
 Thou, old Adam’s likeness, 
 Set to dréss the garden, how dares 
 Thy harsh rude tongue sound this unpleasing news ? 
 What Eve, what serpent hath suggested thee 
 To make a second fall of cursed man ? 
 Why dost thou say, King Richard is deposed ? 
 Dost thou, thou little better thing than earth, 
 Divine his downfall ? Richard IT, act ii, se. 4. 
 
 (2) Clown. Come, my spade. There is no ancient gentlemen but 
 gardeners, ditchers, and gravemakers; they hold up 
 Adam’s profession. Hamlet, act v, se. 1. 
 
 * Queen Elizabeth’s love of gardening, and her botanical knowledge, were 
 celebrated in a Latin poem, by an Italian who visited England in 1586, and wrote 
 a long poem under the name of AMelissus.—See Archwologia, vol. vii, 120. 
 
280 
 
 Very little is recorded of the gardeners of the sixteenth 
 ~ century, by which we can judge either of their skill or their 
 social position. Gerarde frequently mentions the names of 
 different persons from whom he obtained plants, but without 
 telling us whether they were professional or amateur gardeners 
 or nurserymen; and Hakluyt has recorded the name of Master 
 Wolfe as gardener to Henry VIII. Certainly Richard I1’s 
 Queen did not speak with much respect to her gardener, 
 reproving him for his “ harsh rude tongue,” and addressing 
 him as a “little better thing than earth”—but her angry 
 grief may account for that. Parkinson also has not much to 
 say in favour of the gardeners of his day, but considers it his 
 duty to warn his readers against them-— Our English 
 gardeners are all or the most of them utterly ignorant in the 
 ordering of their outlandish (7.¢. exotic) flowers as not being 
 trained to knowthem. . . . AndIdo wish all gentlemen 
 and gentlewomen, whom it may concern for their own good, 
 to be as careful whom they trust with the planting and re- 
 planting of their fine flowers, as they would be with so many 
 jewels, for the roots of many of them being small and of great 
 value may soon be conveyed away, and a clean tale fair told, 
 that such a root is rotten or perished in the ground if none 
 be seen where it should be, or else that the flower hath 
 changed his colour when it bath been taken away, or a 
 counterfeit one hath been put in the place thereof; and thus 
 many have been deceived of their daintiest flowers, without 
 remedy or true knowledge of the defect.” And again, “idle 
 and ignorant gardeners who get names by stealth as they do 
 many other things.” This is not a pleasant picture either of 
 the skill or honesty of the sixteenth century gardeners, but 
 there must have been skilled gardeners to keep those curious- 
 knotted gardens in order, so as to have a “ver perpetuum all 
 the year.” And there must have been men also who hada 
 love for their craft; and if some stole the rare plants com- 
 mitted to their charge, we must hope that there were some 
 honest men amongst them, and that they were not all like 
 old Andrew I*airservice, in Rob Roy, who wished to find a 
 place where he “wad hear pure doctrine, and hae a free cow’s 
 grass, anda cot anda yard, and mair than ten punds of 
 annual fee,” but added also, “and where there’s nae leddy 
 about the town to count the Apples.” 
 
IV.—GARDENING OPERATIONS. 
 A.—PRUNING, ETC. 
 
 (1) Orlando. But, poor old man, thou prunest a rotten tree, 
 That cannot so much as a blossom yield 
 In lieu of all thy pains and industry. 
 As You Like It, act ii, se. 3. 
 
 (2) Gardener. Go, bind thou up yon dangling Apricocks, 
 Which, like unruly children, make their sire 
 Stoop with oppression of their prodigal weight : 
 Give some supportance to the bending twigs. 
 Go thou, and like an executioner, 
 
 Cut off the heads of too fast growing sprays, 
 That look too lofty in our commonwealth : 
 
 All must be even in our government. 
 
 You thus employ’d, I will go rcoot away 
 
 The noisome weeds, which without profit suck 
 The soil’s fertility from wholesome flowers. 
 
 O, what pity is it, 
 That he had not so trimm’d and dress’d his land 
 As we this garden! We at time of year 
 Do wound the bark, the skin of our fruit-trees, 
 Lest, being over-proud in sap and blood, 
 With too much riches it confound itself: 
 Had he done so to great and growing men, 
 They might have lived to bear, and he to taste 
 Their fruits of duty. All superfluous branches 
 We lop away, that bearing boughs may live. 
 Had he done so, himself had borne the crown 
 Which waste of idle hours hath quite thrown down. 
 fichard LT, act iii, se. 4. 
 
 This most interesting passage would almost tempt us to 
 say that Shakespeare was a gardener by profession ; certainly 
 no other passages that have been brought to prove his real 
 profession are more minute than this. It proves him to have 
 had practical experience in the work, and I think we may 
 safely say that he was no mere ’prentice hand in the use of 
 the pruning knife. 
 
 The art of pruning in his day was probably exactly like 
 our own, as far as regarded fruit trees and ordinary garden 
 
282 
 
 work, but in one important particular the pruner’s art of that 
 day was a far more laborious art than it isnow. The topiary 
 art must have been the triumph of pruning, and when 
 gardens were full of castles, monsters, beasts, birds, fishes, 
 and men, all cut out of Box and Yew, and kept so exact that 
 they. boasted of being the “living representations” and 
 “counterfeit presentments” of these various objects, the hands 
 and head of the pruner could seldom have been idle; the 
 pruning knife and scissors must have been in constant 
 demand from the first day of the year to the last. The 
 pruner of that day was, in fact, a sculptor, who carved his 
 images out of Box and Yew instead of marble, so that in an 
 amusing article in the Guardian for 1713 (No. 173), said to 
 have been written by Pope, is a list of such sculptured 
 objects for sale, and we are told that the “eminent town 
 gardener had arrived to such perfection that he cuts family 
 pieces of men, women, and children. Any ladies that please 
 may have their own effigies in Myrtle, or their husbands in 
 Hornbeam. He isa Puritan wag, and never fails when he 
 shows his garden to repeat that passage in the Psalms, ‘ thy 
 wife shall be as the fruitful Vine, and thy children as Olive 
 branches about thy table.’” 
 
 B.—MANURING, ETC. 
 
 Constable. And you shall find his vanities forespent 
 Were but the outside of the Roman Brutus 
 Covering discretion with a coat of folly, 
 As gardeners do with ordure hide those roots 
 That shall first spring and be most delicate. 
 Henry V, act ii, se. 4. 
 
 The only point that needs notice under this head is that 
 the word “ manure” in Shakespeare’s time was not limited to 
 its present modern meaning. In his day “ manured.land” 
 generally meant cultured land in opposition to wild and 
 barren land. So Falstaff uses the word— 
 
 Hereof comes it that Prince Harry is valiant; for the cold blood 
 he did naturally inherit of his father, he hath, like lean, 
 sterile, and bare land, manured, husbanded, and tilled 
 with excellent endeavour of drinking good and good store 
 of fertile sherris, that he is become very hot and valiant. 
 
 2nd Henry IV, act iv, se. 3. 
 
 And in the same way lago says— 
 
 Either to have it (a garden) sterile with idleness or manured 
 with industry. Othello, acti, se. 3. 
 
283 
 
 Milton and many other writers used the word in this its 
 original sense; and Johnson explains it “to cultivate by 
 manual labour,” according to its literal derivation. In cne 
 passage Shakespeare uses the word somewhat in the modern 
 sense— 
 
 Carlisie. The blood of English shall manure the ground. 
 Richard I, act iv, se. 1. 
 
 But generally he and the writers of that and the next cen- 
 tury expressed the operation more simply and plainly, as 
 “covering with ordure,” or as in the English Bible, “ I shall 
 dig about it and dung it.” 
 
 C.—GRAFTING. 
 
 (1) Buckingham. Her royal stock graft with ignoble plants. 
 Richard LIT, act iii, se. 
 
 (2) Dauphin. O Dieu vivant! shall a few sprays of us, 
 The emptying of our fathers’ luxury, 
 Our scions, put in wild and savage stock, 
 Spirt up so suddenly into the clouds, 
 And overlook their grafters? Henry V, act iil, sc. 
 
 = 
 
 Or 
 
 (3) King. His plausive words 
 He scattared not in ears, but grafted them, 
 
 To grow there and to bear. 
 All’s Well that Ends Well, act i, sc. 
 
 (4) Perdita. The fairest flowers o’ the season 
 Are our Carnations and streaked Gillyvors, 
 Which some call Nature’s bastards: of that kind 
 Our rustic garden’s barren ; and I care not 
 To get slips of them. 
 
 bo 
 
 Polixenes. Wherefore, gentle maiden, 
 Do you neglect them ? 
 Perdita. For I have heard it said 
 
 There is an art which in their piedness shares 
 With great creating Nature. 
 
 . Polixenes. Say there be; 
 Yet Nature is made better by no mean, 
 But Nature makes that mean: so, over that art 
 Which you say adds to Nature, is an art 
 That Nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry 
 A gentle scion to the wildest stock, 
 And make conceive a bark of baser kind 
 By bud of nobler race: this is an art 
 Which does mend Nature, change it rather, but 
 The art itself is Nature. 
 
 Perdita. So it is. 
 
284 
 
 Polizenes. Then make your garden rich in Gillyvors, 
 And do not call them bastards. 
 Perdita. Pll not put 
 The dibble in the earth to set one slip of them. 
 Winter's Tale, act iv, sc. 4. 
 
 The various ways of propagating plants by grafts, cuttings, 
 slips, and artificial impregnation (all mentioned in the above 
 passages) as used in Shakespeare’s day, seem to have been 
 exactly like those of our own time, and so they need no 
 further comment. 
 
 V.—GARDEN ENEMIES. 
 A. WEEDS. 
 
 (1) Hamlet. How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable 
 Seems to me all the uses of this world ! 
 Fye on it, oh fye! Tis an unweeded garden 
 That grows to seed ; things rank and gross in Nature 
 Possess it merely. Hamlet, act i, se. 2. 
 
 (2) Titus. Such withered herbs as these 
 Are meet for plucking up. 
 Titus Andronicus, act iii, se. 1. 
 (3) York. Grandam, one night, as we did sit at supper, 
 My Uncle Rivers talked how I did grow 
 More than my brother. “Ay,” quoth my Uncle Glo’ster, 
 ‘‘ Small herbs have grace, great weeds do grow apace ;” 
 And since, methinks, I would not grow so fast, } 
 Because sweet flowers are slow, and weeds make haste. 
 Richard ITI, act ii, se. 4. 
 (4) Queen Margaret. 
 Now ’tis the spring, and weeds are shallow-rooted ; 
 Suffer them now, and they’ll o’ergrow the garden, 
 And choke the herbs for want of husbandry. 
 2nd Henry VI, act iui, se. 1. 
 
 (5) Unruly blasts wait on the tender spring, 
 Unwholesome weeds take root with precious flowers. 
 Rape of Luerece. 
 (6) King Henry. Most subject is the fattest soil to weeds. 
 2Qnd Henry LV, act iv, se. 4. 
 
 The weeds of Shakespeare need no remark ; they were the 
 
285 
 
 same as ours; and, in spite of our improved cultivation, our 
 fields and gardens are probably as full of weeds as they were 
 three centuries ago. 
 
 B.—BLIGHTs, FROSTS, ETC. 
 
 (1) York. 'Thus are my blossoms blasted in the bud, 
 And caterpillars eat my leaves away. 
 2nd Henry VI, act iii, se. 1. 
 
 (2) Montague. But he, his own affection’s counsellor, 
 Is to himself—I will not say, how true— 
 But to himself so sweet and close, 
 So far from sounding and discovery, 
 As is the bud bit with an envious worm, 
 Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air, 
 Or dedicate his beauty to the sun. 
 Romeo and Juliet, act i, se. 1. 
 
 (3) Lmogene. Comes in my father, 
 And like the tyrannous breathing of the north 
 Shakes all our buds from growing. 
 Cymbeline, act i, se. iv. 
 
 (4) Bardolph. The instant action 
 Lives so in hope as in an early spring 
 We see the appearing buds—which to prove fruit 
 Hope gives not so much warrant as despair 
 That frost will bite them. 2nd Henry IV, acti, se. 3. 
 
 (5) Violet. She never told her love, 
 But let concealment, like a worm i’ the bud, 
 Feed on her damask cheek. 
 Lwelfth Night, act ui, se. 4. 
 (6) Proteus. Yet writers say, as in the sweetest bud 
 The eating canker dwells, so eating love 
 Inhabits in the finest wits of all. 
 Valentine. And writers say, as the most forward bud 
 Is eaten by the canker ere it blow, 
 Even so by love the young and tender wit 
 Ts turn’d to folly, blasting in the bud, 
 Losing his verdure even in the prime 
 And all the fair effects of future hopes. 
 Two Gentlemen of Verena, act i, se. 1. 
 
 (7) Capulet. Death lies on her like an untimely frost 
 Upon the sweetest flower of the field. 
 Romeo and Juliet, act iv, se. 5. 
 (8) Lysimachus. O sir, a courtesy 
 Which if we should deny, the most just gods 
 For every graff would send a caterpillar, 
 And so afflict our province. Pericles, act v, se. 1, 
 
286 
 
 (9) Wolsey. ‘This is the state of man; to-day he puts forth 
 
 The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blossoms, 
 
 And bears his blushing honours thick upon him: 
 
 The third day comes a frost, a killing frost, 
 
 And when he thinks, good easy man, full surely 
 
 His greatness is a ripening, nips his root, 
 
 And then he falls, asI do. Henry VIZ, act iii, se. 2. 
 (10) No men inveigh against the withered flower 
 
 But chide rough winter that the flower hath killed! 
 
 Not that devoured, but that which doth devour, 
 
 Is worthy blame. Rape of Lucrece. 
 
 (11) For never-resting time leads summer on 
 To hideous winter, and confounds him there; 
 Sap checked with frost and lusty leaves quite gone, 
 Beauty o’ersnowed, and bareness everywhere ; 
 Then, were not surmer’s distillation left, 
 A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass, 
 Beauty’s effect with beauty were bereft, 
 Nor it, nor no remembrance what it was; 
 
 - But flowers distilled, though they with winter meet, 
 Lose but their show ; their substance still lives sweet. 
 Sonnet v. 
 
 With this beautiful description of the winter-life of hardy 
 perennial plants I may well close the ‘ Plant-lore and 
 Garden-craft of Shakespeare.” It has stretched to a much 
 greater extent than I at all anticipated when I commenced 
 it, but this only shows how large and interesting a subject I 
 undertook, for I can truly say that my difficulty has been in 
 the necessity for condensing my matter, which I soon found 
 might be made to cover a much larger space than I have 
 given to it; for my cbject was in no case to give an ex- 
 haustive account of the flowers, but only to give such an 
 account of each plant as might illustrate its special use by 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 Having often quoted my favourite authority in gardening 
 matters, old ‘John Parkinson, Apothecary, of London,” I 
 will again make use of him to help me to say my last words 
 -—“ Herein I have spent my time, pains, and charge, which, 
 if well accepted, I shall think well employed. And thus I 
 have finished this work, and have furnished it with whatso- 
 ever could bring delight to those that take pleasure in those 
 things, which how well or ill done I must abide every one’s 
 censure ; the judicious and courteous I only respect; and so 
 
 Farewell.” 
 
Roe TeN i) Xx . 
 
 THE DAISY: 
 ITS HISTORY, POETRY, AND BOTANY. 
 
 There’s a Daisy.— Ophelia. 
 
The following paper on the Daisy was written for the Bath 
 Natural History and Antiquarian Field Club, and read at 
 their meeting January [4th, 1874. It was then published 
 in the Garden, and a few copies were reprinted for private 
 circulation. I now publish it as an Appendix to the Plant- 
 lore of Shakespewre, with very few alterations from its 
 original form, preferring thus to reprint it in extenso than to 
 make an abstract of it for the illustration of Shakespeare’s 
 
 Daisies. 
 
289 
 
 aH Be wa Es ns: 
 
 I almost feel that I ought to apologise to the Field Club 
 for asking them to listen to a paper on so small a subject as 
 the Daisy. But, indeed, I have selected that subject because 
 I think it is one especially suited to a Naturalists’ Field Club. 
 The members of such a club, as I think, should take notice 
 of everything. Nothing should be beneath their notice. It 
 should be their province to note a multitude of little facts 
 unnoticed by others; they should be “ minute philosophers,” 
 and they might almost take as their motto the wise words 
 which Milton put into the mouth of Adam, after he had been 
 instructed to “ be lowhe wise” (especially in the study of the 
 endless wonders of sea, and earth, and sky that surrounded 
 him) : 
 
 To know 
 That which before us lies in daily life, 
 Is the prime wisdom. Paradise Lost, viii, 192. 
 
 Ido not apologise for the lowness and humbleness of my 
 subject, but, with “ no delay of preface” (Milton), I take you 
 at once to it. In speaking of the Daisy, I mean to confine 
 myself to the Daisy, commonly so called, merely reminding 
 
 you that there are also the Great or Ox-eye, or Moon Daisy 
 (Chrysanthemum leucanthemum), the Michaelmas Daisy 
 (Aster), and the Blue Daisy of the South of Europe 
 (Globularia). The name has been also given to a few other 
 plants, but none of them are true Daisies. 
 
 I begin with its name. Of this there can be little doubt ; 
 it is the “ Day’s-eye,” the bright little eye that only opens by 
 day, and goes to sleep at night. This, whether the true 
 derivation or not, is no modern fancy. It is, at least, as old 
 as Chaucer, and probably much older. Here are Chaucer's 
 well-known words— 
 
 U 
 
290 
 
 Men by reason well it calle may 
 The Daisie, or else the Eye of Day, 
 The Empresse and the flowre of flowres all. 
 
 And Ben Jonson boldly spoke of them as “bright Daye’s- 
 eyes.” 
 
 There is, however, another derivation. Dr. Prior says 
 “Skinner derives it trom dais or canopy, and Gavin Douglas 
 seems to have understood it in the sense of a small canopy in 
 the line— 
 
 The Daisie did unbraid her crounall small. 
 
 “ Had we not the A. 8. deges-eage, we could hardly refuse 
 to admit that this last isa far more obvious and probable 
 explanation of the word than the pretty poetical thought 
 conveyed in Day’s-eye,” This was Dr. Prior’s opinion in his 
 first edition of his valuable Popular Names of British 
 Plants, but it is withdrawn in his second edition, and he now 
 is content with the Day’s-eye derivation. Dr. Prior has 
 kindly informed me that he rejected it because he can find no 
 eld authority for Skinner’s derivation, and because it is 
 doubtful whether the Daisy in Gavin Douglas’s line does not 
 mean a Marigold, and not what we call a Daisy. The 
 derivation, however, seemed worth a passing notice. Its 
 other English names are Dog Daisy, to distinguish it from 
 the large Ox-eyed Daisy; Banwort, “ because it helpeth bones 
 to knyt agayne ” (Turner) ; Bruisewort, for the same reason ; 
 Herb Margaret from its French name; and in the North 
 Bairnwort, from its associations with childhood. As to its 
 other names, the plant seems to have been unknown to the 
 Greeks, and has no Greek name, but is fortunate in having 
 as pretty a name in Latin as it has in English. Its modern 
 botanical name is Bellis, and it has had the name from the 
 time of Pliny. Bellis must certainly come from bellus 
 (pretty), and so it is at once stamped as the pretty one even 
 by botanists—though another derivation has been given to 
 the name, of which I will speak soon. The French cali it 
 Marguerite, no doubt for its pearly look, or Pasquerette, to 
 mark it as the spring flower; while the German name for it 
 is very different, and not easy to explain—Ganseblume, 2.¢., 
 Goose-flower. 
 
 As Pliny is the first that mentions the plant, his account 
 is worth quoting. “As touching a Daisy,” he says (1 quote 
 from Holland’s translation, 1601), ‘ a yellow cup it hath 
 also, and the same is crowned, as it were, with a garland, 
 consisting of five and fifty little leaves, set round about it in 
 
291 
 
 manner of fine pales. These be flowers of the meadow, and 
 most of such are of no use at all, no marvile, therefore, if they 
 be namelesse ; howbeit, some give them one tearme and some 
 another.”—Book xxi, cap. 8. And again, ‘ There is a hearbe 
 growing commonly in medows, called the Daisie, with a 
 white floure, and partly inclining to red, which, if it is joined 
 with Mugwort in an ointment, is thought to make the 
 medicine farre more effectual for the King’s evil.”—Book 
 XXVl, cap. 5. 
 
 We have no less than three legends of the origin of the 
 flower. In one legend, not older, I believe, than the four- 
 teenth century (the legend is given at full length by Chaucer 
 in his Legende of Goode Women), Alcestis was turned into a 
 Daisy. Another legend records that “this plant is called 
 Bellis, because it owes its origin to Belides, a grand-daughter 
 to Danaus, and one of the nymphs called Dryads, that 
 presided over the meadows and pastures in ancient times. 
 Belides is said to have encouraged the suit of Ephigeus, but 
 whilst dancing on the grass with this rural deity she attracted 
 the admiration of Vertumnus, who, just as he was about to 
 seize her in his embrace, saw her transformed into the humble 
 plant that now bears her name.” ‘This legend I have only 
 seen in Phillips’s Flora Historica. I need scarcely tell you 
 that neither Belides or Ephigeus are classical names—they 
 are medieval inventions. The next legend is a Celtic one; I 
 find it recorded both by Lady Wilkinson and Mrs. Lankester. 
 I should like to know its origin, but with that grand contempt 
 for giving authorities which lady-authors too often show, 
 neither of these ladies tells us whence she got the legend. 
 The legend says that “ the virgins of Morven to soothe | orier 
 of Malvina, who had lost her infant son, sang to her, ’We 
 have seen, O! Malvina, we have seen the infant you regret, 
 reclining on a light mist; it approached us, and shed on our 
 fields a harvest of new flowers. Look, O! Malvina. Among 
 these flowers we distinguish one with a golden disk sur- 
 rounded by silver leaves; a sweet tinge of crimson adorns ui 
 delicate rays; waved by a gentle wind, we might call it 
 little infant playing ina green meadow ; and the flower of 
 thy bosom has given a new flower to the hills of Cromla.’ ’ 
 Since that day the daughters of Morven have consecrated the 
 Daisy to infancy. “It is,” said they, ‘*the flower of innocence, 
 the flower of the newborn.” Besides these legends, the Daisy 
 is also connected with the legendary history “of 8. Mar garet. 
 The legend is given by Chaucer, but I will tell it to you in 
 the words of a more modern poet :-— 
 
 U? 
 
292 
 
 There is a double flouret, white and rede, 
 That our lasses call Herb Margaret 
 In honour of Cortona’s penitent ; 
 Whose contrite soul with red remorse was rent. 
 While on her penitence kind Heaven did throwe 
 The white of puritie surpassing snowe ; 
 So white and rede in this faire floure entwine, 
 Which maids are wont to scatter on her shrine. 
 Catholic Florist, Feb. 22, 8. Margaret’s Day. 
 
 Yet, in spite of the general association of Daisies with 
 S. Margaret, Mrs. Jameson says that: she has seen one, and 
 only one, picture of 8. Margaret with Daisies. 
 
 The poetry or poetical history of the Daisy is very curious. 
 It begins with Chaucer, whose love of the flower might almost 
 be called an idolatry. But, as 1t begins with Chaucer, so, for 
 a time, it almost ends with him. Spenser, Shakespeare, and 
 Milton scarcely mention it. It holds almost no place in the 
 poetry of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries; but, at 
 the close of the eighteenth century, it has the good luck to be 
 uprooted by Burns’s plough, and he at once sings its dirge 
 and its beauties; and then the flower at once becomes a 
 celebrity. Wordsworth sings of it in many a beautiful verse; 
 and I think it is scarcely too much to say that since his time 
 not an English poet has failed to pay his homage to the 
 humble beauty of the Daisy. I do not purpose to take you 
 through all these poets—time and knowledge would fail me 
 to introduce you to themall. I shall but select some of those 
 which I consider best worth selection. [ begin, of course, 
 with Chaucer, and even with him I must content myself with 
 a selection :— 
 
 Of all the floures in the mede, 
 
 Then love I most those floures white and redde ; 
 Such that men callen Daisies in our town. 
 ‘'o them I have so great affection, 
 
 As I said erst when comen is the Maye, 
 That in my bedde there dawneth me no daie, 
 That I n’am up and walking in the mede 
 
 To see this floure against the sunné sprede. 
 When it upriseth early by the morrow, 
 
 That blessed sight softeneth all my sorrow. 
 So glad am I, when that I have presence 
 
 Of it, to done it all reverence— 
 
 As she that is of all floures the floure, 
 Fulfilled of all virtue and honoure; 
 
 And ever ylike fair and fresh of hue, 
 
 And ever I love it, and ever ylike new, 
 
293 
 
 And ever shall, till that mine heart die, 
 All swear I not, of this I will not lye. 
 There loved no wight hotter in his life, 
 
 ~ And when that it is eve, I run blithe, 
 As soon as ever the sun gaineth west, 
 To see this floure, how it will go to rest. 
 For fear of night, so hateth she darkness, 
 Her cheer is plainly spread in the brightness 
 Of the sunne, for there it will unclose ; 
 Alas, that I ne had English rhyme or prose 
 Suffisaunt this floure to praise aright. 
 
 I could give you several other quotations from Chaucer, 
 but I will content myself with this, for I think unbounded 
 admiration of a flower can scarcely go further than the lines 
 I have read to you. 
 
 In an early poem published by Ritson is the following :— 
 
 Lenten ys come with love to toune 
 With blosmen ant with briddes roune 
 That al thys blisse bryngeth ; 
 Daye-eyes in this dales, 
 Notes swete of nyghtegales 
 Vch foul song singeth. 
 Ancient Songs and Ballads, vol. 1, p. 63. 
 
 Stephen Hawes, who lived in the time of Henry VII, wrote 
 a poem called the Temple of Glass. In that temple he tells 
 us— 
 
 I saw depycted upon a wall, 
 From est to west, fol many a fayre image 
 Of sundry lovers. 
 
 And among these lovers— 
 
 And Alder next was the freshe quene, 
 I mean Alceste, the noble true wife, 
 And for Admete howe she lost her life, 
 And for her trouthe, if I shall not lye, 
 How she was turned into a Daysye, 
 
 We next come to Spencer. In the Muropotmos, he gives 
 a list of flowers that the butterfly frequents, with most 
 descriptive epithets to each flower most happily chosen. 
 Among the flowers are— 
 
 The Roses raigning in the pride of May, 
 
 Sharp Isope good for greene woundes’ remedies, 
 Faire Marigoldes, and bees-alluring Thyme, 
 Sweet Marjoram, and Daysies decking prime. 
 
294 
 
 By “decking prime” he means they are the ornament of 
 the morning.* Again he introduces the Daisy in a stanza of 
 much beauty, that commences the June Eclogue of the 
 Shepherds’ Calendur. 
 
 Lo! Colin, here the place whose pleasaunt syte 
 From other shades hath weand my wandring minde. 
 Tell me, what wants me here to work delyte ? 
 
 The simple ayre, the gentle warbling winde, 
 
 So calm, so cool, as no where else I finde ; 
 
 The Grassie ground, with daintie Daysies dight ; 
 The Bramble bush, where byrdes of every kinde 
 
 To the waters’ fall their tunes attemper right. 
 
 From Spencer we come to Shakespeare, and when we 
 remember the vast acquaintance with flowers of every kind 
 that he shows, and especially when we remember how often 
 he almost seems to go out of his way to tell of the simple 
 wild flowers of England, it is surprising that the Daisy is 
 almost passed over entirely by him. Here are the passages 
 in which he names the flowers. First, in the poem of the 
 Rape of Lucrece, he has a very pretty picture of Luerece 
 as she lay asleep— 
 
 Without the bed her other faire hand was 
 On the green coverlet, whose perfect white © 
 Showed like an April Daisy on the Grass. 
 
 In Love's Lubours Lost is the song of Spring, beginning— 
 
 When Daisies pied, and Violets blue ; 
 And Lady-smocks all silver-white, 
 And Cuckoo buds of yellow hue 
 Do paint the meadows with delight. 
 
 In Hamlet Daisies are twice mentioned in connection with 
 Ophelia in her madness. ‘“ There’s a Daisy!” she said, as 
 she distributed her flowers; but she made no comment on 
 the Daisy as she did on her other flowers. And, in the 
 description of her death, the Queen tells us that — 
 
 Fantastick garlands she did make 
 Of Crow-flowers, Nettles, Daisies, and Long Purples. 
 
 And in Cymbeline the General Lucius gives directions for 
 the burial of Cloten—~ 
 
 * This is the general interpretation, but “decking prime” may mean the 
 ornament of spring, 
 
295 
 
 Let us 
 Find out the prettiest Daisied plot we can, 
 And make him with our pikes and partisans 
 A grave. 
 
 These are the only places in which the Daisy is mentioned 
 in Shakespeare’s plays, and it is a little startling to find that 
 of these five one is in a song for very absurd clowns, and 
 two others are connected with the poor mad princess. I 
 hope that you will not use Shakespeare’s authority against 
 me, that to talk of Daisies is only fit for clowns and madmen. 
 
 Drayton, in the Polyolbion, 15th Song, represents the 
 Naiads engaged in twining garlands for the marriage of 
 Tame and Isis, and considering that he-— : 
 
 Should not be dressed with flowers to gardens that belong 
 (His bride that better fitteth), but only such as spring 
 From the replenisht meads and fruitful pasture neere, 
 
 they collect among other wild flowers— 
 
 The Daysie over all those sundry sweets so thick. 
 
 As nature doth herself, to imitate her right ; 
 
 Who seems in that her pearle so greatly to delight 
 That every plaine therewith she powdereth to beholde. 
 
 And to the same effect, in his Description of Elystwm— 
 
 There Daisies damask every place, 
 Nor once their beauties lose, 
 
 That when proud Pheebus turns his face, 
 Themselves they scorn to close. 
 
 Browne, contemporary with Shakespeare, has these pretty 
 lines on the Daisy— 
 
 The Daisy scattered on each mead and down, 
 A golden tuft within a silver crown ;— 
 (Fair fall that dainty flower! and may there be 
 No shepherd graced that doth not honour thee !) 
 Brit. Past., ui, 3. 
 
 And the following must be about the same date— 
 
 The pretty Daisy which doth show 
 Her love to Phcebus, bred her woe; 
 (Who joys to see his cheareful face, 
 And mournes when he is not in place—) 
 ‘‘ Alacke! alacke! alacke! ’’ quoth she, 
 ‘‘ There’s none that ever loves like me.” 
 The Deceased Maiden’s Lover.—Roxburghe Ballads, 1, 341. 
 
296 
 
 [I am not surprised to find that Milton barely mentions 
 the Daisy. His knowledge of plants was very small compared 
 to Shakespeare’s, and seems to have been, for the most part, 
 derived from books. His descriptions of plants all savour 
 more of study than the open air. 1 only know of two places 
 in which he mentions the Daisy. In the “VAllegro” he 
 speaks of “ Meadows trim with Daisies pied,” and in another 
 place he speaks of “ Daisies trim.” But I am surprised to 
 find the Daisy overlooked by two such poets as Robert 
 Herrick and George Herbert. Herrick sang of flowers most 
 sweetly, few if any English poets have sung of them more 
 sweetly, but he has little to say of the Daisy. He has one 
 poem, indeed, addressed specially to a Daisy, but he simply 
 uses the little flower, and not very successfully, as a peg on 
 which to hang the praises of his mistress. He uses it more 
 happily in describing the pleasures of a country life— 
 
 Come live with me and thou shalt see 
 
 The pleasures I’ll prepare for thee, 
 
 What sweets the country can afford, 
 
 Shall bless thy bed and bless thy board. 
 
 . Thou shalt eat 
 
 The paste of Filberts for thy bread, 
 
 With cream of Cowslips buttered ; 
 
 Thy feasting tables shall be hills, 
 
 With Daisies spread and Daffodils. 
 And again— 
 
 Young men and maids meet, 
 
 To exercise their dancing feet, 
 
 Tripping the comely country round, 
 
 With Daffodils and Daisies crowned. 
 
 George Herbert had a deep love for flowers, and a still 
 
 deeper love for finding good Christian lessons in the ecom- 
 monest things about him. He delights in being able to say 
 
 Yet can I mark how herbs below 
 Grow green and gay, 
 
 but I believe he never mentions the Daisy. 
 Of the poets of the seventeenth century I need only make 
 one short quotation from Dryden— 
 
 And then the band of flutes began to play, 
 
 To which a lady sang a tirelay ; 
 
 And still at every close she would repeat 
 
 ‘The burden of the song—‘' The Daisy is so sweet, 
 The Daisy is so sweet’’—when she began 
 
 The troops of knights and dames continued on 
 The consort ; and the voice so charmed my ear 
 And soothed my soul that it was heaven to hear. 
 
207 
 
 I need not dwell on the other poets of the seventeenth 
 century. In most of them a casual allusion to the Daisy 
 may be found, but little more. Nor need I dwell at all on 
 the poets of the eighteenth century In the so-called 
 Augustan age of poetry, the Daisy could not hope to attract 
 any attention. It was the correct thing if they had to speak 
 of the country to speak of the “ Daisied” or ‘ Daisy- 
 spangled” meads, but they could not condescend to any 
 nearer approach to the little flower. If they had they would . 
 have found that they had chosen their epithet very badly. 
 I never yet saw a “ Daisy-spangled ” meadow.* The flowers 
 may be there, but the iong Grasses effectually hide them. 
 And so I come per saltum to the end of the eighteenth 
 century, and at once to Burns, who brought the Daisy again 
 into notice. He thus regrets the uprooting of the Daisy by 
 his plough :— 
 
 Wee, modest, crimson-tippéd flower, 
 
 Thou’st met me in an evil hour; 
 
 For I must crush amongst the stour 
 Thy slender stem. 
 
 To spare thee now is past my power, 
 Thou bonny gem. 
 
 Cold blew the bitter, biting north, 
 
 Upon thy humble birth, 
 
 Yet cheerfully thou venturest forth 
 Amid the storm, 
 
 Scarce reared above the Parent-earth 
 Thy tender form. 
 
 The flaunting flowers our gardens yield 
 High sheltering woods and walks must shield ; 
 But thou, between the random bield 
 Of clod or stone, 
 Adorn’st the rugged stubble field, 
 Unseen, alone. 
 
 There, in thy scanty mantle clad, 
 
 Thy snowy bosom sunward spread, 
 
 Thou lift’st thy unassuming head 
 In humble guise ; 
 
 But now the share uptears thy bed, 
 And low thou lies! 
 
 * This statement has been objected to, but I retain it, because in speaking of a 
 meadow, [ mean what is called a meadow in the south of England, a lowland, and 
 often irrigated, pasture. In such a meadow Daisies have no place. In the north 
 the word is more loosely used for any pasture, but in the south the distinction is 
 so closely drawn that hay dealers make a great difference in their prices for 
 “upland” or “meadow hay.” 
 
298 
 
 With Burns we may well join Clare, another peasant poet 
 from Northamptonshire, whose poems are not so much known 
 as they deserve to be. His allusions to wild flowers always 
 mark his real observation of them, and his allusions to the 
 Daisy are frequent; thus :— 
 
 Smiling on the sunny plain 
 The lovely Daisies blow, 
 
 Unconscious of the careless feet 
 That lay their beauties low. 
 
 Again, alluding to his own obscurity— 
 
 Green turf’s allowed forgotten heap, 
 Is all that I shall have, 
 
 Save that the little Daisies creep 
 To deck my humble grave. 
 
 Again, in his description of evening, he does not omit to 
 notice the closing of the Daisy at sunset— 
 
 Now the blue fog creeps along, 
 
 And the birds forget their song ; 
 Flowers now sleep within their hoods, 
 Daisies button into buds. 
 
 And so we come to Wordsworth, whose love of the Daisy 
 almost equalled Chaucer’s. His allusions and addresses to 
 the Daisy are numerous, but I have only space for a small - 
 selection. First, are two stanzas from a long poem specially 
 to the Daisy— 
 
 When soothed awhile by milder airs, 
 
 Thee Winter in the garland wears, 
 
 That thinly shades his few gray hairs, 
 Spring cannot shun thee. 
 
 While summer fields are thine by right, 
 
 And autumn, melancholy wight, 
 
 Doth in thy crimson head delight 
 When rains are on thee. 
 
 Child of the year that round dost run 
 Thy course, bold lover of the sun, 
 And cheerful when thy day’s begun 
 As morning leveret. 
 Thy long-lost praise thou shalt regain, 
 Dear shalt thou be to future men, 
 As in old time, thou not in vain 
 Art nature’s favourite. 
 
 The other poem from Wordsworth that I shall read to you 
 
299 
 
 is one that has received the highest praise from all readers, 
 and by Ruskin (no mean critic, and certainly not always 
 given to praises) is described as “two delicious stanzas, 
 followed by one of heavenly imagination.”* The poem is ~ 
 An Address to the Daisy— 
 
 A nun demure—of holy port ; 
 
 A sprightly maiden—of love’s court, 
 
 in thy simplicity the sport 
 Of all temptations. 
 
 A queen in crown of rubies drest, 
 
 A starveling in a scanty vest, 
 
 Are all, as seems to suit thee best, 
 Thy appellations. 
 
 I see thee glittering from afar, 
 And then thou art a pretty star, 
 Not quite so fair as many are 
 
 In heaven above thee. 
 Yet like a star with glittering crest, 
 Self-poised in air thou seem’st to rest ; 
 Let peace come never to his rest 
 
 Who shall reprove thee. 
 
 Sweet flower, for by that name at last, 
 
 When all my reveries are past, 
 
 I call thee, and to that cleave fast. 
 Sweet silent creature, 
 
 That breath’st with me in sun and air; 
 
 Do thou, as thou art wont, repair 
 
 My heart with gladness, and a share 
 Of thy meek nature. 
 
 With these beautiful lines I might well conclude my notices 
 of the poetical history of the Daisy, but, to bring it down 
 more closely to our own times, I will remind you of a poem 
 by Tennyson, entitled Zhe Daisy. It isa pleasant description 
 of a southern tour brought to his memory by finding a dried 
 Daisy ina book. He says:— 
 
 We took our last adieu, 
 And up the snowy Splugen drew,, 
 But ere we reached the highest summit, 
 I plucked a Daisy, I gave it you, 
 It told of England then to me, 
 And now it tells of Italy. 
 
 Thus I have picked several pretty flowers of poetry for you 
 from the time of Chaucer to our own. I could have made 
 
 * Moderu Painters, vol, ii, 186, 
 
300 
 
 the posy fifty-fold larger, but I could, probably, have found 
 no flowers for the posy more beautiful, or more curious, than | 
 these few. 
 
 I now come to the botany of the Daisy. The Daisy belongs 
 to the immense family of the Composite, a family which 
 contains one-tenth of the flowering plants of the world, and 
 of which nearly 10,000 species are recorded. In England the 
 order is very familiar, as it contains three of our commonest 
 kinds, the Daisy, the Dandelion, and the Groundsel.. It may 
 give some idea of the large range of the family when we find 
 that there are some 600 recorded species of the Groundsel 
 alone, of which eleven are in England. I shall not weary 
 you with a strictly scientific description of the Daisy, but I 
 will give you instead Rousseau’s well-known description. It 
 is fairly accurate, though not strictly scientific: “ Take,” he 
 says, “ one of those little flowers, which cover all the pastures, 
 and which every one knows by the name of Daisy. Look at 
 it well, for I am sure you would never have guessed from its 
 appearance that this flower, which is so small and delicate, 
 is really composed of between two and three hundred other 
 flowers, all of them perfect, that is, each of them having its 
 corolla, stamens, pistil and fruit; in a word, as perfect in its 
 species as a flower of the Hyacinth or Lily. Every one of 
 these leaves, which are white above and red underneath, and 
 form a kind of crown round the flower, appearing to be 
 nothing more than little petals, are in reality so many true 
 flowers ; and every one of those tiny yellow things also which 
 you see in the centre, and which at first you have perhaps 
 taken for nothing but stamens, are real flowers . .. . 
 Pull out one of the white leaves of the flower; you will think 
 at first that it is flat from one end to the other, but look 
 carefully at the end by which it was fastened to the flower, 
 and you will see that this end is not flat, but round and 
 hollow in the form of a tube, and that a little thread ending 
 in two horns issues from the tube. This thread is the forked 
 style of the flower, which, as you now see, is flat only at top. 
 Next look at the little yellow things in the middle of the 
 flower, and which, as I have told you, are all so many flowers ; 
 if the flower is sufficiently advanced, you will see some of 
 them open in the middle and even cut into several parts. 
 These are the monopetalous corollas. . . . . This is 
 enough to show you by the eye the possibility that all these 
 small affairs, both white and yellow, may be so many distinct 
 flowers, and this is a constant fact.”—Quoted in Lindley’s 
 Ladies’ Botany, vol. i. 
 
301 
 
 But Rousseau does not mention one feature which I wish to 
 describe to you, as I know few points in botany more beatiful 
 than the arrangement by which the Daisy is fertilised. In 
 the centre of each little flower is the style surrounded closely 
 by the anthers. The end of the style is divided, but, as long 
 as it remains below among the anthers, the two lips are 
 closed. ‘The anthers are covered, more or less, with pollen ; 
 the style has its outside surface bristling with stiff hairs. In 
 this condition it would be impossible for the pollen to reach 
 the interior (stigmatic) surfaces of the divided style, but the 
 style rises, and as it rises, it brushes off the pollen trom the 
 anthers around it. Its lips are closed till it has risen well 
 above the whole flower, and left the anthers below; then it 
 opens, showing its broad stigmatic surface to receive pollen 
 from other flowers, and distribute the pollen it has brushed 
 off, not to itself (which it could not do), but to other flowers 
 around it. By this provision no flower fertilises itself, and 
 those of you who are acquainted with Darwin’s writings will 
 know how necessary this provision may be in perpetuating 
 flowers. The Daisy not only produces doubie flowers, but also 
 the curious proliferous flower called Hen and Chickens, or 
 Childing Daisies, or Jackanapes on Horseback. These are 
 botanically very interesting flowers, and though I, on another 
 occasion, drew your attention to the peculiarity, I cannot 
 pass it over in a paper specially devoted to the Daisy. The 
 botanical interest is this :—It is a well-known fact in botany, 
 that all the parts of a plant—root, stem, flowers, and their 
 parts, thorns, fruits, and even the seeds, are only different 
 forms of leaves, and are all interchangeable, and the Hen and 
 Chickens Daisy is a good proof of it. Underneath the flower- 
 head of the Daisy is a green cushion, composed of bracts; in 
 the Hen and Chickens Daisy, some of these bracts assume 
 the form of flowers, and are the chickens. If the plant is 
 neglected, or does not like its soil, the chickens again become 
 bracts. 
 
 The only other point in the botany of the Daisy that 
 occurs to me is its geographical range. The old books are 
 not far wrong when they say “it groweth everywhere.” It 
 does not, however, grow in the Tropics. In Europe it is 
 everywhere, from Iceland to the extreme south, though not 
 abundant in the south-easterly parts. It is found in North 
 America very sparingly, and not at all in the United States, 
 It is also by no means fastidious in its choice of position—by 
 the river-side, or on the mountain-top, it seems equally at 
 home, though it somewhat varies according to its situation, 
 
302 
 
 but its most chosen habitat seems to be a well-kept lawn. 
 There it luxuriates, and defies the scythe and the mowing 
 machine. It has been asserted that it disappears when the 
 ground is fed by sheep, and again appears when the sheep are 
 removed, but this requires confirmation. Yet it does not 
 lend itself readily to gardening purposes. It is one of those 
 
 Flowers, worthy of Paradise, which not nice art 
 
 In beds and curious knots, but Nature’s boon 
 Pour’d forth profuse on hill, and dale, and plain, 
 Both where the morning sun first warmly smote 
 The open field, and where the unpiere’d shade 
 Imbrown’d the noontide bowers.—Par. Lost, iv, 240. 
 
 Under cultivation it becomes capricious; the sorts degene- 
 rate and require much care to keep them true. As to its 
 time of flowering, it is commonly considered a spring and 
 summer flower; but I think one of its chief charms is that 
 there is scarcely a day in the whole year in which you might 
 not find a Daisy in flower. 
 
 I have now gone through something of the history, poetry, 
 and botany of the Daisy, but there are still some few points 
 which I could not weil range under either. of these three 
 heads, yet which must not he passed over. In painting, the 
 the Daisy was a favourite with the early Italian and Flemish 
 painters, its bright star coming in very effectively in their 
 foregounds. Some of you will recollect that it is largely 
 used in the foreground of Van Eyck’s grand picture of the 
 ‘Adoration of the Lamb,” now at S. Bavon’s, in Ghent. In 
 sculpture it was not so much used, its smal! size making it 
 unfit for that purpose. Yet you will sometimes see it, both 
 in the stone and wood carvings of our old churches. In 
 heraldry it is not unknown. <A family named Daisy bear 
 three Daisies on their coat of arms. In an old picture of 
 Chaucer, a Daisy takes the place in the corner usually allotted 
 to the coat of arms in medieval paintings. It was assumed 
 as an heraldic cognisance by St. Louis of France in honour 
 of his wife Margaret ; by the good Margaret of Valois, Queen 
 of Navarre; by Margaret of Anjou, the unfortunate wife of 
 our King Henry VI; while our Margaret; Countess of 
 Richmond, mother of our Henry VII, and dear to Oxford and 
 Cambridge as the foundress of the Margaret Professorships, 
 and of Christ College in Cambridge, bore three Daisies on a 
 green turf. 
 
 In medicine, I am afraid, the Daisy has so lost its virtues 
 that it has no place in the modern pharmacopceia: but in old 
 
303 
 
 days it was not so. Gerarde says, “the Daisies do mitigate 
 all kinds of paines, especially in the joints, and gout pro- 
 ceeding from a hot or dry humoure, if they be stamped with 
 new butter, unsalted, and applied upon the pained place.” 
 Nor was this all. In those days, doctors prescribed according 
 to the so-called “ doctrine of signatures,” 2.¢., it was supposed 
 that Nature had shown, by special marks, for what special 
 disease each plant was useful; and so in the humble growth of 
 the little low-growing Daisy the doctors read its uses, and 
 here they are. “It is said that the roots thereof being 
 boyled in milk, and given to little puppies, will not suffer 
 them to grow great.”—Cole’s Adam in Eden. One more 
 virtue. Miss Pratt says that “an author, writing in 1696, 
 tells us that they who wish to have pleasant dreams of the 
 loved and absent, should put ‘ Dazy roots under their pillow ’” 
 
 On the English language, the Daisy has had little influence, 
 though some have derived “ lackadaisy ” and “ lackadaisical ” 
 from the Daisy, but there is, certainly, no connection between 
 the words. Daisy, however, was (and, perhaps, still is) a 
 provincial adjective in the Eastern Counties. A writer in 
 Notes and Queries (2nd Series, ix, 261) says that Samuel 
 Parkis, in a letter to George Chalmers, dated February 16th, 
 1799, notices the following provincialisms: ‘ Daisy: re- 
 markable, extraordinary excellent, as ‘She’s a Daisy lass to 
 work,’ 4.¢., ‘She is a good working girl.” ‘I’m a Daisy body 
 for pudding, #.¢., ‘I eat a great deal of pudding.’” 
 
 And I must not leave the Daisy without noticing one 
 special charm, that it is peculiarly the flower of childhood. 
 The Daisy is one of the few flowers of which the child may 
 pick any quantity without fear of scolding from the surliest 
 gardener. It is to the child the herald of spring, when it 
 can set its little foot on six at once, and it readily lends itself 
 to the delightful manufacture of Daisy chains. 
 
 In the spring and play-time of the year, 
 
 ; the little ones, a sportive team, 
 Gather king-cups in the yellow mead, 
 
 And prank their hair with Daisies.—CowPeEr. 
 
 It is then the special flower of childhood, but we cannot 
 entirely give it up to our children. And I have tried to 
 show you that the humble Daisy has been the delight of 
 many noble minds, and may be a fit subject of study even for 
 those children of a larger growth who form the ‘ Bath Field 
 Club,” 
 
UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS-URBANA 
 
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