THYME.

(1) Oberon.

I know a bank where the wild Thyme blows.

Midsummer Night's Dream, act ii, sc. 1 (249).

(2) Iago.

We will plant Nettles or sow Lettuce, set Hyssop and weed up Thyme.

Othello, act i, sc. 3 (324). (See HYSSOP.)

(3) And sweet Time true.

Two Noble Kinsmen, Introd. song.

It is one of the most curious of the curiosities of English plant 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 impossible 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 not occur in the old English vocabularies. We have in AElfric's "Vocabulary," "Pollegia, hyl-wyrt," which may perhaps be the Thyme, though it is generally supposed to be the Pennyroyal; we have in a Vocabulary of thirteenth century, "Epitime, epithimum, fordboh," which also may be the Wild Thyme; we have in a Vocabulary of the fifteenth century, "Hoc sirpillum, A{ce} petergrys;" and in a Pictorial Vocabulary of the same date, "Hoc cirpillum, A{ce} a pellek" (which word is probably a misprint, for in the "Promptorium Parvulorum," c. 1440, it is "Peletyr, herbe, serpillum piretrum"), 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," i.e., 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 in the "Catholicon Anglicum," when it is "Tyme; timum epitimum; flos ejus est." It is thus a puzzle how it can have got naturalized among us, for in Shakespeare's time it was completely naturalized.

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 Water mints; 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."

Lycidas.

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 ego mella daturos Ad violam et cytisos, et Thyma cana voco."

Fasti, v.

so that the Thyme became proverbial as the symbol of sweetness. It was the highest compliment that the shepherd could pay to his mistress—

"Nerine Galatea, Thymo mihi dulcior Hyblae."

VIRGIL, Ecl. 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 cicadae.'

VIRGIL, Georg.

Hymettus in Greece and Hybla in Sicily were so famous for Bees and Honni, because there grew such store of Tyme; propter hoc 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 rockwork, 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.



TURNIPS.

Anne.

Alas! I had rather be set quick i' the earth And boul'd to death with Turnips.

Merry Wives of Windsor, act iii, sc. 4 (89).

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 noep, nep, or neps, which was only the English form of the Latin napus, while Turnip is the corruption of terrae 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 is 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 comparatively a modern date, though the field Turnip and garden Turnip are only varieties of the same species, while there are also many varieties both of the field and garden Turnip. "One field proclaims the Scotch variety, while the bluer cast tells its hardy Swedish origin; the tankard proclaims 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 best 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. iii. c. 11.



VETCHES.

Iris.

Ceres, most bounteous lady, thy rich leas, Of Wheat, Rye, Barley, Vetches, Oats, and Pease.

Tempest, act iv, sc. 1 (60).

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. Two 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. cracca and 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 not a very common plant, but I have often seen it in Gloucestershire and Somersetshire, and wherever it is found it is generally in abundance.

The other name for the Vetch is Tares, which is, no doubt, an old English word that has never been satisfactorily explained. The word has an interest from its biblical associations, though modern scholars decide that the Zizania is wrongly translated Tares, and that it is rather a bastard Wheat or Darnel.



VINES.

(1) Titania.

Feed him with Apricocks and Dewberries, With purple Grapes, green Figs, and Mulberries.

Midsummer Night's Dream, act iii, sc. 1 (169).

(2) Menenius.

The tartness of his face sours ripe Grapes.

Coriolanus, act v, sc. 4 (18).

(3) Song.

Come, thou monarch of the Vine, Plumpy Bacchus, with pink eyne! In thy fats our cares be drown'd, With thy Grapes our hairs be crown'd.

Antony and Cleopatra, act ii, sc. 7 (120).

(4) Cleopatra.

Now no more The juice of Egypt's Grape shall moist this lip.

Ibid., act v, sc. 2 (284).

(5) Timon.

Dry up thy Marrows, Vines, and plough-torn leas.

Timon of Athens, act iv, sc. 3 (193).

(6) Timon.

Go, suck the subtle blood o' the Grape, Till the high fever seethe your blood to froth.

Ibid. (432).

(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 Like It, act v, sc. 1 (36).

(8) Iago.

Blessed Fig's end! the wine she drinks is made of Grapes.

Othello, act ii, sc 1 (250).

(9) Lafeu.

O, 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 ii, sc. 1 (73).

(10) Lafeu.

There's one Grape yet.

Ibid., act ii, sc. 1 (105).

(11) Pompey.

'Twas in "The Bunch of Grapes," where, indeed, you have a delight to sit.

Measure for Measure, act ii, sc. 1 (133).

(12) Constable.

Let us quit all And give our Vineyards to a barbarous people.

Henry V, act iii, sc. 5 (3).

(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, sc. 2 (41, 54).

(14) Mortimer.

And pithless arms, like to a wither'd Vine That droops his sapless branches to the ground.

1st Henry VI, act ii, sc. 5 (11).

(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 VIII, act v, sc. 5 (34).

(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.

Ibid. (48).

(17) Lear.

Now, our joy, Although the last, not least; to whose young love The Vines of France and milk of Burgundy Strive to be interess'd.

King Lear, act i, sc. 1 (84).

(18) Arviragus.

And let the stinking Elder, grief, untwine His perishing root with the increasing Vine!

Cymbeline, act iv, sc. 2 (59).

(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, sc. 2 (176).

(20) Gonzalo.

Bound of land, tilth, Vineyard, none.

Tempest, act ii, sc. 1 (152).

(21) Iris.

Thy pole-clipt Vineyard.

Ibid., act iv, sc. 1 (68).

(22) Ceres.

Vines with clustering bunches growing, Plants with goodly burthen bowing.

Ibid. (112).

(23) Richmond.

The usurping boar, That spoil'd your summer fields and fruitful Vines.

Richard III, act v, sc. 2 (7).

(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 (28).

(25)

The Vine shall grow, but we shall never see it.

Two Noble Kinsmen, act ii, sc. 2 (47).

(26)

Even as poor birds, deceived with painted Grapes, Do forfeit by the eye and pine the maw.

Venus and Adonis (601).

(27)

For one sweet Grape, who will the Vine destroy?

Lucrece (215).

Besides these different references to the Grape Vine, some of its various products are mentioned, as Raisins, wine, aquavitae 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 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, praeter oleam vitemque et caetera calidioribus terris oriri sueta, patiens frugum, faecundum." 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."[301:1]

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 Vine-dressers."—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 Gardener's 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 fishpond, 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 sua excipit aeris insultus, cum res ita desiderat, et fenestra clementiam caloris 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 Gerard: "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 as a 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 of streets, &c., which are occasionally met with. There is "Vineyard Holm," in the Hampshire Downs, and many other places in Hampshire; the "Vineyard Hills," at Godalming; the "Vines," at Rochester and Sevenoaks; the "Vineyards," at Bath and Ludlow; the "Vine Fields," near the Abbey at Bury St. Edmunds;[302:1] the "Vineyard Walk" in Clerkenwell; and "near Basingstoke the 'Vine' or 'Vine House,' in a richly wooded spot, where, as is said, the Romans grew the first Vine in Britain, the memory of which now only survives in the Vine Hounds;"[303:1] and probably a closer search among the names of fields in other parts would bring to light many similar instances.[303:2]

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 they 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, called "litchets" or "lynches;" these are traditionally the sites of the old Vineyards, but the tradition 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. It seems certain that the ground was artificially formed into these terraces with very little labour, and that they were utilized for some special cultivation, and as likely for Vines as for any other.[303:3] It is also 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 destroyed 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 flourishing Vineyards at this time in Somersetshire; the late Sir William Basset, in that county, annually made some hogsheads of wine, which was palatable and well-bodied. The idea that we cannot make good wine from our own Grapes 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 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, except that in a map of five miles round Bath in 1801 a Vineyard is marked at Claverton, formerly in the possession of the Bassets, and the Vines are distinctly shown.[304:1] 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 produce 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,[304:2] and then entirely, or almost, 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 as a 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 assertion, 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 has 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 England should supply herself with all the necessaries of life without dependence on foreign countries, yet, writing in 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. p. 166). Parkinson says to the same effect: "Many have adventured to make Vineyards 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 knowledge 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 Vineyards, 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 multae species, nec nomina quae sint Est numerus; neque enim numero comprendere refert; Quem qui scire velit, Lybici velit aequoris idem Discere quam multae Zephyro turbentur arenae; 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 deny that there may exist throughout the world 700 or 800, perhaps even 1,000 varieties; 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 quality 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 and few; but 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 Mignonnette."—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 grows among the duster 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 Persones Tale.

Nor must we dismiss the Vine without a few words respecting its sacred associations, for it is very much owing to these associations that it has been so endeared to our forefathers and ourselves. Having its native home in the East, 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 great similitude, in which our Lord chose the Vine as the one only plant to which He condescended to compare 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.

FOOTNOTES:

[301:1] According to Vopiscus, England is indebted to the Emperor Probus (A.D. 276-282) for the Vine: "Gallis omnibus et Britannis et Hispanis hinc permisit ut vites haberent, et Vinum conficerent."

[302:1] 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."—RUDDER.

[303:1] "Edinburgh Review," April, 1860.

[303:2] See Preface to "Palladius on Husbandrie," p. viii. (Early English Text Society), for a further account of old English Vineyards.

[303:3] For a very interesting account of the formation of lynches, and their connection with the ancient communal cultivation of the soil see Seebohm's "English Village Community," p. 5.

[304:1] On this Vineyard Mr. Skrine, the present owner of Claverton, has kindly informed me that it was sold in 1701 by Mr. Richard Holder for L21,367, of which L28 was for "four hogsheads of wine of the Vineyards of Claverton."

[304:2] Andrew Boorde was evidently a lover of good wine, and his account is: "This I do say that all the kingdoms of the world have not so many sundry kindes of wine as we in England, and yet there is nothing to make of."—Breviary of Health, 1598.



VIOLETS.

(1) Queen.

The Violets, Cowslips, and the Primroses, Bear to my closet.

Cymbeline, act i, sc. 5 (83).

(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 ii, sc. 2 (165).

(3) Oberon.

Where Oxlips and the nodding Violet grows.

Midsummer Night's Dream, act ii, sc. 1 (250).

(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-light To seek the beauteous eye of Heaven to garnish, Is wasteful and ridiculous excess.

King John, act iv, sc. 2 (11).

(5) K. Henry.

I think the king is but a man, as I am; the Violet smells to him as it doth to me.

Henry V, act iv, sc. 1 (105).

(6) Laertes.

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).

(7) Ophelia.

I would give you some Violets, but they withered all when my father died.

Ibid., act iv, sc. 5 (184).

(8) Laertes.

Lay her i' the earth, And from her fair and unpolluted flesh May Violets spring!

Ibid., act v, sc. 1 (261).

(9) Belarius.

They are as gentle As zephyrs blowing below the Violet, Not wagging his sweet head.

Cymbeline, act iv, sc. 2 (171).

(10) Duke.

That strain again! It had a dying fall: O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound, That breathes upon a bank of Violets, Stealing and giving odour!

Twelfth Night, act i, sc. 1 (4).

(11) Song of Spring.

When Daisies pied, and Violets blue, &c.

Love's Labour's Lost, act v, sc. 2 (904). (See CUCKOO-BUDS.)

(12) Perdita.

Violets dim, But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes Or Cytherea's breath.

Winter's Tale, act iv, sc. 4 (120).

(13) Duchess.

Welcome, my son; Who are the Violets now, That strew the green lap of the new-come spring?

Richard II, act v, sc. 2 (46).

(14) Marina.

The yellows, blues, The purple Violets and Marigolds, Shall as a carpet hang upon thy grave While summer-days do last.

Pericles, act iv, sc. 1 (16).

(15)

These blue-veined Violets whereon we lean Never can blab, nor know not what we mean.

Venus and Adonis (125).

(16)

Who when he lived, his breath and beauty set Gloss on the Rose, smell to the Violet.

Ibid. (936).

(17)

When I behold the Violet past prime, And sable curls all silver'd 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 died."

Ibid. 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 (see 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 affectation. 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, Iris 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 ion. In the old Vocabularies Viola frequently occurs, and with the following various translations:—"Ban-wyrt," i.e., Bone-wort (eleventh century Vocabulary); "Cloefre," i.e., Clover (eleventh century Vocabulary); "Viole, Appel-leaf" (thirteenth century Vocabulary);[310:1] "Wyolet" (fourteenth century Vocabulary); "Vyolytte" (fifteenth century Nominale); "Violetta, A{ce}, 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 Violae distinctissimis floribus communis est. Videntur mihi antiqui suaveolentes quosque flores generatim Violas appellasse, cujuscunque etiam forent generis quasi vi oleant."—Apparat. Plant., 1632. This confusion seems to have arisen in a 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 Alba Viola. All 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 lie down,' but the following lines from Browne clearly prove 'lowly down' to be the correct term, for he uses it in precisely the same sense—

'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 for the Violet. It was, however, the character of lowliness combined with sweetness 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 around 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.—ST. 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, 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. This was prettily expressed by H. Vaughan, the Silurist:

"So violets, so doth the primrose fall At once the spring's pride and its funeral, Such early sweets get off in their still prime, And stay not here to wear the foil of time; While coarser flowers, which none would miss, if past, To scorching summers and cold winters last."

Daphnis, 1678.

It was from this association that they were looked on as apt emblems of those who enjoyed the bright springtide of life and no more. This feeling was constantly 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 Marigolds" which Marina carries to hang "as a carpet on the grave" (No. 14), and again in 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 Violae."

In the same spirit Milton, gathering for the grave of Lycidas—

"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.[313:1]

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 language, It is good to don in potage, In playstrys to wondrys it is comfortyf, W{h} oyer erbys sanatyf:"

Stockholm MS.

and it still holds a place in the Pharmacopoeia, 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 Gerard'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 ornament of all chiefest beautie and most gallant grace, and the 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 many minde the remembrance 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 conversant 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 grief, Since if my scent be good, I care not if It be as short as yours."

Poems on Life.

FOOTNOTES:

[310:1] Appel-leaf is given as the English name for Viola in two other MS. Glossaries quoted by Cockayne, vol. iii. p. 312.

[313:1] This peculiarity is not confined to the Violet. It is found in some species of Oxalis, Impatiens, Campanula, Eranthemum, Amphicarpea, Leeisia, &c. Such plants are technically called Cleistogamous, and are all self-fertilizing.



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 (66).

(2) Ford.

Let them say of me, "As jealous as Ford that searched a hollow Walnut for his wife's leman."

Merry Wives of Windsor, act iv, sc. 2 (170).

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.e., the Persian tree, and Basilikon, i.e., the Royal tree; the Latins gave it a still higher rank, naming it Juglans, i.e., Jove's Nut. "Haec 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 par excellence. "Juglantis vel nux, knutu."—AELFRIC'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;

and this name it still holds in the West of England. But at the same time it had also acquired the name of Walnut. "Hec avelana, A{ce} Walnot-tree" (Vocabulary fourteenth century). "Hec avelana, a Walnutte and the Nutte" (Nominate 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 linguae Romanae, were called in German Welsch. France was called by the mediaeval 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 Waelsch is used more especially for Italian."—WRIGHT'S Celt, Roman, and Saxon.[315:1] 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 marl; 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 sheltered 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 prodigious size and great age. An Italian architect mentions having seen at St. Nicholas, in Lorraine, a single plank of the wood of the Walnut, 25ft. wide, upon which the Emperor 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 to five Tartar families, who share its produce equally."—Gardener's Chronicle.

The economic uses of the Walnut are now chiefly confined 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. In conjunction with amber varnish it forms a vehicle which leaves 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 mediaeval 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.

The Walnut holds an honoured place in heraldry. Two large Walnut trees overshadow the tomb of the poet Waller in Beaconsfield churchyard, and "these are connected with a curious piece of family history. The tree was chosen as the Waller crest after Agincourt, where the head of the family took the Duke of Orleans prisoner, and took afterwards as his crest the arms of Orleans hanging by a label in a Walnut tree with this motto for the device: Haec fructus virtutis."—Gardener's Chronicle, Aug., 1878.

Walnuts are still very popular, but not as poison antidotes; their popularity now rests on their use as pickles, their excellence as autumn and winter dessert fruits, and with pseudo-gipsies 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 can 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.

FOOTNOTES:

[315:1] See Earle's "Philology of the English Tongue," p. 23.



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 (60).

(2) Helena.

More tuneable than lark to shepherd's ear, When Wheat is green, when Hawthorn-buds appear.

Midsummer Night's Dream, act i, sc. 1 (184).

(3) Bassanio.

His reasons are as two grains of Wheat hid in two bushels of chaff; you shall seek all day ere you find them, and when you have them, they are not worth the search.

Merchant of Venice, act i, sc. 1 (114).

(4) Hamlet.

As peace should still her Wheaten garland wear.

Hamlet, act v, sc. 2 (41).

(5) Pompey.

To send measures of Wheat to Rome.

Antony and Cleopatra, act ii, sc. 6 (36).

(6) Edgar.

This is the foul fiend Flibbertigibbet. . . . He mildews the white Wheat, and hurts the poor creatures of earth.

King Lear, act iii, sc. 4 (120).

(7) Pandarus.

He that will have a cake out of the Wheat, must needs tarry the grinding.

Troilus and Cressida, act i, sc. 1 (15).

(8) Davy.

And again, sir, shall we sow the headland with Wheat?

Shallow.

With red Wheat, Davy.

2nd Henry IV, act v, sc. 1 (15).

(9) Theseus.

Your Wheaten wreathe Was then nor threashed nor blasted.

Two Noble Kinsmen, act i, sc. 1 (68).

I might perhaps content myself with marking 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.[318:1] 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 less a settled habitation. When it reached England, and to what country we are indebted for it, we do 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, triticum 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 surrounded 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 plerique 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.

FOOTNOTES:

[318:1] Yet Homer considered it to be indigenous in Sicily—Odyss: ix, 109—and Cicero, perhaps on the authority of Homer, says the same: "Insula Cereris . . . ubi primum fruges inventae esse dicuntur."—In Verrem, v, 38.



WILLOW.

(1) Viola.

Make me a Willow cabin at your gate.

Twelfth Night, act i, sc. 5 (287).

(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 ii, sc. 1 (192).

Benedick.

I offered him my company to a 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. (223).

(3) Nathaniel.

These thoughts to me were Oaks, to thee like Osiers bow'd.

Love's Labour's Lost, act iv, sc. 2 (112).

(4) Lorenzo.

In such a night Stood Dido, with a Willow in her hand, Upon the wild sea-banks.

Merchant of Venice, act v, sc. 1 (9).

(5) Bona.

Tell him, in hope he'll prove a widower shortly, I'll wear the Willow garland for his sake.

3d Henry VI, act iii, sc. 3 (227).

Post.

[The same words repeated.]

Ibid., act iv, sc. 1 (99).

(6) Queen.

There is a Willow grows aslant 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, sc. 7 (167).

(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 murmur'd her moans; Sing Willow, Willow, Willow. Her salt tears fell from her and soften'd the stones, Sing Willow, Willow, Willow. Sing all a green Willow must be my garland.

Othello, act iv, sc. 3 (41).

(8) Emilia.

I will play the swan, And die in music. [Singing] Willow, Willow, Willow.

Ibid., act v, sc. 2 (247).

(9) Wooer.

Then she sang Nothing but Willow, Willow, Willow.

Two Noble Kinsmen, act iv, sc. 1 (100).

(10) Friar.

I must up-fill this Willow cage of ours With baleful Weeds and precious juiced Flowers.

Romeo and Juliet, act ii, sc. 3 (7).

(11) 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 Like It, act iv, sc. 3 (79).

(12)

When Cytherea all in love forlorn A longing tarriance for Adonis made Under an Osier growing by a brook.

Passionate Pilgrim vi.

(13)

Though to myself forsworn, to thee I'll constant prove; Those thoughts, to me like Oaks, to thee like Osiers bow'd.

Ibid. v.

See also PALM TREE, No. 1, p. 192.

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 "Haec Salex, A{e} Wyllo-tre;" "Haec Salix-icis, a Welogh;" "Salix, Welig." Both 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 Salix, and hath his name a saliendo, for that it quicklie groweth up, and soon becommeth a tree. Heerewith do they in some countries 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.[321:1]

But if we only look at the poetry of the time of Shakespeare, 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 Shakespeare represented poor mad Ophelia hanging her flowers on the "Willow tree aslant the brook" (No. 6), and it is more pointedly referred to in Nos. 2, 4, 5, 7, 8, and 9. 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—

"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 "Roxburghe Ballads." This curious connection of the Willow with forsaken or disappointed lovers stood its ground for a long time. Spenser spoke of the "Willow worne of forlorne paramoures." Drayton says that—

"In love the sad forsaken wight The Willow garland weareth"—

Muse's Elysium.

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," &c.

It has been suggested by many that this melancholy association with the Willow arose from its Biblical associations; and this may be so, though all the references to the Willow that occur in the Bible 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 emblematic 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 despairing 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 is said to have been introduced into England during the last century, and then in a curious way. "Many years ago, the well-known poet, Alexander Pope, who resided at Twickenham, received a basket of Figs as a present from Turkey. The basket was made of the supple 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 Trees.[323:1]

There is probably no tree that contributes so largely to the conveniences of English life as the Willow. Putting aside its uses in the manufacture 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. British basket-making is, as far as we know, the oldest national manufacture; it is the manufacture in connection 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 "bascauda." 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 pulcherrima," 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 Reginae 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. rosmarinifolia is another desirable shrub; and among the lower-growing species, the following will grow well on rockwork, and completely clothe the surface: S. alpina, S. Grahami, S. retusa, S. serpyllifolia, and S. reticulata. They are all easily cultivated and are quite hardy.

FOOTNOTES:

[321:1] 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.

[323:1] This is the traditional history of the introduction of the Weeping Willow into England, but it is very doubtful.



WOODBINE, see HONEYSUCKLE.



WORMWOOD.

(1) Rosaline.

To weed this Wormwood from your fruitful brain.

Love's Labour's Lost, act v, sc. 2 (857).

(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, sc. 3 (26).

(3) Hamlet (aside).

Wormwood, Wormwood.

Hamlet, act iii, sc. 2 (191).

(4)

Thy secret pleasure turns to open shame, Thy private feasting to a public fast, Thy smoothing titles to a ragged name, Thy sugar'd tongue to bitter Wormwood taste.

Lucrece (890).

See also DIAN'S BUD.

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."—Herbarium Apulaei, 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."[325:1]

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 twaine To save against March, to make flea to refraine: Where chamber is sweeped and Wormwood is strowne, No flea, for his life, dare abide to be knowne. What saver is better (if physick be true), For places infected than Wormwood and Rue? It is as a comfort for hart and the braine, And therefore to have it, it is not in vaine."

July's Husbandry.

This quality was the origin of the names of Mugwort[326:1] and Wormwood. Its other name (in the Stockholm MS. referred to), Avoyne or Averoyne is a corruption of the specific name of one of the species, A. Abrotanum. Southernwood is the southern Wormwood, i.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 is, in fact, a 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 Wormwood is a sure sign of our affectionate fidelity." Not that the Wormwood was ever named Forget-me-Not, for that name was given to the Ground Pine (Ajuga chamaepitys) on account of its unpleasant and long-enduring smell, until it 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.

FOOTNOTES:

[325:1] Wormwood had a still higher reputation among the ancients, as the following extract shows:

Artemisia monoklonos.

Auei gar kopon audros hodoiporou, hos k'eni chersin ten monoklonon eche; peri d' au posin herpeta panta pheugei, hen tis eche en hodo, kai phasmata deina.

Anonymi Carmen de Herbis, in "Poetae Bucolici."

[326:1] In 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 sownyge, but ofte shortyn wordys, and changyn lettrys and silablys, they coruptyn the o in to a and d in to g, and syncopyn i smytyn a-wey i and r and seyn mugwort."—Arundel MS., 42, f. 35 v.



YEW.

(1) Song.

My shroud of white, stuck all with Yew, Oh! prepare it.

Twelfth Night, act ii, sc. 4 (56).

(2) 3rd Witch.

Gall of goat, and slips of Yew Sliver'd in the moon's eclipse.

Macbeth, act iv, sc. 1 (27).

(3) Scroop.

Thy very beadsmen learn to bend their bows Of double-fatal Yew against thy state.

Richard II, act iii, sc. 2 (116).

(4) Tamora.

But straight they told me they would bind me here Unto the body of a dismal Yew.

Titus Andronicus, act ii, sc. 3 (106).

(5) Paris.

Under yond 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 (3).

(6) Balthasar.

As I did sleep under this Yew tree here,[327:1] I dreamt my master and another fought, And that my master slew him.

Ibid. (137).

See also HEBENON, p. 118.

The Yew, though undoubtedly an indigenous British plant, has not a British name. The name is derived from the Latin Iva, and "under this name we find the Yew so inextricably mixed up with the Ivy 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 eibe, and the Portuguese iva. Yew seems to be quite a modern form; in the old vocabularies the word is variously spelt iw, ewe,[328:1] eugh-tre,[328:2] 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 "double-fatal" may probably refer to its noxious qualities when living and its use for deadly weapons afterwards. 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 Gerard 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." Browne says the same in his "Vulgar Errors:" "That Yew and the berries thereof are harmlesse, we know" (book ii. c. 7). There is no doubt that the Yew berries are almost if not quite harmless,[328:3] 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. It is given in a Leech Book of the tenth century or earlier, and is thus translated by Cockayne: "If a man 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 terrae, wormwood, strawberry leaves, consolida; pour them over with ale, add holy water, sing this charm over them thrice [here follow 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 of the tree which are scattered throughout the churchyards of England, except to say that "the 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"[329:1] (see PALM, p. 195), "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."—Penny Magazine, 1843.

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, I 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 two hundred names of plants in one writer, and that writer not at all writing on horticulture, but only mentioning plants and flowers 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 opportunities 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 I have been able to make from the early writers in the ninth and tenth centuries, down to gossiping old Gerard, the learned Lord Chancellor Bacon, and that excellent old gardiner 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 itself 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 knowledge 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 Johnston: "That there is more interest and as much utility in settling the nomenclature of our pastoral bards as that of all herbalists and dry-as-dust botanists" ("Botany of the Eastern 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 Bible.

I have said that my subject naturally divides itself into two parts, first, The Plants 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."

FOOTNOTES:

[327:1] The reading of the folio is "young tree," for "Yew tree."

[328:1]

"An Eu tre (Ewetre); taxus, taximus."—Catholicon Anglicum.

[328:2]

"The eugh obedient to the bender's will."—SPENSER, F. Q., i. 9.

"So far as eughen bow a shaft may send."—F. Q., ii. 11-19.

[328:3] 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. (See HEBENON.)

[329:1] "For eucheson we have non Olyfe that bereth grene leves we takon in stede of hit Hew and Palmes wyth, and beroth abowte in procession and so this day we callyn palme sonnenday."—Sermon for "Dominica in ramis palmarum," Cotton MSS.



PART II.

THE GARDEN-CRAFT OF SHAKESPEARE.

"The flowers are sweet, the colours fresh and trim."

Venus and Adonis.

"Retired Leisure That in trim Gardens takes his pleasure."

MILTON, Il Penseroso.



GARDEN-CRAFT.

Any account of the "Plant-lore of Shakespeare" would be very incomplete if it did not include his "Garden-craft." There are a 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 his 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 unlimited command of the fittest language. It is this vividness and freshness that gives 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 Shakespeare" 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-lore." I 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, sc. 5 (77).

(2) Oberon.

She his hairy temples then had rounded With coronet of fresh and fragrant flowers; And that same dew, which sometime in the buds Was wont to swell like round and orient pearls, Stood now within the pretty flowerets' eyes, Like tears that did their own disgrace bewail.

Midsummer Night's Dream, act iv, sc. 1 (56).

(3) Gaunt.

Suppose the singing birds musicians, The grass whereon thou tread'st the presence strew'd, The flowers fair ladies.

Richard II, act i, sc. 3 (288).

(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, sc. 2 (167).

(5) Ophelia (sings).

White his shroud as the mountain snow Larded with sweet flowers, Which bewept to the grave did go With true-love showers.

Hamlet, act iv, sc. 5 (35).

(6) Queen.

Whiles yet the dew's on ground, gather those flowers.

Cymbeline, act i, sc. 5 (1).

(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.

Ibid., act ii, sc. 3 (21).

(8) Arviragus.

With fairest flowers, While summer lasts and I live here, Fidele, I'll sweeten thy sad grave.

Ibid., act iv, sc. 2 (218).

(9) Belarius.

Here's a few flowers; but 'bout 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.

Ibid. (283).

(10) Juliet.

This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath, May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet.

Romeo and Juliet, act ii, sc. 2 (121).

(11) Titania.

An odorous chaplet of sweet summer-buds.

Midsummer Night's Dream, act ii, sc. 1 (110).

(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 sometimes 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 In 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 Juliet, act ii, sc. 3 (7).

(13) Iago.

Though other things grow fair against the sun, Yet fruits that blossom first will first be ripe.

Othello, act ii, sc. 3 (382).

(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 Labour's Lost, act iv, sc. 3 (102).

(15)

Fair flowers that are not gathered in their prime Rot and consume themselves in little time.

Venus and Adonis (131).

(16)

The flowers are sweet, the colours fresh and trim, But true-sweet beauty lived and died with him.

Venus and Adonis (1079).

(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.

Ibid. xxi.

(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.

Ibid. xciv.

(20)

Yet nor the lays of birds nor the sweet smell Of different flowers in odour and in hue Could make me any summer's story tell, Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew.

Ibid. 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 beauty 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 widespread now than when that article was written. 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 acquaintance 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 Shakespeare'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 300ft. of ground, there was 'a simple' for each foot of ground, no one of them being common or usually to be had." About the same time Gerard'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 himself, but also that this idea was not Utopian, but one that sprang 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 gardens.