Under another "conserve of red roses" we find this note:--"Doctor Bacon useth to make a pleasant Julip of this Conserve of Roses, by putting a good spoonful of it into a large drinking glass or cup; upon which squeeze the juyce made of a Lemon, and slip in unto it a little of the yellow rinde of the Lemon; work these well together with the back of a spoon, putting water to it by little and little, till you have filled up the glass with Spring water: so drink it. He sometimes passeth it through an Hypocras bag and then it is a beautiful and pleasant Liquor." These still-room books are as much part of a vanished past as the old herb-gardens, those quiet enclosures full of sunlight and delicious scents, of bees and fairies, which we foolish moderns have allowed to fall into disuse. The herb garden was always the special domain of the housewife, and one likes to think of the many generations of fair women who made these gardens their own, tending them with their own hands, rejoicing in their beauty and peace and interpreting in humble, human fashion something of the wonder and mystery of Nature in the loveliness of a garden enclosed. For surely this was the charm of these silent secluded places, so far removed from turmoil that from them it was possible to look at the world with clear eyes and a mind undisturbed by clamour. And what of the fairies in those gardens? We live in such a hurrying, material age that even in our gardens we seem to have forgotten the fairies, who surely have the first claim on them. Does not every child know that fairies love thyme and foxgloves and the lavish warm scent of the old cabbage rose? Surely the fairies thronged to those old herb-gardens as to a familiar haunt. Can you not see them dancing in the twilight?