THE BOTANY OF SHAKESPEARE. 227 



Webster's Unabridged, and you will discover that the artist who 

 set out to illustrate the word mandrake for that somewhat venerable 

 authority was by no means able to free himself from the ancient 

 spell. Credulity is evermore a factor in the compound called human 

 nature. Men love to be fooled, or to find some support for belief 

 in manifest absurdity. There is nothing so silly but has its advo- 

 cates among men who ought to know better, 



A year or two since, a man brought from Ohio to the University 

 of Iowa an innocent five-parted, digitate, black fungus. It was 

 treasured in alcohol. Why? Because of its origin. An honest 

 mechanic meeting with accident lost his fingers under the surgeon's 

 knife. The amputated members were neglected, but presently dis- 

 covered and duly buried in the garden. The following spring from 

 the " identical spot " uprose a swarthy hand, black without, white 

 within. The hand was a perfect main-de-gloire for that sensation- 

 loving community. The matter was discussed in newspapers. A 

 long and careful account of the wonder was prepared, put in print 

 and circulated among the friends of the deceased— fingers! " What 

 fools we mortals be! " For sheer superstition and crass stupidity 

 who may say that the nineteenth century may not yet discount the 

 days of the virgin Queen? 



But I said at the outset that Shakespeare had in some instances 

 anticipated modern scientific teaching. To illustrate this in its most 

 striking instance, I am compelled to offer a somewhat long quotation 

 (Winter's Tale, iv, 4, 76-106): 



" PoLiXENES. Shepherdess, 



A fair one are you, well you fit our ages 

 With flowers of winter. 



Perdita. Sir, the year growing ancient, 



Not yet on summer's death, nor on the birth 

 Of trembling winter, the fairest flowers o' the season 

 Are our carnation 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. 



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 gentler scion to the wildest stock, 

 And make conceive a bark of baser kind 



