FLOWERS AND FOLKS. 207 
which [ am thinking will deal not so much 
with our likeness to tree and herb as with 
the likeness of tree and herb to us; and 
furthermore, it will go into the whole sub- - 
ject, systematically and at length. Mean- 
while, it is open even to an amateur to offer 
something, in a general and discursive way, 
upon so inviting a theme, and especially to 
call attention to its scope and variety. 
As I sit at my desk, the thistles are in 
their glory, and in a vase at my elbow stands 
a single head of the tall swamp variety, 
along with a handful of fringed gentians. 
Forgetting what it is, one cannot help pro- 
nouncing the thistle beautiful,—a close 
bunch of minute rose-purple flowers. But 
who could ever feel toward it as toward the 
gentian? Beauty is a thing not merely of 
form and color, but of memory and associ- 
ation. The thistle is an ugly customer. 
In a single respect it lays itself out to be 
agreeable; but even its beauty is too much 
like that of some venomous reptile. Yet it 
has its friends, or, at all events, its patrons 
Gf you wish to catch butterflies, go to the 
thistle pasture), and no doubt could give 
forty eloquent and logical excuses for its 
