FLOWERS AND FOLKS. 207 



which I 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 

 (if you wish to catch butterflies, go to the 

 thistle pasture), and no doubt could give 

 forty eloquent and logical excuses for its 



