190 THE GARDEN, YOU, AND I 



of them equally majestic, are tossed into heaps for hay 

 and mown down by the ruthless scythe of the fanner 

 every autumn when he shows his greatest agricultural 

 energy by stripping the waysides of their beauty prior 

 to the coming of the roadmender with his awful "turn- 

 piking" process. If, by the way, the automobilists suc- 

 ceed in stopping this piking practice, we will print a nice 

 little prayer for them and send it to Saint Peter, so that, 

 though it won't help them in this world, that would 

 be dangerous, it will by and by ! 



In the woods the farmer allows the ferns to stand, for 

 are they not one of the usual attributes of a picnic? 

 Stuck in the horses' bridle, they keep off flies; they 

 serve to deck the tablecloth upon which the food is 

 spread ; gathered in armfuls, they somewhat ease the con- 

 tact of the rheumatic with the rocks, upon which they 

 must often sit on such occasions. They provide the 

 young folks with a motive to seek something further in 

 the woods, and give the acquisitive ladies who "press 

 things" much loot to take home, and all without cost. 



This may not be respectful treatment, but it is not 

 martyrdom ; the fern is a generous plant, a thing of wiry 

 root-stock and prehistoric tenacity ; it has not forgotten 

 that tree ferns are among its ancestors ; when it is dis- 

 couraged, it rests and grows again. But imagine the 



