98 WINTER SUNSHINE 



here it will hardly rest in my open palm. A feather 

 is a clod beside it. Only a spider's web will hold 

 it; coarser objects have no power over it. Caught 

 in the upper currents of the air and rising above the 

 clouds, it might sail perpetually. Indeed, one fan- 

 cies it might almost traverse the interstellar ether 

 and drive against the stars. And every thistle-head 

 by the roadside holds hundreds of these sky rovers, 

 — imprisoned Ariels unable to set themselves free. 

 Their liberation may be by the shock of the wind, 

 or the rude contact of cattle, but it is oftefter the 

 work of the goldfinch with its complaining brood. 

 The seed of the thistle is the proper food of this 

 bird, and in obtaining it myriads of these winged 

 creatures are scattered to the breeze. Each one is 

 fraught with a seed which it exists to sow, but its 

 wild careering and soaring does not fairly begin till 

 its burden is dropped, and its spheral form is com- 

 plete. The seeds of many plants and trees are dis- 

 seminated through the agency of birds; but the 

 thistle furnishes its own birds, — flocks of them, 

 with wings more ethereal and tireless than were 

 ever given to mortal creature. From the pains 

 Nature thus takes to sow the thistle broadcast over 

 the land, it might be expected to be one of the most 

 troublesome and abundant of weeds. But such is 

 not the case; the more pernicious and baffling 

 weeds, like snapdragon or blind nettles, being more 

 local and restricted in their habits, and unable to 

 fly at all. 



In the fall, the battles of the spring are fought 



