162 



STARLIGHT AND SUNSHINE. 



met with the applause of a whole bevy of the rare blazing-star 

 their long spires of pure white feathery bloom standing sentinel 

 over a bog of considerable expanse and filling the adjacent air 

 with their almond-like perfume. 



A swamp or a bog! What a rallying-cry to the botanist, and 

 what a treasure-ground to the wild - gardener ! To say nothing 

 of the untold witnesses of extinct species 

 down deep in the peat, look at the wealth 

 of the present rare spirits it nourishes ! 

 Thoreau has been frequently ridiculed for 

 his extravagant expressions. He has 

 averred, among other things, that some 

 of his happiest moments have been 

 spent while " up to 

 .,-^si, -' his eyes in the mud 

 of a swamp"; and 

 it may be said that 

 those who cannot under- 

 stand this are not likely to 

 appreciate much else that he 

 has to say, and are consequent- 

 ly to be commiserated. We bot- 

 anists know all about it. We need 

 no commentator on this passage of Tho- 

 reau's, which was so plainly reminiscent of 

 his eager wooing of Arethusa, the sweetest 

 nymph of the marshy mist, and who fre- 

 quently exacts some such pleasant and willing 

 chivalry as this ere she will yield her rosy lip. Or 

 was it lovely Calypso, her only rival ? Did ever 

 glimpse of the rarest caged exotic awake such a thrill as this 

 which speeds you on through the knee -deep mud to lay your 

 rude hand upon her? I have known even a lesser light to pre- 

 cipitate a similar impetuosity. There among the reeds it lifts its 

 feathery cylinder of purple blooms ; another and another reveal 

 themselves among the calamus and blueflags and galingales as 



