ESCAPED FROM GARDENS 185 



"Manners maketh the man; behold my temper; I shall 

 endure to the end." 



Cockscomb is a prolific producer in the economy of the 

 natural world. It owns not a stingy fiber. From the ten 

 thousand cells of its plumed florescence it brings to light 

 as many brilliant black pearls, pearls more precious than 

 those treasured in a reliquary, the sharito of the Buddhist. 

 These never play false to the devout soul. They are in 

 truth "breeding pearls," and if the dusky gems found in 

 ashes of a consumed saint refuse to bear a life for the next 

 generation by some fault of conscience of the devotee, 

 the reliquary of the cockscomb ever keeps its promise. 



With the spring it gives birth to a jaunty, frilled flower 

 top, a miracle of creation that steadfastly preaches to the 

 listening world the philosophy of the "flower in the cran- 

 nied wall": 



"Could I know you all in all 

 I should know what God and man is." 



Cockscomb sets no price in its riches of seed pearls. It 

 scatters with lavish prodigality. With a shake of its 

 head it lies down under the first snowdrift and lets the 

 future take care of itself. Its short life presents the spec- 

 tacle of duties done and the joy of inconsequence. Its 

 folk are the bourgeoisie of the autumnal garden. They 

 are conspicuous and assertive, and must be the observed 



