THE EARLIEST FLOWERS. 
The first conscious thought about wild flowers was to find out their 
names — the first conscious pleasure,— and then I began to see so many 
that I had not previously noticed. Once you wish to identify them there 
is nothing escapes, down to the little white chickweed of the path and 
the moss of the wall. . . . The instant you look for them they multiply 
a hundred fold; if you sit on the beach and begin to count the pebbles 
by you, their number instantly increases to infinity by virtue of that con- 
scious act. 
— RICHARD JEFFERIES— The Open Air. 
THERE are many gates that lead into the countless fields 
of the Earthly Paradise. JI remember as if it were yes- 
terday, when I found a key that opened one of them. 
The date is there in my diary, May 10; the year ; 
well, it is not so long ago. 
The young lad wanders through the fields with his 
comrades and learns from them the names of a few 
living things that attract their attention, and the childish 
legends filling him with wonder that are part of the 
inheritance of the race. The world is beautiful, the 
glory and the freshness of a dream of youth are over it 
all. He does not trouble himself to analyze the causes 
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