On the Withering of Plants 



The Snowdrop is thus extinguished before 

 the Crocus, and the Crocus before the 

 after flowers. The scene must never be 

 vacant, the old must remain with us till 

 the new is well unfolded ; but we care 

 little for the last lingering blossoms, and 

 even if they were as lovely as ever, they 

 would remain as a thing of a bygone day, 

 in which our interest has ceased. 



Now if there were no withering, and 

 the petals continued perfect till they fell 

 from the stalk, a flower would contrast 

 with its successors at a great disadvan- 

 tage — we should feel that it was being 

 outshone by them. But Nature will not 

 permit her favourites to be dishonoured 

 in this way, and she quietly withdraws 

 them from the rivalry. When we have 

 seen them as long as she thinks good to 

 permit, she lays their beauty waste. But 

 before this is done, a close observer will 

 notice that the plant's most subtle and 

 exquisite attractions have been stolen 

 away imperceptibly, so that even whilst 

 there is no sign of actual decay, the 

 power of enchantment is lost, and that 

 which finally palls upon our memory is 

 not the flower, but the flower robbed of 

 its soul, a mere copy of the great original 

 masterpiece. And to carry out this 

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