228 THE GROWING EVIL OF COLLECTORS 



profound in imprecation: At such times one may well 

 envy the richness of objurgation at the command of a 

 certain Irishwoman, who was heard shrilling across the 

 wet street of Loughrea against another who had earned 

 her displeasure — ' May the divil defile yer lintel, ye Mame- 

 luke o' the worruld ! ' Many a deed of violence has been 

 averted by such harmless necessary swear-words, which 

 afford solace — eocrperto crede — no whit less comfortable, 

 although the object against which they are directed be 

 unknown. This I put to the proof only yesterday, the 

 relief being instant, although temporary. The occasion, 

 it will be admitted, was a trying one. Only two places 

 are known to me in my native county where the dusky 

 geranium (Geranium phoeum) is to be found. It is not 

 a showy plant, but it is a choice one, haunting the banks 

 of woodland streams, and expanding satiny petals of the 

 colour of darkest burgundy, on slender branching stems, 

 about a foot and a half high. It is doubtfully indigenous 

 to Britain, but it has established itself as an unobtrusive 

 colonist in certain parts of northern England and Scot- 

 land. Summer after summer, from distant childhood, 

 until last year, I have known a single tuft of this modest 

 flower beside a shady streamlet flowing into the lake in 

 my park. Yesterday, when I went to bid it good-morrow, 

 the place thereof knew it no more. There was a bare 

 scrape on the bank whence it had been torn by some 

 ' Mameluke of the worruld ' — in plain English, some pil- 

 fering botanist unknown. Evil repose must he have had 

 that night, if but two or three of the wishes that I winged 

 after him found their billet. Would that I could have 

 served him as Gargantua did the pilgrims of Saint Sebas- 

 tian ! For is it not a crying shame that these creatures 



