Music of the Wild 



almost wliite. These are the gloves the foxes wear 

 when they travel the forest softly. Cultivated rel- 

 atives of the family are not nearly so heautiful as 

 the wild s])ecies. 



1 think this is true of the wild flowers, vines, 

 and plants everywhere. Their hothouse relatives 

 do not eompare with them. I'ield and forest flow- 

 ers are of more delieate eolor, they are simple and 

 natural, and there is a touch of pure A\ildness in 

 them akin to a streak in cvtvy heart. Of late peo- 

 ple have heen realizing this, and tliey have made 

 eff'orts, not always agreeable to the plants, to re- 

 move and set them around houses and in gardens. 

 Such flowers usually die a lingering death because 

 they can not survive out of their element. The 

 foxglove enters a more vigorous protest than any. 

 It is as if the old mother of the family feared 

 that when Ave saw her glorious shade-children we 

 A\()uld steal them from their damp, dark home; and 

 so, witli the cunning of lier namesakes, the foxes, 

 she tauglit all her family to reach down and find 

 the roots of sin-rounding trees, twine around them, 

 and grow fast, until they became veritable para- 

 sites and not only clung for protection, but to suck 

 life, so that they (]uickly withered and died if torn 

 away. The efl'ort to transplant foxglove always 

 reminds me of an attempt to remove old people 

 who have liAcd long on one spot and sent the roots 

 of their affections clinging around things they 



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