EN ROUTE THROUGH PARADISE 41 
and fed my fancy and have decreased my ig- 
norance. Back to barbarism as Rousseau would 
have us, with a rush where there was abundant 
leisure to do everything but work, and where 
slow locomotion is all the locomotion there is, 
and where there is nice dirt long retained and 
where soap is not among the means of grace 
used nor any love of hill crest nor bloom nor 
wealth of growing maize. Back to barbarism, 
for then could I have tarried with the flower; 
but then in good barbaric days I would not have 
noted the flower nor cared for it had I noticed; 
so peace to thy querulous spirit, Brother Quayle. 
Better the civilization which loves the flower 
of the field as God, who set it blooming, loves it; 
better the swift train than the barbaric opaque- 
ness to loveliness and infinite leisure used to no 
high purpose, dreamful purpose. 
We dare not pull the air cord and we cannot 
alight from the speeding train gracefully when 
we are going fifty miles an hour. It has been 
tried but has not been really successful. But I 
would give a “purty” to know the name that 
tossing, teasing, crimson flower loved to be 
called by. Then the wild tansy stood with its 
creamy bloom. Once in a while on the rail- 
road wire fence a post was festooned by wild ivy, 
and sometimes the barbed wires were redeemed 
from their antagonism by wandering wild grape 
vines with their tendrils and leaf and musk 
perfume of delayed blossoms. Wild elephant’s 
