THE DUTIES OF SELBORNIANS. 
153 
“ There are right and wrong ways of gathering even wild flowers. We may 
gather them carefully, doing no harm either to plant or blossom, or we may — and 
often is this seen where plants are abundant —snatch at them, break them from 
the parent plant carelessly, tear them up by the roots, or gather the small buds 
which will never open. And it must be this wrong kind of gathering, and reck- 
lessly wholesale uprooting which has made the primrose scarce in places where it 
once was plentiful It is grievous to follow a party of pleasure 
seekers in a country lane, and see the scattered fading blossoms that mark their 
track. A few moments ago this wild rose was sweet and lovely on its spray, 
rejoicing every eye that saw it ; the wanton hand plucked it, and presently, 
because there were so many, threw it away to pluck a fresh one, and now it lies 
dust-besmirched, trodden under foot. It is only thoughtlessness, you say. The 
nosegay is made as one saunters along, picking this flower and that. Just for the 
pleasure of putting them together, and taking delight in their gay colours. If the 
nosegay fades in the hot hand, or one becomes tired of holding it, it is thrown 
away. ‘ They are only common flowers.’ Yes, but it is a thoughtlessness that 
springs from want of love for the common lovely things, the sweet lowly flowers 
that gladden us and comfort us — sometimes when nothing else can. The flower 
would be willing to give its life for our pleasure, but to be plucked and thrown 
aside, surely this is to despise what deserves our reverence. Let this be a rule 
with all true Selbornians : — Never to gather a flower merely to throw it away 
again. Of course, we may want it to examine, or to compare with another, and 
1 don’t mean that it is a crime to gather a flower for such a purpose, even when 
we do not wish to take it home and put it in water. I mean, never let us give way 
to the idle pulling of heaps of flowers, simply because there are so many, and then, 
leave them to lie and die. Bluebells, violets, anemones, primroses, honeysuckle, 
hawthorn — the commonest and best of our wild flowers — ^you have all seen them 
strewn on the dusty road, and I hope you have all felt sorry and indignant at the 
^ight.” 
On no point is Miss Atkinson more emphatic than on the 
mischievous and unjustifiable practice, which it is sad to 
learn has received episcopal sanction, of strewing the country 
with paper. We have ourselves uttered a protest against this 
increasing nuisance ; some of our most charming resorts are 
strewn not only with paper, but with preserved-meat tins, broken 
bottles, rags, and debris of every kind, and we trust that 
Selbornians will do their very best to stem the tide of ugliness, 
and at the least, to see that any picnic party in which they take 
part leaves no such traces of its visit. 
“ I believe that one of the greatest blessings Selbornians could confer upon a 
long-suffering world would be to teach people not to throw litter, especially paper, 
about. It is a little thing, yet how much difference it would make 
Some people, a great many people seem to find a mysterious pleasure in tearing up 
their letters on the mountains, and scattering innumerable liny bits upon the rocks 
or heather, so that it is impossible to pick them all up. At any favourite places 
where the view is specially beautiful, and where everyone loves to linger to get 
the full enjoyment of it, the same kind of people sit down to take their luncheon 
or tea, a business to which no one objects. But, the meal ended, they proceed to 
scatter their greasy papers, their egg-shells, their orange peel, their bones and 
broken bottles, far and wide. The result is a complete vulgarisation of such a 
spot, and the impossibility of all pleasure in it to people of any refinement. This 
essentially vulgar habit is due in many cases to thoughtlessness, no doubt. But 
those who do not think, perhaps may be made to think. Unfortunately, also, it 
is not only the lowest class of visitors who are guilty in this matter. I have myself 
seen a bishop read his letters, tear them up into fragments, and scatter them round 
him. One feels almost hopeless of putting a stop to so fatally prevalent a habit. 
\Ve, Selbornians, have plenty to do before we shall so educate public opinion that 
a man will as little dream of throwing papers and litter about the mountain as he 
