JEFFERIES AND THOREAU. 193 
years since, even dearer, for they grow now, as it were, in the earth we have 
made for them of our hopes, our prayers, our emotions, our thoughts.” 
Here is another picture : “ The sweet violets bloom afresh every spring on 
the mounds, the cowslips come, and the happy note of the cuckoo, the wild rose 
of midsummer, and the golden wheat of August. It is the same beautiful old 
country always new. Neither the iron engine nor the wooden plough alter it one 
iota, and the love of it rises as constantly in our hearts as the coming of the 
leaves.” 
The pathetic personal note comes in here : “ Give me the old road, the same 
flowers — they were only stitchwort — the old succession of days and garland, ever 
weaving into it fresh wild flowers from far and near. Fetch them from distant 
mountains, discover them on decaying walls, in unsuspected corners ; though never 
seen before, still they are the same : there has been a place in the heart waiting 
for them.” 
Here we have that sympathy with the poor which is so frequently expressed by 
Jefferies : “ Nature would go on though under the thumb of the north wind. Poor 
folk come out of the towns to gather ivy-leaves for sale in the streets to make 
button-holes. Many people think the ivy-leaf has a pleasant shape ; it was used 
of old time among the Greeks and Romans to decorate the person at joyous 
festivals. The ivy is frequently mentioned in the classic poets. Not so with the 
countrywoman in the villages to-day — ground down in constant dread of the hate- 
ful workhouse system, of which I can find no words to express my detestation. 
They tell their daughters never to put ivy-leaves in their hair or brooch, because 
‘ they puts it on the dead paupers in the unions, and the lunatics in the ’sylums.’ 
Such an association took away all the beauty of the ivy-leaf. There is nature in 
their hearts, you see, although they are under the polar draught of poverty.” 
Those who are interested in knowing the favourite flowers of their favourite 
authors will be justified in concluding that the bird’s-foot trefo’il was the one 
selected by Jefferies. In three passages at least in this little volume he sounds 
its praises. “The bird’s-foot lotus,” he says, “ is the picture to me of sunshine 
and summer, and of that summer in the heart which is known only in youth, and 
then not alone. No words could write that feeling ; the bird's-foot lotus writes 
it.” And again : “ Hereby me is a praying-rug, just wide enough to kneel on, of 
the richest gold inwoven with crimson. All the Sultans of the East never had 
such beauty as that to kneel on. It is, indeed, too beautiful to kneel on, for the 
life in these golden flowers must not be broken down even for that purpose. 
They must not be defaced, not a stem bent : it is more reverent not to kneel on 
them, for this carpet prays itself. I will sit by it and let it pray for me. It is so 
common, the bird’s-foot lotus, it grows everywhere ; yet if I purposely searched 
for days I should not have found a plot like this, so rich, so golden, so glowing 
with sunshine. You might pass by it in one stride, yet it is worthy to be thought 
of for a week and remembered for a year.” 
Henry David Thoreau was the subject of an appreciation by Mr. J. L. Otter 
in Nature Notes for December, 1890, and selections from his works have more 
than once been noticed in our pages. No more attractive presentment of them 
has been put forth than the one now under notice, to which Mr. H. S. Salt has 
contributed a preface. Thoreau’s intimate acquaintance with wild life has been 
well summed up by an admirer in the following words : “ His knowledge of 
nature was so complete and curious that he could have told the time of the year, 
within a day or so, by the aspect of the plants. In his dealings with wild animals, 
he was the original of Hawthorne’s Donatello. He pulled the woodchuck 
out of its hole by the tail ; the hunted fox came to him for protection ; wild 
squirrels have been seen to nestle in his waistcoat. He would thrust his arm into 
a pool and bring forth a bright, panting fish, lying undismayed in the palm of his 
hand.” 
Passages in abundance might be quoted from these Selections in support of 
this description, did not the limitations of space prevent us from citing them. 
But to those who know Thoreau these extracts need no recommendation ; those 
who do not had better become acquainted with him through the medium of this 
delightful book. 
