Shakespeare.
The watcher of birds in the bush soon discovers that they have individual as well as race characteristics. They are not things, but persons,—beings with intellect, affections, and will,—and a strong specific resemblance is found to be consistent with no small measure of personal variation. All robins2, we say, look and act alike. But so do all Yankees; yet it is part of every Yankee's birthright to be different from every other Yankee. Nature abhors3 a copy, it would seem, almost as badly as she abhors a vacuum. Perhaps, if the truth were known, a copy is a vacuum.
I walked down the bay shore of Cape4 Cod5 one summer morning, and at a certain point climbed the steep cliff to the railway track, meaning to look into a large cranberry6 meadow where, on previous visits, I had found a few sandpipers and plovers7. Near one end of the perfectly9 level, sand-covered meadow was a little pool, and my first glance in that direction showed me a great blue heron wading10 about its edge. With as much quietness as possible I stole out of sight, and then hastened up the railway through a cut, till I had the sun at my back and a hill between me and the bird. Then I began a stealthy approach, keeping behind one object after another, and finally going down flat upon the ground (to roll in the soil is an excellent method of cleansing11 one's garments on Cape Cod) and crawling up to a patch of bayberry bushes, the last practicable cover.
Here let me say that the great blue heron is, as its name implies, a big bird, standing12 almost as high as an ordinary man, and spreading its wings for nearly or quite six feet. Its character for suspiciousness may be gathered from what different writers have said about it. "He is most jealously vigilant13 and watchful14 of man," says Wilson, "so that those who wish to succeed in shooting the heron must approach him entirely15 unseen, and by stratagem16." "Extremely suspicious and shy," says Audubon. "Unless under very favorable circumstances, it is almost hopeless to attempt to approach it. To walk up towards one would be a fruitless adventure." Dr. Brewer17's language is to the same effect,—"At all times very vigilant and difficult of approach."
This, then, was the bird which I now had under my field-glass, as I lay at full length behind the friendly bayberry bushes. Up to this point, for aught that appeared, he was quite unaware18 of my espionage19. Like all the members of his family that I have ever seen, he possessed20 so much patience that it required much patience to watch him. For minutes together he stood perfectly still, and his movements, as a rule, were either so slow as to be all but imperceptible, or so rapid as almost to elude21 the eye. Boys who have killed frogs—which was pretty certainly my heron's present employment—will need no explanation of his behavior. They know very well that, if the fatal club is to do its work, the slowest kind of preliminary motion must be followed by something like a flash of lightning.
I watched the bird for perhaps half an [Pg 200]hour, admiring his handsome blue wings as now and then he spread them, his dainty manner of lifting his long legs, and the occasional flashing stroke of his beak22. My range was short (for a field-glass, I mean), and, all in all, I voted it "a fine show."
When I wearied of my position I rose and advanced upon the heron in full sight, expecting every moment to see him fly. To my astonishment23 he held his ground. Down the hillside I went, nearer and nearer, till I came to a barbed-wire fence, which bounded the cranberry field close by the heron's pool. As I worried my way through this abominable24 obstruction25, he stepped into a narrow, shallow ditch and started slowly away. I made rapidly after him, whereupon he got out of the ditch and strode on ahead of me. By this time I was probably within twenty yards of him, so near that, as he twisted his long neck every now and then, and looked at me through his big yellow eyes, I began to wonder whether he might not take it into his head to turn the tables upon me. A stab in the face with that ugly sharp beak would have been no laughing matter; but I did not believe myself in any danger, and quickened my steps, being now highly curious to see how near the fellow I could get. At this he broke into a kind of dog-trot, very comical to witness, and, if I had not previously26 seen him fly a few yards, I should have supposed him disabled in the wing. Dr. Brewer, by the way, says that this bird is "never known to run, or even to walk briskly;" but such negative assertions are always at the maker27's risk.
He picked up his legs at last, for I pressed him closer and closer, till there could not have been more than forty or fifty feet between us; but even then he settled down again beside another pool, only a few rods further on in the same meadow, and there I left him to pursue his frog-hunt unmolested. The ludicrousness of the whole affair was enhanced by the fact, already mentioned, that the ground was perfectly flat, and absolutely without vegetation, except for the long rows of newly planted cranberry vines. As to what could have influenced the bird to treat me thus strangely, I have no means of guessing. As we say of each other's freaks and oddities, it was his way, I suppose. He might have behaved otherwise, of course, had I been armed; but of that I felt by no means certain at the time, and my doubts were strengthened by an occurrence which happened a month or so afterward28.
I was crossing the beach at Nahant with a friend when we stole upon a pair of golden plovers, birds that both of us were very happy to see. The splendid old-gold spotting of their backs was plain enough; but immature29 black-bellied plovers are adorned30 in a similar manner, and it was necessary for us to see the rumps of our birds before we could be sure of their identity. So, after we had scrutinized31 them as long as we wished, I asked my companion to put them up while I should keep my glass upon their backs and make certain of the color of their rumps as they opened their wings. We were already within a very few paces of them, but they ran before him as he advanced, and in the end he had almost to tread on them.
The golden plover8 is not so unapproachable as the great blue heron, I suppose, but from what sportsmen tell me about him I am confident that he cannot be in the habit of allowing men to chase him along the beach at a distance of five or six yards. And it is to be added that, in the present instance, my companion had a gun in his hand.
Possibly all these birds would have behaved differently another day, even in what to us might have seemed exactly the same circumstances. Undoubtedly32, too, it is easier, as an almost universal rule, to approach one or two birds than a considerable flock. In the larger body there are almost certain to be a few timorous33 souls,—a few wider-awake and better instructed souls, let us rather say,—who by their outcries and hasty flight will awaken34 all the others to a sense of possible danger. But it is none the less true, as I said to begin with, that individual birds have individual ways. And my great blue heron, I am persuaded, was a "character." It would be worth something to know what was passing behind those big yellow eyes as he twisted his neck to look once more at the curious fellow—curious in two senses—who was keeping after him so closely. Was the heron curious, as well as his pursuer? Or was he only a little set in his own way; a little resentful of being imposed upon; a little inclined to withstand the "tyrant35 of his fields," just for principle's sake, as patriots36 ought to do? Or was he a young fellow, in whom heredity had mysteriously omitted to load the bump of caution, and upon whom experience had not yet enforced the lesson that if a creature is taller and stronger than you are, it is prudent37 to assume that he will most likely think it a pleasant bit of sport to kill you? It is nothing to the credit of humankind that the sight of an unsuspicious bird in a marsh38 or on the beach should have become a subject for wonder.
FLOWERS AND FOLKS.
ToC
"To know one element, explore another,
And in the second reappears the first."
Emerson.
Every order of intelligent beings naturally separates the world into two classes,—itself and the remainder. Birds, for instance, have no doubt a feeling, more or less clearly defined, which, if it were translated into human speech, might read, "Birds and nature." We, in our turn, say, "Man and nature." But such distinctions, useful as they are, and therefore admissible, are none the less arbitrary and liable to mislead. Birds and men are alike parts of nature, having many things in common not only with each other, but with every form of animate39 existence. The world is not a patchwork40, though never so cunningly put together, but a garment woven throughout.
The importance of this truth, its far-reaching and many-sided significance, is even yet only beginning to be understood; but its bearing upon the study of what we call natural history would seem to be evident. My own experience as a dabbler41 in botany and ornithology42 has convinced me that the pursuit of such researches is not at all out of the spirit of the familiar line,—
"The proper study of mankind is man,"—
whatever the author of the line may have himself intended by his apothegm. To become acquainted with the peculiarities43 of plants or birds is to increase one's knowledge of beings of his own sort.
There is room, I think, for a treatise45 on analogical botany,—a study of the human nature of plants. Thoroughly46 and sympathetically done, the work would be both surprising and edifying47. It would give us a better opinion of plants, and possibly a poorer opinion of ourselves. Some wholesome48 first lessons of this kind we have all taken, as a matter of course. "We all do fade as a leaf." "All flesh is grass, and all the goodliness thereof is as the flower of the field." There are no household words more familiar than such texts. But the work of which I am thinking will deal not so much with our likeness49 to tree and herb as with the likeness of tree and herb to us; and furthermore, it will go into the whole subject, systematically50 and at length. Meanwhile, it is open even to an amateur to offer something, in a general and discursive51 way, upon so inviting52 a theme, and especially to call attention to its scope and variety.
As I sit at my desk, the thistles are in their glory, and in a vase at my elbow stands a single head of the tall swamp variety, along with a handful of fringed gentians. Forgetting what it is, one cannot help pronouncing the thistle beautiful,—a close bunch of minute rose-purple flowers. But who could ever feel toward it as toward the gentian? Beauty is a thing not merely of form and color, but of memory and association. The thistle is an ugly customer. In a single respect it lays itself out to be agreeable; but even its beauty is too much like that of some venomous reptile53. Yet it has its friends, or, at all events, its patrons (if you wish to catch butterflies, go to the thistle pasture), and no doubt could give forty eloquent54 and logical excuses for its offensive traits. Probably it felicitates itself upon its shrewdness, and pities the poor estate of its defenseless neighbors. How they must envy its happier fortune! It sees them browsed56 upon by the cattle, and can hardly be blamed if it chuckles57 a little to itself as the greedy creatures pass it by untouched. School-girls and botanists58 break down the golden-rods and asters, and pull up the gerardias and ladies'-tresses; but neither school-girl nor collector often troubles the thistle. It opens its gorgeous blossoms and ripens60 its feathery fruit unmolested. Truly it is a great thing to wear an armor of prickles!
"The human nature of plants,"—have I any reader so innocent as not to feel at this moment the appropriateness of the phrase? Can there be one so favored as not to have some unmistakable thistles among his Christian61 townsmen and acquaintance? Nay62, we all know them. They are the more easily discovered for standing always a little by themselves. They escape many slight inconveniences under which more amiable63 people suffer. Whoever finds himself in a hard place goes not to them for assistance. They are recognized afar as persons to be let alone. Yet they, too, like their floral representatives, have a good side. If they do not give help, they seldom ask it. Once a year they may actually "do a handsome thing," as the common expression is; but they cannot put off their own nature; their very generosity65 pricks66 the hand that receives it, and when old Time cuts them down with his scythe67 (what should we do without this famous husbandman, unkindly as we talk of him?) there will be no great mourning.
Is it then an unpardonable misdemeanor for a plant to defend itself against attack and extermination68? Has the duty of non-resistance no exceptions nor abatements in the vegetable kingdom? That would be indeed a hard saying; for what would become of our universal favorite, the rose? On this point there may be room for a diversity of opinion; but for one, I cannot wish the wild rose disarmed69, lest, through the recklessness of its admirers, what is now one of the commonest of our wayside ornaments70 should grow to be a rarity. I esteem71 the rose a patrician72, and fairly entitled to patrician manners. As every one sees, people in high station, especially if they chance to possess attractive social qualities, are of necessity compelled to discountenance everything like careless familiarity, even from those with whom they may formerly74 have been most intimate. They must always stand more or less upon ceremony, and never be handled without gloves. So it is with the queen of flowers. Its thorns not only serve it as a protection, but are for its admirers an excellent discipline in forbearance. They make it easier for us, as Emerson says, to "love the wood rose and leave it on the stalk." In addition to which I am moved to say that the rose, like the holly75, illustrates76 a truth too seldom insisted upon; namely, that people are more justly condemned77 for the absence of all good qualities than for the presence of one or two bad ones.
Some such plea as this, though with a smaller measure of assurance, I should make in behalf of plants like the barberry and the bramble. The latter, in truth, sometimes acts as if it were not so much fighting us off as drawing us on. Leaning far forward and stretching forth78 its arms, it buttonholes the wayfarer79, so to speak, and with generous country insistence80 forces upon him the delicious clusters which he, in his preoccupation, seemed in danger of passing untasted. I think I know the human counterparts of both barberry and bramble,—excellent people in their place, though not to be chosen for bosom81 friends without a careful weighing of consequences. Judging them not by their manners, but by their fruits, we must set them on the right hand. It would go hard with some of the most pious82 of my neighbors, I imagine, if the presence of a few thorns and prickles were reckoned inconsistent with a moderately good character.
As for reprobates83 like the so-called "poison ivy84" and "poison dogwood," they have perhaps borrowed a familiar human maxim,—"All is fair in war." In any case, they are no worse than savage85 heathen, who kill their enemies with poisoned arrows, or than civilized86 Christians87, who stab the reputation of their friends with poisoned words. Their marked comeliness88 of habit may be taken as a point in their favor; or, on the contrary, it may be held to make their case only so much the blacker, by laying them liable to the additional charge of hypocrisy89. The question is a nice one, and I gladly leave it for subtler casuists than I to settle.
How refreshing90 to turn from all these, from the thistle and the bramble, yea, even from the rose itself, to gentle spirits like the violet and anemone91, the arbutus and hepatica! These wage no war. They are of the original Society of Friends. Who will may spoil them without hurt. Their defense55 is with their Maker. I wonder whether anybody ever thinks of such flowers as representative of any order of grown people, or whether to everybody else they are forever children, as I find, on thinking of it, they have always been to me. Lowly and trustful, sweet and frail92, "of such is the kingdom of heaven." They pass away without losing their innocence93. Ere the first heats of summer they are gone.
Yet the autumn, too, has its delicate blooms, though they are overshadowed and, as it were, put out of countenance73 by the coarser growths which must be said to characterize the harvest season. Nothing that May puts into her lap is more exquisite94 than are the purple gerardias with which August and September embroider95 the pasture and the woodland road. They have not the sweet breath of the arbutus, nor even the faint elusive96 odor of the violet, but for daintiness of form, perfection of color, and gracefulness98 of habit it would be impossible to praise them too highly. Of our three species, my own favorite is the one of the narrow leaves (Gerardia tenuifolia), its longer and slighter flower-stems giving it an airiness and grace peculiarly its own. A lady to whom I had brought a handful the other day expressed it well when she said, "They look like fairy flowers." They are of my mind in this: they love a dry, sunny opening in the woods, or a grassy99 field on the edge of woods, especially if there be a seldom-used path running through it. I know not with what human beings to compare them. Perhaps their antitypes of our own kind are yet to be evolved. But I have before now seen a woman who might worthily100 be set in their company,—a person whose sweet and wise actions were so gracefully101 carried and so easily let fall as to suggest an order and quality of goodness quite out of relation to common flesh and blood.
What a contrast between such lowly-minded, unobtrusive beauties and egotists like our multitudinous asters and golden-rods! These, between them, almost take possession of the world for the two or three months of their reign102. They are handsome, and they know it. What is beauty for, if not to be admired? They mass their tiny blossoms first into solid heads, then into panicles and racemes, and have no idea of hiding their constellated brightness under a bushel. "Let your light shine!" is the word they go on. How eagerly they crowd along the roadside, till the casual passer-by can see scarce anything else! If he does not see them, it is not their fault.
For myself, I am far from wishing them at all less numerous, or a jot103 less forward in displaying their charms. Let there be variety, I say. Because I speak well of the violet for its humility104, I see no reason why I should quarrel with the aster59 for loving to make a show. Herein, too, plants are like men. An indisposition toward publicity105 is amiable in those to whom it is natural; but I am not clear that bashfulness is the only commendable106 quality. Let plants and men alike carry themselves according to their birthright. Providence107 has not ordained108 a diversity of gifts for nothing, and it is only a narrow philosophy that takes offense109 at seeming contrarieties. The truer method, and the happier as well, is to like each according to its kind: to love that which is amiable, to admire that which is admirable, and to study that which is curious.
A few weeks ago, for example, I walked again up the mountain road that climbs out of the Franconia Valley into the Franconia Notch110. I had left home twenty-four hours before, fresh from working upon the asters and golden-rods (trying to straighten out my local catalogue in accordance with Dr. Gray's more recent classification of these large and difficult genera), and naturally enough had asters and golden-rods still in my eye. The first mile or two afforded nothing of particular note, but by and by I came to a cluster of the sturdy and peculiar44 Solidago squarrosa, and was taking an admiring account of its appearance and manner of growth, when I caught sight of some lower blue flower underneath111, which on a second glance proved to be the closed gentian. This grew in hiding, as one might say, in the shadow of its taller and showier neighbors. Not far off, but a little more within the wood, were patches of the linnæa, which had been at its prettiest in June, but even now, in late September, was still putting forth scattered112 blossoms. What should a man do? Discard the golden-rod for the gentian, and in turn forsake113 the gentian for the twin-flower? Nay, a child might do that, but not a man; for the three were all beautiful and all interesting, and each the more beautiful and interesting for its unlikeness to the others. If one wishes a stiff lesson in classification, there are few harder genera (among flowering plants) than Solidago; if he would investigate the timely and taking question of the dependence114 of plants upon insects, this humble115 "proterandrous" gentian (which to human vision seems closed, but which the humble-bee knows well how to enter) offers him a favorable subject; while if he has an eye for beauty, a nose for delicate fragrance116, and a soul for poetry, the linnæa will never cease to be one of his prime favorites. So I say again, let us have variety. It would be a stupid town all whose inhabitants should be of identical tastes and habits, though these were of the very best; and it would be a tiresome118 country that brought forth only a single kind of plants.
The flower of Linnæus is a flower by itself, as here and there appears a man who seems, as we say, sui generis. This familiar phrase, by the bye, is literally119 applicable to Linnæa borealis, a plant that spreads over a large part of the northern hemisphere, but everywhere preserves its own specific character; so that, whether it be found in Greenland or in Maryland, on the Alaskan Islands or in Utah, in Siberia or on the mountains of Scotland, it is always and everywhere the same,—a genus of one species. Diversities of soil and climate make no impression upon its originality120. If it live at all, it must live according to its own plan.
The aster, on the contrary, has a special talent for variation. Like some individuals of another sort, it is born to adapt itself to circumstances. Dr. Gray enumerates121 no less than one hundred and ninety-six North American species and varieties, many of which shade into each other with such endless and well-nigh insensible gradations that even our great special student of the Compositæ pronounces the accurate and final classification of this particular genus a labor122 beyond his powers. What shall we say of this habit of variability? Is it a mark of strength or of weakness? Which is nobler,—to be true to one's ideal in spite of circumstances, or to conquer circumstances by suiting one's self to them? Who shall decide? Enough that the twin-flower and the star-flower each obeys its own law, and in so doing contributes each its own part toward making this world the place of diversified123 beauty which it was foreordained to be.
I spoke124 of the linnæa's autumnal blossoms, though its normal flowering time is in June. Even this steady-going, unimpressible citizen of the world, it appears, has its one bit of freakishness. In these bright, summery September days, when the trees put on their glory, this lowliest member of the honeysuckle family feels a stirring within to make itself beautiful; and being an evergreen125 (instead of a summer-green), and therefore incapable126 of bedecking itself after the maple's manner, it sends up a few flower-stems, each with its couple of swinging, fragrant127 bells. So it bids the world good-by till the long winter once more comes and goes.
The same engaging habit is noticeable in the case of some of our very commonest plants. After the golden-rods and asters have had their day, late in October or well into November, when witch-hazel, yarrow, and clover are almost the only blossoms left us, you will stumble here and there upon a solitary128 dandelion reflecting the sun, or a violet giving back the color of the sky. And even so, you may find, once in a while, an old man in whom imaginative impulses have sprung up anew, now that all the prosaic129 activities of middle life are over. It is almost as if he were born again. The song of the April robin1, the blossoming of the apple-tree, the splendors130 of sunset and sunrise,—these and things like them touch him to pleasure, as he now remembers they used to do years and years ago. What means this strange revival131 of youth in age? Is it a reminiscence merely, a final flickering132 of the candle, or is it rather a prophecy of life yet to come? Well, with the dandelion and the violet we know with reasonable certainty how the matter stands. The autumnal blooms are not belated, but precocious133; they belong not to the season past, but to the season coming. Who shall forbid us to hope that what is true of the violet will prove true also of the man?
It speaks well for human nature that in the long run the lowliest flowers are not only the best loved, but the oftenest spoken of. Men play the cynic: modest merit goes to the wall, they say; whoever would succeed, let him put on a brazen134 face and sharpen his elbows. But those who talk in this strain deceive neither themselves nor those who listen to them. They are commonly such as have themselves tried the trumpet135 and elbow method, and have discovered that, whatever may be true of transient notoriety, neither public fame nor private regard is to be won by such means. We do not retract136 what we have said in praise of diversity, and about the right of each to live according to its own nature, but we gladly perceive that in the case of the flowers also it is the meek137 that inherit the earth.
Our appreciation138 of our fellow-men depends in part upon the amount, but still more upon the quality, of the service they render us. We could get along without poets more comfortably than without cobblers, for the lower use is often first, in order both of time and of necessity; but we are never in doubt as to their relative place in our esteem. One serves the body, the other the soul; and we reward the one with money, the other with affection and reverence139. And our estimation of plants is according to the same rule. Such of them as nourish the body are good,—good even to the point of being indispensable; but as we make a difference between the barnyard fowl140 and the nightingale, and between the common run of humanity and a Beethoven or a Milton, so maize141 and potatoes are never put into the same category with lilies and violets. It must be so, because man is more than an animal, and "the life is more than meat."
Again we say, let each fulfill142 its own function. One is made for utility, another for beauty. For plants, too, are specialists. They know as well as men how to make the most of inherited capacities and aptitudes143, achieving distinction at last by the simple process of sticking to one thing, whether that be the production of buds, blossoms, berries, leaves, bark, timber, or what not; and our judgment144 of them must be correspondingly varied145. The vine bears blossoms, but is to be rated not by them, but by the grapes that come after them; and the rose-tree bears hips146, but takes its rank not from them, but from the flowers that went to the making of them. "Nothing but leaves" is a verdict unfavorable or otherwise according to its application. The tea-shrub would hold up its head to hear it.
One of the most interesting and suggestive points of difference among plants is that which relates to the matter of self-reliance. Some are made to stand alone, others to twine147, and others to creep. If it were allowable to attribute human feelings to them, we should perhaps be safe in assuming that the upright look down upon the climbers, and the climbers in turn upon the creepers; for who of us does not felicitate himself upon his independence, such as it is, or such as he imagines it to be? But if independence is indeed a boon,—and I, for one, am too thoroughbred a New Englander ever to doubt it,—it is not the only good, nor even the highest. The nettle148, standing straight and prim117, asking no favors of anybody, may rail at the grape-vine, which must lay hold of something, small matter what, by which to steady itself; but the nettle might well be willing to forego somewhat of its self-sufficiency, if by so doing it could bring forth grapes. The smilax, also, with its thorns, its pugnacious149 habit, and its stony150, juiceless berries, a sort of handsome vixen among vines,—the smilax, which can climb though it cannot stand erect151, has little occasion to lord it over the strawberry. If one has done nothing, or worse than nothing, it is hardly worth while to boast of the original fashion in which he has gone about it. Moreover, the very plants of which we are speaking bear witness to the fact that it is possible to accept help, and still retain to the full one's own individuality. The strawberry is no more a plagiarist152 than the smilax, nor the grape than the nettle. If the vine clings to the cedar153, the connection is but mechanical. Its spirit and life are as independent of the savin as of the planet Jupiter. Even the dodder, which not only twines154 about other weeds, but actually sucks its life from them, does not thereby155 lose an iota156 of its native character. If a man is only original to begin with,—so the parable157 seems to run,—he is under a kind of necessity to remain so (as Shakespeare did), no matter how much help he may draw from alien sources.
This truth of the vegetable world is the more noteworthy, because, along with it there goes a very strong and persistent158 habit of individual variation. The plant is faithful to the spirit of its inherited law, but is not in bondage159 to the letter. Our "high-bush blackberries," to take a familiar illustration, are all of one species, but it does not follow that they are all exactly alike. So far from it, I knew in my time—and the school-boys of the present day are not less accurately160 informed, we may presume—where to find berries of all shapes, sizes, and flavors. Some were sour, and some were bitter, and some (I can taste them yet) were finger-shaped and sweet. And what is true of Rubus villosus is probably true of all plants, though in varying degrees. I do not recall a single article of our annual wild crop—blueberries, huckleberries, blackberries, cherries, grapes, pig-nuts (a bad name for a good thing), shagbarks, acorns161, and so forth—in which there was not this constant inequality among plants of the same species, perfectly well defined, and never lost sight of by us juvenile162 connoisseurs163. If we failed to find the same true of other vines and bushes, which for our purposes bore blossoms only, the explanation is not far to seek. Our perceptions, æsthetic and gastronomic164, were unequally developed. We were in the case of the man to whom a poet is a poet, though he knows very well that there are cooks and cooks.
It is this slight but everywhere present admixture of the personal quality—call it individuality, or what you will—that saves the world, animal and vegetable alike, from stagnation165. Every bush, every bird, every man, together with its unmistakable and ineradicable likeness to the parent stock, has received also a something, be it more or less, that distinguishes it from all its fellows. Let our observation be delicate enough, and we shall perceive that there are no duplicates of any kind, the world over. It is part of the very unity166 of the world, this universally diffused167 diversity.
It does a sympathetic observer good to see how humanly plants differ in their likes and dislikes. One is catholic: as common people say, it is not particular; it can live and thrive almost anywhere. Another must have precisely168 such and such conditions, and is to be found, therefore, only in very restricted localities. The Dionæa, or Venus's fly-trap, is a famous example of this fastidiousness, growing in a small district of North Carolina, and, as far as appears, nowhere else,—a highly specialized169 plant, with no generic170 relative. Another instance is furnished by a water lily (Nymphæa elegans), the rediscovery of which is chronicled in a late issue of one of our botanical journals. [17] "This lily was originally found in 1849, and has never been seen since, holding its place in botanical literature for these almost forty years on the strength of a single collection at a single vaguely171 described station on the broad prairies of southwestern Texas;" now, after all this time, it turns up again in another quarter of the same State. And every student could report cases of a similar character, though less striking than these, of course, within the limits of his own local researches. If you ask me where I find dandelions, I answer, anywhere; but if you wish me to show you the sweet colt's-foot (Nardosmia palmata), you must go with me to one particular spot. Any of my neighbors will tell you where the pink moccasin flower grows; but if it is the yellow one you are in search of, I shall swear you to secrecy172 before conducting you to its swampy173 hiding-place. Some plants, like some people (but the plants, be it noted174, are mostly weeds), seem to flourish best away from home; others die under the most careful transplanting. Some are lovers of the open, and cannot be too much in the sun; others lurk175 in deep woods, under the triple shadow of tree and bush and fern. Some take to sandy hill-tops; others must stand knee-deep in water. One insists upon the richest of meadow loam176; another is content with the face of a rock. We may say of them as truly as of ourselves, De gustibus non est disputandum. Otherwise, how would the earth ever be clothed with verdure?
But plants are subject to other whims177 not less pronounced than these which have to do with the choice of a dwelling178-place. We may call it the general rule that leaves come before flowers; but how many of our trees and shrubs179 reverse this order! The singular habit of the witch-hazel, whose blossoms open as the leaves fall, may be presumed to be familiar to all readers; and hardly less curious is the freak of the chestnut180, which, almost if not quite alone among our amentaceous trees, does not put on its splendid coronation robes till late in June, and is frequently at the height of its magnificence in mid-July. What a pretty piece of variety have we, again, in the diurnal181 and the nocturnal bloomers! For my own part, being a watcher of birds, and therefore almost of necessity an early stirrer abroad, I profess182 a special regard for such plants as save their beauty for night-time and cloudy weather. The evening primrose183 is no favorite with most people, I take it, but I seldom fail to pick a blossom or two with the dew on them. Those to whom I carry them usually exclaim as over some wonderful exotic, though the primrose is an inveterate184 haunter of the roadside. Yet its blossoms have only to be looked at and smelled of to make their way, homely185 as is the stalk that produces them. They love darkness rather than light, but it certainly is not "because their deeds are evil." One might as well cast the opprobrious186 text in the face of the moon and stars. Now and then some enterprising journalist, for want of better employment, investigates anew the habits of literary workers; and it invariably transpires187 that some can do their best only by daylight, while the minds of others seem to be good for nothing till the sun goes down; and the wise reader, who reads not so much to gain information as to see whether the writer tells the truth, shakes his head, and says, "Oh, it is all in use." Of course it is all in use, just as it is with whippoorwills and the morning-glory.
The mention of the evening primrose calls for the further remark that plants, not less than ourselves, have a trick of combining opposite qualities,—a coarse-grained and scraggy habit, for instance, with blossoms of exquisite fragrance and beauty. The most gorgeous flowers sometimes exhale188 an abominable odor, and it is not unheard of that inconspicuous or even downright homely sorts should be accounted precious for their sweetness; while, as everybody knows, few members of our native flora64 are more graceful97 in appearance than the very two whose simple touch is poison. Could anything be more characteristic of human nature than just such inconsistencies? Suavity189 and trickery, harshness and integrity, a fiery190 temper and a gentle heart,—how often do we see the good and the bad dwelling together! We would have ordered things differently, I dare say, had they been left to us,—the good should have been all good, and the bad all bad; and yet, if it be a grief to feel that the holiest men have their failings, it ought perhaps to be a consolation191, rather than an additional sorrow, to perceive that the most vicious are not without their virtues192. Beyond which, shall we presume to suggest that as poisons have their use, so moral evil, give it time enough, may turn out to be not altogether a curse?
I have treated my subject too fancifully, I fear. Indeed, there comes over me at this moment a sudden suspicion that my subject [Pg 231]itself is nothing but a fancy, or, worse yet, a profanation193. If the flowers could talk, who knows how earnestly they might deprecate all such misguided attempts at doing them honor,—as if it were anything but a slander194, this imputation195 to them of the foibles, or even the self-styled good qualities, of our poor humanity! What an egoist is man! I seem to hear them saying; look where he will, at the world or at its Creator, he sees nothing but the reflection of his own image.
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1
robin
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| n.知更鸟，红襟鸟 | |
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robins
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| n.知更鸟，鸫( robin的名词复数 )；（签名者不分先后，以避免受责的）圆形签名抗议书（或请愿书） | |
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abhors
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| v.憎恶( abhor的第三人称单数 )；（厌恶地）回避；拒绝；淘汰 | |
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cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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cod
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| n.鳕鱼；v.愚弄；哄骗 | |
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cranberry
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| n.梅果 | |
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plovers
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| n.珩，珩科鸟（如凤头麦鸡）( plover的名词复数 ) | |
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plover
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| n.珩，珩科鸟，千鸟 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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wading
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| （从水、泥等）蹚，走过，跋( wade的现在分词 ) | |
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cleansing
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| n. 净化(垃圾) adj. 清洁用的 动词cleanse的现在分词 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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vigilant
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| adj.警觉的，警戒的，警惕的 | |
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watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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stratagem
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| n.诡计，计谋 | |
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brewer
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| n. 啤酒制造者 | |
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unaware
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| a.不知道的，未意识到的 | |
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espionage
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| n.间谍行为，谍报活动 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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elude
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| v.躲避，困惑 | |
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beak
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| n.鸟嘴，茶壶嘴，钩形鼻 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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obstruction
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| n.阻塞，堵塞；障碍物 | |
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previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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maker
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| n.制造者，制造商 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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immature
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| adj.未成熟的，发育未全的，未充分发展的 | |
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adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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scrutinized
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| v.仔细检查，详审( scrutinize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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timorous
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| adj.胆怯的，胆小的 | |
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awaken
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| vi.醒，觉醒；vt.唤醒，使觉醒，唤起，激起 | |
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tyrant
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| n.暴君，专制的君主，残暴的人 | |
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patriots
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| 爱国者，爱国主义者( patriot的名词复数 ) | |
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prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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marsh
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| n.沼泽，湿地 | |
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animate
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| v.赋于生命，鼓励；adj.有生命的，有生气的 | |
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patchwork
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| n.混杂物；拼缝物 | |
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dabbler
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| n. 戏水者, 业余家, 半玩半认真做的人 | |
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42
ornithology
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| n.鸟类学 | |
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43
peculiarities
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| n. 特质, 特性, 怪癖, 古怪 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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treatise
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| n.专著；(专题)论文 | |
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46
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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47
edifying
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| adj.有教训意味的，教训性的，有益的v.开导，启发( edify的现在分词 ) | |
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48
wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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49
likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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systematically
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| adv.有系统地 | |
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51
discursive
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| adj.离题的，无层次的 | |
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inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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53
reptile
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| n.爬行动物；两栖动物 | |
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54
eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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defense
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| n.防御，保卫；[pl.]防务工事；辩护，答辩 | |
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56
browsed
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| v.吃草( browse的过去式和过去分词 )；随意翻阅；（在商店里）随便看看；（在计算机上）浏览信息 | |
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57
chuckles
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的名词复数 ) | |
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botanists
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| n.植物学家，研究植物的人( botanist的名词复数 ) | |
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59
aster
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| n.紫菀属植物 | |
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60
ripens
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| v.成熟，使熟( ripen的第三人称单数 ) | |
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61
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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flora
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| n.(某一地区的)植物群 | |
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generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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66
pricks
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| 刺痛( prick的名词复数 )； 刺孔； 刺痕； 植物的刺 | |
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scythe
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| n. 长柄的大镰刀，战车镰； v. 以大镰刀割 | |
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extermination
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| n.消灭，根绝 | |
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69
disarmed
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| v.裁军( disarm的过去式和过去分词 )；使息怒 | |
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ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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71
esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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patrician
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| adj.贵族的，显贵的；n.贵族；有教养的人；罗马帝国的地方官 | |
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73
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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holly
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| n.[植]冬青属灌木 | |
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illustrates
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| 给…加插图( illustrate的第三人称单数 )； 说明； 表明； （用示例、图画等）说明 | |
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condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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wayfarer
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| n.旅人 | |
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80
insistence
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| n.坚持；强调；坚决主张 | |
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81
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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reprobates
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| n.道德败坏的人，恶棍( reprobate的名词复数 ) | |
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ivy
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| n.常青藤，常春藤 | |
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85
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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86
civilized
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| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
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Christians
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| n.基督教徒( Christian的名词复数 ) | |
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88
comeliness
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| n. 清秀, 美丽, 合宜 | |
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hypocrisy
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| n.伪善，虚伪 | |
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refreshing
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| adj.使精神振作的，使人清爽的，使人喜欢的 | |
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anemone
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| n.海葵 | |
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frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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95
embroider
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| v.刺绣于(布)上；给…添枝加叶，润饰 | |
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elusive
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| adj.难以表达(捉摸)的；令人困惑的；逃避的 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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gracefulness
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grassy
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| adj.盖满草的；长满草的 | |
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worthily
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| 重要地，可敬地，正当地 | |
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gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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reign
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| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
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103
jot
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| n.少量；vi.草草记下；vt.匆匆写下 | |
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104
humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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publicity
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| n.众所周知，闻名；宣传，广告 | |
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commendable
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| adj.值得称赞的 | |
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107
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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ordained
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| v.任命（某人）为牧师( ordain的过去式和过去分词 )；授予（某人）圣职；（上帝、法律等）命令；判定 | |
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109
offense
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| n.犯规，违法行为；冒犯，得罪 | |
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110
notch
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| n.(V字形)槽口，缺口，等级 | |
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111
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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112
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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113
forsake
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| vt.遗弃，抛弃；舍弃，放弃 | |
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114
dependence
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| n.依靠，依赖；信任，信赖；隶属 | |
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115
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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116
fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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117
prim
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| adj.拘泥形式的，一本正经的；n.循规蹈矩，整洁；adv.循规蹈矩地，整洁地 | |
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118
tiresome
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| adj.令人疲劳的，令人厌倦的 | |
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119
literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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120
originality
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| n.创造力，独创性；新颖 | |
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121
enumerates
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| v.列举，枚举，数( enumerate的第三人称单数 ) | |
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122
labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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123
diversified
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| adj.多样化的，多种经营的v.使多样化，多样化( diversify的过去式和过去分词 )；进入新的商业领域 | |
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124
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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125
evergreen
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| n.常青树；adj.四季常青的 | |
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126
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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127
fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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128
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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129
prosaic
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| adj.单调的，无趣的 | |
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130
splendors
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| n.华丽( splendor的名词复数 )；壮丽；光辉；显赫 | |
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131
revival
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| n.复兴，复苏，（精力、活力等的）重振 | |
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132
flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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133
precocious
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| adj.早熟的；较早显出的 | |
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134
brazen
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| adj.厚脸皮的，无耻的，坚硬的 | |
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135
trumpet
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| n.喇叭，喇叭声；v.吹喇叭，吹嘘 | |
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136
retract
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| vt.缩回，撤回收回，取消 | |
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137
meek
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| adj.温顺的，逆来顺受的 | |
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138
appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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139
reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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140
fowl
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| n.家禽，鸡，禽肉 | |
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141
maize
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| n.玉米 | |
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142
fulfill
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| vt.履行，实现，完成；满足，使满意 | |
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143
aptitudes
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| （学习方面的）才能，资质，天资( aptitude的名词复数 ) | |
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144
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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145
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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146
hips
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| abbr.high impact polystyrene 高冲击强度聚苯乙烯，耐冲性聚苯乙烯n.臀部( hip的名词复数 )；[建筑学]屋脊；臀围（尺寸）；臀部…的 | |
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147
twine
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| v.搓，织，编饰；（使）缠绕 | |
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148
nettle
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| n.荨麻；v.烦忧，激恼 | |
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149
pugnacious
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| adj.好斗的 | |
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150
stony
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| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
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151
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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152
plagiarist
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| n.剽窃者，文抄公 | |
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153
cedar
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| n.雪松，香柏(木) | |
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154
twines
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| n.盘绕( twine的名词复数 )；麻线；捻；缠绕在一起的东西 | |
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155
thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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156
iota
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| n.些微，一点儿 | |
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157
parable
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| n.寓言，比喻 | |
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158
persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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159
bondage
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| n.奴役，束缚 | |
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160
accurately
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| adv.准确地，精确地 | |
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161
acorns
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| n.橡子，栎实( acorn的名词复数 ) | |
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162
juvenile
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| n.青少年，少年读物；adj.青少年的，幼稚的 | |
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163
connoisseurs
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| n.鉴赏家，鉴定家，行家( connoisseur的名词复数 ) | |
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164
gastronomic
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| adj.美食（烹饪）法的，烹任学的 | |
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165
stagnation
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| n. 停滞 | |
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166
unity
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| n.团结，联合，统一；和睦，协调 | |
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167
diffused
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| 散布的，普及的，扩散的 | |
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168
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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169
specialized
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| adj.专门的，专业化的 | |
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170
generic
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| adj.一般的，普通的，共有的 | |
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171
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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172
secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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173
swampy
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| adj.沼泽的，湿地的 | |
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174
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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175
lurk
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| n.潜伏，潜行；v.潜藏，潜伏，埋伏 | |
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176
loam
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| n.沃土 | |
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177
WHIMS
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| 虚妄，禅病 | |
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178
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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179
shrubs
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| 灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
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180
chestnut
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| n.栗树，栗子 | |
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181
diurnal
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| adj.白天的，每日的 | |
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182
profess
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| v.声称，冒称，以...为业，正式接受入教，表明信仰 | |
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183
primrose
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| n.樱草，最佳部分， | |
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184
inveterate
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| adj.积习已深的，根深蒂固的 | |
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185
homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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186
opprobrious
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| adj.可耻的，辱骂的 | |
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187
transpires
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| （事实，秘密等）被人知道( transpire的第三人称单数 )； 泄露； 显露； 发生 | |
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188
exhale
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| v.呼气，散出，吐出，蒸发 | |
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189
suavity
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| n.温和；殷勤 | |
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190
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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191
consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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192
virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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193
profanation
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| n.亵渎 | |
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194
slander
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| n./v.诽谤，污蔑 | |
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195
imputation
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| n.归罪，责难 | |
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