"Were I, O God, in churchless lands remaining, Far from all voice of teachers or divines, My soul would find in flowers of thy ordaining Priests, sermons, shrines!"

PREFACE

To the thoughtless a flower is often a trivial thing—beautiful perhaps, and worthy of a passing glance—but that is all. But to the mind open to the great truths of the universe, it takes on a deeper significance. Such a mind sees in its often humble beginnings the genesis of things far-reaching and mighty. Two thousand years ago one grain of the shower of pollen wafted upon the wind and falling upon a minute undeveloped cone, quickened a seed there into life, and this dropping into the soil pushed up a tiny thread of green, which, after the quiet process of the ages, you now behold in the giant Sequoia which tosses its branches aloft, swept by the four winds of heaven.

Whether manifesting itself in the inconspicuous flower upon the tree or in the equally unassuming inflorescence of the vegetable, or unfurling petals of satin or gauze of brilliant hue and marvelous beauty, the blossom is the origin of most that is useful or beautiful in the organic world about us. Strip the world of its blossoms, and the higher forms of life must come to a speedy termination. Thus we see the flower playing a wonderfully important part in the cosmos around us. It becomes henceforth not only a thing of beauty for the gratification of the æsthetic sense, but the instrument by which Nature brings about the fullness of her perfection in her own good season.

There is perhaps no nature-study that can yield the same amount of pure and unalloyed pleasure with so little outlay as the study of the wild flowers. When one is interested in them, every walk into the fields is transformed from an aimless ramble into a joyous, eager quest, and every journey upon stage or railroad becomes a rare opportunity for making new plant-acquaintances—a season of exhilarating excitement.

Mr. Burroughs, that devout lover of nature, says: "Most young people find botany a dull study. So it is, as taught from the text-books in the schools; but study it yourself in the fields and woods, and you will find it a source of perennial delight. Find your flower, and then name it by the aid of the botany. There is so much in a name. To find out what a thing is called is a great help. It is the beginning of knowledge; it is the first step. When we see a new person who interests us, we wish to know his or her name. A bird, a flower, a place—the first thing we wish to know about it is its name. Its name helps us to classify it; it gives us a handle to grasp it by; it sheds a ray of light where all before was darkness. As soon as we know the name of a thing, we seem to have established some sort of relation with it."