The nature love which manifests itself in a kind Of pot-hunter's enthusiasm or sees in each rare flower only a kind Of botanical scalp to be added to his belt, is a poor sort of affection, and though perhaps one cannot sing about that Millennium Of Flowers when folk will be cohtent to love the wood rose and leave it on its stalk, we may live to see it cut instead of torn from its stem and the last Fringed Gentian respected and left to perpetuate its lovely kind.
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