us that the reckless plucking of wild flowers has already led to a great diminution in their numbers.  Daffodils grow wild in many parts of England, but, as soon as they appear, hordes of holiday-makers rush to the scene and gather them in such numbers as to injure the life of the plants.  I am not enough of a botanist to know whether it is possible in this way to discourage flowers that grow from bulbs.  If it is, it seems likely enough that, with the increasing popularity of country walks, there will after a time be no daffodils or orchises left in England.  If one were sure of it, one would never pluck a bee-orchis again.  One does not know why one plucks it, except that the bee-shaped flower is one of the most exquisite of Nature’s toys, and one is greedy of possessing it.  Children try to catch butterflies for the same reason.  If it were possible to catch a sunset or a blue sea, no doubt we should take them home with us, too.  It may be that art is only the transmuted instinct to seize and make our own all the beautiful things we see.  The collector of birds’ eggs and the painter are both collectors of a beauty that can be known only in hints and fragments.  Still, the painter is justified by the fact that his borrowings actually add to the number of beautiful things.  If the collector of eggs and the gatherer of flowers can be shown to be actually anti-social in their greed, we cannot be so enthusiastic about them.  I confess that on these matters I have an open mind.  For all I know, the discussion on wild flowers in The Times may be merely a scare.  At the same time, it seems reasonable to believe that if flowers that propagate themselves from seed were all gathered as soon as they appeared, there would before long be no flowers left.  I notice that one suggestion has been made to the effect that flower-lovers should provide themselves with seeds and should scatter these in “likely places” during their country walks.  I do not like this plotting on Nature’s behalf.  Besides, it might lead to some rather difficult situations.  If this general seed-sowing became a matter of principle, for instance, I should probably sow daisies on my neighbour’s tennis lawn, poppies and fumitory in his cornfield, and dandelions in his meadow.  It is not that I am devoted to the dandelion as a flower, though it has been praised for its beauty, but at a later stage a meadow of a million dandelion-clocks seems to me to be one of the most beautiful of spectacles.  But I would go further than this.  I should never see a hill-side cultivated without going out at night and sowing it with the seeds of gorse and thistle.  Not that I should bear any ill-will to the farmer, but it is said that the diminution of waste land, with its abundance of gorse and thistles, has led to a great diminution in the number of linnets and goldfinches.  The farmer, perhaps, can do without linnets and goldfinches, but we who make our living in other ways cannot.  I should sow tares among his wheat, if necessary, if I believed that tares would tempt a bearded tit or a golden oriole.