(1855)
High up in the clear, pure air flew an angel, with a flower plucked from
the garden of heaven. As he was kissing the flower a very little leaf fell
from it and sunk down into the soft earth in the middle of a wood. It
immediately took root, sprouted, and sent out shoots among the other
plants.
“What a ridiculous little shoot!” said one. “No one will recognize it; not
even the thistle nor the stinging-nettle.”
“It must be a kind of garden plant,” said another; and so they sneered and
despised the plant as a thing from a garden.
“Where are you coming?” said the tall thistles whose leaves were all
armed with thorns. “It is stupid nonsense to allow yourself to shoot out in
this way; we are not here to support you.”
Winter came, and the plant was covered with snow, but the snow glittered
over it as if it had sunshine beneath as well as above.
When spring came, the plant appeared in full bloom: a more beautiful
object than any other plant in the forest. And now the professor of botany
presented himself, one who could explain his knowledge in black and
white. He examined and tested the plant, but it did not belong to his system
of botany, nor could he possibly find out to what class it did belong. “It
must be some degenerate species,” said he; “I do not know it, and it is not
mentioned in any system.”
“Not known in any system!” repeated the thistles and the nettles.
The large trees which grew round it saw the plant and heard the remarks,
but they said not a word either good or bad, which is the wisest plan for
those who are ignorant.
