Essex County herald. [volume] (Guildhall, Vt.) 1873-1964, 1878-06-21
Story of n Daisy.

Far, far away, hundreds of miles from
here, in field of growing wheat, little
daisy one day pushed its way up to air
and light.
1t was a very, very tiny affair indeed,
and the wheat that stood tall and green
above it, and bowed gracefully to the
passing breezes, were altogether too
high-minded to notice the struggling
young creature at their feet. But the
winds paused on their way to give ten
der kiss, and the little thing took heart,
and reached out its arms to the sun
shine.
Days and weeks passed, and by the
time tho green wheat had turned to gold
the daisy had shot up into quite vigor-
GUS plant. At last, when its loneliness
began to blossom into starry flowers, the
tall wheat did notice it in a patronizing
way.
"Pray, young FRIEND" said the most
venerable among them, "who are you2"
am daisy" answered the little
plant, modestly.
GA daisyl and what sort of a creature
may that be? What are you good for,
anyhow"
81 am sure 1 don't know" timidly
answered the plant, "unless it is to bear
these flowers. The wind Oft tells me
they are very beautiful"
"Nothing but flowers |" And here the
wheat rustled rather scornfully.
"My child" resumed the venerable
questioner, "f1owers are utterly useless
things. 1t is your duty to be useful,
not simply beautiful. You should bear
grain, as we do, for the benefit of man
kind"
"Dear me, don't know how" cried
the little plant, in despair.
Here tall stalk of rye, who had trav-
eled from afar, and who was, therefore,
much respected by the wheat, was ap-
pealed to, and asked if he knew anything
of daisies In his country.
"Daisies - daisies ?" he repeated,
lazily, bending his long neck to look at
the plant. "Ah, yes, remember. We
have them in our country. Trashy things,
though-couldn't bear the least grain if
they tried"
That settled it. The daisy was left to
herself and they soon forgot the insig-
nifcant creature. Still she kept on
growing taller and broader, day by day,
and adjoining herself with blossoms. At
last the time came when all the golden
heads above her fell before the sickle, and
the daisy was left alone in the field. But
she never minded that, it was so pleas
ant just to live. Every hour of her life,
while the warm sunshine brooded low
ingly above her, or the rain touched her
with soft showers, her happiness seemed
to grow. And one day, when the dainti-
est flower Of all had blossomed out, she
whispered to herself: How glad I am
to be beautiful p
All what was that cruel iron thing
which came rushing over the ground,
tearing up earth and grass and weeds 2
A plough, surely. And, in moment,
the daisy lay bruised and dying, her
roots turned up to the sun, and her
blossoms, the glory of her life, ruthless
ly torn from the stem.
But warm hand picked up the little
flower, and kindly Scotch voice MUIR
INJURED, "Puir thing, cut off in thy
prime How could 1 be so crueI2 1
will cen gang and write tribute to thy
memory"
And the daisy, despised by the wheat
for being merely beautiful, became the
inspiration of a lovely poem by Robert
Burns, the Scottish poet. That is how
it happened those lines were written,
beginning
Wee, modest, crimson-tipped fow'r,
Thou'st met me in an evil hour"