Yes--and here is another, and another. Why, I have got I don't know how many. Why not? Bring them here, and let us see. Nine kinds of grasses, and a rush. Six kinds of clovers and vetches; and besides, dandelion, and rattle, and oxeye, and sorrel, and plantain, and buttercup, and a little stitchwort, and pignut, and mouse-ear hawkweed, too, which nobody wants. Why? Because they are a sign that I am not a good farmer enough, and have not quite turned my Wild into Field. What do you mean? Look outside the boundary fence, at the moors and woods; they are forest, Wild--"Wald," as the Germans would call it. Inside the fence is Field--"Feld," as the Germans would call it. Guess why? Is it because the trees inside have been felled? Well, some say so, who know more than I. But now go over the fence, and see how many of these plants you can find on the moor. Oh, I think I know. I am so often on the moor. I think you would find more kinds outside than you fancy. But what do you know? That beside some short fine grass about the cattle-paths, there are hardly any grasses on the moor save deer's hair and glade-grass; and all the rest is heath, and moss, and furze, and fern. Softly--not all; you have forgotten the bog plants; and there are (as I said) many more plants beside on the moor than you fancy. But we will look into that another time. At all events, the plants outside are on the whole quite different from the hay-field. Of course: that is what makes the field look green and the moor brown. Not a doubt. They are so different, that they look like bits of two different continents. Scrambling over the fence is like scrambling out of Europe into Australia. Now, how was that difference made? Think. Don't guess, but think. Why does the rich grass come up to the bank, and yet not spread beyond it? I suppose because it cannot get over. Not get over? Would not the wind blow the seeds, and the birds carry them? They do get over, in millions, I don't doubt, every summer. Then why do they not grow? Think. Is there any difference in the soil inside and out? A very good guess. But guesses are no use without facts. Look. Oh, I remember now. I know now the soil of the field is brown, like the garden; and the soil of the moor all black and peaty. Yes. But if you dig down two or three feet, you will find the soils of the moor and the field just the same. So perhaps the top soils were once both alike. I know. Well, and what do you think about it now? I want you to look and think. I want every one to look and think. Half the misery in the world comes first from not looking, and then from not thinking. And I do not want you to be miserable. But shall I be miserable if I do not find out such little things as this.