The gifted Danish writer and convert, _J. Jörgensen_, tells a parable which is pregnant with thought. “In the midst of a large rye-field,” he relates, “there stood a tall poplar, with other trees standing nearby. One day the poplar turned to the other trees and plants, and thus began to speak: ‘Sisters and brothers! To us, the glorious tribe of plants, belongs the earth, and everything upon it is dependent on us. We fertilize and feed ourselves, while beasts and men are fed and clothed by us. Indeed, the earth itself feeds upon our decaying leaves, upon our boughs and branches. There is only one power in the world our existence and growth is said to depend on; I refer to the Sun. I purposely used the words, “is said,” because I am sure that we do not depend on the Sun. This doctrine of sunlight being a necessity and a benefit to our plant life is nothing but a superstition, which at last ought to give way to enlightenment.’ Here the poplar paused. From some old oaks and elms in the neighbouring grove there came signs of disapproval, but the inconstant rye-field muttered assent. Thus encouraged and raising its voice the poplar continued: ‘I know well that there is a musty faction amongst us which clings obstinately to obsolete views. However, I have confidence in the independence of the younger generation of plants. They will realize the baseness of continuing to do homage to an absurd superstition. Our freeborn heads shall never bow to a yoke, not even to the yoke of the Sun. Down, therefore, with that yoke! And free from restraint there will arise a free and beautiful generation that will astonish the world.’ The poplar paused for the second time, and now the applause was long and loud, the fields cheered and the groves gave boisterous applause, so that the disapproval of a few old trees could not be heard. The following days looked upon an odd spectacle. At daybreak, when the Sun ascended and cast its first rays over the landscape, the flowers closed their cups and denied admission, as if asleep; the leaves no longer turned toward the Sun. But when the dispenser of warmth and light had gone down behind the hills, the gayly coloured flowers opened in the dim starlight, as if now the time had come for them to grow and blossom.