you are right, O Socrates.”  “And would you call an aeroplane useless, merely because you yourself have never made use of an aeroplane?  Or a pig useless, merely because you yourself do not eat pork?” There would be a great wagging of heads among the opponents, after which a third would pluck up courage to say:  “But, surely, Socrates, nettles as we know them to-day are simply noxious plants that fulfil no function but to sting our children?” Socrates would say, after a moment’s pause:  “That certainly is an argument that deserves serious consideration.  A weed, then, is to be condemned, you think, not for its uselessness, but for its noxiousness?” This would be agreed to.  “Then,” he would pursue his questions, “you would probably call monkshood a weed, seeing that it has been the cause not merely of pain but even of death itself to many children.”  His opponent would grow angry at this, and exclaim:  “Why, I cultivate monkshood in my own garden.  It is one of the most beautiful of the flowers.”  Then there would be some wrangling as to whether ugliness was the test of weeds, till Socrates would make it clear that this would involve omitting speedwell and the scarlet pimpernel from the list.  Someone else would contend that the essence of a weed was its troublesomeness, but Socrates would counter this by asking them whether horseradish was not a far more troublesome thing in a garden than foxgloves.  “Oh,” one of the disputants would cry in desperation, “let us simply say that a weed is any plant that is not wanted in the place where it is growing.”  “You would call groundsel a weed in the garden of a man who does not keep a canary, but not a weed in the garden of a man who does?” “I would.”  Socrates would burst out laughing at this, and say:  “It seems to me that a weed is more difficult to define even than justice.  I think we had better change the subject and talk about the immortality of the soul.”  The only part of the definition of a weed, indeed, that bears a moment’s investigation is contained in the three words:  “colloq., a cigar.”

In my opinion, the safest course is to include among weeds all plants that grow wild.  It is also important to get rid of the notion that weeds are necessarily evil things that should be exterminated like rats.  I remember some years ago seeing an appalling suggestion that farmers should be compelled by law to clear their land of weeds.  The writer, if I remember correctly, even looked forward to the day when a farmer would be fined if a daisy were found growing in one of his fields.  Utilitarianism of this kind terrifies the imagination.  There are some people who are aghast at the prospect of a world of simplified spelling.  But a world of simplified spelling would be Arcadia itself compared to a world without wild flowers.  According to certain writers in The Times, however, we are faced with the possibility of a world without wild flowers, even if the Board of Agriculture takes no hand in the business.  These writers tell