} Mi TEE
BEER
thts ‘ ata é %: peer ar et: er btelh = u hare) \4 a! 14) . ‘ atts a, a efoteb f 4 - tyot tie Titi it Tree Pital a
{ 7 try sth im eehig
4 hit ; : 42 Ve iit it
tiene , 4 | Palal 7 oe i Att ‘et Ay eT bcbte
1 ie ie eT tt : q Mt A Oh + iat int ms ite
4 . } ay i ahhh ; rt iF ie hi . tess Hl
n 3 al ¥\, 5 . eh i site! Pht ai ,
ig mM: > aut an ae?e i, iy ; i} if ‘ 47% ,
igi j eet ye rat jf it | thet LF Bilise
bhatt ih ; witht HiT Att
THE NETTLES STING
5
a
FLORAL FANCIES i |
AND
Morals from Flowers.
EMBELLISHED WITH
SEVENTY ILLUSTRATIONS BY THE AUTHOR.
° LONDON: TILT AND BOGUE, FLEET STREET.
MDCCCXLIII.
it, caneeneeneReneanellte
iS) Y
Western Ont. Uniy, Library
APR 17 1940
y, > Pa = : a * ~ be ' See Py aot e* - \ af A ATAU FuUiY a o
WRIGHT AND CO... PRINTERS FLe&t STREET, LONDON.
PREFACE.
Tue following Fables were written with a view to more purposes than one. ‘They are intended to impart acquaint- ance with the economy and habits of some of the most beautiful or singular productions of the vegetable kingdom, and also to illustrate moral truths by analogies drawn from the same source. Through the medium of fiction, founded on fact, it has been endeavoured to in- vite attention to many wonders of
creation, which are daily passed by
1V PREFACE.
without notice, trodden under foot without heed, or, at best, admired
without scrutiny; to poimt out the
curious adaptation of means to cor-
responding ends, observable in the most minute of Nature’s works; and, finally, to teach therein the goodness and wisdom of Nature’s God.
In the Notes to each Fable no new
information is pretended to be con-
veyed, their matter having been chiefly —
derived from acknowledged authorities,
selected to suit the purpose of illustra-
tion, and also to invite pursuit of ©
Botany, as a study adapted to refine
and elevate, as well as to inform the ©
mind. For such readers as possess no
botanical knowledge, it may be advis-
PREFACE. h
able to peruse these Notes before the Fable to which they belong, in order to render the allusions of the latter more apparent.
It may, possibly, be objected that the characteristics of plants are too little known and too slightly marked to afford suitable materials for Fable; but, be it remembered, that the object of the following fictions is not alone to convey moral precept, but also to im- press a knowledge of the natural facts on which they hang. Admitting the mine of vegetable history to be less rich in moral ore than that of the animal creation, the former yields a vein Mot yet exhausted; and novelty
has sometimes been accepted as a
Vil PREFACE.
—S ll OO
‘substitute for metal of more intrinsic —
worth. To pronounce judgment on the ©
forms into which this metal has been |
wrought, and to determine whether | they possess anything useful in pur- | pose,-.or tasteful in decoration, is the : | province of the reader, to whose kind — indulgence they are, with diffidence, —
submitted.
Nn a ee TT TI TT LE NA
L¢
CONTENTS.
PAGE
I.—The Nettle’s Sting and the Pane of In- |
gratitude
a ‘II.—The Flower of an Hour oer ae. F me
r” without Fruit 8 ' III.—The Eccentric Arum 14 IV.—The Linnza and the Pine Tree 26 V.—The Flower of Night and the Flower of 4 Day : : . : : . 385 VI.—The Sensitive Plant and her two Phy- sicians 42 VIL. —The Trumpet Flower lve the Peining Bird 53 VIII.—The Contest between the Houses of Rose and Tulip 60 1X.—The Hollow Friend : Date X.—The Chameleon Flower and the Slave 84 XI. #,,. Highest of Virtues; or, the Judg- ment of the Sage . : : 93 XII.—The Insect Bee and the Flower Bee . 103
XIII.—The Jealous Wild Flowers
107
Vill CONTENTS.
XIV.—The Traveller’s Joy . : : is
XV.—The Misanthropic Thistle . . @28
XVI.—The Sacred Lotus and the Pitcher Plant 136 XVII.—The Wicked Cudweeds and the Hen
and Chickens . ; : ty eee XVIII.—The Cockscomb and his Cai - 152 XIX.—The Emblem of Immortality. . 158 XX.—Venus’s Fly Trap. ; . 165
XXI.—The Seditious Reeds and the Patriot Sandal . : : : : . 172 XXII.—The Pretty Mountaineer : 187 XXIII.—The Shepherd’s Purse and the sig 194 XXIV.—The Croaking Critic . : Me XXV.—The Aspiring Convolvulus. . 205
XX VI.—Love lies Bleeding; or, Cupid in the Flower Garden. : . 213
XXVII.—The Daisy, the Hemlock, and the Lady-Bird . 3 : : . 220
XX VIII.—The Epergne ; : : . 227 XXIX.—The Fairy Freebooters . . 232 XXX.—The Transplanted Primrose . . 241 XXXI.—The Vegetable Vampire . : 2247
XXXII.—The Evening Primrose, the Butterfly, i the Owl ; : -@. 251
XXXIL1.—The Scorpion Grass, or Forget-me-not 258 XXXIV.—Vulgar Cousins; or, Almack’s in the Flower Garden . : : - 262
et 24
FLORAL FICTIONS.
I.
THE NETTLES STING, AND THE STING OF
INGRATITUDE.
Two superb butterflies, the one named Paphia, the other, Atalanta, tired of pursuing each other in graceful evolutions through the fields of air, alighted, by mere inadvertence, on the forbidding head of a way-side a. The vain Paphia, starting as af. er velvet bodice had been pierced, instantaneously rose again to seek a more agreeable resting-place; but her sister, Atalanta, either feeling more fatigued, or entertaining less fear of the vege-
B
| .
= THE NETTLES STING.
table viper, retained her station, and even folded up her wings as if disposed to prolong _ hersojourn. The rough Nettle, whose morose
nature seemed softened by the fearless confi- —
dence of the fair Atalanta, smoothed down his poisoned prickles, like a tiger in good humour sheathing his talons, and thus af-
forded a seat, soft as a downy cushion, to his —
unwonted visitor. Nor did his courtesy end
here—‘‘ My pretty one,” said he, “I thank
you for coming hither to enliven my life of | gloom; and yet more, for the generous absence | of mistrust you have displayed towards a poor, } calumniated, despised old Nettle. But how | different the behaviour of your haughty and |
suspicious sister, who shrank from my contact
as though my very touch were poison!”
‘Good sir,” replied the butterfly, ‘I hope | you'll excuse her, for she’s somewhat timid ; | and, to own the truth, both she and*myself : had heard so much against you, that I really |
wonder at my own courage in having stayed
age en on
_ 7 —
{
all eee os : ve
THE NETTLE’S STING. 3
a i
to discover, by experience, that you are not ) the wicked, dangerous creature that fame reports you.” ‘ Ah, my child,” returned the ) old Nettle, ‘“‘few have ever borne a worse name than myself, and all our persecuted race ;
and none, perhaps, have met with more in-
gratitude.” ‘Indeed, sir,” said the gentle _ Atalanta, with a sympathetic nod, ‘and may
I ask, by whom, and how you have been thus maltreated?” ‘‘ Why, first, my pretty one,
we are sadly wronged by man; he, while we _ are yet in early youth, is glad of our tender
shoots to make him pottage; but, when age overtakes us, he reviles, uproots, or mows us _ down, with hatred most inveterate. What can be more natural than that we should
sting him in return; but, even when provoked to inflict a wound, we are always ready to afford a balm, wherewith its smart may be allayed. Nay, more—if our enemy show but the courage to approach and handle us with
_ confidence, even towards him we prove gentle
4: THE NETTLE’S STING.
and unoffending, as you at this moment find — me.” ‘* Indeed, Mr. Nettle,” returned the _ volatile butterfly, beginning to grow weary | of her host’s prosing— indeed you seem to . have been sadly used; and now I'll go, if | you please, and tell my sister, and all our | friends, what a good sort of body you are.” | “Stay a moment, fair one,” exclaimed the — Nettle, as Atalanta spread her wings for | flight, “‘ you have not yet heard half my story; : I have told, indeed, of man’s unkindness, but - I have yet to speak of far worse ingratitude— the ingratitude of your own race continually | shown towards us.” “ Really, sir,” said the i butterfly, tossing her plumes, “ I didn’t sup- ;
”
“No, I dare say you were not
pose aware that the nurses and supporters of your | family have all been supplied by mine.” The | butterfly stared. ‘‘’Tis very true,” resumed the Nettle, ‘and yet more, ’tis a fact, though | you seem to have forgotten it, that it was
from me—yes, from my very self, that both
| 2 i THE NETTLE’S STING. 5
ate
be ty
you and your giddy sister received support and nourishment in your days of helpless infancy. Do but observe all my lower leaves
reduced to skeletons, and know that it was
by your own teeth, and those of your sister _Paphia, they were brought to this condition.” ‘© No, no, Mr. Nettle,” exclaimed the but- terfly, laughing most contemptuously, “ you'll never make me believe a tale like that; never tell me that J—TZ for whose delicate appetite
the nectar of the sweetest flowers is scarcely fitting food—that J should ever have con- _ descended to touch one morsel of your coarse, ‘ disgusting foliage—a good joke, truly! butit won't do for me. So good morning to you,
Master Nettle, and the next time I honour you with a visit, you'll tell.me something a little more likely. Oh! oh! oh! the very thought!” and the wings of the pretty Ata- lanta shook with laughter, as she expanded
them for flight; but, ere she had time to rise, she felt, for the first time, a painful sting.
6 THE NETTLE'S STING.
ec se
The Nettle could inflict no sharper wound, © yet it was far less deadly than that with ~ which the ungrateful insect had just pierced |
the friend and benefactor of her infancy.
NOTES.
Tue caterpillars of three of our most beau- tiful butterflies, viz., the Atalanta, the Paphia, | and the Urtica, together with some other insects, * are nourished by the leaves of the common Nettle. | The stinging properties of this plant have been minutely investigated by Curtis (see the “Flora | Londinensis”), by whose examination it appears — that the Nettle is covered with small projecting — prickles, which, when slightly touched, inflict a
- venomous wound. Each prickle is tubular, — standing on a bag of poison, and perforated at the | point, so that when gently pressed, vertically, the | pressure at once forces the poison to ascend the tube, and enables the point to lodge it in the skin of the hand that touches it. Those who handle - the plant roughly rarely feel the effect of its sting,
oe
THE NETTLE’S STING. 7
while others, from lightly touching it, experience the venom in all its force. This circumstance is . happily expressed by Aaron Hill :—
“* Tender-handed stroke a Nettle,
| And it stings you for your pains ; Grasp it like a man of mettle,
| And it soft as silk remains.”
_ The young tops of the Nettle are sometimes i used as a pot-herb, and Haller tells us—‘‘ Que son -écorce se laisse filer, et on en fait en Europe et en : Sibérie des toiles de fil d’ortie. On en tire le -méme parti dans les isles des Kuriles. On fait _ aussi d’assez bon papier avec cette écorce.”’
.
1:
THE FLOWER OF AN HOUR, AND THE FLOWER —
WITHOUT FRUIT.
A Persian Ranunculus, beautiful and haughty as an Eastern sultana, chose, in the pride and emptiness of her heart, to insult a sister flower (a Venetian Mallow), who blos- somed close beside her. It was not, however, for lack of beauty that the vain Asiatic could — despise her neighbour, the charms of the | latter being scarcely inferior to her own. | Beside the glowing hues of the Persian, the © delicate blush colour of the European might, — indeed, seem faint, but then she was bravely adorned by velvet of royal purple, and crowned by a diadem of golden anthers.
Nor was it for want of fragrance that the 4
AN HOUR.
THE FLOWER OF
Se) ee eee Bieiais Jk
*,
. *
a
q q a q | } | .
“a
THE FLOWER OF AN HOUR. 9
Ranunculus could scorn the Mallow, since she herself had never lent perfume to the passing gale. No—it was not for deficiencies like these, but it was for briefness of duration, that she, the flower of a few days, took upon her (forsooth!) to taunt with fragility the flower of an hour! A Bee chanced, mean- while, to settle-on the blossom of the Mallow. He sipped her honied sweets, and hummed gaily as he flew away, ‘‘ Adieu! my pretty one, I will visit thee again to-morrow.”
1°?
“To-morrow !” exclaimed the Ranunculus, scornfully (she was mortified, perhaps, by the Bee’s admiration of her neighbour): ‘“‘‘ To- morrow, says he? He little knows that for thee no morrow is in store. He little knows that, though when the sun arose this morning thy rare beauties had not opened on “the light, they will be faded for ever before 5 he reaches his meridian splendour.” ‘So be it,’ replied the Mallow, meekly, ‘‘ 1 am con- tent to have beheld him in his early prime, c
10 THE FLOWER OF AN HOUR.
and care not to look upon him in his mid-da 7 glory, or his evening decline. Thanks to its _bounteous Giver, my existence, although z | brief, has been a bright one, and fulfilled, I trust, its destined purp ose ; for when my blos- som perishes, I shall still live in the fruit Ii leave behind me, and the race of future flowers © that will arise to supply my place.” Even while she spake, the corolla of the delicate Venetian began to shrink before the ee
a
sunbeams, and speedily was closed for ever. —
Autumn arrived, and found the seeds of the Mallow ripened and ready to seek the : earth, there to abide till called from her fostering bosom by the voice of spring. And
where was the proud Ranunculus? What blossom? Nothing, save a dry and barren |
vestige was remaining of her once glorious
stalk. Other individuals of her race, who, on i account of their inferior beauty, had been — far less admired, had, indeed, like the Mallow, ,
left fruit behind them; but she, the double - i
——s
1 | THE FLOWER OF AN HOUR. 11 i
a x flower of most glorious fulness—she in whom :.
internal completeness had been sacrificed for
external perfections—she had passed away ; from the earth, even as the glittering world- | ling, who lives but to please the eye. __ Where was now the advantage of her ‘boasted length of days over the Mallow’s yet more brief duration? Let that question be answered by the aged man who has lived his threescore years and ‘ten wholly for the world and the world’s applause, for surely he can best reply whose existence has been more useless than the flower without fruit, and less important in the economy of creation than
the flower of an hour.
NOTES.
Tue Persian Ranunculus, whose rich and
beautiful varieties are so highly ornamental to our gniy
gardens, produces from five to twenty flowers on
12 THE FLOWER OF AN HOUR.
each root, of which there are single, semi-double, | and full double flowered, the latter filled, like 7 double rose, with petals to the very centre, forming a globular body of admirable elegance, and dis- playing the most beautiful colours—plain, striped, | and in every degree of shade. The full double | flowers, in which the stamens are wanting, are consequently barren ; but unbounded varieties are produced from the seeds of those that are semi-— double. They are also increased by offsets taken © from the roots. }
‘Few annuals are more admired than the Venice Mallow, or Bladder Hibiscus. The inside of the flower is of a delicate cream colour, having” the centre embellished with a rich purple velvet, on which its golden anthers are proudly conspicuous.” —Curtis’s Bot. Mag.
“The Venice Mallowe, or Good Night at Noon, openeth itselfe (says Gerarde) about 8 of the clocke, and shutteth up againe at 9, when it — hath received the beames of the sunne, whereon it
Sa ee
should seem to refuse to looke; whereupon it might more properly be called Malva Horaria, or — Mallow of an Hower, which Columella seemeth to call Moloche in his verse :—‘ Et Moloche prono sequiter qua vertia Solem.’
t THE FLOWER OF AN HOUR. 13
The Venice Mallowe’s most brave and gallant flower, Through heate of sunne, springs, shuts, and dies in an
999
| hower.
Miller extends the life of this fair and frail blossom to a few hours.
Most species of Cistus also exhibit striking instances of quickly fading beauty, opening to the morning sun, and before night strewing the ground with their remains ; each day, however, produces a new succession of flowers, as with the Virginian Spiderwort, whose blossoms last but one day. The. splendid blossom of the Night- blowing Cereus opens with the setting, and fades with the rising sun. The Peacock Iris shows its pride but for a day, and the Tigridia Favonia expands in the morning to wither at noon.
f
; h
III. a
;
THE ECCENTRIC ARUM.
= é
A GRoup of gay young wood-flowers \ having met together one bright May morning, —
amused themselves by turning into ridicule
certain peculiarities of their more grave and © quiet neighbours. The ‘sweet and humble Moschatelle, scarcely venturing to advance — _her head from the shelter of withered leaves which had protected her early youth, was } laughed at for, what they chose to call, her awkwardness, and mauvaise honte. The Ophrys, in his sober suit of brown, they — denominated a queer old sprig; but the chief object of their impertinent criticism was an |
unfortunate Arum, whose singular shape, .
ARUM.
*
3) ‘al oe F, wy s) eat
THE
THE ECCENTRIC ARUM. 15
complexion, and habits, were each, in turn, made themes for animadversion.
«© Who ever beheld such a stiff, awkward, misshapen flower?” said a Blue-bell, tossing her graceful head with an air of utter disdain. “ Flower!” responded a Wood Anemone, “ I wonder you can call him a flower at all! Why, it would puzzle neighbour Eyebright herself to tell what or who he is, with his
face forever muffled in that great green cowl.
If he’s ashamed of his ugliness, let him hide it, and welcome. All I say is, that he _ hasno business to intrude upon our society, - like a suspicious spy.” “I am exactly of your opinion, madam,” said a proud Purple Orchis. “Far be it from me to condemn another because he has the misfortune not
to be as handsome as one’s self; but it is im-
a I i ME Lat EE RS Pt Eo
hn a a EX
possible not to suspect some lurking evil under a cloak of such extreme reserve and _ mystery. Why, let me ask, does he never _ abandon that monkish cowl? Why does he
16 THE ECCENTRIC ARUM.
7 iL’ —— bes Se —-
always shrink from the sun’s gaze? Where- :
i fore is he provided with those barbed arrows? And, lastly, what mean those suspicious stains
upon his weapons and his garments ?”— Here, }
a
the dark Orchis paused and looked mysterious; | while the fair Blue-bell, and her friend Ane- | mone, both trembled on their stalks at the
dreadful suspicions suggested by the words they had just heard, entirely forgetful that he © who had uttered them bore on his own green ) garments, spots very similar in hue and ap- | pearance to those he had so invidiously noticed in his neighbour. |
Thus, for no offence whatever, but that
~~
of being in habits and appearance unlike his — fellows, was the unoffending Arum. universally | condemned; while the handsome, but atro-
cious Bella Donna, and the graceful and de-
ceptive Bitter-sweet, were held in high ad-
RS
miration, and, perhaps, secretly regarded with — envy by some of their fair compeers. — Little, however, did the upright Arum
THE ECCENTRIC ARUM. 17
| egard the unmerited censure of those amongst ‘whom he dwelt, though not as one of them ; e grew on, quietly fulfilling tie part that Nature had assigned him, and, at last, dis- |appeared from the place he had occupied, | where his presence was scarcely missed.
F The spring music of birds, the summer hum | of insects, had both, in turn, been hushed, jand the silence of the wood was now only | broken by the sighing of the autumn wind, |and the rustling rain of falling foliage. And | what had become of all the Arum’s gay com-
| panions ? One by one they had gone, or
| had long since sunk into the ground, or been | swept from off its face. Of some, a few faded |remains were yet visible, but existing only {as melancholy relics of departed loveliness; |while others, from whose sapless veins life
had quite departed, still preserved a skeleton
|resemblance of their perfect forms, bleached
}
were fast going, the way of all flowers. Some
D
18 THE ECCENTRIC ARUM.
in the autumn blast.* And how fared it with the eccentric
Arum? He was eccentric still, and, having assumed a garb more cheerful than bata he alone looked fresh and vigorous in a scene of decay and desolation. His hood was cast aside; his features altogether changed; for, in place of the unpretending blossom to. which the name of flower had been denied, ) he now bore a cluster of berries, red and bright, seeming to smile amidst the death- like hue of vegetation. Why did the Arum still stand alone ” While the fellows of his spring-time had been expanding all their charms, and exhausts) ing all their energies, in the brilliant glare of summer, he had disappeared, unheeded, from | amongst them, to pursue, in retirement, the purposes of his creation, for the completion
* Such as the Carline Thistle, and many species of Gnaphalium or Xeranthemum. x
i
| THE ECCENTRIC ARUM. 19
of which he now reappeared in renewed beauty and vigour.
| Let us seek a parallel to the habits of the ‘eccentric Arum. May not such be found in the passage of a virtuous man through the giddy world of pleasure. He, like the plant in question, resembles not the multitude, and is, therefore, singled out as an object of its
| scorn, detraction, and suspicion. Wearied of beholding their vain pursuits and empty
_ pleasures, he retires, in the maturity of his
| 1
flies which buzz on regardless of his absence.
| powers, from amidst the swarm of summer
| Years roll over —the eccentric individual returns, perchance, to the scene of former | days; and there, what does he behold 2—the
gay companions who scoffed at his singulari-
are gay no longer. They have been keeping up, incessantly, the inflated ball of pleasure, till it has burst beneath the last effort of
ties are either departed from their place, or their wearied hands and sickened hearts;
|
20 THE ECCENTRIC ARUM.
cs as
whilst he, invigorated by the wholesome rest
}
of religious retirement within himself—he alone, in the autumn of life, is enabled to dis- play a cheerful, calm serenity, which, like the glowing berries of the Arum, is rendered
doubly conspicuous by the surrounding gloom. |
NOTES.
The tuberous Moschatelle is a modest, humble | plant, with greenish, musk-scented flowers, which emerge from their bed of withered leaves in April or May; the blossoms are curiously arranged in, five-flowered cubical heads. Linnzeus found this | plant plentiful, and very perfect, on a high moun- tain in Sweden. /
The Bird’s Nest Ophrys contrasts, by its hue of sober brown, with the usual brilliant colours of { flowers. This very singular species of Ophrys is. sometimes found in woods and thickets late in the - spring. It has been thought parasitical, like the , Broom Rape, which somewhat resembles it in
|
THE ECCENTRIC ARUM. 21
colour as well as form, and derives its name from the roots which, ‘‘ crossed over one another verie intricately, resemble” (says Gerarde) “a
crowe’s neste made of stickes.”
“Botanists who are acquainted with the
1 history of the Arum (Cuckow-pint, Wake
Robin, &c.), well know that it appears under two
very different forms in spring and autumn; but
| the generality of people are not aware that the
naked cluster of scarlet berries, so conspicuous in | the hedges when summer is over, is the produce _of that curiously sheathed or hooded plant, which (under the name of Lords and Ladies), attracts the
notice of children, in spring, under most shady
hedges. The sheath of this singular plant is
.
called the spathe, and the upright stalk within, bearing the parts of fructification, the spadix. This spadix, or tongue, sometimes varies in colour; and both the spathe and leaves, which are sagittate, or arrow-shaped, are sometimes spotted with purple, or dark red. Several foreign species of the Arum have been introduced into our gardens and conservatories. Amongst these is the Arum Trilobium, a native of Ceylon, dis- tinguished by the rich brown velvety appearance of its flowers, the length of its tapering spadix,
2 eal
29 THE ECCENTRIC ARUM.
and a most powerful odour, the exact reverse of sweet. The Pothos Feetida, or Skunk Weed—an | Arum of North America, which has the same un- | attractive property —bears a very remarkable | resemblance to a shell. |
The Blue-bell, Hare-bell, or English Hyacinth —whose sweet, drooping flowers are the chief) ornament of our woods in May—has often had |
its name of Hare-bell erringly applied by poets to : the round-leaved Bell-flower, or Campanula; for | it is the elegant bell of the latter that trembles on : its slender stalk on heathy mountains and on mouldy turrets; and this is the flower, no doubt, } intended by Scott, when describing his Lady of the Lake: he says— | “ E’en the slight Hare-bell raised its head, Elastic from her airy tread.”
The bulbous root of the Blue-bell is full of a slimy, glutinous juice, which, in Gerarde’s time, | was used “ to set feathers upon arrowes insteed | of glew, or to paste bookes with, and to makes the best starche next unto that of Wake Robin , Rootes”—a main ingredient, probably, for stiffen- ing the rigid ruffs of good Queen Bess. The Wood Anemone, or White Wind-flower,
an elegant plant, common in shady places in April |
?
| THE ECCENTRIC ARUM. 23 '
jan May. The deeply-toothed leaves are some- _times dotted beneath; and the blossoms, which
f always fold up against rain, are sometimes tinged
with rose-red, or purple. t Common Eye-bright frequently adorns barren | heaths and pastures, especially in chalky soils, } with its. bright eye-like blossoms, to which, pro- | bably, it owes its ancient fame as a remedy for | disorders of sight—even according to Gerarde— restoring it when lost. He adds, moreover, that “the herbe, powdered and taken in a cuppe of white wine, comforteth the memorie as_ well.” ‘Under its name of Euphrasia, it is celebrated in Shenstone’s Village School-Mistress; and by ~Milton— «Famed Euphrasy may not be left unsung
That gives dim eyes to wander leagues around.”
“The early Purple-spotted Orchis is a hand- ‘some, and one of our most common, species, with broad, purple-spotted leaves. It is a spring con- temporary in our woods with the Cowslip, the Cardamine, and the Adoxa Moschatelle, which, diffusing its musky scent in vain, is trampled
——— i a a a
| under foot in search of these showier flowers.”— _Sowerby’s Eng. Bot. The roots of this species of Orchis are most
24 THE ECCENTRIC ARUM.
commonly used for making a very nutritive kind ! of food, called salep. |
The Atropa, Bella Donna, Deadly Night-shade, or Dwale, with ovate leaves, and large, handsome,
—
bell-shaped purple flowers, growing on a solitary ) stalk, was once frequent in the neighbourhood
of London, though now extirpated by building. | Indeed, it is now only rarely found in chalky soils ; a fortunate circumstance, on account of the / highly poisonous nature of its black, shining berries, which were named to Curtis by a little | Kentish boy, who had suffered from eating them, | “Naughty Man’s Cherries.” In Blair’s Pharmaco- | Botanologia, is a curious account of the Scots, in | the reign of the good Duncan,* using the Deadly | _ Night-shade to poison, during a time of truce, the provisions supplied by them to the Danes, who, | under Sweno, brother of Harold, had invaded ' Scotland. The poison was infused into wine and | ale, of which the Danes drank plentifully, and, | being fallen upon, in their state of intoxication, | by the Scots, were, for the most part, killed ; | the remnant, with their besotted king, escaping | with difficulty to their vessels.
The name of Atropa is said to be derived |
* Murdered by Macbeth.
{| THE ECCENTRIC ARUM. 25
\|from Atropos, one of the evil destinies; the
‘Ttalian one of Bella Donna, because used by ladies in the composition of their face-paint. The juice of the berries stain paper of a beautiful and durable purple.
The Bending Bitter-sweet (Solanum dulcamara), or Woody Night-shade, adorns every damp hedge,
‘in June and July, with its graceful clusters of | revolute purple flowers, rendered lively by the ‘bright yellow of the conjoined anthers—these | being succeeded by oval, scarlet berries, fair |to the eye, and, on first tasting, pleasant to the palate, but, subsequently, nauseous and highly ‘poisonous to man, slightly so to animals. The ‘root and dry twigs are used medicinally—the virtues of one part of the plant being found, as ‘is often the case, to atone for the deleterious properties of another.
Py. THE LINNZZA AND THE PINE TREE; OR,
THE ABIDING PROVED PERISHABLE, AND THE ©
PERISHABLE MALE IMMORTAL.
ne aa hi i i i Rian hii sah ili
A Gigantic Pine Tree had, for — of four centuries, reigned in solitary grandeur: on the heights of a rocky mountain in Swedish Lapland. Beneath the snows of, those 400 winters he had beheld the few: vegetable productions which grew around, him, repeatedly concealed, and frozen by their bitter blasts, apparently destroyed. He had sometimes even beheld man, the lord, of creation, fall benumbed and lifeless at his feet; while he, still proudly defying the storm, grew on, full of sap and vigour. ‘
The pride of this lordly Pine ‘‘ grew with
4
Cae ae
——o
LINNAA & THE PINE.
E
TH
ot GIT IA el Ie EIB Tis Orem aye
=
a NY TN Re |
= -_
| THE LINNZA AND THE PINE TREE. 27
‘
his growth, and strengthened with his 'strength.” Seeing nothing above him, he fancied that the world could not produce his
equal; for ever ascending, he aspired to
reach the highest heaven; and beholding every green thing, except himself, wrapt ' yearly in a shroud of snow, he even thought ‘himself immortal. At the foot of this Alpine | monarch grew a little trailing plant, buried each year beneath the snows of winter, and nearly concealed beneath the moss in sum- ‘mer. This little plant was so utterly un- known, that it could not even boast a name.
When the magic breath of a Lapland spring
had suddenly variegated with spots of ver- | dure the barren site they occupied, two “travellers were one day seen approaching the lofty Pine and his lowly companion. The | former beheld them, while yet afar off, making
| their toilsome way up the rough ascent which | led to the foot of his rocky throne. ‘ Poor | dwarfish creepers!” apostrophized the vege-
-
| ; 1)
4 a 1
table giant; ‘‘ye are, doubtless, - coming |
28 THE LINNZA AND THE PINE TREE.
ai om)
hither to offer homage to my greatness.” As the two men drew nearer, one, indeed, looked up at the stupendous tree in seeming
admiration; but the eyes of the other were | chiefly bent towards the earth. On reaching the Pine’s foot, the first individual began to ° take careful measure of its enormous circum-— ference, while the attention of the second was ; engaged ona far different object—the little | red and white blossoms of the nameless plant, | of which he had just caught a glimpse through their dark green veil of moss. He ; stooped to gather; looked at them with ©
agp
delight, considered them with attention, and : then pressed them with enthusiasm to his , lips. In what opposite and what erring” estimation did the Pine Tree hold the actions | of these two travellers. Pleased at the notice bestowed on him by the first, he j whispered, with proud complacency, “Tis a | pity, oh man, that thou shouldst be so frail a -
j
THE LINNZA AND THE PINE TREE. 29
ee pres
ig 3 4 creature ; since, weak and little as thou art,
¥
thou canst sometimes appreciate the great
and powerful. But, as for thee, contemptible
’
being!” he continued, apostrophizing the
younger traveller, “‘thy mind and body are
is
[ alike—both low and grovelling—thus to
ee
' waste thy silly admiratién on a dwarfish
| weed, and disregard myself, the most stupen- | dous object on the earth. Thou callest thyself
creation’s lord!—ah! ah! ah!” and the Pine
_ shook his sombre branches, as though laugh-
ing in derision. But the Pine would have trembled, and not have laughed, could he have looked into the thoughts of the elder traveller, the man whose taste he had com- - mended, for he would have read therein his | own approaching doom. That man, it is true, | had scanned, with admiration, the colossal | proportions of the tree; but he had scanned them only with the calculating eye, and in | the narrow spirit of a trader; in plain terms,
the elder traveller was a timber-merchant
80 THE LINNEA AND THE PINE TREE.
of Lullea,* and, in his mind’s eye, the Pine © was already condemned; its career of fancied immortality cut short by the woodman’s axe, and its trunk, the growth of centuries, trans- formed into “the mast of some great ammiral,” | or sawn into planks of red deal for some less ' noble purpose. In a far different spirit to — his companion had the younger traveller j lifted carefully from the ground, and admired : the modest beauty of the weed without a 5 name. He was an ardent naturalist; one q who truly “looked through Nature up to — Nature’s God,” and was gifted with a mind I imaginative, even to a degree which the dull } plodder might have termed fancifully enthusi- j astic. ‘ Ah!” exclaimed he, addressing the | little drooping flower, now, for the first time, drawn from its mossy shade, ‘“ how ‘ well dost thou represent my own early 4 career! Even as I was, thou art—a little — northern plant, flowering early, abject, de- )
* Lullea, or Lula, a town in Swedish Lapland.
THE LINNEA AND THE PINE TREE. 381
| Bpessed, and long overlooked; henceforth thou shalt bear my name.” He who spoke - thus was one of the brightest luminaries of " science—the polar star* of botany—the great Linneus; and the Linnea is the hum- ‘ble plant he then discovered.
How often has the ambitious man, occu- _pying a position as elevated in society as that of the Pine in the vegetable world, whose life, like the existence of that ever-growing giant, has been one continued aspiration
after greatness, been as suddenly swept from the face of the earth, falling equally undis- tinguished from his fellows; while another, like the Linnza, long an unnoticed and con- tented dweller in the shade, is all at once snatched from obscurity, and, perhaps, by no peculiar personal merit, but only as associated with some great event, or noted individual,
leaves behind him an undying name! So
* Linneus was created a Knight of the Polar Star.
32 .THE LINNEHA AND THE PINE TREE. ~
Sacra Aeon ala
vain are restless aspirations after worldly , celebrity, and so accidental the chances which confer what men denominate immortal reputation. Let us, then, seek a higher, — better immortality—the immortal happiness ] and glory which-shall endure when the earth has passed away, and all its stars are set for ©
ever.
- NOTES. ;
Tue Scotch Fir, or Wild Pine (Pinus sylves- tris ), lives to the age of upwards of 400 years, is extremely hardy, and delights in the most sandy, sterile situations. It attains the height of eighty feet, and furnishes the tallest and straightest masts for our navy. The wood of the Pine is | called red and yellow deal, and from this and } other species of fir are obtained tar, pitch, tur- pentine, &c. The resinous roots, splintered, are sometimes used in the Highlands as candles. “Fishermen make ropes of the inner bark, and | hard necessity has taught the Laplanders and
ee
Set
THE LINNZA AND THE PINE TREE. 309
ones
iF amschatdales to convert it into bread, when (ground and baked.’’—Linneus’s Lapland Tour. |‘ The derivation of the generic name, Pinus, is in- jvolved in obscurity. Linnzeus places it amongst Latin names of unknown origin. De Theis, ‘however, deduces Pinus from the Celtic, and shows it to exist, variously modified, in all the ‘dialects of that ancient language, its basis being pim or pen, a mountain or rock, whence we ‘have Apennines, and the Penine Alps.”—Rees’s Cyclopedia.
The Linnza Borealis, so named after Linnzeus, grows in stony, dry, mossy woods. It is a small trailing plant, with drooping, bell-shaped blos- soms, fragrant of an evening. It grows wild near Aberdeen, and was found as far north as Lulea, ‘by Linnzeus, who described it in his Lapland
Tour. This great naturalist traced a fanciful analogy between it and his own early fate, calling it “a little northern plant, flowering early, de- pressed, abject, and long overlooked.” Linnzus was the son of a clergyman, born in 1707. At the age of thirty-four he was appointed Professor of Physic and Botany in the University of Upsal ; afterwards physician to the king, who
F
34 THE LINNEA AND THE PINE TREE.
a
created him a Knight of the Polar Star, and con-
estiiaonstss
ferred on him a pension and patent of nobility.
Speaking of the nomenclature of plants, the) accomplished Sir William Jones says, in address- ing the Asiatic Society, “‘ Nor can I see, withorgl pain, that the great Swedish botanist considers it as the supreme and only reward of labour in this. part of natural history, to preserve a name by hanging it on a blossom. Yet his excellent. works are the true basis of his just celebrity, which would have been feebly supported by the stalk of the Linnea.”
ne
Pele Neaemomotiinte
reas we ex
Se
Saree a. re
Satie
THE FLOWER OF NIGHT & THE FLOWER OF DAY.
1 | v. | THE FLOWER OF NIGHT AND THE FLOWER OF DAY. .
* Poor ‘forlorn Sephalica! wherefore dost thou droop, and, like a self-denying
Dervish, refuse to taste the pleasures spread
| around thee?” So spake a twining Cama- , lata, whose wreathed blossoms of “‘ rosy red” were thrown, like a vivid ray of sun light, over the dark foliage of an Indian hedge; and her words were addressed to a tree of humble growth and unattractive form, called the Sorrowful Sephalica, or Indian Mourner. *T droop not for sadness,” quietly returned the latter, ‘‘and as for pleasures, though of a far different description, I possess a store of them which I would not exchange for thine.
"Tis true, I bask not, like thee, in the glare of
36 THE FLOWER OF NIGHT.
mid-day ; but I drink in delight from the) dewy moonbeams. I waste not my fra- ! grance on those who heedlessly flutter in the | sun, but I convey perfume into the very | souls of those who love to contemplate the} starry heavens. Such are the pleasures I; enjoy, and such the delights I impart to those ) who seek me.” ‘And prythee who would; seek thee? and where are the boasted plea- | sures in thy power to bestow?” asked thet Camalata, scornfully; “do they le hidden beneath thy drooping leaflets, or are they ! imprisoned within thy closed and scentless } flower buds? Behold yon Bee directing his | flight towards us. Let him be judge of our | respective merits, and see how he will choose | between us.” The Bee’s election was pre- | sently made, for, after hovering for a moment i over the mourning Sephalica, he settled on | the gaudy Camalaté. There he sat, and sipped her luscious nectar till his cloyed ap-
petite required some new excitement, in
THE FLOWER OF NIGHT. 87
quest of which he then proceeded. Roving from one sweet to another, he spent the live- long day; but when almost every flower was folded in sleep, and ceased to exhale its odour, then whither went the tired insect to seek for quiet and repose? His latest flight was winged towards a spot from whence the dewy air came laden with the richest perfume. It was the same spot he had visited in the morning, that occupied by the rosy Camalata and the sorrowful Sephalica: but now, what a change was there! the Camalata looked no longer rosy, and the Sephalica appeared no longer sorrowful. The white and orange blos- soms of the latter, now widely expanded, and pouring forth their jasmine fragrance, shone brightly conspicuous through the twilight gloom. It was now the turn of the Camalata to be passed over with indifference, for the Bee was glad to reverse his mid-day choice, and, nestling in the sweet tubes of the Sepha-
lica, was soon buried in delicious slumber.
38 THE FLOWER OF NIGHT.
Let the rosy Camalata of our fable repre- — sent Pleasure in her gaudy robe, and let the | night-blooming Sephalicé, misnamed “the | Sorrowful,” be permitted, as she appeared by | day, to personify Religion. Then may the | honey-seeking Bee find his prototype in Man, ~ who, like the busy insect, intent on profit or — on pleasure, passes heedlessly by the tree of © life, because, in the sunshine of his days, it — appears all bloomless and uninviting. But | when satiated with the honied cup of worldly |
enjoyment, or wearied of amassing golden ~
treasure, he turns, in the evening of life, to
the support he once neglected, then, if, like , the Bee, he return in time, he will find the |
consolations of Religion, like the night-flowers |
of the Sephalica, open for his reception: like
these, they will shine brightly through the
darkness closing round him, and, lulled by —
their heaven-ascending perfume, he will sink
peacefully to his everlasting rest.
i
THE FLOWER OF NIGHT. 39
NOTES.
Tue Sad Tree or Indian Mourner (4rbor tristes) is thus described by Gerarde : “Its sweet yellow flowers open and flourish of a night—in the daytime look withered and with mourning cheere. The leaves also shrink, and hang lowring and hanging, as if loathing the light, and not abiding the heate of the Sunne. Poetic Indians say that this tree was once the faire daughter of a great lord or king, and that she rejected the addresses of the Sun, who was in love with her. It is a native of the East Indies, and is called by the Persians Gul.” The “mourning cheere” of this tree’s mid-day appearance seems, however, somewhat exaggerated by our old author, on comparison with the account given of it by Sir William Jones, who says, ‘“‘ This gay tree (for nothing sorrowful appears in its nature) spreads its rich odour to a considerable distance every evening, but at sunrise it sheds most of its night- flowers, which are collected with care for the use of perfumers and dyers. My Pandits unani- mously assure me that this plant is their Sepha- lica, thus named because Bees are supposed to sleep on its blossoms.”
40 THE FLOWER OF NIGHT.
The Sorrowful Nyctianthes and Arbor Tristes | are the names given by Linnezus to this fragrant + inhabitant of India, of whose native country, | Dr. Roxburgh, in his Flora Indica, tells us he is doubtful, having always found it in a state of cultivation. He describes it as a shrub or small tree, with blossoms of exquisite sweetness, re- sembling new honey (their tubes orange, and borders white), opening at sunset, and falling off ; at sunrise. When destitute of blossom, he says } it has but an indifferent appearance. ;
The Sorrowful Nyctianthes does not alone ; dispense its fragrance to enhance the luxury of | the bright moonlight nights of India, and our own country produces several such flowers, | elegantly termed by Linnzus, Flores tristes colore et odore. Their colour is generally pale and | sickly, inclining to greenish or yellowish-brown. — One of this kind is the night-flowering Catchfly, — whose petals, rolled up in the day, are unfolded, — and grow sweet of an evening. This movement | is repeated several days, while the flower lasts. — It has been supposed that the action of light upon the surface of each petal may cause it to contract. |
*¢ Such flowers,” says Sir J. Smith, “are a curious phenomenon, and furnish a subject for philo-
| THE FLOWER OF NIGHT. 4 | sophic musing when the mind is best disposed for the contemplation of the Author of nature’s works.”
__ The Indian names of the Ipomea Quamoclit of Linneus, are Camalaté and Surga-cauti, or ‘Sunshine. ‘ This plant,” says Sir William Jones, “is the most beautiful of its order, both in the colour and form of its leaves and flowers : its elegant blossoms are ‘celestial rosy red, love’s proper hue,’ and have justly procured it the name of Love’s Creeper (Camalata). If ever flower was worthy of Paradise, it is our charming Ipomea. Many species of this genus, and its near ally, the Convolvulus, grow wild in our Indian provinces.”
KCC
sé
THE SENSITIVE PLANT AND HER TWO
PHYSICIANS,
A DELICATE Mimosa, an inhabitant of . the hot-house, and one of the most sensitive of her tender tribe, had long been subject to a variety of nervous disorders. The Balm and the Balsam having afforded her no relief, she at last laid her distressing case before the Healing Hypericon, or St. John’s Wort, as © this celebrated vulnerary of ancient renown : is more commonly called. This vegetable | doctor by no means resembled a court~ physician ; he was rather of the Abernethian school, for his exterior was rough, and his — character of upright rigidity. His healing —
celebrity had, moreover, been chiefly acquired —
é
. 4
THE SENSITIVE PLAN
‘THE SENSITIVE PLANT. 43
as the “ balm of the warrior’s wound,” and this was the first time he had ever been called on to assuage the less palpable ailments of the fair and tender. What wonder, then, that the delicate Mimosa shrank from his touch, when he attempted to feel how the sap cir- culated through her veins. ‘‘ Ah! learned sir!” she feebly whispered, ‘1 implore you to handle me less roughly. You little know the exquisite sensibility of my nervous system.” |
* Perfectly, madam,” returned the Hy- pericon ; “‘and I also know that your natural weaknesses have been augmented tenfold by indulgence.” ‘‘ Indulgence!” exclaimed the Mimosa, her hitherto closed and drooping leaflets suddenly rising and expanding with surprise and indignation; ‘ why ’tis by eare alone, or what you are pleased to term indulgence, that my frail existence is pro- longed at all. But what, then, may I beg to
know, sir, are the habits you would please to
a@
jl
| 44. THE SENSITIVE PLANT.
recommend?” ‘In the first place, leave this | stiflmg hot-house for the refreshing air.” *‘ Air!” cried the affrighted Mimosa; “to; me, who shudder at the slightest breath admitted through these windows, talk of the ;
ee ee
out-door air! It would presently annihilate } my very being.” ‘Only try it,” responded the imperturbable Hypericon, “and then the ;
4
refreshing showers” ** Showers !” inter-
rupted the delicate patient, “a single drop of } water is more than I can stand.” ‘Very |
likely ; but a vapour-bath of dew, or a!
——
shower-bath of rain, would do you all the
=. oes
good imaginable. Only try it, I repeat,
and you'll soon get rid of all your fancied
ee
ailments.” ** Cruel physician!” sighed the sensitive
Mimosa.
a ee So
“‘ Tmpertinent rascal !” cried a stout, red- flowered Balsam, the professor of healing —
already in attendance on the fair Sensitive.
ee
** How dare you thus insult this tender plant
THE SENSITIVE PLANT. 45
by scoffing at her, alas! too serious dis- orders?” The Hypericon deigned not to notice this address, but, turning to the Mimosa with quiet dignity, ‘* Madam,” said he, “‘may you have strength to digest my medicine, the bitter, but precious pill of truth; and so I take my leave.” With these words the upright Hypericon bent stiffly to his dissatisfied patient, but, in so doing, he chanced to touch, inadvertently, the arm of his brother doctor, the irritable Balsam. Hereupon, whizzing like shot about the head of the astonished Hypericon, came a volley of pill-like missiles, discharged from the seed- pockets of his angry rival; but though slightly wounded, the former resolutely kept his ground, even till the ammunition of his cow- ardly adversary was all expended. As for the Mimosa, she fell back in a fainting con- dition, at sight of the mischief she had occa- sioned; but, far as ever from following the
advice of the honest Hypericon, her over-
46 THE SENSITIVE PLANT.
wrought sensibility went on increasing. To what pitch it might have at last arrived, is impossible to tell, but for the occurrence of an event at which she shuddered as a mighty hardship, but which proved, in the end, an important benefit. Through the judgment or caprice of the gardener, she was removed,
after a season, from the hot-house to the
open air. Soon fortified by exposure, she —
no longer shrank from the slightest touch, trembled at the breath of the gentlest zephyr, or sank beneath the weight of the lightest
! 4
. \ 7 | |
rain-drop. Her general appearance, and cha- —
racter of growth, became also completely ©
changed, for the disposition of her tender leaflets, hitherto for ever in extremes, either
widely expanded to the sun, or closed in
seeming moodiness at his absence, now most
usually held a happy medium between the two. She could now drink the dew-drops with delight, and receive fresh vigour from
the summer breeze. Restored, herself, to a
THE SENSITIVE PLANT. AT
state of nature, she was now rendered capable of enjoying the precious boons that nature bestows. As she looked back with horror on her late enervating prison, she also remembered the wholesome advice she had once thought so cruel; and, convinced by ex- perience, could not help confessing that Doctor Hypericon had, indeed, told her truth.
Let us apply this truth to the over-sensi- tive children of luxury, whose natural weak- nesses of mind and body have been fostered in the hot-bed of indulgence. Perhaps some honest physician, or sincere friend, may re- commend a more bracing air, or a less lux- urious mode of living. What does the adviser gain? Perhaps a character for inhumanity, or even abuse, at the hand of some syco- | phantish friend. And how acts the advised ? In all probability, exactly as he did before ; possessing not the will, and feeling, perhaps,
as destitute of power to quit the lap of ease,
48 THE SENSITIVE PLANT.
as the Sensitive Plant her shelf within the
hot-house. But let, what is commonly
termed, some cruel change of fortune remove
the pampered complainer from the artificial -
atmosphere of indulgence, into the healthful
air of exertion, his bodily and mental powers
become strengthened and improved. Then, © with self-upbraiding, he confesses the wisdom — of the advice he slighted, and, with gratitude, | acknowledges the mercy of that dispensation »
he once murmured at as most afflictive.
NOTES. THE common Sensitive Plant (Mimosa pudica) is a native of the Brazils, usually kept in our hot-houses. The singular irritability belonging
to this genus, has been a subject of interest to —
the curious observer, and of investigation to the scientific.
Professor Martyn says—‘‘ These plants are more or less susceptible of the touch, or pressure,
THE SENSITIVE PLANT. 49
according to the warmth. Those kept in a warm stove contract on being touched with the hand, a stick, or from the wind blowing upon them ; when removed to a cooler situation, they do not contract so much; and those exposed to the open air have very little motion, but remain in one state, neither expanded nor closed, but be- tween both, especially in cool weather; nor do these shut themselves at night, as those which are in a warm temperature.”
It is not the light which causes them to ex- pand, as some have affirmed ; for in the long days of summer they are generally contracted by five or six o'clock in the evening, when the sun re- mains above the horizon two or three hours longer ; nor do they continue shut until the sun rises in the morning. When any of the upper leaves of these plants are touched, if they fall down and touch those below them, it will occa- sion their contracting and falling, so that by one touching another they will continue falling for some time. When recovering, their motion is vibratory, like the index of a clock.
Some sorts are so susceptible, that the small- est drop of water falling on their leaves will cause them to contract.
50 THE SENSITIVE PLANT.
‘Sir Hans Sloane, in his “ Natural History of | Jamaica,” describes a species of Mimosa growing ~ plentifully in the savannas, which he says is ‘so very sensible, that a puff of wind from your — mouth will make impressions on it. I have, on |
horseback,” he continues, ‘‘ wrote my name with
a rod, in a spot of it, which remained visible for |
some time.”
This remarkable property of shrinking from the touch has been said to be owing to the plant being strongly saturated with oxygen gas, which it disengages upon the slightest provocation, and its place, for a short time, is supplied by atmo- spheric air, which retiring, the leaves resume their former appearance.
The foliage of these plants is usually of pecu- liar elegance, but a remarkable contrast to this, their prevailing character, is afforded in the Mi-
mosa Hispidula, a single-leaved species of great — rigidity, harshness, and asperity, a native of New —
Holland.
A most extraordinary sort of Sensitive Plant
is the Sensitive Hedysarum, a native of Bengal,
which is, indeed, one of the most wonderful pro- ductions in the vegetable world. When the air
4 : 4 a 3
is very warm, and quite still, its leaves are in —
THE SENSITIVE PLANT. 51
continual motion, some rising, some falling, and others whirling circularly, by twisting their stems. The cause of this irritability seems very different from that of the common Mimosa, its motion not being influenced by touch, or exterior stimulus.
The Balsam is called Impatiens, and Noli me Tangere, because the elastic valves of the seed- vessel curl up, when ripe, and fly asunder at the slightest touch, so as to discharge the seeds. The capsules of the Wood-sorrel also dart forth their little shining seeds, by means of an elastic arillus containing them; and another of these touch-me-not vegetable productions is found in the Cardamine Impatiens, or Impatient Lady’s Smock, the pods of which, bursting elastically, discharge their seeds with great force on the least touch or motion.
All the species of St. John’s Wort, or Hype- ricon, many of which are natives of England, have acquired a high ancient renown for their healing properties, whence the name of Tutsan, Toute-saine, or All-heale. These virtues are expressed by the author of Gondibert, in the line, “Balm of the warrior’s wound, Hypericon.” The common, or perforated St. John’s Wort, is gathered by the peasantry of France and Ger-
52 THE SENSITIVE PLANT.
é.
cS
ae
AON
many on St. John’s day, who hang it in their
windows, as a charm against storms, thunder, and evil spirits ; a custom arising, probably, from an ignorant interpretation of the name Fuga Demo-
num, given it by some medical writers, who sup- posed the plant a good medicine in maniacal
disorders. The dried plant, boiled with alum,
serves as a yellow dye for wool.
estes
4
ni ais i erase
Deere to eee ser ee rere
Se Lae
_ 2 peering BSS Si ey AP PP ce
THE TRUMPET FLOWER.
J
VIL.
THE TRUMPET FLOWER AND THE HUMMING
BIRD.
TueErr plumage sparkling with the hues of amethyst and emerald, ruby and topaz,, what gems of earth can rival those feathered jewels of the air, the tiny Humming Birds, which, in their native climes, are for ever on the wing amidst flowers scarcely less brilliant than themselves? Perceptible to the ear by the rushing sound of his pinions, but so swift and agile as almost to elude the eye, an insect-like bird of this description (a native of Carolina) had passed the live-long morning in flitting from flower to flower, and sipping, while he rested on the wing, the
delicious nectar of which his food consisted.
it aie ema Ula! |
54: THE TRUMPET FLOWER.
His eccentric flights conducted him, at length, | to the neighbourhood of a lofty tree, which | appeared at a little distance flourishing in| verdant health, and adorned with gaudy blos- | soms; but, on approaching nearer, our Hum-
ming Bird discovered that those blossoms — were not its own, and that its seeming ver-
dure was only a borrowed cloak, concealing a withered, sapless trunk. The tree had long ago been dead, and the living leaves and © flowers which entwined its skeleton were | those of the Bignonia, or Trumpet Flower of | Carolina. The long crimson and yellow bells | of this splendid climber were after the Hum- ming Bird’s own heart; and he was just on | the point of thrusting his slender bill into the ~ pendulent tubes before him, when a little | feathered friend—one who had lived several summers longer than himself—suddenly flew between the eager bird and the tempting - blossom. The eyes of the disappointed — flower-sucker flashed as brightly as his
| THE TRUMPET FLOWER. 55
plumage at what he considered a prodigious affront, and he turned fiercely to resent it.
| « My dear comrade,” said his friend, ‘‘ prithee
pardon my apparent rudeness; but I only
_baulked thy appetite in order to preserve thy | liberty and life. Beware of yonder flower! Seest thou not that death stands wrapped within its shining foliage? and, believe me, | destruction is also lurking within that honied “cup thou wert about to taste.” ‘* And taste it I certainly shall,” returned the other, mocking aside his friendly monitor by an | impatient jerk of his extended pinion—“ you | would only reserve that flower for your own entertainment; but I can easily see through such pretended kindness.” ‘‘ And I, also, can | foresee your coming fate, to which, with pity, , I must leave you,” said the elder Humming Bird, cutting through the air; and, before the sound of his pinions was lost in distance, the little foolish flutterer, who despised advice,
was struggling to escape from the Trumpet
—— a 2 tl
1
4
56 THE TRUMPET FLOWER.
Flower, into which he had thrust, not only his bill, but his silken body. Sticking midway — in the crimson tube, he strove in vain to burst it by repeated efforts; till, at length, tired of striving to regain his liberty by force, he had recourse to supplication.
‘‘ Lovely, but cruel flower,” hummed he, :
in his softest notes, “’tis hard to punish me q for only worshipping too fondly thy sweetness and thy beauty.” The Bignonia, deaf to his supplication, merely replied by closing her | elastic tube more tightly around her victim. — At that moment an Indian girl happened to , pass beneath the withered tree: she looked | up, and, attracted by its unusual motion, her | eye instantly rested on the Trumpet blossom, , from which protruded the struggling form . of the captured Humming Bird. For her, | he was a prize ready taken in the toils. | With an agile bound, she reached the little prisoner and his prison; and, seizing both |
together, pulled the latter from its stem. ;
~
THE TRUMPET FLOWER. ov
In another instant the flower was torn | open, the bee-like bird had breathed its last beneath the rude grasp of his new captor, and a few more minutes saw him hung, like a jewelled pendant, to her ear. Thus did the | Bird and the Bignonia meet the fate they had
provoked; the one, by his obstinacy, the
other, by her want of pity.
NOTES.
Hummine Birps are, for the most part, natives of the West India Islands and the continent of America, where their elegance of form and brilliancy of colour add a high finish to the* beauty of the western landscape. No sooner is the sun risen, than numerous kinds are seen fluttering abroad; their wings are so rapid in motion that it is impossible to discern their colours except by their glittering ; they are never still, but continually visiting flower after flower, and extracting the honey with their forked
I
VIII.
THE CONTEST BETWEEN THE HOUSES OF
ROSE AND TULIP.
How the kingdom of England was once | divided by the wars of the Roses, all have read | who read anything; but how the kingdom of , Flora was once rent in twain by a somewhat | similar struggle, is not, perhaps, so generally | known. Man, who (to his shame be it | spoken) not only delights in contention with » his fellows, but is also a frequent fomenter | of quarrels among the lower orders of crea- | tion, was the prime agent in this feud among | the flowers, who, but for him, would, doubt- less, have continued to bloom peacefully,
side by side, without a thought of rebellion —
& THE TULIP
ROSE
THE
———
. ’ + . 1 4 ; 7 ‘ 4 - é os ¢ . : . = ‘ q . 7 ‘ < 7 . ° : 5 ; ©. 4 , pe “4
LE x, tte ae
THE ROSE AND THE TULIP. 61
against their liege lady the Rose. It was a certain native of Holland who first took it into his stupid head to prefer the gaudy tulip, set it up as the idol of his worship, and so pamper and flatter its vanity, that the inflated flower would, at last, acknowledge no superior, and actually laid claim to supreme sovereignty. In every state there are many discontented subjects, who, glad of an occasion to seek redress for their own real or fancied grievances, readily take up the arms of rebel- lion, and hide them with the cloak of ‘patriotism, in order to compass their own selfish ends. So it was in the vegetable kingdom ; and several influential flowers, who thought themselves slighted by their Queen, pretended to doubt the legitimacy of her title, and joined the party of her usurp- ing rival. Some, indeed, were more easily tempted to desert the reigning Rose, because, being well stricken in days, she had exhibited
many alarming symptoms of decay; and
1
| 62 THE ROSE AND THE TULIP. | though Flora employed her messenger, the Iris, to mediate between the parties, her ; olive branch fell to the ground, and each | side prepared to take the field. What a din | of preparation resounded through the floral | ranks!—The Thorn sharpened his spears, ; the Grasses their blades, the Arrow-head his darts; while the Balsam and the Wood- ,
sorrel, both excellent sharpshooters, put ,
“penne “om
their spring guns in the best possible order. ; Honeysuckle Trumpeters attended each | army ; the Standards were entrusted to the ©
Pea tribe, and Monks’-hoods were seen ac- |
companying the belligerents in the priestly | character. In the eager spirit of party,
order was forgotten, the distinctions of class abolished, and families were divided against each other. Well, to it they went, and many a field was left bestrewn with flowery fragments. Fortune, with her usual fickle- ness, fluctuated between the parties. Some-
times the honour of the day was left with —
| ) i i | | )
ie He ——
THE ROSE AND THE TULIP. 63
General Snapdragon, who commanded for the Queen; sometimes with Field-marshal Dent-de-Lion, * who conducted the rebels. When and how this lamentable contest might have ended, it is hard to say, but for the in- tervention of a superior power. Queen Rose and Prince Tulip (for so he chose to call himself) each accompanied their re-
spective forces, but neither were permitted
to risk their persons in the fight. The floral
Sovereign, whose reign (as already noted)
hastened to its close, was accompanied by
the Princess Royal, her eldest daughter, a
promising bud, just about to burst into
maturity. These distinguished personages occupied an elevated spot in the rear of their army, the rebel Tulip uplifting his insolent head on arising ground, directly opposite ; but the latter stood alone, not being able to boast a single offset from his root.
One evening, after a day of desperate
* Dandelion, a corruption of the original name.
| |
64: THE ROSE AND THE TULIP.
conflict, the tired combatants laid their | drooping heads upon the field; the royal | Rose, alone, more wakeful than her subjects, | sat on her emerald throne, watching the | stars as they disappeared, one by one, behind | a curtain of heavy clouds, which gradually | overspread the heavens; while, from time to | time, the voice of a low moaning wind gave | warning of an approaching storm. But there was no shelter for the doomed head of the | aged Rose; she saw her threatened fate, and ) prepared to meet it like a true scion of her glorious race. She awoke her daughter, who | was already wrapt in unconscious slumber, : within the half-closed curtains of her calyx. | ** My child,” said she, ‘‘ before to-morrow’s dawn I shall be no more; my withered © leaves are even now falling, and the tempest — which approaches will scatter them far and
wide upon the earth; but I rejoice in the
coming storm, because I know it is sent, in
mercy, to lower the proud heads of our rebel-
THE ROSE AND THE TULIP. 65
lious subjects, and make them render obe- dience to the throne I leave thee; only be sure to fill it worthily, and Flora will have thee in her keeping.” ‘The venerable Rose had scarcely ended, ere a part of her pro- phecy was accomplished; the dark canopy of heaven was rent by lightning; heavy tor- rents of rain and hail descended; and her’ faded leaves were borne away upon the howl- ing blast. The stiff-necked Tulip was one of the first to share the fate of his injured ; Sovereign ; for the morning saw his mutilated remains stretched upon the ground, a great part of his army having also been destroyed. The Royalists, from having occupied a some-
what more sheltered situation, were less ex-
; tensive sufferers. Daylight, indeed, revealed to them the loss of their revered Monarch; but, expanded by the bright beams of the
“Morning sun, the royal Rosebud, of the pre-
ceding evening, had burst into a glorious Rose, well worthy to fill the vacant throne.
K
66 THE ROSE AND THE TULIP.
The faithful subjects of the departed Queen, all hastened to pay the homage of their per- fume to her youthful successor; and the crest-fallen relics of the rebel army were glad. to offer submission, and sue for pardon. A, general amnesty was accorded; and, spite of a few futile attempts on the part of upstart ‘Dahlias and pampered Camelias, the empire ,
of the Rose has, ever since, remained firmly established. }
NOTES.
Tue Rose, according to some authorities, has a name so ancient that its derivation is lost ) in the obscurity of ages, but others have traced | it from the Celtic Ros, Rhod, or Red. From | time immemorial the effusions of poets and the | lessons of moralists have been adorned and | pointed by the short-lived flowers and the prickly thorns of the glorious Rose.
The following epigram on a White Rose being
THE ROSE AND THE TULIP. 67
presented to a Lancastrian lady, is a very sweet blossom of early English poesy, though sprung from the blood, and watered by the tears of civil } warfare : 4
| “If this fair Rose offend thy sight,
| Tt in thy bosom wear ;
| T’will blush to find itself less white, | And turn Lancastrian there.”
For its beauty, the Rose was dedicated to Venus; as an emblem of youth, to Aurora; of fugacity, to Cupid. By the latter it is fabled to have been given as a bribe to Harpocrates, the god of silence, from whence, perhaps, arose a custom, described by Rosenbergius as prevalent among the northern nations of Europe, of sus- pending a Rose from the ceiling over the upper end of their tables, to signify that the conversa-
tion which might take place should be kept secret, whence doubtless the expression—‘ under the Rose.” | Golden Roses were considered so honourable a present, that none but crowned heads were thought worthy to give or receive them, and they were, sometimes, consecrated by popes, and pre- sented to monarchs. Henry VIII. is recorded to have received such a precious gift from
68 THE ROSE AND THE TULIP.
Alexander VI. The flower was considered ani emblem of the mortality of the body ; the metal, of the immortality of the soul. ;
Every means has been adopted to render} these flowers double ; hence the Hundred-leaved | Rose and all its rich congeners. All the species| (says Humboldt) are included between the 70th, and 20th degrees of northern latitude, except one in Mexico, in 19° N.L., at 9300 feet abore the level of the sea. .
In 1797, only five species of Rose were re- cognised as British; in 1829, twenty-two were, enumerated by Sir J. Smith, to which several, have since been added. The fragrant Eglantine, or Sweetbrier, is a British Rose growing wild in dry and chalky soils. The well-known Dog Rose | of our hedges, as well as some other species, is” remarkable for large mossy protuberances: occasioned by an insect—the Cynips Rosa. Water distilled from wild Roses is said to possess by far the most delicious odour. The Eastern Attar, | or Essential Oil of Roses, though now of easy | purchase, was formerly sold at an enormous» price, even in Persia, the land of Roses. Taver- , nier sets the value of an ounce at fifty crowns. __
The Garden Tulip is a native of Turkey, and,
ll
THE ROSE AND THE TULIP. 69
in the middle of the seventeenth century, became an object of most extravagant admiration in Europe, especially in the Low Countries, where, during the height of this tulipomania, enormous prices were demanded and given for the roots. Even in our own country and our own days (at least, in 1832), a famous Tulip, named after
Fanny Kemble, was sold for £100 by a Croydon
florist. The Tulip claimed by England as a native, is generally found in old chalk pits; it has
yellow flowers, which droop before opening, and
which possess the attribute of sweetness, denied to the most valued favourites of the garden. Most of the splendid varieties of Iris have
been introduced into our gardens from Persia
and the Cape, but our common native species, the Yellow Flag, or Fleur-de-luce, is a very hand- some plant, highly ornamental to our ponds and marshes.
The common White Thorn, or May, has true thorns or spines adhering to the wood of the plant, as distinguished from prickles, which adhere only to the bark, as in the bramble, and many species of Rose.
Almost all the numerous grasses which form the clothing of the earth, possess the property
70 THE ROSE AND THE TULIP.
of increasing by their roots as well as seeds, and / are not injured by cropping. Out of no less than} 118 species, natives of Britain alone, none have | been found poisonous, except the Bearded Darnel | (Lolium temulentum), whose seeds are said to be i intoxicating and pernicious in bread. Its name! of Lolium has been supposed to have given rise } to the term Lollard—heretics or weeds in! Christ’s vineyard. Linnzus divided the vege- ! table world into nine casts or tribes, of which |
: grasses make one; and, by analogy to the dif- ?
{|
ferent ranks of society, he fancifully called them ? the plebeians of creation; while the Palms were
wo ~~
the princes, and the Lilies the nobles.
The common Arrow-head, with sagittate | leaves, and white and purple flowers, is one of | our handsomest aquatics. In China it is much cultivated for the sake of its edible root.
The Balsam and the Wood-sorrel discharge their seeds forcibly on the slightest touch; the | former by the elastic bursting of the capsule; | the latter by the action of a strong spring-like © arillus. (See note, page 51.)
In all leguminous or papilionaceous plants, to which the Pea tribe belongs, the corolla is | usually divided into five petals, the upper one —
THE ROSE AND THE TULIP. vial
which covers the others being called the standard, the two side petals the wings, and the two lower, which are mostly soldered together, the keel. The Monk’s-hood, or common Wolfsbane, is described by Gerarde as “universally known in London gardens and elsewhere” above 300 years ago. It has since been discovered naturalized in
England, but our old author assigns it to “ Rhe- tica, and sundrie partes of the Alpes,” calling its blossoms, “ faire and goodlie blew flowers, in shape like a helmet (or cowl), which are so beau- -tiful that a man woulde thinke they were of some excellent virtue, but (he wisely observes) non est semper fides habenda fronti.”
Snap-dragon, or Toad-flax, so called from the resemblance of the mouth of its corolla to that of a Toad, and from its gaping widely on lateral pressure. The seed-vessel of some species, when ripe, forms a curious representation of an animal’s skull. The great yellow Toad-flax, called by children ‘‘ eggs and butter,” is a handsome native Species. The Dandelion, Dent-de-Lion, Leontodon, or -Lion’s Tooth, so called from the indented leaves, which have been fancifully compared to the jaws of a Lion.
72 THE ROSE AND THE TULIP.
From the bald appearance of the receptacle, after the seeds have been dispersed, it is some-—
times called Monk’s-head. This is an excellent |
flower for the examination of young Botanists, to ©
give them a good idea of the structure of com- pound flowers; and on such examination the student must be led to confess that no arti-
ficial piece of mechanism, however ingenious, can
compare with the wonderful construction of this nature’s clock, as he used in childhood to call the ‘‘ downie blow-ball of the Dandelion.”
THE HOLLOW ERIEND.
IX. THE HOLLOW FRIEND.
Day had closed over one of the mighty forests of Carolina; but the darkness of night only added one shade of gloom to its deep recesses, where, excluded by lofty trees and tangled underwood, the cheerful sunbeams strove in vain to penetrate. All nature was wrapt in silence, broken only at intervals by the plaintive cry of the Whip-poor-will, the distant bellow. of the Bull-frog from an adja- cent swamp, and the humming voices of two neighbour Fire-flies, who sat side by side
upon a leaf, their Janthorns glowing each moment with increased intensity, as the dark-
L
74: THE HOLLOW FRIEND.
ness of night grew deeper. While engaged
in sociable gossip, the brilliant insects were also, from time to time, regaling themselves by making prey of such unwary Mosquitoes, as, attracted by their light, chanced to fly within its fatal focus. ‘‘ Hush!” whispered one of these supper-eating friends, suddenly
breaking off the conversation, and letting
fall the half-devoured leg of a Mosquito— “Hush! heard you not a rustle in the leaves above us? ‘Tis the leap of the Green Tree Frog; our enemy’s abroad, and ‘tis high time for us to be flying.” ‘* You're right,” returned the other, “ we'll instantly be off; but follow me, and I'll conduct you to a place of perfect safety.” With these words, both insects spread their wings, and, guided by the last speaker, directed their course to- wards a swampy savannah, where they alighted on a Mancaneel tree. ‘ Well,” said the elder of the Fire-flies, he who had fol-
lowed his companion’s guidance, “ where,
| | i THE HOLLOW FRIEND. 75
pray, is the safe asylum which you spoke of ?
| Our enemies are far more numerous here,
_ and we are in no wise better protected than
in the place we flew from.” “Stop a bit,” returned the other; ‘‘can you not discern there, just below us, growing by the water, a ] plant, with long leaves and drooping yellow flowers? That plant is of a most benevolent nature, and extremely partial to our race. I made acquaintance with him a little while | ago; and *twas but the other day, he told me that, if either myself or friends were ever i hard pressed by cruel foes, bird or reptile, I ; had only to apply to him, and he would wil- ) lingly afford the shelter of his leaves, which, as he showed me, are round and hollow, and closed at top by convenient doors, shutting out every intruder.” “ Ay, and shutting in every fool silly enough to be entrapped by his deceitful wiles,” hastily rejoined the elder Fire-fly, shaking his head. ‘“ Well do I
know that treacherous plant, in whose smooth
q
|
76 THE HOLLOW FRIEND. .
and dangerous caverns I was once well nigh | entrapped myself. Take warning from my experience, and have nothing to do with } such a hollow friend, ten times more danger- ; ous, believe me, than an open enemy.” | Scarcely was this counsel given, when the | leap of the Green Tree Frog was_again audi- | ble, and with it the chirping cry of ‘* Chit! — chit! chit!” the voice of the Fire-flies’ foe,
or, perhaps, a score of them, lurking in the ©
very tree they occupied. ‘‘ Away! away!” | cried the older and wiser insect; “‘ follow me,
this time, and trust, as J shall, to your wings, _
alone, for safety.” But the silly youngster heeded not ; and, while his prudent compa-
nion was darting swiftly through the night
air, like a streaming meteor, he merely de- — scended from the tree to the plant he had — pointed out beneath. ‘I have come,” cried he, ‘‘to claim your promised shelter.” ‘ ’Tis freely granted,” replied the Sarracenia (for
so was named the plant in question); ‘‘ my
THE HOLLOW FRIEND. 1a
| leaves are ever open to a friend in jeopardy.” | The Fire-fly had no time for thanks; his | agile pursuer was at his heels; the cry of **Chit! chit! chit!” resounded in his ears, |
and he gladly crept into the tube-like leaf,
whose door, or lid, was instantly flapped down upon him. “ Chit! chit! chit!” again almost screamed the little Green Tree Frog, ina prodigious passion at being thus baulked of his prey, whose light was still provokingly visible through his half-transparent asylum. After the lapse of a few minutes, the listen- ing Fire-fly found, by the decreasing loudness of the reptile’s chirp, that his enemy had de- parted, and then, for the first time, took a glance round his place of refuge, illumined, as it was, by the light of his own brilliant lanthorns. What, then, was his consterna- tion at beholding, beneath him, a well of water, on the top of which were floating the lifeless bodies of several insects, whom he re-
cognized as kindred or acquaintance? His
78 THE HOLLOW FRIEND.
heart sunk within him, but he thought it | most prudent to try and conceal his fears. ** My excellent host,” cried he, in a voice as | cheerful as he could possibly assume, “I owe | you a thousand thanks for this timely pro- |
tection, but will trespass not a moment |
longer on your kindness; I await but the ©
lifting of this trap-door above me, to bid you good night, and pursue my journey.” “Oh! pray make yourself perfectly at home,” re- turned the perfidious Sarracena; “‘ your last journey’s ended, and you see I have provided you with a cold bath, to refresh yourself after its fatigues.” ‘‘Let me out! let me out!” cried the doomed Fire-fly, beating his wings, in passionate agony, against the sides of his leafy prison; but vain were all his des- perate efforts to escape, and he sank, at last, exhausted, into the watery grave prepared for his reception. The last moments of the expiring insect were further embittered by
reflecting on the slighted counsel of his old
THE HOLLOW FRIEND. 79 companion. ‘“‘ Ah!” sighed he, in his dying struggles, “would I had trusted to my own wings for safety; for truly have I found, by
sad experience, that an open enemy is ten
thousand times less dangerous than a hollow «
| friend !”
NOTES.
Tuer Whip-poor-will, a species of Goatsucker, which never appears but at night; its melan- choly cry is fancied to resemble its familiar name. “The Indians say these birds were never known till a great massacre of their country folks by the English, and that they are the souls of departed spirits of massacred Indians. Many people (in Carolina) look upon them as birds of ill-omen, and are very melancholy if one of them happen to light upon his house, or near the door, and set up his cry (as they will sometimes upon the very threshold), for they verily believe some of the family will die soon after.”
80 THE HOLLOW FRIEND.
a 4
se |
The bellow of the Bull-frog, common in the — swamps of America, may be heard a quarter of a mile off. |
The Fire-fly, common in most parts of Ame- ; rica and the West Indies, is “a perfect phos- ‘ phorus for a considerable portion of its life, most : of its internal parts being luminous, and the head j furnished with two glandular spots, placed behind the eyes, whence it emits streams of light fora ; great part of the night. The smallest print may ~ be read by them, if the luminous spots are moved | over the letters: eight or ten are sometimes put | in a phial. This insect is seldom seen in the | day-time, but wakes in the evening. As they are © attracted to one another, the Negroes catch them | by holding up one, or deceive them by a lighted © candle or stick waved up and down.”—Brown’s © Hist. Jamaica. ‘They abound everywhere in ; the savannahs and woods. Women work by — them, and the Indians travel with them fixed to their feet and hands. They kill the Mosquitoes, — for which reason the Indians carry them to their houses more than for light.”
The Green Tree Frog of Carolina catches Fire- flies and other insects, adhering to the smoothest leaves by its round fleshy concave feet, somewhat
i | THE HOLLOW FRIEND. 81
| like the mouth of a leech, thus cleaving by suction. These creatures seldom appear by day, | but at night are very active, hopping from spray to spray on the tallest trees, catching Fire-flies, and chirping—‘chit! chit! chit!’ They will even
| stick fast to a looking-glass, and are found adher- | ing to the under side of green leaves, which they | do to conceal themselves from their rapacious ' enemies, as birds, snakes, &c.’’—Catesby.
| The Mancaneel Tree produces, beneath its bark, a white milky juice of a highly poisonous
nature, which renders it dangerous even in the felling. ‘The wood is esteemed for tables and cabinets.
The Sarracena Flava, or Yellow Side-saddle Flower, is a common inhabitant of the swamps of North America, from Florida to Carolina. It is an object of curiosity on account of the remark- able structure both of its leaves and flowers. The stigma of the latter is of a most singular shape, covering the parts of fructification like an umbrella; between the angles of which the flaccid petals hang down, somewhat as a woman’s leg over the pommel of a side-saddle; whence, pro- bably, the origin of the name given by the first English settlers. The leaves being hollow tubes
M
82 THE HOLLOW FRIEND.
considered their curious conformation as a meta- morphosis of the leaf of the Nymphea into a form fit for receiving and containing rain water ; and we are told that “the hollow parts of the leaf have always water standing in them, and the top or ear is supposed, in hot dry weather, to shrink and fall over the mouth of the tube,
capable of holding water, Linnzus ingeniously !
i
serving as a lid to prevent the exhalation of the —
wet. In great droughts, birds and other animals repair to these plants.” ‘‘ There would be more probability in this hypothesis, if these plants were found growing in dry places, but they will not
live except in wet situations, where the roots can —
readily find water without the aid of these sup- posed reservoirs. The real purpose of this curious construction is, probably, not yet discovered.” So says Curtis’s Botanical Magazine; but later writers on vegetable physiology have supposed that the stores of putrefying insects caught and drowned in the reservoirs of the Sarracena and Pitcher Plant, or imprisoned in the traps of the Dionea, may evolve a sort of air beneficial to their vegetation.
Catesby, in his Natural History of Carolina, tells us that the overarching cowl part of the
ee a a
Sa
ns
THE HOLLOW FRIEND. 83
coed
leaf always partially hangs over the mouth of the | tube, which otherwise would be filled with rain, H and fall by the weight of the water. The leaves { of the Purple Sarracena, though somewhat dif- | ferently shaped, also retain water, and serve as an | asylum for numerous insects from the Frogs that
feed upon them. |
x.
THE CHAMELEON FLOWER AND THE SLAVE. —
SOME years ago, and before the happy abolition of slavery in our West India Colo-
nies, there lived in Jamaica a little English
boy, who had been taught to regard the sable —
natives of Africa as a race some few degrees —
inferior to that of his favourite monkey.
Walking early one morning with his black |
attendant, a negro slave named Dinah, the ©
child’s fancy was mightily taken by the large ©
milk-white blossoms of a Changeable Hibiscus,
or Martinico Rose, a few of which he stopped
to gather. Towards the middle of the day, —
the boy being then carried in a palanquin ©
near the same place, he made his bearers
stop, and calling to Dinah, who walked beside
C0 ose
rf z FA 5 3
a THE CHAMELEON FLOWER. 85
him, bid her go and fetch him another hand- i ful of white flowers, like those he had plucked in the morning. A slight smile parted the thick lips of the negress, as she hastened to ‘obey; and presently returned with a bunch of deep crimson blossoms, which she put into the hand of her young master, her white ‘teeth becoming again visible as she did so. ‘The child angrily told her that those were not ~ what he meant, and that he was sure she had gathered them in another place. ‘ No, ‘deed, “massa,” said the negro woman, ‘‘me know dis be de very same flower, only him be turn red.” ‘You lie,” cried the spoiled boy, “and take me for a baby to tell me such a story!”
and his cheek changed, as he spoke, from sickly white to a crimson deep as the flowers which he threw passionately in Dinah’s face. The Slave had been too long accustomed to the insolence of her young tyrant to show, or even feel, resentment; but she ventured
to repeat her assertion, adding, “ Ebbery
86 THE CHAMELEON FLOWER.
morning in de cool, him flower be lily white;
when de sun shine hot, him turn rosy red, | and ebbery night him put on darky coat, to mourn for daylight. *Deed massa, Dinah tell. you true.” So she did, but her little master would not believe; and, though forbidden by | his parents ever to expose himself to the | scorching noonday sun, he insisted on getting | out of the palanquin, to see for himself. He found it exactly as the negro woman had | told him—the white flowers were all turned ' red; yet, for all that, he would not confess
- —
himself wrong, and, what was more, still per- suaded himself that he was right, even against | the evidence of his own eyes. He was sure, | he said, that the good-for-nothing Dinah had | brought him to the wrong place, or else she | had spitefully gathered and thrown away all his favourite white flowers. Accordingly he ° hunted about, and made his slaves do the | same, for what, in reality, no longer existed, .
till the burning heat compelled him to relin- —
THE CHAMELEON FLOWER. 87
quish his search, though his little mind, as obstinately impenetrable as the Iron-wood of his island, remained closed against conviction.
When evening came, our young gentle- man commanded Dinah to attend him again on another search after the White Hibiscus, which the Slave knew would not be found again till morning; nor were the red blossoms any longer to be seen, for their mid-day crimson having gradually grown less brilliant as the sun declined, had now faded to a dingy purple. ** Lookee!” cried the slave, * him put on him darky coat—massa see now Dinah tell no lie.” The boy had noticed so well the exact situa- tion of the red flowers at noon, that he could not help inwardly confessing that Dinah must be right; but this conviction, so far from making him sorry for his former obstinacy and injustice, only raised redoubled anger and mortification at finding one he so much despised possessed of knowledge superior to
his own. With a long switch of ebony he
88 THE CHAMELEON FLOWER.
had just been cutting, he struck at the poor. Slave with all his puny strength, at the same, time exclaiming passionately, ‘ Hold your tongue, you saucy creature, and don’t pre- tend to teach me. What should a black,
nigger know about flowers or any thing)
Socal
else?” ‘ A great deal more than the little ig-' norant white boy who fancies himself her supe-, rior, and who merits the lash more than the, idlest negro on his father’s estate.” So spoke a benevolent old planter who, at that mo-| ment, suddenly appeared through an open-, ing in a hedge of Flower Fence, from behind | which he had been a witness of the young | tyrant’s behaviour, both on the present occa- | sion and in the morning. “ Take a double | lesson, my young master,” he continued, | ‘from this day’s occurrence. Learn, in the | first place (indeed you already feel it), that. this poor negress is wiser than you, having ) shown herself perfectly acquainted with the —
habits of this curious plant; and, no doubt,
9 THE CHAMELEON FLOWER. 89
many other interesting facts in nature, which common observation ought to have taught you, to say nothing of your advantages of education. Learn further, that, with Bota- nists, the colour of flowers is, of all their distinctions, by far the least important.— Whether, as in this Hibiscus, the hue changes in the same individual blossom, or, as more commonly occurs, varies on different plants of the same kind, it makes no distinction of species, class, or order.—Whether white, red, or purple, the flower is the same. So with a human creature, whatever be the colour of his complexion, he is the same in ‘the eye of his Creator; and, unless distin- guished by more important characteristics, superior goodness and wisdom, the white man ranks no higher in the scale of creation than his black brother of these our colonies, or the red Indian of the neighbouring con-
tinent.
~~
90 THE CHAMELEON FLOWER.
Tue Changeable Hibiscus (H. mutabilis ), or !
Martinico Rose, is a native of China, Japan, and
NOTES.
| !
various parts of the East Indies, where, as well as | in the West Indies, it is much cultivated for the | beauty of its flowers, both double and single,
mn
which are remarkable for altering their colour,
“At their first expansion they are white, then deep red, or rose colour, turning, as they decay, |
to purple. In the West Indies these alterations occur in the course of one day, which, in this hot
climate, is the longest duration of the flowers ;
but in England, where they last nearly a week in perfection, the changes are less sudden.” —Classes — and Orders of the Linnzan System Illus.
A yet more remarkable Chameleon flower is the Changeable Cape Gladiolus (G. versicolor ), thus described in Andrews’s Botanical Repository
—‘ Strange to tell, it is brown in the morning, and continues to change from that colour till it becomes light blue by night. During the night it regains its pristine colour, and this change is effected diurnally whilst the flower is in full vigour ; but upon the decay the change is less
i. THE CHAMELEON FLOWER. 91
' powerful, gradually fixing in a dark brown, _ which, however, does not take place in less than | nine or ten days. This is the only flower we _ have ever noticed to regain the colour that once » forsook it.” Colour in flowers is very variable, changing with temperature, climate, soil, and cultures~ It has been remarked, that red most readily changes into white and blue ; blue into white and yellow; yellow into white ; white into purple. The island of Jamaica produces many sorts of valuable trees, remarkable for the heavy, com- pact, and impenetrable nature of their timbers, ) such as Iron-wood, Lignum Vite, Log-wood, - Pigeon-wood, &c.
The Ebony Tree of the West Indies, with yellow papilionaceous flowers, and wood of a greenish-brown, capable of a high polish, and much prized in Europe, is quite different to the true black ebony of India. The slender branches of the Jamaica Ebony used to be employed for - scourging slaves, and also as riding switches, The Barbadoes Flower Fence is a most splen-
did shrub, with fine red and yellow papilionaceous flowers, with a scent like Violets. The English name expresses the use to which it is frequently
A
92 THE CHAMELEON FLOWER.
applied in the West Indies. Jacquin remarks | that a hedge made of this plant forms the most beautiful fence imaginable. The Chinese admire | and call it Peacock’s Crest. |
:
-
THE HIGHEST OF VIRTUES.
XI. THE HIGHEST OF VIRTUES; OR, THE JUDG-
MENT OF THE SAGE.
A CONTENTION once arose between the subjects of Flora’s kingdom, as to which of them was endowed with the most estimable quality, and, in order to set at rest their conflicting claims, it. was agreed, that each should bring forward his respective merits, and lay them before a hoary Sage, who was to pronounce judgment on their several pre- tensions. The Winter Aconite was the first
to vaunt his courage in facing the snows and
blasts of winter. The Sensitive Plant made
a merit of the extreme tenderness of her feelings. The Bean, and various other in-
dividuals of stiff and stately character, osten-
Me. .
94. THE HIGHEST OF VIRTUES.
tatiously boasted their generosity in affording |
support to their weaker brethren. The Vio- let for once laid aside her modesty to advance her claim to humility, The Pimpernel and Daisy both prided themselves on their pru- dence in foreseeing and providing against the approach of stormy weather; and the Thrift advanced her claim to superior merit, on the ground of contentment and a cheerful readiness to accommodate herself to every situation. ‘‘ Wheresoever,” said she, “it may please Providence to place me, be it on the loftiest mountain-top, or in the depths of the lowliest valley—in the most secluded soli- tude, or amidst the busy haunts of men, I make myself equally contented; and, blessed with the sunshine of a cheerful heart, neither pine in the gloom nor pant in the scorching glare: mankind even have recognised my peculiar virtue, and call me Thrift, because everywhere I thrive.” The sage arbiter
seemed to attach considerable weight to the
THE HIGHEST OF VIRTUES. 95
pretensions of the last claimant, and each of the other candidates awaited, in trembling anxiety, the sentence that should fall from his lips.* ‘* My friends,” said he, “I allow you each your respective merits, and admit the quality of contentment especially to hold no mean place in the scale of excel- lence. A contented mind, however, though highly conducive to the happiness of others, may be said more peculiarly to bring its own reward; it is generally also a gift of nature, independent of exertion on the part of its possessor, and ranks, therefore, more as a passive than an active virtue.” The Thrift’s fellow-claimants now raised their heads with increased confidence that to one of them, at least, the palm of virtue must needs be awarded. After a moment’s pause, the Sage resumed, looking round the assembly, “ My brethren,” said he, ‘‘ I see not here, amongst
you, one lowly plant, whose humility, doubt-
* The Sage is a labiate or lipped flower.
96 THE HIGHEST OF VIRTUES.
less, has prevented her appearance here; yet whose attributes I, nevertheless, consider as constituting by far the most amiable cha-
racter in the vegetable creation—I mean the
‘sweet and useful Thyme. With a portion of |
the Thrift’s contentment, she is satisfied to
1 : :
dwell either on the barren wild or in the ©
despised kitchen garden: her dress and de- |
meanour are simple and unassuming: like
the Rose, she preserves her sweetness even after death; and, above all, she sets an ex- ample of returning good for evil, by exhaling her perfume most strongly at the moment she is bruised and trampled under foot. To the humble Thyme, therefore, must I award the palm of most exalted virtue, that of meet-
ing injuries in a Christian spirit!”
NOTES.
Tue leaves of the cultivated Sage are of a whitish green, the calyx being slightly woolly ;
THE HIGHEST OF VIRTUES. 97
the corolla purple. It belongs to the family of labiate or lipped flowers.
The Winter Aconite puts forth its blossoms in January.
The Sensitive Plant. (See note, page 48.)
The stalks of the Bean, besides giving sup- port to the Dodder, are frequently seen entwined by the Wild Convolvulus and Climbing Buck- wheat.
The Violet, the poet’s favourite and the spring’s sweetest pride, is a native of every part of Europe; and in the palm groves of Barbary, the blue and white grow together in the winter. It was found in Palestine by Hasselquist, and in China by Loreiro. The epithet of ‘violet eye- lids,” used by the Greek poets, alludes (says the Flora Londinensis) to a well-known custom, still prevalent in Greece, of colouring the eyelids blue. “A Grecian girl is painted blue round the eyes; and the insides of the sockets, with the edges on which the eyelashes grow, are tinged black.” —Chandler’s Travels in Greece. Translators tell us, on the margin of our Bibles, that Jezebel, a native of Zidon, put her eyes in painting, a custom censured by Jeremiah, ch. iv. 30, and Eze- kiel, ch. xxiii. 40. A curious method of preserv-
O
98 THE HIGHEST OF VIRTUES.
ing the scent of this flower has been left by the great Bacon: :
“Take violets and infuse a good pugil in a quart of vinegar ; let them stand three quarters of an hour, and take them forthe and refreshe the infusion with like quantity of violets seven times, and it will make a vinegar so fresh of the flowers as if, a twelvemonth after, it be broughte to you in a saucer, you shall smell it before it come at you. Note. It smelleth more perfectly of the flowers a good while after than at the first.” Haller, speaking of the Violet, says, ‘‘ Que lodeur en est si pénétrante, qu’une demoiselle de qualité est morte pour avoir amassée une quantité de ces fleurs dans sa chambre.”
The Scarlet Pimpernel, or Anagallis, is said to have derived the latter name from the Greek verb to smile, for the singular beauty and liveliness of its flowers, opening only in fine weather, and in- fallibly closing against rain, hence justly called *“the shepherd’s or poor man’s weather-glass.” This property, a precaution taken by nature to preserve so delicate a blossom from the injuries of weather, is possessed, though not in so high a degree, by many plants of the same class, also by the Daisy and others. The Pimpernel is fur-
THE HIGHEST OF VIRTUES. 99
ther remarkable as being the only British plant, the Poppy excepted, with scarlet flowers.
“ Thrift,” says Mr. Lightfoot, ‘is at once the most humble and most lofty of plants, growing frequently upon the sea-shore and the summits of the loftiest mountains. Its constitution is so accom- modating that it grows well even in the smoke of London, in and near which it is frequently used for edgings. From its readiness to thrive, is pro- bably derived its English name.” It grows even where the surface of the earth has been rendered sterile by copper-mines.
The trailing and tangled Heche of the wild Thyme, growing on heathy hillocks, form an elastic turf, and the bruised leaves, when trodden upon, diffuse a warm aromatic odour most attrac- tive to Bees, for whose sake the ancients were in the habit of planting it. ‘This plant,” says Curtis, “is subject to uncommon varieties of character. In its natural state, on dry, exposed, and chalky downs, it is small and procumbent ; and when growing among furze or other plants, which afford it shelter, it runs up with a slender stalk to a foot or more in height.” Sheep do not eat Thyme or other aromatic herbs when they have a free choice of pasture.
100 THE HIGHEST OF VIRTUES.
The Thyme’s property of most strongly im-
parting its odour when bruised and trodden on, is — also possessed in a high degree by the Chamo- |
mile; and in laying hold of such an attribute to illustrate the moral of our fable, we have but An- glicised the beautiful sentiment and comparison of an Eastern poet, who, writing three centuries before the Christian era, pronounces the duty of a good man, even in the moment of his destruc- tion, to consist, not only in forgiving, but even in a desire of benefiting his destroyer, as the San- dal Tree, in the instant ofits overthrow, sheds per- fume on the axe which fells it. Hafiz, the Per- sian poet, has illustrated the same maxim in some elegantly fanciful verses, thus translated by Sir
William Jones :—
“‘ Learn from yon orient shell to love thy foe, And store with pearls the hand that brings thee woe. Free (like yon rock) from base vindictive pride, Imblaze with gems the wrist that rends thy side. Mark where yon tree rewards the stony shower With fruit nectarious, or the balmy flower: All nature ealls aloud, Shall man do less Than hea! the smiter, and the railer bless ?”
It may here be observed that, although a few “wise men of the East” had previously taught
THE HIGHEST OF VIRTUES. 101
this sublime precept of morality, it was re- served for the Author of Christianity to give it the stamp of truth, and to render it, by his divine example and authority, influential on the lives of all his true disciples in every age and nation.
b> 4 Le
THE INSECT BEE AND THE FLOWER BEE.
A rovine Bee had attained the summit of a high chalky hill, whose surface, rich in a profusion of Wild Thyme and Marjoram, af- forded a harvest sweeter than he could gather from the most luxuriant garden, and amply repaid him for the distance he had flown from home. Whilst humming his satisfaction, and busily working his way from flower to flower, he saw (as he supposed) two or three other Bees employed, like him- self, upon a plant growing near. ‘Oh! oh!” thought he, as he flew past, * that flower must needs furnish some marvellously fine treat ; but let them keep it all to them-
-selyes—I’ll soon find another like it.” On
._———
THE INSECT BEE, & THE FLOWER BEE.
ea ee EE __ OOOO
g
LA ‘
INSECT BEE AND FLOWER BEE. 103
he went, and presently espied a similar plant, but that, likewise, seemingly occupied by Bees. ‘“ This is too bad,” murmured he, “not to allow me even a taste of all their dainties!” So alighting on a neighbouring
b
furze-bush, ‘‘ Come, my masters,” cried he to his seeming brethren, ‘‘ prythee let’s have a sip of that honey you're taking all to your- selves.” Not one of them stirred. ‘“‘ You greedy creatures!” cried our Bee, getting angry, ‘‘if you won't move, and give me a peep, at least, of those flowers you are hiding with such mighty care, I'll see if I can’t make you.” The immovable Bees stirred neither leg nor wing. ‘‘ Ah!” buzzed our little la- bourer, getting out of all patience, ‘ you're determined to provoke me, and, since you won't move for civil asking, just take the consequence.” Thereupon our irritated hero of the hive put himself in a posture for at- tack, drew his barbed weapon out of its
sheath, and flew with fury upon the nearest
104 INSECT BEE AND FLOWER BEE.
of the apparently greedy flower-suckers; but, —
alas! his rage only injured himself, while it
fell impotently upon the objects of his indig- ©
nation, whom (when too late) he discovered to be only inanimate images of himself formed by the bee-like blossoms of an Orchis. The flowers were pierced, but little injured by their assailant’s sting, which, in his wrath, he left behind him. His death was the fatal
~y
consequence, aggravated by the reflection —
that he owed his fate to his own temper and precipitancy ; for, had he persevered in the use of gentle means with his seeming fellow- labourers, and approached them more closely for the purpose of persuasive entreaty, instead of angry threatening, he would have found out his error before the mistake was irre-
trievable.
Pr INSECT BEE AND FLOWER BEE. 105
NOTES.
Tue Bee Orchis (Ophrys apifera), from being so generally admired and sought for on account of its curious resemblance to a Bee, has become very scarce in the neighbourhood of London and large towns. It is, however, found occa- sionally in dry pastures, chiefly in a chalky soil. Several species of the genus Ophrys furnish re- markable imitations of insect forms, such as the Spider and the Fly, but in none is the likeness to animated nature so striking as in the Bee. “ Botanists,” says Curtis, ‘‘ have often been at a loss, in classing plants, to find some resemblance by which they might distinguish their particular species, but in this plant the case is far other- wise ; the flower is so like the insect that gives. it its name, that it strikes every beholder with admiration. What useful purpose is intended by it, we do not at present know, though some future observer may, perhaps, discover; for they who will examine nature have much to see.”
106 INSECT BEE AND FLOWER BEE.
Old authors have often improved trifling re-— semblances of this nature to an exaggerated degree, very perceptible in their wood-cut > figures.
—-— —--
Aig
’
THE JEALOUS WILD FLOWERS.
= nga
XIII. THE JEALOUS WILD FLOWERS.
On the first introduction of exotics into our gardens and conservatories, many native plants grew envious of the universal prefer-
ence shown to these foreign intruders. It
may seem strange how the secluded dwellers
in wood and wild could ever have learned
what was going on in the fashionable world;
but they derived this dangerous information
from a vile garden outcast, who, having tra- velled all the way from London in a dung- cart, chanced to grow up among our simple rustics, and poisoned their heads with news and notions never before dreamed of. For awhile, however, the malcontent flowers only
pined in silent jealousy, till, one fine summer’s
aaa (ed cae Gal
a oe SSS <a
108 THE JEALOUS WILD FLOWERS. )
day, a large body of them met together, and | consulted how they might best assert the | national rights they considered so shamefully ) invaded. A spirited Viper’s Buglos first ad- | dressed the assembly. ‘I move,” said he, | “that a chosen party of us should forthwith , go up to London, and make a determined | stand against the insolent pretensions of these | contemptible foreigners. Once fairly matched | against theirs, our superior merits cannot fail , to be acknowledged; and if any should dare ) to dispute them—by the name of Flora!!!” | nS ay BE Here the vegetable orator concluded |
with an abrupt pause, as the most emphatic |
expression of implied threatening, and wound ,
up all by shaking his formidable spike, and | raising his azure crest, with the bold bearing | of an old English knight, eager to challenge | all competitors. His heroic resolution was | warmly applauded, and, in the violent clap- | ping of leaves which immediately ensued, the |
opposition of two only dissentient flowers, the
THE JEALOUS WILD FLOWERS. 109
retiring Violet and the modest Daisy, was completely drowned. Several of the Buglos party rose to second their leader's proposal,
and branched out into fine flourishes about
their patriotic desire to uphold the honour of | their native soil. Nothing else, they declared, would have induced them to undertake the | danger and trouble of the projected expedition. | Perhaps, however, if these flowers of elo- | quence could have been thoroughly investi- gated, a few grains of personal vanity might | have been found clinging to their roots. Several of the individuals who were to ac- | company Sir Viper Buglos had, indeed, long ; panted for a wider field wherein to display their respective attractions. The pheasant- like eye of the handsome Adonis, weary of
gazing at the rustic beauties of the corn-field, flashed fire at thoughts of conquest over fair ; and graceful foreigners. The lovely Nymphea ) Alba* daily viewed her image in her liquid | * Water Lily.
110 THE JEALOUS WILD FLOWERS.
mirror, and, with pardonable pride, felt her-
self a queen of waters; while the poetical | Narcissus, like his ancestor of old, was more than satisfied with his own appearance. Then, what dress of “ purple and pall” could bear
comparison with the Lady’s Mantle of silvery
satin, unsullied as the snow of her native ~
mountains? Others, again, of appearance ~
less striking, prided themselves on their per- © sonal accomplishments. The Shaking Grass —
was a most light and graceful dancer on the breeze; and the musical powers of the Reed had been acknowledged from the days of Pan, though his waving plumes had never been half sufficiently admired. How the floral party travelled is a matter of uncertainty, though clearly not, as in modern days, by
post or rail-road; suffice it, that they arrived |
in town, or its vicinity, and the day after- wards made their appearance at a grand exhibition of exotics, to which they gained
admission through the interest of some re-
THE JEALOUS WILD FLOWERS. 111
lations, who as yet continued to hold high places in the flower-garden. But, alas! for our native candidates, when their merits came to be weighed (how fairly we attempt not to determine) against the foreign preten- sions they had so imprudently challenged. Then, blighted in the bud were all their as- pirations, even like the hopes of many a sanguine son of genius, who, having left his native shades for metropolitan celebrity, is overlooked in the crowd, or shoved aside by more confident competitors.
Oppressed by the impure and heated at- mosphere of a crowded show-room, and withered by the neglect or scornful com- parisons of nearly all the spectators, how did our disappointed aspirants droop for the re- freshing air of their quiet glades. Even their bold leader, Sir Viper Buglos, was compelled to lower his azure spike before the emerald lance of an African Gladiolus. The fiery eye of the handsome Adonis sunk, for the
‘a Of > 8 ee roy rs, AE a
112 THE JEALOUS WILD FLOWERS.
first time, before the bright blue orbs of the | Peacock Iris. The pure classic beauty of | the Nymphea Alba was completely eclipsed by the dazzling charms of an Amazonian queen of Indian waters. The white satin sheen of the Lady’s Mantle found but few ; admirers, contrasted with the velvet robes of crimson and purple which glowed around. | ‘The graceful evolutions of the Shaking Grass | could not even be displayed for want of air, to move his slender footstalks. As for the; tuneful Reed, he soon discovered that the , breeze was no less a necessary agent in his | instrumental performance ; and, could even , his ewolian strains have been awakened, the prevailing taste for foreign airs, as well as | foreign flowers, would have caused his silvery | tones to have fallen unheeded on fashionable | ears.
Thus terminated the wild flower’s silly attempt to obtain ‘distinction by abandoning |
the stations wherein nature had placed them,
to
:
: THE JEALOUS WILD FLOWERS. 113 and to which, convinced of their folly, they were glad enough to return. They have ever since bloomed contentedly within their native recesses, thinking it no hardship to “waste their sweetness on the desert air.” But in the most secluded spot, where foot of man has never trodden, why should the wild flower be said to waste its fragrance? for, even there, may not its very perfume minister to the enjoyment of millions of sentient beings, from the Bird and the Butterfly down to those tiny existences which dance in every mote of the summer sunbeam, and sport in
every drop of teeming water ?
NOTES.
English Plants.—The Viper’s Buglos, with long rough spikes of brilliant blue flowers—“a magnificent weed, which has been called, by in- habitants of the tropics, ‘worthy to decorate the
gardens of the gods, Q
114 THE JEALOUS WILD FLOWERS.
The Corn Adonis, or Pheasant’s Eye, SO | called from its fine crimson flower marked with purple at the base of each petal. This flower ; was once cried about the streets of London under | the name of Red Morocco.- )
The Nymphea Alba, or White Water Lily. | ‘‘ Neither the Palm of India, nor the Magnolia of America,” says Sowerby, “exceeds our own | Nymphea in magnificence.” The stalks of this : aquatic plant are full of large tubes, the flowers scentless, and soon fading. When double, this | queen of our rivers is sometimes called the | Water Rose.
The Poetic Narcissus, or Purple-circled Daf- - fodil, is found in our sandy fields and heaths. | The flower is snow-white, upright, and very fra- | grant; the cuplike crown edged with scarlet. |
Lady’s Mantle (Alchemilla Alpina) grows |
on most rocky mountains in England and Scot- |
: land. In proportion to the barren openness of } the situation it occupies is the rich silvery satin of the back of its leaves, rendered conspicuous ' by agitation of the wind. }
Shaking or Quaking Grass. The branches ; of the panicle in this elegant grass are so slender .
that the spikes, which hang from their extremities, .
| THE JEALOUS WILD FLOWERS. 115
t
tremble at the slightest agitation. Gerard tells iz that it took its name of Phalaris from “ a cruel, ‘trembling tyrant” so called. _
The Common Reed, after flowering at Mid-
summer, ornaments many a dreary fen in autumn
| with its waving silvery plumes, consisting of long
down within the husks of the calyx.
Foreign Plants.—The Gladiolus, or Flowering Rush, is a very handsome British aquatic; but
the species here intended is one of the yet more showy natives of the Cape.
The Peacock Iris (I. pavonia) is a beautiful
Cape species, with white petals, each marked at the base by a brilliant eyelike spot of blue.
The Armed Indian Water Lily (Anneslea spinosa) is described in Andrews’s Botanical Repository (1821), as flowering in all its grandeur in the Marquis of Blandford’s Aquarium at White Knights—unrolling its enormous orbicular leaves from six to eight feet in circumference, and rais- ing its numerous heads bristling with spines, and
adorned with flowers of purplish-crimson. ‘“ In vain (says our author) do we review the plants of its natural order for any analogy to its thorny exterior. The Nymphs and Naiads (Nymphea and Naiades) are not more conspicuous for their
116 THE JEALOUS WILD FLOWERS.
elegance and beauty than for their mildness ; but the Anneslea, like the Panther, seems to unite the’ extremes of ferocity and beauty.” The petioles of. the Nymphea Nelumbo are, however, also prickly ;| and the flower and leaf stalks of the wonderful Victoria Regina (see Note to Fable XVI.) are described as studded with sharp, elastic prickles, about three quarters of an inch in length.
The prejudice in favour of exotics, or rather the prejudice against our English plants, as too) common for the garden, has certainly excluded many a beautiful native well worthy of the flower parterre, and admitted many an ordinary looking foreigner, whose sole recommendation has consisted in coming from “‘ beyond sea.” So! it was, even in the days of good old Gerarde, who, speaking of the Persian Lily, says, with his” usual quaint simplicity, “If I might be so bold | with a stranger that hath vouchsafed to travel so many hundreds of miles for our acquaintance, we | have, in our English fields, many scores of : flowers in beauty far excelling it.” And he might have added, in our English lakes and streams—the aquatic plants of Britain rivalling, | perhaps, in a higher degree than their brethren on land, the beauty of exotics. Witness the
Tt THE JEALOUS WILD FLOWERS. 117
Flowering Rush, the Fringed Buckbean, the Water Lily, the Water Violet, with many more ; and, on terra firma, the stately Mullein, the | elegant Foxglove, the smiling Pimpernel, and a
| flowery host of native charmers. {
XIV. THE TRAVELLER'S JOY.
Two brothers, the elder a Merchant, the - younger an Artist, had once occasion to take a journey, which they chose to perform on | foot, from the metropolis to their native | village. The tastes and characters of these men were as widely different as the pro- | fessions they followed, the latter being an ~ ardent lover of nature and the beautiful; | the former a devout worshipper of Mammon, and what he termed the useful. The man — of business thought only of reaching the | place of destination; the man of observation — found objects of interest in all he saw upon « theway. To the one, their passage through
a romantic ‘Saad was as a mere causeway
oa
5 : : E é :
THE TRAVELLER'S JOY. 119
aad * eeey
*
of communication ; to the other, it was a plea- sant path, hung profusely in metaphor, as well as reality, with sweet tufts of Traveller’s Joy. One glorious August morning, our brothers having nearly reached what was once their home, found themselves following a narrow sheep-track skirting the edge of a chalky precipice, whose broken. sides were studded with spots of emerald green, varied by the enamel blue of the Viper’s Buglos and the golden yellow of the fugacious Cistus. The Painter was restored to his native
element—the sweet air he had breathed in
childhood; and he drank in pleasure through
all his senses—pleasure tempered indeed, but
not poisoned by recollections of sadness.
His eye rested with more than professional delight on the lovely landscape beneath him, for it was the scene on which he had first essayed his untaught pencil. Not only his ear, but his very soul, felt music in the tink-
ling sheep-bell, because it sounded like the
120 THE TRAVELLER'S JOY.
very same he had listened to in boyhood ; | and the rich perfumes, with which the air } came laden, recalled to his memory, perhaps.) more forcibly than all, the summers long ago when he had been used, on holidays, to visit that chalky hill for the purpose of collecting : fossils, or gathering the rarer species of Orchis, 1
in both which treasures it abounded.
—- eaw-
Wrapped in a web of musing (the warp, the | past—the woof, the present) the artist lingered © awhile behind his companion till reused by | the voice of the Merchant, who, having |
trudged onwards at his usual business pace, |
had got considerably in advance of his
brother. ‘“‘Come, Frank,” exclaimed he,
with some impatience, as he applied his yellow bandana to his glistening forehead, — ‘“‘what the deuce can you be loitering there for in this broiling sun?” The Painter saw his brother’s mood, and made no reply but by hastening to rejoin him. Both proceeded
for awhile in silence; presently, however,
2 | oa. Frank again stopped involuntarily on the edge of the cliff, just above a root of Wild
Clematis, whose trailing arms, proceeding
THE TRAVELLER'S JOY. 121
from a knotted stump of unusual age and bulk, curtained the rough surface of the cliff with elegant festoons of green, and clus- ters of fragrant blossom. ‘‘ Well, what’s the matter now?” asked the Merchant, on perceiving his companion’s second pause. “Only look, my dear Ambrose, look!” re- turned the other, pointing to the Clematis. Well! and what is there to look at? I’d much rather look just now at a clean white breakfast cloth, or even a field of turnips. A fig for your ornamental plants—your rub- bishing creepers and twiners. I'd have every one of them (except the hop and the vine) rooted from off the face of the earth.” *Oh! but, Ambrose, don’t you remember that the Clematis was our mother’s favourite flower? This is the very plant I used to come and strip every Saturday, to fill her bow-pot.
R
es a 4 ™ 7
" i) }
122 THE TRAVELLER'S JOY.
I can never look upon the Traveller’s J oy,
even in our London squares, without being’
- reminded of home, and here ” Frank paused, and brushed his hand across his eyes. | Ambrose walked on quicker than ever, and took a pinch of snuff. Presently, however, the Merchant turned, and took his brother's: hand. He had nota bad heart, this man of business, though money-seeking and money- | making had blunted its finest sensibilities. “You're a silly fellow, Frank,” said he, ‘you'll never be a man, always running your head upon some childish rubbish—flowers * and poetry—and such useless nonsense, to say nothing of painting, which hasn’t brought you any vast good either.” ,
Another half hour’s walk conducted the | brothers to the place of destination, their ° native village. The business which brought : them there is none of ours; we shall merely | notice that the Merchant took this oppor- |
tunity of raising the rents of a small paternal |
THE TRAVELLER'S JOY. 123%
property, and the Painter raised a simple | monument to the memory of his mother. | The season having now advanced to Novem- “ber, the brothers agreed on returning to | London by a coach which started in the fevening from a neighbouring town. It was , growing dusk when they set out to walk the intervening distance, and, by the time they | reached the chalky hill before-mentioned, it | had become so dusk as to render the narrow winding track along its crest a path of some | peril to an inexperienced foot. Frank, who, in his boyhood, had scanned and learned by rote its every turning, could have safely passed it blindfold, but it was not so with Ambrose. The artist, conscious on this point, at least, of possessing more acuteness than his worldly-wise brother, offered the guidance of his arm, or, at all events, to lead the way; but the Merchant, who was an in- . dependent sort of fellow, and who, moreover,
felt a kind of absurdity in the idea of so
924. THE TRAVELLER'S JOY.
careful a man as himself following the guid- |
;
ance of one whom he had always looked upon | persisted in walking on in advance. |
- something in the light of a mad-brained fool, |
“Mind, Ambrose, keep more to your! right,” cried the Artist; but the Merchant went straight on: he was thinking of a probable rise on Indigo, and quite forgot a possible fall over the cliff’s edge. ‘‘ For heaven’s sake, | stop!” exclaimed Frank; but, before the | words were ended, the figure of Ambrose had disappeared. Another second brought his terrified companion to the spot left va- cant, and he almost shuddered to look, as far | as growing darkness would permit, down the | face of the precipice; but his fears were |
groundless: the worthy Merchant’s specula-
tions had not been overturned for ever, or his — portly person dashed to pieces, as assuredly | must have been the case, but for a something | that had arrested his downward progress to | the depths below. That providential stay
A , | 2 aa i @ ia 4 y é 7 ;
' was none other than a natural cable composed
of the strong ropy stalks of the Wild Cle-
) ‘matis—of that very plant whose flowers had
once been his mother’s; and were still his
brother’s joy. Directed by the Creeper’s sil-
| very seed-plumes, clearly discernible even in
the gloom, he had caught, in his downfall, at the friendly support by which he now hung suspended above—destruction. His rescue from this awkward position was but a mo-
ment’s work for his active companion. When
t they had both safely ascended to terra firma,
Now, my dear fellow,” said the Painter,
with a smile, though his eyes glistened and
his voice trembled with grateful joy at his
brother’s preservation—‘‘ I hope you'll con- fess, that ornamental plants are not always without their use in creation—since (Provi- dence be praised!) the wayfarer’s safety has, for once, been found dependant on the Tra-
veller’s Joy.”
THE TRAVELLER'S JOY. 125
126 THE TRAVELLER'S JOY.
NOTES.
Tue Clematis Vitalba, or Traveller’s Joy, grows plentifully in chalky soils, covering hedges and the broken precipices of limestone rocks with rich tapestry, sweet to the traveller for its fra- grance in summer, and in autumn and winter for the beauty of its silvery seed-plumes, whose feathery tufts make (says Gerarde) ‘‘a goodly shewe.” To these it owes another familiar ap- pellation, that of Old Man’s Beard.
The common Viper’s Buglos, though a com- mon, is a magnificent weed, despised only for its frequency, epecially in chalky soils, yet (says Sowerby) “it has been called by inhabitants of the tropics, worthy to decorate the gardens of the gods.” In some parts of Cambridge and Nor- folk the fields are blue with its long spikes of brilliant flowers.
The common Dwarf Cistus, with yellow flowers, is a small shrubby plant found in chalky and sandy pastures. It blows in July and Au- gust, each of its delicate blossoms scattering its petals early in the afternoon of the day they open. The stamens of this flower are possessed
ca aire
THE TRAVELLER'S JOY. 127
of a singular irritable property, especially in
‘calm warm weather, when, upon the slightest
touch, they retire from the style, and lay down
upon the petals.
ee fd Oe
‘
aN. _ THE MISANTHROPIC THISTLE.
A Tuistte, in a field of Flax, was pite- » ously bemoaning his unhappy destiny. “AmI not,” said he, ‘‘ the most miserable of created plants? Is not our race perpetually con- demned to dwell on the most barren, waste, and desolate places? or if, like my wretched self, cast by accident on more cultivated ground, are we not abhorred, uprooted, or cut down, our remains left to wither on the ground, or thrown with contempt upon the dunghill? Even here, I feel myself an in- truder, and live in momentary fear of man’s exterminating hoe; for man, the friend and fosterer of your family (here the complainer
turned to his surrounding neighbours of the
st 1
i
THISTLE
THE MISANTHROPIC
THE MISANTHROPIC THISTLE. 129
a 2.
Flax field) —-man is my bitterest foe!” | Finding themselves thus addressed, one of the Flax plants took upon her to reply for her- self and her companions. “Truly,” said she, “‘we have little reason to boast the friendship of man, since, like the beasts of
the field, we are only nurtured, tended, and
Se
protected, to serve his own selfish purposes ; | and cut off in our prime, our sinews, torn, | mutilated, and beaten, are converted into | articles for his use and adornment. But; mind you, neighbour Thistle, we bend sub- -missively to our appointed destiny, and would only show you by comparison that - your fate differs but little from our own.”
b
_ There you are utterly mistaken,” returned the Thistle, sharply ; “you have a compen- _ sation for whatever you endure by knowing | yourselves to be of use, whereas I (though, perhaps, as ready as you, with all your vaunted disinterestedness, to be a sacrifice for the good of others)—I, wretch that I am!
Ss
130 THE MISANTHROPIC THISTLE.
living or dead, can serve no earthly purpose |
in creation.” The Thistle, we must here observe, spoke thus not from any real feeling of the noble sentiment his words expressed, but because he was glad to justify his dis- content by an assumption of exalted virtue,
either feigned to deceive others, or fancied to
deceive himself. He was presently furnished —
with another subject of complaint, for, the wind having freshened, a few of his feathered seeds were carried off, and floated down the breeze. ‘‘ Ah! woe is me!” he bitterly exclaimed, ‘see how my hapless progeny, instead of taking root and growing up around me, fall a prey to every ravishing zephyr, and are borne away, I know not whither, or for what intent!” Scarcely had the mur- murer ceased, when a passing Goldfinch stayed his flight, and made a demand on the Thistle for his favourite repast of down. ** Now,” said the Flax plant, ‘‘ you must con-
fess your seed at least to be of some use in
Sana +
Se
THE MISANTHROPIC THISTLE. 131
its generation.” ‘‘ Use!” growled the Thistle, ‘* what's the use ofsupporting a parcel of noisy idle creatures quite as worthless as one’s self 2” The Flax was silent, seeing that the thread
of her discourse, however lengthened, and
however strong, would be insufficient to draw
the stubborn Thistle down to reason; but the murmurs of the latter were soon to be hushed for ever, and his usefulness in the scale of creation most conclusively attested by a forcible argument he was allowed no opportunity of refuting. Before he had time for another murmur, a roaming Donkey, who had broken into the Flax field, spied out his bristly head, and cropping it, without the least ceremony, made a most satisfactory din- ner off the Misanthropic Thistle.
NOTES.
“Tue Thistle,” as Withering observes, “often affords a shelter and protection to other plants,
132 THE MISANTHROPIC THISTLE.
and is the first to grow in places where many would not otherwise thrive.” This is one of the discernible uses of this execrated plant m the economy of nature, besides that the seeds of many species are eaten by small birds, especially goldfinches. The shoots and buds of the Sow
Thistle, a favourite food of hares and rabbits, are —
also said to be esculent as a substitute for spinach.
The Carline Thistle is reputed to have been pointed
out to Charlemagne as a remedy for the plague by which his army was attacked. Of this genus we have the Cursed Thistle, so named in order to
warn the farmer of its peculiarly pernicious qua- —
lities; the Holy, or Mary’s Milk Thistle, a large handsome species, with leaves covered with a net-work of milk-white veins, and the Melan- choly Thistle, a dweller in Alpine wastes, allied, doubtless, to the Misanthropic of the fable. The most formidable of this formidable tribe for the strength and sharpness of its prickly armour, is a species common on road-sides near London, called by ancient Botanists, Thistle-upon-thistle —by modern, the Most-prickly.
In the common Thistle, as soon as the seed » is ripe, the first hot day opens the heads and ex- —
pands the pappus, or seed-down, whose use is to
ioe eet eet a Pe eer et ep
THE MISANTHROPIC THISTLE. 133
transport them to a distance on the breath of the slightest wind. Various and wonderful are the numerous con- trivances by which seeds are dispersed. ‘‘ Who,” says Sir James Smith, ‘has not listened, on a calm sunny day, to the crackling of Furze Bushes, caused by the explosion of their elastic pods, or watched the down of seeds floating on the summer breeze, till a shower stops their flight, and pre- pares them for germination?” Children aid this purpose in blowing away the “downie balls” of the Dandelion ; others, furnished with hook-like appendages, are dispersed by adhering to the coats of animals; or as fruit, being eaten or partially devoured by them or birds. :
Whirlwinds have been known to scatter over the south coast of Spain seeds ripened in the north of Africa. Water is also an agent in their dispersion, seeds with closed capsules being fre- quently carried to a great distance by torrents, rivers, or the sea. Cocoa Nuts, Cashew Nuts, and the long pods of a species of Mimosa, with many other fruits of the tropics, are cast upon the coast of Norway, where they would vegetate but for climate.
Other seeds again, such as the Balsam, Wood-
134: THE MISANTHROPIC THISTLE.
sorrel, Catchfly, and Fraxinella, assist in their own dispersion, by their capsules opening with a spring.
Common Flax (linum), whence the term linen, has elegant blue flowers beautifully veined, with smooth and slender stalks. It is found growing naturally in fields and waste places, and is cultivated for the well-known purposes of ma- nufacturing thread from its fibres, and expressing Linseed oil from its seeds. Old Gerarde félls us, that it had anciently the reputation of burning the ground, as testified by Pliny and Virgil—a verse from whose Georgics he thus curiously translates :—
“ Flaxe and Owtes sowne consume The moisture of a fertile field ;
The same worketh Poppie, whose Juice a deadly sleepe doth yeelde.”
Flax is mentioned as cultivated in Egypt (Exodus, ix. 31), for which reason Antiqua- ries have been surprised to find the vests of Mum- mies made of Cotton. It is probable, however, that mankind made thread of Cotton before the use of Flax was discovered—Cotton being found in a state ready for spinning, whereas Flax re- quires a long process before it can be brought to
Lp
THE MISANTHROPIC THISTLE. 135
that state. In the simplicity of former times, when families in England provided themselves with most of the necessaries and conveniences of
_ life, every garden was supplied with a proper
quantity of Hemp and Flax; but the steeping which was necessary to separate the threads, was, in many places, found to render the water so offensive and detrimental, that, in the reign of Henry VIII., a law was made that “no person shall water Hemp or Flax in any river, &c.... where beasts are used to be watered, on pain of forfeiting, for every time of so doing, twenty shillings.”
XVI
THE SACRED LOTUS AND THE PITCHER
PLANT.
A Lone and severe drought had prevailed in Hindostan. The earth’s riven surface presented a multitude of thirsty mouths opened imploringly towards heaven, while her vegetable family, whose wants she could no longer supply, hung drooping and dying on her bosom. ‘The water plants alone, as yet, held up their heads, and amongst these, a Sacred Lotus, who occupied a shallow lake adjacent to the Ganges, exulted in her favoured position, and looked with contemp- tuous indifference on the sufferings of her sisterhood on land. ‘‘ Poor miserable crea-
tures!” cried she, insultingly, “see what it
LOTCS.
: a :
THE SACRED LOTUS. 137
is to be, as I am, a sacred flower, favoured
by gods, and idolized by men!” “ Be not
too secure,” said an aged Palm Tree, who had
long waved over the glassy pool, “‘ more than
once have I seen the bed of this lake dry as the sand upon its banks.” ‘“ And even if it were so,” returned the Lotus, “think you that my sacred person would be allowed to suffer? Would not the great goddess of
waters take heed to supply my wants; or men,
‘my humble worshippers, would they not
hasten to my aid with reverential care?” Thus spoke the Lotus; but, as the drought con- tinued, the shallow lake began to feel its in- fluence, and, as the water lessened, the arro- gance of the sacred Flower became also di- minished ; so that, at last, when left upon dry ground, she was glad to look around for the sympathy and commiseration she had re- fused to others. On one of these occasions she espied, near the adjacent bank, a plant she had never before deigned to notice. It
x
138 THE SACRED LOTUS.
was now rendered unusually conspicuous by an appearance of freshness remarkably at variance with the withered aspect of sur- rounding vegetation, and was, at all times, distinguished by a singularity of form suffi- cient to draw attention from any one less
wrapped up in selfish pride than our im-
perious Lotus. There was nothing, indeed, |
of gaudy show in this plant’s exterior, but attached to its leaves hung a curious ap- pendage, in the shape of which our Lotus, dying as she was of thirst, now instantly dis- covered a resemblance to those earthen pitchers she had often seen filled from her own lake by the Hindoo women. “ Water! water!” murmured she, as the tantalizing object rendered her more painfully alive to her present privation; and at that moment, glancing in the morning sun, a portion of the coveted liquid met her view, contained within the pendent vessels of her neighbour.
The Nepentha, for so was the latter named,
THE SACRED LOTUS. 139
heard the Lotus’s imploring cry, but took no further notice than by shutting down the half opened lids of all her pitchers. ‘‘ Water! water!” again sighed the hapless flower of the lake. ‘‘ Where is thy goddess Ganga? where thy devoted worshippers?” returned the Nepentha; “‘ wherefore haste they not hither to supply thy wants?” ‘Cruel Nepentha!” returned the humbled Lotus, ‘‘ forbear thy taunts, though I have, in truth, deserved them. SBut prythee tell me, wherefore thou hast water in thy pitchers, while all around is dry asdust? Is it by the gods or men that thou art thus highly favoured?” ‘“ Listen,” said the Nepentha, “it is not to men, nor yet to their senseless idols, that I owe my abundance in this hour of scarcity. Vainly, as thou, might I have called on Ganga, god- dess of waters, or Indra, god of showers; but the great God of Nature, the wise Creator of all things, has been pleased, by a bountiful
provision, to furnish me with a hidden source
140 THE SACRED LOTUS.
of inward refreshment and support, though all without have failed. ’Tis to him, at whose _ bidding we were formed, and to whose praise we grow, that thou must look up for succour. He alone can save thee from perishing, and even now, perchance, he will.” The pride of the Lotus, already humbled by suffering, was completely subdued by the words of the Nepentha. Main fell that night, and the next morning beheld the broad round leaves of the water queen again floating on her native element. Her gorgeous blossom had, indeed, been withered, but her root was un- impaired; and when the return of another summer restored her wonted splendour, she no longer scorned her humble neighbours, or _ treated with indifference the distress she had
been taught to pity by experience.
a
!
a ee ee ee ee
THE SACRED LOTUS. 141
NOTES.
Tue sacred Bean Lily of India, the Nymphea Nelumbo of Linnzus, is a splendid Indian water
| ‘plant, most generally known in Europe under the
name of Lotus. The natives of Hindostan, by whom it is most highly venerated, call it Tamara ; the people of Ceylon, Nelumbo. It has sometimes been confounded with the Lotus of Egypt, the Nymphea Lotus of Linneus. “ This celebrated plant is found growing in still pools or shallow lakes near the margins of running streams. The leaves, which, when at full size, are two or three feet in diameter, of a beautiful green above, and purplish beneath, float, while young, on the sur- face of the water, above which they afterwards rise on prickly stalks, as do also the flowers, which (says Roxburgh) are large and beautiful beyond description, particularly in the rose-co- loured variety. They are about nine or ten inches in diameter, and nearly inodorous. What chiefly distinguishes this plant is its peculiar mode of pro- pagation. The capsule, or seed-vessel, greatly resembles. a wasp’s nest, and, when the seed becomes ripe, this capsule separates from its
142 THE SACRED LOTUS.
stalk, and falls into the water with all the seeds in their respective cells, which, beginning to ve- _getate, present a cornucopia of young sprouting plants, which, after a time, loosen from their cells, - and, falling down, take root in the mud.’’—Classes and Orders of the Linnzan System Illustrated. This holy and beautiful plant makes a con- spicuous figure in the mythology and poetry of India, where, from remote antiquity, it has been worshipped, chiefly as a symbol of fertility, under the Sanscrit name, Padma. Magnificent as are the blossoms and leaves of the Indian Bean Lily, and several other species of Nymphea, they all sink into pigmy insignificance compared with the gigantic vegetable wonder discovered in British Guyana, in the River Berbice, or rather, a current- less basin formed therein, by Mr. Schomburgh, in 1837. The flower of this queen of waters, Vic- toria Regina, is described as covering a calyx of thirteen inches in diameter with numerous white and pink scented petals, with orbicular-rimmed leaves, green on the upper, and red on the under side, and measuring from five to six feet in diameter. : Contrast this vegetable leviathan with some of the least of all perfect plants, the little Mouse-
THE SACRED LOTUS. 143
ear Chick Weed, or the Chaff Weed (Centunculus minimus), growing, almost overlooked, on watery heaths in England—or with the least of all known trees, the Least Willow, raising its dwarfish stature of two inches on the highest mountains of England, Wales, and Scotland.
The Pitcher Plant (Nepenthes distillatoria), a native of many parts of the East Indies, grows chiefly in obscure uncultivated places near the banks of rivers, and in marshes. The leaves of this singular plant have the middle nerve extended into a long tendril, usually twisted, to which. hangs a hollow receptacle or bag four or five inches long, whose aperture at the top is covered with a leaflet representing a lid. This receptacle is generally half filled with a sweetish fluid as clear as water. Some Naturalists have asserted that this fluid, which evaporates or exhales in the daytime, is again restored by the secreting power of the plant; but others declare, that the water once evaporated is not renewed. The uses for | which this curious pitcher is designed, are also matter of dispute. Linnzeus supposed it to be a reservoir of water to which animals might repair in time of drought. Rumphius thought it de- signed for a habitation of a sort of shrimp fre-
144: THE SACRED LOTUS.
quently found therein. Sir James Smith conjec- tured it to be intended as a trap for insects, the putrescence of which was converted into food for the plant. The last theory concerning this mys- tery of nature, and that, perhaps, least open to objection, is that of Dr. Wallich and Mr. Lindley, who think that the pitchers are a contrivance to enable the plant to get rid of its excess of oxygen, which is known to be destructive to vegetable life.
ie
be >
fl}
my Hit
i
THE WICKED CUDWEEDS.
XVII.
THE WICKED CUDWEEDS AND THE HEN AND
CHICKENS.
A Hen was taking out her infant brood for their first walk. _ Whilst proudly con- ducting her chirping train, plucking a seed for one, scratching up a grain of sand for another, encouraging a third, and scolding a fourth, the attention of Dame Partlet was suddenly arrested at sight of a tall straggling plant in the meadow where she wandered. Now we do not mean to imply that our hen was a learned hen. We cannot even affirm, with any certainty, that she had the slightest knowledge of botany, beyond such practical acquaintance with the science as enabled her to choose the good and shun the bad amidst U
146 THE WICKED CUDWEEDS.
the various seeds offered to her acceptance. |
Nevertheless, as already noticed, her atten- ) tion was powerfully diverted, for a season, |
from her downy brood to the down-coated |
‘foliage of the plant in-question. The fact
was, that the said plant presented an unusual characteristic, which could not fail to be very © striking, and exceedingly shocking to one so — well acquainted with what belongs to ma-_ ternal dignity and filial subordination as Dame Partlet. The old and central stem of the plant (evidently the parent stalk) was crowned by a cluster of full-blown flowers, but rising high above it were seen the youth- © ful branches bearing their “‘ budding honours,” | and looking down, as it were, in scorn upon | the reverend head of their parent. A strange | anomaly ! enough to excite observation, even | from mankind, with whom, alas! parallel instances are by no means of rare occur- rence. That a Hen, therefore—a mere fea- ©
thered biped, into whose simple head it ©
iioasi 3.
THE WICKED CUDWEEDS. 147
could never enter that a Chicken could be a greater bird than a Fowl—that a Hen should feel astonished at an order of things seem-
ingly so unnatural is not to be at all won-
dered at. Combined with her surprise,
en aes
- Dame Partlet felt also a kind of complacent
pity as she proudly contrasted the behaviour of her own children with that of the Cud- weed’s offspring. “ Poor creature!” said she,
with a commiserating cluck, “I am quite
- concerned at seeing you thus insulted and
domineered over by your wicked children. How is it possible you could ever allow their insolence to grow to such a shocking head ? Only let them look at my young family for a pattern of dutiful behaviour; for, though it doesn’t become me to boast, I'll engage they'll always treat me with respect ;” and here she called her scattered brood around her in proof of their obedience. ‘‘ Madam,” replied the Mother Cudweed, “I thank you for your
pity, but assure you it is quite thrown away ;
148 THE WICKED CUDWEEDS.
nor are my children worthy of your blame. | "Tis true they have risen far above me in the |
_ world, but it is to my support they owe their —
exaltation, and it joys my heart to see them | thus promoted. The difference between our | families is simply this: your children are looking up to you for support and protection,
whilst mine have attained a position which
enables me to look up to them.” Thus
ended the discourse between the parent | Flower and the parent Fowl, the latter being — fairly puzzled, though not at all convinced © by the maternal Cudweed’s fine talking. — The Hen soon pursued her way homewards, followed by her Chickens, who continued to — obey her voice as long as they needed her as- — sistance ; then (though by no means more un- dutiful than many other young bipeds) they gradually ceased to be guided by, and, at last, did not even acknowledge the guardian of their infancy. How Dame Partlet bore her chil-
dren’s desertion we cannot tell; but one day
ee ee a
THE WICKED CUDWEEDS. 149
(long afterwards) she happened to take a
solitary ramble by the spot where grew the old Cudweed and her wicked progeny. There they were, still living together, only the younger members of the family had at- tained a yet more exalted position than be- fore. On this occasion, however, Mother Partlet, for reasons best known to herself, did not venture to make any further obser- vation. Just as she was turning to go away she saw a spotted Cow marching up to the Cudweed, two or three of whose topmost and youngest branches instantly fell victims to her devouring jaws; the ruminating animal then passed on, leaving the aged and less lofty head in perfect safety. It was now the old Cudweed’s turn to boast. ‘ Dame Partlet,” said she, “‘you once pitied and blamed me for what you thought the undutiful behaviour of my children, and now, when yours have long since deserted
you, behold how mine stand by me! And
150 THE WICKED CUDWEEDS.
did you not, this moment, behold how some of them protected their poor old parent, — even at the expense of their own green lives? Be not, then, again hasty in your judgments, or think all families ill-managed, because they are not conducted exactly like your
own.”
NOTES.
THE common Cudweed (Gnaphalium Ger- manicum) grows abundantly in dry sandy pas- tures. It first throws up an erect woolly stem, about a span high, terminated by a solitary round head of flowers; but from beneath this original head soon spring several branches which, pointing upwards, flower and branch in a similar manner, so that the offspring exalting itself, as it were, above the parent, has given rise to the name of Herba Impia, or Wicked Cudweed. This plant, whose leaves are woolly, is supposed to encourage rumination in cattle, hence called
ej
THE WICKED CUDWEEDS. 151
Cudweed. Gerarde says, to the same effect, “Those flowers which appeare first are lowest and basest, and those that come after growe higher, as children seeking to overgrowe or top
their parents (as many wicked children doe), for
which cause it hath been called Herba Impia.”
XVIII.
THE COCKSCOMB AND HIS COPYIST.
A youne Double Daisy, sprung of an ancient border family, put forth, in growing up, some most inordinate sprouts of restless vanity. He was for ever drooping at his humble station, and, above all, at his undis- tinguished position as merely one of a long line of simple relatives, standing, like a row of sentinels, to guard the nobility of a flower parterre. He detested their red and white uniforms, of which nature told him his own was only a copy, and longed to exchange it for some more noveland showy “cut.” But, although thus dissatisfied with his own ex- terior, he had never yet beheld in another
anything that precisely corresponded with
taste
COCKSCOMB.
THE
THE COCKSCOMB. 153
his idea of what a smart young flower ought to be. At length, one sunny day, he un- expectedly perceived, standing close beside him, a stranger gallant, attired in crimson velvet, bold and erect in bearing, and dis- tinguished by a lofty crest, which seemed to curl in proud defiance of all rivalry. This showy stranger was a Cockscomb of foreign extraction, and reared in the lap of luxury, who, for temporary change of air, had been removed from his usual station in the green- house to a place on the gravel walk edged by our discontented Daisy and his companions. The beau-ideal of the former was now realized. He would give all the dewy dia- monds in his flowery world to resemble the handsome foreigner. In mental acquire- ments, or moral progress, to will ardently generally goes far to accomplish the object of desire ; and though it be usually far other- Wise with external endowments, the law of nature seemed to be, for once, departed from
x
154: THE COCKSCOMB.
in the case of our ambitious Daisy. His |
strivings to attain augmented bulk and con-
sequence resembled the well known efforts
of the Frog in the fable; but, instead of bemg
immediately followed by the like fatal results,
: : :
they appeared, on the contrary, to be at-—
tended with a measure of success. By dint of repeated stretching and swelling, his head
became distended to an unnatural size, alto-
gether lost its star-like form, and assumed a>
similitude in shape, as well as colour, to the |
crest of the envied Cockscomb; while his
slender stalk, losing its symmetrical round-—
:
ness, grew into a flat unshapely trunk, of pro- |
portions suited to the additional burthen it had to sustain. The simple Daisy, so long a Cockscomb in desire, had become a Cocks- comb in reality.
Soon after the completion of this won-
drous change, our metamorphosed flower had
the pleasure of beholding his altered person —
in a passing streamlet left by a heavy sum-
ee les
THE COCKSCOMB. 155
mer shower. There was the Daisy edging reflected in all its primitive monotony, only that now, distinguished from his fellows, the Cockscomb towered above the rest, like a feathered Cavalier in the midst of Round-. heads. ‘‘ Now,” thought he, “ I shall surely attract particular attention, and be no longer, as heretofore, completely overlooked amongst the common herd.” At that moment several visitors to the garden made their appearance on the Daisy-bordered walk. Their steps were directed towards the self-complacent Cockscomb, whose newly acquired crest ex- panded with proud anticipation. A lady of the party stooped down close beside him. “‘ How pretty,” said she, ‘‘are these Double Daisies! I love them only one degree less than their simpler brethren of the field—the ‘modest, crimson-tipped’ flowers of my favourite Burns. But what is this?” she suddenly exclaimed—“ what a strange ugly
misshapen thing!” pointing, as she spoke, to
156 THE COCKSCOMB.
the complacent Cockscomb. ‘‘Oh!” replied | a gentleman present, “that deformed Daisy | is what we Botanists term a monster !” | Such was the coveted distinction won, at | last, by the Cockscomb’s copyist ; and not | very dissimilar is the notice obtained in society by the conceited fop and affected beauty—by all those, in short, who, instead of aiming at distinguished worth and excellence, only seek distinction above their unpretend- ing neighbours by showiness of attire or |
singularity of demeanour.
NOTES.
Tue Cockscomb, a plant nearly allied to the Amaranths, is a native of Asia and America. Its flower spikes vary much in form, size, and colour, the latter being red, purple, yellowish, and white.
The Cockscomb Double Daisy is a red and
THE COCKSCOMB. 157
white variety, in which the flowering stem rises up preternaturally flattened and enlarged, and | carrying on its summit a long extended ridge of flowers, frequently of an enormous size. ‘ This “monstrous production (says Curtis) seems to arise from the coalescence of two or more flower
stems; and as itis of accidental occurrence, so we find a Daisy which has been a Coxscomb one year, shall lose that appearance the next, and out of a long edging of Daisies growing lux- uriantly, new ones shall here and there arise.” Another singular variety is the Proliferous or Hen and Chicken Daisy, in which a number of flowers, standing on short footstalks, spring cir- cularly out of the main flower. This originates in great luxuriancy, and is found wild and cultivated.
XIX.
THE EMBLEM OF IMMORTALITY.
SuMMER had departed—the sun of flowers was set, and the stars of the vegetable world, . the Asters, the Dahlias, the Chresanthemums, . and the Michaelmas Daisies, had risen to | supply its place. Amidst these bright con- stellations, and almost eclipsed by their rich | and glowing rays, appeared an unpretending | flower of pearly whiteness. Her gaudy com- panions did not even deign to notice her, — till a marvellous rumour got afloat concerning | the unobtrusive stranger. By busy Bee, or | chattering Bird, it had been whispered in some “‘ Cowslip’s ear,” that the silvery fair one was gifted with a nature altogether differing from the generality of her fleeting race; that —
IES.
ae 2) : S =
E
i
THE EMB
THE EMBLEM OF IMMORTALITY. 159
instead of, like them, being placed on this pleasant earth only to blossom out their little month, or week, or day, or hour, her life would be extended to what, by comparison, seemed eternity; that the biting frosts, before which even their longest survivors were to shrink and blacken in death, would leave her bloom uninjured, and her brightness un- diminished ; and that even from mankind she had hence received the appellations of Ever- lasting, and Live-for-ever. Rumours such as these were, of course, sufficient to render the harmless Everlasting an object of envy and dislike, mingled with a sort of supersti- tious fear, as of something supernatural. Little, however, did she heed the suspicious glances of her companions; and even when one, bolder than the rest, ventured to taunt her, she would gently reply, with conscious “Take heed but to fulfil your
own destinies, and leave me to accomplish
superiority
mine.”
160 THE EMBLEM OF IMMORTALITY.
Ere long, the showy crowd in which she lived (but not as one of them), began rapidly to diminish—some ending their brief career in the common course of nature, others sud- denly cut off by the hand of man, or the icy fingers of the frost; expiring in the cold darkness of night, or in the suffocating glare of a floral show or ball-room; and when November came, the silvery Everlasting was alone.
When January followed, the Winter Aconite, seated on her emerald throne, was seen raising her golden crown above the sur- rounding snow. Not even the snow’s own flower had ventured to pierce its fleecy shroud, and the Aconite expected to find herself, as usual, sole sovereign of the dreary scene, when, to her surprise, she beheld a rival in the Everlasting, already by her side. “ What dost thou here?” said the haughty Aconite. ‘ How great is thy hardihood in
thus braving the icy blasts which not a flower,
THE EMBLEM OF IMMORTALITY. 161
save myself, ever dared to face with impunity. But thou wilt speedily suffer for thy bold- Ness, even as I have beheld others, when tempted into premature expansion by a fictitious spring. Already do thy blossoms look parched and whitened by the wind, and soon they will fall withered from thy stalk.” ‘‘I fear no such fate,” returned the Everlasting ; ‘‘ for though, to all appear- ance, living, I am insensible alike to nipping frost and cutting wind. Whilst thou wert yet beneath the earth, I was companion of many a gaudy flower long.since perished... I beheld both the beginning and the end of their brief careers, as I shall, perhaps, of thine.” The Aconite smiled in contemptuous incre- dulity, and the next day absolutely laughed in scorn at the pretensions of the Everlasting, on beholding her suddenly plucked off by a human hand. “ Ah! ah!” cried she, ‘where is now thy boasted longevity ? and which of us two, prithee, is likely to be the survivor?”
¥
162 THE EMBLEM OF IMMORTALITY.
So, in her ignorance, spoke the foolish Aconite, not knowing that, even in death and separation from earth, the precious attribute of immortality —of unfadingness—was yet preserved by the Everlasting. And why was the fadeless flower gathered ? Was it to
adorn a winter bow-pot? or were those
pearly blossoms intended to gem the hair of —
1 : \ i i
some blooming maiden? No; they were meant to. fulfil a more tender, and yet a more exalted purpose; they were plucked to adorn the grave of a beloved child, whose mother’s hopes, once manifold, were now comprised in one—the glorious hope of im- mortality. To symbolize that blessed ex- pectation, she had hung the white Everlasting above the mouldering remains of her darling, whose innocent spirit was, she well knew,
destined to live for ever.
THE EMBLEM OF IMMORTALITY. 163
NOTES.
Tue Pearly Everlasting, or American Cud- weed, is found growing, naturally, in moist places near rivers; but, owing to its being extremely common in America, some have supposed it ori- ginally imported from thence. This flower, from its purity and durability, has been considered an emblem of immortality, and, as such, is frequently planted in the churchyards of South Wales. It is also a favourite in cottage gardens. Gerarde tells us that this small silvery Everlasting, a double species of Gnaphalium, was called by the English women of his time, Live Long, or Live for Ever.
The Yellow Winter Aconite, distinguished by its golden blossom sitting close upon a seat of leaves, is generally the first flower to make its welcome appearance in our gardens above the snow. It grows wild in the mountains of Lom- bardy, Italy and Austria. Gerarde says, ‘the colder the weather, the deeper the snowe, the fairer and larger the flower.”
\ 4
164 THE EMBLEM OF IMMORTALITY.
The Snowdrop is thus beautifully described by Mrs. Barbauld :—
“ As nature’s breath, by some transforming power, Had changed an icicle into a flower, Its name and hue the scentless plant retains, And winter lingers in its icy veins.”
‘ R, : @ : :
VENUS'S FLY
‘RAP.
T
XX.
VENUSS FLY TRAP.
Tue Goddess of Beauty was one day re-
posing in her bower, when an impertinent
Fly had the curiosity to enter, and, mistaking the cheek of the lovely sleeper for the sunny side of a melting peach, settled upon and pierced it with his tiny dart. Venus started, woke, and attempted to lay her hand upon the audacious intruder; but the agile insect escaped, and went boastfully buzzing to his fellows. Silly trifler! he little suspected the dire vengeance about to fall upon his head. The offended Goddess, whose cheek was slightly scarred, kept in memory the Fly’s offence long after the irritation of his skin-
deep puncture had passed away, and related
166 VENUS'S FLY TRAP.
what had befallen to her cousin Flora, who —
}
chanced, on the same morning, to pay her a | :
visit. The latter would, probably, have ©
cared not a rush about the matter, only it so —
happened that she herself had received very recent provocation from the tribe of Flies,
whom she had detected in numerous acts of
petty larceny on the honey bags of many of :
her favourite subjects. ‘‘ My dearest Venus,” said she, ‘‘ prithee take not so much to heart the insolence of your little tormentor, or fear that he or any of his fellows will ever again molest your slumbers. I will plant around the entrance to your bower certain living Fly Traps, chosen from among the subjects of my flowery kingdom, who will not fail to seize on and punish the first winged idler _ who may dare approach. Both by day and night shall they keep watch, since, even in the shades of evening, many a rakish Gnat and Fire-fly are always abroad on no good
errand.”
;
VENUS'S FLY TRAP, 167
Flora kept her word, and the precincts of Venus’s bower were presently covered with a profusion of most beautiful flowers, spreading their honied fragrance to a considerable dis- tance. Allured by the attractive perfume, swarms of flutterers, from far and near, came hastening to the spot, and sported around the lovely blossoms.
Who has not heard of learned sages, and even of rigid censors, forgetting their wisdom, and laying aside their virtue, when assailed by temptation in a flowery garb? Was it, then, likely that poor simple insects should suspect aught of evil beneath an exterior so bewitching, or refuse the nectar offered in so fair a vase? They tasted — sipped—then
sipped again—at first, however, cautiously—
for the flowers, though sweet, were strange;
and even Flies are, doubtless, endowed by protecting nature with a degree of instinctive prudence, if they will only follow its friendly
guidance. But, alas! encouraged by impu-
168 VENUSS FLY TRAP.
nity, they soon left off sipping, and, eager for a deeper draught, plunged their trunks to the very bottom of the intoxicating flower- cups. Then, too late, did they discover that to withdraw was no longer in their power, the treacherous Fly Traps having so closed around their victims as to render escape almost impossible. The invader of Beauty’s slumbers, and the peculiar object of her ire, was the first to suffer, and die a death of sweet but lingering torment. Some few, only, gifted with more than ordinary strength, contrived, by violent efforts, to burst from their luscious thraldom, though not without serious injury to wing or limb. Taught by sad experience, these failed not to forewarn their heedless comrades of the danger of resting on the fatal flowers, or even of ex- posing themselves to the temptation of a near approach. Flies, however, have always loved honey more than good advice; and, thougha
few of them determined to take only two or
ee |
VENUS'S FLY TRAP. 169 |
three harmless sips, they all ended by drink- ing deep enough for destruction. Their fate served as little in the way of warning as that of their brethren who were the first to perish; and even now the vicinity of Venus’s bower continues to be crowded by swarms of foolish flutterers, who daily fall victims to her in-
geniously constructed Fly Traps.
NOTES.
Tue plant commonly called Venus’s Fly Trap is the Dionea Muscipula; but that alluded to in the preceding Fable is the Apocynum, or Fly-catching Dogsbane, preferred for “pointing a moral” on account of its honied attractions and superior beauty. This flower, which perfumes the air to a considerable distance, is most curiously constructed for entrapping insects, which: are always found caught in its blossoms, usually by the trunk, rarely by the leg. Four or five are sometimes found in one flower, some dead, others
Z
iba ||
170 VENUS'S FLY TRAP.
endeavouring to disentangle themselves, in which | they are now and then so fortunate as to succeed. | The Dionea Muscipula, or True Fly Trap of | Venus, is, as well as the preceding, a native of — North America, inhabiting the swamps of Caro- | lina. ‘‘This plant exhibits a very remarkable in- | stance of vegetable irritability. The leaves, | which are at the bottom of the footstalk, are each divided into two lobes, the lobe at the ex- tremity having long teeth on the margin, like the antennze of insects, and, within, armed with six spines, three on each side. These leaves lie spread upon the ground round the stem, and the | lobes of each are so irritable that, when a fly happens to light upon the spines of one, that part of the leaf immediately folds up, and crushes the _ fly to death; and this irritability is great in pro- portion to the slightness of the pressure on these spines. It is observed, from the same cause, no sensible contraction ensues in cold weather; in warm weather, and at noon, it is particularly — strong.” An experiment has been made to supply one of this species with fine filaments of raw beef, and the plant so supported was more luxuriant than any other. It seems, therefore, probable,
aa
VENUS'S FLY TRAP. lf
that the decomposition of animal matter is pecu- liarly favourable to its economy ; and the sin-
gular structure of its leaves may be designed to
supply it with insects whose putrescence may act as similar decompositions do, when applied to the roots of other plants.
XXL
THE SEDITIOUS REEDS AND THE PATRIOT SANDAL.
An Indian forest, now no longer in exist- ence, was once reigned over by a royal Palm. The magnificent Dillenia, the golden Mesua, and the verdant Nanclea, trees which, in form and foliage, almost rivalled their sovereign, represented the nobles of his court, each of — them attended by his dependant parasite, and adorned by the embraces of some fair and fragrant twiner. The Indian God Tree (in its humble origin and enormous growth no unfitting emblem of the Church of Rome) might have been regarded as the priestly hierarchy; the dark Ebony, the durable Teek,
and fruitful Mango, of character more useful,
: B : :
THE sd
THE SEDITIOUS REEDS. 173
‘if less’ showy, ranked as the middle class; while, lowest in the scale, a dense population of Indian Reeds, or Vansas, occupied the forest ground, and formed the “‘ commonalty of this sylvan empire.” Nor were the dominions of the Palm King destitute of defenders; for armies of gigantic climbers, headed by the thorny Cactus and horrid Tragularia, ex- tended their strong and formidable arms from trunk to trunk, and constituted an almost impenetrable barrier against invasion. In- deed, from time immemorial, this mighty forest had been allowed to flourish undis- turbed by man. There, no murderous axe had been ever laid to the root of the useful Teek Tree. No agile Hindco had there ever ascended the columnar trunk of the lofty Cocco ; and there, for once, the beautiful and juicy Tamarind had been permitted to perfect her unplucked fruit.
Thus, untroubled from without, and fa-
voured within by a luxuriant soil and glow-
174 THE SEDITIOUS REEDS. | ing sun, one would have naturally supposed | that the members of this forest community | might have grown together in perfect har- : mony to the end of time; but, amidst all this outward luxuriance and seeming tran-_ quillity, there were latent embers of discord | and destruction smouldering within. These elements of mischief existed chiefly in the lowest and most numerous of the classes above enumerated; namely, the Indian Reeds, |
or Vansas, who, like a discontented populace
stirred to rebellion by the breath of every factious demagogue, uplifted their murmuring | voices with every breeze, and struck against | each other in rude collision, as though at variance also amongst themselves. . The heads of the forest, the sovereign | Palm, his gorgeous aristocracy, and the priestly God Tree, wrapped up, for the most part, in their own importance, troubled not their lofty heads concerning the murmurs or
dissensions of the plebeian crew, nor dreamt
THE SEDITIOUS REEDS. 175
for a moment that their own safety could be implicated therein. The Sandal Tree, alone, prompted by the innate worth and sweetness of his disposition, looked down with anxiety and concern on the disturbed state of the reedy commonalty, whom he strove to calm
and conciliate. ‘‘ Wherefore, my friends,”
said he, “are ye thus for ever murmuring?
Is it on account of your lowly situation ? Remember, that in this humble position con- sists your greater security against the fury of the storms to which our height exposes us. Do ye complain because we, who are loftier than yourselves, receive a larger portion of the glorious sunlight, of which we serve, in some measure, to deprive you? “Tis true— but do we not, in return, afford you our pro- tecting shade, and preserve for you the genial moisture so essential to your existence ? Above all, wherefore do ye quarrel amongst yourselves? I will tell you the source of
all these evils—it consists in your permitting
Fait ane
176 THE SEDITIOUS REEDS.
the breath of every factious Zephyr to excite you to contention with one another, and to - murmurs against those above you.” So spoke
the patriot, Sandal; but his words were far
too moderate either to influence or please the
hollow multitude, who continued to be stirred
up, as usual, by their great agitator, the Wind. |
Things were in this position when the notice |
of the noble-hearted Sandal was one day at- tracted by the unusual movements ofa Baya, or Indian Grosbeak, a little bird who had long been in the habit of resorting to his shade. He observed it continually wheeling
round the heads of the loftier trees, and |
screaming in a harsh and melancholy voice, which sounded like a note of warning. At length she approached the Sandal Tree him- self, and, resting on his topmost branches, cried aloud, “‘ Delight of the forest, beloved Chandana, beware, beware!” ‘* What mean you ?” asked the Sandal. “ An awful tempest is at hand,’ was the bird’s reply. The
THE SEDITIOUS REEDS. if’ |
mighty Marut is about to unloose his winds, and Iswara the Destroyer will ride upon the
4
storm. Already have I warned your haughty
) monarch and his prouder satellites, who only ; scoff at my assertion. I have left them to their fate, but thou art wiser and better than they, and now listen to what I tell thee :— Look at those pernicious Vansas—the restless Reeds below us. ‘They are now, indeed, mo- tionless and silent in the noon-day stillness ; but the elements of fire, so long smoulder- ing within their hollow hearts, will, this night, be kindled to an all-destructive blaze. Come out, then, from amongst them. Say but the word, and my power shall transport thee to a grove of safety.” ‘ Thine!” said the Sandal Tree, incredulously. ‘‘ Yes, mine,” returned the bird. ‘Know, that beneath this diminutive form I preserve both the pre- science and the magic skill I once exercised in the human shape of a learned brahmin. Taught by the former, I foretel the storm, 2A
178 THE SEDITIOUS REEDS.
and, aided by the latter, I would save thee from its fury.” Friendly Baya,” replied i the Sandal Tree, “I thank thee for thine: offer: but many are the tempests I have} stood unharmed : and, whether destined or} not to survive another, I would not quit the | station wherein the great Brahma hath placed | me, or desert, in the hour of danger, my old | companions, and the young who have grown | up around me.” ‘“ Farewell, then,” said the | bird in a low and plaintive voice; “ I respect | thy motives, and will urge thee no further.” | Then, spreading his pinions, the little Baya | flew away, but not with his usual swiftness; and | so dead and deep was the stillness which now | pervaded the forest, that even the light flap- | ping of his delicate wings was long distinctly | . audible. Towards sunset, the clouds assumed — a lurid, threatening aspect: low, hollow mur- murs succeeded the late unusual calm: the | predicted destroyer, the evil genius of the
Vansas, was abroad, and, in measure as he
THE SEDITIOUS REEDS. 179
drew nigh, their agitation augmented, till | rustling, clashing, now bending to the earth, | now suddenly rebounding, they resembled | conflicting armies in the angry turmoil of a | fight. Soon, this similitude to a battle-field became fearfully heightened, for, struck forth b their own fierce collision, innumerable sparks of fire, like flashes of musquetry, issued from their ranks, and showed more ; vividly as the darkness augmented. A short ; time sufficed to wrap the reedy multitude in ; one entire blaze. Thus were the rebellious, murmuring Vansas the first victims of a com- bustion kindled, indeed, by the whirlwind’s breath, but only because its materials had been long existent in their flinty hearts. Shooting from the mass of flame by which they were consumed, arose spiral tongues of. fire, which, encircling the proudest nobles of the forest, made speedy prey of all their blown and budding honours. From the regal
Palm downwards, not one escaped.
180 THE SEDITIOUS REEDS:
Involved in the general destruction fell ' the patriot Sandal, sharing, as he had desired, | the fate of his less noble brethren; but, ,
drawn from his burning relics, many a wreath |
of perfumed incense ascended towards hea- '
ven, and attested his virtue, most pre-eminent
in the hour of death.
NOTES.
Tue Palmeira Palm, the Borassus of Linnzeus, | is justly entitled the king of its order,—which the | Hindoos call Trina Druina, or Grass Trees. An | intoxicating and very delicious liquor is extracted | from this tree, which, according to Rheede, also | produces sugar.
The Dillenia Indica is one of the most magni- | ficent of all tropical trees. In the woods of Ma- labar it is said to attain the height of about fifty feet, growing in full vigour for upwards of fifty
years. The Iron Mesua of Linnzus merits much more,
THE SEDITIOUS REEDS. 181
according to the description of Sir William Jones,
_ the appellation of golden, having flowers of silvery
|
white, with anthers like gold ; its native names of Champéya, Chancana, &c., being also expressive of
the costliest of metals. ‘It is,” says the same au-
thor, “one of the most beautiful trees on earth ; and
the delicious odour of its blossoms justly entitles it
toa place in the quiver of Camadeva.* In the
poem called Naishadha, there is a wild but ele-
gant couplet, where the Poet compares the white of this flower, from whence the Bees were scat- tering the pollen of the numerous gold-coloured anthers, to an alabaster wheel, on which Cama was whetting his arrows, while sparks of fire were dispersed in every direction.”
The oriental Nauclea is one of the most ele- gant and beautifully verdant of Indian trees, and is considered holy by the Hindoos.
Various parasitic plants of great beauty grow upon the forest trees of India, which, in many cases, they injure as well as ornament. One of these is the Loranthus, with beautiful flowers re- sembling a Honeysuckle, which is so injurious to the various trees which afford it support, that all that part of the branch above where it grows
* The Indian god of love. '
182 THE SEDITIOUS REEDS.
becomes sickly, and soon perishes. An elegant plant of this kind is the retuse-leaved Epiden-
drum of Linnzus. The flowers are very fragrant, |
and resemble shells or enamel. Though attach- ing itself to trees, it is an air plant, and lives in a pot without earth or water.
Beautiful climbers, some of gigantic growth, |
and nearly all of extreme beauty and fragrance, ©
entwine the more sturdy natives of Indian forests.
with embraces less dangerous than those of the
parasitic race. Amongst these are the Bengal Bannisteria, and the twining Asclepias, with various species of the elegant Convolvulus and
Ipomea. The Indian Fig or God Tree (Ficus Indica)
has been celebrated, from the most remote anti- |
quity, for its remarkable property of letting its branches drop and take root, thus extending itself, so that a single tree forms a curiously arched grove.
The true black Ebony Tree of India (quite
distinct from the West Indian Ebony, with brown- —
ish wood) has a trunk from twenty to thirty-five
feet high. Only the centre of large trees is black |
and valuable, which part is more or less in quan- tity, according to the age of the tree. The outside
THE SEDITIOUS REEDS. 183
wood is white and soft, and soon destroyed by time and insects, the black being left untouched. The ripe fruit is eaten by natives.
The useful Teek Tree is a native of various parts of India. Its trunk is erect, of immense size, and furnishes a light timber, easily worked, yet strong and durable.
The fruit of the Indian Mango Tree is univer- sally eaten, and esteemed the best in India. Old trees are sometimes from ten to fifteen feet in cir- cumference. Roxburgh describes a grove of this size, growing before his door, as a most noble sight.
The different species of Indian Reed, or Bam- boo Cane, are applied in India to a variety of useful purposes, amongst others, building houses, by the natives. Some are thorny or armed, others unarmed. The Bamboo Vaccifera, or Berry- bearing Reed, is said, by M. Pierard, to yield more or less tabasheer, a siliceous crystaliza- tion, and sometimes the cavity between the joints is nearly filled with this substance, called, by the natives, choona, or lime. “ In the great heat of the East Indies, it is not uncommon for large tracts of Reeds to be set on fire in their own motion by the wind, which probably arises from
184: THE SEDITIOUS REEDS.
the flinty surface of the reeds rubbing against each other in their agitation. In the works of Sir Wil- liam Jones is an elegant Sanscrit stanza describing the effect of Bamboo Canes often taking fire by the violence of their collision, with the allegory of
a Sandal Tree as a virtuous man dwelling in a~
a x —
town inhabited by contending factions. It is thus — translated: ‘Delight of the world, beloved Chan- dana (Sandal Tree), stay no longer in this forest, —
which is overspread with rigid, pernicious Vansas (Bamboo Reeds), whose hearts are unsound, and who, being themselves confounded in the scorch- ing glare kindled by their mutual attrition, will consume, not merely their own families, but this whole wood.’ These facts cannot but excite the mind to admiration of the boundless laws of nature, by which, while a simple vegetable secretes the most volatile and evanescent perfume, it also secretes a substance which is an ingredient in the primeval mountains of the globe.”—Classes and Orders of the Linnzan System Illustrated. Nothing, indeed, can be more strikingly different than the nature of the various secretions in the same plant, as in the Peach Tree; the gum is mild—the bark, leaves, and flower, bitter and dangerous — the fruit, acid, sugary, and aromatic. A flinty sub-
cotqutps
o —
——
THE SEDITIOUS REEDS. 185
stance has been discovered in some grasses—in the cuticle of the rough Horse-tail, imported from Holland under the name of Dutch Rush, for po- lishing, and also in common Wheat straw, which, when burnt, yields a powder used for the same purpose.
The Indian Cactus is armed with long straight thorns, surrounded by tufts of short bristles. From the upper edges of the joints, which are oblong and compressed, issue large bright yellow flowers, which are open only in the daytime. It is common in forests and road-sides near Calcutta.
““The Tragularia Horrida,” says Roxburgh, common in Indian forests, makes excellent im- penetrable fences, and, when fairly caught in its trammels, it is no easy matter to get extricated, the prickles being so numerous, strong, crooked, and sharp.”
The Coco Nut Tree, or Palma Indica, is planted in all the hot parts of the East and West Indies, but found wild most plentifully in the Maldives and desert East India islands. Its uses are almost innumerable: the wood serves for masts, planks, &c.; the leaves for covering houses, making sails, shading palanquins, &c.; the out- ward skin for ropes, oakum, &c.; the nut and
i
Se eet a ee Revit
186 THE SEDITIOUS REEDS.
milk for food, its hard shell being carved into | drinking cups, spoons, &c. Lopez states that
_ the first letter sent to the King of Portugal from Calicut, was written on a leaf of this tree, from which, also, a wine has been made by tapping. ‘*The flowers of the Tamarind Tree,” says Sir William Jones, “ are exquisitely beautiful, the fruit salubrious for making an acid sherbet, the leaves elegantly formed and arranged, and the whole of the tree magnificent.” The fragrant Sandal Tree is a native of the East Indies, its wood being the white and yellow
Sanders, used medicinally. Both sorts are the —
produce of the same tree, the central part of the trunk acquiring a yellow colour, great fragrance and hardness, while the exterior is less firm,
white and scentless.
: ;
THE PRETTY MOUNTAINEER.
XXII.
THE PRETTY MOUNTAINEER.
Near the summit of a wild mountain in the north of England, dwelt a hardy tribe of _ Perennials, and in this retired spot, close be- side the root of her parent, flourished a : young plant of peculiar promise. Her form
was slight and elegant, and her complexion the finest red and white imaginable. For several summers this rustic beauty had “blushed unseen,” and would certainly have *‘ wasted her sweetness” also “on the desert air,” only it so happened that the charm of fragrance was not amongst the number of her endowments. Who might have been her first admirer—whether the Alpine Thistle
grew melancholy for her sake, or whether the
188 THE PRETTY MOUNTAINEER.
Whortle Berry dropped his ruby offerings at | her feet, these are matters which must remain | hidden in the mists of the cloud-capped — mountain. ‘The first individual recorded to have paid her particular attention was a Lon- don tourist, a man of taste, and eke a Bota- nist of some renown, whose admiration was attested by more than passing looks, for, when — he returned to the metropolis, the mountain flower was his companion. What degree of difficulty he found in detaching her from her 1 native soil; what pearly dew-drops were shed on the occasion, or how she bore what, in those days, must have been a long and tedious journey, we are not competent to say. Suf- fice it that she neither pined long nor drooped heavily when once settled in the spot to which she had been transported. Yet how different was the scene to that which she had left behind! In exchange for the pure keen air which had been used to wave her slender footstalks, she now breathed the dust
THE PRETTY MOUNTAINEER. 189
and smoke-laden atmosphere of a miniature flower-plot in a London suburb; and, instead of a few distant scattered neighbours, she found herself in the midst of a motley crowd of strangers, some of whom looked down upon her with contempt. Amongst these, however, she, one day, recognised an old ac- quaintance, the Dwarf Gentian ; and though, to say truth, she had, when at home, always despised her as a mere nobody, it was now with exceeding pleasure that she caught sight of the little somebody she had known before, shabby as the Gentian’s blue gown had been rendered by accumulated dust and smoke. After mutual salutations the con- yersation of the quondam neighbours turned naturally upon those they had left behind, and the Londoner then proceeded to inquire how the recent comer liked her change of residence. ‘‘ Vastly well, indeed,” returned the
latter; ‘only one thing makes me very un-
190 THE PRETTY MOUNTAINEER. |
easy, and that is, the not being able to send | an account of my welfare to my friends in | the north.” ‘Oh! if that be all your trou- ble,” said the Gentian, ‘‘ I believe I can assist ' you, for I am in the habit of holding corre- |
spondence with my own relations.” And ,
~~eq
how pray do you manage it?” “Oh! no- thing can be easier—to me, at least,” replied | the Gentian, who was a bit of a blue. *‘ When . I want to send a letter I merely apply toa | certain clever Caterpillar of my acquaintance, | who, under my dictation, inscribes on a leaf | all I may desire to say.* My epistle, thus | completed, I commit to the charge of some | friendly bird who may chance to be travelling — northwards, and who undertakes its safe de-
livery. I will readily put you in the way of |
* The leaves of some plants are not unfrequently found inscribed, as it were, with white hieroglyphics, the work of a small Worm or Caterpillar, which par- | tially eats away the green pulpy substance between — the leaf’s upper and under skin.
\ | THE PRETTY MOUNTAINEER. 191
t
|& the same.” The simple mountaineer heartily thanked the accomplished Gentian, and thought to herself what clever things
were to be learned in London. Ere long,
by the aid of her friend, and her friend’s
; amanuensis, she contrived to manufacture a
letter (a green scroll with white characters),
which was duly despatched by a flying post-
man to her friends in the country. Of this singular production we have not, as yet, been able to procure an autograph copy, but having picked up a few lines, apparently added by way of postscript, and accidentally torn from the body of the leaf, we subjoin a translation for the benefit of the curious in epistolary remains; it ran as follows :—
«P.S. I almost forgot to tell my dear parents one little particular, which, even now, I guite blush to mention, and hope you will not think me proud for naming it. It is that,
since, I arrived in this great city, my new
x oa enn 4
“oan gE
i!
192 THE PRETTY MOUNTAINEER, | friends have given me a new title instead of | our family name, Saxifrage, for they always ! call me (now pray don’t think me vain)— they always call me London Pride, or None |
1”?
so Pretty!
NOTES.
Tue great English Soft Thistle, an inhabitant of Alpine pastures, is also called the Melancholy |
; | Thistle. | The Whortle Berry is a shrubby plant, with
flesh-coloured flowers and red berries, growing |
on Alpine heaths. The Dwarf Gentian, with flowers of brilliant blue, nearly stemless, is a native of the highest |
mountains of England and Wales, though a ready © grower in our flower gardens.
Most species of the elegant genus Saxifraga — are Alpine plants, and capable, with pure air, of © bearing an extreme degree of cold. The Saxi-
THE PRETTY MOUNTAINEER. 193
fraga Umbrosa, commonly known by the names of London Pride, or None so Pretty, is found on mountains and in woods in the north of England, and also in Ireland. This plant thrives in Lon- don better than the generality, and flowers
earlier. |
AS) Q
MG EES THE SHEPHERD’S PURSE AND THE FAIRY.
A SHEPHERD, who was of an unfortu- — nately discontented turn of mind—one who was much fonder of reclining lazily on a sunny bank, than of viewing his own lot on } its sunny side—was one day moodily watch- _ ing his flock, wishing himself all the while its | owner, instead of guardian, in other words, | a richer, and, as he foolishly supposed, a happier man. His faithful dog lay beside him, and every now and then licked the hand of his master as it hung listlessly by his side, then looked up in his face, as if to read his thoughts; but the Shepherd was in no humour to stroke the shaggy hide of his —
friend Keeper, his envious musings having
‘ Fast = SS henner
THE SHEPHERD'S PURSE. 195
been diverted to the sleek coat of his master’s hunter, which had just bounded with its wealthy rider over an adjacent hedge. The sullen tender of flocks was all at once roused from his reverie by the small silvery voice of a sprightly little Fairy. ‘‘ What ails thee, my good man?” said she, tapping his shoulder with her wand; ‘‘ you seem mighty melancholy. Have you met with any dis- aster ?—lost anything ?_perhaps your wife 2?” “No such luck.” ‘Or some of your sheep ?” “What should I care? they’re my master’s.” “Your purse, then?” “ Purse!” growled the Shepherd, “no great loss if I had, for it’s alwaysempty.” ‘Ah! ah!” cried the Fairy, “I think I can guess what’s the matter; your are wishing to be rich, and discontented because you are poor. But prithee now listen to me. Once upon a time, when we Fairies used to mix much more with mankind than we do at present, we learnt many of
their pernicious customs; and seeing the high
196 THE SHEPHERD'S PURSE.
store they set by money, and the uses :to which they applied it, we (in an evil hour) resolved to have money of our own. Nature had ready coined it to our hands in the gold and silver seeds of flowers, and these we stored up and made our circulating medium. Then came amongst us, envy, avarice, dis- honesty, and cunning. Instead of being, as heretofore, the protectors of the beautiful flowers, we became their ravagers; and in- stead of the most benevolent and happy little creatures in the world, we became a discon- tented, malevolent, and restless race. We began to dislike our native dells and dingles, and to haunt more than ever the habitations of men. We knew well enough, however, that the cause of all our misery had been our foolish imitation of their practices, and, with a view to revenge, many a sorry trick and mis- chievous prank did we delight to play them, as, doubtless, you may have often heard. This, however, availed us nothing, and, at
THE SHEPHERD'S PURSE. 197
last, growing tired of such profitless ven- geance, we made up our minds to return en- tirely to our shady recesses, and, what was better, to our ancient habits. Truly, it cost some of us nota little to part with our stores of golden treasure, but, at last, we all agreed to throw away our money, and having then no further use for our purses, we hung them up, as memorials of our folly, upon the most ugly and worthless weeds we could discover, where you may even now behold them.” The Fairy, as she spoke, pointed out to the Shepherd some mean, ragged-looking plants which grew beside him; and, sure enough, there he saw suspended the little triangular pods or purses of which she had been speak- ing. They proved more useful to him than they had done to their former possessors, for the common weed to which they were at- tached, could never, in future, cross his path without reminding him of the lesson of his
fairy monitress, taught by which, he soon
198 THE SHEPHERD'S PURSE.
found that, in the enjoyment of a contented mind, a light purse need not always make a
heavy heart.
NOTES.
SHEPHERD’s Purse (Bursa pastoris) or Wedge- shape Treacle Mustard ; one of our commonest road-side weeds, varying greatly in the size and form of its leaves. ‘It flowers from spring to the end of autumn, and ripens copiously its tri-
angular pods or pouches, whence its name, dis- -
tinguished from all other British plants. The root is tapering, and exhales a peculiar smoke- like scent when pulled out of the ground. Small birds are fond of the seeds and young flowers.” — Sowerby’s English Botany.
XXIV. THE CROAKING CRITIC.
TowaRDs sunset, on a summer's evening,
‘two Frogs, mother and son, who lived on the
: banks of Windermere, were sitting side by
side, among the rushes, looking out upon the glowing prospect. Not far from their retreat, grew a beautiful Lobelia, her pale purple flowers raised above the surface of the water, while her tufted leaves rooted in its gravelly bed. “ Prithee, look, my son at that lovely flower!” said the elder Frog, who, from her long residence by the lake’s side, had ac- quired a wonderful taste for the beauties of nature. “I see nothing to look at,” returned her son, an impertinent young reptile, who,
though his judgment was about as shallow as
200 THE CROAKING CRITIC.
the pools wherein he loved to bathe, pre- tended to be a mighty criticiser of all he saw. _ © T see no beauty in that flower at all, only plenty of defects.” ‘Ah! my son,” cried the old Frog, “ you never allow anything to be handsome but that yellow face of yours, which you're for ever looking down at in the water. And pray what fault do you please to find with that elegant flower?” “Oh! a hundred,” returned the croaking critic; ‘‘ and to mention only one, her heads are all so bedizened with purple finery that she can’t hold them upright.” ‘ You know nothing about the matter, child,” said his mother; *‘ I’ve studied these things more than you, and can tell you that the weight of her blossoms has nothing to do with their droop- ing. Look at yonder moor-hen, her wings falling over her sedgy nest. Is it, think you, because she is not strong enough to hold them up? No. She does but spread them
to warm and preserve her cherished eggs.
a
a
ows a ee
i
THE CROAKING CRITIC. 201
So it is with yonder flower, whose bells are turned downwards to protect the germs of her future progeny from wind and rain.” While the mother Frog was thus holding forth on natural philosophy, her undutiful and care- Jess son was thinking of nothing but his natural appetite, already devouring, with his eyes, a large worm he had destined for his supper. The consequence was, that his wise parent’s instruction was, as usual, quite thrown away, in proof of which, some few weeks afterwards, he again began making his ignorant observations on the then altered appearance of the Water Lobelia. ‘“ Look there, mother,” cried he, swelling with con- ceit, ‘‘ I really believe that flower must have heard and profited by what I said, for see, she has taken off her purple finery, and now holds her head almost as upright as my own, though, without her frippery, I can’t say she’s much left to be proud of.” ‘Son, son,” croaked the mother Frog, despairingly, 2D
202 THE CROAKING CRITIC.
when shall I ever teach thee to learn humility, and gather wisdom by observation? Pray do not flatter thyself that yonder flower has been influenced by any of thy silly remarks. I told thee before that she drooped not for heaviness, but for the sake of preserving her future progeny, and now, though her head has grown many times more weighty, she is taught to raise it for a like purpose, the pro- tection of her ripening seed, which would else fall and be scattered on the water. What I tell thee, my child,” continued the aged Frog, ‘‘ I have only myself learned from close observation; and if, instead of being always so ready to find fault, you would but try to discover the cause and purpose of all you see, you would perceive that every move- ment, even of the meanest herb, is meant to accomplish some useful end; and is directed by that unerring Power which created them, and us, and all things.”
We fear the foolish young Frog continued
|
|
THE CROAKING CRITIC. 203
to regard his mother’s counsel only as the prosing of a tiresome old croaker. May her lessons prove more useful to a multitude of shallow critics, to whom they are, at least,
equally applicable.
NOTES.
Tur Water Lobelia, or Lake Lobel, is an — elegant and singular plant, with pale purplish flowers, abounding in the lakes of Cumberland and Westmoreland, the tufts of leaves rooting in their gravelly bottoms, the flower-stem alone rising above the water. The flowers are droop- ing, but the germen* in ripening becomes erect, affording an example, among many others, that it is not the weight of blossoms that causes them to droop, the fruit of such, though much heavier, being almost always upright for the purpose of
* The rudiment of the young fruit and seed.
204 THE CROAKING CRITIC.
retaining the seeds till ripe, and then scattering them more widely, while the inclined corolla shelters the pollen from wet.—Sowerby’s English Botany.
}
od
THE ASPIRING CONVOLVOLUS.
XXV.
THE ASPIRING CONVOLVULUS.
A yoururut plant of the Great Bind- weed, or Wild Convolvulus, sprang from his mother earth with a more than usual share of the family propensity for climbing. The station which nature had assigned him was a secluded nook ina tangled copse-wood, where, as he grew up, rapidly ascending in spiral evolutions, he looked down with serpent-like pride on the humbler wood-flowers, and, for- getful that it was only by help of a sup- porting Hazel that he towered above them, regarded even the stately Mullein and the graceful Fox-glove as objects of contempt. Self-satisfied in his swollen vanity, he was
contented for awhile in his native shades,
| Sadi cs: ir ala al ke Ral GR SA SRNR i lB EG Simian ee ire gare iE, 0 ale a a BE a ae ei he eal ree ae
206 THE ASPIRING CONVOLVULUS.
nor dreamt, indeed, of any sphere beyond |
them. One day, however, a gossiping Gad- | fly chanced to settle on his snow-white |
corolla, and described to him, in glowing |
colours, the splendours ofa flower-garden she had just quitted, and where, she added, “1 | have been visiting one of your relations.” ' “A relation of mine! How do you know that?” “Oh! by the strong family like-— ness ; he has your shape and air precisely, only — instead of always wearing white, he is at- tired in a striped vest of the most beautiful red and purple imaginable. 1 assure you — he’s a prodigious favourite with the owners © of the garden, who pay him the greatest at- tention, and have even provided him witha |
lofty pole for climbing. However, for my
part, I think you much the handsomest, and — tis only a ity ite should live in this out-of- With this, away flew the Gad-fly, but her idle buzzing had quite suf- ficed to set on‘ fire the dormant embers of
a
the-way place.
THE ASPIRING CONVOLVULUS. 207
the wood-flower’s ambition, and his late con- tentment springing, as we have seen, only from the sands of vanity, was at once up- rooted. ‘‘ That Gad-fly is perfectly right,” thought he; “I always felt myself thrown away in this solitary wilderness, and have now discovered where my station should have been. But who can tell whether a place may not yet be mine in that lovely garden of which she speaks? This very night, when all the chattering birds and prying insects are asleep, I will inquire into my future destiny.” The prophetic seer, whom our ambitious climber had in view, was an aged Witch Elm, who lived close at hand. Her bark,was cracked and wrinkled by the sun and wind of centuries; two of her main branches, scathed by lightning, were outstretched in withered bareness, and her dark matted head, uplifted to heaven, seemed to hold mysterious communion with the stars. All was hushed
in the deep stillness of a summer night even
*
208 THE ASPIRING CONVOLVULUS.
the Grasshopper had ceased his song, when — the Convolvulus, creeping closer to the Elm, invoked her, in the voice of flowers, to reveal | his future fate; above all, whether he was | destined ever to quit. his native shades ? |
* Thou art,” whispered the leaves of the old |
wood sybil. ‘‘ And when?” ‘To-morrow night thou shalt stand in the garden beside thy painted, pampered cousin—he whose lot is the chief object of thy envy.” The in-. quirer was content, and, with perfect reliance | on the Witch Elm’s prophecy, passed the
following day in restless speculations as to
its probable mode of accomplishment. The shades of evening were closing, when a rustle | was heard within the deep recesses of the. wood ; a human form intrudes upon the soli- tude, seizes with one hand the tall hazel
rod round which our Convolvulus is twined;
grasps with the other a glittering blade, and, by a few deep gashes, severs at once the
woody stem and the soft climber by which it
THE ASPIRING CONVOLVULUS. 209
is embraced. Attracted in the dusk by the large white blossoms of the Convolvulus, a gardener, in search of stakes, had been led to select for his purpose the hazel-bough they decorated, and, having cut off the branch- ing twigs, took not the trouble to tear off the embracing Bindweed. The stake, thus fashioned, he carried to his garden, and drove into the ground that very night, for the sup- port of a young Hollyhock planted in the same bed as the coloured Convolvulus, the wood-flower’s envied relation. Thus was the Witch Elm’s prophecy accomplished, and the ambitious climber lived long enough to feel the misery of its completion. He was now, indeed, an occupant of the gay parterre, but only as a disfiguring weed, parched in the sultry sun as he hung dying on his stake, an object of contempt to his cousin Con- volvulus and the rest of his blooming com- panions. Even the flattering Gad-fly flat- tered him no longer; and, instead of staying 25
—e
210 + £THE ASPIRING CONVOLVULUS.
to whisper, “’Tis a pity you're not living in| a garden,” she only hummed contemptuously | as she flew past, “’Tis really a pity you
ever left the wood!” ~~ |
NOTES.
Tue Great Bindweed, or Wild Convolvulus, though very mischievous to the gardener and farmer, is a plant of extreme beauty, its dark, | arrow-shaped leaves and large white bell flowers | being highly ornamental in our woods and hedges, as is also the smaller species, with pink blossoms | elegantly striated. Both kinds have long fibrous roots stretching far into the ground, with smooth, weak, twisted stems twining round every support ; the greater sometimes to the height of twelve or. fourteen feet. The corolla of the Convolvulus | is curiously plaited, and folds up before rain.
The Mulleins are a very handsome tribe of plants, especially the Hoary—one of the most magnificent natives of Britain. The leaves and stem, which rise to a height of four feet, are downy and powdery. When in blossom, it forms
f
} f
1]
so long, as one may with his fingers pull the same
J | 7 }
i]
|
a y ‘ - : : ;
THE ASPIRING CONVOLVULUs. 211
a golden pyramid, a yard high, consisting of many
| hundreds of flowers with bright red anthers. The
Dark or Moth Mullein, so called from being
| much resorted to by moths and butterflies, is
another handsome species. Old Gerarde speaks
of a variety called the Athiopian, ‘ with wool
from the leaves, even as wool is pulled from a sheepe’s skinne. It groweth,” he says, “in my
garden.”
Common Fox-glove (Digitalis), is so named, says Gerarde, because its long bells are like finger-stalls. This appellation was given by Fuch, a German Botanist, hence Fuch’s Glove,
or Fox-glove. It has been justly noticed as
strange that no old English name should exist for so striking and beautiful a plant. ‘‘ How delicate,” says Curtis, “are the little spots which ornament the centre of the flower! How pleasing to behold the Bee hide in its pendulous blossoms! The interior of the flower is no less worthy of admira- tion, and, from the size of the parts of fructifica-
tion, particularly adapted to the instruction of
young Botanists. This plant is very valuable in medicine when. used with caution ; and so great an opinion have or had the Italians of its virtues as
).
-
Pd be THE ASPIRING CONVOLVULUS.
a vulnerary, that they have the following proverb concerning it:—‘ Aralda tutte le piaghe salda. 4 Fox-glove cures all wounds.” ) The Smooth-leaved or Witch Elm is so called from having been used formerly for magical pur- |
poses. The wood was also used for making long bows of an inferior sort; but the timber is not. so hard or valuable as that of the Common Elm. | The Convolvulus Major of our gardens is a native of Asia and America. Climbing plants have various modes of raising themselves, viz., | by tendrils, as in the Vine; by holdfasts, as in the Ivy ; by twisting of the leaf-stalks, as in Clematis — Viticella, and by its own twisting, as in the Con- volvulus, which always twines from right to left; whereas others, as the common Black Bryony, |
always turn from left to right.
.
LOVE LIES BLEEDING
.
XXVI.
LOVE LIES BLEEDING; OR, CUPID IN THE
FLOWER GARDEN...
Everypopy has heard of Cupid’s mis- chievous doings amongst mankind. These, therefore, we shall leave to poets and ro-
mancers, and confine ourselves to the relation
‘of an incident which occurred, one summer’s
morning, when “ Love, in idleness,” was
amusing himself in a flower garden by con- verting the tender blossoms into targets for his arrows. ‘‘ What was sport to him, was death to them,” and cruel was the havoc wrought on this fatal occasion; but let the weaknesses of our favourites remain hidden ‘under the Rose.” Suffice it, that, from the
inflammable Fraxinella to the frigid Ice
214 LOVE LIES BLEEDING.
Plant, none were proof against the archer’s | prowess ; and that from beneath the monastic | ~ Monk’s-hood, no less than from under the | helmet of the Military Orchis, many were | the amorous glances cast around. Amongst | the sufferers was a youthful Eglantine,* who, transfixed by one of the little god’s arrows, grew enamoured of a Bella Donna Lily, a flower, by the way, not at all distinguished for modesty, because she loves to display her charms unshaded by that veil of green so be- coming to all her sisterhood. No wonder that she proved false as fair, and soon turned from her rough but sincere admirer to bestow her smiles on a smart young cousin of her own, recently landed from Guernsey, and flaming in military scarlet and gold. Stung by mingled rage and disappointment, the deserted Eglantine, having first torn the laced coat of his dashing rival, determined to wreak his deadliest vengeance on the first
* Brier Rose.
;
LOVE LIES BLEEDING. 215
cause of his pain, the mischievous author of his love and mortification. So, choosing one of the longest and sharpest of his thorns, he aimed it at the sportive archer, who was blind only with laughing at his own prowess. The weapon took effect, and pierced the white
shoulder of the god, who dropped his bow,
‘and ran away, screaming with pain. His
mother, Venus, who was not far off, in the same garden, decking her hair in her favourite Looking-glass, heard his cries, and flew to the
assistance of her darling. Lifting him in her
arms she bore him to her bower; then hastily
plucking some of the soft bunches of the
‘drooping Amaranth, spread them on the
ground as a couch for her wounded boy. She then proceeded to extract from his shoulder the prickly lance ; and, as she drew it out, the blood rushed forth in crimson tor- rents, and dyed the bed on which he lay. The urchin’s wound was healed, too speedily;
but the crimsoned flowers of his couch then
216 LOVE LIES BLEEDING.
acquired the name and hue transmitted to | their descendants, who are still chiefly known |
: :
by the appellation of Love Lies Bleeding.
NOTES.
FraxINELua, or White Dittany, a native of | Europe, and commonly cultivated in our gardens — for its agreeable citron-like odour, is remarkable — for exhaling an inflammable vapour, perceptible — in the dark. Haller, who speaks of this plant as | growing in the environs of Basle, says, “Quand on | place a son pied une bougie allumée, alors il | s’éléve tout 4 coup une grande flamme qui se | répand sur toute la plante. La famille royale | s’amuse quelquefois 4 ce spectacle, dit M. Buchoz, | et par cette raison on cultive des carrés entiers — de Dictamné Blane dans le jardin du Roi,”— Histoire des Plantes Suisses. |
The daughter of Linnzeus is said to have been the first discoverer of this inflammable property
in the Fraxinella. For Monk’s-hood or Wolfsbane, see note,
page 71.
LOVE LIES BLEEDING. Q17
For Military Orchis, see note, page 240.
For Eglantine, or Sweetbrier Rose, see note, page 68.
The Bella Donna Lily was imported from Portugal in 1712, introduced into that country probably from Brazil. Old Botanists, indeed, call it a native of India; but by this, they sometimes mean the East Indies, America, or even Africa. The corolla of this beautiful flower is rose colour, variegated with greenish-white.
The Guernsey Lily, as it is most commonly called, is a native of Japan, from whence roots are said to have been introduced into the garden of Johannes Morinus at Paris, in which it flowered in October, 1634. Of its subsequent introduction into the island of Guernsey, the following account is given by Dr. Morison :—‘ A Dutch or English ship, it is uncertain which, coming from Japan with some roots of this flower on board, was cast away on the Island of Guernsey. The roots were thrown upon a sandy shore, and so, by the force of the winds and waves, soon buried. Thus they remained for some years; and afterwards, to the surprise and admiration of the inhabitants, the flowers appeared in all their pomp and beauty, and having found a soil and situation apparently
oF
218 LOVE LIES BLEEDING.
congenial to their own, have ever since flourished in that island, from whence some of them soon | made their appearance in this country.” The | flowers, which last about a month, are inodorous, | but make up for this deficiency by the superb splendour of their colour. Dr. Douglas thus describes them :—‘‘ Each flower, when in its prime, looks like a fine gold tissue wrought on a ° rose-coloured ground, but when it begins to fade, ' it looks more like a silver tissue upon pink. When we look upon the flower in full sunshine, each leaf appears to be studded with thousands of ) little diamonds, sparkling and glittering with a } most surprising and agreeable lustre ; but if we 3 view the same by candle-light, these numerous | specks, or spangles, look more like fine gold dust.”
Both Kempfer and Thunberg agree that the | roots are poisonous. In England, it is usual to | plant the bulbs in pots of sand or light loam, and —
place them in a parlour-window, or green-house, | where they blossom in September or October. Venus’s Looking-glass, or Corn Gilliflower, growing naturally in chalky fields, and also cul- tivated, is a small trailing plant, with wide-— spreading, bright purple corollas, tending, as old Gerarde has it, “to bluenesse, very beautifulle.” »
LOVE LIES BLEEDING. 219
The flowers, he remarks, ‘“‘ are wide open in day- time, and at sun-setting, shut up, and closed fast together in five corners, as other bell flowers.” Love Lies Bleeding, and Prince’s Feather, are two varieties, the former with drooping, the latter with upright spikes of purplish-crimson flowers, intermixed with coloured scales. Its name of Amaranthus signifies, not to wither or wax old. The Italian appellation of Fior Velluto; the French, Passe Velours; and the English, Flower Gentle, all express the soft velvety appearance of its flowery clusters. We have a small native species, with greenish flowers, common in fields,
called Amaranthus Minor, or Small Strawberry- blite.
-XXVII.
THE DAISY, THE HEMLOCK, AND THE
LADY-BIRD.
Near the foot of a tall, gloomy-looking | plant of Hemlock, grew a pretty, pink-edged © Daisy. One morning, when the bright little — flower had thrown her petals wide open, and was looking up at the eye of day, a Lady- | bird alighted on her golden bosom. The | flower and the insect were delighted with | each other, in fact, the best friends possible ; | though, as it was shortly to prove, only fair- weather ones. |
The roving Lady-bird told the stay-at- home Daisy all the news she had collected in her morning calls from flower to flower; how ©
one of the Miss Catchflys had betrayed an
, ; ‘
: : i
) :
THE DAISY, ETC. 221
unwary young flutterer by her honied wiles ;
how a sister of this fair deceiver was in the
strange habit of sleeping all day, and being
awake all night; and how a very suspicious
scent of brandy had been detected in the
yellow gown of the water-drinking Mrs. Lily;
then, casting a significant glance on the adja- cent Hemlock, the tattling insect declared herself sorry to find that the Daisy herself had a near neighbour who bore a very infa- mous reputation—one, against whose dan- gerous poison she must caution her, as a friend, to stand upon her guard. The Daisy thanked the Lady-bird for her kind caution, and begged, in return, that she would never scruple to make use of her, as a resting-place, whenever she flew near. As for that vile Hemlock, it wasn’t likely she would ever notice him.
In the midst of these mutual civilities, the sun, which had been shining with intense
brilliancy, hid himself behind a heavy cloud;
222 THE DAISY, ETC.
and, in proportion as it grew darker, the Lady-bird felt her seat on the Daisy becom- Ing every moment more uneasy, as the latter, thinking only of self-preservation, began to close up her petals, in preparation for the approaching storm.
All at once, down came the pattering rain-drops. ‘“ Pray, dear Daisy,” cried the ~ Lady-bird, ‘‘ don’t push me away; only let me stay while the storm lasts, and shut me in with your red and white curtains.” “A likely matter, indeed!” returned the other; “why, such a great creature as you would tear them all to tatters! Fly away, Lady- bird, and come again in fair weather.” The Lady-bird looked up at the sky, and saw that the increasing rain and hail would batter her wings to pieces if she attempted flight. She looked down to the ground, and saw that the growing pools threatened to drown her. In this extremity, who should come to her rescue
but the poor abused Hemlock. ‘ Come,”
THE DAISY, ETC. 223
said he, kindly, ‘‘if you can but manage to creep up under it, you are welcome to the shelter of my umbrella.” The Lady-bird was glad enough to accept his friendly offer, and, climbing into the proffered place of refuge,
hid her head at once for safety and for shame.
NOTES.
THE common Spotted Hemlock is a tall, umbel- late plant, with a smooth, shining, spotted stalk, much branched, bearing umbells of white flowers in summer, and seeds in autumn; the leaves are glossy, and of a strong foetid odour. This is one of our most poisonous plants growing on dry ground, the greater number of such being found near water. It is, however, used medicinally in desperate disorders, and the seeds afford nourish- ment to birds, some having been found by Ray in the crop of a Thrush. Umbellate flowers are those grouped together, and forming a compact
294. THE DAISY, ETC.
head upon stalks of equal length, diverging like |
the supports of an umbrella.
The common Daisy (Bellis, signifying pretty) flowers from the beginning of spring to the end of autumn, and, in mild weather, even in the midst of winter. At night it always closes, also in wet weather, whence its English name of Day’s
:
| |
| | |
Eye, or Eye of the Day. It is remarked by |
Curtis, that our old Poet, Chaucer, was, perhaps, the first to notice the Horologium flore, or opening and shutting-up of flowers at a particular time of day, and that Etymologists agree with him in the derivation of Daisy: when noticing her “ feare of nighte,” he says—
** Well by reason men it calle maie The Daisie, or else the Eye of the Daie.”
Rowley notices a similar property in the Marygold—
“ The Mary-bud that shutteth with the light ;”
the flowers of which are said, by Linnzus, to —
open from nine in the morning till three in the afternoon. Skakspeare also speaks of—
“The Marigold that goes to bed with the sun, And with him rises weeping.”
; | THE DAISY, ETC. 225 | *‘ Of other plants in the same natural order of Composite, or Compound Flowers, the Dande- lion opens at five or six, and closes at nine; the _Mouse-ear Hawkweed at eight, and closes at twelve; the Sow Thistle at five, and closes between eleven and twelve.’’—Classes and Orders of the Linnzean System Illustrated. |
It is remarked by Curtis, that farmers proba- . bly pay dear for their “enamelled meads, and daisied carpets,” as horses and sheep refuse, and probably cattle do not willingly crop the Daisy. Its estimation in the medical world (where we believe it has a place), must have greatly declined. since the days of Gerarde, who tells us that * Daisies do mitigate all paines.”
The Red Catchfly, common in gardens, and rarely found wild, has straight, jomted stems, with a clammy, viscid substance under each joint, by which insects are plentifully caught. It is con- jectured that this, and other insect-catching plants, derive from their decaying bodies, an air salutary to vegetable life.
The Night-flowering Catchfly—a variety, with cream-coloured blossoms, found wild in sandy fields—rolls up its petals every morning, and un- folds them of an evening, when it also becomes
26
226 THE DAISY, ETC.
sweet. This operation is repeated while the flower lasts, which is several days. ‘‘ Does the action of light upon the upper surface of each petal cause it to contract? Such flowers are a curious phenome- non—a subject for philosophic musing, when the mind is best disposed for contemplation of nature's works.”’—Sowerby’s Eng. Botany.
The Yellow Water Lily (Nymphea lutea) is a large showy plant, not uncommon in rivers and large pools. The flowers smell like brandy, whence they are vulgarly called, in Norfolk, Brandy-bottles.
Ny TTR I RLS LD SE AE I ORI I OT ARENT IEICE cS
THE EPERGNE.
| ,
¢
XXVIII. THE EPERGNE.
In the centre of a table prepared for a
_ splendid banquet, stood a richly ornamented
silver basket, or Epergne, containing a gor-
| geous and tastefully arranged group of freshly _ gathered flowers. Gold and silver plate,
porcelain and cut glass, formed into various shapes of elegance, were displayed around.
Painted lamps, suspended from the ceiling,
shed forth a warm, soft lustre, which was in
ae ae
perfect harmony with the rich magnificence of each artificial object; but the flowers seemed oppressed by the heated though chas- tened glare. A few only of the more pam- pered exotics—the symmetrical Camelia and
the luscious-scented Tuberose, appeared still
298 THE EPERGNE.
in their native element; their wax-like forms | looking almost like copies wrought by Nature | _ from the works of her own pupil, Art: but the simpler natives of the garden looked wan | and faded, and drooped their heads over the © chased sides of the Epergne. In so doing, a — young Narcissus was the first to observe, not a reflection, but a solid image of himself in the embossed wreath of silver flowers which — festooned the basket. His vanity (inherited, doubtless, from his classic ancestor) was — highly flattered, and he immediately whis- — pered his discovery to his drooping fellows, © who, each perking up his head, sought to find or fancy his own likeness in the silver wreath, or some other of the surrounding objects. Nor was this difficult, where flowers and foliage, either in high relief, or exqui- sitely painted, or skilfully woven, formed the prevailing decorations on table, floor, and ceiling. Some even detected the imitation
of their elegant forms in those of various
THE EPERGNE. 299
pieces of plate and porcelain. Cups, plates,
salvers and flagons bore no imaginary resem-
blance to their delicately moulded calyxes
and corollas. The Bell flowers saw them- selves repeated in the crystal wine-glasses and goblets; and the broad-based, columnar style of the Lily seemed to have suggested the form of the candlesticks.
These flattering resemblances, first pointed
out by the vanity of the young Narcissus, were
improved into a theme of profitable reflection and consolation by the wisdom of a mature Sage. Addressing his comrades, most of whom were shedding tears of sap at separation from their parent stems, and at the same time bewail- ing the cruelty of man, ‘‘ Cheer up, my friends,” said he, “and cease your unjust repinings. Man, after all, is more our friend than foe. "Tis true, indeed, he sometimes shortens the thread of our always brief existence, but, in so doing, he preserves us from lingering
decay ; and, what is more, does he not con-
230 THE EPERGNE.
struct noble monuments to our memory, and, i} as you have already noticed, perpetuate our | | _ fragile forms in the most durable materials? | Let us, then, fulfil our destiny without a murmur, and cheerfully exhale our dying perfume in the service of no ungrateful — master.”
NOTES.
Many of the most useful and beautiful works of art owe their origin to an imitation of the graceful forms of nature. In architecture, the elegant Gothic arch was, doubtless, suggested by the interlacing boughs of the stately avenue, and the rich adornment of the Corinthian capital sprung from observation of the leaves of the Acanthus. Cups, lamps, salvers, urns, and vases, as noticed in the Fable, all find their models in the vegetable kingdom. The scroll-like form of shells has furnished a pattern for the car, the couch, and the carriage; and amongst these pro- ductions of the sea must not be omitted the
THE EPERGNE. 931
Nautilus, from whose primitive little boat the
| early mariner first learnt—
“To sail,
Ply the swift oar, and catch the rising gale.”
In the tail-piece illustrative of the Epergne, No. 1, is the seed vessel of the Teek—2, that of the Lecythis Grandiflora—3, that of the
-Poppy—4, a leaf of the Pitcher Plant—5, an Acorn cup—6, the Cup Moss; and 7, two or
three species of Erica or Heath.
“XXIX., THE FAIRY FREEBOOTERS.
AccorDING to the most approved legendary lore, the Fairy race, whatever their enmity towards mankind, were amongst themselves a peaceable people. Once, how- | ever, a party of young and turbulent spirits, ‘who, on several occasions, had defied the au- _ thority, and broken the ordinances of Queen Mab, brought-themselves, by such proceed- ings, to the condition of proscribed outlaws ; and then, for their own protection, as well as with a view to further aggression, thought fit to assume the arms and discipline of regular soldiers. Their light garments of peace were laid aside ; but none among them
having learned the trade of armoury, they
EE
THE
FAIRY FREEBOOTERS.
THE FAIRY FREEBOOTERS. 930
boldly attacked the stores of the floral king- dom, in order to furnish their equipments.
By help of this expedient they were soon
armed cap-d-pée. The helmets of the _ Aconite made them excellent head-pieces ;
the silvery scales of the Knapweed, ad-
mirable coats of mail; the leaves of the
_ Penny-wort, capital shields; the Grasses left
them at no loss for formidable two-edged _ swords, or the Shepherd’s Needle, for spears ; | while the Red-handed Orchis completed their equipments by spurs of tremendous length
'-and sharpness. So far, their audacity was
successful ; and, owing to the vast extent of
ther stores, and the occupation of other
weighty matters, Flora, for a time, either did not perceive, or chose to wink at the law- ess proceedings of the pigmy depredators ;
but, encouraged by impunity, their ravages
- increased, at last, to such an extent, as to
call for repression and punishment. Not satisfied with having obtained what they re- 2H
234: THE FAIRY FREEBOOTERS.
quired for absolute use, these pert little militaires were for ever capriciously changing the fashion of their accoutrements, and new
regulation helmets, new regulation sabres,
belts, and breast-plates, were continually the.
order of the day. Their consequent rob- beries on the vegetable race became most serious, and Flora was compelled to take up the defence of her rifled subjects. The gentle Queen of Flowers was, at first, how- ever, desirous to employ conciliatory mea- sures; and one day, when the Fairy Free- booters were ransacking, and plucking, and trampling, and pulling, with all the coolness imaginable, she sent one of her Ladies of Honour with a civil message, begging that the little gentlemen would please to desist from their depredations. The tiny warriors, who, to lighten their unlawful labours, had been drinking brimful cups of nectar, only laughed at the message, and, what was worse,
behaved with great freedom and rudeness to
|
ee ee ee
THE FAIRY FREEBOOTERS. 235 Flora’s pretty messenger, who immediately took to flight, the whole troop of elvish soldiers following in pursuit. The Maid of Honour, having much longer legs, had greatly the advantage of her pursuers, till, on passing through a tangled wood, the brambles caught, first one and then another of the Lady’s Slippers, of embroidered yellow satin, which, being unfortunately rather too large, she was compelled to leave behind. At this juncture of her flight, several of her Fairy pursuers actually reached her, and, rudely snatching at her fair white hand, endeavoured to detain it in their united grasp, but on she pressed, and left behind a sad token of her resolution in the Lady’s Finger, which, changed into a flower, yet attests her firmness. Still she flew forwards, the Freebooters laughing and shouting at her
heels,
“‘ Through moss and through mire, Through brake and through brier.”
236 THE FAIRY FREEBOOTERS.
Such a chase was never known before. On | the top of a lofty mountain (a prey to the © wind) was abandoned the Lady’s Mantle.* © This was bad enough, but worse remains to | tell; for, on passing over a watery marsh, the | unfortunate Maid of Honour sank into a swamp, from which she escaped with the greatest difficulty, beimg compelled to aban- — don all her mud-soaked garments, even to that part of her apparel vulgarly known by the appellation of Lady’s Smock. After
all her sufferings, the hapless messenger of
Flora at last reached her mistress’s court, | where the sensation created by her appear- | arice is indescribable. How the gods frowned and vowed revenge; how the goddesses blushed and offered assistance; how they hastened to place the luckless nymph in a warm bath of rose-water, and kindly ad- ministered a comfortable posset of mulled metheglin ; these and other such interesting * See note, page 114.
ee ee
: !
THE FAIRY FREEBOOTERS. 237
particulars are, doubtless, fully recorded in the chronicles of Olympus. But who shall paint the indignation of Flora, thus insulted in the person of her messenger? That very night she despatched a formal embassage to Queen Mab, demanding that the delinquent Freebooters should immediately be seized, and condemned tocondign punishment. Her Fairy Majesty returned a courteous answer, disavowed all countenance of the aggressors, and promised to spare no efforts for bringing them to justice. The Queen of Fays found it no easy task to fulfil her promise, for, as long as their stores of stolen armour lasted, her outlaw subjects came off victorious in every encounter with the royal forces. At length, however, their mail and weapons being neither of the most durable materials, were injured by repeated conflicts; and so strict a watch was now set over the formerly rifled flowers, that no new supply could be
obtained. The Fairy Freebooters were thus,
238 THE FAIRY FREEBOOTERS.
at last, all seized, and, for punishment of their long-continued course of crime, were _ taken to a chalky eminence, ignominiously | stripped of the remains of their stolen armour (except their helmets), and hung up, in terrorem, to the stalks of the Soldier Orchis, where, being immortal, their living
bodies are still seen suspended.
NOTES.
Tue hollow, arched, and open upper petal of the Aconitum Napellus, Wolfsbane, or Monk’s- hood, called, likewise, English Helmet Flower, exactly resembles a helmet in shape; as do, also, in a greater or less degree, the upper lips or petals of the Dead Nettle, and many other labiate flowers.
The globular pericline of the Knapweed, the Blue-bottle, and many other compound flowers, is covered with a sort of silver-edged, scaly armour.
The leaves of the Marsh Penny-wort are a perfect specimen of the orbicular or shield-shape form.
THE FAIRY FREEBOOTERS. 239
The oblong fruit of the Shepherd’s Needle, or Needle Chervil, is remarkable for a very long, straight beak, to which it owes its familiar appel- lation.
The spur of the Red-handed Orchis, or Gnat Gymnadenia, is linear, long, and sharp.
The Lady’s Slipper (Cyprepedium), so called from the singular resemblance of the large in- flated lip of the flower to a shoe, is considered, for its beauty and rarity, the Queen of English Orchide. It is seldom now found in the neigh- bourhood of London or large towns, but chiefly in remote and little frequented woods in the north of England, and in the gardens to which it has been transplanted, in which, however, it rarely thrives. It seems not to have been known as a native in the time of old Gerarde, who, under the name of Calceolus Maria (Our Lady’s Shoe), as- signs it to the mountains of Germany, Hungary, and Poland, adding—‘“ I had a plante thereof in my garden, received from Master Garret, apothe- carie, my verie good friend.” The shoe-like part is yellow, spotted with red, There is an elegant species of this plant, mentioned by Catesby in his History of Carolina, offering a yet closer imitation of a slipper, together with a
940 THE FAIRY FREEBOOTERS.
variety called Le Sabot des Indes, and, by the Indians, the Mocassin Flower.
Lady’s Finger, or Podded Kidney Vetch, a leguminous plant, with yellow flowers, growing in chalky and sandy pastures—so called from a fancied resemblance in its long slender pods.
The ‘ Lady’s Smock, all silver white,” which “ paints the meadows with delight” in April and May, is supposed to have derived its English name from the white appearance given by its blossoms to the damp meadows where it abounds, resembling linen bleaching on the grass,—‘‘ when maidens bleach their summer smocks”—a practice very general, formerly, when families spun and bleached their own linen.
The Man or Soldier Orchis represents in its flower-lip the figure of a man, helmeted by the petals.
willie aise
THE TRANSPLANTED PRIMROSE.
XXX.
THE TRANSPLANTED PRIMROSE.
Two Primrose roots grew side by side,
near the foot of a wood-covered hill. Shel-
tered from the northern blasts, they were ever the first to welcome returning spring, and were themselves always greeted with delight by groups of metry children who resorted to the warm nook they occupied. These flowers ought to have been as happy as Primroses could be, and one of them, indeed, bloomed in perfect contentment. The other, on the contrary, was silly enough to give ear to the suggestions of a poisonous Nightshade, which overshadowed her; and, growing dissatisfied with her own quiet dwelling-place and simple attire, began aE
242 THE TRANSPLANTED PRIMROSE.
drawing comparisons between herself and —
others. The flaunting Poppy, and the lofty
“Maullein, became especial objects of envy; and —
though her gentle sister tried to cheer her, this foolish flower drooped her head, and
grew paler and paler as more gaudy blossoms ©
sprung up beside her. One day who should
come to the Primrose bank but a skilful —
Florist, in search of roots to convert, by culture, into Polyanthuses. Our discontented murmurer was one he happened to select for his purpose ; in a moment she was uprooted, and, with a portion of earth, conveyed to the collector’s basket. The sudden shock of removal disconcerted her tender ladyship not a little; but a fragment of the poisonous Nightshade, which still clung round her, whispered that she was now about to be promoted to high honours, and on the very point of obtaining that distinction after which she had so long been pining. Though some-
what consoled by such flattering assurances,
THE TRANSPLANTED PRIMROSE. 243 _
our poor Primrose soon found that she had been taken out of her native element. The rich compost of the bed wherein she was now placed, felt heavy in comparison with the light, sandy soil in which her roots had been accustomed to play; and the unsavoury steams drawn up around her by the sun, were a sorry substitute for the dewy fragrance of her late mossy couch. These désagrémens had, however, their compensation (such as it was), in the fulfilment of some of her late ambitious aspirations. By degrees her form became expanded, her colour grew richer, and, in time, behold the simple Primrose of the wood transformed into the velvet-clad Polyanthus of the border. Prized by her cultivator—admired by the visitors to his garden, she might, indeed, have seemed arrived at the summit of her wishes; but happiness attained is an ideal- point which
the envious and discontented never reach.
Raised as the Primrose was, this her very
944. THE TRANSPLANTED PRIMROSE.
elevation brought her in competition with | the Tulip and the Rose, and they looked —
down upon her. Still she was a prodigious —
favourite with her cultivator, who intended
her for exhibition at a horticultural show.
For several days previous he paid her almost |
hourly visits, to inspect her progress towards
perfection, and guard against the intrusion of ©
spot or stain upon her velvet gown.
The eve of the flower-show arvine and, before retiring to rest, the Florist once more sought his favourite—the perfect Polyanthus, which was to win him the morrow’s prize: but, alas! a Canker-worm had been there before him, and the late symmetrical petals of the flower, now notched and disfigured, attested but too clearly the work of the ravyager. The Florist looked aghast; then, giving way to a transport of rage and dis- appointment, tore up by the roots the unfor- tunate Polyanthus—trampled her beneath his feet, then threw her on a heap of rubbish.
THE TRANSPLANTED PRIMROSE. 245
From thence a few of her mutilated remains were borne upon the wind, even to the mossy bank where she had flourished in humbler, happier days. There the contented Primrose still bloomed in all her native simplicity, and shed a dewdrop of pity over the fate of her
hapless sister.
NOTES.
THE common Primrose (Primula vulgaris), the Poets’ favourite theme, and harbinger of spring, is distinguished from the Cowslip by the rim being concave in one, and flat in the other. Linnzus considered these plants as only varieties of each other, but most Botanists reckon them distinct species. ‘‘ The contemplative mind,” says Curtis, in his Flora Londinensis, “feels a complacency in surveying the improvements which Providence permits to take place in that part of the animal and vegetable world which mankind have brought under their own care and
946 THE TRANSPLANTED PRIMROSE.
protection. Many instances of these might be adduced from the more useful and necessary pro- ductions, but it is not those only that amend under our care ; we are permitted, also, to gratify our sight with the endless variations that flowers put on when cultivated by the curious ; nor in any one instance does—
‘ The exulting florist mark, With secret pride, the wonders of his hand,’
more than in the boundless luxuriance that Poly- anthuses assume; their parent Primrose being a native. Cowslips also change, in cultivation, from yellow to orange-tawny, and, finally, to deep red.”
THE VEGETABLE VAMPIRE.
XXXI. THE VEGETABLE VAMPIRE.
A youne plant of Dodder had scarcely risen from the bosom of his mother earth, when, with the natural tendency of his para- sitic race, he began life by seeking among strangers for a foster-parent and patron. With this view he made gradual advances towards an unsuspecting Bean, and, at last, ventured to embrace him with a show of the greatest affection. Deceived by his gentle, inoffensive exterior, the Bean most readily afforded that assistance and support which the weaker plant seemed so much in need of; but no sooner did the latter obtain a firm hold on his benefactor, than he forsook alto- gether the parent soil by which he had hitherto been nourished, and began, like a
vampire, to suck the very life-blood, in other
248 THE VEGETABLE VAMPIRE.
words, to draw out the sap of the unfortunate Bean, converting it into nutriment for him- self. So gradual, however, were the traitor’s operations, that their victim (like the uncon- scious sleeper fanned to deadly slumber by the leathern wings of the Indian Bat) re- -' mained for a season perfectly unsuspicious of his danger, and even felt a generous pride in supporting the slender but graceful stalks of his youthful dependant. But, ere long, the exactions of the parasitic Dodder grow- ing with his growth, and strengthening with his strength, the unfortunate Bean found his substance proportionably wasting, and be- coming daily more inadequate to supply the rightful claims of his own branches. Vain now, however, were all his efforts to throw off the treacherous stranger, whose twining grasp rendered him helpless as the powerful Buffalo in the folds of the scaly Boa. Nothing was left him but submission, and, having incurred his misfortunes by no fault
of his own, save too great a measure of un-
THE VEGETABLE VAMPIRE. 249
suspecting confidence, the sting of self- reproach was not added to his misery. The suffering alone had hitherto been his; the sin rested with his insidious enemy. No revenge was in the power had it been in the will of the injured Bean; but that provision of unerring nature which, for some good and useful purpose, had rendered the Dodder an instrument of his destruction, involved the destroyer in the fate of his victim.
As the vital juices of the more powerful plant became gradually exhausted, the nourishment of his craving dependant was, in like measure, cut off; and, before the Bean was wholly bereft of existence, the withered arms of the Dodder were seen to hang loose
and lifeless around his shrunken stalk.
NOTES.
Tue Dodder tribe is composed of most sin- gular parasitical plants, which derive their entire
OK
250 THE VEGETABLE VAMPIRE.
nourishment from those vegetables about which they twine, and into whose tender barks they insert small villous tubercles serving as roots; the original root of the Dodder withering away entirely as soon as the young stem has fixed itself to any other plant, so that its connection with the earth is cut off. It is, sometimes, gathered on common Heath, Nettles, Flax, Beans, Thistles, &c. Gerarde describes it as ‘‘a strange herbe, altogether without leaves or rootes, like unto threds winding themselves about bushes and hedges, and sundrie kindes of herbes ; the threds reddish, here and there round heads or knops bringing forthe, at first, small white flowers, afterwards seeds.” The tubercles of the parasite insinuate their points into the bark-pores of the supporting plant, burst the vessels of which it is composed, and receive the extravasated
nutritious juice.
7 G
XXXII,
THE EVENING PRIMROSE, THE BUTTERFLY,
AND THE OWL.
A suPERB Empress of Morocco, glittering in gold and purple, alighted, one fine sum- mer’s morning, on an open Sunflower, whose glorious disk seemed to emulate the orb of day. The splendid flower and the gorgeous insect were worthy of each other, and, for a brief season, the volatile Empress seemed to
bestow as much adoration on the constant
Peruvian, as he on the god he delighted to
honour and attend. She soon, however, grew tired of his honied fragrance, and de- serted him for an Evening Primrose which grew near. Having settled on one of the
sulphur-coloured buds of the flower in ques-
252 THE EVENING PRIMROSE.
tion, she then, for the first time, perceived them to be all closed. ‘‘ Hey-day!” cried the vain, imperious insect, impatiently tap- ping with her foot on the flower’s folded petals; “what do you mean by being asleep at this noon-day hour, when all the
world is stirring? Come, make haste, un-
draw your curtains, and let me have a sip of —
your nectar, if, indeed, you've any worth the tasting.” Not the slightest notice was taken of this authoritative mandate. The drowsy flower either did not hear, or thought he might have been addressed with more civility. ‘Just as you please, impertinent varlet!” exclaimed the angry and disappointed But- terfly ; ‘‘the next time I honour you witha visit, you'll behave with a little more re- spect ;” so saying, the offended Empress tossed her plumes, and extended her painted wings for flight; but, ere she had time to rise, she was startled by a strange voice from the
midst of a neighbouring Ivy-bush.
THE EVENING PRIMROSE. 953
_ Too-whit! 'Too-who! How do you do?” were the words addressed to her by a cun- ning old Owl, who, between sleeping and waking, had been, all this time, blinking his yellow eye at the Empress’s proceedings, and thinking that if Butterflies, as well as Moths, flew abroad at night-time, he should have a greater variety of delicacies for his supper. ** Too-whit! Too-who! How do you do?” repeated he, and then continued, in his softest voice, “‘ Believe me, fair lady, I feel truly concerned at the uncivil treatment you have received from that impertinent, lazy flower. I know, however, that he makes it arule never to receive visitors by daylight, or dispense his perfume, except of an evening; but if you come again towards nightfall, I'll answer for your meeting with a different reception.” ‘‘ Much obliged, sir, though I have not the pleasure of your ac- quaintance,” returned the Empress, rather
contemptuously; ‘but as to coming hither
254 THE EVENING PRIMROSE.
again, I shall scarcely think it worth my while, since, shut or open, I’m sure this paltry flower has neither beauty nor sweet- ness to repay the trouble.” ‘‘ Pardon me, madam,” said the Owl, “for his beauty, when displayed, is of no mean order; and as for his fragrance, it is exceedingly fine and deli- cate, as your fair cousin Moth can testify by her own experience.” ‘‘ My cousin Moth!” exclaimed the Butterfly, pricking up her feelers. ‘‘So, so, he can bestow his sweetness upon her, and yet deny it unto me; but I won't believe anything of the sort.” ‘‘ Well,” responded the Owl, with dignity, ‘‘’tis no business of mine ; indeed, such trifles are be- neath my notice ; butif your ladyship doubts my word, you had better come this evening and see for yourself.” ‘‘ Indeed, I shan’t trouble myself!” said the Empress, and away she flew. The Owl laughed in his feathery ruff at the Butterfly’s last words, for, being a bird of wisdom, he knew they meant nothing,
a
THE EVENING PRIMROSE. 255
and felt quite sure that the pique and jealousy he had roused would bring her there again at night. His sagacity was proved by the event. Instead of, as usual, retiring to her leafy couch at sunset, the Butterfly kept her eyes open, and by the light of a rising moon found her way to the abode of the Evening Primrose, who was
then wide awake, and looking up at the stars,
the air around being laden with his fragrance.
“ Well,” thought the Empress, “my friend in the Ivy-bush was quite right, it seems, in one part of his information; but let’s see if cousin Moth is here before me.” Thus soliloquizing, the Empress, whose wings drooped heavily with the falling night-dew, was glad to rest upon the now expanded corolla of the Evening Primrose.
At that moment the Owl’s voice again resounded from the Ivy-bush: ‘ Too-whit! Too-who! I’m a match for you!” and darting
open-mouthed from his place of ambush, he
956 THE EVENING PRIMROSE.
swallowed the royal Butterfly with quite as little ceremony as he had recently em- ‘ployed in making an end of her cousin Moth.
How often, like the cunning Owl, do they who design us evil use our own tempers and weaknesses as materials wherewith to form a
trap for our destruction.
NOTES.
Tue Greater Sunflower, or Peru Marigold (Helianthus animus), also called Flos Solis, “taking that name,” says old Gerarde, “from those who have reported it to turne with the sunne, the which I could never observe; but I rather thinke it was so called because it doth resemble the radiant beams of the sunne, whence Corona Solis and Sol Indianus.” We have it, however, on more modern authority, that those flowers which imitate the sun in form, as the Sunflower, Daisy, Marigold, &c., are particularly sensible
THE EVENING PRIMROSE. - 257
to the effect of light, and that the former does follow the luminary of day. (See Smith’s Intro- duction to Physiological Botany.)
The common Evening Primrose (nothera biennis) has large yellow flowers, open in the evening. This species is found naturalized in waste places. Sowerby, in his English Botany, tells us that his specimen was gathered on an extensive dreary sandbank on the coast near Liverpool, brought thither, perhaps, from the opposite shores of the Atlantic.
“One species, the Ainothera Fruticosa, a native of Virginia, differs from its congeners by re- maining expanded the whole of the.day which follows its opening.”—Curtis’s Bot. Mag.
“XXXIII.
THE SCORPION GRASS, OR FORGET-ME-NOT.
A GALLANT knight and the lady of his love were walking one fine summer's eve, in the olden time, beside a shady streamlet, whose banks were rich in many-coloured wild flowers, but chiefly abounding in the Water Scorpion Grass, with its hairy leaves and clus- ters of blue golden-eyed blossoms. The lady looked very sad, and the knight very grave, for the latter was to depart for the crusades on the morrow. It matters not what was said on one side, or sworn on the other; suffice it, that the last words spoken by the lovely lady beside that quiet stream, were “Morris, forget me not,” and, as she spoke, she stooped, and, plucking a cluster of the
bright blue flowers, placed them in her lover's
a 7) é ee ad 3 wD
THE SCORPION GRASS. 259
hand, from whence they were presently trans- ferred to his bosom.
A year past over, the blue flowers had faded, and were again renewed upon the streamlet’s bank, as the lady walked beside it, alone, and thinking of him who was far away.
And where was he, the brave crusader ? He was still in that sunny clime where the flowers were gaudier than in his native land, but where the Forget-me-not was utterly unknown. He too, was walking, and near a cooling fountain in an eastern garden, but not alone, for an eastern fair one, a flower of brightest bloom, was by his side. Still, withered as it was, the little blue herb of Europe retained its place beneath the breast- plate of his coat of mail. Of late, indeed, he had sometimes felt annoyance from the touch of the dry and shrivelled plant, and on this day it seemed to sting him like a very
scorpion. ‘“ Why,” thought he, “ should I
260 THE SCORPION GRASS.
foolishly preserve this worthless perished weed in memory of one who has, doubtless, long ago forgotten me?” Thus striving, in his own false-heartedness, to deceive even himself, he removed the cause of his annoy- — ance, and threw the withered plant, leaf, flower, and seed, beside the fountain in the eastern garden.
Another summer came, the English knight again wandered near the fountain with his Syrian bride. Why does he start and push her abruptly from his side? He has seen a little blue flower which never bloomed before beneath an eastern sky.
He has seen the tender “‘ Forget-me-not” of the lovely lady—the stinging Scorpion Grass of her faithless knight.
NOTES.
Tue Water Scorpion Grass (Myosotis palus- tris) has a creeping perennial root, the funnel-
THE SCORPION GRASS. 2961
shaped calyx being covered with straight rigid hairs. The flowers are of a brilliant enamel blue, with a yellow eye, the leaves rather rough. The flowers of the Meadow Scorpion Grass are smaller, and purplish before full expansion. The racemes, or flower-stems, are revolute be- fore blossoming, afterwards erect, ‘‘ the whole branches,” as Gerarde expresses it, ‘turning themselves rounde, like a_ scorpion’s taile,” whence doubtless the name.
_ This plant is a general and deserved favourite for elegance of form and brilliancy of colour, no less than for its proverbial name of “ Forget-me-
not,” originating probably in its remarkable beauty, which few, who have once admired, are ever likely to forget. There are several species of Myosotis, but the flowers of that which grows beside rivers and ditches are the largest and
most conspicuous.
XXXIV.
VULGAR COUSINS ; OR, ALMACK’S IN THE
FLOWER GARDEN.
ONcE upon a time, several flowers of aris- tocratic pretension formed themselves into a sort of select society, from which they de- termined to exclude every plant of plebeian origin or vulgar exterior. At the head of this flowery Almack’s figured, as lady pa- troness, the stately Lily, who reckoned her nobility as stainless as her vesture; and she was, on all occasions, supported by the haughty Planta Genista,* who, remembering with pride his alliance to a royal race, en- tirely forgot the humility of which his ances- tors had been the badge. ‘There were many candidates for admission into this distinguished coterie; amongst others, the Garden Bean,
* Or Broom.
VULGAR COUSINS.
ie
VULGAR COUSINS. 263
who, although scented like a very Narcissus, and wearing a surtout of black velvet, such as none of his brother beaux could boast, _ was scornfully rejected as a vulgar kitchen garden resident. A few of the select were, however, independent enough to support his pretensions, and thence arose a rancorous strife between his favourers and opponents. The period of this dispute was a short time after the decease of the great Linnzeus, whose spirit, after it had passed from earth, used frequently to revisit the flowery shades where he had loved in life to wander. One glorious summer’s evening, the floral grandees having met in full assembly, the shade of the mighty Naturalist appeared in the midst of them: in one hand he held the despised Bean, the rejected candidate, in the other, a useful plant, but one so vulgar, that even its very name is an offence to ears polite. He approached a corner where the lofty
Lily and the proud Planta Genista were
264: VULGAR COUSINS.
engaged in an animated discussion on the disputed admission of the Bean. ‘A sorry pot-herb!” cried the Lily, tossing her head, “to think of his becoming one of us! Why we shall have the families of Leek and Onion pretending next to a place beside us!” “Not pretending, my lady Lily,” responded the Linnzan shade, “not merely pre- tending, but claiming most justly on the score of near relationship. And allow me to present you, madam, to another of your kindred of equally close propinquity.* My lady Lily, your cousin Garlic; Mrs.
3
Garlic, your cousin Lily!” Then turning to the Spanish Broom, “ Let me make you also acquainted with a member of your family. My Lord Plantagenet, your cousin
Bean; Mr. Bean, my Lord Plantagenet!”
* Both belong to the class and order of Hexandria Monogynia.
WRIGHT AND CO., PRINTERS, FLEET STREET. LONDON.
86, FLEET STREET, LONDON,
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