4. Putting aside this deeper question for the moment, let us make sure we understand well, and define safely, the separate parts themselves. A seed consists essentially of a store, or sack, containing substance to nourish a germ of life, which is surrounded by such substance, and in the process of growth is first fed by it. The germ of life itself rises into two portions, and not more than two, in the seeds of two-leaved plants; but this symmetrical dualism must not be allowed to confuse the student's conception, of the three organically separate parts,—the tough skin of a bean, for instance; the softer contents of it which we boil to eat; and the small germ from which the root springs when it is sown. A bean is the best type of the whole structure. An almond out of its shell, a peach-kernel, and an apple-pip are also clear and perfect, though varied types.

5. The husk, or seed-vessel, is seen in perfect simplicity of type in the pod of a bean, or the globe of a poppy. There are, I believe, flowers in which it is absent or imperfect; and when it contains only one seed, it may be so small and closely united with the seed it contains, that both will be naturally thought of as one thing only. Thus, in a dandelion, the little brown grains, which may be blown away, each with its silken parachute, are every one of them a complete husk and {222} seed together. But the majority of instances (and those of plants the most serviceable to man) in which the seed-vessel has entirely a separate structure and mechanical power, justify us in giving it the normal term 'husk,' as the most widely applicable and intelligible.

6. The change of green, hard, and tasteless vegetable substance into beautifully coloured, soft, and delicious substance, which produces what we call a fruit, is, in most cases, of the husk only; in others, of the part of the stalk which immediately sustains the seed; and in a very few instances, not properly a change, but a distinct formation, of fruity substance between the husk and seed. Normally, however, the husk, like the seed, consists always of three parts; it has an outer skin, a central substance of peculiar nature, and an inner skin, which holds the seed. The main difficulty, in describing or thinking of the completely ripened product of any plant, is to discern clearly which is the inner skin of the husk, and which the outer skin of the seed. The peach is in this respect the best general type,—the woolly skin being the outer one of the husk; the part we eat, the central substance of the husk; and the hard shell of the stone, the inner skin of the husk. The bitter kernel within is the seed.

7. In this case, and in the plum and cherry, the two parts under present examination—husk and seed—separate naturally; the fruity part, which is the body of the husk, adhering firmly to the shell, which is its inner {223} coat. But in the walnut and almond, the two outer parts of the husk separate from the interior one, which becomes an apparently independent 'shell.' So that when first I approached this subject I divided the general structure of a treasury into three parts—husk, shell, and kernel; and this division, when we once have mastered the main one, will be often useful. But at first let the student keep steadily to his conception of the two constant parts, husk and seed, reserving the idea of shells and kernels for one group of plants only.

8. It will not be always without difficulty that he maintains the distinction, when the tree pretends to have changed it. Thus, in the chestnut, the inner coat of the husk becomes brown, adheres to the seed, and seems part of it; and we naturally call only the thick, green, prickly coat, the husk. But this is only one of the deceiving tricks of Nature, to compel our attention more closely. The real place of separation, to her mind, is between the mahogany-coloured shell and the nut itself, and that more or less silky and flossy coating within the brown shell is the true lining of the entire 'husk.' The paler brown skin, following the rugosities of the nut, is the true sack or skin of the seed. Similarly in the walnut and almond.

9. But, in the apple, two new tricks are played us. First, in the brown skin of the ripe pip, we might imagine we saw the part correspondent to the mahogany skin of the chestnut, and therefore the inner coat of the {224} husk. But it is not so. The brown skin of the pips belongs to them properly, and is all their own. It is the true skin or sack of the seed. The inner coat of the husk is the smooth, white, scaly part of the core that holds them.

Then,—for trick number two. We should as naturally imagine the skin of the apple, which we peel off, to be correspondent to the skin of the peach; and therefore, to be the outer part of the husk. But not at all. The outer part of the husk in the apple is melted away into the fruity mass of it, and the red skin outside is the skin of its stalk, not of its seed-vessel at all!

10. I say 'of its stalk,'—that is to say, of the part of the stalk immediately sustaining the seed, commonly called the torus, and expanding into the calyx. In the apple, this torus incorporates itself with the husk completely; then refines its own external skin, and colours that variously and beautifully, like the true skin of the husk in the peach, while the withered leaves of the calyx remain in the 'eye' of the apple.

But in the 'hip' of the rose, the incorporation with the husk of the seed does not take place. The torus, or,—as in this flower from its peculiar form it is called,—the tube of the calyx, alone forms the frutescent part of the hip; and the complete seeds, husk and all, (the firm triangular husk enclosing an almond-shaped kernel,) are grouped closely in its interior cavity, while the calyx remains on the top in a large and scarcely withering star. {225} In the nut, the calyx remains green and beautiful, forming what we call the husk of a filbert; and again we find Nature amusing herself by trying to make us think that this strict envelope, almost closing over the single seed, is the same thing to the nut that its green shell is to a walnut!

11. With still more capricious masquing, she varies and hides the structure of her 'berries.'

The strawberry is a hip turned inside-out, the frutescent receptacle changed into a scarlet ball, or cone, of crystalline and delicious coral, in the outside of which the separate seeds, husk and all, are imbedded. In the raspberry and blackberry, the interior mound remains sapless; and the rubied translucency of dulcet substance is formed round each separate seed, upon its husk; not a part of the husk, but now an entirely independent and added portion of the plant's bodily form.

12. What is thus done for each seed, on the outside of the receptacle, in the raspberry, is done for each seed, inside the calyx, in a pomegranate; which is a hip in which the seeds have become surrounded with a radiant juice, richer than claret wine; while the seed itself, within the generous jewel, is succulent also, and spoken of by Tournefort as a "baie succulente." The tube of the calyx, brown-russet like a large hip, externally, is yet otherwise divided, and separated wholly from the cinque-foiled, and cinque-celled rose, both in number of petal and division of treasuries; the calyx has eight points, and nine cells. {226}

13. Lastly, in the orange, the fount of fragrant juice is interposed between the seed and the husk. It is wholly independent of both; the Aurantine rind, with its white lining and divided compartments, is the true husk; the orange pips are the true seeds; and the eatable part of the fruit is formed between them, in clusters of delicate little flasks, as if a fairy's store of scented wine had been laid up by her in the hollow of a chestnut shell, between the nut and rind; and then the green changed to gold.

14. I have said 'lastly'—of the orange, for fear of the reader's weariness only; not as having yet represented, far less exhausted, the variety of frutescent form. But these are the most important types of it; and before I can explain the relation between these, and another, too often confounded with them—the granular form of the seed of grasses.—I must give some account of what, to man, is far more important than the form—the gift to him in fruit-food; and trial, in fruit-temptation.

* * * * *

{227}

CHAPTER XIV.

THE FRUIT GIFT.

1. In the course of the preceding chapter, I hope that the reader has obtained, or may by a little patience both obtain and secure, the idea of a great natural Ordinance, which, in the protection given to the part of plants necessary to prolong their race, provides, for happier living creatures, food delightful to their taste, and forms either amusing or beautiful to their eyes. Whether in receptacle, calyx, or true husk,—in the cup of the acorn, the fringe of the filbert, the down of the apricot, or bloom of the plum, the powers of Nature consult quite other ends than the mere continuance of oaks and plum trees on the earth; and must be regarded always with gratitude more deep than wonder, when they are indeed seen with human eyes and human intellect.

2. But in one family of plants, the contents also of the seed, not the envelope of it merely, are prepared for the support of the higher animal life; and their grain, filled with the substance which, for universally understood name, may best keep the Latin one of Farina,—becoming in French, 'Farine,' and in English, 'Flour,'—both in the perfectly nourishing elements of it, and its {228} easy and abundant multiplicability, becomes the primal treasure of human economy.

3. It has been the practice of botanists of all nations to consider the seeds of the grasses together with those of roses and pease, as if all could be described on the same principles, and with the same nomenclature of parts. But the grain of corn is a quite distinct thing from the seed of pease. In it, the husk and the seed envelope have become inextricably one. All the exocarps, endocarps, epicarps, mesocarps, shells, husks, sacks, and skins, are woven at once together into the brown bran; and inside of that, a new substance is collected for us, which is not what we boil in pease, or poach in eggs, or munch in nuts, or grind in coffee;—but a thing which, mixed with water and then baked, has given to all the nations of the world their prime word for food, in thought and prayer,—Bread; their prime conception of the man's and woman's labor in preparing it—("whoso putteth hand to the plough"—two women shall be grinding at the mill)—their prime notion of the means of cooking by fire—("which to-day is, and to-morrow is cast into the oven"), and their prime notion of culinary office—the "chief baker," cook, or pastrycook,—(compare Bedreddin Hassan in the Arabian Nights): and, finally, to modern civilization, the Saxon word 'lady,' with whatever it imports.

4. It has also been the practice of botanists to confuse all the ripened products of plants under the general term {229} 'fruit.' But the essential and separate fruit-gift is of two substances, quite distinct from flour, namely, oil and wine, under the last term including for the moment all kinds of juice which will produce alcohol by fermentation. Of these, oil may be produced either in the kernels of nuts, as in almonds, or in the substance of berries, as in the olive, date, and coffee-berry. But the sweet juice which will become medicinal in wine, can only be developed in the husk, or in the receptacle.

5. The office of the Chief Butler, as opposed to that of the Chief Baker, and the office of the Good Samaritan, pouring in oil and wine, refer both to the total fruit-gift in both kinds: but in the study of plants, we must primarily separate our notion of their gifts to men into the three elements, flour, oil, and wine; and have instantly and always intelligible names for them in Latin, French, and English.

And I think it best not to confuse our ideas of pure vegetable substance with the possible process of fermentation:—so that rather than 'wine,' for a constant specific term, I will take 'Nectar,'—this term more rightly including the juices of the peach, nectarine, and plum, as well as those of the grape, currant, and apple.

Our three separate substances will then be easily named in all three languages:

Farina. Oleum. Nectar. Farine. Huile. Nectare. Flour. Oil. Nectar.

{230}

There is this farther advantage in keeping the third common term, that it leaves us the words Succus, Jus, Juice, for other liquid products of plants, watery, milky, sugary, or resinous,—often indeed important to man, but often also without either agreeable flavor or nutritious power; and it is therefore to be observed with care that we may use the word 'juice,' of a liquid produced by any part of a plant, but 'nectar,' only of the juices produced in its fruit.

6. But the good and pleasure of fruit is not in the juice only;—in some kinds, and those not the least valuable, (as the date,) it is not in the juice at all. We still stand absolutely in want of a word to express the more or less firm substance of fruit, as distinguished from all other products of a plant. And with the usual ill-luck,—(I advisedly think of it as demoniacal misfortune)—of botanical science, no other name has been yet used for such substance than the entirely false and ugly one of 'Flesh,'—Fr., 'Chair,' with its still more painful derivation 'Charnu,' and in England the monstrous scientific term, 'Sarco-carp.'

But, under the housewifery of Proserpina, since we are to call the juice of fruit, Nectar, its substance will be as naturally and easily called Ambrosia; and I have no doubt that this, with the other names defined in this chapter, will not only be found practically more convenient than the phrases in common use, but will more securely fix in the student's mind a true conception of {231} the essential differences in substance, which, ultimately, depend wholly on their pleasantness to human perception, and offices for human good; and not at all on any otherwise explicable structure or faculty. It is of no use to determine, by microscope or retort, that cinnamon is made of cells with so many walls, or grape-juice of molecules with so many sides;—we are just as far as ever from understanding why these particular interstices should be aromatic, and these special parallelopipeds exhilarating, as we were in the savagely unscientific days when we could only see with our eyes, and smell with our noses. But to call each of these separate substances by a name rightly belonging to it through all the past variations of the language of educated man, will probably enable us often to discern powers in the thing itself, of affecting the human body and mind, which are indeed qualities infinitely more its own, than any which can possibly be extracted by the point of a knife, or brayed out with a mortar and pestle.

7. Thus, to take merely instance in the three main elements of which we have just determined the names,—flour, oil, and ambrosia;—the differences in the kinds of pleasure which the tongue received from the powderiness of oat-cake, or a well-boiled potato—(in the days when oat-cake and potatoes were!)—from the glossily-softened crispness of a well-made salad, and from the cool and fragrant amber of an apricot, are indeed distinctions between the essential virtues of things which {232} were made to be tasted, much more than to be eaten; and in their various methods of ministry to, and temptation of, human appetites, have their part in the history, not of elements merely, but of souls; and of the soul-virtues, which from the beginning of the world have bade the barrel of meal not waste, nor the cruse of oil fail; and have planted, by waters of comfort, the fruits which are for the healing of nations.

8. And, again, therefore, I must repeat, with insistance, the claim I have made for the limitation of language to the use made of it by educated men. The word 'carp' could never have multiplied itself into the absurdities of endo-carps and epi-carps, but in the mouths of men who scarcely ever read it in its original letters, and therefore never recognized it as meaning precisely the same thing as 'fructus,' which word, being a little more familiar with, they would have scarcely abused to the same extent; they would not have called a walnut shell an intra-fruct—or a grape skin an extra-fruct; but again, because, though they are accustomed to the English 'fructify,' 'frugivorous'—and 'usufruct,' they are unaccustomed to the Latin 'fruor,' and unconscious therefore that the derivative 'fructus' must always, in right use, mean an enjoyed thing, they generalize every mature vegetable product under the term; and we find Dr. Gray coolly telling us that there is no fruit so "likely to be mistaken for a seed," as a grain of corn! a grain, whether of corn, or any other {233} grass, being precisely the vegetable structure to which frutescent change is forever forbidden! and to which the word seed is primarily and perfectly applicable!—the thing to be sown, not grafted.

9. But to mark this total incapability of frutescent change, and connect the form of the seed more definitely with its dusty treasure, it is better to reserve, when we are speaking with precision, the term 'grain' for the seeds of the grasses: the difficulty is greater in French than in English: because they have no monosyllabic word for the constantly granular 'seed'; but for us the terms are all simple, and already in right use, only not quite clearly enough understood; and there remains only one real difficulty now in our system of nomenclature, that having taken the word 'husk' for the seed-vessel, we are left without a general word for the true fringe of a filbert, or the chaff of a grass. I don't know whether the French 'frange' could be used by them in this sense, if we took it in English botany. But for the present, we can manage well enough without it, one general term, 'chaff,' serving for all the grasses, 'cup' for acorns, and 'fringe' for nuts.

10. But I call this a real difficulty, because I suppose, among the myriads of plants of which I know nothing, there may be forms of the envelope of fruits or seeds which may, for comfort of speech, require some common generic name. One unreal difficulty, or shadow of difficulty, remains in our having no entirely comprehensive {234} name for seed and seed-vessel together than that the botanists now use, 'fruit.' But practically, even now, people feel that they can't gather figs of thistles, and never speak of the fructification of a thistle, or of the fruit of a dandelion. And, re-assembling now, in one view, the words we have determined on, they will be found enough for all practical service, and in such service always accurate, and, usually, suggestive. I repeat them in brief order, with such farther explanation as they need.

11. All ripe products of the life of flowers consist essentially of the Seed and Husk,—these being, in certain cases, sustained, surrounded, or provided with means of motion, by other parts of the plant; or by developments of their own form which require in each case distinct names. Thus the white cushion of the dandelion to which its brown seeds are attached, and the personal parachutes which belong to each, must be separately described for that species of plants; it is the little brown thing they sustain and carry away on the wind, which must be examined as the essential product of the floret;—the 'seed and husk.'

12. Every seed has a husk, holding either that seed alone, or other seeds with it.

Every perfect seed consists of an embryo, and the substance which first nourishes that embryo; the whole enclosed in a sack or other sufficient envelope. Three essential parts altogether. {235}

Every perfect husk, vulgarly pericarp, or 'round-fruit,'—(as periwig, 'round-wig,')—consists of a shell, (vulgarly endocarp,) rind, (vulgarly mesocarp,) and skin, (vulgarly epicarp); three essential parts altogether. But one or more of these parts may be effaced, or confused with another; and in the seeds of grasses they all concentrate themselves into bran.

13. When a husk consists of two or more parts, each of which has a separate shaft and volute, uniting in the pillar and volute of the flower, each separate piece of the husk is called a 'carpel.' The name was first given by De Candolle, and must be retained. But it continually happens that a simple husk divides into two parts corresponding to the two leaves of the embryo, as in the peach, or symmetrically holding alternate seeds, as in the pea. The beautiful drawing of the pea-shell with its seeds, in Rousseau's botany, is the only one I have seen which rightly shows and expresses this arrangement.

14. A Fruit is either the husk, receptacle, petal, or other part of a flower external to the seed, in which chemical changes have taken place, fitting it for the most part to become pleasant and healthful food for man, or other living animals; but in some cases making it bitter or poisonous to them, and the enjoyment of it depraved or deadly. But, as far as we know, it is without any definite office to the seed it contains; and the change takes {236} place entirely to fit the plant to the service of animals.[66]

In its perfection, the Fruit Gift is limited to a temperate zone, of which the polar limit is marked by the strawberry, and the equatorial by the orange. The more arctic regions produce even the smallest kinds of fruit with difficulty; and the more equatorial, in coarse, oleaginous, or over-luscious masses.

15. All the most perfect fruits are developed from exquisite forms either of foliage or flower. The vine leaf, in its generally decorative power, is the most important, both in life and in art, of all that shade the habitations of men. The olive leaf is, without any rival, the most beautiful of the leaves of timber trees; and its blossom, though minute, of extreme beauty. The apple is essentially the fruit of the rose, and the peach of her only rival in her own colour. The cherry and orange blossom are the two types of floral snow.

16. And, lastly, let my readers be assured, the economy of blossom and fruit, with the distribution of water, {237} will be found hereafter the most accurate test of wise national government.

For example of the action of a national government, rightly so called, in these matters, I refer the student to the Mariegolas of Venice, translated in Fors Clavigera; and I close this chapter, and this first volume of Proserpina, not without pride, in the words I wrote on this same matter eighteen years ago. "So far as the labourer's immediate profit is concerned, it matters not an iron filing whether I employ him in growing a peach, or in forging a bombshell. But the difference to him is final, whether, when his child is ill, I walk into his cottage, and give it the peach,—or drop the shell down his chimney, and blow his roof off."

* * * * *

{238}

INDEX I.

DESCRIPTIVE NOMENCLATURE.

Plants in perfect form are said, at page 26, to consist of four principal parts: root, stem, leaf, and flower. (Compare Chapter V., Sec. 2.) The reader may have been surprised at the omission of the fruit from this list. But a plant which has borne fruit is no longer of 'perfect' form. Its flower is dead. And, observe, it is further said, at page 65, (and compare Chapter III., Sec. 2,) that the use of the fruit is to produce the flower: not of the flower to produce the fruit. Therefore, the plant in perfect blossom, is itself perfect. Nevertheless, the formation of the fruit, practically, is included in the flower, and so spoken of in the fifteenth line of the same page.

Each of these four main parts of a plant consist normally of a certain series of minor parts, to which it is well to attach easily remembered names. In this section of my index I will not admit the confusion of idea involved by alphabetical arrangement of these names, but will sacrifice facility of reference to clearness of explanation, and taking the four great parts of the plant in {239} succession, I will give the list of the minor and constituent parts, with their names as determined in Proserpina, and reference to the pages where the reasons for such determination are given, endeavouring to supply, at the same time, any deficiencies which I find in the body of the text.

I. THE ROOT.

PAGE

Origin of the word Root 27

The offices of the root are threefold: namely, Tenure, Nourishment, and Animation 27-34

The essential parts of a Root are two: the Limbs and Fibres 33

I. THE LIMB is the gathered mass of fibres, or at least of fibrous substance, which extends itself in search of nourishment 32

II. THE FIBRE is the organ by which the nourishment is received 32

The inessential or accidental parts of roots, which are attached to the roots of some plants, but not to those of others, (and are, indeed, for the most part absent,) are three: namely, Store-Houses, Refuges, and Ruins 34

III. Store-houses contain the food of the future plant 34

{240}

IV. REFUGES shelter the future plant itself for a time 35

V. RUINS form a basis for the growth of the future plant in its proper order 36

Root-Stocks, the accumulation of such ruins in a vital order 37

General questions relating to the office and chemical power of roots 38

/# The nomenclature of Roots will not be extended, in Proserpina, beyond the five simple terms here given: though the ordinary botanical ones—corm, bulb, tuber, etc.—will be severally explained in connection with the plants which they specially characterize. #/

II. THE STEM.

Derivation of word 137

The channel of communication between leaf and root 153

In a perfect plant it consists of three parts:

I. THE STEM (STEMMA) proper.—A growing or advancing shoot which sustains all the other organs of the plant 136

It may grow by adding thickness to its sides without advancing; but its essential characteristic is the vital power of Advance 136 {241}

It may be round, square, or polygonal, but is always roundly minded 136

Its structural power is Spiral 137

It is essentially branched; having subordinate leaf-stalks and flower-stalks, if not larger branches 139

It developes the buds, leaves, and flowers of the plant.

This power is not yet properly defined, or explained; and referred to only incidentally throughout the eighth chapter 134-138

II. THE LEAF-STALK (CYMBA) sustains, and expands itself into, the Leaf 133, 134

It is essentially furrowed above, and convex below 134

It is to be called in Latin, the Cymba; in English, the Leaf-Stalk 135

III. THE FLOWER-STALK (PETIOLUS):

It is essentially round 130

It is usually separated distinctly at its termination from the flower 130, 131

It is to be called in Latin, Petiolus; in English, Flower-stalk 130

These three are the essential parts of a stem. But {242} besides these, it has, when largely developed, a permanent form: namely,

IV. THE TRUNK.—A non-advancing mass of collected stem, arrested at a given height from the ground 139

/# The stems of annual plants are either leafy, as of a thistle, or bare, sustaining the flower or flower-cluster at a certain height above the ground. Receiving therefore these following names:—- #/

V. THE VIRGA.—The leafy stem of an annual plant, not a grass, yet growing upright 147

VI. THE VIRGULA.—The leafless flower-stem of an annual plant, not a grass, as of a primrose or dandelion 147

VII. THE FILUM.—The running stem of a creeping plant

/# It is not specified in the text for use; but will be necessary; so also, perhaps, the Stelechos, or stalk proper (26), the branched stem of an annual plant, not a grass; one cannot well talk of the Virga of hemlock. The 'Stolon' is explained in its classical sense at page 158, but I believe botanists use it otherwise. I shall have occasion to refer to, and complete its explanation, in speaking of bulbous plants. #/

VIII. THE CAUDEX.—The essentially ligneous and compact part of a stem 149

{243}

/# This equivocal word is not specified for use in the text, but I mean to keep it for the accumulated stems of inlaid plants, palms, and the like; for which otherwise we have no separate term. #/

IX. THE AVENA.—Not specified in the text at all; but it will be prettier than 'baculus,' which is that I had proposed, for the 'staff' of grasses. See page 179.

/# These ten names are all that the student need remember; but he will find some interesting particulars respecting the following three, noticed in the text:—- #/

STIPS.—The origin of stipend, stupid, and stump 148

STIPULA.—The subtlest Latin term for straw 148

CAULIS (Kale).—The peculiar stem of branched eatable vegetables 149

CANNA.—Not noticed in the text; but likely to be sometimes useful for the stronger stems of grasses.

III. THE LEAF.

Derivation of word 26

The Latin form 'folium' 41

The Greek form 'petalos' 42

Veins and ribs of leaves, to be usually summed under the term 'rib' 44

Chemistry of leaves 46 {244}

/# The nomenclature of the leaf consists, in botanical books, of little more than barbarous, and, for the general reader, totally useless attempts to describe their forms in Latin. But their forms are infinite and indescribable except by the pencil. I will give central types of form in the next volume of Proserpina; which, so that the reader sees and remembers, he may call anything he likes. But it is necessary that names should be assigned to certain classes of leaves which are essentially different from each other in character and tissue, not merely in form. Of these the two main divisions have been already given: but I will now add the less important ones which yet require distinct names. #/

I. APOLLINE.—Typically represented by the laurel 51

II. ARETHUSAN.—Represented by the alisma 52

/# It ought to have been noticed that the character of serration, within reserved limits, is essential to an Apolline leaf, and absolutely refused by an Arethusan one. #/

III. DRYAD.—Of the ordinary leaf tissue, neither manifestly strong, nor admirably tender, but serviceably consistent, which we find generally to be the substance of the leaves of forest trees. Typically represented by those of the oak.

IV. ABIETINE.—Shaft or sword-shape, as the leaves of firs and pines.

V. CRESSIC.—Delicate and light, with smooth tissue, as the leaves of cresses, and clover. {245}

VI. SALVIAN.—Soft and woolly, like miniature blankets, easily folded, as the leaves of sage.

VII. CAULINE.—Softly succulent, with thick central ribs, as of the cabbage.

VIII. ALOEINE.—Inflexibly succulent, as of the aloe or houseleek.

/# No rigid application of these terms must ever be attempted; but they direct the attention to important general conditions, and will often be found to save time and trouble in description. #/

IV. THE FLOWER.

Its general nature and function 65

Consists essentially of Corolla and Treasury 78

Has in perfect form the following parts:—

I. THE TORUS.—Not yet enough described in the text. It is the expansion of the extremity of the flower-stalk, in preparation for the support of the expanding flower 66, 224

II. THE INVOLUCRUM.—Any kind of wrapping or propping condition of leafage at the base of a flower may properly come under this head; but the manner of prop or protection differs in different kinds, and I will not at present give generic names to these peculiar forms.

{246} III. THE CALYX (The Hiding-place).—The outer whorl of leaves, under the protection of which the real flower is brought to maturity. Its separate leaves are called SEPALS 80

IV. THE COROLLA (The Cup).—The inner whorl of leaves, forming the flower itself. Its separate leaves are called PETALS 71

V. THE TREASURY.—The part of the flower that contains its seeds.

VI. THE PILLAR.—The part of the flower above its treasury, by which the power of the pollen is carried down to the seeds 78

It consists usually of two parts—the SHAFT and VOLUTE 78

When the pillar is composed of two or more shafts, attached to separate treasury-cells, each cell with its shaft is called a CARPEL 235

VII. THE STAMENS.—The parts of the flower which secrete its pollen 78

They consist usually of two parts, the FILAMENT and ANTHER, not yet described.

VIII. THE NECTARY.—The part of the flower containing its honey, or any other special product of its inflorescence. The name has often been {247} given to certain forms of petals of which the use is not yet known. No notice has yet been taken of this part of the flower in Proserpina.

/# These being all the essential parts of the flower itself, other forms and substances are developed in the seed as it ripens, which, I believe, may most conveniently be arranged in a separate section, though not logically to be considered as separable from the flower, but only as mature states of certain parts of it. #/

V. THE SEED.

I must once more desire the reader to take notice that, under the four sections already defined, the morphology of the plant is to be considered as complete, and that we are now only to examine and name, farther, its product; and that not so much as the germ of its own future descendant flower, but as a separate substance which it is appointed to form, partly to its own detriment, for the sake of higher creatures. This product consists essentially of two parts: the Seed and its Husk.

I. THE SEED.—Defined 220

It consists, in its perfect form, of three parts 222

/# These three parts are not yet determinately named in the text: but I give now the names which will be usually attached to them. #/

A. The Sacque.—The outside skin of a seed 221

{248}

B. The Nutrine.—A word which I coin, for general applicability, whether to the farina of corn, the substance of a nut, or the parts that become the first leaves in a bean 221

C. The Germ.—The origin of the root 221

II. THE HUSK.—Defined 222

Consists, like the seed when in perfect form, of three parts.

A. The Skin.—The outer envelope of all the seed structures 222

B. The Rind.—The central body of the Husk. 222-235

C. The Shell.—Not always shelly, yet best described by this general term; and becoming a shell, so called, in nuts, peaches, dates, and other such kernel-fruits 222

The products of the Seed and Husk of Plants, for the use of animals, are practically to be massed under the three heads of BREAD, OIL, and FRUIT. But the substance of which bread is made is more accurately described as Farina; and the pleasantness of fruit to the taste depends on two elements in its substance: the juice, and the pulp containing it, which may properly be called Nectar and Ambrosia. We have therefore in all four essential products of the Seed and Husk—

{249} A. Farina. Flour 227

B. Oleum. Oil 229

C. Nectar. Fruit-juice 229

D. Ambrosia. Fruit-substance 230

Besides these all-important products of the seed, others are formed in the stems and leaves of plants, of which no account hitherto has been given in Proserpina. I delay any extended description of these until we have examined the structure of wood itself more closely; this intricate and difficult task having been remitted (p. 195) to the days of coming spring; and I am well pleased that my younger readers should at first be vexed with no more names to be learned than those of the vegetable productions with which they are most pleasantly acquainted: but for older ones, I think it well, before closing the present volume, to indicate, with warning, some of the obscurities, and probable fallacies, with which this vanity of science encumbers the chemistry, no less than the morphology, of plants.

Looking back to one of the first books in which our new knowledge of organic chemistry began to be displayed, thirty years ago, I find that even at that period the organic elements which the cuisine of the laboratory had already detected in simple Indigo, were the following:— {250}

Isatine, Bromisatine, Bidromisatine; Chlorisatine, Bichlorisatine; Chlorisatyde, Bichlorisatyde; Chlorindine, Chlorindoptene, Chlorindatmit; Chloranile, Chloranilam, and, Chloranilammon.

And yet, with all this practical skill in decoction, and accumulative industry in observation and nomenclature, so far are our scientific men from arriving, by any decoctive process of their own knowledge, at general results useful to ordinary human creatures, that when I wish now to separate, for young scholars, in first massive arrangement of vegetable productions, the Substances of Plants from their Essences; that is to say, the weighable and measurable body of the plant from its practically immeasurable, if not imponderable, spirit, I find in my three volumes of close-printed chemistry, no information what ever respecting the quality of volatility in matter, except this one sentence:—

"The disposition of various substances to yield vapour is very different: and the difference depends doubtless on the relative power of cohesion with which they are endowed."[67]

Even in this not extremely pregnant, though extremely {251} cautious, sentence, two conditions of matter are confused, no notice being taken of the difference in manner of dissolution between a vitally fragrant and a mortally putrid substance.

It is still more curious that when I look for more definite instruction on such points to the higher ranks of botanists, I find in the index to Dr. Lindley's 'Introduction to Botany'—seven hundred pages of close print—not one of the four words 'Volatile,' 'Essence,' 'Scent,' or 'Perfume.' I examine the index to Gray's 'Structural and Systematic Botany,' with precisely the same success. I next consult Professors Balfour and Grindon, and am met by the same dignified silence. Finally, I think over the possible chances in French, and try in Figuier's indices to the 'Histoire des Plantes' for 'Odeur'—no such word! 'Parfum'—no such word. 'Essence'—no such word. 'Encens'—no such word. I try at last 'Pois de Senteur,' at a venture, and am referred to a page which describes their going to sleep.

Left thus to my own resources, I must be content for the present to bring the subject at least under safe laws of nomenclature. It is possible that modern chemistry may be entirely right in alleging the absolute identity of substances such as albumen, or fibrine, whether they occur in the animal or vegetable economies. But I do not choose to assume this identity in my nomenclature. It may, perhaps, be very fine and very instructive to {252} inform the pupils preparing for competitive examination that the main element of Milk is Milkine, and of Cheese, Cheesine. But for the practical purposes of life, all that I think it necessary for the pupil to know is that in order to get either milk or cheese, he must address himself to a Cow, and not to a Pump; and that what a chemist can produce for him out of dandelions or cocoanuts, however milky or cheesy it may look, may more safely be called by some name of its own.

This distinctness of language becomes every day more desirable, in the face of the refinements of chemical art which now enable the ingenious confectioner to meet the demands of an unscientific person for (suppose) a lemon drop, with a mixture of nitric acid, sulphur, and stewed bones. It is better, whatever the chemical identity of the products may be, that each should receive a distinctive epithet, and be asked for and supplied, in vulgar English, and vulgar probity, either as essence of lemons, or skeletons.

I intend, therefore,—and believe that the practice will be found both wise and convenient,—to separate in all my works on natural history the terms used for vegetable products from those used for animal or mineral ones, whatever may be their chemical identity, or resemblance in aspect. I do not mean to talk of fat in seeds, nor of flour in eggs, nor of milk in rocks. Pace my prelatical friends, I mean to use the word 'Alb' for vegetable albumen; and although I cannot without pedantry avoid {253} using sometimes the word 'milky' of the white juices of plants, I must beg the reader to remain unaffected in his conviction that there is a vital difference between liquids that coagulate into butter, or congeal into India-rubber. Oil, when used simply, will always mean a vegetable product: and when I have occasion to speak of petroleum, tallow, or blubber, I shall generally call these substances by their right names.

There are also a certain number of vegetable materials more or less prepared, secreted, or digested for us by animals, such as wax, honey, silk, and cochineal. The properties of these require more complex definitions, but they have all very intelligible and well-established names. 'Tea' must be a general term for an extract of any plant in boiling water: though when standing alone the word will take its accepted Chinese meaning: and essence, the general term for the condensed dew of a vegetable vapour, which is with grace and fitness called the 'being' of a plant, because its properties are almost always characteristic of the species; and it is not, like leaf tissue or wood fibre, approximately the same material in different shapes; but a separate element in each family of flowers, of a mysterious, delightful, or dangerous influence, logically inexplicable, chemically inconstructible, and wholly, in dignity of nature, above all modes and faculties of form.

* * * * *

{254}

INDEX II.

TO THE PLANTS SPOKEN OF IN THIS VOLUME, UNDER THEIR ENGLISH NAMES, ACCEPTED BY PROSERPINA.

Apple, 102 Ash, 120, 127 Aspen, 134 Asphodel, 8, 36 Bay, 51 Bean, 104 Bed-straw, 120 Bindweed, 144 Birch, 172 Blackthorn, 119, 127 Blaeberry, 52, 206 Bluebell, 144 Bramble, 119, 195 Burdock, 112, 131 Burnet, 95 Butterbur, 118 Cabbage, 131, 149 Captain-salad, 149 Carrot, 32, 35 Cauliflower, 131, 149 Cedar, 35, 61, 113 Celandine, 72 Cherry, 65, 130 Chestnut, 62 " Spanish, 166 Chicory, 118 Clover, 111 Colewort, 149 Coltsfoot, 110 Corn-cockle, 108 Corn-flag, 104, 109 Cowslip, 139 Crocus, 36, 37 Daffodil, {255} Daisy, 117, 144, 145 Dandelion, 117 Devil's Bit, 147 Dock, 131 Elm, 52 Fig, 63 Flag, 104 Flax, 165 Foils, Rock, 144 " Roof, 144, 146 Foxglove, 70, 118, 139 Frog-flower, 56 Grape, 103, 130 Grass, 52, 53, 55, 156, 158, 161, 163 Hawk's-eye, 118 Hazel, 120 Heath, 67, 68, 107, 208 Hemlock, 107 Herb-Robert, 121 Holly, 113, 119 Houseleek, 37, 146 Hyacinth, 65, 67 Ivy, 111 Jacinth, 83, 186 King-cup, 110 Laurel, 35, 59, 140 " leaves, 43, 51, 60 Lichen, 175 Lilac, 76 Lily, 1, 36, 53, 104, 109 Lily, St. Bruno's, 1, 7, 9, 10 Lily of the Valley, 143 Lily, Water, 55, 72 Ling, 68, 69 Lion's-tooth, 113 Liquorice, 38 Lucy, 110, 144 Mistletoe, 111 Moss, 12, 15, 175 Mushroom, 43, 127 Myrtle, 51 Nettle, 52, 88, 107 Nightshade, 108 Oak, 36, 140 " blossom, 67 Olive, 51, 63, 142 Onion, 38 Orange, 51 Paeony, 129 Palm, 43, 53, 54, 103, 156, 166 {256} Pansy, 120, 144 Papilionaceae, 145 Papyrus, 165 Pea, 32, 144 Peach, 130, 144 Pine, 140 Pineapple, 14 Pink, 144 Plantain, 134 Pomegranate, 102 Poplar, 52 Poppy, 70, 76, 86, 104 Primrose, 79, 144 Radish, 35, 38 Ragged Robin, 155 Rhubarb, 131 Rice, 52 Rock-foil, 144 Roof-foil, 144, 146 Rose, 64, 69, 75, 104, 109, 119, 121, 129, 144 Rush, 157 Saxifrage, 120, 143, 146 Scabious, 147 Sedum, 146 Sorrel-wood, 9 Spider Plant, 8 Sponsa solis, 118 Stella, 144, 146 " domestica, 146 Stonecrop, 146 Sweetbriar, 109 Thistle, 103, 104, 113, 117, 118, 121, 144 note, 151 Thistle, Creeping, 138 " Waste, 138 Thorns, 121, 127 " Black, 119, 127 Thyme, 118 Tobacco, 38, 108 Tormentilla, 110 Turnip, 35 Vine, 104, 108, 140, 142 Viola, 144 Wallflower, 111 Wheat, 127, 165 Wreathewort, 181

* * * * *

{257}

INDEX III.

TO THE PLANTS SPOKEN OF IN THIS VOLUME, UNDER THEIR LATIN OR GREEK NAMES, ACCEPTED BY PROSERPINA.

Acanthus, 104 Alata, 144 Alisma, 52 Amaryllis, 36, 37 Anemone, 107 Artemides, 196 Asphodel, 11 Aurora, 207 Azalea, 207 Cactus, 43 Campanula, 144 Carduus, 138 Charites, 188 Cistus, 69 Clarissa, 144, 155 Contorta, 181 Convoluta, 144 Cyclamen, 32 Drosidae, 36, 199 Ensatae, 203 Ericae, 9, 206 Eryngo, 83 Fragaria, 188 Francesca, 144, 146 Fraxinus, 195 Geranium, 83, 120 Gladiolus, 104, 109, 163 Hyacinthus, 186 Hypnum, 13 Iris, 36, 103 Lilium (see Lily), 8 Lucia, 110, 189 {258} Magnolia, 51 Margarita, 144 Myrtilla, 206 Narcissus, 109 Ophrys, 180 Papaver, 91, 96 Persica, 144 Pomum, 188 Primula, 143 Rosa, 144 Rubra, 188, 195 Satyrium, 182 Stella, 144, 146 Veronica, 75 Viola, 144

* * * * *

Notes

[1] At least, it throws off its flowers on each side in a bewilderingly pretty way; a real lily can't branch, I believe: but, if not, what is the use of the botanical books saying "on an unbranched stem"?

[2] I have by happy chance just added to my Oxford library the poet Gray's copy of Linnaeus, with its exquisitely written Latin notes, exemplary alike to scholar and naturalist.

[3] It was in the year 1860, in June.

[4] Admirably engraved by Mr. Burgess, from my pen drawing, now at Oxford. By comparing it with the plate of the same flower in Sowerby's work, the student will at once see the difference between attentive drawing, which gives the cadence and relation of masses in a group, and the mere copying of each flower in an unconsidered huddle.

[5] "Histoire des Plantes." Ed. 1865, p. 416.

[6] The like of it I have now painted, Number 281, CASE XII., in the Educational Series of Oxford.

[7] Properly, Florae Danicae, but it is so tiresome to print the diphthongs that I shall always call it thus. It is a folio series, exquisitely begun, a hundred years ago; and not yet finished.

[8] Magnified about seven times. See note at end of this chapter.

[9] American,—'System of Botany,' the best technical book I have.

[10] 'Dicranum cerviculatum,' sequel to Flora Danica, Tab. MMCCX.

[11] The reader should buy a small specimen of this mineral; it is a useful type of many structures.

[12] LUCCA, Aug. 9th, 1874.—I have left this passage as originally written, but I believe the dome is of accumulated earth. Bringing home, here, evening after evening, heaps of all kinds of mosses from the hills among which the Archbishop Ruggieri was hunting the wolf and her whelps in Ugolino's dream, I am more and more struck, every day, with their special function as earth-gatherers, and with the enormous importance to their own brightness, and to our service, of that dark and degraded state of the inferior leaves. And it fastens itself in my mind mainly as their distinctive character, that as the leaves of a tree become wood, so the leaves of a moss become earth, while yet a normal part of the plant. Here is a cake in my hand weighing half a pound, bright green on the surface, with minute crisp leaves; but an inch thick beneath in what looks at first like clay, but is indeed knitted fibre of exhausted moss. Also, I don't at all find the generalization I made from the botanical books likely to have occurred to me from the real things. No moss leaves that I can find here give me the idea of resemblance to pineapple leaves; nor do I see any, through my weak lens, clearly serrated; but I do find a general tendency to run into a silky filamentous structure, and in some, especially on a small one gathered from the fissures in the marble of the cathedral, white threads of considerable length at the extremities of the leaves, of which threads I remember no drawing or notice in the botanical books. Figure 1 represents, magnified, a cluster of these leaves, with the germinating stalk springing from their centre; but my scrawl was tired and careless, and for once, Mr. Burgess has copied too accurately.

[13] Learn this word, at any rate; and if you know any Greek, learn also this group of words: "[Greek: hos rhiza en ge dipsosei]," which you may chance to meet with, and even to think about, some day.

[14] "Duhamel, botanist of the last century, tells us that, wishing to preserve a field of good land from the roots of an avenue of elms which were exhausting it, he cut a ditch between the field and avenue to intercept the roots. But he saw with surprise those of the roots which had not been cut, go down behind the slope of the ditch to keep out of the light, go under the ditch, and into the field again." And the Swiss naturalist Bonnet said wittily, apropos of a wonder of this sort, "that sometimes it was difficult to distinguish a cat from a rosebush."

[15] As the first great office of the mosses is the gathering of earth, so that of the grasses is the binding of it. Theirs the Enchanter's toil, not in vain,—making ropes out of sea-sand.

[16] Drosidae, in our school nomenclature, is the general name, including the four great tribes, iris, asphodel, amaryllis, and lily. See reason for this name given in the 'Queen of the Air,' Section II.

[17] The only use of a great part of our existing nomenclature is to enable one botanist to describe to another a plant which the other has not seen. When the science becomes approximately perfect, all known plants will be properly figured, so that nobody need describe them; and unknown plants be so rare that nobody will care to learn a new and difficult language, in order to be able to give an account of what in all probability he will never see.

[18] An excellent book, nevertheless.

[19] Lindley, 'Introduction to Botany,' vol. i., p. 21. The terms "wholly obsolete," says an authoritative botanic friend. Thank Heaven!

[20] "You should see the girders on under-side of the Victoria Water-lily, the most wonderful bit of engineering, of the kind, I know of."—('Botanical friend.')

[21] Roughly, Cyllene 7,700 feet high; Erymanthus 7,000; Maenalus 6,000.

[22] March 3rd.—We now ascend the roots of the mountain called Kastania, and begin to pass between it and the mountain of Alonistena, which is on our right. The latter is much higher than Kastania, and, like the other peaked summits of the Maenalian range, is covered with firs, and deeply at present with snow. The snow lies also in our pass. At a fountain in the road, the small village of Bazeniko is half a mile on the right, standing at the foot of the Maenalian range, and now covered with snow.

Saeta is the most lofty of the range of mountains, which are in face of Levidhi, to the northward and eastward; they are all a part of the chain which extends from Mount Khelmos, and connects that great summit with Artemisium, Parthenium, and Parnon. Mount Saeta is covered with firs. The mountain between the plain of Levidhi and Alonistena, or, to speak by the ancient nomenclature, that part of the Maenalian range which separates the Orchomenia from the valleys of Helisson and Methydrium, is clothed also with large forests of the same trees; the road across this ridge from Lavidhi to Alonistena is now impracticable on account of the snow.

I am detained all day at Levidhi by a heavy fall of snow, which before the evening has covered the ground to half a foot in depth, although the village is not much elevated above the plain, nor in a more lofty situation than Tripolitza.

March 4th.—Yesterday afternoon and during the night the snow fell in such quantities as to cover all the plains and adjacent mountains; and the country exhibited this morning as fine a snow-scene as Norway could supply. As the day advanced and the sun appeared, the snow melted rapidly, but the sky was soon overcast again, and the snow began to fall.

[23] Just in time, finding a heap of gold under an oak tree some thousand years old, near Arundel, I've made them out: Eight, divided by three; that is to say, three couples of petals, with two odd little ones inserted for form's sake. No wonder I couldn't decipher them by memory.

[24] Figs. 8 and 9 are both drawn and engraved by Mr. Burgess.

[25] Of Vespertilian science generally, compare 'Eagles' Nest,' pp. 25 and 179.

[26] The mathematical term is 'rhomb.'

[27] [Greek: hes to sperma artopoieitai.]

[28] [Greek: epimekes echousa to kephalion.] Dioscorides makes no effort to distinguish species, but gives the different names as if merely used in different places.

[29] It is also used sometimes of the garden poppy, says Dioscorides, "[Greek: dia to rhein ex autes ton opon]"—"because the sap, opium, flows from it."

[30] See all the passages quoted by Liddell.

[31] I find this chapter rather tiresome on re-reading it myself, and cancel some farther criticism of the imitation of this passage by Virgil, one of the few pieces of the AEneid which are purely and vulgarly imitative, rendered also false as well as weak by the introducing sentence, "Volvitur Euryalus leto," after which the simile of the drooping flower is absurd. Of criticism, the chief use of which is to warn all sensible men from such business, the following abstract of Diderot's notes on the passage, given in the 'Saturday Review' for April 29th, 1871, is worth preserving. (Was the French critic really not aware that Homer had written the lines his own way?)

"Diderot illustrates his theory of poetical hieroglyphs by no quotations, but we can show the manner of his minute and sometimes fanciful criticism by repeating his analysis of the passage of Virgil wherein the death of Euryalus is described:—

'Pulchrosque per artus It cruor, inque humeros cervix collapsa recumbit; Purpureus veluti cum flos succisus aratro Languescit moriens; lassove papavera collo Demisere caput, pluvia cum forte gravantur.'

"The sound of 'It cruor,' according to Diderot, suggests the image of a jet of blood; 'cervix collapsa recumbit,' the fall of a dying man's head upon his shoulder; 'succisus' imitates the use of a cutting scythe (not plough); 'demisere' is as soft as the eye of a flower; 'gravantur,' on the other hand, has all the weight of a calyx, filled with rain; 'collapsa' marks an effort and a fall, and similar double duty is performed by 'papavera,' the first two syllables symbolizing the poppy upright, the last two the poppy bent. While thus pursuing his minute investigations, Diderot can scarcely help laughing at himself, and candidly owns that he is open to the suspicion of discovering in the poem beauties which have no existence. He therefore qualifies his eulogy by pointing out two faults in the passage. 'Gravantur,' notwithstanding the praise it has received, is a little too heavy for the light head of a poppy, even when filled with water. As for 'aratro,' coming as it does after the hiss of 'succisus,' it is altogether abominable. Had Homer written the lines, he would have ended with some hieroglyph, which would have continued the hiss or described the fall of a flower. To the hiss of 'succisus' Diderot is warmly attached. Not by mistake, but in order to justify the sound, he ventures to translate 'aratrum' into 'scythe,' boldly and rightly declaring in a marginal note that this is not the meaning of the word."

[32] And I have too harshly called our English vines, 'wicked weeds of Kent,' in Fors Clavigera, xxvii. 11. Much may be said for Ale, when we brew it for our people honestly.

[33] Has my reader ever thought,—I never did till this moment,—how it perfects the exquisite character which Scott himself loved, as he invented, till he changed the form of the novel, that his habitual interjection should be this word;—not but that the oath, by conscience, was happily still remaining then in Scotland, taking the place of the mediaeval 'by St. Andrew,' we in England, long before the Scot, having lost all sense of the Puritanical appeal to private conscience, as of the Catholic oath, 'by St. George;' and our uncanonized 'by George' in sonorous rudeness, ratifying, not now our common conscience, but our individual opinion.

[34] 'Jotham,' 'Sum perfectio eorum,' or 'Consummatio eorum.' (Interpretation of name in Vulgate index.)

[35] If you will look at the engraving, in the England and Wales series, of Turner's Oakhampton, you will see its use.

[36] General assertions of this kind must always be accepted under indulgence,—exceptions being made afterwards.

[37] I use 'round' rather than 'cylindrical,' for simplicity's sake.

[38] Carduus Arvensis. 'Creeping Thistle,' in Sowerby; why, I cannot conceive, for there is no more creeping in it than in a furzebush. But it especially haunts foul and neglected ground; so I keep the Latin name, translating 'Waste-Thistle.' I could not show the variety of the curves of the involucre without enlarging; and if, on this much increased scale, I had tried to draw the flower, it would have taken Mr. Allen and me a good month's more work. And I had no more a month than a life, to spare: so the action only of the spreading flower is indicated, but the involucre drawn with precision.

[39] The florets gathered in the daisy are cinquefoils, examined closely. No system founded on colour can be very general or unexceptionable: but the splendid purples of the pansy, and thistle, which will be made one of the lower composite groups under Margarita, may justify the general assertion of this order's being purple.

[40] See Miss Yonge's exhaustive account of the name, 'History of Christian Names,' vol. i., p. 265.

[41] (Du Cange.) The word 'Margarete' is given as heraldic English for pearl, by Lady Juliana Berners, in the book of St. Albans.

[42] Recent botanical research makes this statement more than dubitable. Nevertheless, on no other supposition can the forms and action of tree-branches, so far as at present known to me, be yet clearly accounted for.

[43] Not always in muscular power; but the framework on which strong muscles are to act, as that of an insect's wing, or its jaw, is never insectile.

[44] It is one of the three cadences, (the others being of the words rhyming to 'mind' and 'way,') used by Sir Philip Sidney in his marvellous paraphrase of the 55th Psalm.

[45] Lectures on the Families of Speech, by the Rev. F. Farrer Longman, 1870. Page 81.

[46] I only profess, you will please to observe, to ask questions in Proserpina. Never to answer any. But of course this chapter is to introduce some further inquiry in another place.

[47] See Introduction, pp. 5-8.

[48] See Sowerby's nomenclature of the flower, vol. ix., plate 1703.

[49] Linnaeus used this term for the oleanders; but evidently with less accuracy than usual.

[50] "[Greek: anthe porphuroeide]" says Dioscorides, of the race generally,—but "[Greek: anthe de hupoporphura]" of this particular one.

[51] I offer a sample of two dozen for good papas and mammas to begin with:—

Angraecum. Anisopetalum. Brassavola. Brassia. Caelogyne. Calopogon. Corallorrhiza. Cryptarrhena. Eulophia. Gymnadenia. Microstylis. Octomeria. Ornithidium. Ornithocephalus. Platanthera. Pleurothallis. Pogonia. Polystachya. Prescotia. Renanthera. Rodriguezia. Stenorhyncus. Trizeuxis. Xylobium.

[52] Compare Chapter V., Sec. 7.

[53] "Jacinthus Jurae," changed from "Hyacinthus Comosus."

[54]

"Cantando, e scegliendo fior di fiore Onde era picta tutta la sua via."—Purg., xxviii. 35.

[55] "[Greek: kai theoisi terpna.]"

[56] The four races of this order are more naturally distinct than botanists have recognized. In Clarissa, the petal is cloven into a fringe at the outer edge; in Lychnis, the petal is terminated in two rounded lobes and the fringe withdrawn to the top of the limb; in Scintilla, the petal is divided into two sharp lobes, without any fringe of the limb; and in Mica, the minute and scarcely visible flowers have simple and far separate petals. The confusion of these four great natural races under the vulgar or accidental botanical names of spittle-plant, shore-plant, sand plant, etc., has become entirely intolerable by any rational student; but the names 'Scintilla,' substituted for Stellaria, and 'Mica' for the utterly ridiculous and probably untrue Sagina, connect themselves naturally with Lychnis, in expression of the luminous power of the white and sparkling blossoms.

[57] Clytia will include all the true sun-flowers, and Falconia the hawkweeds; but I have not yet completed the analysis of this vast and complex order, so as to determine the limits of Margarita and Alcestis.

[58] The reader must observe that the positions given in this more developed system to any flower do not interfere with arrangements either formerly or hereafter given for memoria technica. The name of the pea, for instance (alata), is to be learned first among the twelve cinqfoils, p. 214, above; then transferred to its botanical place.

[59] The amphibious habit of this race is to me of more importance than its outlaid structure.

[60] "Arctostaphylos Alpina," I believe; but scarcely recognize the flower in my botanical books.

[61] 'Aurora Regina,' changed from Rhododendron Ferrugineum.

[62] I do not see what this can mean. Primroses and cowslips can't become shrubs; nor can violets, nor daisies, nor any other of our pet meadow flowers.

[63] 'Deserts.' Punas is not in my Spanish dictionary, and the reference to a former note is wrong in my edition of Humboldt, vol. iii., p. 490.

[64] "The Alpine rose of equinoctial America," p. 453.

[65] More literally "persons to whom the care of eggs is entrusted."

[66] A most singular sign of this function is given to the chemistry of the changes, according to a French botanist, to whose carefully and richly illustrated volume I shall in future often refer my readers, "Vers l'epoque de la maturite, les fruits exhalent de l'acide carbonique. Ils ne presentent plus des lors aucun degagement d'oxygene pendant le jour, et respirent, pour ainsi dire, a la facon des animaux."—(Figuier, 'Histoire des Plantes,' p. 182. 8vo. Paris. Hachette. 1874.)

[67] 'Elements of Chemistry,' p. 44. By Edward Turner; edited by Justus Liebig and William Gregory. Taylor and Walton, 1840.

* * * * *

Corrections made to printed original.

p.27. "In Greek, [Greek: rhiza]" - "[Greek: riza]" with soft breath mark in original.

p.62. "shall it not be said of England?" - "no be said" in original.

ibid. "beneficent in fulfilment" - "benet ficent" (across 2 lines) in original.

p.71. "flaunting breadth of untenable purple" - "untenabie" in original.

p.145. "to warn them that this trial of their lovers" - "warm them" in original.

p.195. "XI. HESPERIDES." - "II." in original.

p.238. "at page 26" - "at page 29" in original.

ibid. "at page 65" - "at page 73" in original.

Index II. "Celandine" - "Calendine" in original.

Ibid. "Thistle, ... 151." "151 note" in original.

Ibid. "Thistle, Waste, 138" - "154" in original.

Index III. "Fraxinus" - "Frarinus" in original.

THE END