Sept. 1, 1SG9.] 



HARDWICKE'S SCIENCE-GOSSIP. 



211 



BOTANY. 



Toad Elax.— There is a little insignificant plant, 

 the Ivy-leaved Toad Elax {Linaria cymbalaria), 

 which at this season of the year is well worth 

 searching out for the sake of observing a curious 

 habit, which it exhibits in regard to the preserva- 

 tion of its seed. It is common enough wherever 

 there are rough stone walls or ruinous buildings ; 

 for although it is said to have been originally a 

 native of Italy, it has found the climate and air of 

 England so congenial that it has gradually spread 

 over the whole country. One thing is certain, 

 wherever it has chanced to establish itself it flour- 

 ishes in the greatest luxuriance and ripens its seed 

 abundantly. Now, as the wall or building on which 

 it grows is usually perpendicular, and the plant, raised 

 several feet above the ground, extends its flowers 

 some two or three inches away from the wall, it 

 seems at first sight almost impossible for the seed 

 to be preserved. Stretched out at the end of a stiff 

 wiry thread, it is nevertheless a necessity of its 

 nature that it should germinate in the wall itself, 

 not merely because that is its proper habitat, but if 

 it dropped straight to the ground it would (like the 

 seed in the parable) be trodden under foot or else 

 be scorched up for lack of moisture. To preserve 

 its progeny from so disastrous a fate, this humblest 

 of flowering plants is endowed with a property 

 which really seems analogous to the instinct of the 

 animal. No sooner have the organs of fructification 

 done their work and withered away, than the stalk, 

 now supporting ^the seed capsule, begins to bend 

 away from the light, very slowly and imperceptibly, 

 but appreciably, if watched from day to day : 

 gradually it twists completely round, and the seed 

 vessel faces the wall. But this is not sufficient: 

 the office of the pedicel is not accomplished until 

 its precious burden is placed in safety. Eor this 

 purpose it draws close to the face of the wall or 

 building, and then actually seems to search out a 

 rough chink or hollow, into which it may thrust 

 the capsule, in order that the seeds may find a 

 secure resting-place when separated from the 

 parent plant. Similar instances of vegetable instinct 

 — similar, that is, in principle, though not so striking 

 in effect— may be seen in two other plants of a widely 

 different nature. The cyclamen takes its name 

 (Greek Kuklos, a circle) from the fact of the flower- 

 stalk curling into a close spiral, in the midst of 

 which the seed-vessel lies snug and safe under 

 the shelter of the leaves, from whence by degrees 

 it works its way into the soil. The African earth- 

 nut (Arachis hypogcca), one of the papilionaceous 

 plants, allied to our horse-shoe vetch and coronillas, 

 is largely cultivated by the negroes for the sake of 

 its pod, which is an important article of food, and 

 is dug by them out of the earth, as its specific 

 name implies {Hypo ge, under the soil). But how 



does the seed-pod thus become subterranean ? The 

 flower-stalks, when they have finished their duty of 

 elevating the stamen and pistil to catch the life- 

 giving rays of the sun, begin their second office of 

 aiding the seed-vessel to mature by turning com- 

 pletely round and thrusting it into the ground, 

 where it lies in a state of repose, until dug up by 

 some hungry negro, or until its dormant vitality is 

 called into action by the effects of the rainy season. 

 — W. W. S. 



Carpels op Geraniums.— I felt rather sorry 

 that Mr. James Britten, in his paper on Cranesbills 

 in the last July number of Science-Gossip (not 

 June, as mentioned by Mrs. Watney), should not 

 have pursued the matter a little farther, and have 

 described the curious coiling up of the persistent 

 stigmas attached to the carpels after detachment 

 from the plant. I had long noticed this circum- 

 stance, and never, remembering it being alluded to 

 by any botanical writer, thought it was known to 

 all. However, as Mrs. Watney says in the August 

 number, "And more than one botanical writer 

 draws attention to the singular appendages," it 

 appears the circumstance. The facts of the case 

 are these : when the carpels become detached from 

 the receptable, the awn, or persistent style, becomes 

 convolute or spirally twisted for about half its 

 length ; on becoming detached and falling off, the 

 portion of the style not convoluted is bent back at 

 right angles to the portion convoluted; and now 

 the wonder begins. The spiral awn is highly hygio- 

 metrical, and the carpels falling on the earth, the 

 mechanical operation of boring commences, the 

 seeds actually worming or cork-screwing themselves 

 into the soil, after the manner of a gimlet, and the 

 portion of the awn not convoluted (or spirally 

 twisted) acting as a handle or lever! — Thomas 

 Williams, Bath Lodge, OrmskirJc. 



Maiden Hair.— In Germany there is a legend 

 attached to a well near which this fern (Asplenmm 

 trichomanes) grows most luxuriantly. A lady 

 keeping tryst with her lover, he was suddenly, 

 after the fashion of Germany in those days, trans- 

 formed into a wolf. The lady fled before him, and 

 in her haste fell over a precipice, her black hair 

 tangling in the bushes as she descended. On the 

 spot where she fell a clear spring welled up, and 

 round about her hair took root. The well is called 

 " The Wolf's tSpring," and the little custodian of 

 the glen, after telling you the story, hands you a 

 bunch of the "Maiden's Hair."— Chanter'' s " Ferny 

 Combes." 



Veronica Buxbaumii. — I wish to record in 

 Science-Gossip another station for V. Buxbaumii. 

 I am not aware that it is known as a Cumberland 

 plant. It is growing very luxuriantly by the road- 

 side, in a place where some rubbish has been 



