THE CEDARS OF NONSUCH 



are about equal, and from the latter region about as 

 many must have reached Bermuda by floating as 

 were carried by birds, while a much smaller number 

 doubtless braved the hundreds of miles of water by 

 parachuting on the steady southeast winds. 



An illustration of the distributing powers of 

 winged seeds came to notice close to my laboratory. 

 A dense growth of green weeds sprang up early 

 in the year on the site of an old garden, and in 

 July blossomed and formed seed. It proved to be 

 the hairy horseweed, and from this time on we sel- 

 dom forgot the hairy horseweed, alias Leptilon 

 linifolium. In coffee cups, aquaria, in deep-sea hauls 

 from a mile down, between one's eyes and book, 

 entangled in pen points — everywhere the tiny, 

 pappus-winged seeds drifted their way, soundless 

 and buoyant as diminutive balloons. 



One of my last walks was through the cedar forest 

 of the sheltered slope. The pounding of the surf 

 was inaudible here, but a low restless wind eddied 

 down through the branches. I stood and listened, 

 and heard a perfect reproduction of the sound of 

 the waves as I should hear them beyond the crest. 

 It was most strange to listen to this false echo 

 among the trees, a sound as hollow and meaningless 

 to these pampered cedars as the roaring of the ocean 

 which we like to fancy lies in a seashell. 



When I come to choose a plant to carry back to 

 my home, I shall creep far into one of the great 

 caves which wind and water have etched into the 

 heart of Nonsuch, and beneath a sunlit crevice I 



31 



