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Among other novelties, we are now told by Mr. Reeves, a botanical 
revolutionist, that sap in a tree does not rise from the roots, but 
is derived from the moisture in the atmosphere, which the leaves 
imbibe and elaborate into sap. The only nutriment, he asserts, 
that ascends from the roots of the tree, are the gases which it 
inhales from the interstices of the surrounding earth. Mr. Reeves 
bases his theory on the law of gravitation, which compels fiuid to 
descend, and allows gases to ascend, but he omits from his 
calculations the physical laws of osmosis and capillory attraction, 
by both of which there is little doubt (if we may rely upon the 
testimony of our most eminent botanists and chemists) that the 
life of a tree or plant is maintained. ‘The leaves of a plant doubtless 
absorb water to a certain extent, but if the foliage of a plant be 
watered and the roots left dry, it will soon whither and die, 
whereas if the roots be kept well supplied with moisture, the 
plant will live even though the leaves be unwatered; this fact 
certainly tends to disprove the truth of the new theory. 
Much interest was excited in the minds of many botanists some 
months ago, by the assertion of Herr Nowach, of Vienna, that he 
had discovered the ‘‘ weather plant,’ which is none other than the 
well known tropical abrus precatorius. By the special request of 
H.R.H. the Prince of Wales, !!er- Nowach came over to this 
country and in connection with Professor Oliver and Mr. Weiss 
made many elaborate experiments at Kew Gardens with this 
interesting plant. That it is highly sensitive to light, Professor 
Oliver admits, but he is convinced that its claims to being a 
weather prophet must be abandoned; for in spite of numerous 
changes in the weather during its time of probation, not one did 
the plant fortell; nor was it any more reliable in fortelling the 
advent of earthquakes, or fire-damp in mines, of which Herr 
Nowach claimed to come within the range of the plant’s prophetic 
capacity. 
A remarkable instance of the effect of electric light on vegetation 
was shown last spring in Leipzigerplatz, Berlin, where the 
branches of the lime trees facing the light were clotted with 
verdure, while on those turned from it the buds were not fully 
formed. We hear from America of a plant, the coraaria thymifolia 
whose juice supplies a ready made ink of a reddish brown colour, 
but which turns black after use ; this useful shrub bas been aptly 
termed the ‘‘ ink-plant.’” We are also told that in France, an ink 
has been made, which is guaranteed to fade utterly from the paper 
in eight days. What a boon this will prove to the ardent lover 
who need no longer fear to give free vent to his most passionate 
protestations when addressing his mistress, knowing that, should 
time somewhat abate the ardour of his feeling, an action tor 
