LENGTH OF VEGETABLE LIFE. be ar 
head that does not find its way into its wide- 
spreading roots and enter into the various tissues 
to nourish and support them all. The once 
solid fortress whose barely recognizable ruins 
lie yonder half hidden with grass and weeds, 
five hundred years ago might have laughed to 
scorn the idea that the young sapling, then 
rising from the soil, was destined better to 
brave the tooth of time than it, although built 
of masses of rogk, cemented with consummate 
art, and bound together with clamps of iron. 
And wind and rain might have thought the 
fortress a far more invincible object of attack 
than the pliant young tree. But wind and rain 
brought nothing with them to add to the fortress, 
and never left it without taking much away 
that could never be restored again. Time went 
by: the strong-built castle grew crazier and 
began to crumble away; the hard cement was 
washed out of its joints, and the great stones 
grew insecure in their places, while the tree 
lived on, and year by year increased in stature 
and in strength, until its topmost boughs waved 
high above the castle-tower. Three centuries 
had not elapsed: the fortress was in ruins; 
N 
