THE MOUNTAIN. 131 



twig, arid stem will be laden with refreshing dew, 

 the bare ground being everywhere perfectly dry. 

 How does this come to pass ? It is undoubtedly 

 most desirable that the genial moisture should de- 

 scend on the thirsting herbs rather than on the 

 unproductive pathway, especially in the summer ; 

 but by what agency is this end effected ? Simply 

 by the Providential Law to which I have alluded. 

 The blades of grass radiate their heat, while the 

 ground itself remains comparatively warm. The 

 moisture floating in the atmosphere is condensed 

 on them ; it is received through the open pores 

 into their substance ; it supplies them with abun- 

 dant nourishment, parched as they are with the 

 fervent rays of the preceding day's sun ; while the 

 barren ground receives not a drop of the refresh- 

 ing shower, for here it would be expended in 

 vain. 



I was never more forcibly struck with this wise 

 provision for supplying the wants of the vegetable 

 world than on one occasion when I happened at 

 night to pass by one of the parks in London. 

 The season was spring ; there had been no rain for 

 many days, so that the roads were everywhere 

 thickly laid with dust. Notwithstanding this, as I 

 passed under the branches of a tree, I found that 

 from the point of every twig was suspended a 

 large drop of water, and that the ground under- 

 neath was saturated with moisture. A few mo- 

 ments' reflection was sufficient to explain the 

 truth. The cold branches arrested and condensed 

 the minute particles of water, as they floated by 

 in a mist so dense that I could not see many yards 

 before me, and from this source the swelling bud 

 was plentifully supplied with the nourishment 



