120 LEAVES FROM THE BOOK OF NATURE. 



far far east, until it falls upon holy soil. Now let my 

 brother wait 'and he shall see!" 



And we did wait, waited until the shadows grew long, 

 and dreamy dusk covered mountain and plain. And the 

 little shapeless mass became a miracle indeed, and right 

 before our eyes ! The roots had expanded, the leaves had 

 unfolded, life and breath had returned to the dead child 

 of the Sahara, and the very blossoms began to show, and 

 to rival the faint rosy tints of the evening sun ! 



I mever forgot that lesson of immortality I never 

 forgot that Rose of Jericho. On my return to Eu- 

 rope I learned that botanists called it " Anastatica," the 

 flower of resurrection. I wished to know more about 

 it, and that was the way I first learned something about 

 plants. 



I found botany very little attractive very little de- 

 serving of its ancient name of the " lovely science." I 

 found that botanists would go out into the fields, their text- 

 books in their pockets, and gather the tender children of 

 Flora into huge maps, then dry them and classify them, 

 describe their head-dress and uniform, their rank and dig- 

 nity, and finally deposit them in magnificent herbariums. 

 There they were, well dried and well pasted, clad, to be 

 sure, in all the pomp and circumstance of high-sounding 

 names so much Latin hay. But where was their color 

 and graceful shape 1 ? where the breath of air that made 

 them gently wave to and fro ? where the sweet perfumes 

 they gratefully sent up to their Maker? where the bright 

 water at their side, in which they reflected their lovely 

 form 1 where the whole glorious scene for which they were 



