A CHAT ABOUT PLANTS. 127 



like the dandelion and the anemone, have light downy ap- 

 pendages, or little feathery tufts and crowns, by which they 

 are floated along on the lightest breath of air, and enjoy, 

 to their heart's content, long autumnal wanderings. These 

 airy appendages are marvellously well adapted for the 

 special purpose of each plant : some but just large enough 

 to waft the tiny grain up the height of a molehill, others 

 strong enough to carry the seed of the cedar from the. 

 low valley to the summit of Mount Lebanon. The proudest 

 princes of the vegetable kingdom often depend for their 

 continuance on these little feathery tufts, which but few 

 observers are apt to notice. A recent writer tells us that, 

 some years ago, the only palm-tree the city of Paris 

 could then boast of, suddenly blossomed. Botanists were 

 at a loss how to explain the apparent miracle, and sceptics 

 began to sneer, and declared that the laws of nature had 

 failed. An advertisement appeared in the papers, inquiring 

 for the unknown mate of the solitary tree. And behold, 

 in an obscure court-yard away off, there had lived, un- 

 known and unnoticed, another small palm; it also had 

 blossomed apparently alone and in vain but a gentle 

 breeze had come, and carried its flower-dust to its dis- 

 tant companion, and the first palm-flowers ever seen in 

 France were the result of this unseen mediation. 



Reckless wanderers, also, there are among the plants, 

 who waste their substance, and wildly rove about in the 

 world. The rose of Jericho, which we have already no- 

 ticed, and a club-moss of Peru, are such erratic idlers that 

 wander from land to land. When they have blossomed 

 and borne fruit, and when the dry season comes, they 



