A BLACKBERRY BUSH IN AUTUMN. 193 



the old leaves fall in the autumn of the fading year, 

 only to be replaced by fresh and vigorous foliage in the 

 coming spring, their multitudinous air passages un- 

 choked and undamaged, and their myriad mouths wide 

 open to receive the breath of life. 



Look, for example, at those leaves of our blackberry 

 bush, and see how utterly unfit they are for their 

 proper work. There is scarcely one of them that is not 

 in some way injured by causes external to it itself. 

 The slime track over some gnawed and scalloped leaves 

 tells that snail or slug, or both, has passed that way. 

 On others the now transparent tracks of the leaf- 

 miner caterpillar show that the respiratory value of 

 that particular leaf is a thing of the past. Next comes 

 one of the rolled or doubled leaves, abandoned long ago 

 by its original maker, but never tenantless. Open one 

 of these deserted habitations, and out scuttles a spider, 

 or perhaps three or four earwigs, and now and then a 

 woodlouse. If you wish to take a lesson in the art of 

 packing, catch one of the earwigs, kill it by dashing it 

 into boiling water, take it out at once, and unfold one 

 of its wings. When every crease is laid open try to 

 re-fold the wing, and put it back in its place. With 

 two hands, a microscope, and unlimited instruments, 

 you will scarcely achieve in two hours the task which 

 the insect completes in two seconds, with nothing but 

 its tail pincers by way of tools. 



So much for the leaves at the end of autumn. As 

 for the flowers, they are nearly all gone. A few a 



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