I 4 SUMMER 



flourishes most where supports happen to be. The stitchwort 

 wobbles upwards, if one may say so, resembling Meredith's 

 maxim that ' the flame of the soul burns upwards ; but we 

 must allow for atmospheric variation.' No atmosphere or 

 accident prevents the goose-grass taking the shortest, that is, 

 the straightest route upwards which its supports allow. It 

 opens so successfully that often it makes a fringe as sym- 

 metric as you could see on stuff in a shop. 



The device is not uncommon. Touching the plant, 

 you might vow that it was sticky with a gummy substance. 

 Even on the hard and smooth palm of the hand it feels 

 as if it was clinging by some adhesive ooze. The hairs 

 on stalk and leaf are more numerous and sharper than the 

 teeth of a fretsaw, and can attach themselves to roughnesses 

 quite invisible to the eye. It climbs very much as many seeds 

 distribute themselves, by a system of little grappling irons. 

 The goose-grass stem and leaf have an affinity with the burr. 

 But the climbers have more devices than one. The seed, like 

 the cat in the fable, has one; the climber, like the fox, a 

 number. Though this mechanical stickiness is the master 

 device, there are others. Everything that climbs, in what 

 may be called the loose way, grows at a great pace. The 

 tip of the goose-grass has just enough strength to keep upright 

 andjust enough limpness to sway into touch with the nearest 

 support. Like other climbers this grass tapers to the tip and 

 anchors itself, like the worm in its hole, by putting out leaves 

 at right angles. The pretty whorl of leaves, which encircle 

 all members of the family to which the goose-grass belongs, 

 may indeed very well be compared with the hairs on the worm. 

 They lie at first smoothly along the stem or body ; and are 

 then put out at an abrupt angle, greatly assisting to maintain 

 the position gained. 



When we see first the constellations of the stitchwort and 



