THE WILD CLEMATIS. 83 



the bramble being in some places the only thriving ve- 

 getation in a fence. It is marvellous how fibrous-rooted 

 vegetables, the roots of which penetrate no depth into 

 the soil, are enabled in some seasons to preserve any 

 appearance of verdure, the earth they are fixed in 

 seeming divested of all moisture by the power of the 

 sun, and being heated like a sand-bath. The warmth 

 of the earth in 1825 I omitted to record; but in the 

 following year, which was more dry, and nearly as hot, 

 the thermometer buried in the earth to the depth of 

 three inches, in a flower border where many plants 

 were growing in that sort of languid state which they 

 present in such exhausting seasons, indicated the heat 

 of 110. 



Having said thus much of the clematis, the " withy- 

 wind" of our peasantry, it must not be supposed that I 

 advocate the advantages of this plant as a fence, but 

 only tolerate it where we cannot induce much else to 

 thrive, it making something of a boundary line ; and 

 perhaps that is all, for very frequently its numerous 

 tendrils, and the downy clusters of its caudated seeds 

 are so interwoven, that the snow accumulates upon the 

 bush, and presses the whole to the earth, so that in the 

 spring we commonly find a gap to be repaired where 

 the clematis has thriven. About February, or towards 

 the end of winter, this plant becomes stripped of its 

 feathery seeds, which is accomplished by mice, I be- 

 lieve the harvest and the long-tailed one (mus sylvati- 

 cus) principally ; with these they form nest-like beds in 

 the upper and thickest part of the hedge, resorting to 

 them in the day-time, where they enjoy in tolerable 

 safety the air and warmth of the season, in preference 

 to their cold and damp apartments in the earth, and I 

 have occasionally disturbed them in their dormitories ; 

 but at this time it is not observed that the seeds are 

 much fed upon by them, and probably are only collected 

 as shelter in a temporary dwelling. 



The little excursions of the naturalist, from habit 

 and from acquirement, become a scene of constant ob- 

 servation and remark. The insect that crawls, the note 

 of the bird, the plant that flowers, or the vernal green 



