XX. 



Dandelion Down. 



TO-DAY, as I sit at an open window which looks on a 

 pleasant meadow fringed with willows, marking the 

 margin of the river, a dandelion seed has been wafted 

 into the room by the summer breeze. The dandelion, 

 familiar as it may be to everybody, is a flower which 

 has locked up within its botanical history a very con- 

 siderable meed of curious philosophy. I confess to 

 possessing for that elegant flower, which is ordinarily 

 and contemptuously named a " roadside weed," a high 

 measure of respect. Primarily the dandelion is not one 

 flower but many a colony of strap-shaped blossoms, 

 nestling cosily on the flattened top of the hollow flower- 

 stalk. Pluck out one of those blossoms, and look at 

 it narrowly by the aid or a pocket lens. There is the 

 yellow strap, toothed at the top, and forming the 

 corolla of the flower. 



Probably, once upon a time, when the dandelion 

 blossoms were not packed so closely together (like 

 human units themselves) this yellow strap was com- 

 posed of distinct and separate petals. Its toothed or 

 fringed margin would seem to indicate as much. Look- 

 ing below you see the down or silky hairs which 

 represent the calyx of the flower, or the green outer 

 part you see so distinctly in the rose, in the straw- 



