226 WOODLAND IDYLS. 



the roots. If not uprooted, a portion of the stem 

 a few inches above the ground soon withers, dies 

 and breaks apart while the upper twining por- 

 tion with its numerous minute suckers continues 

 to nourish on the juices of its host. 



If from the beginning one could trace its his- 

 tory he would doubtless find that like most other 

 plants, it once had leaves, but a weak stem, and 

 desiring to reach the light, began to twine. 

 Tasting juices by chance, it was nourished by 

 them and so began a downfall which has con- 

 tinued until it presents the degraded spectacle 

 of a plant without a root, without a twig, with- 

 out a leaf and with a stem so useless as to be in- 

 adequate to bear its own weight. Other plants 

 with smaller beginnings have gone on to higher 

 forms, but the dodder from a breach of the laws 

 of evolution has paid one of nature's heaviest 

 fines lost the organs which it once possessed 

 and is a yellow creeping parasite almost its 

 whole life long. 



Sunday, July 16. The morning cloudy and 

 presaging rain. The wind soughs dolefully 

 through the branches of my oaks, mine for 

 nearly a fortnight past but soon to revert to the 

 lawful owner. More pleasure perhaps have I 

 gotten from their shade, more heat from their 

 bark, more inspiration from their lofty forms 

 than they will ever yield to him. 



