XXVI 
THE POTATO AT HOME AND IN 
ENGLAND 
Wuen I was a small boy running about wild on 
the pampas, amazingly interested in everything 
and making wonderful discoveries every day, I 
was attracted by a small flower among the grasses 
—pale and meek-looking, with a yellow centre, 
petals faintly washed with purple, and a lovely 
scent. It charmed me with its gentle beauty and 
new fragrance, and surprised me with its resem- 
blance, both in flower and leaf, to the potato-plant. 
On showing a spray to my parents, they told me 
that it was a potato-flower. This seemed incredible, 
since the potato was a big plant with large clusters 
of purplish flowers, almost scentless, and, further- 
more, it was a cultivated plant. They explained 
that all cultivated plants were originally wild; 
that long cultivation had had the effect of changing 
their appearance and making them larger; that 
was how we had got our wheat, which came from 
a poor little grass with a seed scarcely bigger than 
a pin’s head. Even the botanists had had great 
difficulty in identifying it as the original wheat- 
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