52 NATURE'S REALM. 
were content to remain there forever, forgetful 
of home and friends ; how the willow was sup- 
posed to be typical of sadness and the cypress 
of mourning ; how the juniper was considered 
the emblem of faith and its fruit a charm to 
protect the dead from evil ; how the holly be- 
came consecrated to the festivities of winter, 
and the myrtle was dedicated to Venus and be- 
came the prize for beauty ; how the charming 
tradition of the mistletoe came into existence, 
and a thousand other equally delightful myths 
which have perfumed the pages of literature 
with the scent of leaves and blossoms. Through 
the entire range of the classics these thoughts 
run like a thread of gold, and as we read the 
divine Theocritus and sit with him “ under the 
whispering pine by the side of the murmuring 
fountain,” we can almost delude ourselves into 
the belief that the forest is still tenanted by the 
Dryads and wood nymphs, and that some- 
where within its shade the Naiad sports, dis- 
pensing to the thirsty earth the water she has 
‘garnered from the skies.” 
To those of a practical turn of mind these 
things may seem trivial and visionary, but Na- 
ture is broad enough for all, and those who 
prefer an appeal to their perceptions rather 
than to their imagination may find an ample 
field tor observation. The respiration and cir- 
culation of plants, the generation of oxygen and 
the absorption of carbonic acid, which render 
each plant an instrument for purifying the air ; 
the relation of the temperature to vegetation 
and the effects upon the soil, climate and water 
supply which arise from the destruction of our 
forests, may prove to be studies of absorbing 
interest to the most exacting mind. 
Nature’s methods of dispersing her seeds 
and perpetuating her species are most inge- 
nious. The breezes of Heaven, the birds of the 
air, the beasts of the field, the rivers and ocean 
currents, are all her servants, and they do their 
work thoroughly. The down of the thistle and 
the winged seed of the maple sail off through 
the air far from the parent stem. The burrs 
and clinging seeds are carried miles in the 
wool of sheep and goats, and the fur of bears 
and foxes. The lines of oak, hickory and but- 
ternut trees growing along the stone walls and 
fences are the work of the squirrels. The 
birds, however, are the most active and uni- 
versal agents in scattering seeds. It is said 
that the vegetation which covers the ruins of 
the Coliseum at Rome—from the grass grow- 
ing in the crevices of the walls to the fig tree 
whose huge roots have split the arches—can be 
directly traced*to the birds. The rivers and 
the oceans are thoroughfares along which the 
germs of vegetable life travel in their migra- 
tions. Pouchet informs us that cocoanuts have 
floated four hundred miles to Malabar; nuts 
from equatorial America are often stranded on 
the shores of Scandinavia, and seeds from 
Guiana and Brazil have at last found a resting 
place on the banks of the Congo in Africa ; 
species of mountain plants have been carried 
by the glaciers, and streams born of them, from 
the summits of the Alps to the plains of Mu- 
nich, from the Andes to the islands of Orinoco, 
and from the Himalayas to the delta of the 
‘Ganges. 
The vitality of certain seeds is marvelous. 
Wheat found within the cerements of an 
Egyptian mummy has been known to sprout 
and grow, and from soil which has been taken 
from deep excavations strange weeds have 
sprung up. In the resources of Nature pro- 
vision seems to have been made, in case of the 
destruction of a species, to replace it with an- 
other. Ifa pine forest is cut down an oak for- 
est almost immediately usurps the ground it 
occupied. 
In the relation existing between vegetation 
and the seasons there seems to be something 
almost human—something applicable to our 
own lives, our birth, maturity, death, and even, 
perhaps, our resurrection. Spring is the sea- 
son of babyhood. The soil is congested and 
expands to meet the growing wants of the 
swelling seeds and tender radicles. The melt- 
ing snows and gentle rains, which dissolve and 
make digestible the solids they require, are 
the milk which sustains their young lives. In 
the fields and pastures on an early spring 
morning one may hear a gentle supping sound, 
as of many tiny mouths drinking. It is the 
nursing time of the plants and grasses. From 
the breast of Mother Earth they draw and fill 
themselves, absorbing the nourishment for 
their growth and vigor. Summer is the radi- 
