time you take a walk, you will see that 

 the more tender shoots and the buds are 

 decked in rich reds and browns. That 

 this is not for mere ornament may be 

 practically demonstrated by wrapping the 

 bulbs of two similar thermometers, the 

 one with a green leaf, the other with a 

 brown or red leaf, say of begonia or beet. 

 Then put the two in the sunlight and you 

 will soon find a difference of from six to 

 ten degrees in favor of the warming-up 

 color. Speaking of buds, have you ex- 

 amined the horse chestnut bud? It is 

 prepared for the winter in the most sub- 

 stantial manner. The future leaf is first 

 wrapped in a quantity of finest silky wool, 

 then a number of tough light green cases 

 are put on, and this is followed by com- 

 pact brown scales neatly overlapping, 

 with a complete coating of wax, so that 

 the interior is effectively protected from 

 the cold and moisture. The use of the 

 warming-up colors is quite common with 

 plants. 



In the far north the same plant that re- 

 quires the whole long growing season to 

 mature its seed, will crowd the whole pro- 

 cess into a few weeks. It will suspend 

 growth and all other processes, or run 

 them on short time and devote itself al- 

 most entirely to producing seed, and the 

 seed itself will have much thicker shell. 



1 was interested last autumn in the pa- 

 thetic struggle of a humble little Cheno- 

 podium album that had started life late 

 and under unfavorable circumstances. It 

 came up in September under the north 

 piazza near the beaten foot path ; close up 

 to the building. I was first attracted by 

 the fact that, though it was not over a 

 foot high, it had bloomed and was mak- 

 ing seed at a desperate rate, while its 

 sisters earlier in the season reached sev- 

 eral feet in height before blooming. But, 

 alas ! for the vanity of the poor little crea- 

 ture, the cold weather during the Christ- 

 mas holidays came on, and the steam be- 

 ing shut off, the side of the building grew 

 cold and my struggling little friend was 

 frozen, and soon its lifeless remains were 

 the sport and derision of the rude Jan- 

 uary winds. I pitied the poor little vaga- 

 bond despite the bad record of her fam- 

 ily. Indeed plants, like people, must suf- 

 fer sometimes because of an evil ancestry. 

 In this case I was touched by the pathos 



of the situation, and really hoped the per- 

 tinacious little wretch might proudly 

 scatter her well-matured seed upon the 

 hard-beaten path as an inspiration to the 

 many boys that passed daily, grumbling 

 because of the hardness of their lot. But 

 the only moral I can now draw is the fool- 

 ishness of delaying in the right start. 



Sometimes the supply of light-energy 

 is so great that the little chlorophyll ma- 

 chines cannot use it in their legitimate 

 work, nor does the plant use it in prepar- 

 ing the warming-up color. Then the disc- 

 shaped corpuscles turn their edges in- 

 stead of their flat surfaces to the light, or 

 sometimes move deeper down into the 

 leaf. In some cases the leaf itself turns 

 edgewise instead of broadside to the sun. 



There are many plants so constituted 

 that they cannot live from year to year in 

 our northern climate, and they must 

 make some provision for preserving their 

 species, and right cunningly do they do 

 this. At a certain period of its growth the 

 potato, for example, puts its starch-mak- 

 ing machinery to work on full time, and 

 hurries the starch down below the surface 

 of the ground, and stores it up in what 

 we call a tuber. These tubers have stored 

 in them a number of embryo potato 

 plants, whose lack-luster eyes we see 

 peeping out on all sides. When the time 

 for growth comes, the young plant starts 

 with a reserve-food supply sufficient to 

 keep it growing for some time. We have 

 all noticed, no doubt, how large a plant 

 will grow from a potato, even in a com- 

 paratively dark cellar. We must not 

 think that tuber-bearing vines and nut- 

 producing trees are actuated entirely by 

 philanthropic motives. Each nut is the 

 young tree sent forth with his patrimony 

 strapped to his back, ready to make a 

 good start in the world as soon as the fa- 

 vorable time comes. 



There are many devices for spending 

 the winter that limits of time and space 

 will prevent me writing about. Many of 

 them more curious than the simple ex- 

 amples I have cited. 



Plants are themselves generally unable 

 to move from their fixed positions, so if 

 they are to become prominent in the 

 world they must send out their children — 

 and many and ingenious are their devices 

 for accomplishing this end. Most of my 



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