i79 ■ 
A PEE A FOR OUR NATIVE WIED PLANTS. 
reaching tendency of its branches. Someone had stolen 
the pot of gold which is said to be at the end of the rain¬ 
bow, and the wind-messengers were sent to search for it. 
The elm, the oak, the pine, and all the trees, were asked 
if they knew the thief. All pointed their leaves toward 
the poplar, saying, “The poplar knows, the poplar 
knows.” “I know?” said the poplar, raising its hands 
in pretended surprise, “*but how should I know?” 
Just then the pot of gold was seen shining through its 
leaves, and as a punishment the wind-messengers decreed 
that it should forever hold its arms in just that position, a 
warning to all other trees to be honest! 
The poplars are somewhat apart from the conventional 
type of trees, but the richness of foliage, both in texture 
and color, their smooth, handsome trunks and the constant 
rustle of their gossipy little leaves, one upon another, 
would seem to make them the most sociable of trees and 
much to be admired, but appearances are sometimes said 
to be deceitful! 
A Plea for Our Native Wild Plants. 
BY FREDERICK W. BATCHEEDER. 
A quaint Spanish song tells us how a flower once loved 
a butterfly, and how, in her intense longing to join her 
heart’s mate, fluttering wantonly by, she cried out piteous¬ 
ly, “Either take root like me, or let me fly with thee !” 
Doubtless the thought in the poet’s mind was of a human 
love, the love of some peasant maid for a lord of high de¬ 
gree. Yet, if plants could think, I doubt not they would 
many a time be seized with a desire to be freed from earth, 
like the butterflies and the birds, and so escape some of the 
dangers that beset them. 
Forman, the only animal that wantonly destroys, has be¬ 
come their worst enemy. His selfishness may undo in a 
