THE LADIES' FLORAL CABINET. 
253 
will take its place. These facts, as applied to the Dahlia, 
are so well stated by “ W.” in the Gardeners’ Magazine, 
we quote them in full:— 
“ A short time ago I had the pleasure of seeing what 
one seldom sees nowadays—a border of double Dahlias. 
The plants, 120 in number, were arranged in three rows. 
They included twenty-five varieties, all show flowers, 
mostly seifs, selected from the best in cultivation. 
They were mulched, and it was evident from their ap¬ 
pearance that their wants had been carefully attended 
to. All the flowers that were past their best had been 
removed, so that there were no shabby blossoms to mar 
the general effect, I never before saw such a splendid 
display of floral magnificence. I thought as I gazed on 
the spectacle what a misfortune that whimsical and 
tyrannical fashion should deprive society of such a 
valuable source of enjoyment! Close by was a border 
of about two dozen single Dahlias, which served by 
contrast to show the superior excellency of the doubles, 
and to display the triumph of the florist’s labor and 
skill. 
“In the single Dahlia, which fashion has condescended 
to allow to her votaries, there is the profusion of 
bloom, the richness and variety of color, and the 
autumnal display of the old favorite; but the at¬ 
tribute which distinguishes the latter from all the 
other denizens of the garden, and which adds to va¬ 
riety a distinct class of beauty is wanting. The noble 
grandeur of the double Dahlia is not there. In the 
single variety we have, it is true, lightness and ele¬ 
gance, but in those qualities it is surpassed by many 
flowers in cultivation, and in comparison with a 
fine double flower, a single Dahlia may be dismissed 
as nothing.” 
BOTANICAL TRANSGRESSORS. 
It is often noticed that special varieties of plants 
grow in special districts, and the guide books which 
find their way into the hands of autumn wanderers 
generally contain some account of such local varieties. 
These variations are often ascribed to differences of 
soil and climate, and certainly both have a good deal 
to do with the well-being and the perpetuation of spec¬ 
ially varied forms. But many facts show that the 
potency of soil and climate is by no means so great as 
it is popularly supposed to be. Cultivated plants, for 
instance, plants which are under the care of man, grow 
equally well and produce equally abundant fruit in very 
varying soils and climates. Wheat ripens in Siberia 
and in Egypt, in Southern Russia as well as in Northwest 
Canada. The soil and the climate of Europe is suffi¬ 
ciently like that of temperate North America, to lead us 
to suppose that the flora of both would be the same, 
but in fact it is not. We might suppose that plants 
would flourish best in their native soil and in their 
native climate, and here again facts falsify many of our 
suppositions. English Watercress (Nasturtium officinale) 
was unknown in New Zealand, but when introduced 
there it took so kindly to its new home that it is not 
infrequently found with stems twelve feet in length. 
This prodigality of growth was not only found incon¬ 
veniently large for the breakfast table, but it made 
Watercress a formidable impediment to river naviga¬ 
tion; it blocks up river courses, and costs the New 
Zealand Government some hundreds of pounds yearly 
to keep it from altogether choking up the water way. 
Similarly the American Water-weed or Ditch-Moss 
(Anacharis canadensis >, although harmless enough in 
America, has spread with such rapidity in Great 
Britain since its introduction about 1840, that 
there are few rowing men whose sweet serenity 
of temper has not been occasionally ruffled by it. 
The fact seems to be that plants depend not only 
on the soil and climate, but also, to an extent 
hardly as yet sufficiently appreciated, upon the good¬ 
will and forbearance of other plants. Plants grow, it 
has been epigrammatically observed, not where they 
like so much as where other plants will let them. No 
idea seems more fittingly associated with the quiet 
beauty of foliage and of flower than that of tranquility 
and peace, and yet this seeming peacefulness only veils 
to the passer-by an internecine war which is ever going 
on. It almost seems a mere rhetorical flourish to assert 
that war, bitter and unsparing and to the very death, is 
carried on by the silent beauties of our fields and mea¬ 
dows. But war there is. Many species have faded 
away and have become extinct in certain localities, not 
because the soil was unsuitable or the climate too rigor¬ 
ous, but because they have been overpowered and 
crushed out of existence by their floral rivals. Warfare 
among plants is carried on in various ways. In park 
lands it is often noticed that no flowers bloom under the 
shade of the trees, although outside the shaded circle 
the grass is studded with gaily-colored dots and patches. 
The ground beneath a Fir tree or a Yew is not only de¬ 
void of flowers, but as a rule the toughest grasses, tena¬ 
cious of life as they are, have been choked and throttled 
out of existence by the layers of fallen leaves which 
cover the ground and shut out light and air. It is not 
the soil, but the absence of sunlight which is fatal. The 
leaves of the tree, by intercepting the light, deprive the 
germinating seeds of one of the main sources of their 
well-being. Many large-leaved plants war in this way 
upon their less favored fellows; but to equalize the con¬ 
ditions of the combat a little, many plants are especially 
equipped to fight with large-leaved foes. Some, like 
the Convolvulus, are enabled to obtain a sufficient 
quantity of air and light by climbing; others, like the 
Potentilla replans, which have not learned how to 
climb and are in danger of being left too much in the 
shade, send out long, trailing stems, which throw out 
roots at every node or joint, and find compensation in 
this way. Annuals, plants which die down each autumn 
and are grown from seed, fight at a great disadvantage 
when they have to contend with perennials. Perennials, 
when once they have their roots embedded in the earth, 
are prepared at each successive approach of spring to 
push up th eir fresh shoots through the moistened ground, 
and they supply their nurslings with nourishment from 
already existing stores. But annuals have to begin at 
