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If we take simply the utilitarian view of flowers, we should say that their purpose is to make seeds and fruits. After the flower falls a seedvessel is left on the stem. In some cases this is barely large enough to hold the seeds-it is simply a seed-holder. But sometimes this is larger than it need to be to hold the seeds-it is then fruit, as well as a seed-holder. Here is the seed-holder of the rose, shaped, as you see, very much like a pear. When the rose first falls it is small, but it grows, and commonly becomes of a reddish color. When you cut it open you find it entirely filled with seeds, as represented here, crowded closely together.

and early next morning you will see them all bees are ever busy gathering their store of honey. opened, presenting the elegant shape shown at But if you look at evening, all this hum and stir the bottom of the opposite page. The texture of of the insect world is stilled-they have gone to the flower is exceedingly thin and delicate. It their rest for the night, and you see but here is on account of this that the strong ribs, which and there one of the smaller ones, sheltered in you see, run up from the bottom of the flower- some flower upon a bed more soft and beautiful cup, and come to a point at its edge. They than royal wealth ever secured to its possessor. are the frame-work that keeps it in shape. If you look at the same flower in the afternoon you will find it closing up in the manner represented in this figure. You see that the spiral arrangement that it had when folded as a bud is not observed now. The points of the ribs bend directly over into the middle of the flower. The cypress vine, like the morningglory, has a fresh set of blossoms every day. Very beautiful are its brilliant red tiny flowers in the morning, new-born with the rising sun, as they peep out from among the delicate leaves. But before the sun is set they are all wilted. A few short hours have sufficed for them to fulfill their mission of beauty. It is curious to see how the bumble-bee manages to get at the honey in these flowers. They have a deep and slender tube, at the bottom of which is the honey; and as the bee can not go into this, he works away at it until he slits it open.

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In contrast with this is represented a small pear cut open so as to show how small a space in this seed-holder the seeds occupy. All the juicy substance which makes up its bulk is not needed to preserve the

Did you ever observe, as you have walked in your garden, how busy the insect world is among the flowers? Besides the "busy little bee," and his lumbering noisy cousin, the bumble-bee, and the sportive butterfly, there are multitudes of flies and bugs, great and small, many of them of brilliant color, and some of the smallest of exceeding delicacy and beauty. A Frenchman in Paris, St. Pierre, watched a strawberry plant in a pot in his window, and counted in three weeks thirty-seven different species of insects that visited it. "They were all," he says, "dis-seeds-it is designed for antinguishable from each other by their colors, other purpose. And the their forms, and their motions; some of them same distinction can be shone like gold, others were of the colors of drawn in regard to the seedsilver and brass; some were spotted, some holders of other plants. Most striped; they were blue, green, brown, and seeds are enveloped in the chestnut-colored. The heads of some were fruit part of the seed-holder. It is otherwise, rounded like a turban; those of others were however, with that small drawn out in the figure of a cone; here it was but elegant fruit, the strawdark as a tuft of black velvet, there it sparkled berry-here the seeds are like a ruby. There was not less diversity in set in upon the outside, their wings; in some they were long and brill-giving beauty to the fruit iant, like transparent plates of mother-of-pearl; by their contrast with its in others short and broad, resembling net-work bright-red surface. bit mo of the finest gauze."

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As you watch the insects about flowers at mid-day it is a busy scene. Some are crawling about; others seem to be resting for the time, perhaps feasting their little eyes on the beauties around them; others are flying about from one flower to another, or hovering over them, humming their quiet song of pleasure; and the

The formation of seeds and fruits is the finishing of a process of which the flowering is the beginning. The same material is used

throughout-the seeds and the fruits are made from the same sap with the flowers. Few think how wonderful this is. But look at it for a mo

ment. Here is a pure white orange blossom as readily as seeds that have been kept only with its rich perfume. It is constructed from from the previous year. the sap that comes up in the green stem. The blossom falls, and a little green ball is left, made out of this same sap; and by the flow of this fluid to it this green ball becomes larger and larger, and at length changes its color to a bright yellow or orange. What a series of changes in these successive elaborations from that simple and almost characterless fluid, the sap! And then look at the ripe fruit itself, the consummation of these elaborations, and observe what different products from this sap are contained in it. You have the sweet juice inclosed in the cells of the divisions, like so many sealed bottles ready for use; the white and tasteless substance of which these cells and divisions are made; the seeds; and then the skin with its pungent and often bitter oil-all very different, and yet made from the same material.

Seeds and fruits could have been made without being preceded by any thing so beautiful as flowers. This beginning of the series of processes might have been such as not to awaken admiration or gratify taste. It might have been simple, even homely; and yet the object of the processes might have been accomplished just as well as now. But the Creator chose to usher in the fruits with which He blesses us with even a profuse display of beauty-He has done more than this, in giving us many flowers where no fruit follows, thereby showing that beauty is not always the mere attendant upon use, but an end sometimes to be aimed at by itself.

While fruits are especially for use, as flowers are for beauty, in many fruits the two objects are combined. Clusters of grapes, hanging by their slender stems, the bright yellow oranges among the green leaves, and richly-colored peaches, are familiar examples. Sometimes, though not often, the fruit itself is more beautiful than the flower, as in the case of the strawberry.

When a seed germinates, there is a stalk and a root, the stalk always going up to seek the air, and the root going down to fasten itself in the ground, no matter what the position of the seed may be. Here is a representation of a seed burst open, and letting these two parts go, each in its destined direction. Why it is that this sort of instinct thus governs the movements of the root and the stalk, we know not. The root sometimes

shows its propensity to seek the ground in an extraordinary manner. In Galloway, in Scotland, a seed of the plane-tree was observed to take root on an old wall, about ten feet from the ground. The young tree grew well for a while, sending its roots into the earth which was between the stones. But after a while it began to languish, because this small quantity of earth was not sufficient to maintain a tree of the size to which this had reached. It shortly, however, revived again by sending down roots the whole ten feet into the ground at the foot of the wall. It would have become a large tree had it not been blown down by a heavy wind, which was readily done because it was so stilted up upon its long roots.

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Various are the ways in which seeds are scattered. The wind, however, is the principal agent, and some seeds have special contrivances to enable it to blow them about. Here, The germination of seeds is an interesting for example, are seeds process. A dry seed does not look as if much of the maple, with their I would ever come out of it. But there is a thin wing-like appendwonder-working power locked up in that seed. ages, by means of which There is life there; but it is asleep. There is they go whirling in the wind, instead of dropping the germ there of a large growth. There need always just under the tree. And here you to be applied certain stimulants, heat and moist- have one of the seeds of the danure, and this life wakes up and bursts its prison-delion. Its long and slender house, and the germ unfolds more and more, till stem, ending in numerous fine the plant, with all its appurtenances, is evolved. | fibres, is an apparatus fitting it to From a single kernel of corn comes up the tall be a great traveler, as it often is, stalk, with its broad, long leaves, and at length upon the wings of the wind. The appear the golden ears; there being nothing in symmetrical feathery globe, which all this growth like to the little kernel put into the seeds of the dandelion form the ground except the kernels in those ears. upon its stalk, is one of the most So too, from the acorn trodden into the ground exquisitely delicate structures to comes the mighty oak; and the life imprisoned be found in the vegetable kingdom; and yet, bein the little brown seed of an apple, called out cause it is so common an object, it is seldom by warmth and moisture, produces a tree load- admired. As we see the child making a toy of ed year after year with fruit. it, and blowing upon it, to see its feathered seeds fly off in the air, we do not think of it as one of the wonderful things of God's handiwork. In looking at this globular arrangement, we must observe that the rays do not

Sometimes life in the seed has a long undisturbed sleep, even for centuries. Seeds buried in Herculaneum and Pompeii have been recently taken out, and have been found to germinate

come from a centre. The seeds, as you see by the bare stalk, here represented, are fastened to a rounded base; and, therefore, if any artificer were to undertake to construct such a thing, he would find it very difficult to make the stems all of the proper length to secure the perfect globular shape. If they were attached to a common centre, the work would be much more easily done, for then the stems would be all of equal length. But with an Omnipotent artificer, of course, nothing can be difficult-the most complicated arrangements are to Him equally easy with the most simple.

Here are three other wing-arrangements of

seeds. The first is the seed of the salsifymuch like that of the dandelion, but differing from it in having each of its terminal branches feathered. The second is the seed of the clematis. The third has fine fibres extending in regular curved lines from the seed. The seeds of the thistle have this arrangement, which is exceedingly beautiful.

A vast deal of life sleeps in the scattered and hoarded seeds through the winter, to wake up and put forth its abundance when the warm breezes of spring come. It is asleep, also, in the roots in the ground. All those plants that die down to the ground in autumn, but come up again in spring, do but have their life imprisoned and put to sleep for the time in their roots, away from the freezing air, just as it sleeps in the seed. But life sleeps also in the buds. It sleeps thus in the trees, and shrubs, and vines, that are so bare through the winter. Look at the branch of a tree after the autumn winds have stripped it of its leaves, and you will see that, though it is so bare, there are all over it little buds, holding in them the life that is to unfold them into such luxuriance of leaves, and flowers, and fruits, when the summer comes again. These buds are formed at the close of summer, and they contain folded up within them the vegetation of the next year. Precious treasures are in these repositories, and well, therefore, must they be guarded against the severity of winter. Observe how this is

done. The outside of a bud is made of scales, overlapping each other like the tiles of a roof, and well fastened together, thus completely shutting in the sleeping germs from the wintry blast. These scales are well seen in the bud of the horse-chestnut, represented here, and in this case they are glued together by a resinous substance. These coverings of the buds have been called by some one their "winter cradles ;" and very appropriate is the name, for there they rock back and forth in their sleep as secure from harm as the infant in its cradle by the fireside. And there is an additional security to the bud from the cold, by the downy lining which we find on the inside of its cradle; this being, in fact, as necessary to its preservation as fur is to the animals of a wintry clime. It is the bud's little blanket. The buds of warm climates have no such coverings, for they do not need them-the Creator provides the defense only where it is wanted.

We have spoken of the buds as the germs of the vegetation of another year. Indeed, in the sleeping embryos there contained can be traced, in miniature, the forms of that future vegetation. A German botanist, in a minute examination of a horse-chestnut bud, when it was no larger than a pea, saw distinctly twenty-eight leaves and a spike of sixty flowers. The growth, then, from the bud, often enormous-and we may say always so relatively to the bud-is but the unfolding and enlarging of what is there at the beginning. Omnipotent power sketches with minute exactness in the tiny bud, locked up in its down and its coat of scales, the plan of all its luxuriant development of leaves and flowers.

There are three different kinds of buds. There are buds from which come only leaves; others from which come flowers; and others still, from which come both leaves and flowers. You have an example of the last kind of buds in the horse-chestnut. When its glutinous covering is thrust open in the spring, there appear from it leaves on a stalk, which unfold themselves in a beautiful manner, and at length a rich cluster of blossoms is seen at the summit of this stalk. The same is true of the buds of the lilac. The branches of a grape-vine, even after many things have put forth their leaves and blossoms, appear like lifeless sticks; but you see here and there small round buds of a woolly appearance.

From these come forth most extraordinary growths. Each is the germ of a fruitful branch. When we see at length a branch stretching out many feet, with its broad leaves and its rich clusters of grapes, we can hardly believe that all this has come from one of those little brown woolly buds.

This wonderful unfolding of plants from buds is seen in many different forms. It is admirably exhibited in the English cowslip, a representa

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tion of which is here given. In the spring, a bud is seen pushing up from the ground. From this bud gradually unfold the leaves, and from the midst of them rises a stalk, which is surmounted by beautiful flowers. And the same can be seen in multitudes of plants in the spring. Now if all this development, thus gradually coming from the buds, should in any case occur rapidly while we stand watching it, we should be struck with wonder at what we should call the magical results. But would the process by which all this is done be really any more magical than it is now? The great wonder is that it is done at all. There is mystery, deep mystery, in the process, irrespective of the time that it occupies. The depth of this mystery is only realized when we attempt to fathom it, and the common insensibility to it comes from the constant but unthinking observation of the results. Let one begin to examine the working of the mechanical, chemical, and vital agencies in the processes of growth, instead of beholding their results with uninquiring gaze, and he will need no unusual rapidity of 'development to startle him into a realization of their mysterious and wonderful character.

We have said much of flowers; let us not forget the leaves. These, though they vary much less in color than flowers do, approach to them

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in variety of form. We will notice a few of these forms. The botanist gives leaves names

palm of a hand. The leaf of the passion-flower is of this shape.

Here, on the other hand, is a pedate leaf, shaped much like the spread foot of a bird.

The first of these three leaves is called panduriform, from its resemblance to a fiddle; the

second is called peltate, or target shaped; the third is cirrhose, ending in a tendril, the plant being supported in this way.

Here is a serrate, or saw-like leaf. This is a very common form, of which the rose, apple, and peach leaves are familiar examples.

This is a little different. It is a crenate leaf, its edge being scalloped.

These are but a few among the many forms which are given to leaves. Their variety of appearance is much increased by their various arrangement. Here are two vari

eties: the first, ternate, or three leaved, of which | They are little capsules, which, when opened to the clover is an example; and the second, biter- discharge their seeds, are cup-like depressions, as here represented.

One of the most peculiar of leaves is that of the Venus fly-trap. Here it is represented as

nate, twice three-leaved, the leaf-stem dividing into three parts, and each part having three leaflets.

The leaf-stem, in this case, has many leaves upon it, and their arrangement is complex.

expanded. It consists of two lobes jointed together, and capable of moving upon each other like the two parts of a hinge. They do thus move whenever an insect treads upon the up

From the examples, which we have given you can get no adequate idea of the extent of variety of form and arrangement in leaves; this can be done only by an examination of the leaves themselves as nature presents them.

per surface of the leaf, and inclose the poor captive, as is seen here. The points on the edges of the lobes lock together when they close, and it is supposed that the three spines, which are in the middle of each of these lobes, serve to transfix the imprisoned insect, and thus destroy his life more quickly than it would otherwise be done. The singular irritability of the inner surface of this leaf is peculiarly lively in the heat of summer, when the insect world is very busy among the flowers.

The side-saddle flower is of itself very singular, but its leaf, seen here, is still more so. It

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has somewhat the shape of a butter-boat, and its lip is shaped as if it were intended to be a vessel from which some liquid is to be poured. These leaves almost always have some water in them.

But the most singular of all leaves is that of the Chinese pitcher-plant. It has a lid, as you see, which is generally closed, and yet there is commonly about half a pint of water in the pitcher.

Whatever doubt there may be as to the source of the water in the leaf of the side-saddle flower, there is none as to its source here. The closed lid

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