Evening at Home 41

Evening at Home 41

Tut._ They do, and they are worth examining. Look at this single one

through my magnifying glass; you observe the seed at the bottom, like

the point of a dart. From it springs a slender hairy shaft crowned by a

very elegant spreading plume. You see it is a complete arrow of Nature’s

manufacture.

 

_Geo._ How exact!

 

_Har._ What a beautiful thing!

 

_Tut._ I am sure you see the use of it at once.

 

_Geo._ It is to set the seeds a flying with the wind.

 

_Har._ And I suppose they sow themselves where they light?

 

_Tut._ They do. This is one of Nature’s contrivances for

_dissemination_, or that scattering of the seeds of plants which makes

them reach all the places proper for their growth. I dare say you have

observed other plants furnished with the same winged or feathered seeds.

 

_Har._ O yes—there are groundsel, and ragwort, and thistles.

 

_Geo._ In a windy day I have seen the air all full of thistle-down.

 

_Tut._ Very likely: and for that reason you never saw a new-made bank of

earth, or a heap of dung in the fields, but it was presently covered

with thistles. These, and the other plants that have been named, belong

to a very extensive class, which it is worth while being acquainted

with. They are called the _compound-flowered plants_.

 

_Geo._ Will you be so good as to give us a lecture about them?

 

_Tut._ With all my heart. Get me a dandelion in flower, a thistle-head,

and a daisy—if you cannot find a common daisy, one of the great ox-eye

daisies in the corn will do as well.

 

_Geo. and Har._ Here they are.

 

_Tut._ Very well. All these are _compound flowers_; for if you will

examine them narrowly, you will perceive that they consist of a number

of little flowers, or _florets_, enclosed in a common cup, which cup is

made of a number of scales, lying on each other like the tiles of a

house.

 

_Geo._ I see it.

 

_Tut._ The florets are not all alike in shape. In the dandelion you will

observe that they consist of a tube, from which, at its upper end,

proceeds a sort of strap-shaped tongue or fillet; in the thistle they

are tubular or funnel-shaped throughout; in the daisy the centre ones,

which form the _disk_, as it is called, are tubular, while those in the

circumference have a broad strap on one side, which altogether compose

the _rays_ of the flowers; whence this sort are called _radiated_. Now

take the glass and examine the florets singly. Can you discern their

chives and pointals?

 

_Geo._ I can.

 

_Tut._ You may remark that there are five chives to each, the tips of

which unite into a tube, through which the pointal passes, having its

summit doubled, and curled back.

 

_Har._ I can just make it out with the glass, but hardly with the naked

eye.

 

_Tut._ It is from this circumstance of the tips of the chives growing

together that Linnæus has taken his distinction of the whole class; and

he has named it _Syngenesia_, from two Greek words having that

signification. You will further observe that all these florets stand

upon a stool or receptacle at the bottom of the flower, which is the

cushion left on the dandelion-stalk after the seeds are blown away. Into

this the seeds are slightly stuck, which are one apiece to every perfect

or fertile floret. This is the general structure of the compound

flowers.

 

_Har._ Are all their seeds feathered?

 

_Tut._ Not all. These of the daisy are not. But in a great many species

they are.

 

_Har._ I should have thought these were a very useful class of plants by

the pains nature has taken to spread them, if you had not told us that

thistles, and ragwort, and groundsel, were some of them.

 

_Tut._ And if you do not confine your idea of usefulness to what is

serviceable to man, but extend it to the whole creation, you may safely

conclude, from their abundance, that they must be highly useful in the

general economy of nature. In fact, no plants feed a greater number of

insects, and none are more important to the small birds, to whom they

furnish food by their seeds, and a fine warm down for lining their

nests. On the approach of winter you may see whole flocks of linnets and

goldfinches pecking among the thistles; and you know that groundsel is a

favourite treat to birds in a cage. To man, however, they are for the

most part troublesome and unsightly weeds. Burdock, thistles, and

yarrow, overrun his hedge-banks; dandelion, and hawkweed, which much

resembles it, fill his meadows; the tall and branching ragwort, and blue

succory, cumber his pastures; and wild camomile, ox-eye, and

corn-marygold, choke up his cornfields. These plants in general have a

bitter nauseous taste, so that no cattle will touch them. Daisies, I

believe, are the chief exception.

 

_Geo._ But some of them, I suppose, are useful to man?

 

_Tut._ Yes, several, and in various ways. Some that have milky bitter

juices are employed in medicine for purifying the blood and removing

obstructions. Of these are dandelion, succory, and sow-thistle. Many

others are bitter, and strongly aromatic; as camomile, wormwood,

southernwood, feverfew, and tansy; these are good for strengthening the

stomach and expelling worms. That capital ingredient in salad, lettuce,

is of this class, and so is endive. Artichoke forms a very singular

article of diet, for the part chiefly eaten, called the bottom, is the

receptacle of the flower, upon which the choke, or seeds with their

feathers, is placed. It is said that some of the larger species of

thistles may be dressed and eaten the same way. Then there is Jerusalem

artichoke, which is the root of a species of sunflower, and, when

boiled, much resembles in taste an artichoke bottom. On the whole,

however, a very small proportion of this class of plants is used in

food.

 

_Geo._ Are there no garden-flowers belonging to them?

 

_Tut._ Several, especially of the autumnal ones. There are sunflowers of

various kinds, which are the largest flowers the garden produces, though

not the most sightly; marygolds, both the common, and the French and

African, asters, china-asters, golden-rod, and chrysanthemums. Very few

flowers of this class have an agreeable scent, and their shape is not

the most pleasing; but they have often gay colours, and make a figure in

the garden when other things are over. Well—this is most that I

recollect worth noticing of the compound-flowered plants. They are a

difficult class to make out botanically, though pretty easily known from

each other by sight. I will take care to point out to you the principal

of them that we meet with in our walks, and you must get acquainted with

them.

 

 

 

 

ON PRESENCE OF MIND.

 

 

Mrs. F. one day having occasion to be blooded, sent for a surgeon. As

soon as he entered the room, her young daughter, Eliza, started up, and

was hastily going away, when her mother called her back.

 

_Mrs. F._ Eliza, do not go, I want you to stay by me.

 

_Eliz._ Dear mamma! I can never bear to see you blooded.

 

_Mrs. F._ Why not? what harm will it do you?

 

_Eliz._ O dear! I cannot look at blood. Besides, I cannot bear to see

you hurt, mamma!

 

_Mrs. F._ Oh, if I can bear to feel it, surely you may to see it. But,

come—you _must_ stay, and we will talk about it afterward.

 

Eliza, then, pale and trembling, stood by her mother and saw the whole

operation. She could not help, however, turning her head away when the

incision was made, and the first flow of blood made her start and

shudder. When all was over, and the surgeon gone, Mrs. F. began.

 

_Mrs. F._ Well, Eliza, what do you think of the mighty matter now? Would

it not have been very foolish to have run away from it?

 

_Eliz._ O mamma! how frightened I was when he took out his lancet. Did

it not hurt you a great deal?

 

_Mrs. F._ No, very little. And if it had, it was to do me good, you

know.

 

_Eliz._ But why should I stay to see it? I could do you no good.

 

_Mrs. F._ Perhaps not; but it will do you good to be accustomed to such

sights.

 

_Eliz._ Why, mamma?

 

_Mrs. F._ Because instances are every day happening in which it is our

duty to assist fellow-creatures in circumstances of pain and distress;

and if we were to indulge a reluctance to come near to them on those

occasions, we should never acquire either the knowledge or the presence

of mind necessary for the purpose.

 

_Eliz._ But if I had been told how to help people in such cases, could

not I do it without being used to see them?

 

_Mrs. F._ No. We have all naturally a horror at everything which is the

cause of pain and danger to ourselves or others; and nothing but habit

can give most of us the presence of mind necessary to enable us in such

occurrences to employ our knowledge to the best advantage.

 

_Eliz._ What is _presence of mind_, mamma?

 

_Mrs. F._ It is that steady possession of ourselves in cases of alarm,

that prevents us from being flurried and frightened. You have heard the

__EXPRESSION__ of _having all our wits about us_. That is the effect of