autumnale). This is a real autumn plant, not generally common, and therefore not accessible to many of our readers; but its history is so interesting, so illustrative of the Divine care and wisdom, that it

In Sep

well deserves a notice here. The pale purple meadow-saffron-Fig. 152-is just like a crocus in form, but its mode of growth is different. tember and October, the solid bulb which lies embedded in the earth sends up its unprotected blossom: no leaf has it to guard it from the winds of the equinox, or from the night frosts which tell us of coming winter. And how is this late blos

R

somer to ripen its seeds without warmth and sunshine, and without-?-nay not without protection. True, the flower has risen and adorned the autumnal meadows, at this time so bare of other ornament, the anthers have ripened their pollen, the pollen has been shed upon the three-cleft stigma-Fig. 153, 3 —and the seeds-Fig. 153, 5-have been thereby fertilized; but they ripen not this side of Christmas; they lie deep down in the earth, snugly covered up from the frost and snow, till the warmth of returning spring calls them forth; then are they and the seed-vessel which holds them, and their green straight-veined leaves withal, elevated from their winter sleep to meet the ripening sun-ray.

Still we

hear some reader exclaim, "All this is very pretty, but how is it ?" Look at the adjoining woodcut— Fig. 153—which represents the section of our meadow-saffron flower as it appears in autumn. You see the petals-1-the stamens-2-the style-3. Trace that style down the long tube-4. Down, down it takes you far beneath the earth, the surface of which is marked at the point-e; at last it ends in the well-filled seed-cup-5-within the solid bulb. Through that long tube and style descend the fertilizing influences of the pollen of the autumn blossoms; the flower withers, and the baby-seeds, cradled in their well-protected cup, betake themselves to rest, till Winter's reign is over, till the glad time when

"The bursting buds look up

And greet the sunlight, while it lingers yet
On the warm hill-side, and the violet

Opens her azure cup

Meekly, and countless wild flowers wake to fling
Their earliest incense on the gales of spring;"

then come up, along with the gay corollas of Spring, the germs of Autumn, the buried seeds to be ripened, scattered, and in due time to furnish their blossoms, which deck the sober russet of the declining year with their purple broidery. Tell us, reader, know you a more .striking illustration of the "tender mercies which are over all His works," than the history of the flowering and seeding of our little meadow-saffron ?

Rambles not a few have we taken our readers, by moss and moor, by stream and lake, and in almost all have we encountered a tiny little plant, individually small enough, but conspicuous from its numbers, which extends in one surface of almost unbroken green over many a still water, which it protects from the heat of the sun, while it affords habitation to numberless insects. Moreover, insects, habitation and all, are apt to be gobbled up by the birds which skim the surface of the pools; hence, the plant itself has the name of duckweed (Lemna). The common duckweed which covers the pools must be familiar to all, a little oval floating leaflet, with one solitary root depending from it in the water, and increasing chiefly by means of buds, which take the place of flowers and seeds on the side of the tiny leaf or frond. These buds expanding into little fronds resembling the parent one, to which they still remain attached, likewise bud out, and so there is a succession of leaf after leaf growing from and still attached to each other, and forming one continuous sheet of green. Examine the little duckweed; it has no gay flower to offer you, but it is a curious little plant. Sometimes in place

of the buds you will find two little stamens and a tiny seed-vessel. The species of duckweed alluded

to in these remarks-Lemna minor-is common on almost every pool; three other species are found in Britain, but are much less frequent.

And now "Farewell to Flowers," for

"Autumn's latest gold

Hangs on the woods, and Summer's latest bloom
Is fading fast, as Winter, stern and cold,

Comes from the northern home of clouds and gloom."

But not farewell to our readers, for we have somewhat to say to them of fruit as well as flowers, of bright berries, and of seed-vessels and seeds, that yet give interest to a botanical ramble even in November.

NOVEMBER.

"The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year,

Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sere. Heaped in the hollows of the grove the withered leaves lie dead: They rustle to the eddying gust and to the rabbits' tread."

"Where are the flowers; the fair young flowers, that lately sprung and stood

In brighter light and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood?

Alas! they all are in their graves! the gentle race of flowers
Are lying in their lowly beds with the fair and good of ours.
The rain is falling where they lie; but the cold November rain
Calls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely ones again."

TRULY, botanizing in November is cheerless work, if one looks for flowers; the "gentle race" have all passed away, and scarce a rain-beaten specimen of the never-failing daisy remains to us. Nevertheless, we are not yet disposed to say "farewell." After flowers, come fruits, and we may still pass a few profitable