George. Harry, can you blow off all of these dandelion feathers at a puff?

Harry. I will try.

Geo. See—you have left almost half of them.

Har. Can you do better?

Geo. Yes—look here.

Har. There are still several left.

Tut. A pretty child’s play you have got there. Bring me one of the dandelion heads, and let us see if we can make no other use of it.

Har. Here is a very full one.

Tut. Do you know what these feathers, as you call them, are?

Geo. I believe they belong to the seed.

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.