Harry. Pray, what is that growing on the other side of the hedge?

George. Why it is corn—don’t you see it is in ear.

Har. Yes—but it seems too short for corn; and the corn we just now passed is not in ear by a great deal.

Geo. Then I don’t know what it is. Pray, sir, will you tell us?

Tut. I don’t wonder you were puzzled about it. It is a sort of grass sown for hay, and is called rye-grass.

Har. But how happens it that it is so very like corn?

Tut. There is no great wonder in that, for all corn is really a kind of grass; on the other hand, if you were a Lilliputian, every species of grass would appear to you amazing large corn.

Geo. Then there is no difference between corn and grass, but the size?

Tut. None at all.

Har. But we eat corn; and grass is not good to eat.

Tut. It is only the seeds of corn that we eat: we leave the stalks and leaves for cows and horses. Now we might eat the seeds of grass, if they were big enough to be worth gathering; and some particular kinds are in fact eaten in certain countries.

Har. But are wheat and barley really grass?

Tut. Yes—they are a species of that great family of plants, which botanists call grasses; and I will take this opportunity of telling you something about them. Go, George, and pull us up a root of that rye-grass. Harry and I will sit down on this stile till you come to us?

Har. Here is grass enough all round us.

Tut. Well, then, pull up a few roots that you see in ear.

Geo. Here is my grass.

Har. And here is mine.

Tut. Well—spread them all in a handkerchief before us. Now look at the roots of them all. What do you call them?

Geo. I think they are what you have told us—fibrous roots.

Tut. Right—they consist of a bundle of strings. Then look at their stalks—you will find them jointed and hollow, like the straw of corn.

Har. So they are.

Tut. The leaves, you see, of all the kinds are very long and narrow, tapering to a point at their ends. Those of corn, you know, are the same.

Har. Yes—they are so like grass at first, that I can never tell the difference.

Tut. Next observe the ears, or heads. Some of these, you see, are thick, and close, like those of wheat or barley; others are more loose and open, like oats. The first are generally called spikes; the second panicles. If you examine them closely, you will find that they all consist of a number of distinct husky bodies, which are properly the flowers; each of which is succeeded by a single seed. I dare say you have picked ears of wheat?

Har. O yes—I am very fond of them!

Tut. Well then—you found that the grains all lay single, contained in a scaly husk making a part of the ear, or head. Before the seed was formed, there was a flower in its place. I do not mean a gay fine-coloured flower, but a few scales with threads coming out among them, each crowned with a white tip. And soon after the ears of corn appear you will find their flowers open, and these white tips coming out of them. This is the structure of the flowers and flowering heads of every one of the grass tribe.

Geo. But what are the beards of corn?

Tut. The beards are bristles or points running out from the ends of the husks. They are properly called awns. Most of the grass-tribe have something of these, but they are much longer in some kinds than in others. In barley, you know, they are very long, and give the whole field a sort of downy or silky appearance, especially when waved by the wind.

Har. Are there the same kinds of corn and grass in all countries?

Tut. No. With respect to corn, that is in all countries the product of cultivation; and different sorts are found best to suit different climates. Thus, in the northern parts of the temperate zone, oats and rye are chiefly grown. In the middle and southern, barley and wheat. Wheat is universally the species preferred for bread-corn; but there are various kinds of it, differing from each other in size of grain, colour, and other qualities

Har. Does not the best wheat of all grow in England?

Tut. By no means. Wheat is better suited to the warmer climates, and it is only by great attention and upon particular soils that it is made to succeed well here. On the other hand, the torrid zone is too hot for wheat and our other grains; and they chiefly cultivate rice there, and Indian corn.

Geo. I have seen heads of Indian corn as thick as my wrist, but they do not look at all like our corn.

Tut. Yes—the seeds all grow single in a sort of chaffy head; and the stalk and leaves resemble those of the grass-tribe, but of a gigantic size. But there are other plants of this family, which perhaps you have not thought of.

Geo. What are they?

Tut. Canes and reeds—from the sugarcanes and bamboo of the tropics, to the common reed of our ditches, of which you make arrows. All these have the general character of the grasses.

Har. I know that reeds have very fine feathery heads, like the tops of grass.

Tut. They have so. And the stalks are composed of many joints; as are also those of the sugarcane, and of the common cane which grows in the southern countries of Europe, and of which fishing-rods are often made, as well as of the bamboo imported hither for walking-sticks, and applied to many more important uses in the countries of which it is a native. Some of these are very tall plants, but the seeds of them are small in proportion, and not useful for food. But there is yet another kind of grasslike plants common among us.

Geo. What is that?

Tut. Have you not observed in the marshes, and on the sides of ditches, a coarse broader-leaved sort of grass with large dark-coloured spikes? This is sedge, in Latin carex, and there are many sorts of it.

Har. What is that good for?

Tut. It is eaten by cattle, both fresh and dry, but is inferior in quality to good grass.

Geo. What is it that makes one kind of grass better than another?

Tut. There are various properties which give value to grasses. Some spread more than others, resist frost and drought better; yield a greater crop of leaves, and are therefore better for pasturage and hay. The juices of some are more nourishing and sweet than those of others. In general, however, different grasses are suited to different soils; and by improving soils, the quality of the grass is improved.

Geo. Does grass grow in all countries?

Tut. Yes—the green turf, which naturally covers fertile soils of all countries, is chiefly composed of grasses of various kinds. They form, therefore, the verdant carpet extended over the earth; and humble as they are, contribute more to beauty and utility, than any other part of the vegetable creation.

Har. What—more than trees?

Tut. Yes, certainly. A land entirely covered with trees would be gloomy, unwholesome, and scarcely inhabitable; whereas, the meadow, the down, and the cornfield, afford the most agreeable prospects to the eye, and furnish every necessary, and many of the luxuries of life. Give us corn and grass, and what shall we want for food?

Har. Let me see—what should we have? There’s bread and flour for puddings.

Geo. Ay, and milk, for you know cows live on grass and hay—so there’s cheese and butter and all things that are made of milk.

Tut. And are there not all kinds of meat too, and poultry? And then for drink, there are beer and ale, which are made from barley. For all these we are chiefly indebted to the grasses.

Geo. Then I am sure we are very much obliged to the grasses.

Tut. Well—let us now walk homeward. Some time hence you shall make a collection of all the kinds of grasses, and learn to know them from each other.