Nature, it must be remembered, never sleeps; she either rewards the hand of the diligent with abundant harvests, or she scatters broadcast her thorns and thistles, as a punishment for man’s neglect. The seeds of many species of plants have wonderful vitality. We are not about to quote the ‘mummy wheat’ as an example; but well-authenticated instances are recorded of seeds that have preserved their vitality for upwards of half a century. The seeds of the charlock and others of the Cruciferous tribe are of an oily nature, and therefore capable of withstanding the effects of moisture, and will germinate after being buried for years. But the process of ‘soiling’ the banks of new railways affords evidence of the long-continued vitality of seeds. The surface soil which has been laid aside in heaps for the purpose, is thrown back and spread upon the banks; and among the multitude of grasses and weeds which spring up and form a dense emerald carpet, there are invariably species seldom if ever found in the immediate neighbourhood. In the case of forest fires in the Far West, almost an entire new vegetation succeeds. Occasionally, the extensive moorlands in the neighbourhood of Liphook, Hants, take fire, and burn for days. The heather is dotted over with seedlings of Scotch fir, which is indigenous in the locality. Many of these trees are consumed with the heather, and with them some inches in depth of the dried surface. Seeds from the fir-cones, dropped years ago, are partially relieved from the superincumbent pressure, germinate, and in a few years supply the places of those that are destroyed. But every summer breeze wafts the winged seeds of the thistle, dandelion, the coltsfoot, groundsel, and many others, far and wide. Borne aloft on their tiny parachutes, they sail along until a summer shower bears them down to a moist, warm, resting-place in the field or wild.