11. But there is one minor division yet. You see I have drawn the central part of the moss plant (_b_, Fig. 2,) half in outline and half in black; and that, similarly, in the upper group, which is too small to show the real roots, the base of the cluster is black. And you remember, I doubt not, how often in gathering what most invited gathering, of deep green, starry, perfectly soft and living wood-moss, you found it fall asunder in your hand into multitudes of separate threads, each with its bright green crest, and long root of blackness. That blackness at the root--though only so notable in this wood-moss and collateral species, is indeed a general character of the mosses, with rare exceptions. It is their funeral blackness;--that, I perceive, is the way the moss leaves die. They do not fall--they do not visibly decay. But they decay _in_visibly, in continual secession, beneath the ascending crest. They rise to form that crest, all green and bright, and take the light and air from those out of which they grew;--and those, their ancestors, darken and die slowly, and at last become a mass of mouldering ground. In fact, as I perceive farther, their final duty is so to die. The main work of other leaves is {19} in their life,--but these have to form the earth out of which all other leaves are to grow. Not to cover the rocks with golden velvet only, but to fill their crannies with the dark earth, through which nobler creatures shall one day seek their being. 12. "Grant but as many sorts of mind as moss." Pope could not have known the hundredth part of the number of 'sorts' of moss there are; and I suppose he only chose the word because it was a monosyllable beginning with m, and the best English general expression for despised and minute structures of plants. But a fate rules the words of wise men, which makes their words truer, and worth more, than the men themselves know. No other plants have so endless variety on so similar a structure as the mosses; and none teach so well the humility of Death. As for the death of our bodies, we have learned, wisely, or unwisely, to look the fact of that in the face. But none of us, I think, yet care to look the fact of the death of our minds in the face. I do not mean death of our souls, but of our mental work. So far as it is good _art_, indeed, and done in realistic form, it may perhaps not die; but so far as it was only good _thought_--good, for its time, and apparently a great achievement therein--that good, useful thought may yet in the future become a foolish thought, and then die quite away,--it, and the memory of it,--when better thought and knowledge come. But the better thought could not have come if the weaker thought had not come first, and died in sustaining the {20} better. If we think honestly, our thoughts will not only live usefully, but even perish usefully--like the moss--and become dark, not without due service. But if we think