1. Plants in their perfect form consist of four principal parts,--the Root, Stem, Leaf, and Flower. It is true that the stem and flower are parts, or remnants, or altered states, of the leaves; and that, speaking with close accuracy, we might say, a perfect plant consists of leaf and root. But the division into these four parts is best for practical purposes, and it will be desirable to note a few general facts about each, before endeavouring to describe any one kind of plant. Only, because the character of the stem depends on the nature of the leaf and flower, we must put it last in order of examination; and trace the development of the plant first in root and leaf; then in the flower and its fruit; and lastly in the stem. 2. First, then, the Root. Every plant is divided, as I just said, in the main, into two parts, and these have opposite natures. One part seeks the light; the other hates it. One part feeds on the air; the other on the dust. The part that loves the light is called the Leaf. It is an old Saxon word; I cannot get at its origin. The part that hates the light is called the Root. {27} In Greek, [Greek: rhiza], Rhiza.[13] In Latin, Radix, "the growing thing," which shortens, in French, into Race, and then they put on the diminutive 'ine,' and get their two words, Race, and Racine, of which we keep Race for animals, and use for vegetables a word of our own Saxon (and Dutch) dialect,--'root'; (connected with Rood--an image of wood; whence at last the Holy Rood, or Tree). 3. The Root has three great functions: 1st. To hold the plant in its place. 2nd. To nourish it with earth. 3rd. To receive vital power for it from the earth. With this last office is in some degree,--and especially in certain plants,--connected, that of reproduction. But in all plants the root has these three essential functions. First, I said, to hold the Plant in its place. The Root is its Fetter. You think it, perhaps, a matter of course that a plant is not to be a crawling thing? It is not a matter of course at all. A vegetable might be just what it is now, as compared with an animal;--might live on earth and water instead of on meat,--might be as senseless in life, as calm in death, and in all its parts and apparent structure {28} unchanged; and yet be a crawling thing. It is quite as easy to conceive plants moving about like lizards, putting forward first one root and then another, as it is to think of them fastened to their place. It might have been well for them, one would have thought, to have the power of going down to the streams to drink, in time of drought;--of migrating in winter with grim march from north to south of Dunsinane Hill side. But that is not their appointed Fate. They are--at least all the noblest of them, rooted to their spot. Their honour and use is in giving immoveable shelter,--in remaining landmarks, or lovemarks, when all else is changed: "The cedars wave on Lebanon, But Judah's statelier maids are gone."