HINTS TO YOUNG BOTANISTS.

BY CAROLINE A. CREEVY.

ROOTS.

When we are about to do a thing thoroughly and systematically we often say we will "begin at the root of the matter." That is because the root of a plant is supposed to be the first thing in its life. It is indeed the foundation, the substructure of a plant, but not strictly the first thing that starts to grow. The little stem feels the first quiver of life, and the root follows. You can see the little stem, or caulicle in fat seeds like squash and melon, beans and pease. Split a squash seed, and between the two fat sides the caulicle lies cozily tucked, like a tiny tail or handle. Plant a squash seed in the earth. The caulicle, fed by the two fat sides, pushes its way upward into the air, making a stem with leaves, and finally a big vine, while from its lower end the root develops and pushes itself as fast as possible into the earth.

The roots of some plants are small. I think most weeds make pretty large and strong roots, which are hard to pull up. But when a tree has grown to its full size its roots are almost as large as its branches. I once saw a fine old maple-tree cut down, and its roots dug up to make room for a cellar. I was surprised to see what a big hole the roots made. Two men dug for several days before they had the roots all up.

The work for the roots to do is to drink water. The upper half of the plant is very thirsty, and calls constantly for water. The roots push and dig into the moist soil, drink in water, and pass it up by a sort of pumping process. Only think, drinking and pumping! That is what roots do. And so if the earth is dry, and the roots can find nothing to drink, the plant will die. But after a shower see how glad the leaves seem, and how stiff and straight they stand, because the roots are sucking up great draughts of water.

To protect roots in their hard burrowing work a little cap of hard cells is fitted over their tips. Little hairs grow all over them, whose purpose is to help absorb moisture.

Some thick and fleshy roots are good to eat. They form many of our best vegetables. Beets, turnips, parsnips, and carrots are such roots. They belong to biennial or two-year plants. The first year they store up food in their roots; the second year draw upon this food, and produce flowers and fruit. They are named from their shapes. Fusiform, like radishes, when thicker in the middle, tapering at both ends. Carrots are conical, thicker at the top. Turnips bulge out in the middle, and are napiform. When clustered like a dahlia the roots are fascicled. All are taproots, or main roots. Besides these primary roots there are secondary. You may have noticed secondary roots springing from the joints of a corn-stalk above ground. The wonderful banyan-tree sends down roots from its branches, making new trees, until one tree is the mother of a colony.

There are plants which take their nourishment from the air alone, and not from the soil. They need roots as hold-fasts, not as drinking-cups. Some lovely orchids grow in that way. Those leathery patches which you have seen on old fence-rails and rocks are lichens. They have roots for attachment only, and such are called aerial roots.

Then there are climbing rootlets. Look at the poison-ivy, but do not touch it, and you will see it climbing over tree-trunks and fence-posts by means of rootlets. The trumpet-creeper will show you the same thing. These rootlets are very strong, as you will find if you try to pull, as I did once, a trumpet-creeper out of a grape-vine.

A large class of plants are beggars and thieves. This is a hard thing to say of them, but, what would you call them when they press their roots into the bark of other plants and suck their sap, which is the same to the plant as life-blood? Why can't they dig in the soil for themselves? Some of these plants wear fine clothes, and look innocent enough. There is the beautiful yellow fox-glove. Many times I have seen it, tall and showy on hill-sides and in woods. But they were root-parasites, that is, fastened by their roots on the roots of other plants, sucking juices dishonestly. The delicate purple gerardia sometimes does the same thing. So, you see, appearances are deceptive, and in plants, as well as people, you cannot always tell character from the outside.

This Department is conducted in the interest of Girls and Young Women, and the Editor will be pleased to answer any question on the subject so far as possible. Correspondents should address Editor.

It does not surprise me to find a number of bright girls asking for directions about the entrance to the difficult road of authorship. It is quite common for young people to think that nothing on earth can be so delightful as to write songs and stories, and have them published for the world to read. The fact, dear girls, that many of you overlook, is that no trade or profession or business is ever learned without time, study, and effort—what I might call the serving of an apprenticeship. Very few authors succeed at the beginning, although there is a contrary impression. Even those who seem at once to achieve eminence have really been getting ready for their work all their lives. You can see what I mean if you will read Miss Alcott's Life and Letters, or Mrs. Burnett's story of The One I Knew the Best of All, or, better than either, a charming little essay by Robert Louis Stevenson, in which he describes the books he read as a boy, and the pains he took to cultivate a good and clear style.

It is perfectly right for any reader of the Round Table to wish to become an author. In days to come the youthful Knights and Ladies for whom Kirk Munroe, Ellen Douglas Deland, W. J. Henderson, Captain Charles King, and your friend of the Pudding Stick are now writing, will be grown men and women, and some of them will be furnishing the literature of the next generation. I cannot say too strongly to all my correspondents, who are interested in this subject, be patient, be fearless, be thorough. Do not be in haste to send some busy editor the story which you have just written. Never send anything to an editor until you have written it four or five times over, and are satisfied that it is the very best thing that you can do, and that it is expressed in the briefest possible compass. A very good school for aspiring young authors is found in the beautiful little amateur papers which many young people publish for circulation among their friends. The several school and college literary papers are also excellent fields for beginners in journalism. Among the rising authors of the day I know a half-dozen whose first laurels were gained in school and college magazines.

I would like to suggest that some of you who belong to Round Table Chapters should try the plan of having a little paper in connection with your Chapter. You could easily appoint one member of the Chapter the editor, then different girls and boys could furnish contributions. In every neighborhood there are a great many interesting things happening from day to day, so that your local column might be very spicy and entertaining. You could give your paper an attractive name, and should any of the members possess a typewriter you could have as many copies made each week as you have subscribers. Perhaps somebody among your friends has a little hand-press on which the little paper could be printed. Subscribers would be willing to pay two or three cents for a number of the paper, and thus you could have a little fund over expenses for the charities of the Chapter. Wouldn't that be charming? I cannot enter into all the little details of such an enterprise, but if any of you shall adopt this suggestion I hope to hear all about it, and to know whether you think that it pays. I once knew a family in which a little home paper was kept up for years, each brother and sister in turn acting as editor, and different members of the household copying out the matter. They had a serial story, which ran on in the most exciting way for a long time, and on Saturday evenings father, mother, children, and friends always assembled to read and listen to the new number. This paper was called The Busy Bee.

A few sentences ago I said, let me know if you think it pays. Speaking of payment, do not make the mistake of supposing that I principally mean payment in dollars and cents. The money one earns by writing is the smallest part of the pleasure it gives. Several girls inquire of me what price they ought to put on their poems and stories, and what sort of letter they should send with a contribution when addressing an editor. All that is really necessary in the case is to write your full name and post-office address plainly at the top of your opening page, in the right-hand corner. In brackets at the other side you may, if you choose, write "offered at usual rates." Be sure always to write only on one side of your paper, to send a folded and never a rolled manuscript, to have it typewritten, if you can; if not, to have your writing very legible, and to send an envelope addressed to yourself, and enough stamps to pay return postage should your manuscript be declined. The stamps may be loose, or may be attached to the envelope, as you prefer. As a rule the first contributions of young people are worth very little money, and it is not good form to set a price on what you write unless you are an author of assured reputation. You must remember that publishers pay for work according to its market value, just as we pay for sugar and soap, and calico and note-paper, chairs, and tables, or anything else we buy. When you go to a shop you always try to get good value for the money you give in return for goods. It is the same with articles and poems which are offered to the press. Hundreds and thousands of people are writing, and you must expect to face difficulties and have a struggle before you find your place, even if you are very well prepared for it.

I would like the Chapters of the Round Table which have paid me the honor of naming themselves for me to write me a letter through their secretaries. I have a reason for asking this favor. I would also like to receive copies of amateur papers, published by young people who read the Round Table.