PART I.

INTRODUCTION.

The following pages are intended to enable my readers to acquire a knowledge of Botany with as little trouble to themselves as possible.

As, however, Botany is a “wide word,” I must here premise that I only propose to treat of that part of the science which relates to the classification of plants, according to the natural system of Jussieu, as improved by the late Professor De Candolle; and that the grand object I have in view is to enable my readers to find out the name of a plant when they see it for the first time; or, if they hear or read the name of a plant, to make that name intelligible to them. Nothing is more natural than to ask the name of every pretty flower we see; but unless the inquirer knows something of botany, the name, if it be a scientific one, will seem only a collection of barbarous sounds, and will convey no ideas to the mind. Half the interest of new greenhouse plants is thus destroyed, as few of them have English names, and strangers will soon cease to make any inquiries respecting them when they find they can obtain no answers that they can understand. Now, a very slight knowledge of botany will take away this mortifying feeling; and the name of a new plant, and the ascertaining the order to which it belongs, will recall a variety of recollections that will open up a new source of interest and enjoyment even in such interesting and enjoyable things as flowers—for we never can enjoy thoroughly anything that we do not understand.

It now only remains for me to say why I have divided my work into two parts. My reason is my belief that a student will always remember more easily a few strongly marked divisions than a number of smaller ones, the differences between which are only faintly perceptible. In a more advanced state of knowledge, it is delightful to trace the minute shades of difference by which the numerous orders are united, so as to form one great whole; but these gentle gradations confuse a beginner. On this account I have thought it best to devote the first part of my work to a few of the more important orders, which differ most widely from each other, and which I have described at a greater length than my space will allow me to bestow upon the whole; and in the second part of my work, I shall give a short account of the whole natural system, introducing the orders described in the first part, in their proper places, so that my readers may see how they are connected with the others.

MISCELLANEOUS ORDERS.

PRELIMINARY OBSERVATIONS.

In this first part I shall endeavour to familiarise my readers with botanical details, as all the orders I shall describe contain a great number of genera; and to begin at the beginning, I must first tell them what is here meant by an order, and what by a genus of plants. A genus then may be compared to a family of children, all the plants in it being known by one common or generic name, in addition to their particular or specific one. Thus, if Rosa alba be spoken of, _Rosa_ is the generic name which is common to all roses, but _alba_ is the specific name which is only applied to the white rose.

An order includes many genera, and bears the same affinity to a nation as a genus does to a family. In many cases the resemblance which the plants in each order bear to each other is sufficiently strong to enable the student to recognise them at first sight; in the same manner as you may generally know a Frenchman or a German from an Englishman, even before you hear him speak. But unfortunately this general outward resemblance does not always exist, and it is necessary for the student to become acquainted with the general construction of flowers before the points of resemblance which have occasioned certain genera to be linked together to form orders, can be understood.

It is thus evident that the first step towards a knowledge of systematic botany is to study flowers thoroughly, and few objects of study can be more interesting, whether we regard the elegance of their forms or the beauty and brilliancy of their colours. My readers may perhaps, however, be as much surprised as I was, to learn that the beautifully coloured parts of flowers are the least important; and that, as they only serve as a covering to the stamens and pistil, which are designed for the production of seed, they may be, and indeed actually are, wanting in a great many of what are considered perfect flowers. In examining a flower, therefore, it must be remembered that the production of seed is the object, for which all the curious contrivances we discover are designed. The germen or ovary (_a_ in fig. 1) is protected by a thick fleshy substance (_b_), called the receptacle or disk, which serves as a bed or foundation on which the other parts of the flower rest, and which is thence frequently called a thalamus or torus, both words signifying a bed. The ovary itself is hollow, and it is sometimes divided into several cells, each enclosing a number of ovules, which are afterwards to become seeds; but sometimes there is only one cell, and sometimes only one seed in each cell. The ovary is juicy and succulent when young, and very different from what it afterwards becomes when the seeds are ripe. Rising from the ovary in most flowers, is a long and slender stalk called the style (_c_), which supports a kind of head, called the stigma (_d_). The ovary, the style, and the stigma, constitute what is called the pistil; but the style is not so essential as the other parts, and indeed it is wanting in many flowers. Sometimes there are many styles, each with a stigma at its summit, forming the pistil; and when this is the case, the ovary will have as many cells as there are stigmas, or each stigma will have a separate ovary to itself. There are generally several stamens in a flower, each perfect stamen consisting of three parts,—the Filament, the Anther, and the Pollen. The filament (_e_) is, however, often wanting, and it is only the anther (_f_), and the powder called the pollen which it contains, that are essential. The anther, when the flower first expands, appears like a little oblong case with a deep groove down the centre, or rather like two oblong cases stuck together. When these cases become ripe, they burst and let out the pollen which was enclosed within them. The pollen is generally very abundant, and it is often seen in the form of yellow dust descending from the catkins of the cedar of Lebanon, or the Scotch fir, or of orange powder, as on the stamens of the orange lily, when it sticks to everything it touches. About the time of the bursting of the anthers, the stigma becomes covered with a glutinous moisture, which absorbs the pollen that falls upon it. The pollen, when absorbed by the stigma, is conveyed down the style to the ovary, where it falls upon and fertilises the ovules or incipient seeds. Nothing can be more beautiful or more ingenious than the mechanism by which this process is effected. It is necessary that the grains of pollen should be separated before they reach the ovary, and they are so in their passage down the style in a manner more fine and delicate than could be done by any exertion of mere human skill. We know that we ourselves are “fearfully and wonderfully made,” but how few of us are aware that every flower we crush beneath our feet, or gather only to destroy, displays as much of the Divine care and wisdom in its construction, as the frame of the mightiest giant!

I have already mentioned that the most conspicuous part of the flower is merely a covering to protect the seed-producing organs from injury. In most flowers there are two of these coverings, which form together what is called the perianth; the inner one, when spoken of separately, being called the corolla, and the outer one the calyx. The corolla is generally of some brilliant colour, and in most cases it is divided into several leaf-like parts called petals, (see _g_ in figs. 2 and 3); and the calyx, which is commonly green, is divided into similar portions called sepals (see _h_). Sometimes there is only one of these coverings, and when this is the case it is called by modern botanists the calyx, though it may be coloured like a corolla; and sometimes the calyx and corolla are of the same colour, and so mixed as hardly to be distinguished from each other, as in the crocus and the tulip; in which case the divisions are called the segments of the perianth.