Chapter 4

The very first specimen to which we come, is one of that very pretty tribe the _Clematideæ_, the _Clematis montana_, which is closely covering a wall of ten feet high, and at least twenty in width, thence throwing out its branches, extending itself over the adjacent wall of the house, and occasionally sending a stray shoot or two to adorn my neighbour's garden. Now, how do those slight, long stems, which stretch, some of them twenty or thirty feet from the parent stalk, support and arrange themselves so as to preserve a neat and ornamental appearance without my having had the least trouble in training them? If you gather one of those loose branches, you will see that it has no tendril of any kind, or other apparent means of support; but this, like all others of the clematideæ or clematis tribe, possesses a power of twisting the leaf-stalk round a wire, twig, or anything else that comes in its way, so as to tie the plant to the support with as firm a knot as could be made with a piece of string; and after thus encircling the wire, it returns the leaf to its former position, with the upper side outwards, exactly as it was before. Some of the clematis tribe make this fulcrum from one part of the leaf-stalk, and some from another. In that which we are examining, it is formed from the lowest part next the main stalk of the plant. In the wild clematis (_C. vitalba_)--that kind which runs so freely over hedges and thickets in the southern counties, adorning the country in winter with snowy tufts of feathers, formed by its seed-vessels--a part of the stalk between two pair of the leaflets forms this twist; whilst in the sweet-scented garden-clematis, other parts of the stem give the support: but it is always by means of some portion or other of this member, that plants of this tribe are sustained in their rapid and extensive climbing. It is curious to observe what instinctive aptitude to curve towards suitable objects, and towards them only, is exhibited in the holdfasts of climbing-plants. They never bend towards a wall, board, or other flat substance, when there is nothing to lay hold of; but the moment they touch a suitable object, they instantly fix on it, forming closely compacted rings, which can be untwisted only when young. As the plant rises from one height to another, the little green shoots above send out fresh leaves, each having the same prehensile properties, which they keep in reserve till called on to apply them to their proper use; whilst at the same time, the lower rings are becoming indurated, so that, as the plant grows longer and heavier, its supports become stronger and harder. There are other plants besides the clematideæ which thus support themselves, of which the _Maurandya Barclayana_ and the _Canariensis_ are examples; and the manner in which these accommodate themselves to the exact form of the object on which they seize, is very remarkable. If the support is round, the ring is also round; but if they fix on a square lath, or other angular thing, the stem forms to it, so that when the prop is removed, the ring retains the exact form of that prop, every angle being as sharp and true, as if it were moulded in wax.

Now, the next plant which greets us is the ivy (_Hedera helix_), and this differs wholly in its means of support from almost any other creeper; yet there is none that takes firmer hold, or maintains more strongly its position, than this beautiful creeper, whose ceaseless verdure well deserves the name of ivy--a word derived from the Celtic, and signifying _green_. It is supported by means of a whitish fringe of fibres, that are thrust out from one side of every part of the stem which comes in contact with any wall or other supporting object to which it can cling. Should a foreign substance, such as a leaf, intervene between it and that object, the fibres lengthen until they extend beyond the impediment; and then they fix on the desired object, and cease to grow.

These fibres, however; are not true roots--a branch with only such roots, would not grow if planted in the earth--they are mere holdfasts, and the plant does not receive any portion of its nourishment through them. The upper part of the plant, where it has mounted above the wall and become arborescent, is wholly devoid of such fibres, which never appear but when they have some object to fix upon.

And now, let us look at that which is the very pride of my garden, and which well deserves the name bestowed on it by a poetic-minded friend--'the patrician flower:' I mean the beautiful _Cobea scandens_; and here we are introduced to quite a different class of holdfasts from either of those which we have examined. The blossom of the cobea is formed of a curious and elegantly-formed calyx of five angles, exquisitely veined, and of a tender green--itself a flower, or, at least, when divested of its one bell-shaped petal, _looking_ like one. From this calyx slowly unfolds a noble bell, at first of a soft, creamy green; but the second day of its existence it becomes tinged and veined with a delicate plum colour, which on the third day is its prevailing hue. The blossom is then in its full perfection; the vigorous green filaments supporting the anthers curve outwards; the long anthers, in the same manner as those of the white lily, open lengthways, and disclose rich masses of yellow pollen; whilst the single pistil stands gracefully between its five supporters, crowned with a globular purple style. On the last day or two of its existence, the bell is of a full, deep puce colour, and then drops, leaving the calyx bare, from which in due time is developed a handsome fruit, something like that of the passion-flower. The flower-stalk is from four to six inches long, and stands finely out from the wall, many blossoms being exhibited at the same time in different stages of development.

But now of the holdfast, which is our special subject. And this needs to be of a strong kind, for the branches of this plant have been known, in an English conservatory, to run to the length of 200 feet in one summer; and no doubt, in its native Mexico, where it has nothing to impede its growth, its shoots run even more freely. Behold, then, at distances of from three to four inches, all up the main stem; and also, on every shoot and branch which that stem throws out, grows a leaf, composed of three pair of leaflets, beautifully veined, and tinted with reddish purple, from between the last pair of which springs a tendril of extreme elegance. Indeed, noble as is this plant in every part, I think this tendril is the crowning grace of the whole: it is exceedingly slender, throwing off side-branches, which, again, repeatedly fork off at acute angles in pairs, and each extremity of each branch is furnished with a minute and delicate hook, so small as to be scarcely perceptible, but so strong and sharp-pointed as to lay hold of every object in its way--which hold it retains, when once well fixed, in spite of wind or weather. If this tendril remains long unattached, it becomes elongated to ten or twelve inches, or even more; and certainly a more elegant object than it presents when in this state can scarcely be seen, nor one which forms a more graceful ornament to a vase of flowers, if introduced as it grows, depending from one of the vigorous young purple shoots, itself shining with a sort of metallic lustre, and richly coloured with green and purple. But it is only on the loose young shoots that it assumes this very graceful appearance. If it is sufficiently near to a wall, or other support, instead of thus hanging pendent, its main stalk nearest the leaf contracts into a spiral form, thus shortening the tendril, and giving it greater power than so frail and slight a thing could otherwise possess; and the elasticity produced by the convolutions enables the branch slightly to yield to the influence of the wind, which makes it less likely to be torn down. Each extremity, as I have said, is armed with a hook, which hook, as soon as it touches, lays firm hold on the wall; and these tendrils occurring close together, and a large proportion of them fixing on some object, a wonderfully strong support is afforded to the plant. This plant is called by some people, 'the violet-bearing ivy,' although no leaf or blossom can be less like the ivy or the violet than that of the cobea.

And now, let us pass onwards. There is another tendriled plant, the passion-vine; and this has a cirrus or tendril quite of a different kind from that we have just examined. It is simple and unbranched, springing from the axil of the leaf, straight when young, but speedily becoming spiral, and forming a very close twist round whatever object it seizes. It is spiral to within an inch, or less, of its root, and encircles its support with six or seven circlets like a corkscrew, thus clasping it with great firmness. This has no hook or other appendage which would enable it to fix on a wall or other flat substance; and therefore, unless there are wires, or some other extraneous supports near, it must be nailed until it reaches a certain height, when its own stalks supply the requisite props on which the tendrils may lay hold. The grape and many other vines are furnished with tendrils, which spring from the root of the leaf-stalk; that of the grapevine is slightly branched, but not furnished with any hook. One of its tendrils usually grows close to the stem of the fruit, and thus sustains the heavy bunch of grapes which must otherwise, when it increases to a weight of many pounds, either break from its stem, or else pull down the branch on which it grows.

And now we approach the beautiful _Ipomoea_, or major convolvulus, which affords us a specimen of quite a different mode of progression from that displayed in any creeper we have as yet looked at, for it has neither tendril nor fibrous roots. 'Oh, that _must_ be a mistake!' says some fine lady. 'My last Berlin pattern was of convolvuli, and that lovely group of flowers I copied had several blossoms in it, and I am sure there were _plenty_ of tendrils in both.' No doubt, fair lady; but convolvuli in Berlin patterns, and those which are wrought in 'nature's looms,' differ wonderfully. In the former, not only the climbing convolvulus, but the common blue one (_C. minor_), is richly furnished with tendrils, whilst those of Dame Nature display no such appendage. Now, take a real flower of this tribe--the common bind-weed from the hedge will do as well as any other--and you will see that the means provided for it to run up any stick or stem it may meet, is a peculiar property it has, of twining its _stem_ round and round that of any other plant near it; and so strong is this necessity to assume a spiral coil, or rather to twist and unite itself with some other stem, that you may often see two, three, or four sister-stalks of the same plant inwreathed into one stout cable, which union, though it does not enable the feeble stems to ascend, yet seems to increase their strength. But supply the young shoot with a stick or wire, or even a bit of twine, and see how rapidly it will then climb, and clasp, and throw out longer and stronger shoots, and overspread your wall with its large bell-shaped flowers, so brilliant with every tint of white, lilac, pink, and rose colour, and so exquisitely delicate in their texture, expanding at earliest dawn, and closing, never to reopen, when the fervid rays of the noonday sun fall on them! But I must not attempt to depict every variety of holdfast, or every provision for climbing with which it has pleased God to invest and beautify the different kinds of creeping-plants: it would detain us far too long; yet Mrs Grimshawe owes it to herself, to justify her devotion to the holdfast of the Virginian creeper (_Ampelopsis hederacea_), and that must be described.

Every one knows this plant, for although a native of North America, it is now one of the commonest coverings of our walls, as well as one of the prettiest we see. Its beautiful cut leaves are divided into five lobes, which, when first developed, are of a bright light-green, while the whole of the young stem and shoot is red; those take, by degrees, a deeper hue of green, and early in the autumn assume a brilliant scarlet tint, at which time they are very lovely. The means by which this plant takes so firm a hold of whatever supports it, is highly curious. From the stem of the tree is sent out on one side a leaf, and exactly opposite to it a shining, thread-like tendril, tinged with red, from one to one and a half inches long, dividing into five branches, and each terminating in a little hook. When one of these little hooks touches a wall, or comes in contact with anything it is able to cling to, it begins to thicken, expands into a granulated mass of a bright-red hue, loses the form of a hook and assumes that of a club, from the edges of which club a thin membrane extends, and attaches itself firmly to the wall after the manner of a sucker. If all five of the extremities happen to touch, they all go through the same process; and when all are spread out on the wall, each with its extension complete, the tendril looks much like the foot of a bird; but none of the hooks change in this way, unless they are so situated as to be able to fix on the wall. One of these strong holdfasts occurs at about every two inches on every stem and branch; and as a very large proportion of them get hold of some substance or other, the vine becomes more strongly fixed in its place than those which have been nailed or otherwise artificially fastened; and if the wall on which it climbs is at all rough, it must be very boisterous weather indeed that can dislodge its pretty covering. If by any means a branch is forced away from the wall, you will generally find either that it has brought away a portion of the stucco with it, or else that the stems of the tendril have broken, and left the sucker-like extremities still adhering. The appearance of one of these tendrils when young is beautiful; and if you place it under a microscope while it is assuming its knobby form, you will admire its exquisite texture and colouring. This, like the ivy, when it rises above the wall, becomes arborescent, and ceases to throw out tendrils.

There are many other provisions for aiding plants in climbing. Some ascend simply by means of the friction which the hairy or gummy cuticle of their stems affords--that sort of Galium commonly called 'cleavers' or 'cliver,' and the wild madder (_Rubia pelegrina_), are instances of this--then there are others which send out simple tendrils from the point of each leaf. There is also a plant called the 'heartseed' or 'balloon vine,' from its inflated membraneous capsule, in which the tendrils grow from the flower-stalks; and another, one of the custard-apple tribe (_Annona hexapetala_), of which Smith tells us--'the flower-stalk of this tree forms a hook, and grasps the neighbouring branch, serving to suspend the fruit, which is very heavy, resembling a bunch of grapes.' The pea and vetch tribe, the pompion and cucumber, and various other plants, afford instances of provisions of these and similar kinds. But as I hope I may have succeeded in leading some of my readers to see what abundant subjects of interest may be found in the contemplation of even the appendages of plants, I shall now take my leave, only strongly advising all who wish to find a country life profitable and agreeable, to endeavour to supply themselves with some simple natural pursuit, such as gardening or botany, either of which may lead to investigations that will well repay their trouble, even should they refer to nothing more than the structure of the leaves or tendrils of the trees and shrubs which grow around their dwelling.

FOOTNOTES:

[3] See 'Mrs Grimshawe's Garden,' No. 413.

A DAY'S PLEASURING IN INDIA.

Parell[4] was full of guests; and in order to afford them a greater diversity of amusement than the daily routine of a monotonous Eastern life affords, our excellent host resolved on a day's excursion to the island of Salsette, accepting an invitation to rest for an hour on his return at the house of a wealthy Parsee, whose liberality and zeal for the interests of the Company had won him the favour of the merchant princes' representative. In order to be ready for our departure at daybreak, we were called at three o'clock. In this country, such an hour sounds uncomfortable; we are all inclined to sympathise with the writer of the old Scotch ballad, and declare--

'Up in the morning's no for me, Up in the morning early;'

but in India, it is a luxurious theft from sleep; and even now the remembrance of my starlit bath of that Indian morning comes pleasantly across my mind. The bath was literally taken by starlight; for the tumbler of oil, with its floating wick--which is the ordinary lamp of the country--was hardly seen in its far-off corner, when I unclosed the jalousies, and admitted the solemn, silvery planet-light. The window above the bath opened into the garden; and it is scarcely possible to conceive greater physical enjoyment than reclining in the warm element, listening to the soft sounds proceeding from without--the castanet music of the singing-tree, the rustling of the fan-palm, the trickling of the fountain: even the distant cry of the retiring jackal was pleasant; whilst above the giant palms, I could see the dark violet of the sky, on which the

----'Ship of Heaven Came sailing from Eternity,'

and from whence Canopus threw its laughing lustre full on the water in which I was immersed, and kept me for a time motionless, lest I should break or mar its beautiful reflection. But every enjoyment has its dark shadow: as life has its 'insect cares,' so Eastern night has its mosquitoes; and a sore contest one has with them on issuing from the bath at such an hour. How they flit about, imps of evil as they are, and sound their horn of defiance in our ear!--a very marvellous sound to proceed from such tiny creatures, and, to persons of irritable nerves, worse even than their sting, or at least an additional horror. They proved strong incentives to a hasty toilette; and the whole gipsying-party was speedily assembled in the hall, where coffee and biscuits were handed round. Then followed a pleasant drive through the fresh morning air; and it was not without regret that we exchanged the open carriages for the close imprisonment of the palanquins, in which shortly after we threaded the mazes of the jungle. It was still early morning when we reached the cave in which we purposed remaining during the heat of the day. Outside, a tent had been pitched for the servants; within, a splendid breakfast was spread for ourselves--tables, chairs, food, and cooks having preceded the party thither. Books and prints were also provided, to beguile the tedium of our inevitable seclusion, and pleasant companionship promised a still greater resource against _ennui_.

The caves of Salsette have been already so often described--once by the pen of Heber--that I shall not attempt a repetition, but content myself with informing my readers, that we occupied the large one, dedicated to the ancient worship of the Buddhists; a gloomy temple, but cool, and possessing a certain interest from having been the scene of superstitious horrors round which hang the mystery of an almost unknown past.

After dinner, we prepared to mount the hill, and explore the smaller cells in which the hermits of Buddhism had formerly dwelt. The ascent, though very steep, was not difficult, and, once gained, afforded a glorious view of the island and the distant sea. The caves, with their singular stone-carvings and reliefs, were also very interesting, and must have been pleasant abodes for the worthy men who there had aimed at a pleasanter saintship than that attained by the tortures to which the followers of Brahma, and of his legion of subordinate deities, often subject themselves. We amused ourselves for some time examining these cells, and not till the sun was sinking behind the taller trees of the jungle below, did we think of returning. Our descent, however, was to be effected by another and far more difficult pathway than that by which we had mounted the hill--steps or niches irregularly cut in the mountain's side, offering the only means of reaching the cave below. My head turns at the very recollection! The chief of the hamals had followed us; I looked at his naked feet, that with such a charming certainty grasped the rock, and resolved on making him my _cavalier servente_, backing my gracious intimation to that effect with the promise of a rupee for guerdon, at which he appeared more pleased than at the honour of the selection; and thus grasping the arm of my black knight, I began the terrible task before me, having purposely lingered out of sight till the rest of the party were at the bottom.

But, alas! a very kind, very good-natured, very stout gentleman in tight boots--I had not observed how _very_ tight they were!--perceived my incongruous escort, and hastened back to take his place. In vain I represented my partiality for my companion of shoeless feet and steady eye; he was as incredulous as Desdemona's father was of her love for the Moor. In vain I deprecated 'giving him so much trouble;' his politeness was resolute; and I was compelled to accept the assistance of his hand, and with a beating heart to make the first step. Alas! in this instance it was not only _la premier pas qui coute_; the fourth and fifth were worse; at the sixth my courage failed me utterly, and I felt an insane desire to throw myself over the precipice, and thus terminate the horror of fear and giddiness that distracted me. I begged my companion to let me go, but he good-naturedly suggested that I might as well try to live a little longer, and therefore advised me to shut my eyes, and let him lift my feet from step to step. I was obliged to comply, and thus, to the great amusement of the party beneath, we made our tedious way down the hillside. If any of my readers have ever felt the kind of panic I have tried to describe, they will understand and sympathise with me on the occasion. The precipice below was really very alarming, and there was nothing on the bare side of the mountain that could soothe the imagination with the hope of something to clutch at. Still, I felt more ridiculous than I had ever thought I could be, when, on reaching the foot, I received the bantering congratulations of the others; and my assistant, with a bow, assured me 'that we had effected our descent with the agility and grace of two antelopes!'

We returned to the principal cave to have coffee, and then, re-entering our palanquins, were soon again in the depth of the jungle. I was tired--one soon wearies in that climate; the light was dim and solemn; and the chant of the bearers, by its monotony, helped to lull me into a sound slumber, for which the palanquin is always an agreeable cradle; and thus, in deep sleep, I was borne onwards, till the halt, to which my bearers at last came, roused me; and with a very dim recollection of where I was, I started and awoke. For a single instant, I thought myself still dreaming, however, for an unexpected and surprising vision was before me.