“Thou crownest the year with Thy goodness; and Thy paths drop fatness.” (Psalm 65:11)SA 65:11{
“WHAT a glorious day!" someone is saying; small, white clouds flit across a deep blue sky; the breeze is cool and refreshing, and our walk to the woods gives promise of being a very pleasant one. Several of our party are carrying small baskets, one or two are, I see, provided with garden trowels; Nellie and Nora say that early autumn is a good time for digging up fern roots, and they would be glad of a few additions to their out-door fernery.
Ferns are among the most beautiful and graceful forms of the vegetable kingdom. Ferns do not bear flowers, and so, perhaps, can hardly claim a place on these pages, and yet, as I think we have all learned to love and admire them, they, too, can hardly fail to have a message for us. There are about fifty different species of British ferns; while the number in hot countries is much larger. They form a most interesting family. Our British ferns vary greatly in size, from The Royal Osmunda, one of the tallest, down to the little spiderworts; they all add greatly to the charm of our woodland scenery.
As a rule, ferns choose moist and shady situations, though some of the spiderworts flourish and grow strong and healthy upon wall-tops, or shoot up their green, feathery fronds from some ledge of rock, where it seems hardly possible that they can find root-hold. Ferns are, perhaps, at their best when they grow near the spray of a waterfall, or in some forest dell, where under the shade of lofty trees, they retain their bright green for some time after the monarchs of the wood are quite leafless.
Ferns are called flowerless plants, so we shall not expect to find either stamens, pistil, or corollas, but, if we look carefully on the under side of the leaf, we shall notice a number of very small brown dots, generally they seem to belong to the veining of the frond, but, in some species, are only found along the margin. These dots are called sori, and are the coverings or envelopes of minute capsules that contain the seeds; in the maiden-hair fern, and some other varieties, the edge of the leaf is neatly folded round the seed so no other envelope is needed. When the seed is ripe, the leaf unfolds, or a tiny elastic ring gives way, the capsule bursts, and the seeds fall to become seed-bearing ferns.
We often hear it said, “God works by means." As a rule, this may be partly true, but our talk about ferns should teach us a lesson. How, we might ask, is a plant that never bears flowers, to produce seeds? God has wonderful ways of working out His own purposes; His resources are so many and so varied, that He sometimes works without any seen or visible means. I have known people who were very fond of saying, "God works by means," sometimes ask His blessing upon what is really the fruit of unbelief, and want of attention to the plain and simple teaching of God's Word. Sometimes people who have no love for the Lord Jesus are asked to give their money to help forward the work of God. This is to say the least of it, a want of faith, and cannot be pleasing to the Lord.
Many rare and beautiful ferns are found among the Swiss Alps. Two English gentlemen who were spending their summer holiday in Switzerland, saw a rare and beautiful fern, which they very much wished to possess. But how were they to get at it? It was growing in a cleft of the rocks many feet below where they stood. They were provided with ropes, but, as they looked down, and saw to what a depth they must be lowered, neither had courage to make the attempt. A shepherd boy was tending his flock of sheep and goats, not far from them, and one of the tourists proposed that they should call the lad, as he thought they knew enough Italian to make him understand what they wanted, and, as he was most likely used to mountain climbing, get him to get the fern. He was called, and offered a bright half-crown if he would allow them to tie their rope, which was a new and strong one, round his body, and lower him to where the coveted fern grew. The boy looked at the coin: he had never owned so large a sum; the offer was certainly a tempting one; but he did not know the strangers, they had promised to hold the rope, and to draw him up very carefully, but he could not feel perfect confidence in anyone he did not know.
After a moment's thought, he said, pointing to a shepherd's hut not very far away, "Just you wait till I run and fetch father. I'll go if he'll hold the rope. I know my father won't let me fall." The father came, held the rope, the fern was got; and the boy went off delighted with the reward he had received. I do not know if the tourists learned, on that lonely mountain among Alpine snows, a lesson of confidence in the care of a Heavenly Father; but we surely may. “Like as a father pitieth his children, so the Lord pitieth them that fear Him." (Psalm 103:1313Like as a father pitieth his children, so the Lord pitieth them that fear him. (Psalm 103:13).)
The trees are beginning to put on their autumn dresses of varied tints of brown, yellow and red; and are hardly less beautiful than they were in the early spring, or in the deeper hues of their summer foliage. Hark l there is a rustle of falling leaves; reminding us that “we spend our years as a tale that is told." (Psalm 90:99For all our days are passed away in thy wrath: we spend our years as a tale that is told. (Psalm 90:9).) Why do the leaves fall? Look closely at the stem of a fallen leaf, and at its end you will notice a slight hollow, formed by the bud still hard and undeveloped having formed beneath it; so, as the bud grows, the hold of the leaf upon the parent stem, becomes looser and looser, till, caught by some gust of wind, it flutters downward to the green sward, and dies. But is the work of the leaf done? No, for exposed to the action of air and moisture, it undergoes certain changes which will in time reduce it to leaf-mold and so help in the nourishment of the tree.
Nellie says she has heard that fossil ferns have often been found by miners, when at work in coalmines, and would very much like to know how they came there? A very interesting question, Nellie, and though I am afraid I shall not be able to explain very fully, for the subject it opens up is a very large one, I will try to answer as simply as I can.
Long, long before history books began to be written, many who have given much time and thought to the study of a science called Geology, agree in believing that the climate of our island home was much warmer than it is now; more like that of New Zealand at the present time; the whole, or nearly the whole of the land being covered by thick forests, where, under the shade of lofty trees, grew countless numbers of ferns. Great changes in the surface of the earth must have taken place; one among others being that many of these trees were torn up by their roots during the storms that so often occur in hot countries, and swept into some lake or inland sea. There, for a time, they floated, but at last sank to its bottom, where they became imbedded in the mud, after which great chemical changes began to take place, until at last, in the All-wise and wonder-working ways of God, immense beds of coal were stored up. When we see the cheery flames give light and warmth to all around, it is pleasant to remember that the coal, once a vegetable, but now a mineral, is giving out as light and heat, the sunshine the forest trees drunk in long ages ago. "All Thy works shall praise Thee, O Lord." (Psalm 145:1010All thy works shall praise thee, O Lord; and thy saints shall bless thee. (Psalm 145:10))
The fossil ferns found in our English or Welsh coal-mines, are not as a rule either so perfect or numerous as the yield from the mines of Bohemia; the pressure, it is supposed, from some cause having been greater than their delicate forms could resist.
But our talk about fossil ferns has taken us a long way from the flowers. The composite family is a large one, and we shall find many members of it in full bloom this month. In country lanes, in out-of-the-way nooks and corners, or by the dyke-side, we shall find a profusion of small, chamomile-like flowers; tall thistles are in full flower. Nora has guessed rightly, all these belong to the composite order, or are very nearly related to it. When other flowers have faded, when leaves are falling, then the strong, bright blossoms of the composites meet the eye at every turn.
“Gems of the changing autumn, how beautiful ye are!
“Shining from your glossy stems, like many a golden star;
Peeping through the long grass, smiling on the down,
Lighting up the dusky bank, just when the sun goes down;
Yellow flowers of autumn, how beautiful ye are
Shining from your glossy stems like many a golden star!”
Surely the autumn flowers have a message for us. Do they not seem to say, “The grass withereth, the flower fadeth, but the Word of the Lord endureth forever." Some who are not very old in years have begun to learn for themselves a lesson that sooner or later, all must learn, that this world is a scene of change, and that death may enter the happiest home. Do you know, dear ones, what it is to long for something that will not pass away; for SOME ONE Who will never die? The Written Word of God is enough for faith; we rest upon it, and are at peace, even though the storm may rage around. And it is not a dead, but a Living Christ, Who has stooped to win your love, Who invites your confidence.
Among the bright-hued blossoms in the hedgerow we shall find some that have died, but live again. We all remember how, during the early spring, the well-known dandelion held up its head everywhere. I wonder if any of us noticed its absence during the summer months? See, it is here again, its petals are of a deeper yellow, and its leaves of a brighter green than they were, when, several months ago, it first unfolded its star-like blossoms. Shall I tell you a secret of the dandelion? It has died, and risen again. The old root is still in the ground, but the flower, in its added freshness and beauty, is a NEW THING. Has not something very like this, dear young believer, taken place in the history of your soul? New desires, new affections, new hopes, have been yours ever since you first trusted yourself, as a lost sinner, to a Risen, Living Savior. They may be very feeble at times, but, if they are not there at all you are still in your sins; unsaved, unsheltered by the precious Blood of Christ. But, for the youngest and weakest, as well as for the most advanced Christian, the message of this wayside flower surely is, “If ye then be risen with Christ, seek those things which are above, where Christ sitteth on the right hand of God. Set your affection on things above, not on things on the earth. For ye are dead, and your life is hid with Christ in God." (Col. 3:1, 2, 31If ye then be risen with Christ, seek those things which are above, where Christ sitteth on the right hand of God. 2Set your affection on things above, not on things on the earth. 3For ye are dead, and your life is hid with Christ in God. (Colossians 3:1‑3).)
The Swift, one of the largest and strongest of the Swallow tribe, very seldom alights on the ground, as it is an insect feeder, but secures its prey by darting after flies, moths, or any winged insect that may cross its path while on the wing. Those who have watched its habits closely, tell us that materials for its nest are collected in much the same way. Feathers, light straws, scraps of wool and cobwebs, and such light materials as we should think were of very little use for building, are glued together by a sticky saliva the bird discharges from its bill, and, in this way, a small round, flat nest is formed, rather than built. Small as it is, it is quite large enough to contain two long, slender eggs, which are generally laid about the beginning of June. Unlike its near relations, the Swallow and Martin, a pair of Swifts rear only one brood during the summer. The eggs are pure white, without any spots or markings, and the surface is somewhat rough.
But the fern-gatherers tell us their baskets are filled, and lengthening shadows remind us that it is time to begin our homeward walk.
“The toils of the day are over,
And heart and hand are free,
So with a child's glad trusting,
I turn to my rest in Thee.”