The Plant Hunters

CHAPTER ONE.

THE PLANT-HUNTER.

"A Plant-Hunter! what is that?

"We have heard of fox-hunters, of deer-hunters, of bear and
buffalo-hunters, of lion-hunters, and of `boy-hunters;' of a
plant-hunter never.

"Stay! Truffles are plants. Dogs are used in finding them; and the
collector of these is termed a truffle-hunter. Perhaps this is what the
Captain means?"

No, my boy reader. Something very different from that. My plant-hunter
is no fungus-digger. His occupation is of a nobler kind than
contributing merely to the capricious palate of the gourmand. To his
labours the whole civilised world is indebted--yourself among the rest.
Yes, you owe him gratitude for many a bright joy. For the varied sheen
of your garden you are indebted to him. The gorgeous dahlia that nods
over the flower-bed--the brilliant peony that sparkles on the parterre--
the lovely camelia that greets you in the greenhouse,--the kalmias, the
azaleas, the rhododendrons, the starry jessamines, the gerania, and a
thousand other floral beauties, are, one and all of them, the gifts of
the plant-hunter. By his agency England--cold cloudy England--has
become a garden of flowers, more varied in species and brighter in bloom
than those that blossomed in the famed valley of Cashmere. Many of the
noble trees that lend grace to our English landscape,--most of the
beautiful shrubs that adorn our villas, and gladden the prospect from
our cottage-windows, are the produce of his industry. But for him, many
fruits, and vegetables, and roots, and berries, that garnish your table
at dinner and dessert, you might never have tasted. But for him these
delicacies might never have reached your lips. A good word, then, for
the plant-hunter!