ceding to his request, first fulfilled his duties as host by leading me round the garden.
"This fountain," said he, pointing to what appeared a cloud of rainbow-colored mist in the midst of the garden, "is of Reva's contrivance." While saying this, he pressed on what seemed to be a piece of rock; and the spray subsided at once, permitting approach to the basin. This was enclosed in rockwork abounding in ferns and other moisture-loving plants. A number of fish of various colors came swarming to the edge of their abode, accustomed, evidently, to be fed.
"These and her fowls are Reva's live pets," said he.
"But probably she loves her flowers still more. Over here, however, is the pride of her garden, a unique plant, to which none of even our experienced botanists has been able to give a name."
Here we came to a standstill before—I hesitate to tell it—a not exceedingly large, yet thriving specimen of Carduus Arvensis, or Canada Thistle. The panicles of buds, already showing purplish at the tips, gave promise of a numerous progeny of this farmer's pest, to which they have given the significant epithet of "cursed."
"Is this the plant you mean?" I inquired, hardly able to believe my eyes.
"You seem to recognize it. Yes, this is the plant."
"It is merely a—" Here I was nonplussed, for I was unable to recall any name for it in the language of the period. "It is merely a weed, at one time greatly detested, and far from uncommon."
"In Maoria, you mean. It seems to be utterly unknown on this continent."
