"The propagation of plants that have wings or elastic shells may, in that way, be accounted for; but there are some seeds that fall, by their own weight, exactly at the foot of the vegetable kingdom that produces them."
"It is often these that make the longest voyages."
"By what conveyance, then?"
"Well, my son, for a philosopher, I cannot say that your knowledge is very profound; seeds that have no wings borrow them."
"Not from the ant, I presume?"
"No, not exactly; but from the quail, the woodcock, the swallow, and a thousand others, that are apparently more generous than the poor ant, to which Æsop has given a reputation for avarice that it will have some trouble to shake off. The birds swallow the seeds, many of which are covered with a hard, horny skin, that often resists digestion; these are carried by the inhabitants of the air across rivers, seas, and lakes, and are deposited by them in the neighborhood of their nests—it may be on the top of a mountain, or in the crevice of a rock."
"True, I never thought of that."
"There are a great many philosophers who know more about the motions of stars than these humbler operations of Nature."
"You are caught there," said Jack.
"There are philosophers, too, who can do nothing but ridicule the knowledge of others."