Tut. Very well; then instead of reading we will sit and talk about oaks. George, who knew the oak by its acorns—should you have known it if there had been none?
Geo. I don’t know; I believe not.
Tut. Observe, then, in the first place, that its bark is very rugged. Then see in what manner it grows: its great arms run out almost horizontally from its trunk, giving the whole tree a sort of round form, and making it spread far on every side. Its branches are also subject to be crooked or kneed. By these marks you might guess at an oak even in winter, when quite bare of leaves. But its leaves afford a surer mark of distinction, since they differ a good deal from those of other English trees, being neither whole and even at the edges, nor yet cut like the teeth of a saw, but rather deeply scolloped, and formed into several rounded divisions. Their colour is a fine deep green. Then the fruit—
Har. Fruit!
Tut. Yes; all kinds of plants have what may properly be called fruit, though we are apt to give that name only to such as are food for man. The fruit of a plant is the seed, with what contains it. This, in the oak, is called an acorn, which is a kind of nut, partly enclosed in a cup.
Geo. Acorn-cups are very pretty things. I have made boats of them, and set them swimming in a basin.
Tut. And if you were no bigger than a fairy, you might use them for drinking cups, as those imaginary little beings are said to do.
Pearly drops of dew we drink,
In acorn-cups filled to the brink.
Har. Are acorns good to eat?