“What! where paper grows?”
“No,” replied Karl, “I do not mean that the paper itself grows here; but a ‘fabric’ out of which that useful article may be made.”
“What is that, brother?”
“It is a tree, or rather a shrub, belonging to the order of the Thymelaceae, or ‘Daphnads.’ The plants of this order are found in many countries; but chiefly in the cooler regions of India and South America. There are even representatives of the order in England: for the beautiful ‘spurge laurel’ of the woods and hedges—known as a remedy for the toothache—is a true daphnad. Perhaps the most curious of all the Thymelaceae is the celebrated Lagetta, or lace-bark tree of Jamaica; out of which the ladies of that island know how to manufacture cuffs, collars, and berthas, that, when cut into the proper shapes, and bleached to a perfect whiteness, have all the appearance of real lace! The Maroons, and other runaway negroes of Jamaica, before the abolition of slavery, used to make clothing out of the lagetta; which they found growing in plenty in the mountain forests of the island. Previous also to the same abolition of slavery, there was another, and less gentle, use made of the lace-bark, by the masters of these same negroes. The cruel tyrants used to spin its tough fibres into thongs for their slave-whips.”
“And you think that paper can be made out of these trees?” asked Caspar, impatient to know whether there might be any chance of procuring some for the covering of a kite.
“There are several species of daphnads,” replied the botanist, “whose bark can be converted into paper. Some are found at the Cape of Good Hope, and others in the island of Madagascar; but the best kinds for the purpose grow in these very mountains, and in China. There is the ‘Daphne Bholua,’ in Nepaul; from which the Nepaulese make a strong, tough, packing-paper; and I have reason to believe that it also grows in the Bhotan Himalayas—at no very great distance from our position here. Besides, in China and Japan, on the other side of these mountains, there are two or three distinct kinds of the same plant—out of which the Chinese make the yellowish-coloured paper, you may have seen in their books, and pasted upon their tea-chests. So then,” added the botanist, looking wistfully towards the woods, “since the paper-yielding daphne grows in China, to the east of us, and in Nepaul and Bhotan to the west, it is but reasonable to conclude that some species of it may be found in this valley—where the climate is just that which it affects. Its seed may have been transported hither by birds: since many species of birds are fond of its berries, and eat them without receiving any injury; though, strange to say, they are poisonous to all kinds of quadrupeds!”
“Do you think you would know the shrub, if you saw it, brother?”
“Well, to say the truth, I do not think I could recognise it by its general appearance; but if I had a flower of the daphne, I could no doubt tell it by its botanical characteristics. The leaves of the paper-yielding species are of a lanceolate form and purplish hue, glabrous and shining, like the leaves of laurels—to which genus the daphne is closely allied. Unfortunately, the shrub would not be in flower at this season; but if we can find one of the berries, and a leaf or two, I fancy I shall be able to identify it. Besides, the bark, which is very tough, would help to guide us. Indeed, I have some reason to think that we shall find it not far off; and that is why I speak with such confidence, in saying, that we might not be so deficient in the materials for paper-making.”
“What reason, brother Karl? Perhaps you have seen something like it?”
“I have. Some time ago, when I was strolling about, I passed through a thicket of low shrubs—the tops of which reached up to my breast. They were then in flower—the flowers being of a lilac colour, and growing at the tops of the branches in little cymes. They had no corolla—only a coloured calyx. Now these characters correspond with those of the daphne. Besides, the leaves were lanceolate, velvety on the surface, and of purplish colour; and the flowers were of an exceedingly sweet scent—as is the case with all the daphnads. I did not think of examining them at the time; but, now that I recall these characteristics, I feel almost certain that the shrubs were of this genus.”