June 18—I recall an old song of which the burden was, "If there's one man that I won't know, it's the man who says I told you so." Hence this mild entry in my diary. Early in April last I wrote an entry to the effect that the Daphne shrubs in Jessfield Park had the peculiar habit of tying their twigs in knots, and I spoke about this to my friend Mr. Kerr afterwards. He said, kindly but firmly, "I think you are mistaken: the twigs of the Daphne are soft and pliant, and it is quite easy for idle passers-by to twist them into knots." Somewhat cast down by this ultimatum I decided to watch a number of bushes daily, and having done so for over two months I am convinced that my original statement was correct: note that I exclude many cases where passers-by or observers have tried to improve upon Nature....such cases are easily distinguished by their clumsy performance. In the genuine examples the process seems to be as follows: two twigs, with small leaves just out of the bud, grow out from the head of a branch; after a week or so one twig is drawn outwards towards the light (phototropism) and comes into contract with its neighbour which it crosses; the twig then struggling for the light is immediately affected by the action known in twining plants as "circumnutation" or "Haptotropism" and gradually bends down to grip the other twig by this time the leaves have trebled in size and the other twig curves up again in search of light; it could not repeat the original process if it tried because the leaves are too big to go through the loop.... so it leaves behind it a perfect knot which is a feature of the shrub for the rest of its life. I have timed this process over about eight weeks, and if I had not been taught that song I should certainly be saying, "I told. But no, I will refrain,
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.