s is frequently the case,
even on sandy plains, the water-line be, in early Spring, very near the
surface, the seed may be planted, may vegetate, and throw up a goodly
show of leaves and stalks, which may flourish as long as the early rains
continue; but, suddenly, the rains cease; the sun comes out in his June
brightness; the water-line lowers at once in the soil; the roots have no
depth to draw moisture from below, and the whole field of clover, or of
corn, in a single week, is past recovery. Now, if this light, sandy soil
be drained, so that, at the first start of the crop, there is a deep
seed-bed free from water, the roots strike downward, at once, and thus
prepare for a drought. The writer has seen upon deep-trenched land in
his own garden, parsnips, which, before midsummer, had extended downward
three feet, before they were as large as a common whiplash; and yet,
through the Summer drought, continued to thrive till they attained in
Autumn a length, including tops, of about seven feet, and an
extraordinary size. A moment's reflection will satisfy any one that, the
dryer the soil in Spring, the deeper will the roots strike, and the
better able will be the plant to endure the Summer's drought.

Again, drainage and consequent pulverization and deepening of the soils
increase their capacity to absorb moisture from the atmosphere, and thus
afford protection against drought. Watery vapor is constantly, in all
dry weather, rising from the surface of the earth; and plants, in the
day-time, are also, from their leaves and bark, giving off moisture
which they draw from the soil. But Nature has provided a wonderful law
of compensation for this waste, which would, without such provision,
parch the earth to barrenness in a single rainless month.

The capacity of the atmosphere to take up and convey water, furnishes
one of the grandest illustrations of the perfect work of the Author of
the Universe. "All the rivers run into the sea, yet the sea is not
full;" and the sea is not full, because the numerous great rivers and
their millions of tributaries, ever flowing from age to age, convey to
the ocean only as much water as the atmosphere carries back in vapor,
and discharges upon the hills. The warmer the atmosphere, the greater
its capacity to hold moisture. The heated, thirsty air of the tropics
drinks up the water of the ocean, and bears it away to the colder
regions, where, through condensation by cold, it becomes visible as