sarily flaps down, the fleur-de-lys leaf as necessarily
curves up, owing to that inevitable bend in its back. And you see, with its
keen edge, and long curve, and sharp point, how like a sword it is. The
botanists would for once have given a really good and right name to the
plants which have this kind of leaf, 'Ensatae,' from the Latin 'ensis,' a
sword; if only sata had been properly formed from sis. We can't let the
rude Latin stand, but you may remember that the fleur-de-lys, which is the
flower of chivalry, has a sword for its leaf, and a lily for its heart.

12. In case you cannot gather a fleur-de-lys leaf, I have drawn for you, in
Plate VI., a cluster of such leaves, which are as pretty as any, and so
small that, missing the points of a few, I can draw them of their actual
size. You see the pretty alternate interlacing at the bottom, and if you
can draw at all, and will try to outline their curves, you will find what
subtle lines they are. I did not know this name for the strong-edged grass
leaves when I wrote the pieces about shield and sword leaves in 'Modern
Painters'; I wish I had chanced in those passages on some other similitude,
but I can't alter them now, and my trustful pupils may avoid all confusion
of thought by putting gladius for ensis, and translating it by the word
'scymitar,' which is also more accurate in expressing the curvature blade.
So we will call the ensatae, instead, 'gladiolae,' translating,
'scymitar-grasses.' And having {164} now got at some clear idea of the
distinction between outlaid and inlaid growth in the stem, the reader will
find the elementary analysis of forms resulting from outlaid growth in
'Modern Painters'; and I mean to republish it in the sequel of this book,
but must go on to other matters here. The growth of the inlaid stem we will
follow as far as we need, for English plants, in examining the glasses.

FLORENCE, _11th September, 1874_.

As I correct this chapter for press, I find it is too imperfect to be let
go without a word or two more. In the first place, I have not enough, in
distinguishing the nature of the living yearly shoot, with its cluster of
fresh leafage, from that of the accumulated mass of perennial trees, taken
notice of the similar power even of the annual shoot, to obtain some manner
of immortality for itself, or at least of usefulness, _after_ death. A
Tuscan woman stopped me on the path up to Fiesole last night, to beg me to
buy her plaited straw.