Full text of "With the wild flowers from pussy-willow to thistledown; a rural chronicle of our flower friends and foes, describing them under their familiar English names"

See other formats

Google

This is a digital copy of a book that was preserved for generations on Hbrary shelves before it was carefully scanned by Google as part of a project

to make the world's books discoverable online.

It has survived long enough for the copyright to expire and the book to enter the public domain. A public domain book is one that was never subject

to copyright or whose legal copyright term has expired. Whether a book is in the public domain may vary country to country. Public domain books

are our gateways to the past, representing a wealth of history, culture and knowledge that's often difficult to discover.

Marks, notations and other maiginalia present in the original volume will appear in this file - a reminder of this book's long journey from the

publisher to a library and finally to you.

Usage guidelines

Google is proud to partner with libraries to digitize public domain materials and make them widely accessible. Public domain books belong to the
public and we are merely their custodians. Nevertheless, this work is expensive, so in order to keep providing this resource, we liave taken steps to
prevent abuse by commercial parties, including placing technical restrictions on automated querying.
We also ask that you:

+ Make non-commercial use of the files We designed Google Book Search for use by individuals, and we request that you use these files for
personal, non-commercial purposes.

+ Refrain fivm automated querying Do not send automated queries of any sort to Google's system: If you are conducting research on machine
translation, optical character recognition or other areas where access to a large amount of text is helpful, please contact us. We encourage the
use of public domain materials for these purposes and may be able to help.

+ Maintain attributionTht GoogXt "watermark" you see on each file is essential for informing people about this project and helping them find
additional materials through Google Book Search. Please do not remove it.

+ Keep it legal Whatever your use, remember that you are responsible for ensuring that what you are doing is legal. Do not assume that just
because we believe a book is in the public domain for users in the United States, that the work is also in the public domain for users in other
countries. Whether a book is still in copyright varies from country to country, and we can't offer guidance on whether any specific use of
any specific book is allowed. Please do not assume that a book's appearance in Google Book Search means it can be used in any manner
anywhere in the world. Copyright infringement liabili^ can be quite severe.

About Google Book Search

Google's mission is to organize the world's information and to make it universally accessible and useful. Google Book Search helps readers
discover the world's books while helping authors and publishers reach new audiences. You can search through the full text of this book on the web

at |http : //books . google . com/|

^^c~Y>'Cu^ YlrJc<^.

>■

V'"7

WITH THE WILD FLOWERS.

)

WITH THE WILD FLOWERS

PROM PUSSY-WILLOW TO
THISTLE-DOWN

A BXmAL CBBONICLB OF

®ur J'lowet friends and foes

DESCRIBINa THEH UNDBH THEIR

VA MIL lAR ENGLISH NA ME 8

E. M. HARDINGE

NEW YORK
THE BAKER & TAYLOR CO.

5 AND 7 East 16th Street

W"" • O

J ^ J

J ^ J J -» • * »

• • • •

• • •

• • • • •

a • • • k

* • fc • •
* .- k .

THE NEW YORK

PUBLIC LiBRARY'

80329SA

ASTOR, LENOX A»D

TILBEN FOUNDATIONS]

H 1985 L

The Bakes & Taylor Co.

.♦'.

PREFACE.

Most of the matter in this little book has ap-
peared in articles contributed to Demorest^s Fam-
ily Magazine and to the New York Evening Post.

These articles were written at various times
and independently of one another. Hence their-
compilation may lack system, as the critics will
say, if those arbiters of literary fate honor my
little book with their consideration.

We have all heard the story of Charles Lamb,
who wanted to be excused for arriving at the
office so late in the morning because he left it so
early in the afternoon. With similar logical se-
quence we plead indulgence for a shortcoming by
calling attention to a lack. The book may be
without system, but, gentle reader, it is without

VI PREFACE.

technical terms. It is written in a tongue " un-
derstanded of the people/^

To many of us botany has been presented at
school merely as a list of scientific terms which
eluded our memories and excited loathing in our
souls. When one has been compelled to learn
that a rose belongs to the series Phaenogams, class
dicotyledons, sub-class angiosperms, division poly-
petalous, and order RosaceaB, it does not thereafter
smell quite so sweet — Shakespeare to the contrary
notwithstanding.

It would be far better to teach pupils first the
facts of botany.

Let them learn how plants wake and sleep, how
they store up food for themselves in hidden gar-
ners, how flowers lure insects, and how insects
work for the flowers. Let them learn the marvels
of vegetable structure.

As the lessons go on, a few — but only a few —
technical terms must be used. These can be ex-
plained as they naturally occur, in connection with
the subject.

Most of the nomenclature so laboriously learned
in schools is useless even to the working botanist.

The most reliable guides to the flora of the
greater part of the United States are the works of

PREFACE. Vll

Professor Gray, who was not addicted to the use
of scientific language when his meaning could be
conveyed in plain English. When his books do
drop into technicalities, definitions of the ponder-
ous words can always be sought and found in the
glossary bound in with the volume.

The student who has been compejled to learn
that canescent means hoary and that hypocra-
teriform means salver-shaped has been bothered to
little purpose.

His real concern is to find out why the leaves
are hoary and why the blossoms are salver-shaped.
For there is a reason for everything in this beau-
tiful creation. There is a reason why the flower
unfolds in April, rather than in June or in Sep-
tember. There is a reason why it wears the par-
ticular color with which it adorns itself, a reason
why its dainty cup is shallow or deep, and reasons
for the peculiar form, size, and grouping of the
leaves.

Nature students are always asking "why?''
Some few of the wherefores are known, but many
have not been found out yet, and if we ever learn
them the flowers themselves must teach us, for
the botanists do not know. It is a wonderful
moment to the student when he learns the answer

Till PREFACE,

even to one of the whys which the humblest weed
suggests, for he feels that, ignorant and unworthy
as he is, he has been, for one brief moment, taken
into the confidence of the Creator.

E. M. Hardinge.

CONTENTS.

PAGE

I. The Plant World 1

n. Flowers and their Visitors 16

in. Buds 34

IV. Hidden Treasuries 40

V. Willow-pussies and Alder tassels . . 47
VI. A Wreath for the May-queen .... 56

VII. The Calla's Poor Relations 68

VIII. Cherry-bloom and Cottonwood .... 76

IX. Spring's Younger Children 85

X. Field-daisies 100

XI. Twilight and June in a Garden . . . 109
XII. Water-side and Pond Flowers .... 122

Xni. Unbidden Guests 137

XIV. Winged Burglars 147

XV. Ogre-flowers 155

XVI. Orchids 164

XVII. Among The Late Wild Flowers. . . .181

XVIII. The Happy Autumn Fields 194

XIX. Seeds on their Travels . 202

XX. Foes Afield.— Plants Poisonous to the

Touch 217

XXI. Foes Afield.— Plants Poisonous to the

Stomach 234

XXII. Foes Afield.— More Plants Poisonous

TO THE Stomach 245

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

PAGE

Fig. 1. Dodder-plant (Cuscuta) 8

Fig. 2. Plant-like Moulds : a, Potato-mould; h and

c, Blue-mould 6

Fig. 8. a, Section of the Seed of Corn-cockle; b.

Section of the Seed of Oxalis .... 12

Fig. 4. a, Haricot Bean; 6, Germination of the

Haricot Bean 12

Fig. 5. a, Part of the Lower Surface of a Fern-leaf;
h. Magnified Portion of the Lower Sur-
face 18

Fig. 6. a, Single Spore-case closed ; ft, Opening to

Let Out Spores 14

Fig. 7. Different Forms of Stamens : Iris, Amaryl-
lis, Solanum, Barberry, Laurel ... 19

Fig. 8. Pollen grains: Hollyhock; Hollyhock, ex-
ternal envelope removed; Wheat; Even-
ing Primrose; Garlic; Phlox .... 20

Fig. 9. Pistil Forms: Chinese Primrose, Poppy . 21

Fig. 10. Blossom of the Wheat 26

Fig 11. Expanding Buds of the Tulip tree, Birch,

and Almond 84

Fig.

18.

Fig.

13.

Fig.

14.

Fig.

15.

Fig.

16.

Fig.

17.

Fig.

18.

Fig.

19.

Fig.

30.

Fig.

21.

Fig.

22.

Fig.

23.

Fig.

24.

Fig.

25.

Fig.

26.

Fig.

27.

Fig.

28.

Fig.

29.

Fig.

30.

Fig.

31.

Fig.

33.

Fig.

33.

Fig.

34.

Fig.

35.

LI8T OF ILLUSTRATIONS, XI

PAGE

a, Bulb of the Hyaciuth ; 6, Vertical Sec-
tion of Same 43

Willow Flowers: a, Silvery Tassel; b.
Golden Tassel ; c, Pistil and covering

scale; d, Stamen and fringed scale . . 51

Wood-anemone {Anemone nemerosa) . . 60

Indian Turnip {Arimma triphyllum) . . 69

Arrow-arum {Peltandra mrginica) ... 74

Pollen-grain emitting the Pollen-tube . . 78
Divided Flowei*s of the Oak and Pine : a,

a, Staminate; h, b, Pistillate .... 81

The Columbine {Aquilegia Canadensis) . . 91
A Common Variety of Wild Geranium

{Geranium Roberiianum) 98

Daisies 103

The Three States of a Daisy Floret ... 106

Sleeping Clover .111

Sleeping Oxalis 114

Yucca 116

Evening Primrose {jEnothera biennis) . .118
a, Structure of the Epidermis of a Leaf; 6,
Vertical Section through One of the Sto-

mata of a Cycus 124

Common Speedwell (Fdrowtca oj^iJiwaZw) . 129
Touch-me-not, or Jewel-weed {Impatiens

fulm) 133

Toad-flax {Linaria vulgaris) 145

^wn^^yf {Dvosera rotundifolia) .... 156
a, Venus' Fly-trap {Dioncm muscipula); b,

Leaf of Venus' Fly-trap 159

Butterfly-orchid 164

Spider-plant (Odontoglossum coidaium) . . 167
Greater Green Orchid {Habenaria orbicu-

lata) 170

Xll

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

PAGE

Fig. 36. 1, Side View of Head of Sphinx- motb,

with recently-attached Pollen-masses ;

2, Front View of the same, with Pendent

Pollen-masses 171

Fig. 37. Lady's-tresses {Spiranthes gracilis) . . . 177

Fig. 38. Lady's-slipper {Cypripedium niveum) . . 179

Fig. 39. Harebell (Campanula rotundifolia) . . . 184

Fig. 40. Indian-pipe (Monoiropa uniflora) .... 190
Fig. 41. Transverse Section of a Leaf, showing the

Structure 196

Fig. 42. Plumed Seeds: Thistle, Cotton, Valerian . 203
Fig. 43. Winged Seeds ; Maple, Elm, Pine ... 204
Fig. 44. Virginia Creeper (Ampelopsis quinquefolia) 219
Fig. 45. a, Poison-ivy {Ehus toxicodendron); b, Eng-
lish Ivy {Hedera helix) 221

Fig. 46. a, Poison-sumach {Rhus venenata); b. Non-
poisonous Sumach {Rhus iyphina) . . . 224
Fig. 47. Fragrant Sumach (Rhus aromatica) . . . 227

Fig. 48. Small Nettle ( Urtica urens) 232

Fig. 49. Aconite (Aconiium napellus) 238

Fig. 50. Jimson-weed {Datura stramonium) . . . 240

Fig. 51. Green Hellebore {Helleborus viridis) . . . 243

Fig. 52. Poison-hemlock {Conium maculatum) . . 247

Fig. 53. American Hemlock {Cicuta maculata) . . 250

Fig. 54. Fool's-parsley {j^husa cynapium) . . . 254

Fig. 55. Water-parsnip (Sium dcuttrfolium) . . . 256

WITH THE WILD FLOWERS,

THE PLANT WORLD.

Pew persons have any idea what diversity
exists among members of the vegetable king-
dom. Some plants differ from others as widely
as a shark differs from a wren, an elephant
from a mosquito, or a crab from a rattlesnake.

We find among plants every gradation in size,
from microscopic forms floating in fresh water
to the giant trees of California three hundred
feet in height. We find every degree of elab-
oration of structure, from a mere shapeless,
jelly-like mass to the exquisite grace of the
lily, and the wonderful organization of the little
catch-fly, which, like a living creature, lures,
secures, kills, and digests its insect prey.

2 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS.

Some growths, of the mushroom sort, in a
single night spring up, mature, reproduce their
species, and die. In contrast to their brief ex-
istence, think of the lives of the olive and the
yew, Methusalehs among trees. England has
hoary yews, centuries old, which perhaps were
young saplings when William the Norman
landed. They have stood tranquilly, adding
every year a half-inch or so of new wood to
the end of each twig, while society struggled
from semi-barbarism to civilization; while cities
sprang up, kings were born, grew gray, died and
were supplanted; poets and teachers arose, gave
their message to the world, and were silenced by
death. Eastern travellers tell us that gnarled
olive-trees are to-day standing in the Garden of
Gethsemane which were mute witnesses to the
agony of our Lord.

When we remember how diverse are the condi-
tions under which plants contrive to get a living,
we see that there must of necessity be great diver-
sity of size, form, and habits. There is a flora for
every region, from the equator to the frozen cir-
cles; for the most fertile and also for tlie most
barren soil. Some plants are parasitic on the liv-
ing tissues of others. The mistletoe lives in this

TBE PLANT WOULD. 3

way, and so does the dodder (Fig. 1), whose bright
orange-colored etems may be seen twiniug among
the herbage on any brookside. The Indian-pipe
— sometimes called ghost-flower — is a parasite on

FlO. 1.— DODDBR-PIANT (OtWCUfd).

the roots of trees; its white stalks and waxy blos-
soms being fed by juices sucked or, rather, stolen
from the oak or pine by which it is sheltered.
Some plants feed, ghoul-like, on the dead bodies

4 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS.

of others; of this sort are the great wen-like fuugi
— white, yellow, orange, or red — which cling to
decaying trees. «

Beneath the ocean grows an endless variety of
lovely seaweeds; while fresh- water weeds cover
the bottom of every lake or slow-moving stream.
A fungus, white as the driven snow and inde-
scribably delicate, grows on the walls and floors
of mines, and, unlike most members of the vege-
table kingdom, evidently loves darkness rather
than light.

Some degree of warmth is generally necessary
to vegetation, but there is an exception even to
this rule in the microscopic plants which have
been found growing on the Arctic snow; these re-
quire the most intense cold. They are of a vivid
ruby color, and grow in such innumerable masses
as to impart their own rich hue to the snow on
which they live, and are the cause of the patches
of red snow occasionally seen by Arctic travellers.

Some tiny plants grow on the- bodies of animals;
some on the human body. One sort, visible only
by aid of a powerful microscope, grows on open
wounds, causing gangrene. A fungous growth in
the throat " is the cause of diphtheria. Eecent
medical discoveries prove that many diseases are

THE PLANT WORLD. 5

caused by the growth of microscopic vegetable
forms ou or in the body, and it is believed that
further research will trace to the same source
other of the ills that human flesh is heir to.
Thus botany, in one direction, approaches the
borders of medical science. So minute are these
germs, often the cause of disease and death, that
it would take a great number of them to make a
mass as large as the head of a cambric needle.
Their power to work mischief, however, emphati-
cally teaches us not to despise " the day of small
things."

Other tiny plants are dire enemies to the house-
keeper. The skin which forms over improperly
sealed preserves is a vegetable growth, as are also
mildew and mould (Fig. 2). A bit of cheese-
mould seen under a microscope is as pretty a sight
as a tuft of ferns. While some minute plans de-
stroy the fruits of our labor, others are helps to
certain industries. To this latter class belong the
ferments — the yeast-plant, which raises our bread
and works the brewer's beer, and an allied growth
which converts grape -juice into wine. The house-
keeper mixing sponge is performing an operation
similar to that of the farmer flinging grass-seed
over a meadow. She is putting the sort of plant

WJTU THE WILD FL0WEB3.

THE PLANT WORLD. 7

she wants to raise into the sort of soil in which it
is most likely to grow and prosper. With moder-
ate warmth it grows and multiplies with wonder-
ful rapidity, and in so doing- alters the character
of its soil — the sponge — making it light and por-
ous. A sudden chill checks the growth of the
yeast-plant, and heavy loaves are the result.

According to some estimates, botanists count
one hundred thousand species of plants. The
number growing in a single meadow will surprise
any one who has patience to count them. The
writer has gathered thirty sorts in a bit of ground
chosen at haphazard and rather less tton two feet
square.

This great vegetable kingdom, comprising mem-
bers so diverse in form, so different in habits, and
so dispersed as to area, is divided very simply into
two great tribes or series. These are : those
plants which bear flowers, or Phanerogams ; and
those which do not, or Cryptogams.

To the first series, the Phanerogams, belong
most of our familiar friends of wood and field.
All trees bear flowers. The blossoms of many
sorts are greenish, and appear in early spring when
we are looking for the bursting of the leaf-buds.
They are apt to be taken by a casual observer for

8 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS,

young leaves. All grasses also produce blossoms.
They are often green, generally small and incon-
spicuous, and are the most evanescent of all
flowers.

Could this have been known to the Hebrew
poet, who, seeking an image to express the brevity
of human life, says that man's strength and beauty
pass away " as the flower of the grass " ? In the
tranquil outdoor life of a pastoral people many of
the wonders of nature might be noted, and taught
by father to child. It does not follow that the
green growing things about us are either better
known or better loved because in these days we
bestow on their delicate organs a ponderous Latin
nomenclature.

The JCryptogamia, or flowerless plants, are
mostly minute, sometimes invisible to the naked
eye. Microscopic work is necessary to the attain-
ment of much knowledge in this branch of bot-
any, which is full of difficulty and less generally
interesting than the study of flowering plants.

The series of Cryptogamia comprises ferns,
horsetails, mosses, lichens, fungi, moulds; the
minute vegetable growths already noted, which
cause disease, fermentation, and decay; and tiny
things which float in fresh water, called diatoms

THE PLANT WORLD. 9

and desmids. These latter have little silicious
shells and were for a long time supposed to be
very minute shell-fish.

The appearance of ferns and mosses is familiar
to every one accustomed to woodland walks.
Horsetails, called also scouring-rushes, are leafless
plants with hollow, jointed stems. The branches
spring from the main stalk in a series of circles,
after the fashion of the spokes of a wheel or the
ribs of an umbrella. •

Lichens are crinkled, papery growths, in soft,
indefinite tints of brown, green, and gray. They
spread themselves over rocks, tree-trunks, or un-
painted wood. Some humble members of this
family resemble smears of paint somewhat blis-
tered by the sun. One sort, of the color of iron-
rust, clings to the trunks of cedars and locusts.
Other varieties appear as white stains or as little
clusters of dark green dots on the surface of
smooth rocks.

These humble rock -lichens are to-day carrying
on a work begun by their ancestors before the
grass grew or the first flower unfolded its petals
to the light. They are among the first-born of
the great family of plants. Their function in the
plan of nature is to prepare the hard, bare rock

10 WITH TUB WILD FLOWERS.

for the support of higher forms of vegetable life.
Examine a stone to which they cling, and you will
find that each lichen grows in a shallow depression.
This it has hollowed out for itself by dissolving
and then absorbing the substance of its rocky
home. When it dies and decays, the mineral pub-
stances it has gathered will be left as fine dust on
the surface of the stone. This may afford a foot-
hold to some moss or larger lichen, or may be
washed down by showers, to mingle with the soil
and help to nourish a fern or flowering plant.

Lichens love shade, and always grow most abun-
dantly on the north side of a tree-trunk where the
sunshine never reaches them. This is said to
have been noticed by the keen-eyed Indian hunt-
ers, and observation of the growth on tree-trunks
was one method by which they guided themselves
through the trackless forests. Any one travelling
along a country road running east and west and
bounded by rail fences can observe for himself
this peculiarity of lichenous growth. The noon
sun shining in the south daily warms the fence on
the north side of the road, while the opposite
fence lies in shadow. The shade-loving lichens
accordingly will cluster thickly along the south
fence, while that bounding the road on the other

THE PLANT WORLD. 11

hand (on the side toward the road, at least) is
nearly bare.

On account of their ability to endure cold,
lichens and mq^ses grow farther toward the poles
than any other forms of vegetation; and they are
still observed by the mountain-climber who has
left beneath him the haunts and homes of higher
species of plants.

Fungi comprise mushrooms, truffles, the various
sorts of toadstools, and the fat, moist growths
which cling to decaying wood.

A great difference between Phanerogams and
Cryptogams is in their method of reproducing
their kind. Flowering plants produce seeds;
flowerless plants, spores. The seed contains a tiny
plant, completely formed, and a store of food pro-
vided by the parent plant to support the seedling
till it can form a root and grub for its own living
(Fig. 3).

Split a bean (one that has been soaked for a
few hours in water is best), and you will see the
plan on which the seed is formed. On the outside
are two skins, which we have torn in our investi-
gations into the bean's anatomy. The outer skin
is thick and tough; the inner is delicate and fine,
and adheres to the outer, so that at first there may

WITH THE WILD FLOWERS.

appear to be but one. The bean separates natu-
rally into lialves. Between them we find a tiny

Fro. 3o.— Section op the Fin. 3* —'Section of thb

Seed of Cohn-cockle Seed of Oxalis (magni-

(magnified). Bed)

Bhowine the Iwo seed coats, the baby plant and Ihe aloreol

iDourlBhtneDt. (EYom T/ie Vevfiable Koild)

Fio. 4a. — Hahicot Bean. Fin. 4J.— Germination of

THE llAuiroT Bean.
(From The Vegetable World.) iFi-om The Vegetable World.')

plant with two pale leaves folded close, a white
8'.em, and at the end of tlie stem a thickened por-

TUB PLANT WORLD,

tion wbence the root of the futiire will spring.
The halves of the beau contain rich etarcbea for
the baby plaot (Fig. 4). These are the essential

Fio. 5a.— Part
Lower SravACB op

Fio. 56. — MAGNrFiED Por-
tion OF TilK Low BR

Surface.

t)art8 of a seed: an outer and an inner coat, a
young plant completely formed, and (in most in-
stances) a store of nourishment for its support
during the earlier part of its existence.

14 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS,

The spore of a Cryptogam is much simpler in
its structure. It is a tiny round object, barely
visible, or microscopic, and consists of but a single
cell, a little semi-transparent bag filled with a
jelly-like substance. Most of our common ferns
have lines or dots on the back of the leaf (Fig. 5)
which are at first green, afterward brown. On
examination they will be found to be rows or clus-
ters of tiny objects resembling very small seeds.
These are spore-cases, and contain the true spores,
which are as fine as the finest powder (Fig. 6).

a h

Fro. 6. — a, A Single Spore-case Closed (much magni-
fied), b, Opening to Let out the Spoues.

(From The Vegetable World.)

Thus one of these lines or dots represents many
hundreds or even thousands of future plants.

Some ferns produce their spores on the top in-
stead of at the back of the leaf. One sort, the

TEE PLANT WORLD. 15

Botry chill m, common in damp woods, by an odd,
two-story arrangement carries its spore cases
aloft on a stalk rising out of the middle of the
delicate leaf. The leaf of the maidenhair has a
scalloped edge, and each scallop, just at the very
end, is folded, backward over the spores. The
bracken, common along roadsides, is almost the
largest of our native ferns, yet produces the tiniest
spore-cases. They are as small as grains of dust,
and lie in a fine line just at the edge of the shin-
ing dark green leaf.

According to an old English superstition,
bracken spores confer upon their finder the power
of becoming invisible at will. In reference to
this, Falstaff says, when he and his cronies have
eluded justice after a madcap breach of law and
order, " We have the receipt [i.e., are in possession]
of fern-seed. We walk invisible."

16 WITH THE WILL FLOWERS.

II.

FLOWERS AND THEIR VISITORS.

"The lovely wild flowers/' says Jean Ingelow,
" are the flowers which God made."

The hydrangeas and snowballs on our lawns,
the hundred-leaved and cabbage roses in our bor-
ders, and the whole category of "double" flowers
have been greatly altered by generations of cul-
ture. They are, in their present form at least,
flowers which man has made. They have been
trained into the forms familiar to us by ignorant
gardeners bent on producing big blossoms,
pleased, like children or savages, by mere masses
of color, and lacking the more refined apprecia-
tion of graceful forms. In the heart of a double
flower will be found a mere crumpled mass of
shapeless leaves. The plan on which its parts
were once arranged has been obliterated and the
exquisite symmetry of its natural shape destroyed.
For the purposes of the botanist, as to the eye of
the artist, the " doubled " flower is spoiled.

FLOWERS AND THEIR VISITORS. 17

To study the parts of the flower, therefore, we
must gather blossoms from country hedgerows, or
some single flowers from our garden-beds or win-
dow-boxes.

However, a rose will show all the central organs
(unless it be that triumph of misdirected horticul-
tural zeal a "cabbage^' rose), for only long and
arduous culture will take the heart out of the
queen of flowers.

On the outside of most flowers is a row of
leaves, generally, but not always, green. Each
one of these outer leaves is a sepal, and all the
sepals together form the calyx, or little cup.
Sometimes they are all together, in fact as well as
in name, having grown into a sort of cup around
the flower. This is the case in the carnation.
Within the calyx is a second row of flower-leaves,
brightly colored or white. Each of these bright
delicate leaves is a petal, and all together are
spoken of as the corolla, or little crown. The
petals of the geranium are scarlet, pink, or white ;
those of the violet are purple, and those of the
buttercup golden. Like the sepals, the petals are
sometimes entirely separate, as in the rose, and
sometimes united, as in the morning-glory.

In examining a fully opened flower, it is some-

18 WITH TEE WILD FLOWERS.

times a little difficult to distinguish between calyx
and corolla. In the garden balsam they are alike
in color and texture, and in the wild columbine,
called by country children "jacket and breeches/'
the calyx fairly outdoes the corolla in the brill-
iancy of its scarlet dye. When a doubt exists, it
may be solved by looking at the bud, for in it the
calyx is always wrapped around the closely folded
petals. Indeed, this seems its principal use in the
economy of the plant, for some flowers drop the
calyx at the moment of unfolding. The expand-
ing poppy slips off its sepals, and drops them in
the shape of a little green liberty-cap from the
tips of its liberated petals. The hepatica, called
harbinger of spring, the anemone, and many other
flowers have but one row of blossom-leaves, so
delicate in tint and texture that we would be dis-
posed to call them petals. To the botanist, how-
ever, they are sepals, and a single row of leaves
encircling a flower is usually considered as form-
ing the calyx.

Within the petals of a rose, unless it be a very
" double " rose indeed, there is a close ring of deli-
cate upright threads, each ending in a little knob
of gold.

These are the stamens, and, insignificant though

FLOWERS AND THEIR VISITORS.

they look, they are very important in the flower's
economy.

The slender thread is the filament, and the
kuoh ia the anther. The filament is not essential,
and is Bometimes dispensed with altogether, many
deep throated flowers having only a row of anthers
fastened to the inside of the corolla (Fig. 7).

Fio, 7. — liHB, Amahyllib, Solanum, Barbery, Laurei,.

DiiEerent Form of Stamens (magnilied).

(From The Vegetable WorH.I

The^anthor is really a little powder-box, and
after a while it bursts open, spilling a quantity of
iine dnst, sometimes hrown, but usually golden.
This is " pollen," and without it we would have
no flower-seed a.

The grains of pollen, when magnified from one
to two hundred diameters, are seen to be exqui-
sitely regular and dainty in form. Those shed by

20 Wirn THE WILD FL0WES8.

the atamena of the rose of Sharon are little globes,
covered with bristly points. Those of the lily are
smooth and oval, like miniature eggs, and those of
the miisk-plaot are globular and adorned with a
deep spiral groove (Fig. 8).

In the very heurt of the flower we find tho pistil
or pistils, for there are sometimes many. That of
tho tulip is a sturdy afEair, green at the base, yel-
low at the top, and dividing into three heads,
Ilepatica and anemone have many pistils, which
are all huddled together in the blossom's centre
and look like little green seeds. They are in real-

FL0WER8 AND THEIR VISITORS.

2ty seed-cases (Fig. 9). The duty of the pistil in
the floral division of labor is to form, guard, and
in due time distribute the young seed. In its
lower part, at flowering time, we may find one or

Chinese Primrose. Poppy.

Fig. 9. — Pistil Forms (magnified).
(From The Vegetable World.)

more, likely many, tiny pale green bodies, des-
tined to become seeds if all goes well.

The pistil is tipped with a little gummy knob
or glutinous point. This organ, the stigma, is
designed to receive grains of pollen on its surface.

22 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS,

and is sticky that they may adhere. If, by ill-for-
tune, no pollen-grains reach the spot nature has
so skilfully prepared for them, the immature
seeds in the pistil will die when the flower withers,
"cut off," in the words of a doleful, country-news-
paper poet, " in the morning of their early days.'^

But directly the desired grain of life-giving
dust settles on the waiting stigma, it begins to
grow there in a wonderful way. From its interior
comes a slender tube which grows downward
through the pistil, as a vigorous rootlet sinks into
loose soil. At length it reaches and pierces one
of the baby seeds in the base of the pistil. Be-
sides the tiny tube, the pollen-grain contains a
wee drop of fluid. This now flows down into the
infant seed and imparts to it the mysterious gift
of life. The seed is then, in technical language,
" fertilized."

When a plant grows in rich soil and in a warm
atmosphere, its stamens and pistils have a ten-
dency to turn into petals. In the heart of a gar-
den rose or double geranium we can see this
transformation actually taking place. On the
outside of the flower is a row of symmetrical
petals, those which nature, unassisted, produced.
Those just within are less perfect in form ; and

FLOWERS AND THEIR VISITORS. 23

as we approach the centre of the flower they grow
more and more shapeless, till at the head we find
a little cluster of nondescript organs in actual
transition from stamens to petals.

Some garden flowers have all their central or-
gans converted into petals. These never set a
single seed, but are propagated entirely by cut-
tings. A slip cut from a double rose or geranium
will tend to produce flowers like those of the
plant from which it was taken. By subjecting
the cutting again to the influences of rich soil and
warmth, this tendency will be fostered. Thus, in
the course of generations, the florist produces
double flowers and the hundred-leaved and cab-
bage roses, which have a countless mass of petals,
instead of the five of the wild rose, but scarcely
any stamens or pistils whatever.

New petals can also be developed — one might
almost say created — by diligent culture. A wild
pink has five petals, ten stamens, and two pistils
almost grown together. The garden carnation
was originally formed upon the same plan, and
could therefore possess but seventeen petals, even
were all the central organs changed by cultivation.
The pistil, however, retains its natural form, and
there are usually two or three distorted stamens.

24 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS.,

which remain as nature made them, in spite of
adverse circumstances. Besides these, we find a
great mass of white or deep red flower-leaves.
The delicate calyx, which was made to inclose
five petals, not such a number as this, is unequal
to the occasion, and often splits open all down one
side.

Till within recent years, botanists have sup-
posed that the germ in the forn)ing «eed of a
flower received its quickening influences from pol-
len shed by the stamens of that self-same flower.
Later discoveries, however, have proved that the
pollen which develops the ovules is, in most cases,
brought from some other blossom, and even in
many instances from some other plant. The fer-
tilizing dust is wafted to the stigma in two ways
— by the wind and by insects. A cursory glance
at a flower will tell us in which way its fetching
and carrying are done. Those accustomed to de-
pend upon the wind — those which are, in botani-
cal phrase, "wind-fertilized" — have no need to
attract the attention of passing insects. Hence
they are scentless, and have small greenish petals
or none. Of this sort are the flowers of rushes
sedges, and grasses, and those of many trees (Fig.
10). Some — for instance, the blossoms of the

FLOWERS AND THSIR VISITOBS.

pine-tree and those of the arbor
vitse — are so inconspicuous tha''.
they can scarcely be detected
even by diligent search. Wind-
fertilized flowers produce no
liouey.

On the other hand, those
flowers which are in the habit
of having pollen brought to
them by insects lure their
bright-winged visitors by per-
fume or by a display of splen-
did or dainty petals. All those
blossoms which catch the eye,
those which brighten the gar-
den or "paint the meadows
with delight," are insect-fertil-
ized. Their sweet scents and
conspicuous corollas may be
regarded as advertisements to
catch the attention of the pass-
ing insect and to notify him
of the presence of the honey
which he is seeking. " Where 'op TnE~vv"r'E'AT""
free lunches are provided," 'P'"'" '^i^jJ^J"*"''''*
quaintly observes Professor Gray, "some advan-

26 WITR THE WILD FLOWERS,

tage is generally expected from the treat/^ The
blossom gives up its sweets in order that it may
receive the fertilizing pollen upon its stigma, and
so may be enabled to set its seed.

To change the simile, the insect is, in her hum-
ble way, a wage-worker, and receives her pay for
fetching and carrying pollen in the drops of
honey which she gathers. The bumblebee, going
with business-like directness from clover-head to
clover-head, gets her velvety body sprinkled
thickly with golden dust. In extracting the
sweetness which lies deep down in the long pur-
ple tubes she crawls all over the blossom -head,
and some of the pollen which has clung to her
breast and legs is sure to be left upon the stigmas.
She has also brushed against the anthers, and
taken a fresh supply of the yellow powder, with
which she will fly to another clover-head. Thus
she pays for the honey which she takes, and she
and the flower form a mutual-benefit society.
Deprived of her visits, the purple clover would
not set a single seed, for the blossom tubes are
too deep for the little honey-bee. ller proboscis
is too short to reach the spot wliere the honey is
stored, and she wisely neglects the purple clover
for its white cousin and for other flowers which

FLOWERS AND THEIR VISITORS. 27

will better serve her turn. In New Zealand,
where the bumblebee is not a resident, the pur-
ple clover has to be freshly sown each year with
seed brought from England.

Huxley has proved that there is a direct ratio
between the quantity of purple clover in any
given section of country and the number of old
maids. The demonstration is as follows : Old
maids keep cats; cats are enemies to the field-
mouse; these mice in turn are the foes of the
bumblebee, for they devour the little store of
honey which that thrifty insect lays by for its
winter sustenance. Bumblebees are the pollen-
carriers of the purple clover. Hence the more
old maids there are in a region, the more plenti-
fully it is stocked with cats; the fewer, therefore,
are the field-mice; the greater is the number of
the bumblebees, and the more abundant, in con-
sequence, is the crop of red clover.

Without cross-fertilization, that is to say, un-
less the stigmas are dusted with pollen brought
from the anthers of some other flower, the ovules
of many plants will not mature at all. If a
branch of mountain laurel is inclosed in gauze,
its blossoms will not set a single seed. This is,
no doubt, a reason why even the single flowers

28 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS,

raised in greenhouses so seldom perfect their
fruit. Many of them are exotics, accustomed to
be visited and fertilized by tropical insects. The
calla lily in its wild state probably has its fetching
and carrying done by some South American
marsh -fly.

There are some flowers sufficient to themselves
— accustomed to mature their seed by the aid of
pollen received from their own stamens. In a
few sorts, the anthers open and the pistil is fertil-
ized before the bud expands. Generally, how-
ever, even in cases where the ovule can be quick-
ened by pollen from the self-same flower, better,
stronger, and more numerous seeds will be formed
if the pistil can get pollen from another blossom,
or, better still, from another plant of the same
sort.

It seems at first as if the result of insect visits
would be to *^mix things up" hopelessly. One
would think that poppy-pollen would be carried
to the rose, rose-pollen to the buttercup, and but-
tercup-pollen to the daisy, in " confusion worse
confounded." This is guarded against in a variety
of ways. The stigma is seldom affected by pollen
from a flower of widely differing species. Eose-
pollen on the lily and poppy-pollen on the butter-

FLOWERS AND THEIR VISITORS. 29

cup produce no vitalizing effect. So wonderfully
is the plant organized that in most cases only pol-
len from a separate flower of the same species can
quicken the ovules into life. Plants closely al-
lied, two species of violet, for instance, will occa-
sionally cross, and the resulting hybrid forms are
sometimes sorely puzzling to the botanist. Such
seldom produce seed, and thus the confusion of
types is checked at the outset.

Moreover the insect has his preferences and
partialities. The butterfly flitting from flower to
flower has passed into a proverb for flckleness,
but, though he soon quits, and forgets the indi-
vidual, he is not unfaithful to the family. The
rose-beetle is indifferent to all save the queen of
flowers, and many moths taste no other nectar
save that distilled by one chosen species of blos-
som. Wasps bestow their attentions on one or
two varieties and ignore all the rest. The bee
has many flower friends, but she is particularly
careful not to mix her drinks. In a meadow she
goes perse veringly from clover-head to clover-
head, with daisies, buttercups, and wuld carrot
blooming all about her.

The flowers, it seems, have their preferences
also, for each caters to the tastes and adapts itself

30 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS.

to the needs of its own insect friend. Some have
donned purple robes to gratify the bee, which has,
as Sir John Lubbock has shown, a royal taste in
colors. The busy little insect is fond of magenta,
and has a decided preference for blue, but never
can resist the purple, which is as dear to her as it
was to Julius Caesar. The flowers which wear
this imperial hue are generally rich in honey, and
their sweets are kept for their friend, the bee, at
the bottom of a cup so deep that smaller insects
cannot reach and rifle it.

Some deeper-throated flowers still are reserving
their nectar for the butterflies. Some blossoms
open at twilight, and they are visited and fertil-
ized by night-moths. These nocturnal flowers are
usually very fragrant, and the sweetness which
they shed abroad is at once a lure and a guide to
their desired insect guests. They are always white
or light yellow, and the glimmering of their pale
corollas helps the moth to find the blossom which
she seeks amid the tlironging shadows.

Some tropical flowers have tubes so long and
narrow that no moth or butterfly can reach into
the deptlis where the nectar is stored. The sweets
in such exceedingly deep and slender cups artj re-
served for the humming-birds. If we examine a

FLOWERS AND THEIR VISITORS. 31

collection of these winged jewels, we shall see that
the species differ greatly from one another in the
length and form of the bill; the bills of some are
straight, or very nearly so, those of others curve
slightly, and those of others still are very strongly
curved. Each, during its short glad life, feeds
mainly on insects and nectar from one sort of
tropical flower, and its bill has just the curve
which enables it to reach with the utmost ease
into the bottom of the flower-tube. But just in
proportion as a flower is fitted to the requirements
of its own friends it is unfitted for miscellaneous
society. Its .tube, exactly long enough for its
chosen visitor, is too deep for some insects and too
shallow for others.

The flower friends of the night-moths begin to
receive company about the time when the butter-
flies are going to bed. The butterfly and bee
blossoms unfold at dawn, when the moths are seek-
ing retirement in secluded corners. The flower
comes just at the season when its own winged
friends are numerous, and it thus avoids many in-
sects whose attentions it does not care to accept.
So Nature takes care that the flower's messages are
not carried to the wrong address.

The study of the interdependence of the flower
and its winged friend is as yet a comparatively

32 WITH THE WILD FLO WEES,

unexplored realm of science. Enough only is
known to stimulate curiosity and to show how vast
is the field for further discovery. Old philosophy
tried to account for everything under heaven on
the supposition that all was created for the use,
pleasure, or discipline of mankind. The deep and
patient nature-study of this generation has taught
us greater humility. Nature has myriad children
which live and rejoice, and suffer and die, utterly
without regard to sovereign man; yet each is pro-
vided for in ways suited to its tiny desires and
needs.

A spring walk by a brookside may be spoiled
for us by the odor of skunk cabbage, abhorred of
our outraged olfactories. No doubt, however, it
is pleasing to the little flies, which hover over the
offending vegetable, and probably act as its pollen-
carriers. A tropical flower attracts to it the in-
sects by which it is fertilized by exhaling an odor
like that of putrid meat.

The cases, however, in which flower-scents are
unpleasant to us are few. Most blossoms attract
their winged visitors by tints and odors in which
we, as well as bee and butterfly, delight. With
the bee we love the deep blue of the sage-blossom
and enjoy the scent of clover. The night-bloom-
ing cereus, which furnishes tlie perfumer with his

FLOWERS AND THEIR VISITORS. 33

choicest extract, is also the moth's delight. In
almost all cases the colors and scents which give
pleasure to the insect's tiny nerves give similar,
but probably far keener, pleasure to ours.

The question of the development of the senses
in animals affords the naturalist wide field for
speculation. Some insects, as the botanist knows,
possess a sense of smell far keener than ours.
" Our world," says Grant Allen, " is a world of
sights and sounds. The ant's world is one of
sounds and smells."

The bee hovering about a cluster of blossoms
pauses an instant over each before plunging into
it in search of nectar. She seems to perceive, be-
sides the fragrance which we can enjoy with her,
an odor which tells her whether the nectar is still
in the tube of the flower, or whether it has been
extracted by a previous comer.

The night-moth distinguishes the odor of the
nocturnal flower even when mingled with many
other scents, and perhaps borne a long distance on
the breeze. She also seems, like the owl and the
bat, to distinguish objects where all would be
blackness to our eyes; for on moonless nights, and
in shadowy thickets and groves, she is able to
thread her way to the night-blooming flower she
seeks.

WITH THE WILD FLOWERS.

(From The Vegetable World.)

MOTHEB NATURE'S SPRING PARCELS.

The few sunny days which March vouchsafes
ns, at once a foretaste and a pledge of the many
which are to come, soon begin to quicken the bare
boughs, which all winter have looked so lifeless.
The golden-green willow twigs and rose-pnrple
blackberry branches show by their brightening
tints that they have not been dead, but sleeping,

BUDS. 35

and buds have grown large enough to appear
clearly silhouetted against the soft grays of spring
clouds.

The most ultra-expensive French maid never
packed her mistress's finery with half the skill
which Mother Nature has shown in the folding of
baby blossom and tender leaf. The Arabian
Nights wonder of a gigantic genius rising out of a
little jar is equalled, if not excelled, by the bud-
ding hedgerows every spring. Some of these
lilac-buds, as small as the tip of a woman's little
finger, contain a snugly-folded branch with all its
leaves, and from others, no larger, will soon burst
forth the twin spires of purple bloom. The sticky
buds which tip the boughs of the horse-chestnut
will open to let out into the sun several spread-
ing compound leaves surrounding a pyramid of
flowers.

Sometimes Mother Nature does up leaves and
blossoms in the same parcel, sometimes separately.
Flowers will issue from some buds, leaves from
others, and from yet others both leaves and flowers.
The stems on which these buds rest are stored
with rich nourishment which was laid away last
summer, in the wood and bark. The lilacs, for
instance, put forth their blossoms last May, and

36 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS.

by August their clusters of seeds were completely
formed, fully grown, and only needing for their
perfection what sun and frost could accomplish.
The prudent plants then turned their attention
toward providing for the wants of the future.
The leaves drank in the late summer sunshine, the
eager roots soaked up the late summer rain, and
the nourishment thus gathered, no longer needed
to support a showy and expensive family of blos-
soms, could be stored away beneath the bark, for
next year's buds.

" It is owing to this forehanded way of hoarding
nourishment,'' says Professor Gray, " that plants
are able to shoot forth so vigorously at the first
warm breath of spring. The food which now
nourishes these swelling buds, expanding leaves,
and suddenly awakened flowers was collected and
stored last summer. Everything was prepared,
and even formed, beforehand. The short joints
of the stem have only to lengthen and separate the
leaves from each other, the leaves have only to un-
fold and grow."

Not only is provision made for the time when
the awakening bud will need food to sustain its
growth. In its winter sleep it is carefully pro-
tected from sudden chills and from rotting damp.

BUD8. 37

When the buds are quite small, they are often
sunk in the bark, as are those of the sumach; or
as in the honey-locust, partly buried in the wood
till they begin to grow. So long as Jack Frost is
abroad the locust branches "play dead'' and do
not suffer a bud to appear. The baby leaves are
kept safely hidden away in those humps or knobs
of wood and bark, from which the thorns appear
to spring.

The young hickory and lilac leaves are protected
by a water-proof and down-lined covering, formed
of many overlapping scales, or, to speak strictly,
imperfect leaves. These scales are often coated
on the outside with a sort of varnish which keeps
out wet. The buds of the horse-chestnut are so
thickly varnished over as to be quite sticky to the
touch, and they shed water like — a rubber ovrer-
coat. Indeed, we may say that the baby horse-
chestnut leaves wear a fur-lined water-proof, for
the bud-scales are thickly clothed inside with
down or wool. This will not really keep out the
cold of winter, which will of course penetrate the
bud in time; but it protects the tender leaves
within from sudden changes from cold to warmth,
or from mildness to frost.

Scaly buds are borne on trees and shrubs native

38 WITH THE WILD FLO WEBS.

to northern climates. Buds of tropical plants,
whicli need no protection from frost, are naked.

Winter bouglis are studded with countless buds
— one for each of the many leaves which fell the
preceding autumn. If every one of these were
to live up to its possibilities, and expand into a
cluster of foliage in the spring, the trees would
have much ado to bear up under the weight of
their adornment. But many of the buds do not
grow. They do not necessarily die, but they
remain for some time, perhaps for years, in a dor-
mant state.

When foliage has been stripped off by insects, or
shrivelled up by forest fire, a growth of tender
leaves will presently appear, partially covering the
poor denuded boughs. Mother Nature seems to
have stretched a point and given a green robe at
midsummer, tliough the ladies of the wood gener-
ally receive new dresses in spring and are expected
to "make thom do^^ all summer. A short time
ago, the tree, like Cinderella or Miss McFlimsey,
had notliing to wear. Now she stands in glisten-
ing green robes, and dances with her beautiful
companions to the music of the breeze. Buds,
formed perhaps several seasons ago, and till now
kept in abeyance by the lustiness of their fellows.

BUD 8, 39

have at last got a long-waited-for chance to
grow.

The spring landscape recalls a beautiful mean-
ing which the German philosopher. Max Miiller,
has found in the fairy story of the "Sleeping
Beauty in the Wood." The earth in winter, lying
still and apparently lifeless under her covering of
snow, is the sleeping princess. The prince is the
sun, strong and joyoiis; and the first warm spring
sunshine, which makes the bud swell and the
blossom blow, and arouses all Nature to life and
gladness — this is the prince's kiss.

40 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS.

IV.

HIDDEN TREASURIES.

In the first mild days of spring a casual robin
generally comes to tell the dwellers in my garden
that the sun and the breeze are on their way back
to us from the South.

The trees pay no heed to his news, having
learned by much hard experience that one robin
does not make a spring, and that discretion is,
after all, the better part of valor.

But the flowers are more buoyant, and a lovely
company, hearing the red-vested herald's tidings,
venture betimes out of their underground houses
to meet and greet the spring. There are the jon-
quil and narcissus, and the brave-hearted

"... Daffodils,

That come before the swallow dares, and take
The winds of March with beauty.

This cheerful sisterhood are able to don their
festal array thus early because they practise vir-
tues whicli we seldom associate with tlie blossoms
of the field— prudence, industry, and economy.

HIDDEN TREASURIES. 41

After the flower faded last spring the daffodil
began to provide for the needs of the future. The
leaves drank in the sunshine and dew of latter
spring and of summer; the roots gathered food from
the soil, and the nourishment thus collected was
hoarded up for future contingencies. By the fall
there was a rich store of starches and gums
securely packed away underground in a solid bulb.
The bulb was covered by overlapping horny scales,
a protection against cold and rotting damp. At
its very heart, closely folded and snugly hidden
away from frost, were the leaves which have ven-
tured above ground lately in answer to the per-
suasive voice of the robin.

The food in the bulb has supported the daffodil
all the time it was forming its flowers, and will
afford it a comfortable living till the blossom
withers and the seed is formed. By that time the
hoard will be exhausted, and the bulb which used
to be so firm and white will have dwindled to a
mere dry bunch of papery scales. However, the
roots will then be long and strong, the leaves will
be able and ready to work, and, all together, can
collect enough not only to supply all present needs,
but to lay by another capital for next spring's
business.

42 WITB: THE WILD FL0WEB8.

My daffodil blossoms are very yonng, and they
must be guileless or they would neither have
trusted anything so fickle as April sunshine^ nor
yielded such ready credence to the traveller's tales
of one possibly vagabond robin. It is consoling to
think that, after all, they are the children of roots
which have seen several seasons, and are fully alive
to the advantages of having something laid by —
perhaps literally in the hank.

The snowdrop, the crocus, the narcissus, the
hyacinth, and the jonquil were equally thrifty and
industrious last summer, and they, too, profit by
their prudence this spring. When they began to
prepare their pretty new dresses, they found them-
selves already in possession of plenty of material
ready for use (Fig. 12). So the dainty costumes
are fashioned betimes, and the wearers can steal a
march upon less thrifty flowers, and secure the
first attentions of the bees. The gladiolus has also
laid by a hoard of rich gums and starches, and
these will sustain the plant, while it bends all its
energies upon decorative work. The savings of
the gladiolus will go, partly to build up a spire of
flowers, and partly to support the plant while it
bends all its energies upon decorative work.

The iris, the tulip, and most lilies owe their

HIDDEN TBEA8VEIE3. 43

splendors to the indnstry and economy of last
year's leaves and roots. The pond-lily root hides

Fio, 13.— a, Bulb o

materials down in the depths, which, at midsnm-
mer, are fashioned into white robes for her beauti-
ful danghters.

The little anemones and spring beauties of the
woods, small though thoy are, understand good
management, and they have also made provision

44 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS.

for the needs of this springes flowers. During
early spring these bulbous plants are all prodigals,
bent only on spending their capital and making
a show in the world. In latter spring, when the
flowers have faded, and when the precious seed is
set, they go to the other extreme, and become
misers, living only for their hoard.

The carrot, parsnip, radish, beet, turnip, and
oyster-plant, and the odoriferous and prosaic
onion seldom get a chance to show what they can
do in the way of decoration. During the first
summer of their life these provident vegetables
bend all their energies to the gathering together
of a store of nutriment, which is stowed away
underground for future use. If the carrot were
left undisturbed till a second summer, its red,
sweet flesh would then be transformed into several
broad flat clusters of. delicate white blossoms.
The turnip, if it had been let alone, would have
made itself fine this summer with a number of
pale blue flowers, in the form of the Greek cross.
Even the onion would have surprised us with the
beauty of its delicately-tinted blossoms, for, though
we may think meanly of this plebeian vegetable, it
is a member of a most ancient and honorable fam-
ily, being a cousin to the famous Golden Lilies of

HIDDEN TREASURIES, 45

France, and also to those Eastern lilies which are
arrayed in more than kingly splendor. But the
vegetables proposed and the gardener and the cook
disposed. The savings of gum and starch which
they had intended to transform into flowers were
changed into human flesh, blood, bone, and nerve.
Man, who robs all creation, stole and ate their
hoard, as he steals and eats the summer harvest of
the honey-bees.

The wild carrots which sleep under the snow all
winter, with no one to molest them, are going to
appear in holiday dress this summer as a reward
for their hard work and economy last year. But
the fate of the garden carrots shows that habits of
thrift cannot always ward off misfortune. How-
ever, habits of thrift enable the daffodil to come
forth again in beauty and vigor from the spot
where blossom and foliage faded last year, as if
the plant arose from its grave. The Greeks called
it "asphodel," or "flower of life," and perhaps
saw in it a symbol of immortality. This joyous-
looking flower grows wild in the woods and thick-
ets of northern Europe, and as Shakespeare men-
tions it, it must have been cultivated in England
three centuries ago.

Its cousin, the graceful narcissus, is the subject

46 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS,

of the old Greek tale of Narcissus, the youth, son
of a river-god and a nymph, of exceeding beauty
and very vain. Since there were no mirrors in
those long-ago days he was always leaning over
the brink of some calm river or pool admiring his
reflection in the water. Nemesis, to punish his
vanity and coldheartedness, caused him to fall
desperately in love with his own mirrored form,
lie died of this love-sickness, and from the spot
where he perished sprang this flower, which in its
natural state grows along the margin of calm
waters, and leans downward, as if it were gazing
on its own reflected face.

WILL0WPU88IE8 AND ALDER-TAS8EL8. 47

WILLOW-PUSSIES AND ALDER-TASSELS.

About the time the robins and bhiebirds are
singing the opening strains of summer's great eon-
cert, the red maples burst into bloom. Then the
birch puts forth a few tremulous tassels in token
of rejoicing that tyrant Jack Frost is dethroned at
last ; and in moist sheltered meadows alders
flower and the downy willow-pussies appear.

The floral efforts of the trees attract little notice
from an unappreciative public. All trees bear
flowers, but they are often green and inconspicu-
ous. Those of most sorts appear in early spring
when we are looking for the bursting of the leaf-
buds, and they are apt to be mistaken for half-
unfolded leaves. The red-maple flowers, how-
ever, attract notice by their rich color and lavish
abundance. " Pussy-willows '* are well known to
every country child, and a stroller by the brook-
sides in early spring could scarcely fail to observe
the blossoms of the alder and the birch, conspicu-
ous in the general colorlessness of the thickets.

48 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS,

If we gather a branch of red maple and examine
the garnet- colored blossoms closely, we shall find
that what looked at first like single flowers are, in
reality, little floral communities. Each is a group
of four or five very small blossoms, crowded
closely togetlier and walled about with a ring of
red scales. Some of these minute flowers have
many long slender yellow stamens, but no pistils.
In the centres of others we find a two-forked red
pistil, but no stamens. Others still are fully
equipped and contain both stamens and pistils.
The flowers with stamens only must give all their
pollen away— easy generosity, for they have no use
for it at home. They will intrust it to some of
tlie bees and otlier insects which are already busy
among the branches, doing their own errands and
those of the flowers too. The flowers with pistils
only will have to set their seed by aid of pollen
brought from another blossom. Such seed is apt
to bo large and strong, and the young plants which
spring from it begin life with fine constitutions.

The flowers which are doubly endowed, having
both stamens and pistils, might be sufficient to
tliomselves, one would think, asking no favors
from v^ister-blossoms or from insects, but they
greatly prefer imported pollen to that of home

WILL0W-PU88IE8 AND ALDEHTA88EL8. 49

manufacture. They will send away their own
pollen by some winged messenger, and the pistil
will get little or none of it. But the pistil's wants
will be supplied by gold-dust brought by zephyr
or insect from another flower, or even perhaps
from another tree. If these flowers are slighted
by bees and breezes, the pollen which cannot
be bestowed elsewhere may be used up at home.
The stamens will give it to the pistil, and the
pistil will have to do the best it can with the
goods the gods provide. It may manage to form
seed and prove its independence to the bees.
However, the young plants which come from
those seeds will be but weaklings, and in the
struggle for life, which is constant and pitiless in
both the animal and the vegetable world, they will
very probably get the worst of it.

For every country meadow is in sober truth a
battle-field. Every species of plant "wants the
earth," and might soon get it were it not for the
active competition of other species. The green
growing things about us are fighting for territory,
and their law is that of savage communities all
the world over:

That tbey should take who have the power,
And they should keep who can.

50 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS.

It is the 'stern law of the survival of the fittest
laid alike upon the lower organism and the
higher.

The law by which the offspring resembles the
parent is also laid upon all created things. If the
little maple is child of a tree which bore stamens
and pistils in separate flowers, it will arrange most
of its blossoms on the parental plan. So each
successive generation of maples is more disposed
to bear what botanists call "divided flowers."
Even now comparatively few of the flowers are, in
botanic language, " perfect " (containing both sta-
mens and pistils). The maple-trees which shall
shelter the coming race will probably bear no
perfect flowers at all; the production of such blos-
soms will be a lost art to the maple family.

In a moist corner of my garden two swamp-wil-
lows shake out their pale tassels or " pussies " in
the early sunshine (Fig. 13). Those on one are
silvery green, and these are composed of a number
of pistils, each partly covered by a fringed scale.
The tassels on the other willow bush are yellow,
and these consist of countless clusters of gold-
tipped stamens, each cluster overlapped by a scale.
These scales have been making themselves very
useful earlier in the season. They have now be-

WILL0WPU88ISS AND ALDER-TA88ELS. 51

—Willow Flowers.

come separated by the lengthening of the tassel,
but during the wiuter they were crowded closely

52 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS,

together, and their overlapping furry fringes made
a soft, warm covering for the young stamens and
pistils.

Though the willow blossoms make little show in
the world, they succeed in attracting the notice
due to modest merit. Their delicate prettiness,
their faint perfume, and the hope of honey have
already attracted a number of bees. These, after
getting powdered with the pollen from the golden
tassels, will fly with the precious dust to the silver-
green ones, and thus enable the willow to set its
seed.

The stamens of the birch are huddled together
in loose clusters five or six inches long, and as soft
as bits of wool chenille. The pistils are also
closely clustered, and, small as they are, we can
readily find them, for they are as red as the richest
coral.

Long tassels of pale gold dangle from the alder
bushes. These are dense clusters of stamens set
closely together. The alder pistils,, each protected
by a scale, grow close together in a head, like a
pretty tiny cone. The alder and the birch avoid
much inconvenience by their thrifty habit of
bringing out their blossoms betimes, before the
leaves unfold. Foliage would be sadly in the way

WILL0W-PU88IE8 AND ALDER- TA88EL8, 53

of pollen, as it blew from branch to branch, or
from tree to tree, and would interfere with its
access to the pistils. The pistil in both these
trees is forked and hairy, so that it may readily
catch the life-giving dust as it flies by on spring
breezes. When stamens and pistils grow in sepa-
rate blossoms on the same tree we generally find
that the stamen-bearing flowers are more abundant
on the topmost boughs, and that the pistils are
borne nearer to the ground. The pollen as it
blows will drop a little, and so, flying and falling,
it finds its way to the pistil, set low on purpose to
catch it.

The red-maple blossoms adopt the same plan,
though they mainly depend upon early roving flies
and bees for their pollen-carrying.

On every red-maple tree there are some blos-
soms which a botanist would call " perfect," be-
cause they have both stamens and pistils. But
the great majority of the flowers are specialists,
some producing stamens only, while others put
forth pistils only. The trees are endeavoring to
be specialists too, for some bear staminate flowers
almost exclusively, while on others all the blossoms
are either pistillate or perfect.

But here and there is a "general utility'' tree,

54 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS,

bearing the three sorts of flower simultaneously.
We can readily distinguish between the staminate
and the pistillate maple-blossoms even when they
grow high overheard. The pistil-bearing flowers
are of a deep coral-red, while the numerous yellow
stamens lend a paler hue to the blossoms which
produce them. On a tree which bears both sorts
we can see great numbers of pale thread-like sta-
mens drooping from the upper boughs, and the
ruddier blossoms which grow nearer to the gi'ound
hold each a waiting pistil in its heart.

When the bee comes, she makes her rounds as
methodically as the postman. She always works
from the ground upwards. She visits the lower
branches first, and as she has been calling on
other maple-flowers already, she comes to the
pistil-bearing blossoms well powdered with pollen.
As she soars higher, visiting flower after flower,
she is lightened of her yellow load, and by the
time all the powder is rubbed off her jacket she
has scaled the tree to the place where the pollen-
bearing flowers are borne. Ilere she takes on a
fresh supply, and when she hums off, well content,
to another maple, she carries her load of life-giving
powder to the lower branches, where the pistils
grow.

WILL0W-PU88IE8 AND ALDER-TA8SEL8. 55

So the placing of the blossom on the bough,
though it seems a very trifling matter, is not a
mere affair of luck and chance. It is controlled
by law, which regulates everything in nature,
from the setting-on of a midge's wing to the
motions of the stars through space.

56 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS.

VL
A WREATH FOR THE MAY-QUEEN.

HEPATICA, ANEMONES, DANDELIONS, AND

VIOLETS.

Each spring the hapless "poet of spring" re-
ceives his annual dose of ridicule. A gainsaying
public never tires of contrasting poetic descrip-
tions of bird-songs, sunshine, and "balmy breath-
ings from the South" with prosaic realities of
nipping blasts, flying dust, frozen pumps, red
noses, and aching fingers and toes. The poor
May-queen is portrayed as she appears the day
after the festival — discouraged, sneezing, and with
throat tied up in red flannel.

We forget that most of the well-known songs of
spring are by English singers. They describe the
season in England, where it is earlier than in our
northern and middle States. We also forget that
the "first of May" of the older English poets is
in reality about the twelfth of the month; and
twelve days at this time of year work a wonderful
change in the landscape.

A WREATH FOR TEE MAY-QUEEN. 57

On the other hand, our best-known and best-
loved American spring poem was written of chill
and bleak New England. Lowell's "June" in
the country around Boston describes rather latter
May in the neighborhood of New York or Phila-
delphia, and early May in the vicinity of Norfolk
or Cincinnati.

Such local differences render it somewhat diffi-
cult for a writer, eminent or otherwise, to treat
of the season and its flowers. In each section of
country, also, will be found pretty blossoms which
are peculiar to the locality.

Many of our late summer and autumn flowers
have settled the country from Maine to California.
Go where we will in August or September, golden-
rod will wave its plumes to us from roadside
banks and field borders. Clover, red and white,
boneset, mullein, asters, bitter-sweet, the brown
and golden daisy, and many other old friends will
greet us wherever we may wander. But, as a rule,
what is peculiar to the locality appears early, and
the student of botany will find his greatest inter-
est among the first flowers of the year.

Those of us who are not students will feel, for
different reasons, that of all the children of sum-
mer the first-born can least be spared. They are,

58 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS.

it is true, mostly small and pale, and would be
effaced beside the rose or among the regal splen-
dors of iris, poppy, geranium, and cardinal-flower.
But these gorgeous ladies do not deign to visit ns
till the world is well warmed, decorated, and per-
fumed for their reception. They are the " grand
toilettes " which come to the ball late, when the
musicians are playing and the festivities are in
full blast. But the spring flowers have braved
stern skies and nipping winds to give us greeting,
and to tell us that, in spite of appearances, " win-
ter is over and gone, and the time of the singing
of birds has come '' indeed. They look appealing,
shy, and tender, in their simple dresses, and seem
in truth what Herrick quaintly calls the violets,
" maiden posies.''

When the streams are just leaping in recovered
freedom and the robin sings his wooing song,
in a wooded hollow sheltered from the north
wind we find hepatica, first-begotten of spring.
" Youth and age " it might be called, for the open-
ing flowers are in the midst of a clump of leathery
leaves wearing autumnal tints of brown and pur-
ple. They have weathered the winter, and look
decidedly used up after their rough experience
but will stay at the post of duty till the plant gets

A WREATH FOR THE MAT-QUEEN. 59

reinforcements in a new set of leaves which will
appear after blossoming-time. The flower-stalk
is fuzzy, for the discouragement of ants, which
might try to climb up it after pollen or honey.
Just under the flower is a green collar which sim-
ulates a calyx, but it is "nothing but leaves,^' out
from among which the flower is lifted on a little
stalk. The real sepals are petal-like and conspic-
.uous, white or very pale shades of purple, blue,
and pink. There are no petals. The family are
from Europe, and, like some other immigrants,
look so simple that one wonders how they have
been able to roam so far.

In damp thickets and under hedge-rows we will
find the pretty, shy wood or true anemone (Fig.
14). Three-toothed leaves surround the tender
stalk about midway between the root and the sin-
gle drooping flower. The five — or rarely six —
white flower-leaves, flushed and tipped with pink,
are called, not petals, but sepals. Many of our
first wild flowers are dressed in this economical
fashion, with but one row of leaves around the
flower.

" Anemone '' is from a Greek word which means
the wind, and also a spirit or a breath : perhaps
becaTise the breath is the life, or because there was

WITR TUB WILD FL0WBS8.

Fig. 14.— Wood Ankmone {Aiwmone nemetvtai.

A WREATH FOR THE MAY-QUEEK 61

the dim thought, even in heathen minds, that the
soul of man was given by the breath of God.
This pretty woodland thing is called "wind-
flower" because it ventures forth while the high
winds of early spring are yet abroad ; or, accord-
ing to another explanation, because it is so frail
that the rose-tipped sepals fall at a breath.

Its distant cousin, the rue anemone, is much
easier to find, and is very common everywhere in
open woods, rising from among last autumn's
drifted leaves. This child of spring has no bash-
ful tricks of bending its head, but stares at the
sky boldly. The flowers are borne at the top of
the slender stalk, often in a cluster of three or
more, and, like those of true anemone, have con-
spicuous sepals and no petals. The wood anemone
is a good arithmetician, and almost always wears
five of these; but rue anemone seems to have for-
gotten how to count, and decks herself with any
number, from four to seventeen.

Those of us who rail at the dandelion as a vul-
gar weed will not be disenchanted by hearing
that its botanic name is taraxacum, and the bitter
medicine of that name is extracted from its root.
Though at the first glance it looks like one flower,
it is really an assemblage of from one to two hun-

62 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS,

dred tiny blossoms. In fine weather they stand
open, but at night and during rain they close
completely, and thus save their pollen and honey
from being washed away.

The stigma is shaped like the letter T, and if
no insect callers bring it pollen, it after a while
twists its two arms in among the stamens and
gathers pollen for itself; for these florets, unlike
most blossoms, can set seed by their own pollen.
The honey, however, is so abundant, and rises so
high in the wee blossom, that it is very accessible
to insects, no less than ninety-three sorts of which
have been known to visit this flower.

The stem of the dandelion is a hollow column,
whicli, as every engineer knows, unites the utmost
strength with economy of material. The seeds,
when ripe, will be provided with a little silken
parachute apiece, and they will thus compel the
wind to blow them far and wide.

Truly this gamin of the fields is wonderfully
fitted to the conditions of its life. All "common
weeds " are, and it is for this very reason that they
are so common.

The violet is another highly organized flower,
fitted to profit to the utmost by visits of insects,

A WREATH FOR THE MAY-QUEEN, 63

if they come, or to .do without them if they stay
away.

On the two upper petals of the violet and of
the pansy are delicate dark lines, running down-
ward and inward. Such markings occur in many
flowers, and are called "honey-guides'' because,
at the point to which they converge, the hidden
sweets of the blossom may be found.

In a flower laid out on a circular pattern, one in
which the halves are alike, or nearly so, no matter
where a bisecting line is drawn, these honey-guides
will be faintly marked or altogether absent. In a
rose, a water-lily, or a buttercup we will look for
them in vain. An insect, even of the most limited
experience, will readily understand that the honey
in this case must be called for at the centre of the
flower. The more lopsided and irregular the
shape of the blossom, the more difficult it is for
the insect to find the honey, and the more plainly,
therefore, these markings appear. The odd mask-
shaped flowers of the snapdragon sort owe their
beauty, in great measure, to the bright golden dots
or rich dark lines whicli indicate the whereabouts
of their stored sweets. In the common garden
geranium, a flower but slightly irregular in form,
the honey-guides appear as a very few faint dark

64 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS.

lines on the two upper petals. In the rose-gera-
nium, which is less regular in pattern, they are
much darker and more numerous, and in the
" Lady Washington " geranium, the most lopsided
blossom of the two, they appear as broad velvety
stripes on the two upper petals, and add greatly
to the beauty of the flower.

Inside the violet is a tuft of soft fine hairs.
What are these for ?

Bees are welcome visitors, but ants and such
small crawlers are not. They would eat the honey,
and perhaps the pollen also, but as they are not
large or strong enough to shake the stamens,
would not carry away any of the golden dust on
their bodies. So they might rifle flower after
flower without doing any fetching and carrying to
pay for the unearned sweets.

So the violet tries to keep the rascals out, and
eifects this object by the tuft of hairs in its throat.
To the ant this is an impenetrable jungle.

The violet is cousin to the pansy: indeed, our
gorgeous garden heartsease is developed by cul-
ture from the wild pansy-violet of Europe and
northern Asia. This lovely stranger has settled
in a few places in our Southern and Middle States
— a wanderer from the Old World, or, perhaps, a

A WREATH FOR THE MAY-QUEEN. 65

truant from the garden-plot of some immigrant
who loved this gentle reminder of spring at home.
This pansy-violet will be known by the size and
striking beauty of its velvety petals.

"It is strange/' says Darwin, "how long the
flowers of heartsease may be watched without
seeing one being visited by an insect. During one
summer I repeatedly watched some large clumps
of heartsease, many times daily for a fortnight,
before I saw a bumblebee at work. Then I saw a
dark-colored bumblebee visit almost every flower
in several clumps; and after a few days almost all
the flowers suddenly withered and produced fine
capsules. A certain state of the atmosphere seems
to be necessary for the secretion of nectar, and
as soon as this occurs it is perceived by various
insects, I presume by the odor emitted by the
flowers, and these are immediately visited.^'

Besides the showy-colored flowers with which
we are all familiar, most sorts of the violet possess
minute flowers, which, however, bear abundance
of seed. These appear later in the year, and are
not only much smaller than the others, but almost
without petals. The bright-pe tailed sort is depen-
dent on the visits of insects, especially of bees.
Opening as it does in spring, when there is not

66 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS.

much stinshine to tempt insect rovers abroad, it
may not receive a single call, and thus be unable
to set its seed. But the plant has not staked all
its fortune upon these; better things may be
looked for from the second set of flowers, which
habitually fertilize themselves, and thus the violet
" has a heart [and is prepared] for any fate/'

Other spring flowers might find it to their
advantage to adopt the same plan. But the violet,
as its whole structure shows, can boast a long
pedigree, and comes of a family which has had
countless generations wherein to become adapted
to its way of life. The purple dresses of most of
the members of this family are worn on purpose
to please their chosen visitor, the bee; for bees are
most attracted, as Sir John Lubbock has proved,
by blue, purple, and magenta inclining to purple.

The drooping attitude of the blossom is also not
v/ithout its reason, as this prevents rain and dew
from getting in to wash away the pollen and
honey. Many cup-shaped flowers have learned
the same habit, for the same reason.

The hyacinth droops, and so do the "lily of the
valley," the fuchsia, bluebell, snowdrop, and a
score of otliers. To some old French botanist the
drooji of the pansy suggested the fancy that the

A WREATH FOIi THE MAY-QUEEN. 67

flower was pondering on its stalk, and so he called
it pensee, — thought, — whence our word pansy.
" There is pansies," says poor mad Ophelia, " that^s
for thoughts."

68 WITH THE WILD FLO WEBS.

VII.

THE CALLA'S POOR RELATIONS.

Every country child knows " Jack-in-the-pul-
l)it," and can tell just where it will be found amid
the woods in spring. It grows in moist shady
ground, and is a poor relation of the stately calla.
At the heart of the calla is a tall golden column,
and one great cream-white leaf is wrapped about
it. "Jack-in-the- pulpit,'^ also called "wild arum "
and "Indian turnip" (Fig. 15), is like the calla in
form, though quite unlike it in coloring. The
central column in wild arum is green, and the
large enfolding leaf is also green, sometimes deco-
rated with dark brown stripes. It is curled into a
sort of cornucopia, and one corner droops over the
column, so that "Jack'^ has a sounding-board
over his head as well as a pulpit to stand in. But
in spite of his clerical attitude and surroundings,
he is by no means above reproach, and the pulpit,
however ecclesiastical in outward seeming, is but
a trap for the detention and ultimate destruction
of guileless and hapless flies.

THE CALLA'8 POOR RELATIONS.

Ripened Pistils. Central Column of a

Stamiuate Flower.

Fig. 15.— Indian Turnip (Arimma triphyllum).

70 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS.

Let us gather an arum and strip off the enfold-
ing leaf, take " Jack " out of his pulpit, in fact, and
see just what he is like. He or it is a glossy
column, supported by a short and slender stalk.
Around the base of the column in this flower
there are a number of green pistils growing close
together in a broad compact ring. Just above
these in one " jack '' out of a dozen we find a few
round white anthers with no filaments to speak
of, but most likely the stamens will be found deep
down inside another arum, growing, perhaps, at
some distance from the first.

When the anthers ripen and open, they shed a
quantity of mealy pollen, which drops to the pul-
pit floor. But it is utterly useless here, while the
green pistils shut up in the other pulpit need it
sorely and cannot mature at all without its aid.
So the Jack that has the pollen sends some to the
Jack that wants it, and a gnat or a marsh-fly is
employed as a messenger.

In almost every young staminate arum we find
two or three small insects. They are destined
to a career of usefulness, though they have come
in without the least idea of seeking employment.
They have crawled in to look for honey, or because
the overarching leaf " spathe," like a green tent,

THE CALL A' 8 POOR RELATIONS. 71

shelters them from rain and wind, and, once in,
they cannot get out. There is no room in the
narrow space between the central column and
the enfolding leaf for the fly to spread his wings.
After he has tried the experiment many times,
only to tumble back with a bumped head, he
attempts to crawl out. But this is impossible
also; the inside of the pulpit is as smooth and
slippery as ice. On the most highly polished
window-pane there are spots of dirt and roughness
invisible to our eyes; a fly catches hold of these
with his clawed feet, and thus he can crawl up
the perpendicular glass. But he can get no foot-
hold on the shining inner walls of the arum. His
gymnastic exercises and fruitless efforts are comi-
cal to witness, and remind one of the old English
sport, where a leg of mutton was stuck up on top
of a smooth pole which had been well greased,
and the country lads attempted, each in turn, to
clamber up and secure it. The meat was some-
times won, we hear, so the country lad must have
occasionally surmounted the pole and all its diffi-
culties, but an entrapped insect never succeeds in
clambering out of the arum.

Among the stamens he can find a little honey —
dainty fare for a prisoner — and this keeps him

72 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS,

alive for many hours. Meantime the anthers
ripen and open, and the imprisoned flies are
thickly dusted with pollen. Now they have
received what they are to deliver, and they may
go. They suddenly find that there is a door in
their jail, and it stands ajar so that they can slip
out. The edges of the enfolding leaf have sepa-
rated and curled backwards, leaving an opening at
the base of the flower by which a small insect can
easily escape, and he goes, carrying a load of pollen
with him.

Before this is all rubbed off, the fly seems to
conclude that after all it is a good thing to have
a roof overhead, and he again seeks shelter in an
arum. If this chances to be one containing the
undeveloped berries, he is indeed a welcome guest,
for he comes bringing the very quickening powder
which they need.

But "Jack-in-the-pulpit^^ is not only a deceiver,
but an ingrate. The flies have served his turn,
and now he has no further use for them and is
indifferent to their fate. They get no honey here,
and soon begin to feel the pangs of hunger. They
strive to get out in vain. There is no doorway
here opening out to sunlight and liberty, but
shining prison-walls shut the captive in on every

THE CALL A* 8 POOR RELATIONS, 73

side. If he is very adroit and persevering, he may
manage to squeeze out between the overlapped
edges of the spathe. But it is evident that most
of the prisoners die of starvation, for among the
ripening pistils I generally find several bodies of
insects that have perished that a future generation
of arums might be born.

There is something terrible in this sacrifice of
the sensate to the insensate, of the higher to the
lower being. It is consoling to know that floral
traps, such as this, are rare in nature.

Most flowers employ insect messengers to carry
the life-giving pollen, but most flowers are just
and generous in their dealings, and dismiss their
little employes in safety, well paid in pretty
shows, rich feasts, and sweet odors.

A near relation of our Jack-in-the-pulpit
abounds in England and is called by the country
children " lords and ladies,'^ or sometimes " cuckoo-
pint " because it unrolls its single green and pur-
ple streaked leaf about the time the cuckoo's first
notes are heard. " cuckoo-pint," says the glad
Httle birthday-keeper in the first of Jean Ingelow's
** Songs of Seven,'' "toll me the purple clapper
that hangs in your clear green bell."

The greenish-white water-arum or marsh-calla.

74 wiva TUB mLD Fwnrnia.

F,a. 16.-A..K0W ...B" lPrfW»«~»rs.W«)-

THE CALL A' 8 POOR RELATIONS, 75

another humble cousin of the stately Easter lilies,
grows in cold bogs in the Northern States, and
flowers in June.

The summer rambler may not care to venture
into its soggy and oozy abiding-place, but he or
she can scarcely fail to find another humble cousin
of the stately hot-house callas, the arrow-arum
{Peltandra virginica). This plant is very com-
mon everywhere, in moist fields and around the
margins of ponds.

Amid a dense cluster of lustrous arrow-shaped
leaves is a blossom bearing a general resemblance
to " Jack-in-the-pulpit," but the spathe, or enfold-
ing leaf, is thick, narrow, erect, and pointed at the
upper end. After the seed is set the flower-stalk
doubles over and grows downward, and this point
acts as a sort of auger by which the spathe grad-
ually bores its way into the ground. Tlien, having
served its purpose, it withers away and the seeds
ripen in the warm mud, secure from hungry ene-
mies.

76 WITH TEE WILD FLOWEBB.

VIII.
CHERRY-BLOOM AND COTTONWOOD.

Whatever Nature is going to make, she always
begins in the same way.

Whether the completed and matured form is
that of a bird, insect, reptile, man, fern, beast, or
tree, the very beginning is, in every case, the same.
Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes compares creative
Nature to a glass-blower, who always commences
with a little vesicle or sphere, no matter what he
is going to make.

From a single cell originated the great cherry-
tree now towering before my window. The tree
made its appearance years ago, as a tender seed-
ling.

Before it was a seedling it was a tiny germ,
folded and packed away within a cherry-stone.
The cherry which contained the stone was the
ripened ovary of a cherry-blossom.

When that flower unfolded its petals in the sun-
shine of a long-vanished spring, there formed, at
the top of the ovule, or baby cherry-stone, the tiny

CHERRY-BLOOM AND COTTONWOOD 77

cell whence this great tree originated. If no pol-
len had reached the stigma of that blossom, the
cell would have perished when the flower faded,
and this tree would never have.existed.

However, the golden dust was brought by an
insect, for the conspicuous petals of the cherry-
blossoms show that they are insect-fertilized. Di-
rectly a speck of pollen adhered to the sticky
stigma it began to do its appointed work there
(Fig. 17). The microscopic tube from its interior
pierced the loose tissue of the pistil, till it reached
the cell within the ovule, and broke into the cell-
wall.

Then the minute drop of liquid which had been
kept in the pollen-grain against this contingency
flowed down through the fairy hose into the cell
so tiny yet so full of possibilities. The cell at
once began to enlarge, dividing and subdividing
itself till it became many cells instead of one.
After growing for some time in this way, the mass
of cells began to take the form of a little plant.
As if moulded by fairy fingers from without,
instead of by the wonder-working life-principle
from within, a little stem and two delicate folded
leaves appeared.

The old alchemists sought long and eagerly for

WITH THE WILD FLOWERS,

the elixir of life; it was the dream of the middle
ages.
The botanist might think to have found the

Fig. 17.— Pollen-gkain Emitting the Pollkn-tubk

(magnified).

(From The Vegetable World.)

reality, in minute drops, in the golden pollen-
grains.

A cherry-blossom has but one pistil and one
ovary. This ovary, which ripens into the cherry,
contains only one seed, the cherry-stone.

CHERRY'BLOOM AND COTTONWOOD. 79

A very few grains of pollen will meet all the
blossom's needs — just how few nobody knows.

Botanists believe that more than one pollen -
grain is needed for the development of each germ.
One authority places the number required by
some ovules as high as seven. Even if the little
cherry-pistil does its work with the utmost disre-
gard of economy, seven grains of gold will meet
all its requirements. But around it stand a ring
of stamens, from fifteen to twenty of them, each
with a whole pocketful of pollen-grains, — more
than seventy times seven. Equally lavish supplies
of gold-dust have been furnished to the anthers of
other flowers. We are almost inclined to doubt
the saying that " Nature ne\er wastes/' in view of
her prodigality in filling the anthers with pollen.
The purpose of this apparent extravagance is to
insure enough vitalizing dust for Nature's needs,
even after its quantity has been greatly reduced
by various mischances.

Much pollen is blown away, or dropped by in-
sects elsewhere than on the stigma, and so wasted ;
some is eaten by ants and other crawling intru-
ders. Thus we see that the supply of golden dust
shed by the stamens of flowers is not so over-
abundant as one might at first suppose.

80 Wiril THE WILD FLO WEBS.

We have seen that when the pistil is fertilized
by pollen brought from another blossom, or, bet-
ter still, from another plant, stronger germs are
formed. Some plants, like the oak and the pine,
make sure of cross-fertilization by bearing two
sets of flowers; some with stamens only, and
others with pistils only. Such are called " di-
vided '^ or "separated" flowers. The blossoms
with stamens only are called staminate or sterile;
while those with pistils only are called fertile or
pistillate (Fig. 18).

The begonias of our green-houses and garden-
beds grow in this way: On one branch we find
flowers, the delicate shell-like petals of which in-
close a cluster of stamens, and no pistils whatever.
The pistils will be found in other blossoms, some-
what different in form, growing on other branches
of the same plant.

The castor-oil bean also bears two sorts of
flowers; one consists merely of a great cluster of
stamens, while its companion -blossom, close by, is
a group of three-forked and curving pistils. The
most familiar plant bearing separated flowers is
the Indian corn. Growing sidewise from the
stalk of the plant, wrapped in shining leaves, is
the pistillate flower, or, in every-day language, the

CBBRRT-BLOOM AND COTTOJSWOOD. 81

0. 18.— Divided Flowers of the Oak and Pine.
a, a, Stamihate ; S, S, risTiMiATis.

{From Tht Vegetable VIoiid.)

82 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS.

young cob. The white grains ranked on its sur-
face are immature ovaries, and connected with
each is a very long slender glossy style. These
hang out in a cluster from the top of the green
sheath, ready to catch any passing breeze, freighted
with pollen-grains. They are the familiar " com-
silk.'^ The stamen-bearing flowers grow in a
cluster on the top of the plant, and form the
'* tassel '^ of the corn.

Both gi'oups of flowers are so inconspicuous
tliat we see at once that tassel and corn-silk are
accustomed to employ the wind as their go-be-
tween. As the pollen blows it falls somewhat,
and were the pistils set higher than the stamens,
or even on a level with them, they might never
receive the fertilizing grains at all. Thus many of
the ovaries might never ripen into gi'ains of corn,
and men and animals would suffer for lack of
one of the great food-products of the world. But
Creative Wisdom has set the stamen-bearing flower
above its pistil-bearing mate. The pollen, blow-
ing and falling, reaches the waiting stigma below,
and so there is seed for next yearns planting, and
grain enough besides to feed millions of hungry,
mouths.

Sometimes the separation of stamen and pistil

CHERRY-BLOOM AND COTTONWOOD. 83

is still wider, and they grow not only in separate
flowers, but on separate plants. This is the case
with aspens and poplars.

The pollen of these trees must often be blown
long distances to reach the pistils, and in transit
much of it has a chance to get wasted. Hence the
stamens must shed enough not only to supply the
pistils, but to compensate for all that is blown
away by wanton winds or dropped short of its
destination by idle ones. The staminate flowers
of the silver poplar or " cottonwood '' shed such
quantities of pollen that, on a breezy spring day,
it may be seen blowing from the branches in light
clouds.

Insect-fertilized flowers get their pollen-carry-
ing done by shedding abroad perfumes, by offering
free lunches of nectar, and by hanging out attrac-
tive advertisements in the form of dainty or brill-
iant petals. Wind-fertilized flowers need be at
no such pains, but, on the other hand, must pro-
duce great quantities of pollen to compensate for
waste. Almost all our native trees bear " divided "
flowers, and many of them rely on the wind as
their go-between. This is why the blossoms of so
many sorts appear in early spring, before the
young leaves unfold. Foliage would be seriously

84 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS,

in the way of pollen blowing from branch to
branch or from tree to tree.

So if there really were tongues in trees, and if
the cherry and the cottonwood could argue on the
comparative merits of their different modes of pro-
cedure, we should have to acknowledge, as we do
about so many other debated points, that " there
is much to be said on both sides of the question.''

SPEINQ'S TOUNQEB CHILDREN 85

IX.

SPRINGES YOUNGER CHILDREN.

'* The bees/' says Grant Allen, " have their cal-
endar/' It begins with willow-pussies and cro-
cuses, goes on with wild hyacinths, columbine,
apple-blossoms, clover, and thistles, and ends in
the imperial splendors of goldenrod and asters.
For on the one hand the bees must have a succes-
sion of blossoms all the year round (except in mid-
winter) or they could never get on at all; while
on the other hand the flowers themselves need
each a time when they can depend upon receiving
their fair share in the attention of the insects, or
they might never set their seed at all.

The crocus is a bee flower, and by getting her
dainty cup ready so betimes she is able to secure
the attentions of the insect before they are en-
grossed by the less enterprising beauties of later
spring. The buttercups divide the season between
them for their mutual benefit. Before the anem-
ones have shed their delicate sepals, the earlier

86 WITH THE WILD FL0WKB8.

sort show their welcome sunny faces. These are
the bulbous buttercups, and are first on the field
of action just because of the bulb. After these
have set their seed, the meadow buttercups put in
an appetu-ance, with daisies and red clover, having
been busily occupied meantime; first, in forming
long and strong roots, and then in collecting raw
material for the flowers. Thus the little pollen-
carriers which are partial to buttercups have time
to bestow due attention upon both. Buttercups
are called king-cups or gold-cups by English chil-
dren; Shakespem^e calls them "cuckoo-buds of
yellow hue/* and tells us that they " do paint the
nieadows with delight.'^

Before the bee has time to miss the willow cat-
kins, lier friends the violets are here. These are
soon followed by her yet dearer friends the wild
hyacinths, which in May beautify moist meadows
and river banks with great clusters of blue or lilac
bells. It is a pity to inflict on them the ugly
name of squills?. They rise from white bulbs large
and well filled with rich gums and starches for the
sustenance of the flowers. All this provision was
collected and stored li^t year by the grass-like
leaves; and by its aid the hyacinth is able to
*" steal a march " on less thrifty plants, and bid

8PRIJ!fO*8 YOUNGER CHILDREN, 87

for the early attentions of her chosen visitor, the
bee.

As in the garden hyacinth, the pretty bells
droop; for if they stood erect they would soon re-
solve themselves into little water-jars, and thus
the pollen and honey would be spoilt, and the bee,
when she called, would get nothing but disap-
pointment.

The hyacinth has six blue (or purple) flower-
leaves, of which three must be calyx and three
corolla. But which is which ? It is well-nigh
impossible to tell, and botanists elude the question
by calling the whole circle of blue leaves the
^"perianth."

For flowers, though they look as if they had
nothing to do with a subject so dry as arithmetic,
are generally constructed on a regular numerical
plan. The hyacinth has six "divisions of the
perianth, '' which shows that its ancestors had
three sepals and three petals. It has six, or twice
three, stamens, one stuck to each blue flower-leaf,
and in the middle a single pistil; but if we cut
this pistil across the middle with a sharp penknife,
we see at once that it is in reality, or rather it once
was, three. The crocus, the trillium, and all the
many sorts of lily are organized on the same plan.

88 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS.

and, unlike the dunce of the nursery rhyme, seem
to have mastered, for they certainly practise, the
rule of three.

Sometimes the parts of the blossom are in quar-
tets: four sepals, four or eight petals, four, eight,
or twelve stamens, and a seed-vessel splitting when
ripe into four parts. Stone-crop, geranium, " lady
sour-grass," and some others are organized on the
plan of five. But almost all flowers follow a reg-
ular numerical plan, or, where there is irregularity,
something in the structure shows that there once
was such a plan, though it has been partially aban-
doned and forgotten.

In the wild hyacinth, the six parts of the flower,
draw closely together and form a deep cup with a
drop of honey glistening at the bottom. This
form, like the blue or purple color of the flower, is
designed to win the approbation of bees, for in a
deep blossom like this a bee can be comfortably
sure of a drop of honey for her pains. A smaller
insect cannot reach down so far. In the garden
hyacinth the. union of flower-leaves has gone still
further, and they have actually grown all together
into a tube.

The trillium, which one finds in rich moist
woods, is a sort of distant cousin to the hyacinth,

SPSTNO'S YOUNOER CHILDRBN. 89

and both belong to the very large and important
lily family. The " tri " in the name of this plant
means three; it occurs in tri-ple, tri-dent, and tri-
une, and trillium is so called because it faithfully
follows the rule of three throughout. Even the
green leaves are in a cluster of three on the sum-
mit of the stalk, and in their midst is the one
large flower, with three sepals, three petals, three
stamens, and three pistils. The petals in some
sorts of trillium are white; in others, dull dark
purple; and in others again, white tinged with
pink or green.

The hyacinth belongs to an old branch of the
lily family, and must have had many generations
wherein to become so wonderfully adapted to tlie
needs of its life. But trillium represents a
younger branch; sometimes it forgets how to be a
flower at all, and relapses into a mere cluster of
leaves. The first flowers which appear on earth,
unfolding in the shade of those great pines and
tree-ferns which Nature's forces have since made
into coal for us, were members of the lily family,
and probably resembled this trillium. The old
English name for this flower is wake-robin, for
flower and bird appear at about the same time.

Another pretty member of the lily family,

90 WITH THE WILD FL0WEE8,

erithronium, adder's-tongne, or dog-tooth violet,
displays its nodding flowers everywhere in woods
and copses. Two smooth, shining leaves, some-
times curiously blotched, sheathe the base of the
flower-stalk, and from between them rises one
white or yellow drooping blossom, with its curving
petals pointed like a dog's tooth.

On rocks, especially in northerly aspects, nods
the columbine (Fig. 19), sometimes unkindly
called " jacket and breeches." The flower is scar-
let outside, yellow within. The sepals are as brill-
iant as the petals, which are in the form of hollow
spurs and point backward like little red tails. At
the end of each of these five spurs or long pockets
is a drop of nectar. The stamens and pistils grow
all together in the midst of the flower, in a little
tuft.

When the bee comes for honey, she has to reach
down for it into the very ends of the long red
pockets. In trying to do so she is apt to alight in
the middle of the flower and twist about there,
rubbinff continuallv afi:ainst the tuft of stamens

O I/O

and pistils. In so doing she will get well dusteil
with pollen with which to fly to another colum-
bine. The honey-pockets are. so long that few
insects can roach down to the end of them; so the

SPBlIfO'S YOVSOBB CHILDBBN. 91

Fig. 19. — The CuLUMBiNii (Aquilegia caiuitleiuis).

92 WirU THE WILD FLOWERS,

columbine entertains only a small select circle,
and the cultivated sorts often bespeak the good
oftiees of the bee by wearing her blue and purple.
Columbine moans two doves.

•* O Columbine, open your folded wrapper
W'b©n> two twin turtle-doves dwell,"

says Jean Ingelow in "Songs of Seven.** If we
pull of! from the flower two sepals with the long
packet or petal between them, the three together
boar some rosomblanee to a bird with partly ex-
panded wings. This remarkable fowl, it is true,
pokes his wiugs out before him in a manner never
bofon> attempted except by a pasteboard bin! on
the operatic stage. Rut fanciful as the resem-
blance may seem, the Romans saw it ages ago.
To them the bird suggested the national eagle, and
hence the columbine's botanic name, aquilegia^
from aifidhu an eagle.

In the more northern States, in latter spring
rockv woods are a:av wiih rosv clustercJ of wild
pii\ks. Further south, and somewhat earlier, the
no less beautiful scarlet pinks appear. These
flowers arc of the shape which their cousin the
garden carnation was before it wiis changed, not to
say deformed, by culture. The English name for

SPRINO'S TO UN GEE CBILDREN. &3

the wild pink is " catch-fly," and whoever picks
one will find out why. The flower-stalk just below
the flower, and the calyx are covered with gum ;
and in this unhappy crawlers seeking pollen and
honey get clogged and killed. Sixty-two pathetic
little corpses were counted by a naturalist on one
single stem of a viscid kind of pink.

The stamens of these blossoms ripen first, and
protrude from the slender throat, waiting for a
chance to intrust their powdered gold to some
winged messenger. Having done this, they with-
draw into the flower-tube, and then the pistil
comes up and spreads two arms abroad to receive
a donation of pollen from some insect friend. In
this way the pink is certain to set its seed by pollen
brought from some other pink ; in botanic lan-
guage it " insures cross-fertilization."

The garden petunia, like the pink, has gummy
stems, and many insect prowlers come to grief
thereon. A writer in the "Popular Science
Monthly" is of opinion that the petunia is not
content to merely murder these unfortunates.
The little corpses, she says, are actually digested
by juices which flow from the plant. In fact they
are not only slain but eaten. "About sunset,"
says this writer, "the petunia breathes forth a

94 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS,

sweet and powerful odor, and at the same time the
gum on the stalks becomes more abundant." This
is the fateful hour when many little insects are
beguiled and ensnared.

This is a dreadful accusation, and it is a wonder
that the petunia is able to hold up her head when
such aspersions on her character are abroad. It is
to be hoped that the pinks, so pretty and merry-
looking, only use their insect trap in self-defence,
. and do not help out their diet of dew and sunshine
with food obtained in such a questionable way.

In May and June, flowering laurel, " fresh and
fair," spreads over shady hillsides its lovely
minfflinoj of white and rose.

The laurel of the swamps beautifies herself with
lilac-purple flowers at about the same time, and
by latter June has resumed her workaday dress
of shining green. This swamp laurel grows only
one or two feet high, Avhile "calico-bush," or
mountain laurel, will sometimes attain a height of
twenty feet.

Tlie flowers of the varieties differ only in size
and color, and are all constructed on the same
plan. Ten little humps are ranged in a circle
around the outside of each pretty bud. When the
flower opens and spreads out as it does into the

SPRING* 8 YOVNQBR CHILDREN. 95

form of a saucer, we see that on the inside of the
corolla the ten humps (as an Irishman might say)
are ten hollows or dimples. Ten stamens with
long slender stalks surround a yet longer pistil.
But these stamens, instead of standing erect as in
most flowers, are bent downward and outward, and
each has its head fixed into one of the hollows of
the corolla.

The inside of the flower looks something like an
open umbrella turned upside down. Ten stamens
spread out like the ribs, while the pistil stands up
in the midst like the handle. Around the base of
this pistil the honey is stored, and the bee in ex-
tracting it circles about over the corolla, thrusting
her proboscis in from every side. Hovering there
she is almost certain to jostle successively each
stamen so as to dislodge it from the little pocket
into which its head is fixed. As if resenting the
disturbance, the stamen flies up like a spring-
board, suddenly and elastically, and throws at the
bee a little shower of pollen. " Then flying to
another blossom, the insect brings its pollen-dusted
body against the top of the pistil, and revolving
around it, as if on a pivot, while it sucks the nectar
in the bottom of the flower-cup, liberates the
bowed stamens and receives fresh charges of pollen

96 WITH THE WILD FLO WEBS.

from that flower while fertilizing it with the pol-
len of the preceding one. When a cluster of
laurel flowers is covered with fine gauze so that
insects are excluded, no stamen gets free of itself,
and no seed sets." *

Open woods and field borders in latter May and
early June are lavishly adorned with the common
wild geradium [Geranium maculattim). Only bo-
tanical analysis shows its relationship to our gar-
den variety. The conspicuous fiowers are more
than an inch broad, widely opened, and of a rosy
purple color. Three or more grow together in a
loose branching cluster. The green leaves are
broad and beautifully cut, and the seed-vessel is
long and pointed like a beak, whence the English
name for the plant, " crane's-bill," and the German
name, " stork's-beak." This plant can be useful
as well as ornamental; for from its roots, rich in
tannin, gargles and other medicines are extracted.

In most geraniums the stamens ripen first and
have their pollen 2)repared before the pistil is
ready to turn it to account. But their charity
does not begin at home, and the welfare of the
pistil is not the object in view. The golden dust
is to be shed on the fuzzy jacket of some bee,

* Prof. Gray.

SPnmO'S YOUNGER CHILDREN, 97

which will soon chance by and be lured by the
purple so dear to her heart. Then the pistil will
mature and spread forth five eager little arms of
welcome to winged callers. We have several vari-
eties of wild geranium; some smaller sorts bear
in flowers and foliage a strong family likeness
to the garden rose-geranium (Fig. 20).

In rich woods we find the little yellow and white
dicentra, called, from the odd shape of the blossom,
"Dutchman's-breeches." The green leaves of this
plant are so finely cut as to look like little ferns.
Another variety of dicentra has heart-shaped
flowers, white tinged with rose, and breathing a
fragrance like that of hyacinths. They dangle all
in a row along the under side of a curved stalk five
or six inches long, and in general get-up bear a
resemblance to those of their more showy relative,
our garden "bleeding-heart." In Dutchman's-
breeches and in bleeding-heart the stamens are
gathered about the pistil in a close-fitting ring,
and all are shut up together between the s])oon-
shaped tips of two odd-looking petals. One would
say that such blossoms were purposely arranged
to exclude insects and do without them. Yet they
produce nectar and are visited by bees. Indeed, if
the blossoms are covered with gauze so as to keeji
away insects, little or no seed is formed.

WITU THE WILD FLOWBBS.

SPRING'S YOUNGER CHILDREN 99

How wonderfully Nature clears away all litter
and ugliness ! We know how prolific many little
wild creatures are; and because there are not more
of them about we must be sure that many die each
year. Yet how seldom, on a country walk, one
finds a dead bird or squirrel or snake or even a
dead beetle. And flowers, when their days of
beauty are over, vanish in the same mysterious
way. The fruit-blossoms shed their petals, a slow-
dropping fragrant snow, but soon the patch be-
neath the tree is as green as any other part of the
meadow. The petals of the rose, the buttercup,
and a score of others are wafted away by the
breeze. Literally, "the wind passeth over them
and they are gone.*'

How few flowers, dying, leave — so to speak — a
dead body. The iris withdraws into its green
sheath like a bud. The water-lily after a day or
two of glory goes back into the cool depths whence
it arose. Even the leaves which rustle around our
feet as we seek spring flowers are but few com-
pared with the millions which fell last autumn.
Where are the rest ?

Nature is called a kind mother, a good econo-
mist, a careful provider; we must acknowledge
that she is also a marvel of tidiness.

803298A

100 WITH THE WILD FL0WEB8.

FIELD-DAISIES.

The daisies gay

The livelong day
Are gathered here together,

To play in the light,

To sleep in the night.
To abide through the sullen weather.

— Old RhyTne.

The fields so lately white with snow grow white
once more with daisies which dance and swing in
the soutli wind by myriads and myriads. Their
joyous antics are regarded with cold disfavor by
the farmers, who speak of the intruders in the
singular number and in a dissatisfied mood as
"that pesky" or even " that durned white weed."

The little pink-tipped garden-daisy, which we
cultivate with such care, is considered an inter-
loper when it shows its bright face on the trim
lawns around English country-seats, and its bold-
ness is punished — as high treason was in the good
old days — by decapitation. The gardener acts the
part of executioner, and cuts off the poor, pretty

FIELD'DAI8IE8. 101

head with the lawn-mower — the guillotine of the
flowers.

Yet, though American farmers and English gar-
deners have but a poor opinion of the daisy, and
though there are many flowers in summer's gar-
land more gorgeous, delicate, or sweet, this is the
pet of the poets. Chaucer quaintly says :

" Of all the flowers in tbe mede,
Than love I most these flowers white and rede,
Soch that men callen daisies in our toun.''

Shakespeare speaks of them lovingly, and puts
them into the hands of poor Ophelia. Words-
worth and Burns write beautifully to them and of
them, and Goethe's Margaret is immortalized in
poetry and in art as she picks the last white leaf
off the daisy with the triumphant words, " He
loves mel^'

Even the flower's name is a poetic thought, for
the day's eye is the sun. The English folk who
gave the name centuries ago saw in the flower a
tiny copy of the sun at which it gazes. There was
the golden disk, and, shooting out from it in every
direction, the white and flashing rays.

The sunflower owes its name to a like compari-
son. The legend that the flower turns towards
the sun was invented in later times, to account for

102 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS,

the name, and like many other pretty stories, it is
not true.

Far-fetched as the idea may seem in these pro-
saic days, a similar thought occurred to the early
Scandinavians. Balder was the Norse god of the
summer. To these Northern people, accustomed
to endure the rigors of extreme cold and the deso-
lation wrought by frost for the greater part of the
year, the brief summer was very sweet. Its com-
ing was longed for, and its fading away lamented.
The beloved Balder was the best and most beauti-
ful of all the gods, and the very embodiment of
gladness. And to a flower which is first cousin to
the daisy, and like it in shape and color, they gave
the name of Balder^s brow; the shining centre
was the eye of Balder, and the outshooting white
rays the light which streamed from it.

This fancifully named flower is distributed quite
generally through the northern United States,
and grows abundantly along sandy roadsides (Fig.
21). The foliage is finely cut, and in general ap-
pearance the plant resembles the garden feverfew.
It exhales a pungent odor like that of the hot-
house daisy.

It is convenient to speak of the daisy as one
flower, but in reality it is a floral community.

Fio. 21.— DAisiEa.

104 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS.

The yellow centre is an assemblage of hundreds of
little trumpet-shaped flowers set as close together
as possible. Those on the outside of the disk
open first; those near the centre, in early summer
are still tightly folded little greenish buds. In a
ring around the disk we see what botanists term
the " ray-flowers ^* and what non-botanists call the
"white leaves ^^ of the daisy. These, too, are dis-
tinct flowers, having a pistil apiece, but no sta-
mens, and with their large white corollas split
open all down one side. Indeed, they look as if
their " clothes were almost torn off them.*'

If we examine one of the central florets and
look into its little yellow throat, we see that it
contains what looks like a second bud still closed.
Are there a series of corollas one inside another
like Chinese boxes ? But what looks like the top
of an inner bud is really a ring of stamens, with
their heads all joined together so as to form a sort
of lid shutting the pistil in. Under this lid, as
we find by investigating with a pin, is a quantity
of pollen, shed from the lower surfaces of the
anthers.

The stamens, like protectionists, seem to have
literally laid their heads together to keep the
pistil in restraint, and to prevent it from using

FIELD-DAI8IE8, 105

any pollen except what is made at home. But
the pistil wants sunshine and liberty, and stretches
itself in its little golden prison, pushing the mass
of pollen up before it, till the prison-roof bursts.
Then out springs the pistil, driving the pollen
before it in a little cloud. If a fly has alighted
close by, or if one of those flat-pattern crawlers,
of which daisies are, unhappily, full, chances to
be near, he receives a liberal sprinkling. With
this unexpected and rather overwhelming dona-
tion he creeps or flies to another floret, or, better
still, to another plant.

The pistil has two little arms, which are at first
pressed close together and raised upright. Each
terminates in a brush of hairs. These, in coming
up the tube formed by the stamens, sweep out
before them every grain of pollen, as a chimney-
sweep's broom clears soot out of a chimney. This
clearance effected, the arms of the pistil separate
and take a horizontal position, like the cross-
pieces of the letter T. They are now waiting for
a donation of pollen, and the upper sides of the
arms are sticky, on purpose to catch and hold it.
Till now these gummy surfaces have been pressed
together so closely that not a grain could get in
between them (Fig. 22). And thus the daisy

106

WITH THE WILD FLOWERS.

floret makes sure of setting its little seed by im-
ported pollen only. The " ray-flowers/' or white
outer florets, have no brushes of hairs, for they
have no stamens; consequently there is no pollen
to be swept out, and a brush would be useless.

Fig. 22.— The Three States op a Daisy Floret.

Besides the daisy, the sunflower, aster, chrys-
anthemum, thistle, lettuce, marigold, ironweed,
goldenrod, boneset, and many other so-called
•* flowers*^ are, in reality, close masses of tiny
blossoms. The flowers thus joining forces make a
much braver show than they would if they were
scattered, and are thus more likely to attract in-

FIELD-DAISIES. 107

sects. The chance of gathering honey from so
many flowers at once, instead of having to roam
here and there in search of it, is greatly appreci-
ated by insects; and their visits are more likely to
be effectual, since the chances are that one alight-
ing will touch many florets. No wonder, there-
fore, that " composite flowers," as these are called,
are a very wide-spread and successful family.

They have put into practice in their floral mu-
tual-benefit society the division of labor, without
which no society can thrive. The outer rank of
blossoms have been detailed off to do the advertis-
ing of the firm, and have developed conspicuous
corollas, while the more quietly dressed sisters
within furnish the pollen, without which no
daisies would be produced to gladden the fields
next summer. By culture, the little inconspicu-
ous "disk-flowers" forming the daisy's centre can
be developed into strap-shaped " ray-flowers," such
as form its white border. Thus " double " daisies,
sunflowers, and asters are produced, and thus
garden dahlias, chrysanthemums, and marigolds
have been developed from flowers of the daisy
pattern.

When culture shall have changed all the disk-
flowers of the chrysanthemum and the aster into

108 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS,

ray-flowers, no seed will be formed, for the ray-
flowers of these plants have no stamens and pro-
duce no pollen. The double asters of the present
have at the centre some few disk-flowers unchanged
by culture, and by the pollen from these some of
the ovaries are matured. The double asters of the
future will have to be propagated entirely by cut-
tings.

The old rhyme at the head of the chapter says
that the daisies " sleep through the night.'' This
is both truth and poetry. Soon after sunset the
white rays close gently over the flower's golden
eye, so that in the twilight the daisies look as if
they had all become half-opened buds again. All
day they have gazed at the sun and loved him, and
made themselves as much like little suns as they
possibly could, and now that he has withdrawn his
glorious face the world has lost all its interest for
the daisies till daylight comes again.

TWILIGHT AND JUNE IN A GARDEN. 109

TWILIGHT AND JUNE IN A GARDEN.

A SLEEPING garden, so it seems, could exist no-
where save in fairyland. It must surround the
palace of the Sleeping Beauty. We can fancy
that the gardener is napping and snoring while
his idle tools lie rusting behind a great dusty cob-
web. The spider dangling in it is dreaming of fat
flies. The grasshoppers, crickets, and katydids
are all silent. The butterflies hang motionless on
the plants, like brightly colored leaves, and the
usually busy ants and bees have gone home to
slumber away a well-earned vacation. The pea-
cock on the balustrade sits motionless beside his
motionless shadow. The birds' little heads are all
tucked under their wings and filled with visions of
ripe cherries.

But the flowers— what do they do ? And what
goes on in the kitchen-garden ? Can one see, even
in fairyland, slumbering bean-vines or dozing
onions ?

Strange to say, we need not journey to enchanted

110 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS.

lands to find such things as these. I can see gar-
den-beds (well named) full of sleeping plants any
summer night in my suburban garden of plainest
prose, where ill weeds flourish, and mosquitoes
bite, and the tax-gatherer troubles, and street
Arabs break through and steal.

The portulaca drowses first. Its saucer-shaped
flowers close at sunset, taking the aspect of open-
ing buds. They worship the sun as devoutly as
any Parsee of old, and have no real life except in
his presence. To-morrow morning, if his face is
hidden, the portulaca will not have the heart to
unfurl a single blossom, but as soon as he appears
the despondent plants will cheer up and don festal
array to do him honor. After the portulaca
flowers are settled for the night the leaves grow
sleepy, and gradually they take their nocturnal
position. They raise themselves upright, nestling
close to the stalks of the plant and to each other.
" Pusley," the portulaca's disreputable and vulgar
cousin, also keeps early hours. Shortly after sun-
set it, too, is asleep, with its leaves cuddled to-
gether in little bunches, and thus it recuperates its
dreadful energies for another onslaught on my
flower-beds.

When dusk begins to gather, it is bedtime for

TWILIGHT AND JUNE IN A GARDEN . 1 1 1

the clover-leaves (Fig. 23). The two aide leaflets
of each cluster approach each other face to face,
till they take the position of the covers of a closed
book. Then the upper and central leaf bends for-

FiG. 23.— Sleeping Clover.

ward till it touches the edges of the other pair.
The attitude of the little sleepy-heads seems to ex-
press devotion rather than repose, for they look as

112 WITH IHB WILD FLOWERS.

if they were offering vesper prayers, with their
heads bowed low over their folded palms.

All through the summer we may see belated
dandelions lingering in the grass, but at nightfall
they vanish. Each flower has closed and has
drawn its green outer garment over its yellow inner
dress. They now look like buds, and are undistin-
guishable from the surrounding grass and leaves.
Though they have contrived to gather so much
gold to deck themselves with, they do not follow
the proverbial rule for becoming wealthy. They
are early to bed to be sure, but by no means early
to rise. The blossoms are not fairly awake and
open before eight o'clock, even in sunny weather,
while on stormy mornings they are — we must con-
fess it — scandalously late. It is a pretty sight to
see a field full of dandelions wake up under a
bright spring sun. They twinkle out, one after
another, as stars do at nightfall. The daisies, too,
close at dusk, but they waken at sunrise.

The grapevine and the wistaria are late up o'
nights. Perhaps, living in towns so much, they
have learned dissipated city habits. They scarcely
begin to take their nocturnal positions before nine
o'clock, and they are not fairly settled for the
night till much later. The grape-leaves in sleep

TWILIQUT AND JUNE IN A GARDEN 113

are raised at the edges and depressed in the mid-
dle, so that they form shallow saucers. As we
look np at the boughs of the vine, after the foliage
has taken its nocturnal position, we see only the
white under surfaces of the leaves, gleaming like
silver in the moonlight. Wistaria leaflets droop
in slumber as they do in excessive heat. One ex-
pects them to feel as wilting leaves do — soft and
limp— and their crisp firmness is a surprise. They
crackle like stiff paper when bent, and they refuse
stubbornly to be twisted into any other position
but that which they have themselves chosen to
take. This curious stiffness seems to be a char-
acteristic of all sleeping foliage.

The common locust settles down early. The end
leaflet of the long cluster hangs like a plummet,
and the side leaflets turn their points towards the
ground and dangle in two rows back to back.

The foliage of the beans in the vegetable bed
assumes a like position.

The leaves of the little Oxalis (Fig. 24), which
children call "lady sour-grass," also sleep with
their backs to one another and their tips pointed
toward the earth.

But some of the dwellers in my garden wake
and watch while others are fast asleep. The

114 WITH THE WILD FL0WEB8.

honeysuckle grows more alive and alert as dusk
closes in. The fresh flowers open sood after sun-

FiQ. 24.— Slebpino Oxalib.

set. They are slender vases, filled to the brim with
perfume, which is shed forth upon the night air.

TWILIGHT AND JUNE IN A GARDEN 115

Their sweetness is a mute invitation to the hum-
ming-bird hawk-moth, and while twilight yet
lingers we may see him among the flowers, begin-
ning his night of revelry. He feels reasonably
sure of a good supper. The cup of the flower is
so slender and so deep that few insects can reach
down to rifle its sweets, so that even the older
blossoms may have saved their store for him, and
the fresh buds, expanding to-night, contain nectar
enough to satisfy any reasonable moth. Those
which are neglected by him will remain open all
day to-morrow, and bid for the attentions of the
sunshine-loving butterflies.

The white "day^^ or "Japan" lilies (Tunhia
japonica), like the honeysuckles, open at evening,
and live for a night and a day. Many, indeed
most, deep- throated flowers are nocturnal. Their
nectar can be drained only by insects with very
long proboscides. Such insects are large and con-
spicuous, and if they flew by daylight they would
soon fall a prey to birds or other enemies. The
day-lily's lover, like Romeo, must pay his addresses
by night for fear of the Capulets, who would
impale Mm if they could catch him — not on a
sword, but on a beak or a big pin.

"Adam's needle and thread," or Yucca fila-

116

WITH THE WILD FLOWERS.

mentosa (Fig. 25), conspicuous in many gardens in
later June and July, is another night-flower.
The aspect of this plant is probably familiar to
most readers. From a
bristling clump of erect
sword-like leaves rises a
smooth stalk bearing a
great pyramid of cream-
colored flowers.

Throughout the day
these blossoms are scent-
less, and they dangle
from their stalks half-
shut, like silent fairy-
Fi8. 3S.-YCCCA. bells. If the night is

cold and rainy, Its coming fails to awaken the
yucca, but in fine warm weather the plant shows
a marked change with the gathering of twilight.

It begins to breathe forth an odor, not sweet,
but fresh, pungent and peculiai", and this grows
more and more noticeable as night settles down.

The flowers, which have hnng half asleep all
day, change their attitude and aspect. The
petals draw backwards, the blossoms open widely
and become great six-pointed stars. The yacca
has an air of alert expectancy which is more

TWILIGHT AND JUNE IN A GARDEN. 117

than life-like — almost human. ^Ye cannot help
regretting the disappointment that we fear
awaits her. The friend for whom this southern
fair one listens and longs is probably a thousand
miles away, enjoying himself among the Mexican
beauties. She wakes in vain for that great tropi-
cal night-moth. We can fancy that she shivers a
little in our chill northern dawn, and says to her-
self, like Mariana, " He cometh not '^ — and then as
sunrise reddens all the east, " He will not come.^^
As the night wanes the blossoms lose their star-
like form, and daylight finds them drooping bells
once more, dangling in limp dejection. They are
not always thus disappointed. Last year a few
capsules formed and ripened, probably by aid of
pollen brought to the pistil by some large and rare
nocturnal moth. But in some seasons no seeds
form at all.

Not every one has a garden, still less a yucca in
the garden. But every one can find our common-
est nocturnal wild flower, the evening primrose
(J^nothera biennis) (Fig. 26). It grows every-
where — in fields, in waste places, along country
roadsides, and around the edges of woods, and it
blossoms from June to September. The plant is a
sturdy, upright affair from two to eight feet high.

118 Willi TOE WILD FLOWERS.

Fig. 20. — Ei'ENiNO PniuuosE (^Snolhet-a InennU).

TWILIGHT AND JUNE IN A GARDEN. 119

having the aspect of a weed. By day the flowers,
which grow on a leafy spike, are all of the past or
of the future. Towards evening, however, the
buds begin to swell. A few moments after sunset
they grow so fast that the increase is visible to any
one who may be watching. Little starts and
thrills go through the expanding blossom like the
slight stirring and long breaths of an awakening
child. Then the four yellow petals draw back,
revealing the flower's heart.

This pretty sight may be seen on any country
roadside any bright summer evening. The garden
evening primrose celebrates the appearance of its
gay new flowers with floral fireworks, for each
blossom expands with a little pop like that made
by drawing a small but stubborn cork.

As twilight falls, the primrose begins to breathe
forth a fragrance which grows stronger and sweeter
as darkness closes in. By this, and by the glim-
mering of the yellow petals, the night-moth is
lured to fertilize the flower. Let us notice that
the pollen is very abundant and somewhat sticky.
It even hangs from the stamens in long, gummy
threads; so that a visiting moth is sure to carry
some away on her velvety body. Sunrise finds the
flower as pale and "used up'" as any belle the

120 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS.

morning after the ball. But the limp petals,
fading in the growing light, have done the work
which Nature gave them.

It was a pretty idea of one of the early botanists
to plant a garden which should tell the time; an
idea sportively used by Jean Paul llichter in one
of the most charming passages in his "Flower,
Fruit, and Thorn Pieces." Each hour was to be
marked by the opening or by the closing of some
blossom. One might have a garden which should
present frequent and lovely changes, but the
flowers are not accurate time-keepers. It would
be disastrous to regulate dinner by the clock-gar-
den, or to try to catch the train by it. The sleep-
ing and waking of the flowers is governed by many
other causes besides the flight of time. The state
of the atmosphere, the amount of dew-fall, the
brightness or dimness of the skies, may all affect

that beautiful mystery — the sleep of plants. Yet

darkness is not its cause, for the twilight which
lulls one blossom to repose rouses another into
intense life. As the butterflies go to rest moths
begin to flit, and beetles come droning out of a
thousand holes and corners, lighted to their revels
by the fireflies.

Through the still air there may drop down to us

TWILIGHT AND JUNE IN A GARDEN, 121

the soft calls of migrant birds. Guided by their
God-given instincts, they are travelling on, league
after league, between the dusky tree-tops and the
stars.

After all, it is a mere figure of rhetoric to speak
of the " sleep of the earth.^^ Mother Nature has
no sooner hushed one set of children to rest than
she begins to attend the needs and to superintend
the labors and frolics of many more.

Night is full of life as beautiful and intense as
that of the day, and as unknown to many of us as
that of another planet.

122 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS,

XII.

WATER-SIDE AND POND FLOWERS.

LILIES, CAT-TAILS, SPEEDWELL, BIUE-FLAGS,
JEWEL-WEED, AND EEL-GRASS.

The midsummer sunshine resting on still waters
wooes the water-lily from the shadowy depths below
into the brightness above. To a seeker after par-
ables, the upward striving of the bud suggests the
effort of a soul reaching out of darkness and the
mire of sin, groping toward God's light, growing
ever whiter and whiter, and at last attaining to
purity and gladness. The blossoms, white and
gold, recall the " fine cloth, white like flame,'' with
the interwoven "golden threads," which Rossetti's
" Blessed Damozel " and her companions wear in
Paradise.

One wishes that the flower had a longer term of
joy and beauty, and that it did not so soon with-
draw into the depths again, having looked its last
on the sun. But in this, as in most water-plants,
the stem of the fertilized flower-head shortens, and

WATER-8IDB AND POND FLOWERS. 123

thus the baby seeds are drawn down to ripen in
the dark.

The water-lily breathes forth fragrance and
wears her fresh and lovely dress to attract the
water-beetles, which, it is believed, act as messen-
gers, carrying the pollen from flower to flower.
The floating leaves are smooth and lustrous, as are
those of most aquatic plants. To an artist's eye,
the flashing of their polished surfaces seems to re-
peat the flashing of the waters around them.
Push them below the ripples with an oar, and they
"bob up serenely,^' as shiny, and, seemingly, as dry
as ever. Drops roll off the bright surfaces of such
leaves as they roll off oil-skin, and in fact the skins
which cover them are actually oiled.

Every leaf consists, in the first place, of a fine
network of branching tubes. We call it tlie
" skeleton '^ ; it would be far more correct to speak
of it as the "venous system ^^ of the leaf. Then
in between these tubes lies leaf- tissue, which con-
sists of countless cells set closely together. Over
the whole is stretched a fine skin, quite trans-
parent, very thin, and yet very tough. This, in
water-plants, contains a little oil, and so sheds
water easily; for though washing is good for
foliage, soaking disagrees with it sadly.

134

WITH TBE WILD FLOWERS.

The leaf's skin (botaniets call it the epidermis)
is full of hoIoB invisible to the naked eye, and
almost innumerable (Fig. 37). Througli these the

FiQ. S7a.— Structure or the Efiueuuib of a Leaf.
(Prom The VenetabU World.)

Fig. 276.— Vertical Skctiok thrwuqh One op the
Stouata of a Cycob (mngnffled).

(From Thr Vtgetable Wo-ld.)

plant breatlicB, and if they get stopped up with
dust it cannot thrive. Tliis is the reason why
honse-phints are so benefited by an occasiorinl
sponging or spniyiiig with clean tepid water. But

WATER-SIDB AND POND FLOWERS, 125

a leaf which has all its little breathing- holes cov-
ered with water is as badly smothered as one that
has them all clogged with dust. This is why the
shining foliage of the water-lily, the arrow-head,
and the pickerel-weed is so contrived as to keep
dry in circumstances in which it has boundless
opportunities to get wet.

The little breathing-holes, or "stomata,^' are
usually much more numerous on the lower, or
shadowed side of the leaf. If they were on the
upper surface, exposed to direct sunshine, so much
moisture would evaporate through them that the
foliage would soon dry and wither. But in float-
ing leaves this plan is reversed. The little mouths,
if they were on the lower surface, would be stopped
up by the water, and of no use whatever. So the
floating foliage of water-plants has its breathing-
holes on the upper surface, where fresh air is to
be had.

But many aquatic plants bear leaves which are
always submerged. These live, as fishes do, on
the air which is in the water. They are always
delicately cut and fringed. This is partly in order
that they may not be torn by the currents, as
broader leaves might be, and partly because the
long, green fringes, washing this way and that way.

126 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS.

are able to gather up every floating bubble and
find out every glint of light within a wide circle.
Perhaps such foliage suggested the fabled sea-
green hair of the raermaids.

Yet even these water-nymphs of the vegetable
world, though they enjoy getting their leaves wet,
often take extraordinary pains to keep their
flowers dry. A soaking might spoil the pollen, or
the golden dust might be washed away altogether.
Sometimes the blossom is sheathed in horny scales
which are transparent enough to let in all the light
there is, yet water-tight as a new overshoe. Some-
times the sepals, like the leaves, have a glossy sur-
face which sheds the drops, and the petals are
wrapped in them with great care. AVhen the bud
has emerged into the sunshine it sought, the beau-
ties hitherto so carefully guarded are daintily dis-
played to the marsh-flies and water-beetles.

A little nearer shore than the floating lilies, a
circle of cat-tails, stiff and tall, stand like sentinels
around the edges of the pool. Their thick heads,
which suggest the tops of pikes or maces, are,
little as one would think it, dense masses of small
flowers. The top part, which grows fluffy in latter
summer, consists of countless tiny stamens, which.

WATER-SIDE AND POND FLOWERS. 127

when they have fulfilled their mission and shed
their pollen, blow away.

The cat-tail, beloved of home decorators, is a
mass of innumerable pistils, or rather little ovaries,
each crowned by a tuft of soft fine hairs. " Each
ovary," says Grant Allen, " is so extremely small
that you cannot distinguish them separately at all .^, r
with the naked eye; if you cut the spike across, f

the only thing you can see is a thick mass of soft, »■
brownish hairs, black at the tips, and paler inside .
toward the central stalk. How many hundreds of
thousands of flowers are thus cribbed and cabined
on a single stem, nobody has ever had the patience
to count; a mere pinch pulled out between tl
finger and thumb displays, under the microscope,
an apparently infinite number of distinct florets,
each with a single tiny ovary and a fluffy envelope
of small hairs."

A little bare stalk sticks up at the top of the
cattail. This used to support the stamens which olf'J
have all ungratefully gone off and left it naked in
the cold world. The winged seeds when they are
ripe will go off also; and if our cat-tails are
gathered late in the season, when the ovaries are
nearly mature, they will soon come to pieces in the
warm house. lu that case we shall certainly be

CA^r jF '

128 WITH TEE WILD FLOWERS.

duly impressed with the numbers of these tiny
seeds, and with their enterprise as travellers.

The plant grows only along the edge of shallow
waters; and since these are likely to dry up or
shift their place from time to time, it requires
great numbers of easily dispersed seeds to take
advantage of every new spot which slight local
changes may have fitted for its dwelling-place.

Along the edges of brooks, ponds, and ditches,
all through the summer we may find the pretty
veronica, brooklime, or water-speedwell. The flow-
ers have four spreading petals, pale blue with purple
stripes, and grow all along a common stalk, form-
ing a slender spire of bloom. The common speed-
well (Fig. 28) grows in fields or on open hillsides.
The stem, bearing a profusion of leaves, crouches
close to the ground, and from it rise erect sprays
of little flowers as blue as heaven. They are not
much more than a quarter of an inch broad, but
stand close together on their stalk, and as we stroll
across the meadow they catch our eyes by their
lovelj vivid color.

" Speedwell ^' is an old word used in bidding
good-by to a friend who is going on a journey.
It has the same meaning as farewell, and expresses
a hope that the traveller will reach his destination

WATERSIDE 'AND POND FLOWERS. 129

Fia. 28. — Common Speedwell ( Veronica offUinalii).

130 WITH THE WILD TL0WER8.

soon and safely. We say it to this little flower be-
cause it is going to leave us; for the pretty corolla
drops so soon after it unfolds, that if we .do not
take leave of it now, before it vanishes, we will
not have the chance to do so at all.

A more serious explanation is attached to the
flower's botanic name, veronica. Among the
daughters of Jerusalem who followed our Lord on
his sad road to Calvary, weeping and wailing,
there was, says the legend, one Jewish maiden
whose heart was stirred by the divine face marred
with anguish. Her feeling could express itself
only in one trifling act. She handed the Saviour
a handkerchief that He might wipe from His face
the wayside dust, the damps of suffering, and the
blood flowing from the wounds made by the crown
of thorns. When He gave it back it was found
that the stains on the linen made a perfect like-
ness of His face.

A pictured square of linen said to be this very
handkerchief is still preserved at St. Peter's in
Kome. Long ago it was called Vera Iconica, the
real likeness. Later monkish writers, growing
hazy in church tradition, changed the name some-
what, and transferred it from the handkerchief

WATER-SIDE AND POND FLOWERS, 131

itself to the Jewish girl to whom it belonged. She
was called St. Veronica.

The botanist who named the speedwell was
thinking of the earlier version of the legend when
he called the pretty flower veronica, " because its
blue and innocent eye is the vera iconica (veritable
likeness) of the pure heaven at which it gazes.^'

Midsummer finds the blue-flag, or wild iris, still
lingering on the edge of sunny waters, or in low,
moist fields. This is the famed lily of France,
which was blazoned in gold on the banners carried
to Cressy and Agincourt. Henry the Fifth, after
this latter fight, quartered the arms of England,
his by inheritance, with those of France, his
by conquest, and took for. his standard " three
golden leopards (or lions) sporting in a ruby
field, and three golden lilies blooming in an azure
field.^^

In Ireland the iris is really golden, and blooms
in a field, not of azure, but of emerald. Some yel-
low varieties are found in this country, but our
common sorts are in various shades of purple and
lilac. There are three erect petals, and three
backward-curving sepals. The latter are adorned
with a tracery in dark purples and gold, elaborate
enough to have occupied an artist all day. And

132 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS.

all this beauty may be seen only by some wander-
ing bee or marsh-fly.

A most complex and wonderful structure fits
the iris to attract bees or larger insects, and repel
crawlers, and prevents it from setting seed by its
own pollen. AU this is entertainingly described
in Prof. Gray's " How Plants Behave.''

Iris was the classic goddess of the rainbow, who,
it was fabled, wore a robe radiant with many tints,
as are these petals. Flower-de-luce, another name
given to this blossom, is a corruption of the French
fleur-de-lis (flower of the lily).

Growing near the iris, we shall probably find
jewel-weed (Fig. 29) or wild balsam, which is very
plentiful along the margins of brooks and rills. The
flowers of the common variety are orange-colored,
thickly spotted with reddish brown ; a rarer sort
bears pale yellow blossoms sparingly dotted with
dull, deep red. The flowers nod and sway grace-
fully on slender stalks. They are in shape some-
thing like a cornucopia, with the small end doubled
up into a little spur or tail. The plants are from two
to four feet high, and bear a profusion of smooth,
dark green leaves, which, like the blossoms, droop
as soon as they are picked.

Jewel-weed is a sort of second cousin to the

WATBR-81DB AI^D POXD FLOWBSB. 133

Fig, 39,— Touch-me-not. or Jewel-weed

(Impalkns ftdca). _ ^f.P.j^f^ ■* yt

134 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS.

nasturtium, and a first cousin to our garden-
balsam, or " lady's-slipper/' Its botanic name is
impatiens (impatient), because the ripe seed-vessel
recoils from one's touch with a quick, petulant
motion. The little pod suddenly bursts, and the
elastic movement shoots off the liberated seeds in
every direction. This trick earns for the plant its
common names, " touch-me-not " and " snap-weed/*
The jewel- weed, like the violet, bears two sorts of
flowers. Besides the showy ones we know, which
are gotten up to lure the insects whose visits they
need, there are small ones which are fertilized in
the bud with their own pollen.

Some of our native plants have made their way
eastward against the flood of emigration and the
tide of empire. Like the potato, the Colorado
beetle, the United States railway-check system,
and — dare we say it ? — the American belle, they
have entered the Old World, and in their various
lines achieved success. Among these importations
from Uncle Sam's dominions is our jewel-weed,
which has made itself quite at home along the
banks of the Wey and other Surrey streams.

Of all the flowers which grow by the water or
beneath it, the most wonderful are those produced
by the vallisneria. This plant, better known as

WATER-SIDE AND POND FLOWERS, 135

" tape-grass '* or "eel-grass," is common in slug-
gish streams and shallow lakes, and excites the
execration of rowers by twisting its long, tough,
grass-like leaves around the oar-blades and seri-
ously impeding progress. Its organization fills
the naturalist with delight, and supplies the poet
with a theme.

The stamens and pistils grow not only in sepa-
rate blossoms, but on different plants.

The pistillate flower is borne on a very long
stalk, which rises through the water, corkscrew-
fashion, in a beautifully symmetrical spiral.

The stamen-bearing flowers grow crowded to-
gether in a cone-shaped head, which is borne on a
very short stalk, and grows under water, close to
the bottom of the pond. When the staminate
flower-buds are ready to burst, the cone-shaped
cluster breaks from its moorings and rises to the
surface.

Here in the sunshine the flowers expand, the
anthers open, and the pollen is shed upon the face
of the water. About the same time the stalk of
the pistillate flower uncoils. The flower is now,
as it Were, tethered by a very long line, or an-
chored by a long rope, and sways over a large cir-
cuit at the impulse of wind or ripples. Soon it

136 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS.

floats in amid the scattered pollen, and receives
upon its stigma some of the golden grains. Now
the purpose for which the blossom rose into the
air and sunlight is accomplished. The long stem
coils itself up once more, drawing its spirals closer
and closer, as a watch-spring does when the watch
is wound. The fertilized flower-head is thus
drawn down into the cool depth of the pond, and
there the fruit is matured.

UNBIDDEN QUESTS. 137

XIII.
UNBIDDElff GUESTS.

A SERIES of receptions, or rather one continuous
reception, is held in my garden all summer long.
The flowers are the hostesses, and they have put
on glorious apparel in honor of their guests.
They send out perfumes as cards of invitation,
and these are carried hither and thither by the
breezes. When the visitors arrive they are enter-
tained with a feast of nectar. The invited guests
are moths, butterflies, humming-birds, beetles,
wasps, and, chief though last, the busy bees. A
few flies also are favored with invitations. The
hospitalities of the flowers are only too highly
appreciated, and they are sponged upon by a host
of undesired guests. Ants, and indeed all crawl-
ers, are neither wanted nor welcomed. It seems
that poor people who have to walk are regarded
with some contumely even in the vegetable world.
In fact, the ant is an extremely unpopular char-
acter in the garden, and the flowers have all laid
their pretty heads together to circumvent and

138 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS.

thwart her. If they could speak, they would
bring forward surprising accusations against that
model insect, the embodiment of industry and
thrift, the instructor of the sluggard, and the
admired of Dr. Watts. They would tell us that
she is an arrant thief. Every housekeeper knows
how fond ants are of sweet things. When they
have got into the store-closet, the sugar-jars and
the cake-box must be closed with the utmost care.
So among flowers ants are terrible honey-thieves.
They are so small that they can slip down the
throat of a flower, devour all its store of sweets,
and clamber out again without shaking or even
touching the stamens. They often come out as
clean as they went in, and do not carry away with
them one grain of the golden dust which the
flower is so anxious to send to its neighbors.

The ill-used flower cannot employ a better
messenger to do the work which the ant neglected
to do, because its nectar is all gone, so that it has
not the wherewithal to hire one. If we watch a
bee among the blossoms, we shall see that she
hovers for a moment over each as if undecided
whether to stop and sip or not. Sometimes she
seems to conclude that the blossom has been
already visited and drained, and that there is

UNBIDDEN QUESTS. 139

nothing there for her. It appears that the insect
detects a delicate odor from the nectar in the
flower, besides the stronger perfume which we can
enjoy with her. So the robberies of ants prevent
the really useful visits of bees, and thus not only
impoverish the flower, bu fc also spoil its prospects.
Moreover, if the bee happens to call while the ant
is within, her delicate proboscis may be seized in
the intruder's nippers and shrewdly pinched, and
after a few such painful surprises, the bee, if she
be wise, will avoid the flowers in which she experi-
enced them.

Moreover, when a crawling insect visits a flower
and is dusted with its pollen it rarely carries the
load where it ought to go — to another blossom of
the same species. The wee pedestrian, after trav-
elling down the stalk of one plant, clambers up that
of whatever happens to grow nearest. Having
visited and rifled the portulaca, for instance, she
climbs with yellow legs among the flowers of the
mignonette. These would be glad of gold-dust
from another head of mignonette, but they have no
more use for portulaca-pollen than the guests at a
New York dinner have for chop-sticks. The ant,
however, makes the mignonette pay for what it
does not want, and helps herself to the honey with

140 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS.

great assurance. So for sundry, divers, and suffi-
cient reasons flowers desire to exclude crawlers in
general and ants in particular, and Nature has
many devices to this end.

"Nothing," says Sir John Lubbock, "bothers
ants like hairs, and it has been found that they are
quite unable to climb up a table or a safe if a little
old fur or a strip of flannel is gummed around the
legs." This mode of excluding the crawling rogues
has been generally adopted by plants. Stalks are
rarely quite smooth, but are almost always clothed
with fine soft hairs or tiny bristles. The gera-
nium, the rose, the squash-blossom, and the petu-
nia are thus protected from creeping marauders,
which have more difficulty in forcing their way
through the vegetable fur than we should have in
penetrating a jungle. Sometimes the intruder
finds her way as easy at the outset as the paths of
sin proverbially are, but she meets insuperable
obstacles just as she nears the goal of her hopes.
The pansy and the violet have smooth stalks,
easily climbed, but just in the throat of the flower,
directly on the road to the honey, is a great tuft
of silky hairs, to the ant veritable cJievaux-de-
frise. The pansy thus saves her honey for the
bee, which can readily run her long string probos

UNBIDDEN GUESTS. 141

cis through the silky tuft and into the bottom of
the nectary.

Cyclamen, snowdrop, fuchsia, and lily of the
valley, are protected by the droop of the blossoms.
In vain do ants try to get into such flowers. The
curved smooth stalks baffle them. They find
themselves, like the wicked, set in slippery places,
and when they come to the downward slope which
leads to the blossom, they invariably tumble oflf to
the ground again. In fact, such hanging flowers
protect their honey from ants as the swinging
nests of the weaver-bird and the oriole protect
their eggs and chicks from snakes.

In aquatic plants the access of crawlers is pre-
vented by the surrounding water. Some land-
plants have secured to themselves the same advan-
tage by preparing little basins in which to drown
intruders. The lower leaves of the common road-
side teasel are so arranged as to form a deep cup
around the stem. Kain and dew collect in it, and
are retained for some time, so that the basin is
seldom empty, even in dry weather, and in the
little pool float the corpses of deluded crawlers
which sought sweets and found a watery grave.

• Several sorts of plants have a series of such cups,
one at each joint of the stem.

142 • WITH THE WILD FLOWERS,

Sometimes the flowers are surrounded and pro-
tected by a sort of collar of leaves with recurved
edges. "I have assured myself/' says Kerner, a
great German naturalist, '^not only by observation,
but by experiment, that wingless insects, and nota-
bly ants, find it impossible to mount upward over
such leaves as these. The little creatures run up
the stem, and may even traverse the under surface
of the leaves, but the reflexed and slippery margin
is more than the best climbers among them can
get over, and if they attempt it, they invariably
fall to the ground." The petals of the tiger-lily
curl backwards at the edges, to the confusion of
small insects which may try to crawl up the stem
and into the flower.

An invention similar to the " sticky fly-paper "
of commerce was brought out by Nature ages ago,
for some flower-stalks are glutinous, and crawlers
get hopelessly gummed down to them. The blos-
soms of some varieties of sweet-william and those
of the campion, or " catch-fly," are thus protected,
and a like plan of defence has been adopted by
the common purple swamp-thistles. These flow-
ers are rich in honey, and hence they attract
much attention from insects.

One which blooms in a damp spot by the road-

UNBIDDEN QUESTS, 143

side opposite, entertains butterfly and bee visitors
from the moment when the flower "comes out/'
The ants sniff the dainties overhead, for their
sense of smell is extraordinarily keen, and they
too wish to share in the festivities. The ascent to
the flower-head is toilsome and tedious, on ac-
count of the fuzz which clothes the stem. When
the persevering insect has labored to its top, she
finds herself before a formidable fortification which
Nature throws around the blossoms, a close frill of
small leaves thickly set with thorns. When she
has somehow worried through this, and success
seems secured at last, she ni.eets and succumbs to a
worse difficulty still. The slender-throated flow-
ers, which compose the thistle-head, are set close
together into a deep green cup. This cup (as all
who have made the pretty thistle-balls know very
well) is composed of many overlapping scales. In
the centre of each scale is a whitish streak.
Touch it with a pin, or finely pointed pencil, and
you find that it is glutinous. The ant comes
hopelessly to grief on these green scales, at the
end of her toilsome journey and in full view of
her goal. She is held fast on the gummy streaks,
and her frantic struggles to get free only bog her
more hopelessly. The gum, after a while, stops

144 WITH THE WILD FLO WEBS.

up the little holes in her sides, through which she
breathes, and thus she is smothered to death. I
have seen more than twenty dead or dying ants
stuck upon the head of a thistle which grew just
above their nest.

It is certainly a little difficult to pardon the
thistle for such wholesale slaughter; but after all,
except in the estimation of patriotic Scotchmen,
the thistle is only a vegetable gamin, without cul-
ture or social consideration, a tramp with no home
but the wayside, an Ishmaelite waging war upon
the community, which in turn wages war upon it.
Such conditions can scarcely fail to be demoraliz-
ing even to a weed.

The snap-dragon protects itself after a manner
less cruel but equally efficacious, and the same
plan has been adopted by the familiar roadside
linaria, which children call " butter-and-eggs.''
(Fig. 30).

This plant is very common, in latter summer,
everywhere. It puts up stalks from one to three
feet long, each bearing many smooth, narrow
leaves, and above them a spike of flowers. The
blossoms are of an odd, two-lipped form, like those
of garden snap-dragon, and each has a pointed
spur or tail. They are bright yellow, all except

UNBIDDEN QUESTS.

I.— Toad-flax (Linaria wilgarit).

146 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS.

the little pouting lips, which are orange-colored.
By pressing gently at the corners of the mouth
we can force the lips apart, and then we see that
the stamens and pistil are well inside in a position
corresponding to that of the tonsils, while the
honey — to continue the comparison — is down the
throat. The lips close firmly over the pollen and
honey, and a small creeping insect is quite unable
to force an entrance between them. It is like the
undesired guest of fairy lore, who finds the doors
barred, and all the way beset with difficulties.
The bee is the wished-for guest, to whom all bar-
riers yield. When she comes to call, she alights
upon the lower lip, and her weight causes it to
drop. Then she sees two bright golden bands
running along the palate of the flower. They
guide her attention to the mouth of a deep horn-
shaped pocket, in which the honey is stored, and
in order to reach it she must jostle the stamens,
which stand directly in the way. Then she flies
off, pollen-laden, to another snap-dragon flower,
while the lip, relieved of her weight, springs back,
and closes as silently and as strangely as the door
of rock did behind departing Ali Baba.

WINGED BURQLAR8. 147

XIV.
WINGED BURGLARS.

High up on the Alps, close to the eternal snows,
there are wild gardens, wherein the laborers are
wind, rain, frost, and sunshine. In these cloud-
girt gardens, by myriads and myriads the blue
gentians blow. The breezes perhaps carry the
news of their beauty and sweetness down to the
under-world, and the bees come up to visit them
from far-off valley nests and hives. The bees' en-
terprise is more commendable than their honesty,
for the honey in the gentians is not intended for
them; the flowers are trying to reserve it for the
butterflies, in cups so slender and deep that bees
cannot reach it by straightforward methods. They
know this, and they waste no time at the top of
the blossom, but fly straight to the base, gnaw a
hole through the blue corolla, and reach after the
honey from the outside.

The gentians have guarded against thieving
inroads of ants by various devices. At the en-

148 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS.

trances to the flower-tubes are fringes to entangle
the marauders, or thickets of fuzz to baffle them,
and one species has a little trap-door cunningly
arranged to shut them out. But despite these
contrivances, the flower is unable to save its sweets
for the butterflies. It succeeds in baffling the
ants, to be sure, but it is outwitted and defrauded
by the bees.

The blossoms of my garden are not more fortu-
nate, nor are the bees which visit here more honor-
able than their Swiss relations. The nasturtium
is plundered and pillaged in a shameful manner.
Its honey is in the base of the long horn, or spur,
which projects below and behind the flower. This
is a feast prepared for the butterflies. When one
of them visits the nasturtium, he perches on the
lowest petal, which projects forward and forms a
convenieAt alighting-board for him. Standing
there much at his ease, he can push his long pro-
boscis into the bottom of the spur, and in so doing
he must brush against the stamens, which, when
ripe, project beyond the mouth of the flower tube.
Some pollen adheres to his velvety head, and when
he visits another nasturtium he will probably run
against the pistil in such a way as to leave part of
this load of gold-dust upon it. He thus acts as

WINOED BURGLARS, 149

messenger for the nasturtiums, and honestly earns
the nectar which they bestow.

But the bee contrives to get their honey without
doing a stroke of work for them in return. The
sight of the great pocketful of sweets is a tempta-
tion too strong for her to resist, and she gets pos-
session of the contents by ingenuity, coupled with
fraud. The proboscis is too short to reach down
to the honey, and the spur is so narrow that she
cannot possibly crawl down inside it to gather the
sweets stored in its depths. So she gnaws a hole
in it from the outside and helps herself to its
whole contents. Thus she at once deprives the
flower of the means of hospitality and disappoints
the butterfly of its luncheon. She has not touched
the stamens nor the pistil. She has neither
brought any pollen with her nor helped to carry
any away. The nectar which she takes is not
earned, but stolen. Weigela rosea, the pretty shrub
which grows in everybody's garden, is robbed in
the same manner by bumblebees. Each May the
bush decks itself with a profusion of flowers in
shape like those of yellow jessamine. When they
open, they are creamy white, with touches of pink
on the outside; as they grow older they turn deep
pink inside and out. At this stage they generally

150 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS,

bear scars resulting from the abuse which they
have received. If we gather a cluster of the
flowers we shall see that three out of five are
marked, at the base of the corolla, with one or two
short brown lines, and on closer examination these
prove to be cuts made by the bumblebees. Honey-
bees have no temptation to deal thus unfairly with
the Weigela, for they are small enough to go into
the flower and get the honey in the correct way.
When we see the honey-bees among the nastur-
tiums, however, we find that they are quite as
guileful as their stouter cousins.

The honeysuckles are pierced and plundered
after the same fashion. The fresh blossoms un-
fold about sunset, and breathe forth a fragrance
which grows more and more sweet as dusk closes
in. This is a mute invitation to the humming-
bird hawk-moth, the vine's chosen messenger.
Some flowers are yet unvisited when dawn puts an
end to his night of revelry, and these remain open
through the day, and bid for the attentions of the
sunshine-loving butterflies. But the bee is a very
early riser. She comes betimes to the honey-
suckles' feast, though she is neither expected nor
wanted, and the butterfly arrives only to find that
the nectar has been emptied through a breach in

WINGED BURGLARS. 161

its delicate wall. Yet the honeysuckle stores its
sweets in very deep and slender vases, on purpose
to keep them out of reach of all insects save moths
and butterflies.

All the flowers of which we have spoken are
" highly adapted for insect fertilization/' but Na-
ture, it seems, has neglected to take a few last pre-
cautions, and for lack of these it sometimes hap-
pens that all her plans, pains, and contrivances
are set at naught. The insects have learned
roguery faster than the flowers have learned de-
fence — as the burglars in the human world have
become more proficient than the locksmiths.

These pillaged flowers present a problem to the
evolutionist. How is it that, while every one of
these blossoms has adapted itself in so many ways
to the needs and tastes of its own insect friend,
none of them has evolved any scheme to save itself
from robbery and ruin at last ?

The common geranium knows a trick worth two
of the unprofitable allurements of these thriftless
flowers, and keeps its store of honey securely
guarded from all insect vagabonds. In the gera-
nium the honey is at the bottom of a little well,
sunk into the slender green stalk which supports

152 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS.

the flower. What seems the stem of each single
blossom is really a combination of stalk and honey-
bearing spur. '^Pull off the two upper petals of a
single geranium/' says Grant Allen, "and you will
see that behind them there lies a deep pouch or
tube running along the top of the flower-stalk.
Cut the stalk across, and you will find it hollow
on the top; cut it down lengthwise, and if you
follow up the tube throughout its whole length
you will learn that it leads at last to a drop of
honey."

Wild geraniums store their honey in five glands
borne on an open disk, and any small insect can
easily thieve it; but the garden-geranium plans
more wisely and has secreted all its nectar in this
deep pocket. The sensitive surface of the pistil
turns down to meet the pollen on the insect's head,
as it poises on level wings before the deep nectary,
and this surface itself consists of five spreading
fingers covered (under a slight magnifying power)
with beautiful crystalline glands to which the pol-
len readily adheres. The irregularity in the petals
is a guide to the insect, the upper pair being
slightly raised on claws in order to let him get
more easily at the mouth of the tube.

WINGED BURQLAR8. 163

The nectar is so cleverly concealed that the in-
sect cannot divine its whereabouts unless he calls,
with proper ceremony, at the entrance to the blos-
som; then the irregularity of the petals serves
as a guide to him. The upper pair are slightly
raised on claws, in order to let him get more easily
at the mouth of the honey-pouch. In reaching
after the flower^s sweets he is sure to rub against
the stamens and receive a load of pollen with
which to fly to another flower.

So the geranium never parts with her treasures
except in just payment for services received, en-
forcing the apostolic dictum that if any one will
not work, neither shall he eat.

A plundered flower has not of necessity lost for-
ever all its chances of attracting other insects and
getting its seed set. After honey has been ab-
stracted from the blossom's cup, it begins to form
again. In warm weather and under a bright sky
this process goes on quickly. In cold, rainy
weather it is slow, or perhaps checked altogether;
yet there must be some moisture in the air, or the
dainty work will not go forward at all.

An old flower when rifled may not find the
energy to set about repairing damages; so that it
is only now and then that a robbed flower is able

154 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS.

to set itself up in business again. Hence we can-
not excuse the conduct of the usually exemplary
bee when she thus plays the blossoms false. And
while she is stealing the moth's supper or the
butterfly's breakfast, she is surrounded by flower
friends which offer her abundant dainty fare, ask-
ing only very moderate services in return.

00RB-FL0WBR8, 165

XV.

OGRE-FLOWERS.

The insects which eat plants are so many, so
adventurous, and so insatiable that we know them
only too well. The harassed gardener wages
ceaseless and hopeless war on them all summer
long. His happiest condition is only a sort of
armed truce, and it may comfort his sorely-tried
soul to know that there are plants in the world
which avenge their fellow-plants and "turn the
tables" by eating insects.

The commonest and the most wonderful of
these ogre-flowers is the little sundew {Drosera),
which Darwin thought a worthy object for long
and patient study (Fig. 31). The plant is found
in wet, sunny places. It grows in mossy bogs, and
in moist sandy spots along the New Jersey and
New England coasts. I have also met it quite un-
expectedly when it was making itself very much
at home on a mouldering log which lay at the
edge of a stream among the Catskills.

The leaves of one sort are round and long-

156 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS.

stalked, pressed flat in a rosette against the
ground, and rather red than green, even at the

first casual glance. A stem
which bends downward at the
tip bears a number of buds
and one white flower. An-
other less common variety of
sundew has pretty rose-col-
ored blossoms half an inch
broad, and long, thread-like
leaves which when they are
young are coiled over. at the
tips like baby ferns. The

Fm. 31.~SUNDEW fi^^^;"^ ^^ ^^*^ «^^« ^P«^
(Drosera rotundifoUa), only in the sunshine*

As they nod in the breeze and rejoroe in the

midsummer brightness, they certainly do not look

very bloodthirsty or mischievous. Yet at this

very moment they are lying in wait for living

prey, for the sundew is one of the most marvellous

of insect-eating plants. If we examine the leaves

closely we see that their actual surface is green

after all. They look red at first, because they are

covered with living, movable, sticky hairs, each

tipped by a ruby-colored gland no bigger than a

pin-head. Some of the leaves have their edges

OOBE-FLOWERS, 157

folded over or rolled inward; and if you open
them you will find two or three decaying carcasses
of flies.

When an insect lights on the leaf, attracted by
the bright red glands with their honey-like gum,
he gets clogged by the sticky hairs, and cannot
drag himself free for all his frantic efforts. The
hairs bend toward the prisoner till their glands
touch his body, reaching after him from all sides
so eagerly that the leaf itself is rolled by their
motion. The mora the fly struggles, the more it
excites the living hairs to grasp it, while tha sticky
fluid pours from the red glands till the little legs
and wings are so tied and plastered down that
they can strive no longer. The gum stops up the
tiny holes in the insect's sides through which it
breathes, and it soon dies, strangled and exhausted.

When the game is lured, secured, and killed,
the next thing in oJrder is the banquet. The little
victim is eaten and digested. The fluid, which
has all this time been exuding from the rosy
glands, continues to flow, but becomes somewhat
changed in its nature. If a chemist examined it
now he would tell us that it was like pepsin; and
it dissolves the sundew's dinner just as the pepsin
in the human stomach dissolves what has been

158 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS.

swallowed in the last meal. If you put a grain of
sand or a little bit of wood on the leaf, the glands
bend over it at first, but soon find out their mis-
take and let go again. And this wonderful plant,
like gluttons who stand higher on the scale of
creation, sometimes has to pay the penalties for
greediness. Darwin experimented on the leaves
with tiny scraps of raw beef, and he found that
some which had feasted too heartily suffered,
apparently, the pangs of acute dyspepsia. They
changed color, refused all food, grew limp and
dejected, and died miserably.

Sundew is not alone in its strange practices.
The Venus^ fly-trap {Dioncea rmiscipula) (Fig.
32), another dweller in the bogs, also catches in-
sects and eats them.

*^This plant abounds in the low savannas
around Wilmington, North Carolina,'' says Prof.
Gray, " and is native nowhere else. It is not very
difficult to cultivate, at least for a time, and it is
kept in many choice conservatories as a vegetable
wonder."

At the end of each leaf is what looks like a
smaller leaf, nearly circular in outline, about an
inch in diameter, and edged all around with stout
sharp bristles. This is the fly-trap. It folds

0GBE-FL0WBR8.

YiQ. 32«.— VENne' Fly-tbap {DUmcea mvBdpula).

160 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS,

down the middle, as if it worked upon a hinge,
and on its upper surface are six very delicate
bristles.

If these are touched with finger or pencil-point,
the open trap shuts with a swift motion, and
after a considerable interval it opens again.
AVhen a flitting insect brushes against the bristles
the trap promptly closes, generally imprisoning
the intruder. " It closes at first," says Prof. Gray,
" with the sides convex, and the bristles crossing
each other, like the fingers of interlocked hands.
. . . But soon the sides of the trap flatten down
and press firmly upon the victim, and it now re-
quires a very considerable force to open the trap.
If nothing is caught, the trap presently reopens,
of itself and is ready for another attempt. When
an insect is captured it is held until it dies — is
crushed to death indeed and consumed. The face
of this living trap is thickly sprinkled with glands
of elaborate structure under the microscope, but
large enough to be clearly seen with a hand lens.
These glands, soon after an insect is closed upon,
give out a saliva-like liquid which moistens the
body and dissolves all its soft parts. In a week or
two the meal is digested, and the leaf opens for
another capture and another feast. But its mo-

0ORE-FL0WER8. 161

tions are now more sluggish than before, and
after three, or at most four, orgies the trap loses
its sensibility and the leaf decays.

Another familiar vegetable trap is the sidesad-
dle-flower, or pitcher-plant, which grows in bogs
in our Eastern and Middle States. This strange
plant is often shown in florists^ windows as a curi-
osity. The hollow leaves are shaped like inverted
horns, and are usually half full of water and
drowned insects. A row of honey-bearing glands
running up the outside of the hollow horn tempts
the deluded fly to climb the wall of the ogress
castle. Having reached the top, he too often tum-
bles down into the hollow leaf. Here is a little
well all ready to drown him; and if, being of a
dauntless and persevering nature, he gets ashore
and tries to clamber up the sides of the well
toward sunlight and freedom, his escape is cut off
by a row of stiff, curved bristles, pointing down-
ward. These stand in a ring just inside the
mouth of the hollow horn, and, like the withes
around the entrance of a lobster-pot, make it easy
enough to get in but impossible to get out.

" It is impossible,'* says Grant Allen, " not to
feel a little thrill of horror at this battle between
the sentient and the insentient, where the in-

162 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS.

sentient always wins — this combination of seeming
cunning and apparent hunger for blood on the
part of a rooted, inanimate plant against a breath-
ing, flying, conscious insect. . . . These insect-
eating plants grow in damp places, rooted in
moist moss or decaying vegetation. In such situ-
ations they cannot get those materials from the
soil which are usually supplied by constant relays
of vegetable manure.'* Their ways of supplement-
ing the rations gathered by their roots are cer-
tainly wonderfully like the actions of conscious,
thinking beings.

And who can say positively that they are not
conscious beings ? Life, after all the nature-study
of our times, remains as deep a mystery as ever.
Those who try to define it only give it a new
name.

In our own frames we seem to have two lives,
one independent of the will and one controlled by
it. Much of our physical life goes on without our
knowledge and independent of, or sometimes in
spite of, our will. Wo cannot add one inch to our
growth, or retain one power or charm which age
wishes to steal from us. Our hearts beat, our
blood circulates, our food is changed to living
tissue, without any exercise of our thought or

OGRE-FLOWERS. 163

will. This mechanical life it is probable we share
with God's humble vegetable creation.

But who can say positively that there are not
some plants endowed with a fuller life than this ?
May not this wonderful little sundew, for instance,
be closer to animal intelligences than we incline
to suppose? Swinburne thinks so, for this is
what he says of it in one of his poems, those
poems which are like the image in Nebuchadnez-
zar's dream — part of fine gold and part of clay :

'* You call it Sundew ; how it grows,
If with its color it have breath.
If life taste sweet to it, if death

Pain its soft petal, no man knows :
Man hath no sight or sense that saith«"

164 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS.

XVI.
ORCHIDS.

'/ Fig. 83.— Butterfly-orchid.

A DISPLAY of orchids is like a floral fancy-dress
ball. The blossoms seem to be masquerading.
The characters which they assume have been sug-
gested by their insect friends and admirers, and
they are gotten up in costume as bees, moths, and
humming-birds.

Soberly speaking, orchids are the strangest-look-
ing of flowers, and their outlines suggest the forms
of living tilings. Fancy has followed out these
hints, and thus the blossoms get credit for being
better mimics than they are. The " spider'* (Fig*

166 WITH TUE WILD FLOWERS.

34) and "butterfly'^ orchids curiously resemble
the insects after which they are called ; but the
" bee," " frog/^ and " lizard " orchids were named
by some one very clever at tracing resemblances.

We can all see in the " swan-flower " the shape
of a bird with long arched neck and partially ex-
panded wings; but whose was the vivid fancy that
found among the petals of the " owl " orchid any-
thing like the round eyes and solemn face of
Minerva's feathered attendant ?

One member of this strange family is like a large,
gorgeous, spotted butterfly. The " baby " orchid
cradles at its heart the tiny image of an infant in
long robes. Some blossoms have an elfish look of
malicious shrewdness, yet close to their little
mocking faces there may bloom, fair and ethereal,
the flowers of the "Holy Spirit" orchid, with a
snow-white dove in each flower.

The blossoms of some are held aloft like ban-
ners; those of others droop like chimes of fairy
bells. One variety bears flowers several inches
long; those of another sort are so minute that the
cluster resembles a head of blossoming grass. The
plants are adorned with royal profusion : one bore
at one time tliroe hundred and sevcntv-eio^ht
flowers, and we read of an Australian orchid

ORCHIDS. 167

glorious with forty thousand blossoms! Every
hue of the rainbow is found among them, and
some that the rainbow has not.

The family is divided into two great classes.
*' Terrestrial " orchids are of the earth, earthy, and
grub a living in the soil, like any humdrum cab-
bage. The second division bear the strange name
of Epiphytes, a Greek word meaning growing
upon other plants; these do not penetrate the bark
of their vegetable hosts, nor feed upon their juices.
They are not boarders, only lodgers.

They require no sustenance except what they
draw from the atmosphere — gases, sunshine, and
vapor. All they ask is a home. In their native
climates they live on the branches of trees, forever
suspended, like Mahomet's coffin, between heaven
and earth. In the orchid-house they grow upon
bits of bark or cross-sections of small trees, which
hang from the roof by wires, and from these
great sprays sweep downward, bearing dozens of
strange and exquisite flowers.

But what is an orchid ? Not a floral eccentric-
ity, for some members of the family, to a casual
glance, show no peculiarities to distinguish them
from other flowers; not a plant living in and on

168 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS,

the air, for the terrestrial orchids wonld not
thrive on such ethereal food any better than we
would.

Orchids are members of one great family. At
first they appear very diverse; but closer examina-
tion shows that they are all formed on a common
plan, and they are all descended, naturalists think,
from a common ancestor. The founder of the
family, which lived ages ago, was a flower some-
thing like a lily, with three outer and three inner
flower-leaves. Six flower-leaves are still worn by
every member of the tribe, but one of these is
always peculiar in form. Sometimes it is pro-
longed into a cornucopia, full of sweets for the
expected moth or bee; sometimes it is like a
pouch ; and sometimes it projects in front of the
flower, making a platform for the insect to alight
upon.

The seed of the orchid can only be quickened
by pollen brought from another blossom, or, better
still, from another plant altogether. The undevel-
oped seeds will not be perfected at all by aid of
pollen from the same flower; indeed, in some
instances it blights them and acts almost as
poison.

Insects are the messengers which carry the life-

ORCHIDS, 169

giving dust from one orchid to another, and the
strange forms and gorgeous colors of the flowers
are worn to lure these desired visitors.. The
winged caller finds the domestic economy of the
orchid different from that of other flowers. The
pollen is stored in two long deep pockets, which
botanists consider as one great double anther.
The pistils appear as two gummy patches on the
blossom's face. The pollen is not loose like meal,
as in most flowers: it is collected into lumps, and
a number of these lumps are tied together, by
elastic threads, into a pear-shaped bundle, which
is fastened to a sticky button. This button is
placed just where it will be sure to adhere to the
head of any insect that calls for honey.

All these peculiarities of structure can be
plainly seen in the beautiful "greater green
orchid '* (Fig* ^^)> which grows wild along the
shores of Lake Superior and in the Alleghanies.
No bee or wasp can reach down to drain the honey-
tube of this flower, for it is over an inch long.
Indeed, we have hardly a butterfly which can ex-
tract the sweets fro.n this deep cup which Nature
fills and reserves for the night-flying sphinx-moths
(Fig. 36). Some of these have been caught with a
remarkable object on each great eye : the pollen-

170 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS.

mass of the orchid with its stalk and gummy

button, the latter clinging fast to the moth's eye.

How did it got there ? When the moth called

for refreehmeutfi, she alighted on the lip which

{Uatenaria

projects before the entrance to the flower-tube,
offering, like the roomy porches of the old inns, a
mute invitation to the passing wayfarer. Stand-
ing there at ease she reached into the long pocket,

ORCniDB. 171

in the depths of which she hoped to find some
honey. As she did so, her large, projecting eyes
were pressed against the sticky buttons, which

—1, Side View of Head of Sphinx-moth, with

'ACHED Pollen ■ masses. 2, Fhokt
View of the same, with Pendekt Pollen-

HABSES.

were in position, one on each side of the mouth of
the honey-tiibe. When slie raised her head and
departed, the buttons, with their attached pollen-
masses, were carried away bodily.
Were the moth's eyes like ours, a stick in g-plas-

172 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS.

ter clinging to the organs of vision would seriously
impede her future operations; but each of her
great compound eyes is composed of thousands of
smaller ones, so that even when some are tempo-
rarily blinded she has plenty left to guide her with
her load of pollen to another flower.

It seems evident that the pollen-mass will only
be pushed against the next pollen-pocket. IIow,
then, can the life-giving grains reach the spot
Nature has prepared for them ? " This is effected/*
says Darwin, " by a beautiful contrivance. Though
the sticky button remains firmly glued where it
first took hold, the stalk which bears up the pollen-
mass has wonderful powers of contraction.*' The
pollen-masses of some varieties of orchids move
downwards and outwards, those of other sorts
hang like plummets, and those of yet other varie-
ties move downward and at the same time con-
verge like the sides of the letter V. They make
these movements in about thirty seconds, and in
every case they place themselves so that by the
time the insect has flitted to another flower of the
same sort the pollen- masses are exactly in position
to strike the stigmas of that flower. "A poet
might imagine," says Darwin, "that while the
pollen-masses are carried through the air they

ORCHIDS. 173

voluntarily and eagerly place themselves in that
exact position in which alone they can hope to
gain their wish and perpetuate their race.'*

So viscid are the buttons to which the pollen-
masses are attached that 'they stick firmly to
whatever they touch. Moreover, the gum has the
quality of setting hard, like cement, in a few
moments, so that when the insect withdraws her
head after drinking her fill, one of the pollen-
masses at least is firmly glued to her.

But why do not the button-shaped disks glue
themselves to the spot where they grow ? Nature
has provided against this mischance also. As
they rest in their birthplace in the flower, before
the insect calls for them, they are set in a sort of
bath which keeps the gum soft and prevents the
disk from fastening itself to the place where Nature
does not mean it to stay. When the insect carries
the pollen-bundle to another flower and presses it
against the stigma, some of the cobwebby threads
which • bind the golden grains together break.
Perhaps the moth leaves but a small donation
here and carries the rest of her load to another
flower; so the mass of pollen is borne from blos-
som to blossom, and every grain is turned to good
account.

174 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS.

A lifetime might be spent in studying this one
family of plants; and a volume might be filled
with tales of the many strange modes in which
orchids compel insects to work for them. It has
been said that ** moth-traps and spring-guns set on
these grounds " might well be the motto of these
flowers. There are channels of approach along
which nectar-loving insects are surely guided, so
as to bring them exactly to the spots " where they
will do the most good.'' There are adhesive plas-
ters nicely adjusted to fit their proboscides or catch
their brows so as to unload their pollen-burdens.
Sometimes, exactly in the gangway to the honey,
there are hair-triggers communicating with explo-
sive shells that project the pollen-bundles, with
unerring aim, upon their bodies. Lastly, in many
species the petals project and form a pent-house
which protects the pollen and the gummy stigmas
from the rain.

Recently Fashion has interested herself in these
fantastic flowers, and wealthy owners of hot-houses
have grown reckless of the "almighty dollar"
when a rare or new orchid can be secured. A
plant valued at one thousand dollars has been
exliibited in New York, and florists have none at
a lower price than five dollars. One orchid cost a

ORCHIDS, 175

wealthy lady three thousand two hundred dollars,
and is surely the dearest flower on record since
the days when the usually frugal Hollanders went
tulip-mad and would expend a fortune for a root.

It is refreshing to learn that, after all, the
cheaper varieties can be depended upon to furnish
the most flowers; for they will bloom yearly with
proper care, while some costly orchids flower but
once in three or four years.

After reading of the toils, risks, and difficulties
of orchid-collecting, one only wonders that the
plants are so cheap. The regal flowers are natives
of the tropics, and those who gather them must go
into the most unhealthy parts of fever-breeding
lands, and pursue their labors where food is scarce
and where no comforts of civilization can be ob-
tained. They are wet through day after day for
weeks. One zealous searcher is reported to have
waded for a fortnight up to his middle in mud.
When we consider that these fatigues and priva-
tions are endured in moist forests, at the season
when deadly exhalations are rising under a tropic
summer sun, we cannot wonder that many orchid-
seekers have lost their lives.

But to discover a new orchid is but the begin-
ning of difficulties: it must be secured, packed.

176 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS.

and transported through the sweltering lowlands
to a shipping-place. Before the plants start on
their travels they are picked over, and damaged
specimens or pieces rejected, as they would decay
on the long, hot journey to the sea, and spoil the
rest. The survivors are fixed with copper wire on
sticks which are nailed across boxes for transporta-
tion. The exquisite South American varieties are
brought down the Amazon on flat-bottomed steam-
ers. The boxes containing them are piled on deck
and covered with blankets, a thatch of palm-leaves
is laid over these, and all day long the pile is
soused with water.

Even when the precious cargo has at last reached
the Atlantic in good condition, the collector's
troubles are not over. Not un frequently the
plants which have cost so much time, money,
danger, and fatigue die on the voyage. In one
instance only two plants survived out of a consign-
ment of twenty-seven thousand; and English im-
porters of orchids have paid large sums for freight
on cases which when opened were found not to
contain a living thing.

Orchids imported in this manner are of course
very costly. The cheaper and more familiar varie-
ties are not immigrants, but Americans by birth.

178 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS,

having been raised in the hot-house from cuttings.
Some pretty terrestrial orchids, northern cousins
of these tropic queens, may be found in our
country walks. The one who seeks them must
bo stoutly shod, for they are partial to peat-
bogs, damp woods, and moist meadows. The
little SpirantheSy or " lady Vtresses ^' (Fig. 37), is
common in low-lying fields. The white flowers
seem to have been strung into a chain and then
wound, corkscrew-fashion, around a green wand.
In latter May we may find the beautiful wild
"lady's-slipper" (Fig. 38). "Our Lady's slip-
per" our English forefathers called it, while to
the French it is "the Virgin's sabot," and to the
Indians "moccasin-flower." One sort is pale yel-
low, another is rosy purple mingled with white.
Both are so showy and lovely that the lucky
finder can seldom resist the temptation to pluck
them, and thus they grow rarer year by year.

Botanists tell us that orchids are the most
highly organized of all flowers; florists say they
are the costliest; our eyes assure us they are the
most gorgeous; and tlius they have a triple claim
to the title of the "royal family of plants.
Nevertheless one of their majesties is " in trade,

180 WITH THE WILD FL0WEH8.

— is, indeed, connected with the confectionery
business, for vanilla, used in flavoring, is ex-
tracted from the seed-pod of a tropical climbing
orchid.

AMONG THE LATE WILD FLOWERS, 181

XVII.
AMONG THE LATE WILD FLOWERS.

Ak anecdote tells us of some one who, like
Shelley, loved the skylark, but— he loved it in a
pie.

Many persons love flowers with a like devour-
ing passion, and pluck them so unsparingly that
some of our sweetest and fairest sorts are being
fairly appreciated off the face of the earth. The
spoiler " makes a clean sweep '' of them whenever
and wherever they are found. None are left to
go to seed, and the species will soon be killed off
like the buffalo.

To the real lover of nature a flower loses half
its charm when it is taken from among the lovely
and appropriate surroundings which enhance its
beauty as the setting of a gem shows off the gem.
When the fair thing lives so short a time at best,
he will not willingly hasten its death, and he
knows that some flowers must be left to go to
seed or we shall have none at all next year.

The insatiate picker, at thought of whom we

182 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS.

fancy the flowers must shake on their stalks and
cower under their leaves, is fast exterminating the
fairest of our autumn blossoms, the fringed gen-
tian which Bryant loved and praised. We fear
that there are now only a few favored localities in
which it is still, as Professor Gray says, " rather
common/' But we may come upon it in some
September ramble, growing in a meadow close to
the border of a quiet stream.

It is of that color rare in vegetation, real blue.
Most flower-blues incline to purple; but this is, as
Bryant tells us, the tint of the upper part of a
clear summer sky. The bell-shaped corolla is
raised upright like a vase, and the edges of the
petals are delicately fringed. The length of the
blossom is about two inches. A smaller sort of
gentian, with petals less deeply fringed, grows in
moist meadows in the Northern and Western
States; and these two varieties have a plainer
cousin, the five-flowered gentian, which we may
find in dry, hilly woods. This has several stems,
each about a foot high, and smooth, shining,
dark-green leaves; and about five pale-blue flow-
ers, which are always partly closed and which
never seem more than half-awake, are clustered
on the top of each stem.

AMONG THE LATE WILD FLOWERS. 183

In August and September, country roadsides
are gay with the blossoms of " bouncing-bet," or
common soap wort. They are in shape like single
pinks, and grow in large bunches. Their color
varies from white, through delicate, faint shades
of pink, to rose-color. Bet blushes so often and
so prettily that it is rather hard to call her by
that equivocal term " bouncing." The blossom is
so deep that not even a bumblebee can reach the
honey, which is accessible to butterflies alone. It
is nearly related to our garden-pinks and carna-
tions.

The leaves of the plant are dark and smooth.
The stems contain a gummy juice which makes a
lather when it is mixed with water, and this is
why our English cousins have given the plant the
unpoetical name of " soap wort."

It has crossed the Atlantic to us, faithfully fol-
lowed us from Maine to California, and liked us
well enough, on the whole, to wish to become a
naturalized resident of the United States.

In rocky or mountainous country in late sum-
mer we find the lovely campanula (Fig. 39).
It is often called bluebell, but it is in reality the
harebell of the Scottish poets and another fair
immigrant from the Old World. The branching

184 VflTU TEB WILD FL0WBS8.

Pig. 39,— Uarebell {Campanula rotundifolia).

AMONG THE LATE WILD FLOWERS. 185

stalks are very slender, and the leaves narrow and
grass like. The plant swings its dainty blossoms
from rocky ledges wherever it can find a cranny
for its delicate roots. The purple-blue drooping
bells nod provokingly just at that part of the
cliff where one cannot reach them from above or
clamber after them from below. They cling to
the sides of those Catskill cliffs on which are
perched the Overlook Hotel and the Old Moun-
tain House. They fringe the islands and parts of
the rocky shores of Lake Erie, growing where
they are continually wet with dashing spray. It
is wonderful to see them sustaining their frail
lives there — dainty, slender little things ! — where
winds and waves often rage furiously and where
many a boat has gone to pieces. They are visited,
and probably fertilized, by great brown and
golden butterflies, and rowers meet these enter-
prising honey-seekers flitting from island to isl-
and, across the open lake, and far from any shore.
This gorgeous visitor will find the honey he
seeks at the base of the bell-shaped corolla. Per-
haps we can secure a nearly-open bud without
running too great a risk of broken bones or a
watery grave. If we split it down lengthwise with
a sharp penknife, we shall see that the stamens in

186 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS.

a close ring surround and clasp the pistil, which
is no longer than they are themselves. In this
position the anthers split down the inner side and
shed their pollen, which remains sticking to the
top of the pistil. Then the anthers, having done
their work, shrivel away, and we shall find, even
in a newly-opened flower, that they have shed their
pollen and shrunk to mere little threads. It looks
as if the harebell pistil, at least, meant to set its
seed by the aid of pollen produced at home. But
it will not use any of the golden dust which the
stamens have bestowed upon it so liberally, and
unless its wants are speedily and exactly attended
to it will not set any seed at all.

On the inner surface of the corolla are little
scattered, stiff hairs. " Insects visiting the flower
for the sake of the honey ,^^ says Sir John Lub-
bock, " do not, as far as I have observed, generally
walk on the petals, being deterred by the stiff hairs
which are scattered on their inner surface. In
any case, however, they are almost sure, sooner or
later, to clasp the style, when they necessarily dust
themselves with the pollen.^'

When the pollen has all been removed, and car-
ried off to other flowers by the bees and the but-
terflies, the pistil separates at its tip into four

AMONG THE LATE WILD FLOWERS. 187

parts, and spreads abroad, in the form of a Greek
cross, four sticky little arms. These have till now
been all raised upright and pressed together, so
that the sticky (or stigmatic) surfaces were inside
and covered up. They had no use for the home-
made pollen, and "studied to avoid'' coming in
contact with it. Now that it is all gone, the pistil
spreads its arms abroad to receive by some winged
messenger a gift of pollen from another flower.

The cardinal- flower. Lobelia cardinalis, is an-
other beautiful autumn blossom which, we fear,
will soon be exterminated, " loved," not into, but
out of being. In fields around our town, where it
was once plentiful, it is no longer to be found.
The blossoms, of rich, deep " cardinal '' red, grow
on a long, leafy spike, and the lower ones open
first. The corolla is curiously split all along the
upper side, and through the rent an odd-looking
beak pokes up: this is the group of stamens, all
joined in a tube around the pistil. The long
leaves are shaped like lance-heads and toothed
along the edges.

The artist who makes studies from nature will
do well to seek this glorious lobelia. A flower
more effective for decorative work could scarcely
be found, and being uncommon, except in a few

188 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS,

favored regions, it is seldom represented, and hence
something of a novelty. It must be sought in
moist, shady places and along the banks of brooks.

The great blue lobelia, a near relation, is fonder
of the sunshine. The flowers of this meadow
beauty are bright blue, touched with white, and
are mingled with leaves and crowded down the
sides of a sturdy, hairy stem.

In marshy meadows and along brackish ditches
marsh-mallow opens its beautiful flowers. They
are of a lovely rose-color, several inches broad, and
in form like our garden hollyhocks. In August
and early September they adorn Hackensack
meadows in profusion. A recent writer prettily
compares this flower to a rosy country beauty,
glad in her innocent youth and glowing health,
and loving to tell with smiles and blushes how she
is admired. If we are shod so as to be able to
secure a mallow without the discomfort of soaked
feet, we shall see that the stamens and pistils have
literally and metaphorically formed a club, for tlio
many filaments and anthers are all united into one
smooth, stout stalk. At the top of this is a tuft
composed of the many stigmas and anthers. The
whole affair is like the small brushes used to clean
the insides of bottles. The hollyhock and the

AMONG THE LATE WILD FLOWERS. 189

rose of Sharon have the same peculiarity of struc-
ture. A gum extracted from the roots of the
marsh-mallow is used in flavoring those soft white
candies dear to our childhood. •

"Beechdrops" will be found in beech woods.
The whole plant, flowers, stems, and all, is in
pretty delicate tints of cream-color, straw-color,
and golden brown. Little scattered scales with
yellow or brown edges take the place of the leaves
with which the plant is no longer endowed. For,
prepossessing though its appearance may be, this
is a worthless character in the vegetable world — a
mere idler and hanger-on, too lazy to support
itself. It chooses rather to levy contributions
from the beecli-roots, and is at this very moment
shamelessly robbing that much-enduring tree.

Botanists recognize nine or ten species of these
" root-parasites,'' all alike destitute of green foliage.
The most familiar of them, to non-botanists,
is the Indian-pipe, called also "ghost-flower,"
"corpse-plant," and "pine-sap" (Fig. 40).

It is found in rich dark woods, often nearly
buried in fallen pine-needles or last year's decay-
ing leaves. The whole plant is white and waxy-
looking; the six parted flowers, which bend down
from the tops of stalks five or six inches long, are

190 WITH TUB WILD FLOW

Fio. 40.— INDIAB-PIPK {Monotropa uniflora).

AMONG THE LATE WILD FLOWERS, 191

also white and waxy. They begin to turn black
if subjected to the action of sunlight. Sometimes
this plant lives, like a fungus, on decaying vegeta-
ble matter; but oftener it fastens itself to the root
of a tree and sucks away its vital juices, as a leech
sucks the blood of an animal. Well may the
flower bend its head when it knows that its way of
getting a living is so dishonest ! — though the
white, unwholesome look of the plant seems to
show that, after all, it has not found dishonesty
very profitable. On the stems are scattered scales,
which are substitutes and apologies for leaves.

An honest, hard-working plant, which grubs for
its own living, contains in stem and leaves a sub-
stance called chlorophyl. By this the plant is
enabled to digest what it gathers from earth and
air, and chlorophyl is ornamental as well as very
useful; for to its presence is due the vivid green
of leaves. But the lazy Indian-pipe, instead of
making vegetable juices for itself, steals them
already prepared from the tree-roots. So the
chlorophyl which the members of this family once
had and did not use has been taken from them.
" From him that hath not shall be taken away " is
as true in the natural as in tlie spiritual world.

Long ago the ancestors of tliese parasites forsook

192 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS.

the paths of industry and rectitude, and began
to eke out their living with stolen food, sucked,
ready prepared, from the tree-roots. The leaves,
which are the plant's digestive organs, had less to
do in consequence. Fewer and smaller ones were
needed to do the plant's work, and so, through
many generations, they dwindled and shrivelled,
and tlie broom-rape and Indian-pipe became more
and more addicted, partly from sheer force of
necessity, to evil practices. Alike in the animal
and in the vegetable world, unused organs shrivel
away. Thus fish living in the dark pools of the
Mammoth Cave have in the course of generations
become blind.

The pretty eye-bright of our New-England
States has, as we have seen, entered on a course of
parasitism, and its roots already draw nutriment
from tlie roots of whatever grasses and herbs hap-
pen to be near neighbors. " It does so little harm
in a meadow," says Grant Allen, " that farmers
scarcely recognize it as an enemy at all. But this
we fear is but the initial stage of a downward
course."

Evil tricks will become easy because often in-
dulged in, and then they will be indulged in again
because they are so easy. This is the devil's circle

AMONG THE LATE^ WILD FLOWERS. 193

wliicli exists both in the natural and in the spirit-
ual world; and thus in organisms, as in souls, the
unjust are unjust still and the righteous are right-
eous stilL

194 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS.

XVIII.
THE HAPPY AUTUMN FIELDS.

The crowning labor of a plant is to form, vital-
ize, mature, and distribute its seed. For this end
the buds form and the blossoms blow. The
shape of the flower, its color, and its time of open-
ing are all so arranged as to secure the fertilization
of the tiny immature seeds. This object attained,
the flower withers and falls.

The plant, however, has yet a work to do, for
the seed must be nourished till it is old enough to
be turned out on the world to shift for itself.
When this is done the plant's summer labors are
over; and the growing things fade through the
autumn days, not so much because early frosts
have nipped them as because their work is done.

If we take up a box full of the mignonette,
which has bloomed all summer in the garden
border, it will survive its outdoor companions
and perhaps bear a few blossoms; but there will
not be again such 2)rofusion of sweet flowers as we
enjoy in July and August.

THE HAPPY A UTUMN FIELDS. 195

The streDgth of the plant has gone into its sum*-
mer flowers and into the seeds stored in numerous
little green and brown pockets. The apple-trees
have put their energies partly into the flowers
which whitened the orchards in spring, partly into
the fruit " pleasant to the eye and good for food."

Now they lay aside their green robes and pre-
pare for a long rest.

Every gardener knows that a plant cannot grow
all summer, and all winter too, for many succes-
sive seasons.

Greenhouse plants screened from cold must
have their time of rest, and florists artificially pro-
duce a dormant state in their charges by keeping
them in semi-darkness and partially depriving
them of water.

The dry season of the tropics, like our winter,
prevents vegetation from exhausting itself by con-
tinuous effort.

Evergreens have a time of lusty growth and
blossoming in spring, and for the rest of the year
merely ** hold their own."

The botanist's view of autumn is a cheerful one.
He knows that next spring's leaves are already
formed in the tiny brown buds which stud the
denuded trees, and under the bark is stored nour-

196

■WITH TUE WILD FLOWERS.

iahment on wl 'cl they w'll feed wh'le tl ey do
the r grow g ne'ct sp ng

The tl ftj t ees befo e cast ng away their
leaves sa e f om then son e n ater 1 to be
' wo ked over ad s d a^a Ihe f me or
steletou of a leaf s a netwo k of del cate ve s;
the 8^ aces betwee these e u a e filled n w th
CO ntless cell set almost is lose as tl ose of a
honeycomb and full of clear jellj (F g 41) In

F o 41 —Trans

Ibct on of a Leaf suow no

tl s float t u} g 8 of a s I ta ce called cl loro-

lljl n m ose ou^jh to g e tl olor to the

lole CO te ts of tl 11 is (1 o ^ a 1 lo-

w t _ tl e wl t u to tl e t Ihen

THE HAPPY AUTUMN FIELDS. 197

over the whole leaf — veins, cells, and all — is
stretched a very delicate, perfectly transparent
skin.

The oflBce of the chlorophyl in the economy of
the plant is digestion. By its action dead or min-
eral matter is changed into living vegetable tissue.
Thus the plant does its digesting in its leaves,
which we may regard as so many little stomachs.

Chlorophyl is only formed under the action of
sunlight. Leaves which have lived in a dark
place have been able to make but little and hence
are pallid. Celery leaves and stalks, grown par-
tially under ground, are almost white. When a
plant which has been struggling for life in a cellar
is brought to the sunshine, chlorophyl at once be-
gins to form in the numberless leaf-cells, and as
this process goes on the foliage grows hourly
greener.

We have all noticed the bright colors of newly
unfolded leaves. When spring showers coax up
the young beets, they appear with deep rose-red
foliage, making their debut in apparel as gorgeous
as that of Lady Peony, whose first leaves are of
much the same rich hue. Budding willow-leaves
are golden green, almost yellow. Young maple-
leaves are purplish red. Indeed, scarcely any of

198 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS.

the tender foliage which appears in April and early
May is really green.

Even in latter July the tender tips of growing
shoots are often purple, red, or pale yellow-green.
These rich hues of young foliage are due to the
absence of chlorophyl. As the unfolding leaves
spread out more and more surface to the sunlight,
green chlorophyl is rapidly developed within them,
and they assume their true color and their active
life. The tender leaves of spring, red, yellow, and
purple, are leaves into which chlorophyl has not
yet come. The red, yellow, and purple autumn
leaves are leaves from which the chlorophyl has
been withdrawn.

" What falls in autumn,** says Grant Allen, " is
not the living part of the leaves; it is only the
dead skeleton, empty cells, and stringy fibre.
The active protoplasm (that is, the jelly in the
cells) and green chlorophyl from each cell of the
leaf moved slowly out, with strange, groping, ser-
pentine motions, at the first autumn frosts, and
stored themselves up securely in the permanent
tissues of the stem. All winter long these living
principles of the dead leaves remain stored up
within the trunk or branches, and when the sun
returns to us again they are pushed up anew into

THE HAPPY AUTUMN FIELDS, 199

the bursting buds, and go to form the young
leaves of the new year/'

Of course, the material withdrawn and saved
this fall will not by any means be sufficient to fill

and color all next summer's leaves. Each leaf

that drops this autumn leaves behind it a bud
capable of unfolding into a pair or cluster of
leaves. The spring leaves will be started in life
with materials saved up for them by the thrifty
trees, but will soon have to go to work to form
more protoplasm and more chlorophyl for them-
selves.

Underground in bulb and root-stock rich food
is laid by for next spring's flowers.

The iris, Solomon's-seal and trillium, and many
varieties of lily have even formed next year's
leaves. They lie curled up underground asleep,
ready to issue forth as soon as the sunshine and
the south wind shall come to awaken them.

But sad to relate, some spring flowers seem so
eager to appear in their new dress that they can-
not wait till the proper time to don it. Their
materials are close at hand and their "spring
styles " alter not. The autumn sunshine beguiles
them, and some bright day they come too soon
into a world unfit to receive them. I have found

200 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS,

yellow star-of-Bethlehem, a May blossom, in latter
August, crocuses in October, and violets after
Thanksgiving. Fall rains sometimes coax the
dandelions to smile once more, and wild strawber-
ries sometimes flower abundantly in late autumn.
A few such mistaken blossoms, " born out of due
time," and the gay denizens of our garden-borders
which are not acclimated here, are the only flowers
really killed by frost. Poetic fancy laments the
fate of the beauties laid low by the pitiless north
wind, but Nature does her best to prevent any
such wholesale slaughter of the innocents. Our
native plants are exactly adapted to the climate
in which they live. Their programme is so ar-
ranged that each and all have time to finish their
pretty performance before winter arrives to silence
the bird and insect orchestra, dim the lights, and
take away the decorations of earth.

Some plants — the "annuals" — never awaken
from their winter sleep. One brief summer is
their span of life. But these are only a small pro-
portion of the vegetable world, and even these,
before summer is ended, have attained their full
growth, brought forth flowers, and set and ripened
their seed. They have fulfilled the end for which
they were created, and lived their life to its close.

THE HAPPY AUTUMN FIELDS, 201

They fade slowly through the bright early autumn
days, not because the first frost has blighted them,
but because old age has come upon them and
their work on earth is done. Where each blossom
died there is left a seed, or perhaps a little
pocketful of seeds, each a prophecy and a pledge
of the flowers that shall gladden the earth next
year. The possibilities of sweetness and beauty
are hidden under their small brown coats as surely
as "the music of the moon sleeps in the plain
eggs of the nightingale."

There will be many blossoms next summer for
each that has faded this year, for, in the words of
Hugh MacMillan, " Nature's graves have not more
of ending in them than of beginning.''

202 WITH THE WILD FLOWEHS.

XIX.

SEEDS ON THEIR TRAVELS.

The seed whicli dies
That it may live, laughing with lightsome blade
Death's dread away. — Edwin Arnold,

The plant not only gives birth to the seed,
nourishes it, protects it, and matures it: like a
wise and loving parent it takes care to place its
children advantageously in life, and screen them
as far as possible from coming dangers. Some of
the humblest jilants act as if they knew all about
the rotation of crojis — which, indeed, was patent
to the weeds long before it was discovered by the
farmers.

Nature in many cases takes great care that the
seed shall find its way to " fresh fields and pic-
tures new," instead of dro])i)ing close by the roots
of the parent 2)lant into an exhausted soil. The
thistle, milkweed, and dandelion provide their
seeds with little tufts of ilown which fly before
the lightest breeze and in autumn gales must
travel fast and far (Fig. 42).

8EED8 ON THSIR TRAVELS. 903

The seeds ol maple, elm, and ash, of the tmm-
pet-creeper, and of the pine-tree are made buoyant

Cotton. Valaiiao,

Fig. 43.— Plumed Seeds.

(From The Vegetable Worlit.i

with papery, ontspread wings (Fig. 43). These
winged and tufted seeds are found only in fruits
that split open at maturity. They are produced
by a great number of plants, and every pufE of

204 wrrn the wild flowers.

autumn wind carries along a mised company of
Buch tiny travellers.

Fio. 48.— WiNOKD Seeds.

(From Tht Vegetable Iforld.)

By means of little claws and hooks some seeds
are enabled to cliug tenaciously to tlie hair of

8BED8 ON THEIR TRA VELS. 205

cattle and dogs, the wool of sheep, and the cloth-
ing of persons forced to lend unconscious or un-
willing help to the burs' or " stickers' " schemes
for placing themselves in life. By the time we
discover the imposition that has been practised on
us by the weed§, we shall probably have gone
some distance from the place where the shooting-
coat or tramping-dress was utilized as a means of
conveyance by the clawed pests. We pick them
oif, and probably throw them into fresh soil some
distance from the spot where the parent plant
gi-ew, thus aiding nature's plans, and distributing
the weed still wider. The " stickers " which cling
to the coats of animals will by and by be rubbed
off and dropped to the ground.

The garden-balsam, or " lady's-slipper," has yet
another scheme for putting her children out upon
the world. At the least touch the ripe seed-vessel
curls up elastically, shooting the seeds away in all
directions. The pod seems to jerk itself away as
if it resented being meddled with. Hence the
balsam has its Latin name impatiens (impatient),
and its old English name "touch-me-not." The
squirting cucumber, when ripe, shoots out, as from
a syringe, streams of juice mingled with seeds.

Some plants insure dissemination by inclosing

206 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS,

hard or bitter seeds in a covering " pleasant to the
eyes and good for food." The peaches, which
make such wealth of beautiful color on the ft*uit-
erer's stalls, may have been brought a long dis-
tance for the sake of the luscious flesh around the
" pip," or seed. When the peaches are eaten, the
stones may be thrown to some spot where they can
settle down and grow. Peaches have thus travelled
" on their good looks " and sweetness all the way
from Persia, where the family originated. The
plum and the cherry have paid their way across
Europe and the United States in the same man-
ner.

Oranges, limes, and lemons are carried all over
the country for their refreshing juices, and when
the fruit is used the nauseous seeds are sure to be
thrown away.

Apples, pears, and quinces surround their hard,
uninteresting little seeds with a nourishing pulp
overlaid with fair colors.

Hose-hips, the fruits of bitter-sweet and moun-
tain ash, and all the pretty shining berries which
bead the autumn hedgerows, are gotten up to at-
tract the attention and please the fancy of birds
with a view to getting their seeds sown. " Om-
nivorous birds," says the great French botanist

8BED8 ON THEIR TRAVELS. 207

De Candolle, "often search for fruiis containing
little, hard, indigestible seeds, such as grapes,
raspberries, strawberries, asparagus, etc.; it ap-
pears that small seeds can traverse the alimentary
canal without alteration. When these birds are
migratory, which is often the case in temperate
and northern regions, they carry the seeds to a
great distance, particularly when in autumn they
leave northern climates to seek the sunny south.'^

In all the modes of seed -distribution already
mentioned, nature assists. They are, as it were,
regular routes, or modes, of vegetable travel.
Besides these there are a number of curious acci-
dental ways by which a species may be spread
over a wider and wider area. Seeds may be con-
tained in the little balls of earth which often
cling to the legs of birds. Darwin raised eighty-
two plants from one ball of dry mud which had
clung to the leg of a partridge. " With such a
fact before us,'' he says, "can we doubt that the
many birds which are annually blown by gales
across great spaces of ocean, and which annually
migrate — for instance, the millions of quail across
the Mediterranean, — must occasionally transport
seeds in dirt adhering to their feet and beaks?"

Nuts growing near river banks may fall into the

208 WITH TUB WILD FLOWERS.

stream, float out to sea, and be washed up by cur-
rents on other shores. The cocoa arid cashew
nuts, and the seeds of the mahogany tree, are
known to have made long voyages in this way.
Estimating the average rate of Atlantic currents
at thirty- three miles a day, Darwin calculated that
many sorts of seed would still have life in them
after floating across nine hundred miles of sea.
Several sorts, he found, survived soaking in salt
water for a hundred and thirty-seven days. On the
Hebrides and on the northwest coast of Scotland
Charles Kingsley found plants which he thought
must have grown from seeds brought across from
America by birds or ocean currents. Waifs from
the western world are every year washed up by
the gulf-stream on the shores of Ireland, Scot-
land, and Norway. Seeds have also floated long
distances lodged in the crevices of driftwood.
Many of these will wash up on barren sands or on
coasts where the climate gives but a cool reception
to a wanderer from the tropics; but of the num-
ber of seeds which take voyages each year Bome
will surely get a chance to grow.

If the voyage is but a short one, and if the
change of climate is not very great, the chance to
grow is of course all the better. Seeds from a

SEEDS ON THEIR TRAVELS. 209

wide area are every aiitunm washed or dropped
into the great lakes, and carried down the stream
of the Niagara River. Some settle down and
grow on the islands just above the falls, but in
this much- visited neighborhood every pretty or
conspicuous blossom is sure to be plucked as soon
as it expands. But down the river's gorge, below
the falls, there is a happy hunting-ground for bot-
anists, where the picnicker ceases from troubling
and where the excursionist never comes.

Plants also travel far by the unconscious agency
of man. They may be brought over seas in the
clothing, among the bedding, or clinging to the
tools of emigrants. Some of our most trouble-
some weeds are from Europe, and may have ef-
fected an entrance into the country in these ways;
or perhaps their seeds accidentally got mixed with
those of vegetables and grains brought by the first
settlers. Ballast-heaps near seaport towns are
favorite hunting-grounds for botanists, and in
these spots introduced plants are often found.

At the edge of the river Lez, near Montpellier,
in France, American wools are cleaned before they
are sold to the cloth-makers. Seeds of American
plants which have been brought in these fleeces
have S2)rung up in the environs of Montpellier; so

210 WITH TUE WILD FLOWERS.

that botanists have found, in this small place in
South France, many flowers belonging to the land-
scapes of Mexico and Buenos Ayres.

A little island in Tierra del Fuego was found to
bo almost covered with a growth of " shepherd's-
purse,'' a weed well known to English farmers.
It seemed impossible to account for the presence
of this green stranger. A naturalist at last found
that the weed had its headquarters around the
grave of an English sailor who had died aboard a
passing vessel and been buried by his messmates
on this lonely island. The weed must have de-
scended from a seed or seeds which had clung to
the spade used in digging the solitary grave.

Seeds may be carried from place to place mixed
with the earth used in making roads or railway
embankments. Wherever a certain sort of gravel
has been used, for instance in making repairs on
the Cincinnati, Hamilton, and Dayton road^ the
edges of the track are each spring decked with a
very pretty spurred violet not to be found in any
of the adjacent woods and meadows.

The movements of armies are apt to have the
result, unthought of by commanders-in-chief, of
spreading plants. Some fresh species were intro-
duced by the Germans into France; and at least a

8EED8 ON TUEIR TRAVELS, 211

dozen kinds, notably the scarlet poppy, were
brought by Roman invaders into Britain.

New plants are apt to enter a country, as
human immigrants do, by the railroad. Seeds
may be raised by the wind the train makes in pass-
ing, and may then cling to the platforms of cars.
They may be mingled with the litter on the floors
of freight and cattle cars, and brushed out when
(if ever) the cars are swept; or they may cling to
freight and be dropped when it is deposited at its
destination. This is why new flower-faces smile
provokingly at us as we look and long from the
window of a rushing train. They may be new
settlers which have not yet spread far from the
track.

They never seem to grow near the depot, unfor-
tunately, because that " other " who gets so many
of the good things of life has picked any that
were within easy reach.

There is a natural rotation of crops, as yet little
understood. Where a pine forest has been cleared
away, oaks come up; and a botanist can tell be-
forehand just what flowers will appear in the
clearings of pine woods. In Northern Ohio, when
a piece of forest-land is cleared, a particuilur sort
of grass appears. When that is ])loughed under, a

212 WITH TUB WILD FLOWERS.

growth of tho golden coreopsis comes up, aud the
pretty yellow blossoms are followed in their turn
by plebeian rag-weed, which takes possession of tho
entire field. In Central California a " complemen-
tary crop " of wild oats comes up of itself where
wheat has been grown the previous summer.

Sometimes a i)lant will a])pear in a certain sec-
tion of the country, occupy the land for a while,
and tlie;i vanish as mysteriously as it came.

A piece of forest land in the Adirondacks was
swe])t by a devouring fire. In the luxuriant vege-
tation which after a while sprung from beneath
the ashes was a great growth of young wild cherry,
though there was no tree of the sort within thirty
miles, and had not been, the natives said, for
years.

Recent discoveries go to prove that a plant takes
in from rain, air, eartli, and sunlight more nour-
ishment than it needs. This waste matter, which
is hurtful to the plant, is constantly being cast
away by tlie root. Soil in which one sort of tree
has been growing for years becomes, after a while,
unfit to support tliat particular tree, though well
a))l(^ to sustain one of another sort. In ground
where wild cherries have long grown, for instance,
the minerals which wild clierries especially re-

SEEDS ON THEIB TRAVELS. 213

quire have been largely used up, and this exhaus-
tion of the soil, with the waste from the roots, has
unfitted the earth for supporting other trees of the
sort, while an oak or pine might grow and prosper
there.

The young trees which appeared so unexpectedly
after the Adirondack fire probably sprung from
seed which fell long before on soil which had sup-
ported growths of wild cherry till it was unable to
nourish any more trees of the sort. They lay
latent, biding their time. "All things come," says
the French proverb, " to the man " (or the vegeta-
ble) " that knows how to wait.'' Slow natural
processes restored the lost elements to the soil,
fitting it to meet again a wild cherry's needs.
Then fire "made a clean sweep" of the green
things in possession of the field, and there were
air and sunshine and " elbow-room " for the seeds
which had waited so long.

There is something almost Hiagical in the ap-
pearance of new plants in a spot which circum-
stances have fitted for their reception. A pond is
made in a meadow, or the surface of the land is
artificially altered so that there is a wet spot caused
by drainage. Before many seasons have passed
away, the new body of water is surrounded by

214 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS,

those flowers which love to keep their feet wet, iris,
jewel-weed, bur-marigold, and loose-strife. The
seeds of these plants were probably dropped into
our meadow just the same when the ground was
dry and unfit to nourish them. Then they must
have perished, as .countless thousands of wandering
seeds do every year.

The pretty Primula mistassinica or drip-prim-
rose grows always and only on broken shale, ^under
slowly-dropping water which trickles over lime-
stone and brings down a little lime in solution.
If the water oozes too slowly, the flower perishes
of thirst.

If it drops too fast, the primrose is washed away
altogether, and without its tincture of limestone
the little plant cannot thrive at all. There are
only a few spots in the country where Primula
mistassinica can find all the conditions necessary
to its well-being.

These spots ar(f widely separated, but in every
one of them we find the flower.

Some plants, like some birds, seem to love peo-
ple, and are never found far from human homes.
A sparrow is rarely, if ever, seen half a mile from
a dwelling-house; and when we see the goldenrod
we may know that human habitations are near.

SEEDS ON THEIR TRAVELS, 215

The common plantain, or rib-grass, is called by the
Indians " the print of the white man's foot,'' and
follows the Caucasian race around the world.

The natives of Ceylon have a popular saying to
the effect that " the cocoanut-palm will not grow
beyond the sound of the sea- waves nor the human
voice."

Burdock, nettles, thistles, plantain, and the de-
spised " pusley" are social in their tastes, and only
cling to us more faithfully for all the merciless be-
heading and uprooting they get at our hands and
hoes.

When a remote piece of forest land is cleared,
and becomes at first a hunter's, miner's, or logger's
camp, afterward a settlement growing into a town,
the faithful burdock, pusley, docks, and thistles,
so different from the surrounding forest growth,
will presently appear. How do they get there ?
Where do they come from ?

How did it get rumored among the parent weeds
that out there through the forest towards the west
there was literally an opening for their offspring ?

We are as unable to solve the mystery as was the
Adirondack guide of whom we read in Dudley
Warner's charming Smiuncr in a Garden:

"We were lying under the tent of spruce-

216 WITH THE WILD FLO WEBS.

boughs/' says Charles Dudley Warner, " talking,
after supper, when Phelps (the guide) suddenly
exclaimed, with uncommon energy, * Wall, there's
one thing that beats me ! '

" ' What's that ? ' we asked, with undisguised
curiosity.

" ' That's pusley,' he replied, in the tone of a
man who has come to one door in life which is
hopelessly shut and from which he retires in de-
spair. ' Where it comes from I don't know, nor
what to do with it. It's in my garden, and I can't
get rid of it. It beats me ! '

" About pusley the guide had no theory and no
hope.

" A feeling of awe came over me as we lay there,
at midnight, hushed by the sound of the stream,
and the rising wind in the spruce-tops.

"Then man can go nowhere that pusley will
not attend him.

" Though he camp on the Upper Au Sable, or
penetrate the forest where rolls the AUegash, and
hears no sound save its own Allegations, he will
not escape it. It has entered the happy valley of
Keene, although there is yet no church there, and
only a feeble school part of the year. Sin travels
faster than they that ride in chariots.*'

F0E8 AFIELD. 217

XX.

FOES AFIELD.
PLANTS POISONOUS TO THE TOUCH.

Shakespeare says that the most perfect blame-
lessness does not save one from calumny ; and this
truth holds, it seems, even in the vegetable world.
Unjust suspicions attach to our most beautiful
wild vine, though it looks quite unlike the poison-
ous clamberer with which it is confounded, and
thus it avoids the very appearance of evil.

English ivy is honored by poets, who have
written charming things in its praise; and our
graceful American ivy, or Virginia creeper, is
equally deserving of honorable mention. It is fer-
tile in resources: it clings to the rock, if it can lay
hold of one, with a number of stout little "suck-
ers^'; but if no rock or wall be near, the suckers
turn into delicate tendrils which clasp boughs and
twigs, and thus the vine adapts itself to any station
in life, and makes the utmost of its opportunities.

218 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS,

It covers the blank wall or gaunt dead tree with a
living curtain, luxuriantly green all summer, and
glowing at the touch of frost with a wealth of
color which would put the most gorgeous tapestry
to shame. Yet no poet writes a sonnet to this
charming ivy of ours; the unbotanical public are
inclined to shun it, and slander says that it i^
poisonous.

American ivy and poison-ivy are not even akiii,
but belong to wholly distinct botanical families;
for the Virginia creeper is first cousin to the gi'ape,
while poison-ivy is closely related to the common
sumach. The leaves of the American ivy are long
and tapering, like lance-heads, and their edges are
cut into points like the teeth of a saw. They grow
in groups of five, the leaves of each quintet
clustering around the top of one long stalk, which
is the common support of all. Botanists regard
the whole cluster as one "compound leaf.'* They
compare the five members of the group to the out-
spread fingers of a hand, and hence the compound
leaves are called digitate, from the Latin digiius,
a finger. From the same comparison the vine is
sometimes called "five-finger."

The very young leaves are coral -red; those a
little older are pink, and when the five small leaf-

FOES AFIELD.

Fig. 44. — Virginia Creeper {AmpeU)pti» quinqu^olia).

(ARer drawing in Dtmoreefi Magaxiac.)

220 WITH TBE WILD FLOWERS,

lets are only partially unfolded, they might suggest
rosy baby hands half closed.

The Virginia creeper (Pig. 44) bears juicy,
shining black berries, which grow in flat, spread-
ing clusters on rosy stalks and ripen in October.
The vine is slender and clinging. Its main stem
is seldom two inches in diameter, and its boughs
are short, slender, and drooping. When it scales
a tree it often throws out no boughs at all, but
wraps itself about the tnank and limbs almost as
tightly as their own bark. Sometimes a consump-
tive tree is smothered in this close embrace; and
this is the worst misdeed ever committed by the
Virginia creeper, which is not in the slightest
degree poisonous, " any way you may take it.^'

Our real foe afield, the poison-ivy {Rhus toxi-
codendron) (Fig. 45), is, unhappily for us, ex-
ceedingly common everywhere,— on rocks, along
stone walls, in fence-corners, or clambering up
tree-trunks in thickets and moist meadows. It
only needs sunshine and a little dampness at its
roots. It puts out no tendrils, but clings to its
support with a great number of short, woody
threads or "aerial rootlets." These sometimes
grow from the trunk and larger branches in such

FOm AFIELD.

Fia. 45.— a, Poison-ivt (R/iks toxicndendron). b, Bnq-

Lisn Ivy (Hederii Mix).

(After .in.viiie Id i^tiiiorEsCs Mugazine.)

222 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS.

numbers that they almost hide the bark and give
the limbs of the vine a mossy appearance.

The main stem of a mature plant is a sturdy
affair, sometimes thicker than a man's wrist. It
throws out vigorous horizontal branches, and
when the vine scales a tree its boughs are often as
long as those of its host and victim. The leaves
grow in groups of three. The middle leaf is
raised on a stalk an inch or two above the point
at which the pair of side leaves are joined to each
other and to the long stem which upholds the
whole trio. The leaves are oval, and each narrows
to a slender point at the tip. When full grown
they are generally from four to six inches in
length and from three to five in breadth. They
are thin, glossy on the upper surface, and some-
what downy on the under side. Their edges are
sometimes rudely scalloped and notched, and
sometimes irregularly cut into large, jagged
points, but usually entirely plain and unadorned.
The young foliage is highly lustrous and of a
brownish-red color. *

The flowers appear in latter May or early June.
They are of a pale greenish-yellow color, and they
grow as grapes do in long, drooping clusters.
They exhale a delicate fragrance, like that of

FOES AFIELD. 223

white clover, and receive much attention from
flies and bees. On the vine we may see clusters
of last year's fruit. These are dried up by winter
winds, and are stony, . silvery in color, and about
as large as grains of barley. They made their
debuty late last summer, as little, pale brown
berries. Poison-ivy is often simply and vaguely
called "poison-vine." In early youth it some-
times stands erect, like a shrub, and then it is
known as "poison-oak.''

There is only one other native plant which we
shun. This is a near relation to poison-ivy, the
poison-sumach {Rhus venenata) (Fig. 46). It is a
fine instance of the truth of the copy-book axiom,
" Appearances are deceitful " ; for ^it is the most
beautiful shrub of the swamps and virulently
poisonous. Poison-sumach grows in marshy spots,
often rooted in a pool of water. It is a compact
bush, generally from eight to fifteen feet high,
though occasionally it grows into a small tree
from twenty to thirty feet in altitude. The wood
is remarkably smooth, very brittle, and covered
with satiny, ashen -gray bark. The main stem is
from two to five inches in diameter.

The leaf -stalks are of a beautiful rose-purple
color, deep yet vivid. Each bears nine small

WITS TEE WILD FLOWBRS.

Fig. 46.— a, Poikon-somach <fl/.tt« aenenafa). b, Noh-
POiaoNous i^uuACii {ll/irm typMrui).

(After ilrawtnu ia Veniorttfa JlfugaEtnc.)

F0E8 AFIELD, 225

leaves or " leaflets/' one at the tip of the stalk,
and the remaining eight ranged along its sides in
pail's. Their upper surface is richly lustrous, and
they are pale green on the under side. The blos-
soms open in June. They are very small and of a
greenish-yellow color, and grow in slender, loosely
branching clusters, from eight to fourteen inches
long. In latter summer they give place to little
greenish-white berries, sometimes marked with
delicate purple lines. The clusters of flowers and
fruit spring from the points at which the leaf-
stalks join the boughs.

In general appearance poison-sumach resembles
its near relation, the " smoke-plant '' of the gar-
den. With its shining bark, lustrous foliage, and
rich red leaf-stalks it looks like a stranger from
the tropics, rather than an aboriginal of the soil.
It may be found in any fresh-water swamp in the
United States, from Canada to Louisiana. Like
other bad characters it has more than one alias.
Indeed, it bears a different name in almost every
State of the Union, and is variously known as
" poison - wood," " poison - ash," " poison - elder,"
" poison-alder," " swamp-sumach," and poison-
tree." In Massachusetts it is known as "dog-
wood," though that name really belongs to a tree

226 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS,

of widely differing species, which bears large,
conspicuous, white flowers.

There are four non- poisonous varieties of su-
mach. Three of these are very common every-
where. They differ widely from the poison-
sumach in their choice of residence, for they are
found in dry, barren soil, on mountain slopes and
stony hillsides. Their foliage takes on gorgeous
and varied hues at the first touch of frost. The
leaves may be gathered with impunity, and as they
do not fade when pressed, they are the chief de-
light of the collector of autumn foliage. The
blossoms of these hillside sumachs are green and
pallid, like those of the scapegrace of the fan^ly,
but they differ entirely from the poisonous flowers
in their mode of growth. They are borne in up-
right, dense, compact, pyramidal clusters, and the
fruits which follow them in latter summer are vel-
vety, and of a very rich and beautiful scarlet.
They grow darker with age, so that the fruit -
cluster often presents a lovely gradation of color,
the older fruits at the base of the pyramid being
deep garnet, while the young ones at its apex are
the color of scarlet coral.

The fragrant sumach (Pig. 47), a rarer non-
poisonous variety,- also grows in dry, rocky soil, so

F0B8 AFIELD.

228 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS.

that any sumach found in swampy ground must be
regarded as an enemy. The flowers of fragrant
sumach are very small indeed, and they come out
before the leaves unfold. They grow in close,
slender spikes, like catkins, and the fruits which
follow them are scarlet and velvety.

Thus the smooth whitish or dun-colored fruit is
a distinguishing mark of the unworthy and dis-
reputable members of the family Rhus,

Poison-sumach is far more noxious than its
clambering cousin, but it does less mischief, on
the whole, as we are not so liable to meet with it.
The virulent properties of both plants are most
active when the sap is stirring and the leaves un-
folding in spring. They are also especially to be
shunned at flowering-time.

People are more apt to be alfected by the poison
if they are exposed to its influences while in a state
of perspiration. Some persons can gather flowers
and foliage of both plants with impunity. Some
can even rub, chew, and swallow the leaves of the
poison-sumach without subsequent unpleasantness.
Others are badly poisoned even by the breath of
the plants if it is brought to them by the breeze.
Such susceptibility as this, however, must be quite
exceptional, for poison-ivy is very common along

FOES AFIELD. 229

country roadsides, where people pass it frequently.

The Rhus cousins, doing their worst, cannot
kill their victim; but they can make life a heavy
burden for ten days or a fortnight. The trouble
does not begin till several hours after exposure to
the noxious influence of the plant. The symp-
toms of poisoning are swelling of the parts affected
or, in aggravated cases, swelling of the whole body.
Sometimes the swelling is so great that the eyes
are closed, the face shapeless, and the features al-
most obliterated, as in malignant small-pox.

The skin becomes much inflamed, and itches
and burns intolerably; and sometimes gatherings
or blisters form. The distress reaches its height
on the fourth or sixth day after the luckless en-
counter with the Rhus, and then the skin peels
off the inflamed parts, anfl the soreness and swell-
ing gradually subside.

There is probably a remedy in nature for every
physical ill, if we only knew where to find it.
The antidote for ivy or sumach poisoning is sugar
of lead, which may be bought from any apothe-
cary in the form of a dry powder. Explicit direc-
tions as to its use should be obtained at the same
time. It is dissolved in water and sometimes a
little tincture of opium is added to the solution.

230 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS,

Cloths are dipped into the liquid and then applied
to the inflamed parts. Sugar of lead is itself a
poison, and the two foes of mankind, Rhus poison
and lead poison, fall to fighting each other, like
the Kilkenny cats, till both are destroyed, or at
least rendered incapable of mischief.

Unhappily for those who a're susceptible to the
Rhus poison, it is not like the proverbial lightning
which " never strikes twice in the same place.'^
" A gentleman residing in the country," says an
excellent authority, "told me that he had been
seven times poisoned to the most violent degree."
"I have known individuals badly poisoned in
winter," says the same writer, " from the wood of
poison-ivy accidentally burned in the fire."

These foes afield are not foes always, for they
have occasionally rendered service to mankind.
The juice of poison -ivy, at first yellowish and
milky, becomes black by exposure to the air. It
has been used as marking-ink, and on linen it is
indelible. A decoction of the bark has given re-
lief to asthmatic and consumptive patients, and an
infusion of the leaves has been used with success
for the cure of paralysis. An extract of the plant
has also been of great benefit to persons suffering
from dyspepsia.

FOES AFIELD. 231

Poison-sumach, too, may have its redeeming
qualities; for it is believed to be identical with
the Rhus vernicifera, which yields the much-
admired black varnish of Japan.

* Though not strictly poisonous, the nettle might
be classed among our foes afield, as all will agree
who have inadvertently come in contact with it.
The genus Urtica (from urere, to burn) consists
principally of herbaceous plants supplied with
stinging hairs, each terminating in an exceeding
sharp, fragile point which breaks off after entering
the skin, allowing an irritating juice, contained in
a bulb at the base, to flow into the wound. If the
plant be grasped roughly, these points are broken
before entering the skin, and little or no incon-
venience results: hence the value of the advice to
grasp a nettle firmly. The small nettle {Urtica
urens) (Fig. 48) is familiar to all, and is found
near dwellings. It usually grows from eight to
twelve inches high, and has comparatively few
stings. The common nettle {Urtica dioicd) is
more liberally endowed with stings, so much so
that it has been quaintly said, "it may be found by
feeling on the darkest night." It grows from two
to three feet high.

* The description of the nettle is by M. I. Findley.

233 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS.

FOBS AFIELD. 233

Several common wild plants produce berries or
secrete juices which would play the very mischief
with us if they were taken into the stomach.
Hence little ones should be earnestly cautioned
against the common childish habit of munching
unknown leaves, stems, and berries gathered out
of doors. But poison-ivy and poison-sumach are
the only plants, among all the green inhabitants
of wood and field, to be avoided on account of be-
ing really poisonous to the touch; and these are
so easily recognized that we can all learn to know
and shun them, and thus enjoy our summer ram.
bles with quiet minds.

234 WITH TEE WILD FLOWERS.

XXI.

FOES AFIELD.
PLANTS POISONOUS TO THE STOMACH.

"Flowers preach to us if we will but hear/'
says Christina Rossetti; and there is a whole dem-
ocratic sermon against family pride in the fact
that no plants are better connected than the
poisons.

Aconite, which contains the most death-dealing
vegetable juices known, is closely related to our
pretty columbine and larkspur. English bella-
donna and henbane, which are sometimes seen
along our own waysides, possess deadly narcotic
properties, but nevertheless they belong to the
solanum family, which includes among its mem-
bers the egg-plant, the tomato, and the indispen-
sable potato. But these worthy vegetables are no
worse off, in the matter of relatives, than are the
carrots and parsnips growing in the next bed.
Those guileless attendants upon the corned beef
belong to the parsley family and are closely akin

FOES AFIELD. 235

to water-parsnip, poison-hemlock, and fooPs-pars-
ley, all exceedingly poisonous herbs, but all never-
theless first cousins to celery, lovage, and the
plant which yields caraway seeds.

At times, however, the disreputable members of
honorable botanical families prove themselves not
unworthy of their kith and kin.

" There is some soul of goodness in things evil,
Would men observinglj distil it out,"

and this is especially true of things evil in the vege-
table world. Some of the most valued remedies in
the pharmacopoeia are the expressed and con-
centrated juices of poisonous plants. Ordinarily
these juices are the very essence of death and pain,
but used at the fitting time and with scientific
knowledge they become bes towers of life and
comfort; hence plants which are poisonous if
takeu internally are all described and portrayed in
works on medical botany in company with boneset,
catnip, and camomile.

The list of our flora conveys the idea that every
living thing has its dearest vegetable foe. There
are bugbane, cowbane, dogbane, henbane, and
fleabane, fly-poison, beaver-poison, and lambkill.
Some of these names are merely memorials of old

236 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS.

superstitions; nevertheless it is true* that plants
poisonous to the animal or human stomach are far
more numerous than those which are poisonons to
the touch. Indeed, they abound on every side;
but, luckily for us, neither the children nor the
cows are likely to kill themselves, though the sum-
mer fields afford them great facilities for doing so.
However some old-school theologians may quarrel
with the doctrine, God's creatures are so rightly
as well as wonderfully made that, in the main,
they do like what is good for them and dislike
what is hurtful.

To our palates most poisonous plants are biting,
acrid, or nauseous; and animals are even more
clearly warned against evil by beneficent Mother
Nature. Indian tobacco, for instance, is poisonous,
but it sets one's mouth and throat on fire, and one
taste of it suffices for a lifetime.

Buttercups in quantities would be poisonous to
the cows, but they are so acrid that grazing cattle
generally let them alone, even in closely-cropped
pastures. A few buttercups mixed with the grass
act as a condiment and digestive: it is only in
large quantities that they are mischievous. It has
been proved by experiment that their expressed
juice, when taken into the stomach, is highly poi-

FOBS AFIELD. 237

sonons, and a small quantity of it has been known
to kill a dog. It contains a chemical called aco-
nitia, the most virulent vegetable poison known.

This murderous substance abounds in the pretty
monk's-hood, or aconite, which may be this mo-
ment growing and blowing in the reader's garden.
It is an enemy within the gates. "Any parent
who suffers it to grow within reach of his chil-
dren," says Bigelow, " is either ignorant, foolhardy,
or florist-mad; and any amateur not willing to
adopt some of the finest larkspur as a substitute
deserves to be condemned for a season to regale
himself on docks and dandelions." Every part of
the common garden Aconitum napelhis (monk's-
hood) (Fig. 49) is poisonous in a green state, root,
stem, blossoms, and foliage. When the leaves are
chewed they cause a tingling and a curious numb
sensation in the tongue and mouth.

This funny feeling might induce children to
munch the foliage, though it is not pleasant to the
taste, for boys, and girls, too, sometimes, enjoy
games in which the strife is to see who can longest
endure discomfort. A person who had foolishly
eaten some of the leaves of aconite became mani-
acal. The poison excites great gastric irritation,
which may be followed by stupor and death.

WITH TBS WILD FLOWBBS.

Fio. 49. — AcoNiTB {Aamitam napellui).

FOES AFIELD. - 239

The monkVhood which bears blue flowers is
believed to be much more mischievous than those
species which get up effects in yellow or in white.
This is truly discouraging to the gardener. Eeal
blue flowers are so beautiful, and Nature offers us
so few of them, that it is grievous to part with one.
But even the blue aconite is not the worst member
of its family; a still more deadly species grows
wild in the Nepaul Mountains, and is used by the
natives to poison their arrows.

The pretty foxglove (Digitalis), which is becom-
ing popular in gardens, is also poisonous to the
human interior.

It contains " digitalin,^^ which has a peculiar
action upon the heart, slowing it down and mak-
ing its pulsations irregular. Other effects of it
are pain, vomiting, and purging. All parts of the
plant are hurtful if taken internally, but the seeds
are especially mischievous.

The Datura stramonium or thorn-apple, pop-
ularly known as " Jimson '^ or "Jamestown'' weed
(Fig. 50), and opprobriously known as "stink-
weed/' is so familiar everywhere that a descrip-
tion of it may not be unnecessary.

It is a rank, vigorous weed, very common in
waste ground around dwellings, and along road-

240 mTB TEE WILD FLOWBBS.

FiQ. 60. — JiMSUN-WBED {Datura siramo/tium).

F0E8 AFIELD. 241

sides. The plant branches freely and grows from
two to five feet high.

The shining leaves, described as "tooth-edged,"
are dark green upon their upper surfaces.

The flowers are funnel-shaped, deep-throated,
large, and white, and plaited around the border
into five ridges. The fruit, about the size of a
walnut, is covered with sharp spines. The plant
is a native of Asia, and has been introduced here
by the gypsies, who use it as a medicine.

Like most medicines it can harm as well as
heal. No small number of cases of poisoning
have occurred among children from eating thorn-
apple seeds. All parts of the plant, and especially
the seeds, are narcotic-poisonous.

The leaves and roots of the May-apple {Podo-
phi/lliwi peUahwi) are drastic and poisonous.

English or green hellebore {Helleborus viridis)
(Fig. 51) has somehow entered the domains of
Uncle Sam, and has settled in the vicinity of
Brooklyn, and in Bucks County, Pennsylvania.
Its lush foliage may tempt grazing cattle with
consequences very grievous to the farmer. Pliny
states that horses, oxen, and swine are killed by
eating *' black hellebore," which is supposed to

242 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS.

be Helleborus viridis, or a closely-allied species.
The plant is an acrid narcotic poison.

Fi<3. 51.— Obbbn Hellebube {HelWxmtt tiridii).

In man it causes singing in the ears, vertigo,
thirst, a feeling of suffocation, swelling of the

FOES AFIELD. 243

feet, slowing of the pulse, and it may be collapse
and death. Green hellebore is sometimes grown
in gardens, as an ornamental annual, but its poi-
sonous qualities should not be forgotten.

The many shining lush leaves are borne upon
stalks which rise directly from the root. Each
stalk supports five leaflets which diverge like the
points of a star or the toes of a bird's foot.
Botanists would call the foliage " palmate " or
"pedate." Slender stalks rise out of its glossy
abundance, each upholding one or two large
greenish-yellow flowers, which, at first sight, bear
a strong family resemblance to their cousin the
buttercup.

On closer examination we find that the five
golden-green decorations, which at first appeared
to be petals, are sepals. The real petals, eight or
ten in number, are very unostentatious affairs
and will not be seen till one looks for them. In-
sect rovers know where to find them, for Nature
has fashioned them into little pockets which con-
tain honey.

Indian-poke, itch- weed, or American hellebore
{Veratrtim viride) is a native of the soil, much
commoner than its European namesake and hence
more mischievous.

244 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS,

It may be found anywhere, in damp ground,
from Canada to the Carolinas.

The appearance of this plant is prepossessing.
It is an erect spire-shaped perennial, from three
to five feet high, with curiously plaited leaves
regularly alternating up the stem and overlapping
each other at the base. The yellowish or greenish-
white flowers are borne in numerous dense spikes
on the top of the stem, the whole forming a py-
ramidal cluster. Each blossom is composed of six
separate and spreading sepals.

The root is exceedingly poisonous, and has
killed children who dug it up and ate it, mistak-
ing it for its innocent neighbor, sweet-flag root.

The vigorous leaves are among the first green
things to appear in spring.

This juicy foliage has tempted browsing cattle
tired of dry winter diet and eager for a change in
the bill of fare, and the gastronomic experiment
has been productive of disaster both to cows and
to proprietor.

FOES AFIELD. 245

xxn.

FOES AFIELD.
MORE PLANTS POISONOUS TO THE STOMACH.

The most mischievous of poisonous plants are
those disreputable cousins of the carrots and par-
snips, foors-parsley, poison-hemlock, water-hem-
lock, and water-parsnip. Their appearance is
attractive and they strongly resemble worthy
relatives of unimpeached respectability.

Poison-hemlock, water-hemlock, and water-par-
snip are not refused by cattle, and are highly
injurious to them. FoolVparsley is said to pro-
duce palsv in horses if they eat it in quantities, and
it has also done much injury to persons who have
been deceived by its close resemblance to garden-
parsley. Poison-hemlock has sickened and killed
children who ate its roots, supposing it "to be
"sweet-cicely.'^ All these herbs are exceedingly
common, and, as so many crimes are proved
against them, it is advisable that we should all
learn to identify and detect them.

246 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS,

Poison-homlock, or Conium maculatum (Fig.
52) grows in old gardens and waste grounds. Its
main stem is erect, hollow, stout below and much
branched above. It is perfectly smooth, bright
green, mottled with irregular stains of wine-color,
and covered with a white bloom which is very
easily rubbed off. The leaves are very smooth
and of a uniform deep green. The lower leaves
are very large, sometimes over two feet in length,
and are borne on long stalks. The upper leaves
have scarcely any stalks whatever. They are
broadly triangular in general outline, and are
finely cut and fringed. Each scallop, or tooth, of
these lace-like leaves is tipped with a little sharp
white point.

The white flowers grow like those of the wild
carrot, in a flat circular cluster which is composed
of many similar, but smaller, clusters massed to-
gether. There are " wheels within a wheel " of
bloom. The seeds are small and of a dull green-
ish gray, and up and down them run toothed or
wavy ridges. By these oddly decorated seeds
poison-hemlock may be distinguished from some
cousifts which resemble it closely. It can also be
recognized by its imposing size, by the claret-col-
ored blotches on its large smooth stalks, by the

FOES AFIELD.

248 WITH THE WILD F LOWERS.

luxuriant green of its foliage, and by a very offen-
sive, " mousy '^ odor which its leaves emit when
they are cut or bruised.

One would think that this last characteristic
would discourage children or animals from pursu-
ing acquaintance with poison-hemlock ; but it has
often been eaten with grievous results. Cattle
turned out to pasture in spring, after being shut
up all winter, are liable to eat this plant, and to
be seriously injured or even killed by it. Tliey
sometimes obscurely show the symptoms and
evince a stupor which is mistaken for stomach
trouble, or an excitement and fury which are sup-
posed to be madness.

Winter does not kill the poison-hemlock, which
comes up the second spring lustier than ever, and
often attains a height of six or eight feet — a liv-
ing illustration of the truth that *^ ill weeds grow
apace." "Mowing close to the ground," says an
excellent authority, " will destroy it in two seasons."

Conium maculatum is an unwelcome immigrant
from the Old World. Europe presents it to us in
return for many similar favors received. It has
been noted as a poison from remote antiquity.
The Athenians gave a cup of hemlock to those
who were condemned to death by the council of

FOES AFIELD. 249

the Areopagus, and many distinguished ancients,
among them Socrates and Phocion, suffered death
by the agency of this destroyer. Plato describes
the famed hemlock of antiquity, which, it seems,
looked exactly like our common Conitim macula-
turn. But the vegetable murderer of Socrates
differed somewhat from the common Conitim in
its effects : the dying sage suffered no pain, only a
great and growing numbness, which crept grad-
ually from his feet to his heart. The poison-
hemlock of our fields may differ slightly from the
Greek species, or it has adapted itself to the en-
lightened age of dynamite and the "Woolwich
Infant": our hemlock can not only kill its victim,
but it can make his death exceedingly distressful.
Some botanists think that the slayer of the
Greek sages was the too common Cicuta maculata
(Fig. 53). This plant is variously known as
American hemlock, musquash root, water-hem-
lock, snakeweed, and beaver-poison. It grows in
wet meadows and along the banks of ditches,
ponds, and streams. It often abounds among the
grass in low-lying fields, and is frequently cut
with hay. Fortunately for farmers it is not, in a
dry state, very injurious to cattle. Its fresh leaves
act upon them as a violent poison, and hence

250 WITH TSB WILD FL0WSS3.

Fia. 58.— American Hkmloce {Cieula maetilaia).

FOES AFIELD. 251

another of the plant's popular names, spotted
cowbane. Any of it within reach of a farm ought
to be exterminated.

The plant may be identified by its root, which
is composed of a number of fleshy tubers diverging
from the base of the stem and about as long as
one's finger. It looks like a cluster of small par-
snips tied together as hucksters tie them. The
root has a strong, penetrating smell and a warm,
acrid taste, and when it is pressed it emits a yel-
lowish juice with a pungent fl^yor.

The stem is smooth, branched at the top, hol-
low, and marked with little grooves and little
ridges running lengthwise. Generally it is
strongly streaked with purple. Spotted cowbane
grows from three to six feet tall. Its leaves are.
much cut, their edges are toothed like a saw, and
the leaf -veins terminate in the notches, not at
the points of the foliage.

The white flowers appear in July and August.
They are borne in a compound wheel, or umbel,
as they are in all the members of the parsley tribe.
In most of the numerous parsley cousins the head
of tiny, five-petalled blossoms is encircled by a full
ruche, or collar, of slender leaves; these leaves
grow at the bases of the little stalks which uphold

252 WITH TUB WILD FLOWERS.

the little wheels of bloom, and they form what
botanists call the " general involucre." But
spotted cowbane follows a recent fashion and
goes all collarless : it has no " general involucre,"
and only occasionally an apology for one in the
shape of a single leaf. The little circles of bloom
are not numerous, and instead of crowding to-
gether, as they do in the wild carrot, each keeps at
an unsocial distance from the rest.

There are many recorded cases in which chil-
dren have eaten the roots of Cicuta maculata with
fatal results. In western Pennsylvania it de-
stroyed several persons who ate the root, mistak-
ing it for angelica. Three little boys in Dutchess
County, New York, went in search of sweet-flag
root, and dug up and ate roots of the spotted
cowbane by mistake. Two died in convulsions
about an hour after having swallowed the poison.
" Many cases like these," says Bigelow, " must
have happened unrecorded. The plant is ex-
tremely common in many parts of the United
States, and I believe its true character is not gen-
erally suspected. A very respectable jihysiciiin
informed me that it was much used in his vicinity
as a gargle by people unsuspicious of its quali-
ties."

F0E8 AFIELD. 253

Though this plant is poisonous to cows, it is
eaten with impunity by sheep and goats. It
comes up year after year from the same root;
mowing the ground, therefore, will not extermi-
nate it, and only thorough ploughing will rid us
of it.

Mowing will, however, destroy fool's-parsley
{^^thusa cyyiapium) (Fig. 54) for the summer is
its span of life. Fool's-parsley is a slender herb,
with a small, branched, tapering root of a pale
brownish-white color. Its erect stem is from six
inches to two feet high and has many ascending
branches. It is perfectly smooth, hollow at the
base, solid above, and of a bright apple-green color
tinged with red. Stains and streaks of red and'
purple brand most of the evil-doers of the parsley
tribe.

The lace-like leaves of ^tliusa are broadly tri-
angular in general outline, very smooth on both
sides, and of a rich dark green, often tinged
with dull red. Except for these criminal marks
the foliage of jElhusa resembles that of the
straight-leaved garden -parsley so closely that the
poisonous plant has often been mistaken for the
worthy vegetable with disastrous results. Curled
parsley can be at once distinguished from its dis-

254 WITH THE WILD FLOWBBB.

FOES AFIELD, 255

reputable relative by its crisp leaves, and it is
recommended that curled parsley only should be
cultivated, to avoid mistakes. No mistake could
arise were the plants compared when in blossom,
for the flowers of fool's-parsley are white, while
those of garden-parsley are yellow.

The whole plant of jEthusa has a burning taste,
and when the leaves are bruised they emit a pe-
culiar disagreeable odor altogether different from
that of garden-parsley. FooFs-parsley is a com-
mon weed about cultivated ground in the Northern
and Eastern States, and it abounds in the vicinity
of Boston. It blossoms in July. In all recorded
experiments this plant has had a poisonous effect
upon animals.

Water-parsnip {Slum) (Fig. 55) also blooms in
later summer. It grows in swamps and marshy
meadows and along the banks of streams and
ditches. Often it is found rooted in water with
some of its leaves submerged. This floating foli-
age is lace-like, and the leaves which rise into the
sunshine are also delicately cut and toothed. The
white flowers resemble those of Ciaita, but they
are surrounded by an involucre of several tiny
leaves.

Cowbane, another water- loving member of the

256 WITB THE WILD FL0WER8.

parsley family, is also poisonons. It, too, has
compound, or divided, leaves and a wheel-shaped

mass of delicate white flowers; but its individual
characteristics are so obscure and so variable that

FOES AFIELD, 257

it would be almost impossible to describe them,
even by resorting to crabbed botanical terms.

Those parsley relations, or umhelliferm, which
are amphibious in their tastes and aquatic in their
habits need not be distinguished one from the
other. They can all be included in one sweeping
condemnation. It is a rule sanctioned by the ob-
servations of medical botanists that all unihelUf-
ercB gi'owing in and about water are poisonous.
There are very few exceptions to thisS-ule; so
every plant growing in a wet place and bearing
lace-like leaves and blossoms closely resembling
those of the wild carrot must be considered guilty
till it is proved innocent.

The baneful juices of these poisonous iwiheUif-
ercB are called, in medical language, acro-narcotic
poisons. They act chiefly on the brain and spinal
marrow, producing dizziness and stupor, and
sometimes a sort of intoxication, delirium, and
convulsions. There is generally much nausea,
and Nature's effort to rid the stomach of the hurt-
ful stuff should be assisted by a dose of sulphate
of zinc or of tartar emetic : the first is preferable
on account of its speedy action. Hot lemon-juice
and hot vinegar should be given, but they must
on no account be administered before the poison

358 WITH THE WILD FLOWERS.

is expelled from the stomach. Strong coffee and
strong tea are the best antidotes for the stupor,
which is sometimes almost overpowering. The
patient must not be allowed to yield to it, but his
attention must be aroused by every possible means.

But as an ounce of prevention is worth many
pounds of cure, children should be earnestly cau-
tioned against eating unfamiliar roots, seeds, and
berries. " Sweet-cicely '^ and angelica* differ but
slightly in appearance from violently poisonous
members of the parsley family; most disastrous
mistakes have thus occurred, and hence " sweet-
cicely '^ and angelica had better be forsworn alto-
gether.

The plants described are injurious only when
they are taken into the stomach. None of them
is in the least degree poisonous to the touch, and
if any one of them has made its home in our ter-
ritory, we need not fear to grasp it boldly, pluck
it up, and cast it out.

INDEX

PAGB

Aconite 234,238

Aconiiia 237

Aconitum napellus 238

Adam's needle and thread 115

Adder's-tougue 90

^nothera biennis 117

.^Ethtisa cynapium 253, 254

Alder-tassels 47

Almond 34

Amaryllis 19

Ampelopsis quinquefolia 219

Anemone nemei'osa 60

Anemone, rue 61

Anemone, wood 59

Anemones 43, 56

Angelica 258

Annuals 200

Anther , 19

Apple-blossoms 85

Aquilegia Canadensis 91

Arbor-vitae 25

Ariscema triphyllum 69

Arum, arrow 74

Arum, water. . • , 73

Arum, wild 68

259

Ash 203

Aspbodel 4d

Aster 106

Aslera 67,85

Balsam, garden 184, 205

BalMim, wild 132

Barberry 19

Bean H. 118

BeaD, Cflstor-oll 80

Bean, haricot 13

Bcavei- poison 349

Bcecbdrops 189

Beet M

Belladoana 334

Birch 34,47

BlUeraweet 57,206

B1t«(iing-heart 97

Bluebell 66, 183

Bhiellag 131

Bhie-flags 138

Boneset.. 57, 100

Bolrychiiim 15

Boiiuciiig-lioL 188

Brooklime 138 -

Broiimrape. 193

Buds 84-39

Bum 305

fiiill«T-«nd-egga 144

Bullercup 63,85,236

Cabbage, skunk 82

Calico-bush 94

Calla 68

Calla, marah 73

Culyx 17

Campanula 188

Campanula rolundifoUa 184

CampioD 148

CaruatioQ 17

Carrot 44

Carrot, wild 46

Catcb-fly 1. 93, 142

Oat-tail 183, 126

Cherry- bloom 76, 78

Cieuta maeulata S4B

Cbloropbjll 191,197

Chrysautlieinum 106

Clover. 37,85

Clover, purple 37

Clover, I'ed SI

Clover, sleeping. Ill

Clover, while 67

Columbine 85, 90, 91, 384

Conium maculnium 246

CoreopaU 813

Corn iDdlan 80

Corn-sillt 82

Coro-cociik- 13

Corpse-plant 189

Corolla 17

Cotton 303

Cotlonwood 76, 83

Cowbane 355

Cowbaue, spotted 351

Crane's-bill 96

CrociiB 43.85.87, 200

Cryptognms 7, 11. 14

Cuckoo-buds 86

262 INDEX,

PAGE

Cuckoo-pint 73

Cucumber, squirting 205

Cuscuta , 3

Cyclamen 141

Cycus 124

Cypripedium niveum 179

Daffodil 41,45

Dahlias 107

Daisies 103, 112

Daisies, field 100

Daisy 57

Dandelion 61 , 202

Dandelions 56, 112, 200

Diatoms 8

Datura stramonium 239

Dcsmids. 9

Diceutra 97

Digitalis 239

Dioncea muscipula 159

Dodder 3

Dros&ra rotundifolia 155

Dutcbman's-breecbes 97

Eel-grass 122, 135

Elm 203

Epidermis 124

EpipJiytes 166

Enifironium ♦ 90

Eye-brigbt 192

Fern, bracken 15

Fern, leaf 13

Fern, maidenhair 15

Ferns 8. 9, 14

INDEX, 263

PAGE

Filament 19

Fleur-de-lis 132

Flower-de-luce 133

Flower, cardinal 187

Flower, divided 50

Flower, moccasin 178

Flower, perfect 50

Flower, watereide 122

Flowers, composite 107

Flow^ers, disk 107

Flowers, pond 122

Flowers, ray 104, 107

Flowers, side-saddle 161

Flowers, willow 51

Fool's-parsley 235, 245, 253, 254

Foxglove 239

F uchsia 66, 141

Fungi 8, 11

Fungus 1, 4

Garlic 20

Gentian, blue 147

Gentian, five-flowered 182

Gentian, fringed 182

Geranium 63, 88, 151

Geranium, Lady Washington 64

Geranium maeulatum 96

Geranium Bobertianum 98

Geranium, rose 64

Geranium, wild, 96, 98, 152

Ghost-flower 3, 189

Gladiolus 42

Gold cups 86

Goldeniod „ . .57, 85, 106

Grapevine 112

Habenaria orbieulala 170

Harebell 183

Heartsease 04

BedtraMias 221

Hepadca 56.58

Hellebore, Americau 343

Hellebore, Eugliah 241

Hellebore, green 341, 343

JJelleborua tii-idii 841, 342

Hemlock, American 349, 250

Hemlock, poison 385, 345, 347

Hemlock, water 345,249

Heubaoe 334

Hollyliock 30, 188

Houey-guideB 63

Honeysuckle 114

HoDeysiickles 150

Hoi'setaUB 8,9

HyacintU 42,43.66,87,88

Hyacioths 85

Hydrangeas 16

ImpalieDS 205

Impatient fnlm 133

ludian pipe 3, 189

Indiau-poke 243

Indian tobacco 386

Iris 19,42,09.199.814

Iris, wild 131

Ironweed 106

Itchweed 243

Ivy. American 217

Ivy, English 317

Ivy, poison 230

JiLCket-aud-breccbcs 00

INDEX. 265

pag:*

Jack-in-tlie-pulpit 68

Jewel-weed 132, 132, 133, 214

Jimson-weed 240

King-cups 86

Lady sour-grass 88, 113

Lady's-slipper 134, 178, 205

Lady's-tresses 178

Larkspur 234

Laurel 19

Laurel, mountain 27, 94

Laurel, swamp 94

Lettuce 106

Lichens 8, 9, 10, 11

Lichens, rock 9

Lily 1,20, 122

Lily, calla 28,68

Lily, day 115

Lily, Japan 115

Lily-of-the-valley 66, 141

Lily, pond 43

Lily, tiger 1 42

Lily, water 63, 99, 122

Linaria 144

Linaria vulgaris 145

Lobelia, blue 188

Lobelia cardinalis 187

Locust 113

Locust, honey 37

Loose-strife 214

Lords-and-ladies 73

Maple 50, 203

Maples, red 47

Marigold 106

266 INDEX.

PAGE

Marigold, bur 314

Marsh-calla 73

Marshmallow 188

May-apple 241

Microscopic plauts 4

Milkweed 203

Monk's-hood 237, 239

Monoiropa unifloi^a 190

Morning-gloiy 17

Mosses 8, 9

Moulds 6

Mountain ash 206

Mullein 57

Mushrooms 11

Musk-plant 20

Musquash-root 249

Narcissus 42, 45

Nasturtium 134,148

Nettle 231

Nettles 215

Oak 81

Odontoglossum coi'datum 167

Ogre-flowers. 155

Onion 44

Orchid, baby 165

Orchid, bee 165

Orchid, butterfly 164

Orchid, epiphytes 166

Orchid, frog 165

Orchid, greater green 169

Orchid, Holy Spirit 165

Orchid, lizard 165

Orchid, owl 165

INDEX, 267

PAGE

Orchid, spider 164

Orchid, swan-flower 165

Orchid, terrestrial 166

Orchids 164

Ovaries 82

Oyster-plant 44

Oxalis 12, 113

Pansy 63, 140

Parasitic plants 2

Parsnip 44

Parsnip, water 235. 245, 255. 256

Peltandra virginica 74, 75

Perianth 87

Petal 17

Petunia 93

Phanerogams 7, 11

Phlox (pollen-grain) 20

Pine-sap 189

Pine (flower) ' 81

Pine (seed) 203

Pinks, wild 92

Pinks, scarlet 92

Pipe, Indian 3, 189

Pistil 20

Pistillate flowers 81

Pitcher-plant 161

Plantain 215

Podophyllum peltatum 241

Poison-alder 225

Poison-ash 225

Poison-elder 225

Poison-ivy 221, 223

Poison-oak 223

Poison-sumach , .... 225

268 INDEX.

PAGE

Poison-tree 225

Poison-viDe 223

Poison-wood 225

Poplar, silver 88

Poppy (pistil) 21

Poppy, scarlet 211

Portulaca r 110

Pollen 19

Pollen-grains 20

Pollen-tube 78

Primrose, evening 20, 118

Primrose, Chinese (pistil) 21

Primrose, drip 214

Primula mistaasinica 214

Pasley 110, 215

Radish * 44

Rag-weed. 212

Bhvs aramattca^ 227

RJius toxicodendron 221

B7m8 iyphina 224

Bhua venenata 224

B7iii8 mrnidfera 231

Rib-grass 215

Rose 17, 18

Rose, cabbage 16, 23

Rose-hips 206

Rose of Sharon 20. 189

Rose, wild 28

Root-parasites 189

Rushes, scouring 9

Sepal 17

Shepherd's-purse 210

Sium aicutctfolium 256

INDEX. 269

PAGE

Smoke-plant 225

Snakeweed 249

Snapdragon 144

Snapweed 134

Snowballs 16

Snowdrop 42, 66, 141

Soapwort 188

Solanum 19, 234

Solomon's- seal 199

Speedwell 122

Speedwell, water 128

Speedwell, common \ 129

8(pirant1ie8 gracilis 177

Spores 11, 14

Squills 86

Stamens 18, 19

Staminate flowers 81

Star-of -Bethlehem 200

Stigma 21

Stomata 124

Stone-crop 88

Stork's-beak 96

Strawberries, wild 200

Sumach 37

Sumach, fragrant 227

Sumach, poison 226

Sumach, swamp • 225

Sundew 155

Sunflower 101, 106

Sweet-cicely 245, 258

Sweet-william 142

Tape-grass 135

Taraxacum 61

270 INDEX.

PAGE

Teasel 151

Thistle 85, 106, 202, 215

Thistle, swamp 142

Toad-flax 145

Toadstools 11

Touch-me-not 134, 205

Trillium .' 87,88. 199

Truffles 11

Tulip 42

Tunkia japonica 115

Turnip 44

Turnip, Indian '. 68. 69

UmbellifercB 257

Urtica urens 231

Urtica dioica 231

Vallisneria 134

Venus' fly-trap 158

Vera Iconica 181

Verat7'um viride 243

Veronica 128

Veronica officinalis 129

Violet 62,65, 140

Violet, dogtooth 90

Violet, pansy 64

Violet, spurred 210

Violets 56. 86, 200

Virginia creeper 217

Virgin's sabot 178

Wake-robin 89

Weigela rosea 149

Wheat 20,25

INDEX, "ill

PAGE

Willow-pussies 47, 85

Willow, swamp 50

Wind-flower 61

Wistaria 113

Yucca 116

Yucca JUamentosa 115

BAKER & TAYLOR CO.' 8 PUBLICATIONS.
TWO OUT-OF-DOOBS BOOKS.

WITH THE WILD FLOWERS, from Pussy-willow
TO TrasTLE-DOWN. A rural chronicle of our flower
friends and foes, describing them under their
familiar English names. By E. M. Hardinge.
16mo, cloth, illustrated. $1.00.

This book is a delightfully chatty volume, carrying us
through the whole season with the wild flowers as they make
their appearance. It is intended for those who love flowers as
flowers, and who like to read about them without getting
into too close contact with technical terms and classifications.

The author is well known as a writer for the New York
* * Evening Post " and the magazines, and her articles are
gladly welcomed by those who like both nature and literature.

THE AMATEUR AQUARIST. By Mark Samuel,
Aquarist to Columbia College, New York. 16mo,
cloth, illustrated. $1.00.

An American aquarium book indispensable to every one who
wishes to start an aquarium or who already has one. It con-
tains complete instructions for making a new self-sustaining
aquarium requiring change of water but once a year, and tells
how, when, and where to find suitable water-plants and fishes.
With over fifty new illustrations from life, by which to iden-
tify the specimens.

Sent, postpaid, on receipt of tlie price, by

THE BAKER & TAYLOR CO., Pubushers,

5 AND 7 East Sixteenth St., New York.

BAKER d TAYLOR CO.'S PUBLICATIONS.
TWO BOOKS ON ART.

CRAYON PORTRAITURE. Complete Instructions
for Making Crayon Portraits on Crayon Paper and
on Platinum, Silver, and Bromide Enlargements.
Also, Directions for the Use of Transparent Liquid
Water-colors and for Making French Crystals. By
J. A. Barhydt. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, revised
and enlarged edition; paper, 50 cents; cloth, $1.00.

A carefully prepared hand-book for professional and ama-
teur artists, written with special reference to giving such full
explanation of details as to furnish to those who desire to take
up crayon work a full knowledge of all the materials required
and their use and manipulation, together with all the methods
and processes employed. The coloring of photographs, engrav-
ings, and photogravures with Liquid Water-colors and the
making of French Crystals are also fully treated.

The author's successfully accomplished intention is to fur-
nish a manual that will enable the student to undertake the
making of crayon portraits for a livelihood or to gratify his
taste as an amateur.

AMATEUR PHOTOGRAPHY. A Practical Guide
for the Beginner. By W. I. Lincoln Adams, Editor
of " The Photographic Times," *' The American
Annual of Photography," ** The Photographic In-
structor," etc., etc. Illustrated. Paper, 50 cents ;
cloth, $1.00.

A treatise for the amateur, by one whose experience of, and
immediate contact with, the wants of those who are using the
camera in and out of doors especially lit him to prepare a
hand-book that will both serve as a guide to the ordinary work,
and will introduce the reader to new fields of interest.

Contents. — I. Apmratus. 11. In the Field. III. In the
Dark Room. IV. Printing and Toning. V. Portraiture.
VI. Instantaneous Photography. VII. Flash-light Photog
raphy. Vlll. Orthochromatic or Color-sensitive Photogra-
phy. IX. CoDiposite Photography. X. The "Fathers of
Photography.'' Appendix, Tables, Formulae, etc.

Sent, postpaid, on receipt of tlie pi'ice, by

THE BAKER & TAYT.OR CO., Publishers,

5 AND 7 East Sixteenth St., New York.

BAKER & TAYLOR CO/8 PUBLICATIONS.

PBESIDENT TH^^TING'S NE'W BOOK.

WITHIN COLLEGE WALLS. By Charles Franklin
Thwing, President of Adelbert College and of
Western Keserve University ; Author of "Ameri-
can Colleges : their Students and Work," * * Reading
of Books," "The Working Church" ; Joint-Author
of "The Family: an Historical and Social Study,"
etc. 16mo, cloth, gilt top, $1.00.

Contents : — I. The College and the Home II. The Good
of being in College. III. The College Formiug Character.
IV. Certain College Temptations. V. College Government.
VI. Play in College. VII. Simplicity and Enrichment of Life
in College. VIIL The College and the Church. IX. The
College Fitting for Business. X. The Pre-eminence of the
College Gi-aduate.

For fifteen years President Thwing has been writing con-
stantly upon College subjects; his first work having borne the
title of •' American Colleges." The present book discusses, in
a liberal spirit, those topics which are uppermost in interest to
the students themselves, as well as to tlieir parents and others
concerned in their work and welfare. Dr. Thwing is, perhaps,
the most prominent scientific student of college and university
statistics, and the results of work, before and after graduation .
This carefully and entertainingly written presentation of con-
clusions drawn from his pereonal experience and observation
as college student and president has a distinct value as guide
and encouragement to those within college walls, and as an
cnliglitened statement of college aims, tendencies, and possi-
bilities to their friends without.

"An earnest, eloquent, and convincing vindication of the
value of a college education, not only as a means of ennobling
and enriching the individual character and thus indirectly
benetiUng the community, but also, from a utilitarian point of
view, as the best means of fitting a man to succeed in whatever
calling in life he may choose." — Cleveland Leader.

Sent, postpaid, on receipt of the price, by

THE BAKER & TAYLOR CO., Publishers.

5 A^'D 7 East Sixteenth St., New Yoiik.

igwn JLvening lyews.
Sent, postpaid^ on receipt of tlie price, by

BAKER iSb TAYLOR CO.\S PUBLICATIONS.

■I ^— ^^

TWO FAMOUS AMEBICANS.

TALKS WITH RALPH WALDO EMERSON. With
a hitherto unpublished Portrait. By Charles J.
Woodbury. 12mo, cloth, gilt top, $1.25.

The writer of this book had exceptionable opportunities for
access to and intercourse with Mr. Emerson, and has furnished
the latter's admirers, and lovers of culture generally, a service
of the highest value in preparing this faithful record of the
poet's opinions, freely and spontaneously expressed in conver-
sations on current thought, literature, philosophy, and criti-
cism ; his views as to what knowledge and culture are most
worth ; and his thoughts about contemporary writers and
workers.

" No lover of Emerson can afford to overlook this book.
He pervades it. The man himself is there.*' — New Yoi'k Sun.

GREELEY ON LINCOLN. With Mr. Greeley^s Let- J

ters to Charles A. Dana and a Lady Friend; to i

which are added, Reminiscences of Horace Greeley '

Edited by Joel Benton. With a photo-sculpture \

portrait of Mr. Greeley, and a fac-simile of a pai't ■
of his MS. 12mo, cloth, $1.25.

The treatise which gives Uie title to this volume, shows Mr.
Greeley's mind in contact with the questions and the person-
ality which, perhaps, were most prominent in the course of his
own career, and to a certain extent epitomize it. The Letters
to Mr. Dana, and those to an intimate lady friend, not only
cover rare periods and incidents in Mr. Greeley's life, but they
show the naive, unconscious motions of a mind never tempted
to dissimulation, and (in the privacy for which they are in-
tended) without motive to be other than sincere.

"A valuable addition to American literature." — Gliicago
Times,

" The contents of this volume are among the most interest-
ing that have ever been offered to American readers. "— Wa»A-
ington Evening News,

THE BAKER & TAYLOR CO., Publishers,

5 AND 7 East Sixteenth JSt., New York.

ing
ingto,

Sent, p^

THE .L

Internet Archive Audio

Featured

Top

Images

Featured

Top

Software

Featured

Top

Books

Featured

Top

Video

Featured

Top

Mobile Apps

Browser Extensions

Archive-It Subscription

Save Page Now

Full text of "With the wild flowers from pussy-willow to thistledown; a rural chronicle of our flower friends and foes, describing them under their familiar English names"

See other formats