15088	----	Proofreading Team. PROSERPINA. STUDIES OF WAYSIDE FLOWERS, WHILE THE AIR WAS YET PURE _AMONG THE ALPS, AND IN THE SCOTLAND AND ENGLAND WHICH MY FATHER KNEW_. BY JOHN RUSKIN, LL.D., HONORARY STUDENT OF CHRISTCHURCH, AND HONORARY FELLOW OF CORPUS CHRISTI COLLEGE, OXFORD. VOL. II. 1888. * * * * * CHAPTER I. VIOLA. 1. Although I have not been able in the preceding volume to complete, in any wise as I desired, the account of the several parts and actions of plants in general, I will not delay any longer our entrance on the examination of particular kinds, though here and there I must interrupt such special study by recurring to general principles, or points of wider interest. But the scope of such larger inquiry will be best seen, and the use of it best felt, by entering now on specific study. I begin with the Violet, because the arrangement of the group to which it belongs--Cytherides--is more arbitrary than that of the rest, and calls for some immediate explanation. 2. I fear that my readers may expect me to write something very pretty for them about violets: but my time for writing prettily is long past; and it requires some watching over myself, I find, to keep me even from writing querulously. For while, the older I grow, very thankfully I recognize more and more the number of pleasures granted to human eyes in this fair world, I recognize also an increasing sensitiveness in my temper to anything that interferes with them; and a grievous readiness to find fault--always of course submissively, but very articulately--with whatever Nature seems to me not to have managed to the best of her power;--as, for extreme instance, her late arrangements of frost this spring, destroying all the beauty of the wood sorrels; nor am I less inclined, looking to her as the greatest of sculptors and painters, to ask, every time I see a narcissus, why it should be wrapped up in brown paper; and every time I see a violet, what it wants with a spur? 3. What _any_ flower wants with a spur, is indeed the simplest and hitherto to me unanswerablest form of the question; nevertheless, when blossoms grow in spires, and are crowded together, and have to grow partly downwards, in order to win their share of light and breeze, one can see some reason for the effort of the petals to expand upwards and backwards also. But that a violet, who has her little stalk to herself, and might grow straight up, if she pleased, should be pleased to do nothing of the sort, but quite gratuitously bend her stalk down at the top, and fasten herself to it by her waist, as it were,--this is so much more like a girl of the period's fancy than a violet's, that I never gather one separately but with renewed astonishment at it. 4. One reason indeed there is, which I never thought of until this moment! a piece of stupidity which I can only pardon myself in, because, as it has chanced, I have studied violets most in gardens, not in their wild haunts,--partly thinking their Athenian honour was as a garden flower; and partly being always fed away from them, among the hills, by flowers which I could see nowhere else. With all excuse I can furbish up, however, it is shameful that the truth of the matter never struck me before, or at least this bit of the truth--as follows. 5. The Greeks, and Milton, alike speak of violets as growing in meadows (or dales). But the Greeks did so because they could not fancy any delight except in meadows; and Milton, because he wanted a rhyme to nightingale--and, after all, was London bred. But Viola's beloved knew where violets grew in Illyria,--and grow everywhere else also, when they can,--on a _bank_, facing the south. Just as distinctly as the daisy and buttercup are _meadow_ flowers, the violet is a _bank_ flower, and would fain grow always on a steep slope, towards the sun. And it is so poised on its stem that it shows, when growing on a slope, the full space and opening of its flower,--not at all, in any strain of modesty, hiding _itself_, though it may easily be, by grass or mossy stone, 'half hidden,'--but, to the full, showing itself, and intending to be lovely and luminous, as fragrant, to the uttermost of its soft power. Nor merely in its oblique setting on the stalk, but in the reversion of its two upper petals, the flower shows this purpose of being fully seen. (For a flower that _does_ hide itself, take a lily of the valley, or the bell of a grape hyacinth, or a cyclamen.) But respecting this matter of petal-reversion, we must now farther state two or three general principles. 6. A perfect or pure flower, as a rose, oxalis, or campanula, is always composed of an unbroken whorl, or corolla, in the form of a disk, cup, bell, or, if it draw together again at the lips, a narrow-necked vase. This cup, bell, or vase, is divided into similar petals, (or segments, which are petals carefully joined,) varying in number from three to eight, and enclosed by a calyx whose sepals are symmetrical also. An imperfect, or, as I am inclined rather to call it, an 'injured' flower, is one in which some of the petals have inferior office and position, and are either degraded, for the benefit of others, or expanded and honoured at the cost of others. Of this process, the first and simplest condition is the reversal of the upper petals and elongation of the lower ones, in blossoms set on the side of a clustered stalk. When the change is simply and directly dependent on their position in the cluster, as in Aurora Regina,[1] modifying every bell just in proportion as it declines from the perfected central one, some of the loveliest groups of form are produced which can be seen in any inferior organism: but when the irregularity becomes fixed, and the flower is always to the same extent distorted, whatever its position in the cluster, the plant is to be rightly thought of as reduced to a lower rank in creation. 7. It is to be observed, also, that these inferior forms of flower have always the appearance of being produced by some kind of mischief--blight, bite, or ill-breeding; they never suggest the idea of improving themselves, now, into anything better; one is only afraid of their tearing or puffing themselves into something worse. Nay, even the quite natural and simple conditions of inferior vegetable do not in the least suggest, to the unbitten or unblighted human intellect, the notion of development into anything other than their like: one does not expect a mushroom to translate itself into a pineapple, nor a betony to moralize itself into a lily, nor a snapdragon to soften himself into a lilac. 8. It is very possible, indeed, that the recent phrenzy for the investigation of digestive and reproductive operations in plants may by this time have furnished the microscopic malice of botanists with providentially disgusting reasons, or demoniacally nasty necessities, for every possible spur, spike, jag, sting, rent, blotch, flaw, freckle, filth, or venom, which can be detected in the construction, or distilled from the dissolution, of vegetable organism. But with these obscene processes and prurient apparitions the gentle and happy scholar of flowers has nothing whatever to do. I am amazed and saddened, more than I can care to say, by finding how much that is abominable may be discovered by an ill-taught curiosity, in the purest things that earth is allowed to produce for us;--perhaps if we were less reprobate in our own ways, the grass which is our type might conduct itself better, even though _it_ has no hope but of being cast into the oven; in the meantime, healthy human eyes and thoughts are to be set on the lovely laws of its growth and habitation, and not on the mean mysteries of its birth. 9. I relieve, therefore, our presently inquiring souls from any farther care as to the reason for a violet's spur,--or for the extremely ugly arrangements of its stamens and style, invisible unless by vexatious and vicious peeping. You are to think of a violet only in its green leaves, and purple or golden petals;--you are to know the varieties of form in both, proper to common species; and in what kind of places they all most fondly live, and most deeply glow. "And the recreation of the minde which is taken heereby cannot be but verie good and honest, for they admonish and stir up a man to that which is comely and honest. For flowers, through their beautie, varietie of colour, and exquisite forme, do bring to a liberall and gentle manly minde the remembrance of honestie, comeliness, and all kinds of vertues. For it would be an unseemely and filthie thing, as a certain wise man saith, for him that doth looke upon and handle faire and beautiful things, and who frequenteth and is conversant in faire and beautiful places, to have his mind not faire, but filthie and deformed." 10. Thus Gerarde, in the close of his introductory notice of the violet,--speaking of things, (honesty, comeliness, and the like,) scarcely now recognized as desirable in the realm of England; but having previously observed that violets are useful for the making of garlands for the head, and posies to smell to;--in which last function I observe they are still pleasing to the British public: and I found the children here, only the other day, munching a confection of candied violet leaves. What pleasure the flower can still give us, uncandied, and unbound, but in its own place and life, I will try to trace through some of its constant laws. 11. And first, let us be clear that the native colour of the violet _is_ violet; and that the white and yellow kinds, though pretty in their place and way, are not to be thought of in generally meditating the flower's quality or power. A white violet is to black ones what a black man is to white ones; and the yellow varieties are, I believe, properly pansies, and belong also to wild districts for the most part; but the true violet, which I have just now called 'black,' with Gerarde, "the blacke or purple violet, hath a great prerogative above others," and all the nobler species of the pansy itself are of full purple, inclining, however, in the ordinary wild violet to blue. In the 'Laws of Fésole,' chap, vii., §§ 20, 21, I have made this dark pansy the representative of purple pure; the viola odorata, of the link between that full purple and blue; and the heath-blossom of the link between that full purple and red. The reader will do well, as much as may be possible to him, to associate his study of botany, as indeed all other studies of visible things, with that of painting: but he must remember that he cannot know what violet colour really is, unless he watch the flower in its _early_ growth. It becomes dim in age, and dark when it is gathered--at least, when it is tied in bunches;--but I am under the impression that the colour actually deadens also,--at all events, no other single flower of the same quiet colour lights up the ground near it as a violet will. The bright hounds-tongue looks merely like a spot of bright paint; but a young violet glows like painted glass. 12. Which, when you have once well noticed, the two lines of Milton and Shakspeare which seem opposed, will both become clear to you. The said lines are dragged from hand to hand along their pages of pilfered quotations by the hack botanists,--who probably never saw _them_, nor anything else, _in_ Shakspeare or Milton in their lives,--till even in reading them where they rightly come, you can scarcely recover their fresh meaning: but none of the botanists ever think of asking why Perdita calls the violet 'dim,' and Milton 'glowing.' Perdita, indeed, calls it dim, at that moment, in thinking of her own love, and the hidden passion of it, unspeakable; nor is Milton without some purpose of using it as an emblem of love, mourning,--but, in both cases, the subdued and quiet hue of the flower as an actual tint of colour, and the strange force and life of it as a part of light, are felt to their uttermost. And observe, also, that both, of the poets contrast the violet, in its softness, with the intense marking of the pansy. Milton makes the opposition directly--- "the pansy, freaked with jet, The glowing violet." Shakspeare shows yet stronger sense of the difference, in the "purple with Love's wound" of the pansy, while the violet is sweet with Love's hidden life, and sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes. Whereupon, we may perhaps consider with ourselves a little, what the difference _is_ between a violet and a pansy? 13. Is, I say, and was, and is to come,--in spite of florists, who try to make pansies round, instead of pentagonal; and of the wise classifying people, who say that violets and pansies are the same thing--and that neither of them are of much interest! As, for instance, Dr. Lindley in his 'Ladies' Botany.' "Violets--sweet Violets, and Pansies, or Heartsease, represent a small family, with the structure of which you should be familiar; more, however, for the sake of its singularity than for its extent or importance, for the family is a very small one, and there are but few species belonging to it in which much interest is taken. As the parts of the Heartsease are larger than those of the Violet, let us select the former in preference for the subject of our study." Whereupon we plunge instantly into the usual account of things with horns and tails. "The stamens are five in number--two of them, which are in front of the others, are hidden within the horn of the front petal," etc., etc., etc. (Note in passing, by the '_horn of the front_' petal he means the '_spur of the bottom_' one, which indeed does stand in front of the rest,--but if therefore _it_ is to be called the _front_ petal--which is the back one?) You may find in the next paragraph description of a "singular conformation," and the interesting conclusion that "no one has yet discovered for what purpose this singular conformation was provided." But you will not, in the entire article, find the least attempt to tell you the difference between a violet and a pansy!--except in one statement--and _that_ false! "The sweet violet will have no rival among flowers, if we merely seek for delicate fragrance; but her sister, the heartsease, who is destitute of all sweetness, far surpasses her in rich dresses and _gaudy_!!! colours." The heartsease is not without sweetness. There are sweet pansies scented, and dog pansies unscented--as there are sweet violets scented, and dog violets unscented. What is the real difference? 14. I turn to another scientific gentleman--_more_ scientific in form indeed, Mr. Grindon,--and find, for another interesting phenomenon in the violet, that it sometimes produces flowers without any petals! and in the pansy, that "the flowers turn towards the sun, and when many are open at once, present a droll appearance, looking like a number of faces all on the 'qui vive.'" But nothing of the difference between them, except something about 'stipules,' of which "it is important to observe that the leaves should be taken from the middle of the stem--those above and below being variable." I observe, however, that Mr. Grindon _has_ arranged his violets under the letter A, and his pansies under the letter B, and that something may be really made out of him, with an hour or two's work. I am content, however, at present, with his simplifying assurance that of violet and pansy together, "six species grow wild in Britain--or, as some believe, only four--while the analysts run the number up to fifteen." 15. Next I try Loudon's Cyclopædia, which, through all its 700 pages, is equally silent on the business; and next, Mr. Baxter's 'British Flowering Plants,' in the index of which I find neither Pansy nor Heartsease, and only the 'Calathian' Violet, (where on earth is Calathia?) which proves, on turning it up, to be a Gentian. 16. At last, I take my Figuier, (but what should I do if I only knew English?) and find this much of clue to the matter:-- "Qu'est ce que c'est que la Pensée? Cette jolie plante appartient aussi ou genre Viola, mais à un section de ce genre. En effet, dans les Pensées, les pétales supérieurs et lateraux sont dirigés en haut, l'inférieur seul est dirigé en bas: et de plus, le stigmate est urcéole, globuleux." And farther, this general description of the whole violet tribe, which I translate, that we may have its full value:-- "The violet is a plant without a stem (tige),--(see vol. i., p. 154,)--whose height does not surpass one or two decimetres. Its leaves, radical, or carried on stolons, (vol. i., p. 158,) are sharp, or oval, crenulate, or heart-shape. Its stipules are oval-acuminate, or lanceolate. Its flowers, of sweet scent, of a dark violet or a reddish blue, are carried each on a slender peduncle, which bends down at the summit. Such is, for the botanist, the Violet, of which the poets would give assuredly another description." 17. Perhaps; or even the painters! or even an ordinary unbotanical human creature! I must set about my business, at any rate, in my own way, now, as I best can, looking first at things themselves, and then putting this and that together, out of these botanical persons, which they can't put together out of themselves. And first, I go down into my kitchen garden, where the path to the lake has a border of pansies on both sides all the way down, with clusters of narcissus behind them. And pulling up a handful of pansies by the roots, I find them "without stems," indeed, if a stem means a wooden thing; but I should say, for a low-growing flower, quiet lankily and disagreeably stalky! And, thinking over what I remember about wild pansies, I find an impression on my mind of their being rather more stalky, always, than is quite graceful; and, for all their fine flowers, having rather a weedy and littery look, and getting into places where they have no business. See, again, vol. i., chap. vi., § 5. 18. And now, going up into my flower and fruit garden, I find (June 2nd, 1881, half-past six, morning.) among the wild saxifrages, which are allowed to grow wherever they like, and the rock strawberries, and Francescas, which are coaxed to grow wherever there is a bit of rough ground for them, a bunch or two of pale pansies, or violets, I don't know well which, by the flower; but the entire company of them has a ragged, jagged, unpurpose-like look; extremely,--I should say,--demoralizing to all the little plants in their neighbourhood: and on gathering a flower, I find it is a nasty big thing, all of a feeble blue, and with two things like horns, or thorns, sticking out where its ears would be, if the pansy's frequently monkey face were underneath them. Which I find to be two of the leaves of its calyx 'out of place,' and, at all events, for their part, therefore, weedy, and insolent. 19. I perceive, farther, that this disorderly flower is lifted on a lanky, awkward, springless, and yet stiff flower-stalk; which is not round, as a flower-stalk ought to be, (vol. i., p. 155,) but obstinately square, and fluted, with projecting edges, like a pillar run thin out of an iron-foundry for a cheap railway station. I perceive also that it has set on it, just before turning down to carry the flower, two little jaggy and indefinable leaves,--their colour a little more violet than the blossom. These, and such undeveloping leaves, wherever they occur, are called 'bracts' by botanists, a good word, from the Latin 'bractea,' meaning a piece of metal plate, so thin as to crackle. They seem always a little stiff, like bad parchment,--born to come to nothing--a sort of infinitesimal fairy-lawyer's deed. They ought to have been in my index at p. 255, under the head of leaves, and are frequent in flower structure,--never, as far as one can see, of the smallest use. They are constant, however, in the flower-stalk of the whole violet tribe. 20. I perceive, farther, that this lanky flower-stalk, bending a little in a crabbed, broken way, like an obstinate person tired, pushes itself up out of a still more stubborn, nondescript, hollow angular, dogseared gas-pipe of a stalk, with a section something like this, [Illustration] but no bigger than [Illustration] with a quantity of ill-made and ill-hemmed leaves on it, of no describable leaf-cloth or texture,--not cressic, (though the thing does altogether look a good deal like a quite uneatable old watercress); not salvian, for there's no look of warmth or comfort in them; not cauline, for there's no juice in them; not dryad, for there's no strength in them, nor apparent use: they seem only there, as far as I can make out, to spoil the flower, and take the good out of my garden bed. Nobody in the world could draw them, they are so mixed up together, and crumpled and hacked about, as if some ill-natured child had snipped them with blunt scissors, and an ill-natured cow chewed them a little afterwards and left them, proved for too tough or too bitter. 21. Having now sufficiently observed, it seems to me, this incongruous plant, I proceed to ask myself, over it, M. Figuier's question, 'Qu'est-ce c'est qu'un Pensée?' Is this a violet--or a pansy--or a bad imitation of both? Whereupon I try if it has any scent: and to my much surprise, find it has a full and soft one--which I suppose is what my gardener keeps it for! According to Dr. Lindley, then, it must be a violet! But according to M. Figuier,--let me see, do its middle petals bend up, or down? I think I'll go and ask the gardener what _he_ calls it. 22. My gardener, on appeal to him, tells me it is the 'Viola Cornuta,' but that he does not know himself if it is violet or pansy. I take my Loudon again, and find there were fifty-three species of violets, known in his days, of which, as it chances, Cornuta is exactly the last. 'Horned violet': I said the green things were _like_ horns!--but what is one to say of, or to do to, scientific people, who first call the spur of the violet's petal, horn, and then its calyx points, horns, and never define a 'horn' all the while! Viola Cornuta, however, let it be; for the name does mean _some_thing, and is not false Latin. But whether violet or pansy, I must look farther to find out. 23. I take the Flora Danica, in which I at least am sure of finding whatever is done at all, done as well as honesty and care can; and look what species of violets it gives. Nine, in the first ten volumes of it; four in their modern sequel (that I know of,--I have had no time to examine the last issues). Namely, in alphabetical order, with their present Latin, or tentative Latin, names; and in plain English, the senses intended by the hapless scientific people, in such their tentative Latin:-- (1) Viola Arvensis. Field (Violet) No. 1748 (2) " Biflora. Two-flowered 46 (3) " Canina. Dog 1453 (3b) " Canina. Var. Multicaulus 2646 (many-stemmed), a very singular sort of violet--if it were so! Its real difference from our dog-violet is in being pale blue, and having a golden centre (4) " Hirta. Hairy 618 (5) " Mirabilis. Marvellous 1045 (6) " Montana. Mountain 1329 (7) " Odorata. Odorous 309 (8) " Palustris. Marshy 83 (9) " Tricolor. Three-coloured 623 (9B) " Tricolor. Var. Arenaria, Sandy 2647 Three-coloured (10) " Elatior. Taller 68 (11) " Epipsila. (Heaven knows what: it is 2405 Greek, not Latin, and looks as if it meant something between a bishop and a short letter e) I next run down this list, noting what names we can keep, and what we can't; and what aren't worth keeping, if we could: passing over the varieties, however, for the present, wholly. (1) Arvensis. Field-violet. Good. (2) Biflora. A good epithet, but in false Latin. It is to be our Viola aurea, golden pansy. (3) Canina. Dog. Not pretty, but intelligible, and by common use now classical. Must stay. (4) Hirta. Late Latin slang for hirsuta, and always used of nasty places or nasty people; it shall not stay. The species shall be our Viola Seclusa,--Monk's violet--meaning the kind of monk who leads a rough life like Elijah's, or the Baptist's, or Esau's--in another kind. This violet is one of the loveliest that grows. (5) Mirabilis. Stays so; marvellous enough, truly: not more so than all violets; but I am very glad to hear of scientific people capable of admiring anything. (6) Montana. Stays so. (7) Odorata. Not distinctive;--nearly classical, however. It is to be our Viola Regina, else I should not have altered it. (8) Palustris. Stays so. (9) Tricolor. True, but intolerable. The flower is the queen of the true pansies: to be our Viola Psyche. (10) Elatior. Only a variety of our already accepted Cornuta. (11) The last is, I believe, also only a variety of Palustris. Its leaves, I am informed in the text, are either "pubescent-reticulate-venose- subreniform," or "lato-cordate-repando-crenate;" and its stipules are "ovate-acuminate-fimbrio-denticulate." I do not wish to pursue the inquiry farther. 24. These ten species will include, noting here and there a local variety, all the forms which are familiar to us in Northern Europe, except only two;--these, as it singularly chances, being the Viola Alpium, noblest of all the wild pansies in the world, so far as I have seen or heard of them,--of which, consequently, I find no picture, nor notice, in any botanical work whatsoever; and the other, the rock-violet of our own Yorkshire hills. We have therefore, ourselves, finally then, twelve following species to study. I give them now all in their accepted names and proper order,--the reasons for occasional difference between the Latin and English name will be presently given. (1) Viola Regina. Queen violet. (2) " Psyche. Ophelia's pansy. (3) " Alpium. Freneli's pansy. (4) " Aurea. Golden violet. (5) " Montana. Mountain Violet. (6) " Mirabilis. Marvellous violet. (7) " Arvensis. Field violet. (8) " Palustris. Marsh violet. (9) " Seclusa. Monk's violet. (10) " Canina. Dog violet. (11) " Cornuta. Cow violet. (12) " Rupestris. Crag violet. 25. We will try, presently, what is to be found out of useful, or pretty, concerning all these twelve violets; but must first find out how we are to know which are violets indeed, and which, pansies. Yesterday, after finishing my list, I went out again to examine Viola Cornuta a little closer, and pulled up a full grip of it by the roots, and put it in water in a wash-hand basin, which it filled like a truss of green hay. Pulling out two or three separate plants, I find each to consist mainly of a jointed stalk of a kind I have not yet described,--roughly, some two feet long altogether; (accurately, one 1 ft. 10½ in.; another, 1 ft. 10 in.; another, 1 ft. 9 in.--but all these measures taken without straightening, and therefore about an inch short of the truth), and divided into seven or eight lengths by clumsy joints where the mangled leafage is knotted on it; but broken a little out of the way at each joint, like a rheumatic elbow that won't come straight, or bend farther; and--which is the most curious point of all in it--it is thickest in the middle, like a viper, and gets quite thin to the root and thin towards the flower; also the lengths between the joints are longest in the middle: here I give them in inches, from the root upwards, in a stalk taken at random. 1st (nearest root) 0¾ 2nd 0¾ 3rd 1½ 4th 1¾ 5th 3 6th 4 7th 3¼ 8th 3 9th 2¼ 10th 1½ 1 ft. 9¾ in. But the thickness of the joints and length of terminal flower stalk bring the total to two feet and about an inch over. I dare not pull it straight, or should break it, but it overlaps my two-foot rule considerably, and there are two inches besides of root, which are merely underground stem, very thin and wretched, as the rest of it is merely root above ground, very thick and bloated. (I begin actually to be a little awed at it, as I should be by a green snake--only the snake would be prettier.) The flowers also, I perceive, have not their two horns regularly set _in_, but the five spiky calyx-ends stick out between the petals--sometimes three, sometimes four, it may be all five up and down--and produce variously fanged or forked effects, feebly ophidian or diabolic. On the whole, a plant entirely mismanaging itself,--reprehensible and awkward, with taints of worse than awkwardness; and clearly, no true 'species,' but only a link.[2] And it really is, as you will find presently, a link in two directions; it is half violet, half pansy, a 'cur' among the Dogs, and a thoughtless thing among the thoughtful. And being so, it is also a link between the entire violet tribe and the Runners--pease, strawberries, and the like, whose glory is in their speed; but a violet has no business whatever to run anywhere, being appointed to stay where it was born, in extremely contented (if not secluded) places. "Half-hidden from the eye?"--no; but desiring attention, or extension, or corpulence, or connection with anybody else's family, still less. [Illustration: FIG. II.] 26. And if, at the time you read this, you can run out and gather a _true_ violet, and its leaf, you will find that the flower grows from the very ground, out of a cluster of heart-shaped leaves, becoming here a little rounder, there a little sharper, but on the whole heart-shaped, and that is the proper and essential form of the violet leaf. You will find also that the flower has five petals; and being held down by the bent stalk, two of them bend back and up, as if resisting it; two expand at the sides; and one, the principal, grows downwards, with its attached spur behind. So that the front view of the flower must be _some_ modification of this typical arrangement, Fig. M, (for middle form). Now the statement above quoted from Figuier, § 16, means, if he had been able to express himself, that the two lateral petals in the violet are directed downwards, Fig. II. A, and in the pansy upwards, Fig. II. C. And that, in the main, is true, and to be fixed well and clearly in your mind. But in the real orders, one flower passes into the other through all kinds of intermediate positions of petal, and the plurality of species are of the middle type. Fig. II. B.[3] 27. Next, if you will gather a real pansy _leaf_, you will find it--not heart-shape in the least, but sharp oval or spear-shape, with two deep cloven lateral flakes at its springing from the stalk, which, in ordinary aspect, give the plant the haggled and draggled look I have been vilifying it for. These, and such as these, "leaflets at the base of other leaves" (Balfour's Glossary), are called by botanists 'stipules.' I have not allowed the word yet, and am doubtful of allowing it, because it entirely confuses the student's sense of the Latin 'stipula' (see above, vol. i., chap. viii., § 27) doubly and trebly important in its connection with 'stipulor,' not noticed in that paragraph, but readable in your large Johnson; we shall have more to say of it when we come to 'straw' itself. 28. In the meantime, one _may_ think of these things as stipulations for leaves, not fulfilled, or 'stumps' or 'sumphs' of leaves! But I think I can do better for them. We have already got the idea of _crested_ leaves, (see vol. i., plate); now, on each side of a knight's crest, from earliest Etruscan times down to those of the Scalas, the fashion of armour held, among the nations who wished to make themselves terrible in aspect, of putting cut plates or 'bracts' of metal, like dragons' wings, on each side of the crest. I believe the custom never became Norman or English; it is essentially Greek, Etruscan, or Italian,--the Norman and Dane always wearing a practical cone (see the coins of Canute), and the Frank or English knights the severely plain beavered helmet; the Black Prince's at Canterbury, and Henry V.'s at Westminster, are kept hitherto by the great fates for us to see. But the Southern knights constantly wore these lateral dragon's wings; and if I can find their special name, it may perhaps be substituted with advantage for 'stipule'; but I have not wit enough by me just now to invent a term. 29. Whatever we call them, the things themselves are, throughout all the species of violets, developed in the running and weedy varieties, and much subdued in the beautiful ones; and generally the pansies have them, large, with spear-shaped central leaves; and the violets small, with heart-shaped leaves, for more effective decoration of the ground. I now note the characters of each species in their above given order. 30. I. VIOLA REGINA. Queen Violet. Sweet Violet. 'Viola Odorata,' L., Flora Danica, and Sowerby. The latter draws it with golden centre and white base of lower petal; the Flora Danica, all purple. It is sometimes altogether white. It is seen most perfectly for setting off its colour, in group with primrose,--and most luxuriantly, so far as I know, in hollows of the Savoy limestones, associated with the pervenche, which embroiders and illumines them all over. I believe it is the earliest of its race, sometimes called 'Martia,' March violet. In Greece and South Italy even a flower of the winter. "The Spring is come, the violet's _gone_, The first-born child of the early sun. With us, she is but a winter's flower; The snow on the hills cannot blast her bower, And she lifts up her dewy eye of blue To the youngest sky of the selfsame hue. And when the Spring comes, with her host Of flowers, that flower beloved the most Shrinks from the crowd that may confuse Her heavenly odour, and virgin hues. Pluck the others, but still remember Their herald out of dim December,-- _The morning star_ of all the flowers, The pledge of daylight's lengthened hours, Nor, midst the roses, e'er forget The virgin, virgin violet."[4] 3. It is the queen, not only of the violet tribe, but of all low-growing flowers, in sweetness of scent--variously applicable and serviceable in domestic economy:--the scent of the lily of the valley seems less capable of preservation or use. But, respecting these perpetual beneficences and benignities of the sacred, as opposed to the malignant, herbs, whose poisonous power is for the most part restrained in them, during their life, to their juices or dust, and not allowed sensibly to pollute the air, I should like the scholar to re-read pp. 251, 252 of vol. i., and then to consider with himself what a grotesquely warped and gnarled thing the modern scientific mind is, which fiercely busies itself in venomous chemistries that blast every leaf from the forests ten miles round; and yet cannot tell us, nor even think of telling us, nor does even one of its pupils think of asking it all the while, how a violet throws off her perfume!--far less, whether it might not be more wholesome to 'treat' the air which men are to breathe in masses, by administration of vale-lilies and violets, instead of charcoal and sulphur! The closing sentence of the first volume just now referred to--p.254--should also be re-read; it was the sum of a chapter I had in hand at that time on the Substances and Essences of Plants--which never got finished;--and in trying to put it into small space, it has become obscure: the terms "logically inexplicable" meaning that no words or process of comparison will define scents, nor do any traceable modes of sequence or relation connect them; each is an independent power, and gives a separate impression to the senses. Above all, there is no logic of pleasure, nor any assignable reason for the difference, between loathsome and delightful scent, which makes the fungus foul and the vervain sacred: but one practical conclusion I (who am in all final ways the most prosaic and practical of human creatures) do very solemnly beg my readers to meditate; namely, that although not recognized by actual offensiveness of scent, there is no space of neglected land which is not in some way modifying the atmosphere of _all the world_,--it may be, beneficently, as heath and pine,--it may be, malignantly, as Pontine marsh or Brazilian jungle; but, in one way or another, for good and evil constantly, by day and night, the various powers of life and death in the plants of the desert are poured into the air, as vials of continual angels: and that no words, no thoughts can measure, nor imagination follow, the possible change for good which energetic and tender care of the wild herbs of the field and trees of the wood might bring, in time, to the bodily pleasure and mental power of Man. 32. II. VIOLA PSYCHE. Ophelia's Pansy. The wild heart's-ease of Europe; its proper colour an exquisitely clear purple in the upper petals, gradated into deep blue in the lower ones; the centre, gold. Not larger than a violet, but perfectly formed, and firmly set in all its petals. Able to live in the driest ground; beautiful in the coast sand-hills of Cumberland, following the wild geranium and burnet rose: and distinguished thus by its power of life, in waste and dry places, from the violet, which needs kindly earth and shelter. Quite one of the most lovely things that Heaven has made, and only degraded and distorted by any human interference; the swollen varieties of it produced by cultivation being all gross in outline and coarse in colour by comparison. It is badly drawn even in the 'Flora Danica,' No. 623, considered there apparently as a species escaped from gardens; the description of it being as follows:-- "Viola tricolor hortensis repens, flore purpureo et coeruleo, C.B.P., 199." (I don't know what C.B.P. means.) "Passim, juxta villas." "Viola tricolor, caule triquetro diffuso, foliis oblongis incisis, stipulis pinnatifidis," Linn. Systema Naturæ, 185. 33. "Near the country farms"--does the Danish botanist mean?--the more luxuriant weedy character probably acquired by it only in such neighbourhood; and, I suppose, various confusion and degeneration possible to it beyond other plants when once it leaves its wild home. It is given by Sibthorpe from the Trojan Olympus, with an exquisitely delicate leaf; the flower described as "triste et pallide violaceus," but coloured in his plate full purple; and as he does not say whether he went up Olympus to gather it himself, or only saw it brought down by the assistant whose lovely drawings are yet at Oxford, I take leave to doubt his epithets. That this should be the only Violet described in a 'Flora Græca' extending to ten folio volumes, is a fact in modern scientific history which I must leave the Professor of Botany and the Dean of Christ Church to explain. 34. The English varieties seem often to be yellow in the lower petals, (see Sowerby's plate, 1287 of the old edition), crossed, I imagine, with Viola Aurea, (but see under Viola Rupestris, No. 12); the names, also, varying between tricolor and bicolor--with no note anywhere of the three colours, or two colours, intended! The old English names are many.--'Love in idleness,'--making Lysander, as Titania, much wandering in mind, and for a time mere 'Kits run the street' (or run the wood?)--"Call me to you" (Gerarde, ch. 299, Sowerby, No. 178), with 'Herb Trinity,' from its three colours, blue, purple, and gold, variously blended in different countries? 'Three faces under a hood' describes the English variety only. Said to be the ancestress of all the florists' pansies, but this I much doubt, the next following species being far nearer the forms most chiefly sought for. 35. III. VIOLA ALPINA. 'Freneli's Pansy'--my own name for it, from Gotthelf's Freneli, in 'Ulric the Farmer'; the entirely pure and noble type of the Bernese maid, wife, and mother. The pansy of the Wengern Alp in specialty, and of the higher, but still rich, Alpine pastures. Full dark-purple; at least an inch across the expanded petals; I believe, the 'Mater Violarum' of Gerarde; and true black violet of Virgil, remaining in Italian 'Viola Mammola' (Gerarde, ch. 298). 36. IV. VIOLA AUREA. Golden Violet. Biflora usually; but its brilliant yellow is a much more definite characteristic; and needs insisting on, because there is a 'Viola lutea' which is not yellow at all; named so by the garden florists. My Viola aurea is the Rock-violet of the Alps; one of the bravest, brightest, and dearest of little flowers. The following notes upon it, with its summer companions, a little corrected from my diary of 1877, will enough characterize it. "_June 7th._--The cultivated meadows now grow only dandelions--in frightful quantity too; but, for wild ones, primula, bell gentian, golden pansy, and anemone,--Primula farinosa in mass, the pansy pointing and vivifying in a petulant sweet way, and the bell gentian here and there deepening all,--as if indeed the sound of a deep bell among lighter music. "Counted in order, I find the effectively constant flowers are eight;[5] namely, "1. The golden anemone, with richly cut large leaf; primrose colour, and in masses like primrose, studded through them with bell gentian, and dark purple orchis. "2. The dark purple orchis, with bell gentian in equal quantity, say six of each in square yard, broken by sparklings of the white orchis and the white grass-flower; the richest piece of colour I ever saw, touched with gold by the geum. "3 and 4. These will be white orchis and the grass flower.[6] "5. Geum--everywhere, in deep, but pure, gold, like pieces of Greek mosaic. "6. Soldanella, in the lower meadows, delicate, but not here in masses. "7. Primula Alpina, divine in the rock clefts, and on the ledges changing the grey to purple,--set in the dripping caves with "8. Viola (pertinax--pert); I want a Latin word for various studies--failures all--to express its saucy little stuck-up way, and exquisitely trim peltate leaf. I never saw such a lovely perspective line as the pure front leaf profile. Impossible also to get the least of the spirit of its lovely dark brown fibre markings. Intensely golden these dark fibres, just browning the petal a little between them." And again in the defile of Gondo, I find "Viola (saxatilis?) name yet wanted;--in the most delicate studding of its round leaves, like a small fern more than violet, and bright sparkle of small flowers in the dark dripping hollows. Assuredly delights in shade and distilling moisture of rocks." I found afterwards a much larger yellow pansy on the Yorkshire high limestones; with vigorously black crowfoot marking on the lateral petals. 37. V. VIOLA MONTANA. Mountain Violet. Flora Danica, 1329. Linnæus, No. 13, "Caulibus erectis, foliis cordato-lanceolatis, floribus serioribus apetalis," _i.e._, on erect stems, with leaves long heart-shape, and its later flowers without petals--not a word said of its earlier flowers which have got those unimportant appendages! In the plate of the Flora it is a very perfect transitional form between violet and pansy, with beautifully firm and well-curved leaves, but the colour of blossom very pale. "In subalpinis Norvegiæ passim," all that we are told of it, means I suppose, in the lower Alpine pastures of Norway; in the Flora Suecica, p. 306, habitat in Lapponica, juxta Alpes. 38. VI. VIOLA MIRABILIS. Flora Danica, 1045. A small and exquisitely formed flower in the balanced cinquefoil intermediate between violet and pansy, but with large and superbly curved and pointed leaves. It is a mountain violet, but belonging rather to the mountain woods than meadows. "In sylvaticis in Toten, Norvegiæ." Loudon, 3056, "Broad-leaved: Germany." Linnæus, Flora Suecica, 789, says that the flowers of it which have perfect corolla and full scent often bear no seed, but that the later 'cauline' blossoms, without petals, are fertile. "Caulini vero apetali fertiles sunt, et seriores. Habitat passim Upsaliæ." I find this, and a plurality of other species, indicated by Linnæus as having triangular stalks, "caule triquetro," meaning, I suppose, the kind sketched in Figure 1 above. 39. VII. VIOLA ARVENSIS. Field Violet. Flora Danica, 1748. A coarse running weed; nearly like Viola Cornuta, but feebly lilac and yellow in colour. In dry fields, and with corn. Flora Suecica, 791; under titles of Viola 'tricolor' and 'bicolor arvensis,' and Herba Trinitatis. Habitat ubique in _sterilibus_ arvis: "Planta vix datur in qua evidentius perspicitur generationis opus, quam in hujus cavo apertoque stigmate." It is quite undeterminable, among present botanical instructors, how far this plant is only a rampant and over-indulged condition of the true pansy (Viola Psyche); but my own scholars are to remember that the true pansy is full purple and blue with golden centre; and that the disorderly field varieties of it, if indeed not scientifically distinguishable, are entirely separate from the wild flower by their scattered form and faded or altered colour. I follow the Flora Danica in giving them as a distinct species. 40. VIII. VIOLA PALUSTRIS. Marsh Violet. Flora Danica, 83. As there drawn, the most finished and delicate in form of all the violet tribe; warm white, streaked with red; and as pure in outline as an oxalis, both in flower and leaf: it is like a violet imitating oxalis and anagallis. In the Flora Suecica, the petal-markings are said to be black; in 'Viola lactea' a connected species, (Sowerby, 45,) purple. Sowerby's plate of it under the name 'palustris' is pale purple veined with darker; and the spur is said to be 'honey-bearing,' which is the first mention I find of honey in the violet. The habitat given, sandy and turfy heaths. It is said to grow plentifully near Croydon. Probably, therefore, a violet belonging to the chalk, on which nearly all herbs that grow wild--from the grass to the bluebell--are singularly sweet and pure. I hope some of my botanical scholars will take up this question of the effect of different rocks on vegetation, not so much in bearing different species of plants, as different characters of each species.[7] 41. IX. VIOLA SECLUSA. Monk's Violet. "Hirta," Flora Danica, 618, "In fruticetis raro." A true wood violet, full but dim in purple. Sowerby, 894, makes it paler. The leaves very pure and severe in the Danish one;--longer in the English. "Clothed on both sides with short, dense, hoary hairs." Also belongs to chalk or limestone only (Sowerby). X. VIOLA CANINA. Dog Violet. I have taken it for analysis in my two plates, because its grace of form is too much despised, and we owe much more of the beauty of spring to it, in English mountain ground, than to the Regina. XI. VIOLA CORNUTA. Cow Violet. Enough described already. XII. VIOLA RUPESTRIS. Crag Violet. On the high limestone moors of Yorkshire, perhaps only an English form of Viola Aurea, but so much larger, and so different in habit--growing on dry breezy downs, instead of in dripping caves--that I allow it, for the present, separate name and number.[8] 42. 'For the present,' I say all this work in 'Proserpina' being merely tentative, much to be modified by future students, and therefore quite different from that of 'Deucalion,' which is authoritative as far as it reaches, and will stand out like a quartz dyke, as the sandy speculations of modern gossiping geologists get washed away. But in the meantime, I must again solemnly warn my girl-readers against all study of floral genesis and digestion. How far flowers invite, or require, flies to interfere in their family affairs--which of them are carnivorous--and what forms of pestilence or infection are most favourable to some vegetable and animal growths,--let them leave the people to settle who like, as Toinette says of the Doctor in the 'Malade Imaginaire'--"y mettre le nez." I observe a paper in the last 'Contemporary Review,' announcing for a discovery patent to all mankind that the colours of flowers were made "to attract insects"![9] They will next hear that the rose was made for the canker, and the body of man for the worm. 43. What the colours of flowers, or of birds, or of precious stones, or of the sea and air, and the blue mountains, and the evening and the morning, and the clouds of Heaven, were given for--they only know who can see them and can feel, and who pray that the sight and the love of them may be prolonged, where cheeks will not fade, nor sunsets die. 44. And now, to close, let me give you some fuller account of the reasons for the naming of the order to which the violet belongs, 'Cytherides.' You see that the Uranides, are, as far as I could so gather them, of the pure blue of the sky; but the Cytherides of altered blue;--the first, Viola, typically purple; the second, Veronica, pale blue with a peculiar light; the third, Giulietta, deep blue, passing strangely into a subdued green before and after the full life of the flower. All these three flowers have great strangenesses in them, and weaknesses; the Veronica most wonderful in its connection with the poisonous tribe of the foxgloves; the Giulietta, alone among flowers in the action of the shielding leaves; and the Viola, grotesque and inexplicable in its hidden structure, but the most sacred of all flowers to earthly and daily Love, both in its scent and glow. Now, therefore, let us look completely for the meaning of the two leading lines,-- "Sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes, Or Cytherea's breath." 45. Since, in my present writings, I hope to bring into one focus the pieces of study fragmentarily given during past life, I may refer my readers to the first chapter of the 'Queen of the Air' for the explanation of the way in which all great myths are founded, partly on physical, partly on moral fact,--so that it is not possible for persons who neither know the aspect of nature, nor the constitution of the human soul, to understand a word of them. Naming the Greek gods, therefore, you have first to think of the physical power they represent. When Horace calls Vulcan 'Avidus,' he thinks of him as the power of Fire; when he speaks of Jupiter's red right hand, he thinks of him as the power of rain with lightning; and when Homer speaks of Juno's dark eyes, you have to remember that she is the softer form of the rain power, and to think of the fringes of the rain-cloud across the light of the horizon. Gradually the idea becomes personal and human in the "Dove's eyes within thy locks,"[10] and "Dove's eyes by the river of waters" of the Song of Solomon. 46. "Or Cytherea's breath,"--the two thoughts of softest glance, and softest kiss, being thus together associated with the flower: but note especially that the Island of Cythera was dedicated to Venus because it was the chief, if not the only Greek island, in which the purple fishery of Tyre was established; and in our own minds should be marked not only as the most southern fragment of true Greece, but the virtual continuation of the chain of mountains which separate the Spartan from the Argive territories, and are the natural home of the brightest Spartan and Argive beauty which is symbolized in Helen. 47. And, lastly, in accepting for the order this name of Cytherides, you are to remember the names of Viola and Giulietta, its two limiting families, as those of Shakspeare's two most loving maids--the two who love simply, and to the death: as distinguished from the greater natures in whom earthly Love has its due part, and no more; and farther still from the greatest, in whom the earthly love is quiescent, or subdued, beneath the thoughts of duty and immortality. It may be well quickly to mark for you the levels of loving temper in Shakspeare's maids and wives, from the greatest to the least. 48. 1. Isabel. All earthly love, and the possibilities of it, held in absolute subjection to the laws of God, and the judgments of His will. She is Shakspeare's only 'Saint.' Queen Catherine, whom you might next think of, is only an ordinary woman of trained religious temper:--her maid of honour gives Wolsey a more Christian epitaph. 2. Cordelia. The earthly love consisting in diffused compassion of the universal spirit; not in any conquering, personally fixed, feeling. "Mine enemy's dog, Though he had bit me, should have stood that night Against my fire." These lines are spoken in her hour of openest direct expression; and are _all_ Cordelia. Shakspeare clearly does not mean her to have been supremely beautiful in person; it is only her true lover who calls her 'fair' and 'fairest'--and even that, I believe, partly in courtesy, after having the instant before offered her to his subordinate duke; and it is only _his_ scorn of her which makes France fully care for her. "Gods, Gods, 'tis strange that from their cold neglect My love should kindle to inflamed respect!" Had she been entirely beautiful, he would have honoured her as a lover should, even before he saw her despised; nor would she ever have been so despised--or by her father, misunderstood. Shakspeare himself does not pretend to know where her girl-heart was,--but I should like to hear how a great actress would say the "Peace be with Burgundy!" 3. Portia. The maidenly passion now becoming great, and chiefly divine in its humility, is still held absolutely subordinate to duty; no thought of disobedience to her dead father's intention is entertained for an instant, though the temptation is marked as passing, for that instant, before her crystal strength. Instantly, in her own peace, she thinks chiefly of her lover's;--she is a perfect Christian wife in a moment, coming to her husband with the gift of perfect Peace,-- "Never shall you lie by Portia's side With an unquiet soul." She is highest in intellect of all Shakspeare's women, and this is the root of her modesty; her 'unlettered girl' is like Newton's simile of the child on the sea-shore. Her perfect wit and stern judgment are never disturbed for an instant by her happiness: and the final key to her character is given in her silent and slow return from Venice, where she stops at every wayside shrine to pray. 4. Hermione. Fortitude and Justice personified, with unwearying affection. She is Penelope, tried by her husband's fault as well as error. 5. Virgilia. Perfect type of wife and mother, but without definiteness of character, nor quite strength of intellect enough entirely to hold her husband's heart. Else, she had saved him: he would have left Rome in his wrath--but not her. Therefore, it is his mother only who bends him: but she cannot save. 6. Imogen. The ideal of grace and gentleness; but weak; enduring too mildly, and forgiving too easily. But the piece is rather a pantomime than play, and it is impossible to judge of the feelings of St. Columba, when she must leave the stage in half a minute after mistaking the headless clown for headless Arlecchino. 7. Desdemona, Ophelia, Rosalind. They are under different conditions from all the rest, in having entirely heroic and faultless persons to love. I can't class them, therefore,--fate is too strong, and leaves them no free will. 8. Perdita, Miranda. Rather mythic visions of maiden beauty than mere girls. 9. Viola and Juliet. Love the ruling power in the entire character: wholly virginal and pure, but quite earthly, and recognizing no other life than his own. Viola is, however, far the noblest. Juliet will die unless Romeo loves _her_: "If he be wed, the grave is like to be my wedding bed;" but Viola is ready to die for the happiness of the man who does _not_ love her; faithfully doing his messages to her rival, whom she examines strictly for his sake. It is not in envy that she says, "Excellently done,--if God did all." The key to her character is given in the least selfish of all lover's songs, the one to which the Duke bids her listen: "Mark it, Cesario,--it is old and plain, The spinsters and the knitters in the sun, And the free maids, that _weave their thread with bones_, Do use to chaunt it." (They, the unconscious Fates, weaving the fair vanity of life with death); and the burden of it is-- "My part of Death, no one so true Did share it." Therefore she says, in the great first scene, "Was not _this_ love indeed?" and in the less heeded closing one, her heart then happy with the knitters in the _sun_, "And all those sayings will I over-swear, And all those swearings keep as true in soul As doth that orbed continent the Fire That severs day from night." Or, at least, did once sever day from night,--and perhaps does still in Illyria. Old England must seek new images for her loves from gas and electric sparks,--not to say furnace fire. I am obliged, by press of other work, to set down these notes in cruel shortness: and many a reader may be disposed to question utterly the standard by which the measurement is made. It will not be found, on reference to my other books, that they encourage young ladies to go into convents; or undervalue the dignity of wives and mothers. But, as surely as the sun _does_ sever day from night, it will be found always that the noblest and loveliest women are dutiful and religious by continual nature; and their passions are trained to obey them; like their dogs. Homer, indeed, loves Helen with all his heart, and restores her, after all her naughtiness, to the queenship of her household; but he never thinks of her as Penelope's equal, or Iphigenia's. Practically, in daily life, one often sees married women as good as saints; but rarely, I think, unless they have a good deal to bear from their husbands. Sometimes also, no doubt, the husbands have some trouble in managing St. Cecilia or St. Elizabeth; of which questions I shall be obliged to speak more seriously in another place: content, at present, if English maids know better, by Proserpina's help, what Shakspeare meant by the dim, and Milton by the glowing, violet. * * * * * CHAPTER II. PINGUICULA. (Written in early June, 1881.) 1. On the rocks of my little stream, where it runs, or leaps, through the moorland, the common Pinguicula is now in its perfectest beauty; and it is one of the offshoots of the violet tribe which I have to place in the minor collateral groups of Viola very soon, and must not put off looking at it till next year. There are three varieties given in Sowerby: 1. Vulgaris, 2. Greater-flowered, and 3. Lusitanica, white, for the most part, pink, or 'carnea,' sometimes: but the proper colour of the family is violet, and the perfect form of the plant is the 'vulgar' one. The larger-flowered variety is feebler in colour, and ruder in form: the white Spanish one, however, is very lovely, as far as I can judge from Sowerby's (_old_ Sowerby's) pretty drawing. The 'frequent' one (I shall usually thus translate 'vulgaris'), is not by any means so 'frequent' as the Queen violet, being a true wild-country, and mostly Alpine, plant; and there is also a real 'Pinguicula Alpina,' which we have not in England, who might be the Regina, if the group were large enough to be reigned over: but it is better not to affect Royalty among these confused, intermediate, or dependent families. 2. In all the varieties of Pinguicula, each blossom has one stalk only, growing from the _ground_ and you may pull all the leaves away from the base of it, and keep the flower only, with its bunch of short fibrous roots, half an inch long; looking as if bitten at the ends. Two flowers, characteristically,--three and four very often,--spring from the same root, in places where it grows luxuriantly; and luxuriant growth means that clusters of some twenty or thirty stars may be seen on the surface of a square yard of boggy ground, quite to its mind; but its real glory is in harder life, in the crannies of well-wetted rock. 3. What I have called 'stars' are irregular clusters of approximately, or tentatively, five aloeine ground leaves, of very pale green,--they may be six or seven, or more, but always run into a rudely pentagonal arrangement, essentially first trine, with two succeeding above. Taken as a whole the _plant_ is really a main link between violets and Droseras; but the _flower_ has much more violet than Drosera in the make of it,--spurred, and _five-petaled_,[11] and held down by the top of its bending stalk as a violet is; only its upper two petals are not reverted--the calyx, of a dark soppy green, holding them down, with its three front sepals set exactly like a strong trident, its two backward sepals clasping the spur. There are often six sepals, four to the front, but the normal number is five. Tearing away the calyx, I find the flower to have been held by it as a lion might hold his prey by the loins if he missed its throat; the blue petals being really campanulate, and the flower best described as a dark bluebell, seized and crushed almost flat by its own calyx in a rage. Pulling away now also the upper petals, I find that what are in the violet the lateral and well-ordered fringes, are here thrown mainly on the lower (largest) petal near its origin, and opposite the point of the seizure by the calyx, spreading from this centre over the surface of the lower petals, partly like an irregular shower of fine Venetian glass broken, partly like the wild-flung Medusa like embroidery of the white Lucia.[12] 4. The calyx is of a dark _soppy_ green, I said; like that of sugary preserved citron; the root leaves are of green just as soppy, but pale and yellowish, as if they were half decayed; the edges curled up and, as it were, water-shrivelled, as one's fingers shrivel if kept too long in water. And the whole plant looks as if it had been a violet unjustly banished to a bog, and obliged to live there--not for its own sins, but for some Emperor Pansy's, far away in the garden,--in a partly boggish, partly hoggish manner, drenched and desolate; and with something of demoniac temper got into its calyx, so that it quarrels with, and bites the corolla;--something of gluttonous and greasy habit got into its leaves; a discomfortable sensuality, even in its desolation. Perhaps a penguin-ish life would be truer of it than a piggish, the _nest_ of it being indeed on the rock, or morassy rock-investiture, like a sea-bird's on her rock ledge. 5. I have hunted through seven treatises on Botany, namely, Loudon's Encyclopædia, Balfour, Grindon, Oliver, Baxter of Oxford, Lindley ('Ladies' Botany'), and Figuer, without being able to find the meaning of 'Lentibulariaceæ,' to which tribe the Pinguicula is said by them all (except Figuier) to belong. It may perhaps be in Sowerby:[13] but these above-named treatises are precisely of the kind with which the ordinary scholar must be content: and in all of them he has to learn this long, worse than useless, word, under which he is betrayed into classing together two orders naturally quite distinct, the Butterworts and the Bladderworts. Whatever the name may mean--it is bad Latin. There is such a word as Lenticularis--there is no Lentibularis; and it must positively trouble us no longer.[14] The Butterworts are a perfectly distinct group--whether small or large, always recognizable at a glance. Their proper Latin name will be Pinguicula, (plural Pinguiculæ,)--their English, Bog-Violet, or, more familiarly, Butterwort; and their French, as at present, _Grassette_. The families to be remembered will be only five, namely, 1. Pinguicula Major, the largest of the group. As bog plants, Ireland may rightly claim the noblest of them, which certainly grow there luxuriantly, and not (I believe) with us. Their colour is, however, more broken and less characteristic than that of the following species. 2. Pinguicula Violacea: Violet-coloured Butterwort, (instead of 'vulgaris,') the common English and Swiss kind above noticed. 3. Pinguicula Alpina: Alpine Butterwort, white and much smaller than either of the first two families; the spur especially small, according to D. 453. Much rarer, as well as smaller, than the other varieties in Southern Europe. "In Britain, known only upon the moors of Rosehaugh, Ross-shire, where the progress of cultivation seems likely soon to efface it." (Grindon.) 4. Pinguicula Pallida: Pale Butterwort. From Sowerby's drawing, (135, vol. iii,) it would appear to be the most delicate and lovely of all the group. The leaves, "like those of other species, but rather more delicate and pellucid, reticulated with red veins, and much involute in the margin. Tube of the corolla, yellow, streaked with red, (the streaks like those of a pansy); the petals, pale violet. It much resembles Villosa, (our Minima, No. 5,) in many particulars, the stem being hairy, and in the lower part the hairs tipped with a viscid fluid, like a sundew. But the Villosa has a slender sharp spur; and in this the spur is blunt and thick at the end." (Since the hairy stem is not peculiar to Villosa, I take for her, instead, the epithet Minima, which is really definitive.) The pale one is commonly called 'Lusitanica,' but I find no direct notice of its Portuguese habitation. Sowerby's plant came from Blandford, Dorsetshire; and Grindon says it is frequent in Ireland, abundant in Arran, and extends on the western side of the British island from Cornwall to Cape Wrath. My epithet, Pallida, is secure, and simple, wherever the plant is found. [Illustration: FIG. III.] 5. Pinguicula Minima: Least Butterwort; in D. 1021 called Villosa, the _scape_ of it being hairy. I have not yet got rid of this absurd word 'scape,' meaning, in botanist's Latin, the flower-stalk of a flower growing out of a cluster of leaves on the ground. It is a bad corruption of 'sceptre,' and especially false and absurd, because a true sceptre is necessarily branched.[15] In 'Proserpina,' when it is spoken of distinctively, it is called 'virgula' (see vol. i., pp. 146, 147, 151, 152). The hairs on the virgula are in this instance so minute, that even with a lens I cannot see them in the Danish plate: of which Fig. 3 is a rough translation into woodcut, to show the grace and mien of the little thing. The trine leaf cluster is characteristic, and the folding up of the leaf edges. The flower, in the Danish plate, full purple. Abundant in east of _Finmark_ (Finland?), but _always growing in marsh moss_, (Sphagnum palustre). 6. I call it 'Minima' only, as the least of the five here named; without putting forward any claim for it to be the smallest pinguicula that ever was or will be. In such sense only, the epithets minima or maxima are to be understood when used in 'Proserpina': and so also, every statement and every principle is only to be understood as true or tenable, respecting the plants which the writer has seen, and which he is sure that the reader can easily see: liable to modification to any extent by wider experience; but better first learned securely within a narrow fence, and afterwards trained or fructified, along more complex trellises. 7. And indeed my readers--at least, my newly found readers--must note always that the only power which I claim for any of my books, is that of being right and true as far as they reach. None of them pretend to be Kosmoses;--none to be systems of Positivism or Negativism, on which the earth is in future to swing instead of on its old worn-out poles;--none of them to be works of genius;--none of them to be, more than all true work _must_ be, pious;--and none to be, beyond the power of common people's eyes,[16] ears, and noses, 'æsthetic.' They tell you that the world is _so_ big, and can't be made bigger--that you yourself are also so big, and can't be made bigger, however you puff or bloat yourself; but that, on modern mental nourishment, you may very easily be made smaller. They tell you that two and two are four, that ginger is hot in the mouth, that roses are red, and smuts black. Not themselves assuming to be pious, they yet assure you that there is such a thing as piety in the world, and that it is wiser than impiety; and not themselves pretending to be works of genius, they yet assure you that there is such a thing as genius in the world, and that it is meant for the light and delight of the world. 8. Into these repetitions of remarks on my work, often made before, I have been led by an unlucky author who has just sent me his book, advising me that it is "neither critical nor sentimental" (he had better have said in plain English "without either judgment or feeling"), and in which nearly the first sentence I read is--"Solomon with all his acuteness was not wise enough to ... etc., etc., etc." ('give the Jews the British constitution,' I believe the man means.) He is not a whit more conceited than Mr. Herbert Spencer, or Mr. Goldwin Smith, or Professor Tyndall,--or any lively London apprentice out on a Sunday; but this general superciliousness with respect to Solomon, his Proverbs, and his politics, characteristic of the modern Cockney, Yankee, and Anglicised Scot, is a difficult thing to deal with for us of the old school, who were well whipped when we were young; and have been in the habit of occasionally ascertaining our own levels as we grew older, and of recognizing that, here and there, somebody stood higher, and struck harder. 9. A difficult thing to deal with, I feel more and more, hourly, even to the point of almost ceasing to write; not only every feeling I have, but, of late, even _every word I use_, being alike inconceivable to the insolence, and unintelligible amidst the slang, of the modern London writers. Only in the last magazine I took up, I found an article by Mr. Goldwin Smith on the Jews (of which the gist--as far as it had any--was that we had better give up reading the Bible), and in the text of which I found the word 'tribal' repeated about ten times in every page. Now, if 'tribe' makes 'tribal,' tube must make tubal, cube, cubal, and gibe, gibal; and I suppose we shall next hear of tubal music, cubal minerals, and gibal conversation! And observe how all this bad English leads instantly to blunder in thought, prolonged indefinitely. The Jewish Tribes are not separate races, but the descendants of brothers. The Roman Tribes, political divisions; essentially Trine: and the whole force of the word Tribune vanishes, as soon as the ear is wrung into acceptance of his lazy innovation by the modern writer. Similarly, in the last elements of mineralogy I took up, the first order of crystals was called 'tesseral'; the writer being much too fine to call them 'four-al,' and too much bent on distinguishing himself from all previous writers to call them cubic. 10. What simple schoolchildren, and sensible schoolmasters, are to do in this atmosphere of Egyptian marsh, which rains fools upon them like frogs, I can no more with any hope or patience conceive;--but this finally I repeat, concerning my own books, that they are written in honest English, of good Johnsonian lineage, touched here and there with colour of a little finer or Elizabethan quality: and that the things they tell you are comprehensible by any moderately industrious and intelligent person; and _accurate_, to a degree which the accepted methods of modern science cannot, in my own particular fields, approach. 11. Of which accuracy, the reader may observe for immediate instance, my extrication for him, from among the uvularias, of these five species of the Butterwort; which, being all that need be distinctly named and remembered, _do_ need to be first carefully distinguished, and then remembered in their companionship. So alike are they, that Gerarde makes no distinction among them; but masses them under the general type of the frequent English one, described as the second kind of his promiscuous group of 'Sanicle,' "which Clusius calleth Pinguicula; not before his time remembered, hath sundry small thick leaves, fat and full of juice, being broad towards the root and sharp towards the point, of a faint green colour, and bitter in taste; out of the middest whereof sprouteth or shooteth up a naked slender stalke nine inches long, every stalke bearing one flower and no more, sometimes white, and sometimes of a bluish purple colour, fashioned like unto the common Monkshoods" (he means Larkspurs) "called Consolida Regalis, having the like spur or Lark's heel attached thereto." Then after describing a third kind of Sanicle--(Cortusa Mathioli, a large-leaved Alpine Primula,) he goes on: "These plants are strangers in England; their natural country is the alpish mountains of Helvetia. They grow in my garden, where they flourish exceedingly, except Butterwoort, which groweth in our English _squally_ wet grounds,"--('Squally,' I believe, here, from squalidus, though Johnson does not give this sense; but one of his quotations from Ben Jonson touches it nearly: "Take heed that their new flowers and sweetness do not as much corrupt as the others' dryness and squalor,"--and note farther that the word 'squal,' in the sense of gust, is not pure English, but the Arabic 'Chuaul' with an s prefixed:--the English word, a form of 'squeal,' meaning a child's cry, from Gothic 'Squæla' and Icelandic 'squilla,' would scarcely have been made an adjective by Gerarde),--"and will not yield to any culturing or transplanting: it groweth especially in a field called Cragge Close, and at Crosbie Ravenswaithe, in Westmerland; (West-_mere_-land you observe, not mor) upon Ingleborough Fells, twelve miles from Lancaster, and by Harwoode in the same county near to Blackburn: ten miles from Preston, in Anderness, upon the bogs and marish ground, and in the boggie meadows about Bishop's-Hatfield, and also in the fens in the way to Wittles Meare" (Roger Wildrake's Squattlesea Mere?) "from Fendon, in Huntingdonshire." Where doubtless Cromwell ploughed it up, in his young days, pitilessly; and in nowise pausing, as Burns beside his fallen daisy. 12. Finally, however, I believe we may accept its English name of 'Butterwort' as true Yorkshire, the more enigmatic form of 'Pigwilly' preserving the tradition of the flowers once abounding, with softened Latin name, in Pigwilly bottom, close to Force bridge, by Kendal. Gerarde draws the English variety as "Pinguicula sive Sanicula Eboracensis,--Butterwoort, or Yorkshire Sanicle;" and he adds: "The husbandmen's wives of Yorkshire do use to anoint the dugs of their kine with the fat and oilous juice of the herb Butterwort when they be bitten of any venomous worm, or chapped, rifted and hurt by any other means." 13. In Lapland it is put to much more certain use; "it is called Tätgrass, and the leaves are used by the inhabitants to make their 'tät miolk,' a preparation of milk in common use among them. Some fresh leaves are laid upon a filter, and milk, yet warm from the reindeer, is poured over them. After passing quickly through the filter, this is allowed to rest for one or two days until it becomes ascescent,[17] when it is found not to have separated from the whey, and yet to have attained much greater tenacity and consistence than it would have done otherwise. The Laplanders and Swedes are said to be extremely fond of this milk, which when once made, it is not necessary to renew the use of the leaves, for we are told that a spoonful of it will turn another quantity of warm milk, and make it like the first."[18] (Baxter, vol. iii., No. 209.) 14. In the same page, I find quoted Dr. Johnston's observation that "when specimens of this plant were somewhat rudely pulled up, the flower-stalk, previously erect, almost immediately began to bend itself backwards, and formed a more or less perfect segment of a circle; and so also, if a specimen is placed in the Botanic box, you will in a short time find that the leaves have curled themselves backwards, and now conceal the root by their revolution." I have no doubt that this elastic and wiry action is partly connected with the plant's more or less predatory or fly-trap character, in which these curiously degraded plants are associated with Drosera. I separate them therefore entirely from the Bladderworts, and hold them to be a link between the Violets and the Droseraceæ, placing them, however, with the Cytherides, as a sub-family, for their beautiful colour, and because they are indeed a grace and delight in ground which, but for them, would be painfully and rudely desolate. * * * * * CHAPTER III. VERONICA. 1. "The Corolla of the Foxglove," says Dr. Lindley, beginning his account of the tribe at page 195 of the first volume of his 'Ladies' Botany,' "is a large inflated body(!), with its throat spotted with rich purple, and its border divided obliquely into five very short lobes, of which the two upper are the smaller; its four stamens are of unequal length, and its style is divided into two lobes at the upper end. A number of long hairs cover the ovary, which contains two cells and a great quantity of ovules. "This" (_sc._ information) "will show you what is the usual character of the Foxglove tribe; and you will find that all the other genera referred to it in books agree with it essentially, although they differ in subordinate points. It is chiefly (A) in the form of the corolla, (B) in the number of the stamens, (C) in the consistence of the rind of the fruit, (D) in its form, (E) in the number of the seeds it contains, and (F) in the manner in which the sepals are combined, that these differences consist." 2. The enumerative letters are of my insertion--otherwise the above sentence is, word for word, Dr. Lindley's,--and it seems to me an interesting and memorable one in the history of modern Botanical science. For it appears from the tenor of it, that in a scientific botanist's mind, six particulars, at least, in the character of a plant, are merely 'subordinate points,'--namely, 1. (F) The combination of its calyx, 2. (A) The shape of its corolla, 3. (B) The number of its stamens, 4. (D) The form of its fruit, 5. (C) The consistence of its shell,--and 6. (E) The number of seeds in it. Abstracting, then, from the primary description, all the six inessential points, I find the three essential ones left are, that the style is divided into two lobes at the upper end, that a number of glandular hairs cover the ovary, and that this latter contains two cells. 3. None of which particulars concern any reasonable mortal, looking at a Foxglove, in the smallest degree. Whether hairs which he can't see are glandular or bristly,--whether the green knobs, which are left when the purple bells are gone, are divided into two lobes or two hundred,--and whether the style is split, like a snake's tongue, into two lobes, or like a rogue's, into any number--are merely matters of vulgar curiosity, which he needs a microscope to discover, and will lose a day of his life in discovering. But if any pretty young Proserpina, escaped from the Plutonic durance of London, and carried by the tubular process, which replaces Charon's boat, over the Lune at Lancaster, cares to come and walk on the Coniston hills in a summer morning, when the eyebright is out on the high fields, she may gather, with a little help from Brantwood garden, a bouquet of the entire Foxglove tribe in flower, as it is at present defined, and may see what they are like, altogether. 4. She shall gather: first, the Euphrasy, which makes the turf on the brow of the hill glitter as if with new-fallen manna; then, from one of the blue clusters on the top of the garden wall, the common bright blue Speedwell; and, from the garden bed beneath, a dark blue spire of Veronica spicata; then, at the nearest opening into the wood, a little foxglove in its first delight of shaking out its bells; then--what next does the Doctor say?--a snapdragon? we must go back into the garden for that--here is a goodly crimson one, but what the little speedwell will think of him for a relative _I_ can't think!--a mullein?--that we must do without for the moment; a monkey flower?--that we will do without, altogether; a lady's slipper?--say rather a goblin's with the gout! but, such as the flower-cobbler has made it, here is one of the kind that people praise, out of the greenhouse,--and yet a figwort we must have, too; which I see on referring to Loudon, may be balm-leaved, hemp-leaved, tansy-leaved, nettle-leaved, wing-leaved, heart-leaved, ear-leaved, spear-leaved, or lyre-leaved. I think I can find a balm-leaved one, though I don't know what to make of it when I've got it, but it's called a 'Scorodonia' in Sowerby, and something very ugly besides;--I'll put a bit of Teucrium Scorodonia in, to finish: and now--how will my young Proserpina arrange her bouquet, and rank the family relations to their contentment? 5. She has only one kind of flowers--in her hand, as botanical classification stands at present; and whether the system be more rational, or in any human sense more scientific, which puts calceolaria and speedwell together,--and foxglove and euphrasy; and runs them on one side into the mints, and on the other into the nightshades;--naming them, meanwhile, some from diseases, some from vermin, some from blockheads, and the rest anyhow:--or the method I am pleading for, which teaches us, watchful of their seasonable return and chosen abiding places, to associate in our memory the flowers which truly resemble, or fondly companion, or, in time kept by the signs of Heaven, succeed, each other; and to name them in some historical connection with the loveliest fancies and most helpful faiths of the ancestral world--Proserpina be judge; with every maid that sets flowers on brow or breast--from Thule to Sicily. 6. We will unbind our bouquet, then, and putting all the rest of its flowers aside, examine the range and nature of the little blue cluster only. And first--we have to note of it, that the plan of the blossom in all the kinds is the same; an irregular quatre-foil: and irregular quatrefoils are of extreme rarity in flower form. I don't myself know _one_, except the Veronica. The cruciform vegetables--the heaths, the olives, the lilacs, the little Tormentillas, and the poppies, are all perfectly symmetrical. Two of the petals, indeed, as a rule, are different from the other two, except in the heaths; and thus a distinctly crosslet form obtained, but always an equally balanced one: while in the Veronica, as in the Violet, the blossom always refers itself to a supposed place on the stalk with respect to the ground; and the upper petal is always the largest. The supposed place is often very suppositious indeed--for clusters of the common veronicas, if luxuriant, throw their blossoms about anywhere. But the idea of an upper and lower petal is always kept in the flower's little mind. 7. In the second place, it is a quite open and flat quatrefoil--so separating itself from the belled quadrature of the heath, and the tubed and primrose-like quadrature of the cruciferæ; and, both as a quatrefoil, and as an open one, it is separated from the foxgloves and snapdragons, which are neither quatrefoils, nor open; but are cinqfoils shut up! 8. In the third place, open and flat though the flower be, it is monopetalous; all the four arms of the cross strictly becoming one in the centre; so that, though the blue foils _look_ no less sharply separate than those of a buttercup or a cistus; and are so delicate that one expects them to fall from their stalk if we breathe too near,--do but lay hold of one,--and, at the touch, the entire blossom is lifted from its stalk, and may be laid, in perfect shape, on our paper before us, as easily as if it had been a nicely made-up blue bonnet, lifted off its stand by the milliner. I pause here, to consider a little; because I find myself mixing up two characteristics which have nothing necessary in their relation;--namely, the unity of the blossom, and its coming easily off the stalk. The separate petals of the cistus and cherry fall as easily as the foxglove drops its bells;--on the other hand, there are monopetalous things that don't drop, but hold on like the convoluta,[19] and make the rest of the tree sad for their dying. I do not see my way to any systematic noting of decadent or persistent corolla; but, in passing, we may thank the veronica for never allowing us to see how it fades,[20] and being always cheerful and lovely, while it is with us. 9. And for a farther specialty, I think we should take note of the purity and simplicity of its _floral_ blue, not sprinkling itself with unwholesome sugar like a larkspur, nor varying into coppery or turquoise-like hue as the forget-me-not; but keeping itself as modest as a blue print, pale, in the most frequent kinds; but pure exceedingly; and rejoicing in fellowship with the grey of its native rocks. The palest of all I think it will be well to remember as Veronica Clara, the "Poor Clare" of Veronicas. I find this note on it in my diary,-- 'The flower of an exquisite grey-white, like lichen, or shaded hoar-frost, or dead silver; making the long-weathered stones it grew upon perfect with a finished modesty of paleness, as if the flower _could_ be blue, and would not, for their sake. Laying its fine small leaves along in embroidery, like Anagallis tenella,--indescribable in the tender feebleness of it--afterwards as it grew, dropping the little blossoms from the base of the spire, before the buds at the top had blown. Gathered, it was happy beside me, with a little water under a stone, and put out one pale blossom after another, day by day.' 10. Lastly, and for a high worthiness, in my estimate, note that it is _wild_, of the wildest, and proud in pure descent of race; submitting itself to no follies of the cur-breeding florist. Its species, though many resembling each other, are severally constant in aspect, and easily recognizable; and I have never seen it provoked to glare into any gigantic impudence at a flower show. Fortunately, perhaps, it is scentless, and so despised. 11. Before I attempt arranging its families, we must note that while the corolla itself is one of the most constant in form, and so distinct from all other blossoms that it may be always known at a glance; the leaves and habit of growth vary so greatly in families of different climates, and those born for special situations, moist or dry, and the like, that it is quite impossible to characterize Veronic, or Veronique, vegetation in general terms. One can say, comfortably, of a strawberry, that it is a creeper, without expecting at the next moment to see a steeple of strawberry blossoms rise to contradict us;--we can venture to say of a foxglove that it grows in a spire, without any danger of finding, farther on, a carpet of prostrate and entangling digitalis; and we may pronounce of a buttercup that it grows mostly in meadows, without fear of finding ourselves, at the edge of the next thicket, under the shadow of a buttercup-bush growing into valuable timber. But the Veronica reclines with the lowly,[21] upon occasion, and aspires, with the proud; is here the pleased companion of the ground-ivies, and there the unrebuked rival of the larkspurs: on the rocks of Coniston it effaces itself almost into the film of a lichen; it pierces the snows of Iceland with the gentian: and in the Falkland Islands is a white-blossomed evergreen, of which botanists are in dispute whether it be Veronica or Olive. 12. Of these many and various forms, I find the manners and customs alike inconstant; and this of especially singular in them--that the Alpine and northern species bloom hardily in contest with the retiring snows, while with us they wait till the spring is past, and offer themselves to us only in consolation for the vanished violet and primrose. As we farther examine the ways of plants, I suppose we shall find some that determine upon a fixed season, and will bloom methodically in June or July, whether in Abyssinia or Greenland; and others, like the violet and crocus, which are flowers of the spring, at whatever time of the favouring or frowning year the spring returns to their country. I suppose also that botanists and gardeners know all these matters thoroughly: but they don't put them into their books, and the clear notions of them only come to me now, as I think and watch. 13. Broadly, however, the families of the Veronica fall into three main divisions,--those which have round leaves lobed at the edge, like ground ivy; those which have small thyme-like leaves; and those which have long leaves like a foxglove's, only smaller--never more than two or two and a half inches long. I therefore take them in these connections, though without any bar between the groups; only separating the Regina from the other thyme-leaved ones, to give her due precedence; and the rest will then arrange themselves into twenty families, easily distinguishable and memorable. [Illustration: FIG. IV.] I have chosen for Veronica Regina, the brave Icelandic one, which pierces the snow in first spring, with lovely small shoots of perfectly set leaves, no larger than a grain of wheat; the flowers in a lifted cluster of five or six together, not crowded, yet not loose; large, for veronica--about the size of a silver penny, or say half an inch across--deep blue, with ruby centre. My woodcut, Fig. 4, is outlined[22] from the beautiful engraving D. 342,[23]--there called 'fruticulosa,' from the number of the young shoots. 14. Beneath the Regina, come the twenty easily distinguished families, namely:-- 1. Chamædrys. 'Ground-oak.' I cannot tell why so called--its small and rounded leaves having nothing like oak leaves about them, except the serration, which is common to half, at least, of all leaves that grow. But the idea is all over Europe, apparently. Fr. 'petit chêne:' German and English 'Germander,' a merely corrupt form of Chamædrys. The representative English veronica "Germander Speedwell"--very prettily drawn in S. 986; too tall and weed-like in D. 448. 2. Hederifolia. Ivy-leaved: but more properly, cymbalaria-leaved. It is the English field representative, though blue-flowered, of the Byzantine white veronica, V. Cymbalaria, very beautifully drawn in G. 9. Hederifolia well in D. 428. 3. Agrestis. Fr. 'Rustique.' We ought however clearly to understand whether 'agrestis,' used by English botanists, is meant to imply a literally field flower, or only a 'rustic' one, which might as properly grow in a wood. I shall always myself use 'agrestis' in the literal sense, and 'rustica' for 'rustique.' I see no reason, in the present case, for separating the Polite from the Rustic flower: the agrestis, D. 449 and S. 971, seems to me not more meekly recumbent, nor more frankly cultureless, than the so-called Polita, S. 972: there seems also no French acknowledgment of its politeness, and the Greek family, G. 8, seem the rudest and wildest of all. Quite a _field_ flower it is, I believe, lying always low on the ground; recumbent, but not creeping. Note this difference: no fastening roots are thrown out by the reposing stems of this Veronica; a creeping or accurately 'rampant' plant roots itself in advancing. Conf. Nos. 5, 6. 4. Arvensis. We have yet to note a still finer distinction in epithet. 'Agrestis' will properly mean a flower of the open ground--yet not caring whether the piece of earth be cultivated or not, so long as it is under clear sky. But when _agri_-culture has turned the unfruitful acres into 'arva beata,'--if then the plant thrust itself between the furrows of the plough, it is properly called 'Arvensis.' I don't quite see my way to the same distinction in English,--perhaps I may get into the habit, as time goes on, of calling the Arvenses consistently furrow-flowers, and the Agrestes field-flowers. Furrow-veronica is a tiresomely long name, but must do for the present, as the best interpretation of its Latin character, "vulgatissima in cultis et arvis." D. 515. The blossom itself is exquisitely delicate; and we may be thankful, both here and in Denmark, for such a lovely 'vulgate.' 5. Montana. D. 1201. The first really creeping plant we have had to notice. It throws out roots from the recumbent stems. Otherwise like agrestis, it has leaves like ground-ivy. Called a wood species in the text of D. 6. Persica. An eastern form, but now perfectly naturalized here--D. 1982; S. 973. The flowers very large, and extremely beautiful, but only one springing from each leaf-axil. Leaves and stem like Montana; and also creeping with new-roots at intervals. 7. Triphylla, (not triphyll_os_,--see Flora Suecica, 22). Meaning trifid-leaved; but the leaf is really divided into five lobes, not three--see S. 974, and G. 10. The palmate form of the leaf seems a mere caprice, and indicates no transitional form in the plant: it may be accepted as only a momentary compliment of mimicry to the geraniums. The Siberian variety, 'multifida,' C. 1679, divides itself almost as the submerged leaves of the water-ranunculus. The triphylla itself is widely diffused, growing alike on the sandy fields of Kent, and of Troy. In D. 627 is given an extremely delicate and minute northern type, the flowers springing as in Persica, one from each leaf-axil, and at distant intervals. 8. Officinalis. D. 248, S. 294. Fr. 'Veronique officinale'; (Germ. Gebrauchlicher Ehrenpreis,) our commonest English and Welsh speedwell; richest in cluster and frankest in roadside growth, whether on bank or rock; but assuredly liking _either_ a bank _or_ a rock, and the top of a wall better than the shelter of one. Uncountable 'myriads,' I am tempted to write, but, cautiously and literally, 'hundreds' of blossoms--if one _could_ count,--ranging certainly towards the thousand in some groups, all bright at once, make our Westmoreland lanes look as if they were decked for weddings, in early summer. In the Danish Flora it is drawn small and poor; its southern type being the true one: but it is difficult to explain the difference between the look of a flower which really _suffers_, as in this instance, by a colder climate, and becomes mean and weak, as well as dwarfed; and one which is braced and brightened by the cold, though diminished, as if under the charge and charm of an affectionate fairy, and becomes a joyfully patriotic inheritor of wilder scenes and skies. Medicinal, to soul and body alike, this gracious and domestic flower; though astringent and bitter in the juice. It is the Welsh deeply honoured 'Fluellen.'--See final note on the myth of Veronica, see § 18. 9. Thymifolia. Thyme-leaved, G. 6. Of course the longest possible word--serpyllifolia--is used in S. 978. It is a high mountain plant, growing on the top of Crete as the snow retires; and the Veronica minor of Gerarde; "the roote is small and threddie, taking hold of the _upper surface_ of the earth, where it spreadeth." So also it is drawn as a creeper in F. 492, where the flower appears to be oppressed and concealed by the leafage. 10. Minuta, called 'hirsuta' in S. 985: an ugly characteristic to name the lovely little thing by. The distinct blue lines in the petals might perhaps justify 'picta' or 'lineata,' rather than an epithet of size; but I suppose it is Gerarde's Minima, and so leave it, more safely named as 'minute' than 'least.' For I think the next variety may dispute the leastness. [Illustration: FIG. V.] 11. Verna. D. 252. Mountains, in dry places in early spring. Upright, and confused in the leafage, which is sharp-pointed and close set, much hiding the blossom, but of extreme elegance, fit for a sacred foreground; as any gentle student will feel, who copies this outline from the Flora Danica, Fig. 5. 12. Peregrina. Another extremely small variety, nearly pink in colour, passing into bluish lilac and white. American; but called, I do not see why, 'Veronique _voyageuse_,' by the French, and Fremder Ehrenpreis in Germany. Given as a frequent English weed in S. 927. 13. Alpina. Veronique des Alpes. Gebirgs Ehrenpreis. Still minute; its scarcely distinct flowers forming a close head among the leaves; round-petalled in D. 16, but sharp, as usual, in S. 980. On the Norway Alps in grassy places; and in Scotland by the side of mountain rills; but rare. On Ben Nevis and Lachin y Gair (S.) 14. Scutellata. From the shield-like shape of its seed-vessels. Veronique à Ecusson; Schildfruchtiger Ehrenpreis. But the seed-vessels are more heart shape than shield. Marsh Speedwell. S. 988, D. 209,--in the one pink, in the other blue; but again in D. 1561, pink. "In flooded meadows, common." (D.) A spoiled and scattered form; the seeds too conspicuous, but the flowers very delicate, hence 'Gratiola minima' in Gesner. The confused ramification of the clusters worth noting, in relation to the equally straggling fibres of root. 15. Spicata. S. 982: very prettily done, representing the inside of the flower as deep blue, the outside pale. The top of the spire, all calices, the calyx being indeed, through all the veronicas, an important and persistent member. The tendency to arrange itself in spikes is to be noted as a degradation of the veronic character; connecting it on one side with the snapdragons, on the other with the ophryds. In Veronica Ophrydea, (C. 2210,) this resemblance to the contorted tribe is carried so far that "the corolla of the veronica becomes irregular, the tube gibbous, the faux (throat) hairy, and three of the laciniæ (lobes of petals) variously twisted." The spire of blossom, violet-coloured, is then close set, and exactly resembles an ophryd, except in being sharper at the top. The engraved outline of the blossom is good, and very curious. 16. Gentianoides. This is the most directly and curiously imitative among the--shall we call them--'histrionic' types of Veronica. It grows exactly like a clustered upright gentian; has the same kind of leaves at its root, and springs with the same bright vitality among the retiring snows of the Bithynian Olympus. (G. 5.) If, however, the Caucasian flower, C. 1002, be the same, it has lost its perfect grace in luxuriance, growing as large as an asphodel, and with root-leaves half a foot long. The petals are much veined; and this, of all veronicas, has the lower petal smallest in proportion to the three above,--"triplò aut quadruplò minori." (G.) 17. Stagnarum. Marsh-Veronica. The last four families we have been examining vary from the typical Veronicas not only in their lance-shaped clusters, but in their lengthened, and often every way much enlarged leaves also: and the two which we now will take in association, 17 and 18, carry the change in aspect farthest of any, being both of them true water-plants, with strong stems and thick leaves. The present name of my Veronica Stagnarum is however V. anagallis, a mere insult to the little water primula, which one plant of the Veronica would make fifty of. This is a rank water-weed, having confused bunches of blossom and seed, like unripe currants, dangling from the leaf-axils. So that where the little triphylla, (No. 7, above,) has only one blossom, daintily set, and well seen, this has a litter of twenty-five or thirty on a long stalk, of which only three or four are well out as flowers, and the rest are mere knobs of bud or seed. The stalk is thick (half an inch round at the bottom), the leaves long and misshapen. "Frequens in fossis," D. 203. French, Mouron d'Eau, but I don't know the root or exact meaning of Mouron. An ugly Australian species, 'labiata,' C. 1660, has leaves two inches long, of the shape of an aloe's, and partly aloeine in texture, "sawed with unequal, fleshy, pointed teeth." 18. Fontium. Brook-Veronica. Brook-_Lime_, the Anglo-Saxon 'lime' from Latin limus, meaning the soft mud of streams. German 'Bach-bunge' (Brook-purse?) ridiculously changed by the botanists into 'Beccabunga,' for a Latin name! Very beautiful in its crowded green leaves as a stream-companion; rich and bright more than watercress. See notice of it at Matlock, in 'Modern Painters,' vol. v. 19. Clara. Veronique des rochers. Saxatilis, I suppose, in Sowerby, but am not sure of having identified that with my own favourite, for which I therefore keep the name 'Clara,' (see above, § 9); and the other rock variety, if indeed another, mast be remembered, together with it. 20. Glauca. G. 7. And this, at all events, with the Clara, is to be remembered as closing the series of twenty families, acknowledged by Proserpina. It is a beautiful low-growing ivy-leaved type, with flowers of subdued lilac blue. On Mount Hymettus: no other locality given in the Flora Græca. 15. I am sorry, and shall always be so, when the varieties of any flower which I have to commend to the student's memory, exceed ten or twelve in number; but I am content to gratify his pride with lengthier task, if indeed he will resign himself to the imperative close of the more inclusive catalogue, and be content to know the twelve, or sixteen, or twenty, acknowledged families, thoroughly; and only in their illustration to think of rarer forms. The object of 'Proserpina' is to make him happily cognizant of the common aspect of Greek and English flowers; under the term 'English,' comprehending the Saxon, Celtic, Norman, and Danish Floras. Of the evergreen shrub alluded to in § 11 above, the Veronica Decussata of the Pacific, which is "a bushy evergreen, with beautifully set cross-leaves, and white blossoms scented like olea fragrans," I should like him only to read with much surprise, and some incredulity, in Pinkerton's or other entertaining travellers' voyages. 16. And of the families given, he is to note for the common simple characteristic, that they are quatrefoils referred to a more or less elevated position on a central stem, and having, in that relation, the lowermost petal diminished, contrary to the almost universal habit of other flowers to develope in such a position the lower petal chiefly, that it may have its full share of light. You will find nothing but blunder and embarrassment result from any endeavour to enter into further particulars, such as "the relation of the dissepiment with respect to the valves of the capsule," etc., etc., since "in the various species of Veronica almost every kind of dehiscence may be observed" (C. under V. perfoliata, 1936, an Australian species). Sibthorpe gives the entire definition of Veronica with only one epithet added to mine, "Corolla quadrifida, _rotata_, laciniâ infimâ angustiore," but I do not know what 'rotata' here means, as there is no appearance of revolved action in the petals, so far as I can see. 17. Of the mythic or poetic significance of the veronica, there is less to be said than of its natural beauty. I have not been able to discover with what feeling, or at what time, its sacred name was originally given; and the legend of S. Veronica herself is, in the substance of it, irrational, and therefore incredible. The meaning of the term 'rational,' as applied to a legend or miracle, is, that there has been an intelligible need for the permission of the miracle at the time when it is recorded; and that the nature and manner of the act itself should be comprehensible in the scope. There was thus quite simple need for Christ to feed the multitudes, and to appear to S. Paul; but no need, so far as human intelligence can reach, for the reflection of His features upon a piece of linen which could be seen by not one in a million of the disciples to whom He might more easily, at any time, manifest Himself personally and perfectly. Nor, I believe, has the story of S. Veronica ever been asserted to be other than symbolic by the sincere teachers of the Church; and, even so far as in that merely explanatory function, it became the seal of an extreme sorrow, it is not easy to understand how the pensive fable was associated with a flower so familiar, so bright, and so popularly of good omen, as the Speedwell. 18. Yet, the fact being actually so, and this consecration of the veronica being certainly far more ancient and earnest than the faintly romantic and extremely absurd legend of the forget-me-not; the speedwell has assuredly the higher claim to be given and accepted as a token of pure and faithful love, and to be trusted as a sweet sign that the innocence of affection is indeed more frequent, and the appointed destiny of its faith more fortunate, than our inattentive hearts have hitherto discerned. 19. And this the more, because the recognized virtues and uses of the plant are real and manifold; and the ideas of a peculiar honourableness and worth of life connected with it by the German popular name 'Honour-prize'; while to the heart of the British race, the same thought is brought home by Shakespeare's adoption of the flower's Welsh name, for the faithfullest common soldier of his ideal king. As a lover's pledge, therefore, it does not merely mean memory;--for, indeed, why should love be thought of as such at all, if it need to promise not to forget?--but the blossom is significant also of the lover's best virtues, patience in suffering, purity in thought, gaiety in courage, and serenity in truth: and therefore I make it, worthily, the clasping and central flower of the Cytherides. * * * * * CHAPTER IV. GIULIETTA. 1. Supposing that, in early life, one had the power of living to one's fancy,--and why should we not, if the said fancy were restrained by the knowledge of the two great laws concerning our nature, that happiness is increased, not by the enlargement of the possessions, but of the heart; and days lengthened, not by the crowding of emotions, but the economy of them?--if thus taught, we had, I repeat, the ordering of our house and estate in our own hands, I believe no manner of temperance in pleasure would be better rewarded than that of making our gardens gay only with common flowers; and leaving those which needed care for their transplanted life to be found in their native places when we travelled. So long as I had crocus and daisy in the spring, roses in the summer, and hollyhocks and pinks in the autumn, I used to be myself independent of farther horticulture,--and it is only now that I am old, and since pleasant travelling has become impossible to me, that I am thankful to have the white narcissus in my borders, instead of waiting to walk through the fragrance of the meadows of Clarens; and pleased to see the milkwort blue on my scythe-mown banks, since I cannot gather it any more on the rocks of the Vosges, or in the divine glens of Jura. 2. Among the losses, all the more fatal in being unfelt, brought upon us by the fury and vulgarity of modern life, I count for one of the saddest, the loss of the wish to gather a flower in travelling. The other day,--whether indeed a sign of some dawning of doubt and remorse in the public mind, as to the perfect jubilee of railroad journey, or merely a piece of the common daily flattery on which the power of the British press first depends, I cannot judge;--but, for one or other of such motives, I saw lately in some illustrated paper, a pictorial comparison of old-fashioned and modern travel, representing, as the type of things passed away, the outside passengers of the mail shrinking into huddled and silent distress from the swirl of a winter snowstorm; and for type of the present Elysian dispensation, the inside of a first-class saloon carriage, with a beautiful young lady in the last pattern of Parisian travelling dress, conversing, Daily news in hand, with a young officer--her fortunate vis-à-vis--on the subject of our military successes in Afghanistan and Zululand.[24] 3. I will not, in presenting--it must not be called the other side, but the supplementary, and wilfully omitted, facts, of this ideal,--oppose, as I fairly might, the discomforts of a modern cheap excursion train, to the chariot-and-four, with outriders and courier, of ancient noblesse. I will compare only the actual facts, in the former and in latter years, of my own journey from Paris to Geneva. As matters are now arranged, I find myself, at half past eight in the evening, waiting in a confused crowd with which I am presently to contend for a seat, in the dim light and cigar-stench of the great station of the Lyons line. Making slow way through the hostilities of the platform, in partly real, partly weak politeness, as may be, I find the corner seats of course already full of prohibitory cloaks and umbrellas; but manage to get a middle back one; the net overhead is already surcharged with a bulging extra portmanteau, so that I squeeze my desk as well as I can between my legs, and arrange what wraps I have about my knees and shoulders. Follow a couple of hours of simple patience, with nothing to entertain one's thoughts but the steady roar of the line under the wheels, the blinking and dripping of the oil lantern, and the more or less ungainly wretchedness, and variously sullen compromises and encroachments of posture, among the five other passengers preparing themselves for sleep: the last arrangement for the night being to shut up both windows, in order to effect, with our six breaths, a salutary modification of the night air. 4. The banging and bumping of the carriages over the turn-tables wakes me up as I am beginning to doze, at Fontainebleau, and again at Sens; and the trilling and thrilling of the little telegraph bell establishes itself in my ears, and stays there, trilling me at last into a shivering, suspicious sort of sleep, which, with a few vaguely fretful shrugs and fidgets, carries me as far as Tonnerre, where the 'quinze minutes d'arret' revolutionize everything; and I get a turn or two on the platform, and perhaps a glimpse of the stars, with promise of a clear morning; and so generally keep awake past Mont Bard, remembering the happy walks one used to have on the terrace under Buffon's tower, and thence watching, if perchance, from the mouth of the high tunnel, any film of moonlight may show the far undulating masses of the hills of Citeaux. But most likely one knows the place where the great old view used to be only by the sensible quickening of the pace as the train turns down the incline, and crashes through the trenched cliffs into the confusion and high clattering vault of the station at Dijon. 5. And as my journey is almost always in the springtime, the twisted spire of the cathedral usually shows itself against the first grey of dawn, as we run out again southwards: and resolving to watch the sunrise, I fall more complacently asleep,--and the sun is really up by the time one has to change carriages, and get morning coffee at Macon. And from Amberieux, through the Jura valley, one is more or less feverishly happy and thankful, not so much for being in sight of Mont Blanc again, as in having got through the nasty and gloomy night journey; and then the sight of the Rhone and the Salève seems only like a dream, presently to end in nothingness; till, covered with dust, and feeling as if one never should be fit for anything any more, one staggers down the hill to the Hotel des Bergues, and sees the dirtied Rhone, with its new iron bridge, and the smoke of a new factory exactly dividing the line of the aiguilles of Chamouni. 6. That is the journey as it is now,--and as, for me, it must be; except on foot, since there is now no other way of making it. But this _was_ the way we used to manage it in old days:-- Very early in Continental transits we had found out that the family travelling carriage, taking much time and ingenuity to load, needing at the least three, usually four--horses, and on Alpine passes six, not only jolted and lagged painfully on bad roads, but was liable in every way to more awkward discomfitures than lighter vehicles; getting itself jammed in archways, wrenched with damage out of ruts, and involved in volleys of justifiable reprobation among market stalls. So when we knew better, my father and mother always had their own old-fashioned light two-horse carriage to themselves, and I had one made with any quantity of front and side pockets for books and picked up stones; and hung very low, with a fixed side-step, which I could get off or on with the horses at the trot; and at any rise or fall of the road, relieve them, and get my own walk, without troubling the driver to think of me. 7. Thus, leaving Paris in the bright spring morning, when the Seine glittered gaily at Charenton, and the arbres de Judée were mere pyramids of purple bloom round Villeneuve-St.-Georges, one had an afternoon walk among the rocks of Fontainebleau, and next day we got early into Sens, for new lessons in its cathedral aisles, and the first saunter among the budding vines of the coteaux. I finished my plate of the Tower of Giotto, for the 'Seven Lamps,' in the old inn at Sens, which Dickens has described in his wholly matchless way in the last chapter of 'Mrs. Lirriper's Lodgings'. The next day brought us to the oolite limestones at Mont Bard, and we always spent the Sunday at the Bell in Dijon. Monday, the drive of drives, through the village of Genlis, the fortress of Auxonne, and up the hill to the vine-surrounded town of Dole; whence, behold at last the limitless ranges of Jura, south and north, beyond the woody plain, and above them the 'Derniers Kochers' and the white square-set summit, worshipped ever anew. Then at Poligny, the same afternoon, we gathered the first milkwort for that year; and on Tuesday, at St. Laurent, the wild lily of the valley; and on Wednesday, at Morez, gentians. And on Thursday, the _eighth or ninth_ day from Paris, days all spent patiently and well, one saw from the gained height of Jura, the great Alps unfold themselves in their chains and wreaths of incredible crest and cloud. 8. Unhappily, during all the earliest and usefullest years of such travelling, I had no thought of ever taking up botany as a study; feeling well that even geology, which was antecedent to painting with me, could not be followed out in connection with art but under strict limits, and with sore shortcomings. It has only been the later discovery of the uselessness of old scientific botany, and the abominableness of new, as an element of education for youth;--and my certainty that a true knowledge of their native Flora was meant by Heaven to be one of the first heart-possessions of every happy boy and girl in flower-bearing lands, that have compelled me to gather into system my fading memories, and wandering thoughts.[25] And of course in the diaries written at places of which I now want chiefly the details of the Flora, I find none; and in this instance of the milkwort, whose name I was first told by the Chamouni guide, Joseph Couttet, then walking with me on the unperilous turf of the first rise of the Vosges, west of Strasburg, and rebuking me indignantly for my complaint that, being then thirty-seven years old, and not yet able to draw the great plain and distant spire, it was of no use trying in the poor remainder of life to do anything serious,--then, and there, I say, for the first time examining the strange little flower, and always associating it, since, with the limestone crags of Alsace and Burgundy, I don't find a single note of its preferences or antipathies in other districts, and cannot say a word about the soil it chooses, or the height it ventures, or the familiarities to which it condescends, on the Alps or Apennines. 9. But one thing I have ascertained of it, lately at Brantwood, that it is capricious and fastidious beyond any other little blossom I know of. In laying out the rock garden, most of the terrace sides were trusted to remnants of the natural slope, propped by fragments of stone, among which nearly every other wild flower that likes sun and air, is glad sometimes to root itself. But at the top of all, one terrace was brought to mathematically true level of surface, and slope of side, and turfed with delicately chosen and adjusted sods, meant to be kept duly trim by the scythe. And _only_ on this terrace does the Giulietta choose to show herself,--and even there, not in any consistent places, but gleaming out here in one year, there in another, like little bits of unexpected sky through cloud; and entirely refusing to allow either bank or terrace to be mown the least trim during _her_ time of disport there. So spared and indulged, there are no more wayward things in all the woods or wilds; no more delicate and perfect things to be brought up by watch through day and night, than her recumbent clusters, trickling, sometimes almost gushing through the grass, and meeting in tiny pools of flawless blue. 10. I will not attempt at present to arrange the varieties of the Giulietta, for I find that all the larger and presumably characteristic forms belong to the Cape; and only since Mr. Froude came back from his African explorings have I been able to get any clear idea of the brilliancy and associated infinitude of the Cape flowers. If I could but write down the substance of what he has told me, in the course of a chat or two, which have been among the best privileges of my recent stay in London, (prolonged as it has been by recurrence of illness,) it would be a better summary of what should be generally known in the natural history of southern plants than I could glean from fifty volumes of horticultural botany. In the meantime, everything being again thrown out of gear by the aforesaid illness, I must let this piece of 'Proserpina' break off, as most of my work does--and as perhaps all of it may soon do--leaving only suggestion for the happier research of the students who trust me thus far. 11. Some essential points respecting the flower I shall note, however, before ending. There is one large and frequent species of it of which the flowers are delicately yellow, touched with tawny red, forming one of the chief elements of wild foreground vegetation in the healthy districts of hard Alpine limestone.[26] This is, I believe, the only European type of the large Cape varieties, in all of which, judging from such plates as have been accessible to me, the crests or fringes of the lower petal are less conspicuous than in the smaller species; and the flower almost takes the aspect of a broom-blossom or pease-blossom. In the smaller European varieties, the white fringes of the lower petal are the most important and characteristic part of the flower, and they are, among European wild flowers, absolutely without any likeness of associated structure. The fringes or crests which, towards the origin of petals, so often give a frosted or gemmed appearance to the centres of flowers, are here thrown to the extremity of the petal, and suggest an almost coralline structure of blossom, which in no other instance whatever has been imitated, still less carried out into its conceivable varieties of form. How many such varieties might have been produced if these fringes of the Giulietta, or those already alluded to of Lucia nivea, had been repeated and enlarged; as the type, once adopted for complex bloom in the thistle-head, is multiplied in the innumerable gradations of thistle, teasel, hawkweed, and aster! We might have had flowers edged with lace finer than was ever woven by mortal fingers, or tasselled and braided with fretwork of silver, never tarnished--or hoarfrost that grew brighter in the sun. But it was not to be, and after a few hints of what might be done in this kind, the Fate, or Folly, or, on recent theories, the extreme fitness--and consequent survival, of the Thistles and Dandelions, entirely drives the fringed Lucias and blue-flushing milkworts out of common human neighbourhood, to live recluse lives with the memories of the abbots of Cluny, and pastors of Piedmont. 12. I have called the Giulietta 'blue-_flushing_' because it is one of the group of exquisite flowers which at the time of their own blossoming, breathe their colour into the surrounding leaves and supporting stem. Very notably the Grape hyacinth and Jura hyacinth, and some of the Vestals, empurpling all their green leaves even to the ground: a quite distinct nature in the flower, observe, this possession of a power to kindle the leaf and stem with its own passion, from that of the heaths, roses, or lilies, where the determined bracts or calicos assert themselves in opposition to the blossom, as little pine-leaves, or mosses, or brown paper packages, and the like. 13. The Giulietta, however, is again entirely separate from the other leaf-flushing blossoms, in that, after the two green leaves next the flower have glowed with its blue, while it lived, they do not fade or waste with it, but return to their own former green simplicity, and close over it to protect the seed. I only know this to be the case with the Giulietta Regina; but suppose it to be (with variety of course in the colours) a condition in other species,--though of course nothing is ever said of it in the botanical accounts of them. I gather, however, from Curtis's careful drawings that the prevailing colour of the Cape species is purple, thus justifying still further my placing them among the Cytherides; and I am content to take the descriptive epithets at present given them, for the following five of this southern group, hoping that they may be explained for me afterwards by helpful friends. 14. Bracteolata, C. 345. Oppositifolia, C. 492. Speciosa, C. 1790. These three all purple, and scarcely distinguishable from sweet pease-blossom, only smaller. Stipulacea, C. 1715. Small, and very beautiful, lilac and purple, with a leaf and mode of growth like rosemary. The "Foxtail" milkwort, whose name I don't accept, C. 1006, is intermediate between this and the next species. 15. Mixta, C. 1714. I don't see what mingling is meant, except that it is just like Erica tetralix in the leaf, only, apparently, having little four-petalled pinks for blossoms. This appearance is thus botanically explained. I do not myself understand the description, but copy it, thinking it may be of use to somebody. "The apex of the carina is expanded into a two-lobed plain petal, the lobes of which are emarginate. This appendix is of a bright rose colour, and forms the principal part of the flower." The describer relaxes, or relapses, into common language so far as to add that 'this appendix' "dispersed among the green foliage in every part of the shrub, gives it a pretty lively appearance." Perhaps this may also be worth extracting. "Carina, deeply channeled, _of a saturated purple_ within, sides folded together, so as to include and firmly embrace the style and stamens, which, when arrived at maturity, upon being moved, escape elastically from their confinement, and strike against the two erect petals or alæ--by which the pollen is dispersed. "Stem shrubby, with long flexile branches." (Length or height not told. I imagine like an ordinary heath's.) The term 'carina,' occurring twice in the above description, is peculiar to the structure of the pease and milk-worts; we will examine it afterwards. The European varieties of the milkwort, except the chamæbuxus, are all minute,--and, their ordinary epithets being at least inoffensive, I give them for reference till we find prettier ones; altering only the Calcarea, because we could not have a 'Chalk Juliet,' and two varieties of the Regina, changed for reason good--her name, according to the last modern refinements of grace and ease in pronunciation, being Eu-vularis, var. genuina! My readers may more happily remember her and her sister as follows:-- 16. (I.) Giulietta Regina. Pure blue. The same in colour, form, and size, throughout Europe. (II.) Giulietta Soror-Reginæ. Pale, reddish-blue or white in the flower, and smaller in the leaf, otherwise like the Regina. (III.) Giulietta Depressa. The smallest of those I can find drawings of. Flowers, blue; lilac in the fringe, and no bigger than pins' heads; the leaves quite gem-like in minuteness and order. (IV.) Giulietta Cisterciana. Its present name, 'Calcarea,' is meant, in botanic Latin, to express its growth on limestone or chalk mountains. But we might as well call the South Down sheep, Calcareous mutton. My epithet will rightly associate it with the Burgundian hills round Cluny and Citeaux. Its ground leaves are much larger than those of the Depressa; the flower a little larger, but very pale. (V.) Giulietta Austriaca. Pink, and very lovely, with bold cluster of ground leaves, but itself minute--almost dwarf. Called 'small bitter milkwort' by S. How far distinct from the next following one, Norwegian, is not told. The above five kinds are given by Sowerby as British, but I have never found the Austriaca myself. (VI.) Giulietta Amara. Norwegian. Very quaint in blossom outline, like a little blue rabbit with long ears. D. 1169. 17. Nobody tells me why either this last or No. 5 have been called bitter; and Gerarde's five kinds are distinguished only by colour--blue, red, white, purple, and "the dark, of an overworn ill-favoured colour, which maketh it to differ from all others of his kind." I find no account of this ill-favoured one elsewhere. The white is my Soror Reginæ; the red must be the Austriaca; but the purple and overworn ones are perhaps now overworn indeed. All of them must have been more common in Gerarde's time than now, for he goes on to say "Milk-woort is called _Ambarualis flos_. so called because it doth specially flourish in the Crosse or Gang-weeke, or Rogation-weeke, of which flowers, the maidens which use in the countries to walk the procession do make themselves garlands and nosegaies, in English we may call it Crosse flower, Gang flower, Rogation flower, and Milk-woort." 18. Above, at page 197, vol. i., in first arranging the Cytherides, I too hastily concluded that the ascription to this plant of helpfulness to nursing mothers was 'more than ordinarily false'; thinking that its rarity could never have allowed it to be fairly tried. If indeed true, or in any degree true, the flower has the best right of all to be classed with the Cytherides, and we might have as much of it for beauty and for service as we choose, if we only took half the pains to garnish our summer gardens with living and life-giving blossom, that we do to garnish our winter gluttonies with dying and useless ones. 19. I have said nothing of root, or fruit, or seed, having never had the hardness of heart to pull up a milkwort cluster--nor the chance of watching one in seed:--The pretty thing vanishes as it comes, like the blue sky of April, and leaves no sign of itself--that _I_ ever found. The botanists tell me that its fruit "dehisces loculicidally," which I suppose is botanic for "splits like boxes," (but boxes shouldn't split, and didn't, as we used to make and handle them before railways). Out of the split boxes fall seeds--too few; and, as aforesaid, the plant never seems to grow again in the same spot. I should thankfully receive any notes from friends happy enough to live near milkwort banks, on the manner of its nativity. 20. Meanwhile, the Thistle, and the Nettle, and the Dock, and the Dandelion are cared for in their generations by the finest arts of--Providence, shall we say? or of the spirits appointed to punish our own want of Providence? May I ask the reader to look back to the seventh chapter of the first volume, for it contains suggestions of thoughts which came to me at a time of very earnest and faithful inquiry, set down, I now see too shortly, under the press of reading they involved, but intelligible enough if they are read as slowly as they were written, and especially note the paragraph of summary of p. 121 on the power of the Earth Mother, as Mother, and as _judge;_ watching and rewarding the conditions which induce adversity and prosperity in the kingdoms of men: comparing with it carefully the close of the fourth chapter, p. 85,[27] which contains, for the now recklessly multiplying classes of artists and colonists, truths essential to their skill, and inexorable upon their labour. 21. The pen-drawing facsimiled by Mr. Allen with more than his usual care in the frontispiece to this number of 'Proserpina,' was one of many executed during the investigation of the schools of Gothic (German, and later French), which founded their minor ornamentation on the serration of the thistle leaf, as the Greeks on that of the Acanthus, but with a consequent, and often morbid, love of thorny points, and insistance upon jagged or knotted intricacies of stubborn vegetation, which is connected in a deeply mysterious way with the gloomier forms of Catholic asceticism.[28] 22. But also, in beginning 'Proserpina,' I intended to give many illustrations of the light and shade of foreground leaves belonging to the nobler groups of thistles, because I thought they had been neglected by ordinary botanical draughtsmen; not knowing at that time either the original drawings at Oxford for the 'Flora Græca,' or the nobly engraved plates executed in the close of the last century for the 'Flora Danica' and 'Flora Londinensis.' The latter is in the most difficult portraiture of the larger plants, even the more wonderful of the two; and had I seen the miracles of skill, patience, and faithful study which are collected in the first and second volumes, published in 1777 and 1798, I believe my own work would never have been undertaken.[29] Such as it is, however, I may still, health being granted me, persevere in it; for my own leaf and branch studies express conditions of shade which even these most exquisite botanical plates ignore; and exemplify uses of the pen and pencil which cannot be learned from the inimitable fineness of line engraving. The frontispiece to this number, for instance, (a seeding head of the commonest field-thistle of our London suburbs,) copied with a steel pen on smooth grey paper, and the drawing softly touched with white on the nearer thorns, may well surpass the effect of the plate. 23. In the following number of 'Proserpina' I have been tempted to follow, with more minute notice than usual, the 'conditions of adversity' which, as they fret the thistle tribe into jagged malice, have humbled the beauty of the great domestic group of the Vestals into confused likenesses of the Dragonweed and Nettle: but I feel every hour more and more the necessity of separating the treatment of subjects in 'Proserpina' from the microscopic curiosities of recent botanic illustration, nor shall this work close, if my strength hold, without fulfilling in some sort, the effort begun long ago in 'Modern Painters,' to interpret the grace of the larger blossoming trees, and the mysteries of leafy form which clothe the Swiss precipice with gentleness, and colour with softest azure the rich horizons of England and Italy. * * * * * CHAPTER V. BRUNELLA. 1. It ought to have been added to the statements of general law in irregular flowers, in Chapter I. of this volume, § 6, that if the petals, while brought into relations of inequality, still retain their perfect petal form,--and whether broad or narrow, extended or reduced, remain clearly _leaves_, as in the pansy, pea, or azalea, and assume no grotesque or obscure outline,--the flower, though injured, is not to be thought of as corrupted or misled. But if any of the petals lose their definite character as such, and become swollen, solidified, stiffened, or strained into any other form or function than that of petals, the flower is to be looked upon as affected by some kind of constant evil influence; and, so far as we conceive of any spiritual power being concerned in the protection or affliction of the inferior orders of creatures, it will be felt to bear the aspect of possession by, or pollution by, a more or less degraded Spirit.[30] 2. I have already enough spoken of the special manifestation of this character in the orders Contorta and Satyrium, vol. i., p. 91, and the reader will find the parallel aspects of the Draconidæ dwelt upon at length in the 86th and 87th paragraphs of the 'Queen of the Air,' where also their relation to the labiate group is touched upon. But I am far more embarrassed by the symbolism of that group which I called 'Vestales,' from their especially domestic character and their serviceable purity; but which may be, with more convenience perhaps, simply recognizable as 'Menthæ.' 3. These are, to our northern countries, what the spice-bearing trees are in the tropics;--our thyme, lavender, mint, marjoram, and their like, separating themselves not less in the health giving or strengthening character of their scent from the flowers more or less enervating in perfume, as the rose, orange, and violet,--than in their humble colours and forms from the grace and splendour of those higher tribes; thus allowing themselves to be summed under the general word 'balm' more truly than the balsams from which the word is derived. Giving the most pure and healing powers to the air around them; with a comfort of warmth also, being mostly in dry places, and forming sweet carpets and close turf; but only to be rightly enjoyed in the open air, or indoors when dried; not tempting any one to luxury, nor expressive of any kind of exultation. Brides do not deck themselves with thyme, nor do we wreathe triumphal arches with mint. 4. It is most notable, also, farther, that none of these flowers have any extreme beauty in colour. The blue sage is the only one of vivid hue at all; and we never think of it as for a moment comparable to the violet or bluebell: thyme is unnoticed beside heath, and many of the other purple varieties of the group are almost dark and sad coloured among the flowers of summer; while, so far from gaining beauty on closer looking, there is scarcely a blossom of them which is not more or less grotesque, even to ugliness, in outline; and so hooded or lappeted as to look at first like some imperfect form of snapdragon for the most part spotted also, wrinkled as if by old age or decay, cleft or torn, as if by violence, and springing out of calices which, in their clustering spines, embody the general roughness of the plant. 5. I take at once for example, lest the reader should think me unkind or intemperate in my description, a flower very dear and precious to me; and at this time my chief comfort in field walks. For, now, the reign of all the sweet reginas of the spring is over--the reign of the silvia and anemone, of viola and veronica; and at last, and this year abdicated under tyrannous storm,[31] the reign of the rose. And the last foxglove-bells are nearly fallen; and over all my fields and by the brooksides are coming up the burdock, and the coarse and vainly white aster, and the black knapweeds; and there is only one flower left to be loved among the grass,--the soft, warm-scented Brunelle. 6. _P_runell, _or_ Brunell--Gerarde calls it; and Brunella, rightly and authoritatively, Tournefort; Prunella, carelessly, Linnæus, and idly following him, the moderns, casting out all the meaning and help of its name--of which presently. Selfe-heale, Gerarde and Gray call it, in English--meaning that who has this plant needs no physician. 7. As I look at it, close beside me, it seems as if it would reprove me for what I have just said of the poverty of colour in its tribe; for the most glowing of violets could not be lovelier than each fine purple gleam of its hooded blossoms. But their flush is broken and oppressed by the dark calices out of which they spring, and their utmost power in the field is only of a saddened amethystine lustre, subdued with furry brown. And what is worst in the victory of the darker colour is the disorder of the scattered blossoms;--of all flowers I know, this is the strangest, in the way that here and there, only in their cluster, its bells rise or remain, and it always looks as if half of them had been shaken off, and the top of the cluster broken short away altogether. 8. We must never lose hold of the principle that every flower is meant to be seen by human creatures with human eyes, as by spiders with spider eyes. But as the painter may sometimes play the spider, and weave a mesh to entrap the heart, so the beholder may play the spider, when there are meshes to be disentangled that have entrapped his mind. I take my lens, therefore--to the little wonder of a brown wasps' nest with blue-winged wasps in it,--and perceive therewith the following particulars. 9. First, that the blue of the petals is indeed pure and lovely, and a little crystalline in texture; but that the form and setting of them is grotesque beyond all wonder; the two uppermost joined being like an old fashioned and enormous hood or bonnet, and the lower one projecting far out in the shape of a cup or cauldron, torn deep at the edges into a kind of fringe. Looking more closely still, I perceive there is a cluster of stiff white hairs, almost bristles, on the top of the hood; for no imaginable purpose of use or decoration--any more than a hearth-brush put for a helmet-crest,--and that, as we put the flower full in front, the lower petal begins to look like some threatening viperine or shark-like jaw, edged with ghastly teeth,--and yet more, that the hollow within begins to suggest a resemblance to an open throat in which there are two projections where the lower petal joins the lateral ones, almost exactly like swollen glands. I believe it was this resemblance, inevitable to any careful and close observer, which first suggested the use of the plant in throat diseases to physicians; guided, as in those first days of pharmacy, chiefly by imagination. Then the German name for one of the most fatal of throat affections, Braune, extended itself into the first name of the plant, Brunelle. 10. The truth of all popular traditions as to the healing power of herbs will be tried impartially as soon as men again desire to lead healthy lives; but I shall not in 'Proserpina' retain any of the names of their gathered and dead or distilled substance, but name them always from the characters of their life. I retain, however, for this plant its name Brunella, Fr. Brunelle, because we may ourselves understand it as a derivation from Brune; and I bring it here before the reader's attention as giving him a perfectly instructive general type of the kind of degradation which takes place in the forms of flowers under more or less malefic influence, causing distortion and disguise of their floral structure. Thus it is not the normal character of a flower petal to have a cluster of bristles growing out of the middle of it, nor to be jagged at the edge into the likeness of a fanged fish's jaw, nor to be swollen or pouted into the likeness of a diseased gland in an animal's throat. A really uncorrupted flower suggests none but delightful images, and is like nothing but itself. 11. I find that in the year 1719, Tournefort defined, with exactitude which has rendered the definition authoritative for all time, the tribe to which this Brownie flower belongs, constituting them his fourth class, and describing them in terms even more depreciatingly imaginative than any I have ventured to use myself. I translate the passage (vol. i., p. 177):-- 12. "The name of Labiate flower is given to a single-petaled flower which, beneath, is attenuated into a tube, and above is expanded into a lip, which is either single or double. It is proper to a labiate flower,--first, that it has a one-leaved calyx (ut calycem habeat _unifolium_), for the most part tubulated, or reminding one of a paper hood (cucullum papyraceum); and, secondly, that its pistil ripens into a fruit consisting of four seeds, which ripen in the calyx itself, as if in their own seed-vessel, by which a labiate flower is distinguished from a personate one, whose pistil becomes a capsule far divided from the calyx (à calyce longò divisam). And a labiate flower differs from rotate, or bell-shaped flowers, which have four seeds, in that the lips of a labiate flower have a gape like the face of a goblin, or ludicrous mask, emulous of animal form." 13. This class is then divided into four sections. In the first, the upper lip is helmeted, or hooked--"galeatum est, vel falcatum." In the second, the upper lip is excavated like a spoon--"cochlearis instar est excavatum." In the third the upper lip is erect. And in the fourth there is no upper lip at all. The reader will, I hope, forgive me for at once rejecting a classification of lipped plants into three classes that have lips, and one that has none, and in which the lips of those that have got any, are like helmets and spoons. Linnaeus, in 1758, grouped the family into two divisions, by the form of the calyx, (five-fold or two-fold), and then went into the wildest confusion in distinction of species,--sometimes by the form of corolla, sometimes by that of calyx, sometimes by that of the filaments, sometimes by that of the stigma, and sometimes by that of the seed. As, for instance, thyme is to be identified by the calyx having hairs in its throat, dead nettle by having bristles in its mouth, lion's tail by having bones in its anthers (antheræ punctis osseis adspersæ), and teucrium by having its upper lip cut in two! 14. St. Hilaire, in 1805, divides again into four sections, but as three of these depend on form of corolla, and the fourth on abortion of stamens, the reader may conclude practically, that logical division of the family is impossible, and that all he can do, or that there is the smallest occasion for his doing, is first to understand the typical structure thoroughly, and then to know a certain number of forms accurately, grouping the others round them at convenient distances; and, finally, to attach to their known forms such simple names as may be utterable by children, and memorable by old people, with more ease and benefit than the 'Galeopsis Eu-te-trahit,' 'Lamium Galeobdalon,' or 'Scutellaria Galericulata,'and the like, of modern botany. But to do this rightly, I must review and amplify some of my former classification, which it will be advisable to do in a separate chapter. * * * * * CHAPTER VI. MONACHA. 1. It is not a little vexing to me, in looking over the very little I have got done of my planned Systema Proserpinæ, to discover a grave mistake in the specifications of Veronica. It is Veronica chamædrys, not officinalis, which is our proper English Speedwell, and Welsh Fluellen; and all the eighth paragraph, p. 74, properly applies to that. Veronica officinalis is an extremely small flower rising on vertical stems out of recumbent leaves; and the drawing of it in the Flora Danica, which I mistook for a stunted northern state, is quite true of the English species,[32] except that it does not express the recumbent action of the leaves. The proper representation of ground-leafage has never yet been attempted in any botanical work whatever, and as, in recumbent plants, their grouping and action can only be seen from above, the plates of them should always have a dark and rugged background, not only to indicate the position of the eye, but to relieve the forms of the leaves as they were intended to be shown. I will try to give some examples in the course of this year. 2. I find also, sorrowfully, that the references are wrong in three, if not more, places in that chapter. S. 971 and 972 should be transposed in p. 72. S. 294 in p. 74 should be 984. D. 407 should be inserted after Peregrina, in p. 76; and 203, in fourth line from bottom of p. 78, should be 903. I wish it were likely that these errors had been corrected by my readers,--the rarity of the Flora Danica making at present my references virtually useless: but I hope in time that our public institutes will possess themselves of copies: still more do I hope that some book of the kind will be undertaken by English artists and engravers, which shall be worthy of our own country. 3. Farther, I get into confusion by not always remembering my own nomenclature, and have allowed 'Gentianoides' to remain, for No. 16, though I banish Gentian. It will be far better to call this eastern mountain species 'Olympica': according to Sibthorpe's localization, "in summâ parte, nive solutâ, montis Olympi Bithyni," and the rather that Curtis's plate above referred to shows it in luxuriance to be liker an asphodel than a gentian. 4. I have also perhaps done wrong in considering Veronica polita and agrestis as only varieties, in No. 3. No author tells me why the first is called polite, but its blue seems more intense than that of agrestis; and as it is above described with attention, vol. i., p. 75, as an example of precision in flower-form, we may as well retain it in our list here. It will be therefore our twenty-first variety,--it is Loudon's fifty-ninth and last. He translates 'polita' simply 'polished,' which is nonsense. I can think of nothing to call it but 'dainty,' and will leave it at present unchristened. 5. Lastly. I can't think why I omitted V. Humifusa, S. 979, which seems to be quite one of the most beautiful of the family--a mountain flower also, and one which I ought to find here; but hitherto I know only among the mantlings of the ground, V. thymifolia and officinalis. All these, however, agree in the extreme prettiness and grace of their crowded leafage,--the officinalis, of which the leaves are shown much too coarsely serrated in S. 984, forming carpets of finished embroidery which I have never yet rightly examined, because I mistook them for St. John's wort. They are of a beautiful pointed oval form, serrated so finely that they seem smooth in distant effect, and covered with equally invisible hairs, which seem to collect towards the edge in the variety Hirsuta, S. 985. For the present, I should like the reader to group the three flowers, S. 979, 984, 985, under the general name of Humifusa, and to distinguish them by a third epithet, which I allow myself when in difficulties, thus: V. Humifusa, cærulea, the beautiful blue one, which resembles Spicata. V. Humifusa, officinalis, and, V. Humifusa, hirsuta: the last seems to me extremely interesting, and I hope to find it and study it carefully. By this arrangement we shall have only twenty-one species to remember: the one which chiefly decorates the ground again dividing into the above three. 6. These matters being set right, I pass to the business in hand, which is to define as far as possible the subtle relations between the Veronicas and Draconidæ, and again between these and the tribe at present called labiate. In my classification above, vol. i, p. 200, the Draconidæ include the Nightshades; but this was an oversight. Atropa belongs properly to the following class, Moiridæ; and my Draconids are intended to include only the two great families of Personate and Ringent flowers, which in some degree resemble the head of an animal: the representative one being what we call 'snapdragon,' but the French, careless of its snapping power, 'calf's muzzle'--"Muflier, muflande, or muffle de Veau."--Rousseau, 'Lettres,' p. 19. 7. As I examine his careful and sensible plates of it, I chance also on a bit of his text, which, extremely wise and generally useful, I translate forthwith:-- "I understand, my dear, that one is vexed to take so much trouble without learning the names of the plants one examines; but I confess to you in good faith that it never entered into my plan to spare you this little chagrin. One pretends that Botany is nothing but a science of words, which only exercises the memory, and only teaches how to give plants names. For me, I know _no_ rational study which is only a science of words: and to which of the two, I pray you, shall I grant the name of botanist,--to him who knows how to spit out a name or a phrase at the sight of a plant, without knowing anything of its structure, or to him who, knowing that structure very well, is ignorant nevertheless of the very arbitrary name that one gives to the plant in such and such a country? If we only gave to your children an amusing occupation, we should miss the best half of our purpose, which is, in amusing them, to exercise their intelligence and accustom them to attention. Before teaching them to name what they see, let us begin by teaching them to see it. _That_ science, forgotten in all educations, ought to form the most important part of theirs. I can never repeat it often enough--teach them never to be satisfied with words, ('se payer de mots') and to hold themselves as knowing nothing of what has reached no farther than their memories." 8. Rousseau chooses, to represent his 'Personees,' La Mufflaude, la Linaire, l'Euphraise, la Pediculaire, la Crête-de-coq, l'Orobanche, la Cimbalaire, la Velvote, la Digitale, giving plates of snapdragon, foxglove, and Madonna-herb, (the Cimbalaire), and therefore including my entire class of Draconidæ, whether open or close throated. But I propose myself to separate from them the flower which, for the present, I have called Monacha, but may perhaps find hereafter a better name; this one, which is the best Latin I can find for a nun of the desert, being given to it because all the resemblance either to calf or dragon has ceased in its rosy petals, and they resemble--the lower ones those of the mountain thyme, and the upper one a softly crimson cowl or hood. 9. This beautiful mountain flower, at present, by the good grace of botanists, known as Pedicularis, from a disease which it is supposed to give to sheep, is distinguished from all other Draconidæ by its beautifully divided leaves: while the flower itself, like, as aforesaid, thyme in the three lower petals, rises in the upper one quite upright, and terminates in the narrow and peculiar hood from which I have named it 'Monacha.' 10. Two deeper crimson spots with white centres animate the colour of the lower petals in our mountain kind---mountain or morass;--it is vilely drawn in S. 997 under the name of Sylvatica, translated 'Procumbent'! As it is neither a wood flower nor a procumbent one,[33] and as its rosy colour is rare among morass flowers, I shall call it simply Monacha Rosea. I have not the smallest notion of the meaning of the following sentence in S.:--"Upper lip of corolla not rostrate, with the margin on each side furnished with a triangular tooth immediately below the apex, but without any tooth below the middle." Why, or when, a lip is rostrate, or has any 'tooth below the middle,' I do not know; but the upper _petal_ of the corolla is here a very close gathered hood, with the style emergent downwards, and the stamens all hidden and close set within. In this action of the upper petal, and curve of the style, the flower resembles the Labiates,[34] and is the proper link between them and the Draconidæ. The capsule is said by S. to be oval-ovoid. As eggs always _are_ oval, I don't feel farther informed by the epithet. The capsule and seed both are of entirely indescribable shapes, with any number of sides--very foxglove-like, and inordinately large. The seeds of the entire family are 'ovoid-subtrigonous.'--S. 11. I find only two species given as British by S., namely, Sylvatica and Palustris; but I take first for the Regina, the beautiful Arctic species D. 1105, Flora Suecica, 555. Rose-coloured in the stem, pale pink in the flowers (corollæ pallide incarnatæ), the calices furry against the cold, whence the present ugly name, Hirsuta. Only on the highest crests of the Lapland Alps. (2) Rosea, D. 225, there called Sylvatica, as by S., presumably because "in pascuis subhumidis non raræ." Beautifully drawn, but, as I have described it, vigorously erect, and with no decumbency whatever in any part of it. Root branched, and enormous in proportion to plant, and I fancy therefore must be good for something if one knew it. But Gerarde, who calls the plant Red Rattle, (it having indeed much in common with the Yellow Rattle), says, "It groweth in moist and moorish meadows; the herbe is not only unprofitable, but likewise hurtful, and an infirmity of the meadows." (3) Palustris, D. 2055, S. 996--scarcely any likeness between the plates. "Everywhere in the meadows," according to D. I leave the English name, Marsh Monacha, much doubting its being more marshy than others. 12. I take next (4 and 5) two northern species, Lapponica, D. 2, and Grönlandica, D. 1166; the first yellow, the second red, both beautiful. The Lap one has its divided leaves almost united into one lovely spear-shaped, single leaf. The Greenland one has its red hood much prolonged in front. (6) Ramosa, also a Greenland species; yellow, very delicate and beautiful. Three stems from one root, but may be more or fewer, I suppose. 13. (7) Norvegica, a beautifully clustered golden flower, with thick stem. D. 30, the only locality given being the Dovrefeldt. "Alpina" and "Flammea" are the synonyms, but I do not know it on the Alps, and it is no more flame-coloured than a cowslip. Both the Lapland and Norwegian flowers are drawn with their stems wavy, though upright--a rare and pretty habit of growth. 14. (8) Suecica, D. 26, named awkwardly Sceptrum Carolinum, in honour of Charles XII. It is the largest of all the species drawn in D., and contrasts strikingly with (4) and (5) in the strict uprightness of its stem. The corolla is closed at the extremity, which is red; the body of the flower pale yellow. Grows in marshy and shady woods, near Upsal. Linn., Flora Suecica, 553. The many-lobed but united leaves, at the root five or six inches long, are irregularly beautiful. 15. These eight species are all I can specify, having no pictures of the others named by Loudon,--eleven, making nineteen altogether, and I wish I could find a twentieth and draw them all, but the reader may be well satisfied if he clearly know these eight. The group they form is an entirely distinct one, exactly intermediate between the Vestals and Draconids, and cannot be rightly attached to either; for it is Draconid in structure and affinity--Vestal in form--and I don't see how to get the connection of the three families rightly expressed without taking the Draconidæ out of the groups belonging to the dark Kora, and placing them next the Vestals, with the Monachæ between; for indeed Linaria and several other Draconid forms are entirely innocent and beautiful, and even the Foxglove never does any real mischief like hemlock, while decoratively it is one of the most precious of mountain flowers. I find myself also embarrassed by my name of Vestals, because of the masculine groups of Basil and Thymus, and I think it will be better to call them simply Menthæ, and to place them with the other cottage-garden plants not yet classed, taking the easily remembered names Mentha, Monacha, Draconida. This will leave me a blank seventh place among my twelve orders at p. 194, vol. i., which I think I shall fill by taking cyclamen and anagillis out of the Primulaceæ, and making a separate group of them. These retouchings and changes are inevitable in a work confessedly tentative and suggestive only; but in whatever state of imperfection I may be forced to leave 'Proserpina,' it will assuredly be found, up to the point reached, a better foundation for the knowledge of flowers in the minds of young people than any hitherto adopted system of nomenclature. 16. Taking then this re-arranged group, Mentha, Monacha, and Draconida, as a sufficiently natural and convenient one, I will briefly give the essentially botanical relations of the three families. Mentha and Monacha agree in being essentially hooded flowers, the upper petal more or less taking the form of a cup, helmet or hood, which conceals the tops of the stamens. Of the three lower petals, the lowest is almost invariably the longest; it sometimes is itself divided again into two, but may be best thought of as single, and with the two lateral ones, distinguished in the Menthæ as the apron and the side pockets. Plate XII. represents the most characteristic types of the blossoms of Menthæ, in the profile and front views, all a little magnified. The upper two are white basil, purple spotted--growing here at Brantwood always with two terminal flowers. The two middle figures are the purple-spotted dead nettle, Lamium maculatum; and the two lower, thyme: but I have not been able to draw these as I wanted, the perspectives of the petals being too difficult, and inexplicable to the eye even in the flowers themselves without continually putting them in changed positions. 17. The Menthæ are in their structure essentially quadrate plants; their stems are square, their leaves opposite, their stamens either four or two, their seeds two-carpeled. But their calices are five-sepaled, falling into divisions of two and three; and the flowers, though essentially four-petaled, may divide either the upper or lower petal, or both, into two lobes, and so present a six-lobed outline. The entire plants, but chiefly the leaves, are nearly always fragrant, and always innocent. None of them sting, none prick, and none poison. 18. The Draconids, easily recognizable by their aspect, are botanically indefinable with any clearness or simplicity. The calyx may be five- or four-sepaled; the corolla, five- or four-lobed; the stamens may be two, four, four with a rudimentary fifth, or five with the two anterior ones longer than the other three! The capsule may open by two, three, or four valves,--or by pores; the seeds, generally numerous, are sometimes solitary, and the leaves may be alternate, opposite, or verticillate. 19. Thus licentious in structure, they are also doubtful in disposition. None that I know of are fragrant, few useful, many more or less malignant, and some parasitic. The following piece of a friend's letter almost makes me regret my rescue of them from the dark kingdom of Kora:-- "... And I find that the Monacha Rosea (Red Rattle is its name, besides the ugly one) is a perennial, and several of the other draconidæ, foxglove, etc., are biennials, born this year, flowering and dying next year, and the size of roots is generally proportioned to the life of plants; except when artificial cultivation develops the root specially, as in turnips, etc. Several of the Draconidæ are parasites, and suck the roots of other plants, and have only just enough of their own to catch with. The Yellow Rattle is one; it clings to the roots of the grasses and clovers, and no cultivation will make it thrive without them. My authority for this last fact is Grant Allen; but I have observed for myself that the Yellow Rattle has very small _white_ sucking roots, and no earth sticking to them. The toothworts and broom rapes are Draconidæ, I think, and wholly parasites. Can it be that the Red Rattle is the one member of the family that has 'proper pride, and is self supporting'? the others are mendicant orders. We had what we choose to call the Dorcas flower show yesterday, and we gave, as usual, prizes for wild flower bouquets. I tried to find out the local names of several flowers, but they all seemed to be called 'I don't know, ma'am.' I would not allow this name to suffice for the red poppy, and I said 'This red flower _must_ be called _something_--tell me what you call it?' A few of the audience answered 'Blind Eyes.' Is it because they have to do with sleep that they are called Blind Eyes--or because they are dazzling?" 20. I think, certainly, from the dazzling, which sometimes with the poppy, scarlet geranium, and nasturtium, is more distinctly oppressive to the eye than a real excess of light. I will certainly not include among my rescued Draconidæ, the parasitic Lathræa and Orobanche; and cannot yet make certain of any minor classification among those which I retain,--but, uniting Bartsia with Euphrasia, I shall have, in the main, the three divisions Digitalis, Linaria, Euphrasia, and probably separate the moneyworts as links with Veronica, and Rhinanthus as links with Lathræa. And as I shall certainly be unable this summer, under the pressure of resumed work at Oxford, to spend time in any new botanical investigations, I will rather try to fulfil the promise given in the last number, to collect what little I have been able hitherto to describe or ascertain, respecting the higher modes of tree structure. * * * * * CHAPTER VII. SCIENCE IN HER CELLS. [The following chapter has been written six years. It was delayed in order to complete the promised clearer analysis of stem-structure; which, after a great deal of chopping, chipping, and peeling of my oaks and birches, came to reverently hopeless pause. What is here done may yet have some use in pointing out to younger students how they may simplify their language, and direct their thoughts, so as to attain, in due time, to reverent hope.] 1. The most generally useful book, to myself, hitherto, in such little time as I have for reading about plants, has been Lindley's 'Ladies' Botany'; but the most rich and true I have yet found in illustration, the 'Histoire des Plantes,'[35] by Louis Figuier. I should like those of my readers who can afford it to buy both these books; the first named, at any rate, as I shall always refer to it for structural drawings, and on points of doubtful classification; while the second contains much general knowledge, expressed with some really human intelligence and feeling; besides some good and singularly _just_ history of botanical discovery and the men who guided it. The botanists, indeed, tell me proudly, "Figuier is no authority." But who wants authority! Is there nothing known yet about plants, then, which can be taught to a boy or girl, without referring them to an 'authority'? I, for my own part, care only to gather what Figuier can teach concerning things visible, to any boy or girl, who live within reach of a bramble hedge, or a hawthorn thicket, and can find authority enough for what they are told, in the sticks of them. 2. If only _he_ would, or could, tell us clearly that much; but like other doctors, though with better meaning than most, he has learned mainly to look at things with a microscope,--rarely with his eyes. And I am sorry to see, on re-reading this chapter of my own, which is little more than an endeavour to analyze and arrange the statements contained in his second, that I have done it more petulantly and unkindly than I ought; but I can't do all the work over again, now,--more's the pity. I have not looked at this chapter for a year, and shall be sixty before I know where I am;--(I find myself, instead, now, sixty-four!) 3. But I stand at once partly corrected in this second chapter of Figuier's, on the 'Tige,' French from the Latin 'Tignum,' which 'authorities' say is again from the Sanscrit, and means 'the thing hewn with an axe'; anyhow it is modern French for what we are to call the stem (§ 12, p. 136). "The tige," then, begins M. Louis, "is the axis of the ascending system of a vegetable, and it is garnished at intervals with vital knots, (eyes,) from which spring leaves and buds, disposed in a perfectly regular order. The root presents nothing of the kind. This character permits us always to distinguish, in the vegetable axis, what belongs really to the stem, and what to the root." 4. Yes; and that is partly a new idea to me, for in this power of _assigning their order_ for the leaves, the stem seems to take a royal or commandant character, and cannot be merely defined as the connexion of the leaf with the roots. In _it_ is put the spirit of determination. One cannot fancy the little leaf, as it is born, determining the point it will be born at: the governing stem must determine that for it. Also the disorderliness of the root is to be noted for a condition of its degradation, no less than its love, and need, of Darkness. Nor was I quite right (above, § 15, p. 139) in calling the stem _itself_ 'spiral': it is itself a straight-growing rod, but one which, as it grows, lays the buds of future leaves round it in a spiral order, like the bas-relief on Trajan's column. I go on with Figuier: the next passage is very valuable. 5. "The tige is the part of plants which, directed into the air, supports, and _gives growing power to_, the branches, the twigs, the leaves, and the flowers. The form, strength, and direction of the tige depend on the part that each plant has to play among the vast vegetable population of our globe. Plants which need for their life a pure and often-renewed air, are borne by a straight tige, robust and tall. When they have need only of a moist air, more condensed, and more rarely renewed, when they have to creep on the ground or glide in thickets, the tiges are long, flexible, and dragging. If they are to float in the air, sustaining themselves on more robust vegetables, they are provided with flexible, slender, and supple tiges." 6. Yes; but in that last sentence he loses hold of his main idea, and to me the important one,--namely, the connexion of the form of stem with the quality of the air it requires. And that idea itself is at present vague, though most valuable, to me. A strawberry creeps, with a flexible stem, but requires certainly no less pure air than a wood-fungus, which stands up straight. And in our own hedges and woods, are the wild rose and honeysuckle signs of unwholesome air? "And honeysuckle loved to crawl Up the lone crags and ruined wall. I deemed such nooks the sweetest shade The sun in all his round surveyed." It seems to me, in the nooks most haunted by honeysuckle in my own wood, that the reason for its twining is a very feminine one,--that it likes to twine; and that all these whys and wherefores resolve themselves at last into--what a modern philosopher, of course, cannot understand--caprice.[36] 7. Farther on, Figuier, quoting St. Hilaire, tells us, of the creepers in primitive forests,--"Some of them resemble waving ribands, others coil themselves and describe vast spirals; they droop in festoons, they wind hither and thither among the trees, they fling themselves from one to another, and form masses of leaves and flowers in which the observer is often at a loss to discover on which plant each several blossom grows." For all this, the real reasons will be known only when human beings become reasonable. For, except a curious naturalist or wistful missionary, no Christian has trodden the labyrinths of delight and decay among these garlands, but men who had no other thought than how to cheat their savage people out of their gold, and give them gin and smallpox in exchange. But, so soon as true servants of Heaven shall enter these Edens, and the Spirit of God enter with them, another spirit will also be breathed into the physical air; and the stinging insect, and venomous snake, and poisonous tree, pass away before the power of the regenerate human soul. 8. At length, on the structure of the tige, Figuier begins his real work, thus:--- "A glance of the eye, thrown on the section of a log of wood destined for warming, permits us to recognize that the tige of the trees of our forests presents three essential parts, which are, in going from within to without, the pith, the wood, and the bark. The pith, (in French, marrow,) forms a sort of column in the centre of the woody axis. In very thick and old stems its diameter appears very little; and it has even for a long time been supposed that the marrow ends by disappearing altogether from the stems of old trees. But it does nothing of the sort;[37] and it is now ascertained, by exact measures, that its diameter remains sensibly invariable[38] from the moment when the young woody axis begins to consolidate itself, to the epoch of its most complete development." So far, so good; but what does he mean by the complete development of the young _woody_ axis? When does the axis become 'wooden,' and how far up the tree does he call it an axis? If the stem divides into three branches, which is the axis? And is the pith in the trunk no thicker than in each branch? 9. He proceeds to tell us, "The marrow is formed by a reunion of cells."--Yes, and so is Newgate, and so was the Bastille. But what does it matter whether the marrow is made of a reunion of cells, or cellars, or walls, or floors, or ceilings? I want to know what's the use of it? why doesn't it grow bigger with the rest of the tree? when _does_ the tree 'consolidate itself'? when is it finally consolidated? and how can there be always marrow in it when the weary frame of its age remains a mere scarred tower of war with the elements, full of dust and bats? [Illustration: FIG. 24.] 'He will tell you if only you go on patiently,' thinks the reader. He will not! Once your modern botanist gets into cells, he stays in them. Hear how he goes on!--"This cell is a sort of sack; this sack is completely closed; sometimes it is empty, sometimes it"--is full?--no, that would be unscientific simplicity: sometimes it "conceals a matter in its interior." "The marrow of young trees, such as it is represented in Figure 24 (Figuier, Figs. 38, 39, p. 42), is nothing else"--(indeed!)--"than an aggregation of cells, which, first of spherical form, have become polyhedric by their increase and mutual compression." 10. Now these figures, 38 and 39, which profess to represent this change, show us sixteen oval cells, such as at A, (Fig. 24) enlarged into thirteen larger, and flattish, hexagons!--B, placed at a totally different angle. And before I can give you the figure revised with any available accuracy, I must know why or how the cells are enlarged, and in what direction. Do their walls lengthen laterally when they are empty, or does the 'matière' inside stuff them more out, (itself increased from what sources?) when they are full? In either case, during this change from circle to hexagon, is the marrow getting thicker without getting longer? If so, the change in the angle of the cells is intentional, and probably is so; but the number of cells should have been the same: and further, the term 'hexagonal' can only be applied to the _section_ of a tubular cell, as in honeycomb, so that the floor and ceiling of our pith cell are left undescribed. 11. Having got thus much of (partly conjectural) idea of the mechanical structure of marrow, here follows the solitary vital, or mortal, fact in the whole business, given in one crushing sentence at the close:--- "The medullary tissue" (first time of using this fine phrase for the marrow,--why can't he say marrowy tissue--'tissue moelleuse'?) "appears very early struck with atony," ('atonic,' want of tone,) "above all, in its central parts." And so ends all he has to say for the present about the marrow! and it never appears to occur to him for a moment, that if indeed the noblest trees live all their lives in a state of healthy and robust paralysis, it is a distinction, hitherto unheard of, between vegetables and animals! 12. Two pages farther on, however, (p. 45,) we get more about the marrow, and of great interest,--to this effect, for I must abstract and complete here, instead of translating. "The marrow itself is surrounded, as the centre of an electric cable is, by its guarding threads--that is to say, by a number of cords or threads coming between it and the wood, and differing from all others in the tree. "The entire protecting cylinder composed of them has been called the 'étui,' (or needle-case,) of the marrow. But each of the cords which together form this étui, is itself composed of an almost infinitely delicate thread twisted into a screw, like the common spring of a letter-weigher or a Jack-in-the-box, but of exquisite fineness." Upon this, two pages and an elaborate figure are given to these 'trachées'--tracheas, the French call them,--and we are never told the measure of them, either in diameter or length,[39] and still less, the use of them! I collect, however, in my thoughts, what I have learned thus far. 13. A tree stem, it seems, is a growing thing, cracked outside, because its skin won't stretch, paralysed inside, because its marrow won't grow, but which continues the process of its life somehow, by knitted nerves without any nervous energy in them, protected by spiral springs without any spring in them. Stay--I am going too fast. That coiling is perhaps prepared for some kind of uncoiling; and I will try if I can't learn something about it from some other book--noticing, as I pause to think where to look, the advantage of our English tongue in its pithy Saxon word, 'pith,' separating all our ideas of vegetable structure clearly from animal; while the poor Latin and French must use the entirely inaccurate words 'medulla' and 'moelle'; all, however, concurring in their recognition of a vital power of some essential kind in this white cord of cells: "Medulla, sive illa vitalis anima est, ante se tendit, longitudinem impellens." (Pliny, 'Of the Vine,' liber X., cap. xxi.) 'Vitalis anima'--yes--_that_ I accept; but 'longitudinem impellens,' I pause at; being not at all clear, yet, myself, about any impulsive power in the pith.[40] 14. However, I take up first, and with best hope, Dr. Asa Gray, who tells me (Art. 211) that pith consists of parenchyma, 'which is at first gorged with sap,' but that many stems expand so rapidly that their pith is torn into a mere lining or into horizontal plates; and that as the stem grows older, the pith becomes dry and light, and is 'then of no farther use to the plant.' But of what use it ever was, we are not informed; and the Doctor makes us his bow, so far as the professed article on pith goes; but, farther on, I find in his account of 'Sap-wood,' (Art. 224.) that in the germinating plantlet, the sap 'ascends first through the parenchyma, especially through its central portion or pith.' Whereby we are led back to our old question, what sap is, and where it comes from, with the now superadded question, whether the young pith is a mere succulent sponge, or an active power, and constructive mechanism, nourished by the abundant sap: as Columella has it,-- "Naturali enim spiritu omne alimentum virentis quasi quædam anima, per _medullam_ trunci veluti per siphonem, trahitur in summum."[41] As none of these authors make any mention of a _communication_ between the cells of the pith, I conclude that the sap they are filled with is taken up by them, and used to construct their own thickening tissue. 15. Next, I take Balfour's 'Structural Botany,' and by his index, under the word 'Pith,' am referred to his articles 8, 72, and 75. In article 8, neither the word pith, nor any expression alluding to it, occurs. In article 72, the stem of an outlaid tree is defined as consisting of 'pith, fibro-vascular and [42] woody tissue, medullary rays, bark, and epidermis.' A more detailed statement follows, illustrated by a figure surrounded by twenty-three letters--namely, two _b_ s, three _c_ s, four _e_ s, three _f_ s, one _l_, four _m_ s, three _p_ s, one _r_, and two _v_ s. Eighteen or twenty minute sputters of dots may, with a good lens, be discerned to proceed from this alphabet, and to stop at various points, or lose themselves in the texture, of the represented wood. And, knowing now something of the matter beforehand, guessing a little more, and gleaning the rest with my finest glass, I achieve the elucidation of the figure, to the following extent, explicable without letters at all, by my more simple drawing, Figure 25. 16. (1) The inner circle full of little cells, diminishing in size towards the outside, represents the pith, 'very large at this period of the growth'--(the first year, we are told in next page,) and 'very large'--he means in proportion to the rest of the branch. _How_ large he does not say, in his text, but states, in his note, that the figure is magnified 26 diameters. I have drawn mine by the more convenient multiplier of 30, and given the real size at B, _according to Balfour_:--but without believing him to be right. I never saw a maple stem of the first year so small. [Illustration: FIG. 25.] (2) The black band with white dots round the marrow, represents the marrow-sheath. (3) From the marrow-sheath run the marrow-rays 'dividing the vascular circle into numerous compact segments.' A 'ray' cannot divide anything into a segment. Only a partition, or a knife, can do that. But we shall find presently that marrow _rays_ ought to be called marrow-_plates_, and are really mural, forming more or less continuous partitions. (4) The compact segments 'consist of woody vessels and of porous vessels.' This is the first we have heard of woody _vessels_! He means the '_fibres_ ligneux' of Figuier; and represents them in each compartment, as at C (Fig. 25). without telling us why he draws the woody vessels as radiating. They appear to radiate, indeed, when wood is sawn across, but they are really upright. (5) A moist layer of greenish cellular tissue called the cambium layer--black in Figure 25--and he draws it in flat arches, without saying why. (6), (7), (8) Three layers of bark (called in his note Endophloeum; Mesophloeum, and Epiphloeum!) with 'laticiferous vessels.' [43] (9) Epidermis. The three layers of bark being separated by single lines, I indicate the epidermis by a double one, with a rough fringe outside, and thus we have the parts of the section clearly visible and distinct for discussion, so far as this first figure goes,--without wanting one letter of all his three and twenty! 17. But on the next page, this ingenious author gives us a new figure, which professes to represent the same order of things in a longitudinal section; and in retracing that order sideways, instead of looking down, he not only introduces new terms, but misses one of his old layers in doing so,--thus: His order, in explaining Figure 96, contains, as above, nine members of the tree stem. But his order, in explaining Figure 97, contains only eight, thus: (1) The pith. (2) Medullary sheath. Circles. (3) Medullary ray = a Radius. (4) Vascular zone, with woody _fibres_ (not now vessels!) The fibres are composed of spiral, annular, pitted, and other vessels. (5) Inner bark or 'liber,' with layer of cambium cells. (6) Second layer of bark, or 'cellular envelope,' with laticiferous vessels. (7) Outer or tuberous layer of bark. (8) Epidermis. Doing the best I can to get at the muddle-headed gentleman's meaning, it appears, by the lettering of his Figure 97, my 25 above, that the 'liber,' number 5, contains the cambium layer in the middle of it. The part of the liber between the cambium and the wood is not marked in Figure 96;--but the cambium is number 5, and the liber outside of it is number 6,--the Endophloeum of his note. [Illustration: FIG. 26.] Having got himself into this piece of lovely confusion, he proceeds to give a figure of the wood in the second year, which I think he has borrowed, without acknowledgment, from Figuier, omitting a piece of Figuier's woodcut which is unexplained in Figuier's text. I will spare my readers the work I have had to do, in order to get the statements on either side clarified: but I think they will find, if they care to work through the wilderness of the two authors' wits, that this which follows is the sum of what they have effectively to tell us; with the collated list of the main questions they leave unanswered--and, worse, unasked. 18. An ordinary tree branch, in transverse section, consists essentially of three parts only,--the Pith, Wood, and Bark. The pith is in full animation during the first year--that is to say, during the actual shooting of the wood. We are left to infer that in the second year, the pith of the then unprogressive shoot becomes collective only, not formative; and that the pith of the new shoot virtually energizes the new wood in its deposition beside the old one. Thus, let _a b_, Figure 26, be a shoot of the first year, and _b c_ of the second. The pith remains of the same thickness in both, but that of the new shoot is, I suppose, chiefly active in sending down the new wood to thicken the old one, which is collected, however, and fastened by the extending pith-rays below. You see, I have given each shoot four fibres of wood for its own; then the four fibres of the upper one send out two to thicken the lower: the pith-rays, represented by the white transverse claws, catch and gather all together. Mind, I certify nothing of this to you; but if this do not happen,--let the botanists tell you what _does_. 19. Secondly. The wood, represented by these four lines, is to be always remembered as consisting of fibres and vessels; therefore it is called 'vascular,' a word which you may as well remember (though rarely needed in familiar English), with its roots, _vas_, a vase, and _vasculum_, a little vase or phial. 'Vascule' may sometimes be allowed in botanical descriptions where 'cell' is not clear enough; thus, at present, we find our botanists calling the pith 'cellular' but the wood 'vascular,' with, I think, the implied meaning that a 'vascule,' little or large, is a long thing, and has some liquid in it, while a 'cell' is a more or less round thing, and to be supposed empty, unless described as full. But what liquid fills the vascules of the wood, they do not tell us.[44] I assume that they absorb water, as long as the tree lives. [Illustration: FIG. 27.] 20. Wood, whether vascular or fibrous, is however formed, in outlaid plants, first outside of the pith, and then, in shoots of the second year, outside of the wood of the first, and in the third year, outside of the wood of the second; so that supposing the quantity of wood sent down from the growing shoot distributed on a flat plane, the structure in the third year would be as in Figure 27. But since the new wood is distributed all round the stem, (in successive cords or threads, if not at once), the increase of substance after a year or two would be untraceable, unless more shoots than one were formed at the extremity of the branch. Of actual bud and branch structure, I gave introductory account long since in the fifth volume of 'Modern Painters.'[45] to which I would now refer the reader; but both then, and to-day, after twenty years' further time allowed me, I am unable to give the least explanation of the mode in which the wood is really added to the interior stem. I cannot find, even, whether this is mainly done in springtime, or in the summer and autumn, when the young suckers form on the wood; but my impression is that though all the several substances are added annually, a little more pith going to the edges of the pith-plates, and a little more bark to the bark, with a great deal more wood to the wood,--there is a different or at least successive period for each deposit, the carrying all these elements to their places involving a fineness of basket work or web work in the vessels, which neither microscope nor dissecting tool can disentangle. The result on the whole, however, is practically that we have, outside the wood, always a mysterious 'cambium layer,' and then some distinctions in the bark itself, of which we must take separate notice. 21. Of Cambium, Dr. Gray's 220th article gives the following account. "It is not a distinct substance, but a layer of delicate new cells full of sap. The inner portion of the cambium layer is, therefore, nascent wood, and the outer nascent bark. As the cells of this layer multiply, the greater number lengthen vertically into _prosenchyma_, or woody tissue, while some are transformed into ducts" (wood vessels?) "and others remaining as _parenchyma_, continue the medullary rays, or commence new ones." Nothing is said here of the part of the cambium which becomes bark: but at page 128, the thin walled cells of the bark are said to be those of ordinary 'parenchyma,' and in the next page a very important passage occurs, which must have a paragraph to itself. I close the present one with one more protest against the entirely absurd terms 'par-enchyma,' for common cellular tissue, 'pros-enchyma,' for cellular tissue with longer cells;--'cambium' for an early state of _both_, and 'diachyma' for a peculiar position of _one_![46] while the chemistry of all these substances is wholly neglected, and we have no idea given us of any difference in pith, wood, and bark, than that they are made of short or long--young or old--cells! 22. But in Dr. Gray's 230th article comes this passage of real value. (Italics mine--all.) "While the newer layers of the wood abound in _crude_ sap, which they convey to the leaves, those of the inner bark abound in _elaborated_ sap, which _they receive from the leaves_, and convey to the _cambium_ layer, or _zone of growth_. The proper juices and peculiar products of plants are accordingly found in the foliage and bark, especially the latter. In the bark, therefore, either of the stem or root, medicinal and other principles are usually to be sought, rather than in the wood. Nevertheless, as the wood is kept in connection with the bark by the medullary rays, many products which probably originate in the former are deposited in the wood." 23. Now, at last, I see my way to useful summary of the whole, which I had better give in a separate chapter: and will try in future to do the preliminary work of elaboration of the sap from my authorities, above shown, in its process, to the reader, without making so much fuss about it. But, I think in this case, it was desirable that the floods of pros-, par-, peri-, dia-, and circumlocution, through which one has to wade towards any emergent crag of fact in modern scientific books, should for once be seen in the wasteful tide of them; that so I might finally pray the younger students who feel, or remember, their disastrous sway, to cure themselves for ever of the fatal habit of imagining that they know more of anything after naming it unintelligibly, and thinking about it impudently, than they did by loving sight of its nameless being, and in wise confession of its boundless mystery. * * * * * In re-reading the text of this number I can secure my young readers of some things left doubtful, as, for instance, in their acceptance of the word 'Monacha,' for the flower described in the sixth chapter. I have used it now habitually too long to part with it myself, and I think it will be found serviceable and pleasurable by others. Neither shall I now change the position of the Draconidae, as suggested at p. 118, but keep all as first planned. See among other reasons for doing so the letter quoted in p. 121. I also add to the plate originally prepared for this number, one showing the effect of Veronica officinalis in decoration of foreground, merely by its green leaves; see the paragraphs 1 and 5 of Chapter VI. I have not represented the fine serration of the leaves, as they are quite invisible from standing height: the book should be laid on the floor and looked down on, without stooping, to see the effect intended. And so I gladly close this long-lagging number, hoping never to write such a tiresome chapter as this again, or to make so long a pause between any readable one and its sequence. * * * * * NOTES [1] Vol. i., p. 212, note. [2] See 'Deucalion,' vol. ii., chap, i., p. 12, § 18. [3] I am ashamed to give so rude outlines; but every moment now is valuable to me: careful outline of a dog-violet is given in Plate X. [4] A careless bit of Byron's, (the last song but one in the 'Deformed Transformed'); but Byron's most careless work is better, by its innate energy, than other people's most laboured. I suppress, in some doubts about my 'digamma,' notes on the Greek violet and the Ion of Euripides;--which the reader will perhaps be good enough to fancy a serious loss to him, and supply for himself. [5] Nine; I see that I missed count of P. farinosa, the most abundant of all. [6] "A feeble little quatrefoil--growing one on the stem, like a Parnassia, and looking like a Parnassia that had dropped a leaf. I think it drops one of its own four, mostly, and lives as three-fourths of itself, for most of its time. Stamens pale gold. Root-leaves, three or four, grass-like; growing among the moist moss chiefly." [7] The great work of Lecoq, 'Geographic Botanique,' is of priceless value; but treats all on too vast a scale for our purposes. [8] It is, I believe, Sowerby's Viola Lutea, 721 of the old edition, there painted with purple upper petals; but he says in the text, "Petals either all yellow, or the two uppermost are of a blue purple, the rest yellow with a blue tinge: very often the whole are purple." [9] Did the wretch never hear bees in a lime tree then, or ever see one on a star gentian? [10] Septuagint, "the eyes of doves out of thy silence." Vulgate, "the eyes of doves, besides that which is hidden in them." Meaning--the _dim_ look of love, beyond all others in sweetness. [11] When I have the chance, and the time, to submit the proofs of 'Proserpina' to friends who know more of Botany than I, or have kindness enough to ascertain debateable things for me, I mean in future to do so,--using the letter A to signify Amicus, generally; with acknowledgment by name, when it is permitted, of especial help or correction. Note first of this kind: I find here on this word, 'five-petaled,' as applied to Pinguicula, "Qy. two-lipped? it is monopetalous, and monosepalous, the calyx and corolla being each all in one piece." Yes; and I am glad to have the observation inserted. But my term, 'five-petaled,' must stand. For the question with me is always first, not how the petals are connected, but how many they are. Also I have accepted the term petal--but never the word lip--as applied to flowers. The generic term 'Labiatæ' is cancelled in 'Proserpina,' 'Vestales' being substituted; and these flowers, when I come to examine them, are to be described, not as divided into two lips, but into hood, apron, and side-pockets. Farther, the depth to which either calyx or corolla is divided, and the firmness with which the petals are attached to the torus, may, indeed, often be an important part of the plant's description, but ought not to be elements in its definition. Three petaled and three-sepaled, four-petaled and four-sepaled, five-petaled and five-sepaled, etc., etc., are essential--with me, primal--elements of definition; next, whether resolute or stellar in their connection; next, whether round or pointed, etc. Fancy, for instance, the fatality to a rose of pointing its petals, and to a lily, of rounding them! But how deep cut, or how hard holding, is quite a minor question. Farther, that all plants _are_ petaled and sepaled, and never mere cups in saucers, is a great fact, not to be dwelt on in a note. [12] Our 'Lucia Nivea,' 'Blanche Lucy;' in present botany, Bog bean! having no connection whatever with any manner of bean, but only a slight resemblance to bean-_leaves_ in its own lower ones. Compare Ch. IV. § 11. [13] It is not. (Resolute negative from A., unsparing of time for me; and what a state of things it all signifies!) [14] With the following three notes, 'A' must become a definitely and gratefully interpreted letter. I am indebted for the first, conclusive in itself, but variously supported and confirmed by the two following, to R.J. Mann, Esq., M.D., long ago a pupil of Dr. Lindley's, and now on the council of Whitelands College, Chelsea:--for the second, to Mr. Thomas Moore, F.L.S., the kind Keeper of the Botanic Garden at Chelsea; for the third, which will be farther on useful to us, to Miss Kemm, the botanical lecturer at Whitelands. (1) There is no explanation of Lentibulariaceæ in Lindley's 'Vegetable Kingdom.' He was not great in that line. The term is, however, taken from _Lenticula_, the lentil, in allusion to the lentil-shaped air-bladders of the typical genus _Utricularia_. The change of the c into b may possibly have been made only from some euphonic fancy of the contriver of the name, who, I think, was Rich. But I somewhat incline myself to think that the _tibia_, a pipe or flute, may have had something to do with it. The _tibia_ may possibly have been diminished into a little pipe by a stretch of licence, and have become _tibula_: [but _tibulus_ is a kind of pine tree in Pliny]; when _Len tibula_ would be the lens or lentil-shaped pipe or bladder. I give you this only for what it is worth. The _lenticula_, as a derivation, is reliable and has authority. _Lenticula_, a lentil, a freckly eruption; _lenticularis_, lentil-shaped; so the nat. ord. ought to be (if this be right) _lenticulariaceæ_. (2) BOTANIC GARDENS, CHELSEA, _Feb._ 14, 1882. _Lentibularia_ is an old generic name of Tournefort's, which has been superseded by _utricularia,_ but, oddly enough, has been retained in the name of the order _lentibulareæ_; but it probably comes from _lenticula_, which signifies the little root bladders, somewhat resembling lentils. (3) 'Manual of Scientific Terms,' Stormonth, p. 234. _Lentibulariaceæ_, neuter, plural. (_Lenticula_, the shape of a lentil; from _lens_, a lentil.) The Butterwort family, an order of plants so named from the lenticular shape of the air-bladders on the branches of utricularia, one of the genera. (But observe that the _Butterworts_ have nothing of the sort, any of them.--R.) Loudon.--"Floaters." Lindley.--"Sometimes with whorled vesicles." In Nuttall's Standard (?) Pronouncing Dictionary, it is given,-- _Lenticulareæ_, a nat. ord. of marsh plants, which thrive in water or marshes. [15] More accurately, shows the pruned roots of branches,--[Greek: epeidê prota tomên en horessi lelotpen]. The _pruning_ is the mythic expression of the subduing of passion by rectorial law. [16] The bitter sorrow with which I first recognized the extreme rarity of finely-developed organic sight is expressed enough in the lecture on the Mystery of Life, added in the large edition of 'Sesame and Lilies.' [17] Lat. acesco, to turn sour. [18] Withering quotes this as from Linnæus, and adds on authority of a Mr. Hawkes, "This did not succeed when tried with cows' milk." He also gives as another name, Yorkshire Sanicle; and says it is called _earning grass_ in Scotland. Linnæus says the juice will curdle reindeer's milk. The name for rennet is _earning_, in Lincolnshire. Withering also gives this note: "_Pinguis_, fat, from its effect in CONGEALING milk."--(A.) Withering of course wrong: the name comes, be the reader finally assured, from the fatness of the green leaf, quite peculiar among wild plants, and fastened down for us in the French word 'Grassette.' I have found the flowers also difficult to dry, in the benighted early times when I used to think a dried plant useful! See closing paragraphs of the *4th chapter.--R. [19] I find much more difficulty, myself, being old, in using my altered names for species than my young scholars will. In watching the bells of the purple bindweed fade at evening, let them learn the fourth verse of the prayer of Hezekiah, as it is in the Vulgate--"Generatio mea ablata est, et convoluta est a me, sicut tabernaculum pastoris,"--and they will not forget the name of the fast-fading--ever renewed--"belle d'un jour." [20] "It is Miss Cobbe, I think, who says 'all wild flowers know how to die gracefully.'"--A. [21] See distinction between recumbent and rampant herbs, below, under 'Veronica Agrestis,' p. 72. [22] 'Abstracted' rather, I should have said, and with perfect skill, by Mr. Collingwood (the joint translator of Xenophon's Economics for the 'Bibliotheca Pastorum'). So also the next following cut, Fig. 5. [23] Of the references, henceforward necessary to the books I have used as authorities, the reader will please note the following abbreviations:-- C. Curtis's Magazine of Botany. D. Flora Danica. F. Figuier. G. Sibthorpe's Flora Græca. L. Linnæus. Systema Naturæ. L.S. Linnæus's Flora Suecica. But till we are quite used to the other letters, I print this reference in words. L.N. William Curtis's Flora Londinensis. Of the exquisite plates engraved for this book by James Sowerby, note is taken in the close of next chapter. O. Sowerby's English Wild Flowers; the old edition in thirty-two thin volumes--far the best. S. Sowerby's English Wild Flowers; the modern edition in ten volumes. [24] See letter on the last results of our African campaigns, in the _Morning Post_ of April 14th, of this year. [25] I deliberately, not garrulously, allow more autobiography in 'Proserpina' than is becoming, because I know not how far I may be permitted to carry on that which was begun in 'Fors.' [26] In present Botany, Polygala Chamæbuxus; C. 316: or, in English, Much Milk Ground-box. It is not, as matters usually go, a name to be ill thought of, as it really contains three ideas; and the plant does, without doubt, somewhat resemble box, and grows on the ground;--far more fitly called 'ground-box' than the Veronica 'ground-oak.' I want to find a pretty name for it in connection with Savoy or Dauphine, where it indicates, as above stated, the _healthy_ districts of _hard_ limestone. I do not remember it as ever occurring among the dark and moist shales of the inner mountain ranges, which at once confine and pollute the air. [27] Which, with the following page, is the summary of many chapters of 'Modern Painters:' and of the aims kept in view throughout 'Munera Pulveris.' The three kinds of Desert specified--of Reed, Sand, and Rock--should be kept in mind as exhaustively including the states of the earth neglected by man. For instance of a Reed desert, produced _merely_ by his neglect, see Sir Samuel Baker's account of the choking up of the bed of the White Nile. Of the sand desert, Sir F. Palgrave's journey from the Djowf to Hayel, vol. i., p. 92. [28] This subject is first entered on in the 'Seven Lamps,' and carried forward in the final chapters of 'Modern Painters,'to the point where I hope to take it up for conclusion, in the sections of 'Our Fathers have told us' devoted to the history of the fourteenth century. [29] See in the first volume, the plates of Sonchus Arvensis and Tussilago Petasites; in the second, Carduus tomentosus and Picris Echioides. [30] For the sense in which this word is used throughout my writings, see the definition of it in the 52nd paragraph of the 'Queen of the Air,' comparing with respect to its office in plants, §§ 59-60. [31] Written in 1880. [32] The plate of Chamædrys, D. 448, is also quite right, and not 'too tall and weedlike,' as I have called it at p. 72. [33] "Stems numerous from the crown of the root-stock, de-cumbent."--S. The effect of the flower upon the ground is always of an extremely upright and separate plant, never appearing in clusters, (I meant, in close masses - it forms exquisite little rosy crowds, on ground that it likes) or in any relation to a central root. My epithet 'rosea' does not deny its botanical de- or pro-cumbency. [34] Compare especially Galeopsis Angustifolia, D. 3031. [35] Octavo: Paris, Hachette, 1865. [36] See in the ninth chapter what I have been able, since this sentence was written, to notice on the matter in question. [37] I envy the French their generalized form of denial, 'Il n'en est rien.' [38] 'Sensiblement invariable;' 'unchanged, _so far as we can see,_' or to general sense; microscopic and minute change not being considered. [39] Moreover, the confusion between vertical and horizontal sections in pp. 46, 47, is completed by the misprint of vertical for horizontal in the third line of p. 43, and of horizontal for vertical in the fifth line from bottom of p. 46; while Figure 45 is to me totally unintelligible, this being, as far as can be made out by the lettering, a section of a tree stem which has its marrow on the outside! [40] "Try a bit of rhubarb" (says A, who sends me a pretty drawing of rhubarb pith); but as rhubarb does not grow into wood, inapplicable to our present subject; and if we descend to annual plants, rush pith is the thing to be examined. [41] I am too lazy now to translate, and shall trust to the chance of some remnant, among my readers, of classical study, even in modern England. [42] '_Or_ woody tissue,' suggests A. It is 'and' in Balfour. [43] Terms not used now, but others quite as bad: Cuticle, Epidermis, Cortical layer, Periderm, Cambium, Phelloderm--six hard words for 'BARK,' says my careful annotator. "Yes; and these new six to be changed for six newer ones next year, no doubt." [44] "At first the vessels are pervious and full of _fluid_, but by degrees thickening layers are deposited, which contract their canal."--BALFOUR. [45] I cannot better this earlier statement, which in beginning 'Proserpina,' I intended to form a part of that work; but, as readers already in possession of it in the original form, ought not to be burdened with its repetition, I shall republish those chapters as a supplement, which I trust may be soon issued. [46] "'Diachyma' is parenchyma in the middle of a leaf!" (Balfour, Art. 137.) Henceforward, if I ever make botanical quotations, I shall always call parenchyma, By-tis; prosenchyma, To-tis; and diachyma, Through-tis, short for By-tissue, To-tissue, and Through-tissue--then the student will see what all this modern wisdom comes to! 
23302	----	A FLOWER BOOK EDEN COYBEE & NELLIE BENSON London: GRANT RICHARDS, 9 Henrietta Street, W.C. The Dumpy Books for Children No. 7. A FLOWER BOOK * * * * * THE DUMPY BOOKS FOR CHILDREN. _Cloth, Royal 32mo, 1/6 each._ 1. THE FLAMP, THE AMELIORATOR, AND THE SCHOOLBOY'S APPRENTICE. By E. V. LUCAS. (_Seventh Thousand._) 2. MRS. TURNER'S CAUTIONARY STORIES. (_Fifth Thousand._) 3. THE BAD FAMILY. By MRS. FENWICK. (_Third Thousand._) 4. THE STORY OF LITTLE BLACK SAMBO. Illustrated in Colours by HELEN BANNERMAN. (_Twenty-seventh Thousand._) 5. THE BOUNTIFUL LADY. By THOMAS COBB. (_Fourth Thousand._) 6. A CAT BOOK. Portraits by H. OFFICER SMITH. Characteristics by E. V. LUCAS. (_Eighth Thousand._) 7. A FLOWER BOOK. Illustrated in Colours by NELLIE BENSON. Story by EDEN COYBEE. * * * * * A Flower Book THE STORY BY EDEN COYBEE THE PICTURES BY NELLIE BENSON LONDON: GRANT RICHARDS 1901 London Engraved & Printed at the _Racquet Court Press_ by _Edmund Evans_ * * * * * _In the history of men's love for God or for God's creatures there comes one hour of divine uplifting when a symbol must stand for the unspoken word._ _That symbol is ever a flower._ _There is a path of flowers through all science_. _In order that each flower of my little story book should not masquerade in vain meaningless garments or sing to empty words, I have sought the help of many wiser than I in this knowledge born of sympathy with nature. So this little book is not entirely a fairy-tale._ _To those who would follow me along the same by-ways, I wish to say that I owe a great deal to the Reverend Hilderic Friend for his ever delightful look on "Flowers and Flower Lore."_ _E. C._ * * * * * [Illustration: CHRISTMAS ROSE] A FLOWER BOOK. When the snow lies thick on the ground and all the streams that babble in summer lie still in their houses of ice, you think, I daresay, that the flowers are asleep, and that nothing can wake them before the spring? But I know of a wood where the little elves and sprites and the delicate fairies dance in a ring in the moonlight, and I will tell you of what happens there at twelve o'clock on the first night of every year. The clock in the cathedral tower booms out twelve solemn strokes, and all the church bells peal a welcome to the New Year. That is the signal for the fairies to come down on a moonbeam--with their white dresses shining and their long yellow hair streaming. [Illustration: IVY] [Illustration: WINTER JASMINE] Most beautiful of them all is Rusialka, the queen of fairies and elves. She wears a necklet of dewdrops, and dew-drops sparkle in her dress and in her hair. She glides softly over the snow, and all the fairies follow her to a great elder bush that grows in the middle of the little wood. She knocks once and calls: "Lady Elder! are you within?" And the tree shoots out its green buds and the tender leaves unfold themselves. Then again the fairy Rusialka knocks and calls: "Lady Elder! Lady Elder! are you within?" And the sweet white blossoms open overhead, and a gentle rain of flowers falls upon the fairies. For the third time Rusialka calls: "Lady Elder! Lady Elder! Lady Elder! are you within?" And then the tree opens slowly, and the Lady Elder appears. She is very old, for she is the Mother of all the fairies and elves. [Illustration: MICHAELMAS DAISY] [Illustration: SNOWDROP] "What is it you want of me, my children?" she asks, in a voice like a silver bell. And all the fairies curtsey very long and low, and they answer her: "The New Year is come, Lady Elder; and we want you to grant us leave to wake the little flowers that sleep under the snow!" "The World is yet cold for the flowers, my children," answers the Lady Elder. "They are all asleep, each to be awakened in her time. But this you may do. You may call them up for to-night, and when you leave this wood in the morning, they will all go back to their beds again." "Our glad thanks to you, Ma'am," the fairies sing back joyfully. [Illustration: VIOLET] [Illustration: DOG ROSE] Then they all join hands and frolic away, singing as they go: "Little flowerets gay and sweet Hear the patter of our feet; Little flowerets sweet and gay Come and dance a roundelay!" Then slower and slower fades the dance. * * * * * "O Christmas Rose! O Christmas Rose!" called Rusialka, on the particular night I am telling you of. A little voice answered under the snow: "I am here, good ladies!" And the Christmas Rose, holding her blossom-standard in one hand, peeped out. "Will you join our dance?" asked Rusialka. The Christmas Rose held out her hands, and the merry party danced on singing a song the fairies love, till they came to a spot where the Ivy slept on a little brown bed of earth under a bright white coverlet of snow--with all her clusters of berries resting on her leaves. [Illustration: HAWTHORN] [Illustration: HONEYSUCKLE] "Wake up! Wake up! little Ivy!" cried Rusialka. "O, is it spring come again?" called out Ivy in a sleepy voice. "Or are you two sad friends who at parting want to give each other a token of true friendship?" "We are not sad friends at all," answered Rusialka. "We are the Little Ladies come to frolic on earth, and we want you, Ivy, to join in our frolic." "Isn't it cold out in the world now?" asked the little voice again. "The dance will warm you," answered the fairy. "And in the morning before we go, we will lay you back in your warm bed." So Ivy joined the dance, and right merrily they went round and round, till they all had to sit down to take breath. [Illustration: POPPY] [Illustration: WILLOW] Highest of all, on a tuft of soft earth, sat Rusialka. All the little white fairies sat in a circle round her. And Ivy and Christmas Rose took one another by the hand and curtsied to Rusialka. "White Lady," said the Ivy, "if you like we will go and wake up our little sisters, and when we are all here we will dance to your company a dance that the breezes taught us last spring." "Go then," said Rusialka, "and bring your sisters to me." So Christmas Rose and Ivy went away, and returned presently with another little sister-flower, the Yellow Jasmine. "Jasmine," said Rusialka, "you are slight and slender, and winsome! I can see that your blossoms will bring a pang to tender hearts, for you mean 'separation,' but of all the messengers of woe you are the gentlest, sweet Jasmine." Then the Michaelmas Daisy came forward too. [Illustration: ROSE] [Illustration: CHRYSANTHEMUM] "And you, Daisy," added Rusialka, "you soften the bitter parting with a fond farewell." The Jasmine gave a sigh and curtsied. "If I bring a sad message," she said, "my sister the Snowdrop is ever close at hand--and her meaning is 'hope.'" The Snowdrop came forward and curtsied to the fairy. "I am the herald in all our flower pageants," she said. "And some call me the 'Fair Maid of February.'" Rusialka waved her crystal wand three times and said: "I can see a walled-in garden in a distant land. A bell is ringing for vespers, and all the nuns with downcast eyes hasten across a cloister to the chapel door. The youngest of them all sees a bed of snowdrops lift their white heads and she smiles, because they are an emblem of hope, and a symbol of her life." The Snowdrop curtsied, and stepped aside to make room for the Violet. [Illustration: PERIWINKLE] [Illustration: CARNATION] She peeped out shyly from under a bunch of leaves and a sweet perfume filled the air. "Violets for faithfulness," she said, turning to the Yellow Jasmine, "I comfort friends who are parted. What pictures do you see for me, Lady Rusialka?" Rusialka waved her crystal wand and said: "Call up your bright sisters who bring both joy and hope, and stand before me." The Snowdrop turned to obey the fairy's command, and presently returned holding the Hawthorn and the Poppy by the hands. "I bring security and hope," the Hawthorn said, "and I protect the good country people from harm, if they do but hang a spray of my blossoms over their houses in May. For then the wicked fairies and elves who are your enemies, White Ladies, as well as the enemies of men, can do no harm." [Illustration: WOOD ANEMONE] [Illustration: WIND FLOWER] "I, too," said Honeysuckle, "I, too, fight the wicked little sprites and keep from harm the good milch cows and the beasts that feed and clothe poor children in cold northern lands." Then the Poppy spoke out. She did not appear to be in the least bit shy, and waved the scarlet folds of her mantle about her head, and all the black fringe of seed trembled and stood out like a halo. "And I am consolation," she said. "The hope that springs up again after doubt." "If all were faithful and true," whispered the Violet, "there would be less need of you, proud Poppy." "Or," suggested the Willow, "if people would but listen to my warning and not bind their hearts with chains. I am the emblem of freedom." But the Rose and the Chrysanthemum came forward at these words and curtsied to Rusialka. [Illustration: CORNFLOWER] [Illustration: COWSLIP] "They do not speak wisely and truly, O dear White Ladies," they said. "We both mean 'love,' and we know that smiles and joy attend us. Ask our sisters who best know." "I am early friendship," said the Periwinkle, pensively, as she came and stood before Rusialka. "Even the very old on earth find comfort in me." Then Clematis appeared. She lifted her banner like a wreath round her head. "I mean poverty," she said: "but even poverty is sweet with love, for love can make all things beautiful." But two flowers came forward sadly, and sighed as they curtsied to Rusialka. They were Carnation and Anemone. "Alas! for my poor heart," said the first. "To me love brings but sadness." "And when the dewdrops fall," said the second, "I think they are the tears of all who are like me, forsaken." [Illustration: BLACKBERRY] [Illustration: SPINDLE BERRY] The Windflower stepped forward boldly, and a breath of breeze ran through her hair and raised her banner. "I know that tears dry and give place to smiles," she said. "Oh, do not weep then, sweet little sisters," said the Cornflower, gently. "See, Cowslip and I will take you by the hand and lead you to a bright, clear patch by the tree of the Lady Elder, where we will play together till morning." As they disappeared they heard the voice of Rusialka: "O, hasten, Blackberry," she said. "Hasten, Spindle, and Holly and Misletoe, for before the coldest hour that precedes the dawn has passed over the earth your little sisters must all be back in their little warm beds." [Illustration: HOLLY] Then forward came the four linked hand in hand and curtsied. Then the Holly kissed the Mistletoe, and the Blackberry and the Spindleberry raised their banners on high, while all the flowers marched through hand in hand. [Illustration: MISTLETOE] They marched up to the tree of the Lady Elder, and Rusialka knocked once, twice, thrice, with her crystal wand. The Lady Elder came out of her tree and smiled upon the flowers. "Good night, my children," she said. "Good night, and farewell until the Spring." And then the flowers frolicked and danced merrily; and at the dawn of day they drooped their heads and fell asleep, and the fairies brought them back to their little warm beds and covered them up with their sparkling white coverlets. And then all the White Ladies climbed on their moonbeam and glided softly up, up, up, into Fairyland. [Illustration: CLEMATIS] 
163	----	Flower Fables by Louisa May Alcott "Pondering shadows, colors, clouds Grass-buds, and caterpillar shrouds Boughs on which the wild bees settle, Tints that spot the violet's petal." EMERSON'S WOOD-NOTES. TO ELLEN EMERSON, FOR WHOM THEY WERE FANCIED, THESE FLOWER FABLES ARE INSCRIBED, BY HER FRIEND, THE AUTHOR. Boston, Dec. 9, 1854. Contents The Frost King: or, The Power of Love Eva's Visit to Fairy-Land The Flower's Lesson Lily-Bell and Thistledown Little Bud Clover-Blossom Little Annie's Dream: or, The Fairy Flower Ripple, the Water-Spirit Fairy Song FLOWER FABLES. THE summer moon shone brightly down upon the sleeping earth, while far away from mortal eyes danced the Fairy folk. Fire-flies hung in bright clusters on the dewy leaves, that waved in the cool night-wind; and the flowers stood gazing, in very wonder, at the little Elves, who lay among the fern-leaves, swung in the vine-boughs, sailed on the lake in lily cups, or danced on the mossy ground, to the music of the hare-bells, who rung out their merriest peal in honor of the night. Under the shade of a wild rose sat the Queen and her little Maids of Honor, beside the silvery mushroom where the feast was spread. "Now, my friends," said she, "to while away the time till the bright moon goes down, let us each tell a tale, or relate what we have done or learned this day. I will begin with you, Sunny Lock," added she, turning to a lovely little Elf, who lay among the fragrant leaves of a primrose. With a gay smile, "Sunny Lock" began her story. "As I was painting the bright petals of a blue bell, it told me this tale." THE FROST-KING: OR, THE POWER OF LOVE. THREE little Fairies sat in the fields eating their breakfast; each among the leaves of her favorite flower, Daisy, Primrose, and Violet, were happy as Elves need be. The morning wind gently rocked them to and fro, and the sun shone warmly down upon the dewy grass, where butterflies spread their gay wings, and bees with their deep voices sung among the flowers; while the little birds hopped merrily about to peep at them. On a silvery mushroom was spread the breakfast; little cakes of flower-dust lay on a broad green leaf, beside a crimson strawberry, which, with sugar from the violet, and cream from the yellow milkweed, made a fairy meal, and their drink was the dew from the flowers' bright leaves. "Ah me," sighed Primrose, throwing herself languidly back, "how warm the sun grows! give me another piece of strawberry, and then I must hasten away to the shadow of the ferns. But while I eat, tell me, dear Violet, why are you all so sad? I have scarce seen a happy face since my return from Rose Land; dear friend, what means it?" "I will tell you," replied little Violet, the tears gathering in her soft eyes. "Our good Queen is ever striving to keep the dear flowers from the power of the cruel Frost-King; many ways she tried, but all have failed. She has sent messengers to his court with costly gifts; but all have returned sick for want of sunlight, weary and sad; we have watched over them, heedless of sun or shower, but still his dark spirits do their work, and we are left to weep over our blighted blossoms. Thus have we striven, and in vain; and this night our Queen holds council for the last time. Therefore are we sad, dear Primrose, for she has toiled and cared for us, and we can do nothing to help or advise her now." "It is indeed a cruel thing," replied her friend; "but as we cannot help it, we must suffer patiently, and not let the sorrows of others disturb our happiness. But, dear sisters, see you not how high the sun is getting? I have my locks to curl, and my robe to prepare for the evening; therefore I must be gone, or I shall be brown as a withered leaf in this warm light." So, gathering a tiny mushroom for a parasol, she flew away; Daisy soon followed, and Violet was left alone. Then she spread the table afresh, and to it came fearlessly the busy ant and bee, gay butterfly and bird; even the poor blind mole and humble worm were not forgotten; and with gentle words she gave to all, while each learned something of their kind little teacher; and the love that made her own heart bright shone alike on all. The ant and bee learned generosity, the butterfly and bird contentment, the mole and worm confidence in the love of others; and each went to their home better for the little time they had been with Violet. Evening came, and with it troops of Elves to counsel their good Queen, who, seated on her mossy throne, looked anxiously upon the throng below, whose glittering wings and rustling robes gleamed like many-colored flowers. At length she rose, and amid the deep silence spoke thus:-- "Dear children, let us not tire of a good work, hard though it be and wearisome; think of the many little hearts that in their sorrow look to us for help. What would the green earth be without its lovely flowers, and what a lonely home for us! Their beauty fills our hearts with brightness, and their love with tender thoughts. Ought we then to leave them to die uncared for and alone? They give to us their all; ought we not to toil unceasingly, that they may bloom in peace within their quiet homes? We have tried to gain the love of the stern Frost-King, but in vain; his heart is hard as his own icy land; no love can melt, no kindness bring it back to sunlight and to joy. How then may we keep our frail blossoms from his cruel spirits? Who will give us counsel? Who will be our messenger for the last time? Speak, my subjects." Then a great murmuring arose, and many spoke, some for costlier gifts, some for war; and the fearful counselled patience and submission. Long and eagerly they spoke, and their soft voices rose high. Then sweet music sounded on the air, and the loud tones were hushed, as in wondering silence the Fairies waited what should come. Through the crowd there came a little form, a wreath of pure white violets lay among the bright locks that fell so softly round the gentle face, where a deep blush glowed, as, kneeling at the throne, little Violet said:-- "Dear Queen, we have bent to the Frost-King's power, we have borne gifts unto his pride, but have we gone trustingly to him and spoken fearlessly of his evil deeds? Have we shed the soft light of unwearied love around his cold heart, and with patient tenderness shown him how bright and beautiful love can make even the darkest lot? "Our messengers have gone fearfully, and with cold looks and courtly words offered him rich gifts, things he cared not for, and with equal pride has he sent them back. "Then let me, the weakest of your band, go to him, trusting in the love I know lies hidden in the coldest heart. "I will bear only a garland of our fairest flowers; these will I wind about him, and their bright faces, looking lovingly in his, will bring sweet thoughts to his dark mind, and their soft breath steal in like gentle words. Then, when he sees them fading on his breast, will he not sigh that there is no warmth there to keep them fresh and lovely? This will I do, dear Queen, and never leave his dreary home, till the sunlight falls on flowers fair as those that bloom in our own dear land." Silently the Queen had listened, but now, rising and placing her hand on little Violet's head, she said, turning to the throng below:-- "We in our pride and power have erred, while this, the weakest and lowliest of our subjects, has from the innocence of her own pure heart counselled us more wisely than the noblest of our train. All who will aid our brave little messenger, lift your wands, that we may know who will place their trust in the Power of Love." Every fairy wand glistened in the air, as with silvery voices they cried, "Love and little Violet." Then down from the throne, hand in hand, came the Queen and Violet, and till the moon sank did the Fairies toil, to weave a wreath of the fairest flowers. Tenderly they gathered them, with the night-dew fresh upon their leaves, and as they wove chanted sweet spells, and whispered fairy blessings on the bright messengers whom they sent forth to die in a dreary land, that their gentle kindred might bloom unharmed. At length it was done; and the fair flowers lay glowing in the soft starlight, while beside them stood the Fairies, singing to the music of the wind-harps:-- "We are sending you, dear flowers, Forth alone to die, Where your gentle sisters may not weep O'er the cold graves where you lie; But you go to bring them fadeless life In the bright homes where they dwell, And you softly smile that 't is so, As we sadly sing farewell. O plead with gentle words for us, And whisper tenderly Of generous love to that cold heart, And it will answer ye; And though you fade in a dreary home, Yet loving hearts will tell Of the joy and peace that you have given: Flowers, dear flowers, farewell!" The morning sun looked softly down upon the broad green earth, which like a mighty altar was sending up clouds of perfume from its breast, while flowers danced gayly in the summer wind, and birds sang their morning hymn among the cool green leaves. Then high above, on shining wings, soared a little form. The sunlight rested softly on the silken hair, and the winds fanned lovingly the bright face, and brought the sweetest odors to cheer her on. Thus went Violet through the clear air, and the earth looked smiling up to her, as, with the bright wreath folded in her arms, she flew among the soft, white clouds. On and on she went, over hill and valley, broad rivers and rustling woods, till the warm sunlight passed away, the winds grew cold, and the air thick with falling snow. Then far below she saw the Frost-King's home. Pillars of hard, gray ice supported the high, arched roof, hung with crystal icicles. Dreary gardens lay around, filled with withered flowers and bare, drooping trees; while heavy clouds hung low in the dark sky, and a cold wind murmured sadly through the wintry air. With a beating heart Violet folded her fading wreath more closely to her breast, and with weary wings flew onward to the dreary palace. Here, before the closed doors, stood many forms with dark faces and harsh, discordant voices, who sternly asked the shivering little Fairy why she came to them. Gently she answered, telling them her errand, beseeching them to let her pass ere the cold wind blighted her frail blossoms. Then they flung wide the doors, and she passed in. Walls of ice, carved with strange figures, were around her; glittering icicles hung from the high roof, and soft, white snow covered the hard floors. On a throne hung with clouds sat the Frost-King; a crown of crystals bound his white locks, and a dark mantle wrought with delicate frost-work was folded over his cold breast. His stern face could not stay little Violet, and on through the long hall she went, heedless of the snow that gathered on her feet, and the bleak wind that blew around her; while the King with wondering eyes looked on the golden light that played upon the dark walls as she passed. The flowers, as if they knew their part, unfolded their bright leaves, and poured forth their sweetest perfume, as, kneeling at the throne, the brave little Fairy said,-- "O King of blight and sorrow, send me not away till I have brought back the light and joy that will make your dark home bright and beautiful again. Let me call back to the desolate gardens the fair forms that are gone, and their soft voices blessing you will bring to your breast a never failing joy. Cast by your icy crown and sceptre, and let the sunlight of love fall softly on your heart. "Then will the earth bloom again in all its beauty, and your dim eyes will rest only on fair forms, while music shall sound through these dreary halls, and the love of grateful hearts be yours. Have pity on the gentle flower-spirits, and do not doom them to an early death, when they might bloom in fadeless beauty, making us wiser by their gentle teachings, and the earth brighter by their lovely forms. These fair flowers, with the prayers of all Fairy Land, I lay before you; O send me not away till they are answered." And with tears falling thick and fast upon their tender leaves, Violet laid the wreath at his feet, while the golden light grew ever brighter as it fell upon the little form so humbly kneeling there. The King's stern face grew milder as he gazed on the gentle Fairy, and the flowers seemed to look beseechingly upon him; while their fragrant voices sounded softly in his ear, telling of their dying sisters, and of the joy it gives to bring happiness to the weak and sorrowing. But he drew the dark mantle closer over his breast and answered coldly,-- "I cannot grant your prayer, little Fairy; it is my will the flowers should die. Go back to your Queen, and tell her that I cannot yield my power to please these foolish flowers." Then Violet hung the wreath above the throne, and with weary foot went forth again, out into the cold, dark gardens, and still the golden shadows followed her, and wherever they fell, flowers bloomed and green leaves rustled. Then came the Frost-Spirits, and beneath their cold wings the flowers died, while the Spirits bore Violet to a low, dark cell, saying as they left her, that their King was angry that she had dared to stay when he had bid her go. So all alone she sat, and sad thoughts of her happy home came back to her, and she wept bitterly. But soon came visions of the gentle flowers dying in their forest homes, and their voices ringing in her ear, imploring her to save them. Then she wept no longer, but patiently awaited what might come. Soon the golden light gleamed faintly through the cell, and she heard little voices calling for help, and high up among the heavy cobwebs hung poor little flies struggling to free themselves, while their cruel enemies sat in their nets, watching their pain. With her wand the Fairy broke the bands that held them, tenderly bound up their broken wings, and healed their wounds; while they lay in the warm light, and feebly hummed their thanks to their kind deliverer. Then she went to the ugly brown spiders, and in gentle words told them, how in Fairy Land their kindred spun all the elfin cloth, and in return the Fairies gave them food, and then how happily they lived among the green leaves, spinning garments for their neighbors. "And you too," said she, "shall spin for me, and I will give you better food than helpless insects. You shall live in peace, and spin your delicate threads into a mantle for the stern King; and I will weave golden threads amid the gray, that when folded over his cold heart gentle thoughts may enter in and make it their home." And while she gayly sung, the little weavers spun their silken threads, the flies on glittering wings flew lovingly above her head, and over all the golden light shone softly down. When the Frost-Spirits told their King, he greatly wondered and often stole to look at the sunny little room where friends and enemies worked peacefully together. Still the light grew brighter, and floated out into the cold air, where it hung like bright clouds above the dreary gardens, whence all the Spirits' power could not drive it; and green leaves budded on the naked trees, and flowers bloomed; but the Spirits heaped snow upon them, and they bowed their heads and died. At length the mantle was finished, and amid the gray threads shone golden ones, making it bright; and she sent it to the King, entreating him to wear it, for it would bring peace and love to dwell within his breast. But he scornfully threw it aside, and bade his Spirits take her to a colder cell, deep in the earth; and there with harsh words they left her. Still she sang gayly on, and the falling drops kept time so musically, that the King in his cold ice-halls wondered at the low, sweet sounds that came stealing up to him. Thus Violet dwelt, and each day the golden light grew stronger; and from among the crevices of the rocky walls came troops of little velvet-coated moles, praying that they might listen to the sweet music, and lie in the warm light. "We lead," said they, "a dreary life in the cold earth; the flower-roots are dead, and no soft dews descend for us to drink, no little seed or leaf can we find. Ah, good Fairy, let us be your servants: give us but a few crumbs of your daily bread, and we will do all in our power to serve you." And Violet said, Yes; so day after day they labored to make a pathway through the frozen earth, that she might reach the roots of the withered flowers; and soon, wherever through the dark galleries she went, the soft light fell upon the roots of flowers, and they with new life spread forth in the warm ground, and forced fresh sap to the blossoms above. Brightly they bloomed and danced in the soft light, and the Frost-Spirits tried in vain to harm them, for when they came beneath the bright clouds their power to do evil left them. From his dark castle the King looked out on the happy flowers, who nodded gayly to him, and in sweet colors strove to tell him of the good little Spirit, who toiled so faithfully below, that they might live. And when he turned from the brightness without, to his stately palace, it seemed so cold and dreary, that he folded Violet's mantle round him, and sat beneath the faded wreath upon his ice-carved throne, wondering at the strange warmth that came from it; till at length he bade his Spirits bring the little Fairy from her dismal prison. Soon they came hastening back, and prayed him to come and see how lovely the dark cell had grown. The rough floor was spread with deep green moss, and over wall and roof grew flowery vines, filling the air with their sweet breath; while above played the clear, soft light, casting rosy shadows on the glittering drops that lay among the fragrant leaves; and beneath the vines stood Violet, casting crumbs to the downy little moles who ran fearlessly about and listened as she sang to them. When the old King saw how much fairer she had made the dreary cell than his palace rooms, gentle thoughts within whispered him to grant her prayer, and let the little Fairy go back to her friends and home; but the Frost-Spirits breathed upon the flowers and bid him see how frail they were, and useless to a King. Then the stern, cold thoughts came back again, and he harshly bid her follow him. With a sad farewell to her little friends she followed him, and before the throne awaited his command. When the King saw how pale and sad the gentle face had grown, how thin her robe, and weak her wings, and yet how lovingly the golden shadows fell around her and brightened as they lay upon the wand, which, guided by patient love, had made his once desolate home so bright, he could not be cruel to the one who had done so much for him, and in kindly tone he said,-- "Little Fairy, I offer you two things, and you may choose between them. If I will vow never more to harm the flowers you may love, will you go back to your own people and leave me and my Spirits to work our will on all the other flowers that bloom? The earth is broad, and we can find them in any land, then why should you care what happens to their kindred if your own are safe? Will you do this?" "Ah!" answered Violet sadly, "do you not know that beneath the flowers' bright leaves there beats a little heart that loves and sorrows like our own? And can I, heedless of their beauty, doom them to pain and grief, that I might save my own dear blossoms from the cruel foes to which I leave them? Ah no! sooner would I dwell for ever in your darkest cell, than lose the love of those warm, trusting hearts." "Then listen," said the King, "to the task I give you. You shall raise up for me a palace fairer than this, and if you can work that miracle I will grant your prayer or lose my kingly crown. And now go forth, and begin your task; my Spirits shall not harm you, and I will wait till it is done before I blight another flower." Then out into the gardens went Violet with a heavy heart; for she had toiled so long, her strength was nearly gone. But the flowers whispered their gratitude, and folded their leaves as if they blessed her; and when she saw the garden filled with loving friends, who strove to cheer and thank her for her care, courage and strength returned; and raising up thick clouds of mist, that hid her from the wondering flowers, alone and trustingly she began her work. As time went by, the Frost-King feared the task had been too hard for the Fairy; sounds were heard behind the walls of mist, bright shadows seen to pass within, but the little voice was never heard. Meanwhile the golden light had faded from the garden, the flowers bowed their heads, and all was dark and cold as when the gentle Fairy came. And to the stern King his home seemed more desolate and sad; for he missed the warm light, the happy flowers, and, more than all, the gay voice and bright face of little Violet. So he wandered through his dreary palace, wondering how he had been content to live before without sunlight and love. And little Violet was mourned as dead in Fairy-Land, and many tears were shed, for the gentle Fairy was beloved by all, from the Queen down to the humblest flower. Sadly they watched over every bird and blossom which she had loved, and strove to be like her in kindly words and deeds. They wore cypress wreaths, and spoke of her as one whom they should never see again. Thus they dwelt in deepest sorrow, till one day there came to them an unknown messenger, wrapped in a dark mantle, who looked with wondering eyes on the bright palace, and flower-crowned elves, who kindly welcomed him, and brought fresh dew and rosy fruit to refresh the weary stranger. Then he told them that he came from the Frost-King, who begged the Queen and all her subjects to come and see the palace little Violet had built; for the veil of mist would soon be withdrawn, and as she could not make a fairer home than the ice-castle, the King wished her kindred near to comfort and to bear her home. And while the Elves wept, he told them how patiently she had toiled, how her fadeless love had made the dark cell bright and beautiful. These and many other things he told them; for little Violet had won the love of many of the Frost-Spirits, and even when they killed the flowers she had toiled so hard to bring to life and beauty, she spoke gentle words to them, and sought to teach them how beautiful is love. Long stayed the messenger, and deeper grew his wonder that the Fairy could have left so fair a home, to toil in the dreary palace of his cruel master, and suffer cold and weariness, to give life and joy to the weak and sorrowing. When the Elves had promised they would come, he bade farewell to happy Fairy-Land, and flew sadly home. At last the time arrived, and out in his barren garden, under a canopy of dark clouds, sat the Frost-King before the misty wall, behind which were heard low, sweet sounds, as of rustling trees and warbling birds. Soon through the air came many-colored troops of Elves. First the Queen, known by the silver lilies on her snowy robe and the bright crown in her hair, beside whom flew a band of Elves in crimson and gold, making sweet music on their flower-trumpets, while all around, with smiling faces and bright eyes, fluttered her loving subjects. On they came, like a flock of brilliant butterflies, their shining wings and many-colored garments sparkling in the dim air; and soon the leafless trees were gay with living flowers, and their sweet voices filled the gardens with music. Like his subjects, the King looked on the lovely Elves, and no longer wondered that little Violet wept and longed for her home. Darker and more desolate seemed his stately home, and when the Fairies asked for flowers, he felt ashamed that he had none to give them. At length a warm wind swept through the gardens, and the mist-clouds passed away, while in silent wonder looked the Frost-King and the Elves upon the scene before them. Far as eye could reach were tall green trees whose drooping boughs made graceful arches, through which the golden light shone softly, making bright shadows on the deep green moss below, where the fairest flowers waved in the cool wind, and sang, in their low, sweet voices, how beautiful is Love. Flowering vines folded their soft leaves around the trees, making green pillars of their rough trunks. Fountains threw their bright waters to the roof, and flocks of silver-winged birds flew singing among the flowers, or brooded lovingly above their nests. Doves with gentle eyes cooed among the green leaves, snow-white clouds floated in the sunny shy, and the golden light, brighter than before, shone softly down. Soon through the long aisles came Violet, flowers and green leaves rustling as she passed. On she went to the Frost-King's throne, bearing two crowns, one of sparkling icicles, the other of pure white lilies, and kneeling before him, said,-- "My task is done, and, thanks to the Spirits of earth and air, I have made as fair a home as Elfin hands can form. You must now decide. Will you be King of Flower-Land, and own my gentle kindred for your loving friends? Will you possess unfading peace and joy, and the grateful love of all the green earth's fragrant children? Then take this crown of flowers. But if you can find no pleasure here, go back to your own cold home, and dwell in solitude and darkness, where no ray of sunlight or of joy can enter. "Send forth your Spirits to carry sorrow and desolation over the happy earth, and win for yourself the fear and hatred of those who would so gladly love and reverence you. Then take this glittering crown, hard and cold as your own heart will be, if you will shut out all that is bright and beautiful. Both are before you. Choose." The old King looked at the little Fairy, and saw how lovingly the bright shadows gathered round her, as if to shield her from every harm; the timid birds nestled in her bosom, and the flowers grew fairer as she looked upon them; while her gentle friends, with tears in their bright eyes, folded their hands beseechingly, and smiled on her. Kind thought came thronging to his mind, and he turned to look at the two palaces. Violet's, so fair and beautiful, with its rustling trees, calm, sunny skies, and happy birds and flowers, all created by her patient love and care. His own, so cold and dark and dreary, his empty gardens where no flowers could bloom, no green trees dwell, or gay birds sing, all desolate and dim;--and while he gazed, his own Spirits, casting off their dark mantles, knelt before him and besought him not to send them forth to blight the things the gentle Fairies loved so much. "We have served you long and faithfully," said they, "give us now our freedom, that we may learn to be beloved by the sweet flowers we have harmed so long. Grant the little Fairy's prayer; and let her go back to her own dear home. She has taught us that Love is mightier than Fear. Choose the Flower crown, and we will be the truest subjects you have ever had." Then, amid a burst of wild, sweet music, the Frost-King placed the Flower crown on his head, and knelt to little Violet; while far and near, over the broad green earth, sounded the voices of flowers, singing their thanks to the gentle Fairy, and the summer wind was laden with perfumes, which they sent as tokens of their gratitude; and wherever she went, old trees bent down to fold their slender branches round her, flowers laid their soft faces against her own, and whispered blessings; even the humble moss bent over the little feet, and kissed them as they passed. The old King, surrounded by the happy Fairies, sat in Violet's lovely home, and watched his icy castle melt away beneath the bright sunlight; while his Spirits, cold and gloomy no longer, danced with the Elves, and waited on their King with loving eagerness. Brighter grew the golden light, gayer sang the birds, and the harmonious voices of grateful flowers, sounding over the earth, carried new joy to all their gentle kindred. Brighter shone the golden shadows; On the cool wind softly came The low, sweet tones of happy flowers, Singing little Violet's name. 'Mong the green trees was it whispered, And the bright waves bore it on To the lonely forest flowers, Where the glad news had not gone. Thus the Frost-King lost his kingdom, And his power to harm and blight. Violet conquered, and his cold heart Warmed with music, love, and light; And his fair home, once so dreary, Gay with lovely Elves and flowers, Brought a joy that never faded Through the long bright summer hours. Thus, by Violet's magic power, All dark shadows passed away, And o'er the home of happy flowers The golden light for ever lay. Thus the Fairy mission ended, And all Flower-Land was taught The "Power of Love," by gentle deeds That little Violet wrought. As Sunny Lock ceased, another little Elf came forward; and this was the tale "Silver Wing" told. EVA'S VISIT TO FAIRY-LAND. DOWN among the grass and fragrant clover lay little Eva by the brook-side, watching the bright waves, as they went singing by under the drooping flowers that grew on its banks. As she was wondering where the waters went, she heard a faint, low sound, as of far-off music. She thought it was the wind, but not a leaf was stirring, and soon through the rippling water came a strange little boat. It was a lily of the valley, whose tall stem formed the mast, while the broad leaves that rose from the roots, and drooped again till they reached the water, were filled with gay little Elves, who danced to the music of the silver lily-bells above, that rang a merry peal, and filled the air with their fragrant breath. On came the fairy boat, till it reached a moss-grown rock; and here it stopped, while the Fairies rested beneath the violet-leaves, and sang with the dancing waves. Eva looked with wonder on their gay faces and bright garments, and in the joy of her heart sang too, and threw crimson fruit for the little folks to feast upon. They looked kindly on the child, and, after whispering long among themselves, two little bright-eyed Elves flew over the shining water, and, lighting on the clover-blossoms, said gently, "Little maiden, many thanks for your kindness; and our Queen bids us ask if you will go with us to Fairy-Land, and learn what we can teach you." "Gladly would I go with you, dear Fairies," said Eva, "but I cannot sail in your little boat. See! I can hold you in my hand, and could not live among you without harming your tiny kingdom, I am so large." Then the Elves laughed gayly, as they folded their arms about her, saying, "You are a good child, dear Eva, to fear doing harm to those weaker than yourself. You cannot hurt us now. Look in the water and see what we have done." Eva looked into the brook, and saw a tiny child standing between the Elves. "Now I can go with you," said she, "but see, I can no longer step from the bank to yonder stone, for the brook seems now like a great river, and you have not given me wings like yours." But the Fairies took each a hand, and flew lightly over the stream. The Queen and her subjects came to meet her, and all seemed glad to say some kindly word of welcome to the little stranger. They placed a flower-crown upon her head, laid their soft faces against her own, and soon it seemed as if the gentle Elves had always been her friends. "Now must we go home," said the Queen, "and you shall go with us, little one." Then there was a great bustle, as they flew about on shining wings, some laying cushions of violet leaves in the boat, others folding the Queen's veil and mantle more closely round her, lest the falling dews should chill her. The cool waves' gentle plashing against the boat, and the sweet chime of the lily-bells, lulled little Eva to sleep, and when she woke it was in Fairy-Land. A faint, rosy light, as of the setting sun, shone on the white pillars of the Queen's palace as they passed in, and the sleeping flowers leaned gracefully on their stems, dreaming beneath their soft green curtains. All was cool and still, and the Elves glided silently about, lest they should break their slumbers. They led Eva to a bed of pure white leaves, above which drooped the fragrant petals of a crimson rose. "You can look at the bright colors till the light fades, and then the rose will sing you to sleep," said the Elves, as they folded the soft leaves about her, gently kissed her, and stole away. Long she lay watching the bright shadows, and listening to the song of the rose, while through the long night dreams of lovely things floated like bright clouds through her mind; while the rose bent lovingly above her, and sang in the clear moonlight. With the sun rose the Fairies, and, with Eva, hastened away to the fountain, whose cool waters were soon filled with little forms, and the air ringing with happy voices, as the Elves floated in the blue waves among the fair white lilies, or sat on the green moss, smoothing their bright locks, and wearing fresh garlands of dewy flowers. At length the Queen came forth, and her subjects gathered round her, and while the flowers bowed their heads, and the trees hushed their rustling, the Fairies sang their morning hymn to the Father of birds and blossoms, who had made the earth so fair a home for them. Then they flew away to the gardens, and soon, high up among the tree-tops, or under the broad leaves, sat the Elves in little groups, taking their breakfast of fruit and pure fresh dew; while the bright-winged birds came fearlessly among them, pecking the same ripe berries, and dipping their little beaks in the same flower-cups, and the Fairies folded their arms lovingly about them, smoothed their soft bosoms, and gayly sang to them. "Now, little Eva," said they, "you will see that Fairies are not idle, wilful Spirits, as mortals believe. Come, we will show you what we do." They led her to a lovely room, through whose walls of deep green leaves the light stole softly in. Here lay many wounded insects, and harmless little creatures, whom cruel hands had hurt; and pale, drooping flowers grew beside urns of healing herbs, from whose fresh leaves came a faint, sweet perfume. Eva wondered, but silently followed her guide, little Rose-Leaf, who with tender words passed among the delicate blossoms, pouring dew on their feeble roots, cheering them with her loving words and happy smile. Then she went to the insects; first to a little fly who lay in a flower-leaf cradle. "Do you suffer much, dear Gauzy-Wing?" asked the Fairy. "I will bind up your poor little leg, and Zephyr shall rock you to sleep." So she folded the cool leaves tenderly about the poor fly, bathed his wings, and brought him refreshing drink, while he hummed his thanks, and forgot his pain, as Zephyr softly sung and fanned him with her waving wings. They passed on, and Eva saw beside each bed a Fairy, who with gentle hands and loving words soothed the suffering insects. At length they stopped beside a bee, who lay among sweet honeysuckle flowers, in a cool, still place, where the summer wind blew in, and the green leaves rustled pleasantly. Yet he seemed to find no rest, and murmured of the pain he was doomed to bear. "Why must I lie here, while my kindred are out in the pleasant fields, enjoying the sunlight and the fresh air, and cruel hands have doomed me to this dark place and bitter pain when I have done no wrong? Uncared for and forgotten, I must stay here among these poor things who think only of themselves. Come here, Rose-Leaf, and bind up my wounds, for I am far more useful than idle bird or fly." Then said the Fairy, while she bathed the broken wing,-- "Love-Blossom, you should not murmur. We may find happiness in seeking to be patient even while we suffer. You are not forgotten or uncared for, but others need our care more than you, and to those who take cheerfully the pain and sorrow sent, do we most gladly give our help. You need not be idle, even though lying here in darkness and sorrow; you can be taking from your heart all sad and discontented feelings, and if love and patience blossom there, you will be better for the lonely hours spent here. Look on the bed beside you; this little dove has suffered far greater pain than you, and all our care can never ease it; yet through the long days he hath lain here, not an unkind word or a repining sigh hath he uttered. Ah, Love-Blossom, the gentle bird can teach a lesson you will be wiser and better for." Then a faint voice whispered, "Little Rose-Leaf, come quickly, or I cannot thank you as I ought for all your loving care of me." So they passed to the bed beside the discontented bee, and here upon the softest down lay the dove, whose gentle eyes looked gratefully upon the Fairy, as she knelt beside the little couch, smoothed the soft white bosom, folded her arms about it and wept sorrowing tears, while the bird still whispered its gratitude and love. "Dear Fairy, the fairest flowers have cheered me with their sweet breath, fresh dew and fragrant leaves have been ever ready for me, gentle hands to tend, kindly hearts to love; and for this I can only thank you and say farewell." Then the quivering wings were still, and the patient little dove was dead; but the bee murmured no longer, and the dew from the flowers fell like tears around the quiet bed. Sadly Rose-Leaf led Eva away, saying, "Lily-Bosom shall have a grave tonight beneath our fairest blossoms, and you shall see that gentleness and love are prized far above gold or beauty, here in Fairy-Land. Come now to the Flower Palace, and see the Fairy Court." Beneath green arches, bright with birds and flowers, beside singing waves, went Eva into a lofty hall. The roof of pure white lilies rested on pillars of green clustering vines, while many-colored blossoms threw their bright shadows on the walls, as they danced below in the deep green moss, and their low, sweet voices sounded softly through the sunlit palace, while the rustling leaves kept time. Beside the throne stood Eva, and watched the lovely forms around her, as they stood, each little band in its own color, with glistening wings, and flower wands. Suddenly the music grew louder and sweeter, and the Fairies knelt, and bowed their heads, as on through the crowd of loving subjects came the Queen, while the air was filled with gay voices singing to welcome her. She placed the child beside her, saying, "Little Eva, you shall see now how the flowers on your great earth bloom so brightly. A band of loving little gardeners go daily forth from Fairy-Land, to tend and watch them, that no harm may befall the gentle spirits that dwell beneath their leaves. This is never known, for like all good it is unseen by mortal eyes, and unto only pure hearts like yours do we make known our secret. The humblest flower that grows is visited by our messengers, and often blooms in fragrant beauty unknown, unloved by all save Fairy friends, who seek to fill the spirits with all sweet and gentle virtues, that they may not be useless on the earth; for the noblest mortals stoop to learn of flowers. Now, Eglantine, what have you to tell us of your rosy namesakes on the earth?" From a group of Elves, whose rose-wreathed wands showed the flower they loved, came one bearing a tiny urn, and, answering the Queen, she said,-- "Over hill and valley they are blooming fresh and fair as summer sun and dew can make them. No drooping stem or withered leaf tells of any evil thought within their fragrant bosoms, and thus from the fairest of their race have they gathered this sweet dew, as a token of their gratitude to one whose tenderness and care have kept them pure and happy; and this, the loveliest of their sisters, have I brought to place among the Fairy flowers that never pass away." Eglantine laid the urn before the Queen, and placed the fragrant rose on the dewy moss beside the throne, while a murmur of approval went through the hall, as each elfin wand waved to the little Fairy who had toiled so well and faithfully, and could bring so fair a gift to their good Queen. Then came forth an Elf bearing a withered leaf, while her many-colored robe and the purple tulips in her hair told her name and charge. "Dear Queen," she sadly said, "I would gladly bring as pleasant tidings as my sister, but, alas! my flowers are proud and wilful, and when I went to gather my little gift of colored leaves for royal garments, they bade me bring this withered blossom, and tell you they would serve no longer one who will not make them Queen over all the other flowers. They would yield neither dew nor honey, but proudly closed their leaves and bid me go." "Your task has been too hard for you," said the Queen kindly, as she placed the drooping flower in the urn Eglantine had given, "you will see how this dew from a sweet, pure heart will give new life and loveliness even to this poor faded one. So can you, dear Rainbow, by loving words and gentle teachings, bring back lost purity and peace to those whom pride and selfishness have blighted. Go once again to the proud flowers, and tell them when they are queen of their own hearts they will ask no fairer kingdom. Watch more tenderly than ever over them, see that they lack neither dew nor air, speak lovingly to them, and let no unkind word or deed of theirs anger you. Let them see by your patient love and care how much fairer they might be, and when next you come, you will be laden with gifts from humble, loving flowers." Thus they told what they had done, and received from their Queen some gentle chiding or loving word of praise. "You will be weary of this," said little Rose-Leaf to Eva; "come now and see where we are taught to read the tales written on flower-leaves, and the sweet language of the birds, and all that can make a Fairy heart wiser and better." Then into a cheerful place they went, where were many groups of flowers, among whose leaves sat the child Elves, and learned from their flower-books all that Fairy hands had written there. Some studied how to watch the tender buds, when to spread them to the sunlight, and when to shelter them from rain; how to guard the ripening seeds, and when to lay them in the warm earth or send them on the summer wind to far off hills and valleys, where other Fairy hands would tend and cherish them, till a sisterhood of happy flowers sprang up to beautify and gladden the lonely spot where they had fallen. Others learned to heal the wounded insects, whose frail limbs a breeze could shatter, and who, were it not for Fairy hands, would die ere half their happy summer life had gone. Some learned how by pleasant dreams to cheer and comfort mortal hearts, by whispered words of love to save from evil deeds those who had gone astray, to fill young hearts with gentle thoughts and pure affections, that no sin might mar the beauty of the human flower; while others, like mortal children, learned the Fairy alphabet. Thus the Elves made loving friends by care and love, and no evil thing could harm them, for those they helped to cherish and protect ever watched to shield and save them. Eva nodded to the gay little ones, as they peeped from among the leaves at the stranger, and then she listened to the Fairy lessons. Several tiny Elves stood on a broad leaf while the teacher sat among the petals of a flower that bent beside them, and asked questions that none but Fairies would care to know. "Twinkle, if there lay nine seeds within a flower-cup and the wind bore five away, how many would the blossom have?" "Four," replied the little one. "Rosebud, if a Cowslip opens three leaves in one day and four the next, how many rosy leaves will there be when the whole flower has bloomed?" "Seven," sang the gay little Elf. "Harebell, if a silkworm spin one yard of Fairy cloth in an hour, how many will it spin in a day?" "Twelve," said the Fairy child. "Primrose, where lies Violet Island?" "In the Lake of Ripples." "Lilla, you may bound Rose Land." "On the north by Ferndale, south by Sunny Wave River, east by the hill of Morning Clouds, and west by the Evening Star." "Now, little ones," said the teacher, "you may go to your painting, that our visitor may see how we repair the flowers that earthly hands have injured." Then Eva saw how, on large, white leaves, the Fairies learned to imitate the lovely colors, and with tiny brushes to brighten the blush on the anemone's cheek, to deepen the blue of the violet's eye, and add new light to the golden cowslip. "You have stayed long enough," said the Elves at length, "we have many things to show you. Come now and see what is our dearest work." So Eva said farewell to the child Elves, and hastened with little Rose-Leaf to the gates. Here she saw many bands of Fairies, folded in dark mantles that mortals might not know them, who, with the child among them, flew away over hill and valley. Some went to the cottages amid the hills, some to the sea-side to watch above the humble fisher folks; but little Rose-Leaf and many others went into the noisy city. Eva wondered within herself what good the tiny Elves could do in this great place; but she soon learned, for the Fairy band went among the poor and friendless, bringing pleasant dreams to the sick and old, sweet, tender thoughts of love and gentleness to the young, strength to the weak, and patient cheerfulness to the poor and lonely. Then the child wondered no longer, but deeper grew her love for the tender-hearted Elves, who left their own happy home to cheer and comfort those who never knew what hands had clothed and fed them, what hearts had given of their own joy, and brought such happiness to theirs. Long they stayed, and many a lesson little Eva learned: but when she begged them to go back, they still led her on, saying, "Our work is not yet done; shall we leave so many sad hearts when we may cheer them, so many dark homes that we may brighten? We must stay yet longer, little Eva, and you may learn yet more." Then they went into a dark and lonely room, and here they found a pale, sad-eyed child, who wept bitter tears over a faded flower. "Ah," sighed the little one, "it was my only friend, and I cherished it with all my lone heart's love; 't was all that made my sad life happy; and it is gone." Tenderly the child fastened the drooping stem, and placed it where the one faint ray of sunlight stole into the dreary room. "Do you see," said the Elves, "through this simple flower will we keep the child pure and stainless amid the sin and sorrow around her. The love of this shall lead her on through temptation and through grief, and she shall be a spirit of joy and consolation to the sinful and the sorrowing." And with busy love toiled the Elves amid the withered leaves, and new strength was given to the flower; while, as day by day the friendless child watered the growing buds, deeper grew her love for the unseen friends who had given her one thing to cherish in her lonely home; sweet, gentle thoughts filled her heart as she bent above it, and the blossom's fragrant breath was to her a whispered voice of all fair and lovely things; and as the flower taught her, so she taught others. The loving Elves brought her sweet dreams by night, and happy thoughts by day, and as she grew in childlike beauty, pure and patient amid poverty and sorrow, the sinful were rebuked, sorrowing hearts grew light, and the weak and selfish forgot their idle fears, when they saw her trustingly live on with none to aid or comfort her. The love she bore the tender flower kept her own heart innocent and bright, and the pure human flower was a lesson to those who looked upon it; and soon the gloomy house was bright with happy hearts, that learned of the gentle child to bear poverty and grief as she had done, to forgive those who brought care and wrong to them, and to seek for happiness in humble deeds of charity and love. "Our work is done," whispered the Elves, and with blessings on the two fair flowers, they flew away to other homes;--to a blind old man who dwelt alone with none to love him, till through long years of darkness and of silent sorrow the heart within had grown dim and cold. No sunlight could enter at the darkened eyes, and none were near to whisper gentle words, to cheer and comfort. Thus he dwelt forgotten and alone, seeking to give no joy to others, possessing none himself. Life was dark and sad till the untiring Elves came to his dreary home, bringing sunlight and love. They whispered sweet words of comfort,--how, if the darkened eyes could find no light without, within there might be never-failing happiness; gentle feelings and sweet, loving thoughts could make the heart fair, if the gloomy, selfish sorrow were but cast away, and all would be bright and beautiful. They brought light-hearted children, who gathered round him, making the desolate home fair with their young faces, and his sad heart gay with their sweet, childish voices. The love they bore he could not cast away, sunlight stole in, the dark thoughts passed away, and the earth was a pleasant home to him. Thus their little hands led him back to peace and happiness, flowers bloomed beside his door, and their fragrant breath brought happy thoughts of pleasant valleys and green hills; birds sang to him, and their sweet voices woke the music in his own soul, that never failed to calm and comfort. Happy sounds were heard in his once lonely home, and bright faces gathered round his knee, and listened tenderly while he strove to tell them all the good that gentleness and love had done for him. Still the Elves watched near, and brighter grew the heart as kindly thoughts and tender feelings entered in, and made it their home; and when the old man fell asleep, above his grave little feet trod lightly, and loving hands laid fragrant flowers. Then went the Elves into the dreary prison-houses, where sad hearts pined in lonely sorrow for the joy and freedom they had lost. To these came the loving band with tender words, telling of the peace they yet might win by patient striving and repentant tears, thus waking in their bosoms all the holy feelings and sweet affections that had slept so long. They told pleasant tales, and sang their sweetest songs to cheer and gladden, while the dim cells grew bright with the sunlight, and fragrant with the flowers the loving Elves had brought, and by their gentle teachings those sad, despairing hearts were filled with patient hope and earnest longing to win back their lost innocence and joy. Thus to all who needed help or comfort went the faithful Fairies; and when at length they turned towards Fairy-Land, many were the grateful, happy hearts they left behind. Then through the summer sky, above the blossoming earth, they journeyed home, happier for the joy they had given, wiser for the good they had done. All Fairy-Land was dressed in flowers, and the soft wind went singing by, laden with their fragrant breath. Sweet music sounded through the air, and troops of Elves in their gayest robes hastened to the palace where the feast was spread. Soon the bright hall was filled with smiling faces and fair forms, and little Eva, as she stood beside the Queen, thought she had never seen a sight so lovely. The many-colored shadows of the fairest flowers played on the pure white walls, and fountains sparkled in the sunlight, making music as the cool waves rose and fell, while to and fro, with waving wings and joyous voices, went the smiling Elves, bearing fruit and honey, or fragrant garlands for each other's hair. Long they feasted, gayly they sang, and Eva, dancing merrily among them, longed to be an Elf that she might dwell forever in so fair a home. At length the music ceased, and the Queen said, as she laid her hand on little Eva's shining hair:-- "Dear child, tomorrow we must bear you home, for, much as we long to keep you, it were wrong to bring such sorrow to your loving earthly friends; therefore we will guide you to the brook-side, and there say farewell till you come again to visit us. Nay, do not weep, dear Rose-Leaf; you shall watch over little Eva's flowers, and when she looks at them she will think of you. Come now and lead her to the Fairy garden, and show her what we think our fairest sight. Weep no more, but strive to make her last hours with us happy as you can." With gentle caresses and most tender words the loving Elves gathered about the child, and, with Rose-Leaf by her side, they led her through the palace, and along green, winding paths, till Eva saw what seemed a wall of flowers rising before her, while the air was filled with the most fragrant odors, and the low, sweet music as of singing blossoms. "Where have you brought me, and what mean these lovely sounds?" asked Eva. "Look here, and you shall see," said Rose-Leaf, as she bent aside the vines, "but listen silently or you cannot hear." Then Eva, looking through the drooping vines, beheld a garden filled with the loveliest flowers; fair as were all the blossoms she had seen in Fairy-Land, none were so beautiful as these. The rose glowed with a deeper crimson, the lily's soft leaves were more purely white, the crocus and humble cowslip shone like sunlight, and the violet was blue as the sky that smiled above it. "How beautiful they are," whispered Eva, "but, dear Rose-Leaf, why do you keep them here, and why call you this your fairest sight?" "Look again, and I will tell you," answered the Fairy. Eva looked, and saw from every flower a tiny form come forth to welcome the Elves, who all, save Rose-Leaf, had flown above the wall, and were now scattering dew upon the flowers' bright leaves and talking gayly with the Spirits, who gathered around them, and seemed full of joy that they had come. The child saw that each one wore the colors of the flower that was its home. Delicate and graceful were the little forms, bright the silken hair that fell about each lovely face; and Eva heard the low, sweet murmur of their silvery voices and the rustle of their wings. She gazed in silent wonder, forgetting she knew not who they were, till the Fairy said,-- "These are the spirits of the flowers, and this the Fairy Home where those whose hearts were pure and loving on the earth come to bloom in fadeless beauty here, when their earthly life is past. The humblest flower that blooms has a home with us, for outward beauty is a worthless thing if all be not fair and sweet within. Do you see yonder lovely spirit singing with my sister Moonlight? a clover blossom was her home, and she dwelt unknown, unloved; yet patient and content, bearing cheerfully the sorrows sent her. We watched and saw how fair and sweet the humble flower grew, and then gladly bore her here, to blossom with the lily and the rose. The flowers' lives are often short, for cruel hands destroy them; therefore is it our greatest joy to bring them hither, where no careless foot or wintry wind can harm them, where they bloom in quiet beauty, repaying our care by their love and sweetest perfumes." "I will never break another flower," cried Eva; "but let me go to them, dear Fairy; I would gladly know the lovely spirits, and ask forgiveness for the sorrow I have caused. May I not go in?" "Nay, dear Eva, you are a mortal child, and cannot enter here; but I will tell them of the kind little maiden who has learned to love them, and they will remember you when you are gone. Come now, for you have seen enough, and we must be away." On a rosy morning cloud, surrounded by the loving Elves, went Eva through the sunny sky. The fresh wind bore them gently on, and soon they stood again beside the brook, whose waves danced brightly as if to welcome them. "Now, ere we say farewell," said the Queen, as they gathered nearer to the child, "tell me, dear Eva, what among all our Fairy gifts will make you happiest, and it shall be yours." "You good little Fairies," said Eva, folding them in her arms, for she was no longer the tiny child she had been in Fairy-Land, "you dear good little Elves, what can I ask of you, who have done so much to make me happy, and taught me so many good and gentle lessons, the memory of which will never pass away? I can only ask of you the power to be as pure and gentle as yourselves, as tender and loving to the weak and sorrowing, as untiring in kindly deeds to all. Grant me this gift, and you shall see that little Eva has not forgotten what you have taught her." "The power shall be yours," said the Elves, and laid their soft hands on her head; "we will watch over you in dreams, and when you would have tidings of us, ask the flowers in your garden, and they will tell you all you would know. Farewell. Remember Fairy-Land and all your loving friends." They clung about her tenderly, and little Rose-Leaf placed a flower crown on her head, whispering softly, "When you would come to us again, stand by the brook-side and wave this in the air, and we will gladly take you to our home again. Farewell, dear Eva. Think of your little Rose-Leaf when among the flowers." Long Eva watched their shining wings, and listened to the music of their voices as they flew singing home, and when at length the last little form had vanished among the clouds, she saw that all around her where the Elves had been, the fairest flowers had sprung up, and the lonely brook-side was a blooming garden. Thus she stood among the waving blossoms, with the Fairy garland in her hair, and happy feelings in her heart, better and wiser for her visit to Fairy-Land. "Now, Star-Twinkle, what have you to teach?" asked the Queen. "Nothing but a little song I heard the hare-bells singing," replied the Fairy, and, taking her harp, sang, in a low, sweet voice:-- THE FLOWER'S LESSON. THERE grew a fragrant rose-tree where the brook flows, With two little tender buds, and one full rose; When the sun went down to his bed in the west, The little buds leaned on the rose-mother's breast, While the bright eyed stars their long watch kept, And the flowers of the valley in their green cradles slept; Then silently in odors they communed with each other, The two little buds on the bosom of their mother. "O sister," said the little one, as she gazed at the sky, "I wish that the Dew Elves, as they wander lightly by, Would bring me a star; for they never grow dim, And the Father does not need them to burn round him. The shining drops of dew the Elves bring each day And place in my bosom, so soon pass away; But a star would glitter brightly through the long summer hours, And I should be fairer than all my sister flowers. That were better far than the dew-drops that fall On the high and the low, and come alike to all. I would be fair and stately, with a bright star to shine And give a queenly air to this crimson robe of mine." And proudly she cried, "These fire-flies shall be My jewels, since the stars can never come to me." Just then a tiny dew-drop that hung o'er the dell On the breast of the bud like a soft star fell; But impatiently she flung it away from her leaf, And it fell on her mother like a tear of grief, While she folded to her breast, with wilful pride, A glittering fire-fly that hung by her side. "Heed," said the mother rose, "daughter mine, Why shouldst thou seek for beauty not thine? The Father hath made thee what thou now art; And what he most loveth is a sweet, pure heart. Then why dost thou take with such discontent The loving gift which he to thee hath sent? For the cool fresh dew will render thee far More lovely and sweet than the brightest star; They were made for Heaven, and can never come to shine Like the fire-fly thou hast in that foolish breast of thine. O my foolish little bud, do listen to thy mother; Care only for true beauty, and seek for no other. There will be grief and trouble in that wilful little heart; Unfold thy leaves, my daughter, and let the fly depart." But the proud little bud would have her own will, And folded the fire-fly more closely still; Till the struggling insect tore open the vest Of purple and green, that covered her breast. When the sun came up, she saw with grief The blooming of her sister bud leaf by leaf. While she, once as fair and bright as the rest, Hung her weary head down on her wounded breast. Bright grew the sunshine, and the soft summer air Was filled with the music of flowers singing there; But faint grew the little bud with thirst and pain, And longed for the cool dew; but now 't was in vain. Then bitterly she wept for her folly and pride, As drooping she stood by her fair sister's side. Then the rose mother leaned the weary little head On her bosom to rest, and tenderly she said: "Thou hast learned, my little bud, that, whatever may betide, Thou canst win thyself no joy by passion or by pride. The loving Father sends the sunshine and the shower, That thou mayst become a perfect little flower;-- The sweet dews to feed thee, the soft wind to cheer, And the earth as a pleasant home, while thou art dwelling here. Then shouldst thou not be grateful for all this kindly care, And strive to keep thyself most innocent and fair? Then seek, my little blossom, to win humility; Be fair without, be pure within, and thou wilt happy be. So when the quiet Autumn of thy fragrant life shall come, Thou mayst pass away, to bloom in the Flower Spirits' home." Then from the mother's breast, where it still lay hid, Into the fading bud the dew-drop gently slid; Stronger grew the little form, and happy tears fell, As the dew did its silent work, and the bud grew well, While the gentle rose leaned, with motherly pride, O'er the fair little ones that bloomed at her side. Night came again, and the fire-flies flew; But the bud let them pass, and drank of the dew; While the soft stars shone, from the still summer heaven, On the happy little flower that had learned the lesson given. The music-loving Elves clapped their hands, as Star-Twinkle ceased; and the Queen placed a flower crown, with a gentle smile, upon the Fairy's head, saying,-- "The little bud's lesson shall teach us how sad a thing is pride, and that humility alone can bring true happiness to flower and Fairy. You shall come next, Zephyr." And the little Fairy, who lay rocking to and fro upon a fluttering vine-leaf, thus began her story:-- "As I lay resting in the bosom of a cowslip that bent above the brook, a little wind, tired of play, told me this tale of LILY-BELL AND THISTLEDOWN. ONCE upon a time, two little Fairies went out into the world, to seek their fortune. Thistledown was as gay and gallant a little Elf as ever spread a wing. His purple mantle, and doublet of green, were embroidered with the brightest threads, and the plume in his cap came always from the wing of the gayest butterfly. But he was not loved in Fairy-Land, for, like the flower whose name and colors he wore, though fair to look upon, many were the little thorns of cruelty and selfishness that lay concealed by his gay mantle. Many a gentle flower and harmless bird died by his hand, for he cared for himself alone, and whatever gave him pleasure must be his, though happy hearts were rendered sad, and peaceful homes destroyed. Such was Thistledown; but far different was his little friend, Lily-Bell. Kind, compassionate, and loving, wherever her gentle face was seen, joy and gratitude were found; no suffering flower or insect, that did not love and bless the kindly Fairy; and thus all Elf-Land looked upon her as a friend. Nor did this make her vain and heedless of others; she humbly dwelt among them, seeking to do all the good she might; and many a houseless bird and hungry insect that Thistledown had harmed did she feed and shelter, and in return no evil could befall her, for so many friends were all about her, seeking to repay her tenderness and love by their watchful care. She would not now have left Fairy-Land, but to help and counsel her wild companion, Thistledown, who, discontented with his quiet home, WOULD seek his fortune in the great world, and she feared he would suffer from his own faults for others would not always be as gentle and forgiving as his kindred. So the kind little Fairy left her home and friends to go with him; and thus, side by side, they flew beneath the bright summer sky. On and on, over hill and valley, they went, chasing the gay butterflies, or listening to the bees, as they flew from flower to flower like busy little housewives, singing as they worked; till at last they reached a pleasant garden, filled with flowers and green, old trees. "See," cried Thistledown, "what a lovely home is here; let us rest among the cool leaves, and hear the flowers sing, for I am sadly tired and hungry." So into the quiet garden they went, and the winds gayly welcomed them, while the flowers nodded on their stems, offering their bright leaves for the Elves to rest upon, and fresh, sweet honey to refresh them. "Now, dear Thistle, do not harm these friendly blossoms," said Lily-Bell; "see how kindly they spread their leaves, and offer us their dew. It would be very wrong in you to repay their care with cruelty and pain. You will be tender for my sake, dear Thistle." Then she went among the flowers, and they bent lovingly before her, and laid their soft leaves against her little face, that she might see how glad they were to welcome one so good and gentle, and kindly offered their dew and honey to the weary little Fairy, who sat among their fragrant petals and looked smilingly on the happy blossoms, who, with their soft, low voices, sang her to sleep. While Lily-Bell lay dreaming among the rose-leaves, Thistledown went wandering through the garden. First he robbed the bees of their honey, and rudely shook the little flowers, that he might get the dew they had gathered to bathe their buds in. Then he chased the bright winged flies, and wounded them with the sharp thorn he carried for a sword; he broke the spider's shining webs, lamed the birds, and soon wherever he passed lay wounded insects and drooping flowers; while the winds carried the tidings over the garden, and bird and blossom looked upon him as an evil spirit, and fled away or closed their leaves, lest he should harm them. Thus he went, leaving sorrow and pain behind him, till he came to the roses where Lily-Bell lay sleeping. There, weary of his cruel sport, he stayed to rest beneath a graceful rose-tree, where grew one blooming flower and a tiny bud. "Why are you so slow in blooming, little one? You are too old to be rocked in your green cradle longer, and should be out among your sister flowers," said Thistle, as he lay idly in the shadow of the tree. "My little bud is not yet strong enough to venture forth," replied the rose, as she bent fondly over it; "the sunlight and the rain would blight her tender form, were she to blossom now, but soon she will be fit to bear them; till then she is content to rest beside her mother, and to wait." "You silly flower," said Thistledown, "see how quickly I will make you bloom! your waiting is all useless." And speaking thus, he pulled rudely apart the folded leaves, and laid them open to the sun and air; while the rose mother implored the cruel Fairy to leave her little bud untouched. "It is my first, my only one," said she, "and I have watched over it with such care, hoping it would soon bloom beside me; and now you have destroyed it. How could you harm the little helpless one, that never did aught to injure you?" And while her tears fell like summer rain, she drooped in grief above the little bud, and sadly watched it fading in the sunlight; but Thistledown, heedless of the sorrow he had given, spread his wings and flew away. Soon the sky grew dark, and heavy drops began to fall. Then Thistle hastened to the lily, for her cup was deep, and the white leaves fell like curtains over the fragrant bed; he was a dainty little Elf, and could not sleep among the clovers and bright buttercups. But when he asked the flower to unfold her leaves and take him in, she turned her pale, soft face away, and answered sadly, "I must shield my little drooping sisters whom you have harmed, and cannot let you in." Then Thistledown was very angry, and turned to find shelter among the stately roses; but they showed their sharp thorns, and, while their rosy faces glowed with anger, told him to begone, or they would repay him for the wrong he had done their gentle kindred. He would have stayed to harm them, but the rain fell fast, and he hurried away, saying, "The tulips will take me in, for I have praised their beauty, and they are vain and foolish flowers." But when he came, all wet and cold, praying for shelter among their thick leaves, they only laughed and said scornfully, "We know you, and will not let you in, for you are false and cruel, and will only bring us sorrow. You need not come to us for another mantle, when the rain has spoilt your fine one; and do not stay here, or we will do you harm." Then they waved their broad leaves stormily, and scattered the heavy drops on his dripping garments. "Now must I go to the humble daisies and blue violets," said Thistle, "they will be glad to let in so fine a Fairy, and I shall die in this cold wind and rain." So away he flew, as fast as his heavy wings would bear him, to the daisies; but they nodded their heads wisely, and closed their leaves yet closer, saying sharply,-- "Go away with yourself, and do not imagine we will open our leaves to you, and spoil our seeds by letting in the rain. It serves you rightly; to gain our love and confidence, and repay it by such cruelty! You will find no shelter here for one whose careless hand wounded our little friend Violet, and broke the truest heart that ever beat in a flower's breast. We are very angry with you, wicked Fairy; go away and hide yourself." "Ah," cried the shivering Elf, "where can I find shelter? I will go to the violets: they will forgive and take me in." But the daisies had spoken truly; the gentle little flower was dead, and her blue-eyed sisters were weeping bitterly over her faded leaves. "Now I have no friends," sighed poor Thistledown, "and must die of cold. Ah, if I had but minded Lily-Bell, I might now be dreaming beneath some flower's leaves." "Others can forgive and love, beside Lily-Bell and Violet," said a faint, sweet voice; "I have no little bud to shelter now, and you can enter here." It was the rose mother that spoke, and Thistle saw how pale the bright leaves had grown, and how the slender stem was bowed. Grieved, ashamed, and wondering at the flower's forgiving words, he laid his weary head on the bosom he had filled with sorrow, and the fragrant leaves were folded carefully about him. But he could find no rest. The rose strove to comfort him; but when she fancied he was sleeping, thoughts of her lost bud stole in, and the little heart beat so sadly where he lay, that no sleep came; while the bitter tears he had caused to flow fell more coldly on him than the rain without. Then he heard the other flowers whispering among themselves of his cruelty, and the sorrow he had brought to their happy home; and many wondered how the rose, who had suffered most, could yet forgive and shelter him. "Never could I forgive one who had robbed me of my children. I could bow my head and die, but could give no happiness to one who had taken all my own," said Hyacinth, bending fondly over the little ones that blossomed by her side. "Dear Violet is not the only one who will leave us," sobbed little Mignonette; "the rose mother will fade like her little bud, and we shall lose our gentlest teacher. Her last lesson is forgiveness; let us show our love for her, and the gentle stranger Lily-Bell, by allowing no unkind word or thought of him who has brought us all this grief." The angry words were hushed, and through the long night nothing was heard but the dropping of the rain, and the low sighs of the rose. Soon the sunlight came again, and with it Lily-Bell seeking for Thistledown; but he was ashamed, and stole away. When the flowers told their sorrow to kind-hearted Lily-Bell, she wept bitterly at the pain her friend had given, and with loving words strove to comfort those whom he had grieved; with gentle care she healed the wounded birds, and watched above the flowers he had harmed, bringing each day dew and sunlight to refresh and strengthen, till all were well again; and though sorrowing for their dead friends, still they forgave Thistle for the sake of her who had done so much for them. Thus, erelong, buds fairer than that she had lost lay on the rose mother's breast, and for all she had suffered she was well repaid by the love of Lily-Bell and her sister flowers. And when bird, bee, and blossom were strong and fair again, the gentle Fairy said farewell, and flew away to seek her friend, leaving behind many grateful hearts, who owed their joy and life to her. Meanwhile, over hill and dale went Thistledown, and for a time was kind and gentle to every living thing. He missed sadly the little friend who had left her happy home to watch over him, but he was too proud to own his fault, and so went on, hoping she would find him. One day he fell asleep, and when he woke the sun had set, and the dew began to fall; the flower-cups were closed, and he had nowhere to go, till a friendly little bee, belated by his heavy load of honey, bid the weary Fairy come with him. "Help me to bear my honey home, and you can stay with us tonight," he kindly said. So Thistle gladly went with him, and soon they came to a pleasant garden, where among the fairest flowers stood the hive, covered with vines and overhung with blossoming trees. Glow-worms stood at the door to light them home, and as they passed in, the Fairy thought how charming it must be to dwell in such a lovely place. The floor of wax was pure and white as marble, while the walls were formed of golden honey-comb, and the air was fragrant with the breath of flowers. "You cannot see our Queen to-night," said the little bee, "but I will show you to a bed where you can rest." And he led the tired Fairy to a little cell, where on a bed of flower-leaves he folded his wings and fell asleep. As the first ray of sunlight stole in, he was awakened by sweet music. It was the morning song of the bees. "Awake! awake! for the earliest gleam Of golden sunlight shines On the rippling waves, that brightly flow Beneath the flowering vines. Awake! awake! for the low, sweet chant Of the wild-birds' morning hymn Comes floating by on the fragrant air, Through the forest cool and dim; Then spread each wing, And work, and sing, Through the long, bright sunny hours; O'er the pleasant earth We journey forth, For a day among the flowers. "Awake! awake! for the summer wind Hath bidden the blossoms unclose, Hath opened the violet's soft blue eye, And wakened the sleeping rose. And lightly they wave on their slender stems Fragrant, and fresh, and fair, Waiting for us, as we singing come To gather our honey-dew there. Then spread each wing, And work, and sing, Through the long, bright sunny hours; O'er the pleasant earth We journey forth, For a day among the flowers!" Soon his friend came to bid him rise, as the Queen desired to speak with him. So, with his purple mantle thrown gracefully over his shoulder, and his little cap held respectfully in his hand, he followed Nimble-Wing to the great hall, where the Queen was being served by her little pages. Some bore her fresh dew and honey, some fanned her with fragrant flower-leaves, while others scattered the sweetest perfumes on the air. "Little Fairy," said the Queen, "you are welcome to my palace; and we will gladly have you stay with us, if you will obey our laws. We do not spend the pleasant summer days in idleness and pleasure, but each one labors for the happiness and good of all. If our home is beautiful, we have made it so by industry; and here, as one large, loving family, we dwell; no sorrow, care, or discord can enter in, while all obey the voice of her who seeks to be a wise and gentle Queen to them. If you will stay with us, we will teach you many things. Order, patience, industry, who can teach so well as they who are the emblems of these virtues? "Our laws are few and simple. You must each day gather your share of honey, see that your cell is sweet and fresh, as you yourself must be; rise with the sun, and with him to sleep. You must harm no flower in doing your work, nor take more than your just share of honey; for they so kindly give us food, it were most cruel to treat them with aught save gentleness and gratitude. Now will you stay with us, and learn what even mortals seek to know, that labor brings true happiness?" And Thistle said he would stay and dwell with them; for he was tired of wandering alone, and thought he might live here till Lily-Bell should come, or till he was weary of the kind-hearted bees. Then they took away his gay garments, and dressed him like themselves, in the black velvet cloak with golden bands across his breast. "Now come with us," they said. So forth into the green fields they went, and made their breakfast among the dewy flowers; and then till the sun set they flew from bud to blossom, singing as they went; and Thistle for a while was happier than when breaking flowers and harming gentle birds. But he soon grew tired of working all day in the sun, and longed to be free again. He could find no pleasure with the industrious bees, and sighed to be away with his idle friends, the butterflies; so while the others worked he slept or played, and then, in haste to get his share, he tore the flowers, and took all they had saved for their own food. Nor was this all; he told such pleasant tales of the life he led before he came to live with them, that many grew unhappy and discontented, and they who had before wished no greater joy than the love and praise of their kind Queen, now disobeyed and blamed her for all she had done for them. Long she bore with their unkind words and deeds; and when at length she found it was the ungrateful Fairy who had wrought this trouble in her quiet kingdom, she strove, with sweet, forgiving words, to show him all the wrong he had done; but he would not listen, and still went on destroying the happiness of those who had done so much for him. Then, when she saw that no kindness could touch his heart, she said:-- "Thistledown, we took you in, a friendless stranger, fed and clothed you, and made our home as pleasant to you as we could; and in return for all our care, you have brought discontent and trouble to my subjects, grief and care to me. I cannot let my peaceful kingdom be disturbed by you; therefore go and seek another home. You may find other friends, but none will love you more than we, had you been worthy of it; so farewell." And the doors of the once happy home he had disturbed were closed behind him. Then he was very angry, and determined to bring some great sorrow on the good Queen. So he sought out the idle, wilful bees, whom he had first made discontented, bidding them follow him, and win the honey the Queen had stored up for the winter. "Let us feast and make merry in the pleasant summer-time," said Thistle; "winter is far off, why should we waste these lovely days, toiling to lay up the food we might enjoy now. Come, we will take what we have made, and think no more of what the Queen has said." So while the industrious bees were out among the flowers, he led the drones to the hive, and took possession of the honey, destroying and laying waste the home of the kind bees; then, fearing that in their grief and anger they might harm him, Thistle flew away to seek new friends. After many wanderings, he came at length to a great forest, and here beside a still lake he stayed to rest. Delicate wood-flowers grew near him in the deep green moss, with drooping heads, as if they listened to the soft wind singing among the pines. Bright-eyed birds peeped at him from their nests, and many-colored insects danced above the cool, still lake. "This is a pleasant place," said Thistle; "it shall be my home for a while. Come hither, blue dragon-fly, I would gladly make a friend of you, for I am all alone." The dragon-fly folded his shining wings beside the Elf, listened to the tale he told, promised to befriend the lonely one, and strove to make the forest a happy home to him. So here dwelt Thistle, and many kind friends gathered round him, for he spoke gently to them, and they knew nothing of the cruel deeds he had done; and for a while he was happy and content. But at length he grew weary of the gentle birds, and wild-flowers, and sought new pleasure in destroying the beauty he was tired of; and soon the friends who had so kindly welcomed him looked upon him as an evil spirit, and shrunk away as he approached. At length his friend the dragon-fly besought him to leave the quiet home he had disturbed. Then Thistle was very angry, and while the dragon-fly was sleeping among the flowers that hung over the lake, he led an ugly spider to the spot, and bade him weave his nets about the sleeping insect, and bind him fast. The cruel spider gladly obeyed the ungrateful Fairy; and soon the poor fly could move neither leg nor wing. Then Thistle flew away through the wood, leaving sorrow and trouble behind him. He had not journeyed far before he grew weary, and lay down to rest. Long he slept, and when he awoke, and tried to rise, his hands and wings were bound; while beside him stood two strange little figures, with dark faces and garments, that rustled like withered leaves; who cried to him, as he struggled to get free,-- "Lie still, you naughty Fairy, you are in the Brownies' power, and shall be well punished for your cruelty ere we let you go." So poor Thistle lay sorrowfully, wondering what would come of it, and wishing Lily-Bell would come to help and comfort him; but he had left her, and she could not help him now. Soon a troop of Brownies came rustling through the air, and gathered round him, while one who wore an acorn-cup on his head, and was their King, said, as he stood beside the trembling Fairy,-- "You have done many cruel things, and caused much sorrow to happy hearts; now you are in my power, and I shall keep you prisoner till you have repented. You cannot dwell on the earth without harming the fair things given you to enjoy, so you shall live alone in solitude and darkness, till you have learned to find happiness in gentle deeds, and forget yourself in giving joy to others. When you have learned this, I will set you free." Then the Brownies bore him to a high, dark rock, and, entering a little door, led him to a small cell, dimly lighted by a crevice through which came a single gleam of sunlight; and there, through long, long days, poor Thistle sat alone, and gazed with wistful eyes at the little opening, longing to be out on the green earth. No one came to him, but the silent Brownies who brought his daily food; and with bitter tears he wept for Lily-Bell, mourning his cruelty and selfishness, seeking to do some kindly deed that might atone for his wrong-doing. A little vine that grew outside his prison rock came creeping up, and looked in through the crevice, as if to cheer the lonely Fairy, who welcomed it most gladly, and daily sprinkled its soft leaves with his small share of water, that the little vine might live, even if it darkened more and more his dim cell. The watchful Brownies saw this kind deed, and brought him fresh flowers, and many things, which Thistle gratefully received, though he never knew it was his kindness to the vine that gained for him these pleasures. Thus did poor Thistle strive to be more gentle and unselfish, and grew daily happier and better. Now while Thistledown was a captive in the lonely cell, Lily-Bell was seeking him far and wide, and sadly traced him by the sorrowing hearts he had left behind. She healed the drooping flowers, cheered the Queen Bee's grief, brought back her discontented subjects, restored the home to peace and order, and left them blessing her. Thus she journeyed on, till she reached the forest where Thistledown had lost his freedom. She unbound the starving dragon-fly, and tended the wounded birds; but though all learned to love her, none could tell where the Brownies had borne her friend, till a little wind came whispering by, and told her that a sweet voice had been heard, singing Fairy songs, deep in a moss-grown rock. Then Lily-Bell went seeking through the forest, listening for the voice. Long she looked and listened in vain; when one day, as she was wandering through a lonely dell, she heard a faint, low sound of music, and soon a distant voice mournfully singing,-- "Bright shines the summer sun, Soft is the summer air; Gayly the wood-birds sing, Flowers are blooming fair. "But, deep in the dark, cold rock, Sadly I dwell, Longing for thee, dear friend, Lily-Bell! Lily-Bell!" "Thistle, dear Thistle, where are you?" joyfully cried Lily-Bell, as she flew from rock to rock. But the voice was still, and she would have looked in vain, had she not seen a little vine, whose green leaves fluttering to and fro seemed beckoning her to come; and as she stood among its flowers she sang,-- "Through sunlight and summer air I have sought for thee long, Guided by birds and flowers, And now by thy song. "Thistledown! Thistledown! O'er hill and dell Hither to comfort thee Comes Lily-Bell." Then from the vine-leaves two little arms were stretched out to her, and Thistledown was found. So Lily-Bell made her home in the shadow of the vine, and brought such joy to Thistle, that his lonely cell seemed pleasanter to him than all the world beside; and he grew daily more like his gentle friend. But it did not last long, for one day she did not come. He watched and waited long, for the little face that used to peep smiling in through the vine-leaves. He called and beckoned through the narrow opening, but no Lily-Bell answered; and he wept sadly as he thought of all she had done for him, and that now he could not go to seek and help her, for he had lost his freedom by his own cruel and wicked deeds. At last he besought the silent Brownie earnestly to tell him whither she had gone. "O let me go to her," prayed Thistle; "if she is in sorrow, I will comfort her, and show my gratitude for all she has done for me: dear Brownie, set me free, and when she is found I will come and be your prisoner again. I will bear and suffer any danger for her sake." "Lily-Bell is safe," replied the Brownie; "come, you shall learn the trial that awaits you." Then he led the wondering Fairy from his prison, to a group of tall, drooping ferns, beneath whose shade a large white lily had been placed, forming a little tent, within which, on a couch of thick green moss, lay Lily-Bell in a deep sleep; the sunlight stole softly in, and all was cool and still. "You cannot wake her," said the Brownie, as Thistle folded his arms tenderly about her. "It is a magic slumber, and she will not wake till you shall bring hither gifts from the Earth, Air, and Water Spirits. 'T is a long and weary task, for you have made no friends to help you, and will have to seek for them alone. This is the trial we shall give you; and if your love for Lily-Bell be strong enough to keep you from all cruelty and selfishness, and make you kind and loving as you should be, she will awake to welcome you, and love you still more fondly than before." Then Thistle, with a last look on the little friend he loved so well, set forth alone to his long task. The home of the Earth Spirits was the first to find, and no one would tell him where to look. So far and wide he wandered, through gloomy forests and among lonely hills, with none to cheer him when sad and weary, none to guide him on his way. On he went, thinking of Lily-Bell, and for her sake bearing all; for in his quiet prison many gentle feelings and kindly thoughts had sprung up in his heart, and he now strove to be friends with all, and win for himself the love and confidence of those whom once he sought to harm and cruelly destroy. But few believed him; for they remembered his false promises and evil deeds, and would not trust him now; so poor Thistle found few to love or care for him. Long he wandered, and carefully he sought; but could not find the Earth Spirits' home. And when at length he reached the pleasant garden where he and Lily-Bell first parted, he said within himself,-- "Here I will stay awhile, and try to win by kindly deeds the flowers' forgiveness for the pain and sorrow I brought them long ago; and they may learn to love and trust me. So, even if I never find the Spirits, I shall be worthier of Lily-Bell's affection if I strive to atone for the wrong I have done." Then he went among the flowers, but they closed their leaves, and shrank away, trembling with fear; while the birds fled to hide among the leaves as he passed. This grieved poor Thistle, and he longed to tell them how changed he had become; but they would not listen. So he tried to show, by quiet deeds of kindness, that he meant no harm to them; and soon the kind-hearted birds pitied the lonely Fairy, and when he came near sang cheering songs, and dropped ripe berries in his path, for he no longer broke their eggs, or hurt their little ones. And when the flowers saw this, and found the once cruel Elf now watering and tending little buds, feeding hungry insects, and helping the busy ants to bear their heavy loads, they shared the pity of the birds, and longed to trust him; but they dared not yet. He came one day, while wandering through the garden, to the little rose he had once harmed so sadly. Many buds now bloomed beside her, and her soft face glowed with motherly pride, as she bent fondly over them. But when Thistle came, he saw with sorrow how she bade them close their green curtains, and conceal themselves beneath the leaves, for there was danger near; and, drooping still more closely over them, she seemed to wait with trembling fear the cruel Fairy's coming. But no rude hand tore her little ones away, no unkind words were spoken; but a soft shower of dew fell lightly on them, and Thistle, bending tenderly above them, said,-- "Dear flower, forgive the sorrow I once brought you, and trust me now for Lily-Bell's sake. Her gentleness has changed my cruelty to kindness, and I would gladly repay all for the harm I have done; but none will love and trust me now." Then the little rose looked up, and while the dew-drops shone like happy tears upon her leaves, she said,-- "I WILL love and trust you, Thistle, for you are indeed much changed. Make your home among us, and my sister flowers will soon learn to love you as you deserve. Not for sweet Lily-Bell's sake, but for your own, will I become your friend; for you are kind and gentle now, and worthy of our love. Look up, my little ones, there is no danger near; look up, and welcome Thistle to our home." Then the little buds raised their rosy faces, danced again upon their stems, and nodded kindly at Thistle, who smiled on them through happy tears, and kissed the sweet, forgiving rose, who loved and trusted him when most forlorn and friendless. But the other flowers wondered among themselves, and Hyacinth said,-- "If Rose-Leaf is his friend, surely we may be; yet still I fear he may soon grow weary of this gentleness, and be again the wicked Fairy he once was, and we shall suffer for our kindness to him now." "Ah, do not doubt him!" cried warm-hearted little Mignonette; "surely some good spirit has changed the wicked Thistle into this good little Elf. See how tenderly he lifts aside the leaves that overshadow pale Harebell, and listen now how softly he sings as he rocks little Eglantine to sleep. He has done many friendly things, though none save Rose-Leaf has been kind to him, and he is very sad. Last night when I awoke to draw my curtains closer, he sat weeping in the moonlight, so bitterly, I longed to speak a kindly word to him. Dear sisters, let us trust him." And they all said little Mignonette was right; and, spreading wide their leaves, they bade him come, and drink their dew, and lie among the fragrant petals, striving to cheer his sorrow. Thistle told them all, and, after much whispering together, they said,-- "Yes, we will help you to find the Earth Spirits, for you are striving to be good, and for love of Lily-Bell we will do much for you." So they called a little bright-eyed mole, and said, "Downy-Back, we have given you a pleasant home among our roots, and you are a grateful little friend; so will you guide dear Thistle to the Earth Spirits' home?" Downy-Back said, "Yes," and Thistle, thanking the kindly flowers, followed his little guide, through long, dark galleries, deeper and deeper into the ground; while a glow-worm flew before to light the way. On they went, and after a while, reached a path lit up by bright jewels hung upon the walls. Here Downy-Back, and Glimmer, the glow-worm, left him, saying,-- "We can lead you no farther; you must now go on alone, and the music of the Spirits will guide you to their home." Then they went quickly up the winding path, and Thistle, guided by the sweet music, went on alone. He soon reached a lovely spot, whose golden halls were bright with jewels, which sparkled brightly, and threw many-colored shadows on the shining garments of the little Spirits, who danced below to the melody of soft, silvery bells. Long Thistle stood watching the brilliant forms that flashed and sparkled round him; but he missed the flowers and the sunlight, and rejoiced that he was not an Earth Spirit. At last they spied him out, and, gladly welcoming him, bade him join in their dance. But Thistledown was too sad for that, and when he told them all his story they no longer urged, but sought to comfort him; and one whom they called little Sparkle (for her crown and robe shone with the brightest diamonds), said: "You will have to work for us, ere you can win a gift to show the Brownies; do you see those golden bells that make such music, as we wave them to and fro? We worked long and hard ere they were won, and you can win one of those, if you will do the task we give you." And Thistle said, "No task will be too hard for me to do for dear Lily-Bell's sake." Then they led him to a strange, dark place, lit up with torches; where troops of Spirits flew busily to and fro, among damp rocks, and through dark galleries that led far down into the earth. "What do they here?" asked Thistle. "I will tell," replied little Sparkle, "for I once worked here myself. Some of them watch above the flower-roots, and keep them fresh and strong; others gather the clear drops that trickle from the damp rocks, and form a little spring, which, growing ever larger, rises to the light above, and gushes forth in some green field or lonely forest; where the wild-birds come to drink, and wood-flowers spread their thirsty leaves above the clear, cool waves, as they go dancing away, carrying joy and freshness wherever they go. Others shape the bright jewels into lovely forms, and make the good-luck pennies which we give to mortals whom we love. And here you must toil till the golden flower is won." Then Thistle went among the Spirits, and joined in their tasks; he tended the flower-roots, gathered the water-drops, and formed the good-luck pennies. Long and hard he worked, and was often sad and weary, often tempted by unkind and selfish thoughts; but he thought of Lily-Bell, and strove to be kind and loving as she had been; and soon the Spirits learned to love the patient Fairy, who had left his home to toil among them for the sake of his gentle friend. At length came little Sparkle to him, saying, "You have done enough; come now, and dance and feast with us, for the golden flower is won." But Thistle could not stay, for half his task was not yet done; and he longed for sunlight and Lily-Bell. So, taking a kind farewell, he hastened through the torch-lit path up to the light again; and, spreading his wings, flew over hill and dale till he reached the forest where Lily-Bell lay sleeping. It was early morning, and the rosy light shone brightly through the lily-leaves upon her, as Thistle entered, and laid his first gift at the Brownie King's feet. "You have done well," said he, "we hear good tidings of you from bird and flower, and you are truly seeking to repair the evil you have done. Take now one look at your little friend, and then go forth to seek from the Air Spirits your second gift." Then Thistle said farewell again to Lily-Bell, and flew far and wide among the clouds, seeking the Air Spirits; but though he wandered till his weary wings could bear him no longer, it was in vain. So, faint and sad, he lay down to rest on a broad vine-leaf, that fluttered gently in the wind; and as he lay, he saw beneath him the home of the kind bees whom he had so disturbed, and Lily-Bell had helped and comforted. "I will seek to win their pardon, and show them that I am no longer the cruel Fairy who so harmed them," thought Thistle, "and when they become again my friends, I will ask their help to find the Air Spirits; and if I deserve it, they will gladly aid me on my way." So he flew down into the field below, and hastened busily from flower to flower, till he had filled a tiny blue-bell with sweet, fresh honey. Then he stole softly to the hive, and, placing it near the door, concealed himself to watch. Soon his friend Nimble-Wing came flying home, and when he spied the little cup, he hummed with joy, and called his companions around him. "Surely, some good Elf has placed it here for us," said they; "let us bear it to our Queen; it is so fresh and fragrant it will be a fit gift for her"; and they joyfully took it in, little dreaming who had placed it there. So each day Thistle filled a flower-cup, and laid it at the door; and each day the bees wondered more and more, for many strange things happened. The field-flowers told of the good spirit who watched above them, and the birds sang of the same kind little Elf bringing soft moss for their nests, and food for their hungry young ones; while all around the hive had grown fairer since the Fairy came. But the bees never saw him, for he feared he had not yet done enough to win their forgiveness and friendship; so he lived alone among the vines, daily bringing them honey, and doing some kindly action. At length, as he lay sleeping in a flower-bell, a little bee came wandering by, and knew him for the wicked Thistle; so he called his friends, and, as they flew murmuring around him, he awoke. "What shall we do to you, naughty Elf?" said they. "You are in our power, and we will sting you if you are not still." "Let us close the flower-leaves around him and leave him here to starve," cried one, who had not yet forgotten all the sorrow Thistle had caused them long ago. "No, no, that were very cruel, dear Buzz," said little Hum; "let us take him to our Queen, and she will tell us how to show our anger for the wicked deeds he did. See how bitterly he weeps; be kind to him, he will not harm us more." "You good little Hum!" cried a kind-hearted robin who had hopped near to listen to the bees. "Dear friends, do you not know that this is the good Fairy who has dwelt so quietly among us, watching over bird and blossom, giving joy to all he helps? It is HE who brings the honey-cup each day to you, and then goes silently away, that you may never know who works so faithfully for you. Be kind to him, for if he has done wrong, he has repented of it, as you may see." "Can this be naughty Thistle?" said Nimble-Wing. "Yes, it is I," said Thistle, "but no longer cruel and unkind. I have tried to win your love by patient industry. Ah, trust me now, and you shall see I am not naughty Thistle any more." Then the wondering bees led him to their Queen, and when he had told his tale, and begged their forgiveness, it was gladly given; and all strove to show him that he was loved and trusted. Then he asked if they could tell him where the Air Spirits dwelt, for he must not forget dear Lily-Bell; and to his great joy the Queen said, "Yes," and bade little Hum guide Thistle to Cloud-Land. Little Hum joyfully obeyed; and Thistle followed him, as he flew higher and higher among the soft clouds, till in the distance they saw a radiant light. "There is their home, and I must leave you now, dear Thistle," said the little bee; and, bidding him farewell, he flew singing back; while Thistle, following the light, soon found himself in the Air Spirits' home. The sky was gold and purple like an autumn sunset, and long walls of brilliant clouds lay round him. A rosy light shone through the silver mist, on gleaming columns and the rainbow roof; soft, fragrant winds went whispering by, and airy little forms were flitting to and fro. Long Thistle wondered at the beauty round him; and then he went among the shining Spirits, told his tale, and asked a gift. But they answered like the Earth Spirits. "You must serve us first, and then we will gladly give you a robe of sunlight like our own." And then they told him how they wafted flower-seeds over the earth, to beautify and brighten lonely spots; how they watched above the blossoms by day, and scattered dews at night, brought sunlight into darkened places, and soft winds to refresh and cheer. "These are the things we do," said they, "and you must aid us for a time." And Thistle gladly went with the lovely Spirits; by day he joined the sunlight and the breeze in their silent work; by night, with Star-Light and her sister spirits, he flew over the moon-lit earth, dropping cool dew upon the folded flowers, and bringing happy dreams to sleeping mortals. Many a kind deed was done, many a gentle word was spoken; and each day lighter grew his heart, and stronger his power of giving joy to others. At length Star-Light bade him work no more, and gladly gave him the gift he had won. Then his second task was done, and he flew gayly back to the green earth and slumbering Lily-Bell. The silvery moonlight shone upon her, as he came to give his second gift; and the Brownie spoke more kindly than before. "One more trial, Thistle, and she will awake. Go bravely forth and win your last and hardest gift." Then with a light heart Thistle journeyed away to the brooks and rivers, seeking the Water Spirits. But he looked in vain; till, wandering through the forest where the Brownies took him captive, he stopped beside the quiet lake. As he stood here he heard a sound of pain, and, looking in the tall grass at his side, he saw the dragon-fly whose kindness he once repayed by pain and sorrow, and who now lay suffering and alone. Thistle bent tenderly beside him, saying, "Dear Flutter, do not fear me. I will gladly ease your pain, if you will let me; I am your friend, and long to show you how I grieve for all the wrong I did you, when you were so kind to me. Forgive, and let me help and comfort you." Then he bound up the broken wing, and spoke so tenderly that Flutter doubted him no longer, and was his friend again. Day by day did Thistle watch beside him, making little beds of cool, fresh moss for him to rest upon, fanning him when he slept, and singing sweet songs to cheer him when awake. And often when poor Flutter longed to be dancing once again over the blue waves, the Fairy bore him in his arms to the lake, and on a broad leaf, with a green flag for a sail, they floated on the still water; while the dragon-fly's companions flew about them, playing merry games. At length the broken wing was well, and Thistle said he must again seek the Water Spirits. "I can tell you where to find them," said Flutter; "you must follow yonder little brook, and it will lead you to the sea, where the Spirits dwell. I would gladly do more for you, dear Thistle, but I cannot, for they live deep beneath the waves. You will find some kind friend to aid you on your way; and so farewell." Thistle followed the little brook, as it flowed through field and valley, growing ever larger, till it reached the sea. Here the wind blew freshly, and the great waves rolled and broke at Thistle's feet, as he stood upon the shore, watching the billows dancing and sparkling in the sun. "How shall I find the Spirits in this great sea, with none to help or guide me? Yet it is my last task, and for Lily-Bell's sake I must not fear or falter now," said Thistle. So he flew hither and thither over the sea, looking through the waves. Soon he saw, far below, the branches of the coral tree. "They must be here," thought he, and, folding his wings, he plunged into the deep, cold sea. But he saw only fearful monsters and dark shapes that gathered round him; and, trembling with fear, he struggled up again. The great waves tossed him to and fro, and cast him bruised and faint upon the shore. Here he lay weeping bitterly, till a voice beside him said, "Poor little Elf, what has befallen you? These rough waves are not fit playmates for so delicate a thing as you. Tell me your sorrow, and I will comfort you." And Thistle, looking up, saw a white sea-bird at his side, who tried with friendly words to cheer him. So he told all his wanderings, and how he sought the Sea Spirits. "Surely, if bee and blossom do their part to help you, birds should aid you too," said the Sea-bird. "I will call my friend, the Nautilus, and he will bear you safely to the Coral Palace where the Spirits dwell." So, spreading his great wings, he flew away, and soon Thistle saw a little boat come dancing over the waves, and wait beside the shore for him. In he sprang. Nautilus raised his little sail to the wind, and the light boat glided swiftly over the blue sea. At last Thistle cried, "I see lovely arches far below; let me go, it is the Spirits' home." "Nay, close your eyes, and trust to me. I will bear you safely down," said Nautilus. So Thistle closed his eyes, and listened to the murmur of the sea, as they sank slowly through the waves. The soft sound lulled him to sleep, and when he awoke the boat was gone, and he stood among the Water Spirits, in their strange and lovely home. Lofty arches of snow-white coral bent above him, and the walls of brightly tinted shells were wreathed with lovely sea-flowers, and the sunlight shining on the waves cast silvery shadows on the ground, where sparkling stones glowed in the sand. A cool, fresh wind swept through the waving garlands of bright sea-moss, and the distant murmur of dashing waves came softly on the air. Soon troops of graceful Spirits flitted by, and when they found the wondering Elf, they gathered round him, bringing pearl-shells heaped with precious stones, and all the rare, strange gifts that lie beneath the sea. But Thistle wished for none of these, and when his tale was told, the kindly Spirits pitied him; and little Pearl sighed, as she told him of the long and weary task he must perform, ere he could win a crown of snow-white pearls like those they wore. But Thistle had gained strength and courage in his wanderings, and did not falter now, when they led him to a place among the coral-workers, and told him he must labor here, till the spreading branches reached the light and air, through the waves that danced above. With a patient hope that he might yet be worthy of Lily-Bell, the Fairy left the lovely spirits and their pleasant home, to toil among the coral-builders, where all was strange and dim. Long, long, he worked; but still the waves rolled far above them, and his task was not yet done; and many bitter tears poor Thistle shed, and sadly he pined for air and sunlight, the voice of birds, and breath of flowers. Often, folded in the magic garments which the Spirits gave him, that he might pass unharmed among the fearful creatures dwelling there, he rose to the surface of the sea, and, gliding through the waves, gazed longingly upon the hills, now looking blue and dim so far away, or watched the flocks of summer birds, journeying to a warmer land; and they brought sad memories of green old forests, and sunny fields, to the lonely little Fairy floating on the great, wild sea. Day after day went by, and slowly Thistle's task drew towards an end. Busily toiled the coral-workers, but more busily toiled he; insect and Spirit daily wondered more and more, at the industry and patience of the silent little Elf, who had a friendly word for all, though he never joined them in their sport. Higher and higher grew the coral-boughs, and lighter grew the Fairy's heart, while thoughts of dear Lily-Bell cheered him on, as day by day he steadily toiled; and when at length the sun shone on his work, and it was done, he stayed but to take the garland he had won, and to thank the good Spirits for their love and care. Then up through the cold, blue waves he swiftly glided, and, shaking the bright drops from his wings, soared singing up to the sunny sky. On through the fragrant air went Thistle, looking with glad face upon the fair, fresh earth below, where flowers looked smiling up, and green trees bowed their graceful heads as if to welcome him. Soon the forest where Lily-Bell lay sleeping rose before him, and as he passed along the cool, dim wood-paths, never had they seemed so fair. But when he came where his little friend had slept, it was no longer the dark, silent spot where he last saw her. Garlands hung from every tree, and the fairest flowers filled the air with their sweet breath. Bird's gay voices echoed far and wide, and the little brook went singing by, beneath the arching ferns that bent above it; green leaves rustled in the summer wind, and the air was full of music. But the fairest sight was Lily-Bell, as she lay on the couch of velvet moss that Fairy hands had spread. The golden flower lay beside her, and the glittering robe was folded round her little form. The warmest sunlight fell upon her, and the softest breezes lifted her shining hair. Happy tears fell fast, as Thistle folded his arms around her, crying, "O Lily-Bell, dear Lily-Bell, awake! I have been true to you, and now my task is done." Then, with a smile, Lily-Bell awoke, and looked with wondering eyes upon the beauty that had risen round her. "Dear Thistle, what mean these fair things, and why are we in this lovely place?" "Listen, Lily-Bell," said the Brownie King, as he appeared beside her. And then he told all that Thistle had done to show his love for her; how he had wandered far and wide to seek the Fairy gifts, and toiled long and hard to win them; how he had been loving, true, and tender, when most lonely and forsaken. "Bird, bee, and blossom have forgiven him, and none is more loved and trusted now by all, than the once cruel Thistle," said the King, as he bent down to the happy Elf, who bowed low before him. "You have learned the beauty of a gentle, kindly heart, dear Thistle; and you are now worthy to become the friend of her for whom you have done so much. Place the crown upon her head, for she is Queen of all the Forest Fairies now." And as the crown shone on the head that Lily-Bell bent down on Thistle's breast, the forest seemed alive with little forms, who sprang from flower and leaf, and gathered round her, bringing gifts for their new Queen. "If I am Queen, then you are King, dear Thistle," said the Fairy. "Take the crown, and I will have a wreath of flowers. You have toiled and suffered for my sake, and you alone should rule over these little Elves whose love you have won." "Keep your crown, Lily-Bell, for yonder come the Spirits with their gifts to Thistle," said the Brownie. And, as he pointed with his wand, out from among the mossy roots of an old tree came trooping the Earth Spirits, their flower-bells ringing softly as they came, and their jewelled garments glittering in the sun. On to where Thistledown stood beneath the shadow of the flowers, with Lily-Bell beside him, went the Spirits; and then forth sprang little Sparkle, waving a golden flower, whose silvery music filled the air. "Dear Thistle," said the shining Spirit, "what you toiled so faithfully to win for another, let us offer now as a token of our love for you." As she ceased, down through the air came floating bands of lovely Air Spirits, bringing a shining robe, and they too told their love for the gentle Fairy who had dwelt with them. Then softly on the breeze came distant music, growing ever nearer, till over the rippling waves came the singing Water Spirits, in their boats of many-colored shells; and as they placed their glittering crown on Thistle's head, loud rang the flowers, and joyously sang the birds, while all the Forest Fairies cried, with silvery voices, "Lily-Bell and Thistledown! Long live our King and Queen!" "Have you a tale for us too, dear Violet-Eye?" said the Queen, as Zephyr ceased. The little Elf thus named looked from among the flower-leaves where she sat, and with a smile replied, "As I was weaving garlands in the field, I heard a primrose tell this tale to her friend Golden-Rod." LITTLE BUD. IN a great forest, high up among the green boughs, lived Bird Brown-Breast, and his bright-eyed little mate. They were now very happy; their home was done, the four blue eggs lay in the soft nest, and the little wife sat still and patient on them, while the husband sang, and told her charming tales, and brought her sweet berries and little worms. Things went smoothly on, till one day she found in the nest a little white egg, with a golden band about it. "My friend," cried she, "come and see! Where can this fine egg have come from? My four are here, and this also; what think you of it?" The husband shook his head gravely, and said, "Be not alarmed, my love; it is doubtless some good Fairy who has given us this, and we shall find some gift within; do not let us touch it, but do you sit carefully upon it, and we shall see in time what has been sent us." So they said nothing about it, and soon their home had four little chirping children; and then the white egg opened, and, behold, a little maiden lay singing within. Then how amazed were they, and how they welcomed her, as she lay warm beneath the mother's wing, and how the young birds did love her. Great joy was in the forest, and proud were the parents of their family, and still more of the little one who had come to them; while all the neighbors flocked in, to see Dame Brown-Breast's little child. And the tiny maiden talked to them, and sang so merrily, that they could have listened for ever. Soon she was the joy of the whole forest, dancing from tree to tree, making every nest her home, and none were ever so welcome as little Bud; and so they lived right merrily in the green old forest. The father now had much to do to supply his family with food, and choice morsels did he bring little Bud. The wild fruits were her food, the fresh dew in the flower-cups her drink, while the green leaves served her for little robes; and thus she found garments in the flowers of the field, and a happy home with Mother Brown-Breast; and all in the wood, from the stately trees to the little mosses in the turf, were friends to the merry child. And each day she taught the young birds sweet songs, and as their gay music rang through the old forest, the stern, dark pines ceased their solemn waving, that they might hear the soft sounds stealing through the dim wood-paths, and mortal children came to listen, saying softly, "Hear the flowers sing, and touch them not, for the Fairies are here." Then came a band of sad little Elves to Bud, praying that they might hear the sweet music; and when she took them by the hand, and spoke gently to them, they wept and said sadly, when she asked them whence they came,-- "We dwelt once in Fairy-Land, and O how happy were we then! But alas! we were not worthy of so fair a home, and were sent forth into the cold world. Look at our robes, they are like the withered leaves; our wings are dim, our crowns are gone, and we lead sad, lonely lives in this dark forest. Let us stay with you; your gay music sounds like Fairy songs, and you have such a friendly way with you, and speak so gently to us. It is good to be near one so lovely and so kind; and you can tell us how we may again become fair and innocent. Say we may stay with you, kind little maiden." And Bud said, "Yes," and they stayed; but her kind little heart was grieved that they wept so sadly, and all she could say could not make them happy; till at last she said,-- "Do not weep, and I will go to Queen Dew-Drop, and beseech her to let you come back. I will tell her that you are repentant, and will do anything to gain her love again; that you are sad, and long to be forgiven. This will I say, and more, and trust she will grant my prayer." "She will not say no to you, dear Bud," said the poor little Fairies; "she will love you as we do, and if we can but come again to our lost home, we cannot give you thanks enough. Go, Bud, and if there be power in Fairy gifts, you shall be as happy as our hearts' best love can make you." The tidings of Bud's departure flew through the forest, and all her friends came to say farewell, as with the morning sun she would go; and each brought some little gift, for the land of Fairies was far away, and she must journey long. "Nay, you shall not go on your feet, my child," said Mother Brown-Breast; "your friend Golden-Wing shall carry you. Call him hither, that I may seat you rightly, for if you should fall off my heart would break." Then up came Golden-Wing, and Bud was safely seated on the cushion of violet-leaves; and it was really charming to see her merry little face, peeping from under the broad brim of her cow-slip hat, as her butterfly steed stood waving his bright wings in the sunlight. Then came the bee with his yellow honey-bags, which he begged she would take, and the little brown spider that lived under the great leaves brought a veil for her hat, and besought her to wear it, lest the sun should shine too brightly; while the ant came bringing a tiny strawberry, lest she should miss her favorite fruit. The mother gave her good advice, and the papa stood with his head on one side, and his round eyes twinkling with delight, to think that his little Bud was going to Fairy-Land. Then they all sang gayly together, till she passed out of sight over the hills, and they saw her no more. And now Bud left the old forest far behind her. Golden-Wing bore her swiftly along, and she looked down on the green mountains, and the peasant's cottages, that stood among overshadowing trees; and the earth looked bright, with its broad, blue rivers winding through soft meadows, the singing birds, and flowers, who kept their bright eyes ever on the sky. And she sang gayly as they floated in the clear air, while her friend kept time with his waving wings, and ever as they went along all grew fairer; and thus they came to Fairy-Land. As Bud passed through the gates, she no longer wondered that the exiled Fairies wept and sorrowed for the lovely home they had lost. Bright clouds floated in the sunny sky, casting a rainbow light on the Fairy palaces below, where the Elves were dancing; while the low, sweet voices of the singing flowers sounded softly through the fragrant air, and mingled with the music of the rippling waves, as they flowed on beneath the blossoming vines that drooped above them. All was bright and beautiful; but kind little Bud would not linger, for the forms of the weeping Fairies were before her; and though the blossoms nodded gayly on their stems to welcome her, and the soft winds kissed her cheek, she would not stay, but on to the Flower Palace she went, into a pleasant hall whose walls were formed of crimson roses, amid whose leaves sat little Elves, making sweet music on their harps. When they saw Bud, they gathered round her, and led her through the flower-wreathed arches to a group of the most beautiful Fairies, who were gathered about a stately lily, in whose fragrant cup sat one whose purple robe and glittering crown told she was their Queen. Bud knelt before her, and, while tears streamed down her little face, she told her errand, and pleaded earnestly that the exiled Fairies might be forgiven, and not be left to pine far from their friends and kindred. And as she prayed, many wept with her; and when she ceased, and waited for her answer, many knelt beside her, praying forgiveness for the unhappy Elves. With tearful eyes, Queen Dew-Drop replied,-- "Little maiden, your prayer has softened my heart. They shall not be left sorrowing and alone, nor shall you go back without a kindly word to cheer and comfort them. We will pardon their fault, and when they can bring hither a perfect Fairy crown, robe, and wand, they shall be again received as children of their loving Queen. The task is hard, for none but the best and purest can form the Fairy garments; yet with patience they may yet restore their robes to their former brightness. Farewell, good little maiden; come with them, for but for you they would have dwelt for ever without the walls of Fairy-Land." "Good speed to you, and farewell," cried they all, as, with loving messages to their poor friends, they bore her to the gates. Day after day toiled little Bud, cheering the Fairies, who, angry and disappointed, would not listen to her gentle words, but turned away and sat alone weeping. They grieved her kind heart with many cruel words; but patiently she bore with them, and when they told her they could never perform so hard a task, and must dwell for ever in the dark forest, she answered gently, that the snow-white lily must be planted, and watered with repentant tears, before the robe of innocence could be won; that the sun of love must shine in their hearts, before the light could return to their dim crowns, and deeds of kindness must be performed, ere the power would come again to their now useless wands. Then they planted the lilies; but they soon drooped and died, and no light came to their crowns. They did no gentle deeds, but cared only for themselves; and when they found their labor was in vain, they tried no longer, but sat weeping. Bud, with ceaseless toil and patient care, tended the lilies, which bloomed brightly, the crowns grew bright, and in her hands the wands had power over birds and blossoms, for she was striving to give happiness to others, forgetful of herself. And the idle Fairies, with thankful words, took the garments from her, and then with Bud went forth to Fairy-Land, and stood with beating hearts before the gates; where crowds of Fairy friends came forth to welcome them. But when Queen Dew-Drop touched them with her wand, as they passed in, the light faded from their crowns, their robes became like withered leaves, and their wands were powerless. Amid the tears of all the Fairies, the Queen led them to the gates, and said,-- "Farewell! It is not in my power to aid you; innocence and love are not within your hearts, and were it not for this untiring little maiden, who has toiled while you have wept, you never would have entered your lost home. Go and strive again, for till all is once more fair and pure, I cannot call you mine." "Farewell!" sang the weeping Fairies, as the gates closed on their outcast friends; who, humbled and broken-hearted, gathered around Bud; and she, with cheering words, guided them back to the forest. Time passed on, and the Fairies had done nothing to gain their lovely home again. They wept no longer, but watched little Bud, as she daily tended the flowers, restoring their strength and beauty, or with gentle words flew from nest to nest, teaching the little birds to live happily together; and wherever she went blessings fell, and loving hearts were filled with gratitude. Then, one by one, the Elves secretly did some little work of kindness, and found a quiet joy come back to repay them. Flowers looked lovingly up as they passed, birds sang to cheer them when sad thoughts made them weep. And soon little Bud found out their gentle deeds, and her friendly words gave them new strength. So day after day they followed her, and like a band of guardian spirits they flew far and wide, carrying with them joy and peace. And not only birds and flowers blessed them, but human beings also; for with tender hands they guided little children from danger, and kept their young hearts free from evil thoughts; they whispered soothing words to the sick, and brought sweet odors and fair flowers to their lonely rooms. They sent lovely visions to the old and blind, to make their hearts young and bright with happy thoughts. But most tenderly did they watch over the poor and sorrowing, and many a poor mother blessed the unseen hands that laid food before her hungry little ones, and folded warm garments round their naked limbs. Many a poor man wondered at the fair flowers that sprang up in his little garden-plot, cheering him with their bright forms, and making his dreary home fair with their loveliness, and looked at his once barren field, where now waved the golden corn, turning its broad leaves to the warm sun, and promising a store of golden ears to give him food; while the care-worn face grew bright, and the troubled heart filled with gratitude towards the invisible spirits who had brought him such joy. Thus time passed on, and though the exiled Fairies longed often for their home, still, knowing they did not deserve it, they toiled on, hoping one day to see the friends they had lost; while the joy of their own hearts made their life full of happiness. One day came little Bud to them, saying,-- "Listen, dear friends. I have a hard task to offer you. It is a great sacrifice for you light loving Fairies to dwell through the long winter in the dark, cold earth, watching over the flower roots, to keep them free from the little grubs and worms that seek to harm them. But in the sunny Spring when they bloom again, their love and gratitude will give you happy homes among their bright leaves. "It is a wearisome task, and I can give you no reward for all your tender care, but the blessings of the gentle flowers you will have saved from death. Gladly would I aid you; but my winged friends are preparing for their journey to warmer lands, and I must help them teach their little ones to fly, and see them safely on their way. Then, through the winter, must I seek the dwellings of the poor and suffering, comfort the sick and lonely, and give hope and courage to those who in their poverty are led astray. These things must I do; but when the flowers bloom again I will be with you, to welcome back our friends from over the sea." Then, with tears, the Fairies answered, "Ah, good little Bud, you have taken the hardest task yourself, and who will repay you for all your deeds of tenderness and mercy in the great world? Should evil befall you, our hearts would break. We will labor trustingly in the earth, and thoughts of you shall cheer us on; for without you we had been worthless beings, and never known the joy that kindly actions bring. Yes, dear Bud, we will gladly toil among the roots, that the fair flowers may wear their gayest robes to welcome you." Then deep in the earth the Fairies dwelt, and no frost or snow could harm the blossoms they tended. Every little seed was laid in the soft earth, watered, and watched. Tender roots were folded in withered leaves, that no chilling drops might reach them; and safely dreamed the flowers, till summer winds should call them forth; while lighter grew each Fairy heart, as every gentle deed was tenderly performed. At length the snow was gone, and they heard little voices calling them to come up; but patiently they worked, till seed and root were green and strong. Then, with eager feet, they hastened to the earth above, where, over hill and valley, bright flowers and budding trees smiled in the warm sunlight, blossoms bent lovingly before them, and rang their colored bells, till the fragrant air was full of music; while the stately trees waved their great arms above them, and scattered soft leaves at their feet. Then came the merry birds, making the wood alive with their gay voices, calling to one another, as they flew among the vines, building their little homes. Long waited the Elves, and at last she came with Father Brown-Breast. Happy days passed; and summer flowers were in their fullest beauty, when Bud bade the Fairies come with her. Mounted on bright-winged butterflies, they flew over forest and meadow, till with joyful eyes they saw the flower-crowned walls of Fairy-Land. Before the gates they stood, and soon troops of loving Elves came forth to meet them. And on through the sunny gardens they went, into the Lily Hall, where, among the golden stamens of a graceful flower, sat the Queen; while on the broad, green leaves around it stood the brighteyed little maids of honor. Then, amid the deep silence, little Bud, leading the Fairies to the throne, said,-- "Dear Queen, I here bring back your subjects, wiser for their sorrow, better for their hard trial; and now might any Queen be proud of them, and bow to learn from them that giving joy and peace to others brings it fourfold to us, bearing a double happiness in the blessings to those we help. Through the dreary months, when they might have dwelt among fair Southern flowers, beneath a smiling sky, they toiled in the dark and silent earth, filling the hearts of the gentle Flower Spirits with grateful love, seeking no reward but the knowledge of their own good deeds, and the joy they always bring. This they have done unmurmuringly and alone; and now, far and wide, flower blessings fall upon them, and the summer winds bear the glad tidings unto those who droop in sorrow, and new joy and strength it brings, as they look longingly for the friends whose gentle care hath brought such happiness to their fair kindred. "Are they not worthy of your love, dear Queen? Have they not won their lovely home? Say they are pardoned, and you have gained the love of hearts pure as the snow-white robes now folded over them." As Bud ceased, she touched the wondering Fairies with her wand, and the dark faded garments fell away; and beneath, the robes of lily-leaves glittered pure and spotless in the sun-light. Then, while happy tears fell, Queen Dew-Drop placed the bright crowns on the bowed heads of the kneeling Fairies, and laid before them the wands their own good deeds had rendered powerful. They turned to thank little Bud for all her patient love, but she was gone; and high above, in the clear air, they saw the little form journeying back to the quiet forest. She needed no reward but the joy she had given. The Fairy hearts were pure again, and her work was done; yet all Fairy-Land had learned a lesson from gentle little Bud. "Now, little Sunbeam, what have you to tell us?" said the Queen, looking down on a bright-eyed Elf, who sat half hidden in the deep moss at her feet. "I too, like Star-Twinkle, have nothing but a song to offer," replied the Fairy; and then, while the nightingale's sweet voice mingled with her own, she sang,-- CLOVER-BLOSSOM. IN a quiet, pleasant meadow, Beneath a summer sky, Where green old trees their branches waved, And winds went singing by; Where a little brook went rippling So musically low, And passing clouds cast shadows On the waving grass below; Where low, sweet notes of brooding birds Stole out on the fragrant air, And golden sunlight shone undimmed On all most fresh and fair;-- There bloomed a lovely sisterhood Of happy little flowers, Together in this pleasant home, Through quiet summer hours. No rude hand came to gather them, No chilling winds to blight; Warm sunbeams smiled on them by day, And soft dews fell at night. So here, along the brook-side, Beneath the green old trees, The flowers dwelt among their friends, The sunbeams and the breeze. One morning, as the flowers awoke, Fragrant, and fresh, and fair, A little worm came creeping by, And begged a shelter there. "Ah! pity and love me," sighed the worm, "I am lonely, poor, and weak; A little spot for a resting-place, Dear flowers, is all I seek. I am not fair, and have dwelt unloved By butterfly, bird, and bee. They little knew that in this dark form Lay the beauty they yet may see. Then let me lie in the deep green moss, And weave my little tomb, And sleep my long, unbroken sleep Till Spring's first flowers come. Then will I come in a fairer dress, And your gentle care repay By the grateful love of the humble worm; Kind flowers, O let me stay!" But the wild rose showed her little thorns, While her soft face glowed with pride; The violet hid beneath the drooping ferns, And the daisy turned aside. Little Houstonia scornfully laughed, As she danced on her slender stem; While the cowslip bent to the rippling waves, And whispered the tale to them. A blue-eyed grass looked down on the worm, As it silently turned away, And cried, "Thou wilt harm our delicate leaves, And therefore thou canst not stay." Then a sweet, soft voice, called out from far, "Come hither, poor worm, to me; The sun lies warm in this quiet spot, And I'll share my home with thee." The wondering flowers looked up to see Who had offered the worm a home: 'T was a clover-blossom, whose fluttering leaves Seemed beckoning him to come; It dwelt in a sunny little nook, Where cool winds rustled by, And murmuring bees and butterflies came, On the flower's breast to lie. Down through the leaves the sunlight stole, And seemed to linger there, As if it loved to brighten the home Of one so sweet and fair. Its rosy face smiled kindly down, As the friendless worm drew near; And its low voice, softly whispering, said "Poor thing, thou art welcome here; Close at my side, in the soft green moss, Thou wilt find a quiet bed, Where thou canst softly sleep till Spring, With my leaves above thee spread. I pity and love thee, friendless worm, Though thou art not graceful or fair; For many a dark, unlovely form, Hath a kind heart dwelling there; No more o'er the green and pleasant earth, Lonely and poor, shalt thou roam, For a loving friend hast thou found in me, And rest in my little home." Then, deep in its quiet mossy bed, Sheltered from sun and shower, The grateful worm spun its winter tomb, In the shadow of the flower. And Clover guarded well its rest, Till Autumn's leaves were sere, Till all her sister flowers were gone, And her winter sleep drew near. Then her withered leaves were softly spread O'er the sleeping worm below, Ere the faithful little flower lay Beneath the winter snow. Spring came again, and the flowers rose From their quiet winter graves, And gayly danced on their slender stems, And sang with the rippling waves. Softly the warm winds kissed their cheeks; Brightly the sunbeams fell, As, one by one, they came again In their summer homes to dwell. And little Clover bloomed once more, Rosy, and sweet, and fair, And patiently watched by the mossy bed, For the worm still slumbered there. Then her sister flowers scornfully cried, As they waved in the summer air, "The ugly worm was friendless and poor; Little Clover, why shouldst thou care? Then watch no more, nor dwell alone, Away from thy sister flowers; Come, dance and feast, and spend with us These pleasant summer hours. We pity thee, foolish little flower, To trust what the false worm said; He will not come in a fairer dress, For he lies in the green moss dead." But little Clover still watched on, Alone in her sunny home; She did not doubt the poor worm's truth, And trusted he would come. At last the small cell opened wide, And a glittering butterfly, From out the moss, on golden wings, Soared up to the sunny sky. Then the wondering flowers cried aloud, "Clover, thy watch was vain; He only sought a shelter here, And never will come again." And the unkind flowers danced for joy, When they saw him thus depart; For the love of a beautiful butterfly Is dear to a flower's heart. They feared he would stay in Clover's home, And her tender care repay; So they danced for joy, when at last he rose And silently flew away. Then little Clover bowed her head, While her soft tears fell like dew; For her gentle heart was grieved, to find That her sisters' words were true, And the insect she had watched so long When helpless, poor, and lone, Thankless for all her faithful care, On his golden wings had flown. But as she drooped, in silent grief, She heard little Daisy cry, "O sisters, look! I see him now, Afar in the sunny sky; He is floating back from Cloud-Land now, Borne by the fragrant air. Spread wide your leaves, that he may choose The flower he deems most fair." Then the wild rose glowed with a deeper blush, As she proudly waved on her stem; The Cowslip bent to the clear blue waves, And made her mirror of them. Little Houstonia merrily danced, And spread her white leaves wide; While Daisy whispered her joy and hope, As she stood by her gay friends' side. Violet peeped from the tall green ferns, And lifted her soft blue eye To watch the glittering form, that shone Afar in the summer sky. They thought no more of the ugly worm, Who once had wakened their scorn; But looked and longed for the butterfly now, As the soft wind bore him on. Nearer and nearer the bright form came, And fairer the blossoms grew; Each welcomed him, in her sweetest tones; Each offered her honey and dew. But in vain did they beckon, and smile, and call, And wider their leaves unclose; The glittering form still floated on, By Violet, Daisy, and Rose. Lightly it flew to the pleasant home Of the flower most truly fair, On Clover's breast he softly lit, And folded his bright wings there. "Dear flower," the butterfly whispered low, "Long hast thou waited for me; Now I am come, and my grateful love Shall brighten thy home for thee; Thou hast loved and cared for me, when alone, Hast watched o'er me long and well; And now will I strive to show the thanks The poor worm could not tell. Sunbeam and breeze shall come to thee, And the coolest dews that fall; Whate'er a flower can wish is thine, For thou art worthy all. And the home thou shared with the friendless worm The butterfly's home shall be; And thou shalt find, dear, faithful flower, A loving friend in me." Then, through the long, bright summer hours Through sunshine and through shower, Together in their happy home Dwelt butterfly and flower. "Ah, that is very lovely," cried the Elves, gathering round little Sunbeam as she ceased, to place a garland in her hair and praise her song. "Now," said the Queen, "call hither Moon-light and Summer-Wind, for they have seen many pleasant things in their long wanderings, and will gladly tell us them." "Most joyfully will we do our best, dear Queen," said the Elves, as they folded their wings beside her. "Now, Summer-Wind," said Moonlight, "till your turn comes, do you sit here and fan me while I tell this tale of LITTLE ANNIE'S DREAM; OR, THE FAIRY FLOWER. IN a large and pleasant garden sat little Annie all alone, and she seemed very sad, for drops that were not dew fell fast upon the flowers beside her, who looked wonderingly up, and bent still nearer, as if they longed to cheer and comfort her. The warm wind lifted up her shining hair and softly kissed her cheek, while the sunbeams, looking most kindly in her face, made little rainbows in her tears, and lingered lovingly about her. But Annie paid no heed to sun, or wind, or flower; still the bright tears fell, and she forgot all but her sorrow. "Little Annie, tell me why you weep," said a low voice in her ear; and, looking up, the child beheld a little figure standing on a vine-leaf at her side; a lovely face smiled on her, from amid bright locks of hair, and shining wings were folded on a white and glittering robe, that fluttered in the wind. "Who are you, lovely little thing?" cried Annie, smiling through her tears. "I am a Fairy, little child, and am come to help and comfort you; now tell me why you weep, and let me be your friend," replied the spirit, as she smiled more kindly still on Annie's wondering face. "And are you really, then, a little Elf, such as I read of in my fairy books? Do you ride on butterflies, sleep in flower-cups, and live among the clouds?" "Yes, all these things I do, and many stranger still, that all your fairy books can never tell; but now, dear Annie," said the Fairy, bending nearer, "tell me why I found no sunshine on your face; why are these great drops shining on the flowers, and why do you sit alone when BIRD and BEE are calling you to play?" "Ah, you will not love me any more if I should tell you all," said Annie, while the tears began to fall again; "I am not happy, for I am not good; how shall I learn to be a patient, gentle child? good little Fairy, will you teach me how?" "Gladly will I aid you, Annie, and if you truly wish to be a happy child, you first must learn to conquer many passions that you cherish now, and make your heart a home for gentle feelings and happy thoughts; the task is hard, but I will give this fairy flower to help and counsel you. Bend hither, that I may place it in your breast; no hand can take it hence, till I unsay the spell that holds it there." As thus she spoke, the Elf took from her bosom a graceful flower, whose snow-white leaves shone with a strange, soft light. "This is a fairy flower," said the Elf, "invisible to every eye save yours; now listen while I tell its power, Annie. When your heart is filled with loving thoughts, when some kindly deed has been done, some duty well performed, then from the flower there will arise the sweetest, softest fragrance, to reward and gladden you. But when an unkind word is on your lips, when a selfish, angry feeling rises in your heart, or an unkind, cruel deed is to be done, then will you hear the soft, low chime of the flower-bell; listen to its warning, let the word remain unspoken, the deed undone, and in the quiet joy of your own heart, and the magic perfume of your bosom flower, you will find a sweet reward." "O kind and generous Fairy, how can I ever thank you for this lovely gift!" cried Annie. "I will be true, and listen to my little bell whenever it may ring. But shall I never see YOU more? Ah! if you would only stay with me, I should indeed be good." "I cannot stay now, little Annie," said the Elf, "but when another Spring comes round, I shall be here again, to see how well the fairy gift has done its work. And now farewell, dear child; be faithful to yourself, and the magic flower will never fade." Then the gentle Fairy folded her little arms around Annie's neck, laid a soft kiss on her cheek, and, spreading wide her shining wings, flew singing up among the white clouds floating in the sky. And little Annie sat among her flowers, and watched with wondering joy the fairy blossom shining on her breast. The pleasant days of Spring and Summer passed away, and in little Annie's garden Autumn flowers were blooming everywhere, with each day's sun and dew growing still more beautiful and bright; but the fairy flower, that should have been the loveliest of all, hung pale and drooping on little Annie's bosom; its fragrance seemed quite gone, and the clear, low music of its warning chime rang often in her ear. When first the Fairy placed it there, she had been pleased with her new gift, and for a while obeyed the fairy bell, and often tried to win some fragrance from the flower, by kind and pleasant words and actions; then, as the Fairy said, she found a sweet reward in the strange, soft perfume of the magic blossom, as it shone upon her breast; but selfish thoughts would come to tempt her, she would yield, and unkind words fell from her lips; and then the flower drooped pale and scentless, the fairy bell rang mournfully, Annie would forget her better resolutions, and be again a selfish, wilful little child. At last she tried no longer, but grew angry with the faithful flower, and would have torn it from her breast; but the fairy spell still held it fast, and all her angry words but made it ring a louder, sadder peal. Then she paid no heed to the silvery music sounding in her ear, and each day grew still more unhappy, discontented, and unkind; so, when the Autumn days came round, she was no better for the gentle Fairy's gift, and longed for Spring, that it might be returned; for now the constant echo of the mournful music made her very sad. One sunny morning, when the fresh, cool Winds were blowing, and not a cloud was in the sky, little Annie walked among her flowers, looking carefully into each, hoping thus to find the Fairy, who alone could take the magic blossom from her breast. But she lifted up their drooping leaves, peeped into their dewy cups in vain; no little Elf lay hidden there, and she turned sadly from them all, saying, "I will go out into the fields and woods, and seek her there. I will not listen to this tiresome music more, nor wear this withered flower longer." So out into the fields she went, where the long grass rustled as she passed, and timid birds looked at her from their nests; where lovely wild-flowers nodded in the wind, and opened wide their fragrant leaves, to welcome in the murmuring bees, while butterflies, like winged flowers, danced and glittered in the sun. Little Annie looked, searched, and asked them all if any one could tell her of the Fairy whom she sought; but the birds looked wonderingly at her with their soft, bright eyes, and still sang on; the flowers nodded wisely on their stems, but did not speak, while butterfly and bee buzzed and fluttered away, one far too busy, the other too idle, to stay and tell her what she asked. Then she went through broad fields of yellow grain, that waved around her like a golden forest; here crickets chirped, grasshoppers leaped, and busy ants worked, but they could not tell her what she longed to know. "Now will I go among the hills," said Annie, "she may be there." So up and down the green hill-sides went her little feet; long she searched and vainly she called; but still no Fairy came. Then by the river-side she went, and asked the gay dragon-flies, and the cool white lilies, if the Fairy had been there; but the blue waves rippled on the white sand at her feet, and no voice answered her. Then into the forest little Annie went; and as she passed along the dim, cool paths, the wood-flowers smiled up in her face, gay squirrels peeped at her, as they swung amid the vines, and doves cooed softly as she wandered by; but none could answer her. So, weary with her long and useless search, she sat amid the ferns, and feasted on the rosy strawberries that grew beside her, watching meanwhile the crimson evening clouds that glowed around the setting sun. The night-wind rustled through the boughs, rocking the flowers to sleep; the wild birds sang their evening hymns, and all within the wood grew calm and still; paler and paler grew the purple light, lower and lower drooped little Annie's head, the tall ferns bent to shield her from the dew, the whispering pines sang a soft lullaby; and when the Autumn moon rose up, her silver light shone on the child, where, pillowed on green moss, she lay asleep amid the wood-flowers in the dim old forest. And all night long beside her stood the Fairy she had sought, and by elfin spell and charm sent to the sleeping child this dream. Little Annie dreamed she sat in her own garden, as she had often sat before, with angry feelings in her heart, and unkind words upon her lips. The magic flower was ringing its soft warning, but she paid no heed to anything, save her own troubled thoughts; thus she sat, when suddenly a low voice whispered in her ear,-- "Little Annie, look and see the evil things that you are cherishing; I will clothe in fitting shapes the thoughts and feelings that now dwell within your heart, and you shall see how great their power becomes, unless you banish them for ever." Then Annie saw, with fear and wonder, that the angry words she uttered changed to dark, unlovely forms, each showing plainly from what fault or passion it had sprung. Some of the shapes had scowling faces and bright, fiery eyes; these were the spirits of Anger. Others, with sullen, anxious looks, seemed gathering up all they could reach, and Annie saw that the more they gained, the less they seemed to have; and these she knew were shapes of Selfishness. Spirits of Pride were there, who folded their shadowy garments round them, and turned scornfully away from all the rest. These and many others little Annie saw, which had come from her own heart, and taken form before her eyes. When first she saw them, they were small and weak; but as she looked they seemed to grow and gather strength, and each gained a strange power over her. She could not drive them from her sight, and they grew ever stronger, darker, and more unlovely to her eyes. They seemed to cast black shadows over all around, to dim the sunshine, blight the flowers, and drive away all bright and lovely things; while rising slowly round her Annie saw a high, dark wall, that seemed to shut out everything she loved; she dared not move, or speak, but, with a strange fear at her heart, sat watching the dim shapes that hovered round her. Higher and higher rose the shadowy wall, slowly the flowers near her died, lingeringly the sunlight faded; but at last they both were gone, and left her all alone behind the gloomy wall. Then the spirits gathered round her, whispering strange things in her ear, bidding her obey, for by her own will she had yielded up her heart to be their home, and she was now their slave. Then she could hear no more, but, sinking down among the withered flowers, wept sad and bitter tears, for her lost liberty and joy; then through the gloom there shone a faint, soft light, and on her breast she saw her fairy flower, upon whose snow-white leaves her tears lay shining. Clearer and brighter grew the radiant light, till the evil spirits turned away to the dark shadow of the wall, and left the child alone. The light and perfume of the flower seemed to bring new strength to Annie, and she rose up, saying, as she bent to kiss the blossom on her breast, "Dear flower, help and guide me now, and I will listen to your voice, and cheerfully obey my faithful fairy bell." Then in her dream she felt how hard the spirits tried to tempt and trouble her, and how, but for her flower, they would have led her back, and made all dark and dreary as before. Long and hard she struggled, and tears often fell; but after each new trial, brighter shone her magic flower, and sweeter grew its breath, while the spirits lost still more their power to tempt her. Meanwhile, green, flowering vines crept up the high, dark wall, and hid its roughness from her sight; and over these she watched most tenderly, for soon, wherever green leaves and flowers bloomed, the wall beneath grew weak, and fell apart. Thus little Annie worked and hoped, till one by one the evil spirits fled away, and in their place came shining forms, with gentle eyes and smiling lips, who gathered round her with such loving words, and brought such strength and joy to Annie's heart, that nothing evil dared to enter in; while slowly sank the gloomy wall, and, over wreaths of fragrant flowers, she passed out into the pleasant world again, the fairy gift no longer pale and drooping, but now shining like a star upon her breast. Then the low voice spoke again in Annie's sleeping ear, saying, "The dark, unlovely passions you have looked upon are in your heart; watch well while they are few and weak, lest they should darken your whole life, and shut out love and happiness for ever. Remember well the lesson of the dream, dear child, and let the shining spirits make your heart their home." And with that voice sounding in her ear, little Annie woke to find it was a dream; but like other dreams it did not pass away; and as she sat alone, bathed in the rosy morning light, and watched the forest waken into life, she thought of the strange forms she had seen, and, looking down upon the flower on her breast, she silently resolved to strive, as she had striven in her dream, to bring back light and beauty to its faded leaves, by being what the Fairy hoped to render her, a patient, gentle little child. And as the thought came to her mind, the flower raised its drooping head, and, looking up into the earnest little face bent over it, seemed by its fragrant breath to answer Annie's silent thought, and strengthen her for what might come. Meanwhile the forest was astir, birds sang their gay good-morrows from tree to tree, while leaf and flower turned to greet the sun, who rose up smiling on the world; and so beneath the forest boughs and through the dewy fields went little Annie home, better and wiser for her dream. Autumn flowers were dead and gone, yellow leaves lay rustling on the ground, bleak winds went whistling through the naked trees, and cold, white Winter snow fell softly down; yet now, when all without looked dark and dreary, on little Annie's breast the fairy flower bloomed more beautiful than ever. The memory of her forest dream had never passed away, and through trial and temptation she had been true, and kept her resolution still unbroken; seldom now did the warning bell sound in her ear, and seldom did the flower's fragrance cease to float about her, or the fairy light to brighten all whereon it fell. So, through the long, cold Winter, little Annie dwelt like a sunbeam in her home, each day growing richer in the love of others, and happier in herself; often was she tempted, but, remembering her dream, she listened only to the music of the fairy bell, and the unkind thought or feeling fled away, the smiling spirits of gentleness and love nestled in her heart, and all was bright again. So better and happier grew the child, fairer and sweeter grew the flower, till Spring came smiling over the earth, and woke the flowers, set free the streams, and welcomed back the birds; then daily did the happy child sit among her flowers, longing for the gentle Elf to come again, that she might tell her gratitude for all the magic gift had done. At length, one day, as she sat singing in the sunny nook where all her fairest flowers bloomed, weary with gazing at the far-off sky for the little form she hoped would come, she bent to look with joyful love upon her bosom flower; and as she looked, its folded leaves spread wide apart, and, rising slowly from the deep white cup, appeared the smiling face of the lovely Elf whose coming she had waited for so long. "Dear Annie, look for me no longer; I am here on your own breast, for you have learned to love my gift, and it has done its work most faithfully and well," the Fairy said, as she looked into the happy child's bright face, and laid her little arms most tenderly about her neck. "And now have I brought another gift from Fairy-Land, as a fit reward for you, dear child," she said, when Annie had told all her gratitude and love; then, touching the child with her shining wand, the Fairy bid her look and listen silently. And suddenly the world seemed changed to Annie; for the air was filled with strange, sweet sounds, and all around her floated lovely forms. In every flower sat little smiling Elves, singing gayly as they rocked amid the leaves. On every breeze, bright, airy spirits came floating by; some fanned her cheek with their cool breath, and waved her long hair to and fro, while others rang the flower-bells, and made a pleasant rustling among the leaves. In the fountain, where the water danced and sparkled in the sun, astride of every drop she saw merry little spirits, who plashed and floated in the clear, cool waves, and sang as gayly as the flowers, on whom they scattered glittering dew. The tall trees, as their branches rustled in the wind, sang a low, dreamy song, while the waving grass was filled with little voices she had never heard before. Butterflies whispered lovely tales in her ear, and birds sang cheerful songs in a sweet language she had never understood before. Earth and air seemed filled with beauty and with music she had never dreamed of until now. "O tell me what it means, dear Fairy! is it another and a lovelier dream, or is the earth in truth so beautiful as this?" she cried, looking with wondering joy upon the Elf, who lay upon the flower in her breast. "Yes, it is true, dear child," replied the Fairy, "and few are the mortals to whom we give this lovely gift; what to you is now so full of music and of light, to others is but a pleasant summer world; they never know the language of butterfly or bird or flower, and they are blind to all that I have given you the power to see. These fair things are your friends and playmates now, and they will teach you many pleasant lessons, and give you many happy hours; while the garden where you once sat, weeping sad and bitter tears, is now brightened by your own happiness, filled with loving friends by your own kindly thoughts and feelings; and thus rendered a pleasant summer home for the gentle, happy child, whose bosom flower will never fade. And now, dear Annie, I must go; but every Springtime, with the earliest flowers, will I come again to visit you, and bring some fairy gift. Guard well the magic flower, that I may find all fair and bright when next I come." Then, with a kind farewell, the gentle Fairy floated upward through the sunny air, smiling down upon the child, until she vanished in the soft, white clouds, and little Annie stood alone in her enchanted garden, where all was brightened with the radiant light, and fragrant with the perfume of her fairy flower. When Moonlight ceased, Summer-Wind laid down her rose-leaf fan, and, leaning back in her acorn cup, told this tale of RIPPLE, THE WATER-SPIRIT. DOWN in the deep blue sea lived Ripple, a happy little Water-Spirit; all day long she danced beneath the coral arches, made garlands of bright ocean flowers, or floated on the great waves that sparkled in the sunlight; but the pastime that she loved best was lying in the many-colored shells upon the shore, listening to the low, murmuring music the waves had taught them long ago; and here for hours the little Spirit lay watching the sea and sky, while singing gayly to herself. But when tempests rose, she hastened down below the stormy billows, to where all was calm and still, and with her sister Spirits waited till it should be fair again, listening sadly, meanwhile, to the cries of those whom the wild waves wrecked and cast into the angry sea, and who soon came floating down, pale and cold, to the Spirits' pleasant home; then they wept pitying tears above the lifeless forms, and laid them in quiet graves, where flowers bloomed, and jewels sparkled in the sand. This was Ripple's only grief, and she often thought of those who sorrowed for the friends they loved, who now slept far down in the dim and silent coral caves, and gladly would she have saved the lives of those who lay around her; but the great ocean was far mightier than all the tender-hearted Spirits dwelling in its bosom. Thus she could only weep for them, and lay them down to sleep where no cruel waves could harm them more. One day, when a fearful storm raged far and wide, and the Spirits saw great billows rolling like heavy clouds above their heads, and heard the wild winds sounding far away, down through the foaming waves a little child came floating to their home; its eyes were closed as if in sleep, the long hair fell like sea-weed round its pale, cold face, and the little hands still clasped the shells they had been gathering on the beach, when the great waves swept it into the troubled sea. With tender tears the Spirits laid the little form to rest upon its bed of flowers, and, singing mournful songs, as if to make its sleep more calm and deep, watched long and lovingly above it, till the storm had died away, and all was still again. While Ripple sang above the little child, through the distant roar of winds and waves she heard a wild, sorrowing voice, that seemed to call for help. Long she listened, thinking it was but the echo of their own plaintive song, but high above the music still sounded the sad, wailing cry. Then, stealing silently away, she glided up through foam and spray, till, through the parting clouds, the sunlight shone upon her from the tranquil sky; and, guided by the mournful sound, she floated on, till, close before her on the beach, she saw a woman stretching forth her arms, and with a sad, imploring voice praying the restless sea to give her back the little child it had so cruelly borne away. But the waves dashed foaming up among the bare rocks at her feet, mingling their cold spray with her tears, and gave no answer to her prayer. When Ripple saw the mother's grief, she longed to comfort her; so, bending tenderly beside her, where she knelt upon the shore, the little Spirit told her how her child lay softly sleeping, far down in a lovely place, where sorrowing tears were shed, and gentle hands laid garlands over him. But all in vain she whispered kindly words; the weeping mother only cried,-- "Dear Spirit, can you use no charm or spell to make the waves bring back my child, as full of life and strength as when they swept him from my side? O give me back my little child, or let me lie beside him in the bosom of the cruel sea." "Most gladly will I help you if I can, though I have little power to use; then grieve no more, for I will search both earth and sea, to find some friend who can bring back all you have lost. Watch daily on the shore, and if I do not come again, then you will know my search has been in vain. Farewell, poor mother, you shall see your little child again, if Fairy power can win him back." And with these cheering words Ripple sprang into the sea; while, smiling through her tears, the woman watched the gentle Spirit, till her bright crown vanished in the waves. When Ripple reached her home, she hastened to the palace of the Queen, and told her of the little child, the sorrowing mother, and the promise she had made. "Good little Ripple," said the Queen, when she had told her all, "your promise never can be kept; there is no power below the sea to work this charm, and you can never reach the Fire-Spirits' home, to win from them a flame to warm the little body into life. I pity the poor mother, and would most gladly help her; but alas! I am a Spirit like yourself, and cannot serve you as I long to do." "Ah, dear Queen! if you had seen her sorrow, you too would seek to keep the promise I have made. I cannot let her watch for ME in vain, till I have done my best: then tell me where the Fire-Spirits dwell, and I will ask of them the flame that shall give life to the little child and such great happiness to the sad, lonely mother: tell me the path, and let me go." "It is far, far away, high up above the sun, where no Spirit ever dared to venture yet," replied the Queen. "I cannot show the path, for it is through the air. Dear Ripple, do not go, for you can never reach that distant place: some harm most surely will befall; and then how shall we live, without our dearest, gentlest Spirit? Stay here with us in your own pleasant home, and think no more of this, for I can never let you go." But Ripple would not break the promise she had made, and besought so earnestly, and with such pleading words, that the Queen at last with sorrow gave consent, and Ripple joyfully prepared to go. She, with her sister Spirits, built up a tomb of delicate, bright-colored shells, wherein the child might lie, till she should come to wake him into life; then, praying them to watch most faithfully above it, she said farewell, and floated bravely forth, on her long, unknown journey, far away. "I will search the broad earth till I find a path up to the sun, or some kind friend who will carry me; for, alas! I have no wings, and cannot glide through the blue air as through the sea," said Ripple to herself, as she went dancing over the waves, which bore her swiftly onward towards a distant shore. Long she journeyed through the pathless ocean, with no friends to cheer her, save the white sea-birds who went sweeping by, and only stayed to dip their wide wings at her side, and then flew silently away. Sometimes great ships sailed by, and then with longing eyes did the little Spirit gaze up at the faces that looked down upon the sea; for often they were kind and pleasant ones, and she gladly would have called to them and asked them to be friends. But they would never understand the strange, sweet language that she spoke, or even see the lovely face that smiled at them above the waves; her blue, transparent garments were but water to their eyes, and the pearl chains in her hair but foam and sparkling spray; so, hoping that the sea would be most gentle with them, silently she floated on her way, and left them far behind. At length green hills were seen, and the waves gladly bore the little Spirit on, till, rippling gently over soft white sand, they left her on the pleasant shore. "Ah, what a lovely place it is!" said Ripple, as she passed through sunny valleys, where flowers began to bloom, and young leaves rustled on the trees. "Why are you all so gay, dear birds?" she asked, as their cheerful voices sounded far and near; "is there a festival over the earth, that all is so beautiful and bright?" "Do you not know that Spring is coming? The warm winds whispered it days ago, and we are learning the sweetest songs, to welcome her when she shall come," sang the lark, soaring away as the music gushed from his little throat. "And shall I see her, Violet, as she journeys over the earth?" asked Ripple again. "Yes, you will meet her soon, for the sunlight told me she was near; tell her we long to see her again, and are waiting to welcome her back," said the blue flower, dancing for joy on her stem, as she nodded and smiled on the Spirit. "I will ask Spring where the Fire-Spirits dwell; she travels over the earth each year, and surely can show me the way," thought Ripple, as she went journeying on. Soon she saw Spring come smiling over the earth; sunbeams and breezes floated before, and then, with her white garments covered with flowers, with wreaths in her hair, and dew-drops and seeds falling fast from her hands the beautiful season came singing by. "Dear Spring, will you listen, and help a poor little Spirit, who seeks far and wide for the Fire-Spirits' home?" cried Ripple; and then told why she was there, and begged her to tell what she sought. "The Fire-Spirits' home is far, far away, and I cannot guide you there; but Summer is coming behind me," said Spring, "and she may know better than I. But I will give you a breeze to help you on your way; it will never tire nor fail, but bear you easily over land and sea. Farewell, little Spirit! I would gladly do more, but voices are calling me far and wide, and I cannot stay." "Many thanks, kind Spring!" cried Ripple, as she floated away on the breeze; "give a kindly word to the mother who waits on the shore, and tell her I have not forgotten my vow, but hope soon to see her again." Then Spring flew on with her sunshine and flowers, and Ripple went swiftly over hill and vale, till she came to the land where Summer was dwelling. Here the sun shone warmly down on the early fruit, the winds blew freshly over fields of fragrant hay, and rustled with a pleasant sound among the green leaves in the forests; heavy dews fell softly down at night, and long, bright days brought strength and beauty to the blossoming earth. "Now I must seek for Summer," said Ripple, as she sailed slowly through the sunny sky. "I am here, what would you with me, little Spirit?" said a musical voice in her ear; and, floating by her side, she saw a graceful form, with green robes fluttering in the air, whose pleasant face looked kindly on her, from beneath a crown of golden sunbeams that cast a warm, bright glow on all beneath. Then Ripple told her tale, and asked where she should go; but Summer answered,-- "I can tell no more than my young sister Spring where you may find the Spirits that you seek; but I too, like her, will give a gift to aid you. Take this sunbeam from my crown; it will cheer and brighten the most gloomy path through which you pass. Farewell! I shall carry tidings of you to the watcher by the sea, if in my journey round the world I find her there." And Summer, giving her the sunbeam, passed away over the distant hills, leaving all green and bright behind her. So Ripple journeyed on again, till the earth below her shone with yellow harvests waving in the sun, and the air was filled with cheerful voices, as the reapers sang among the fields or in the pleasant vineyards, where purple fruit hung gleaming through the leaves; while the sky above was cloudless, and the changing forest-trees shone like a many-colored garland, over hill and plain; and here, along the ripening corn-fields, with bright wreaths of crimson leaves and golden wheat-ears in her hair and on her purple mantle, stately Autumn passed, with a happy smile on her calm face, as she went scattering generous gifts from her full arms. But when the wandering Spirit came to her, and asked for what she sought, this season, like the others, could not tell her where to go; so, giving her a yellow leaf, Autumn said, as she passed on,-- "Ask Winter, little Ripple, when you come to his cold home; he knows the Fire-Spirits well, for when he comes they fly to the earth, to warm and comfort those dwelling there; and perhaps he can tell you where they are. So take this gift of mine, and when you meet his chilly winds, fold it about you, and sit warm beneath its shelter, till you come to sunlight again. I will carry comfort to the patient woman, as my sisters have already done, and tell her you are faithful still." Then on went the never-tiring Breeze, over forest, hill, and field, till the sky grew dark, and bleak winds whistled by. Then Ripple, folded in the soft, warm leaf, looked sadly down on the earth, that seemed to lie so desolate and still beneath its shroud of snow, and thought how bitter cold the leaves and flowers must be; for the little Water-Spirit did not know that Winter spread a soft white covering above their beds, that they might safely sleep below till Spring should waken them again. So she went sorrowfully on, till Winter, riding on the strong North-Wind, came rushing by, with a sparkling ice-crown in his streaming hair, while from beneath his crimson cloak, where glittering frost-work shone like silver threads, he scattered snow-flakes far and wide. "What do you seek with me, fair little Spirit, that you come so bravely here amid my ice and snow? Do not fear me; I am warm at heart, though rude and cold without," said Winter, looking kindly on her, while a bright smile shone like sunlight on his pleasant face, as it glowed and glistened in the frosty air. When Ripple told him why she had come, he pointed upward, where the sunlight dimly shone through the heavy clouds, saying,-- "Far off there, beside the sun, is the Fire-Spirits' home; and the only path is up, through cloud and mist. It is a long, strange path, for a lonely little Spirit to be going; the Fairies are wild, wilful things, and in their play may harm and trouble you. Come back with me, and do not go this dangerous journey to the sky. I'll gladly bear you home again, if you will come." But Ripple said, "I cannot turn back now, when I am nearly there. The Spirits surely will not harm me, when I tell them why I am come; and if I win the flame, I shall be the happiest Spirit in the sea, for my promise will be kept, and the poor mother happy once again. So farewell, Winter! Speak to her gently, and tell her to hope still, for I shall surely come." "Adieu, little Ripple! May good angels watch above you! Journey bravely on, and take this snow-flake that will never melt, as MY gift," Winter cried, as the North-Wind bore him on, leaving a cloud of falling snow behind. "Now, dear Breeze," said Ripple, "fly straight upward through the air, until we reach the place we have so long been seeking; Sunbeam shall go before to light the way, Yellow-leaf shall shelter me from heat and rain, while Snow-flake shall lie here beside me till it comes of use. So farewell to the pleasant earth, until we come again. And now away, up to the sun!" When Ripple first began her airy journey, all was dark and dreary; heavy clouds lay piled like hills around her, and a cold mist filled the air but the Sunbeam, like a star, lit up the way, the leaf lay warmly round her, and the tireless wind went swiftly on. Higher and higher they floated up, still darker and darker grew the air, closer the damp mist gathered, while the black clouds rolled and tossed, like great waves, to and fro. "Ah!" sighed the weary little Spirit, "shall I never see the light again, or feel the warm winds on my cheek? It is a dreary way indeed, and but for the Seasons' gifts I should have perished long ago; but the heavy clouds MUST pass away at last, and all be fair again. So hasten on, good Breeze, and bring me quickly to my journey's end." Soon the cold vapors vanished from her path, and sunshine shone upon her pleasantly; so she went gayly on, till she came up among the stars, where many new, strange sights were to be seen. With wondering eyes she looked upon the bright worlds that once seemed dim and distant, when she gazed upon them from the sea; but now they moved around her, some shining with a softly radiant light, some circled with bright, many-colored rings, while others burned with a red, angry glare. Ripple would have gladly stayed to watch them longer, for she fancied low, sweet voices called her, and lovely faces seemed to look upon her as she passed; but higher up still, nearer to the sun, she saw a far-off light, that glittered like a brilliant crimson star, and seemed to cast a rosy glow along the sky. "The Fire-Spirits surely must be there, and I must stay no longer here," said Ripple. So steadily she floated on, till straight before her lay a broad, bright path, that led up to a golden arch, beyond which she could see shapes flitting to and fro. As she drew near, brighter glowed the sky, hotter and hotter grew the air, till Ripple's leaf-cloak shrivelled up, and could no longer shield her from the heat; then she unfolded the white snow-flake, and, gladly wrapping the soft, cool mantle round her, entered through the shining arch. Through the red mist that floated all around her, she could see high walls of changing light, where orange, blue, and violet flames went flickering to and fro, making graceful figures as they danced and glowed; and underneath these rainbow arches, little Spirits glided, far and near, wearing crowns of fire, beneath which flashed their wild, bright eyes; and as they spoke, sparks dropped quickly from their lips, and Ripple saw with wonder, through their garments of transparent light, that in each Fairy's breast there burned a steady flame, that never wavered or went out. As thus she stood, the Spirits gathered round her, and their hot breath would have scorched her, but she drew the snow-cloak closer round her, saying,-- "Take me to your Queen, that I may tell her why I am here, and ask for what I seek." So, through long halls of many-colored fire, they led her to a Spirit fairer than the rest, whose crown of flames waved to and fro like golden plumes, while, underneath her violet robe, the light within her breast glowed bright and strong. "This is our Queen," the Spirits said, bending low before her, as she turned her gleaming eyes upon the stranger they had brought. Then Ripple told how she had wandered round the world in search of them, how the Seasons had most kindly helped her on, by giving Sun-beam, Breeze, Leaf, and Flake; and how, through many dangers, she had come at last to ask of them the magic flame that could give life to the little child again. When she had told her tale, the spirits whispered earnestly among themselves, while sparks fell thick and fast with every word; at length the Fire-Queen said aloud,-- "We cannot give the flame you ask, for each of us must take a part of it from our own breasts; and this we will not do, for the brighter our bosom-fire burns, the lovelier we are. So do not ask us for this thing; but any other gift we will most gladly give, for we feel kindly towards you, and will serve you if we may." But Ripple asked no other boon, and, weeping sadly, begged them not to send her back without the gift she had come so far to gain. "O dear, warm-hearted Spirits! give me each a little light from your own breasts, and surely they will glow the brighter for this kindly deed; and I will thankfully repay it if I can." As thus she spoke, the Queen, who had spied out a chain of jewels Ripple wore upon her neck, replied,-- "If you will give me those bright, sparkling stones, I will bestow on you a part of my own flame; for we have no such lovely things to wear about our necks, and I desire much to have them. Will you give it me for what I offer, little Spirit?" Joyfully Ripple gave her the chain; but, as soon as it touched her hand, the jewels melted like snow, and fell in bright drops to the ground; at this the Queen's eyes flashed, and the Spirits gathered angrily about poor Ripple, who looked sadly at the broken chain, and thought in vain what she could give, to win the thing she longed so earnestly for. "I have many fairer gems than these, in my home below the sea; and I will bring all I can gather far and wide, if you will grant my prayer, and give me what I seek," she said, turning gently to the fiery Spirits, who were hovering fiercely round her. "You must bring us each a jewel that will never vanish from our hands as these have done," they said, "and we will each give of our fire; and when the child is brought to life, you must bring hither all the jewels you can gather from the depths of the sea, that we may try them here among the flames; but if they melt away like these, then we shall keep you prisoner, till you give us back the light we lend. If you consent to this, then take our gift, and journey home again; but fail not to return, or we shall seek you out." And Ripple said she would consent, though she knew not if the jewels could be found; still, thinking of the promise she had made, she forgot all else, and told the Spirits what they asked most surely should be done. So each one gave a little of the fire from their breasts, and placed the flame in a crystal vase, through which it shone and glittered like a star. Then, bidding her remember all she had promised them, they led her to the golden arch, and said farewell. So, down along the shining path, through mist and cloud, she travelled back; till, far below, she saw the broad blue sea she left so long ago. Gladly she plunged into the clear, cool waves, and floated back to her pleasant home; where the Spirits gathered joyfully about her, listening with tears and smiles, as she told all her many wanderings, and showed the crystal vase that she had brought. "Now come," said they, "and finish the good work you have so bravely carried on." So to the quiet tomb they went, where, like a marble image, cold and still, the little child was lying. Then Ripple placed the flame upon his breast, and watched it gleam and sparkle there, while light came slowly back into the once dim eyes, a rosy glow shone over the pale face, and breath stole through the parted lips; still brighter and warmer burned the magic fire, until the child awoke from his long sleep, and looked in smiling wonder at the faces bending over him. Then Ripple sang for joy, and, with her sister Spirits, robed the child in graceful garments, woven of bright sea-weed, while in his shining hair they wreathed long garlands of their fairest flowers, and on his little arms hung chains of brilliant shells. "Now come with us, dear child," said Ripple; "we will bear you safely up into the sunlight and the pleasant air; for this is not your home, and yonder, on the shore, there waits a loving friend for you." So up they went, through foam and spray, till on the beach, where the fresh winds played among her falling hair, and the waves broke sparkling at her feet, the lonely mother still stood, gazing wistfully across the sea. Suddenly, upon a great blue billow that came rolling in, she saw the Water-Spirits smiling on her; and high aloft, in their white gleaming arms, her child stretched forth his hands to welcome her; while the little voice she so longed to hear again cried gayly,-- "See, dear mother, I am come; and look what lovely things the gentle Spirits gave, that I might seem more beautiful to you." Then gently the great wave broke, and rolled back to the sea, leaving Ripple on the shore, and the child clasped in his mother's arms. "O faithful little Spirit! I would gladly give some precious gift to show my gratitude for this kind deed; but I have nothing save this chain of little pearls: they are the tears I shed, and the sea has changed them thus, that I might offer them to you," the happy mother said, when her first joy was passed, and Ripple turned to go. "Yes, I will gladly wear your gift, and look upon it as my fairest ornament," the Water-Spirit said; and with the pearls upon her breast, she left the shore, where the child was playing gayly to and fro, and the mother's glad smile shone upon her, till she sank beneath the waves. And now another task was to be done; her promise to the Fire-Spirits must be kept. So far and wide she searched among the caverns of the sea, and gathered all the brightest jewels shining there; and then upon her faithful Breeze once more went journeying through the sky. The Spirits gladly welcomed her, and led her to the Queen, before whom she poured out the sparkling gems she had gathered with such toil and care; but when the Spirits tried to form them into crowns, they trickled from their hands like colored drops of dew, and Ripple saw with fear and sorrow how they melted one by one away, till none of all the many she had brought remained. Then the Fire-Spirits looked upon her angrily, and when she begged them to be merciful, and let her try once more, saying,-- "Do not keep me prisoner here. I cannot breathe the flames that give you life, and but for this snow-mantle I too should melt away, and vanish like the jewels in your hands. O dear Spirits, give me some other task, but let me go from this warm place, where all is strange and fearful to a Spirit of the sea." They would not listen; and drew nearer, saying, while bright sparks showered from their lips, "We will not let you go, for you have promised to be ours if the gems you brought proved worthless; so fling away this cold white cloak, and bathe with us in the fire fountains, and help us bring back to our bosom flames the light we gave you for the child." Then Ripple sank down on the burning floor, and felt that her life was nearly done; for she well knew the hot air of the fire-palace would be death to her. The Spirits gathered round, and began to lift her mantle off; but underneath they saw the pearl chain, shining with a clear, soft light, that only glowed more brightly when they laid their hands upon it. "O give us this!" cried they; "it is far lovelier than all the rest, and does not melt away like them; and see how brilliantly it glitters in our hands. If we may but have this, all will be well, and you are once more free." And Ripple, safe again beneath her snow flake, gladly gave the chain to them; and told them how the pearls they now placed proudly on their breasts were formed of tears, which but for them might still be flowing. Then the Spirits smiled most kindly on her, and would have put their arms about her, and have kissed her cheek, but she drew back, telling them that every touch of theirs was like a wound to her. "Then, if we may not tell our pleasure so, we will show it in a different way, and give you a pleasant journey home. Come out with us," the Spirits said, "and see the bright path we have made for you." So they led her to the lofty gate, and here, from sky to earth, a lovely rainbow arched its radiant colors in the sun. "This is indeed a pleasant road," said Ripple. "Thank you, friendly Spirits, for your care; and now farewell. I would gladly stay yet longer, but we cannot dwell together, and I am longing sadly for my own cool home. Now Sunbeam, Breeze, Leaf, and Flake, fly back to the Seasons whence you came, and tell them that, thanks to their kind gifts, Ripple's work at last is done." Then down along the shining pathway spread before her, the happy little Spirit glided to the sea. "Thanks, dear Summer-Wind," said the Queen; "we will remember the lessons you have each taught us, and when next we meet in Fern Dale, you shall tell us more. And now, dear Trip, call them from the lake, for the moon is sinking fast, and we must hasten home." The Elves gathered about their Queen, and while the rustling leaves were still, and the flowers' sweet voices mingled with their own, they sang this FAIRY SONG. The moonlight fades from flower and tree, And the stars dim one by one; The tale is told, the song is sung, And the Fairy feast is done. The night-wind rocks the sleeping flowers, And sings to them, soft and low. The early birds erelong will wake: 'T is time for the Elves to go. O'er the sleeping earth we silently pass, Unseen by mortal eye, And send sweet dreams, as we lightly float Through the quiet moonlit sky;-- For the stars' soft eyes alone may see, And the flowers alone may know, The feasts we hold, the tales we tell: So 't is time for the Elves to go. From bird, and blossom, and bee, We learn the lessons they teach; And seek, by kindly deeds, to win A loving friend in each. And though unseen on earth we dwell, Sweet voices whisper low, And gentle hearts most joyously greet The Elves where'er they go. When next we meet in the Fairy dell, May the silver moon's soft light Shine then on faces gay as now, And Elfin hearts as light. Now spread each wing, for the eastern sky With sunlight soon will glow. The morning star shall light us home: Farewell! for the Elves must go. As the music ceased, with a soft, rustling sound the Elves spread their shining wings, and flew silently over the sleeping earth; the flowers closed their bright eyes, the little winds were still, for the feast was over, and the Fairy lessons ended. 
23404	----	A LITTLE GIRL TO HER FLOWERS. IN VERSE. ILLUSTRATED BY ENGRAVINGS. London: PRINTED FOR HARVEY AND DARTON, GRACECHURCH STREET. 1828. Price 1_s._ 6_d._ coloured. [Illustration] DAISY. This little Daisy we all love, Because it seems to say, "I'm come to tell good girls and boys, That Winter's gone away." [Illustration] SNOWDROP. There is another flower, too, I dearly love to see; The little Snowdrop, peeping through The frozen ground at me. [Illustration] PRIMROSE. This is a pretty Primrose, In shady lanes it grows; And early in the pleasant spring, In gardens too it blows. [Illustration] DAFFODIL. Here is a formal Daffodil, Though common, yet a favourite still; It seems such joyous news to bring, As harbinger of pleasant Spring. [Illustration] MAY-BLOSSOM. Oh, beauteous, little May-blossom, I am rejoiced that you are come, To smile upon us once again, After the winter's snow and rain. [Illustration] VIOLET. How I do love the Violet! Of all the flow'rs it is my pet; How snug it hides its little head In the green leaves of its low bed. [Illustration] LILY OF THE VALLEY. Lowly Lily of the Vale, To me you tell a useful tale: You say, "Be pretty as you will, Yet modesty is lovelier still." [Illustration] FORGET-ME-NOT. "Forget me not:" no, lovely flow'r, I'll think on thee for many an hour: If I could paint, I'd copy thee; Then thou wouldst long remember'd be. [Illustration] TULIP. The Tulip, with its varied hues Of crimson, brown, and rich dark blues, (Tho' scentless,) splendid you appear, When thickly set in rich parterre. [Illustration] ROSE. I cannot wonder that the Rose Is such a favourite flower; How beautiful and sweet it is, With jess'mine in the bower. [Illustration] SUNFLOWER. I don't admire the Sunflower, It rears its head so high; And looks so proud, and seems to say, "I'm climbing to the sky." [Illustration] FIELD-FLOWERS. But oh! the fields they are so sweet, The gardens are so gay, That I should like to run about, And nosegays make all day. [Illustration] GREEN-HOUSE. And now we'll see the Green-house Plants: They cannot bear cold air; Yet with them many wild field-flowr's In beauty may compare. [Illustration] MYRTLES AND GERANIUMS. The Myrtles and Geraniums Seem mostly to abound; And these, in the warm summer months, Are planted in the ground. [Illustration] CAMELLIA JAPONICA. Here are the rich Camellias; Oh, 'tis a splendid sight! Some variegated with soft tints, Some crimson, and some white. [Illustration] PASSION-FLOWER. How gracefully the Passion-flow'r, Along the trellis twining, Shows symmetry, with colours fair, So pleasingly combining. [Illustration] ORANGES. The Oranges, and Lemons too, All in their proper station, Tho' robb'd of half their native charms, Invite our admiration. CONCLUSION. But tell me now, who made these flow'rs, Who moulded them so fair; Who taught them, with such rich perfume, To scent the morning air. Who fill'd their cups with drops of dew, When parch'd with summer's rays; Who tinged their leaves with brightest hue, On which we wondering gaze. Can _man_ such splendid dyes produce? Can he such colours blend? Can he the tendril graceful twine, Or the soft branches bend? Oh no! 'tis God, who reigns on high, Who form'd the earth and heaven; Who framed each star that lights the sky. He hath to mortals given All these, and more! And should not we, Frail children of mortality, With thankful hearts, each day, each night, Think of his goodness infinite? And pray, that gratitude may still Our stubborn hearts with rapture fill? O teach us humbly to adore Thee first, Thee last, Thee evermore! THE END. Harvey, Darton, and Co. Printers, Gracechurch-street, London. 
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12286	----	from images provided by the Million Book Project. FLOWERS AND FLOWER-GARDENS. BY DAVID LESTER RICHARDSON, PRINCIPAL OF THE HINDU METROPOLITAN COLLEGE, AND AUTHOR OF "LITERARY LEAVES," "LITERARY RECREATIONS," &C. WITH AN APPENDIX OF PRACTICAL INSTRUCTIONS AND USEFUL INFORMATION RESPECTING THE ANGLO-INDIAN FLOWER-GARDEN. CALCUTTA: MDCCCLV. PREFACE. In every work regard the writer's end, Since none can compass more than they intend. _Pope_. This volume is far indeed from being a scientific treatise _On Flowers and Flower-Gardens_:--it is mere gossip in print upon a pleasant subject. But I hope it will not be altogether useless. If I succeed in my object I shall consider that I have gossipped to some purpose. On several points--such as that of the mythology and language of flowers--I have said a good deal more than I should have done had I been writing for a different community. I beg the London critics to bear this in mind. I wished to make the subject as attractive as possible to some classes of people here who might not have been disposed to pay any attention to it whatever if I had not studied their amusement as much as their instruction. I have tried to sweeten the edge of the cup. I did not at first intend the book to exceed fifty pages: but I was almost insensibly carried on further and further from the proposed limit by the attractive nature of the materials that pressed upon my notice. As by far the largest portion, of it has been written hurriedly, amidst other avocations, and bit by bit; just as the Press demanded an additional supply of "_copy_," I have but too much reason to apprehend that it will seem to many of my readers, fragmentary and ill-connected. Then again, in a city like Calcutta, it is not easy to prepare any thing satisfactorily that demands much literary or scientific research. There are very many volumes in all the London Catalogues, but not immediately obtainable in Calcutta, that I should have been most eager to refer to for interesting and valuable information, if they had been at hand. The mere titles of these books have often tantalized me with visions of riches beyond my reach. I might indeed have sent for some of these from England, but I had announced this volume, and commenced the printing of it, before it occurred to me that it would be advisable to extend the matter beyond the limits I had originally contemplated. I must now send it forth, "with all its imperfections on its head;" but not without the hope that in spite of these, it will be found calculated to increase the taste amongst my brother exiles here for flowers and flower-gardens, and lead many of my Native friends--(particularly those who have been educated at the Government Colleges,--who have imbibed some English thoughts and feelings--and who are so fortunate as to be in possession of landed property)--to improve their parterres,--and set an example to their poorer countrymen of that neatness and care and cleanliness and order which may make even the peasant's cottage and the smallest plot of ground assume an aspect of comfort, and afford a favorable indication of the character of the possessor. D.L.R. _Calcutta, September 21st_ 1855. ERRATA. A friend tells me that the allusion to the Acanthus on the first page of this book is obscurely expressed, that it was not the _root_ but the _leaves_ of the plant that suggested the idea of the Corinthian capital. The root of the Acanthus produced the leaves which overhanging the sides of the basket struck the fancy of the Architect. This was, indeed, what I _meant_ to say, and though I have not very lucidly expressed myself, I still think that some readers might have understood me rightly even without the aid of this explanation, which, however, it is as well for me to give, as I wish to be intelligible to _all_. A writer should endeavor to make it impossible for any one to misapprehend his meaning, though there are some writers of high name both in England and America who seem to delight in puzzling their readers. At the bottom of page 200, allusion is made to the dotted lines at some of the open turns in the engraved labyrinth. By some accident or mistake the dots have been omitted, but any one can understand where the stop hedges which the dotted lines indicated might be placed so as to give the wanderer in the maze, additional trouble to find his way out of it. [Illustration of a garden.] ON FLOWERS AND FLOWER-GARDENS, For lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone; the flowers appear on the earth, the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land. _The Song of Solomon_. * * * * * These are thy glorious works, Parent of good! Almighty, Thine this universal frame, Thus wondrous fair; Thyself how wondrous then! _Milton_. * * * * * Soft roll your incense, herbs and fruits and flowers, In mingled clouds to HIM whose sun exalts Whose breath perfumes you, and whose pencil paints. _Thomson_. A taste for floriculture is spreading amongst Anglo-Indians. It is a good sign. It would be gratifying to learn that the same refining taste had reached the Natives also--even the lower classes of them. It is a cheap enjoyment. A mere palm of ground may be glorified by a few radiant blossoms. A single clay jar of the rudest form may be so enriched and beautified with leaves and blossoms as to fascinate the eye of taste. An old basket, with a broken tile at the top of it, and the root of the acanthus within, produced an effect which seemed to Calimachus, the architect, "the work of the Graces." It suggested the idea of the capital of the Corinthian column, the most elegant architectural ornament that Art has yet conceived. Flowers are the poor man's luxury; a refinement for the uneducated. It has been prettily said that the melody of birds is the poor man's music, and that flowers are the poor man's poetry. They are "a discipline of humanity," and may sometimes ameliorate even a coarse and vulgar nature, just as the cherub faces of innocent and happy children are sometimes found to soften and purify the corrupted heart. It would be a delightful thing to see the swarthy cottagers of India throwing a cheerful grace on their humble sheds and small plots of ground with those natural embellishments which no productions of human skill can rival. The peasant who is fond of flowers--if he begin with but a dozen little pots of geraniums and double daisies upon his window sills, or with a honeysuckle over his humble porch--gradually acquires a habit, not only of decorating the outside of his dwelling and of cultivating with care his small plot of ground, but of setting his house in order within, and making every thing around him agreeable to the eye. A love of cleanliness and neatness and simple ornament is a moral feeling. The country laborer, or the industrious mechanic, who has a little garden to be proud of, the work of his own hand, becomes attached to his place of residence, and is perhaps not only a better subject on that account, but a better neighbour--a better man. A taste for flowers is, at all events, infinitely preferable to a taste for the excitements of the pot-house or the tavern or the turf or the gaming table, or even the festal board, especially for people of feeble health--and above all, for the poor--who should endeavor to satisfy themselves with inexpensive pleasures.[001] In all countries, civilized or savage, and on all occasions, whether of grief or rejoicing, a natural fondness for flowers has been exhibited, with more or less tenderness or enthusiasm. They beautify religious rites. They are national emblems: they find a place in the blazonry of heraldic devices. They are the gifts and the language of friendship and of love. Flowers gleam in original hues from graceful vases in almost every domicile where Taste presides; and the hand of "nice Art" charms us with "counterfeit presentments" of their forms and colors, not only on the living canvas, but even on our domestic China-ware, and our mahogany furniture, and our wall-papers and hangings and carpets, and on our richest apparel for holiday occasions and our simplest garments for daily wear. Even human Beauty, the Queen of all loveliness on earth, engages Flora as her handmaid at the toilet, in spite of the dictum of the poet of 'The Seasons,' that "Beauty when unadorned is adorned the most." Flowers are hung in graceful festoons both in churches and in ball-rooms. They decorate the altar, the bride-bed, the cradle, and the bier. They grace festivals, and triumphs, and processions; and cast a glory on gala days; and are amongst the last sad honors we pay to the objects of our love. I remember the death of a sweet little English girl of but a year old, over whom, in her small coffin, a young and lovely mother sprinkled the freshest and fairest flowers. The task seemed to soften--perhaps to sweeten--her maternal grief. I shall never forget the sight. The bright-hued blossoms seemed to make her oblivious for a moment of the darkness and corruption to which she was so soon to consign her priceless treasure. The child's sweet face, even in death, reminded me that the flowers of the field and garden, however lovely, are all outshone by human beauty. What floral glory of the wild-wood, or what queen of the parterre, in all the pride of bloom, laughing in the sun-light or dancing in the breeze, hath a charm that could vie for a single moment with the soft and holy lustre of that motionless and faded human lily? I never more deeply felt the force of Milton's noble phrase "_the human face divine_" than when gazing on that sleeping child. The fixed placid smile, the smoothly closed eye with its transparent lid, the air of profound tranquillity, the simple purity (elevated into an aspect of bright intelligence, as if the little cherub already experienced the beatitude of another and a better world,) were perfectly angelic--and mocked all attempt at description. "Of such is the Kingdom of Heaven!" O flower of an earthly spring! destined to blossom in the eternal summer of another and more genial region! Loveliest of lovely children--loveliest to the last! More beautiful in death than aught still living! Thou seemest now to all who miss and mourn thee but a sweet name--a fair vision--a precious memory;--but in reality thou art a more truly living thing than thou wert before or than aught thou hast left behind. Thou hast come early into a rich inheritance. Thou hast now a substantial existence, a genuine glory, an everlasting possession, beyond the sky. Thou hast exchanged the frail flowers that decked thy bier for amaranthine hues and fragrance, and the brief and uncertain delights of mortal being for the eternal and perfect felicity of angels! I never behold elsewhere any of the specimens of the several varieties of flowers which the afflicted parent consigned to the hallowed little coffin without recalling to memory the sainted child taking her last rest on earth. The mother was a woman of taste and sensibility, of high mind and gentle heart, with the liveliest sense of the loveliness of all lovely things; and it is hardly necessary to remind the reader how much refinement such as hers may sometimes alleviate the severity of sorrow. Byron tells us that the stars are A beauty and a mystery, and create In us such love and reverence from afar That fortune, fame, power, life, have named themselves _a star_. But might we not with equal justice say that every thing excellent and beautiful and precious has named itself _a flower_? If stars teach as well as shine--so do flowers. In "still small accents" they charm "the nice and delicate ear of thought" and sweetly whisper that "the hand that made them is divine." The stars are the poetry of heaven--the clouds are the poetry of the middle sky--the flowers are the poetry of the earth. The last is the loveliest to the eye and the nearest to the heart. It is incomparably the sweetest external poetry that Nature provides for man. Its attractions are the most popular; its language is the most intelligible. It is of all others the best adapted to every variety and degree of mind. It is the most endearing, the most familiar, the most homefelt, and congenial. The stars are for the meditation of poets and philosophers; but flowers are not exclusively for the gifted or the scientific; they are the property of all. They address themselves to our common nature. They are equally the delight of the innocent little prattler and the thoughtful sage. Even the rude unlettered rustic betrays some feeling for the beautiful in the presence of the lovely little community of the field and garden. He has no sympathy for the stars: they are too mystical and remote. But the flowers as they blush and smile beneath his eye may stir the often deeply hidden lovingness and gentleness of his nature. They have a social and domestic aspect to which no one with a human heart can be quite indifferent. Few can doat upon the distant flowers of the sky as many of us doat upon the flowers at our feet. The stars are wholly independent of man: not so the sweet children of Flora. We tend upon and cherish them with a parental pride. They seem especially meant for man and man for them. They often need his kindest nursing. We place them with guardian hand in the brightest light and the most wholesome air. We quench with liquid life their sun-raised thirst, or shelter them from the wintry blast, or prepare and enrich their nutritious beds. As they pine or prosper they agitate us with tender anxieties, or thrill us with exultation and delight. In the little plot of ground that fronts an English cottage the flowers are like members of the household. They are of the same family. They are almost as lovely as the children that play with them--though their happy human associates may be amongst The sweetest things that ever grew Beside a human door. The Greeks called flowers the _Festival of the eye_: and so they are: but they are something else, and something better. A flower is not a flower alone, A thousand sanctities invest it. Flowers not only touch the heart; they also elevate the soul. They bind us not entirely to earth; though they make earth delightful. They attract our thoughts downward to the richly embroidered ground only to raise them up again to heaven. If the stars are the scriptures of the sky, the flowers are the scriptures of the earth. If the stars are a more glorious revelation of the Creator's majesty and might, the flowers are at least as sweet a revelation of his gentler attributes. It has been observed that An undevout astronomer is mad. The same thing may be said of an irreverent floriculturist, and with equal truth--perhaps indeed with greater. For the astronomer, in some cases, may be hard and cold, from indulging in habits of thought too exclusively mathematical. But the true lover of flowers has always something gentle and genial in his nature. He never looks upon his floral-family without a sweetened smile upon his face and a softened feeling in his heart; unless his temperament be strangely changed and his mind disordered. The poets, who, speaking generally, are constitutionally religious, are always delighted readers of the flower-illumined pages of the book of nature. One of these disciples of Flora earnestly exclaims: Were I, O God, in churchless lands remaining Far from all voice of teachers and divines, My soul would find in flowers of thy ordaining Priests, sermons, shrines The popular little preachers of the field and garden, with their lovely faces, and angelic language--sending the while such ambrosial incense up to heaven--insinuate the sweetest truths into the human heart. They lead us to the delightful conclusion that beauty is in the list of the _utilities_--that the Divine Artist himself is _a lover of loveliness_--that he has communicated a taste for it to his creatures and most lavishly provided for its gratification. Not a flower But shows some touch, in freckle, streak or stain, Of His unrivalled pencil. He inspires Their balmy odours, and imparts then hues, And bathes their eyes with nectar, and includes In grains as countless as the sea side sands The forms with which he sprinkles all the earth. _Cowper_. In the eye of Utilitarianism the flowers are but idle shows. God might indeed have made this world as plain as a Quaker's garment, without retrenching one actual necessary of physical existence; but He has chosen otherwise; and no earthly potentate was ever so richly clad as his mother earth. "Behold the lilies of the field, they spin not, neither do they toil, yet Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these!" We are thus instructed that man was not meant to live by bread alone, and that the gratification of a sense of beauty is equally innocent and natural and refining. The rose is permitted to spread its sweet leaves to the air and dedicate its beauty to the sun, in a way that is quite perplexing to bigots and stoics and political economists. Yet God has made nothing in vain! The Great Artist of the Universe must have scattered his living hues and his forms of grace over the surface of the earth for some especial and worthy purpose. When Voltaire was congratulated on the rapid growth of his plants, he observed that "_they had nothing else to do_." Oh, yes--they had something else to do,--they had to adorn the earth, and to charm the human eye, and through the eye to soften and cheer the heart and elevate the soul! I have often wished that Lecturers on Botany, instead of confining their instructions to the mere physiology, or anatomy, or classification or nomenclature of their favorite science, would go more into the poetry of it, and teach young people to appreciate the moral influences of the floral tribes--to draw honey for the human heart from the sweet breasts of flowers--to sip from their radiant chalices a delicious medicine for the soul. Flowers are frequently hallowed by associations far sweeter than their sweetest perfume. "I am no botanist:" says Southey in a letter to Walter Savage Landor, "but like you, my earliest and best recollections are connected with flowers, and they always carry me back to other days. Perhaps this is because they are the only things which affect our senses precisely as they did in our childhood. The sweetness of the violet is always the same; and when you rifle a rose and drink, as it were, its fragrance, the refreshment is the same to the old man as to the boy. Sounds recal the past in the same manner, but they do not bring with them individual scenes like the cowslip field, or the corner of the garden to which we have transplanted field-flowers." George Wither has well said in commendation of his Muse: Her divine skill taught me this; That from every thing I saw I could some instruction draw, And raise pleasure to the height By the meanest object's sight, By the murmur of a spring _Or the least bough's rustelling; By a daisy whose leaves spread Shut, when Titan goes to bed; Or a shady bush or tree_, She could more infuse in me Than all Nature's beauties can In some other wiser man. We must not interpret the epithet _wiser_ too literally. Perhaps the poet speaks ironically, or means by some other _wiser man_, one allied in character and temperament to a modern utilitarian Philosopher. Wordsworth seems to have had the lines of George Wither in his mind when he said Thanks to the human heart by which we live, Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears, To me the meanest flower that blows can give Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears. Thomas Campbell, with a poet's natural gallantry, has exclaimed, Without the smile from partial Beauty won, Oh! what were man?--a world without a sun! Let a similar compliment be presented to the "painted populace that dwell in fields and lead ambrosial lives." What a desert were this scene without its flowers--it would be like the sky of night without its stars! "The disenchanted earth" would "lose her lustre." Stars of the day! Beautifiers of the world! Ministrants of delight! Inspirers of kindly emotions and the holiest meditations! Sweet teachers of the serenest wisdom! So beautiful and bright, and graceful, and fragrant--it is no marvel that ye are equally the favorites of the rich and the poor, of the young and the old, of the playful and the pensive! Our country, though originally but sparingly endowed with the living jewelry of nature, is now rich in the choicest flowers of all other countries. Foreigners of many lands, They form one social shade, as if convened By magic summons of the Orphean lyre. _Cowper_. These little "foreigners of many lands" have been so skilfully acclimatized and multiplied and rendered common, that for a few shillings an English peasant may have a parterre more magnificent than any ever gazed upon by the Median Queen in the hanging gardens of Babylon. There is no reason, indeed, to suppose that even the first parents of mankind looked on finer flowers in Paradise itself than are to be found in the cottage gardens that are so thickly distributed over the hills and plains and vallies of our native land. The red rose, is the red rose still, and from the lily's cup An odor fragrant as at first, like frankincense goes up. _Mary Howitt_. Our neat little gardens and white cottages give to dear old England that lovely and cheerful aspect, which is so striking and attractive to her foreign visitors. These beautiful signs of a happy political security and individual independence and domestic peace and a love of order and a homely refinement, are scattered all over the land, from sea to sea. When Miss Sedgwick, the American authoress, visited England, nothing so much surprised and delighted her as the gay flower-filled gardens of our cottagers. Many other travellers, from almost all parts of the world, have experienced and expressed the same sensations on visiting our shores, and it would be easy to compile a voluminous collection of their published tributes of admiration. To a foreign visitor the whole country seems a garden--in the words of Shakespeare--"a _sea-walled garden_." In the year 1843, on a temporary return to England after a long Indian exile, I travelled by railway for the first time in my life. As I glided on, as smoothly as in a sledge, over the level iron road, with such magical rapidity--from the pretty and cheerful town of Southampton to the greatest city of the civilized world--every thing was new to me, and I gave way to child-like wonder and child-like exultation.[002] What a quick succession of lovely landscapes greeted the eye on either side? What a garden-like air of universal cultivation! What beautiful smooth slopes! What green, quiet meadows! What rich round trees, brooding over their silent shadows! What exquisite dark nooks and romantic lanes! What an aspect of unpretending happiness in the clean cottages, with their little trim gardens! What tranquil grandeur and rural luxury in the noble mansions and glorious parks of the British aristocracy! How the love of nature thrilled my heart with a gentle and delicious agitation, and how proud I felt of my dear native land! It is, indeed, a fine thing to be an Englishman. Whether at home or abroad, he is made conscious of the claims of his country to respect and admiration. As I fed my eyes on the loveliness of Nature, or turned to the miracles of Art and Science on every hand, I had always in my mind a secret reference to the effect which a visit to England must produce upon an intelligent and observant foreigner. Heavens! what a goodly prospect spreads around Of hills and dales and woods and lawns and spires, And glittering towns and gilded streams, 'till all The stretching landscape into smoke decays! Happy Brittannia! where the Queen of Arts, Inspiring vigor, Liberty, abroad Walks unconfined, even to thy farthest cots, And scatters plenty with unsparing hand. _Thomson_. And here let me put in a word in favor of the much-abused English climate. I cannot echo the unpatriotic discontent of Byron when he speaks of The cold and cloudy clime Where he was born, but where he would not die. Rather let me say with the author of "_The Seasons_," in his address to England. Rich is thy soil and merciful thy clime. King Charles the Second when he heard some foreigners condemning our climate and exulting in their own, observed that in his opinion that was the best climate in which a man could be out in the open air with pleasure, or at least without trouble and inconvenience, the most days of the year and the most hours of the day; and this he held was the case with the climate of England more than that of any other country in Europe. To say nothing of the lovely and noble specimens of human nature to which it seems so congenial, I may safely assert that it is peculiarly favorable, with, rare exceptions, to the sweet children of Flora. There is no country in the world in which there are at this day such innumerable tribes of flowers. There are in England two thousand varieties of the rose alone, and I venture to express a doubt whether the richest gardens of Persia or Cashmere could produce finer specimens of that universal favorite than are to be found in some of the small but highly cultivated enclosures of respectable English rustics. The actual beauty of some of the commonest flowers in our gardens can be in no degree exaggerated--even in the daydreams of the most inspired poet. And when the author of Lalla Rookh talks so musically and pleasantly of the fragrant bowers of Amberabad, the country of Delight, a Province in Jinnistan or Fairy Land, he is only thinking of the shrubberies and flower-beds at Sloperton Cottage, and the green hills and vales of Wiltshire. Sir William Temple observes that "besides the temper of our climate there are two things particular to us, that contribute much to the beauty and elegance of our gardens--which are, _the gravel of our walks and the fineness and almost perpetual greenness of our turf_." "The face of England is so beautiful," says Horace Walpole, "that I do not believe that Tempe or Arcadia was half so rural; for both lying in hot climates must have wanted _the moss of our gardens_." Meyer, a German, a scientific practical gardener, who was also a writer on gardening, and had studied his art in the Royal Gardens at Paris, and afterwards visited England, was a great admirer of English Gardens, but despaired of introducing our style of gardening into Germany, _chiefly on account of its inferior turf for lawns_. "Lawns and gravel walks," says a writer in the _Quarterly Review_, "are the pride of English Gardens," "The smoothness and verdure of our lawns," continues the same writer, "is the first thing in our gardens that catches the eye of a foreigner; the next is the fineness and firmness of our gravel walks." Mr. Charles Mackintosh makes the same observation. "In no other country in the world," he says, "do such things exist." Mrs. Stowe, whose _Uncle Tom_ has done such service to the cause of liberty in America, on her visit to England seems to have been quite as much enchanted with our scenery, as was her countrywoman, Miss Sedgwick. I am pleased to find Mrs. Stowe recognize the superiority of English landscape-gardening and of our English verdure. She speaks of, "the princely art of landscape-gardening, for which England is so famous," and of "_vistas of verdure and wide sweeps of grass, short, thick, and vividly green_ as the velvet moss sometimes seen growing on rocks in new England." "Grass," she observes, "is an art and a science in England--it is an institution. The pains that are taken in sowing, tending, cutting, clipping, rolling and otherwise nursing and coaxing it, being seconded by the often-falling tears of the climate, produce results which must be seen to be appreciated." This is literally true: any sight more inexpressibly exquisite than that of an English lawn in fine order is what I am quite unable to conceive.[003] I recollect that in one of my visits to England, (in 1827) I attempted to describe the scenery of India to William Hazlitt--not the living son but the dead father. Would that he were still in the land of the living by the side of his friend Leigh Hunt, who has been pensioned by the Government for his support of that cause for which they were both so bitterly persecuted by the ruling powers in days gone by. I flattered myself into the belief that Hazlitt was interested in some of my descriptions of Oriental scenes. What moved him most was an account of the dry, dusty, burning, grassless plains of Bundelcund in the hot season. I told him how once while gasping for breath in a hot verandah and leaning over the rails I looked down upon the sun-baked ground. "A change came o'er the spirit of my dream." I suddenly beheld with all the distinctness of reality the rich, cool, green, unrivalled meads of England. But the vision soon melted away, and I was again in exile. I wept like a child. It was like a beautiful mirage of the desert, or one of those waking dreams of home which have sometimes driven the long-voyaging seaman to distraction and urged him by an irresistible impulse to plunge headlong into the ocean. When I had once more crossed the wide Atlantic--and (not by the necromancy of imagination but by a longer and more tedious transit) found myself in an English meadow,--I exclaimed with the poet, Thou art free My country! and 'tis joy enough and pride For one hour's perfect bliss, _to tread the grass Of England once again_. I felt my childhood for a time renewed, and was by no means disposed to second the assertion that "Nothing can bring back the hour Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower." I have never beheld any thing more lovely than scenery characteristically English; and Goldsmith, who was something of a traveller, and had gazed on several beautiful countries, was justified in speaking with such affectionate admiration of our still more beautiful England, Where lawns extend that scorn Arcadian pride. It is impossible to put into any form of words the faintest representation of that delightful summer feeling which, is excited in fine weather by the sight of the mossy turf of our country. It is sweet indeed to go, Musing through the _lawny_ vale: alluded to by Warton, or over Milton's "level downs," or to climb up Thomson's Stupendous rocks That from the sun-redoubling valley lift Cool to the middle air their _lawny_ tops. It gives the Anglo-Indian Exile the heart-ache to think of these ramblings over English scenes. ENGLAND. Bengala's plains are richly green, Her azure skies of dazzling sheen, Her rivers vast, her forests grand. Her bowers brilliant,--but the land, Though dear to countless eyes it be, And fair to mine, hath not for me The charm ineffable of _home_; For still I yearn to see the foam Of wild waves on thy pebbled shore, Dear Albion! to ascend once more Thy snow-white cliffs; to hear again The murmur of thy circling main-- To stroll down each romantic dale Beloved in boyhood--to inhale Fresh life on green and breezy hills-- To trace the coy retreating rills-- To see the clouds at summer-tide Dappling all the landscape wide-- To mark the varying gloom and glow As the seasons come and go-- Again the green meads to behold Thick strewn with silvery gems and gold, Where kine, bright-spotted, large, and sleek, Browse silently, with aspect meek, Or motionless, in shallow stream Stand mirror'd, till their twin shapes seem, Feet linked to feet, forbid to sever, By some strange magic fixed for ever. And oh! once more I fain would see (Here never seen) a poor man _free_,[004] And valuing more an humble name, But stainless, than a guilty fame, How sacred is the simplest cot, Where Freedom dwells!--where she is not How mean the palace! Where's the spot She loveth more than thy small isle, Queen of the sea? Where hath her smile So stirred man's inmost nature? Where Are courage firm, and virtue fair, And manly pride, so often found As in rude huts on English ground, Where e'en the serf who slaves for hire May kindle with a freeman's fire? How proud a sight to English eyes Are England's village families! The patriarch, with his silver hair, The matron grave, the maiden fair. The rose-cheeked boy, the sturdy lad, On Sabbath day all neatly clad:-- Methinks I see them wend their way On some refulgent morn of May, By hedgerows trim, of fragrance rare, Towards the hallowed House of Prayer! I can love _all_ lovely lands, But England _most_; for she commands. As if she bore a parent's part, The dearest movements of my heart; And here I may not breathe her name. Without a thrill through all my frame. Never shall this heart be cold To thee, my country! till the mould (Or _thine_ or _this_) be o'er it spread. And form its dark and silent bed. I never think of bliss below But thy sweet hills their green heads show, Of love and beauty never dream. But English faces round me gleam! D.L.R. I have often observed that children never wear a more charming aspect than when playing in fields and gardens. In another volume I have recorded some of my impressions respecting the prominent interest excited by these little flowers of humanity in an English landscape. * * * * * THE RETURN TO ENGLAND. When I re-visited my dear native country, after an absence of many weary years, and a long dull voyage, my heart was filled with unutterable delight and admiration. The land seemed a perfect paradise. It was in the spring of the year. The blue vault of heaven--the clear atmosphere--the balmy vernal breeze--the quiet and picturesque cattle, browsing on luxuriant verdure, or standing knee deep in a crystal lake--the hills sprinkled with snow-white sheep and sometimes partially shadowed by a wandering cloud--the meadows glowing with golden butter-cups and be-dropped with daisies--the trim hedges of crisp and sparkling holly--the sound of near but unseen rivulets, and the songs of foliage-hidden birds--the white cottages almost buried amidst trees, like happy human nests--the ivy-covered church, with its old grey spire "pointing up to heaven," and its gilded vane gleaming in the light--the sturdy peasants with their instruments of healthy toil--the white-capped matrons bleaching their newly-washed garments in the sun, and throwing them like snow-patches on green slopes, or glossy garden shrubs--the sun-browned village girls, resting idly on their round elbows at small open casements, their faces in sweet keeping with the trellised flowers:--all formed a combination of enchantments that would mock the happiest imitative efforts of human art. But though the bare enumeration of the details of this English picture, will, perhaps, awaken many dear recollections in the reader's mind, I have omitted by far the most interesting feature of the whole scene--_the rosy children, loitering about the cottage gates, or tumbling gaily on the warm grass_.[005][006] Two scraps of verse of a similar tendency shall follow this prose description:-- AN ENGLISH LANDSCAPE. I stood, upon an English hill, And saw the far meandering rill, A vein of liquid silver, run Sparkling in the summer sun; While adown that green hill's side, And along the valley wide, Sheep, like small clouds touched with light, Or like little breakers bright, Sprinkled o'er a smiling sea, Seemed to float at liberty. Scattered all around were seen, White cots on the meadows green. Open to the sky and breeze, Or peeping through the sheltering trees, On a light gate, loosely hung, Laughing children gaily swung; Oft their glad shouts, shrill and clear, Came upon the startled ear. Blended with the tremulous bleat, Of truant lambs, or voices sweet, Of birds, that take us by surprise, And mock the quickly-searching eyes. Nearer sat a fair-haired boy, Whistling with a thoughtless joy; A shepherd's crook was in his hand, Emblem of a mild command; And upon his rounded cheek Were hues that ripened apples streak. Disease, nor pain, nor sorrowing, Touched that small Arcadian king; His sinless subjects wandered free-- Confusion without anarchy. Happier he upon his throne. The breezy hill--though all alone-- Than the grandest monarchs proud Who mistrust the kneeling crowd. On a gently rising ground, The lovely valley's farthest bound, Bordered by an ancient wood, The cots in thicker clusters stood; And a church, uprose between, Hallowing the peaceful scene. Distance o'er its old walls threw A soft and dim cerulean hue, While the sun-lit gilded spire Gleamed as with celestial fire! I have crossed the ocean wave, Haply for a foreign grave; Haply never more to look On a British hill or brook; Haply never more to hear Sounds unto my childhood dear; Yet if sometimes on my soul Bitter thoughts beyond controul Throw a shade more dark than night, Soon upon the mental sight Flashes forth a pleasant ray Brighter, holier than the day; And unto that happy mood All seems beautiful and good. D.L.R. LINES TO A LADY, WHO PRESENTED THE AUTHOR WITH SOME ENGLISH FRUITS AND FLOWERS. Green herbs and gushing springs in some hot waste Though, grateful to the traveller's sight and taste, Seem far less sweet and fair than fruits and flowers That breathe, in foreign lands, of English bowers. Thy gracious gift, dear lady, well recalls Sweet scenes of home,--the white cot's trellised walls-- The trim red garden path--the rustic seat-- The jasmine-covered arbour, fit retreat For hearts that love repose. Each spot displays Some long-remembered charm. In sweet amaze I feel as one who from a weary dream Of exile wakes, and sees the morning beam Illume the glorious clouds of every hue That float o'er scenes his happy childhood knew. How small a spark may kindle fancy's flame And light up all the past! The very same Glad sounds and sights that charmed my heart of old Arrest me now--I hear them and behold. Ah! yonder is the happy circle seated Within, the favorite bower! I am greeted With joyous shouts; my rosy boys have heard A father's voice--their little hearts are stirred With eager hope of some new toy or treat And on they rush, with never-resting feet! * * * * * Gone is the sweet illusion--like a scene Formed by the western vapors, when between The dusky earth, and day's departing light The curtain falls of India's sudden night. D.L.R. The verdant carpet embroidered with little stars of gold and silver--the short-grown, smooth, and close-woven, but most delicate and elastic fresh sward--so soothing to the dazzled eye, so welcome to the wearied limbs--so suggestive of innocent and happy thoughts,--so refreshing to the freed visitor, long pent up in the smoky city--is surely no where to be seen in such exquisite perfection as on the broad meadows and softly-swelling hills of England. And perhaps in no country in the world could _pic-nic_ holiday-makers or playful children with more perfect security of life and health stroll about or rest upon Earth's richly enamelled floor from sunrise to sunset on a summer's day. No Englishman would dare to stretch himself at full length and address himself to sleep upon an Oriental meadow unless he were perfectly indifferent to life itself and could see nothing terrible in the hostility of the deadliest reptiles. When wading through the long grass and thick jungles of Bengal, he is made to acknowledge the full force of the true and beautiful expression--"_In the midst of life we are in death_." The British Indian exile on his return home is delighted with the "sweet security" of his native fields. He may then feel with Wordsworth how Dear is the forest frowning o'er his head. And dear _the velvet greensward_ to his tread. Or he may exclaim in the words of poor Keats--now slumbering under a foreign turf-- Happy is England! I could be content To see no other verdure than her own. It is a pleasing proof of the fine moral influence of natural scenery that the most ceremonious strangers can hardly be long seated together in the open air on the "velvet greensward" without casting off for a while the cold formalities of artificial life, and becoming as frank and social as ingenuous school-boys. Nature breathes peace and geniality into almost every human heart. "John Thelwall," says Coleridge, "had something very good about him. We were sitting in a beautiful recess in the Quantocks when I said to him 'Citizen John, this is a fine place to talk treason in!' 'Nay, Citizen Samuel,' replied he, 'it is rather a place to make us forget that there is any necessity for treason!'" Leigh Hunt, who always looks on nature with the eye of a true painter and the imagination of a true poet, has represented with delightful force and vividness some of those accidents of light and shade that diversify an English meadow. RAIN AND SUNSHINE IN MAY. "Can any thing be more lovely, than the meadows between the rains of May, when the sun smites them on the sudden like a painter, and they laugh up at him, as if he had lighted a loving cheek! I speak of a season when the returning threats of cold and the resisting warmth of summer time, make robust mirth in the air; when the winds imitate on a sudden the vehemence of winter; and silver-white clouds are abrupt in their coming down and shadows on the grass chase one another, panting, over the fields, like a pursuit of spirits. With undulating necks they pant forward, like hounds or the leopard. See! the cloud is after the light, gliding over the country like the shadow of a god; and now the meadows are lit up here and there with sunshine, as if the soul of Titian were standing in heaven, and playing his fancies on them. Green are the trees in shadow; but the trees in the sun how twenty-fold green _they_ are--rich and variegated with gold!" One of the many exquisite out-of-doors enjoyments for the observers of nature, is the sight of an English harvest. How cheering it is to behold the sickles flashing in the sun, as the reapers with well sinewed arm, and with a sweeping movement, mow down the close-arrayed ranks of the harvest field! What are "the rapture of the strife" and all the "pomp, pride and circumstance of glorious war," that bring death to some and agony and grief to others, compared with the green and golden trophies of the honest Husbandman whose bloodless blade makes no wife a widow, no child an orphan,--whose office is not to spread horror and desolation through shrieking cities, but to multiply and distribute the riches of nature over a smiling land. But let us quit the open fields for a time, and turn again to the flowery retreats of Retired Leisure That in trim gardens takes his pleasure. In all ages, in all countries, in all creeds, a garden is represented as the scene not only of earthly but of celestial enjoyment. The ancients had their Elysian Fields and the garden of the Hesperides, the Christian has his Garden of Eden, the Mahommedan his Paradise of groves and flowers and crystal fountains and black eyed Houries. "God Almighty," says Lord Bacon, "first planted a garden; and indeed it is the purest of all pleasures: it is the greatest refreshment to the spirits of man." Bacon, though a utilitarian philosopher, was such a lover of flowers that he was never satisfied unless he saw them in almost every room of his house, and when he came to discourse of them in his Essays, his thoughts involuntarily moved harmonious numbers. How naturally the following prose sentence in Bacon's Essay on Gardens almost resolves itself into verse. "For the heath which was the first part of our plot, I wish it to be framed as much as may be to a natural wildness. Trees I would have none in it, but some thickets made only of sweet briar and honeysuckle, and some wild vine amongst; and the ground set with violets, strawberries and primroses; for these are sweet, and prosper in the shade." "For the heath which was the third part of our plot-- I wish it to be framed As much as may be to a natural wildness. Trees I'd have none in't, but some thickets made Only of sweet-briar and honey-suckle, And some wild vine amongst; and the ground set With violets, strawberries, and primroses; For these are sweet and prosper in the shade." It has been observed that the love of gardens is the only passion which increases with age. It is generally the most indulged in the two extremes of life. In middle age men are often too much involved in the affairs of the busy world fully to appreciate the tranquil pleasures in the gift of Flora. Flowers are the toys of the young and a source of the sweetest and serenest enjoyments for the old. But there is no season of life for which they are unfitted and of which they cannot increase the charm. "Give me," says the poet Rogers, "a garden well kept, however small, two or three spreading trees and a mind at ease, and I defy the world." The poet adds that he would not have his garden, too much extended. He seems to think it possible to have too much of a good thing. "Three acres of flowers and a regiment of gardeners," he says, "bring no more pleasure than a sufficiency." "A hundred thousand roses," he adds, "which we look at _en masse_, do not identify themselves in the same manner as even a very small border; and hence, if the cottager's mind is properly attuned, the little cottage-garden may give him more real delight than belongs to the owner of a thousand acres." In a smaller garden "we become acquainted, as it were," says the same poet, "and even form friendships with, individual flowers." It is delightful to observe how nature thus adjusts the inequalities of fortune and puts the poor man, in point of innocent happiness, on a level with the rich. The man of the most moderate means may cultivate many elegant tastes, and may have flowers in his little garden that the greatest sovereign in the world might enthusiastically admire. Flowers are never vulgar. A rose from a peasant's patch of ground is as fresh and elegant and fragrant as if it had been nurtured in a Royal parterre, and it would not be out of place in the richest porcelain vase of the most aristocratical drawing-room in Europe. The poor man's flower is a present for a princess, and of all gifts it is the one least liable to be rejected even by the haughty. It might he worn on the fair brow or bosom of Queen Victoria with a nobler grace than the costliest or most elaborate production of the goldsmith or the milliner. The majority of mankind, in the most active spheres of life, have moments in which they sigh for rural retirement, and seldom dream of such a retreat without making a garden the leading charm of it. Sir Henry Wotton says that Lord Bacon's garden was one of the best that he had seen either at home or abroad. Evelyn, the author of "Sylva, or a Discourse of Forest Trees," dwells with fond admiration, and a pleasing egotism, on the charms of his own beautiful and highly cultivated estate at Wooton in the county of Surrey. He tells us that the house is large and ancient and is "sweetly environed with delicious streams and venerable woods." "I will say nothing," he continues, "of the air, because the pre-eminence is universally given to Surrey, the soil being dry and sandy; but I should speak much of the gardens, fountains and groves that adorn it, were they not generally known to be amongst the most natural, and (till this later and universal luxury of the whole nation, since abounding in such expenses) the most magnificent that England afforded, and which indeed gave one of the first examples to that elegancy, since so much in vogue and followed, for the managing of their waters and other elegancies of that nature." Before he came into the possession of his paternal estate he resided at _Say's Court_, near Deptford, an estate which he possessed by purchase, and where he had a superb holly hedge four hundred feet long, nine feet high and five feet broad. Of this hedge, he was particularly proud, and he exultantly asks, "Is there under heaven a more glorious and refreshing object of the kind?" When the Czar of Muscovy visited England in 1698 to instruct himself in the art of ship-building, he had the use of Evelyn's house and garden, at _Say's Court_, and while there did so much damage to the latter that the owner loudly and bitterly complained. At last the Government gave Evelyn £150 as an indemnification. Czar Peter's favorite amusement was to ride in a wheel barrow through what its owner had once called the "impregnable hedge of holly." Evelyn was passionately fond of gardening. "The life and felicity of an excellent gardener," he observes, "is preferable to all other diversions." His faith in the art of Landscape-gardening was unwavering. It could _remove mountains_. Here is an extract from his Diary. "Gave his brother some directions about his garden" (at Wooton Surrey), "which, he was desirous to put into some form, for which he was to remove a mountain overgrown with large trees and thickets and a moat within ten yards of the house." No sooner said than done. His brother dug down the mountain and "flinging it into a rapid stream (which carried away the sand) filled up the moat and levelled that noble area where now the garden and fountain is." Though Evelyn dearly loved a garden, his chief delight was not in flowers but in forest trees, and he was more anxious to improve the growth of plants indigenous to the soil than to introduce exotics.[007] Sir William Temple was so attached to his garden, that he left directions in his will that his heart should be buried there. It was enclosed in a silver box and placed under a sun-dial. Dr. Thomson Reid, the eminent Scottish metaphysician, used to be found working in his garden in his eighty-seventh year. The name of Chatham is in the long list of eminent men who have enjoyed a garden. We are told that "he loved the country: took peculiar pleasure in gardening; and had an extremely happy taste in laying out grounds." What a delightful thing it must have been for that great statesman, thus to relieve his mind from the weight of public care in the midst of quiet bowers planted and trained by his own hand! Burton, in his _Anatomy of Melancholy_, notices the attractions of a garden as amongst the finest remedies for depression of the mind. I must give the following extracts from his quaint but interesting pages. "To see the pleasant fields, the crystal fountains, And take the gentle air amongst the mountains. "To walk amongst orchards, gardens, bowers, mounts, and arbours, artificial wildernesses, green thickets, arches, groves, lawns, rivulets, fountains, and such like pleasant places, (like that Antiochian Daphne,) brooks, pools, fishponds, between wood and water, in a fair meadow, by a river side, _ubi variae avium cantationes, florum colores, pratorum frutices_, &c. to disport in some pleasant plain, or park, run up a steep hill sometimes, or sit in a shady seat, must needs be a delectable recreation. _Hortus principis et domus ad delectationem facta, cum sylvâ, monte et piscinâ, vulgò la montagna_: the prince's garden at Ferrara, Schottus highly magnifies, with the groves, mountains, ponds, for a delectable prospect; he was much affected with it; a Persian paradise, or pleasant park, could not be more delectable in his sight. St. Bernard, in the description of his monastery, is almost ravished with the pleasures of it. "A sick man (saith he) sits upon a green bank, and when the dog-star parcheth the plains, and dries up rivers, he lies in a shady bower," _Fronde sub arborea ferventia temperat astra_, "and feeds his eyes with variety of objects, herbs, trees, to comfort his misery; he receives many delightsome smells, and fills his ears with that sweet and various harmony of birds; _good God_, (saith he), _what a company of pleasures hast thou made for man!_" * * * * * "The country hath his recreations, the city his several gymnics and exercises, May games, feasts, wakes, and merry meetings to solace themselves; the very being in the country; that life itself is a sufficient recreation to some men, to enjoy such pleasures, as those old patriarchs did. Dioclesian, the emperor, was so much affected with it, that he gave over his sceptre, and turned gardener. Constantine wrote twenty books of husbandry. Lysander, when ambassadors came to see him, bragged of nothing more than of his orchard, _hi sunt ordines mei_. What shall I say of Cincinnatus, Cato, Tully, and many such? how they have been pleased with it, to prune, plant, inoculate and graft, to show so many several kinds of pears, apples, plums, peaches, &c." The Romans of all ranks made use of flowers as ornaments and emblems, but they were not generally so fond of directing or assisting the gardener, or taking the spade or hoe into their own hands, as are the British peasantry, gentry and nobility of the present day. They were not amateur Florists. They prized highly their fruit trees and pastures and cool grottoes and umbrageous groves; but they expended comparatively little time, skill or taste upon the flower-garden. Even their love of nature, though thoroughly genuine as far as it went, did not imply that minute and exact knowledge of her charms which characterizes some of our best British poets. They had no Thompson or Cowper. Their country seats were richer in architectural than floral beauty. Tully's Tuscan Villa, so fondly and minutely described by the proprietor himself, would appear to little advantage in the eyes of a true worshipper of Flora, if compared with Pope's retreat at Twickenham. The ancients had a taste for the _rural_, not for the _gardenesque_, nor perhaps even for the _picturesque_. The English have a taste for all three. Hence they have good landscape-gardeners and first-rate landscape-painters. The old Romans had neither. But though, some of our Spitalfields weavers have shown a deeper love, and perhaps even a finer taste, for flowers, than were exhibited by the citizens of Rome, abundant evidence is furnished to us by the poets in all ages and in all countries that nature, in some form or another has ever charmed the eye and the heart of man. The following version of a famous passage in Virgil, especially the lines in Italics, may give the English reader some idea of a Roman's dream of RURAL HAPPINESS. Ah! happy Swains! if they their bliss but knew, Whom, far from boisterous war, Earth's bosom true With easy food supplies. If they behold No lofty dome its gorgeous gates unfold And pour at morn from all its chambers wide Of flattering visitants the mighty tide; Nor gaze on beauteous columns richly wrought, Or tissued robes, or busts from Corinth brought; Nor their white wool with Tyrian poison soil, Nor taint with Cassia's bark their native oil; _Yet peace is theirs; a life true bliss that yields; And various wealth; leisure mid ample fields, Grottoes, and living lakes, and vallies green, And lowing herds; and 'neath a sylvan screen, Delicious slumbers. There the lawn and cave With beasts of chase abound._ The young ne'er crave A prouder lot; their patient toil is cheered; Their Gods are worshipped and their sires revered; And there when Justice passed from earth away She left the latest traces of her sway. D.L.R. Lord Bacon was perhaps the first Englishman who endeavored to reform the old system of English gardening, and to show that it was contrary to good taste and an insult to nature. "As for making knots or figures," he says, "with divers colored earths, that may lie under the windows of the house on that side on which the garden stands, they be but toys: you may see as good sights many times in tarts." Bacon here alludes, I suppose, to the old Dutch fashion of dividing flowerbeds into many compartments, and instead of filling them with flowers, covering one with red brick dust, another with charcoal, a third with yellow sand, a fourth with chalk, a fifth with broken China, and others with green glass, or with spars and ores. But Milton, in his exquisite description of the garden of Eden, does not allude to the same absurd fashion when he speaks of "curious knots," Which not nice art, In beds and _curious knots_, but nature boon Poured forth profuse on hill and dale and plain. By these _curious knots_ the poet seems to allude, not to figures of "divers colored earth," but to the artificial and complicated arrangements and divisions of flowers and flower-beds. Though Bacon went not quite so freely to nature as our latest landscape-gardeners have done, he made the _first step_ in the right direction and deserves therefore the compliment which Mason has paid him in his poem of _The English Garden_. On thy realm Philosophy his sovereign lustre spread; Yet did he deign to light with casual glance The wilds of Taste, Yes, sagest Verulam, 'Twas thine to banish from the royal groves Each childish vanity of crisped knot[008] And sculptured foliage; to the lawn restore Its ample space, and bid it feast the sight With verdure pure, unbroken, unabridged; For verdure soothes the eye, as roseate sweets The smell, or music's melting strains the ear. Yes--"_verdure soothes the eye_:"--and the mind too. Bacon himself observes, that "nothing is more pleasant to the eye than green grass kept finely shorn." Mason slightly qualifies his commendation of "the sage" by admitting that he had not quite completed his emancipation from the bad taste of his day. Witness his high arched hedge In pillored state by carpentry upborn, With colored mirrors decked and prisoned birds. But, when our step has paced the proud parterre, And reached the heath, then Nature glads our eye Sporting in all her lovely carelessness, There smiles in varied tufts the velvet rose, There flaunts the gadding woodbine, swells the ground In gentle hillocks, and around its sides Through blossomed shades the secret pathway steals. _The English Garden_. In one of the notes to _The English Garden_ it is stated that "Bacon was the prophet, Milton the herald of modern Gardening; and Addison, Pope, and Kent the champions of true taste." Kent was by profession both a Painter and a Landscape-Gardener. Addison who had a pretty little retreat at Bilton, near Rugby, evinces in most of his occasional allusions to gardens a correct judgment. He complains that even in _his_ time our British gardeners, instead of humouring nature, loved to deviate from it as much as possible. The system of verdant sculpture had not gone out of fashion. Our trees still rose in cones, globes, and pyramids. The work of the scissors was on every plant and bush. It was Pope, however, who did most to bring the topiary style into contempt and to encourage a more natural taste, by his humorous paper in the _Guardian_ and his poetical Epistle to the Earl of Burlington. Gray, the poet, observes in one of his letters, that "our skill in gardening, or rather laying out grounds, is the only taste we can call our own; the only proof of original talent in matters of pleasure. This is no small honor to us;" he continues, "since neither France nor Italy, has ever had the least notion of it." "Whatever may have been reported, whether truly or falsely" (says a contributor to _The World_) "of the Chinese gardens, it is certain that we are the first of the Europeans who have founded this taste; and we have been so fortunate in the genius of those who have had the direction of some of the finest spots of ground, that we may now boast a success equal to that profusion of expense which has been destined to promote the rapid progress of this happy enthusiasm. Our gardens are already the astonishment of foreigners, and, in proportion as they accustom themselves to consider and understand them will become their admiration." The periodical from which this is taken was published exactly a century ago, and the writer's prophecy has been long verified. Foreigners send to us for gardeners to help them to lay out their grounds in the English fashion. And we are told by the writer of an interesting article on gardens, in the _Quarterly Review_, that "the lawns at Paris, to say nothing of Naples, are regularly irrigated to keep up even the semblance of English verdure; and at the gardens of Versailles, and Caserta, near Naples, the walks have been supplied from the Kensington gravel-pits." "It is not probably known," adds the same writer, "that among our exportations every year is a large quantity of evergreens for the markets of France and Germany, and that there are some nurserymen almost wholly engaged in this branch of trade." Pomfret, a poet of small powers, if a poet at all, has yet contrived to produce a popular composition in verse--_The Choice_--because he has touched with great good fortune on some of the sweetest domestic hopes and enjoyments of his countrymen. If Heaven the grateful liberty would give That I might choose my method how to live; And all those hours propitious Fate should lend In blissful ease and satisfaction spend; Near some fair town I'd have a private seat Built uniform; not little; nor too great: Better if on a rising ground it stood, On this side fields, on that a neighbouring wood. _The Choice_. Pomfret perhaps illustrates the general taste when he places his garden "_near some fair town_." Our present laureate, though a truly inspired poet, and a genuine lover of Nature even in her remotest retreats, has the garden of his preference, "_not quite beyond the busy world_." Not wholly in the busy world, nor quite Beyond it, blooms the garden that I love, News from the humming city comes to it In sound of funeral or of marriage bells; And sitting muffled in dark leaves you hear The windy clanging of the minster clock; Although between it and the garden lies A league of grass. Even "sounds inharmonious in themselves and harsh" are often pleasing when mellowed by the space of air through which they pass. 'Tis distance lends enchantment to the _sound_. Shelley, in one of his sweetest poems, speaking of a scene in the neighbourhood of Naples, beautifully says:-- Like many a voice of one delight, The winds, the birds, the ocean floods, _The city's voice itself is soft_, like solitude's. No doubt the feeling that we are _near_ the crowd but not _in_ it, may deepen the sense of our own happy rural seclusion and doubly endear that pensive leisure in which we can "think down hours to moments," and in This our life, exempt from public haunt, Find tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, Sermons in stones, and good in every thing. _Shakespeare_. Besides, to speak truly, few men, however studious or philosophical, desire a total isolation from the world. It is pleasant to be able to take a sort of side glance at humanity, even when we are most in love with nature, and to feel that we can join our fellow creatures again when the social feeling returns upon us. Man was not made to live alone. Cowper, though he clearly loved retirement and a garden, did not desire to have the pleasure entirely to himself. "Grant me," he says, "a friend in my retreat." To whom to whisper solitude is sweet. Cowper lived and died a bachelor. In the case of a married man and a father, garden delights are doubled by the presence of the family and friends, if wife and children happen to be what they should be, and the friends are genuine and genial. All true poets delight in gardens. The truest that ever lived spent his latter days at New Place in Stratford-upon-Avon. He had a spacious and beautiful garden. Charles Knight tells us that "the Avon washed its banks; and within its enclosures it had its sunny terraces and green lawns, its pleached alleys and honeysuckle bowers," In this garden Shakespeare planted with his own hands his celebrated Mulberry tree. It was a noble specimen of the black Mulberry introduced into England in 1548[009]. In 1605, James I. issued a Royal edict recommending the cultivation of silkworms and offering packets of mulberry seeds to those amongst his subjects who were willing to sow them. Shakespeare's tree was planted in 1609. Mr. Loudon, observes that the black Mulberry has been known from the earliest records of antiquity and that it is twice mentioned in the Bible: namely, in the second Book of Samuel and in the Psalms. When New Place was in the possession of Sir Hough Clopton, who was proud of its interesting association with the history of our great poet, not only were Garrick and Macklin most hospitably entertained under the Mulberry tree, but all strangers on a proper application were admitted to a sight of it. But when Sir Hough Clopton was succeeded by the Reverend Francis Gastrell, that gentleman, to save himself the trouble of showing the tree to visitors, had "the gothic barbarity" to cut down and root up that interesting--indeed _sacred_ memorial--of the Pride of the British Isles. The people of Stratford were so enraged at this sacrilege that they broke Mr. Gastrell's windows. That prosaic personage at last found the place too hot for him, and took his departure from a town whose inhabitants "doated on his very absence;" but before he went he completed the fall sum of his sins against good taste and good feeling by pulling to the ground the house in which Shakespeare had lived and died. This was done, it is said, out of sheer spite to the towns-people, with some of whom Mr. Gastrell had had a dispute about the rate at which the house was taxed. His change of residence was no great relief to him, for the whole British public felt sorely aggrieved, and wherever he went he was peppered with all sorts of squibs and satires. He "slid into verse," and "hitched in a rhyme." Sacred to ridicule his whole life long, And the sad burden of a merry song. Thomas Sharp, a watchmaker, got possession of the fragments of Shakespeare's Mulberry tree, and worked them into all sorts of elegant ornaments and toys, and disposed of them at great prices. The corporation of Stratford presented Garrick with the freedom of the town in a box made of the wood of this famous tree, and the compliment seems to have suggested to him his public festival or pageant in honor of the poet. This Jubilee, which was got up with great zeal, and at great expense and trouble, was attended by vast throngs of the admirers of Shakespeare from all parts of the kingdom. It was repeated on the stage and became so popular as a theatrical exhibition that it was represented night after night for more than half a season to crowded audiences. Upon the subject of gardens, let us hear what has been said by the self-styled "melancholy Cowley." When in the smoky city pent, amidst the busy hum of men, he sighed unceasingly for some green retreat. As he paced the crowded thorough-fares of London, he thought of the velvet turf and the pure air of the country. His imagination carried him into secluded groves or to the bank of a murmuring river, or into some trim and quiet garden. "I never," he says, "had any other desire so strong and so like to covetousness, as that one which I have had always, that I might be master at last of a small house and a large garden, with very moderate conveniences joined to them, and there dedicate the remainder of my life only to the culture of them and the study of nature," The late Miss Mitford, whose writings breathe so freshly of the nature that she loved so dearly, realized for herself a similar desire. It is said that she had the cottage of a peasant with the garden of a Duchess. Cowley is not contented with expressing in plain prose his appreciation of garden enjoyments. He repeatedly alludes to them in verse. Thus, thus (and this deserved great Virgil's praise) The old Corycian yeoman passed his days; Thus his wise life Abdolonymus spent; Th' ambassadors, which the great emperor sent To offer him a crown, with wonder found The reverend gardener, hoeing of his ground; Unwillingly and slow and discontent From his loved cottage to a throne he went; And oft he stopped, on his triumphant way: And oft looked back: and oft was heard to say Not without sighs, Alas! I there forsake A happier kingdom than I go to take. _Lib. IV. Plantarum_. Here is a similar allusion by the same poet to the delights which great men amongst the ancients have taken in a rural retirement. Methinks, I see great Dioclesian walk In the Salonian garden's noble shade Which by his own imperial hands was made, I see him smile, methinks, as he does talk With the ambassadors, who come in vain To entice him to a throne again. "If I, my friends," said he, "should to you show All the delights which in these gardens grow, 'Tis likelier much that you should with me stay, Than 'tis that you should carry me away: And trust me not, my friends, if every day I walk not here with more delight, Than ever, after the most happy sight In triumph to the Capitol I rode, To thank the gods, and to be thought myself almost a god," _The Garden_. Cowley does not omit the important moral which a garden furnishes. Where does the wisdom and the power divine In a more bright and sweet reflection shine? Where do we finer strokes and colors see Of the Creator's real poetry. Than when we with attention look Upon the third day's volume of the book? If we could open and intend our eye _We all, like Moses, might espy, E'en in a bush, the radiant Deity_. In Leigh Hunt's charming book entitled _The Town_, I find the following notice of the partiality of poets for houses with gardens attached to them:-- "It is not surprizing that _garden-houses_ as they were called; should have formerly abounded in Holborn, in Bunhill Row, and other (at that time) suburban places. We notice the fact, in order to observe _how fond the poets were of occupying houses of this description. Milton seems to have made a point of having one_. The only London residence of Chapman which is known, was in Old Street Road; doubtless at that time a rural suburb. Beaumont and Fletcher's house, on the Surrey side of the Thames, (for they lived as well as wrote together,) most probably had a garden; and Dryden's house in Gerard Street looked into the garden of the mansion built by the Earls of Leicester. A tree, or even a flower, put in a window in the streets of a great city, (and the London citizens, to their credit, are fond of flowers,) affects the eye something in the same way as the hand-organs, which bring unexpected music to the ear. They refresh the common-places of life, shed a harmony through the busy discord, and appeal to those first sources of emotion, which are associated with the remembrance of all that is young and innocent." Milton must have been a passionate lover of flowers and flower-gardens or he could never have exhibited the exquisite taste and genial feeling which characterize all the floral allusions and descriptions with which so much of his poetry is embellished. He lived for some time in a house in Westminster over-looking the Park. The same house was tenanted by Jeremy Bentham for forty years. It would be difficult to meet with any two individuals of more opposite temperaments than the author of _Paradise Lost_ and the Utilitarian Philosopher. There is or was a stone in the wall at the end of the garden inscribed TO THE PRINCE OF POETS. Two beautiful cotton trees overarched the inscription, "and to show" says Hazlitt, (who subsequently lived in the same house himself,) "how little the refinements of taste or fancy entered Bentham's system, he proposed at one time to cut down these beautiful trees, to convert the garden, where he had breathed an air of truth and heaven for near half a century, into a paltry Chreistomathic School, and to make Milton's house (the cradle of _Paradise Lost_) a thoroughfare, like a three-stalled stable, for the idle rabble of Westminster to pass backwards and forwards to it with their cloven hoofs!" No poet, ancient or modern, has described a garden on a large scale in so noble a style as Milton. He has anticipated the finest conceptions of the latest landscape-gardeners, and infinitely surpassed all the accounts we have met with of the gardens of the olden time before us. His Paradise is a Spot more delicious than those gardens feigned Or of revived Adonis or renowned Alcinous, host of old Laertes' son Or that, not mystic, where the sapient King Held dalliance with his fair Egyptian spouse[010] The description is too long to quote entire, but I must make room for a delightful extract. Familiar as it must be to all lovers of poetry, who will object to read it again and again? Genuine poetry is like a masterpiece of the painter's art:--we can gaze with admiration for the hundredth time on a noble picture. The mind and the eye are never satiated with the truly beautiful. "A thing of beauty is a joy for ever." PARADISE.[011] So on he fares, and to the border comes Of Eden, where delicious Paradise, Now nearer, crowns with her enclosure green, As with a rural mound, the champaign head Of a steep wilderness, whose hairy sides With thicket overgrown, grotesque and wild, Access denied: and overhead up grew Insuperable height of loftiest shade, Cedar, and pine, and fir, and branching palm, A sylvan scene; and as, the ranks ascend Shade above shade, a woody theatre Of stateliest view. Yet higher than their tops, The verdurous wall of Paradise up-sprung: Which to our general sire gave prospect large Into his nether empire neighbouring round; And higher than that wall a circling row Of goodliest trees, loaden with fairest fruit, Blossoms and fruits at once, of golden hue, Appear'd, with gay enamell'd colours mix'd; On which the sun more glad impress'd his beams, Than on fair evening cloud, or humid bow. When God hath shower'd the earth; so lovely seem'd That landscape: and of pure now purer air Meets his approach, and to the heart inspires Vernal delight and joy, able to drive All sadness but despair: now gentle gales, Fanning their odoriferous wings, dispense Native perfumes and whisper whence they stole Those balmy spoils. As when to them who sail Beyond the Cape of Hope, and now are past Mozambic, off at sea north-east winds blow Sabean odours from the spicy shore Of Araby the Blest; with such delay Well pleased they slack their course, and many a league Cheer'd with the grateful smell, old Ocean smiles. * * * * * Southward through Eden went a river large, Nor changed his course, but through the shaggy hill Pass'd underneath ingulf'd; for God had thrown That mountain as his garden mould, high raised Upon the rapid current, which through veins Of porous earth with kindly thirst up-drawn, Rose a fresh fountain, and with many a rill Water'd the garden; thence united fell Down the steep glade, and met the nether flood, Which from his darksome passage now appears; And now, divided into four main streams, Runs diverse, wandering many a famous realm And country, whereof here needs no account; But rather to tell how, if art could tell, How from that sapphire fount the crisped brooks, Rolling on orient pearl and sands of gold, With mazy error under pendent shades, Ran nectar, visiting each plant, and fed Flowers worthy of Paradise, which not nice art In beds and curious knots, but nature boon Pour'd forth profuse on hill, and dale, and plain, Both where the morning sun first warmly smote The open field, and where the unpierced shade Imbrown'd the noontide bowers; thus was this place A happy rural seat of various view; Groves whose rich, trees wept odorous gums and balm; Others whose fruit, burnish'd with golden rind, Hung amiable, Hesperian fables true, If true, here only, and of delicious taste: Betwixt them lawns, or level downs, and flocks Grazing the tender herb, were interposed; Or palmy hillock, or the flowery lap Of some irriguous valley spread her store, Flowers of all hue, and without thorn the rose: Another side, umbrageous grots and caves Of cool recess, o'er which the mantling vine Lays forth her purple grape, and gently creeps Luxuriant; meanwhile murmuring waters fall Down the slope hills, dispersed, or in a lake, That to the fringed bank with myrtle crown'd Her crystal mirror holds, unite their streams. The birds their quire apply; airs, vernal airs, Breathing the smell of field and grove attune, The trembling leaves, while universal Pan, Knit with the Graces and the Hours in dance, Led on the eternal Spring. Pope in his grounds at Twickenham, and Shenstone in his garden farm of the Leasowes, taught their countrymen to understand how much taste and refinement of soul may be connected with the laying out of gardens and the cultivation of flowers. I am sorry to learn that the famous retreats of these poets are not now what they were. The lovely nest of the little Nightingale of Twickenham has fallen into vulgar hands. And when Mr. Loudon visited (in 1831) the once beautiful grounds of Shenstone, he "found them in a state of indescribable neglect and ruin." Pope said that of all his works that of which he was proudest was his garden. It was of but five acres, or perhaps less, but to this he is said to have given a charming variety. He enumerates amongst the friends who assisted him in the improvement of his grounds, the gallant Earl of Peterborough "whose lightnings pierced the Iberian lines." Know, all the distant din that world can keep, Rolls o'er my grotto, and but soothes my sleep. There my retreat the best companions grace Chiefs out of war and statesmen out of place. There St. John mingles with my friendly bowl The feast of reason and the flow of soul; And he whose lightnings pierced the Iberian lines Now forms my quincunx and now ranks my vines; Or tames the genius of the stubborn plain Almost as quickly as he conquered Spain. Frederick Prince of Wales took a lively interest in Pope's tasteful Tusculanum and made him a present of some urns or vases either for his "laurel circus or to terminate his points." His famous grotto, which he is so fond of alluding to, was excavated to avoid an inconvenience. His property lying on both sides of the public highway, he contrived his highly ornamented passage under the road to preserve privacy and to connect the two portions of his estate. The poet has given us in one of his letters a long and lively description of his subterranean embellishments. But his verse will live longer than his prose. He has immortalized this grotto, so radiant with spars and ores and shells, in the following poetical inscription:-- Thou, who shalt stop, where Thames' translucent wave Shines a broad mirror through the shadowy cave, Where lingering drops from mineral roofs distil, And pointed crystals break the sparkling rill, Unpolished gems no ray on pride bestow, And latent metals innocently glow, Approach! Great Nature studiously behold, And eye the mine without a wish for gold Approach--but awful! Lo, the Egerian grot, Where, nobly pensive, ST JOHN sat and thought, Where British sighs from dying WYNDHAM stole, And the bright flame was shot thro' MARCHMONT'S soul; Let such, such only, tread this sacred floor Who dare to love their country, and be poor. Horace Walpole, speaking of the poet's garden, tells us that "the passing through the gloom from the grotto to the opening day, the retiring and again assembling shades, the dusky groves, the larger lawn, and the solemnity at the cypresses that led up to his mother's tomb, were managed with exquisite judgment." Cliveden's proud alcove, The bower of wanton Shrewsbury and love, alluded to by Pope in his sketch of the character of Villiers, Duke of Buckingham, though laid out by Kent, was probably improved by the poet's suggestions. Walpole seems to think that the beautiful grounds at Rousham, laid out for General Dormer, were planned on the model of the garden at Twickenham, at least the opening and retiring "shades of Venus's Vale." And these grounds at Rousham were pronounced "the most engaging of all Kent's works." It is said that the design of the garden at Carlton House, was borrowed from that of Pope. Wordsworth was correct in his observation that "Landscape gardening is a liberal art akin to the arts of poetry and painting." Walpole describes it as "an art that realizes painting and improves nature." "Mahomet," he adds, "imagined an Elysium, but Kent created many." Pope's mansion was not a very spacious one, but it was large enough for a private gentleman of inexpensive habits. After the poet's death it was purchased by Sir William Stanhope who enlarged both the house and garden.[012] A bust of Pope, in white marble, has been placed over an arched way with the following inscription from the pen of Lord Nugent: The humble roof, the garden's scanty line, Ill suit the genius of the bard divine; But fancy now displays a fairer scope And Stanhope's plans unfold the soul of Pope. I have not heard who set up this bust with its impudent inscription. I hope it was not Stanhope himself. I cannot help thinking that it would have been a truer compliment to the memory of Pope if the house and grounds had been kept up exactly as he had left them. Most people, I suspect, would greatly have preferred the poet's own "unfolding of his soul" to that "_unfolding_" attempted for him by a Stanhope and commemorated by a Nugent. Pope exhibited as much taste in laying out his grounds as in constructing his poems. Sir William, after his attempt to make the garden more worthy of the original designer, might just as modestly have undertaken to enlarge and improve the poetry of Pope on the plea that it did not sufficiently _unfold his soul_. A line of Lord Nugent's might in that case have been transferred from the marble bust to the printed volume: His fancy now displays a fairer scope. Or the enlarger and improver might have taken his motto from Shakespeare: To my _unfolding_ lend a gracious ear. This would have been an appropriate motto for the title-page of "_The Poems of Pope: enlarged and improved: or The Soul of the Poet Unfolded_." But in sober truth, Pope, whether as a gardener or as a poet, required no enlarger or improver of his works. After Sir William Stanhope had left Pope's villa it came into the possession of Lord Mendip, who exhibited a proper respect for the poet's memory; but when in 1807 it was sold to the Baroness Howe, that lady pulled down the house and built another. The place subsequently came into the possession of a Mr. Young. The grounds have now no resemblance to what the taste of Pope had once made them. Even his mother's monument has been removed! Few things would have more deeply touched the heart of the poet than the anticipation of this insult to the memory of so revered a parent. His filial piety was as remarkable as his poetical genius. No passages in his works do him more honor both as a man and as a poet than those which are mellowed into a deeper tenderness of sentiment and a softer and sweeter music by his domestic affections. There are probably few readers of English poetry who have not the following lines by heart, Me, let the tender office long engage To rock the cradle of reposing age; With lenient arts extend a mother's breath; Make langour smile, and smooth the bed of death; Explore the thought, explain the asking eye, And keep at least one parent from the sky. In a letter to Swift (dated March 29, 1731) begun by Lord Bolingbroke and concluded by Pope, the latter speaks thus touchingly of his dear old parent: "My Lord has spoken justly of his lady; why not I of my mother? Yesterday was her birth-day, now entering on the ninety-first year of her age; her memory much diminished, but her senses very little hurt, her sight and hearing good; she sleeps not ill, eats moderately, drinks water, says her prayers; this is all she does. I have reason to thank God for continuing so long to me a very good and tender parent, and for allowing me to exercise for some years those cares which are now as necessary to her, as hers have been to me." Pope lost his mother two years, two months, and a few days after the date of this letter. Three days after her death he entreated Richardson, the painter, to take a sketch of her face, as she lay in her coffin: and for this purpose Pope somewhat delayed her interment. "I thank God," he says, "her death was as easy as her life was innocent; and as it cost her not a groan, nor even a sigh, there is yet upon her countenance such an expression of tranquillity, nay almost of pleasure, that it is even amiable to behold it. It would afford the finest image of a saint expired, that ever painting drew, and it would be the greatest obligation which even that obliging art could ever bestow upon a friend if you would come and sketch it for me." The writer adds, "I shall hope to see you this evening, as late as you will, or to-morrow morning as early, _before this winter flower is faded_." On the small obelisk in the garden, erected by Pope to the memory of his mother, he placed the following simple and pathetic inscription. AH! EDITHA! MATRUM OPTIMA! MULIERUM AMANTISSIMA! VALE! I wonder that any one could have had the heart to remove or to destroy so interesting a memorial. It is said that Pope planted his celebrated weeping willow at Twickenham with his own hands, and that it was the first of its particular species introduced into England. Happening to be with Lady Suffolk when she received a parcel from Spain, he observed that it was bound with green twigs which looked as if they might vegetate. "Perhaps," said he, "these may produce something that we have not yet in England." He tried a cutting, and it succeeded. The tree was removed by some person as barbarous as the reverend gentleman who cut down Shakespeare's Mulberry Tree. The Willow was destroyed for the same reason, as the Mulberry Tree--because the owner was annoyed at persons asking to see it. The Weeping Willow That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream,[013] has had its interest with people in general much increased by its association with the history of Napoleon in the Island of St. Helena. The tree whose boughs seemed to hang so fondly over his remains has now its scions in all parts of the world. Few travellers visited the tomb without taking a small cutting of the Napoleon Willow for cultivation in their own land. Slips of the Willow at Twickenham, like those of the Willow at St. Helena, have also found their way into many countries. In 1789 the Empress of Russia had some of them planted in her garden at St. Petersburgh. Mr. Loudon tells us that there is an old _oak_ in Binfield Wood, Windsor Forest, which is called _Pope's Oak_, and which bears the inscription "HERE POPE SANG:"[014] but according to general tradition it was a _beech_ tree, under which Pope wrote his "Windsor Forest." It is said that as that tree was decayed, Lady Gower had the inscription alluded to carved upon another tree near it. Perhaps the substituted tree was an oak. I may here mention that in the Vale of Avoca there is a tree celebrated as that under which Thomas Moore wrote the verses entitled "The meeting of the Waters." The allusion to _Pope's Oak_ reminds me that Chaucer is said to have planted three oak trees in Donnington Park near Newbury. Not one of them is now, I believe, in existence. There is an oak tree in Windsor Forest above 1000 years old. In the hollow of this tree twenty people might be accommodated with standing room. It is called _King's Oak_: it was William the Conqueror's favorite tree. _Herne's Oak_ in Windsor Park, is said by some to be still standing, but it is described as a mere anatomy. ----An old oak whose boughs are mossed with age, And high top bald with dry antiquity. _As You Like it_. "It stretches out its bare and sapless branches," says Mr. Jesse, "like the skeleton arms of some enormous giant, and is almost fearful in its decay." _Herne's Oak_, as every one knows, is immortalised by Shakespeare, who has spread its fame over many lands. There is an old tale goes that Herne the hunter, Sometime a keeper here in Windsor Forest, Doth all the winter time, at still midnight, Walk round about an oak, with great ragg'd horns, And there he blasts the trees, and takes the cattle; And makes milch cows yield blood, and shakes a chain In a most hideous and dreadful manner. You have heard of such a spirit; and well you know, The superstitious, idle-headed eld Received, and did deliver to our age, This tale of Herne the Hunter for a truth. _Merry Wives of Windsor_. "Herne, the hunter" is said to have hung himself upon one of the branches of this tree, and even, ----Yet there want not many that do fear, In deep of night to walk by this Herne's Oak. _Merry Wives of Windsor_. It was not long ago visited by the King of Prussia to whom Shakespeare had rendered it an object of great interest. It is unpleasant to add that there is considerable doubt and dispute as to its identity. Charles Knight and a Quarterly Reviewer both maintain that _Herne's Oak_ was cut down with a number of other old trees in obedience to an order from George the Third when he was not in his right mind, and that his Majesty deeply regretted the order he had given when he found that the most interesting tree in his Park had been destroyed. Mr. Jesse, in his _Gleanings in Natural History_, says that after some pains to ascertain the truth, he is convinced that this story is not correct, and that the famous old tree is still standing. He adds that George the Fourth often alluded to the story and said that though one of the trees cut down was supposed to have been _Herne's Oak_, it was not so in reality. George the Third, it is said, once called the attention of Mr. Ingalt, the manager of Windsor Home Park to a particular tree, and said "I brought you here to point out this tree to you. I commit it to your especial charge; and take care that no damage is ever done to it. I had rather that every tree in the park should be cut down than that this tree should be hurt. _This is Hernes Oak_." Sir Philip Sidney's Oak at Penshurst mentioned by Ben Jonson-- That taller tree, of which the nut was set At his great birth, where all the Muses met-- is still in existence. It is thirty feet in circumference. Waller also alludes to Yonder tree which stands the sacred mark Of noble Sidney's birth. Yardley Oak, immortalized by Cowper, is now in a state of decay. Time made thee what thou wert--king of the woods! And time hath made thee what thou art--a cave For owls to roost in. _Cowper_. The tree is said to be at least fifteen hundred years old. It cannot hold its present place much longer; but for many centuries to come it will Live in description and look green in song. It stands on the grounds of the Marquis of Northampton; and to prevent people from cutting off and carrying away pieces of it as relics, the following notice has been painted on a board and nailed to the tree:--"_Out of respect to the memory of the poet Cowper, the Marquis of Northampton is particularly desirous of preserving this Oak_." Lord Byron, in early life, planted an oak in the garden at Newstead and indulged the fancy, that as that flourished so should he. The oak has survived the poet, but it will not outlive the memory of its planter or even the boyish verses which he addressed to it. Pope observes, that "a tree is a nobler object than a prince in his coronation robes." Yet probably the poet had never seen any tree larger than a British oak. What would he have thought of the Baobab tree in Abyssinia, which measures from 80 to 120 feet in girth, and sometimes reaches the age of five thousand years. We have no such sylvan patriarch in Europe. The oldest British tree I have heard of, is a yew tree of Fortingall in Scotland, of which the age is said to be two thousand five hundred years. If trees had long memories and could converse with man, what interesting chapters these survivors of centuries might add to the history of the world! Pope was not always happy in his Twickenham Paradise. His rural delights were interrupted for a time by an unrequited passion for the beautiful and highly-gifted but eccentric Lady Mary Wortley Montague. Ah! friend, 'tis true--this truth you lovers know; In vain my structures rise, my gardens grow; In vain fair Thames reflects the double scenes Of hanging mountains and of sloping greens; Joy lives not here, to happier seats it flies, And only dwells where Wortley casts her eyes. What are the gay parterre, the chequered shade, The morning bower, the evening colonnade, But soft recesses of uneasy minds, To sigh unheard in to the passing winds? So the struck deer, in some sequestered part, Lies down to die, the arrow at his heart; He, stretched unseen, in coverts hid from day, Bleeds drop by drop, and pants his life away. These are exquisite lines, and have given delight to innumerable readers, but they gave no delight to Lady Mary. In writing to her sister, the Countess of Mar, then at Paris, she says in allusion to these "most musical, most melancholy" verses--"_I stifled them here; and I beg they may die the same death at Paris_." It is not, however, quite so easy a thing as Lady Mary seemed to think, to "stifle" such poetry as Pope's. Pope's notions respecting the laying out of gardens are well expressed in the following extract from the fourth Epistle of his Moral Essays.[015] This fourth Epistle was addressed, as most readers will remember, to the accomplished Lord Burlington, who, as Walpole says, "had every quality of a genius and an artist, except envy. Though his own designs were more chaste and classic than Kent's, he entertained him in his house till his death, and was more studious to extend his friend's fame than his own." Something there is more needful than expense, And something previous e'en to taste--'tis sense; Good sense, which only is the gift of Heaven, And though no science fairly worth the seven; A light, which in yourself you must perceive; Jones and Le Nôtre have it not to give. To build, or plant, whatever you intend, To rear the column or the arch to bend; To swell the terrace, or to sink the grot; In all let Nature never be forgot. But treat the goddess like a modest fair, Nor over dress nor leave her wholly bare; Let not each beauty every where be spied, Where half the skill is decently to hide. He gains all points, who pleasingly confounds, Surprizes, varies, and conceals the bounds. _Consult the genius of the place in all_;[016] That tells the waters or to rise or fall; Or helps the ambitious hill the heavens to scale, Or scoops in circling theatres the vale; Calls in the country, catches opening glades, Joins willing woods and varies shades from shades; Now breaks, or now directs, th' intending lines; Paints as you plant, and, as you work, designs. Still follow sense, of every art the soul; Parts answering parts shall slide into a whole, Spontaneous beauties all around advance, Start e'en from difficulty, strike from chance; Nature shall join you; time shall make it grow A work to wonder at--perhaps a STOWE.[017] Without it proud Versailles![018] Thy glory falls; And Nero's terraces desert their walls. The vast parterres a thousand hands shall make, Lo! Cobham comes and floats them with a lake; Or cut wide views through mountains to the plain, You'll wish your hill or sheltered seat again. Pope is in most instances singularly happy in his compliments, but the allusion to STOWE--as "_a work to wonder at_"--has rather an equivocal appearance, and so also has the mention of Lord Cobham, the proprietor of the place. In the first draught of the poem, the name of Bridgeman was inserted where Cobham's now stands, but as Bridgeman mistook the compliment for a sneer, the poet thought the landscape-gardener had proved himself undeserving of the intended honor, and presented the second-hand compliment to the peer. The grounds at Stowe, more praised by poets than any other private estate in England, extend to 400 acres. There are many other fine estates in our country of far greater extent, but of less celebrity. Some of them are much too extensive, perhaps, for true enjoyment. The Earl of Leicester, when he had completed his seat at Holkham, observed, that "It was a melancholy thing to stand alone in one's country. I look round; not a house is to be seen but mine. I am the Giant of Giant-castle and have ate up all my neighbours." The Earl must have felt that the political economy of Goldsmith in his _Deserted Village_ was not wholly the work of imagination. Sweet smiling village! Loveliest of the lawn, Thy sports are fled and all thy charms withdrawn; Amidst thy bowers the tyrant's hand is seen And desolation saddens all the green,-- _One only master grasps thy whole domain_. * * * * * Where then, ah! where shall poverty reside, To scape the pressure of contiguous pride? "Hearty, cheerful Mr. Cotton," as Lamb calls him, describes Stowe as a Paradise. ON LORD COBHAM'S GARDEN. It puzzles much the sage's brains Where Eden stood of yore, Some place it in Arabia's plains, Some say it is no more. But Cobham can these tales confute, As all the curious know; For he hath proved beyond dispute, That Paradise is STOWE. Thomson also calls the place a paradise: Ye Powers That o'er the garden and the rural seat Preside, which shining through the cheerful land In countless numbers blest Britannia sees; O, lead me to the wide-extended walks, _The fair majestic paradise of Stowe!_ Not Persian Cyrus on Ionia's shore E'er saw such sylvan scenes; such various art By genius fired, such ardent genius tamed By cool judicious art, that in the strife All-beauteous Nature fears to be out-done. The poet somewhat mars the effect of this compliment to the charms of Stowe, by making it a matter of regret that the owner His verdant files Of ordered trees should here inglorious range, Instead of squadrons flaming o'er the field, And long embattled hosts. This representation of rural pursuits as inglorious, a sentiment so out of keeping with his subject, is soon after followed rather inconsistently, by a sort of paraphrase of Virgil's celebrated picture of rural felicity, and some of Thomson's own thoughts on the advantages of a retreat from active life. Oh, knew he but his happiness, of men The happiest he! Who far from public rage Deep in the vale, with a choice few retired Drinks the pure pleasures of the rural life, &c. Then again:-- Let others brave the flood in quest of gain And beat for joyless months, the gloomy wave. _Let such as deem it glory to destroy, Rush into blood, the sack of cities seek; Unpierced, exulting in the widow's wail, The virgin's shriek and infant's trembling cry._ * * * * * While he, from all the stormy passions free That restless men involve, hears and _but_ hears, At distance safe, the human tempest roar, Wrapt close in conscious peace. The fall of kings, The rage of nations, and the crush of states, Move not the man, who from the world escaped, In still retreats and flowery solitudes, To nature's voice attends, from month to month, And day to day, through the revolving year; Admiring sees her in her every shape; Feels all her sweet emotions at his heart; Takes what she liberal gives, nor asks for more. He, when young Spring, protudes the bursting gems Marks the first bud, and sucks the healthful gale Into his freshened soul; her genial hour He full enjoys, and not a beauty blows And not an opening blossom breathes in vain. Thomson in his description of Lord Townshend's seat of Rainham--another English estate once much celebrated and still much admired--exclaims: Such are thy beauties, Rainham, such the haunts Of angels, in primeval guiltless days When man, imparadised, conversed with God. And Broome after quoting the whole description in his dedication of his own poems to Lord Townshend, observes, in the old fashioned fulsome strain, "This, my lord, is but a faint picture of the place of your retirement which no one ever enjoyed more elegantly."[019] "A faint picture!" What more would the dedicator have wished Thomson to say? Broome, if not contented with his patron's seat being described as an earthly Paradise, must have desired it to be compared with Heaven itself, and thus have left his Lordship no hope of the enjoyment of a better place than he already possessed. Samuel Boyse, who when without a shirt to his back sat up in his bed to write verses, with his arms through two holes in his blanket, and when he went into the streets wore paper collars to conceal the sad deficiency of linen, has a poem of considerable length entitled _The Triumphs of Nature_. It is wholly devoted to a description of this magnificent garden,[020] in which, amongst other architectural ornaments, was a temple dedicated to British worthies, where the busts of Pope and Congreve held conspicuous places. I may as well give a specimen of the lines of poor Boyse. Here is his description of that part of Lord Cobham's grounds in which is erected to the Goddess of Love, a Temple containing a statue of the Venus de Medicis. Next to the fair ascent our steps we traced, Where shines afar the bold rotunda placed; The artful dome Ionic columns bear Light as the fabric swells in ambient air. Beneath enshrined the Tuscan Venus stands And beauty's queen the beauteous scene commands: The fond beholder sees with glad surprize, Streams glisten, lawns appear, and forests rise-- Here through thick shades alternate buildings break, There through the borders steals the silver lake, A soft variety delights the soul, And harmony resulting crowns the whole. Congreve in his Letter in verse addressed to Lord Cobham asks him to Tell how his pleasing Stowe employs his time. It would seem that the proprietor of Stowe took particular interest in the disposition of the water on his grounds. Congreve enquires Or dost thou give the winds afar to blow Each vexing thought, and heart-devouring woe, And fix thy mind alone on rural scenes, _To turn the level lawns to liquid plains_? To raise the creeping rills from humble beds And force the latent spring to lift their heads, On watery columns, capitals to rear, That mix their flowing curls with upper air? * * * * * Or slowly walk along the mazy wood To meditate on all that's wise and good. The line:-- To turn the level lawn to liquid plains-- Will remind the reader of Pope's Lo! Cobham comes and floats them with a lake-- And it might be thought that Congreve had taken the hint from the bard of Twickenham if Congreve's poem had not preceded that of Pope. The one was published in 1729, the other in 1731. Cowper is in the list of poets who have alluded to "Cobham's groves" and Pope's commemoration of them. And _Cobham's groves_ and Windsor's green retreats When Pope describes them have a thousand sweets. "Magnificence and splendour," says Mr. Whately, the author of _Observations on Modern Gardening_, "are the characteristics of Stowe. It is like one of those places celebrated in antiquity which were devoted to the purposes of religion, and filled with sacred groves, hallowed fountains, and temples dedicated to several deities; the resort of distant nations and the object of veneration to half the heathen world: the pomp is, at Stowe, blended with beauty; and the place is equally distinguished by its amenity and grandeur." Horace Walpole speaks of its "visionary enchantment." "I have been strolling about in Buckinghamshire and Oxfordshire, from garden to garden," says Pope in one of his letters, "but still returning to Lord Cobham's with fresh satisfaction."[021] The grounds at Stowe, until the year 1714, were laid out in the old formal style. Bridgeman then commenced the improvements and Kent subsequently completed them. Stowe is now, I believe, in the possession of the Marquis of Chandos, son of the Duke of Buckingham. It is melancholy to state that the library, the statues, the furniture, and even some of the timber on the estate, were sold in 1848 to satisfy the creditors of the Duke. Pope was never tired of improving his own grounds. "I pity you, Sir," said a friend to him, "because you have now completed every thing belonging to your gardens."[022] "Why," replied Pope, "I really shall be at a loss for the diversion I used to take in carrying out and finishing things: I have now nothing left me to do but to add a little ornament or two along the line of the Thames." I dare say Pope was by no means so near the end of his improvements as he and his friend imagined. One little change in a garden is sure to suggest or be followed by another. Garden-improvements are "never ending, still beginning." The late Dr. Arnold, the famous schoolmaster, writing to a friend, says--"The garden is a constant source of amusement to us both (self and wife); there are always some little alterations to be made, some few spots where an additional shrub or two would be ornamental, something coming into blossom; so that I can always delight to go round and see how things are going on." A garden is indeed a scene of continual change. Nature, even without the aid of the gardener, has "infinite variety," and supplies "a perpetual feast of nectared sweets where no crude surfeit reigns." Spence reports Pope to have said: "I have sometimes had an idea of planting an old gothic cathedral in trees. Good large poplars, with their white stems, cleared of boughs to a proper height would serve very well for the columns, and might form the different aisles or peristilliums, by their different distances and heights. These would look very well near, and the dome rising all in a proper tuft in the middle would look well at a distance." This sort of verdant architecture would perhaps have a pleasing effect, but it is rather too much in the artificial style, to be quite consistent with Pope's own idea of landscape-gardening. And there are other trees that would form a nobler natural cathedral than the formal poplar. Cowper did not think of the poplar, when he described a green temple-roof. How airy and how light the graceful arch, Yet awful as the consecrated roof Re-echoing pious anthems. Almost the only traces of Pope's garden that now remain are the splendid Spanish chesnut-trees and some elms and cedars planted by the poet himself. A space once laid out in winding walks and beautiful shrubberies is now a potatoe field! The present proprietor, Mr. Young, is a wholesale tea-dealer. Even the bones of the poet, it is said, have been disturbed. The skull of Pope, according to William Howitt, is now in the private collection of a phrenologist! The manner in which it was obtained, he says, is this:--On some occasion of alteration in the church at Twickenham, or burial of some one in the same spot, the coffin of Pope was disinterred, and opened to see the state of the remains. By a bribe of £50 to the Sexton, possession of the skull was obtained for one night; another skull was then returned instead of the poet's. It has been stated that the French term _Ferme Ornée_ was first used in England by Shenstone. It exactly expressed the character of his grounds. Mr. Repton said that he never strolled over the scenery of the Leasowes without lamenting the constant disappointment to which Shenstone exposed himself by a vain attempt to unite the incompatible objects of ornament and profit. "Thus," continued Mr. Repton, "the poet lived under the continual mortification of disappointed hope, and with a mind exquisitely sensible, he felt equally the sneer of the great man at the magnificence of his attempt and the ridicule of the farmer at the misapplication of his paternal acres." The "sneer of the great man." is perhaps an allusion to what Dr. Johnson says of Lord Lyttelton:--that he "looked with disdain" on "the petty State" of his neighbour. "For a while," says Dr. Johnson, "the inhabitants of Hagley affected to tell their acquaintance of the little fellow that was trying to make himself admired; but when by degrees the Leasowes forced themselves into notice, they took care to defeat the curiosity which they could not suppress, by conducting their visitants perversely to inconvenient points of view, and introducing them at the wrong end of a walk to detect a deception; injuries of which Shenstone would heavily complain." Mr. Graves, the zealous friend of Shenstone, indignantly denies that any of the Lyttelton family had evinced so ungenerous a feeling towards the proprietor of the Leasowes who though his "empire" was less "spacious and opulent" had probably a larger share of true taste than even the proprietor of Hagley, the Lyttelton domain--though Hagley has been much, and I doubt not, deservedly, admired.[023] Dr. Johnson states that Shenstone's expenses were beyond his means,-- that he spent his estate in adorning it--that at last the clamours of creditors "overpowered the lamb's bleat and the linnet's song; and that his groves were haunted by beings very different from fauns and fairies." But this is gross exaggeration. Shenstone was occasionally, indeed, in slight pecuniary difficulties, but he could always have protected himself from the intrusion of the myrmidons of the law by raising money on his estate; for it appears that after the payment of all his debts, he left legacies to his friends and annuities to his servants. Johnson himself is the most scornful of the critics upon Shenstone's rural pursuits. "The pleasure of Shenstone," says the Doctor, "was all in his eye: he valued what he valued merely for its looks. Nothing raised his indignation more than to ask if there were any fishes in his water." Dr. Johnson would have seen no use in the loveliest piece of running water in the world if it had contained nothing that he could masticate! Mrs. Piozzi says of him, "The truth is, he hated to hear about prospects and views, and laying out grounds and taste in gardening." "That was the best garden," he said, "which produced most roots and fruits; and that water was most to be prized which contained most fish." On this principle of the valuelessness of those pleasures which enter the mind through the eye, Dr. Johnson should have blamed the lovers of painting for dwelling with such fond admiration on the canvas of his friend Sir Joshua Reynolds. In point of fact, Dr. Johnson had no more sympathy with the genius of the painter or the musician than with that of the Landscape gardener, for he had neither an eye nor an ear for Art. He wondered how any man could be such a fool as to be moved to tears by music, and observed, that, "one could not fill one's belly with hearing soft murmurs or looking at rough cascades." No; the loveliness of nature does not satisfy the thirst and hunger of the body, but it _does_ satisfy the thirst and hunger of the soul. No one can find wheaten bread or wine or venison or beef or plum-pudding or turtle-soup in mere sounds and sights, however exquisite--neither can any one find such substantial diet within the boards of a book--no not even on the pages of Shakespeare, or even those of the Bible itself,--but men can find in sweet music and lovely scenery and good books something infinitely more precious than all the wine, venison, beef, or plum-pudding, or turtle-soup that could be swallowed during a long life by the most craving and capacious alderman of London! Man is of a dual nature: he is not all body. He has other and far higher wants and enjoyments than the purely physical--and these nobler appetites are gratified by the charms of nature and the creations of inspired genius. Dr. Johnson's gastronomic allusions to nature recal the old story of a poet pointing out to a utilitarian friend some white lambs frolicking in a meadow. "Aye," said, the other, "only think of a quarter of one of them with asparagus and mint sauce!" The story is by some supposed to have had a Scottish origin, and a prosaic North Briton is made to say that the pretty little lambs, sporting amidst the daisies and buttercups, would "_mak braw pies_." A profound feeling for the beautiful is generally held to be an essential quality in the poet. It is a curious fact, however, that there are some who aspire to the rank of poet, and have their claims allowed, who yet cannot be said to be poetical in their nature--for how can that nature be, strictly speaking, _poetical_ which denies the sentiment of Keats, that A thing of beauty is a joy for ever? Both Scott and Byron very earnestly admired Dr. Johnson's "_London_" and "_The Vanity of Human Wishes_." Yet the sentiments just quoted from the author of those productions are far more characteristic of a utilitarian philosopher than of one who has been endowed by nature with The vision and the faculty divine, and made capable, like some mysterious enchanter, of Clothing the palpable and the familiar With golden exhalations of the dawn. Crabbe, also a prime favorite with the authors of the _Lay of the Last Minstrel_, and _Childe Harold_, is recorded by his biographer--his own son--to have exhibited "a remarkable indifference to all the proper objects of taste;" to have had "no real love for painting, or music, or architecture or for what a painter's eye considers as the beauties of landscape." "In botany, grasses, the most _useful_ but the least ornamental, were his favorites." "He never seemed to be captivated with the mere beauty of natural objects or even to catch any taste for the arrangement of his specimens. Within, the house was a kind of scientific confusion; in the garden the usual showy foreigners gave place to the most scarce flowers, especially to the rarer weeds, of Britain; and were scattered here and there only for preservation. In fact he neither loved order for its own sake nor had any very high opinion of that passion in others."[024] Lord Byron described Crabbe to be Though nature's sternest painter, yet _the best_. What! was he a better painter of nature than Shakespeare? The truth is that Byron was a wretched critic, though a powerful poet. His praises and his censures were alike unmeasured. His generous ardor no cold medium knew. He seemed to recognize no great general principles of criticism, but to found all his judgments on mere prejudice and passion. He thought Cowper "no poet," pronounced Spenser "a dull fellow," and placed Pope above Shakespeare. Byron's line on Crabbe is inscribed on the poet's tombstone at Trowbridge. Perhaps some foreign visitor on reading the inscription may be surprized at his own ignorance when he learns that it is not the author of _Macbeth_ and _Othello_ that he is to regard as the best painter of nature that England has produced, but the author of the _Parish Register_ and the _Tales of the Hall_. Absurd and indiscriminate laudations of this kind confound all intellectual distinctions and make criticism ridiculous. Crabbe is unquestionably a vigorous and truthful writer, but he is not the _best_ we have, in any sense of the word. Though Dr. Johnson speaks so contemptuously of Shenstone's rural pursuits, he could not help acknowledging that when the poet began "to point his prospects, to diversify his surface, to entangle his walks and to wind his waters," he did all this with such judgment and fancy as "made his little domain the envy of the great and the admiration of the skilful; a place to be visited by travellers, and copied by designers." Mason, in his _English Garden_, a poem once greatly admired, but now rarely read, and never perhaps with much delight, does justice to the taste of the Poet of the Leasowes. Nor, Shenstone, thou Shalt pass without thy meed, thou son of peace! Who knew'st, perchance, to harmonize thy shades Still softer than thy song; yet was that song Nor rude nor inharmonious when attuned To pastoral plaint, or tale of slighted love. English pleasure-gardens have been much imitated by the French. Viscomte Girardin, at his estate of Ermenonville, dedicated an inscription in amusing French-English to the proprietor of the Leasowes-- THIS PLAIN STONE TO WILLIAM SHENSTONE; IN HIS WRITINGS HE DISPLAYED A MIND NATURAL; AT LEASOWES HE LAID ARCADIAN GREENS RURAL. The Viscomte, though his English composition was so quaint and imperfect, was an elegant writer in his own language, and showed great taste and skill in laying out his grounds. He had visited England, and carefully studied our modern style of gardening. He had personally consulted Shenstone, Mason, Whateley and other English authors on subjects of rural taste. He published an eloquent description of his own estate. His famous friend Rousseau wrote the preface to it. The book was translated into English. Rousseau spent his last days at Ermenonville and was buried there in what is called _The Isle of Poplars_. The garden is now in a neglected state, but the tomb of Rousseau remains uninjured, and is frequently visited by the admirers of his genius. "Dr. Warton," says Bowles, "mentions Milton and Pope as the poets to whom English Landscape is indebted, but _he forgot poor Shenstone_." A later writer, however, whose sympathy for genius communicates such a charm to all his anecdotes and comments in illustration of the literary character, has devoted a chapter of his _Curiosities of Literature_ to a notice of the rural tastes of the proprietor of the Leasowes. I must give a brief extract from it. "When we consider that Shenstone, in developing his fine pastoral ideas in the Leasowes, educated the nation into that taste for landscape-gardening, which has become the model of all Europe, this itself constitutes a claim on the gratitude of posterity. Thus the private pleasures of a man of genius may become at length those of a whole people. The creator of this new taste appears to have received far less notice than he merited. The name of Shenstone does not appear in the Essay on Gardening, by Lord Orford; even the supercilious Gray only bestowed a ludicrous image on these pastoral scenes, which, however, his friend Mason has celebrated; and the genius of Johnson, incapacitated by nature to touch on objects of rural fancy, after describing some of the offices of the landscape designer, adds, that 'he will not inquire whether they demand any great powers of mind.' Johnson, however, conveys to us his own feelings, when he immediately expresses them under the character of 'a sullen and surly speculator.' The anxious life of Shenstone would indeed have been remunerated, could he have read the enchanting eulogium of Whateley on the Leasowes; which, said he, 'is a perfect picture of his mind--simple, elegant and amiable; and will always suggest a doubt whether the spot inspired his verse, or whether in the scenes which he formed, he only realised the pastoral images which abound in his songs.' Yes! Shenstone had been delighted could he have heard that Montesquieu, on his return home, adorned his 'Chateau Gothique, mais orné de bois charmans, don't j'ai pris l'idée en Angleterre;' and Shenstone, even with his modest and timid nature, had been proud to have witnessed a noble foreigner, amidst memorials dedicated to Theocritus and Virgil, to Thomson and Gesner, raising in his grounds an inscription, in bad English, but in pure taste, to Shenstone himself; for having displayed in his writings 'a mind natural,' and in his Leasowes 'laid Arcadian greens rural;' and recently Pindemonte has traced the taste of English gardening to Shenstone. A man of genius sometimes receives from foreigners, who are placed out of the prejudices of his compatriots, the tribute of posterity!" "The Leasowes," says William Howitt, "now belongs to the Atwood family; and a Miss Atwood resides there occasionally. But the whole place bears the impress of desertion and neglect. The house has a dull look; the same heavy spirit broods over the lawns and glades: And it is only when you survey it from a distance, as when approaching Hales-Owen from Hagley, that the whole presents an aspect of unusual beauty." Shenstone was at least as proud of his estate of the Leasowes as was Pope of his Twickenham Villa--perhaps more so. By mere men of the world, this pride in a garden may be regarded as a weakness, but if it be a weakness it is at least an innocent and inoffensive one, and it has been associated with the noblest intellectual endowments. Pitt and Fox and Burke and Warren Hastings were not weak men, and yet were they all extremely proud of their gardens. Every one, indeed, who takes an active interest in the culture and embellishment of his garden, finds his pride in it and his love for it increase daily. He is delighted to see it flourish and improve beneath his care. Even the humble mechanic, in his fondness for a garden, often indicates a feeling for the beautiful, and a genial nature. If a rich man were openly to boast of his plate or his equipages, or a literary man of his essays or his sonnets, as lovers of flowers boast of their geraniums or dahlias or rhododendrons, they would disgust the most indulgent hearer. But no one is shocked at the exultation of a gardener, amateur or professional, when in the fulness of his heart he descants upon the unrivalled beauty of his favorite flowers: 'Plants of his hand, and children of his care.' "I have made myself two gardens," says Petrarch, "and I do not imagine that they are to be equalled in all the world. I should feel myself inclined to be angry with fortune if there were any so beautiful out of Italy." "I wish," says poor Kirke White writing to a friend, "I wish you to have a taste of these (rural) pleasures with me, and if ever I should live to be blessed with a quiet parsonage, and _another great object of my ambition--a garden_, I have no doubt but we shall be for some short intervals at least two quite contented bodies." The poet Young, in the latter part of his life, after years of vain hopes and worldly struggles, gave himself up almost entirely to the sweet seclusion of a garden; and that peace and repose which cannot be found in courts and political cabinets, he found at last In sunny garden bowers Where vernal winds each tree's low tones awaken, And buds and bells with changes mark the hours. He discovered that it was more profitable to solicit nature than to flatter the great. For Nature never did betray The heart that loved her. People of a poetical temperament--all true lovers of nature--can afford, far better than more essentially worldly beings, to exclaim with Thomson. I care not Fortune what you me deny, You cannot bar me of free Nature's grace, You cannot shut the windows of the sky Through which Aurora shows her brightening face: You cannot bar my constant feet to trace The woods and lawns and living streams at eve: Let health my nerves and finer fibres brace, And I their toys to the _great children_ leave:-- Of fancy, reason, virtue, nought can me bereave. The pride in a garden laid out under one's own directions and partly cultivated by one's own hand has been alluded to as in some degree unworthy of the dignity of manhood, not only by mere men of the world, or silly coxcombs, but by people who should have known better. Even Sir William Temple, though so enthusiastic about his fruit-trees, tells us that he will not enter upon any account of _flowers_, having only pleased himself with seeing or smelling them, and not troubled himself with the care of them, which he observes "_is more the ladies part than the men's_." Sir William makes some amends for this almost contemptuous allusion to flowers in particular by his ardent appreciation of the use of gardens and gardening in general. He thus speaks of their attractions and advantages: "The sweetness of the air, the pleasantness of the smell, the verdure of plants, the cleanness and lightness of food, the exercise of working or walking, but above all, the exemption from cares and solicitude, seem equally to favor and improve both contemplation and health, the enjoyment of sense and imagination, and thereby the quiet and ease of the body and mind." Again: "As gardening has been the inclination of kings and the choice of philosophers, so it has been the common favorite of public and private men, a pleasure of the greatest and the care of the meanest; and indeed _an employment and a possession for which no man is too high or too low_." This is just and liberal; though I can hardly help still feeling a little sore at Sir William's having implied in the passage previously quoted, that the care of flowers is but a feminine occupation. As an elegant amusement, it is surely equally well fitted for all lovers of the beautiful, without reference to their sex. It is not women and children only who delight in flower-gardens. Lord Bacon and William Pitt and the Earl of Chatham and Fox and Burke and Warren Hastings--all lovers of flowers--were assuredly not men of frivolous minds or of feminine habits. They were always eager to exhibit to visitors the beauty of their parterres. In his declining years the stately John Kemble left the stage for his garden. That sturdy English yeoman, William Cobbett, was almost as proud of his beds of flowers as of the pages of his _Political Register_. He thus speaks of gardening: "Gardening is a source of much greater profit than is generally imagined; but, merely as an amusement or recreation it is a thing of very great value. It is not only compatible with but favorable to the study of any art or science; it is conducive to health by means of the irresistible temptation which it offers to early rising; to the stirring abroad upon one's legs, for a man may really ride till he cannot walk, sit till he cannot stand, and lie abed till he cannot get up. It tends to turn the minds of youth from amusements and attachments of a frivolous and vicious nature, it is a taste which is indulged at home; it tends to make home pleasant, and to endear to us the spot on which it is our lot to live,--and as to the _expenses_ attending it, what are all these expenses compared with those of the short, the unsatisfactory, the injurious enjoyment of the card-table, and the rest of those amusements which are sought from the town." _Cobbett's English Gardener_. "Other fine arts," observes Lord Kames, "may be perverted to excite irregular and even vicious emotions: but gardening, which inspires the purest and most refined pleasures, cannot fail to promote every good affection. The gaiety and harmony of mind it produceth, inclining the spectator to communicate his satisfaction to others, and to make them happy as he is himself, tend naturally to establish in him a habit of humanity and benevolence." Every thoughtful mind knows how much the face of nature has to do with human happiness. In the open air and in the midst of summer-flowers, we often feel the truth of the observation that "a fair day is a kind of sensual pleasure, and of all others the most innocent." But it is also something more, and better. It kindles a spiritual delight. At such a time and in such a scene every observer capable of a religious emotion is ready to exclaim-- Oh! there is joy and happiness in every thing I see, Which bids my soul rise up and bless the God that blesses me _Anon._ The amiable and pious Doctor Carey of Serampore, in whose grounds sprang up that dear little English daisy so beautifully addressed by his poetical proxy, James Montgomery of Sheffield, in the stanzas commencing:-- Thrice welcome, little English flower! My mother country's white and red-- was so much attached to his Indian garden, that it was always in his heart in the intervals of more important cares. It is said that he remembered it even upon his death-bed, and that it was amongst his last injunctions to his friends that they should see to its being kept up with care. He was particularly anxious that the hedges or railings should always be in such good order as to protect his favorite shrubs and flowers from the intrusion of Bengalee cattle. A garden is a more interesting possession than a gallery of pictures or a cabinet of curiosities. Its glories are never stationary or stale. It has infinite variety. It is not the same to-day as it was yesterday. It is always changing the character of its charms and always increasing them in number. It delights all the senses. Its pleasures are not of an unsocial character; for every visitor, high or low, learned or illiterate, may be fascinated with the fragrance and beauty of a garden. But shells and minerals and other curiosities are for the man of science and the connoisseur. And a single inspection of them is generally sufficient: they never change their aspect. The Picture-Gallery may charm an instructed eye but the multitude have little relish for human Art, because they rarely understand it:--while the skill of the Great Limner of Nature is visible in every flower of the garden even to the humblest swain. It is pleasant to read how the wits and beauties of the time of Queen Anne used to meet together in delightful garden-retreats, 'like the companies in Boccaccio's Decameron or in one of Watteau's pictures.' Ritchings Lodge, for instance, the seat of Lord Bathurst, was visited by most of the celebrities of England, and frequently exhibited bright groups of the polite and accomplished of both sexes; of men distinguished for their heroism or their genius, and of women eminent for their easy and elegant conversation, or for gaiety and grace of manner, or perfect loveliness of face and form--all in harmonious union with the charms of nature. The gardens at Ritchings were enriched with Inscriptions from the pens of Congreve and Pope and Gay and Addison and Prior. When the estate passed into the possession of the Earl of Hertford, his literary lady devoted it to the Muses. "She invited every summer," says Dr. Johnson, "some poet into the country to hear her verses and assist her studies." Thomson, who praises her so lavishly in his "Spring," offended her ladyship by allowing her too clearly to perceive that he was resolved not to place himself in the dilemma of which Pope speaks so feelingly with reference to other poetasters. Seized and tied down to judge, how wretched I, Who can't be silent, and who will not lie. I sit with sad civility, I read With honest anguish and an aching head. But though "the bard more fat than bard beseems" was restive under her ladyship's "poetical operations," and too plainly exhibited a desire to escape the infliction, preferring the Earl's claret to the lady's rhymes, she should have been a little more generously forgiving towards one who had already made her immortal. It is stated, that she never repeated her invitation to the Poet of the Seasons, who though so impatient of the sound of her tongue when it "rolled" her own "raptures," seems to have been charmed with her _at a distance_--while meditating upon her excellencies in the seclusion of his own study. The compliment to the Countess is rather awkwardly wedged in between descriptions of "gentle Spring" with her "shadowing roses" and "surly Winter" with his "ruffian blasts." It should have commenced the poem. O Hertford, fitted or to shine in courts With unaffected grace, or walk the plain, With innocence and meditation joined In soft assemblage, listen to my song, Which thy own season paints; when nature all Is blooming and benevolent like thee. Thomson had no objection to strike off a brief compliment in verse, but he was too indolent to keep up _in propriâ personâ_ an incessant fire of compliments, like the _bon bons_ at a Carnival. It was easier to write her praises than listen to her verses. Shenstone seems to have been more pliable. He was personally obsequious, lent her recitations an attentive ear, and was ever ready with the expected commendation. It is not likely that her ladyship found much, difficulty in collecting around her a crowd of critics more docile than Thomson and quite as complaisant as Shenstone. Let but a _Countess_ Once own the happy lines, How the wit brightens, how the style refines! Though Thomson's first want on his arrival in London from the North was a pair of shoes, and he lived for a time in great indigence, he was comfortable enough at last. Lord Lyttleton introduced him to the Prince of Wales (who professed himself the patron of literature) and when his Highness questioned him about the state of his affairs, Thomson assured him that they "were in a more poetical posture than formerly." The prince bestowed upon the poet a pension of a hundred pounds a year, and when his friend Lord Lyttleton was in power his Lordship obtained for him the office of Surveyor General of the Leeward Islands. He sent a deputy there who was more trustworthy than Thomas Moore's at Bermuda. Thomson's deputy after deducting his own salary remitted his principal three hundred pounds per annum, so that the bard 'more fat than bard beseems' was not in a condition to grow thinner, and could afford to make his cottage a Castle of Indolence. Leigh Hunt has versified an anecdote illustrative of Thomson's luxurious idleness. He who could describe "_Indolence_" so well, and so often appeared in the part himself, Slippered, and with hands, Each in a waistcoat pocket, (so that all Might yet repose that could) was seen one morn Eating a wondering peach from off the tree. A little summer-house at Richmond which Thomson made his study is still preserved, and even some articles of furniture, just as he left them.[025] Over the entrance is erected a tablet on which is the following inscription: HERE THOMSON SANG THE SEASONS AND THEIR CHANGE. Thomson was buried in Richmond Church. Collins's lines to his memory, beginning In yonder grave a Druid lies, are familiar to all readers of English poetry. Richmond Hill has always been the delight not of poets only but of painters. Sir Joshua Reynolds built a house there, and one of the only three landscapes which seem to have survived him, is a view from the window of his drawing-room. Gainsborough was also a resident in Richmond. Richmond gardens laid out or rather altered by Brown, are now united with those of Kew. Savage resided for some time at Richmond. It was the favorite haunt of Collins, one of the most poetical of poets, who, as Dr. Johnson says, "delighted to rove through the meanders of enchantment, to gaze on the magnificence of golden palaces, to repose by the waterfalls of Elysian gardens." Wordsworth composed a poem upon the Thames near Richmond in remembrance of Collins. Here is a stanza of it. Glide gently, thus for ever glide, O Thames, that other bards may see As lovely visions by thy side As now fair river! come to me; O glide, fair stream for ever so, Thy quiet soul on all bestowing, Till all our minds for ever flow As thy deep waters now are flowing. Thomson's description of the scenery of Richmond Hill perhaps hardly does it justice, but the lines are too interesting to be omitted. Say, shall we wind Along the streams? or walk the smiling mead? Or court the forest-glades? or wander wild Among the waving harvests? or ascend, While radiant Summer opens all its pride, Thy hill, delightful Shene[026]? Here let us sweep The boundless landscape now the raptur'd eye, Exulting swift, to huge Augusta send, Now to the sister hills[027] that skirt her plain, To lofty Harrow now, and now to where Majestic Windsor lifts his princely brow In lovely contrast to this glorious view Calmly magnificent, then will we turn To where the silver Thames first rural grows There let the feasted eye unwearied stray, Luxurious, there, rove through the pendent woods That nodding hang o'er Harrington's retreat, And stooping thence to Ham's embowering walks, Beneath whose shades, in spotless peace retir'd, With her the pleasing partner of his heart, The worthy Queensbury yet laments his Gay, And polish'd Cornbury woos the willing Muse Slow let us trace the matchless vale of Thames Fair winding up to where the Muses haunt In Twit nam's bowers, and for their Pope implore The healing god[028], to loyal Hampton's pile, To Clermont's terrass'd height, and Esher's groves; Where in the sweetest solitude, embrac'd By the soft windings of the silent Mole, From courts and senates Pelham finds repose Enchanting vale! beyond whate'er the Muse Has of Achaia or Hesperia sung! O vale of bliss! O softly swelling hills! On which the _Power of Cultivation_ lies, And joys to see the wonders of his toil. The Revd. Thomas Maurice wrote a poem entitled _Richmond Hill_, but it contains nothing deserving of quotation after the above passage from Thomson. In the _English Bards and Scotch Reviewers_ the labors of Maurice are compared to those of Sisyphus So up thy hill, ambrosial Richmond, heaves Dull Maurice, all his granite weight of leaves. Towards the latter part of the last century the Empress of Russia (Catherine the Second) expressed in a French letter to Voltaire her admiration of the style of English Gardening.[029] "I love to distraction," she writes, "the present English taste in gardening. Their curved lines, their gentle slopes, their pieces of water in the shape of lakes, their picturesque little islands. I have a great contempt for straight lines and parallel walks. I hate those fountains which torture water into forms unknown to nature. I have banished all the statues to the vestibules and to the galleries. In a word English taste predominates in my _plantomanie_."[030] I omitted when alluding to those Englishmen in past times who anticipated the taste of the present day in respect to laying out grounds, to mention the ever respected name of John Evelyn, and as all other writers before me, I believe, who have treated upon gardening, have been guilty of the same oversight, I eagerly make his memory some slight amends by quoting the following passage from one of his letters to his friend Sir Thomas Browne. "I might likewise hope to refine upon some particulars, especially concerning the ornaments of gardens, which I shall endeavor so to handle as that they may become useful and practicable, as well as magnificent, and that persons of all conditions and faculties, which delight in gardens, may therein encounter something for their owne advantage. The modell, which I perceive you have seene, will aboundantly testifie my abhorrency of those painted and formal projections of our cockney gardens and plotts, which appeare like gardens of past-board and marchpane, and smell more of paynt then of flowers and verdure; our drift is a noble, princely, and universal Elysium, capable of all the amoenities that can naturally be introduced into gardens of pleasure, and such as may stand in competition with all the august designes and stories of this nature, either of antient or moderne tymes; yet so as to become useful and significant to the least pretences and faculties. We will endeavour to shew how the air and genious of gardens operat upon humane spirits towards virtue and sanctitie: I mean in a remote, preparatory and instrumentall working. How caves, grotts, mounts, and irregular ornaments of gardens do contribute to contemplative and philosophicall enthusiasme; how _elysium, antrum, nemus, paradysus, hortus, lucus_, &c., signifie all of them _rem sacram it divinam_; for these expedients do influence the soule and spirits of men, and prepare them for converse with good angells; besides which, they contribute to the lesse abstracted pleasures, phylosophy naturall; and longevitie: and I would have not onely the elogies and effigie of the antient and famous garden heroes, but a society of the _paradisi cultores_ persons of antient simplicity, Paradisean and Hortulan saints, to be a society of learned and ingenuous men, such as Dr. Browne, by whome we might hope to redeeme the tyme that has bin lost, in pursuing _Vulgar Errours_, and still propagating them, as so many bold men do yet presume to do." The English style of landscape-gardening being founded on natural principles must be recognized by true taste in all countries. Even in Rome, when art was most allowed to predominate over nature, there were occasional instances of that correct feeling for rural beauty which the English during the last century and a half have exhibited more conspicuously than other nations. Atticus preferred Tully's villa at Arpinum to all his other villas; because at Arpinum, Nature predominated over art. Our Kents and Browns[031] never expressed a greater contempt, than was expressed by Atticus, for all formal and artificial decorations of natural scenery. The spot where Cicero's villa stood, was, in the time of Middleton, possessed by a convent of monks and was called the Villa of St. Dominic. It was built, observes Mr. Dunlop, in the year 1030, from the fragments of the Arpine Villa! Art, glory, Freedom, fail--but Nature still is fair. "Nothing," says Mr. Kelsall, "can be imagined finer than the surrounding landscape. The deep azure of the sky, unvaried by a single cloud--Sora on a rock at the foot of the precipitous Appennines--both banks of the Garigliano covered with vineyards--the _fragor aquarum_, alluded to by Atticus in his work _De Legibus_--the coolness, the rapidity and ultramarine hue of the Fibrenus--the noise of its cataracts--the rich turquoise color of the Liris--the minor Appennines round Arpino, crowned with umbrageous oaks to the very summits--present scenery hardly elsewhere to be equalled, certainly not to be surpassed, even in Italy." This description of an Italian landscape can hardly fail to charm the imagination of the coldest reader; but after all, I cannot help confessing to so inveterate a partiality for dear old England as to be delighted with the compliment which Gray, the poet, pays to English scenery when he prefers it to the scenery of Italy. "Mr. Walpole," writes the poet from Italy, "says, our _memory_ sees more than our eyes in this country. This is extremely true, since for _realities_ WINDSOR or RICHMOND HILL is infinitely preferable to ALBANO or FRESCATI." Sir Walter Scott, with all his patriotic love for his own romantic land, could not withhold his tribute to the loveliness of Richmond Hill,--its "_unrivalled landscape_" its "_sea of verdure_." "They" (The Duke of Argyle and Jeanie Deans) "paused for a moment on the brow of a hill, to gaze on the unrivalled landscape it presented. A huge sea of verdure, with crossing and intersecting promontories of massive and tufted groves was tenanted by numberless flocks and herds which seemed to wander unrestrained and unbounded through the rich pastures. The Thames, here turreted with villas, and there garlanded with forests, moved on slowly and placidly, like the mighty monarch of the scene, to whom all its other beauties were but accessaries, and bore on its bosom an hundred barks and skiffs whose white sails and gaily fluttering pennons gave life to the whole." _The Heart of Mid-Lothian_. It must of course be admitted that there are grander, more sublime, more varied and extensive prospects in other countries, but it would be difficult to persuade me that the richness of English verdure could be surpassed or even equalled, or that any part of the world can exhibit landscapes more truly _lovely_ and _loveable_, than those of England, or more calculated to leave a deep and enduring impression upon the heart. Mr. Kelsall speaks of an Italian sky "_uncovered by a single cloud_," but every painter and poet knows how much variety and beauty of effect are bestowed upon hill and plain and grove and river by passing clouds; and even our over-hanging vapours remind us of the veil upon the cheek of beauty; and ever as the sun uplifts the darkness the glory of the landscape seems renewed and freshened. It would cheer the saddest heart and send the blood dancing through the veins, to behold after a dull misty dawn, the sun break out over Richmond Hill, and with one broad light make the whole landscape smile; but I have been still more interested in the prospect when on a cloudy day the whole "sea of verdure" has been swayed to and fro into fresher life by the fitful breeze, while the lights and shadows amidst the foliage and on the lawns have been almost momentarily varied by the varying sky. These changes fascinate the eye, keep the soul awake, and save the scenery from the comparatively monotonous character of landscapes in less varying climes. And for my own part, I cordially echo the sentiment of Wordsworth, who when conversing with Mrs. Hemans about the scenery of the Lakes in the North of England, observed: "I would not give up the mists that _spiritualize_ our mountains for all the blue skies of Italy." Though Mrs. Stowe, the American authoress already quoted as one of the admirers of England, duly appreciates the natural grandeur of her own land, she was struck with admiration and delight at the aspect of our English landscapes. Our trees, she observes, "are of an order of nobility and they wear their crowns right kingly." "Leaving out of account," she adds, "our _mammoth arboria_, the English Parks have trees as fine and effective as ours, and when I say their trees are of an order of nobility, I mean that they (the English) pay a reverence to them such as their magnificence deserves." Walter Savage Landor, one of the most accomplished and most highly endowed both by nature and by fortune of our living men of letters, has done, or rather has tried to do, almost as much for his country in the way of enriching its collection of noble trees as Evelyn himself. He laid out £70,000 on the improvement of an estate in Monmouthshire, where he planted and fenced half a million of trees, and had a million more ready to plant, when the conduct of some of his tenants, who spitefully uprooted them and destroyed the whole plantation, so disgusted him with the place, that he razed to the ground the house which had cost him £8,000, and left the country. He then purchased a beautiful estate in Italy, which is still in possession of his family. He himself has long since returned to his native land. Landor loves Italy, but he loves England better. In one of his _Imaginary Conversations_ he tells an Italian nobleman: "The English are more zealous of introducing new fruits, shrubs and plants, than other nations; you Italians are less so than any civilized one. Better fruit is eaten in Scotland than in the most fertile and cultivated parts of your peninsula. _As for flowers, there is a greater variety in the worst of our fields than in the best of your gardens._ As for shrubs, I have rarely seen a lilac, a laburnum, a mezereon, in any of them, and yet they flourish before almost every cottage in our poorest villages." "We wonder in England, when we hear it related by travellers, that peaches in Italy are left under the trees for swine; but, when we ourselves come into the country, our wonder is rather that the swine do not leave them for animals less nice." Landor acknowledges that he has eaten better pears and cherries in Italy than in England, but that all the other kinds of fruitage in Italy appeared to him unfit for dessert. The most celebrated of the private estates of the present day in England is Chatsworth, the seat of the Duke of Devonshire. The mansion, called the Palace of the Peak, is considered one of the most splendid residences in the land. The grounds are truly beautiful and most carefully attended to. The elaborate waterworks are perhaps not in the severest taste. Some of them are but costly puerilities. There is a water-work in the form of a tree that sends a shower from every branch on the unwary visitor, and there are snakes that spit forth jets upon him as he retires. This is silly trifling: but ill adapted to interest those who have passed their teens; and not at all an agreeable sort of hospitality in a climate like that of England. It is in the style of the water-works at Versailles, where wooden soldiers shoot from their muskets vollies of water at the spectators.[032] It was an old English custom on certain occasions to sprinkle water over the company at a grand entertainment. Bacon, in his Essay on Masques, seems to object to getting drenched, when he observes that "some sweet odours suddenly coming forth, _without any drops falling_, are in such a company as there is steam and heat, things of great pleasure and refreshment." It was a custom also of the ancient Greeks and Romans to sprinkle their guests with fragrant waters. The Gascons had once the same taste: "At times," says Montaigne, "from the bottom of the stage, they caused sweet-scented waters to spout upwards and dart their thread to such a prodigious height, as to sprinkle and perfume the vast multitudes of spectators." The Native gentry of India always slightly sprinkle their visitors with rose-water. It is flung from a small silver utensil tapering off into a sort of upright spout with a pierced top in the fashion of that part of a watering pot which English gardeners call the _rose_. The finest of the water-works at Chatsworth is one called the _Emperor Fountain_ which throws up a jet 267 feet high. This height exceeds that of any fountain in Europe. There is a vast Conservatory on the estate, built of glass by Sir Joseph Paxton, who designed and constructed the Crystal Palace. His experience in the building of conservatories no doubt suggested to him the idea of the splendid glass edifice in Hyde Park. The conservatory at Chatsworth required 70,000 square feet of glass. Four miles of iron tubing are used in heating the building. There is a broad carriage way running right through the centre of the conservatory.[033] This conservatory is peculiarly rich in exotic plants of all kinds, collected at an enormous cost. This most princely estate, contrasted with the little cottages and cottage-gardens in the neighbourhood, suggested to Wordsworth the following sonnet. CHATSWORTH. Chatsworth! thy stately mansion, and the pride Of thy domain, strange contrast do present To house and home in many a craggy tent Of the wild Peak, where new born waters glide Through fields whose thrifty occupants abide As in a dear and chosen banishment With every semblance of entire content; So kind is simple Nature, fairly tried! Yet he whose heart in childhood gave his troth To pastoral dales, then set with modest farms, May learn, if judgment strengthen with his growth, That not for Fancy only, pomp hath charms; And, strenuous to protect from lawless harms The extremes of favored life, may honour both. The two noblest of modern public gardens in England are those at Kensington and Kew. Kensington Gardens were begun by King William the III, but were originally only twenty-six acres in extent. Queen Anne added thirty acres more. The grounds were laid out by the well-known garden-designers, London and Wise.[034] Queen Caroline, who formed the Serpentine River by connecting several detached pieces of water into one, and set the example of a picturesque deviation from the straight line,[035] added from Hyde Park no less than three hundred acres which were laid out by Bridgeman. This was a great boon to the Londoners. Horace Walpole says that Queen Caroline at first proposed to shut up St. James's Park and convert it into a private garden for herself, but when she asked Sir Robert Walpole what it would cost, he answered--"Only three Crowns." This changed her intentions. The reader of Pope will remember an allusion to the famous Ring in Hyde Park. The fair Belinda was sometimes attended there by her guardian Sylphs: The light militia of the lower sky. They guarded her from 'the white-gloved beaux,' These though unseen are ever on the wing, Hang o'er the box, _and hover o'er the Ring_. It was here that the gallantries of the "Merry Monarch" were but too often exhibited to his people. "After dinner," says the right garrulous Pepys in his journal, "to Hyde Parke; at the Parke was the King, and in another Coach, Lady Castlemaine, they greeting one another at every turn." The Gardens at Kew "Imperial Kew," as Darwin styles it, are the richest in the world. They consist of one hundred and seventy acres. They were once private gardens, and were long in the possession of Royalty, until the accession of Queen Victoria, who opened the gardens to the public and placed them under the control of the Commissioners of Her Majesty's Woods and Forests, "with a view of rendering them available to the general good." She hath left you all her walks, Her private arbors and new planted orchards On this side Tiber. She hath left them you And to your heirs for ever; common pleasures To walk abroad and recreate yourselves. They contain a large Palm-house built in 1848.[036] The extent of glass for covering the building is said to be 360,000 square feet. My Mahomedan readers in Hindostan, (I hope they will be numerous,) will perhaps be pleased to hear that there is an ornamental mosque in these gardens. On each of the doors of this mosque is an Arabic inscription in golden characters, taken from the Koran. The Arabic has been thus translated:-- LET THERE BE NO FORCE IN RELIGION. THERE IS NO OTHER GOD EXCEPT THE DEITY. MAKE NOT ANY LIKENESS UNTO GOD. The first sentence of the translation is rather ambiguously worded. The sentiment has even an impious air: an apparent meaning very different from that which was intended. Of course the original text _means_, though the English translator has not expressed that meaning--"Let there be no force _used_ in religion." When William Cobbett was a boy of eleven years of age he worked in the garden of the Bishop of Winchester at Farnham. Having heard much of Kew gardens he resolved to change his locality and his master. He started off for Kew, a distance of about thirty miles, with only thirteen pence in his pocket. The head gardener at Kew at once engaged his services. A few days after, George the Fourth, then Prince of Wales, saw the boy sweeping the lawns, and laughed heartily at his blue smock frock and long red knotted garters. But the poor gardener's boy became a public writer, whose productions were not exactly calculated to excite the merriment of princes. Most poets have a painter's eye for the disposition of forms and colours. Kent's practice as a painter no doubt helped to make him what he was as a landscape-gardener. When an architect was consulted about laying out the grounds at Blenheim he replied, "you must send for a landscape-painter:" he might have added--"_or a poet_." Our late Laureate, William Wordsworth, exhibited great taste in his small garden at Rydal Mount. He said of himself--very truly though not very modestly perhaps,--but modesty was never Wordsworth's weakness--that nature seemed to have fitted him for three callings--that of the poet, the critic on works of art, and the landscape-gardener. The poet's nest--(Mrs. Hemans calls it 'a lovely cottage-like building'[037])--is almost hidden in a rich profusion of roses and ivy and jessamine and virginia-creeper. Wordsworth, though he passionately admired the shapes and hues of flowers, knew nothing of their fragrance. In this respect knowledge at one entrance was quite shut out. He had possessed at no time of his life the sense of smell. To make up for this deficiency, he is said (by De Quincey) to have had "a peculiar depth of organic sensibility of form and color." Mr. Justice Coleridge tells us that Wordsworth dealt with shrubs, flower-beds and lawns with the readiness of a practised landscape-gardener, and that it was curious to observe how he had imparted a portion of his taste to his servant, James Dixon. In fact, honest James regarded himself as a sort of Arbiter Elegantiarum. The master and his servant often discussed together a question of taste. Wordsworth communicated to Mr. Justice Coleridge how "he and James" were once "in a puzzle" about certain discolored spots upon the lawn. "Cover them with soap-lees," said the master. "That will make the green there darker than the rest," said the gardener. "Then we must cover the whole." "That will not do," objects the gardener, "with reference to the little lawn to which you pass from this." "Cover that," said the poet. "You will then," replied the gardener, "have an unpleasant contrast with the foliage surrounding it." Pope too had communicated to his gardener at Twickenham something of his own taste. The man, long after his master's death, in reference to the training of the branches of plants, used to talk of their being made to hang "_something poetical_". It would have grieved Shakespeare and Pope and Shenstone had they anticipated the neglect or destruction of their beloved retreats. Wordsworth said, "I often ask myself what will become of Rydal Mount after our day. Will the old walls and steps remain in front of the house and about the grounds, or will they be swept away with all the beautiful mosses and ferns and wild geraniums and other flowers which their rude construction suffered and encouraged to grow among them. This little wild flower, _Poor Robin_, is here constantly courting my attention and exciting what may be called a domestic interest in the varying aspect of its stalks and leaves and flowers." I hope no Englishman meditating to reside on the grounds now sacred to the memory of a national poet will ever forget these words of the poet or treat his cottage and garden at Rydal Mount as some of Pope's countrymen have treated the house and grounds at Twickenham.[038] It would be sad indeed to hear, after this, that any one had refused to spare the _Poor Robins_ and _wild geraniums_ of Rydal Mount. Miss Jewsbury has a poem descriptive of "the Poet's Home." I must give the first stanza:-- WORDSWORTH'S COTTAGE. Low and white, yet scarcely seen Are its walls of mantling green; Not a window lets in light But through flowers clustering bright, Not a glance may wander there But it falls on something fair; Garden choice and fairy mound Only that no elves are found; Winding walk and sheltered nook For student grave and graver book, Or a bird-like bower perchance Fit for maiden and romance. Another lady-poet has poured forth in verse her admiration of THE RESIDENCE OF WORDSWORTH. Not for the glory on their heads Those stately hill-tops wear, Although the summer sunset sheds Its constant crimson there: Not for the gleaming lights that break The purple of the twilight lake, Half dusky and half fair, Does that sweet valley seem to be A sacred place on earth to me. The influence of a moral spell Is found around the scene, Giving new shadows to the dell, New verdure to the green. With every mountain-top is wrought The presence of associate thought, A music that has been; Calling that loveliness to life, With which the inward world is rife. His home--our English poet's home-- Amid these hills is made; Here, with the morning, hath he come, There, with the night delayed. On all things is his memory cast, For every place wherein he past, Is with his mind arrayed, That, wandering in a summer hour, Asked wisdom of the leaf and flower. L.E.L. The cottage and garden of the poet are not only picturesque and delightful in themselves, but from their position in the midst of some of the finest scenery of England. One of the writers in the book entitled '_The Land we Live in_' observes that the bard of the mountains and the lakes could not have found a more fitting habitation had the whole land been before him, where to choose his place of rest. "Snugly sheltered by the mountains, embowered among trees, and having in itself prospects of surpassing beauty, it also lies in the midst of the very noblest objects in the district, and in one of the happiest social positions. The grounds are delightful in every respect; but one view--that from the terrace of moss-like grass--is, to our thinking, the most exquisitely graceful in all this land of beauty. It embraces the whole valley of Windermere, with hills on either side softened into perfect loveliness." Eustace, the Italian tourist, seems inclined to deprive the English of the honor of being the first cultivators of the natural style in gardening, and thinks that it was borrowed not from Milton but from Tasso. I suppose that most genuine poets, in all ages and in all countries, when they give full play to the imagination, have glimpses of the truly natural in the arts. The reader will probably be glad to renew his acquaintance with Tasso's description of the garden of Armida. I shall give the good old version of Edward Fairfax from the edition of 1687. Fairfax was a true poet and wrote musically at a time when sweetness of versification was not so much aimed at as in a later day. Waller confessed that he owed the smoothness of his verse to the example of Fairfax, who, as Warton observes, "well vowelled his lines." THE GARDEN OF ARMIDA. When they had passed all those troubled ways, The Garden sweet spread forth her green to shew; The moving crystal from the fountains plays; Fair trees, high plants, strange herbs and flowerets new, Sunshiny hills, vales hid from Phoebus' rays, Groves, arbours, mossie caves at once they view, And that which beauty most, most wonder brought, No where appear'd the Art which all this wrought. So with the rude the polished mingled was, That natural seem'd all and every part, Nature would craft in counterfeiting pass, And imitate her imitator Art: Mild was the air, the skies were clear as glass, The trees no whirlwind felt, nor tempest's smart, But ere the fruit drop off, the blossom comes, This springs, that falls, that ripeneth and this blooms. The leaves upon the self-same bough did hide, Beside the young, the old and ripened fig, Here fruit was green, there ripe with vermeil side; The apples new and old grew on one twig, The fruitful vine her arms spread high and wide, That bended underneath their clusters big; The grapes were tender here, hard, young and sour, There purple ripe, and nectar sweet forth pour. The joyous birds, hid under green-wood shade, Sung merry notes on every branch and bow, The wind that in the leaves and waters plaid With murmer sweet, now sung and whistled now; Ceaséd the birds, the wind loud answer made: And while they sung, it rumbled soft and low; Thus were it hap or cunning, chance or art, The wind in this strange musick bore his part. With party-coloured plumes and purple bill, A wondrous bird among the rest there flew, That in plain speech sung love-lays loud and shrill, Her leden was like humane language true; So much she talkt, and with such wit and skill, That strange it seeméd how much good she knew; Her feathered fellows all stood hush to hear, Dumb was the wind, the waters silent were. The gently budding rose (quoth she) behold, That first scant peeping forth with virgin beams, Half ope, half shut, her beauties doth upfold In their dear leaves, and less seen, fairer seems, And after spreads them forth more broad and bold, Then languisheth and dies in last extreams, Nor seems the same, that deckéd bed and bower Of many a lady late, and paramour. So, in the passing of a day, doth pass The bud and blossom of the life of man, Nor ere doth flourish more, but like the grass Cut down, becometh wither'd, pale and wan: O gather then the rose while time thou hast, Short is the day, done when it scant began; Gather the rose of love, while yet thou may'st Loving be lov'd; embracing, be embrac'd. He ceas'd, and as approving all he spoke, The quire of birds their heav'nly tunes renew, The turtles sigh'd, and sighs with kisses broke, The fowls to shades unseen, by pairs withdrew; It seem'd the laurel chaste, and stubborn oak, And all the gentle trees on earth that grew, It seem'd the land, the sea, and heav'n above, All breath'd out fancy sweet, and sigh'd out love. _Godfrey of Bulloigne_ I must place near the garden of Armida, Ariosto's garden of Alcina. "Ariosto," says Leigh Hunt, "cared for none of the pleasures of the great, except building, and was content in Cowley's fashion, with "a small house in a large garden." He loved gardening better than he understood it, was always shifting his plants, and destroying the seeds, out of impatience to see them germinate. He was rejoicing once on the coming up of some "capers" which he had been visiting every day, to see how they got on, when it turned out that his capers were elder trees!" THE GARDEN OF ALCINA. 'A more delightful place, wherever hurled, Through the whole air, Rogero had not found; And had he ranged the universal world, Would not have seen a lovelier in his round, Than that, where, wheeling wide, the courser furled His spreading wings, and lighted on the ground Mid cultivated plain, delicious hill, Moist meadow, shady bank, and crystal rill; 'Small thickets, with the scented laurel gay, Cedar, and orange, full of fruit and flower, Myrtle and palm, with interwoven spray, Pleached in mixed modes, all lovely, form a bower; And, breaking with their shade the scorching ray, Make a cool shelter from the noon-tide hour. And nightingales among those branches wing Their flight, and safely amorous descants sing. 'Amid red roses and white lilies _there_, Which the soft breezes freshen as they fly, Secure the cony haunts, and timid hare, And stag, with branching forehead broad and high. These, fearless of the hunter's dart or snare, Feed at their ease, or ruminating lie; While, swarming in those wilds, from tuft or steep, Dun deer or nimble goat disporting leap.' _Rose's Orlando Furioso_. Spenser's description of the garden of Adonis is too long to give entire, but I shall quote a few stanzas. The old story on which Spenser founds his description is told with many variations of circumstance and meaning; but we need not quit the pages of the Faerie Queene to lose ourselves amidst obscure mythologies. We have too much of these indeed even in Spenser's own version of the fable. THE GARDEN OF ADONIS. Great enimy to it, and all the rest That in the Gardin of Adonis springs, Is wicked Time; who with his scythe addrest Does mow the flowring herbes and goodly things, And all their glory to the ground downe flings, Where they do wither and are fowly mard He flyes about, and with his flaggy wings Beates downe both leaves and buds without regard, Ne ever pitty may relent his malice hard. * * * * * But were it not that Time their troubler is, All that in this delightful gardin growes Should happy bee, and have immortall blis: For here all plenty and all pleasure flowes; And sweete Love gentle fitts emongst them throwes, Without fell rancor or fond gealosy. Franckly each paramour his leman knowes, Each bird his mate; ne any does envy Their goodly meriment and gay felicity. There is continual spring, and harvest there Continuall, both meeting at one tyme: For both the boughes doe laughing blossoms beare. And with fresh colours decke the wanton pryme, And eke attonce the heavy trees they clyme, Which seeme to labour under their fruites lode: The whiles the ioyous birdes make their pastyme Emongst the shady leaves, their sweet abode, And their trew loves without suspition tell abrode. Right in the middest of that Paradise There stood a stately mount, on whose round top A gloomy grove of mirtle trees did rise, Whose shady boughes sharp steele did never lop, Nor wicked beastes their tender buds did crop, But like a girlond compasséd the hight, And from their fruitfull sydes sweet gum did drop, That all the ground, with pretious deaw bedight, Threw forth most dainty odours and most sweet delight. And in the thickest covert of that shade There was a pleasaunt arber, not by art But of the trees owne inclination made, Which knitting their rancke braunches part to part, With wanton yvie-twine entrayld athwart, And eglantine and caprifole emong, Fashioned above within their inmost part, That neither Phoebus beams could through them throng, Nor Aeolus sharp blast could worke them any wrong. And all about grew every sort of flowre, To which sad lovers were transformde of yore, Fresh Hyacinthus, Phoebus paramoure And dearest love; Foolish Narcisse, that likes the watry shore; Sad Amaranthus, made a flowre but late, Sad Amaranthus, in whose purple gore Me seemes I see Amintas wretched fate, To whom sweet poet's verse hath given endlesse date. _Fairie Queene, Book III. Canto VI_. I must here give a few stanzas from Spenser's description of the _Bower of Bliss_ In which whatever in this worldly state Is sweet and pleasing unto living sense, Or that may dayntiest fantasy aggrate Was pouréd forth with pleantiful dispence. The English poet in his Fairie Queene has borrowed a great deal from Tasso and Ariosto, but generally speaking, his borrowings, like those of most true poets, are improvements upon the original. THE BOWER OF BLISS. There the most daintie paradise on ground Itself doth offer to his sober eye, In which all pleasures plenteously abownd, And none does others happinesse envye; The painted flowres; the trees upshooting hye; The dales for shade; the hilles for breathing-space; The trembling groves; the christall running by; And that which all faire workes doth most aggrace, The art, which all that wrought, appearéd in no place. One would have thought, (so cunningly the rude[039] And scornéd partes were mingled with the fine,) That Nature had for wantonesse ensude Art, and that Art at Nature did repine; So striving each th' other to undermine, Each did the others worke more beautify; So diff'ring both in willes agreed in fine; So all agreed, through sweete diversity, This Gardin to adorn with all variety. And in the midst of all a fountaine stood, Of richest substance that on earth might bee, So pure and shiny that the silver flood Through every channel running one might see; Most goodly it with curious ymageree Was over-wrought, and shapes of naked boyes, Of which some seemed with lively iollitee To fly about, playing their wanton toyes, Whylest others did themselves embay in liquid ioyes. * * * * * Eftsoones they heard a most melodious sound, Of all that mote delight a daintie eare, Such as attonce might not on living ground, Save in this paradise, be heard elsewhere: Right hard it was for wight which did it heare, To read what manner musicke that mote bee; For all that pleasing is to living eare Was there consorted in one harmonee; Birdes, voices, instruments, windes, waters all agree: The ioyous birdes, shrouded in chearefull shade, Their notes unto the voice attempred sweet; Th' angelicall soft trembling voyces made To th' instruments divine respondence meet; The silver-sounding instruments did meet With the base murmure of the waters fall; The waters fall with difference discreet, Now soft, now loud, unto the wind did call; The gentle warbling wind low answeréd to all. _The Faerie Queene, Book II. Canto XII._ Every school-boy has heard of the gardens of the Hesperides. The story is told in many different ways. According to some accounts, the Hesperides, the daughters of Hesperus, were appointed to keep charge of the tree of golden apples which Jupiter presented to Juno on their wedding day. A hundred-headed dragon that never slept, (the offspring of Typhon,) couched at the foot of the tree. It was one of the twelve labors of Hercules to obtain possession of some of these apples. He slew the dragon and gathered three golden apples. The gardens, according to some authorities, were situated near Mount Atlas. Shakespeare seems to have taken _Hesperides_ to be the name of the garden instead of that of its fair keepers. Even the learned Milton in his _Paradise Regained_, (Book II) talks of _the ladies of the Hesperides_, and appears to make the word Hesperides synonymous with "Hesperian gardens." Bishop Newton, in a foot-note to the passage in "Paradise Regained," asks, "What are the Hesperides famous for, but the gardens and orchards which _they had_ bearing golden fruit in the western Isles of Africa." Perhaps after all there may be some good authority in favor of extending the names of the nymphs to the garden itself. Malone, while condemning Shakespeare's use of the words as inaccurate, acknowledges that other poets have used it in the same way, and quotes as an instance, the following lines from Robert Greene:-- Shew thee the tree, leaved with refined gold, Whereon the fearful dragon held his seat, That watched _the garden_ called the _Hesperides_. _Robert Greene_. For valour is not love a Hercules, Still climbing trees in the Hesperides? _Love's Labour Lost_. Before thee stands this fair Hesperides, With golden fruit, but dangerous to be touched For death-like dragons here affright thee hard. _Pericles, Prince of Tyre_. Milton, after the fourth line of his Comus, had originally inserted, in his manuscript draft of the poem, the following description of the garden of the Hesperides. THE GARDEN OF THE HESPERIDES Amid the Hesperian gardens, on whose banks Bedewed with nectar and celestial songs Eternal roses grow, and hyacinth, And fruits of golden rind, on whose fair tree The scaly harnessed dragon ever keeps His uninchanted eye, around the verge And sacred limits of this blissful Isle The jealous ocean that old river winds His far extended aims, till with steep fall Half his waste flood the wide Atlantic fills; And half the slow unfathomed Stygian pool But soft, I was not sent to court your wonder With distant worlds and strange removéd climes Yet thence I come and oft from thence behold The smoke and stir of this dim narrow spot Milton subsequently drew his pen through these lines, for what reason is not known. Bishop Newton observes, that this passage, saved from intended destruction, may serve as a specimen of the truth of the observation that Poets lose half the praise they should have got Could it be known what they discreetly blot. _Waller_. As I have quoted in an earlier page some unfavorable allusions to Homer's description of a Grecian garden, it will be but fair to follow up Milton's picture of Paradise, and Tasso's garden of Armida, and Ariosto's Garden of Alcina, and Spenser's Garden of Adonis and his Bower of Bliss, with Homer's description of the Garden of Alcinous. Minerva tells Ulysses that the Royal mansion to which the garden of Alcinous is attached is of such conspicuous grandeur and so generally known, that any child might lead him to it; For Phoeacia's sons Possess not houses equalling in aught The mansion of Alcinous, the king. I shall give Cowper's version, because it may be less familiar to the reader than Pope's, which is in every one's hand. THE GARDEN OF ALCINOUS Without the court, and to the gates adjoined A spacious garden lay, fenced all around, Secure, four acres measuring complete, There grew luxuriant many a lofty tree, Pomgranate, pear, the apple blushing bright, The honeyed fig, and unctuous olive smooth. Those fruits, nor winter's cold nor summer's heat Fear ever, fail not, wither not, but hang Perennial, while unceasing zephyr breathes Gently on all, enlarging these, and those Maturing genial; in an endless course. Pears after pears to full dimensions swell, Figs follow figs, grapes clustering grow again Where clusters grew, and (every apple stripped) The boughs soon tempt the gatherer as before. There too, well rooted, and of fruit profuse, His vineyard grows; part, wide extended, basks In the sun's beams; the arid level glows; In part they gather, and in part they tread The wine-press, while, before the eye, the grapes Here put their blossoms forth, there gather fast Their blackness. On the garden's verge extreme Flowers of all hues[040] smile all the year, arranged With neatest art judicious, and amid The lovely scene two fountains welling forth, One visits, into every part diffused, The garden-ground, the other soft beneath The threshold steals into the palace court Whence every citizen his vase supplies. _Homer's Odyssey, Book VII_. The mode of watering the garden-ground, and the use made of the water by the public-- Whence every citizen his vase supplies-- can hardly fail to remind Indian and Anglo-Indian readers of a Hindu gentleman's garden in Bengal. Pope first published in the _Guardian_ his own version of the account of the garden of Alcinous and subsequently gave it a place in his entire translation of Homer. In introducing the readers of the _Guardian_ to the garden of Alcinous he observes that "the two most celebrated wits of the world have each left us a particular picture of a garden; wherein those great masters, being wholly unconfined and pointing at pleasure, may be thought to have given a full idea of what seemed most excellent in that way. These (one may observe) consist entirely of the useful part of horticulture, fruit trees, herbs, waters, &c. The pieces I am speaking of are Virgil's account of the garden of the old Corycian, and Homer's of that of Alcinous. The first of these is already known to the English reader, by the excellent versions of Mr. Dryden and Mr. Addison." I do not think our present landscape-gardeners, or parterre-gardeners or even our fruit or kitchen-gardeners can be much enchanted with Virgil's ideal of a garden, but here it is, as "done into English," by John Dryden, who describes the Roman Poet as "a profound naturalist," and "_a curious Florist_." THE GARDEN OF THE OLD CORYCIAN. I chanc'd an old Corycian swain to know, Lord of few acres, and those barren too, Unfit for sheep or vines, and more unfit to sow: Yet, lab'ring well his little spot of ground, Some scatt'ring pot-herbs here and there he found, Which, cultivated with his daily care And bruis'd with vervain, were his frugal fare. With wholesome poppy-flow'rs, to mend his homely board: For, late returning home, he supp'd at ease, And wisely deem'd the wealth of monarchs less: The little of his own, because his own, did please. To quit his care, he gather'd, first of all, In spring the roses, apples in the fall: And, when cold winter split the rocks in twain, And ice the running rivers did restrain, He stripp'd the bear's foot of its leafy growth, And, calling western winds, accus'd the spring of sloth He therefore first among the swains was found To reap the product of his labour'd ground, And squeeze the combs with golden liquor crown'd His limes were first in flow'rs, his lofty pines, With friendly shade, secur'd his tender vines. For ev'ry bloom his trees in spring afford, An autumn apple was by tale restor'd He knew to rank his elms in even rows, For fruit the grafted pear tree to dispose, And tame to plums the sourness of the sloes With spreading planes he made a cool retreat, To shade good fellows from the summer's heat _Virgil's Georgics, Book IV_. An excellent Scottish poet--Allan Ramsay--a true and unaffected describer of rural life and scenery--seems to have had as great a dislike to topiary gardens, and quite as earnest a love of nature, as any of the best Italian poets. The author of the "Gentle Shepherd" tells us in the following lines what sort of garden most pleased his fancy. ALLAN RAMSAY'S GARDEN. I love the garden wild and wide, Where oaks have plum-trees by their side, Where woodbines and the twisting vine Clip round the pear tree and the pine Where mixed jonquils and gowans grow And roses midst rank clover grow Upon a bank of a clear strand, In wrimplings made by Nature's hand Though docks and brambles here and there May sometimes cheat the gardener's care, _Yet this to me is Paradise_, _Compared with prim cut plots and nice_, _Where Nature has to Act resigned,_ _Till all looks mean, stiff and confined_. I cannot say that I should wish to see forest trees and docks and brambles in garden borders. Honest Allan here runs a little into the extreme, as men are apt enough to do, when they try to get as far as possible from the side advocated by an opposite party. I shall now exhibit two paintings of bowers. I begin with one from Spenser. A BOWER And over him Art stryving to compayre With Nature did an arber greene dispied[041] Framéd of wanton yvie, flouring, fayre, Through which the fragrant eglantine did spred His prickling armes, entrayld with roses red, Which daintie odours round about them threw And all within with flowers was garnishéd That, when myld Zephyrus emongst them blew, Did breathe out bounteous smels, and painted colors shew And fast beside these trickled softly downe A gentle streame, whose murmuring wave did play Emongst the pumy stones, and made a sowne, To lull him soft asleepe that by it lay The wearie traveiler wandring that way, Therein did often quench his thirsty head And then by it his wearie limbes display, (Whiles creeping slomber made him to forget His former payne,) and wypt away his toilsom sweat. And on the other syde a pleasaunt grove Was shott up high, full of the stately tree That dedicated is t'Olympick Iove, And to his son Alcides,[042] whenas hee In Nemus gaynéd goodly victoree Theirin the merry birds of every sorte Chaunted alowd their cheerful harmonee, And made emongst themselves a sweete consórt That quickned the dull spright with musicall comfórt. _Fairie Queene, Book 2 Cant. 5 Stanzas 29, 30 and 31._ Here is a sweet picture of a "shady lodge" from the hand of Milton. EVE'S NUPTIAL BOWER. Thus talking, hand in hand alone they pass'd On to their blissful bower. It was a place Chosen by the sov'reign Planter, when he framed All things to man's delightful use, the roof Of thickest covert was inwoven shade, Laurel and myrtle, and what higher grew Of firm and fragrant leaf, on either side Acanthus, and each odorous bushy shrub, Fenced up the verdant wall, each beauteous flower Iris all hues, roses, and jessamine, Rear'd high their flourish'd heads between, and wrought Mosaic, under foot the violet, Crocus, and hyacinth, with rich inlay Broider'd the ground, more colour'd than with stone Of costliest emblem other creature here, Beast, bird, insect, or worm, durst enter none, Such was their awe of man. In shadier bower More sacred and sequester'd, though but feign'd, Pan or Sylvanus never slept, nor nymph Nor Faunus haunted. Here, in close recess, With flowers, garlands, and sweet smelling herbs, Espoused Eve deck'd first her nuptial bed, And heavenly quires the hymenean sung I have already quoted from Leigh Hunt's "Stories from the Italian poets" an amusing anecdote illustrative of Ariosto's ignorance of botany. But even in these days when all sorts of sciences are forced upon all sorts of students, we often meet with persons of considerable sagacity and much information of a different kind who are marvellously ignorant of the vegetable world. In the just published Memoirs of the late James Montgomery, of Sheffield, it is recorded that the poet and his brother Robert, a tradesman at Woolwich, (not Robert Montgomery, the author of 'Satan,' &c.) were one day walking together, when the trader seeing a field of flax in full flower, asked the poet what sort of corn it was. "Such corn as your shirt is made of," was the reply. "But Robert," observes a writer in the _Athenaeum_, "need not be ashamed of his simplicity. Rousseau, naturalist as he was, could hardly tell one berry from another, and three of our greatest wits disputing in the field whether the crop growing there was rye, barley, or oats, were set right by a clown, who truly pronounced it wheat." Men of genius who have concentrated all their powers on some one favorite profession or pursuit are often thus triumphed over by the vulgar, whose eyes are more observant of the familiar objects and details of daily life and of the scenes around them. Wordsworth and Coleridge, on one occasion, after a long drive, and in the absence of a groom, endeavored to relieve the tired horse of its harness. After torturing the poor animal's neck and endangering its eyes by their clumsy and vain attempts to slip off the collar, they at last gave up the matter in despair. They felt convinced that the horse's head must have swollen since the collar was put on. At last a servant-girl beheld their perplexity. "La, masters," she exclaimed, "you dont set about it the right way." She then seized hold of the collar, turned it broad end up, and slipped it off in a second. The mystery that had puzzled two of the finest intellects of their time was a very simple matter indeed to a country wench who had perhaps never heard that England possessed a Shakespeare. James Montgomery was a great lover of flowers, and few of our English poets have written about the family of Flora, the sweet wife of Zephyr, in a more genial spirit. He used to regret that the old Floral games and processions on May-day and other holidays had gone out of fashion. Southey tells us that in George the First's reign a grand Florist's Feast was held at Bethnall Green, and that a carnation named after his Majesty was _King of the Year_. The Stewards were dressed with laurel leaves and flowers. They carried gilded staves. Ninety cultivators followed in procession to the sound of music, each bearing his own flowers before him. All elegant customs of this nature have fallen into desuetude in England, though many of them are still kept up in other parts of Europe. Chaucer who dearly loved all images associated with the open air and the dewy fields and bright mornings and radiant flowers makes the gentle Emily, That fairer was to seene Than is the lily upon his stalkie greene, rise early and do honor to the birth of May-day. All things now seem to breathe of hope and joy. Though long hath been The trance of Nature on the naked bier Where ruthless Winter mocked her slumbers drear And rent with icy hand her robes of green, That trance is brightly broken! Glossy trees, Resplendent meads and variegated flowers Flash in the sun and flutter in the breeze And now with dreaming eye the poet sees Fair shapes of pleasure haunt romantic bowers, And laughing streamlets chase the flying hours. D.L.R. The great describer of our Lost Paradise did not disdain to sing a SONG ON MAY-MORNING. Now the bright Morning star, Day's harbinger, Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her The flowery May, who from her green lap throws The yellow cowslip and the pale primrose Hail bounteous-May, that dost inspire Mirth and youth and warm desire; Woods and groves are of thy dressing, Hill and dale do boast thy blessing. Thus we salute thee with our early song, And welcome thee and wish thee long. Nor did the Poet of the World, William Shakespeare, hesitate to Do observance to a morn of May. He makes one of his characters (in _King Henry VIII_.) complain that it is as impossible to keep certain persons quiet on an ordinary day, as it is to make them sleep on May-day--once the time of universal merriment-- when every one was wont "_to put himself into triumph_." 'Tis as much impossible, Unless we sweep 'em from the doors with cannons To scatter 'em, _as 'tis to make 'em sleep On May-day Morning_. Spenser duly celebrates, in his "Shepheard's Calender," Thilke mery moneth of May When love-lads masken in fresh aray, when "all is yclad with pleasaunce, the ground with grasse, the woods with greene leaves, and the bushes with bloosming buds." Sicker[043] this morowe, no longer agoe, I saw a shole of shepeardes outgoe With singing and shouting and iolly chere: Before them yode[044] a lustre tabrere,[045] That to the many a hornepype playd Whereto they dauncen eche one with his mayd. To see those folks make such iovysaunce, Made my heart after the pype to daunce. Tho[046] to the greene wood they speeden hem all To fetchen home May with their musicall; And home they bringen in a royall throne Crowned as king; and his queene attone[047] Was LADY FLORA. _Spenser_. This is the season when the birds seem almost intoxicated with delight at the departure of the dismal and cold and cloudy days of winter and the return of the warm sun. The music of these little May musicians seems as fresh as the fragrance of the flowers. The Skylark is the prince of British Singing-birds--the leader of their cheerful band. LINES TO A SKYLARK. Wanderer through the wilds of air! Freely as an angel fair Thou dost leave the solid earth, Man is bound to from his birth Scarce a cubit from the grass Springs the foot of lightest lass-- _Thou_ upon a cloud can'st leap, And o'er broadest rivers sweep, Climb up heaven's steepest height, Fluttering, twinkling, in the light, Soaring, singing, till, sweet bird, Thou art neither seen nor heard, Lost in azure fields afar Like a distance hidden star, That alone for angels bright Breathes its music, sheds its light Warbler of the morning's mirth! When the gray mists rise from earth, And the round dews on each spray Glitter in the golden ray, And thy wild notes, sweet though high, Fill the wide cerulean, sky, Is there human heart or brain Can resist thy merry strain? But not always soaring high, Making man up turn his eye Just to learn what shape of love, Raineth music from above,-- All the sunny cloudlets fair Floating on the azure air, All the glories of the sky Thou leavest unreluctantly, Silently with happy breast To drop into thy lowly nest. Though the frame of man must be Bound to earth, the soul is free, But that freedom oft doth bring Discontent and sorrowing. Oh! that from each waking vision, Gorgeous vista, gleam Elysian, From ambition's dizzy height, And from hope's illusive light, Man, like thee, glad lark, could brook Upon a low green spot to look, And with home affections blest Sink into as calm a nest! D.L.R. I brought from England to India two English skylarks. I thought they would help to remind me of English meadows and keep alive many agreeable home-associations. In crossing the desert they were carefully lashed on the top of one of the vans, and in spite of the dreadful jolting and the heat of the sun they sang the whole way until night-fall. It was pleasant to hear English larks from rich clover fields singing so joyously in the sandy waste. In crossing some fields between Cairo and the Pyramids I was surprized and delighted with the songs of Egyptian skylarks. Their notes were much the same as those of the English lark. The lark of Bengal is about the size of a sparrow and has a poor weak note. At this moment a lark from Caubul (larger than an English lark) is doing his best to cheer me with his music. This noble bird, though so far from his native fields, and shut up in his narrow prison, pours forth his rapturous melody in an almost unbroken stream from dawn to sunset. He allows no change of season to abate his minstrelsy, to any observable degree, and seems equally happy and musical all the year round. I have had him nearly two years, and though of course he must moult his feathers yearly, I have not observed the change of plumage, nor have I noticed that he has sung less at one period of the year than another. One of my two English larks was stolen the very day I landed in India, and the other soon died. The loss of an English lark is not to be replaced in Calcutta, though almost every week, canaries, linnets, gold-finches and bull-finches are sold at public auctions here. But I must return to my main subject.--The ancients used to keep the great Feast of the goddess Flora on the 28th of April. It lasted till the 3rd of May. The Floral Games of antiquity were unhappily debased by indecent exhibitions; but they were not entirely devoid of better characteristics.[048] Ovid describing the goddess Flora says that "while she was speaking she breathed forth vernal roses from her mouth." The same poet has represented her in her garden with the Florae gathering flowers and the Graces making garlands of them. The British borrowed the idea of this festival from the Romans. Some of our Kings and Queens used '_to go a Maying_,' and to have feasts of wine and venison in the open meadows or under the good green-wood. Prior says: Let one great day To celebrate sports and floral play Be set aside. But few people, in England, in these times, distinguish May-day from the initial day of any other month of the twelve. I am old enough to remember _Jack-in-the-Green_. Nor have I forgotten the cheerful clatter--the brush-and-shovel music--of our little British negroes--"innocent blacknesses," as Lamb calls them--the chimney-sweepers,--a class now almost _swept away_ themselves by _machinery_. One May-morning in the streets of London these tinsel-decorated merry-makers with their sooty cheeks and black lips lined with red, and staring eyes whose white seemed whiter still by contrast with the darkness of their cases, and their ivory teeth kept sound and brilliant with the professional powder, besieged George Selwyn and his arm-in-arm companion, Lord Pembroke, for May-day boxes. Selwyn making them a low bow, said, very solemnly "I have often heard of _the sovereignty of the people_, and I suppose you are some of the young princes in court mourning." My Native readers in Bengal can form no conception of the delight with which the British people at home still hail the spring of the year, or the deep interest which they take in all "the Seasons and their change"; though they have dropped some of the oldest and most romantic of the ceremonies once connected with them. If there were an annual fall of the leaf in the groves of India, instead of an eternal summer, the natives would discover how much the charms of the vegetable world are enhanced by these vicissitudes, and how even winter itself can be made delightful. My brother exiles will remember as long as life is in them, how exquisite, in dear old England, is the enjoyment of a brisk morning walk in the clear frosty air, and how cheering and cosy is the social evening fire! Though a cold day in Calcutta is not exactly like a cold day in London, it sometimes revives the remembrance of it. An Indian winter, if winter it may be called, is indeed far less agreeable than a winter in England, but it is not wholly without its pleasures. It is, at all events, a grateful change--a welcome relief and refreshment after a sultry summer or a _muggy_ rainy season. An Englishman, however, must always prefer the keener but more wholesome frigidity of his own clime. There, the external gloom and bleakness of a severe winter day enhance our in-door comforts, and we do not miss sunny skies when greeted with sunny looks. If we then see no blooming flowers, we see blooming faces. But as we have few domestic enjoyments in this country--no social snugness,--no sweet seclusion--and as our houses are as open as bird-cages,--and as we almost live in public and in the open air--we have little comfort when compelled, with an enfeebled frame and a morbidly sensitive cuticle, to remain at home on what an Anglo-Indian Invalid calls a cold day, with an easterly wind whistling through every room.[049] In our dear native country each season has its peculiar moral or physical attractions. It is not easy to say which is the most agreeable--its summer or its winter. Perhaps I must decide in favor of the first. The memory of many a smiling summer day still flashes upon my soul. If the whole of human life were like a fine English day in June, we should cease to wish for "another and a better world." It is often from dawn to sunset one revel of delight. How pleasantly, from the first break of day, have I lain wide awake and traced the approach of the breakfast hour by the increasing notes of birds and the advancing sun-light on my curtains! A summer feeling, at such a time, would make my heart dance within me, as I thought of the long, cheerful day to be enjoyed, and planned some rural walk, or rustic entertainment. The ills that flesh is heir to, if they occurred for a moment, appeared like idle visions. They were inconceivable as real things. As I heard the lark singing in "a glorious privacy of light," and saw the boughs of the green and gold laburnum waving at my window, and had my fancy filled with images of natural beauty, I felt a glow of fresh life in my veins, and my soul was inebriated with joy. It is difficult, amidst such exhilarating influences, to entertain those melancholy ideas which sometimes crowd upon, us, and appear so natural, at a less happy hour. Even actual misfortune comes in a questionable shape, when our physical constitution is in perfect health, and the flowers are in full bloom, and the skies are blue, and the streams are glittering in the sun. So powerfully does the light of external nature sometimes act upon the moral system, that a sweet sensation steals gradually over the heart, even when we think we have reason to be sorrowful, and while we almost accuse ourselves of a want of feeling. The fretful hypochondriac would do well to bear this fact in mind, and not take it for granted that all are cold and selfish who fail to sympathize with his fantastic cares. He should remember that men are sometimes so buoyed up by the sense of corporeal power, and a communion with nature in her cheerful moods, that things connected with their own personal interests, and which at other times might irritate and wound their feelings, pass by them like the idle wind which they regard not. He himself must have had his intervals of comparative happiness, in which the causes of his present grief would have appeared trivial and absurd. He should not, then, expect persons whose blood is warm in their veins, and whose eyes are open to the blessed sun in heaven, to think more of the apparent causes of his sorrow than he would himself, were his mind and body in a healthful state. With what a light heart and eager appetite did I enter the little breakfast parlour of which the glass-doors opened upon a bright green lawn, variegated with small beds of flowers! The table was spread with dewy and delicious fruits from our own garden, and gathered by fair and friendly hands. Beautiful and luscious as were these garden dainties, they were of small account in comparison with the fresh cheeks and cherry lips that so frankly accepted the wonted early greeting. Alas! how that circle of early friends is now divided, and what a change has since come over the spirit of our dreams! Yet still I cherish boyish feelings, and the past is sometimes present. As I give an imaginary kiss to an "old familiar face," and catch myself almost unconsciously, yet literally, returning imaginary smiles, my heart is as fresh and fervid as of yore. A lapse of fifteen years, and a distance of fifteen thousand miles, and the glare of a tropical sky and the presence of foreign faces, need not make an Indian Exile quite forgetful of home-delights. Parted friends may still share the light of love as severed clouds are equally kindled by the same sun. No number of miles or days can change or separate faithful spirits or annihilate early associations. That strange magician, Fancy, who supplies so many corporeal deficiencies and overcomes so many physical obstructions, and mocks at space and time, enables us to pass in the twinkling of an eye over the dreary waste of waters that separates the exile from the scenes and companions of his youth. He treads again his native shore. He sits by the hospitable hearth and listens to the ringing laugh of children. He exchanges cordial greetings with the "old familiar faces." There is a resurrection of the dead, and a return of vanished years. He abandons himself to the sweet illusion, and again Lives over each scene, and is what he beholds. I must not be too egotistically garrulous in print, or I would now attempt to describe the various ways in which I have spent a summer's day in England. I would dilate upon my noon-day loiterings amidst wild ruins, and thick forests, and on the shaded banks of rivers--the pic-nic parties--the gipsy prophecies--the twilight homeward walk--the social tea-drinking, and, the last scene of all, the "rosy dreams and slumbers light," induced by wholesome exercise and placid thoughts.[050] But perhaps these few simple allusions are sufficient to awaken a train of kindred associations in the reader's mind, and he will thank me for those words and images that are like the keys of memory, and "open all her cells with easy force." If a summer's day be thus rife with pleasure, scarcely less so is a day in winter, though with some little drawbacks, that give, by contrast, a zest to its enjoyments. It is difficult to leave the warm morning bed and brave the external air. The fireless grate and frosted windows may well make the stoutest shudder. But when we have once screwed our courage to the sticking place, and with a single jerk of the clothes, and a brisk jump from the bed, have commenced the operations of the toilet, the battle is nearly over. The teeth chatter for a while, and the limbs shiver, and we do not feel particularly comfortable while breaking the ice in our jugs, and performing our cold ablutions amidst the sharp, glass-like fragments, and wiping our faces with a frozen towel. But these petty evils are quickly vanquished, and as we rush out of the house, and tread briskly and firmly on the hard ringing earth, and breathe our visible breath in the clear air, our strength and self-importance miraculously increase, and the whole frame begins to glow. The warmth and vigour thus acquired are inexpressibly delightful. As we re-enter the house, we are proud of our intrepidity and vigour, and pity the effeminacy of our less enterprising friends, who, though huddled together round the fire, like flies upon a sunny wall, still complain of cold, and instead of the bloom of health and animation, exhibit pale and pinched and discolored features, and hands cold, rigid, and of a deadly hue. Those who rise with spirit on a winter morning, and stir and thrill themselves with early exercise, are indifferent to the cold for the rest of the day, and feel a confidence in their corporeal energies, and a lightness of heart that are experienced at no other season. But even the timid and luxurious are not without their pleasures. As the shades of evening draw in, the parlour twilight--the closed curtains--and the cheerful fire--make home a little paradise to all. Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast, Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round, And while the bubbling and loud hissing urn Throws up a steamy column, and the cups That cheer but not inebriate wait on each, So let us welcome peaceful evening in _Cowper_. The warm and cold seasons of India have no charms like those of England, but yet people who are guiltless of what Milton so finely calls "a sullenness against nature," and who are willing, in a spirit of true philosophy and piety, to extract good from every thing, may save themselves from wretchedness even in this land of exile. While I am writing this paragraph, a bird in my room, (not the Caubul songster that I have already alluded to, but a fine little English linnet,) who is as much a foreigner here as I am, is pouring out his soul in a flood of song. His notes ring with joy. He pines not for his native meadows--he cares not for his wiry bars--he envies not the little denizens of air that sometimes flutter past my window, nor imagines, for a moment, that they come to mock him with their freedom. He is contented with his present enjoyments, because they are utterly undisturbed by idle comparisons with those experienced in the past or anticipated in the future. He has no thankless repinings and no vain desires. Is intellect or reason then so fatal, though sublime a gift that we cannot possess it without the poisonous alloy of care? Must grief and ingratitude inevitably find entrance into the heart, in proportion to the loftiness and number of our mental endowments? Are we to seek for happiness in ignorance? To these questions the reply is obvious. Every good quality may be abused, and the greatest, most; and he who perversely employs his powers of thought and imagination to a wrong purpose deserves the misery that he gains. Were we honestly to deduct from the ills of life all those of our own creation, how trifling, in the majority of cases, the amount that would remain! We seem to invite and encourage sorrow, while happiness is, as it were, forced upon us against our will. It is wonderful how some men pertinaciously cling to care, and argue themselves into a dissatisfaction with their lot. Thus it is really a matter of little moment whether fortune smile or frown, for it is in vain to look for superior felicity amongst those who have more "appliances and means to boot," than their fellow-men. Wealth, rank, and reputation, do not secure their possessors from the misery of discontent. As happiness then depends upon the right direction and employment of our faculties, and not on worldly goods or mere localities, our countrymen might be cheerful enough, even in this foreign land, if they would only accustom themselves to a proper train of thinking, and be ready on every occasion to look on the brighter side of all things.[051] In reverting to home-scenes we should regard them for their intrinsic charms, and not turn them into a source of disquiet by mournfully comparing them with those around us. India, let Englishmen murmur as they will, has some attractions, enjoyments and advantages. No Englishman is here in danger of dying of starvation as some of our poets have done in the inhospitable streets of London. The comparatively princely and generous style in which we live in this country, the frank and familiar tone of our little society, and the general mildness of the climate, (excepting a few months of a too sultry summer) can hardly be denied by the most determined malcontent. The weather is indeed too often a great deal warmer than we like it; but if "the excessive heat" did not form a convenient subject for complaint and conversation, it is perhaps doubtful if it would so often be thought of or alluded to. But admit the objection. What climate is without its peculiar evils? In the cold season a walk in India either in the morning or the evening is often extremely pleasant in pleasant company, and I am glad to see many sensible people paying the climate the compliment of treating it like that of England. It is now fashionable to use our limbs in the ordinary way, and the "Garden of Eden"[052] has become a favorite promenade, particularly on the evenings when a band from the Fort fills the air with a cheerful harmony and throws a fresher life upon the scene. It is not to be denied that besides the mere exercise, pedestrians at home have great advantages over those who are too indolent or aristocratic to leave their equipages, because they can cut across green and quiet fields, enter rural by-ways, and enjoy a thousand little patches of lovely scenery that are secrets to the high-road traveller. But still the Calcutta pedestrian has also his gratifications. He can enjoy no exclusive prospects, but he beholds upon an Indian river a forest of British masts--the noble shipping of the Queen of the Sea--and has a fine panoramic view of this City of Palaces erected by his countrymen on a foreign shore;--and if he is fond of children, he must be delighted with the numberless pretty and happy little faces--the fair forms of Saxon men and women in miniature--that crowd about him on the green sward;--he must be charmed with their innocent prattle, their quick and graceful movements, and their winning ways, that awaken a tone of tender sentiment in his heart, and rekindle many sweet associations. SONNETS, WRITTEN IN EXILE. I. Man's heart may change, but Nature's glory never;-- And while the soul's internal cell is bright, The cloudless eye lets in the bloom and light Of earth and heaven to charm and cheer us ever. Though youth hath vanished, like a winding river Lost in the shadowy woods; and the dear sight Of native hill and nest-like cottage white, 'Mid breeze-stirred boughs whose crisp leaves gleam and quiver, And murmur sea-like sounds, perchance no more My homeward step shall hasten cheerily; Yet still I feel as I have felt of yore, And love this radiant world. Yon clear blue sky-- These gorgeous groves--this flower-enamelled floor-- Have deep enchantments for my heart and eye. II. Man's heart may change, but Nature's glory never, Though to the sullen gaze of grief the sight Of sun illumined skies may _seem_ less bright, Or gathering clouds less grand, yet she, as ever, Is lovely or majestic. Though fate sever The long linked bands of love, and all delight Be lost, as in a sudden starless night, The radiance may return, if He, the giver Of peace on earth, vouchsafe the storm to still This breast once shaken with the strife of care Is touched with silent joy. The cot--the hill, Beyond the broad blue wave--and faces fair, Are pictured in my dreams, yet scenes that fill My waking eye can save me from despair. III. Man's heart may change, but Nature's glory never,-- Strange features throng around me, and the shore Is not my own dear land. Yet why deplore This change of doom? All mortal ties must sever. The pang is past,--and now with blest endeavour I check the ready tear, the rising sigh The common earth is here--the common sky-- The common FATHER. And how high soever O'er other tribes proud England's hosts may seem, God's children, fair or sable, equal find A FATHER'S love. Then learn, O man, to deem All difference idle save of heart or mind Thy duty, love--each cause of strife, a dream-- Thy home, the world--thy family, mankind. D.L.R. For the sake of my home readers I must now say a word or two on the effect produced upon the mind of a stranger on his approach to Calcutta from the Sandheads. As we run up the Bay of Bengal and approach the dangerous Sandheads, the beautiful deep blue of the ocean suddenly disappears. It turns into a pale green. The sea, even in calm weather, rolls over soundings in long swells. The hue of the water is varied by different depths, and in passing over the edge of soundings, it is curious to observe how distinctly the form of the sands may be traced by the different shades of green in the water above and beyond them. In the lower part of the bay, the crisp foam of the dark sea at night is instinct with phosphoric lustre. The ship seems to make her way through galaxies of little ocean stars. We lose sight of this poetical phenomenon as we approach the mouth of the Hooghly. But the passengers, towards the termination of their voyage, become less observant of the changeful aspect of the sea. Though amused occasionally by flights of sea-gulls, immense shoals of porpoises, apparently tumbling or rolling head over tail against the wind, and the small sprat-like fishes that sometimes play and glitter on the surface, the stranger grows impatient to catch a glimpse of an Indian jungle; and even the swampy tiger-haunted Saugor Island is greeted with that degree of interest which novelty usually inspires. At first the land is but little above the level of the water. It rises gradually as we pass up further from the sea. As we come still nearer to Calcutta, the soil on shore seems to improve in richness and the trees to increase in size. The little clusters of nest-like villages snugly sheltered in foliage--the groups of dark figures in white garments--the cattle wandering over the open plain--the emerald-colored fields of rice--the rich groves of mangoe trees--the vast and magnificent banyans, with straight roots dropping from their highest branches, (hundreds of these branch-dropped roots being fixed into the earth and forming "a pillared shade"),--the tall, slim palms of different characters and with crowns of different forms, feathery or fan-like,--the many-stemmed and long, sharp-leaved bamboos, whose thin pliant branches swing gracefully under the weight of the lightest bird,--the beautifully rounded and bright green peepuls, with their burnished leaves glittering in the sunshine, and trembling at the zephyr's softest touch with a pleasant rustling sound, suggestive of images of coolness and repose,--form a striking and singularly interesting scene (or rather succession of scenes) after the monotony of a long voyage during which nothing has been visible but sea and sky. But it is not until he arrives at a bend of the river called _Garden Reach_, where the City of Palaces first opens on the view, that the stranger has a full sense of the value of our possessions in the East. The princely mansions on our right;--(residences of English gentry), with their rich gardens and smooth slopes verdant to the water's edge,--the large and rich Botanic Garden and the Gothic edifice of Bishop's College on our left--and in front, as we advance a little further, the countless masts of vessels of all sizes and characters, and from almost every clime,--Fort William, with its grassy ramparts and white barracks,--the Government House, a magnificent edifice in spite of many imperfections,--the substantial looking Town Hall--the Supreme Court House--the broad and ever verdant plain (or _madaun_) in front--and the noble lines of buildings along the Esplanade and Chowringhee Road,--the new Cathedral almost at the extremity of the plain, and half-hidden amidst the trees,--the suburban groves and buildings of Kidderpore beyond, their outlines softened by the haze of distance, like scenes contemplated through colored glass--the high-sterned budgerows and small trim bauleahs along the edge of the river,--the neatly-painted palanquins and other vehicles of all sorts and sizes,--the variously-hued and variously-clad people of all conditions; the fair European, the black and nearly naked Cooly, the clean-robed and lighter-skinned native Baboo, the Oriental nobleman with his jewelled turban and kincob vest, and costly necklace and twisted cummerbund, on a horse fantastically caparisoned, and followed in barbaric state by a train of attendants with long, golden-handled punkahs, peacock feather chowries, and golden chattahs and silver sticks,--present altogether a scene that is calculated to at once delight and bewilder the traveller, to whom all the strange objects before him have something of the enchantment and confusion of an Arabian Night's dream. When he recovers from his surprise, the first emotion in the breast of an Englishman is a feeling of national pride. He exults in the recognition of so many glorious indications of the power of a small and remote nation that has founded a splendid empire in so strange and vast a land. When the first impression begins to fade, and he takes a closer view of the great metropolis of India--and observes what miserable straw huts are intermingled with magnificent palaces--how much Oriental filth and squalor and idleness and superstition and poverty and ignorance are associated with savage splendour, and are brought into immediate and most incongruous contact with Saxon energy and enterprize and taste and skill and love of order, and the amazing intelligence of the West in this nineteenth century--and when familiarity breeds something like contempt for many things that originally excited a vague and pleasing wonder--the English traveller in the East is apt to dwell too exclusively on the worst side of the picture, and to become insensible to the real interest, and blind to the actual beauty of much of the scene around him. Extravagant astonishment and admiration, under the influence of novelty, a strong re-action, and a subsequent feeling of unreasonable disappointment, seem, in some degree, natural to all men; but in no other part of the world, and under no other circumstances, is this peculiarity of our condition more conspicuously displayed than in the case of Englishmen in India. John Bull, who is always a grumbler even on his own shores, is sure to become a still more inveterate grumbler in other countries, and perhaps the climate of Bengal, producing lassitude and low spirits, and a yearning for their native land, of which they are so justly proud, contribute to make our countrymen in the East even more than usually unsusceptible of pleasurable emotions until at last they turn away in positive disgust from the scenes and objects which remind them that they are in a state of exile. "There is nothing," says Hamlet, "either good or bad, but thinking makes it so." At every change of the mind's colored optics the scene before it changes also. I have sometimes contemplated the vast metropolis of England--or rather _of the world_--multitudinous and mighty LONDON--with the pride and hope and exultation, not of a patriot only, but of a cosmopolite--a man. Its grand national structures that seem built for eternity--its noble institutions, charitable, and learned, and scientific, and artistical--the genius and science and bravery and moral excellence within its countless walls--have overwhelmed me with a sense of its glory and majesty and power. But in a less admiring mood, I have quite reversed the picture. Perhaps the following sonnet may seem to indicate that the writer while composing it, must have worn his colored spectacles. LONDON, IN THE MORNING. The morning wakes, and through the misty air In sickly radiance struggles--like the dream Of sorrow-shrouded hope. O'er Thames' dull stream, Whose sluggish waves a wealthy burden bear From every port and clime, the pallid glare Of early sun-light spreads. The long streets seem Unpeopled still, but soon each path shall teem With hurried feet, and visages of care. And eager throngs shall meet where dusky marts Resound like ocean-caverns, with the din Of toil and strife and agony and sin. Trade's busy Babel! Ah! how many hearts By lust of gold to thy dim temples brought In happier hours have scorned the prize they sought? D.L.R. I now give a pair of sonnets upon the City of Palaces as viewed through somewhat clearer glasses. VIEW OF CALCUTTA. Here Passion's restless eye and spirit rude May greet no kindred images of power To fear or wonder ministrant. No tower, Time-struck and tenantless, here seems to brood, In the dread majesty of solitude, O'er human pride departed--no rocks lower O'er ravenous billows--no vast hollow wood Rings with the lion's thunder--no dark bower The crouching tiger haunts--no gloomy cave Glitters with savage eyes! But all the scene Is calm and cheerful. At the mild command Of Britain's sons, the skilful and the brave, Fair palace-structures decorate the land, And proud ships float on Hooghly's breast serene! D.L.R. SONNET, ON RETURNING TO CALCUTTA AFTER A VOYAGE TO THE STRAITS OF MALACCA. Umbrageous woods, green dells, and mountains high, And bright cascades, and wide cerulean seas, Slumbering, or snow-wreathed by the freshening breeze, And isles like motionless clouds upon the sky In silent summer noons, late charmed mine eye, Until my soul was stirred like wind-touched trees, And passionate love and speechless ecstasies Up-raised the thoughts in spiritual depths that lie. Fair scenes, ye haunt me still! Yet I behold This sultry city on the level shore Not all unmoved; for here our fathers bold Won proud historic names in days of yore, And here are generous hearts that ne'er grow cold, And many a friendly hand and open door. D.L.R. There are several extremely elegant customs connected with some of the Indian Festivals, at which flowers are used in great profusion. The surface of the "sacred river" is often thickly strewn with them. In Mrs. Carshore's pleasing volume of _Songs of the East_[053] there is a long poem (too long to quote entire) in which the _Beara Festival_ is described. I must give the introductory passage. "THE BEARA FESTIVAL. "Upon the Ganges' overflowing banks, Where palm trees lined the shore in graceful ranks, I stood one night amidst a merry throng Of British youths and maidens, to behold A witching Indian scene of light and song, Crowds of veiled native loveliness untold, Each streaming path poured duskily along. The air was filled with the sweet breath of flowers, And music that awoke the silent hours, It was the BEARA FESTIVAL and feast When proud and lowly, loftiest and least, Matron and Moslem maiden pay their vows, With impetratory and votive gift, And to the Moslem Jonas bent their brows. _Each brought her floating lamp of flowers_, and swift A thousand lights along the current drift, Till the vast bosom of the swollen stream, Glittering and gliding onward like a dream, Seems a wide mirror of the starry sphere Or more as if the stars had dropt from air, And in an earthly heaven were shining here, And far above were, but reflected there Still group on group, advancing to the brink, As group on group retired link by link; For one pale lamp that floated out of view Five brighter ones they quickly placed anew; At length the slackening multitudes grew less, And the lamps floated scattered and apart. As stars grow few when morning's footsteps press When a slight girl, shy as the timid halt, Not far from where we stood, her offering brought. Singing a low sweet strain, with lips untaught. Her song proclaimed, that 'twas not many hours Since she had left her childhood's innocent home; And now with Beara lamp, and wreathed flowers, To propitiate heaven, for wedded bliss had come" To these lines Mrs. Carshore (who has been in this country, I believe, from her birth, and who ought to know something of Indian customs) appends the following notes. "_It was the Beara festival_." Much has been said about the Beara or floating lamp, but I have never yet seen a correct description. Moore mentions that Lalla Rookh saw a solitary Hindoo girl bring her lamp to the river. D.L.R. says the same, whereas the Beara festival is a Moslem feast that takes place once a year in the monsoons, when thousands of females offer their vows to the patron of rivers. "_Moslem Jonas_" Khauj Khoddir is the Jonas of the Mussulman; he, like the prophet of Nineveh, was for three days inside a fish, and for that reason is called the patron of rivers." I suppose Mrs. Carshore alludes, in the first of these notes, to the following passage in the prose part of Lalla Rookh:-- "As they passed along a sequestered river after sunset, they saw a young Hindoo girl upon the bank whose employment seemed to them so strange that they stopped their palanquins to observe her. She had lighted a small lamp, filled with oil of cocoa, and placing it in an earthern dish, adorned with a wreath of flowers, had committed it with a trembling hand to the stream: and was now anxiously watching its progress down the current, heedless of the gay cavalcade which had drawn up beside her. Lalla Rookh was all curiosity;--when one of her attendants, who had lived upon the banks of the Ganges, (where this ceremony is so frequent that often, in the dusk of evening, the river is seen glittering all over with lights, like the Oton-Jala or Sea of Stars,) informed the Princess that it was the usual way, in which the friends of those who had gone on dangerous voyages offered up vows for their safe return. If the lamp sunk immediately, the omen was disastrous; but if it went shining down the stream, and continued to burn till entirely out of sight, the return of the beloved object was considered as certain. Lalla Rookh, as they moved on, more than once looked back, to observe how the young Hindoo's lamp proceeded: and while she saw with pleasure that it was unextinguished, she could not help fearing that all the hopes of this life were no better than that feeble light upon the river." Moore prepared himself for the writing of Lalla Rookh by "long and laborious reading." He himself narrates that Sir James Mackintosh was asked by Colonel Wilks, the Historian of British India, whether it was true that the poet had never been in the East. Sir James replied, "_Never_." "Well, that shows me," said Colonel Wilks, "that reading over D'Herbelot is as good as riding on the back of a camel." Sir John Malcolm, Sir William Ouseley and other high authorities have testified to the accuracy of Moore's descriptions of Eastern scenes and customs. The following lines were composed on the banks of the Hooghly at Cossipore, (many long years ago) just after beholding the river one evening almost covered with floating lamps.[054] A HINDU FESTIVAL. Seated on a bank of green, Gazing on an Indian scene, I have dreams the mind to cheer, And a feast for eye and ear. At my feet a river flows, And its broad face richly glows With the glory of the sun, Whose proud race is nearly run Ne'er before did sea or stream Kindle thus beneath his beam, Ne'er did miser's eye behold Such a glittering mass of gold 'Gainst the gorgeous radiance float Darkly, many a sloop and boat, While in each the figures seem Like the shadows of a dream Swiftly, passively, they glide As sliders on a frozen tide. Sinks the sun--the sudden night Falls, yet still the scene is bright Now the fire-fly's living spark Glances through the foliage dark, And along the dusky stream Myriad lamps with ruddy gleam On the small waves float and quiver, As if upon the favored river, And to mark the sacred hour, Stars had fallen in a shower. For many a mile is either shore Illumined with a countless store Of lustres ranged in glittering rows, Each a golden column throws To light the dim depths of the tide, And the moon in all her pride Though beauteously her regions glow, Views a scene as fair below D.L.R. Mrs. Carshore alludes, I suppose to the above lines, or the following sonnet, or both perhaps, when she speaks of my erroneous Orientalism-- SCENE ON THE GANGES. The shades of evening veil the lofty spires Of proud Benares' fanes! A thickening haze Hangs o'er the stream. The weary boatmen raise Along the dusky shore their crimson fires That tinge the circling groups. Now hope inspires Yon Hindu maid, whose heart true passion sways, To launch on Gungas flood the glimmering rays Of Love's frail lamp,--but, lo the light expires! Alas! what sudden sorrow fills her breast! No charm of life remains. Her tears deplore A lover lost and never, never more Shall hope's sweet vision yield her spirit rest! The cold wave quenched the flame--an omen dread That telleth of the faithless--_or the dead_! D.L.R. Horace Hayman Wilson, a high authority on all Oriental customs, clearly alludes in the following lines to the launching of floating lamps by _Hindu_ females. Grave in the tide the Brahmin stands, And folds his cord or twists his hands, And tells his beads, and all unheard Mutters a solemn mystic word With reverence the Sudra dips, And fervently the current sips, That to his humbler hope conveys A future life of happier days. But chief do India's simple daughters Assemble in these hallowed waters, With vase of classic model laden Like Grecian girl or Tuscan maiden, Collecting thus their urns to fill From gushing fount or trickling rill, And still with pious fervour they To Gunga veneration pay And with pretenceless rite prefer, The wishes of their hearts to her The maid or matron, as she throws _Champae_ or lotus, _Bel_ or rose, Or sends the quivering light afloat In shallow cup or paper boat, Prays for a parent's peace and wealth Prays for a child's success and health, For a fond husband breathes a prayer, For progeny their loves to share, For what of good on earth is given To lowly life, or hoped in heaven, H.H.W. On seeing Miss Carshore's criticism I referred the subject to an intelligent Hindu friend from whom I received the following answer:-- My dear Sir, The _Beara_, strictly speaking, is a Mahomedan festival. Some of the lower orders of the Hindus of the NW Provinces, who have borrowed many of their customs from the Mahomedans, celebrate the _Beara_. But it is not observed by the Hindus of Bengal, who have a festival of their own, similar to the _Beara_. It takes place on the evening of the _Saraswati Poojah_, when a small piece of the bark of the Plantain Tree is fitted out with all the necessary accompaniments of a boat, and is launched in a private tank with a lamp. The custom is confined to the women who follow it in their own house or in the same neighbourhood. It is called the _Sooa Dooa Breta_. Yours truly, * * * * * Mrs. Carshore it would seem is partly right and partly wrong. She is right in calling the _Beara_ a _Moslem_ Festival. It is so; but we have the testimony of Horace Hayman Wilson to the fact that _Hindu maids and matrons also launch their lamps upon the river_. My Hindu friend acknowledges that his countrymen in the North West Provinces have borrowed many of their customs from the Mahomedans, and though he is not aware of it, it may yet be the case, that some of the Hindus of _Bengal_, as elsewhere, have done the same, and that they set lamps afloat upon the stream to discover by their continued burning or sudden extinction the fate of some absent friend or lover. I find very few Natives who are able to give me any exact and positive information concerning their own national customs. In their explanations of such matters they differ in the most extraordinary manner amongst themselves. Two most respectable and intelligent Native gentlemen who were proposing to lay out their grounds under my directions, told me that I must not cut down a single cocoa-nut tree, as it would be dreadful sacrilege--equal to cutting the throats of seven brahmins! Another equally respectable and intelligent Native friend, when I mentioned the fact, threw himself back in his chair to give vent to a hearty laugh. When he had recovered himself a little from this risible convulsion he observed that his father and his grandfather had cut down cocoa-nut trees in considerable numbers without the slightest remorse or fear. And yet again, I afterwards heard that one of the richest Hindu families in Calcutta, rather than suffer so sacred an object to be injured, piously submit to a very serious inconvenience occasioned by a cocoa-nut tree standing in the centre of the carriage road that leads to the portico of their large town palace. I am told that there are other sacred trees which must not be removed by the hands of Hindus of inferior caste, though in this case there is a way of getting over the difficulty, for it is allowable or even meritorious to make presents of these trees to Brahmins, who cut them down for their own fire-wood. But the cocoa-nut tree is said to be too sacred even for the axe of a Brahmin. I have been running away again from my subject;--I was discoursing upon May-day in England. The season there is still a lovely and a merry one, though the most picturesque and romantic of its ancient observances, now live but in the memory of the "oldest inhabitants," or on the page of history.[055] See where, amidst the sun and showers, The Lady of the vernal hours, Sweet May, comes forth again with all her flowers. _Barry Cornwall_. The _May-pole_ on these days is rarely seen to rise up in English towns with its proper floral decorations[056]. In remote rural districts a solitary May-pole is still, however, occasionally discovered. "A May-pole," says Washington Irving, "gave a glow to my feelings and spread a charm over the country for the rest of the day: and as I traversed a part of the fair plains of Cheshire, and the beautiful borders of Wales and looked from among swelling hills down a long green valley, through which the Deva wound its wizard stream, my imagination turned all into a perfect Arcadia. One can readily imagine what a gay scene old London must have been when the doors were decked with hawthorn; and Robin Hood, Friar Tuck, Maid Marian, Morris dancers, and all the other fantastic dancers and revellers were performing their antics about the May-pole in every part of the city. I value every custom which tends to infuse poetical feeling into the common people, and to sweeten and soften the rudeness of rustic manners without destroying their simplicity." Another American writer--a poet--has expressed his due appreciation of the pleasures of the season. He thus addresses the merrie month of MAY.[057] MAY. Would that thou couldst laugh for aye, Merry, ever merry May! Made of sun gleams, shade and showers Bursting buds, and breathing flowers, Dripping locked, and rosy vested, Violet slippered, rainbow crested; Girdled with the eglantine, Festooned with the dewy vine Merry, ever Merry May, Would that thou could laugh for aye! _W.D. Gallagher._ I must give a dainty bit of description from the poet of the poets--our own romantic Spenser. Then comes fair May, the fayrest mayde on ground, Decked with all dainties of the season's pryde, And throwing flowres out of her lap around. Upon two brethren's shoulders she did ride, The twins of Leda, which, on eyther side, Supported her like to their Sovereign queene Lord! how all creatures laught when her they spide, And leapt and danced as they had ravisht beene! And Cupid's self about her fluttred all in greene. Here are a few lines from Herrick. Fled are the frosts, and now the fields appeare Re-clothed in freshe and verdant diaper; Thawed are the snowes, and now the lusty spring Gives to each mead a neat enameling, The palmes[058] put forth their gemmes, and every tree Now swaggers in her leavy gallantry. The Queen of May--Lady Flora--was the British representative of the Heathen Goddess Flora. May still returns and ever will return at her proper season, with all her bright leaves and fragrant blossoms, but men cease to make the same use of them as of yore. England is waxing utilitarian and prosaic. The poets, let others neglect her as they will, must ever do fitting observance, in songs as lovely and fresh as the flowers of the hawthorn, To the lady of the vernal hours. Poor Keats, who was passionately fond of flowers, and everything beautiful or romantic or picturesque, complains, with a true poet's earnestness, that in _his_ day in England there were No crowds of nymphs, soft-voiced and young and gay In woven baskets, bringing ears of corn, Roses and pinks and violets, to adorn The shrine of Flora in her early May. The Floral Games--_Jeux Floraux_--of Toulouse--first celebrated at the commencement of the fourteenth century, are still kept up annually with great pomp and spirit. Clemence Isaure, a French lady, bequeathed to the Academy of Toulouse a large sum of money for the annual celebration of these games. A sort of College Council is formed, which not only confers degrees on those poets who do most honor to the Goddess Flora, but sometimes grants them more substantial favors. In 1324 the poets were encouraged to compete for a golden violet and a silver eglantine and pansy. A century later the prizes offered were an amaranthus of gold of the value of 400 livres, for the best ode, a violet of silver, valued at 250 livres, for an essay in prose, a silver pansy, worth 200 livres, for an eclogue, elegy or idyl, and a silver lily of the value of sixty livres, for the best sonnet or hymn in honor of the Virgin Mary,--for religion is mixed up with merriment, and heathen with Christian rites. He who gained a prize three times was honored with the title of Doctor _en gaye science_, the name given to the poetry of the Provençal troubadours. A mass, a sermon, and alms-giving, commence the ceremonies. The French poet, Ronsard who had gained a prize in the floral games, so delighted Mary Queen of Scots with his verses on the Rose that she presented him with a silver rose worth £500, with this inscription--"_A Ronsard, l'Apollon de la source des Muses_." At Ghent floral festivals are held twice a year when amateur and professional florists assemble together and contribute each his share of flowers to the grand general exhibition which is under the direct patronage of the public authorities. Honorary medals are awarded to the possessors of the finest flowers. The chief floral festival of the Chinese is on their new year's day, when their rivers are covered with boats laden with flowers, and gay flags streaming from every mast. Their homes and temples are richly hung with festoons of flowers. Boughs of the peach and plum trees in blossom, enkíanthus quinque-flòra, camelias, cockscombs, magnolias, jonquils are then exposed for sale in all the streets of Canton. Even the Chinese ladies, who are visible at no other season, are seen on this occasion in flower-boats on the river or in the public gardens on the shore. The Italians, it is said, still have artificers called _Festaroli_, whose business it is to prepare festoons and garlands. The ancient Romans were very tasteful in their nosegays and chaplets. Pliny tells us that the Sicyonians were especially celebrated for the graceful art exhibited in the arrangement of the varied colors of their garlands, and he gives us the story of Glycera who, to please her lover Pausias, the painter of Sicyon, used to send him the most exquisite chaplets of her own braiding, which he regularly copied on his canvas. He became very eminent as a flower-painter. The last work of his pencil, and his master-piece, was a picture of his mistress in the act of arranging a chaplet. The picture was called the _Garland Twiner_. It is related that Antony for some time mistrusting Cleopatra made her taste in the first instance every thing presented to him at her banquets. One day "the Serpent of old Nile" after dipping her own coronet of flowers into her goblet drank up the wine and then directed him to follow her example. He was off his guard. He dipped his chaplet in his cup. The leaves had been touched with poison. He was just raising the cup to his lips when she seized his arm, and said "Cease your jealous doubts, for know, that if I had desired your death or wished to live without you, I could easily have destroyed you." The Queen then ordered a prisoner to be brought into their presence, who being made to drink from the cup, instantly expired.[059] Some of the nosegays made up by "flower-girls" in London and its neighbourhood are sold at such extravagant prices that none but the very wealthy are in the habit of purchasing them, though sometimes a poor lover is tempted to present his mistress on a ball-night with a bouquet that he can purchase only at the cost of a good many more leaves of bread or substantial meals than he can well spare. He has to make every day a banian-day for perhaps half a month that his mistress may wear a nosegay for a few hours. However, a lover is often like a cameleon and can almost live on air--_for a time_--"promise-crammed." 'You cannot feed capons so.' At Covent Garden Market, (in London) and the first-rate Flower-shops, a single wreath or nosegay is often made up for the head or hand at a price that would support a poor labourer and his family for a month. The colors of the wreaths are artfully arranged, so as to suit different complexions, and so also as to exhibit the most rare and costly flowers to the greatest possible advantage. All true poets --The sages Who have left streaks of light athwart their pages-- have contemplated flowers--with a passionate love, an ardent admiration; none more so than the sweet-souled Shakespeare. They are regarded by the imaginative as the fairies of the vegetable world--the physical personifications of etherial beauty. In _The Winter's Tale_ our great dramatic bard has some delightful floral allusions that cannot be too often quoted. Here's flowers for you, Hot lavender, mint, savory, majoram, The marigold, that goes to bed with the sun, And with him rises weeping these are flowers Of middle summer, and I think they are given To men of middle age. * * * * * O, Proserpina, For the flowers now that, frighted, thou lett'st fall From Dis's waggon! Daffodils, That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty, violets dim, But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes, Or Cytherea's breath, pale primroses, That die unmarried ere they can behold Great Phoebus in his strength,--a malady Most incident to maids, bold oxlips and The crown imperial, lilies of all kinds, The flower de luce being one Shakespeare here, as elsewhere, speaks of "_pale_ primroses." The poets almost always allude to the primrose as a _pale_ and interesting invalid. Milton tells us of The yellow cowslip and the _pale_ primrose[060] The poet in the manuscript of his _Lycidas_ had at first made the primrose "_die unwedded_," which was a pretty close copy of Shakespeare. Milton afterwards struck out the word "_unwedded_," and substituted the word "_forsaken_." The reason why the primrose was said to "die unmarried," is, according to Warton, because it grows in the shade uncherished or unseen by the sun, who was supposed to be in love with certain sorts of flowers. Ben Jonson, however, describes the primrose as _a wedded lady_--"the Spring's own _Spouse_"--though she is certainly more commonly regarded as the daughter of Spring not the wife. J Fletcher gives her the true parentage:-- Primrose, first born child of Ver There are some kinds of primroses, that are not _pale_. There is a species in Scotland, which is of a deep purple. And even in England (in some of the northern counties) there is a primrose, the bird's-eye primrose, (Primula farinosa,) of which the blossom is lilac colored and the leaves musk-scented. In Sweden they call the Primrose _The key of May_. The primrose is always a great favorite with imaginative and sensitive observers, but there are too many people who look upon the beautiful with a utilitarian eye, or like Wordsworth's Peter Bell regard it with perfect indifference. A primrose by the river's brim A yellow primrose was to him. And it was nothing more. I have already given one anecdote of a utilitarian; but I may as well give two more anecdotes of a similar character. Mrs. Wordsworth was in a grove, listening to the cooing of the stock-doves, and associating their music with the remembrance of her husband's verses to a stock-dove, when a farmer's wife passing by exclaimed, "Oh, I do like stock-doves!" The woman won the heart of the poet's wife at once; but she did not long retain it. "Some people," continued the speaker, "like 'em in a pie; for my part I think there's nothing like 'em stewed in inions." This was a rustic utilitarian. Here is an instance of a very different sort of utilitarianism--the utilitarianism of men who lead a gay town life. Sir W.H. listened, patiently for some time to a poetical-minded friend who was rapturously expatiating upon the delicious perfume of a bed of violets; "Oh yes," said Sir W. at last, "its all very well, but for my part I very much prefer the smell of a flambeau at the theatre." But intellects far more capacious than that of Sir W.H. have exhibited the same indifference to the beautiful in nature. Locke and Jeremy Bentham and even Sir Isaac Newton despised all poetry. And yet God never meant man to be insensible to the beautiful or the poetical. "Poetry, like truth," says Ebenezer Elliot, "is a common flower: God has sown it over the earth, like the daisies sprinkled with tears or glowing in the sun, even as he places the crocus and the March frosts together and beautifully mingles life and death." If the finer and more spiritual faculties of men were as well cultivated or exercised as are their colder and coarser faculties there would be fewer utilitarians. But the highest part of our nature is too much neglected in all our systems of education. Of the beauty and fragrance of flowers all earthly creatures except man are apparently meant to be unconscious. The cattle tread down or masticate the fairest flowers without a single "compunctious visiting of nature." This excites no surprize. It is no more than natural. But it is truly painful and humiliating to see any human being as insensible as the beasts of the field to that poetry of the world which God seems to have addressed exclusively to the heart and soul of man. In South Wales the custom of strewing all kinds of flowers over the graves of departed friends, is preserved to the present day. Shakespeare, it appears, knew something of the customs of that part of his native country and puts the following _flowery_ speech into the mouth of the young Prince, Arviragus, who was educated there. With fairest flowers, While summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele, I'll sweeten thy sad grave. Thou shalt not lack The flower that's like thy face, pale Primrose, nor The azured Harebell, like thy veins; no, nor The leaf of Eglantine; whom not to slander, Out-sweetened not thy breath. _Cymbeline_. Here are two more flower-passages from Shakespeare. Here's a few flowers; but about midnight more; The herbs that have on them cold dew o' the night Are strewings fitt'st for graves.--Upon their faces:-- You were as flowers; now withered; even so These herblets shall, which we upon you strow. _Cymbeline_. Sweets to the sweet. Farewell! I hoped thou shoulds't have been my Hamlet's wife; I thought thy bride-bed to have decked, sweet maid, And not t' have strewed thy grave. _Hamlet_. Flowers are peculiarly suitable ornaments for the grave, for as Evelyn truly says, "they are just emblems of the life of man, which has been compared in Holy Scripture to those fading creatures, whose roots being buried in dishonor rise again in glory."[061] This thought is natural and just. It is indeed a most impressive sight, a most instructive pleasure, to behold some "bright consummate flower" rise up like a radiant exhalation or a beautiful vision--like good from evil--with such stainless purity and such dainty loveliness, from the hot-bed of corruption. Milton turns his acquaintance with flowers to divine account in his Lycidas. Return; Sicilian Muse, And call the vales, and bid them hither cast Their bells and flowerets of a thousand hues. Ye vallies low, where the mild whispers use Of shades and wanton winds, and gushing brooks, On whose fresh lap the swart-star sparely looks; Throw hither all your quaint enamelled eyes, That on the green turf suck the honied showers. And purple all the ground with vernal flowers. Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies. The tufted crow-toe, and pale jessamine, The white pink, and the pansy freaked with jet, The glowing violet, The musk-rose and the well-attired woodbine, With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head,[062] And every flower that sad embroidery wears; Bid Amaranthus all his beauty shed, And daffodillies fill their cups with tears, To strew the laureate hearse where Lycid lies, For, so to interpose a little ease, Let our frail thoughts dally with faint surmise Here is a nosegay of spring-flowers from the hand of Thomson:-- Fair handed Spring unbosoms every grace, Throws out the snow drop and the crocus first, the daisy, primrose, violet darkly blue, And polyanthus of unnumbered dyes, The yellow wall flower, stained with iron brown, And lavish stock that scents the garden round, From the soft wing of vernal breezes shed, Anemonies, auriculas, enriched With shining meal o'er all their velvet leaves And full ranunculus of glowing red Then comes the tulip race, where Beauty plays Her idle freaks from family diffused To family, as flies the father dust, The varied colors run, and while they break On the charmed eye, the exulting Florist marks With secret pride, the wonders of his hand Nor gradual bloom is wanting, from the bird, First born of spring, to Summer's musky tribes Nor hyacinth, of purest virgin white, Low bent, and, blushing inward, nor jonquils, Of potent fragrance, nor Narcissus fair, As o'er the fabled fountain hanging still, Nor broad carnations, nor gay spotted pinks; Nor, showered from every bush, the damask rose. Infinite varieties, delicacies, smells, With hues on hues expression cannot paint, The breath of Nature and her endless bloom. Here are two bouquets of flowers from the garden of Cowper Laburnum, rich In streaming gold, syringa, ivory pure, The scentless and the scented rose, this red, And of an humbler growth, the other[063] tall, And throwing up into the darkest gloom Of neighboring cypress, or more sable yew, Her silver globes, light as the foamy surf That the wind severs from the broken wave, The lilac, various in array, now white, Now sanguine, and her beauteous head now set With purple spikes pyramidal, as if Studious of ornament yet unresolved Which hue she most approved, she chose them all, Copious of flowers the woodbine, pale and wan, But well compensating her sickly looks With never cloying odours, early and late, Hypericum all bloom, so thick a swarm Of flowers, like flies clothing her slender rods, That scarce a loaf appears, mezereon too, Though leafless, well attired, and thick beset With blushing wreaths, investing every spray, Althaea with the purple eye, the broom Yellow and bright, as bullion unalloy'd, Her blossoms, and luxuriant above all The jasmine, throwing wide her elegant sweets, The deep dark green of whose unvarnish'd leaf Makes more conspicuous, and illumines more, The bright profusion of her scatter'd stars * * * * * Th' amomum there[064] with intermingling flowers And cherries hangs her twigs. Geranium boasts Her crimson honors, and the spangled beau Ficoides, glitters bright the winter long All plants, of every leaf, that can endure The winter's frown, if screened from his shrewd bite, Live their and prosper. Those Ausonia claims, Levantine regions those, the Azores send Their jessamine, her jessamine remote Caffraia, foreigners from many lands, They form one social shade as if convened By magic summons of the Orphean lyre Here is a bunch of flowers laid before the public eye by Mr. Proctor-- There the rose unveils Her breast of beauty, and each delicate bud O' the season comes in turn to bloom and perish, But first of all the violet, with an eye Blue as the midnight heavens, the frail snowdrop, Born of the breath of winter, and on his brow Fixed like a full and solitary star The languid hyacinth, and wild primrose And daisy trodden down like modesty The fox glove, in whose drooping bells the bee Makes her sweet music, the Narcissus (named From him who died for love) the tangled woodbine, Lilacs, and flowering vines, and scented thorns, And some from whom the voluptuous winds of June Catch their perfumings _Barry Cornwall_ I take a second supply of flowers from the same hand Here, this rose (This one half blown) shall be my Maia's portion, For that like it her blush is beautiful And this deep violet, almost as blue As Pallas' eye, or thine, Lycemnia, I'll give to thee for like thyself it wears Its sweetness, never obtruding. For this lily Where can it hang but it Cyane's breast? And yet twill wither on so white a bed, If flowers have sense of envy.--It shall be Amongst thy raven tresses, Cytheris, Like one star on the bosom of the night The cowslip and the yellow primrose,--they Are gone, my sad Leontia, to their graves, And April hath wept o'er them, and the voice Of March hath sung, even before their deaths The dirge of those young children of the year But here is hearts ease for your woes. And now, The honey suckle flower I give to thee, And love it for my sake, my own Cyane It hangs upon the stem it loves, as thou Hast clung to me, through every joy and sorrow, It flourishes with its guardian growth, as thou dost, And if the woodman's axe should droop the tree, The woodbine too must perish. _Barry Cornwall_ Let me add to the above heap of floral beauty a basket of flowers from Leigh Hunt. Then the flowers on all their beds-- How the sparklers glance their heads, Daisies with their pinky lashes And the marigolds broad flashes, Hyacinth with sapphire bell Curling backward, and the swell Of the rose, full lipped and warm, Bound about whose riper form Her slender virgin train are seen In their close fit caps of green, Lilacs then, and daffodillies, And the nice leaved lesser lilies Shading, like detected light, Their little green-tipt lamps of white; Blissful poppy, odorous pea, With its wing up lightsomely; Balsam with his shaft of amber, Mignionette for lady's chamber, And genteel geranium, With a leaf for all that come; And the tulip tricked out finest, And the pink of smell divinest; And as proud as all of them Bound in one, the garden's gem Hearts-ease, like a gallant bold In his cloth of purple and gold. Lady Mary Wortley Montague, who introduced inoculation into England--a practically useful boon to us,--had also the honor to be amongst the first to bring from the East to the West an elegant amusement--the Language of Flowers.[065] Then he took up his garland, and did show What every flower, as country people hold, Did signify; and how all, ordered thus, Expressed his grief: and, to my thoughts, did read The prettiest lecture of his country art That could be wished. _Beaumont's and Fletcher's "Philaster."_ * * * * * There from richer banks Culling out flowers, which in a learned order Do become characters, whence they disclose Their mutual meanings, garlands then and nosegays Being framed into epistles. _Cartwright's "Love's Covenant."_ * * * * * An exquisite invention this, Worthy of Love's most honied kiss, This art of writing _billet-doux_ In buds and odours and bright hues, In saying all one feels and thinks In clever daffodils and pinks, Uttering (as well as silence may,) The sweetest words the sweetest way. _Leigh Hunt_. * * * * * Yet, no--not words, for they But half can tell love's feeling; Sweet flowers alone can say What passion fears revealing.[066] A once bright rose's withered leaf-- A towering lily broken-- Oh, these may paint a grief No words could e'er have spoken. _Moore_. * * * * * By all those token flowers that tell What words can ne'er express so well. _Byron_. * * * * * A mystic language, perfect in each part. Made up of bright hued thoughts and perfumed speeches. _Adams_. If we are to believe Shakespeare it is not human beings only who use a floral language:-- Fairies use flowers for their charactery. Sir Walter Scott tells us that:-- The myrtle bough bids lovers live-- A sprig of hawthorn has the same meaning as a sprig of myrtle: it gives hope to the lover--the sweet heliotrope tells the depth of his passion,--if he would charge his mistress with levity he presents the larkspur,--and a leaf of nettle speaks her cruelty. Poor Ophelia (in _Hamlet_) gives rosemary for remembrance, and pansies (_pensees_) for thoughts. The laurel indicates victory in war or success with the Muses, "The meed of mighty conquerors and poets sage." The ivy wreathes the brows of criticism. The fresh vine-leaf cools the hot forehead of the bacchanal. Bergamot and jessamine imply the fragrance of friendship. The Olive is the emblem of peace--the Laurel, of glory--the Rue, of grace or purification (Ophelia's _Herb of Grace O'Sundays_)--the Primrose, of the spring of human life--the Bud of the White Rose, of Girl-hood,--the full blossom of the Red Rose, of consummate beauty--the Daisy, of innocence,--the Butter-cup, of gold--the Houstania, of content--the Heliotrope, of devotion in love--the Cross of Jerusalem, of devotion in religion--the Forget-me-not, of fidelity--the Myrrh, of gladness--the Yew, of sorrow--the Michaelmas Daisy, of cheerfulness in age--the Chinese Chrysanthemum, of cheerfulness in adversity--the Yellow Carnation, of disdain--the Sweet Violet, of modesty--the white Chrysanthemum, of truth--the Sweet Sultan, of felicity--the Sensitive Plant, of maiden shyness--the Yellow Day Lily, of coquetry--the Snapdragon, of presumption--the Broom, of humility--the Amaryllis, of pride--the Grass, of submission--the Fuschia, of taste--the Verbena, of sensibility--the Nasturtium, of splendour--the Heath, of solitude--the Blue Periwinkle, of early friendship--the Honey-suckle, of the bond of love--the Trumpet Flower, of fame--the Amaranth, of immortality--the Adonis, of sorrowful remembrance,--and the Poppy, of oblivion. The Witch-hazel indicates a spell,--the Cape Jasmine says _I'm too happy_--the Laurestine, _I die if I am neglected_--the American Cowslip, _You are a divinity_--the Volkamenica Japonica, _May you be happy_--the Rose-colored Chrysanthemum, _I love_,--and the Venus' Car, _Fly with me_. For the following illustrations of the language of flowers I am indebted to a useful and well conducted little periodical published in London and entitled the _Family Friend_;--the work is a great favorite with the fair sex. "Of the floral grammar, the first rule to be observed is, that the pronoun _I_ or _me_ is expressed by inclining the symbol flower to the _left_, and the pronoun _thou_ or _thee_ by inclining it to the _right_. When, however, it is not a real flower offered, but a representation upon paper, these positions must be reversed, so that the symbol leans to the heart of the person whom it is to signify. The second rule is, that the opposite of a particular sentiment expressed by a flower presented upright is denoted when the symbol is reversed; thus a rose-bud sent upright, with its thorns and leaves, means, "_I fear, but I hope_." If the bud is returned upside down, it means, "_You must neither hope nor fear_." Should the thorns, however, be stripped off, the signification is, "_There is everything to hope_;" but if stript of its leaves, "_There is everything to fear_." By this it will be seen that the expression of almost all flowers may be varied by a change in their positions, or an alteration of their state or condition. For example, the marigold flower placed in the hand signifies "_trouble of spirits_;" on the heart, "_trouble or love_;" on the bosom, "_weariness_." The pansy held upright denotes "_heart's ease_;" reversed, it speaks the contrary. When presented upright, it says, "_Think of me_;" and when pendent, "_Forget me_." So, too, the amaryllis, which is the emblem of pride, may be made to express, "_My pride is humbled_," or, "_Your pride is checked_," by holding it downwards, and to the right or left, as the sense requires. Then, again, the wallflower, which is the emblem of fidelity in misfortune, if presented with the stalk upward, would intimate that the person to whom it was turned was unfaithful in the time of trouble. The third rule has relation to the manner in which certain words may be represented; as, for instance, the articles, by tendrils with single, double, and treble branches, as under-- [Illustration of _The_, _An_ & _A_.] The numbers are represented by leaflets running from one to eleven, as thus-- [Illustration of '1', '2', '3', '4', '5', & '6'.] From eleven to twenty, berries are added to the ten leaves thus-- [Illustration of '12' & '15'.] From twenty to one hundred, compound leaves are added to the other ten for the decimals, and berries stand for the odd numbers so-- [Illustration of '20', '34' & '56'.] A hundred is represented by ten tens; and this may be increased by a third leaflet and a branch of berries up to 999. [Illustration of '100'.] A thousand may be symbolized by a frond of fern, having ten or more leaves, and to this a common leaflet may be added to increase the number of thousands. In this way any given number may be represented in foliage, such as the date of a year in which a birthday, or other event, occurs, to which it is desirable to make allusion, in an emblematic wreath or floral picture. Thus, if I presented my love with a mute yet eloquent expression of good wishes on her eighteenth birthday, I should probably do it in this wise:--Within an evergreen wreath (_lasting as my affection_), consisting of ten leaflets and eight berries (_the age of the beloved_), I would place a red rose bud (_pure and lovely_), or a white lily (_pure and modest_), its spotless petals half concealing a ripe strawberry (_perfect excellence_); and to this I might add a blossom of the rose-scented geranium (_expressive of my preference_), a peach blossom to say "_I am your captive_" fern for sincerity, and perhaps bachelor's buttons for _hope in love_"--_Family Friend_. There are many anecdotes and legends and classical fables to illustrate the history of shrubs and flowers, and as they add something to the peculiar interest with which we regard individual plants, they ought not to be quite passed over by the writers upon Floriculture. THE FLOS ADONIS. The Flos Adonis, a blood-red flower of the Anemone tribe, is one of the many plants which, according to ancient story sprang from the tears of Venus and the blood of her coy favorite. Rose cheeked Adonis hied him to the chase Hunting he loved, but love he laughed to scorn _Shakespeare_. Venus, the Goddess of Beauty, the mother of Love, the Queen of Laughter, the Mistress of the Graces and the Pleasures, could make no impression on the heart of the beautiful son of Myrrha, (who was changed into a myrrh tree,) though the passion-stricken charmer looked and spake with the lip and eye of the fairest of the immortals. Shakespeare, in his poem of _Venus and Adonis_, has done justice to her burning eloquence, and the lustre of her unequalled loveliness. She had most earnestly, and with all a true lover's care entreated Adonis to avoid the dangers of the chase, but he slighted all her warnings just as he had slighted her affections. He was killed by a wild boar. Shakespeare makes Venus thus lament over the beautiful dead body as it lay on the blood-stained grass. Alas, poor world, what treasure hast thou lost! What face remains alive that's worth the viewing? Whose tongue is music now? What can'st thou boast Of things long since, or any thing ensuing? The flowers are sweet, their colors fresh and trim, But true sweet beauty lived and died with him. In her ecstacy of grief she prophecies that henceforth all sorts of sorrows shall be attendants upon love,--and alas! she was too correct an oracle. The course of true love never does run smooth. Here is Shakespeare's version of the metamorphosis of Adonis into a flower. By this the boy that by her side lay killed Was melted into vapour from her sight, And in his blood that on the ground lay spilled, A purple flower sprang up, checquered with white, Resembling well his pale cheeks, and the blood Which in round drops upon their whiteness stood. She bows her head, the new sprung flower to smell, Comparing it to her Adonis' breath, And says, within her bosom it shall dwell Since he himself is reft from her by death; She crops the stalk, and in the branch appears Green dropping sap which she compares to tears. The reader may like to contrast this account of the change from human into floral beauty with the version of the same story in Ovid as translated by Eusden. Then on the blood sweet nectar she bestows, The scented blood in little bubbles rose; Little as rainy drops, which fluttering fly, Borne by the winds, along a lowering sky, Short time ensued, till where the blood was shed, A flower began to rear its purple head Such, as on Punic apples is revealed Or in the filmy rind but half concealed, Still here the fate of lonely forms we see, _So sudden fades the sweet Anemone_. The feeble stems to stormy blasts a prey Their sickly beauties droop, and pine away The winds forbid the flowers to flourish long Which owe to winds their names in Grecian song. The concluding couplet alludes to the Grecian name of the flower ([Greek: anemos], _anemos_, the wind.) It is said of the Anemone that it never opens its lips until Zephyr kisses them. Sir William Jones alludes to its short-lived beauty. Youth, like a thin anemone, displays His silken leaf, and in a morn decays. Horace Smith speaks of The coy anemone that ne'er discloses Her lips until they're blown on by the wind Plants open out their leaves to breathe the air just as eagerly as they throw down their roots to suck up the moisture of the earth. Dr. Linley, indeed says, "they feed more by their leaves than their roots." I lately met with a curious illustration of the fact that plants draw a larger proportion of their nourishment from light and air than is commonly supposed. I had a beautiful convolvulus growing upon a trellis work in an upper verandah with a south-western aspect. The root of the plant was in pots. The convolvulus growing too luxuriantly and encroaching too much upon the space devoted to a creeper of another kind, I separated its upper branches from the root and left them to die. The leaves began to fade the second day and most of them were quite dead the third or fourth day, but two or three of the smallest retained a sickly life for some days more. The buds or rather chalices outlived the leaves. The chalices continued to expand every morning, for--I am afraid to say how long a time--it might seem perfectly incredible. The convolvulus is a plant of a rather delicate character and I was perfectly astonished at its tenacity of life in this case. I should mention that this happened in the rainy season and that the upper part of the creeper was partially protected from the sun. The Anemone seems to have been a great favorite with Mrs. Hemans. She thus addresses it. Flower! The laurel still may shed Brightness round the victor's head, And the rose in beauty's hair Still its festal glory wear; And the willow-leaves droop o'er Brows which love sustains no more But by living rays refined, Thou the trembler of the wind, Thou, the spiritual flower Sentient of each breeze and shower,[067] Thou, rejoicing in the skies And transpierced with all their dyes; Breathing-vase with light o'erflowing, Gem-like to thy centre flowing, Thou the Poet's type shall be Flower of soul, Anemone! The common anemone was known to the ancients but the finest kind was introduced into France from the East Indies, by Monsieur Bachelier, an eminent Florist. He seems to have been a person of a truly selfish disposition, for he refused to share the possession of his floral treasure with any of his countrymen. For ten years the new anemone from the East was to be seen no where in Europe but in Monsieur Bachelier's parterre. At last a counsellor of the French Parliament disgusted with the florist's selfishness, artfully contrived when visiting the garden to drop his robe upon the flower in such a manner as to sweep off some of the seeds. The servant, who was in his master's secret, caught up the robe and carried it away. The trick succeeded; and the counsellor shared the spoils with all his friends through whose agency the plant was multiplied in all parts of Europe. THE OLIVE. The OLIVE is generally regarded as an emblem of peace, and should have none but pleasant associations connected with it, but Ovid alludes to a wild species of this tree into which a rude and licentious fellow was converted as a punishment for "banishing the fair," with indecent words and gestures. The poet tells us of a secluded grotto surrounded by trembling reeds once frequented by the wood-nymphs of the sylvan race:-- Till Appulus with a dishonest air And gross behaviour, banished thence the fair. The bold buffoon, whene'er they tread the green, Their motion mimics, but with jest obscene; Loose language oft he utters; but ere long A bark in filmy net-work binds his tongue; Thus changed, a base wild olive he remains; The shrub the coarseness of the clown retains. _Garth's Ovid_. The mural of this is excellent. The sentiment reminds me of the Earl of Roscommon's well-known couplet in his _Essay on Translated Verse_, a poem now rarely read. Immodest words admit of no defense,[068] For want of decency is want of sense, THE HYACINTH. The HYACINTH has always been a great favorite with the poets, ancient and modern. Homer mentions the Hyacinth as forming a portion of the materials of the couch of Jove and Juno. Thick new-born Violets a soft carpet spread, And clustering Lotos swelled the rising bed, And sudden _Hyacinths_[069] the turf bestrow, And flaming Crocus made the mountains glow _Iliad, Book 14_ Milton gives a similar couch to Adam and Eve. Flowers were the couch Pansies, and Violets, and Asphodel And _Hyacinth_, earth's freshest, softest lap With the exception of the lotus (so common in Hindustan,) all these flowers, thus celebrated by the greatest of Grecian poets, and represented as fit luxuries for the gods, are at the command of the poorest peasant in England. The common Hyacinth is known to the unlearned as the Harebell, so called from the bell shape of its flowers and from its growing so abundantly in thickets frequented by hares. Shakespeare, as we have seen, calls it the _Blue_-bell. The curling flowers of the Hyacinth, have suggested to our poets the idea of clusters of curling tresses of hair. His fair large front and eye sublime declared Absolute rule, and hyacinthine locks Round from his parted forelock manly hung, Clustering _Milton_ The youths whose locks divinely spreading Like vernal hyacinths in sullen hue _Collins_ Sir William Jones describes-- The fragrant hyacinths of Azza's hair, That wanton with the laughing summer air. A similar allusion may also be found in prose. "It was the exquisitely fair queen Helen, whose jacinth[070] hair, curled by nature, intercurled by art, like a brook through golden sands, had a rope of fair pearl, which, now hidden by the hair, did, as it were play at fast and loose each with the other, mutually giving and receiving richness."--_Sir Philip Sidney_ "The ringlets so elegantly disposed round the fair countenances of these fair Chiotes [071] are such as Milton describes by 'hyacinthine locks' crisped and curled like the blossoms of that flower" _Dallaway_ The old fable about Hyacinthus is soon told. Apollo loved the youth and not only instructed him in literature and the arts, but shared in his pastimes. The divine teacher was one day playing with his pupil at quoits. Some say that Zephyr (Ovid says it was Boreas) jealous of the god's influence over young Hyacinthus, wafted the ponderous iron ring from its right course and caused it to pitch upon the poor boy's head. He fell to the ground a bleeding corpse. Apollo bade the scarlet hyacinth spring from the blood and impressed upon its leaves the words _Ai Ai_, (_alas! alas!_) the Greek funeral lamentation. Milton alludes to the flower in _Lycidas_, Like to that sanguine flower inscribed with woe. Drummond had before spoken of That sweet flower that bears In sanguine spots the tenor of our woes Hurdis speaks of: The melancholy Hyacinth, that weeps All night, and never lifts an eye all day. Ovid, after giving the old fable of Hyacinthus, tells us that "the time shall come when a most valiant hero shall add his name to this flower." "He alludes," says Mr. Riley, "to Ajax, from whose blood when he slew himself, a similar flower[072] was said to have arisen with the letters _Ai Ai_ on its leaves, expressive either of grief or denoting the first two letters of his name [Greek: Aias]." As poets feigned from Ajax's streaming blood Arose, with grief inscribed, a mournful flower. _Young_. Keats has the following allusion to the old story of Hyacinthus, Or they might watch the quoit-pitchers, intent On either side; pitying the sad death Of Hyacinthus, when the cruel breath Of Zephyr slew him,--Zephyr penitent, Who now, ere Phoebus mounts the firmament Fondles the flower amid the sobbing rain. _Endymion_. Our English Hyacinth, it is said, is not entitled to its legendary honors. The words _Non Scriptus_ were applied to this plant by Dodonaeus, because it had not the _Ai Ai_ upon its petals. Professor Martyn says that the flower called _Lilium Martagon_ or the _Scarlet Turk's Cap_ is the plant alluded to by the ancients. Alphonse Karr, the eloquent French writer, whose "_Tour Round my Garden_" I recommend to the perusal of all who can sympathize with reflections and emotions suggested by natural objects, has the following interesting anecdote illustrative of the force of a floral association:-- "I had in a solitary corner of my garden _three hyacinths_ which my father had planted and which death did not allow him to see bloom. Every year the period of their flowering was for me a solemnity, a funeral and religious festival, it was a melancholy remembrance which revived and reblossomed every year and exhaled certain thoughts with its perfume. The roots are dead now and nothing lives of this dear association but in my own heart. But what a dear yet sad privilege man possesses above all created beings, while thus enabled by memory and thought to follow those whom he loved to the tomb and there shut up the living with the dead. What a melancholy privilege, and yet is there one amongst us who would lose it? Who is he who would willingly forget all" Wordsworth, suddenly stopping before a little bunch of harebells, which along with some parsley fern, grew out of a wall, he exclaimed, 'How perfectly beautiful that is! Would that the little flowers that grow could live Conscious of half the pleasure that they give The Hyacinth has been cultivated with great care and success in Holland, where from two to three hundred pounds have been given for a single bulb. A florist at Haarlem enumerates 800 kinds of double-flowered Hyacinths, besides about 400 varieties of the single kind. It is said that there are altogether upwards of 2000 varieties of the Hyacinth. The English are particularly fond of the Hyacinth. It is a domestic flower--a sort of parlour pet. When in "close city pent" they transfer the bulbs to glass vases (Hyacinth glasses) filled with water, and place them in their windows in the winter. An annual solemnity, called Hyacinthia, was held in Laconia in honor of Hyacinthus and Apollo. It lasted three days. So eagerly was this festival honored, that the soldiers of Laconia even when they had taken the field against an enemy would return home to celebrate it. THE NARCISSUS Foolish Narcisse, that likes the watery shore _Spenser_ With respect to the NARCISSUS, whose name in the floral vocabulary is the synonyme of _egotism_, there is a story that must be familiar enough to most of my readers. Narcissus was a beautiful youth. Teresias, the Soothsayer, foretold that he should enjoy felicity until he beheld his own face but that the first sight of that would be fatal to him. Every kind of mirror was kept carefully out of his way. Echo was enamoured of him, but he slighted her love, and she pined and withered away until she had nothing left her but her voice, and even that could only repeat the last syllables of other people's sentences. He at last saw his own image reflected in a fountain, and taking it for that of another, he fell passionately in love with it. He attempted to embrace it. On seeing the fruitlessness of all his efforts, he killed himself in despair. When the nymphs raised a funeral pile to burn his body, they found nothing but a flower. That flower (into which he had been changed) still bears his name. Here is a little passage about the fable, from the _Two Noble Kinsmen_ of Beaumont and Fletcher. _Emilia_--This garden hath a world of pleasure in it, What flower is this? _Servant_--'Tis called Narcissus, Madam. _Em._--That was a fair boy certain, but a fool To love himself, were there not maids, Or are they all hard hearted? _Ser_--That could not be to one so fair. Ben Jonson touches the true moral of the fable very forcibly. 'Tis now the known disease That beauty hath, to hear too deep a sense Of her own self conceived excellence Oh! had'st thou known the worth of Heaven's rich gift, Thou would'st have turned it to a truer use, And not (with starved and covetous ignorance) Pined in continual eyeing that bright gem The glance whereof to others had been more Than to thy famished mind the wide world's store. Gay's version of the fable is as follows: Here young Narcissus o'er the fountain stood And viewed his image in the crystal flood The crystal flood reflects his lovely charms And the pleased image strives to meet his arms. No nymph his inexperienced breast subdued, Echo in vain the flying boy pursued Himself alone, the foolish youth admires And with fond look the smiling shade desires, O'er the smooth lake with fruitless tears he grieves, His spreading fingers shoot in verdant leaves, Through his pale veins green sap now gently flows, And in a short lived flower his beauty glows Addison has given a full translation of the story of Narcissus from Ovid's Metamorphoses, Book the third. The common daffodil of our English fields is of the genus Narcissus. "Pray," said some one to Pope, "what is this _Asphodel_ of Homer?" "Why, I believe," said Pope "if one was to say the truth, 'twas nothing else but that poor yellow flower that grows about our orchards, and, if so, the verse might be thus translated in English --The stern Achilles Stalked through a mead of daffodillies" THE LAUREL Daphne was a beautiful nymph beloved by that very amorous gentleman, Apollo. The love was not reciprocal. She endeavored to escape his godship's importunities by flight. Apollo overtook her. She at that instant solicited aid from heaven, and was at once turned into a laurel. Apollo gathered a wreath from the tree and placing it on his own immortal brows, decreed that from that hour the laurel should be sacred to his divinity. THE SUN-FLOWER Who can unpitying see the flowery race Shed by the morn then newflushed bloom resign, Before the parching beam? So fade the fair, When fever revels in their azure veins But one, _the lofty follower of the sun_, Sad when he sits shuts up her yellow leaves, Drooping all night, and when he warm return, Points her enamoured bosom to his ray _Thomson_. THE SUN-FLOWER (_Helianthus_) was once the fair nymph Clytia. Broken-hearted at the falsehood of her lover, Apollo, (who has so many similar sins to answer for) she pined away and died. When it was too late Apollo's heart relented, and in honor of true affection he changed poor Clytia into a _Sun-flower_.[073] It is sometimes called _Tourne-sol_--a word that signifies turning to the sun. Thomas Moore helps to keep the old story in remembrance by the concluding couplet of one of his sweetest ballads. Oh! the heart that has truly loved never forgets, But as truly loves on to its close As the sun flower turns on her god when he sets The same look that she turned when he rose But Moore has here poetized a vulgar error. Most plants naturally turn towards the light, but the sun-flower (in spite of its name) is perhaps less apt to turn itself towards Apollo than the majority of other flowers for it has a stiff stem and a number of heavy heads. At all events it does not change its attitude in the course of the day. The flower-disk that faces the morning sun has it back to it in the evening. Gerard calls the sun-flower "The Flower of the Sun or the Marigold of Peru". Speaking of it in the year 1596 he tells us that he had some in his own garden in Holborn that had grown to the height of fourteen feet. THE WALL-FLOWER The weed is green, when grey the wall, And blossoms rise where turrets fall Herrick gives us a pretty version of the story of the WALL-FLOWER, (_cheiranthus cheiri_)("the yellow wall-flower stained with iron brown") Why this flower is now called so List sweet maids and you shall know Understand this firstling was Once a brisk and bonny lass Kept as close as Danae was Who a sprightly springal loved, And to have it fully proved, Up she got upon a wall Tempting down to slide withal, But the silken twist untied, So she fell, and bruised and died Love in pity of the deed And her loving, luckless speed, Turned her to the plant we call Now, 'The Flower of the Wall' The wall-flower is the emblem of fidelity in misfortune, because it attaches itself to fallen towers and gives a grace to ruin. David Moir (the Delta of _Blackwood's Magazine_) has a poem on this flower. I must give one stanza of it. In the season of the tulip cup When blossoms clothe the trees, How sweet to throw the lattice up And scent thee on the breeze; The butterfly is then abroad, The bee is on the wing, And on the hawthorn by the road The linnets sit and sing. Lord Bacon observes that wall-flowers are very delightful when set under the parlour window or a lower chamber window. They are delightful, I think, any where. THE JESSAMINE. The Jessamine, with which the Queen of flowers, To charm her god[074] adorns his favorite bowers, Which brides, by the plain hand of neatness dressed-- Unenvied rivals!--wear upon their breast; Sweet as the incense of the morn, and chaste As the pure zone which circles Dian's waist. _Churchill._ The elegant and fragrant JESSAMINE, or Jasmine, (_Jasmimum Officinale_) with its "bright profusion of scattered stars," is said to have passed from East to West. It was originally a native of Hindustan, but it is now to be found in every clime, and is a favorite in all. There are many varieties of it in Europe. In Italy it is woven into bridal wreaths and is used on all festive occasions. There is a proverbial saying there, that she who is worthy of being decorated with jessamine is rich enough for any husband. Its first introduction into that sunny land is thus told. A certain Duke of Tuscany, the first possessor of a plant of this tribe, wished to preserve it as an unique, and forbade his gardener to give away a single sprig of it. But the gardener was a more faithful lover than servant and was more willing to please a young mistress than an old master. He presented the young girl with a branch of jessamine on her birth-day. She planted it in the ground; it took root, and grew and blossomed. She multiplied the plant by cuttings, and by the sale of these realized a little fortune, which her lover received as her marriage dowry. In England the bride wears a coronet of intermingled orange blossom and jessamine. Orange flowers indicate chastity, and the jessamine, elegance and grace. THE ROSE. For here the rose expands Her paradise of leaves. _Southey._ The ROSE, (_Rosa_) the Queen of Flowers, was given by Cupid to Harpocrates, the God of Silence, as a bribe, to prevent him from betraying the amours of Venus. A rose suspended from the ceiling intimates that all is strictly confidential that passes under it. Hence the phrase--_under the Rose_[075]. The rose was raised by Flora from the remains of a favorite nymph. Venus and the Graces assisted in the transformation of the nymph into a flower. Bacchus supplied streams of nectar to its root, and Vertumnus showered his choicest perfumes on its head. The loves of the Nightingale and the Rose have been celebrated by the Muses of many lands. An Eastern poet says "You may place a hundred handfuls of fragrant herbs and flowers before the Nightingale; yet he wishes not, in his constant heart, for more than the sweet breath of his beloved Rose." The Turks say that the rose owes its origin to a drop of perspiration that fell from the person of their prophet Mahommed. The classical legend runs that the rose was at first of a pure white, but a rose-thorn piercing the foot of Venus when she was hastening to protect Adonis from the rage of Mars, her blood dyed the flower. Spenser alludes to this legend: White as the native rose, before the change Which Venus' blood did on her leaves impress. _Spenser_. Milton says that in Paradise were, Flowers of all hue, and _without thorns the rose_. According to Zoroaster there was no thorn on the rose until Ahriman (the Evil One) entered the world. Here is Dr. Hooker's account of the origin of the red rose. To sinless Eve's admiring sight The rose expanded snowy white, When in the ecstacy of bliss She gave the modest flower a kiss, And instantaneous, lo! it drew From her red lip its blushing hue; While from her breath it sweetness found, And spread new fragrance all around. This reminds me of a passage in Mrs. Barrett Browning's _Drama of Exile_ in which she makes Eve say-- --For was I not At that last sunset seen in Paradise, When all the westering clouds flashed out in throngs Of sudden angel-faces, face by face, All hushed and solemn, as a thought of God Held them suspended,--was I not, that hour The lady of the world, princess of life, Mistress of feast and favour? _Could I touch A Rose with my white hand, but it became Redder at once?_ Another poet. (Mr. C. Cooke) tells us that a species of red rose with all her blushing honors full upon her, taking pity on a very pale maiden, changed complexions with the invalid and became herself as white as snow. Byron expressed a wish that all woman-kind had but one _rosy_ mouth, that he might kiss all woman-kind at once. This, as some one has rightly observed, is better than Caligula's wish that all mankind had but one head that he might cut it off at a single blow. Leigh Hunt has a pleasant line about the rose: And what a red mouth hath the rose, the woman of the flowers! In the Malay language the same word signifies _flowers_ and _women_. Human beauty and the rose are ever suggesting images of each other to the imagination of the poets. Shakespeare has a beautiful description of the two little princes sleeping together in the Tower of London. Their lips were four red roses on a stalk That in their summer beauty kissed each other. William Browne (our Devonshire Pastoral Poet) has a _rosy_ description of a kiss:-- To her Amyntas Came and saluted; never man before More blest, nor like this kiss hath been another But when two dangling cherries kist each other; Nor ever beauties, like, met at such closes, But in the kisses of two damask roses. Here is something in the same spirit from Crashaw. So have I seen Two silken sister-flowers consult and lay Their bashful cheeks together; newly they Peeped from their buds, showed like the garden's eyes Scarce waked, like was the crimson of their joys, Like were the tears they wept, so like that one Seemed but the other's kind reflection. Loudon says that there is a rose called the _York and Lancaster_ which when, it comes true has one half of the flower red and the other half white. It was named in commemoration of the two houses at the marriage of Henry VII. of Lancaster with Elizabeth of York. Anacreon devotes one of his longest and best odes to the laudation of the Rose. Such innumerable translations have been made of it that it is now too well known for quotation in this place. Thomas Moore in his version of the ode gives in a foot-note the following translation of a fragment of the Lesbian poetess. If Jove would give the leafy bowers A queen for all their world of flowers The Rose would be the choice of Jove, And blush the queen of every grove Sweetest child of weeping morning, Gem the vest of earth adorning, Eye of gardens, light of lawns, Nursling of soft summer dawns June's own earliest sigh it breathes, Beauty's brow with lustre wreathes, And to young Zephyr's warm caresses Spreads abroad its verdant tresses, Till blushing with the wanton's play Its cheeks wear e'en a redder ray. From the idea of excellence attached to this Queen of Flowers arose, as Thomas Moore observes, the pretty proverbial expression used by Aristophanes--_you have spoken roses_, a phrase adds the English poet, somewhat similar to the _dire des fleurettes_ of the French. The Festival of the Rose is still kept up in many villages of France and Switzerland. On a certain day of every year the young unmarried women assemble and undergo a solemn trial before competent judges, the most virtuous and industrious girl obtains a crown of roses. In the valley of Engandine, in Switzerland, a man accused of a crime but proved to be not guilty, is publicly presented by a young maiden with a white rose called the Rose of Innocence. Of the truly elegant Moss Rose I need say nothing myself; it has been so amply honored by far happier pens than mine. Here is a very ingenious and graceful story of its origin. The lines are from the German. THE MOSS ROSE The Angel of the Flowers one day, Beneath a rose tree sleeping lay, The spirit to whom charge is given To bathe young buds in dews of heaven, Awaking from his light repose The Angel whispered to the Rose "O fondest object of my care Still fairest found where all is fair, For the sweet shade thou givest to me Ask what thou wilt 'tis granted thee" "Then" said the Rose, "with deepened glow On me another grace bestow." The spirit paused in silent thought What grace was there the flower had not? 'Twas but a moment--o'er the rose A veil of moss the Angel throws, And robed in Nature's simple weed, Could there a flower that rose exceed? Madame de Genlis tells us that during her first visit to England she saw a moss-rose for the first time in her life, and that when she took it back to Paris it gave great delight to her fellow-citizens, who said it was the first that had ever been seen in that city. Madame de Latour says that Madame de Genlis was mistaken, for the moss-rose came originally from Provence and had been known to the French for ages. The French are said to have cultivated the Rose with extraordinary care and success. It was the favorite flower of the Empress Josephine, who caused her own name to be traced in the parterres at Malmaison with a plantation of the rarest roses. In the royal rosary at Versailles there are standards eighteen feet high grafted with twenty different varieties of the rose. With the Romans it was no metaphor but an allusion to a literal fact when they talked of sleeping upon beds of roses. Cicero in his third oration against Verres, when charging the proconsul with luxurious habits, stated that he had made the tour of Sicily seated upon roses. And Seneca says, of course jestingly, that a Sybarite of the name of Smyrndiride was unable to sleep if one of the rose-petals on his bed happened to be curled! At a feast which Cleopatra gave to Marc Antony the floor of the hall was covered with fresh roses to the depth of eighteen inches. At a fête given by Nero at Baiae the sum of four millions of sesterces or about 20,000_l_. was incurred for roses. The Natives of India are fond of the rose, and are lavish in their expenditure at great festivals, but I suppose that no millionaire amongst them ever spent such an amount of money as this upon flowers alone.[076] I shall close the poetical quotations on the Rose with one of Shakespeare's sonnets. O how much more doth beauty beauteous seem, By that sweet ornament which truth doth give. The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem For that sweet odour which doth in it live. The canker-blooms have full as deep a dye As the perfumed tincture of the roses, Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly, When summer's breath their masked buds discloses; But for their virtue only is their show, They live unwoo'd and unrespected fade; Die to themselves. Sweet Roses do not so; Of then sweet deaths are sweetest odours made: And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth, When that shall fade, my verse distils your truth. There are many hundred acres of rose trees at Ghazeepore which are cultivated for distillation, and making "attar." There are large fields of roses in England also, for the manufacture of rose-water. There is a story about the origin of attar of Roses. The Princess Nourmahal caused a large tank, on which she used to be rowed about with the great Mogul, to be filled with rose-water. The heat of the sun separating the water from the essential oil of the rose, the latter was observed to be floating on the surface. The discovery was immediately turned to good account. At Ghazeepoor, the _essence_, _atta_ or _uttar_ or _otto_, or whatever it should be called, is obtained with great simplicity and ease. After the rose water is prepared it is put into large open vessels which are left out at night. Early in the morning the oil that floats upon the surface is skimmed off, or sucked up with fine dry cotton wool, put into bottles, and carefully sealed. Bishop Heber says that to produce one rupee's weight of atta 200,000 well grown roses are required, and that a rupee's weight sells from 80 to 100 rupees. The atta sold in Calcutta is commonly adulterated with the oil of sandal wood. LINNAEA BOREALIS The LINNAEA BOREALIS, or two horned Linnaea, though a simple Lapland flower, is interesting to all botanists from its association with the name of the Swedish Sage. It has pretty little bells and is very fragrant. It is a wild, unobtrusive plant and is very averse to the trim lawn and the gay flower-border. This little woodland beauty pines away under too much notice. She prefers neglect, and would rather waste her sweetness on the desert air, than be introduced into the fashionable lists of Florist's flowers. She shrinks from exposure to the sun. A gentleman after walking with Linnaeus on the shores of the lake near Charlottendal on a lovely evening, writes thus "I gathered a small flower and asked if it was the _Linnaea borealis_. 'Nay,' said the philosopher, 'she lives not here, but in the middle of our largest woods. She clings with her little arms to the moss, and seems to resist very gently if you force her from it. She has a complexion like a milkmaid, and ah! she is very, very sweet and agreeable!" THE FORGET-ME-NOT The dear little FORGET-ME-NOT, (_myosotis palustris_)[077] with its eye of blue, is said to have derived its touching appellation from a sentimental German story. Two lovers were walking on the bank of a rapid stream. The lady beheld the flower growing on a little island, and expressed a passionate desire to possess it. He gallantly plunged into the stream and obtained the flower, but exhausted by the force of the tide, he had only sufficient strength left as he neared the shore to fling the flower at the fair one's feet, and exclaim "_Forget-me-not!_" (_Vergiss-mein-nicht_.) He was then carried away by the stream, out of her sight for ever. THE PERIWINKLE. The PERIWINKLE (_vinca_ or _pervinca_) has had its due share of poetical distinction. In France the common people call it the Witch's violet. It seems to have suggested to Wordsworth an idea of the consciousness of flowers. Through primrose tufts, in that sweet bower, The Periwinkle trailed its wreaths, _And 'tis my faith that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes._ Mr. J.L. Merritt, has some complimentary lines on this flower. The Periwinkle with its fan-like leaves All nicely levelled, is a lovely flower Whose dark wreath, myrtle like, young Flora weaves; There's none more rare Nor aught more meet to deck a fairy's bower Or grace her hair. The little blue Periwinkle is rendered especially interesting to the admirers of the genius of Rousseau by an anecdote that records his emotion on meeting it in one of his botanical excursions. He had seen it thirty years before in company with Madame de Warens. On meeting its sweet face again, after so long and eventful an interim, he fell upon his knees, crying out--_Ah! voila de la pervanche!_ "It struck him," says Hazlitt, "as the same little identical flower that he remembered so well; and thirty years of sorrow and bitter regret were effaced from his memory." The Periwinkle was once supposed to be a cure for many diseases. Lord Bacon says that in his time people afflicted with cramp wore bands of green periwinkle tied about their limbs. It had also its supposed moral influences. According to Culpepper the leaves of the flower if eaten by man and wife together would revive between them a lost affection. THE BASIL. Sweet marjoram, with her like, _sweet basil_, rare for smell. _Drayton._ The BASIL is a plant rendered poetical by the genius which has handled it. Boccaccio and Keats have made the name of the _sweet basil_ sound pleasantly in the ears of many people who know nothing of botany. A species of this plant (known in Europe under the botanical name of _Ocymum villosum_, and in India as the _Toolsee_) is held sacred by the Hindus. Toolsee was a disciple of Vishnu. Desiring to be his wife she excited the jealousy of Lukshmee by whom she was transformed into the herb named after her.[078] THE TULIP. Tulips, like the ruddy evening streaked. _Southey_. The TULIP (_tulipa_) is the glory of the garden, as far as color without fragrance can confer such distinction. Some suppose it to be 'The Lily of the Field' alluded to in the Sermon on the Mount. It grows wild in Syria. The name of the tulip is said to be of Turkish origin. It was called Tulipa from its resemblance to the tulipan or turban. What crouds the rich Divan to-day With turbaned heads, of every hue Bowing before that veiled and awful face Like Tulip-beds of different shapes and dyes, Bending beneath the invisible west wind's sighs? _Moore_. The reader has probably heard of the Tulipomania once carried to so great an excess in Holland. With all his phlegm, it broke a Dutchman's heart, At a vast price, with one loved root to part. _Crabbe_. About the middle of the 17th century the city of Haarlem realized in three years ten millions sterling by the sale of tulips. A single tulip (the _Semper Augustus_) was sold for one thousand pounds. Twelve acres of land were given for a single root and engagements to the amount of £5,000 were made for a first-class tulip when the mania was at its height. A gentleman, who possessed a tulip of great value, hearing that some one was in possession of a second root of the same kind, eagerly secured it at a most extravagant price. The moment he got possession of it, he crushed it under his foot. "Now," he exclaimed, "my tulip is unique!" A Dutch Merchant gave a sailor a herring for his breakfast. Jack seeing on the Merchant's counter what he supposed to be a heap of onions, took up a handful of them and ate them with his fish. The supposed onions were tulip bulbs of such value that they would have paid the cost of a thousand Royal feasts.[079] The tulip mania never leached so extravagant a height in England as in Holland, but our country did not quite escape the contagion, and even so late as the year 1836 at the sale of Mr. Clarke's tulips at Croydon, seventy two pounds were given for a single bulb of the _Fanny Kemble_; and a Florist in Chelsea in the same year, priced a bulb in his catalogue at 200 guineas. The Tulip is not endeared to us by many poetical associations. We have read, however, one pretty and romantic tale about it. A poor old woman who lived amongst the wild hills of Dartmoor, in Devonshire, possessed a beautiful bed of Tulips, the pride of her small garden. One fine moonlight night her attention was arrested by the sweet music which seemed to issue from a thousand Liliputian choristers. She found that the sounds proceeded from her many colored bells of Tulips. After watching the flowers intently she perceived that they were not swayed to and fro by the wind, but by innumerable little beings that were climbing on the stems and leaves. They were pixies. Each held in its arms an elfin baby tinier than itself. She saw the babies laid in the bells of the plant, which were thus used as cradles, and the music was formed of many lullabies. When the babies were asleep the pixies or fairies left them, and gamboled on the neighbouring sward on which the old lady discovered the day after, several new green rings,--a certain evidence that her fancy had not deceived her! At earliest dawn the fairies had returned to the tulips and taken away their little ones. The good old woman never permitted her tulip bed to be disturbed. She regarded it as holy ground. But when she died, some Utilitarian gardener turned it into a parsley bed! The parsley never flourished. The ground was now cursed. In gratitude to the memory of the benevolent dame who had watched and protected the floral nursery, every month, on the night before the full moon, the fairies scattered flowers on her grave, and raised a sweet musical dirge--heard only by poetic ears--or by maids and children who Hold each strange tale devoutly true. For as the poet says: What though no credit doubting wits may give, The fair and innocent shall still believe. Men of genius are often as trustful as maids and children. Collins, himself a lover of the wonderful, thus speaks of Tasso:-- Prevailing poet! whose undoubting mind Believed the magic wonders that he sung. All nature indeed is full of mystery to the imaginative. And visions as poetic eyes avow Hang on each leaf and cling to every bough. The Hindoos believe that the Peepul tree of which the foliage trembles like that of the aspen, has a spirit in every leaf. "Did you ever see a fairy's funeral, Madam?" said Blake, the artist. "Never Sir." "_I_ have," continued that eccentric genius, "One night I was walking alone in my garden. There was great stillness amongst the branches and flowers and more than common sweetness in the air. I heard a low and pleasant sound, and knew not whence it came: at last I perceived _the broad leaf of a flower move_, and underneath I saw a procession of creatures the size and color of green and gray grasshoppers, _bearing a body laid out on a rose leaf_, which they buried with song, and then disappeared." THE PINK. The PINK (_dianthus_) is a very elegant flower. I have but a short story about it. The young Duke of Burgundy, grandson of Louis the Fifteenth, was brought up in the midst of flatterers as fulsome as those rebuked by Canute. The youthful prince was fond of cultivating pinks, and one of his courtiers, by substituting a floral changeling, persuaded him that one of those pinks planted by the royal hand had sprung up into bloom in a single night! One night, being unable to sleep, he wished to rise, but was told that it was midnight; he replied "_Well then, I desire it to be morning_." The pink is one of the commonest of the flowers in English gardens. It is a great favorite all over Europe. The botanists have enumerated about 400 varieties of it. THE PANSY OR HEARTS-EASE. The PANSY (_víola trîcolor_) commonly called _Hearts-ease_, or _Love-in-idleness_, or _Herb-Trinity_ (_Flos Trinitarium_), or _Three-faces-under-a-hood_, or _Kit-run-about_, is one of the richest and loveliest of flowers. The late Mrs. Siddons, the great actress, was so fond of this flower that she thought she could never have enough of it. Besides round beds of it she used it as an edging to all the flower borders in her garden. She liked to plant a favorite flower in large masses of beauty. But such beauty must soon fatigue the eye with its sameness. A round bed of one sort of flowers only is like a nosegay composed of one sort of flowers or of flowers of the same hue. She was also particularly fond of evergreens because they gave her garden a pleasant aspect even in the winter. "Do you hear him?"--(John Bunyan makes the guide enquire of Christiana while a shepherd boy is singing beside his sheep)--"I will dare to say this boy leads a merrier life, and wears more of the herb called _hearts-ease_ in his bosom, than he that is clothed in silk and purple." Shakespeare has connected this flower with a compliment to the maiden Queen of England. That very time I saw (but thou couldst not) Flying between the cold moon and the earth, Cupid all armed, a certain aim he took At a fair Vestal, throned by the west; And loosed his love-shaft smartly from his bow As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts. But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft Quenched in the chaste beams of the watery moon-- And the imperial votaress passed on In maiden meditation fancy free, Yet marked I where the bolt of Cupid fell. It fell upon _a little western flowers, Before milk white, now purple with love's wound-- And maidens call it_ LOVE IN IDLENESS Fetch me that flower, the herb I showed thee once, The juice of it on sleeping eyelids laid, Will make or man or woman madly dote Upon the next live creature that it sees. Fetch me this herb and be thou here again, Ere the leviathan can swim a league. _Midsummer Night's Dream._ The hearts-ease has been cultivated with great care and success by some of the most zealous flower-fanciers amongst our countrymen in India. But it is a delicate plant in this clime, and requires most assiduous attention, and a close study of its habits. It always withers here under ordinary hands. THE MIGNONETTE. The MIGNONETTE, (_reseda odorato_,) the Frenchman's _little darling_, was not introduced into England until the middle of the 17th century. The Mignonette or Sweet Reseda was once supposed capable of assuaging pain, and of ridding men of many of the ills that flesh is heir to. It was applied with an incantation. This flower has found a place in the armorial bearings of an illustrious family of Saxony. I must tell the story: The Count of Walsthim loved the fair and sprightly Amelia de Nordbourg. She was a spoilt child and a coquette. She had an humble companion whose christian name was Charlotte. One evening at a party, all the ladies were called upon to choose a flower each, and the gentlemen were to make verses on the selections. Amelia fixed upon the flaunting rose, Charlotte the modest mignonette. In the course of the evening Amelia coquetted so desperately with a dashing Colonel that the Count could not suppress his vexation. On this he wrote a verse for the Rose: Elle ne vit qu'un jour, et ne plait qu'un moment. (She lives but for a day and pleases but for a moment) He then presented the following line on the Mignonette to the gentle Charlotte: "Ses qualities surpassent ses charmes." The Count transferred his affections to Charlotte, and when he married her, added a branch of the Sweet Reseda to the ancient arms of his family, with the motto of Your qualities surpass your charms. VERVAIN. The vervain-- That hind'reth witches of their will. _Drayton_ VERVAIN (_verbena_) was called by the Greeks _the sacred herb_. It was used to brush their altars. It was supposed to keep off evil spirits. It was also used in the religious ceremonies of the Druids and is still held sacred by the Persian Magi. The latter lay branches of it on the altar of the sun. The ancients had their _Verbenalia_ when the temples were strewed with vervain, and no incantation or lustration was deemed perfect without the aid of this plant. It was supposed to cure the bite of a serpent or a mad dog. THE DAISY. The DAISY or day's eye (_bellis perennis_) has been the darling of the British poets from Chaucer to Shelley. It is not, however, the darling of poets only, but of princes and peasants. And it is not man's favorite only, but, as Wordsworth says, Nature's favorite also. Yet it is "the simplest flower that blows." Its seed is broadcast on the land. It is the most familiar of flowers. It sprinkles every field and lane in the country with its little mimic stars. Wordsworth pays it a beautiful compliment in saying that Oft alone in nooks remote _We meet it like a pleasant thought When such is wanted._ But though this poet dearly loved the daisy, in some moods of mind he seems to have loved the little celandine (common pilewort) even better. He has addressed two poems to this humble little flower. One begins with the following stanza. Pansies, Lilies, Kingcups, Daisies, Let them live upon their praises; Long as there's a sun that sets Primroses will have their glory; Long as there are Violets, They will have a place in story: There's a flower that shall be mine, 'Tis the little Celandine. No flower is too lowly for the affections of Wordsworth. Hazlitt says, "the daisy looks up to Wordsworth with sparkling eye as an old acquaintance; a withered thorn is weighed down with a heap of recollections; and even the lichens on the rocks have a life and being in his thoughts." The Lesser Celandine, is an inodorous plant, but as Wordsworth possessed not the sense of smell, to him a deficiency of fragrance in a flower formed no objection to it. Miss Martineau alludes to a newspaper report that on one occasion the poet suddenly found himself capable of enjoying the fragrance of a flower, and gave way to an emotion of tumultuous rapture. But I have seen this contradicted. Miss Martineau herself has generally no sense of smell, but we have her own testimony to the fact that a brief enjoyment of the faculty once actually occurred to her. In her case there was a simultaneous awakening of two dormant faculties--the sense of smell and the sense of taste. Once and once only, she enjoyed the scent of a bottle of Eau de Cologne and the taste of meat. The two senses died away again almost in their birth. Shelley calls Daisies "those pearled Arcturi of the earth"--"the constellated flower that never sets." The Father of English poets does high honor to this star of the meadow in the "Prologue to the Legend of Goode Women." He tells us that in the merry month of May he was wont to quit even his beloved books to look upon the fresh morning daisy. Of all the floures in the mede Then love I most these floures white and red, Such that men callen Daisies in our town, To them I have so great affectión. As I sayd erst, when comen is the Maie, That in my bedde there dawneth me no daie That I nam up and walking in the mede To see this floure agenst the Sunne sprede, When it up riseth early by the morrow That blisfull sight softeneth all my sorrow. _Chaucer_. The poet then goes on with his hearty laudation of this lilliputian luminary of the fields, and hesitates not to describe it as "of all floures the floure." The famous Scottish Peasant loved it just as truly, and did it equal honor. Who that has once read, can ever forget his harmonious and pathetic address to a mountain daisy on turning it up with the plough? I must give the poem a place here, though it must be familiar to every reader. But we can read it again and again, just as we can look day after day with undiminished interest upon the flower that it commemorates. Mrs. Stowe (the American writer) observes that "the daisy with its wide plaited ruff and yellow centre is not our (that is, an American's) flower. The English flower is the Wee, modest, crimson tippéd flower which Burns celebrated. It is what we (in America) raise in green-houses and call the Mountain Daisy. Its effect, growing profusely about fields and grass-plats, is very beautiful." TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY. ON TURNING ONE DOWN WITH THE PLOUGH IN APRIL, 1786 Wee, modest, crimson tippéd flow'r, Thou's met me in an evil hour, For I maun[080] crush amang the stoure[081] Thy slender stem, To spare thee now is past my pow'r, Thou bonnie gem. Alas! its no thy neobor sweet, The bonnie lark, companion meet, Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet[082] Wi' speckled breast, When upward springing, blythe, to greet The purpling east Cauld blew the bitter biting north Upon thy early, humble, birth, Yet cheerfully thou glinted[083] forth Amid the storm, Scarce reared above the patient earth Thy tender form The flaunting flowers our gardens yield, High sheltering woods and wa's[084] maun shield, But thou beneath the random bield[085] O' clod or stane, Adorns the histie[086] stibble field[087] Unseen, alane. There, in thy scanty mantle clad, Thy snawye bosom sun ward spread, Thou lifts thy unassuming head In humble guise, But now the share up tears thy bed, And low thou lies! Such is the fate of artless Maid, Sweet flow'ret of the rural shade! By love's simplicity betrayed, And guileless trust, Till she, like thee, all soiled is laid Low i' the dust. Such is the fate of simple Bard, On Life's rough ocean luckless starred! Unskilful he to note the card Of prudent lore, Till billows rage, and gales blow hard And whelm him o'er! Such fate to suffering worth is given Who long with wants and woes has striven By human pride or cunning driven To misery's brink, Till wrenched of every stay but Heaven, He, ruined, sink! Ev'n thou who mourn'st the Daisy's fate, That fate is thine--no distant date; Stern Ruin's plough-share drives elate, Full on thy bloom; Till crushed beneath the furrow's weight Shall be thy doom. _Burns._ The following verses though they make no pretension to the strength and pathos of the poem by the great Scottish Peasant, have a grace and simplicity of their own, for which they have long been deservedly popular. A FIELD FLOWER. ON FINDING ONE IN FULL BLOOM, ON CHRISTMAS DAY, 1803. There is a flower, a little flower, With silver crest and golden eye, That welcomes every changing hour, And weathers every sky. The prouder beauties of the field In gay but quick succession shine, Race after race their honours yield, They flourish and decline. But this small flower, to Nature dear, While moons and stars their courses run, Wreathes the whole circle of the year, Companion of the sun. It smiles upon the lap of May, To sultry August spreads its charms, Lights pale October on his way, And twines December's arms. The purple heath and golden broom, On moory mountains catch the gale, O'er lawns the lily sheds perfume, The violet in the vale. But this bold floweret climbs the hill, Hides in the forest, haunts the glen, Plays on the margin of the rill, Peeps round the fox's den. Within the garden's cultured round It shares the sweet carnation's bed; And blooms on consecrated ground In honour of the dead. The lambkin crops its crimson gem, The wild-bee murmurs on its breast, The blue-fly bends its pensile stem, Light o'er the sky-lark's nest. 'Tis FLORA'S page,--in every place, In every season fresh and fair; It opens with perennial grace. And blossoms everywhere. On waste and woodland, rock and plain, Its humble buds unheeded rise; The rose has but a summer-reign; The DAISY never dies. _James Montgomery_. Montgomery has another very pleasing poetical address to the daisy. The poem was suggested by the first plant of the kind which had appeared in India. The flower sprang up unexpectedly out of some English earth, sent with other seeds in it, to this country. The amiable Dr. Carey of Serampore was the lucky recipient of the living treasure, and the poem is supposed to be addressed by him to the dear little flower of his home, thus born under a foreign sky. Dr. Carey was a great lover of flowers, and it was one of his last directions on his death-bed, as I have already said, that his garden should be always protected from the intrusion of Goths and Vandals in the form of Bengallee goats and cows. I must give one stanza of Montgomery's second poetical tribute to the small flower with "the silver crest and golden eye." Thrice-welcome, little English flower! To this resplendent hemisphere Where Flora's giant offsprings tower In gorgeous liveries all the year; Thou, only thou, art little here Like worth unfriended and unknown, Yet to my British heart more dear Than all the torrid zone. It is difficult to exaggerate the feeling with which an exile welcomes a home-flower. A year or two ago Dr. Ward informed the Royal Institution of London, that a single primrose had been taken to Australia in a glass-case and that when it arrived there in full bloom, the sensation it excited was so great that even those who were in the hot pursuit of gold, paused in their eager career to gaze for a moment upon the flower of their native fields, and such immense crowds at last pressed around it that it actually became necessary to protect it by a guard. My last poetical tribute to the Daisy shall be three stanzas from Wordsworth, from two different addresses to the same flower. With little here to do or see Of things that in the great world be, Sweet Daisy! oft I talk to thee, For thou art worthy, Thou unassuming Common-place Of Nature, with that homely face, And yet with something of a grace, Which Love makes for thee! * * * * * If stately passions in me burn, And one chance look to Thee should turn, I drink out of an humbler urn A lowlier pleasure; The homely sympathy that heeds The common life, our nature breeds; A wisdom fitted to the needs Of hearts at leisure. When, smitten by the morning ray, I see thee rise, alert and gay, Then, cheerful Flower! my spirits play With kindred gladness; And when, at dusk, by dews opprest Thou sink'st, the image of thy rest Hath often eased my pensive breast Of careful sadness. It is peculiarly interesting to observe how the profoundest depths of thought and feeling are sometimes stirred in the heart of genius by the smallest of the works of Nature. Even more ordinarily gifted men are similarly affected to the utmost extent of their intellect and sensibility. We grow tired of the works of man. In the realms of art we ever crave something unseen before. We demand new fashions, and when the old are once laid aside, we wonder that they should ever have excited even a moment's admiration. But Nature, though she is always the same, never satiates us. The simple little Daisy which Burns has so sweetly commemorated is the same flower that was "of all flowres the flowre," in the estimation of the Patriarch of English poets, and which so delighted Wordsworth in his childhood, in his middle life, and in his old age. He gazed on it, at intervals, with unchanging affection for upwards of fourscore years. The Daisy--the miniature sun with its tiny rays--is especially the favorite of our earliest years. In our remembrances of the happy meadows in which we played in childhood, the daisy's silver lustre is ever connected with the deeper radiance of its gay companion, the butter-cup, which when held against the dimple on the cheek or chin of beauty turns it into a little golden dell. The thoughtful and sensitive frequenter of rural scenes discovers beauty every where; though it is not always the sort of beauty that would satisfy the taste of men who recognize no gaiety or loveliness beyond the walls of cities. To the poet's eye even the freckles on a milk-maid's brow are not without a grace, associated as they are with health, and the open sunshine. Chaucer tells us that the French call the Daisy _La belle Marguerite_. There is a little anecdote connected with the appellation. Marguerite of Scotland, the Queen of Louis the Eleventh, presented Marguerite Clotilde de Surville, a poetess, with a bouquet of daisies, with this inscription; "Marguerite d'Ecosse à Marguerite (_the pearl_) d'Helicon." The country maidens in England practise a kind of sortilége with this flower. They pluck off leaf by leaf, saying alternately "_He loves me_" and "_He loves me not_." The omen or oracle is decided by the fall of either sentence on the last leaf. It is extremely difficult to rear the daisy in India. It is accustomed to all weathers in England, but the long continued sultriness of this clime makes it as delicate as a languid English lady in a tropical exile, and however carefully and skilfully nursed, it generally pines for its native air and dies.[088] THE PRICKLY GORSE. --Yon swelling downs where the sweet air stirs The harebells, and where prickly furze Buds lavish gold. _Keat's Endymion_. Fair maidens, I'll sing you a song, I'll tell of the bonny wild flower, Whose blossoms so yellow, and branches so long, O'er moor and o'er rough rocky mountains are flung Far away from trim garden and bower _L.A. Tuamley_. The PRICKLY GORSE or Goss or Furze, (_ulex_)[089] I cannot omit to notice, because it was the plant which of all others most struck Dillenius when he first trod on English ground. He threw himself on his knees and thanked Heaven that he had lived to see the golden undulation of acres of wind-waved gorse. Linnaeus lamented that he could scarcely keep it alive in Sweden even in a greenhouse. I have the most delightful associations connected with this plant, and never think of it without a summer feeling and a crowd of delightful images and remembrances of rural quietude and blue skies and balmy breezes. Cowper hardly does it justice: The common, over-grown with fern, and rough With prickly gorse, that shapeless and deformed And dangerous to the touch, has yet its bloom And decks itself with ornaments of gold, Yields no unpleasing ramble. The plant is indeed irregularly shaped, but it is not _deformed_, and if it is dangerous to the touch, so also is the rose, unless it be of that species which Milton places in Paradise--"_and without thorns the rose_." Hurdis is more complimentary and more just to the richest ornament of the swelling hill and the level moor. And what more noble than the vernal furze With golden caskets hung? I have seen whole _cotees_ or _coteaux_ (sides of hills) in the sweet little island of Jersey thickly mantled with the golden radiance of this beautiful wildflower. The whole Vallée des Vaux (_the valley of vallies_) is sometimes alive with its lustre. VALLEE DES VAUX. AIR--THE MEETING OF THE WATERS. If I dream of the past, at fair Fancy's command, Up-floats from the blue sea thy small sunny land! O'er thy green hills, sweet Jersey, the fresh breezes blow, And silent and warm is the Vallée des Vaux! There alone have I loitered 'mid blossoms of gold, And forgot that the great world was crowded and cold, Nor believed that a land of enchantment could show A vale more divine than the Vallée des Vaux. A few scattered cots, like white clouds in the sky, Or like still sails at sea when the light breezes die, And a mill with its wheel in the brook's silver glow, Form thy beautiful hamlet, sweet Vallée des Vaux! As the brook prattled by like an infant at play, And each wave as it passed stole a moment away, I thought how serenely a long life would flow, By the sweet little brook in the Vallée des Vaux. D.L.R. Jersey is not the only one of the Channel Islands that is enriched with "blossoms of gold." In the sister island of Guernsey the prickly gorse is much used for hedges, and Sir George Head remarks that the premises of a Guernsey farmer are thus as impregnably fortified and secured as if his grounds were surrounded by a stone wall. In the Isle of Man the furze grows so high that it is sometimes more like a fir tree than the ordinary plant. There is an old proverb:--"When gorse is out of blossom, kissing is out of fashion"--that is _never_. The gorse blooms all the year. FERN. I'll seek the shaggy fern-clad hill And watch, 'mid murmurs muttering stern, The seed departing from the fern Ere wakeful demons can convey The wonder-working charm away. _Leyden_. "The green and graceful Fern" (_filices_) with its exquisite tracery must not be overlooked. It recalls many noble home-scenes to British eyes. Pliny says that "of ferns there are two kinds, and they bear neither flowers nor seed." And this erroneous notion of the fern bearing no seed was common amongst the English even so late as the time of Addison who ridicules "a Doctor that had arrived at the knowledge of the green and red dragon, _and had discovered the female fern-seed_." The seed is very minute and might easily escape a careless eye. In the present day every one knows that the seed of the fern lies on the under side of the leaves, and a single leaf will often bear some millions of seeds. Even those amongst the vulgar who believed the plant bore seed, had an idea that the seeds were visible only at certain mysterious seasons and to favored individuals who by carrying a quantity of it on their person, were able, like those who wore the helmet of Pluto or the ring of Gyges, to walk unseen amidst a crowd. The seed was supposed to be best seen at a certain hour of the night on which St. John the Baptist was born. We have the receipt of fern-seed; we walk invisible, _Shakespeare's Henry IV. Part I_. In Beaumont's and Fletcher's _Fair Maid of the Inn_, is the following allusion to the fern. --Had you Gyges' ring, _Or the herb that gives invisibility_. Ben Jonson makes a similar allusion to it: I had No medicine, sir, to go invisible, _No fern-seed in my pocket_. Pope puts a branch of spleen-wort, a species of fern, (_Asplenium trichomanes_) into the hand of a gnome as a protection from evil influences in the Cave of Spleen. Safe passed the gnome through this fantastic band A branch of healing spleen-wort in his hand. The fern forms a splendid ornament for shadowy nooks and grottoes, or fragments of ruins, or heaps of stones, or the odd corners of a large garden or pleasure-ground. I have had many delightful associations with this plant both at home and abroad. When I visited the beautiful Island of Penang, Sir William Norris, then the Recorder of the Island, and who was a most indefatigable collector of ferns, obligingly presented me with a specimen of every variety that he had discovered in the hills and vallies of that small paradise; and I suppose that in no part of the world could a finer collection of specimens of the fern be made for a botanist's _herbarium_. Fern leaves will look almost as well ten years after they are gathered as on the day on which they are transferred from the dewy hillside to the dry pages of a book. Jersey and Penang are the two loveliest islands on a small scale that I have yet seen: the latter is the most romantic of the two and has nobler trees and a richer soil and a brighter sky--but they are both charming retreats for the lovers of peace and nature. As I have devoted some verses to Jersey I must have some also on THE ISLAND OF PENANG. I. I stand upon the mountain's brow-- I drink the cool fresh, mountain breeze-- I see thy little town below,[090] Thy villas, hedge-rows, fields and trees, And hail thee with exultant glow, GEM OF THE ORIENTAL SEAS! II. A cloud had settled on my heart-- My frame had borne perpetual pain-- I yearned and panted to depart From dread Bengala's sultry plain-- Fate smiled,--Disease withholds his dart-- I breathe the breath of life again! III. With lightened heart, elastic tread, Almost with youth's rekindled flame, I roam where loveliest scenes outspread Raise thoughts and visions none could name, Save those on whom the Muses shed A spell, a dower of deathless fame. IV. I _feel_, but oh! could ne'er _pourtray_, Sweet Isle! thy charms of land and wave, The bowers that own no winter day, The brooks where timid wild birds lave, The forest hills where insects gay[091] Mimic the music of the brave! V. I see from this proud airy height A lovely Lilliput below! Ships, roads, groves, gardens, mansions white, And trees in trimly ordered row,[092] Present almost a toy like sight, A miniature scene, a fairy show! VI. But lo! beyond the ocean stream, That like a sheet of silver lies, As glorious as a poet's dream The grand Malayan mountains rise, And while their sides in sunlight beam Their dim heads mingle with the skies. VI. Men laugh at bards who live _in clouds_-- The clouds _beneath_ me gather now, Or gliding slow in solemn crowds, Or singly, touched with sunny glow, Like mystic shapes in snowy shrouds, Or lucid veils on Beauty's brow. VIII. While all around the wandering eye Beholds enchantments rich and rare, Of wood, and water, earth, and sky A panoramic vision fair, The dyal breathes his liquid sigh, And magic floats upon the air! IX. Oh! lovely and romantic Isle! How cold the heart thou couldst not please! Thy very dwellings seem to smile Like quiet nests mid summer trees! I leave thy shores--but weep the while-- GEM OF THE ORIENTAL SEAS! D.L.R. HENNA. The henna or al hinna (_Lawsonia inermis_) is found in great abundance in Egypt, India, Persia and Arabia. In Bengal it goes by the name of _Mindee_. It is much used here for garden hedges. Hindu females rub it on the palms of their hands, the tips of their fingers and the soles of their feet to give them a red dye. The same red dye has been observed upon the nails of Egyptian mummies. In Egypt sprigs of henna are hawked about the streets for sale with the cry of "_O, odours of Paradise; O, flowers of the henna!_" Thomas Moore alludes to one of the uses of the henna:-- Thus some bring leaves of henna to imbue The fingers' ends of a bright roseate hue, So bright, that in the mirror's depth they seem Like tips of coral branches in the stream. MOSS. MOSSES (_musci_) are sometimes confounded with Lichens. True mosses are green, and lichens are gray. All the mosses are of exquisitely delicate structure. They are found in every part of the world where the atmosphere is moist. They have a wonderful tenacity of life and can often be restored to their original freshness after they have been dried for years. It was the sight of a small moss in the interior of Africa that suggested to Mungo Park such consolatory reflections as saved him from despair. He had been stripped of all he had by banditti. "In this forlorn and almost helpless condition," he says, "when the robbers had left me, I sat for some time looking around me with amazement and terror. Whichever way I turned, nothing appeared but danger and difficulty. I found myself in the midst of a vast wilderness, in the depth of the rainy season--naked and alone,--surrounded by savages. I was five hundred miles from any European settlement. All these circumstances crowded at once upon my recollection; and I confess that my spirits began to fail me. I considered my fate as certain, and that I had no alternative, but to lie down and perish. The influence of religion, however aided and supported me. I reflected that no human prudence or foresight could possibly have averted my present sufferings. I was indeed a stranger in a strange land, yet I was still under the eye of that Providence who has condescended to call himself the stranger's friend. At this moment, painful as my reflections were, the extraordinary beauty of a small Moss irresistibly caught my eye; and though the whole plant was not larger than the top of one of my fingers, I could not contemplate the delicate conformation of its roots, leaves, and fruit, without admiration. Can that Being (thought I) who planted, watered, and brought to perfection, in this obscure part of the world, a thing which appears of so small importance, look with unconcern upon the situation and sufferings of creatures formed after his own image? Surely not.--Reflections like these would not allow me to despair. I started up; and disregarding both, hunger and fatigue, traveled forward, assured that relief was at hand; and I was not disappointed." VICTORIA REGIA. On this Queen of Aquatic Plants the language of admiration has been exhausted. It was discovered in the first year of the present century by the botanist Haenke who was sent by the Spanish Government to investigate the vegetable productions of Peru. When in a canoe on the Rio Mamore, one of the great tributaries of the river Amazon, he came suddenly upon the noblest and largest flower that he had ever seen. He fell on his knees in a transport of admiration. It was the plant now known as the Victoria Regia, or American Water-lily. It was not till February 1849, that Dr. Hugh Rodie and Mr. Lachie of Demerara forwarded seeds of the plant to Sir W.T. Hooker in vials of pure water. They were sown in earth, in pots immersed in water, and enclosed in a glass case. They vegetated rapidly. The plants first came to perfection at Chatsworth the seat of the Duke of Devonshire,[093] and subsequently at the Royal gardens at Kew. Early in November of the same year, (1849,) the leaves of the plant at Chatsworth were 4 feet 8 inches in diameter. A child weighing forty two pounds was placed upon one of the leaves which bore the weight well. The largest leaf of the plant by the middle of the next month was five feet in diameter with a turned up edge of from two to four inches. It then bore up a person of 11 stone weight. The flat leaf of the Victoria Regia as it floats on the surface of the water, resembles in point of form the brass high edged platter in which Hindus eat their rice. The flowers in the middle of May 1850 measured one foot one inch in diameter. The rapidity of the growth of this plant is one of its most remarkable characteristics, its leaves often expanding eight inches in diameter daily, and Mr. John Fisk Allen, who has published in America an admirably illustrated work upon the subject, tells us that instances under his own observation have occurred of the leaves increasing at the rate of half an inch hourly. Not only is there an extraordinary variety in the colours of the several specimens of this flower, but a singularly rapid succession of changes of hue in the same individual flower as it progresses from bud to blossom. This vegetable wonder was introduced into North America in 1851. It grows to a larger size there than in England. Some of the leaves of the plant cultivated in North America measure seventy-two inches in diameter. This plant has been proved to be perennial. It grows best in from 4 to 6 feet of water. Each plant generally sends but four or five leaves to the surface. In addition to the other attractions of this noble Water Lily, is the exquisite character of its perfume, which strongly resembles that of a fresh pineapple just cut open. The Victoria Regia in the Calcutta Botanic Garden has from some cause or other not flourished so well as it was expected to do. The largest leaf is not more than four feet and three quarters in diameter. But there can be little doubt that when the habits of the plant are better understood it will be brought to great perfection in this country. I strongly recommend my native friends to decorate their tanks with this the most glorious of aquatic plants. THE FLY-ORCHIS--THE BEE-ORCHIS. Of these strange freaks of nature many strange stories are told. I cannot repeat them all. I shall content myself with quoting the following passage from D'Israeli's _Curiosities of Literature_:-- "There is preserved in the British Museum, a black stone, on which nature has sketched a resemblance of the portrait of Chaucer. Stones of this kind, possessing a sufficient degree of resemblance, are rare; but art appears not to have been used. Even in plants, we find this sort of resemblance. There is a species of the orchis found in the mountainous parts of Lincolnshire, Kent, &c. Nature has formed a bee, apparently feeding on the breast of the flower, with so much exactness, that it is impossible at a very small distance to distinguish the imposition. Hence the plant derives its name, and is called, the _Bee-flower_. Langhorne elegantly notices its appearance. See on that floweret's velvet breast, How close the busy vagrant lies? His thin-wrought plume, his downy breast, Th' ambrosial gold that swells his thighs. Perhaps his fragrant load may bind His limbs;--we'll set the captive free-- I sought the living bee to find, And found the picture of a bee,' The late Mr. James of Exeter wrote to me on this subject: 'This orchis is common near our sea-coasts; but instead of being exactly like a BEE, _it is not like it at all_. It has a general resemblance to a _fly_, and by the help of imagination, may be supposed to be a fly pitched upon the flower. The mandrake very frequently has a forked root, which may be fancied to resemble thighs and legs. I have seen it helped out with nails on the toes.' An ingenious botanist, a stranger to me, after reading this article, was so kind as to send me specimens of the _fly_ orchis, _ophrys muscifera_, and of the _bee_ orchis, _ophrys apifera_. Their resemblance to these insects when in full flower is the most perfect conceivable; they are distinct plants. The poetical eye of Langhorne was equally correct and fanciful; and that too of Jackson, who differed so positively. Many controversies have been carried on, from a want of a little more knowledge; like that of the BEE _orchis_ and the FLY _orchis_; both parties prove to be right."[094] THE FUCHSIA. The Fuchsia is decidedly the most _graceful_ flower in the world. It unfortunately wants fragrance or it would be the _beau ideal_ of a favorite of Flora. There is a story about its first introduction into England which is worth reprinting here: 'Old Mr. Lee, a nurseryman and gardener, near London, well known fifty or sixty years ago, was one day showing his variegated treasures to a friend, who suddenly turned to him, and declared, 'Well, you have not in your collection a prettier flower than I saw this morning at Wapping!'--'No! and pray what was this phoenix like?' 'Why, the plant was elegant, and the flowers hung in rows like tassels from the pendant branches; their colour the richest crimson; in the centre a fold of deep purple,' and so forth. Particular directions being demanded and given, Mr. Lee posted off to Wapping, where he at once perceived that the plant was new in this part of the world. He saw and admired. Entering the house, he said, 'My good woman, that is a nice plant. I should like to buy it.'--'I could not sell it for any money, for it was brought me from the West Indies by my husband, who has now left again, and I must keep it for his sake.'--'But I must have it!'--'No sir!'--'Here,' emptying his pockets; 'here are gold, silver, copper.' (His stock was something more than eight guineas.)--'Well a-day! but this is a power of money, sure and sure.'--''Tis yours, and the plant is mine; and, my good dame, you shall have one of the first young ones I rear, to keep for your husband's sake,'--'Alack, alack!'--'You shall.' A coach was called, in which was safely deposited our florist and his seemingly dear purchase. His first work was to pull off and utterly destroy every vestige of blossom and bud. The plant was divided into cuttings, which were forced in bark beds and hotbeds; were redivided and subdivided. Every effort was used to multiply it. By the commencement of the next flowering season, Mr. Lee was the delighted possessor of 300 Fuchsia plants, all giving promise of blossom. The two which opened first were removed into his show-house. A lady came:--'Why, Mr. Lee, my dear Mr. Lee, where did you get this charming flower?'--'Hem! 'tis a new thing, my lady; pretty, is it not?'--'Pretty! 'tis lovely. Its price?'--'A guinea: thank your ladyship;' and one of the plants stood proudly in her ladyship's boudoir. 'My dear Charlotte, where did you get?' &c.--'Oh! 'tis a new thing; I saw it at old Lee's; pretty, is it not?'--'Pretty! 'tis beautiful! Its price!'--'A guinea; there was another left.' The visitor's horses smoked off to the suburb; a third flowering plant stood on the spot whence the first had been taken. The second guinea was paid, and the second chosen Fuchsia adorned the drawing-room of her second ladyship The scene was repeated, as new-comers saw and were attracted by the beauty of the plant. New chariots flew to the gates of old Lee's nursery-ground. Two Fuchsias, young, graceful and bursting into healthy flower, were constantly seen on the same spot in his repository. He neglected not to gladden the faithful sailor's wife by the promised gift; but, ere the flower season closed, 300 golden guineas clinked in his purse, the produce of the single shrub of the widow of Wapping; the reward of the taste, decision, skill, and perseverance of old Mr. Lee.' Whether this story about the fuchsia, be only partly fact and partly fiction I shall not pretend to determine; but the best authorities acknowledge that Mr. Lee, one of the founders of the Hammersmith Nursery, was the first to make the plant generally known in England and that he for some time got a guinea for each of the cuttings. The fuchsia is a native of Mexico and Chili. I believe that most of the plants of this genus introduced into India have flourished for a brief period and then sickened and died. The poets of England have not yet sung the Fuschia's praise. Here are three stanzas written for a gentleman who had been presented, by the lady of his love with a superb plant of this kind. A FUCHSIA. I. A deed of grace--a graceful gift--and graceful too the giver! Like ear-rings on thine own fair head, these long buds hang and quiver: Each tremulous taper branch is thrilled--flutter the wing-like leaves-- For thus to part from thee, sweet maid, the floral spirit grieves! II. Rude gods in brass or gold enchant an untaught devotee-- Fair marble shapes, rich paintings old, are Art's idolatry; But nought e'er charmed a human breast like this small tremulous flower, Minute and delicate work divine of world-creative power! III. This flower's the Queen of all earth's flowers, and loveliest things appear Linked by some secret sympathy, in this mysterious sphere; The giver and the gift seem one, and thou thyself art nigh When this glory of the garden greets thy lover's raptured eye. D.L.R. "Do you know the proper name of this flower?" writes Jeremy Bentham to a lady-friend, "and the signification of its name? Fuchsia from Fuchs, a German botanist." ROSEMARY. There's rosemary--that's for remembrance: Pray you, love, remember. _Hamlet_ There's rosemarie; the Arabians Justifie (Physitions of exceeding perfect skill) It comforteth the brain and memory. _Chester_. Bacon speaks of heaths of ROSEMARY (_Rosmarinus_[095]) that "will smell a great way in the sea; perhaps twenty miles." This reminds us of Milton's Paradise. So lovely seemed That landscape, and of pure, now purer air, Meets his approach, and to the heart inspires Vernal delight and joy, able to drive All sadness but despair. Now gentle gales Fanning their odoriferous wings, dispense Native perfumes, and whisper whence they stole Those balmy spoils. As when to them who sail Beyond the Cape of Hope, and now are past Mozambic, off at sea north east winds blow Sabean odours from the spicy shore Of Araby the blest, with such delay Well pleased they slack their course, and many a league Cheered with the grateful smell, old Ocean smiles. Rosemary used to be carried at funerals, and worn as wedding favors. _Lewis_ Pray take a piece of Rosemary _Miramont_ I'll wear it, But for the lady's sake, and none of your's! _Beaumont and Fletcher's "Elder Brother."_ Rosemary, says Malone, being supposed to strengthen the memory, was the emblem of fidelity in lovers. So in _A Handfull of Pleasant Delites, containing Sundrie New Sonets, 16mo_. 1854: Rosemary is for remembrance Between us daie and night, Wishing that I might alwaies have You present in my sight. The poem in which these lines are found, is entitled, '_A Nosegay alwaies sweet for Lovers to send for Tokens of Love_.' Roger Hochet in his sermon entitled _A Marriage Present_ (1607) thus speaks of the Rosemary;--"It overtoppeth all the flowers in the garden, boasting man's rule. It helpeth the brain, strengtheneth the memorie, and is very medicinable for the head. Another propertie of the rosemary is, it affects the heart. Let this rosemarinus, this flower of men, ensigne of your wisdom, love, and loyaltie, be carried not only in your hands, but in your hearts and heads." "Hungary water" is made up chiefly from the oil distilled from this shrub. * * * * * I should talk on a little longer about other shrubs, herbs, and flowers, (particularly of flowers) such as the "pink-eyed Pimpernel" (the poor man's weather glass) and the fragrant Violet, ('the modest grace of the vernal year,') the scarlet crested Geranium with its crimpled leaves, and the yellow and purple Amaranth, powdered with gold, A flower which once In Paradise, fast by the tree of life Began to bloom, and the crisp and well-varnished Holly with "its rutilant berries," and the white Lily, (the vestal Lady of the Vale,--"the flower of virgin light") and the luscious Honeysuckle, and the chaste Snowdrop, Venturous harbinger of spring And pensive monitor of fleeting years, and the sweet Heliotrope and the gay and elegant Nasturtium, and a great many other "bonnie gems" upon the breast of our dear mother earth,--but this gossipping book has already extended to so unconscionable a size that I must quicken my progress towards a conclusion[096]. I am indebted to the kindness of Babu Kasiprasad Ghosh, the first Hindu gentlemen who ever published a volume of poems in the English language[097] for the following interesting list of Indian flowers used in Hindu ceremonies. Many copies of the poems of Kasiprasad Ghosh, were sent to the English public critics, several of whom spoke of the author's talents with commendation. The late Miss Emma Roberts wrote a brief biography of him for one of the London annuals, so that there must be many of my readers at home who will not on this occasion hear of his name for the first time. A BRIEF ACCOUNT OF INDIAN FLOWERS, COMMONLY USED IN HINDU CEREMONIES.[098] A'KUNDA (_Calotropis Gigantea_).--A pretty purple coloured, and slightly scented flower, having a sweet and agreeable smell. It is called _Arca_ in Sanscrit, and has two varieties, both of which are held to be sacred to Shiva. It forms one of the five darts with which the Indian God of Love is supposed to pierce the hearts of young mortals.[099] Sir William Jones refers to it in his Hymn to Kama Deva. It possesses medicinal properties.[100] A'PARA'JITA (_Clitoria ternatea_).--A conically shaped flower, the upper part of which is tinged with blue and the lower part is white. Some are wholly white. It is held to be sacred to Durgá. ASOCA. (_Jonesia Asoca_).--A small yellow flower, which blooms in large clusters in the month of April and gives a most beautiful appearance to the tree. It is eaten by young females as a medicine. It smells like the Saffron. A'TASHI.--A small yellowish or brown coloured flower without any smell. It is supposed to be sacred to Shiva, and is very often alluded to by the Indian poets. It resembles the flower of the flax or Linum usitatissimum.[101] BAKA.--A kidney shaped flower, having several varieties, all of which are held to be sacred to Vishnu, and are in consequence used in his worship. It is supposed to possess medicinal virtues and is used by the native doctors. BAKU'LA (_Mimusops Etengi_).--A very small, yellowish, and fragrant flower. It is used in making garlands and other female ornaments. Krishna is said to have fascinated the milkmaids of Brindabun by playing on his celebrated flute under a _Baku'la_ tree on the banks of the Jumna, which is, therefore, invariably alluded to in all the Sanscrit and vernacular poems relating to his amours with those young women. BA'KASHA (_Justicia Adhatoda_).--A white flower, having a slight smell. It is used in certain native medicines. BELA (_Jasminum Zambac_).--A fragrant small white flower, in common use among native females, who make garlands of it to wear in their braids of hair. A kind of _uttar_ is extracted from this flower, which is much esteemed by natives. It is supposed to form one of the darts of Kama Deva or the God of Love. European Botanists seem to have confounded this flower with the Monika, which they also call the Jasminum Zambac. BHU'MI CHAMPAKA.--An oblong variegated flower, which shoots out from the ground at the approach of spring. It has a slight smell, and is considered to possess medicinal properties. The great peculiarity of this flower is that it blooms when there is not apparently the slightest trace of the existence of the shrub above ground. When the flower dies away, the leaves make their appearance. CHAMPA' (_Michelia Champaka_).--A tulip shaped yellow flower possessing a very strong smell.[102] It forms one of the darts of Kama Deva, the Indian Cupid. It is particularly sacred to Krishna. CHUNDRA MALLIKA' (_Chrysanthemum Indiana_).--A pretty round yellow flower which blooms in winter. The plant is used in making hedges in gardens and presents a beautiful appearance in the cold weather when the blossoms appear. DHASTU'RA (_Datura Fastuosa_).--A large tulip shaped white flower, sacred to Mahadeva, the third Godhead of the Hindu Trinity. The seeds of this flower have narcotic properties.[103] DRONA.--A white flower with a very slight smell. DOPATI (_Impatiens Balsamina_).--A small flower having a slight smell. There are several varieties of this flower. Some are red and some white, while others are both white and red. GA'NDA' (_Tagetes erecta_).--A handsome yellow flower, which sometimes grows very large. It is commonly used in making garlands, with which the natives decorate their idols, and the Europeans in India their churches and gates on Christmas Day and New Year's Day. GANDHA RA'J (_Gardenia Florida_).--A strongly scented white flower, which blooms at night. GOLANCHA (_Menispermum Glabrum_).--A white flower. The plant is already well known to Europeans as a febrifuge. JAVA' (_Hibiscus Rosa Sinensis_).--A large blood coloured flower held to be especially sacred to Kali. There are two species of it, viz. the ordinary Javá commonly seen in our gardens and parterres, and the _Pancha Mukhi_, which, as its name imports, has five compartments and is the largest of the two.[104] JAYANTI (_Aeschynomene Sesban_).--A small yellowish flower, held to be sacred to Shiva. JHA'NTI.--A small white flower possessing medicinal properties. The leaves of the plants are used in curing certain ulcers. JA'NTI (_Jasminum Grandiflorum_).--Also a small white flower having a sweet smell. The _uttar_ called _Chumeli_ is extracted from it. JUYIN (_Jasminum Auriculatum_).--The Indian Jasmine. It is a very small white flower remarkable for its sweetness. It is also used in making a species of _uttar_ which is highly prized by the natives, as also in forming a great variety of imitation female ornaments. KADAMBA (_Nauclea Cadamba_).--A ball shaped yellow flower held to be particularly sacred to Krishna, many of whose gambols with the milkmaids of Brindabun are said to have been performed under the Kadamba tree, which is in consequence very frequently alluded to in the vernacular poems relating to his loves with those celebrated beauties. KINSUKA (_Butea Frondosa_).--A handsome but scentless white flower. KANAKA CHAMPA (_Pterospermum Acerifolium_).--A yellowish flower which hangs down in form of a tassel. It has a strong smell, which is perceived at a great distance when it is on the tree, but the moment it is plucked off, it begins to lose its fragrance. KANCHANA (_Bauhinia Variegata_).--There are several varieties of this flower. Some are white, some are purple, while others are red. It gives a handsome appearance to the tree when the latter is in full blossom. KUNDA (_Jasminum pulescens_).--A very pretty white flower. Indian poets frequently compare a set of handsome teeth, to this flower. It is held to be especially sacred to Vishnu. KARABIRA (_Nerium Odosum_).--There are two species of this flower, viz. the white and red, both of which are sacred to Shiva. KAMINI (_Murraya Exotica_).--A pretty small white flower having a strong smell. It blooms at night and is very delicate to the touch. The _kamini_ tree is frequently used as a garden hedge. KRISHNA CHURA (_Poinciana Pulcherrima_).--A pretty small flower, which, as its name imports resembles the head ornament of Krishna. When the Krishna Chura tree is in full blossom, it has a very handsome appearance. KRISHNA KELI (_Mirabilis Jalapa_.)[105]--A small tulip shaped yellow flower. The bulb of the plant has medicinal properties and is used by the natives as a poultice. KUMADA (_Nymphaea Esculenta_)--A white flower, resembling the lotus, but blooming at night, whence the Indian poets suppose that it is in love with Chandra or the Moon, as the lotus is imagined by them to be in love with the Sun. LAVANGA LATA' (_Limonia Scandens_.)--A very small red flower growing upon a creeper, which has been celebrated by Jaya Deva in his famous work called the _Gita Govinda_. This creeper is used in native gardens for bowers. MALLIKA' (_Jasminum Zambac_.)--A white flower resembling the _Bela_. It has a very sweet smell and is used by native females to make ornaments. It is frequently alluded to by Indian poets. MUCHAKUNDA (_Pterospermum Suberifolia_).--A strongly scented flower, which grows in clusters and is of a brown colour. MA'LATI (_Echites Caryophyllata_.)--The flower of a creeper which is commonly used in native gardens. It has a slight smell and is of a white colour. MA'DHAVI (_Gaertnera Racemosa_.)--The flower of another creeper which is also to be seen in native gardens. It is likewise of a white colour. NA'GESWARA (_Mesua Ferrua_.)--A white flower with yellow filaments, which are said to possess medicinal properties and are used by the native physicians. It has a very sweet smell and is supposed by Indian poets to form one of the darts of Kama Deva. See Sir William Jones's Hymn to that deity. PADMA (_Nelumbium Speciosum_.)--The Indian lotus, which is held to be sacred to Vishnu, Brama, Mahadava, Durga, Lakshami and Saraswati as well as all the higher orders of Indian deities. It is a very elegant flower and is highly esteemed by the natives, in consequence of which the Indian poets frequently allude to it in their writings. PA'RIJATA (_Buchanania Latifolia_.)--A handsome white flower, with a slight smell. In native poetry, it furnishes a simile for pretty eyes, and is held to be sacred to Vishnu. PAREGATA (_Erythrina Fulgens_.)--A flower which is supposed to bloom in the garden of Indra in heaven, and forms the subject of an interesting episode in the _Puranas_, in which the two wives of Krisna, (Rukmini and Satyabhama) are said to have quarrelled for the exclusive possession of this flower, which their husband had stolen from the celestial garden referred to. It is supposed to be identical with the flower of the _Palta madar_. RAJANI GANDHA (_Polianthus Tuberosa_.)--A white tulip-shaped flower which blooms at night, from which circumstance it is called "the Rajani Gandha, (or night-fragrance giver)." It is the Indian tuberose. RANGANA.--A small and very pretty red flower which is used by native females in ornamenting their betels. SEONTI. _Rosa Glandulefera_. A white flower resembling the rose in size and appearance. It has a sweet smell. SEPHA'LIKA (_Nyctanthes Arbor-tristis_.)--A very pretty and delicate flower which blooms at night, and drops down shortly after. It has a sweet smell and is held to be sacred to Shiva. The juice of the leaves of the Sephalika tree are used in curing both remittant and intermittent fevers. SURYJA MUKHI (_Helianthus Annuus_).--A large and very handsome yellow flower, which is said to turn itself to the Sun, as he goes from East to West, whence it has derived its name. SURYJA MANI (_Hibiscus Phoeniceus_).--A small red flower. GOLAKA CHAMPA.--A large beautiful white tulip-shaped flower having a sweet smell. It is externally white but internally orange-colored. TAGUR (_Tabernoemontana Coronaria_).--A white flower having a slight smell. TARU LATA.--A beautiful creeper with small red flowers. It is used in native gardens for making hedges. K.G. * * * * * Pliny in his Natural History alludes to the marks of time exhibited in the regular opening and closing of flowers. Linnaeus enumerates forty-six flowers that might be used for the construction of a floral time-piece. This great Swedish botanist invented a Floral horologe, "whose wheels were the sun and earth and whose index-figures were flowers." Perhaps his invention, however, was not wholly original. Andrew Marvell in his "_Thoughts in a Garden_" mentions a sort of floral dial:-- How well the skilful gardener drew Of flowers and herbs this dial new! Where, from above, the milder sun Does through a fragrant zodiac run: And, as it works, th'industrious bee Computes its time as well as we: How could such sweet and wholesome hours Be reckoned, but with herbs and flowers? _Marvell_[106] Milton's notation of time--"_at shut of evening flowers_," has a beautiful simplicity, and though Shakespeare does not seem to have marked his time on a floral clock, yet, like all true poets, he has made very free use of other appearances of nature to indicate the commencement and the close of day. The sun no sooner shall the mountains touch-- Than we will ship him hence. _Hamlet_. Fare thee well at once! The glow-worm shows the matin to be near And gins to pale his uneffectual fire. _Hamlet_. But look! The morn, in russet mantle clad, Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastern hill:-- Break we our watch up. _Hamlet_. _Light thickens_, and the crow Makes wing to the rooky wood. _Macbeth_. Such picturesque notations of time as these, are in the works of Shakespeare, as thick as autumnal leaves that strew the brooks in Valombrosa. In one of his Sonnets he thus counts the years of human life by the succession of the seasons. To me, fair friend, you never can be old, For as you were when first your eye I eyed, Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold Have from the forests shook three summers' pride; Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turned In process of the seasons have I seen; Three April's perfumes in three hot Junes burned Since first I saw you fresh which yet are green. Grainger, a prosaic verse-writer who once commenced a paragraph of a poem with "Now, Muse, let's sing of rats!" called upon the slave drivers in the West Indies to time their imposition of cruel tasks by the opening and closing of flowers. Till morning dawn and Lucifer withdraw His beamy chariot, let not the loud bell Call forth thy negroes from their rushy couch: And ere the sun with mid-day fervor glow, When every broom-bush opes her yellow flower, Let thy black laborers from their toil desist: Nor till the broom her every petal lock, Let the loud bell recal them to the hoe, But when the jalap her bright tint displays, When the solanum fills her cup with dew, And crickets, snakes and lizards gin their coil, Let them find shelter in their cane-thatched huts. _Sugar Cane_.[107] I shall here give (_from Loudon's Encyclopaedia of Gardening_) the form of a flower dial. It may be interesting to many of my readers:-- 'Twas a lovely thought to mark the hours As they floated in light away By the opening and the folding flowers That laugh to the summer day.[108] _Mr. Hemans_. A FLOWER DIAL. TIME OF OPENING. [109] h. m. YELLOW GOAT'S BEARD T.P. 3 5 LATE FLOWERING DANDELION Leon.S. 4 0 BRISTLY HELMINTHIA H.B. 4 5 ALPINE BORKHAUSIA B.A. 4 5 WILD SUCCORY C.I. 4 5 NAKED STALKED POPPY P.N. 5 0 COPPER COLOURED DAY LILY H.F. 5 0 SMOOTH SOW THISTLE S.L. 5 0 ALPINE AGATHYRSUS Ag.A. 5 0 SMALL BIND WEED Con.A. 5 6 COMMON NIPPLE WORT L.C. 5 6 COMMON DANDELION L.T. 5 6 SPORTED ACHYROPHORUS A.M. 6 7 WHITE WATER LILY N.A. 7 0 GARDEN LETTUCE Lec.S. 7 0 AFRICAN MARIGOLD T.E. 7 0 COMMON PIMPERNEL A.A. 7 8 MOUSE-EAR HAWKWEED H.P. 8 0 PROLIFEROUS PINK D.P. 8 0 FIELD MARIGOLD Cal.A. 9 0 PURPLE SANDWORT A.P. 9 10 SMALL PURSLANE P.O. 9 10 CREEPING MALLOW M.C. 9 10 CHICKWEED S.M. 9 10 TIME OF CLOSING. h. m. HELMINTHIA ECHIOIDES B.H. 12 0 AGATHYRSUS ALPINUS A.B. 12 0 BORKHAUSIA ALPINA A.B. 12 0 LEONTODON SEROTINUS L.D. 12 0 MALVA CAROLINIANA C.M. 12 1 DAINTHUS PROLIFER P.P. 1 0 HIERACIUM PILOSELLA M.H. 0 2 ANAGALLIS ARVENSIS S.P. 2 3 ARENARIA PURPUREA P.S. 2 4 CALENDULA ARVENSIS F.M. 3 0 TACETES ERECTA A.M. 3 3 CONVOLVULUS ARVENSIS S.B. 4 0 ACHYROPHORUS MACULATUS S.A. 4 5 NYMPHAEA ALBA W.W.B. 5 0 PAPAVER NUDICAULE N.P. 7 0 HEMEROCALLIS FULVA C.D.L. 7 0 CICHORIUM INTYBUS W.S. 8 9 TRAGOPOGON PRATENSIS Y.G.B. 9 10 STELLARIA MEDIA C. 9 10 LAPSANA COMMUNIS C.N. 10 0 LACTUCA SATIVA G.L. 10 0 SONCHUS LAEVIS S.T. 11 10 PORTULACA OLERACEA S.P. 11 12 Of course it will be necessary to adjust the _Horologium Florae_ (or Flower clock) to the nature of the climate. Flowers expand at a later hour in a cold climate than in a warm one. "A flower," says Loudon, "that opens at six o'clock in the morning at Senegal, will not open in France or England till eight or nine, nor in Sweden till ten. A flower that opens at ten o'clock at Senegal will not open in France or England till noon or later, and in Sweden it will not open at all. And a flower that does not open till noon or later at Senegal will not open at all in France or England. This seems as if heat or its absence were also (as well as light) an agent in the opening and shutting of flowers; though the opening of such as blow only in the night cannot be attributed to either light or heat." The seasons may be marked in a similar manner by their floral representatives. Mary Howitt quotes as a motto to her poem on _Holy Flowers_ the following example of religious devotion timed by flowers:-- "Mindful of the pious festivals which our church prescribes," (says a Franciscan Friar) "I have sought to make these charming objects of floral nature, the _time-pieces of my religious calendar_, and the mementos of the hastening period of my mortality. Thus I can light the taper to our Virgin Mother on the blowing of the white snow-drop which opens its floweret at the time of Candlemas; the lady's smock and the daffodil, remind me of the Annunciation; the blue harebell, of the Festival of St George; the ranunculus, of the Invention of the Cross; the scarlet lychnis, of St. John the Baptist's day; the white lily, of the Visitation of our Lady, and the Virgin's bower, of her Assumption; and Michaelmas, Martinmas, Holyrood, and Christmas, have all their appropriate monitors. I learn the time of day from the shutting of the blossoms of the Star of Jerusalem and the Dandelion, and the hour of the night by the stars." Some flowers afford a certain means of determining the state of the atmosphere. If I understand Mr. Tyas rightly he attributes the following remarks to Hartley Coleridge.-- "Many species of flowers are admirable barometers. Most of the bulbous-rooted flowers contract, or close their petals entirely on the approach of rain. The African marigold indicates rain, if the corolla is closed after seven or eight in the morning. The common bind-weed closes its flowers on the approach of rain; but the anagallis arvensis, or scarlet pimpernel, is the most sure in its indications as the petals constantly close on the least humidity of the atmosphere. Barley is also singularly affected by the moisture or dryness of the air. The awns are furnished with stiff points, all turning towards one end, which extend when moist, and shorten when dry. The points, too, prevent their receding, so that they are drawn up or forward; as moisture is returned, they advance and so on; indeed they may be actually seen to travel forwards. The capsules of the geranium furnish admirable barometers. Fasten the beard, when fully ripe, upon a stand, and it will twist itself, or untwist, according as the air is moist or dry. The flowers of the chick-weed, convolvulus, and oxalis, or wood sorrel, close their petals on the approach of rain." The famous German writer, Jean Paul Richter, describes what he calls _a Human Clock_. A HUMAN CLOCK. "I believe" says Richter "the flower clock of Linnaeus, in Upsal (_Horologium Florae_) whose wheels are the sun and earth, and whose index-figures are flowers, of which one always awakens and opens later than another, was what secretly suggested my conception of the human clock. I formerly occupied two chambers in Scheeraw, in the middle of the market place: from the front room I overlooked the whole market-place and the royal buildings and from the back one, the botanical garden. Whoever now dwells in these two rooms possesses an excellent harmony, arranged to his hand, between the flower clock in the garden and the human clock in the marketplace. At three o'clock in the morning, the yellow meadow goats-beard opens; and brides awake, and the stable-boy begins to rattle and feed the horses beneath the lodger. At four o'clock the little hawk weed awakes, choristers going to the Cathedral who are clocks with chimes, and the bakers. At five, kitchen maids, dairy maids, and butter-cups awake. At six, the sow-thistle and cooks. At seven o'clock many of the Ladies' maids are awake in the Palace, the Chicory in my botanical garden, and some tradesmen. At eight o'clock all the colleges awake and the little mouse-ear. At nine o'clock, the female nobility already begin to stir; the marigold, and even many young ladies, who have come from the country on a visit, begin to look out of their windows. Between ten and eleven o'clock the Court Ladies and the whole staff of Lords of the Bed-chamber, the green colewort and the Alpine dandelion, and the reader of the Princess rouse themselves out of their morning sleep; and the whole Palace, considering that the morning sun gleams so brightly to-day from the lofty sky through the coloured silk curtains, curtails a little of its slumber. At twelve o'clock, the Prince: at one, his wife and the carnation have their eyes open in their flower vase. What awakes late in the afternoon at four o'clock is only the red-hawkweed, and the night watchman as cuckoo-clock, and these two only tell the time as evening-clocks and moon-clocks. From the eyes of the unfortunate man, who like the jalap plant (Mirabilia jalapa), first opens them at five o'clock, we will turn our own in pity aside. It is a rich man who only exchanges the fever fancies of being pinched with hot pincers for waking pains. I could never know when it was two o'clock, because at that time, together with a thousand other stout gentlemen and the yellow mouse-ear, I always fell asleep; but at three o'clock in the afternoon, and at three in the morning, I awoke as regularly as though I was a repeater. Thus we mortals may be a flower-clock for higher beings, when our flower-leaves close upon our last bed; or sand clocks, when the sand of our life is so run down that it is renewed in the other world; or picture-clocks because, when our death-bell here below strikes and rings, our image steps forth, from its case into the next world. On each event of the kind, when seventy years of human life have passed away, they may perhaps say, what! another hour already gone! how the time flies!"--_From Balfour's Phyto-Theology_. Some of the natives of India who possess extensive estates might think it worth their while to plant a LABYRINTH for the amusement of their friends. I therefore give a plan of one from London's _Arboretum et Fruticetum Britannicum_. It would not be advisable to occupy much of a limited estate in a toy of this nature; but where the ground required for it can be easily spared or would otherwise be wasted, there could be no objection to adding this sort of amusement to the very many others that may be included in a pleasure ground. The plan here given, resembles the labyrinth at Hampton Court. The hedges should be a little above a man's height and the paths should be just wide enough for two persons abreast. The ground should be kept scrupulously clean and well rolled and the hedges well trimmed, or in this country the labyrinth would soon be damp and unwholesome, especially in the rains. To prevent its affording a place of refuge and concealment for snakes and other reptiles, the gardener should cut off all young shoots and leaves within half a foot of the ground. The centre building should be a tasteful summer-house, in which people might read or smoke or take refreshments. To make the labyrinth still more intricate Mr. Loudon suggests that stop-hedges might be introduced across the path, at different places, as indicated in the figure by dotted lines.[110] [Illustration of A GARDEN LABYRINTH with a scale in feet.] Of strictly Oriental trees and shrubs and flowers, perhaps the majority of Anglo Indians think with much less enthusiasm than of the common weeds of England. The remembrance of the simplest wild flower of their native fields will make them look with perfect indifference on the decorations of an Indian Garden. This is in no degree surprizing. Yet nature is lovely in all lands. Indian scenery has not been so much the subject of description in either prose or verse as it deserves, but some two or three of our Anglo-Indian authors have touched upon it. Here is a pleasant and truthful passage from an article entitled "_A Morning Walk in India_," written by the late Mr. Lawson, the Missionary, a truly good and a highly gifted man:-- "The rounded clumps that afford the deepest shade, are formed by the mangoe, the banian, and the cotton trees. At the verge of this deep-green forest are to be seen the long and slender hosts of the betle and cocoanut trees; and the grey bark of their trunks, as they catch the light of the morning, is in clear relief from the richness of the back-ground. These as they wave their feathery tops, add much to the picturesque interest of the straw-built hovels beneath them, which are variegated with every tinge to be found amongst the browns and yellows, according to the respective periods of their construction. Some of them are enveloped in blue smoke, which oozes through every interstice of the thatch, and spreads itself, like a cloud hovering over these frail habitations, or moves slowly along, like a strata of vapour not far from the ground, as though too heavy to ascend, and loses itself in the thin air, so inspiring to all who have courage to leave their beds and enjoy it. The champa tree forms a beautiful object in this jungle. It may be recognized immediately from the surrounding scenery. It has always been a favourite with me. I suppose most persons, at times, have been unaccountably attracted by an object comparatively trifling in itself. There are also particular seasons, when the mind is susceptible of peculiar impressions, and the moments of happy, careless youth, rush upon the imagination with a thousand tender feelings. There are few that do not recollect with what pleasure they have grasped a bunch of wild flowers, when, in the days of their childhood, the languor of a lingering fever has prevented them for some weary months from enjoying that chief of all the pleasures of a robust English boy, a ramble through the fields, where every tree, and bush, and hillock, and blossom, are endeared to him, because, next to a mother's caresses, they were the first things in the world upon which he opened his eyes, and, doubtless, the first which gave him those indescribable feelings of fairy pleasure, which even in his dreams were excited; while the coloured clouds of heaven, the golden sunshine of a landscape, the fresh nosegay of dog-roses and early daisies, and the sounds of busy whispering trees and tinkling brooks presented to the sleeping child all the pure pleasure of his waking moments. And who is there here that does not sometimes recal some of those feelings which were his solace perhaps thirty years ago? Should I be wrong, were I to say that even, at his desk, amid all the excitements and anxieties of commercial pursuits, the weary Calcutta merchant has been lulled into a sort of pensive reminiscence of the past, and, with his pen placed between his lips and his fevered forehead leaning upon his hand, has felt his heart bound at some vivid picture rising upon his imagination. The forms of a fond mother, and an almost angel-looking sister, have been so strongly conjured up with the scenes of his boyish days, that the pen has been unceremoniously dashed to the ground, and 'I will go home' was the sigh that heaved from a bosom full of kindness and English feeling; while, as the dream vanished, plain truth told its tale, and the man of commerce is still to be seen at his desk, pale, and getting into years and perhaps less desirous than ever of winding up his concern. No wonder! because the dearest ties of his heart have been broken, and those who were the charm of home have gone down to the cold grave, the home of all. Why then should he revisit his native place? What is the cottage of his birth to him? What charms has the village now for the gentleman just arrived from India? Every well remembered object of nature, seen after a lapse of twenty years, would only serve to renew a host of buried, painful feelings. Every visit to the house of a surviving neighbour would but bring to mind some melancholy incident; for into what house could he enter, to idle away an hour, without seeing some wreck of his own family, such as a venerable clock, once so loved for the painted moon that waxed and waned to the astonishment of the gazer, or some favorite ancient chair, edged so nobly with rows of brass nails, --but perforated sore, and dull'd in holes By worms voracious, eating through and through. These are little things, but they are objects which will live in his memory to the latest day of his life, and with which are associated in his mind the dearest feelings and thoughts of his happiest hours." Here is an attempt at a description in verse of some of the most common TREES AND FLOWERS OF BENGAL This land is not my father land, And yet I love it--for the hand Of God hath left its mark sublime On nature's face in every clime-- Though from home and friends we part, Nature and the human heart Still may soothe the wanderer's care-- And his God is every where Beneath BENGALA'S azure skies, No vallies sink, no green hills rise, Like those the vast sea billows make-- The land is level as a lake[111] But, oh, what giants of the wood Wave their wide arms, or calmly brood Each o'er his own deep rounded shade When noon's fierce sun the breeze hath laid, And all is still. On every plain How green the sward, or rich the grain! In jungle wild and garden trim, And open lawn and covert dim, What glorious shrubs and flowerets gay, Bright buds, and lordly beasts of prey! How prodigally Gunga pours Her wealth of waves through verdant shores O'er which the sacred peepul bends, And oft its skeleton lines extends Of twisted root, well laved and bare, Half in water, half in air! Fair scenes! where breeze and sun diffuse The sweetest odours, fairest hues-- Where brightest the bright day god shows, And where his gentle sister throws Her softest spell on silent plain, And stirless wood, and slumbering main-- Where the lucid starry sky Opens most to mortal eye The wide and mystic dome serene Meant for visitants unseen, A dream like temple, air built hall, Where spirits pure hold festival! Fair scenes! whence envious Art might steal More charms than fancy's realms reveal-- Where the tall palm to the sky Lifts its wreath triumphantly-- And the bambu's tapering bough Loves its flexile arch to throw-- Where sleeps the favored lotus white, On the still lake's bosom bright-- Where the champac's[112] blossoms shine, Offerings meet for Brahma's shrine, While the fragrance floateth wide O'er velvet lawn and glassy tide-- Where the mangoe tope bestows Night at noon day--cool repose, Neath burning heavens--a hush profound Breathing o'er the shaded ground-- Where the medicinal neem, Of palest foliage, softest gleam, And the small leafed tamarind Tremble at each whispering wind-- And the long plumed cocoas stand Like the princes of the land, Near the betel's pillar slim, With capital richly wrought and trim-- And the neglected wild sonail Drops her yellow ringlets pale-- And light airs summer odours throw From the bala's breast of snow-- Where the Briarean banyan shades The crowded ghat, while Indian maids, Untouched by noon tide's scorching rays, Lave the sleek limb, or fill the vase With liquid life, or on the head Replace it, and with graceful tread And form erect, and movement slow, Back to their simple dwellings go-- [Walls of earth, that stoutly stand, Neatly smoothed with wetted hand-- Straw roofs, yellow once and gay, Turned by time and tempest gray--] Where the merry minahs crowd Unbrageous haunts, and chirrup loud-- And shrilly talk the parrots green 'Midst the thick leaves dimly seen-- And through the quivering foliage play, Light as buds, the squirrels gay, Quickly as the noontide beams Dance upon the rippled streams-- Where the pariah[113] howls with fear, If the white man passeth near-- Where the beast that mocks our race With taper finger, solemn face, In the cool shade sits at ease Calm and grave as Socrates-- Where the sluggish buffaloe Wallows in mud--and huge and slow, Like massive cloud of sombre van, Moves the land leviathan--[114] Where beneath the jungle's screen Close enwoven, lurks unseen The couchant tiger--and the snake His sly and sinuous way doth make Through the rich mead's grassy net, Like a miniature rivulet-- Where small white cattle, scattered wide, Browse, from dawn to even tide-- Where the river watered soil Scarce demands the ryot's toil-- And the rice field's emerald light Out vies Italian meadows bright,-- Where leaves of every shape and dye, And blossoms varied as the sky, The fancy kindle,--fingers fair That never closed on aught but air-- Hearts, that never heaved a sigh-- Wings, that never learned to fly-- Cups, that ne'er went table round-- Bells, that never rang with sound-- Golden crowns, of little worth-- Silver stars, that strew the earth-- Filagree fine and curious braid, Breathed, not labored, grown, not made-- Tresses like the beams of morn Without a thought of triumph worn-- Tongues that prate not--many an eye Untaught midst hidden things to pry-- Brazen trumpets, long and bright, That never summoned to the fight-- Shafts, that never pierced a side-- And plumes that never waved with pride;-- Scarcely Art a shape may know But Nature here that shape can show. Through this soft air, o'er this warm sod, Stern deadly Winter never trod; The woods their pride for centuries wear, And not a living branch is bare; Each field for ever boasts its bowers, And every season brings its flowers. D.L.R. We all "uphold Adam's profession": we are all gardeners, either practically or theoretically. The love of trees and flowers, and shrubs and the green sward, with a summer sky above them, is an almost universal sentiment. It may be smothered for a time by some one or other of the innumerable chances and occupations of busy life; but a painting in oils by Claude or Gainsborough, or a picture in words by Spenser or Shakespeare that shall for ever Live in description and look green in song, or the sight of a few flowers on a window-sill in the city, can fill the eye with tears of tenderness, or make the secret passion for nature burst out again in sudden gusts of tumultuous pleasure and lighten up the soul with images of rural beauty. There are few, indeed, who, when they have the good fortune to escape on a summer holiday from the crowded and smoky city and find themselves in the heart of a delicious garden, have not a secret consciousness within them that the scene affords them a glimpse of a true paradise below. Rich foliage and gay flowers and rural quiet and seclusion and a smiling sun are ever associated with ideas of earthly felicity. And oh, if there be an Elysium on earth, It is this, it is this! The princely merchant and the petty trader, the soldier and the sailor, the politician and the lawyer, the artist and the artisan, when they pause for a moment in the midst of their career, and dream of the happiness of some future day, almost invariably fix their imaginary palace or cottage of delight in a garden, amidst embowering trees and fragrant flowers. This disposition, even in the busiest men, to indulge occasionally in fond anticipations of rural bliss-- In visions so profuse of pleasantness-- shows that God meant us to appreciate and enjoy the beauty of his works. The taste for a garden is the one common feeling that unites us all. One touch of nature makes the whole world kin. There is this much of poetical sensibility--of a sense of natural beauty--at the core of almost every human heart. The monarch shares it with the peasant, and Nature takes care that as the thirst for her society is the universal passion, the power of gratifying it shall be more or less within the reach of all.[115] Our present Chief Justice, Sir Lawrence Peel, who has set so excellent an example to his countrymen here in respect to Horticultural pursuits and the tasteful embellishment of what we call our "_compounds_" and who, like Sir William Jones and Sir Thomas Noon Talfourd, sees no reason why Themis should be hostile to the Muses, has obliged me with the following stanzas on the moral or rather religious influence of a garden. They form a highly appropriate and acceptable contribution to this volume. I HEARD THY VOICE IN THE GARDEN. That voice yet speaketh, heed it well-- But not in tones of wrath it chideth, The moss rose, and the lily smell Of God--in them his voice abideth. There is a blessing on the spot The poor man decks--the sun delighteth To smile upon each homely plot, And why? The voice of God inviteth. God knows that he is worshipped there, The chaliced cowslip's graceful bending Is mute devotion, and the air Is sweet with incense of her lending. The primrose, aye the children's pet, Pale bride, yet proud of its uprooting, The crocus, snowdrop, violet And sweet-briar with its soft leaves shooting. There nestles each--a Preacher each-- (Oh heart of man! be slow to harden) Each cottage flower in sooth doth teach God walketh with us in the garden. I am surprized that in this city (of Calcutta) where so many kinds of experiments in education have been proposed, the directors of public instruction have never thought of attaching tasteful Gardens to the Government Colleges--especially where Botany is in the regular course of Collegiate studies. The Company's Botanic Garden being on the other side of the river and at an inconvenient distance from the city cannot be much resorted to by any one whose time is precious. An attempt was made not long ago to have the Garden of the Horticultural Society (now forming part of the Company's Botanic Garden) on this side of the river, but the public subscriptions that were called for to meet the necessary expenses were so inadequate to the purpose that the money realized was returned to the subscribers, and the idea relinquished, to the great regret of many of the inhabitants of Calcutta who would have been delighted to possess such a place of recreation and instruction within a few minutes' drive. Hindu students, unlike English boys in general, remind us of Beattie's Minstrel:-- The exploit of strength, dexterity and speed To him nor vanity, nor joy could bring. A sort of Garden Academy, therefore, full of pleasant shades, would be peculiarly suited to the tastes and habits of our Indian Collegians. They are not fond of cricket or leap-frog. They would rejoice to devote a leisure hour to pensive letterings in a pleasure-garden, and on an occasional holiday would gladly pursue even their severest studies, book in hand, amidst verdant bowers. A stranger from Europe beholding them, in their half-Grecian garments, thus wandering amidst the trees, would be reminded of the disciples of Plato. "It is not easy," observes Lord Kames, "to suppress a degree of enthusiasm, when we reflect on the advantages of gardening with respect to virtuous education. In the beginning of life the deepest impressions are made; and it is a sad truth, that the young student, familiarized to the dirtiness and disorder of many colleges pent within narrow bounds in populous cities, is rendered in a measure insensible to the elegant beauties of art and nature. It seems to me far from an exaggeration, that good professors are not more essential to a college, than a spacious garden, sweetly ornamented, but without any thing glaring or fantastic, is upon the whole to inspire our youth with a taste no less for simplicity than for elegance. In this respect the University of Oxford may justly be deemed a model." It may be expected that I should offer a few hints on the laying out of gardens. Much has been said (by writers on ornamental and landscape gardening) on _art_ and _nature_, and almost always has it been implied that these must necessarily be in direct opposition. I am far from being of this opinion. If art and nature be not in some points of view almost identical, they are at least very good friends, or may easily be made so. They are not necessarily hostile. They admit of the most harmonious combinations. In no place are such combinations more easy or more proper than in a garden. Walter Scott very truly calls a garden the child of Art. But is it not also the child of Nature?--of Nature and Art together? To attempt to exclude art--or even, the appearance of art--from a small garden enclosure, is idle and absurd. He who objects to all art in the arrangement of a flower-bed, ought, if consistent with himself, to turn away with an expression of disgust from a well arranged nosegay in a rich porcelain vase. But who would not loathe or laugh at such manifest affectation or such thoroughly bad taste? As there is a time for every thing, so also is there a place for every thing. No man of true judgment would desire to trace the hand of human art on the form of nature in remote and gigantic forests, and amidst vast mountains, as irregular as the billows of a troubled sea. In such scenery there is a sublime grace in wildness,--_there_ "the very weeds are beautiful." But what true judgment would be enchanted with weeds and wildness in the small parterre. As Pope rightly says, we must Consult the genius of the place in all. It is pleasant to enter a rural lane overgrown with field-flowers, or to behold an extensive common irregularly decorated with prickly gorse or fern and thistle, but surely no man of taste would admire nature in this wild and dishevelled state in a little suburban garden. Symmetry, elegance and beauty, (--no _sublimity_ or _grandeur_--) trimness, snugness, privacy, cleanliness, comfort, and convenience--the results of a happy conjunction of art and nature--are all that we can aim at within a limited extent of ground. In a small parterre we either trace with pleasure the marks of the gardener's attention or are disgusted with his negligence. In a mere patch of earth around a domestic dwelling nature ought not to be left entirely to herself. What is agreeable in one sphere of life is offensive in another. A dirty smock frock and a soiled face in a ploughman's child who has been swinging on rustic gates a long summer morning or rolling down the slopes of hills, or grubbing in the soil of his small garden, may remind us, not unpleasantly, of one of Gainsborough's pictures; but we look for a different sort of nature on the canvas of Sir Joshua Reynolds or Sir Thomas Lawrence, or in the brilliant drawing-rooms of the nobility; and yet an Earl's child looks and moves at least as _naturally_ as a peasant's. There is nature every where--in the palace as well as in the hut, in the cultivated garden as well as in the wild wood. Civilized life is, after all, as natural as savage life. All our faculties are natural, and civilized man cultivates his mental powers and studies the arts of life by as true an instinct as that which leads the savage to make the most of his mud hut, and to improve himself or his child as a hunter, a fisherman, or a warrior. The mind of man is the noblest work of its Maker (--in this world--) and the movements of man's mind may be quite as natural, and quite as poetical too, as the life that rises from the ground. It is as natural for the mind, as it is for a tree or flower to advance towards perfection. Nature suggests art, and art again imitates and approximates to nature, and this principle of action and reaction brings man by degrees towards that point of comparative excellence for which God seems to have intended him. The mind of a Milton or a Shakespeare is surely not in a more unnatural condition than that of an ignorant rustic. We ought not then to decry refinement nor deem all connection of art with nature an offensive incongruity. A noble mansion in a spacious and well kept park is an object which even an observer who has no share himself in the property may look upon with pleasure. It makes him proud of his race.[116] We cannot witness so harmonious a conjunction of art and nature without feeling that man is something better than a mere beast of the field or forest. We see him turn both art and nature to his service, and we cannot contemplate the lordly dwelling and the richly decorated land around it--and the neatness and security and order of the whole scene--without associating them with the high accomplishments and refined tastes that in all probability distinguish the proprietor and his family. It is a strange mistake to suppose that nothing is natural beyond savage ignorance--that all refinement is unnatural--that there is only one sort of simplicity. For the mind elevated by civilization is in a more natural state than a mind that has scarcely passed the boundary of brutal instinct, and the simplicity of a savage's hut, does not prevent there being a nobler simplicity in a Grecian temple. Kent[117] the famous landscape gardener, tells us that _nature_ _abhors a straight line_. And so she does--in some cases--but not in all. A ray of light is a straight line, and so also is a Grecian nose, and so also is the stem of the betel-nut tree. It must, indeed, be admitted that he who should now lay out a large park or pleasure-ground on strictly geometrical principles or in the old topiary style would exhibit a deplorable want of taste and judgment. But the provinces of the landscape gardener and the parterre gardener are perfectly distinct. The landscape gardener demands a wide canvas. All his operations are on a large scale. In a small garden we have chiefly to aim at the _gardenesque_ and in an extensive park at the _picturesque_. Even in the latter case, however, though 'Tis Nature still, 'tis nature methodized: Or in other words: Nature to advantage dressed. for even in the largest parks or pleasure-grounds, an observer of true taste is offended by an air of negligence or the absence of all traces of human art or care. Such places ought to indicate the presence of civilized life and security and order. We are not pleased to see weeds and jungle--or litter of any sort--even dry leaves--upon the princely domain, which should look like a portion of nature set apart or devoted to the especial care and enjoyment of the owner and his friends:--a strictly private property. The grass carpet should be trimly shorn and well swept. The trees should be tastefully separated from each other at irregular but judicious distances. They should have fine round heads of foliage, clean stems, and no weeds or underwood below, nor a single dead branch above. When we visit the finest estates of the nobility and gentry in England it is impossible not to perceive in every case a marked distinction between the wild nature of a wood and the civilized nature of a park. In the latter you cannot overlook the fact that every thing injurious to the health and growth and beauty of each individual tree has been studiously removed, while on the other hand, light, air, space, all things in fact that, if sentient, the tree could itself be supposed to desire, are most liberally supplied. There is as great a difference between the general aspect of the trees in a nobleman's pleasure ground and those in a jungle, as between the rustics of a village and the well bred gentry of a great city. Park trees have generally a fine air of aristocracy about them. A Gainsborough or a Morland would seek his subjects in remote villages and a Watteau or a Stothard in the well kept pleasure ground. The ruder nature of woods and villages, of sturdy ploughmen and the healthy though soiled and ragged children in rural neighbourhoods, affords a by no means unpleasing contrast and introduction to the trim trees and smoothly undulating lawns, and curved walks, and gay parterres, and fine ladies and well dressed and graceful children on some old ancestral estate. We look for rusticity in the village, and for elegance in the park. The sleek and noble air of patrician trees, standing proudly on the rich velvet sward, the order and grace and beauty of all that meets the eye, lead us, as I have said already, to form a high opinion of the owner. In this we may of course be sometimes disappointed; but a man's character is generally to be traced in almost every object around him over which he has the power of a proprietor, and in few things are a man's taste and habits more distinctly marked than in his park and garden. If we find the owner of a neatly kept garden and an elegant mansion slovenly, rude and vulgar in appearance and manners, we inevitably experience that shock of surprize which is excited by every thing that is incongruous or out of keeping. On the other hand if the garden be neglected and overgrown with weeds, or if every thing in its arrangement indicate a want of taste, and a disregard of neatness and order, we feel no astonishment whatever in discovering that the proprietor is as negligent of his mind and person as of his shrubberies and his lawns. A civilized country ought not to look like a savage one. We need not have wild nature in front of our neatly finished porticos. Nothing can be more strictly artificial than all architecture. It would be absurd to erect an elegantly finished residence in the heart of a jungle. There should be an harmonious gradation from the house to the grounds, and true taste ought not to object to terraces of elegant design and graceful urns and fine statues in the immediate neighbourhood of a noble dwelling. Undoubtedly as a general rule, the undulating curve in garden scenery is preferable to straight lines or abrupt turns or sharp angles, but if there should happen to be only a few yards between the outer gateway and the house, could anything be more fantastical or preposterous than an attempt to give the ground between them a serpentine irregularity? Even in the most spacious grounds the walks should not seem too studiously winding, as if the short turns were meant for no other purpose than to perplex or delay the walker.[118] They should have a natural sweep, and seem to meander rather in accordance with the nature of the ground and the points to which they lead than in obedience to some idle sport of fancy. They should not remind us of Gray's description of the divisions of an old mansion: Long passages that lead to nothing. Foot-paths in small gardens need not be broader than will allow two persons to walk abreast with ease. A spacious garden may have walks of greater breadth. A path for one person only is inconvenient and has a mean look. I have made most of the foregoing observations in something of a spirit of opposition to those Landscape gardeners who I think once carried a true principle to an absurd excess. I dislike, as much as any one can, the old topiary style of our remote ancestors, but the talk about free nature degenerated at last into downright cant, and sheer extravagance; the reformers were for bringing weeds and jungle right under our parlour windows, and applied to an acre of ground those rules of Landscape gardening which required a whole county for their proper exemplification. It is true that Milton's Paradise had "no nice art" in it, but then it was not a little suburban pleasure ground but a world. When Milton alluded to private gardens, he spoke of their trimness. Retired Leisure That in _trim_ gardens takes his pleasure. The larger an estate the less necessary is it to make it merely neat, and symmetrical, especially in those parts of the ground that are distant from the house; but near the architecture some degree of finish and precision is always necessary, or at least advisable, to prevent the too sudden contrast between the straight lines and artificial construction of the dwelling and the flowing curves and wild but beautiful irregularities of nature unmoulded by art. A garden adjacent to the house should give the owner a sense of _home_. He should not feel himself abroad at his own door. If it were only for the sake of variety there should be some distinction between the private garden and the open field. If the garden gradually blends itself with a spacious park or chase, the more the ground recedes from the house the more it may legitimately assume the aspect of a natural landscape. It will then be necessary to appeal to the eye of a landscape gardener or a painter or a poet before the owner, if ignorant of the principles of fine art, attempt the completion of the general design. I should like to see my Native friends who have extensive grounds, vary the shape of their tanks, but if they dislike a more natural form of water, irregular or winding, and are determined to have them with four sharp corners, let them at all events avoid the evil of several small tanks in the same "compound." A large tank is more likely to have good water and to retain it through the whole summer season than a smaller one and is more easily kept clean and grassy to the water's edge. I do not say that it would be proper to have a piece of winding water in a small compound--that indeed would be impracticable. But even an oval or round tank would be better than a square one.[119] If the Native gentry could obtain the aid of tasteful gardeners, I would recommend that the level land should be varied with an occasional artificial elevation, nicely sloped or graduated; but Native _malees_ would be sure to aim rather at the production of abrupt round knobs resembling warts or excrescences than easy and natural undulations of the surface. With respect to lawns, the late Mr. Speede recommended the use of the _doob_ grass, but it is so extremely difficult to keep it clear of any intermixture of the _ooloo_ grass, which, when it intrudes upon the _doob_ gives the lawn a patchwork and shabby look, that it is better to use the _ooloo_ grass only, for it is far more manageable; and if kept well rolled and closely shorn it has a very neat, and indeed, beautiful appearance. The lawns in the compound of the Government House in Calcutta are formed of _ooloo_ glass only, but as they have been very carefully attended to they have really a most brilliant and agreeable aspect. In fact, their beautiful bright green, in the hottest summer, attracts even the notice and admiration of the stranger fresh from England. The _ooloo_ grass, however, on close inspection is found to be extremely coarse, nor has even the finest _doob_ the close texture and velvet softness of the grass of English lawns. Flower beds should be well rounded. They should never have long narrow necks or sharp angles in which no plant can have room to grow freely. Nor should they be divided into compartments, too minute or numerous, for so arranged they must always look petty and toy-like. A lawn should be as open and spacious as the ground will fairly admit without too greatly limiting the space for flowers. Nor should there be an unnecessary multiplicity of walks. We should aim at a certain breadth of style. Flower beds may be here and there distributed over the lawn, but care should be taken that it be not too much broken up by them. A few trees may be introduced upon the lawn, but they must not be placed so close together as to prevent the growth of the grass by obstructing either light or air. No large trees should be allowed to smother up the house, particularly on the southern and western sides, for besides impeding the circulation through the rooms of the most wholesome winds of this country, they would attract mosquitoes, and give an air of gloominess to the whole place. Natives are too fond of over-crowding their gardens with trees and shrubs and flowers of all sorts, with no regard to individual or general effects, with no eye to arrangement of size, form or color; and in this hot and moist climate the consequent exclusion of free air and the necessary degree of light has a most injurious influence not only upon the health of the resident but upon vegetation itself. Neither the finest blossoms nor the finest fruits can be expected from an overstocked garden. The native malee generally plants his fruit trees so close together that they impede each other's growth and strength. Every Englishman when he enters a native's garden feels how much he could improve its productiveness and beauty by a free use of the hatchet. Too many trees and too much embellishment of a small garden make it look still smaller, and even on a large piece of ground they produce confused and disagreeable effects and indicate an absence of all true judgment. This practice of over-filling a garden is an instance of bad taste, analogous to that which is so conspicuously characteristic of our own countrymen in India with respect to their apartments, which look more like an upholsterer's show-rooms or splendid ornament-shops than drawing-rooms or parlours. There is scarcely space enough to turn in them without fracturing some frail and costly bauble. Where a garden is over-planted the whole place is darkened, the ground is green and slimy, the grass thin, sickly and straggling, and the trees and shrubs deficient in freshness and vigor. Not only should the native gentry avoid having their flower-borders too thickly filled,--they should take care also that they are not too broad. We ought not to be obliged to leave the regular path and go across the soft earth of the bed to obtain a sight of a particular shrub or flower. Close and entangled foliage keeps the ground too damp, obstructs wholesome air, and harbours snakes and a great variety of other noxious reptiles. Similar objections suggest the propriety of having no shrubs or flowers or even a grass-plot immediately under the windows and about the doors of the house. A well exposed gravel or brick walk should be laid down on all sides of the house, as a necessary safeguard against both moisture and vermin. I have spoken already of the unrivalled beauty of English gravel. It cannot be too much admired. _Kunkur_[120] looks extremely smart for a few weeks while it preserves its solidity and freshness, but it is rapidly ground into powder under carriage wheels or blackened by occasional rain and the permanent moisture of low grounds when only partially exposed to the sun and air. Why should not an opulent Rajah or Nawaub send for a cargo of beautiful red gravel from the gravel pits at Kensington? Any English House of Agency here would obtain it for him. It would be cheap in the end, for it lasts at least five times as long as the kunkur, and if of a proper depth admits of repeated turnings with the spade, looking on every turn almost as fresh as the day on which it was first laid down. Instead of brick-bat edgings, the wealthy Oriental nobleman might trim all his flower-borders with the green box-plant of England, which would flourish I suppose in this climate or in any other. Cobbett in his _English Gardener_ speaks with so much enthusiasm and so much to the purpose on the subject of box as an edging, that I must here repeat his eulogium on it. The box is at once the most efficient of all possible things, and the prettiest plant that can possibly be conceived; the color of its leaf; the form of its leaf; its docility as to height, width and shape; the compactness of its little branches; its great durability as a plant; its thriving in all sorts of soils and in all sorts of aspects; _its freshness under the hottest sun_, and its defiance of all shade and drip: these are the beauties and qualities which, for ages upon ages, have marked it out as the chosen plant for this very important purpose. The edging ought to be clipped in the winter or very early in spring on both sides and at top; a line ought to be used to regulate the movements of the shears; it ought to be clipped again in the same manner about midsummer; and if there be _a more neat and beautiful thing than this in the world, all that I can say is, that I never saw that thing_. A small green edging for a flower bed can hardly be too _trim_; but large hedges with tops and sides cut as flat as boards, and trees fantastically shaped with the shears into an exhibition as full of incongruities as the wildest dream, have deservedly gone out of fashion in England. Poets and prose writers have agreed to ridicule all verdant sculpture on a large scale. Here is a description of the old topiary gardens. These likewise mote be seen on every side The shapely box, of all its branching pride Ungently shorn, and, with preposterous skill To various beasts, and birds of sundry quill Transformed, and human shapes of monstrous size. * * * * * Also other wonders of the sportive shears Fair Nature misadorning; there were found Globes, spiral columns, pyramids, and piers With spouting urns and budding statues crowned; And horizontal dials on the ground In living box, by cunning artists traced, And galleys trim, or on long voyage bound, But by their roots there ever anchored fast. _G. West_. The same taste for torturing nature into artificial forms prevailed amongst the ancients long after architecture and statuary had been carried to such perfection that the finest British artists of these times can do nothing but copy and repeat what was accomplished so many ages ago by the people of another nation. Pliny, in his description of his Tuscan villa, speaks of some of his trees having been cut into letters and the forms of animals, and of others placed in such regular order that they reminded the spectator of files of soldiers.[121] The Dutch therefore should not bear all the odium of the topiary style of gardening which they are said to have introduced into England and other countries of Europe. They were not the first sinners against natural taste. The Hindus are very fond of formally cut hedges and trimmed trees. All sorts of verdant hedges are in some degree objectionable in a hot moist country, rife with deadly vermin. I would recommend ornamental iron railings or neatly cut and well painted wooden pales, as more airy, light, and cheerful, and less favorable to snakes and centipedes. This is the finest country in the world for making gardens speedily. In the rainy season vegetation springs up at once, as at the stroke of an Enchanter's wand. The Landscape gardeners in England used to grieve that they could hardly expect to live long enough to see the effect of their designs. Such artists would have less reason, to grieve on that account in this country. Indeed even in England, the source of uneasiness alluded to, is now removed. "The deliberation with which trees grow," wrote Horace Walpole, in a letter to a friend, "is extremely inconvenient to my natural impatience. I lament living in so barbarous an age when we are come to so little perfection in gardening. I am persuaded that 150 years hence it will be as common to remove oaks 150 years old as it now is to plant tulip roots." The writer was not a bad prophet. He has not yet been dead much more than half a century and his expectations are already more than half realized. Shakespeare could not have anticipated this triumph of art when he made Macbeth ask Who can impress the forest? Bid the tree Unfix his earth-bound root? The gardeners have at last discovered that the largest (though not perhaps the _oldest_) trees can be removed from one place to another with comparative facility and safety. Sir H. Stewart moved several hundred lofty trees without the least injury to any of them. And if broad and lofty trees can be transplanted in England, how much more easily and securely might such a process be effected in the rainy season in this country. In half a year a new garden might be made to look like a garden of half a century. Or an old and ill-arranged plantation might thus be speedily re-adjusted to the taste of the owner. The main object is to secure a good ball of earth round the root, and the main difficulty is to raise the tree and remove it. Many most ingenious machines for raising a tree from the ground, and trucks for removing it, have been lately invented by scientific gardeners in England. A Scotchman, Mr. McGlashen, has been amongst the most successful of late transplanters. He exhibited one of his machines at Paris to the present Emperor of the French, and lifted with it a fir tree thirty feet high. The French ruler lavished the warmest commendations on the ingenious artist and purchased his apparatus at a large price.[122] Bengal is enriched with a boundless variety of noble trees admirably suited to parks and pleasure grounds. These should be scattered about a spacious compound with a spirited and graceful irregularity, and so disposed with reference to the dwelling as in some degree to vary the view of it, and occasionally to conceal it from the visitor driving up the winding road from the outer gate to the portico. The trees, I must repeat, should be so divided as to give them a free growth and admit sufficient light and air beneath them to allow the grass to flourish. Grassless ground under park trees has a look of barrenness, discomfort and neglect, and is out of keeping with the general character of the scene. The Banyan (_Ficus Indica or Bengaliensis_)-- The Indian tree, whose branches downward bent, Take root again, a boundless canopy-- and the Peepul or Pippul (_Ficus Religiosa_) are amongst the finest trees in this country--or perhaps in the world--and on a very spacious pleasure ground or park they would present truly magnificent aspects. Colonel Sykes alludes to a Banyan at the village of Nikow in Poonah with 68 stems descending from and supporting the branches. This tree is said to be capable of affording shelter to 20,000 men. It is a tree of this sort which Milton so well describes. The fig tree, not that kind for fruit renowned, But such as at this day, to Indians known In Malabar or Deccan, spreads her arms Branching so broad and long, a pillared shade, High over arched, and echoing walks between There oft the Indian herdsman, shunning heat, Shelters in cool, and tends his pasturing herds At loop holes cut through the thickest shade those leaves, They gathered, broad as Amazonian taige; And with what skill they had together sewed, To gird their waste. Milton is mistaken as to the size of the leaves of this tree, though he has given its general character with great exactness.[123] A remarkable banyan or buri tree, near Manjee, twenty miles west of Patna, is 375 inches in diameter, the circumference of its shadow at noon measuring 1116 feet. It has sixty stems, or dropped branches that have taken root. Under this tree once sat a naked fakir who had occupied that situation for 25 years; but he did not continue there the whole year, for his vow obliged him to be during the four cold months up to his neck in the water of the Ganges![124] It is said that there is a banyan tree near Gombroon on the Persian gulf, computed to cover nearly 1,700 yards. The Banyan tree in the Company's Botanic garden, is a fine tree, but it is of small dimensions compared with those of the trees just mentioned.[125] The cocoanut tree has a characteristically Oriental aspect and a natural grace, but it is not well suited to the ornamental garden or the princely villa. It is too suggestive of the rudest village scenery, and perhaps also of utilitarian ideas of mere profit, as every poor man who has half a dozen cocoanut trees on his ground disposes of the produce in the bazar. I would recommend my native friends to confine their clumps of plaintain trees to the kitchen garden, for though the leaf of the plaintain is a proud specimen of oriental foliage when it is first opened out to the sun, it soon gets torn to shreds by the lightest breeze. The tattered leaves then dry up and the whole of the tree presents the most beggarly aspect imaginable. The stem is as ragged and untidy as the leaves. The kitchen garden and the orchard should be in the rear of the house. The former should not be too visible from the windows and the latter is on many accounts better at the extremity of the grounds than close to the house, as we too often find it. A native of high rank should keep as much out of sight as possible every thing that would remind a visitor that any portion of the ground was intended rather for pecuniary profit than the immediate pleasure of the owner. The people of India do not seem to be sufficiently aware that any sign of parsimony in the management of a large park or pleasure ground produces in the mind of the visitor an unfavorable impression of the character of the owner. I have seen in Calcutta vast mansions of which every little niche and corner towards the street was let out to very small traders at a few annas a month. What would the people of England think of an opulent English Nobleman who should try to squeeze a few pence from the poor by dividing the street front of his palace into little pigeon-sheds of petty shops for the retail of petty wares? Oh! Princes of India "reform this altogether." This sordid saving, this widely published parsimony, is not only not princely, it is not only not decorous, it is positively disgusting to every passer-by who himself possesses any right thought or feeling. The Natives seem every day more and more inclined to imitate European fashions, and there are few European fashions, which could be borrowed by the highest or lowest of the people of this country with a more humanizing and delightful effect than that attention to the exterior elegance and neatness of the dwelling-house, and that tasteful garniture of the contiguous ground, which in England is a taste common to the prince and the peasant, and which has made that noble country so full of those beautiful homes which surprize and enchant its foreign visitors. The climate and soil of this country are peculiarly favorable to the cultivation of trees and shrubs and flowers; and the garden here is at no season of the year without its ornaments. The example of the Horticultural Society of India, and the attractions of the Company's Botanic Garden ought to have created a more general taste amongst us for the culture of flowers. Bishop Heber tells us that the Botanic Garden here reminded hint more of Milton's description of the Garden of Eden than any other public garden, that he had ever seen.[126] There is a Botanic Garden at Serampore. In 1813 it was in charge of Dr. Roxburgh. Subsequently came the amiable and able Dr. Wallich; then the venerable Dr. Carey was for a time the Officiating Superintendent. Dr. Voigt followed and then one of the greatest of our Anglo-Indian botanists, Dr. Griffiths. After him came Dr. McLelland, who is at this present time counting the teak trees in the forests of Pegu. He was succeeded by Dr. Falconer who left this country but a few months ago. The garden is now in charge of Dr. Thomson who is said to be an enthusiast in his profession. He explored the region beyond the snowy range I think with Captain Cunningham, some years ago. With the exceptions of Voigt and Carey, all who have had charge of the garden at Serampore have held at the same time the more important appointment of Superintendent of the Company's Botanic Garden at Garden Beach. There is a Botanic Garden at Bhagulpore, which owes its origin to Major Napleton. I have been unable to obtain any information regarding its present condition. A good Botanic Garden has been already established in the Punjab, where there is also an Agricultural and Horticultural Society. I regret that it should have been deemed necessary to make stupid pedants of Hindu malees by providing them with a classical nomenclature for plants. Hindostanee names would have answered the purpose just as well. The natives make a sad mess of our simplest English names, but their Greek must be Greek indeed! A _Quarterly Reviewer_ observes that Miss Mitford has found it difficult to make the maurandias and alstraemerias and eschxholtzias--the commonest flowers of our modern garden--look passable even in prose. But what are these, he asks, to the pollopostemonopetalae and eleutheroromacrostemones of Wachendorf, with such daily additions as the native name of iztactepotzacuxochitl icohueyo, or the more classical ponderosity of Erisymum Peroffskyanum. --like the verbum Graecum Spermagoraiolekitholakanopolides, Words that should only be said upon holidays, When one has nothing else to do. If these names are unpronounceable even by Europeans, what would the poor Hindu malee make of them? The pedantry of some of our scientific Botanists is something marvellous. One would think that a love of flowers must produce or imply a taste for simplicity and nature in all things.[127] As by way of encouragement to the native gardeners--to enable them to dispose of the floral produce of their gardens at a fair price--the Horticultural Society has withdrawn from the public the indulgence of gratuitous supplies of plants, it would be as well if some men of taste were to instruct these native nursery-men how to lay out their grounds, (as their fellow-traders do at home,) with some regard to neatness, cleanliness and order. These flower-merchants, and even the common _malees_, should also be instructed, I think, how to make up a decent bouquet, for if it be possible to render the most elegant things in the creation offensive to the eye of taste, that object is assuredly very completely effected by these swarthy artists when they arrange, with such worse than Dutch precision and formality, the ill-selected, ill-arranged, and tightly bound treasures of the parterre for the classical vases of their British masters. I am often vexed to observe the idleness or apathy which suffers such atrocities as these specimens of Indian taste to disgrace the drawing-rooms of the City of Palaces. This is quite inexcusable in a family where there are feminine hands for the truly graceful and congenial task of selecting and arranging the daily supply of garden decorations. A young lady--"herself a fairer flower"--is rarely exhibited to a loving eye in a more delightful point of view than when her delicate and dainty fingers are so employed. If a lovely woman arranging the nosegays and flower-vases, in her parlour, is a sweet living picture, a still sweeter sight does she present to us when she is in the garden itself. Milton thus represents the fair mother of the fair in the first garden:-- Eve separate he spies. Veil'd in a cloud of fragrance, where she stood, Half spied, so thick the roses blushing round About her glow'd, oft stooping to support Each flower of slender stalk, whose head, though gay, Carnation, purple, azure, or speck'd with gold, Hung drooping unsustain'd; them she upstays Gently with myrtle band, mindless the while Herself, though fairest unsupported flower, From her best prop so far, and storm so nigh. Nearer he drew, and many a walk traversed Of stateliest covert, cedar, pine, or palm; Then voluble and bold, now hid, now seen, Among thick woven arborets, and flowers Imborder'd on each bank, the hand of Eve[128] _Paradise Lost. Book IX_. Chaucer (in "The Knight's Tale,") describes Emily in her garden as fairer to be seen Than is the lily on his stalkie green; And Dryden, in his modernized version of the old poet, says, At every turn she made a little stand, And thrust among the thorns her lily hand To draw the rose. Eve's roses were without thorns-- "And without thorn the rose,"[129] It is pleasant to see flowers plucked by the fairest fingers for some elegant or worthy purpose, but it is not pleasant to see them _wasted_. Some people pluck them wantonly, and then fling them away and litter the garden walks with them. Some idle coxcombs, vain Of the nice conduct of a clouded cane, amuse themselves with switching off their lovely heads. "That's villainous, and shows a most pitiful ambition in the fool that uses it." Lander says And 'tis my wish, and over was my way, To let all flowers live freely, and so die. Here is a poetical petitioner against a needless destruction of the little tenants of the parterre. Oh, spare my flower, my gentle flower, The slender creature of a day, Let it bloom out its little hour, And pass away. So soon its fleeting charms must lie Decayed, unnoticed and o'erthrown, Oh, hasten not its destiny, Too like thine own. _Lyte_. Those who pluck flowers needlessly and thoughtlessly should be told that other people like to see them flourish, and that it is as well for every one to bear in mind the beautiful remark of Lord Bacon that "the breath of flowers is far sweeter in the air than in the hand; for in the air it comes and goes like the warbling of music." The British portion of this community allow their exile to be much more dull and dreary than it need be, by neglecting to cultivate their gardens, and leaving them entirely to the taste and industry of the _malee_. I never feel half so much inclined to envy the great men of this now crowded city the possession of vast but gardenless mansions, (partly blocked up by those of their neighbours,) as I do to felicitate the owner of some humbler but more airy and wholesome dwelling in the suburbs, when the well-sized grounds attached to it have been touched into beauty by the tasteful hand of a lover of flowers. But generally speaking my countrymen in most parts of India allow their grounds to remain in a state which I cannot help characterizing as disreputable. It is amazing how men or women accustomed to English modes of life can reconcile themselves to that air of neglect, disorder, and discomfort which most of their "compounds" here exhibit. It would afford me peculiar gratification to find this book read with interest by my Hindu friends, (for whom, chiefly, it has been written,) and to hear that it has induced some of them to pay more attention to the ornamental cultivation of their grounds; for it would be difficult to confer upon them a greater blessing than a taste for the innocent and elegant pleasures of the FLOWER-GARDEN. SUPPLEMENT. SACRED TREES AND SHRUBS OF THE HINDUS. The following list of the trees and shrubs held sacred by the Hindus is from the friend who furnished me with the list of Flowers used in Hindu ceremonies.[130] It was received too late to enable me to include it in the body of the volume. AMALAKI (_Phyllanthus emblica_).--A tree held sacred to Shiva. It has no flowers, and its leaves are in consequence used in worshipping that deity as well as Durga, Kali, and others. The natives of Bengal do not look upon it with any degree of religious veneration, but those of the Upper Provinces annually worship it on the day of the _Shiva Ratri_, which generally falls in the latter end of February or the beginning of March, and on which all the public offices are closed. ASWATH-THA (_Ficus Religiosa_).--It is commonly called by Europeans the Peepul tree, by which name, it is known to the natives of the Upper Provinces. The _Bhagavat Gita_ says that Krishna in giving an account of his power and glory to Arjuna, before the commencement of the celebrated battle between the _Kauravas_ and _Pándavas_ at _Kurukshetra_, identified himself with the _Aswath-tha_ whence the natives consider it to be a sacred tree.[131] BILWA OR SREEFUL (_Aegle marmelos_).--It is the common wood-apple tree, which is held sacred to Shiva, and its leaves are used in worshipping him as well as Durga, Kali, and others. The _Mahabharat_ says that when Shiva at the request of Krishna and the Pandavas undertook the protection of their camp at Kurukshetra on the night of the last day of the battle, between them and the sons of Dhritarashtra, Aswathama, a friend and follower of the latter, took up a Bilwa tree by its roots and threw it upon the god, who considering it in the light of an offering made to him, was so much pleased with Aswathama that he allowed him to enter the camp, where he killed the five sons of the Pandavas and the whole of the remnants of their army. Other similar stories are also told of the Bilwa tree to prove its sacredness, but the one I have given above, will be sufficient to shew in what estimation it is held by the Hindus. BAT (_Ficus indica_).--Is the Indian Banian tree, supposed to be immortal and coeval with the gods; whence it is venerated as one of them. It is also supposed to be a male tree, while the Aswath-tha or Peepul is looked upon as a female, whence the lower orders of the people plant them side by side and perform the ceremony of matrimony with a view to connect them as man and wife.[132] DURVA' (_Panicum dactylon_).--A grass held to be sacred to Vishnu, who in his seventh _Avatara_ or incarnation, as Rama, the son of Dasaratha, king of Oude, assumed the colour of the grass, which is used in all religious ceremonies of the Hindus. It has medicinal properties. KA'STA' (_Saccharum spontaneum_).--It is a large species of grass. In those ceremonies which the Hindus perform after the death of a person, or with a view to propitiate the Manes of their ancestors this grass is used whenever the Kusa is not to be had. When it is in flower, the natives look upon the circumstance as indicative of the close of the rains. KU'SA (_Poa cynosuroides_).--The grass to which, reference has been made above. It is used in all ceremonies performed in connection with the death of a person or having for their object the propitiation of the Manes of ancestors. MANSA-SHIJ (_Euphorbia ligularia_).--This plant is supposed by the natives of Bengal to be sacred to _Mansa_, the goddess of snakes, and is worshipped by them on certain days of the months of June, July, August, and September, during which those reptiles lay their eggs and breed their young. The festival of Arandhana, which is more especially observed by the lower orders of the people, is in honor of the Goddess Mansa.[133] NA'RIKELA (_Coccos nucifera_).--The Cocoanut tree, which is supposed to possess the attributes of a Brahmin and is therefore held sacred.[134] NIMBA (_Melia azadirachta_).--A tree from the trunk of which the idol at Pooree was manufactured, and which is in consequence identified with the ribs of Vishnu.[135] TU'LSI (_Ocymum_).--The Indian Basil, of which there are several species, such as the _Ram Tulsi_ (ocymum gratissimum) the _Babooye Tulsi_ (ocymum pilosum) the _Krishna Tulsi_ (osymum sanctum) and the common _Tulsi_ (ocymum villosum) all of which possess medicinal properties, but the two latter are held to be sacred to Vishnu and used in his worship. The _Puranas_ say that Krishna assumed the form of _Saukasura_, and seduced his wife Brinda. When he was discovered he manifested his extreme regard for her by turning her into the _Tulsi_ and put the leaves upon his head.[136] APPENDIX. * * * * * THE FLOWER GARDEN IN INDIA. The following practical directions and useful information respecting the Indian Flower-Garden, are extracted from the late Mr. Speede's _New Indian Gardener_, with the kind permission of the publishers, Messrs. Thacker Spink and Company of Calcutta. THE SOIL. So far as practicable, the soil should be renewed every year, by turning in vegetable mould, river sand, and well rotted manure to the depth of about a foot; and every second or third year the perennials should be taken up, and reduced, when a greater proportion of manure may be added, or what is yet better, the whole of the old earth removed, and new mould substituted. It used to be supposed that the only time for sowing annuals or other plants, (in Bengal) is the beginning of the cold weather, but although this is the case with a great number of this class of plants, it is a popular error to think it applies to all, since there are many that grow more luxuriantly if sown at other periods. The Pink, for instance, may be sown at any time, Sweet William thrives best if sown in March or April, the variegated and light colored Larkspurs should not be put in until December, the Dahlia germinates most successfully in the rains, and the beautiful class of Zinnias are never seen to perfection unless sown in June. This is the more deserving of attention, as it holds out the prospect of maintaining our Indian flower gardens, in life and beauty, throughout the whole year, instead of during the confined period hitherto attempted. The several classes of flowering plants are divided into PERENNIAL, BIENNIAL, and ANNUAL. PERENNIALS. The HERON'S BILL, Erodium; the STORK'S BILL, Pelargonium; and the CRANE'S BILL, Geranium; all popularly known under the common designation of Geranium, which gives name to the family, are well known, and are favorite plants, of which but few of the numerous varieties are found in this country. Of the first of these there are about five and twenty fixed species, besides a vast number of varieties; of which there are here found only the following:-- The _Flesh-colored Heron's bill_, E. incarnatum, is a pretty plant of about six inches high, flowering in the hot weather, with flesh-colored blossoms, but apt to become rather straggling. Of the hundred and ninety species of the second class, independently of their varieties, there are few indeed that have found their way here, only thirteen, most of which are but rarely met with. The _Rose-colored Stork's bill_, P. roseum, is tuberous rooted, and in April yields pretty pink flowers. The _Brick-colored Stork's bill_, P. lateritium, affords red flowers in March and April. The _Botany Bay Stork's bill_, P. Australe, is rare, but may be made to give a pretty red flower in March. The _Common horse-shoe Stork's bill_, P. zonale, is often seen, and yields its scarlet blossoms freely in April. The _Scarlet-flowered Stork's bill_, P. inquinans, affords a very fine flower towards the latter end of the cold weather, and approaching to the hot; it requires protection from the rains, as it is naturally of a succulent nature, and will rot at the joints if the roots become at all sodden: many people lay the pots down on their sides to prevent this, which is tolerably successful to their preservation. The _Sweet-Scented Stork's bill_, P. odoratissimum, with pink flowers, but it does not blossom freely, and the branches are apt to grow long and straggling. The _Cut-leaved Stork's bill_, P. incisum, has small flowers, the petals being long and thin, and the flowers which appear in April are white, marked with pink. The _Ivy-leaved Stork's bill_, P. lateripes, has not been known to yield flowers in this country. The _Rose-scented Stork's bill_, P. capitatum, the odour of the leaves is very pleasant, but it is very difficult to force into blossom. The _Ternate Stork's bill_, P. ternatum, has variegated pink flowers in April. The _Oak-leaved Stork's bill_, P. quercifolium, is much esteemed for the beauty of its leaves, but has not been known to blossom in this climate. The _Tooth-leaved Stork's bill_, P. denticulatum, is not a free flowerer, but may with care be made to bloom in April. The _Lemon, or Citron-scented Stork's bill_, P. gratum, grows freely, and has a pretty appearance, but does not blossom. Of the second class of these plants the forty-eight species have only three representatives. The _Aconite-leaved Crane's bill_, G. aconiti-folium, is a pretty plant, but rare, yielding its pale blue flowers with difficulty. The _Wallich's Crane's bill_ G. Wallichianum, indigenous to Nepal, having pale pink blossoms and rather pretty foliage, flowering in March and April; but requiring protection in the succeeding hot weather, and the beginning of the rains, as it is very susceptible of heat, or excess of moisture. _Propagation_--may be effected by seed to multiply, or produce fresh varieties, but the ordinary mode of increasing the different sorts is by cuttings, no plant growing more readily by this mode. These should be taken off at a joint where the wood is ripening, at which point the root fibres are formed, and put into a pot with a compost of one part garden mould, one part vegetable mould, and one part sand, and then kept moderately moist, in the shade, until they have formed strong root fibres, when they may be planted out. The best method is to plant each cutting in a separate pot of the smallest size. The germinating of the seeds will be greatly promoted by sinking the pots three parts of their depth in a hot bed, keeping them moist and shaded and until they germinate. _Soil, &c._ A rich garden mould, composed of light loam, rather sandy than otherwise, with very rotten dung, is desirable for this shrub. _Culture_. Most kinds are rapid and luxurious growers, and it is necessary to pay them constant attention in pruning or nipping the extremities of the shoots, or they will soon become ill-formed and straggling. This is particularly requisite during the rains, when heat and moisture combine to increase their growth to excess; allowing them to enjoy the full influence of the sun during the whole of the cold weather, and part of the hot. At the close of the rains, the plants had better be put out into the open ground, and closely pruned, the shoots taken off affording an ample supply of cuttings for multiplying the plants; this putting out will cause them to throw up strong healthy shoots and rich blossoms; but as the hot weather approaches, or in the beginning of March, they must be re-placed in moderate sized pots, with a compost similar to that required for cuttings and placed in the plant shed, as before described. The earth in the pots should be covered with pebbles, or pounded brick of moderate size, which prevents the accumulation of moss or fungi. Geraniums should at no time be over watered, and must at all seasons be allowed a free ventilation. There is no doubt that if visitors from this to the Cape, would pay a little attention to the subject, the varieties might be greatly increased, and that without much trouble, as many kinds may be produced freely by seed, if brought to the country fresh, and sown immediately on arrival; young plants also in well glazed cases would not take up much space in some of the large vessels coming from thence. The ANEMONE has numerous varieties, and is, in England, a very favorite flower, but although A. cernua is a native of Japan, and many varieties are indigenous to the Cape, it is very rare here. The _Double anemone_ is the most prized, but there are several _Single_ and _Half double_ kinds which are very handsome. The stem of a good anemone should be eight or nine inches in height, with a strong upright stalk. The flower ought not to be less than seven inches in circumference, the outer row of petals being well rounded, flat, and expanding at the base, turning up with a full rounded edge, so as to form a well shaped cup, within which, in the double kinds, should arise a large group of long small petals reverted from the centre, and regularly overlapping each other; the colors clear, each shade being distinct in such as are variegated. The _Garden, or Star Wind flower_, A. hortensis, _Boostan afrooz_, is another variety, found in Persia, and brought thence to Upper India, of a bright scarlet color; a blue variety has also blossomed in Calcutta, and was exhibited at the Show of February, 1847, by Mrs. Macleod, to whom Floriculture is indebted for the introduction of many beautiful exotics heretofore new to India. But it is to be hoped this handsome species of flowering plants will soon be more extensively found under cultivation. _Propagation_. Seed can hardly be expected to succeed in this country, as even in Europe it fails of germinating; for if not sown immediately that it is ripe, the length of journey or voyage would inevitably destroy its power of producing. Offsets of the tubers therefore are the only means that are left, and these should not be replanted until they have been a sufficient time out of the ground, say a month or so, to become hardened, nor should they be put into the earth until they have dried, or the whole offset will rot by exposure of the newly fractured side to the moisture of the earth. The tubers should be selected which are plump and firm, as well as of moderate size, the larger ones being generally hollow; these may be obtained in good order from Hobart Town. _Soil, &c._ A strong rich loamy soil is preferable, having a considerable portion of well rotted cow-dung, with a little leaf mould, dug to a depth of two feet, and the beds not raised too high, as it is desirable to preserve moisture in the subsoil; if in pots, this is effected by keeping a saucer of water under them continually, the pot must however be deep, or the fibres will have too much wet; an open airy situation is desirable. _Culture_. When the plant appears above ground the earth must be pressed well down around the root, as the crowns and tubers are injured by exposure to dry weather, and the plants should be sheltered from the heat of the sun, but not so as to confine the air; they require the morning and evening sun to shine on them, particularly the former. The IRIS is a handsome plant, attractive alike from the variety and the beauty of its blossoms; some of them are also used medicinally. All varieties produce abundance of seed, in which form the plant might with great care be introduced into this country. The _Florence Iris_, I. florentina, _Ueersa_, is a large variety, growing some two feet in height, the flower being white, and produced in the hot weather. The _Persian Iris_ I. persica, _Hoobur_, is esteemed not only for its handsome blue and purple flowers, but also for its fragrance, blossoming in the latter part of the cold weather; one variety has blue and yellow blossoms. The _Chinese Iris_, I. chinensis, _Soosun peelgoosh_, in a small sized variety, but has very pretty blue and purple flowers in the beginning of the hot weather. _Propagation_. Besides seed, which should be sown in drills, at the close of the rains, in a sandy soil, it may be produced by offsets. _Soil, &c._ Almost any kind of soil suits the Iris, but the best flowers are obtained from a mixture of sandy loam, with leaf mould, the Persian kind requiring a larger proportion of sand. _Culture_. Little after culture is required, except keeping the beds clear from weeds, and occasionally loosening the earth. But the roots must be taken, up every two, or at most three years, and replanted, after having been kept to harden for a month or six weeks; the proper season for doing this being when the leaves decay after blossoming. The TUBEROSE, Polianthes, is well deserving of culture, but it is not by any means a rare plant, and like many indigenous odoriferous flowers, has rather too strong an odour to be borne near at hand, and it is considered unwholesome in a room. The _Common Tuberose_, P. tuberosa, _Chubugulshubboo_, being a native of India thrives in almost any soil, and requires no cultivation: it is multiplied by dividing the roots. It flowers at all times of the year in bunches of white flowers with long sepals. The _Double Tuberose_, P. florepleno, is very rich in appearance, and of more delicate fragrance, although still too powerful for the room. Crows are great destroyers of the blossoms, which they appear fond of pecking. This variety is more rare, and the best specimens have been obtained from Hobart Town. It is rather more delicate and requires more attention in culture than the indigenous variety, and should be earthed up, so as to prevent water lodging around the stem. The LOBELIA is a brilliant class of flowers which may be greatly improved by careful cultivation. The _Splendid Lobelia_, L. splendens, is found in many gardens, and is a showy scarlet flower, well worthy of culture. The _Pyramidal Lobelia_, L. pyramidalis, is a native of Nepal, and is a modest pretty flower, of a purple color. _Propagation_--is best performed by offsets, suckers, or cuttings, but seeds produce good strong plants, which may with care, be made to improve. _Soil, &c._--A moist, sandy soil is requisite for them, the small varieties especially delighting in wet ground. Some few of this family are annuals, and the roots of no varieties should remain more than three years without renewal, as the blossoms are apt to deteriorate; they all flower during the rains. The PITCAIRNIA is a very handsome species, having long narrow leaves, with, spined edges and throwing up blossoms in upright spines. The _Long Stamened Pitcairnia_, P. staminea, is a splendid scarlet flower, lasting long in blossom, which, appears in July or August, and continues till December. The _Scarlet Pitcairnia_, P. bromeliaefolia, is also a fine rich scarlet flower, but blossoming somewhat sooner, and may be made to continue about a month later. _Propagation_--is by dividing the roots, or by suckers, which is best performed at the close of the rains. _Soil, &c._ A sandy peat is the favorite soil of this plant, which should be kept very moist. The DAHLIA, Dahlia; a few years since an attempt was made to rename this beautiful and extensive family and to call it Georgina, but it failed, and it is still better known throughout the world by its old name than the new. It was long supposed that the Dahlia was only found indigenous in Mexico, but Captain Kirke some few years back brought to the notice of the Horticultural Society, that it was to be met with in great abundance in Dheyra Dhoon, producing many varieties both single and double; and he has from time to time sent down quantities of seed, which have greatly assisted its increase in all parts of India. It has also been found in Nagpore. A good Dahlia is judged of by its form, size, and color. In respect to the first of these its _form_ should be perfectly round, without any inequalities of projecting points of the petals, or being notched, or irregular. These should also be so far revolute that the side view should exhibit a perfect semicircle in its outline, and the eye or prolific disc, in the centre should be entirely concealed. There has been recently introduced into this country a new variety, all the petals of which are quilled, which has a very handsome appearance. In _size_ although of small estimation if the other qualities are defective, it is yet of some consideration, but the larger flowers are apt to be wanting in that perfect hemispherical form that is so much admired. The _color_ is of great importance to the perfection of the flower; of those that are of one color this should be clear, unbroken, and distinct; but when mixed hues are sought, each color should be clearly and distinctly defined without any mingling of shades, or running into each other. Further, the flowers ought to be erect so as to exhibit the blossom in the fullest manner to the view. The most usual colors of the imported double Dahlias, met with in India, are crimson, scarlet, orange, purple, and white. Amongst those raised from seed from. Dheyra Dhoon[137] of the double kind, there are of single colors, crimson, deep crimson approaching to maroon, deep lilac, pale lilac, violet, pink, light purple, canary color, yellow, red, and white; and of mixed colors, white and pink, red and yellow, and orange and white: the single ones of good star shaped flowers and even petals being of crimson, puce, lilac, pale lilac, white, and orange. Those from Nagpore seed have yielded, double flowers of deep crimson, lilac, and pale purple, amongst single colors; lilac and blue, and red and yellow of mixed shades; and single flowered, crimson, and orange, with mixed colors of lilac and yellow, and lilac and white. _Propagation_--is by dividing the roots, by cuttings, by suckers, or by seed; the latter is generally resorted to, where new varieties are desired. Mr. George A. Lake, in an article on this subject (_Gardeners' Magazine_, 1833) says: "I speak advisedly, and from, experience, when I assert that plants raised from cuttings do not produce equally perfect flowers, in regard to size, form, and fulness, with those produced by plants grown from division of tubers;" and he more fully shews in another part of the same paper, that this appears altogether conformable to reason, as the cutting must necessarily for a long period want that store of starch, which is heaped up in the full grown tuber for the nutriment of the plant. This objection however might be met by not allowing the cuttings to flower in the season when they are struck. To those who are curious in the cultivation of this handsome species, it may be well to know how to secure varieties, especially of mixed colors; for this purpose it is necessary to cover the blossoms intended for fecundation with fine gauze tied firmly to the foot stalk, and when it expands take the pollen from the male flowers with a camel's hair pencil, and touch with it each floret of the intended bearing flower, tying the gauze again over it, and keeping it on until the petals are withered. The operation requires to be performed two or three successive days, as the florets do not expand together. _Soil &c._ They thrive best in a rich loam, mixed with sand; but should not be repeated too often on the same spot, as they exhaust the soil considerably. _Culture_. The Dahlia requires an open, airy position unsheltered by trees or walls, the plants should be put out where they are to blossom, immediately on the cessation of the rains, at a distance of three feet apart, either in rows or in clumps, as they make a handsome show in a mass; and as they grow should be trimmed from the lower shoots, to about a foot in height, and either tied carefully to a stake, or, what is better, surrounded by a square or circular trellis, about five feet in height. As the buds form they should be trimmed off, so as to leave but one on each stalk, this being the only method by which full, large, and perfectly shaped blossoms are obtained. Some people take up the tubers every year in February or March, but this is unnecessary. The plants blossom in November and December in the greatest perfection, but may with attention be continued from the beginning of October to the end of February. Those plants which are left in the ground during the whole year should have their roots opened immediately on the close of the rains, the superabundant or decayed tubers, and all suckers being removed, and fresh earth filled in. The earth should always be heaped up high around the stems, and it is a good plan to surround each plant with a small trench to be filled daily with water so as to keep the stem and leaves dry. The PINK, Dianthus, _Kurunful_, is a well known species of great variety, and acknowledged beauty. The _Carnation_, D. caryophyilus, _Gul kurunful_, is by this time naturalized in India, adding both beauty and fragrance to the parterre; the only variety however that has yet appeared in the country is the clove, or deep crimson colored: but the success attending the culture of this beautiful flower is surely an encouragement to the introduction of other sorts, there being above four hundred kinds, especially as they may be obtained from seed or pipings sent packed in moss, which will remain in good condition for two or three months, provided no moisture beyond what is natural to the moss, have access to them. The distinguishing marks of a good carnation may be thus described: the stem should be tall and straight, strong, elastic, and having rather short foot stalks, the flower should be fully three inches in diameter with large well formed petals, round and uncut, long and broad, so as to stand out well, rising about half an inch above the calyx, and then the outer ones turned off in a horizontal direction, supporting those of the centre, decreasing gradually in size, the whole forming a near approach to a hemisphere. It flowers in April and May. _Propagation_--is performed either by seed, by layers, or by pipings; the best time for making the two latter is when the plant is in full blossom, as they then root more strongly. In this operation the lower leaves should be trimmed off, and an incision made with a sharp knife, by entering the knife about a quarter of an inch below the joint, passing it through its centre; it must then be pegged down with a hooked peg, and covered with about a quarter of an inch of light rich mould; if kept regularly moist, the layers will root in about a month's time: they may then be taken off and planted out into pots in a sheltered situation, neither exposed to excessive rain, nor sun, until they shoot out freely. Pipings (or cuttings as they are called in other plants) must be taken off from a healthy, free growing plant, and should have two complete joints, being cut off horizontally close under the second one; the extremities of the leaves must also be shortened, leaving the whole length of each piping two inches; they should be thrown into a basin of soft water for a few minutes to plump them, and then planted out in moist rich mould, not more than an inch being inserted therein, and slightly watered to settle the earth close around them; after this the soil should be kept moderately moist, and never exposed to the sun. Seed is seldom resorted to except to introduce new varieties. _Soil, &c._--A mixture of old well rotted stable manure, with one-third the quantity of good fine loamy earth, and a small portion of sand, is the best soil for carnations. _Culture_.--The plants should be sheltered from too heavy a fall of rain, although they require to be kept moderately moist, and desire an airy situation. When the flower stalks are about six or eight inches in height, they must be supported by sticks, and, if large full blossoms be sought for, all the buds, except the leading one, must be removed with a pair of scissors; the calyx must also be frequently examined, as it is apt to burst, and if any disposition to this should appear, it will be well to assist the uniform expansion by cutting the angles with a sharp penknife. If, despite all precautions the calyx burst and let out the petals, it should be carefully tied with thread, or a circular piece of card having a hole in the centre should be drawn over the bud so as to hold the petals together, and display them to advantage by the contrast of the white color. _Insects, &c._--The most destructive are the red, and the large black ant, which attack, and frequently entirely destroy the roots before you can be aware of its approach; powdered turmeric should therefore be constantly kept strewed around this flower. The _Common Pink_, Dianthus Chinensis, _Kurunful_, and the _Sweet William_, D: barbatus, are pretty, ornamental plants, and may be propagated and cultivated in the same way as the carnation, save that they do not require so much care, or so good a soil, any garden mould sufficing; they are also more easily produced from seed. The VIOLET, Viola, _Puroos_, is a class containing many beautiful flowers, some highly ornamental and others odoriferous. The _Sweet Violet_, V. odorata, _Bunufsh'eh_, truly the poet's flower. It is a deserved favorite for its delightful fragrance as well as its delicate and retiring purple flowers; there is also a white variety, but it is rare in this country, as is also the double kind. This blossoms in the latter part of the cold weather. The _Shrubby Violet_, V. arborescens, or suffruticosa, _Rutunpuroos_, grows wild in the hills, and is a pretty blue flower, but wants the fragrance of the foregoing. The _Dog's Violet_, V. canina, is also indigenous in the hills. _Propagation_.--All varieties may be propagated by seed, but the most usual method is by dividing the roots, or taking off the runners. _Soil, &c._--The natural _habitat_ of the indigenous varieties is the sides and interstices of the rocks, where leaf mould, and micaceous sand, has accumulated and moisture been retained, indicating that the kind of soil favorable to the growth of this interesting little plant is a rich vegetable mould, with an admixture of sand, somewhat moist, but having a dry subsoil. _Culture_.--It would not be safe to trust this plant in the open ground except during a very short period of the early part of the cold weather, when the so doing will give it strength to form blossoms. In January, however, it should be re-potted, filling the pots about half-full of pebbles or stone-mason's cuttings, over which should be placed good rich vegetable mould, mixed with a large proportion of sand, covering with a thin layer of the same material as has been put into the bottom of the pot; a top dressing of ground bones is said to improve the fineness of the blossoms. They should not be kept too dry, but at the same time watered cautiously, as too much of either heat or moisture destroys the plants. The _Pansy_ or _Heart's-ease_, V. tricolor, _Kheeroo, kheearee_, derives its first name from the French _Pensée_. It was known amongst the early Christians by the name of _Flos Trinitatis_, and worn as a symbol of their faith. The high estimation which it has of late years attained in Great Britain as a florist's flower has, in the last two or three years, extended itself to this country. There are nearly four hundred varieties, a few of which only have been found here. _The characters of a fine Heart's-ease_ are, the flower being well expanded, offering a flat, or if any thing, rather a revolute surface, and the petals so overlapping each other as to form a circle without any break in the outline. These should be as nearly as possible of a size, and the greater length of the two upper ones concealed by the covering of those at the side in such manner as to preserve the appearance of just proportion: the bottom petal being broad and two-lobed, and well expanded, not curving inwards. The eye should be of moderate, or rather small size, and much additional beauty is afforded, if the pencilling is so arranged as to give the appearance of a dark angular spot. The colors must also be clear, bright, and even, not clouded or indistinct. Undoubtedly the handsomest kinds are those in which the two upper petals are of deep purple and the triade of a shade less: in all, the flower stalk should be long and stiff. The plant blossoms in this country in February and March, although it is elsewhere a summer flower. _Propagation_.--In England the moat usual methods are dividing the roots, layers, or cuttings from the stem, and these are certainly the only sure means of preserving a good variety; but it is almost impossible in India to preserve the plant through the hot weather, and therefore it is more generally treated as an annual, and raised every year from seed, which should be sown at the close of the rains; as however their growth, in India is as yet little known, most people put the imported seed into pots as soon as it arrives, lest the climate should deteriorate its germinating power, as it is well known, that even in Europe the seed should be sown as soon as possible after ripening. It will be well also to assist its sprouting with a little bottom heat, by plunging the pot up to its rim in a hot bed. American seed should be avoided as the blossoms are little to be depended on, and generally yield small, ill-formed flowers, clouded and run in color. _Soil, &c._--This should be moist, and the best compost is formed of one-sixth of well rotted dung from an old hot bed, and five-sixth of loam, or one-fourth of leaf mould and the remainder loam, but in either case well incorporated and exposed for some time previous to use to the action of the sun and air by frequent turning. _Culture_.--A shady situation is to be preferred, especially for the dark varieties which assume a deeper hue if so placed. But it has been observed by Mackintosh, that "the light varieties bloomed lighter in the shade, and darker in the sunshine--a very remarkable effect, for which I cannot account." The plants must at all times be kept moist, never being allowed to become dry, and should be so placed as to receive only the morning sun before ten o'clock. Under good management the plants will extend a foot or more in height, and have a handsome appearance if trained over a circular trellis of rattan twisted. When they rise too high, or it is desirable to fill out with side shoots, the tops must be pinched off, and larger flowers will be obtained if the flower buds are thinned out where they appear crowded. These plants look very handsome when grown in large masses of several varieties, but the seeds of those grown in this manner should not be made use of, as they are sure to sport; to prevent which it is also necessary that the plants which it is desired to perpetuate in this manner should be isolated at a distance from any other kind, and it would be advisable to cover them with thin gauze to prevent impregnation from others by means of the bees and other insects. For show flowers the branches should be kept down, and not suffered to straggle out or multiply; these will also be improved by pegging the longer branches down under the soil, and thereby increasing the number of the root fibres, hence adding to their power of accumulating nourishment, and not allowing them to expand beyond a limited number of blossoms, and those retained should be as nearly equal in age as possible. The HYDRANGEA is a hardy plant requiring a good deal of moisture, being by nature an inhabitant of the marshes. The _Changeable Hydrangea_, H. hortensis, is of Chinese origin and a pretty growing plant that deserves to be a favorite; it blossoms in bunches of flowers at the extremities of the branches which are naturally pink, but in old peat earth, or having a mixture of alum, or iron filings, the color changes to blue. It blooms in March and April. _Propagation_ may be effected by cuttings, which root freely, or by layers. _Soil, &c._--Loam and old leaf mould, or peat with a very small admixture of sand suits this plant. Their growth is much promoted by being turned out, for a month or two in the rains, into the open ground, and then re-potted with new soil, the old being entirely removed from the roots: and to make it flower well it must not be encumbered with too many branches. The HOYA is properly a trailing plant, rooting at the joints, but have been generally cultivated here as a twiner. The _Fleshy-leaved Hoya_, H. carnosa, is vulgarly called the wax flower from its singular star shaped-whitish pink blossoms, with a deep colored varnished centre, having more the appearance of a wax model than a production of nature. The flowers appear in globular groups and have a very handsome appearance from the beginning of April to the close of the rains. The _Green flowered Hoya_, H. viridiflora, _Nukchukoree, teel kunga_, with its green flowers in numerous groups, is also an interesting plant, it is esteemed also for its medicinal properties. _Propagation_.--Every morsel of these plants, even a piece of the leaf, will form roots if put in the ground, cuttings therefore strike very freely, as do layers, the joints naturally throwing out root-fibres although not in the earth. _Soil, &c._--A light loam moderately dry is the best for these plants, which look well if trained round a circular trellis in the open border. The STAPELIA is an extensive genus of low succulent plants without leaves, but yielding singularly handsome star-shaped flowers; they are of African origin growing in the sandy deserts, but in a natural state very diminutive being increased to their present condition and numerous varieties by cultivation, they mostly have an offensive smell whence some people call them the carrion plant. They deserve more attention than has hitherto been shown to them in India. The _Variegated Stapelia_, S. variegata, yields a flower in November, the thick petals of which are yellowish green with brown irregular spots, it is the simplest of the family. The _Revolute-flowered Stapelia_, S. revoluta, has a green blossom very fully sprinkled with deep purple, it flowers at the close of the rains. The _Toad Stapelia_, S. bufonia, as its name implies, is marked like the back of the reptile from whence it has its name; it flowers in December and January. The _Hairy Stapelia_, S. hirsuta, is a very handsome variety, being, like the rest, of green and brown, but the entire flower covered with fine filaments or hairs of a light purple, at various periods of the year. The _Starry Stapelia_, S. stellaris, is perhaps the most beautiful of the whole, being like the last covered with hairs, but they are of a bright pinkish blue color; there appears to be no fixed period for flowering. The HAIRY CARRULLUMA, C. crinalata, belongs to the same family as the foregoing species, which it much resembles, except that it blossoms in good sized globular groups of small star-shaped flowers of green, studded and streaked with brown. _Propagation_ is exceedingly easy with each of the last named two species; as the smallest piece put in any soil that is moist, without being saturated, will throw out root fibres. _Soil, &c._--This should consist of one-half sand, one-fourth garden mould, and one-fourth well rotted stable manure. The pots in which they are planted should have on the top a layer of pebbles, or broken brick. All the after culture they require is to keep them within bounds, removing decayed portions as they appear and avoiding their having too much moisture. The perennial border plants, besides those included above, are very numerous; the directions for cultivation admitting, from their similarity, of the following general rules:-- _Propagation_.--Although some few will admit of other modes of multiplication, the most usually successful are by seed, by suckers, or by offsets, and by division of the root, the last being applicable to nine-tenths of the hardy herbaceous plants, and performed either by taking up the whole plant and gently separating it by the hand, or by opening the ground near the one to be divided, and cutting off a part of the roots and crown to make new the sections being either at once planted where they are to stand, or placed for a short period in a nursery; the best time for this operation is the beginning of the rains. Offsets or suckers being rapidly produced during the rains, will be best removed towards their close, at which period, also, seed should be sown to benefit by the moisture remaining in the soil. The depth at which seeds are buried in the earth varies with their magnitude, all the pea or vetch kind will bear being put at a depth of from half an inch to one inch; but with the smallest seeds it will be sufficient to scatter them, on the sifted soil, beating them down with, the palm of the hand. _Culture_.--Transplanting this description of plants will be performed to best advantage during the rains. The general management is comprehended in stirring the soil occasionally in the immediate vicinity of the roots; taking up overgrown plants, reducing and replanting them, for which the rains is the best time; renewing the soil around the roots; sticking the weak plants; pruning and trimming others, so as to remove all weakly or decayed parts. Once a year, before the rains, the whole border should be dug one or two spits deep, adding soil from the bottom of a tank or river; and again, in the cold weather, giving a moderate supply of well rotted stable manure, and leaf mould in equal portions. Crossing is considered as yet in its infancy even in England, and has, except with the Marvel of Peru, hardly even been attempted in this country. The principles under which this is effected are fully explained at page 27 of the former part of this work; but it may also be done in the more woody kinds by grafting one or more of the same genus on the stock of another, the seed of which would give a new variety. Saving seed requires great attention in India, as it should be taken during the hot weather if possible; to effect which the earliest blossoms must be preserved for this purpose. With some kinds it will be advisable to assist nature by artificial impregnation with a camel hair pencil, carefully placing the pollen on the point of the stigma. The seeds should be carefully dried in some open, airy place, but not exposed to the sun, care being afterwards taken that they shall be deposited in a dry place, not close or damp, whence the usual plan of storing the seeds in bottles is not advisable. * * * * * BULBS. Bulbs have not as yet received that degree of attention in this country (India) that they deserve, and they may be considered to form a separate class, requiring a mode of culture differing from that of others. Their slow progress has discouraged many and a supposition that they will only thrive in the Upper Provinces, has deterred others from attempting to grow them, an idea which has also been somewhat fostered by the Horticultural Society, when they received a supply from England, having sent the larger portion of them to their subscribers in the North West Provinces. The NARCISSUS will thrive with care, in all parts of India, and it is a matter of surprise that it is not more frequently met with. A good Narcissus should have the six petals well formed, regularly and evenly disposed, with a cup of good form, the colors distinct and clear, raised on strong erect stems, and flowering together. The _Polyanthes Narcissus_, N. tazetta, _Narjus, hur'huft nusreen_, is of two classes, white and sulphur colored, but these have sported into almost endless varieties, especially amongst the Dutch, with whom this and most other bulbs are great favorites. It flowers in February and March. The _Poet's Narcissus_, N. poeticus, _Moozhan, zureenkuda_ is the favorite, alike for its fragrance and its delicate and graceful appearance, the petals being white and the cup a deep yellow: it flowers from the beginning of January to the end of March and thrives well. The first within the recollection of the author, in Bengal, was at Patna, nearly twelve years since, in possession of a lady there under whose care it blossomed freely in the shade, in the month of February. The _Daffodil_, N. pseudo-narcissus, _Khumsee buroonk_, is of pale yellow, and some of the double varieties are very handsome. _Propagation_ is by offsets, pulled off after the bulbs are taken out of the ground, and sufficiently hardened. _Soil, &c._--The best is a fresh, light loam with some well rotted cow dung for the root fibres to strike into, and the bottom of the pot to the height of one-third filled with pebbles or broken brick. They will not blossom until the fifth year, and to secure strong flowers the bulbs should only be taken up every third year. An eastern aspect where they get only the morning sun, is to be preferred. The PANCRATIUM is a handsome species that thrives well, some varieties being indigenous, and others fully acclimated, generally flowering about May or June. The _One-flowered Pancratium_, P. zeylanicum, is rather later than the rest in flowering and bears a curiously formed white flower. The _Two-flowered Pancratium_, P. triflorum, _Sada kunool_, was so named by Roxburg, and gives a white flower in groups of threes, as its name implies. The _Oval leaved pancratium_, P. ovatum, although of West Indian origin, is so thoroughly acclimated as to be quite common in the Indian Garden. _Propagation_.--The best method is by suckers or offsets which are thrown out very freely by all the varieties. _Soil, &c._--Any common garden soil will suit this plant, but they thrive best with a good admixture of rich vegetable mould. The HYACINTH, Hyacinthus, is an elegant flower, especially the double kind. The first bloomed in Calcutta was exhibited at the flower show some three years since, but proved an imperfect blossom and not clear colored; a very handsome one, however, was shown by Mrs. Macleod in February 1847, and was raised from a stock originally obtained at Simlah. The Dutch florists have nearly two thousand varieties. The distinguishing marks of a good hyacinth are clear bright colors, free from clouding or sporting, broad bold petals, full, large and perfectly doubled, sufficiently revolute to give the whole mass a degree of convexity: the stem strong and erect and the foot stalks horizontal at the base, gradually taking an angle upwards as they approach the crown, so as to place the flowers in a pyramidical form, occupying about one-half the length of the stem. The _Amethyst colored Hyacinth_, H. amethystimus, is a fine handsome flower, varying in shade from pale blue to purple, and having bell shaped flowers, but the foot stalks are generally not strong and they are apt to become pendulous. The _Garden Hyacinth_, H. orientalis, _Sumbul, abrood_, is the handsomer variety, the flowers being trumpet shaped, very double and of varying colors--pink, red, blue, white, or yellow, and originally of eastern growth. It flowers in February and has considerable fragrance. _Propagation_.--In Europe this is sometimes performed by seed, but as this requires to be put into the ground as soon as possible after ripening, and moreover takes a long time to germinate, this method would hardly answer in this country, which must therefore, at least for the present, depend upon imported bulbs and offsets. _Soil, &c._--This, as well as its after culture, is the same as for the Narcissus. They will not show flowers until the second year, and not in good bloom before the fifth or sixth of their planting out. The CROCUS, Crocus lutens, having no native name, has yet, it is believed, been hardly ever known to flower here, even with the utmost care. A good crocus has its colors clear, brilliant, and distinctly marked. _Propagation_--must be effected, for new varieties, by seeds, but the species are multiplied by offsets of the bulb. _Soil, &c._ Any fair garden soil is good for the crocus, but it prefers that which is somewhat sandy. _Culture_. The small bulbs should be planted in clumps at the depth of two inches; the leaves should not be cut off after the plant has done blossoming, as the nourishment for the future season's flower is gathered by them. The IXIA, is originally from the Cape, and belongs to the class of Iridae: the Ixia Chinensis, more properly Morea Chinensis, is a native of India and China, and common in most gardens. _Propagation_--is by offsets. _Soil, &c._ The best is of peat and sand, it thrives however in good garden soil, if not too stiff, and requires no particular cultivation. The LILY, Lilium, _Soosun_, the latter derived from the Hebrew, is a handsome species that deserves more care than it has yet received in India, where some of the varieties are indigenous. The _Japan Lily_, L. japonicum, is a very tall growing plant, reaching about 5 feet in height with broad handsome flowers of pure white, and a small streak of blue, in the rains. The _Daunan Lily_, L. dauricum, _Rufeef, soosun_, gives an erect, light orange flower in the rains. The _Canadian lily_, L. Canadense _B'uhmutan_, flowers in the rains in pairs of drooping reflexed blossoms of a rather darker orange, sometimes spotted with a deeper shade. _Propagation_--is effected by offsets, which however will not flower until the third or fourth year. _Soil, &c._ This is the same as for the Narcissus, but they do not require taking up more frequently than once in three years, and that only for about a month at the close of the rains, the Japan lily will thrive even under the shade of trees. The AMARYLLIS is a very handsome flower, which has been found to thrive well in this country, and has a great variety, all of which possess much beauty, some kinds are very hardy, and will grow freely in the open ground. The _Mexican Lily_, A. regina Mexicanae, is a common hardy variety found in most gardens, yielding an orange red flower in the months of March and April, and will thrive even under the shades of trees. The _Ceylonese Amaryllis_, A: zeylanica, _Suk'h dursun_, gives a pretty flower about the same period. The _Jacoboean Lily_, A, formosissima, has a handsome dark red flower of singular form, having three petals well expanded above, and three others downwards rolled over the fructile organs on the base, so as to give the idea of its being the model whence the Bourbon _fleur de lis_ was taken, the stem is shorter than the two previous kinds, blossoming in April or May. The _Noble Amaryllis_, A: insignia, is a tall variety, having pink flowers in March or April. The _Broad-leaved Amaryllis_, A: latifolia, is a native of India with pinkish white flowers about the same period of the year. The _Belladonna Lily_. A: belladonna is of moderately high stem, supporting a pink flower of the same singular form as the Jacoboean lily, in May and June. _Propagation_--is by offsets of the bulb, which most kinds throw out very freely, sometimes to the extent of ten, or a dozen in the season. _Soil, &c._--For the choice kinds is the same as is required for the narcissus, and water should on no account be given over the leaves or upper part of the bulb. The common kinds look well in masses, and a good form of planting them is in a series of raised circles, so as for the whole to form a round bed. The DOG'S TOOTH VIOLET, Erythronium, is a pretty flowering bulb and a great favorite with florists in Europe. The _Common Dog's tooth Violet_, E. dens canis, is ordinarily found of reddish purple, there is also a white variety, but it is rare, neither of them grow above three or four inches in height, and flower in March or April. The _Indian Dog's tooth Violet_, E. indicum, _junglee kanda_, is found in the hills, and flowers at about the same time, with a pink blossom. The SUPERB GLORIOSA, Gloriosa superba, _Kareearee, eeskooee langula_, is a very beautiful species of climbing bulb, a native of this country, and on that account neglected, although highly esteemed as a stove plant in England; the leaves bear tendrils at the points, and the flower, which is pendulous, when first expanded, throws its petals nearly erect of yellowish green, which gradually changes to yellow at the base and bright scarlet at the point; the pistil which shoots from the seed vessel horizontally possesses the singular property of making an entire circuit between sun-rise and sun-set each day that the flower continues, which is generally for some time, receiving impregnation from every author as it visits them in succession. It blooms in the latter part of the rains. _Propagation_ is in India sometimes from seed, but in Europe it is confined to division of the offsets. _Soil, &c._--Most garden soils will suit this plant, but it affords the handsomest, and richest colored flowers in fresh loam mixed with peat or leaf mould, without dung. It should not have too much water when first commencing its growth, and it requires the support of a trellis over which it will bear training to a considerable extent, growing to the height of from five to six feet. MANY OTHER BULBS, there is no doubt, might be successfully grown in India where every thing is favorable to their growth, and so much facility presents itself for procuring them from the Cape of Good Hope; the natural _habitat_ of so many varieties of the handsomest species, nearly all of them flowering between the end of the cold weather and the close of the rains. Some of these being hardy, thrive in the open ground with but little care or trouble, others requiring very great attention, protection from exposure, and shelter from the heat of the sun, and the intensity of its rays; which should therefore have a particular portion of the plant-shed assigned to them, such being inhabitants of the green house in colder climates, and the reason of assigning them such separated part of the chief house, or what is better perhaps, a small house to themselves, is that in culture, treatment, and other respects they do not associate with plants of a different character. One great obstacle which the more extensive culture of bulbs has had to contend against, may be found in that impatience that refuses to give attention to what requires from three to five years to perfect, generally speaking people in India prefer therefore to cultivate such plants only as afford an immediate result, especially with relation to the ornamental classes. _Propagation_.--The bulb after the formation of the first floral core is instigated by nature to continue its species, as immediately the flower fades the portion of bulb that gave it birth dies, for which purpose it each year forms embryo bulbs on each side of the blossoming one, and which although continued in the same external coat, are each perfect and complete plants in themselves, rising from the crown of the root fibres: in some kinds this is more distinctly exhibited by being as it were, altogether outside and distinct from, the main, or original bulb. These being separated for what are called offsets, and should be taken off only when the parent bulb has been taken up and hardened, or the young plant will suffer. Some species of bulbous rooted plants produce seeds, but this method of reproduction, can seldom be resorted to in this country, and certainly not to obtain new kinds, as the seeds require to be sown as soon as ripe. _Soil, Culture, &c_.--For the delicate and rare bulbs, it is advisable to have pots purposely made of some fifteen inches in height with a diameter of about seven or eight inches at the top, tapering down to five, with a hole at the bottom as in ordinary flower pots, and for this to stand in, another pot should be made without any hole, of a height of about four inches, sufficient size to leave the space of about an inch all round between the outer side of the plant pot and the inner side of the smaller pot or saucer. This will allow the plant pot to be filled with crocks, pebbles, or stone chippings to the height of five inches, or about an inch higher than the level of the water in the saucer, above which may be placed eight inches in depth of soil and one inch on the top of that, pebbles or small broken brick. By this arrangement, the saucer being kept filled, or partly filled, as the plant may require, with water, the fibres of the root obtain a sufficiency of moisture for the maintenance and advancement of the plant without chance of injury to the bulb or stem, by applying water to the upper earth which is also in this prevented from becoming too much saturated. Light rich sandy loam, with a portion of sufficiently decomposed leaf mould, is the best soil for the early stages of growing bulbs. So soon as the leaves change color and wither, then all moisture must be withheld, but as the repose obtained by this means is not sufficient to secure health to the plant, and ensure its giving strong blossoms, something more is required to effect this purpose. This being rendered the more necessary because in those that form offsets by the sides of the old bulbs, they would otherwise become crowded and degenerate, the same occurring also with those forming under the old ones, which will get down so deep that they cease to appear. The time to take up the bulb is when the flower-stem and leaves have commenced decay; taking dry weather for the purpose, if the bulbs are hardy, or if in pots having reduced the moisture as above shown, but it must be left to individual experience to discover how long the different varieties should remain out of the ground, some requiring one month's rest, and others enduring three or four, with advantage; more than that is likely to be injurious. When out of the ground, during the first part of the period they are so kept, it should be, say for a fortnight at least, in any room where no glare exists, with free circulation of air, after which the off-sets may be removed, and the whole exposed to dry on a table in the verandah, or any other place that is open to the air, but protected from the sunshine, which would destroy them. Little peculiarity of after treatment is requisite, except perhaps that the bulbs which are to flower in the season should have a rather larger proportion of leaf mould in the compost, and that if handsome flowers are required, it will be well to examine the bulb every week at least by gently taking the mould from around them, and removing all off-sets that appear on the old bulb. For the securing strength to the plant also, it will be well to pinch off the flower so soon as it shews symptoms of decay. The wire worm is a great enemy to bulbs, and whenever it appears they should be taken up, cleaned, and re-planted. It is hardly necessary to say that all other vermin and insects must be watched, and immediately removed. * * * * * THE BIENNIAL BORDER PLANTS. It is only necessary to mention a few of these, as the curious in floriculture will always make their own selection, the following will therefore suffice.-- The SPEEDWELL-LEAVED HEDGE HYSSOP, Gratiola veronicifolia, _Bhoomee, sooél chumnee_, seldom cultivated, though deserving to be so, has a small blue flower. The SIMPLE-STALKED LOBELIA, Lobelia simplex, introduced from the Cape, yields a pretty blue flower. The EVENING PRIMROSE, Oenothera mutabilis, a pretty white flower that blossoms in the evening, its petals becoming pink by morning. The FLAX-LEAVED PIMPERNEL, Anagallis linifolia, a rare plant, giving a blue flower in the rains; introduced from Portugal. The BROWALLIA, of two lauds, both pretty and interesting plants; originally from South America. The _Spreading Browallia_, B. demissa is the smallest of these, and blossoms in single flowers of bright blue, at the beginning of the cold weather. The _Upright Browallia_, B. alata, gives bloom in groups, of a bright blue; there is also a white variety, both growing to the height of nearly two feet. The SMALL-FLOWERED TURNSOLE, Heliotropium parviflorum, _B'hoo roodee_, differs from the rest of this family which are mostly perennials; it yields groups of white flowers, which are fragrant. The FLAX-LEAVED CANDYTUFT, Iberis linifolia, with its purple blossoms, is very rare, but it has been sometimes grown with, success. The STOCK, Mathiola, is a very popular plant, and deserves more extensive cultivation in this country. The _Great Sea Stock_, M sinuata, is rare and somewhat difficult to bring into bloom, it possesses some fragrance and its violet colored groups of flowers have rather a handsome appearance about May. The _Ten weeks' Stock_, M annua, is also a pleasing flower about the same time. In England this is an annual, but here it is not found to bloom freely until the second year, its color is scarlet, and it has some fragrance. The _Purple Gilly flower_, M incana, is a pretty flower of purple color, and fragrant. There are some varieties of it such as the _Double_, multiplex, the _Brompton_, coccinea, and the _White_, alba, varying in color and blossoming in April. The STARWORT, Aster, is a hardy flowering plant not very attractive, except as it yields blossoms at all seasons, if the foot stalks are cut off as soon as the flower has faded, there are very numerous varieties of this plant which is, in Europe a perennial, but it is preferable to treat it here as only biennial, otherwise it degenerates. The _Bushy Starwort_, A dumosus, is a free blossoming plant in the rains, with white flowers. The _Silky leaved Starwort_, A. sericeus, is Indigenous in the hills, putting forth its blue blossoms during the rains. The _Hairy Starwort_, A pilosus, is of very pale blue, and may, with care, be made to blossom throughout the year. The _Chinese Starwort,_ A chinensis, is of dark purple and very prolific of blossoms at all times. The BEAUTIFUL JUSTICIA, J speciosa, although, described by Roxburgh as a perennial, degenerates very much after the second year, it affords bright carmine colored flowers at the end of the cold weather. The COMMON MARVEL OF PERU, Mirabilis Jalapa _Gul abas, krushna kelee_, is vulgarly called the Four o'clock from its blossoms expanding in the afternoon. There are several varieties distinguished only by difference of color, lilac, red, yellow, orange, and white, which hybridize naturally, and may easily be obliged to do so artificially, if any particular shades are desired. The HAIRY INDIGO, Indigofera hirsuta, yields an ornamental flower with abundance of purple blossoms. The HIBISCUS This class numbers many ornamental plants, the blossoms of which all maintain the same character of having a darkened spot at the base of each petal. The _Althaea frutex_, H syriacus, _Gurhul,_ yields a handsome purple flower in the latter part of the rains, there are also a white, and a red variety. The _Stinging Hibiscus_ H pruriens, has a yellow flower at the same season. The _Hemp leaved Hibiscus_, H cannabinus, _Anbaree_, is much the same as the last. The _Bladder Ketmia_, H trionum, is a dwarf species, yellow, with a brown spot at the base of the petal. The _African Hibiscus_ H africanus, is a very handsome flower growing to a considerable height, expanding to the diameter of six to seven inches, of a bright canary color, the dark blown spots at the base of the petals very distinctly marked, the seeds were considered a great acquisition when first obtained from Hobarton, but the plant has since been seen in great perfection growing wild in the _Turaee_ at the foot of the Darjeeling range of hills, blooming in great perfection at the close of the rains. The _Chinese Hibiscus_, H rosa sinensis, _Jooua, jasoon, jupa_, although, really a perennial flower, is in greatest perfection if kept as a biennial, it flowers during the greater part of the season a dark red flower with a darker hued spot, there are also some other varieties of different colors yellow, scarlet, and purple. The TREE MALLOW, Lavatera arborea, has of late years been introduced from Europe, and may now be found in many gardens in India yielding handsome purple flowers in the latter part of the rains. But it is unnecessary to continue such a mere catalogue, the character and general cultivation of which require no distinct rules, but may all be resolved into one general method, of which the following is a sketch. _Propagation_--They are all raised from seed, but the finest double varieties require to be continued by cuttings. The seed should be sown as soon as it can after opening, but if this occur during the rains, the beds, or pots, perhaps better, must be sheltered, removing the plants when they are few inches high to the spot where they are to remain, care being at the same time taken in removing those that have tap roots, such as Hollyhock, Lavatera, &c not to injure them, as it will check their flowering strongly, the best mode is to sow those in pots and transplant them, with balls of earth entire, into the borders, at the close of the rains. Cuttings of such as are multiplied by that method, are taken either from the flower stalks, or root-shoots, early in the rains, and rooted either in pots, under shelter, or in beds, protected from the heavy showers. _Culture_--Cultivation after the plants are put into the borders, is the same as for perennial plants. But the duration and beauty of the flowers is greatly improved by cutting off the buds that shew the earliest, so as to retard the bloom--and for the same reason the footstalk should be cut off when the flowers fade, for as soon as the plant begins to form seed, the blossoms deteriorate. * * * * * THE ANNUAL BORDER PLANTS. These are generally known to every one, and many of them are so common as hardly to need notice, a few of the most usual are however mentioned, rather to recal the scattered thoughts of the many, than as a list of annuals. The MIGNIONETTE, Resoda odorata, is too great a favorite both on account of its fragrance and delicate flowers not to be well known, and by repeated sowings it may be made under care to give flowers throughout the year but it is advisable to renew the seed occasionally by fresh importations from Europe, the Cape, or Hobarton. The PROLIFIC PINK, Dianthus prolifer _Kurumful_, is a pretty variety; that blossoms freely throughout the year, sowing to keep up succession, the shades and net work marks on them are much varied, and they make a very pretty group together. The LUPINE, Lupinus, is a very handsome class of annuals, many of which grow well in India, all of them flowering in the cold season. The _Small blue Lupine_, L. varius, was introduced from the Cape and is the only one noticed by Roxburgh. The _Rose, and great blue Lupine_, L. pilosus and hirsutus, are both good sized handsome flowers. The _Egyptian, or African Lupins_, L. thermis, _Turmus_, is the only one named in the native language, and has a white flower. The _Tree Lupine_, L. arboreus, is a shrubby plant with a profusion of yellow flowers which has been successfully cultivated from Hobarton seed. The CATCHFLY, Silene, the only one known here is the small red, S. rubella, having a very pretty pink flower appearing in the cold weather. The LARKSPUR, Delphinum, has not yet received any native name, and deserves to be much more extensively cultivated, especially the Neapolitan and variegated sorts. The common purple, D. Bhinensis, being the one usually met with; it should be sown in succession from September to December, but the rarer kinds must not be put in sooner than the middle of November, as these do not blossom well before February, March, or April. The SWEET PEA, Lathyrus odoralus, is not usually cultivated with success, because it has been generally sown too late in the season, to give a sufficient advance to secure blossoming. The seeds should be put in about the middle of the rains in pots and afterwards planted out when these cease, and carefully cultivated to obtain blossoms in February or March. The ZINNIA, has only of late years been introduced, but by a mistake it has generally been sown too late in the year to produce good flowers, whereas if the seed is put into the ground about June, fine handsome flowers will be the result, in the cold weather. The CENTAURY, Centaurea, is a very pretty class of annuals which grows, and blossoms freely in this country. The _Woolly Centaury_, C. lanata, is mentioned by Roxburgh as indigenous to the country, but the flowers are very small, of a purple color, blossoming in December. The _Blue bottle_ O. cyanus, _Azeez_, flowers in December and January, of pink and blue. The _Sweet Sultan_, C. moschata, _Shah pusund_ is known by its fragrant and delicate lilac blossoms in January and February. The BALSAM, Impatiens, _Gulmu'hudee, doopatee_ is not cultivated, or encouraged as it should be in India, where some of the varieties are indigenous. A very rich soil should be used. Dr. R. Wight observes, that Balsams of the colder Hymalayas, like those of Europe, split from the base, rolling the segment towards the apex, whilst those of the hotter regions do the reverse. All annuals require the same, or nearly the same treatment, of which the following may be considered a fair sketch. _Propagation_.--These plants are all raised from seed put in the earth generally on the close of the rains, although some plants, such as nasturtium, sweet pea, scabious, wall-flower, and stock, are better to be sown in pots about June or July, and then put out into the border as soon as the rains cease. The seed must be sown in patches, rings, or small beds according to taste, the ground being previously stirred, and made quite fine, the earth sifted over them to a depth proportioned to the size of the seed, and then gently pressed down, so as closely to embrace every part of the seed. When the plants are an inch high they must be thinned out to a distance of two, three, five, seven, or more inches apart, according to their kind, whether spreading, or upright, having reference also to their size; the plants thinned out, if carefully taken up, may generally be transplanted to fill up any parts of the border where the seed may have failed. _Culture_. Weeding and occasionally stirring the soil, and sticking such as require support, is all the cultivation necessary for annuals. If it be desired to save seed, some of the earliest and most perfect blossoms should be preserved for this purpose, so as to secure the best possible seed for the ensuing year, not leaving it to chance to gather seed from such plants as may remain after the flowers have been taken, as is generally the case with native gardeners, if left to themselves. * * * * * FLOWERS THAT GROW UNDER THE SHADE OF TREES. It is of some value to know what these are, but at the same time it must be observed that no plant will grow under trees of the fir tribe, and it would be a great risk to place any under the _Deodar_--with all others also it must not be expected that any trees having their foliage so low as to affect the circulation of air under their branches, can do otherwise than destroy the plants placed beneath them. Those which may be so planted are;--Wood Anemone.--Common Arum.--Deadly Nightshade--Indian ditto.--Chinese Clematis--Upright ditto--Woody Strawberry--Woody Geranium.--Green Hellebore.--Hairy St. John's Wort.--Dog's Violet.--Imperial Fritillaria--The common Oxalis, and some other bulbs.--Common Hound's Tongue.--Common Antirrhinum.--Common Balsam.--To these may be added many of the orchidaceous plants. * * * * * ROSES. THE ROSE, ROSA, _Gul_ or _gulab_: as the most universally admired, stands first amongst shrubs. The London catalogues of this beautiful plant contain upwards of two thousand names: Mr. Loudon, in his "_Encyclopaedia of Plants_" enumerates five hundred and twenty-two, of which he describes three species, viz. Macrophylla, Brunonii, and Moschata Nepalensis, as natives of Nepal; two, viz. Involucrata, and Microphylla, as indigenous to India, and Berberifolia, and Moschata arborea, as of Persian origin, whilst twelve appear to have come from China. Dr. Roxburgh describes the following eleven species as inhabitants of these regions:-- Rosa involucrata, -- Chinensis, -- semperflorens, -- recurva, -- microphylla, -- inermis, Rosa centiflora, -- glandulifera, -- pubescens, -- diffusa, -- triphylla, most of which, however, he represents to have been of Chinese origin. The varieties cultivated generally in gardens are, however, all that will be here described. These are-- 1. The _Madras rose,_ or _Rose Edward_, a variety of R centifolia, _Gul ssudburul_, is the most common, and has multiplied so fast within a few years, that no garden is without it, it blossoms all the year round, producing large bunches of buds at the extremities of its shoots of the year, but, if handsome, well-shaped flowers are desired, these must be thinned out on their first appearance, to one or two, or at the most three on each stalk. It is a pretty flower, but has little fragrance. This and the other double sorts require a rich loam rather inclining to clay, and they must be kept moist.[138] 2. The _Bussorah Rose_, R gallica, _Gulsooree_, red, and white, the latter seldom met with, is one of a species containing an immense number of varieties. The fragrance of this rose is its greatest recommendation, for if not kept down, and constantly looked to, it soon gets straggling, and unsightly, like the preceding species too, the buds issue from the ends of the branches in great clusters, which must be thinned, if well formed fragrant blossoms are desired. The same soil is required as for the preceding, with alternating periods of rest by opening the roots, and of excitement by stimulating manure. 3. The _Persian rose_, apparently R collina, _Gul eeran_ bears a very full-petaled blossom, assuming a darker shade as these approach nearer to the centre, but, it is difficult to obtain a perfect flower, the calyx being so apt to burst with excess of fulness, that if perfect flowers are required a thread should be tied gently round the bud, it has no fragrance. A more sandy soil will suit this kind, with less moisture. 4. The _Sweet briar_ R rubiginosa, _Gul nusreen usturoon_, grows to a large size, and blossoms freely in India, but is apt to become straggling, although, if carefully clipped, it may be raised as a hedge the same as in England, it is so universally a favorite as to need no description. 5. The _China blush rose_, R Indica (R Chinensis of Roxburgh), _Kut'h gulab_, forms a pretty hedge, if carefully clipped, but is chiefly usefully as a stock for grafting on. It has no odour. 6 The _China ever-blowing rose_, R damascena of Roxburgh, _Adnee gula, gulsurkh_, bearing handsome dark crimson blossoms during the whole of the year, it is branching and bushy, but rather delicate, and wants odour. 7 The _Moss Rose_, R muscosa, having no native name is found to exist, but has only been known to have once blossomed in India; good plants may be obtained from Hobart Town without much trouble. 8 The _Indian dog-rose_, R arvensis, R involucrata of Roxburgh, _Gul bé furman_, is found to glow wild in some parts of Nepal and Bengal, as well as in the province of Buhar, flowering in February, the blossoms large, white, and very fragrant, its cultivation extending is improving the blossoms, particularly in causing the petals to be multiplied. 9. The _Bramble-flowered rose_ R multiflora, _Gul rana_, naturally a trailer, may be trained to great advantage, when it will give beautiful bunches of small many petaled flowers in February and March, of delightful fragrance. 10. The _Due de Berri rose_, a variety of R damascena, but having the petals more rounded and more regular, it is a low rather drooping shrub with delicately small branches. _Propagation_.--All the species may be multiplied by seed, by layers, by cuttings, by suckers, or from grafts, almost indiscriminately. Layering is the easiest, and most certain mode of propagating this most beautiful shrub. The roots that branch, out and throw up distinct shoots may be divided, or cut off from the main root, and even an eye thus taken off may be made to produce a good plant. Suckers, when they have pushed through the soil, may be taken up by digging down, and gently detaching them from the roots. Grafting or budding is used for the more delicate kinds, especially the sweet briar, and, by the curious, to produce two or more varieties on one stem, the best stocks being obtained from the China, or the Dog Rose. _Soil &c._--Any good loamy garden soil without much sand, suits the rose, but to produce it in perfection the ground can hardly be too rich. _Culture_.--Immediately at the close of the rains, the branches of most kinds of roses, especially the double ones, should be cut down to not more than six inches in length, removing at the same time, all old and decayed wood, as well as all stools that have branched out from the main one, and which will form new plants; the knife being at the same time freely exercised in the removal of sickly and crowded fibres from the roots; these should likewise be laid open, cleaned and pinned, and allowed to remain exposed until blossom buds begin to appear at the end of the first shoots; the hole must then be filled with good strong stable manure, and slightly earthed over. About a month after, a basket of stable dung, with the litter, should be heaped up round the stems, and broken brick or turf placed over it to relieve the unsightly appearance. While flowering, too, it will be well to water with liquid manure at least once a week. If it be desired to continue the trees in blossom, each shoot should be removed as soon as it has ceased flowering. To secure full large blossoms, all the buds from a shoot should be cut off, when quite young, except one. The _Sweet briar rose_ strikes its root low, and prefers shade, the best soil being a deep rich loam with very little sand, rather strong than otherwise; it will be well to place a heap of manure round the stem, above ground, covering over with turf, but it is not requisite to open the roots, or give them so much manure as for other varieties. The sweet briar must not be much pruned, overgrowth being checked rather by pinching the young shoots, or it will not blossom, and it is rather slower in throwing out shoots than other roses. In this country the best mode of multiplying this shrub is by grafting on a China rose stock, as layers do not strike freely, and cuttings cannot be made to root at all. The _Bramble-flowered rose_ is a climber, and though not needing so strong a soil as other kinds, requires it to be rich, and frequently renewed, by taking away the soil from about the roots and supplying its place with a good compost of loam, leaf mould, and well rotted dung, pruning the root. The plants require shelter from the cold wind from the North, or West, this, however, if carefully trained, they will form for themselves, but until they do so, it is impossible to make them blossom freely, the higher branches should be allowed to droop, and if growing luxuriantly, with the shoots not shortened, they will the following season, produce bunches of flowers at the end of every one, and have a very beautiful effect, no pruning should be given, except what is just enough to keep the plants within bounds, as they invariably suffer from the use of the knife. This rose is easily propagated by cuttings or layers, both of which root readily. The _China rose_ thrives almost anywhere, but is best in a soil of loam and peat, a moderate supply of water being given daily during the hot weather. They will require frequent thinning out of the branches, and are propagated by cuttings, which strike freely.[139] As before mentioned, Rose trees look well in a parterre by themselves, but a few may be dispersed along the borders of the garden. _Insects, &c._ The green, and the black plant louse are great enemies to the rose tree, and, whenever they appear, it is advisable to cut out at once the shoot attacked, the green caterpillar too, often makes skeletons of the leaves in a short time, the ladybird, as it is commonly called, is an useful insect, and worthy of encouragement, as it is a destroyer of the plant louse. * * * * * CREEPERS AND CLIMBERS The CLIMBING, and TWINING SHRUBS offer a numerous family, highly deserving of cultivation, the following being a few of the most desirable. The HONEY-SUCKLE, Caprifolium, having no native name, is too well known, and too closely connected with the home associations of all to need particularizing. It is remarkable that they always twine from east to west, and rather die than submit to a change. The TRUMPET FLOWER, Bignonia, are an eminently handsome family, chiefly considered stove plants in Europe, but here growing freely in the open ground, and flowering in loose spikes. The MOUNTAIN EBONY, Bauhinia, the distinguishing mark of the class being its two lobed leaves, most of them are indigenous, and in their native woods attain an immense size, far beyond what botanists in Europe appear to give them credit for. The VIRGIN'S BOWER, Clematis, finds some indigenous representatives in this country, although unnamed in the native language; the odour however is rather too powerful, and of some kinds even offensive, except immediately after a shower of rain. They are all climbers, requiring the same treatment as the honey suckle. The PASSION FLOWER, Passiflora, is a very large family of twining shrubs, many of them really beautiful, and generally of easy cultivation, this country being of the same temperature with their indigenous localities. The RACEMOSE ASPARAGUS, A. racemosus, _Sadabooree, sutmoolee_, is a native of India, and by nature a trailing plant, but better cultivated as a climber on a trellis, in which way its delicate setaceous foliage makes it at all times ornamental, and at the close of the rains it sends forth abundant bunches of long erect spires of greenish white color, and of delicious fragrance, shedding perfume all around to a great distance. * * * * * KALENDAR WORK TO BE PERFORMED. JANUARY. Thin out seeding annuals wherever they appear too thick. Water freely, especially such plants as are in bloom, and keep all clean from weeds. Cut off the footstalks of flowers, except such as are reserved for seed, as soon as the petals fade. Collect the seeds of early annuals as they ripen. FEBRUARY. Continue as directed in last month. Prepare stocks for roses to be grafted on, R. bengalensis, and R. canina are the best. Great care must be paid to thinning out the buds of roses to insure perfect blossoms, as well as to rubbing off the succulent upright shoots and suckers that are apt to spring up at this period. Collect seeds as they ripen, to be dried, or hardened in the shade. Collect seeds as they ripen, drying them carefully, for a few days in the pods, and subsequently when freed from them in the shade, to put them in the sun being highly injurious. Give a plentiful supply of water in saucers to Narcissus, or other bulbs when flowering. MARCH. Cut down the flower stalks of Narcissus that have ceased flowering, and lessen the supply of water. Take up the tubers of Dahlias, and dry gradually in an open place in the shade, but do not remove the offsets for some days. Pot any of the species of Geranium that have been put out after the rains, provided they are not in bloom. Give water freely to the roots of all flowers that are in blossom. Mignionette that is in blossom should have the seed pods clipped off with a pair of scissors every day to continue it. Convolvulus in flower should be shaded early in the morning, or it will quickly fade. The Evening Primrose should be freely watered to increase the number of blossoms. Look to the Carnations that are coming into bloom, give support to the flower stem, cutting off all side shoots and buds, except the one intended to give a handsome flower. APRIL. Careful watering, avoiding any wetting of the leaves is necessary at this period, and the saucers of all bulbs not yet flowered should be kept constantly full, to promote blossoming--the saucers should however be kept clean, and washed out every third day at least. Frequent weeding must be attended to, with occasional watering all grass plots, or paths. Wherever any part of the garden becomes empty by the clearing off of annuals, it should be well dug to a depth of at least eighteen inches, and after laying exposed in clods for a week or two, manured with tank or road mud; leaf mould, or other good well rotted manure. MAY. This is the time to make layers of Honeysuckle, Bauhinia, and other climbing and twining shrubs. Mignionette must be very carefully treated, kept moist, and every seed-pod clipped off as soon as the flower fades, or it will not be preserved. Continue to dig, and manure the borders, not leaving the manure exposed, or it will lose power. Make pipings and layers of Carnations. JUNE. Thin out the multitudinous buds of the Madras rose, also examine the buds of the Persian rose, to prevent the bursting of the calyx by tying with thread, or with a piece of parchment, or cardboard as directed for Carnations. Watch Carnations to prevent the bursting of the calyx, and to remove superfluous buds. Re pot Geraniums that are in sheds, or verandahs, so soon as they have done flowering, also take up, and pot any that may yet remain in the borders. Prune off also all superfluous, or straggling branches. Continue digging over and manuring the flowering borders. Sow Zinnias, also make cuttings of perennials and biennials that are propagated by that means, and put in seeds of biennials under shelter, as well as a few of the early annuals, particularly Stock and Sweet-pea. JULY. Make cuttings and layers of hardy shrubs, and of the Fragrant Olive; put in cuttings of the Willow, and some other trees. Plant out Pines, and Casuarina, Cypress, Large-leaved fig, and the Laurel tribe. Transplant young shrubs of a hardy nature. Divide the roots, and plant out suckers, or offsets of perennial border plants. Make cuttings and sow seeds of biennials, as required; also a few annuals to be hereafter transplanted. Sow also Geraniums. Continue making pipings of Carnation, plant out, or transplant hardy perennials into the borders. AUGUST. This may be considered the best time for sowing the seeds of hardy shrubs. Plant out Aralia, Canella, Magnolia, and other ornamental trees. Transplant delicate and exotic shrubs. Remove, and plant out suckers, and layers of hardy shrubs. Prune all shrubs freely. Divide, and plant out suckers, and offsets of hardy perennials, that have formed during the rains. Plant out tender perennial plants, in the borders, also biennials. Prune, and thin out perennial plants in the borders. Put out in the borders such annuals as were sown in June, protecting them from the heat of the sun in the afternoon. Sow a few early annuals. Plant out Dahlia tubers where they are intended to blossom, keeping them as much as possible in classes of colors. Make pipings of Carnations. SEPTEMBER. Prick out the cuttings of hardy shrubs that have been made before, or during the rains, in beds for growing. Prune all flowering shrubs, having due regard to the character of each, as bearing flowers on the end of the shoots, or from the side exits, give the annual dressing of manure to the entire shrubbery, with new upper soil. Remove the top soil from the borders, and renew with addition of a moderate quantity of manure. Put out Geraniums into the borders, and set rooted cuttings singly in pots. Plant out biennials in the borders, also such annuals as have been sown in pots. Re-pot and give fresh earth to plants in the shed. OCTOBER. Open out the roots of a few Bussorah roses for early flowering, pruning down all the branches to a height of six inches, removing all decayed, and superannuated wood, dividing the roots, and pruning them freely. The Madras roses should be treated in the same manner, not all at the same time, but at intervals of a week between each cutting down, so as to secure a succession for blossoming. Plant out rooted cuttings in beds, to increase in size. Sow annuals freely, and thin out those put in last month, so as to leave sufficient space for growing, at the same time transplanting the most healthy to other parts of the border. NOVEMBER. Continue opening the roots of Bussorah roses, as well as the Rose Edward, and Madras roses, for succession to those on which this operation was performed last month. Prune, and trim the Sweetbriar, and Many-flowered rose. _Flower-Garden_--Divide, and plant bulbs of all kinds, both, for border, and pot flowering. Continue to sow annuals. DECEMBER Continue opening the roots, and cutting down the branches of Bussorah, and other roses for late flowering. Prune, and thin out also the China and Persian roses, as well as the Many-flowered rose, if not done last month. Train carefully all climbing and twining shrubs. Weed beds of annuals, and thin out, where necessary. Sow Nepolitan, and other fine descriptions of Larkspur, as well as all other annuals for a late show. Dahlias are now blooming in perfection, and should be closely watched that every side-bud, or more than one on each stalk may be cut off close, with a pair of scissors to secure full, distinctly colored, and handsome flowers. [For further instructions respecting the culture of flowers in India I must refer my readers to the late Mr. Speede's works, where they will find a great deal of useful information not only respecting the flower-garden, but the kitchen-garden and the orchard.] * * * * * MISCELLANEOUS ITEMS. THE TREE-MIGNONETTE.--This plant does not appear to be a distinct variety, for the common mignonette, properly trained becomes shrubby. It may be propagated by either seed or cuttings. When it has put forth four leaves or is about an inch high, take it from the bed and put it by itself into a moderate sized pot. As it advances in growth, carefully pick off all the side shoots, leaving the leaf at the base of each shoot to assist the growth of the plant. When it has reached a foot in height it will show flower. But every flower must be nipped off carefully. Support the stem with a stick to make it grow straight. Even when it has attained its proper height of two feet again cut off the bloom for a few days. It is said that Miss Mitford, the admired authoress, was the first to discover that the common mignonette could be induced to adopt tree-like habits. The experiment has been tried in India, but it has sometimes failed from its being made at the wrong season. The seed should be sown at the end of the rains. GRAFTING.--Take care to unite exactly the inner bark of the scion with the inner bark of the stock in order to facilitate the free course of the sap. Almost any scion will take to almost any sort of tree or plant provided there be a resemblance in their barks. The Chinese are fond of making fantastic experiments in grafting and sometimes succeed in the most heterogeneous combinations, such as grafting flowers upon fruit trees. Plants growing near each other can sometimes be grafted by the roots, or on the living root of a tree cut down another tree can be grafted. The scions are those shoots which united with the stock form the graft. It is desirable that the sap of the stock should be in brisk and healthy motion at the time of grafting. The graft should be surrounded with good stiff clay with a little horse or cow manure in it and a portion of cut hay. Mix the materials with a little water and then beat them up with a stick until the compound is quite ductile. When applied it may be bandaged with a cloth. The best season for grafting in India is the rains. MANURE.--Almost any thing that rots quickly is a good manure. It is possible to manure too highly. A plant sometimes dies from too much richness of soil as well as from too barren a one. WATERING.--Keep up a regular moisture, but do not deluge your plants until the roots rot. Avoid giving very cold water in the heat of the day or in the sunshine. Even in England some gardeners in a hot summer use luke-warm water for delicate plants. But do not in your fear of overwatering only wet the surface. The earth all round and below the root should be equally moist, and not one part wet and the other dry. If the plant requires but little water, water it seldom, but let the water reach all parts of the root equally when you water at all. GATHERING AND PRESERVING FLOWERS.--Always use the knife, and prefer such as are coming into flower rather than such as are fully expanded. If possible gather from crowded plants, or parts of plants, so that every gathering may operate at the same time as a judicious pruning and thinning. Flowers may be preserved when gathered, by inserting their ends in winter, in moist earth, or moss; and may be freshened, when withered, by sprinkling them with water, and putting them in a close vessel, as under a bellglass, handglass, flowerpot or in a botanic box; if this will not do, sprinkle them with warm water heated to 80° or 90°, and cover them with a glass.--_Loudon's Encyclopaedia of Gardening_. PIPING---is a mode of propagation by cuttings and is adopted in plants having joined tubular stems, as the dianthus tribe. When the shoot has nearly done growing (soon after its blossom has fallen) its extremity is to be separated at a part of the stem where it is hard and ripe. This is done by holding the root with one hand and with the other pulling the top part above the pair of leaves so as to separate it from the root part of the stem at the socket, formed by the axillae of the leaves, leaving the stem to remain with a tubular or pipe-looking termination. The piping is inserted in finely sifted earth to the depth of the first joint or pipe and its future management regulated on the same general principles as cuttings.--_From the same_. BUDDING.--This is performed when the leaves of plants have grown to their full size and the bud is to be seen at the base of it. The relative nature of the bud and the stock is the same as in grafting. Make a slit in the bark of the stock, to reach from half an inch to an inch and a half down the stock, according to the size of the plant; then make another short slit across, that you may easily raise the bark from the wood, then take a very thin slice of the bark from the tree or plant to be budded, a little below a leaf, and bring the knife out a little above it, so that you remove the leaf and the bud at its base, with the little slice you have taken. You will perhaps have removed a small bit of the wood with the bark, which you must take carefully out with the sharp point of your knife and your thumb; then tuck the bark and bud under the bark of the stock which you carefully bind over, letting the bud come at the part where the slits cross each other. No part of the stock should be allowed to grow after it is budded, except a little shoot or so, above the bud, just to draw the sap past the bud.--_Gleenny's Hand Book of Gardening_. ON PYRAMIDS OF ROSES.--The standard Roses give a fine effect to a bed of Roses by being planted in the middle, forming a pyramidal bed, or alone on grass lawns; but the _ne plus ultra_ of a pyramid of Roses is that formed of from one, two, or three plants, forming a pyramid by being trained up three strong stakes, to any length from 10 to 25 feet high (as may suit situation or taste), placed about two feet apart at the bottom; three forming an angle on the ground, and meeting close together at the top; the plant, or plants to be planted inside the stakes. In two or three years, they will form a pyramid of Roses which baffles all description. When gardens are small, and the owners are desirous of having _multum in parvo_, three or four may be planted to form one pyramid; and this is not the only object of planting more sorts than one together, but the beauty is also much increased by the mingled hues of the varieties planted. For instance, plant together a white Boursault, a purple Noisette, a Stadtholder, Sinensis (fine pink), and a Moschata scandens and such a variety may be obtained, that twenty pyramids may have each, three or four kinds, and no two sorts alike on the whole twenty pyramids. A temple of Roses, planted in the same way, has a beautiful appearance in a flower garden--that is, eight, ten, or twelve stout peeled Larch poles, well painted, set in the ground, with a light iron rafter from each, meeting at the top and forming a dome. An old cable, or other old rope, twisted round the pillar and iron, gives an additional beauty to the whole. Then plant against the pillars with two or three varieties, each of which will soon run up the pillars, and form a pretty mass of Roses, which amply repays the trouble and expense, by the elegance it gives to the garden--_Floricultural Cabinet_. How TO MAKE ROSE WATER, &c--Take an earthen pot or jar well glazed inside, wide in the month, narrow at the bottom, about 15 inches high, and place over the mouth a strainer of clean coarse muslin, to contain a considerable quantity of rose leaves, of some highly fragrant kind. Cover them with a second strainer of the same material, and close the mouth of the jar with an iron lid, or tin cover, hermetically sealed. On this lid place hot embers, either of coal or charcoal, that the heat may reach the rose-leaves without scorching or burning them. The aromatic oil will fall drop by drop to the bottom with the water contained in the petals. When time has been allowed for extracting the whole, the embers must be removed, and the vase placed in a cool spot. Rose-water obtained in this mode is not so durable as that obtained in the regular way by a still but it serves all ordinary purposes. Small alembics of copper with a glass capital, may be used in three different ways. In the first process, the still or alembic must be mounted on a small brick furnace, and furnished with a worm long enough to pass through a pan of cold water. The petals of the rose being carefully picked so as to leave no extraneous parts, should be thrown into the boiler of the still with a little water. The great point is to keep up a moderate fire in the furnace, such as will cause the vapour to rise without imparting a burnt smell to the rose water. The operation is ended when the rose water, which falls drop by drop in the tube, ceases to be fragrant. That which is first condensed has very little scent, that which is next obtained is the best, and the third and last portion is generally a little burnt in smell, and bitter in taste. In a very small still, having no worm, the condensation must be produced by linen, wetted in cold water, applied round the capital. A third method consists in plunging the boiler of the still into a larger vessel of boiling water placed over a fire, when the rose-water never acquires the burnt flavour to which we have alluded. By another process, the still is placed in a boiler filled with sand instead of water, and heated to the necessary temperature. But this requires alteration, or it is apt to communicate a baked flavour. SYRUP OF ROSES--May be obtained from Belgian or monthly roses, picked over, one by one, and the base of the petal removed. In a China Jar prepared with a layer of powdered sugar, place a layer of rose-leaves about half an inch thick; then of sugar, then of leaves, till the vessel is full. On the top, place a fresh wooden cover, pressed down with a weight. By degrees, the rose-leaves produce a highly-coloured, highly-scented syrup; and the leaves form a colouring-matter for liqueurs. PASTILLES DU SERAIL.--Sold in France as Turkish, in rosaries and other ornaments, are made of the petals of the Belgian or Puteem Rose, ground to powder and formed into a paste by means of liquid gum. Ivory-black is mixed with the gum to produce a black colour; and cinnabar or vermilion, to render the paste either brown or red. It may be modelled by hand or in a mould, and when dried in the sun, or a moderate oven, attains sufficient hardness to be mounted in gold or silver.--_Mrs. Gore's Rose Fancier's Manual_. OF FORMING AND PRESERVING HERBARIUMS.--The most exact descriptions, accompanied with the most perfect figures, leave still something to be desired by him who wishes to know completely a natural being. This nothing can supply but the autopsy or view of the object itself. Hence the advantage of being able to see plants at pleasure, by forming dried collections of them, in what are called herbariums. A good practical botanist, Sir J.E. Smith observes, must be educated among the wild scenes of nature, while a finished theoretical one requires the additional assistance of gardens and books, to which must be superadded the frequent use of a good herbarium. When plants are well dried, the original forms and positions of even their minutest parts, though not their colours, may at any time be restored by immersion in hot water. By this means the productions of the most distant and various countries, such as no garden could possibly supply, are brought together at once under our eyes, at any season of the year. If these be assisted with drawings and descriptions, nothing less than an actual survey of the whole vegetable world in a state of nature, could excel such a store of information. With regard to the mode or state in which plants are preserved, desiccation, accompanied by pressing, is the most generally used. Some persons, Sir J.E. Smith observes, recommend the preservation of specimens in weak spirits of wine, and this mode is by far the most eligible for such as are very juicy: but it totally destroys their colours, and often renders their parts less fit for examination than by the process of drying. It is, besides, incommodious for frequent study, and a very expensive and bulky way of making an herbarium. The greater part of plants dry with facility between the leaves of books, or other paper, the smoother the better. If there be plenty of paper, they often dry best without shifting; but if the specimens are crowded, they must be taken out frequently, and the paper dried before they are replaced. The great point to be attended to is, that the process should meet with no check. Several vegetables are so tenacious of their vital principle, that they will grow between papers; the consequence of which is, a destruction of their proper habit and colors. It is necessary to destroy the life of such, either by immersion in boiling water or by the application of a hot iron, such as is used for linen, after which they are easily dried. The practice of applying such an iron, as some persons do, with great labor and perseverance, till the plants are quite dry, and all their parts incorporated into a smooth flat mass is not approved of. This renders them unfit for subsequent examination, and destroys their natural habit, the most important thing to be preserved. Even in spreading plants between papers, we should refrain from that practice and artificial disposition of their branches, leaves, and other parts, which takes away from their natural aspect, except for the purpose of displaying the internal parts of some one or two of their flowers, for ready observation. The most approved method of pressing is by a box or frame, with a bottom of cloth or leather, like a square sieve. In this, coarse sand or small shot may be placed; in any quantity very little pressing is required in drying specimens; what is found necessary should be applied equally to every part of the bundle under the operation. Hot-pressing, by means of steel net-work heated, and placed in alternate layers with the papers, in the manner of hot pressing paper, and the whole covered with the equalizing press, above described, would probably be an improvement, but we have not heard of its being tried. At all events, pressing by screw presses, or weighty non-elastic bodies, must be avoided, as tending to bruise the stalks and other protuberant parts of plants. "After all we can do," Sir J.E. Smith observes, "plants dry very variously. The blue colours of their flowers generally fade, nor are reds always permanent. Yellows are much more so, but very few white flowers retain their natural aspect. The snowdrop and parnassia, if well dried, continue white. Some greens are much more permanent than others; for there are some natural families whose leaves, as well as flowers, turn almost black by drying, as melampyrum, bartsia, and their allies, several willows, and most of the orchideae. The heaths and firs in general cast off their leaves between papers, which appears to be an effort of the living principle, for it is prevented by immersion of the fresh specimen in boiling water." The specimens being dried, are sometimes kept loose between leaves of paper; at other times wholly gummed or glued to paper, but most generally attached by one or more transverse slips of paper, glued on one end and pinned at the other, so that such specimens can readily be taken out, examined, and replaced. On account of the aptitude of the leaves and other parts of dried plants to drop off, many glue them entirely, and such seems to be the method adopted by Linnaeus, and recommended by Sir J.E. Smith. "Dried specimens," the professor observes, "are best preserved by being fastened, with weak carpenter's glue, to paper, so that they may be turned over without damage. Thick and heavy stalks require the additional support of a few transverse strips of paper, to bind them more firmly down. A half sheet, of a convenient folio size, should be allotted to each species, and all the species of a genus may be placed in one or more whole sheets or folios. On the latter outside should be written the name of the genus, while the name of every species, with its place of growth, time of gathering, the finder's name, or any other concise piece of information, may be inscribed on its appropriate paper. This is the plan of the Linnaean herbarium."--_Loudon_. THE END. FOOTNOTES. [001] Some of the finest _Florists flowers_ have been reared by the mechanics of Norwich and Manchester and by the Spitalfield's weavers. The pitmen in the counties of Durham and Northumberland reside in long rows of small houses, to each of which is attached a little garden, which they cultivate with such care and success, that they frequently bear away the prize at Floral Exhibitions. [002] Of Rail-Road travelling the reality is quite different from the idea that descriptions of it had left upon my mind. Unpoetical as this sort of transit may seem to some minds, I confess I find it excite and satisfy the imagination. The wondrous speed--the quick change of scene--the perfect comfort--the life-like character of the power in motion, the invisible, and mysterious, and mighty steam horse, urged, and guided, and checked by the hand of Science--the cautionary, long, shrill whistle--the beautiful grey vapor, the breath of the unseen animal, floating over the fields by which we pass, sometimes hanging stationary for a moment in the air, and then melting away like a vision--furnish sufficiently congenial amusement for a period-minded observer. [003] "That which peculiarly distinguishes the gardens of England," says Repton, "is the beauty of English verdure: _the grass of the mown lawn_, uniting with, the grass of the adjoining pastures, and presenting _that permanent verdure_ which is the natural consequence of our soft and humid clime, but unknown to the cold region of the North or the parching temperature of the South. This it is impossible to enjoy in Portugal where it would be as practicable to cover the general surface with the snow of Lapland as with the verdure of England." It is much the same in France. "There is everywhere in France," says Loudon, "a want _of close green turf_, of ever-green bushes and of good adhesive gravel." Some French admirers of English gardens do their best to imitate our lawns, and it is said that they sometimes partially succeed with English grass seed, rich manure, and constant irrigation. In Bengal there is a very beautiful species of grass called Doob grass, (_Panicum Dactylon_,) but it only flourishes on wide and exposed plains with few trees on them, and on the sides of public roads, Shakespeare makes Falstaff say that "the camomile the more it is trodden on the faster it grows" and, this is the case with the Doob grass. The attempt to produce a permanent Doob grass lawn is quite idle unless the ground is extensive and open, and much trodden by men or sheep. A friend of mine tells me that he covered a large lawn of the coarse Ooloo grass (_Saccharum cylindricum_) with mats, which soon killed it, and on removing the mats, the finest Doob grass sprang up in its place. But the Ooloo grass soon again over-grew the Doob. [004] I allude here chiefly to the ryots of wealthy Zemindars and to other poor Hindu people in the service of their own countrymen. All the subjects of the British Crown, even in India, are _politically free_, but individually the poorer Hindus, (especially those who reside at a distance from large towns,) are unconscious of their rights, and even the wealthier classes have rarely indeed that proud and noble feeling of personal independence which characterizes people of all classes and conditions in England. The feeling with which even a Hindu of wealth and rank approaches a man in power is very different indeed from that of the poorest Englishman under similar circumstances. But national education will soon communicate to the natives of India a larger measure of true self-respect. It will not be long, I hope, before the Hindus will understand our favorite maxim of English law, that "Every man's house is his castle,"--a maxim so finely amplified by Lord Chatham: "_The poorest man may in his cottage bid defiance to all the forces of the Crown. It may be frail--its roof may shake--the wind may blow through it--the storm may enter--but the king of England cannot enter!--all his force dares not cross the threshold of the ruined tenement_." [005] _Literary Recreations_. [006] I have in some moods preferred the paintings of our own Gainsborough even to those of Claude--and for this single reason, that the former gives a peculiar and more touching interest to his landscapes by the introduction of sweet groups of children. These lovely little figures are moreover so thoroughly English, and have such an out-of-doors air, and seem so much a part of external nature, that an Englishman who is a lover of rural scenery and a patriot, can hardly fail to be enchanted with the style of his celebrated countryman.--_Literary Recreations_. [007] Had Evelyn only composed the great work of his 'Sylva, or a Discourse of Forest Trees,' &c. his name would have excited the gratitude of posterity. The voice of the patriot exults in his dedication to Charles II, prefixed to one of the later editions:--'I need not acquaint your Majesty, how many millions of timber-trees, besides infinite others, have been propagated and planted throughout your vast dominions, at the instigation and by the sole direction of this work, because your Majesty has been pleased to own it publicly for my encouragement.' And surely while Britain retains her awful situation among the nations of Europe, the 'Sylva' of Evelyn will endure with her triumphant oaks. It was a retired philosopher who aroused the genius of the nation, and who casting a prophetic eye towards the age in which we live, has contributed to secure our sovereignty of the seas. The present navy of Great Britain has been constructed with the oaks which the genius of Evelyn planted.--_D'Israeli's Curiosities of Literature_. [008] _Crisped knots_ are figures curled or twisted, or having waving lines intersecting each other. They are sometimes planted in box. Children, even in these days, indulge their fancy in sowing mustard and cress, &c. in 'curious knots,' or in favorite names and sentences. I have done it myself, "I know not how oft,"--and alas, how long ago! But I still remember with what anxiety I watered and watched the ground, and with what rapture I at last saw the surface gradually rising and breaking on the light green heads of the delicate little new-born plants, all exactly in their proper lines or stations, like a well-drilled Lilliputian battalion. Shakespeare makes mention of garden _knots_ in his _Richard the Second_, where he compares an ill governed state to a neglected garden. Why should we, in the compass of a pale, Keep law, and form, and due proportion, Showing, as in a model, our firm estate? When our sea-walled garden, the whole land, Is full of weeds; her finest flowers choked up, Her fruit-trees all unpruned, her hedges ruined, Her _knots_ disordered, and her wholesome herbs Swarming with caterpillars. There is an allusion to garden _knots_ in _Holinshed's Chronicle_. In 1512 the Earl of Northumberland "had but one gardener who attended hourly in the garden for setting of erbis and _chipping of knottis_ and sweeping the said garden clean." [009] Ovid, in his story of Pyramus and Thisbe, tells us that the black Mulberry was originally white. The two lovers killed themselves under a white Mulberry tree and the blood penetrating to the roots of the tree mixed with the sap and gave its color to the fruit. [010] _Revived Adonis_,--for, according to tradition he died every year and revived again. _Alcinous, host of old Laertes' son_,--that is, of Ulysses, whom he entertained on his return from Troy. _Or that, not mystic_--not fabulous as the rest, but a real garden which Solomon made for his wife, the daughter of Pharoah, king of Egypt--WARBURTON "Divested of harmonious Greek and bewitching poetry," observes Horace Walpole, "the garden of Alcinous was a small orchard and vineyard with some beds of herbs and two fountains that watered them, inclosed within a quickset hedge." Lord Kames, says, still more boldly, that it was nothing but a kitchen garden. Certainly, gardening amongst the ancient Greeks, was a very simple business. It is only within the present century that it has been any where elevated into a fine art. [011] "We are unwilling to diminish or lose the credit of Paradise, or only pass it over with [the Hebrew word for] _Eden_, though the Greek be of a later name. In this excepted, we know not whether the ancient gardens do equal those of late times, or those at present in Europe. Of the gardens of Hesperides, we know nothing singular, but some golden apples. Of Alcinous his garden, we read nothing beyond figs, apples, olives; if we allow it to be any more than a fiction of Homer, unhappily placed in Corfu, where the sterility of the soil makes men believe there was no such thing at all. The gardens of Adonis were so empty that they afforded proverbial expression, and the principal part thereof was empty spaces, with herbs and flowers in pots. I think we little understand the pensile gardens of Semiramis, which made one of the wonders of it [Babylon], wherein probably the structure exceeded the plants contained in them. The excellency thereof was probably in the trees, and if the descension of the roots be equal to the height of trees, it was not [absurd] of Strebæus to think the pillars were hollow that the roots might shoot into them."--_Sir Thomas Browne.--Bohn's Edition of Sir Thomas Browne's Works, vol. 2, page_ 498. [012] The house and garden before Pope died were large enough for their owner. He was more than satisfied with them. "As Pope advanced in years," says Roscoe, "his love of gardening, and his attention to the various occupations to which it leads, seem to have increased also. This predilection was not confined to the ornamental part of this delightful pursuit, in which he has given undoubted proofs of his proficiency, but extended to the useful as well as the agreeable, as appears from several passages in his poems; but he has entered more particularly into this subject in a letter to Swift (March 25, 1736); "I wish you had any motive to see this kingdom. I could keep you: for I am rich, that is, have more than I want, I can afford room to yourself and two servants. I have indeed room enough; nothing but myself at home. The kind and hearty housewife is dead! The agreeable and instructive neighbour is gone! Yet my house is enlarged, and the gardens extend and flourish, as knowing nothing of the guests they have lost. I have more fruit trees and kitchen garden than you have any thought of; and, I have good melons and apples of my own growth. I am as much a better gardener, as I am a worse poet, than when you saw me; but gardening is near akin to philosophy, for Tully says, _Agricultura proxima sapientiae_. For God's sake, why should not you, (that are a step higher than a philosopher, a divine, yet have too much grace and wit than to be a bishop) even give all you have to the poor of Ireland (for whom you have already done every thing else,) so quit the place, and live and die with me? And let _tales anima concordes_ be our motto and our epitaph." [013] The leaves of the willow, though green above, are hoar below. Shakespeare's knowledge of the fact is alluded to by Hazlitt as one of the numberless evidences of the poet's minute observation of external nature. [014] See Mr. Loudon's most interesting and valuable work entitled _Arboretum et Fruticetum Britanicum_. [015] All the rules of gardening are reducible to three heads: the contrasts, the management of surprises and the concealment of the bounds. "Pray, what is it you mean by the contrasts?" "The disposition of the lights and shades."--"'Tis the colouring then?"--"Just that."--"Should not variety be one of the rules?"--"Certainly, one of the chief; but that is included mostly in the contrasts." I have expressed them all in two verses[140] (after my manner, in very little compass), which are in imitation of Horace's--_Omne tulit punctum. Pope.--Spence's Anecdotes_. [016] In laying out a garden, the chief thing to be considered is the genius of the place. Thus at Tiskins, for example, Lord Bathurst should have raised two or three mounts, because his situation is _all_ plain, and nothing can please without variety. _Pope--Spence's Anecdotes_. [017] The seat and gardens of the Lord Viscount Cobham, in Buckinghamshire. Pope concludes the first Epistle of his Moral Essays with a compliment to the patriotism of this nobleman. And you, brave Cobham! to the latest breath Shall feel your ruling passion strong in death: Such in those moments as in all the past "Oh, save my country, Heaven!" shall be your last. [018] Two hundred acres and two hundred millions of francs were made over to Le Notre by Louis XIV. to complete these geometrical gardens. One author tells us that in 1816 the ordinary cost of putting a certain portion of the waterworks in play was at the rate of 200 £. per hour, and another still later authority states that when the whole were set in motion once a year on some Royal fête, the cost of the half hour during which the main part of the exhibition lasted was not less than 3,000 £. This is surely a most senseless expenditure. It seems, indeed, almost incredible. I take the statements from _Loudon's_ excellent _Encyclopaedia of Gardening_. The name of one of the original reporters is Neill; the name of the other is not given. The gardens formerly were and perhaps still are full of the vilest specimens of verdant sculpture in every variety of form. Lord Kames gives a ludicrous account of the vomiting stone statues there;--"A lifeless statue of an animal pouring out water may be endured" he observes, "without much disgust: but here the lions and wolves are put in violent action; each has seized its prey, a deer or a lamb, in act to devour; and yet, as by hocus-pocus, the whole is converted into a different scene: the lion, forgetting his prey, pours out water plentifully; and the deer, forgetting its danger, performs the same work: a representation no less absurd than that in the opera, where Alexander the Great, after mounting the wall of a town besieged, turns his back to the enemy, and entertains his army with a song." [019] Broome though a writer of no great genius (if any), had yet the honor to be associated with Pope in the translation of the Odyssey. He translated the 2nd, 6th, 8th, 11th, 16th, 18th, and 23rd books. Henley (Orator Henley) sneered at Pope, in the following couplet, for receiving so much assistance: Pope came clean off with Homer, but they say, Broome went before, and kindly swept the way. Fenton was another of Pope's auxiliaries. He translated the 1st, 4th, 19th and 20th books (of the Odyssey). Pope himself translated the rest. [020] Stowe [021] The late Humphrey Repton, one of the best landscape-gardeners that England has produced, and who was for many years employed on alterations and improvements in the house and grounds at Cobham, in Kent, the seat of the Earl of Darnley, seemed to think that Stowe ought not to monopolize applause and admiration, "Whether," he said, "we consider its extent, its magnificence or its comfort, there are few places that can vie with Cobham." Repton died in 1817, and his patron and friend the Earl of Darnley put up at Cobham an inscription to his memory. The park at Cobham extends over an area of no less than 1,800 acres, diversified with thick groves and finely scattered single trees and gentle slopes and broad smooth lawns. Some of the trees are singularly beautiful and of great age and size. A chestnut tree, named the Four Sisters, is five and twenty feet in girth. The mansion, of which, the central part was built by Inigo Jones, is a very noble one. George the Fourth pronounced the music room the finest room in England. The walls are of polished white marble with pilasters of sienna marble. The picture gallery is enriched with valuable specimens of the genius of Titian and Guido and Salvator Rosa and Sir Joshua Reynolds. There is another famous estate in Kent, Knole, the seat of Dorset, the grace of courts, the Muse's pride. The Earl of Dorset, though but a poetaster himself, knew how to appreciate the higher genius of others. He loved to be surrounded by the finest spirits of his time. There is a pleasant anecdote of the company at his table agreeing to see which amongst them could produce the best impromptu. Dryden was appointed arbitrator. Dorset handed a slip of paper to Dryden, and when all the attempts were collected, Dryden decided without hesitation that Dorset's was the best. It ran thus: "_I promise to pay Mr. John Dryden, on demand, the sum of £500. Dorset_." [022] This is generally put into the mouth of Pope, but if we are to believe Spence, who is the only authority for the anecdote, it was addressed to himself. [023] It has been said that in laying out the grounds at Hagley, Lord Lyttelton received some valuable hints from the author of _The Seasons_, who was for some time his Lordship's guest. The poet has commemorated the beauties of Hagley Park in a description that is familiar to all lovers of English poetry. I must make room for a few of the concluding lines. Meantime you gain the height, from whose fair brow, The bursting prospect spreads immense around: And snatched o'er hill, and dale, and wood, and lawn, And verdant field, and darkening heath between, And villages embosomed soft in trees, And spiry towns by surging columns marked, Of household smoke, your eye excursive roams; Wide stretching from the hall, in whose kind haunt The hospitable genius lingers still, To where the broken landscape, by degrees, Ascending, roughens into rigid hills; O'er which the Cambrian mountains, like far clouds, That skirt the blue horizon, dusky rise. It certainly does not look as if there had been any want of kindly feeling towards Shenstone on the part of Lyttelton when we find the following inscription in Hagley Park. To the memory of William Shenstone, Esquire, In whose verse Were all the natural graces. And in whose manners Was all the amiable simplicity Of pastoral poetry, With the sweet tenderness Of the elegiac. There is also at Hagley a complimentary inscription on an urn to Alexander Pope; and, on an octagonal building called _Thomson's Seat_, there is an inscription to the author of _The Seasons_. Hagley is kept up with great care and is still in possession of the descendants of the founder. But a late visitor (Mr. George Dodd) expresses a doubt whether the Leasowes, even in its comparative decay, is not a finer bit of landscape, a more delightful place to lose one-self in, than even its larger and better preserved neighbour. [024] Coleridge is reported to have said--"There is in Crabbe an absolute defect of high imagination; he gives me little pleasure. Yet no doubt he has much power of a certain kind, and it is good to cultivate, even at some pains, a catholic taste in literature." Walter Savage Landor, in his "Imaginary Conversations," makes Porson say--"Crabbe wrote with a two-penny nail and scratched rough truths and rogues' facts on mud walls." Horace Smith represents Crabbe, as "Pope in worsted stockings." That there is merit of some sort or other, and that of no ordinary kind, in Crabbe's poems, is what no one will deny. They relieved the languor of the last days of two great men, of very different characters--Sir Walter Scott and Charles James Fox. [025] The poet had a cottage and garden in Kew-foot-Lane at or near Richmond. In the alcove in the garden is a small table made of the wood of the walnut tree. There is a drawer to the table which in all probability often received charge of the poet's effusions hot from the brain. On a brass tablet inserted in the top of the table is this inscription--"_This table was the property of James Thomson, and always stood in this seat._" [026] Shene or Sheen: the old name of Richmond, signifying in Saxon _shining_ or _splendour_. [027] Highgate and Hamstead. [028] In his last sickness [029] On looking back at page 36 I find that I have said in the foot note that it is only within _the present century_ that gardening has been elevated into _a fine art_. I did not mean within the 55 years of this 19th century, but _within a hundred years_. Even this, however, was an inadvertency. We may go a little further back. Kent and Pope lived to see Landscape-Gardening considered a fine art. Before their time there were many good practical gardeners, but the poetry of the art was not then much regarded except by a very few individuals of more than ordinary refinement. [030] Catherine the Second grossly disgraced herself as a woman--partly driven into misconduct herself by the behaviour of her husband--but as a sovereign it cannot be denied that she exhibited a penetrating sagacity and great munificence; and perhaps the lovers of literature and science should treat her memory with a little consideration. When Diderot was in distress and advertized his library for sale, the Empress sent him an order on a banker at Paris for the amount demanded, namely fifteen thousand livres, on condition that the library was to be left as a deposit with the owner, and that he was to accept a gratuity of one thousand livres annually for taking charge of the books, until the Empress should require them. This was indeed a delicate and ingenious kindness. Lord Brougham makes D'Alembert and not Diderot the subject of this anecdote. It is a mistake. See the Correspondence of Baron de Gumm and Diderot with the Duke of Saxe-Gotha. Many of the Russian nobles keep up to this day the taste in gardening introduced by Catherine the Second, and have still many gardens laid out in the English style. They have often had in their employ both English and Scottish gardeners. There is an anecdote of a Scotch gardener in the Crimea in one of the public journals:-- "Our readers"--says the _Banffshire Journal_--"will recollect that when the Allies made a brief expedition to Yalto, in the south of the Crimea, they were somewhat surprised and gratified by the sight of some splendid gardens around a seat of Prince Woronzow. Little did our countrymen think that these gardens were the work of a Scotchman, and a Moray loon; yet such was the case." The history of the personage in question is a somewhat singular one: "Jamie Sinclair, the garden boy, had a natural genius, and played the violin. Lady Cumming had this boy educated by the family tutor, and sent him to London, where he was well known in 1836-7-8, for his skill in drawing and colouring. Mr. Knight, of the Exotic Nursery, for whom he used to draw orchids and new plants, sent him to the Crimea, to Prince Woronzow, where he practised for thirteen years. He had laid out these beautiful gardens which the allies the other day so much admired; had the care of 10,000 acres of vineyards belonging to the prince; was well known to the Czar, who often consulted him about improvements, and gave him a "medal of merit" and a diploma or passport, by which he was free to pass from one end of the empire to the other, and also through Austria and Prussia, I have seen these instruments. He returned to London in 1851, and was just engaged with a London publisher for a three years' job, when Menschikoff found the Turks too hot for him last April twelve-month; the Russians then made up for blows, and Mr. Sinclair was more dangerous for them in London than Lord Aberdeen. He was the only foreigner who was ever allowed to see all that was done in and out of Sebastopol, and over all the Crimea. The Czar, however, took care that Sinclair could not join the allies; but where he is and what he is about I must not tell, until the war is over--except that he is not in Russia, and that he will never play first fiddle again in Morayshire." [031] Brown succeeded to the popularity of Kent. He was nicknamed, _Capability Brown_, because when he had to examine grounds previous to proposed alterations and improvements he talked much of their _capabilities_. One of the works which are said to do his memory most honor, is the Park of Nuneham, the seat of Lord Harcourt. The grounds extend to 1,200 acres. Horace Walpole said that they contained scenes worthy of the bold pencil of Rubens, and subjects for the tranquil sunshine of Claude de Lorraine. The following inscription is placed over the entrance to the gardens. Here universal Pan, Knit with the Graces and the Hours in dance, Leads on the eternal Spring. It is said that the _gardens_ at Nuneham were laid out by Mason, the poet. [032] Mrs. Stowe visited the Jardin Mabille in the Champs Elysées, a sort of French Vauxhall, where small jets of gas were so arranged as to imitate "flowers of the softest tints and the most perfect shape." [033] Napoleon, it is said, once conceived the plan of roofing with glass the gardens of the Tuileries, so that they might be used as a winter promenade. [034] Addison in the 477th number of the _Spectator_ in alluding to Kensington Gardens, observes; "I think there are as many kinds of gardening as poetry; our makers of parterres and flower gardens are epigrammatists and sonnetteers in the art; contrivers of bowers and grottos, treillages and cascades, are romance writers. Wise and London are our heroic poets; and if I may single out any passage of their works to commend I shall take notice of that part in the upper garden at Kensington, which was at first nothing but a gravel pit. It must have been a fine genius for gardening that could have thought of forming such an unsightly hollow unto so beautiful an area and to have hit the eye with so uncommon and agreeable a scene as that which it is now wrought into." [035] Lord Bathurst, says London, informed Daines Barrington, that _he_ (Lord Bathurst) was the first who deviated from the straight line in sheets of water by following the lines in a valley in widening a brook at Ryskins, near Colnbrook; and Lord Strafford, thinking that it was done from poverty or economy asked him to own fairly how little more it would have cost him to have made it straight. In these days no possessor of a park or garden has the water on his grounds either straight or square if he can make it resemble the Thames as described by Wordsworth: The river wanders at its own sweet will. Horace Walpole in his lively and pleasant little work on Modern Gardening almost anticipates this thought. In commending Kent's style of landscape-gardening he observes: "_The gentle stream was taught to serpentize at its pleasure."_ [036] This Palm-house, "the glory of the gardens," occupies an area of 362 ft. in length; the centre is an hundred ft. in width and 66 ft. in height. It must charm a Native of the East on a visit to our country, to behold such carefully cultured specimens, in a great glass-case in England, of the trees called by Linnaeus "the Princes of the vegetable kingdom," and which grow so wildly and in such abundance in every corner of Hindustan. In this conservatory also are the banana and plantain. The people of England are in these days acquainted, by touch and sight, with almost all the trees that grow in the several quarters of the world. Our artists can now take sketches of foreign plants without crossing the seas. An allusion to the Palm tree recals some criticisms on Shakespeare's botanical knowledge. "Look here," says _Rosalind_, "what I found on a palm tree." "A palm tree in the forest of Arden," remarks Steevens, "is as much out of place as a lioness in the subsequent scene." Collier tries to get rid of the difficulty by suggesting that Shakespeare may have written _plane tree_. "Both the remark and the suggestion," observes Miss Baker, "might have been spared if those gentlemen had been aware that in the counties bordering on the Forest of Arden, the name of an exotic tree is transferred to an indigenous one." The _salix caprea_, or goat-willow, is popularly known as the "palm" in Northamptonshire, no doubt from having been used for the decoration of churches on Palm Sunday--its graceful yellow blossoms, appearing at a time when few other trees have put forth a leaf, having won for it that distinction. Clare so calls it:-- "Ye leaning palms, that seem to look Pleased o'er your image in the brook." That Shakespeare included the willow in his forest scenery is certain, from another passage in the same play:-- "West of this place, down in the neighbour bottom. The _rank of osiers_ by the murmuring stream, Left on your right hand brings you to the place." The customs and amusements of Northamptonshire, which are frequently noticed in these volumes, were identical with those of the neighbouring county of Warwick, and, in like manner illustrate very clearly many passages in the great dramatist.--_Miss Baker's "Glossary of Northamptonshire Words." (Quoted by the London Athenaeum_.) [037] Mrs. Hemans once took up her abode for some weeks with Wordsworth at Rydal Mount, and was so charmed with the country around, that she was induced to take a cottage called _Dove's Nest_, which over-looked the lake of Windermere. But tourists and idlers so haunted her retreat and so worried her for autographs and Album contributions, that she was obliged to make her escape. Her little cottage and garden in the village of Wavertree, near Liverpool, seem to have met the fate which has befallen so many of the residences of the poets. "Mrs. Hemans's little flower-garden" (says a late visitor) "was no more--but rank grass and weeds sprang up luxuriously; many of the windows were broken; the entrance gate was off its hinges: the vine in front of the house trailed along the ground, and a board, with '_This house to let_' upon it, was nailed on the door. I entered the deserted garden and looked into the little parlour--once so full of taste and elegance; it was gloomy and cheerless. The paper was spotted with damp, and spiders had built their webs in the corner. As I mused on the uncertainty of human life, I exclaimed with the eloquent Burke,--'What shadows we are, and what shadows we pursue!'" The beautiful grounds of the late Professor Wilson at Elleray, we are told by Mr. Howitt in his interesting "_Homes and Haunts of the British Poets_" have also been sadly changed. "Steam," he says, "as little as time, has respected the sanctity of the poet's home, but has drawn its roaring iron steeds opposite to its gate and has menaced to rush through it and lay waste its charmed solitude. In plain words, I saw the stages of a projected railway running in an ominous line across the very lawn and before the windows of Elleray." I believe the whole place has been purchased by a Railway Company. [038] In Churton's _Rail Book of England_, published about three years ago, Pope's Villa is thus noticed--"Not only was this temple of the Muses--this abode of genius--the resort of the learned and the wittiest of the land--levelled to the earth, but all that the earth produced to remind posterity of its illustrious owner, and identify the dead with the living strains he has bequeathed to us, was plucked up by the roots and scattered to the wind." On the authority of William Hewitt I have stated on an earlier page that some splendid Spanish chesnut trees and some elms and cedars planted by Pope at Twickenham were still in existence. But Churton is a later authority. Howitt's book was published in 1847. [039] _One would have thought &c._ See the garden of Armida, as described by Tasso, C. xvi. 9, &c. "In lieto aspetto il bel giardin s'aperse &c." Here was all that variety, which constitutes the nature of beauty: hill and dale, lawns and crystal rivers, &c. "And, that which all faire works doth most aggrace, "The art, which all that wrought, appearéd in no place." Which is literally from Tasso, C, xvi 9. "E quel, che'l bello, e'l caro accresce à l'opre, "L'arte, che tutto fa, nulla si scopre." The next stanza is likewise translated from Tasso, C. xvi 10. And, if the reader likes the comparing of the copy with the original, he may see many other beauties borrowed from the Italian poet. The fountain, and the two bathing damsels, are taken from Tasso, C. xv, st. 55, &c. which he calls, _Il fonte del riso_. UPTON. [040] Cowper was evidently here thinking rather of Milton than of Homer. _Flowers of all hue_, and without thorns the rose. _Paradise Lost_. Pope translates the passage thus; Beds of all various _herbs_, for ever green, In beauteous order terminate the scene. Homer referred to pot-herbs, not to flowers of all hues. Cowper is generally more faithful than Pope, but he is less so in this instance. In the above description we have Homer's highest conception of a princely garden:--in five acres were included an orchard, a vineyard, and some beds of pot-herbs. Not a single flower is mentioned, by the original author, though his translator has been pleased to steal some from the garden of Eden and place them on "the verge extreme" of the four acres. Homer of course meant to attach to a Royal residence as Royal a garden; but as Bacon says, "men begin to build stately sooner than to garden finely, as if gardening were the greater perfection." The mansion of Alcinous was of brazen walls with golden columns; and the Greeks and Romans had houses that were models of architecture when their gardens exhibited no traces whatever of the hand of taste. [041] _And over him, art stryving to compayre With nature, did an arber greene dispied_ This whole episode is taken from Tasso, C. 16, where Rinaldo is described in dalliance with Armida. The bower of bliss is her garden "Stimi (si misto il culto e col negletto) "Sol naturali e gli ornamenti e i siti, "Di natura arte par, che per diletto "L'imitatrice sua scherzando imiti." See also Ovid, _Met_ iii. 157 "Cujus in extremo est antrum nemorale necessu, "Arte laboratum nulla, simulaverat artem "Ingenio natura fuo nam pumice vivo, "Et lenibus tophis nativum duxerat arcum "Fons sonat a dextra, tenui perlucidas unda "Margine gramineo patulos incinctus hiatus" UPTON If this passage may be compared with Tasso's elegant description of Armida's garden, Milton's _pleasant grove_ may vie with both.[141] He is, however, under obligations to the sylvan scene of Spenser before us. Mr. J.C. Walker, to whom the literature of Ireland and of Italy is highly indebted, has mentioned to me his surprise that the writers on modern gardening should have overlooked the beautiful pastoral description in this and the two following stanzas.[142] It is worthy a place, he adds, in the Eden of Milton. Spenser, on this occasion, lost sight of the "trim gardens" of Italy and England, and drew from the treasures of his own rich imagination. TODD. _And fast beside these trickled softly downe. A gentle stream, &c._ Compare the following stanza in the continuation of the _Orlando Innamorato_, by Nilcolo degli Agostinti, Lib. iv, C. 9. "Ivi è un mormorio assai soave, e basso, Che ogniun che l'ode lo fa addornientare, L'acqua, ch'io dissi gia per entro un sasso E parea che dicesse nel sonare. Vatti riposa, ormai sei stanco, e lasso, E gli augeletti, che s'udian cantare, Ne la dolce armonia par che ogn'un dica, Deh vien, e dormi ne la piaggia, aprica," Spenser's obligations to this poem seem to have escaped the notice of his commentators. J.C. WALKER. [042] The oak was dedicated to Jupiter, and the poplar to Hercules. [043] _Sicker_, surely; Chaucer spells it _siker_. [044] _Yode_, went. [045] _Tabreret_, a tabourer. [046] _Tho_, then [047] _Attone_, at once--with him. [048] Cato being present on one occasion at the floral games, the people out of respect to him, forbore to call for the usual exposures; when informed of this he withdrew, that the spectators might not be deprived of their usual entertainment. [049] What is the reason that an easterly wind is every where unwholesome and disagreeable? I am not sufficiently scientific to answer this question. Pope takes care to notice the fitness of the easterly wind for the _Cave of Spleen_. No cheerful breeze this sullen region knows, The dreaded east is all the wind that blows. _Rape of the Lock_. [050] One sweet scene of early pleasures in my native land I have commemorated in the following sonnet:-- NETLEY ABBEY. Romantic ruin! who could gaze on thee Untouched by tender thoughts, and glimmering dreams Of long-departed years? Lo! nature seems Accordant with thy silent majesty! The far blue hills--the smooth reposing sea-- The lonely forest--the meandering streams-- The farewell summer sun, whose mellowed beams Illume thine ivied halls, and tinge each tree, Whose green arms round thee cling--the balmy air-- The stainless vault above, that cloud or storm 'Tis hard to deem will ever more deform-- The season's countless graces,--all appear To thy calm glory ministrant, and form A scene to peace and meditation dear! D.L.R. [051] "I was ever more disposed," says Hume, "to see the favourable than the unfavourable side of things; _a turn of mind which it is more happy to possess, than to be born to an estate of ten thousand a year_." [052] So called, because the grounds were laid out in a tasteful style, under the direction of Lord Auckland's sister, the Honorable Miss Eden. [053] _Songs of the East by Mrs. W.S. Carshore. D'Rozario & Co, Calcutta_ 1854. [054] The lines form a portion of a poem published in _Literary Leaves_ in the year 1840. [055] Perhaps some formal or fashionable wiseacres may pronounce such simple ceremonies _vulgar_. And such is the advance of civilization that even the very chimney-sweepers themselves begin to look upon their old May-day merry-makings as beneath the dignity of their profession. "Suppose now" said Mr. Jonas Hanway to a sooty little urchin, "I were to give you a shilling." "Lord Almighty bless your honor, and thank you." "And what if I were to give you a fine tie-wig to wear on May-day?" "Ah! bless your honor, my master wont let me go out on May-day," "Why not?" "Because, he says, _it's low life_." And yet the merrie makings on May-day which are now deemed _ungenteel_ by chimney-sweepers were once the delight of Princes:-- Forth goth all the court, both most and least, To fetch the flowres fresh, and branch and blome, And namely hawthorn brought both page and grome, And then rejoicing in their great delite Eke ech at others threw the flowres bright, The primrose, violet, and the gold With fresh garlants party blue and white. _Chaucer_. [056] The May-pole was usually decorated with the flowers of the hawthorn, a plant as emblematical of the spring as the holly is of Christmas. Goldsmith has made its name familiar even to the people of Bengal, for almost every student in the upper classes of the Government Colleges has the following couplet by heart. The _hawthorn bush_, with seats beneath the shade, For talking age and whispering lovers made. The hawthorn was amongst Burns's floral pets. "I have," says he, "some favorite flowers in spring, among which are, the mountain daisy, the harebell, the fox-glove, the wild-briar rose, the budding birch and the hoary hawthorn, that I view and hang over with particular delight." L.E.L. speaks of the hawthorn hedge on which "the sweet May has showered its white luxuriance," and the Rev. George Croly has a patriotic allusion to this English plant, suggested by a landscape in France. 'Tis a rich scene, and yet the richest charm That e'er clothed earth in beauty, lives not here. Winds no green fence around the cultured farm _No blossomed hawthorn shields the cottage dear_: The land is bright; and yet to thine how drear, Unrivalled England! Well the thought may pine For those sweet fields where, each a little sphere, In shaded, sacred fruitfulness doth shine, And the heart higher beats that says; 'This spot is mine.' [057] On May-day, the Ancient Romans used to go in procession to the grotto of Egeria. [058] See what is said of palms in a note on page 81. [059] Phillips's _Flora Historica_. [060] The word primrose is supposed to be a compound of _prime_ and _rose_, and Spenser spells it prime rose The pride and prime rose of the rest Made by the maker's self to be admired The Rev. George Croly characterizes Bengal as a mountainous country-- There's glory on thy _mountains_, proud Bengal-- and Dr. Johnson in his _Journey of a day_, (Rambler No. 65) charms the traveller in Hindustan with a sight of the primrose and the oak. "As he passed along, his ears were delighted with the morning song of the bird of paradise; he was fanned by the last flutters of the sinking breeze, and sprinkled with dew by groves of spices, he sometimes contemplated the towering height of the oak, monarch of the hills; and sometimes caught the gentle fragrance of the primrose, eldest daughter of the spring." In some book of travels, I forget which, the writer states, that he had seen the primrose in Mysore and in the recesses of the Pyrenees. There is a flower sold by the Bengallee gardeners for the primrose, though it bears but small resemblance to the English flower of that name. On turning to Mr. Piddington's Index to the Plants of India I find under the head of _Primula_--Primula denticula--Stuartii--rotundifolia--with the names in the Mawar or Nepaulese dialect. [061] In strewing their graves the Romans affected the rose; the Greeks amaranthus and myrtle: the funeral pyre consisted of sweet fuel, cypress, fir, larix, yew, and trees perpetually verdant lay silent expressions of their surviving hopes. _Sir Thomas Browne_. [062] The allusion to the cowslip in Shakespeare's description of Imogene must not be passed over here.-- On her left breast A mole cinque-spotted, like the crimson drop I' the bottom of the cowslip. [063] The Guelder rose--This elegant plant is a native of Britain, and when in flower, has at first sight, the appearance of a little maple tree that has been pelted with snow balls, and we almost fear to see them melt away in the warm sunshine--_Glenny_. [064] In a greenhouse [065] Some flowers have always been made to a certain degree emblematical of sentiment in England as elsewhere, but it was the Turks who substituted flowers for words to such an extent as to entitle themselves to be regarded as the inventors of the floral language. [066] The floral or vegetable language is not always the language of love or compliment. It is sometimes severe and scornful. A gentleman sent a lady a rose as a declaration of his passion and a slip of paper attached, with the inscription--"If not accepted, I am off to the war." The lady forwarded in return a mango (man, go!) [067] No part of the creation supposed to be insentient, exhibits to an imaginative observer such an aspect of spiritual life and such an apparent sympathy with other living things as flowers, shrubs and trees. A tree of the genus Mimosa, according to Niebuhr, bends its branches downward as if in hospitable salutation when any one approaches near to it. The Arabs, are on this account so fond of the "courteous tree" that the injuring or cutting of it down is strictly prohibited. [068] It has been observed that the defense is supplied in the following line--_want of sense_--a stupidity that "errs in ignorance and not in cunning." [069] There is apparently so much doubt and confusion is to the identity of the true Hyacinth, and the proper application of its several names that I shall here give a few extracts from other writers on this subject. Some authors suppose the Red Martagon Lily to be the poetical Hyacinth of the ancients, but this is evidently a mistaken opinion, as the azure blue color alone would decide and Pliny describes the Hyacinth as having a sword grass and the smell of the grape flower, which agrees with the Hyacinth, but not with the Martagon. Again, Homer mentions it with fragrant flowers of the same season of the Hyacinth. The poets also notice the hyacinth under different colours, and every body knows that the hyacinth flowers with sapphire colored purple, crimson, flesh and white bells, but a blue martagon will be sought for in vain. _Phillips' Flora Historica_. A doubt hangs over the poetical history of the modern, as well as of the ancient flower, owing to the appellation _Harebell_ being, indiscriminately applied both to _Scilla_ wild Hyacinth, and also to _Campanula rotundifolia, Blue Bell_. Though the Southern bards have occasionally misapplied the word _Harebell_ it will facilitate our understanding which flower is meant if we bear in mind as a general rule that that name is applied differently in various parts of the island, thus the Harebell of Scottish writers is the _Campanula_, and the Bluebell, so celebrated in Scottish song, is the wild Hyacinth or _Scilla_ while in England the same names are used conversely, the _Campanula_ being the Bluebell and the wild Hyacinth the Harebell. _Eden Warwick_. The Hyacinth of the ancient fabulists appears to have been the corn-flag, (_Gladiolus communis_ of botanists) but the name was applied vaguely and had been early applied to the great larkspur (Delphinium Ajacis) on account of the similar spots on the petals, supposed to represent the Greek exclamation of grief _Ai Ai_, and to the hyacinth of modern times. Our wild hyacinth, which contributes so much to the beauty of our woodland scenery during the spring, may be regarded as a transition species between scilla and hyacinthus, the form and drooping habit of its flower connecting it with the latter, while the six pieces that form the two outer circles, being separate to the base, give it the technical character of the former. It is still called _Hyacinthus non-scriptus_--but as the true hyacinth equally wants the inscription, the name is singularly inappropriate. The botanical name of the hyacinth is _Hyacinthus orientalis_ which applies equally to all the varieties of colour, size and fulness.--_W. Hinks_. [070] Old Gerard calls it Blew Harebel or English _Jacint_, from the French _Jacinthe_. [071] Inhabitants of the Island of Chios [072] Supposed by some to be Delphinium Ajacis or Larkspur. But no one can discover any letters on the Larkspur. [073] Some _savants_ say that it was not the _sunflower_ into which the lovelorn lass was transformed, but the _Heliotrope_ with its sweet odour of vanilla. Heliotrope signifies _I turn towards the sun_. It could not have been the sun flower, according to some authors because that came from Peru and Peru was not known to Ovid. But it is difficult to settle this grave question. As all flowers turn towards the sun, we cannot fix on any one that is particularly entitled to notice on that account. [074] Zephyrus. [075] "A remarkably intelligent young botanist of our acquaintance asserts it as his firm conviction that many a young lady who would shrink from being kissed under the mistletoe would not have the same objection to that ceremony if performed _under the rose_."--_Punch_. [076] Mary Howitt mentions that amongst the private cultivators of roses in the neighbourhood of London, the well-known publisher Mr. Henry S. Bohn is particularly distinguished. In his garden at Twickenham one thousand varieties of the rose are brought to great perfection. He gives a sort of floral fete to his friends in the height of the rose season. [077] The learned dry the flower of the Forget me not and flatten it down in their herbals, and call it, _Myosotis Scorpioides--Scorpion shaped mouse's ear_! They have been reproached for this by a brother savant, Charles Nodier, who was not a learned man only but a man of wit and sense.--_Alphonse Karr_. [078] The Abbé Molina in his History of Chili mentions a species of basil which he calls _ocymum salinum_: he says it resembles the common basil, except that the stalk is round and jointed; and that though it grows sixty miles from the sea, yet every morning it is covered with saline globules, which are hard and splendid, appearing at a distance like dew; and that each plant furnishes about an ounce of fine salt every day, which the peasants collect and use as common salt, but esteem it superior in flavour.--_Notes to Darwin's Loves of the Plants_. [079] The Dutch are a strange people and of the most heterogeneous composition. They have an odd mixture in their nature of the coldest utilitarianism and the most extravagant romance. A curious illustration of this is furnished in their tulipomania, in which there was a struggle between the love of the substantial and the love of the beautiful. One of their authors enumerates the following articles as equivalent in money value to the price of one tulip root--"two lasts of wheat--four lasts of rye--four fat oxen--eight fat swine--twelve fat sheep--two hogsheads of wine--four tons of butter--one thousand pounds of cheese--a complete bed--a suit of clothes--and a silver drinking cup." [080] _Maun_, must [081] _Stoure_, dust [082] _Weet_, wetness, rain [083] _Glinted_, peeped [084] _Wa's_, walls. [085] _Bield_, shelter [086] _Histie_, dry [087] _Stibble field_, a field covered with stubble--the stalks of corn left by the reaper. [088] _The origin of the Daisy_--When Christ was three years old his mother wished to twine him a birthday wreath. But as no flower was growing out of doors on Christmas eve, not in all the promised land, and as no made up flowers were to be bought, Mary resolved to prepare a flower herself. To this end she took a piece of bright yellow silk which had come down to her from David, and ran into the same, thick threads of white silk, thread by thread, and while thus engaged, she pricked her finger with the needle, and the pure blood stained some of the threads with crimson, whereat the little child was much affected. But when the winter was past and the rains were come and gone, and when spring came to strew the earth with flowers, and the fig tree began to put forth her green figs and the vine her buds, and when the voice or the turtle was heard in the land, then came Christ and took the tender plant with its single stem and egg shaped leaves and the flower with its golden centre and rays of white and red, and planted it in the vale of Nazareth. Then, taking up the cup of gold which had been presented to him by the wise men of the East, he filled it at a neighbouring fountain, and watered the flower and breathed upon it. And the plant grew and became the most perfect of plants, and it flowers in every meadow, when the snow disappears, and is itself the snow of spring, delighting the young heart and enticing the old men from the village to the fields. From then until now this flower has continued to bloom and although it may be plucked a hundred times, again it blossoms--_Colshorn's Deutsche Mythologie furs Deutsche Volk_. [089] The Gorse is a low bush with prickly leaves growing like a juniper. The contrast of its very brilliant yellow pea shaped blossoms with the dark green of its leaves is very beautiful. It grows in hedges and on commons and is thought rather a plebeian affair. I think it would make quite an addition to our garden shrubbery. Possibly it might make as much sensation with us (Americans) as our mullein does in foreign green-houses,--_Mrs. Stowe_. [090] George Town. [091] The hill trumpeter. [092] Nutmeg and Clove plantations. [093] Leigh Hunt, in the dedication of his _Stories in Verse_ to the Duke of Devonshire speaks of his Grace as "the adorner of the country with beautiful gardens, and with the far-fetched botany of other climates; one of whom it may be said without exaggeration and even without a metaphor, that his footsteps may be traced in flowers." [094] The following account of a newly discovered flower may be interesting to my readers. "It is about the size of a walnut, perfectly white, with fine leaves, resembling very much the wax plant. Upon the blooming of the flower, in the cup formed by the leaves, is the exact image of a dove lying on its back with its wings extended. The peak of the bill and the eyes are plainly to be seen and a small leaf before the flower arrives at maturity forms the outspread tail. The leaf can be raised or shut down with the finger without breaking or apparently injuring it until the flower reaches its bloom, when it drops,"--_Panama Star_. [095] Signifying the _dew of the sea_. The rosemary grows best near the sea-shore, and when the wind is off the land it delights the home-returning voyager with its familiar fragrance. [096] Perhaps it is not known to _all_ my readers that some flowers not only brighten the earth by day with their lovely faces, but emit light at dusk. In a note to Darwin's _Loves of the Plants_ it is stated that the daughter of Linnaeus first observed the Nasturtium to throw out flashes of light in the morning before sunrise, and also during the evening twilight, but not after total darkness came on. The philosophers considered these flashes to be electric. Mr. Haggren, Professor of Natural History, perceived one evening a faint flash of light repeatedly darted from a marigold. The flash was afterwards often seen by him on the same flower two or three times, in quick succession, but more commonly at intervals of some minutes. The light has been observed also on the orange, the lily, the monks hood, the yellow goats beard and the sun flower. This effect has sometimes been so striking that the flowers have looked as if they were illuminated for a holiday. Lady Blessington has a fanciful allusion to this flower light. "Some flowers," she says, "absorb the rays of the sun so strongly that in the evening they yield slight phosphoric flashes, may we not compare the minds of poets to those flowers which imbibing light emit it again in a different form and aspect?" [097] The Shan and other Poems [098] My Hindu friend is not answerable for the following notes. [099] And infants winged, who mirthful throw Shafts rose-tipped from nectareous bow. Kam Déva, the Cupid of the Hindu Mythology, is thus represented. His bow is of the sugar cane, his string is formed of wild bees, and his arrows are tipped with the rose.--_Tales of the Forest_. [100] In 1811 this plant was subjected to a regular set of experiments by Dr. G. Playfair, who, with many of his brethren, bears ample testimony of its efficacy in leprosy, lues, tenia, herpes, dropsy, rheumatism, hectic and intermittent fever. The powdered bark is given in doses of 5-6 grains twice a day.--_Dr. Voight's Hortus Suburbanus Calcuttensis_. [101] It is perhaps of the Flax tribe. Mr. Piddington gives it the Sanscrit name of _Atasi_ and the Botanical name _Linum usitatissimum_. [102] Roxburgh calls it "intensely fragrant." [103] Sometimes employed by robbers to deprive their victims of the power of resistance. In a strong dose it is poison. [104] It is said to be used by the Chinese to blacken their eyebrows and their shoes. [105] _Mirábilis jálapa_, or Marvel of Peru, is called by the country people in England _the four o'clock flower_, from its opening regularly at that time. There is a species of broom in America which is called the American clock, because it exhibits its golden flowers every morning at eleven, is fully open by one and closes again at two. [106] Marvell died in 1678; Linnaeus died just a hundred years later. [107] This poem (_The Sugar Cane_) when read in manuscript at Sir Joshua Reynolds's, had made all the assembled wits burst into a laugh, when after much blank-verse pomp the poet began a paragraph thus.-- "Now, Muse, let's sing of rats." And what increased the ridicule was, that one of the company who slyly overlooked the reader, perceived that the word had been originally _mice_ and had been altered to _rats_ as more dignified.--_Boswell's Life of Johnson_. [108] Hazlitt has a pleasant essay on a garden _Sun-dial_, from which I take the following passage:-- _Horas non numero nisi serenas_--is the motto of a sun dial near Venice. There is a softness and a harmony in the words and in the thought unparalleled. Of all conceits it is surely the most classical. "I count only the hours that are serene." What a bland and care-dispelling feeling! How the shadows seem to fade on the dial plate as the sky looms, and time presents only a blank unless as its progress is marked by what is joyous, and all that is not happy sinks into oblivion! What a fine lesson is conveyed to the mind--to take no note of time but by its benefits, to watch only for the smiles and neglect the frowns of fate, to compose our lives of bright and gentle moments, turning always to the sunny side of things, and letting the rest slip from our imaginations, unheeded or forgotten! How different from the common art of self tormenting! For myself, as I rode along the Brenta, while the sun shone hot upon its sluggish, slimy waves, my sensations were far from comfortable, but the reading this inscription on the side of a glaring wall in an instant restored me to myself, and still, whenever I think of or repeat it, it has the power of wafting me into the region of pure and blissful abstraction. [109] These are the initial letters of the Latin names of the plants, they will be found at length on the lower column. [110] Hampton Court was laid out by Cardinal Wolsey. The labyrinth, one of the best which remains in England, occupies only a quarter of an acre, and contains nearly a mile of winding walks. There is an adjacent stand, on which the gardener places himself, to extricate the adventuring stranger by his directions. Switzer condemns this plan for having only four stops and gives a plan for one with twenty.--_Loudon_. [111] The lower part of Bengal, not far from Calcutta, is here described [112] Sir William Jones states that the Brahmins believe that the _blue_ champac flowers only in Paradise, it being yellow every where else. [113] The wild dog of Bengal [114] The elephant. [115] Even Jeremy Bentham, the great Utilitarian Philosopher, who pronounced the composition and perusal of poetry a mere amusement of no higher rank than the game of Pushpin, had still something of the common feeling of the poetry of nature in his soul. He says of himself--"_I was passionately fond of flowers from my youth, and the passion has never left me._" In praise of botany he would sometimes observe, "_We cannot propagate stones_:" meaning that the mineralogist cannot circulate his treasures without injuring himself, but the botanist can multiply his specimens at will and add to the pleasures of others without lessening his own. [116] A man of a polite imagination is let into a great many pleasures that the vulgar are not capable of receiving. He can converse with a picture and find an agreeable companion in a statue. He meets with a secret refreshment in a description, _and often feels a greater satisfaction in the prospect of fields and meadows, than another does in the possession_.--_Spectator_. [117] Kent died in 1748 in the 64th year of his age. As a painter he had no great merit, but many men of genius amongst his contemporaries had the highest opinion of his skill as a Landscape-gardener. He sometimes, however, carried his love of the purely natural to a fantastic excess, as when in Kensington-garden he planted dead trees to give an air of wild truth to the landscape. In Esher's peaceful grove, Where Kent and nature strove for Pelham's love, this landscape-gardener is said to have exhibited a very remarkable degree of taste and judgment. I cannot resist the temptation to quote here Horace Walpole's eloquent account of Kent: "At that moment appeared Kent, painter and poet enough to taste the charms of landscape, bold and opinionative enough to dare and to dictate, and born with a genius to strike out a great system from the twilight of imperfect essays. He leaped the fence and saw that all nature was a garden[143]. He felt the delicious contrast of hill and valley changing imperceptibly into each other, tasted the beauty of the gentle swell, or concave swoop, and remarked how loose groves crowned an easy eminence with happy ornament, and while they called in the distant view between their graceful stems, removed and extended the perspective by delusive comparison."--_On Modern Gardening_. [118] When the rage for a wild irregularity in the laying out of gardens was carried to its extreme, the garden paths were so ridiculously tortuous or zig-zag, that, as Brown remarked, a man might put one foot upon _zig_ and the other upon _zag_. [119] The natives are much too fond of having tanks within a few feet of their windows, so that the vapours from the water go directly into the house. These vapours are often seen hanging or rolling over the surface of the tank like thick wreaths of smoke. [120] Broken brick is called _kunkur_, but I believe the real kunkur is real gravel, and if I am not mistaken a pretty good sort of gravel, formed of particles of red granite, is obtainable from the Rajmahal hills. [121] Pope in his well known paper in the _Guardian_ complains that a citizen is no sooner proprietor of a couple of yews but he entertains thoughts of erecting them into giants, like those of Guildhall. "I know an eminent cook," continues the writer, "who beautified his country seat with a coronation dinner in greens, where you see the Champion flourishing on horseback at one end of the table and the Queen in perpetual youth at the other." When the desire to subject nature to art had been carried to the ludicrous extravagances so well satirized by Pope, men rushed into an opposite extreme. Uvedale Price in his first rage for nature and horror of art, destroyed a venerable old garden that should have been respected for its antiquity, if for nothing else. He lived to repent his rashness and honestly to record that repentance. Coleridge, observed to John Sterling, that "we have gone too far in destroying the old style of gardens and parks." "The great thing in landscape gardening" he continued "is to discover whether the scenery is such that the country seems to belong to man or man to the country." [122] In England it costs upon the average about 12 shillings or six rupees to have a tree of 30 feet high transplanted. [123] I believe the largest leaf in the world is that of the Fan Palm or Talipot tree in Ceylon. "The branch of the tree," observes the author of _Sylvan Sketches_, "is not remarkably large, but it bears a leaf large enough to cover twenty men. It will fold into a fan and is then no bigger than a man's arm." [124] Southey's Common-Place Book. [125] The height of a full grown banyan may be from sixty to eighty feet; and many of them, I am fully confident, cover at least two acres.--_Oriental Field Sports_. There is a banyan tree about five and twenty miles from Berhampore, remarkable for the height of the lower branches from the ground. A man standing up on the houdah of an elephant may pass under it without touching the foliage. A tree has been described as growing in China of a size so prodigious that one branch of it only will so completely cover two hundred sheep that they cannot be perceived by those who approach the tree, and another so enormous that eighty persons can scarcely embrace the trunk.--_Sylvan Sketches_. [126] This praise is a little extravagant, but the garden is really very tastefully laid out, and ought to furnish a useful model to such of the people of this city as have spacious grounds. The area of the garden is about two hundred and fifty nine acres. This garden was commenced in 1768 by Colonel Kyd. It then passed to the care of Dr. Roxburgh, who remained in charge of it from 1793 to the date of his death 1813. [127] Alphonse Karr, bitterly ridicules the Botanical _Savants_ with their barbarous nomenclature. He speaks of their mesocarps and quinqueloculars infundibuliform, squammiflora, guttiferas monocotyledous &c. &c. with supreme disgust. Our English poet, Wordsworth, also used to complain that some of our familiar English names of flowers, names so full of delightful associations, were beginning to be exchanged even in common conversation for the coldest and harshest scientific terms. [128] _The Hand of Eve_--the handiwork of Eve. [129] _Without thorn the rose_: Dr. Bentley calls this a puerile fancy. But it should be remembered, that it was part of the curse denounced upon the Earth for Adam's transgression, that it should bring forth thorns and thistles. _Gen._ iii. 18. Hence the general opinion has prevailed, that there were _no thorns_ before; which is enough to justify a poet, in saying "_the rose was without thorn_."--NEWTON. [130] See page 188. My Hindu friend is not responsible for the selection of the following notes. [131] Birdlime is prepared from the tenacious milky juice of the Peepul and the Banyan. The leaves of the Banyan are used by the Bramins to eat off, for which purpose they are joined together by inkles. Birds are very fond of the fruit of the Peepul, and often drop the seeds in the cracks of buildings, where they vegetate, occasioning great damage if not removed in time.--_Voight_. [132] The ancient Greeks and Romans also married trees together in a similar manner.--_R._ [133] The root of this plant, (_Euphorbia ligularia_,) mixed up with black pepper, is used by the Natives against snake bites.--_Roxburgh_. [134] Coccos nucifera, the _root_ is sometimes masticated instead of the Betle-nut. In Brazil, baskets are made of the _small fibres_. The _hard case of the stem_ is converted into drums, and used in the construction of huts. The lower part is so hard as to take a beautiful polish, when it resembles agate. The reticulated substance at base of the leaf is formed into cradles, and, as some say, into a coarse kind of cloth. The _unexpanded terminal bud_ is a delicate article of food. The _leaves_ furnish thatch for dwellings, and materials for fences, buckets, and baskets; they are used for writing on, and make excellent torches; potash in abundance is yielded by their ashes. The _midrib of the_ leaf serves for oars. The _juice of the flower and stems_ is replete with sugar, and is fermented into excellent wine, or distilled into arrack, or the sugary part is separated as Jagary. The tree is cultivated in many parts of the Indian islands, for the sake not only of the sap and _milk_ it yields, but for the _kernel_ of its fruit, used both as food and for culinary purposes, and as affording a large proportion of _oil_ which is burned in lamps throughout India, and forms also a large article of export to Europe. The fibrous and uneatable rind of the fruit is not only used to polish furniture and to scour the floors of rooms, but is manufactured into a kind of cordage, (_Koir_) which is nearly equal in strength to hemp, and which Roxburgh designates as the very best of all materials for cables, on account of its great elasticity and strength. The sap of this as well as of other palms is found to be the simplest and easiest remedy that can be employed for removing constipation in persons of delicate habit, especially European females.--_Voigt's Suburbanus Calcuttensis_. [135] The root is bitter, nauseous, and used in North America as anthelmintic. _A. Richard_. [136] Of one species of tulsi (_Babooi-tulsi_) the seeds, if steeped in water, swell into a pleasant jelly, which is used by the Natives in cases of catarrh, dysentry, chronic diarrhoea &c. and is very nourishing and demulcent--_Voigt_. [137] This list is framed from such as were actually grown by the author between 1837 and the present year, from seed received chiefly through the kindness of Captain Kirke. [138] The native market gardens sell Madras roses at the rate of thirteen young plants for the rupee. Mrs. Gore tells us that in London the most esteemed kinds of old roses are usually sold by nurserymen at fifty shillings a hundred the first French and other varieties seldom exceed half a guinea a piece. [139] I may add to Mr. Speede's list of Roses the _Banksian Rose_. The flowers are yellow, in clusters, and scentless. Mrs. Gore says it was imported into England from the Calcutta Botanical Garden, it is called _Wong moue heong_. There is another rose also called the _Banksian Rose_ extremely small, very double, white, expanding from March till May, highly scented with violets. The _Rosa Brownii_ was brought from Nepaul by Dr. Wallich. A very sweet rose has been brought into Bengal from England. It is called _Rosa Peeliana_ after the original importer Sir Lawrence Peel. It is a hybrid. I believe it is a tea scented rose and is probably a cross between one of that sort and a common China rose, but this is mere conjecture. The varieties of the tea rose are now cultivated by Indian malees with great success. They sell at the price of from eight annas to a rupee each. A variety of the Bengal yellow rose, is now comparatively common. It fetches from one to three rupees, each root. It is known to the native gardeners by the English name of "_Yellow Rose_". Amongst the flowers introduced here since Mr. Speede's book appeared, is the beautiful blue heliotrope which the natives call _kala heliotrope_. [140] He gains all points who pleasingly confounds, Surprizes, varies, and conceals the bounds. [141] The following is the passage alluded to by Todd A pleasant grove With chant of tuneful birds resounding loud, Thither he bent his way, determined there To rest at noon, and entered soon the shade, High roofed, and walks beneath and alleys brown, That opened in the midst a woody scene, Nature's own work it seemed (nature taught art) And to a superstitious eye the haunt Of wood gods and wood nymphs. _Paradise Regained, Book II_ [142] The following stanzas are almost as direct translations from Tasso as the two last stanzas in the words of Fairfax on page 111:-- The whiles some one did chaunt this lovely lay;-- Ah! see, whoso fayre thing doest faine to see, In springing flowre the image of thy day! Ah! see the virgin rose, how sweetly shee Doth first peepe forth with bashful modesty; That fairer seems the less you see her may! Lo! see soone after how more bold and free Her baréd bosome she doth broad display; Lo! see soone after how she fades and falls away! So passeth, in the passing of a day, Of mortal life, the leaf, the bud, the flowre, Ne more doth florish after first decay, That erst was sought, to deck both bed and bowre Of many a lady and many a paramoure! Gather therefore the rose whilest yet is prime For soone comes age that will her pride deflowre; Gather the rose of love, whilest yet is time Whilest loving thou mayst loved be with equal crime[144] _Fairie Queene, Book II. Canto XII._ [143] I suppose in the remark that Kent leapt the fence, Horace Walpole alludes to that artist's practice of throwing down walls and other boundaries and sinking fosses called by the common people _Ha! Ha's!_ to express their astonishment when the edge of the fosse brought them to an unexpected stop. Horace Walpole's History of Modern Gardening is now so little read that authors think they may steal from it with safety. In the _Encyclopaedia Britannica_ the article on Gardening is taken almost verbatim from it, with one or two deceptive allusions such as--"_As Mr. Walpole observes_"--"_Says Mr. Walpole_," &c. but there is nothing to mark where Walpole's observations and sayings end, and the Encyclopaedia thus gets the credit of many pages of his eloquence and sagacity. The whole of Walpole's _History of Modern Gardening_ is given piece-meal as an original contribution to _Harrrison's Floricultural Cabinet_, each portion being signed CLERICUS. [144] Perhaps Robert Herrick had these stanzas in his mind's ear when he wrote his song of Gather ye rosebuds while ye may Old time is still a flying; And this same flower that smiles to-day To-morrow will be dying. * * * * * Then be not coy, but use your time; And while ye may, so marry: For having lost but once your prime You may for ever tarry. 
20421	----	Transcriber's note: A few typographical errors have been corrected: they are listed at the end of the text. Original page numbers are shown as {99}. PROSERPINA. STUDIES OF WAYSIDE FLOWERS, WHILE THE AIR WAS YET PURE _AMONG THE ALPS, AND IN THE SCOTLAND AND ENGLAND WHICH MY FATHER KNEW_. BY JOHN RUSKIN, LL.D., HONORARY STUDENT OF CHRIST CHURCH, AND SLADE PROFESSOR OF FINE ART. "Oh--Prosérpina! For the flowers now, which frighted, thou let'st fall From Dis's waggon." VOLUME I. New York: JOHN WILEY & SONS, 15 Astor Place. 1888. * * * * * Press of J. J. Little & Co., Astor Place, New York. * * * * * CONTENTS OF VOL. I PAGE INTRODUCTION, 1 CHAPTER I. MOSS, 12 CHAPTER II. THE ROOT, 26 CHAPTER III. THE LEAF, 40 CHAPTER IV. THE FLOWER, 64 CHAPTER V. PAPAVER RHOEAS, 86 CHAPTER VI. THE PARABLE OF JOASH, 106 CHAPTER VII. THE PARABLE OF JOTHAM, 117 CHAPTER VIII. THE STEM, 127 CHAPTER IX. OUTSIDE AND IN, 151 CHAPTER X. THE BARK, 170 CHAPTER XI. GENEALOGY, 176 CHAPTER XII. CORA AND KRONOS, 205 CHAPTER XIII. THE SEED AND HUSK, 219 CHAPTER XIV. THE FRUIT GIFT, 227 INDEX I. DESCRIPTIVE NOMENCLATURE, 239 INDEX II. ENGLISH NAMES, 255 INDEX III. LATIN OR GREEK NAMES, 258 * * * * * {1} PROSERPINA. INTRODUCTION. BRANTWOOD, _14th March, 1874._ Yesterday evening I was looking over the first book in which I studied Botany,--Curtis's Magazine, published in 1795 at No. 3, St. George's Crescent, Blackfriars Road, and sold by the principal booksellers in Great Britain and Ireland. Its plates are excellent, so that I am always glad to find in it the picture of a flower I know. And I came yesterday upon what I suppose to be a variety of a favourite flower of mine, called, in Curtis, "the St. Bruno's Lily." I am obliged to say "what I suppose to be a variety," because my pet lily is branched,[1] while this is drawn as unbranched, and especially stated to be so. And the page of text, in which this statement is made, is so characteristic of botanical books, and botanical science, not to say all science as hitherto taught for the blessing of mankind; {2} and of the difficulties thereby accompanying its communication, that I extract the page entire, printing it, opposite, as nearly as possible in facsimile. Now you observe, in this instructive page, that you have in the first place, nine names given you for one flower; and that among these nine names, you are not even at liberty to make your choice, because the united authority of Haller and Miller may be considered as an accurate balance to the single authority of Linnæus; and you ought therefore for the present to remain, yourself, balanced between the sides. You may be farther embarrassed by finding that the Anthericum of Savoy is only described as growing in Switzerland. And farther still, by finding that Mr. Miller describes two varieties of it, which differ only in size, while you are left to conjecture whether the one here figured is the larger or smaller; and how great the difference is. Farther, If you wish to know anything of the habits of the plant, as well as its nine names, you are informed that it grows both at the bottoms of the mountains, and the tops; and that, with us, it flowers in May and June,--but you are not told when, in its native country. The four lines of the last clause but one, may indeed be useful to gardeners; but--although I know my good father and mother did the best they could for me in buying this beautiful book; and though the admirable plates of it did their work, and taught me much, I cannot wonder that neither my infantine nor boyish mind was irresistibly attracted by the text of which this page is one of the most favourable specimens; nor, in consequence, that my botanical studies were--when I had attained the age of fifty--no farther advanced than the reader will find them in the opening chapter of this book. {3} * * * * * [318] ANTHERICUM LILIASTRUM, SAVOY ANTHERICUM, or ST. BRUNO'S LILY. _Class and Order._ HEXANDRIA MONOGYNIA. _Generic Character._ _Cor._ 6-petala, patens. _Caps._ ovata. _Specific Character and Synonyms._ ANTHERICUM _Liliastrum_ foliis planis, scapo simplicissimo, corollis campanulatis, staminibus declinatis. _Linn. Syst. Vegetab. ed. 14. Murr. p. 330._ _Ait. Kew. v. _I._ p. 449._ HEMEROCALLIS floribus patulis secundis. _Hall. Hist. n. 1230._ PHALANGIUM magno flore. _Bauh. Pin. 29._ PHALANGIUM Allobrogicum majus. _Clus. cur. app. alt._ PHALANGIUM Allobrogicum. The Savoye Spider-wort. _Park. Parad. p. 150. tab. 151. f. 1._ * * * * * Botanists are divided in their opinions respecting the genus of this plant; LINNÆUS considers it as an _Anthericum_, HALLER and MILLER make it an _Hemerocallis_. It is a native of Switzerland, where, HALLER informs us it grows abundantly in the Alpine meadows, and even on the summits of the mountains; with us it flowers in May and June. It is a plant of great elegance, producing on an unbranched stem about a foot and a half high, numerous flowers of a delicate white colour, much smaller but resembling in form those of the common white lily, possessing a considerable degree of fragrance, their beauty is heightened by the rich orange colour of their antheræ; unfortunately they are but of short duration. MILLER describes two varieties of it differing merely in size. A loamy soil, a situation moderately moist, with an eastern or western exposure, suits this plant best; so situated, it will increase by its roots, though not very fast, and by parting of these in the autumn, it is usually propagated. PARKINSON describes and figures it in his _Parad. Terrest._, observing that "divers allured by the beauty of its flowers, had brought it into these parts." * * * * * {4} Which said book was therefore undertaken, to put, if it might be, some elements of the science of botany into a form more tenable by ordinary human and childish faculties; or--for I can scarcely say I have yet any tenure of it myself--to make the paths of approach to it more pleasant. In fact, I only know, of it, the pleasant distant effects which it bears to simple eyes; and some pretty mists and mysteries, which I invite my young readers to pierce, as they may, for themselves,--my power of guiding them being only for a little way. Pretty mysteries, I say, as opposed to the vulgar and ugly mysteries of the so-called science of botany,--exemplified sufficiently in this chosen page. Respecting which, please observe farther;--Nobody--I can say this very boldly--loves Latin more dearly than I; but, precisely because I do love it (as well as for other reasons), I have always insisted that books, whether scientific or not, ought to be written either in Latin, or English; and not in a doggish mixture of the refuse of both. Linnæus wrote a noble book of universal Natural History in Latin. It is one of the permanent classical treasures of the world. And if any scientific man thinks his labors are worth the world's attention, let him, also, write {5} what he has to say in Latin, finishedly and exquisitely, if it take him a month to a page.[2] But if--which, unless he be one chosen of millions, is assuredly the fact--his lucubrations are only of local and temporary consequence, let him write, as clearly as he can, in his native language. This book, accordingly, I have written in English; (not, by the way, that I _could_ have written it in anything else--so there are small thanks to me); and one of its purposes is to interpret, for young English readers, the necessary European Latin or Greek names of flowers, and to make them vivid and vital to their understandings. But two great difficulties occur in doing this. The first, that there are generally from three or four, up to two dozen, Latin names current for every flower; and every new botanist thinks his eminence only to be properly asserted by adding another. The second, and a much more serious one, is of the Devil's own contriving--(and remember I am always quite serious when I speak of the Devil,)--namely, that the most current and authoritative names are apt to be founded on some unclean or debasing association, so that to interpret them is to defile the reader's mind. I will give no instance; too many will at once occur to any {6} learned reader, and the unlearned I need not vex with so much as one: but, in such cases, since I could only take refuge in the untranslated word by leaving other Greek or Latin words also untranslated, and the nomenclature still entirely senseless,--and I do not choose to do this,--there is only one other course open to me, namely, to substitute boldly, to my own pupils, other generic names for the plants thus faultfully hitherto titled. As I do not do this for my own pride, but honestly for my reader's service, I neither question nor care how far the emendations I propose may be now or hereafter adopted. I shall not even name the cases in which they have been made for the serious reason above specified; but even shall mask those which there was real occasion to alter, by sometimes giving new names in cases where there was no necessity of such kind. Doubtless I shall be accused of doing myself what I violently blame in others. I do so; but with a different motive--of which let the reader judge as he is disposed. The practical result will be that the children who learn botany on the system adopted in this book will know the useful and beautiful names of plants hitherto given, in all languages; the useless and ugly ones they will not know. And they will have to learn one Latin name for each plant, which, when differing from the common one, I trust may yet by some scientific persons be accepted, and with ultimate advantage. The learning of the one Latin name--as, for instance, Gramen striatum--I hope will be accurately enforced {7} always;--but not less carefully the learning of the pretty English one--"Ladielace Grass"--with due observance that "Ladies' laces hath leaves like unto Millet in fashion, with many white vaines or ribs, and silver strakes running along through the middest of the leaves, fashioning the same like to laces of white and green silk, very beautiful and faire to behold." I have said elsewhere, and can scarcely repeat too often, that a day will come when men of science will think their names disgraced, instead of honoured, by being used to barbarise nomenclature; I hope therefore that my own name may be kept well out of the way; but, having been privileged to found the School of Art in the University of Oxford, I think that I am justified in requesting any scientific writers who may look kindly upon this book, to add such of the names suggested in it as they think deserving of acceptance, to their own lists of synonyms, under the head of "Schol. Art. Oxon." The difficulties thrown in the way of any quiet private student by existing nomenclature may be best illustrated by my simply stating what happens to myself in endeavouring to use the page above facsimile'd. Not knowing how far St. Bruno's Lily might be connected with my own pet one, and not having any sufficient book on Swiss botany, I take down Loudon's Encyclopædia of Plants, (a most useful book, as far as any book in the present state of the science _can_ be useful,) and find, under the head of Anthericum, the Savoy Lily indeed, but only the {8} following general information:--"809. Anthericum. A name applied by the Greeks to the stem of the asphodel, and not misapplied to this set of plants, which in some sort resemble the asphodel. Plants with fleshy leaves, and spikes of bright _yellow_ flowers, easily cultivated if kept dry." Hunting further, I find again my Savoy lily called a spider-plant, under the article Hemerocallis, and the only information which the book gives me under Hemerocallis, is that it means 'beautiful day' lily; and then, "This is an ornamental genus of the easiest culture. The species are remarkable among border flowers for their fine _orange_, _yellow_, or _blue_ flowers. The Hemerocallis coerulea has been considered a distinct genus by Mr. Salisbury, and called Saussurea." As I correct this sheet for press, however, I find that the Hemerocallis is now to be called 'Funkia,' "in honour of Mr. Funk, a Prussian apothecary." All this while, meantime, I have a suspicion that my pet Savoy Lily is not, in existing classification, an Anthericum, nor a Hemerocallis, but a Lilium. It is, in fact, simply a Turk's cap which doesn't curl up. But on trying 'Lilium' in Loudon, I find no mention whatever of any wild branched white lily. I then try the next word in my specimen page of Curtis; but there is no 'Phalangium' at all in Loudon's index. And now I have neither time nor mind for more search, but will give, in due place, such account as I can {9} of my own dwarf branched lily, which I shall call St. Bruno's, as well as this Liliastrum--no offence to the saint, I hope. For it grows very gloriously on the limestones of Savoy, presumably, therefore, at the Grande Chartreuse; though I did not notice it there, and made a very unmonkish use of it when I gathered it last:--There was a pretty young English lady at the table-d'hôte, in the Hotel du Mont Blanc at St. Martin's,[3] and I wanted to get speech of her, and didn't know how. So all I could think of was to go half-way up the Aiguille de Varens, to gather St. Bruno's lilies; and I made a great cluster of them, and put wild roses all around them as I came down. I never saw anything so lovely; and I thought to present this to her before dinner,--but when I got down, she had gone away to Chamouni. My Fors always treated me like that, in affairs of the heart. I had begun my studies of Alpine botany just eighteen years before, in 1842, by making a careful drawing of wood-sorrel at Chamouni; and bitterly sorry I am, now, that the work was interrupted. For I drew, then, very delicately; and should have made a pretty book if I could have got peace. Even yet, I can manage my point a little, and would far rather be making outlines of flowers, than writing; and I meant to have drawn every English and Scottish wild flower, like this cluster of bog heather opposite,[4]--back, and profile, and front. But 'Blackwood's {10} Magazine,' with its insults to Turner, dragged me into controversy; and I have not had, properly speaking, a day's peace since; so that in 1868 my botanical studies were advanced only as far as the reader will see in next chapter; and now, in 1874, must end altogether, I suppose, heavier thoughts and work coming fast on me. So that, finding among my notebooks, two or three, full of broken materials for the proposed work on flowers; and, thinking they may be useful even as fragments, I am going to publish them in their present state,--only let the reader note that while my other books endeavour, and claim, so far as they reach, to give trustworthy knowledge of their subjects, this one only shows how such knowledge may be obtained; and it is little more than a history of efforts and plans,--but of both, I believe, made in right methods. One part of the book, however, will, I think, be found of permanent value. Mr. Burgess has engraved on wood, in reduced size, with consummate skill, some of the excellent old drawings in the Flora Danica, and has interpreted, and facsimile'd, some of his own and my drawings from nature, with a vigour and precision unsurpassed in woodcut illustration, which render these outlines the best exercises in black and white I have yet been able to {11} prepare for my drawing pupils. The larger engravings by Mr. Allen may also be used with advantage as copies for drawings with pen or sepia. ROME, _10th May_ (_my father's birthday_). I found the loveliest blue asphodel I ever saw in my life, yesterday, in the fields beyond Monte Mario,--a spire two feet high, of more than two hundred stars, the stalks of them all deep blue, as well as the flowers. Heaven send all honest people the gathering of the like, in Elysian fields, some day! * * * * * {12} CHAPTER I. MOSS. DENMARK HILL, _3rd November, 1868._ 1. It is mortifying enough to write,--but I think thus much ought to be written,--concerning myself, as 'the author of Modern Painters.' In three months I shall be fifty years old: and I don't at this hour--ten o'clock in the morning of the two hundred and sixty-eighth day of my forty-ninth year--know what 'moss' is. There is nothing I have more _intended_ to know--some day or other. But the moss 'would always be there'; and then it was so beautiful, and so difficult to examine, that one could only do it in some quite separated time of happy leisure--which came not. I never was like to have less leisure than now, but I _will_ know what moss is, if possible, forthwith. 2. To that end I read preparatorily, yesterday, what account I could find of it in all the botanical books in the house. Out of them all, I get this general notion of a moss,--that it has a fine fibrous root,--a stem surrounded with spirally set leaves,--and produces its fruit in a small case, under a cap. I fasten especially, however, on a {13} sentence of Louis Figuier's, about the particular species, Hypnum:-- "These mosses, which often form little islets of verdure at the feet of poplars and willows, are robust vegetable organisms, which do not decay."[5] 3. "Qui ne pourrissent point." What do they do with themselves, then?--it immediately occurs to me to ask. And, secondly,--If this immortality belongs to the Hypnum only? It certainly does not, by any means: but, however modified or limited, this immortality is the first thing we ought to take note of in the mosses. They are, in some degree, what the "everlasting" is in flowers. Those minute green leaves of theirs do not decay, nor fall. But how do they die, or how stop growing, then?--it is the first thing I want to know about them. And from all the books in the house, I can't as yet find out this. Meanwhile I will look at the leaves themselves. 4. Going out to the garden, I bring in a bit of old brick, emerald green on its rugged surface,[6] and a thick piece of mossy turf. First, for the old brick: To think of the quantity of pleasure one has had in one's life from that emerald green velvet,--and yet that for the first time to-day I am verily going to look at it! Doing so, through a pocket {14} lens of no great power, I find the velvet to be composed of small star-like groups of smooth, strong, oval leaves,--intensely green, and much like the young leaves of any other plant, except in this;--they all have a long brown spike, like a sting, at their ends. [Illustration: FIG. 1.] 5. Fastening on that, I take the Flora Danica,[7] and look through its plates of mosses, for their leaves only; and I find, first, that this spike, or strong central rib, is characteristic;--secondly, that the said leaves are apt to be not only spiked, but serrated, and otherwise angry-looking at the points;--thirdly, that they have a tendency to fold together in the centre (Fig. 1[8]); and at last, after an hour's work at them, it strikes me suddenly that they are more like pineapple leaves than anything else. And it occurs to me, very unpleasantly, at the same time, that I don't know what a pineapple is! Stopping to ascertain that, I am told that a pineapple belongs to the 'Bromeliaceæ'--(can't stop to find out what that means)--nay, that of these plants "the pineapple is the representative" (Loudon); "their habit is acid, their leaves rigid, and toothed with spines, their {15} bracteas often coloured with scarlet, and their flowers either white or blue"--(what are their flowers like?) But the two sentences that most interest me, are, that in the damp forests of Carolina, the Tillandsia, which is an 'epiphyte' (_i.e._, a plant growing on other plants,) "forms dense festoons among the branches of the trees, vegetating among the black mould that collects upon the bark of trees in hot damp countries; other species are inhabitants of deep and gloomy forests, and others form, with their spring leaves, an impenetrable herbage in the Pampas of Brazil." So they really seem to be a kind of moss, on a vast scale. 6. Next, I find in Gray,[9] Bromeliaceæ, and--the very thing I want--"Tillandsia, the black _moss_, or long moss, which, _like most Bromelias_, grows on the branches of trees." So the pineapple is really a moss; only it is a moss that flowers but 'imperfectly.' "The fine fruit is caused by the consolidation of the imperfect flowers." (I wish we could consolidate some imperfect English moss-flowers into little pineapples then,--though they were only as big as filberts.) But we cannot follow that farther now; nor consider when a flower is perfect, and when it is not, or we should get into morals, and I don't know where else; we will go back to the moss I have gathered, for I begin to see my way, a little, to understanding it. {16} 7. The second piece I have on the table is a cluster--an inch or two deep--of the moss that grows everywhere, and that the birds use for nest-building, and we for packing, and the like. It is dry, since yesterday, and its fibres define themselves against the dark ground in warm green, touched with a glittering light. Note that burnished lustre of the minute leaves; they are necessarily always relieved against dark hollows, and this lustre makes them much clearer and brighter than if they were of dead green. In that lustre--and it is characteristic of them--they differ wholly from the dead, aloe-like texture of the pineapple leaf; and remind me, as I look at them closely, a little of some conditions of chaff, as on heads of wheat after being threshed. I will hunt down that clue presently; meantime there is something else to be noticed on the old brick. [Illustration: FIG. 2.] 8. Out of its emerald green cushions of minute leaves, there rise, here and there, thin red threads, each with a little brown cap, or something like a cap, at the top of it. These red threads shooting up out of the green tufts, are, I believe, the fructification of the moss; fringing its surface in the woods, and on the rocks, with the small forests of brown stems, each carrying its pointed cap or crest--of infinitely varied 'mode,' as we shall see presently; and, which is one of their most blessed functions, carrying high the dew in the morning; every spear balancing its own crystal globe. 9. And now, with my own broken memories of moss {17} and this unbroken, though unfinished, gift of the noble labour of other people, the Flora Danica, I can generalize the idea of the precious little plant, for myself, and for the reader. All mosses, I believe, (with such exceptions and collateral groups as we may afterwards discover, but they are not many,) that is to say, some thousands of species, are, in their strength of existence, composed of fibres surrounded by clusters of dry _spinous_ leaves, set close to the fibre they grow on. Out of this leafy stern descends a fibrous root, and ascends in its season, a capped seed. We must get this very clearly into our heads. Fig. 2, A, is a little tuft of a common wood moss of Norway,[10] in its fruit season, of its real size; but at present I want to look at the central fibre and its leaves accurately, and understand that first. 10. Pulling it to pieces, we find it composed of seven little company-keeping fibres, each of which, by itself, appears as in Fig. 2, B: but as in this, its real size, it {18} is too small, not indeed for our respect, but for our comprehension, we magnify it, Fig. 2, C, and thereupon perceive it to be indeed composed of, _a_, the small fibrous root which sustains the plant; _b_, the leaf-surrounded stem which is the actual being, and main creature, moss; and, _c_, the aspirant pillar, and cap, of its fructification. 11. But there is one minor division yet. You see I have drawn the central part of the moss plant (_b_, Fig. 2,) half in outline and half in black; and that, similarly, in the upper group, which is too small to show the real roots, the base of the cluster is black. And you remember, I doubt not, how often in gathering what most invited gathering, of deep green, starry, perfectly soft and living wood-moss, you found it fall asunder in your hand into multitudes of separate threads, each with its bright green crest, and long root of blackness. That blackness at the root--though only so notable in this wood-moss and collateral species, is indeed a general character of the mosses, with rare exceptions. It is their funeral blackness;--that, I perceive, is the way the moss leaves die. They do not fall--they do not visibly decay. But they decay _in_visibly, in continual secession, beneath the ascending crest. They rise to form that crest, all green and bright, and take the light and air from those out of which they grew;--and those, their ancestors, darken and die slowly, and at last become a mass of mouldering ground. In fact, as I perceive farther, their final duty is so to die. The main work of other leaves is {19} in their life,--but these have to form the earth out of which all other leaves are to grow. Not to cover the rocks with golden velvet only, but to fill their crannies with the dark earth, through which nobler creatures shall one day seek their being. 12. "Grant but as many sorts of mind as moss." Pope could not have known the hundredth part of the number of 'sorts' of moss there are; and I suppose he only chose the word because it was a monosyllable beginning with m, and the best English general expression for despised and minute structures of plants. But a fate rules the words of wise men, which makes their words truer, and worth more, than the men themselves know. No other plants have so endless variety on so similar a structure as the mosses; and none teach so well the humility of Death. As for the death of our bodies, we have learned, wisely, or unwisely, to look the fact of that in the face. But none of us, I think, yet care to look the fact of the death of our minds in the face. I do not mean death of our souls, but of our mental work. So far as it is good _art_, indeed, and done in realistic form, it may perhaps not die; but so far as it was only good _thought_--good, for its time, and apparently a great achievement therein--that good, useful thought may yet in the future become a foolish thought, and then die quite away,--it, and the memory of it,--when better thought and knowledge come. But the better thought could not have come if the weaker thought had not come first, and died in sustaining the {20} better. If we think honestly, our thoughts will not only live usefully, but even perish usefully--like the moss--and become dark, not without due service. But if we think dishonestly, or malignantly, our thoughts will die like evil fungi,--dripping corrupt dew. 13. But farther. If you have walked moorlands enough to know the look of them, you know well those flat spaces or causeways of bright green or golden ground between the heathy rock masses; which signify winding pools and inlets of stagnant water caught among the rocks;--pools which the deep moss that covers them--_blanched_, not black, at the root,--is slowly filling and making firm; whence generally the unsafe ground in the moorland gets known by being _mossy_ instead of heathy; and is at last called by its riders, briefly, 'the Moss': and as it is mainly at these same mossy places that the riding is difficult, and brings out the gifts of horse and rider, and discomfits all followers not similarly gifted, the skilled crosser of them got his name, naturally, of 'moss-rider,' or moss-trooper. In which manner the moss of Norway and Scotland has been a taskmaster and Maker of Soldiers, as yet, the strongest known among natural powers. The lightning may kill a man, or cast down a tower, but these little tender leaves of moss--they and their progenitors--have trained the Northern Armies. 14. So much for the human meaning of that decay of the leaves. Now to go back to the little creatures themselves. It seems that the upper part of the moss fibre is {21} especially _un_decaying among leaves; and the lower part, especially decaying. That, in fact, a plant of moss-fibre is a kind of persistent state of what is, in other plants, annual. Watch the year's growth of any luxuriant flower. First it comes out of the ground all fresh and bright; then, as the higher leaves and branches shoot up, those first leaves near the ground get brown, sickly, earthy,--remain for ever degraded in the dust, and under the dashed slime in rain, staining, and grieving, and loading them with obloquy of envious earth, half-killing them,--only life enough left in them to hold on the stem, and to be guardians of the rest of the plant from all they suffer;--while, above them, the happier leaves, for whom they are thus oppressed, bend freely to the sunshine, and drink the rain pure. The moss strengthens on a diminished scale, intensifies, and makes perpetual, these two states,--bright leaves above that never wither, leaves beneath that exist only to wither. 15. I have hitherto spoken only of the fading moss as it is needed for change into earth. But I am not sure whether a yet more important office, in its days of age, be not its use as a colour. We are all thankful enough--as far as we ever are so--for green moss, and yellow moss. But we are never enough grateful for black moss. The golden would be nothing without it, nor even the grey. It is true that there are black lichens enough, and {22} brown ones: nevertheless, the chief use of lichens is for silver and gold colour on rocks; and it is the dead moss which gives the leopard-like touches of black. And yet here again--as to a thing I have been looking at and painting all my life--I am brought to pause, the moment I think of it carefully. The black moss which gives the precious Velasquez touches, lies, much of it, flat on the rocks; radiating from its centres--powdering in the fingers, if one breaks it off, like dry tea. Is it a black species?--or a black-parched state of other species, perishing for the sake of Velasquez effects, instead of accumulation of earth? and, if so, does it die of drought, accidentally, or, in a sere old age, naturally? and how is it related to the rich green bosses that grow in deep velvet? And there again is another matter not clear to me. One calls them 'velvet' because they are all brought to an even surface at the top. Our own velvet is reduced to such trimness by cutting. But how is the moss trimmed? By what scissors? Carefullest Elizabethan gardener never shaped his yew hedge more daintily than the moss fairies smooth these soft rounded surfaces of green and gold. And just fancy the difference, if they were ragged! If the fibres had every one of them leave to grow at their own sweet will, and to be long or short as they liked, or, worse still, urged by fairy prizes into laboriously and agonizingly trying which could grow longest. Fancy the surface of a spot of competitive moss! 16. But how is it that they are subdued into that {23} spherical obedience, like a crystal of wavellite?[11] Strange--that the vegetable creatures growing so fondly on rocks should form themselves in that mineral-like manner. It is true that the tops of all well-grown trees are rounded, on a large scale, as equally; but that is because they grow from a central stem, while these mossy mounds are made out of independent filaments, each growing to exactly his proper height in the sphere--short ones outside, long in the middle. Stop, though; _is_ that so? I am not even sure of that; perhaps they are built over a little dome of decayed moss below.[12] I must find out how every {24} filament grows, separately--from root to cap, through the spirally set leaves. And meanwhile I don't know very clearly so much as what a root is--or what a leaf is. Before puzzling myself any farther in examination either of moss or any other grander vegetable, I had better define these primal forms of all vegetation, as well as I can--or rather begin the definition of them, for future completion and correction. For, as my reader must already sufficiently perceive, this book is literally to be one of studies--not of statements. Some one said of me once, very shrewdly, When he wants to work out a subject, he writes a book on it. That is a very true saying in the main,--I work down or up to my mark, and let the reader see process and progress, not caring to conceal them. But this book will be nothing but process. I don't mean to assert anything positively in it from the first page to the last. Whatever I say, is to be understood only as a conditional statement--liable to, and inviting, correction. And this the more because, as on the whole, I am at war with the botanists, I can't ask them to help me, and then {25} call them names afterwards. I hope only for a contemptuous heaping of coals on my head by correction of my errors from them;--in some cases, my scientific friends will, I know, give me forgiving aid;--but, for many reasons, I am forced first to print the imperfect statement, as I can independently shape it; for if once I asked for, or received help, every thought would be frostbitten into timid expression, and every sentence broken by apology. I should have to write a dozen of letters before I could print a line, and the line, at last, would be only like a bit of any other botanical book--trustworthy, it might be, perhaps; but certainly unreadable. Whereas now, it will rather put things more forcibly in the reader's mind to have them retouched and corrected as we go on; and our natural and honest mistakes will often be suggestive of things we could not have discovered but by wandering. On these guarded conditions, then, I proceed to study, with my reader, the first general laws of vegetable form. * * * * * {26} CHAPTER II. THE ROOT. 1. Plants in their perfect form consist of four principal parts,--the Root, Stem, Leaf, and Flower. It is true that the stem and flower are parts, or remnants, or altered states, of the leaves; and that, speaking with close accuracy, we might say, a perfect plant consists of leaf and root. But the division into these four parts is best for practical purposes, and it will be desirable to note a few general facts about each, before endeavouring to describe any one kind of plant. Only, because the character of the stem depends on the nature of the leaf and flower, we must put it last in order of examination; and trace the development of the plant first in root and leaf; then in the flower and its fruit; and lastly in the stem. 2. First, then, the Root. Every plant is divided, as I just said, in the main, into two parts, and these have opposite natures. One part seeks the light; the other hates it. One part feeds on the air; the other on the dust. The part that loves the light is called the Leaf. It is an old Saxon word; I cannot get at its origin. The part that hates the light is called the Root. {27} In Greek, [Greek: rhiza], Rhiza.[13] In Latin, Radix, "the growing thing," which shortens, in French, into Race, and then they put on the diminutive 'ine,' and get their two words, Race, and Racine, of which we keep Race for animals, and use for vegetables a word of our own Saxon (and Dutch) dialect,--'root'; (connected with Rood--an image of wood; whence at last the Holy Rood, or Tree). 3. The Root has three great functions: 1st. To hold the plant in its place. 2nd. To nourish it with earth. 3rd. To receive vital power for it from the earth. With this last office is in some degree,--and especially in certain plants,--connected, that of reproduction. But in all plants the root has these three essential functions. First, I said, to hold the Plant in its place. The Root is its Fetter. You think it, perhaps, a matter of course that a plant is not to be a crawling thing? It is not a matter of course at all. A vegetable might be just what it is now, as compared with an animal;--might live on earth and water instead of on meat,--might be as senseless in life, as calm in death, and in all its parts and apparent structure {28} unchanged; and yet be a crawling thing. It is quite as easy to conceive plants moving about like lizards, putting forward first one root and then another, as it is to think of them fastened to their place. It might have been well for them, one would have thought, to have the power of going down to the streams to drink, in time of drought;--of migrating in winter with grim march from north to south of Dunsinane Hill side. But that is not their appointed Fate. They are--at least all the noblest of them, rooted to their spot. Their honour and use is in giving immoveable shelter,--in remaining landmarks, or lovemarks, when all else is changed: "The cedars wave on Lebanon, But Judah's statelier maids are gone." 4. Its root is thus a form of fate to the tree. It condemns, or indulges it, in its place. These semi-living creatures, come what may, shall abide, happy, or tormented. No doubt concerning "the position in which Providence has placed _them_" is to trouble their minds, except so far as they can mend it by seeking light, or shrinking from wind, or grasping at support, within certain limits. In the thoughts of men they have thus become twofold images,--on the one side, of spirits restrained and half destroyed, whence the fables of transformation into trees; on the other, of spirits patient and continuing, having root in themselves and in good ground, capable of all persistent {29} effort and vital stability, both in themselves, and for the human States they form. 5. In this function of holding fast, roots have a power of grasp quite different from that of branches. It is not a grasp, or clutch by contraction, as that of a bird's claw, or of the small branches we call 'tendrils' in climbing plants. It is a dead, clumsy, but inevitable grasp, by swelling, _after_ contortion. For there is this main difference between a branch and root, that a branch cannot grow vividly but in certain directions and relations to its neighbour branches; but a root can grow wherever there is earth, and can turn in any direction to avoid an obstacle.[14] 6. In thus contriving access for itself where it chooses, a root contorts itself into more serpent-like writhing than branches can; and when it has once coiled partly round a rock, or stone, it grasps it tight, necessarily, merely by swelling. Now a root has force enough sometimes to split rocks, but not to crush them; so it is compelled to grasp by _flattening_ as it thickens; and, as it must have room somewhere, it alters its own shape as if it were made of {30} dough, and holds the rock, not in a claw, but in a wooden cast or mould, adhering to its surface. And thus it not only finds its anchorage in the rock, but binds the rocks of its anchorage with a constrictor cable. 7. Hence--and this is a most important secondary function--roots bind together the ragged edges of rocks as a hem does the torn edge of a dress: they literally stitch the stones together; so that, while it is always dangerous to pass under a treeless edge of overhanging crag, as soon as it has become beautiful with trees, it is safe also. The rending power of roots on rocks has been greatly overrated. Capillary attraction in a willow wand will indeed split granite, and swelling roots sometimes heave considerable masses aside, but on the whole, roots, small and great, bind, and do not rend.[15] The surfaces of mountains are dissolved and disordered, by rain, and frost, and chemical decomposition, into mere heaps of loose stones on their desolate summits; but, where the forests grow, soil accumulates and disintegration ceases. And by cutting down forests on great mountain slopes, not only is the climate destroyed, but the danger of superficial landslip fearfully increased. 8. The second function of roots is to gather for the plant the nourishment it needs from the ground. This is {31} partly water, mixed with some kinds of air (ammonia, etc.,) but the plant can get both water and ammonia from the atmosphere; and, I believe, for the most part does so; though, when it cannot get water from the air, it will gladly drink by its roots. But the things it cannot receive from the air at all are certain earthy salts, essential to it (as iron is essential in our own blood), and of which when it has quite exhausted the earth, no more such plants can grow in that ground. On this subject you will find enough in any modern treatise on agriculture; all that I want you to note here is that this feeding function of the root is of a very delicate and discriminating kind, needing much searching and mining among the dust, to find what it wants. If it only wanted water, it could get most of that by spreading in mere soft senseless limbs, like sponge, as far, and as far down, as it could--but to get the _salt_ out of the earth it has to _sift_ all the earth, and taste and touch every grain of it that it can, with fine fibres. And therefore a root is not at all a merely passive sponge or absorbing thing, but an infinitely subtle tongue, or tasting and eating thing. That is why it is always so fibrous and divided and entangled in the clinging earth. 9. "Always fibrous and divided"? But many roots are quite hard and solid! No; the active part of the root is always, I believe, a fibre. But there is often a provident and passive part--a savings bank of root--in which nourishment is laid up for the plant, and which, though it may be underground, is no {32} more to be considered its real root than the kernel of a seed is. When you sow a pea, if you take it up in a day or two, you will find the fibre below, which is root; the shoot above, which is plant; and the pea as a now partly exhausted storehouse, looking very woful, and like the granaries of Paris after the fire. So, the round solid root of a cyclamen, or the conical one which you know so well as a carrot, are not properly roots, but permanent storehouses,--only the fibres that grow from them are roots. Then there are other apparent roots which are not even storehouses, but refuges; houses where the little plant lives in its infancy, through winter and rough weather. So that it will be best for you at once to limit your idea of a root to this,--that it is a group of growing fibres which taste and suck what is good for the plant out of the ground, and by their united strength hold it in its place; only remember the thick limbs of roots do not feed, but only the fine fibres at the ends of them which are something between tongues and sponges, and while they absorb moisture readily, are yet as particular about getting what they think nice to eat as any dainty little boy or girl; looking for it everywhere, and turning angry and sulky if they don't get it. 10. But the root has, it seems to me, one more function, the most important of all. I say, it seems to me, for observe, what I have hitherto told you is all (I believe) ascertained and admitted; this that I am going to tell you has not yet, as far as I know, been asserted by men of {33} science, though I believe it to be demonstrable. But you are to examine into it, and think of it for yourself. There are some plants which appear to derive all their food from the air--which need nothing but a slight grasp of the ground to fix them in their place. Yet if we were to tie them into that place, in a framework, and cut them from their roots, they would die. Not only in these, but in all other plants, the vital power by which they shape and feed themselves, whatever that power may be, depends, I think, on that slight touch of the earth, and strange inheritance of its power. It is as essential to the plant's life as the connection of the head of an animal with its body by the spine is to the animal. Divide the feeble nervous thread, and all life ceases. Nay, in the tree the root is even of greater importance. You will not kill the tree, as you would an animal, by dividing its body or trunk. The part not severed from the root will shoot again. But in the root, and its touch of the ground, is the life of it. My own definition of a plant would be "a living creature whose source of vital energy is in the earth" (or in the water, as a form of the earth; that is, in inorganic substance). There is, however, one tribe of plants which seems nearly excepted from this law. It is a very strange one, having long been noted for the resemblance of its flowers to different insects; and it has recently been proved by Mr. Darwin to be dependent on insects for its existence. Doubly strange therefore, it seems, that in some cases this race of plants all but reaches the independent life of {34} insects. It rather _settles_ upon boughs than roots itself in them; half of its roots may wave in the air. 11. What vital power is, men of science are not a step nearer knowing than they were four thousand years ago. They are, if anything, farther from knowing now than then, in that they imagine themselves nearer. But they know more about its limitations and manifestations than they did. They have even arrived at something like a proof that there is a fixed quantity of it flowing out of things and into them. But, for the present, rest content with the general and sure knowledge that, fixed or flowing, measurable or immeasurable--one with electricity or heat or light, or quite distinct from any of them--life is a delightful, and its negative, death, a dreadful thing, to human creatures; and that you can give or gather a certain quantity of life into plants, animals, and yourself by wisdom and courage, and by their reverses can bring upon them any quantity of death you please, which is a much more serious point for you to consider than what life and death are. 12. Now, having got a quite clear idea of a root properly so called, we may observe what those storehouses, refuges, and ruins are, which we find connected with roots. The greater number of plants feed and grow at the same time; but there are some of them which like to feed first and grow afterwards. For the first year, or, at all events, the first period of their life, they gather material for their future life out of the ground and out {35} of the air, and lay it up in a storehouse as bees make combs. Of these stores--for the most part rounded masses tapering downwards into the ground--some are as good for human beings as honeycombs are; only not so sweet. We steal them from the plants, as we do from the bees, and these conical upside-down hives or treasuries of Atreus, under the names of carrots, turnips, and radishes, have had important influence on human fortunes. If we do not steal the store, next year the plant lives upon it, raises its stem, flowers and seeds out of that abundance, and having fulfilled its destiny, and provided for its successor, passes away, root and branch together. 13. There is a pretty example of patience for us in this; and it would be well for young people generally to set themselves to grow in a carrotty or turnippy manner, and lay up secret store, not caring to exhibit it until the time comes for fruitful display. But they must not, in after-life, imitate the spendthrift vegetable, and blossom only in the strength of what they learned long ago; else they soon come to contemptible end. Wise people live like laurels and cedars, and go on mining in the earth, while they adorn and embalm the air. 14. Secondly, Refuges. As flowers growing on trees have to live for some time, when they are young in their buds, so some flowers growing on the ground have to live for a while, when they are young, _in_ what we call their {36} roots. These are mostly among the Drosidæ[16] and other humble tribes, loving the ground; and, in their babyhood, liking to live quite down in it. A baby crocus has literally its own little dome--domus, or duomo--within which in early spring it lives a delicate convent life of its own, quite free from all worldly care and dangers, exceedingly ignorant of things in general, but itself brightly golden and perfectly formed before it is brought out. These subterranean palaces and vaulted cloisters, which we call bulbs, are no more roots than the blade of grass is a root, in which the ear of corn forms before it shoots up. 15. Thirdly, Ruins. The flowers which have these subterranean homes form one of many families whose roots, as well as seeds, have the power of reproduction. The succession of some plants is trusted much to their seeds: a thistle sows itself by its down, an oak by its acorns; the companies of flying emigrants settle where they may; and the shadowy tree is content to cast down its showers of nuts for swines' food with the chance that here and there one may become a ship's bulwark. But others among plants are less careless, or less proud. Many are anxious for their children to grow in the place where they grew themselves, and secure this not merely by letting their fruit fall at their feet, on the chance of its growing up {37} beside them, but by closer bond, bud springing forth from root, and the young plant being animated by the gradually surrendered life of its parent. Sometimes the young root is formed above the old one, as in the crocus, or beside it, as in the amaryllis, or beside it in a spiral succession, as in the orchis; in these cases the old root always perishes wholly when the young one is formed; but in a far greater number of tribes, one root connects itself with another by a short piece of intermediate stem; and this stem does not at once perish when the new root is formed, but grows on at one end indefinitely, perishing slowly at the other, the scars or ruins of the past plants being long traceable on its sides. When it grows entirely underground it is called a root-stock. But there is no essential distinction between a root-stock and a creeping stem, only the root-stock may be thought of as a stem which shares the melancholy humour of a root in loving darkness, while yet it has enough consciousness of better things to grow towards, or near, the light. In one family it is even fragrant where the flower is not, and a simple houseleek is called 'rhodiola rosea,' because its root-stock has the scent of a rose. 16. There is one very unusual condition of the root-stock which has become of much importance in economy, though it is of little in botany; the forming, namely, of knots at the ends of the branches of the underground stem, where the new roots are to be thrown out. Of these knots, or 'tubers,' (swollen things,) one kind, belonging to {38} the tobacco tribe, has been singularly harmful, together with its pungent relative, to a neighbouring country of ours, which perhaps may reach a higher destiny than any of its friends can conceive for it, if it can ever succeed in living without either the potato, or the pipe. 17. Being prepared now to find among plants many things which are like roots, yet are not; you may simplify and make fast your true idea of a root as a fibre or group of fibres, which fixes, animates, and partly feeds the leaf. Then practically, as you examine plants in detail, ask first respecting them: What kind of root have they? Is it large or small in proportion to their bulk, and why is it so? What soil does it like, and what properties does it acquire from it? The endeavour to answer these questions will soon lead you to a rational inquiry into the plant's history. You will first ascertain what rock or earth it delights in, and what climate and circumstances; then you will see how its root is fitted to sustain it mechanically under given pressures and violences, and to find for it the necessary sustenance under given difficulties of famine or drought. Lastly you will consider what chemical actions appear to be going on in the root, or its store; what processes there are, and elements, which give pungency to the radish, flavour to the onion, or sweetness to the liquorice; and of what service each root may be made capable under cultivation, and by proper subsequent treatment, either to animals or men. 18. I shall not attempt to do any of this for you; I {39} assume, in giving this advice, that you wish to pursue the science of botany as your chief study; I have only broken moments for it, snatched from my chief occupations, and I have done nothing myself of all this I tell you to do. But so far as you can work in this manner, even if you only ascertain the history of one plant, so that you know that accurately, you will have helped to lay the foundation of a true science of botany, from which the mass of useless nomenclature,[17] now mistaken for science, will fall away, as the husk of a poppy falls from the bursting flower. * * * * * {40} CHAPTER III. THE LEAF. 1. In the first of the poems of which the English Government has appointed a portion to be sung every day for the instruction and pleasure of the people, there occurs this curious statement respecting any person who will behave himself rightly: "He shall be like a tree planted by the river side, that bears its fruit in its season. His leaf also shall not wither; and you will see that whatever he does will prosper." I call it a curious statement, because the conduct to which this prosperity is promised is not that which the English, as a nation, at present think conducive to prosperity: but whether the statement be true or not, it will be easy for you to recollect the two eastern figures under which the happiness of the man is represented,--that he is like a tree bearing fruit "in its season;" (not so hastily as that the frost pinch it, nor so late that no sun ripens it;) and that "his leaf shall not fade." I should like you to recollect this phrase in the Vulgate--"folium ejus non defluet"--shall not fall _away_,--that is to say, shall not fall so as to leave any visible bareness in winter time, but {41} only that others may come up in its place, and the tree be always green. 2. Now, you know, the fruit of the tree is either for the continuance of its race, or for the good, or harm, of other creatures. In no case is it a good to the tree itself. It is not indeed, properly, a part of the tree at all, any more than the egg is part of the bird, or the young of any creature part of the creature itself. But in the leaf is the strength of the tree itself. Nay, rightly speaking, the leaves _are_ the tree itself. Its trunk sustains; its fruit burdens and exhausts; but in the leaf it breathes and lives. And thus also, in the eastern symbolism, the fruit is the labour of men for others; but the leaf is their own life. "He shall bring forth fruit, in his time; and his own joy and strength shall be continual." 3. Notice next the word 'folium.' In Greek, [Greek: phullon], 'phyllon.' "The thing that is born," or "put forth." "When the branch is tender, and putteth forth her leaves, ye know that summer is nigh." The botanists say, "The leaf is an expansion of the bark of the stem." More accurately, the bark is a contraction of the tissue of the leaf. For every leaf is born out of the earth, and breathes out of the air; and there are many leaves that have no stems, but only roots. It is 'the springing thing'; this thin film of life; rising, with its _edge_ out of the ground--infinitely feeble, infinitely fair. With Folium, in Latin, is rightly associated the word Flos; for the flower is only a group of {42} singularly happy leaves. From these two roots come foglio, feuille, feuillage, and fleur;--blume, blossom, and bloom; our foliage, and the borrowed foil, and the connected technical groups of words in architecture and the sciences. 4. This _thin_ film, I said. That is the essential character of a leaf; to be thin,--widely spread out in proportion to its mass. It is the opening of the substance of the earth to the air, which is the giver of life. The Greeks called it, therefore, not only the born or blooming thing, but the spread or expanded thing--"[Greek: petalon]." Pindar calls the beginnings of quarrel, "petals of quarrel." Recollect, therefore, this form, Petalos; and connect it with Petasos, the expanded cap of Mercury. For one great use of both is to give shade. The root of all these words is said to be [GREEK: PET] (Pet), which may easily be remembered in Greek, as it sometimes occurs in no unpleasant sense in English. 5. But the word 'petalos' is connected in Greek with another word, meaning, to fly,--so that you may think of a bird as spreading its petals to the wind; and with another, signifying Fate in its pursuing flight, the overtaking thing, or overflying Fate. Finally, there is another Greek word meaning 'wide,' [Greek: platus] (platys); whence at last our 'plate'--a thing made broad or extended--but especially made broad or 'flat' out of the solid, as in a lump of clay extended on the wheel, or a lump of metal extended by the hammer. So the first we call Platter; the second Plate, when of the precious metals. Then putting _b_ for {43} _p_, and _d_ for _t_, we get the blade of an oar, and blade of grass. 6. Now gather a branch of laurel, and look at it carefully. You may read the history of the being of half the earth in one of those green oval leaves--the things that the sun and the rivers have made out of dry ground. Daphne--daughter of Enipeus, and beloved by the Sun,--that fable gives you at once the two great facts about vegetation. Where warmth is, and moisture--there, also, the leaf. Where no warmth--there is no leaf; where there is no dew--no leaf. 7. Look, then, to the branch you hold in your hand. That you _can_ so hold it, or make a crown of it, if you choose, is the first thing I want you to note of it;--the proportion of size, namely, between the leaf and _you_. Great part of your life and character, as a human creature, has depended on that. Suppose all leaves had been spacious, like some palm leaves; solid, like cactus stem; or that trees had grown, as they might of course just as easily have grown, like mushrooms, all one great cluster of leaf round one stalk. I do not say that they are divided into small leaves only for your delight, or your service, as if you were the monarch of everything--even in this atom of a globe. You are made of your proper size; and the leaves of theirs: for reasons, and by laws, of which neither the leaves nor you know anything. Only note the harmony between both, and the joy we may have in this division and mystery of the frivolous and tremulous petals, {44} which break the light and the breeze,--compared to what with the frivolous and tremulous mind which is in us, we could have had out of domes, or penthouses, or walls of leaf. 8. Secondly; think awhile of its dark clear green, and the good of it to you. Scientifically, you know green in leaves is owing to 'chlorophyll,' or, in English, to 'greenleaf.' It may be very fine to know that; but my advice to you, on the whole, is to rest content with the general fact that leaves are green when they do not grow in or near smoky towns; and not by any means to rest content with the fact that very soon there will not be a green leaf in England, but only greenish-black ones. And thereon resolve that you will yourself endeavour to promote the growing of the green wood, rather than of the black. 9. Looking at the back of your laurel-leaves, you see how the central rib or spine of each, and the lateral branchings, strengthen and carry it. I find much confused use, in botanical works, of the words Vein and Rib. For, indeed, there are veins _in_ the ribs of leaves, as marrow in bones; and the projecting bars often gradually depress themselves into a transparent net of rivers. But the _mechanical_ force of the framework in carrying the leaf-tissue is the point first to be noticed; it is that which admits, regulates, or restrains the visible motions of the leaf; while the system of circulation can only be studied through the microscope. But the ribbed leaf bears itself to the wind, as the webbed foot of a bird does to the {45} water, and needs the same kind, though not the same strength, of support; and its ribs always are partly therefore constituted of strong woody substance, which is knit out of the tissue; and you can extricate this skeleton framework, and keep it, after the leaf-tissue is dissolved. So I shall henceforward speak simply of the leaf and its ribs,--only specifying the additional veined structure on necessary occasions. 10. I have just said that the ribs--and might have said, farther, the stalk that sustains them--are knit out of the _tissue_ of the leaf. But what is the leaf tissue itself knit out of? One would think that was nearly the first thing to be discovered, or at least to be thought of, concerning plants,--namely, how and of what they are made. We say they 'grow.' But you know that they can't grow out of nothing;--this solid wood and rich tracery must be made out of some previously existing substance. What is the substance?--and how is it woven into leaves.--twisted into wood? 11. Consider how fast this is done, in spring. You walk in February over a slippery field, where, through hoar-frost and mud, you perhaps hardly see the small green blades of trampled turf. In twelve weeks you wade through the same field up to your knees in fresh grass; and in a week or two more, you mow two or three solid haystacks off it. In winter you walk by your currant-bush, or your vine. They are shrivelled sticks--like bits of black tea in the canister. You pass again in May, and {46} the currant-bush looks like a young sycamore tree; and the vine is a bower: and meanwhile the forests, all over this side of the round world, have grown their foot or two in height, with new leaves--so much deeper, so much denser than they were. Where has it all come from? Cut off the fresh shoots from a single branch of any tree in May. Weigh them; and then consider that so much weight has been added to every such living branch, everywhere, this side the equator, within the last two months. What is all that made of? 12. Well, this much the botanists really know, and tell us,--It is made chiefly of the breath of animals: that is to say, of the substance which, during the past year, animals have breathed into the air; and which, if they went on breathing, and their breath were not made into trees, would poison them, or rather suffocate them, as people are suffocated in uncleansed pits, and dogs in the Grotta del Cane. So that you may look upon the grass and forests of the earth as a kind of green hoar-frost, frozen upon it from our breath, as, on the window-panes, the white arborescence of ice. 13. But how is it made into wood? The substances that have been breathed into the air are charcoal, with oxygen and hydrogen,--or, more plainly, charcoal and water. Some necessary earths,--in smaller quantity, but absolutely essential,--the trees get from the ground; but, I believe all the charcoal they want, and most of the water, from the air. Now the question is, where and how do they take it in, and digest it into wood? {47} 14. You know, in spring, and partly through all the year, except in frost, a liquid called 'sap' circulates in trees, of which the nature, one should have thought, might have been ascertained by mankind in the six thousand years they have been cutting wood. Under the impression always that it _had been_ ascertained, and that I could at any time know all about it, I have put off till to-day, 19th October, 1869, when I am past fifty, the knowing anything about it at all. But I will really endeavour now to ascertain something, and take to my botanical books, accordingly, in due order. (1) Dresser's "Rudiments of Botany." 'Sap' not in the index; only Samara, and Sarcocarp,--about neither of which I feel the smallest curiosity. (2) Figuier's "Histoire des Plantes."[18] 'Sêve,' not in index; only Serpolet, and Sherardia arvensis, which also have no help in them for me. (3) Balfour's "Manual of Botany." 'Sap,'--yes, at last. "Article 257. Course of fluids in exogenous stems." I don't care about the course just now: I want to know where the fluids come from. "If a plant be plunged into a weak solution of acetate of lead,"--I don't in the least want to know what happens. "From the minuteness of the tissue, it is not easy to determine the vessels through which the sap moves." Who said it was? If it had been easy, I should have done it myself. "Changes take place in the composition of the {48} sap in its upward course." I dare say; but I don't know yet what its composition is before it begins going up. "The Elaborated Sap by Mr. Schultz has been called 'latex.'" I wish Mr. Schultz were in a hogshead of it, with the top on. "On account of these movements in the latex, the laticiferous vessels have been denominated cinenchymatous." I do not venture to print the expressions which I here mentally make use of. 15. Stay,--here, at last, in Article 264, is something to the purpose: "It appears then that, in the case of Exogenous plants, the fluid matter in the soil, containing different substances in solution, is sucked up by the extremities of the roots." Yes, but how of the pine trees on yonder rock?--Is there any sap in the rock, or water either? The moisture must be seized during actual rain on the root, or stored up from the snow; stored up, any way, in a tranquil, not actively sappy, state, till the time comes for its change, of which there is no account here. 16. I have only one chance left now. Lindley's "Introduction to Botany." 'Sap,'--yes,--'General motion of.' II. 325. "The course which is taken by the sap, after entering a plant, is the first subject for consideration." My dear doctor, I have learned nearly whatever I know of plant structure from you, and am grateful; and that it is little, is not your fault, but mine. But this--let me say it with all sincere respect--is not what you should have told me here. You know, far better than I, that 'sap' never does enter a plant at all; but only salt, or earth and water, {49} and that the roots alone could not make it; and that, therefore, the course of it must be, in great part, the result or process of the actual making. But I will read now, patiently; for I know you will tell me much that is worth hearing, though not perhaps what I want. Yes; now that I have read Lindley's statement carefully, I find it is full of precious things; and this is what, with thinking over it, I can gather for you. 17. First, towards the end of January,--as the light enlarges, and the trees revive from their rest,--there is a general liquefaction of the blood of St. Januarius in their stems; and I suppose there is really a great deal of moisture rapidly absorbed from the earth in most cases; and that this absorption is a great help to the sun in drying the winter's damp out of it for us: then, with that strange vital power,--which scientific people are usually as afraid of naming as common people are afraid of naming Death,--the tree gives the gathered earth and water a changed existence; and to this new-born liquid an upward motion from the earth, as our blood has from the heart; for the life of the tree is out of the earth; and this upward motion has a mechanical power in pushing on the growth. "_Forced onward_ by the current of sap, the plumule ascends," (Lindley, p. 132,)--this blood of the tree having to supply, exactly as our own blood has, not only the forming powers of substance, but a continual evaporation, "approximately seventeen times more than that of the human body," while the force of motion in the sap "is {50} sometimes five times greater than that which impels the blood in the crural artery of the horse." 18. Hence generally, I think we may conclude thus much,--that at every pore of its surface, under ground and above, the plant in the spring absorbs moisture, which instantly disperses itself through its whole system "by means of some permeable quality of the membranes of the cellular tissue invisible to our eyes even by the most powerful glasses" (p. 326); that in this way subjected to the vital power of the tree, it becomes sap, properly so called, which passes downwards through this cellular tissue, slowly and secretly; and then upwards, through the great vessels of the tree, violently, stretching out the supple twigs of it as yon see a flaccid waterpipe swell and move when the cock is turned to fill it. And the tree becomes literally a fountain, of which the springing streamlets are clothed with new-woven garments of green tissue, and of which the silver spray stays in the sky,--a spray, now, of leaves. 19. That is the gist of the matter; and a very wonderful gist it is, to my mind. The secret and subtle descent--the violent and exulting resilience of the tree's blood,--what guides it?--what compels? The creature has no heart to beat like ours; one cannot take refuge from the mystery in a 'muscular contraction.' Fountain without supply--playing by its own force, for ever rising and falling all through the days of Spring, spending itself at last in gathered clouds of leaves, and iris of blossom. Very wonderful; and it seems, for the present, that {51} we know nothing whatever about its causes;--nay, the strangeness of the reversed arterial and vein motion, without a heart, does not seem to strike anybody. Perhaps, however, it may interest you, as I observe it does the botanists, to know that the cellular tissue through which the motion is effected is called Parenchym, and the woody tissue, Bothrenchym; and that Parenchym is divided, by a system of nomenclature which "has some advantages over that more commonly in use,"[19] into merenchyma, conenchyma, ovenchyma, atractenchyma, cylindrenchyma, colpenchyma, cladenchyma, and prismenchyma. 20. Take your laurel branch into your hand again. There are, as you must well know, innumerable shapes and orders of leaves;--there are some like claws; some like fingers, and some like feet; there are endlessly cleft ones, and endlessly clustered ones, and inscrutable divisions within divisions of the fretted verdure; and wrinkles, and ripples, and stitchings, and hemmings, and pinchings, and gatherings, and crumplings, and clippings, and what not. But there is nothing so constantly noble as the pure leaf of the laurel, bay, orange, and olive; numerable, sequent, perfect in setting, divinely simple and serene. I shall call these noble leaves 'Apolline' leaves. They characterize many orders of plants, great and small,--from the magnolia to the myrtle, and exquisite 'myrtille' {52} of the hills, (bilberry); but wherever you find them, strong, lustrous, dark green, simply formed, richly scented or stored,--you have nearly always kindly and lovely vegetation, in healthy ground and air. 21. The gradual diminution in rank beneath the Apolline leaf, takes place in others by the loss of one or more of the qualities above named. The Apolline leaf, I said, is strong, lustrous, full in its green, rich in substance, simple in form. The inferior leaves are those which have lost strength, and become thin, like paper; which have lost lustre, and become dead by roughness of surface, like the nettle,--(an Apolline leaf may become dead by _bloom_, like the olive, yet not lose beauty); which have lost colour and become feeble in green, as in the poplar, or _crudely_ bright, like rice; which have lost substance and softness, and have nothing to give in scent or nourishment; or become flinty or spiny; finally, which have lost simplicity, and become cloven or jagged. Many of these losses are partly atoned for by gain of some peculiar loveliness. Grass and moss, and parsley and fern, have each their own delightfulness; yet they are all of inferior power and honour, compared to the Apolline leaves. [Illustration: FIG. 3.] 22. You see, however, that though your laurel leaf has a central stem, and traces of ribs branching from it, in a vertebrated manner, they are so faint that we cannot take it for a type of vertebrate structure. But the two figures of elm and alisma leaf, given in Modern Painters (vol. iii.), and now here repeated, Fig. 3, will clearly enough {53} show the opposition between this vertebrate form, branching again usually at the edges, _a_, and the softly opening lines diffused at the stem, and gathered at the point of the leaf _b_, which, as you almost without doubt know already are characteristic of a vast group of plants, including especially all the lilies, grasses, and palms, which for the most part are the signs of local or temporary moisture in hot countries;--local, as of fountains and streams; temporary, as of rain or inundation. But temporary, still more definitely in the day, than in the year. When you go out, delighted, into the dew of the morning, have you ever considered why it is so rich upon the grass;--why it is _not_ upon the trees? It _is_ partly on the trees, but yet your memory of it will be always chiefly of its gleam upon the lawn. On many {54} trees you will find there is none at all. I cannot follow out here the many inquiries connected with this subject, but, broadly, remember the branched trees are fed chiefly by rain,--the unbranched ones by dew, visible or invisible; that is to say, at all events by moisture which they can gather for themselves out of the air; or else by streams and springs. Hence the division of the verse of the song of Moses: "My doctrine shall drop as the rain; my speech shall distil as the dew: as the _small_ rain upon the tender _herb_, and as the showers upon the grass." 23. Next, examining the direction of the veins in the leaf of the alisma, _b_, Fig. 3, you see they all open widely, as soon as they can, towards the thick part of the leaf; and then taper, apparently with reluctance, pushing each other outwards, to the point. If the leaf were a lake of the same shape, and its stem the entering river, the lines of the currents passing through it would, I believe, be nearly the same as that of the veins in the aquatic leaf. I have not examined the fluid law accurately, and I do not suppose there is more real correspondence than may be caused by the leaf's expanding in every permitted direction, as the water would, with all the speed it can; but the resemblance is so close as to enable you to fasten the relation of the unbranched leaves to streams more distinctly in your mind,--just as the toss of the palm leaves from their stem may, I think, in their likeness to the springing of a fountain, remind you of their relation to the desert, and their necessity, therein, to life of man and beast. {55} 24. And thus, associating these grass and lily leaves always with fountains, or with dew, I think we may get a pretty general name for them also. You know that Cora, our Madonna of the flowers, was lost in Sicilian Fields: you know, also, that the fairest of Greek fountains, lost in Greece, was thought to rise in a Sicilian islet; and that the real springing of the noble fountain in that rock was one of the causes which determined the position of the greatest Greek city of Sicily. So I think, as we call the fairest branched leaves 'Apolline,' we will call the fairest flowing ones 'Arethusan.' But remember that the Apolline leaf represents only the central type of land leaves, and is, within certain limits, of a fixed form; while the beautiful Arethusan leaves, alike in flowing of their lines, change their forms indefinitely,--some shaped like round pools, and some like winding currents, and many like arrows, and many like hearts, and otherwise varied and variable, as leaves ought to be,--that rise out of the waters, and float amidst the pausing of their foam. 25. Brantwood, _Easter Day_, 1875.--I don't like to spoil my pretty sentence, above; but on reading it over, I suspect I wrote it confusing the water-lily leaf, and other floating ones of the same kind, with the Arethusan forms. But the water-lily and water-ranunculus leaves, and such others, are to the orders of earth-loving leaves what ducks and swans are to birds; (the swan is the water-lily of birds;) they are _swimming_ leaves; not properly watery creatures, or able to live under water like fish, (unless {56} when dormant), but just like birds that pass their lives on the surface of the waves--though they must breathe in the air. And these natant leaves, as they lie on the water surface, do not want strong ribs to carry them,[20] but have very delicate ones beautifully branching into the orbed space, to keep the tissue nice and flat; while, on the other hand, leaves that really have to grow under water, sacrifice their tissue, and keep only their ribs, like coral animals; ('Ranunculus heterophyllus,' 'other-leaved Frog-flower,' and its like,) just as, if you keep your own hands too long in water, they shrivel at the finger-ends. 26. So that you must not attach any great botanical importance to the characters of contrasted aspects in leaves, which I wish you to express by the words 'Apolline' and 'Arethusan'; but their mythic importance is very great, and your careful observance of it will help you completely to understand the beautiful Greek fable of Apollo and Daphne. There are indeed several Daphnes, and the first root of the name is far away in another field of thought altogether, connected with the Gods of Light. But etymology, the best of servants, is an unreasonable master; and Professor Max Müller trusts his deep-reaching knowledge of the first ideas connected with the names of Athena {57} and Daphne, too implicitly, when he supposes this idea to be retained in central Greek theology. 'Athena' originally meant only the dawn, among nations who knew nothing of a Sacred Spirit. But the Athena who catches Achilles by the hair, and urges the spear of Diomed, has not, in the mind of Homer, the slightest remaining connection with the mere beauty of daybreak. Daphne chased by Apollo, may perhaps--though I doubt even this much of consistence in the earlier myth--have meant the Dawn pursued by the Sun. But there is no trace whatever of this first idea left in the fable of Arcadia and Thessaly. 27. The central Greek Daphne is the daughter of one of the great _river_ gods of Arcadia; her mother is the Earth. Now Arcadia is the Oberland of Greece; and the crests of Cyllene, Erymanthus, and Mænalus[21] surround it, like the Swiss forest cantons, with walls of rock, and shadows of pine. And it divides itself, like the Oberland, into three regions: first, the region of rock and snow, sacred to Mercury and Apollo, in which Mercury's birth on Cyllene, his construction of the lyre, and his stealing the oxen of Apollo, are all expressions of the enchantments of cloud and sound, mingling with the sunshine, on the cliffs of Cyllene. "While the mists Flying, and rainy vapours, call out shapes {58} And phantoms from the crags and solid earth As fast as a musician scatters sounds Out of his instrument." Then came the pine region, sacred especially to Pan and Mænalus, the son of Lycaon and brother of Callisto; and you had better remember this relationship carefully, for the sake of the meaning of the constellations of Ursa Major and the Mons Mænalius, and of their wolf and bear traditions; (compare also the strong impression on the Greek mind of the wild leafiness, nourished by snow, of the Boeotian Cithæron,--"Oh, thou lake-hollow, full of divine leaves, and of wild creatures, nurse of the snow, darling of Diana," (Phoenissæ, 801)). How wild the climate of this pine region is, you may judge from the pieces in the note below[22] out of Colonel Leake's diary in {59} crossing the Mænalian range in spring. And then, lastly, you have the laurel and vine region, full of sweetness and Elysian beauty. 28. Now as Mercury is the ruling power of the hill enchantment, so Daphne of the leafy peace. She is, in her first life, the daughter of the mountain river, the mist of it filling the valley; the Sun, pursuing, and effacing it, from dell to dell, is, literally, Apollo pursuing Daphne, and _adverse_ to her; (not, as in the earlier tradition, the Sun pursuing only his own light). Daphne, thus hunted, cries to her mother, the Earth, which opens, and receives her, causing the laurel to spring up in her stead. That is to say, wherever the rocks protect the mist from the sunbeam, and suffer it to water the earth, there the laurel and other richest vegetation fill the hollows, giving a better glory to the sun itself. For sunshine, on the torrent spray, {60} on the grass of its valley, and entangled among the laurel stems, or glancing from their leaves, became a thousandfold lovelier and more sacred than the same sunbeams, burning on the leafless mountain-side. And farther, the leaf, in its connection with the river, is typically expressive, not, as the flower was, of human fading and passing away, but of the perpetual flow and renewal of human mind and thought, rising "like the rivers that run among the hills"; therefore it was that the youth of Greece sacrificed their hair--the sign of their continually renewed strength,--to the rivers, and to Apollo. Therefore, to commemorate Apollo's own chief victory over death--over Python, the corrupter,--a laurel branch was gathered every ninth year in the vale of Tempe; and the laurel leaf became the reward or crown of all beneficent and enduring work of man--work of inspiration, born of the strength of the earth, and of the dew of heaven, and which can never pass away. 29. You may doubt at first, even because of its grace, this meaning in the fable of Apollo and Daphne; you will not doubt it, however, when you trace it back to its first eastern origin. When we speak carelessly of the traditions respecting the Garden of Eden, (or in Hebrew, remember, Garden of Delight,) we are apt to confuse Milton's descriptions with those in the book of Genesis. Milton fills his Paradise with flowers; but no flowers are spoken of in Genesis. We may indeed conclude that in speaking of every herb of the field, flowers are included. But they {61} are not named. The things that are _named_ in the Garden of Delight are trees only. The words are, "every tree that was pleasant to the sight and good for food;" and as if to mark the idea more strongly for us in the Septuagint, even the ordinary Greek word for tree is not used, but the word [Greek: xulon],--literally, every 'wood,' every piece of _timber_ that was pleasant or good. They are indeed the "vivi travi,"--living rafters, of Dante's Apennine. Do you remember how those trees were said to be watered? Not by the four rivers only. The rivers could not supply the place of rain. No rivers do; for in truth they are the refuse of rain. No storm-clouds were there, nor hidings of the blue by darkening veil; but there went up a _mist_ from the earth, and watered the face of the ground,--or, as in Septuagint and Vulgate, "There went forth a fountain from the earth, and gave the earth to drink." 30. And now, lastly, we continually think of that Garden of Delight, as if it existed, or could exist, no longer; wholly forgetting that it is spoken of in Scripture as perpetually existent; and some of its fairest trees as existent also, or only recently destroyed. When Ezekiel is describing to Pharaoh the greatness of the Assyrians, do you remember what image he gives of them? "Behold, the Assyrian was a cedar in Lebanon, with fair branches; and his top was among the thick boughs; the waters nourished him, and the deep brought him up, with her rivers {62} running round about his plants. Under his branches did all the beasts of the field bring forth their young; and under his shadow dwelt all great nations." 31. Now hear what follows. "The cedars _in the Garden of God_ could not hide _him_. The fir trees were not like his boughs, and the chestnut trees were not like his branches; nor any tree in the Garden of God was like unto him in beauty." So that you see, whenever a nation rises into consistent, vital, and, through many generations, enduring power, _there_ is still the Garden of God; still it is the water of life which feeds the roots of it; and still the succession of its people is imaged by the perennial leafage of trees of Paradise. Could this be said of Assyria, and shall it not be said of England? How much more, of lives such as ours should be,--just, laborious, united in aim, beneficent in fulfilment, may the image be used of the leaves of the trees of Eden! Other symbols have been given often to show the evanescence and slightness of our lives--the foam upon the water, the grass on the housetop, the vapour that vanishes away; yet none of these are images of true human life. That life, when it is real, is _not_ evanescent; is _not_ slight; does _not_ vanish away. Every noble life leaves the fibre of it interwoven for ever in the work of the world; by so much, evermore, the strength of the human race has gained; more stubborn in the root, higher towards heaven in the branch; and, "as a teil tree, and as an oak,--whose substance is in them {63} when they cast their leaves,--so the holy seed is in the midst thereof." 32. Only remember on what conditions. In the great Psalm of life, we are told that everything that a man doeth shall prosper, so only that he delight in the law of his God, that he hath not walked in the counsel of the wicked, nor sat in the seat of the scornful. Is it among these leaves of the perpetual Spring,--helpful leaves for the healing of the nations,--that we mean to have our part and place, or rather among the "brown skeletons of leaves that lag, the forest brook along"? For other leaves there are, and other streams that water them,--not water of life, but water of Acheron. Autumnal leaves there are that strew the brooks, in Vallombrosa. Remember you how the name of the place was changed: "Once called 'Sweet water' (Aqua bella), now, the Shadowy Vale." Portion in one or other name we must choose, all of us,--with the living olive, by the living fountains of waters, or with the wild fig trees, whose leafage of human soul is strewed along the brooks of death, in the eternal Vallombrosa. * * * * * {64} CHAPTER IV. THE FLOWER. ROME, _Whit Monday, 1874_. 1. On the quiet road leading from under the Palatine to the little church of St. Nereo and Achilleo, I met, yesterday morning, group after group of happy peasants heaped in pyramids on their triumphal carts, in Whit-Sunday dress, stout and clean, and gay in colour; and the women all with bright artificial roses in their hair, set with true natural taste, and well becoming them. This power of arranging wreath or crown of flowers for the head, remains to the people from classic times. And the thing that struck me most in the look of it was not so much the cheerfulness, as the dignity;--in a true sense, the _becomingness_ and decorousness of the ornament. Among the ruins of the dead city, and the worse desolation of the work of its modern rebuilders, here was one element at least of honour, and order;--and, in these, of delight. And these are the real significances of the flower itself. It is the utmost purification of the plant, and the utmost discipline. Where its tissue is blanched fairest, dyed purest, set in strictest rank, appointed to most chosen office, {65} there--and created by the fact of this purity and function--is the flower. 2. But created, observe, by the purity and order, more than by the function. The flower exists for its own sake,--not for the fruit's sake. The production of the fruit is an added honour to it--is a granted consolation to us for its death. But the flower is the end of the seed,--not the seed of the flower. You are fond of cherries, perhaps; and think that the use of cherry blossom is to produce cherries. Not at all. The use of cherries is to produce cherry blossoms; just as the use of bulbs is to produce hyacinths,--not of hyacinths to produce bulbs. Nay, that the flower can multiply by bulb, or root, or slip, as well as by seed, may show you at once how immaterial the seed-forming function is to the flower's existence. A flower is to the vegetable substance what a crystal is to the mineral. "Dust of sapphire," writes my friend Dr. John Brown to me, of the wood hyacinths of Scotland in the spring. Yes, that is so,--each bud more beautiful, itself, than perfectest jewel--_this_, indeed, jewel "of purest ray serene;" but, observe you, the glory is in the purity, the serenity, the radiance,--not in the mere continuance of the creature. 3. It is because of its beauty that its continuance is worth Heaven's while. The glory of it is in being,--not in begetting; and in the spirit and substance,--not the change. For the earth also has its flesh and spirit. Every day of spring is the earth's Whit Sunday--Fire {66} Sunday. The falling fire of the rainbow, with the order of its zones, and the gladness of its covenant,--you may eat of it, like Esdras; but you feed upon it only that you may see it. Do you think that flowers were born to nourish the blind? Fasten well in your mind, then, the conception of order, and purity, as the essence of the flower's being, no less than of the crystal's. A ruby is not made bright to scatter round it child-rubies; nor a flower, but in collateral and added honour, to give birth to other flowers. Two main facts, then, you have to study in every flower: the symmetry or order of it, and the perfection of its substance; first, the manner in which the leaves are placed for beauty of form; then the spinning and weaving and blanching of their tissue, for the reception of purest colour, or refining to richest surface. 4. First, the order: the proportion, and answering to each other, of the parts; for the study of which it becomes necessary to know what its parts are; and that a flower consists essentially of--Well, I really don't know what it consists essentially of. For some flowers have bracts, and stalks, and toruses, and calices, and corollas, and discs, and stamens, and pistils, and ever so many odds and ends of things besides, of no use at all, seemingly; and others have no bracts, and no stalks, and no toruses, and no calices, and no corollas, and nothing recognizable for stamens or pistils,--only, when they come to be reduced to this kind of poverty, one doesn't call {67} them flowers; they get together in knots, and one calls them catkins, or the like, or forgets their existence altogether;--I haven't the least idea, for instance, myself, what an oak blossom is like; only I know its bracts get together and make a cup of themselves afterwards, which the Italians call, as they do the dome of St. Peter's, 'cupola'; and that it is a great pity, for their own sake as well as the world's, that they were not content with their ilex cupolas, which were made to hold something, but took to building these big ones upside-down, which hold nothing--_less_ than nothing,--large extinguishers of the flame of Catholic religion. And for farther embarrassment, a flower not only is without essential consistence of a given number of parts, but it rarely consists, alone, of _itself_. One talks of a hyacinth as of a flower; but a hyacinth is any number of flowers. One does not talk of 'a heather'; when one says 'heath,' one means the whole plant, not the blossom,--because heath-bells, though they grow together for company's sake, do so in a voluntary sort of way, and are not fixed in their places; and yet, they depend on each other for effect, as much as a bunch of grapes. 5. And this grouping of flowers, more or less waywardly, is the most subtle part of their order, and the most difficult to represent. Take that cluster of bog-heather bells, for instance, Line-study 1. You might think at first there were no lines in it worth study; but look at it more carefully. There are twelve bells in the {68} cluster. There may be fewer, or more; but the bog-heath is apt to run into something near that number. They all grow together as close as they can, and on one side of the supporting branch only. The natural effect would be to bend the branch down; but the branch won't have that, and so leans back to carry them. Now you see the use of drawing the profile in the middle figure: it shows you the exactly balanced setting of the group,--not drooping, nor erect; but with a disposition to droop, tossed up by the leaning back of the stem. Then, growing as near as they can to each other, those in the middle get squeezed. Here is another quite special character. Some flowers don't like being squeezed at all (fancy a squeezed convolvulus!); but these heather bells like it, and look all the prettier for it,--not the squeezed ones exactly, by themselves, but the cluster altogether, by their patience. Then also the outside ones get pushed into a sort of star-shape, and in front show the colour of all their sides, and at the back the rich green cluster of sharp leaves that hold them; all this order being as essential to the plant as any of the more formal structures of the bell itself. 6. But the bog-heath has usually only one cluster of flowers to arrange on each branch. Take a spray of ling (Frontispiece), and you will find that the richest piece of Gothic spire-sculpture would be dull and graceless beside the grouping of the floral masses in their various life. But it is difficult to give the accuracy of attention {69} necessary to see their beauty without drawing them; and still more difficult to draw them in any approximation to the truth before they change. This is indeed the fatallest obstacle to all good botanical work. Flowers, or leaves,--and especially the last,--can only be rightly drawn as they grow. And even then, in their loveliest spring action, they grow as you draw them, and will not stay quite the same creatures for half an hour. 7. I said in my inaugural lectures at Oxford, § 107, that real botany is not so much the description of plants as their biography. Without entering at all into the history of its fruitage, the life and death of the blossom _itself_ is always an eventful romance, which must be completely told, if well. The grouping given to the various states of form between bud and flower is always the most important part of the design of the plant; and in the modes of its death are some of the most touching lessons, or symbolisms, connected with its existence. The utter loss and far-scattered ruin of the cistus and wild rose,--the dishonoured and dark contortion of the convolvulus,--the pale wasting of the crimson heath of Apennine, are strangely opposed by the quiet closing of the brown bells of the ling, each making of themselves a little cross as they die; and so enduring into the days of winter. I have drawn the faded beside the full branch, and know not which is the more beautiful. 8. This grouping, then, and way of treating each other in their gathered company, is the first and most subtle {70} condition of form in flowers; and, observe, I don't mean, just now, the appointed and disciplined grouping, but the wayward and accidental. Don't confuse the beautiful consent of the cluster in these sprays of heath with the legal strictness of a foxglove,--though that also has its divinity; but of another kind. That legal order of blossoming--for which we may wisely keep the accepted name, 'inflorescence,'--is itself quite a separate subject of study, which we cannot take up until we know the still more strict laws which are set over the flower itself. 9. I have in my hand a small red poppy which I gathered on Whit Sunday on the palace of the Cæsars. It is an intensely simple, intensely floral, flower. All silk and flame: a scarlet cup, perfect-edged all round, seen among the wild grass far away, like a burning coal fallen from Heaven's altars. You cannot have a more complete, a more stainless, type of flower absolute; inside and outside, _all_ flower. No sparing of colour anywhere--no outside coarsenesses--no interior secrecies; open as the sunshine that creates it; fine-finished on both sides, down to the extremest point of insertion on its narrow stalk; and robed in the purple of the Cæsars. Literally so. That poppy scarlet, so far as it could be painted by mortal hand, for mortal King, stays yet, against the sun, and wind, and rain, on the walls of the house of Augustus, a hundred yards from the spot where I gathered the weed of its desolation. 10. A pure _cup_, you remember it is; that much at least {71} you cannot but remember, of poppy-form among the cornfields; and it is best, in beginning, to think of every flower as essentially a cup. There are flat ones, but you will find that most of these are really groups of flowers, not single blossoms; and there are out-of-the-way and quaint ones, very difficult to define as of any shape; but even these have a cup to begin with, deep down in them. You had better take the idea of a cup or vase, as the first, simplest, and most general form of true flower. The botanists call it a corolla, which means a garland, or a kind of crown; and the word is a very good one, because it indicates that the flower-cup is made, as our clay cups are, on a potter's wheel; that it is essentially a _revolute_ form--a whirl or (botanically) 'whorl' of leaves; in reality successive round the base of the urn they form. 11. Perhaps, however, you think poppies in general are not much like cups. But the flower in my hand is a--poverty-_stricken_ poppy, I was going to write,--poverty-_strengthened_ poppy, I mean. On richer ground, it would have gushed into flaunting breadth of untenable purple--flapped its inconsistent scarlet vaguely to the wind--dropped the pride of its petals over my hand in an hour after I gathered it. But this little rough-bred thing, a Campagna pony of a poppy, is as bright and strong to-day as yesterday. So that I can see exactly where the leaves join or lap over each other; and when I look down into the cup, find it to be composed of four leaves altogether,--two smaller, set within two larger. {72} [Illustration: FIG. 4.] 12. Thus far (and somewhat farther) I had written in Rome; but now, putting my work together in Oxford, a sudden doubt troubles me, whether all poppies have two petals smaller than the other two. Whereupon I take down an excellent little school-book on botany--the best I've yet found, thinking to be told quickly; and I find a great deal about opium; and, apropos of opium, that the juice of common celandine is of a bright orange colour; and I pause for a bewildered five minutes, wondering if a celandine is a poppy, and how many petals _it_ has: going on again--because I must, without making up my mind, on either question--I am told to "observe the floral receptacle of the Californian genus Eschscholtzia." Now I can't observe anything of the sort, and I don't want to; and I wish California and all that's in it were at the deepest bottom of the Pacific. Next I am told to compare the poppy and waterlily; and I can't do that, neither--though I should like to; and there's the end of the article; and it never tells me whether one pair of petals is always smaller than the other, or not. Only I see it says the corolla has four petals. Perhaps a celandine may be a double poppy, and have eight, I know they're tiresome irregular things, and I mustn't be stopped by them;[23]--at {73} any rate, my Roman poppy knew what it was about, and had its two couples of leaves in clear subordination, of which at the time I went on to inquire farther, as follows. 13. The next point is, what shape are the petals of? And that is easier asked than answered; for when you pull them off, you find they won't lie flat, by any means, but are each of them cups, or rather shells, themselves; and that it requires as much conchology as would describe a cockle, before you can properly give account of a single poppy leaf. Or of a single _any_ leaf--for all leaves are either shells, or boats, (or solid, if not hollow, masses,) and cannot be represented in flat outline. But, laying these as flat as they will lie on a sheet of paper, you will find the piece they hide of the paper they lie on can be drawn; giving approximately the shape of the outer leaf as at A, that of the inner as at B, Fig. 4; which you will find very difficult lines to draw, for they are each composed of two curves, joined, as in Fig. 5; all above the line _a b_ being the outer edge of the leaf, but joined so subtly to the side that the least break in drawing the line spoils the form. 14. Now every flower petal consists essentially of these two parts, variously proportioned and outlined. It {74} expands from C to _a b_; and closes in the external line, and for this reason. [Illustration: FIG. 5.] Considering every flower under the type of a cup, the first part of the petal is that in which it expands from the bottom to the rim; the second part, that in which it terminates itself on reaching the rim. Thus let the three circles, A B C, Fig 6., represent the undivided cups of the three great geometrical orders of flowers--trefoil, quatrefoil and cinquefoil. [Illustration: FIG. 6.] Draw in the first an equilateral triangle, in the second a square, in the third a pentagon; draw the dark lines from centres to angles; (D E F): then (_a_) the third part of D; (_b_) the fourth part of E, (_c_) the fifth part of F, are the normal outline forms of the petals of the three {75} families; the relations between the developing angle and limiting curve being varied according to the depth of cup, and the degree of connection between the petals. Thus a rose folds them over one another, in the bud; a convolvulus twists them,--the one expanding into a flat cinquefoil of separate petals, and the other into a deep-welled cinquefoil of connected ones. I find an excellent illustration in Veronica Polita, one of the most perfectly graceful of field plants because of the light alternate flower stalks, each with its leaf at the base; the flower itself a quatrefoil, of which the largest and least petals are uppermost. Pull one off its calyx (draw, if you can, the outline of the striped blue upper petal with the jagged edge of pale gold below), and then examine the relative shapes of the lateral, and least upper {76} petal. Their under surface is very curious, as if covered with white paint; the blue stripes above, in the direction of their growth, deepening the more delicate colour with exquisite insistence. A lilac blossom will give you a pretty example of the expansion of the petals of a quatrefoil above the edge of the cup or tube; but I must get back to our poppy at present. 15. What outline its petals really have, however, is little shown in their crumpled fluttering; but that very crumpling arises from a fine floral character which we do not enough value in them. We usually think of the poppy as a coarse flower; but it is the most transparent and delicate of all the blossoms of the field. The rest--nearly all of them--depend on the _texture_ of their surfaces for colour. But the poppy is painted _glass_; it never glows so brightly as when the sun shines through it. Wherever it is seen--against the light or with the light--always, it is a flame, and warms the wind like a blown ruby. In these two qualities, the accurately balanced form, and the perfectly infused colour of the petals, you have, as I said, the central being of the flower. All the other parts of it are necessary, but we must follow them out in order. 16. Looking down into the cup, you see the green boss divided by a black star,--of six rays only,--and surrounded by a few black spots. My rough-nurtured poppy contents itself with these for its centre; a rich one would have had the green boss divided by a dozen of rays, and surrounded by a dark crowd of crested threads. {77} This green boss is called by botanists the pistil, which word consists of the two first syllables of the Latin pistillum, otherwise more familiarly Englished into 'pestle.' The meaning of the botanical word is of course, also, that the central part of a flower-cup has to it something of the relations that a pestle has to a mortar! Practically, however, as this pestle has no pounding functions, I think the word is misleading as well as ungraceful; and that we may find a better one after looking a little closer into the matter. For this pestle is divided generally into three very distinct parts: there is a storehouse at the bottom of it for the seeds of the plant; above this, a shaft, often of considerable length in deep cups, rising to the level of their upper edge, or above it; and at the top of these shafts an expanded crest. This shaft the botanists call 'style,' from the Greek word for a pillar; and the crest of it--I do not know why--stigma, from the Greek word for 'spot.' The storehouse for the seeds they call the 'ovary,' from the Latin ovum, an egg. So you have two-thirds of a Latin word, (pistil)--awkwardly and disagreeably edged in between pestle and pistol--for the whole thing; you have an English-Latin word (ovary) for the bottom of it; an English-Greek word (style) for the middle; and a pure Greek word (stigma) for the top. 17. This is a great mess of language, and all the worse that the words style and stigma have both of them quite different senses in ordinary and scholarly English from this forced botanical one. And I will venture therefore, {78} for my own pupils, to put the four names altogether into English. Instead of calling the whole thing a pistil, I shall simply call it the pillar. Instead of 'ovary,' I shall say 'Treasury' (for a seed isn't an egg, but it _is_ a treasure). The style I shall call the 'Shaft,' and the stigma the 'Volute.' So you will have your entire pillar divided into the treasury, at its base, the shaft, and the volute; and I think you will find these divisions easily remembered, and not unfitted to the sense of the words in their ordinary use. 18. Round this central, but, in the poppy, very stumpy, pillar, you find a cluster of dark threads, with dusty pendants or cups at their ends. For these the botanists' name 'stamens,' may be conveniently retained, each consisting of a 'filament,' or thread, and an 'anther,' or blossoming part. And in this rich corolla, and pillar, or pillars, with their treasuries, and surrounding crowd of stamens, the essential flower consists. Fewer than these several parts, it cannot have, to be a flower at all; of these, the corolla leads, and is the object of final purpose. The stamens and the treasuries are only there in order to produce future corollas, though often themselves decorative in the highest degree. These, I repeat, are all the essential parts of a flower. But it would have been difficult, with any other than the poppy, to have shown you them alone; for nearly all other flowers keep with them, all their lives, their nurse {79} or tutor leaves,--the group which, in stronger and humbler temper, protected them in their first weakness, and formed them to the first laws of their being. But the poppy casts these tutorial leaves away. It is the finished picture of impatient and luxury-loving youth,--at first too severely restrained, then casting all restraint away,--yet retaining to the end of life unseemly and illiberal signs of its once compelled submission to laws which were only pain,--not instruction. 19. Gather a green poppy bud, just when it shows the scarlet line at its side; break it open and unpack the poppy. The whole flower is there complete in size and colour,--its stamens full-grown, but all packed so closely that the fine silk of the petals is crushed into a million of shapeless wrinkles. When the flower opens, it seems a deliverance from torture: the two imprisoning green leaves are shaken to the ground; the aggrieved corolla smooths itself in the sun, and comforts itself as it can; but remains visibly crushed and hurt to the end of its days. [Illustration: FIG. 7.] 20. Not so flowers of gracious breeding. Look at these four stages in the young life of a primrose, Fig. 7. First confined, as strictly as the poppy within five pinching green leaves, whose points close over it, the little thing is content to remain a child, and finds its nursery large enough. The green leaves unclose their points,--the little yellow ones peep out, like ducklings. They find the light delicious, and open wide to it; and grow, and grow, {80} and throw themselves wider at last into their perfect rose. But they never leave their old nursery for all that; it and they live on together; and the nursery seems a part of the flower. 21. Which is so, indeed, in all the loveliest flowers; and, in usual botanical parlance, a flower is said to consist of its calyx, (or _hiding_ part--Calypso having rule over it,) and corolla, or garland part, Proserpina having rule over it. But it is better to think of them always as separate; for this calyx, very justly so named from its main function of concealing the flower, in its youth is usually green, not coloured, and shows its separate nature by pausing, or at least greatly lingering, in its growth, and modifying itself very slightly, while the corolla is forming {81} itself through active change. Look at the two, for instance, through the youth of a pease blossom, Fig. 8. [Illustration: FIG. 8.] The entire cluster at first appears pendent in this manner, the stalk bending round on purpose to put it into that position. On which all the little buds, thinking themselves ill-treated, determine not to submit to anything of the sort, turn their points upward persistently, and determine that--at any cost of trouble--they will get nearer the sun. Then they begin to open, and let out their corollas. I give the process of one only (Fig. 9).[24] It chances to be engraved the reverse way from the bud; but that is of no consequence. [Illustration: FIG. 9.] At first, you see the long lower point of the calyx thought that _it_ was going to be the head of the family, and curls upwards eagerly. Then the little corolla steals out; and soon does away with that impression on the mind of the calyx. The corolla soars up with widening wings, the abashed calyx retreats beneath; and finally the great upper leaf of corolla--not pleased at having its back still {82} turned to the light, and its face down--throws itself entirely back, to look at the sky, and nothing else;--and your blossom is complete. Keeping, therefore, the ideas of calyx and corolla entirely distinct, this one general point you may note of both: that, as a calyx is originally folded tight over the flower, and has to open deeply to let it out, it is nearly always composed of sharp pointed leaves like the segments of a balloon; while corollas, having to open out as wide as possible to show themselves, are typically like cups or plates, only cut into their edges here and there, for ornamentation's sake. 22. And, finally, though the corolla is essentially the floral group of leaves, and usually receives the glory of colour for itself only, this glory and delight may be given to any other part of the group; and, as if to show us that there is no really dishonoured or degraded membership, the stalks and leaves in some plants, near the blossom, flush in sympathy with it, and become themselves a part of the {83} effectively visible flower;--Eryngo--Jura hyacinth, (comosus,) and the edges of upper stems and leaves in many plants; while others, (Geranium lucidum,) are made to delight us with their leaves rather than their blossoms; only I suppose, in these, the scarlet leaf colour is a kind of early autumnal glow,--a beautiful hectic, and foretaste, in sacred youth, of sacred death. I observe, among the speculations of modern science, several, lately, not uningenious, and highly industrious, on the subject of the relation of colour in flowers, to insects--to selective development, etc., etc. There _are_ such relations, of course. So also, the blush of a girl, when she first perceives the faltering in her lover's step as he draws near, is related essentially to the existing state of her stomach; and to the state of it through all the years of her previous existence. Nevertheless, neither love, chastity, nor blushing, are merely exponents of digestion. All these materialisms, in their unclean stupidity, are essentially the work of human bats; men of semi-faculty or semi-education, who are more or less incapable of so much as seeing, much less thinking about, colour; among whom, for one-sided intensity, even Mr. Darwin must be often ranked, as in his vespertilian treatise on the ocelli of the Argus pheasant, which he imagines to be artistically gradated, and perfectly imitative of a ball and socket. If I had him here in Oxford for a week, and could force him to try to copy a feather by Bewick, or to draw for himself a boy's thumbed marble, his notions of feathers, and balls, {84} would be changed for all the rest of his life. But his ignorance of good art is no excuse for the acutely illogical simplicity of the rest of his talk of colour in the "Descent of Man." Peacocks' tails, he thinks, are the result of the admiration of blue tails in the minds of well-bred peahens,--and similarly, mandrills' noses the result of the admiration of blue noses in well-bred baboons. But it never occurs to him to ask why the admiration of blue noses is healthy in baboons, so that it develops their race properly, while similar maidenly admiration either of blue noses or red noses in men would be improper, and develop the race improperly. The word itself 'proper' being one of which he has never asked, or guessed, the meaning. And when he imagined the gradation of the cloudings in feathers to represent successive generation, it never occurred to him to look at the much finer cloudy gradations in the clouds of dawn themselves; and explain the modes of sexual preference and selective development which had brought _them_ to their scarlet glory, before the cock could crow thrice. Putting all these vespertilian speculations out of our way, the human facts concerning colour are briefly these. Wherever men are noble, they love bright colour; and wherever they can live healthily, bright colour is given them--in sky, sea, flowers, and living creatures. On the other hand, wherever men are ignoble and sensual, they endure without pain, and at last even come to like (especially if artists,) mud-colour and black, and to dislike rose-colour and white. And wherever it is unhealthy for {85} them to live, the poisonousness of the place is marked by some ghastly colour in air, earth, or flowers. There are, of course, exceptions to all such widely founded laws; there are poisonous berries of scarlet, and pestilent skies that are fair. But, if we once honestly compare a venomous wood-fungus, rotting into black dissolution of dripped slime at its edges, with a spring gentian; or a puff adder with a salmon trout, or a fog in Bermondsey with a clear sky at Berne, we shall get hold of the entire question on its right side; and be able afterwards to study at our leisure, or accept without doubt or trouble, facts of apparently contrary meaning. And the practical lesson which I wish to leave with the reader is, that lovely flowers, and green trees growing in the open air, are the proper guides of men to the places which their Maker intended them to inhabit; while the flowerless and treeless deserts--of reed, or sand, or rock,--are meant to be either heroically invaded and redeemed, or surrendered to the wild creatures which are appointed for them; happy and wonderful in their wild abodes. Nor is the world so small but that we may yet leave in it also unconquered spaces of beautiful solitude; where the chamois and red deer may wander fearless,--nor any fire of avarice scorch from the Highlands of Alp, or Grampian, the rapture of the heath, and the rose. * * * * * {86} CHAPTER V. PAPAVER RHOEAS. BRANTWOOD, _July 11th, 1875_. 1. Chancing to take up yesterday a favourite old book, Mavor's British Tourists, (London, 1798,) I found in its fourth volume a delightful diary of a journey made in 1782 through various parts of England, by Charles P. Moritz of Berlin. And in the fourteenth page of this diary I find the following passage, pleasantly complimentary to England:-- "The slices of bread and butter which they give you with your tea are as thin as poppy leaves. But there is another kind of bread and butter usually eaten with tea, which is toasted by the fire, and is incomparably good. This is called 'toast.'" I wonder how many people, nowadays, whose bread and butter was cut too thin for them, would think of comparing the slices to poppy leaves? But this was in the old days of travelling, when people did not whirl themselves past corn-fields, that they might have more time to walk on paving-stones; and understood that {87} poppies did not mingle their scarlet among the gold, without some purpose of the poppy-Maker that they should be looked at. Nevertheless, with respect to the good and polite German's poetically-contemplated, and finely æsthetic, tea, may it not be asked whether poppy leaves themselves, like the bread and butter, are not, if we may venture an opinion--_too_ thin,--im-_properly_ thin? In the last chapter, my reader was, I hope, a little anxious to know what I meant by saying that modern philosophers did not know the meaning of the word 'proper,' and may wish to know what I mean by it myself. And this I think it needful to explain before going farther. 2. In our English prayer-book translation, the first verse of the ninety-third Psalm runs thus: "The Lord is King; and hath put on glorious apparel." And although, in the future republican world, there are to be no lords, no kings, and no glorious apparel, it will be found convenient, for botanical purposes, to remember what such things once were; for when I said of the poppy, in last chapter, that it was "robed in the purple of the Cæsars," the words gave, to any one who had a clear idea of a Cæsar, and of his dress, a better, and even _stricter_, account of the flower than if I had only said, with Mr. Sowerby, "petals bright scarlet;" which might just as well have been said of a pimpernel, or scarlet geranium;--but of neither of these latter should I have said "robed in purple of Cæsars." What I meant was, first, that the poppy leaf {88} looks dyed through and through, like glass, or Tyrian tissue; and not merely painted: secondly, that the splendour of it is proud,--almost insolently so. Augustus, in his glory, might have been clothed like one of these; and Saul; but not David, nor Solomon; still less the teacher of Solomon, when He puts on 'glorious apparel.' 3. Let us look, however, at the two translations of the same verse. In the vulgate it is "Dominus regnavit; decorem indutus est;" He has put on 'becomingness,'--decent apparel, rather than glorious. In the Septuagint it is [Greek: euprepeia]--_well_-becomingness; an expression which, if the reader considers, must imply certainly the existence of an opposite idea of possible '_ill_-becomingness,'--of an apparel which should, in just as accurate a sense, belong appropriately to the creature invested with it, and yet not be glorious, but inglorious, and not well-becoming, but ill-becoming. The mandrill's blue nose, for instance, already referred to,--can we rightly speak of this as '[Greek: euprepeia]'? Or the stings, and minute, colourless blossoming of the nettle? May we call these a glorious apparel, as we may the glowing of an alpine rose? You will find on reflection, and find more convincingly the more accurately you reflect, that there is an absolute sense attached to such words as 'decent,' 'honourable,' 'glorious,' or '[Greek: kalos],' contrary to another absolute sense in the words 'indecent,' 'shameful,' 'vile,' or '[Greek: aischros].' {89} And that there is every degree of these absolute qualities visible in living creatures; and that the divinity of the Mind of man is in its essential discernment of what is [Greek: kalon] from what is [Greek: aischron], and in his preference of the kind of creatures which are decent, to those which are indecent; and of the kinds of thoughts, in himself, which are noble, to those which are vile. 4. When therefore I said that Mr. Darwin, and his school,[25] had no conception of the real meaning of the word 'proper,' I meant that they conceived the qualities of things only as their 'properties,' but not as their becomingnesses;' and seeing that dirt is proper to a swine, malice to a monkey, poison to a nettle, and folly to a fool, they called a nettle _but_ a nettle, and the faults of fools but folly; and never saw the difference between ugliness and beauty absolute, decency and indecency absolute, glory or shame absolute, and folly or sense absolute. [Illustration: FIG. 10.] Whereas, the perception of beauty, and the power of defining physical character, are based on moral instinct, and on the power of defining animal or human character. Nor is it possible to say that one flower is more highly developed, or one animal of a higher order, than another, without the assumption of a divine law of perfection to which the one more conforms than the other. 5. Thus, for instance. That it should ever have been an open question with me whether a poppy had always {90} two of its petals less than the other two, depended wholly on the hurry and imperfection with which the poppy carries out its plan. It never would have occurred to me to {91} doubt whether an iris had three of its leaves smaller than the other three, because an iris always completes itself to its own ideal. Nevertheless, on examining various poppies, as I have walked, this summer, up and down the hills between Sheffield and Wakefield, I find the subordination of the upper and lower petals entirely necessary and normal; and that the result of it is to give two distinct profiles to the poppy cup, the difference between which, however, we shall see better in the yellow Welsh poppy, at present called Meconopsis Cambrica; but which, in the Oxford schools, will be 'Papaver cruciforme'--'Crosslet Poppy,'--first, because all our botanical names must be in Latin if possible; Greek only allowed when we can do no better; secondly, because meconopsis is barbarous Greek; thirdly, and chiefly, because it is little matter whether this poppy be Welsh or English; but very needful that we should observe, wherever it grows, that the petals are arranged in what used to be, in my young days, called a diamond shape,[26] as at A, Fig. 10, the two narrow inner ones at right angles to, and projecting farther than, the two outside broad ones; and that the two broad ones, when the flower is seen in profile, as at B, show their margins folded back, as indicated by the thicker lines, and have a profile curve, which is only the softening, or melting away into each other, of two straight lines. Indeed, when the flower is younger, and quite strong, both its {92} profiles, A and B, Fig. 11, are nearly straight-sided; and always, be it young or old, one broader than the other, so as to give the flower, seen from above, the shape of a contracted cross, or crosslet. [Illustration: FIG. 11.] 6. Now I find no notice of this flower in Gerarde; and in Sowerby, out of eighteen lines of closely printed descriptive text, no notice of its crosslet form, while the petals are only stated to be "roundish-concave," terms equally applicable to at least one-half of all flower petals in the {93} world. The leaves are _said_ to be very deeply pinnately partite; but _drawn_--as neither pinnate nor partite! [Illustration: FIG. 12.] And this is your modern cheap science, in ten volumes. Now I haven't a quiet moment to spare for drawing this morning; but I merely give the main relations of the petals, A, and blot in the wrinkles of one of the lower ones, B, Fig. 12; and yet in this rude sketch you will feel, I believe, there is something specific which could not belong to any other flower. But all proper description is {94} impossible without careful profiles of each petal laterally and across it. Which I may not find time to draw for any poppy whatever, because they none of them have well-becomingness enough to make it worth my while, being all more or less weedy, and ungracious, and mingled of good and evil. Whereupon rises before me, ghostly and untenable, the general question, 'What is a weed?' and, impatient for answer, the particular question, What is a poppy? I choose, for instance, to call this yellow flower a poppy, instead of a "likeness to poppy," which the botanists meant to call it, in their bad Greek. I choose also to call a poppy, what the botanists have called "glaucous thing," (glaucium). But where and when shall I stop calling things poppies? This is certainly a question to be settled at once, with others appertaining to it. 7. In the first place, then, I mean to call every flower either one thing or another, and not an 'aceous' thing, only half something or half another. I mean to call this plant now in my hand, either a poppy or not a poppy; but not poppaceous. And this other, either a thistle or not a thistle; but not thistlaceous. And this other, either a nettle or not a nettle; but not nettlaceous. I know it will be very difficult to carry out this principle when tribes of plants are much extended and varied in type: I shall persist in it, however, as far as possible; and when plants change so much that one cannot with any conscience call them by their family name any more, I shall put them aside somewhere among families of poor relations, not {95} to be minded for the present, until we are well acquainted with the better bred circles; I don't know, for instance, whether I shall call the Burnet 'Grass-rose,' or put it out of court for having no petals; but it certainly shall not be called rosaceous; and my first point will be to make sure of my pupils having a clear idea of the central and unquestionable forms of thistle, grass, or rose, and assigning to them pure Latin, and pretty English, names,--classical, if possible; and at least intelligible and decorous. 8. I return to our present special question, then, What is a poppy? and return also to a book I gave away long ago, and have just begged back again, Dr. Lindley's 'Ladies' Botany.' For without at all looking upon ladies as inferior beings, I dimly hope that what Dr. Lindley considers likely to be intelligible to _them_, may be also clear to their very humble servant. The poppies, I find, (page 19, vol. i.) differ from crowfeet in being of a stupifying instead of a burning nature, and in generally having two sepals and twice two petals; "but as some poppies have three sepals, and twice three petals, the number of these parts is not sufficiently constant to form an essential mark." Yes, I know that, for I found a superb six-petaled poppy, spotted like a cistus, the other day in a friend's garden. But then, what makes it a poppy still? That it is of a stupifying nature, and itself so stupid that it does not know how many petals it should have, is surely not enough distinction? 9. Returning to Lindley, and working the matter {96} farther out with his help, I think this definition might stand. "A poppy is a flower which has either four or six petals, and two or more treasuries, united into one; containing a milky, stupifying fluid in its stalks and leaves, and always throwing away its calyx when it blossoms." And indeed, every flower which unites all these characters, we shall, in the Oxford schools, call 'poppy,' and 'Papaver;' but when I get fairly into work, I hope to fix my definitions into more strict terms. For I wish all my pupils to form the habit of asking, of every plant, these following four questions, in order, corresponding to the subject of these opening chapters, namely, "What root has it? what leaf? what flower? and what stem?" And, in this definition of poppies, nothing whatever is said about the root; and not only I don't know myself what a poppy root is like, but in all Sowerby's poppy section, I find no word whatever about that matter. 10. Leaving, however, for the present, the root unthought of, and contenting myself with Dr. Lindley's characteristics, I shall place, at the head of the whole group, our common European wild poppy, Papaver Rhoeas, and, with this, arrange the nine following other flowers thus,--opposite. I must be content at present with determining the Latin names for the Oxford schools; the English ones I shall give as they chance to occur to me, in Gerarde and the classical poets who wrote before the English revolution. When no satisfactory name is to be found, I must try to invent one; as, for instance, just now, I don't like Gerarde's 'Corn-rose' for Papaver Rhoeas, and must coin another; but this can't be done by thinking; it will come into my head some day, by chance. I might try at it straightforwardly for a week together, and not do it. {97} NAME IN OXFORD CATALOGUE. DIOSCORIDES. In present Botany. 1. Papaver Rhoeas [Greek: mêkôn rhoias] Papaver Rhoeas 2. P. Hortense [Greek: m. kêpeutê][27] P. Hortense 3. P. Elatum [Greek: m. thulakitis][28] P. Lamottei 4. P. Argemone P. Argemone 5. P. Echinosum P. Hybridum 6. P. Violaceum Roemeria Hybrida 7. P. Cruciforme Meconopsis Cambrica 8. P. Corniculatum [Greek: m. keratitis] Glaucium Corniculatum 9. P. Littorale [Greek: m. paralios] Glaucium Luteum 10. P. Chelidonium Chelidonium Majus {98} The Latin names must be fixed at once, somehow; and therefore I do the best I can, keeping as much respect for the old nomenclature as possible, though this involves the illogical practice of giving the epithet sometimes from the flower, (violaceum, cruciforme), and sometimes from the seed vessel, (elatum, echinosum, corniculatum). Guarding this distinction, however, we may perhaps be content to call the six last of the group, in English, Urchin Poppy, Violet Poppy, Crosslet Poppy, Horned Poppy, Beach Poppy, and Welcome Poppy. I don't think the last flower pretty enough to be connected more directly with the swallow, in its English name. 11. I shall be well content if my pupils know these ten poppies rightly; all of them at present wild in our own country, and, I believe, also European in range: the head and type of all being the common wild poppy of our cornfields for which the name 'Papaver Rhoeas,' given it by Dioscorides, Gerarde, and Linnæus, is entirely authoritative, and we will therefore at once examine the meaning, and reason, of that name. 12. Dioscorides says the name belongs to it "[Greek: dia to tacheôs to anthos apoballein]," "because it casts off its bloom {99} quickly," from [Greek: rheô,] (rheo) in the sense of shedding.[29] And this indeed it does,--first calyx, then corolla;--you may translate it 'swiftly ruinous' poppy, but notice, in connection with this idea, how it droops its head _before_ blooming; an action which, I doubt not, mingled in Homer's thought with the image of its depression when filled by rain, in the passage of the Iliad, which, as I have relieved your memory of three unnecessary names of poppy families, you have memory to spare for learning. "[Greek: mêkôn d' hôs heterôse karê balen, hêt' eni kêpôi] [Greek: karpôi brithomenê, notiêisi te eiarinêisin] [Greek: hôs heterôs' êmuse karê pêlêki barunthen.]" "And as a poppy lets its head fall aside, which in a garden is loaded with its fruit, and with the soft rains of spring, so the youth drooped his head on one side; burdened with the helmet." And now you shall compare the translations of this passage, with its context, by Chapman and Pope--(or the school of Pope), the one being by a man of pure English temper, and able therefore to understand pure Greek temper; the other infected with all the faults of the falsely classical school of the Renaissance. First I take Chapman:-- "His shaft smit fair Gorgythion of Priam's princely race Who in Æpina was brought forth, a famous town in Thrace, {100} By Castianeira, that for form was like celestial breed. And as a crimson poppy-flower, surcharged with his seed, And vernal humours falling thick, declines his heavy brow, So, a-oneside, his helmet's weight his fainting head did bow." Next, Pope:-- "He missed the mark; but pierced Gorgythio's heart, And drenched in royal blood the thirsty dart: (Fair Castianeira, nymph of form divine, This offspring added to King Priam's line). As full-blown poppies, overcharged with rain, Decline the head, and drooping kiss the plain, So sinks the youth: his beauteous head, depressed Beneath his helmet, drops upon his breast." 13. I give you the two passages in full, trusting that you may so feel the becomingness of the one, and the gracelessness of the other. But note farther, in the Homeric passage, one subtlety which cannot enough be marked even in Chapman's English, that his second word, [Greek: êmuse], is employed by him both of the stooping of ears of corn, under wind, and of Troy stooping to its ruin;[30] and otherwise, in good Greek writers, the word is marked as having such specific sense of men's drooping under weight; or towards death, under the burden of fortune which they have no more strength to sustain;[31] compare the passage {101} I quoted from Plato, ('Crown of Wild Olive,' p. 95): "And bore lightly the burden of gold and of possessions." {102} And thus you will begin to understand how the poppy became in the heathen mind the type at once of power, or pride, and of its loss; and therefore, both why Virgil represents the white nymph Nais, "pallentes violas, et summa papavera carpens,"--gathering the pale flags, and the highest poppies,--and the reason for the choice of this rather than any other flower, in the story of Tarquin's message to his son. 14. But you are next to remember the word Rhoeas in another sense. Whether originally intended or afterwards caught at, the resemblance of the word to 'Rhoea,' a pomegranate, mentally connects itself with the resemblance of the poppy head to the pomegranate fruit. And if I allow this flower to be the first we take up for careful study in Proserpina, on account of its simplicity of form and splendour of colour, I wish you also to remember, in connection with it, the cause of Proserpine's eternal captivity--her having tasted a pomegranate seed,--the pomegranate being in Greek mythology what the apple is in the Mosaic legend; and, in the whole {103} worship of Demeter, associated with the poppy by a multitude of ideas which are not definitely expressed, but can only be gathered out of Greek art and literature, as we learn their symbolism. The chief character on which these thoughts are founded is the fulness of seed in the poppy and pomegranate, as an image of life: then the forms of both became adopted for beads or bosses in ornamental art; the pomegranate remains more distinctly a Jewish and Christian type, from its use in the border of Aaron's robe, down to the fruit in the hand of Angelico's and Botticelli's Infant Christs; while the poppy is gradually confused by the Byzantine Greeks with grapes; and both of these with palm fruit. The palm, in the shorthand of their art, gradually becomes a symmetrical branched ornament with two pendent bosses; this is again confused with the Greek iris, (Homer's blue iris, and Pindar's water-flag,)--and the Florentines, in adopting Byzantine ornament, read it into their own Fleur-de-lys; but insert two poppyheads on each side of the entire foil, in their finest heraldry. 15. Meantime the definitely intended poppy, in late Christian Greek art of the twelfth century, modifies the form of the Acanthus leaf with its own, until the northern twelfth century workman takes the thistle-head for the poppy, and the thistle-leaf for acanthus. The true poppy-head remains in the south, but gets more and more confused with grapes, till the Renaissance carvers are content with any kind of boss full of seed, but insist on such boss {104} or bursting globe as some essential part of their ornament;--the bean-pod for the same reason (not without Pythagorean notions, and some of republican election) is used by Brunelleschi for main decoration of the lantern of Florence duomo; and, finally, the ornamentation gets so shapeless, that M. Violet-le-Duc, in his 'Dictionary of Ornament,' loses trace of its origin altogether, and fancies the later forms were derived from the spadix of the arum. 16. I have no time to enter into farther details; but through all this vast range of art, note this singular fact, that the wheat-ear, the vine, the fleur-de-lys, the poppy, and the jagged leaf of the acanthus-weed, or thistle, occupy the entire thoughts of the decorative workmen trained in classic schools, to the exclusion of the rose, true lily, and the other flowers of luxury. And that the deeply underlying reason of this is in the relation of weeds to corn, or of the adverse powers of nature to the beneficent ones, expressed for us readers of the Jewish scriptures, centrally in the verse, "thorns also, and thistles, shall it bring forth to thee; and thou shalt eat the herb of the field" ([Greek: chortos], grass or corn), and exquisitely symbolized throughout the fields of Europe by the presence of the purple 'corn-flag,' or gladiolus, and 'corn-rose' (Gerarde's name for Papaver Rhoeas), in the midst of carelessly tended corn; and in the traditions of the art of Europe by the springing of the acanthus round the basket of the canephora, strictly the basket _for bread_, the idea of bread {105} including all sacred things carried at the feasts of Demeter, Bacchus, and the Queen of the Air. And this springing of the thorny weeds round the basket of reed, distinctly taken up by the Byzantine Italians in the basketwork capital of the twelfth century, (which I have already illustrated at length in the 'Stones of Venice,') becomes the germ of all capitals whatsoever, in the great schools of Gothic, to the end of Gothic time, and also of all the capitals of the pure and noble Renaissance architecture of Angelico and Perugino, and all that was learned from them in the north, while the introduction of the rose, as a primal element of decoration, only takes place when the luxury of English decorated Gothic, the result of that licentious spirit in the lords which brought on the Wars of the Roses, indicates the approach of destruction to the feudal, artistic, and moral power of the northern nations. For which reason, and many others, I must yet delay the following out of our main subject, till I have answered the other question, which brought me to pause in the middle of this chapter, namely, 'What is a weed?' * * * * * {106} CHAPTER VI. THE PARABLE OF JOASH. 1. Some ten or twelve years ago, I bought--three times twelve are thirty-six--of a delightful little book by Mrs. Gatty, called 'Aunt Judy's Tales'--whereof to make presents to my little lady friends. I had, at that happy time, perhaps from four-and-twenty to six-and-thirty--I forget exactly how many--very particular little lady friends; and greatly wished Aunt Judy to be the thirty-seventh,--the kindest, wittiest, prettiest girl one had ever read of, at least in so entirely proper and orthodox literature. 2. Not but that it is a suspicious sign of infirmity of faith in our modern moralists to make their exemplary young people always pretty; and dress them always in the height of the fashion. One may read Miss Edgeworth's 'Harry and Lucy,' 'Frank and Mary,' 'Fashionable Tales,' or 'Parents' Assistant,' through, from end to end, with extremest care; and never find out whether Lucy was tall or short, nor whether Mary was dark or fair, nor how Miss Annaly was dressed, nor--which was my own chief point of interest--what was the colour of {107} Rosamond's eyes. Whereas Aunt Judy, in charming position after position, is shown to have expressed all her pure evangelical principles with the prettiest of lips; and to have had her gown, though puritanically plain, made by one of the best modistes in London. 3. Nevertheless, the book is wholesome and useful; and the nicest story in it, as far as I recollect, is an inquiry into the subject which is our present business, 'What is a weed?'--in which, by many pleasant devices, Aunt Judy leads her little brothers and sisters to discern that a weed is 'a plant in the wrong place.' 'Vegetable' in the wrong place, by the way, I think Aunt Judy says, being a precisely scientific little aunt. But I can't keep it out of my own less scientific head that 'vegetable' means only something going to be boiled. I like 'plant' better for general sense, besides that it's shorter. Whatever we call them, Aunt Judy is perfectly right about them as far as she has gone; but, as happens often even to the best of evangelical instructresses, she has stopped just short of the gist of the whole matter. It is entirely true that a weed is a plant that has got into a wrong place; but it never seems to have occurred to Aunt Judy that some plants never _do_! Who ever saw a wood anemone or a heath blossom in the wrong place? Who ever saw nettle or hemlock in a right one? And yet, the difference between flower and weed, (I use, for convenience sake, these words in their {108} familiar opposition,) certainly does not consist merely in the flowers being innocent, and the weed stinging and venomous. We do not call the nightshade a weed in our hedges, nor the scarlet agaric in our woods. But we do the corncockle in our fields. 4. Had the thoughtful little tutoress gone but one thought farther, and instead of "a vegetable in a wrong place," (which it may happen to the innocentest vegetable sometimes to be, without turning into a weed, therefore,) said, "A vegetable which has an innate disposition to _get_ into the wrong place," she would have greatly furthered the matter for us; but then she perhaps would have felt herself to be uncharitably dividing with vegetables her own little evangelical property of original sin. 5. This, you will find, nevertheless, to be the very essence of weed character--in plants, as in men. If you glance through your botanical books, you will see often added certain names--'a troublesome weed.' It is not its being venomous, or ugly, but its being impertinent--thrusting itself where it has no business, and hinders other people's business--that makes a weed of it. The most accursed of all vegetables, the one that has destroyed for the present even the possibility of European civilization, is only called a weed in the slang of its votaries;[32] but in the finest and truest English we call so the plant which {109} has come to us by chance from the same country, the type of mere senseless prolific activity, the American water-plant, choking our streams till the very fish that leap out of them cannot fall back, but die on the clogged surface; and indeed, for this unrestrainable, unconquerable insolence of uselessness, what name can be enough dishonourable? 6. I pass to vegetation of nobler rank. You remember, I was obliged in the last chapter to leave my poppy, for the present, without an English specific name, because I don't like Gerarde's 'Corn-rose,' and can't yet think of another. Nevertheless, I would have used Gerarde's name, if the corn-rose were as much a rose as the corn-flag is a flag. But it isn't. The rose and lily have quite different relations to the corn. The lily is grass in loveliness, as the corn is grass in use; and both grow together in peace--gladiolus in the wheat, and narcissus in the pasture. But the rose is of another and higher order than the corn, and you never saw a cornfield overrun with sweetbriar or apple-blossom. They have no mind, they, to get into the wrong place. What is it, then, this temper in some plants--malicious as it seems--intrusive, at all events, or erring,--which brings them out of their places--thrusts them where they thwart us and offend? 7. Primarily, it is mere hardihood and coarseness of make. A plant that can live anywhere, will often live where it is not wanted. But the delicate and tender ones {110} keep at home. You have no trouble in 'keeping down' the spring gentian. It rejoices in its own Alpine home, and makes the earth as like heaven as it can, but yields as softly as the air, if you want it to give place. Here in England, it will only grow on the loneliest moors, above the high force of Tees; its Latin name, for _us_ (I may as well tell you at once) is to be 'Lucia verna;' and its English one, Lucy of Teesdale. 8. But a plant may be hardy, and coarse of make, and able to live anywhere, and yet be no weed. The coltsfoot, so far as I know, is the first of large-leaved plants to grow afresh on ground that has been disturbed: fall of Alpine débris, ruin of railroad embankment, waste of drifted slime by flood, it seeks to heal and redeem; but it does not offend us in our gardens, nor impoverish us in our fields. Nevertheless, mere coarseness of structure, indiscriminate hardihood, is at least a point of some unworthiness in a plant. That it should have no choice of home, no love of native land, is ungentle; much more if such discrimination as it has, be immodest, and incline it, seemingly, to open and much-traversed places, where it may be continually seen of strangers. The tormentilla gleams in showers along the mountain turf; her delicate crosslets are separate, though constellate, as the rubied daisy. But the king-cup--(blessing be upon it always no less)--crowds itself sometimes into too burnished flame of inevitable gold. I don't know if there was anything in the {111} darkness of this last spring to make it brighter in resistance; but I never saw any spaces of full warm yellow, in natural colour, so intense as the meadows between Reading and the Thames; nor did I know perfectly what purple and gold meant, till I saw a field of park land embroidered a foot deep with king-cup and clover--while I was correcting my last notes on the spring colours of the Royal Academy--at Aylesbury. 9. And there are two other questions of extreme subtlety connected with this main one. What shall we say of the plants whose entire destiny is parasitic--which are not only sometimes, and _im_pertinently, but always, and pertinently, out of place; not only out of the right place, but out of any place of their own? When is mistletoe, for instance, in the right place, young ladies, think you? On an apple tree, or on a ceiling? When is ivy in the right place?--when wallflower? The ivy has been torn down from the towers of Kenilworth; the weeds from the arches of the Coliseum, and from the steps of the Araceli, irreverently, vilely, and in vain; but how are we to separate the creatures whose office it is to abate the grief of ruin by their gentleness, "wafting wallflower scents From out the crumbling ruins of fallen pride, And chambers of transgression, now forlorn," from those which truly resist the toil of men, and conspire against their fame; which are cunning to consume, and {112} prolific to encumber; and of whose perverse and unwelcome sowing we know, and can say assuredly, "An enemy hath done this." 10. Again. The character of strength which gives prevalence over others to any common plant, is more or less consistently dependent on woody fibre in the leaves; giving them strong ribs and great expanding extent; or spinous edges, and wrinkled or gathered extent. Get clearly into your mind the nature of those two conditions. When a leaf is to be spread wide, like the Burdock, it is supported by a framework of extending ribs like a Gothic roof. The supporting function of these is geometrical; every one is constructed like the girders of a bridge, or beams of a floor, with all manner of science in the distribution of their substance in the section, for narrow and deep strength; and the shafts are mostly hollow. But when the extending space of a leaf is to be enriched with fulness of folds, and become beautiful in wrinkles, this may be done either by pure undulation as of a liquid current along the leaf edge, or by sharp 'drawing'--or 'gathering' I believe ladies would call it--and stitching of the edges together. And this stitching together, if to be done very strongly, is done round a bit of stick, as a sail is reefed round a mast; and this bit of stick needs to be compactly, not geometrically strong; its function is essentially that of starch,--not to hold the leaf up off the ground against gravity; but to stick the edges out, stiffly, in a crimped frill. And in beautiful work of {113} this kind, which we are meant to study, the stays of the leaf--or stay-bones--are finished off very sharply and exquisitely at the points; and indeed so much so, that they prick our fingers when we touch them; for they are not at all meant to be touched, but admired. 11. To be admired,--with qualification, indeed, always, but with extreme respect for their endurance and orderliness. Among flowers that pass away, and leaves that shake as with ague, or shrink like bad cloth,--these, in their sturdy growth and enduring life, we are bound to honour; and, under the green holly, remember how much softer friendship was failing, and how much of other loving, folly. And yet--you are not to confuse the thistle with the cedar that is in Lebanon; nor to forget--if the spinous nature of it become too cruel to provoke and offend--the parable of Joash to Amaziah, and its fulfilment: "There passed by a wild beast that was in Lebanon, and trode down the thistle." 12. Then, lastly, if this rudeness and insensitiveness of nature be gifted with no redeeming beauty; if the boss of the thistle lose its purple, and the star of the Lion's tooth, its light; and, much more, if service be perverted as beauty is lost, and the honied tube, and medicinal leaf, change into mere swollen emptiness, and salt brown membrane, swayed in nerveless languor by the idle sea,--at last the separation between the two natures is as great as between the fruitful earth and fruitless ocean; and between the living hands that tend the Garden of Herbs where {114} Love is, and those unclasped, that toss with tangle and with shells. * * * * * 13. I had a long bit in my head, that I wanted to write, about St. George of the Seaweed, but I've no time to do it; and those few words of Tennyson's are enough, if one thinks of them: only I see, in correcting press, that I've partly misapplied the idea of 'gathering' in the leaf edge. It would be more accurate to say it was gathered at the central rib; but there is nothing in needlework that will represent the actual excess by lateral growth at the edge, giving three or four inches of edge for one of centre. But the stiffening of the fold by the thorn which holds it out is very like the action of a ship's spars on its sails; and absolutely in many cases like that of the spines in a fish's fin, passing into the various conditions of serpentine and dracontic crest, connected with all the terrors and adversities of nature; not to be dealt with in a chapter on weeds. 14. Here is a sketch of a crested leaf of less adverse temper, which may as well be given, together with Plate III., in this number, these two engravings being meant for examples of two different methods of drawing, both useful according to character of subject. Plate III. is sketched first with a finely-pointed pen, and common ink, on white paper; then washed rapidly with colour, and retouched with the pen to give sharpness and completion. {115} This method is used because the thistle leaves are full of complex and sharp sinuosities, and set with intensely sharp spines passing into hairs, which require many kinds of execution with the fine point to imitate at all. In the drawing there was more look of the bloom or woolliness on the stems, but it was useless to try for this in the mezzotint, and I desired Mr. Allen to leave his work at the stage where it expressed as much form as I wanted. The leaves are of the common marsh thistle, of which more anon; and the two long lateral ones are only two different views of the same leaf, while the central figure is a young leaf just opening. It beat me, in its delicate bossing, and I had to leave it, discontentedly enough. Plate IV. is much better work, being of an easier subject, adequately enough rendered by perfectly simple means. Here I had only a succulent and membranous surface to represent, with definite outlines, and merely undulating folds; and this is sufficiently done by a careful and firm pen outline on grey paper, with a slight wash of colour afterwards, reinforced in the darks; then marking the lights with white. This method is classic and authoritative, being used by many of the greatest masters, (by Holbein continually;) and it is much the best which the general student can adopt for expression of the action and muscular power of plants. The goodness or badness of such work depends absolutely on the truth of the single line. You will find a thousand botanical drawings which will give you a {116} delicate and deceptive resemblance of the leaf, for one that will give you the right convexity in its backbone, the right perspective of its peaks when they foreshorten, or the right relation of depth in the shading of its dimples. On which, in leaves as in faces, no little expression of temper depends. Meantime we have yet to consider somewhat more touching that temper itself, in next chapter. * * * * * {117} CHAPTER VII. THE PARABLE OF JOTHAM. 1. I do not know if my readers were checked, as I wished them to be, at least for a moment, in the close of the last chapter, by my talking of thistles and dandelions changing into seaweed, by gradation of which, doubtless, Mr. Darwin can furnish us with specious and sufficient instances. But the two groups will not be contemplated in our Oxford system as in any parental relations whatsoever. We shall, however, find some very notable relations existing between the two groups of the wild flowers of dry land, which represent, in the widest extent, and the distinctest opposition, the two characters of material serviceableness and unserviceableness; the groups which in our English classification will be easily remembered as those of the Thyme, and the Daisy. The one, scented as with incense--medicinal--and in all gentle and humble ways, useful. The other, scentless--helpless for ministry to the body; infinitely dear as the bringer of light, ruby, white and gold; the three colours of the Day, with no hue of shade in it. Therefore I {118} take it on the coins of St. George for the symbol of the splendour or light of heaven, which is dearest where humblest. 2. Now these great two orders--of which the types are the thyme and the daisy--you are to remember generally as the 'Herbs' and the 'Sunflowers.' You are not to call them Lipped flowers, nor Composed flowers; because the first is a vulgar term; for when you once come to be able to draw a lip, or, in noble duty, to kiss one, you will know that no other flower in earth is like that: and the second is an indefinite term; for a foxglove is as much a 'composed' flower as a daisy; but it is composed in the shape of a spire, instead of the shape of the sun. And again a thistle, which common botany calls a composed flower, as well as a daisy, is composed in quite another shape, being on the whole, bossy instead of flat; and of another temper, or composition of mind, also, being connected in that respect with butterburs, and a vast company of rough, knotty, half-black or brown, and generally unluminous--flowers I can scarcely call them--and weeds I will not,--creatures, at all events, in nowise to be gathered under the general name 'Composed,' with the stars that crown Chaucer's Alcestis, when she returns to the day from the dead. But the wilder and stronger blossoms of the Hawk's-eye--again you see I refuse for them the word weed;--and the waste-loving Chicory, which the Venetians call "Sponsa solis," are all to be held in one class with the {119} Sunflowers; but dedicate,--the daisy to Alcestis alone; others to Clytia, or the Physician Apollo himself: but I can't follow their mythology yet awhile. 3. Now in these two families you have typically Use opposed to Beauty in _wildness_; it is their wildness which is their virtue;--that the thyme is sweet where it is unthought of, and the daisies red, where the foot despises them: while, in other orders, wildness is their crime,--"Wherefore, when I looked that it should bring forth grapes, brought it forth wild grapes?" But in all of them you must distinguish between the pure wildness of flowers and their distress. It may not be our duty to tame them; but it must be, to relieve. 4. It chanced, as I was arranging the course of these two chapters, that I had examples given me of distressed and happy wildness, in immediate contrast. The first, I grieve to say, was in a bit of my own brushwood, left uncared-for evidently many a year before it became mine. I had to cut my way into it through a mass of thorny ruin; black, birds-nest like, entanglement of brittle spray round twisted stems of ill-grown birches strangling each other, and changing half into roots among the rock clefts; knotted stumps of never-blossoming blackthorn, and choked stragglings of holly, all laced and twisted and tethered round with an untouchable, almost unhewable, thatch, a foot thick, of dead bramble and rose, laid over rotten ground through which the water soaked ceaselessly, undermining it into merely unctuous {120} clods and clots, knitted together by mossy sponge. It was all Nature's free doing! she had had her way with it to the uttermost; and clearly needed human help and interference in her business; and yet there was not one plant in the whole ruinous and deathful riot of the place, whose nature was not in itself wholesome and lovely; but all lost for want of discipline. 5. The other piece of wild growth was among the fallen blocks of limestone under Malham Cove. Sheltered by the cliff above from stress of wind, the ash and hazel wood spring there in a fair and perfect freedom, without a diseased bough, or an unwholesome shade. I do not know why mine is all encumbered with overgrowth, and this so lovely that scarce a branch could be gathered but with injury;--while underneath, the oxalis, and the two smallest geraniums (Lucidum and Herb-Robert) and the mossy saxifrage, and the cross-leaved bed-straw, and the white pansy, wrought themselves into wreaths among the fallen crags, in which every leaf rejoiced, and was at rest. 6. Now between these two states of equally natural growth, the point of difference that forced itself on me (and practically enough, in the work I had in my own wood), was not so much the withering and waste of the one, and the life of the other, as the thorniness and cruelty of the one, and the softness of the other. In Malham Cove, the stones of the brook were softer with moss than any silken pillow--the crowded oxalis leaves yielded to the pressure of the hand, and were not felt--the cloven {121} leaves of the Herb-Robert and orbed clusters of its companion overflowed every rent in the rude crags with living balm; there was scarcely a place left by the tenderness of the happy things, where one might not lay down one's forehead on their warm softness, and sleep. But in the waste and distressed ground, the distress had changed itself to cruelty. The leaves had all perished, and the bending saplings, and the wood of trust;--but the thorns were there, immortal, and the gnarled and sapless roots, and the dusty treacheries of decay. 7. Of which things you will find it good to consider also otherwise than botanically. For all these lower organisms suffer and perish, or are gladdened and flourish, under conditions which are in utter precision symbolical, and in utter fidelity representative, of the conditions which induce adversity and prosperity in the kingdoms of men: and the Eternal Demeter,--Mother, and Judge,--brings forth, as the herb yielding seed, so also the thorn and the thistle, not to herself, but _to thee_. 8. You have read the words of the great Law often enough;--have you ever thought enough of them to know the difference between these two appointed means of Distress? The first, the Thorn, is the type of distress _caused by crime_, changing the soft and breathing leaf into inflexible and wounding stubbornness. The second is the distress appointed to be the means and herald of good,--Thou shalt see the stubborn thistle bursting, into glossy purple, which outredden, all voluptuous garden roses. {122} 9. It is strange that, after much hunting, I cannot find authentic note of the day when Scotland took the thistle for her emblem; and I have no space (in this chapter at least) for tradition; but, with whatever lightness of construing we may receive the symbol, it is actually the truest that could have been found, for some conditions of the Scottish mind. There is no flower which the Proserpina of our Northern Sicily cherishes more dearly: and scarcely any of us recognize enough the beautiful power of its close-set stars, and rooted radiance of ground leaves; yet the stubbornness and ungraceful rectitude of its stem, and the besetting of its wholesome substance with that fringe of offence, and the forwardness of it, and dominance,--I fear to lacess some of my dearest friends if I went on:--let them rather, with Bailie Jarvie's true conscience,[33] take their Scott from the inner shelf in their heart's library which all true Scotsmen give him, and trace, with the swift reading of memory, the characters of Fergus M'Ivor, Hector M'Intyre, Mause Headrigg, Alison Wilson, Richie {123} Moniplies, and Andrew Fairservice; and then say, if the faults of all these, drawn as they are with a precision of touch like a Corinthian sculptor's of the acanthus leaf, can be found in anything like the same strength in other races, or if so stubbornly folded and starched moni-plies of irritating kindliness, selfish friendliness, lowly conceit, and intolerable fidelity, are native to any other spot of the wild earth of the habitable globe. 10. Will you note also--for this is of extreme interest--that these essential faults are all mean faults;--what we may call ground-growing faults; conditions of semi-education, of hardly-treated homelife, or of coarsely-minded and wandering prosperity. How literally may we go back from the living soul symbolized, to the strangely accurate earthly symbol, in the prickly weed. For if, with its bravery of endurance, and carelessness in choice of home, we find also definite faculty and habit of migration, volant mechanism for choiceless journey, not divinely directed in pilgrimage to known shrines; but carried at the wind's will by a Spirit which listeth _not_--it will go hard but that the plant shall become, if not dreaded, at least despised; and, in its wandering and reckless splendour, disgrace the garden of the sluggard, and possess the inheritance of the prodigal: until even its own nature seems contrary to good, and the invocation of the just man be made to it as the executor of Judgment, "Let thistles grow instead of wheat, and cockle instead of barley." 11. Yet to be despised--either for men or flowers--may {124} be no ill-fortune; the real ill-fortune is only to be despicable. These faults of human character, wherever found, observe, belong to it as ill-trained--incomplete; confirm themselves only in the vulgar. There is no base pertinacity, no overweening conceit, in the Black Douglas, or Claverhouse, or Montrose; in these we find the pure Scottish temper, of heroic endurance and royal pride; but, when, in the pay, and not deceived, but purchased, idolatry of Mammon, the Scottish persistence and pride become knit and vested in the spleuchan, and your stiff Covenanter makes his covenant with Death, and your Old Mortality deciphers only the senseless legends of the eternal gravestone,--you get your weed, earth-grown, in bitter verity, and earth-devastating, in bitter strength. 12. I have told you, elsewhere, we are always first to study national character in the highest and purest examples. But if our knowledge is to be complete, we have to study also the special diseases of national character. And in exact opposition to the most solemn virtue of Scotland, the domestic truth and tenderness breathed in all Scottish song, you have this special disease and mortal cancer, this woody-fibriness, literally, of temper and thought: the consummation of which into pure lignite, or rather black Devil's charcoal--the sap of the birks of Aberfeldy become cinder, and the blessed juices of them, deadly gas,--you may know in its pure blackness best in the work of the greatest of these ground-growing Scotchmen, Adam Smith. {125} 13. No man of like capacity, I believe, born of any other nation, could have deliberately, and with no momentary shadow of suspicion or question, formalized the spinous and monstrous fallacy that human commerce and policy are _naturally_ founded on the desire of every man to possess his neighbour's goods. _This_ is the 'release unto us Barabbas,' with a witness; and the deliberate systematization of that cry, and choice, for perpetual repetition and fulfilment in Christian statesmanship, has been, with the strange precision of natural symbolism and retribution, signed, (as of old, by strewing of ashes on Kidron,) by strewing of ashes on the brooks of Scotland; waters once of life, health, music, and divine tradition; but to whose festering scum you may now set fire with a candle; and of which, round the once excelling palace of Scotland, modern sanitary science is now helplessly contending with the poisonous exhalations. 14. I gave this chapter its heading, because I had it in my mind to work out the meaning of the fable in the ninth chapter of Judges, from what I had seen on that thorny ground of mine, where the bramble was king over all the trees of the wood. But the thoughts are gone from me now; and as I re-read the chapter of Judges,--now, except in my memory, unread, as it chances, for many a year,--the sadness of that story of Gideon fastens on me, and silences me. _This_ the end of his angel visions, and dream-led victories, the slaughter of all his {126} sons but this youngest,[34]--and he never again heard of in Israel! You Scottish children of the Rock, taught through all your once pastoral and noble lives by many a sweet miracle of dew on fleece and ground,--once servants of mighty kings, and keepers of sacred covenant; have you indeed dealt truly with your warrior kings, and prophet saints, or are these ruins of their homes, and shrines, dark with the fire that fell from the curse of Jerubbael? * * * * * {127} CHAPTER VIII. THE STEM. 1. As I read over again, with a fresh mind, the last chapter, I am struck by the opposition of states which seem best to fit a weed for a weed's work,--stubbornness, namely, and flaccidity. On the one hand, a sternness and a coarseness of structure which changes its stem into a stake, and its leaf into a spine; on the other, an utter flaccidity and ventosity of structure, which changes its stem into a riband, and its leaf into a bubble. And before we go farther--for we are not yet at the end of our study of these obnoxious things--we had better complete an examination of the parts of a plant in general, by ascertaining what a Stem proper is; and what makes it stiffer, or hollower, than we like it;--how, to wit, the gracious and generous strength of ash differs from the spinous obstinacy of blackthorn,--and how the geometric and enduring hollowness of a stalk of wheat differs from the soft fulness of that of a mushroom. To which end, I will take up a piece of study, not of black, but white, thorn, written last spring. {128} 2. I suppose there is no question but that all nice people like hawthorn blossom. I want, if I can, to find out to-day, 25th May, 1875, what it is we like it so much for: holding these two branches of it in my hand--one full out, the other in youth. This full one is a mere mass of symmetrically balanced--snow, one was going vaguely to write, in the first impulse. But it is nothing of the sort. White,--yes, in a high degree; and pure, totally; but not at all dazzling in the white, nor pure in an insultingly rivalless manner, as snow would be; yet pure somehow, certainly; and white, absolutely, in spite of what might be thought failure,--imperfection--nay, even distress and loss in it. For every little rose of it has a green darkness in the centre--not even a pretty green, but a faded, yellowish, glutinous, unaccomplished green; and round that, all over the surface of the blossom, whose shell-like petals are themselves deep sunk, with grey shadows in the hollows of them--all above this already subdued brightness, are strewn the dark points of the dead stamens--manifest more and more, the longer one looks, as a kind of grey sand, sprinkled without sparing over what looked at first unspotted light. And in all the ways of it the lovely thing is more like the spring frock of some prudent little maid of fourteen, than a flower;--frock with some little spotty pattern on it to keep it from showing an unintended and inadvertent spot,--if Fate should ever inflict such a thing! Undeveloped, thinks Mr. Darwin,--the poor {129} short-coming, ill-blanched thorn blossom--going to be a Rose, some day soon; and, what next?--who knows?--perhaps a Pæony! 3. Then this next branch, in dawn and delight of youth, set with opening clusters of yet numerable blossom, four, and five, and seven, edged, and islanded, and ended, by the sharp leaves of freshest green, deepened under the flowers, and studded round with bosses, better than pearl beads of St. Agnes' rosary,--folded, over and over, with the edges of their little leaves pouting, as the very softest waves do on flat sand where one meets another; then opening just enough to show the violet colour within--which yet isn't violet colour, nor even "meno che le rose," but a different colour from every other lilac that one ever saw;--faint and faded even before it sees light, as the filmy cup opens over the depth of it, then broken into purple motes of tired bloom, fading into darkness, as the cup extends into the perfect rose. This, with all its sweet change that one would so fain stay, and soft effulgence of bud into softly falling flower, one has watched--how often; but always with the feeling that the blossoms are thrown over the green depth like white clouds--never with any idea of so much as asking what holds the cloud there. Have each of the innumerable blossoms a separate stalk? and, if so, how is it that one never thinks of the stalk, as one does with currants? 4. Turn the side of the branch to you;--Nature never meant you to see it so; but now it is all stalk below, and {130} stamens above,--the petals nothing, the stalks all tiny trees, always dividing their branches mainly into three--one in the centre short, and the two lateral, long, with an intermediate extremely long one, if needed, to fill a gap, so contriving that the flowers shall all be nearly at the same level, or at least surface of ball, like a guelder rose. But the cunning with which the tree conceals its structure till the blossom is fallen, and then--for a little while, we had best look no more at it, for it is all like grape-stalks with no grapes. These, whether carrying hawthorn blossom and haw, or grape blossom and grape, or peach blossom and peach, you will simply call the 'stalk,' whether of flower or fruit. A 'stalk' is essentially round, like a pillar; and has, for the most part, the power of first developing, and then shaking off, flower and fruit from its extremities. You can pull the peach from its stalk, the cherry, the grape. Always at some time of its existence, the flower-stalk lets fall something of what it sustained, petal or seed. In late Latin it is called 'petiolus,' the little foot; because the expanding piece that holds the grape, or olive, is a little like an animal's foot. Modern botanists have misapplied the word to the _leaf_-stalk, which has no resemblance to a foot at all. We must keep the word to its proper meaning, and, when we want to write Latin, call it 'petiolus;' when we want to write English, call it 'stalk,' meaning always fruit or flower stalk. {131} I cannot find when the word 'stalk' first appears in English:--its derivation will be given presently. 5. Gather next a hawthorn leaf. That also has a stalk; but you can't shake the leaf off it. It, and the leaf, are essentially one; for the sustaining fibre runs up into every ripple or jag of the leaf's edge: and its section is different from that of the flower-stalk; it is no more round, but has an upper and under surface, quite different from each other. It will be better, however, to take a larger leaf to examine this structure in. Cabbage, cauliflower, or rhubarb, would any of them be good, but don't grow wild in the luxuriance I want. So, if you please, we will take a leaf of burdock, (Arctium Lappa,) the principal business of that plant being clearly to grow leaves wherewith to adorn fore-grounds.[35] [Illustration: FIG. 13.] 6. The outline of it in Sowerby is not an intelligent one, and I have not time to draw it but in the rudest way myself; Fig. 13, _a_; with perspectives of the elementary form below, _b_, _c_, and d. By help of which, if you will construct a burdock leaf in paper, my rude outline (_a_) may tell the rest of what I want you to see. [Illustration: FIG. 14.] Take a sheet of stout note paper, Fig. 14, A, double it sharply down the centre, by the dotted line, then give it the two cuts at _a_ and _b_, and double those pieces sharply back, as at B; then, opening them again, cut the whole {132} into the form C; and then, pulling up the corners _c d_, stitch them together with a loose thread so that the points _c_ and _d_ shall be within half an inch of each other; and you will have a kind of triangular scoop, or shovel, with a stem, by which you can sufficiently hold it, D. 7. And from this easily constructed and tenable model, you may learn at once these following main facts about all leaves. {133} [I.] That they are not flat, but, however slightly, always hollowed into craters, or raised into hills, in one or another direction; so that any drawable outline of them does not in the least represent the real extent of their surfaces; and until you know how to draw a cup, or a mountain, rightly, you have no chance of drawing a leaf. My simple artist readers of long ago, when I told them to draw leaves, thought they could do them by the boughfull, whenever they liked. Alas, except by old William Hunt, and Burne Jones, I've not seen a leaf painted, since those burdocks of Turner's; far less sculptured--though one would think at first that was easier! Of which we shall have talk elsewhere; here I must go on to note fact number two, concerning leaves. {134} 8. [II.] The strength of their supporting stem consists not merely in the gathering together of all the fibres, but in gathering them essentially into the profile of the letter V, which you will see your doubled paper stem has; and of which you can feel the strength and use, in your hand, as you hold it. Gather a common plantain leaf, and look at the way it puts its round ribs together at the base, and you will understand the matter at once. The arrangement is modified and disguised in every possible way, according to the leaf's need: in the aspen, the leaf-stalk becomes an absolute vertical plank; and in the large trees is often almost rounded into the likeness of a fruit-stalk;--but, in all,[36] the essential structure is this doubled one; and in all, it opens at the place where the leaf joins the main stem, into a kind of cup, which holds next year's bud in the hollow of it. 9. Now there would be no inconvenience in your simply getting into the habit of calling the round petiol of the fruit the 'stalk,' and the contracted channel of the leaf, 'leaf-stalk.' But this way of naming them would not enforce, nor fasten in your mind, the difference between the two, so well as if you have an entirely different name for the leaf-stalk. Which is the more desirable, because the limiting character of the leaf, botanically, is--(I only learned this from my botanical friend the other day, just {135} in the very moment I wanted it,)--that it holds the bud of the new stem in its own hollow, but cannot itself grow in the hollow of anything else;--or, in botanical language, leaves are never axillary,--don't grow in armpits, but are themselves armpits; hollows, that is to say, where they spring from the main stem. 10. Now there is already a received and useful botanical word, 'cyme' (which we shall want in a little while.) derived from the Greek [Greek: kuma], a swelling or rising wave, and used to express a swelling cluster of foamy blossom. Connected with that word, but in a sort the reverse of it, you have the Greek '[Greek: kumbê],' the _hollow_ of a cup, or bowl; whence [Greek: kumbalou], a cymbal,--that is to say, a musical instrument owing its tone to its _hollowness_. These words become in Latin, cymba, and cymbalum; and I think you will find it entirely convenient and advantageous to call the leaf-stalk distinctively the 'cymba,' retaining the mingled idea of cup and boat, with respect at least to the part of it that holds the bud; and understanding that it gathers itself into a V-shaped, or even narrowly vertical, section, as a boat narrows to its bow, for strength to sustain the leaf. With this word you may learn the Virgilian line, that shows the final use of iron--or iron-darkened--ships: "Et ferrugíneâ subvectat corpora cymbâ." The "subvectat corpora" will serve to remind you of the office of the leafy cymba in carrying the bud; and make {136} you thankful that the said leafy vase is not of iron; and is a ship of Life instead of Death. 11. Already, not once, nor twice, I have had to use the word 'stem,' of the main round branch from which both stalk and cymba spring. This word you had better keep for all growing, or advancing, shoots of trees, whether from the ground, or from central trunks and branches. I regret that the words multiply on us; but each that I permit myself to use has its own proper thought or idea to express, as you will presently perceive; so that true knowledge multiplies with true words. 12. The 'stem,' you are to say, then, when you mean the _advancing_ shoot,--which lengthens annually, while a stalk ends every year in a blossom, and a cymba in a leaf. A stem is essentially round,[37] square, or regularly polygonal; though, as a cymba may become exceptionally round, a stem may become exceptionally flat, or even mimic the shape of a leaf. Indeed I should have liked to write "a stem is essentially round, and constructively, on occasion, square,"--but it would have been too grand. The fact is, however, that a stem is really a roundly minded thing, throwing off its branches in circles as a trundled mop throws off drops, though it can always order the branches to fly off in what order it likes,--two at a time, opposite to each other; or three, or five, in a spiral coil; or one here and one there, on this side and that; {137} but it is always twisting, in its own inner mind and force; hence it is especially proper to use the word 'stem' of it--[Greek: stemma], a twined wreath; properly, twined round a staff, or sceptre: therefore, learn at once by heart these lines in the opening Iliad: "[Greek: Stemmat' echôn en chersin hekêbolou Apollônos,] [Greek: Chruseôi ana skêptrôi;]" And recollect that a sceptre is properly a staff to lean upon; and that as a crown or diadem is first a binding thing, a 'sceptre' is first a _supporting_ thing, and it is in its nobleness, itself made of the stem of a young tree. You may just as well learn also this: "[Greek: Nai ma tode skêptron, to men oupote phulla kai ozous] [Greek: Phusei, epeidê prôta tomên en oressi leloipen,] [Greek: Oud' anathêlêsei; peri gar rha he chalkos elepse] [Greek: Phulla te kai phloion; nun aute min huies Achaiôn] [Greek: En palamêis phoreousi dikaspoloi, hoi te themistas] [Greek: Pros Dios eiruatai;]" "Now, by this sacred sceptre hear me swear Which never more shall leaves or blossoms bear, Which, severed from the trunk, (as I from thee,) On the bare mountains left its parent tree; This sceptre, formed by tempered steel to prove An ensign of the delegates of Jove, From whom the power of laws and justice springs (Tremendous oath, inviolate to Kings)." 13. The supporting power in the tree itself is, I doubt not, greatly increased by this spiral action; and the fine {138} instinct of its being so, caused the twisted pillar to be used in the Lombardic Gothic,--at first, merely as a pleasant variety of form, but at last constructively and universally, by Giotto, and all the architects of his school. Not that the spiral form actually adds to the strength of a Lombardic pillar, by imitating contortions of wood, any more than the fluting of a Doric shaft adds to its strength by imitating the canaliculation of a reed; but the perfect action of the imagination, which had adopted the encircling acanthus for the capital, adopted the twining stemma for the shaft; the pure delight of the eye being the first condition in either case: and it is inconceivable how much of the pleasure taken both in ornament and in natural form is founded elementarily on groups of spiral line. The study in our fifth plate, of the involucre of the waste-thistle,[38] is as good an example as I can give of the more subtle and concealed conditions of this structure. 14. Returning to our present business of nomenclature, we find the Greek word, 'stemma,' adopted by the Latins, {139} becoming the expression of a growing and hereditary race; and the branched tree, the natural type, among all nations, of multiplied families. Hence the entire fitness of the word for our present purposes; as signifying, "a spiral shoot extending itself by branches." But since, unless it is spiral, it is not a stem, and unless it has branches, it is not a stem, we shall still want another word for the sustaining 'sceptre' of a foxglove, or cowslip. Before determining that, however, we must see what need there may be of one familiar to our ears until lately, although now, I understand, falling into disuse. 15. By our definition, a stem is a spirally bent, essentially living and growing, shoot of vegetation. But the branch of a tree, in which many such stems have their origin, is not, except in a very subtle and partial way, spiral; nor, except in the shoots that spring from it, progressive forwards; it only receives increase of thickness at its sides. Much more, what used to be called the _trunk_ of a tree, in which many branches are united, has ceased to be, except in mere tendency and temper, spiral; and has so far ceased from growing as to be often in a state of decay in its interior, while the external layers are still in serviceable strength. 16. If, however, a trunk were only to be defined as an arrested stem, or a cluster of arrested stems, we might perhaps refuse, in scientific use, the popular word. But such a definition does not touch the main idea. Branches usually begin to assert themselves at a height above the {140} ground approximately fixed for each species of tree,--low in an oak, high in a stone pine; but, in both, marked as a point of _structural change in the direction of growing force_, like the spring of a vault from a pillar; and as the tree grows old, some of its branches getting torn away by winds or falling under the weight of their own fruit, or load of snow, or by natural decay, there remains literally a 'truncated' mass of timber, still bearing irregular branches here and there, but inevitably suggestive of resemblance to a human body, after the loss of some of its limbs. And to prepare trees for their practical service, what age and storm only do partially, the first rough process of human art does completely. The branches are lopped away, leaving literally the 'truncus' as the part of the tree out of which log and rafter can be cut. And in many trees, it would appear to be the chief end of their being to produce this part of their body on a grand scale, and of noble substance; so that, while in thinking of vegetable life without reference to its use to men or animals, we should rightly say that the essence of it was in leaf and flower--not in trunk or fruit; yet for the sake of animals, we find that some plants, like the vine, are apparently meant chiefly to produce fruit; others, like laurels, chiefly to produce leaves; others chiefly to produce flowers; and others to produce permanently serviceable and sculptural wood; or, in some cases, merely picturesque and monumental masses of vegetable rock, "intertwisted {141} fibres serpentine,"--of far nobler and more pathetic use in their places, and their enduring age, than ever they could be for material purpose in human habitation. For this central mass of the vegetable organism, then, the English word 'trunk' and French 'tronc' are always in accurate scholarship to be retained--meaning the part of a tree which remains when its branches are lopped away. 17. We have now got distinct ideas of four different kinds of stem, and simple names for them in Latin and English,--Petiolus, Cymba, Stemma, and Truncus; Stalk, Leaf-stalk, Stem, and Trunk; and these are all that we shall commonly need. There is, however, one more that will be sometimes necessary, though it is ugly and difficult to pronounce, and must be as little used as we can. And here I must ask you to learn with me a little piece of Roman history. I say, to _learn_ with me, because I don't know any Roman history except the two first books of Livy, and little bits here and there of the following six or seven. I only just know enough about it to be able to make out the bearings and meaning of any fact that I now learn. The greater number of modern historians know, (if honest enough even for that,) the facts, or something that may possibly be like the facts, but haven't the least notion of the meaning of them. So that, though I have to find out everything that I want in Smith's dictionary, like any schoolboy, I can usually tell you the {142} significance of what I so find, better than perhaps even Mr. Smith himself could. 18. In the 586th page of Mr. Smith's volume, you have it written that 'Calvus,' bald-head, was the name of a family of the Licinia gens; that the man of whom we hear earliest, as so named, was the first plebeian elected to military tribuneship in B.C. 400; and that the fourth of whom we hear, was surnamed 'Stolo,' because he was so particular in pruning away the Stolons (stolones), or useless young shoots, of his vines. We must keep this word 'stolon,' therefore, for these young suckers springing from an old root. Its derivation is uncertain; but the main idea meant by it is one of uselessness,--sprouting without occasion or fruit; and the words 'stolidus' and 'stolid' are really its derivatives, though we have lost their sense in English by partly confusing them with 'solid' which they have nothing to do with. A 'stolid' person is essentially a 'useless sucker' of society; frequently very leafy and graceful, but with no good in him. [Illustration: FIG. 15.] 19. Nevertheless, I won't allow our vegetable 'stolons' to be despised. Some of quite the most beautiful forms of leafage belong to them;--even the foliage of the olive itself is never seen to the same perfection on the upper branches as in the young ground-rods in which the dual groups of leaves crowd themselves in their haste into clusters of three. But, for our point of Latin history, remember always {143} that in 400 B.C., just a year before the death of Socrates at Athens, this family of Stolid persons manifested themselves at Rome, shooting up from plebeian roots into places where they had no business; and preparing the way for the degradation of the entire Roman race under the Empire; their success being owed, remember also, to the faults of the patricians, for one of the laws passed by Calvus Stolo was that the Sibylline books should be in custody of ten men, of whom five should be plebeian, "that no falsifications might be introduced in favour of the patricians." 20. All this time, however, we have got no name for the prettiest of all stems,--that of annual flowers growing high from among their ground leaves, like lilies of the valley, and saxifrages, and the tall primulas--of which this pretty type, Fig. 15, was cut for me by Mr. Burgess years ago; admirable in its light outline of the foamy globe of flowers, supported and balanced in the meadow breezes on that elastic rod of slenderest life. What shall we call it? We had better rest from our study of terms a little, and do a piece of needful classifying, before we try to name it. 21. My younger readers will find it easy to learn, and convenient to remember, for a beginning of their science, {144} the names of twelve great families of cinquefoiled flowers,[39] of which the first group of three, is for the most part golden, the second, blue, the third, purple, and the fourth, red. And their names, by simple lips, can be pleasantly said, or sung, in this order, the two first only being a little difficult to get over. 1 2 3 4 Roof-foil, Lucy, Pea, Pink, Rock-foil, Blue-bell, Pansy, Peach, Primrose. Bindweed. Daisy. Rose. Which even in their Latin magniloquence will not be too terrible, namely,-- 1 2 3 4 Stella, Lucia, Alata, Clarissa, Francesca, Campanula, Viola, Persica, Primula. Convoluta. Margarita. Rosa. 22. I do not care much to assert or debate my reasons for the changes of nomenclature made in this list. The {145} most gratuitous is that of 'Lucy' for 'Gentian,' because the King of Macedon, from whom the flower has been so long named, was by no means a person deserving of so consecrated memory. I conceive no excuse needed for rejecting Caryophyll, one of the crudest and absurdest words ever coined by unscholarly men of science; or Papilionaceæ, which is unendurably long for pease; and when we are now writing Latin, in a sentimental temper, and wish to say that we gathered a daisy, we shall not any more be compelled to write that we gathered a 'Bellidem perennem,' or, an 'Oculum Diei.' I take the pure Latin form, Margarita, instead of Margareta, in memory of Margherita of Cortona,[40] as well as of the great saint: also the tiny scatterings and sparklings of the daisy on the turf may remind us of the old use of the word 'Margaritæ,' for the minute particles of the Host sprinkled on the patina--"Has particulas [Greek: meridas] vocat Euchologium, [Greek: margaritas] Liturgia Chrysostomi."[41] My young German readers will, I hope, call the flower Gretschen,--unless they would uproot the daisies of the Rhine, lest French girls should also count their love-lots by the Marguerite. I must be so ungracious to my fair young readers, however, as to warn them that this trial of their lovers is a very favourable one, for, in nine blossoms out of {146} ten, the leaves of the Marguerite are odd, so that, if they are only gracious enough to begin with the supposition that he loves them, they must needs end in the conviction of it. 23. I am concerned, however, for the present, only with my first or golden order, of which the Roof-foil, or house-leek, is called in present botany, Sedum, 'the squatter,' because of its way of fastening itself down on stones, or roof, as close as it can sit. But I think this an ungraceful notion of its behaviour; and as its blossoms are, of all flowers, the most sharply and distinctly star-shaped, I shall call it 'Stella' (providing otherwise, in due time, for the poor little chickweeds;) and the common stonecrop will therefore be 'Stella domestica.' The second tribe, (at present saxifraga,) growing for the most part wild on rocks, may, I trust, even in Protestant botany, be named Francesca, after St. Francis of Assisi; not only for its modesty, and love of mountain ground, and poverty of colour and leaf; but also because the chief element of its decoration, seen close, will be found in its spots, or stigmata. In the nomenclature of the third order I make no change. 24. Now all this group of golden-blossoming plants agree in general character of having a rich cluster of radical leaves, from which they throw up a single stalk bearing clustered blossoms; for which stalk, when entirely leafless, I intend always to keep the term 'virgula,' the {147} 'little rod'--not painfully caring about it, but being able thus to define it with precision, if required. And these are connected with the stems of branching shrubs through infinite varieties of structure, in which the first steps of transition are made by carrying the cluster of radical leaves up, and letting them expire gradually from the rising stem: the changes of form in the leaves as they rise higher from the ground being one of quite the most interesting specific studies in every plant. I had set myself once, in a bye-study for foreground drawing, hard on this point; and began, with Mr. Burgess, a complete analysis of the foliation of annual stems; of which Line-studies II., III., and IV., are examples; reduced copies, all, from the beautiful Flora Danica. But after giving two whole lovely long summer days, under the Giesbach, to the blue scabious, ('Devil's bit,') and getting in that time, only half-way up it, I gave in; and must leave the work to happier and younger souls. 25. For these flowering stems, therefore, possessing nearly all the complex organization of a tree, but not its permanence, we will keep the word 'virga;' and 'virgula' for those that have no leaves. I believe, when we come to the study of leaf-order, it will be best to begin with these annual virgæ, in which the leaf has nothing to do with preparation for a next year's branch. And now the remaining terms commonly applied to stems may be for the most part dispensed with; but several are interesting, and must be examined before dismissal. {148} 26. Indeed, in the first place, the word we have to use so often, 'stalk,' has not been got to the roots of, yet. It comes from the Greek [Greek: stelechos,] (stelechos,) the 'holding part' of a tree, that which is like a handle to all its branches; 'stock' is another form in which it has come down to us: with some notion of its being the mother of branches: thus, when Athena's olive was burnt by the Persians, two days after, a shoot a cubit long had sprung from the 'stelechos,' of it. 27. Secondly. Few words are more interesting to the modern scholarly and professorial mind than 'stipend.' (I have twice a year at present to consider whether I am worth mine, sent with compliments from the Curators of the University chest). Now, this word comes from 'stips,' small pay, which itself comes from 'stipo,' to press together, with the idea of small coin heaped up in little towers or piles. But with the idea of lateral pressing together, instead of downward, we get 'stipes,' a solid log; in Greek, with the same sense, [Greek: stupos,] (stupos,) whence, gradually, with help from another word meaning to beat, (and a side-glance at beating of hemp,) we get our 'stupid,' the German stumph, the Scottish sumph, and the plain English 'stump.' Refining on the more delicate sound of stipes, the Latins got 'stipula,' the thin stem of straw: which rustles and ripples daintily in verse, associated with spica and spiculum, used of the sharp pointed ear of corn, and its fine processes of fairy shafts. {149} 28. There are yet two more names of stalk to be studied, though, except for particular plants, not needing to be used,--namely, the Latin cau-dex, and cau-lis, both connected with the Greek [Greek: kaulos], properly meaning a solid stalk like a handle, passing into the sense of the hilt of a sword, or quill of a pen. Then, in Latin, caudex passes into the sense of log, and so, of cut plank or tablet of wood; thus finally becoming the classical 'codex' of writings engraved on such wooden tablets, and therefore generally used for authoritative manuscripts. Lastly, 'caulis,' retained accurately in our cauliflower, contracted in 'colewort,' and refined in 'kail,' softens itself into the French 'chou,' meaning properly the whole family of thick-stalked eatable salads with spreading heads; but these being distinguished explicitly by Pliny as 'Capitati,' 'salads with a head,' or 'Captain salads,' the mediæval French softened the 'caulis capitatus' into 'chou cabus;'--or, to separate the round or apple-like mass of leaves from the flowery foam, 'cabus' simply, by us at last enriched and emphasized into 'cabbage.' 29. I believe we have now got through the stiffest piece of etymology we shall have to master in the course of our botany; but I am certain that young readers will find patient work, in this kind, well rewarded by the groups of connected thoughts which will thus attach themselves to familiar names; and their grasp of every language they learn must only be esteemed by them secure when they recognize its derivatives in these homely associations, {150} and are as much at ease with the Latin or French syllables of a word as with the English ones; this familiarity being above all things needful to cure our young students of their present ludicrous impression that what is simple, in English, is knowing, in Greek; and that terms constructed out of a dead language will explain difficulties which remained insoluble in a living one. But Greek is _not_ yet dead: while if we carry our unscholarly nomenclature much further, English soon will be; and then doubtless botanical gentlemen at Athens will for some time think it fine to describe what we used to call caryophyllaceæ, as the [Greek: hedlêphides]. 30. For indeed we are all of us yet but school-boys, clumsily using alike our lips and brains; and with all our mastery of instruments and patience of attention, but few have reached, and those dimly, the first level of science,--wonder. For the first instinct of the stem,--unnamed by us yet--unthought of,--the instinct of seeking light, as of the root to seek darkness,--what words can enough speak the wonder of it. Look. Here is the little thing, Line-study V. (A), in its first birth to us: the stem of stems; the one of which we pray that it may bear our daily bread. The seed has fallen in the ground with the springing germ of it downwards; with heavenly cunning the taught stem curls round, and seeks the never-seen light. Veritable 'conversion,' miraculous, called of God. And here is the oat {151} germ, (B)--after the wheat, most vital of divine gifts; and assuredly, in days to come, fated to grow on many a naked rock in hitherto lifeless lands, over which the glancing sheaves of it will shake sweet treasure of innocent gold. And who shall tell us how they grow; and the fashion of their rustling pillars--bent, and again erect, at every breeze. Fluted shaft or clustered pier, how poor of art, beside this grass-shaft--built, first to sustain the food of men, then to be strewn under their feet! We must not stay to think of it, yet, or we shall get no farther till harvest has come and gone again. And having our names of stems now determined enough, we must in next chapter try a little to understand the different kinds of them. The following notes, among many kindly sent me on the subject of Scottish Heraldry, seem to be the most trustworthy:-- "The earliest known mention of the thistle as the national badge of Scotland is in the inventory of the effects of James III., who probably adopted it as an appropriate illustration of the royal motto, _In defence_. "Thistles occur on the coins of James IV., Mary, James V., and James VI.; and on those of James VI. they are for the first time accompanied by the motto, _Nemo me impune lacesset_. "A collar of thistles appears on the gold bonnet-pieces of James V. of 1539; and the royal ensigns, as depicted in Sir David Lindsay's armorial register of 1542, are surrounded by a collar formed entirely of golden thistles, with an oval badge attached. {152} "This collar, however, was a mere device until the institution, or as it is generally but inaccurately called, the revival, of the order of the Thistle by James VII. (II. of England), which took place on May 29, 1687." Date of James III.'s reign 1460-1488. * * * * * {153} CHAPTER IX. OUTSIDE AND IN. 1. The elementary study of methods of growth, given in the following chapter, has been many years written, (the greater part soon after the fourth volume of 'Modern Painters'); and ought now to be rewritten entirely; but having no time to do this, I leave it with only a word or two of modification, because some truth and clearness of incipient notion will be conveyed by it to young readers, from which I can afterwards lop the errors, and into which I can graft the finer facts, better than if I had a less blunt embryo to begin with. [Illustration: FIG. 16.] [Illustration: FIG. 17.] 2. A stem, then, broadly speaking, (I had thus began the old chapter,) is the channel of communication between the leaf and root; and if the leaf can grow directly from the root there is no stem: so that it is well first to conceive of all plants as consisting of leaves and roots only, with the condition that each leaf must have its own quite particular root[42] somewhere. {154} Let a b c, Fig. 16, be three leaves, each, as you see, with its own root, and by no means dependent on other leaves for its daily bread; and let the horizontal line be the surface of the ground. Then the plant has no stem, or an underground one. But if the three leaves rise above the ground, as in Fig. 17, they must reach their roots by elongating their stalks, and this elongation is the stem of the plant. If the outside leaves grow last, and are therefore youngest, the plant is said to grow from the outside. You know that 'ex' means out, and that 'gen' is the first syllable of Genesis (or creation), therefore the old botanists, putting an o between the two syllables, called plants whose outside leaves grew last, Ex-o-gens. If the inside leaf grows last, and is youngest, the plant was said to grow from the inside, and from the Greek Endon, within, called an 'Endo-gen.' If these names are persisted in, the Greek botanists, to return the compliment, will of course call Endogens [Greek: Inseidbornides], and Exogens [Greek: Houtseidbornides]. In the Oxford school, they will be called simply Inlaid and Outlaid. [Illustration: FIG. 18.] 3. You see that if the outside leaves are to grow last, they may conveniently grow two at a time; which they accordingly do, and exogens always start with two little {155} leaves from their roots, and may therefore conveniently be called two-leaved; which, if you please, we will for our parts call them. The botanists call them 'two-suckered,' and can't be content to call them _that_ in English; but drag in a long Greek word, meaning the fleshy sucker of the sea-devil,--'cotyledon,' which, however, I find is practically getting shortened into 'cot,' and that they will have to end by calling endogens, monocots, and exogens, bicots. I mean steadily to call them one-leaved and two-leaved, for this further reason, that they differ not merely in the single or dual springing of first leaves from the seed; but in the distinctly single or dual arrangement of leaves afterwards on the stem; so that, through all the complexity obtained by alternate and spiral placing, every bicot or two-leaved flower or tree is in reality composed of dual groups of leaves, separated by a given length of stem; as, most characteristically in this pure mountain type of the Ragged Robin (Clarissa laciniosa), Fig. 18; and compare A, and B, Line-study II.; while, on the other hand, the monocot plants are by close analysis, I think, always resolvable into successively climbing leaves, sessile on one another, and sending their roots, {156} or processes, for nourishment, down through one another, as in Fig. 19. [Illustration: FIG. 19.] 4. Not that I am yet clear, at all, myself; but I do think it's more the botanists' fault than mine, what 'cotyledonous' structure there may be at the outer base of each successive bud; and still less, how the intervenient length of stem, in the bicots, is related to their power, or law, of branching. For not only the two-leaved tree is outlaid, and the one-leaved inlaid, but the two-leaved tree is branched, and the one-leaved tree is not branched. This is a most vital and important distinction, which I state to you in very bold terms, for though there are some apparent exceptions to the law, there are, I believe, no real ones, if we define a branch rightly. Thus, the head of a palm tree is merely a cluster of large leaves; and the spike of a grass, a clustered blossom. The stem, in both, is unbranched; and we should be able in this respect to classify plants very simply indeed, but for a provoking species of intermediate creatures whose branching is always in the manner of corals, or sponges, or arborescent minerals, irregular and accidental, and essentially, therefore, distinguished from the systematic anatomy of a truly branched tree. Of these presently; we must go on by very short steps: and I find no step can be taken without check from existing generalizations. Sowerby's definition of Monocotyledons, in his ninth volume, begins thus: "Herbs, (or rarely, and only in exotic genera,) trees, in which the wood, pith, and bark are indistinguishable." {157} Now if there be one plant more than another in which the pith is defined, it is the common Rush; while the nobler families of true herbs derive their principal character from being pithless altogether! We cannot advance too slowly. 5. In the families of one-leaved plants in which the young leaves grow directly out of the old ones, it becomes a grave question for them whether the old ones are to lie flat or edgeways, and whether they must therefore grow out of their faces or their edges. And we must at once understand the way they contrive it, in either case. [Illustration: FIG. 20.] Among the many forms taken by the Arethusan leaf, one of the commonest is long and gradually tapering,--much broader at the base than the point. We will take such an one for examination, and suppose that it is growing on the ground as in Fig. 20, with a root to its every fibre. Cut out a piece of strong paper roughly into the shape of this Arethusan leaf, a, Fig. 21. Now suppose the next young leaf has to spring out of the front of this one, at about the middle of its height. Give it two nicks with the scissors at b b; then roll up the lower part into a cylinder, (it will overlap a good deal at the bottom,) and tie it fast with a fine thread: so, you will get the form at c. Then bend the top of it back, so that, seen sideways, it appears as at d, and you see you have made quite a little flower-pot to plant your {158} new leaf in, and perhaps it may occur to you that you have seen something like this before. Now make another, a little less wide, but with the part for the cylinder twice as long, roll it up in the same way, and slip it inside the other, with the flat part turned the other way, e. Surely this reminds you now of something you have seen? Or must I draw the something (Fig. 22)? [Illustration: FIG. 21.] 6. All grasses are thus constructed, and have their leaves set thus, opposite, on the sides of their tubular stems, alternately, as they ascend. But in most of them there is also a peculiar construction, by which, at the base of the sheath, or enclosing tube, each leaf articulates itself with the rest of the stem at a ringed knot, or joint. {159} [Illustration: FIG. 22.] Before examining these, remember there are mainly two sorts of joints in the framework of the bodies of animals. One is that in which the bone is thick at the joints and thin between them, (see the bone of the next chicken leg you eat), the other is that of animals that have shells or horny coats, in which characteristically the shell is thin at the joints, and thick between them (look at the next lobster's claw you can see, without eating). You know, also, that though the crustaceous are titled only from their crusts, the name 'insect' is given to the whole insect tribe, because they are farther jointed almost into _sect_ions: it is easily remembered, also, that the projecting joint means strength and elasticity in the creature, and that all its limbs are useful to it, and cannot conveniently be parted with; and that the incised, sectional, or insectile joint means more or less weakness,[43] and necklace-like laxity or license in the creature's make; and an ignoble power of shaking off its legs or arms on occasion, coupled also with modes of growth involving occasionally quite astonishing transformations, and beginnings of new life under new circumstances; so that, until very lately, no mortal knew what a crab was like in its youth, the very existence {160} of the creature, as well as its legs, being jointed, as it were and made in separate pieces with the narrowest possible thread of connection between them; and its principal, or stomachic, period of life, connected with its sentimental period by as thin a thread as a wasp's stomach is with its thorax. 7. Now in plants, as in animals, there are just the same opposed aspects of joint, with this specialty of difference in function, that the animal's limb bends at the joints, but the vegetable limb stiffens. And when the articulation projects, as in the joint of a cane, it means not only that the strength of the plant is well carried through the junction, but is carried farther and more safely than it could be without it: a cane is stronger, and can stand higher than it could otherwise, because of its joints. Also, this structure implies that the plant has a will of its own, and a position which on the whole it will keep, however it may now and then be bent out of it; and that it has a continual battle, of a healthy and humanlike kind, to wage with surrounding elements. But the crabby, or insect-like, joint, which you get in seaweeds and cacti, means either that the plant is to be dragged and wagged here and there at the will of waves, and to have no spring nor mind of its own; or else that it has at least no springy intention and elasticity of purpose, but only a knobby, knotty, prickly, malignant stubbornness, and incoherent opiniativeness; crawling about, and coggling, and grovelling, and aggregating {161} anyhow, like the minds of so many people whom one knows! 8. Returning then to our grasses, in which the real rooting and junction of the leaves with each other is at these joints; we find that therefore every leaf of grass may be thought of as consisting of two main parts, for which we shall want two separate names. The lowest part, which wraps itself round to become strong, we will call the 'staff,' and for the free-floating outer part we will take specially the name given at present carelessly to a large number of the plants themselves, 'flag.' This will give a more clear meaning to the words 'rod' (virga), and 'staff' (baculus), when they occur together, as in the 23rd Psalm; and remember the distinction is that a rod bends like a switch, but a staff is stiff. I keep the well-known name 'blade' for grass-leaves in their fresh green state. 9. You felt, as you were bending down the paper into the form d, Fig. 21, the difficulty and awkwardness of the transition from the tubular form of the staff to the flat one of the flag. The mode in which this change is effected is one of the most interesting features in plants, for you will find presently that the leaf-stalk in ordinary leaves is only a means of accomplishing the same change from round to flat. But you know I said just now that some leaves were not flat, but set upright, edgeways. It is not a common position in two-leaved trees; but if you can run out and look at an arbor vitæ, it may interest you {162} to see its hatchet-shaped vertically crested cluster of leaves transforming themselves gradually downwards into branches; and in one-leaved trees the vertically edged group is of great importance. [Illustration: FIG. 23.] 10. Cut out another piece of paper like a in Fig. 21, but now, instead of merely giving it nicks at a, b, cut it into the shape A, Fig. 23. Roll the lower part up as before, but instead of pulling the upper part down, pinch its back at the dotted line, and bring the two points, a and b, forward, so that they may touch each other. B shows the look of the thing half-done, before the points a and b have quite met. Pinch them close, and stitch the two edges neatly together, all the way from a to the point c; then roll and tie up the lower part as before. You will find then that the back or spinal line of the whole leaf is bent forward, as at B. Now go out to the garden and gather the green leaf of a fleur-de-lys, and look at it and your piece of disciplined paper together; and I fancy you will probably find out several things for yourself that I want you to know. 11. You see, for one thing, at once, how _strong_ the fleur-de-lys leaf is, and that it is just twice as strong as a blade of grass, for it is the substance of the staff, with its sides flattened together, while the grass blade is a staff cut {163} open and flattened out. And you see that as a grass blade necessarily flaps down, the fleur-de-lys leaf as necessarily curves up, owing to that inevitable bend in its back. And you see, with its keen edge, and long curve, and sharp point, how like a sword it is. The botanists would for once have given a really good and right name to the plants which have this kind of leaf, 'Ensatæ,' from the Latin 'ensis,' a sword; if only sata had been properly formed from sis. We can't let the rude Latin stand, but you may remember that the fleur-de-lys, which is the flower of chivalry, has a sword for its leaf, and a lily for its heart. 12. In case you cannot gather a fleur-de-lys leaf, I have drawn for you, in Plate VI., a cluster of such leaves, which are as pretty as any, and so small that, missing the points of a few, I can draw them of their actual size. You see the pretty alternate interlacing at the bottom, and if you can draw at all, and will try to outline their curves, you will find what subtle lines they are. I did not know this name for the strong-edged grass leaves when I wrote the pieces about shield and sword leaves in 'Modern Painters'; I wish I had chanced in those passages on some other similitude, but I can't alter them now, and my trustful pupils may avoid all confusion of thought by putting gladius for ensis, and translating it by the word 'scymitar,' which is also more accurate in expressing the curvature blade. So we will call the ensatæ, instead, 'gladiolæ,' translating, 'scymitar-grasses.' And having {164} now got at some clear idea of the distinction between outlaid and inlaid growth in the stem, the reader will find the elementary analysis of forms resulting from outlaid growth in 'Modern Painters'; and I mean to republish it in the sequel of this book, but must go on to other matters here. The growth of the inlaid stem we will follow as far as we need, for English plants, in examining the glasses. FLORENCE, _11th September, 1874_. As I correct this chapter for press, I find it is too imperfect to be let go without a word or two more. In the first place, I have not enough, in distinguishing the nature of the living yearly shoot, with its cluster of fresh leafage, from that of the accumulated mass of perennial trees, taken notice of the similar power even of the annual shoot, to obtain some manner of immortality for itself, or at least of usefulness, _after_ death. A Tuscan woman stopped me on the path up to Fiesole last night, to beg me to buy her plaited straw. I wonder how long straw lasts, if one takes care of it? A Leghorn bonnet, (if now such things are,) carefully put away,--even properly taken care of when it is worn,--how long will it last, young ladies? I have just been reading the fifth chapter of II. Esdras, and am fain to say, with less discomfort than otherwise I might have felt, (the example being set me by the archangel Uriel,) "I am not sent to tell thee, for I do not know." How old is the oldest straw known? the oldest {165} linen? the oldest hemp? We have mummy wheat,--cloth of papyrus, which is a kind of straw. The paper reeds by the brooks, the flax-flower in the field, leave such imperishable frame behind them. And Ponte-della-Paglia, in Venice; and Straw Street, of Paris, remembered in Heaven,--there is no occasion to change their names, as one may have to change 'Waterloo Bridge,' or the 'Rue de l'Impératrice.' Poor Empress! Had she but known that her true dominion was in the straw streets of her fields; not in the stone streets of her cities! But think how wonderful this imperishableness of the stem of many plants is, even in their annual work: how much more in their perennial work! The noble stability between death and life, of a piece of perfect wood? It cannot grow, but will not decay; keeps record of its years of life, but surrenders them to become a constantly serviceable thing: which may be sailed in, on the sea, built with, on the land, carved by Donatello, painted on by Fra Angelico. And it is not the wood's fault, but the fault of Florence in not taking proper care of it, that the panel of Sandro Botticelli's loveliest picture has cracked, (not with heat, I believe, but blighting frost), a quarter of an inch wide through the Madonna's face. But what is this strange state of undecaying wood? What sort of latent life has it, which it only finally parts with when it rots? Nay, what is the law by which its natural life is measured? What makes a tree 'old'? One sees the {166} Spanish-chesnut trunks among the Apennines growing into caves, instead of logs. Vast hollows, confused among the recessed darknesses of the marble crags, surrounded by mere laths of living stem, each with its coronal of glorious green leaves. Why can't the tree go on, and on,--hollowing itself into a Fairy--no--a Dryad, Ring,--till it becomes a perfect Stonehenge of a tree? Truly, "I am not sent to tell thee, for I do not know." The worst of it is, however, that I don't know one thing which I ought very thoroughly to have known at least thirty years ago, namely, the true difference in the way of building the trunk in outlaid and inlaid wood. I have an idea that the stem of a palm-tree is only a heap of leaf-roots built up like a tower of bricks, year by year, and that the palm tree really grows on the top of it, like a bunch of fern; but I've no books here, and no time to read them if I had. If only I were a strong giant, instead of a thin old gentleman of fifty-five, how I should like to pull up one of those little palm-trees by the roots--(by the way, what are the roots of a palm like? and, how does it stand in sand, where it is wanted to stand, mostly? Fancy, not knowing that, at fifty-five!)--that grow all along the Riviera; and snap its stem in two, and cut it down the middle. But I suppose there are sections enough now in our grand botanical collections, and you can find it all out for yourself. That you should be able to ask a question clearly, is two-thirds of the way to getting it answered; and I think this chapter of mine will at {167} least enable you to ask some questions about the stem, though what a stem is, truly, "I am not sent to tell thee, for I do not know." KNARESBOROUGH, _30th April, 1876_. I see by the date of last paragraph that this chapter has been in my good Aylesbury printer's type for more than a year and a half. At this rate, Proserpina has a distant chance of being finished in the spirit-land, with more accurate information derived from the archangel Uriel himself, (not that he is likely to know much about the matter, if he keeps on letting himself be prevented from ever seeing foliage in spring-time by the black demon-winds,) about the year 2000. In the meantime, feeling that perhaps I _am_ sent to tell my readers a little more than is above told, I have had recourse to my botanical friend, good Mr. Oliver of Kew, who has taught me, first, of palms, that they actually stitch themselves into the ground, with a long dipping loop, up and down, of the root fibres, concerning which sempstress-work I shall have a month's puzzlement before I can report on it; secondly, that all the increment of tree stem is, by division and multiplication of the cells of the wood, a process not in the least to be described as 'sending down roots from the leaf to the ground.' I suspected as much in beginning to revise this chapter; but hold to my judgment in not cancelling it. For this multiplication of the cells is at least compelled by an influence which passes from the leaf to the ground, and vice versa; and which is at present best {168} conceivable to me by imagining the continual and invisible descent of lightning from electric cloud by a conducting rod, endowed with the power of softly splitting the rod into two rods, each as thick as the original one. Studying microscopically, we should then see the molecules of copper, as we see the cells of the wood, dividing and increasing, each one of them into two. But the visible result, and mechanical conditions of growth, would still be the same as if the leaf actually sent down a new root fibre; and, more than this, the currents of accumulating substance, marked by the grain of the wood, are, I think, quite plainly and absolutely those of streams flowing only from the leaves downwards; never from the root up, nor of mere lateral increase. I must look over all my drawings again, and at tree stems again, with more separate study of the bark and pith in those museum sections, before I can assert this; but there will be no real difficulty in the investigation. If the increase of the wood is lateral only, the currents round the knots will be compressed at the sides, and open above and below; but if downwards, compressed above the knot and open below it. The nature of the force itself, and the manner of its ordinances in direction, remain, and must for ever remain, inscrutable as our own passions, in the hand of the God of all Spirits, and of all Flesh. "Drunk is each ridge, of thy cup drinking, Each clod relenteth at thy dressing, {169} Thy cloud-borne waters inly sinking, Fair spring sproutes forth, blest with thy blessing; The fertile year is with thy bounty crouned, And where thou go'st, thy goings fat the ground. Plenty bedews the desert places, A hedge of mirth the hills encloseth. The fields with flockes have hid their faces, A robe of corn the valleys clotheth. Deserts and hills and fields and valleys all, Rejoice, shout, sing, and on thy name do call." * * * * * {170} CHAPTER X. THE BARK. 1. Philologists are continually collecting instances, like our friend the French critic of Virgil, of the beauty of finished language, or the origin of unfinished, in the imitation of natural sounds. But such collections give an entirely false idea of the real power of language, unless they are balanced by an opponent list of the words which signally fail of any such imitative virtue, and whose sound, if one dwelt upon it, is destructive of their meaning. 2. For instance. Few sounds are more distinct in their kind, or one would think more likely to be vocally reproduced in the word which signified them, than that of a swift rent in strongly woven cloth; and the English word 'rag' and ragged, with the Greek [Greek: rhêgnumi], do indeed in a measure recall the tormenting effect upon the ear. But it is curious that the verb which is meant to express the actual origination of rags, should rhyme with two words entirely musical and peaceful--words, indeed, which I always reserve for final resource in passages which I want to be soothing as well as pretty,--'fair,' and {171} 'air;' while, in its orthography, it is identical with the word representing the bodily sign of tenderest passion, and grouped with a multitude of others,[44] in which the mere insertion of a consonant makes such wide difference of sentiment as between 'dear' and 'drear,' or 'pear' and 'spear.' The Greek root, on the other hand, has persisted in retaining some vestige of its excellent dissonance, even where it has parted with the last vestige of the idea it was meant to convey; and when Burns did his best,--and his best was above most men's--to gather pleasant liquid and labial syllabling, round gentle meaning, in "Bonnie lassie, will ye go, Will ye go, will ye go, Bonnie lassie, will ye go, To the birks of Aberfeldy?" he certainly had little thought that the delicately crisp final k, in birk, was the remnant of a magnificent Greek effort to express the rending of the earth by earthquake, in the wars of the giants. In the middle of that word 'esmarag[=e]se,' we get our own beggar's 'rag' for a pure root, which afterwards, through the Latin frango, softens into our 'break,' and 'bark,'--the 'broken thing'; that idea of its rending around the tree's stem having been, in the very earliest human efforts at botanical description, {172} attached to it by the pure Aryan race, watching the strips of rosy satin break from the birch stems, in the Aberfeldys of Imaus. 3. That this tree should have been the only one which "the Aryans, coming as conquerors from the North, were able to recognize in Hindustan,"[45] and should therefore also be "the only one whose name is common to Sanskrit, and to the languages of Europe," delighted me greatly, for two reasons: the first, for its proof that in spite of the development of species, the sweet gleaming of birch stem has never changed its argent and sable for any unchequered heraldry; and the second, that it gave proof of a much more important fact, the keenly accurate observation of Aryan foresters at that early date; for the fact is that the breaking of the thin-beaten silver of the birch trunk is so delicate, and its smoothness so graceful, that until I painted it with care, I was not altogether clear-headed myself about the way in which the chequering was done: nor until Fors today brought me to the house of one of my father's friends at Carshalton, and gave me three birch stems to look at just outside the window, did I perceive it to be a primal question about them, what it is that blanches that dainty dress of theirs, or, anticipatorily, weaves. What difference is there between the making of the corky excrescence of other {173} trees, and of this almost transparent fine white linen? I perceive that the older it is, within limits, the finer and whiter; hoary tissue, instead of hoary hair--honouring the tree's aged body; the outer sprays have no silvery light on their youth. Does the membrane thin itself into whiteness merely by stretching, or produce an outer film of new substance?[46] 4. And secondly, this investiture, why is it transverse to the trunk,--swathing it, as it were, in bands? Above all,--when it breaks,--why does it break round the tree instead of down? All other bark breaks as anything would, naturally, round a swelling rod, but this, as if the stem were growing longer; until, indeed, it reaches farthest heroic old age, when the whiteness passes away again, and the rending is like that of other trees, downwards. So that, as it were in a changing language, we have the great botanical fact twice taught us, by this tree of Eden, that the skins of trees differ from the skins of the higher animals in that, for the most part, they won't stretch, and must be worn torn. So that in fact the most popular arrangement of vegetative adult costume is Irish; a normal investiture in honourable rags; and decorousness of tattering, as of a banner borne in splendid ruin through storms of war. 5. Now therefore, if we think of it, we have five {174} distinct orders of investiture for organic creatures; first, mere secretion of mineral substance, chiefly lime, into a hard shell, which, if broken, can only be mended, like china--by sticking it together; secondly, organic substance of armour which grows into its proper shape at once for good and all, and can't be mended at all, if broken, (as of insects); thirdly, organic substance of skin, which stretches, as the creatures grows, by cracking, over a fresh skin which is supplied beneath it, as in bark of trees; fourthly, organic substance of skin cracked symmetrically into plates or scales which can increase all round their edges, and are connected by softer skin, below, as in fish and reptiles, (divided with exquisite lustre and flexibility, in feathers of birds); and lastly, true elastic skin, extended in soft unison with the creature's growth,--blushing with its blood, fading with its fear; breathing with its breath, and guarding its life with sentinel beneficence of pain. 6. It is notable, in this higher and lower range of organic beauty, that the decoration, by pattern and colour, which is almost universal in the protective coverings of the middle ranks of animals, should be reserved in vegetables for the most living part of them, the flower only; and that among animals, few but the malignant and senseless are permitted, in the corrugation of their armour, to resemble the half-dead trunk of the tree, as they float beside it in the tropical river. I must, however, leave the scale patterns of the palms and other inlaid tropical {175} stems for after-examination,--content, at present, with the general idea of the bark of an outlaid tree as the successive accumulation of the annual protecting film, rent into ravines of slowly increasing depth, and coloured, like the rock, whose stability it begins to emulate, with the grey or gold of clinging lichen and embroidering moss. * * * * * {176} CHAPTER XI. GENEALOGY. 1. Returning, after more than a year's sorrowful interval, to my Sicilian fields,--not incognisant, now, of some of the darker realms of Proserpina; and with feebler heart, and, it may be, feebler wits, for wandering in her brighter ones,--I find what I had written by way of sequel to the last chapter, somewhat difficult, and extremely tiresome. Not the less, after giving fair notice of the difficulty, and asking due pardon for the tiresomeness, I am minded to let it stand; trusting to end, with it, once for all, investigations of the kind. But in finishing this first volume of my School Botany, I must try to give the reader some notion of the plan of the book, as it now, during the time for thinking over it which illness left me, has got itself arranged in my mind, within limits of possible execution. And this the rather, because I wish also to state, somewhat more gravely than I have yet done, the grounds on which I venture here to reject many of the received names of plants; and to substitute others for them, relating to entirely different attributes {177} from those on which their present nomenclature is confusedly edified. I have already in some measure given the reasons for this change;[47] but I feel that, for the sake of those among my scholars who have laboriously learned the accepted names, I ought now also to explain its method more completely. 2. I call the present system of nomenclature _confusedly_ edified, because it introduces,--without, apparently, any consciousness of the inconsistency, and certainly with no apology for it,--names founded sometimes on the history of plants, sometimes on their qualities, sometimes on their forms, sometimes on their products, and sometimes on their poetical associations. On their history--as 'Gentian' from King Gentius, and Funkia from Dr. Funk. On their qualities--as 'Scrophularia' from its (quite uncertified) use in scrofula. On their forms--as the 'Caryophylls' from having petals like husks of nuts. On their products--as 'Cocos nucifera' from its nuts. And on their poetical associations,--as the Star of Bethlehem from its imagined resemblance to the light of that seen by the Magi. 3. Now, this variety of grounds for nomenclature might patiently, and even with advantage, be permitted, {178} provided the grounds themselves were separately firm, and the inconsistency of method advisedly allowed, and, in each case, justified. If the histories of King Gentius and Dr. Funk are indeed important branches of human knowledge;--if the Scrophulariaceæ do indeed cure King's Evil;--if pinks be best described in their likeness to nuts;--and the Star of Bethlehem verily remind us of Christ's Nativity,--by all means let these and other such names be evermore retained. But if Dr. Funk be not a person in any special manner needing either stellification or florification; if neither herb nor flower can avail, more than the touch of monarchs, against hereditary pain; if it be no better account of a pink to say it is nut-leaved, than of a nut to say it is pink-leaved; and if the modern mind, incurious respecting the journeys of wise men, has already confused, in its Bradshaw's Bible, the station of Bethlehem with that of Bethel,[48] it is certainly time to take some order with the partly false, partly useless, and partly forgotten literature of the Fields; and, before we bow our children's memories to the burden of it, ensure that there shall be matter worth carriage in the load. 4. And farther, in attempting such a change, we must be clear in our own minds whether we wish our nomenclature to tell us something about the plant itself, or only to tell us the place it holds in relation to other plants: as, for instance, in the Herb-Robert, would it be well to {179} christen it, shortly, 'Rob Roy,' because it is pre-eminently red, and so have done with it;--or rather to dwell on its family connections, and call it 'Macgregoraceous'? 5. Before we can wisely decide this point, we must resolve whether our botany is intended mainly to be useful to the vulgar, or satisfactory to the scientific élite. For if we give names characterizing individuals, the circle of plants which any country possesses may be easily made known to the children who live in it: but if we give names founded on the connexion between these and others at the Antipodes, the parish school-master will certainly have double work; and it may be doubted greatly whether the parish school-boy, at the end of the lecture, will have half as many ideas. 6. Nevertheless, when the features of any great order of plants are constant, and, on the whole, represented with great clearness both in cold and warm climates, it may be desirable to express this their citizenship of the world in definite nomenclature. But my own method, so far as hitherto developed, consists essentially in fastening the thoughts of the pupil on the special character of the plant, in the place where he is likely to see it; and therefore, in expressing the power of its race and order in the wider world, rather by reference to mythological associations than to botanical structure. 7. For instance, Plate VII. represents, of its real size, an ordinary spring flower in our English mountain fields. It is an average example,--not one of rare size under rare {180} conditions,--rather smaller than the average, indeed, that I might get it well into my plate. It is one of the flowers whose names I think good to change; but I look carefully through the existing titles belonging to it and its fellows, that I may keep all I expediently can. I find, in the first place, that Linnæus called one group of its relations, Ophryds, from Ophrys,--Greek for the eyebrow,--on account of their resemblance to the brow of an animal frowning, or to the overshadowing casque of a helmet. I perceive this to be really a very general aspect of the flower; and therefore, no less than in respect to Linnæus, I adopt this for the total name of the order, and call them 'Ophrydæ,' or, shortly, 'Ophryds.' 8. Secondly: so far as I know these flowers myself, I perceive them to fall practically into three divisions,--one, growing in English meadows and Alpine pastures, and always adding to their beauty; another, growing in all sorts of places, very ugly itself, and adding to the ugliness of its indiscriminated haunts; and a third, growing mostly up in the air, with as little root as possible, and of gracefully fantastic forms, such as this kind of nativity and habitation might presuppose. For the present, I am satisfied to give names to these three groups only. There may be plenty of others which I do not know, and which other people may name, according to their knowledge. But in all these three kinds known to me, I perceive one constant characteristic to be _some_ manner of _distortion_ and I desire that fact,--marking a {181} spiritual (in my sense of the word) character of extreme mystery,--to be the first enforced on the mind of the young learner. It is exhibited to the English child, primarily, in the form of the stalk of each flower, attaching it to the central virga. This stalk is always twisted once and a half round, as if somebody had been trying to wring the blossom off; and the name of the family, in Proserpina, will therefore be 'Contorta'[49] in Latin, and 'Wreathe-wort' in English. Farther: the beautiful power of the one I have drawn in its spring life, is in the opposition of its dark purple to the primrose in England, and the pale yellow anemone in the Alps. And its individual name will be, therefore, 'Contorta purpurea'--_Purple_ Wreathe-wort. And in drawing it, I take care to dwell on this strength of its color, and to show thoroughly that it is a _dark_ blossom,[50] before I trouble myself about its minor characters. 9. The second group of this kind of flowers live, as I said, in all sorts of places; but mostly, I think, in disagreeable ones,--torn and irregular ground, under alternations of unwholesome heat and shade, and among swarms of nasty insects. I cannot yet venture on any bold general statement about them, but I think that is mostly their way; and at all events, they themselves are in the {182} habit of dressing in livid and unpleasant colors; and are distinguished from all other flowers by twisting, not only their stalks, but one of their petals, not once and a half only, but two or three times round, and putting it far out at the same time, as a foul jester would put out his tongue: while also the singular power of grotesque mimicry, which, though strong also in the other groups of their race, seems in the others more or less playful, is, in these, definitely degraded, and, in aspect, malicious. 10. Now I find the Latin name 'Satyrium' attached already to one sort of these flowers; and we cannot possibly have a better one for all of them. It is true that, in its first Greek form, Dioscorides attaches it to a white, not a livid, flower; and I dare say there are some white ones of the breed: but, in its full sense, the term is exactly right for the entire group of ugly blossoms of which the characteristic is the spiral curve and protraction of their central petal: and every other form of Satyric ugliness which I find among the Ophryds, whatever its color, will be grouped with them. And I make them central, because this humour runs through the whole order, and is, indeed, their distinguishing sign. 11. Then the third group, living actually in the air, and only holding fast by, without nourishing itself from, the ground, rock, or tree-trunk on which it is rooted, may of course most naturally and accurately be called 'Aeria,' as it has long been popularly known in English by the name of Air-plant. {183} Thus we have one general name for all these creatures, 'Ophryd'; and three family or group names, Contorta, Satyrium, and Aeria,--every one of these titles containing as much accurate fact about the thing named as I can possibly get packed into their syllables: and I will trouble my young readers with no more divisions of the order. And if their parents, tutors, or governors, after this fair warning, choose to make them learn, instead, the seventy-seven different names with which botanist-heraldries have beautifully ennobled the family,--all I can say is, let them at least begin by learning them themselves. They will be found in due order in pages 1084, 1085 of Loudon's Cyclopædia.[51] 12. But now, farther: the student will observe that the name of the total order is Greek; while the three family ones are Latin, although the central one is originally Greek also. I adopt this as far as possible for a law through my whole plant nomenclature. 13. Farther: the terminations of the Latin family names will be, for the most part, of the masculine, {184} feminine, and neuter forms, us, a, um, with these following attached conditions. (I.) Those terminating in 'us,' though often of feminine words, as the central Arbor, will indicate either real masculine strength (quereus, laurus), or conditions of dominant majesty (cedrus), of stubbornness and enduring force (crataegus), or of peasant-like commonalty and hardship (juncus); softened, as it may sometimes happen, into gentleness and beneficence (thymus). The occasional forms in 'er' and 'il' will have similar power (acer, basil). (II.) Names with the feminine termination 'a,' if they are real names of girls, will always mean flowers that are perfectly pretty and perfectly good (Lucia, Viola, Margarita, Clarissa). Names terminating in 'a' which are not also accepted names of girls, may sometimes be none the less honourable, (Primula, Campanula,) but for the most part will signify either plants that are only good and worthy in a nursy sort of way, (Salvia,) or that are good without being pretty, (Lavandula,) or pretty without being good, (Kalmia). But no name terminating in 'a' will be attached to a plant that is neither good nor pretty. (III.) The neuter names terminating in 'um' will always indicate some power either of active or suggestive evil, (Conîum, Solanum, Satyrium,) or a relation, more or less definite, to death; but this relation to death may sometimes be noble, or pathetic,--"which {185} to-day is, and to-morrow is cast into the oven,"--Lilium. But the leading position of these neuters in the plant's double name must be noticed by students unacquainted with Latin, in order to distinguish them from plural genitives, which will always, of course, be the second word, (Francesca Fontium, Francesca of the Springs.) 14. Names terminating in 'is' and 'e,' if definitely names of women, (Iris, Amaryllis, Alcestis, Daphne,) will always signify flowers of great beauty, and noble historic association. If not definitely names of women, they will yet indicate some specialty of sensitiveness, or association with legend (Berberis, Clematis). No neuters in 'e' will be admitted. 15. Participial terminations (Impatiens), with neuters in 'en' (Cyclamen), will always be descriptive of some special quality or form,--leaving it indeterminate if good or bad, until explained. It will be manifestly impossible to limit either these neuters, or the feminines in 'is' to Latin forms; but we shall always know by their termination that they cannot be generic names, if we are strict in forming these last on a given method. 16. How little method there is in our present formation of them, I am myself more and more surprised as I consider. A child is shown a rose, and told that he is to call every flower like that, 'Rosaceous';[52] he is next {186} shown a lily, and told that he is to call every flower like that, 'Liliaceous';--so far well; but he is next shown a daisy, and is not at all allowed to call every flower like that, 'Daisaceous,' but he must call it, like the fifth order of architecture, 'Composite'; and being next shown a pink, he is not allowed to call other pinks 'Pinkaceous,' but 'Nut-leafed'; and being next shown a pease-blossom, he is not allowed to call other pease-blossoms 'Peasaceous,' but, in a brilliant burst of botanical imagination, he is incited to call it by two names instead of one, 'Butterfly-aceous' from its flower, and 'Pod-aceous' from its seed;--the inconsistency of the terms thus enforced upon him being perfected in their inaccuracy, for a daisy is not one whit more composite than Queen of the meadow, or Jura Jacinth;[53] and 'legumen' is not Latin for a pod, but 'siliqua,'--so that no good scholar could remember Virgil's 'siliqua quassante legumen,' without overthrowing all his Pisan nomenclature. 17. Farther. If we ground our names of the higher orders on the distinctive characters of _form_ in plants, these are so many, and so subtle, that we are at once involved in more investigations than a young learner has ever time to follow successfully, and they must be at all times liable to dislocations and rearrangements on the discovery of any new link in the infinitely entangled {187} chain. But if we found our higher nomenclature at once on historic fact, and relative conditions of climate and character, rather than of form, we may at once distribute our flora into unalterable groups, to which we may add at our pleasure, but which will never need disturbance; far less, reconstruction. 18. For instance,--and to begin,--it is an historical fact that for many centuries the English nation believed that the Founder of its religion, spiritually, by the mouth of the King who spake of all herbs, had likened himself to two flowers,--the Rose of Sharon, and Lily of the Valley. The fact of this belief is one of the most important in the history of England,--that is to say, of the mind or heart of England: and it is connected solemnly with the heart of Italy also, by the closing cantos of the Paradiso. I think it well therefore that our two first generic, or at least commandant, names heading the out-laid and in-laid divisions of plants, should be of the rose and lily, with such meaning in them as may remind us of this fact in the history of human mind. It is also historical that the personal appearing of this Master of our religion was spoken of by our chief religious teacher in these terms: "The Grace of God, that bringeth salvation, hath appeared unto all men." And it is a constant fact that this 'grace' or 'favor' of God is spoken of as "giving us to eat of the Tree of Life." 19. Now, comparing the botanical facts I have to express, with these historical ones, I find that the rose tribe {188} has been formed among flowers, not in distant and monstrous geologic æras, but in the human epoch;--that its 'grace' or favor has been in all countries so felt as to cause its acceptance everywhere for the most perfect physical type of womanhood;--and that the characteristic fruit of the tribe is so sweet, that it has become symbolic at once of the subtlest temptation, and the kindest ministry to the earthly passion of the human race. "Comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love." 20. Therefore I shall call the entire order of these flowers 'Charites,' (Graces,) and they will be divided into these five genera, Rosa, Persica, Pomum, Rubra, and Fragaria. Which sequence of names I do not think the young learner will have difficulty in remembering; nor in understanding why I distinguish the central group by the fruit instead of the flower. And if he once clearly master the structure and relations of these five genera, he will have no difficulty in attaching to them, in a satellitic or subordinate manner, such inferior groups as that of the Silver-weed, or the Tormentilla; but all he will have to learn by heart and rote, will be these six names; the Greek Master-name, Charites, and the five generic names, in each case belonging to plants, as he will soon find, of extreme personal interest to him. 21. I have used the word 'Order' as the name of our widest groups, in preference to 'Class,' because these widest groups will not always include flowers like each other in form, or equal to each other in vegetative rank; {189} but they will be 'Orders,' literally like those of any religious or chivalric association, having some common link rather intellectual than national,--the Charites, for instance, linked by their kindness,--the Oreiades, by their mountain seclusion, as Sisters of Charity or Monks of the Chartreuse, irrespective of ties of relationship. Then beneath these orders will come, what may be rightly called, either as above in Greek derivation, 'Genera,' or in Latin, 'Gentes,' for which, however, I choose the Latin word, because Genus is disagreeably liable to be confused on the ear with 'genius'; but Gens, never; and also 'nomen gentile' is a clearer and better expression than 'nomen generosum,' and I will not coin the barbarous one, 'genericum.' The name of the Gens, (as 'Lucia,') with an attached epithet, as 'Verna,' will, in most cases, be enough to characterize the individual flower; but if farther subdivision be necessary, the third order will be that of Families, indicated by a 'nomen familiare' added in the third place of nomenclature, as Lucia Verna,--Borealis; and no farther subdivision will ever be admitted. I avoid the word 'species'--originally a bad one, and lately vulgarized beyond endurance--altogether. And varieties belonging to narrow localities, or induced by horticulture, may be named as they please by the people living near the spot, or by the gardener who grows them; but will not be acknowledged by Proserpina. Nevertheless, the arbitrary reduction under Ordines, Gentes, and Familiæ, {190} is always to be remembered as one of massive practical convenience only; and the more subtle arborescence of the infinitely varying structures may be followed, like a human genealogy, as far as we please, afterwards; when once we have got our common plants clearly arranged and intelligibly named. 22. But now we find ourselves in the presence of a new difficulty, the greatest we have to deal with in the whole matter. One new nomenclature, to be thoroughly good, must be acceptable to scholars in the five great languages, Greek, Latin, French, Italian, and English; and it must be acceptable by them in teaching the native children of each country. I shall not be satisfied, unless I can feel that the little maids who gather their first violets under the Acropolis rock, may receive for them Æschylean words again with joy. I shall not be content, unless the mothers watching their children at play in the Ceramicus of Paris, under the scarred ruins of her Kings' palace, may yet teach them there to know the flowers which the Maid of Orleans gathered at Domremy. I shall not be satisfied unless every word I ask from the lips of the children of Florence and Rome, may enable them better to praise the flowers that are chosen by the hand of Matilda,[54] and bloom around the tomb of Virgil. {191} 23. Now in this first example of nomenclature, the Master-name, being _pure_ Greek, may easily be accepted by Greek children, remembering that certain also of their own poets, if they did not call the flower a Grace itself, at least thought of it as giving gladness to the Three in their dances.[55] But for French children the word 'Grâce' has been doubly and trebly corrupted; first, by entirely false theological scholarship, mistaking the 'Favor' or Grace done by God to good men, for the 'Misericordia,' or mercy, shown by Him to bad ones; and so, in practical life, finally substituting 'Grâce' as a word of extreme and mortal prayer, for 'Merci,' and of late using 'Merci' in a totally ridiculous and perverted power, for the giving of thanks (or refusal of offered good): while the literally derived word 'Charite' has become, in the modern mind, a gift, whether from God or man, only to the wretched, never to the happy: and lastly, 'Grâce' in its physical sense has been perverted, by their social vulgarity, into an idea, whether with respect to form or motion, commending itself rather to the ballet-master than either to the painter or the priest. For these reasons, the Master name of this family, for my French pupils, must be simply 'Rhodiades,' which will bring, for them, the entire group of names into easily remembered symmetry; and the English form of {192} the same name, Rhodiad, is to be used by English scholars also for all tribes of this group except the five principal ones. 24. Farther, in every gens of plants, one will be chosen as the representative, which, if any, will be that examined and described in the course of this work, if I have opportunity of doing so. This representative flower will always be a wild one, and of the simplest form which completely expresses the character of the plant; existing divinely and unchangeably from age to age, ungrieved by man's neglect, and inflexible by his power. And this divine character will be expressed by the epithet 'Sacred,' taking the sense in which we attach it to a dominant and christened majesty, when it belongs to the central type of any forceful order;--'Quercus sacra,' 'Laurus sacra,' etc.,--the word 'Benedicta,' or 'Benedictus,' being used instead, if the plant be too humble to bear, without some discrepancy and unbecomingness, the higher title; as 'Carduus Benedictus,' Holy Thistle. 25. Among the gentes of flowers bearing girls' names, the dominant one will be simply called the Queen, 'Rose Regina,' 'Rose the Queen' (the English wild rose); 'Clarissa Regina,' 'Clarissa the Queen' (Mountain Pink); 'Lucia Regina,' 'Lucy the Queen' (Spring Gentian), or in simpler English, 'Lucy of Teesdale,' as 'Harry of Monmouth.' The ruling flowers of groups {193} which bear names not yet accepted for names of girls, will be called simply 'Domina,' or shortly 'Donna.' 'Rubra domina' (wild raspberry): the wild strawberry, because of her use in heraldry, will bear a name of her own, exceptional, 'Cora coronalis.' 26. These main points being understood, and concessions made, we may first arrange the greater orders of land plants in a group of twelve, easily remembered, and with very little forcing. There must be _some_ forcing always to get things into quite easily tenable form, for Nature always has her ins and outs. But it is curious how fitly and frequently the number of twelve may be used for memoria technica; and in this instance the Greek derivative names fall at once into harmony with the most beautiful parts of Greek mythology, leading on to early Christian tradition. 27. Their series will be, therefore, as follows: the principal subordinate groups being at once placed under each of the great ones. The reasons for occasional appearance of inconsistency will be afterwards explained, and the English and French forms given in each case are the terms which would be used in answering the rapid question, 'Of what order is this flower?' the answer being, It is a 'Cyllenid,' a 'Pleiad,' or a 'Vestal,' as one would answer of a person, he is a Knight of St. John or Monk of St. Benedict; while to the question, of what gens, we answer, a Stella or an Erica, as one would answer of a person, a Stuart or Plantagenet. {194} I. CHARITES. ENG. CHARIS. FR. RHODIADE. Rosa. Persica. Pomum. Rubra. Fragaria. II. URANIDES. ENG. URANID. FR. URANIDE. Lucia. Campanula. Convoluta. III. CYLLENIDES. ENG. CYLLENID. FR. NEPHELIDE. Stella. Francesca. Primula. IV. OREIADES. ENG. OREIAD. FR. OREADE. Erica. Myrtilla. Aurora. V. PLEIADES. ENG. PLEIAD. FR. PLEIADE. Silvia. Anemone. VI. ARTEMIDES. ENG. ARTEMID. FR. ARTEMIDE. Clarissa. Lychnis. Scintilla. Mica. VII. VESTALES. ENG. VESTAL. FR. VESTALE. Mentha. Melitta. Basil. Salvia. Lavandula. Thymus. VIII. CYTHERIDES. ENG. CYTHERID. FR. CYTHERIDE. Viola. Veronica. Giulietta. {195} IX. HELIADES. ENG. ALCESTID. FR. HELIADE. Clytia. Margarita. Alcestis. Falconia. Carduus. X. DELPHIDES. ENG. DELPHID. FR. DELPHIDE. Laurus. Granata. Myrtus. XI. HESPERIDES. ENG. HESPERID. FR. HESPERIDE. Aurantia. Aglee. XII. ATHENAIDES. ENG. ATHENAID. FR. ATHENAIDE. Olea. Fraxinus. I will shortly note the changes of name in their twelve orders, and the reasons for them. I. CHARITES.--The only change made in the nomenclature of this order is the slight one of 'rubra' for 'rubus': partly to express true sisterhood with the other Charites; partly to enforce the idea of redness, as characteristic of the race, both in the lovely purple and russet of their winter leafage, and in the exquisite bloom of scarlet on the stems in strong young shoots. They have every right to be placed among the Charites, first because the raspberry is really a more important fruit in domestic economy than the strawberry; and, secondly, because the wild bramble is often in its wandering sprays even more graceful than the rose; and in blossom and {196} fruit the best autumnal gift that English Nature has appointed for her village children. II. URANIDES.--Not merely because they are all of the color of the sky, but also sacred to Urania in their divine purity. 'Convoluta' instead of 'convolvulus,' chiefly for the sake of euphony; but also because pervinca is to be included in this group. III. CYLLENIDES.--Named from Mount Cyllene in Arcadia, because the three races included in the order alike delight in rocky ground, and in the cold or moist air of mountain-clouds. IV. OREIADES.--Described in next chapter. V. PLEIADES.--From the habit of the flowers belonging to this order to get into bright local clusters. Silvia, for the wood-sorrel, will I hope be an acceptable change to my girl-readers. VI. ARTEMIDES.--Dedicate to Artemis for their expression of energy, no less than purity. This character was rightly felt in them by whoever gave the name 'Dianthus' to their leading race; a name which I should have retained if it had not been bad Greek. I wish them, by their name 'Clarissa' to recall the memory of St. Clare, as 'Francesca' that of St. Francis.[56] The {197} 'issa,' not without honour to the greatest of our English moral story-tellers, is added for the practical reason, that I think the sound will fasten in the minds of children the essential characteristic of the race, the cutting of the outer edge of the petal as if with scissors. VII. VESTALES.--I allow this Latin form, because Hestiades would have been confused with Heliades. The order is named 'of the hearth,' from its manifold domestic use, and modest blossoming. VIII. CYTHERIDES.--Dedicate to Venus, but in all purity and peace of thought. Giulietta, for the coarse, and more than ordinarily false, Polygala. IX. HELIADES.--The sun-flowers.[57] In English, Alcestid, in honour to Chaucer and the Daisy. X. DELPHIDES.--Sacred to Apollo. Granata, changed from Punica, in honor to Granada and the Moors. XI. HESPERIDES.--Already a name given to the order. {198} Aegle, prettier and more classic than Limonia, includes the idea of brightness in the blossom. XII. ATHENAIDES.--I take Fraxinus into this group, because the mountain ash, in its hawthorn-scented flower, scarletest of berries, and exquisitely formed and finished leafage, belongs wholly to the floral decoration of our native rocks, and is associated with their human interests, though lightly, not less spiritually, than the olive with the mind of Greece. 28. The remaining groups are in great part natural; but I separate for subsequent study five orders of supreme domestic utility, the Mallows, Currants, Pease,[58] Cresses, and Cranesbills, from those which, either in fruit or blossom, are for finer pleasure or higher beauty. I think it will be generally interesting for children to learn those five names as an easy lesson, and gradually discover, wondering, the world that they include. I will give their terminology at length, separately. 29. One cannot, in all groups, have all the divisions of equal importance; the Mallows are only placed with the other four for their great value in decoration of cottage gardens in autumn: and their softly healing {199} qualities as a tribe. They will mentally connect the whole useful group with the three great Æsculapiadæ, Cinchona, Coffea, and Camellia. 30. Taking next the water-plants, crowned in the DROSIDÆ, which include the five great families, Juncus, Jacinthus, Amaryllis, Iris, and Lilium, and are masculine in their Greek name because their two first groups, Juncus and Jacinthus, are masculine, I gather together the three orders of TRITONIDES, which are notably trefoil; the NAIADES, notably quatrefoil, but for which I keep their present pretty name; and the BATRACHIDES,[59] notably cinqfoil, for which I keep their present ugly one, only changing it from Latin into Greek. 31. I am not sure of being forgiven so readily for putting the Grasses, Sedges, Mosses, and Lichens together, under the great general head of Demetridæ. But it seems to me the mosses and lichens belong no less definitely to Demeter, in being the first gatherers of earth on rock, and the first coverers of its sterile surface, than the grass which at last prepares it to the foot and to the food of man. And with the mosses I shall take all the especially moss-plants which otherwise are homeless or companionless, Drosera, and the like, and as a connecting link with the flowers belonging to the Dark {200} Kora, the two strange orders of the Ophryds and Agarics. 32. Lastly will come the orders of flowers which may be thought of as belonging for the most part to the Dark Kora of the lower world,--having at least the power of death, if not its terror, given them, together with offices of comfort and healing in sleep, or of strengthening, if not too prolonged, action on the nervous power of life. Of these, the first will be the DIONYSIDÆ,--Hedera, Vitis, Liana; then the DRACONIDÆ,--Atropa, Digitalis, Linaria; and, lastly, the MOIRIDÆ,--Conîum, Papaver, Solanum, Arum, and Nerium. 33. As I see this scheme now drawn out, simple as it is, the scope of it seems not only far too great for adequate completion by my own labour, but larger than the time likely to be given to botany by average scholars would enable them intelligently to grasp: and yet it includes, I suppose, not the tenth part of the varieties of plants respecting which, in competitive examination, a student of physical science is now expected to know, or at least assert on hearsay, _something_. So far as I have influence with the young, myself, I would pray them to be assured that it is better to know the habits of one plant than the names of a thousand; and wiser to be happily familiar with those that grow in the nearest field, than arduously cognisant of all that plume the isles of the Pacific, or illumine the Mountains of the Moon. {201} Nevertheless, I believe that when once the general form of this system in Proserpina has been well learned, much other knowledge may be easily attached to it, or sheltered under the eaves of it: and in its own development, I believe everything may be included that the student will find useful, or may wisely desire to investigate, of properly European botany. But I am convinced that the best results of his study will be reached by a resolved adherence to extreme simplicity of primal idea, and primal nomenclature. 34. I do not think the need of revisal of our present scientific classification could be more clearly demonstrated than by the fact that laurels and roses are confused, even by Dr. Lindley, in the mind of his feminine readers; the English word laurel, in the index to his first volume of Ladies' Botany, referring them to the cherries, under which the common laurel is placed as 'Prunus Laurocerasus,' while the true laurel, 'Laurus nobilis,' must be found in the index of the second volume, under the Latin form 'Laurus.' This accident, however, illustrates another, and a most important point to be remembered, in all arrangements whether of plants, minerals, or animals. No single classification can possibly be perfect, or anything _like_ perfect. It must be, at its best, a ground, or _warp_ of arrangement only, through which, or over which, the cross threads of another,--yes, and of many others,--must be woven in our minds. Thus the almond, though in {202} the form and colour of its flower, and method of its fruit, rightly associated with the roses, yet by the richness and sweetness of its kernel must be held mentally connected with all plants that bear nuts. These assuredly must have something in their structure common, justifying their being gathered into a conceived or conceivable group of 'Nuciferæ,' in which the almond, hazel, walnut, cocoa-nut, and such others would be considered as having relationship, at least in their power of secreting a crisp and sweet substance which is not wood, nor bark, nor pulp, nor seed-pabulum reducible to softness by boiling;--but quite separate substance, for which I do not know that there at present exists any botanical name,--of which, hitherto, I find no general account, and can only myself give so much, on reflection, as that it is crisp and close in texture, and always contains some kind of oil or milk. 35. Again, suppose the arrangement of plants could, with respect to their flowers and fruits, be made approximately complete, they must instantly be broken and reformed by comparison of their stems and leaves. The three _creeping_ families of the Charites,--Rosa, Rubra, and Fragaria,--must then be frankly separated from the elastic Persica and knotty Pomum; of which one wild and lovely species, the hawthorn, is no less notable for the massive accumulation of wood in the stubborn stem of it, than the wild rose for her lovely power of wreathing her garlands at pleasure wherever they are {203} fairest, the stem following them and sustaining, where they will. 36. Thus, as we examine successively each part of any plant, new sisterhoods, and unthought-of fellowships, will be found between the most distant orders; and ravines of unexpected separation open between those otherwise closely allied. Few botanical characters are more definite than the leaf structure illustrated in Plate VI., which has given to one group of the Drosidæ the descriptive name of Ensatæ, (see above, Chapter IX., § 11,) but this conformation would not be wisely permitted to interfere in the least with the arrangement founded on the much more decisive floral aspects of the Iris and Lily. So, in the fifth volume of 'Modern Painters,' the sword-like, or rather rapier-like, leaves of the pine are opposed, for the sake of more vivid realization, to the shield-like leaves of the greater number of inland trees; but it would be absurd to allow this difference any share in botanical arrangement,--else we should find ourselves thrown into sudden discomfiture by the wide-waving and opening foliage of the palms and ferns. 37. But through all the defeats by which insolent endeavors to sum the orders of Creation must be reproved, and in the midst of the successes by which patient insight will be surprised, the fact of the _confirmation_ of species in plants and animals must remain always a miraculous one. What outstretched sign of constant Omnipotence can be more awful, than that the susceptibility to {204} external influences, with the reciprocal power of transformation, in the organs of the plant; and the infinite powers of moral training and mental conception over the nativity of animals, should be so restrained within impassable limits, and by inconceivable laws, that from generation to generation, under all the clouds and revolutions of heaven with its stars, and among all the calamities and convulsions of the Earth with her passions, the numbers and the names of her Kindred may still be counted for her in unfailing truth;--still the fifth sweet leaf unfold for the Rose, and the sixth spring for the Lily; and yet the wolf rave tameless round the folds of the pastoral mountains, and yet the tiger flame through the forests of the night. * * * * * {205} CHAPTER XII. CORA AND KRONOS. 1. Of all the lovely wild plants--and few, mountain-bred, in Britain, are other than lovely,--that fill the clefts and crest the ridges of my Brantwood rock, the dearest to me, by far, are the clusters of whortleberry which divide possession of the lower slopes with the wood hyacinth and pervenche. They are personally and specially dear to me for their association in my mind with the woods of Montanvert; but the plant itself, irrespective of all accidental feeling, is indeed so beautiful in all its ways--so delicately strong in the spring of its leafage, so modestly wonderful in the formation of its fruit, and so pure in choice of its haunts, not capriciously or unfamiliarly, but growing in luxuriance through all the healthiest and sweetest seclusion of mountain territory throughout Europe,--that I think I may without any sharp remonstrance be permitted to express for this once only, personal feeling in my nomenclature, calling it in Latin 'Myrtilla Cara,' and in French 'Myrtille Chérie,' but retaining for it in English its simply classic name, 'Blue Whortle.' {206} 2. It is the most common representative of the group of Myrtillæ, which, on reference to our classification, will be found central between the Ericæ and Auroræ. The distinctions between these three families may be easily remembered, and had better be learned before going farther; but first let us note their fellowship. They are all Oreiades, mountain plants; in specialty, they are all strong in stem, low in stature, and the Ericæ and Auroræ glorious in the flush of their infinitely exulting flowers, ("the rapture of the heath"--above spoken of, p. 96.) But all the essential loveliness of the Myrtillæ is in their leaves and fruit: the first always exquisitely finished and grouped like the most precious decorative work of sacred painting; the second, red or purple, like beads of coral or amethyst. Their minute flowers have rarely any general part or power in the colors of mountain ground; but, examined closely, they are one of the chief joys of the traveller's rest among the Alps; and full of exquisiteness unspeakable, in their several bearings and miens of blossom, so to speak. Plate VIII. represents, however feebly, the proud bending back of her head by Myrtilla Regina:[60] an action as beautiful in _her_ as it is terrible in the Kingly Serpent of Egypt. 3. The formal differences between these three families are trenchant and easily remembered. The Ericæ {207} are all quatrefoils, and quatrefoils of the most studied and accomplished symmetry; and they bear no berries, but only dry seeds. The Myrtillæ and Auroræ are both Cinqfoil; but the Myrtillæ are symmetrical in their blossom, and the Auroræ unsymmetrical. Farther, the Myrtillæ are not absolutely determinate in the number of their foils, (this being essentially a characteristic of flowers exposed to much hardship,) and are thus sometimes quatrefoil, in sympathy with the Ericæ. But the Auroræ are strictly cinqfoil. These last are the only European form of a larger group, well named 'Azalea' from the Greek [Greek: aza], dryness, and its adjective [Greek: azalea], dry or parched; and _this_ name must be kept for the world-wide group, (including under it Rhododendron, but not Kalmia,) because there is an under-meaning in the word Aza, enabling it to be applied to the substance of dry earth, and indicating one of the great functions of the Oreiades, in common with the mosses,--the collection of earth upon rocks. 4. Neither the Ericæ, as I have just said, nor Auroræ bear useful fruit; and the Ericæ are named from their consequent worthlessness in the eyes of the Greek farmer; they were the plants he 'tore up' for his bed, or signal-fire, his word for them including a farther sense of crushing or bruising into a heap. The Westmoreland shepherds now, alas! burn them remorselessly on the ground, (and a year since had nearly set the copse of Brantwood on fire just above the house.) The sense of {208} parched and fruitless existence is given to the heaths, with beautiful application of the context, in our English translation of Jeremiah xvii. 6; but I find the plant there named is, in the Septuagint, Wild Tamarisk; the mountains of Palestine being, I suppose, in that latitude, too low for heath, unless in the Lebanon. 5. But I have drawn the reader's thoughts to this great race of the Oreiades at present, because they place for us in the clearest light a question which I have finally to answer before closing the first volume of Proserpina; namely, what is the real difference between the three ranks of Vegetative Humility, and Noblesse--the Herb, the Shrub, and the Tree? 6. Between the herb, which perishes annually, and the plants which construct year after year an increasing stem, there is, of course, no difficulty of discernment; but between the plants which, like these Oreiades, construct for themselves richest intricacy of supporting stem, yet scarcely rise a fathom's height above the earth they gather and adorn,--between these, and the trees that lift cathedral aisles of colossal shade on Andes and Lebanon,--where is the limit of kind to be truly set? 7. We have the three orders given, as no botanist could, in twelve lines by Milton:-- "Then herbs of every leaf, that sudden flow'r'd Op'ning their various colours, and made gay Her bosom smelling sweet; and, these scarce blown, Forth flourish'd thick the clust'ring vine, forth crept {209} The swelling gourd, up stood the corny reed Embattel'd in her field; and th' _humble shrub,_ _And bush with frizzled hair implicit_: last Rose, as in dance, the stately trees, and spread Their branches hung with copious fruits, or gemm'd Their blossoms; with high woods the hills were crown'd; With tufts the valleys and each fountain side; With borders long the rivers." Only to learn, and be made to understand, these twelve lines thoroughly would teach a youth more of true botany than an entire Cyclopædia of modern nomenclature and description: they are, like all Milton's work, perfect in accuracy of epithet, while consummate in concentration. Exquisite in touch, as infinite in breadth, they gather into their unbroken clause of melodious compass the conception at once of the Columbian prairie, the English cornfield, the Syrian vineyard, and the Indian grove. But even Milton has left untold, and for the instant perhaps unthought of, the most solemn difference of rank between the low and lofty trees, not in magnitude only, nor in grace, but in duration. 8. Yet let us pause before passing to this greater subject, to dwell more closely on what he has told us so clearly,--the difference in Grace, namely, between the trees that rise 'as in dance,' and 'the bush with frizzled hair.' For the bush form is essentially one taken by vegetation in some kind of distress; scorched by heat, discouraged by darkness, or bitten by frost; it is the form in which isolated knots of earnest plant life stay {210} the flux of fiery sands, bind the rents of tottering crags, purge the stagnant air of cave or chasm, and fringe with sudden hues of unhoped spring the Arctic edge of retreating desolation. On the other hand, the trees which, as in sacred dance, make the borders of the rivers glad with their procession, and the mountain ridges statelier with their pride, are all expressions of the vegetative power in its accomplished felicities; gathering themselves into graceful companionship with the fairest arts and serenest life of man; and providing not only the sustenance and the instruments, but also the lessons and the delights, of that life, in perfectness of order, and unblighted fruition of season and time. 9. 'Interitura'--yet these not to-day, nor to-morrow, nor with the decline of the summer's sun. We describe a plant as small or great; and think we have given account enough of its nature and being. But the chief question for the plant, as for the human creature, is the Number of its days; for to the tree, as to its master, the words are forever true--"As thy Day is, so shall thy Strength be." 10. I am astonished hourly, more and more, at the apathy and stupidity which have prevented me hitherto from learning the most simple facts at the base of this question! Here is this myrtille bush in my hand--its cluster of some fifteen or twenty delicate green branches knitting themselves downwards into the stubborn brown {211} of a stem on which my knife makes little impression. I have not the slightest idea how old it is, still less how old it might one day have been if I had not gathered it; and, less than the least, what hinders it from becoming as old as it likes! What doom is there over these bright green sprays, that they may never win to any height or space of verdure, nor persist beyond their narrow scope of years? 11. And the more I think the more I bewilder myself; for these bushes, which are pruned and clipped by the deathless Gardener into these lowly thickets of bloom, do not strew the ground with fallen branches and faded clippings in any wise,--it is the pining umbrage of the patriarchal trees that tinges the ground and betrays the foot beneath them: but, under the heather and the Alpine rose.--Well, what _is_ under them, then? I never saw, nor thought of looking,--will look presently under my own bosquets and beds of lingering heather-blossom: beds indeed they were only a month since, a foot deep in flowers, and close in tufted cushions, and the mountain air that floated over them rich in honey like a draught of metheglin. 12. Not clipped, nor pruned, I think, after all,--nor dwarfed in the gardener's sense; but pausing in perpetual youth and strength, ordained out of their lips of roseate infancy. Rose-trees--the botanists have falsely called the proudest of them; yet not trees in any wise, they, nor doomed to know the edge of axe at their {212} roots, nor the hoary waste of time, or searing thunderstroke, on sapless branches. Continual morning for them, and _in_ them; they themselves an Aurora, purple and cloudless, stayed on all the happy hills. That shall be our name for them, in the flushed Phoenician colour of their height, in calm or tempest of the heavenly sea; how much holier than the depth of the Tyrian! And the queen of them on our own Alps shall be 'Aurora Alpium.'[61] 13. There is one word in the Miltonian painting of them which I must lean on specially; for the accurate English of it hides deep morality no less than botany. 'With hair _implicit_.' The interweaving of complex band, which knits the masses of heath or of Alpine rose into their dense tufts and spheres of flower, is to be noted both in these, and in stem structure of a higher order like that of the stone pine, for an expression of the instinct of the plant gathering itself into protective unity, whether against cold or heat, while the forms of the trees which have no hardship to sustain are uniformly based on the effort of each spray to _separate_ itself from its fellows to the utmost, and obtain around its own leaves the utmost space of air. In vulgar modern English, the term 'implicit' used of Trust or Faith, has come to signify only its serenity. But the Miltonian word gives the _reason_ of serenity: {213} the root and branch intricacy of closest knowledge and fellowship. 14. I have said that Milton has told us more in these few lines than any botanist could. I will prove my saying by placing in comparison with them two passages of description by the most imaginative and generally well-trained scientific man since Linnæus--Humboldt--which, containing much that is at this moment of special use to us, are curious also in the confusion even of the two orders of annual and perennial plants, and show, therefore, the extreme need of most careful initial work in this distinction of the reign of Cora from that of Kronos. "The disk of the setting sun appeared like a globe of fire suspended over the savannah; and its last rays, as they swept the earth, illumined the extremities of the grass, strongly agitated by the evening breeze. In the low and humid places of the equinoxial zone, even when the gramineous plants and reeds present the aspect of a meadow, of turf, a rich decoration of the picture is usually wanting. I mean that variety of wild flowers which, scarcely rising above the grass, seem to lie upon a smooth bed of verdure. Between the tropics, the strength and luxury of vegetation give such a development to plants, that the smallest of the dicotyledonous family become shrubs.[62] It would seem as if the {214} liliaceous plants, mingled with the gramina, assumed the place of the flowers of our meadows. Their form is indeed striking; they dazzle by the variety and splendor of their colours; but, too high above the soil, they disturb that harmonious relation which exists among the plants that compose our meadows and our turf. Nature, in her beneficence, has given the landscape under every zone its peculiar type of beauty. "After proceeding four hours across the savannahs, we entered into a little wood composed of shrubs and small trees, which is called El Pejual; no doubt because of the great abundance of the 'Pejoa' (Gaultheria odorata,) a plant with very odoriferous leaves. The steepness of the mountain became less considerable, and we felt an indescribable pleasure in examining the plants of this region. Nowhere, perhaps, can be found collected together in so small a space of ground, productions so beautiful, and so remarkable in regard to the geography of plants. At the height of a thousand toises, the lofty savannahs of the hills terminate in a zone of shrubs, which by their appearance, their tortuous branches, their stiff leaves, and the dimensions and beauty of their purple flowers, remind us of what is called in the Cordilleras of the Andes the vegetation of the _paramos_[63] and the _punas_. We find there the {215} family of the Alpine rhododendrons, the thibaudias, the andromedas, the vacciniums, and those befarias[64] with resinous leaves, which we have several times compared to the rhododendron of our European Alps. "Even when nature does not produce the same species in analogous climates, either in the plains of isothermal parallels, or on table-lands the temperature of which resembles that of places nearer the poles, we still remark a striking resemblance of appearance and physiognomy in the vegetation of the most distant countries. This phenomenon is one of the most curious in the history of organic forms. I say the history; for in vain would reason forbid man to form hypotheses on the origin of things: he is not the less tormented with these insoluble problems of the distribution of beings." 15. Insoluble--yes, assuredly, poor little beaten phantasms of palpitating clay that we are--and who asked us to solve it? Even this Humboldt, quiet-hearted and modest watcher of the ways of Heaven, in the real make of him, came at last to be so far puffed up by his vain science in declining years that he must needs write a Kosmos of things in the Universe, forsooth, as if he knew all about them! when he was not able meanwhile, (and does not seem even to have desired the ability,) to put the slightest Kosmos into his own 'Personal Narrative'; but leaves one to gather what one wants out of {216} its wild growth; or rather, to wash or winnow what may be useful out of its débris, without any vestige either of reference or index; and I must look for these fragmentary sketches of heath and grass through chapter after chapter about the races of the Indian and religion of the Spaniard,--these also of great intrinsic value, but made useless to the general reader by interspersed experiment on the drifts of the wind and the depths of the sea. 16. But one more fragment out of a note (vol. iii., p. 494) I must give, with reference to an order of the Rhododendrons as yet wholly unknown to me. "The name of vine tree, 'uvas camaronas' (Shrimp grapes?) is given in the Andes to plants of the genus Thibaudia on account of their _large succulent fruit_. Thus the ancient botanists give the name of Bear's vine, 'Uva Ursi,' and vine of Mount Ida, 'Vitis Idea,' to an Arbutus and Myrtillus which belong, like the Thibaudiæ, to the family of the Ericineæ." Now, though I have one entire bookcase and half of another, and a large cabinet besides, or about fifteen feet square of books on botany beside me here, and a quantity more at Oxford, I have no means whatever, in all the heap, of finding out what a Thibaudia is like. Loudon's Cyclopædia, the only general book I have, tells me only that it will grow well in camellia houses, that its flowers develope at Christmas, and that they are beautifully varied like a fritillary: whereupon I am very anxious to see them, and taste their fruit, and be able to {217} tell my pupils something intelligible of them,--a new order, as it seems to me, among my Oreiades. But for the present I can make no room for them, and must be content, for England and the Alps, with my single class, Myrtilla, including all the fruit-bearing and (more or less) myrtle-leaved kinds; and Azalea for the fruitless flushing of the loftier tribes; taking the special name 'Aurora' for the red and purple ones of Europe, and resigning the already accepted 'Rhodora' to those of the Andes and Himalaya. 17. Of which also, with help of earnest Indian botanists, I hope nevertheless to add some little history to that of our own Oreiades; but shall set myself on the most familiar of them first, as I partly hinted in taking for the frontispiece of this volume two unchecked shoots of our commonest heath, in their state of full lustre and decline. And now I must go out and see and think--and for the first time in my life--what becomes of all these fallen blossoms, and where my own mountain Cora hides herself in winter; and where her sweet body is laid in its death. Think of it with me, for a moment before I go. That harvest of amethyst bells, over all Scottish and Irish and Cumberland hill and moorland; what substance is there in it, yearly gathered out of the mountain winds,--stayed there, as if the morning and evening clouds had been caught out of them and woven into flowers; 'Ropes of sea-sand'--but that is child's magic {218} merely, compared to the weaving of the Heath out of the cloud. And once woven, how much of it is forever worn by the Earth? What weight of that transparent tissue, half crystal and half comb of honey, lies strewn every year dead under the snow? I must go and look, and can write no more to-day; nor to-morrow neither. I must gather slowly what I see, and remember; and meantime leaving, to be dealt with afterwards, the difficult and quite separate question of the production of _wood_, I will close this first volume of Proserpina with some necessary statements respecting the operations, serviceable to other creatures than themselves, in which the lives of the noblest plants are ended: honourable in this service equally, though evanescent, some,--in the passing of a breeze--or the dying of a day;--and patient some, of storm and time, serene in fruitful sanctity, through all the uncounted ages which Man has polluted with his tears. * * * * * {219} CHAPTER XIII. THE SEED AND HUSK. 1. Not the least sorrowful, nor least absurd of the confusions brought on us by unscholarly botanists, blundering into foreign languages, when they do not know how to use their own, is that which has followed on their practice of calling the seed-vessels of flowers 'egg-vessels,'[65] in Latin; thus involving total loss of the power of the good old English word 'husk,' and the good old French one, 'cosse.' For all the treasuries of plants (see Chapter IV., § 17) may be best conceived, and described, generally, as consisting of 'seed' and 'husk,'--for the most part two or more seeds, in a husk composed of two or more parts, as pease in their shell, pips in an orange, or kernels in a walnut; but whatever their number, or the method of their enclosure, let the student keep clear in his mind, for the base of all study of fructification, the broad distinction between the seed, as one thing, and the husk as another: the seed, essential to the continuance of the plant's race; and the husk, {220} adapted, primarily, to its guard and dissemination; but secondarily, to quite other and far more important functions. 2. For on this distinction follows another practical one of great importance. A seed may serve, and many do mightily serve, for the food of man, when boiled, crushed, or otherwise industriously prepared by man himself, for his mere _sustenance_. But the _husk_ of the seed is prepared in many cases for the delight of his eyes, and the pleasure of his palate, by Nature herself, and is then called a 'fruit.' 3. The varieties of structure both in seed and husk, and yet more, the manner in which the one is contained, and distributed by, the other, are infinite; and in some cases the husk is apparently wanting, or takes some unrecognizable form. But in far the plurality of instances the two parts of the plant's treasury are easily distinguishable, and must be separately studied, whatever their apparent closeness of relation, or, (as in all natural things,) the equivocation sometimes taking place between the one and the other. To me, the especially curious point in this matter is that, while I find the most elaborate accounts given by botanists of the stages of growth in each of these parts of the treasury, they never say of what use the guardian is to the guarded part, irrespective of its service to man. The mechanical action of the husk in containing and scattering the seeds, they indeed often notice and insist on; but they do not tell {221} us of what, if any, nutritious or fostering use the rind is to a chestnut, or an orange's pulp to its pips, or a peach's juice to its stone. 4. Putting aside this deeper question for the moment, let us make sure we understand well, and define safely, the separate parts themselves. A seed consists essentially of a store, or sack, containing substance to nourish a germ of life, which is surrounded by such substance, and in the process of growth is first fed by it. The germ of life itself rises into two portions, and not more than two, in the seeds of two-leaved plants; but this symmetrical dualism must not be allowed to confuse the student's conception, of the _three_ organically separate parts,--the tough skin of a bean, for instance; the softer contents of it which we boil to eat; and the small germ from which the root springs when it is sown. A bean is the best type of the whole structure. An almond out of its shell, a peach-kernel, and an apple-pip are also clear and perfect, though varied types. 5. The husk, or seed-vessel, is seen in perfect simplicity of type in the pod of a bean, or the globe of a poppy. There are, I believe, flowers in which it is absent or imperfect; and when it contains only one seed, it may be so small and closely united with the seed it contains, that both will be naturally thought of as one thing only. Thus, in a dandelion, the little brown grains, which may be blown away, each with its silken parachute, are every one of them a complete husk and {222} seed together. But the majority of instances (and those of plants the most serviceable to man) in which the seed-vessel has entirely a separate structure and mechanical power, justify us in giving it the normal term 'husk,' as the most widely applicable and intelligible. 6. The change of green, hard, and tasteless vegetable substance into beautifully coloured, soft, and delicious substance, which produces what we call a fruit, is, in most cases, of the husk only; in others, of the part of the stalk which immediately sustains the seed; and in a very few instances, not properly a change, but a distinct formation, of fruity substance between the husk and seed. Normally, however, the husk, like the seed, consists always of three parts; it has an outer skin, a central substance of peculiar nature, and an inner skin, which holds the seed. The main difficulty, in describing or thinking of the completely ripened product of any plant, is to discern clearly which is the inner skin of the husk, and which the outer skin of the seed. The peach is in this respect the best general type,--the woolly skin being the outer one of the husk; the part we eat, the central substance of the husk; and the hard shell of the stone, the inner skin of the husk. The bitter kernel within is the seed. 7. In this case, and in the plum and cherry, the two parts under present examination--husk and seed--separate naturally; the fruity part, which is the body of the husk, adhering firmly to the shell, which is its inner {223} coat. But in the walnut and almond, the two outer parts of the husk separate from the interior one, which becomes an apparently independent 'shell.' So that when first I approached this subject I divided the general structure of a treasury into _three_ parts--husk, shell, and kernel; and this division, when we once have mastered the main one, will be often useful. But at first let the student keep steadily to his conception of the two constant parts, husk and seed, reserving the idea of shells and kernels for one group of plants only. 8. It will not be always without difficulty that he maintains the distinction, when the tree pretends to have changed it. Thus, in the chestnut, the inner coat of the husk becomes brown, adheres to the seed, and seems part of it; and we naturally call only the thick, green, prickly coat, the husk. But this is only one of the deceiving tricks of Nature, to compel our attention more closely. The real place of separation, to _her_ mind, is between the mahogany-coloured shell and the nut itself, and that more or less silky and flossy coating within the brown shell is the true lining of the entire 'husk.' The paler brown skin, following the rugosities of the nut, is the true sack or skin of the seed. Similarly in the walnut and almond. 9. But, in the apple, two new tricks are played us. First, in the brown skin of the ripe pip, we might imagine we saw the part correspondent to the mahogany skin of the chestnut, and therefore the inner coat of the {224} husk. But it is not so. The brown skin of the pips belongs to them properly, and is all their own. It is the true skin or sack of the seed. The inner coat of the husk is the smooth, white, scaly part of the core that holds them. Then,--for trick number two. We should as naturally imagine the skin of the apple, which we peel off, to be correspondent to the skin of the peach; and therefore, to be the outer part of the husk. But not at all. The outer part of the husk in the apple is melted away into the fruity mass of it, and the red skin outside is the skin of its _stalk_, not of its seed-vessel at all! 10. I say 'of its stalk,'--that is to say, of the part of the stalk immediately sustaining the seed, commonly called the torus, and expanding into the calyx. In the apple, this torus incorporates itself with the husk completely; then refines its own external skin, and colours _that_ variously and beautifully, like the true skin of the husk in the peach, while the withered leaves of the calyx remain in the 'eye' of the apple. But in the 'hip' of the rose, the incorporation with the husk of the seed does not take place. The torus, or,--as in this flower from its peculiar form it is called,--the tube of the calyx, alone forms the frutescent part of the hip; and the complete seeds, husk and all, (the firm triangular husk enclosing an almond-shaped kernel,) are grouped closely in its interior cavity, while the calyx remains on the top in a large and scarcely withering star. {225} In the nut, the calyx remains green and beautiful, forming what we call the husk of a filbert; and again we find Nature amusing herself by trying to make us think that this strict envelope, almost closing over the single seed, is the same thing to the nut that its green shell is to a walnut! 11. With still more capricious masquing, she varies and hides the structure of her 'berries.' The strawberry is a hip turned inside-out, the frutescent receptacle changed into a scarlet ball, or cone, of crystalline and delicious coral, in the outside of which the separate seeds, husk and all, are imbedded. In the raspberry and blackberry, the interior mound remains sapless; and the rubied translucency of dulcet substance is formed round each separate seed, _upon_ its husk; not a part of the husk, but now an entirely independent and added portion of the plant's bodily form. 12. What is thus done for each seed, on the _out_side of the receptacle, in the raspberry, is done for each seed, _in_side the calyx, in a pomegranate; which is a hip in which the seeds have become surrounded with a radiant juice, richer than claret wine; while the seed itself, within the generous jewel, is succulent also, and spoken of by Tournefort as a "baie succulente." The tube of the calyx, brown-russet like a large hip, externally, is yet otherwise divided, and separated wholly from the cinque-foiled, and cinque-celled rose, both in number of petal and division of treasuries; the calyx has eight points, and nine cells. {226} 13. Lastly, in the orange, the fount of fragrant juice is interposed between the seed and the husk. It is wholly independent of both; the Aurantine rind, with its white lining and divided compartments, is the true husk; the orange pips are the true seeds; and the eatable part of the fruit is formed between them, in clusters of delicate little flasks, as if a fairy's store of scented wine had been laid up by her in the hollow of a chestnut shell, between the nut and rind; and then the green changed to gold. 14. I have said '_lastly_'--of the orange, for fear of the reader's weariness only; not as having yet represented, far less exhausted, the variety of frutescent form. But these are the most important types of it; and before I can explain the relation between these, and another, too often confounded with them--the _granular_ form of the seed of grasses.--I must give some account of what, to man, is far more important than the form--the gift to him in fruit-food; and trial, in fruit-temptation. * * * * * {227} CHAPTER XIV. THE FRUIT GIFT. 1. In the course of the preceding chapter, I hope that the reader has obtained, or may by a little patience both obtain and secure, the idea of a great natural Ordinance, which, in the protection given to the part of plants necessary to prolong their race, provides, for happier living creatures, food delightful to their taste, and forms either amusing or beautiful to their eyes. Whether in receptacle, calyx, or true husk,--in the cup of the acorn, the fringe of the filbert, the down of the apricot, or bloom of the plum, the powers of Nature consult quite other ends than the mere continuance of oaks and plum trees on the earth; and must be regarded always with gratitude more deep than wonder, when they are indeed seen with human eyes and human intellect. 2. But in one family of plants, the _contents_ also of the seed, not the envelope of it merely, are prepared for the support of the higher animal life; and their grain, filled with the substance which, for universally understood name, may best keep the Latin one of Farina,--becoming in French, 'Farine,' and in English, 'Flour,'--both in the perfectly nourishing elements of it, and its {228} easy and abundant multiplicability, becomes the primal treasure of human economy. 3. It has been the practice of botanists of all nations to consider the seeds of the grasses together with those of roses and pease, as if all could be described on the same principles, and with the same nomenclature of parts. But the grain of corn is a quite distinct thing from the seed of pease. In _it_, the husk and the seed envelope have become inextricably one. All the exocarps, endocarps, epicarps, mesocarps, shells, husks, sacks, and skins, are woven at once together into the brown bran; and inside of that, a new substance is collected for us, which is not what we boil in pease, or poach in eggs, or munch in nuts, or grind in coffee;--but a thing which, mixed with water and then baked, has given to all the nations of the world their prime word for food, in thought and prayer,--Bread; their prime conception of the man's and woman's labor in preparing it--("whoso putteth hand to the _plough_"--two women shall be grinding at the _mill_)--their prime notion of the means of cooking by fire--("which to-day is, and to-morrow is cast into the _oven_"), and their prime notion of culinary office--the "chief _baker_," cook, or pastrycook,--(compare Bedreddin Hassan in the Arabian Nights): and, finally, to modern civilization, the Saxon word 'lady,' with whatever it imports. 4. It has also been the practice of botanists to confuse all the ripened products of plants under the general term {229} 'fruit.' But the essential and separate fruit-gift is of two substances, quite distinct from flour, namely, oil and wine, under the last term including for the moment all kinds of juice which will produce alcohol by fermentation. Of these, oil may be produced either in the kernels of nuts, as in almonds, or in the substance of berries, as in the olive, date, and coffee-berry. But the sweet juice which will become medicinal in wine, can only be developed in the husk, or in the receptacle. 5. The office of the Chief Butler, as opposed to that of the Chief Baker, and the office of the Good Samaritan, pouring in oil and wine, refer both to the total fruit-gift in both kinds: but in the study of plants, we must primarily separate our notion of their gifts to men into the three elements, flour, oil, and wine; and have instantly and always intelligible names for them in Latin, French, and English. And I think it best not to confuse our ideas of pure vegetable substance with the possible process of fermentation:--so that rather than 'wine,' for a constant specific term, I will take 'Nectar,'--this term more rightly including the juices of the peach, nectarine, and plum, as well as those of the grape, currant, and apple. Our three separate substances will then be easily named in all three languages: Farina. Oleum. Nectar. Farine. Huile. Nectare. Flour. Oil. Nectar. {230} There is this farther advantage in keeping the third common term, that it leaves us the words Succus, Jus, Juice, for other liquid products of plants, watery, milky, sugary, or resinous,--often indeed important to man, but often also without either agreeable flavor or nutritious power; and it is therefore to be observed with care that we may use the word 'juice,' of a liquid produced by any part of a plant, but 'nectar,' only of the juices produced in its fruit. 6. But the good and pleasure of fruit is not in the juice only;--in some kinds, and those not the least valuable, (as the date,) it is not in the juice at all. We still stand absolutely in want of a word to express the more or less firm _substance_ of fruit, as distinguished from all other products of a plant. And with the usual ill-luck,--(I advisedly think of it as demoniacal misfortune)--of botanical science, no other name has been yet used for such substance than the entirely false and ugly one of 'Flesh,'--Fr., 'Chair,' with its still more painful derivation 'Charnu,' and in England the monstrous scientific term, 'Sarco-carp.' But, under the housewifery of Proserpina, since we are to call the juice of fruit, Nectar, its substance will be as naturally and easily called Ambrosia; and I have no doubt that this, with the other names defined in this chapter, will not only be found practically more convenient than the phrases in common use, but will more securely fix in the student's mind a true conception of {231} the essential differences in substance, which, ultimately, depend wholly on their pleasantness to human perception, and offices for human good; and not at all on any otherwise explicable structure or faculty. It is of no use to determine, by microscope or retort, that cinnamon is made of cells with so many walls, or grape-juice of molecules with so many sides;--we are just as far as ever from understanding why these particular interstices should be aromatic, and these special parallelopipeds exhilarating, as we were in the savagely unscientific days when we could only see with our eyes, and smell with our noses. But to call each of these separate substances by a name rightly belonging to it through all the past variations of the language of educated man, will probably enable us often to discern powers in the thing itself, of affecting the human body and mind, which are indeed qualities infinitely more its _own_, than any which can possibly be extracted by the point of a knife, or brayed out with a mortar and pestle. 7. Thus, to take merely instance in the three main elements of which we have just determined the names,--flour, oil, and ambrosia;--the differences in the kinds of pleasure which the tongue received from the powderiness of oat-cake, or a well-boiled potato--(in the days when oat-cake and potatoes were!)--from the glossily-softened crispness of a well-made salad, and from the cool and fragrant amber of an apricot, are indeed distinctions between the essential virtues of things which {232} were made to be _tasted_, much more than to be eaten; and in their various methods of ministry to, and temptation of, human appetites, have their part in the history, not of elements merely, but of souls; and of the soul-virtues, which from the beginning of the world have bade the barrel of meal not waste, nor the cruse of oil fail; and have planted, by waters of comfort, the fruits which are for the healing of nations. 8. And, again, therefore, I must repeat, with insistance, the claim I have made for the limitation of language to the use made of it by educated men. The word 'carp' could never have multiplied itself into the absurdities of endo-carps and epi-carps, but in the mouths of men who scarcely ever read it in its original letters, and therefore never recognized it as meaning precisely the same thing as 'fructus,' which word, being a little more familiar with, they would have scarcely abused to the same extent; they would not have called a walnut shell an intra-fruct--or a grape skin an extra-fruct; but again, because, though they are accustomed to the English 'fructify,' 'frugivorous'--and 'usufruct,' they are unaccustomed to the Latin 'fruor,' and unconscious therefore that the derivative 'fructus' must always, in right use, mean an _enjoyed_ thing, they generalize every mature vegetable product under the term; and we find Dr. Gray coolly telling us that there is no fruit so "likely to be mistaken for a seed," as a grain of corn! a grain, whether of corn, or any other {233} grass, being precisely the vegetable structure to which frutescent change is forever forbidden! and to which the word _seed_ is primarily and perfectly applicable!--the thing to be _sown_, not grafted. 9. But to mark this total incapability of frutescent change, and connect the form of the seed more definitely with its dusty treasure, it is better to reserve, when we are speaking with precision, the term 'grain' for the seeds of the grasses: the difficulty is greater in French than in English: because they have no monosyllabic word for the constantly granular 'seed'; but for us the terms are all simple, and already in right use, only not quite clearly enough understood; and there remains only one real difficulty now in our system of nomenclature, that having taken the word 'husk' for the seed-vessel, we are left without a general word for the true fringe of a filbert, or the chaff of a grass. I don't know whether the French 'frange' could be used by them in this sense, if we took it in English botany. But for the present, we can manage well enough without it, one general term, 'chaff,' serving for all the grasses, 'cup' for acorns, and 'fringe' for nuts. 10. But I call this a _real_ difficulty, because I suppose, among the myriads of plants of which I know nothing, there may be forms of the envelope of fruits or seeds which may, for comfort of speech, require some common generic name. One _un_real difficulty, or shadow of difficulty, remains in our having no entirely comprehensive {234} name for seed and seed-vessel together than that the botanists now use, 'fruit.' But practically, even now, people feel that they can't gather figs of thistles, and never speak of the fructification of a thistle, or of the fruit of a dandelion. And, re-assembling now, in one view, the words we have determined on, they will be found enough for all practical service, and in such service always accurate, and, usually, suggestive. I repeat them in brief order, with such farther explanation as they need. 11. All ripe products of the life of flowers consist essentially of the Seed and Husk,--these being, in certain cases, sustained, surrounded, or provided with means of motion, by other parts of the plant; or by developments of their own form which require in each case distinct names. Thus the white cushion of the dandelion to which its brown seeds are attached, and the personal parachutes which belong to each, must be separately described for that species of plants; it is the little brown thing they sustain and carry away on the wind, which must be examined as the essential product of the floret;--the 'seed and husk.' 12. Every seed has a husk, holding either that seed alone, or other seeds with it. Every perfect seed consists of an embryo, and the substance which first nourishes that embryo; the whole enclosed in a sack or other sufficient envelope. Three essential parts altogether. {235} Every perfect husk, vulgarly pericarp, or 'round-fruit,'--(as periwig, 'round-wig,')--consists of a shell, (vulgarly endocarp,) rind, (vulgarly mesocarp,) and skin, (vulgarly epicarp); three essential parts altogether. But one or more of these parts may be effaced, or confused with another; and in the seeds of grasses they all concentrate themselves into bran. 13. When a husk consists of two or more parts, each of which has a separate shaft and volute, uniting in the pillar and volute of the flower, each separate piece of the husk is called a 'carpel.' The name was first given by De Candolle, and must be retained. But it continually happens that a simple husk divides into two parts corresponding to the two leaves of the embryo, as in the peach, or symmetrically holding alternate seeds, as in the pea. The beautiful drawing of the pea-shell with its seeds, in Rousseau's botany, is the only one I have seen which rightly shows and expresses this arrangement. 14. A Fruit is either the husk, receptacle, petal, or other part of a flower _external to the seed_, in which chemical changes have taken place, fitting it for the most part to become pleasant and healthful food for man, or other living animals; but in some cases making it bitter or poisonous to them, and the enjoyment of it depraved or deadly. But, as far as we know, it is without any definite office to the seed it contains; and the change takes {236} place entirely to fit the plant to the service of animals.[66] In its perfection, the Fruit Gift is limited to a temperate zone, of which the polar limit is marked by the strawberry, and the equatorial by the orange. The more arctic regions produce even the smallest kinds of fruit with difficulty; and the more equatorial, in coarse, oleaginous, or over-luscious masses. 15. All the most perfect fruits are developed _from exquisite forms either of foliage or flower_. The vine leaf, in its generally decorative power, is the most important, both in life and in art, of all that shade the habitations of men. The olive leaf is, without any rival, the most beautiful of the leaves of timber trees; and its blossom, though minute, of extreme beauty. The apple is essentially the fruit of the rose, and the peach of her only rival in her own colour. The cherry and orange blossom are the two types of floral snow. 16. And, lastly, let my readers be assured, the economy of blossom and fruit, with the distribution of water, {237} will be found hereafter the most accurate test of wise national government. For example of the action of a national government, rightly so called, in these matters, I refer the student to the Mariegolas of Venice, translated in Fors Clavigera; and I close this chapter, and this first volume of Proserpina, not without pride, in the words I wrote on this same matter eighteen years ago. "So far as the labourer's immediate profit is concerned, it matters not an iron filing whether I employ him in growing a peach, or in forging a bombshell. But the difference to him is final, whether, when his child is ill, I walk into his cottage, and give it the peach,--or drop the shell down his chimney, and blow his roof off." * * * * * {238} INDEX I. DESCRIPTIVE NOMENCLATURE. Plants in perfect form are said, at page 26, to consist of four principal parts: root, stem, leaf, and flower. (Compare Chapter V., § 2.) The reader may have been surprised at the omission of the fruit from this list. But a plant which has borne fruit is no longer of 'perfect' form. Its flower is dead. And, observe, it is further said, at page 65, (and compare Chapter III., § 2,) that the use of the fruit is to produce the flower: not of the flower to produce the fruit. Therefore, the plant in perfect blossom, is itself perfect. Nevertheless, the formation of the fruit, practically, is included in the flower, and so spoken of in the fifteenth line of the same page. Each of these four main parts of a plant consist normally of a certain series of minor parts, to which it is well to attach easily remembered names. In this section of my index I will not admit the confusion of idea involved by alphabetical arrangement of these names, but will sacrifice facility of reference to clearness of explanation, and taking the four great parts of the plant in {239} succession, I will give the list of the minor and constituent parts, with their names as determined in Proserpina, and reference to the pages where the reasons for such determination are given, endeavouring to supply, at the same time, any deficiencies which I find in the body of the text. I. THE ROOT. PAGE Origin of the word Root 27 The offices of the root are threefold: namely, Tenure, Nourishment, and Animation 27-34 The essential parts of a Root are two: the Limbs and Fibres 33 I. THE LIMB is the gathered mass of fibres, or at least of fibrous substance, which extends itself in search of nourishment 32 II. THE FIBRE is the organ by which the nourishment is received 32 The inessential or accidental parts of roots, which are attached to the roots of some plants, but not to those of others, (and are, indeed, for the most part absent,) are three: namely, Store-Houses, Refuges, and Ruins 34 III. Store-houses contain the food of the future plant 34 {240} IV. REFUGES shelter the future plant itself for a time 35 V. RUINS form a basis for the growth of the future plant in its proper order 36 Root-Stocks, the accumulation of such ruins in a vital order 37 General questions relating to the office and chemical power of roots 38 /# The nomenclature of Roots will not be extended, in Proserpina, beyond the five simple terms here given: though the ordinary botanical ones--corm, bulb, tuber, etc.--will be severally explained in connection with the plants which they specially characterize. #/ II. THE STEM. Derivation of word 137 The channel of communication between leaf and root 153 In a perfect plant it consists of three parts: I. THE STEM (STEMMA) proper.--A growing or advancing shoot which sustains all the other organs of the plant 136 It may grow by adding thickness to its sides without advancing; but its essential characteristic is the vital power of Advance 136 {241} It may be round, square, or polygonal, but is always roundly minded 136 Its structural power is Spiral 137 It is essentially branched; having subordinate leaf-stalks and flower-stalks, if not larger branches 139 It developes the buds, leaves, and flowers of the plant. This power is not yet properly defined, or explained; and referred to only incidentally throughout the eighth chapter 134-138 II. THE LEAF-STALK (CYMBA) sustains, and expands itself into, the Leaf 133, 134 It is essentially furrowed above, and convex below 134 It is to be called in Latin, the Cymba; in English, the Leaf-Stalk 135 III. THE FLOWER-STALK (PETIOLUS): It is essentially round 130 It is usually separated distinctly at its termination from the flower 130, 131 It is to be called in Latin, Petiolus; in English, Flower-stalk 130 These three are the essential parts of a stem. But {242} besides these, it has, when largely developed, a permanent form: namely, IV. THE TRUNK.--A non-advancing mass of collected stem, arrested at a given height from the ground 139 /# The stems of annual plants are either leafy, as of a thistle, or bare, sustaining the flower or flower-cluster at a certain height above the ground. Receiving therefore these following names:--- #/ V. THE VIRGA.--The leafy stem of an annual plant, not a grass, yet growing upright 147 VI. THE VIRGULA.--The leafless flower-stem of an annual plant, not a grass, as of a primrose or dandelion 147 VII. THE FILUM.--The running stem of a creeping plant /# It is not specified in the text for use; but will be necessary; so also, perhaps, the Stelechos, or stalk proper (26), the branched stem of an annual plant, not a grass; one cannot well talk of the Virga of hemlock. The 'Stolon' is explained in its classical sense at page 158, but I believe botanists use it otherwise. I shall have occasion to refer to, and complete its explanation, in speaking of bulbous plants. #/ VIII. THE CAUDEX.--The essentially ligneous and compact part of a stem 149 {243} /# This equivocal word is not specified for use in the text, but I mean to keep it for the accumulated stems of inlaid plants, palms, and the like; for which otherwise we have no separate term. #/ IX. THE AVENA.--Not specified in the text at all; but it will be prettier than 'baculus,' which is that I had proposed, for the 'staff' of grasses. See page 179. /# These ten names are all that the student need remember; but he will find some interesting particulars respecting the following three, noticed in the text:--- #/ STIPS.--The origin of stipend, stupid, and stump 148 STIPULA.--The subtlest Latin term for straw 148 CAULIS (Kale).--The peculiar stem of branched eatable vegetables 149 CANNA.--Not noticed in the text; but likely to be sometimes useful for the stronger stems of grasses. III. THE LEAF. Derivation of word 26 The Latin form 'folium' 41 The Greek form 'petalos' 42 Veins and ribs of leaves, to be usually summed under the term 'rib' 44 Chemistry of leaves 46 {244} /# The nomenclature of the leaf consists, in botanical books, of little more than barbarous, and, for the general reader, totally useless attempts to describe their forms in Latin. But their forms are infinite and indescribable except by the pencil. I will give central types of form in the next volume of Proserpina; which, so that the reader sees and remembers, he may _call_ anything he likes. But it is necessary that names should be assigned to certain classes of leaves which are essentially different from each other in character and tissue, not merely in form. Of these the two main divisions have been already given: but I will now add the less important ones which yet require distinct names. #/ I. APOLLINE.--Typically represented by the laurel 51 II. ARETHUSAN.--Represented by the alisma 52 /# It ought to have been noticed that the character of serration, within reserved limits, is essential to an Apolline leaf, and absolutely refused by an Arethusan one. #/ III. DRYAD.--Of the ordinary leaf tissue, neither manifestly strong, nor admirably tender, but serviceably consistent, which we find generally to be the substance of the leaves of forest trees. Typically represented by those of the oak. IV. ABIETINE.--Shaft or sword-shape, as the leaves of firs and pines. V. CRESSIC.--Delicate and light, with smooth tissue, as the leaves of cresses, and clover. {245} VI. SALVIAN.--Soft and woolly, like miniature blankets, easily folded, as the leaves of sage. VII. CAULINE.--Softly succulent, with thick central ribs, as of the cabbage. VIII. ALOEINE.--Inflexibly succulent, as of the aloe or houseleek. /# No rigid application of these terms must ever be attempted; but they direct the attention to important general conditions, and will often be found to save time and trouble in description. #/ IV. THE FLOWER. Its general nature and function 65 Consists essentially of Corolla and Treasury 78 Has in perfect form the following parts:-- I. THE TORUS.--Not yet enough described in the text. It is the expansion of the extremity of the flower-stalk, in preparation for the support of the expanding flower 66, 224 II. THE INVOLUCRUM.--Any kind of wrapping or propping condition of leafage at the base of a flower may properly come under this head; but the manner of prop or protection differs in different kinds, and I will not at present give generic names to these peculiar forms. {246} III. THE CALYX (The Hiding-place).--The outer whorl of leaves, under the protection of which the real flower is brought to maturity. Its separate leaves are called SEPALS 80 IV. THE COROLLA (The Cup).--The inner whorl of leaves, forming the flower itself. Its separate leaves are called PETALS 71 V. THE TREASURY.--The part of the flower that contains its seeds. VI. THE PILLAR.--The part of the flower above its treasury, by which the power of the pollen is carried down to the seeds 78 It consists usually of two parts--the SHAFT and VOLUTE 78 When the pillar is composed of two or more shafts, attached to separate treasury-cells, each cell with its shaft is called a CARPEL 235 VII. THE STAMENS.--The parts of the flower which secrete its pollen 78 They consist usually of two parts, the FILAMENT and ANTHER, not yet described. VIII. THE NECTARY.--The part of the flower containing its honey, or any other special product of its inflorescence. The name has often been {247} given to certain forms of petals of which the use is not yet known. No notice has yet been taken of this part of the flower in Proserpina. /# These being all the essential parts of the flower itself, other forms and substances are developed in the seed as it ripens, which, I believe, may most conveniently be arranged in a separate section, though not logically to be considered as separable from the flower, but only as mature states of certain parts of it. #/ V. THE SEED. I must once more desire the reader to take notice that, under the four sections already defined, the morphology of the plant is to be considered as complete, and that we are now only to examine and name, farther, its _product_; and that not so much as the germ of its own future descendant flower, but as a separate substance which it is appointed to form, partly to its own detriment, for the sake of higher creatures. This product consists essentially of two parts: the Seed and its Husk. I. THE SEED.--Defined 220 It consists, in its perfect form, of three parts 222 /# These three parts are not yet determinately named in the text: but I give now the names which will be usually attached to them. #/ A. _The Sacque_.--The outside skin of a seed 221 {248} B. _The Nutrine_.--A word which I coin, for general applicability, whether to the farina of corn, the substance of a nut, or the parts that become the first leaves in a bean 221 C. _The Germ_.--The origin of the root 221 II. THE HUSK.--Defined 222 Consists, like the seed when in perfect form, of three parts. A. _The Skin_.--The outer envelope of all the seed structures 222 B. _The Rind_.--The central body of the Husk. 222-235 C. _The Shell_.--Not always shelly, yet best described by this general term; and becoming a shell, so called, in nuts, peaches, dates, and other such kernel-fruits 222 The products of the Seed and Husk of Plants, for the use of animals, are practically to be massed under the three heads of BREAD, OIL, and FRUIT. But the substance of which bread is made is more accurately described as Farina; and the pleasantness of fruit to the taste depends on two elements in its substance: the juice, and the pulp containing it, which may properly be called Nectar and Ambrosia. We have therefore in all four essential products of the Seed and Husk-- {249} A. Farina. Flour 227 B. Oleum. Oil 229 C. Nectar. Fruit-juice 229 D. Ambrosia. Fruit-substance 230 Besides these all-important products of the seed, others are formed in the stems and leaves of plants, of which no account hitherto has been given in Proserpina. I delay any extended description of these until we have examined the structure of wood itself more closely; this intricate and difficult task having been remitted (p. 195) to the days of coming spring; and I am well pleased that my younger readers should at first be vexed with no more names to be learned than those of the vegetable productions with which they are most pleasantly acquainted: but for older ones, I think it well, before closing the present volume, to indicate, with warning, some of the obscurities, and probable fallacies, with which this vanity of science encumbers the chemistry, no less than the morphology, of plants. Looking back to one of the first books in which our new knowledge of organic chemistry began to be displayed, thirty years ago, I find that even at that period the organic elements which the cuisine of the laboratory had already detected in simple Indigo, were the following:-- {250} Isatine, Bromisatine, Bidromisatine; Chlorisatine, Bichlorisatine; Chlorisatyde, Bichlorisatyde; Chlorindine, Chlorindoptene, Chlorindatmit; Chloranile, Chloranilam, and, Chloranilammon. And yet, with all this practical skill in decoction, and accumulative industry in observation and nomenclature, so far are our scientific men from arriving, by any decoctive process of their own knowledge, at general results useful to ordinary human creatures, that when I wish now to separate, for young scholars, in first massive arrangement of vegetable productions, the Substances of Plants from their Essences; that is to say, the weighable and measurable body of the plant from its practically immeasurable, if not imponderable, spirit, I find in my three volumes of close-printed chemistry, no information what ever respecting the quality of volatility in matter, except this one sentence:-- "The disposition of various substances to yield vapour is very different: and the difference depends doubtless on the relative power of cohesion with which they are endowed."[67] Even in this not extremely pregnant, though extremely {251} cautious, sentence, two conditions of matter are confused, no notice being taken of the difference in manner of dissolution between a vitally fragrant and a mortally putrid substance. It is still more curious that when I look for more definite instruction on such points to the higher ranks of botanists, I find in the index to Dr. Lindley's 'Introduction to Botany'--seven hundred pages of close print--not one of the four words 'Volatile,' 'Essence,' 'Scent,' or 'Perfume.' I examine the index to Gray's 'Structural and Systematic Botany,' with precisely the same success. I next consult Professors Balfour and Grindon, and am met by the same dignified silence. Finally, I think over the possible chances in French, and try in Figuier's indices to the 'Histoire des Plantes' for 'Odeur'--no such word! 'Parfum'--no such word. 'Essence'--no such word. 'Encens'--no such word. I try at last 'Pois de Senteur,' at a venture, and am referred to a page which describes their going to sleep. Left thus to my own resources, I must be content for the present to bring the subject at least under safe laws of nomenclature. It is possible that modern chemistry may be entirely right in alleging the absolute identity of substances such as albumen, or fibrine, whether they occur in the animal or vegetable economies. But I do not choose to assume this identity in my nomenclature. It may, perhaps, be very fine and very instructive to {252} inform the pupils preparing for competitive examination that the main element of Milk is Milkine, and of Cheese, Cheesine. But for the practical purposes of life, all that I think it necessary for the pupil to know is that in order to get either milk or cheese, he must address himself to a Cow, and not to a Pump; and that what a chemist can produce for him out of dandelions or cocoanuts, however milky or cheesy it may look, may more safely be called by some name of its own. This distinctness of language becomes every day more desirable, in the face of the refinements of chemical art which now enable the ingenious confectioner to meet the demands of an unscientific person for (suppose) a lemon drop, with a mixture of nitric acid, sulphur, and stewed bones. It is better, whatever the chemical identity of the products may be, that each should receive a distinctive epithet, and be asked for and supplied, in vulgar English, and vulgar probity, either as essence of lemons, or skeletons. I intend, therefore,--and believe that the practice will be found both wise and convenient,--to separate in all my works on natural history the terms used for vegetable products from those used for animal or mineral ones, whatever may be their chemical identity, or resemblance in aspect. I do not mean to talk of fat in seeds, nor of flour in eggs, nor of milk in rocks. Pace my prelatical friends, I mean to use the word 'Alb' for vegetable albumen; and although I cannot without pedantry avoid {253} using sometimes the word 'milky' of the white juices of plants, I must beg the reader to remain unaffected in his conviction that there is a vital difference between liquids that coagulate into butter, or congeal into India-rubber. Oil, when used simply, will always mean a vegetable product: and when I have occasion to speak of petroleum, tallow, or blubber, I shall generally call these substances by their right names. There are also a certain number of vegetable materials more or less prepared, secreted, or digested for us by animals, such as wax, honey, silk, and cochineal. The properties of these require more complex definitions, but they have all very intelligible and well-established names. 'Tea' must be a general term for an extract of any plant in boiling water: though when standing alone the word will take its accepted Chinese meaning: and essence, the general term for the condensed dew of a vegetable vapour, which is with grace and fitness called the 'being' of a plant, because its properties are almost always characteristic of the species; and it is not, like leaf tissue or wood fibre, approximately the same material in different shapes; but a separate element in each family of flowers, of a mysterious, delightful, or dangerous influence, logically inexplicable, chemically inconstructible, and wholly, in dignity of nature, above all modes and faculties of form. * * * * * {254} INDEX II. TO THE PLANTS SPOKEN OF IN THIS VOLUME, UNDER THEIR ENGLISH NAMES, ACCEPTED BY PROSERPINA. Apple, 102 Ash, 120, 127 Aspen, 134 Asphodel, 8, 36 Bay, 51 Bean, 104 Bed-straw, 120 Bindweed, 144 Birch, 172 Blackthorn, 119, 127 Blaeberry, 52, 206 Bluebell, 144 Bramble, 119, 195 Burdock, 112, 131 Burnet, 95 Butterbur, 118 Cabbage, 131, 149 Captain-salad, 149 Carrot, 32, 35 Cauliflower, 131, 149 Cedar, 35, 61, 113 Celandine, 72 Cherry, 65, 130 Chestnut, 62 " Spanish, 166 Chicory, 118 Clover, 111 Colewort, 149 Coltsfoot, 110 Corn-cockle, 108 Corn-flag, 104, 109 Cowslip, 139 Crocus, 36, 37 Daffodil, {255} Daisy, 117, 144, 145 Dandelion, 117 Devil's Bit, 147 Dock, 131 Elm, 52 Fig, 63 Flag, 104 Flax, 165 Foils, Rock, 144 " Roof, 144, 146 Foxglove, 70, 118, 139 Frog-flower, 56 Grape, 103, 130 Grass, 52, 53, 55, 156, 158, 161, 163 Hawk's-eye, 118 Hazel, 120 Heath, 67, 68, 107, 208 Hemlock, 107 Herb-Robert, 121 Holly, 113, 119 Houseleek, 37, 146 Hyacinth, 65, 67 Ivy, 111 Jacinth, 83, 186 King-cup, 110 Laurel, 35, 59, 140 " leaves, 43, 51, 60 Lichen, 175 Lilac, 76 Lily, 1, 36, 53, 104, 109 Lily, St. Bruno's, 1, 7, 9, 10 Lily of the Valley, 143 Lily, Water, 55, 72 Ling, 68, 69 Lion's-tooth, 113 Liquorice, 38 Lucy, 110, 144 Mistletoe, 111 Moss, 12, 15, 175 Mushroom, 43, 127 Myrtle, 51 Nettle, 52, 88, 107 Nightshade, 108 Oak, 36, 140 " blossom, 67 Olive, 51, 63, 142 Onion, 38 Orange, 51 Pæony, 129 Palm, 43, 53, 54, 103, 156, 166 {256} Pansy, 120, 144 Papilionaceæ, 145 Papyrus, 165 Pea, 32, 144 Peach, 130, 144 Pine, 140 Pineapple, 14 Pink, 144 Plantain, 134 Pomegranate, 102 Poplar, 52 Poppy, 70, 76, 86, 104 Primrose, 79, 144 Radish, 35, 38 Ragged Robin, 155 Rhubarb, 131 Rice, 52 Rock-foil, 144 Roof-foil, 144, 146 Rose, 64, 69, 75, 104, 109, 119, 121, 129, 144 Rush, 157 Saxifrage, 120, 143, 146 Scabious, 147 Sedum, 146 Sorrel-wood, 9 Spider Plant, 8 Sponsa solis, 118 Stella, 144, 146 " domestica, 146 Stonecrop, 146 Sweetbriar, 109 Thistle, 103, 104, 113, 117, 118, 121, 144 _note_, 151 Thistle, Creeping, 138 " Waste, 138 Thorns, 121, 127 " Black, 119, 127 Thyme, 118 Tobacco, 38, 108 Tormentilla, 110 Turnip, 35 Vine, 104, 108, 140, 142 Viola, 144 Wallflower, 111 Wheat, 127, 165 Wreathewort, 181 * * * * * {257} INDEX III. TO THE PLANTS SPOKEN OF IN THIS VOLUME, UNDER THEIR LATIN OR GREEK NAMES, ACCEPTED BY PROSERPINA. Acanthus, 104 Alata, 144 Alisma, 52 Amaryllis, 36, 37 Anemone, 107 Artemides, 196 Asphodel, 11 Aurora, 207 Azalea, 207 Cactus, 43 Campanula, 144 Carduus, 138 Charites, 188 Cistus, 69 Clarissa, 144, 155 Contorta, 181 Convoluta, 144 Cyclamen, 32 Drosidæ, 36, 199 Ensatæ, 203 Ericæ, 9, 206 Eryngo, 83 Fragaria, 188 Francesca, 144, 146 Fraxinus, 195 Geranium, 83, 120 Gladiolus, 104, 109, 163 Hyacinthus, 186 Hypnum, 13 Iris, 36, 103 Lilium (_see_ Lily), 8 Lucia, 110, 189 {258} Magnolia, 51 Margarita, 144 Myrtilla, 206 Narcissus, 109 Ophrys, 180 Papaver, 91, 96 Persica, 144 Pomum, 188 Primula, 143 Rosa, 144 Rubra, 188, 195 Satyrium, 182 Stella, 144, 146 Veronica, 75 Viola, 144 * * * * * Notes [1] At least, it throws off its flowers on each side in a bewilderingly pretty way; a real lily can't branch, I believe: but, if not, what is the use of the botanical books saying "on an unbranched stem"? [2] I have by happy chance just added to my Oxford library the poet Gray's copy of Linnæus, with its exquisitely written Latin notes, exemplary alike to scholar and naturalist. [3] It was in the year 1860, in June. [4] Admirably engraved by Mr. Burgess, from my pen drawing, now at Oxford. By comparing it with the plate of the same flower in Sowerby's work, the student will at once see the difference between attentive drawing, which gives the cadence and relation of masses in a group, and the mere copying of each flower in an unconsidered huddle. [5] "Histoire des Plantes." Ed. 1865, p. 416. [6] The like of it I have now painted, Number 281, CASE XII., in the Educational Series of Oxford. [7] Properly, Floræ Danicæ, but it is so tiresome to print the diphthongs that I shall always call it thus. It is a folio series, exquisitely begun, a hundred years ago; and not yet finished. [8] Magnified about seven times. See note at end of this chapter. [9] American,--'System of Botany,' the best technical book I have. [10] 'Dicranum cerviculatum,' sequel to Flora Danica, Tab. MMCCX. [11] The reader should buy a small specimen of this mineral; it is a useful type of many structures. [12] LUCCA, _Aug. 9th, 1874._--I have left this passage as originally written, but I believe the dome is of accumulated earth. Bringing home, here, evening after evening, heaps of all kinds of mosses from the hills among which the Archbishop Ruggieri was hunting the wolf and her whelps in Ugolino's dream, I am more and more struck, every day, with their special function as earth-gatherers, and with the enormous importance to their own brightness, and to our service, of that dark and degraded state of the inferior leaves. And it fastens itself in my mind mainly as their distinctive character, that as the leaves of a tree become wood, so the leaves of a moss become earth, while yet a normal part of the plant. Here is a cake in my hand weighing half a pound, bright green on the surface, with minute crisp leaves; but an inch thick beneath in what looks at first like clay, but is indeed knitted fibre of exhausted moss. Also, I don't at all find the generalization I made from the botanical books likely to have occurred to me from the real things. No moss leaves that I can find here give me the idea of resemblance to pineapple leaves; nor do I see any, through my weak lens, clearly serrated; but I do find a general tendency to run into a silky filamentous structure, and in some, especially on a small one gathered from the fissures in the marble of the cathedral, white threads of considerable length at the extremities of the leaves, of which threads I remember no drawing or notice in the botanical books. Figure 1 represents, magnified, a cluster of these leaves, with the germinating stalk springing from their centre; but my scrawl was tired and careless, and for once, Mr. Burgess has copied _too_ accurately. [13] Learn this word, at any rate; and if you know any Greek, learn also this group of words: "[Greek: hôs rhiza en gê dipsôsêi]," which you may chance to meet with, and even to think about, some day. [14] "Duhamel, botanist of the last century, tells us that, wishing to preserve a field of good land from the roots of an avenue of elms which were exhausting it, he cut a ditch between the field and avenue to intercept the roots. But he saw with surprise those of the roots which had not been cut, go down behind the slope of the ditch to keep out of the light, go under the ditch, and into the field again." And the Swiss naturalist Bonnet said wittily, apropos of a wonder of this sort, "that sometimes it was difficult to distinguish a cat from a rosebush." [15] As the first great office of the mosses is the gathering of earth, so that of the grasses is the binding of it. Theirs the Enchanter's toil, not in vain,--making ropes out of sea-sand. [16] Drosidæ, in our school nomenclature, is the general name, including the four great tribes, iris, asphodel, amaryllis, and lily. See reason for this name given in the 'Queen of the Air,' Section II. [17] The only use of a great part of our existing nomenclature is to enable one botanist to describe to another a plant which the other has not seen. When the science becomes approximately perfect, all known plants will be properly figured, so that nobody need describe them; and unknown plants be so rare that nobody will care to learn a new and difficult language, in order to be able to give an account of what in all probability he will never see. [18] An excellent book, nevertheless. [19] Lindley, 'Introduction to Botany,' vol. i., p. 21. The terms "wholly obsolete," says an authoritative botanic friend. Thank Heaven! [20] "You should see the girders on under-side of the Victoria Water-lily, the most wonderful bit of engineering, of the kind, I know of."--('Botanical friend.') [21] Roughly, Cyllene 7,700 feet high; Erymanthus 7,000; Mænalus 6,000. [22] _March 3rd._--We now ascend the roots of the mountain called Kastaniá, and begin to pass between it and the mountain of Alonístena, which is on our right. The latter is much higher than Kastaniá, and, like the other peaked summits of the Mænalian range, is covered with firs, and deeply at present with snow. The snow lies also in our pass. At a fountain in the road, the small village of Bazeníko is half a mile on the right, standing at the foot of the Mænalian range, and now covered with snow. Saetá is the most lofty of the range of mountains, which are in face of Levídhi, to the northward and eastward; they are all a part of the chain which extends from Mount Khelmós, and connects that great summit with Artemisium, Parthenium, and Parnon. Mount Saetá is covered with firs. The mountain between the plain of Levídhi and Alonístena, or, to speak by the ancient nomenclature, that part of the Mænalian range which separates the Orchomenia from the valleys of Helisson and Methydrium, is clothed also with large forests of the same trees; the road across this ridge from Lavídhi to Alonístena is now impracticable on account of the snow. I am detained all day at Levídhi by a heavy fall of snow, which before the evening has covered the ground to half a foot in depth, although the village is not much elevated above the plain, nor in a more lofty situation than Tripolitzá. _March 4th._--Yesterday afternoon and during the night the snow fell in such quantities as to cover all the plains and adjacent mountains; and the country exhibited this morning as fine a snow-scene as Norway could supply. As the day advanced and the sun appeared, the snow melted rapidly, but the sky was soon overcast again, and the snow began to fall. [23] Just in time, finding a heap of gold under an oak tree some thousand years old, near Arundel, I've made them out: Eight, divided by three; that is to say, three couples of petals, with two odd little ones inserted for form's sake. No wonder I couldn't decipher them by memory. [24] Figs. 8 and 9 are both drawn and engraved by Mr. Burgess. [25] Of Vespertilian science generally, compare 'Eagles' Nest,' pp. 25 and 179. [26] The mathematical term is 'rhomb.' [27] [Greek: hês to sperma artopoieitai.] [28] [Greek: epimêkes echousa to kephalion.] Dioscorides makes no effort to distinguish species, but gives the different names as if merely used in different places. [29] It is also used sometimes of the garden poppy, says Dioscorides, "[Greek: dia to rhein ex autês ton opon]"--"because the sap, opium, flows from it." [30] See all the passages quoted by Liddell. [31] I find this chapter rather tiresome on re-reading it myself, and cancel some farther criticism of the imitation of this passage by Virgil, one of the few pieces of the Æneid which are purely and vulgarly imitative, rendered also false as well as weak by the introducing sentence, "Volvitur Euryalus leto," after which the simile of the drooping flower is absurd. Of criticism, the chief use of which is to warn all sensible men from such business, the following abstract of Diderot's notes on the passage, given in the 'Saturday Review' for April 29th, 1871, is worth preserving. (Was the French critic really not aware that Homer _had_ written the lines his own way?) "Diderot illustrates his theory of poetical hieroglyphs by no quotations, but we can show the manner of his minute and sometimes fanciful criticism by repeating his analysis of the passage of Virgil wherein the death of Euryalus is described:-- 'Pulchrosque per artus It cruor, inque humeros cervix collapsa recumbit; Purpureus veluti cum flos succisus aratro Languescit moriens; lassove papavera collo Demisere caput, pluvia cum forte gravantur.' "The sound of 'It cruor,' according to Diderot, suggests the image of a jet of blood; 'cervix collapsa recumbit,' the fall of a dying man's head upon his shoulder; 'succisus' imitates the use of a cutting scythe (not plough); 'demisere' is as soft as the eye of a flower; 'gravantur,' on the other hand, has all the weight of a calyx, filled with rain; 'collapsa' marks an effort and a fall, and similar double duty is performed by 'papavera,' the first two syllables symbolizing the poppy upright, the last two the poppy bent. While thus pursuing his minute investigations, Diderot can scarcely help laughing at himself, and candidly owns that he is open to the suspicion of discovering in the poem beauties which have no existence. He therefore qualifies his eulogy by pointing out two faults in the passage. 'Gravantur,' notwithstanding the praise it has received, is a little too heavy for the light head of a poppy, even when filled with water. As for 'aratro,' coming as it does after the hiss of 'succisus,' it is altogether abominable. Had Homer written the lines, he would have ended with some hieroglyph, which would have continued the hiss or described the fall of a flower. To the hiss of 'succisus' Diderot is warmly attached. Not by mistake, but in order to justify the sound, he ventures to translate 'aratrum' into 'scythe,' boldly and rightly declaring in a marginal note that this is not the meaning of the word." [32] And I have too harshly called our English vines, 'wicked weeds of Kent,' in Fors Clavigera, xxvii. 11. Much may be said for Ale, when we brew it for our people honestly. [33] Has my reader ever thought,--I never did till this moment,--how it perfects the exquisite character which Scott himself loved, as he invented, till he changed the form of the novel, that his habitual interjection should be this word;--not but that the oath, by conscience, was happily still remaining then in Scotland, taking the place of the mediæval 'by St. Andrew,' we in England, long before the Scot, having lost all sense of the Puritanical appeal to private conscience, as of the Catholic oath, 'by St. George;' and our uncanonized 'by George' in sonorous rudeness, ratifying, not now our common conscience, but our individual opinion. [34] 'Jotham,' 'Sum perfectio eorum,' or 'Consummatio eorum.' (Interpretation of name in Vulgate index.) [35] If you will look at the engraving, in the England and Wales series, of Turner's Oakhampton, you will see its use. [36] General assertions of this kind must always be accepted under indulgence,--exceptions being made afterwards. [37] I use 'round' rather than 'cylindrical,' for simplicity's sake. [38] Carduus Arvensis. 'Creeping Thistle,' in Sowerby; why, I cannot conceive, for there is no more creeping in it than in a furzebush. But it especially haunts foul and neglected ground; so I keep the Latin name, translating 'Waste-Thistle.' I could not show the variety of the curves of the involucre without enlarging; and if, on this much increased scale, I had tried to draw the flower, it would have taken Mr. Allen and me a good month's more work. And I had no more a month than a life, to spare: so the action only of the spreading flower is indicated, but the involucre drawn with precision. [39] The florets gathered in the daisy are cinquefoils, examined closely. No system founded on colour can be very general or unexceptionable: but the splendid purples of the pansy, and thistle, which will be made one of the lower composite groups under Margarita, may justify the general assertion of this order's being purple. [40] See Miss Yonge's exhaustive account of the name, 'History of Christian Names,' vol. i., p. 265. [41] (Du Cange.) The word 'Margarete' is given as heraldic English for pearl, by Lady Juliana Berners, in the book of St. Albans. [42] Recent botanical research makes this statement more than dubitable. Nevertheless, on no other supposition can the forms and action of tree-branches, so far as at present known to me, be yet clearly accounted for. [43] Not always in muscular power; but the framework on which strong muscles are to act, as that of an insect's wing, or its jaw, is never insectile. [44] It is one of the three cadences, (the others being of the words rhyming to 'mind' and 'way,') used by Sir Philip Sidney in his marvellous paraphrase of the 55th Psalm. [45] Lectures on the Families of Speech, by the Rev. F. Farrer Longman, 1870. Page 81. [46] I only profess, you will please to observe, to ask questions in Proserpina. Never to answer any. But of course this chapter is to introduce some further inquiry in another place. [47] See Introduction, pp. 5-8. [48] See Sowerby's nomenclature of the flower, vol. ix., plate 1703. [49] Linnæus used this term for the oleanders; but evidently with less accuracy than usual. [50] "[Greek: anthê porphuroeidê]" says Dioscorides, of the race generally,--but "[Greek: anthê de hupoporphura]" of this particular one. [51] I offer a sample of two dozen for good papas and mammas to begin with:-- Angraecum. Anisopetalum. Brassavola. Brassia. Caelogyne. Calopogon. Corallorrhiza. Cryptarrhena. Eulophia. Gymnadenia. Microstylis. Octomeria. Ornithidium. Ornithocephalus. Platanthera. Pleurothallis. Pogonia. Polystachya. Prescotia. Renanthera. Rodriguezia. Stenorhyncus. Trizeuxis. Xylobium. [52] Compare Chapter V., § 7. [53] "Jacinthus Jurae," changed from "Hyacinthus Comosus." [54] "Cantando, e scegliendo fior di fiore Onde era picta tutta la sua via."--_Purg._, xxviii. 35. [55] "[Greek: kai theoisi terpna.]" [56] The four races of this order are more naturally distinct than botanists have recognized. In Clarissa, the petal is cloven into a fringe at the outer edge; in Lychnis, the petal is terminated in two rounded lobes and the fringe withdrawn to the top of the limb; in Scintilla, the petal is divided into two _sharp_ lobes, without any fringe of the limb; and in Mica, the minute and scarcely visible flowers have simple and far separate petals. The confusion of these four great natural races under the vulgar or accidental botanical names of spittle-plant, shore-plant, sand plant, etc., has become entirely intolerable by any rational student; but the names 'Scintilla,' substituted for Stellaria, and 'Mica' for the utterly ridiculous and probably untrue Sagina, connect themselves naturally with Lychnis, in expression of the luminous power of the white and sparkling blossoms. [57] Clytia will include all the true sun-flowers, and Falconia the hawkweeds; but I have not yet completed the analysis of this vast and complex order, so as to determine the limits of Margarita and Alcestis. [58] The reader must observe that the positions given in this more developed system to any flower do not interfere with arrangements either formerly or hereafter given for memoria technica. The name of the pea, for instance (alata), is to be learned first among the twelve cinqfoils, p. 214, above; then transferred to its botanical place. [59] The amphibious habit of this race is to me of more importance than its outlaid structure. [60] "Arctostaphylos Alpina," I believe; but scarcely recognize the flower in my botanical books. [61] 'Aurora Regina,' changed from Rhododendron Ferrugineum. [62] I do not see what this can mean. Primroses and cowslips can't become shrubs; nor can violets, nor daisies, nor any other of our pet meadow flowers. [63] 'Deserts.' Punas is not in my Spanish dictionary, and the reference to a former note is wrong in my edition of Humboldt, vol. iii., p. 490. [64] "The Alpine rose of equinoctial America," p. 453. [65] More literally "persons to whom the care of eggs is entrusted." [66] A most singular sign of this function is given to the chemistry of the changes, according to a French botanist, to whose carefully and richly illustrated volume I shall in future often refer my readers, "Vers l'époque de la maturité, les fruits _exhalent de l'acide carbonique_. Ils ne presentent plus dès lors aucun dégagement d'oxygène pendant le jour, et _respirent, pour ainsi dire, à la façon des animaux_."--(Figuier, 'Histoire des Plantes,' p. 182. 8vo. Paris. Hachette. 1874.) [67] 'Elements of Chemistry,' p. 44. By Edward Turner; edited by Justus Liebig and William Gregory. Taylor and Walton, 1840. * * * * * Corrections made to printed original. p.27. "In Greek, [Greek: rhiza]" - "[Greek: riza]" with soft breath mark in original. p.62. "shall it not be said of England?" - "no be said" in original. ibid. "beneficent in fulfilment" - "benet ficent" (across 2 lines) in original. p.71. "flaunting breadth of untenable purple" - "untenabie" in original. p.145. "to warn them that this trial of their lovers" - "warm them" in original. p.195. "XI. HESPERIDES." - "II." in original. p.238. "at page 26" - "at page 29" in original. ibid. "at page 65" - "at page 73" in original. Index II. "Celandine" - "Calendine" in original. Ibid. "Thistle, ... 151." "151 note" in original. Ibid. "Thistle, Waste, 138" - "154" in original. Index III. "Fraxinus" - "Frarinus" in original. 
31591	----	by Internet Archive (http://www.archive.org) Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the numerous and lovely original illustrations. See 31591-h.htm or 31591-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/31591/31591-h/31591-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/31591/31591-h.zip) Images of the original pages are available through Internet Archive. See http://www.archive.org/details/languageofflower00gree LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS ILLUSTRATED BY KATE GREENAWAY LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS [Illustration] [Illustration] [Illustration] [Illustration] _Language of Flowers_ ILLUSTRATED BY KATE GREENAWAY Printed in Colours by Edmund Evans London: George Routledge and Sons [Illustration] Abecedary _Volatility._ Abatina _Fickleness._ Acacia _Friendship._ Acacia, Rose or White _Elegance._ Acacia, Yellow _Secret love._ Acanthus _The fine arts. Artifice._ Acalia _Temperance._ Achillea Millefolia _War._ Aconite (Wolfsbane) _Misanthropy._ Aconite, Crowfoot _Lustre._ Adonis, Flos _Painful recollections._ African Marigold _Vulgar minds._ Agnus Castus _Coldness. Indifference._ Agrimony _Thankfulness. Gratitude._ Almond (Common) _Stupidity. Indiscretion._ Almond (Flowering) _Hope._ Almond, Laurel _Perfidy_ Allspice _Compassion._ Aloe _Grief. Religious superstition._ Althaea Frutex (Syrian Mallow) _Persuasion._ Alyssum (Sweet) _Worth beyond beauty._ Amaranth (Globe) _Immortality. Unfading love._ Amaranth (Cockscomb) _Foppery. Affectation._ Amaryllis _Pride. Timidity. Splendid beauty._ Ambrosia _Love returned._ American Cowslip _Divine beauty._ American Elm _Patriotism._ American Linden _Matrimony._ American Starwort _Welcome to a stranger. Cheerfulness in old age._ Amethyst _Admiration._ Anemone (Zephyr Flower) _Sickness. Expectation._ Anemone (Garden) _Forsaken._ Angelica _Inspiration._ Angrec _Royalty._ Apple _Temptation._ Apple (Blossom) _Preference. Fame speaks him great and good._ Apple, Thorn _Deceitful charms._ Apocynum (Dog's Vane) _Deceit._ Arbor Vitæ _Unchanging Friendship. Live for me._ Arum (Wake Robin) _Ardour._ Ash-leaved Trumpet Flower _Separation._ Ash Tree _Grandeur._ Aspen Tree _Lamentation._ Aster (China) _Variety. Afterthought._ Asphodel _My regrets follow you to the grave._ Auricula _Painting._ Auricula, Scarlet _Avarice._ Austurtium _Splendour._ Azalea _Temperance._ [Illustration] [Illustration] Bachelor's Buttons _Celibacy._ Balm _Sympathy._ Balm, Gentle _Pleasantry._ Balm of Gilead _Cure. Relief._ Balsam, Red _Touch me not. Impatient resolves._ Balsam, Yellow _Impatience._ Barberry _Sourness of temper._ Barberry Tree _Sharpness._ Basil _Hatred._ Bay Leaf _I change but in death._ Bay (Rose) Rhododendron _Danger. Beware._ Bay Tree _Glory._ Bay Wreath _Reward of merit._ Bearded Crepis _Protection._ Beech Tree _Prosperity._ Bee Orchis _Industry._ Bee Ophrys _Error._ Belladonna _Silence_ Bell Flower, Pyramidal _Constancy._ Bell Flower (small white) _Gratitude._ Belvedere _I declare against you._ Betony _Surprise._ Bilberry _Treachery._ Bindweed, Great _Insinuation._ Bindweed, Small _Humility._ Birch _Meekness._ Birdsfoot Trefoil _Revenge._ Bittersweet; Nightshade _Truth._ Black Poplar _Courage._ Blackthorn _Difficulty._ Bladder Nut Tree _Frivolity. Amusement._ Bluebottle (Centaury) _Delicacy._ Bluebell _Constancy._ Blue-flowered Greek Valerian _Rupture._ Borus Henricus _Goodness._ Borage _Bluntness._ Box Tree _Stoicism._ Bramble _Lowliness. Envy. Remorse._ Branch of Currants _You please all._ Branch of Thorns _Severity. Rigour._ Bridal Rose _Happy love._ Broom _Humility. Neatness._ Buckbean _Calm repose._ Bud of White Rose _Heart ignorant of love._ Bugloss _Falsehood._ Bulrush _Indiscretion. Docility._ Bundle of Reeds, with their Panicles _Music._ Burdock _Importunity. Touch me not._ Buttercup (Kingcup) _Ingratitude. Childishness._ Butterfly Orchis _Gaiety._ Butterfly Weed _Let me go._ [Illustration] [Illustration] Cabbage _Profit._ Cacalia _Adulation._ Cactus _Warmth._ Calla Æthiopica _Magnificent Beauty._ Calycanthus _Benevolence._ Camellia Japonica, Red _Unpretending excellence._ Camellia Japonica, White _Perfected loveliness._ Camomile _Energy in adversity._ Canary Grass _Perseverance._ Candytuft _Indifference._ Canterbury Bell _Acknowledgement._ Cape Jasmine _I'm too happy._ Cardamine _Paternal error._ Carnation, Deep Red _Alas! for my poor heart._ Carnation, Striped _Refusal._ Carnation, Yellow _Disdain._ [Illustration] Cardinal Flower _Distinction._ Catchfly _Snare._ Catchfly, Red _Youthful love._ Catchfly, White _Betrayed._ Cedar _Strength._ Cedar of Lebanon _Incorruptible._ Cedar Leaf _I live for thee._ Celandine (Lesser) _Joys to come._ Cereus (Creeping) _Modest genius._ Centaury _Delicacy._ Champignon _Suspicion._ Chequered Fritillary _Persecution._ Cherry Tree _Good education._ Cherry Tree, White _Deception._ Chesnut Tree _Do me justice. Luxury._ Chickweed _Rendezvous._ Chicory _Frugality._ China Aster _Variety._ China Aster, Double _I partake your sentiments._ China Aster, Single _I will think of it._ China or Indian Pink _Aversion._ China Rose _Beauty always new._ Chinese Chrysanthemum _Cheerfulness under adversity._ Christmas Rose _Relieve my anxiety._ Chrysanthemum, Red _I love._ Chrysanthemum, White _Truth._ Chrysanthemum, Yellow _Slighted love._ Cinquefoil _Maternal affection._ Circæa _Spell._ Cistus, or Rock Rose _Popular favour._ Cistus, Gum _I shall die to-morrow._ Citron _Ill-natured beauty._ Clematis _Mental beauty._ Clematis, Evergreen _Poverty._ Clotbur _Rudeness. Pertinacity._ Cloves _Dignity._ Clover, Four-leaved _Be mine._ Clover, Red _Industry._ Clover, White _Think of me._ Cobæa _Gossip._ Cockscomb Amaranth _Foppery. Affectation. Singularity._ Colchicum, or Meadow Saffron _My best days are past._ Coltsfoot _Justice shall be done._ Columbine _Folly._ Columbine, Purple _Resolved to win._ Columbine, Red _Anxious and trembling._ Convolvulus _Bonds._ Convolvulus, Blue (Minor) _Repose. Night._ Convolvulus, Major _Extinguished hopes._ Convolvulus, Pink _Worth sustained by judicious and tender affection._ Corchorus _Impatient of absence._ Coreopsis _Always cheerful._ Coreopsis Arkansa _Love at first sight._ Coriander _Hidden worth._ Corn _Riches._ Corn, Broken _Quarrel._ Corn Straw _Agreement._ Corn Bottle _Delicacy._ Corn Cockle _Gentility._ Cornel Tree _Duration._ Coronella _Success crown your wishes._ Cowslip _Pensiveness. Winning grace._ Cowslip, American _Divine beauty. You are my divinity._ Cranberry _Cure for heartache._ Creeping Cereus _Horror._ Cress _Stability. Power._ Crocus _Abuse not._ Crocus, Spring _Youthful gladness._ Crocus, Saffron _Mirth._ Crown Imperial _Majesty. Power._ [Illustration] [Illustration] Crowsbill _Envy._ Crowfoot _Ingratitude._ Crowfoot (Aconite-leaved) _Lustre._ Cuckoo Plant _Ardour._ Cudweed, American _Unceasing remembrance._ Currant _Thy frown will kill me._ Cuscuta _Meanness._ Cyclamen _Diffidence._ Cypress _Death. Mourning._ [Illustration] [Illustration] [Illustration] Daffodil _Regard._ Dahlia _Instability._ Daisy _Innocence._ Daisy, Garden _I share your sentiments_ Daisy, Michaelmas _Farewell._ Daisy, Party-coloured _Beauty._ Daisy, Wild _I will think of it._ Damask Rose _Brilliant complexion._ Dandelion _Rustic oracle._ Daphne Odora _Painting the lily._ Darnel (Ray grass) _Vice_ Dead Leaves _Sadness._ Dew Plant _A Serenade._ Dittany of Crete _Birth._ Dittany of Crete, White _Passion._ Dock _Patience._ Dodder of Thyme _Baseness._ Dogsbane _Deceit. Falsehood._ Dogwood _Durability._ Dragon Plant _Snare._ Dragonwort _Horror._ Dried Flax _Utility._ [Illustration] [Illustration] [Illustration] Ebony Tree _Blackness._ Eglantine (Sweetbrier) _Poetry. I wound to heal._ Elder _Zealousness._ Elm _Dignity._ Enchanter's Nightshade _Witchcraft. Sorcery._ Endive _Frugality._ Eupatorium _Delay._ Everflowering Candytuft _Indifference._ Evergreen Clematis _Poverty._ Evergreen Thorn _Solace in adversity._ Everlasting _Never-ceasing remembrance._ Everlasting Pea _Lasting pleasure._ [Illustration] [Illustration] Fennel _Worthy all praise. Strength._ Fern _Fascination._ Ficoides, Ice Plant _Your looks freeze me._ Fig _Argument._ Fig Marigold _Idleness._ Fig Tree _Prolific._ Filbert _Reconciliation._ Fir _Time._ Fir Tree _Elevation._ Flax _Domestic Industry. Fate. I feel your kindness._ Flax-leaved Goldy-locks _Tardiness._ Fleur-de-Lis _Flame. I burn._ Fleur-de-Luce _Fire._ Flowering Fern _Reverie._ Flowering Reed _Confidence in Heaven._ Flower-of-an-Hour _Delicate Beauty._ Fly Orchis _Error._ Flytrap _Deceit._ Fool's Parsley _Silliness._ Forget Me Not _True love. Forget me not._ Foxglove _Insincerity._ Foxtail Grass _Sporting._ French Honeysuckle _Rustic beauty._ French Marigold _Jealousy._ French Willow _Bravery and humanity._ Frog Ophrys _Disgust._ Fuller's Teasel _Misanthropy._ Fumitory _Spleen._ Fuchsia, Scarlet _Taste._ [Illustration] [Illustration] Garden Anemone _Forsaken._ Garden Chervil _Sincerity._ Garden Daisy _I partake your sentiments._ Garden Marigold _Uneasiness._ Garden Ranunculus _You are rich in attractions._ Garden Sage _Esteem._ Garland of Roses _Reward of virtue._ Germander Speedwell _Facility._ Geranium, Dark _Melancholy._ Geranium, Ivy _Bridal favour._ Geranium, Lemon _Unexpected meeting._ Geranium, Nutmeg _Expected meeting._ Geranium, Oak-leaved _True friendship._ Geranium, Pencilled _Ingenuity._ Geranium, Rose-scented _Preference._ Geranium, Scarlet _Contorting. Stupidity._ Geranium, Silver-leaved _Recall._ Geranium, Wild _Steadfast piety._ [Illustration] Gillyflower _Bonds of affection._ Glory Flower _Glorious beauty._ Goat's Rue _Reason._ Golden Rod _Precaution._ Gooseberry _Anticipation._ Gourd _Extent. Bulk._ Grape, Wild _Charity._ Grass _Submission. Utility._ Guelder Rose _Winter. Age._ [Illustration] [Illustration] Hand Flower Tree _Warning._ Harebell _Submission. Grief._ Hawkweed _Quicksightedness._ Hawthorn _Hope._ Hazel _Reconciliation._ Heath _Solitude._ Helenium _Tears._ Heliotrope _Devotion. Faithfulness._ Hellebore _Scandal. Calumny._ Helmet Flower (Monkshood) _Knight-errantry._ Hemlock _You will be my death._ Hemp _fate._ Henbane _Imperfection._ Hepatica _Confidence._ Hibiscus _Delicate beauty._ Holly _Foresight._ Holly Herb _Enchantment._ Hollyhock _Ambition. Fecundity._ Honesty _Honesty. Fascination._ Honey Flower _Love sweet and secret._ Honeysuckle _Generous and devoted affection._ Honeysuckle Coral _The colour of my fate._ Honeysuckle (French) _Rustic beauty._ Hop _Injustice._ Hornbeam _Ornament._ Horse Chesnut _Luxury._ Hortensia _You are cold._ Houseleek _Vivacity. Domestic industry._ Houstonia _Content._ Hoya _Sculpture._ Humble Plant _Despondency._ Hundred-leaved Rose _Dignity of mind._ Hyacinth _Sport. Game. Play._ Hyacinth, White _Unobtrusive loveliness._ Hydrangea _A boaster. Heartlessness._ Hyssop _Cleanliness._ [Illustration] [Illustration] Iceland Moss _Health._ Ice Plant _Your looks freeze me._ Imperial Montague _Power._ Indian Cress _Warlike trophy._ Indian Jasmine (Ipomoea) _Attachment._ Indian Pink (Double) _Always lovely._ Indian Plum _Privation._ Iris _Message._ Iris, German _Flame._ Ivy _Fidelity. Marriage._ Ivy, Sprig of, with tendrils _Assiduous to please._ [Illustration] [Illustration] Jacob's Ladder _Come down._ Japan Rose _Beauty is your only attraction._ Jasmine _Amiability._ Jasmine, Cape _Transport of joy._ Jasmine, Carolina _Separation._ Jasmine, Indian _I attach myself to you._ Jasmine, Spanish _Sensuality._ Jasmine, Yellow _Grace and elegance._ Jonquil _I desire a return of affection._ Judas Tree _Unbelief. Betrayal._ Juniper _Succour. Protection._ Justicia _The perfection of female loveliness._ [Illustration] Kennedia _Mental Beauty._ King-cups _Desire of Riches._ [Illustration] [Illustration] [Illustration] Laburnum _Forsaken. Pensive Beauty._ Lady's Slipper _Capricious Beauty. Win me and wear me._ Lagerstræmia, Indian _Eloquence._ Lantana _Rigour._ Larch _Audacity. Boldness._ Larkspur _Lightness. Levity._ Larkspur, Pink _Fickleness._ Larkspur, Purple _Haughtiness._ Laurel _Glory._ Laurel, Common, in flower _Perfidy._ Laurel, Ground _Perseverance._ Laurel, Mountain _Ambition._ Laurel-leaved Magnolia _Dignity._ Laurestina _A token. I die if neglected._ Lavender _Distrust._ Leaves (dead) _Melancholy._ Lemon _Zest._ Lemon Blossoms _Fidelity in lore._ Lettuce _Cold-heartedness._ Lichen _Dejection. Solitude._ [Illustration] Lilac, Field _Humility._ Lilac, Purple _First emotions of love._ Lilac, White _Youthful Innocence._ Lily, Day _Coquetry._ Lily, Imperial _Majesty._ Lily, White _Purity. Sweetness._ Lily, Yellow _Falsehood. Gaiety._ Lily of the Valley _Return of happiness._ Linden or Lime Trees _Conjugal love._ Lint _I feel my obligations._ Live Oak _Liberty._ Liverwort _Confidence._ Licorice, Wild _I declare against you._ Lobelia _Malevolence._ Locust Tree _Elegance._ Locust Tree (green) _Affection beyond the grave._ London Pride _Frivolity._ Lote Tree _Concord._ Lotus _Eloquence._ Lotus Flower _Estranged love._ Lotus Leaf _Recantation._ Love in a Mist _Perplexity._ Love lies Bleeding _Hopeless, not heartless._ Lucern _Life._ Lupine _Voraciousness. Imagination._ [Illustration] [Illustration] [Illustration] Madder _Calumny._ Magnolia _Love of Nature._ Magnolia, Swamp _Perseverance._ Mallow _Mildness._ Mallow, Marsh _Beneficence._ Mallow, Syrian _Consumed by love._ Mallow, Venetian _Delicate beauty._ Manchineal Tree _Falsehood._ Mandrake _Horror._ Maple _Reserve._ Marigold _Grief._ Marigold, African _Vulgar minds._ Marigold, French _Jealousy._ Marigold, Prophetic _Prediction._ Marigold and Cypress _Despair._ Marjoram _Blushes._ Marvel of Peru _Timidity._ [Illustration] [Illustration] [Illustration] Meadow Lychnis _Wit._ Meadow Saffron _My fast days are fast._ Meadowsweet _Uselessness._ Mercury _Goodness._ Mesembryanthemum _Idleness._ Mezereon _Desire to please._ Michaelmas Daisy _Afterthought._ Mignionette _Your qualities surpass your charms._ Milfoil _War._ Milkvetch _Your presence softens my pains._ Milkwort _Hermitage._ Mimosa (Sensitive Plant) _Sensitiveness._ Mint _Virtue._ Mistletoe _I surmount difficulties._ Mock Orange _Counterfeit._ Monkshood (Helmet Flower) _Chivalry. Knight-errantry._ Moonwort _Forgetfulness._ Morning Glory _Affectation._ Moschatel _Weakness._ Moss _Maternal love._ Mosses _Ennui._ Mossy Saxifrage _Affection._ Motherwort _Concealed love._ Mountain Ash _Prudence._ Mourning Bride _Unfortunate attachment. I have lost all._ Mouse-eared Chickweed _Ingenuous simplicity._ Mouse-eared Scorpion Grass _Forget me not._ Moving Plant _Agitation._ Mudwort _Tranquillity._ Mugwort _Happiness._ Mulberry Tree (Black) _I shall not survive you._ Mulberry Tree (White) _Wisdom._ Mushroom _Suspicion._ Musk Plant _Weakness._ Mustard Seed _Indifference._ Myrobalan _Privation._ Myrrh _Gladness._ Myrtle _Love._ [Illustration] [Illustration] [Illustration] Narcissus _Egotism._ Nasturtium _Patriotism._ Nettle, Burning _Slander._ Nettle Tree _Concert._ Night-blooming Cereus _Transient beauty._ Night Convolvulus _Night._ Nightshade _Truth._ [Illustration] [Illustration] [Illustration] Oak Leaves _Bravery._ Oak Tree _Hospitality._ Oak (White) _Independence._ Oats _The witching soul of music._ Oleander _Beware._ Olive _Peace._ Orange Blossoms _Your purity equals your loveliness._ Orange Flowers _Chastity. Bridal festivities._ Orange Tree _Generosity._ Orchis _A Belle._ Osier _Frankness._ Osmunda _Dreams._ Ox Eye _Patience._ [Illustration] [Illustration] Palm _Victory._ Pansy _Thoughts._ Parsley _Festivity._ Pasque Flower _You have no claims._ Passion Flower _Religious superstition._ Patience Dock _Patience._ Pea, Everlasting _An appointed meeting. Lasting Pleasure._ Pea, Sweet _Departure._ Peach _Your qualities, like your charms, are unequalled._ Peach Blossom _I am your captive._ Pear _Affection._ Pear Tree _Comfort._ Pennyroyal _Flee away._ Peony _Shame. Bashfulness._ Peppermint _Warmth of feeling._ Periwinkle, Blue _Early friendship._ Periwinkle, White _Pleasures of memory._ Persicaria _Restoration._ [Illustration] Persimon _Bury me amid Nature's beauties._ Peruvian Heliotrope _Devotion._ Pheasant's Eye _Remembrance._ Phlox _Unanimity._ Pigeon Berry _Indifference._ Pimpernel _Change. Assignation._ Pine _Pity._ Pine-apple _You are perfect._ Pine, Pitch _Philosophy._ Pine, Spruce _Hope in adversity._ Pink _Boldness._ Pink, Carnation _Woman's love._ Pink, Indian, Double _Always lovely._ Pink, Indian, Single _Aversion._ Pink, Mountain _Aspiring._ Pink, Red, Double _Pure and ardent love._ Pink, Single _Pure love._ Pink, Variegated _Refusal._ Pink, White _Ingeniousness. Talent._ Plane Tree _Genius._ Plum, Indian _Privation._ Plum Tree _Fidelity._ Plum, Wild _Independence._ Polyanthus _Pride of riches._ Polyanthus, Crimson _The heart's mystery._ Polyanthus, Lilac _Confidence._ Pomegranate _Foolishness._ Pomegranate, Flower _Mature elegance._ Poplar, Black _Courage._ Poplar, White _Time._ Poppy, Red _Consolation._ Poppy, Scarlet _Fantastic extravagance._ Poppy, White _Sleep. My bane. My antidote._ Potato _Benevolence._ Prickly Pear _Satire._ Pride of China _Dissension._ Primrose _Early youth._ Primrose, Evening _Inconstancy._ Primrose, Red _Unpatronized merit._ Privet _Prohibition._ Purple Clover _Provident._ Pyrus Japonica _Fairies' fire._ [Illustration] [Illustration] [Illustration] Quaking-Grass _Agitation._ Quamoclit _Busybody._ Queen's Rocket _You are the queen of coquettes. Fashion._ Quince _Temptation._ [Illustration] [Illustration] Ragged Robin _Wit._ Ranunculus _You are radiant with charms._ Ranunculus, Garden _You are rich in attractions._ Ranunculus, Wild _Ingratitude._ Raspberry _Remorse._ Ray Grass _Vice._ Red Catchfly _Youthful lore._ Reed _Complaisance. Music._ Reed, Split _Indiscretion._ Rhododendron (Rosebay) _Danger. Beware._ Rhubarb _Advice._ Rocket _Rivalry._ Rose _Love._ Rose, Austrian _Thou art all that is lovely._ Rose, Bridal _Happy love._ Rose, Burgundy _Unconscious beauty._ Rose, Cabbage _Ambassador of love._ Rose, Campion _Only deserve my love._ Rose, Carolina _Love is dangerous._ Rose, China _Beauty always new._ Rose, Christmas _Tranquillize my anxiety._ [Illustration] [Illustration] Rose, Daily _Thy smile I aspire to._ Rose, Damask _Brilliant complexion._ Rose, Deep Red _Bashful shame._ Rose, Dog _Pleasure and pain._ Rose, Guelder _Winter. Age._ Rose, Hundred-leaved _Pride._ Rose, Japan _Beauty is your only attraction._ Rose, Maiden Blush _If you love me, you will find it out._ Rose, Multiflora _Grace._ Rose, Mundi _Variety._ Rose, Musk _Capricious beauty._ Rose, Musk, Cluster _Charming._ Rose, Single _Simplicity._ Rose, Thornless _Early attachment._ Rose, Unique _Call me not beautiful._ Rose, White _I am worthy of you._ Rose, White (withered) _Transient impressions._ Rose, Yellow _Decrease of love. Jealously._ Rose, York and Lancaster _War._ Rose, Full-blown, placed over two Buds _Secrecy._ Rose, White and Red together _Unity._ Roses, Crown of _Reward of virtue._ Rosebud, Red _Pure and lovely._ Rosebud, White _Girlhood._ Rosebud, Moss _Confession of love._ Rosebay (Rhododendron) _Beware. Danger._ Rosemary _Remembrance._ Rudbeckia _Justice._ Rue _Disdain._ Rush _Docility._ Rye Grass _Changeable disposition_ [Illustration] [Illustration] Saffron _Beware of excess._ Saffron Crocus _Mirth._ Saffron, Meadow _My happiest days are past._ Sage _Domestic virtue._ Sage, Garden _Esteem._ Sainfoin _Agitation._ Saint John's Wort _Animosity. Superstition._ Sardony _Irony._ Saxifrage, Mossy _Affection._ Scabious _Unfortunate love._ Scabious, Sweet _Widowhood._ Scarlet Lychnis _Sunbeaming eyes._ Schinus _Religions enthusiasm._ Scotch Fir _Elevation._ Sensitive Plant _Sensibility. Delicate feelings._ Senvy _Indifference._ Shamrock _Light heartedness._ Snakesfoot _Horror._ [Illustration] [Illustration] [Illustration] Snapdragon _Presumption._ Snowball _Bound._ Snowdrop _Hope._ Sorrel _Affection._ Sorrel, Wild _Wit ill-timed._ Sorrel, Wood _Joy._ Southernwood _Jest. Bantering._ Spanish Jasmine _Sensuality._ Spearmint _Warmth of sentiment._ Speedwell _Female fidelity._ Speedwell, Germander _Facility._ Speedwell, Spiked _Semblance._ Spider, Ophrys _Adroitness._ Spiderwort _Esteem not love._ Spiked Willow Herb _Pretension._ Spindle Tree _Your charms are engraven on my heart._ Star of Bethlehem _Purity._ Starwort _Afterthought._ Starwort, American _Cheerfulness in old age._ Stock _Lasting beauty._ Stock, Ten Week _Promptness._ Stonecrop _Tranquillity._ Straw, Broken _Rupture of a contract._ Straw, Whole _Union._ Strawberry Tree _Esteem and love._ Sumach, Venice _Splendour. Intellectual excellence._ Sunflower, Dwarf _Adoration._ Sunflower, Tall _Haughtiness._ Swallow-wort _Cure for heartache._ Sweet Basil _Good wishes._ Sweetbrier, American _Simplicity._ Sweetbrier, European _I wound to heal._ Sweetbrier, Yellow _Decrease of love._ Sweet Pea _Delicate pleasures._ Sweet Sultan _Felicity._ Sweet William _Gallantry._ Sycamore _Curiosity._ Syringa _Memory._ Syringa, Carolina _Disappointment._ [Illustration] [Illustration] Tamarisk _Crime._ Tansy (Wild) _I declare war against you._ Teasel _Misanthropy._ Tendrils of Climbing Plants _Ties._ Thistle, Common _Austerity._ Thistle, Fuller's _Misanthropy_ Thistle, Scotch _Retaliation._ Thorn Apple _Deceitful charms._ Thorn, Branch of _Severity._ Thrift _Sympathy._ Throatwort _Neglected beauty._ Thyme _Activity._ Tiger Flower _For once may pride befriend me._ Traveller's Joy _Safety._ Tree of Life _Old age._ Trefoil _Revenge._ Tremella Nestoc _Resistance._ Trillium Pictum _Modest beauty._ Truffle _Surprise._ Trumpet Flower _Fame._ Tuberose _Dangerous pleasures._ Tulip _Fame._ Tulip, Red _Declaration of love._ Tulip, Variegated _Beautiful eyes._ Tulip, Yellow _Hopeless love._ Turnip _Charity._ Tussilage (Sweet-scented) _Justice shall be done you._ [Illustration] [Illustration] [Illustration] Valerian _An accommodating disposition._ Valerian, Greek _Rupture._ Venice Sumach _Intellectual excellence. Splendour._ Venus' Car _Fly with me._ Venus' Looking-glass _Flattery._ Venus' Trap _Deceit._ Vernal Grass _Poor, but happy._ Veronica _Fidelity._ Vervain _Enchantment._ Vine _Intoxication._ Violet, Blue _Faithfulness._ Violet, Dame _Watchfulness._ Violet, Sweet _Modesty._ Violet, Yellow _Rural happiness._ Virginian Spiderwort _Momentary happiness._ Virgin's Bower _Filial love._ Volkamenia _May you be happy._ [Illustration] [Illustration] [Illustration] Walnut _Intellect. Stratagem._ Wall-flower _Fidelity in adversity._ Water Lily _Purity of heart._ Water Melon _Bulkiness._ Wax Plant _Susceptibility._ Wheat Stalk _Riches._ Whin _Anger._ White Jasmine _Amiableness._ White Lily _Purity and Modesty._ White Mullein _Good nature._ White Oak _Independence._ White Pink _Talent._ White Poplar _Time._ White Rose (dried) _Death preferable to loss of innocence._ Whortleberry _Treason._ Willow, Creeping _Love forsaken._ Willow, Water _Freedom._ Willow, Weeping _Mourning._ Willow-Herb _Pretension._ Willow, French _Bravery and humanity._ Winter Cherry _Deception._ Witch Hazel _A spell._ Woodbine _Fraternal love._ Wood Sorrel _Joy. Maternal tenderness._ Wormwood _Absence._ [Illustration] [Illustration] Xanthium _Rudeness. Pertinacity._ Xeranthemum _Cheerfulness under adversity._ [Illustration] Yew _Sorrow._ [Illustration] [Illustration] Zephyr Flower _Expectation._ Zinnia _Thoughts of absent friends._ [Illustration] [Illustration] Absence _Wormwood._ Abuse not _Crocus._ Acknowledgment _Canterbury Bell._ Activity _Thyme._ Admiration _Amethyst._ Adoration _Dwarf Sunflower_ Adroitness _Spider Ophrys._ Adulation _Cacalia._ Advice _Rhubarb._ Affection _Mossy Saxifrage._ Affection _Pear._ Affection _Sorrel._ Affection beyond the grave _Green Locust._ Affection, maternal _Cinquefoil._ Affectation _Cockscomb Amaranth._ Affectation _Morning Glory._ Afterthought _Michaelmas Daisy._ Afterthought _Starwort._ Afterthought _China Aster._ Agreement _Straw._ Age _Guelder Rose._ Agitation _Moving Plant._ Agitation _Sainfoin._ Alas! for my poor heart _Deep Red Carnation._ Always cheerful _Coreopsis._ Always lovely _Indian Pink (double)._ Ambassador of love _Cabbage Rose._ Amiability _Jasmine._ Anger _Whin._ Animosity _St. John's Wort._ Anticipation _Gooseberry._ Anxious and trembling _Red Columbine._ Ardour _Cuckoo Plant._ Argument _Fig._ Arts or artifice _Acanthus._ Assiduous to please _Sprig of Ivy with tendrils._ Assignation _Pimpernel._ Attachment _Indian Jasmine._ Audacity _Larch._ Avarice _Scarlet Auricula._ Aversion _China or Indian Pink._ Bantering _Southern-wood._ Baseness _Dodder of Thyme._ Bashfulness _Peony._ Bashful shame _Deep Red Rose._ Beautiful eyes _Variegated Tulip._ Beauty _Party-coloured Daisy._ Beauty always new _China Rose._ Beauty, capricious _Lady's Slipper._ Beauty, capricious _Musk Rose._ Beauty, delicate _Flower of an Hour._ Beauty, delicate _Hibiscus._ Beauty, divine _American Cowslip._ Beauty, glorious _Glory Flower._ Beauty, lasting _Stock._ Beauty, magnificent _Calla Æthiopica._ Beauty, mental _Clematis._ Beauty, modest _Trillium Pictum._ Beauty, neglected _Throatwort._ Beauty, pensive _Laburnum._ Beauty, rustic _French Honeysuckle._ Beauty, unconscious _Burgundy Rose._ Beauty is your only attraction _Japan Rose._ Belle _Orchis._ Be mine _Four-leaved Clover._ Beneficence _Marshmallow._ Benevolence _Potato._ Betrayed _White Catchfly._ Beware _Oleander._ Beware _Rosebay._ Blackness _Ebony Tree._ Bluntness _Borage._ Blushes _Marjoram._ Boaster _Hydrangea._ Boldness _Pink._ Bonds _Convolvulus._ Bonds of Affection _Gillyflower._ Bravery _Oak Leaves._ Bravery and humanity _French Willow._ Bridal favour _Ivy Geranium._ Brilliant complexion _Damask Rose._ Bulk _Water Melon. Gourd._ Busybody _Quamoclit._ Bury me amid Nature's beauties _Persimon._ Call me not beautiful _Rose Unique._ Calm repose _Buckbean._ Calumny _Hellebore._ Calumny _Madder._ Change _Pimpernel._ Changeable disposition _Rye Grass._ Charity _Turnip._ Charming _Cluster of Musk Roses._ Charms, deceitful _Thorn Apple._ Cheerfulness in old age _American Starwort._ Cheerfulness under adversity _Chinese Chrysanthemum._ Chivalry _Monkskood (Helmet Flower)._ Cleanliness _Hyssop._ Coldheartedness _Lettuce._ Coldness _Agnus Castus._ Colour of my life _Coral Honeysuckle._ Come down _Jacob's Ladder._ Comfort _Pear Tree._ Comforting _Scarlet Geranium._ Compassion _Allspice._ Concealed love _Motherwort._ Concert _Nettle Tree._ Concord _Lote Tree._ Confession of love _Moss Rosebud._ Confidence _Hepatica._ Confidence _Lilac Polyanthus._ Confidence _Liverwort._ Confidence in Heaven _Flowering Reed._ Conjugal love _Lime, or Linden Tree._ Consolation _Red Poppy._ Constancy _Bluebell._ Consumed by love _Syrian Mallow._ Counterfeit _Mock Orange._ Courage _Black Poplar._ Crime _Tamarisk._ Cure _Balm of Gilead._ Cure for heartache _Swallow-wort._ Curiosity _Sycamore._ Danger _Rhododendron. Rosebay._ Dangerous Pleasures _Tuberose._ Death _Cypress._ Death preferable to loss of innocence _White Rate (dried)._ Deceit _Apocynum._ Deceit _Flytrap._ Deceit _Dogsbane._ Deceitful charms _Thorn Apple._ Deception _White Cherry Tree._ Declaration of love _Red Tulip._ Decrease of love _Yellow Rose._ Delay _Eupatorium._ Delicacy _Bluebottle. Centaury._ Dejection _Lichen._ Desire to please _Mezereon._ Despair _Cypress._ Despondency _Humble Plant._ Devotion _Peruvian Heliotrope._ Difficulty _Blackthorn._ Dignity _Cloves._ Dignity _Laurel-leaved Magnolia._ Disappointment _Carolina Syringa._ Disdain _Yellow Carnation._ Disdain _Rue._ Disgust _Frog Ophrys._ Dissension _Pride of China._ Distinction _Cardinal Flower._ Distrust _Lavender._ Divine beauty _American Cowslip._ Docility _Rush._ Domestic industry _Flax._ Domestic virtue _Sage._ Durability _Dogwood._ Duration _Cornel Tree._ Early attachment _Thornless Rose_ Early friendship _Blue Periwinkle._ Early youth _Primrose._ Elegance _Locust Tree._ Elegance and grace _Yellow Jasmine._ Elevation _Scotch Fir._ Eloquence _Indian Lagerstræmia._ Enchantment _Holly Herb._ Enchantment _Vervain._ Energy in adversity _Camomile._ Envy _Bramble._ Error _Bee Ophrys._ Error _Fly Orchis._ Esteem _Garden Sage._ Esteem not love _Spiderwort._ Esteem and love _Strawberry Tree._ Estranged love _Lotus Flower._ Excellence _Camellia Japonica._ Expectation _Anemone._ Expectation _Zephyr Flower._ Expected meeting _Nutmeg Geranium._ Extent _Gourd._ Extinguished hopes _Major Convolvulus._ Facility _Germander Speedwell._ Fairies' fire _Pyrus Japonica._ Faithfulness _Blue Violet._ Faithfulness _Heliotrope._ Falsehood _Buglass._ Falsehood _Yellow Lily._ Falsehood _Manchineal Tree._ Fame _Tulip. Trumpet Flower._ Fame speaks him great and good _Apple Blossom._ Fantastic extravagance _Scarlet Poppy._ Farewell _Michaelmas Daisy._ Fascination _Fern._ Fascination _Honesty._ Fashion _Queen's Rocket._ Fecundity _Hollyhock._ Felicity _Sweet Sultan._ Female fidelity _Speedwell._ Festivity _Parsley._ Fickleness _Abatina._ Fickleness _Pink Larkspur._ Filial love _Virgin's bower._ Fidelity _Veronica. Ivy._ Fidelity _Plum Tree._ Fidelity in adversity _Wall-flower._ Fidelity in love _Lemon Blossoms._ Fire _Fleur-de-Luce._ First emotions of love _Purple Lilac._ Flame _Fleur-de-lis. Iris._ Flattery _Venus' Looking-glass._ Flee away _Pennyroyal._ Fly with me _Venus' Car._ Folly _Columbine._ Foppery _Cockscomb Amaranth._ Foolishness _Pomegranate._ Foresight _Holly._ Forgetfulness _Moonwort._ Forget me not _Forget Me Not._ For once may pride befriend me _Tiger Flower._ Forsaken _Garden Anemone._ Forsaken _Laburnum._ Frankness _Osier._ Fraternal love _Woodbine._ Freedom _Water Willow._ Freshness _Damask Rose._ Friendship _Acacia._ Friendship, early _Blue Periwinkle._ Friendship, true _Oak-leaved Geranium._ Friendship, unchanging _Arbor Vitæ._ Frivolity _London Pride._ Frugality _Chicory. Endive._ Gaiety _Butterfly Orchis._ Gaiety _Yellow Lily._ Gallantry _Sweet William._ Generosity _Orange Tree._ Generous and devoted affection _French Honeysuckle._ Genius _Plane Tree._ Gentility _Corn Cockle._ Girlhood _White Rosebud._ Gladness _Myrrh._ Glory _Bay Tree._ Glory _Laurel._ Glorious beauty _Glory Flower._ Goodness _Bonus Henricus._ Goodness _Mercury._ Good education _Cherry Tree._ Good wishes _Sweet Basil._ Goodnature _White Mullein._ Gossip _Cobæa._ Grace _Multiflora Rose._ Grace and elegance _Yellow Jasmine._ Grandeur _Ash Tree_ Gratitude _Small White Bell-flower._ Grief _Harebell._ Grief _Marigold._ Happy love _Bridal Rose._ Hatred _Basil._ Haughtiness _Purple Larkspur._ Haughtiness _Tall Sunflower._ Health _Iceland Moss._ Hermitage _Milkwort._ Hidden worth _Coriander._ Honesty _Honesty._ Hope _Flowering Almond._ Hope _Hawthorn._ Hope _Snowdrop._ Hope in adversity _Spruce Pine._ Hopeless love _Yellow Tulip._ Hopeless, not heartless _Love Lies Bleating._ Horror _Mandrake._ Horror _Dragonswort._ Horror _Snakesfoot._ Hospitality _Oak Tree._ Humility _Broom._ Humility _Small Bindweed._ Humility _Field Lilac._ I am too happy _Cape Jasmine._ I am your captive _Peach Blossom._ I am worthy of you _White Rose._ I change but in death _Bay Leaf._ I declare against you _Belvedere._ I declare against you _Liquorice._ I declare war against you _Wild Tansy._ I die if neglected _Laurestina._ I desire a return of affection _Jonquil._ I feel my obligations _Lint._ I feel your kindness _Flax._ I have lost all _Mourning Bride._ I live for thee _Cedar Leaf._ I love _Red Chrysanthemum._ I partake of your sentiments _Double China Aster._ I partake your sentiments _Garden Daisy._ I shall die to-morrow _Gum Cistus._ I shall not survive you _Black Mulberry._ I surmount difficulties _Mistletoe._ I will think of it _Single China Aster._ I will think of it _Wild Daisy._ I wound to heal _Eglantine (Sweetbrier)._ If you love me, you will find it out _Maiden Blush Rose._ Idleness _Mesembryanthemum._ Ill-natured beauty _Citron._ Imagination _Lupine._ Immortality _Amaranth (Globe)._ Impatience _yellow Balsam._ Impatient of absence _Corchorus._ Impatient resolves _Red Balsam._ Imperfection _Henbane._ Importunity _Burdock._ Inconstancy _Evening Primrose._ Incorruptible _Cedar of Lebanon._ Independence _Wild Plum Tree._ Independence _White Oak._ Indifference _Everflowering Candytuft._ Indifference _Mustard Seed._ Indifference _Pigeon Berry._ Indifference _Senvy._ Indiscretion _Split Reed._ Industry _Red Clover._ Industry, Domestic _Flax._ Ingenuousness _White Pink._ Ingenuity _Pencilled Geranium._ Ingenuous simplicity _Mouse-eared Chickweed._ Ingratitude _Crowfoot._ Innocence _Daisy._ Insincerity _Foxglove._ Insinuation _Great Bindweed._ Inspiration _Angelica._ Instability _Dahlia._ Intellect _Walnut._ Intoxication _Vine._ Irony _Sardony._ Jealousy _French Marigold._ Jealousy _Yellow Rose._ Jest _Southernwood._ Joy _Wood Sorrel._ Joys to come _Lesser Celandine._ Justice _Rudbeckia._ Justice shall be done to you _Coltsfoot._ Justice shall be done to you _Sweet-scented Tussilage._ Knight-errantry _Helmet Flower (Monkshood)._ Lamentation _Aspon Tree._ Lasting beauty _Stock._ Lasting pleasures _Everlasting Pea._ Let me go _Butterfly Weed._ Levity _Larkspur._ Liberty _Live Oak._ Life _Lucern._ Lightheartedness _Shamrock._ Lightness _Larkspur._ Live for me _Arbor Vitæ._ Love _Myrtle._ Love _Rose._ Love, forsaken _Creeping Willow._ Love, returned _Ambrosia._ Love is dangerous _Carolina Rose._ Lustre _Aconite-leaved Crowfoot, or Fair Maid of France._ Luxury _Chesnut Tree._ Magnificent beauty _Calla, Æthiopica._ Majesty _Crown Imperial._ Malevolence _Lobelia._ Marriage _Ivy._ Maternal affection _Cinquefoil._ Maternal love _Moss._ Maternal tenderness _Wood Sorrel._ Matrimony _American Linden._ May you be happy _Volkamenia_ Meanness _Cuscuta._ Meekness _Birch._ Melancholy _Dark Geranium._ Melancholy _Dead Leaves._ Mental beauty _Clematis._ Mental beauty _Kennedia._ Message _Iris._ Mildness _Mallow._ Mirth _Saffron Crocus._ Misanthropy _Aconite (Wolfsbane)._ Misanthropy _Fuller's Teasel._ Modest beauty _Trillium Pictum._ Modest genius _Creeping Cereus._ Modesty _Violet._ Modesty and purity _White Lily._ Momentary happiness _Virginian Spiderwort._ Mourning _Weeping Willow_ Music _Bundles of Reed with their panicles._ My best days are past _Colchicum, or Meadow Saffron._ My regrets follow you to the grave _Asphodel._ Neatness _Broom._ Neglected beauty _Throatwort._ Never-ceasing remembrance _Everlasting._ Old age _Tree of Life._ Only deserve my love _Campion Rose._ Painful recollections _Flos Adonis._ Painting _Auricula._ Painting the lily _Daphne Odora._ Passion _White Dittany._ Paternal error _Cardamine._ Patience _Dock. Ox Eye._ Patriotism _American Elm._ Patriotism _Nasturtium._ Peace _Olive._ Perfected loveliness _Camellia Japonica, White._ Perfidy _Common Laurel, in flower._ Pensive beauty _Laburnum._ Perplexity _Love in a Mist._ Persecution _Chequered Fritillary._ Perseverance _Swamp Magnolia._ Persuasion _Althea Frutex._ Persuasion _Syrian Mallow._ Pertinacity _Clotbur._ Pity _Pine._ Pleasure and pain _Dog Rose._ Pleasure, lasting _Everlasting Pea._ Pleasures of memory _White Periwinkle._ Popular favour _Cistus, or Rock Rose._ Poverty _Evergreen Clematis._ Power _Imperial Montague._ Power _Cress._ Precaution _Golden Rod._ Prediction _Prophetic Marigold._ Pretension _Spited Willow Herb._ Pride _Amaryllis._ Pride _Hundred-leaved Rose._ Privation _Indian Plum._ Privation _Myrobalan._ Profit _Cabbage._ Prohibition _Privet._ Prolific _Fig Tree._ Promptness _Ten-week Stock._ Prosperity _Beech Tree._ Protection _Bearded Crepis._ Prudence _Mountain Ash._ Pure love _Single Red Pink._ Pure and ardent love _Double Red Pink._ Pure and lovely _Red Rosebud._ Purity _Star of Bethlehem._ Quarrel _Broken Corn-straw._ Quicksightedness _Hawk-weed._ Reason _Goat's Rue._ Recantation _Lotus Leaf._ Recall _Silver-leaved Geranium._ Reconciliation _Filbert._ Reconciliation _Hazel._ Refusal _Striped Carnation._ Regard _Daffodil._ Relief _Balm of Gilead._ Relieve my anxiety _Christmas Rose._ Religious superstition _Aloe._ Religious superstition _Passion Flower._ Religious enthusiasm _Schinus._ Remembrance _Rosemary._ Remorse _Bramble._ Remorse _Raspberry._ Rendezvous _Chickweed._ Reserve _Maple._ Resistance _Tremella Nestoc._ Restoration _Persicaria._ Retaliation _Scotch Thistle._ Return of happiness _Lily of the Valley._ Revenge _Birdsfoot Trefoil._ Reverie _Flowering Fern._ Reward of merit _Bay Wreath._ Reward of virtue _Garland of Roses._ Riches _Corn._ Rigour _Lantana._ Rivalry _Rocket._ Rudeness _Clotbur._ Rudeness _Xanthium._ Rural happiness _Yellow Violet._ Rustic beauty _French Honeysuckle._ Rustic oracle _Dandelion._ Sadness _Dead Leaves._ Safety _Traveller's Joy._ Satire _Prickly Pear._ Sculpture _Hoya._ Secret Love _Yellow Acacia._ Semblance _Spiked Speedwell._ Sensitiveness _Mimosa._ Sensuality _Spanish Jasmine._ Separation _Carolina Jasmine._ Severity _Branch of Thorns._ Shame _Peony._ Sharpness _Barberry Tree._ Sickness _Anemone (Zephyr Flower)._ Silliness _Fool's Parsley._ Simplicity _American Sweetbrier._ Sincerity _Garden Chervil._ Slighted love _Yellow Chrysanthemum._ Snare _Catchfly. Dragon Plant._ Solitude _Heath._ Sorrow _Yew._ Sourness of Temper _Barberry._ Spell _Circæa._ Spleen _Fumitory._ Splendid beauty _Amaryllis._ Splendour _Austurtium._ Sporting _Fox-tail Grass._ Stedfast Piety _Wild Geranium._ Stoicism _Box Tree._ Strength _Cedar. Fennel._ Submission _Grass._ Submission _Harebell._ Success crown your wishes _Coronella._ Succour _Juniper._ Sunbeaming eyes _Scarlet Lychnis._ Surprise _Truffle._ Susceptibility _Wax Plant._ Suspicion _Champignon._ Sympathy _Balm._ Sympathy _Thrift._ Talent _White Pink._ Tardiness _Flax-leaved Goldy-locks._ Taste _Scarlet Fuchsia._ Tears _Helenium._ Temperance _Azalea._ Temptation _Apple._ Thankfulness _Agrimony._ The colour of my fate _Coral Honeysuckle._ The heart's mystery _Crimson Polyanthus._ The perfection of female loveliness _Justicia._ The witching soul of music _Oats._ Thoughts _Pansy._ Thoughts of absent friends _Zinnia._ Thy frown wilt kill me _Currant._ Thy smile I aspire to _Daily Rose._ Ties _Tendrils of Climbing Plants._ Timidity _Amaryllis._ Timidity _Marvel of Peru._ Time _White Poplar._ Tranquillity _Mudwort._ Tranquillity _Stonecrop._ Tranquillize my anxiety _Christmas Rose._ Transient beauty _Night-blooming Cereus._ Transient impressions _Withered White Rose._ Transport of joy _Cape Jasmine._ Treachery _Bilberry._ True love _Forget Me Not._ True Friendship _Oak-leaved Geranium._ Truth _Bittersweet Nightshade._ Truth _White Chrysanthemum._ Unanimity _Phlox._ Unbelief _Judas Tree._ Unceasing remembrance _American Cudweed._ Unchanging friendship _Arbor Vitæ._ Unconscious beauty _Burgundy Rose._ Unexpected meeting _Lemon Geranium._ Unfortunate attachment _Mourning Bride._ Unfortunate love _Scabious._ Union _Whole Straw._ Unity _White and Red Rose together._ Unpatronized merit _Red Primrose._ Uselessness _Meadowsweet._ Utility _Grass._ Variety _China Aster._ Variety _Mundi Rose._ Vice _Darnel (Ray Grass)._ Victory _Palm._ Virtue _Mint._ Virtue, Domestic _Sage._ Volubility _Abecedary,_ Voraciousness _Lupine._ Vulgar Minds _African Marigold._ War _York and Lancaster Rose._ War _Achillea Millefolia._ Warlike trophy _Indian Cress._ Warmth of feeling _Peppermint._ Watchfulness _Dame Violet._ Weakness _Moschatel_ Weakness _Musk Plant._ Welcome to a stranger _American Starwort._ Widowhood _Sweet Scabious._ Win me and wear me _Lady's Slipper._ Winning grace _Cowslip._ Winter _Guelder Rose._ Wit _Meadow Lychnis._ Wit ill-timed _Wild Sorrel._ Witchcraft _Enchanter's Nightshade._ Worth beyond beauty _Sweet Alyssum._ Worth sustained by judicious and tender affection _Pink Convolvulus._ Worthy all praise _Fennel._ You are cold _Hortensia._ You are my divinity _American Cowslip._ You are perfect _Pine Apple._ You are radiant with charms _Ranunculus._ You are rich in attractions _Garden Ranunculus._ You are the queen of coquettes _Queen's Rocket._ You have no claims _Pasque Flower._ You please all _Branch of Currants._ You will be my death. _Hemlock._ Your charms are engraven on my heart _Spindle Tree._ Your looks freeze me _Ice Plant._ Your presence softens my pains _Milkvetch._ Your purity equals your loveliness _Orange Blossoms._ Your qualities, like your charms, are unequalled _Peach._ Your qualities surpass your charms _Mignionette._ Youthful innocence _White Lilac._ Youthful love _Red Catchfly._ Zealousness _Elder._ Zest _Lemon._ _DAFFODILS._ I WANDERED lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host of golden Daffodils; Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle in the milky way, They stretched in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay: Ten thousand saw I at a glance, Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. The waves beside them danced; but they Outdid the sparkling waves in glee; A poet could not but be gay, In such a jocund company; I gazed and gazed, but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought! For oft when on my couch I lie, In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the Daffodils. WORDSWORTH. _THE ROSE._ Go, lovely Rose! Tell her that wastes her time on me, That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be. Tell her that's young. And shuns to have her graces spied, That hadst thou sprung In deserts where no men abide, Thou must have uncommended died. Small is the worth Of beauty from the light retired; Bid her come forth, Suffer herself to be desired, And not blush so to be admired. Then die, that she The common fate of all things rare May read in thee; How small a part of time they share That are so wondrous sweet and fair, Yet, though thou fade, From thy dead leaves let fragrance rise And teach the maid That goodness Time's rude hand defies; That virtue lives when beauty dies. WALLER. _THE SENSITIVE PLANT._ A SENSITIVE Plant in a garden grew, And the young winds fed it with silver dew, And it opened its fan-like leaves to the light, And closed them beneath the kisses of Night. * * * But none ever trembled and panted with bliss In the garden, the field, or the wilderness, Like doe in the noontide with love's sweet want, As the companionless Sensitive Plant. The snowdrop, and then the violet, Arose from the ground with warm rain wet, And their breath was mixed with fresh odour, sent, From the turf, like the voice and the instrument. Then the pied wind-flowers and the tulip tall, And narcissi, the fairest among them all, Who gaze on their eyes in the stream's recess, Till they die of their own dear loveliness. And the naiad-like lily of the vale. Whom youth makes so fair and passion so pale, That the light of its tremulous bells is seen Through their pavilions of tender green; And the hyacinth purple, and white, and blue, Which flung from its bells a sweet peal anew Of music so delicate, soft and intense, It was felt like an odour within the sense! And the rose like a nymph to the bath addrest, Which unveiled the depth of her glowing breast, Till, fold after fold, to the fainting air The soul of her beauty and love lay bare; And the wand-like lily, which lifted up, As a Mænad, its moonlight-coloured cup, Till the fiery star, which is its eye, Gazed through the clear dew on the tender sky; And the jessamine faint, and the sweet tuberose, The sweetest flower for scent that blows; And all rare blossoms from every clime Grew in that garden in perfect prime. The Sensitive Plant, which could give small fruit Of the love which it felt from the leaf to the root, Received more than all [flowers], it loved more than ever, Where none wanted but it, could belong to the giver-- For the Sensitive Plant has no bright flower; Radiance and odour are not its dower; It loves, even like Love its deep heart is full, It desires what it has not, the beautiful! * * * Each and all like ministering angels were For the Sensitive Plant sweet joy to bear. Whilst the lagging hours of the day went by Like windless clouds o'er a tender sky. And when evening descended from heaven above, And the earth was all rest, and the air was all love, And delight, though less bright, was far more deep, And the day's veil fell from the world of sleep, * * * The Sensitive Plant was the earliest Up-gathered into the bosom of rest; A sweet child weary of its delight, The feeblest, and yet the favourite, Cradled within the embrace of night. SHELLEY. _O LUVE WILL VENTURE IN, &c._ TUNE--_"The Posie."_ O LUVE will venture in, where it daur na weel be seen, O luve will venture in, where wisdom ance has been; But I will down yon river rove, amang the wood sae green, And a' to pu' a posie to my ain dear May. The primrose I will pu', the firstling o' the year, And I will pu' the pink, the emblem o' my dear, For she's the pink o' womankind, and blooms without a peer; And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. I'll pu' the budding rose, when Phoebus peeps in view, For it's like a baumy kiss o' her sweet bonnie mou; The hyacinth's for constancy w' its unchanging blue, And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. The lily it is pure, and the lily it is fair. And in her lovely bosom I'll place the lily there; The daisy's for simplicity and unaffected air, And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. The hawthorn I will pu', wi' its locks o' siller grey, Where, like an aged man, it stands at break o' day, But the songster's nest within the bush I winna tak away; And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. The woodbine I will pu' when the e'ening star is near, And the diamond-drops o' dew shall be her e'en sae clear: The violet's for modesty which weel she fa's to wear, And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. I'll tie the posie round w' the silken band o' luve, And I'll place it in her breast, and I'll swear by a' above, That to my latest draught o' life the band shall ne'er remuve. And this will be a posie to my ain dear May. BURNS. _MY NANNIE'S AWA._ TUNE--_"There'll never be peace" &c._ Now in her green mantle blithe Nature arrays. And listens the lambkins that bleat o'er the braes, While birds warble welcome in ilka green shaw; But to me it's delightless--my Nannie's awa. The snaw-drap and primrose our woodlands adorn, And violets bathe in the weet o' the morn; They pain my sad bosom, sae sweetly they blaw, They mind me o' Nannie--and Nannie's awa. Thou lav'rock that springs frae the dews of the lawn, The shepherd to warn o' the grey-breaking dawn, And thou mellow mavis that hails the night-fa', Give over for pity--my Nannie 's awa. Come, autumn, sae pensive, in yellow and grey, And sooth me wi' tidings o' Nature's decay; The dark, dreary winter, and wild-driving snaw, Alane can delight me--now Nannie's awa, BURNS. _THEIR GROVES, &c._ TUNE--_"Humours of Glen."_ THEIR groves o' sweet myrtle let foreign lands reckon, Where bright-beaming summers exalt the perfume; Far dearer to me yon lone glen o' green breckan, Wi' the burn stealing under the lang yellow broom. Far dearer to me are yon humble broom bowers, Where the blue-bell and gowan lurk lowly unseen; For there, lightly tripping amang the wild flowers, A listening the linnet, aft wanders my Jean. BURNS. _TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY,_ _On turning one down with a plough, in April_ 1786. WEE, modest, crimson-tipped flow'r, Thou's met me in an evil hour; For I maun crush amang the stoure Thy slender stem; To spare thee now is past my po'w'r, Thou bonnie gem. Alas! it's no thy neebor sweet, The bonnie _Lark_, companion meet! Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet! Wi' spreckled breast, When upward-springing, blythe, to greet The purpling east. Could blew the bitter-biting north Upon thy early, humble birth; Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth Amid the storm, Scarce rear'd above the parent earth Thy tender form. The flaunting flow'rs our gardens yield, High shelt'ring woods and wa's maun shield, But thou beneath the random bield O' clod or stane, Adorns the histie _stibble-field,_ Unseen, alane. There, in thy scanty mantle clad, Thy snawy bosom sun-ward spread, Thou lifts thy unassuming head In humble guise; But now the _share_ uptears thy bed, And low thou lies! Such is the fate of artless Maid, Sweet _flow'ret_ of the rural shade! By love's simplicity betray'd, And guileless trust, Till she, like thee, all soil'd, is laid Low i' the dust. Such is the fate of simple Bard, On life's rough ocean luckless starr'd! Unskilful he to note the card Of _prudent lore_, Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, And whelm him o'er! Such fate to _suffering worth_ is giv'n, Who long with wants and woes has striv'n, By human pride or cunning driv'n, To mis'ry's brink, Till wrench'd of ev'ry stay but _Heav'n_, He, ruin'd, sink! Ev'n thou who mourn'st the Daisy's fate, _That fate is thine_--no distant date; Stern Ruin's _plough-share_ drives, elate, Full on thy bloom, Till crush'd beneath the furrow's weight, Shall be thy doom! BURNS. _LAMENT OF MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS._ _On the Approach of Spring._ Now Nature hangs her mantle green On every blooming tree, And spreads her sheets o' daisies white Out o'er the grassy lea; Now Phoebus cheers the crystal streams, And glads the azure skies; But nought can glad the weary wight That fast in durance lies. Now lav'rocks wake the merry morn, Aloft on dewy wing; The merle, in his noontide bow'r, Makes woodland echoes ring; The mavis mild wi' many a note, Sings drowsy day to rest: In love and freedom they rejoice, Wi' care nor thrall opprest. Now blooms the lily by the bank, The primrose down the brae; The hawthorn's budding in the glen, And milk-white is the slae; The meanest hind in fair Scotland May rove their sweets amang; But I, the Queen of a' Scotland, Maun lie in prison strang. I was the Queen o' bonnie France, Where happy I hae been; Fu' lightly rase I in the morn, As blythe lay down at e'en; And I'm the sov'reign of Scotland, And mony a traitor there; Yet here I lie in foreign Lands, And never ending care. But as for thee, thou false woman, My sister and my fae, Grim vengeance, yet, shall whet a sword That thro' thy soul shall gae: The weeping blood in woman's breast Was never known to thee; Nor th' balm that draps on wounds of woe Frae woman's pitying e'e. My son! my son! may kinder stars Upon thy fortune shine; And may those pleasures gild thy reign, That ne'er wad blink on mine! God keep thee frae thy mother's faes, Or turn their hearts to thee; And where thou meet'st thy mother's friend, Remember him for me! Oh! soon, to me, may summer-suns Nae mair light up the morn! Nae mair, to me, the autumn winds Wave o'er the yellow corn! And in the narrow house o' death Let winter round me rave; And the next flow'rs that deck the spring, Bloom on my peaceful grave! BURNS. _RED AND WHITE ROSES._ READ in these Roses the sad story Of my hard fate, and your own glory; In the white you may discover The paleness of a fainting lover; In the red the flames still feeding On my heart with fresh wounds bleeding. The white will tell you how I languish, And the red express my anguish, The white my innocence displaying, The red my martyrdom betraying; The frowns that on your brow resided, Have those roses thus divided. Oh! let your smiles but clear the weather, And then they both shall grow together. CAKEW. _SONNET._ SWEET is the rose, but growes upon a brere; Sweet is the Juniper, but sharpe his bough; Sweet is the Eglantine, but pricketh nere; Sweet is the Firbloom, but his branches rough; Sweet is the Cypress, but his rind is tough, Sweet is the Nut, but bitter is his pill; Sweet is the Broome-flowere, but yet sowre enough; And sweet is Moly, but his roote is ill. So every sweet with sowre is tempred still, That maketh it be coveted the more: For easie things that may be got at will, Most sorts of men doe set but little store. Why then should I account of little pain, That endless pleasure shall unto me gaine? SPENSER _TO PRIMROSES_ FILLED WITH MORNING DEW. WHY do ye weep, sweet babes? Can tears Speak grief in you, Who were but born Just as the modest morn Teemed her refreshing dew? Alas! ye have not known that shower That mars a flower; Nor felt the unkind Breath of a blasting wind; Nor are ye worn with years; Or warped as we, Who think it strange to see Such pretty flowers, like to orphans young, Speaking by tears before ye have a tongue. Speak, whimpering younglings, and make known The reason why Ye droop and weep. Is it for want of sleep, Or childish lullaby? Or that ye have not seen as yet The violet? Or brought a kiss From that sweetheart to this? No, no; this sorrow shown By your tears shed, Would have this lecture read: That things of greatest, so of meanest worth. Conceived with grief are, and with tears brought forth. HERRICK. _A RED, RED ROSE._ TUNE--"_Wishaw's favourite."_ O, MY luve's like a red, red rose, That's newly sprung in June; O, my luve's like the melodie That's sweetly play'd in tune. As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, So deep in hive am I; And I will luve thee still, my dear, Till a' the seas gang dry. Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear, And the rocks melt w' the sun; I will luve thee still, my dear, While the sands o' life shall run. And fare thee weel, my only luve! And fare thee weel a while; And I will come again, my luve, Tho' it were ten thousand mile. BURNS. VIRGINS promised when I died, That they would each primrose-tide Duly, morn and evening, come, And with flowers dress my tomb. --Having promised, pay your debts, Maids, and here strew violets. ROBERT HERRICK. MUSIC, when soft voices die, Vibrates in the memory; Odours when sweet violets sicken, Love within the sense they quicken. Rose leaves, when the rose is dead, Are heaped for the beloved's bed; And so thy thoughts when thou art gone, Love itself shall slumber on. SHELLEY. RADIANT sister of the day Awake! arise! and come away! To the wild woods and the plains, To the pools where winter rains Image all their roof of leaves, Where the pine its garland weaves Of sapless green, and ivy dun, Round stems that never kiss the sun, Where the lawns and pastures be And the sandhills of the sea, Where the melting hoar-frost wets The daisy star that never sets, And wind-flowers and violets Which yet join not scent to hue Crown the pale year weak and new: When the night is left behind In the deep east, dim and blind, And the blue moon is over us, And the multitudinous Billows murmur at our feet, Where the earth and ocean meet And all things seem only one In the universal sun. P. B. SHELLEY. _TO DAFFODILS._ FAIR Daffodils, we weep to see You haste away so soon; As yet, the early-rising sun Has not attained its noon. Stay, stay, Until the hastening day Has run But to the even song; And having prayed together, we Will go with you along. We have short time to stay as you, We have as short a spring; As quick a growth to meet decay, As you or any thing. We die, As your hours do, and dry Away, Like to the summer's rain, Or as the pearls of morning's dew, Ne'er to be found again. ROBERT HERRICK. _CONSTANCY._ LAY a garland on my hearse Of the dismal yew; Maidens willow branches bear; Say, _I died true_. My love was false, but I was firm From my hour of birth. Upon my buried body lie Lightly, gentle earth! SAMUEL FLETCHER. MOURN, ilka grove the cushat kens! Ye haz'lly shaws and briery dens! Ye burnies, wimplin down your glens, Wi' toddlin din, Or foaming strang, wi' hasty stens, Frae lin to lin. Mourn little harebells o'er the lee; Ye stately foxgloves fair to see; Ye woodbines hanging bonnilie, In scented bow'rs; Ye roses on your thorny tree, The first o' flow'rs. At dawn, when ev'ry grassy blade Droops with a diamond at his head, At ev'n, when beans their fragrance shed, I' th' rustling gale, Ye maukins whiddin thro' the glade, Come join my wail. Mourn, spring, thou darling of the year; Ilk cowslip cup shall kep a tear; Thou, simmer, while each corny spear Shoots up its head, Thy gay, green, flow'ry tresses shear, For him that's dead! Thou, autumn, wi' thy yellow hair, In grief thy sallow mantle tear! Thou, winter, hurling thro' the air The roaring blast, Wide o'er the naked world declare The worth we've lost! BURNS. _TO THE SMALL CELANDINE._ Pansies, Lilies, King-cups, Daisies, Let them live upon their praises; Long as there's a sun that sets, Primroses will have their glory; Long as there are Violets, They will have a place in story; There's a flower that shall be mine, 'Tis the little Celandine. Ere a leaf is on the bush, In the time before the thrush Has a thought about her nest, Thou wilt come with half a call, Spreading out thy glossy breast Like a careless prodigal; Telling tales about the sun, When we've little warmth, or none. Comfort have thou of thy merit, Kindly unassuming spirit! Careless of thy neighbourhood, Thou dost show thy pleasant face On the moor, and in the wood, In the lane--there's not a place, Howsoever mean it be, But 'tis good enough for thee. Ill befall the yellow flowers, Children of the flaring hours! Buttercups that will be seen, Whether we will see or no; Others, too, of lofty mien, They have done as worldlings do, Taken praise that should be thine, Little, humble Celandine! Prophet of delight and mirth, Ill requited upon earth; Herald of a mighty band, Of a joyous train ensuing, Serving at my heart's command, Tasks that are no tasks renewing; I will sing, as doth behove, Hymns in praise of what I love! WORDSWORTH. _TO BLOSSOMS._ Fair pledges of a fruitful tree, Why do ye fall so fast? Your date is not so past, But you may stay yet here awhile To blush and gently smile, And go at last. What, were you born to be, An hour or half's delight, And so to bid good-night? 'Twas pity Nature brought ye forth, Merely to show your worth And lose you quite. But you are lovely leaves, where we May read, how soon things have Their end, though ne'er so brave; And after they have shown their pride, Like you, awhile, they glide Into the grave. HERRICK. _THE LILY AND THE ROSE._ THE nymph must lose her female friend, If more admired than she-- But where will fierce contention end, If flowers can disagree. Within the garden's peaceful scene Appear'd two lovely foes, Aspiring to the rank of queen, The Lily and the Rose. The Rose soon redden'd into rage, And, swelling with disdain, Appeal'd to many a poet's page To prove her right to reign. The Lily's height bespoke command, A fair imperial flower; She seem'd designed for Flora's hand, The sceptre of her power. This civil bick'ring and debate The goddess chanced to hear, And flew to save, ere yet too late, The pride of the parterre. Yours is, she said, the nobler hue, And yours the statelier mien; And, till a third surpasses you, Let each be deemed a queen. Thus, soothed and reconciled, each seeks The fairest British fair: The seat of empire is her cheeks, They reign united there. COWPER. _THE WALL-FLOWER._ WHY this flower is now called so, List, sweet maids, and you shall know. Understand this firstling was Once a brisk and bonny lass, Kept as close as Danae was, Who a sprightly springald loved; And to have it fully proved, Up she got upon a wall, 'Tempting down to slide withal; But the silken twist untied, So she fell, and, bruised, she died. Jove, in pity of the deed, And her loving, luckless speed, Turn'd her to this plant we call Now "the flower of the wall." HERRICK. _THE PRIMROSE._ ASK me why I send you here, This firstling of the infant year; Ask me why I send to you This Primrose all bepearled with dew; I straight will whisper in your ears, The sweets of love are washed with tears. Ask me why this flower doth show So yellow, green, and sickly too; Ask me why the stalk is weak And bending, yet it doth not break; I must tell you, these discover What doubts and fears are in a lover. CAREW. _ADONIS SLEEPING,_ IN midst of all, there lay a sleeping youth Of fondest beauty. Sideway his face reposed On one white arm, and tenderly unclosed, By tenderest pressure, a faint damask mouth To slumbery pout; just as the morning south Disparts a dew-lipp'd rose. Above his head, Four lily stalks did their white honours wed To make a coronal; and round him grew All tendrils green, of every bloom and hue, Together intertwined and trammel'd fresh: The vine of glossy sprout; the ivy mesh, Shading its Ethiop berries; and woodbine, Of velvet leaves, and bugle blooms divine. Hard by, Stood serene Cupids watching silently. One, kneeling to a lyre, touch'd the strings, Muffling to death the pathos with his wings; And, ever and anon, uprose to look At the youth's slumber; while another took A willow bough, distilling odorous dew, And shook it on his hair; another flew In through the woven roof, and fluttering-wise, Rain'd violets upon his sleeping eyes. KEATS. MODONNA, wherefore hast thou sent to me Sweet Basil and Mignonette, Embleming love and health, which never yet In the same wreath might be. Alas, and they are wet! Is it with thy kisses or thy tears? For never rain or dew Such fragrance drew From plant or flower; the very doubt endears My sadness ever new, The sighs I breathe, the tears I shed, for thee. P. B. SHELLEY. THERE grew pied Wind-flowers and Violets, Daisies, those pearl'd Arcturi of the earth, The constellated flowers that never set; Faint Oxlips; tender Blue-bells, at whose birth The sod scarce heaved; and that tall flower that wets Its mother's face with Heaven-collected tears, When the low wind, its playmate's voice, it hears. And in the warm hedge grew lush Eglantine, Green Cow-bind and the moonlight-colour'd May And cherry blossoms, and white cups, whose wine Was the bright dew yet drained not by the day; And Wild Roses, and Ivy serpentine With its dark buds and leaves, wandering astray, And flowers azure, black, and streaked with gold, Fairer than any wakened eyes behold. And nearer to the river's trembling edge There grew broad flag-flowers, purple prankt with white, And starry river buds among the sedge, And floating Water-lilies, broad and bright, Which lit the oak that overhung the hedge With moonlight beams of their own watery light; And bulrushes, and reeds of such deep green As soothed the dazzled eye with sober sheen. P. B. SHELLEY. FADE, Flow'rs! fade, Nature will have it so; 'Tis but what we must in our autumn do! And as your leaves lie quiet on the ground, The loss alone by those that lov'd them found; So in the grave shall we as quiet lie, Miss'd by some few that lov'd our company; But some so like to thorns and nettles live, That none for them can, when they perish, grieve. WALLER. _ARRANGEMENT OF A BOUQUET._ HERE damask Roses, white and red, Out of my lap first take I, Which still shall run along the thread, My chiefest flower this make I. Amongst these Roses in a row, Next place I Pinks in plenty, These double Pansies then for show; And will not this be dainty? The pretty Pansy then I'll tie, Like stones some chain inchasing; And next to them, their near ally, The purple Violet placing. The curious choice clove July flower, Whose kind hight the Carnation, For sweetnest of most sovereign power, Shall help my wreath to fashion; Whose sundry colours of one kind, First from one root derived, Them in their several suits I'll bind: My garland so contrived. A course of Cowslips then I'll stick, And here and there (though sparely) The pleasant Primrose down I'll prick, Like pearls that will show rarely; Then with these Marigolds I'll make My garland somewhat swelling, These Honeysuckles then I'll take, Whose sweets shall help their smelling. The Lily and the Fleur-de-lis, For colour much contending; For that I them do only prize, They are but poor in scenting. The Daffodil most dainty is, To match with these in meetness; The Columbine compared to this, All much alike for sweetness. These in their natures only are Fit to emboss the border. Therefore I'll take especial care To place them in their order: Sweet-williams, Campions, Sops-in-wine, One by another neatly; Thus have I made this wreath of mine, And finished it featly. NICHOLAS DRAYTON. _THE CHERRY._ THERE is a garden in her face, Where roses and white lilies grow; A heavenly paradise is that place, Wherein all pleasant fruits do grow; There cherries grow that none may buy Till cherry ripe themselves do cry. Those cherries fairly do enclose Of orient pearl a double row, Which, when her lovely laughter shows, They look like rosebuds fill'd with snow; Yet them no peer nor prince may buy Till cherry ripe themselves do cry. Her eyes like angels watch them still, Her brows like bended bows do stand, Threatening with piercing frowns to kill All that approach with eye or hand These sacred cherries to come nigh, Till cherry ripe themselves do cry. RICHARD ALLISON _THE GARLAND._ THE pride of every grove I chose, The violet sweet and lily fair, The dappled pink and blushing rose, To deck my charming Cloe's hair. At morn the nymph vouchaf'd to place Upon her brow the various wreath; The flowers less blooming than her face, The scent less fragrant than her breath. The flowers she wore along the day; And every nymph and shepherd said, That in her hair they look'd more gay Than glowing in their native bed. Undrest, at ev'ning, when she found Their odours lost, their colours past; She chang'd her look, and on the ground Her garland and her eye she cast. That eye dropt sense distinct and clear, As any muse's tongue could speak, When from its lid a pearly tear Ran trickling down her beauteous cheek. Dissembling what I knew too well; My love! my life! said I, explain This change of humour; pray thee tell: That falling tear.--What does it mean? She sigh'd, she smil'd; and to the flowers Pointing, the lovely moralist said: See! friend, in some few fleeting hours, See yonder, what a change is made! Ah me! the blooming pride of May, And that of beauty are but one: At morn both flourish bright and gay, Both fade at ev'ning, pale, and gone! At dawn poor Stella danc'd and sung; The am'rous youth around her bow'd; At night her fatal knell was rung! I saw and kiss'd her in her shroud; Such as she is, who dy'd to-day, Such I, alas! may be to-morrow; Go, Damon, bid thy muse display The justice of thy Cloe's sorrow. PRIOR. _TO THE VIRGINS, TO MAKE MUCH OF TIME._ GATHER ye rose-buds while ye may: Old Time is still a-flying; And this same flower that smiles to-day, To-morrow will be dying. The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun, The higher he's a-getting, The sooner will his race be run, And nearer he's to setting. That age is best, which is the first, When youth and blood are warmer; But being spent, the worse and worst Times will succeed the former. --Then be not coy, but use your time, And while ye may, go marry; For having lost but once your prime, You may for ever tarry. ROBERT HERRICK. _SONG OF MAY MORNING._ NOW the bright morning-star, day's harbinger, Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her The flowery May, who from her green lap throws The yellow cowslip, and the pale primrose. Hail, bounteous May, that dost inspire Mirth, and youth, and warm desire; Woods and groves are of thy dressing, Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing. Thus we salute thee with our early song, And welcome thee, and wish thee long. MILTON. AMONG the myrtles as I walk'd, Love and my Sight thus intertalk'd: Tell me, said I, in deep distress, Where I may find my Shepherdess? --Thou Fool, said Love, know'st thou not this? In everything that's sweet she is. In yon'd Carnation go and seek, There thou shalt find her lips and cheek; In that enamell'd Pansy by, There thou shalt have her curious eye; In bloom of Peach and Rose's bud There waves the streamer of her blood. --'Tis true, said I; and thereupon I went to pluck them one by one, To make of parts an unión; But on a sudden all were gone. At which I stopp'd; said Love, these be The true resemblance of Thee; For as these Flowers, thy joys must die; And in the turning of an eye; And all thy hopes of her must wither, Like those short sweets here knit together. ROBERT HERRICK. _FRAGMENT, IN WITHERSPOON'S_ _COLLECTION OF SCOTCH SONGS._ TUNE--"_Hughie Graham"_ "O GIN my love were yon red rose, "That grows upon the castle wa'; "And I mysel' a drap o' dew, "Into her bonnie breast to fa'! "Oh, there beyond expression blest, "I'd feast on beauty a' the night; "Seal'd on her silk-saft faulds to rest, "Till fley'd awa by Phoebus' light." O were my love yon lilac fair, Wi' purple blossoms to the spring; And I, a bird to shelter there, When wearied on my little wing; How I wad mourn, when it was torn By autumn wild, and winter rude! But I wad sing on wanton wing, When youthfu' May its bloom renew'd.[*] [*] These stanzas were added by BURNS. _THE DAISY._ OF all the floures in the mede Than love I most these floures white and rede Soch that men callen Daisies in our town, To hem I have so great affection, As I sayd erst, when comen is the Maie. That in my bedde there daweth me no daie, That I n'am up and walking in the mede To see this floure ayenst the Sunne sprede; Whan it up riseth early by the morrow, That blissful sight softeneth all my sorrow. CHAUCER. _ILLUSTRATIONS._ _Page_ A ACACIA Friendship. 7 B BLADDER NUT TREE Frivolity. Amusement. 9 C COWSLIP, AMERICAN Divine beauty. You are my divinity. 11 D DEAD LEAVES Sadness. 15 E ENCHANTER'S NIGHTSHADE Witchcraft. Sorcery. 16 F FIG MARIGOLD Idleness. 17 G GRAPE, WILD Charity. 19 H HYACINTH Sport. Game. Play. 21 I INDIAN JASMINE (IPOMOEA) Attachment. 23 J JACOB'S LADDER Come down. 24 K KENNEDIA Mental beauty. 25 L LARKSPUR, PURPLE Naughtiness. 26 M MOSS Maternal love. 28 N NETTLE TREE Concert. 30 O OSMUNDA Dreams. 31 P PERIWINKLE, BLUE Early friendship 32 Q QUEEN'S ROCKET You are the Queen of Coquettes. Fashion. 35 R ROSE Love. 36 S SOUTHERNWOOD Jest. Bantering. 38 T THRIFT Sympathy. 40 V VERONICA Fidelity 42 W WOOD SORREL Joy. Maternal tenderness. 43 X XERANTHEMUM Cheerfulness under adversity 45 Y YEW Sorrow. 46 Z ZEPHYR FLOWER Expectation 47 
36872	----	MAKING A ROSE GARDEN _THE HOUSE & GARDEN MAKING BOOKS_ It is the intention of the publishers to make this series of little volumes, of which _Making a Rose Garden_ is one, a complete library of authoritative and well illustrated handbooks dealing with the activities of the home-maker and amateur gardener. Text, pictures and diagrams will, in each respective book, aim to make perfectly clear the possibility of having, and the means of having, some of the more important features of a modern country or suburban home. Among the titles already issued or planned for early publication are the following: _Making a Lawn_; _Making a Tennis Court_; _Making a Garden Bloom This Year_; _Making a Fireplace_; _Making Roads and Paths_; _Making a Poultry House_; _Making a Hotbed and Cold-frame_; _Making Built-in Bookcases_, _Shelves and Seats_; _Making a Rock Garden_; _Making a Water Garden_; _Making a Perennial Border_; _Making a Shrubbery Group_; _Making a Naturalized Bulb Garden_; with others to be announced later. [Illustration: An English rose garden that is nearly ideal in its arrangement. All the paths are of grass, the beds being sunk a few inches below the turf level in order to conserve the moisture.] MAKING A ROSE GARDEN _By_ HENRY H. SAYLOR NEW YORK McBRIDE, NAST & COMPANY 1912 COPYRIGHT, 1912, BY McBRIDE, NAST & CO. Published February, 1912 CONTENTS PAGE INTRODUCTION 1 CLASSIFICATION 3 LOCATION AND SOIL 11 PREPARATION AND PLANTING 20 FERTILIZING 25 PRUNING 30 PESTS 38 PROPAGATION 40 WINTER PROTECTION 44 LISTS OF DEPENDABLE ROSES 46 GLOSSARY OF TERMS 51 THE ILLUSTRATIONS A ROSE GARDEN WITH THE IDEAL ARRANGEMENT OF GRASS PATHS _Frontispiece_ FACING PAGE ULRICH BRUNNER, A RED HYBRID PERPETUAL ROSE 4 MARÉCHAL NEIL, A TENDER CLIMBING TEA ROSE 8 KILLARNEY, ONE OF THE BEST HYBRID TEAS 12 A GARDEN FOR ROSES ONLY 14 A DORMANT TEA ROSE AS IT COMES FROM THE GROWER 22 A STOCK OF MANETTI GRAFTED WITH AN IMPROVED VARIETY 42 A "STANDARD" ROSE 44 INTRODUCTION I well remember the caution given me by a noted horticulturist when, in the sudden awakening to the joys of gardening, I was about to attempt the cultivation of nearly everything named in the largest seed and plant catalogue I could find: "Leave the rose alone; it is not worth fighting for." And leave it alone I did, until one day I was browsing about an old book shop and came upon a well-thumbed copy of good old Dean Hole's "A Book About Roses." Let me tell you that there is something radically wrong with the person who can read that book and then go on plodding along his dreary, roseless way. But why, if there is such a book as that to be had, do I presume to put forth what can at best be but a feeble ray in its predecessor's blaze of inspiration? Merely because Dean Hole's book, and a later volume by the Rev. Andrew Foster-Melliar that is almost as inspiring, with perhaps even more helpful guidance, are both written for the English rosarian and for a cool, moist climate that necessitates a somewhat different method of procedure throughout as compared with that which would bring success in growing roses here in America. Then too, there is to my mind something encouraging in a very small book, a book that will merely attempt to lay the foundations for the superstructure that, after all, only experience can bring. Perhaps there are those who, like myself, are content with the bare essentials of classification, content to be told the basic rudiments of cultivation, and who are in haste to be done with all of these homely means to an end, that they may begin growing roses. Making a Rose Garden CLASSIFICATION When one considers the fact that the majority of botanists recognize over a hundred species of the genus _Rosa_, and that a French botanist lists and describes 4,266 species from Europe and western Asia alone, it will readily be understood that this chapter can give but a rough, working knowledge of groups and species. Fortunately the amateur rosarian in the United States is concerned with very few of the species, largely for the reason that the efforts of our rosegrowers have naturally been confined to a few important groups where general merit is most strongly marked. Indeed, for the purposes of a modest rose garden, one would not go far wrong if he limited his choice of varieties to the Hybrid Teas, Hybrid Perpetuals and a few of the Teas, with several of the _wichuraiana_ and _rugosa_ hybrids for trellis and hedge. The name Hybrid Perpetual is borne by an enormous group of roses which have been derived from various species, crossed and recrossed until the parentage is in most cases hopelessly involved. The "Perpetual" half of the name signifies that the rose continues to bloom more or less frequently throughout the summer. As a matter of fact, it is usually _less_. Teas or Tea-scented China roses form a distinct group that is readily recognized by the characteristic scent of the flowers and by the smoothness of its leaves. Teas are, in a way, the aristocrats of the rose garden. They bloom with no great blare of trumpets in June, like the Perpetuals, but they keep steadily at their work of producing exquisite blooms, one or two at a time, throughout the summer. Their one serious handicap is a lack of hardiness, which they possess only in a slight and very variable degree; and they must be very carefully protected in the north to bring them safely through the winter. Even though I were forced to buy new plants each spring, however, I would not have a rose garden without Teas. [Illustration: Ulrich Brunner, a red Hybrid Perpetual that has achieved an excellent reputation. The H.P. type is characterized by hardiness and great freedom of bloom in June. Thereafter throughout the summer the burden of display must be borne by the Teas and Hybrid Teas.] Hybrid Teas, as the name signifies, are successful crosses between the Tea and roses in the Hybrid Perpetual group. This class combines the persistence of the Tea with the sturdier growth of the Perpetuals, and from it we shall probably get the great bulk of our garden roses for some years to come. The Moss Rose, of which you will surely want a representative in your garden, belongs in the Provence group, as will be seen in the tabular classification at the end of this chapter. Who does not know its beautiful buds in their setting of mossy stems? This rose, like many a one that has not gotten such a grip on our affections, has refused steadfastly to mix its blood with another species, and has retained its good points and its bad ones for over three hundred years. It is quite hardy but is rather susceptible to mildew. There are other roses, too, outside the larger and best-known groups--roses that, because of some superlative merit in one direction or because of past associations, lay a strong hand on our heart-strings and plead for an obscure corner of the new rose garden: the bristling Scotch Rose, the fragrant Damasks, the sweetbrier or eglantine with its inimitable fragrant foliage, the Penzance Brier Hybrids, the White Banksian of southern gardens with its odor of violets, the Persian Yellow of our grand-mothers' gardens, and the hundred-petaled Cabbage Rose, parent of the Moss. Climbing roses are to be found in many of the groups--Wichuraiana, Ayrshire, Polyantha, Musk, Noisette and as sports in the Hybrid Perpetual, Tea and Hybrid Tea groups. It is in another class, however, that we may look for the ideal American roses of the future. Not many years ago, came to us three natives of Japan, _Rosa wichuraiana_, _Rosa multiflora_ and _Rosa rugosa_. From the first two has been developed by our American hybridizers the race of Ramblers, while from the third has come such sturdy children as Conrad F. Meyer, perhaps the ideal hedge rose for our northern climate. In the estimation of Professor Charles S. Sargent, the dean of American horticulture, it is along the line of _rugosa_ hybrids that we shall succeed in filling our gardens with large, beautiful, hardy and continuously flowering roses. The climate of the South and California seems ideally suited to the Teas, producing a wealth of exquisite bloom that fills those of us that live in more trying surroundings with envy. In the South also they have the Cherokee Rose (_Rosa lævigata_ or _sinica_), flourishing along roadsides and in great masses on the prairies, its long, arching stems bearing a wealth of pure white, single flowers, four or five inches across, in a setting of brilliant, evergreen foliage. It is one of our American hybridizers' hopes and aims to cross this with a hardy rose to gain sufficient stamina for the North. And out in Oregon, the Hybrid Perpetuals and Hybrid Teas grow to a size and beauty that is unsurpassed the world over. Practically every kind of rose can be grown in the Puget Sound district, and the amateurs of that locality seem to have as little trouble with rose pests as we do here with our hardy decorative shrubs. [Illustration: Marechal Neil, a tender climbing Tea rose, dark golden-yellow in color, requires winter protection in the North. The Tea is the aristocrat of the rose garden, unapproached for delicate fragrance, refined form of the individual blooms, and continued flowering throughout the summer.] To sum up the whole matter of classification and to show the relative positions of many groups that, for lack of space, have not even been mentioned above, the following tabular key is given--a slightly modified form of the classification given in the Cyclopedia of American Horticulture: _I. Summer-flowering Roses, blooming once only_ A. Large-flowered (double). 1. Growth branching or pendulous; leaf wrinkled. _Provence_ Moss Pompon Sulphurea 2. Growth firm and robust; leaf downy. _Damask and French_ Hybrid French Hybrid Provence Hybrid Bourbon Hybrid China 3. Growth free; leaf whitish above; spineless. _Alba_ B. Small-flowered (single and double). 1. Growth climbing; flowers produced singly. _Ayrshire_ 2. Growth short-jointed, generally, except in Alpine. _Briers_ Austrian Scotch Sweet Penzance Prairie Alpine 3. Growth climbing; flowers in clusters. _Multiflora_ Polyantha 4. Growth free; foliage persistent (more or less shiny). _Evergreen_ Sempervirens Wichuraiana Cherokee Banksian 5. Growth free; foliage wrinkled. _Pompon_ _II. Summer- and Autumn-flowering Roses, blooming more or less continuously_ A. Large-flowered. 1. Foliage very rough. _Hybrid Perpetual_ _Hybrid Tea_ _Moss_ 2. Foliage rough. _Bourbon_ _Bourbon Perpetual_ 3. Foliage smooth. _China_ Tea Lawrenceana (Fairy) B. Smaller-flowered. 1. Foliage deciduous a. Habit climbing. _Musk_ Noisette _Ayrshire_ _Polyantha_ Wichuraiana Hybrids b. Habit dwarf, bushy. _Perpetual Briers_ Rugosa Lucida Microphylla Berberidifolia Scotch 2. Foliage more or less persistent. _Evergreen_ Macartney Wichuraiana LOCATION AND SOIL If there is any secret in connection with the growing of beautiful roses in abundance, it lies in the strict observance of a few fundamental principles through which the rose plants, or bushes if you will, are given a location and soil which they will find congenial and nourishing. If for one moment you may have thought that success depends upon some particular insecticide for the annihilation of the aphis, or some hard-and-fast rule for pruning, or the use of a fertilizer having magical attributes, dismiss that thought from your mind, once and for all time. Insecticides, judicious pruning and suitable manuring have each an important part in the campaign, but transcending all of these is the first choice of location and the preparation of the garden in which the roses are to grow. Warfare against the rose's enemies can be but a one-sided, hopeless struggle if we are working against nature all the way through. Far easier and more certain in effect will be our first efforts to establish the rose plants themselves so firmly in healthful, congenial surroundings that they, rather than we, will bear the brunt of the battle against the insect pests. In China I am told that a custom once prevailed whereby the emperor paid his physician a good salary as long as the ruler kept his good health. If he fell ill the physician's pay stopped; if he died, off came the practitioner's head. Be generous in the amount of thought and care you give in providing health, food and strength for your rose plants, and as a result you will have to give very little thought and care to curing disease and killing off the rose-bugs and slugs. In the first place let us take up the matter of situation. Unfortunately most of us will have little leeway in this, for the average suburban place is not one that will offer hill and valley, windswept open space and warm shelter. The ideal location is to be found neither on a hilltop where the winter winds would play havoc with our winter protection, nor in a low hollow where frosts are always more frequent. A gentle slope to the south, well above nearby low spots into which the cold air will drain, sheltered in some way from the north, would be all that we could ask. In the matter of this shelter, however, we meet a further difficulty, for our rose garden must be kept well away from any trees. It is a matter of common knowledge that the root system of a tree will, as a rule, extend as far out from the base as the tree rises about the ground. Obviously it would be merely a waste of time and effort to locate the rose garden where the hungry roots of trees would rob it of the food supply furnished the roses. In general, therefore, we shall have to use the wall of a house or a garden wall for our needed protection, though in case of necessity we could sink a masonry wall or an iron plate as a barrier between the upper rich soil of our rose beds and the roots of the sheltering trees. [Illustration: Killarney, the comparatively new Hybrid Tea rose, having a beautiful shell-pink color, has achieved a wide popularity. The Hybrid Tea combines in a measure the hardiness of the Hybrid Perpetual with the continuous flowering habit of the Tea.] Sun, it is perhaps unnecessary to say, is essential, though it will be found that if the beds are in shade for the first part of the morning one will have greater opportunity of enjoying the roses at their best--before the dew has been drunk from their petals by the thirsty midsummer rays. The matter of the size and design of the rose bed is of comparatively little importance; what really is vital, however, is that the roses be permitted to have the beds to themselves--absolutely. But recently I read a magazine article purporting to be good advice for the rose-growing amateur. Therein appeared words of regret that the rose must needs have such bare, gaunt stalks, and suggesting as a remedy the growing of some vine about the base of the bush--I am not sure, indeed, that the honeysuckle was not specifically named for the place. I can well imagine that the result might be a very beautiful honeysuckle, but we should look there for the rose in vain. [Illustration: Keep the roses by themselves; they will not only thrive better, but their beauty seems not to be increased by comparison with other flowers.] The Queen of Flowers will brook no liberties of this kind. She insists upon reigning alone in her glory, and anyone who dares presume to introduce even a low-growing, shallow-rooted ground cover with the intention of making the rose bed seem less bare, will never see his roses at their best. Personally I have never felt that a rose garden need be in the least unattractive. There is one type of beauty that might be represented by a carpet of creeping phlox; there is another that belongs to the rose garden, bearing its single blooms here and there, sparsely, among the green foliage and thorny stems. In the former instance one looks at the mass effect without a thought of the beauty of individual flowers; in the latter case one's glance seeks out instinctively the single bloom to drink in its beauty and fragrance. Ah, but you say, how about the time when there is not a single rose in sight? There need be no such time between spring and fall if you plant your rose garden to best advantage. There is no need nor reason to put all the June-blooming roses together, with the Teas and Hybrid Teas off by themselves in another place. If the remontant types are interspersed throughout your garden you need never, between May and October, look for a rose in vain. The shape of the beds, too, may be such as to avoid an appearance of "too much dirt" in the rose garden. For my own part I would have a rectangular garden and simple parallelograms for the beds, although the rose garden about a central feature has its strong attractions. But if you arrange the beds in long narrow units--four feet wide for a double row of plants or twenty inches wide for a single row, and as long as your purse will allow, having the paths between the rows of turf rather than gravel or brick, and the beds slightly sunk below this turf, the rose garden need never be less than most attractive. Avoid beds wider than will accommodate two rows of plants, for it is essential that every rose bush in the garden be immediately accessible from a path. [Illustration: A suggestion for a rectangular rose garden with paths of turf. The beds are about forty inches wide, the paths four feet, excepting the center one, which is five feet in width. A hedge, which might be of _rugosa_, contributes a desirable air of seclusion.] To those intensely practical persons who object to walking through dew-wet paths in the morning tour of the rose garden, let me point out the obvious impossibility of having gravel paths immediately adjacent to the rose beds, and the continued care required to keep in a presentable condition a narrow strip of sod between path and bed. Now as to the preparation of the rose bed itself. First of all, dig the soil out to a depth of two feet at least, keeping the top soil and sods and the subsoil in separate piles as they are taken out. Loosen up the floor of the trench with a pick and on this, if the ground needs draining, which it will if it is a compact, sodden surface, put a layer of stones, cinders and other material that will not decompose. On top of this place the best of the sub-soil mixed with a generous dressing of well-rotted manure. Finally, add the sod, well broken up, and the top soil, also enriched with manure. Then fill in the bed with enough good top soil, unmanured, to bring it two or three inches above the adjoining surface. Make sure that the surface of the bed, after it has settled, will be about one inch below that of the adjoining sod in order to retain the moisture from rain. This preparation of the bed should be done at least several weeks in advance of planting time. In composing the soil for the rose bed, it is well to remember that the Hybrid Perpetuals require a heavy soil containing some clay. For Teas and Hybrid Teas a lighter, warmer soil is better. In his most admirable "Book of the Rose," the Rev. Andrew Foster-Melliar tells an amusing incident in connection with soil. The good rector was dining out and had been served with a generous portion of plum pudding. It was very dark, rich, strong and greasy. Absent-mindedly he sat back in his chair gazing at the dish intently. His hostess, noticing his hesitancy, asked if anything were wrong with the pudding. "Oh, no," replied the rector unthinkingly, "I was thinking what rare stuff it would be to grow roses in." Top soil from an old pasture, if it be a moderately heavy loam, taken with the grass roots and chopped very fine, will do excellently for the Hybrid Perpetuals. For the Teas and Hybrid Teas, mix with soil of this kind about one-quarter of its bulk of sand and leaf mold to lighten it. Remember that all the manure that is used should be incorporated with the lower two-thirds of the bed; the upper third should not contain any recently added manure as it is apt to harm the roots of new plants. PREPARATION AND PLANTING In the vicinity of New York and further north, I think it will be found that spring planting is best. South of Philadelphia many roses are set out in the fall, for here they become well established before cold weather sets in, and are therefore ready to start active growth at the first touch of spring. If spring planting is chosen the plants must be put in the ground early--at the very first opportunity--so that they will have time to become firmly established before hot weather. Pot-grown plants from a greenhouse cannot, of course, be set out until all danger from frost is past. Roses that are planted so late cannot be expected to show really satisfying results in bloom the first year. Roses that are planted early in the spring, if field-grown stock as explained below, will with proper cultivation give at least a reasonable amount of bloom the first year, though not so much as in later years. One hears a great deal of argument on the question of whether roses are best grown on their own roots or when grown on a sturdier stock, such as Manetti for Hybrid Perpetuals and brier for Hybrid Teas, which are probably the best rose stocks for this country. It seems to be the general consensus of opinion that roses budded on these stocks will thrive much more luxuriantly and give much better blooms than those which depend upon their own root systems. It is necessary, however, to set the point at which the shoot is budded to the stock about two inches beneath the surface; otherwise there is the constant danger that suckers will spring from the root and, if overlooked for a time, these will kill the more desirable shoots. Several kinds of roses are offered by the dealers for setting out in the spring. There are the pot-grown roses mentioned above--the only form in which many of the climbers may be readily obtained. Mail-order houses make a practice of sending out the Hybrid Perpetuals, Hybrid Teas and Teas also in this form of very young plants grown from cuttings under glass during the winter. Costing more, and surely far more dependable, are the field-grown roses that have originally been budded on Manetti or brier and, usually in two-year-old form, taken out of the ground the previous fall while dormant, to lie in cold houses until ready for planting. Such roses as these will surely bloom the first season and are far better equipped for the shock of being set into the open ground again than the pot-grown plants that have never had a taste of real garden life. A word of warning might profitably be uttered against the cheap roses budded on _multiflora_ stock, grown in Holland and sold in some of the department stores. They are short-lived and very poor in comparison with plants on brier and Manetti. _Multiflora_ has been entirely discarded as a stock by English and Irish growers. Roses on their own roots have the advantage of being cheaper, due to the saving of labor in striking cuttings rather than budding--one-year-old plants costing a dollar for six to a dozen; two-year and three-year-old bushes, which are, of course, far more desirable, cost more in proportion. Dormant, field-grown budded roses cost, in the two-year-old size, from thirty-five cents to a dollar each. [Illustration: A dormant Tea rose as it is received from the grower for planting in March. After planting it should be still further pruned.] Before setting the plants examine each carefully and cut off the broken roots with a sharp knife, as well as all eyes that may appear on the root stock, in order to forestall suckers. The plants should be set immediately upon their receipt from the nurseryman, so that they will not become dried out. If they seem dry it may be well to puddle the roots in thin mud just before setting. Make the hole large enough to accommodate all of the plant's roots without crowding, remembering to put the budding point not less or more than two inches below the surface and with the roots spread out nearly horizontally, but inclining downward towards their ends and without crossing one another. This will not be an easy matter, for in shipment the roots will have probably been so compressed that they extend almost directly downward from the collar. After the plants have been firmly set and the earth carefully packed in around the roots, rake the soil to loosen it up over the whole surface. The soil will probably be moist enough at the time to need no watering. With the pot-grown plants, the moist ball of earth that comes about the roots is carefully retained intact and placed in the hole prepared for the plant. Set the plant firmly in place by pressure with the soles of your shoes, give a generous watering and finally break up the surface of the soil with a rake. It is absolutely essential to keep the surface of the ground loosened with a hoe and a sharp steel rake throughout the summer. After very hard rain loosen the soil as soon as it is dry enough to work, to conserve the moisture. FERTILIZING In striking contrast to the exquisite beauty of the rose is the food that we must give it in abundance if we would have the most healthy plants. But for the true rose enthusiast the turning over of a muck heap to find manure in just the right form, or the dilution of the by-products of the cow barn with water to make the best stimulant, have nothing about them that is in the least objectionable. If the soil at our disposal is inclined to be rich in clay, we can probably do no better than incorporate well-decomposed stable manure with it, by raking it, well pulverized, into the surface in the early spring. In sandy or gravelly soils, however, cow manure or that from the pigsty will serve far better. It must be remembered that when properly set out the rose plant is comparatively shallow-rooted, so that this raking of fine old manure into the soil must be just that, and _not_ the deep digging of half-rotted manure into the bed with a spading-fork. The aim in the method advocated is to put the solid manure where the spring rains will carry it in time to the feeding roots, and in the liquid form in which it is readily assimilated. The theory of this manurial feeding will make clear the fact that a proper application of liquid manure has practically all the advantages of the former method without its drawbacks. For solid manure, if applied to the beds in quantities sufficient to be of real value, has a tendency to keep the needed air out of the top soil, and to bring in its train an abundance of weeds that will be hard to exterminate. So that, with the exception of light sandy soils, where the humus is needed, we shall do well to feed the rose garden liquid nourishment. The time when this stimulant will be most effective is in the months of May and June, when most of the plants are putting all their efforts into the forming buds. Withhold the liquid in dry spells, for it is most appreciated immediately after a good, soaking rain. Avoid getting the manure on the foliage, and make sure that it errs on the side of weakness rather than strength. Suspending a burlap sack containing a bushel of cow manure in a barrel of water for two days, will give a solution that needs dilution with its own bulk of water. A half-gallon to a plant each week will be a sufficient normal feeding. Immediately after dosing the beds go over them with a rake or prong-hoe and loosen up the surface to prevent evaporation. A vital principle in feeding rose plants is one that seems to be overlooked instinctively by seven out of ten amateur gardeners. It is this: A strong-growing, healthy plant needs and will absorb a large quantity of liquid manure; a sickly plant, or one that is not yet well established, does not need and cannot absorb even the normal quantity of this food. Yet how often are we tempted to feed to excess this weakling and withhold food from that nearby sturdy bush, because the latter "doesn't need it." Just bear in mind the fact that we do not give burgundy to a puny child that is struggling against the effects of malnutrition, but that a healthy, growing boy can consume an astonishing amount of food and drink. To review the year's activities in fertilizing: let us put a top dressing of rough manure over the beds in the fall, about three inches deep, with further protection where the climate demands it. In the spring we shall rake off the coarse portion of this covering, leaving the finely pulverized manure to be raked gently into the top soil if it needs this additional humus (the manure's food value will have been washed down by the winter's rain and snow). If our soil is clayey the whole top dressing will be hoed off. In May and June come the generous applications of the liquid manure, and for the Teas and Perpetuals that really do continue to flower, these applications may well be continued through the summer at less frequent intervals, leaving off at the end of August, let us say, so as not to encourage unnecessarily the late summer's growth of wood. Although not many of us, in all probability, will meet the unusual condition of having for our rose gardens only an over-fertilized soil in a long-used garden, it may be well to mention the fact that such a soil will not produce good roses. Treatment with lime will help matters for a time, but if within the range of possibility we should remake the garden with virgin soil. The use of nitrate of soda and like stimulants may be undertaken sparingly in the spring, but these are better left to those gardeners who have learned, possibly through disastrous experiences, how properly to use them. PRUNING The rose is one of those plants that seem to need the firm hand of man to direct them in the way they should grow. If left to their own devices, most of the highly cultivated roses revert quickly to lower types; they need the pitiless pruning-knife to spur them to their best endeavor. It will readily be seen that severe pruning, as a general principle, tends towards greater beauty of individual blooms, while light pruning is conducive to a better rounded-out form of bush at the expense of the flowers. Or, again, the severe pruning gives quality of bloom as opposed to quantity of bloom. Always cut back the plants severely when first setting them out--Teas and Hybrid Teas less than the Hybrid Perpetuals, and the climbers least of all. Unreasonable as it may seem, the plants of vigorous habit of growth need less pruning than the less active ones. Pruning may be started with the dwarf Hybrid perpetuals in March--leaving four or five canes three feet in length if large masses of bloom are wanted. The result will be a large number of small flowers. If, on the other hand, fewer and larger flowers are wanted, all weak growth should be removed and every healthy cane retained and cut back in preparation for the plant's development. The weakest should not have more than four inches of wood left on the root, while the strongest may have eight or nine inches. Always prune a cane about a quarter of an inch above an outside bud unless the cane is very far from the vertical, when an inside one should be left for the terminal shoot. See that the wood is not torn or bruised in the operation. The pruning of Hybrid Teas and Teas had better be postponed until the first signs of life appear. The bark becomes greener and the dormant buds begin to swell. Dead or dying wood will then readily be noticeable and it may be removed. Remember that these two classes do not need such severe pruning as do the Hybrid Perpetuals; twice the amount of wood may safely be left if it seems promising. Dormant rose plants bought in the spring will arrive from the growers already partly pruned. In general, from one-half to two-thirds of the remaining length of cane should be cut off when the plants are set out, removing entirely all bruised or dead wood. Bear in mind always, if your conscience revolts at such severe cutting, that the strongest dormant buds are nearest the base of the plant and it is these we want to force into growth to bear the prize blooms. With the ramblers very little cutting is needed; merely cut back the shoots that seem to be outdistancing their neighbors by too much, and cut out entirely the dead canes. The _rugosa_ is intended to be a bush rather than a strong, lean plant for prize blooms. Merely cut out old, dry wood and trim back the longer shoots to the desired form. Use a first-class pair of pruning shears in order that the work may be done quickly and, above all, with clean cuts that show no tearing or abrasion of the bark. PESTS Once more let me repeat the fact that by far the most effective campaign against the insects and other pests that infest rose plants is to be found, not in sprayings and dustings, but rather in maintaining to the best of our ability a condition of health in the plant itself. Prevention here, as always, is better than cure. Nor can it be too strongly emphasized that the daily use of a powerful but finely divided spray from the hose will make life on the rose plant miserable for practically all of the parasites. The following are the chief enemies that we may encounter in the rose garden. They are briefly described so as to be recognizable when found, and for the annihilation or keeping in check of each is given one of the many remedies. Practically every rosarian develops, after a time, his own pet formulæ for these poisons, so that rose books will be found to contain a wonderfully varied assortment of weapons--so numerous in fact that one would think the army of rose pests could never live to continue their depredations another season. _Aphis or Green Fly_ A small, pale green louse, winged or wingless, with a soft, fat, oval body apparently too big for its legs. A single aphis in five generations may become the progenitor of 6,000,000,000. Tobacco smoke is an excellent weapon, or, if a spray is found more convenient to apply, a solution of 4 oz. of tobacco stems boiled for 10 min. in 1 gal. of soft water, will do. The same weight of quassia chips may be substituted for the tobacco. If the tobacco is used, the cheapest that can be bought is the best for the purpose. Strain the solution and add 4 oz. of soft soap while it is still hot, stirring well to dissolve the soap. Another remedy--1 qt. of soft soap boiled in 2 qts. of soft water, adding 1 pt. of paraffin before cooling--is well recommended. It should be applied diluted with soft water to ten times its bulk. The paraffin acts as an astringent which, together with the soft soap, cleanses the plant of honey-dew, which is exuded by the aphis to protect its feet against cold and wet. _Mildew_ A fungous disease that may appear when the rose plants are in a damp, shady or ill-ventilated location. Although some varieties are more susceptible than others to this disease, the rose garden located out in the open, where the air has unobstructed access, will not be troubled much by mildew. When the disease appears late in the autumn it need not be feared. Dusting flowers of sulphur upon the foliage, taking care to reach the under side of leaves as well as the upper, and upon the ground about the plants, is a well established remedy. It will be found convenient to shake the powder from a baking-powder can, the end of which is punched with holes, if a regular powder gun is not at hand. Use the sulphur in the early morning, when the dew will help to hold it on the leaves, or else spray the plants with water beforehand. _Rose Thrip_ A small, yellowish white insect with transparent wings, usually found on the _under_ side of the rose leaves. This pest appears in swarms and in an astonishingly short time turns the foliage yellow. If the pest appears, spray the rose plants daily with a hose as suggested above. If this does not prove efficacious, dust the under side of the leaves with white hellebore in a powder gun. Whale oil soap solution, in the proportions of 5 oz. of soap to 1 gal. of water, is a very good remedy. It is easier to dissolve the soap if the water is hot. _Rose Caterpillar or Leaf-roller_ Several kinds of caterpillars may appear, varying from one-half to three-quarters of an inch in length, and either green, yellow or brown in color. They have a habit of enveloping themselves in the rose leaves, or boring their way into the flower buds. In the latter case they are very apt to be overlooked. Powdered hellebore will hinder their progress, but by far the most effective weapons are the finger and thumb--gloved, if you insist. _Rose Chafer or Rose-bug_ This brown beetle, less than one-half inch in length, is one of the best-known rose pests. It is a slow-moving creature that appears suddenly in armies in the blooming season in June, and is the more annoying for the reason that it devotes its attention almost entirely to the flowers themselves. Paris green, dusted over the plants, will kill the pest, but this poison has a disagreeable way of showing no intelligent discrimination in the choice of its victims. Really the only satisfactory method of attack is to knock the stupid creatures off the flowers into a tin of kerosene and then burn it. _Rose Slug_ The larvæ of a saw-fly which comes up out of the ground in May and June. The female makes incisions in the leaves and deposits her eggs, which hatch out in about two weeks. The slugs will eat an astonishing amount of leaf if not checked. They are about a half-inch long, green, and will be found on the upper side of the leaf. Powdered white hellebore, dusted on the foliage, or the solution of whale oil soap mentioned for the Rose Thrip, will keep it in check. _White Grub_ An underground enemy that feeds on the roots of rose plants. The withering or sickliness of the plant is sufficient reason to cause a thorough search to be made by lifting it. The grub, which is provided with six legs near the head, and which coils itself into a crescent shape when in repose, is particularly fond of strawberry plants, so it will be well to keep these some distance away from the rose garden. There is no insecticide that will be effective, because of the underground point of attack. Lifting the plant and removing the grub is the only thing that can be done. _Bark Louse or White Scale_ This appears when the rose bush is grown in a damp, shady place. It is snow white and individual scales are about one-tenth of an inch in diameter, irregularly round. Cut off and burn badly infested shoots. Spray with 1 lb. of soap in 1 gal. of water in early winter and again in early spring. Weaker summer applications may be used also--1 lb. in 4 or 6 gal. once in three weeks throughout the season will reach all the larvæ. _Our Allies_ It is well to remember that there are friends of the rose in the lower animal world as well as enemies--the toad, lady-bug, ground-bird and swallow, particularly. The toad is sometimes brought by the English gardeners from a distance to help wage war on the pests; the lady-bug may be passed thankfully by when seen; and it may be well to try attracting the birds to the rose garden by scattering a few crumbs there daily--not too many, but just enough to arouse a real appetite for insect pests. PROPAGATION The propagation of his own stock is a task for which the expert is better fitted than the beginner for whom this book is written. Nevertheless, I doubt whether the amateur will pass through his first year of rose growing without wishing to make an attempt to multiply the stock of those roses which have with him been most successful, or to bud a choice variety from a friend's garden on the foster-parent stock for his own place. Whereas in England the process of budding is carried on very widely and with fair success among amateur and professional rosarians alike, with us this means of propagation seems fraught with greater difficulty. Excepting in the case of varieties that do not readily root from cuttings, this latter method of propagation is generally adopted where roses on their own roots are desired. The best time for taking cuttings from a plant is towards the end of the summer, when the ripe wood of the current year's growth will be available. Ten inches is a convenient length for the pieces and some rosarians feel that if a "heel," or portion of older wood, remains on the lower end there will be greater likelihood of rooting. Remove all but the two top leaves and set the cutting in a light soil, or even in pure sand, so that only the two upper buds are exposed. Leave the cuttings in the ground until the following autumn, when those that have taken root may be transplanted and set at a less depth in their permanent quarters. Budding is a far more interesting process to carry through, and by it we may have sturdier roses on a stock like Manetti or brier. A very sharp knife is required, with some raffia for tying the bud securely into the stock. In the limited scope of this book I can but indicate very roughly the general procedure, and, indeed, budding is far more readily learned by watching a skilled rosarian do it than by reading many pages of description. Briefly, then, a bud, which may be found under any petiole, is carefully sliced, with its surrounding bark and backing of wood, from the half-ripe stalk of the variety to be propagated, leaving the petiole in place to serve as a handle. This is probably best done in July. After removing very gently the wood backing from the bark and bud, the latter are slipped into a T-shaped incision in the foster stock, this incision to be made through the bark to the actual wood of the stalk. The bud and its supporting bark are inserted between the wood and bark of the stock, the latter then being wrapped with a few turns of raffia to hold the bud in place. After a period of a month the bud will either have taken hold or failed, and the tie may be removed. The rose plants that we buy already budded on Manetti or brier are produced in this way, excepting that the bud is inserted very low on the stock, so that the junction will be underground. This is the more desirable place for budding, insuring, if we nip the suckers as they may appear, a plant that above ground shows only the shoots of the desired variety. [Illustration: A shoot of an improved variety of rose grafted and held in place with raffia to the stock of a sturdy growth like Manetti. At the right is a "sucker" or growth from the root, and it must be cut off as soon as it appears.] Grafting is practiced only in the case of roses grown under glass, when the scions are cleft into stocks of Manetti or brier grown in pots for the purpose. Layering is used as a means of increasing the stock only in the case of roses that do not readily strike from cuttings. It consists of bending down a long shoot so that a section of it may be pegged underground to take root. Propagation by seed is limited to the efforts to obtain new varieties after cross-fertilization, and is a discouragingly slow and uncertain process. WINTER PROTECTION It will be a red-letter day for amateur rosarians when the existing favorites among rose plants shall have been so improved by cross-breeding that we can leave off all the winter overcoats of straw, brush and earth, with the happy knowledge that spring will find as many live plants in the rose garden as we rejoiced in during the previous season. [Illustration: In England the "standard" rose, having a long stem of the foster stock, is quite common. With us it is less frequently seen on account of the bother of proper winter protection.] Although the Hybrid Perpetuals are, for the most part, sufficiently hardy to withstand an ordinary winter unprotected, it is still the part of wisdom to conserve their energy and health by hoeing up the earth about their bases and putting over all a top dressing of rough manure when protecting the Hybrid Teas and Teas. In the northern states it will be well to tie up the tops of the latter with straw or to surround the bed with a border of boards or wire netting, after winter has set in, and cover the plants with a thick blanket of leaves held down by brush. This protection should be removed gradually in March. Where the winters are particularly severe, a still more certain precaution is to dig up the plants and lay them in well-drained trenches, covering them with earth and a further layer of leaves, straw or brush. The aim is not to protect the plants from freezing at all, but to prevent the alternate freezing and thawing that is so disastrous. Another treatment for tender roses is to winter them in boxes of soil in a cool cellar. In case this is done, see that the earth is not allowed to dry out entirely. At planting time in the spring the dormant plants will be taken out, dipped in a bucket of thin mud and replanted in the garden. While we may be willing for the present to take such precautions with the garden roses, most of us will not care to coddle the climbers to anything like this extent. Beyond hoeing up a mound of earth about the bases of these and top-dressing them, we shall let the climbers fight their own battles, and leave the result to the principle of the survival of the fittest. LISTS OF DEPENDABLE ROSES It is a difficult matter, indeed, to select, from the experience of rose growers and from the long lists of the nurserymen's catalogues, a few that may be safely named as the best roses. In fact, it is a task that no one would care to undertake. It may be helpful, however, to add the following list; these are by no means the only good roses, but in choosing any or all of these the amateur cannot well go astray. For the benefit of his experience and advice regarding these lists, I am indebted, among others, to Dr. Robert Huey, of Philadelphia--probably the most experienced amateur grower of roses in the United States. It has been thought best not to attempt individual descriptions nor to go very far into details of color. The lists, then, are grouped into rough sub-divisions under the main colors, and it will be understood that "pink," for instance, will include a rather wide range of varying tints. HYBRID PERPETUALS _White_--Merveille de Lyon, White Baroness, Frau Karl Druschki, Margaret Dickson, Mabel Morrison, Gloire Lyonnaise (in reality a Hybrid Tea, but as it blooms only in June it may be included in the Hybrid Perpetual class). _Pink_--Baroness Rothschild, Caroline D'Arden, Heinrich Schultheis, Her Majesty, Lady Arthur Hill, Mrs. George Dickson, Mrs. Harkness, Susan Marie Rodocanachi, Mrs. John Laing, Paul Neyron, Marie Finges, Marquise de Castellane, Mrs. R. S. Sharman-Crawford, Souvenir de la Malmaison. _Red_--Captain Hayward, Fisher Holmes, General Jacqueminot, Oscar Cordel, Ulrich Brunner, Duke of Edinburgh, Duke of Teck, Anne de Diesbach, Duke of Fife, Étienne Levet, Prince Arthur, Ard's Rover (climber). Prince Camille de Rohan is the best of the very dark roses, among which also are Sultan of Zanzibar, Louis Van Houtte, and Xavier Olibo. These, however, are weak growers and frequently do not bring their blossoms to perfection. TEAS _White_--White Maman Cochet, Hon. Edith Gifford. _Pink_--William R. Smith, Maman Cochet, Souvenir d'un Ami, Duchesse de Brabant, Mrs. B. R. Cant. _Yellow_--Harry Kirk, Étoile de Lyon, Francisca Krueger, Isabelle Sprunt, Safrano, Marie Van Houtte. HYBRID TEAS _White or light-colored and mixed_--Viscountess Folkestone, Pharisaer, Molly Sharman-Crawford, Ellen Wilmot, Grace Molyneaux, Antoine Revoire, Joseph Hill, Mrs. A. R. Waddell, Betty, Prince de Bulgarie, La Tosca, Kaiserin Augusta Victoria. _Pink_--Killarney, Lady Alice Stanley, Lady Ursula, Dean Hole, Lyon Rose, Dorothy Page Roberts, Madame Edmée Metz, Lady Ashtown, Mrs. Charles Custis Harrison, Caroline Testout, La France. _Yellow_--Duchess of Wellington, Mrs. Aaron Ward, Madame Ravary, Madame Mélanie Soupert, Madame Hector Leuillot, Melody. _Red_--George C. Waud, Lawrent Carle, Gruss an Teplitz, Château de Closvoges, Étoile de France. MOSS ROSES _White_--Blanche Moreau. _Pink_--Crested Moss. RUGOSA AND ITS HYBRIDS _White_--Blanc Double de Coubert; _Rosa rugosa_, var. _alba_. _Pink_--Conrad F. Meyer. _Red_--Arnold; _Rosa rugosa_, var. _rubra_. WICHURAIANA HYBRIDS _White_--Wichuraiana, White Dorothy. _Pink_--Lady Gay, Dorothy Perkins, W. C. Egan, Sargent. _Red_--Hiawatha. NOISETTES _Yellow_--Cloth of Gold, Rêve d'Or (climber), Fortune's Yellow. POLYANTHAS _White_--Trier, Catherine Ziemet. _Pink_--Tausendschön, Clothilde Soupert. _Red_--Carmine Pillar. PRAIRIE ROSES _White_--Baltimore Belle. _Pink_--Rosa _setigera_. AUSTRIAN BRIERS _Yellow_--Harrison's Yellow, Persian Yellow, Austrian Copper. A GLOSSARY OF TERMS Anther--a rounded knob-like form at the top of the stamen, containing the pollen. Callus--a swelling which occurs at the base of a cutting previous to the formation of roots. Calyx--the narrow green leaves or sepals forming the covering for the bud. Corymb--a group of flower stalks arising from a common stalk and forming a level top. Cutting--a section of a stalk containing several eyes or dormant buds, taken for the propagation of a new plant. Disbud--to deprive a stalk of flower buds by pinching or rubbing these off. It is done in order to throw more energy into the remaining bud or buds. Hep or hip--the seed pod. Hybrid--a new species resulting from the cross-fertilization of two species. Leaflet--a single member of the compound leaf borne by all rose plants. Maiden plant--a plant blooming for the first time after being budded or grafted to a stock. Ovary--the hollow lower end of a pistil, containing the embryo seeds. Panicle--a cluster of flowers borne irregularly on a stem. Petiole--the stalk to which the several leaflets are attached. Pistil--the seed-bearing organ in the center of a flower, consisting of one or more styles, one or more stigmas and the ovary. Pollen--the powdery substance found in the anthers. Remontant--applied to roses that flower the second time in a summer. Sepals--the narrow green leaves of a pithy texture forming the calyx. Sport--a shoot or sucker from a plant, showing some peculiar feature or features distinguishing it from its parent. Stamens--the male organs surrounding the pistil. Stigma--the upper end of the pistil, capable of receiving the pollen and connected with the ovary by a tube extending down through the style. Style--the erect columnar support of the stigma. Sucker--a branch or shoot proceeding from the root or stem of a plant, below the surface of the ground. Frequently used as meaning a shoot from the root-stock of a budded or grafted plant. 
34380	----	THE CALL OF THE WILDFLOWER _BY THE SAME AUTHOR_ SEVENTY YEARS AMONG SAVAGES. 12s. 6d. THE FLOGGING CRAZE. A Statement of the Case against Corporal Punishment. With Foreword by Sir George Greenwood. 3s. 6d. net. GEORGE ALLEN & UNWIN LTD. ON CAMBRIAN AND CUMBRIAN HILLS. Pilgrimages to Snowdon and Scafell. Revised Edition. 5s. net. C. W. DANIEL LTD. ANIMALS' RIGHTS: Considered in relation to Social Progress. Revised Edition. 2s. 6d. DE QUINCEY. Great Writers Series. 1s. 6d. net. G. BELL & SONS LTD. THE LIFE OF HENRY D. THOREAU. 1s. 6d. net. WALTER SCOTT PUBLISHING CO. RICHARD JEFFERIES: His Life and his Ideals. 1s. 6d. net. JONATHAN CAPE. THE LIFE OF JAMES THOMSON, B.V. 2s. 6d. net. TREASURES OF LUCRETIUS. Selected Passages translated into English Verse. 1s. 6d. net. WATTS & CO. [Illustration: _G. P. Abraham & Sons._] [_Photo. Keswick_ THE HAUNT OF THE SPIDERWORT The Devil's Kitchen, Carnarvonshire] THE CALL OF THE WILDFLOWER BY HENRY S. SALT [Illustration] LONDON: GEORGE ALLEN & UNWIN LTD RUSKIN HOUSE, 40 MUSEUM STREET, W.C. _First published in 1922_ (_All rights reserved_) TO MY FRIENDS W. J. JUPP and E. BERTRAM LLOYD NOTE I am indebted to the courtesy of the editors of the _Daily News_, _Pall Mall Gazette_, _Liverpool Daily Post_, and _Sussex Daily News_, for permission to reprint in this book the substance of articles that first appeared in their columns. My obligation to Jack London, in regard to the choice of a title, will be apparent. CONTENTS PAGE I. THE CALL OF THE WILDFLOWER 9 II. ON SUSSEX SHINGLES 21 III. BY DITCH AND DIKE 29 IV. LIKENESSES THAT BAFFLE 37 V. BOTANESQUE 43 VI. THE OPEN DOWNLAND 50 VII. PRISONERS OF THE PARTERRE 58 VIII. PICKING AND STEALING 63 IX. ROUND A SURREY CHALK-PIT 68 X. A SANDY COMMON 77 XI. QUAINTNESS IN FLOWERS 85 XII. HERTFORDSHIRE CORNFIELDS 90 XIII. THE SOWER OF TARES 97 XIV. DALES OF DERBYSHIRE 103 XV. NO THOROUGHFARE! 113 XVI. LIMESTONE COASTS AND CLIFFS 121 XVII. ON PILGRIMAGE TO INGLEBOROUGH 128 XVIII. A BOTANOPHILIST'S JOURNAL 133 XIX. FELONS AND OUTLAWS 139 XX. SOME MARSH-DWELLERS 144 XXI. A NORTHERN MOOR 151 XXII. APRIL IN SNOWDONIA 158 XXIII. FLOWER-GAZING _IN EXCELSIS_ 164 XXIV. COVES OF HELVELLYN 171 XXV. GREAT DAYS 178 XXVI. THE LAST ROSE 185 INDEX 191 The Call of the Wildflower I THE CALL OF THE WILDFLOWER _Tantus amor florum._ VIRGIL. THE "call of the wild," where the love of flowers is concerned, has an attraction which is not the less powerful because it is difficult to explain. The charm of the garden may be strong, but it is not so strong as that which draws us to seek for wildflowers in their native haunts, whether of shore or water-meadow, field or wood, moorland or mountain. A garden is but a "zoo" (with the cruelty omitted); and just as the true natural history is that which sends us to study animals in the wilds, not to coop them in cages, so the true botany must bring man to the flower, not the flower to man. That the lovers of wildflowers--those, at least, who can give active expression to their love--are not a numerous folk, is perhaps not surprising; for even a moderate knowledge of the subject demands such favourable conditions as free access to nature, with opportunities for observation beyond what most persons command; but what they lack in numbers they make up in zeal, and to none is the approach of spring more welcome than to those who are then on the watch for the reappearance of floral friends. For it is as friends, not garden captives or herbarium specimens, that the flower-lover desires to be acquainted with flowers. It is not their uses that attract him; _that_ is the business of the herbalist. Nor is it their structure and analysis; the botanist will see to that. What he craves is a knowledge of the loveliness, the actual life and character of plants in their relation to man--what may be called the spiritual aspect of flowers--and this is seen and felt much more closely when they are sought in their free wild state than when they are cultivated on rockery or in parterre. The reality of this love of wildflowers is evident, but its cause and meaning are less easy to discern. Is it only part of a modern "return to nature," or a sign of some latent sympathy between plant and man? We do not know; but we know that our interest in flowers is no longer utilitarian, as in the herbalism of a bygone time, or decorative and æsthetic, as in the immemorial use of the garland on festive occasions, and in the association of the wine-cup with the rose. The "great affection" that Chaucer felt for the daisy marked a new era; and later poets have carried the sentiment still further, till it reached a climax in the faith that Wordsworth avowed: One impulse from a vernal wood May teach you more of man, Of moral evil and of good, Than all the sages can. Here is a new herbalism--of the heart. We smile nowadays at the credulity of the old physicians, who rated so highly the virtues of certain plants as to assert, for example, that comfrey--the "great consound," as they called it--had actual power to unite and solidify a broken bone. But how if there be flowers that can in very truth make whole a broken spirit? Even in the Middle Ages it was recognized that mental benefit was to be gained from this source, as when betony was extolled for its value in driving away despair, and when _fuga dæmonum_ was the name given to St. John's-wort, that golden-petaled amulet which, when hung over a doorway, could put all evil spirits to flight. That, like many another flower, it can put "the blues" to flight, is a fact which no modern flower-lover will doubt. But what may be called the anthropocentric view of wildflowers is now happily becoming obsolete. "Their beauty was given them for our delight," wrote Anne Pratt in one of the pleasantest of her books:[1] "God sent them to teach us lessons of Himself." It would somewhat spoil our joy in the beauty of wildflowers if we thought they had been "sent," like potted plants from a nursery, for any purpose whatsoever; for it is their very naturalness, their independence of man, that charms us, and our regard for them is less the prosaic satisfaction of an owner in his property, than the love of a friend, or even the worship of a devotee: The devotion to something afar From the sphere of our sorrow. [Footnote 1: _Haunts of the Wild Flowers._] This, I think, is the true gospel of the love of flowers, though as yet it has found but little expression in the literature of the subject. "Flowers as flowers," was Thoreau's demand, when he lamented in his journal that there was no book which treated of them in that light, no real "biography" of plants. The same want is felt by the English reader to-day: there is no writer who has done for the wildflower what Mr. W. H. Hudson has done for the bird.[2] [Footnote 2: Unless it be Canon John Vaughan, in those two delightful books of his, _The Wild-Flowers of Selborne_ and _The Music of Wild-Flowers_.] Indeed, the books mostly fail, not only to portray the life of the plant, but even to give an intelligible account of its habitat and appearance; for very few writers, however sound their technical knowledge, possess the gift of lucid description--a gift which depends, in its turn, upon that sympathy with other minds which enables an author to see precisely what instruction is needed. Thus it often happens that, unless personal help is available, it is a matter of great difficulty for a beginner to learn the haunts of flowers, or to distinguish them when found; for when he refers to the books he finds much talk about inessential things, and little that goes directly to the point. One might have thought that a new and strange flower would attract the eye more readily than a known one, but it is not so; the old is detected much more easily than the new. "Out of sight, out of mind," says the proverb; and conversely that which is not yet in mind will long tarry out of sight. But when once a new flower, even a rare one, has been discovered, it is curious how often it will soon be noticed afresh in another place: this, I think, must be the experience of all who have made systematic search for flowers, and it explains why the novice will frequently see but little where the expert will see much. Not until the various initial obstacles have been overcome can one appreciate the true "call of the wild," the full pleasures of the chase. When we have learnt not only what plants are to be looked for, but those two essential conditions, the _when_ and the _where_; the rule of season and of soil; the flowers that bloom in spring, in summer, or in autumn; the flowers that grow by shore, meadow, bog, river, or mountain; on chalk, limestone, sand, or clay--then the quest becomes more effective, and each successive season will add materially to our widening circle of acquaintance. Then, too, we may begin to discard that rather vapid class of literature, the popular flower-book, which too often deals sentimentally in vague descriptions of plants, diversified with bad illustrations, and with edifying remarks about the goodness of the Creator, and may find a new and more rational interest in the published _Floras_ of such counties or districts as have yet received that distinction. For dry though it is in form, a _Flora_, with its classified list of plants, and its notes collected from many sources, past and present, as to their "stations" in the county, becomes an almost romantic book of adventure, when the student can supply the details from his own knowledge, and so read with illumination "between the lines." Here, let us suppose it to be said, is a locality where grows some rare and beautiful flower, one of the prizes of the chase. What hopes and aspirations such an assurance may arouse! What encouragement to future enterprise! What regrets, it may be, for some almost forgotten omission in the past, which left that very neighbourhood unsearched! It is possible that a cold, matter-of-fact entry in a local _Flora_ will thus throw a sudden light on some bygone expedition, and show us that if we had but taken a slightly different direction in our walk--but it is vain to lament what is irreparable! Of such musings upon the might-have-been I can myself speak with feeling, for I was not so fortunate in my youth as to be initiated into the knowledge of flowers: it was not till much later in life, as I wandered among the Welsh and English mountains, that the scales fell from my eyes, and looking on the beauty of the saxifrages I realized what glories I had missed. Thus I was compelled to put myself to school, so to speak, and to make a study of wildflowers with the aid of such books as were available, a process which, like a botanical Jude the Obscure, I found by no means easy. The self-educated man, we know, is apt to be perverse and opinionated; so I trust my readers will make due allowance if they notice such faults in this book. I can truly plead, as the illiterate do, that "I'm no scholar, more's the pity." But it was my friends and acquaintances--those, at least, who had some botanical knowledge--who were the chief sufferers during this period of inquiry; and, looking back, I often marvel at the patience with which they endured the problems with which I confronted them. I remember waylaying my friend, W. J. Jupp, a very faithful flower-lover, with some mutilated and unrecognizable labiate plant which I thought might be calamint, and how tactfully he suggested that my conjecture was "near enough." On another occasion it was Edward Carpenter, the Sage of Millthorpe, or Wild Sage, as some botanical friend once irreverently described him, who volunteered to assist me, by means of a scientific book which shows, by an unerring process, how to eliminate the wrong flowers, until at the end you are left with the right one duly named. All through the list we went; but there must have been a slip somewhere; for in the conclusion one thing alone was clear--that whatever my plant might be, it was not that which the scientific book indicated. Of all my friends and helpers, Bertram Lloyd, whose acquaintance with wildflowers is unusually large, and to whom, in all that pertains to natural history, I am as the "gray barbarian" (_vide_ Tennyson) to "the Christian child," was the most constant and long-suffering: he solved many of my enigmas, and introduced me to some of his choicest flower-haunts among the Chiltern Hills. In the course of my researches I was sometimes referred for guidance to persons who were known in their respective home-circles as "the botanists of the family," a title which I found was not quite equivalent to that of "the complete botanist." There was one "botanist of the family" who was visibly embarrassed when I asked her the name of a plant that is common on the chalk hills, but is so carelessly described in the books as to be easily confused with other kindred species. She gazed at it long, with a troubled eye, and then, as if feeling that her domestic reputation must at all hazards be upheld, replied firmly: "Hemp-nettle." Hemp-nettle it was not; it was wild basil; but years after, when I began to have similar questions put to myself, I realized how disconcerting it is to be thus suddenly interrogated. It made me understand why Cabinet Ministers so frequently insist that they must have "notice of that Question." With one complete botanist, however, I was privileged to become acquainted, Mr. C. E. Salmon, whose special diocese, so to speak, is the county of Surrey, but whose intimate knowledge of wildflowers extends to many counties and coasts. Not a few favours did I receive from him, in certifying for me some of the more puzzling plants; and very good-naturedly he bore the disappointment when, on his asking me to send him, for his _Flora of Surrey_, a list of the rarer flowers in the neighbourhood where I was living, I included among them the small bur-parsley (_caucalis daucoides_), a vanished native, a prodigal son of the county, whose return would have been a matter for gladness. But alas, my plant was not a _caucalis_ at all, but a _torilis_, a squat weed of the cornfields, which by its superficial resemblance to its rare cousin had grossly imposed upon my ignorance. It is when he has acquired some familiarity with the ordinary British plants that a flower-lover, thus educated late in life, finds his thoughts turning to the vanished opportunities of the past. I used to speculate regretfully on what I had missed in my early wanderings in wild places; as in the Isle of Skye, where I picked up the eagle's feather, but overlooked the mountain flower; or on Ben Lawers, a summit rich in rare Alpines to which I then was stone-blind; or in a score of other localities which I can scarcely hope to revisit. But time, which heals all things, brought me a sort of compensation for these delinquencies; for with a fuller knowledge of plants I could to some extent reconstruct in imagination the sights that were formerly unseen, and with the eye of faith admire the Alpine forget-me-not on the ridges of Ben Lawers, or the yellow butterwort in the marshes of Skye. Nor was it always in imagination only; for sometimes a friend would send me a rare flower from some distant spot; and then there was pleasure indeed in the opening of the parcel and in anticipating what it might contain--the pasque-flower perhaps, or the wild tulip, or the Adonis, or the golden samphire, or some other of the many local treasures that make glad the flower-lover's heart. The exhibitions of wildflowers that are now held in the public libraries of not a few towns are extremely useful, and often awake a love of nature in minds where it has hitherto been but dormant. A queer remark was once made to me by a visitor at the Brighton show. "This is a good institution," he said. "It saves you from tramping for the flowers yourself." I had not regarded the exhibition in that light; on the contrary, it stimulates many persons to a pursuit which is likely to fascinate them more and more. For no tramps can be pleasanter than those in quest of wildflowers; especially if one has a fellow-enthusiast for companion: failing that, it is wiser to go alone; for when a flower-lover tramps with someone who has no interest in the pursuit, the result is likely to be discomfiting--he must either forgo his own haltings and deviations, with the probability that he will miss something valuable, or he must feel that he is delaying his friend. In a company, I always pray that their number may be uneven, and that it may not be necessary to march stolidly in pairs, where "one to one is cursedly confined," as Dryden said of matrimony; or worst of all, where one's yoke-fellow may insist, as sometimes happens, on walking "in step," and be forever shuffling his feet as if obeying the commands of some invisible drill-sergeant. It is not with the feet that we should seek harmony, but with the heart. My intention in this book is to speak of the more noteworthy flowers of a few distinctive localities that are known to me, starting from the coast of Sussex, and ascending to the high mountains of Wales and the north-west: I propose also to intersperse the descriptive chapters, here and there with discussions of such special topics as may incidentally arise. And here, at the outset, I was tempted to say a few words about my own favourite flowers--not such universally admired beauties as the primrose, violet, daffodil, hyacinth, forget-me-not, and the others, whose names will readily suggest themselves; for, lovely as they are, it would be superfluous to add to their praises; but rather of some less famous plants, the saints and anchorites of the floral world, the flower-lover's flowers--not the popular, but the best-beloved. On second thoughts, however, I will leave these choicest ones, with a single exception, to be mentioned in their due place and surroundings, and will here name but one of them, a flower which is among the first, not only in the order of merit, but in the order of the seasons. The greater stitchwort, as writers tell us, is one of "the most ornamental of our early flowers"; but surely it is something more than that. The radiance of those white stars that stud the hedge-banks and road-sides in April and May, is dearer to some of us than many of the more favoured blossoms that poets have sung of. The dull English name quite fails to do justice to the almost ethereal lustre of the flower: the Latin _stellaria_ is truer and more expressive. The reappearance of the stitchwort, like that of the orange-tip butterfly, is one of the keenest joys of spring; and one of our keenest regrets in spring is that the stitchwort's flowering-season is so short. II ON SUSSEX SHINGLES Salt and splendid from the circling brine. SWINBURNE. WHERE should a flower-lover begin his story if not from the sea shore? Earth has been poetically described as "daughter of ocean"; and the proximity of the sea has a most genial and stimulating effect upon its grandchildren the flowers, not those only that are peculiar to the beach, but also the inland kinds. There is no "dead sea" lack of vegetation on our coasts, but a marked increase both in the luxuriance of plants and in their beauty. Sussex is rich in "shingles"--flat expanses of loose pebbles formerly thrown up by the waves, and now lying well above high-water mark, or even stretching landward for some distance. One might have expected these stony tracts to be barren in the extreme; in fact they are the nursery-ground of a number of interesting flowers, including some very rare ones; and in certain places, where the stones are intersected by banks of turf, the eye is surprised by a veritable garden in the wilderness. Let us imagine ourselves on one of these shingle-beds in the early summer, when the show of flowers is at its brightest: and first at Shoreham--"Shoreham, crowned with the grace of years," as Swinburne described it. Alas! the Shoreham beach, which until less than twenty years ago was in a natural state, has been so overbuilt with ship-works and bungalows that it has become little else than a suburb of Brighton; yet even now the remaining strip of shingle, stretching for half a mile between sea and harbour, is the home of some delightful plants. In the more favoured spots the gay mantle thrown over the stony strand is visible at the first glance in a wonderful blending of colours--the gold of horned poppy, stonecrop, melilot, and kidney vetch; the white of sea-campion; the delicate pink of thrift; and the fiery reds and blues of the gorgeous viper's bugloss--and when a nearer scrutiny is made, a number of minute plants will be found growing in close company along the grassy ridges. The most attractive of these are the graceful little spring vetch (_vicia lathyroides_), the rue-leaved saxifrage, and that tiny turquoise gem which is apt to escape notice, the dwarf forget-me-not--a trio of the daintiest blossoms, red, white, and blue, that eyes could desire to behold. Shoreham has long been famous for its clovers; and some are still in great force there, especially the rigid trefoil (_trifolium scabrum_), and its congener, _trifolium striatum_, with which it is often confused, while the better-known hare's-foot also covers a good deal of the ground. But there is a sad tale to tell of the plant which once the chief pride of these shingles, the starry-headed trefoil, a very lovely pink flower fringed with silky hairs, which, though not a native, has been naturalized near the bank of the harbour since 1804, but now, owing to the enclosures made for ship-building works, has been all but exterminated. "This," wrote the author of the _Flora of Sussex_ (1907) "is one of the most beautiful of our wildflowers, and is found in Britain at Shoreham only. Fortunately it is very difficult to extirpate any of the _leguminosæ_, and it may therefore be hoped that it may long continue to adorn the beach at Shoreham." The hope seems likely to be frustrated. Among the rubble of concrete slabs, and piles of timber, only three or four tufts of the trefoil were surviving last year, with every likelihood of these also disappearing as the place is further "developed." The second of the Shoreham rarities, the pale yellow vetch (_vicia lutea_) has fared better, owing to its wider range, and is still scattered freely over the yet unenclosed shingles. It is a charming flower; but its doom in Sussex seems to be inevitable, for the bungalows, with their back-yards, tennis-courts, "tradesmen's entrances," and other amenities of villadom, will doubtless continue to encroach upon what was once a wild and unsullied tract. Still sadder is the fate of the devastated coast on the Brighton side of the harbour-mouth, where the low cliffs that overlook the lagoon from Southwick to Fisher's-gate have long been known to botanists as worthy of some attention. Here, on the grassy escarpment, the rare Bithynian vetch used once to grow, as we learn from Mrs. Merrifield's interesting _Sketch of the Natural History of Brighton_ (1860); and here we may still find such plants as the sea-radish, a large coarse crucifer with yellow flowers and queer knotted seed-pods; the blue clary, or wild-sage, running riot in great profusion; the fragrant soft-leaved fennel; the strange star-thistle (_calcitrapa_), so-called from its fancied resemblance to an ancient and diabolical military instrument, the caltrop, an iron ball armed with sharp points, which was thrown on the ground to maim the horses in a cavalry charge; the pale-flowered narrow-leaved flax; and lastly, that rather uncanny shrub of the poisonous nightshade order, with small purple flowers and scarlet berries, which is called the "tea-tree," though the tea which its leaves might furnish would hardly make a palatable brew. Below these cliffs, on an embankment that divides the waters of the lagoon from the seashore, there still flourishes in plenty the fleshy leaved samphire, once sought after for a pickle, and ever famous through the reference in _King Lear_ to "one who gathers samphire, dreadful trade." In this locality there is no dreadful trade, except that of reducing a once pleasant shore to an unsightly slag-heap. Let me now turn from this melancholy spectacle to those Sussex shingles on which the Admiralty and the contractor have not as yet laid a heavy and ruinous hand. On some of the more spacious of these pebbly beaches, as on that which lies between Eastbourne and Pevensey, the traveller may still experience the feeling expressed by Shelley: I love all waste And solitary places, where we taste The pleasure of believing what we see Is boundless, as we wish our souls to be. From Langney Point one looks north-east along a desolate shore, beyond which the ruins of Pevensey Castle are seen in the distance, and the width of the shingly belt between the sea and the high-road is at this point scarcely less than a mile. A scene that is bleak and barren enough in its general aspect; but a search soon reveals the presence of floral treasures, the first of which is a rather rare member of the Pink family, the soapwort, which I had long sought in vain until I met with it growing in abundance close to the outskirts of Eastbourne, where it roots so luxuriantly in the loose shingles as to make one wonder why it is so fastidious elsewhere. Among other noticeable inhabitants of these flats, or of the shallow marshy depressions which they enclose, are hairy crowfoot, catmint, white melilot, stinking groundsel, strawberry-headed trefoil, and candytuft--the last-named a rather unexpected flower in such a place. Still nearer to the sea, not many yards removed from the spray of the waves at their highest, the wild seakale is plentiful; a stout glabrous cabbage, with thick curly leaves and white cruciferous blossoms, it rises straight out of the bare stones, and thrives exceedingly when the folk who stroll along the shore can so far restrain their destructive tendencies as not to hack and mangle it. In its company, perhaps, or in similar situations, will be seen its first-cousin, the sea-rocket, a quaint and pleasant crucifer with zigzag stems, fleshy leaves, and pale lilac petals. The sea-pea, formerly native near Pevensey, is now hardly to be hoped for. One of the most naturally attractive spots on the Sussex coast is Cuckmere Haven, near Seaford, a gap in the chalk cliffs, about half a mile in width, through which the river Cuckmere finds a dubious exit to the sea. Were it not for the abomination of the rifle-butts, which sometimes close the shore to the public, no more delectable nook could be desired; and to the flower-lover the little shelf of shingle which forms the beach is full of charm. Here, growing along the grassy margin of brackish pools, and itself so like a flowering grass that a sharp eye is needed to detect it, one may find that singular umbelliferous plant--not at all resembling the other members of its tribe--the slender hare's-ear (_bupleurum tenuissimum_), thin, wiry, dark-green, with narrow lance-like leaves and minute yellow umbels. Near by, the small sea-heath, one of the prettiest of maritime flowers, makes a dense carpet; on the corner of the adjacent cliff the lesser and rarer sea-lavender (_statice binervosa_) is plentiful, and in the late summer blooms at a considerable height on the narrow ledges. Pagham "Harbour," a wild estuary of some extent, between Selsey and Bognor, is another locality that has earned a reputation for its flowers, the most remarkable of which is the very local proliferous pink, which has long been known as abundant on that portion of the coast, though elsewhere very infrequent. A pleasant walk of about three miles leads from Bognor to Pagham, along a sandy shore fringed with very luxuriant tamarisk-bushes; and when one reaches the stony reef where further progress is barred by the waters or sand-shoals of the "Harbour," the little pink, which bears a superficial resemblance to thrift, will be seen springing up freely among the pebbles. We are told that only one of its blossoms opens at a time; but this is the sort of statement, often copied from book to book, which is not verified by experience, or to which at least many exceptions must be admitted. What is certain is that the proliferous pink has a considerable share of the distinctive grace of its family, and that the occasion of first encountering it will live in the flower-lover's memory. I have named but a few--those personally known to me--of the rarer or more characteristic shingle-flowers; and in so wide a field there is always the chance of new discoveries: hence the unfailing interest, to the botanist, of places which, apart from their flora, are likely to be shunned as wearisome. The shore itself is seldom without visitors; but the shingles that stretch back from the shore rarely attract the footsteps even of the hardiest walkers. It is only when there has been a murder in one of those solitary spots--or at least something that the newspapers can describe as "dramatic" or "sensational"--that the holiday-folk in the neighbouring towns forsake for a day or two the pleasures of pier or parade, and sally forth over the stony wildernesses in a search for "clues"; as when the "Crumbles," near Eastbourne, was the scene, two years ago, of a murder, and at a later date of a ghost. To discover the foot of some partially buried victim protruding from the pebbles--_that_ is deemed a sufficient object for a pilgrimage. The gold of the sea-poppy and the pink of the thrift are trifles that are passed unseen. III BY DITCH AND DIKE On either side Is level fen, a prospect wild and wide. CRABBE. "LEVELS," or "brooks," is the name commonly given in Sussex to a number of grassy tracts, often of wide extent, which, though still in a state of semi-wildness, have been so far reclaimed from primitive fens as to afford a rough pasturage for horses and herds of cattle, the ground being drained and intersected by dikes and sluggish streams. In these spacious and unfrequented flats wildfowl of various kinds are often to be seen; herons stand motionless by the pools, or flap slowly away if disturbed in their meditation; pewits wheel and cry overhead; and the redshank, most clamorous of birds during the nesting-season, makes such a din as almost to distract the attention of the intruding botanist. For it is the botanist who is specially drawn to these wild water-ways, where hours may be profitably spent in strolling beside the brooks, with the certainty of seeing many interesting plants and the chance of finding some unfamiliar ones; nor is there anything to mar his enjoyment, except the possible meeting with a bull on a wide arena from which there is no ready exit, save by jumping a muddy ditch or by crossing one of the narrow and precarious planks which do duty as footbridges. These "levels," though often bordering on a tidal river, are not themselves salt marshes, nor is their flora a maritime one; in that respect they differ from the East-coast fens described by Crabbe in one of his _Tales_, "The Lover's Journey"; a passage which has been praised as one of the best pictures ever given of dike-land scenery. There are lines in it which might be quoted of the Sussex as well as of the Suffolk marsh-meadows; but for me the verses are spoiled by the strangely apologetic tone which the poet assumed in speaking of the local plants: The few dull flowers that o'er the place are spread Partake the nature of their fenny bed. And so on. Did he think that his polite readers expected to hear of sweet peas and carnations beautifying the desolate mud-banks? The "dulness" seems to be--well, not on the part of the flowers. "Dull as ditchwater," they say. But ditchwater flowers are far from dull. Of Sussex marshes the most extensive are the Pevensey Levels; but the most pleasantly situated are those that lie just south of Lewes, where the valley of the Ouse widens into an oval plain before it narrows again towards Newhaven. From the central part of this alluvial basin the view is very striking all around; for the estuary seems to be everywhere enclosed, except to seaward, by the great smooth slopes of the chalk Downs. On its west side are three picturesque villages, Iford, Rodmell, and Southease, with churches and farms lying on the very verge of the "brooks": at the head, the quaint old houses and castle of Lewes rise conspicuous like a mediæval town. But to whichever of these watery wastes the flower-lover betakes himself, he will not lack for occupation. One of the first friends to greet him in the early summer, by the Lewes levels, will be the charming _Hottonia_, or "water-violet," as it is misnamed; for though the petals are pink, its yellow eye and general form proclaim it to be of the _primulaceæ_, and "water-primrose" should by preference be its title. There are few prettier sights than a company of these elegant flowers rising clear above the surface, their slender stems bearing whorls of the pink blossoms, while the dark green featherlike leaves remain submerged. This "featherfoil," as it is sometimes called, is as lovely as the primrose of the woods. Companions or near neighbours of the _Hottonia_ are the arrow-head, at once recognized by its bold sagittate leaves, and the frog-bit, another flower of three white petals, whose small reniform foliage, floating on the brooks, gives it the appearance of a dwarf water-lily. By no means common, but growing in profusion where it grows at all, the dainty little frog-bit, once met with, always remains a favourite. The true water-lilies, both the white and the yellow, are also native on the levels; so, too, is the quaint water-milfoil, with its much-cut submerged leaves resembling those of the featherfoil, and its numerous erect flower-spikes dotting the surface of the pools. All these water-nymphs may be seen simultaneously blossoming in June. More prominent than such small aquatics are the tall-growing kinds which lift their heads two or three feet above the waters. Of these quite the handsomest is the flowering rush (_butomus_), stately and pink-petaled; among the rest are the two water-plantains (the lesser one rather uncommon); the water-speedwell, a gross and bulky _veronica_ which lacks the charm of its smaller relative the brook-lime; and the queer mare's-tails, which in the midst of a running stream look like a number of tiny fir-trees out of their element. The umbelliferous family is also well represented. Wild celery is there; and the showy water-parsnip (_sium_); the graceful tubular water-dropwort, and its big neighbour the horse-bane, which in some places swells to an immense size in the centre of the ditches. On the margin grows the pretty trailing money-wort, or "creeping Jenny"; and with it, maybe, the white-blossomed brook-weed, or water-pimpernel, which at first sight has more likeness to the crucifers than to its real relatives the primroses, and is thus apt to puzzle those by whom it has not previously been encountered. Rambling beside these so-called brooks, which are mostly not brooks but channels of almost stagnant water, one cannot fail to remark the clannishness of many of the flowers: they grow in groups, monopolizing nearly the whole length of a ditch, and making a show by their united array of leaves or blossoms. In one part, perhaps, the slim water-violet predominates; then, as you turn a corner, a long vista of arrow-heads meets the eye, nothing but arrow-heads between bank and bank, their sharp, barbed foliage topping the surface in a phalanx: or again, you may come upon fifty yards of frog-bit, a multitude of small green bucklers that entirely hide the water; or a radiant colony of water-lilies, whose broad leaves make the intrusion of other aquatics scarcely possible, and provide a cool pavement for wagtail and moorhen to walk on. It is noticeable, too, that the lesser water-plantain, unlike the greater, is almost confined to one section of the levels; and in like manner the brook-weed and the burmarigold have each occupied for their headquarters the banks of a particular dike. The fringed buckbean (_villarsia_) is said to be an inhabitant of these brooks. I have not seen it there; but it may be found, sparsely, in the river Ouse, a short distance above Lewes, where its round leaves float on the quiet backwaters like those of a large frog-bit or a small water-lily, though the botanists tell us it is a gentian. I remember that on the first occasion when I saw it there, on a late summer day, there was only a single blossom left, and as that was on a deep pool, several yards from the bank, there was no choice but to swim for it. The great yellow cress (_nasturtium amphibium_), a glorified cousin of the familiar water-cress, is also native on the Ouse above Lewes, less frequently below. More spacious than the Lewes levels, but drearier, and on the whole less interesting, are those of Pevensey, which cover a wide tract to the east of Hailsham, formerly an inlet of the sea, where the sites of the few homesteads that rise above the flat meadows, such as Chilley and Horse-eye, were once islands in the bay. Walking north from Pevensey, by a road which traverses this inhospitable flat, one sees the walls of Hurstmonceux Castle in front, on what was originally the coast-line; on either side of the highway is a maze of ditches and dikes, among which rare flowers are to be found, notably the broad-leaved pepperwort, the largest and most remarkable of its family, and the great spearwort, said to be locally plentiful near Hurstmonceux. The bladderwort, reputed common on these marshes, seems to have become much scarcer than it was twenty years back. For other flowers, other fenny tracts may be sought; Henfield Common, for instance, has the bog-bean, the marsh St. John's-wort, and still better, the marsh-cinquefoil. But of all Sussex water-meadows with which I am acquainted the richest are the Amberley Wild Brooks, which lie below Pulborough, adjacent to the tidal stream of the Arun, a piece of partially drained bog-land which in a wet winter season is apt to be flooded anew, and to revert to its primitive state of swamp. It is a glorious place to wander over, on a sunny August afternoon, with the great escarpment of the Downs, and the ever-prominent Chanctonbury Ring, close in view to the south; and in a long summer day the expedition can be combined with a visit to Arundel Park, only three miles distant, the best of parks, as being the least parklike and most natural, and having a goodly store of the wildflowers that are dwellers upon chalk hills. The Amberley Wild Brooks possess this great merit, that in addition to most of the aquatics and dike-land plants above-mentioned, they present a fine display of the tall riverside flowers. Their wet hollows that teem with frog-bit, arrow-head, water-parsnip, water-plantain, yellow cress, glaucous stitchwort, and other choice things, are fringed here and there with purple loosestrife, and with marsh-woundwort almost equal to the loosestrife in size and colour; and mingling with these in like luxuriance are yellow loosestrife, tansy, toadflax, and water-ragwort--a brilliant combination of purple flowers and gold. Then, as if the better to set off this spectacle, there is in some places a background of staid and massive herbs like the great water-dock, And bulrushes, and reeds of such deep green As soothe the dazzled eye with sober sheen.[3] One would fear that this wealth of diverse hues might even become embarrassing, were it not that the heart of the flower-lover is insatiable. [Footnote 3: From Shelley's short lyric, "The Question," perhaps the most beautiful flower-poem in the language.] IV LIKENESSES THAT BAFFLE Stay, stand apart; I know not which is which. _The Comedy of Errors._ ONE of the first difficulties by which those who would learn their native flora are beset is the likeness which in some cases exists between one plant and another--not the close resemblance of kindred species, such as that found, for instance, among the brambles or the hawkweeds, which is necessarily a matter for expert discrimination, but the superficial yet often puzzling similarity in what botanists call the "habit" of wildflowers. Thus the horse-shoe vetch may easily be mistaken, by a beginner, for the bird's-foot trefoil, or the field mouse-ear chickweed for the greater stitchwort; and the differences between the dove's-foot crane's-bill and the less common _geranium pusillum_ are not at first sight very apparent. Distinguishing features instantly recognized by an expert, who has taken, so to speak, finger-tip impressions of the plants, do not readily present themselves to the layman, whose only guide is the general testimony of structure, colour, and height. It is, moreover, unfortunate that some of the popular flower-books, owing to the slovenly way in which their descriptions are worded, are of little help; they not only fail to give the needed particulars where there is a real likeness, but often, where there is none, create confusion in the reader's mind by depicting quite dissimilar plants in almost identical terms. In Johns's _Flowers of the Field_ (edition of 1908), for example, the description of hedge-woundwort hardly differs verbally from that of black horehound, and might certainly mislead a novice who was studying hedgerow flowers. The same writer had an exasperating habit of repeatedly stating that various plants are "well distinguished" by certain features, when in fact it is very difficult, from the accounts given by him, to distinguish them at all! An earlier and better writer, Anne Pratt, did make an effort in her _Haunts of the Wild Flowers_ to indicate the chief characteristics, as between the sea-plantain and the sea-arrowgrass, the hemp-agrimony and the valerian; but even she, when some of the labiate flowers were in question, dismissed them, not very helpfully, as "all growing in abundance, but so much alike that it needs a knowledge of botany to distinguish them from each other"! I have known a case where, owing to a picturesque but inaccurate account, in the same book, the Welsh stonecrop (_sedum Forsterianum_) was confused with the marsh St. John's-wort, which has leaves that bear a curious resemblance to those of the _sedum_ tribe. Even writers of botanical handbooks seem not to realize with what difficulties the uninitiated are faced, in regard to certain groups of plants where the several species, though quite distinct, bear a strong family likeness. The chamomiles, for instance, might well receive some special treatment in books; for it is no simple matter to assign their proper names to some four or five of the clan--the true chamomile, the wild chamomile, the corn chamomile, the stinking chamomile, and the "scentless" mayweed, which is _not_ scentless. Many of the umbellifers also are notoriously difficult to identify; and among leguminous plants there is a bewildering similarity between black medick, or "nonsuch," and the lesser clover (_trifolium minus_), which in turn is liable to be confused with the popular hop-clover or with the slender and fairy-like _trifolium filiforme_. "Small examples of _t. minus_," said a well-known botanist, Mr. H. C. Watson, "are so frequently misnamed _t. filiforme_, that I trust only my own eyes for it."[4] "As like as two peas" is a saying which finds fulfilment in these and other examples. [Footnote 4: _Flora of Surrey_, by J. A. Brewer, 1863.] The clovers are indeed a perplexing family; and it is not surprising that the identification of the "shamrock" has given cause for dispute. Two of the smaller trefoils, for example, _trifolium scabrum_ and _striatum_, so closely resemble each other that a novice fails to appreciate the assurance given in the _Flora of Kent_ that they "can very easily be separated." It is doubtless easy to separate one twin from another twin, Dromio of Ephesus from Dromio of Syracuse, when once you know how to do so; but until you have acquired that knowledge there is material for a "comedy of errors." The majority of folk are much more apt to confuse plants than to distinguish them: witness such names as "fool's-parsley" and "fool's-watercress." Fools there are; yet anyone who has spent time in studying wildflowers, with no better aid than that of the popular books on the subject, will hesitate to pass judgment on such folly; for as so good an observer as Richard Jefferies said: "If you really wish to identify with certainty, and have no botanist friend and no _magnum opus_ of Sowerby to refer to, it is very difficult indeed to be quite sure."[5] We have to be thankful for small mercies in this matter; and it may be recognized that in some cases--generally where the similarity is _not_ great, as that between the strawberry-leaved cinquefoil and the wild strawberry, or between the feverfew and the scentless mayweed--the books occasionally give a word of advice to "the young botanist." Nine times out of ten, however, that young fellow, or perchance old fellow (for one may be young as a botanist, while by no means young in years), must shift for himself; and doing so, he will gradually learn by experience what a number of likenesses there are among plants, and how many mistakes may be made before a sure acquaintance is arrived at. [Footnote 5: Essay on "Wild Flowers," in _The Open Air_.] The name of "mockers" is sometimes given by gardeners to weeds that are so like certain valued plants as to be easily mistaken for them; and in the same way, in the search for wildflowers, one's attention is often distracted, as, for instance, if one is looking for the spineless meadow-thistle, the eye may be baffled by innumerable knapweed blossoms of the same hue; the clustered bell-flower will feign to be the autumnal gentian, its neighbour on the chalk downs; or the blossoms and leaves of the purple saxifrage on the high mountains are aped by the ubiquitous wild thyme. Of all these likenesses the most perilous is that between the malodorous ramsons, which have a very abiding smell of garlic, and the highly esteemed lily of the valley. Hence a story which I once heard from the affable keeper who presides over a wooded hill in Westmorland where the lily of the valley abounds, and where visitors are permitted to pick as many flowers as they like after payment of a shilling. Seeing a gentleman busily engaged in gathering a large bunch of ramsons, the keeper, suspecting error, asked him what he supposed himself to be picking. "Why, lilies of the valley, of course," was the reply. When the truth was explained, the visitor thanked the keeper cordially, and added: "I was picking the flowers for my wife: but if I had brought her a present of garlic she would have had something to say to me. I myself have lost the sense of smell."[6] [Footnote 6: So, too, had the poet Wordsworth; of whom William Morris, who disliked the Wordsworthian cult, used to say, in explanation of such antipathy: "The fellow couldn't smell."] Likeness or unlikeness--it is all a matter of observation. To a stranger, every sheep in the flock has a face like that of her fellows: to the shepherd there are no two sheep alike. V BOTANESQUE What is it? a learned man Could give it a clumsy name. Let him name it who can, The beauty would be the same. TENNYSON. AMONG the difficulties that waylay the beginner must be reckoned the botanical phraseology. We have heard of "the language of flowers," and of its romantic associations; but the language of botany is another matter, and though less picturesque is equally cryptic and not to be mastered without study. When, for example, we read of a certain umbelliferous plant that its "cremocarp consists of two semicircular-ovoid mericarps, constricted at the commissure"--or when, with our lives in our hands, so to speak, we experiment in fungus-eating, and learn that a particular mushroom has its stem "fistulose, subsquamulose, its pileus membranaceous, rarely subcarnose, when young ovato-conic, then campanulate, at length torn and revolute, deliquescent, and clothed with the flocculose fragments of the veil"--we probably feel that some further information would be welcome. A friend who had been reading a series of articles on botany once remarked to me that "they could scarcely be said to be written in any known language, but were in a new tongue which might perhaps be called Botanesque." But it is of the botanesque nomenclature that I now wish to speak. The faculty of bestowing appropriate names is at all times a gift, an inspiration, most happy when least laboured, and often eluding the efforts of learned and scientific men. By schoolboys it is sometimes exhibited in perfection; as in a case that I remember at a public school, where three brothers of the name of Berry were severally known, for personal reasons, as Bilberry, Blackberry, and Gooseberry, the fitness of which botanical titles was never for a moment impugned. But botanists rarely invent names so well. The nomenclature of plants, like that of those celestial flowers, the stars, is a queer jumble of ancient and modern, classical learning and mediæval folk-lore, in which the really characteristic features are often overlooked. In this respect the Latin names are worse offenders than the English; and one is sometimes tempted, in disgust at their pedantic irrelevance, to ignore them altogether, and to exclaim with the poet: What's in a name? That which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet. But this would be an error; for a name does greatly enhance the interest of an object, be it boy, or bird, or flower; and the Greek and Latin plant-names, cumbrous and far-fetched though many of them are--as when the saintfoin is absurdly labelled _onobrychis_, on the supposition that its scent provokes an ass to bray--form, nevertheless, a useful link between botanists of different nations and a safeguard against the confusion that arises from a variety of local terms. Among the English names also there are some clumsy appellations, and in a few cases the Latin ones are much pleasanter: _stellaria_, for example, as I have already said, is more elegant than "stitchwort." "What have I done?" asks the small cousin of the woodruff, in Edward Carpenter's poem, when it justly protests against its hideous christening by man: What have I done? Man came, Evolutional upstart one, With the gift of giving a name To everything under the sun. What have I done? Man came (They say nothing sticks like dirt), Looked at me with eyes of blame, And called me "Squinancy-wort." But on the whole the English names of flowers are simpler and more suggestive than the Latin; certainly "monk's-hood" is preferable to _aconitum_, "rest-harrow" to _ononis_, "flowering rush" to _butomus_; and so on, through a long list: and it therefore seems rather strange that the native titles should sometimes be ousted by the foreign. I have met botanists who had quite forgotten the English, and were obliged to ask me for the scientific term before they could sufficiently recall the plant of which we were speaking. The prefix "common" is often very misleading in the English nomenclature. Anyone, for example, who should go confidently searching for the "common hare's-ear" would soon find that he had got his work cut out. There are, in fact, not many plants that are everywhere common; most of those that are so described should properly be classed as _local_, because, while plentiful in some districts, they are infrequent in others. Botanical names fall mainly into three classes, the medicinal, the commemorative, the descriptive. The old uses of plants by the herbalists mark the prosaic origin of many of the names; some of which, such as "goutweed," at once explain themselves, as indicating supposed remedies for ills that flesh is heir to. Others, if less obvious, are still not far to seek; the "scabious," for example, derived from the Latin _scabies_, was reputed to be a cure for leprosy: a few, like "eye-bright" (_euphrasia_, gladness), have a more cheerful significance. When we turn to such titles as _centaurea_, for the knapweed and cornflower, some explanation is needed, to wit, that Chiron, the fabulous centaur, was said to have employed these herbs in the exercise of his healing art. The commemorative names are mostly given in honour of accomplished botanists, it being a habit of mankind, presumably prompted by the acquisitive instincts of the race, to name any object, great or small--from a mountain to a mouse--as _belonging_ to the person who discovered or brought it to notice. In the case of wildflowers this is not always a very felicitous system of distinguishing them, though perhaps better than the utilitarian jargon of the pharmacopoeia. Sometimes, indeed, it is beyond cavil; as in the fit association of the little _linnæa borealis_ with the great botanist who loved it; but when a number of the less important professors of the science are immortalized in this way, there seems to be something rather irrelevant, if not absurd, in such nomenclature. Why, for example, should two of the more charming crucifers be named respectively _Hutchinsia_ and _Teesdalia_, after a Miss Hutchins and a Mr. Teesdale? Why should the water-primrose be called _Hottonia_, after a Professor Hotton; or the sea-heath _Frankenia_, after a Swedish botanist named Franken; and so on, in a score of other cases that might be cited? The climax is reached when the _rubi_ and the _salices_ are divided into a host of more or less dubious sub-species, so that a Bloxam may have his bramble, and a Hoffmann his willow, as a possession for all time! The most rational, and also the most graceful manner of naming flowers is the descriptive; and here, luckily, there are a number of titles, English or Latin, with which no fault can be found. Spearwort, mouse-tail, arrow-head, bird's-foot, colt's-foot, blue-bell, bindweed, crane's-bill, snapdragon, shepherd's purse, skull-cap, monk's-hood, ox-tongue--these are but a few of the well-bestowed names which, by an immediate appeal to the eye, fix the flower in the mind; they are at once simple and appropriate: in others, such as Adonis, Columbine, penny-cress, cranberry, lady's-mantle, and thorow-wax, the description, if less manifest at first sight, is none the less charming when recognized. The Latin, too, is at times so befitting as to be accepted without demur; thus _iris_, to express the rainbow tints of the flowers, needs no English equivalent, and _campanula_ has only to be literally rendered as "bell-flower." In _campanula hederacea_, the "ivy-leaved bell-flower," we see nomenclature at its best, the petals and the foliage of a floral gem being both faithfully described. A glance at a list of British wildflowers will bring to mind various other ways in which names have been given to them--some familiar, some romantic, a few even poetical. Among the homely but not unpleasing kind, are "Jack by the hedge" for the garlic mustard; "John go to bed at noon" for the goat's-beard; "creeping Jenny" for the money-wort; and "lady's-fingers" for the kidney-vetch. Of the romantically named plants the most conspicuous example is doubtless the forget-me-not, its English name contrasting, as it does, with the more realistic Latin _myosotis_, which detects in the shape of the leaves a likeness to a mouse's ear. None, perhaps, can claim to be so poetical as Gerarde's name for the clematis; for "traveller's joy" was one of those happy inspirations which are unfortunately rare. VI THE OPEN DOWNLAND Open hither, open hence, Scarce a bramble weaves a fence. MEREDITH. WHEN speaking of some Sussex water-meadows, I mentioned as one of their many delights the views which they offer of the never distant Downs. The charm of these chalk hills is to me only inferior to that of real mountains; there are times, indeed, when with clouds resting on the summits, or drifting slowly along the coombes, one could almost imagine himself to be in the true mountain presence. I have watched, on an autumn day, a long sea of vapour rolling up from the weald against the steep northern front of the Downs, while their southern slopes were still basking in sunshine; and scarcely less wonderful than the clouds themselves are the cloud-shadows that may often be seen chasing each other across the wide open tracts which lie in the recesses of the hills. "Majestic mountains," "exalted promontories," were among the descriptions given of the Downs by Gilbert White: what we now prize in them is not altitude but spaciousness. In Rosamund Marriott Watson's words: Broad and bare to the skies The great Down-country lies. Its openness, with the symmetry of the free curves and contours into which the chalk shapes itself, is the salient feature of the range; and to this may be added its liberal gift of solitude and seclusion. Even from the babel of Brighton an hour's journey on foot can bring one into regions where a perpetual Armistice Day is being celebrated, with something better than the two minutes of silence snatched from the townsfolk's day of din. The Downs are also open in the sense of being free, to a very great extent, from the enclosures which in so many districts exclude the public from the land. In some parts, unfortunately, the abominable practice of erecting wire fences is on the increase among sheep-farmers; but generally speaking, a naturalist may here wander where he will. Of all the flowering plants of the Downs, the gorse is at once the earliest and the most impressive; no spectacle that English wildflowers can offer, when seen _en masse_, excels that of the numberless furze-bushes on a bright April day. There is then a vividness in the gorse, a depth and warmth of that "deep gold colour" beloved by Rossetti, which far surpasses the glazed metallic sheen of a field of buttercups. It is pure gold, in bullion, the palpable wealth of Croesus, displayed not in flat surfaces, but in bars, ingots, and spires, bough behind bough, distance on distance, with infinite variety of light and shade, and set in strong relief against a background of sombre foliage. Thus it has the appearance, in full sunshine, almost of a furnace, a reddish underglow and heart of flame which is lacking even in the broom. To creep within one of these gorse-temples when illumined by the sun, is to enjoy an ecstasy both of colour and of scent. With the exception of the furze, the Downland flowers are mostly low of stature, as befits their exposed situation, a small but free people inhabiting the wind-swept slopes and coombes, and well requiting the friendship of those who visit them in their fastnesses. One of the earliest and most welcome is the spring whitlow-grass, which abounds on ant-hills high up on the ridges, forming a dense growth like soft down on the earth's cheek. Here it hastes to get its blossoming done before the rush of other plants, its little reddish stalk rising from a rosette of short leaves, and bearing the tiny terminal flowers with white deeply cleft petals and anthers of yellow hue. Its near successor is the equally diminutive mouse-ear (_cerastium semidecandrum_), a white-petaled plant of a deep dark green, viscous, and thickly covered with hairs. When summer has come, the flowers of the Downs are legion--yellow bird's-foot trefoil, and horse-shoe vetch; milkwort pink, white, or blue; fragile rock-rose; graceful dropwort; salad burnet; squinancy-wort, and a hundred more,[7] of which one of the fairest, though commonest, is the trailing silverweed, whose golden petals are in perfect contrast with the frosted silver of the foliage. But the special ornament of these hills, known as "the pride of Sussex," is the round-headed rampion, a small, erect, blue-bonneted flower which is no "roundhead" in the Puritan sense, but rather of the gay company of cavaliers. Abundant along the Downs from Eastbourne to Brighton, and still further to the west, it is a plant of which the eye never tires. [Footnote 7: See the beautiful chapter on "The Living Garment," in Mr. W. H. Hudson's _Nature in Downland_.] But it is the orchids that chiefly draw one's thoughts to Downland when midsummer is approaching. "Have you seen the bee orchis?" is then the question that is asked; and to wander on the lower slopes at that season without seeing the bee orchis would argue a tendency to absent-mindedness. I used to debate with myself whether the likeness to a bee is real or fanciful, till one day, not thinking of orchids at all, I stopped to examine a rather strange-looking bee which I noticed on the grass, and found that the insect was--a flower. That, so far, settled the point; but I still think that the fly orchis is the better imitation of the two. The early spider orchis is native on the eastern range of the Downs, near the lonely hamlet of Telscombe and in a few other localities in the heart of the hills; where, unless one has luck--and I had none--the search for a small flower on those far-stretching slopes is like the proverbial hunt for a needle in a hayloft. The only noticeable object on the hillside was an apparently dead sheep, about a hundred feet below me, lying flat on her back, with hoofs pointing rigidly to the sky; but as it was _orchis_, not _ovis_, that I was in quest of, I was about to pass on, when I saw a shepherd, who had just come round a shoulder of the Down, uplift the sheep and set her on her legs, whereupon, to my surprise, she ambled away as if nothing had been amiss with her. I learnt from the shepherd that such accidents are not uncommon, and that having once "turned turtle" the sluggish creature (as mankind has made her) would certainly have perished unless he had chanced to come to the rescue. When I told the good man what had brought me to that unfrequented coombe, he said, as country people often do, that he did not "take much notice" of wildflowers; nevertheless, after inquiring about the appearance of the orchids, he volunteered to note the place for me if he chanced to see them. Then, as we were parting, he called after me: "And if you see any more sheep on their backs, I'll thank you if you'll turn 'em over." This I willingly promised, on the principle not only of humanity, but that one good turn deserves another. Next season, perhaps, our friendly compact may be renewed. The dingle in which Telscombe lies is rich in flowers; in the Maytime of which I am speaking, there was a profusion of hound's-tongue in bloom, and a good sprinkling of that charming upland plant, deserving of a pleasanter name, the field fleawort; but of what I was searching for, no trace. I had walked into the spider's "parlour," but the spider was not at home. More fortunate was a lady who on that same day brought to the Hove exhibition a flower which she had casually picked on another part of the Downs where she was taking a walk. Sitting down for a rest, she saw an unknown plant on the turf. It was a spider orchis. Much less unaccommodating, to me, was the musk orchis, a still smaller species which grows in several places where the northern face of the Downs is intersected, as below Ditchling Beacon, by deep-cut tracks--they can hardly be called bridle-paths--that slant upward across the slope. I was told by Miss Robinson, of Saddlescombe, to whose wide knowledge of Sussex plants many flower-lovers besides myself have been indebted, that she once picked a musk orchis from horseback as she was riding along the hill side. It is a sober-garbed little flower, with not much except its rarity to signalize it; but an orchis is an orchis still; there is no member of the family that has not an interest of its own. Many of them are locally common on these hills; to wit, the early purple, the fly, the frog, the fragrant, the spotted, the pyramidal, and most lovely of all, the dwarf orchis; also the twayblade, the lady's-tresses, and one or two of the helleborines. The green-man orchis, not uncommon in parts of Surrey and Kent, will here be sought in vain. But the Downs are not wholly composed of grassy sheep-walks and furze-dotted wastes; they include many tracts of cultivated land, where, if we may judge from the botanical records of the past generation, certain cornfield weeds which are now very rare, such as the mouse-tail and the hare's-ear, were once much more frequent. It is rather strange that the improved culture, which has nearly eliminated several interesting species, should have had so little effect on the charlock and the poppy, which still colour great squares and sections of the Downs with their rival tints, their yellow and scarlet rendered more conspicuous by having the quiet tones of these rolling uplands for a background. In autumn, when most of the wealden flowers are withering, the chalk hills are still decked with gentians and other late-growing kinds; and the persistence, even into sere October, of such children of the sun as the rampion and the rock-rose is very remarkable. The autumnal aspect of the Downs is indeed as beautiful as any; for there are then many days when a blissful calm seems to brood over the great coombes and hollows, and the fields lie stretched out like a many-coloured map, the rich browns of the ploughlands splashed and variegated with patches of yellow and green. Then, too, one sees and hears overhead the joy-flight of the rooks and daws, as round and round they circle, higher and higher, like an inverted maelstrom swirling upward, till it breaks with a chorus of exulting cries as gladdening to the ear as is the sight of those aerial manoeuvres to the eye. The final impression which the Downs leave on the mind is, I repeat, one of freedom and space; and this is felt by the flower-lover as strongly as by any wanderer on these hills, these "blossoming places in the wilderness," as Mr. Hudson has called them, "which make the thought of our trim, pretty, artificial gardens a weariness." VII PRISONERS OF THE PARTERRE Prim little scholars are the flowers of her garden, Trained to stand in rows, and asking if they please. I might love them well but for loving more the wild ones: O my wild ones! they tell me more than these. MEREDITH. THE domestication of plants, as of animals, is a concern of such practical importance that in most minds it quite transcends whatever interest may be felt in the beauty of wildflowers. But the many delights of the garden ought not to blind us to the fact that there is in the wild a peculiar quality which the domesticated can never reproduce, and that the plant which is free, even if it be the humblest and most common, has a charm for the nature-lover which the more gorgeous captives of the garden must inevitably lack. If much is gained by domestication, much is also lost. This, doubtless, is felt less strongly in the taming of plants than of animals, but in either case it holds true. To some of us, it must be owned, zoological gardens are a nightmare of confusion, and the now almost equally popular "rock-garden" a place which leaves an impression of dulness and futility; for while we fully recognize the interest, such as it is, of inducing Alpines to grow under altered conditions of climate, there is an irrelevance in the assembling of heterogeneous flowers in one enclosure, which perplexes and wearies the mind. For just as a cosmopolitan city is no city at all, and a Babel is no language, so a multifarious rock-garden, where a host of alien plants are grouped in unnatural juxtaposition, is a collection not of flowers but of "specimens." For scientific purposes--the determination of species, and viewing the plants in all stages of their growth--it may be most valuable: to the mere flower-lover, as he gazes on such a concourse, the thought that arises is: "What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba?" It is a museum, a herbarium, if you like; but hardly, in any true sense, a garden. I once had the experience of living next door to a friend who was smitten with the mania for rock-gardening, and from my study window I overlooked the process from start to finish--first the arrival of many tons of limestone blocks and chips; then the construction of artificial crags and gullies, moraines and escarpments, until a line of miniature Alps rose to view; and lastly the planting of various mountain flowers in the situations suited to their needs. Then followed many earnest colloquies between the creator of this fair scene and a neighbour enthusiast, as they walked about the garden together and inspected it plant by plant, much as a farmer goes his rounds to examine his oats or turnips. They surveyed the world, botanically speaking, from China to Peru. Yet somehow I felt that, just as I would rather see a sparrow at large than an eagle in captivity, so to be shown round that well-fashioned rockery was less entertaining than to show oneself round the most barren of the adjacent moors. "Herbes that growe in the fieldes," wrote a fifteenth-century herbalist, "be bettere than those that growe in gardenes."[8] [Footnote 8: Quoted in _A Garden of Herbs_, by E. S. Rohde.] This, however, is by no means the common opinion; on the contrary, there is in most minds a disregard or veritable contempt for wildflowers as being, with a few exceptions, "weeds," and quite unworthy of comparison with the inmates of a garden. In her _Haunts of the Wild Flowers_, Anne Pratt has recorded how she was invited by a cottager to throw away a bunch of "ordinary gays" that she was carrying, and to gather some garden flowers in their stead. I once took a long walk over the moors in Derbyshire in order to visit certain rare flowers of the limestone dales, among them the speedwell-leaved whitlow-grass (_draba muralis_), a specimen of which I brought home. This little crucifer is very insignificant in appearance; and the fact that anyone should plod many miles to gather it so upset the gravity of an extremely demure and respectful servant girl, when she saw it on my mantelpiece, that to her own visible shame and confusion she broke into a loud giggle, somewhat as Bernard Shaw's chocolate-cream soldier failed to conceal his amusement when the portrait of the hero of the cavalry charge was shown to him by its possessor. Even in the case of those wildings whose beauty or scent has made them generally popular, it is thought the highest compliment to domesticate them, to bring them--poor waifs and strays that they are--from their forlorn savage state into the fold of civilization, just as a "deserving" pauper might be received into an almshouse, or an orphan child into one of Dr. Barnardo's homes. And strange to say, this reverential belief in the garden, as enhancing the merits of the wild, has found its way into many of the wildflower books: for instance, in Johns's well-known work, _Flowers of the Field_ (of the _field_, be it noted), we are informed that the lily of the valley is "a universally admired garden plant, and that the sweet-brier is "deservedly" cultivated. The more refined wildflowers, it will be seen, can thus rise, as it were, from the ranks, at the cost of their freedom, which happens to be the most interesting thing about them, to be enrolled in the army of the civilized; and the result has been that some of the more distinguished plants, such as the _daphne mezereum_, are fast losing their place among British wildflowers, and becoming nothing better than prisoners and captives of the parterre. This disdain that is felt for whatever is wild, natural, and unowned, is largely responsible for the unscrupulous digging up of any attractive plants that may be discovered, a subject of which I propose to speak in the next chapter. The absurdity of the typical gardener's attitude toward wildflowers is well illustrated by some remarks in Delamer's _The Flower Garden_ (1856) with reference to that exceedingly beautiful plant, the tutsan. "Tutsan is a hardy shrubby St. John's-wort, largely employed by gardeners of the last century; but it has now, for the most part, retired from business, in consequence of the arrival of more attractive and equally serviceable newcomers. One or two tutsan bushes may be permitted to help to form a screen of shrubs, in consideration of the days of auld lang syne." Fortunately the tutsan is not "retiring from business" in Nature's garden. It seems to me that, instead of carrying more and more wildflowers into captivity, it would be much wiser to set at liberty the many British plants that are now under detention. I would instruct my gardener (if I had one) to lift very carefully the daphnes, the lilies of the valley, the tutsans, the cornflowers, the woodruffs, and the rest of the native clan, and to plant them out, each according to its taste, by bank or hedgerow, in field, common, or wood. VIII PICKING AND STEALING Flower in the crannied wall, I pluck you out of the crannies. TENNYSON. THERE is, as I have said, a positive contempt in many minds for the wildflower; that is, for the flower which is regarded as being no one's "property." But the flora of a country, rightly considered, is very far from being unowned; it is the property of the people, and when any species is diminished or extirpated the loss is not private but national. We have already reached a time, as many botanists think, when the choicer British flowers need some sort of protection. That some injury should be caused to our native flora by improved culture, drainage, building, and the extension of towns, is inevitable; though these losses might be considerably lessened if there were a more general regard for natural beauty. But that is all the stronger reason for discountenancing such damage as is done in mere thoughtlessness, or, worse, for selfish purposes; and it were greatly to be wished that some of the good folk who pray that their hands may be kept "from picking and stealing" would so far widen the scope of their sympathies as to include the rarer wildflowers. It cannot be doubted that there is an immense amount of wasteful flower-picking by children, and also by persons who are old enough to know better. Nothing is commoner, in Spring, than to see piles of freshly gathered hyacinths or cowslips abandoned by the roadside; and many other flowers share the same fate, including, as I have noticed, the beautiful green-winged meadow orchis. Trippers and holiday-makers are often very mischievous: I have seen them, for instance, on the ramparts of Conway Castle, hooking and tearing the red valerian which is an ornament to the grey old walls. I was told by a friend who lives in a district where the rare meadow-sage (_salvia pratensis_) is native, that he is compelled to pluck the blue flowers just before the August bank-holiday, in order to save the plant itself from being up-rooted and carried off. Primroses, abundant as they still are in many places, have nearly disappeared from others, in consequence of the depredations of flower-vendors; and there was a time when they were seriously threatened in the neighbourhood of London because a certain fashionable cult was at its height. Witness the following "Idyll of Primrose Day" by some unknown versifier: How blest was dull old Peter Bell, Whom Wordsworth sung in days of yore! A primrose by a river's brim A yellow primrose was to him, And it was nothing more. Alas! 'tis something more to us; No longer Nature's meekest flower, But symbol of consummate Quack, Who by tall talk and knavish knack Could plant himself in power. For his sweet sake we mourn, each spring, Our lanes and hedgerows robbed and bare, Our woods despoiled by clumsy clown, That primrose-tufts may come to town For tuft-hunters to wear. And so, on snobbish Primrose Day, We envy Peter's simple lore: A primrose, worn with fulsome fuss, A yellow primrose is to us, Alas! and something more. The nurseryman and the professional gardener have also much to answer for in the destruction of wildflowers. Take the following instance, quoted from the _Flora of Kent_, with reference to the cyclamen: "Towards the end of August, 1861, I was shown the native station of this plant. . . . The people in those parts had found out it was in request, and had almost entirely extirpated it, digging up the roots, and selling them for transplantation into shrubberies." In the same work it is recorded that, when the frog orchis was found in some abundance near Canterbury, "in a wonderfully short space of time the whole of this charming colony was dug and extirpated." Again, if it be permissible to call a spade a spade, what shall be said of those roving knights of the trowel, the unconscionable rock-gardeners who ride abroad in search of some new specimen for their collections? A late writer of very charming books on the subject has feelingly described how, after the discovery of some long-sought treasure, he craved a brief spell of repose, a sort of holy calm, before commencing operations. "We blessed ones," he said, referring to botanists as contrasted with ornithologists, "may sit down calmly, philosophically, beside our success, and gently savour all its sweetness, until it is time to take out the trowel after half an hour of restful rapture in our laurels."[9] [Footnote 9: From _My Rock Garden_, by Reginald Farrer, p. 257.] Other flower-fanciers there are who show much less circumspection. In Upper Teesdale, where the rare blue gentian (_gentiana verna_) is found on the upland pastures, I was told that a "gentleman" had come with two gardeners in a motor, and departed laden with a number of these beautiful Alpine flowers for transplantation to his private rockery. The nation which permits such a theft--far worse than stealing from a private garden--deserves to possess no wildflowers at all; and such a botanist, if botanist he can be called, deserves to be himself transplanted, or transported--to Botany Bay. The same vandalism, in varying degrees, has been at work in every part of the land, and nothing has yet been done effectively to check it, whether by legislation, education, or appeal to public opinion: it seems to be absolutely no one's business to protect what ought to be a cherished national possession. In no district, perhaps, has the greed of the collector been more unabashed than among the mountains of Cumberland and North Wales. "Thanks to the inconsiderate rapacity of the fern-getter," wrote Canon Rawnsley, in an Introduction to a _Guide to Lakeland_, "the few rarer sorts are fast disappearing. ... There has been, in the time past, quite a cruel and unnecessary uprooting of the rarer ferns and flowers;" and he went on to ask: "When will travellers learn that the fern by the wayside has a public duty to fulfil?" All such remonstrances have hitherto been in vain: neither the fear of God nor the fear of man has deterred the collector from his purpose. It is pleasant to read that in the seventeenth century a Welsh guide alleged "the fear of eagles" as a reason for not leading one of the earliest English visitors to the haunts of Alpine plants on the precipices of Carnedd Llewelyn; but unfortunately eagles are now as scarce as nurserymen and fern-filchers are numerous. IX ROUND A SURREY CHALK-PIT I found a deep hollow on the side of a great hill, a green concave, where I could rest and think in perfect quiet. RICHARD JEFFERIES. AS a range of hills, the North Downs are inferior to those of Sussex in beauty and general interest. Their outline suggests no "greyhound backs" coursing along the horizon; nor have they that "living garment" of turf, woven by centuries of pasturing, which Hudson has matchlessly described. Their northern side is but a gradual slope leading up to a bleak tableland; and only when one emerges suddenly on their southern front, with its wide views across the weald, do their glories begin to be realized. In this steep declivity, facing the sun at noon, there is a distinctive and unfailing charm, quite unlike that of the corresponding escarpment of the South Downs: it forms, as it were, an inland riviera, a sheltered undercliff, green with long waving grasses, and sweet with marjoram and thyme, a haven where the wandering flower-lover may revel in glowing sunshine, or take a siesta, if so minded, under that most friendly of trees the white-beam. I have memories of many a pious Sabbath spent in this enchanted realm, with the wind in the beeches for anthem, and for incense the scent of marjoram enriching the air. To one who knows these fragrant banks it seems strange that though the wild thyme has been so celebrated by poets and nature-writers, the marjoram, itself a glorified thyme, has by comparison gone unsung. We are told in the books that it is a potherb, an aromatic stimulant, even a remedy for toothache. It may be all that; but it is something much better, a thing of beauty which might cure the achings not of the tooth only, but of the heart. Its relatives the lavender and the rosemary have not more charm. It was the _amaracus_ of Virgil, the flower on whose sweetness the young Iulus rested, when he was spirited away by Venus to her secret abode: She o'er the prince entrancing slumber strows, And, fondling in her bosom, far away Bears him aloft to high Idalian bowers, Where banks of marjoram sweet, in soft repose, Enfold him, propped on beds of fragrant flowers.[10] [Footnote 10: _Æneid_, I. 691-4.] Who could wish for a diviner couch? Along this range of hills the chalk-pits, used or disused, are frequent at intervals, some of such size as to form landmarks visible at the distance of twenty or thirty miles. For a botanist, these amphitheatres, large or small, have always an attraction; for though they vary much in the quality of their flowers, and some have little to show beyond the commoner plants of a calcareous soil, there are a few which present a surprising array of the choicer kinds; and to light upon one of these treasure-troves is a joy indeed. I have in mind a large semicircular disused pit, lying high among the Downs, and bordered with abrupt grassy banks and coppices of beech, hazel, and fir, where during the past thirty years I have spent many long summer days, sometimes writing under the shade of the trees, at other times idling among the flowers, or watching the snakes that lie basking in the sun, or the kestrels that may often be seen hovering over the adjacent slopes. For all their unrivalled openness and sense of space, the Sussex Downs have no such "sun-trap" to show. One has heard of "the music of wild flowers."[11] I used to call the floor of this chalk-pit "the orchistra," so numerous are the orchids that adorn it. The spotted orchis, the fragrant orchis, the pyramidal orchis, the bee orchis, the butterfly orchis, and the twayblade--these six are stationed there within a small compass. The marsh orchis grows below; the fly orchis is in the neighbouring thickets; in the beech-woods are the bird's-nest orchis, the broad-leaved helleborine, with its rare purple variety (_epipactis purpurata_), and the large white helleborine or egg orchis. A dozen of the family within the circuit of a short walk! The man orchis seems to be absent, though it grows in some plenty in similar places on the same line of hills. [Footnote 11: See note on p. 12.] Another feature of the chalk-pit is the viper's bugloss. If, as Thoreau says, there is a flower for every mood of the mind, the viper's bugloss must surely belong to that mood which is associated with the pomps and splendours of the high summer noontide. Gorgeous and tropical in its colouring beyond all other British flowers, as it rears its bristly green spikes, studded profusely with the pink buds that are turning to an equally vivid blue, it seems instinct with the spirit of a fiery summer day. Like other members of the Borage group, it has the warm southern temperament; its name, too, suits it well; for there is something viperish in the almost fierce beauty of the plant, as if some passionate-hearted exotic had sprung up among the more staid and sober representatives of our native flora. Its richness never palls on us; we no more tire of its brilliance than of the summer itself. Akin to the bugloss, though less striking and less abundant, is the hound's-tongue, with its long downy leaves and numerous purple-red buds of a sombre and sullen hue that is not often to be matched. It has the misfortune, so we are told, to smell of mice; were it not for this hindrance to its career, it might justly be held in high esteem. Among the larger plants prominent on ledges of the chalk, or in near neighbourhood, are the mullein, the teazle, the ploughman's-spikenard, and the deadly nightshade or dwale. The buckthorn is frequent in the hedges and thickets; and the traveller's-joy is climbing wherever it can get a hold. But it is on the shelving banks that skirt the margin of the pit that the comeliest flowers are to be found; the most beautiful of all, perhaps, is the rock-rose, a plant so delicate that its small golden petals will scarcely survive a journey in the vasculum, yet so hardy that it will flower to the very latest autumn days. The wild strawberry is creeping everywhere; and the crimson of the grass vetchling may occasionally be seen among the ranker herbage, to which the stalk seems to belong; on the shorter turf is the small squinancy-wort, lovely cousin of the woodruff, its pink and white petals chiselled like the finest ivory. The elegant yellow-wort, glaucous and perfoliate, and the handsome pink centaury, are common on the Downs; so, too, in the late summer, will be their less showy but always welcome relative, the autumnal gentian: all three have the firm and erect habit that is a property of the Gentian tribe. It is one of the many merits of these chalk hills that their flower-season is a prolonged one. Not the gentians only, with yellow-wort and centaury, are still vigorous in the autumn, but also the blue fleabane, clustered bell-flower, vervain, marjoram, basil, and many labiate herbs. Even in October, when the glory has long departed from the lowlands of the weald, there remains a brave show of blossom on these delectable hills. The Pilgrim's Way, often no more than a grassy track, runs eastward along the base of the Downs, interrupted here and there by the encroachment of parks and private estates, which now block the ancient route to Canterbury; but where Nature has provided so many shrines and cathedrals of her own, there is no need of any others; certainly I never lacked a holy place wherein to make my vows, many as were the pilgrimages on which I started. On one occasion that I recall, I was joined in my quest by a rather strange fellow-traveller, a man who met me, coming from the opposite direction, and eagerly asked whether I had seen anyone on the hillside. When I assured him that nobody had passed that way, he turned and walked in my company, and presently confided to me that he was an attendant at a lunatic asylum, and was in pursuit of an inmate who had escaped an hour or two before. We went a short distance together, he peering into the coombes and bushy hollows, as incongruous a pair as could be imagined; yet it occurred to me that his mission, too, might be considered a botanical one, since there is a plant named the madwort--nay, worse, the "German madwort," a title which, in those feverish war-days, would of itself have justified incarceration. Nevertheless, as I always sympathize with escaped prisoners (provided, of course, that it is not _my_ bed under which they conceal themselves), I was secretly glad that my companion's search was unavailing. To return to my chalk-pit: I have mentioned but a few of the many flowers that belong there; within a mile, or less, others and quite different ones are flourishing. The rampion, though very local in Surrey, is found in places along these Downs; so, too, is the strange yellow bugle, or "ground pine," which is much more like a diminutive pine than a bugle; also the still stranger fir-rape (_monotropa_), which lurks in the thickest shade of the beech-woods. That interesting shrub, the butcher's-broom, or "knee holly," as it is more agreeably called, is another native: it wears its small flower daintily, like a button-hole, on the centre of the rigid leaves of deepest green. A few miles east there is another chalk-pit which, though inferior in the number of its flowers, has a sprinkling of the man orchis, whose shape, if there is any likeness at all, seems to suggest a toy man dangling from a string; a simile which I prefer to that of a dead man dangling from the gallows. In the woods that crown this pit there is a profusion of the deadly nightshade; and I noticed that during the war-summers, when there was a scarcity of belladonna, these plants were regularly harvested by some enterprising herbalist. Such are a few of the delights of the Surrey undercliff; but alas! they are vanishing delights, for the proximity to London has rendered all this district peculiarly liable to change. How could it be otherwise, when from the top of the ridge the dome of "smoky Paul's" is visible on a clear day, and a view of the Crystal Palace, "that dreadful C.P." as one has heard it called, can seldom be avoided. What havoc has been wrought in the Surrey hills by the advance of "civilization," may be learnt by anyone who studies the district with a sixty-year-old _Flora of Surrey_ for guide. Between Merstham and Godstone, for instance, the hillsides, which were then free, open ground, have become in the saddest sense "residential," and the wildflowers have suffered in proportion. One may still find there the narrow-leaved everlasting pea, "hanging in festoons on thickets and copses," but other equally valued plants have disappeared or are disappearing. The marsh helleborine was once plentiful, it seems, in a swampy situation near Merstham; but when, by dint of careful trespassing and circumnavigation of barbed wire, I reached a place which corresponded exactly with that indicated in the _Flora_, not a single flower was to be seen. Probably some conscientious gardener had "transplanted" them. It is impossible to doubt that this process will be continued, and that every year more wild land will be broken up in the building of villas and in the making of gardens, with the inevitable shrubberies, gravel walks, flower-borders, and lawn-tennis courts. The trim parterre with its "detested calceolarias," as a great nature-lover has described them, will more and more be substituted for the rough banks that are the favourite haunts of marjoram and rock-rose. How can the owners of such a fairyland have the heart to sell it for such a purpose? In Omar's words: I often wonder what the vintners buy One half so precious as the stuff they sell. X A SANDY COMMON The common, overgrown with fern, . . . Yields no unpleasing ramble; there the turf Smells fresh, and rich in odoriferous herbs And fungus fruits of earth, regales the sense With luxury of unexpected sweets. COWPER. STRETCHED between the North Downs and the weald, through the west part of Kent and the length of Surrey, runs the parallel range of greensand, which in a few places, as at Toys Hill and Leith Hill, equals or overtops its rival, but is elsewhere content to keep a lower level, as a region of high open commons and heaths. The light soil of this district shows a flora as different from that of the chalk hills on its north as of the wealden clays on its south; so that a botanist has here the choice of three kingdoms to explore. In natural beauty, these hills can hardly compare with the Downs. "For my part," wrote Gilbert White, "I think there is something peculiarly sweet and amusing in the shapely figured aspect of chalk hills, in preference to those of stone, which are rugged, broken, abrupt, and shapeless."[12] The same opinion was held by William Morris, who once declined to visit a friend of his (from whom I had the story) because he was living on just such a sandy common in west Surrey, where the formless and lumpish outline of the land was a pain to the artistic eye. For hygienic reasons, however, a sandy soil is reputed best to dwell upon; and I have heard a tale--told as a warning to those who are over-fastidious in their choice of a site--of a pious old gentleman who, being determined to settle only where he could be assured of two conditions, "a sandy soil and the pure gospel," finally died without either in a Bloomsbury hotel. [Footnote 12: _Natural History of Selborne_, ch. lvi.] The gorse and broom in spring, and in autumn the heather, are the marked features of the sandy Common: the foxglove, too, which has a strong distaste for lime, here often thrives in vast abundance, and makes a great splash of purple at the edge of the woods. But even apart from these more conspicuous plants, the "barren heath," as it is sometimes called, is well able to hold its own in a flower-lover's affection; though the absence of the finer orchids, and of some other flowers that pertain to the chalk, makes it perhaps less exciting as a field of adventure. In Crabbe's words: And then how fine the herbage! Men may say A heath is barren: nothing is so gay. From May to September the Common is sprinkled with a bright succession of flowers--the slender _moenchia_, akin to the campions and chickweeds, dove's-foot, crane's-bill; tormentil; heath bedstraw; speedwells of several species; autumnal harebell, and golden rod--each in turn playing its part. Among the aristocracy of this small people are the bird's-foot, an elfin creature, with tiny pinnate leaves and creamy crimson-veined blossoms; the modest milkwort, itself far from a rarity, yet so lovely that it shames us in our desire for the rare; and the trailing St. John's-wort, which we hail as the beauty of the family, until presently, meeting with its "upright" sister of the smooth heart-shaped leaves and the golden red-stained buds, we are forced to own that to her the name of _hypericum pulcrum_ most rightly belongs. But the chief prize of the sandy heath is the Deptford pink, a rare annual of uncertain appearance, which bears the unmistakable stamp of nobility: it is a red-letter day for the flower-lover when he finds a small colony of these comely plants on some dry grassy margin. It was on a bank in Westerham Park that I first met with them; and there they reappeared, though in lessening numbers, in the two succeeding seasons. There was also a solitary flower, growing unpicked, strange to say, close beside one of the most frequented tracks that skirt the neighbouring Common. In the woods of beech and fir with which the hill is fringed there are more fungi than flowers; and here too the "call of the wild" is felt, though to a feast of a less ethereal order. Fungus hunting is one of the best of sports, and a joy unknown to those who imagine that the orthodox "mushroom" of the market is the only wholesome species; and it is worthy of note that, whereas the true meadow mushroom is procurable during only a few weeks of the year, the fungus-eater can pursue his quarry during six or seven months, so great is the variety at his disposal. Among the delicacies that these woods produce are the red-fleshed mushroom, a brown-topped warty plant which becomes rufous when bruised; the gold-coloured chantarelle, often found growing in profusion along bushy paths and dingles; the big edible boletus, ignored in this country, but well appreciated on the Continent; and best of all, deserving indeed of its Latin name, the _agaricus deliciosus_, or orange-milk agaric, so called because its flesh, when broken, exudes an orange-coloured juice. It is easy to identify these and many other species with the help of a handbook, and it therefore seems strange that Englishmen, as compared with other races, should be prejudiced against the use of this valuable form of food. As for the country-folk who live within easy reach of such dainties, yet would rather starve than eat a "toadstool," what can one say of them? _O fortunatos nimium, sua si bona norint!_[13] [Footnote 13: Thrice blest, if they but knew what joys are theirs!] From the south side of these fir-woods one formerly emerged, almost at a step, on to the escarpment that overlooks the weald, and at one of the finest viewpoints in Kent or Surrey; but the trees were felled during the war by Portuguese woodmen imported for that lamentable purpose. The spot is remembered by me for another reason; for there, in the years before the madness of Europe, used to sit almost daily a very aged man, whose home was on the hillside close by, and who was brought out, by his own wish, that he might spend his declining days not in moping by a kitchen fire, but in gazing across the wide expanse of weald, where all the landmarks were familiar to him, and of which he seemed never to weary. No more truly devout old age could have been desired; for there was no mistaking his genuine love for what Richard Jefferies called "the pageant of summer," the open-air panorama of the seasons, as observed from that heathery watch-tower. The only cloud on his horizon, so to speak, was the flock of aeroplanes which even then were beginning to mar the sky's calmness: of these he would sagely remark that "if man had been intended to fly, the Almighty would have given him wings." Had the old philosopher known to what hellish uses those engines were presently to be put, he might have wondered still more at such thwarting of the divine intent. Of sandpits there are several on the Common, and their disused borders are favourite haunts for wildflowers. The "least" cudweed, a slender wisp of a plant, is native there; the small-flowered crane's-bill, which is liable to be confounded with the dove's-foot; also one or two curious aliens, such as the Canadian fleabane, and the Norwegian _potentilla_, which resembles the common cinquefoil but has smaller flowers. But what most allured me to the spot was the sheep's scabious, or, as it is more prettily named in the Latin, _Jasione montana_, a delightful little plant, baffling alike in name, form, and colour. It is called a scabious, yet is not one. It is classed as a campanula, and seen through a lens is found to be not one but many campanulas, a number of tiny bells united in a single head. Then its hue--was there ever tint more elusive, more indefinable, than that of its many petals? Is it grey, or blue, or lavender, or lilac, or what? We only know that the flower is very beautiful as it blooms on sandy bank or roadside wall. At the side of a small plantation that borders the heath there thrives the alien small-flowered balsam, which, like some of its handsomer kinsfolk, seems to be quickly extending its range. Near the same spot I noticed several years ago, on a winter day, a patch of large soft pale-green leaves, which at a hasty glance I took to be those of the scented colt's-foot; but when I passed that way in the following spring I was surprised to see that several long stalks, bearing bright yellow composite flowers, had risen from the mass of foliage. It proved to be the leopard's-bane, probably an "escape" from some neighbouring garden, but already well established and thriving like any native. But the Common does not consist wholly of dry ground; in one place, near the centre of the golf-course, there is a marshy depression, and in it a small pond where the water is a foot or two deep in winter, but in a hot summer almost disappears. Here a double discovery awaits the inquirer. The muddy pool is full of one of the rarer mints--pennyroyal--and with it grows the curious _helosciadium inundatum_, or "least marsh-wort," a small umbelliferous plant which has more the habit and appearance of a water crowfoot, its lower leaves being cut in fine hair-like segments. Nor do the fields and lanes that adjoin the heath lack their distinctive charm. The orpine, or "live-long," a handsome purple stonecrop, is not uncommon by the hedgeside; and the lovely _geranium striatum_, or striped crane's-bill, an occasional straggler from gardens, has made for itself a home; a hardy little adventurer it is, and one hopes it may yet win a place among British flowers, as many a less desirable immigrant has done. Poppies and corn-marigolds are a wonder of red and gold in the cultivated fields, the poppies as usual looking their best (if agriculturists will pardon the remark) when they have a crop of wheat for a background. The queer little knawel springs up among spurrey and parsley-piert; and in one locality is the lesser snapdragon, which always commands attention, partly for its uncommonness, and partly as a scion of the romantic race of _Antirrhinum_, which has a fascination not for children only, but for all lovers of the quaint. I have mentioned the golf-course. To many a Common the golfers are becoming what the builders are to the Downs--invaders who, by the trimming of grass and cutting down of bushes, are turning the natural into the artificial, and appropriating for the use of the few the possession of the many. To everyone his recreation ground; but are not the golf clubs getting rather more than their portion? XI QUAINTNESS IN FLOWERS Throw hither all your quaint enamell'd eyes. MILTON. I SPOKE just now of a love of the quaint. Quaintness, though it may exist apart from beauty, is often associated with it, and, unlike grotesqueness, has a pleasurable interest for the spectator. In flowers it is usually suggested by some abnormality of shape, as in the snapdragon; less frequently, as in the fritillary, by a singular effect of colouring. Perhaps it is to the orchis group that one would most confidently apply the word; for they arrest attention not so much by their beauty as by their strangeness: one of them, indeed, the dwarf orchis, is undeniably beautiful, while another, the bird's-nest, is as ugly as a broom-rape; the others, if one tried to find a comprehensive epithet, might fairly be described as quaint. This quality in the orchids is not due solely to the odd likeness which some of them present to certain insects; for, as far as British species are concerned, the similarity, with a few exceptions, is somewhat fanciful. If it be granted that the fly, the bee, and the spider orchis are justly named--though even in these the resemblance is not always recognized when pointed out--it is no less true that one looks in vain for the semblance of a "butterfly," or of a "frog," in the plants that are so entitled, and it takes some ingenuity to discover the "man" in _aceras anthropophora_, or the "egg" in the white helleborine. But there is a charming quaintness in nearly all members of the family, owing largely to the peculiar structure of the lower lip of the corolla or the unusual length of the spur. The very name of the snapdragon is a proof of its hold upon the imagination: what mediæval romance and unfailing charm for children--and for adults--is conveyed in the word! The plant is at its best when clad in royal hue of purple; the white robe also has its glory; but the intermediate forms, striped and mottled, that are so fancied in gardens, are degenerates from a noble type. Seen on the walls of some ancient ruin, the snapdragon is a wonder and a delight; it is to be regretted that its place is now so often usurped by the red valerian, in comparison a mere upstart and pretender. The lesser snapdragon or calf's-snout, with the toadflaxes and fluellens, shares in the characteristic quaintness of its tribe. I will next instance the "perfoliates," plants not confined to any one order, but alike in having a stem which passes midway through the leaf or pair of leaves, a most engaging curiosity of structure. It is by this peculiarity that the yellow-wort, a gentian with glaucous foliage and blossoms like "patines of bright gold," mainly wins its popularity. But the quaintest of perfoliates is the hare's-ear, or "thorow-wax," as it used to be called, of which, as Gerarde wrote, "every branch grows thorow every leaf, making them like hollow cups or saucers." The thorow-wax owes its attractiveness to these singular glaucous leaves, which might be compared with an artist's palette; in some measure, also, to the sharp-pointed bracts by which the minute yellow flowers are enfolded--features that lend it a distinction which many much more beautiful plants do not possess. From no catalogue of quaint plants could the butterwort be omitted. "Mountain-sanicle" was its old name; and all climbers are acquainted with it, as it studs the wet rocks on the lower hillsides with pale green or yellowish leaves like starfish on a seashore. Its flowering-season is short, but full of interest, for lo! from its centre there rise in June one or two long and dainty stems, each bearing at its extremity a drooping purple flower that might at first glance be taken for a violet--a violet springing from a starfish! It is a long step from these conspicuous examples of the quaint to the small and modest moschatel, a hedge-flower which is likely to go unobserved unless it be made a special object of inquiry. _Adoxa_, "the unknown to fame," is its Greek title; but if it has little claim to beauty in the ordinary sense, there is no slight charm in its delicate configuration, and in the whimsical arrangement of its five slender flower-heads--a terminal one, facing upwards, supported by four lateral ones, with a resemblance to the faces of a clock; whence its not inappropriate nickname, "the clock-tower." A fairy-like little belfry it is, whose chimes must be listened for, if at all, in the early spring, for it hastens to get its flowering finished before it is overgrown by the rank herbage of the roadside. There are many other flowers that might claim a place in this chapter, such as the sundews and the bladderworts; the mimulus and ground pine; the samphire and sea-rocket; the mullein and the teazle; and not least, the herb Paris, with that large quadruple "love-knot" into which its leaves are fashioned. But it must suffice to speak of one more. The fritillary, which shall close the list, is quaint to the point of being bizarre: its various names bear witness to the freakishness of its apparel--"guinea-flower," "turkey-hen," "chequered lily," "snake's-head," and so forth. It was aptly described by Gerarde as "chequered most strangely. . . . Surpassing the curiousest painting that art can set down"; and in addition to this gorgeous colouring, the bell-like shape and heavy poise of its flower-heads contribute to the striking effect. From Gerarde to W. H. Hudson, who has portrayed it very beautifully in his _Book of a Naturalist_, the fritillary has been fortunate in its chroniclers; in its name, which it shares with a handsome family of butterflies, it can hardly be said to have been fortunate. For apart from the consideration that it is no great honour to a fine insect or flower to be likened to that instrument of human folly, a dicebox (_fritillus_), there is the practical difficulty of pronouncing the word as the dictionaries tell us it must be pronounced, with the accent on the first syllable; and not the dictionaries only, but the poets, as in Arnold's oft-quoted but very cacophonous line: I know what white, what purple fritillaries. . . . Why must so quaintly charming a flower be so barbarously named that one's jaw is well-nigh cracked in articulating it? XII HERTFORDSHIRE CORNFIELDS A gaily chequered, heart-expanding view, Far as the circling eye can shoot around, Unbounded tossing in a flood of corn. THOMSON. THAT part of Hertfordshire where the Chiltern Hills, after curving proudly round from Tring to Dunstable, and almost rivalling the South Downs in shapeliness, die away at their north-east extremity, over Hitchin, to a bare expanse of ploughland, has the aspect of a broad plain swept by all winds of heaven, but is found, when explored, to be by no means devoid of charm. There, by a paradox, the very extent of the great hedgeless cornfields, reclaimed from the wild, gives the landscape a sort of wildness; it is in fact the district whence the Royston crow got its name, that hooded outlaw to whose survival a wide tract of open country was indispensable; and there is a pleasure in wandering over it which is unguessed by the traveller who rushes through in an express to Cambridge, and marvels at the tameness of the land. The wildflowers of cultivated fields are as distinctive as those of heath or hillside. It would be difficult to name any two more beautiful "weeds" than the succory and the corn "blue-bottle"--the light blue and the dark blue; both have deservedly won their "blues"--and when to these is added the corn-cockle (_lychnis githago_), the rich veined purple of its petals set off by the long pointed green sepals and leaves, what handsomer trio could be wished? Unhappily these flowers have become much scarcer than they used to be; but in the Hertfordshire fields they are still frequently to be admired. The intensive culture of which we nowadays hear so much has this drawback for the botanist, that it is robbing him of some plants which he is very loth to lose. The most striking of these, perhaps, is that quaint "perfoliate" of which I have already spoken, the thorow-wax or hare's-ear, which in Gerarde's time was so plentiful in the wheatland as to be what he calls its "infirmitie": now it is decidedly rare. I have never been so fortunate (except in dreams) as to see it _in situ_; but I have for several years grown it from the seed of a specimen gathered by a friend in the cornfields near Baldock, and have always been impressed by its elegance. It is a delicate and fastidious plant, thriving only, as I have noticed, when the conditions are quite favourable: this may account for its steady diminution in many counties, while coarser and hardier weeds are legion. A more abiding "infirmitie" of some Hertfordshire cornfields is the crow-garlic, a wild onion whose pink umbels often surmount the crop in hundreds. Wishing to learn their local name, I once asked a farm-hand at Letchworth what he called the flowers. After gazing at them sternly, he said to me: "They're _not_ flowers. They're a disease." I suggested that whatever their demerits might be from the point of view of an agriculturist, they must, strictly speaking, be regarded as flowers: this he grudgingly conceded; but as if regretting to have made so large an admission, he called after me, as I left him: "They're a disease." His pertinacity on this point reminded me of the reaffirmations of Old Kaspar, in Southey's poem, "After Blenheim": "Nay, nay" ... quoth he, "It was a famous victory." The crow-garlic, as it happens, is rather a pretty plant; and the opprobrious name "disease" might be much more suitably assigned to the tall broom-rape, an unwholesome-looking parasite which lives rapaciously at the expense of the great knapweed, and is occasionally met with in the district of which I am speaking. An extremely local umbellifer, said to have been formerly so abundant about Baldock that pigs were turned out to fatten on its roots, is the bulbous caraway, which looks like a larger edition of the common earth-nut. None of the country-folk whom I questioned seemed to have any knowledge of its uses; from which it would appear that its virtues, like those of many once famous herbs, have been forgotten in these sceptical modern times. It is well, perhaps, that _carum bulbocastanum_ should be saved from the pigs; for in that unlovely region its white umbels serve to lighten up the monotony of the waysides. An unexpected discovery is always welcome. In a waste field, about a mile from Royston, I once found a tall branching plant with an abundance of yellow cruciferous flowers, which I should not have recognized but for the fact that a year or two previously my friend Edward Carpenter had sent me a specimen from Corsica. It was the woad, famous as the source of the blue dye with which the ancient Britons stained themselves. A mere "casual" in Hertfordshire, it is said to be established in a few chalk-quarries near Guildford and elsewhere. Thus far I have spoken of none but field flowers; but the district does not consist wholly of cultivated land, for even in that wilderness of tillage there are oases which have never felt the plough, and where the flora is of a different order. Therfield Heath, near Royston, is one of them, a grassy slope where the handsome purple milk-vetch is plentiful, and one may find, though in less abundance, the sprightly field fleawort, which seems more familiar as an ornament of the high chalk Downs. Nor are water springs wanting in the bare ploughlands. The little river Ivel, which leaps suddenly to light near Baldock, and thence races northward to join the Bedfordshire Ouse, is a clear trout-stream by whose banks it is pleasant (whatever the trespass notices may threaten) to wander, and to watch the quick-glancing fish. At the hamlet of Radwell, in a moist copse, there is a patch of the rare monk's-hood, a poisonous flower of which later mention will be made. A joint tributary of the Ouse, and not less inviting, is the oddly named Hiz, which has its source on Oughton Common, a boggy flat near Hitchin, where both the butterwort and the grass of Parnassus are recorded as having grown and may perchance be growing still: as for the marsh orchis, one cannot cross the Common without seeing it. Then at Ickleford, a village on the banks of the Hiz, there is a pond which has been "occupied" (to use a military term) by the water-soldier, a stout aquatic which takes its name from the rigid swordlike leaves enclosing the three-petaled flowers. Peculiar to the eastern counties, this water-soldier is said to have been introduced at Ickleford over half a century ago; and there it now makes a fine array, having thriven wonderfully in spite of the worn-out pots and pans, and other refuse, for which, in Hertfordshire as elsewhere, the nearest pool or stream is thought a fit receptacle. A mile or two west of the source of the Hiz at Oughton Head, stands High Down, where begins or ends, according to the direction of the wayfarer, the northern escarpment of the Chilterns, at this point crossed, recrossed, and crossed again, by the curiously indented boundary-line between Hertfordshire and Bedfordshire; and here on the steep front of the Pirton and Barton hills, in the one county or the other, may be seen in early spring the most beautiful of English anemones, the pasque-flower. On the few occasions when I have visited the place the summer was well advanced, and I was too late for that gorgeous flower; I had to content myself with the pyramidal orchis at the foot of the hills, and with great blossoming sheets of white candytuft in the fields above. For all these excursions there is no better starting-point than Letchworth, first of Garden Cities, which has sprung rapidly into being from what was until recent years an unadorned expanse of agricultural ground with Norton Common as its centre. This Common, originally a bit of wild fen, now almost surrounded by cottages and gardens, is to the nature-lover the most attractive feature of Letchworth; and though its flora has inevitably suffered from the inroads of the juvenile population, it can still show such plants as the marsh orchis, the small valerian, and the rare sulphur-coloured trefoil. It is watered by a diminutive river--the unceremonious might say ditch--known as the Pix, whose current, like that of the Cam, would almost seem to be determined by the direction of the wind, but is reputed to flow northward, to join its fleeter brethren, the Hiz and the Ivel, in their course to the Ouse. I mention this rather forlorn stream, because it has sometimes occurred to me that, as an attempt is made to protect the wild birds on Norton Common, it might be expedient to lend a helping hand also to the flowers, or even to embellish the banks of the Pix (and so to re-invite the pixies to sport thereby), with a few hardy riverside plants, such as comfrey, tansy, hemp-agrimony, purple loosestrife, and yellow loosestrife, which were probably once native there, and would almost certainly flourish in such a spot. Is it legitimate thus to come to the rescue of wild nature? That is a question on which botanists are not quite agreed, and its consideration shall therefore be reserved for the following chapter. XIII THE SOWER OF TARES An enemy hath done this. THE sowing of wildflowers is deprecated by some botanists, presumably as an interference with natural processes, an unauthorized attempt to play Providence in the vegetable kingdom; but the subject is one that seems to call for fuller discussion than it usually receives. We are told in the parable that the man who sowed tares among the wheat was an enemy; and certainly if there was an intention to injure the crop the expression was not too strong. But I have sometimes wondered whether the reprehensible act may not have been that of some botanical enthusiast, who, loving wildflowers not wisely but too well, was trying to save from extinction some rare weed of the cornfields which was disappearing under improved methods of culture. That this way of augmenting the flora of a country is nowadays not uncommon may be guessed from the frequent occurrence in botanical works of the comment "probably planted." Only a few pages back, I referred to the case of a pond in Hertfordshire now strongly held by a battalion of water-soldiers, the descendants of imported plants. There is evidence, too, that the practice has occasionally been indulged in by naturalists of great distinction, an amusing instance being that of the venerable and much-respected Gerarde, whose description of the peony as growing wild near Gravesend drew from his editor, Johnson, the following remark: "I have beene told that our author himselfe planted the peionie there, and afterwards seemed to finde it there by accident; and I doe believe it was so, because none before or since have ever seene or heard of it growing wilde in any part of this kingdome."[14] [Footnote 14: _The Herball_, by J. Gerarde. Enlarged and amended by Thomas Johnson, 1636.] Again, it is stated in Canon Vaughan's _Wild Flowers of Selborne_ that Gilbert White himself "was once guilty of this misdemeanour." He sowed, not tares in wheat, but seeds of the grass of Parnassus in the Hampshire bogs, and sowed them according to his own statement unsuccessfully; it would appear, however, from what Canon Vaughan discovered that White was "more successful than he imagined." However that may be, the question that arises is whether a judicious extension of the range of wildflowers by the agency of man is really a thing to be censured. May not a flower-lover occasionally sow his "wild oats"? It must be admitted that the objections to such a practice are not retrospective, for if it be a misdemeanour, it is one that is condoned, perhaps hallowed, by time. For as it is impossible to draw a strict line between flowers that were accidentally imported or "escapes" from ancient gardens, and those that were planted deliberately, we wisely ask no questions in the case of old-established plants of foreign origin, but receive them into our flora as aliens that have become naturalized and are honourably classed as "denizens"; when they have once made good their tenure of the soil, it seems to matter little by what means they arrived. Thus, for example, the starry trefoil, which colonized the Shoreham shingles over a century ago, having apparently come as a stowaway on board some foreign ship, was not only tolerated but highly regarded by English botanists, and its recent destruction is felt to be a national loss. Would it have detracted from its value, if, as indeed may have happened, it had been purposely sown on the beach? On the contrary, it seems desirable that it should now be restored in that manner. Such planting, of course, if done at all, should be done circumspectly, and on a fixed principle, not as an amusement for irresponsible persons or children. I know a flower-lover who, in a district where that beautiful St. John's-wort, the tutsan, was dwindling through depredations, or through some unexplained malady, carefully restored the balance in a score or so of suitable spots; and surely such action was much to be commended. But it is not desired that everyone should be planting tutsan everywhere; nor is there any danger of such a fashion arising, for there is much less tendency to plant than to pluck, to create than to destroy; and for that reason it would be folly to reintroduce any rare plant like the lady's slipper, where the collector would quickly reap what the enthusiast had sown. Such was the objection, it seems to me, to a proposal made some years ago by Edward Carpenter and others, that the diminishing numbers of the rarer butterflies should be reinforced by breeding. One would not willingly repeat the comedy of the angling craze, which solemnly stocks rivers with fish in order to pull them out again for pastime. Nor, because _some_ planting of wildflowers may be unobjectionable, does it follow that all such enterprises are deserving of praise. A recent announcement that the Llanberis side of Snowdon, a locality rich in British mountain flowers, was being sown by Kew experts with the seeds of a number of "Alpines" from Switzerland, was likely to be more agreeable to rock-gardeners than to mountain-lovers, who have a regard for the distinctive character of Snowdon itself, and of its native flora. A country which has allowed its finest mountain to be exploited for commercial purposes, as Snowdon has been, is perhaps hardly in a position to protest against a Welsh hillside being planted with alien Swiss flowers, and even with Chinese rhododendrons; but nevertheless such schemes are thoroughly incongruous and barbaric. What sort of mountains do we desire to have? A piece of nature, or a nursery-garden? A Snowdon, or a Snowdon-cum-Kew? Be it understood, then, that the sowing of tares is by no means recommended as a practice: all that is here urged is that a sweeping condemnation of it is not warranted by the facts, inasmuch as circumstances, not dogma, must in each case decide whether it be blameworthy, or harmless, or beneficial. And apart from common sense, there is one natural safeguard which will prevent any undue growth of wildflowers, viz. the remarkable fastidiousness of the choicer plants in regard to soil and conditions: they will flourish where it suits them to flourish, not elsewhere. Certain auxiliaries, too, Nature has in the rabbits, water-voles, and other wild animals that are herbivorous in their tastes; for it is very interesting to observe how quickly the appearance of a strange plant will attract the attention of such gourmands. I was once the owner of a sloping meadow in which there were some springs; and thinking it would be pleasant to have a water-garden I had a small pond made, into which I introduced some aquatic plants, and among them, most accommodating of all, the water-violet, which grew lustily and sent up a number of its graceful stalks with whorls of pink blossoms. But just at that time a water-vole took up his residence there, and developing a remarkable fondness for a new savour in his salads, quickly made havoc of my _Hottonia palustris_. The neighbours assured me I must trap him; but to treat a fellow-vegetarian in that way was out of the question, especially as his confidence in me was so great that he would sit nibbling my favourite aquatic, which seemed also to be _his_ favourite, while I stood within a few yards. It was clear that if the cult of the water-violet involved the killing of the water-vole it had got to be abandoned. In this way, among others, does Nature protect herself against an excessive interference on man's part with the distribution of wildflowers. XIV DALES OF DERBYSHIRE Deeper and narrower grew the dell; It seemed some mountain, rent and riven, A channel for the stream had given, So high the cliffs of limestone gray Hung beetling o'er the torrent's way. SCOTT. THE limestone Dales of Derbyshire are narrow and deep, and their streams, when visible (for they often lurk underground), are swift, strong, and of crystal clearness. The sides of the glens are in some places precipitous with bluffs and pinnacles of grey rock; in others, ridged and streaked with terraces of alternate crag and turf; above the cliffs there is often a tableland of bleak pastures divided by stone walls, as dreary a scene as could be imagined, when contrasted with the picturesque dales below. The flowers of these limestone valleys immediately recall those of the chalk: the marjoram, the basil, the great knapweed, the traveller's-joy, the rock-rose, the musk-thistle--these and many other familiar friends make us seem, at first sight, to be back in Sussex or Surrey. But in reality we are a hundred and fifty miles nearer to the arctic zone, and that difference is clearly reflected in the flora; for when we look around, a number of new plants make their appearance, of which a dozen or more are very rare, or quite unknown, in the south. I once lived for several years on the hills above Chesterfield, a good way to the east of this limestone country; and to visit the nearest of the Dales there was a walk of seven miles, to and fro, across the intervening high moors that form the southern buttress of the Pennines. Stoney Middleton is far from being one of the pleasantest of Peakland villages; but such was the interest of its flora that the fourteen-mile trudge, and more, was often undertaken during the summer months. After traversing the great heathery moors devoted to the cult of the grouse, and descending from the rocky rampart of gritstone known as Curbar Edge, one crosses the valley of the Derwent; and here a pause may be made to notice a patch of sweet Cicely, one of the loveliest of the umbelliferous tribe. It is a charming sight, as it stands up tall in the sunshine, with its soft feathery cream-white masses of foliage and its fernlike leaflets; too fair and fragile, it would seem, for human hands, for it droops very soon if cut. Every part of it--stalk, leaves, flowers, and fruit--has the same aromatic fragrance (its local name is "anise"), and so gracious is it to sight, scent, and touch, that one longs to bathe one's senses in its luxuriance. Middleton Dale, naturally beautiful, but sadly deformed by lime-kilns, is famous for a cliff known as the Lover's Leap, from which an enamoured maiden is said to have thrown herself down. Had it been the love of flowers, rather than of man, that tempted her to that dizzy verge, there would have been no cause for surprise; for there are many alluring plants on the ledges of the scarp, including a brilliant show of wild wallflowers. In May and June there may be found along the northern side of the dale the yellow petals of the spring cinquefoil (_potentilla verna_), a gem of a flower, which, in Mr. Reginald Farrer's words, "clings to the white cliff-face, and from far off you see a splash of gold on the greyness." A month later the equally attractive Nottingham catch-fly (_silene nutans_) will be abundant on the rocks; a plant of nocturnal habits which expands its petals and becomes fragrant in the evening, but "nods," as its Latin name avows, in the daytime, when it wears a sleepy and somewhat dissipated look, like a wassailer--a white campion that has been "on spree." By night its beauty is beyond cavil. On the lower slopes is a colony of a still stranger-looking flower, the woolly-headed thistle, whose involucre is so bulky, and its scales so densely wrapped in white down, that it has an almost grotesque appearance, as of a thistle with "swelled head." It is, however, a very handsome plant; and when growing in vast numbers, as I have seen it in one of its special haunts, near Wychwood Forest, in Oxfordshire, it makes a glorious spectacle. Of the three species of saxifrages--the rue-leaved, the meadow, and the mossy--that thrive along the bottom of the dale, the two former are southern as well as northern flowers; but the presence of the mossy saxifrage is a sign that we are in a mountainous region, and as such it is always welcome. With these grows the graceful vernal sandwort, another flower of the hills, and so often the companion of saxifrages that it is naturally associated with them in the mind. But Middleton Dale, the nearest to my starting-point, and therefore the most frequently visited by me, is much surpassed in floral wealth by the long valley of the Wye, which in its course from Buxton to Bakewell bears the names successively of Wye Dale, Chee Dale, Miller's Dale, and Monsal Dale. In one or another of these four glens nearly all the rarer limestone flowers have their station. You may find, for instance, three very local crucifers: the two whitlow-grasses, _draba incana_ and _draba muralis_, remarkable only as being scarce in other parts of the kingdom; and the really beautiful little _Hutchinsia_, with its tiny white blossoms and finely cut pinnate leaves. Jacob's-ladder, a handsome blue flower, very uncommon in a wild state, is also native on the bluffs and slopes in Chee Dale and elsewhere: in fact a stroll along almost any of the limestone escarpments will bring new treasures to sight. But the flower which I best love is one which grows by the streamside--in Wye Dale it is in profusion--the modest water-avens, often strangely undervalued by writers who describe it as "dingy." Thus in Delamer's _The Flower Garden_ it is stated that this avens "is more remarkable for having been one of the favourites, the whims, the caprices of the great Linnæus, than for anything else: it is hard to say what, in a British meadow-weed, could so take the fancy of the Master." Was ever such blindness of eye, such hardness of heart? And the wiseacre goes on to say that "it is impossible to account, logically, for attachments and sympathies." Logic, truly, would be out of place in such a connection; but it is not difficult to understand Linnæus's feelings towards the water-avens. There is a rare beauty in the droop of its bell-like head, and in its soft and subdued tints--the deep rufous brown of the long sepals, through which peep the silky petals in hues that range from creamy white to vinous red, and all steeped in a quiet radiance as of some old stained glass. I must own to thinking it the most tenderly beautiful of all English wildflowers. The hybrid between the water-avens and the common avens is occasionally found by the Wye: one which I saw in Miller's Dale had green sepals and petals of pale yellow. The Alpine penny-cress (_thlaspi alpestre_), a crucifer native on limestone rocks, may be seen on the High Tor at Matlock, where it grows with the vernal sandwort on débris at the mouth of caves; a graceful little plant with white flowers and a smooth unbranched stem so closely clasped by the narrow leaves as to give it the look of a perfoliate. One other limestone district shall be mentioned; the hills round Castleton. Cave Dale, approached by a narrow gorge close to the village, is well worth the flower-lover's attention; for bleak and bare as it is, its slippery sides harbour some interesting plants, such as the mountain rue (_thalictrum minus_), and the scurvy-grass (_cochlearia alpina_), both in considerable quantity. In the Winnatts, too, the steep ravine which overhangs the road from Castleton to Chapel-en-le-Frith, one may find Jacob's-ladder and other rarities on the rocks; and the gorgeous mountain pansy (_viola lutea_) is not far distant on the upland heaths and pastures. The list is far from being exhausted; but enough has been said to show that there is no lack of entertainment among these limestone dales. To enter one of them, after crossing the moorland from the dreary coal district of east Derbyshire, is like stepping from penury to plenty, from wilderness to paradise: there is a change of colouring that instantly attracts the eye. Even in early spring the little shining crane's-bill decks the walls and lower rocks with its rose-petaled flowers; and at midsummer the more showy stonecrop flings a veritable cloth of gold over the crags and lawns. Few localities present so many charming flowers in so limited a space. And now let us turn from the limestone valleys to those of the millstone grit. The controversy as to which part of Derbyshire best deserves the name of "The Peak" has always seemed a vain one, not merely because there is no peak in the county at all, but because no connoisseur can doubt for a moment that the district which alone has the true characteristics of a mountain is the great triangular plateau of gritstone known as Kinderscout. Less beautiful than the limestone dales, with their beetling crags and wealth of flowers, the wilder region surrounding "the Scout" has the advantage of being a real bit of mountain scenery, topped as it is with black "tors" and "towers" that rise out of the heather, and flanked with rocky "edges" from which its steep "cloughs" descend into the valleys below. Unfortunately, this great rocky tableland has of late years become almost a _terra incognita_ to the nature-lover, as a result of the agreement which was made, after prolonged controversy, between the Peak District Society and the grouse-shooting landlords, inasmuch as, while permitting the traveller to skirt the shoulders of the hill, it excluded him wholly from its summit. With the exception of the heather, the bilberry, and a few kindred species, the plants of the gritstone hills are sparse; but there is one, the cloudberry--so-called, according to Gerarde's rather magniloquent description, because "it groweth naturally upon the tops of high mountains ... where the clouds are lower than the tops of the same all winter long"--which well repays a pilgrimage. It is a prostrate and spineless bramble (_rubus chamæmorus_), highly valued in northern countries for its rich orange-coloured fruit. It grows thickly on the ground, making a dark-green patch in marked contrast to the coarse herbage; and towards the end of June one may see a profusion of the large white blossoms and a few early formed berries at the same time. There is a good-sized plot of it near the summit of the pass that crosses the shoulder of Kinderscout from Edale Head. But of the plants that grow on the Scout itself I am unable to speak; for my only visit to it--not reckoning an unsuccessful attempt when I was turned back by a keeper--took place in the depth of a very snowy winter. It was on the afternoon of a frosty January day, when the sun was already low, that in the company of my friend Bertram Lloyd, and armed with a passport, in the form of a letter of permission, given us by the courtesy of one of the owners of the shooting, I climbed from Edale, through the region of right-of-way into that of flagrant trespass. We felt an unusual sense of legality, as we passed a weather-beaten notice-board, with a half-obliterated threat that trespassers would be "--cuted," whether executed, electrocuted, or prosecuted was left to the imagination of the offender; and I think the strangeness of his position was rather embarrassing to my companion, who is such a confirmed trespasser that he feels as if something must be amiss unless there is a gamekeeper to be reckoned with--like the mountain ram, in Thompson-Seton's story, who was so accustomed to be hunted that he became moody and restless when his pursuer was not in sight. But, at the time of our visit, no passport was demanded; for the keepers, like the grouse themselves, appeared to have deserted the heights for the valleys. Indeed, hardly any life at all was to be seen, with the exception of a grey mountain hare, couched upon a stack of rock, who regarded us with a mild and curious eye as we passed some two hundred feet above him, and seemed to be satisfied that we were harmless. Nor was this lack of life surprising, for a more desolate scene could hardly be imagined--a great snow-clad "moss," intersected by deep ruts, which, being choked with snow, had somewhat of the appearance of crevasses, and punctuated here and there with the black masonry of the tors. From the highest point that we reached, marked in the ordnance map as 2,088 feet, there was a wonderful sunset view, though the Manchester district that lies to the west of the Scout was hidden in lurid fog. It is said that Snowdon, a hundred miles distant, has been seen from this point. It was certainly not visible upon the occasion to which I refer. It is impossible to visit this high mountain plateau, lying as it does at about an equal distance from Manchester and Sheffield, without feeling that what is now a private grouse-moor must, before many years have passed, become a nationalized park or "reservation"--a playground for the dwellers in the great Midland cities, and a sanctuary for wild animals and plants. The time will assuredly come when the sport of the few will have to give way to the health and recreation of the many. XV NO THOROUGHFARE! Trespassers will be prosecuted. THE subject of trespassing mentioned in the preceding chapter, has a very close and personal interest for the adventurous flower-lover; for of all incentives to ignore the familiar notice-board with its hackneyed words of warning, none perhaps is more potent than the possibility that some rare and long-sought wildflower is to be found on the forbidden land. The appeal is one that no explorer can resist. If "stout Cortez" himself, when with eagle eyes he stared at the Pacific, had seen that ocean labelled as "strictly private and preserved," could he have desisted from his quest? There is moreover a good deal to be said in extenuation of trespassing as a summer recreation; and if landlords go on at their present rate, in closing footpaths and excluding the public from green fields and hedgerows, trespassing will perhaps establish itself as one of our recognized national diversions. Hitherto, it must be confessed, it has remained to some extent in disrepute; doubtless, through its being so largely indulged in by poachers and other evil-doers, who have given a bad name to a practice which in itself is innocent and blameless enough. Most people, especially landlords and gamekeepers, have a fixed belief that a trespasser's purpose must be a lawless and mischievous one. Why so? Is it not possible that some trespassers may have other objects than to steal pheasants' eggs or snare rabbits? If huntsmen when following the hounds are permitted, not only to trespass, but to damage crops and fences, why should the naturalist be molested when harmlessly following his own inclinations in choice of a country ramble. Is the pursuit of the fox a surer proof of honest intentions than the pursuit of natural history? It appears that some landowners think so. "Trespassers will be prosecuted," say the notices that everywhere stare us in the face. Was there ever such a lying legend? Trespassers will _not_ be prosecuted, for the sufficient reason that in English law trespassing is not an offence. Of course, if any injury be done to property, the owner can sue for damages, but a harmless trespasser can only be requested to depart, though, if he be ill-advised enough to refuse to go, he may be forcibly ejected. We see, therefore, that the threatened "prosecution" of trespassers is in reality merely a _brutum fulmen_ launched by landlords at a too credulous public, a pious fraud which has been far more efficacious than such kindred notices as "Beware the dog," or "Beware the bull," though these, too, have done good service in their time. Trespassers will not be prosecuted, provided that they do no sort of damage, and that if their presence is objected to they politely retire. With these slight precautions and limitations, a trespasser may go where he will, and enjoy the study of Nature in her most secluded and "strictly private" recesses. He thus himself becomes, in one sense, a lord of the soil; but his domain is far more extensive and unencumbered than that of any actual landlord. He enjoys all that is best in park, woodland, or mountain; and if he is "warned off" one estate he can afford to smile at the prohibition, since many other regions are open to him, and he can confidently look forward to a visit to fresh woods and pastures new on the morrow. In the course of these rambles the trespasser will probably, like Ulysses, have some curious experiences of men and of notice-boards. It is very instructive to observe the various types of the landlord class, and their different methods of treating the intruder whom they meet on their fields. There is the indignant landlord, who can scarcely conceal his wrath at the astounding audacity of one who is deliberately crossing his land without having come "on business." There is the despairing landlord, who has been so broken by previous invasions that he is now content with a shrug of the shoulders and a remark that the place is "quite private, you know." There is the courteous landlord, who politely assumes that you have lost your way, and naively offers to conduct you to the high-road by the shortest cut; and there is the mildly ironical, who, as in a case which I remember on a Surrey hillside, remarks as he passes you: "There goes my heather." I have heard it said that one can sometimes divine the character of a landlord from the wording of his notice-boards, and I believe from my own experiences that there is truth in the idea. Certainly the notice-board is the landlord's favourite method of defending the privacy of his estate, and for obvious reasons; for not only is it the least troublesome and expensive way of conveying the desired warning to would-be trespassers, but the salutary fiction regarding the "prosecution" of offenders is thus publicly and permanently impressed on the agricultural mind. There is not such entire uniformity in the wording of notice-boards as might be supposed. Of course by far the commonest form is the well-known "No thoroughfare. Trespassers will be prosecuted as the law directs," in which the unconscious irony contained in the last four words has always struck me as especially delightful. To this is often added the words "and all dogs shot," in which the experienced trespasser will detect signs of a certain roughness and inhumanity of temperament on the part of the owner. More original forms of expression are by no means uncommon. Sometimes the warning is emphasized by the bold statement, indicating the possession by the landlord of humorous or imaginative faculties, that "the police have orders to watch." Sometimes, but more rarely, the personal element is boldly introduced, as in the assertion, which might formerly be seen on a notice-board in one of the most beautiful valleys of the Lake District, "This is my land. Trespassers, etc." In some cases the wording has evidently been left to the care of subordinates, and hence result some curiosities of literary composition. "Private. Beware of dogs," is an instance of this kind, in which the ambiguity of the allusion to dogs, whether those of the landlord or the trespasser, seems almost oracular. In these and other ways a certain zest is lent to the excursions or rather the _in_cursions, of the trespasser, which lifts them above the level of ordinary walking exercise. In the case of wealthy landowners, the duty of warning off the trespasser devolves on gamekeepers, who, being less emotional than their employers, are a far less interesting study. Stolid and furry, and apparently endowed with only the animal instincts of the victims whom they delight in tracking and trapping, they are by far the least intelligent people whom the trespasser encounters; they are, in fact, no better than breathing and walking notice-boards, with the disadvantage that they cannot be so absolutely disregarded. It is unwise to argue with them; for reason is at a discount in such encounters and there is the possibility, in some districts, of their having recourse to personal violence, in the knowledge that if the matter should come before local magistrates the keeper's word would be honoured in preference to that of the trespasser. There is a sanctity in the word "Preserve." An experience of this sort actually befell a friend of mine, who himself narrated it in print. A devoted botanist and nature-lover, he was twice in the same day found trespassing by a gigantic gamekeeper, who, on the second occasion, ended all parley in the manner described in the following "Mystical Ballad," wherein the writer has ventured somewhat to idealize the circumstances, though the story is based on the facts. PRESERVED. A Poet through a haunted wood Roamed fearless and serene, Nor flinched when on his path there stood A Form in Velveteen. "Gaunt Shape, come you alive or dead, My footsteps shall not swerve." "You're trespassing," the Vision said: "This place is a preserve." "How so? Is some dark secret here Preserved? some tale of shame?" The Spectre scowled, but answered clear: "What we preserve is Game." Yet still the Poet's heart was nerved With Phantoms to dispute: "Then tell me, why is Game preserved?" The Goblin yelled: "To shoot." "But Game that's shot is Game destroyed, Not Game preserved, I ween." It seemed such argument annoyed That Form in Velveteen; For swift It gripped him, as he spake, And, making light the load, Upheaved, and flung him from the brake Into the King's high-road. And as that Bard, still arguing hard, High o'er the palings flew, He vows he heard this ghostly word: "We're not preserving _you_." * * * * * Long time he lay on that highway, Dazed by so weird a fall; Then rose and cried, as home he hied: "The Lord preserve us all!" I have often thought it was an error on the part of the trespassing poet not to explain to his assailant that he was a botanist; for "botanist," as I can testify, is a blessed word which has a soothing effect upon many of the most irascible landowners or their satellites. Personally I never presume to call myself botanist, except when I am found trespassing, on which occasions I have rarely known it to fail. I recall a Saturday afternoon when, as I was rambling in a Derbyshire dale with Bertram Lloyd, and admiring the flowers, we were accosted by the owner in person, who inquired with a sort of suppressed fury whether we knew that we were on his estate. We said we were botanists, and the effect was magical; in less than a minute we were courteously permitted to go where we would and stay as long as we liked. For botany is regarded as a scientific study; and even sportsmen do not like to incur the reproach of being enemies to science. Their better feelings may be conveyed in a familiar Virgilian line: _Non obtusa adeo gestamus pectora Poeni._[15] [Footnote 15: Not so obtuse of heart we Tyrians are.] XVI LIMESTONE COASTS AND CLIFFS Where the most beautiful wildflowers grow, there man's spirit is fed.--THOREAU. A LIMESTONE soil is everywhere rich in flowers--we have seen what the midland dales can produce--but it is especially so in the close neighbourhood of the sea. Two instances suggest themselves; one from a Carnarvonshire promontory, the Orme's Head; the other from Arnside Knott, in Westmorland. Fifty years ago the Great Orme was a wild and picturesque headland, girdled by a footpath which made a circuit of the beetling cliffs, and crossed by a few other tracks leading to the telegraph station at the summit, St. Tudno's Church, and elsewhere; but in most respects still in a primitive and unimpaired condition. I knew almost every yard of it as a boy; and I remember, among other attractions, a hermit who lived in a cave, and better still a wild cat--probably a fugitive from some Llandudno lodging-house--who had her home in a stack of rocks on the western side of the Head. On the western shore of the isthmus there was at that time only one house; it belonged to Dean Liddell, famous as joint author of the Greek dictionary distressfully known to generations of students as _Liddell and Scott._ But now, owing to the "development" of Llandudno, this once beautiful foreland has become a place almost of horror, vulgarized by trams, motor-roads, golf-links, and all the appurtenances of "civilization;" and were it not for the wildflowers, it might well be shunned by those who knew it in old days. Flowers, however, are very tenacious of their established haunts, and the remark made in Mr. J. E. Griffith's _Flora of Carnarvonshire_ still holds good, that "the flora of this district is quite unique, in consequence of the number of species found here, and the rarity of many of them." The luxuriance of the flowers is indeed a sight which can almost make one forget the "improvements" that have ruined the scenery. Among the plants inhabiting the rocky banks above the shore are the blue vernal squill, the sea stork's-bill, sweet alyssum, hound's-tongue, hemlock, henbane, mullein, and tree-mallow: to these may be added what constitutes a herb-garden readymade--fennel, wormwood, vervain, white horehound, wild sage, succory, and Alexanders. On the higher cliffs are the curious samphire, pink thrift, white scurvy-grass, and great tufts of sea-cabbage, now rarer and more local than formerly, but here waving its pale yellow pennons in abundance. Most charming of all, the brilliant blood-red crane's-bill, together with two kinds of rock-rose (the hoary dwarf species as well as the common one), makes rich splashes of colour on the grey limestone ledges. A little back from the sea, among the bluffs that overhang the town, you may light upon the sleepy-looking catch-fly (_silene nutans_); the tiny Hutchinsia; and in one or two places the shrub cotoneaster, which is said to be native only upon the Great Orme. I have, however, seen it growing apparently wild at Capel Curig, and at a greater distance from houses than in its Llandudno station. Nor is it only the Great Orme that shows this floral wealth: the Little Orme has the rare Welsh stonecrop (_sedum Forsterianum_); and on another height in the same district, the small circular hill known as Deganwy Rocks, there is a profusion of flowers. When I revisited it a few years ago, not having set foot on it for nearly half a century, I found that the villas of Deganwy had crept up almost to the base of the rocks, and on another side there was--still worse--a camp of German prisoners, with armed sentries supervising their labours; yet even there, close above such scenes, were growing plants which might mark a memorable day in the annals of a flower-lover, notably the maiden pink and the milk-thistle--the "holy" thistle, as it is not inaptly called. The pinks, a lovely band, were sprinkled along the turf at the foot of the rocks; the thistles were almost at the top; between them on a stony ledge nestled a quantity of viper's bugloss, and with it some borage, two kindred plants which I had never before seen in company. Nearly all the members of the Borage group are interesting--lungwort, alkanet, forget-me-not, hound's-tongue, and bugloss--but the borage itself, a roadside weed in South Europe, and in this country merely an immigrant and "casual," is to me the most precious of all. My earliest recollections of it, I must own, are as an ingredient of claret-cup at Cambridge, its silver-grey stems floating in the wine with a pleasant roughness to the lip; but in those unregenerate days we did not know the real virtue of the herb, famous from old time, as Gerarde says, for its power "to exhilarate and make the mind glad, to comfort the heart, and for driving away of sorrow." And certainly, in another and better use, it _does_ comfort the heart and drive sorrow away; for its "gallant blew flowers" are of all blues the loveliest, and the black anthers give it a peculiarly poignant look which reminds one somehow of the wistfulness of a Gainsborough portrait. In the list of my best-beloved flowers it ranks among the highest. Looking north-east from the Orme's Head, one may see on a clear day, across some sixty miles of water, the limestone hills of Westmorland, reckoned as part of Lakeland, but geologically, botanically, and in general character a quite separate district. Arnside Knott, a bluff overlooking the estuary of the river Kent where it widens into Morecambe Bay, is the presiding genius of a tract of shore and forest to which the name of "Lily-land" has been given by Mr. J. A. Barnes in a sketch of Arnside, and which he describes as "a perfect paradise of wildflowers." Let us suppose ourselves transported thither, and see how the claim holds good. The lily of the valley is one of those favoured plants which are everywhere highly esteemed; even the man who in general cares but little for wildflowers takes this one to his heart, or, what is worse, to his garden. I have already quoted Mr. C. A. Johns's queer appreciation of this native British wildflower as "a universally admired garden plant." On the wooded hill known as Arnside Park the "May lily," as it used to be called (and here it is certainly not "of the valley"), covers many acres of ground, and justifies the title "Lily-land" as applied to the Arnside neighbourhood. What I found still more interesting was an almost equal abundance of the stone bramble (_rubus saxatilis_), which grows intermixed with the lilies over a large portion of the wood. On these Westmorland Cliffs, as in those of Carnarvonshire, the blood-red crane's-bill is conspicuous, but it is much less plentiful, nor are the outstanding flowers of the two localities the same. One of the commonest at Arnside is the tall ploughman's spikenard, known locally as "frankincense": and on the lawns that skirt the Knott one often sees the mountain-cudweed or "cat's-foot," the gromwell or "grey millet," and the beautiful little dwarf orchis. The district is rather rich in orchids; among others, I found the rare narrow-leaved helleborine (_cephalanthera ensifolia_) in the Arnside woods. The deadly nightshade is frequent; so, too, is the four-leaved herb-Paris, which a resident described to me as being here "almost a weed." But there are two other flowers that demand more special mention. In a lane near Arnside Tower, a ruin that lies below the Knott on its inland side, there is a considerable growth of green hellebore, apparently at the very spot where its presence was recorded two centuries ago. Though not a very rare plant, it is extremely local; and owing to its strongly marked features, the large palmate leaves and pale green flowers, is not likely to go unnoticed. But the rarest of Arnside flowers is, or was, another poisonous plant of the _ranunculus_ order, the baneberry, for which the writer of "Lily-land," as he tells us, "hunted for years without success; till its exact locality was at last revealed to me by one who knew, in a situation so obvious that I felt like a man who has hunted through every room in the house for the spectacles on his own nose." Years later, on my certifying that I was not a knight of the trowel, Mr. Barnes was so kind as to confide to me this same secret that had been kept hidden from the uninitiate; but I found that the small plantation which had been the home of the baneberry, almost within Arnside itself, had recently been cut down, and though a few of the plants were still growing along the side of the field, they had ceased to flower, and possibly by this time they have ceased to exist. Even as it was, I felt myself fortunate to have seen the baneberry in one of its few native haunts. The pale green deeply cut leaves are much handsomer than those of its relatives the hellebore and the monk's-hood. Its raceme of white flowers and its black berries are also known to me; but alas, only in a garden. Where flowers are concerned, there is little truth in the saying that "comparisons are odious"; on the contrary it is both pleasant and profitable to compare not only plant with plant, but the flora of one fertile district with that of another. The natural scenery of Arnside is yet unspoilt, and for that reason it now offers greater attractions to the nature-lover than the ruined charms of Llandudno; but if he were asked, for botanical reasons only, to choose between a visit to the Orme and a visit to the Knott, the decision might be a less easy one. "How happy could I be with either!" would probably be his thought. XVII ON PILGRIMAGE TO INGLEBOROUGH It [rose-root] groweth very plentifully in the north of England, especially in a place called Ingleborough Fels. GERARDE. THERE is a tale by Herman Melville which deals with the strangeness of a first meeting between the inmates of two houses which face each other, far and high away, on opposite mountain ranges, and yet, though daily visible, have remained for years as mutually unknown as if they belonged to different worlds. It was with this story in my mind that I approached for the first time the moorland mass of Ingleborough, long familiar as seen from the Lake mountains, a square-topped height on the horizon to the south-east, but hitherto unvisited by me owing to the more imperious claims of the Great Gable and Scafell. But now, at last, I found myself on pilgrimage to Ingleborough; the impulse, long delayed, had seized me to stand on the summit of the Yorkshire fell, and, looking north-westward, to see the scene reversed. Another of Ingleborough's attractions was that it is the home of certain scarce and beautiful flowers, as has been pointed out in Mr. Reginald Farrer's interesting books on Alpine plants. Such exceptional rarities as the baneberry (_actæa spicata_), which grows among rocky crevices high up on the fell--not to mention the _arenaria gothica_, choicest of the sandworts--the mere visitor can hardly hope to discover; but there are other and less infrequent treasures upon the hill, beyond which my ambition did not aspire. As I ascended the barren marshy slopes that form the eastern flank, I realized once again how much more the labour of an ascent depends upon the character of the ground than upon the actual height to be scaled. Ingleborough is under 2,400 feet; yet it is far more toilsome to climb than many a rocky peak in Wales or Cumberland that rises hundreds of feet higher, and it is a relief at length to get a firm foothold on the rocks of millstone grit which form the summit. Thence, from the edges which drop sharply from the flat top, one looks out on the somewhat desolate fells stretching away on three sides--Pen-y-ghent to the east, Whernside to the north, and to the south the more distant forest of Pendle--but westward there is the gleam of sand or water in Morecambe Bay, and the eye hastens to greet the dim but ever glorious forms of the Lakeland mountains. In the affections of the mountain-lover Ingleborough can never be the rival of one of these; indeed, in the strict sense, it is not a mountain at all, but a high moor built on a base of limestone with a cap of grit. Still, there is grandeur in the steep scarps that guard its central stronghold; and its dark summit, when viewed from a distance crowning the successive tiers of grey terraces, has a strength and wildness of its own, and even suggests at points a likeness to the massive tower of the Great Gable. To one looking down from the topmost edges on the scattered piles of limestone below, the effect is very curious. You see, perhaps, a mile or two distant, what looks at first sight like a flock of sheep at pasture, but is soon discovered to be a stone flock which has no mortal shepherd. In other parts are wide white plateaux which, when visited, turn out to be a wilderness of low flat rocks, everywhere weather-worn and water-worn, scooped and scalloped into cells and basins, and so intersected by channels filled with ferns and grasses that one has to walk warily over it as over a reef at low tide. But to return to the flowers. At the summit were mossy saxifrage and vernal sandwort; and on the cliffs just below, to the western side, the big mountain stonecrop, rose-root, not unhandsome with its yellow blossoms, flourished in some abundance, even as it did when Gerarde wrote of it, nearly three hundred years ago. The purple saxifrage, an early spring flower, is also found on these rocks, but at the time when I visited the spot, in late June, its blossoming season was over, and nothing was visible but the leaves. There was little else but some hawkweeds; I turned my attention, therefore, to the flowers of the lower slopes. There is nothing more delightful, in descending a mountain, than to follow the leading of some rapid beck from its very source to the valley; and it is rather disconcerting, in these limestone regions, that the cavernous nature of the ground should make the presence of the streams so intermittent, and that one's chosen companion should not unfrequently disappear, just when his value is most appreciated, into some "gaping gill" or pot-hole. It is said of Walt Whitman that sometimes when a pilgrim was privileged to walk with him, and was perhaps thinking that their acquaintance was ripening to friendship, the good grey poet, with a curt nod and a careless "good-bye," would turn off abruptly and be gone. Even so it is with these wayward streams that course down the sides of Ingleborough. Just when one is on the best of terms with them, they vanish and are no more. But with the bird's-eye primrose tinging hillsides and hollows with its tender hue of pink, no other companionship was needed. A mountain flower, it is the fairest of all the _Primulaceæ_, that band of fair sisters to which it belongs--primrose, cowslip, pimpernel, loosestrife, and money-wort--all beautiful and all favourites among young and old alike, whereever there is a love of flowers. It was worth while to make the pilgrimage to Ingleborough, if only to see this charming little plant in perfection on its native banks. Nor were other flowers lacking; the wild geraniums especially were in force. The shining crane's-bill gleamed on the pale limestone ledges; the wood crane's-bill, a local North-country species, gave a glint of purple in the copses at the foot of the fell; and still further down, below the village of Clapham, there were masses of the blue meadow crane's-bill (_geranium pratense_), the largest and not least handsome of the family. The water-avens was everywhere by the stream sides; and on a bank above the road the gladdon, or purple iris, was opening its dull-tinted flowers. XVIII A BOTANOPHILIST'S JOURNAL He was the attorney of the indigenous plants, and owned to a preference of the weeds to the imported plants, as of the Indian to the civilized man.--EMERSON. I HAVE referred several times to Henry Thoreau, of Concord, in whose _Journal_ a great deal is said about wildflowers; and as the volumes are not easily accessible to English readers it may be worth while to select therefrom a few of the more interesting passages. In all that he wrote on the subject Thoreau appears less as the botanist than the flower-lover; indeed, he expressly observes that he himself comes under the head of the "Botanophilists," as Linnæus termed them; viz. those who record various facts about flowers, but not from a strictly scientific standpoint. "I never studied botany," he said, "and do not to-day, systematically; the most natural system is so artificial. I wanted to know my neighbours, if possible; to get a little nearer to them." So great was his zest in cultivating this floral acquaintance that, as he tells us, he often visited a plant four or five miles from Concord half a dozen times within a fortnight, in order to note its time of flowering. Books he found, in general, unsatisfactory. "I asked a learned and accurate naturalist," he says, "who is at the same time the courteous guardian of a public library, to direct me to those works which contained the more particular popular account, or _biography_, of particular flowers--for I had trusted that each flower had had many lovers and faithful describers in past times--but he informed me that I had read all; that no one was acquainted with them, they were only catalogued like his books." It was the human aspect of the flower that Thoreau craved; and he was therefore disappointed when he saw "pages about some fair flower's qualities as food or medicine, but perhaps not a sentence about its significance to the eye; as if the cowslip were better for 'greens' than for yellows." Thus he complained that botanies are "the prose of flowers," instead of what they ought to be, the poetry. He made an exception, however, in favour of old Gerarde's _Herball_. His admirable though quaint descriptions are, to my mind, greatly superior to the modern more scientific ones. He describes not according to rule, but to his natural delight in the plants. He brings them vividly before you, as one who has seen and delighted in them. It is almost as good as to see the plants themselves. His leaves are leaves; his flowers, flowers; his fruit, fruit. They are green, and coloured, and fragrant. It is a man's knowledge added to a child's delight. . . . How much better to describe your object in fresh English words rather than in these conventional Latinisms!" Linnæus, too, "the man of flowers," as he calls him, is praised by Thoreau. "If you would read books on botany, go to the fathers of the science. Read Linnæus at once, and come down from him as far as you please. I lost much time in reading the florists. It is remarkable how little the mass of those interested in botany are acquainted with Linnæus." Thoreau's manner of botanizing was, like most of his habits, somewhat singular. His vasculum was his straw-hat. "I never used any other," he writes, "and when some whom I visited were evidently surprised at its dilapidated look, as I deposited it on their front entry-table, I assured them it was not so much my hat as my botany-box." With this vasculum he professed himself more than content. I am inclined to think that my hat, whose lining is gathered in midway so as to make a shelf, is about as good a botany-box as I could have; and there is something in the darkness and the vapours that arise from the head--at least, if you take a bath--which preserves flowers through a long walk. Flowers will frequently come fresh out of this botany-box at the end of the day, though they have had no sprinkling. The joy of meeting with a new plant, a sensation known to all searchers after flowers, is more than once mentioned in the _Journal_: the discovery of a single flower hitherto unknown to him makes him feel as if he were in a wealth of novelties. "By the discovery of one new plant all bounds seem to be infinitely removed." He notes, too, the not uncommon experience, that a flower, once recognized, is likely soon to be re-encountered. Seeing something blue, or glaucous, in a swamp, he approaches it, and finds it to be the _Andromeda polifolia_, which had been shown him, only a few days before, in Emerson's collection; now he sees it in abundance. At times he adopts the method of sitting quietly and looking around him, on the principle that "as it is best to sit in a grove and let the birds come to you, so, as it were, even the flowers will come." Swamps were among Thoreau's favourite haunts: he thinks it would be a luxury to stand in one, up to his chin, for a whole summer's day, scenting the sweet-fern and bilberries. "That is a glorious swamp of Miles's," he remarks; "the more open parts, where the dwarf andromeda prevails. . . . These are the wildest and richest gardens that we have." The fields were less trustworthy, because of the annual vandalism of the mowing. "About these times," he writes in June, "some hundreds of men, with freshly sharpened scythes, make an irruption into my garden when in its rankest condition, and clip my herbs all as close as they can; and I am restricted to the rough hedges and worn-out fields which had little to attract them." Among Thoreau's best-beloved flowers, if we may judge by certain passages of the _Journal_, was the large white bindweed (_convolvulus sepium_), or "morning-glory." "It always refreshes me to see it," he writes; "I associate it with holiest morning hours. It may preside over my morning walks and thoughts." Not less worthily celebrated by him, in another mood, are the wild rose and the water-lily. We now have roses on the land and lilies on the water--both land and water have done their best--now, just after the longest day. Nature says, "You behold the utmost I can do." The red rose, with the intense colour of many suns concentrated, spreads its tender petals perfectly fair, its flower not to be overlooked, modest yet queenly, on the edges of shady copses and meadows.... And the water-lily floats on the smooth surface of slow waters, amid rounded shields of leaves, bucklers, red beneath, which simulate a green field, perfuming the air. The highest, intensest colour belongs to the land; the purest, perchance, to the water. It was not Thoreau's practice to pluck many flowers; he preferred, as a rule, to leave them where they were; but he speaks of the fitness of having "in a vase of water on your table the wildflowers of the season which are just blossoming": thus in mid-June he brings home some rosebuds ready to expand, "and the next morning they open and fill my chamber with fragrance." At another time the grateful thought of the calamint's scent suffices him: "I need not smell it; it is a balm to my mind to remember its fragrance." It was characteristic of Thoreau that he loved to renew his outdoor pleasures in remembrance, by pondering over the beautiful things he had witnessed, whether through sight or sound or scent. His mountain excursions were not fully apprehended by him, until he had afterwards meditated on them. "It is after we get home," he says, "that we really go over the mountain, if ever. What did the mountain say? What did the mountain do?" So it was with his flowers: even in the long winter evenings they were still his companions and friends. I have remembered, when the winter came, High in my chamber in the frosty nights, * * * * * How, in the shimmering noon of summer past, Some unrecorded beam slanted across The upland pastures where the johnswort grew. On a January date we find him writing in his _Journal_: "Perhaps what most moves us in winter is some reminiscence of far-off summer. How we leap by the side of the open brooks! What life, what society! The cold is merely superficial; it is summer still at the core." Thus, by memory, his winters were turned into summers, and his flower-seasons were continuous. XIX FELONS AND OUTLAWS The poisoning henbane, and the mandrake dread. DRAYTON. THAT there are felonious as well as philanthropic flowers, plants that are actively malignant in their relation to mankind, has always been a popular belief. The upas-tree, for example, has given rise to many gruesome stories; and the mandrake, fabled to shriek when torn from the ground, has played a frequent part in poetry and legend; not to mention the host of noxious weeds, the "plants at whose names the verse feels loath," as Shelley has it: And thistles, and nettles, and darnels rank, And the dock, and henbane, and hemlock dank. The felons, however, of whom I would now speak are not the plants that seem merely foul and repulsive, such as the docks and nettles, the broom-rapes, toothworts, and similar ill-looking parasites, but rather the bold bad outlaws and highwaymen, the "gentlemen of the road," who, however deleterious to human welfare, have a sinister beauty and distinction of their own, and are thus able to fascinate us. Prominent among these is the clan of the nightshades, to which the mandrake itself belongs, and which has several well-known representatives among British flowers; above all, the deadly nightshade, or dwale, as it is better named, to distinguish it from smaller relatives that are wrongly described as "the deadly." So poisonous is the dwale that Gerarde three centuries ago exhorted his readers to "banish these pernicious plants out of your gardens, and all places near to your houses, where children do resort;" and modern writers tell us that the plant is "fortunately" of rare occurrence. But threatened plants, like threatened men, live long; and the dwale, though very local, may still be found in some abundance: there are woods where it grows even in profusion, and, _pace_ Gerarde, rejoices the heart of the flower-lover, for in truth it has a strange and ominous charm, this massive grave-looking plant with the large oval leaves, heavy sombre purple blossoms, and big black "wolf-cherries."[16] [Footnote 16: Rabbits eat the leaves without harm to themselves, but their flesh becomes injurious to human beings. A case of poisoning of this sort was lately reported from Oxted.] Next to the dwale in the nightshade family must rank the henbane, a fallen angel among wildflowers; for its beauty is of the sickly and fetid kind, which at once attracts and repels. It is curious that in the lines from Shelley's "Sensitive Plant" the epithet "dank" should be given to the hemlock, to which it is quite unsuited, rather than to the henbane, where its appropriateness could not be questioned; for the stalk, leaves, and flowers of the henbane are alike clammy to the touch. Presumably this uncertain and sporadic herb has become rarer of late years; for whereas it is frequently stated in books to be "common in waste places," one may visit hundreds of waste places without a glimpse of it. In the _Flora of the Lake District_ (1885) Arnside is given as one of its localities; but I was told by a resident that he had only once seen it there, and then it had sprung up in his garden. It is in similar places that the thorn-apple, another cousin to the nightshade, is apt to make its un-invited appearance; less a felon, perhaps, than a sturdy rogue and vagabond among flowers of ill repute. A year or two ago, I was told by the holder of an allotment-garden that a great number of thorn-apples were springing up in his ground; and knowing my interest in flowers he sent me a small basketful of the young plants, which, rather to my neighbours' surprise, I set out in a row, like lettuces, in a corner of my back-yard. There they flourished well, and in due course made a fine show with their trumpet-shaped white flowers and the big thorny capsules whence the plant takes its name. It is not a bad-looking fellow, but awkward and hulking, and quite devoid of the sickly grace of the henbane or of the bodeful gloom of the dwale. Passing now to the handsome but acrid tribe of the _ranunculi_, and omitting the poisonous but interesting baneberry, of which I have already spoken, we come to two formidable plants, the hellebore and the monk's-hood, which have been famous from earliest times for their dangerous propensities. The green hellebore, though in Westmorland named "felon grass," is a less felonious-looking flower than its close kinsman the fetid hellebore, whose general appearance, owing to the crude pale green of its purple-tipped sepals, and the reluctance of its globe-like buds to expand themselves fully, is one of insalubrity and unripeness. But it is a plant of distinction, some two or three feet in height; and as it flowers before the winter is well past, it can hardly fail to arrest attention in the few places where it is to be found: in Arundel Park, in Sussex, it may be seen growing in close conjunction with the deadly nightshade--a noteworthy pair of desperadoes. The other malefactor of the ranunculus family is the aconite, or monk's-hood, a poisonous but very picturesque flower with deep blue blossoms, which takes its name from the hood-like appearance of the upper sepal. "It beareth," Gerarde tells us, "very fair and goodly blew floures in shape like an helmet, which are so beautiful that a man would thinke they were of some excellent vertue." A traitor, a masked bandit it is, of such evil reputation that, according to Pliny, it kills man, "unless it can find in him something else to kill," some disease, to wit; and thus it holds its place in the pharmacopoeia. The umbellifers include a number of outlaws such as the water-dropworts and cowbane; but among the dangerous members of the tribe there is only one that attains to real greatness, and that of course is the hemlock, a poisoner of old-established renown, as witness the death of Socrates. "Root of hemlock digg'd i' the dark" is one of the ingredients in the witches' cauldron in _Macbeth_, and the hemlock's name has always been one to conjure with, which may account for the fact that several kindred, but less eminent plants unlawfully aspire to it, and are erroneously thus classed. But the true hemlock is unmistakable: the stout bloodspotted stem distinguishes it from the lesser crew; its finely cut fernlike leaves are exceedingly beautiful; and it is of stately habit--I have seen it growing to the height of nine feet, or more, in places where the surrounding brushwood had to be overtopped. Let us give their due, then, to these outlaws of whom I have spoken, these Robin Hoods of the floral world. Bandits and highwaymen they may be; but after all, our woods and waysides would be much duller if they were banished. XX SOME MARSH-DWELLERS Here are cool mosses deep. TENNYSON. WHAT Thoreau wrote of his Massachusetts swamps is hardly less true of ours; a marsh is everywhere a great allurement for botanists. By a road which crosses a certain Sussex Common there is a church, and close behind the church a narrow swampy piece of ground known as "the great bog," which has all the appearance of being waste and valueless; yet whenever I visit the place I think of Thoreau's words: "_My_ temple is the swamp." For that bog, ignored or despised by the dwellers round the Common, except when a horse or a cow gets stuck in it and has to be hauled out with ropes, is sacred ground to the flower-lover, as being the home not only of a number of characteristic plants--lesser skull-cap, sun-dew, bog-bean, bog-asphodel, marsh St. John's-wort, and the scarcer species of marsh bedstraw--but of one of our rarest and most beautiful gentians, the Calathian violet, known and esteemed by the old herbalists as the "marsh-felwort." The attention of anyone whose thoughts are attuned to flowers must at once be arrested by the colouring of this splendid plant, for its large funnel-shaped blossoms are of the rich gentian blue, striped with green bands, and as it grows not in the bog itself, but on the close-adjoining banks of heather, it is easily accessible. Yet fortunately, in the locality of which I am speaking, it seems to be untouched by those who cross the Common. On the afternoon in early September when I first found the place, a number of children were blackberrying there, and I dreaded every moment to see them turn aside to pick a bunch of the gentians, which doubtless would soon have been thrown aside to wither, as is the fate of so many spring flowers; but though the blue petals were conspicuous in the heather they were left entirely unmolested. For this merciful abstinence there were probably two reasons: one that the flower-picking habit is exhausted before the autumn; the other that the gentians, however beautiful, are not among the recognized favourites--daffodils, primroses, violets, forget-me-nots, and the like--that by long custom have taken hold of the imagination of childhood. Had it been otherwise, this rare little annual could hardly have survived so long. In botanical usage there seems to be no difference between the terms "marsh" and "bog," nor need we, I think, follow the rather strained distinction drawn by Anne Pratt, a writer who, though belonging to a somewhat wordy and sentimental school, and indulging in a good deal of what might be called "Anne-prattle," had so real a love of her subject that her best book, _Haunts of the Wild Flowers_, affords very agreeable reading. "The distinction between a bog and a marsh," she says, "is simply that the latter is more wet, and that the foot sinks in; while on a bog the soft soil, though it yields to the pressure of the foot, rises again." The definition itself seems hardly to be based on _terra firma_; but we can fully agree with the writer's conclusion that, at the worst, an adventurous botanist "is often rewarded for the temporary chill by the beauty of the plant which he has gathered." That is a consolation which I have not seldom enjoyed. But a pleasanter name, in my opinion, than either "marsh" or "bog," is one which is common in the Lake District, and in the northern counties generally, viz. "a moss." It sounds cool and comforting. I recall an occasion when, in the course of a visit to the Newton Regny moss, near Penrith, "the foot sank in," and a good deal more than the foot; but the acquaintance then made for the first time with that giant of the _ranunculus_ order, the great spearwort, was sufficient recompense, for who would complain of a wetting when he met with a buttercup four feet in stature? It so happened, however, that the plant in whose quest I had ventured on the precarious surface of the Newton Regny moss--the great bladderwort--was not to be found on that occasion, though it is reported to make a fine show there in August; possibly, in an early season, it had already finished its flowering, and had sunk, after the inconsiderate manner of its tribe, to the bottom of the pools. Nor did I see its rarer sister, the lesser bladderwort; with whom indeed I have only once had the pleasure of meeting, and that was in a rather awkward place, a deep pond lying close below a railway-bank, and overlooked by the windows of the passing trains, so that I not only had to swim for a flower, but to consult a time-table before swimming, in order to avoid having a "gallery" at the moment when seclusion was desired. Our North-country "mosses" are indeed temples to the flower-lover, by virtue both of the rarer species that inhabit them, and of the unbroken succession of beautiful plants that they maintain, from the rich gold of the globe-flower in early summer to the exquisite purity of the grass of Parnassus in autumn. Among these bog-plants there is one which to me is very fascinating, though writers are often content to describe its strange purple blossoms as "dingy"--I allude to that wilder relative of the wild strawberry, the marsh-cinquefoil, which, though rather local, is in habit decidedly gregarious. For several years it had eluded me in a Carnarvonshire valley; until one day, wandering by the riverside, I came upon a swampy expanse where it was growing in hundreds, remarkable both for the deep rusty hue of its petals, and for the large strawberry-like fruit that was just beginning to form. Apart from the more extensive "mosses," the lower slopes of the mountains, both in Cumberland and Wales, are often rich in flowers unsuspected by the wayfarer, who, keeping to some upland track, sees nothing on either side but bare peaty moors that appear to be entirely barren. And barren in many cases they are. You may wander for miles and not see a flower; then suddenly perhaps, on rounding a rock, you will find yourself in one of these natural gardens in the wilderness, where the ground is pink with red rattle growing so thickly as to hide the grass; or white with spotted orchis, handsomer and in greater abundance than is dreamed of in the south; or, a still more glorious sight, tinged over large spaces with the yellow of the bog-asphodel, a plant which is beautiful in its fruit as well as its flower, for when the blossoms are passed the dry wiry stems turn to deep orange. Sun-dews are everywhere; the quaint and affable butterwort is plastered over the wet rocks; and the marsh St. John's-wort, so unlike the rest of its family that the relationship is not always recognized, is frequent in the spongy pools. Here and there, a small patch of pink on the grey heath, will be seen the delicate bog-pimpernel, which might take rank as the fairest flower of the marsh, were it not that the diminutive ivy-leaved campanula is also trailing its fairy-like form through the wet grasses, among which it might wholly escape notice unless search were made for it. To realize the perfection of its beauty--the exquisite structure of its small green leaves, slender thread-like stems, and bells of palest blue--you must go down on your knees to examine it, however damp the ground; a fitting act of homage to one of the loveliest of Flora's children. Better cultivation, preceded by improved drainage, is ceaselessly encroaching on our marshlands and lessening the number of their flowers. The charming little cranberry, for instance, once so plentiful that it came to market in wagonloads from the fens of the eastern counties, is now far from common; and our cranberry-tarts have to be supplied from oversea. But much more ravishing than the red berries are the rose-coloured flowers, though they are known to scarcely one in a thousand of the persons familiar with the fruit. I always think with pleasure of the day when I first saw them, on the Whinlatter pass, near Keswick, their small wiry stems creeping on the surface of the swamp, a feast for an epicure's eye. It is under the open air, not under a pie-crust, that such dainties are appreciated as they deserve. These, then, being some of the many attractions offered by our "mosses," is it surprising that the lover of flowers should play the part of a modern "moss-trooper," and ride out over the border in search for such imperishable spoil? His part, indeed, is a much wiser one than that of the old freebooters; for who would risk life in the forcible lifting of other persons' cattle, when at the slight expense to which Anne Pratt alluded--the temporary chill caused by the sinking of his foot in a marsh--he can enrich himself far more agreeably in the manner which I have described? XXI A NORTHERN MOOR Where Tees in tumult leaves his source, Thundering o'er Caldron and High Force. SCOTT. A FIRST glance at the bleak and inhospitable moorland of Upper Teesdale would not lead one to suppose that it is famous for its flora. No more desolate-looking upland could be imagined; the great wolds stretch away monotonously, broken only by a few scars that overhang the course of the stream, and devoid of the grandeur that is associated with mountain scenery. No houses are visible, except a few white homesteads that dot the slopes--their whiteness, it is said, being of service to the farmers when they return in late evening from some distant market and are faced with the difficulty of finding their own doors. Its wildness is the one charm of the place; in that it is unsurpassed. But this bare valley, botanically regarded, is a bit of the far North, interpolated between Durham, Westmorland, and Yorkshire, where the Teesdale basalt or "whinstone" affords an advanced station for many rare plants of the highland type as they trend southward; and there, for five or six miles, from the upper waterfall of Caldron Snout to that of High Force, the banks of the Tees, with the rough pastures, scars, and fells that form its border, hold many floral treasures. The first flower to attract attention on these wild lawns is that queen of violets, the mountain pansy (_viola lutea_), not uncommon on many midland and northern heaths, but nowhere else growing in such prodigality as here, or with such rich mingling of colours--orange yellow, creamy white, deep purple, and velvet black--till the eye of the traveller is sated with the gorgeous tints. To the violet tribe this pansy stands in somewhat the same relation as does the bird's-eye primrose to the _primulas_; it is a mountain cousin, at once hardier and more beautiful than its kinsfolk of wood and plain. Seeing it in such abundance, we can understand why Teesdale has been described as "the gardener's paradise;" but the expression is not a fitting one, for "gardener" suggests "trowel," and the nurseryman is the sort of Peri to whom the gates of this paradise ought to be for ever closed. But perhaps the first stroll which a visitor to Upper Teesdale is likely to take, is by the bank of the river just above High Force; and here the most conspicuous plant is a big cinquefoil, the _potentilla fruticosa_, a shrub about three feet in height, bearing large yellow flowers. Rare elsewhere, it is in exuberance beside the Tees; and I remember the amused surprise with which a dalesman regarded me, when he saw my interest in a weed that to him was so familiar and so cheap. But the smaller notabilities of the district have to be personally searched for; they do not obtrude themselves on the wayfarer's glance. On the Yorkshire side of the stream stands Cronkley Scar, a buttress of the high moor known as Mickle Fell; and here, in the wet gullies, may be found such choice northern plants as the Alpine meadow-rue; the Scottish asphodel (_Tofieldia_), a small relative of the common bog-asphodel; and the curious viviparous bistort, another highland immigrant, bearing a spike of dull white flowers and small bulbs below. The fell above the scar is a desolate tract, frequented by golden plover and other moorland birds. On one occasion when I ascended it I was overtaken by a violent storm of wind and rain, which compelled me to leave the further heights of Mickle Fell unexplored, and to retreat to the less exposed pastures of Widdibank on the opposite side of the Tees, here a broad but shallow mountain stream, which in dry weather can be forded without difficulty but becomes a roaring torrent after heavy rains. In the course of two short visits, one in mid-July, the other in the spring of the following year, I twice had the opportunity of seeing the river in either mood, first in unruffled tranquillity, then in furious spate. It is in May or early June that Teesdale is at the height of its glory; for the plant which lends it a special renown is the spring gentian, perhaps the brightest jewel among all British flowers, small, but a true Alpine, and of that intense blue which signalizes the gentian race. Here this noble flower grows in plenty, not in wide profusion like the pansies, but in large and thriving colonies, not confined to one side of the stream. It was on the Durham bank that I first saw it--one of those rare scenes that a flower-lover cannot forget, for the blue gentians were intermingled with pink bird's-eye primroses, only less lovely than themselves, and close by were a few spikes of the Alpine bartsia, whose sombre purple was in marked contrast with the brilliant hues of its companions. Of this rare bartsia I had plucked a single flower on my previous visit to the same spot, but then in somewhat hurried circumstances. I had been crossing the wide pastures near Widdibank farm in company with a friend, who, having heard rumours of the temper of Teesdale bulls, had unwisely allowed his thoughts to be somewhat distracted from the pansies. We were in the middle of a field of vast extent, when I heard my companion asking anxiously: "Is _that_ one?" It certainly _was_ one; not a pansy, but a bull; and he was advancing towards us with very unfriendly noises and gestures. We therefore retired as quickly as we could, without seeming to run--he slowly following us--in the direction of the river; and there, under a high bank, over which we expected every moment the bulky head to reappear, I saw the Alpine bartsia, and stooped to pick one as we fled, my friend mildly deprecating even so slight a delay. Now, however, on my second visit, I was able to examine the bank at my leisure, and to have full enjoyment of as striking a group of flowers as could be seen on English soil--gentian, bird's-eye primrose, Alpine bartsia--and as if these were not sufficient, the mountain pansy running riot in the pasture just above. So far, I have spoken only of the plants which I myself saw; there are other and greater rarities in Teesdale which the casual visitor can hardly expect to encounter. The yellow marsh-saxifrage (_S. hirculus_) occurs in two or three places on the slopes of Mickle Fell; so, too, in limestone crevices does the mountain-avens (_dryas octopetala_), and the winter-green (_pyrola secunda_); while on Little Fell, which lies further to the south-west, towards Appleby, the scarce Alpine forget-me-not is reported to be plentiful. I was told by a botanist that, in crossing the moors from Teesdale to Westmorland, he once picked up what he took for a fine clump of the common star-saxifrage, and afterwards found to his surprise that it was the Alpine snow-saxifrage (_S. nivalis_), which during the past thirty years has become exceedingly rare both in the Lake District and in North Wales. The haunts of the rarer flowers are not likely to be discovered in a day or two, nor yet in a week or two: it is only to him who has gone many times over the ground that such secrets will disclose themselves; but even the passing rambler must be struck, as I was, by the number of noteworthy plants that Teesdale wears, so to speak, upon its sleeve. The globe-flower revels in the moist meadows; so, too, do the water-avens and the marsh-cinquefoil, nor is the butterfly orchis far to seek; and though the yellow marsh-saxifrage may remain hidden, there is no lack of the yellow saxifrage of the mountain (_saxifraga aizoides_), to console you, if it can, for the absence of its rarer cousin. The cross-leaved bedstraw (_galium boreale_), another North-country plant, luxuriates on low wet cliffs by the river. Last, but not least, in the later months of summer, is the mountain thistle (_carduus heterophyllus_), or the "melancholy thistle" as it is often called--a title which seems to have small relevance, unless all plants of a grave and dignified bearing are to be so named. Do men expect to gather figs of thistles, that they should demand the simple gaiety of the cowslip or the primrose from such a plant as this, whose rich purple flowers, spineless stem, and large parti-coloured leaves--deep green above, white below--mark it as one of the most handsome, as it is certainly the most gracious and benevolent of its tribe? As I walked down the valley, on a wet morning in July, to take train at Middleton, twenty-four hours of rain had turned the river through which I had easily waded on the previous day, into a flood that was terrifying both in aspect and sound. It was no time for flower-hunting; but even then the wonders of the place were not exhausted; for along the hedgerows I saw in plenty that same stately thistle, which in most districts where it occurs is viewed with some interest and curiosity, but in Teesdale is a roadside weed--subject, I was shocked to observe, to the insolence of the passers-by, who, knowing not what they do, maltreat it as if it were some vulgar pest of the fields, a thing to be hacked at and trampled on. Even so, I saw in it a discrowned king, who "nothing common did or mean." XXII APRIL IN SNOWDONIA It is Easter Sunday . . . the hills are high, and stretch away to heaven.--DE QUINCEY. SO wrote De Quincey in one of his finest dream-fugues. There seems, in truth, to be a certain fitness in the turning of men's thoughts at the spring season to the heights of the mountains, where, as nowhere else, the cares and ailments of the winter time are forgotten; and it is a noticeable fact that these upland districts are now as thronged with visitors during Easter week as in August itself. As I write, I am sitting by a wood fire under a high rock in a sheltered nook at Capel Curig, with a biting north-easter blowing overhead and an occasional snow-squall whitening the hillsides around, while the upper ridges are covered in places with great fields and spaces of snow, which at times loom dim and ghostly through the haze, and then gleam out gloriously in the interludes of sunshine. The scenery at the top of Snowdon, the Glyders, Carnedd Llewelyn, and the other giants of the district has been quite Alpine in character. The wind has drifted the snow in great pillowy masses among the rocks, or piled it in long cornices along the edges, and on several days when the air was at its keenest, the snow fields have been crisp and firm, and have afforded excellent footing as a change from the rough "screes" and crags; at other times, when the sun has shone out warmly, the snow has been soft and treacherous, and the spectacle has often been seen of the too trustful tourist struggling waistdeep. Mid-April in Snowdonia, when March has been cold and wet, shows scarcely an advance from midwinter as far as the blossoming of flowers is concerned. Down by the coast the land is gay with gorse and primroses, but in the bleak upland dales that radiate from the great mountains hardly a bloom is to be seen; nor do the river banks and marshy pastures as yet show so much as a kingcup, a spearwort, or a celandine. The visitors have come in their multitudes to walk, to climb, to cycle, to motor, to take photographs, or to take fish, as the case may be; but if one of them were to confess that he had come to look for flowers he would indeed surprise the natives--still more if he were to point to the upper ramparts of the mountains, among the rocks and snows and clouds, as the place of his design. Yet it is there that we must climb, if we would see the pride of the purple saxifrage, the earliest of our mountain flowers, blest by botanists with the cumbrous name of _saxifraga oppositifolia_, and often grown by gardeners, who know it as a Swiss immigrant, but not as a British native. A true Alpine, it is not found in this country much below 2,000 feet, and in Switzerland its range is far higher, for it is a neighbour and a lover of the snows. Small and slight as it may seem, when compared with some of its more splendid brethren of the Alps, it has the distinction of a high-bred race, the character of the genuine mountaineer. It is a wearer of the purple, in deed as well as in name. But our approach to the home of the saxifrage is not to be accomplished without toil, in weather which is a succession of boisterous squalls. Under such a gale we have literally to push our way in a five-mile walk to the foot of the hills, and as we climb higher and higher up the slopes we have a ceaselesstussle with the strong, invisible foe who buffets us from every side in turn, while he hisses against the sharp edges of the crags, or growls with dull subterranean noises under the piles of fallen rocks. As for the streams, they are blown visibly out of their steep channels and carried in light spray across the hillside, while sheets of water are lifted from the surface of the lake. Not till we reach the base of the great escarpment which forms the north-east wall of the mountain are we able to draw breath in peace; for there, under the topmost precipices, flecked with patches of snow, is a strange and blissful calm. But now, just when our search begins, the mists, which have long been circling overhead, creep down and fill the upland hollow where we stand, cutting off our view not only of the valley below but of the range of cliffs above, and confining us in a sequestered cloudland of our own. Still climbing along a line of snowdrifts which follows a ridge of rocks, and which serves at once as a convenient route for an ascent and a safe guide for a return, we scan the likely-looking corners and crevices for the object of our pilgrimage. At first in vain; and then fears begin to assail us that we may be doomed to disappointment. Can we have come too early, even for so early a plant, in a backward season? Or have some wandering tourists or roving knights of the trowel (for such there are) robbed the mountain-side of its gem--for this saxifrage, owing to the brightness of its petals on the grey and barren slopes, is so conspicuous as to be at the mercy of the passer-by. But even as we stand in doubt there is a gleam of purple through the mist, and yonder, on a boss of rock, is a cluster of the rubies we have come not to steal but to admire. What strikes one about the purple saxifrage, when seen at close quarters, its many bright flowerets peering out from a cushion of moss, is the largeness of the blossoms in proportion to the shortness of the stems; a precocious, wide-browed little plant, it looks as if the cares of existence at these wintry altitudes had given it a somewhat thoughtful cast. At a distance it makes a splash of colour on the rocks, and from the high cliffs above it hangs out, here and there, in tufts that are fortunately beyond reach.[17] [Footnote 17: For a charming description of the purple saxifrage, see _Holidays in High Lands_, by Hugh Macmillan (1869).] Having paid our homage to the flower, we leave it on its lofty throne among the clouds, and descend by snow-slopes and scree-slides to the windy, blossomless valley beneath. A month hence, when the season of the Welsh poppy, the globe-flower, and the butterwort is beginning, the reign of the purple saxifrage will be at an end. To be appreciated as it deserves, it must be seen not as a poor captive of cultivation, but in its free, wild environment, among the remotest fastnesses of the mountains. The wild animal life on the hills, so noteworthy in the later spring, seems as yet to have hardly awakened. We saw a white hare one afternoon on Carnedd Llewelyn, but that was the only beast of the mountains that crossed our path during eight days' climbing, nor were the birds so numerous as might have been expected. The croak of the raven was heard at times, in his high breeding-places, and on another occasion there was a triple conflict in the air between a raven, a buzzard, and a hawk. On the lower moorlands the curlew was beginning to arrive from his winter haunts by the seashore, and small flocks of gulls, driven inland by the winds, were hovering over the waters of Llyn Ogwen, where we saw several of them mobbing a solitary heron, who seemed much embarrassed by their onslaught, until he succeeded in getting his great wings into motion. But if bird-life is still somewhat dormant in these lofty regions, there have been plenty of human migrants on the wing. From our high watch-tower, we saw daily, far below us, the long line of motorists--those terrestrial birds of prey--speeding along the white roads, and flying past a hundred entrancing spots, as if their object were to see as little as possible of what they presumably came to see. Flocks of cyclists, too, were visible here and there, avoiding the cars as best they could, and drinking not so much "the wind of their own speed," in the poet's words, as the swirl and dust of the motors; while on the bypaths and open hillsides swarmed the happier foot-travellers, pilgrims in some cases from long distances over the mountains, or skilled climbers with ropes coiled over their shoulders and faces set sternly towards some beetling crag or black gully in the escarpment above. In one respect only are they all alike--that they are birds of passage and are here only for the holiday. Soon they will be gone, and then the ancient silence will settle down once more upon the hills, and buzzard and raven will be undisturbed, until July and August bring the great summer incursion. XXIII FLOWER-GAZING _IN EXCELSIS_ I gazed, and gazed, but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought. WORDSWORTH. THERE is no more inspiring pastime than flower-gazing under the high crags of Snowdon. The love of flowers reveals a new and delightful aspect of the mountain life, and leads its votaries into steeps and wilds which, as they lie aloof from the usual ways of the climber, might otherwise escape notice. It must be owned that our Cumbrian and Cambrian hills are not rich in flowers as Switzerland is rich; one cannot here step out on the mountain-side and see great sheets of colour, as on some Alpine slope; and not only must we search for our treasures, but we must know _where_ to search. They do not grow everywhere; much depends on the nature of the soil, much on the altitude, much on the configuration of the hills. There are great barren tracts which bear little but heather and bilberry; but there are rarer beds of volcanic ash and calcareous rock which are a joy to the heart of the flower-lover.[18] [Footnote 18: See _The Flora of Carnarvonshire_, by John E. Griffith, and _A Flora of the English Lake District_, by J. G. Baker, two books which are of great value in showing the localities of mountain plants.] Again, one is apt to think that on those heights, where the winter is long and severe, it is the southern flanks that must be the haunt of the flowers; in reality, it is the north-east side that is the more favoured, owing to the fact that the hills, in both districts, for the most part rise gently from the south or the south-west, in gradual slopes that are usually dry and wind-swept, while northward and eastward they fall away steeply in broken and water-worn escarpments. It is here, among the wet ledges and rock-faces, constantly sprayed from the high cliffs above, where springs have their sources, that the right conditions of shade and moisture are attained; and here only can the Alpines be found in any abundance. The precipices of Cwm Idwal and Cwm Glas, in Wales, and in the Lake District the east face of Helvellyn, may stand as examples of such rock-gardens. The course of a climber is usually along the top of the ridge, that of the botanist at its base; his paradise is that less frequented region which may be called the undercliff, where the "screes" begin to break away from the overhanging precipice, and where, in the angle thus formed, there is often a little track which winds along the hillside, sometimes rising, sometimes falling, but always with the cliff above and the scree-slope below. Following this natural guidance he may scramble around the base of the rocks, or along their transverse ledges, and feast his eyes on the many mountain flowers that are within sight, if not within reach. It is a fine sport, this flower-gazing; not only because all the plants are beautiful and many of them rare, but because it demands a certain skill to balance oneself on a steep declivity, while looking upward, through binoculars, at some attractive clump of purple saxifrage, or moss-campion, or thrift, or rose-root, or globe-flower, as the case may be.[19] To the veteran rambler especially, this flower-cult is congenial; for it supplies--I will not say an excuse for not going to the top, but a less severe and exacting diversion, which still takes him into the inmost solitudes of the mountain, and keeps him in unfailing touch with its character and genius. [Footnote 19: In Parkinson's _Theatrum Botanicum_ (1640) it is remarked of rose-root that it grows "oftentimes in the ruggiest places, and most dangerous of them, scarce accessible, and so steepe that they may soon tumble downe that doe not very warily looke to their footing."] I have spoken of Snowdonia in the spring; let us view it now in the fulness of June or July, when its flora is at its richest. It is not till you have climbed to a height of about two thousand feet that the true joys of the mountains begin. At first, perhaps, as you follow the course of the stream you will see nothing more than a bunch of white scurvy-grass or a spray of golden-rod; but when you reach the region where the thin cascade comes sliding down over the moist rocks, and the topmost cliffs seem to impend, then you will have your reward, for you have entered into the kingdom of the Alpines. Suppose, for example, that you stand at the foot of the narrow ridge of Crib-y-Ddysgl, a great precipice which overhangs the upper chambers of Cwm Glas on the northern side of Snowdon, with an escarpment formed of huge slabs of rock intersected by wet gullies, narrow niches, and transverse terraces of grass. Looking up, to where the Crib towers above, you will see a goodly array of plants. Thrift is there, in large clumps as handsome as on any sea-cliffs; rose-root, the big mountain-stonecrop; cushions of moss-campion, which bears the local name of "Snowdon pink"; lady's-mantle, intermixed with the reddening leaves of mountain-sorrel; Welsh poppy, not so common a flower in Wales as its name would suggest; and at least three kinds of beautiful white blossoms--the starry saxifrage, the mossy saxifrage, and the shapely little sandwort (_arenaria verna_), as fair as the saxifrages themselves, and what higher praise could be given? The flower-lover can scarcely hope for greater delight than that which the starry saxifrage will yield him. It has been well said that "one who has not seen it growing, say, in some rift of the rock exposed by the wearing of the mountain torrent, cannot imagine how lovely it is, or how fitly it is named. White and starry, and saxifrage--how charming must that which has three such names be!"[20] [Footnote 20: _Wild Flowers of Scotland_, by J. H. Crawford.] Another lofty rock-face, similar in its flora to that of Snowdon, is the precipice at the head of Cwm Idwal, near the point where it is broken by the famous chasm of the Devil's Kitchen. Hereabouts is the chief station of the _Lloydia_, or spiderwort, a rather rare and pretty Alpine, a delicate lily of the high rocks, bearing solitary white flowers veined with red, and a few exceedingly narrow leaves that resemble the legs of a spider. Unlike most mountain plants, it has a considerable local reputation; and during its short flowering season in June one may observe small parties of enthusiasts from Bangor or Carnarvon, diligently scanning the black cliffs above Llyn Idwal, in the hope of spying it. The place where I first saw the _Lloydia_ in blossom was Cwm Glas; but I had previously noticed its long thin leaves in two or three places around the Devil's Kitchen. The haunts of the Alpine meadow-rue (_thalictrum alpinum_) are similar to those of the spiderwort; and a most elegant little plant it is, its gracefully drooping terminal cluster of small yellowish flowers being borne on a simple naked stem, whereas its less aristocratic relative, the smaller meadow-rue (_t. collinum_), which is much commoner on these rocks, is bushier and more branched. I had many disappointments, before I rightly apprehended the true Alpine species; once distinguished, it cannot again be mistaken. It was to a chance meeting in Ogwen Cottage, at the foot of Cwm Idwal, with Dr. Lloyd Williams, a skilled botanist who had brought a party of friends to visit the home of the _Lloydia_, that I owed my introduction to another very beautiful inhabitant of those heights, the white mountain-avens, known to rock-gardeners as _dryas octopetala_. Happy is the flower-gazer who has looked on the galaxy, the "milky way," of those fair mountain nymphs--for the plant is in truth an oread rather than a dryad--where they shed their lustre from certain favoured ledges in a spot which it is safer to leave unspecified. I must have passed close to the place many scores of times, in the forty or more years during which I had known the mountain; yet never till then did I become aware of the treasure that was enshrined in it! But of all the glories of Cwm Idwal--rarities apart--the greatest, when the summer is at its prime, is the array of globe-flowers. This splendid buttercup usually haunts the banks of mountain streams, or the sides of damp woods, in the West country and the North; its range is given in the _Flora of the Lake District_ as not rising above nine hundred feet; but in Snowdonia, not content to dwell with its cousins the kingcups and spearworts in the upland valleys, it aspires to a far more romantic station, and is seen blooming in profusion at twice and almost three times that height on the most precipitous rock-ledges.[21] One may gaze by the hour, enraptured, and never weary of the sight. [Footnote 21: In the Cairngorm mountains, the globe-flower ascends to a height of 3,000 feet (see Mr. Seton Gordon's _Wanderings of a Naturalist_); in the Alps to 8,000.] I have by no means exhausted the list of notable Snowdonian flowers that are native in the two localities of which I have spoken, or in a few other spots that are similarly favoured by geological conditions: the sea-plantain, the mountain-cudweed, the stone-bramble, the queer little whitlow-grass with twisted pods (_draba incana_), its still rarer congener the Alpine rock-cress, and the _Saussurea_, or Alpine saw-wort--all these, and more, are to be found there by the pilgrim who devotedly searches the scriptures of the hills. But of the _Saussurea_ some mention will have to be made in the next chapter; for it is now time to turn from Cambria to Cumbria, from the "cwms" and "cribs" of Snowdon to the "coves" and "edges" of Helvellyn. XXIV COVES OF HELVELLYN I climbed the dark brow of the mighty Helvellyn. SCOTT. SO far I have spoken more of the Welsh mountain flowers than of those belonging to Lakeland; but the difference between the two districts, in regard to their respective floras, is not very great, and with a few exceptions the plants that are native on the one range may be looked for on the other. The _Lloydia_ is found in Snowdonia only; and Wales can boast, not a monopoly, but a greater plenty of the moss-campion and the purple saxifrage. On the other hand, the Alpine lady's-mantle and the yellow mountain-saxifrage, both abundant in Cumberland, are absent from Carnarvonshire; and this is somewhat of a loss, for the common lady's-mantle, charming though it is, lacks the beauty of the Alpine, and the yellow saxifrages, as they hang from the rocks like a phalanx of tiny golden shields--each with bright petals and pale green sepals radiating from a central boss--are among the greatest ornaments of the fells. Again, the lovely little bird's-eye primrose is a North-country plant which is not found in Wales; against which may be set, perhaps, that gem of the damp mosses on certain Welsh streamsides, the ivy-leaved bell-flower. More characteristic of Lakeland than of Snowdonia, though not peculiar to it, are those two very beautiful flowers, the one a child of the swamp, the other of the high pastures, the grass of Parnassus, and the mountain-pansy; and to conclude the list, the snow-saxifrage and the mountain-avens are about equally rare in both countries--the avens, indeed, is confined to one or two stations, where fortunately it is little known. Helvellyn, as a mountain, is very inferior to Snowdon, nor indeed can it compete in grandeur with its own Cumbrian neighbours, the Great Gable and Scafell; but among visitors to the Lakes it has nevertheless an enduring reputation, largely due to the poems in which Scott and Wordsworth have sung its praises. Accordingly, during the tourist season, the anxious question: "Is that Helvellyn?" may often be overheard; and on a fine day all sorts of incongruous persons may be seen making their way up the weary slopes that lead from Grasmere to its crest. I once observed a gentleman in a top-hat toiling upward in the queue; on another occasion I witnessed at the summit a violent quarrel between a married couple, the point of dispute (on which they appealed to me) being whether their little dog was, or was not, in danger of being blown over the cliffs. As the west wind was certainly very strong, and Helvellyn had already been associated with the story of a dog's fidelity, I ventured to advise a retreat. On the east side, however, where its "dark brow" overlooks the Red Tarn, and throws out two great lateral ridges--on the right, in De Quincey's words, "the awful curtain of rock called Striding Edge," and Swirrel Edge on the left--Helvellyn is a very fine mountain, and what is more to the present purpose, is botanically the most interesting of all the Lakeland fells. From Grisedale Tarn to Keppelcove, a distance of full three miles, that great escarpment, with the several "coves" that nestle beneath it, is the home of many rare Alpine flowers, corresponding in that respect with the Welsh rock-faces of Idwal and Cwm Glas; and though it does not offer so conspicuous a display, or such keen inducements to flower-gazing, a search along its narrow ledges, and under the impending crags, home of the hill fox, will seldom disappoint the adventurer. Some years ago I spent a week of July, in two successive seasons, at Patterdale, for the purpose of becoming better acquainted with the mountain flowers, but on both occasions the weather was very stormy and made it difficult to be on the fells. At first I searched chiefly under Striding Edge and the steep front of Helvellyn, among the rocks that lie behind the Red Tarn, and in similar places above Keppelcove Tarn in the adjoining valley, hoping with good luck to light on the snow-saxifrage. In this I was unsuccessful; but I twice found a plant I had not hitherto met with--in appearance a small spineless thistle, with a cluster of light-purple scented flowers--which proved to be the Alpine saw-wort, or _Saussurea_, and which in later years I saw again on Snowdon. A blossom which I picked and kept for several months was so little affected by its separation from the parent stem that it continued its vital processes in a vase, and passed from flowering to seeding without interruption. Like the orpine, it was a veritable "live-long," or as the politicians say, "die-hard." At Patterdale I was so fortunate as to make the acquaintance of Mr. Robert Nixon, a resident who has had a long and intimate knowledge of the local flora; and he very kindly devoted a day to showing me some of his flower-haunts on Helvellyn. In the course of this expedition, one of the pleasantest in my memory, a number of interesting plants were noted by us: among them the mountain-pansy; the cross-leaved bedstraw; the vernal sandwort; the Alpine meadow-rue; the moss-campion; the purple saxifrage, now past flowering; the mountain willow-herb (_epilobium alsinifolium_), not the true Alpine willow-herb, but a native of similar places among the higher rills; and the _salix herbacea_, or "least willow," the smallest of British trees, which when growing on the bare hill-tops is not more than two inches in height, though in the clefts of rock at the edge of the main escarpment we found it of much larger size. The moss-campion (_silene acaulis_) is especially associated with the locality of which I am speaking--the neighbourhood of Grisedale Tarn--and is mentioned in the "Elegiac Verses," composed by Wordsworth "near the mountain track that leads from Grasmere through Grisedale": There cleaving to the ground, it lies, With multitude of purple eyes, Spangling a cushion green like moss. To this the poet added in a note: "This most beautiful plant is scarce in England. The first specimen I ever saw of it, in its native bed, was singularly fine, the tuft or cushion being at least eight inches in diameter. I have only met with it in two places among our mountains, in both of which I have since sought for it in vain." The other place may have been the hill above Rydal Mount; for a contributor to the _Flora of the Lake District_ states that it was there shown to him by Wordsworth. The poet's knowledge of the higher mountains, and of the mountain flora, was not great. The moss-campion though local, is much less rare than he supposed, and its "cushions" grow to a far larger bulk than that of the one described by him. In his _Holidays on High Lands_ (1869), Hugh Macmillan, paying tribute to the beauty of this flower, remarks that "a sheet of it last summer on one of the Westmorland mountains measured five feet across, and was one solid mass of colour." I have seen it approaching that size in Wales. Another plant which I was anxious to see was the Alpine _cerastium_ (mouse-ear chickweed), said to grow "sparingly" on the crags of Striding Edge and in a few other places. I failed to find it; but when Mr. Nixon had pointed out to me, in a photograph of the Edge, a particular crag on which he had noticed the flower in a previous summer, I determined to renew the search. This the weather prevented; but in the following year, happening to be in Borrowdale in June, I walked from Keswick to the top of Helvellyn, and thence descended to Striding Edge, where, on the very rock indicated by Mr. Nixon, I found the object of my journey--not yet in flower, for I was somewhat ahead of its season, but authenticated as _cerastium alpinum_ by the small oval leaves covered with dense white down. I have several times seen, high up on Carnedd Llewelyn, a form of _cerastium_ with larger flowers than the common kind; this I think must have been what is called _c. alpestre_ in the _Flora of Carnarvonshire_; but the true _alpinum_, though frequent in the Scottish highlands, is decidedly rare in Wales. Even when the summer is far spent, there is hope for the flower-lover among these mountains, especially if he penetrate into one of those deep fissures--more characteristic of the Scafell range than of Helvellyn--known locally as "gills": I have in mind the upper portion of Grain's Gill, near the summit of the Sty Head Pass, where, on an autumn day, one may still see, on either bank of the chasm, a goodly array of flowers. Most prevalent, perhaps, are the satiny leaves of the Alpine lady's-mantle, which is extraordinarily abundant in this part of the Lake District, and forms a thick green carpet on many of the slopes. Against this background stand out conspicuously tall spires of golden-rod, rich cushions of wild thyme, and clumps of white sea-campion, a shore plant which, like thrift, sea-plantain, and scurvy-grass, seems almost equally at home on the heights. There, too, are the mountain-sorrel, and rose-root; butterworts, with leaves now faded to a sickly yellow; tufts of harebell, northern bedstraw and hawkweed; stout stalks of angelica; and, best of all, festoons of yellow saxifrages, beautiful even in their decay. XXV GREAT DAYS I hearing get, who had but ears, And sight, who had but eyes before; I moments live, who lived but years. THOREAU. IN flower-seeking, as in other sports and sciences, the unexpected is always happening; there are rich days and poor days, surprises and disappointments; the plant which we hailed as a rarity may prove on examination to be but a gay deceiver; and contrariwise, when we think we have come home empty-handed, it may turn out that the vasculum contains some unrecognized treasure; as when, after what seemed to be a barren day on Helvellyn, I found that I had brought back with me the Alpine saw-wort. That in the study of flowers, as in all natural history, we should be more attracted by the rare than by the common is inevitable; it is a tendency that cannot be escaped or denied, but it may at least be kept within bounds, so that familiarity shall not breed the proverbial contempt, nor rarity a vulgar and excessive admiration.[22] The quest for the rare, provided that it does not make us forget that the common is often no less beautiful, or lead to that selfish acquisitiveness which is the bane of "collecting," is a foible harmless in itself and even in some cases useful, as inciting us to further activities. [Footnote 22: "This [herb] was choice, because of prime use in medicine; and that, more choice, for yielding a rare flavour to pottage; and a third choicest of all, because possessed of no merit but its extreme scarcity."--Scott's _Quentin Durward_.] The sulphur-wort, or "sea hog's-fennel," for instance, is not especially attractive--a big coarse plant, five feet in stature, with a solid stem, uncouth masses of grass-like leaves, and large umbels of yellow flowers--yet I have a gratifying recollection of a visit which I once paid to its haunts on the Essex salt marshes near Hamford Water. Again, the twisted-podded whitlow-grass is a rather shabby-looking little crucifer; but the day when I found it under the crags of Snowdon in Cwm Glas stands out distinguished and unforgotten. It is natural that we should observe more closely what there are fewer opportunities of observing. Let me speak first of the barren days. An old friend of mine who is of an optimistic temperament once assured me for my comfort, that the flower-seeker must not feel discouraged if he fail in his pursuit; since it is not from mere success, but from the effort itself, that benefit is derived. The text should run, not "Seek, and ye shall find," but, "Seek, and ye shall not _need_ to find." This may be a true doctrine, but it seems rather a hard one; certainly it is not easy, at the time, to regard with entire complacency the result of a blank day; and that there will be blank days is beyond doubt, for it is strange how long some of the "wanted" plants, the De Wets of the floral world, will evade discovery. I have looked into the face of many hundreds of star-saxifrages on the hills of Wales and Cumberland, but have never yet set eyes upon its rare sister, the snow or "clustered" saxifrage. In like manner among the innumerable flowers of the chalk fields, in the South, that elusive little annual, the mouse-tail, has hitherto remained undetected. So, too, with many other rarities: the list of the found may increase year by year, but that of the _un_found is never exhausted. It is well that it is so, and that satiety cannot chill the ardour of the flower-lover, but like Ulysses, "always roaming with a hungry heart," he has ever before him an object for his pursuit. "Wretched is he," says Rousseau, "who has nothing left to wish for." Nor is the reward a merely figurative one, such as that of the husbandmen in the fable, who, after digging the ground in search of a buried treasure, were otherwise recompensed; for the lean days are happily interspersed with the fat days, and to the botanist there is surely no joy on earth like that of discovering a flower that is new to him; it is a thrilling event which compensates tenfold for all the failures of the past. Very remarkable, too, is the freakishness of fortune, which often, while denying what you crave, will toss you something quite different and unlooked for: I remember how when searching vainly for the spider orchis at the foot of the Downs in Kent, I stumbled on an abundance of the "green man." Or perhaps, just at the moment when you are relinquishing the quest as hopeless, and have put it wholly from your mind, you will be startled to see the very flower that you sought. Burningly it came on me all at once! * * * * * Dotard, a-dozing at the very nonce, After a life spent training for the sight! As Thoreau expressed it: "What you seek in vain for, half your life, one day you come full upon, all the family at dinner." But the great days! I have sometimes fancied that in those enterprises which are to mark the finding of a new flower, one has an inner anticipation, a sense of hopefulness and quiet satisfaction that on ordinary occasions is lacking. But this assurance must be an instinctive one; it is useless to affect a confidence that does not naturally arise; for though perseverance is essential, any presumptuous attempt to forestall a favourable issue will only lead to discomfiture. Then at last, when the goal is reached, comes the devotee's reward--the knowledge that is won only by attainment, the ecstasy, the moments that are better than years. In this, as in much else, the search for flowers is symbolic of the search for truth. Nothing, as they say, succeeds like success; and there are times, in this absorbing pursuit, when one piece of good fortune is linked closely with another. I shall not easily forget that day on Snowdon, when, after meeting for the first time with the Alpine meadow-rue, I almost immediately saw my first spiderwort some ten feet above me on the rocky cliff, and reached it by building a cairn of stones against the foot of the precipice to serve me as a ladder. Among the great days that have fallen to my lot while following the call of the wildflower, one other shall be mentioned--a fair September afternoon when I had wandered for miles about the wide pastures that border the Trent, in what seemed to be a fruitless search for the meadow-saffron. Already it was time to turn on my homeward journey, when I struck into a field from which hay had been carried in the summer; and there, scattered around in large clusters of a score or more together, some lilac, some white, all with a satiny translucence in the warm sunshine which gave them an extraordinary and fairy-like charm, were hundreds of the leafless "autumn crocuses," as they are called, though in fact the flower is more lovely and ethereal than any crocus of the garden. Not the day only, but the place itself was glorified by them; and now of all those spacious but rather desolate Nottinghamshire river-meadows, I remember only that one spot: I crossed a moor, with a name of its own, And a certain use in the world, no doubt; Yet a hand's-breath of it shines alone, 'Mid the blank miles round about. Nor are all the great days necessarily of that strenuous sort where success can only be achieved by effort; for there are some days which may also be called great, or at least memorable, when one attains by free gift of fortune to what might long have been searched for in vain. I refer to those happy occasions when a friend says: "Look here! I'd like to show you that field where the elecampane grows," or, it may be, the habitat (the only one in England) of the spring snowflake; or the place on Wansfell Pike where the mountain-twayblade lies hidden beneath the heather. Such things have befallen me now and then; nor am I likely to forget the day when Bertram Lloyd took me to the haunt of the creeping toadflax in Oxfordshire; or when, with Sydney Olivier for guide, I emerged from the aisles of Wychwood Forest on to some rough grassy ground, where in company with meadow crane's-bill, clustered bell-flower, and woolly-headed thistle, the blue _salvia pratensis_ was flourishing in glorious abundance. For recollection plays a large part in the flower-lover's enjoyment. Wordsworth and his daffodils are but a trite quotation; yet many hearts besides Wordsworth's have filled with pleasure at the memory of a brave array of flowers, or even of a single gallant plant seen in some wild locality by mountain, meadow, or shore. The great days were not born to be forgotten. XXVI THE LAST ROSE And summer's lease hath all too short a date. THE great days were not born to be forgotten. It is well that memory should come to the aid of the flower-lover; for none is more deserving of such comfort than he, keeping constant watch as he does over the transitoriness of the seasons, and having prescience of the summer's departure while summer is still at its height. Sometimes a late autumnal thought Has crossed my mind in green July. It is in the prime of the year that such intimations of mortality are keenest; when the "fall" itself has arrived, there is less of regret than of resignation. I do not know where the tranquil grief for parted loveliness is so tenderly expressed as in a fragmentary poem of Shelley's, "The Zucca," which, though little known by the majority of readers, contains some of the most poignant, most Shelleyan verses ever written. The poet relates how when the Italian summer was dead, and autumn was in turn expiring, he went forth in grief for the decay of that ideal beauty--"dim object of my soul's idolatry"--of which he, above all men, was the worshipper, and in this mood of sadness found the withered gourd which was the subject of his song. And thus I went lamenting, when I saw A plant upon the river's margin lie, Like one who loved beyond his Nature's law. And in despair had cast him down to die. There is a fitness in such imagery; for flowers seem to serve naturally as emblems of human emotions. Who has not felt the pathos of a faded blossom kept as a memorial of the past? Many years ago I was given a beautifully bound copy of Moxon's edition of _Shelley_; and when I noticed that opposite that loveliest of poems, "Epipsychidion," were a few pink petals interleaved, I was sure that their presence at such a page was not merely accidental; and it has since been a whim of mine that those tokens of some bygone incident in the life of a former owner of the book should not be displaced. There are vicissitudes in human lives with which flowers become associated in our thoughts. I recall a calm autumn day spent in company with a friend upon the Surrey Downs, when the marjoram and other fragrant flowers of the chalk were still as beautiful as in summer, but the sadness of a near departure from that familiar district lay heavy on my mind; and that day proved indeed to be the end of many happy years, for long afterwards, when I returned to those hills, all was changed for _me_, though Nature was kindly as before. Thus a date, not greatly heeded at the time, may be found to have marked one of life's turning-points, and the flowers connected with it may hold a peculiar significance in memory. It is a sad moment for a flower-lover when he sees before him "the last rose of summer" ("rose" is a term which may here be used in a general sense for any sweet and pleasing flower), and realizes that he is now face to face with the season's euthanasia, "that last brief resurrection of summer in its most brilliant memorials, a resurrection that has no root in the past, nor steady hold upon the future, like the lambent and fitful gleams from an expiring lamp." Yet so gradual is this change, and the resurrection of which De Quincey speaks so entrancing, that one is comforted even while he grieves. For example, there are few sights more cheering on a late September day than to find by some bare tidal river a colony of the marsh-mallow. The most admired member of the family is usually the muskmallow; and certainly it is a very pretty flower, with its bright foliage and the pink satiny sheen of its corolla; but far more charming, though less showy in appearance, is its modest sister of the salt marshes, whose leaves, overspread with hoary down, are soft as softest velvet, and her petals steeped in as tender and delicate a tint of palest rose-colour as could be imagined in dreams. There is something especially gracious about this _althæa_, or "healer"; and her virtues are not more soothing to body than to mind. It was from the Sussex shingles that I started, and from the same shore my concluding picture shall be drawn--a quaint sea-posy that I picked there on an October afternoon, not so romantic, certainly, as one of violets or forget-me-nots, but in that sere season not less heartening than any nosegay of the spring. It held but three flowers, samphire, sea-rocket, and sea-heath. The samphire, at all times a singular and attractive herb, was now in fruit, and had faded to a wan yellow; the rocket was still in flower, its lilac blossoms crowning the solid glaucous stalk, and its thick fleshy leaves rivalling the texture of seaweed; the small sea-heath, with wiry reddish stems and dark-green foliage, lent itself by a natural contrast for twining around its bulkier companions. Thus grouped they stood for weeks in a vase on my mantel, until the time for wildflowers was overpast, and the "black and tan" days of winter were already let loose on the earth. And even when the year is actually at its lowest, the sunnier times can be revived and re-enacted in thought; for memory is potent as that wizard in Morris's poem, who in the depth of a northern Christmastide could so wondrously transform the season, That through one window men beheld the spring, And through another saw the summer glow, And through a third the fruited vines a-row; While still unheard, but in its wonted way, Piped the drear wind of that December day. Such flowery scenes has the writing of this little book brought back to me, and has robbed at least one winter of many cheerless hours. INDEX Alpine bartsia, 154; forget-me-not, 155; lady's-mantle, 177; meadow-rue, 153, 168, 174, 182; mouse-ear, 176; penny-cress, 107, 108; saw-wort, 170, 174, 178 Amberley Wild Brooks, 35, 36 Arnside, 124-7 Arundel Park, 35, 142 Avens, mountain, 155, 169, 172; water, 107, 132, 156 Baneberry, 126, 127, 129 Bellflower, ivy-leaved, 48, 148, 149, 172 Bladderwort, 34, 146, 147 Borage, 124 Butterwort, 87, 148, 177 Carpenter, Edward, 15, 45, 93, 100 Castleton, 108 Chiltern Hills, 16, 90, 94, 95 Cinquefoil, marsh, 147, 148, 156; shrubby, 152, 153; vernal, 105 Cloudberry, 110 Crabbe (quoted), 30, 78 Cranberry, 149 Crow-garlic, 92 Cuckmere Haven, 26 Cwm Glas, 165, 167-70 Cwm Idwal, 168-70 Dwale, 140 Farrer, Reginald, 66, 105, 129 Fritillary, 88, 89 Fungi, 80 Gentian, 72; marsh, 144, 145; vernal, 66, 154, 155 Gerarde, John, 49, 87, 88, 91, 98, 110, 124, 130, 134, 140, 142 Globe-flower, 147, 169, 170 Gorse, 51, 52 Hare's-ear, "common," 46, 56, 87, 91; slender, 26, 27 Hellebore, 126, 142 Hemlock, 143 Henbane, 140, 141 Hound's-tongue, 55, 71 Hudson, W. H., 12, 53 (note), 57, 88, 89 Hutchinsia, 47, 106, 123 Jefferies, Richard, 40, 81 Johns, C. A., 38, 61, 125 Jupp, W. J., 15 Kinderscout, 109-12 Lady's-mantle, 167, 171; Alpine, 177 Letchworth, 92, 95, 96 Lewes brooks, 30-4 Lily of the valley, 41, 61, 125 Lloyd, E. Bertram, 16, 110, 111, 119, 183 Macmillan, Hugh, 162 (note), 175, 176 Marjoram, 69, 76, 103, 180 Marsh-cinquefoil, 147, 148 Marsh-mallow, 187 Meadow-rue, Alpine, 153, 168, 174, 182; lesser, 108 Meadow-sage, 64, 183 Monk's-hood, 94, 142 Morris, William, 42 (note), 78, 188, 189 Moschatel, 87, 88 Moss-campion, 167, 171, 175, 176 Mouse-ear, Alpine, 176 Nightshade, deadly, 72, 74, 140 Nixon, Robert, 174, 176 Norton Common, 95, 96 Nottingham catch-fly, 105, 123 Olivier, Sir Sydney, 183 Orchis, 53-6, 70, 71, 85, 86, 126, 148; bee, 53; man, 74; musk, 55; spider, 53-5 Orme's Head, 121, 124 Pagham Harbour, 27 Pansy, mountain, 108, 152, 155, 172, 174 Perfoliates, 86, 87, 108 Pevensey, shingles, 25; levels, 30, 34 Pilgrim's Way, 73 Pink, proliferous, 27; Deptford, 79; maiden, 123 Pratt, Anne, 11, 38, 60, 145, 150 Primrose, 64, 65, 131; bird's-eye, 131, 152, 172; water "violet," 31, 101, 102 Rampion, 53, 56, 74 Rock-rose, 53, 56, 72, 76, 103, 123 Saffron, meadow, 182 St. John's-worts, 11, 39, 79, 99, 148 Salmon, C. E., 17 Samphire, 24, 122, 188 Sandwort, vernal, 106, 108, 130, 167 Saw-wort, Alpine, 170, 174, 178 Saxifrages, 15, 22, 106, 167; mossy, 106, 130, 167; purple, 41, 130, 159-62; snow, 155, 174, 180; starry, 155, 167, 168, 180; yellow, 156, 171, 177 Sheep's scabious, 82 Shelley (quoted), 25, 36, 139-41, 185, 186 Shoreham shingles, 22-4 Snapdragon, 84, 86 Snowdon, 158, 164-70 Spiderwort, 168, 171, 182 Squinancy-wort, 45, 72 Stitchwort, 20, 37 Sweet Cicely, 104 Teesdale, Upper, 66, 151-7 Thistle, "melancholy," 156, 157 Thoreau, H. D., 12, 71, 144, 181; his _Journal_, 133-8 Thorn-apple, 141 Trefoils, 22, 23, 39, 40; starry-headed, 23, 99 Vaughan, Canon J., 12 (note), 98 Vetches, 22, 23, 72 Viper's bugloss, 22, 71 Virgil, 69, 80 Water-soldier, 94, 98 White, Gilbert, 51, 77, 98 Wordsworth, 11, 42, 175, 184 Wye valley, 106, 107 Yellow-wort, 72, 87 _Printed in Great Britain by_ UNWIN BROTHERS THE GRESHAM PRESS, LONDON AND WOKING 
45389	----	provided by the Internet Archive TWO YELLOW-BIRDS. By Anonymous [Illustration: 001] [Illustration: 003] [Illustration: 004] [Illustration: 005] [Illustration: 006] TWO YELLOW-BIRDS. |When Lucy Tracy was a very little girl, her mother had a beautiful yellow bird. He was quite tame, and would come out of his cage, and sit upon Mrs. Tracy's plants, and then fly upon the breakfast table, and pick the crumbs from the white cloth, while Lucy and her lather and mother were eating their breakfast. Little Lucy had no brother or sister to eat breakfast with her; so that she enjoyed very much having Black-pate, as she called him, from the black tuft on his head. She could chatter to him, as if he were no older than herself. And she would often give him lumps of sugar. He liked very much to fly into a basin of water and flatter his wings, bob his head in and out, and spatter Lucy's face Then she would laugh and clap her would peck at, while she held them in her fingers, and he would do it again, as if to make her laugh the more. She would stand by her mother, as she filled his glass cups, one with hemp-seed and the other with water, and brush all the old seeds from the bottom of his cage; for birds love a clean cage, as well as little girls love a clean house. [Illustration: 008] He was not a Canary bird; but one of the wild yellow birds, that fly about in the woods and fields. He did not seem to mourn his liberty, but appeared generally very happy in his wire house. His kind mistress took good care of him. She never trusted any one but herself to wash his cage or give him food. She knew poor birds often to suffer from hunger and thirst, by the neglect of those who are _told_ to take care of them. She would often say to Lucy, "It is a hard thing, my little girl, to be shut up in a cage, as this poor bird is; therefore, we ought to do all we can to make him comfortable. It is very wicked to let little birds want seeds, or water, either to drink, or wash themselves in." "But mother, if he don't like his cage, what makes him sing so sweetly, when he flies into it, after he has washed himself in the little basin you keep for him? That don't look as if he were unhappy." "I did not say that he was unhappy; but he has a feeling of confinement, when he flies against the wires of his cage, as if he wished to get out; just as you have when you find yourself shut up in a room, when _you_ wish to get out. He sings to show his gratitude for his food, and while he is eating, feels quite as happy as when he is in his native woods; but after he has done, he wants to fly about just as you want to run. Soon he is hungry again; and then goes to his seeds to eat; and again sings his thanks." "But, mother, if you think poor Black-pate is not happy, why don't you let him fly away, and go into the green woods again?" "Why, Lucy, look out of the window, ana see if there be any green woods where he _can_ fly?" Lucy ran to the window, but soon returned, exclaiming, "Oh dear! no, mother; the ground is all covered with snow; and the trees are all frost instead of leaves. Poor Black-pate! you are better where you are, for the cold snow would freeze your little, feet and you could find no seeds upon the frosty trees and bushes. Wait till spring comes; and then, mother, shan't you let him fly, if he chooses?" "Yes, I only bought him of the boys, who brought him here in the beginning of winter, to keep him until the warm spring comes, I told them I would take him at the price they named, if they would not catch any more, which they promised." In about a month from this time, the snow was all gone--the buds upon the trees began to swell, and some of them had burst into leaves. The sun was quite warm; and Lucy remembered her mother's promise to Black-pate. One morning, just before the sun rose. Mrs. Tracy called her little daughter to walk with her into the garden. "Come, Lucy, let us see if Black-pate would like to bid us good bye this fine morning." Mr. Tracy took the cage, and Mrs. Tracy and Lucy followed him into the garden; he hung it upon a tree, that was nearly covered with young leaves, and opened the door. The bird flew in and out several times. After breakfast, Lucy sat down with her mother, in a parlor, that led to a piazza, looking into the garden, to study her lesson. Often she started up from her book and ran out, to see if Black-pate was still there. Her mother did not speak to her, for some time. He at times, peeked at the leaves, flew from bough to bough, sung some of its sweetest notes, but did not fly out of the garden. They left the cage upon the tree, and Black-pate at liberty to go or stay, just as he pleased. [Illustration: 012] At last she said, "Lucy; how many words can you spell?" "I am afraid not one; for I am thinking all the time about dear Black-pate, and how sad I shall he tomorrow morning, when I don't see him on the table. And I keep looking out, to see if he has got back to his cage. I am afraid, mother, I am selfish; for every time I look out and see him flying about, I feel sorry. Is not that selfish?" "Yes, my dear, it certainly is; for it is preferring your own happiness to that of your little bird; which but a few weeks ago you begged me to set at liberty. I am glad you see it is selfish, for you will try not to indulge it, since you know it is wicked. Instead of thinking how sad _you_ will be to-morrow morning, think how happy your _bird_ will be, hopping about in the beautiful fresh air. And you may get up as early as you please, and go into the garden, and see if he will not give you a sweeter song than you ever heard in the house." The next morning, as soon as the day began to dawn, Lucy awoke, and called from her little bed. "Mother, do you think Black-pate is awake yet?" "I don't know, but you may get up and see." So up jumped Lucy, and put on her clothes, and away she ran into the garden. She found the cage empty, but soon heard Black-pate, and some other birds, singing most briskly. She strewed some seeds and crumbs of bread upon the ground for them, and had great pleasure in running about and hearing them sing, till breakfast was ready. She then went into the house, and after breakfast she sat down to sew with her mother. She finished all the work that her mother required, and repeated her lesson without missing one word. She was so good a girl, that in the afternoon her fond mother took her to ride with her, a few miles, to visit a friend, who had some children about her own age. They walked in the woods and saw and heard many little birds chirp and sing; and Lucy enjoyed very much a variety of plays with the children, and passed a part of the time very pleasantly in swinging. [Illustration: 015] At night she, returned home by the light of a beautiful moon, and went to bed very happy. In the morning she went into the garden to hear Black-pate sing; but no Black-pate was there! At first she felt a little sad; but she remembered how happy the little birds were, that she had seen the day before; and she soon sent her sad feelings away A few days after this, a gentleman, a friend of her father, came to dine with them. As he was very fond of children, he talked a great deal with Lucy; and she told him the story of her bird. Black-pate. He listened very kindly to her and when she had finished, he said, "And so, my little girl, then your fine cage is quite empty and useless now?" "Yes, sir," said Lucy. "Well," said he, "I have some young birds that were born in a cage; and they will not be unhappy to live in one, if they are taken good care of; for they have never known any other home. Now if your mother is willing, and you would like it, I will send you one to-morrow morning, to put into your empty cage. And I dare say you will never forget to feed him, and give him fresh water to drink and wash in every morning." Mrs. Tracy was quite willing; and Lucy promised she would not forget.--The next morning the gentleman sent the bird; for he always remembered his promises. [Illustration: 017] This bird was not so handsome as Black-pate; his color was not as brilliant, nor his neck so long and graceful; but he sung very sweetly; and Lucy soon found that she loved him quite as well as she had ever loved Black-pate Though only six years old, she never once forgot to give him fresh seeds and water, and to clean his cage every morning. She was so small that she could not take down the cage from the sunny window, where it hung, nor put it back, after she had cleaned it; but her father was so much pleased with her attention to her little favorite, that he was always ready to help her. For nearly two years, Lucy thought that her bird grew handsomer and sang more sweetly every day. She used to go to school in the morning, and when she came home, would often bring flowers to dress his cage with, or chickweed, and the long seed vessels of the plantain, which little birds love very much; and he always repaid her with a song. But the third spring, he began to droop and look sick; he left off singing, and almost left off eating. He would sit on his roost for a long time, hanging his head, as if he had not strength to hold it up. It grieved Lucy very much to see him so. She put saffron into the water; buds of saffron about his cage; gave him lump? of nice sugar; and spread, every morning, large branches cf fresh chick-weed over his cage; but all to no purpose. One morning, poor little Pet, for that was the name she gave him, looked more sick than ever. She changed the water and the seeds; though the seeds she had put in fresh the day before, had not been touched. She dressed his case with all the flowers she could find in the month of May, and then went to school with a heavy heart. At noon she came home, and her dear Pet lay on his hack upon the bottom of his cage. His sufferings were all ended. The little bird was dead! [Illustration: 019] Poor Lucy wept bitterly; this was the heaviest affliction she had ever known. She laid down upon her mother's bed, and sobbed aloud. Mrs. Tracy knew that the sorrows of children are not last ing, though they are severe for the time. She therefore did not, at first, think it best to endeavor to restrain her tears; but she found that if not checked, she would make herself ill. She would not eat any dinner; and she was unfit to go to school in the afternoon. Her mother, at length, said, "My dear child, you must not give way thus to your grief for the loss of a bird. I know that you loved Pet very much, and that he gave you a great deal of pleasure; but you must remember, that sorrow for the death of a bird ought not to unfit you for every thing. Now, by thus crying, you have been obliged to stay from school, and have lost several hours work upon the little frock you were making for your aunt; besides making your head ache so much, that you cannot study your lesson this evening. I feel very much for your grief; but you are old enough to understand that all sorrow which prevents us from doing our duty, is wrong--it is selfish While you were laying upon the bed crying and sobbing, do you think your father and I could enjoy our dinner? I assure you we did not. And your lather went to the store with a very sad countenance. I hope when he comes home, you will meet him with a smiling face, and let him see, that, though you loved your bird very much, you love him more. And I hope, my little girl, you will learn a lesson, from this first sorrow, which will be of use to you all your life, viz. not to feel so strong an attachment to any object, that the loss of it will unfit you to do any thing that it is your duty to do." Lucy was in general a good girl: and she loved her parents very much, for they were always kind to her; though they never indulged her in any thing they thought wrong. She attended to what her mother said, and was sorry she had grieved them so much. She got up from the bed, washed her face and eyes in cold water, combed her hair smooth, and when her father came home, he found her sewing with her mother She was a little sad; but she cried no more, and answered very pleasantly when any one spoke to her. A friend of her father passed the evening with them. He saw that Lucy was not so lively as usual, and inquired the cause. He told her he would paint her a likeness of her little bird. We have said that the bird was not handsome; but he was a very sweet songster. And we trust all our little readers know, that beauty of person alone will never recommend either little birds or little girls, to the affections of their friends. When Lucy became a woman, though she met with many heavy afflictions, she always kept in mind, that "all sorrow which makes us neglect our duty to our fellow-beings, is selfish, and of course wrong." MARIA |Come, Maria, my dear, said her mamma, let us take a walk, and I will show you some pretty things. Maria was quite pleased to hear this, and ran to fetch her bonnet and cloak. Her mamma then took her by the hand, and led her out at the door, and then out at the gate, and then they came into the road; and as they went to the place where her mamma meant to show her little girl the fine things, they saw a number of sheep and lambs sporting in the open fields. They soon came to the place, and there they saw very fine flowers, which smelled so sweetly that little Maria felt quite happy with the sights and scents. "Here, my dear," said the lady to her little girl, "this is a rose; what a fine pink hue it has got! Smell it my dear, for I am sure that you will like it;--did you ever smell any thing so sweet?--There is a bud of the rose: see what fine soft moss grows on it, and how close it is wrapped round with green leaves to guard it whilst it is young and tender." [Illustration: 024] "That, Maria, is a stalk; it is like a little bush of red flowers, of a very nice scent. It is so fine a one, it looks like a young tree. There is a wall flower: some like the smell of them very much, but some think they are too strong. "There is a pink; it is very sweet to smell of. "That is a heart's ease: it is a very pretty little flower. What a fine purple color on that leaf; it is like velvet; but it has no scent." [Illustration: 025] "Neither has the blue-bell, which you see there, though it looks very pretty." Maria's mamma shewed her a great many more flowers, and told her the names of them. "Oh! what flower is that, mamma," said little Maria, pointing with her finger to a very tall and large flower. "That, my dear, is a sun-flower." "Oh! how large it is," said Maria, "it is like a sun in this fine Garden." Her mamma then took her all over the garden, and Maria asked her what the name of this thing, and what the name of that thing was all the time they were there. Her mamma then picked her little girl a very pretty bunch of flowers, which Maria took home with great care, and then put them in one of the vases which was in the parlor, and put water to them, to keep them alive as long as she could. Her mamma took home a large bunch for herself, to put into the large China jar, to make the room look lively, and smell sweet with the scent of it, and a very fine flower-pot it was. 
18913	----	[Illustration: A CORNER OF THE AUTHOR'S GARDEN AT KIRKSTALL.] HARDY PERENNIALS AND Old-Fashioned Garden Flowers: DESCRIBING THE MOST DESIRABLE PLANTS FOR BORDERS, ROCKERIES, AND SHRUBBERIES, INCLUDING FOLIAGE AS WELL AS FLOWERING PLANTS. * * * * * BY JOHN WOOD. * * * * * ILLUSTRATED. * * * * * LONDON: L. UPCOTT GILL, 170, STRAND, W. C. 1884. LONDON: PRINTED BY A. BRADLEY, 170, STRAND, W. C. PREFACE. At the present time there is a growing desire to patronise perennial plants, more especially the many and beautiful varieties known as "old-fashioned flowers." Not only do they deserve to be cultivated on their individual merits, but for other very important reasons; they afford great variety of form, foliage, and flower, and compared with annual and tender plants, they are found to give much less trouble. If a right selection is made and properly planted, the plants may be relied upon to appear with perennial vigour and produce flowers more or less throughout the year. I would not say bouquets may be gathered in the depth of winter, but what will be equally cheering may be had in blow, such as the Bluet, Violet, Primrose, Christmas Rose, Crocus, Hepatica, Squills, Snowdrops, and other less known winter bloomers. It does not seem to be generally understood that warm nooks and corners, under trees or walls, serve to produce in winter flowers which usually appear in spring when otherwise placed. There are many subjects which, from fine habit and foliage, even when flowerless, claim notice, and they, too, are described. Many gardens are very small, but these, if properly managed, have their advantages. The smaller the garden the more choice should be the collection, and the more highly should it be cultivated. I shall be glad if anything I say tends in this direction. From my notes of plants useful memoranda may be made, with the object of adding a few of the freest bloomers in each month, thus avoiding the error often committed of growing such subjects as mostly flower at one time, after which the garden has a forlorn appearance. The plants should not be blamed for this; the selection is at fault. No amount of time and care can make a garden what it should be if untidy and weedy plants prevail. On the other hand, the most beautiful species, both as regards foliage and flowers, can be just as easily cultivated. The object of this small work is to furnish the names and descriptions of really useful and reliable Hardy and Perennial Plants, suitable for all kinds of flower gardens, together with definite cultural hints on each plant. Perhaps flowers were never cultivated of more diversified kinds than at the present time; and it is a legitimate and not uncommon question to ask, "What do you grow?" Not only have we now the lovers of the distinct and showy, but numerous admirers of such species as need to be closely examined, that their beautiful and interesting features may gladden and stir the mind. The latter class of plants, without doubt, is capable of giving most pleasure; and to meet the growing taste for these, books on flowers must necessarily treat upon the species or varieties in a more detailed manner, in order to get at their peculiarities and requirements. The more we learn about our flowers the more we enjoy them; to simply see bright colours and pretty forms is far from all the pleasure we may reap in our gardens. If I have not been able to give scientific information, possibly that of a practical kind may be of some use, as for many years, and never more than now, I have enjoyed the cultivation of flowers with my own hands. To be able to grow a plant well is of the highest importance, and the first step towards a full enjoyment of it. I have had more especially in view the wants of the less experienced Amateur; and as all descriptions and modes of culture are given from specimens successfully grown in my own garden, I hope I may have at least a claim to being practical. I have largely to thank several correspondents of many years' standing for hints and information incorporated in these pages. J. WOOD. WOODVILLE, KIRKSTALL, _November, 1883._ ERRATA. For the placing of capital letters uniformly throughout this Volume to the specific names at the cross-headings, and for the omission of many capitals in the body of the type, the printer is alone responsible. Numerous oversights fall to my lot, but in many of the descriptions other than strictly proper botanical terms have been employed, where it seemed desirable to use more intelligible ones; as, for instance, the flowers of the Composites have not always been termed "heads," perianths have sometimes been called corollas, and their divisions at times petals, and so on; this is hardly worthy of the times, perhaps, but it was thought that the terms would be more generally understood. Page 7, line 8. For "lupin" read "Lupine." Page 39, line 31. For "calyx" read "involucre." Page 40, line 27. For "calyx" read "involucre." Page 46, line 1. For "corolla" read "perianth." Page 47, lines 3 and 6. For "corolla" read "perianth." Page 48, last line. For "lupin" read "Lupine." Page 60, line 16. For "pompon" read "pompone." Page 64, line 36. For "corolla" read "perianth." Page 102, line 27. For "Fritillaries" read "Fritillarias." Page 114, cross-heading. For "Ice-cold Gentian" read "Ice-cold Loving Gentian." Page 213. For "_Tirolensis_" read "_Tyrolensis_." Page 214, cross-heading. For "_Cashmerianum_" read "_Cashmeriana_." Page 215, cross-heading. For "_Cashmerianum_" read "_Cashmeriana_." Page 275, line 26. For "corolla" read "perianth." Page 284, line 25. For "calyx" read "involucre." Page 285, line 1. For "calyx" read "involucre." JOHN WOOD. _November 14th, 1883._ HARDY PERENNIALS AND OLD-FASHIONED GARDEN FLOWERS. Acæna Novæ Zealandiæ. _Otherwise_ A. MICROPHYLLA; _Nat. Ord._ SANGUISORBEÆ, _or_ ROSE FAMILY. The plant, as may be seen by the illustration (Fig. 1), is small, and its flowers are microscopic, hardly having the appearance of flowers, even when minutely examined, but when the bloom has faded there is a rapid growth, the calyces forming a stout set of long spines; these, springing from the globular head in considerable numbers, soon become pleasingly conspicuous, and this is by far the more ornamental stage of the plant. It is hardy, evergreen, and creeping. It seldom rises more than one or two inches from the ground, and only when it approaches a wall, stones, or some such fixed body, does it show an inclination to climb; it is, therefore, a capital rock plant. As implied by its specific name, it comes from New Zealand, and has not long been acclimatised in this country. The flowers are produced on fine wiry stems an inch or more long, being nearly erect; they are arranged in round heads, at first about the size of a small pea; these, when bruised, have an ammoniacal smell. Each minute flower has four green petals and brownish seed organs, which cause the knob of flowers to have a rather grimy look, and a calyx which is very hard and stout, having two scales and four sepals. These sepals are the parts which, after the seed organs have performed their functions, become elongated and of a fine rosy-crimson colour; they form stiff and rather stout spines, often ¾in. long; they bristle evenly from every part of the little globe of seed vessels, and are very pretty. The spines are produced in great abundance, and they may be cut freely; their effect is unique when used for table decoration, stuck in tufts of dark green selaginella. On the plant they keep in good form for two months. The leaves are 1in. to 2in. long, pinnate; the leaflets are of a dark bronzy colour on the upper side and a pale green underneath, like maidenhair, which they also resemble in form, being nearly round and toothed. They are in pairs, with a terminal odd one; they are largest at the extremity, and gradually lessen to rudimentary leaflets; the foliage is but sparingly produced on the creeping stems, which root as they creep on the surface. [Illustration: FIG. 1. ACÆNA NOVÆ ZEALANDIÆ. (One half natural size.)] The habit of the plant is compact and cushion-like, and the brilliant spiny balls are well set off on the bed of fern-like but sombre foliage. During August it is one of the most effective plants in the rock garden, where I find it to do well in either moist or dry situations; it grows fast, and, being evergreen, it is one of the more useful creepers for all-the-year-round effect; for covering dormant bulbs or bare places it is at once efficient and beautiful. It requires light soil, and seems to enjoy grit; nowhere does it appear in better health or more at home than when carpeting the walk or track of the rock garden. It is self-propagating, but when it is desirable to move a tuft of it, it should be done during the growing season, so that it may begin to root at once and get established, otherwise the wind and frosts will displace it. It blooms from June to September, more or less, but only the earliest flowers produce well-coloured spines. Achillea Ægyptica. EGYPTIAN YARROW; _Nat. Ord._ COMPOSITÆ. This is an evergreen (though herb-like) species. It has been grown for more than 200 years in English gardens, and originally came, as its name implies, from Egypt. Notwithstanding the much warmer climate of its native country, it proves to be one of the hardiest plants in our gardens. I dare say many will think the Yarrows are not worthy of a place in the garden; but it should not be forgotten that not only are fine and useful flowers included in this work, but also the good "old-fashioned" kinds, and that a few such are to be found amongst the Yarrows is without doubt. Could the reader see the collection now before me, cut with a good piece of stem and some foliage, and pushed into a deep vase, he would not only own that they were a pleasing contrast, but quaintly grand for indoor decoration. _A. Ægyptica_ not only produces a rich yellow flower, but the whole plant is ornamental, having an abundance of finely-cut foliage, which, from a downy or nappy covering, has a pleasing grey or silvery appearance. The flowers are produced on long stems nearly 2ft. high, furnished at the nodes with clean grey tufts of smaller-sized leaves; near the top the stems are all but naked, and are terminated by the flat heads or corymbs of closely-packed flowers. They are individually small, but the corymbs will be from 2in. to 3in. across. Their form is that of the common Yarrow, but the colour is a bright light yellow. The leaves are 6in. to 8in. long, narrow and pinnate, the leaflets of irregular form, variously toothed and lobed; the whole foliage is soft to the touch, from the nappy covering, as already mentioned. Its flowers, from their extra fine colour, are very telling in a cut state. The plant is suitable for the borders, more especially amongst other old kinds. Ordinary garden loam suits it, and its propagation may be carried out at any time by root division. Flowering period, June to September. Achillea Filipendula. _Nat. Ord._ COMPOSITÆ. This grows 4ft. high, and the foliage, though fern-like, has an untidy appearance, from the irregular way in which it is disposed. It is herbaceous, and comes from the Caucasus. The flowers are somewhat singular, arranged in corymbs of a multiplex character; they are very large, often 5in. across. The smaller corymbs are arched or convex, causing the cluster or compound corymb to present an uneven surface; the small flowers are of rich old gold colour, and have the appearance of knotted gold cord; they are very rigid, almost hard. The leaves are linear, pinnate, lobed and serrated, hairy, rough, and numerously produced. From the untidy and tall habit of this subject, it should be planted in the background; its flowers, however, will claim a prominent position in a cut state; they are truly rich, the undulating corymbs have the appearance of embossed gold plate, and their antique colour and form are compared to gold braid by a lady who admires "old-fashioned" flowers. It will last for several weeks after being cut, and even out of water for many days. A few heads placed in an old vase, without any other flowers, are rich and characteristic, whilst on bronze figures and ewers in a dry state, and more especially on ebony or other black decorations, it may be placed with a more than floral effect. In short, rough as the plant is, it is worth growing for its quaint and rich flowers alone; it is seldom met with. Soil and propagation, the same as for _A. Ægyptica_. Flowering period, June to September. Achillea Millefolium. COMMON MILFOIL; _Nat. Ord._ COMPOSITÆ. This is the well-known wild Yarrow; it is, however, the typical form of a fine variety, called _A. m. roseum_, having very bright rose-coloured flowers, which in all other respects resembles the wild form. Both as a border subject and for cutting purposes, I have found it useful; it flowers for several months, but the individual blooms fade in four or six days; these should be regularly removed. The freshly-opened corymbs are much admired. Soil and mode of propagation, the same as for previous kinds. Flowering period, June to November. Achillea Ptarmica. _Syns._ A. SYLVESTRIS _and_ PTARMICA VULGARIS; _Common Names_, WILD YARROW, SNEEZEWORT, GOOSE-TONGUE, _and_ WILD PELLITORY; _Nat. Ord._ COMPOSITÆ. A very common British plant, or, I may say, weed, which can live in the most reeky towns, only mentioned here to introduce _A. P. fl.-pl._, which is one of the most useful of border flowers. I am bound to add, however, that only when in flower is it more presentable than the weedy and typical form; but the grand masses of pure white bachelors'-button-like flowers, which are produced for many weeks in succession, render this plant deserving of a place in every garden. It is a very old flower in English gardens. Some 250 years ago Parkinson referred to the double flowering kind, in his "Paradise of Pleasant Flowers," as a then common plant; and I may as well produce Gerarde's description of the typical form, which answers, in all respects, for the double one, with the exception of the flowers themselves: "The small Sneesewoort hath many rounde and brittle braunches, beset with long and narrowe leaues, hackt about the edges like a sawe; at the top of the stalkes do grow smal single flowers like the fielde Daisie. The roote is tender and full of strings, creeping farre abroade in the earth, and in short time occupieth very much grounde." The flowers of this plant are often, but wrongly, called "bachelors' buttons," which they much resemble. For cutting purposes, this plant is one of the most useful; not only are the blooms a good white, but they have the quality of keeping clean, and are produced in greater numbers than ever I saw them on the single form. Those requiring large quantities of white flowers could not do better than give the plant a few square yards in some unfrequented part of the garden; any kind of soil will suit it, but if enriched the bloom will be all the better for it. The roots run freely just under the surface, so that a large stock may soon be had; yet, fine as are its flowers, hardy and spreading as the plant proves, it is but seldom met with. Even in small gardens this fine old flower should be allowed a little space. Transplant any time. Flowering period, June to August. Aconitum Autumnale. AUTUMN MONK'S-HOOD; _Nat. Ord._ RANUNCULACEÆ. Hardy, perennial, and herbaceous. This is one of the finest subjects for autumn flowering. The whole plant, which stands nearly 3ft. high, is stately and distinct (Fig. 2); the leaves are dark green, large, deeply cut and veined, of good substance, and slightly drooping. The flowers are a fine blue (a colour somewhat scarce in our gardens at that season), irregularly arranged on very stout stems; in form they exactly resemble a monk's hood, and the manner in which they are held from the stems further accords with that likeness. These rich flowers are numerously produced; a three-year-old plant will have as many as six stout stems all well furnished, rendering the specimen very conspicuous. This is one form of the Monk's-hood long grown in English gardens, and is called "old-fashioned." _A. japonicum_, according to some, is identical with it, but whether that is so or not, there is but a slight difference, and both, of course, are good. I find it likes a rich deep soil. It is propagated by division of the roots after the tops have turned yellow in autumn or winter. It flowers from August until cut down by frosts. [Illustration: FIG. 2. ACONITUM AUTUMNALE. (About one-tenth natural size.)] Allium Moly. LARGE YELLOW GARLIC; _Nat. Ord._ LILIACEÆ. A hardy bulbous perennial, of neat habit, with bright golden flowers, produced in large heads; they endure a long time and are very effective; it is by far the best yellow species. Where bold clumps of yellow are desirable, especially if somewhat in the background, there can be few subjects more suitable for the purpose than this plant; both leaves and flowers, however, have a disagreeable odour, if in the least bruised. It is a very old plant in English gardens, and is a native of the South of Europe. Its chief merits are fine colour, large head, neat habit, and easy culture. The flowers are 1in. across, borne in close heads, having stalks over an inch long springing from stout scapes; the six long oval petals are of a shining yellow colour; the seed organs also are all yellow and half the length of petals; the scape is about a foot high, naked, round, and very stout; the leaves are nearly as broad as tulip leaves, and otherwise much resemble them. Flowering period, June to August. Allium Neapolitanum. NEAPOLITAN ALLIUM; _Nat. Ord._ LILIACEÆ. This has pure white flowers arranged in neat and effective umbels, and though not so useful in colour as the flowers of _A. Moly_, they are much superior to those of many of the genus. Flowering period, June to August. Both of the above Alliums may be grown in any odd parts which need decorating with subjects requiring little care; any kind of soil will do for them, but if planted too near the walks the flowers are liable to be cut by persons who may not be aware of their evil odour. The bulbs may be divided every three years with advantage, and may be usefully planted in lines in front of shrubs, or mixed with other strong-growing flowers, such as alkanets, lupins, and foxgloves. Alyssum Saxatile. ROCK MADWORT, _or_ GOLDEN TUFT; _Nat. Ord._ CRUCIFERÆ. [Illustration: FIG. 3. ALYSSUM SAXATILE. (One-third natural size.)] This pleasing and well-known hardy, evergreen, half-woody shrub is always a welcome flower. From its quantity of bloom all its other parts are literally smothered (see Fig. 3). When passing large pieces of it in full blow, its fragrant honey smell reminds one of summer clover fields. Its golden yellow flowers are densely produced in panicles on procumbent stems, 12in. to 18in. long. The little flowers, from distinct notches in the petals, have a different appearance from many of the order _Cruciferæ_, as, unless they are well expanded, there seem to be eight instead of four petals. The leaves are inversely ovate, lanceolate, villose, and slightly toothed. A specimen will continue in good form during average weather for about three weeks. It is not only seen to most advantage on rockwork, where its prostrate stems can fall over the stones, but the dry situation is in accordance with its requirements; still, it is not at all particular, but does well in any sunny situation, in any soil that is not over moist or ill drained. It is easily and quickly propagated by cuttings in early summer. Flowering period, April and May. Anchusa Italica. ITALIAN ALKANET; _Nat. Ord._ BORAGINACEÆ. [Illustration: FIG. 4. ANCHUSA ITALICA (Flower Spray). (One-third natural size.)] A hardy herbaceous perennial of first-class merit for gardens where there is plenty of room; amongst shrubs it will not only prove worthy of the situation, but, being a ceaseless bloomer, its tall and leafy stems decked with brilliant flowers may always be relied upon for cutting purposes; and let me add, as, perhaps, many have never tried this fine but common flower in a large vase, the stems, if cut to the length of 18in., and loosely placed in an old-fashioned vase, without any other flowers, are more than ornamental--they are fine. Its main features are seen in its bold leafy stems, furnished with large, dark blue, forget-me-not-like flowers, nearly all their length. The little white eyes of the blossoms are very telling (see Fig. 4). The flowers are held well out from the large leaves of the main stem by smaller ones (from 1in. to 8in. long), at the ends of which the buds and flowers are clustered, backed by a pair of small leaflets, like wings. Just before the buds open they are of a bright rose colour, and when the flowers fade the leafy calyx completely hides the withered parts, and other blooms take their places between the wing-like pair of leaflets; so the succession of bloom is kept up through the whole summer. The leaves of the root are very large when fully grown during summer--over a foot long--those of the stems are much less; all are lance-shaped and pointed, plain at the edges, very hairy, and of a dark green colour. The stems are numerous, upright, and, as before hinted, branched; also, like the leaves, they are covered with stiff hairs, a characteristic common to the order. Well-established plants will grow to the height of 3ft. to 5ft. Flowering period, May to September. Anchusa Sempervirens. _Nat. Ord._ BORAGINACEÆ. This is a British species, and, as its name denotes, is evergreen; not, let me add, as a tall plant, for the stems wither or at least become very sere, only the large leaves of the root remaining fresh; and though it has many points of difference from _A. Italica_, such as shorter growth, darker flowers and foliage, and more oval leaves--these form the distinctions most observable. By its evergreen quality it is easily identified in winter. There is also an important difference from the axillary character of the flower stems. With these exceptions the description of _A. Italica_ will fairly hold good for this native species. This Alkanet has various other names, as _Borago sempervirens_, _Buglossum s._, and with old writers it, together with allied species, was much esteemed, not only for the flowers, but for its reputed medicinal properties. To those who care to grow these good old plants I would say, well enrich the soil; when so treated, the results are very different from those where the plants have been put in hungry and otherwise neglected situations; this favourable condition may be easily afforded, and will be more than repaid. Strong roots may be transplanted at any time, and propagation is more quickly carried out by division of the woody roots, which should be cut or split so that each piece has a share of bark and a crown. Just before new growth has begun, as in January, is the best time for this operation, so that there is no chance of rot from dormancy. Flowering period, May to September. Andromeda Tetragona. _Syn._ CASSIOPE TETRAGONA; _Nat. Ord._ ERICACEÆ. A dwarf hardy evergreen shrub, which comes to us from Lapland and North America; though a very beautiful subject for either rockwork or border, it is rarely seen. It is not one of the easiest plants to grow, which may, to some extent, account for its rarity. Still, when it can have its requirements, it not only thrives well, but its handsome form and flowers repay any extra trouble it may have given. In the culture of this, as of most plants of the order _Ericaceæ_, there is decidedly a right way and a wrong one, and if the species now under consideration has one or two special requirements it deserves them. [Illustration: FIG. 5. ANDROMEDA TETRAGONA. (One-half natural size.)] With me it never exceeds a height of 6in. or 7in., is much branched, and of a fine apple green colour; the flowers are small but very beautiful, bell-shaped, pendent, and springing from the leafy stems of the previous year's growth. The leaves are small as well as curious, both in form and arrangement, completely hiding their stems; their roundish grain-shaped forms are evenly arranged in four rows extending throughout the whole length of the branches (whence the name _tetragona_), giving them a square appearance resembling an ear of wheat, but much less stout (see Fig. 5); the little leaves, too, are frosted somewhat in the way of many of the saxifrages. It is next to impossible to describe this pretty shrub; fortunately, the cut will convey a proper idea at a glance. All who possess more select collections of hardy plants and shrubs should not fail to include this; it is fit for any collection of fifty choice species. I struggled long before finding out the right treatment, as presumably I now have, yet it is very simple, in fact, only such as many other plants should have; but, unlike them, _A. tetragona_ will take no alternative; it must have partial shade, sandy peat or leaf soil, and be planted in a moist or semi-bog situation. On the raised parts of rockwork it became burnt up; planted in loam, though light, it was dormant as a stone; in pots, it withered at the tips; but, with the above treatment, I have flowers and numerous branchlets. Many little schemes may be improvised for the accommodation of this and similar subjects. Something of the bog character would appear to be the difficulty here; a miniature one may be made in less than half an hour. Next the walk dig a hole 18in. all ways, fill in with sandy peat, make it firm; so form the surface of the walk that the water from it will eddy or turn in. In a week it will have settled; do not fill it up, but leave it dished and put in the plant. Gentians, _pyrolas_, calthas, and even the bog pimpernel I have long grown so. _A. tetragona_ can be propagated by division of the roots, but such division should not be attempted with other than a perfectly healthy plant. It should be done in spring, just as it begins to push, which may be readily seen by the bright green tips of the branchlets; and it is desirable, when replanting, to put the parts a little deeper, so as to cover the dead but persistent leaves about the bottoms of the stems which occur on the parts four or more years old. After a year, when so planted, I have found good roots emitted from these parts, and, doubtless, such deeper planting will, in some way, meet its requirements, as in this respect they are provided for in its habitats by the annual and heavy fall of leaves from other trees which shade it. Flowering period, April and May. Anemone Alpina. ALPINE WINDFLOWER; _Nat. Ord._ RANUNCULACEÆ. From Austria, the foliage closely resembling that of _A. sulphurea_, but the flowers are larger and of various colours. It is said to be the parent of _A. sulphurea_. It flowers in June. See _A. sulphurea_. Anemone Apennina. MOUNTAIN WINDFLOWER; _Nat. Ord._ RANUNCULACEÆ. This is one of the "old-fashioned" flowers of our gardens--in fact, a native species, having a black tuberous root, which forms a distinct, though invisible characteristic of the species. As the old names are somewhat descriptive, I give them--viz., Geranium-leaved Anemone, and Stork's-bill Windflower. The appearance of a bold piece of this plant when in flower is exceedingly cheerful; the soft-looking feathery foliage forms a rich groundwork for the lavish number of flowers, which vary much in colour, from sky-blue to nearly white, according to the number of days they may have been in blow, blue being the opening colour. The flowers are produced singly on stems, 6in. high, and ornamented with a whorl of finely-cut leaflets, stalked, lobed, and toothed; above this whorl the ruddy flower stem is much more slender. During sunshine the flowers are 1½in. across the tips of sepals, becoming reflexed. The foliage, as before hinted, is in the form of a whorl, there being no root leaf, and the soft appearance of the whole plant is due to its downiness, which extends to and includes the calyx. The lobes of the leaves are cupped, but the leaves themselves reflex until their tips touch the ground, whence their distinct and pleasing form. This plant is most at home in the half shade of trees, where its flowers retain their blue colour longer. It should be grown in bold patches, and in free or sandy soil. The tubers may be transplanted soon after the tops have died off in late summer. Flowering period, April and May. Anemone Blanda. FAIR WINDFLOWER, _or_ BLUE GRECIAN ANEMONE; _Nat. Ord._ RANUNCULACEÆ. This is a lovely winter flower, of great value in our gardens, from its showiness. It is a recent introduction from the warmer climes of the South of Europe and Asia Minor; and though it is not so vigorous under cultivation in our climate as most Windflowers, it proves perfectly hardy. A little extra care should be taken in planting it as regards soil and position, in order to grow it well. It belongs to that section of its numerous genus having an involucrum of stalked leaflets. The flowers are produced on stalks, 4in. to 6in. high; they are nearly 2in. across, of a fine deep blue colour; the sepals are numerous and narrow, in the way of _A. stellata_, or star anemone. The leaves are triternate, divisions deeply cut and acute; the leaves of the involucrum are stalked, trifid, and deeply cut. The whole plant much resembles _A. Apennina_. Where it can be established, it must prove one of the most useful flowers, and to possess such charming winter blossom is worth much effort in affording it suitable conditions. The soil should be rich, light, and well drained, as sandy loam, and if mixed with plenty of leaf soil all the better. The position should be sheltered, otherwise this native of warm countries will have its early leaves and flowers damaged by the wintry blast, and the evil does not stop there, for the check at such a period interferes with the root development, and repetitions of such damage drive the plants into a state of "dwindling," and I may add, this is the condition in which this plant may frequently be seen. Many of the Anemones may be planted without much care, other than that of giving them a little shade from sunshine. The present subject, however, being so early, is not likely to obtain too much bright weather, but rather the reverse. If, then, it is planted in warm quarters, it may be expected to yield its desirable flowers in average quantity compared with other Windflowers, and in such proportion will its roots increase. The latter may be divided (providing they are of good size and healthy) when the leaves have died off. Flowering period, February and March. Anemone Coronaria. POPPY-LIKE WINDFLOWER; _Nat. Ord._ RANUNCULACEÆ. Hardy and tuberous. The illustration (Fig. 6) is of the double form, in which it may frequently be seen; also in many colours, as blue, purple, white, scarlet, and striped; the same colours may be found in the single and semi-double forms. There are many shades or half colours, which are anything but pleasing, and where such have established themselves, either as seedlings or otherwise, they should be weeded out, as there are numerous distinct hues, which may just as easily be cultivated. The great variety in colour and form of this Anemone is perhaps its most peculiar characteristic; for nearly 300 years it has had a place in English gardens, and came originally from the Levant. Its habit is neat; seldom does it reach a foot in height, the flowers being produced terminally; they are poppy-like, and 2in. to 3in. across, having six sepals. The leaves are ternate, segments numerous; each leaf springs from the tuber, with the exception of those of the involucre. In planting this species, it should be kept in mind that it neither likes too much sunshine nor a light soil; under such conditions it may exist, but it will not thrive and scarcely ever flower. When the tuberous roots have become devoid of foliage they may be lifted, and if they have grown to a size exceeding 3in. long and 1in. in diameter, they may be broken in halves with advantage; the sooner they are put back into the ground the better; slight shade from the mid-day sun and good loam will be found to suit them best. When the various colours are kept separate, bold clumps of a score or so of each are very effective; mixed beds are gay, almost gaudy; but the grouping plan is so much better, that, during the blooming period, it is worth the trouble to mark the different colours, with a view to sorting them at the proper time. [Illustration: FIG. 6. ANEMONE CORONARIA FLORE-PLENO. (One-third natural size.)] The nutty roots are often eaten by earth vermin, especially wireworm. Whenever there is occasion to lift the roots it is a good plan to dress them, by repeated dips in a mixture of clay and soot, until they are well coated; they should be allowed to dry for a short time between each dip; this will not only be found useful in keeping off wireworm and similar pests, but will otherwise benefit the plants as a manure. Flowering period, May and June. Anemone Decapetala. _Nat. Ord._ RANUNCULACEÆ. New, from North America; has a deteriorated resemblance to _A. alpina_ and _A. sulphurea_ (which see). The foliage is much less; the flower stems are numerous, close together, stout, and 9in. to 12in. high; they are also branched, but not spreading. The flowers have seven to ten sepals, are an inch across, and of a creamy white colour. The heads of seed are more interesting than their flowers; they form cotton-like globes, 1½in. diameter, and endure in that state for a fortnight. I was inclined to discard this species when I first saw its dumpy and badly-coloured flowers, but the specimen was left in the ground, and time, which has allowed the plant to become more naturally established, has also caused it to produce finer bloom, and it is now a pleasing and distinct species of an interesting character. The same treatment will answer for this species as for _A. sulphurea_. All the Anemones may be propagated by seeds or division of the roots. The latter method should only be adopted in the case of strong roots, and their division will be more safely effected in early spring, when they can start into growth at once. Flowering period, May to June. Anemone Fulgens. SHINING WINDFLOWER; _Nat. Ord._ RANUNCULACEÆ. [Illustration: FIG. 7. ANEMONE FULGENS. (Plant, one-eighth natural size.)] This is a variety of _A. hortensis_ or _A. pavonina_, all of which much resemble each other. This very showy flower is much and deservedly admired. In sheltered quarters or during mild seasons it will flower at Christmas and continue to bloom for several months. It will be seen by the illustration (Fig. 7) to be a plant of neat habit, and for effect and usefulness it is one of the very best flowers that can be introduced into the garden, especially the spring garden, as there is scarcely another of its colour, and certainly not one so floriferous and durable. Though it has been in English gardens over fifty years, it seems as if only recently its real worth has been discovered. It is now fast becoming a universal favourite. The flowers are 2in. across, and of a most brilliant scarlet colour, produced singly on tall naked stems, nearly a foot high. They vary in number of sepals, some being semi-double. The foliage is bright and compact, more freely produced than that of most Windflowers; it is also richly cut. It may be grown in pots for conservatory or indoor decoration. It needs no forcing for such purposes; a cold frame will prove sufficient to bring out the flowers in winter. Borders or the moist parts of rockwork are suitable for it; but perhaps it is seen to greatest advantage in irregular masses in the half shade of trees in front of a shrubbery, and, after all, it is impossible to plant this flower wrong, as regards effect. To grow it well, however, it must have a moist situation, and good loam to grow in. It is easily propagated by division of strong healthy roots in autumn. Flowering period, January to June, according to position and time of planting. Anemone Japonica. JAPAN WINDFLOWER; _Nat. Ord._ RANUNCULACEÆ. This and its varieties are hardy perennials of the most reliable kinds; the typical form has flowers of a clear rose colour. _A. j. vitifolia_ has larger flowers of a fine bluish tint, and seems to be the hybrid between the type and the most popular variety, viz., _A. j. alba_--Honorine Jobert--(see Fig. 8). So much has this grown in favour that it has nearly monopolised the name of the species, of which it is but a variety; hence the necessity of pointing out the distinctions. Frequently the beautiful white kind is sought for by the typical name only, so that if a plant were supplied accordingly there would be disappointment at seeing a somewhat coarse specimen, with small rosy flowers, instead of a bold and beautiful plant with a base of large vine-shaped foliage and strong stems, numerously furnished with large white flowers, quite 2in. across, and centered by a dense arrangement of lemon-coloured stamens, somewhat like a large single white rose. This more desirable white variety sometimes grows 3ft. high, and is eminently a plant for the border in front of shrubs, though it is very effective in any position. I grow it in the border, on rockwork, and in a half shady place, and it seems at home in all. It will continue in bloom until stopped by frosts. The flowers are among the most useful in a cut state, especially when mingled with the now fashionable and handsome leaves of heucheras and tiarellas; they form a chaste embellishment for the table or fruit dishes. The plant is sometimes much eaten by caterpillars; for this the remedy is soapy water syringed on the under side of the leaves. Earwigs also attack the flowers; they should be trapped by a similar plan to that usually adopted for dahlias. To those wishing to grow this choice Anemone, let me say, begin with the young underground runners; plant them in the autumn anywhere you like, but see that the soil is deep, and if it is not rich, make it so with well-decayed leaves or manure, and you will have your reward. [Illustration: FIG. 8. ANEMONE JAPONICA ALBA (A. HONORINE JOBERT). (About one-twelfth natural size.)] Flowering period, August to November. Anemone Nemorosa Flore-pleno. DOUBLE WOOD ANEMONE, _or_ WINDFLOWER; _Nat. Ord._ RANUNCULACEÆ. This is the double form of the common British species; in every part but the flower it resembles the type. The flower, from being double, and perhaps from being grown in more exposed situations than the common form in the shaded woods, is much more durable; an established clump has kept in good form for three weeks. The petals (if they may be so called), which render this flower so pleasingly distinct, are arranged in an even tuft, being much shorter than the outer or normal sepals, the size and form of which remain true to the type. The pure white flower--more than an inch across--is somewhat distant from the handsome three-leaved involucrum, and is supported by a wiry flower stalk, 3in. to 5in. long; it is about the same length from the root, otherwise the plant is stemless. The flowers are produced singly, and have six to eight petal-like sepals; the leaves are ternately cut; leaflets or segments three-cut, lanceolate, and deeply toothed; petioles channelled; the roots are long and round, of about the thickness of a pen-holder. This plant grown in bold clumps is indispensable for the choice spring garden; its quiet beauty is much admired. It enjoys a strongish loam, and a slightly shaded situation will conduce to its lengthened flowering, and also tend to luxuriance. Soon after the flowers fade the foliage begins to dry up; care should, therefore, be taken to have some other suitable flower growing near it, so as to avoid dead or blank spaces. Pentstemons, rooted cuttings of which are very handy at this season for transplanting, are well adapted for such use and situations, and as their flowers cannot endure hot sunshine without suffering more or less, such half-shady quarters will be just the places for them. The double white Wood Anemone may be propagated by divisions of the tubers, after the foliage has completely withered. Flowering period, May. Anemone Pulsatilla. PASQUE FLOWER; _Nat. Ord._ RANUNCULACEÆ. A British species. This beautiful flower has long been cultivated in our gardens, and is deservedly a great favourite. It may not be uninteresting to give the other common and ancient names of the Easter Flower, as in every way this is not only an old plant, but an old-fashioned flower. "Passe Flower" and "Flaw Flower" come from the above common names, being only derivations, but in Cambridgeshire, where it grows wild, it is called "Coventry Bells" and "Hill Tulip." Three hundred years ago Gerarde gave the following description of it, which, together with the illustration (Fig. 9), will, I trust, be found ample: "These Passe flowers hath many small leaues, finely cut or iagged, like those of carrots, among which rise up naked stalks, rough and hairie; whereupon do growe beautiful flowers bell fashion, of a bright delaied purple colour; in the bottome whereof groweth a tuft of yellow thrums, and in the middle of the thrums thrusteth foorth a small purple pointell; when the whole flower is past, there succeedeth an head or knoppe, compact of many graie hairie lockes, and in the solide parts of the knops lieth the seede flat and hoarie, euery seed having his own small haire hanging at it. The roote is thick and knobbie of a finger long, and like vnto those of the anemones (as it doth in all other parts verie notablie resemble) whereof no doubt this is a kinde." [Illustration: FIG. 9. ANEMONE PULSATILLA. (One-half natural size.)] This flower in olden times was used for making garlands, and even now there are few flowers more suitable for such purpose; it varies much in colour, being also sometimes double. It may be grown in pots for window decoration or in the open garden; it likes a dry situation and well-drained soil of a calcareous nature. In these respects it differs widely from many of the other species of Windflower, yet I find it to do well in a collection bed where nearly twenty other species are grown, and where there are both shade and more moisture than in the open parts of the garden. It may be propagated by division of the strong root-limbs, each of which should have a portion of the smaller roots on them. Soon after flowering is a good time to divide it. Flowering period, March to May. Anemone Stellata. STAR WINDFLOWER; _Nat. Ord._ RANUNCULACEÆ. [Illustration: FIG. 10. ANEMONE STELLATA. (One-half natural size.)] This gay spring flower (Fig. 10) comes to us from Italy, but that it loves our dull climate is beyond doubt, as it not only flowers early, but continues for a long time in beauty. _A. hortensis_ is another name for it, and there are several varieties of the species, which mostly vary only in the colours of the flowers, as striped, white and purple. The typical form, as illustrated, is seen to be a quaint little plant; its flowers are large, of a shining light purple colour, and star-shaped; the dwarf foliage is of the well-known crowfoot kind. When grown in bold clumps it is richly effective, and, like most other Anemones, is sure to be admired. It thrives well in a light loam and in slight shade; I have tried it in pots kept in cold frames, where it flowers in mid-winter. It would doubtless make a showy appearance in a cool greenhouse. To propagate it, the roots should be divided after the tops have died down in summer. Flowering period, February to June, according to position and time of planting. Anemone Sulphurea. SULPHUR-COLOURED WINDFLOWER; _Syn._ A. APIIFOLIA; _Nat. Ord._ RANUNCULACEÆ. [Illustration: FIG. 11. ANEMONE SULPHUREA. (One-fourth natural size.)] This is a grandly beautiful Windflower from Central Europe. The names, combined with the illustration (Fig. 11), must fail to give the reader a proper idea of its beauty; the specific name in reference to the colour falls far short, and cannot give a hint of its handsome form and numerous finely-coloured stamens; and the drawing can in no way illustrate the hues and shell-like substance of the sepals; there is also a softness and graceful habit about the foliage, that the name, _apiifolia_ (parsley-leaved), does not much help the reader to realise. It may be parsley-like foliage in the comparative sense and in relation to that of other Anemones, but otherwise it can hardly be said to be like parsley. It is said by some to be only a variety of _A. alpina_; if so, it is not only a distinct but an unvarying form, so much so that by others it is held to be a species; the line of difference in many respects seems so far removed, even granting it to be a variety (as in hundreds of similar cases), as to warrant a specific title. It may be more interesting to state that it is a lovely and showy flower, and that the shortest cut to an enjoyment of its beauties is to grow it. The flowers are 2in. to 2½in. across when expanded, but usually they are cup-shaped. The six sepals are egg-shaped but pointed, of much substance, and covered with a silky down on the outside, causing them to have changeable hues according to the play of wind and light. The stamens are very numerous, the anthers being closely arranged and of a rich golden colour; the flower stems grow from 9in. to 18in. high, being terminated by one flower; it carries a large and handsome involucre of three leaves, a little higher than the middle of the stem, and just overtopping the radical leaves, umbrella fashion; the leaves of the involucre are like those of the root, but stalkless. The radical leaves are stalked, well thrown out, drooping, and over 1ft. long, ternate and villous; the leaflets are pinnatifid and deeply toothed. This desirable plant is of the easiest culture, thriving in common garden soil, but it prefers that of a rich vegetable character and a situation not over dry. The flowers are persistent under any conditions, and they are further preserved when grown under a little shade, but it should only be a little. For propagation see _A. decapetala_. Flowering period, May and June. There are two other allied kinds which not only much resemble this, but which flower at or near the same time--viz., _A. alpina_ and _A. decapetala_, which see. Anemone Sylvestris. SNOWDROP A.; _Nat. Ord._ RANUNCULACEÆ. This hardy herbaceous species comes from Germany, but it has been grown nearly 300 years in this country, It is distinct, showy, and beautiful; it ranks with "old-fashioned" flowers. Of late this Windflower has come into great favour, as if for a time it had been forgotten; still, it is hard to make out how such a fine border plant could be overlooked. However, it is well and deservedly esteemed at the present time; and, although many have proved the plant and flowers to be contrary to their expectations in reference to its common name, "Snowdrop Anemone," the disappointment has been, otherwise, an agreeable one. It only resembles the snowdrop as regards the purity and drooping habit of its flowers. Well-grown specimens have an exceedingly neat habit--the foliage spreads and touches the ground, rounding up to the flower stems (which are about a foot high) in a pleasing manner. The earliest flowers are very large--when fully open quite 1½in. across--but they are more often seen in the unopen state, when they resemble a nutmeg in shape. Whether open or shut, they are a pure white, and their pendent habit adds not a little to their beauty, as also does the leafy involucre. The leaves are three-parted, the two lower lobes being deeply divided, so that at a first glance the leaves appear to be five-parted; each of the five lobes are three-cleft, and also dentate, downy, and veined; the leaf stalks are radical, red, long, slightly channelled, and wiry; in all respects the leaves of the involucre resemble those of the root, excepting the size, which is smaller, and the stalks are green, like the flower stems. In a cut state, the pure satin-white blossoms are fit for the most delicate wreath or bouquet; they have, morever, a delicious clover-scent. It enjoys a light vegetable soil in a slightly shaded and moist situation; if it could be allowed to ramble in the small openings of a front shrubbery, such positions would answer admirably. The roots are underground-creeping, which renders this species somewhat awkward to manage when grown with others in a collection of less rampant habit. On the other hand, the disposition it has to spread might very well be taken advantage of by providing it with a good broad space, than which nothing could be more lovely for two months of the year. It is needless to give directions for its propagation, as the runners spring up all round the parent plant. Slugs are very fond of it, and in early spring, especially when the new growths are appearing, they should be kept in check, otherwise they will eat down into the heart of the strongest plant; a dose of clear lime water will be found effective and will not hurt the new leaves; if this is followed up with a few sprinklings of sand, the slugs will not care to occupy such unpleasant quarters. Flowering period, May and June. Anemone Vernalis. SHAGGY WINDFLOWER; _Nat. Ord._ RANUNCULACEÆ. A curious but pretty alpine species, from the Swiss Alps, consequently very hardy. It is not a showy subject, but its distinctions are really beautiful, and commend it to those who love to grow plants of a _recherché_ character. The illustration (Fig. 12) will give some idea of it, but no description can convey even an approximate notion of its flowers, which are produced singly, on short, stout, hairy stems, about 5in. high. For so small a plant the flower is large, more than an inch across when expanded, but usually it keeps of a roundish, bell-shaped form. Its colour is a bluish-white inside, the outside being much darker. It would be violet, were not the hairs so long and numerous that they form a brownish coat which is, perhaps, the most remarkable trait of this species. The leaves, too, are very hairy--twice, and sometimes thrice, divided, rather small, and also few. [Illustration: FIG. 12. ANEMONE VERNALIS (SHAGGY ANEMONE). (One-half natural size.)] This little plant is most enjoyed when grown in pots. It may be plunged in sand or ashes in an open space, but it should never be allowed to suffer for moisture. When so grown, and just before the flowers open, it should be removed to a cool, airy frame, where it should also be plunged to keep its roots cool and moist; it will require to be very near the glass, so as to get perfect flowers. Such a method of growing this flower affords the best opportunity for its close examination; besides, it is so preserved in finer and more enduring form. It thrives well in lumpy peat and loam, but I have found charcoal, in very small lumps, to improve it, as it does most plants grown in pots, especially such as require frequent supplies of water. The slugs are very fond of it; a look-out for them should be kept when the plants are growing, and frequent sprinklings of sharp ashes will be found useful. Flowering period, April and May. Anthericum Liliago. ST. BERNARD'S LILY; _Nat. Ord._ LILIACEÆ. This may be grown as a companion to St. Bruno's Lily, though not so neat in habit or rich in bloom. In all respects it is very different. It is taller, the flowers not half the size, and more star-shaped, foliage more grassy, and the roots creeping and jointed. All the Anthericums named by me will do in ordinary soil, but prefer a fat loam of considerable depth. If, therefore, such conditions do not exist, there should be a good dressing of well-rotted stable manure turned in, and a mulching given in early spring. Anthericums are propagated by division of the roots, which should be carefully performed during the autumn. After such mutilation they should not be disturbed again for three years, or they will deteriorate in vigour and beauty. Flowering period, June and July. Anthericum Liliastrum. ST. BRUNO'S LILY; _Nat. Ord._ LILIACEÆ. This charming plant is a native of Alpine meadows, and is known by other names, as _Paradisia_ and _Cyackia_, but is more commonly called St. Bruno's Lily. It is emphatically one of the most useful and handsome flowers that can be grown in English gardens, where, as yet, it is anything but as plentiful as it ought to be. Not only is it perfectly hardy in our climate, but it seems to thrive and flower abundantly. It is fast becoming a favourite, and it is probable that before long it will be very common, from the facts, firstly, of its own value and beauty, and, secondly, because the Dutch bulb-growers have taken it in hand. Not long ago they were said to be buying stock wherever they could find it. The illustration (Fig. 13) shows it in a small-sized clump. Three or four such specimens are very effective when grown near together; the satin-like or shining pure white flowers show to greater advantage when there is plenty of foliage. A number planted in strong single roots, but near together, forming a clump several feet in diameter, represent also a good style; but a single massive specimen, with at least fifty crowns, and nearly as many spikes of bloom just beginning to unfold, is one of the most lovely objects in my own garden. The chaste flowers are 2in. long, six sepalled, lily-shaped, of a transparent whiteness, and sweetly perfumed; filaments white, and long as the sepals; anthers large, and thickly furnished with bright orange-yellow pollen; the stems are round, stout, 18in. high, and produce from six to twelve flowers, two or three of which are open at one and the same time. The leaves are long, thick, with membranous sheaths, alternate and stem-clasping, or semi-cylindrical; the upper parts are lanceolate, dilated, subulate, and of a pale green colour. The roots are long, fleshy, brittle, and fasciculate. [Illustration: FIG. 13. ANTHERICUM LILIASTRUM. (Plant, one-sixth natural size; blossom, one-fourth natural size.)] This plant for three or four weeks is one of the most decorative; no matter whether in partial shade or full sunshine, it not only flowers well, but adorns its situation most richly; the flowers, in a cut state, are amongst the most useful and effective of hardy kinds--indeed, they vie with the tender exotics. Flowering period, June and July. _A. l. major_ is a new variety in all its parts like the type, with the exception of size, the flowers being larger by nearly an inch. The variety is said to grow to the height of 8ft. Anthyllis Montana. MOUNTAIN KIDNEY VETCH; _Nat. Ord._ LEGUMINOSÆ. For rockwork this is one of the most lovely subjects. It is seldom seen, though easy to grow, perfectly hardy, and perennial. It is classed as an herbaceous plant, but it is shrubby, and on old specimens there is more wood than on many dwarf shrubs. It is of a procumbent habit, and only 4in. to 6in. high in this climate. It comes from the South of Europe, where it probably grows larger. In early spring the woody tips begin to send out the hoary leaves; they are 3in. to 6in. long, and from their dense habit, and the way in which they intersect each other, they present a pleasing and distinct mass of woolly foliage. The leaves are pinnatifid, leaflets numerous, oval, oblong, and very grey, nearly white, with long silky hairs. The flowers are of a purple-pink colour, very small, and in close drumstick-like heads. The long and numerous hairs of the involucre and calyx almost cover over the flowers and render them inconspicuous; still, they are a pretty feature of the plant; the bloom stands well above the foliage on very downy, but otherwise naked stalks. When planted in such a position that it can rest on the edge of or droop over a stone, strong specimens are very effective. It seems to enjoy soil of a vegetable character, with its roots near large stones. I have heard that it has been found difficult to grow, but that I cannot understand. I fear the fault has been in having badly-rooted plants to start with, as cuttings are very slow in making an ample set of roots for safe transplanting. Its increase by division is no easy matter, as the woody stems are all joined in one, and the roots are of a tap character. Seed seldom ripens; by cuttings appears to be the readier mode of propagation; if these are taken off in early spring, put in a shady position, and in leaf soil, they will probably root as the seasons get warmer. Flowering period, June and July. Apios Tuberosa. _Syn._ GLYCINE APIOS; _Nat. Ord._ LEGUMINOSÆ. This is a pretty climber, or, more strictly speaking, a twiner; it is hardy, tuberous, and perennial. The tubers resemble potatoes, but incline to pear-shape, as implied by the generic name. 240 years ago it was introduced from North America; still, it is seldom met with, notwithstanding its good habit and colour. It is one of those happy subjects which most conduce to the freshness and wild beauty of our gardens; the dark and glossy verdure is charmingly disposed in embowerments by means of the delicate twining stems; and though it grows apace, there is never an unsightly dense or dark mass, so commonly seen in many climbers, but, instead, it elegantly adorns its station, and the outlines of its pretty pinnate leaves may easily be traced against the light. [Illustration: FIG. 14. APIOS TUBEROSA. (One-twelfth natural size; _a_, flower, natural size.)] As may be seen by the illustration (Fig. 14), it is in the way of a climbing bean. The flowers are purple and borne in small clusters from the axils of the leaves, and, of course, as indicated by the order to which it belongs, they are like pea flowers; they are produced a long time in succession, providing the frosts do not occur; they have the scent of violets. The leaves are distantly produced on fine wiry stems, which grow to the length of 12ft.; they are pinnate, the leaflets being of various sizes, oval, smooth, and of a dark shining green colour. The roots are not only peculiar in the way already mentioned, but the tubers have the appearance of being strung together by their ends. They are edible, and where they grow wild they are called "ground nuts." From the description given it will be easy to decide how and where it should be planted. There should be provision made for its twining habit, and it may have the liberty of mixing its foliage with that of less beautiful things during autumn, such, for instance, as the bare _Jasmine nudiflora_; its spare but effective leaves and flowers will do little or no harm to such trees, and after the frosts come the jasmine will be clear again. It may also be grown with happy results as shown in the illustration, needing only a well-secured twiggy bush. Cut as sprays it is very serviceable for hanging or twining purposes. It most enjoys a light soil, also a sunny situation. Sometimes it has been found slow at starting into growth when newly planted; this, however, can hardly be the case with newly lifted tubers. I may add that it is no uncommon thing for these to be out of the ground for weeks and months together, when they not only become hard and woody, but when suddenly brought in contact with the damp earth rot overtakes them. There is no difficulty whatever with fresh tubers, which may be lifted after the tops have died off. Beyond securing fresh roots, there is nothing special about the culture of this desirable climber. Flowering period, August to October. Arabis Lucida. SHINING ROCK CRESS; _Nat. Ord._ CRUCIFERÆ. This member of a well-known family of early spring flowers is desirable, for its neat habit and verdancy. There is not a particle of sere foliage to be seen, and it has, moreover, a glossy appearance, whence the specific name. The flowers are not of much effect, though, from their earliness, not without value; they are in the way of the flowers of the more common species, _A. alpina_, but less in size; they are also more straggling in the raceme; these two features render it inferior as a flower; the stalks are 3in. to 6in. high. The leaves are arranged in lax flattened rosettes, are 1in. to 3in. long, somewhat spathulate, notched, fleshy, of a very dark green colour, and shining. The habit is dense and spreading, established tufts having a fresh effect. Though an Hungarian species, it can hardly have a more happy home in its habitat than in our climate. Where verdant dwarf subjects are in request, either for edgings, borders, or rockwork, this is to be commended as one of the most reliable, both for effect and vigour. In the last-named situation it proves useful all the year round, but care should be taken that it does not overgrow less rampant rock plants. _A. l. variegata_ is a variety with finely-marked leaves. The bloom resembles that of the type, but is rather weaker. It is better to remove the flowers of this kind, as then the rather slow habit of growth is much improved, as also is the colour of the foliage. The leaves being more serviceable and effective than the bloom, the uses should be made of it accordingly. They are broadly edged with yellow, the green being lighter than that of the type, but equally bright; the ends of the leaves are curled backwards, but, with the exception of being a little smaller, they are similar in shape to the parent form. This is a gem for rockwork, and, if it did not belong to a rather ordinary race of plants, it would, perhaps, be more often seen in choice collections. This, however, does not alter its worth. Seen in crevices of dark stone on rockwork, or in bold tufts near the walks, or planted with judgment near other dwarf foliaged subjects, it ever proves attractive. It is much less rampant, and, perhaps, less hardy than the type. It has only been during the recent very severe winters, however, that it has been killed. The Arabis is easily propagated by slips or rootlets, which should be taken after flowering. The variegated form is better for being so propagated every year. If bold patches are desired, they should be formed by planting a number together, 3in. or 4in. apart. Flowering period, February to June. Aralia Sieboldi. SIEBOLD'S ARALIA; _Nat. Ord._ ARALIACEÆ. The present subject (see Fig. 15)--beautiful, hardy, and evergreen--is a species of recent introduction; still, it has already become well known and distributed, so much so that it scarcely needs description; but there are facts in reference to it which would seem to be less known. It is seldom seen in the open garden, and many amateurs, who otherwise are well acquainted with it, when they see it fresh and glossy in the open garden in the earliest months of the year, ask, "Is it really hardy?" Not only is such the case, but the foliage, and especially the deep green colour, are rarely so fine when the specimens have indoor treatment, and, on this account, the shrub is eminently suitable for notice here. [Illustration: FIG. 15. ARALIA SIEBOLDI. (One-tenth natural size.)] The order _Araliaceæ_ is nearly related to _Umbelliferæ_, from which fact an idea may be had of the kind and arrangement of the flowers. Many of the genera of the order _Araliaceæ_ are little known; perhaps the genus _Hedera_ (ivy) is the only one that is popular, and it so happens to immediately follow the genus _Aralia_. To remember this will further assist in gleaning an idea of the form of blossom, as that of ivy is well known. _Aralia Sieboldi_, however, seldom flowers in this climate, either in or out of doors. When it does, the white flowers are not of much value; they are small, like ivy blossom in form, but more spread in the arrangement. There are five sepals, five petals, five styles, and five cells in the berries. The flowers are produced on specimens 2ft. to 5ft. high during winter, when favourable. The leaves, when well grown, are the main feature of the shrub, and are 12in. or more across. This size is not usual, but a leaf now before me, and taken from an outside specimen, measures over a foot, with a stout round stalk, 13in. long; the form of leaf is fan-shaped, having generally seven lobes, each supported by a strong mid-rib; the lobes are formed by divisions rather more than half the diameter of the leaf; they are slightly distant, broadly lance-shaped, waved at the edges, toothed near the ends, the teeth being somewhat spiny; the substance is very stout and leather-like to the touch; the upper surface is a dark shining bronzy-green, beautifully netted or veined; the under surface is a pale green, and richly ornamented by the risen mid-ribs and nerves of the whole leaf; the leaf-stalks are thick, round, bending downwards, and 6in. to 18in. long, springing from the half woody stem. The habit of the shrub is bushy, somewhat spreading, causing the specimens to have a fine effect from their roundness, the leaf arrangement also being perfect. Without doubt this is one of the most distinct and charming evergreens for the ornamental garden, sub-tropical in appearance, and only inferior to palms as regards size; it is effective anywhere. It need not be stated that as a vase or table decoration it ranks with the best for effect and service, as it is already well-known as such. In planting this subject outside, young but well-rooted examples should be selected and gradually hardened off. At the latter end of May they should be turned out of the pots into a rich but sandy loam. The position should be sunny, and sheltered from the north. Some have advised that it should be grown under trees, but I have proved that when so treated the less ripened foliage has suffered with frost, whilst the specimens fully exposed to the sun have not suffered in the least; they would droop and shrivel as long as the frost remained, but as soon as the temperature rose they became normal, without a trace of injury. When planted as above, young specimens will soon become so established and inured to open-air conditions, that little concern need be felt as regards winter; even such as were under trees, where they continued to grow too long, and whose tender tops were cut away by frost, have, the following summer, made a number of fresh growths lower down the stems. I should like to say that on rockwork this shrub has a superb effect, and I imagine the better drained condition of such a structure is greatly in favour of its health and hardiness. The propagation is by means of cuttings; slips of half-ripened wood, taken during the warmest months, if put in sandy loam in a cucumber frame, will root like willow. As soon as roots have formed, pot them separately and plunge the pots in the same frame for a week or two, then harden off. For the first winter the young stock ought to be kept either in a greenhouse or a cold frame, and by the end of the following May they will be ready to plant out. A well-drained position is important. Flowering period, November to March, in favourable or mild seasons. Arisæma Triphyllum. _Syns._ A. ZEBRINUM _and_ ARUM TRIPHYLLUM; _Common Names_, THREE-LEAVED ARUM _and_ JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT; _Nat. Ord._ ARACEÆ. A hardy tuberous-rooted perennial from North America. I will at once explain that the above leading name is not the one generally used here, but in America, where the species is common, botanists have adopted it; besides, it is, as will be seen from the following description, very distinct from other Arums. The Syn. _Arisæma zebrinum_, as given, belongs really to a variety of _A. triphyllum_, but the type is marked in its flowers zebra-like, and there are many shades and colours of it, therefore both or either of the names may be used for the different forms, with a fair degree of propriety, as in fact they are. There is a doubt with some as to the hardiness of this plant; in my mind there is none whatever. It is no stranger to frosts in its habitats, but I do not found my conviction on anything but my experience of it. It has been grown fully exposed for two winters, and sometimes the frosts must have gone as far down as the roots. There is nothing showy about this plant, but there is something which stamps it as a fitting subject for a garden of choice plants; its bold, dark green foliage and quaint-looking flowers render it desirable on the score of distinctness. It has, moreover, a freshness upon which the eye can always linger. The flowers are in general form like the calla-lily; the upper part of the spathe, or sheathing leaf, which is really the calyx, is, however, more elongated, pointed, and hooked; otherwise the spathe is erect, slightly reflexed just above the folded part, giving the appearance of a pair of small lobes; this--the calyx--is really the most conspicuous part of the flower; in the belly it is beautifully striped with broad lines of a purplish-brown colour, which shade off to an inch of green in the middle, when they form again, and continue to the tip of the spathe, which will be 4in. to 6in. long, and nearly 2in. broad at the widest part; these lines run between the ribs, and, as before hinted, they are of various colours, such as brown, purple, pink, and green. The ribs are nearly white, and the green parts are very pale. The spadix is over 3in. long, club-shaped, spotted with brown, very much so near the end. The anthers at the base of the spadix are curious, and should be examined. They are invisible until the folded part of the spathe is opened; they are numerous, arranged in a dense broad ring, sessile, and nearly black. This curious flower is produced on a stout, round scape, a foot or more in height. The leaves are radical, having a stalk a foot long. They are, as the specific name implies, divided into three parts, each being of equal length, entire, wavy, and pointed. The whole plant has a somewhat top-heavy appearance (see Fig. 16), but I never saw it broken down by the weather. It makes quick growth in spring, the scape appearing with the leaves; in late summer it dies down. It looks well in quiet nooks, but it also forms a good companion to showy flowers in more open situations; in a cut state, for dressing "old-fashioned" vases, nothing could be in better character, a few leaves of yarrow, day lily, flag, or similar foliage being all it will require. [Illustration: FIG. 16. ARISÆMA TRIPHYLLUM. (One-fourth natural size.)] It may be transplanted, any time from September to the end of January, into good light loam or leaf soil, 4in. or 6in. deep; if there should be a dry season during the period of growth, the plant should be well watered. To increase it, the tubers may be divided every third year, providing the growth has been of a vigorous tone. I may add, that, from its tall and not over-dense habit, there may with advantage, both to it and the plants used, be a carpet grown underneath--ivy, vincas, or sweet woodruff for some situations, and brighter subjects for more conspicuous parts of the garden, such as the finer kinds of mimulus, ourisia, alpine aster, and dwarf iris. Flowering period, June and July. Arum Crinitum. HAIRY ARUM, _or_ DRAGON'S MOUTH; _Nat. Ord._ ARACEÆ. As may be seen by the illustration (Fig. 17), this is a most singular plant. It proves hardy in this climate if its position is selected; in other words, it is not hardy in all kinds of soils and situations, but if planted four or five inches deep, in sandy or half decayed vegetable mould, facing the south, there is little to fear either as regards hardiness or its thriving. I think, therefore, it may be called hardy. It is far more interesting than handsome, but there is at the present time an evident desire amongst amateurs to grow the various Arums, and more especially has this one been sought after; I have, therefore, introduced it amongst more beautiful flowers, and given an enlarged drawing of the entire plant, together with the spathe in its unopened state. The plant is a native of Minorca, and was imported in 1777. In this climate it grows to the height of 18in., developing the flower with the foliage. It is produced on a stout scape nearly 1ft. high, of a pale green colour, marked with dark short lines and spotted with delicate pink dots. The folded spathe is of leather-like substance, rough, almost corky in texture; also variously marked and tinted. At the base there are a number of green lines arranged evenly and longitudinally on a nearly white ground. A little higher--the belly part--the lines are less frequent, irregular, and mixed with pink dots. Still higher, the ground colour becomes pale green, the lines dark green, and the pink spots are changed to clouded tints; the remainder of the folded spathe--to the tip--is a mixture of brown and green dots, the total length being fully 9in. When the spathe opens, it does so quickly, bending more than half its length outwards, the division looking upwards. To those who have not before seen the plant at this stage, it will prove an interesting surprise; the odour, however, is repulsive. The spathe at its widest part is 6in. broad, and tapers off to a blunt point. It is of a dark purple colour and covered with long bent dark hairs, whence the specific name. They are curiously disposed, and remind one of some hairy animal that has been lifted out of the water the wrong way as regards the direction of the hair. The spadix is comparatively small, black, and also covered with hairs. The flower should be closely watched if its peculiarities are to be fully noted, as it not only opens quickly but soon begins to wither. During the short period that the flower is open the lower part of the spathe or belly becomes filled with all kinds of flies, being held by the spear-like hairs. [Illustration: FIG. 17. ARUM CRINITUM. (One-fourth natural size.)] The leaves have long stalks, marked and tinted in a similar manner to that of the scape. They are curiously formed and twisted, pedate or bird-foot shaped, the outer segments twice cut, lance-shaped, and turned inwards or over the main part of the leaf; the leaves are of a deep green colour, and of good substance; they seldom exceed four in number to each plant or tuber. This curious species should, as above indicated, have a warm situation, where it will also be comparatively dry in winter. Its propagation may be effected by division of the roots of strong specimens. Flowering period, June and July. Asters. MICHAELMAS DAISIES, _or_ STARWORTS; _Nat. Ord._ COMPOSITÆ. Hardy, perennial, and herbaceous. These are a numerous family, and many of them have an ungainly habit and insignificant flowers--in fact, are not worth growing, save as wild flowers in unfrequented places. I will mention a few of the finer sorts, which are mostly species: _A. diversifolius_, _A. ericoides_, _A. grandiflorus_, _A. pendulus_, and _A. Dumosus_, these are all good, both in habit and flowers; _ericoides_ and _pendulus_ make really handsome bushes, but the very beautiful _A. amellus_, and its more dwarf variety (_A. Mdme. Soyance_), have tempted me to write of these old-fashioned plants, which may be said to be wholly distinct, as their flowers are so very much brighter (dark purple, with a clear yellow centre), and the rays so much more evenly and compactly furnished. Their stems are 2ft. to 3ft. high, and flowered half their length with clusters of bloom about the size and form of full-grown field daisies. These wand-like spikes in a cut state are bright and appropriate decorations. In vases they are very effective, even when used alone. The flowers are very lasting, either cut or otherwise; the plants will bloom six or eight weeks. These subjects will thrive in almost any kind of soil or position, opening their flowers during the dullest weather, and though they like sunshine, they will not wait for it. It is scarcely needful to further describe these well-known flowers, but, as well as the species, there are some bright and beautiful varieties which merit further notice. All the Starworts are easily increased by root division any time. Flowering period, August to November. Aster Alpinus. ALPINE STARWORT, _or_ BLUE DAISY; _Nat. Ord._ COMPOSITÆ. An exceedingly beautiful and very much admired alpine plant, which does not die down like most of the Starworts, but has woody stems; it is seldom seen more than a foot high, and its large bright purple flowers seem disproportionate. This is one of the plants which should have a place in every garden, and more especially in rock gardens. There cannot well be a more neat and telling subject; the form and size of its flowers are not often seen on such dwarf plants, and it also has the merit of being a "tidy" subject when not in bloom. The illustration (Fig. 18) will give a fair idea of its main features. Its purple flowers, which are fully 2in. across, have for many days an even and well-expanded ray, when the florets curl or reflex; the disk is large, and numerously set with lemon-yellow florets; the flowers are well lifted up on stout round stems, covered with short stiff hairs, and furnished with five or six small leaves; the main foliage is of compact growth, lance-shaped, entire, spathulate and covered with short hairs. [Illustration: FIG 18 ASTER ALPINUS. (One-third natural size.)] Considering that this plant has been in English gardens for 220 years, and that its merits must be seen by anyone at a glance, it is hard to say why it is not better known; even in choice and large collections it always proves attractive when in flower. The blooms in a cut state are very durable; they not only hold together, but also keep a good colour. Under cultivation it is in no way particular; it will endure anything but being deprived of light; from its dwarf, stout, and shrubby character, it would form a useful and a handsome edging to the larger walks; and by growing it so extensively an enviable supply of flowers for cutting would be at hand. A stock of young plants may soon be got up by division of strong roots after the flowering season; such pieces as have roots may be planted at once in their permanent quarters; the rootless parts should be dibbled into light sandy loam and shaded with branches for a week or two. Flowering period, June and July. _A. a. albus_ is a white-flowered variety, blooming about the same time. There does not appear to be that vigour about it which characterises the type; this, however, is not the only shortcoming; when compared with the rich purple flower, the white one, with its large yellow disk, appears, to say the least, a questionable improvement. Aster Ptarmicoides. BOUQUET STARWORT; _Nat. Ord._ COMPOSITÆ. This Starwort is a very recently-imported species from North America. Like many other things which have proved worthless as decorative flowers, this was highly praised, but for a while its weedy-looking foliage caused suspicion; after becoming well established, it flowered, and, I am glad to say, proves a most distinct and useful Starwort. Its small white flowers much resemble the field daisy, but they are borne on densely-branched stems in hundreds; in fact, the plant, which grows nearly 2ft. high, seems to be nearly all flowers. Each one has a single ray of shining white florets, narrow and separate. Those of the disk are of a canary-yellow colour; the imbricated calyx is pear-shaped; pedicels slender, bent, wiry, and furnished with very small leaves; main stems hispid, woody, and brittle. The leaves of the root are 2in. to 4in. long, smooth, entire, linear, almost grass-like; those of the stems much less, becoming smaller as they near the flowers; they are somewhat rough, partaking of the quality of the stems. The habit of the plant is much branched, the spreading clusters of flowers being six or ten times the size of the plant, so that it becomes top-heavy; it blooms for many weeks, and is not damaged by coarse weather. Amongst other Asters it shows to advantage, flowering earlier than most of them, but lasting well into their period of bloom. It is sure to prove a useful white autumnal flower; small sprays when cut look better than on the plant, as they are then seen to be well spread and rigidly held by means of their wiry stalks; they have the scent of Southernwood. It grows well with me in ordinary garden loam, the situation being well exposed to the sun. It may be readily propagated by root division. Flowering period, August to October. Bellis Perennis. COMMON PERENNIAL DAISY; _Nat. Ord._ COMPOSITÆ. This native plant, the commonest flower of the field and wayside, and the weed of our grass-plots, is the parent form of the handsome and popular double kinds seen in almost every garden. Well known as these flowers are, it may prove interesting to learn a little more about the fine large double crimson and white kinds--their treatment, for instance--in order to have abundance of flowers during the earliest months of the year; and the uses to which they may be most advantageously put; for, common as are the Daisies, they are, without doubt, amongst the most useful flowers we possess. First, I will briefly give the names and descriptions of the more distinct varieties. _B. p. aucubifolia_ is the Double Daisy, having a beautifully variegated foliage, mottled with golden-yellow in the way of the aucuba. _B. p. fistulosa._--This is the double crimson or pink Daisy, having its florets piped or quilled (see Fig. 19). _B. p. hortensis_ embraces all the double forms raised and cultivated in gardens, no matter what colour, and so distinguished from the typical form of the fields. _B. p. prolifera_ is that curious and favourite kind called "Hen and Chickens." The flowers are double, and from the imbricate calyx of the normal flower there issue a number of smaller Daisies having straggling florets; the whole on one main stalk presenting a bouquet-like effect. These kinds, the specific names of which are not only descriptive, but amply embrace the group, are much added to by flowers having other names and minor distinctions, the latter, for the most part, being only shades or mixtures of colour--as crimson, pink, white, and bicolours. The florets in many kinds are exceedingly pretty, from the way in which they are tipped and shaded; notably, a new variety that was sent me under the name of Dresden China. These sorts having different tints are usefully named with "florists'" names--as Pearl, Snowball, Rob Roy, Sweep, Bride, &c. I may say that I have long grown the Daisy largely, Bride and Sweep being the favourite kinds; both are robust growers, very hardy and early. Bride is the purest white, with florets full, shining, and well reflexed; rather larger than a florin, and when fully developed has a half globular appearance; another good point is its flower stalks being 4in. to 5in. long, which renders it serviceable as cut bloom. Sweep is not quite so large, though a good-sized Daisy, it also opens more flat; its colour, however, is first rate, it is the darkest crimson Daisy I ever saw, is of a quilled form and very full. Its chief point is its constant colour; if the florets are examined, they are the same deep crimson underneath as on the face of the flower; this, together with its long stalks, renders it useful, too, in a cut state. [Illustration: FIG. 19. BELLIS PERENNIS FISTULOSA. (One-third natural size.)] To grow this useful flower well and render it doubly valuable by having it in bloom in mid-winter, requires three things: First, timely transplanting; secondly, rich soil; thirdly, partial shade; these conditions will be more briefly and, perhaps, clearly explained, if I state my method. At the end of May or fore part of June, plenty of good rotten stable manure is wheeled into the bush-fruit quarters; it is worked in with a fork, so as to do as little damage as possible to the bush roots. A line is drawn, and the old Daisy roots which have just been taken up are trimmed by shortening both tops and roots. They are severely divided, and the pieces planted 6in. apart in rows 8in. asunder. In such a cool, moist situation they soon form good tufts, and I need scarcely say that the dressing of manure has also a marked effect on the fruit crop. A planting so made is not only a cheerful carpet of greenery during winter, but is well dotted over with bloom. The plants being well established in rich soil, and having the shelter of the bushes during summer and winter, are the conditions which have conduced to such early flowers. This is the method I have adopted for years, and both Daisies and fruit have been invariably good crops. I ought, however, to say that beds more exposed, together with the fact that the Daisy roots have to be transplanted in October or November, never flower so early, from which it will be seen that the treatment explained hardly applies to such bedding; but where a breadth of bloom is required, say, for cutting purposes, I know no better plan. As cut bloom the daisy is charming in glass trays on a bed of moss, or even in small bouquets, mixed with the foliage of pinks, carnations, and rosemary. Such an arrangement has at least the merit of sweet simplicity, and somehow has also the effect of carrying our thoughts with a bound to spring-time. The ancient names for this "old-fashioned" flower were "Little Daisies" and "Bruisewoorte." The latter name, according to Gerarde, was applied for the following reasons: "The leaues stamped, taketh away bruses and swellings proceeding of some stroke, if they be stamped and laide thereon, whereupon it was called in olde time Bruisewoorte. The iuice put into the eies cleereth them, and taketh away the watering;" and here is a dog note: "The same given to little dogs with milke, keepeth them from growing great." Flowering period, February to July. Bocconia Cordata. _Syn._ MACLEAYA CORDATA; _Nat. Ord._ PAPAVERACEÆ. A hardy herbaceous perennial from China. It is a tall and handsome plant; its fine features are its stately habit, finely-cut foliage, and noble panicles of buds and flowers; during the whole progress of its growth it is a pleasing object, but in the autumn, when at the height of 7ft. it has become topped with lax clusters of flowers, over 2ft. long, it is simply grand. There are other names in trade lists, as _B. japonica_ and _B. alba_, but they are identical with _B. cordata_; possibly there may be a little difference in the shades of the flowers, but nothing to warrant another name. Having grown the so-called species or varieties, I have hitherto found no difference whatever; and of the hardy species of this genus, I believe _B. cordata_ is the only one at present grown in English gardens. During spring and early summer this subject makes rapid growth, pushing forth its thick leafy stems, which are attractive, not only by reason of their somewhat unusual form, but also because of their tender and unseasonable appearance, especially during spring; it is rare, however, that the late frosts do any damage to its foliage. It continues to grow with remarkable vigour until, at the height of 5ft. or more, the flower panicles begin to develop; these usually add 2ft. or more to its tallness. The flowers are very small but numerous, of an ivory-white colour; they are more beautiful in the unopened state, when the two-sepalled calyx for many days compresses the tassel-like cluster of stamens. Each half of the calyx is boat-shaped, and before they burst they have the form and colour of clean plump groats; as already hinted, the stamens are numerous, and the anthers large for so small a flower, being spathulate. As soon as the stamens become exposed, the calyx falls, and in a short time--a few hours--the fugacious anthers disappear, to be followed only a little later by the fall of the filaments; there is then left a naked but headed capsule, half the size of the buds, and of the same colour; they may be traced on the panicle in the illustration (Fig. 20). From the fading quality of the above-named parts, the buds and capsules chiefly form the ornamental portion of the compound racemes. [Illustration: FIG. 20. BOCCONIA CORDATA. (About one-twentieth natural size; blossom, one-half natural size.)] The leaves are from 8in. to 10in. in diameter, the largest being at the base of the tall stems; their outline, as the specific name implies, is heart-shaped, but they are deeply lobed and dentate, in the way of the fig leaf, but more profusely so; they are stalked, of good substance, glaucous, nearly white underneath, which part is also furnished with short stiff hairs. The glaucous hue or farina which covers the leaf-stalks and main stems has a metallic appearance, and is one of its pleasing features as a decorative plant. For many weeks the flowers continue to be developed, and from the deciduous quality of the fading parts, the panicles have a neat appearance to the last. In a cut state the long side branches of flowers, more than a foot long, are very effective, either alone or when mixed with other kinds, the little clusters of white drop-like buds being suitable for combination with the choicest flowers. As a decorative specimen for the more ornamental parts of the garden, and where bold subjects are desired, there are few herbaceous things that can be named as more suitable; from the day it appears above the ground, to and throughout its fading days in the autumn, when it has pleasing tints, it is not only a handsome but distinct form of plant; as an isolated specimen on the lawn, or by frequented walks, it may be grown with marked effect; if too nearly surrounded with other tall things, its beauty is somewhat marred; but wherever it is planted it should have a good fat loam of considerable depth. I ought not to omit saying that it forms a capital subject for pot culture; plants so treated, when 12in. or 18in. high, no matter if not then in flower, are very useful as window or table plants; but of course, being herbaceous, they are serviceable only during their growing season; they need not, however, be a source of care during winter, for they may with safety be plunged outside in a bed of ashes or sand, where they will take care of themselves during the severest weather. It may be propagated by cuttings taken from the axils of the larger leaves during early summer; if this method is followed, the cuttings should be pushed on, so that there are plenty of roots before the winter sets in. I have found it by far the better plan to take young suckers from established plants; in good rich soil these are freely produced from the slightly running roots; they may be separated and transplanted any time, but if it is done during summer they will flower the following season. Tall as this subject grows, it needs no supports; neither have I noticed it to be troubled by any of the garden pests. Flowering period, September to August. Bulbocodium Trigynum. _Syns._ COLCHICUM CAUCASICUM _and_ MERENDERA CAUCASICUM; _Nat. Ord._ MELANTHACEÆ. This pretty miniature bulbous plant is very hardy, flowering in winter. It is a scarce flower, and has recently been represented as a new plant. As a matter of fact, it is not new, but has been known under the above synonymous names since 1823, when it was brought from the Caucasus. In general appearance it is very different from the _Colchicum_ (Sprengle), as may be seen by the drawing (Fig. 21), and _Merendera_ (Bieberstein) is only another Spanish name for _Colchicum_. The new name, authorised by Adams, may have been the cause, all or in part, of its being taken for a new species. The specific name may be presumed to be in reference to either its deeply-channelled, almost keeled leaves, which have the appearance of three corners, or in allusion to the triangular way in which they are disposed. It is a desirable flower for several reasons--its earliness, durability, rich perfume, and intrinsic beauty. [Illustration: FIG. 21. BULBOCODIUM TRIGYNUM. (Full size.)] The little plant, at the height of 2in., produces its rather large flowers in ones and twos in February, and they last for many days in perfect form. The scent reminds one of the sweet honey smell of a white clover field during summer. The colour is very pale lilac, nearly white; the tube takes on a little greenness; it is also divided, though the slits are invisible until the bloom begins to fade. The corolla, of irregular segments, is 1½in. across when expanded; the stamens are half the length of the petal-like segments, and carry anthers of exquisite beauty, especially when young, then they are orange colour, divided like a pair of half-opened shells, and edged with chocolate; the styles are a delicate pale green, and rather longer than the stamens. The leaves, as already stated, are channelled, broadest at the base, tapering to a point, which is rather twisted; they are 2in. long during the blooming period, of a deep green colour, stiff, but spreading, forming a pretty accurate triangle. This description, together with the cut, will suggest both the uses and positions in which it should be planted; if a single blossom, when brought indoors, proves strongly fragrant, it is easy to imagine what a clump must be in the garden. Like those of the colchicum, its flowers are quickly developed; the leaves grow longer afterwards, and die off in summer. It thrives in a sandy loam or leaf soil, in a sunny part, and increases itself at the roots like the saffrons. Flowering period, February and March. Bulbocodium Vernum. SPRING BULBOCODIUM, _or_ SPRING SAFFRON; _Nat. Ord._ MELANTHACEÆ. In mild winters, sheltered positions, and light vegetable soil, this bulbous plant may be seen in blossom from January to March. The flowers appear before the leaves, and may, at the first glance, be taken for lilac-coloured croci. Up to a certain stage, however, the colour gradually improves in the direction of purple, and where there are established patches it is no inconsiderable part of the effect caused by this desirable winter flower to see it a mass of bloom in many shades, ranging from white (as in the bud state) to a lively purple. It is an old plant in English gardens, and is largely found wild in mid-Europe. It came from Spain as early as 1629. Still, it is not generally known or grown; but within the last few years it has come to the fore, with a host of other hardy and early-flowering subjects. The natural order in which it is classed includes many beautiful genera, both as regards their floral effect and anatomical structures. _Veratrum_, _Uvularia_, and _Colchicum_ are, perhaps, the more familiar, and the last-mentioned genus is a very nearly allied one. A feature of the genus _Bulbocodium_ is implied by the name itself, which means "a wool-covered bulb." This quality, however, will be more observable when the bulb is in a dormant state; it exists under the envelope. The crocus or saffron-like flowers are aptly named "Spring Saffron," though there is a great botanical difference to be seen between this genus and that of _Colchicum_ when the flower is dissected. The bloom is produced from the midst of an ample sheath, and overlapping leaves, which are only just visible in the early season of this year; the corolla of six petal-like divisions is 2in. to 3in. across when expanded, and of various shades and colours, as already stated; the segments are completely divided, being continued from the throat of the corolla to the ovary by long tapering bases, called nails, claws, or ungues. The leaves are stout, broadly strap-shaped, channelled, and of a deep green colour. The bulb is rather small; its form resembles that of the autumn crocus, as also does its mode of growth and reproduction. The early blossoms of this bulb soon disappear, and though the roots are all the better for being well ripened, a thin patch of some of the finer annuals sown in spring amongst their withering leaves will not do much harm, and will prove useful as gap-stoppers. Another good way is to grow these dwarf bulbous flowers with a carpet of creepers, of which there are scores in every way suitable; and where nothing else is available or to be grown with success, the small-leaved ivy will answer well. The dwarf phloxes, however, are more useful; their browned spreading branches form a neutral but warm-looking ground to the purple blossoms; besides, by the time all trace of the Bulbocodium has shrivelled up, they begin to produce their sheets of bloom. All such prostrate forms not only preserve dwarf winter flowers from the mud, but otherwise give effect to the borders. This bulb thrives best in light soil, well drained; in sheltered nooks it may be had in flower a month earlier than in exposed parts. Under such conditions it increases very fast, and the bulbs may be transplanted with advantage every other year after the tops have died off. In stiff or clay-like soil it dwindles and dies. Flowering period, January to March. Calthus Palustris Flore-pleno. DOUBLE MARSH MARIGOLD; _Old Common Name_, "MEADOW BOOTES"; _Nat. Ord._ RANUNCULACEÆ. The typical, or single-flowering variety of this plant is a British species, and a rather common one; but the pleasing habit and bright, finely-formed, orange-yellow flower of this double kind renders it a suitable plant for any garden. It is herbaceous and perennial, and loves boggy situations. It is, however, very accommodating, and will be found to do well in ordinary garden soil, especially if it be a stiffish loam; clayey land is well adapted for it. No matter what kind of weather prevails, it has always a neat and fresh appearance. By the illustration (Fig. 22) the reader will doubtless recognise its familiar form. As already stated, its flowers are orange-yellow, very full, with petals evenly arranged; they are 1in. across, and produced on round, short, hollow stems, seldom more than 9in. high. The forked flower stalks are furnished with embracing leaves, differing very much from the others, which are stalked, heart-shaped, nearly round, and evenly-toothed. All the foliage is of a rich dark shining green colour. Strong specimens produce flowers for a long time, fully two months, and frequently they burst into blossom again in the autumn. Individual flowers are very lasting, and, moreover, are very effective in a cut state. It is a robust grower, providing it is not in light dry soil; it seems with me to do equally well fully exposed to sunshine and in partial shade, but both positions are of a moist character. [Illustration: FIG. 22. CALTHUS PALUSTRIS FLORE-PLENO. (One-half natural size.)] It has long fleshy roots, which allows of its being transplanted at any time, early spring being the best, to increase it. The crowns should be divided every three years, when there will be found to be ample roots to each one. Flowering period, April to June. Calystegia Pubescens Flore-pleno. _Nat. Ord._ CONVOLVULACEÆ. This double Convolvulus is a somewhat recent introduction from China; it is hardy and perennial. So distinct are its large flesh-coloured flowers that they are often taken at the first glance, when cut, for double pyrethrums or chrysanthemums, but, seen in connection with the plant, the form of foliage and climbing or twining habit of the bindweed soon enable the most casual observer of flowers to recognise its genus. The flowers are 2in. to 3in. across, petals long, narrow, wavy, and reflexed; these are well held together by the five-parted calyx, further supported by a bract of two small but stout leaves. The flower stalks are round and wiry, 3in. or 4in. long; they are produced all along the twining stems, which are only of the moderate length of 5ft. or 6ft. The leaves are of the well-known Convolvulus form. I find it a good plan to grow this subject amongst tall and early flowering plants, such as lupins, foxgloves, and lilies, the old stems of which form ample supports for the climber; moreover, they are rendered less unsightly from being thus furnished anew with leaf and flower, even though not their own. Another method is in early summer to place a short twiggy branch over the pushing growths; it will soon become covered, and if not too large, the ends of the shoots will slightly outgrow the twigs and hang down in a pleasing manner. The plant should be started in light sandy loam and have a warm situation, otherwise flowers will be scarce and the whole specimen have a weedy appearance. When once it becomes established, it will be found to spread rapidly by means of its running roots, which, unless checked, will soon become a pest. I simply pull out all growths except such as shoot up in the desired position, and so continue to treat them as weeds throughout the growing season. Stems furnished with flowers a yard or more long, in a cut state, make rich festoons; single blooms (the smaller ones) look well as "buttonholes," being neat and effective, without gaudiness. I ought to state that a succession of flowers is kept up for fully three months; this fact adds not a little to the value of this handsome flesh-coloured bloomer. Roots may be transplanted at any time; the smallest piece will produce a blooming plant the first season, if put into a proper soil and situation. Flowering period, July to September. Campanula Grandis. GREAT BELLFLOWER; _Nat. Ord._ CAMPANULACEÆ. A hardy herbaceous perennial from Siberia, growing to a height of 3ft. Its flowers are large, bright, and numerous; well-established clumps will present masses of bloom for more than a month with average weather. As a large showy subject there are few plants more reliable, or that can in any way excel it, more especially for town gardens. It is a rampant grower, quickly covering large spaces by means of its progressive roots; in gardens or collections where it can only be allowed a limited space, the running habit of the roots will doubtless prove troublesome, and often such free growers, however handsome they may be otherwise, are esteemed common, which should not be. The proper thing to do would be to give these vigorous and fine flowering subjects such quarters as will allow them their natural and unrestrained development. The flowers of _C. grandis_ are more than 1in. across the corolla, the five segments being large and bluntly pointed, of a transparent purple-blue colour, and very enduring; they are arranged on short stalks, which issue from the strong upright stems. They form little tufts of bloom at every joint for a length of nearly 2ft.; the succession, too, is well kept up. Buds continue to form long after the earliest have opened. The leaves are 4in. to 8in. long and ¾in. wide, lance-shaped, stalkless, and finely toothed. They are arranged in round tufts on the unproductive crowns, and they remain green throughout the winter. As regards soil, any kind will do; neither is the question of position of any moment beyond the precaution which should be taken against its encroachments on smaller subjects. In the partial shade of shrubs it not only flowers well but proves very effective. Useful as this plant is in the garden, it becomes far more so in a cut state. When it is needful to make up a bold vase or basket of flowers for room decoration, it can be quickly and effectively done by a liberal use of its long, leafy, but well-bloomed spikes; five or six of them, 2ft. to 3ft. long, based with a few large roses, pæonies, or sprays of thalictrum, make a noble ornament for the table, hall, or sideboard, and it is not one of the least useful flowers for trays or dishes when cut short. Propagated by division at any time, the parts may be planted at once in their blooming quarters. Flowering period, June and July. Campanula Latifolia. BROAD-LEAVED BELLFLOWER; _Nat. Ord._ CAMPANULACEÆ. A British species, very much resembling _C. grandis_, but somewhat taller, and flowering a little earlier; the latter quality has induced me to mention it, as it offers a fine spike for cutting purposes before the above is ready. Culture, uses, and propagation, the same as for _C. grandis_. Flowering period, June and July. Campanula Persicifolia. PEACH-LEAVED BELLFLOWER; _Old Common Names_, "PEACH-BELS" _and_ "STEEPLE-BELS"; _Nat. Ord._ CAMPANULACEÆ. This good "old-fashioned" perennial has had a place in English gardens for several hundred years; it is still justly and highly esteemed. It is a well-known plant, and as the specific name is descriptive of the leaves, I will only add a few words of Gerarde's respecting the flowers: "Alongst the stalke growe many flowers like bels, sometime white, and for the most part, of a faire blewe colour; but the bels are nothing so deepe as they of the other kindes, and these also are more delated and spred abroade then any of the reste." The varieties include single blue (type) and white, double blue, and different forms of double white. In all cases the corolla is cup or broad bell shaped, and the flowers are sparingly produced on slightly foliaged stems, 18in. to 3ft. high; there are, however, such marked distinctions belonging to _C. p. alba fl.-pl._ in two forms that they deserve special notice; they are very desirable flowers, on the score of both quaintness and beauty. I will first notice the kind with two corollas, the inner bell of which will be more than an inch deep, and about the same in diameter. The outer corolla is much shorter, crumpled, rolled back, and somewhat marked with green, as if intermediate in its nature between the larger corolla and the calyx. The whole flower has a droll but pleasing form, and I have heard it not inaptly called "Grandmother's Frilled Cap." The other kind has five or more corollas, which are neatly arranged, each growing less as they approach the centre. In all, the segments are but slightly divided, though neatly formed; this flower is of the purest white and very beautiful, resembling a small double rose. It is one of the best flowers to be found at its season in the borders, and for cutting purposes I know none to surpass it; it is clean and durable. So much are the flowers esteemed, that the plant is often grown in pots for forcing and conservatory decoration, to which treatment it takes kindly. In the open all the above varieties grow freely in any kind of garden soil, but if transplanted in the autumn into newly-dug quarters they will in every way prove more satisfactory; this is not necessary, but if cultivation means anything, it means we should adopt the best-known methods of treatment towards all the plants we grow, and certainly some of the above Bellflowers are deserving of all the care that flowers are worth. Flowering period, July to September. Campanula Pyramidalis. PYRAMIDAL _or_ CHIMNEY CAMPANULA; _Nat. Ord._ CAMPANULACEÆ. This herbaceous perennial is a very old flower in this country; it came from Carniola in the year 1594. It is very hardy, and for several months together it continues to produce its large lively blue flowers, beginning in July and lasting until stopped by frosts. At no time is it in finer form than in September; at the height of from 5ft. to 7ft. it proves richly effective amongst the blooming hollyhocks, where, as regards colour, it supplies the "missing link" (see Fig. 23). The flowers are a light bright blue colour, and 1in. to 1½in. across. The corolla is bell-shaped, the five divisions being deeply cut, which allows the flower to expand well; the calyx is neat and smooth, the segments long and awl-shaped; the flower stalks are short, causing the numerous erect branches to be closely furnished with bloom during favourable weather. The leaves of the root are very large and stalked, of irregular shape, but for the most part broadly oval or lance-shaped. The edges are slightly toothed, having minute glands; those of the stems are much smaller, sessile, and long egg-shaped; all the foliage is smooth, and of a dark green colour; the main stems are very stout, and sometimes grow to the height of 7ft. Vigorous plants will send up several of these, from which a great number of small ones issue, all assuming an erect habit; blooming specimens are hardly anything else than a wand-like set of flowered stems, and though it is advisable to stake them, I have seen them bend and wave during high winds without damage. [Illustration: FIG. 23. CAMPANULA PYRAMIDALIS. (One-twentieth natural size; _a_, one-half natural size.)] In the borders and shrubbery this is a very effective subject; it is amongst herbaceous plants what the Lombardy poplar is amongst forest trees--tall, elegant, and distinct. Its use, however, is somewhat limited, owing to the stiffness of the stems and the shortness of the flower stalks; but when grown in pots--as it often is--for indoor decoration, it proves useful for standing amongst orange and camellia trees. It has very strong tap roots, and enjoys a deep rich loam. Not only does it look well among trees, but otherwise the partial shade of such quarters seems conducive to finer bloom. Flowering period, July to October. _C. p. alba_ is a white flowering variety of the above species; its other points of distinction are its smaller-sized leaves and much paler green colour, by which alone the plants may be easily recognised from the type. This variety may be grown with good effect in pots or the border; it scarcely gets so tall as the blue form, but looks well by the side of it. The readiest way to increase these plants is to take the young and dwarf growths from the woody crown of the roots, paring off a little of the bark with each. If these are put in sandy loam during the warm growing season and kept shaded for a few days, they will very soon make plenty of roots; this method in no way damages the flowers. Another way is by seed, but seedlings are two years before they bloom. Campanula Speciosa. SHOWY HAREBELL; _Nat. Ord._ CAMPANULACEÆ. A comparatively new species, brought from Siberia in 1825, and sometimes called _C. glomerata dahurica_. It is a good hardy plant, perennial and herbaceous, and one of the earliest to flower. It has a distinct appearance; it nearly resembles _C. aggregata_, but the latter does not flower until several weeks later. Apart from its likeness to other species of the genus, it is a first-class border flower, having large bells of a fine deep purple colour, and, unlike many of the Harebells, is not over tall, but usually about a foot high, having a neat habit. The flowers are arranged in dense heads, whorl fashion, having very short stalks; they are nearly 2in. long and bell shaped. The leaves (radical) are oval heart-shaped and stalked; those of the stems are sessile; the whole plant is hairy and robust. This is one of the flowers which can hardly be planted out of place in any garden, excepting amongst the rare and very dwarf alpines; it is not only true to its name, "showy," but handsome. It will grow and flower well in the worst soil and needs no sort of care; it would be fine in lines by a shrubbery, and is effective in bold clumps; and though a new kind, it belongs to a race of "old-fashioned" flowers, amongst which it would mix appropriately. Increased by division in autumn. Flowering period, June and July. Campanula Waldsteiniana. _Nat. Ord._ CAMPANULACEÆ. A rare and distinct alpine species from Carinthia. It proves perfectly hardy in this climate. For the rock garden it is a gem of the first water, its habit being dwarf, dense, and rigid; floriferous as many of the Bellflowers are, I know none to excel this one. As may be observed in the following description, there are not a few distinctive traits about it, which, more or less, go to make it a desirable subject for rare and choice collections. The flowers are a glistening bluish-lilac, erect, and ¾in. across when fully expanded. The corolla can hardly be said to be bell-shaped, as the five divisions are two-thirds of its depth, which allows it, when full blown, to become nearly flat, and as the segments are equal, sharply cut, and pointed, the flower has a star-like appearance. The little calyx is cup-shaped, angular, and has small, stout, horn-like segments, which are bent downwards. Each flower has a pedicel about 1in. long, which springs from the axils of the main stem leaves; the stems seldom exceed the height of 4in. or 5in., and they are exceedingly fine, thready, as also are the pedicels; they are, moreover, of zigzag form, from node to node. The leaves are ¾in. long, and less than ½in. wide, ovate or nearly cordate, partially folded, and sometimes reflexed at the ends, nearly stalkless, slightly toothed, smooth, of good substance and a peculiar grey-green colour. The foliage for two or three weeks is completely hidden by the large number of flowers, during which time it is a most attractive subject. I grow it with other dwarf Campanulas in a collection bed, where it compares well with the finest, such as _C. pulla_, _C. muralis_, and _C. Zoysii_, for effectiveness. Having proved it to thrive well in light sandy soil of a vegetable character, I have not tried it otherwise; it enjoys a sunny situation. The site should be well drained; it will endure nothing like stagnant moisture--its peculiar roots would indicate this fact, they are not only tender and fleshy, but thick and of a pith-like nature, and, as I have never been able to gather any seed, and the propagation has to be carried out by root division, there requires to be a careful manipulation of these parts, for not only do they split and break with the least strain, but when so mutilated they are very liable to rot. I have found it by far the better plan to divide this plant after it has begun to grow in March or April, when its fine shining black shoots, which resemble horse hairs in appearance, are about ½in. high. Slugs are fond of this plant; a dressing once a week of sand and soot, when it begins to grow, will keep them off. Flowering period, July and August. Centaurea Montana. MOUNTAIN KNAPWEED; _Nat. Ord._ COMPOSITÆ. This is an "old-fashioned" and favourite flower. Every one must be familiar with its thistle-like formed flowers; it is sometimes called the large or perennial Cornflower and also the Large Bluebottle. The blue variety has been grown in English gardens since 1596. There are now white and pink coloured varieties, all rampant growers, very hardy and perennial. They are in every way superior to the annual kind, which is so largely grown, the flowers being more than twice the size, and produced two months earlier; the blooming period is maintained until late autumn. The flowers, as before hinted, are thistle-shaped; the pericline or knob just under the florets is cone-shaped, covered with evenly set and pointed scales, green, edged with a brown margin, set round with short bristle-like teeth. The florets of the outer ring are 1½in. long, tubular half their length, the wider portion being five to seven cut; the centre florets are short and irregular, richly tinted with pink at their bases; the whole flower or ray, when expanded, is 3in. across. They are produced on stems over 2ft. long and of a somewhat procumbent habit, angular and branched near the tops; the leaves are 3in. to 6in. long, lance-shaped, entire and decurrent, giving the stems a winged appearance. They are of a greyish colour--nappy--whence the name Knapweed. This vigorous species, with its white and pink varieties, may be grown in any kind of soil. It requires plenty of room; a two-year-old plant will form a specimen a yard in diameter under favourable conditions. The effect is good when all the three colours are grown near each other in bold pieces. They yield an unfailing supply of flowers, which are of a very useful type; in fact, the more they are cut the more they seem to bloom, and it is a good plan to cut short half the stems about June. They will (in a week or two) produce new shoots and large flowers in abundance, the gain being flowers of extra size during autumn. Propagated by division of the roots any time. Flowering period, June to September. Centranthus Ruber. _Syn._ VALERIANA RUBER--RED VALERIAN; _Nat. Ord._ VALERIANACEÆ. This is a strong and vigorous garden plant, with a somewhat shrubby appearance; it is herbaceous, perennial, and sometimes classed as a British species, therefore hardy; but though its classification among British plants is justifiable, it is only so on the ground of its being a naturalised subject, its original habitats being in the South of Europe. It is a favourite and "old-fashioned" flower, and it fully justifies the estimation in which it is held, the flowers being produced in large bunches of a fine rich colour, which are very durable. Its shrubby habit is not one of its least recommendations; seen at a distance--which it easily can be--it might be taken for a ruby-coloured rhododendron, to which, of course, it has no resemblance when closely inspected. It grows 2ft. high or more. The flowers are a bright ruby colour, very small, but closely massed in great numbers, borne in corymbs, terminal and much branched; "the calyx-limb, at first revolute, afterwards expanded into a feather-like pappus;" the corolla is tubular, long, slender, and spurred; the segments or petals are small and uneven, both in form and arrangement; the germen is long; anther prominent and large for so small a flower, viz., ¾in. long and hardly ¼in. in diameter. The stems are stout, round, hollow, and glaucous; they are furnished with leaves of various shapes at the nodes, as lance-shaped, long oval, heart-shaped and plain, elliptical and pointed, wavy and notched, and arrow-shaped, lobed, and toothed. The root leaves are mostly ovate, lanceolate, and entire. The whole plant is smooth and glaucous. From the description given, it may readily be seen that when in flower it will be effective--massive heads of ruby flowers topping a shrub-like plant of shining foliage and glaucous hue. It is eminently fitted for lines or borders where other strong growers are admitted. In a cut state the flowers are very useful; they are strongly scented, something like the lilac, with just a suspicion of Valerian in it. I ought not to omit mention of its extra brightness as seen by gaslight--this fact adds much to its value for indoor decoration. It may be grown in any kind of garden soil, needing nothing at any time in the way of special treatment; but if it is supplied with a little manure it will pay back with interest, in the form of extra-sized bunches and brighter flowers. _C. r. albus_ is a white-flowering kind of the above; its main points of difference are its paler green foliage, smaller sized corymbs, shorter growth, and rather later season of bloom. _C. r. coccinea_ is another kind; the specific name is misleading. It is not scarlet, but nearer a rose colour, and when compared with the typical colour it appears much inferior; still, it is a good variety. All the three colours, when grown side by side, are very showy when in bloom. This species, with its varieties, may be easily propagated by root divisions at any time from late summer to spring; the long fleshy roots should not be broken more than can be helped; every piece with a crown on it will make a flowering plant the first season. Flowering period, June to September. Cheiranthus Cheiri. COMMON WALLFLOWER; _Nat. Ord._ CRUCIFERÆ. This well-known evergreen shrub (see Fig. 24) is more or less hardy in our climate, according to the conditions under which it is grown. Although a native of the South of Europe, it rarely happens, however severe the winter may be in this country, that we are totally deprived of the favourite bouquet of Wallflowers in winter or early spring, while it is equally true that, during the hard weather of one or two recent winters, in numerous gardens every plant was killed. In favourable seasons its blooms are produced throughout winter, but the full blow comes in April. Three hundred years ago it was known by its present name; in this respect it is a rare exception, as most flowers have many and widely different names, especially the "old-fashioned" sorts, so that often the varied nomenclature hinders the identification of the species. At one time the Wallflower was called the "Gillyflower," but the name is now only applied to a biennial and single-flowered variety of the stock--a near relation of the Wallflower. More than 200 years ago Parkinson wrote, "Those Wallflowers that, carrying beautiful flowers, are the delights and ornaments of a garden of pleasure." [Illustration: FIG. 24. CHIERANTHUS CHEIRI. (One-fourth natural size.)] Of its well-known beauties, as regards its form, colour, varieties, and delicious perfume, description is needless, though I may say, in passing, that its fragrance renders it of value to those whose olfactory nerve is dead to the scent of most other flowers. Two errors are frequently committed in planting the Wallflower; first, at the wrong time, when it is nearly a full-grown specimen and showing its flowers; next, in the wrong way, as in rows or dotted about. It should be transplanted from the seed beds when small, in summer or early autumn, and not in ones and twos, but in bold and irregular groups of scores together; anything like lines or designs seems out of harmony with this semi-wildling. There is another and very easy method which I should like to mention, as a suggestion--that of naturalisation; let those near ruins, quarries, and railway embankments and cuttings, generously scatter some seed thereon during the spring showers, when the air is still; in such dry situations this flower proves more hardy than in many gardens. Moreover, they serve to show it to advantage, either alone or in connection with other shrubs, as the whin, which flowers at the same time; here, too, it would be comparatively safe from being "grubbed up." Flowering period, January to June. Cheiranthus Marshallii. MARSHALL'S WALLFLOWER; _Nat. Ord._ CRUCIFERÆ. A distinct and very hardy hybrid, being shrubby and tree-like in shape, but withal very dwarf. From the compact habit, abundance and long duration of its flowers, it is well suited for showy borders or lines. It is not yet well known, but its qualities are such that there can be no wonder at its quickly coming to the front where known. It differs from the common Wallflower in being more dwarf and horizontally branched, while the leaves are more bent back, hairy, and toothed; immediately below the floriferous part of the stem the leaves are more crowded, the stems more angular, the flowers much less, not so straggling, and of a dark orange colour. Other hybrids in the same way are being produced, differing mostly in the colour of the flowers, as lemon, greenish-yellow, copper, and so on. Plants a year old are so easily raised from cuttings, and form such neat specimens, that a stock cannot be otherwise than very useful in any garden; besides, they lift so well that transplanting may be done at any time. My finest specimens have been grown from their cutting state, on a bed of sifted ashes liberally mixed with well-rotted stable manure; in such light material they have not only done well, but, when a few roots were required, they lifted large balls without leaving any fibre in the ground. To have good stout stock before winter sets in, slips should be taken from the old plants as soon as they have done flowering; dibble them into light but well enriched soil, and give water in droughty weather only. I ought to mention that this dwarf Wallflower, and also its allied kinds, are capital subjects for very dry situations; on old walls and the tops of outhouses they not only do well, but prove decorative throughout the year. In such places plants will live to a great age, and sow their own seed freely besides. Flowering period, May and June. Chionodoxa Luciliæ. SNOW GLORY; _Nat. Ord._ LILIACEÆ. A hardy bulbous perennial, from Asia Minor. It has only been cultivated about four years in English gardens; still it has been proved to be as hardy as the squills, which it very much resembles. Mr. Maw, who discovered and introduced it, found it "near the summit of the mountain," which (though it is a native of a much warmer climate than ours) may account for its hardy character. That it is a most beautiful flower is beyond doubt, but there are those who think it has been overpraised. It should not, however, be forgotten that Mr. Maw's description of it was from a sight of it in masses, a state in which it can hardly have been judged yet in this country, as until very recently the bulbs were very expensive. It has, however, taken kindly to our climate, and is likely to increase fast, when it may be seen to greater advantage. It grows to the height of 6in. or 8in.; the flower scapes, which are rather slender, are somewhat shorter than the foliage, the flowers being longer in the petals than the squills, almost star-shaped, and nearly 1in. across; later on they reflex. Their colour is an intense blue, shading to white in the centre of the flower. The flowers are produced in numbers, from three to six on a stem, having slender pedicels, which cause the flowers to hang slightly bell fashion. The leaves, from their flaccidness and narrowness, compared with the squills, may be described as grassy. The bulbs are a little larger than the kernel of a cob nut, nearly round, having satiny skins or coats. It may be grown in pots, and forces well if allowed first to make good roots, by being treated like the hyacinth. It should be kept very near the glass. It has also flowered fairly well in the open border fully exposed, but in a cold frame, plunged in sand and near the glass, it has been perfection. Single bulbs so grown in "sixties" pots have done the best by far. All the bulbs hitherto experimented with have been newly imported; very different results may possibly be realised from "home-grown" bulbs. It is also probable that there may be varieties of this species, as not only have I noticed a great difference in the bulbs, but also in the flowers and the habit of plant. This I have mentioned to a keen observer, and he is of the same opinion; be that as it may, we have in this new plant a lovely companion to the later snowdrops, and though it much resembles the squills, it is not only sufficiently distinct from them, but an early bloomer, which we gladly welcome to our gardens. It seems to do well in equal parts of peat, loam, and sand, also in leaf soil and sand. Flowering period, March and April. Chrysanthemum. _Nat. Ord._ COMPOSITÆ. The flowers to which I would now refer the reader are of no particular species, but, like several other genera, this genus has been considerably drawn upon or utilised by the hybridiser, and the species, looked upon from a florist's point of view, have been much improved upon by their offspring. Not only are Japan and China the homes of the finer flowering species, but in these countries the Chrysanthemum has been esteemed and highly cultivated for centuries; in fact, such a favourite is this flower with the Chinese, that they have treated it with many forms of their well-known art in matters horticultural, and when the flower was brought to this country it would doubtless be in a form improved by them. It reached this country nearly 100 years ago, and was known by the names _C. indicum_ and _C. sinense_; about the same time a species from the East Indies was called _C. indicum_. This flower, from the time of its introduction, has been justly appreciated; and by the skill of several cultivators we have a largely increased number of forms and colours. Still, there are certain distinctions kept up amongst the varieties, and they are commonly known by such names as "large-flowering," "pompon, or small-flowered," "early flowering," "anemone-flowered," and "Japanese." These names, besides being somewhat descriptive, are otherwise useful to the amateur who may wish to grow a representative collection, and where there is convenience it is desirable to do so in order to observe their widely different forms and colours, as well as to enjoy a long succession of bloom. So well is the Chrysanthemum known that little could be usefully said of it by way of description; but well as it is known and easy as its culture is, there are few things in our gardens that show to greater disadvantage. This should not be with a subject which offers such range of habit, colour, and period of blooming; and when such is the case, there must be some radical mistake made. The mistake I believe to be in the selection, and that alone. If so, the remedy is an easy matter. Let me ask the reader to remember three facts: (1) Many sorts grown in pots and flowered under glass are unfitted for the borders or open garden. (2) The later flowering varieties are of no use whatever for outside bloom. (3) Of the early blooming section, not only may the finest varieties be grown with marked effect, but they, as a rule, are of more dwarf habit, and will afford abundance of bloom for cutting purposes for nearly two months. Selections are too often made from seeing the fine sorts in pots; let it be understood that all are perfectly hardy, but owing to their lateness, their utility can only be realised under artificial conditions. I am not now considering pot, but garden kinds, and no matter what other rules may be observed, if this is overlooked it will be found that though the plant may grow finely and set buds in plenty, they will be so late as to perish in their greenness by the early frosts; on the other hand, of the early section, some will begin to bloom in August, and others later, each kind, after being covered with flowers for several weeks, seeming to finish naturally with our season of flowers. There is nothing special about the culture of this very hardy and rampant-growing plant, but I may add that, though it will stand for many years in one place, and flower well too, it is vastly improved by division of the roots in autumn or early spring every second year. The earth of its new site should be deeply dug and well enriched with stable manure; it will not then matter much what sort of soil it is--the more open the situation the better. How grandly these decorate the borders when in masses! and as a cut flower I need hardly say that there are few to excel the Chrysanthemum, either as an individual bloom or for bouquet and other work. I do not frequently make mention of many florists' flowers by name, but in this case I think I may usefully name a few varieties: Andromeda, cream coloured, Sept.; Captain Nemo, rosy purple, Aug.; Cassy, pink and white, Oct.; Cromatella, orange and brown, Sept.; Delphine Caboche, reddish mauve, Aug.; Golden Button, small canary yellow, Aug.; Illustration, soft pink to white, Aug.; Jardin des Plantes, white, Sept.; La Petite Marie, white, good, Aug.; Madame Pecoul, large, light rose, Aug.; Mexico, white, Oct.; Nanum, large, creamy blush, Aug.; Précocité, large, orange, Sept.; Soeur Melaine, French white, Oct.; St. Mary, very beautiful, white, Sept. These, it will be seen, are likely to afford a variety and succession of bloom. Flowering period, August to November. Cichorium Intybus. _Syns._ C. PERENNE _and_ C. SYLVESTRE--WILD SUCCORY _or_ CHICORY; _Nat. Ord._ COMPOSITÆ. This herbaceous perennial is a native plant, in many parts being very common. Not only, however, do many not know it as a wild flower, but we have the facts that under cultivation it is a distinct and showy plant, and that of late it has come into great request. Its flowers are a pleasing blue, and produced on ample branches, and for mixing with other "old-fashioned" kinds, either in the borders or as cut blooms, they are decidedly telling; for blending with other Composites it has its value mainly from the fact that blues are rare in September; the China asters are too short in the stalk for cutting purposes, and many of the tall perennial starworts are neither bright nor well disposed. I may also mention another proof of its decorative quality--it is not common (_i.e._, wild) in my district, and a plant being cultivated in my garden for its flowers has been so much admired that it is likely to have other patrons, and in many instances it is being introduced into gardens where the choicest flowers are cultivated. I am bound, however, to say that when not in flower it has the appearance of the commonest weed. Its flowers are produced when 2ft. to 6ft. high. They are of a fine glistening blue colour, 1in. to 1½in. across, and in the way of a dandelion flower, but stalkless individually, being disposed in ones, twos, and threes, somewhat distantly in the axils of the leaves, and all over the numerous and straggling branches. The leaves are rough, of a dingy green colour, and variously shaped, Gerarde's description being as follows: "Wilde Succori hath long leaues, somewhat snipt about the edges like the leaues of sow thistle, with a stalke growing to the height of two cubits, which is deuided towarde the top into many braunches. The flowers grow at the top blewe of colour; the roote is tough and woodie, with many strings fastened thereto." I find this plant not only enjoys a half shady place, but if it is so placed that its quick growing branches can mix with those of other subjects in a trellis or other supports, its coarser parts will not only be partially hidden, but the rich coloured flowers will show to advantage. I may mention that mine is mixed with Virginian creeper on wires, and the effect may easily be imagined. It will do in any kind of garden soil, but if deeply dug and well manured the flowers are vastly improved. Propagated by seed or division of the stout tap roots. Flowering period, August to September. Clethra Alnifolia. ALDER-LEAVED CLETHRA; _Nat. Ord._ ERICACEÆ. A hardy deciduous shrub, and mentioned in connection with herbaceous perennials because of its rich flowers and dwarf habit. It is a native of North America, having been grown in this country for 150 years; it is not so often met with as it ought to be, though much esteemed. It becomes very productive of flowers when only 2ft. high, but grows somewhat taller when well established; it is more valuable than common from its floriferousness, during late summer to the end of the season. Let me at once state that its winning point is the delicious scent of its pure white flowers; it is very powerful, and like that of the lilac and alder combined; the racemes are 2in. or 3in. long, and compactly formed of short-stalked flowers less than ½in. across; they are of good substance, and in form resemble the lilac flower minus the tube; the flower stems are somewhat woody, and foliaged to the base of the spike or raceme. The leaves are of varying sizes, oval, lance-shaped, and short-stalked, distinctly veined and slightly wrinkled, sharp but finely toothed, of a dark shining green colour on the upper and a greyish-green on the under side. The whole shrub is somewhat rough to the touch; the habit is bushy and branching, increasing in size from suckers; the numerous twiggy side shoots of the previous year's growth produce the flowers. It enjoys a light soil and sunny situation, and it may be planted anywhere in the shrubbery or borders as a first-class flowering subject. Its scent loads the air for some distance around, and pleasantly reminds one of spring flowers. Such sweet-smelling flowers are not too plentiful in September, and I know not a better one than this amongst hardy flowers for the late season. Its odour is fine and full; a single sprig now by me proves almost too much for the confinement of a room. This quality is invaluable in small flowers that can be freely cut, which, moreover, as in this case, are otherwise suitable for bouquet work. Propagated by cuttings and division of the suckers, taken when growth has ceased; if put in sandy loam and a warm situation, they will become rooted during the following spring. Flowering period, August and September. Colchicum Autumnale. MEADOW SAFFRON; _Common Name_, AUTUMNAL CROCUS; _Nat. Ord._ MELANTHACEÆ. A native bulbous perennial (see Fig. 25). The Colchicums are often confounded with the autumn-flowering species of croci, which they much resemble when in bloom; the similarity is the more marked by the absence, from both, of their leaves in that season, otherwise the leaves would prove to be the clearest mark of difference. Botanically they are far removed from each other, being of different orders, but there is no need to go into such distinctions, not, at any rate, in this case. [Illustration: FIG. 25. COLCHICUM AUTUMNALE (about one-sixth natural size.)] The flowers are well known and they need not be described further than by saying they are in form crocus-like, but much longer in the tubes and of a bright mauve-purple colour. The bulbs have no resemblance to the crocus whatever, being often four times the size of the crocus corms. Moreover, they are pear-shaped and covered with flaky wrappers of a chestnut brown colour; if examined, these coverings will be found, near the neck of the bulb, to be very numerous and slack fitting, extending above the ground, where they have the form of decayed or blackened foliage; a singular fact in connection with the roots is, they are not emitted from the base of the bulb, but from the side of the thickened or ovate part, and are short and tufty. In early spring the leaves, which are somewhat like the daffodil, but much broader and sheathed, are quickly grown; at the same time the fruit appears. In summer the foliage suddenly turns brown, and in the autumn nothing is seen but blackened foliage, which is very persistent, and which, a little later, acts as sheaths for the long-tubed flowers. Unless the weather be very unfavourable, these flowers last a long time--fully two weeks. The double variety, which is somewhat scarce, is even more lasting, and I may add, it is a form and colour so softly and richly shaded that it is nothing short of exquisite; but the single variety, now more especially under notice, is also capable of agreeably surprising its friends when used in certain ways, for instance, as follows: A tray of the bright green and nearly transparent selaginella, so common in all greenhouses, should form the ground for twos or threes of these simple but elegant Saffron flowers; no other should be placed near--their simplicity forms their charm. It will be seen that the robust but soft-coloured flower of the meadows harmonises finely with the more delicately grown moss. In other ways this fine autumnal flower may be used with pleasing effect in a cut state, and it blends well with the more choice exotics. This is more than can be said of many hardy flowers, and it is fortunate that during dull weather, when we are driven from our gardens, there are still some flowers which may be hastily gathered and so arranged indoors as to give us all the pleasure which only such flowers can yield at such a season. I find this subject to do well in any situation, but I think the blooms are a richer colour if grown under partial shade. The bulbs should not be disturbed if abundance of flowers are wanted; but if it is found desirable to propagate them, the bulbs may be lifted every two or three years, when the tops have withered, and when there will probably be found a goodly crop of young tubers. Flowering period, September and October. Colchicum Variegatum. _Nat. Ord._ MELANTHACEÆ. This comes from Greece, nevertheless it is perfectly hardy; it is not only peculiarly pretty when closely examined, but a truly handsome flower, either as cut bloom or seen in groups in a growing state. Compared with _C. autumnale_, it is shorter in the tube, or more dwarf; still, it is a larger flower, and its rosy purple petals, or divisions of the corolla, are more spear-shaped, and each from 2in. to 3in. long; they have a stout and almost white mid-rib, the other parts of the segments being distinctly and beautifully chequered with white and rosy purple; the tube is stout, and of transparent whiteness; the foliage less than that of the British species, and more wavy. The habit of the flowers is erect, and during sunshine they become flatly expanded, when they will be 4in. to 5in. across, being 3in. to 4in. high. It is a very durable flower, lasting at least a fortnight, and many are produced from one bulb, appearing in succession, so that the blooming period is well extended; it braves the worst weather with little or no damage. Unlike the longer-tubed varieties, it is never seen in a broken state, and it is this which mainly renders it superior. Either as a cut flower, or a decorative subject for the borders or rockwork, it is a first-rate plant, being neat and showy. It enjoys a sandy loam in a moist but warm situation; at the base of a small rockwork having a southern aspect it flourishes to perfection; it can hardly be planted wrongly provided there is no stagnant moisture. Propagated like _C. autumnale_, than which it is of slower increase. Flowering period, September and October. Coreopsis Auriculata. EAR-LEAVED COREOPSIS; _Nat. Ord._ COMPOSITÆ. [Illustration: FIG. 26. COREOPSIS AURICULATA. (One-fourth natural size.)] The oldest species of the genus grown in English gardens; its flowers are yellow, but dotted at the base of the ray florets. The leaves, as implied by the name, are dissimilar to other species, being lobed and having ear-like appendages; but this feature is far from constant, and otherwise the leaves differ, being sub-sessile and oval-lance-shaped (see Fig. 26). It came from North America as long ago as 1699. Slugs are very fond of these plants, and in winter more especially, when the dormant eyes are not only in a green, but exposed state; they should be watched after, or during one mild night the whole may be grazed off, to the great injury of the plant. Its habit, uses, culture, and propagation are the same as for _C. tenuifolia_. Coreopsis Grandiflora. LARGE-FLOWERED COREOPSIS; _Nat. Ord._ COMPOSITÆ. In many parts this resembles _C. lanceolata_, its main distinction being implied by its name. The flowers are larger and the ray florets more deeply cut; it is also bolder in the foliage, and the stems grow nearly as strong as willows. It is an abundant bloomer, and a good specimen is a glorious object during the autumn. It comes from North America, but my experience of it is that it is not so hardy as _C. lanceolata_ and _C. auriculata_. Habit, uses, culture, and propagation, as for _C. lanceolata_. Coreopsis Lanceolata. SPEAR-LEAVED COREOPSIS; _Nat. Ord._ COMPOSITÆ. This form of bright yellow flower is in great favour during August, but that is not all. The various kinds of this genus are plants of the easiest culture, and their rich flowers are produced in great quantities from midsummer to the time the frosts begin. This species has been said to be only of a biennial character; it is, however, understood generally to be perennial, though not quite so hardy as others which come from the colder climates of America. It was imported from Carolina in 1724, and in this country proves hardy in selected situations, where its roots are comparatively dry in winter, and I may add that it proves a true perennial. When the plant has attained the height of a foot it begins to flower; each bloom has a long pedicel, nearly naked, also round and smooth. The flowers are a shining yellow colour, and nearly 3in. across; the florets of the ray are flatly arranged, shield-shaped, pleated, and four-toothed, the teeth being sometimes jagged; the disk is small for so large a flower; the florets brown and yellow. The double involucrum, common to the genus, has its upper set of bracteoles rolled outward; they are of a brownish colour; the lower set are green and wheel-shaped during the period of a perfect ray, and they alternate with the upper ones. The leaves, as may be inferred from the specific name, are lance-shaped, 2in. to 6in. long, smooth and entire; they are attenuated to the stems, which they more or less clasp. The habit of the plant is much branched, but only slightly at base; it becomes top-heavy from the numerous shoots near the top, which cause it to be procumbent; otherwise this subject would rank with tall growers. It is one of the most useful flowers, both, in the garden and when cut, the long stalks in both cases adding much to its effectiveness; its form and brightness are sure to commend it, no matter whether it happens to be a fashionable flower or otherwise. It is at once a bold and delicate form, and one that harmonises with any other kinds and colours. It should be grown in deeply-dug and well-enriched earth, and, as already hinted, the drier the situation the more safely will it winter. Not only that, but on raised beds or banks sloping to the full sunshine it will also flower to perfection. All its family, so far as I have proved them, hate excessive moisture. Its propagation may be by division, as in this damp climate it does not seem to ripen seed, but I have found sometimes not a little difficulty in dividing the woody roots, as frequently there is only one stem below the surface with roots. When there are more the difficulty is lessened, but I have noticed that the stronger branches which are weighted to the ground form rudimentary roots where in contact with the earth. These may either be pegged and covered with soil, or cut off and made into cuttings, removing most of the tops. If the latter is done during August they will become well rooted before the frosts appear. Flowering period, July to October. Coreopsis Tenuifolia. SLENDER-LEAVED COREOPSIS; _Nat. Ord._ COMPOSITÆ. Hardy, herbaceous, and perennial; a native of North America, and a distinct species, from its finely-cut foliage and small, dark, orange-yellow flowers. For several weeks it has a few flowers, but during September it literally covers itself with bloom, so that it is one of the most pleasing objects in the garden. It grows 2 ft. high; each flower has a long nearly nude stalk, slender but wiry; the flowers are 1½in. across, and of a deep yellow colour; the florets of the ray are more distant from each other than is the case with many of the genus; the disk is small, dark brown, but changing from the appearance and disappearance of the yellow seed organs. The foliage, as may be seen by the illustration (Fig. 27), is deeply and finely cut, of a dark green colour, and so arranged that each node has a nearly uniform dressing; the main stems are slender, and bend gracefully with the least breeze, and otherwise this plant proves a lively subject. Its habit is bushy and very floriferous, and it is well worth a place in every garden. It cannot fail to win admiration; even when growing, and before the flowers appear, it is a refreshing plant to look upon. In a cut state, the bloom, if taken with long stems, is well adapted for relieving large and more formal kinds. Tastes differ, and in, perhaps, nothing more than floral decorations; all tastes have a right to a share of indulgence, and in claiming my privilege in the use of this flower, I should place two or three sprays (stems) alone in a glass or bright vase, but there might be added a spike of the cardinal flower or a pair of single dahlias and a falling spray of the Flame nasturtium (_Tropæolum speciosum_). This plant should have a rich soil, sunny aspect, and a raised or well-drained site, and this is all it needs; it is not a subject to increase fast; not only, however, may it be easily divided, but if properly done after the tops have died down, the smallest pieces will make good blooming stock the first season. [Illustration: FIG. 27. COREOPSIS TENUIFOLIA. (One-sixth natural size; _a_, half natural size.)] Flowering period, August and September. Cornus Canadensis. CANADIAN CORNELL, _or_ DOGWOOD; _Nat. Ord._ CORNACEÆ. This pretty herbaceous plant is sometimes said to be a British species; its specific name, however, somewhat forbids that opinion. _C. suecica_, which is British, is very similar in all its parts, and the two may have been confounded. They flower, however, at very different dates, _C. Canadensis_ beginning in June and continuing until well into autumn; during the month of August the flowers are in their finest form and greatest numbers. It grows 6in. to 8in. high, and notwithstanding its dwarfness, it proves a most attractive object, being not only conspicuous for so small a plant, but chastely beautiful. [Illustration: FIG. 28. CORNUS CANADENSIS. (One-half natural size.)] The flowers are exceedingly small, strictly speaking, and are arranged in a minute umbel in the midst of a bract of four white pink-tinted leaves; these latter are commonly taken for the petals, and, as may be seen in the illustration (Fig 28), the real flowers will only appear as so many stamens; but at their earlier stage these are of a yellowish colour; later the purplish style becomes prominent and imparts that colour to the umbel, and, in due time, small fruit are formed. All the while the bract of pleasing white leaves remain in unimpaired condition; they are arranged in two pairs, one of larger size than the other, somewhat heart-shaped and bluntly-pointed, richly tinted at their edges and tips with a bright pink colour, and forming a flower-like bract 1½in. across the broadest part. The bract and pedicels of the umbel all spring from the extremity of a peduncle 1½in. long, square, but of wiry character; this grows from the midst of a whorl of six leaves, and sometimes only four. They are in pairs, one pair being larger than their fellows, and are from 1½in. to 2in. long, elliptical-oblong, entire, smooth, waved, distinctly veined, tinted with pink at the tips and edges, and of a pale apple-green colour. On the stem, below the whorl of leaves, there is one pair more, varying only in size, being rather less. The habit of the species is neatness itself. From the slightly creeping roots, the perennial stems are produced separately, forming compact colonies of bright foliage, topped with its lively bracts. It is a suitable plant for the moist parts of rockwork, where it may be grown with such things as _Cardamine trifolia_, _Galax aphylla_, _Pyrola rotundifolia_, and _Salix reticulata_, and it would form a rich edging to choice dwarf plants, more especially if the position were gutter-formed, as it loves moisture in abundance. In such positions as those just mentioned, together with a light vegetable soil, this plant will grow to perfection, and that it is worth a proper place is evidenced by its long-continued blooming. Many flowers come and go during its period of attractiveness, and, after the summer flush, it is one to remain, braving alike the hot sunshine and heavy rain. Its propagation is by division of the roots in autumn or very early spring. Flowering period, June to October. Corydalis Lutea. YELLOW FUMITORY; _Nat. Ord._ FUMARIACEÆ. A native herbaceous perennial, though somewhat rare in a wild state. As grown in gardens, where it seems to appreciate cultural attentions, it proves both useful and effective, especially when placed in partial shade (when its foliage has an almost maiden-hair-like appearance), or as an edging it proves both neat and beautiful. It seldom exceeds a foot in height. The flowers are small, a yellow, white and green mixture, the yellow predominating; they are produced in loose spare racemes, on well-foliaged diffuse stems, which are also angular; the calyx is composed of two leaves; the petals are four, forming a snapdragon-like flower. The leaves are bipinnate, leaflets wedge-shape, trifoliate, and glaucous; the foliage very dense, having a pretty drooping habit. It flowers all summer, and is one of the most useful plants in a garden to cut from, the foliage being more valuable than the flowers. Its native habitats are said to be old walls and ruins, but I have proved it for years to do grandly in ordinary garden soil, both exposed and in the shade of fruit trees. When once established it propagates itself freely by seed. I ought to add that it answers admirably grown in pots for window decoration, the rich foliage nearly hiding the pot. Flowering period, May to October. Corydalis Nobilis. NOBLE _or_ GREAT-FLOWERED CORYDALIS; _Nat. Ord._ FUMARIACEÆ. [Illustration: FIG. 29. CORYDALIS NOBILIS. (One-half natural size; blossom, natural size.)] A hardy tuberose perennial, imported from Siberia in 1783. It is one of that section of the Fumitories called "Hollowe Roote," the appropriateness of which name is most amply illustrated in the species now under consideration. If, in the first or second month of the year, a strong specimen is examined, the long and otherwise stout tuberous root will be found, immediately under the healthy and plump crown, to be not only hollow, but so decayed that the lower and heavy fleshy parts of the root, which are attached to the crown by a narrow and very thin portion of the root bark, in such a way as to suggest that the lower parts might as well be cut off as useless--but, let me say, do not cut it. If it is intended to replant the specimen, let it go back to "Mother Earth" with all its parts, deformed as some may seem to us; otherwise _Corydalis nobilis_ will be anything but a noble plant at the flowering season; it may not die, but it will probably make for itself another "hollowe roote" before it produces any flowers, The habit and form of this plant are perfect (see Fig. 29), and there are other points of excellence about it which cannot be shown by an engraving, in the way of the arrangements of colours and shades. Seldom does the little plant, so full of character, exceed a height of 8in. The specimen from which the drawing was made was 7in., and grown fully exposed in a pot plunged in sand. Another plant, grown on rockwork, "high and dry," is about the same size, but it looks better fed. Probably the long roots are short of depth in pots, and the amount of decay may soon poison the handful of mould contained therein. Be that as it may, the specimens grown in pots have a hungry appearance compared with those less confined at the roots. The flowers are a pleasing mixture of white, yellow, brown, and green. The four petals are of such a shape and so arranged as to form a small snapdragon-like flower. These are densely produced in a terminal cluster in pyramid form on the stout and richly-foliaged stem; dense as is the head of flowers, every floret is alternated with a richly-cut leaf, both diminishing in size as they near the top. The older flowers become yellow, with two petals tipped with brown, the younger ones have more white and green, and the youngest are a rich blend of white and green; the head or truss is therefore very beautiful in both form and colour, and withal exquisitely scented, like peach blossom and lilac. The leaves are stalked bipinnate; leaflets three-parted, cut, and glaucous; there are few plants with more handsome foliage, and its beauty is further enhanced by the gracefully bending habit of the whole compound leaf. The flowers are too stiff for cutting, and otherwise their fine forms, colours, and perfume cannot well be enjoyed unless the plants are grown either in pots or at suitable elevations on rockwork, the latter being the more preferable way. The long blooming period of this plant adds not a little to its value, lasting, as it does, quite a month, the weather having little or no effect on the flowers. Any kind of sweet garden soil seems to do for it, and its propagation is carried out by careful root division. Flowering period, April to June. Corydalis Solida. _Common Name_, FUMITORY; _Nat. Ord._ FUMARIACEÆ. This is said to be a British species, but it is a doubtful, as well as somewhat scarce one. Though but a small plant of the height of 6in. or 8in., it is very effective, being compact with finely-cut foliage of a pale glaucous green, and the stems pleasingly tinted. For some weeks in early spring it forms a graceful object on rockwork, where it seems to thrive well. The flowers, which are purple, are not showy; still, they are effective from the way in which they are borne, as the illustration (Fig. 30) will show. Its specific name is in reference to its root, which is bulbous and solid. Many of the Fumitories have remarkably hollow roots, and one of the old names of this genus is written "Hollowe roote." When the flowers fade the whole plant withers, nothing being left but the bulbous roots to complete their ripening; still, this should not hinder its extensive cultivation, because it not only appears in its best form when flowers are rare, but also because it is so pleasingly distinct. [Illustration: FIG. 30. CORYDALIS SOLIDA. (One-half natural size.)] I find it to do well on rockwork, also in well-drained borders of light loam. It should be allowed to increase until it forms good-sized tufts, which it soon does. To propagate it, it is only necessary to divide the tubers any time from July to October. Flowering period, February to May. Crocus Medius. _Nat. Ord._ IRIDACEÆ. This is a charming kind, seldom seen and, perhaps, little known; the name would imply that it is a variety having equal traits of two other forms. It blooms in January and the flowers appear without any foliage. So well is the Crocus known, it will only be needful to state the more striking features of the one under notice. The flowers are produced on tubes 3in. to 5in. long, and stoutly formed; the colour is a shaded lilac-purple, striped with darker lines; the petals or divisions of the perianth are 1½in. long and ½in. broad, shining or satiny, and become well expanded during the short moments of winter sunshine; the stamens are half the length of perianth, of a fine deep orange colour, and covered with a thick coat of pollen all their visible length. In rich contrast with these is the style, with its tuft of filaments of a bright orange scarlet colour. From this description it will be seen that the flower is a rather small Crocus, but from the soft tints of the perianth, and more pronounced and bright colours of the seed organs, it is one of much beauty. These features, added to the facts of the bloom appearing in winter and having the scent of wild roses, are sure to render it a favourite kind wherever grown. The leaves are short and narrow, almost grassy. It enjoys a light but rich loam and sunny aspect, and increases itself freely by offsets of the matured corms, clumps of which may be divided after the foliage has withered. Flowering period, January. Cyananthus Lobatus. _Nat. Ord._ POLEMONACEÆ. A small plant with a large flower, a veritable gem; no collection of choice alpines can be complete without this species. A native of Chinese Tartary, brought to this country in 1844, where it proves perfectly hardy in the most exposed parts of the open garden; it is herbaceous and perennial; its large and brilliant flowers are very beautiful, but all its other parts are small, as may be seen in the illustration (Fig. 31). It is seldom met with except in collections of rare plants, but there is no reason why it should not be more commonly grown, as its requirements are now well understood. It is not a showy subject, but, when examined, it proves of exquisite beauty. The flowers are of a bright purple-blue colour, over an inch across, the petals being of good substance, tongue-shaped, and falling backwards, when the china-like whiteness about the top of the tube becomes more exposed; the calyx is very large, nearly egg-shaped, having five finely-pointed and deeply-cut segments; the bulky-looking part, which has an inflated appearance, is neatly set on a slender stem, and densely furnished with short black hairs of even length; this dusky coat has a changeable effect, and adds not only to the character, but also to the beauty of the flower. The small attenuated leaves are alternate and laxly arranged on the flower stems, which are 6in. to 12in. long, round, and nearly red. Each leaf is less than 1in. long, distinctly lobed with five or more lobes, and all the edges are turned back, causing the foliage to appear thick and well finished; the foliage of the stems not bearing flowers is more closely set. The habit of the plant is procumbent; stems contorted, and producing solitary flowers. [Illustration: FIG. 31. CYANANTHUS LOBATUS. (Natural size.)] It should be grown on rockwork, where its stems can nestle between the stones and its roots find plenty of moisture, as in a dip or hollowed part; the long and fleshy roots love to run in damp leaf mould and sand. The position should be open and sunny, in order to have flowers. Cuttings may be taken during summer, and struck in sandy peat kept moist, or strong roots may be divided. The latter method is the less desirable, not only because of jeopardising the parent stock but also because strong roots show to greater advantage when not separated. Flowering period, September and October. Cypripedium Calceolus. ENGLISH LADY'S SLIPPER; _Nat. Ord._ ORCHIDACEÆ. This well-known terrestrial orchid is a rare British plant, very beautiful, and much admired, so much so, indeed, that many desire to grow it. It happens, however, that it seldom thrives under cultural treatment, and seems to prefer a home of its own selection, but its habitats are said now to be very few in Great Britain, it having been hunted out and grubbed up everywhere. Fortunately, it can be grown in gardens, and in good form, though rarely seen thus. To see well-grown flowers of this orchid either makes us feel more contented with our own climate or strongly reminds us of others where the most gorgeous varieties of flowers and fruit grow wild. It is large and striking, fragrant, and very beautiful; no one can see it, especially in a growing state, without being charmed by its freshness and simplicity; it also forms one of the finest specimens for the student in botany, and in every way it is a plant and flower of the highest merit (see Fig. 32). It should be in all collections of choice plants, and every amateur should persevere until he succeeds in establishing it. [Illustration: FIG. 32. CYPRIPEDIUM CALCEOLUS. (One-third natural size.)] Under cultivation it flowers in early May, at a height of 9in. to 12in.; the flowers are composed of a calyx of three brownish-purple sepals, which have only the appearance of two, from the fact of the lower two being joined or grown together, and even so combined they are somewhat less than the upper sepal. The division may be observed at the tips, though in some specimens it is microscopic--in the one now by me it is hardly the eighth of an inch. Two petals; these are cross-form in relation to the sepals, of the same colour, and a little longer--about 2in.--narrow, drooping, pointed, and slightly twisted when a few days old; lip, "blown out like a slipper," shorter than the sepals, compressed, richly veined, and lemon yellow. The seed organs are curious, the stigma being foot-stalked, peltate, and placed between and above the anthers. The leaves are pale green, very hairy, many-ribbed, stem-clasping, alternate, ovate, and slightly wavy; the lower ones are 5in. or 6in. long and 2in. to 3in. wide, and pointed. The root is creeping, the fibres stout, long, wiry, and bent. During spring the plant makes rapid growth, and seldom bears more than one flower; for the first time a plant produced two with me in 1882. They are sweetly scented, like the primrose. Many amateurs, who have otherwise proved their knowledge of the requirements of plants by growing large and choice collections, have failed to establish this after many trials; and were it not for the fact that with me it is growing in various positions and under different modes of treatment, and that it has so grown for several years, I think I should not have ventured to give hints to experienced horticulturists. In my opinion, four conditions are strictly necessary in order to establish this native orchid in our garden: (1) A strong specimen with a goodly portion of the rhizoma attached; (2) Firm or solid planting during autumn; (3) Moist situation; (4) Shade from the mid-day sun. Further information may be best given by stating the _modus operandi_: Several years ago a number of good roots were planted in sandy loam of a calcareous nature. They were put in somewhat deeply, the roots carefully spread out, and the soil made solid by repeated waterings, the position being shaded by an apple tree. They are now well established, and only receive a top dressing of leaves and manure to keep them cool and moist in summer. At the same time a number were potted deeply in loam, peat, and broken oyster shells; when filling in the compost, it, too, was washed to the roots, so as to make all solid by frequent applications; the pots have always been kept in cool and shady quarters, and plunged; they bloom well every season. I have likewise found another plan to answer well. In a moist corner make up a low-lying bed of sand and peat, mostly sand, plant 9in. deep, and make all solid, as before, by water. When the growths appear on the surface, water with weak liquid manure, and if shade does not exist from the mid-day sun, some should be provided; in this way I am now growing my finest specimens; but if once the roots become dry, the plants will suffer a serious check. I feel equally confident that the roots enjoy a firm bed, but it should be of such material that they can freely run in it. Flowering period, May and June. Daphne Cneorum. TRAILING DAPHNE; _Common and Poetical Name_, GARLAND FLOWER; _Nat. Ord._ THYMELACEÆ. An alpine shrub from Austria; dwarf, evergreen, and having a tendency to creep. It is deservedly a great favourite; it wins admiration by its neat and compact form and its dense and numerous half-globular heads of rosy pink flowers, which are exceedingly fragrant, in the way of the old clove carnation, but more full. [Illustration: FIG. 33. DAPHNE CNEORUM. (One-fourth natural size; (1) flower, full size.)] The flower buds are formed during the previous season of growth, like those of the rhododendron; for many days before the flowers open the buds have a very pleasing appearance, being closely packed and coral-like; when all the florets are expanded they form a half-globular head 1in. to 1½in. across, being of a lively pink colour. The flowers are composed of a tubular calyx, four-parted; leaves inversely ovate, lanceolate, pointed, and entire; about an inch long, and narrow; of a dark green colour and much substance, being arranged in circular form on the round and somewhat wiry, tough stems, which in time become very long and bare. In order to grow this shrub well, three conditions are needful, viz., a moderately pure atmosphere, exposure to full sunshine, and plenty of moisture; it also prefers peat or vegetable soil, but this is not strictly needful if the other conditions are present. I have grown the specimen, from part of which the illustration (Fig. 33) was drawn, for four years in rich loam, without a particle of peat, but the roots have been protected against drought by large stones at the base of small rockwork. Doubtless, peat, where it is plentiful, used in addition to the above compost, would prove beneficial. After a few years' growth in one position, bushes which have become long and bare in the stems may be transplanted with advantage, laying in the stems to a moderate depth, from which new roots will issue the first season; this is also the readiest way of propagation. February or September would be suitable months for such operation, but the latter would probably interfere with its flowering at that time, when frequently a second but spare crop is produced. Flowering periods, April and May, and again in September. Daphne Mezereum. MEZEREON; _Old Names_, SPURGE-FLAX, GERMAN OLIVE-SPURGE, _and_ DWARF BAY; _Nat. Ord._ THYMELACEÆ. This is a dwarf deciduous shrub, which produces its welcome flowers in great abundance whilst bare of leaves; it is a British species, though not occurring generally, yet it is pretty well known from its extensive cultivation as a garden shrub. The flowers are very desirable, from the way in which they are produced in knotted clusters on the long stems; they appear in winter; moreover, they are of a hardy and durable nature and very sweetly scented. As a shrub it is very suitable for any sized garden, being dwarf--2ft. to 4ft. In some parts it is a general favourite, and may be seen in almost every garden; such patronage is well merited, as it not only enlivens the garden at a dead season, but it heralds spring time and furnishes long sprigs of wallflower-scented blossom as cut bloom, which shows to advantage by gaslight. There are interesting facts in connection with this shrub that add to its charm. It was esteemed of old of great virtue; all its parts are hot and biting, more especially the berries, of which it was said that "if a drunkard do eate--he cannot be allured to drinke any drinke at that time: such will be the heate of his mouth and choking in the throte." Its wood is very soft and tough, and cannot easily be broken; this, however is a quality common to the genus. The berries are poisonous to man, but birds are so fond of them that they are rarely allowed to become ripe, at least, such is the case near towns. The seeds of this and allied species are used in the South of Europe as a yellow dye for wool. From its importance, the shrub has been long and widely known, and both its botanical and common names are numerous; for these, however, the reader may not care. It is seldom called by any other than its specific name, Mezereon, which Gerarde describes as English-Dutch. Its flowers, which are purple, come on the otherwise naked stems of last season's growth, lateral fashion, in threes mostly, and sometimes the blossomed stems will be over a foot in length; the flowers are ½in. long, sessile and funnel-shaped; the limb four-cut; sweet smelling and very durable. The berries are the size of a small pea, bright green at first, then turning to red, and ultimately to a nearly black colour. The leaves--lance-shaped, smooth, and deciduous--appear after the flowers. The habit is branched and erect, forming neat bushes. In a wild state it flowers in March and April, but under cultivation it is much earlier. In the garden it may be planted under other trees, where it proves one of a scarce class of shade-loving flowering shrubs; it also does well in open quarters. In gardens, where its fruit is unmolested, it is, perhaps, more attractive than when in blossom, as then the foliage adds to its beauty. The flowers in a cut state are serviceable, pretty, and desirable from their sweetness; long sprigs mixed with lavender or rosemary form a winter bouquet not to be despised; or, it may be placed in a vase, with a few small-leaved ivy trails and a spray of evergreen bamboo (Metake). Gerarde's description of this shrub will, doubtless, be read with interest: "The braunches be tough, limber, and easie to bend, very soft to be cut; whereon do grow long leaves like those of priuet, but thicker and fatter. The flowers come foorth before the leaves, oftentimes in the moneth of Januarie, clustering togither about the stalks at certain distances, of a whitish colour tending to purple, and of a most fragrant and pleasant sweet smell. After come the smal berries--of an exceeding hot and burning taste, inflaming the mouth and throte of those that do taste thereof, with danger of choking." Flowering period, February to April. There is a variety called _D. M. album_; the only difference from the typical form is implied by the name, the flowers being white. It also is in bloom at the same time as the species. _D. M. autumnale_ is another variety, which, however, blooms in the autumn; the flowers are red; it is a native of Europe. These shrubs enjoy a light but moist soil of a vegetable nature, but they also thrive in a sandy loam. They may be increased by seed, or, more quickly, by grafting on stocks of spurge laurel; cuttings may be rooted, but are uncertain. Dentaria Digitata. TOOTHWORT; _Nat. Ord._ CRUCIFERÆ. A hardy, tuberous perennial, native of Switzerland, but long cultivated in British gardens, and decidedly "old-fashioned." Imagine a spray of pale purple wallflower, and that will give some idea of the form and colour of its flowers, which are produced on round wiry stems, nearly a foot high, in terminal racemes. The leaves, which are produced mostly in threes on a stem, have a channelled petiole, and, as the specific name denotes, are spread out like fingers, mostly of five parts; a five-cut leaf of a Christmas rose will give a fair notion of the form, but the Toothwort leaves are less, not so thick, and more herb-like than the hellebore; they are also finely, deeply, but irregularly toothed. The roots are of singular form, almost like human teeth, arranged as scales, whence the name Toothwort. Its first appearance above ground is in February, when the young growths are bent or folded like those of the anemone, and in genial seasons it will flower early in March. It loves both a little shade and moisture. I grow it at the base of a bit of rockwork, in black or leaf mould; the aspect is south-east, but an old sun-dial screens it from the mid-day sun. The whole plant has a somewhat quaint appearance, but it has proved a great favourite. When the tops have died down the roots can safely be lifted, cut in lengths of one or two inches, and then replanted. It also produces seed freely, but from the easy method of increase by root division, I have not had occasion to experiment with seed. Flowering period, March to May. Dianthus Deltoides. MAIDEN PINK; _Old Names_, "WILD GILLOFLOWER," "VIRGIN-LIKE PINKE," "MAIDENLY PINKE"; _Nat. Ord._ CARYOPHYLLACEÆ--SILENACEÆ. A British species of perennial character, never failing to bloom for a long period when it meets with a suitable home in our gardens--as in positions similar to those described for _Erysimum pumilum_. Seen either wild or in gardens it is much admired; it bears but simple flowers, but therein consists its beauty. As Gerarde says, "Virgin-like Pinke is like unto the rest of the garden pinkes in stalkes, leaves, and rootes. The flowers are of a blush colour, whereof it tooke his name, which sheweth the difference from the other." It is about the most simple form of the Pink tribe. The flowers are a little over ½in. across, of a rose colour or pleasing blush. It grows nearly a foot high in some soils, but in a poor compost it is more dwarf and floriferous. The flower stems are much divided near the tops, and capable of producing a good effect from their numbers of bright flowers. The leaves are small, scarcely 1in. long, linear, lance-shaped, and of a dark green colour; they are closely arranged on decumbent stems, which sometimes are more than 1ft. long. The habit is compact, both as regards leaves, stems, and flowers. For all such places as afford dryness at the roots this is a suitable plant as a constant bloomer of effective colour. When once it has become established it seeds freely, and the young plants may be seen in the walks for yards around the parent stock. It is one of those happy subjects that can take care of themselves, either braving its enemies or having none. In its wild state it blooms from the sixth to the tenth month, both inclusive; but with cultural attention and during favourable winters, it has been seen in flower to the end of the year. Flowering period, June to October. Dianthus Hybridus. _Syn._ D. MULTIFLORUS; MULE PINK; _Nat. Ord._ CARYOPHYLLACEÆ. Hardy and evergreen. The specific name of this variety is not at all descriptive, and it may be better to at once give its common name of Mule Pink, of which there are various colours, as bright scarlet, rose and pure white, all very double and neat flowers. It is the double rose kind which has induced me to speak of this section of the Pink and Sweetwilliam family. I dare say many will be surprised when I state that my strongest plant of this has been in flower more than two years. Severe as the 1881 winter was, when the plant was clear of snow it was seen to have both flowers and buds--in fact, for two years it has flowered unceasingly; the other varieties are not such persistent bloomers. The genus to which these hybrids belong is very numerous, and includes Carnations, Picotees, garden and alpine Pinks and Sweetwilliams. They are all remarkable for their fresh green and glaucous foliage and handsome flowers. Some species or varieties are amongst the "old-fashioned" garden plants of Parkinson's time, and all are characterised by an exquisite perfume. The Latin name of this genus is a very happy one, meaning "divine flower," in reference to its fragrance. Nearly every form and colour of Dianthus are popular favourites, and hardly any garden is without some of them. The Mule Pink is supposed to have been produced from _D. barbatus_ and _D. plumarius_; be that as it may, the features of both are distinctly seen in it: the colour and partial form of the foliage, the form of stems, and clustered arrangement of the buds much resemble _D. barbatus_ or Sweetwilliam; whilst the stout reflexed and pointed features of the leaves, and the general form of the small but double flowers resemble _D. plumarius_, or the garden Pink. To this description of _D. hybridus_ I will only add that in both foliage and flowers there is more substance than in either of its reputed parents, and the habit of the plant is semi-trailing or procumbent, as seen in specimens three years old. It is rather more difficult to grow than the common Pink. Any position or soil will not answer; it does well on rockwork, where it can hardly suffer from damp, so much disliked by all the genus; but if thus planted, it should be where its thickly-foliaged stems cannot be turned over and wrenched by strong winds. It may be grown in borders in sandy loam; and if such borders are well drained, as they always should be for choice flowers, there will be little to fear as to its thriving. Such an excellent flower, which, moreover, is perpetually produced, deserves some extra care, though, beyond the requirements already mentioned, it will give very little trouble. To increase it, the readiest way is to layer the shoots about midsummer, half cutting through the stems, as for Carnations; thus treated, nice plants will be formed by October, when they may be lifted and transplanted to their blooming quarters; and I may here state that a line of it, when in flower, is richly effective. A good style also is to make a bold clump by setting ten or twelve plants 9in. apart. Another mode of propagation is to take cuttings at midsummer and dibble them into boxes of leaf soil and sand. Keep them shaded and rather close for a week or more. If the boxes could be placed in a cucumber frame, the bottom heat and moisture would be a great help to them. The object to aim at should be not only to root the cuttings, but to grow them on to fair-sized plants for putting out in the autumn. To do this, when the cuttings are rooted they should be planted 6in. apart in a bed made up of well decayed manure and sand, in which it will be seen that they will make plenty of roots and become sturdy plants. The wireworm and slugs are both very fond of Pinks and Carnations. Slugs should be trapped, but the wireworm, unfortunately, has often done the mischief before we become aware of its presence, and even then it is a troublesome pest to get rid of. I find nothing more useful than stirring and digging the soil as soon as there is room to work with a spade or fork; the worm cannot endure frequent disturbance, and such operations are otherwise beneficial to the plants. Flowering period, May to September. Dodecatheon Jeffreyanum. _Nat. Ord._ PRIMULACEÆ. This is a distinct and noble species. The older leaves are more spoon-shaped, at least a foot long, rather narrow, not toothed, of a reddish colour at the base, and the mid-rib pale green, almost straw-colour; the flower scape is also reddish, but the flowers are fewer. As a foliage plant this species is very effective. All the Dodecatheons make a rapid growth in spring, their scapes being developed with the leaves; the genus will continue in flower for two months, after which time, however, their foliage begins to dry up. They should, therefore, be planted with other subjects of later growth and blooming, so as to avoid blank spaces. The overshading foliage of other things will do them no harm, as it will be only for a season. The position should be moist and somewhat sheltered from high winds, or the stout and tender flower stems will be snapped off. The soil should be of a vegetable character and retentive of moisture. My specimens are grown in leaf soil and loam, in a dip of small rockwork. All the kinds were planted that a large flat stone, which we had ready, would so fit to, or over, them as to secure their roots against drought. This I find a good plan with moisture-loving subjects, where suitable positions are not otherwise readily offered. Besides, the varieties so grown have a pleasing appearance, and for purposes of comparison are very handy. Their propagation is easy. The crowns may be divided either in spring or autumn, the latter being the best time, as then probably each piece will flower the following spring. Flowering period, April to June. Dodecatheon Meadia. SHOOTING STAR, _or_ AMERICAN COWSLIP; _Nat. Ord._ PRIMULACEÆ. A distinct and pretty herbaceous perennial, very hardy and floriferous. Those who do not readily recognise it by any of the above names, may do so by the illustration (Fig. 34). It has long been grown in English gardens--nearly 150 years--its habitat being North America. Not only does it do well in this climate, but since its introduction several improved varieties of this species have been produced, which are both good and distinct. A brief notice of them will not be out of place here, but first the general description may as well be given. [Illustration: FIG. 34. DODECATHEON MEADIA. (One-sixth natural size.)] The flowers much resemble the Cyclamen, but they are only about one-fourth the size; the calyx is five-parted; the corolla has five stout petals inserted in the tube of calyx; they are well reflexed and rather twisted; their colour is purplish-lilac, but at the base of the petals there is a rich blending of maroon and yellow. The seed organs are very long, compact, and pointed, giving the appearance of shooting stars. The flowers are arranged in fine clusters on a scape more than a foot high, each flower having a rather long, wiry, and gracefully bending pedicel; all of them spring from one centre. The leaves are radical, oblong, smooth, dented, and wavy, about 8in. long and nearly 3in. broad. _D. M. albiflorum_ I do not grow, but from what I remember of it, it differs from the above only in being less vigorous and in having white flowers. _D. M. elegans_.--Shorter and broader in leaf, and roundly toothed; flower stems shorter, umbels more numerously flowered, bloom deeper in colour. _D. M. giganteum_ has a very large leaf, much larger than the typical form of the species, and of a pale green colour, and in all other respects it is larger, being also more than a week earlier in flower. Flowering period, April to June. Dondia Epipactis. _Syns._ ASTRANTIA EPIPACTIS _and_ HACQUETIA EPIPACTIS; _Nat. Ord._ UMBELLIFERÆ. This is a little gem, perhaps rather overdone with too many big names; still, this choice, hardy, herbaceous perennial is worth knowing by all its titles. Never more than 6in. high, its singular flowers are very attractive; they spring from the ground almost abruptly, are greenish-yellow and leafy in appearance--in fact, what at first sight might seem to be the petals are really but whorled bracts, which embrace the tiny umbels of flowers. Soon after the flowers the leaves begin to appear, unfolding like many of the anemones, each one springing from the root only; they also are of a peculiar colour and shape, being three-lobed and finely notched. It will stand any amount of rough weather, always having a fresh appearance when above ground. It forms a choice specimen for pot culture in cold frames or amongst select rock plants; it should be grown in mostly vegetable mould, as peat or leaf mould, and have a moist position. Not only is it a slow-growing subject, but it is impatient of being disturbed; its propagation should therefore only be undertaken in the case of strong and healthy clumps, which are best divided before growth commences in February. Flowering period, April and May. Doronicum Caucasicum. LEOPARD'S-BANE; _Syn._ D. ORIENTALE; _Nat. Ord._ COMPOSITÆ. The specific name denotes sufficiently whence this comes. It is hardy, herbaceous, and perennial, and one of those plants which deserves to be in every garden; its general appearance is that of a tender plant, from the pale but fine delicate green of its foliage, a somewhat uncommon shade for so early a season. It begins to flower in March in a warm situation in the garden, when only a few inches high, and it goes on growing and flowering until summer, when it is nearly 2ft. high. A glance at Fig. 35 will give a fair idea of its habit. [Illustration: FIG. 35. DORONICUM CAUCASICUM. (One-third natural size.)] The flowers, which are bright yellow, are 2½in. across, produced one at a time, though the leafy stems are well supplied with buds in various stages of development. The leaves, besides being so rich in colour, are of handsome forms, being variously shaped, some having long stalks, others none; all are finely toothed and heart-shaped; the radical ones come well out and form a good base, from which the flower stems rise, and they in their turn serve to display the richly veined and ample foliage which clasps them to near their tops. Although this species is not a very old plant in English gardens, it belongs to a genus, several species of which are very "old-fashioned," and, consequently, it shares the esteem in which such subjects are held at the present time. If left alone, after being planted in fairly good soil, it will soon grow to a bold specimen. Plants three years old are 2ft. across; rockwork or ordinary borders are alike suitable for it, but if planted on the former, it should be of a bold character, so as to harmonise. I have observed that neither grubs nor slugs seem to meddle with this plant, which is certainly a rare recommendation. Its propagation may be carried out at almost any time. Flowering period, March to July. Echinacea Purpurea. _Syn._ RUDBECKIA PURPUREA; PURPLE CONE-FLOWER; _Nat. Ord._ COMPOSITÆ. In the autumn season one is almost confined to Composites, but in this subject there is, at any rate, a change, as regards colour. Yellows are indispensable, but then predominate too strongly. The flower under notice is a peculiar purple with greenish-white shadings. This will doubtless sound undesirable, but when the flower is seen it can hardly fail to be appreciated. It is much admired; in fact it is stately, sombre, and richly beautiful--not only an "old-fashioned" flower, but an old inhabitant of English gardens, coming, as it did, from North America in the year 1699. In every way the plant is distinct; it does not produce many flowers, but they individually last for several weeks, and their metallic appearance is a fitting symbol of their durability. They begin to expand in the early part of September, and well-established plants will have bloom until cut off by frost. The flowers are borne at the height of 2ft. to 3ft., and are produced singly on very thick, rigid stalks, long, nearly nude, grooved, furnished with numerous short, bristle-like hairs, and gradually thickening up to the involucrum of the flower. Said involucrum is composed of numerous small leaves, a distinguishing trait from its nearest relative genus _Rudbeckia_. The receptacle or main body of the flower is very bulky; the ray is fully 4in. across, the florets being short for so large a ray; they are set somewhat apart, slightly reflexed, plaited, and rolled at the edges, colour reddish-purple, paling off at the tips to a greyish-green; the disk is very large, rather flat, and furnished with spine-like scales, whence the name _Echinacea_, derived from _echinus_ (a hedgehog). In smelling this flower contact should therefore be avoided; it is rather forbidding; the disk has changeable hues of red, chocolate, and green. The leaves of the root are oval, some nearly heart-shaped, unevenly toothed, having long channelled stalks; those of the stems are lance-shaped, distinctly toothed, of stouter substance, short stalked, and, like those of the root, distinctly nerved, very rough on both sides, and during September quickly changes to a dark, dull, purple colour. The habit of the plant is rather "dumpy;" being spare of foliage, thick and straight in the stems, which are drum-stick like; it is for all that a pleasing subject when in flower; I consider the blooms too stiff for cutting, more especially as they face upwards. Unlike many species of its order, it is somewhat fickle. I have lost many plants of it; it likes neither shade nor too much moisture; latterly I have found it to do well in a sunny situation, in deep rich loam and vegetable soil mixed. If planted with other ray flowers it forms a fine contrast, and when once it has found suitable quarters the more seldom it is disturbed the better. It may be propagated by division, which may be more safely done after growth has fairly started in spring, or it may be done at the sacrifice of the flowers in late summer or early autumn, before growth or root action has ceased. Flowering period, September to end of October. Edraianthus Dalmaticus. _Nat. Ord._ CAMPANULACEÆ. A rare and beautiful alpine species, from Dalmatia and Switzerland. At the end of July it is one of the most distinct and charming flowers in the rock garden, where it not only finds a happy home, but, by its neat and peculiar habit, proves a decorative subject of much merit. This desirable plant (see Fig. 36) is quite hardy in this climate, being herbaceous and perennial; it has, however, the reputation of being difficult to manage, but, like numerous other things, when once its requirements and enemies are found out, the former supplied and protection from the latter afforded, it proves of easy management. In some instances these conditions may, though stated in such few words, prove comprehensive; but in this case it is not so. The position and soil it most seems to enjoy may be readily afforded in any garden, as we shall shortly see; but, so far as my experience goes, the slugs are its most persistent enemies. Especially when in flower do they make long journeys to reach it; they go over sand and ashes with impunity, and often the beautiful tufts of bloom are all grazed off in one night. I had occasion to fetch in from the garden the specimen now before me, and, when brought into the gaslight, a large slug was found in the midst of the grassy foliage, and a smaller one inside one of the bell flowers. The "catch and kill 'em" process is doubtless the surest remedy, and three hours after sunset seems to be the time of their strongest muster. Not only does this plant suffer from slugs when in flower, but perhaps equally as much when in its dormant state, especially if the winter is mild; then I have noticed the somewhat prominent crowns eaten entirely off, and it is not unlikely that this plant has come to have the name of a fickle grower, from being the favourite prey of slugs. [Illustration: FIG. 36. EDRAIANTHUS DALMATICUS. (One-half natural size.)] It is not more than 4in. high under any conditions in this climate, and more often only 3in. in height. From the thrift-like tufts of foliage there radiates a set of stout round flower stalks, which are 3in. to 4in. long, and rest on the ground; the large heads of flowers are erect; the stalks are red, and furnished with short stout hairs and short foliage, the latter becoming sere long before the bloom fades. The crowded heads of "bells" are of pale purple colour, in the style of the bell-flower; they are an inch in length, the corolla being somewhat deeply divided; eight to twelve form the terminal cluster, and they have a fleshy calyx, with very long and persistent segments; the lower part can scarcely be seen for the ample and somewhat peculiar bract which closely embraces the whole cluster; said bract springs from the much thickened stalk and is composed of half leaf and half scale-like forms, arranged in two or more circles; the scales feather off with the leaf-like appendage, the latter being reflexed, but the whole is furnished with spines. The foliage of a well-grown specimen is arranged in tufts, the whole having a grass-like appearance. The leaves are 2in. to 4in. long, rough and hairy on the upper side, smooth and shining underneath, the edges having rather long hairs their whole length; the main root is long, thick, and somewhat woody. To grow this plant well, it requires a good deep loam for its long roots, and a surfacing of grit will be of benefit, as the crowns should be clear of the damp loam. This elevation of the crowns is natural to the plant, and should be provided for. The position cannot well be too exposed, provided the deep searching roots can find plenty of moisture. On rockwork this subject may be planted with considerable effect. If put between large stones in upright positions, the plant will show its pretty form to advantage. The spoke-like flower stalks, radiating from the rich dark green tufts of foliage, are very pleasing. It may be propagated by offsets from strong and healthy plants. Care should be taken not only to have all the roots possible with each crown, but the young stock should be carefully established in pots before planting in the open. Shade and careful watering will be needful; too much of the latter will render rot inevitable. Soon as the flowering period is past is the best time to divide the roots, which should not be done too severely. Flowering period, July and August. Epigæa Repens. CREEPING _or_ GROUND LAUREL; _Nat. Ord._ ERICACEÆ. A hardy evergreen creeper, long since imported into this country from North America (1736), but only within the last few years has it won much favour. At the present time it is much sought after. It has the reputation of being a ticklish subject to grow. Many have had it and lost it, and those who still retain a specimen are loth to mutilate it for increase. This may to some extent account for the present demand for and difficulty experienced in obtaining it. For the last three years, hard as the seasons have been within that time, its flowers have been produced in great abundance on my specimen. Usually it flowers in this climate in April, but when winter has continued open and genial, its blooms are produced as early as the middle of March, and they are in their full beauty in early April. They are white, delicately tinged with pink, of much substance and wax-like appearance. They are small, not unlike in form the lilac flower, but rather more open at the corolla and shorter in the tube. They are arranged in one-sided, elongated bunches, which rest on the ground, the blossoms peeping through the foliage. I must not omit to mention perhaps the most desirable property of this species--viz., the perfume of its flowers, which is strong, aromatic, and refreshing. The leaves are cordate, ovate, and entire, nearly 2in. long, slightly drawn or wrinkled, and covered with stiffish hairs. They are arranged on procumbent branches, all, like the flowers, facing upwards. To see the clusters of waxy flowers these branches must be raised, when it will be seen that the flower stalks issue from the axils of the leaves all along the branches. In a cut state the flowers are more than useful; they are, from their delicious, scent, a great treat. The plant is a suitable companion to the ledums, kalmias, gaultherias, and other genera of its own order. Its culture, in this climate at least, has, from all accounts, proved rather difficult, so that it may be said to require special treatment; such, at any rate, has been my experience of it. Suitable soil, aspect, shelter, moisture, and position, all seem necessary for the well-doing of this plant. It deserves them all, and, let me add, they may all be easily afforded. The list of requirements may seem formidable on paper, but to put them into practice is but a trifling affair. My specimen is grown in leaf mould, a little loam mixed in with it, and fine charcoal instead of sand, but sand will answer nearly as well; the aspect is east, it is sheltered from the west by a wall, the north by rhododendrons, and the south by a tall andromeda. Moreover, its position is one that is sunken between small mounds, where moisture collects, and is never wanting; and when the specimen was first planted a large sandstone was placed over its roots to further secure them against drought; under these conditions it has thriven and flowered well, and afforded many offshoots. I attribute its well-doing mainly to the sheltered aspect and even state of moisture, but doubtless all the conditions have helped its growth. Its propagation is best carried out by earthing up about the collar, so as to induce the branches to become rooted, or they may be pegged near the extremities like carnation layers, but they will be two years, probably, before they can be safely lifted. Flowering period, middle of March to end of April. Eranthis Hyemalis. _Syn._ HELLEBORUS HYEMALIS; WINTER ACONITE; _Nat. Ord._ RANUNCULACEÆ. This, though well known and a general favourite, is not seen in the broad masses which ought to characterise its culture. It is nearly related to the Christmas roses, and, like them, flowers in winter, the bright golden blossoms suddenly appearing during sunshine close to the earth. A little later the involucrum becomes developed, and is no unimportant feature. It forms a dark green setting for the sessile flower, and is beautifully cut, like the Aconite. There are other and very interesting traits about this little flower that will engage the study of botanists. It enjoys a moist soil, somewhat light; also a little shade. In such quarters not only do the tubers increase quickly, but the seed germinates, and if such positions are allowed it, and garden tools kept off, there will soon be a dense carpet of golden flowers to brighten the wintry aspect of the open garden. Many things in the way of deciduous flowering shrubs may be grown with them, their bareness in winter and shade during summer favouring their enjoyment and growth. Early in the summer they die down. From that time the tubers may be lifted and transplanted. Such work should be finished in early autumn, or the roots will not have time to establish themselves for the first winter's bloom. Flowering period, December to February. Erica Carnea. WINTER HEATH; _Nat. Ord._ ERICACEÆ. A well-known, hardy, evergreen shrub, belonging to a genus comprising many hundreds of species and varieties, which, for the most part, however, are not hardy in this country, being natives of the Cape. The genus is most numerously and beautifully illustrated in _Loddige's Botanical Cabinet_. This might be thought to have no claim to consideration in this book, but I introduce it because of its great value in the spring garden, and because in all respects it may be cultivated like an ordinary border plant, which is saying a deal for one of the Heath family. _Erica carnea_ comes to us from Germany, but it has so long been grown in this country that it would appear to have become naturalised in some parts. In the latter part of March it is to be seen in its full beauty; the flowers are reddish-purple, abundantly produced on short leafy stems, and arranged in racemes, drooping; the foliage is of the well-known Heath type; the whole shrub has a procumbent habit, rarely growing more than a foot high; its fine deep green foliage, compact habit, and bright enduring flowers are its chief recommendations; the latter often last six weeks in good form and colour, so that little more needs to be said in its praise. It can hardly be planted in a wrong position--on rockwork, in borders, or shrubberies, fully exposed, or otherwise, it proves a cheerful object, whilst as an edging shrub it is second to none, excelling box by the additional charm of its flowers. Not long since I was struck by the way in which the common vinca had interlaced itself with a few bushes of this Heath, both being in full bloom at the same time; the effect was truly fine, the red of the Heath and pale blue flowers of the periwinkle being so numerous and set on such a fine bright green carpet, of two distinct types of foliage, that to my mind they suggested a most pleasing form of spring bedding, and also one of semi-wildness, which, for quiet beauty, more laboured planting could certainly not excel. Most Ericas require peaty soil; in the case of this, however, it is not necessary. Doubtless it would do well in peat, but I have ever found it to thrive in ordinary loam or garden soil, so that I have never planted it otherwise, except where peat has been the most handy. It is also easily propagated, carrying, as it does, plenty of root as well as earth with each rooted stem; these only need to be carefully divided and transplanted in showery weather, just before the new growths commence being the best time. An annual top dressing of leaf mould is very beneficial. Flowering period, February to April. Erigeron Caucasicus. CAUCASION FLEABANE; _Nat. Ord._ COMPOSITÆ. Herbaceous and perennial. This species is a somewhat recent introduction compared with some of the same genus which may be called old varieties, from having been introduced as early as 1633, as in the case of _E. graveolens_. Moreover, the genus is represented by such British species as _E. acris_, _E. alpinus_, and _E. uniflorus_. The variety now under notice is, as its specific name implies, a native of the Caucasus, first brought into this country about sixty years ago. It is a pleasing subject when in flower, and is certainly worth growing. Its daisy-shaped flowers are less than an inch across, and when fully matured of a rosy purple colour; but, perhaps, the most interesting and attractive features about this plant are the various forms and colours of its flowers at their different stages of development; just before opening, the buds are like miniature birds' nests formed of white horsehairs, all arranged in the same way, _i.e._, round the bud, but the points are turned into the centre--these are the unexpanded florets; the next stage of development may be seen in buds, say, two days older, when a few of the florets have sprung from the nest form, and have the appearance of mauve-coloured spiders' legs laid over the bud; gradually they (being dense and numerous) expand in a similar manner, outgrowing their angularity, and at the same time deepening in colour, until at length we see the rosy-purple, daisy-shaped, and feathery flower with a yellowish centre. These pleasing flowers are borne in loose masses on stems nearly 2ft. high, and remain in bloom all the summer through. About the middle of August a large plant was divided, and the flowers were then cut away. The young stock so propagated were in flower in the following June. I may here appropriately name an experiment I tried on this species two years ago. It was sent to me as the dwarf _Aster dumosus_, which it much resembles in the leaves, these being spoon-shaped from the roots, the others tongue-shaped and stem-clasping, but rougher and lighter green. I also saw it was not woody enough in the stem for the Michaelmas daisy. It was then near flowering, and the winter was just upon us, so, in order to get the flowers out, I covered it with a bell glass, slightly tilted. It flowered, and continued to flower throughout the winter with such shelter, and doubtless many of our fine late-blooming perennials, by such simple contrivances, might have their flowers protected or produced at a much later date than otherwise. Flowering period, June to October. Erigeron Glaucum. _Syn._ CONYZA CHILENSIS; GLAUCOUS FLEABANE, _or_ SPIKENARD; _Nat. Ord._ COMPOSITÆ. This very beautiful species is far from common. There are many facts in connection with it which render it of more than ordinary value and interest. It is sometimes classed as an alpine; probably that is only an inference, or it may be so considered by some, from its dwarf habit and suitable association with alpines. It is not an alpine; it comes from South America, and though that climate differs so widely from ours, the plant grows and winters to perfection in this country. One of its main distinctions is its somewhat shrubby and evergreen character; of the whole genus, so far as it is at present comprehended, it is the only species with such traits; its foliage, too, is of leathery substance, and compares oddly with the herb-like leaves of its relatives; it is, moreover, as indicated by its specific name, of a glaucous hue; and otherwise, as may be seen in the following description, there exist well marked dissimilarities. But, what is of more importance, when viewed as a garden subject or an ornamental flower, it is one of the most useful as well as distinctly beautiful, as much from the fact that it produces its flowers in two crops, which extend over six or seven months of the year, as from their numbers and showiness. The flowers are nearly 2in. across the ray, the florets being of a pleasing lilac-purple, and rather short, owing to the large size of the disk, which is often nearly an inch in diameter; this part of the flower is more than usually effective, as the disk florets become well developed in succession, when they have the appearance of being dusted with gold; the scales, which are set on the swollen stem, are of a substantial character; the numerous imbricate parts, which are covered with long downy hairs pointing downwards, give the body of the flower a somewhat bulky appearance. It will be observed that I have made no mention of the Conyza traits of divided ray florets and reflexed scales, simply because they do not exist in this species, and though there are other Conyza traits about the plant, notwithstanding its almost isolating distinctions from other Erigerons, it would seem to have more properly the latter name, and which is most often applied to it. The flower stems, which produce the flowers singly, seldom exceed a height of 12in.; they are stout, round, and covered with soft hairs, somewhat bent downwards. They spring from the parts having new foliage, and for a portion--about half--of their length are furnished with small leaves, which differ from those on the non-floriferous parts of the shrub, inasmuch as they have no stalks. The leaves are produced in compact tufts on the extremities of the old or woody parts of the shrub, which become procumbent in aged specimens; the leaves vary in length from 2in. to 4in. long, and are roundly spoon-shaped, also slightly and distantly toothed, but only on the upper half; they are stout, ribbed, clammy, and glaucous. The habit of the shrub is much branching, dense, and prostrate; its foliage has a pleasant, mentha-like odour, and the flowers have a honey smell. This subject may occupy such positions as rockwork, borders of the shrubbery, or beds of "old-fashioned" flowers. Its flowers, being, as taste goes at the present time, of a desirable form, will prove very serviceable as cut bloom. A good loam suits it to perfection, and no flower will better repay a good mulching of rotten manure. Its propagation, though easy, is somewhat special, inasmuch as its woody parts are stick-like and bare of roots, until followed down to a considerable depth, therefore the better plan is either to take advantage of its prostrate habit by pegging and embedding its branches, or, as I have mostly done, take cuttings with a part of the previous season's wood to them, put them well down in deeply-dug light soil, and make them firm. If this plan is followed, it should be done during the summer, so that the cuttings will have time to root before winter sets in. The layering may be done any time, but if in spring or summer, rooted plants will be ready for the following season. This subject begins to flower in June, and, as already hinted, it produces two crops of flowers; the first are from the parts which have been green and leafy through the winter, the second from the more numerous growths of the new season, and which are grandly in bloom in August; not only are the latter more effective as regards numbers and colour, but the fuller habit or more luxuriant condition of the shrub render the specimens more effective in late summer. Eryngium Giganteum. GREAT ERYNGO; _Nat. Ord._ UMBELLIFERÆ. This hardy species was brought from the Caucasus in 1820. The genus, though not commonly patronised as garden subjects, are, nevertheless, highly ornamental, and when well grown much admired. Specimens are of various heights, according to position and nature of the soil; under ordinary conditions they will be 2ft. to 3ft. high at the blooming period. [Illustration: FIG. 37. ERYNGIUM GIGANTEUM. (One-tenth natural size.)] As will be inferred from the order to which the Eryngium belongs, the flowers are aggregate, of a changeable blue, and arranged in cone-shaped heads 1½in. long; the heads are neatly embraced by an ample bract of prickly leaves; the main flower stem is well and evenly branched (see Fig. 37), each node being furnished with leaves which clasp the stems; they are, like those of the flower bract, deeply cut and prickly; the radical leaves are very different, long stalked, large heart-shaped and toothed, of good substance and a glossy green colour. The whole plant has a rather stiff appearance, the flower stems, together with the stem leaves, are of a pleasing hue, nearly the colour of blue note paper; this is characteristic of several of the genus, and adds greatly to their effect. Specimens look well with a grassy foreground or in borders. Their culture is easy, provided the soil is of a light nature; a sunny position is needful, in order to have the tops well coloured. Propagate by division of strong and healthy clumps when dormant. Wireworm and grub are fond of the roots; when the plants appear sickly, these pests should be looked for. Flowering period, August and September. Erysimum Pumilum. FAIRY WALLFLOWER, _or_ DWARF TREACLE-MUSTARD; _Nat. Ord._ CRUCIFERÆ. One of the alpine gems of our rock gardens, not in the sense of its rarity, because it grows and increases fast. It came from Switzerland about sixty years ago, and for a long time was esteemed as a biennial, but it is more--it is perennial and evergreen; at any rate its new branches take root, and so its perennial quality is established. Let the reader imagine a shrub, 3in. high, much branched, and densely furnished with pale green foliage, which hides all its woody parts, forming itself into cushions, more or less dotted over with minute canary-yellow flowers, and he will then only have a poor idea of the beauty of this pretty alpine. It flowers in summer, autumn, and winter, and in certain positions both its habit and flowers show to most advantage at the latter season. At no other time during the year have my specimens looked so fresh and beautiful as in January. This I have proved repeatedly to be the result of position, shortly to be explained. The flowers are produced in terminal racemes, are scarcely ½in. across, cruciform in the way of the Wallflower, greenish-yellow, and delicately scented. The leaves vary in shape on the various parts of the branches, some being lance-shaped and others nearly spoon-shaped; the lower ones being all but entire, and the upper ones, which are arranged in rosettes, distinctly toothed. They seldom exceed an inch in length, more often they are only half that size, but much depends on the position and soil. In summer the foliage is greyish-green; later it is almost a bright or clear green, the latter being its present colour. The habit is branching and compact, by which it adapts itself to crevices and uneven parts in a pleasing manner; and not only does it best adorn such places, but from the fact of their dryness, they are better suited to the requirements of this little shrub. A sandy loam, such as will not bake, suits, and if mixed with a few stones all the better--this will be found ample food for it; poor soil and a dry situation grow this subject in its finest form. I may perhaps usefully give the method by which my specimen is grown, after experimenting with it in various parts of the garden, and also the substance of a few notes I made of it. In pots the fine roots soon formed a matted coat next the sides, when the foliage would turn sickly and yellow, so that, useful as the practice is of growing alpines in pots, it does not answer in this case. On rockwork, in vegetable soil, this low shrub grew taller, being less woody, and was killed by severe weather. On the flat, in borders, in rich soil, it did well for a season, then damped off, a branch or two together. On the flat, in sand alone, it does well, also on the top of a wall, such being a position especially provided for hardy sempervivums and a few cacti. A bit of the Fairy Wallflower was tried there in a thin layer of sandy loam, and for two years my finest specimen has occupied that position, flowering more or less throughout the winter. Where there are old walls or rockwork it should be introduced. A ready and effective way of planting it is to get a sod of grass 3in. thick; measure with the eye the size of the interstice in the side of a wall, partly cut through the sod on the earthy side, open it by bending, and insert the roots of a small specimen; close up, and cram the planted sod tightly into the selected opening. In one season the shrub so planted will have a snug and pretty appearance. It is self-propagating, from the fact of its lower branches rooting where they touch the soil. These may be taken any time and planted separately. Flowering period, April to winter. Erythronium Dens-canis. DOG'S-TOOTH VIOLET; _Nat. Ord._ LILIACEÆ. A hardy bulbous perennial. There are several varieties of this species, and all are very handsome. The variety shown at Fig. 38 is the large white-flowering kind; others have yellow, pale purple, and lilac-coloured blooms. All are produced singly on stems 4in. or 5in. long, and gracefully bending. During bright weather the divisions of the lily-like flowers become reflexed and otherwise show themselves to advantage. Their foliage forms a rich setting for the flowers, being variously coloured with red, brown, and different shades of green, all charmingly blended or marbled. The leaves are broad and oval, and open out flatly, so that their beauties can be well seen; if they are grown amongst the very dwarf sedums or mosses, they look all the better and are preserved from splashes. Two leaves, one stem, one flower, and one bulb constitute a whole plant; both flowers and foliage remain in beauty for a long time. I have them growing in various positions and soils, and I think they most enjoy a vegetable mould, with full exposure to the sun, but they should not lack moisture; they seem to increase more rapidly in peat than in any other compost. They should not be disturbed more than necessary, and when they are, autumn is the best time to transplant. [Illustration: FIG. 38. ERYTHRONIUM DENS-CANIS. (Large white variety. One-half natural size.)] Flowering period, March and April. Euonymus Japonicus Radicans Variegata. VARIEGATED ROOTING SPINDLE TREE; _Nat. Ord._ CELASTRACEÆ. It is probable that the genus _Euonymus_ is more generally known than that of _Celastrus_, from which the order takes its name; besides, the latter is composed of unfamiliar genera, so it is more likely that the reader will not care about any reference to them; it may concern him more to know that the above somewhat long name belongs to a very dwarf hardy evergreen shrub, having a neat habit and very beautiful foliage. This variety is one of many forms which come under the name _E. japonicus_, none of which, however, have long been cultivated in this country, the date of the introduction of the type being 1804. The genus is remarkable for the number of its species having ornamental foliage, and not less so, perhaps, for the insignificance of their flowers. The species under notice (_E. japonicus_) in cultivation has proved sportive, which habit has been taken advantage of, whence the numerous forms, including the one I have selected for these remarks. Some of the Spindle Trees do not flower in this climate, and others, which do, produce no seed; these facts are in connection with the more finely leaf-marked sorts, and it may be inferred that such unfruitfulness arises from their hybrid nature or abnormal tendency, as seen in "sports." The typical form is a tree growing 20ft. high, producing small white flowers, but of the variegated kind under notice established specimens have ever failed to show the least sign of flowering, though otherwise well developed and of good habit. The leaves are nearly oval, ½in. to 1½in. long, sometimes oblong, sharply serrulated, of stout leathery substance, smooth, and much variegated in colour. The markings are mostly on and near the edges, and take the form of lines and marblings. The tints are a mixture of white, yellow, and pink, inclining to purple; these are variously disposed on a dark green ground. The arrangement of the leaves is crowded and panicled on the recent shoots, which are twice and thrice branched; from the shortness and twisted shape of the leaf stalks, the branchlets have a compressed appearance. The old stems are round, wiry, 9in. to 18in. long, prostrate, and emit roots like the ivy when they come in contact with suitable surfaces, whence the name "_radicans_." The habit of the shrub, from its dense and flattened foliage, fine colour, and persistent nature, together with its dwarfness and rooting faculty, all go to render it one of the finest rock shrubs for winter effect. The wetness of our climate only seems to make it all the brighter, and it is also without that undesirable habit of rooting and spreading immoderately. It enjoys a sunny situation and enriched sandy loam. Where such conditions exist it may be planted with good effect as a permanent edging to walks or beds; as such it may be clipped once or twice a year, but I may add that it is worth the extra time required for pruning with a knife, as then the leaves are not cut in two and the outline is left less formal. By such treatment the foliage is kept thick to the base of the shrub. The summer prunings may be pricked into sandy loam in a shady part, where they will root and become useful stock for the following spring, or strong examples may be pulled to pieces of the desired size. Festuca Glauca. BLUE GRASS; _Nat. Ord._ GRAMINEÆ. This comes from the warm climate of Southern Europe, but is a perfectly hardy grass in this country; it is highly ornamental, irrespective of its flowers, and is useful in several ways. With me it is grown somewhat largely, and both professional and amateur gardeners have quickly appreciated its effectiveness, but it has been amusing to see their want of faith when told that "it stands out all winter." It belongs to a section of grasses of fine quality as fodder for cattle, all enjoying good soil of a light and rich nature. Its main features as a garden subject are its distinct blue colour and dense graceful habit; these qualities, however, are greatly dependent on the quality of soil, which must be positively rich. Its bloom is of no value ornamentally, being much like that of some of our common meadow grasses, and it will be as well to remove it in order that the grass may be all the brighter and more luxuriant. The blades, if they can be so called, are reed-like, but very fine, 6in. to 12in. long, densely produced, and gracefully bending. The glaucous quality is most pronounced, and quite justifies the common name Blue Grass. More need not be said to show that this must be effective in a garden, especially where bedding and the formation of bold lines are carried out; as single tufts, on rockwork, or in the borders, it looks well; whilst as an edging to taller grasses and bamboos it shows all to advantage. It is also often grown in pots in greenhouses, where it proves useful for drooping over the edges of the stage; but if it once obtains a place in the garden and is well grown, the amateur will see in it a suitable subject for many and varied uses. Wherever it is planted the soil should be made sandy and fat with manure; in this the long roots are not only warmer, but they amply support a rapid growth and metallic lustre. As the roots can easily be lifted from the light soil without damage, this grass may be divided any time when increase is needful. Flowering period, summer. Fritillaria Armena. _Nat. Ord._ LILIACEÆ. A charming little hardy bulbous perennial, which, although as yet a comparative stranger in this country, bids fair to find a place not only in our gardens, but in the list of the choicest spring favourites, such as lily of the valley, snowdrops, snowflake, and squills, being of the same or nearly allied order, as well as of corresponding stature. Its yellow flowers, too, highly commend it, as, with the exception of the yellow crocus, we have not a very dwarf spring flower of the kind, and, as may be seen by the illustration (Fig. 39), it differs widely from the crocus in every way. [Illustration: FIG. 39. FRITILLARIA ARMENA. (One-half natural size.)] This is a really charming species; its dark yellow flowers are large for so small a plant, being more than an inch across when expanded by sunshine, but its more common form is bell-shape; one, and sometimes more flowers are produced on the upright, smooth, leafy stem, which is less than 6in. high. The leaves are alternate linear, sharply pointed, smooth, and glaucous: Such dwarf flowers always show to most advantage, as well as keep cleaner, where carpeted with suitable vegetation; the dark green _Herniaria glabra_ would be perfection for this glaucous plant. It seems happy where growing fully exposed in ordinary garden soil, but it is not unlikely that it may require more shade, in common with other Fritillaries, for, as before hinted, it is yet in its trial stage. I am, however, pretty certain of its hardiness, but not about the best mode of culture and propagation. Flowering period, April and May. Funkia Albo-marginata. _Common Name_, WHITE-EDGED PLANTAIN-LEAVED LILY; _Nat. Ord._ LILIACEÆ. A hardy herbaceous perennial from Japan, of but recent introduction, than which there are few more useful subjects to be found in our gardens. It combines with its wealth of foliage a bold spike of pleasing lilac flowers, the former, as implied by the specific name, being edged with a white line, which is broad and constant, this quality being all the more commendable from the fact that many variegations are anything but reliable. Speaking of this as a decorative plant for the garden, it may be said to be one of the best; however placed, it has a neatness and beauty which are characteristic, especially when used in lines, and has become well established; from early spring, when the fresh young leaves appear, until the autumn is well advanced, this plant upholds a fine appearance independent of its flowers; they are, however, not wanting in beauty, produced as they are on stems nearly 2ft. high, and nude with the exception of one or two very small leaves. The floral part of the stem will be 8in. or more in length; the flowers are numerous, 2in. long, trumpet-shaped, drooping, and so arranged that all fall in one direction; the colour is lilac, with stripes of purple and white; each flower is supported by a bract, which, like the foliage, is margined with white. The leaves are 6in. to 8in. long, oval-lanceolate, waved and ribbed, of a dark green colour, margined with white; the leaf stalks are stout, 6in. long, and broadly channelled. Flowering period, June to August. Funkia Sieboldii. SIEBOLD'S PLANTAIN-LEAVED LILY; _Nat. Ord._ LILIACEÆ. This is a grand plant; the lily-like flowers alone are sufficient to commend it, but when we have them springing from such a glorious mass of luxuriant and beautiful foliage, disposed with a charming neatness rarely equalled, they are additionally effective. The illustration (Fig. 40) gives a fair idea of the form and dimensions of a specimen three years ago cut from the parent plant, when it would not have more than two or three crowns, so it may be described as very vigorous; and, as if its beauties were not sufficiently amplified by flowers and form of foliage, the whole plant is of a rich glaucous hue, rendering it still more conspicuous and distinct. It is herbaceous and perfectly hardy, though it comes from the much warmer climate of Japan, whence are all the species of _Funkia_. It is a comparatively new plant in English gardens, having been introduced into this country only about fifty years; still, it is pretty widely distributed, thanks, doubtless, to its exceptionally fine qualities. I know no plant more capable of improvement as regards size than this; if set in rich deep soil, it will in a few years grow to an enormous specimen. One so treated in my garden is 4ft. to 5ft. in diameter, and about the same height when the flower-stems are fully developed. I should, however, add that this is an unusual size, but it, nevertheless, indicates what may be done by high culture. The flowers are produced on nude stems, 2ft. or 4ft. high, being arranged in somewhat short and irregular one-sided spikes; they spring singly from the axils of rather long bracts (see Fig. 40) and have long bending pedicels, which cause the flowers to hang bell fashion; their colour is a soft pale lilac, nearly white. Size, 1in. to 2in. long, and bell or trumpet shaped. They are of good substance, and last a long time in fine form. The leaves have radical stalks, nearly 2ft. long in well-grown specimens, gracefully bending and deeply channelled; they are from 8in. to 12in. long, and about half as wide, long heart-shaped, somewhat hooded, waved, distinctly ribbed, and evenly wrinkled; glaucous and leathery. The outer foliage is so disposed that the tips touch the ground; it is abundantly produced, forming massive tufts. The long fleshy roots denote its love of a deep soil; a moist but well-drained situation suits it, and manure may be used--both dug in and as a top dressing--with marked advantage. The natural beauty of this subject fits it for any position--the lawn, shrubbery, borders, beds, or rockwork can all be additionally beautified by its noble form; grown in pots, it becomes an effective plant for the table or conservatory. The flowers in a cut state are quaint and graceful, and the leaves are even more useful; these may be cut with long stalks and stood in vases in twos and threes without any other dressing, or, when desired, a few large flowers may be added for a change, such as a panicle of _Spiræa aruncus_, a large sunflower, or a spike or two of gladioli. Leaves so cut may be used for weeks; after they have become dusty they may be sponged, when they will appear fresh, like new-cut ones. [Illustration: FIG. 40. FUNKIA SIEBOLDII. (One-eighth natural size.)] In the propagation of this plant certain rules should be observed, otherwise the stock of young plants will prove stunted and bad in colour. Do not divide any but strong and healthy clumps, taking care not to damage more roots than can be helped; do not divide too severely, but let each part be a strong piece of several crowns, and after this they should be allowed to make three years' growth in a good, rich, deep soil before they are again disturbed, and thereby the stock will not only be of a vigorous character, but always fit for use in the most decorative parts of the garden. Flowering period, July to September. Galanthus Elwesii. ELWES'S GALANTHUS _or_ SNOWDROP; _Nat. Ord._ AMARYLLIDACEÆ. This is a splendid species or variety, whichever it may be, said to be the finest of all the Snowdrops; it is a new kind and not yet much known. My impressions of it last spring were not in accordance with such reports, but I ought to add that, though the bulbs were fresh when sent me, they had only been planted less than a year, when they flowered somewhat feebly. Flowering period, February and March. All the Snowdrops may be propagated by seed or division of crowded clumps--after all the tops have died off is the proper time; the longer the delay, the worse for next season's bloom, as new root action sets in about that period. Galanthus Imperati. IMPERIAL SNOWDROP; _Nat. Ord._ AMARYLLIDACEÆ. I have only recently flowered this kind. It is said by Mr. W. Robinson to be double the size of _G. nivalis_, which estimate is probably correct, judging from the blooms which I have obtained. With me the bulbs seem either not to have a happy home, or they may have suffered from the vicissitudes of transport from the genial climate of Italy. The publisher of this book informs me that he flowered _G. imperati_ the first year in the open borders, from some bulbs procured from Messrs. Collins Bros., and that the blossoms were highly scented, as of elder flowers. Flowering period, February and March. Galanthus Nivalis. COMMON SNOWDROP, EARLY BULBOUS VIOLET, _and_ FAIR MAIDS OF FEBRUARY; _Nat. Ord._ AMARYLLIDACEÆ. One of the most charming members of the British flora; a native of our fields and orchards, so beautiful as to be beyond description, and, fortunately, so common as to need none (see Fig. 41). It belongs to a noble order of bulbous plants, the genera of which are numerous, as are the species too, in perhaps an increased proportion. Comparatively few are hardy in our climate, and very few indeed are natives of this country, so that in this respect the Snowdrop, if not a rare flower, is a rare representative in our flora of the order _Amaryllidaceæ_. [Illustration: FIG. 41. GALANTHUS NIVALIS. (One-half natural size.)] It may be useful to give a few of the better-known genera to which _Galanthus_ is so nearly related: _Amaryllis_, _Nerine_, _Crinum_, _Vallota_, _Pancratium_, _Alstroemeria_, and _Narcissus_. The last-named genus is more nearly allied than any of the other genera mentioned; not only does it resemble the Galanthus in style, early period of bloom, and habit of becoming double, but also for the general hardiness of its species, a feature not usual in their order. The literal meaning of the generic name is "Milk Flower." The title with such a pleasing reference was given by Linnæus. The specific name--meaning white--may, for two reasons, seem unnecessary; first, because milk is white, and again, because no other than white-flowered species are known. All the three common names are happy ones: "Snowdrop" and "Fair Maids of February" are appropriate both to the season and a pretty flower; "Bulbous Violet" pleasantly alludes to its sweetness; all are poetical, as if this lovely flower had the same effect on the different minds of those (including Linnæus) who first gave them. A dropped name for the Snowdrop was that of "Gilloflower"; Theophrastus, the father of natural history, gave it the name of "Violet" (_Viola alba_ or _V. bulbosa_)--that would be 2100 years ago! The bulbs should be planted by thousands; they will grow anywhere and in any kind of soil; the demand for their blossom is ever increasing, and Snowdrops, as everybody knows, are always in place, on the grass, border, or window sill, or for table; they may be used as emblems of either grief or joy; they are sweetly pure and attractive, without showiness. Flowering period, February to April. Galanthus Plicatus. FOLDED GALANTHUS; _Nat. Ord_. AMARYLLIDACAÆ. A species from the Crimea; compared with our native kind, it is larger in the grass, having also other, but very slight, points of difference. The main one is implied by its name, "plicatus," or folded; its leaves are furrowed, which causes it to have a folded appearance. Culture and flowering period, the same as for the other species. Galanthus Redoutei. REDOUTE'S GALANTHUS; _Nat. Ord._ AMARYLLIDACEÆ. This is by far the most distinct form, having broad grass-green foliage. It is somewhat late in flowering (during March and April), and not so free as others. Galax Aphylla. _Syn._ BLANDFORDIA CORDATA; HEART-LEAVED GALAX; _Nat. Ord._ PYROLACEÆ. [Illustration: FIG. 42. GALAX APHYLLA. (One-sixth natural size; 1, natural size.)] Nearly 100 years ago this charming little plant was imported from North America; still, it is rarely seen, notwithstanding that rock-gardens have long been popular. On rockwork it not only thrives well, but appears to great advantage. No rock-garden should be without it. It is a rare and beautiful subject, remarkably distinct and pleasing; it is perfectly hardy, also perennial and herbaceous; but its last-named characteristic should be qualified, inasmuch as the old leaves remain in good form and colour until long after the new ones are fully grown, so that there are always two sets of foliage. Viewed in this light, it may be called an evergreen plant; moreover, it is one of those plants which the artist can scarcely do justice to, for though the illustration (Fig. 42) depicts faithfully its neat habit and handsome foliage, the living plant makes a better impression. I said it was rare, but this is less in the sense of scarcity than because it is little known and seldom seen; it is also quite distinct from any other plant, and the only species of the genus. Its milk-white flowers, which, though very simple, are richly effective, are produced on tall, nude stems, 18in. high, round, wiry, and nearly amber-coloured. They are arranged in a dense spike, 6in. to 8in. long; the corolla is ¼in. across, and composed of five petals; the calyx has a short tube and five sepals; the leaves are heart-shaped, nearly round, evenly toothed, and sometimes glandular; of leathery substance, and somewhat stiff, smooth, shining, and richly veined or nerved. The leaves of various ages differ in colour; the old ones are dark green, conspicuously reticulated; the new, but perfectly-developed ones, are pale green, with a ray of yellowish-green next the edges; the growing ones are nearly red, and all the serrated edges are hemmed with a nearly scarlet line, always brightest at the points of the teeth. This finely-tinted foliage is elegantly disposed by means of the stalks, which bend in various ways; they vary in length from 4in. to 8in., and are all radical; they are round, wiry, and once grooved. The bloom lasts for several weeks in good form, and the foliage is always beautiful, more especially in the autumn, when it glows like polished mahogany. Such a plant can hardly fail to please when well grown, but it must be so developed. This lovely plant certainly requires a little special treatment, but that is easy and simple; in fact, it scarcely can be called special. It may be put in a few words--damp, but not sour vegetable soil, and very slight shade. My specimen, from which the drawing was taken, is growing in a little dip at the base of a small rockery, below the level of the walk, which acts as a watershed; the soil is nearly all leaf mould--a small portion of loam, and I ought to add that there is a moderate quantity of small charcoal incorporated with it, which will doubtless assist in keeping the soil sweet. There cannot, therefore, be much difficulty in setting up these conditions; the charcoal may not be necessary, but an annual top-dressing with it will meet the case of such plants as grow in low damp situations. The propagation of this species is very easy in the case of well-grown clumps, which, when dug up in the autumn and thoroughly shaken, will come asunder into many small and well-rooted crowns; these only require to be replanted separately, under similar conditions to those by which they were produced. No attempt should be made to divide other than perfectly healthy clumps. Flowering period, July and August. Galega Officinalis. OFFICINAL GOAT'S-RUE; _Nat. Ord._ LEGUMINOSÆ. A grand "old-fashioned" flower. It is 314 years since this plant was brought from Spain; it is perfectly hardy and herbaceous. Both it and its varieties are among the most useful subjects of the flower garden; they grow to shrub-like bushes, have elegant foliage, and an abundance of bloom, which continues until late autumn. Specimens have a clean and healthy appearance, and though they grow to the height of 4ft., they give no trouble, requiring neither tying nor supports. From their large quantities of flowers they are exceedingly gay; but it is for the handsome stems in a cut state that they should be most prized. These, cut 18in. long, and placed singly in pots or vases, are truly noble, more especially by gaslight. As will be inferred from the order to which _Galega_ belongs, the flowers are pea-flower-shaped, about ½in. or more long, and the same broad. They are of a pleasing, but undecided blue colour, arranged in long conical racemes, on stout, round stalks, as long as the leaves, which are pinnate, having a terminal odd one. The leaflets are evenly arranged in pairs, mostly in six pairs; they are each about 2in. long, lance-shaped, mucronate, entire, smooth, and glaucous. The floriferous character of the plant may be inferred from the fact that, after the raceme fades, there pushes from the axil a peduncle, which, in a short time, produces many other racemes. _G. o. alba_, a variety of the above, grows 4ft. high, and is an abundant bloomer; flowers superb for cutting purposes. For culture, see _G. Persica lilacina_. Flowering period, July to September. Galega Persica Lilacina. _Nat. Ord._ LEGUMINOSÆ. This is a lovely species of _Galega_ imported little more than fifty years ago from Persia. Perfectly hardy; in general form it corresponds with _G. officinalis_. The following are its distinctions: More dense racemes of lilac flowers, a foot less tall, leaflets shorter and broader--in fact, oval, oblong, somewhat twisted or edged up in the arrangement, and often without the terminal leaflet. The above Goat's-rues are of the simplest culture; they will do in any soil, but if they are liberally treated they will repay it. A fat loam and sunny situation are what they delight in. They may remain year after year in one position, but I find them to do better in every way if they are divided the second year; it should be done in summer, so that they can make a little growth in their new quarters before winter sets in. In order to carry out this, the older plants (I divide half my stock one year, the other half the year following) should be cut over near the ground, though they may be in full bloom. Divide the roots into several strong pieces, and replant them in soil deeply dug and where they are intended to flower; they will bloom finely the following season. Flowering period, July to September. Gentiana Acaulis. GENTIANELLA; _Nat. Ord._ GENTIANACEÆ. A hardy, evergreen creeper, its creeping stems running immediately under the surface. This is a remarkably beautiful plant, and the wonder is that it is not grown in every garden. The most attractive features, when in flower, of this dwarf Gentian are its immensely large blooms and neat shining green foliage (see Fig. 43). It is easily identified, there being not another species like it, and certainly very few to equal it for beauty and service; it forms one of the best edgings for beds and borders. Many report that it is difficult to grow, which may be the case in some gardens from one cause or other, whilst in many places it runs like quick-grass. [Illustration: FIG. 43. GENTIANA ACAULIS. (One-fourth natural size.)] Flowers, dark bright blue, large, long bell-shaped, but not drooping; tube, five-angular, nearly 3in. long; corolla, five-limbed, and an inch or more wide; the stems are seldom more than 3in. long, square, furnished with small opposite leaves, and terminated with one flower on each. That part of the foliage which sends up the flower is arranged in rosette form, the leaves being stout, flat, and acutely lance-shaped. Anywhere or everywhere may this subject be planted; it is always bright, even in winter, and when there are no flowers upon it it forms a rich covering for the otherwise bare ground; its blooms will each keep good a week. They are rarely produced in great numbers at one time, but the plants will continue for a long while to yield them sparingly. I find _G. acaulis_ to thrive well at the base of rockwork, as an edging to a flat bed, and in the gutters of the garden walks--it likes moisture. To me this is clearly proved by other plants, which, in all respects but one, are treated the same, the exceptional condition being that they are planted on the sloping face of rockwork, where they scarcely grow and never bloom. With reference to soil, rich or silky loam is best for it, but any kind, if sweet and retentive, will do. Its propagation may be effected by division of the rooted creeping stems after they have made four leaves. Very early in spring is a good time to do this, but neither these nor the old plant, if it has been much disturbed, will flower the same season after being so mutilated. Flowering period, May to July. Gentiana Asclepiadea. SWALLOW-WORT-LEAVED GENTIAN; _Nat. Ord._ GENTIANACEÆ. A tall and beautiful alpine species from Austria, very hardy and herbaceous. It has long had a place in English gardens--fully 250 years--and is described by Parkinson in his "Paradise of Flowers." The tall stems are very showy, having an abundance of shining dark green foliage, amongst which nestle the large and bright purple-blue flowers; it is a subject that looks well at a distance, and, as a rule, flowers with that quality are of the greatest value for borders and cutting purposes. It grows nearly 2ft. high; the stems are round, erect, short-jointed, and very leafy; the flowers are produced on a third of their length, they are stalkless, and spring from the axils of the leaves in pairs; the calyx is ½in. long, tubular, angled, and having fang-shaped segments; the corolla is also tubular and angled, somewhat bellied, the divisions being deeply cut and reflexed; the whole flower will be fully 1½in. long. The inside of the corolla is striped with white and various shades of blue and purple. The leaves are 2in. long, oval, lance-shaped, distinctly ribbed, somewhat lobed at the base, and stem-clasping, which gives the pair of leaves a joined or perfoliate appearance; the nodes are short, or near together, the lower ones being the more distant, where also the leaves are much smaller; the foliage is a glossy dark green colour, the whole plant having a sombre but rich effect. From the fact that the long stems are top-heavy and of a brittle character, a sheltered position should be given to this plant, or the wind will snap them off. It ought not to have stakes, as they would mar its good form. A fat loam and a moist situation will suit this Gentian to perfection, and it may be planted with other strong herbaceous things in the borders, where it should be allowed to grow to large specimens. It is one of the quickest growers of its genus, few species of which can be grown in too large quantities. When it is needful to increase this subject, it maybe done more readily than the propagation of some Gentians--the roots are more easily separated. It should, however, be carefully done, and early spring is the best time; or if the autumn should be a dry season and the tops die off early, it may be done then. Flowering period, July and August. Gentiana Burseri. BURSER'S GENTIAN; _Nat. Ord._ GENTIANACEÆ. A hardy perennial species, of a bold but neat habit, while the flowers and foliage combine in rendering it a first-class decorative subject. It is a recent introduction, having been brought from the Pyrenees in 1820; it is seldom seen in flower gardens, where it certainly deserves to be. Its flowers are not brilliant, but they are effective from their size, number, and persistency; they are produced in whorls on stout round stems 18in. high, but only on the three or four upper joints. Each flower is 1½in. long, lemon-yellow, tubular, angular, having four to six segments, widely separated, and furnished with a membrane at each separation. The segments, and also the tube, are dotted with dark brown spots; each flower is tightly folded in a somewhat one-sided membranous calyx and borne erect. They occur in pairs mostly, but with several pairs in a whorl. They have very short pedicels, and the whorl is supported by a bract of stem-clasping leaves, cupped, and variously shaped, as ovate and beaked; there are also supplementary bracteoles. The leaves of the root very much resemble the plantain leaf, also that of _G. lutea_, having longish ribbed and grooved petioles or stalks; they are 5in. to 6in. long, and over 3in. broad, egg-shaped, entire, veined longitudinally, and slightly wrinkled; they are of a dark green colour, shining, and of good substance. The leaves of the stems, as already stated, are stem-clasping, and differ in shape. The flowers keep in good form for two or three weeks, and otherwise this rigid bright-foliaged Gentian proves very ornamental. I find it to do well in vegetable soil in a moist quarter. Most of the members of this genus enjoy plenty of moisture at their roots, and this specimen is no exception. A flat stone will form a good substitute for a damp situation if placed over the roots; besides, such a method of growing this and others of the tall Gentians will allow of their being planted on rockwork, or otherwise, near the more frequented walks, where they must always prove pleasing from their bold and shining foliage, to say nothing of their striking flowers. The propagation of this species should be effected by division of the roots, which are very strong. Each crown should have as much of the more fibrous roots retained as possible, and the parts to be severed should be cut with a very sharp knife; it also ripens seed plentifully. Flowering period, June to August. Gentiana Cruciata. CROSS-LEAVED GENTIAN; _Nat. Ord._ GENTIANACEÆ. An interesting species from Austria, and one of the "old-fashioned" plants of English gardens, having been cultivated in this country for nearly 300 years. Gerarde gives a faithful and full description of it, which I will quote: "Crossewoort Gentian hath many ribbed leaues spred upon the ground, like unto the leaues of sopewroot, but of a blacker green colour; among which rise vp weak iointed stalks, trailing or leaning towarde the grounde. The flowers growe at the top in bundels, thicke thrust togither, like those of sweete Williams, of a light blew colour. The roote is thicke, and creepeth in the grounde farre abroade, whereby it greatly increaseth." Its height seldom exceeds 10in., and it is to be commended because it is one of the Gentians that are easily grown, and is handsome withal. It may be planted in either vegetable or loamy soil--the common border seems to suit it; it spreads much faster than any of the other Gentians I know, with the exception of _G. acaulis_, and it is in broad masses one sees it to greatest advantage. Propagated by division any time. Flowering period, June and July. Gentiana Gelida. ICE-COLD GENTIAN; _Nat. Ord._ GENTIANACEÆ. This species comes from Siberia, and has been grown in this country for nearly eighty years. It is a very beautiful species, the whole plant being handsome; it grows nearly a foot high. The flowers are produced in terminal clusters, one large flower being surrounded by a whorl of smaller ones; they are of a rich purplish-blue inside the corolla, which is rotate; the segments (mitre-shaped) and the spaces between are prettily furnished with a feathery fringe; the wide tube is also finely striped inside; the calyx is tubular, having long awl-shaped segments; the stems are procumbent, firm (almost woody), short jointed, and thickest near the top. The leaves are of a dark shining green colour, from 1½in. to 2in. long, smallest at the root end, and finishing next the flowers with the largest, which are lance-shaped, the lower ones being heart-shaped; they are closely arranged in pairs, are sessile, and at right angles with the stem. It seems to enjoy a shady damp corner in rockwork, where its distinct forms and neat habit appear to advantage. It should be planted in vegetable soil, such as peat or well-decayed leaves mixed with sand. It cannot endure drought at the roots. It is a slow-growing plant, but very floriferous; the flowers last fully a fortnight in good form, the weather, however rough or wet, seeming to have no effect on them. In a cut state it is exquisite, but those who properly value the Gentians, especially the slow growers, will hardly care to cut away the stems, as, by doing so, not only will the plant be checked, but next year's growth will prove reduced in both number and vigour. It is propagated by root division when in a dormant state. I have also successfully transplanted this kind after it has made considerable growth, but the roots have been carefully guarded against dryness. Flowering period, June to August. Gentiana Verna. SPRING ALPINE FELWORT; _Nat. Ord._ GENTIANACEÆ. A native evergreen creeper. This plant has many synonymous names in old books. It is now, however, well known by the above Latin name. Let me at once say that it is a matchless gem. Its flowers are such as to attract the notice of any but a blind person. It is said to be rare now in this country, still, I think it is far from being extinct in its wild state. Be that as it may, it is fortunate that it can be easily cultivated, and nothing in a garden can give more pleasure. Its flowers are blue--but such a blue! the most intense, with a large and sharply defined white eye, and though only ½in. across, one on each stem, and 3in. high, they are grandly effective. It has a tubular, angled calyx; corolla five-cut. The leaves are oval, nearly 1in. long, and half as broad; dark shining green and of leathery substance. The radical leaves are crowded into a nearly rosette form. By many this Gentian is considered difficult to grow, but if a proper beginning is made it proves to be of the easiest management. Very suitable places may be found for it in, not _on_, rockwork, where good fat loam forms the staple soil; little corners, not _above_ the ground level, but on, or better still, _below_ the ground level, are sure to meet its requirements; on the edge of a border, too, where moisture collects in the small gutter, has proved a suitable position for it. But, perhaps, the most successful way of growing it is in pots, for, as with _Trientalis Europa_ and other root creepers, when so treated more compact specimens are obtained. It is important to begin with properly-rooted plants, the crowns of which are often 2in. to 3in. below the surface; from these spring the numerous, bare, yellow, wiry stems, too often taken for roots, whereas the main roots are still deeper, very long for so small a plant, and furnished with silky feeders. Good crowns potted in rich fibrous loam and plunged in sand, fully exposed, with an unstinted supply of water, is the substance of the simple treatment my plants receive the year round; they are still in the 3in. and 4in. pots in which they were placed three years ago, and during spring they are covered with flowers. When a pot is lifted out of the sand in which it is plunged, the fine long silky roots are seen to have made their way through the hole. Spring is the best time to plant. Flowering period, April to June. Geranium Argenteum. SILVERY CRANE'S-BILL: _Nat. Ord._ GERANIACEÆ. [Illustration: FIG. 44. GERANIUM ARGENTEUM. (One-half natural size.)] A hardy perennial alpine from the South of Europe, introduced in 1699. It is, therefore, an old plant in this country, and is one of the gems of the rock garden; very dwarf, but effective, as may be seen by the illustration (Fig. 44). The foliage is of a distinct and somewhat conglomerate character, besides being of a silvery-grey colour. Well-grown specimens of this charming Crane's-bill look remarkably well against dark stones. Its flowers are large for so small a plant, and wherever it finds a suitable home it cannot fail to win admiration. In borders of rich soil it is grown to the height of about six inches, but in drier situations, as on the upper parts of rockwork, it is more dwarf. The flowers are fully an inch in diameter when open, cup-shaped, and striped in two shades of rose colour; the unopened flowers are bell-shaped and drooping; they are borne on long naked pedicels, bent and wiry, oftentimes two on a stem; calyx five-cleft, segments concave; petals five, equal and evenly arranged. The leaves are produced on long, bent, wiry stalks, the outline is circular, but they are divided into five or seven lobes, which are sub-divided and irregular, both in size and arrangement; they have a silky appearance, from being furnished with numerous fine hairs or down. The plant continues to flower for many weeks, but, as may be judged, it is, otherwise than when in flower, highly attractive. To lovers of ornamental bedding this must prove a first-rate plant. As an edging to beds or borders of choice things it would be pleasingly appropriate, and, indeed, anywhere amongst other dwarf flowers it could not be other than decorative. It thrives well in a good depth of loam, its long tap-roots going a long way down. If, therefore, it is planted on rockwork, suitable provision should be made for this propensity. The propagation of the plant is not so easy, from the fact that it makes large crowns without a corresponding set of roots, and its seed is scarce and often taken by birds before ripened. Moreover, the seedlings do not always come true; still, it seems the only mode of propagation, unless the old plants have plenty of time allowed them to spread and make extra roots. Latterly I have gathered the seeds before the capsules burst--in fact, whilst green--and, after carrying them in the waistcoat pocket for a few days, they have been sown in leaf soil and sand, and germinated freely. When the seedlings have made a few leaves the deteriorated forms may be picked out readily. Flowering period, May to July. Gillenia Trifoliata. _Syn._ SPIRÆA TRIFOLIATA _and_ S. TRILOBA--THREE-LEAVED GILLENIA; _Nat. Ord._ ROSACEÆ. A hardy herbaceous perennial from North America, imported in 1713. The main features about this plant are its elegant form and rich tints. The illustration (Fig. 45) may give some idea of the former quality, but to realise the latter the reader should see a living specimen in the form of a bold clump. There is a wild beauty about this subject which it is not easy to describe; as a flower it is insignificant, but the way in which the flowers are disposed on the slender stems, blending with a quaintly pretty foliage, neither too large nor dense, renders them effective in their way. It is, however, only as a whole that it can be considered decorative, and it should be well grown. [Illustration: FIG. 45. GILLENIA TRIFOLIATA. (One-sixth natural size; blossom, full size.)] Although most nearly related to the spiræas the distinctions from that genus are very marked, notably the very slender stems and large flowers, which are produced singly on rather long-bending pedicels, almost as fine as thread, and, like the stems, of a bright brown (nearly ruddy) colour. The flowers form a lax panicle, interspersed with a little foliage. The calyx is a bright brown colour, rather large and bell-shaped. It contrasts finely with the five long, narrow petals, which are white, tinted with red; they are also irregular in form and arrangement, somewhat contorted. The leaves, as implied by the specific name, are composed of three leaflets; they have very short stalks, and the leaflets are all but sessile, lance-shaped, finely toothed or fringed, ribbed, and somewhat bronzed. Perhaps it is most useful in a cut state; the sprays, even if they have but one or two flowers on them, are charming for vase work. I may say the calyx is persistent, and after the petals have fallen they not only increase in size, but turn a fine red colour, and so render the sprays additionally effective. To grow this plant well it should have a deep soil; it also loves moisture, and, as already hinted, partial shade; it is a steady grower, far from rampant, like the spiræas. This is a capital subject to grow near or under "leggy" shrubs and trees, where, in semi-shade, it is not only at home, but proves very attractive. It may be propagated by division, the best time being early in the year, just before growth commences. Flowering period, June to August. Gynerium Argenteum. PAMPAS _or_ SILVERY GRASS; _Nat. Ord._ GRAMINEÆ. This handsome grass is well known, at least, its feathery plumes are, from the fact of their being imported largely in a dry state for decorative purposes. It has not been grown long in this country, and, perhaps, it is not generally known that it endures our climate as an outdoor plant; in most parts of Great Britain, however, it proves hardy. As far north as Yorkshire I have seen it in the form of specimens 8ft. high; my own examples are yet young--two and three years old--and are only just beginning to flower, at the height of 3ft. to 4ft., diameter about the same. It is a native of South America, occurring mostly on the prairies; it is also found in other parts where there are swamps and high temperatures. This would lead us to have doubts as to its suitableness for English gardens, but facts prove it to have elastic qualities in this respect. It proves at all times to be a noble ornament in gardens of moderate size. In its growing or green state it is a distinct and pleasing object, but it is at its greatest beauty when it has ripened its tall and silky plumes, which glisten in the sunshine and are of a silvery-grey colour, and when also the very long and narrow grass has become browned and falls gracefully, more or less curling under the tufts. All its parts are persistent, and, as a specimen of ripe grass, it is not only ornamental in itself, but it gives a warm effect to its surroundings during winter. Under favourable conditions it will grow 10ft. or 12ft. high, but it is seldom that it attains a height of more than 8ft. or 9ft. As an illustration (Fig. 46) is given, further description is not needed. I may add that if it is not "laid" by heavy snows, it keeps in good form until the new grass begins to grow in the following spring. I find it to do well in light earth, well enriched with stable manure, the soil having a more than ordinary quantity of sand in it; the position is such as can have a good supply of moisture, being near walks that drain to it. In stiffish loam a strong clump was planted three years ago, but it has never looked healthy. The best positions for it are well-prepared shrubbery borders; there it contrasts finely with the greenery, and receives some protection from the high winds. It may be increased by division of healthy roots, when the grass is ripe, but it ought not to be cut off. [Illustration: FIG. 46. GYNERIUM ARGENTEUM. (One-twentieth natural size.)] The plumes appear in August, and will keep in good condition till the weather changes to a wintry character. Harpalium Rigidum. _Syn._ HELIANTHUS RIGIDUS--RIGID SUNFLOWER; _Nat. Ord._ COMPOSITÆ. One of the most effective and beautiful flowers to be seen in autumn; it would be hard to mention another at any period of the year that gives more satisfaction and pleasure than this does, either as a decorative plant or a cut flower. A bold specimen, 4ft. through, is truly fine, and not only those who seldom visit a garden, but amateurs well versed in flowers, are alike charmed with its rich and stately blossoms. Most people know what a Sunflower is; many of them are coarse and almost ugly; but though the present subject is of the family, it is supremely distinct; it is without the formal character in its ray, and also the herby leafiness of many of its genus, its large, clean, shining, golden flowers, mounted on slender, ruddy, long, and nearly nude stalks, not only render it distinct, but impart an elegance to this species, which is all its own. It grows 4ft. high, is a comparatively new kind in English gardens, and comes from North America; still, it has become widely known and appreciated, in fact a universal favourite, so much so that, although it increases fast, the demand for it is not yet satisfied; it is, doubtless, a flower for every garden. The flowers are 4in. across, glistening golden yellow, and formed of a deep ray and small disk; the florets of the ray are 1½in. long and more than ½in. broad, they are incurved at their points, but reflexed at their edges, and are handsomely ribbed or pleated; they are arranged in two or three rays in each flower, and irregularly disposed; the florets, being well apart, not only seem to give the bloom body, but also an artistic informality and lightness. The florets of the disk are chocolate colour, whence issue twirled filamentary forms, which impart to the centre of flower the appearance of being netted with a golden thread. The scaly involucre is formed of numerous small members of a dark olive-green colour, neatly arranged and firmly clasping the whole flower. The pedicels are long, round, covered with short stiff hairs, and thickened at the involucre; the stems are very rough, rigid, hard, and brown or ruddy on the sunny side, sometimes twisted and nude, with the exception of a solitary rudimentary leaf. The main stems have many axillary branches. The leaves of the root are few, 5in. or 6in. long, and oval. Those of the stems more lance-shaped, sessile, and slightly dentate, or toothed, lessening in size as they get higher; all the leaves are very thick, three-veined, and remarkably hispid, being almost as coarse as sandpaper to the touch. I have also observed another peculiarity about the leaves, when they have been taken from the plant for an hour or more, _i.e._, they have a most elastic property. Very often the leaves may be seen in trios, whence spring three side branches, surrounding the upright and central one. The habit of the whole specimen is very rigid, with the exception of the flowers, which are slightly nodding; the tallest growths need no stakes, and the species enjoys a happy immunity from insect pests, probably by reason of its hispid character. As already stated, as a garden subject this is one of the most useful; it shows grandly in front of evergreens, and associates well with lilies. In borders of tall perennials, or in conspicuous but distant situations, such as are visible from the doors or windows of the house, or as isolated clumps, on or near the lawn, this fine Sunflower may be planted with satisfactory results; in fact, it cannot be planted wrong, provided it is kept away from small subjects. In a cut state it is of such value that it cannot be overpraised--a branch with four fully blown flowers and others nearly out, requires no assistance as a table decoration. Its blooms have the quality of keeping clean, doubtless from the smoothness of the florets. The cultural requirements are few. Any garden soil will do for it, but if deeply dug and well enriched with stable manure, so much the better; it should have a fairly open situation; it is not only a Sunflower in name and form, but it enjoys sunshine. It is self-propagating, and runs freely at the roots, immediately under the surface; the thick stolons form knobby crowns at their extremities, out of and from under which the roots issue, going straight and deep down, and so forming an independent plant. Flowering period, August and September. Hedera Conglomerata. CONGLOMERATE IVY; _Nat. Ord._ ARALIACÆ. I do not introduce this as a flowering subject, but as a dwarf ornamental shrub; it differs so much from all other species and varieties of Ivy, and is so beautiful withal, that I trust no further apology is needed for giving it a place amongst decorative plants and shrubs. I have not been able to learn its habitat or origin; its stunted tree-like shape, together with other peculiarities, would indicate that it is a species; be that as it may, it has long had a place in English gardens, and yet it is seldom met with--it would be hard to explain why. On a bit of rockwork I have grown a specimen for nearly five years, and it was an old shrub when planted, yet it is not more than 2ft. in diameter and 1ft. high. It is much admired, and many notes have been taken of it. For rockwork, it is one of the best dwarf evergreen shrubs I know. It has very small leaves, densely arranged in flat or one-sided wreaths. They seldom exceed 1in. in diameter, and are of various forms, as heart-shaped, sagittate, oval, tri-lobed, and so on. Some are notched, others slightly toothed, but many are entire. All are waved or contorted, wrinkled and thickened at the edges, where the younger leaves show a brown line; the under sides are pale green, and furnished with short stiff brown hairs, as also are the stout leaf stalks. The upper side of the foliage is a dark glossy green, with shadings of brown. In substance the leaves are leathery, inclining to stiffness. The stunted branches have a cork-like appearance as regards the bark, are diffuse, curiously bent, and sometimes twisted loosely together. It is of slow growth, more especially in the upward direction, and though provision may be made for it to cling and climb, and it has also well-formed roots on the branchlets, still, it assumes more the tree-shape. I never saw or heard of its flowering, much less that it ever produced seed; if it does not seed we are not only deprived of an ornamental feature belonging to the genus from the absence of berries, but it proves that it is only a variety of some species. It may be grown in any kind of sandy soil, and nothing special whatever is needed. An open sunny situation will favour its form and colour of foliage; under trees I have found it to produce larger leaves of plainer shape and more even colour. During the winter it becomes a conspicuous object on rockwork, where it seems most at home. It may be propagated by cuttings, and spring is a suitable season to lay them in; in well dug light soil they soon make plenty of roots. Helianthus Multiflorus. MANY-FLOWERED SUNFLOWER; _Nat. Ord._ COMPOSITÆ. This fashionable flower is glaringly showy. Still, it is not wanting in beauty; moreover, it belongs to an "old-fashioned" class, and is itself a species which has been grown for nearly 300 years in English gardens. It was brought from North America in the year 1597, and during the whole of its history in this country, it can hardly ever have been more esteemed than it is to-day; it is very hardy, and in every way a reliable subject. Everybody knows the Sunflower, therefore no one will care to read a description of it; still, one or two remarks may, perhaps, be usefully made in the comparative sense, as this is a numerous genus. Many of the Sunflowers are annuals, to which this and others of a perennial character are much superior, not only in being less trouble and not liable to be out of season from mismanagement in sowing and planting, as with the annual sorts, but from the fact that their flowers are of better substance and far more durable; they are also less in size and more in number--two points of great gain as regards their usefulness as cut bloom. They are, besides, better coloured, and the flowering season more prolonged. Well-established specimens, two or three years old, will, in average weather, last in good form for fully six weeks. The colour (yellow) is common to the Sunflowers. This species has flowers which vary much in size, from 2in. to 6in. across, and they are produced on stems 3ft. to 6ft. high, well furnished with large heart-shaped leaves of a herb-like character, distinctly nerved, toothed, and rough. Flowering period, August and September. _H. m. fl.-pl._ is, of course, the double form of the above, the disk being represented by a mass of florets considerably shorter than those of the ray proper. The flowers are not produced in such large numbers as with the typical form, neither does the plant grow so tall, but the foliage is a little larger; these constitute all the points of difference which I have noticed. These forms of Sunflower are very effective--nowhere, perhaps, so much as amongst shrubs. The plants lift well, carrying a good ball that facilitates their being placed in pots even when in bloom, when, as I have lately seen, they may be used in a most telling manner with potted shrubs in large halls, corridors, and public buildings. In such places they get no sun to make them droop, and a good watering keeps them as fresh as if they had not been disturbed. Of the usefulness of this flower in a cut state nothing whatever need be said--who has not tried it? Doubtless, when it becomes unfashionable it will have fewer patrons, but it will be the same flower, richly beautiful--æsthetic. No special culture is needed, any kind of garden soil will suit it; if well enriched, all the better. Any situation will do but one too densely shaded. Propagated by splitting the roots after the plants have done flowering, or in spring. Flowering period, August and September. Helianthus Orygalis. GRACEFUL SUNFLOWER; _Nat. Ord._ COMPOSITÆ. Yet another Sunflower, and one, too, of the common yellow colour, and not otherwise attractive, as may be seen by the illustration (Fig. 47)--of course, I am now referring to the flower only. There are, however, features about this species which all must admire; stems 7ft. high, furnished with bright foliage, in the manner indicated, are not mean objects, even if topped with but a common yellow composite. This is a native of North America, and of recent introduction; it is a distinct species, and for foliage a prince among its fellows. I know not another to nearly approach it, _H. angustifolius_ being perhaps the nearest, but that species has never with me proved of more than a biennial character, and its leaves, though long and narrow, are irregular and herby. The flowers need not be further described beyond saying that they are borne on short side shoots, near the top of the main stems, but they harmonise with the general arrangement of foliage, and, indeed, from their bract-like leafiness, somewhat enrich it. This is one of the latest-blooming Sunflowers. The leaves are 5in. to 8in. long, and ½in. to 1in. wide, the lower half on the stems droop, though they are of good substance; the upper half bend gracefully, and, from their close arrangement, all but hide the stem. At the axils of the larger leaves, tufts of smaller (much smaller) leaves appear, causing the long stems to be top-heavy. Still, they wave and bend during the strongest winds without supports or damage. It will be seen that the usefulness of this plant consists in its distinct form and tallness, and that it is effective is without doubt. Among low shrubs, or with other tall things, will prove suitable quarters for it. [Illustration: FIG. 47. HELIANTHUS ORYGALIS. (One-eighth natural size; flower, one-fourth natural size.)] Any kind of soil will do, shelter from the wind being the most important, and perhaps the only point to study when planting. It is propagated by root divisions when the tops have withered. Flowering period, September and October. Helleborus Abchasicus. ABCHASIAN HELLEBORE; _Nat. Ord._ RANUNCULACEÆ. This is a native of the Caucasus, and in this climate, where it has been cultivated about fifteen years, it retains its foliage through the winter in a green state. It is a free grower, and flowers well, having a somewhat slender habit. It is sometimes described as having green flowers, but more often as having purple ones. It may be useful to remember that there are varieties, and it is likely that, even in the so-called green flowers, traces of purple will be seen. Not only is it a fact that this species, like _H. purpurascens_ and _H. niger_, is far from fixed as regards depth of colour, but it is said to be one of the parent forms of some of the fine hybrids. These considerations may help to reconcile the apparently conflicting descriptions as regards bloom colour. The flower stems are 12in. to 18in. high, distantly forked twice, and of a purplish colour. The flowers are produced in threes and fours on each of the branchlets, are inclined to purple, over 2in. across, and nodding; sepals oval, waved, and set well apart at the outer ends; petals scale-like, green, and numerous; anthers a beautiful delicate yellow; leaves of the flower stems few, small, and of irregular form, notched, finely serrate, and of a purplish-green shade; in their young state more especially does the purple prevail on the under surface--they are, in fact, nearly the colour of the flowers. The radical leaves are many, nearly a foot in diameter, of a dark green colour, and leathery substance; the leaflets are rather distant from each other, forming a noble pedate leaf; they are somewhat one-sided, slightly waved, sharply and regularly toothed nearly all their length. From this description it will be inferred that this is one of the most distinct species, and such is truly the case. Moreover, it has a bold and rich effect. The older radical foliage, with its long stalks, is for the most part spread on the ground, when the new erect flower stems, furnished with small leaves and nodding buds and blossoms, all of a shining purplish colour, form a peculiar but pleasing contrast, not nearly so marked in any other species with which I am acquainted. There is a variety called _H. A. purpureus_, in allusion to the colour of the flowers being a little more purple. This Abchasian species and its varieties are not widely distributed; they are to be obtained, and need no longer be found only in rare collections. It is desirable in every way for the garden, where it forms a most ornamental object during winter. Its flowers last for four or five weeks, and in a cut state they form rich companion bloom to the white Christmas Rose. A good fat loam suits them; the position should be rather shady and moist, but by all means well drained. A top dressing of good rotten manure, after all have done blooming, about the end of March, is a great help to them. All the Hellebores may be easily increased by root divisions, but the stock should be strong and healthy. Roots affected with the least rot or canker should be discarded, as from their slowness of growth they will not be worth garden space. Seed may also be raised, but unless sown as soon as it is ripe germination is less certain, and always slower in proportion to the length of time it has been kept dry. I may add that, in February (1883), I noticed a pot, sown with Hellebore seed in February of 1880; a few were just pushing through the mould. The seed was sold to me as the produce of 1879. Since 1880 I have sown seed ripened on plants that were bloomed for indoor decoration, it being ready about February. From this I had nice little plants in less than twelve months. But by seed the process of propagation is slow, and not advisable unless the object is to obtain new varieties--a very easy matter, by the way, with this family, if the simple rules of cross-hybridising are applied. All the Christmas Roses should be so planted that they may be conveniently shaded during their blooming time. They mostly flower during the dullest part of the year, and the blossom, more especially the white kinds and those with metallic hues, unless protected, become damaged with mud splashes. Hand-lights or bell-glasses should be freely used. Flowering period, January to March. Helleborus Antiquorum. ANCIENT HELLEBORE; _Nat. Ord._ RANUNCULACEÆ. In what sense this specific name is applied, or which meaning of the word is supposed to be exemplified in this plant, I have no means of being certain. It is very probable that the name is in reference to its "old-fashioned," but beautiful, flowers; that they are "worthy," "dearer, more acceptable," and of "more esteem and account," is likely to be the verdict of every amateur who grows this kind successfully, for a more lovely flower could hardly be desired--large, white, softly toned with pink and grey. Sepals very large, incurved, overlapping each other, having the appearance of being semi-double, and being of good substance. The petals are small, short, of a lively green, and numerous. It is a bold and effective flower, but to see it in its full beauty it should be gathered spotlessly clean, as grey and pink tints are ugly when soiled. The leaves accompanying the flowers are of the previous season's growth, and are produced on slender round stalks, 1ft. to 1½ft. long, and much thickened at their junction with the leaves. The latter are nearly a foot across, pedate, or palm-shaped; the segments or leaflets are sub-divided and of irregular form, but mostly ovate, lance-shaped, finely and sharply toothed, and of a dull green colour. In a rich and free loam this kind proves a good grower, and when, in January, it is putting up its flower stalks, the buds being well developed and coloured from the time they appear above the earth, furnished with "floral leaf," in which respect it differs from the common Christmas Rose, it causes a pleased surprise that such a pure and delicate looking blossom can develop and mature in the depth of winter. As a cut flower by many it would be preferred to the better-known _H. niger_, not only for its antique tints, but for the fine cup form, which is constant, and the overlapping, incurved edges of the sepals. Altogether, its form is distinct, and when used in small glasses as single specimens, or, at most, accompanied only by a fern frond or a few blades of grass, it is a charming object. Cultivation, as for _H. Abchasicus_. Flowering period, January to April. Helleborus Bocconi. BOCCON'S HELLEBORE; _Nat. Ord._ RANUNCULACEÆ. This, by many, is believed to be a species, but as such is unauthenticated. It is classed as a variety of _H. purpurascens_, compared with which, however, there are some well-marked distinctions. It is sometimes called _H. multifidus_, a name that suits it well, as being descriptive of its irregularly slashed foliage. It has but recently been brought under cultivation, and was found a native of the Apennines of Etruria. It proves perfectly hardy in this climate, and flowers in mid-winter unless the season is very severe. As will be inferred from its near relationship to _H. purpurascens_, like that species it has non-persistent foliage, and the flower stems with their floral leaves appear before the leaves of the root. As a species or variety, whichever it may be, its more marked features are to be seen in the form or cut of the leaves. As a garden flower it is not showy, yet it stands out well in a group; the nodding cup-shaped bloom is a bright green colour, and, for a time, the outer sides of the sepals only are seen; but when the flowers are more fully expanded, the numerous and somewhat long stamens (which are a creamy-white) seem to nearly fill the cup; to my mind, its greatest charm is in the fragrant odour which it yields, resembling that of elder flowers. A single blossom, if plucked dry and when in its prime, scents a small room; at such a stage, the anthers are loaded with pollen, and the tubular petals are richly charged with nectar. True, these last-named qualities are common to the genus, but when they are coupled with that of a sweet perfume, and produced by an open-air plant in winter, such a plant, be its blossoms green or red, is too valuable to be neglected. The flowers are borne on stems 6in. to 12in. high, which are twice and thrice branched or forked, having six to twelve blossoms on a stem. The flowers are bright green, nearly 2in. across, cup-shaped, and drooping. The sepals are somewhat oval, concave, and overlapping; petals very short, pale green, and evenly arranged; stamens creamy-white; styles green. The flowers are supported by floral leaves, which are much divided, in the way of those of _H. purpurascens_, but the segments are more irregular in shape. The radical leaves have long stems, and are palmate; divisions lobed. It dies down entirely during the autumn. Being a vigorous grower and free bloomer, and the flowers very durable withal, it should be largely grown for the sake of its sweet-scented blossoms for cutting purposes. There is an allied variety cultivated under the name of _H. B. angustifolia_ (narrow-leaved). Assuming that _H. Bocconi_ is a species, this is a variety but slightly removed from the typical form, inasmuch as the latter is not only much cut in the floral and radical leaves, but the shape is uncertain. This form, then, which, at least by its name, claims a specific feature in the cut of leaf, may be somewhat difficult to identify, more especially as there are no other dissimilarities of note. Seen, however, as a well-grown specimen, the feature of narrow foliage is not only manifest, but the plant is very effective. Cultivation and flowering period, the same as with _H. Abchasicus_. Helleborus Colchicus. COLCHICAN HELLEBORE; _Nat. Ord._ RANUNCULACEÆ. A new species from Asia Minor. This is a strong grower and blooms well. The flowers vary in size and shade, but it may be said to be distinct in form and pronounced in colour, the latter being an uncommon feature with the Hellebores; either growing or cut it is indispensable to a group. Moreover, it is one of the best flowers of the genus, and would stand high even in a selection of the best six; it is one that should have a place in every collection. It flowers amongst the previous season's foliage on branched stems; the sepals are somewhat round and flat, which gives the flower a stiff appearance. Still, from their unusual deep purple colour and the yellow stamens, together with the manner in which the sepals overlap each other, the flower is a most effective one; the petals are a bright green, and blend harmoniously with the yellow and purple parts. The leaves are very large, pedate, dentate, and distinctly veined. In a young state the foliage is richly coloured or tinted with "bloom." It enjoys a rich sandy loam and summer shade. Cultivation, the same as for _H. Abchasicus_. Flowering period, January to March. Helleborus Cupreus. COPPERY HELLEBORE; _Nat. Ord._ RANUNCULACEÆ. Notwithstanding its peculiar colour, as implied by the name, this is a pleasing border flower; moreover, the somewhat large flowers are also numerous; blossoms 3in. across, arranged in clusters of four and six, and handsomely furnished with new foliage, are no mean things in the depth of winter. The specific name of this Hellebore, though applicable, is not so definite as some, inasmuch as the colour to which it refers is that of several other species and varieties; there may be rather more of the metallic hue in our subject, but it is so slight as to be outside the pale of notice to the florist. The Coppery Hellebore is a native of mid-Europe, and is one of recent introduction into this country, where it proves hardy but annually dies down. It grows and flowers freely in January, the flower stalks appearing before the radical foliage, and attaining a height of nearly a foot. The flower stems are a palish green, with purplish markings, are twice branched and furnished with floral leaves; the latter have ample stipules and seven longish divisions, which are well spread out, distinctly veined underneath, and coarsely toothed. The flowers are 2in. to 3in. across, sepals pointed, overlapping for about half their length, and well expanded; their outsides are of a purplish colour, which extends along the stalk; the inner surface of the sepals is a yellowish green, the whole being suffused with a metallic hue or "bloom"; the stamens and anthers are a creamy white, the petals short and apple-green. The flowers droop gracefully, and are rendered all the more pleasing by the floral leaves which immediately support them. The leaves of the root are large and pedate, the divisions wide apart and unevenly toothed; the under sides are distinctly veined with purplish-brown when in a young state. The habit is robust, and the bloom is produced well above the radical foliage. There is a peculiar beauty about a strong flowering specimen which would hardly be expected from the above description, and it is even more difficult for me to do it justice. In a cut state a whole stem, with its flowers in different stages of development, is fine. The youngest rosy-purple buds, about the size of a cob nut; the more opened bell-shaped forms, just showing both the inner and outer colours of the sepals; these surmounted by the longer-stalked, fully expanded, but drooping flower, with its tassel-like bunch of stamens, and all finely interspersed with young leaves of two distinct colours, according to the side which meets the eye--all go to make it a charming decoration for indoors, and if cut clean it deserves a place for the whole week or more during which it remains in good form. Cultivation, as for _H. Abchasicus_. Flowering period, January to March. Helleborus Dumetorum. BUSHY HELLEBORE; _Nat. Ord._ RANUNCULACEÆ. One of the less showy species. It comes from Hungary, and has been grown in this country about seventy years. It entirely renews its foliage yearly, the flower stems appearing before the radical leaves. The flowers are small, green, and drooping; the sepals are roundish. The flower stems are twice branched, full-flowered, and furnished with the "cut floral leaf," which is nearly stalkless and palmate. The root leaves are very smooth and pedate. The bright green flowers mix well with others, but where Hellebores are grown in limited varieties this may be omitted without loss as regards floral beauty. Cultivation, as for _H. Abchasicus_. Flowering period, February and March. Helleborus Foetidus. STINKING HELLEBORE; _Nat. Ord._ RANUNCULACEÆ. This is a native species, distinct, ornamental, and evergreen. Its name may, with some, prevent its being planted in the pleasure garden, but its foetid odour is not perceptible unless sought for. It is mostly found wild in this country in chalky districts, and it occurs largely in the southern parts of Europe. Though poisonous, it is a valuable herb. Its value as a garden subject consists in its dark evergreen foliage, good habit, and handsome panicles of bloom. The latter is produced under cultivation in mid-winter. It never fails to flower then if the position is a sheltered one. In its wild state the flowers appear in March. It belongs to that section of the Hellebores which have leafy stems and many flowers; its grows 2ft. high, and never seems to rest, but goes on making new leaves throughout winter. The flowers are produced in clusters larger than a man's hand, and are of a green colour, the sepals edged with brown, which turns to a purplish tint; they are nearly an inch across, well cupped, and mostly hang bell-fashion; the leaves are much smaller than those of most Hellebores, pedate, smooth, of stout substance and dark green colour; the divisions of the leaves are narrow and numerous. The foliage is persistent, and keeps green until after the new has appeared; it bends downwards in a pleasing manner, and the leafy stems have a palm-like appearance. These, when topped with panicles of flowers, though they be green ones, are worthy objects for any garden. It is a suitable plant for mixing with deciduous shrubs; bold specimens of it enliven such borders by their shining greenery, and they are of greatest service when most needed, for in such sheltered quarters they are pretty sure to flower during winter; and the summer shade, if not too dense, will prove more beneficial to them than otherwise. Cultivation, ordinary garden soil. Flowering period, December to April. Helleborus Guttatus. SPOTTED HELLEBORE; _Nat. Ord._ RANUNCULACEÆ. This is one of the newer species or varieties; its main distinction is well implied by the specific name. The flowers are fully 2in. across, and white; the sepals are spotted with purple; the petals are more constant than in some species, and of a rich green colour; flowers are produced on stems having the floral leaf; the buds are a greenish white, but very beautiful. The foliage is smaller than that of most kinds; the leaves are radical, rather short-stalked, pedate, and divisions narrow; they are of a leathery substance and a dark green colour. This is a free bloomer, a fact which, together with those of its winter-blooming habit and distinct flowers, renders it a valuable acquisition to the open garden. Either cut or growing, it is very lasting. Cultivation, as for _H. Abchasicus_. Flowering period, January to March. Helleborus Niger. BLACK HELLEBORE, _or_ CHRISTMAS ROSE; _Nat. Ord._ RANUNCULACEÆ. A hardy, herbaceous perennial. It came from Austria in 1597. In favoured situations it proves evergreen; there is nothing black to be seen about a growing plant, and it has often puzzled its admirers as to the cause of its specific name, which is in reference to the black roots of a year or more old. It would appear, moreover, that this is not the true "Black Hellebore" of the ancients (see remarks under _H. Orientalis_). This "old-fashioned" flower is becoming more and more valued. That it is a flower of the first quality is not saying much, compared with what might be said for it; and, perhaps, no plant under cultivation is capable of more improvement by proper treatment (see Fig. 48). Soil, position, and tillage may all be made to bear with marked effect on this plant, as regards size and colour of flowers and season of bloom. We took its most used common name--Christmas Rose--from the Dutch, who called it Christmas Herb, or Christ's Herb, "because it flowereth about the birth of our Lord Iesus Christ," and we can easily imagine that its beautiful form would suggest the other part of its compound name, "rose." In sheltered parts, where the soil is deep and rich, specimens will grow a foot high and begin to bloom in December, continuing until March. The individual flowers last a long time in perfection, either on the plant or in a cut state; they vary somewhat in their colour, some being more brown on the outer side of the sepals, and others much suffused with pink; but under glass, whether in the shape of a bell glass in the open garden, or a greenhouse, they mature to a pure white; their form is somewhat like that of a single rose, but may be more properly compared to a flower of its own order--the single pæonia. It is composed of five sepals, and is 2in. to 3in. across, being white or rose-coloured; these sepals form a corolla-like calyx; the petals are very short and tubular, nestling down amongst the tassel-like bunch of stamens; the flowers are produced on stout leafless scapes, having one or two bracteæ; for the most part the flowers are in ones or pairs, but sometimes there may be seen three, and even four, on a scape. The leaves are radical, having stout, round stalks; they are large and pedate in shape, stout, and of leathery substance. The habit of the plant is neat, growing into rounded tufts. [Illustration: FIG. 48. HELLEBORUS NIGER. (One-quarter natural size.)] In suitable quarters it proves a quick grower, whilst in ungenial situations it will hardly increase, though it is seldom killed. As it happens that its flowers are produced at a most unfavourable time for keeping them clean, they should be covered with some kind of glass shelters, or, where the soil is retentive, the roots may be lifted with large balls of earth to them, and be placed in a cool greenhouse well up to the light. It would, however, be a mistake to adopt this plan where the soil is loose, and during the lifting operation will fall from the roots; and it is also a mistake to expect flowers from newly-planted roots. Where its fine bloom is required at Christmas, good roots should have been planted fully a year previously. Doubtless many an amateur will herein recognise his failing point when expecting Christmas Roses from roots planted only a month before, and sometimes less. True, the buds are there, and fine ones, too, perhaps, but the plants, unless transferred with a good ball, suffer a check which it will take at least a year to outgrow. It is a good plan to grow this flower in good-sized pots, which should be plunged in a shady part of the garden all the year, with the exception of the blooming period; but even with pots well grown and showing plenty of buds, the mistake is often made of suddenly placing them in heat, immediately over hot pipes or flues, the heat from which shrivels the buds and foliage too. Though the Hellebores are amongst our best flowers for forcing, it should be done gently in an atmosphere constantly kept humid. As a cut bloom, the Christmas Rose vies with the eucharis and pancratium. For vase work, or used about the person, it is a flower that wins the greatest admiration, and it is no unusual thing for cut flowers to last indoors quite a fortnight. _H. n. angustifolius_ (narrow-leaved Hellebore) has smaller flowers than the type. The divisions of the leaves or leaflets are narrower, whence its name. The foliage is of a pale or apple green, whereas that of the type is very dark. It was introduced in the same year as its reputed parent. As a foliage plant it is very handsome, the leaves bending gracefully, and the whole specimen having a neat appearance. _H. n. maximus_ is the largest Christmas Rose, and is a truly grand variety; the flowers are 4in. and 5in. across. The illustration (Fig. 49) is one-fourth natural size. The scapes are very stout, and produce several flowers, which are held well above the foliage; like those of the type, they, too, are tinted with a pink colour, which passes away when the flowers are a week or so old. The foliage is remarkably bold, having thick, round, and beautifully marked stalks. Well-established specimens have a shrub-like effect, being nearly 2ft. high, and richly furnished to the ground. The half-blown buds of this variety are exquisitely beautiful, and vary somewhat in form according to their age; some resemble a nearly blown tulip, and others a rosebud. As buttonholes, backed with a frond of maidenhair, they are charming. A whole scape, having one fully-blown flower and several buds, is the most perfect and beautiful decoration imaginable for a lady's hair. This variety is at its best in the month of December, being a little earlier than the typical form. [Illustration: FIG. 49. HELLEBORUS NIGER MAXIMUS. (One-quarter natural size.)] All these kinds should be grown in moist and rather shady quarters; under trees not too densely foliaged will suit them; the soil should be a deep rich loam. I may mention that all my Hellebores are grown under "nurses," _i.e._, suitable small trees. I use walnut. About eighteen species and varieties are planted under six small trees, 4ft. high. The reasons why I use walnut are, that they leaf late in spring and lose their leaves early in autumn, so affording the greater amount of light during the flowering time of the Hellebores, and screening them in summer from the sun with their ample but not over thick foliage; a cut under the trees once a year with a sharp spade keeps them dwarf and prevents their making too many strong roots. Without saying that Hellebores should be grown in this way, it will serve to show how they may be conveniently shaded. Nothing could well look more happy under such treatment, and, once properly planted, they give no further trouble than a mulching of rotten manure in spring, when all the kinds have finished flowering. Christmas Roses are easily raised from seed, provided it is sown as soon as ripe, but plants so raised are two or three years before they flower. The quicker method of increase is by division of the roots. This can only be done successfully when the old stock is in robust health. Pieces of roots taken from old and unhealthy specimens will remain in the ground for twelve months as immovable as stones, whereas the least bits of clean young growths will form nice blooming plants the first year. Flowering period, December to March. Helleborus Odorus. SWEET-SCENTED HELLEBORE; _Nat. Ord._ RANUNCULACEÆ. Like all the Hellebores, excepting the white-flowered _H. niger_ and its varieties, this has, until very recently, been much neglected, notwithstanding that its name implies the rare and desirable quality of a sweet odour; moreover, it is of easy culture, very hardy, and a free bloomer. It is a native of Hungary, and was introduced to English gardens in 1817. It is like _H. purpurascens_, only its flowers are green; it even more strongly resembles our native _H. viridis_. All its foliage is renewed annually. It belongs to the section having stems few-flowered, forked, and bearing floral leaves. It grows 9in. to 12in. high. The flowers are green, small, nodding, and scented. The sepals are nearly round, and overlap each other. The flowers are produced at long intervals on the twice-branched, stout, pale green stems; they are supported by prettily-cut leaves, having lance-shaped segments, finely serrated, also having large stipules. The radical leaves are palmate, covered with a fine down on the under surface. The segments are oblong, undivided, and at the base quite entire, but finely toothed near the top. The bloom lasts a long time, either cut or in the growing state. There is nothing very distinct to the eye about this species, but it is to be commended for the sweetness of its flowers. Like other Hellebores, it should be grown in a shady place, where there is a good depth of rich sandy loam. Propagated by division of healthy stock at almost any period. Flowering period, February to March. Helleborus Olympicus. OLYMPIAN HELLEBORE; _Nat. Ord._ RANUNCULACEÆ. This comes from a Grecian habitat, as the specific name denotes; still it is perfectly hardy in this climate, and it deserves a place in every garden. It is not so old in English gardens as some kinds, and may not be much known; at any rate, it is seldom met with; but, from the fact of its coming into bloom in the first month of the year, and having finely-formed purple flowers, it is a desirable companion to the white Christmas Rose; it is variously stated to have white and purple flowers, both statements being authorised; they are produced in spare clusters on stems a foot high; the buds are charming objects, of a ruddy-brown colour, and the size of a big filbert; they are rather close together, and supported by a "cut floral leaf." The leaves are well divided and almost palm-shaped, the leaflets being ovate and toothed. It is a free grower, and never fails to bloom well too. Cultivation and flowering period, the same as with _H. niger_. Helleborus Orientalis. EASTERN HELLEBORE; _Nat. Ord._ RANUNCULACEÆ. Sometimes also called the Lenten Rose, as it may often be seen in flower during Lent, though it is no uncommon thing for it to bloom in January in favoured situations and mild winters. This is a very old species which has long been known to botanists, but it has only recently been introduced into this country. It is a native of the Levant, is plentiful on mountains and near Thessalonica and Constantinople. It has gone under the name of _H. officinalis_, and as such was, as it still is, the shop Hellebore of the East. As a garden flower it is to be recommended as one of the best of the genus; the colour is often a fine rose variously tinted, and the blooms are of good size. It is, however, a species respecting which there is still considerable misconception. One authority says the leaves die off and again appear with the flowers; another classes it with the group "leaves not annually dying"; then one says, "the greenish-white blossoms are tinted at the margin with purple"; another, that the flowers are "rose-coloured"; whilst botanical descriptions, usually so taunting to the florist as regards blossom-colour, are no exceptions in this case. "Sepals oval, coloured," does not point out very clearly the information desired. Many of the species of Hellebore are known to produce flowers varying more or less in colour; and we also know that an individual blossom, during the long period in which the sepals keep good, often changes its tints and colours, but we are scarcely prepared to hear that a species has greenish-white flowers, whilst we have always seen a rosy or rosy-purple one produced. Still, the information from another source, that _H. orientalis_ is a species intermediate between _H. niger_ and _H. viridis_, would seem to favour the greenish-white as the typical colour; be that as it may, it is most likely that the more desirable rosy-flowered variety will prevail in flower gardens, that being the general recognised colour of the type, and moreover, one which renders it pleasingly distinct in the whole genus. There are hybrid kinds which have been raised from this species crossed with _H. viridis_ and, perhaps, others, and some of them have greenish-white flowers; but they should not be confounded with the species under notice. These varieties have received such names as _H. orientalis elegans_, _H. o. viridescens_, and _H. o. punctatus_. If hybrids are to be honoured with specific names, it will require much care to avoid confusion, and it is just possible that some such causes have led to the various descriptions above referred to. The type under notice is fairly distinct, and the amateur having a slight acquaintance with the Hellebore family will have little difficulty in making it out. The flowers are produced on forked stems, and are accompanied by finely-cut floral leaves, nearly sessile and palmate; the radical leaves are large, pedate, downy underneath, having long stalks, and remaining green throughout winter. The habit is to push the stout flower stems well up above the foliage, sometimes as high as 18in.; the flowers are very durable, at least the major parts--as the sepals--are, the stamens and petals falling somewhat sooner than those of most species; if different positions are given to a few specimens, flowers may be had from Christmas to Lent, according to amount of shelter or exposure therein obtained for the plants. There are facts connected with this plant, as other than a garden subject, which can hardly fail to be generally interesting. "This is the Black Hellebore of the ancients," so that, though _H. niger_ bears the name and is known to be largely possessed of properties similar to those of the oriental species, it is proved to be wrongly applied. So much was claimed by ancient doctors for the Black Hellebore as a medicine in mania, epilepsy, dropsy, and other ills to which mortals are heirs, that naturally the true plant was sought with much zeal. Dr. Woodville laments the want of proper descriptions of plants and the consequences, and in his "Botany," p. 51, points out some ridiculous errors made in reference to the Black Hellebore previous to 1790; he gives the names of many plants which had been mistaken for it and actually employed, and he assumes that at the time of his writing all such errors had not only been discovered, but corrected, by what he then described as, and we now call by the name of, _H. niger_, being the true Black Hellebore; and after all, the potent herb of the ancients has been identified in a plant (a near relation, it is true) other than the white Christmas Rose--it may be some time before we come to think of our present subject as the true Black Hellebore, especially when an otherwise popular species bears the name. Cultivation, as for _H. niger_. Flowering period, December to April. Helleborus Purpurascens. PURPLISH HELLEBORE; _Nat. Ord._ RANUNCULACEÆ. A native of Podolia and Hungary, introduced sixty to seventy years ago. It belongs to the section whose flowers appear before the root leaves, having branched flower stalks and the cut floral leaf. It is a dwarf kind, and varies very much; I have now an established specimen in bloom at the height of 3in., and others at 8in. or 9in. It also differs in the depth of bloom-colour; some of its flowers may be described as purplish-green and others as greenish-purple, slaty and dove-coloured; others have a tinge of red more visible. The flowers are few, on twice-forked stems, are 2in. or more across, and commonly, as the name implies, of a purplish colour; the inner surface of the sepals is a slaty shade, the purple prevailing on the outer surface; the form of the flower is nearly round and slightly cupped, from the nearly round or kidney shaped sepals, which neatly overlap each other, and are also incurved at the edges; the petals are very short and green; the stamens and anthers of a creamy white; the floral leaf is nearly stalkless; segments unevenly toothed. The radical leaves are "pubescent on the under surface, palmate, with the segments cuneated at the base, and from three to five lobed at the apex." The habit is robust and free blooming; the flowers slightly droop, and, though the colours are not showy, they are attractive from the way in which they are borne on the straight stems and the absence of the larger leaves. It is a desirable species for the garden; a few specimens grown amongst a mass of the "winter aconite" are enough to make one forget that it is winter. Cultivation, as for _H. niger_. Flowering period, February to April. Hepatica Angulosa. _Nat. Ord._ RANUNCULACEÆ. This is a very distinct species. It comes from North America, and is twice the size of _H. triloba_ in all its parts; the leaves are more cut, and very woolly; the flowers are bright mauve, and 1½in. across. All the Hepaticas are slow growers, but _H. angulosa_ is the more vigorous. Some say they should be grown in peat, but I never saw them so fine in peat as in strong loam, well drained and manured; they are the better with slight shade. I do not object to peat, as possibly it may be more suitable than the natural soil of some gardens. Still, if I had to make up a compost for Hepaticas, I should freely use strong loam on a well-drained site. With me they have been in flower nearly three months, commencing in February. It seems desirable to increase these fine spring flowers, but they are most impatient of being disturbed, and, after all, the increase can exist in no finer form than in big clumps, though when they are to be propagated the roots should be divided before the new leaves are produced, which is during the blooming period. A deeply-dug and well-manured plot should be prepared for them, and their long roots should not be doubled up in the least; they both need and deserve great care. Flowering period, February to April. Hepatica Triloba. _Syns._ ANEMONE TRILOBA _and_ ANEMONE HEPATICA; _Nat. Ord._ RANUNCULACEÆ. [Illustration: FIG. 50. HEPATICA TRILOBA. (One-third natural size.)] The well-known common Hepatica, of which there are so many beautiful varieties. It is a hardy perennial, one of the "old-fashioned" flowers of English gardens, and is said by some to be a British species; anyhow, it was well known and admired in this country 300 years ago. Well-established specimens form neat tufts of three-lobed leaves on long stems, which are not evergreen in this climate, though the Hepaticas are known to be so in North America, one of their most extensive habitats. Here, under cultivation, they produce much finer flowers, and more of them. The cut (Fig. 50), however, shows the foliage in more perfect form than it is commonly seen to be in this climate during the period of bloom, when the old is usually sered, and the new scarcely visible. The varieties of _H. triloba_ differ only in the colour and form of their flowers, there being blue, purple, white, and pink. Of the first and last named there are double varieties as well. Cultivation, the same as for _H. angulosa_. Flowering period, February to April. _H. t. splendens_ is a charming Windflower, and one which, from its extra brilliancy, is sure to become a favourite, as, indeed, the whole genus _Anemone_ is. It is a new variety of _H. triloba_, and is yet somewhat scarce, differing from the more generally known kinds of the same species in only two points, so that, beyond the mention of them, no other description is needful: (1) Its flowers are single red, but so much deeper in colour, brighter, and of better substance, as to be quite distinct, and merit the name "_splendens_." (2) It flowers earlier than the commoner red kind. This handsome seedling of the common Hepatica is very suggestive of what can be done by raising seed from carefully-selected sorts, and within the last few years something has been done in that direction, so that in a little time we may expect to see other good varieties. I may add that seedlings are three years before they bloom, and even longer before a proper idea can be formed of their qualities. Cultivation, the same as for _H. angulosa_. Flowering period, February to March. Hesperis Matronalis Flore-pleno. DOUBLE SWEET ROCKET, _or_ DAMES' VIOLET; _Nat. Ord._ CRUCIFERÆ. There are several double forms of this very popular old flower, such as purple, ruby, and pure white, the last named being by far the greatest favourite. A few years ago it was said to be very scarce, and in some parts of the country it certainly was so, but when the present taste for the good old flowers became general, it was not only found, but quickly propagated, so that now the double white Sweet Rocket may be had everywhere, and certainly no more beautiful flower can occupy the garden borders, its perfume being strong and deliciously fragrant. The parent plant of these double kinds is widely distributed over Europe; all are perfectly hardy. They vary in height from 12in. to 18in., branching candelabra-like, the flowers being produced in terminal spikes, arranged in the way of, and very much resembling, the double stocks--in fact, the Hesperis used to be called "Queene's Gilloflower." The leaves may be briefly described as oval, lance-shaped, toothed, and veined; dark green, and often spotted or blotched. Gerarde's description, too, may be given, as it is always pleasant to recognise the old plants of 300 years ago: "Dames' Violets hath great large leaues of a darke greene colour, somewhat snipt about the edges; among which spring up stalks of the height of two cubites, set with such like leaves; the flowers come foorth at the toppe of the branches--like those of the Stock Gilloflower, of a verie sweete smell." These desirable flowers have a long blooming period, and their cultivation is simple; there is, however, one special point to be observed, otherwise these double kinds will die off. It should be remembered that they produce no seed, and propagation must be carried out by divisions of the roots and cuttings; old plants, too, have a habit of forming their perennial crowns nearly out of the soil, so that the roots going down from them are often bare and unestablished; the older parts, too, are frequently attacked by ground vermin. No doubt these causes would tend greatly to the former scarcity of the finer kinds, but all the difficulties, if they can be called such, may be overcome by the very simple process of either putting in cuttings like wallflower slips during summer, or, as soon as the old plants are past their best bloom, dividing and replanting the various parts deeper, whereby all of them, however small, will make good plants the following season. This mode of keeping up the stock will be found to make the plants vigorous and free blooming, and also will prove a remedy for the complaint so often given expression to in such words as "I lost all my double Sweet Rockets; I cannot keep them above two years." Flowering period, June to August. Heuchera. ALUM-ROOT; _Nat. Ord._ SAXIFRAGACEÆ. This is a small genus of hardy perennials suitable for the decoration of the English garden from their bold and finely-shaped leaves, which are well marked with various pleasing tints, also because of their perpetual verdure and neat habit. It takes its name from J. H. de Heucher, a botanist. The species, as many of them as are known, are from American habitats; nearly all have been introduced within the last sixty years; the well-known _H. Americana_, however, is an old plant in English gardens, having been cultivated for 223 years. The order, as given above, together with the illustration figuring one of the species (see Fig. 51), will give some idea of the usefulness of the genus, especially when it is remembered that in the depth of winter the foliage is fresh, and even in a growing state. The flowers are of little value for ornamental purposes; they are very small and numerous, and are arranged in panicles or racemes, on rather tall and mostly leafless stems, round, and somewhat wiry; calyx, petals, and stamens have a mixed appearance, the whole flower being of a dingy colour, often resembling some of the panicled bloom of meadow grass, when seen at a short distance; the calyces, however, are persistent, they crown the capsules; these and the naked stems, from their durable nature, mar the beauty of the foliage for several weeks, unless cut off. The plants are more ornamental without the flowers, as they impart a seedy appearance; at no time does the foliage show to more advantage than in January, when most herbaceous plants are dormant, and when their handsome tufts are alike beautiful, either bedewed with fogs, crystallised with hoar-frost, or glittering in the sunshine. As a genus, _Heuchera_ is sometimes placed after _Saxifraga_ and before that of _Tiarella_; the latter it much resembles, as well as the genera _Mitella_ and _Tellima_. Anyone knowing these will at once admit the usefulness of the plants under notice. Not only do they make good edgings or lines to borders, but the leaves in a cut state are of great service for table decoration, doing duty repeatedly around dishes, &c., either with or without flowers; after being so used, if placed in water, they may be kept a fortnight in good form. I am told that the leaves are sold in Covent Garden Market for similar purposes. I have seen them used in the autumn with the large white anemone, and in winter with the Christmas rose, one flower arranged and tied on the face of a single leaf. These placed round dishes, &c., have a pretty effect. They grow freely in any kind of soil, excepting stiff clay, and are readily increased by division of the crowns. This may be done any time, but, perhaps, spring is the best. The Heucheras bloom from May to August. Heuchera Americana. AMERICAN HEUCHERA; _Nat. Ord._ SAXIFRAGACEÆ. The flowers of this species are a dull or reddish purple. The foliage is rough and clammy; the form of leaf resembles that of _H. glabra_ (see Fig. 51), but the colour is a lighter green. All the genus are of an astringent nature, but this species is remarkably so, and in its native country has earned for the family the name of "Alum-root." For cultivation and flowering period see _Heuchera_. Heuchera Cylindrica. CYLINDRICAL-SPIKED HEUCHERA; _Nat. Ord._ SAXIFRAGACEÆ. This is much in the way of _H. Richardsoni_, with the distinction indicated by the name, the flowers being arranged evenly round the spike like a cylinder. For cultivation and flowering period see _Heuchera_. Heuchera Drummondi. DRUMMOND'S HEUCHERA; _Nat. Ord._ SAXIFRAGACEÆ. A tall kind, with leaves of handsome shape (heart-shaped and lobed) and greener than most varieties. Cultivation and flowering period are described under _Heuchera_. Heuchera Glabra. SMOOTH HEUCHERA; _Nat. Ord._ SAXIFRAGACEÆ. [Illustration: FIG. 51. HEUCHERA GLABRA. (One-sixth natural size.)] This was introduced in 1824 from North America. The foliage is bold and abundant; the illustration (Fig. 51) not only gives a good idea of the form and habit of foliage, but fairly represents the whole genus, as seen during the late (1882) season. This species has dull pinkish flowers; the scapes have a few leaves; root leaves are 2in. to 5in. in diameter, heart-shaped, lobed, toothed, smooth, and of a dark bronzy-green colour. The leaf stalks are long and slender; the habit very neat. Cultivation and flowering period are described under _Heuchera_. Heuchera Lucida. SHINING-LEAVED HEUCHERA; _Nat. Ord._ SAXIFRAGACEÆ. A very dwarf species, not more than 3in. or 4in. high; the foliage a clear bright green, nearly kidney-shaped, lobed, and roundly toothed. The fresh appearance of its prostrate leaves, which are 2in. across, forms a pleasing object in mid-winter. Cultivation and flowering period, as given under _Heuchera_. Heuchera Metallica. _Nat. Ord._ SAXIFRAGACEÆ. This was presented to me in 1881 by a lady, who informed me that it was introduced by the late Miss Hope. It is a beautiful plant; the hues somewhat justify the name, but to the touch the leaves are more like a soft fabric, as cloth or velvet. The flowers are of no value, but the foliage is bloom of no mean order, so much so, that everyone stops to admire this handsome plant. Cultivation and flowering period, as given under _Heuchera_. Heuchera Micrantha. SMALL-FLOWERED HEUCHERA; _Nat. Ord._ SAXIFRAGACEÆ. From Columbia. Flowers a yellowish-green; leaves nearly round, bluntly lobed, crenate or round toothed, the teeth horned or pointed; the colour is inclined to auburn during autumn, but it varies, and for a botanical description it would be hard to state a particular colour. The gardener, however, will find in this a most useful plant, where different forms and tints of foliage are desirable. Into the sub-tropical garden it may be introduced with good effect. I may add that the leaf stalks are 9in. to 12in. long, also of a rich brown colour, and the leaves are 3in. to 5in. across. Cultivation and flowering period, as described under _Heuchera_. Heuchera Purpurea. _Nat. Ord._ SAXIFRAGACEÆ. This seems to be a less known or newer variety. If the name has reference to the colour of the foliage, it is not inappropriate. The bold leaves are a dark green, shading to a bronze, then a purple, the whole having a soft downy effect. It is a charming kind. Cultivation and flowering period, the same as for the _Heuchera_. Heuchera Ribifolia. CURRANT-LEAVED HEUCHERA; _Nat. Ord._ SAXIFRAGACEÆ. This is another dwarf kind, producing such leaves as the name denotes. Of this species the only useful feature for a garden seems to be its habit of neatly carpeting the ground under deciduous trees. It has also a remarkably fresh appearance during winter. Cultivation and flowering period, as for other _Heucheras_. Heuchera Richardsoni. RICHARDSON'S HEUCHERA; _Nat. Ord._ SAXIFRAGACEÆ. A taller variety than _H. Drummondi_. The most striking distinctions are the pale green colour of the young leaves contrasting with the bronzed appearance of the older ones, and the larger size of its flowers, which, however, are green. Cultivation and flowering period, as for other species. Houstonia Coerulea. BLUETS; _Nat. Ord._ GENTIANACEÆ. [Illustration: FIG. 52. HOUSTONIA COERULEA. (Natural size.)] Hardy and evergreen. This pretty little shining plant never exceeds a height of 3in. Like most species of this order, both flowers and foliage have much substance and endure for a long time in perfection, but its neat form and bright parts most commend it--it almost sparkles in both leaf and flower. This species, as implied by the specific name, bears a blue flower, but there is a variety (_H. c. alba_ or _H. albiflora_) which bears white flowers, from a specimen of which the illustration (Fig. 52) is drawn, and, as the colour of the flower is the only dissimilarity, a description of the typical form will in all other respects apply to both. The flowers, which are produced singly on slender stems 2in. high, are composed of a four-toothed calyx; corolla, four petals, or four-toothed and funnel-shaped; when fully expanded each flower is ½in. across, and shows a distinct yellow eye. The leaves of the root are spathulate, those of the stems opposite and lanceolate; all the parts are shown of the natural size in the illustration. All the known Houstonias are natives of North America; still, our winters seem to kill strong plants. From an impression that the plants were destroyed by insects amongst their roots and foliage, I had several tufts lifted, well shaken out, and divided in the autumn; they were replanted in leaf soil and sand and kept rather moist. When planting them, all amongst the roots was thickly strewn with dry silver sand, so as to leave no space for the lodgment of vermin; the results were fine, fresh, green tufts throughout the following winter, which, however, was not severe; still, the plants not so treated dwindled and were unhealthy, whereas the others were finely in bloom, the subject of the drawing being one of them. These minute plants do well and look well wedged between large stones on rockwork, where they flower nearly all the year round; they also form pretty pot specimens under cold frame treatment; and they may be used with good effect for surfacing the pots in which other hardy but tall and bare stemmed things--such as lilies--are grown. The mode of propagation has been indicated by the above autumnal treatment. Flowering period, April to July. Hutchinsia Alpina. _Syn._ LEPIDIUM ALPINUM; _Nat. Ord._ CRUCIFERÆ. An alpine species, from South Europe, which may be said to be evergreen in this climate, and, according to my experience of it, flowering throughout the year. Though found in some gardens to be difficult to establish, when it finds a suitable home it becomes a pretty addition. This alpine seldom exceeds 2in. in height. The flowers are a glistening white and very small, produced in numerous heads, and they are very enduring; the calyx is concave and falls off; the four petals are inversely ovate; the little leaves are deeply lobed, of a pale shining green colour, with plenty of substance; its habit is spreading or creeping. Neither slugs nor any other pests seem to meddle with it. It may be transplanted at any time, and the mode of propagation may be gathered from the following remarks. Probably because its name implies its alpine character, some may be misled to plant it on rockwork; whether that be so or not, I so tried it, and found it would not grow in such a situation. A bed of dwarf and moisture-loving subjects was being planted, in which a bit of this Hutchinsia was dibbled, and it found a home in the moist vegetable soil. For two or three years I do not remember to have seen it, or the seedlings, without flowers; its pretty, dwarf, rue-like foliage grew so thickly that it threatened to kill the edging of gentianella and such things as _Polemonium variegatum_, the double cuckoo-flower, and the little _Armeria setacea_; it also filled the walks, and its long wiry roots have been eradicated with difficulty. From this it will be seen how much depends, with some plants, on the position in which they are placed. Hydrangea Paniculata Grandiflora. LARGE-PANICLED HYDRANGEA; _Nat. Ord._ SAXIFRAGACEÆ. This dwarf shrub is perfectly hardy and deciduous; it comes from Japan, and is one of the best hardy things I have come across for some time. It is quite a new introduction, and has many fine qualities; the fact of its producing immense clusters of white flowers, 12in. long and 12in. in circumference, as well-established plants, is enough to induce its extended cultivation; but when it is stated that its clusters are numerous and durable, that the shrub begins to flower in summer and continues in great beauty until damaged by frosts, it will doubtless be recorded on the lists of desiderata of those who do not possess it. The usefulness of such a subject is notable not only to the gardener who has a keen eye to artistic effect, but to the lover of showy flowers (see Fig. 53). The flowers are male and female kinds, and, as is usual with the genus, the fruitful ones are interspersed with unfruitful, being shorter in the stalks and nearly covered over by the latter, which are much larger; in fact, they are not the true flowers from a botanist's point of view, but with the florist it is exactly the opposite; their colour is white, more or less tinted with pink, which, if the autumn season proves fine and dry, becomes purple. As the name denotes, the bloom is arranged in massive panicles, pyramidal form, 6in. to 12in. long, and 4in. to 8in. in diameter. They slightly bend with the great weight, but are otherwise well supported by the woody stems. The latter are somewhat short, seeing they carry such large clusters. The leaves are oval, subcordate (varying), distinctly ribbed, and finely toothed, also varying much in size. The habit of the shrub is much branched, of strong growth, and very floriferous. The flowering shoots issue from the hard wood of the previous season's growth. In the shrubbery it is very attractive, its flowers out-numbering, out-measuring, and out-lasting most of its neighbours. Kept dwarf, what a grand bedder it would make! Grown in pots it is a first-class indoor subject. It has that rare quality, even when in small pots, of being adapted for the company of large ferns, palms, &c., from the great size of its panicles, and I need scarcely say that for cutting purposes it is valuable, more especially in decorations which are not closely viewed. [Illustration: FIG. 53. HYDRANGEA PANICULATA GRANDIFLORA. (One-tenth natural size); blossom, natural size.] The culture of this shrub is very simple; it does best in rich loam. The situation should be sunny, that it may well ripen its wood. In order to have clusters of large size, it should be closely pruned, like roses, by which treatment the bush may also be kept in the desired form. Its propagation is by cuttings; they should be of fairly well-ripened wood of the last season's growth. The degree of ripeness, like that of such things as roses and fuchsias, may vary according to the method by which the cuttings are to be treated. Half-ripened shoots will root well in a little heat; the harder wood will root equally well, but more slowly, in the open in sandy loam. Flowering period, July to end of September. Hypericum Calycinum. LARGE-CALYXED ST. JOHN'S WORT, _or_ ROSE OF SHARON; _Nat. Ord._ HYPERICACEÆ. A very ornamental deciduous shrub, but often green throughout the winter. This I claim the privilege of introducing amongst herbaceous perennials; it is a well-known and favourite "old-fashioned" flower, in fact, a native of Ireland. The old name for it was "Cup St. John's Wort." In July it is in splendid form, and, familiar as we are with it, it never fails to win admiration. How charming are its large, shining, golden blossoms, nestling amongst the bright but glaucous foliage! the bundled tassels composed of numerous filamentary stamens glistening like threads of gold; and though often seen one can never tire of it. As a flower, it is distinct in form, showy, and richly effective. It grows to the height of 1ft. or 18in.; the flowers are 4in. across, of a rich golden-yellow colour, and produced singly on the very leafy stems which, at the base or at their more woody parts, are square, the upper parts being nearly round. Short flower-stalks issue from the side and near the top, a small new growth being produced in juxtaposition with the blossom, the said growth being composed of half-a-dozen or so smaller-sized leaves of a pale apple-green, charmingly suffused with a glaucous hue. The calyx of five sepals is very large, whence the specific name, and each sepal is nearly round and cupped, whence the old common name, "Cup St. John's Wort"; the five petals are 2in. long and widely apart; stamens very numerous, long, thready, and arranged in tufts. These are very beautiful, and form the most conspicuous part of the flower; like the other seed organs, and also the petals, they are of a rich, glistening, yellow colour. The leaves are closely arranged in pairs, opposite, and nearly sessile; they are 2in. to 3in. long, and about 1in. broad, oval-oblong, blunt, smooth, and leathery. When young, they are as above described, but when older, they are of a dark, shining green colour, and somewhat reflexed. The under sides are finely reticulated or veined, and sometimes the foliage is spotted with brown. The habit of the shrub is neat, the short stems being numerous and semi-prostrate, forming dense, even masses of verdant foliage. Such a subject as this cannot be too highly esteemed on the score of the merits already set forth; but there are other good qualities which I will briefly refer to presently. There can be little doubt that the fine parts and many uses, decorative and otherwise, of most of the "old-fashioned" flowers have much to do with the high and continued esteem in which they are held. Not one of the least recommendations of this St. John's Wort is that it can be grown with great success under the shade of trees. It is one of the very few subjects that will bloom freely in such situations. It is, therefore, very valuable; besides, as regards its period of flowering, it comes in nicely after the vincas are over. These two genera are, perhaps, the best hardy flowering shrubs we possess for planting in the shade of trees. I scarcely need add that for more open situations, as rockwork and borders, it is in every way suitable. To the lover of cut flowers this must prove one of the most satisfactory, not only because of its beauty, but also because they are produced for fully three months--into September--and they are sweetly scented, like wallflowers. A flower-topped stem forms a perfect and unique decoration for a lady's hair; sprays in small vases are exquisite, whilst a bowlful for the table (without any other flower) is very fine indeed--let the reader try these simple styles of decoration. Also, mixed with other flowers, it is one of the most telling; none of the yellow exotics can excel it. It is now before me, with a few sprays of the pink sweet pea and a bold spike of the white variety of goat's-rue; the blend is both delicate and effective. As a cut flower it can hardly be misused, provided it is not crowded. Its culture is simple. Any sort of garden soil suits it, but it prefers a sandy loam. A winter top dressing of stable litter will help to produce greater luxuriance and a longer succession of flowers. It quickly and broadly propagates itself by means of its creeping roots; these may be at any time chopped off, with a sharp spade, in strong pieces, which, if planted in deeply-dug loam, will make blooming specimens for the following season. Flowering period, July to September. Iberis Correæfolia. _Nat. Ord._ CRUCIFERÆ. This is a hybrid and much improved variety of the well-known evergreen and shrubby Candytuft, often called "Everlasting Candytuft." A more pronounced remove from its parents could hardly be found in any plant or shrub than is this. There are evident improvements in colour, size, and habit, both in foliage and flowers. It is also a robust grower and perfectly hardy, in these respects being very different from _I. Gibraltarica_. None of the shrubby Candytufts can compare with this for usefulness and beauty; it comes into flower in May, and is in its greatest beauty in early June. It remains in fine form for fully four weeks. At first the flowers seem small, but later they form broad masses of dazzling whiteness, the corymbs being the size of a crown piece. Not only is this wholly distinct from its relatives, but it is one of the most useful flowers and evergreen shrubs which can be introduced to a garden. It cannot be planted wrong as regards either soil or situation. It forms a rich surfacing subject, all the year round, to other tall plants, as lilies, &c. It looks well as a front specimen in the shrubbery, makes an effective and neat appearance at the angles of walks, or as an edging it may be cut and trimmed as a substitute for a grass verge; it thrives on sunny or almost sunless outhouse tops, and on rockwork it is superb; moreover, it grows fairly well in reeky towns, and though its white flowers may be soiled the day they open, its bright green leaves and dense habit render it a pleasing object. The flowers are arranged in flat heads at first, but as the stems become elongated and the succession of buds open, a long round cluster is formed by the old flowers remaining (as they do for weeks), such heads or spikes sometimes being 3in. long. There is much substance in the petals, which causes them to glisten in strong light; the flower stems are produced 5in. or 6in. above the foliage, their total height rarely exceeding a foot. The leaves are numerous, of a dark shining green colour; in length 1½in., and over ¼in. broad near the ends; their shape is spathulate, obtuse, entire, and smooth; the new set of foliage contrasts pleasingly with the old, and its growth is completed during the flowering period; the woody and slender branches are numerous and procumbent. Besides the positions already mentioned, in which this shrub may usefully be planted, there is none more so, perhaps, than that of rough or unsightly corners, where, if it is provided with a little loam, it will soon adapt its form to the surroundings. The flowers in a cut state are not only sweet-smelling, but very useful where white bloom is needed in quantity, as for church decorations. _I. correæfolia_ can scarcely be said to need cultural treatment, but it is useful to bear in mind that it may be much more finely bloomed if generously treated, which simply consists in nothing more than giving it a sunny place and sandy loam, well enriched with old manure. Specimens so treated, which were cuttings only two years ago, are now 2ft. in diameter, and covered densely with large flowers; and how lovely some of the pretty weeds which have sprung up amongst the bushes, and mingle their flowers among the masses of white, appear--such as Spring Beauty (Claytonia), pink flowers; the Maiden Pink (_Dianthus deltoides_), rose; Self-heal (_Prunella pyrenaica_), purple; and the forget-me-nots! This comparatively new Candytuft is as easily increased as grown, by either layers or cuttings; the latter may be put in almost any time, early spring being the best; if put in in June, no better quarters can be given than under the shade of shrubs, where the soil is sandy loam. Flowering period, middle of May to middle of June. Iris Foetidissima. GLADDON, GLADWIN, _or_ SPURGE-WORT; _Nat. Ord._ IRIDACEÆ. A British species, occurring largely in some parts, in shady woods and swampy places near the sea. It is evergreen and of a pleasing form throughout the year. Its flowers are of a dull colour, and not likely to be much esteemed, more especially when in midsummer there are so many beautiful kinds around; still, it merits a place in our gardens. Its handsome berry-like seeds, which are so attractively conspicuous in December, are much more desirable than its flowers, ready as they are for our use at Christmas time. It grows 2 ft. high, and is a water-loving plant, but may be easily grown in the more moist parts of the garden. The large pod is three-cornered; the husks having turned brown, become divided, and expose to view the large, orange-coloured seeds, which, later, turn to a reddish-brown. They are held in the husks for many weeks and strong winds do not displace them; they are very effective amongst the dark green foliage, and may be cut if desired, as they often are, for indoor decoration. They may be used in a hundred different ways, but never do they show to more advantage than when cut with long stems and placed in a vase with some of their own dark green sword-shaped leaves; these last-named, by the way, may be appropriated throughout the winter as a dressing for other flowers. There need be no difficulty in growing this species, for if the soil is not naturally moist in summer, a thick dressing of rotten stable manure will meet the case. As a matter of fact, my specimen is grown in a bed fully exposed to the sun; the soil is well drained, and stone-crops are grown in the next bed to it; no water is ever given to established plants, and still the Gladwin is well fruited; the soil is deeply tilled, and there is a thick covering of manure. It is easily propagated by division of the roots in autumn or early spring. Flowering period, June to August. Isopyrum Gracilis. SLENDER ISOPYRUM; _Nat. Ord._ RANUNCULACEÆ. This is a hardy herbaceous plant, of great beauty. The flowers are not showy, but their great numbers and arrangement render them of importance in what may be termed a fine-foliaged subject. The Isopyrums are very nearly related to the thalictrums or rues, and this one greatly resembles the maidenhair-like section, one of which it is often taken for. There is, however, an important botanical difference between the two genera: the thalictrums have no calyx, and the Isopyrums have. Still, as the flowers of both are very small, that feature is not very observable. As a decorative plant it may be classed with the maidenhair-like rues, and the illustration may be said to give a fair idea of three or four species. [Illustration: FIG. 54. ISOPYRUM GRACILIS. (One-eighth natural size; 1, leaflet, full size.)] The Isopyrum under notice grows 12in. or 15in. high, and produces its dark brown flowers on slender, well-branched stems, forming feathery panicles, which have a graceful appearance. The flowers are very small, and composed of a five-cleft calyx, five equal petals, and numerous long, pendent seed-organs; the stems are elegantly furnished with the fine-cut foliage. The leaves are large, but the leaflets small, as may be seen by the one given, full size, in the drawing (Fig. 54), being somewhat cordate, lobed, and dentate; they have hair-like stalks, which add to their elegance of arrangement, and their glaucous colour further enhances their effectiveness. This light and diffuse subject may be usefully planted to relieve other kinds; in beds or lines it looks well, having a lace-like effect; as a cut flower or spray it nearly equals maidenhair, and for mixing with large flowers, it perhaps excels. Either cut or in the growing state it is very durable. It may be grown in average garden soil, but to have it fine, it should be given vegetable soil and a moist situation, not shaded. It is propagated by seeds or division of the roots in autumn. Flowering period, July and August. Jasminum Nudiflorum. NUDE-FLOWERED JASMINE; _Nat. Ord._ JASMINACEÆ. [Illustration: FIG. 55, JASMINUM NUDIFLORUM. (One-third natural size.)] This was brought to this country from China a little less than forty years ago, and, as proof of its sterling worth, it is already in extensive use. The whole genus is a favourite one; but there is a special and most attractive feature about this species that is sure to render it desirable to all--it flowers freely in mid-winter, and it does so in the open garden. Like many of the genus, this species comes from a very warm climate, and for a time it was grown in glasshouses as a tender shrub, where it flowered during the winter months. It is now found to be a perfectly hardy subject, not only withstanding our most trying seasons without the least injury, but also proving true to the month of December as the period when it begins to produce its numerous golden flowers. It is a climbing deciduous shrub, though it has neither the habit of clinging nor twining. The shrub produces bloom when only 18in. high, but it often grows to as many feet, and even taller. The flowers are borne singly at the joints from which the leaves have fallen, and as the latter were opposite, the blossom appears in pairs on the new twigs. In the bud state they are drooping, and are marked with a bright chestnut tint on the sunny side. The calyx is ample, almost leafy, but these parts are hidden when the flower opens and becomes erect. The form of the Jasmine blossom is well known; in size this one is rather larger than a full-blown violet, and quite as sweetly scented, which is saying very much, but the colour is yellow; the petals are of good substance and shining; the flowers last a long time, even during the roughest weather, they open most during sunshine, but do not wait for it, and they remain open until they fade. The leaves, which are produced in early spring, are very small and ternate; leaflets of unequal size, ovate, downy, and of dark green colour. The wood is very pithy, square, with sharp corners, and having the appearance almost as if winged; the younger branchlets are dark bronze green. The habit of the shrub is rampant, climbing, much branched, and very floriferous. The green leafless sprigs of bloom are very serviceable in a cut state for vase decoration, especially if mixed with dry grasses or well-foliaged flowers; the sweet odour, too, reminds one of spring time. Specimens growing against the house or other walls, either nailed or in a trellis, have a happy effect in winter, from the slender whip-like growths hanging down and being well bloomed. From the dark green colour and great number of branchlets, although leafless, a well-grown example has quite the effect of an evergreen. It enjoys a sunny position, but I have it doing well in a northwest aspect; it may be used in bush form in almost any situation. Neither is it particular as to soil, but I should not think of planting a winter-blooming subject in stiff or retentive loam--that of a sandy nature is more likely to be productive of flowers. It is easily propagated from cuttings of the young wood; if they are taken in late summer, when the leaves are falling, they will root quickly. Before the strong west winds of autumn occur, it should be pruned, in order to prevent its being torn from the wall; if the prunings are laid in sandy loam, between shrubs, they will be sufficiently rooted for planting out by the following spring. Flowering period, December to April. Kalmia Latifolia. BROAD-LEAVED KALMIA; _Nat. Ord._ ERICACEÆ. [Illustration: FIG. 56. KALMIA LATIFOLIA. (One-third natural size.)] An evergreen shrub, very hardy in our climate. It comes from North America, and from its dwarf character and free-blooming habit, it is not only one of the most useful shrubs, but may be freely planted in connection with herbaceous subjects, where it will help to redeem the deadness of beds and borders during winter (see Fig. 56). Like the rhododendron, it grows to various heights, according to the soil or situation in which it may be planted, but 18in. to 2ft. is the size at which it may often--perhaps most often--be seen producing its wealth of flowers. There are many fine flowering shrubs, but they do not gain the esteem in which this is held. Its large clusters of delicate flowers, surmounting dark shining foliage, and which seem almost too pure and beautiful to withstand the vicissitudes of the open garden, are its winning points; moreover, the flowers last several weeks in perfection. The flowers are arranged in broad panicles; the pedicels and five-cleft calyx are a bright brown colour, and furnished with short stiff hairs. The salver-shaped corolla, which is white, pleasingly tinted with red, has a short tube and five divisions, curiously cornered; the flower is fully ¾in. across, and in its unopened state is hardly less pretty than when blown. The leaves are borne on stout woody branches, have short stalks, and a bent or contorted habit; they are thick, leathery, shining, smooth, and of a dark green colour on the upper side; underneath they are a yellowish-green. In form they are elliptical and entire, being 3in. to 4in. long. Healthy specimens are well furnished with foliage; otherwise it is spare, and when that is the case the flowering is rarely satisfactory. As this subject requires to be grown in moist vegetable soil, such as leaf mould or peat, it is useless to plant it where these conditions do not exist; moreover, the rule with species of the order _Ericaceæ_ is to require a pure, or approximately pure, atmosphere. Doubtless these conditions will debar many from growing this shrub successfully; but I may add, where its requirements can be afforded, not only should it be freely planted, but it will probably thrive without any further care. As a cut flower it is exquisite, if taken with a good stem and a few leaves; to many it may appear odd when I say it is too good to cut, but there are others who will comprehend me. The flowers can nowhere show to more advantage than on the bush, and it seems a pity to take its strongest branches for the sake of transferring the blossom. It is a slow-growing subject, but easily propagated by layering the lower branches; no matter how old or hard the wood has grown, if pegged well down they will soon become rooted. Flowering period, June to August. Lactuca Sonchifolia. SOW THISTLE-LEAFED LETTUCE; _Nat. Ord._ COMPOSITÆ. This is one of the few ornamental species of a somewhat numerous genus; it is, moreover, perennial and hardy in this climate--characteristics not common to the family. It came from Candia, in 1822, since which time it has been grown in English gardens, more or less, as a decorative plant; it is of unusual form, especially in the foliage. I think it would scarcely be called handsome; but the flowers, which are a fine pale blue, and of the form usual to the order, are too good to be overlooked, and their value is enhanced by the fact of their being produced so late in the year. In speaking of the flower as a subject of the pleasure garden, it is unnecessary to describe it beyond saying that it is of a rich but pale blue colour, and over 1in. across, produced on stalks nearly 2ft. high, in lax panicles. The leaves are large--about 1ft. long and 9in. wide--have a stout mid-rib, are pinnate, and most curiously lobed. The leaflets, moreover, are fantastically shaped, being again lobed, also toothed and bent in various ways. The teeth have spine-like points, and the only uniform trait about their form seems to be that the edges are turned backwards. The upper surface is a pale green colour, the under side grey, almost white. It is of rather neat habit, and though I have not grown it in lines, it is only needful to see one good specimen in order to be certain of its effectiveness when so planted; it would be singularly distinct. It enjoys sunny quarters and deep but light or sandy loam. With me it does well on a raised bed of light earth; its long tap roots will save it from drought during the driest summer, when its fleshy and fast-growing foliage would lead one to think that it could not endure a dry time. It is readily increased by division of the roots or seed. Flowering period, September to strong frosts. Lathyrus Grandiflorus LARGE-FLOWERED EVERLASTING PEA; _Nat. Ord._ LEGUMINOSÆ. A hardy, herbaceous climber, coming from the South of Europe. It was introduced to this country nearly seventy years ago; it is an attractive object when in bloom, growing 6ft. high and being very floriferous. The flowers are nearly 2in. across. Not only in good soil do specimens grow densely and become furnished from the ground to the extremities of the stalks with bloom, but the roots run under the surface so rapidly that a veritable thicket is formed in three or four years. It is as well to allow this fine pea a good broad space, in the midst of which several iron standards, 6ft. high, should be firmly fixed; to these, fresh twiggy branches might be secured every spring; if the old ones are left in, their rottenness will allow them to snap off during strong winds when the tendrils have laid hold of them; but fresh branches, used as suggested, will bend but not break, and will withstand the strongest winds. This is very important, as, if the mass of foliage heads over, it is spoilt for the season. The flowers are dark rose colour, produced in twos and threes on longish stalks, which spring from the axils. The tendrils are three-cut, having a pair of oval leaflets; the stems are square, or four-angled, and slightly twisted and winged. This plant may be grown in any soil or situation. A specimen does well with me planted in rubble, where it covers a short rain-water pipe, the said pipe being feathered with twigs every spring; but to have flowers of extra size and luxuriant growth, plant in good loam, in a sunny site, and top dress with stable manure every spring. This large Pea-flower is most useful for cutting purposes, being not only handsome but very durable. The running roots may be transplanted in early spring, just before they make any stem. Flowering period, June to August. Lathyrus Latifolius. LARGE-LEAVED LATHYRUS, _or_ EVERLASTING PEA; _Nat. Ord._ LEGUMINOSÆ. This deciduous climber is one of the handsomest plants of the British flora (see Fig. 57); in its wild state it is a charming object, and under cultivation, in full exposure to sunshine, with proper provision for its tendrils, and kept clear of weeds, it becomes in every way one of the finest objects in the garden, whether considered as a decorative climber, a floral specimen, or a source of cut flowers. [Illustration: FIG. 57. LATHYRUS LATIFOLIUS. (One-sixth natural size.)] It grows fully 8ft. high, in deep and rich soil, and is furnished with large, many-flowered bunches of blossom from the leaf axils nearly all its length, each flower stalk being 6in. to 9in. long. The flowers are of a lively rose colour, about twelve in a cluster; tendrils five-cut, long, and two-leaved. The leaves are in pairs, elliptical, many ribbed, glaucous, and very large, whence the specific name; the internodes of the whole plant are winged, wings membranaceous; stipules large, broader than the stems. The habit is rampant; it enjoys sunshine, but will do in partial shade. _L. l. albus_ is a variety similar to the above in all its parts, but scarcely as large in the foliage, and the flowers are pure white, and produced a week or a fortnight later; for cutting purposes these are justly and highly esteemed. Tall vases may be pleasingly dressed by the flowered stems, if cut about 3ft. long; these twined round or hanging down are very graceful, but they should not be used too freely--one, or two at most, on each large vase will be ample. Both the above may be grown with good effect amongst other climbers, on a specially prepared trellis-work, ordinary pea-rods, or over defunct trees. Propagated by seeds, or by division of very strong roots only. February is a good time for both methods. Flowering period, June to August. Leucojum Æstivum. SUMMER SNOWFLAKE; _Nat. Ord._ AMARYLLIDACEÆ. As may be seen by the illustration (Fig. 58), this native bulbous plant is somewhat ungainly; blooming specimens are sometimes 2ft. high, and each one rarely produces more than three of its small flowers, but they are worth growing, because of their lasting properties, either cut or otherwise; the pretty snowdrop-shaped flowers are very effective when used in vases, their long stems rendering them more serviceable than they otherwise would be. [Illustration: FIG. 58. LEUCOJUM ÆSTIVUM. (One-third natural size.)] The white flower is without calyx, and has a corolla of six petals, each one being delicately tipped with pale green; they are produced on long thick stems, each flower having a somewhat lengthened pedicel, by which they are suspended bell-fashion. The foliage is of the common daffodil form, but longer; bulb small. There are, it is said, two varieties of this species, which have generally become mixed; the other variety is said to be more dwarf and later in flowering; if this is correct, possibly these mixed varieties may have something to do with the long time which they are known to continue flowering. Not only for the sake of preventing the tall growths from heading over should it be grown in broad masses, but when so planted this flower is more effective. It will grow in any kind of soil, but it seems most at home amongst dwarf shrubs, where its flowers are always of a more delicate colour than when exposed. Propagated by division of the roots during autumn every third year. Flowering period, May to July. Leucojum Vernum. SPRING SNOWFLAKE; _Nat. Ord._ AMARYLLIDACEÆ. A hardy bulbous species from Germany. It is not necessary either to describe or praise this beautiful flower, beyond stating that in every way it closely resembles the snowdrop; it is larger, however, whence the appropriateness of its name, Snowflake, in relation to that of the snowdrop. It will thrive anywhere but in wet, sour situations; it most enjoys fine light soil and the partial shade of trees, where it rapidly increases by offsets of the bulbs; these may, with advantage, be divided every three or four years. Flowering period, March and April. Lilium Auratum. GOLDEN-RAYED _or_ JAPANESE LILY; _Nat. Ord._ LILIACEÆ. This is a hardy Lily, and though this particular species is comparatively new to our English gardens, it belongs to a noble genus which has had a place in our ancestors' gardens for ages. It was long thought that this bulb from Japan could not endure our winters, and though it is proved to be perfectly hardy, there are yet many who only cultivate it indoors, and seem surprised when they see it in beds and borders, where it is allowed to remain year after year. The flowers vary very much in size, from 5in. to 8in. across; the divisions are richly tinted (golden-rayed), beautifully spotted and reflexed; the stems, at the height of 3ft. to 6ft., are furnished with flowers, mostly about five to eight in number. Though the flowers appear delicate, it is surprising how well they stand out in the open garden. For beauty and effect this Lily is incomparable (see Fig. 59). [Illustration: FIG. 59. LILIUM AURATUM. (One-half natural size.)] Much has been said about its culture, far more than need be put into practice. I have found the observance of three simple rules sufficient in order to have it in fine bloom year after year: First, begin with good sound bulbs, not over large. Second, plant them 9in. deep in sandy soil, and a moist situation, surrounding each bulb with half-a-spadeful of fine charcoal, which protects them from rot, canker, and (what I believe to be the chief cause of failure) the wireworm. Third, grow them where they will be sheltered from high winds; otherwise their long and top-heavy stems become wrenched, and the upper roots, above the bulbs, so torn that the current season's bloom is more or less damaged and root development checked. To put my simple method of growing this Lily in a plainer way, I may state that my garden is naturally well drained, has light soil, and a south aspect. Under a west wall I planted small bulbs in the manner already stated, and though I have often seen this Lily nearly twice as tall as ever I grew it, I have not any cause to complain about the quantity of bloom. I never either water or put down stakes as supports. If the situation is moist no water is needed, and it is next to impossible to send down stakes without coming in contact with the large bulbs. Doubtless a few good waterings with liquid manure would be an advantage, but where _L. auratum_ is esteemed as satisfactory with short stems, this need not be given. When once a clump or batch of this Lily has become established, it should not be disturbed for several years, when, if the stems are becoming too rank to allow them to wave without damaging each other's flowers, or if there are many young unflowered stems, they may profitably be dug out in a careful manner when the bulbs have ripened, which will be the case when the tops have become thoroughly dry; there will then be found to be numbers of nice clean young bulbs, which, with a year's extra patience, will probably form a more vigorous batch than the parent one. Such bulbs are properly called "home grown." Flowering period, September to November. Linum Flavum. YELLOW FLAX; _Nat. Ord._ LINACEÆ. This handsome shrub-like Flax comes from Austria, and is a comparatively new species in English gardens. It is not only a distinct form, but from the large quantities and more durable quality of its flowers, it proves itself a very useful subject for flower-beds and borders, where it should have the most select companions. It is classed as a hardy, herbaceous perennial; its woody character, and a few green leaves which it carries throughout the winter would, however, show that it is not strictly herbaceous. Its hardiness, too, will be questioned by many who have tried to winter it outside, more especially in the northern parts of Great Britain. It is only hardy under certain conditions, which, in effect, is saying that it is not perfectly hardy. It requires a light warm soil and a dry situation, besides which, if the winter is severe, it should be protected with a thick covering of ashes or cocoa fibre. This special treatment has been found needful in Yorkshire, but more south it has been proved hardy without such precautions. The neat habit and clusters of rich yellow flowers of this plant render it deserving of the little extra care above indicated; this, together with the fact that it is hardy in many parts, is a sufficient reason for naming it amongst hardy plants. Its flowers are produced in branched heads, dense and numerous, on stems a foot or more high; each flower is 1in. or 1½in. across, the five petals being of a transparent golden yellow, distinctly veined with orange; they are broad, and overlap each other; calyx small, and of a dark olive-green colour; segments finely pointed. The leaves are 2in. or more in length, lanced, but inclining to spoon shape; sessile, stout, smooth, entire, and glaucous. Through the summer new stems are quickly grown, which, in their turn, become topped with clusters of bloom, and so a succession of flowers is kept up until autumn. On rockwork it is effective, the situation, to some extent, meeting the requirements of its somewhat tender constitution; it may also be grown well in beds or borders, but they should be of a sandy character, and raised, unless it is intended to take up the plants for the winter; in such positions four or five specimens form a charming group, and nothing can be finer than the effect of other Flaxes, of a tall and spray-like character, grown near and amongst this golden yellow, such, for instance, as _L. Narbonnense_ and _L. perenne_. It is easily propagated by seeds, which should be sown in the autumn as soon as ripe; it may also be divided, but I have found the quickest and best results from cuttings taken in a half-ripened state. They should be put round the side of a rather large pot in sandy peat; the warmth, shade, and moisture of a cucumber-frame will cause them to root quickly, when they should be potted off singly, so as to make sturdy plants before the winter sets in, and such young stock ought to be wintered in a cold frame. Flowering period, August and September. Lithospermum Prostratum. PROSTRATE GROMWELL; _Nat. Ord._ BORAGINACEÆ. Sometimes called the Gentian L., from its bright blue gentian-like flowers. By many this species is considered synonymous with _L. fruticosum_. They are, however, very dissimilar. Our subject is an evergreen and stunted trailer; _L. fruticosum_ is a deciduous trailer and very vigorous; both, however, are perfectly hardy. The most striking characteristics of the Prostrate Gromwell are its fine dark blue flowers and procumbent habit. It is a native of France, and only within the last sixty years has it been introduced into this country. Its habit is most distinct as compared with the various long-stemmed species. It much resembles the well-known _Veronica prostrata_ in its general appearance. Its flowers are sparingly produced from the axils of the leaves, but, being large compared with the size of the foliage, they are very effective when they first open. The dark but bright blue corolla is tinged with red, but later on the colour becomes an unmixed blue, and the blooms increase in size until more than ½in. across. The complexion of the foliage is very dark (holly green), the leaves are about 1in. long, and are narrow and stalkless; they have much substance and are rather hard. The whole plant is thickly coated with hairs--a common feature of this order; but in this species the hairs are remarkably stiff, those of the edges of the leaves being almost thorny. The form of growth assumed by this plant eminently fits it for rockwork. It should be so planted that its densely-branched stems can fall over the face of a light-coloured stone; in this respect it forms a good companion to the dwarf phloxes, but it is otherwise a superior rock plant, being more characteristic and prolonged in its flowering. It should be allowed to grow to a large size, which will require several years, or the object may be sooner gained by planting half-a-dozen specimens in a group; this should be done when the plants are young, as it is very impatient of being disturbed when once established. It would make a capital edging plant for small shrubs, to come next the grass, backed by a row of _Erica carnea_, which is also dwarf, a continued bloomer and contemporaneous. Its propagation can only be readily effected in this climate by cuttings, as it does not ripen seed well; it cannot be divided, because generally the little shrub has a short bole, therefore, cuttings must be struck from the previous year's growth; they should be dibbled into fine sand and peat, kept shaded and cool for several weeks; they root quicker during the warm season, when they are also less liable to be over-watered, which is a very common cause of failure in striking cuttings; they should be well rooted before the winter sets in. Flowering period, May to July. Lobelia Cardinalis. CARDINAL FLOWER; _Nat. Ord._ LOBELIACEÆ. This is one of the finest herbaceous perennials that bloom in October; stately, brilliant and lasting. There are many varieties of it, and of late years some extra fine sorts have been raised and named, all of which are good. The varieties differ much in the foliage as well as the flowers, some being much larger, and of a dark brown or reddish colour. The illustration (Fig. 60) is drawn from the typical form, which has smooth foliage; it is not so large as some of the varieties, but it seemed desirable to figure the type, otherwise the varieties might have proved misleading. To a more than ordinary extent this plant is called by its common name, "the Cardinal Flower," and I have very frequently found that it has not been recognised by its proper name, even by amateurs who had long grown it. "Is that tall plant a Lobelia?" has often been asked; therefore, common as the plant is, I thought it might prove useful to give an illustration. One of its valuable qualities is that it flowers for a very long time, beginning about the latter end of August and continuing until stopped by frosts. In the early part of October it is simply grand, as then not only the main stems, but the lower ones, are all furnished with their brilliant colouring. [Illustration: FIG. 60. LOBELIA CARDINALIS. (One-twelfth natural size.)] This "old-fashioned" plant grows 2ft. or 3ft. high; the flowers are produced in terminal spikes on stout, round, and well-foliaged stems; each flower has a slender stalk, starting from the axil of a rudimentary leaf. The calyx is very finely formed, broadly cup-shaped and cornered; the five divisions are narrow, finely pointed, ¾in. long, and spreading; the corolla has a divided tube 1in. long, broadly set in the ample calyx, gradually narrowing to the divisions of the corolla. As may be seen by the engraving, the flowers much resemble some of our native orchids in form, the lip being most characteristic. The leaves are broadly lance-shaped, serrated, and sessile. The habit of the plant is erect, and almost rigid. The flowers are of the most attractive kind for borders, and, as cut bloom, can hardly be excelled. The only drawback which attaches to it in this climate is that it is _not_ perfectly hardy; in other words, it dies in winter when planted in certain soils and positions. But I can, from an experience extending over three trying winters, confidently state that, if it is planted in spring, in deep rich loam, fully exposed to the sun, it will both flower well and live through the winter. Only let the reader remember that it is a native of North America, and he may then judge that it can be no stranger to a cold climate. The advantages of the above method are, that the plant becomes well established during summer, its long cord-like roots get deep down to the moisture it loves so well, and from full exposure it withers seasonably and the crowns become fully ripened by the time the strongest frosts occur, so that they do it no harm. The reader may take it for what it is worth, that by leaving the dried stalks on, the plants are benefited; at any rate, I leave them on, for the following reasons: In a dry state they are very hollow, and when cut I have found them conductors of rain into the midst of the younger roots and dormant crowns, causing them to rot, and when the remaining part of the stalk has come away from rottenness too, it has been seen that a cavity of corruption had formed where it joined. When I have left the withered stalks untrimmed until the following growing season, no such decay has been seen. So that, after all, it is perhaps not less hardy than many other plants about which little doubt exists, but which may have been a little more fortunate as regards other conditions than cold. To those who prefer to dig up their stock of _L. cardinalis_ and winter it away from frost, I may say that it is only needful to pack the roots in sand, which should be kept moist, not wet. Propagation may be effected by division of the crowns in spring. Flowering period, August to first frosts. Lychnis Chalcedonica. CHALCEDONIAN LYCHNIS, _or_ SCARLET LYCHNIS; _Nat. Ord._ SILENACEÆ. This hardy herbaceous perennial (see Fig. 61) came from Russia so long ago as 1596. It is a well-known and favourite flower, and, of course, a very "old-fashioned" one; it is commonly called the Scarlet Lychnis, but there are other forms of it with white flowers, both double and single, and there is also a double scarlet variety. The typical form comes into flower a fortnight earlier than the others, but all may be seen in bloom during July. The very brilliant flowers, which are produced for several weeks in large showy heads, must commend this plant, and its tall habit renders it all the more conspicuous. It ought to be grown in every collection of hardy perennial flowers, amongst which bright scarlets are not too plentiful. In sandy loam, enriched with well-rotted manure, it attains a height of 2ft. to 3ft. The flowers are ¾in. across, the five petals open flat, and each petal is divided into two rounded segments; the calyx is hairy, long, bellied, ribbed, five-cleft, and much narrowed at the divisions; the numerous flowers are arranged in flat clusters, interspersed with many small leaves or bracteoles; the stems are stout, round, and having hairs pointing downwards; the nodes or joints are distant and furnished with a pair of stem-clasping, lance-shaped leaves, whence issue short stems that flower later on. The leaves are 2in. to 4in. long, lance-shaped, hairy, waved at the edges, and somewhat recurved. The whole plant is of a clammy character, after the manner of other Catchflies. [Illustration: FIG. 61. LYCHNIS CHALCEDONICA. (One-third natural size)] As already hinted, this species, with its varieties, enjoys a sandy soil; a mulching of manure proves of great benefit; not only are the heads of bloom larger for it, but the side shoots are induced to flower freely. In borders of tall plants the scarlets are very showy; they cannot, however, endure shade; the position should be sunny and open. The propagation of the single forms may be carried out by seed, which ripens in large quantities; in fact, they sow themselves freely. The double kinds should be divided in early spring. In a cut state the flowers are both useful and effective, and if kept in a sunny window will continue in good form and open the buds. Flowering period, June to August. Lychnis Viscaria Flore-pleno. GERMAN CATCHFLY; _Nat. Ord._ SILENACEÆ. The double form of the red German Catchfly. The old Latin name for the type was _L. Angustifolia_, which is still used sometimes, being a good descriptive name. So much cannot be said of the common name; at any rate, it sounds odd that one of our native plants should be called the "German Catchfly," as name is evidently used in the geographical sense. There are several forms of this species having double flowers, which may be termed florists' or garden varieties; all are handsome and effective flowering plants, and last a long time in good form. A very short description will suffice for these, the flowers of which in many respects resemble pinks; they are, however, borne on stout stems in long heads, the petals being full, divided, and bent, each flower an inch across. The rose-coloured varieties are bright and attractive; the leaves are in tufts 3in. or 4in. long, narrow and reflexed. These double Catchflies are very showy in either borders or rockwork; they rank with our neatest subjects and brightest flowers, and certainly ought to be widely grown. They enjoy a stiff soil, but are in no way particular; they should, however, have a sunny situation. They may be increased by root divisions in summer or early spring. Flowering period, June to August. Lysimachia Clethroides. CLETHRA-LIKE LOOSESTRIFE; _Nat. Ord._ PRIMULACEÆ. This is a tall-growing and distinct species, newly imported from Japan; it is perfectly hardy and herbaceous, and differs very much indeed from its creeping and evergreen relation, the moneywort, or "creeping jenny," being more like a tall speedwell, having large leaves; it is so dissimilar, there can be no likelihood of confounding it with other species. As a decorative garden plant it is both attractive and interesting. It attains a height of 3ft. in favourable quarters, and has both a wealth of rich foliage and showy one-sided spikes of white flowers; the latter are neatly formed and continue to develop along the spike for the length of a foot; the flowers are ½in. across, somewhat star-shaped, having five, and sometimes six, divisions of the corolla, which are oval and cupped; the short flower stalk is supported by a very narrow bracteole of equal length--this helps not a little to enrich the yet unblossomed part of the spike, the buds of which are of the purest whiteness and pearl-shape, mounted in the claw-like setting of the pale green calyx; these pleasing spikes of flowers and buds have a peculiar habit of bending; the unbloomed part is at right angles with the erect stem, with the exception of the tip, which slightly erects itself; the angle is ever changing, being ruled by the change of flower to seed, the development causing the sharp bend to rise day by day. The leaves of the root are spoon-shaped, and those of the stems broadly lance-shaped, varying in length from 3in. to 5in., entire, veined, of good substance, and having attenuated stalks; the younger leaves have a changeable satiny hue; all the leaves at their junction with the stems are marked with a bright redness; the main stems are furnished with many side branches, which assist in maintaining floriferousness until late autumn. The habit of the plant is dense, and from the numerous spikes of flowers and bright green foliage strong specimens have a commendable appearance; with me, the growth has been remarkably vigorous, exceeding by nearly a foot the usual height; this I attribute to the enrichment of the soil. The bent spikes are scarcely suitable for cutting purposes, but that the plant is deserving of a place in the borders may fairly be inferred from the manner in which it wins admiration when in flower. It enjoys deep loam, which, as before hinted, should be rich; the situation should be such as will afford it protection from the winds--then, if its leaves remain untorn, they will afford a treat from their "autumnal tints." Propagated by root division during late autumn or early spring. Flowering period, July to September. Margyricarpus Setosus. BRISTLY PEARL-FRUIT; _Nat. Ord._ ROSACEÆ. A charming little evergreen shrub, and most aptly named, for not only does the name convey some idea of its beauty, but it is specific to the utmost degree; a glance at the illustration (Fig. 62) and the English name, which is a translation of the Latin one, will show this. It is the only species of the genus. It was introduced in the year 1829 from Peru, and for a time was considered too tender a subject for other than stove treatment, and even now it is treated as a shrub needing protection; but warm as is its native climate, it proves hardy in ours; it is not merely a safe subject to winter out under special conditions, but quite hardy in fully exposed parts. It stood out with me in the winters of 1879-80 and 1880-1, and in 1881-2, which, however, was specially mild, it held its berries until spring. Its evergreen character renders it all the more desirable, for though the foliage is small and somewhat spare, it is of a bright and pleasing colour. Quite young specimens are prolific, and only during the severe months are they without berries. [Illustration: FIG. 62. MARGYRICARPUS SETOSUS. (One-third natural size; fruit, natural size.)] A full-grown example does not exceed the height of 6in. or 8in. in this climate. The flowers are green and insignificant--in fact, hardly visible, and must be closely looked for; they are produced singly on the riper parts of the soft wooded branches; they are chubby forms, all but stalkless, and supported by a brown stem-clasping sheath, which is long-pointed and bent backwards, resembling a spine; these sheaths are numerous, and probably suggested the specific name, _setosus_--rough or bristly. The flowers appear for many months, and there is a corresponding succession of berries; the latter form the main feature of this singular shrub, measuring 1/8in. to 1/6in. in diameter, they are of a clear, shining white colour, and are well named "pearl fruit." Sooner or later in the season every joint of the main branches seems to be furnished with fruit, which lasts a long time in perfection. The leaves are ½in. to 1in. long, pinnate, leaflets awl-shaped, reflexed, and of a deep glistening green colour; they are arranged in minute tufts on stoutish branchlets, and, for the most part, have a single berry at the parent node. All these young shoots grow in the upward direction, leaving the procumbent branches to form an even line on the lower side. The habit of this shrub is spreading and prostrate, and, from the bright berries and foliage (the latter all turned upwards), it becomes a most pleasing object to look down upon, reminding one of a dwarf erica immediately after a hailstorm. For rockwork, this is a gem. Many amateurs will be glad to learn, if they do not already know the shrub, that it is one of those pretty, uncommon, and distinct forms ever desirable for choice collections. It should be so planted that its branches can rest on a dark-coloured stone; this will show up its fruit to advantage. It enjoys a rich, light soil, thriving in a mixture of sand, loam, and rotten leaves. Beyond this there is nothing special about its culture; moreover, it is easily increased, either by cuttings taken in summer and pricked into moist peat under a bell glass, or by layering the branches. These only need to be pegged down and covered with soil, or to have a small boulder placed on the part where roots are desired. Flowering period, all summer. Mazus Pumilio. DWARF MAZUS; _Nat. Ord._ SCROPHULARIACEÆ. This diminutive and pretty plant is a native of Australia, and was introduced into this country in 1823. It is hardy, herbaceous, and perennial; it is, however, sometimes said to be only annual, which may have been inferred from the fact of its perishing in winter in this climate when grown in cold, stiff soil, but that it is perennial is beyond doubt. Not only have I experienced that it dies every winter in clay soil, but also that the roots remain fresh and healthy year after year when in more suitable quarters, such as an open situation in light vegetable soil mixed with sand, where it quickly spreads by underground runners and asserts its perennial character. Its flowers much resemble the small wild violet of the hedgerows, in size and colour more especially; the flower-stalks are, however, sometimes branched, carrying four or five flowers; and if I may be allowed to make another comparison in order to convey an idea of its form, I would mention _Pinguicula vulgaris_, the common butterwort. The flowers spring from the midst of flattened tufts of pale green foliage; the leaves are 1in. to 3in. long, spoon-shaped, slightly waved at the edges and occasionally notched, distinctly veined, of a light green colour, and flesh-tinted in the stalks; they are arranged in nearly rosette form up to the period of flowering, when they are not only longer, but become almost erect; but the younger tufts which do not produce flowers remain perfectly flat. It is useful for rockwork or as a carpet plant where the soil is of a sandy nature. There should be few bare places in our gardens whilst we have such lovely creepers as this to fall back upon. The rooted stems, which run immediately under the surface, may be transplanted any time except during winter. If the roots are mutilated then, they will probably rot. Flowering period, June to September. Melittis Melissophyllum. _Syn._ M. GRANDIFLORUM; LARGE-FLOWERED BASTARD BALM; _Nat. Ord._ LABIATÆ. [Illustration: FIG. 63. MELITTIS MELISSOPHYLLUM. (One-sixth natural size.)] This is a somewhat uncommon but handsome native plant. The above names, together with the illustration (Fig. 63), will doubtless give the reader a fair idea of its appearance. It forms one of the best possible subjects for a border of "old-fashioned" plants, being of a distinct type and colour. The flowers are a mixture of white, pink, and purple; and are nearly 2in. long, in general shape resembling the foxglove, but wider at the corolla and a little shorter in the broad tube. They are arranged in whorls springing from the axils of the leaves. The whorls are said to be of as many as eight flowers, but specimens are more commonly seen to have only two to four, being repeated the whole length of the stems, which are 18in. high. The leaves are two to three inches long, and half as broad, ovate, serrate, hairy, and short stalked. No one can be otherwise than pleased with the ancient style and soft colour of the large flowers, which last a long time in perfection. There is a trimness, too, about the plant which distinguishes it from the more weedy species to which it is related. In a cut state the long stems are not only pretty of themselves when placed in old vases or crackle ware, but they have a remarkably good effect. They, however, should not be crowded or swamped by more showy foliage or flowers--in fact, they should be used alone. It will grow anywhere and in any quality of soil, but slight shade and well-enriched loam will be found to make a vast difference in the size of the flowers, and their colour will be also improved. It may be divided or transplanted any time after it has done flowering. Flowering period, June to August. Monarda Didyma. _Syn._ M. KALMIANA; BEE BALM, _or_ OSWEGO TEA; _Nat. Ord._ LABIATÆ. All the Monardas are natives of North America, and, consequently, quite hardy in this country; they are also herbaceous and perennial. This species has been grown for 130 years in English gardens, and at the present time it is not only accounted an old flower but it is highly esteemed. The blooms are large and brilliant in colour, and their shaggy forms give them an effect which is decorative both in the garden and vase. The flowers are not only numerous, but, for the most part, bright; moreover, they begin to flower at midsummer and continue until the frosts set in. The species under notice has bright scarlet flowers, produced when the plant is about 18in. high; it, however, grows to nearly twice that size, flowering all the while. The whorls of bloom issue from half-globular arrangements of buds and persistent calyces; each flower is an inch long; corolla ringent, or gaping; helmet, or upper division, linear; the seed organs are longer; the calyx tubular, having five minute teeth, being striped and grooved; the whole head, or whorl, is supported by a leafy bract, the leaflets being of a pale green colour, tinted with red. The leaves are ovate-cordate, or broadly lance-shaped, taper-pointed, toothed, rough, and slightly wrinkled, and they have short stalks. The stems are square, grooved, and hard. The whole plant exhales a powerful but pleasant odour. The habit is branching, that of the root progressive, not only increasing rapidly, but such parts on the surface may be termed creeping or prostrate branches, forming a veritable mat of fibre. The whole genus is made up of such species as may be used freely in most gardens, more especially in those having plenty of space. For culture and flowering period, see _M. Russelliana_. Monarda Fistulosa. WILD BERGAMOT; _Syns._ M. AFFINIS, M. ALTISSIMA, M. MEDIA, M. OBLONGATA, M. PURPUREA, _and_ M. RUGOSA; _Nat. Ord._ LABIATÆ. The Wild Bergamot has a pleasant smell; it has, however, the objectionable property of attracting great numbers of bees and wasps. Compared with the scarlet _M. didyma_, the more striking differences are the purple flowers, which are less, and mostly produced in single heads. The bracts are tinted with purple, and they are more bent down the stems; the latter, too, are only half as thick and of a dark brown colour. For culture and flowering period, see _M. Russelliana_. Monarda Russelliana. RUSSELL'S MONARDA; _Nat. Ord._ LABIATÆ. Another, distinct species. Its flowers are white, with pistil tinted purple, and less in size than either of the above. The bract is remarkably large, and further amplified by numerous small leaves amongst the flowers; all are deeply tinted or veined with purple; the leaves are larger than those of _M. didyma_, and those near the tops of the stems are also tinted with purple on their stalks, mid-ribs, and edges; the stems are green, rounded at the corners, channelled, and smooth. There are other species than those I have named, but the above-mentioned are not only the more distinct, and well represent the genus, but as flowers they form a richly beautiful trio of colour, so that, when grown side by side, their effectiveness is much enhanced; as cut bloom they answer well for furnishing old vases. Either growing or cut, their flowers and leaves are pleasant, but if bruised the odour is too powerful; they, however, when used in moderation, form a valuable ingredient of _pot pourri_. They may be grown in ordinary soil, and in any position but a too shady one. The propagation of these plants may be carried out any time, by cutting small squares of the matted roots from old specimens, but it will be found that if allowed to grow to bold examples their effect will be all the more telling. Flowering period, July to September. Morina Longifolia. _Syn._ M. ELEGANS; WHORL FLOWER; _Nat. Ord._ DIPSACEÆ. Until this plant comes into flower there is little about it for us, who are trained to dislike and almost despise thistles, to admire. It is not a thistle certainly, but the resemblance is very close when not in flower, and the three or four specimens which I grow have often caused a laugh from visitors at my expense, but I pocket the laugh and ask them to come and see my thistles in June. When, too, weeding is being done, it is always needful, for the safety of the plants, to give some such hint as "Do not pull up those thistles;" but if this plant is no relation to that despised weed, it belongs to another race, the species of which are also formidably armed--viz., the Teasel. It comes from the Himalayas, and is comparatively new in English gardens. It is hardy, herbaceous, and perennial, grows to a height of 2ft., and the flowers are produced in whorls or tiers interspersed with the thorny foliage near the top of the stems. At this stage of development the plant has a noble appearance, and the rings of flowers are very beautiful--though when I say flowers I here mean the combination of buds and blossoms in their different stages and colours. The buds are pure white and waxy, and when open, are of a delicate pink; as they get advanced, they turn to a lovely crimson; these are all the more pleasing, because the flowers last a long time. In form they are tubular and horn-shaped, having a spreading, uneven corolla, five-parted. Each flower is 1in. long and ¾in. across, six to fifteen in a whorl, the whorls being five to ten in number. The whorl-bracts are formed of three arrow-shaped leaves, deeply cupped, and overlapping at their junction with the stem or scape; they are spiny and downy underneath. Calyx, tubular and brown. Segments (two), pale green, notched, alternated with long spines, and surrounded with shorter ones. The leaves of the root are 9in. to 12in. long, and 2in. wide in the broadest parts; pinnate, waved, and spined, like the holly or thistle. The leaves of the stem are similar in shape, but very much smaller. The whole plant, and especially if there are several together, has a stately appearance, and attracts much attention; it is a good border plant, but it will be more at home, and show to equal advantage in openings in the front parts of the shrubbery, because it enjoys a little shade, and the shelter from high winds is a necessity, it being top heavy; if tied, it is robbed of its natural and beautiful form. It thrives well in sandy loam. Slugs are fond of it, and eat into the collar or crown, and therefore they should be looked for, especially in winter, during open weather. To propagate it, the roots should be divided as soon as the plants have done flowering, they then become established before winter sets in. Plant in the permanent quarters, and shade with leafy branches for a fortnight. Flowering period, June and July. Muhlenbeckia Complexa. _Nat. Ord._ POLYGONACEÆ. [Illustration: FIG. 64. MUHLENBECKIA COMPLEXA. (One-fourth natural size; fruit, natural size.)] A hardy climber, of great beauty; during November its nearly black stems are well furnished with its peculiar small dark green leaves, which, even when without flowers or fruit, render it an object of first-class merit as a decorative subject. The illustration (Fig. 64) is fairly representative of all its parts; still, it can give no idea of the effect of a specimen climbing 4ft. to 6ft. high, diffuse and spreading withal. Although I have grown this handsome climber several years, my experience and information respecting it are very limited indeed; its hardiness and beauty are the inducements which have led me to recommend it for the pleasure garden. As a matter of fact, I have never bloomed it, and I am indebted to a lady for the wax-like and flower-shaped fruits illustrated; they were produced in a warm vinery, and I have otherwise learned that in this climate the plant only flowers outside during very warm summers. I have also information from one of H. M. Botanic Gardens that this species "was introduced from South America, but when and by whom I am unable to say. It requires a warm, sheltered position. Before the severe winters came it used to be covered with star-like whitish flowers, which were succeeded by fruits." The fruits given in the illustration (natural size) are a fine feature, but, considering the uncertainty of their production, they can hardly be claimed for outside decoration. They are of a transparent, wax-like substance, and the tooth-like divisions glisten like miniature icicles; they hang in small clusters on lateral shoots from the more ripened stems, and have a charming effect, contrasting finely with the black stems and dark green foliage. The leaves are small (¼in. to ¾in. across) somewhat fiddle-shaped, of good substance, and having slender stalks; they are alternate and distantly arranged on the long trailing and climbing stems. The habit is dense and diffuse, and though it loses many leaves in winter, I have never seen it entirely bare; it is therefore entitled to be called evergreen with outdoor treatment. The distinct form and colour of its foliage, together with the graceful shape of the spray-like branches, render this subject of great value for cutting purposes. Seen in company, and used sparingly with white flowers for epergne work, the effect is unique; and I ask those who possess it to try it in that or a similar way. It enjoys a sunny position and well drained or sandy soil. With me it grows entangled with a rose tree, the latter being nailed to the wall. I have also seen it very effective on the upper and drier parts of rockwork, where it can have nothing to cling to; there it forms a dense prostrate bush. It may be propagated by cuttings of the hardier shoots, which should be taken in early summer; by this method they become nicely rooted before winter. Flowering periods, warm summers. Muscari Botryoides. GRAPE HYACINTH; _Nat. Ord._ LILIACEÆ. This is a hardy species, somewhat finer than the more common _M. racemosum_, from the fact of its richer, bright sky blue flowers. The form of the Grape Hyacinth is well known (see Fig. 65), being a very old garden flower and a great favourite; when it is once planted, it keeps its place, despite all drawbacks common to a crowded border, with the exception of that wholesale destroyer, a careless digger; if left undisturbed for a year or two, it increases to very showy clumps. The flowers, which are densely arranged on stout spikes 8in. high, are very small, globular, and narrowed at the opening, where the tiny divisions are tipped with white. The foliage resembles that of the wood hyacinth, but it is more rigid, not so broad, and slightly glaucous. It seems to do best in light earth, and the flowers are finer in colour when grown in shade, but not too much. Where quantities are available, they may be used as an edging, nothing looking better in a spring garden. [Illustration: FIG. 65. MUSCARI BOTRYOIDES. (One-eighth natural size.)] _M. b. alba_ varies only in the colour of its flowers; the white is somewhat creamy for a time; it becomes much clearer after a few days, and remains in perfection for two weeks in ordinary weather. This is a charming variety; grown by the side of the different blues its beauty is enhanced. It is very effective as a cut flower, though rather stiff, but if sparingly used it is attractive for bouquets, whilst for a buttonhole one or two spikes answer admirably. Flowering period, March to May. Muscari Racemosum. _Nat. Ord._ LILIACEÆ. This is the commonest species, and although very pleasing, suffers by a comparison with the above blue kind, being more dwarf and the flowers less bright. The best time to transplant the bulbs is when the tops have died off, and the choicer sorts of these, as well as all other bulbs whose foliage dies off early in summer, should have something to mark their situation when in their dormant state. Cultivation and flowering period, as for _M. botryoides_. Narcissus Minor. SMALLER DAFFODIL; _Nat. Ord._ AMARYLLIDACEÆ. A very beautiful and effective spring flower. Though a native of Spain, it proves one of the hardiest denizens of our gardens; it is not often met with, but it has been cultivated in this country since 1629. It was well known in Parkinson's time. Not merely is it a species due to bloom early, but it does so, no matter how severe the weather may be, in March, and the flowers are freely produced. We could hardly have more severe weather than we had in March, 1883, when the snow was sometimes several inches deep and the frost as much as 17deg. to 23deg. Still this little Daffodil continued to push up its golden blossoms, so that in the latter half of the month, it formed one of the most pleasing of the hardy flowers of the spring garden. Its blue-green leaves are densely grown, and being only 4in. high and somewhat rigid, they not only form a rich setting for the bright blossom which scarcely tops them, but they support the flowers, which have a drooping habit. Later on, however, they lift their fair faces and look out sideways, but whether seen in profile or otherwise, they are alike charming. I do not remember ever to have seen or heard this flower described as finely scented; as a matter of fact, it is deliciously so. The odour is aromatic and mace-like. If the bloom is cut when in its prime and quite dry, a few heads will scent a fair-sized room. Of course, all the species of the genus (as implied by the generic name) exhale an odour, and some kinds a very fragrant one, whilst others are said to be injurious; but the spicy smell of this can scarcely be otherwise than acceptable, and it must always be a desirable feature in a flower suitable for cutting, and more especially in a winter and spring flower. From its dwarfness this Daffodil is very liable to be soiled; either of three plans may be adopted to prevent this: Plant on grass; top-dress in January with longish litter, which by the blooming time will have a washed and not very objectionable appearance; or, lastly, let the patches grow broad and thick, when their own foliage will keep down the mud, excepting at the sides. I find the litter method to answer well for scores of things for a similar purpose. Flowers are produced on slender scapes, 3in. to 4in. long, singly, from the long membranous spatha; they are 1¼in. across the expanded perianth, and about the same length; the six divisions are rather longer than the tube, and of a pale yellow or lemon colour; the crown or nectary is campanulate, longer than the petal-like divisions, lobed, fringed, and of a deep yellow colour. The leaves are strap-shaped, stout and glaucous, and about the same length as the scapes. This plant is in no way particular as to soil, provided it is well drained. It enjoys, however, partial shade and liberal top-dressings of manure. It increases fast by offsets, and, if desirable, the bulbs may be lifted the third year for division, after the tops have died off in late summer. Flowering period, March and April. Nierembergia Rivularis. WATER NIEREMBERGIA, _or_ WHITE CUP; _Nat. Ord._ SOLANACEÆ. This alpine plant comes from La Plata; when well grown (and it easily may be) it is a gem--hardy, herbaceous, and perennial. It has a most pleasing habit; from its mass of root-like stems which run very near the surface, it sends up a dense carpet of short-stalked leaves, which in July become studded over with large and chaste white flowers; though it rarely exceeds 4in. in height, it is very attractive. The flowers are 1½in. across, of a variously tinted white, sometimes with pink and sometimes with purplish-grey inside the corolla. The outside is yellowish-green; the five lobes of the corolla are arranged cup-fashion, having four distinct ribs or nerves and wavy margins, the inner bases being richly tinted with lemon-yellow; what appears at first sight to be the flower-stalk, 2in. to 3in. long, is really a long round tube, very narrow for so large a flower; it is of even thickness all its length. The calyx nearly touches the earth; it is also tubular and five-cleft. The leaves are from less than an inch to 3in. long, somewhat spoon-shaped or sub-spathulate and entire, smooth, and very soft to the touch. It thrives in a light soil, but it should not be dry. Moisture and a little shade are the chief conditions required by this lovely creeper, and where bare places exist, which are otherwise suitable, nothing more pleasing could well be planted; in dips or the more moist parts of rockwork, it may be grown with capital effect, but the patches should be broad. It also forms a good surfacing subject for leggy plants or shrubs. Lilies not only appear to more advantage when carpeted with the short dense foliage of this creeper, but their roots are kept more cool and moist by it, and there are many similar cases in which it will prove equally useful. It is easily propagated by division of the roots after the leaves have died off, but I have found spring much the better time, just as the new growth is pushing. Flowering period, July and August. Oenothera Speciosa. SHOWY EVENING PRIMROSE; _Nat. Ord._ ONAGRACEÆ. A hardy and beautiful perennial species from North America; it is aptly named, as the flowers are not only large but numerous (see Fig. 66). The plant has a gay appearance for many weeks. As a garden flower, it is one of those happy subjects which may be allowed to grow in any odd corner, no matter what quality the soil may be, and full exposure or a little shade is equally suitable. No matter where it grows in the garden, it is a showy and pleasing flower, which, if plucked, is found to have the delicate smell of the sweet pea. It grows 18in. high, is herb-like in the foliage, and very distinct from other species, more especially as regards its slender stems and somewhat large and irregular foliage. The flowers are a satiny white, delicately nerved, and nearly 3in. across; the four petals are a pleasing yellowish-green at the bases; when fully expanded they form a cross, being clear of each other; they become tinted with rose when they begin to fade. The leaves are of various sizes, sometimes spotted, lance-shaped, toothed, and attenuated at the base. The general habit of the plant is erect, but it is often procumbent; it has, from its slender stems, a light appearance, and for one evening's use the sprays are very useful in a cut state. [Illustration: FIG. 66. OENOTHERA SPECIOSA. (One-sixth natural size.)] It propagates itself freely by its root runners near the surface. These roots may be transplanted in early spring, and they will flower the same year. Flowering period, June to August. Oenothera Taraxacifolia. DANDELION-LEAVED EVENING PRIMROSE; _Nat. Ord._ ONAGRACEÆ. From the great beauty of the flowers of this plant, it has not only become widely distributed, but a great favourite, considering that it was so recently introduced into this country as 1825; it came from Peru. Fortunately this charming exotic proves perfectly hardy in our climate; it is also herbaceous and perennial. No garden ought to be without so easily grown a flower, and though its foliage much resembles that of the common dandelion, a fine mass of it proves no mean setting for the large white flowers which spring from the midst of it. Another pleasing feature in connection with the flowers is that for a day they are pure white, after which they partly close and turn to a scarcely less beautiful delicate flesh tint. This colour and the half closed form are retained for several days; it exhales a sweet odour, about which there is a peculiarity. When newly opened--the first night--while the flowers are white, they will be found to have a grateful scent like tea roses; but if the older and coloured blooms are tried, they will be found to have the refreshing smell of almonds. There is yet another curious trait about this lovely flower--it has a long stalk-like tube, which may be called the flower stalk, as, so to speak, it has no other, and the lower part--it being 4in. to 6in. long--is inclined to squareness, but near the top it becomes round and widens into the divisions of the calyx, being, in fact, the tube or undivided part of the calyx. Let the reader carefully examine this interesting flower. First pluck it with all its length of stem or tube (it may be 6in. long); with a small knife or needle split it upwards, and there will be exposed the style of a corresponding length. The tube and segments of the calyx are of a pale green colour, segments an inch or more long, finely pointed; the four petals are large, nearly round, and overlapping each other, forming a corolla more than 3in. across; they are satiny in appearance, and transparent, beautifully veined or nerved, the nerves having delicate green basements, from which spring stamens of a like colour, but with anthers ½in. long, evenly balanced, and furnished with lemon-yellow pollen. The leaves are herb-like, and, as the common name implies, like the leaves of the dandelion, similar in size, but more cut or lobed. The plant, however, varies materially from the dandelion, in having stems which push out all round the crown, growing to a considerable length, and resting on the ground. This plant cannot well be grown in too large quantities, where there is plenty of room; it produces flowers for a long time, and they are highly serviceable for cutting purposes, though lasting only a short time. It cannot well be planted wrong as regards position, as it will thrive anywhere, providing the soil is enriched, it being a gross feeder; it should not, however, be planted where it will be likely to overgrow smaller and less rampant subjects. On the whole, it is one of those plants which afford a maximum of pleasure for a minimum of care, and needs no special culture--in fact, takes care of itself. Its propagation is simple, and may be carried out either by division of the old roots or by transplanting the self-sown seedlings into their blooming quarters, during March or April. Flowering period, June to August. Omphalodes Verna. CREEPING FORGET-ME-NOT; _Syn._ CYNOGLOSSUM OMPHALODES; _Nat. Ord._ BORAGINACEÆ. The common name of this pretty, hardy, herbaceous creeper at once gives the keynote to its description; it is a very old plant in English gardens, and a native of South Europe. Parkinson gives a very neat description of it: "This small borage shooteth forth many leaves from the roote, every one upon a long stalke, of a darke greene colour; the stalkes are small and slender, not above halfe a foote high, with very few leaves thereon, and at the toppes come forth the flowers, made of five blew round pointed leaves, every one upon a long foote stalke." This, together with the well-known form and habit of the plant, leaves little more to be said by way of description; and it maybe added that though the flowers are akin to forget-me-nots, but more brilliant, the foliage is very different indeed, being nearly heart-shaped, and over 2in. long. Its habit is such that though its flowers are small, they are somewhat conspicuous, from their brightness, abundance, and manner in which they are produced, _i.e._, well above a bright green mass of leaves; only bold clumps, however, show to such advantage. When the plant is fairly established, it makes rapid growth, increasing itself somewhat strawberry fashion, by runners. It is worthy of note here that this semi-woody creeper does well under trees not too densely grown. Many inquiries are made for such subjects, and this is one of the number (which is far from ample) that can be relied upon for not only covering the bare earth, but also for bespangling such position with its bright blossoms for two months in spring. I have also tried it in pots, grown and bloomed under the shade of a trellised peach tree, in a small house, without artificial heat, where it not only did well, but vied with the violets for effectiveness. This otherwise robust plant I have found to die when divided in the autumn (a period when many--indeed, I may say most--perennials are best transplanted), but when its propagation is carried out in spring, it grows like a weed. Flowering period, March to May. Ononis Rotundifolia. ROUND-LEAVED RESTHARROW; _Nat. Ord._ LEGUMINOSÆ. One of the most charming of the "old-fashioned" border flowers, having been grown in this country since 1570. It came from the Pyrenees, is hardy, evergreen, and shrubby. The common name of the genus, Restharrow, is in reference to the long, tough, and woody roots and branches. According to Gerarde, these properties "maketh the oxen, whilst they be in plowing, to rest or stand still." Although this species has tough roots and branches, it seems more likely that the name would be from the trouble caused by the weedy species of the genus of his time. In its growing state there is seen an exquisiteness of form and colour rarely approached by any other subject; from the manner in which the unopened scarlet buds blend with the thick and handsome-shaped foliage, the illustration (Fig. 67) can scarcely do justice to it. It should not be judged by other and better known species of the genus, some of which are of a weedy character, and from which this is as distinct as it well can be. Besides having the valuable property of flowering all summer, it is otherwise a suitable subject for the most select collections of hardy flowers. [Illustration: FIG. 67. ONONIS ROTUNDIFOLIA. (Plant, one-sixth natural size; blossom, natural size.)] It grows 18in. high, and is erect and branched in habit; the flowers are produced on short side shoots; in form they are pea-flower-shaped, as the reader will infer from the order to which the shrub belongs. The raceme seldom has more than two or three flowers fully open at one time, when they are of a shaded pink colour, and nearly an inch in length; the leaves are 1in. to 2in., ternate, sometimes in fives, ovate, toothed, and covered with glandular hairs. The plant should be grown in bold specimens for the best effect. Ordinary garden soil suits it; if deeply dug and enriched, all the better. It is not so readily increased by division of the roots as many border plants, though root slips may, with care, be formed into nice plants the first season; the better plan is to sow the seed as soon as well ripened, from which more vigorous plants may be had, and they will sometimes flower the following summer, though far short of their natural size. Flowering period, June to September. Onosma Taurica. GOLDEN DROP; _Nat. Ord._ BORAGINACEÆ. A hardy perennial, somewhat woody, and retaining much of its foliage in a fresh state throughout the winter, though by some described as herbaceous. The leaves which wither remain persistent, and sometimes this proves a source of danger to the specimen, from holding moisture during our wet winters, causing rot to set in. It is a comparatively new plant in English gardens, having been introduced from the Caucasus in 1801, and as yet is seldom met with. Not only is it distinct in the form of its flowers--as may be seen by the illustration (Fig. 68)--from other species of its order, but it has bloom of exceptional beauty, and the plant as a garden subject is further enhanced in value from the fact of its delicious perfume and perpetual blooming habit--_i.e._, it flowers until stopped by frosts; in short, it is one of the very finest hardy flowers, and if I could only grow a small collection of fifty, this should be one of such collection. The flowers are bright yellow, 1½in. long, somewhat pear-shaped, and tubular. The calyx is long and deeply divided; the corolla is narrowed at the mouth; segments short, broad, and rolled back, forming a sort of rim. The flowers are arranged in branched heads, which are one-sided. The flower stalks are short, and the flowers and buds closely grown. The stems are about a foot long, having short alternate shoots, which flower later on; they are weighed to the ground with the numerous flowers and buds; the leaves are 3in. to 6in. long, narrow, lance-shaped, reflexed, and covered with short stiff hairs, which impart a grey appearance to the foliage. It should be grown fully exposed, as it loves sunshine; if planted in the frequented parts of the garden, its delicious perfume is the more likely to be enjoyed; on rockwork, somewhat elevated, will perhaps prove the best position for it, as then the pendent flowers can be better seen and studied. The whole habit of the plant renders it a suitable subject for the rock garden; it may be grown in either loam or vegetable soil if well drained, and when it once becomes established in genial quarters it makes rapid growth and is very floriferous. What a rich bed could be formed of this, judiciously mixed with hardy fuchsias and the various linums, having deep blue flowers and graceful slender stems! These all love a breezy situation and sunshine, they also all flower at the same time, and continuously. To increase this choice plant, cuttings should be taken during summer; they may be rooted quickly if placed in a cucumber frame and kept shaded for ten or twelve days; water should be given carefully, or the hairy leaves will begin to rot. Aim at having the young stock well rooted and hardened off before the cold weather sets in. [Illustration: FIG. 68. ONOSMA TAURICA. (Plant, one-quarter natural size; blossom, one-half natural size.)] Flowering period, June to the frosts. Orchis Foliosa. LEAFY ORCHIS; _Nat. Ord._ ORCHIDACEÆ. This terrestrial Orchid is not generally known to be hardy, but that such is the fact is beyond doubt. It is not only hardy, though it comes from Madeira, but it thrives better in this climate when exposed to all the drawbacks belonging to the open garden, or hardy treatment, than when kept under glass. It only seems to require two things--a deep rich soil and leaving alone--being very impatient of disturbance at its roots. Many of the hardy Orchids, though interesting, are not showy enough as flowers for beds or borders. This, however, is an exception, and is not only, in common with other Orchids, an interesting species, but a handsome and durable flower. It blooms at different heights, from 9in. to 2ft.; the spike, as implied by the name, is leafy up to and among the flowered portion, which is from 3in. to 9in. long; the flowers are a cheerful purple colour, each ¾in. in diameter; the sepals are erect, cupped, and paler in colour than the other parts of the flower; petals small; lip large, three lobed, the middle one somewhat pointed; leaves oblong and smooth, lessening and becoming more subulate near the top of the stem. When well grown, this plant has a noble appearance, and when closely viewed is seen to be a flower of a high order, as, in fact, all the Orchids are. Fortunately, it is not so particular either as regards soil or atmosphere as most of its relations, and it may frequently be met with in cottage gardens in splendid form. Good sandy loam, in a moist situation, suits it well, and I have seen it with fine spikes of bloom both in partial shade and fully exposed. Its position should be correctly noted, otherwise, when the tops have died down, the roots may suffer damage; they should be well guarded against disturbance. When increase is desirable the roots may be divided, but if they can be left alone it will be much to the advantage of the specimens. Flowering period, June and July. Orchis Fusca. BROWN ORCHIS; _Nat. Ord._ ORCHIDACEÆ. A rare and noble British species, terrestrial, and having a tuberous root of moderate size; the specific name does not always apply, as this species varies considerably in the colour of its flowers--certainly all are not brown. According to Gray, the flowers are "large, greenish-brown, brownish-purple, or pale ash grey;" the specimen from which our illustration (Fig. 69) was drawn may be said to be "brownish-purple," from its great number of brown spots; it is also slightly tinged with green. According to Linnæus, it is synonymous with _O. Militaris_, the Soldier, or Brown Man Orchis. Of the native kinds of Orchis, many of which are now getting very scarce, it is desirable to know what's what. But, as a garden flower, the one now under consideration has many points of merit. The plant is bold and portly, and the foliage ample compared with many of the genus. The head of flowers is large, numerous, and well lifted up, while, far from their least good quality, is that of their fine aromatic perfume. [Illustration: FIG. 69. ORCHIS FUSCA. (One-fourth natural size; 1 and 2, natural size of flower.)] The full size of a flower is shown in the drawing. The sepals are seen to be broad, converging, and pointed; the lip, which is rough, is three-parted; lobes, unequal and ragged; the side ones are long and narrow, the middle lobe is twice notched in an irregular manner; the spur is straight with the stem; bracts, short; the flowers are densely produced, forming a compact bunch 3in. to 4in. long, on a spike rather over a foot tall; they continue in perfection three weeks or a month. The leaves are 9in. or more in length, lance-shaped, and fully an inch broad in the middle; they are of a pale, shining, green colour, the root leaves resting on the ground. I find this Orchid capable of withstanding very rough treatment, but it requires some time (two years) to get fairly established. Silky loam and leaf soil are suitable for it; a moist situation, but in no way of a stagnant character, should be given, and the position should also be carefully selected, so as to secure the brittle and top-heavy flower spikes from strong winds, otherwise it will suffer the fate of hundreds of tulips after a gale. It is propagated by root division after the foliage has died off. Flowering period, end of May to end of June. Origanum Pulchellum. BEAUTIFUL MARJORAM; _Nat. Ord._ LABIATÆ. This is indeed a well-named species or variety, whichever it may be; little seems to be known of its origin, but that it is distinct and beautiful is beyond doubt. It shines most as a rock plant; its long and bending stems, which are somewhat procumbent, have as much rigidity about them as to prevent their having a weak appearance; the tips, moreover, are erect, showing off to advantage the handsome imbricate bracts, bespangled as they are with numerous rosy-purple blossoms. The long and elegant panicles of bracteæ, together with the pleasing arrangement thereof, are the main features of this subject. The rosy flowers are very small, and have the appearance of being packed between the bracteoles; still, their gaping forms are distinctly traceable, but the pretty lipped calyxes are quite hidden; the bract leaves are roundly-oval, acute, cupped, and touched with a nutty-brown tint on the outer sides; the spikes have many minor ones, being as fine as a thread, covered with short soft hairs, and of a brown colour; the leaves are ¾in. long, oval, entire, and downy. The plant or shrub grows 18in. high. As already hinted, the habit is procumbent, the older flower stems being woody; not only is it a bright object for rockwork, but it is in its finest form when most other flowers are past. The branches are useful in a cut state; the slender spikelets, with their pale green and brown tinted bracts, are very pretty by gas light, and they keep well for a long time in water. The Marjorams are fond of a dry situation, and this is no exception to that rule. Rockwork or raised beds of sandy loam suits it to perfection, provided the aspect is sunny. It will, therefore, be seen that there is nothing special about its culture, neither is there in its propagation; cuttings may be taken in summer, or the rooted shoots may be divided at almost any time. It flowers from September to the time of severe frosts, and is in its greatest beauty in October. Orobus Vernus. PEASELING, OR SPRING BITTER VETCH; _Nat. Ord._ LEGUMINOSÆ. A hardy herbaceous perennial; it flowers in very early spring, and sometimes sooner, but it is in full beauty in April, its blooming period being very prolonged. Not only is this bright and handsome pea flower worth attention being a very old subject of English gardens, but also because of its intrinsic merit as a decorative plant. I say plant designedly, as its form is both sprightly and elegant, which, I fear, the illustration (Fig. 70) can hardly do justice to--more especially its spring tints and colours. [Illustration: FIG. 70. OROBUS VERNUS. (One-fourth, natural size.)] Pretty nearly as soon as the growths are out of the earth the flowers begin to appear. The greatest height the plants attain rarely exceeds a foot; this commends it as a suitable border plant. Individually the flowers are not showy, but collectively they are pleasing and effective. When they first open they are a mixture of green, red, blue, and purple, the latter predominating. As they become older they merge into blue, so that a plant shows many flowers in various shades, none of which are quite an inch long, and being borne on slender drooping stalks, which issue from the leafy stems, somewhat below the leading growths, the bloom is set off to great advantage. The foliage in form resembles the common vetch, but is rather larger in the leaflets, and instead of being downy like the vetch, the leaves are smooth and bright. In a cut state, sprays are very useful, giving lightness to the stiffer spring flowers, such as tulips, narcissi, and hyacinths. Rockwork suits it admirably; it also does well in borders; but in any position it pays for liberal treatment in the form of heavy manuring. It seeds freely, and may be propagated by the seed or division of strong roots in the autumn. Whether rabbits can scent it a considerable distance off, I cannot say, but, certain it is, they find mine every year, and in one part of the garden eat it off bare. Flowering period, March to May. Ourisia Coccinea. _Nat. Ord._ SCROPHULARIACEÆ. A hardy herbaceous perennial from South America, as yet rarely seen in English gardens, and more seldom in good form. As may be judged by the illustration (Fig. 71), it is a charming plant, but it has beauties which cannot be there depicted; its deep green and shining leaves constitute wavy masses of foliage, most pleasing to see, and the short-stemmed, lax clusters of dazzling scarlet flowers are thereby set off to great advantage. I have no fear of overpraising this plant, as one cannot well do that. I will, however, add that it is a decorative subject of the highest order, without a single coarse feature about it; seldom is it seen without a few solitary sprays of flowers, and it is never met with in a seedy or flabby state of foliage, but it remains plump throughout the autumn, when it sometimes shows a disposition to indulge in "autumnal tints." Though seldom encountered, this lovely plant is well known, as it is pretty sure to be, from notes made of it and published with other garden news; but it has the reputation of being a fickle plant, difficult to grow, and a shy bloomer. I trust this statement will not deter a single reader from introducing it into his garden; if I had found it manageable only with an unreasonable amount of care, I would not have introduced it here. It certainly requires special treatment, but all the conditions are so simple and practicable, in even the smallest garden, that it cannot be fairly termed difficult, as we shall shortly see. The flowers are 1½in. long, in form intermediate between the pentstemon and snapdragon, but in size smaller, and the colour an unmixed deep scarlet: they are produced on stems 9in. high, round, hairy, and furnished with a pair of very small stem-clasping leaves, and where the panicle of flowers begins there is a small bract, and less perfectly developed ones are at every joint, whence spring the wiry flower stalks in fours, threes, and twos, of various lengths and a ruddy colour. The panicles are lax and bending; the flowers, too, are pendent; calyx, five-parted and sharply toothed; stamens, four, and long as petals; anthers, large and cream coloured, style long and protruding. The leaves are radical, and have long, hairy, bending stalks; the main ribs are also hairy; beneath, they are of a deep green colour, bald, shining, veined and wrinkled; their form is somewhat heart-shaped, sometimes oval, lobed, but not deeply, and unevenly notched; they grow in dense masses to the height of 6in. [Illustration: FIG. 71. OURISIA COCCINEA. (Plant, one-fourth natural size; 1, blossom, one-half natural size.)] It is said to like a peaty soil, in which I have never tried it. In the management of this plant I have found position to be the main desideratum; the soil may be almost anything if it is kept moist and sweet by good drainage, but _Ourisia coccinea_ will not endure exposure to hot sunshine; even if the soil is moist it will suffer. I have large patches of it, 3ft. in diameter, growing in a mixture of clay and ashes, formed into a bank 18in. high, sloping north and screened by a hedge nearly 6ft. high from the mid-day sun, and shaded by overhanging trees; and I may also add that during the three years my specimens have occupied this shady, moist, but well drained position they have grown and flowered freely, always best in the deepest shade. As before hinted, there is a sort of special treatment required by this plant, but it is, after all, very simple. It is a slow surface creeper, should be planted freely in frequented parts of the garden, if the needful conditions exist, and no more beautiful surfacing can be recommended; grown in such quantities it will be available for cutting purposes. As a cut flower it is remarkably distinct and fine; it so outshines most other flowers that it must either have well selected company or be used with only a few ferns or grasses. It is readily increased by division of the creeping roots, which is best done in early spring. If such divisions are made in the autumn, according to my experience, the roots rot; they should therefore be taken off either in summer, when there is still time for the young stock to make roots, or be left in the parent clump until spring, when they will start into growth at once. Flowering period, May to September. Papaver Orientale. ORIENTAL POPPY; _Nat. Ord._ PAPAVERACEÆ. The Oriental Poppy is a bold and showy plant, very hardy and perennial. There are several colours, but the bright scarlet variety is the most effective. Specimens of it which have become well established have a brilliant appearance during June; they are 3ft. high and attract the eye from a distance. Among other large herbaceous plants, as lupines, pæonies, thalictrums, &c., or even mixed with dwarf shrubs, they are grandly effective; indeed, almost too much so, as by the size and deep colour of the flowers they dazzle the eye and throw into the shade the surrounding flowers of greater beauty. The kinds with brick-red and other shades are comparatively useless. Their flowers are not only smaller, but wind or a few drops of rain spot the petals. A night's dew has the same effect; the stems, too, are weak and bending, which makes them much wanting in boldness, and when the flowers are damaged and the stems down there is little left about the Oriental Poppies that is ornamental. [Illustration: FIG. 72. PAPAVER ORIENTALE (_var._ BRACTEATUM). (One-fourth natural size.)] The flowers are 6in. to 8in. across when expanded, produced singly on stout round stems covered with stiff hairs flattened down, and also distantly furnished with small pinnate leaves. Only in some varieties is the leafy bract (Fig. 72) to be found. This variety is sometimes called _P. bracteatum_. The calyx is three-parted and very rough; the six petals (see engraving) are large, having well defined dark spots, about the size of a penny piece. The leaves are a foot or more in length, stiff but bending; they are thickly furnished with short hairs, pinnate and serrated. This large poppy can be grown to an enormous size, and otherwise vastly improved by generous treatment; in a newly trenched and well manured plot a specimen has grown 3ft. high, and produced flowers 9in. across, the colour being fine; it will, however, do well in less favoured quarters--in fact, it may be used to fill up any odd vacancies in the shrubbery or borders. It is readily increased by division of the roots, and this may be done any time from autumn to February; it also ripens seed freely. Flowering period, May to June. Pentstemons. _Nat. Ord._ SCROPHULARIACEÆ. The hybrids, which constitute the numerous and beautiful class commonly grown as "florists' flowers," are the kinds now under notice. The plant, when a year old, has a half-shrubby appearance, and if I said that it was but half hardy I should probably be nearer the mark than if I pronounced it quite hardy. It may, therefore, appear odd that I should class it with hardy perennials; there are, however, good reasons for doing so, and as these extra fine border plants are great favourites and deserve all the care that flowers can be worth, I will indicate my mode of growing them; but first I will state why the hybrid Pentstemons are here classed as hardy. One reason is that some varieties really are so, but most are not, and more especially has that proved to be the case during recent severe winters--the old plants, which I never trouble to take in, are mostly killed. Another reason why I do not object to their being classed as hardy is that cuttings or shoots from the roots appear to winter outside, if taken in the summer or autumn and dibbled into sand or a raised bed (so that it be somewhat drier than beds of the ordinary level), where they will readily root. Such a bed of cuttings I have found to keep green all the winter, without any protection other than a little dry bracken. My plants are so propagated and wintered. The Pentstemon has of late years been much improved by hybridising, so that now the flowers, which resemble foxgloves, are not only larger than those of the typical forms, but also brighter, and few subjects in our gardens can vie with them for effectiveness; moreover, they are produced for several months together on the same plants, and always have a remarkably fresh appearance. The corolla, which can be well seen both inside and out, has the pleasing feature of clearly pronounced colour on the outside, and rich and harmonious shadings inside; such flowers, loosely arranged on stems about 2ft. high, more or less branched, and furnished with lance-shaped foliage of a bright glossy green, go to make this border plant one that is justly esteemed, and which certainly deserves the little extra care needful during winter. [Illustration: FIG. 73. PENTSTEMON. (One-fourth natural size.)] It is grandly effective in rows, but if in a fully exposed position it flags during hot sunshine; it is, therefore, a suitable plant to put among shrubs, the cool shelter of which it seems to enjoy. The remarks I have already made respecting its hardiness sufficiently indicate the mode of propagation. Old plants should not be depended upon, for though they are thoroughly perennial, they are not so hardy as the younger and less woody stuff--besides, young plants are far more vigorous bloomers. Flowering period, June to August. Petasites Vulgaris. _Syns._ TUSSILAGO PETASITES _and_ T. FRAGRANS; WINTER HELIOTROPE _and_ COMMON BUTTERBUR; _Nat. Ord._ COMPOSITÆ. I must explain why this native weed, of rampant growth and perennial character, is here mentioned as a fit subject for the garden. It blooms in the depth of winter--in fact, all winter; the flowers are not showy at all, but they are deliciously scented, whence the specific name _fragrans_ and the common one "Winter Heliotrope," as resembling the scent of heliotrope. In its wild state it does not flower so early as when under cultivation; the latter state is also more favourable to its holding some green foliage throughout the winter. It has been said that there are different forms--male and female, or minor and major. Parkinson recognises two forms, and as his remarks are interesting and clearly point to the variety under notice, I will quote him from "The Theater of Plants," page 419: "The Butter burre is of two sorts, the one greater and the other lesser, differing also in the flowers, as you shall heare; but because they are so like one another, one description shall serve for them both. Each of them riseth up very early in the yeare, that is, in _February_, with a thicke stalke about a foote high, whereon are set a few small leaves, or rather peeces, and at the toppes a long spiked head of flowers, in the one which is the lesse and the more rare to finde, wholly white and of a better sent than the other (yet some say it hath no sent), in the greater, which is more common with us, of a blush or deepe red colour, according to the soile wherein it groweth, the clay ground bringing a paler colour somewhat weake, and before the stalke with the flowers have abidden a moneth above ground will be withered and gon, blowen away with the winde, and the leaves will beginne to spring, which when they are full growne are very large and broad, that they may very well serve to cover the whole body, or at the least the head like an umbello from the sunne and raine." The flowers are produced on bare, fleshy scapes, springing from amongst the old foliage; the new leaves not appearing until much later. The bloom is small, of a pinky white colour; they are miniature forms, resembling the coltsfoot flowers, being arranged, however, in clusters. The leaves are large, cordate, downy, and soft to the touch, having long stout stems; they vary much in size, from 3in. to more than a foot across, according to the nature of the soil. The usefulness of this plant consists entirely in its flowers as cut bloom, the least bit of which fills a large room with its most agreeable perfume. The plant, therefore, need not be grown in the more ornamental parts of the garden, and it should have a space exclusively allotted to it. It runs widely underground, and soon fills a large space. It enjoys moisture, but I have proved it to be more productive of bloom with leaves of half their usual size when planted in a rather dry situation with light but good soil. Usually a root does not produce flowers until two years after it has been planted. Poor as the flowers otherwise are, they are of great value in winter, when finely-scented kinds are scarce. They may be mixed with more beautiful forms and colours so as not to be seen, when, like violets in the hedgerow, they will exhale their grateful odour from a position of modest concealment. Flowering period, November to February. Phlox. HYBRID TALL VARIETIES; SUB-SECTIONS, SUFFRUTICOSA _and_ DECUSSATA (EARLY _and_ LATE FLOWERING); _Nat. Ord._ POLEMONIACEÆ. These noble flowers are not only beautiful as individuals, but the cheerful appearance of our gardens during the autumn is much indebted to them; the great variety in colour and shade is as remarkable as it is effective. The finer sorts are known as "florists' flowers," being named. Whence they came (from which species) is not so clear, but in other respects than form and habit they are much in the way of _P. paniculata_. The Phlox family is a numerous one, and the species are not only numerous but extremely dissimilar, consisting of the dwarf woody trailers, or _P. procumbens_ section, the oval-leafed section (_P. ovata_), the creeping or stolon-rooted (_P. stolonifera_) section, and the one now under notice, which differs so widely that many have seemed puzzled that these bold tall plants are so closely related to the prostrate, Whin-like species. The sub-divisions of the section under notice, viz., early and late flowering varieties, in all other respects except flowering period are similar, and any remarks of a cultural nature are alike applicable. This favourite part of the Phlox family is honoured with a specific name, viz., _P. omniflora_ (all varieties of flowers), but notwithstanding that it is a most appropriate name it is seldom applied. As the flowers must be familiar to the reader, they need hardly be described, and it is only necessary to mention the general features. They are produced on tall leafy stems in panicles of different forms, as pyramidal, rounded, or flattish; the clusters of bloom are sometimes 8in. in diameter in rich soil; the corolla of five petals is mostly flat, the latter are of a velvety substance, and coloured at their base, which in most varieties forms the "eye;" the tube is fine and bent, so as to allow the corolla to face upwards; the calyx, too, is tubular, the segments being deep and sharply cut; the buds abound in small clusters, and although the flowers are of a somewhat fugacious character, their place is quickly supplied with new blossoms (the succession being long maintained) which, moreover, have always a fresh appearance from the absence of the faded parts. The leaves, as indicated by the name _suffruticosa_, are arranged on half wood stems, and, as implied by the name _decussata_, are arranged in pairs, the alternate pairs being at right angles; these names are more in reference to the habit and form of the plants than the period of flowering, which, however, they are sometimes used to indicate; the leaves of some early kinds are leathery and shining, but for the most part they are herb-like and hairy, acutely lance-shaped, entire, and 2in. to 5in long. Under ordinary conditions these hybrid forms of Phlox grow into neat bushy specimens of a willow-like appearance, 2ft. to 4ft. high, but in well-prepared richly-manured quarters they will not only grow a foot taller, but proportionally stouter, and also produce much finer panicles of bloom; no flower better repays liberal culture, and few there are that more deserve it. In the semi-shade of trees, the more open parts of the shrubbery, in borders, or when special plantings are made, it is always the same cheerful subject, sweet, fresh, and waving with the breeze; its scent is spicy, in the way of cinnamon. The whole genus enjoys loam, but these strong-growing hybrids have a mass of long hungry roots, and, as already hinted, if they are well fed with manure they pay back with interest. As cut bloom, if taken in entire panicles, they are bouquets in themselves. All are effective, and many of the more delicate colours are exquisite, vieing with the much more cared-for bouvardias and tender primulas. To grow these flowers well there is nothing special about their management, but a method of treatment may be mentioned which, from the improved form it imparts to the specimens, as well as the more prolonged period in which extra-sized blooms are produced, is well worthy of being adopted. When the stems are 12in. or 15in. grown, nip off the tops of all the outer ones, they will soon break into two or four shoots. These will not only serve to "feather" down the otherwise "leggy" specimens and render them more symmetrical, but they will produce a second crop of flowers, and, at the same time, allow the first to develope more strongly. When the taller stems have done flowering, or become shabby, the tops may be cut back to the height of the under part of the then-formed buds of the early pinched shoots, and the extra light will soon cause them to flower; they should then be tied to the old stems left in the middle; this will quite transform the specimen, not only making it more neat and dwarf, but otherwise benefiting it--the old worn stems will have gone, and a new set of beaming flowers will reward the operator. The tops pinched out in the early part of the season make the best possible plants for the following season's bloom. They root like willows in a shady place in sandy loam, and are ready for planting in the open by midsummer, so that they have ample time to become strong before winter. Another way to propagate these useful flower roots is to divide strong clumps in the autumn after they have ceased to bloom. The very earliest kinds (some three or four) begin to flower early in August, and by the middle of the month many are in bloom; the late-flowering (_decussata_) section is a month later; all, however, are continued bloomers. Phlox Frondosa. FRONDED P.; _Nat. Ord._ POLEMONIACEÆ. A hardy creeper; one of the dwarf section, having half-woody, wiry stems. For this and many other species of the Creeping Phlox we are indebted to North America. Of late years these beautiful flowers have received much attention, not only from the trade, but also from amateurs, some of whom have taken much pains in crossing the species by hybridising, notably the late Rev. J. G. Nelson. Perhaps the most distinct and beautiful of all the dwarf Phloxes is the one which bears his name--the white-flowered _P. Nelsoni_. I have selected the species _P. frondosa_, because the specific name is, perhaps, beyond that of any of the others, more generally descriptive of all the following kinds: _P. divaricata_, _P. glaberrima_, _P. Nelsoni_ (white flowers), _P. reflexa_, _P. oculata_, _P. setacea_, _P. s. atropurpurea_, _P. s. violacæa_, _P. subulata_, _P. prostrata_. These differ but slightly from one another, so little, indeed, that many discard the distinctions; still, they do exist, and may be clearly seen when grown close together in collections. The flowers differ in depth of colour; the leaves of some are more recurved, crossed, twisted, shining, or pointed, also broader and longer; the stems likewise differ; herein the distinctions are seen, probably, more than in either flowers or leaves. Sometimes they are, in the different species, long or short, leafy, branched, dense, arched, and divaricate, but, although at any time when their fresh foliage is upon them, and when they are so close together that the eye can take them all in at a glance, their distinctions are fairly clear, autumn is the time to see them in their most definite and beautiful form. Like many other North American plants, they have lovely autumnal tints, then their forms have rich glistening colours, and they are seen to not only differ considerably, but, perhaps, to more advantage than when in flower; but let me add at once that I have only proved these plants to take such rich autumnal colours when they have been grown so as to rest on stones, which not only keep them from excess of moisture, from worm casts, &c., but secure for them a healthy circulation of air under their dense foliage. From the above, then, it will be seen that a general description of _P. frondosa_ will apply to the other species and varieties mentioned. The flowers are lilac-rose; calyx, tubular; corolla of five petals, narrow and notched; leaves, awl-shaped, short, bent, and opposite; stems, branched, dense and trailing. The dwarf Phloxes are pre-eminently rock plants, as which they thrive well; when raised from the ground level, so as to be nearly in the line of sight, they are very effective. They should be so planted that they can fall over the stones, like the one from which the illustration (Fig. 74) was drawn. For at least a fortnight the plants are literally covered with flowers, and at all times they form neat rock plants, though in winter they have the appearance of short withered grass; even then the stems are full of health, and in early spring they become quickly furnished with leaves and flowers. These Phloxes make good edgings. Notwithstanding their dead appearance in winter, a capital suggestion occurred to me by an accidental mixture of croci with the Phlox. At the time when the latter is most unseasonable the crocuses, which should be planted in the same line, may be seen coming through the browned foliage. When in flower, the blooms will not only be supported by this means, but also be preserved from splashes; when the crocuses are past their prime, the Phlox will have begun to grow, and, to further its well doing, its stems should be lifted and the then lengthened foliage of the crocuses should be drawn back to the under side of the Phlox, where it might remain to die off. This would allow the Phlox to have the full light, and the arrangement would be suitable for the edge of a shrubbery or border of herbaceous plants, or even along the walks of a kitchen garden. [Illustration: FIG. 74. PHLOX FRONDOSA. (Plant, one-sixth natural size; 1, natural size of flower.)] The Phloxes are easily propagated, either from rooted layers or cuttings. The latter should be put into a good loam and kept shaded for a week or two. Early spring is the best time. Flowering period, March to May. Physalis Alkekengi. WINTER CHERRY; _Nat. Ord._ SOLANACEÆ. This plant begins to flower in summer; but as a garden subject its blossom is of no value; the fine large berries, however, which are suspended in orange-yellow husks of large size, are very ornamental indeed, and form a very pleasing object amongst other "autumnal tints." It is not till October that the fruit begins to show its richness of colour. The plant is quite hardy, though a native of southern Europe; it is also herbaceous and perennial, and it has been grown in this country for 330 years. Still, it is not to be seen in many gardens. An old common name for it was "Red Nightshade," and Gerarde gives a capital illustration of it in his Herbal, under the name _Solanum Halicacabum_. _P. Alkekengi_ grows to the height of about two feet. The stems of the plant are very curious, being somewhat zigzag in shape, swollen at the nodes, with sharp ridges all along the stems; otherwise, they are round and smooth. The leaves are produced in twins, their long stalks issuing from the same part of the joint; they are of various forms and sizes, but mostly heart-shaped, somewhat acute, and 2in. to 4in. long. The little soft creamy white flowers spring from the junction of the twin leaf-stalks; their anthers are bulky for so small a flower. The calyx continues to grow after the flower has faded, and forms the Chinese-lantern-like covering of the scarlet berry; the latter will be over ½in. in diameter, and the orange-coloured calyx 1½in., when fully developed. In autumn the older stems cast their leaves early, when the finely-coloured fruit shows to advantage; the younger stems keep green longer, and continue to flower until stopped by the frost. To this short description I may add that of Gerarde, which is not only clear but pleasantly novel: "The red winter Cherrie bringeth foorth stalkes a cubite long, rounde, slender, smooth, and somewhat reddish, reeling this way and that way by reason of his weakness, not able to stande vpright without a support: whereupon do growe leaues not vnlike to those of common nightshade, but greater; among which leaues come foorth white flowers, consisting of five small leaues; in the middle of which leaues standeth out a berrie, greene at the first, and red when it is ripe, in colour of our common Cherrie and of the same bignesse, which is enclosed in a thinne huske or little bladder of a pale reddish colour, in which berrie is conteined many small flat seedes of a pale colour. The rootes be long, not vnlike to the rootes of Couch grasse, ramping and creeping within the vpper crust of the earth farre abroade, whereby it encreaseth greatly." The stems, furnished with fruit of good colour, but otherwise bare, make capital decorations for indoors, when mixed with tall grasses, either fresh or dried, and for such purposes this plant is worth growing; any kind of soil will do, in an out-of-the-way part, but if in shade, the rich colour will be wanting. Flowering period, June to frosts. Podophyllum Peltatum. DUCK'S-FOOT, _sometimes called_ MAY APPLE; _Nat. Ord._ PODOPHYLLACEÆ. [Illustration: FIG. 75. PODOPHYLLUM PELTATUM. (One-third natural size.)] A hardy herbaceous perennial from North America, more or less grown in English gardens since 1664. As may be seen from the illustration (Fig. 75), it is an ornamental plant, and though its flowers are interesting, they are neither showy nor conspicuous, as, from the peculiar manner in which they are produced, they are all but invisible until sought out. Its leaves and berries constitute the more ornamental parts of the plant. The flowers are white, not unlike the small white dog-rose in both size and form; the calyx is of three leaves, which fall off; the corolla, of six to nine petals; peduncle nearly an inch long, which joins the stem at the junction of the two leaf stalks, only one flower being produced on a stem or plant. The leaves join the rather tall and naked stem by stalks, 2in. to 3in. long; they are handsome in both form and habit. As the specific name implies, the leaves are peltate or umbrella-shaped, deeply lobed, each lobe being deeply cut, and all unevenly toothed and hairy at the edges, with a fine down covering the under sides; the upper surface is of a lively, shining green colour, and finely veined. The flower is succeeded by a large one-celled ovate berry, in size and form something like a damson, but the colour is yellow when ripe, at which stage the berry becomes more conspicuous than the flower could be, from the manner in which the young leaves were held. We want cheerful-looking plants for the bare parts under trees, and this is a suitable one, provided the surface soil has a good proportion of vegetable matter amongst it, and is rather moist. The thick horizontal roots creep near the surface, so it will be seen how important it is to secure them against drought otherwise than by depth of covering; a moist and shady position, then, is indispensable. In company with trilliums, hellebores, anemones, and ferns, this graceful plant would beautifully associate. Another way to grow it is in pots, when exactly the required kind of compost can easily be given, viz., peat and chopped sphagnum. Thus potted, plunged in wet sand, and placed in a northern aspect, it will be found not only to thrive well, as several specimens have done with me, but also to be worth all the trouble. To propagate it, the long creeping roots should be cut in lengths of several inches, and to a good bud or crown. When so cut in the autumn, I have proved them to rot when planted, but others buried in sand until February, and then planted, have done well. Flowering period, May and June. Polyanthus. _Nat. Ord._ PRIMULACEÆ. This, with its numerous varieties, comes under _Primula veris_, or the common Cowslip. The improved varieties which have sprung from this native beauty of our meadows and hedgerows are innumerable, and include the rich "gold-laced" kinds--which are cared for like children and are annually placed on the exhibition tables--as well as the homely kinds, which grow in the open borders by the hundred. The Polyanthus is eminently a flower for English gardens; and this country is noted for the fine sorts here raised, our humid climate suiting the plant in every way; its flowers offer a variety of colour, an odour of the sweetest kind, full and rich, reminding us not only of spring time, but of youthful rambles and holidays. As an "old-fashioned" flower for garden decoration it is effective and useful, from the great quantity of bloom it sends forth and the length of its flowering season; from its love of partial shade it may be planted almost anywhere. Its neat habit, too, fits it for scores of positions in which we should scarcely think of introducing less modest kinds; such nooks and corners of our gardens should be made to beam with these and kindred flowers, of which we never have too many. Plant them amongst bulbs, whose leaves die off early, and whose flowers will look all the happier for their company in spring; plant them under all sorts of trees, amongst the fruit bushes, and where only weeds have appeared, perhaps, for years; dig and plant the Polyanthus, and make the wilderness like Eden. Flowering period, February to June. Polygonum Brunonis. KNOTWEED; _Nat. Ord._ POLYGONACEÆ. This is a dwarf species from India, but quite hardy. It is pretty, interesting, and useful. The flowers are produced on erect stems a foot high, and formed in spikes 3in. to 5in. long, which are as soft as down and smell like heather. The colour is a soft rose. These flowers spring from a dense mass of rich foliage; the leaves in summer and early autumn are of a pleasing apple-green colour, smooth, oblong, and nearly spoon-shaped from the narrowing of the lower part; the mid-rib is prominent and nearly white; the leaf has rolled edges, and is somewhat reflexed at the point. Let the reader closely examine the leaves of this species while in their green state, holding them up to a strong light, and he will then behold the beauty and finish of Nature to a more than ordinary degree. This subject is one having the finest and most lasting of "autumnal tints," the dense bed of leaves turn to a rich brick-red, and, being persistent, they form a winter ornament in the border or on rockwork. The habit of the plant is creeping, rooting as it goes. It is a rampant grower, and sure to kill any dwarf subject that may be in its way. It may be grown in any kind of soil, and almost in any position, but it loves sunshine. If its fine lambtail-shaped flowers are desired, it should be grown on the flat, but, for its grand red autumnal leaf tints, it should be on the upper parts of rockwork. It is self-propagating, as already hinted. The flowers prove capital for dressing epergnes. I had not seen them so used, until the other day a lady visitor fancied a few spikes, and when I called at her house a day or two later saw them mixed with white flowers and late flowering forget-me-nots--they were charming. Flowering period, August to the time of frosts. Polygonum Cuspidatum. CUSPID KNOTWEED; _Nat. Ord._ POLYGONACEÆ. A recent introduction from China, perfectly hardy, shrub-like but herbaceous; a rampant grower, attaining the height of 6ft. or 7ft., and spreading fast by means of root suckers. During the early spring it pushes its fleshy shoots, and the coloured leaves, which are nearly red, are very pleasing; as they unfold they are seen to be richly veined, and are as handsome as the beautiful Fittonias, so much admired as hothouse plants. The long slender stems grow apace, and when the growth has been completed the flowers issue from the axils of the leaves; they are in the form of drooping feathery panicles, 4in. to 5in. long, creamy white, and produced in clusters, lasting for three weeks or more in good condition. The leaves are 3in. to 4in. long, nearly heart-shaped but pointed, entire, and stalked, of good substance, and a pale green colour; they are alternately and beautifully arranged along the gracefully-arching stems. The specimens are attractive even when not in bloom. If the roots are allowed to run in their own way for two or three years they form a charming thicket, which must prove a pleasant feature in any large garden. All through the summer its branches are used as dressings for large vases, and, either alone or with bold flowers, they prove most useful. In the shrubbery, where it can bend over the grass, from its distinct colour and graceful habit, it proves not only an effective but a convenient subject, as it allows the mowing machine to work without hindrance or damage. It is a capital plant for the small town garden. After sending to a friend several hampers of plants season after season, all without satisfactory results, owing to the exceptionally bad atmosphere of the neighbourhood, I sent him some of this, and it has proved suitable in every way. Flowering period, July and August. _P. c. compactum_ is a variety of the above. It is, however, very distinct in the way implied by its name, being more compact and rigid, and not more than half as tall. The leaves, too, are somewhat crimped, and of a much darker colour, the stems are nearly straight and ruddy, and the flowers are in more erect racemes, the colour yellowish-white. It forms a handsome bush, but is without the graceful habit of the type. Like the other knotweeds described, it enjoys a sandy loam, and requires nothing in the way of special culture. The roots may be transplanted or divided when the tops have withered. Polygonum Filiformis Variegatum. KNOTWEED; _Nat. Ord._ POLYGONACEÆ. Very hardy and effective. I simply mention this as a foliage plant. The leaves are large, drooping, and finely splashed or marbled with pale green and yellow, in shape oval-oblong, being crimped between the veins. It is a scarce variety. Fine for the sub-tropical garden. Culture, the same as for all the Knotweeds. Flowering period, late summer. Polygonum Vaccinifolium. VACCINIUM-LEAVED KNOTWEED; _Nat. Ord._ POLYGONACEÆ. It may seem odd that we should go into the Dock family for plants and flowers for our gardens; still we may, and find some truly beautiful species. The above-named is a charming alpine, coming from the Himalayas, and proves perfectly hardy in our climate; it is seldom met with and cannot be generally known, otherwise it would be more patronised; it forms a pretty dwarf shrub, with woody slender stems, clothed with small shining foliage. The flowers are very small, resembling those of the smaller ericas, and of a fine rosy colour; the unopened ones are even more pretty, having a coral-like effect; they are arranged in neat spikes, about 2in. long, and tapering to a fine point; they are numerously produced all along the procumbent branches, becoming erect therefrom. As the specific name denotes, the leaves are Vaccinium-like--_i.e._, small and oval, like box, but not so stout; they are closely set on the stems, are of a pale shining green, and somewhat bent or rolled. The habit is exceedingly neat, and, when in flower, a good specimen is a pleasing object; it is only a few inches high, but spreads quickly. On rockwork it seems quite at home. My example has shade from the mid-day sun, and, without saying that it should have shade, I may safely say that it does well with it. The plant will thrive in sandy loam and is readily increased by putting small stones on the trailing stems, which soon root. The leafy stems, with their coral-like, miniature spires, are useful in a cut state, so pretty, in fact, that it does not require any skill to "bring them in." Flowering period, August to the frosts. Potentilla Fruticosa. SHRUBBY CINQUEFOIL; _Nat. Ord._ ROSACEÆ. In mountainous woods this native deciduous shrub is found wild, and it is much grown in gardens, where it not only proves very attractive, but from its dwarf habit and flowering throughout the summer and autumn months, it helps to keep the borders or rock garden cheerful. The flowers, which are lemon yellow, are in form like those of its relative, the strawberry, but smaller; they are produced in terminal small bunches, but seldom are more than two or three open at the same time, and more often only one; but from the numerous branchlets, all of which produce bloom, there seems to be no lack of colour. In gardens it grows somewhat taller than in its wild state, and if well exposed to the sun it is more floriferous, and the individual flowers larger. It attains the height of 2ft. 6in.; the flowers are 1in. across; the petals apart; calyx and bracteæ united; ten parted; each flower has a short and slender stalk. The leaves are 2in. or more in length, pinnate, five but oftener seven parted, the leaflets being oblong, pointed, entire and downy; the leaf stalks are very slender, and hardly an inch long; they spring from the woody stems or branches, which are of a ruddy colour, and also downy. The habit of the shrub is densely bushy, and the foliage has a greyish green colour from its downiness. This subject may be planted in any part of the garden where a constant blooming and cheerful yellow flower is required; it is pretty but not showy; its best quality, perhaps, is its neatness. It enjoys a vegetable soil well drained, and propagates itself by its creeping roots, which push up shoots or suckers at short spaces from the parent stock. Flowering period, summer to early frosts. Pratia Repens. _Syn._ LOBELIA PRATIANA; CREEPING PRATIA; _sometimes called_ LOBELIA REPENS; _Nat. Ord._ LOBELIACEÆ. In October this small creeper is a very pretty object on rockwork, when the earlier bloom has become changed into oval fruit-pods. These berry-like capsules are large for so small a plant, and of a bright and pleasing colour. These, together with the few flowers that linger, backed up, as they are, with a dense bed of foliage, interlaced with its numerous filiform stems, present this subject in its most interesting and, perhaps, its prettiest form. The flowers may be called white, but they have a violet tint, and are over half-an-inch in length. The calyx is adnate in relation to the ovarium, limb very short, but free and five-toothed; the corolla is funnel-shaped, but split at the back, causing it to appear one-sided. The solitary flowers are produced on rather long stems from the axils of the leaves. As they fade the calyces become fleshy and much enlarged, and resemble the fruit of the hawthorn when ripe. The leaves are distantly arranged on the creeping stems, ½in. long, oval, roundly toothed and undulated, fleshy, somewhat glaucous and petiolate. The habit of the plant is to root as it creeps, and the thread-like stems intersect each other in a pleasing way. They are to be seen distinctly, as the leaves are not only small, but distant, and seem to rest on a lattice-work of stems. This species comes from the Falkland Islands, and is of recent introduction. It is herbaceous and perennial, and proves hardy in this climate if planted on a well-drained soil of a vegetable character. It not only enjoys such a position as the slope of rockwork, but, when so placed, it may be seen to advantage. It should be free from shade, or the fruit will not colour well. It will therefore be seen that this is a rock plant, so far as its decorative qualities are concerned. It may, however, be grown well on flat beds of peat soil, where its fruit will mature finely, but it cannot be so well seen. It is self-propagating. Transplantings should be made in spring, or tufts may be placed in pots, during the autumn, and put in cold frames, as then they would not suffer displacement by frosts. Flowering period, June to frosts. Primula Acaulis. _Syn._ P. VULGARIS, COMMON PRIMROSE; _Nat. Ord._ PRIMULACEÆ. This common native flower needs no description, growing everywhere, yet we all seem to enjoy its company in our gardens, though it may, perhaps, be seen wild close by. It is a flower of more interest than ordinary, and to the florist of some importance. The great variety of double and single primroses have all sprung from this, the modest form found in our woods and damp hedgerows, and the number is being added to year by year. The generic name is in allusion to a quality--that of early or first flowering. The specific name, _acaulis_, is in reference to its stemlessness, which is its main distinguishing feature from the Polyanthus and Oxlip (_P. veris_). I may add, that from the great variety of _P. acaulis_ and _P. veris_, and their mutual resemblance in many instances, the casual observer may often find in this feature a ready means by which to identify a specimen. Of course, there are other points by which the different species can be recognised, even when the scape is out of sight, but I am now speaking of their general likeness to each other in early spring. Common Cowslips or Paigles (_P. veris_), great Cowslips or Oxlips (_P. elatior_), field primrose or large-flowered primrose (_P. acaulis_), were all in olden times called by the general name of primrose, the literal meaning of which is first-rose. Old authorities give us many synonymous names for this plant, as _P. grandiflora_, _P. vulgaris_, _P. sylvestris_, and _P. veris_. The last is given by three authorities, including Linnæus. As this seems to clash hard with the name as applied to the Cowslip species, I may at once state that Linnæus has only that one name for the three species, viz: _P. acaulis_, _P. elatior_, _P. veris_; the name _P. vulgaris_, by another authority, is explained by the same rule; Curtis (_Flora Londinensis_) is the authority for the name _P. acaulis_. I need not here go into any of the varieties, beyond giving a cursory glance at them as a whole. The double kinds are all beautiful, some superb and rare, as the ruby and crimson; the white, sulphur, mauve, magenta, and other less distinct double forms are more easily grown, and in some parts are very plentiful. The single kinds have even a more extensive range in colour. We have now fine reds and what are called blue primrose; the latter variety is not a blue, but certainly a near approach to it. It is an interesting occupation to raise the coloured primroses from seed, not only because of the pleasing kinds which may be so obtained, but under cultivation, as in a wild state, seedlings are always seen to be the more vigorous plants; self-sown seed springs up freely on short grass, sandy walks, and in half-shaded borders; but when it is sought to improve the strain, not only should seedlings be regularly raised, but it should be done systematically, when it will be necessary, during the blooming season, to look over the flowers daily and remove inferior kinds as soon as proved, so that neither their seed nor pollen can escape and be disseminated. This part of the operation alone will, in a few years, where strictly carried out, cause a garden to become famous for its primroses. Seasonable sowing, protection from slugs, and liberal treatment are also of the utmost importance. Briefly stated, the _modus operandi_ should be as follows: Sow the seed at the natural season, soon as ripe, on moist vegetable soil; do not cover it with more than a mere dash of sand; the aspect should be north, but with a little shade any other will do; the seedlings will be pretty strong by the time of the early frosts; about that time they should, on dry days, have three or four slight dressings of soot and quicklime; it should be dusted over them with a "dredge" or sieve; this may be expected to clear them of the slug pest, after which a dressing of sand and half-rotten leaves may be scattered over them; this will not only keep them fresh and plump during winter, but also protect them from the effects of wet succeeded by frost, which often lifts such things entirely out of the earth. In March, plant out in well enriched loam, in shady quarters; many will flower in late spring. Another plan would be to leave them in the seed bed if not too rank, where most would flower; in either case, the seed bed might be left furnished with undisturbed seedlings. The main crop of bloom should not be looked for until the second spring after the summer sowing. The double forms are not only less vigorous, but the means of propagation are limited; offsets of only healthy stock should be taken in early summer. A rich retentive loam suits them, or moist vegetable soil would do: shade, however, is the great desideratum; exposure to full sunshine harms them, even if well moistened at the roots; besides, in such positions red spider is sure to attack them. This mode of propagation is applicable to desirable single varieties, as they cannot be relied upon to produce stock true to themselves from seed. In planting offsets it is a good practice to put them in rather deeply; not only are the new roots emitted from above the old ones, but the heart of the offset seems to be sustained during the warm and, perhaps, dry weather, by being set a trifle below the surface. This I have ever proved to be a sure and quick method in the open garden. Flowering period, February to June. Primula Capitata. ROUND-HEADED PRIMULA; _Nat. Ord._ PRIMULACEÆ. Hardy, herbaceous, and perennial. Before referring to this Primula in particular, I would say a word or two respecting hardy and alpine Primulæ in general. It may appear strange and, on my part, somewhat presumptuous, when I state that this section of the Primula family is little known. Gardeners, both old and young, who have seen them in collections, have asked what they were as they stood over them admiring their lovely flowers. They are, however, very distinct on the one hand from the primrose (_Primula vulgaris_ or _acaulis_) and polyanthus (_Primula elatior_) sections; and also from the _P. sinensis_ section--the species with so many fine double and single varieties, much grown in our greenhouses, and which, of course, are not hardy. The hardy and distinct species to which I now allude are mostly from alpine habitats, of stunted but neat forms, widely distinct, and very beautiful. The British representatives of this class are _Primula farinosa_ and _P. Scotica_, but from nearly all parts of the temperate zone these lovely subjects have been imported. It may not be out of place to name some of them: _P. Allioni_, France; _P. amoena_, Caucasus; _P. auricula_, Switzerland; _P. Carniolica_, Carniola; _P. decora_, South Europe; _P. glaucescens_ and _P. grandis_, Switzerland; _P. glutinosa_, South Europe; _P. latifolia_, Pyrenees; _P. longifolia_, Levant; _P. marginata_, Switzerland; _P. minima_, South Europe; _P. nivalis_, Dahuria; _P. villosa_, Switzerland; _P. viscosa_, Piedmont; _P. Wulfeniana_, _P. spectabilis_, _P. denticulata_, _P. luteola_, _P. Tirolensis_, and others, from the Himalayas and North America, all of which I have proved to be of easy culture, either on rockwork, or in pots and cold frames, where, though they may be frozen as hard as the stones amongst which their roots delight to run, they are perfectly safe. The treatment they will not endure is a confined atmosphere. _P. capitata_, which is a native of Sikkim, is still considered to be new in this country, though it was flowered at Kew about thirty years ago, but it has only become general in its distribution during the past three or four years. The flowers are borne on stems which are very mealy, and 6in. to 9in. high; the head of bloom is round and dense, 1½in. across. The outer pips are first developed, and as they fade the succeeding rings or tiers extend and hide them. The very smallest in the centre of the head remain covered with the farina-like substance, and form a beautiful contrast to the deep violet-blue of the opened, and the lavender-blue of the unopened pips. One head of bloom will last fully four weeks. The denseness and form of the head, combined with the fine colour of the bloom, are the chief points which go to make this Primula very distinct. The leaves, which are arranged in rosette form, are otherwise very pretty, having a mealy covering on the under side, sometimes of a golden hue; they are also finely wrinkled and toothed, giving the appearance, in small plants, of a rosette of green feathers. Sometimes the leaves are as large as a full-grown polyanthus leaf, whilst other plants, which have flowered equally well, have not produced foliage larger than that of primroses, when having their earliest flowers. It makes a fine pot subject, but will not endure a heated greenhouse. It should be kept in a cold frame, with plenty of air. It may be planted on rockwork where it will not get the mid-day sun. I hear that it grows like grass with a correspondent whose garden soil is stiff loam; there it seeds and increases rapidly. My first experience with it was troublesome; when dying down in the winter, the leaves, which are persistent, seemed to collect moisture at the collar and cause it to rot. I tried planting not quite so deeply, and I imagine that it has proved a remedy. So choice a garden subject should not be passed by because it cannot be dibbled in and grown as easily as a cabbage. Old plants produce offsets which, as soon as the April showers come, may be transplanted in loamy soil and a shady situation. Propagation may also be carried on by seed when well ripened, but that has not been my experience of it hitherto. Flowering period, April to June. Primula Cashmerianum. CASHMERE PRIMROSE; _Nat Ord._ PRIMULACEÆ. This belongs to the large-leaved and herbaceous section, and though it comes (as its name specifies) from a much warmer climate than ours, its habitat was found at a great altitude, and it has been proved to be perfectly hardy in North Britain. This species is comparatively new to English gardens, but it has already obtained great favour and is much grown (see Fig. 76). No collection of _Primulæ_ can well be without it; its boldness, even in its young state, is the first characteristic to draw attention, for with the leaf development there goes on that of the scape. For a time the foliage has the form of young cos lettuce, but the under sides are beautifully covered with a meal resembling gold dust. This feature of the plant is best seen at the early stage of its growth, as later on the leaves bend or flatten to the ground in rosette form, the rosettes being often more than 12in. across. The golden farina varies in both quantity and depth of colour on different plants. [Illustration: FIG. 76. PRIMULA CASHMERIANUM. (One-fourth natural size.)] The flower scape is from 9in. to 12in. high, nearly as stout as a clay pipe stem, and very mealy, thickening near the top. The flowers, which are small, of a light purple colour, and having a yellow eye, are densely arranged in globular trusses, each lasting more than a fortnight in beauty. The leaves when resting on the ground show their finely serrated edges and pleasing pale green, which contrasts oddly with the under sides of those still erect, the latter being not only of a golden colour, as already mentioned, but their edges are turned, almost rolled under. This plant loves moisture; and it will adorn any position where it can be well grown; it will also endure any amount of sunshine if it has plenty of moisture at the roots, and almost any kind of soil will do except clay, but peat and sand are best for it, according to my experience. During winter the crown is liable to rot, from the amount of moisture which lodges therein somewhat below the ground level; latterly I have placed a piece of glass over them, and I do not remember to have lost one so treated. Offsets are but sparingly produced by this species; propagation is more easily carried out by seed, from which plants will sometimes flower the first year. Flowering period, March to May. Primula Denticulata. TOOTHED PRIMULA; _Nat. Ord._ PRIMULACEÆ. This is one of that section of the Primrose family having stout scapes and compact heads of bloom. It is a comparatively recent introduction from the Himalayas, a true alpine, and perfectly hardy in this climate. As a garden flower, it has much merit, blooming early and profusely. It cannot be too highly commended for its fine form as a plant and beauty as a flower, more especially as seen on rockwork. The flower buds begin in very early spring to rise on their straight round stems, new foliage being developed at the same time. The flowers are arranged in dense round clusters, and are often in their finest form when nearly a foot high. They are of a light purple colour, each flower ½in. across, corolla prettily cupped, segments two-lobed, greenish white at bases, tube long and cylindrical, calyx about half length of tube, teeth rather long and of a dark brown colour. The scape is somewhat dark-coloured, especially near the apex. The leaves are arranged in rosette form, are lance-shaped, rolled back at the edges and toothed, also wrinkled and downy; they continue to grow long after the flowers have faded. Delicate as the flowers seem, they stand the roughest storms without much hurt. _P. d. major_ is a larger form in all its parts. _P. d. nana_ is more dwarfed than the type. _P. d. amabilis_ is a truly lovely form, having darker foliage and rosy buds; its habit, too, is even more neat and upright, and the blooming period earlier by about two weeks. A moist position and vegetable mould suit it best, according to my experience, and the dips of rockwork are just the places for it, not exactly in the bottom, for the following reason: The large crowns are liable to rot from wet standing in them, and if the plants are set in a slope it greatly helps to clear the crowns of stagnant moisture. Propagation is by means of offsets, which should be taken during the growing season, so that they may form good roots and become established before winter. Flowering period, March to May. Primula Farinosa. MEALY PRIMROSE, _or_ BIRD'S-EYE; _Nat. Ord._ PRIMULACEÆ. The pretty native species, very common in a wild state in some parts, near which, of course, it need not be grown in gardens; but as its beauty is unquestionable, and as there are many who do not know it, and evidently have never seen it, it ought to have a place in the garden. It is herbaceous and perennial. All its names are strictly descriptive. The little centre has a resemblance to a bird's eye, and the whole plant is thickly covered with a meal-like substance. Small as this plant is, when properly grown it produces a large quantity of bloom for cutting purposes. It is 3in. to 8in. high, according to the situation in which it is grown. The flowers are light purple, only ½in. across, arranged in neat umbels; the corolla is flat, having a bright yellow centre; leaves small, ovate-oblong, roundly toothed, bald, and powdery beneath; the flower scapes are round and quite white, with a meal-like covering. In stiff soil and a damp situation this little gem does well, or it will be equally at home in a vegetable soil, such as leaf mould or peat, but there must be no lack of moisture, and it is all the better for being screened from the mid-day sun, as it would be behind a hedge or low wall. So freely does it bloom, that it is not only worth a place in the garden, but repays all the trouble required to establish it in proper quarters, after which it will take care of itself, by producing offsets and seedlings in abundance. Flowering period, April to June. Primula Marginata. _Syn._ P. CRENATA; MARGINED PRIMROSE; _Nat. Ord._ PRIMULACEÆ. A native of Switzerland, so rich in alpine flowers; this is but a small species, yet very distinct and conspicuous (see Fig. 77). As its specific name denotes, its foliage has a bold margin, as if stitched with white silken thread, and the whole plant is thickly covered with a mealy substance. So distinct in these respects is this lovely species that, with, perhaps, one exception, it may easily be identified from all others, _P. auricula marginata_ being the one that most resembles it, that species also being edged and densely covered with farina, but its foliage is larger, not toothed, and its flowers yellow. [Illustration: FIG. 77. PRIMULA MARGINATA. (Two-thirds natural size.)] _P. marginata_ has bright but light violet flowers on very short scapes, seldom more than 3in. high; these and the calyx also are very mealy. The little leaves are of various shapes, and distinctly toothed, being about the size of the bowl of a dessert spoon. They are neatly arranged in tufts on a short footstalk, which becomes surrounded with young growths, all as clear in their markings as the parent plant, so that a well grown specimen of three years or even less becomes a beautiful object, whether it is on rockwork or in a cold frame. The flowers are produced and remain in good form for two or three weeks on strong plants, and for nearly the whole year the plant is otherwise attractive. I scarcely need mention that such plants with mealy and downy foliage are all the better for being sheltered from wind and rain. In a crevice, overhung by a big stone, but where the rockwork is so constructed that plenty of moisture is naturally received, a specimen has done very well indeed, besides keeping its foliage dry and perfect. When such positions can either be found or made, they appear to answer even better than frames, as alpine species cannot endure a stagnant atmosphere, which is the too common lot of frame subjects. It is not very particular as to soil or situation. I grow it both in shade and fully exposed to the mid-day sun of summer, and, though a healthy specimen is grown in loam, I find others to do better in leaf mould mixed with grit and pebbles. It enjoys a rare immunity--the slugs let it alone, or at least my slugs do, for it is said that different tribes or colonies have different tastes. To propagate it, the little offsets about the footstalk should be cut off with a sharp knife when the parent plant has finished flowering; they will mostly be found to have nice long roots. Plant in leaf soil and grit, and keep them shaded for a month. Flowering period, March to May. Primula Purpurea. PURPLE-FLOWERED PRIMULA; _Nat. Ord._ PRIMULACEÆ. A truly grand primrose of the same section as _P. denticulata_, coming also from an alpine habitat, viz., the higher elevations of the Himalayas. It has not long been in cultivation in this country compared with our knowledge of the Himalayan flora. It is perfectly hardy, but seems to require rather drier situations than most of the large-leaved kinds. I never saw it so fine as when grown on a hillock of rockwork in sand and leaf mould; the specimen had there stood two severe winters, and in the spring of 1881 we were gladdened by its pushing in all directions fifteen scapes, all well topped by its nearly globular heads of fine purple flowers. It begins to flower in March, and keeps on for quite a month. The flower stems are 9in. high, stout, and covered with a mealy dust, thickest near the top and amongst the small bracts. The umbels of blossom are 2in. to 3in. across, each flower nearly ¾in. in diameter, the corolla being salver shaped and having its lobed segments pretty well apart; the tube is long and somewhat bellied where touched by the teeth of the calyx; the latter is more than half the length of tube, of a pale green colour, and the teeth, which are long, awl shaped, and clasping, impart to the tubes of the younger flowers a fluted appearance; later on they become relaxed and leafy. The leaves have a strong, broad, pale green, shining mid-rib, are lance-shaped, nearly smooth, wavy, and serrulated; the upper surface is of a lively green colour, and the under side has a similar mealy covering to that of the scape. Flowers and leaves develope at the same time, the latter being 8in. long and of irregular arrangement. The exceedingly floriferous character of this otherwise handsome primula renders it one of the very best subjects for the spring garden; it should have a place in the most select collections, as well as in more general assemblages of plants, for not only does it take care of itself when once properly planted, but it increases fast, forming noble tufts a foot in diameter, than which few things give a finer effect or an equal quantity of flowers at a time when they are not too plentiful. As already hinted, it should have a somewhat drier position than _P. denticulata_, but by no means should it suffer from drought, and a little shade will be beneficial. Propagated by division during the growing season, immediately after flowering being the best time. Flowering period, March and April. Primula Scotica. SCOTTISH PRIMROSE; _Nat. Ord._ PRIMULACEÆ. This charming little member of the British flora very much resembles the native Bird's-eye Primrose (_P. farinosa_), which is very common in some parts. It is not uniformly conceded to be a distinct species, but many botanists believe it to be such. As a matter of fact, it is different from _P. farinosa_ in several important points, though they are not seen at a mere glance. That it has darker flowers and a more dwarf and sturdy habit may, indeed, be readily seen when the two are side by side. Size and colour, however, would not in this case appear to be the most distinctive features. The seed organs differ considerably. "In _P. farinosa_ the germen is broadly obovate and the stigma capitate; here the germen is globose and the stigma has five points." But there is another dissimilarity which may or may not prove much to the botanist, but to the lover of flowers who tries to cultivate them it is all-important. Whilst _P. farinosa_ can be easily grown in various soils and positions, in the same garden _P. Scotica_ refuses to live; so fickle, indeed, is it, that were it not a very lovely flower that can be grown and its fastidious requirements easily afforded, it would not have been classed in this list of garden subjects. Here it begins to blossom in the middle of March at the height of 3in. In its habitats in Caithness and the north coast of Sutherland it is considerably later--April and May. The flowers are arranged in a crowded umbel on a short stoutish scape; they are of a deep-bluish purple, with a yellow eye; the divisions of the corolla are flat and lobed; calyx nearly as long as tube, and ventricose or unevenly swollen. The whole flower is much less than _P. farinosa_. The leaves are also smaller than those of that species; obovate, lanceolate, denticulate, and very mealy underneath. To grow it requires not only a light but somewhat spongy soil, as peat and sand, but it should never be allowed to get dry at the roots; a top dressing during summer of sand and half decayed leaves is a great help to it, for the roots are not only then very active, going deep and issuing from the base of the leaves, but they require something they can immediately grow into when just forming, and to be protected from drought. It will be well to remember that its principal habitats are on the sandy shores, as that gives a proper idea of the bottom moisture, and, from the looseness of the sand, the drier condition of the immediate surface. My specimens have always dwindled during summer and failed to appear the following spring, excepting where such treatment as the above has been adopted. I am much indebted for these hints to several amateurs, who grow it well. That many fail with it is evidenced by the facts that it is in great demand every spring and that there are few sources of supply other than its wild home. Never was it more sought for, perhaps, than at the present time, not only by amateurs at home, but by both private and trade growers abroad. The exquisite beauty of this primrose when well grown and the technical care required to have it in that condition are both things of which any plant lover may be proud. If once established, its propagation is scarcely an affair of the cultivator's; the self-sown seed appears to germinate with far more certainty when left alone, and, as the plants are always very small, they hardly need to be transplanted. If left alone, though they are often much less than an inch across, many will flower the first season. Some have taken it as something of a biennial character. The treatment is at fault when it gives cause for such impressions; its perennial quality is both authorised and proved under cultivation. Flowering period, March to May. Primula Sikkimensis. _Nat. Ord._ PRIMULACEÆ. [Illustration: FIG. 78. PRIMULA SIKKIMENSIS. (Plant, one-sixth natural size; _a,_ blossom, two-thirds natural size.)] The specific name of this noble and lovely plant has reference to its habitat, Sikkim, in the Himalayas, where it was found not many years ago. It is not largely cultivated yet--probably not well known. It may, however, be frequently met with in choice collections, where no plant is more worthy of a place. Its general character may be said to be very distinct, especially when in flower. It is herbaceous, hardy, and perennial. Its hardiness has been questioned for several years, but the winters of 1880 and 1881 settled that beyond the region of doubt. I had then many plants of it fully exposed, without even a top-dressing, which is sometimes given to plants of unquestionable hardiness, and they stood the winters as well as their kindred species--our common Cowslip. It was also said to be not more than biennial, as if it were a plant too good to be without some fatal fault for our climate. However, I can say emphatically that it is more than biennial, as the specimens from which the drawing (Fig. 78) is taken are three years old. Several correspondents have written me stating that their plants are dead. That has been during their season of dormancy, but in every case they have pushed at the proper time. I may as well here explain, though somewhat out of order, a peculiarity in reference to the roots of this species: it dies down in early autumn, and the crown seems to retire within the ball of its roots, which are a matted mass of fibres, and not only does it seem to retire, but also to dwindle, so that anyone, with a suspicion, who might be seeking for the vital part, might easily be misled by such appearances, which are further added to by the fact that the species does not start into growth until a late date compared with others of the genus. So peculiar are the roots and crown of this plant, that if a root were dug up in mid-winter, and the soil partly shaken from it, a two-year-old specimen would be found to be the size and shape of a cricket ball, and the position of the crown so difficult to find that, on planting the root again, considerable discrimination would have to be exercised, or the crown might be pointed the wrong way. _P. Sikkimensis_ is a Cowslip. The flowers are a pale primrose yellow, rendered more pale still by a mealiness which covers the whole stem, being most abundant near the top, but whether it is produced on the petals, or, owing to their bell-shape and pendent form they receive it from the scape and pedicels by the action of the wind, I cannot say. The flowers are considerably over 1in. long; they are numerously produced on long drooping pedicels, of irregular lengths; the tallest scape of the specimen illustrated is 18in. high, but under more favourable conditions this Cowslip has been said to reach a height of 3ft. The leaves are 6in. to 12in. long, wrinkled, unevenly dentate, oblong and blunt; during the time of seeding the leaves increase in length, some becoming spathulate, or broadly stalked; it ripens seed plentifully, from which seedlings come true. Although I have never grown this noble plant otherwise than in ordinary garden loam well enriched and in shady borders, it is said to be more at home in peaty soil always in a moist state. However that may be, I have proved it to do well under ordinary treatment; it should be well watered during hot dry weather; amongst dwarf trees, in the more damp parts of rockwork, or at the foot of a north wall covered with any kind of foliage, it will be grown and seen to advantage. Besides by seed, which should be sown as soon as ripened, it may be propagated by root divisions at the time the crowns are pushing in spring. Flowering period, June and July. Primula Vulgaris Flore-pleno. DOUBLE-FLOWERED PRIMROSE; _Nat. Ord._ PRIMULACEÆ. It is not intended to descant upon, or even attempt to name, the many forms of Double Primrose; the object is more to direct the attention of the reader to one which is a truly valuable flower and ought to be in every garden. Let me at once state its chief points. Colour, yellow; flowers, large, full, clear, and sweetly scented, produced regularly twice a year; foliage, short, rigid, evergreen, handsome, and supporting the flowers from earth splashes. Having grown this variety for five years, I have proved it to be as stated during both mild and severe seasons. It seems as if it wanted to commence its blooming period about October, from which time to the severest part of winter it affords a goodly amount of flowers; it is then stopped for a while, though its buds can be seen during the whole winter, and when the longer days and vernal sunshine return, it soon becomes thickly covered with blossoms, which are of the most desirable kind for spring gathering. Its flowers need no further description beyond that already given; but I may add that the stalks are somewhat short, which is an advantage, as the bloom is kept more amongst the leaves and away from the mud. The foliage is truly handsome, short, finely toothed, rolled back, pleasingly wrinkled, and of a pale green colour. It is very hardy, standing all kinds of weather, and I never saw it rot at the older crowns, like so many of the fine varieties, but it goes on growing, forming itself into large tufts a foot and more across. It has been tried in stiff loam and light vegetable soil; in shade, and fully exposed; it has proved to do equally well in both kinds of soil, but where it received the full force of the summer sun the plants were weak, infested with red spider, and had a poorer crop of flowers. It would, therefore, appear that soil is of little or no importance, but that partial shade is needful. It is not only a variety worth the having, but one which deserves to have the best possible treatment, for flowers in winter--and such flowers--are worth all care. Flowering periods, late autumn and early spring to June. Pulmonarias. LUNGWORTS; _Nat. Ord._ BORAGINACEÆ. In speaking of these hardy herbaceous perennials, I should wish to be understood that the section, often and more properly called _Mertensia_, is not included because they are so very distinct in habit and colour of both flowers and foliage. Most of the Pulmonarias begin to flower early in March, and continue to do so for a very long time, quite two months. For the most part, the flowers (which are borne on stems about 8in. high, in straggling clusters) are of changing colours, as from pink to blue; they are small but pretty, and also have a quaint appearance. The foliage during the blooming period is not nearly developed, the plants being then somewhat small in all their parts, but later the leaf growth goes on rapidly, and some kinds are truly handsome from their fine spreading habit and clear markings of large white spots on the leaves, which are often 9in. or 10in. long and 3in. broad, oblong, lanceolate, taper-pointed, and rough, with stiff hairs. At this stage they would seem to be in their most decorative form, though their flowers, in a cut state, formed into "posies," are very beautiful and really charming when massed for table decoration; on the plant they have a faded appearance. Many of the species or varieties have but slight distinctions, though all are beautiful. A few may be briefly noticed otherwise than as above: _P. officinalis_ is British, and typical of several others. Flowers pink, turning to blue; leaves blotted. _P. off. alba_ differs only in the flowers being an unchanging white. _P. angustifolia_, also British, having, as its specific name implies, narrow leaves; flowers bright blue or violet. _P. mollis_, in several varieties, comes from North America; is distinct from its leaves being smaller, the markings or spots less distinct, and more thickly covered with _soft_ hairs, whence its name. _P. azurea_ has not only a well-marked leaf, but also a very bright and beautiful azure flower; it comes from Poland. _P. maculata_ has the most clearly and richly marked leaf, and perhaps the largest, that being the chief distinction. _P. saccharata_ is later; its flowers are pink, and not otherwise very distinct from some of the above kinds. It is not necessary to enumerate others, as the main points of difference are to be found in the above-mentioned kinds. All are very easily cultivated; any kind of soil will do for them, but they repay liberal treatment by the extra quality of their foliage. Their long and thick fleshy roots allow of their being transplanted at any time of the year. Large clumps, however, are better divided in early spring, even though they are then in flower. Flowering period, March to May. Puschkinia Scilloides. SCILLA-LIKE PUSCHKINIA, _or_ STRIPED SQUILL; _Syns._ P. LIBANOTICA, ADAMSIA SCILLOIDES; _Nat. Ord._ LILIACEÆ. As all its names, common and botanical, denote, this charming bulbous plant is like the scillas; it may, therefore, be useful to point out the distinctions which divide them. They are (in the flowers) to be seen at a glance; within the spreading perianth there is a tubular crown or corona, having six lobes and a membranous fringe. This crown is connected at the base of the divisions of the perianth, which divisions do not go to the base of the flower, but form what may be called an outer tube. In the scilla there is no corona, neither a tube, but the petal-like sepals or divisions of the perianth are entire, going to the base of the flower. There are other but less visible differences which need not be further gone into. Although there are but two or three known species of the genus, we have not only a confusion of names, but plants of another genus have been mistaken as belonging to this. Mr. Baker, of Kew, however, has put both the plants and names to their proper belongings, and we are no longer puzzled with a chionodoxa under the name of _Puschkinia_. This Lilywort came from Siberia in 1819, and was long considered a tender bulb in this climate, and even yet by many it is treated as such. With ordinary care--judicious planting--it not only proves hardy, but increases fast. Still, it is a rare plant, and very seldom seen, notwithstanding its great beauty. It was named by Adams, in honour of the Russian botanist, Count Puschkin, whence the two synonymous names _Puschkinia_ and _Adamsia_; there is also another name, specific, which, though still used, has become discarded by authorities, viz., _P. Libanotica_--this was supposed to be in reference to one of its habitats being on Mount Lebanon. During mild winters it flowers in March, and so delicately marked are its blossoms that one must always feel that its beauties are mainly lost from the proverbial harshness of the season. At the height of 4in. to 8in. the flowers are produced on slender bending scapes, the spikes of blossom are arranged one-sided; each flower is ½in. to nearly 1in. across, white, richly striped with pale blue down the centre, and on both sides of the petal-like divisions. The latter are of equal length, lance-shaped, and finely reflexed; there is a short tube, on the mouth of which is joined the smaller one of the corona. The latter is conspicuous from the reflexed condition of the limb of the perianth, and also from its lobes and membranous fringe being a soft lemon-yellow colour. The pedicels are slender and distant, causing the flower spikes, which are composed of four to eight flowers, to have a lax appearance. The leaves are few, 4in. to 6in. long, lance-shaped, concave, but flatter near the apex, of good substance and a dark green colour; bulb small. As already stated, a little care is needed in planting this choice bulbous subject. It enjoys a rich, but light soil. It does not so much matter whether it is loamy or of a vegetable nature if it is light and well drained; and, provided it is planted under such conditions and in full sunshine, it will both bloom well and increase. It may be propagated by division of the roots during late summer, when the tops have died off; but only tufts having a crowded appearance should be disturbed for an increase of stock. Flowering period, March to May. _P. s. compacta_ is a variety of the above, having a stronger habit and bolder flowers. The latter are more numerous, have shorter pedicels, and are compactly arranged in the spike--whence the name. Culture, propagation, and flowering time, same as last. Pyrethrum Uliginosum. MARSH FEVERFEW; _Nat. Ord._ COMPOSITÆ. A very bold and strong growing species, belonging to a numerous genus; it comes to us from Hungary, and has been grown more or less in English gardens a little over sixty years. It is a distinct species, its large flowers, the height to which it grows, and the strength of its willow-like stalks being its chief characteristics. Still, to anyone with but a slight knowledge of hardy plants, it asserts itself at once as a Pyrethrum. It is hardy, herbaceous, and perennial, and worth growing in every garden where there is room for large growing subjects. There is something about this plant when in flower which a bare description fails to explain; to do it justice it should be seen when in full bloom. Its flowers are large and ox-eye-daisy-like, having a white ray, with yellow centre, but the florets are larger in proportion to the disk; plain and quiet as the individual flowers appear, when seen in numbers (as they always may be seen on well-established specimens), they are strikingly beautiful, the blooms are more than 2in. across, and the mass comes level with the eye, for the stems are over 5ft. high, and though very stout, the branched stems which carry the flowers are slender and gracefully bending. The leaves are smooth, lance-shaped, and sharply toothed, fully 4in. long, and stalkless; they are irregularly but numerously disposed on the stout round stems, and of nearly uniform size and shape until the corymbose branches are reached, _i.e._, for 4ft. or 5ft. of their length; when the leaves are fully grown they reflex or hang down, and totally hide the stems. This habit, coupled with the graceful and nodding appearance of the large white flowers, renders this a pleasing subject, especially for situations where tall plants are required, such as near and in shrubberies. I grow but one strong specimen, and it looks well between two apple trees, but not over-shaded. The idea in planting it there was to obtain some protection from strong winds, and to avoid the labour and eyesore which staking would create. It likes a stiff loam, but is not particular as to soil if only it is somewhat damp. The flowers last three weeks; and in a cut state are also very effective; and, whether so appropriated or left on the plant, they will be found to be very enduring. When cutting these flowers, the whole corymb should be taken, as in this particular case we could not wish for a finer arrangement, and being contemporaneous with the Michaelmas daisy, the bloom branches of the two subjects form elegant and fashionable decorations for table or vase use. To propagate this plant, it is only needed to divide the roots in November, and plant in deeply-dug but damp soil. Flowering period, August to September. Ramondia Pyrenaica. _Syns._ CHAIXIA MYCONI _and_ VERBASCUM MYCONI; _Nat. Ord._ SOLANACEÆ. This is a very dwarf and beautiful alpine plant, from the Pyrenees, the one and only species of the genus. Although it is sometimes called a Verbascum or Mullien, it is widely distinct from all the plants of that family. To lovers of dwarf subjects this must be one of the most desirable; small as it is, it is full of character. The flowers, when held up to a good light, are seen to be downy and of ice-like transparency; they are of a delicate, pale, violet colour, and a little more than an inch in diameter, produced on stems 3in. to 4in. high, which are nearly red, and furnished with numerous hairs; otherwise the flower stems are nude, seldom more than two flowers, and oftener only one bloom is seen on a stem. The pedicels, which are about half-an-inch long, bend downwards, but the flowers, when fully expanded, rise a little; the calyx is green, downy, five-parted, the divisions being short and reflexed at their points; the corolla is rotate, flat, and, in the case of flowers several days old, thrown back; the petals are nearly round, slightly uneven, and waved at the edges, having minute protuberances at their base tipped with bright orange, shading to white; the seed organs are very prominent; stamens arrow-shaped; pistil more than twice the length of filaments and anthers combined, white, tipped with green. The leaves are arranged in very flat rosettes, the latter being from four to eight inches across. The foliage is entirely stemless, the nude flower stalks issuing from between the leaves, which are roundly toothed, evenly and deeply wrinkled, and elliptical in outline. Underneath, the ribs are very prominent, and the covering of hairs rather long, as are also those of the edges. On the upper surface the hairs are short and stiff. In the more moist interstices of rockwork, where, against and between large stones, its roots will be safe from drought, it will not only be a pleasing ornament, but will be likely to thrive and flower well. It is perfectly hardy, but there is one condition of our climate which tries it very much--the wet, and alternate frosts and thaws of winter. From its hairy character and flat form, the plant is scarcely ever dry, and rot sets in. This is more especially the case with specimens planted flat; it is therefore a great help against such climatic conditions to place the plants in rockwork, so that the rosettes are as nearly as possible at right angles with the ground level. Another interesting way to grow this lovely and valuable species is in pans or large pots, but this system requires some shelter in winter, as the plants will be flat. The advantages of this mode are that five or six specimens so grown are very effective. They can, from higher cultivation (by giving them richer soil, liquid manure, and by judicious confinement of their roots), be brought into a more floriferous condition, and when the flowers appear, they can be removed into some cool light situation, under cover, so that their beauties can be more enjoyed, and not be liable to damage by splashing, &c. Plants so grown should be potted in sandy peat, and a few pieces of sandstone placed over the roots, slightly cropping out of the surface; these will not only help to keep the roots from being droughted, but also bear up the rosetted leaves, and so allow a better circulation of air about the collars, that being the place where rot usually sets in. In the case of specimens which do not get proper treatment, or which have undergone a transplanting to their disadvantage, they will often remain perfectly dormant to all appearance for a year or more. Such plants should be moved into a moist fissure in rockwork, east aspect, and the soil should be of a peaty character. This may seem like coddling, and a slur on hardy plants. Here, however, we have a valuable subject, which does not find a home in this climate exactly so happy as its native habitat, but which, with a little care, can have things so adapted to its requirements as to be grown year after year in its finest form; such care is not likely to be withheld by the true lover of choice alpines. This somewhat slow-growing species may be propagated by division, but only perfectly healthy specimens should be selected for the purpose, early spring being the best time; by seed also it may be increased; the process, however, is slow, and the seedlings will be two years at least before they flower. Flowering period, May to July. Ranunculus Aconitifolius. ACONITE-LEAVED CROWFOOT, _or_ BACHELORS' BUTTONS; _Nat. Ord._ RANUNCULACEÆ. An herbaceous perennial, of the alpine parts of Europe, and for a long time cultivated in this country. It grows 1ft. high, is much branched in zigzag form, and produces numerous flowers, resembling those of the strawberry, but only about half the size; the leaves are finely cut and of a dark green colour; it is not a plant worth growing for its flowers, but the reason why I briefly speak of it here is that I may more properly introduce that grand old flower of which it is the parent, _R. a. fl.-pl._ (see Fig. 79), the true "English double white Crowfoote," or Bachelor's Buttons; these are the common names which Gerarde gives as borne by this plant nearly 300 years ago, and there can be no mistaking the plant, as he figures it in his "Historie of Plantes," p. 812; true, he gives it a different Latin name to the one it bears at the present time; still, it is the same plant, and his name for it (_R. albus multiflorus_) is strictly and correctly specific. Numerous flowers are called Bachelor's Buttons, including daisies, globe flowers, pyrethrums, and different kinds of ranunculi, but here we have the "original and true;" probably it originated in some ancient English garden, as Gerarde says, "It groweth in the gardens of herbarists & louers of strange plants, whereof we have good plentie, but it groweth not wild anywhere." [Illustration: FIG. 79. RANUNCULUS ACONIT FOLIUS FLORE-PLENO. (One-fourth natural size; _a_, natural size of flower.)] Its round smooth stems are stout, zigzag, and much branched, forming the plant into a neat compact bush, in size (of plants two or more years old) 2ft. high and 2ft. through. The flowers are white, and very double or full of petals, evenly and beautifully arranged, salver shape, forming a flower sometimes nearly an inch across; the purity of their whiteness is not marred by even an eye, and they are abundantly produced and for a long time in succession. The leaves are of a dark shining green colour, richly cut--as the specific name implies--after the style of the Aconites; the roots are fasciculate, long, and fleshy. This "old-fashioned" plant is now in great favour and much sought after; and no wonder, for its flowers are perfection, and the plant one of the most decorative and suitable for any position in the garden. In a cut state the flowers do excellent service. This subject is easily cultivated, but to have large specimens, with plenty of flowers, a deep, well enriched soil is indispensable; stagnant moisture should be avoided. Autumn is the best time to divide the roots. Flowering period, May to July. Ranunculus Acris Flore-pleno. DOUBLE ACRID CROWFOOT, YELLOW BACHELOR'S BUTTONS; _Nat. Ord._ RANUNCULACEÆ. The type of this is a common British plant, most nearly related to the field buttercup. I am not going to describe it, but mention it as I wish to introduce _R. acris fl.-pl._, sometimes called "yellow Bachelor's Buttons"--indeed, that is the correct common name for it, as used fully 300 years ago. In every way, with the exception of its fine double flowers, it resembles very much the tall meadow buttercup, so that it needs no further description; but, common as is its parentage, it is both a showy and useful border flower, and forms a capital companion to the double white Bachelor's Buttons (_R. aconitifolius fl.-pl._). Flowering period, April to June. Ranunculus Amplexicaulis. STEM-CLASPING RANUNCULUS; _Nat. Ord._ RANUNCULACEÆ. A very hardy subject; effective and beautiful. The form of this plant is exceedingly neat, and its attractiveness is further added to by its smooth and pale glaucous foliage. It was introduced into this country more than 200 years ago, from the Pyrenees. Still it is not generally grown, though at a first glance it asserts itself a plant of first-class merit (see Fig. 80). The shortest and, perhaps, best description of its flowers will be given when I say they are white _Buttercups_, produced on stout stems nearly a foot high, which are also furnished by entire stem-clasping leaves, whence its name; other leaves are of varying forms, mostly broadly lance-shaped, and some once-notched; those of the root are nearly spoon-shaped. The whole plant is very smooth and glaucous, also covered with a fine meal. As a plant, it is effective; but grown by the side of _R. montanus_ and the geums, which have flowers of similar shape, it is seen to more advantage. On rockwork, in leaf soil, it does remarkably well; in loam it seems somewhat stunted. Its flowers are very serviceable in a cut state, and they are produced in succession for three or four weeks on the same plant. It has large, fleshy, semi-tuberous roots, and many of them; so that at any time it may be transplanted. I have pulled even flowering plants to pieces, and the different parts, which, of course, had plenty of roots to them, still continued to bloom. [Illustration: FIG. 80. RANUNCULUS AMPLEXICAULIS. (One-fourth natural size.)] Flowering period, April and May. Ranunculus Speciosum. SHOWY CROWFOOT; _Nat. Ord._ RANUNCULACEÆ. This is another double yellow form of the Buttercup. It has only recently come into my possession. The blooms are very large and beautiful, double the size of _R. acris fl.-pl._, and a deeper yellow; the habit, too, is much more dwarf, the leaves larger, but similar in shape. Flowering period, April to June. All the foregoing Crowfoots are of the easiest culture, needing no particular treatment; but they like rich and deep soil. They may be increased by division at almost any time, the exceptions being when flowering or at a droughty season. Rudbeckia Californica. CALIFORNIAN CONE-FLOWER; _Nat. Ord._ COMPOSITÆ. This, in all its parts, is a very large and showy subject; the flowers are 3in. to 6in. across, in the style of the sunflower. It has not long been grown in English gardens, and came, as its name implies, from California: it is very suitable for association with old-fashioned flowers, being nearly related to the genus _Helianthus_, or sunflower. It is not only perfectly hardy in this climate, which is more than can be said of very many of the Californian species, but it grows rampantly and flowers well. It is all the more valuable as a flower from the fact that it comes into bloom several weeks earlier than most of the large yellow Composites. Having stated already the size of its flower, I need scarcely add that it is one of the showiest subjects in the garden; it is, however, as well to keep it in the background, not only on account of its tallness, but also because of its coarse abundant foliage. It grows 4ft. to 6ft. high, the stems being many-branched. The flowers have erect stout stalks, and vary in size from 3in. to 6in. across, being of a light but glistening yellow colour; the ray is somewhat unevenly formed, owing to the florets being of various sizes, sometimes slit at the points, lobed, notched, and bent; the disk is very bold, being nearly 2in. high, in the form of a cone, whence the name "cone flower." The fertile florets of the disk or cone are green, and produce an abundance of yellow pollen, but it is gradually developed, and forms a yellow ring round the dark green cone, which rises slowly to the top when the florets of the ray fall; from this it will be seen that the flowers last a long time. The leaves of the root are sometimes a foot in length and half as broad, being oval, pointed, and sometimes notched or lobed; also rough, from a covering of short stiff hairs, and having once-grooved stout stalks 9in. or more long; the leaves of the stems are much smaller, generally oval, but of very uneven form, bluntly pointed, distinctly toothed, and some of the teeth so large as to be more appropriately described as segments; the base abruptly narrows into a very short stalk. The flowers of this plant are sure to meet with much favour, especially while the present fashion continues; but apart from fashion, merely considered as a decorative subject for the garden, it is well worth a place. There are larger yellow Composites, but either they are much later, or they are not perennial species, and otherwise this one differs materially from them. I need not say anything respecting this form of flower in a cut state--its effectiveness is well known. If planted in ordinary garden loam it will hold its place and bloom freely year after year without further care. Smaller subjects should not be set too near it; it may be unadvisable to plant too many clumps in the same garden, but it can be allowed to spread into one bold patch. The best time to divide or transplant is in early spring, when growth is just pushing, for vigorous as this and many other perennials are, I have often found them to rot, when the dormant roots, after being cut into pieces, have had to face the winter. Flowering period, July to September. Rudbeckia Serotina. _Late_ CONE-FLOWER; _Nat. Ord._ COMPOSITÆ. This hardy American species, though not an old plant in English gardens, is nevertheless classed with "old-fashioned" plants and flowers; and certainly its sombre but pleasing dark golden ray flowers, together with its likeness to many of the old sunflowers, favours such classification. It is the latest of a late-flowering genus. It attains the height of 2ft.; the root leaves are of irregular shape, some oval and pointed, others, on the same plant, being lance-shaped, with two or three large teeth or acute lobes; in size the leaves also vary from 3in. to 8in. long, and being covered with short bristly hairs, they are very rough, also of a dull green colour; the flower stems have but few leaves, so it will be judged that the plant has but a weedy appearance, but this is compensated for by the rich and numerous large dark orange flowers, 3in. across; the ray is single, and the centre, which is large and prominent, is a rich chocolate brown. This subject, to be effective, should be grown in large specimens; mine is about 3ft. in diameter, and the level mass of flowers, as I have often noticed them in twilight, were grandly beautiful. I can well understand that many have not cared for this cone flower when they have judged it from a small plant which has sent up its first, and perhaps abnormal, bloom. It is especially a subject that should be seen in bold clumps, and in moderately rich soil it will soon become such. Moreover, the flowers are very effective in a cut state, when loosely arranged in vases, only needing something in the way of tall grasses to blend with in order to form an antique "posy." Autumn is the best time to plant it; its long roots denote that it enjoys deep soil, and, when planted, the roots of this, as well as all others then being transplanted, should be made firm, otherwise the frost will lift them out and the droughts will finish them off. Many plants are lost in this manner, and, indeed, many short-rooted kinds are scarcely saved by the greatest care. The stem-rooting character of this plant affords ready means of propagation by root divisions. Flowering period, from September till strong frosts. Salix Reticulata. WRINKLED _or_ NETTED WILLOW; _Nat. Ord._ SALICACEÆ. A native deciduous shrub, of creeping or prostrate habit, not growing higher than 2in. As the flowers are inconspicuous and only interesting to the botanist or when under the microscope, let me at once say I mention this subject because of its beautiful habit and distinct quality of foliage. When grown on rockwork, no other plant can compare with it, and where choice spring bulbs are planted, this handsome creeper may be allowed, without injury to such roots, to broadly establish itself; so grown, its little stout leaves, thickly produced, flatly on the surface, are much admired. The flowers or catkins stand well above the foliage, but are unattractive, being of a dusky brown colour; the leaves are dark green, downy, of much substance, 1½in. long, and nearly 1in. broad, but the size of foliage varies according to the conditions under which the specimens are grown; the sizes now referred to are of plants grown on rather dry rockwork and fully exposed; the form of the leaves is orbicular, obtuse, not in the least notched, bald, reticulately veined, and glaucous beneath; the stems are short and diffuse, and tinged with red on the younger parts. During winter, when bare of foliage, its thick creeping stems, covered with fat buds and interlaced in a pleasing manner, render it interesting in almost any situation not shaded. It forms a capital carpet plant from early spring to the end of summer. It is in no way particular as regards soil, and though it loves moisture, like most other willows, it proves thriving in dry places. It is, moreover, a good grower in large towns. Its propagation may be carried out before the leaves unfold in spring. Little branches with roots to them may be cut from the parent plant, and should be set in sandy loam and watered well to settle it about the roots. Flowering period, September to strong frosts. Sanguinaria Canadensis. BLOODROOT; _Nat. Ord._ PAPAVERACEÆ. This is a native of North America, and is, therefore, hardy in this climate; tuberous rooted. It is a curious plant, not only from its great fulness of sap or juice, which is red (that of the root being darker, whence its name Bloodroot), but also because of the shape of its leaves, their colour, and method of development (see Fig. 81). Though very dwarf, it is handsome and distinct. The flowers are pure white and nearly 2in. across; the petals have good substance, but they fall in five or six sunny days; the stamens are numerous and bright yellow. Though belonging to the order of the Poppy, it is in many respects unlike it; each flower stem, which is 6in. high, springs directly from the root, and only one flower is produced on a stem; the leaves are also radical, so that the plant is branchless and stemless; the leaf stalks are rather shorter than those of the flowers. The foliage is of a slate-grey colour, prominently veined on the under side, the upper surface being somewhat wrinkled; the leaves are 3in. across when fully developed, vine-leaf shaped, deeply and beautifully lobed; their development is slow, not being completed until the bloom is past. Both leaves and flowers are produced in a curious fashion; for a time the flower-bud is compactly enfolded by a leaf, and so both grow up to the height of 2in. or 3in., when the former pushes through, and soon swells its olive-shaped buds. At this stage a good specimen clump is very attractive, and is only more so when the fine blooms first open. [Illustration: FIG. 81. SANGUINARIA CANADENSIS. (One-half natural size.)] It should be grown amongst some such carpeting plants as _Sibthorpia Europæa_ or _Linaria pilosa_, so as to protect it; moreover, these creepers are suited for a similar soil and position. The soil should be light, either of sandy or vegetable character, but one that cannot bake; shade from the mid-day sun is essential, as also is plenty of moisture. When the growths have become crowded, as they do in about three years, it is as well to lift, divide, and replant at a distance of 3in.; this is best done after the tops have died off in summer; plant 4in. or 5in. deep. Flowering period, April and May. Saponaria Ocymoides. ROCK SOAPWORT, _or_ BASIL-LEAVED SOAPWORT: _Nat. Ord._ SILENACEÆ. A very hardy alpine from France, and one of the most floriferous subjects that can be placed on rockwork, where should be its position. During a single season it is no uncommon thing to see a small plant grow into a large cushion 2ft. in diameter, and only 6in. or 9in. high. In planting it this fact should not be overlooked, not only for the sake of giving it plenty of room, but also in order that less vigorous subjects near it may not become overgrown; it blooms all summer, and though the flowers are small and not at all bright, their numbers render it attractive. The flowers, which are about ½in. across, are of a pink colour, and produced on many-branched prostrate stems; the calyx is five-toothed; the corolla is formed of five flat petals; the leaves are small, basil-like, oval-lance shaped, entire and smooth; the general appearance of the plant when in bloom is that of a compact mass of small leaves and flowers, the latter predominating. It will grow in any kind of soil, but prefers that of a vegetable character, with its roots amongst large stones; but, strictly speaking, it needs nothing but an open situation and plenty of room to spread. It ripens an abundance of seed, and there is not a better mode of propagation than its own; hundreds of stout seedlings appear the following spring around the parent plant, and these may then be transplanted, and they will flower the same season. _S. o. splendens_ is a variety of the above very much improved indeed; and though one cannot discard the good old plant for its very recent offspring, the former is certainly very much eclipsed. _Splendens_ has foliage slightly different, but its flowers are much larger and brighter; and though it may not be quite so vigorous, in this case that may be considered an improvement. It is said to come true from seed. Flowering period, May to August. Saxifraga Burseriana. BURSER'S SAXIFRAGE; _Nat. Ord._ SAXIFRAGACEÆ. A hardy evergreen alpine. A native of Carniola, not long discovered, and quite new to English gardens. Though it belongs to a very extensive genus, it is a distinct species; many of the Saxifrages are not so, neither are they sufficiently decorative to merit a place in any but large or scientific gardens. This one, however, is a truly handsome kind, and its flowers are produced amid the snow and during the bleak and dull weather of mid-winter. The plant in form is a dense cushion of little spiked rosettes, of a dark green colour, slightly silvered. The flowers are produced on bright ruddy stems 3in. high, and are creamy white, nearly the size of a sixpence. Small as the plant is, a moderate sized specimen is very attractive, especially before the flowers open, when they are in their prettiest form. They open slowly and endure nearly two months. It enjoys light soil and a well drained situation, such as the edge of a border, where strong growing kinds cannot damage it, or on rockwork, where it will be fully exposed to the sun. To be effective, it should be grown into strong clumps, which may easily be done by annually giving a top-dressing of leaf-mould; the older parts of the plant will remain perfectly sound and healthy for years. When it is desirable to propagate it, it may best be done in April, when the tufts should be carefully divided, and its short roots made firm in the soil by one or two stones being placed near. Flowering period, January to April. Saxifraga Cæsia. SILVER MOSS, _or_ GREY SAXIFRAGE; _Nat. Ord._ SAXIFRAGACEÆ. One of the alpine gems. This has been grown in English gardens since 1752, yet good specimens are rarely met with, though its culture is simple and easy. It is found wild on the Alps of Switzerland, Austria, and the Pyrenees. To the lover of the minute forms of genuine alpine plants, this will be a treasure; it is very distinct in form, habit, and colour. Its tiny rosettes of encrusted leaves can scarcely be said to rise from the ground, and the common name, "silver moss," which it is often called by, most fittingly applies; but perhaps its colour is the main feature of notice. The meaning of its specific name is grey, to which it certainly answers; but so peculiar is the greyness that a more definite description may be useful, in giving which I will quote that of Decandolle and Sprengle: "The _lavender_-blue is a pale blue (cæsius); it is mixed with a little grey." This exactly answers to the colour of the pretty Saxifrage under notice, and it is far from a common one in foliage. The flowers differ but slightly from those of other encrusted forms of the genus, but they are a creamy white, arranged in small panicles on short and slender stems. They are sparingly produced in May and June. The leaves are ¼in. long, aggregate or in miniature rosettes; in shape, linear-oblong, recurved, and keeled. The upper surface is concave, having marginal dots, evenly disposed; the dots are bright and excavated, and some of the leaves (those of the stems) are scale formed. The glaucous or lavender-blue colour is beautifully enlivened with the crystal dots. Its habit reminds one of the more distinct forms of lichens, and, when it is grown with suitable companions on rockwork, it has a happy way of showing and adapting itself in such situation; besides, its colour then shows with more effect. [Illustration: FIG. 82. SAXIFRAGA CÆSIA MAJOR. (1, single rosette, natural size.)] There is a variety of this species not yet in general cultivation, and it cannot be too strongly recommended to lovers of the finest forms of rock or alpine plants. It is called _S. c. major_ (see Fig. 82). The name at once suggests the main difference from the type, but there are other features quite as marked as that of its extra size in all its parts; the foliage is more crowded, which seems to cause the largest leaves to become more erect, and the habit, too, perhaps from the same cause, is ball shaped; the small rosettes of thick encrusted leaves, from the manner in which they are packed together, form a rigid mass, which differs widely both in detail and effect from any other Saxifrage I know. These dwarf subjects are best suited for rockwork; but another plan, now much practised, is to grow them in pots. This in no way implies that protection is given or needed--these sturdy subjects are far better fully exposed--but the pot system has advantages; when so planted, the roots are more likely to be placed in a better selected compost, and the specimens can be raised in order to examine their miniature beauties. The above kinds enjoy a gritty vegetable soil; perfect drainage is indispensable. These are not among the Saxifrages that are readily propagated; a few crowns or rosettes with short pieces of stem are not sure to root, and if more careful division is not carried out, perhaps but two or three growing bits from a large specimen may be the result, so lessening instead of increasing the stock. Before cutting let the roots be washed clear of soil, trace the long roots, and so cut up the plant that each division will have a share of them. Sometimes a rather large specimen will have but few of such roots, in which case it will prove the better and safer plan to make only a corresponding number of divisions, so making sure of each. A further help to such newly planted stock is gained by placing small stones about the collars; this keeps the plants moist and cool during the dry season, when (after flowering) the divisions should be made. Flowering period, May and June. Saxifraga Ceratophylla. HORN-LEAVED SAXIFRAGE; _Nat. Ord._ SAXIFRAGACEÆ. For the most part, this numerous genus flowers in spring and early summer, the species now under notice being one of the late bloomers; its flowers however, like most of the Saxifrages, are small and insignificant; on the other hand, its foliage, as may be seen by the illustration (Fig. 83) is highly ornamental. In November, the grand half-globular tufts of rigid dark green foliage are delicately furnished with a whitish exudation, which, seen through a magnifying glass, resembles scales, but seen by the naked eye--and it can be clearly seen without stooping--it gives the idea of hoar frost. We have here, then, an interesting and ornamental subject, which, when grown in collections of considerable variety, proves attractive; and as even after many degrees of frost, it retains its beauty, and, I may add, its finest form, it may be confidently recommended as a suitable winter garden subject. This species proves evergreen in our climate, though a native of Spain, from which country it was imported about eighty years ago. It is sometimes called _S. cornutum_, a name quite applicable, and it is frequently confounded with _S. pentadactylis_ (the Five-fingered-leaved Saxifrage), which it much resembles, from which, however, it is distinct in several respects. [Illustration: FIG. 83. SAXIFRAGA CERATOPHYLLA. (Leaf, one-half natural size.)] Its flowers are small, white, and numerous, produced on slender stalks in summer; they are of the general type of the flowers of the mossy section, and need not be further described. The foliage forms rigid cushions, dense, rounded, and of a dark green colour in the early season; later it becomes grey, with an exudation; the leaves are arranged in rosette form, having stout stalks, channelled or folded on the upper surface; there are three deep divisions, and others less cut; the segments are subulate, bent back and tipped with horny mucrones, whence its specific name; these horn-like points are bent under, which, together with their transparency, renders them all but invisible; they can, however, be clearly seen if brought near the eye and looked for on the under side of the foliage. The leaves are of good substance, 1in. to 2in. long, having broad stipules; the stems are exceedingly slender in the older parts, and somewhat woody, having the appearance of being dried up and dead. On rockwork it is seen in its best form, as the slope not only shows it off better, but is conducive to a finer growth. In flat places, the dense cushions, which are 6in. or 8in. high, often rot from too much moisture. I have never seen this occur in the drier positions afforded by the slopes of a rockery. If planted between large stones it has a happy way of adapting itself to them, and few plants are more effective. It thrives equally well in soil of a loamy or vegetable character, but it seems to enjoy a little limestone, small pieces of which I place round the specimens; they also serve to hold up the lower foliage and favour the admission of air. Where alpines are grown in pots this should form one, as it makes a charming specimen; the drainage should be perfect. It also makes a capital edging plant, especially for raised beds, as then it is accommodated in the same way as on rockwork. It may be propagated by taking the slips nearest the earth, which will often be found to have a few rootlets, but if not they will still prove the more suitable; if taken in summer and dibbled into sand, they will make good roots in a week or two, when they may be transplanted to their permanent quarters, so as to become established before winter. Saxifraga Ciliata. HAIRY-MARGINED SAXIFRAGE; _Syn._ MEGASEA CILIATA; _Nat. Ord._ SAXIFRAGACEÆ. This is a peculiar, distinct, and beautiful form of Saxifrage; there seems, however, to be some confusion in reference to its nomenclature. That it belongs to the _Megasea_ section there can be little doubt, so that its synonym (_M. ciliata_) is fairly descriptive; but when it is said to be _identical_ with _S. ligulata_, also of the _Megasea_ section, the difficulty of recognising the form illustrated as such is very great indeed. It is also supposed to be a _variety_ of _S. ligulata_, and though it has many important dissimilarities, it has also many affinities. So much does it differ from _S. ligulata_ that it seems to be fully entitled to the specific honours which some authorities have given to it. It differs from _S. ligulata_, described by Don, in being rough and hairy on both sides of the leaves; in other respects it agrees, more especially in the colour of the flowers, which is uncommon. It may be the _Megasea ciliata_ of Haworth, which Don refers to under _S. ligulata_, or it may be a distinct form of the latter, as, on the authority of Dr. Wallich, of the Botanical Gardens of Calcutta, the species has varieties. Wherever its proper place may be in its numerous genus, the name at the head hereof is a good descriptive one. It is an Indian contribution, hailing from the mountains east of Bengal. In this climate it endures our winters, though it is not one of the hardiest of its tribe. It has not long been cultivated in this country, and is rarely met with. Its distinct habit and fine flowers render it desirable, and it will with many be more so on the score of its peculiarities. A few of the latter may be mentioned here. Anthers very large, and brick-red before becoming pollenized; scapes and scape-sheaths nearly smooth, though all other foliar parts are hairy; stipules very large and fully developed whilst the leaves are in their rudimentary stage. When not in flower the plant has a strong resemblance to _S. sarmentosa_, which belongs to another section, but _S. ciliata_ has features belonging to both sections. The habit, however, is more flat, and leaves more oval, and if, as has been hinted, this is a hybrid, it may not be without some relationship to that species, which is also of Asian origin. Further, on the authority of Murray, _Sax. sarmentosa_ is identical with _S. ligulata_; so that, if we may suppose _S. ciliata_ to be a distinct variety of _S. ligulata_, and the latter to have such affinity to _S. sarmentosa_ that Murray puts it as identical, the chief difference between our subject and the form generally accepted as _S. ligulata_ is accounted for, viz., the hairy and rougher surfaces of the leaves, which are traits of the well-known _S. sarmentosa_. If these remarks prove nothing, they may serve to show the difficulty of recognising the various forms and species of so popular a genus from reading alone, it having been so extensively treated of, and the classifications being so varied. Its study, when the species are being cultivated, is simply delightful, compared with the confusion of book study alone; and yet it is no uncommon thing, when forming a collection of Saxifrages, to receive three or four different forms from different sources under the same name, and each perhaps more or less authorised. The student by growing this genus of plants will reap other pleasures than that of identification, and in a few years time will find in his own garden (as the outcome of growing allied species) new forms springing from seed, and scattered about the beds and walks in a pleasing and suggestive manner. (See Fig. 84.) [Illustration: FIG. 84. SAXIFRAGA CILIATA. (One-fourth natural size; (1) two-thirds natural size.)] The present subject has bell-shaped flowers, arranged in short-branched panicles, each flower ¾in. across, and sometimes, when well expanded, quite an inch; the colour is a delicate pink-tinted white; petals obovate and concave, inserted in the calyx, clawed, sometimes notched and even lobed; stamens long as petals, inserted in throat of calyx, stout, green changing to pink; anthers large and brick red when young; styles massive, joining close together, turgid, nearly long as stamens, and pale green; stigmas, simple, beardless, turning to a red colour; calyx bell-shaped, five-parted, wrinkled; segments slightly reflexed and conniving or joining; scapes 4in. to 6in. high, stout and smooth, excepting solitary hairs; bracts, leaf-like; leaves oval or cordate, 2in. to 4in. long, wrinkled, slightly waved, and toothed, conspicuously ciliated or haired on the margin, whence the specific name "_ciliata_." Both surfaces are also furnished with short stiff hairs, the whole leaf being stout and flatly arranged; leaf stalks short, thick, and furnished with numerous long hairs, and ample stipules, which are glabrous, but beautifully ciliated. Roots, woody, and slightly creeping on the surface. Habit of foliage reflexing, forming flat masses; smaller or supplementary scapes are sent up later than the main scape, from the midst of the stipules, bearing flowers in ones and twos. The blossom, which is effective and very beautiful, is also sweetly scented, like the hawthorn. As already hinted, this is not one of the most hardy Saxifrages, but I have twice wintered it out on gritty beds, well raised, also on rockwork, under a warm south wall; and, as such positions can be found or made in most gardens, it would be advisable to try and establish this distinct and lovely spring bloomer. Lime and sandstone grit mixed with loam and leaf soil I find to be the best compost I have yet tried for it; in fact, until a dry situation and a little lime were given, it proved a shy bloomer. It is now quite the reverse, notwithstanding that the roots were divided during the previous autumn. Fogs and rain are its greatest plagues, owing to its hairy nature; the glass and wire shelters should be used for this most deserving subject. Propagated by division of the woody semi-creeping roots during early autumn; each division should have a crown and some roots, when they may be planted in their permanent quarters. Flowering period, March to May. Saxifraga (Megasea) Cordifolia. _Nat. Ord._ SAXIFRAGACEÆ. A first-class herbaceous perennial, grown for over a hundred years in English gardens; it comes from Siberia, and consequently, it is very hardy in this climate. The _Megasea_ section of the Saxifraga is a very distinct genus; there are several forms with but slight distinctions in the section, but the species now under notice may be readily distinguished from its nearest known relatives, first by its extra size in all its parts, next by its wrinkled heart-shaped leaves. The flowers are produced on stout stems nearly a foot high, a section of which will cut the size of a sixpenny piece; the rose-coloured flowers are perfectly developed before they push through the many-times over-lapped foliage; they are neatly arranged, the branching stems sometimes giving the panicle of blossom the form and also the size of a moderate bunch of grapes. Just at this stage the flowers, to be most enjoyed, should be cut before the weather spoils their delicate colour. The fine pale green calyx, which is also conspicuous by its handsome form and extra length, is far from the least important feature of this flower, especially at the above-mentioned stage. The leaves are 6in. to 10in. across. Of the use of its flowers in a cut state, a few words may be said. The weather soon destroys their beauty, but when cut they may be preserved for fully a fortnight. On one occasion I took a blossom and placed it in a flower stand for single specimen blooms; in this instance all the other glasses held such fine roses as Baroness Rothschild, Madame Lacharme, and Edouard Morren, but so richly did it compare with these roses that it was given the place of honour--the top centre glass; this flower I should say had never seen the full light in the open. After that others pushed out of the leaves and were speedily damaged, and not fit to cut. Flowering period, March to May. Saxifraga Coriophylla. _Nat. Ord._ SAXIFRAGACEÆ. This is a rather recently discovered alpine species, very dwarf, but beautiful. The specific name would appear to be in allusion to its flowers as pink-shaped; they are very small, but the reader, by referring to the cut (Fig. 85), may form his own opinion of such likeness; however well founded or otherwise the name may be, we have in this subject a gem for the rock garden. It is a native of Albania, and belongs to that section of its extensive genus having triquetrous and obtuse leaves, or blunt three-sided foliage, as formed by a well developed keel. It is in flower in the middle of March, at the height of 2in. All its parts are of miniature dimensions, and yet when grown in a suitable position it is effective. [Illustration: FIG. 85. SAXIFRAGA CORIOPHYLLA. (One-half natural size.)] The flowers are pure white, produced on leafy stems an inch or more high; they are few, and open in succession; petals round and overlapping; calyx large for the size of flower, and covered with down; sepals obtuse and tipped with a brown, almost red-tint; stamens short, having rather large yellow anthers, which fill the throat of the corolla. The leaves are evergreen or silvery grey, arranged in small rosettes, and ¼in. long, of good substance, rigid and smooth; their shape is obtuse, concave, and keeled; they are furnished with marginal excavations, which present themselves as dots; the habit is compact, the rosettes being crowded and forming cushioned-shaped specimens; the flowers last for a fortnight in average weather. Between large stones in vegetable mould and grit, it both thrives and shows to advantage; it is also a charming subject for the pot culture of alpines. In company with the red-stalked and white-flowered _S. Burseriana_, the purple _S. oppositifolia_, and the many other forms of the mossy section, all, or nearly all in bloom about the same time, it offers a pleasing variety, as being distinct in every way from its contemporaries, more especially in the foliage. It is rather a slow grower, and not so readily increased as most Saxifrages; it is greatly benefited by having pebbles or small stones about the collar. These keep it moist at the roots during the growing season. If a little dry cow manure or guano is dusted amongst the stones during early summer, the results will soon be seen; such growth, however, should not be stimulated during the latter half of the year, or from its want of ripeness it will be liable to damage during winter. This practice of top dressing greatly assists the parts touching the earth to root, and so either an increased stock or larger specimens may sooner be obtained. Flowering period, March. Saxifraga Fortunei. FORTUNE'S SAXIFRAGE; _Nat. Ord._ SAXIFRAGACEÆ. This, as may at once be seen by a glance at Fig. 86, belongs to the lobed-leafed section. It is as yet new in English gardens, and is often grown in pots in warm glasshouses. It is, however, perfectly hardy, having stood out with me in the open for the past three years. It is nearly related to _S. japonica_ and its varieties, but is without the stolons or runners. In this climate, with outdoor treatment, it flowers in October until cut down by frost, which sometimes happens before the flowers get well out. It has been stated not only that it is not hardy, but that its flowering period is May. With me it has proved otherwise, and others have proved it to flower naturally in October. I also observed it in bloom in the Hull Botanic Gardens on the open rockwork in November, 1882. I have no doubt that autumn is the natural season for well-established plants to flower; weaker specimens may fail to push forth ere the frost cuts down their leaves, when the dormant buds must remain sealed for the winter, but ready to develope with the return of longer and warmer days. The flowers are arranged in panicles on scapes nearly a foot high, the panicles being 6in. long and 3in. in diameter. The petals are long and narrow, of uneven length, and notched; colour pure white. The calyx is well developed; segments oval, notched at the ends; colour, pale apple green. Stamens, long and tipped with beautifully orange-coloured anthers. The ovary is prominent, and of a pale yellow. Besides the above features, the flowers, which mostly look sideways and are quite an inch across their broadest parts, have one very long petal at the low side, and the two next are at right angles with it, less than half its size, the two upper ones being still less; the effect is both unusual and pleasing. The leaf stalks are long, stout, and of a succulent nature, semi-transparent, and slightly furnished with longish hairs; the stipules are ample, and of a bright red, which colour extends for a short length up the stalk. The leaves are kidney-shaped, 2in. to 5in. across, eight or ten lobed, toothed and reflexed; they are furnished with solitary stiff hairs, are of good substance, and a very dark green colour, but herbaceous. The habit of this species is neat and very floriferous; therefore it is a valuable plant for in or outdoor gardening; but owing to its late season of flowering outside, the blossom is liable to injury. A bell glass, however, will meet the case; it should be placed over the plant, but tilted slightly, when there are signs of frost--the flowers will amply reward such care. If the bloom can be cut clean, a good cluster will vie with many orchids for delicacy and effect. [Illustration: FIG. 86. SAXIFRAGA FORTUNEI. (One-fifth natural size; 1 and 2, full size.)] I find it to do well in fat loam, and with the same kind of soil in pots, which comes in for placing in cold frames when frost threatens. I find it one of the easiest plants possible to manage--in fact, it needs no care to grow it; still, many amateurs fail to keep it, I suppose from taking it into a warm greenhouse, where it is sure to dwindle. It is readily propagated by division of the crowns, which should be done in spring. Flowering period, October until strong frosts. Saxifraga (Megasea) Ligulata. _Nat. Ord._ SAXIFRAGACEÆ. One of the large-leaved species (see Fig. 87) compared with others of the _Megasea_ section, its leaves are strap-like, as implied by the specific name. It is sometimes called _Megasea ciliata_, but there is a large-leaved species, commonly called _S. ciliata_, which is very distinct from this one, and it is all the more important that they should not be confounded with each other, as _S. ciliata_ is not very hardy, whilst this is perfectly so, being also one of our finest herbaceous perennials. It comes to us from Nepaul, and has not long been cultivated in this country. [Illustration: FIG. 87. SAXIFRAGA (MEGASEA) LIGULATA.] Its flowers are produced numerously on bold stout stems 10in. high. Sometimes the flower-stem is branched. The pale but clear rosy flowers are not only showy, but very enduring, lasting several weeks. The leaves are six to ten inches long, of irregular form, but handsomely ribbed and wavy; the new growths are bright yellowish-green, and tinted from the edges with a reddish bronze, so that, during spring, besides being finely in flower, it is otherwise a pleasing plant to look upon. Moreover, it is one of the few bold kinds of plants which flower so early and therefore a most valuable subject for the spring flower-beds. It looks well in any position, either near or back from the walks, in shrubs, or as a centre specimen for beds; it is also a plant that may be moved easily, as it carries plenty of root and earth, consequently it may be used in such designs as necessitate frequent transplantings. It is not particular as to soil or position, but in light earth, well enriched with stable manure, I have found it to thrive, so as to be equal to many of the so-called "fine foliage" plants during summer; therefore, I should say, give it rich food. To propagate it, a strong specimen with branched crowns should be selected. These branches or stems are ½in. to 1in. thick. They should be cut off with as much length as possible; if they have a bit of root, all the better; if not, it does not much matter. Let the cut end dry for a little time, take off half, or even the whole, of the largest leaves, or the action of the wind will prevent their remaining firm. When so prepared, the cuttings may be deeply planted in sandy loam, which has previously been deeply stirred. This may be done as soon as the flowers are past, and by the end of the year the cuttings should be well rooted and suitable for moving into the ornamental part of the garden. Flowering period, March to May. Saxifraga Longifolia. LONG-LEAVED SAXIFRAGE; QUEEN OF SAXIFRAGES; _Nat. Ord._ SAXIFRAGACEÆ. Numerous and beautiful as are the species and varieties of this genus, this is the most admired of them all, from which fact it derives its proud name of "Queen." It is of recent introduction; habitat, the Pyrenees; but though of alpine origin, it thrives in lower, I may say the lowest, situations even in our wet climate. As will be seen by the illustration (Fig. 88), it belongs to the rosette section, and may indeed be said, for size and symmetry, to head the list. There are many forms of it, differing more or less in shape of leaves, colour, habit, and size of rosette. The original or reputed type is but an indifferent form compared with the one now generally accepted as the representative of the species. So readily do the various Saxifrages become crossed, that it is hard to distinguish them; and when a distinct form is evolved the question occurs, What constitutes or entitles it to specific honours? Surely the form of which we are speaking must be fully entitled to a name all its own, as it is not possible to find another Saxifrage that can so widely contrast with the whole genus. It may be as well, in a few words, to refer to one or two varieties; and it shall only be from an amateur's point of view, whose estimate of their worth or importance is based entirely on their ornamental qualities under cultivation. Such varieties, as far as I know, have not had any name given them, descriptive or otherwise, and I for one have no desire to see any, as the genus is already overloaded with names. [Illustration: FIG. 88. SAXIFRAGA LONGIFOLIA. (One-fourth natural size.)] There is, first, a form whose main distinction is its dark olive-green leaves; the ends are rather inclined to be spathulate, they are long, narrow, and arch well, rather nearer the centre of the rosette; this causes the end of the outer circle of leaves to come flat on the ground. The whole specimen has a sombre appearance compared with the more silvery kinds. The second form has broader leaves, is more distinctly toothed and spotted; as a consequence of their width, the leaves are fewer, and though all the varieties are very formal, this is the most so. When by the side of what we may term the true form, which has sometimes _vera_ added to its name, this one has a plain and somewhat "dumpy" appearance, and frequently the tips of the leaves curl back, which further detracts from its ornamental quality. A third form has small rosettes, pale green foliage, indistinct silvery dots, and, worse than all, the habit of throwing out a progeny of young growths all round the collar, furnishing itself as with a ruff, when the parent rosette turns to a yellowish-green. Of all the forms this is the most constant bloomer. The favourite variety, to which an engraving can do but scant justice, is superior to the above kinds in all its parts. Its blooming period is in early summer, but specimens often grow in size and beauty for three or five years without producing flowers. The foliage is the more admired feature, and is at its greatest beauty in December. The flowers are borne in handsome panicles, in the style of those of _S. pyramidalis_, which are about 18in. high. The blossom is of the kind common to this section. The leaves are long, narrow, toothed bluntly, and spotted with silvery dots; the whole leaf is greyish; the habit is rigid and of even arrangement; the rosettes are of all sizes, from 2in. to 10in. in diameter. At 3in. to 6in. they are attractive, and as they grow larger, they become conspicuous in their beauty. It is not desirable to have them flower, inasmuch as the rosettes are then destroyed, though the plants do not die. Of course, if a specimen "shows bloom" it cannot be helped, but rather than lose a season's produce of young stock I would nip out the "lead," and so cause offsets to be produced instead of flowers. In the rock garden this is one of the most telling subjects that can be introduced; not only does it love to have its roots amongst the stones, but it is a form which harmonises and yet contrasts finely with such shapeless material, and, further, relieves the sameness of verdure of other plants in a more than ordinary degree. It will grow in borders or beds, but looks nowhere so well as on rockwork. True, its uses are limited, but then they are exceedingly effective. I have grown this subject in almost every kind of soil and compost, and it has done well in most; stiff clay-like loam appears too cold or wet for it; on the other hand, a sandy loam, mixed with leaf soil, grows it finely; perfect drainage is the desideratum, in no matter what position it is planted. It may be increased in various ways--1st, By seeds, which may be bought, as it is carefully harvested abroad; 2nd, from offsets, as already stated; and, 3rd, from offsets produced by cutting out the leaves in two or more parts, so as to let the light in at the collar. This method may seem heartless, and it certainly spoils the specimen; it is a mode to be followed only where there are spare old plants and young stock is needed. Flowering period, June and July. Saxifraga Macnabiana. MACNAB'S SAXIFRAGA; _Nat. Ord._ SAXIFRAGACEÆ. This is a new and very beautiful variety, called after Mr. MacNab, who raised it in 1877. Of the several hundreds of species and varieties of this genus, it is doubtless one of the best and most distinct as regards its habit and rich flowers. So pronounced are its merit that, although I have not grown it for more than four years or so, I can have no hesitation in sounding its praise. It is possible that when it has become better established in the collections of amateurs and others, and when it has regained what may be termed its natural vigour, lost by the too rapid propagation common to new plants, it may prove to be even better than I have yet proved it. However that may be, there can at present be only one opinion respecting it. The rosette foliage is in the style of _S. longifolia_ and _S. pyramidalis_, intermediate; the flowers are quite distinct, but they remind one of the charming _S. mutata_, which is also a rosette form, having a fine panicle of blossom. It is said to be a seedling from _S. Nepalensis_ crossed by _S. cotyledon_ or _S. pyramidalis_, but, as the cross was accidental, there must be some uncertainty; both parents are evidently incrusted forms. The flowers are ½in. across, corolla flat, petals richly spotted with numerous bright red spots; they are much shorter than the petals of most of the other incrusted varieties; they are also slightly reflexed in the more matured flowers; the calyx, too, is less hairy and the segments shorter than those of its reputed parents. The stem of my tallest specimen is not more than 15in. high; the panicle is large, beginning about four inches above the rosette. It is well branched, the flowers being clustered at the ends of the branchlets. The whole panicle will be about 10in. long and 6in. or 8in. through. As regards the foliage, I only need add to what has already been stated, that the leaves are arranged in somewhat lax rosettes, are strap, or tongue-shaped, evenly serrated, and, in the winter bright at the edges, with frosted or silvery markings; the flowers are so very attractive that casual observers readily recognise their beauties amongst hundreds of other Saxifrages, and they have not inaptly been compared with fine old china. I ought not to omit mention of that rare quality possessed by this Saxifrage, viz., a rich perfume. Though it is perfectly hardy, it may be grown in pots with great advantage, as then it can be the more closely examined; but if it is not convenient to grow it in that manner, it may be planted either on rockwork or in borders amongst choice things, where its flowers will not fail to command admiring notice. As to the kind of soil, it seems in no way particular. Sandy loam, mixed with peat, however, suits it well. It is propagated by offsets, but these are rarely produced in numbers, as is common with most of the incrusted Saxifrages. I may say that I have only met with one specimen which has thus proved useful in any degree worth notice, and it produced nearly a score of offsets during one season; it ripens much seed, which may, or may not come true. Flowering period, June and July. Saxifraga Mutata. _Nat. Ord._ SAXIFRAGACEÆ. A somewhat rare alpine species, evergreen, hardy, very distinct and beautiful. It is one of the rosette forms, after the style of _S. pyramidalis_, but there are several important variations about the plant, other than in the flowers, which are totally different. There are many peculiarities about this species, but they would hardly require to be noticed here were not the plant otherwise of great merit. When in bloom it is highly decorative, and the flowers in a cut state are unique. The flower stem is 12in. to 18in. high, furnished with supplementary ones all its length; the lower ones are 8in. long, and spreading; they become shorter as they near the top, the whole forming a fine symmetrical panicle. The flowers are over ½in. across, petals awl-shaped, and, when first open, are nearly red; they change to dark orange and again to pale yellow; the calyx is very large, the sepals four times as broad as the petals and bluntly pointed; the stamens and anthers are coloured, and change like the petals; the ovary, which is very conspicuous, is a fine purple, but later, it, too, changes to a pink colour; the outer parts of the calyx and all the shorter flower-stalks, which are clustered at the ends of the supplementary stems, are greenish-yellow, and this feature of the plant adds much to its beauty. Calyx, stems, and stem-leaves are densely furnished with stiff gland-tipped hairs, rendering them clammy to the touch. The leaves of the rosettes are tongue-shaped, rough at the edges, fleshy, covered with glandular hairs, of a shining green colour, and slightly reflexed. The changeable nature of the flowers doubtless gives rise to the specific name. A well-flowered specimen is very effective on rockwork, but the panicles have a fault of heading over, from their weight, and also because, unlike _S. longifolia_ and _S. cotyledon_, which have large and firm rosettes close to the ground to stay them, this species has a somewhat "leggy" rosette or a foot stalk, which is more or less furnished with browned and very persistent foliage. The flowers last a long time in good form, and, if grown clean, their yellow--nearly golden--stalks render them very useful in a cut state. The propagation of this Saxifraga is more difficult than any other according to my experience, and I have heard of many who have found it the same. The offsets are not produced close to the ground, consequently have no rootlets; neither, from their hairy character, can they resist rot from moisture so well when planted as if they were bald, like the stolons of other species. I have found the best plan to be as follows: Take offsets before the plants flower; if there are none, which will often be the case, the bloom must be sacrificed by pinching out the stem. As soon as there are nice sized shoots ready, cut them off with all possible length of stalk; prepare a sandy patch of soil in a warm situation, lay them in a row on the surface, heads to the north, and then place a brick on them so as to hold all the cuttings in position; gently press on the brick, to cause the cuttings to assume a more natural position, and they will need no other attention until they become rooted; the brick will act as a screen from the hot sunshine, absorbing the heat to the benefit of the cuttings, as it will also absorb superfluous moisture. During the summer I have rooted many offsets in this way. That contact with the brick is favourable to the roots is evidenced by their clinging to it; no water should be given, however droughty the season may be--excessive moisture is the main thing to guard against. Flowering period, June to August. Saxifraga Oppositifolia (_Lin._) PURPLE MOUNTAIN SAXIFRAGE, PURPLE SAXIFRAGE, BLUE SAXIFRAGE, OPPOSITE-LEAVED SAXIFRAGE; _Nat. Ord._ SAXIFRAGACEÆ. During the month of March this is one of the most effective flowers in our gardens. The mossy appearance of its foliage, when dotted with its large blossoms, is hardly less beautiful than when the whole broad spreading tufts are literally packed with them. This must be a dear flower to all lovers of our native flora, for it not only comes very early, and in its wild homes on the Ingleborough, Welsh, and Scottish hills, greets and gladdens the rambler, who is, perhaps, making his first excursion of the year, but it is one of our most striking and beautiful flowers, even though they are produced on a plant of such humble size and habit. The pleasing and descriptive names of this gem of our hills would form a chapter in themselves. Even the old Latin names by which it was known, before the time when Linnæus arranged and re-named most of our native plants, bespeak a desire to do justice to a flower of more than ordinary beauty; and, as they were so strictly descriptive, at least one, I think, may be given without trying the reader's patience: _Saxifraga alpina ericoides flore cæruleo_, or the Blue-flowered Erica-like Mountain Saxifrage. Doubtless, shorter names are more convenient, but such specific names as the one just given are not entirely useless. Its present botanical name is in reference to the foliage only, but otherwise so distinct is this plant either in or out of bloom that no one could well mistake it. The flowers are ½in. to ¾in. across, produced terminally and singly on short procumbent stems. They are of a bright purple colour; petals ovate; the longish stamens carry bold anthers furnished with dark orange-coloured pollen, which forms a pretty feature. The leaves are small, crowded, opposite, ovate, entire, leathery, fringed or ciliated, and retuse. A peculiar feature about this species is the pore at the blunt apex of each leaf. The habit is prostrate; the stems being long, tufted, or pendulous, according to the situation; the flower shoots are upright, on which the leaves are more remote. Under cultivation newly planted roots will be found not only to flower sparingly, but the blooms will be rather small until the plant grows large and strong. On rockwork, with its roots near or between large stones, is in every way the best place for it; it however, thrives in the borders. The soil is not of much importance, but without doubt it does best in a compost of the nature of that of its wild homes. The humus and grit may be represented by sand and small stones, and peat or leaf soil, all mixed with loam. This, let me here state, will be found generally the right stuff for alpines and rockery plants. This plant is useful as a spring bedder, or for carpeting bare places; and any conspicuous part of the garden needing bright objects during March and April should give room largely for this cheerful subject. The bloom is very lasting; no storm seems to do it any hurt, and in every way it is reliable. It may be readily propagated by divisions. The procumbent stems will, in strong patches, be found to supply rootlets in abundance. These may be transplanted at almost any time of the year. Flowering period, March and April. _S. opp. alba_ is a white flowered variety of the above. It is not found wild. Other dissimilarities are the smaller parts throughout the whole plant, and the less straggling habit. The white petals show up the dark orange anthers finely. There are other varieties of the above type, but their points of difference are so slight as not to need description for garden uses. It may, however, be useful to give their names: _S. opp. major_, _S. opp. pyrenaica_, _S. opp. retusa_, _S. opp. pallida_. All the above varieties may be grown like the common form; their uses, propagation, and blooming period are the same, with the exception of _pyrenaica_, which not only flowers a little later, but is less rampant, and not nearly so easy to propagate. I have imagined that a little limestone has helped it, bits of which are placed over its roots. Saxifraga Paradoxa. PARADOXICAL SAXIFRAGE; _Nat. Ord._ SAXIFRAGACEÆ. [Illustration: FIG. 89. SAXIFRAGA PARADOXA. (Two-thirds natural size.)] One of the less known and, perhaps, somewhat rare saxifrages; it is a curious, distinct, and beautiful form, being of that class which the lover of the ornamental kinds most admires, for not only is it attractive all the year round, but additionally so when there cannot be seen any part of a growing or decaying flower stem upon it, and when its silvery, but lax rosettes, with their encrustments and glistening leaf dots, are perfectly matured, which is the case during mid-winter. I fear the illustration (Fig. 89), can give but a poor idea of the pleasing silvery-grey colour, which, when the specimen is dry, overlays foliage of a dark and glossy green, to say nothing of the numerous and regular spots which so charmingly enliven the specimens. I am unable to learn to what species it is most nearly related; its name, which doubtless has reference to its peculiar form and habit, would seem to isolate it even from its parents, if such are known; it, however, belongs to that section having thick leathery leaves, ligulate, encrusted, arranged in rosette form, and having excavated dots. _Saxifraga lingulata_, _S. crustata_, _S. Australis_, _S. longifolia_, and _S. carinthiaca_ belong to the same section; but _S. paradoxa_ differs much in general appearance from them all, and remarkably so in one or two respects, as, indeed, it does from the whole genus, thus justifying its name. The uneven length and arrangement of leaves, the casting off of the encrustments as a skin or in flakes, exposing to view a finely-polished surface, and the general web-like appearance of the tufts, are all peculiar to it. Of all the varieties of its section it most resembles _S. carinthiaca_ and _S. Australis_; these forms, however, grow in compact rosette form, having leaves of more even size and shape. Our subject is irregular in every way, many of the leaves pushing out to double the length of others, and becoming attenuated at their junction, or club-shaped. Its flowers are insignificant and similar to those of _S. Aizoon_, but more dwarf in the stem. The leaves are ½in. to 3in. long, very narrow and tongue-shaped, sometimes obtuse and club-shaped; stout, dark green, with a greyish crust-like covering, and deeply dotted with bright spots. The leaves are arranged in lax rosettes and are reflexed or pressed flat to the earth nearly all their length. The habit is very pretty in established and fair-sized specimens, which accommodate themselves to the form of surface, and the longer or erratic leaves become so interlaced with the other parts as to appear woven; this habit and the bright bead-like dots go to make the plant more than ordinarily attractive. It should be in every collection of choice Saxifrages; it is charming as a pot specimen, plunged and grown out of doors the year round. On rockwork it should have a place, too, among the gems, being a neat and slow grower; its position should be near dark-coloured stones, where it will prove most telling. In damp weather its silvery parts are obliterated, but a breeze of half-an-hour or a beam of sunshine soon brings it into full beauty again. Gritty peat and a little loam suits it well; I have it doing nicely in ordinary garden soil; but if the more carefully prepared composts are employed, the results well repay the pains so taken. Its propagation is easily carried out by root divisions; early spring is a good time for the operation. Flowering period, May and June. Saxifraga Pectinata. _Nat. Ord._ SAXIFRAGACEÆ. This belongs to the encrusted section, being most distinctly toothed; from this it takes its name; the teeth are large for such small leaves. Specimens of this Saxifrage, though small, are exceedingly pretty. Excepting when there is fog or rain, it is nearly white; and the rosettes, of various sizes, from ¼in. to 1in. across, are not only neat in themselves, but are densely and pleasingly arranged in a hard flat mass. It is never more beautiful, not even in May and June, when it flowers, than in November, when the growth is both complete and ripened, and the scaly substance which is spread over the leaves and the silvery teeth combine to render it attractive. The flowers are of the usual form, and are produced on stems 4in. to 6in. high; they are white. The leaves seldom exceed ½in. in length and 1/8in. in width; they are spathulate in form, stout, and rigid. The rosettes are somewhat flattened and numerous, and give the idea of greenish-white flowers. _S. p. hybrida_ is a variety of the foregoing species, and without pretending to say what the type has been crossed with to produce this handsome form, I may, for the purpose of conveying an idea of what it is like, say that it approaches _S. aizoon_, which also flowers in May and June. In all its parts it is larger than the type; the leaves are greener and more strap-shaped, and are more erect, but not so rigid; the habit, too, differs--it forms more rounded tufts. In all these respects it will be seen to resemble _S. aizoon_. It is a lovely form; the sparkling teeth are relieved by the fine dark green ground of the foliage. These comb-leaved Saxifrages belong to the more neat and effective rock plants; the type, at least, is of alpine origin, and under cultivation it seems most happy amongst the stones. I have grown these kinds as pot specimens, on nearly flat beds, and as edging plants; and in every position they prove attractive. It is very strange that such pretty forms are not more generally seen in gardens; they will grow well on walls and the tops of outhouses, and are good subjects for town gardens. Any kind of sandy soil will do for them; that of a vegetable character is, however, the best; they may be planted with choicer things, for, unlike many of the genus, they are not rampant growers. Practically, they need no propagating; for as the specimens spread they make new roots, and at any time one or half a dozen rosettes may be slipped off for planting elsewhere. It is better, though, to avoid this with small plants, as their full beauty is not realised until they become of considerable size. Flowering period, May and June. Saxifraga Peltata. _Nat. Ord._ SAXIFRAGACEÆ. A new species to English gardens, hardy, herbaceous, and perennial, imported from North America; it is a truly noble plant. The illustration (Fig. 90) will convey some idea of its fine form, but the reader must rely on the description for its size when fully developed. When the flowers of this Saxifrage are in their best form, the noble foliage is scarcely half developed; a drawing, therefore (though it could hardly be made at a stage when the plant is more interesting), must necessarily fail, in this case, to give any more than an approximate idea of the parts undeveloped. Not only is this the largest species of the extensive genus at present grown in this country, but its form is both distinct and noble. [Illustration: FIG. 90. SAXIFRAGA PELTATA. (1, Single blossom, natural size.)] The flowers are produced on stems 18in. high and ¾in. thick at the base, being covered with long stiff white hairs, which are very conspicuous on the reddish stems. The flowers are similar to those of most of the genus, as may be seen by the one given in the drawing; they are arranged in massive heads, 3in. to 6in. in diameter, and rose-coloured. The leaves at the flowering time are 6in. or 9in. across, having stout, round, ruddy stems, 8in. long, covered with stiff hairs; they form a junction with the leaves in an unusual way, viz., near the centre, whence the specific name _peltata_, or umbrella shape; but the form of the leaves at the flowering period, which is funnel-shape, is, a little later on, reversed, the edges bending downwards. The younger leaves are folded and hooked downward, having the appearance of stout fern fronds just out of the ground, and their stalks are much contorted. The more advanced leaves are seen to be seven-cut, each lobe divided and sub-divided by cuts less deep, the whole leaf being richly toothed and veined. The under side is covered with hairs, the upper surface being smooth, shining, and of a pleasing bronze-green colour. Later, the foliage in every way increases very much in size, reaching a height of 2ft., and each leaf measuring nearly a foot across. The root or rhizoma is horizontal, progressive, jointed, and fibrous at the joints, and nearly 2in. in diameter; it may be clearly traced on the surface, but the fibrous parts go very deep. It is said to be a bog subject; fortunately, however, this fine plant may be grown otherwise than in a bog, but it should not want for depth of rich soil. This I believe to be a more important condition than a boggy situation, inasmuch as I have grown my specimen for three years on the top of a dry mound; but the soil is good rich loam, and fully 5ft. deep; and to show that this strong-growing subject needs a good depth of soil, I may mention that I had occasion to dig up a piece, when it was found, for the operation, to require both the strength and tools that trees demand, the fibrous parts being deep and tough. When fairly established it makes rapid growth, and when in full leaf it proves very effective. Its propagation is easy with healthy plants; a length of the creeping root, with a crown to it, should be cut from the parent stock just before growth commences in early March. If planted as indicated in the foregoing remarks, and kept shaded with a leafy branch for a month or two, there need not be any fear about young plants becoming established the first season. Flowering period, June. Saxifraga Purpurascens. LARGE-LEAVED PURPLE SAXIFRAGA, MEGASEA _section_; _Nat. Ord._ SAXIFRAGACEÆ. A rare plant of great beauty. It is figured here without flowers, as I consider it in finer form then than when in bloom. Fine as its flowers are, much resembling those of _S. cordifolia_ and _S. crassifolia_ (also of the _Megasea_ section); the brightness and colouring of its leaves in autumn are such as to render it distinct from all the other species. I need only ask the reader to note the fine foliage indicated in the cut (Fig. 91), and inform him that in the autumn it turns to a glossy vermilion colour, and I think he will admit that it will not come far short in beauty of any flower. The species is a recent introduction from the Himalayas, and in this climate proves all but evergreen (if tinted foliage can be so called) and hardy. The latter quality has been doubted by some, but by others re-asserted. My present specimen was planted in the open garden in the spring of 1880, since which time it has withstood 22deg. of frost. The flowers are produced on stout stems, 8in. high, arranged in branched heads, of a rose or rosy-purple colour, and bell-shaped. They are, however, soon damaged by unfavourable weather, and there is little about the plant at that period to render it more attractive than its fellows; its finer qualities are developed as more genial weather prevails. When the stout foliage grows glossy, waved, and of a deep clear green colour, the edges of the leaves become lined with red as if hemmed with red silk; the leaves also have the edges irregular in form, the outline broadly oval, 4in. to 6in. long, and they are veined and slightly wrinkled; during the autumn a yellow tint starts from the edge, and in time becomes a vermilion, which is all the more effective from the leaf being of leather-like substance. [Illustration: FIG. 91. SAXIFRAGA PURPURASCENS. (One-third natural size.)] It enjoys a deep rich loam; and, evidently, to place its roots in contact with pieces of limestone is beneficial. Rare as the plant is, this is all that I do for it, and not only does it remain healthy, but it has increased greatly in size during the last year. I have not as yet tried to propagate it, but so far as I can judge there will be no difficulty in forming young stock by root division. It has hitherto enjoyed a happy immunity from all garden pests, not excepting slugs. Flowering period, April to June. Saxifraga Pyramidalis. PYRAMIDAL SAXIFRAGA; _Nat. Ord._ SAXIFRAGACEÆ. This is a very handsome form or variety of _S. Cotyledon_, and belongs to the alpine regions of Europe. As a decorative subject for our gardens, it is highly and deservedly esteemed; its attractiveness consists more in the numbers and arrangement of the flowers than in any beauty which belongs to them individually, though they are not devoid of that quality. Of the many hundreds of species and varieties of Saxifrages which bloom during the month of June, this is one of the most distinct and useful as a decorative flower, and where the Saxifrages are grown in large collections, as they often are, giving more than an ordinary amount of pleasure compared with collections of other genera, the kind now under consideration always asserts itself as one of the first order of merit. Not only in its blooming state, but all the year round, it is very effective and striking; it is a free grower, having handsome, large rosetted foliage. [Illustration: FIG. 92. SAXIFRAGA PYRAMIDALIS. (One-eighth natural size; 1, single blossom, natural size; 2, leaf, one-eighth natural size.)] The flowers, as will be seen by the one given, natural size, in the illustration (Fig. 92), are of the common Saxifrage form, but rather more highly coloured in the central markings than the general run. They are produced on stout stems, 2ft. high, well and evenly branched in the form of a pyramid, whence the specific name. Each flower will be ½in. or more across; they are very numerous, and, partly from the fact that they remain perfect for a very long while, and partly because of the habit of the plant being to open all its flowers about or near the same time, the large panicle of bloom is very fine. The leaves, as already hinted, are formed into lax rosettes, which are 5in. to 7in. across; they are strap-shaped, narrowing slightly at the connection, half an inch wide, the outer ones being reflexed; the edges are finely serrated, and irregularly lined with a silver colouring. This is a capital plant for rockwork, where it shows itself to much advantage; but specimens are much finer grown in beds or borders, where the moisture and temperature at the roots are likely to be more equable; besides, I find that, owing to its small quantity of roots, all of which are very near the surface, when grown on rockwork they may often be seen bare on inclined surfaces, and the weight of the flowers drags them entirely out of the soil on one side. They may be planted as an edging to a shrubbery, in bold groups, or as ordinary border flowers. So useful has this variety been found by professional gardeners that it is now largely grown in pots in single rosettes, which, after becoming well established, send up their rich plumes of blossom, all the finer for having been kept clean under glass. So grown, nothing can better repay the small amount of trouble which they give in order to place them in the conservatory as showy specimens; all they require being a 4in. pot, well drained, a compost of half-rotted leaves, and fat loam and sand. Put in one rooted offset any time from June to the end of July, the earlier the better; plunge the pot to its rim in sand or ashes until next spring, when it may be taken under glass if desired. To have fine flowers, the offsets should be pinched off as they appear. I may also mention that a somewhat shady situation has proved conducive to large and better coloured flowers; between irises 4ft. high and shrubs 6ft. high, the opening being not more than 3ft., running north and south. The specimen from which the drawing is taken was grown along with many others. A baking or dry treatment is often not only given to plants of this genus, but believed to be of advantage to them; it may be to some, but there are exceptions, and this is one without doubt. All the sections of Saxifraga to which it belongs are fond of good loam, well enriched. It is propagated from offsets taken as soon as they are from an inch to two inches across; they may either be put into nursery beds or be planted in their blooming quarters. Flowering period, June and July. Saxifraga Rocheliana. ROCHEL'S SAXIFRAGE; _Nat. Ord._ SAXIFRAGACEÆ. Another hardy evergreen species, distinct in form, foliage and flowers, and a native of the alpine regions of central Europe; it nevertheless thrives well in our climate with ordinary care. Its foliage takes the form of miniature rosettes, which are closely packed; the tiny leaves are distinctly and regularly dotted; and present a frosted appearance. The flowers are unimportant, though they form an interesting feature of such a choice and somewhat rare plant; they are small, white, and produced on stems 3in. to 4in. high, which are thick and curiously furnished with leaves. During summer this species has a very bright silvery appearance, as if laid on in patches. Similar treatment is required for this as for _S. Burseriana_, but it will be found much more difficult to propagate, as its roots are of the tap kind, and are more sparingly produced, while its seed seldom ripens, I believe, in this climate. To increase it, the better plan is to prepare the old plant by keeping it well earthed up, and so encouraging new roots; after a year's patience it may be divided in April. The small pieces should be secured by stones or verbena pins, and a supply of pebbles placed around them will keep them cool and moist during summer. Flowering period, March and April. Saxifraga Umbrosa. LONDON PRIDE; _Nat. Ord._ SAXIFRAGACEÆ. This common flower is well known, and is only mentioned here as the typical form, and by way of introducing a beautiful variety called _S. u. variegata_, broad cushions of which, from their verdant condition, good habit, and pleasing variations of leaf colour, are amongst the more attractive objects of the garden in January. It hardly need be said that the plant is not valued for its flowers, which are similar to those of the parent form and borne at a corresponding date. The leaves, however, are much less in size and more flatly arranged in rosette form, they are also recurved at the edges. The markings are of two colours, creamy-white and pink, and there are many shades of green. The forms of the markings are most irregular, as striped, flecked, marbled, dotted, and edged; the various shades of green blended with pink and white, although figured on one of the commonest plants we know, render such plant worthy of a place in every garden, and more especially on rockwork. It has this drawback--it is not constant. In some gardens the markings die out. This, however, need not be, for a rather dry situation and rich soil will produce rosettes of large size and good figuring. Still, there will be fully half of the rosettes entirely green in a large patch; this is more desirable than otherwise. The marked ones have a more starry effect in such a green setting; it is only when all become green that disappointment is felt. Sometimes I have noticed rosettes, about the size of a penny-piece, all one colour--creamy-white--which, when cut from the plant, very much resembled a carnation. Such abnormal forms are of no moment to the botanist, but if nine out of every ten persons who see this plant are interested, not to say pleased with it, it ought not to be entirely neglected. It is most effective in patches 1ft. to 2ft. broad. In propagating it the more finely marked pieces only should be taken. Flowering period, May to July. Saxifraga Wallacei. _Nat. Ord._ SAXIFRAGACEÆ. A hardy perennial hybrid variety, of first-class merit. Its loose and spreading panicles of large pure white flowers are something better than the ordinary run of bloom belonging to this extensive genus; it is said to be the offspring of species of the mossy section; but there is certainly a great likeness about its foliage to some of the horny section, such as _S. cornutum_ or _S. pentadactylis_, or even the handsome _S. geranioides_. It would, however, be hard to say what it is from; but in it we have not only a showy but most useful variety (see Fig. 93). It has deservedly grown into great favour, though known to amateurs but for three years. It begins to flower in April, but in May it is in its best form, being covered with a rich mass of bloom from the foliage to the height of a foot. The flowers, as before stated, are of a pure white--an unusual colour amongst the genus; they are bell-shaped but erect, the ovate petals reverse. Well-grown specimens with me have flowers quite an inch across. The individual blooms last more than a week, and the succession is well maintained during summer. The panicles are leafy, having small entire leaves, and others once and twice-cut. The stems of the present season's growth are stout, semi-transparent, and ruddy; the leaves are palmate, slender at the bottom, mostly five-fingered, fleshy, and covered with long silky hairs which stand well off; the fine apple-green foliage is shown to great advantage by the ruddy stems. This plant may be grown in pots or borders, as edging, or on rockwork, and in any kind of soil; but to have fine specimens and large flowers it should be planted in calcareous loam, and be top dressed in early spring with well rotted manure. I have it as an edging to a small bed of roses; the position is bleak, but the soil is good; it furnishes large quantities of cut bloom, and otherwise, from its rich hawthorn-like scent, it proves a great treat. So freely is its handsome foliage produced that it, too, may be cut in quantities for table decoration. If the flowers, or some of them, be left on, the tufts will form a pretty setting for a few other small flowers of decided colours. [Illustration: FIG. 93. SAXIFRAGA WALLACEI. (One-half natural size.)] To increase this Saxifrage is a simple matter during the warm season: The twiggy tufts should be pulled asunder, no matter whether they have roots or no roots; if dibbled into fine soil, deeply dug, and shaded for a week or two, they will form strong plants before the winter sets in. Flowering period, April to August. Scilla Campanulata. BELL-FLOWERED SCILLA _or_ BLUEBELL; _Nat. Ord._ LILIACEÆ. A hardy bulbous perennial, introduced from Spain 200 years ago. It very much resembles the English hyacinth--_H. nutans_, or _Scilla non-scripta_--better known as the wood hyacinth. Handsome as this simple flower is, it might have been omitted from these notes as a plant too well known, but for the fact that there are several varieties of the species which are less known, very beautiful, and deliciously fragrant, entitling them to a place amongst other choice flowers, both in books and gardens. Of the typical form little need be said by way of description. The flowers are bell-shaped, pendent, blue, and produced in racemes of many flowers. The leaves are lance-shaped, prostrate, and of a dark shining green colour. [Illustration: FIG. 94. SCILLA CAMPANULATA ALBA. (One-fourth natural size; single flower, one-half natural size.)] _S. c. alba_ differs from the type in having its white flowers arranged more evenly round the scape, being shorter in the divisions of petals and wider at the corolla; the habit of the plant, too, as may be seen by the illustration (Fig. 94), is more rigid and neat. In a cut state the flowers are not only very lasting, but if gathered clean, they are suitable for the most delicate wreath or bouquet. _S. c. carnea_ has pink flowers. All the forms of _S. campanulata_ are cheerful and effective spring flowers. They should be grown in bold clumps, and if under slight shade, where many other things cannot be well grown, all the better; still, they are in no way particular--any aspect, position, or soil will answer for these robust flowers. Such being the case, few gardens should be without at least the finer forms of the large Bluebell. So fast do these varieties increase by seed and otherwise, that any remarks on their propagation are unnecessary. Flowering period, April to June. Sedum Sieboldi. SIEBOLD'S STONECROP; _Nat. Ord._ CRASSULACEÆ. This is a capital species. It is perfectly hardy, though not generally known to be so. It is more often seen under glass, and is certainly a pretty pot plant. Its stems are 12in. or less in length, slender and procumbent. The leaves, which are rather larger than a shilling, fleshy, cupped, and glaucous, are curiously arranged on the stems, somewhat reflexed, and otherwise twisted at their axils, presenting a flattened but pleasing appearance. The small flowers, which are bright rose, are borne in clusters, and remain two or three weeks in perfection. It is a fine subject for rockwork, and, moreover, likes such dry situations as only rockwork affords. It should be so planted that its graceful stems can fall over the stones. There is a variety of this species, with creamy foliage, but it is less vigorous; neither are the flowers so fine in colour. Slugs are fond of these, and sometimes they will eat off nearly every leaf. A sprinkling of sharp sand once a week keeps them off, but trapping them with hollowed turnips is a more effective remedy. Propagated by cuttings pricked into sand in summer, or division of roots when the tops have died down. Flowering period, August and September. Sedum Spectabile. SHOWY STONECROP; _Nat. Ord._ CRASSULACEÆ. Hardy and herbaceous. This is one of our finest autumn bloomers. During September, the broad massive heads of small rosy flowers, which are arranged in cymes 6in. across, are very attractive, and will, with average weather, keep in good form for a month. This species is somewhat mixed up with another called _S. Fabarium_; by many they are said to be identical, but such is not the case. I grow them side by side, and I may say that they are as "like as two peas" up to midsummer, when they begin to diverge. _S. Fabarium_ continues to grow to the height, or rather length, of 2ft., and tumbles over; the foliage has a lax appearance, and the flowers are very pale. Concurrently _S. spectabile_ has grown its stems and glaucous leaves to stouter proportions, and crowned them with more massive heads of bright rose-coloured flowers, at the height of 15in. It is larger in all its parts, with the exception of length of stem, and by September it is nearly twice the size of _S. Fabarium_; it also stands erect, so that then the two species suggest a contrast rather than a comparison, _S. spectabile_ being by far the more desirable. I find, however, that it is much slower in increasing itself; the best way to propagate it is by cuttings dibbled into sand in early summer. The commoner one increases rapidly and often bears the wrong name; care should therefore be taken to obtain the true species, after which it will not give much further trouble, thriving in any kind of soil, but it should be planted in the full sunshine, when its habit and flowers will be greatly improved. It will bear any amount of drought--indeed, it seems to enjoy it. My finest clump is on a very dry part of rockwork, where it has always flowered well. These two Stonecrops and a variegated variety are some of the very few hardy plants which slugs do not graze; at any rate, it is so with me; neither do other pests attack them, but the humble bees literally cover their flowers the whole day long at times. Flowering period, August to October. Sempervivum Laggeri. LAGGER'S HOUSELEEK; _Nat. Ord._ CRASSULACEÆ. Of the numerous species and varieties of Houseleek, this is at once the most curious, interesting, and beautiful. It is by far the finest of the webbed forms. It has, however, the reputation of not being quite hardy, but that it will endure our severest winters is without doubt, and if we recall its habitats, which are in alpine regions, its hardiness in a low temperature need not be further questioned. Still, partly from its downy nature, and partly from the dampness of our winters, this climate causes it to rot. There are, however, simple and most efficient remedies, which shall be mentioned shortly. The illustration (Fig. 95) gives some idea of its form and habit. The flowering rosettes send up stems 6in. high; they are well furnished with leaves--in fact, they are the rosettes elongated; they terminate with a cluster of buds and flowers, which remain several weeks in perfection, however unfavourable the weather may be. The flowers are more than an inch across, of a bright rose colour, and very beautiful; the central flower is invariably the largest, and the number of petals varies from six to twelve. The leaves are in rosette form, the rosettes being sometimes 2in. across, nearly flat, and slightly dipped in the centre; a downy web, as fine as a cobweb, covers the rosette, it being attached to the tips of the leaves, and in the middle it is so dense that it has a matted appearance. The leaves are very fleshy, glandular, and of a pale green colour. Slow in growth, habit very compact; it has a tender appearance, but I never saw its web damaged by rain or hail. [Illustration: FIG. 95. SEMPERVIVUM LAGGERI. (Two-thirds natural size.)] Many grow it in pots for indoor use; it finds a happy home on rockwork or old walls; it should have a dry and sunny situation, and, with these conditions, it will prove attractive all the year round. It thrives well in gritty loam; a little peat rubbed in with the grit will be an improvement and also more resemble its native soil. To preserve it from the bad effects of our damp winters, it need not be taken indoors, but sheets of glass should be tilted over the specimens during the short days, when they are dormant; the glass should not touch the plant. This seems to be the nearest condition we can afford it as a substitute for the snows of its mountain home, and I may add, for years it has proved effective; in fact, for several years I have left specimens in the open without any shelter whatever, and the percentage of loss has been very low, though the seasons were trying. It propagates itself freely by offsets; if it is intended to remove them from the parent plant, it should be done early in summer, so that they may become established before winter, otherwise the frosts will lift them out of position. Flowering period, June to August. Senecio Pulcher. NOBLE GROUNDSEL; _Nat. Ord._ COMPOSITÆ. [Illustration: FIG. 96. SENECIO PULCHER. (One-tenth natural size.)] Autumn is the heyday of Composite flowers. The one now under notice has the merit of being of an unusual and beautiful colour, viz., purplish crimson. It is, in fact, a new plant in English gardens, and has been justly described as one of the finest imports of recent years; it has only to be seen in order to commend itself to all lovers of hardy flowers (see Fig. 96). It is a robust grower, ranking with the more noble subjects suitable for the borders. Its hardiness is doubted by many, and a few have suspected its perennial quality; but notwithstanding the warm climate of South America (whence it hails), it has proved both hardy and perennial in this country. Excessive moisture is its greatest enemy. Its bright purplish-crimson flowers are daisy-shaped and large, the centre being a fine golden yellow--on strong young plants the flowers will be 3in. across. Moreover, they are numerously produced on stems 3ft. high, in branching cymes, and last a long time in perfection; with favourable weather an individual bloom will stand above a week, and the plant provides itself with abundance of buds for succession. I never yet saw a specimen that developed half its buds, but this brings me to notice one of its faults (for it has more than one), viz., it is too late in blooming; at any rate, in Yorkshire we rarely get more than three weeks' enjoyment of its flowers, when, but for severe frosts, it appears capable of blooming for two months. To some extent this may be remedied, as will be shown when I refer to its culture. The radical leaves are over a foot long, stem leaves much smaller, very dark holly green of leather-like substance, the edges very unevenly shaped, the general form of the leaf being something like the cos lettuce. The cut blooms are indeed fine and cannot well be inappropriately used. This brings me to fault No. 2. The flower stems are very hollow and dry, nearly as much so as the hemlock or kex, and I have found that when flowers have been cut, either from the moisture collecting in the stem, or some such cause, rot sets in lower down, and soon the branches of bloom head over. I tried cutting to a joint where the cavity was stopped, but the pith when so exposed soon gave way, so that latterly I have ceased to cut the flowers, unless the occasion was worth the risk. A specimen not cut from did not suffer from stem rot. I, therefore, blamed the cutting. There may, however, be other causes; at any rate, there is the fact of fine flowers in their prime falling over, and it is worth one's while to try to find out from what cause it happens, and if my theory is not the true one, it may prove useful as a hint. It likes a deep and rich soil, and well deserves to have it; if left out all the winter, a piece of glass should be put over the crown, because it has the fault (No. 3) of rotting in the centre, as I believe from water being conducted down its spout-like stems; but even under the most neglected conditions it stands our winters, and the rootlets send up a number of small growths in spring. These may make plants, but will not be reliable for bloom the following autumn; the damage should be prevented if possible. Another plan, by which two points are gained, is to grow young plants in good-sized pots and winter them, plunged in cold frames, not failing to give plenty of air. In April these, if compared with others in the open garden, will be found to be much more forward, and the first gain will be that, if planted out then, they will flower much more vigorously, and, secondly, they will start earlier by two weeks at least. To propagate this fine border plant, the very long and fleshy roots may be cut into pieces 6in. long and dibbled into fine soil; they are somewhat slow, but pretty sure to "go"; they should be protected from slugs, which are very fond of the young leaves. On young stuff, grown apart from the flower beds and borders, quicklime may be used, which would otherwise be unsightly. Flowering period, August to October. Sisyrinchium Grandiflorum. SATIN-FLOWER, _or_ RUSH LILY; _Nat. Ord._ IRIDACEÆ. [Illustration: FIG. 97. SISYRINCHIUM GRANDIFLORUM. (One-third natural size.)] The generic name of this flower is in reference to the grubbing of swine for its roots, and means "pig-snout." The common names may be seen, by a glance at the cut (Fig. 97), to be most appropriate; that of Satin-flower is of American origin the plant being a native of Oregon, and is in reference to its rich satiny blossom; that of Rush-lily, which is, perhaps, an even more suitable name, has been recently applied to it, I believe, in this country. It is applicable alike to the rush-like form and habit of foliage, and the lily-like purity and style of flowers. It was sent to this country in 1826, and yet it is rarely met with in English gardens. Some think it scarcely hardy in our climate in certain soils. I happen to have grown it for six years, which period includes the recent severe winters, and it has not only survived but increased in a moderate degree. This took place on rockwork facing south; in the autumn of 1881 I divided the specimen, and planted a part of it in the coldest part of my garden, which is not without clay, though far from all clay; that division is now a strong plant, and has made an extra crown; it forms the subject of the present illustration. Let me state, in passing, that it is naturally a slow grower. The very severe weather of the week previous to my writing this note, in March, 1883, when 23deg. of frost was registered, which cut down the bloom stems of Hellebores and many other well-known hardy things, did not hurt this subject very much; I am, therefore, confident of its hardiness from six years of such experience. The flowers are 1in. to 1½in. long, and about as much across when open, of a fine purple colour, with a shining satiny appearance; the six transparent petal-like divisions are of uneven form, having short bluntish points; from the openness of the corolla the stamens and style are well exposed, and they are very beautiful. The flowers are produced when the plant is about 6in. or 9in. high, the buds being developed on a rush-like stem, and enfolded in an almost invisible sheath 2in. or 3in. from the apex. Gradually the sheath, from becoming swollen, attracts notice, and during sunshine it will suddenly burst and let fall its precious contents--a pair of beautiful flowers--which dangle on slender arching pedicels, springing from the sheath-socket. They seem to enjoy their new-born freedom, and flutter in the March wind like tethered butterflies. Their happy day, however, is soon over; their fugacious petals shrivel in three or four days. The leaves are rush-like, ribbed, and sheathed. I have found it to thrive in loam, both light and moderately stiff, also in vegetable soil and sand; it likes moisture, but not of a stagnant character; between large stones, at the base of rockwork, suits it in every way; it may also be grown by the side of the larger kinds of snowdrops for contrast and effect. Impatient of being disturbed, it is not wisdom to lift it for any purpose, provided it is making progress, or until it has formed strong tufts; when, if it is desirable to increase it, and during early autumn, the long roots should be got well under, and taken out of the ground as entire as possible; from their wiry nature they are then both easily cleared of earth and divided into single crowns; these should be replanted in positions deeply dug, and where they are intended to remain, being carefully arranged without any doubling up. After such pains have been taken with so well-deserving a plant, there will be little to fear for its future, no matter how severe the winter may prove. _S. g. album_ is a white-flowered variety, of which, however, I have had no experience. Since these lines appeared in serial form, a lady, cultivating a good collection of choice hardy flowers, has informed me that this variety is very fine, and in every way commendable. Flowering period, March to May, according to positions or climatic conditions. Soldanellas. _Nat. Ord._ PRIMULACEÆ. Diminutive herbaceous alpine perennials. This genus is small in number of known species as in size of specimens. They are found in very high altitudes in the Tyrol, Switzerland, and Germany; but they are easily managed even in our foggy climate, as is shown by the fact of the various species being grown in all collections of alpines; and, indeed, no collection can be said to be complete without such gems--they are great favourites, as they well deserve to be. They flower in early spring, some with one, and others more than one flower on a stem. The flowers are very small, broadly bell-shaped, and of a feathery appearance, from the fact of their petals being finely divided. The foliage is also small, nearly round, of good substance, and in all the following species very bright green; the leaf stalks are long and wiry, and form neat and handsome little tufts, independent of the flowers, which, I may add, do not last more than five or six days. _S. alpina_, smaller in all its parts, but otherwise much resembling _S. montana_--has leaves the size of a shilling piece, flowers bright blue, mostly two on a stem. _S. Clusii_, from Germany, is smaller than _S. alpina_; in other respects similar, with the exception of flowers, which are purple. _S. minima_ (smallest). Very tiny in all its parts, many of its little thick leaves being only ¼in. across; flowers purple, single on the stem, which is only ½in. to 1in. long. _S. montana_ (Fig. 98) is the largest species of all--leaves the size of a half-crown piece, flowers bright blue, four or five on a stem, 5in. high. It has other distinctions, of a minute character, from the smaller species, but by difference of size alone it may be readily identified. All the Soldanellas love a vegetable soil, as peat or leaf mould, to which, when under cultivation, a liberal quantity of sand should be added. If grown in pots, they make lovely specimens, and should be plunged in sand and kept moist; but I find my specimens to grow much more vigorously when planted out, as they are at the base of a small rockery, rather below the level of the neighbouring walk, which forms a miniature watershed for the supply of moisture. I also fancy the liverwort, which surrounds them, rather helps them than otherwise. Certain I am, however, that moisture is the great desideratum in the culture of this genus. My difficulty with the planted-out specimens is to keep them from being grazed off by the slugs; a dash of silver sand every day or two has sometimes proved of use. When the Soldanellas once get into proper quarters they make rapid growth; I have divided them most successfully in April and May. [Illustration: FIG. 98. SOLDANELLA MONTANA. (One-half natural size.)] Flowering period, March to May. Spiræa Palmata. PALM-LIKE SPIRÆA; _Nat. Ord._ ROSACEÆ. [Illustration: FIG. 99. SPIRÆA PALMATA. (One-eighth natural size.)] A bold and handsome species from China, imported about sixty years ago. It is perfectly hardy, though, generally grown in pots and under glass. It belongs to the herbaceous section, and I may as well state at once that the Spiræas--more especially the herbaceous kinds--are only decorative when in flower, by which I wish to convey the idea that after they have done flowering, from their abundant foliage, which then begins to turn sere and ragged, they become unsightly if planted in conspicuous parts. Still, their flowers and general habit are both rich and handsome when in their prime, and they are certainly worth growing, especially by those who have large gardens, where they can be planted in large patches in some of the less frequented parts. _S. palmata_ (Fig. 99) has remarkably bright rosy-crimson flowers; they are of indistinct form unless closely examined. It is, however, a well-known form of flower, or arrangement of flowers, and need not be further described, beyond saying they are in panicles and have a feathery appearance. The leaves, which are 6in. or more across, have long smooth stems, are mostly seven-lobed, the lobes being long, pointed, and unevenly serrated. The size of foliage and height of plants vary very much; if grown in a bog or by the side of a stream, it attains the height of 3ft. to 4ft.; in drier situations I have seen it flower when only 10in. high. The specimen illustrated is about 15in. high. A light spongy vegetable soil, with plenty of moisture, is the main requirement of most of the Spiræas, and to grow them to perfection little less will do; but a creditable display of bloom may be enjoyed from plants grown in ordinary garden loam, provided the situation is moist. By way of experiment, I planted a dozen roots of this species in an exposed border, drained, and in all respects the same as for the ordinary run of border flowers. They none of them flowered, and scarcely grew; at no time would they be higher than 6in. I wish to make it clear that the Spiræas, and especially _S. palmata_, cannot be grown and bloomed well without an abundance of moisture at the roots, as I am aware that many have tried and failed with this desirable kind. It should be treated as a bog plant, then it can scarcely fail to do well. In sunk parts of rockwork, by the walk gutters, by the side of a pond or stream, or (if there is one) in the hedge dyke, are all suitable places for this bright flower, and if only for the fine spikes which it produces for cutting purposes, it should be grown largely; and as most of the positions indicated are somewhat out of the way, they may perhaps be the more readily thus appropriated. Propagated by division of strong roots during autumn. Flowering period, July and August. Spiræa Ulmaria Variegata. _Syn._ S. ODORATA FOL. VAR.; _Nat. Ord._ ROSACEÆ. The beautiful variegated form of the well-known "Meadowsweet," other old names being "Mead-sweet," and "Queen of the Meadows." The typical form, at least, needs no description, it being one of the commonest and most appreciated plants of the British flora. This variety, however, is less known; it differs only as regards the markings of the foliage. When the crimped leaves are young, the broad golden patches are very effective, and when the plants are fully grown, the markings of the older foliage become lighter coloured, but not less rich. Of the value of this as a "fine foliage" plant there can be no doubt; it is very telling, and always admired. As regards its flowers, they ought not to be allowed to develope. I only mention this subject for the sake of its beautifully coloured leaves. Requirements: Ordinary garden loam, in a moist situation; propagated by root divisions during autumn. Flowering period, May to August. Spiræa Venusta. QUEEN OF THE PRAIRIE; _Nat. Ord._ ROSACEÆ. A comparatively new species of the herbaceous section, from North America. In good deep loam it grows to the height of 3ft. or more. The flowers are of a soft red, after the manner of those of _S. palmata_, but rather differently arranged, viz., in clustered sprays or cymes, which bend outwards; they are durable and very effective, even when seen at some distance in the garden, whilst for cutting they are flowers of first-class merit; the leaves are large, somewhat coarse, pinnate, segments sharply lobed and irregularly serrated. I find this plant to flower indifferently under the shade of trees, but in a fully exposed situation, planted in a deep retentive loam, it thrives and flowers well. It is perfectly hardy, and easily propagated by division during autumn. Flowering period, June to August. Statice Latifolia. BROAD-LEAVED SEA-LAVENDER; _Nat. Ord._ PLUMBAGINACEÆ. This hardy perennial is all but evergreen in this climate. Probably there are two varieties of it, as although the plants in growth and form correspond, there is a notable difference in the habit of some specimens, as regards the greenness of the foliage in winter; whilst one shrivels and blackens the other will remain more or less green. It is possible that the native countries from which they come may have something to do with this fact. The species was introduced from Portugal in 1740, and again from Siberia in 1791. It need not be wondered at if the variety from the northern habitat proved the more verdant, notwithstanding its becoming acclimatised. Its lofty and diffuse panicles are ornamental and lasting; it is a subject which may be grown in almost any part of the garden, and hardly seem misplaced, notwithstanding its height of 3ft., because only the slender stems, furnished with their minute flowers, rise above the ground, and from the cloud-like effects more dwarf flowers can be easily seen, even when behind them. In many such cases, therefore, this gauzy-flowered Sea-lavender proves of advantage. The bloom is lilac-coloured, each flower being very small. The stout scape at a short distance above the ground becomes much branched; the branchlets, as already indicated, are slender, and furnished with the soft blue bloom. The leaves are radical, and arranged in somewhat rosette form, and for the most part prostrate; many of them are quite a foot long and 5in. broad, or long egg-shaped; they are wavy, of leathery substance, and a dark shining green colour. Of all the genus, this is, perhaps, the most useful of the hardy species. Either in a growing or cut state, the flowers are much admired; cut, they need not be placed in water; and for a year, until the plant yields fresh supplies, they will remain presentable and even bright. Its culture is simple, though there are positions where I have found it to simply exist, viz., on rockwork, unless it was given a part where moisture would be abundant about the roots, in search of which its long woody roots go deeply; if planted in deep loam of a light nature, there will be little fear as to its thriving, but if well manured and mulched, specimens would grow to nearly double size. Propagated by root division. But often the crowns are all on one stout root, and then it is not a safe or ready operation; still, with a sharp knife, the woody root may be split its whole length--this should be done in spring, when the divisions can begin to grow at once. Another and safer plan would be to divide the root for an inch or more from the crowns downwards, insert a few pebbles to keep the parts open, and put back the specimen in freshly dug earth, where, during a season of growth, the cut parts would produce vigorous roots. Flowering period, August to October. Statice Profusa. PROFUSE SEA-LAVENDER; _Nat. Ord._ PLUMBAGINACEÆ. A hybrid hardy form, not to be confounded with the hairy-leaved and tender kind commonly grown under glass, which has the same name. All the Sea-lavenders are profuse blooming, but the one now under notice is more especially so, as may be seen by the illustration (Fig. 100). The seed of this genus is prolific in varieties, and, although the name of this variety, or even the plant, may not be generally known, and the parentage, perhaps, untraceable, it appeared to such advantage, when grown by the side of such species as _S. bellidifolia_, _S. echioides_, _S. gmelina_, _S. incana_, _S. latifolia_, _S. sereptana_, _S. speciosa_, _S. tatarica_, _S. tormentilla_, _S. virgata_, _and_ _S. Wildenovi_, that I considered it worth a short description, more especially as the object of this book is to speak of subjects with telling flowers or attractive forms. It is well known that the Statices have insignificant blossoms, taken individually, though, from their great profusion, they have a singular beauty. The variety now under notice, at the height of 2ft., developed a well branched panicle about the latter end of August; gradually the minute flowers expanded, when, in the middle of September, they became extremely fine, the smaller stems being as fine as horsehair, evenly disposed, and rigid; the head being globular, and supported by a single stem. [Illustration: FIG. 100. STATICE PROFUSA. (One-tenth natural size.)] The flowers are of a lively lilac, having a brownish or snuff-coloured spiked calyx, the effect being far prettier than the description would lead one to imagine. The leaves are radical, 6in. to 8in. long, oval, or somewhat spathulate, waved, leathery, shining and dark green, the outer ones prostrate, the whole being arranged in lax rosette form. The flowers are very durable, either cut or in the growing state; they may be used to advantage with dried grasses, ferns, and "everlastings;" or the whole head, when cut, is a good substitute for gold-paper clippings in an unused fire grate; our people have so used one for two years, and it has still a fresh appearance. It needs no words of mine to explain that such a plant as is represented by the illustration will prove highly decorative in any part of the flower garden. There is nothing special about the culture of the genus. All the Sea-lavenders do well in sandy loam, enriched with stable manure. Some sorts, the present one included, are not very readily propagated, as the crowns are not on separate pieces of root, but often crowded on a woody caudex. I have, however, sometimes split the long root with a sharp knife, and made good plants; this should only be done in spring, when growth can start at once. Flowering period, August to frosts. Stenactis Speciosus. _Syn._ ERIGERON SPECIOSUS; SHOWY FLEABANE; _Nat. Ord._ COMPOSITÆ. This has not long been cultivated in this country; but though a native of the warm climate of California, it proves to be one of the most hardy of herbaceous perennials; it begins to flower in early summer, but August is the heyday of its showiness, and it continues at least a month longer. Its more recent name, _Stenactis_, is, according to Paxton, a happy and appropriate derivation, and tends much to explain the form of flower, "_Stene_, narrow, and _aktin_, a sunbeam, from the narrow and sunlike rays of the expanded flower." It belongs to a genus of "old-fashioned" flowers, which, moreover, is that of the most modern fashion in flowers. As a garden plant it is not only effective, but one of that class which will put up with the most offhand treatment; tenacious of life, neither particular as to soil nor position, constant in fair and foul weather, and doing duty alike in town or suburban garden, these qualities go to make it a worthy subject. Whilst it is nearly related to, and much resembles, the starworts or Michaelmas daises, it far exceeds in beauty the best of them, with only a third of their ungainly length of stem. The flowers are fully two inches across, of a light purple colour; the disk is somewhat large and of a greenish yellow; the florets of the ray are numerous, full, narrow, and slightly uneven at their points, giving the otherwise dense ray a feathery appearance. These large flowers are produced in bunches of six or ten on each branch, at the height of about eighteen inches; there are many stems, and each one is well branched, the species being very floriferous; the leaves are herb-like, lance-shaped, pointed, amplexicaul, and smooth; root-leaves spathulate. This plant needs no cultural care; its only requirements are a place in the garden and some one to appropriate its beaming crop of flowers, which cannot fail to be serviceable. As a border plant, among suitable companions, bold clumps are fine, especially when seen by twilight; in lines, too, it may be profitably used. Propagated by division of the roots at any time. Flowering period, June to September. Stokesia Cyanea. JASPER-BLUE STOKESIA, _or_ STOKES' ASTER; _Nat. Ord._ COMPOSITÆ. This handsome, hardy, herbaceous perennial was brought from Carolina in the year 1766. It is the only species known of the genus, and was named after Jonathan Stokes, M.D., who assisted Withering, the botanist, in his arrangement of British plants. The order which includes it is a very extensive one, and it may be useful to add that it belongs to the sub-order _Carduaceæ_, or the Thistle family. The mention of this relationship may not help our subject much in the estimation of the reader, but it must be borne in mind that in plant families as well as others, there are individual members that often contrast rather than compare with their relatives, and so it is in the Thistle family, for it embraces the gay Doronicums, silky Gnaphaliums, shining Arnica, and noble Stobæa and Echinops. But the relationship will, perhaps, be better understood when it is stated that as a sub-order the _Carduaceæ_ stand side by side with that of the _Asteraceæ_, which includes so many well-known and favourite flowers. Let me now ask the reader to glance at the illustration (Fig. 101), and he will, I think, see marks of affinity with both the thistle and the aster; the few thorny teeth at the base of the larger leaves, and the spines on the smaller divisions of the imbricate calyx, are clearly features of the former, whilst the general form of the plant and flowers are not unlike the aster. Of all herbaceous plants, this is one of the latest to bloom; in favourable situations it will begin in October, but often not until November and December in northern parts of the country; and, I hardly need add, unless severe frosts hold off, it will be cut down before its buds expand. There is much uncertainty about its flowering, when planted in the ordinary way, so that, fine as its flowers are, the plant would scarcely be worth a place in our gardens, if there were no means by which such uncertainty could be at least minimised; and were it not a fact that this plant may be bloomed by a little special treatment, which it justly merits, it would not have been introduced in this book, much less illustrated. The plant itself is very hardy, enduring keen frosts without apparent damage, and the bloom is also durable, either cut or on the plant. I scarcely need further describe the flowers, as the form is a very common one. It has, however, a very ample bract, which supports a large imbricate calyx, the members of which have stiff bristle-like hairs. Each flower will be 2in. to 3in. across, and of a fine blue colour. The leaves are arranged on stout round stems, 18in. high, being from 2in. to 6in. long, somewhat lobed and toothed at the base, the teeth rather spiny; their shape varies very much, but generally they are lance-shaped, concave, often waved at the edges, and otherwise contorted. The foliage is more thickly furnished at the upper part of the plant, it has a glaucous hue, is of good substance, smooth and shining, like many of the gentians. It will, therefore, be seen that this is far from a weedy-looking subject, and throughout the season has a tidy and shrub-like appearance, but it grows top-heavy, and, unless supported, is liable to be snapped off at the ground line by high winds. [Illustration: FIG. 101. STOKESIA CYANEA. (One-sixth natural size.)] In order to get it to bloom before the frosts cut it, the soil and situation should be carefully selected; the former cannot be too sandy if enriched with manure, whilst cold, stiff soil is quite unsuited to it. The position should not only have the sunniest possible aspect, but be at the base of a wall that will ward off the more cutting winds. In such snug quarters many things may be had in bloom earlier, and others kept in flower through the winter, as violets; whilst fuchsias, crinums, African and Belladonna lilies, and similar roots, that would perish in more exposed parts, will live from year to year in such situations. Unless the subject now under consideration can have these conditions, it is useless to plant it--not that its hardiness is doubtful, but because its blooming period should be hastened. Its propagation may be by division of the roots after it has flowered, or in spring. Flowering period, October to December. Symphytum Caucasicum. CAUCASIAN COMFREY; _Nat. Ord._ BORAGINACEÆ. A comparatively modern species in English gardens, belonging to a genus well represented by native species, from which this differs mainly in being less tall and hairy, and otherwise less coarse. The erect habit, and abundant azure flowers produced in pendent form, which, moreover, last for several weeks, go to make this a capital border plant. If not an old species, from its resemblance to some which are so, it is rendered a suitable companion to "old-fashioned" subjects. The plant grows to a height of nearly 2ft., is of dark greyish-green colour, from being thickly covered with short, stiff hairs, on every part, including the calyx. The flowers are more than ½in. long, produced in elongated clusters, opening three or four at a time, and just before expansion they are of a bright rose colour, but afterwards turn a fine blue; calyx five-parted, as also is the corolla, the segments being drawn in at the mouth. The entire flower is long and bell-shaped; the pendent clusters of bloom are well held out from the main stem by leafy branches, each being terminated by two racemes. The leaves of the root are large and stalked, oval, lance-shaped, and wrinkled; those of the stems are stalkless, and so attached as to give the stems a winged appearance near their junction. The plant will thrive in any kind of soil, but it likes shade and moisture, and a specimen grown under such conditions will be found to be much superior in every way. A position under fruit trees suits it admirably, and for such thoughtful planting it will well repay the lover of flowers for vase decoration. It also makes a good subject for large or rough rockwork, on which, however, it should be sheltered from the mid-day sun. Its propagation may be carried out at any time by dividing the roots, but autumn is the preferable period. Flowering period, April to June. Tiarella Cordifolia. _Nat. Ord._ SAXIFRAGACEÆ. [Illustration: FIG. 102. TIARELLA CORDIFOLIA. (One-fifth natural size; _a_, flower, natural size.)] The illustration (Fig. 102), together with the order given to which it belongs, will convey a fair idea of the style and habit of the plant, but its exquisite flowers must be seen to be appreciated, and hardly could they appear to more advantage than in a growing state, the rich foliage forming their most natural and effective ground. This hardy herbaceous perennial has been known to English gardens for 150 years, and was introduced from North America, where it grows in glorious masses, but common as it is in its native country, and long as it has been grown in this, I scarcely know a flower respecting which so many have been in error as regards the true species. I have had all sorts of things sent to me under the name, and, after all, it is easy to be wrong with it unless the amateur has either closely noted its distinctions or grown it for a year at least. Heucheras are similar in habit and shape of foliage, and are often confounded with it, though otherwise very distinct. _Tellima grandiflora_, when in its young state, is very like it, but the strong crowns should be noted--they are twice the strength of _T. cordifolia_, and develop foliage more than double its size, whilst the flowers are on stems 3ft. high, nearly green, and might easily be taken for seed pods. The Mitellas, however, are much more puzzling, the distinctions being finer and mostly of a botanical character. Still, in May and June, when all are in flower, the identification of our subject is not difficult, more especially if the other species of the same order are near for comparison. _T. cordifolia_ grows to the height of 9in. to 12in.; the flowers are composed of a calyx (five-parted) and five petals, which are entire, evenly set in the calyx. The ten stamens are prominent; each flower has a stout pedicel, which holds out the pretty white blossom in a nearly horizontal way. There is nothing of a bell-shape character about the flower, as in its nearest relative the Mitella. The flower stem is erect and round, being evenly furnished with flowers, for a length of 4in. to 6in.; the flowers are very lasting. The leaves are heart-shaped, acutely lobed, denticulate, slightly wrinkled, hairy on both sides, and more or less spotted or splashed with brown spots on the main ribs; the leaf stalks are long, and carry the foliage gracefully. The whole plant has a neat habit, and, when in vigorous health, sends out surface creepers. It enjoys moist quarters and slight shade, though it is grown as seen in the drawing in an exposed part. The soil is good, but otherwise there is nothing special about its culture. If this little spring flower can be made more known, it will be sure to be more widely cultivated; for covering the bare parts of lawn shrubberies it would form a pleasing subject, and might be mixed with the scarlet ourisia and the finer sorts of myosotis; these would make an excellent blend, all flowering together, and lasting for a long time, besides being suitable otherwise for such shady positions. When increase is desired strong plants may be divided at any time, soon after flowering being the best; if the season be dry, the young stock should be shaded by a leafy branch and kept well watered. Flowering period, May and June. Trientalis Europæa. EUROPEAN WINTERGREEN, or STAR-FLOWER; _Nat. Ord._ PRIMULACEÆ. Some may say, "Why, this is a common British plant;" and so it is in some parts, but for all that there are many who have never seen it. In no way does the mention here of this lovely little flower need an apology: the best possible reasons for growing and recommending it are in the facts that it is very beautiful and greatly admired (see Fig. 103). [Illustration: FIG. 103. TRIENTALIS EUROPÆA. (Plant, one-third natural size; blossom, full size.)] The flowers, which are ¾in. across, are salver-shaped, pure white, excepting for a day or two when newly opened, then they are stained with a soft pink; the calyx has eight handsome light green, shining, awl-shaped sepals; the corolla has five to nine petals, equal in size, flatly and evenly arranged, their pointed tips forming the star-like appearance from which the flower takes one of its common names; the flower stalks are exceedingly fine--thready--but firm, from 1in. to 3in. long, and each carries but one flower; they issue from the axils of the leaves, which are arranged in whorls of five or seven, and nearly as many blossoms will be produced from the whorl, but seldom more than one, and hardly ever more than two, flowers will be open together, when they occupy the central position of the foliage, which gives the plant an elegant appearance. The leaves are of a pale green colour, sometimes a little bronzed at the tips, veined, entire, bald, lance-shaped, and, as before hinted, verticillate; they vary much in size, being from 1in. to 3in. long and ½in. to 1in. broad. The stems are round, reddish, slender, and naked, with the exception of two or three minute round leaves, borne distantly apart; the stems, too, like the leaves, vary in length; sometimes they grow 8in., while others equally floriferous are not above 3in. high; the root is creeping, and somewhat tuberous. A colony of this plant has the appearance of a miniature group of palms, bedecked with glistening stars at the flowering time, and it is one of the most durable flowers I know; so persistent, indeed, are they, that botanical descriptions make mention of it. In a cut state they equal either violets or snowdrops, from the beautiful combination of flowers and foliage, and it is a pity that it is not grown in sufficient quantities for cutting purposes. Its culture is very easy, but to do it well it may be said to require special treatment; in its wild state it runs freely, and the specimens are not nearly so fine as they may be had under cultivation with proper treatment. It should have moist quarters, a little shade, light vegetable soil, and confinement at the roots. I ought, perhaps, to explain the last-mentioned condition. It would appear that if the quick-spreading roots are allowed to ramble, the top growths are not only straggling, but weak and unfruitful. To confine its roots, therefore, not only causes it to grow in compact groups, but in every way improves its appearance; it may be done by planting it in a large seed pan, 15in. across, and 4in. or 6in. deep. Let it be well drained; over the drainage place a layer of lumpy peat, on which arrange another of roots, and fill up with leaf soil and peat mixed with sand; this may be done any time from September to February; the pan may then be plunged in a suitable position, so as to just cover the rim from sight, and so do away with artificial appearances; but if it is sunk too deep, the roots will go over the rim and all the labour will be lost. So charming is this plant when so grown, that it is worth all the care. A well-known botanist saw such a pan last spring, and he could hardly believe it to be our native species. Pans at two years old are lovely masses, and very suitable for taking as grown for table decoration. The outer sides of the pans should be banked down to the tray with damp moss, which could be pricked in with any soft-coloured flowers, as dog roses, pinks or forget-me-nots. I will only add that, unless the root confinement is effected either in the above or some other way, according to my experience, the plant will never present a creditable appearance as a cultivated specimen; at the same time, this somewhat troublesome mode of planting it is not in proportion to the pleasure it will afford and certainly ought not to prevent its introduction into every garden. Flowering period, May and June. Trillium Erectum. ERECT WOOD-LILY; _Nat. Ord._ MELANTHACEÆ. [Illustration: FIG. 104. TRILLIUM ERECTUM. (One-half natural size.)] A hardy, tuberous perennial, from North America, whence most, perhaps all, the species of this genus are imported. The peculiar form of the plants gives rise to the generic name. A flowering specimen has on one stem three leaves, three sepals, and three petals; the specific name is in reference to the more erect habit of this species compared with others. Of _T. erectum_ there are several varieties, having different-coloured flowers; the specimens from which the drawing (Fig. 104) was taken have rich brown or dark maroon flowers. Little groups have a rather quaint look, they being very formal, the flowers curiously placed, and of unusual colour. The flowers are fully 2in. across, or much more, if the petals did not reflex almost their whole length. The sepals of the calyx are exactly alternate with the petals, and remain erect, giving the flower a characteristic quality; and, let me add, they are far more pleasing to the eye than to the sense of smell. The leaves are arranged in threes on the main stem, and that number constitutes the entire foliage of the plant; they are stalkless, oval, but pointed, entire, smooth, and of a shining dark green colour. The specimens from which the illustration was made are 5in. to 6in. high, but their height differs very much with the positions in which they are grown, shade and moisture inducing taller growths. The roots, which are tuberous, are of unusual form--soft swollen root-stocks may be more descriptive of them. Trilliums are now in much favour, and their quiet beauty is likely to create a genuine love for them. Moreover, the different species are distinct, and if grown in cool, shady quarters, their flowers remain in good form and colour for a long time. They are seen to most advantage in a subdued light, as under the shade of rather tall but not too thickly grown trees. They require vegetable soil, no matter how light it may be, provided it can be maintained in a moist state, the latter condition being indispensable. Trilliums are capable of taking a good share towards supplying shade-loving subjects. How finely they would mix with anemones, violets, _Paris quadrifolia_, hellebores, and such like flowers! Colonies of these, planted so as to carpet small openings in shrubberies, would be a clear gain in several ways to our gardens; to many they would be a new feature; more showy flowers would not have to be given up for such an arrangement, but, on the other hand, both would be more enjoyed by the contrast. Trilliums increase slowly; propagation may be carried out by the division of the roots of healthy plants. Flowering period, May and June. Triteleia Uniflora. _Sometimes called_ MILLA UNIFLORA; ONE-FLOWERED TRITELEIA, _or_ SPRING STAR FLOWER; _Nat. Ord._ LILIACEÆ. This is a favourite flower, and in some soils increases very fast; it is the commonest species of the very limited genus to which it belongs; was brought from South America only so recently as 1836, and it is already extensively grown in this country, and as a trade article is very cheap indeed, thanks to its intrinsic worth. Though small, its star-like form gives it a lively and effective appearance in the borders. It is much used by the Americans as a window and greenhouse plant, notwithstanding that it is a wild flower with them, and its pretty shape and lovely hues render it eligible for such uses, but on account of the esteem in which is held the odour of garlic, I should not like to recommend it for such close associations. The flower in shape is, as the generic name implies, like the Trillium, formed of three, or rather threes; the divisions are arranged in threes, or triangularly; the two triangles, being crossed, give the flower a geometrical and star-like effect. The flowers, which are 1in. to 2in. across, are borne on slender stems, 4in. to 6in. long. They are nearly white, but have various tints, bluish reflections, with a line of blue in each petal. The leaves resemble those of the snowdrop when overgrown and turning flabby, and have a somewhat untidy and sprawling habit; they are abundantly produced from the rather small cocoon-shaped bulbs. On the whole, the plant is very ornamental when in flower, and the bloom is produced more or less for many weeks; at any rate, it is an early flower, and if it cannot be used indoors it should be extensively planted amongst border subjects, than which there are few more hardy or reliable. Propagated by divisions of the crowded bulbs every other year, during late summer. [Illustration: FIG. 105. TRITELEIA UNIFLORA. (One-fourth natural size.)] _T. u. lilacina_ (the Lilac-coloured Star Flower) is a most handsome variety, having, as implied by the name, a richly coloured flower. I am indebted to a lady for roots and flowers recently sent me; so far as I know, it is not yet generally distributed. It is very distinct from the type in having smaller parts throughout, and a more highly coloured bloom, with the outer surface of the shining tube of a darker or brownish-green colour. I have seen a mauve coloured form, but this is much more pronounced and effective. The chief recommendation of this otherwise desirable flower, to my thinking, is its rich, new-mown hay scent; in this it differs much from the parent form. Flowering period, March to May. Tritoma Uvaria. GREAT TRITOMA; _Common Names_, FLAME-FLOWER, RED-HOT POKER; _Nat. Ord._ LILIACEÆ-HEMERO-CALLIDEÆ. This is one of our finest late-flowering plants; it has, moreover, a tropical appearance, which renders it very attractive. It is fast becoming popular, though as yet it is not very often seen in private gardens; it comes from the Cape of Good Hope, its year of introduction being 1707. In this climate, when planted in well-exposed situations and in sandy loam, it proves hardy but herbaceous; if protected it is evergreen; and I ought to add that if it is planted in clay soil, or where the drainage is defective, it will be killed by a severe winter; but when such simple precautions as are here indicated will conduce to the salvation of a somewhat doubtful plant, it may be fairly termed hardy. According to my experience during severe winters, plants in wet stiff loam were all killed, but others of the same stock, in light sandy earth, did not suffer in the least. I have also made similar observations outside my own garden. The stout scapes or stems sometimes reach a height of 4ft., and are topped with long or cocoon-shaped spikes of orange and red flowers; the flowers are tubular and small, closely arranged, and drooping; each will be about an inch long, and the spikes 6in. to 8in. long. The leaves are narrow, 2ft. to 3ft. long, keeled, channelled, and rough on the edges, of a dark green colour and prostrate habit. Either amongst trees or in more conspicuous positions this flower proves very effective, whilst in lines it is simply dazzling; when grown in quantity it may be cut for indoor decoration, than which few large flowers are more telling. Cultural hints have already been given in speaking of its hardiness, but I may add that where the soil is naturally light and dry a liberal dressing of well-rotted manure may be dug in with great benefit to the flowers. It is readily propagated by division of the roots every third year; the young stock should be put in rows, the earth having been deeply stirred and well broken; this may be done in late autumn or spring--if the former, a top dressing of leaves will assist root action. This bold and brilliant flower appears in September, and is produced in numbers more or less to the end of the year, provided the season does not set in very severe. Tropæolum Tuberosum. TUBEROUS TROPÆOLUM; _Nat. Ord._ TROPÆOLACEÆ. All the species of this genus are highly decorative garden subjects, including the annual varieties, and otherwise they are interesting. They are known by various names, as Trophy-plant, Indian Cress, and Nasturtium, though the latter is only applicable strictly to plants of another order. The plant under notice is a climber, herbaceous and perennial, having tuberous roots, whence its specific name; they much resemble small potatoes, and are eaten in Peru, the native country of the plant. It has not long been grown in this country, the date of its introduction being 1836; it is not often seen, which may be in part owing to the fact of its being considered tender in this climate. But let me at once state that under favourable conditions, and such as may easily be afforded in any garden, it proves hardy. As a matter of fact, I wintered it in 1880-1, and also in 1881-2, which latter does not signify much, as it proved so mild; but it must be admitted that the first-mentioned winter would be a fair test season. The position was very dry, viz., on the top of a small bank of earth, against a south wall; the soil was sandy loam, and it was overgrown with ivy, the leaves of which would doubtless keep out many degrees of cold, as also would the dryness of the soil; another point in favour of my specimen proving hardy, would be the fact of its exposure to the sun, by which the tubers would be well and duly ripened. It is one of the handsomest trailers or climbers I know for the herbaceous garden; a free grower, very floriferous, bright, distinct, and having a charming habit. The illustration (Fig. 106) can give no idea of the fine colours of its flowers, or richly glaucous foliage. One specimen in my garden has been much admired, thanks to nothing but its own habit and form; under a west wall, sheltered from the strong winds, it grows near some _Lilium auratum_; after outgrowing the lengths of the stems, and having set off to advantage the lily bloom, it caught by its tendril-like shoots an apricot tree on the wall, and then reached the top, being furnished with bloom its whole length. The flowers are orange and scarlet, inclining to crimson; they are produced singly on long red stalks, which spring from the axils of the leaves; the orange petals are small and overlapping, being compactly enclosed in the scarlet calyx; the spur, which is also of the same colour, is thick and long, imparting a pear-like form to the whole flower, which, however, is not more than 1½in. long. The leaves are nearly round in outline, sub-peltate, five, but sometimes only three-lobed; lobes entire, sometimes notched, smooth and glaucous; the leaf-stalks are long and bent, and act as tendrils. The plant makes rapid growth, the stems going out in all directions, some trailing on the ground. It is a good subject for the drier parts of rockwork, where a twiggy branch should be secured, which it will soon cover. It is also fine for lattice work, or it may be grown where it can appropriate the dried stems of lupine and larkspurs. For all such situations it is not only showy, but beautiful. The flowered sprays are effective in a cut state, especially by gaslight; they come in for drooping or twining purposes, and last a long time in water. [Illustration: FIG. 106. TROPÆOLUM TUBEROSUM. (One-fifth natural size.)] If grown as a tender plant its treatment is as simple as can be; the tubers may be planted in early spring in any desired situation, and when the frosts at the end of the season have cut down the foliage, the tubers may be taken up and stored in sand; but if it is intended to winter it out the situation should be chosen for its dryness, and the soil should be of a sandy nature, in which the tubers ought to be placed 5in. or 6in. deep. It is self-propagating, the tubers being numerously produced; and like "potato sets," the larger ones may be cut in pieces; if, however, numbers are not the object they are better left uncut. Caterpillars are fond of this plant; at the first sight of an eaten leaf, they should be looked for and destroyed. It begins to flower in the latter part of summer, continuing until stopped by frosts. Umbilicus Chrysanthus. _Nat. Ord._ CRASSULACEÆ. [Illustration: FIG. 107. UMBILICUS CHRYSANTHUS. (One-half natural size.)] This is a very pretty and distinct subject, and never fails to flower very late in the year. It is a plant having the appearance of being tender, and is not often seen growing fully exposed in the garden; it is, however, perfectly hardy, enduring any amount of cold; it suffers more from wet. It is also evergreen. Its soft dull or greyish-green rosettes are in marked contrast with the rigid and shining sempervivums, in the company of which it is frequently placed. It is an alpine subject, and comes from the mountains of Asiatic Turkey, being also found more west. Not only is it interesting, but its pretty form and habit are qualities which render it very useful in a garden, more especially for dry parts, such as old walls and rockwork. It grows 6in. high, the older rosettes elongate and form leafy flower stalks, which are topped by drooping panicles of flowers, somewhat bell shaped; each flower is ¾in. long, of a yellowish white colour; the petals are finely pointed, and well supported by a fleshy calyx; the bloom is slowly developed and very enduring, even when the worst weather prevails. The leaves are arranged in flat rosette form (the rosettes from 1in. to 2in. across), lower leaves spathulate, those near the centre more oval. All are fleshy, covered with short hairs, and somewhat clammy to the touch. Its habit is neat, and it adorns such situations as otherwise suit it, viz., banks or risen beds, and such other positions as have already been named. Its culture is easy, but it ought to have the compost it most enjoys--peat and grit--and it should be sheltered from the strong winds, otherwise its top-heavy flower stalks will be laid prostrate. When it once finds a happy home it increases fast; the thick stalks are procumbent and emit roots. These may either be left to form large specimens or be taken off during the growing season for stock. Excessive wet is its greatest enemy. For such subjects, the wire and glass shelters are not only a remedy, but very handy. Flowering period, summer, until stopped by frosts. Vaccinium Vitis-Idæa. RED WHORTLE-BERRY; _sometimes called_ COW-BERRY; _Nat. Ord._ VACCINACEÆ. Although a native evergreen, and in some parts occurring extensively, it proves to be both decorative and useful as a garden subject; as a neat evergreen it is worthy of a place, especially when it is not to be found near in a wild state. It is seldom seen without either its waxy and pink-tinted white flowers or its bright clusters of red berries, but in October it carries both, which, together with the fine condition of the foliage, renders the shrub most attractive. It grows 6in. to 9in. high under cultivation. In form the flowers somewhat resemble the lily of the valley, but they are closely set in the stems and partly hidden, owing to the shortness and drooping character of the racemes; not only are the flowers pleasingly tinted, but they exhale a full and spicy odour; the buds, too, are tinted with a lively pink colour on their sunny sides. The berries are quickly developed, being nearly the size of the holly berry, but a more bright red. The leaves are stout, shining, and leathery, and ofttimes pleasingly bronzed. They are over ½in. long and egg-shaped, being bent backwards. The stems are furnished with short hairs, are much branched, and densely foliaged. This compact-growing shrub would make a capital edging, provided it was well grown in vegetable soil. It would go well with _Erica carnea_ to form a double line, either to a shrubbery or permanent beds of dwarf flowering trees. Now that berries are so much used for wearing about the person and for indoor decoration, those of this shrub may become useful. A dishful of sprigs in October proves pleasant both to the sight and smell, the flowers and fruit being charmingly blended. [Illustration: FIG. 108. VACCINIUM VITIS-IDÆA. (Natural size.)] _V. v.-i. major_ is a variety which is simply larger in all its parts; it is, however, rather more bronzed in the foliage. I daresay by many it would be preferred to the typical form, both for its robust and decorative qualities. It is nearly twice the size of the type. As may be inferred, both from the order to which this shrub belongs and the localities where it occurs in its wild state, a peaty or vegetable soil will be required. I find the species grow most freely in a mixture of leaf soil and sand, the position being moist but exposed. It does not object to a little shade, but then its useful berries are neither so numerously produced nor so well coloured. It is easily propagated by division at almost any time. Flowering period, May to October. Veronica Gentianoides. _Syn._ V. GENTIANIFOLIA; GENTIAN-LEAVED SPEEDWELL; _Nat. Ord._ SCROPHULARIACEÆ. This is a distinct and pleasing species, viewed as a garden plant. It is very hardy, and one of the herbaceous kinds; it has been grown in English gardens nearly 150 years, and came originally from the Levant. It is pretty widely used, but it deserves a place in every garden; not only are its tall spikes of flowers effective during their season, but the foliage, compared with other Veronicas, is of a bright and plump character. The newly-formed tufts, which are somewhat rosette-shaped, have a fresh appearance throughout the winter, it being one of the few herbaceous subjects in which the signs of life are so visible in this climate. The flowers are small-½in. in diameter--numerously produced on spikes 18in. high. They are blue, striped with light and dark shades; both calyx and corolla, as common to the genus, are four-parted, petals of uneven size. The flower spikes are finely developed, the flowers and buds occupying 12in. of their length, and tapering off to a point which bends gracefully. The buds are not less pretty than the flowers, resembling as they do turquoise in a deep setting of the calyx. The leaves are smooth, shining, and of much substance, 3in. to 6in. long, and 1in. to 2in. broad, lance-shaped, serrated, and sheathing. They are of a somewhat clustered arrangement close to the ground. Good pieces of this plant, 1ft. to 2ft. across, are very effective, and flower for a good while. The rich and graceful spikes are of great value for vase decoration, one or two sufficing in connection with other suitable flowers. There is a lovely variety of this species called _V. g. variegata_; in shape and habit it resembles the type though scarcely as vigorous, but not at all "miffy." The leaves are richly coloured pale green, white, and pink; and the flowers, as seldom occurs in variegated forms, are larger and more handsome than in the parent; in all respects, it is as useful, and, for forming an edging, perhaps more suitable than the common form. Both kinds like a good fat loam and a moist situation; they may be grown either in borders or on rockwork, but specimens on the latter compare poorly with those grown otherwise; either they are too dry, or the soil gets washed from them, so that the new roots, which strike down from the surface-creeping stems, do not find the needful nourishment. Their increase is easily effected by division of the rooted stems any time after they have done flowering. If the season is droughty, they should be well watered. Flowering period, May to July. Veronica Pinguifolia. FAT-LEAVED SPEEDWELL; _Nat. Ord._ SCROPHULARIACEÆ. This is a rather uncommon species, being of the shrubby section, but unlike many of its relative kinds, it is perfectly hardy, also evergreen and very dwarf; a specimen three or four years old is but a diminutive bush, 18in. through and 8in. high. The habit is dense, the main or old branches are prostrate, the younger wood being erect and full of very short side shoots. The flowers are produced on the new wood; the chubby flower-spikes issue from the axils of the leaves near the leading shoot; in some cases there are three, in others four, but more often two. Each flower spike has a short, stout, round stem, nearly an inch long, and the part furnished with buds is nearly as long again. At this stage (just before they begin to open) the buds are rice-shaped, snow white, waxy, and arranged cone form. They are, moreover, charmingly intersected with the pale green sepals in their undeveloped stage. The little bunches of buds are simply exquisite. The flowers are small, pure white, waxy, and twisted in the petals. The two filaments are longer than the petals, having rather large anthers, which are bright purple. This pleasing feature, together with the young shoots in the midst of the blossoms, which have small stout glaucous leaves tipped with yellow--nearly golden--give the clusters a bouquet-like appearance. The leaves are small--little more than half an inch long--and ovate, slightly cupped, stem-clasping, and opposite. They are a pale glaucous hue, and closely grown on the stems; they greatly add to the rich effect of the flowers. This shrub is a most fitting subject for rockwork, and it would also make an edging of rare beauty, which, if well grown, no one could but admire. It seems to enjoy loam and leaf soil in a moist but sunny situation. It may be propagated by cuttings, taken with a part of the previous year's wood. Flowering period, May to July. Veronica Prostrata. PROSTRATE SPEEDWELL; _Nat. Ord._ SCROPHULARIACEÆ. This is sometimes confounded with _V. repens_, I presume from the slight distinction in the specific names, but so different are the two species that no one who has seen them can possibly take one for the other. _V. repens_ is herb-like; it creeps and roots, and has nearly white flowers in April; but _V. prostrata_ is a deciduous trailer, and the more common and best form has fine gentian-blue flowers; it is a capital rock plant, being most effective when hanging over the face of large stones. The flowers are small, and produced in rather long sprays, which are numerous, so that little else than flowers can be seen for two or three weeks. It will grow and flower freely in any soil, but the aspect should be sunny; it is easily increased by division or rootlets. I may add that the very long stems of this prostrate plant (when in bloom) are well adapted for indoor decoration. Where pendent, deep blue flowers are needed, there are very few good blues so suitable. Flowering period, May to July. Vesicaria Græca. _Nat. Ord._ CRUCIFERÆ. This beautiful, diminutive, hardy evergreen shrub comes to us from Switzerland, being an alpine species (see Fig. 109). [Illustration: FIG. 109. VESICARIA GRÆCA. (One-third natural size; 1, full size.)] When in flower it does not exceed the height of 6in. or 8in., at which time it is very showy, covered, as it is, with flowers of the brightest golden yellow, surpassing the golden alyssum, which in some respects it resembles, being half woody, possessing greyish leaves, and dense heads of flowers, which, however, are arranged in small corymbs, and being also much larger. The leaves of the flower stalks resemble lavender leaves in general appearance; those of the unproductive stems are larger, and arranged sparingly in rigid rosette form, such unproductive stems being few. The neat and erect habit of the plant renders it most suitable for rockwork or edgings, and otherwise, from its long continued flowering, which will exceed a month in moderate weather, it is one of the most useful spring flowers; whilst, for cutting purposes, it cannot but rank with the more choice, as, combined with extra brightness of colour, it exhales a rich hawthorn perfume. To all who have a garden, big or little, I would say, grow this sweet little shrub. It has never failed to do well with me in any situation that was fully exposed; it flowers freely in a light dry bed, but on rockwork it is most at home. The quickest way to prepare plants of flowering strength is to divide strong pieces; but this interferes with the larger specimens, which are by far the best forms in which to grow and retain it. Another mode is to cut off all the flowers nearly down to the old wood; side shoots will thus be induced to grow earlier than otherwise, so that in late summer they may be taken off as slips, and there will still be plenty of time to strike them like wallflower slips, and get plenty of roots to them before the cold weather sets in. The plant also produces seed freely in its inflated pods, which affords another, but more tedious, way of increasing it. Flowering period, April to June. Viola Pedata. PEDATE-LEAVED _or_ BIRD'S-FOOT VIOLET; _Nat. Ord._ VIOLACEÆ. Over a hundred years ago this hardy herbaceous violet was introduced from North America; still, it is not largely grown, though it is now becoming quite a favourite. As may be seen by the illustration (Fig. 110), it is distinct in general appearance, more especially in the foliage, which in its young state is bird-foot-shaped, whence the appropriateness of its specific name; it should perhaps be explained that the leaves are very small compared with the flowers when the plant first begins to bloom, but later they increase very much in size. There are several characteristics about this species which render it desirable, and no choice collection should be without either this (the typical form) or some of its varieties. Deep cut, shining, dark green foliage, very bright blue flowers, and pleasing habit are its most prominent features; its blooming period is prolonged, and it has a robust constitution, which further commends it to lovers of choice flowers, and if once planted in proper quarters it gives no further trouble in the way of treatment. The flowers are nearly an inch across, bright purple-blue, produced on stalks of varying lengths, but mostly long; the leaves are many parted, segments long, narrow and lance-shaped, some being cut or toothed near the tips; the crown of the root is rather bulky; the roots are long and fleshy. The following are varieties; all are handsome and worth growing: _V. p. alba_, new; flowers white, not so robust as the type. _V. p. bicolor_, new; flowers two colours. _V. p. flabellata_ (syn. _V. digitata_); flowers light purple. _V. p. ranunculifolia_ (syn. _V. ranunculifolia_); flowers nearly white. [Illustration: FIG. 110. VIOLA PEDATA. (Two-thirds natural size.)] As this plant requires a moist and partially shaded situation, it is not eligible for doing duty indiscriminately in any part of the garden; still, it will thrive under any conditions such as the well-known violets are seen to encounter. On the north or west side of rockwork, in dips or moist parts, it will be found to do well and prove attractive. The propagation of all the kinds may be carried out by allowing the seed to scatter itself, and, before the winter sets in, a light top-dressing of half rotted leaves and sand will not only be a natural way of protecting it until germination takes place, but will also be of much benefit to the parent plants. Another mode of increase is to divide the roots of strong and healthy specimens; in this way only can true kinds be obtained; seedlings are almost certain to be crossed. Flowering period, May and June. Viola Tricolor. THREE-COLOURED VIOLET, PANSY, or HEARTSEASE; _Nat. Ord._ VIOLACEÆ. [Illustration: FIG. 111. VIOLA TRICOLOR. (One-third natural size.)] This well known herbaceous perennial is a British species. It has long been grown in gardens, where, by selection and crossing, innumerable and beautiful kinds have been produced, so that at the present time it is not only a "florist's flower," but a general favourite. Besides the above-mentioned common names, it has many others, and it may not be uninteresting to repeat them--"Love in Idleness," "Call me to you," "Kiss me ere I rise," "Herb Trinity," and "Three Faces under one Hood." Although this plant is herbaceous, the old stems remain green until the new growths come into flower, and, in many varieties, by a little management in plucking out the buds during summer, flowers may be had in the autumn and well into winter. If, also, from other plants early cuttings have been taken, and become well rooted, they will produce large flowers very early in spring, and so the Pansy may be had in flower nearly the year round. Any description of this well-known plant would be superfluous to an English reader. The wild _V. tricolor_ is, however, a very different plant and flower to its numerous offspring, such as the illustration (Fig. 111) depicts, and in which there is ever a tendency to "go back." It is only by constant care and high cultivation that the Pansy is kept at such a high standard of excellence, and one may add that such labour is well repaid by the results. With no flower more than the Pansy does all depend on the propagation and culture. Not the least reliance can be placed on seeds for producing flowers like those of the parent. Cuttings or root divisions should be made in summer, so as to have them strong, to withstand the winter. They enjoy a stiffish loam, well enriched. And in spring they may be lifted with a ball and transplanted into beds, borders, lines, or irregular masses, where they are equally effective, and no flower is more reliable for a profusion of bloom. Yucca Filamentosa. THREADY-LEAVED YUCCA; _Nat. Ord._ LILIACEÆ. This is of a more deciduous nature than _Y. gloriosa_, reclothing itself each spring more amply with foliage. In December, however, it is in fine form, and though it is a better flowering species than most of its genus, and to a fair extent valuable for its flowers, it will be more esteemed, perhaps, as a shrub of ornamental foliage. It came from Virginia in the year 1675. The flowers are pretty, greenish-white, bell-shaped, and drooping: they are arranged in panicles, which, when sent up from strong plants, are, from their size, very attractive; but otherwise they are hardly up to the mark as flowers. The leaves in form are lance-shaped, concave, reflexed near the ends, and sharp-pointed. The colour is a yellowish-green, the edges are brown, and their substance is split up into curled filaments, which are sometimes 9in. or more long, and are blown about by every breeze. From these thready parts the species takes its name. It is seldom that this kind grows more than 4ft. high, but a greater number of offsets are produced from this than from any other of our cultivated Yuccas. I know no better use for this kind than planting it on the knolly parts of rockwork, positions which in every way suit it, for it enjoys a warm, dry soil. _Y. f. variegata_, as its name implies, is a form with coloured foliage. In the north it proves to be far from hardy, and therefore cannot be recommended for culture in the open garden. My reasons for mentioning it are that it is convenient to do so when the typical form is under notice, and that it is frequently spoken of as hardy. Subjects needing well selected positions, protection, and a mild winter in order to keep them alive from autumn to spring, can in no sense be considered hardy, even though they may be planted out of doors. Flowering period, August to October. Yucca Gloriosa. GLORIOUS YUCCA, ADAM'S NEEDLE; _Nat. Ord._ LILIACEÆ. A hardy evergreen shrub which has long been grown in England, but for all that is not often met with in private gardens. It is a native of South America, and was brought to our shores in 1596. The genus is remarkable for not flowering constantly in our climate, and also for slow growth; fortunately, both these drawbacks, if one may term them such, are counter-balanced by the handsome foliage of the various species, mostly of an evergreen and very durable nature, and also by the bold and symmetrical arrangement of the same. This Yucca flowers in the autumn, but it may be considered more especially a foliage subject, as the bloom is insignificant compared with the leaves and is not produced more than once in four years as a rule. The leaves assume their richest hues and become thoroughly matured about the end of the year; and when the ground is covered with a thick coat of snow, their rigid forms are amongst the very few of any note that can be seen. In any garden, no matter how large or how small, a Yucca imparts a style or character to it which scarcely any other subject can give. It may not be so easy to explain this, but the fact is recognised by the most casual observer at first sight. If I say the effect is tropical, noble, rich, and sometimes graceful, a partial idea of its ornamental qualities may be conveyed; but to know its value and enjoy it, it should be grown. The species under consideration has many forms, some differing rather widely from the type, so much so that these varieties are honoured with specific names. First may be given a brief description of the parent form. It grows from 3ft. to 6ft. high, according to the more or less favourable conditions. These dimensions apply to blooming specimens; but shrubs, three to six years old, if they have never bloomed, may not exceed 1ft. to 2ft. in height, and about the same in diameter. The flowers, as may be gathered from the order to which the genus belongs, are lily-like, or bell-shaped; they are of a greenish white colour, arranged in lax clusters on stoutish stalks. The leaves are 12in. to 2ft. long, 3in. or more broad in their widest parts, concave or boat-shaped, sharp pointed, glaucous, sometimes slightly plicate, rigid, and leathery. The habit, after flowering, is generally to form offsets, when the plant loses much of its former boldness and effect. From the lateness of its blooming period, and a lack of suitable conditions, it does not ripen seed in our climate, and it must of necessity be raised from seed ripened in more favourable climes. The following are said to be some of its varieties, bearing useful descriptive names: _Y. g. pendula_, having a pendulous habit or reflexed leaves; _Y. g. plicata_, having plaited leaves; _Y. g. minor_, a lesser form in its various parts. There are other reputed varieties of more doubtful descent. For cultivation see _Y. recurva_. Yucca Recurva. RECURVE-LEAVED YUCCA; _Common Name_, WEEPING YUCCA; _Nat. Ord._ LILIACEÆ. This is a charming species, perfectly hardy and evergreen; it was brought from Georgia about ninety years ago. The flowers are a greenish-white, and undesirable where the shrub is grown for the sake of its ornamental qualities; fortunately they are far from being constant in their appearance. September is its blooming period in our climate. The leaves are its main feature; with age it becomes rather tall, 6ft. to 9ft. high, having a woody hole or caudex, which is largely concealed by the handsome drooping foliage; a few of the youngest leaves from the middle of the tuft remain erect. The whole specimen is characterised by its deep green and glossy foliage, combined with a most graceful habit. Few things can be planted with such desirable effect as this shrub; it puts a stamp on the landscape, parterre and shrubland, and when well grown forms a landmark in the most extensive garden. [Illustration: FIG. 112. YUCCA RECURVA (one-eighteenth natural size.)] For all the species and varieties of Yucca the mode of culture is not only similar but simple. They have long roots of a wiry texture. These denote that they require deep soil, light, and rather dry. Sandy loam, light vegetable soil, or marl and peat grow them well. Raised beds or borders, the higher parts of rockwork, or any open position, thoroughly drained, will not only be conducive to their health, but also prove fitting points of vantage. In planting Yuccas it must never be forgotten that perfect drainage is the all important requisite, and if it is not afforded the stock will never thrive, but ultimately die from rot or canker. Another matter, when referred to, will perhaps complete all that is special about the culture, or rather planting, of Yuccas. Begin with young stuff; I know nothing that transplants worse than this class of shrubs after they have become considerably grown. Their spare, wiry roots, when taken out of a sandy soil, do not carry a "ball," and from the great depth to which they run they are seldom taken up without more than ordinary damage. Young specimens, 6in., 9in., or not more than 12in. high, should be preferred, and of these sizes the least will prove the safest. Yuccas are readily propagated at the proper season; and in specifying the season it is needful to point out that of offsets, from which young stock is soonest obtained, there are two kinds. Some spring from immediately below the earth, and may more properly be termed suckers; the others grow on the visible part of the stem or caudex, often close to the oldest leaves; these should be cut off with a sharp knife, in early summer, and if they have a little of the parent bark attached to them all the better. If they are planted in a shady place, in sweet sandy loam, they will make good roots before winter, and may be allowed to make the following summer's growth in the same position. In the succeeding autumn it will be a good plan to put them in their permanent places. The suckers will be found to have more or less root; they should be taken in spring from the parent specimen, the roots should be carefully preserved, and the pushing parts planted just level with the surface. FLOWERING PERIODS. As an aid to readers desirous of making a selection of plants which will secure a succession of bloom the year through, we here give a list of those described in the preceding pages, arranged according to their average periods of flowering. January. Anemone fulgens, Aralia Sieboldi, Bulbocodium vernum, Cheiranthus Cheiri, Crocus medius, Eranthis hyemalis, Helleborus abchasicus, H. antiquorum, H. Bocconi, H. colchicus, H. cupreus, H. foetidus, H. guttatus, H. niger, H. orientalis, H. olympicus, Jasminum nudiflorum, Petasites vulgaris, Saxifraga Burseriana. February. Anemone blanda, A. fulgens, A. stellata, Arabis lucida, A. Sieboldi, Bellis perennis, Bulbocodium trigynum, B. vernum, Cheiranthus Cheiri, Corydalis solida, Daphne Mezereum, Eranthis hyemalis, Erica carnea, Galanthus Elwesii, G. Imperati, G. nivalis, G. plicatus, Helleborus abchasicus, H. antiquorum, H, Bocconi, H. colchicus, H. cupreus, H. dumetorum, H. foetidus, H. guttatus, H. niger, H. odorus, H. orientalis, H. olympicus, H. purpurascens, Hepatica angulosa, H. triloba, Jasminum nudiflorum, Petasites vulgaris, Polyanthus, Primula acaulis, Saxifraga Burseriana. March. Anemone blanda, A. fulgens, A. Pulsatilla, A. stellata, Arabis lucida, Aralia Sieboldi, Bellis perennis, Bulbocodium trigynum, B. vernum, Cheiranthus Cheiri, Chionodoxa Luciliæ, Corydalis solida, Daphne Mezereum, Dentaria digitata, Doronicum caucasicum, Epigæa repens, Erica carnea, Erythronium dens-canis, Galanthus Elwesii, G. Imperati, G. nivalis, G. plicatus, G. Redoutei, Helleborus abchasicus, H. antiquorum, H. Bocconi, H. colchicus, H. cupreus, H. dumetorum, H. foetidus, H. guttatus, H. niger, H. odorus, H. orientalis, H. olympicus, H. purpurascens, Hepatica angulosa, H. triloba, Jasminum nudiflorum, Leucojum vernum, Muscari botryoides, M. racemosum, Narcissus minor, Omphalodes verna, Orobus vernus, Phlox frondosa, Polyanthus, Primula acaulis, P. Cashmeriana, P. denticulata, P. marginata, P. purpurea, P. Scotica, Pulmonarias, Puschkinia scilloides, Saxifraga Burseriana, S. ciliata, S. cordifolia, S. coriophylla, S. ligulata, S. oppositifolia, S. Rocheliana, Sisyrinchium grandiflorum, Soldanellas, Triteleia uniflora. April. Alyssum saxatile, Andromeda tetragona, Anemone Apennina, A. fulgens, A. Pulsatilla, A. stellata, Arabis lucida, Bellis perennis, Calthus palustris flore-pleno, Cheiranthus Cheiri, Chionodoxa Luciliæ, Corydalis nobilis, C. solida, Daphne cneorum, D. Mezereum, Dentaria digitata, D. Jeffreyanum, D. Meadia, Dondia Epipactis, Doronicum caucasicum, Epigæa repens, Erica carnea, Erysimum pumilum, Erythronium dens-canis, Fritillaria armena, Galanthus nivalis, G. plicatus, G. Redoutei, Gentiana verna, Helleborus antiquorum, H. colchicus, H. orientalis, H. purpurascens, Hepatica angulosa, H. triloba, Houstonia coerulea, Jasminum nudiflorum, Leucojum vernum, Muscari botryoides, M. racemosum, Narcissus minor, Omphalodes verna, Orobus vernus, Phlox frondosa, Polyanthus, Primula acaulis, P. capitata, P. Cashmeriana, P. denticulata, P. farinosa, P. marginata, P. purpurea, P. Scotica, P. vulgaris flore-pleno, Pulmonarias, Puschkinia scilloides, Ranunculus acris flore-pleno, R. amplexicaulis, R. speciosum, Sanguinaria canadensis, Saxifraga Burseriana, S. ciliata, S. cordifolia, S. ligulata, S. oppositifolia, S. purpurascens, S. Rocheliana, S. Wallacei, Scilla campanulata, Sisyrinchium grandiflorum, Soldanellas, Symphytum caucasicum, Tritelia uniflora, Vesicaria græca. May. Alyssum saxatile, Anchusa Italica, A. sempervirens, Andromeda tetragona, Anemone Apennina, A. coronaria, A. decapitate, A. fulgens, A. nemorosa flore-pleno, A. Pulsatilla, A. stellata, A. sulphurea, A. sylvestris, A. vernalis, Arabis lucida, Bellis perennis, Calthus palustris flore-pleno, Cheiranthus Cheiri, C. Marshallii, Corydalis lutea, C. nobilis, C. solida, Cypripedium calceolus, Daphne cneorum, Dentaria digitata, Dianthus hybridus, Dodecatheon Jeffreyanum, D. Meadia, Dondia Epipactis, Doronicum caucasicum, Erysimum pumilum, Fritillaria armena, Gentiana acaulis, G. verna, Geranium argenteum, Heuchera, H. Americana, H. cylindrica, H. Drummondi, H. glabra, H. lucida, H. metallica, H. micrantha, H. purpurea, H. ribifolia, H. Richardsoni, Houstonia coerulea, Iberis correæfolia, Leucojum æstivum, Lithospermum prostratum, Muscari botryoides, M. racemosum, Omphalodes verna, Orchis fusca, Orobus vernus, Ourisia coccinea, Papaver orientale, Phlox frondosa, Podophyllum peltatum, Polyanthus, Primula acaulis, P. capitata, P. Cashmeriana, P. denticulata, P. farinosa, P. marginata, P. Scotica, P. vulgaris flore-pleno, Pulmonarias, Puschkinia scilloides, Ramondia pyrenaica, Ranunculus aconitifolius, R. acris flore-pleno, R. amplexicaulis, R. speciosum, Sanguinaria canadensis, Saponaria ocymoides, Saxifraga cæsia, S. ciliata, S. cordifolia, S. ligulata, S. paradoxa, S. pectinata, S. purpurascens, S. tuberosa, S. Wallacei, Scilla campanulata, Sisyrinchium grandiflorum, Soldanellas, Spiræa ulmaria variegata, Symphytum caucascium, Tiarella cordifolia, Trientalis europæa, Trillium erectum, Triteleia uniflora, Vaccinium Vitis Idæa, Veronica gentianoides, V. pinguifolia, V. prostrata, Vesicaria græca. June. Acæna Novæ Zealandiæ, Achillea ægyptiaca, A. filipendula, A. millefolium, A. Ptarmica, Allium Moly, A. neapolitanum, Anchusa italica, A. sempervirens, Anemone alpina, A. coronaria, A. decapitata, A. fulgens, A. stellata, A. sulphurea, A. sylvestris, A. vernalis, Anthericum Liliago, A. Liliastrum, Anthyllis montana, Arabis lucida, Arisæma triphyllum, Arum crinitum, Aster alpinus, Bellis perennis, Calthus palustris flore-pleno, Campanula grandis, C. latifolia, C. speciosa, Centaurea montana, Centranthus ruber, Cheiranthus Cheiri, C. Marshallii, Cornus canadensis, Corydalis lutea, C. nobilis, Cypripedium calceolus, Dianthus deltoides, D. hybridus, Dodecatheon Jeffreyanum, D. Meadia, Doronicum caucasicum, Erigeron caucasicus, E. glaucum, Erysimum pumilum, Festuca glauca, Funkia albo-marginata, Gentiana acaulis, G. Burseri, G. cruciata, G. gelida, G. verna, Geranium argenteum, Gillenia trifoliata, Hesperis matronalis flore-pleno, Heuchera, H. Americana, H. cylindrica, H. Drummondi, H. glabra, H. lucida, H. metallica, H. micrantha, H. purpurea, H. ribifolia, H. Richardsoni, Houstonia coerulea, Iberis correæfolia, Iris foetidissima, Kalmia latifolia, Lathyrus grandiflorus, L. latifolius, Leucojum æstivum, Lithospermum prostratum, Lychnis chalcedonica, L. Viscaria flore-pleno, Margyricarpus setosus, Mazus pumilio, Melittis melissophyllum, Morina longifolia, Oenothera speciosa, Oe. taraxacifolia, Ononis rotundifolia, Onosma taurica, Orchis foliosa, O. fusca, Ourisia coccinea, Papaver orientale, Pentstemons, Physalis Alkekengi, Podophyllum peltatum, Polyanthus, Pratia repens, Primula acaulis, P. capitata, P. farinosa, P. sikkimensis, P. vulgaris flore-pleno, Ramondia pyrenaica, Ranunculus aconitifolius flore-pleno, R. acris flore-pleno, R. speciosum, Saponaria ocymoides, Saxifraga cæsia, S. longifolia, S. Macnabiana, S. mutata, S. paradoxa, S. pectinata, S. peltata, S. purpurascens, S. pyramidalis, S. umbrosa, S. Wallacei, Scilla campanulata, Sempervivum Laggeri, Spiræa ulmaria variegata, S. venusta, Stenactis speciosus, Symphytum caucasicum, Tiarella cordifolia, Trientalis europæa, Trillium erectum, Vaccinum Vitis-Idæa, Veronica gentianoides, V. pinguifolia, V. prostrata, Vesicaria græca. July. Acæna Novæ Zealandiæ, Achillea ægyptiaca, A. filipendula, A. millefolium, A. Ptarmica, Allium Moly, A. neapolitanum, Anchusa Italica, A. sempervirens, Anthericum Liliago, A. liliastrum, Anthyllis montana, Arisæma triphyllum, Arum crinitum, Aster alpinus, Bellis perennis, Calystegia pubescens flore-pleno, Campanula grandis, C. latifolia, C. persicifolia, C. pyramidalis, C. speciosa, C. Waldsteiniana, Centaurea montana, Centranthus ruber, Coreopsis lanceolata, Cornus canadensis, Corydalis lutea, Dianthus deltoides, D. hybridus, Doronicum caucasicum, Edraianthus dalmaticus, Erigeron caucasicus, E. glaucum, Erysimum pumilum, Festuca glauca, Funkia albo-marginata, F. Sieboldi, Galax aphylla, Galega officinalis, G. persica lilacina, Gentiana acaulis, G. asclepiadea, G. Burseri, G. cruciata, G. gelida, Geranium argenteum, Gillenia trifoliata, Hesperis matronalis flore-pleno, Heuchera, H. americana, H. cylindrica, H. Drummondi, H. glabra, H. lucida, H. metallica, H. micrantha, H. purpurea, H. ribifolia, H. Richardsoni, Houstonia coerulea, Hydrangea paniculata grandiflora, Hypericum calycinum, Iris foetidissima, Isopyrum gracilis, Kalmia latifolia, Lathyrus grandiflorus, L. latifolius, Leucojum æstivum, Lithospermum prostratum, Lychnis chalcedonica, L. Viscaria flore-pleno, Lysimachia clethroides, Margyricarpus setosus, Mazus pumilio, Melittis melissophyllum, Monarda didyma, M. fistulosa, M. Russelliana, Morina longifolia, Muhlenbeckia complexa, Nierembergia rivularis, Oenothera speciosa, Oe. taraxacifolia, Ononis rotundifolia, Onosma taurica, Orchis foliosa, Ourisia coccinea, Pentstemons, Physalis Alkekengi, Polygonum cuspidatum, Potentilla fructicosa, Pratia repens, Primula sikkimensis, Ramondia pyrenaica, Ranunculus aconitifolius flore-pleno, Rudbeckia californica, Saponaria ocymoides, Saxifraga longifolia, S. Macnabiana, S. mutata, S. pyramidalis, S. umbrosa, S. Wallacei, Sempervivum Laggeri, Spiræa palmata, S. ulmaria variegata, S. venusta, Stenactis speciosus, Umbillicus chrysanthus, Vaccinium Vitis-Idæa, Veronica gentianoides, V. pinguifolia, V. prostrata. August. Acæna Novæ Zealandiæ, Achillea ægyptiaca, A. filipendula, A. millefolium, A. Ptarmica, Aconitum autumnale, Allium Moly, A. neapolitanum, Anchusa italica, A. sempervirens, Anemone japonica, Apios tuberosa, Asters, A. ptarmicoides, Bocconia cordata, Calystegia pubescens flore-pleno, Campanula persicifolia, C. pyramidalis, C. Waldsteiniana, Centaurea montana, Centranthus ruber, Chrysanthemum, Cichorium Intybus, Clethra alnifolia, Coreopsis auriculata, C. grandiflora, C. lanceolata, C. tenuifolia, Cornus canadensis, Corydalis lutea, Dianthus deltoides D. hybridus, Edraianthus dalmaticus, Erigeron caucasicus, E. glaucum, Eryngium giganteum, Erysimum pumilum, Festuca glauca, Funkia albo-marginata, F. Sieboldi, Galax aphylla, Galega officinalis, G. persica liliacina, Gentiana asclepiadea, G. Burseri, G. gelida, Gillenia trifoliata, Gynerium argenteum, Harpalium rigidum, Helianthus multiflorus, Hesperis matronalis flore-pleno, Heuchera, H. americana, H. cylindrica, H. Drummondi, H. glabra, H. lucida, H. metallica, H. micrantha, H. purpurea, H. ribifolia, H. Richardsoni, Hydrangea paniculata grandiflora, Hypericum calycinum, Iris foetidissima, Isopyrum gracilis, Kalmia latifolia, Lathyrus grandiflorus, L. latifolius, Linum flavum, Lobelia cardinalis, Lychnis chalcedonica, L. Viscaria flore-pleno, Lysimachia clethroides, Margyricarpus setosus, Mazus pumilio, Melittis melissophyllum, Monarda didyma, M. fistulosa, M. Russelliana, Muhlenbeckia complexa, Nierembergia rivularis, Oenothera speciosa, Oe. taraxacifolia, Ononis rotundifolia, Onosma taurica, Ourisia coccinea, Pentstemons, Phlox, Physalis Alkekengi, Polygonum Brunonis, P. cuspidatum, P. filiformis variegatum, P. vaccinifolium, Potentilla fruticosa, Pratia repens, Pyrethrum uliginosum, Rudbeckia californica, Saponaria ocymoides, Saxifraga mutata, S. Wallacei, Sedum Sieboldi, S. spectabile, Sempervivum Laggeri, Senecio pulcher, Spiræa palmata, S. ulmaria variegata, S. venusta, Statice latifolia, S. profusa, Stenactis speciosus, Tropæolum tuberosum, Umbilicus chrysanthus, Vaccinium Vitis-Idæa. September. Acæna Novæ Zealandiæ, Achillea ægyptiaca, A. filipendula, A. millefolium, Aconitum autumnale, Anchusa italica, A. sempervirens, Anemone japonica, Apios tuberosa, Asters, A. ptarmicoides, Bocconia cordata, Calystegia pubescens flore-pleno, Campanula persicifolia, C. pyramidalis, Centaurea montana, Centranthus ruber, Chrysanthemum, Cichorium Intybus, Clethra alnifolia, Colchicum autumnale, C. variegatum, Coreopsis auriculata, C. grandiflora, c. lanceolata, C. tenuifolia, Cornus canadensis, Corydalis lutea, Cyananthus lobatus, Daphne cneorum, Dianthus deltoides, Dianthus hybridus, Echinacea purpurea, Erigeron caucasicus, E. glaucum, Eryngium giganteum, Erysimum pumilum, Festuca glauca, Funkia Sieboldii, Galega officinalis, G. persica liliacina, Gynerium argenteum, Harpalium rigidum, Helianthus multiflorus, H. orygalis, Hydrangea paniculata grandiflora, Hypericum calycinum, Lactuca sonchifolia, Lilium auratum, Linum flavum, Lobelia cardinalis, Lysimachia clethroides, Margyricarpus setosus, Mazus pumilio, Monarda didyma, M. fistulosa, M. Russelliana, Ononis rotundifolia, Onosma taurica, Origanum pulchellum, Ourisia coccinea, Phlox, Physalis Alkekengi, Polygonum Brunonis, P. filiformis variegatum, P. vaccinifolium, Potentilla fruticosa, Pratia repens, Pyrethrum uliginosum, Rudbeckia californica, R. serotina, Salix reticulata, Sedum Sieboldi, S. spectabile, Senecio pulcher, Statice latifolia, S. profusa, Stenactis speciosus, Tritoma uvaria, Tropæolum tuberosum, Umbilicus chrysanthus, Vaccinium Vitis-Idæa. October. Achillea millefolium, Aconitum autumnale, Anemone japonica, Apios tuberosa, Asters, A. ptarmicoides, Campanula pyramidalis, Chrysanthemum, Colchicum autumnale, C. variegatum, Coreopsis lanceolata, Cornus canadensis, Corydalis lutea, Cyananthus lobatus, Dianthus deltoides, Echinacea purpurea, Erigeron caucasicus, E. glaucum, Erysimum pumilum, Gynerium argenteum, Helianthus orygalis, Lactuca sonchifolia, Lilium auratum, Lobelia cardinalis, Onosma taurica, Origanum pulchellum, Phlox, Physalis Alkekengi, Polygonum Brunonis, P. filiformis variegatum, P. vaccinifolium, Potentilla fruticosa, Pratia repens, Primula vulgaris flore-pleno, Rudbeckia serotina, Salix reticulata, Saxifraga Fortunei, Sedum spectabile, Senecio pulcher, Statice latifolia, S. profusa, Stokesia cyanea, Tritoma uvaria, Tropæolum tuberosum, Umbilicus chrysanthus, Vaccinium Vitis-Idæa. November. Achillea millefolium, Anemone japonica, Aralia Sieboldi, Asters, Chrysanthemum, Lilium auratum, Origanum pulchellum, Petasites vulgaris, Physalis Alkekengi, Primula vulgaris flore-pleno, Saxifraga Fortunei, Stokesia cyanea. December. Aralia Sieboldi, Eranthis hyemalis, Helleborus foetidus, H. niger, H. orientalis, H. olympicus, Jasminum nudiflorum, Petasites vulgaris, Physalis Alkekengi, Stokesia cyanea. COLOURS OF FLOWERS. The following list will be found useful to those who wish to select flowers of any particular colour:-- ~Blue~ (including some of the shades inclining to Purple). Aconitum autumnale, 5. Anemone Apennina, 12; A. blanda, 12; A. coronaria, 13; A. japonica vitifolia, 16. Anchusa italica, 8; A. sempervirens, 9. Campanula grandis, 49; C. latifolia, 50; C. persicifolia, 50; C. pyramidalis, 51. Centaurea montana, 54. Chionodoxa Luciliæ, 58. Cichorium Intybus, 61. Cyananthus lobatus, 74. Eryngium giganteum, 96. Galega officinalis, 110. Gentiana acaulis, 111; G. cruciata, 114; G. verna, 115. Hepatica triloba, 140. Houstonia coerulea, 146. Lactuca sonchifolia, 158. Lithospermum prostratum, 165. Muscari botryoides, 179; M. racemosum, 180. Omphalodes verna, 185. Orobus vernus, 192. Primula, 212; P. capitata, 213. Pulmonarias, 224; P. azurea, 225. Scilla campanulata, 267 Soldanella alpina, 276; S. montana, 276. Stokesia cyanea, 284. Symphytum caucasicum, 286. Veronica gentianoides, 300; V. prostrata, 301. Viola pedata,303; V. tricolor, 305. ~Brown.~ Cheiranthus Cheiri, 56. Corydalis nobilis, 71. Chrysanthemum, 59. Gillenia trifoliata, 117. Orchis fusca, 189. Trillium erectum, 291. ~Green.~ Helleborus abchasicus, 126; H. Bocconi, 128; H. dumetorum, 131; H. foetidus, 131; H. odorus, 136; H. orientalis elegans, 138. Heuchera Richardsoni, 146. Margyricarpus setosus, 171. ~Lilac.~ Asters or Michaelmas daisies, 37. Bulbocodium trigynum, 45; B. vernum, 46. Campanula Waldsteiniana. 53. Crocus medius, 74. Erigeron glaucum, 94. Erythronium dens canis, 98. Funkia albo-marginata, 102; F. Sieboldii, 103. Galega persica liliacina, 110. Phlox, 202. Statice latifolia, 280; S. profusa, 281. Triteleia uniflora liliacina, 293. Helleborus cupreus, 130. ~Pink~ (including shades of Blush and Rose). Achillea millefolium, 4. Anemone japonica, 16. Calystegia pubescens flore-pleno, 48. Centaurea montana, 54. Centranthus ruber coccinea, 56. Chrysanthemum, 69. Daphne cneorum, 78. Dianthus deltoides, 81, 152; D. hybridus, 82. Geranium argenteum, 116. Helleborus orientalis, 137. Hepatica triloba, 140. Heuchera glabra, 144. Lathyrus grandiflorus, 159; L. latifolius, 160. Lychnis Viscaria flore-pleno, 170. Melittis Melissophyllum, 174. Morina longifolia, 176. Origanum pulchellum, 191. Phlox, 202 Polygonum Brunonis, 207; P. vaccinifolium, 209. Primula denticulata amabilis, 217. Pulmonarias, 224; P. saccharata, 225. Saponaria ocymoides, 237. Saxifraga cordifolia, 245; S. ligulata, 249; S. peltata, 259; S. purpurascens, 261. Scilla campanulata carnea, 268. Sedum Sieboldi, 269; S. spectabile, 269. Sempervivum Laggeri, 270. Spring Beauty, 152. ~Purple~ (including shades Lilac Purple, Rosy and Reddish Purple, Purple Blue, &c). Anemone coronaria, 13; A. pulsatilla, 18; A. stellata, 20; A. vernalis, 24. Anthyllis montana, 27. Apios tuberosa, 27. Arum crinitum, 35. Aster alpinus, 37; A. Amellus, 37; A. Madame Soyance, 37. Bulbocodium vernum, 46. Campanula speciosa, 53. Colchicum autumnale, 63; C. variegatum, 64. Corydalis solida, 73. Crocus medius, 74. Chrysanthemum, 59. Cyananthus lobatus, 74. Daphne Mezereum, 79. Dentaria digitata, 81. Dodecatheon Meadia, 84; D. Meadia elegans, 85. Echinacea purpurea, 87. Edraianthus dalmaticus, 88. Erica carnea, 92. Erigeron caucasicus, 93. Erythronium dens-canis, 98. Gentiana gelida, 114. Helleborus abchasicus, 126; H. A. purpureus, 126; H. colchicus, 129; H. olympicus, 136; H. purpurascens, 139. Hepatica triloba, 140. Hesperis matronalis flore-pleno, 141. Heuchera americana, 143. Melittis Melissophyllum, 174. Monarda fistulosa, 176. Orchis foliosa, 189; O. fusca, 189. Primula cashmeriana, 214; P. denticulata, 216; P. farinosa, 217; P. purpurea, 219; P. Scotica, 220. Prunella pyrenaica, 152. Saxifraga oppositifolia, 255; S. purpurascens, 261. Sisyrinchium grandiflorum, 274. Soldanella Clusii, 276; S. minima, 276. Stenactis speciosus, 283. Viola pedata digitata, 304; V. p. flabellata, 304; V. tricolor, 305. ~Red~ (including Ruby and shades of Crimson). Bellis perennis fistulosa, 40. Centranthus ruber, 55. Daisy, Sweep, 40. Daphne Mezereum autumnale, 80. Hepatica triloba splendens, 141. Hesperis matronalis flore-pleno, 141. Lobelia cardinalis, 166. Lychnis Viscaria flore-pleno, 170. Primula acaulis, 211. Saxifraga mutata, 254. Senecio pulcher, 272. Spiræa palmata, 278; S. venusta, 280. Tropæolum tuberosum, 295. ~Scarlet.~ Anemone coronaria, 13; A. fulgens, 15. Dianthus hybridus, 82. Lychnis chalcedonica, 168. Monarda didyma, 175. Ononis rotundifolia, 185. Ourisia coccinea, 193. Papaver orientale, 195. ~Striped.~ Anemone coronaria, 13; A. stellata, 20. Arisæma triphyllum, 33. Gentiana asclepiadea, 112. ~Violet~ (including shades of Mauve). Colchicum autumnale, 63. Chrysanthemum, 59. Hepatica angulosa, 139. Mazus pumilis, 173. Pratia repens, 210. Primula, 211; P. capitata, 213; P. marginata, 218. Pulmonaria angustifolia, 225. Ramondia pyrenaica, 228. ~White~ (sometimes with delicate edgings of colour, or with pale tints). Achillea Ptarmica, 5. Allium neapolitanum, 6. Anemone coronaria, 13; A. decapetala, 15; A. japonica alba, 16; A. nemorosa flore-pleno, 17; A. stellata, 20; A. sylvestris, 22. Anthericum liliago, 25; A. liliastrum, 25; A. l. major, 27. Aralia Sieboldi, 30. Aster alpinus albus, 39; A. ptarmicoides, 39. Bellis perennis hortensis, 44. Bocconia cordata, 42. Campanula persicifolia, 50; C. pyramidalis alba, 53. Centaurea montana, 54. Centranthus ruber albus, 56. Clethra alnifolia, 62. Cornus canadensis, 68. Daisy, Bride, 40. Daphne Mezereum alba, 80. Dianthus hybridus, 82. Dodecatheon Meadia albiflorum, 85. Epigæa repens, 90. Erythronium dens canis, 98. Galax aphylla, 108. Galega officinalis alba, 110. Helleborus antiquorum, 127; H. guttatus, 132; H. niger, 132; H. n. maximus, 134. Hepatica triloba, 140. Hesperis matronalis flore-pleno, 141. Houstonia albiflora, 146. Hutchinsia alpina, 147. Hydrangea paniculata grandiflora, 148. Iberia correæfolia, 151. Kalmia latifolia, 157. Lathyrus latifolia albus, 161. Leucojum æstivum, 161; L. vernum, 162. Lilium auratum, 162. Lychnis, 168. Lysimachia clethroides, 170. Monarda Russelliana, 176. Muhlenbeckia complexa, 178. Muscari botryoides alba, 180. Nierembergia rivularis, 181. Oenothera speciosa, 182; Oe. taraxacifolia, 183. Petasites vulgaris, 198. Phlox divaricata, 202; P. glaberrima, 202; P. Nelsoni, 202. Physalis Alkekengi, 203. Podophyllum peltatum, 205. Polygonum cuspidatum, 208. Pratia repens, 210. Primula, 211. Pulmonaria officinalis alba, 225. Puschkinia scilloides, 225. Pyrethrum uliginosum, 227. Ranunculus aconitifolius, 229; R. amplexicaulis, 231. Sanguinaria canadensis, 235. Saxifraga Burseriana, 238; S. cæsia, 238; S. ceratophylla, 240; S. ciliata, 242; S. coriophylla, 245; S. Fortunei, 247; S. Macnabiana, 253; S. oppositifolia alba, 256; S. pectinata, 258; S. Rocheliana, 265; S. Wallacei, 266. Scilla campanulata alba, 268. Sisyrinchium grandiflorum album, 276. Tiarella cordifolia, 288. Trientalis europæa, 288. Tritelia uniflora, 292. Umbilicus chrysanthus, 297. Vaccinium Vitis-Idæa, 298. Veronica pinguifolia, 301; V. repens, 301. Viola pedata alba, 304; V. p. ranunculifolia, 304. Yucca filamentosa, 306; Y. gloriosa, 307; Y. recurva, 308. ~Yellow~ (all shades, from Cream to Deep Orange; also shades of Greenish Yellow). Achillea ægyptiaca, 3; A. filipendula, 4. Allium Moly, 6. Alyssum saxatile, 7. Anemone sulphurea, 21. Calthus palustris flore-pleno, 47. Cheiranthus Marshallii, 58. Coreopsis auriculata, 65, 68. Corydalis lutea, 70; C. nobilis, 71. Chrysanthemum, 59. Cypripedium calceolus, 76. Dondia Epipactus, 85. Doronicum caucasicum, 86. Eranthis hyemalis, 91. Erysimum pumilum, 97. Erythronium dens-canis, 98. Fritillaria armena, 101. Gentiana Burseri, 113. Harpalium rigidum, 121. Helianthus multiflorus, 123; H. orygalis, 124. Heuchera micrantha, 145. Hypericum calycinum, 150. Jasminum nudiflorum, 155. Linum flavum, 164. Narcissus minor, 180. Onosma taurica, 187. Potentilla fruticosa, 209. Primula, 211; P. auricula marginata, 218; P. sikkimensis, 221; P. vulgaris flore-pleno, 223. Ranunculus acris flore-pleno, 231; R. speciosum, 232. Rudbeckia californica, 233; R. serotina, 234. Saxifraga mutata, 254. Tropæolum tuberosum, 295. Vesicaria græca, 302. Viola tricolor, 305. INDEX. A. Acæna microphylla, 1. Novæ Zealandiæ, 1. Achillea ægyptica, 3. filipendula, 4. millefolium, 4. ptarmica, 4. sylvestris, 4. Aconite, winter, 91. Aconitum autumnale, 5. japonicum, 6. Adamsia scilloides, 225. Adam's needle, 307. Alkanet, Italian, 8. Allium Moly, 6. neapolitanum, 6. Alum root, 142. Alyssum saxatile, 7. Anchusa italica, 8. sempervirens, 9. Andromeda tetragona, 10. Anemone alpina, 11. apennina, 12. apiifolia, 21. blanda, 12. blue Grecian, 12. coronaria, 13. decapetala, 15. double-wood, 17. fulgens, 15. geranium-leaved, 12. Honorine Jobert, 16. hortensis, 15, 20. japonica, 16. nemorosa flore-pleno, 17. pavonina, 15. pulsatilla, 18. snowdrop, 22. stellata, 20. sulphurea, 21. sylvestris, 22. triloba, 140. vernalis, 23. Anthericum liliago, 25. liliastrum, 25. liliastrum major, 27. Anthyllis montana, 27. Apios Glycine, 27. tuberosa, 27. Apple, May, 205. Aralia Sieboldi, 30. Arabis alpina, 29. lucida, 29. l. variegata, 29. Arisæma triphyllum, 33. zebrinum, 33. Arum crinitum 35. hairy, 35. three-leaved, 33. triphyllum, 33. Asters, 37. alpinus, 37. amellus, 37. diversifolius, 37. dumosus, 37. ericoides, 37. grandiflorus, 37. Mdme. Soyance, 37. pendulus, 37. ptarmicoides, 39. Stokes', 284. Astrantia Epipactis, 85. B. Bachelor's buttons, 229. Bachelor's buttons, yellow, 231. Balm, bee, 175. large-flowered bastard, 174. Bay, dwarf, 79. Bellflower, broad-leaved, 50. peach-leaved, 50. great, 49. Bellis perennis, 40. p. aucubæfolia, 40. p. prolifera, 40. Bergamot, wild, 176. Bloodroot, 235. Blandfordia cordata, 108. Bluebell, 267. Bluebottle, large, 54. Bluets, 146. Bocconia cordata, 42. Borago sempervirens, 9. Bruisewoorte, 42. Buglossum sempervirens, 9. Bulbocodium, spring, 46. trigynum, 45. vernum, 46. Butterbur, common, 198. C. Calthus palustris flore-pleno, 47. Calystegia pubescens flore-pleno, 48. Campanula, chimney, 51. glomerata dahurica, 53. grandis, 49. latifolia, 50. muralis, 54. persicifolia, 50. pulla, 49. pyramidalis, 51. speciosa, 53. Waldsteiniana, 53. Zoysii, 54. Candytuft, everlasting, 151. Cardinal flower, 166. Cassiope tetragona, 10. Catchfly, 168. German, 170. Centaurea montana, 54. Centranthus ruber, 55. Chaixia Myconi, 228. Cheiranthus Cheiri, 56. Cheiranthus Marshallii, 58. Cherry, winter, 203. Chicory, 61. Chionodoxa Luciliæ, 58. Chrysanthemum, 59. Cichorium Intybus, 61. perenne, 61. sylvestre, 61. Cinquefoil, shrubby, 209. Claytonia, 151. Clethra, alder-leaved, 62. alnifolia, 62. Colchicum autumnale, 63. caucasicum, 45. variegatum, 64. Comfrey, Caucasian, 286. Cone-flower, Californian, 233. late, 234. Convolvulus, double, 48. Conyza, chilensis, 94. Coreopsis auriculata, 65. ear-leaved, 65. grandiflora, 66. lanceolata, 66. large-flowered, 66. slender-leaved, 67. spear-leaved, 66. tenuifolia, 67. Cornell, Canadian, 68. Cornflower, perennial, 54. Cornus canadensis, 68. suecica, 67. Corydalis lutea, 70. noble or great-flowered, 71. nobilis, 71. solida, 73. Coventry bells, 18. Cow-berry, 298. Cowslip, 206, 211. American, 84. Crane's-bill, silvery, 116. Crocus, 202. autumnal, 63. medius, 74. Crowfoot, aconite-leaved, 229. double acrid, 231. English double white, 229. Cup, white, 181. Cypripedium calceolus, 76. Cyananthus lobatus, 74. Cynoglossum omphalodes, 185. D. Daffodil, smaller, 180 Daisy, blue, 37. common perennial, 40. double, 40. Hen and Chickens, 40. little, 42. Michaelmas, 37. Daphne Cneorum, 78. mezereum, 79. m. alba, 80. m. autumnale, 80. m. trailing, 78. Dentaria digitata, 81. Dianthus barbatus, 82. deltoides, 81, 152. hybridus, 82. multiflorus, 82. plumarius, 82. Dodecatheon Jeffreyanum, 83. meadia, 74. m. albiflorum, 85. m. elegans, 85. m. giganteum, 85. Dogwood, 68. Dondia Epipactis, 85. Doronicum caucasicum, 86. orientale, 86. Dragon's mouth, 35. Duck's foot, 205. E. Easter flower, 18. Echinacea purpurea, 87. Edraianthus dalmaticus, 88. Epigæa repens, 90. Eranthis hyemalis, 91. Erica carnea, 92, 166. Erigeron caucasicus, 93. glaucum, 94. speciosus, 283. Eryngium giganteum, 96. Eryngo, great, 96. Erysimum pumilum, 97. Erythronium dens-canis, 98. Euonymus japonicus radicans variegata, 99. Everlasting pea, large-leaved, 160. large-flowered, 159. EVERGREENS:-- Achillea ægyptica, 3; Alyssum saxatile, 7; Anchusa sempervirens, 9; Andromeda tetragona, 10; Aralia Sieboldi, 30; Campanula grandis, 49; Cheiranthus Cheiri, 56; Daphne Cneorum, 78; Dianthus hybridus, 82; Epigæa repens, 90; Erica carnea, 92; Erigeron glaucum, 94; Euonymus japonicus radicans variegata, 99; Galax aphylla, 108; Gentiana acaulis, 111; Hedera conglomerata, 122; Helleborus abchasicus, 126; H. foetidus, 131; H. niger, 132; Heuchera, 142; Houstonia coerulea, 146; Hutchinsia alpina, 147; Iberis correæfolia, 151; Iris foetidissima, 153; Kalmia latifolia, 157; Lithospermum prostratum, 165; Margyricarpus setosus, 171; Saxifraga Burseriana, 238; S. ceratophylla, 240; S. purpurascens, 261; S. Rocheliana, 265; Umbillicus chrysanthus, 297; Vaccinium vitis-idæa, 298; Veronica gentianoides, 300; V. pinguifolia, 301; Vesicaria græca, 302; Yucca gloriosa, 307; Y. recurva, 308. F. February, Fair Maids of, 106. Felworth, spring alpine, 115. Festuca glauca, 101. Feverfew, marsh, 227. Flame-flowers, 294. Flaw flower, 18. Flax, yellow, 164. Fleabane, Caucasian, 93. glaucous, 94. showy, 283. Flower, milk, 107. Foliage Plants:--Achillea ægyptica, 3; Arabis lucida variegata, 29; Aralia Sieboldi, 30; Arisæma triphyllum, 33; Bocconia cordata, 42; Cornus canadensis, 68; Corydalis lutea, 70; C. nobilis, 71; C. solida, 73; Dodecatheon Jeffreyanum, 83; Erica carnea, 92; Euonymus japonicus radicans variegata, 99; Festuca glauca, 101; Funkia albo-marginata, 102; F. Sieboldii, 103; Galax aphylla, 108; Galega officinalis, 110; Gentiana asclepiadea, 112; G. Burseri, 113; Geranium argenteum, 116; Gynerium argenteum, 119; Hedera conglomerata, 122; Helleborus foetidus, 131; Heuchera, 142; H. glabra, 144; H. metallica, 145; H. purpurea, 145; Iris foetidissima, 153; Isopyrum gracilis, 153; Lactuca sonchifolia, 158; Lysimachia clethroides, 170; Ononis rotundifolia, 185; Ourisia coccinea, 193; Podophyllum peltatum, 205; Polygonum Brunonis, 207; P. cuspidatum, 208; P. filiformis variegatum, 209; Statice latifolia, 280; Saxifraga Burseriana, 238; S. cæsia, 238; S. ceratophylla, 240; S. ciliata, 242; S. ligulata, 249; S. longifolia, 250; S. Macnabiana, 253; S. paradoxa, 257; S. pectinata, 258; S. peltata, 259; S. purpurascens, 261; S. pyramidalis, 262; S. Rocheliana, 265; S. umbrosa variegata, 265; Sempervivum Laggeri, 270; Spiræa ulmaria variegata, 279; Tiarella cordifolia, 287; Yucca gloriosa, 308. Forget-me-not, creeping, 185. Fritillaria armena, 101. Fumitory, 73. "hollowe roote," 71, 73. yellow, 70. Funkia albo-marginata, 102. Sieboldii, 103. G. Galanthus Elwesii, 105. folded, 107. imperati, 105. nivalis, 106. plicatus, 107. redoutei, 107. Galax aphylla, 108. heart-leaved, 108. Galega officinalis, 110. persica liliacina, 110. Garland flower, 78. Garlic, large yellow, 6. Gentian, Burser's, 113. cross-leaved, 114. ice-cold, 114. lithospermum, 165. swallow-wort leaved, 112. Gentiana acaulis, 111. asclepiadea, 112. Burseri, 113. cruciata, 114. gelida, 114. verna, 115. Gentianella, 111. Geranium argenteum, 116. Gillenia trifoliata, 117. Gilloflower, 107. Queene's, 141. stock, 142. wild, 81. Gillyflower, 57. Gladdon or Gladwin, 153. Glory, Snowy, 58. Goats-rue, officinal, 110. Golden drop, 187. Goose-tongue, 4. Grandmother's frilled cap, 51 Grass, blue, 101. pampas or silvery, 119. Gromwell, prostrate, 165. Groundsel, noble, 272. Gynerium argenteum, 119. H. Hacquetia Epipactis, 85. Harebell, showy, 53. Harpalium rigidum, 121. Heath, winter, 92. Hedera conglomerata, 122. Helianthus multiflorus, 123. m. flore-pleno, 124. orygalis, 124. rigidus, 121. Heliotrope, winter, 198. Hellebore, abchasian, 126. ancient, 127. black, 132, 188. Boccon's, 128. bushy, 131. Colchican, 129. coppery, 130. eastern, 137. officinalis, 137. Olympian, 136. purplish, 139. spotted, 132. stinking, 131. sweet-scented, 136. Helleborus abchasicus, 126. a. purpureus, 126. antiquorum, 127. Bocconi, 128. B. angustifolia, 129. colchicus, 129. cupreus, 130. dumetorum, 131. foetidus, 131. guttatus, 132. hyemalis, 91. multifidus, 128. niger, 132, 138. n. angustifolius, 134 n. maximus, 134. odorus, 136. olympicus, 136. orientalis, 137. o. elegans, 138. purpurascens, 139. Hepatica, anemone, 140. angulosa, 139. triloba, 140. t. splendens, 141. Herb, Christ's, 132. Hesperis matronalis flore-pleno, 141. Heuchera, 142, 288. americana, 143. currant-leaved, 145. Heuchera cylindrica, 143. cylindrical-spiked, 143. Drummondi, 144. glabra, 141. lucida, 144. metallica, 145. micrantha, 145. purpurea, 145. ribifolia, 145. Richardsoni, 146. shining-leaved, 144. small-flowered, 145. smooth, 144. Hill tulip, 18. Houseleek, Lagger's, 270. Houstonia albiflora, 146. coerulea, 146. Hutchinsia alpina, 147. Hyacinth, 267. grape, 179. Hydrangea, large-flowered, 148. paniculata grandiflora, 148. Hypericum calycinum, 150. I. Iberis correæfolia, 151. Indian cress, 295. Iris foetidissima, 153. Isopyrum gracilis, 153. slender, 153. Ivy, conglomerate, 122. J. Jack in the pulpit, 33. Jasminum nudiflorum, 155. K. Kalmia, broad-leaved, 157. latifolia, 157. Knapweed, mountain, 54. Knotweed, 207, 209. cuspid, 208. vaccinium-leaved, 209. L. Lactuca sonchifolia, 158. Lathyrus grandiflorus, 159. latifolius, 160. l. albus, 161. Laurel, creeping or ground, 90. Leopard's bane, 86. Lepidium alpinum, 147. Lettuce, sow thistle-leaved, 158. Leucojum æstivum, 161. vernum, 162. Lilium auratum, 162. Lily, erect wood, 291. golden-rayed or Japanese, 162. rush, 274. St. Bernard's, 25. St. Bruno's, 25. Siebold's plantain-leaved, 103. white-edged, plantain-leaved, 102. Lilywort, 226. Linaria pilosa, 237. Linum flavum, 164. narbonnense, 165. perenne, 165. Lithospermum fruticosum, 165. prostratum, 165. Lobelia cardinalis, 166. pratiana, 210. repens, 210. Loosestrife, clethra-like, 170. Lungworts, 224. Lychnis chalcedonica, 168. scarlet, 168. viscaria flore-pleno, 170. Lysimachia clethroides, 170. M. Macleaya cordata, 42. Madwort, rock, or golden tuft, 7. Margyricarpus setosus, 171. Marigold, double marsh, 47. Marjoram, beautiful, 191. Mazus, dwarf, 173. pumilio, 173. "Meadow bootes," 47. Meadowsweet, 279. Meadows, Queen of the, 279. Megasea ciliata, 242, 249. cordifolia, 245. ligulata, 249. purpurascens, 261. Melittis grandiflorum, 174. melissophyllum, 174. Merendera caucasicum, 45. Mertensia, 224. Mezereon, 79. Milfoil, common, 4. Milla uniflora, 292. Mitella, 288. Monarda affinis, 176. altissima, 176. didyma, 175. fistulosa, 176. kalmiana, 175. media, 176. oblongata, 176. purpurea, 176. rugosa, 176. Russelliana, 176. Monk's-hood, autumn, 5. Morina elegans, 176. longifolia, 176. Moss, silver, 238. Muhlenbeckia complexa, 178. Mullien, 228. Muscari botryoides, 179. b. alba, 180. racemosum, 180. N. Narcissus minor, 180. Nasturtium, 295. Nierembergia rivularis, 181. water, 181. Nightshade, red, 204. O. Oenothera speciosa, 182. taraxacifolia, 183. Omphalodes verna, 185. Ononis rotundifolia, 185. Onosma taurica, 187. Orchis, brown, 189. foliosa, 189. fusca, 189. Orchis, leafy, 189. militaris, 189. soldier or brown man, 189. Origanum pulchellum, 191. Orobus vernus, 192. Oswego tea, 175. Ourisia coccinea, 193. Oxlips, 211. P. Paigles, 211. Pansy, 306. Papaver bracteatum, 195. orientale, 195. Pasque-flower, 18. Passe-flower, 18. Peachbels, 50. Pearl-fruit, bristly, 171. Peaseling, 192. Pellitory, wild, 4. Pentstemons, 197. Petasites vulgaris, 198. Phlox, 199. decussata, 199. early and late flowering, 199. frondosa, 201. omniflora, 200. ovata, 200. paniculata, 200. procumbens, 200. stolonifera, 200. suffruticosa, 199. Physalis Alkekengi, 203. Pinguicula vulgaris, 173. Pink, maiden, 81, 152. mule, 82. Pinke, maidenly, 81. virgin-like, 81. Podophyllum peltatum, 205. Polyanthus, 206. Polygonum Brunonis, 207. cuspidatum, 208. c. compactum, 208. filiformis variegatum, 209. vaccinifolium, 209. Poppy, oriental, 195. Potentilla fruticosa, 209. Prairie, Queen of the, 280. Pratia, creeping, 210. repens, 210. Primrose, Cashmere, 214. dandelion-leaved evening, 183. double-flowered, 223. margined, 217. mealy or bird's-eye, 217. Scottish, 220. showy evening, 182. Primula acaulis, 211. Allioni, 213. amoena, 213. auricula, 213. a. marginata, 218. capitata, 213. carniolica, 213. cashmeriana, 124. crenata, 217. decora, 213. denticulata, 213, 216. d. amabilis, 217. d. major, 217. d. nana, 217. elatior, 211. farinosa, 213, 217, 220. glaucescens, 213. glutinosa, 213. grandiflora, 211. grandis, 213. latifolia, 213. longifolia, 213. luteola, 213. marginata, 213, 217. minima, 213. nivalis, 213. purple-flowered, 219. purpurea, 219. round headed, 213. scotica, 213, 220. sikkimensis, 221. sinensis, 213. spectabilis, 213. sylvestris, 211. tyrolensis, 213. toothed, 216. veris, 206, 211. villosa, 213. viscosa, 213. vulgaris, 211. v. flore-pleno, 223. Wulfeniana, 213. Prunella pyrenaica, 152. Ptarmica vulgaris, 4. Pulmonarias, 224. maculata, 225. mollis, 225. officinalis, 225. Puschkinia libanotica, 225. scilla-like, 225. scilloides, 225. s. compacta, 226. Pyrethrum uliginosum, 227. R. Ramondia pyrenaica, 228. Ranunculus aconitifolius, 229. acris flore-pleno, 231. albus multiflorus, 229. amplexicaulis, 231. speciosum, 232. stem-clasping, 231. Red-hot poker, 294. Rest-arrow, round-leaved, 185. Rocket, double sweet, 141. ROCKWORK PLANTS:-- Acæna Novæ Zealandiæ, 1; Alyssum saxatile, 7; Andromeda tetragona, 10; Anthyllis montana, 27; Arabis lucida, 29; Aralia Sieboldi, 30; Aster alpinus, 37; Campanula Waldsteiniana, 53; Cardamine trifolia, 70; Colchicum variegatum, 64; Cornus canadensis, 68; Corydalis nobilis, 71; C. solida, 73; Cyananthus lobatus, 74; Dentaria digitata, 81; Dodecatheon Jeffreyanum, 83; Dondia Epipactis, 85; Doronicum caucasicum, 86; Edraianthus dalmaticus, 88; Erica carnea, 92; Erigeron glaucum, 94; Erysimum pumilum, 97; Festuca glauca, 101; Funkia Sieboldii, 103; Galax aphylla, 70, 108; Gentiana acaulis, 111; G. Burseri, 113; G. gelida, 114; G. verna, 115; Geranium argenteum, 116; Hedera conglomerata, 122; Houstonia coerulea, 146; Iberis correæfolia, 151; Linum flavum, 164; Lithospermum prostratum, 165; Lychnis Viscaria flore-pleno, 170; Margyricarpus setosus, 171; Muhlenbeckia complexa, 178; Nierembergia rivularis, 181; Onosma taurica, 188; Origanum pulchellum, 191; Orobus vernus, 192; Phlox, 202; Polygonum vaccinifolium, 209; Pratia repens, 210; Primula, 213, 216, 218, 222; Pyrola rotundifolia, 70; Ramondia pyrenaica, 228; Ranunculus amplexicaulis, 231; Salix reticulata, 70, 235; Saponaria ocymoides, 237; Saxifraga Burseriana, 238; S. cæsia, 238; S. ceratophylla, 240; S. ciliata, 242; S. coriophylla, 246; S. Fortunei, 247; S. longifolia, 250; S. mutata, 254; S. oppositifolia, 255; S. paradoxa, 257; S. pectinata, 258; S. pyramidalis, 262; S. umbrosa variegata, 265; S. Wallacei, 266; Sedum spectabile, 269; Sempervivum Laggeri, 270; Symphytum caucasicum, 286; Tropæolum tuberosum, 295; Umbilicus chrysanthus, 297; Veronica pinguifolia, 301; V. prostrata, 301; Vesicaria græca, 302; Viola pedata, 303; Yucca filamentosa, 306. Rose, Christmas, 132, 138. lenten, 137. of Sharon, 150. Rudbeckia californica, 233. purpurea, 87. serotina, 234. Rues, maidenhair-like, 153. S. Saffron, meadow, 63. spring, 46. Saint John's Wort, cup, 150. large calyxed, 150. Salix reticulata, 235. Sanguinaria canadensis, 235. Saponaria ocymoides, 237. ocymoides splendens, 237. Satin-flower, 274. Saxifraga Aizoon, 258, 259. alpina ericoides flore coeruleo, 255. australis, 257, 258. Burseriana, 238, 246. cæsia, 238. carinthiaca, 257, 258. ceratophylla, 240. ciliata, 242, 249. cordifolia, 245, 261. coriophylla, 245. cornutum, 241, 266. cotyledon, 253, 254, 262. crassifolia, 261. crustata, 257. fortunei, 247. geranioides, 266. japonica, 247. ligulata, 242, 249, 257. longifolia, 250, 254, 257. macnabiana, 253. mutata, 254. nepalensis, 253. oppositifolia, 246, 255. o. alba, 256. paradoxa, 257. pectinata, 258. peltata, 259. pentadactylis, 240, 266. pryamidalis, 262. purpurascens, 261. rocheliana, 265. umbrosa, 265. variegata, 265. sarmentosa, 243. Wallacei, 266. Saxifrage, blue, 255. Burser's, 238, 246. Fortune's, 247. grey, 238. hairy margined, 242. horn-leaved, 240. large-leaved purple, 261. long-leaved, 250. Mac Nab's, 253. opposite-leaved, 255. paradoxical, 257. purple mountain, 255. Queen of, 250. Rochel's, 265. Scilla, bell-flowered, 267. campanulata, 267. Sea lavender, broad-leaved, 280. profuse, 281. Sedum Fabarium, 269. spectabile, 269. Sieboldi, 269. Self heal, 152. Sempervivum Laggeri, 270. Senecio pulcher, 272. Sibthorpia europæa, 237. Sisyrinchium grandiflorum, 274. Grandiflorum album, 276. Slipper, English lady's, 76. Sneezewort, 4. Snowdrop, common, 106. Elwes's, 105. imperial, 105. Snowflake, spring, 162. summer, 161. Soapwort, basil-leaved, 237. rock, 237. Solanum Halicacabum, 204. Soldanella alpina, 276. Clusii, 276. minima, 276. montana, 276. Speedwell, fat-leaved, 301. gentian-leaved, 300. prostrate, 301. Spikenard, 94. Spindle tree, variegated, rooting, 99. Spiræa odorata, 279. palmata, 278. palm-like, 278. trifoliata, 117. triloba, 117. ulmaria variegata, 279. venusta, 280. Spring beauty, 152. Spurge-flax, 79. German olive, 79. wort, 153. Squill, striped, 225. Star-flower, 288. lilac, 293. Star-flower, spring, 292. Star, shooting, 84. Starwort, 37, 283. Starwort, alpine, 37. bouquet, 39. Statice latifolia, 280. profusa, 281. varieties of, 281. Steeple-bells, 50. Stenactis speciosus, 283. Stokesia, jasper blue, 284. cyanea, 284. Stonecrop, showy, 269. Siebold's, 269. Succory, wild, 61. Sunflower, graceful, 124. many-flowered, 123. rigid, 121. Symphytum caucasicum, 286. T. Teazel, 176. Thistle, 284. Tiarella cordifolia, 287. Tirentalis europæa, 288. Toothwort, 81. Treacle-mustard, dwarf, 97. Trillium erectum, 291. Triteleia, one-flowered, 292. uniflora, 292. u. liliacina, 292. Tritoma, great, 294. uvaria, 294. Tropæolum tuberosum, 295. tuberous, 295. Trophy plant, 295. Tussilago fragrans, 198. petasites, 198. U. Umbillicus chrysanthus, 297. V. Vaccinium Vitis-Idæa, 298. Valerian red, 55. Valeriana ruber, 55. Verbascum Myconi, 228. Veronica gentianoides, 300. Veronica pinguifolia, 301. prostrata, 165, 301. repens, 301. Vesicaria græca, 302. Vetch, mountain kidney, 27. spring bitter, 192. Viola pedata, 303. pedata bicolor, 304. tricolor, 305. Violet, Dame's, 141. dog's tooth, 98. early bulbous, 106. pedate-leaved, or bird's-foot, 303. W. Wallflower, common, 56. fairy, 97. Marshall's, 58. Whorl flower, 176. Whortle-berry, red, 298. Willow, wrinkled or netted, 235. Windflower, 141. alpine, 11. double, 17. fair, 12. Japan, 16. mountain, 12. poppy-like, 13. shaggy, 23. shining, 15. star, 20. stork's-bill, 12. sulphur-coloured, 21. Wintergreen, English, 288. Y. Yarrow, Egyptian, 3. wild, 4. Yucca filamentosa, 306. filamentosa variegata, 306. gloriosa, 307. recurva, 308. thready-leaved, 306. weeping, 308. 
40534	----	Transcriber's Note: _Italic text_ is represented by underscores and =bold text= by equals signs. [Illustration] TALKS ABOUT FLOWERS. BY MRS. M. D. WELLCOME. Thank God for the beautiful flowers That blossom so sweetly and fair; They garnish this strange life of ours, And brighten our paths everywhere. DEXTER SMITH. PUBLISHED FOR THE AUTHOR, BY I. C. WELLCOME, YARMOUTH, ME. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1881, BY I. C. WELLCOME, In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. PRINTED BY B. THURSTON & CO., PORTLAND, MAINE. PREFACE. To all Flower Lovers who may read these pages, we come with kindly greetings. To you we dedicate our Work. Encouraged by the many testimonials of favor with which our Flower Sketches have been received, which have appeared in the _Boston Journal_, _Portland Transcript_, and the leading Floricultural journals, we were induced to prepare this volume, intending it to be made up chiefly of those articles revised and enlarged for this purpose; but after entering upon this work, we found so little that was adapted for use, nearly every page has been written while the sheets were passing through the press. Before we were aware, the printed matter had exceeded our proposed limits, and we were obliged to enlarge the work by additional pages, and even then omit our chapter of "Floricultural Notes," for we wished to put the book at a low price, that it might reach the masses. As it is, we are sure that we have given you a great amount of valuable information, and just such as amateurs need, respecting the habits and requirements of those flowers which are best adapted for general cultivation, and in a form specially new and attractive, combining the _history_ and _literature_ of flowers, with description and mode of culture. It may be deemed strange that we should omit from a work of this character a "Talk" about the Queen of Flowers, but the subject was so full that we thought best to devote the space to other varieties and refer our readers to our recently published "Essay on Roses,"--advertised in another part of this work--in which they will find the subject fully treated. We would here acknowledge our obligation to Mr. James Vick for the beautiful Bouquet of Flowers which constitutes our Frontispiece. MRS. M. D. WELLCOME. _Yarmouth, Me._, June 9, 1881. CONTENTS. PAGE Introduction 9 A Talk to Farmers' Wives 12 A Talk About "The Wild Garden" 15 A Talk About Stocking the Garden 19 Phlox Drummondii 24 Verbenas 25 Petunias 29 A Talk About Pansies 33 Asters 35 Balsams 37 A Talk About Geraniums 39 A Talk About Begonias 46 Gloxinia, Tuberose 50 A Talk About Gladiolus 54 A Talk About Pelargoniums 60 A Talk About Fuchsias 69 A Talk About Coleuses 75 Ornamental Foliage Plants 83 A Talk About Primroses 98 Carnations and Picotees 101 A Talk About Climbers 107 Thoughts in My Garden--A Poem 117 A Talk About Several Things 118 The Love of Flowers 122 A Talk About Abutilons 125 A Talk About Dahlias 130 Amaryllis 135 Hoya Carnosa or Wax Plant 137 Among My Flowers 138 A Talk About Cyclamens and Oxalis 143 A Talk About Lilies 147 Double Bouvardia 152 Camellia Japonica 154 Azalea 155 The Ingathering of the Flowers 156 My Window Box 157 Hyacinths 158 Insects 160 Introduction. "Thank God for the beautiful flowers, That blossom so sweetly and fair; They garnish this strange life of ours, And brighten our paths everywhere." _Dexter Smith._ I have been thinking for some time of writing a few articles about flowers, not for the entertainment nor instruction of those who have extensive gardens artistically laid out, and fine conservatories with skilled gardeners to care for the rare and costly plants, but for those, who, like myself, have only a few beds filled with flowers, cared for by one's own self. Every year there is a marked advance in the floricultural kingdom. Books and periodicals devoted to flower culture are on the increase; florists are enlarging their domain; catalogues are scattered broadcast, and as free as autumn leaves, some of them beautiful with their colored plates, handsome enough to frame. Very many of the literary, religious, and political journals of the day have their floral department, in which the ladies gossip of their experience and exchange opinions, and we doubt if any column is read with greater interest. What recreation for the mind and body more pure, refining, healthful, than that of the cultivation of flowers? How they reveal the Father's love, and wisdom, and power! How perfect his work! Very fully have I realized this, as I have examined bud, blossom, and leaf under the microscope. Its magnifying power when applied to man's work, reveals coarseness and imperfection, but in God's work only reveals new beauties, and greater perfectness. The tiny flower, the details of which cannot be perceived by the eye unaided, when magnified, surprises us with its loveliness. We wonder and adore that Being whose hand created its perfect form and arranged its tints with so much harmony. The study of flowers with the microscope is one of never failing delight, and one needs not the costly instrument to enjoy this study. The round open glass, the size of a half dollar, and costing the same, serves every needful purpose. Not only have I enjoyed the examination of flowers, but also of insect life, specially of those terrible pests to our rosebushes and some other plants--the _aphides_. I have closely watched their development, from the tiny egg to the portly insect, so filled with the juice of the leaf, that like it, he is green all over. First I observe a little speck of red in the egg--then it has slight motion--next it runs about, and the spot is a little larger, sometimes it is black. Sometimes the baby aphis is all red. Now and then I find a different sort mixed up with them; the body is much larger and transparent white. Some have wings. Skeletons, or more properly, cast-off skins, are often seen, but with the closest observation I have never been able to trace these to their source. Once, I was sure that a fellow was divesting himself of his overcoat, and I watched him till my eyes ached too badly for further investigation. These insects are the cows of a certain species of ant, and I am sure they are quite welcome to all I have, provided they will have their yard on other premises, though I would like to detain them long enough to see the milking process. Some have seen it and written about it, so, strange as it seems, it is no fiction. In this series of articles which I have entitled "Talks About Flowers," I shall, in a very informal manner, talk to you about just those matters pertaining to the flower garden, in which beginners and amateurs are interested; to this class I belong; I am not a skilled florist, my experience is limited; I am only a student in the lower classes of floriculture, but I dearly love my lessons. I am acquiring knowledge both from books and personal observation, and I shall enjoy imparting to those not so favored with time and resources the results of this study, believing it will be duly appreciated by my readers, and their interest in the cultivation of flowers be thereby increased. I shall talk to you about the sowing of seeds, the arrangement of your garden, the plants with which to stock it, treating of them historically and descriptively, with mode of culture. I shall talk to you about the most desirable bulbs, about climbing plants, hanging pots, and the window garden, and shall seek to meet in all these the wishes of many inquirers. A Talk to Farmers' Wives. "Not useless are ye flowers, though made for pleasure, Blooming in field and wood by day and night; From every source your presence bids me treasure Harmless delight." "Once more I take my pen in hand," as the old time epistle was wont to begin. While a "Young Farmer" discourseth of matters pertaining to the farm, I propose to talk to farmers' wives and daughters of matters relating to the flower garden. This article is specially dedicated to them, and not to them as a whole, but to that class among them who take no periodical devoted to flower culture, and find no time even to study the various catalogues scattered broadcast, as sure precursors of spring as are the falling leaves of autumn. Therefore you who have your floral papers, your bay windows filled with plants, or your fine conservatories, whether a farmer's wife or not, this is not written for you, and you need not read any further. There are many farmers' wives who give little attention to the cultivation of flowers. Busy lives the most of them lead, and their indoor work shuts them off largely from the enjoyment of those beauties nature has so lavishly spread around them. It is a pity that any of them should say, "I have no time to waste over flowers; they bring neither food nor clothing." Call that wasted time when tired, nervous, fretful perhaps, you leave the heated rooms and run out to see if the seeds you sowed last week have come up, or how the seedlings you set out are thriving? To look at that opening rosebud, pick off the withered leaves from the geranium, stir the earth a bit around that heliotrope, and linger over the dear little pansies as their bright faces are up-turned to greet you and cheer you with their diversified beauty? Gather a few; they will bloom all the more because of it. There, now, don't you feel nicely rested? The feeling of fretfulness is all gone. Refreshed in body and mind, you resume your housework, and accomplish it much more effectively than if you had kept right on, so tired and all out of sorts. Better far these moments of out-door recreation than blue pill or bitters. All this is anticipatory of the "good time coming" to you this summer. That kind husband of yours when he goes to the store to buy his garden seeds, or order them from abroad, is going to include an equal number of flower seeds. He would have done it long ago but he did not think anything about it. But you are going to give him a hint this spring. You can tell him that in the general seed box there is one corner where are certain dainty little packages labeled Candytuft--purple, carmine, white or mixed; Mignonnette, Aster, Balsam, Pink, Petunia, Sweet Peas, etc., etc., and you tell him that those Sweet Peas bloom the most fragrant blossoms for five months, while his "Extra Early," whether "Blue Peter" or "Blue Tom Thumb," last only a little while. So as he goes on his way he will think to himself, "Wife works hard; she makes capital butter and keeps the house real tidy, and I guess I must indulge her." When he returns home he gives you those little packages, in each tiny brown seed of which there lies hidden a beautiful life--a life that shall, by loving care, develop "the red, white and blue" in settings of emerald, the influence of which shall be felt by the entire household, and bring forth a fruitage of brightness, gladness and love. It may be that you live remote from the village store, or perhaps there may not be kept there a good, reliable assortment of flower seeds, so I will tell you what to do in that case, for I wish to be helpful every step of the way. You must send to some good florist for what you want, enclosing stamps, if for an amount less than one dollar. You have your seeds now, and some of them need to be started in the house in order to secure early flowers, Asters, Petunias, Pinks, Pansies, Snapdragon and Sweet Peas. Sift your earth through a coarse sieve. A little sharp sand is good to mix with it. Shallow boxes are best, except for the peas. I use cigar boxes. Dampen the earth, then sow thickly in rows, cover lightly with more soil, dampen again, label, cover with paper so that the moisture may not evaporate rapidly, and place in a sunny window. Daily sprinkle through a fine rose pot, or with your fingers lightly if you have none. However good your seeds may be, they will not grow if kept dry, and will rot if kept too wet. The seedlings must be nursed with care, not too much sun while tender. I do not thin out mine till I transplant to the border, but many do, potting them singly. Peas can be set out earliest of any. Sunny days in May often tempt one to bed out their tender plants, and sow seed in open ground; then come cold nights, when the fragile seedlings need a hot soapstone to their feet. It is best to wait till warm weather is fully established, and then choose a cloudy day for the work. Protect from the sun's rays till the plants are established in their new quarters. Now, all this looks like much work and care, I know, but it is only a little work, a little care each day, and it is a work that will be a restful change, and bring you better health and better feelings, and when you gather the lovely flowers from the seeds you have sown and cultured, you will not say: "My time was all misspent." A Talk About "The Wild Garden." The lengthened days have come, The busiest of the year-- When the annual house cleaning treads heavily on the toes of spring gardening, and one feels tempted to crowd the work of two days into one, though sufficient for the present is the work thereof. The bright warm days draw one forth to spend "an hour or two" they say, and they mean it too--with shovel or spade in hand to prepare the flower beds, but the air is so refreshing, and there is so much to be done, that they keep on "a little while longer," "just a few minutes more," till Sol pours his burning rays down upon them with the unmistakable assurance that it is near the hour of noon. These are the days that try men's souls, and women's, too; days when one wishes with Dudley Warner for a "cast iron back," but would fain add the improvement of rubber hinges; days when the inquiry is often provoked, "Will it pay?" As we change the numerous boxes of seedlings from one position to another, that they may catch the sunbeams, "Will it pay?" As we take them out of doors these warm days, and bring them all back again at night, lest the air prove too harsh for the tender things, "Will it pay?" Yes, we know from past experience that it will pay even a hundred fold for all our care when the restful days shall come, and we watch with hopeful hearts each bud of promise as it grows, and gather our hands full of lovely flowers, the fruitage of our seed sowing and unceasing care. Have been bedding out to-day my old stocky geraniums, after cutting off all the dead and unsightly branches. These were just packed into large boxes in the autumn--as closely as possible--dirt then thrown in to fill up the spaces, and they were put into the cellar and severely let alone till the weather admitted of their being taken out of doors. Many throw away their geraniums, if the stalks decay by being frost-bitten or for some other cause, when often the roots are alive, and with proper care will sprout again. I had a few in my window box that were touched by frost one intense cold night in December, and died down to the roots. To my surprise, they sprouted in March, for I did not suppose they would be seemingly lifeless so long in a sunny window. Some of my neighbors hang up their large geraniums by the roots in the cellar, and thus keep them throughout the winter nicely, but I have never been successful with this method. My house plants are nearly all re-potted, ready to be plunged into the ground the first of June. I put in a bit of potsherd to keep the roots from going astray, then small pieces of coal for drainage, then fill with mellow sifted soil, enriched with well-rotted manure. I found it so much better last year to bed out in pots that I shall practice it more fully this summer. When the time comes in the autumn for taking them in doors, the work can be done in half the time. My seedlings will be six weeks or more in advance than those sown in the open border. My sweet peas must go out very soon or I shall have to give them a support, they are so tall. Now I am going to tell you about another sort of a garden--"a spick-span new" sort--and I know you will be pleased to hear about it, and I think you will want to have one of your own. THE WILD GARDEN. Mr. B. K. Bliss, of New York, in a note, said: "We have put into your box a packet of flower seeds for the wild garden, which we think will interest you. We also send you the initial number of our new paper, "_The American Garden_." In this journal I find a very interesting article on "The Wild Garden," how to make it, and a description of one at the country residence of Mr. M. S. Beach, near Peekskill, from his own pen. We will quote a part of it. He says: "We plowed a strip about six feet wide all around a five-acre field, close to the fence. On this plowed ground, the seed, previously well mixed, was thrown just as it happened to come. The surface having afterwards been well smoothed over, we waited the result. This proved satisfactory. We had a wild garden indeed. The plants came up as thickly as they could grow, and flourished and blossomed as freely as though they had enjoyed all the care usually given to hot-house exotics. "Sweet Alyssum, Mignonnette, the pretty blue Nemophila and bright colored Phlox Drummondii seemed to cover the ground. Morning Glories of every shade and delicate Cypress vines tried to cover the fences and run up every tree. Quaint little yellow and green Gourds appeared in the most unexpected places, and the whole bed seemed to be ablaze with the orange and yellow of the Eschscholtzia, Marigolds, Calendula Officinalis and Zinnias. One of the chief charms of this wild flower bed was the variety and change--not from season to season, but from day to day. Every morning would find some new, unexpected, and previously forgotten flower in bloom." The packet of Flower Seeds for the "Wild Garden" consists of more than a hundred varieties, sufficient for a square rod of ground. There must needs be a peculiar charm in the "Wild Garden." When one wearies of the monotonous ribbon beds and geometrical designs so long in fashion, they can turn to the spot where flowers run riot at their own sweet will, and give daily surprises because sown broadcast without any regard to their names and location. Multitudes there are, who, with abundance of land at their command, can have one on a large scale, others can have, but a small spot. There are many who have ground specially adapted by its wildness for the blending of the cultivated flowers with those which grow in their native dells or woods. Wild shrubs, wild flowers, wild climbers, can be transplanted to situations quite like their own. There can be ferneries and rockeries, beds of violets and wild evergreens, and combined with careless grace, such tropical plants and brilliant annuals as would give the most pleasing effect and afford a beauty wholly unique. Make Home Beautiful. Make your home beautiful--bring to it flowers; Plant them around you to bud and to bloom; Let them give light to your loneliest hours-- Let them bring light to enliven your gloom; If you can do so, O make it an Eden Of beauty and gladness almost divine; 'Twill teach you to long for that home you are needing, The earth robed in beauty beyond this dark clime. A Talk About Stocking the Garden. "The flowers we love?--They are those we gathered Years ago, when we played at home! Flowers by the door stone, dropped and scattered Here and there as a child would roam." "How shall I stock my garden?" is a question often asked by amateurs. That depends very much on the size, location and soil of the ground to be furnished. If the site is elaborate, and the beds to be geometrically laid out, much skill, artistic taste and generous expenditure is needful to produce a fine effect. If the flower beds are cut in the lawn a different classification and arrangement of plants will be needful. If they consist of long beds bordering a walk, or one bed only, beneath the front window, there needs to be a grouping of flowers adapted to the situation. None but the "wild garden" ought to be stocked hap-hazard style. Arrange always so that there shall be a succession of flowers during the entire season, for if you devote a space for those of brief duration, you will by and by have a barren spot by no means pleasing. The most exposed situations ought, of course, to be arranged with special reference to the best possible effects or continuity of bloom and harmony of colors. Don't mix in all sorts of colors and sizes of plants in any bed. Masses of distinctive colors always have a fine effect. Where there are varieties that have more show of flowers than of leaves, it is well to intersperse plants whose beauty lies more in their foliage than in blossoms. The beautiful Coleuses, Achyranthes and Alternanthera, with their richly colored leaves, and Pyrethrums with their vivid green lancelated foliage, are very effective for this purpose. Cannas are very fine among tall, free blooming plants, particularly for centers. Care ought always to be had in selections, so that a tall and coarse plant shall never have for its surroundings the low and delicate growers. Imagine the effect of a gorgeous California Sunflower or a towering Hollyhock in the midst of a bed of Pansies, or Tea Roses, or a Dahlia in a bed of Verbenas! Have your large stocky plants in a bed by themselves, unless it be as a background border for the more delicate flowers. A long bed running beside a fence, or one beneath the windows of a dwelling-house, can have, with good effect, a dense background of shrubs or Pompone Dahlias, or even the taller Dahlias, if relieved by a fence. Where there is a large bed directly beneath the front windows, a good arrangement is to have, first, trailing vines that shall cover far up the sides of the dwelling. For this, the Ipomoeas are very appropriate; of these there are numerous varieties. _I. Bona Nox_, with its large fragrant blossoms, which however, expand in the evening; Mexicana _Grandiflora Alba_, immense flowers of white, long tube, a native of Mexico; grows to the height of ten feet. _I. Hederacea Superba_ is bright blue, with white margin, Ivy-like foliage, and _I. Fol Mormoratis_, a new Japanese variety, with foliage beautifully mottled and marbled with white; _Coccinea_, or "Star" Ipomea, bears a great profusion of small flowers, scarlet striped with white. With any of these, vines of the Canary Bird Flower intermingled, would have a superb effect; the light green, deeply lacinated leaves and bright, yellow fringed flowers, proving a marked contrast to the foliage and blossoms of the Ipomea. It is a very rapid grower, and will climb and branch out ten feet or more. In front of these climbers, or whatever others may be preferred, a row of Sweet Peas, quite thickly set, can be trained so as to fully cover the vines below the flowering branches, and to conceal the unsightliness of these low down, a row of Pyrethrums or some dwarf compact plants would be attractive. Then a walk, if the bed is sufficiently wide. The plants on the opposite side can be arranged so as to have those of medium height next to the path, and low bedding ones for the foreground. Verbenas are very fine for this, and so is the Double Portulaca. For an edging, many things are appropriate; whether one desires merely a low green, or a border of dwarf blooming plants. For the latter, we know of nothing prettier than the new dwarf Candytuft, Tom Thumb. Its habit is low and bushy, and its clusters of white blossoms continue a very long time. Mr. Vick has for several years recommended Thrift as the best edging plant for northern climates. It is easily propagated from cuttings; every piece will make a plant, if taken in the fall or spring, and is perfectly hardy. It bears tiny clusters of pink flowers, and the foliage is fine for floral work. In arranging your garden stock study the adaptions of your plants to certain positions. Some require for their best development, a great deal of sunshine, others require somewhat sheltered positions. Portulacas revel in dry and sunny spots, laughing at drought, while Pansies love a cool and moist situation, therefore to bed them in a sandy soil, and a position where they would be exposed to the intense sunshine of mid-day, and the Portulaca in the sheltered, moist situation would be a great mistake. Coleuses ought not to be set in a very open sunny place, but with plants that will serve as a protection somewhat, or they will lose their vivid markings. We observed this first with C. Shah; when exposed to a strong light, the rich, velvety maroon changed to a dull color hue, but when partially shaded it was of a very deep, rich color. The next summer we had the beautiful Pictus, and its leaves looked as though they were indeed painted with yellow, brown and green, but exposed for a time to the direct sunshine nearly all day, it changed to a dark green, with brown markings, and, robbed of its gold, it possessed no special beauty. We speak only of our own experience, which has not been limited by any means to these two varieties. We have had a few that would retain their distinctive markings well, even in quite an exposed situation. In the arrangement of your garden, have it adapted to its surroundings. The broad leaved Palms, the Tropical Caladiums, the stately Cannas, the Cape Jessamine and Crape Myrtle are in perfect harmony with the well kept lawn and stately mansion, but quite out of place in the simple border of a vegetable garden, or rough grass-plot belonging to a low, plain cottage. I will tell you of a bit of a garden furnished in harmony with its surroundings. It was rudely dug and roughly finished by two very small hands. It was a very wee bed, indeed. It was fenced on the west side by a rough board shed; on the north by an old stump; the other side and end had no protection. Without any method of arrangement, or reference to artistic effects, here was massed the following assortment: Monks Hood, Bachelors Buttons, Butter and Eggs, Star of Bethlehem, Poppies and Marigolds; these last more odorous than fragrant. Old fashioned flowers truly. But they harmonized with their surroundings, and the little pale faced child thought them very beautiful. It is not essential to harmony however, that the flower bed be rudely prepared, though the cot be lowly and its surroundings rough; the garden, however small, can be neatly prepared, provided there are stronger and older hands than those of the little maid referred to, and there may be a display of taste in the arrangement of the most common flowers, in our day at least, where beautiful varieties are within reach of all. But it was not so fifty years ago; boxes of flower seeds were not to be found in the shops; catalogues were not scattered broadcast like autumn leaves and as free; "a greenhouse at your door," was not then, as now, a verity. School girls exchanged their limited floral treasures, and now and then a slip could be begged from the fortunate possessor of a few house plants. But if greenhouse flowers were rare, there were thousands in the meadows, on the hills, in the woods; the sweet May flowers, unknown then to the little maiden as the Trailing Arbutus, the Anemone, Hepatica, Columbine, Violets of different hues, Wild Roses, Gay Lilies, and late in autumn, the lovely fringed Gentian: "Each chalice molded in divinest grace, Each brimmed with pure, intense and perfect blue." What could be more lovely among the garnered treasures of the greenhouse? But our talk is a long one, and we will defer to another what we have further to say on this subject. The Phlox Drummondii. "Flowers for gladness and flowers for sorrow, Shadowing forth what we fail to tell; Mystic symbols of tender meanings, Such as the heart interprets well." This is one of the most desirable of our annuals, coming into bloom early in the season and continuing in flower till frost. They are very effective in massed colors, and make fine ribbon beds. Contrasting shades should be selected. A writer in the _Garden_ says that the following are very desirable for this purpose: "Phlox Lothair, salmon shaded with violet; Mons Henrique, brilliant reddish crimson; Venus, pure white; Mons Goldenschugh, rosy violet; Spenceri, dark rosy lilac. An excellent front edging for this ribbon bed is the variegated Periwinkle. In order to grow them thoroughly well, and so to insure a lengthened period of blooming, the ground should be deeply trenched and well enriched with good manure from the farm yard, and not more than six heads of bloom should be allowed to each plant. Thus treated, when planted in long lines, it is difficult to convey an impression of these and similar varieties." There are many beautiful varieties of color; deep blood purple, brilliant scarlet, large blue with white eye, not truly a blue, but the nearest approach to it of any; Leopoldii, splendid deep pink, with white eye; Carmine Queen and Violet with a large white eye; Vick's _New Double White_, the only one that is reliable, from seed, to produce double flowers. Then there are the buffs and the stripes, crimson striped with white, and rose and purple. Mr. Vick, who makes a specialty of the Drummondii Phlox, they being a favorite with him, devotes acres to their cultivation, and who has been experimenting with them for several years, has produced several new sorts that are very fine; one of them is deep red with a fringed edge. There have been very marked improvements since this plant was first discovered in Texas by Mr. Drummond, a botanical collector sent out by the Glasgow Botanical Society, and it was one of the last, if not the very last, sent to Europe by him. He soon after went to Cuba, where he died of a fever in the prime of life. Sir N. J. Hooker named the plant after its discoverer as a memento. When first discovered it was very inferior to the flowers seen in our gardens, as is very apparent from an engraving of it taken from a drawing in Mr. Vick's possession, which was made in 1838, three years after its discovery. It is given in _Vick's Magazine_ for September, 1880, with the items we have cited. The word Phlox signifies flame, and is supposed to have been applied in allusion to the flame-like form of the bud. A lady who had excellent success with her seedlings, started early in a box, and bedded out one cloudy day in May, says: "I was surprised to find flowers on the plants when so young and small. I don't believe they had been transplanted five days before half of them had flowers, and soon the rest followed, and for more than two months my bed has been glorious--a mass of bright colors more beautiful than any carpet or dress pattern ever made. It is near the middle of September, and if the frost will only keep away, it looks as though they would keep on flowering for years. Tell everybody to have a Phlox bed and how to do it. It is the cheapest pleasure possible." CARRIE, in _Vick's Magazine_. VERBENAS. This we must have, for it is one of the most beautiful annuals cultivated. So varied its hues! So abundant its blooms! Not a brief season of flowering, and then naught but leaves, which are, not of themselves attractive, but an increase of blossoms from June till October, and it requires quite a severe frost to mar their beauty. They have the best effect massing each color by itself, and beds of a circular form cut in the lawn and filled with Verbenas, have a superb effect. Seedlings are much the best for bedding out, they are so much stronger and more bushy. Those plants offered for sale in pots, having one tall slender stem, crowned with a cluster of flowers, are almost worthless for the garden. True, if you get a healthy one, by layering and pegging down, you can sometimes get good plants, but you had better purchase seedlings by the dozen as they are offered in boxes and baskets, or order them of the florist by mail or express, and you will have plants that will grow compact, bloom early and profusely, with far better foliage than the puny straggling ones rooted from cuttings. One objection to purchasing seedlings by the clump is, I am well aware, the fact that they are not labeled as to color, and everybody wants to know that they will have at least one scarlet, one white, purple, and so on, and unless the color is peeping through the bud, one must buy with the risk of not knowing the desired color. This is the true state of the case so far as my own observation extends. But it need not be so, and we presume it is not so everywhere. Seedlings can be raised of course with each of the leading colors separate, and those in greatest demand in large quantities to meet the wants of the general public, while the fancy sorts can be of mixed varieties. Those who raise their own seedlings, usually buy a paper of mixed sorts, so in that case they are no better off than those who purchase seedlings of the florist, and as their facilities are far greater for raising early plants, it seems preferable as a general thing, to buy of them, for these reasons. In order to have good sizable plants for bedding out in May and June that will bloom in August, seed must be sown the first of March, at the latest, for it takes weeks for the little dry sticks to germinate, and then they are such slow growers, unless under the most favorable circumstances, they do not become strong vigorous plants by the time you want to bed them out. Few can care for them properly while their sunny windows are full of choice house plants, so that as a rule, we should deem it preferable to wait until May, and then purchase the large budded seedlings, which so quickly unfold their beautiful flowers to brighten the garden, when it is almost barren of bloom. They do not cost usually more than sixty cents per dozen, and one is saved from so much care. However, for the benefit of those who prefer to sow their own seed, we will give directions for the best method. First, be sure that the seed is new. Don't sow old seed for it will not germinate. If you have no hot bed, make one in a box or pan by putting in a layer of quite fresh horse manure for bottom heat; over this a layer of coarse sand; then fill the box with finely sifted soil, mixed with at least one-third fine sand. Make it smooth; then in little rows drop the seeds, not very sparsely, for all may not germinate, and if too thick when they come up they can be thinned out. Press the seed down with a bit of flat board, sift a little soil over them and then dampen by light spraying with tepid water; a brush dipped in water makes a gentle sprayer. Cover with paper, glass, or what is better, a bit of soft flannel wrung out of water laid on the surface, as it keeps the soil damp without sprinkling, by being wet as it dries. The soil must be kept moist, not soaking wet, for however helpful to germination a previous soaking may be, when sown the seed must not be drenched, and the same rules are equally applicable to the seedlings, for in either case rot would surely follow. It is just here where the special care is requisite to insure success. After the plants have come up, the flannel or paper must be removed and the seedlings given sunshine and air, though it is well to have a glass over the top of the box for a week or more, as more moisture is thereby secured; but there ought to be an aperture for the admission of air. When two or more leaves are developed, it is well to prick them out into other boxes or pots, if they are too thick for free growth; not all, a part can remain undisturbed. They should be gradually hardened as a preparation for out-door life, by being placed in cool situations. While heat is essential to start the seed into growth, it is not beneficial to the plants, and those who have a cold frame had better remove the plants to it as soon as the temperature will admit. In bedding out, an open situation is preferable. The ground should be well dug and enriched, with well-decomposed manure, and if the soil is heavy a liberal mixture of sand. A situation where the morning sun will not strike them before the dew is off in the morning is best, as this is one cause of the mildew or rust which so frequently saps the vitality of the leaves. In order to promote their spreading, it is a good plan to fasten down some of the branches when sufficiently flexible to the ground, and for this, nothing is more convenient than hair-pins. All the seed vessels should be pricked off in order to secure the best results, as much of the strength of the plant goes to them if allowed to remain. One can afford to be very liberal in gathering the flowers, for the more liberally they are picked off, the more rapidly buds form and develop. As it was with one of Bunyan's characters: "There was a man (though some did count him mad), The more he cast away, the more he had." The wise man says: "There is that scattereth and yet increaseth." A florist says that "to grow Verbenas successfully, plant them in beds cut in the turf. Chop the turf well and thoroughly mix with it a good share of well-decomposed stable manure; never, on any account plant them in old and worn-out garden soil as they will most assuredly fail. Give them a change of soil each season, as they do not thrive well two years in the same bed." As a house plant the Verbena is not a success. It is most always sickly, and infested with red spiders. They cannot be kept over winter in a cellar; it is growth or death. Verbenas were first introduced into Europe about fifty years ago from South America, and a few years later into this country. They have been greatly improved, and the varieties are very numerous. Many are fragrant. The only hardy sort is Montana, a native of Colorado. It is a profuse bloomer, color, a bright rose. There are the German Hybrids, the Italian stripes, and the Drummondii from Texas. Every year brings its novelties, as with other flowers. Mr. C. E. Allen, who makes a specialty of seedling Verbenas, is sending out several fine ones this season; Silver Queen, Florence, Emma, Carroll, Ralph and Variegata are very attractive according to the descriptions. PETUNIAS. [Illustration] Few things in the garden will make more show throughout the entire season, even after quite severe frosts, than a bed of Petunias from a paper of seed marked "Choicest Mixed from Show Flowers." They will produce such a profusion of flowers, charming one from day to day with their variations of markings, and of color. Some retain their distinctive characteristics, while with others they are changeful as the Kaleidoscope. Stripes, blotches, sprays, white throats, green edges, they are just lovely. Then there are the double sorts; purple with white spots, white with purple; rose color, white, purplish-crimson margined with white; lilac veined with purple; white with stripes of purple in the center of each petal, some exquisitely fringed; large and full as a rose, and some almost as sweet. In nothing, perhaps, has there been such a wonderful improvement by culture and hybridising as the Petunia. Mr. Vick tells us how that half a century ago, he saw for the first time, a Petunia. It was a novelty--a strange flower from a flowery land, South America, and it was carefully treated in green-houses. The flower was white and small, and looked somewhat as if made of paper--such a flower as would now be destroyed if by chance seen growing accidentally in our gardens. The novelty soon subsided, and although it was ascertained that it could be grown in gardens, it did not possess sufficient merit to gain popular favor. A little later, however, about 1831, to the astonishment of the floral world, it was announced that a new Petunia, of a purple color, had been discovered in Buenos Ayres. It was first flowered and seeded in the Botanic Gardens of Glasgow, and thence seed was sent all over Europe and to America, where it soon became a great favorite. About thirty years ago a double Petunia was grown and propagated by cuttings. It was only semi-double and white, but it was the commencement of a new era in Petunia culture. Truly wonderful have been the advances in development of this beautiful flower. The Petunia is divided into three distinct classes, the Grandiflora, Small Flowered and Double. The Grandiflora varieties have a strong succulent growth, the flowers are not so numerous as some others, but are very large and double, frequently measuring three inches in diameter, and some kinds are exquisitely marked with various shades of violet, purple, maroon and scarlet upon white ground; some striped, others bordered, some marbled, some deeply fringed. The double Petunia gives no seed, and it is only by fertilizing single flowers with the pollen of the double that seed can be obtained. But Petunias of all kinds are easily multiplied by cuttings. The Small Flowered class are those that make our gardens so attractive with their varied hues and markings. Some of the new hybrids are of wonderful beauty. Last year gave two of the Double and Fringed sort that have been frequently noted as gems of the first water. Mrs. Edward Roby, color, a glowing crimson-maroon, edged with pure white, very double and deeply fringed. Model of Perfection, deep maroon, heavily edged with white, and deeply fringed. These were priced last year in a Western catalogue at $1.50 each; this year they are priced at 30 cents. So one gains by waiting a year for high-priced novelties. New Double Fringed Petunia for 1881, is President Garfield, which originated with Mr. C. E. Allen, and is thus described in his catalogue: "Color, light purple veined with deep purple magenta, edged with a broad band of an exquisite shade of green. Very novel in its appearance and a new color in double petunias; flower very large and deeply fringed. Plants strong and vigorous; one of the finest sorts ever offered." For a Petunia so unique as this, with its broad band of green, and now offered for the first time; its price, 75 cents, is low. Pansies. "Open your eyes, my Pansies sweet, Open your eyes for me, Driving away with face so true, The chilling wind and wintry hue, That lingers so drearily. "Open your eyes, my Pansies sweet, Open your eyes for me. Where did you get that purple hue? Did a cloudlet smile as you came through? Did a little sunbeam bold Kiss on your lips that tint of gold? Tell me the mystery. "In your eyes a story I read-- A story of constancy. After the storms and winter's wind, Softly you come with influence kind; Then as I bend with listening ear, Your cheerful voice I plainly hear, Preaching a sermon to me. "So, whisper to me, my Pansies sweet-- Tell me in rustlings low, Of that beautiful land where fadeless flowers Brightly bloom in immortal bowers, And no blighting wind doth blow. "Tell of the care that is over all-- That gives you your garments gay; Whose loving hand clothes the floweret small That grows in the field, or by the garden wall, Whose life is only a day. "Yes, tell of the love, my Pansies sweet, Of the love that knows no end; That through earth's winter safely keeps Watch over his children, and never sleeps; The love that paints the violet blue, And quenches your thirst with drops of dew, The weary heart's faithful friend." A Talk About Pansies. "Pray you love, remember, There's Pansies--that's for thought." _Shakespeare._ I find my Pansies are coming up finely. My bed of Pansies last year from "choicest mixed seed" sown in April, began to bloom in June, and afforded me so much pleasure with their varied beauty, that I resolved this year to have a great many of them. I see, now that the snow has melted from the bed, that the plants have wintered well. I had all of the colors shown in the chromo plate of my catalogue, excepting _Emperor William_, dark blue. I think that somebody else must have got him, for my packet of seed was divided and sub-divided. _King of the Blacks_ was rightly named, a mere dot of yellow in the center, and _Pure White_ was in striking contrast, while _Pure Yellow_ was golden, and _Odier_ was splendid with its dark center banded with yellow and scarlet. Then there was copper-colored and striped, and such rich purples with a dot of yellow. How lovely they were! They were not very large at first, but in August after a rain, I had superb specimens. They were bedded beneath a fruit tree, where they were sheltered from the noonday glare. They thrive best in a moist, partially shaded situation. The blossoms ought to be picked as they fade, for if left to seed the strength is taken from the plants and the blossoms are smaller. This season I have sown musical Pansies. "Musical Pansies! what are they? What sort of music do they make? Will it be of the Brass Band order, or that of the hand-organ style?" No, no! Not that coarse, harsh, loud sort at all. If you could hear their low, sweet notes, you would be enraptured. But this cannot be. I call them musical, because named for the great composers, Mozart, Handel, Schiller, Goethe, Beethoven, Haydn, Mendelssohn, and Schumann. They are the "New German Pansies," of which types are given in oil colors, in the catalogue of B. F. Bliss & Sons, and represent the most beautiful strains I have ever seen. They are no fancy sketch, but drawn as true to life in color and size as it was possible to make them, if we will accept the testimony of Dr. Thurber in the _American Agriculturist_. He says, that "no doubt many who have seen the colored plate published by Messrs. B. F. Bliss & Sons, have supposed that the artist had exercised his imagination both as to size and the strange combinations of colors. So far from this being the case, the flowers are, if anything, rather below the real size, and as to colors, it would be impossible to conceive of any artificial colors more brilliant, or more strongly contrasted, than they are in flowers, produced by this remarkable strain of seeds." In my childhood I knew nothing of the Pansy. The little Heartsease or Ladies' Delight, as it was then called, was alone cultivated. Mr. Vick tells us how it grew to be the fine flower now so highly prized. About sixty years ago, a very young English lady living on the banks of the Thames, had a little flower garden of her own, and one bed she filled with Pansies, selecting from her father's grounds the finest she could obtain. The gardener, seeing her interest and success, became ambitious to try his hand, and grew plants from the finest specimens. These attracted the attention of professional florists, and speedily the Pansy became a popular flower. Every country gives it a pet name--Heartsease, Fringed Violet, Trinity Flower, Butterfly flower, and Johnny-jump-up, while the French call it _Pensée_, from which our name of Pansy is probably derived. It means to remember or keep in mind. A floral work published in 1732, illustrates it with a colored plate, which shows it to have been then small like the Ladies' Delight. MODE OF CULTURE. For summer blooming plants sow seed in the house, in March or April. Cigar boxes are very suitable for seed sowing. Put in a layer of coarse sand for drainage, then one of horse manure for bottom heat. Fill with rich, mellow earth sifted and mixed with one-third silver sand, or finely pulverized leaf mold. Have it moist but not drenched. With a narrow strip of board, make tiny furrows about one and a half inches apart, and in these carefully drop the seed one by one an inch distant. Cover slightly, and press the soil firmly, then lay a piece of old soft flannel folded once or twice, and wrung lightly out of warm water, carefully over the soil, which will keep it damp. Cover with glass, and keep in a warm place. In a few days see if the covering is dry, if so damp it again, and watch for the seedlings. When they appear, remove the flannel, but still keep on the glass, not, however, so close as to exclude all air. Gradually inure them to the sunlight, and as soon as they have made four or five leaves, it is best to transplant every other one, so that they may have room to grow. Great care is needful with tender seedlings to keep them from damping off. If too wet, they will do this, or if kept too shady. Good judgment is essential for success. As the weather becomes warm, expose them at first an hour or two, to the outdoor air, and thus prepare them for early bedding out. Being hardy plants, living out of doors during the winter, with slight protection at the North, they will bear transplanting sooner than many other seedlings. A rich moist soil, and somewhat cool and shaded situation, are best adapted for their growth. For winter flowers, sow seed the last of August, or first of September, in a frame or boxes kept in a shady place. ASTERS. These must be included among the essential annuals for the garden. They are one of the chief attractions of the border in the autumn, when many flowers have passed their prime. This plant, like the Petunia, has in skillful hands and by hybridization, developed from a very inferior flower to one of great beauty and numerous classes, which embrace a great many varieties. They are represented by _Dwarfs_ and by _Giants_, ranging intermediately from five or six inches in height to two feet. _Dwarf Bouquet_ presents a mass of flowers with scarcely a leaf, while _Tall Chrysanthemum_ grows to the height of two feet, and the _New Victoria_, _Giant Emperor_, _Truffant's Perfection_ and the _New Washington_ bear immense flowers of great beauty. The last named bears the largest flowers of any variety; sometimes they measure more than five inches across. The _New Rose_ is of a strong habit, and the petals of its large blossoms are finely imbricated. _Truffant's Fiery Scarlet_ and _Dwarf Fiery Scarlet_, are a novelty in color among Asters. _Goliath_ is of a bushy form, and its flowers are very large. Fine colors. _Victoria_ is a dwarf; snow-white, very double. The _Crown Asters_ have white centers surrounded with various bright colors, and are very pretty. The _Quilled Asters_ are quite distinct in character, the petals consisting of tubes or quills with outer blossom petals slightly reflexed. _Newest Shakespeare_ and _Diamond_ and _Meteor_ are novelties of recent introduction, and come in numerous colors. We grew them last year and deem them admirable. The native country of this plant is China, hence it has been called frequently China Aster. It had originally only a few rows of petals and a large disk. It was first discovered about a century and a half ago, by a missionary, and sent to Europe. It was first cultivated in France, and the French florists have done the most toward perfecting the flat-petaled Aster, and this style of flower is known as the French Aster. On the other hand the Germans have sought to produce fine flowers with tubular petals, and the quilled are therefore called German Asters. Within a few years, however, the Germans have rivaled the French in originating superior varieties of the flat-petaled style. When first cultivated in France it was called _Reine Marguerite_, meaning Queen Daisy; afterward in England it was called _China Aster_, which means China Star. Asters require a rich, deep soil. Twelve inches apart is a very good distance for the large varieties, the dwarf can be set about six inches, or even less will do. The tall kinds need to be staked, or they are liable to be blown down, or prostrated by heavy rains. Do not tie one string around the entire plant, but use several, and confine a few branches with each, so that, while having sufficient support, they may retain their natural position. BALSAMS. [Illustration] Have been sowing my Balsams to-day in a box, so as to have nice seedlings to bed out in six weeks from now. My Balsams last year were superior to any I had seen, but Mr. J. L. Childs, who rather prides himself on his plants, has sent me several packages for trial. He says: "My stock of Balsams is undoubtedly the finest in the world; all who saw them flowering the past season were astonished at their size and magnificence. The new variety (Child's Camellia Flowered Perfection), is indeed a great acquisition; its flowers are of gigantic size, and so double and perfect that they resemble small Camellias; it is also a very free bloomer. I have counted five and six hundred perfect flowers upon a plant at the same time." That is a wonderful yield, truly; I cannot expect so many, but half that number would satisfy me. The Camellia Flowered Perfection comes in nine colors; pink, scarlet, striped white and purple, mottled, white and delicate pink, magenta spotted with white, crimson spotted with white, purple spotted with white, pure white, and rose-flowered perfection, lavender color, buds when half open, resemble a rosebud. I shall sow some of the seeds in June, for autumn blooming, and shall try more fully than last year the pruning method. This is done by removing all of the branches, and then the main stock will grow two or three feet in height, and be a perfect wreath of blossoms. Another method is to remove the leader and let two or three branches remain. The flowers are larger, and the plant handsomer than when allowed to grow at its own sweet will. They do best in a light, rich soil, and a liberal supply of liquid manure will greatly advance their growth. A writer in the _Gardener's Chronicle_ says: "Considering the very effective display that these plants make when associated with stately foliage plants in sub-tropical beds, I think they are worthy of more extended cultivation. There are few plants better adapted for the above purpose than the Balsam, being easily raised from seed, and as is well known, they are rapid growers if they are planted in a rich soil. Several samples of these plants with us are now three feet through and over two feet high, and they work admirably with such things as Castor Oils, Cannas, and the beautifully striped Japonica. The plants referred to were planted out early in June, and I am so pleased with their behaviour in the sub-tropical garden, that I intend to grow them largely another year." I know of no reason why the Balsam might not with good cultivation thrive as well here as in England. Let us try our "level best," and see what we can do. A Talk About Geraniums. My interest in this class of plants was specially awakened four years ago by the successful cultivation of a dozen or more new varieties which I was induced to send for by the reception of the catalogue of the "Innisfallen Green houses," containing a more attractive list of geraniums, and at lower prices than I had ever seen. I secured a Club by a little effort, and thus obtained so many fine extras, that it was a very agreeable surprise. I have since learned that very many others have had a similar surprise. The next spring I had a much larger assortment, and last year the greatest variety I ever saw. I am sure that I had sixty kinds in bloom at once. Although very small plants, as they always are when many are ordered by mail, they throve wonderfully, and with one exception, were all in flower in a few weeks, and kept on blooming till after removal in the autumn. My method of treatment is the following: On opening the boxes I find them packed in damp moss, many closely tied together. I take off the oiled paper, loosen the moss packed around them, and put them in a shallow pan, in which is sufficient tepid water to cover the roots. After an hour or two I set them in three and four inch pots, first putting a bit of crock over the hole in the bottom of the pot, so as to keep the roots from going astray, then some of the coarse siftings of soil, or small bits of coal for drainage. As geraniums are not at all fastidious about soil, I take whatever is available, mix a small quantity of sand with it to make it friable, enriching with old manure. I nearly fill the pot, and then make a hole in the center, set in the plant, press the earth firmly around it, fill to the top and press down again, water, and set the pot in a cool and shady place for several days, then bring to the light for a few hours, gradually accustoming them to the sunshine, until they become fully established in their new quarters. When the weather is sufficiently warm, I plunge the pots in the border for the summer, covering the pots entirely. I choose a cloudy day if possible; if otherwise, I do the work late in the afternoon, so that the intense sunshine may not at the first beat upon them. I prefer massing these new plants by themselves, as the effect is more pleasing than when intermixed with other kinds. The geranium bed is the most attractive one of my garden. It is always full of bloom, and the varied hues commingled are very attractive. I remove all decayed leaves, and the trusses as soon as the flowers have faded. Frequently there will be a few decayed pips marring the beauty of a fine truss, and these I carefully remove. All of my large stock geraniums which have been wintered two years, I set by themselves, and they furnish an abundance of flowers for bouquets, and cuttings for new plants. Where one has a plenty of garden room, they need not mind having several choice geraniums of a kind. Slips will root well during the summer months, if set in the earth near the parent stock, where they are shaded from the direct rays of the sun. Care must be had to set the cuttings well down in the soil, and firm the earth compactly around them. In this way one can obtain with little care nice plants for the winter window garden, which will be more shapely than those which have become very branchy. Geraniums are ill growing plants unless pruned and trained with skill. But they are so easily cultured, adapting themselves to most any situation whether of shade or sunshine, are so hardy, and bloom so freely, that we can but admire them though they yield no fragrant flowers. There are many varieties of scented leaved geraniums, and these mixed with the odorless blossoms are almost an equivalent. Then the beautiful "Golden Bronzed Zoned" geraniums, and the "Silver Margined" and "Tricolored," are so beautiful in foliage, while _Happy Thought_, with its creamy yellow leaf margined with green; _Distinction_, with deep green leaves zoned with black; Mrs. Pollock with bronze red zone belted with bright crimson margined with golden yellow, are exceedingly ornamental. Beside these there are many perhaps equally attractive, not often named in the general collection. _Freak of Nature_, first sent out last year, is an improvement on Happy Thought the center of pure white narrowly margined with light green; flowers light scarlet; habit very dwarf and spreading. It originated with Mr. Gray of England, and was awarded three first class certificates. [Illustration: BISHOP WOOD GERANIUM.] Of the numerous classes into which geraniums are divided, few only are given usually by florists. There are the Ornamental Foliage of which we have cited a few examples, and the Golden Tricolors, Silver Tricolors, Golden Bronze, Nosegay and Lilliputian Zonale; Double and single Geraniums. We will specify a few varieties worthy of special note, as we can testify by personal observation. Bishop Wood, Madam Baltet, C. H. Wagner, Madam Thibaut, Victor Hugo, Jean Dolfus, Cassimer Perier, John Fennely, Naomi and Rose d'Amour, all double sorts. Of the single, Dr. John Denny possesses a rare beauty, and is thus described by an English writer: "Dr. John Denny, raised by J. Sisley, has quite set at rest the probability of a blue or a purple, which is a positive fact, and great honor is due to its distinguished raiser. It also possesses another novel and distinct feature. The base of the two top petals is of a bright crimson tinted with orange, which gives it a most striking appearance; this, together with its immense sized trusses, free growth and shape of blooms, renders it one of the best for pot or house decoration, and is of great acquisition." Jean Dolfus belongs to this purple magenta class, a double geranium, very beautiful. Also Zuleika, which has larger pips and trusses. It is a little more striking in color than John Denny, but both are just as lovely as a geranium can possibly be. When Jealousy was sent out, there was much ado over it because it was the nearest approach toward a yellow Zonal, but it was eclipsed pretty soon by Guinea, which was an advance by a shade or two. We had the two in proximity last summer, and though but little difference, it was sufficiently marked to enable us to decide that Guinea for color, size and form, was preferable. We just get settled down on that, when we are startled by the announcement of another novelty, "New Guinea" by name, "a great improvement on Guinea, being two shades brighter." Well, well! we must have that, too, and see if in other respects as well as color, it is worthy to eclipse our favorite. Henry Cannell--this is a new geranium, originating with Mr. John Thorp of Queens, New York, who makes a specialty of seedling geraniums, and has sent out from his grounds many of great value, one of them Happy Thought, so widely known. We have not tested H. Cannell, ours was sent from Innisfallen during the winter, and has not yet bloomed, but we are sure that it would never have received the name of the most distinguished florist in England, if it were not a superior variety. New Life originated with Mr. H. Cannell of Swanley England, in our Centennial year, and he sent out the first thousand by subscription only, at £1 each--not one sold till the thousand were engaged! When introduced the following year to this country, stock plants were sold for $5.00 each. Now you can purchase it at prices ranging from ten cents to thirty. It is unique in color, being splashed, striped, and flecked with salmon and white on an intense scarlet ground. It is sometimes freakish, having pips with some petals salmon, others partly white and partly scarlet, others pure scarlet. But this very freak is charming, for with beautifully striped trusses there will be others thus sportive. Its habit is dwarf, compact, and its dark leaves zoned with black are very handsome. It cannot be surpassed as a free bloomer. Mr. Cannell, when sending it out, expressed the wish that the day might come when there would not be a cottage in the land where New Life was not found. John Fennely, salmon striped with white, and Fairy, flaked and striped with crimson on a bluish white ground, are very pretty. Dazzle, Harry King, Richard Dean, and Jean Sisley are scarlet with white eye. Of several single white geraniums in my garden, I gave decided preference to Madame Quinet. There is a great difference in the duration of the flowers. Victor Hugo, a splendid geranium, retains its beautiful trusses full five weeks. Bishop Wood is also admirable in this respect, and Jenny Dolfus and Naomi we believe cannot be surpassed. [Illustration] Of the Sweet Scented Geraniums, we have none equal to the hybrid, Mrs. Taylor, for beauty of foliage and of flower. It is a fine grower, and for green to mix with flowers it is admirable. Dr. Livingstone, a more recent novelty, is very handsome and fragrant. Rose and Lemon scented are delicious. Lady Plymouth is a variegated rose; leaves bronzy green, fringed with creamy white, sometimes assuming a pink tinge; very ornamental. London Blue is a very rare variety of scented geranium, of heavy creeping growth, with large crimped or curled leaves covered thickly with fine spines or hairs. Seldom blooms. We have specified a goodly number, yet but a few from the many, and we can assure you that if you have a large bed of geraniums you will greatly admire them, and feel satisfied that you have the most effective bedding plants, requiring the least care, and for the smallest outlay, that you could possibly obtain. In California they grow without culture to an enormous size. From an editor's notes we cite the following: "A little slip of geranium planted out in the spring, had grown in the summer to 150 branches, its stalk at its base four inches thick, and bearing over a thousand blooms! I saw a fence fifteen feet high, sixty-five feet long, covered with geranium vines that had clambered up one side, and then dropped down the other, filling both sides with a blanket of scarlet blossoms. It grows like weeds, and needs no care." Geraniums are so hardy that one can leave them to the last in removing from the border in autumn. Frosts that kill Dahlia tops, and many other plants, do not harm geraniums. Some of mine, for lack of time to remove, are exposed till late without harm. The roots have great vitality, and when the stalk has frozen and rotted to the ground, a new growth will start forth, sometimes in a few weeks, and sometimes not for three months. I have had this proved by plants in my window boxes. So one need not be in a hurry to pull up the frozen geraniums. My large stocky plants I pack in dry goods boxes, filling in earth around the roots, and put them in the cellar where they have little light. The pot plants, also, are mostly put away so as to give all the available room to the cuttings rooted in the summer, and the rare and tender plants that will not live in a cellar. These cuttings make fine plants for bedding out in May or June. In the spring the large geraniums are brought up to the open air and trimmed of their dead leaves, pruned of dead branches, and put in a large bed with the Hybrid Perpetual Roses. A Talk About Begonias. My first Begonia was a Rex. It thrived for several years, and then to my regret died, for it was quite a favorite with me. Its large leaves with broad silvery belt and red dots, were very handsome. This species thrive best in a Wardian case and are of rare beauty and size, grown under such circumstances. A cool, moist atmosphere is the best for them; they burn and shrivel exposed to the intense sunlight. They are easily multiplied from the leaves. Cut the leaf so that a small portion of the stem will remain, insert this in a pan of damp sand, laying the leaf out flat upon the sand, upper side uppermost. It can be retained in place by bits of stone or small pegs. Cuts must then be made in a number of places so as to sever the veins, thus checking the flow of sap. A callus then forms at the base of each piece of vein where severed, and just above it, a bud starts out, and thus a new plant is formed. It is essential for success, that there should be bottom heat, and that the air should be moist. A bell glass is the best to put over the leaf, and if there is danger that the air become too moist, the glass can be tilted up to allow of an escape. The leaves best adapted for propagation are those neither very young nor very old, but healthy and vigorous; yet that this is not absolutely essential is shown by the experience of a lady who had excellent success with a leaf that was some what decayed around the edges, and for that reason was cut off and thrown away. Remembering afterward that the plant was sometimes grown from pieces of a leaf, she hunted it up, trimmed off the decayed portion, and planted it at the foot of a tree, about half under ground, and pressed the soil firmly around it. A few months afterward she had a nice little plant from it, with its beautiful leaves unfolding finely. [Illustration] There are many varieties of the Rex family; some have brilliant colors in their leaves, others are thickly covered with short hairs. These are more difficult to manage, and require great care to preserve from dust, as like all rough leaved plants, they do not enjoy spraying, as do smooth leaved ones. It is well to set them out in a mild shower occasionally. Tepid water is the best for watering. BEGONIAS, NOT REX. This class are the most generally cultivated, and they embrace a great many varieties, which are specially distinguishable by the diversity of their leaves. Most of them are one-sided, that is, they are larger on one side of the mid-rib than on the other. Some have fern-like foliage, others lobated. Some have large palmate leaves, others are spotted and laced with white. As a class they are very beautiful for their foliage, but when to this attraction is added beauty of flowers, it will be seen at once that they are eminently deserving of the prominent position now given them both in the open border and the window garden. We will name for the benefit of amateurs some of the most desirable as given by Mr. Vick: _Fuchsioides_, with its drooping scarlet flowers, is one of the most desirable of the whole class; the leaves are small, and of a dark green color, and the small, delicate brilliant flowers are produced in great profusion. As a winter blooming sort it is indispensable. _F. Alba_ bears white flowers. _Richardsonii_, a variety with white flowers and deeply cleft palmate leaves, requires more heat than the former, therefore well adapted to our warm rooms. _Subpeltata nigricans_ has large, dark purple leaves, and bears clusters of large rosy flowers, very ornamental. _Grandiflora rosea_, with light pink flowers, and _Sandersonii_, scarlet flowers; _Weltoniensis_, of dwarf habit and small dark green foliage, rich pink flowers, are all fine winter bloomers. _Argyrostigma picta_ has long, thick leaves, with white spots. _Metallica_, an elegant plant with bronzy green foliage, and producing an abundance of pale peach-colored flowers, is of very recent introduction. _Louis Schwatzer_ has a beautiful marked foliage in the style of Rex, dwarf habit. _Mons. Victor Lamoine_, leaves marbled like lace. _Glaucophylla Scandens_ is of quite recent introduction, and the very best of all for a hanging basket. It is of a drooping habit, and its bright glossy leaves are very handsome. It bears large panicles of orange salmon flowers. TUBEROUS ROOTED BEGONIA. This is a class of quite recent origin, and differs from the more general varieties, in that it has bulbous roots which can be taken up and stored during the winter like Gladioli and Gloxinia bulbs. It has larger flowers than the other species; red, orange, yellow, with intermediate tints. A writer in the London _Garden_ says of them: "The bulbous Begonias, mostly of the Boliviniensis and Veitchi sections or families, may have also a brilliant future in the flower garden. Meanwhile, their proper place seems to be in the conservatory, greenhouse and window garden. For such positions it is well-nigh impossible to match the bulbous-rooted Begonias for brilliancy, grandeur and grace, three qualities seldom combined in the same plant. The plants are also characterized by great distinctness and freshness of style and character." They are both double and single. Of the single flowered, the most important sent out last year was _Davisii_. It is a native of the Andes of Peru. Dwarf in habit, the leaves and flowers all springing from the root stalk. "The scapes which rise erect above an elegant bluish green foliage, are light red; each scape bears three dazzling scarlet flowers. The plant is of very free growth, and a profuse bloomer." _Frobelii_, a new species from Ecuador, said to be very attractive, producing, well above the foliage, erect branches of large brilliant scarlet flowers; the foliage is of bright green, furnished on the under side with a thick covering of white hairs. _White Queen_, a very elegant variety with numerous racemes of ivory white blossoms. Of the new double flowered, _Glorie de Nancy_ is represented as a magnificent variety, with large very double carmine flowers, and very floriferous. _Louis Van Houtte_, flowers large, of a crimson scarlet color; of fine habit, and a free bloomer. "_Comtesse Horace Choeteau_, is an inch or more in diameter, very double, and of a delicate, soft shade of rose; the young plant in a three-inch pot presented a number of flowers and buds, indicating a good blooming habit. As a double flower it is remarkably fine, the petals being well formed, pretty smoothly laid and imbricated."--_James Vick._ The soil best adapted for Begonias is turfy loam, leaf-mold, sand, and old well-rotted manure in equal parts. When growing, they require a liberal supply of water, applied directly to the soil. The Begonias are natives of the tropical countries of Asia, Africa, and America, and most of them inhabit the mountainous regions at a considerable elevation. They were first brought to notice and introduced into cultivation about two hundred years ago by a French naval officer, Michel Begon, from whom they derived their name. GLOXINIA. This bulbous plant is a native of the tropical region of South America, and deserves a more general culture, for all the varieties of this genus are very handsome, _magnificent_ is not too strong a term to apply to many of them. They may be raised from seed by sowing early in spring in a finely sifted soil of leaf mold and garden loam. But great care is needful, and then one has to wait the following year for the flowers. It is better to obtain the bulbs in the spring all started, then they will bloom during the summer. Mine had several leaves, and I removed them from the thumb pots to five-inch size, which I judged would be sufficiently large for them. They need plenty of light and heat and plenty of air. To prolong the flowering an occasional watering with manure water should be given. In the autumn they must be gradually dried off and the bulbs kept in a warm, dry place, secure from frost. They can be potted any time from February to May. The bulb must be planted so that its top will be level with the surface of the soil, and watered sparingly until the leaves appear. I will describe a few "superlatively beautiful." _Cinderella_, pure white with pink band. _Brilliant_, bright crimson, margined with rose, rich violet throat. _Rose d'Amour_, rose carmine, cream colored throat, zone of cerise. _Nero_, dark purple, white throat. _Princess Royal_, tube and edges white, throat mottled with dark blue. _Lamartine_, very beautifully undulated, magnificent shape; white bordered rose limb, veering to cochineal, marbled with white and elegantly veined with rose. _Boule de Neige_, pure snowy white, an abundant bloomer. These are only a few selections from the many, but sufficient to give you an idea of the variety of colors. TUBEROSE. What flower can be whiter, sweeter, and more lovely than the Tuberose? As the flowering bulbs can be bought for ten and fifteen cents, according to size, no one need be without this charming flower. It is a native of the East Indies, and was introduced into Europe more than two hundred years ago. Until recently Italy grew the tubers for Europe and America, but it has now been discovered that American grown tuberoses are superior in quality to the imported, and many florists of Europe now advertise them. Here is a description of the tuberose, which appeared originally in a volume entitled "_The Flower Garden Displayed_," published in England in 1732: "This is a bulbous root, brought to us from Italy every year. It brings a spike of white flowers on the top of a stalk about three feet high, and is very sweet scented. The flower buds are a little tinted with a lake or carmine color. We raise this by planting the roots in pots of fine earth, and plunging them in hot beds in February or March; but give them no water till they sprout, then we have this flower in July. Or else set the roots in a warm border under a south wall, and they will some of them flower in August and some in September, or this month or the next. When these blossom you may pot them and set them into the green-house, and some will even bloom in December." Mr. Vick, from whose magazine we quote the foregoing, gives an engraving copied from the work, showing the character of the tuberose as it was nearly a century and a half ago. It represents a small single flower, that would be lightly esteemed by us. The flower stalk is from three to five feet in height, and bears from twenty-five to eighty blossoms. The _Pearl_ is much the finest sort. When the bulbs are obtained from the florist they have usually several little tubers round the large one. These ought to be taken off and placed in rich, mellow soil to the depth of four or five inches. They must be cared for by keeping the earth loose and watering occasionally. Before frost they should be lifted, their tops cut away, and then kept in a dry, warm place during the winter. The strongest ones will usually blossom in the autumn. But summer flowering bulbs are so cheap it seems scarcely worth the trouble. Will Tuberoses flower the second year, is a question frequently asked, and usually answered in the negative, even by popular florists. A writer in an English periodical, _Gardeners' Chronicle_, gives the following facts: "Last year, instead of throwing away all our plants when they had done flowering, as is, I believe, customary, I saved back twelve plants, not picked ones, which were placed under a stage in a late vinery, where they remained until the end of April without receiving any water to the roots, other than what they derived from the moisture of the house, by which time most of them had thrown up their flower-spikes, which proceeded from young tubers, formed immediately upon the top or crown of the old ones, and from the union of which--when the plants had received a thorough watering, and otherwise were subject to a growing temperature--a profusion of roots emanated, after which the plants received a suitable shift to a small 24. The spikes of these plants, although not so strong or fine as those produced by tubers imported last autumn, are nevertheless good, both in spike and each individual flower, which, moreover, expanded in the most satisfactory manner possible, so much so, that this and other seasons I intend to save all my tuberoses for flowering the second year, and perhaps the third. I may here remark for the information of the uninitiated in tuberose culture, that in potting the tubers all little bulbets or offsets should be rubbed off, and subsequently any suckers which may appear should be removed forthwith, otherwise failure to flower these most beautifully scented flowers will, in all probability be the result. The plant is of comparatively easy and simple culture, and considering the value of the tuberose while in flower, and its great suitability for bouquet-making, etc., the wonder is that it is not more extensively cultivated in private establishments as well as by market gardeners." A gentleman writes me of a new method with Tuberoses; new to him, and he says that in a large range of horticultural reading he has never seen it mentioned nor heard of its being used except in the instance he cites. He says: "I have grown Tuberoses for the past ten years with varying success, but the main difficulty has been that so long a time has been required in rooting and stocking them that the first frost finds a large proportion of them just budding, or not commenced to spindle. Had tried various places, hot-bed, furnace-room and hot-house, and all the early spring months and December, but that made no difference; they would not start until they got ready, and I lost many bulbs from rotting. Two years ago, a friend who had had a similar experience surprised me by showing me plants about the first of May with fine tops that had been planted but three weeks, and the first of June had stalks a foot high, while my bulbs which had been planted the first of February, did not commence to sprout until June, although they had been in a hot-house under favorable conditions. "Now the reason simply was this: He had taken his bulbs and not only pulled off all the small ones attached, but had dug out with a sharp knife all the small eyes, and had cut off the whole of the tuberous part, leaving only the bulb proper. This I tried on one-half my bulbs, with the result that they were nearly two months earlier than those planted the same time, that I did not cut. Although this seems to be rather severe treatment of the bulb, it has given such good results that I propose to continue the practice." My own experience is that of late blooming. Of the dozen I planted in the border in June, five were finely budded when taken up in September, and have since bloomed. Two others had just begun to spindle, the others with one exception look as though they would not stalk. Next year I purpose to try this new method. A Talk About Gladiolus. "Posthumous glories, angel-like collection, Upraised from seed or bulb interred in earth, Ye are to me a type of resurrection And second birth." It was my intention to devote this entire article to "Ornamental Foliage Plants," but I think I will have a prelude, and my prelude may have no more connection with my "talk" proper than Mr. Cook's preludes do with his lecture proper, and I think that frequently the first is the most interesting and important; and from the fact that in the published reports much more space is afforded to the prelude than the lecture, I opine that others are of the same opinion. "The Topic of the Hour," whatever may be the question just then stirring the public mind, is usually chosen as the preface. The topic of the hour to-day has been a bit of a sermon from the text, "And to every seed its own body," and the lesson embodied was that of Faith. The preaching came from a package of gladiolus bulbs, just received, and it run on this wise: [Illustration] Here are these dry bulbs, separately wrapped and labeled. They look alike in color, and very nearly alike in form; some are rather more cone shaped than others. One is larger and more flat. But there is nothing in form nor size to show that they will not develop precisely the same form and color of flower. I know that they will all reveal the leaf, habit of growth, bud and bloom that distinguishes this species of plant from all others, because I know that these are gladiolus bulbs, and every seed hath its own body. A gladiolus bulb never yet produced a dahlia. A tigridia or shell-flower bulb, though greatly resembling some gladiolus bulbs, and its form of leaf is very similar, yet it never produces a bud nor blossom like the gladiolus. The tigridia hath "its own body," peculiarly and exclusively its own. I have spoken thus far of demonstrated facts--facts that have become to me a matter of personal knowledge. But now comes the lesson of _Faith_. I find each bulb bears a different name. I take my catalogue and read the description against the name on each label. Thus I am told what colors pertain to each bulb, inclosed, shut up beyond my ken. Do I have any doubts respecting these descriptions--that the distinguishing characteristics of each sort before me will fail to correspond? Here is _Lord Byron_ and _Lord Raglan_. How do I know that the former will be a brilliant scarlet, stained and ribboned with pure white, while the latter will have salmon colored blossoms, spotted with scarlet and blotched with dark garnet? I do not _know_ this, for I have never seen it demonstrated, but I have an _assured faith_ that in due time I shall behold those flowers true to their assigned colors, and if there should be a failure I should attribute it to the mistake of the labeler. But why should these brown bulbs, so alike to outward view, bear flowers so widely differing in hues? Why should _Cleopatra_ have a large flower of soft lilac tinged with violet, and a purple feathered blotch, while _Meteor_ is dark red with pure white stain? Why should _Nestor_ be yellow striped with red, and _Addison_ dark amaranth, with white stripes? Vainly would I seek by dissection to fathom the mystery of these hidden diversified markings, but He who created this plant of wondrous beauty gave to each "seed its own body," and thus we can plant in faith--yea in full assurance of faith--that in due time our eyes will behold all those varied tints now secreted in these bulbs before us. Our seed sowing is all the work of Faith, and Hope looks beyond with bright anticipations of the summer and autumn harvest. The gladiolus is very easily cultured, and I have far better success in keeping the bulbs through the winter than I have with the dahlia. The tubers of the dahlia easily rot, on account of the dampness of the cellar, though carefully dried and packed in sand. But the gladiolus bulbs, without any special care, come out in fine condition. I like to add a few new ones to my old standard stock, so as to have a variety of colors, for few flowers make such a grand display in the flower garden, and the spikes of bloom are admirable for bouquets, as the buds will unfold day after day for a long time. The lower flowers on the stalk can be removed as they fade. The flowers are very fine also for saucer or shoal dish bouquets. I have a special liking for these. Fill the shallow dish with water or sand--I prefer the latter kept constantly wet--then arrange tastefully short stemmed flowers till they are a mass of bloom. I first make a green border of geranium leaves, or some trailing vine. Different shades of gladiolus flowers picked from the stalk are very effective to set off the flowers not so striking. Where the season for out-door culture is short, as it is here in Maine, it is best to get the bulbs started in the house. Some do this by simply placing them in a sunny window without covering. I always plant mine in a box. The gladiolus can be raised from seed, but they are of slow growth, and one has to wait till the third summer usually for their flowering. It is far better to purchase the bulbs, then they bloom the first season, and, except some of the rare sorts, multiply rapidly. Although novelties, and some rare sorts are very expensive, $1.50, $2 and $3 for a single bulb, yet very fine bulbs of choice colors can be obtained for that price _per dozen_. In reply to the question, "What are the names of six of your finest gladiolus not very expensive?" the reply is, "Calypso, Cleopatra, Agatha, Eldorado, James Carter and Lord Byron." These six cost but little more than $1. Of those more expensive the following are very desirable: Addison, Eugene Scribe, Etenard, La France, Meyerbeer and Rossini. These cost a little less than $3. Unnamed bulbs, a good variety, can be bought for $1 per dozen of reliable florists. Of the new varieties sent out the present season for the first time, are the following raised during the past year by M. Souchet, M. Leomine and other French growers, who have for years made the improvement of the gladiolus a special study. They are said to be superior to any gladiolus hitherto introduced. Aurore, Bremontier, Chameleon, Corinne, Dalila, Eclair, Gulliver, Hermione, Lesseps, Tolma, Victor Jacquemont. The descriptions represent them as superb, and they ought to be at the price named, $4 per bulb! Some of us will have to wait till their novelty is worn off. NEW HYBRID GLADIOLUS. _Lemoinei_ and _Marie Lemoine_. "These two varieties are Hybrids of gladiolus purpureo-auratus, and are of the old garden varieties of Gandavensis, and are now offered for the first time. In form they approach the old Gladiolus Biperatus, the colors being creamy ground with distinct markings of crimson-maroon, with lemon and salmon colored cloudings. They have proved quite hardy and may be left out of doors from year to year." Mr. Henry Cannell of Swanley, England, a florist of world-wide reputation, says of those hardy Hybrids: "It is considered both by professionals and the trade, that M. Leomine's greatest victory was in crossing Gladiolus purpureo-auratus and gandavensis, two distinct species, and at the time they were awarded first-class certificates, it was thought by many that some higher and substantial recognition ought to have been made for introducing a perfectly hardy constitution into our glorious garden gladiolus, and saving the trouble of housing them from frost every season." GLADIOLUS PURPUREO-AURATUS. This is a new species from Natal, quite distinct from the common species of gladiolus and very attractive. On a slender, bending stem, which rises to the height of three or four feet, are borne from eight to twelve nodding flowers, somewhat bell-shaped in form, and yellow in color, with broad purple stripes on the lower divisions within. Its bulbs are small, and at the end of long runners numerous offsets are produced which are more certain to flower the succeeding season than are the old bulbs. GLADIOLUS GANDAVENSIS. This ancient type is a very ordinary flower, and it seems almost incredible that such superb varieties should have been produced therefrom by cross-fertilization. In the hands of the French florists it has attained to the superior position it occupies to-day. More than forty years ago Mons. Souchet, head gardener at the Château of Fontainebleau, first called attention to this flower, and began its improvement, and although some few other French florists, such as Messrs. Courant, Berger, Lamoine, Verdier and others followed his example, yet nearly all of the varieties now in commerce in France, are of the raising of that now venerable and respected private citizen. His successors, Messrs. Soulliard and Brunelet supply the great French houses of Paris, by whom the bulbs are forwarded to all parts of the world. About thirty years ago Mr. Kelway of Longport, in Somersetshire, began his culture and hybridizing of the flower, and has built up an immense business. He devotes fifteen acres to Gladiolus exclusively, and the number of seedlings annually raised is 200,000. In 1879-80, Mr. Kelway exhibited eighteen named seedlings which were severally awarded first-class certificates as possessing striking original characteristics. Of our own eminently successful growers, Messrs. Hallock and Thorp of Queens, N. Y., take the lead. They devote over seven acres to Gladiolus, and raise thousands of seedlings. MODE OF CULTURE. For diversity of color and general effect, either in masses, or in beds of three or four rows, placing the bulbs one foot apart and three inches deep. Mix a liberal supply of well-rotted manure with the soil, and if clayey, use sand. As soon as the plants are sufficiently tall stake them, and mulch with dressing. The Use of Flowers. God might have made the earth bring forth Enough for great and small, The oak-tree and the cedar-tree, Without a flower at all. We might have had enough, enough, For every want of ours, For luxury, medicine, and toil, And yet have had no flowers. Then wherefore, wherefore, were they made, All dyed with rainbow light, All fashioned with supremest grace, Upspringing day and night;-- Springing in valleys green and low, And on the mountains high, And in the silent wilderness, Where no man passes by? Our outward life requires them not,-- Then wherefore had they birth?-- To minister delight to man, To beautify the earth; To comfort man,--to whisper hope, Whene'er his faith is dim, For Who so careth for the flowers, Will care much more for him. MARY HOWITT. A Talk About Pelargoniums. "And so I hold the smallest flower Some gracious thought may be; Some message of the Father's love Mayhap to you or me." Here we step on disputed ground. Are Geraniums Pelargoniums? Who shall decide when florists disagree? There are eminent names on both sides of the question. Mr. Henry Cannell of Swanley, England, a florist who stands in the front rank, and whose name has become so widely known in connection with _New Life_ Geranium, of which he was the originator, jumbles up together under the head of Pelargoniums everything we on this side of the water class under the head of Geraniums. A veritable muddle he makes of the matter--that is our private opinion--we whisper it to you confidentially. Here is our yellow Zonal _Guinea_; our best scarlet bedder, _Gen. Grant_, and _Wellington_, and _Mrs. Pollock_, and _Happy Thought_, all called Pelargoniums, and yet are quite unlike in leaf and flower what we Americans denominate a Pelargonium; and, to avoid confusion, it is certainly advisable for us to adhere to our established distinctiveness. We quote from the _Gardener's Chronicle_ of January 3d, 1880, a sensible talk on this subject, to which Mr. Cannell takes exceptions: "Pelargoniums and Geraniums--I think it would be as well to settle by authority the exact names of those flowers that seem to be indiscriminately called Pelargoniums and Geraniums. Botany has been described as the 'science of giving polysyllabic barbarian Greek names to foreign weeds;' but while some plants, Abies Mariesii for instance, are most carefully described, others, as Geraniums, seem to be called by names that do not belong to them, but to quite a different flower. I notice, both in your letter-press and advertisement, mention made of Zonal Pelargoniums; now I should certainly decline to receive Geraniums if I ordered Pelargoniums. I am old enough to remember that we had a parti-colored green-house flower of a violet shape that was called a Geranium, then came a lot of hardy-bedding-out stuff with a truss of red flowers, all of one color, followed by _Tom Thumbs_ and _Horseshoes_ which grow nicely out of door. Then we were told that we must no longer call those green-house plants _Geraniums_, that their right and proper name was Pelargoniums, and that those bedding-out plants were, strictly speaking, Geraniums. Now, however, the old name Geranium seems to be dropped for both, and the new name Pelargonium given to both, surely erroneously! Let us, however, have it fairly settled which is which, so that we may clearly and distinctly know what we are talking about, and not make mistakes either in writing or talking, in sending to shows, or in ordering plants."--_James Richard Haig, Blair Hill, Sterling._ We will now give a part of a lecture delivered last spring before a Pelargonium Society in London, by Shirley Hibberd, a delightful writer on Horticulture, says Mr. Vick, from whose magazine we quote the following: "A Pelargonium is not a Geranium, although often so called. The true Geraniums are for the most part herbaceous plants inhabiting the northern hemisphere, and the Pelargoniums are for the most part shrubby or sub-shrubby plants of the southern hemisphere. Let us for a moment wander among the pleasant slopes of Darley dale in Derbyshire, or by the banks of the Clyde or the Calder. We shall in either case be rewarded by seeing vast sheets of the lovely meadow Crane's Bill, Geranium pratense, a true Geranium, and one of the sweetest flowers in the world. In the rocky recesses of Ashwood Dale, or on the banks of the 'bonny Doon,' we may chance to see in high summer a profusion of the Herb Robert, Geranium Robertianum, with pink flowers and purple leaves, a piece of true vegetable jewelry. And, once more, I invite you to an imaginary journey, and we will ride by rail from Furness to Whitehaven, in order to behold on the railway bank, more especially near St. Bees, a wonderful display of the crimson Crane's Bill, Geranium sanguineum, which from July to September, forms solid sheets, often of a furlong in length, of the most resplendent color. No garden coloring can even so much as suggest the power of this plant as it appears at a few places on the Cumberland coast; even the sheets of scarlet poppies we see on badly cultivated corn lands are as nothing compared with these masses of one of the most common and hardiest of our wild flowers. "Now let us fly to the other side of the globe and alight in the vicinity of the Cape of Good Hope, say on the vast desert of Karroo, where there is much sand, much sunshine, and little rain. Here, in the midst of desolation, the world is rich with flowers, for the healthy shrub that occurs in patches, glowing with many bright hues, consists in part of wild Pelargoniums, which often take the form of miniature deciduous trees, although in the valleys, nearer the coast, where more rain falls, they are evergreen bushes. "Very different in their character are these two tribes of plants, and they are not less different in their constitution and aspects. We may regard the Geraniums as herbs of Europe, and the Pelargoniums as miniature trees of Africa. When we examine the flowers, we find the fine petals of a true Geranium of precisely the same shape and size; but the fine petals of a Pelargonium are not so, for sometimes the topmost are the largest, and stand apart from the rest with great dignity, like mother and father looking down on their dutiful daughters, and in other cases they are the smallest, suggesting that the daughters have grown too fast and become unmanageable. The florists are doing their utmost to obliterate the irregularity of the petals of the Pelargonium, and in this respect to convert Pelargoniums into Geraniums, but the conversion will not be complete until much more wonderful things are accomplished. A Geranium has ten stamens, and a Pelargonium has only seven (perfect ones). These numbers are not constant, but the exceptions are of no consequence in a general statement of the case. "When all is said that can be said about the differences and resemblances of the several genera of Geraniaceæ, there remains only one constant and unfailing test of a true Pelargonium, and that is the nectariferous tube immediately below the flower, and running down one side of the flower-stalk. If you hold the pedicel up to the light, it may be discerned as giving an indication of a double flower-stalk, but when dissected with a pin or the point of a knife, it is found to proceed from the base of the largest of the green sepals, and it often appears to form a sort of digit or point in the line of the pedicel. When you have mastered this part of the story, you may cherish the idea that you know something about Pelargoniums. "The large flowered show varieties and the large-flowered single Zonals take the lead, and they are pleasantly followed by a crowd of ivy-leaved, double-flowered and variegated sorts that are useful and beautiful. The Pelargonium Society has set up a severe standard of judging, and a variety must be distinct and good to pass through the sieve. Moreover the raising of varieties has been to a great extent reduced to scientific principles, and we obtain as a result new characters suggestive of the great extent of the field that still lies open to the adventurous spirit in cross-breeding. No one in recent years has contributed more directly toward the scientific treatment of the subject than our own painstaking Treasurer, Dr. DENNY, of whose labors I propose to present a hasty sketch. "Dr. DENNY commenced the raising of Pelargoniums in the year 1866, having in view to ascertain the influence of parentage, and thus to establish a rule for the selection of varieties for seed-bearing purposes. In raising varieties with variegated leaves, as also with distinct and handsome flowers, he found the pollen parent exercised the greatest influence on the offspring. The foundation of his strain of circular-flowered Zonals was obtained by fertilizing the large starry flowers of Leonidas with pollen taken from the finely formed flowers of Lord Derby. From 1871 to the present time Dr. DENNY has sent out sixty varieties, and he has in the same period raised and flowered, and destroyed about 30,000. These figures show that when the selection is severe, and nothing is allowed to pass that is not of the highest quality, there must be 500 seedlings grown for the chance of obtaining one worth naming." We have devoted a good deal of space to this citation because of its interest and value on the question at issue. Mr. Hibberd has, we think, made the matter very clear, and conclusive it must be to the most of minds. Pelargoniums are divided into classes, though we rarely see any classifications of them in the catalogues. REGAL PELARGONIUMS Are comparatively a new type, and from the fact of their having more scalloped petals, somewhat approaching a double; they retain their petals instead of shedding them as do the single show flowers. The Beauty of Oxton and Queen Victoria, novelties of very recent introduction, belong to this class. We had them in bloom last year and thought them very fine. The Beauty of Oxton has the upper petals of a very rich maroon color, darkly blotched; under petals very dark crimson, shaded with maroon; light center tinted with rose. All the petals are attractively and regularly margined with white and beautifully fringed. The flowers are large and the extra number of petals gives them the appearance of being semi-double. Queen Victoria is of a very novel type and marvelously beautiful. The flowers have crispy petals, all of which are a rich vermilion in color, broadly margined with white, and the upper ones blotched with maroon. The "Show and Fancy Pelargoniums" have what the florists term "blotches," i.e. large spots on the two upper petals, and "spots" which mean the darker marks upon the center of the lower ones. The Lady of the Lake belongs to this class. Lower petals orange-rose painted with crimson, very dark maroon top petals with a narrow, even crimson edge, white center. Prince Charlie is very unique in its markings. Color white elegantly tipped, with rose-violet blotches. FRINGED AND STRIPED PELARGONIUMS. This is a very handsome class of which there are many new varieties. Princess of Wales we had last summer. It has elegant frilled petal margins; flower trusses large size and borne in profusion well above the foliage; ground color pure blush, each petal alike marked with a rich dark velvet crimson-scarlet margined blotch. Star of the East resembles the Princess of Wales in growth and profusion of bloom, but with larger flowers, of pure white ground. The petals are elegantly fringed, the upper ones marked with a rich crimson spot, and the under ones elegantly penciled with violet-colored lines. These are among the novelties of recent introduction. HYBRID PERPETUAL PELARGONIUMS. A class of distinct habit, free bloomers, mostly fragrant foliage, good for bedding out. Of these we have only had Madame Glevitsky of Bavarian origin. Color, upper petals a fine vermilion, veined and spotted with purple, under petals vermilion. We were much pleased with Pelargonium Filicifolia Odorata for its finely cut leaves of a Fern-like appearance and pleasing fragrance. Our specimens of the various classes were from the extensive and superb collection of Mr. John Saul, of Washington, D. C. Among them was one which originated in his establishment and was named for his wife. It belongs to the "Regal" class. The habit is compact and very free flowering, producing large trusses of flowers the color of which is a rich glowing vermilion, with light center and light margin to the petals. We are indebted to Mr. John G. Heinl for specimen plants of two "New Monthly Pelargoniums," now offered for the first time to the general public. Of the origin of one, _Fred Dorner_, we have this account given in a letter to Mr. Heinl, from Fred Dorner, Esq., of Lafayette. Mr. Dorner says: "Six years ago I undertook to grow some Pelargoniums from seed. I procured some very choice seed of Ernest Benary of Erfust. The seedlings grew finely. About midwinter one commenced to bloom, and to my astonishment kept on blooming for ten months, during which period it was never without flowers. The plants grew to a good size and at one time I counted forty-seven good-sized trusses on it. The winter and everblooming quality, with the large and beautifully colored flowers, makes this Pelargonium a great acquisition to the amateur as well as the florist. I have seen here in Lafayette plants in windows blooming all winter, and it is acknowledged here to be the best and easiest kept house and window plant, blooming from nine to ten months in the year." _Freddie Heinl_ originated with Mr. John G. Heinl, who says it is a sport from _Fred Dorner_; it is lighter-colored and the flowers are somewhat larger. That these are both a rare acquisition is evident from the testimony of such florists as Mr. John Thorp of Queens, and Mr. Henry A. Dreer of Philadelphia. Mr. Thorp says, "There are no Pelargoniums equal to them and they have a decided right to be called perpetual." Three months later he writes: "I am more than ever impressed with their superiority over any perpetual blooming varieties, and they must take foremost rank." Mr. Dreer says: "The Pelargoniums have proven very satisfactory. They flowered during the greater part of the summer, and are now full of buds." The colored lithograph, which Mr. Heinl says is a good representation, shows them to be very beautiful. We should think that to call a plant so dissimilar in foliage and flower a Geranium, would be a misnomer, why not equally such to call a Geranium a Pelargonium? MODE OF CULTURE. As we have seen by Mr. Hibberd's address, the Pelargonium's native home is on arid plains where there is much sand, much sunshine and little rain, so that they are chiefly dependent on heavy dews for moisture. To plant them in heavy soil, give them a sheltered situation and liberal and frequent watering, would be a mode of treatment directly the reverse of what they require. In the cultivation of all plants we should as far as possible adapt them to their native conditions. One skilled amateur says his rule is to let the earth in the pots become thoroughly dry before watering, and always to give a period of rest after blooming. Another, a lady, said she never had any success with Pelargoniums until she gave them a heavy period of rest after blooming. In the spring, when putting her plants out of doors, she laid the pots containing Pelargoniums on their sides, and let them remain perfectly dry until fall. She then took the plants out of the pots, shook the soil from the roots, and scrubbed them well with a hard brush and water. The old-looking roots were cut off and the top trimmed down to six or eight inches in height. They were then repotted in rich earth and watered very moderately till they started into full growth, and after that more freely. With this treatment they never fail to bloom. A young physician who raised many extraordinarily fine varieties of Pelargoniums from seed, in stating his mode of culture, said that _his_ practice was to re-pot large plants whenever they seemed in danger of being pot-bound. The mold he used was made up of black earth from under a manure heap, and a little stiff clay to retain the water. After the plants were done flowering, they were trimmed rather close, and with regard to probable places of sprouting. They were then placed in partial shade, and all shoots found straying out of symmetry were pinched off. His large plants were kept moist till after bloom, and then rather dry.--_Floral Cabinet._ We have given these methods so that if not successful with one, another can be adopted. The Rhodora. LINES ON BEING ASKED, WHENCE IS THE FLOWER? In May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes, I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods, Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook, To please the desert and the sluggish brook; The purple petals fallen in the pool, Made the black waters with their beauty gay,-- Here might the red-bird come his plumes to cool, And court the flower that cheapens his array. Rhodora! if the sages ask thee why This charm is wasted on the marsh and sky, Dear, tell them, that if eyes were made for seeing, Then beauty is its own cause for being. Why thou wert there, O rival of the Rose! I never thought to ask; I never knew, But in my simple ignorance suppose The selfsame Power that brought me there, brought you. RALPH WALDO EMERSON. A Talk About Fuchsias. A LEGEND OF THE FUCHSIA, FROM VICK'S MAGAZINE. A legend of this little flower, I heard not long ago; 'Tis this, that when upon the cross The sinless Saviour died, And soldier with his cruel spear Had pierced his precious side, The holy drops flowed to his feet, Then fell upon the sod, When Mary knelt and wept for Him, Her son, and yet her God; An angel who was hovering near, Thus breathed a prayer to heaven: "Oh, Father, let them not be lost, These drops so freely given, But in some form of beauty still, Let them remain on earth, And here upon this rugged hill, Give some sweet floweret birth." Then, forth from the ensanguined sod, A Fuchsia sprang that morn, Rich crimson, dyed with Christian blood, Wrapped in his "robe of scorn," Drooping in sorrow, still it bows Ever its graceful head; Shivering in the slightest breeze-- Trembling in fear and dread; For the dark shadow of the cross Can ne'er forgotten be, Where all the perfume of its breath Was spent on Calvary. Yes, offering its rich fragrance there, As incense at His feet, The Fuchsia, though so beautiful, Can never be more sweet. ITS HISTORY AND CULTURE. The Fuchsia was introduced into England in the latter half of the last century by a sailor, at whose home it was discovered by Mr. James Lee, a florist of Hammersmith, who secured the original plant by paying quite a sum of money for it, and in addition promising to give to the sailor's wife one of the first young plants he would succeed in raising. In a short time he succeeded in producing several hundred nice plants, nearly all of which were sold at a guinea each. Shortly after this a captain Firth presented one that he had brought from Chili to the Royal Garden at Kew. The plant was named in honor of Leonard Fuch, an eminent German Botanist, who lived in the 16th century. The varieties in cultivation to-day are vast improvements. One of the early varieties was called _Fulgens_. We recollect seeing this variety some four or five years ago, and could not refrain from comparing it with a number of varieties lately introduced. The flower may be described as follows: A slender crimson tube two inches in length; sepals narrow, one-half inch; in color a shade lighter than the tube; the corolla purple; in size very small compared with the varieties of the present time. This variety is a strong grower, large foliage which has a silvery appearance. Thus we can have a slight idea of that from which have been produced the beauties of our time; thus can we see what a skillful florist can do when he has something to begin with. Some of the varieties of the Fuchsia are hardy in England as well as in some parts of our own country. A traveler informs us that he has seen them in California trained over arbors and to the houses just as we train grape vines here, and growing most luxuriantly. They grow in favor very rapidly wherever introduced, and it was but a short time after they became known we find the Poet eulogizing them in these lines-- "Graceful flowers on graceful stem, Of Flora's gift a favorite gem; From tropic fields it came to cheer, The natives of a climate drear; And grateful for our fostering care, Has learnt the wintry blast to bear." While some flowers have been extremely popular for a season, and then have sunk into comparative obscurity, the popularity of the Fuchsia has never waned, but on the contrary has continually been on the increase until now it occupies a prominent place in every collection of plants, be that collection large or small. There is a cause for this popularity, and that cause is, it is of easy culture and produces its flowers freely, often under adverse circumstances. The Fuchsia is readily propagated by cuttings of the young wood. These will root in from two to three weeks, when they should be potted in rich soil, say one-half garden soil or loam enriched with well-rotted manure, and one-half leaf soil, with a little sand added to make the compost very porous. From the time the plant is first potted it should never be allowed to become so dry as that the growth will be checked. The great secret of growing Fuchsias successfully is to _keep them growing_. In order to do this we must provide for them a rich soil, an abundance of pot-room and a moist atmosphere. If you wish to grow large specimen plants the cuttings should be struck (that is rooted), early in the season. This will allow a longer period for them in which to make their growth before the season for blooming arrives; by keeping the plants supplied with plenty of pot-room the time of blooming will be somewhat retarded, and if on the other hand we desire to have the plants in bloom as early as possible we allow plenty of pot-room during the early part of the growing season, after which we allow the pots to become pretty well filled with roots, and abundance of beautiful pendulous flowers will be the result. As house or window plants the Fuchsias are very popular. The variety _Speciosa_ will bloom very freely during the winter. During the summer months they should be protected from the direct rays of the sun, and kept well syringed. As bedding plants their utility is limited, as they must be planted in a shaded position. A bed of them in such a position makes a pleasant appearance, and in this way they are easily kept through the hottest part of the year. They may be bedded out, or may be allowed to remain in the pots and the pots plunged in the garden. In this latter way they will need additional care, as they must not be allowed to suffer for want of water. If it is desirable to keep the old plants another year they may be removed to the house or cellar, and kept cool and dry until toward spring, when they can be repotted in fresh soil, watered scantily, and started into growth and pruned or trained to any desired shape or form.--_The Floral World._ The foregoing article so fully and clearly stated all that was essential respecting the culture of the Fuchsia, that we have transferred it entire instead of writing something original. We need now only add a few things respecting some choice varieties and recent novelties. "_Champion of the World_ has the largest blooms of any Fuchsia; the tubes are short; sepals very broad and of great substance, well reflexed, and of a most beautiful coral red; the foot-stalk of each bloom is of unusual length and strength, so that each flower stands out bold and graceful. Corolla of immense size, and as it expands forms two-thirds of a perfect ball. Color is of the most intense bright dark purple. Free tall grower, and for conservatory decoration is one of the most remarkable Fuchsias for size ever yet sent out."--_H. Cannell._ The illustration of this Fuchsia in Mr. Cannell's _Floral Guide_ measures two and one-third inches in diameter, and yet we are told that when well grown, the _Champion_ produces much larger bloom than the engraving. It has four rows of petals, and looks round and full like a pink. _Bland's New Striped_ is of the single class, but the corolla is very large, of a rich plum-colored purple, regular and distinctly striped red and rose, pyramidal shape, habit strong. Of the Hybrid variegated Fuchsias, _Sunray_ is by far the best with red variegated leaves ever sent out; it is very ornamental. _Pillar of Gold_ is a very showy variety with yellow leaves. Among the novelties in color, we find mention of _Aurora Superba_; tube and sepals rich salmon, corolla large and spreading of a distinct orange scarlet highly suffused with yellow, fine habit and free bloomer. _Polyhymnia_ is a dwarf yellow. Of _Lord Beaconsfield_, Mr. Cannell says: "One of the strongest and most conspicuous blooming varieties ever sent out, and one of the very best for sale and decoration; flowers neither good shape nor color, but produced in very large clusters and blooms nearly all the year if allowed plenty of root room." This Fuchsia originated with Mr. John Laing, Stanstead Park Nursery, Forest Hill, near London, and is a cross between Fuchsia Fulgens and one of the modern varieties known as "Perfection." It was exhibited at some of the meetings of the Royal Horticultural Society first, as Laing's Hybrid, in 1875 or 1876. It much resembles the old Speciosa, but is more free blooming even than that, and its flowers are twice as large. Kingsburyana, figured in Mr. Cannell's _Floral Guide_--which comes to us from Swanley, England--is very large and double. "It is another addition to the double white corolla class, and is remarkable for its fine vigorous growth and large showy flowers; its corolla is particularly novel and beautiful." Mrs. H. Cannell, named for the florist's wife by Swaffield, its originator, "was one of the greatest lifts in bringing the double white corolla to perfection," and has given great satisfaction in this country. We have never seen one so beautiful, but Mr. C. E. Allen who has a large collection, including those rare gems from across the water, we have named, says: "_Snow White_ is the very best double white Fuchsia ever sent out. A fine, erect grower, and a remarkably free and early bloomer. Sepals coral red. Superior to Miss Lucy Finnis in that it is of a stronger habit. Have none now in bloom." Among the fine specimen blooms of the dark purple type sent us by Mr. Allen, we think _Elm City_ the gem for size, richness of color--a double dark purple striped with scarlet, sepals scarlet-crimson--and compact form. The _Swanley Gem_ is of a peculiar shape, single, very open bell-shape corolla, "frilled" Mr. Cannell calls it, rose color with tube and sepals coral scarlet, the latter are very prettily reflexed. We began our list with the _Champion_--the largest known--we will end it with the tiniest, _Microphylla_, the whole plant, flowers and leaves are Liliputian among the Fuchsias. FUCHSIAS IN THE ISLE OF MAN. Here these are truly wonderful; they grow up the house fronts, and grow into large trees, so large that you can have a tea-party around the bole of the trees. They are also grown for hedges and kept nicely clipped, and with their bright green leaves and scarlet flowers look cheerful and refreshing. The winds and the spray from the sea do not in the least affect them.--_The Garden._ Mr. Vick, in his Magazine says: "Once when in Europe, we saw at Ventnor, in the Isle of Wight, a Fuchsia tree, perhaps twenty feet or more in height, with a trunk full fifteen inches in diameter. The editor of the _Flore des Serres_ of Belgium, in writing of this tree, says it is doubtless the largest specimen in Europe, but is only a baby compared with specimens the editor has seen in South America. Seeing our notice of this tree, Mr. NICHOLLS of Sharon Springs, N. Y., wrote us that he had "seen Fuchsias in the Isle of Jersey, in the English Channel, thirty feet in height, and there are hundreds there from twenty to twenty-five feet." PROPAGATING FUCHSIAS. We have found the most effective method to be by placing the cuttings in a bottle of water, and keeping them in a sunny window, but the following method is said to be practiced by cottagers in the west of England: "In the autumn, after the frost has destroyed the foliage, the wood of the present season is cut off close to the ground and laid like a sheaf of corn in a trench a foot deep. The bundle is covered with a few inches of soil, and here it remains until spring, when a multitude of young shoots may be seen pushing their way through. The soil is then carefully moved, and with a sharp knife a cut is made each side of a joint, and the result is rooted plants enough for the parish. The old stool throws up more vigorously than before, to be served in the same way the following autumn." A Talk About Coleuses. BY ONE OF THEMSELVES. Only a few years ago, not one of the Coleus family had a place in the gardens of Europe and America, and I have been told that in our absence gardeners depended chiefly upon plants with showy flowers for ornamenting their gardens and grounds. When some of my remote relatives were introduced, numerous were the surmisings as to what place they should occupy amongst cultivated plants. This was especially so in the case of Perilla Nankinensis, a plant of most sombre hue, but so striking withal as to attract general attention. Some looked upon it as the forerunner of a class of plants destined to play an important part in the future, whilst others regarded it as a vile weed. Nevertheless, considerable attention was bestowed upon its cultivation for a time; but ultimately became so neglected as to be met with chiefly as a garden weed. This may have been owing in some measure to the introduction of Coleus Blumei, which species was regarded with greater favor, and at once took a place which it held fairly well for a time, or until he whose name I bear obtained from it varieties so novel and brilliant in color, as to entitle them to rank high amongst the time-honored favorites of the garden. From the most reliable information, I infer that this species at least is one of my immediate ancestors, and whether I owe as much of kinship to any other, has not been made known. But this I do know, from the day I was first introduced to the public, in my chocolate and violet colored suit until the present time, I have been praised as few plants have been. But being neither envious nor vain, I have desired the company of those whose colors are brighter than my own, as variety in harmony gives greater satisfaction than any one can singly bestow. Some of the older varieties are well fitted to produce this effect, and none more so, perhaps, than my old friends Aurea Marginata, and Golden Circle; but the majority of their class either lack expression, or are so delicately constituted as to become perfect "frights" when planted out of doors. [Illustration: DREER'S NEW HYBRID COLEUSES.] During my time, many varieties with excellent characters when in my company, have performed their parts but poorly, whilst others have had enough to do to keep up a doubtful reputation. It was with pleasure, therefore, I hailed the arrival of a fresh set from England a short time ago, headed by George Bunyard, who, with his companions were so highly spoken of, that I hoped one or more of them would prove of service to me. But this hope has not been realized, and to-day, for all of them, I am as destitute of support as I was before their arrival. Poor George, after being much in his company for a season, it is only fair to say, he performed his part so poorly that I hope, for the credit of both, we shall never meet again under similar circumstances. What the incoming season may bring forth, yet remains to be seen, but at present the prospects are good for a grand display, as a new order of aspirants are being marshaled for duty, whose merits, some say, are such as to eclipse the old members of our family, and even take from me the honors I have enjoyed so long. Should their claim be well founded, I shall surrender my right to the first place without regret, and be even glad to take any subordinate place I may be deemed competent to fill. But should they fail to meet the expectations thus produced, it will be my duty to remain at my post until such time as new varieties are found, regarding whose merits there can be no doubt. Be it understood that what has been said about my associates has reference only to them as bedders; for it is well known, many varieties when grown under glass, and partially shaded from the glare of sunshine, possess greater brilliancy and beauty than I lay claim to. For this reason, I think those so constituted as to require the protection of a green-house, should be sparingly, if at all, planted out of doors, and the outside department exclusively occupied by such as attain their greatest perfection in free air and the full tide of sunlight. Before closing this monologue, I am forced to say a word in behalf of a plant seemingly possessed of extraordinary capacity for the work in which I excel. I refer to Acalypha Macaffeana, the leaves of which are large and finely formed; color, reddish-brown, and irregularly blotched with bright shades of crimson. When fully exposed to sunlight, it looks as if "on fire through all its length," and being much more stately than myself, might form the central figure in a group of Coleus or other plants with the greatest acceptance.--VERSCHAFFELTII, in _Gardeners Monthly_. We do not know who is the author of this very interesting autobiography of an old and popular Coleus. The florist for whom it was named, M. Nuytans Verschaffelt, was the adopted son of the late Jean Verschaffelt, of whose nursery near Ghent, he was the manager, and to which he succeeded on the death of the proprietor. M. Nuytans was a very distinguished and highly esteemed horticulturist; he was an active member of the Royal Agricultural and Botanical Society of Ghent and Chevalier of the Order of Philip the Magnanimous. He died June, 1880, in the forty-fourth year of his age. There has been a remarkable progress in the development of the Coleus since the introduction of Blumei, but the two past years have been more distinguished than any previous ones by the originating of many new and beautiful hybrids. Pre-eminent among these are "Dreer's Set of Tri-colored Coleus," fifteen varieties; "Queensland Set," fifteen varieties, and "Queensland Set of Dwarfs," ten varieties. Mr. Henry A. Dreer says of them: "These varieties which it is a pleasure to offer, have originated in our nursery grounds during the past summer, were selected from perhaps six thousand seedlings excelling in point of color, variety, habit and novelty, and we feel safe in predicting for them a future that leaves nothing wanting in this class of plants." Mr. Dreer is sustained in his statement by the verdict of many of the leading florists who visited them, and the committees of the Cincinnati, Philadelphia and New York Horticultural Societies, the summer and autumn before they were offered to the public. In the February number of the _Gardeners Monthly_, a lady asks some of the correspondents who have tried the new Coleuses, to report thereon, whether as brilliant as their illustrated types, and if they retain their colors in bedding out. We will give the replies from the March number. J. R. H., Richmond, Va., says: "In response to the query of Mrs. R. B. Edson about Dreer's New Hybrid Coleus, I take pleasure in giving my experience with regard to their hardiness in the summer sun. As the summers in our city are extremely dry and hot, I think it a very fair trial of them. "When I received my box of Coleus from Mr. Dreer and opened it, the first thought was that I was swindled nicely, while I at once perceived that they were of an entirely new type of Coleus, but considered their colors very ugly indeed, and quite different from the colored sheet in his catalogue. However, I determined to give them a trial before expressing my opinion. I put them in the hottest place I could find, determined to get out of them all the 'come out,' should there be any, and to my utter surprise, their colors changed so rapidly and beautifully, that after a lapse of two weeks, I could scarcely believe they were the same plants. I so much liked them I determined they should have a prominent place in my garden, and accordingly planted them in my border where they did not miss the sun at all while it shone. They grew off at once with the old colors (as when received), which discouraged me again, when to my surprise, about the middle of June, they began to show their bright colors again, and in three weeks they were the brightest and prettiest Coleuses I have ever seen, and remained so with a continual growth until they were killed by the frost. "I must confess I never saw plants resemble as much the colored plates of their likeness, as did my Coleus; just like the plate with the exception of the fine gloss, which of course I did not expect. It seemed that the hotter the atmosphere was the brighter they looked, and have stood the sun about twenty per cent better than the older varieties. They have given me more pleasure than any set of new plants I have ever received. I consider them the greatest acquisition I have known in the soft-wooded class of plants. While there is quite a similarity in the tri-colored set, it is not at all an objection. The only objections to any of them are that Amabilis and Mrs. E. B. Cooper, while very rank growers, are exceedingly ugly, and Superbissima entirely worthless. It will not grow, I don't care what I do with it. Some seedlings that I have raised from them are very richly colored, and I think them much prettier than their parents, though I have not had a chance to test their qualities in the summer." We regret that the writer did not give the names of those Coleus he so much admired as well as those which are "exceedingly ugly" and "entirely worthless." We can report the same lack of success with Superbissima. It would not grow one bit, but remained stationary several months, and then died. Mr. E. L. Koethens reports from a large collection: "For bedding these are the chosen ones, Gracilliana, Miss R. Kirkpatrick, Superbissima, and above all, Speciosa. But for inside culture, many of the new ones are unsurpassed for beauty in any class of decorative plants. Here again Speciosa and Miss R. Kirkpatrick of Dreer's set, lay claims to attention, and his Amabilis is attractive for its free blooming properties. Fairy is also conspicuous, and Beacon takes the place of Superbissima indoors, but Zephyr, in my opinion crowns them all as a foliage plant for indoor culture; a single head often measuring ten inches across, with a rich bronzy-brown color. The above are all valuable acquisitions and should be in every collection." Mrs. M. D. Wellcome thus writes: "Mrs. R. B. Edson in her charming 'Garden Notes and Gossip,' asks that some of the correspondents who have tried the new Coleus, Dreer's and Henderson's new sets, report thereon. I have not tried Henderson's, and only six of Dreer's, so I am not prepared to report very fully. But I wish to make special mention of Miss Ritta Kirkpatrick, which looks like the picture only it is handsomer. It is the one represented by a large leaf, creamy white center, broad, green lobed margin. It was a wee plant when it came to me in early spring, but it very rapidly outgrew the other five, branching out finely, so that I began in June to take slips from it, and have continued to do this each month to the present time. I should think I had rooted full thirty cuttings, and the original plant, which has been beheaded on three of its branches, has now twenty-eight that would I think all make very nice plants, if treated as were the others. I rooted them all in sand, kept constantly wet, and exposed nearly all day to the rays of the sun. I never saw anything so quickly take root and so rapidly grow as did those cuttings. At one time I kept half a dozen about two months in the pure sand, till they were fine large plants, with a great mass of roots. They can be removed from the sand to pots of earth without retarding their growth. I always allow the particles which adhere to remain in transplanting. This Coleus is a special favorite with me. Fairy, foliage yellow and green, blotched with crimson-scarlet, and Charm, yellow, tinged with bronzy scarlet, stained with dark brown; green deeply serrated margin, were very beautiful in the open ground, and from these I rooted also in sand several very fine cuttings. But the original plants did not grow rapidly. I think the Coleus adds much to the attraction of the border, but it is for the winter window-garden they are specially valuable." These new Hybrids have stood the test of a year's trial, and three varieties exhibited at the June meeting of the Royal Horticultural Society, London, carried off the highest prize for this class of plants, and received very flattering newspaper notices. In Mr. Dreer's catalogue for 1881, he has selected twenty-four which he calls the cream of those New Hybrids. Superbissima is included, while Zephyr is omitted. Kirkpatrick is among them, we are happy to say. So superb are some of the recent Coleuses, Verschaffeltii, we fear, will have to retire still further into private life. Being quite advanced in years, we presume he will not regret this. We are sure that he will always be treated with that respect which is due to honorable old age. Ornamental Foliage Plants. How much one who gives attention may learn in the vast field of Nature! How varied are its attractions, how wonderful its work, how indescribable its beauties! There is a fascination in these studies, whatever may be the department to which they are directed, and the more one learns the more sensible they become of the limitations of their knowledge. I have already told you I had within a year or two been awaking to a realization of the value of ornamental foliage plants in giving an abiding brightness and beauty to the window-garden and open border. As humanity is ever prone to extremes I may become too enthusiastic in this direction. I thought there was some danger of it as I surveyed my array of pots filled with fine specimens of various sorts. I will take them for my subject to-day, giving whatever facts of interest I have been enabled to gather from various sources. CROTONS. Everybody has heard of croton oil, but only a few of that same everybody know anything about Crotons. The number of species known is enormous, and they are found in many parts of the world, but chiefly at the South Sea Islands. Some kinds are native to our own country, mainly in the South and Southwest, but these are not characterized by the brilliant markings of the foreign varieties. Their leaves are often thick and large, but usually they are very long and narrow and ribbed, veined, spotted and blotched with crimson, scarlet and gold. They are a very interesting class of ornamental plants, and their low price, twenty-five to fifty cents, except for novelties, places them within reach of the common people. They do best in a rich soil, with a little peat and sand; also an abundance of water. The specimens I have are these: _Aucubæ Folium_--leaves large, dark green, blotched with golden yellow. _Interruptum_, very long leaves, mid-rib bright scarlet, shading to gold--very graceful. _Irregulare_, so named because of the irregularity of its leaves in shape and color--two precisely alike being rare. The handsomest however of my collection, is Croton _Weismanni_. The ground color is a shining bright green, striped and mottled with golden yellow. The leaves grow to a foot in length and three-fourths of an inch wide. Among the more recent and high priced novelties are Croton _Evansianus_ and _Princess of Wales_. The former is "distinguished by the peculiar form of its trilobate leaves and the depth of coloring pervading the whole plant. The newest formed leaves are light olive green with mid-ribs and veins of golden yellow, and the interspaces spotted with the same color. As the leaves become older, the green deepens and changes to a bright bronzy crimson, and the golden yellow of the mid-ribs, veins and spots becomes a rich orange scarlet." _Princess of Wales_ is one of the long-leaved drooping forms of Croton, and is very distinct in character. The leaves are from one and one-half to two feet in length. The ground color is green, and the variegations creamy-yellow, very variable in color. The markings are of the maculate style, with here and there large blotches of clear cream-yellow, and and in other parts clouded markings of smaller confluent blotches and spots. Occasionally these conditions are reversed. The Croton _Fenzii_, recently offered in commerce by M. SOLVIATI, of Florence, is described as a jewel among the Crotons. It is the result of a cross effected in the green-houses of Sesto, between _C. Veitchii_ and _C. Weismanni_, and has moderate sized oval acuminate leaves, richly veined with golden yellow, the principal nerves being purplish-red, which color extends to the stem and the petiole. The habit is so dwarf and compact that plants only a foot high are often seen with all their splendor, the yellow streaking then extending to almost the whole surface of the leaf, and the red nerves shining on the yellow ground. It is a variety especially fitted for the decoration of small green-houses, as it requires very little room to be able to develop all its charms. This variety has been dedicated to the Chevalier E. O. FENZI, President of the Royal Horticultural Society of Tuscany.--_London Florist._ FANCY CALADIUMS. Of these the varieties are numerous, and the foliage very ornamental. Those I have are _Dr. Hondley_; green ground, blotched with rose, crimson center; _Madame Houllette_,--blush clusters and white spots on green ground; _Sagittæfolium pictum_,--arrow-shaped leaves prettily spotted with white; _Madame Alfred Bleu_,--the ground color of the leaves is silvery white, which is blotched with green, in some leaves very sparingly, in others, nearly half the surface; the veins are prominent and of rich rosy crimson, bordered by narrow bands of a lighter shade. _Alfred Mame_,--beautiful deep carmine, richly marked with rosy spots and white leaf margin. _La Perle de Brazil_,--ground color, green, reticulated all over with pure white, like fine lace. These last three are from the collection of Mr. John Saul of Washington, and are new. Fancy Caladiums do best in somewhat shaded positions, in well enriched soil, composed of finely decomposed manure, leaf mold and sand, and a moist, warm temperature. Great care must be had in their earliest stage of growth, to prevent decay of the tubers by over-watering. They can be preserved in sand during the winter, in a room sufficiently warm to prevent danger from frost. CALADIUM ESCULENTUM, Is the most striking and grand of the Ornamental Foliage Plants for the lawn or flower garden. It will grow in any good soil, and is very easy of cultivation. When of full size it stands about five feet high, and its immense leaves often measure four feet in length by two and a half in breadth; very smooth, of a light green color, beautifully veined and variegated with dark green. When killed down by frost in the autumn, the bulbs must be taken up and stored in the cellar. The Caladium belongs to the family of "Jack in the Pulpit," or Indian Turnip, and the Ethiopian or Egyptian Calla. They rarely bloom in our Northern States. The flowers resemble in shape the Calla Lily, only are much larger and narrower, are of a rich cream color, very fragrant at first, but soon lose their odor, which resembles the Magnolia. ERANTHEMUMS. These comprise a large genus valuable for their foliage and also winter flowers, yet not very generally cultivated. Mine are labeled _Andersonii_, "a handsome orchid-like flower, white, spotted with red." _Pictum_, foliage prettily streaked with white, a strong, vigorous grower; _Tricolor_, leaves prettily marked with pink and green; _Cooperi_, has flowers white, prettily streaked with purple; _El Dorado_, light green foliage, with golden veinings. MARANTAS. These are considered by florists as among the most elegant of tropical plants, but like the Eranthemums, are not generally known. They are all natives of tropical America, and require strong heat with plenty of moisture. They are low-priced, and ought to be more extensively cultivated. I think mine are very beautiful. _Eximia_, upper surface of leaves striped with grayish-white; under, purplish-violet. _Leopordina_, pale green with oblong blotches of deep green. _Mikans_, shining green with a white feathery stripe. _Van den Heckii_, dark glossy leaves, mid-rib silvery white. _Makayana_, a very ornamental dwarf species; leaf-stalks slender reddish-purple, blade of the leaf ovate, ground color, olive green, beautifully and regularly blotched with creamy yellow of a transparent character; on each side the mid-rib are oblong dark green blotches, while the under side is rosy red. _Tubispatha_ is an elegant and very attractive species of erect habit of growth; leaves some nine or ten inches long, light green, ornamented on each side the mid-rib with oblong blotches of cinnamon brown. _Veitchii_, "The leaves of this grand plant are upward of twelve inches in length; the under surface of a rich purplish-wine color, the upper of a deep shining green, blotched with conspicuous patches along each side, of a yellowish-green, almost verging on gray. The contrast is very marked, and the whole plant very beautiful." ACHYRANTHES, a genus of richly colored tropical plants, are better known, and to a limited extent are found in many gardens, _Verschaffelti_, with its dark crimson leaf, being the most common. _Brilliantissima_, ruby red, is a new English variety; _Wallisii_ is a new dwarf, with small purple leaves; _Lindeni Aurea Reticulata_, foliage netted with golden yellow, on a light green ground. These plants are of the easiest cultivation, and endure strong sunshine without injury. ALTERNANTHERAS are also very effective for bedding plants; habit dwarf. Foliage is in some of a magenta-rose color, others, yellow and red; _Purpurea_ has a purplish tint, and _Versicolor_, crimson and pink shadings. They are unsurpassed for ribbon or carpet bedding. DIEFFENBACHIA, a genus of stove plants with very showy foliage. _Brasiliensis_, a handsome variety, the leaves averaging eighteen inches in length by eight or nine inches in width; the ground color of the leaf is deep green, and the whole surface is mottled with small blotches of greenish-yellow and white; _Bausei_ is a stocky-growing, broad-leaved variety, with yellowish-green leaves, which are irregularly edged and blotched with dark green, and also spotted with white, the markings being peculiarly effective; _Weirie_ is of dwarf habit, the foliage of a bright green color, thickly blotched and spotted with pale yellow. One of the finest of the species. They grow best in loam and peat equal quantities, with a little sand. Require strong heat and frequent watering. A few ornamental foliage plants of rare beauty received from Mr. John Saul merit special notice: _Cyanaphyllum Spectandum_ is a grand plant with large, oblong, lustrous leaves which have a rich, velvety appearance; they are beautifully ribbed with whitish color. _Alocacia Macrorhiza Variegata_, its large caladium-shaped leaves are marbled and broadly splashed with white. Some leaves are nearly all white; _Zebrina_, fine yellow leaf-stalk with distinct black marks; _Illustris_, the leaf-stalks are erect, and have a brownish-purple tint, color a rich green, marked between the principal veins by broad patches of a blackish olive, and forming a striking contrast with the brighter green portions of the leaf surface; _Sedini_, "A very beautiful hybrid between _A. Metallica_ and _A. Lowii_. The form of the leaf is perfectly intermediate between the two parents, whilst the coloring is a very striking and pleasing combination of the metallic hue of one parent, with the dark green and prominent white veins of the other." Alocasias require a moist heat during their growing season. Soil, peat, with a small portion of loam, sand and manure. _Acalypha Macafeeana_ is another of the rare and beautiful foliage plants alluded to. It is considered the best Acalypha ever offered. It is certainly very handsome with its "sub-cordate and serrate leaves, eight inches long and six broad, frequently cut into many forms, and very highly colored bright red, blotched with deep bronzy crimson." It proves to be an admirable plant for bedding out. Quite as attractive every way is _Panax Laciniatum_, "An elegant and very distinct habited stove plant from the South Sea islands. The leaves are tinted and indistinctly marked with pale olive brown, and form a rather complicated mass of narrow segments; they are bipinnate, nearly as broad as long, and have a drooping contour; and the pinnules or segments are very variable in size and form, presenting the appearance of a complex head of foliage in which the lanceolate lobes or pinnules have the preponderancy." _Panax Fruiticosm_ has a very graceful fern-like foliage. These plants belong to the Aralia family, a genus very ornamental, natives of the South Sea Islands. Another of my Washington collection, very graceful and beautiful, is _Paulinia Thalictrifolia_. Its delicate cut leaves resemble the fronds of a finely divided Maiden-hair Fern. The leaves are of a rich shade of green. The young shoots and foliage are of a pinkish-brown color. It is of slender growth and climbing habit, very similar to Capsidium Filicifolium, which has long been a special favorite of mine. Both of these are elegant, trained on a pot trellis. Paulinia Thalictrifolia is a native of the southern Brazils, from whence it was introduced to the nurseries of Messrs. Veitch & Sons of Chelsea. If only required for decorative purposes there should be no inclination to make the plants produce flowers which are inconspicuous; therefore the main object should be to have plenty of healthy foliage. To secure this, the plant should be grown in a temperature of from 65° to 70°, and if one part of the greenhouse is more adapted to its growth than another, it is the dampest part. After this plant came into the possession of Messrs. Veitch, and before its true value became known, some plants of it were placed in a corner of an old, very damp, warm pit, in which position they grew wonderfully strong, and quite surpassed in vigor and beauty those that were, as was then supposed, placed under more advantageous circumstances, i.e., in dryer and lighter parts of other houses. Care is therefore now taken to keep them where abundant atmospheric moisture can be supplied. A compost consisting of two parts good substantial peat and one of loam, together with some silver sand, suits it admirably.--_Gardening Illustrated._ CANNAS. These form a very important part of the class of which we are treating. They give a very beautiful and tropical appearance to the lawn and the garden by their stately growth and broad massive foliage, relieved by rich crimson, scarlet and orange-red flowers. Their foliage comprises various shades of green, glaucous, chocolate and purple tints, ribbed and striped, fitting them admirably for grouping with other plants. They are also very effective for large pot plants in the pleasure-ground, or conservatory. Under rich cultivation they will attain the height of five feet. They need water often. Among the newer roots _Creole_, very dark foliage, grows to the height of about six feet. _Ornement du Grand Rond_, very tall, with large bronzy-green foliage, large scarlet flowers. _Oriflamme_ has large lanceolate-green leaves, with violet veins, a vigorous showy plant with salmon-orange flowers. The roots of Cannas must be taken up in the autumn. If wanted singly, divide them, if a thick clump is desirable let them be planted out as they are. They must be kept perfectly dry through the winter; if the cellar is very damp they will do better packed in sand. DRAC�NA. This is a valuable genus of ornamental plants, specially fine for the center of vases, and for pot culture. Although their culture is on the increase, they are not so frequently grown as they deserve. The species are very numerous, and are found in tropical countries, especially in the islands of the tropics. Many of them assume the proportions of trees. The largest specimen ever known was one of Dracæna Draco, or the Dragon tree of Oratava in Teneriffe, one of the Canary Islands. This tree was remarkable for its monstrous dimensions and prodigious longevity. About ten years since, or in the autumn of 1867, this magnificent specimen was destroyed by a gale of wind. It was a special object of interest in the Canary Islands, and received the attention and veneration of visitors, as do the great Seguvia trees of California. Its trunk below the lowest branches was eighty feet in height, and ten men holding hands could scarcely encircle it; by one measurement this span around it was seventy-nine feet. The trunk was hollow, and in the interior was a winding stair-case, by which one might ascend as far as the part from which the branches sprang. It is affirmed by tradition that, when the island of Teneriffe was discovered in 1402, this tree was as large, and the cavity in the trunk as great, as at the time of its destruction. We are even assured that in the fifteenth century, at the time of the conquest of the Canaries by the Normans and Spaniards, they celebrated mass on a little altar erected in this cavity. From the slow growth of the young Dragon trees in the Canaries, it has been estimated that this monster tree before it was destroyed, was the oldest plant upon the globe. A writer in describing it says: "Long leaves pointed like swords, crowned the extremities of the branches, and white panicles, which developed in autumn, threw a mantle of flowers upon this dome of verdure." The popular name of this species is Dragon's-blood Tree, because of a resinous juice of a red color which exudes from the cracks in its trunk. At one time this resin formed a considerable branch of commerce, as it was used medicinally as an astringent, but it has fallen into disuse. The Dracænas belong to the Lily family, and they afford a remarkable contrast to the palms and other arborescent endogens, by their branching heads. The young trees of Dracæna Draco do not, however, send out any branches, even in their native localities, until they are thirty years old or more. The small plants of this species, cultivated for ornament, have always a single, straight stem; but are much more robust, and quickly assume more stately proportions than those of the other kinds that will be mentioned. The Dracæna is admired for its peculiar grace of form--it would be in vain in common house culture to expect flowers. To admire a plant for its well developed and graceful form, marks an advancement in refined taste beyond that which would induce one to exclaim, "Oh!" at the sight of a brilliantly colored flower. Even in rearing a plant for flowers, the first object should be to develop it to the fullest extent in size and shape and strength--to make a beautiful object of the plant itself; just as the first and main attention given to a child, for years, should be to develop and build up its physical system. The Dracæna is a good house plant, a good balcony and veranda plant, good for the vase in the open air, and in a handsome pot is a fine ornament for table decoration. Its culture is of the simplest kind, adapting itself to any ordinarily good soil, it only requires to be supplied moderately with moisture and to have a temperature ranging upward from sixty-five degrees. It delights in a moist air, and whenever possible, water should be kept where it will rapidly evaporate, and thus ameliorate the atmosphere in this respect for the plant. This condition, moreover, is conducive to the well-being of most plants, and no good plant-grower can disregard it with impunity. Washing the leaves and stem of the plant frequently with a wet sponge, is favorable to its health and vigor, and one of the best preventives of the attack of insects. With dust on the leaves the plants look dingy, while frequent washing keeps them bright and lustrous. Dracæna indivisa has long, slender, dark green leaves, about three-quarters of an inch or an inch in width, and from two and a half feet to three feet in length, and the lower ones especially are very much recurved or gracefully drooping. This species is among the hardiest of the Dracænas, and is frequently wintered in the open ground, with some protection in climates where the temperature frequently descends several degrees below the freezing point. Dracæna terminalis is the most popular of the whole family in this country, and is worthy of all the admiration bestowed upon it. The leaves are broader and more erect than those of the preceding species, and of a dark green suffused with red, or having streaks of a reddish color; the young leaves nearly pink, but assuming a dark bronzy copper color afterward. It is a very distinct and showy plant, and adapted to a great variety of ornamental purposes. The propagation and sale of it is rapidly increasing every year, and it is already widely disseminated. At the Sandwich Islands it is cultivated to a considerable extent for its roots, which are baked and eaten. A fermented beverage is also made from the juice, and its leaves are employed as fodder for cattle, and for clothing and other domestic purposes. Dracæna Shepherdii is of a most noble form, and is one of the finest yet in cultivation. It has long, spreading leaves, of a metallic green, with stripes and border of bronzy-orange, and is a very free grower. Unlike most of the forms already known, which color most on the free young growth of vigorous plants, this plant takes on its distinctive coloring gradually on the older leaves. Dracæna cannæfolia is an interesting species. Its peculiarity consists in the length of petiole, which is as long as the rest of the leaf. The blade of the leaf is elliptical in form, from fifteen to twenty inches in length, firm, and of a glaucous green. Within a few years past much attention has been given by cultivators in Great Britain and Europe to hybridizing the Dracæna, and producing new varieties. The most remarkable success has attended the efforts in this direction, of MR. BAUSE, in the establishment of MR. WILLS, of Anerly, England. The variety is wonderful--"broad-leaved, medium-leaved and narrow-leaved; bronzy and green, crimson, rose, pink, violet and white variegations; drooping, spreading, and erect habits, are blended in all sorts of combinations." One of the sorts produced is described as "a most important acquisition, having quite the habit and character of the well-known favorite terminalis, but with white variegation. The ground color is a bright green, with bold, white variegation, the upper leaves being white, with here and there a bar of green."--_Vick's Magazine._ DRAC�NA GOLDIANA. Sent out in this country for the first time in 1880, is said to be "one of the most magnificent ornamental foliage plants ever introduced, and altogether unique in character and aspect. It is a native of Western Tropical Africa. The plant is of erect habit, and the stems are closely set with stalked spreading leaves, the petioles of which are of a grayish color, terete with a narrow furrow along the upper side, the base being dilated and sheathing the stem. The blade of leaf is marbled and irregularly banded with dark green and silver gray in alternate straight bands, the colors being about equally distributed. The back of the unfolded leaves is a pale reddish-purple or wine color, and the stem, where visible. It is, without doubt, one of the most superb of ornamental stove plants." When first sent out in London in 1878, its price was from five to ten guineas per plant. We do not know the price in this country. Mr. H. A. Dreer who has an illustration of it in his catalogue, furnishes the price only on application, which is evidence that it is costly. From the type given, it must be exceedingly handsome, and wholly unlike any Dracæna before offered in America. Dracænas, as we have noticed before, are particularly desirable house plants, keeping in good condition for a long time, even in rooms where gas is burned--places so unsuited to most plants. They are liable to attacks of the Mealy Bug and the Red Spider if neglected, but the syringing and sponging advised for them will effectually prevent their gaining a foothold if frequently and thoroughly performed. After a year or two the plants begin to lose their lower leaves, and to get leggy, a state of things quite undesirable, as the beauty and effectiveness of the plants depend upon their being furnished with leaves down to the base of the stem. When the plants have become unsightly from the loss of their leaves, they can be renewed very quickly by a simple process. Cut a notch in the stem, on one side, just below the lowest good leaves, and take out a piece of the wood, then do the same on the other side of the stem, but not exactly opposite the first notch. The object is to check the flow of sap at this point and yet allow enough of it to pass to maintain the head. Having cut the notches, take some moss or sphagnum and bind about the stem, covering the incisions and fastening it on securely with twine or fine wire; the moss is to be kept gently moist, and in the course of two weeks will have thrown out young roots above the notches. The head can now be severed from the stem and potted in a medium-sized pot. After keeping it a few days in the shade, it can be gradually brought out into the full light, and will be found to be established. Dracænas may also be multiplied by removing the thick, fleshy root that may usually be found in the base of the plant. Those tuberous roots can be potted, and if kept in a warm place will soon start and make new plants. When plants are re-potted a favorable opportunity is offered for taking off these roots, for the roots of the old plants are actively at work and, with the fresh soil they receive, will soon recover from any slight check they may have received. The most rapid method of propagating this plant is by cuttings of the stem; the stem may be cut into pieces an inch in length, and those pieces split in two, and all of those bits will root and become plants. They should be placed in a light, sandy soil, and given a brisk bottom heat of 70° or 80° degrees. They will break and start into growth in a few days.--_Vick's Magazine._ So fully does the foregoing express all that is needful regarding the Dracæna, we have thought best to give it entire. We might greatly enlarge on the subject of Ornamental Foliage Plants, and speak of the beautiful Palms, so fine for decorative purposes, the pretty Ferns and elegant Aralias, of which latter "_Sieboldi_ is a capital house plant, so enduring that it will live and keep its beautiful dark green color for weeks almost in the dark." Then there is the Euonymus, so bright with its glossy green leaves, long a favorite whether for the border or window garden. _Argentea_ has striped foliage, and _Japonicas aurea_ has its dark green foliage diversified with golden variegations. _Bicolor_, foliage almost white, and _Tricolor_, a rarer form, is marked with pink and white. With the numerous varieties we have named, it will be apparent how ornamental our gardens, whether within doors or without, may be made by plants, the beauty of which is wholly independent of flowers, and they do wonderfully enhance the effect of the bloomers. The Centaureas and Cinerarias with their deeply lobed leaves of white, are too well known to need any special mention. We do not intend however to pass so lightly over another stately and highly ornamental genus that comes within the reach of everyone. Ricinus, the seed of which can be purchased for a dime, are magnificent in foliage, and when combined with the brilliant colored fruit of the giant varieties, the effect is very oriental. Ricinus _Africanus albidus_ is of recent introduction. It is white fruited, and the stems and leaves are silvery; height eight feet. _Borbaniensis arboreus_ has very large and showy foliage; height fifteen feet. _Communis_ is the Castor Oil Plant. _Sanguineus_ (Obermanii) bears splendid red fruit in clusters, and is very ornamental. A species from Phillippines has gigantic foliage; height ten feet. These can be purchased in separate or mixed packets, and we advise everyone who has a bit of ground to try them. We will close with A BIG BEAN STORY. I have just harvested my Ricinus or Castor Bean, which I raised from the seed you sent me last spring. It was of mammoth growth, attaining a height of fourteen and a half feet, and sixteen feet across the branches of which there were seventeen after cutting off five during the summer. Each of the branches contained a cluster of burs, the center one having one hundred and thirty-four burs, the other branches not so many. Many of the leaves measured from thirty to thirty-two inches across from tip to tip or point of leaves. When sawed off at the ground, the body measured five inches and a half of wood in diameter, inside of the bark, which was one-fourth of an inch thick. This is a big bean story but nevertheless a true one.--T. G. T. in _Vick's Magazine_. A Talk About Primroses. It is an old adage that one must take Time by the forelock. In the culture of flowers, we must certainly do so, planning and preparing in spring for the coming winter, if we would secure for ourselves plants that can be relied on for blooming. We know of none equal to THE CHINESE PRIMROSE, for common house culture, commencing to flower usually in November, and continuing through the spring months. The seed for this ought to be sown in April--if later the plants will not come into bloom so early. The soil for Primroses in all stages should be fine, light and rich, with a good mixture of sand. For seed sowing it can be put in pans, boxes or six inch pots. First, put in drainage--I use for this coarse sand--then the coarse siftings of the soil. On this to the depth of one and a half or two inches, put the fine mixed soil, press down smoothly and spray lightly with tepid water. Sow the seed on the surface, and sift on enough of the fine earth to partially but not fully cover them. Cover with a glass, or with a bit of soft nice flannel, and place in the shade where a mild moist temperature can be attained. Where flannel is used, it can be kept damp and thus impart moisture to the seeds without their being saturated, washed bare, or displaced by spraying. When the seed has germinated, then glass can be substituted. The tender seedlings must be gradually brought to the sunlight; too long exposure at first would kill them, and if kept in the shade too much they will become drawn and dwarfed. This is the critical period, and many fail at this point. Great care is essential till the plants put forth the third leaf, which is rough and the true primula leaf. Then the plants must be carefully transplanted into other pots prepared as before. In about a month the glass can be removed and the plants potted separately, setting them low, as it is a peculiarity of the Primula to stretch itself up out of the soil, and become shaky. It is necessary sometimes to give them support. In watering, care must be had to prevent the water lodging in the axils of the leaves, which cause them to decay. They will not bear showering like smooth surfaced plants, and only occasionally should they be sprayed through a fine hose. They must be kept during the summer months in a shady place, and have a cool bottom to stand on; a cold frame is the best. They must be housed by the end of September, and the best situation for them is a light, airy shelf near the glass, yet not exposed to intense sunshine. They do not like frequent changes of position and temperature, nor to be grown with other plants. Give them a cool place where they will have the morning or afternoon sun for a time. During the blossoming season stimulate the soil once a week with liquid manure, or water with a few drops of ammonia added. Pick off all flowers as fast as they fade. Plants are stronger and better the second year, and unless they get too shaky, are good for three years. They must, after blossoming, be taken out of the pot, the ball of earth reduced from the roots, and then re-potted in fresh soil. It is not needful to keep them dormant and shaded through the summer, but in a cool and partially secluded position, they will after a brief rest begin to grow, putting forth frequently little crowns all around about the old one, and be full of blossoms during the autumn and winter months. The double varieties are not so easily grown, and cannot be recommended for general culture to be raised from seed. Fine plants can be procured from the florists, but the large single sorts, we think give the most satisfaction. Ellis Brothers, Keene, N. H., have sent us for trial, packets of very fine strains; some are rare, and, judging from the description, must be very beautiful. It is not often that we find more than four varieties named in the catalogues. They send out a dozen sorts, some of which we will name: _Primula Fimbriata Kermesina Splendens_; Large flowers, brilliant velvet like crimson, yellow eye. _Primula Frimbriata Punctata Elegantissima_; a new variety; flower velvety crimson, edge spotted with white; very distinct. _Primula Fimbriata Striata_; beautifully striped. _Primula Fringed_, _Fern Leaf_; pure white, with large citron eye; very fine. _Primula Globosa_, new; a large flowering, fringed sort; petals large and many of them crimped, each overlapping the other, so that they appear almost semi-double; colors white, light pink, crimson and lilac pink. All of these can be bought in mixed or separate packets. We cannot find room for all of these, but hope from the rarest to obtain some fine plants to brighten our room the coming winter. Great advances have been made since the Primrose was introduced into this country little more than half a century ago. [Illustration] Of the novelties we find in the London _Garden_ special mention made of Primula Sinensis Fimbriata Alba Magnifica. The writer says: "The Primulas from Mr. B. S. Williams' Victoria Nurseries, Holloway, were remarkably fine. The newest sort shown, Alba Magnifica, promises to be an excellent kind; the flowers are large, produced in dense and many flowered trusses, borne well above the foliage, which is also remarkable being elegantly crisped at the margins. The color is white, the purity of which, however, is more strongly marked when the plants are more mature than those shown; the habit of growth is very robust." Of this novelty Mr. H. Cannell says: "The new white Primula is of exquisite form and substance; the plants are exceedingly compact, with deeply indented leaves of a light green color; the flowers measure two and one-quarter inches in diameter, pure white, with large, bright yellow eye, each petal being deeply and beautifully fringed, and are borne in large trusses well above the foliage." We give an illustration of this Primula, kindly furnished by Ellis Bros., who are of the first to offer it in this country. CARNATIONS AND PICOTEES. "What is the difference between them? I am told differently by nearly every florist I ask. An old Englishman told me the other day that he used to grow great quantities of them in England, and that the difference between the two is, that the Picotee has fringed edged leaves, while in the Carnation proper the edge of the leaf is smooth like a rose." The question is asked of Mr. Vick, and he thus replies: "The Carnation and Picotee differ only in the arrangement of the color, or markings. The distinction is made by florists, and is of course arbitrary. Seeds saved from one plant, may produce both Carnations and Picotee, or even from the same seed-pod. In an old work in our possession, the distinction is as stated, but for long years any flower with an irregular edge has been considered unworthy of propagation. The Carnation should have broad stripes of color running through from the center to the edge of the petals. The Picotee has only a band of color on the edge of each petal."--_Vick's Magazine._ Although Mr. Vick here states that the Carnation should have broad stripes of color, neither he, nor any other florist makes this distinction, but call pure white, and pure red Carnations, just as freely as those that are striped. There are two classes of Carnations, and thousands of varieties. The class of Perpetual Bloomers are called Monthly and Tree Carnations. The Garden Carnations are hardy, and can be left in the garden during winter by giving them a covering of leaves, straw, or evergreen boughs. They are easily raised from seed. Sown in June or July, will make good robust plants before frost, which will bloom the following summer. Some of them will be single, perhaps, and these can be removed. Those of superior merit may be multiplied by _layering_. This method is to select good healthy shoots that have not bloomed, and make a cut midway between two joints. First cut half way through the shoot, then make a slit lengthwise to a joint. Remove the earth a few inches in depth, and press the branch down so that this slit will open, and then cover with the soil. Roots will form where the cut was made, and thus a new plant will be formed, which can be removed in the autumn or spring. Midsummer is the best time to do this, and by adopting this method good, healthy plants are secured. The plants should be well watered a day or two before layering is commenced, and immediately afterward--then only occasionally. They are frequently propagated by cuttings, which can be rooted in wet sand, or in light sandy soil. PERPETUAL BLOOMERS, Or Monthly Carnations, can be easily obtained of the florists for summer or winter blooming; the former purchased in the spring, and the latter in the autumn. If one raises their own stock, it is not best to allow those to bloom much during the summer that are wanted for winter flowering. It is well to sink the pots in a good sunny place in the garden, and when they run up and show signs of bedding, cut back the stalk so that it may become more compact and branchy, then the buds in the late autumn or winter, will be much more numerous. The best for winter blooming are _La Purite_ (carmine), _President de Graw_ (white), _Peerless_ (white, striped with pink) and _Peter Henderson_, of the well-known varieties. Of those of recent introduction, _Lady Emma_ is said to be excellent. One florist says that "it is destined to be one of the leading winter-blooming Carnations. From my bed of one thousand plants in the green-house throughout December and January last, I plucked more blooms than from any other variety occupying the same space." It has proved excellent also for a bedding pink. Its color is a rare shade of crimson scarlet; the flower is of medium size, full and double, and never bursting down the side. _Lord Clyde_ has for three years proved to be an excellent winter bloomer. It is of a very robust growth, like its parent the _Edwardsii_, but of a more dwarf, low-flowering habit. The ground-work is white, thickly striped with carmine, and a frequent blotch of maroon; very floriferous, each stem bearing from six to eight flowerets. _Lydia_ is another of the recent novelties, and is very handsome. Flowers very large and intensely double, of a rich rosy, orange color blotched and flecked with carmine. _Crimson King_ is one of the largest Carnations, very full, bushy habit, and robust, color crimson-scarlet. A pure bright scarlet is rare; when therefore, _Firebrand_, a novelty of 1880, was announced as a bright scarlet, it produced quite a sensation. It is very highly commended by those who have seen it. _Grace Wilder_, _Princess Louise_ and _Fred Johnson_, are new hybrid seedlings now offered for the first time to the public. There was quite a discussion in the _Gardener's Monthly_ of last year as to the best pure White Carnation. In the August number, Mr. E. Fryer of Delaware writes: "The varieties called _Peter Henderson_, sent out by Nanz and Neuner I have found to be the best white I have yet grown for winter bloom. It is a stronger and better bloomer than de Graw, its only drawback being that it runs up high like _La Purite_. _Snowdon_ is a true dwarf, pure white, and if it proves a good winter bloomer, will probably supersede all other whites, the flower being of fair size and very fragrant. Bock's Seedling, _Charles Sumner_, I have grown the past winter. The flower is of an enormous size, but it invariably bursts before opening, and is a dull unattractive color. _Waverly_ I have also grown last winter--a splendid variety, rich crimson scarlet; the color was no way exaggerated as represented in the _Monthly_ a year ago; produces a fair average of flowers to the plant, flowers selling readily at ten cents each. I think this the most useful color to the commercial florist. "I still cling to the old carmine _La Purite_, which for quantity of bloom, size of flower and general good qualities, I think has not been beat by any of the newer varieties for winter bloom." Mr. Peter Henderson, one of the leading florists, places _Snowdon_ above all other white Carnations, its dwarf habit making it specially desirable. Florist's Pinks are more dwarf than the Carnations, flowers very double, clove scented, and are of various shades of maroon, carmine, crimson and rose interlaced with white. THE ORIGIN OF THE FLORIST'S PINK. The _Gardener's Chronicle_ gives the following interesting account of the origin of this class: "It may be interesting to record the fact, published in an old number of the _Floricultural Cabinet_, that the first Pink worthy of notice was raised in the year 1772, by Mr. JAMES MAJOR who was then gardener to the duchess of Lancaster; previous to that there were but four sorts, and those of very little note, being cultivated as only common border flowers. Mr. MAJOR having saved some seed in 1771, he reared several plants, which, blooming the next season, one of the number proved to be a double flower with laced petals, at which he was agreeably surprised, although he considered it as being only in embryo, and the prelude to still further advance to be developed at some future period, which is now verified by the rapid strides this beautiful flower made in size and quality during the years which followed. Mr. MAJOR informed the writer of the foregoing remarks that he made his discovery known to a nurseryman or florist and was offered the sum of ten guineas for the stock of his new Pink; but, acting on the advice of his friends, he declined to sell, and set to work instead and increased the stock with a view of offering it in sale to the public. It was sent out to the public at half a guinea a pair (for it has long been a custom of offering Pinks in pairs, a custom which is continued to this day), under the name of MAJOR'S Duchess of Lancaster, the orders for which amounted to £80. It is recorded that one individual ordered as many as twenty pairs, which was considered in those days an unusually large number. It would be interesting to have a bloom of Duchess of Lancaster to compare with the fine double varieties of the present day. We appear to have come to something like a pause in the matter of Pink production as the flowers are now very large and full, and the lacing is as perfect as can well be conceived." DIANTHUS. The word is derived from the Greek words _Dios_, divine, and _Anthos_, a flower; God's flower, or the flower of Jove. There are several species, and many varieties of Dianthus; _Dianthus Caryophyllus_ is what is commonly known as the Clove Pink, and from it have been produced the double varieties called Carnations and Picotees. The plant in its wild state is found growing on the south side of the Swiss Alps, at a low altitude, where the winters are not severe. The common perennial garden Pink is _Dianthus Plumarias_. The old and well-known Chinese Pink, _Dianthus Chinensis_, is a biennial, flowering the first season from seed sown in spring, lives during the winter, blooms the second year, and then dies. New and superb varieties have been introduced of late years from Japan, and _Dianthus Laciniatus_, and _Dianthus Heddewigii_, both single and double, make a splendid display, and are among the most desirable of our garden flowers. _Dianthus Diadematus_ is of dwarf habit, very profuse in blooming, and the flowers are of various hues, from white to dark maroon, and also beautifully marbled and spotted. Of the recent novelties _Eastern Queen_ and _Crimson Belle_ are superb; we speak from personal knowledge. "Eastern Queen" is beautifully marbled; the broad bands of rich mauve upon the paler surface of the petals are very striking. "Crimson Belle," as its name implies, is of a rich crimson hue, with dark markings; very large and finely fringed. For early blooming it is well to sow seed as early as April. June sowing will secure good hardy plants for the following season. When there is a profusion of bloom, it is well to remove a portion of the flowers, so that the plants may not become exhausted, and the seed pods beyond what are desired for ripening, ought also to be cut off. A Talk About Climbers. Oh, a dainty plant is the Ivy green, That creepeth o'er ruins old! Of right choice food are his meals I ween, In his cell so lone and cold, The wall must be crumbled, the stone decayed, To pleasure his dainty whim; And the moldering dust that years have made, Is a merry meal for him. Creeping where no life is seen, A rare old plant is the Ivy green. CHARLES DICKENS. Have been off on a vacation, peering into other folks' gardens and admiring other people's flowers. Visited the Public Garden of Boston and saw that there had been a marked improvement within ten years. The massed beds of several sorts, with their contrasting borders, were very attractive, specially the maroon Coleuses with border of Centaurea. There were few varieties of Geraniums, and these were mostly massed in beds, some all scarlet, others wholly pink. At Forest Hills Cemetery there was the finest display of flowers and tropical plants I ever saw, and they are very artistically and tastefully displayed. I saw several beds with artistic designs on a ground work of Sempervivum, evidencing great skill in the arrangement and culture. The entrance gateway to Forest Hills Cemetery is very beautiful in design, and here we saw that graceful climber Ampeclopsis Veitchii, in the perfection of its beauty, covering the front almost entirely. I had noted it in various stages of growth, clinging to the dwellings in all parts of the city, requiring no aid but its own little rootlets. It is a native of Japan and was introduced in this country twelve years ago. It was slow at first in being duly appreciated, but now is widely known and extensively propagated. Probably the finest plant is owned by Mr. George L. Conover of Geneva, N. Y. It covers the entire front of his two-story square house, and has become so famous that horticulturists from all parts of the country have been attracted by it, and a great many people have visited Geneva for the special purpose of seeing this fine plant. It has proved to be perfectly hardy, only the first year the young and tender plant needs some protection during the winter. Florists are growing them in great quantities to meet the increasing demand. It can be obtained for twenty cents. I received a small plant last year and kept it in my window box during the winter. It died down, however, and I quite forgot about it, till it sprang forth anew in April. Since putting it in the ground it has grown rapidly, and I shall value it now more than ever. HONEYSUCKLE. _The Golden-Leaved Honeysuckle_ is a special favorite of mine. Its leaves are so netted and veined with yellow as to give this hue the predominance. The foliage is small; the flowers are yellow and fragrant. The family of _Lonicerus_, or Honeysuckle, embraces a large variety. The botanical name was given in honor of _Lonicer_, a German botanist, who died about three hundred years ago. _Lonicerus Holliana_ was introduced into this country from Japan by Dr. Hall. The flowers are pure white when they first open, but assume a creamy tinge in a few days. This variety blooms almost continuously from June till frost. It attains sometimes to the height of twenty, and even thirty feet. The flowers are very fragrant. _Belgian_, or Monthly Fragrant, bears its blossoms in clusters. They are pure white in the interior at first, but afterward change to creamy yellow, deepening into orange. _Sempervirens_ (Scarlet Trumpet) is a native of this country, and perfectly hardy. This is the most common, though not fragrant. It is a strong grower, and blooms from June to November. Its scarlet flowers tinged with orange afford a pleasing contrast with its dark, glossy foliage. CANARY BIRD FLOWER. For an out-door annual climber, what can be prettier than the dainty, graceful Canary Flower? Mine have scorned the limitations of the twine I had fastened to the lower limbs of a small pear tree and ascending far above them, have run out a full yard on a large branch. The light green, finely lacinated foliage is very handsome of itself, but when the Canary bird flower is added, how lovely it is! It is so easily grown from seed that I wonder so few have it. A paper costing only ten cents would give you a score of plants, and they are much prettier for the bay window than Madeira vines. A writer from England says: "While in the north of England, last fall, we paid a visit to Alnwick Castle, the seat of the Duke of Northumberland, and the ancient home of the Percy family.... The first thing that struck me on entering the town was a bay window most charmingly draped with light green climbers, and literally covered with bright lemon yellow flowers. Now this appeared so strange to me (for the chilly night air had already affected the geraniums and other tender out-door plants), that I had to cross the street, take the Yankee liberty to open the gate, go inside and examine this thrifty beauty. I confess I was not only surprised but greatly interested to find it was _only_ the Canary flower, _Tropaeolum peregrinum_, a member of the Nasturtium family, and I concluded at once that there should be one cottage in America next summer worth coming miles to see on account of its climbing plants of light green foliage and rich yellow masses of Canary bird flower."--WALTON, in _Vick's Magazine_. Do not forget to include this pretty vine in your seed order next year. COBOEA SCANDENS. This is one of the best of our climbing annuals, on account of its rapid and luxuriant growth, attractive foliage and large bell-shaped flowers. Under favorable circumstances they will grow to the height of twenty and even thirty feet in a summer. They commence to bloom when quite young, and continue in bloom until destroyed by frost. Some people remove them from the border to the house for winter blooming, but the change from out-door to indoor life, often retards their growth and mars their beauty. They are too cumbersome for window plants after having grown during the season, and it is better to sow seed in August, and get in this way plants for the house. They are hard to germinate, and need to be started in pots or in a hot bed. Place them in moist earth _edge down_, and do not water until the young plants appear above the surface, unless the earth becomes very dry. For out-door blooming sow in March or April. As soon as the plants are strong enough, transplant to three-inch pots; keep them shaded from the sun for a few days, gradually expose to the open air, and plant out when all danger from frost is over. The soil should be well stirred to the depth of nearly two feet, and well rotted manure worked in. In dry weather they need liberal watering as often as once a week, and liquid manure water occasionally is of great benefit to them. The Coboea can be propagated by layers at almost any season of the year. It is done in this way: Cut a notch near a joint, place in a pot and fill with soil, and keep the soil moist. It takes from two weeks to a month for them to root. A writer says of this plant: "The Coboea is an old favorite and it is worthy of remark that but few of the novelties introduced of late years can equal some of the old favorites that we have been accustomed to grow. The Coboea is a native of Mexico, from which country it was introduced in 1792. It was named in honor of Bernandez Cobo, a Spanish priest and botanist. The growth of the vine is very luxuriant, and it is equally easy of cultivation, the only essentials to success being warmth, a rich, light soil, and sufficient water. If allowed to become very dry, it will soon wither away. It requires sun and a warm room to grow it to perfection; yet it is not a tender plant, that is, it will live anywhere, provided the frost does not touch it, and is one of the few plants which will flourish luxuriantly in parlors lighted with gas and kept almost at fever heat. If grown in a hanging basket or pot, it must be large and the roots allowed plenty of room to spread out in. In the summer the pots can be removed from the interior room to a balcony or piazza, or plunged until they are again wanted. Then clip off the growth of branches and leaves, place the pot back again in a sunny window, where it will soon start afresh, with new arms and leaves to cover the window. It is one of the best vines for parlor decoration, as it will drape and festoon the window, and stretch forth its tendrils, running up even to the ceiling. The tendrils are so clinging in their nature that they will attach themselves to anything which comes within their reach--curtain cords, branches of other plants, brackets, etc.,--throwing out new branches everywhere. "I advise all who adopt the plan of plunging the plant in the pot in the open air during the summer, either to shift into a pot two sizes larger, or else to take it out of the pot and reduce the ball of earth nearly one-half, and repot it in fresh compost before removing it to the house. This should be done not later than September 10th. The plants will amply repay this little attention by an increased luxuriance of both foliage and flowers during the winter months, while plants not so treated will become sickly and unhealthy before spring, and beside, when pot-bound, they soon become the prey of numerous insects." There are several varieties of the Coboea, though _scandens_ is the most generally known. The large bell-shaped flowers are greenish at first, but rapidly change to a dull purple. Coboea Scandens _Alba_ has greenish white flowers. Coboea _variegata_ is one of the most magnificent ornamental climbers, the leaves being broadly margined with yellowish white, the variegated foliage forming a beautiful contrast with its large purple flowers. It is of strong habit, a rapid grower, attaining frequently the height of fifty feet in a short time. It is, however, difficult of propagation, rooting with difficulty. The seeds vegetate as readily as the common sort, but the plants are apt to die off soon after attaining their seed leaves. Layering in the manner already specified, is the best method of increase. Coboea scandens _argentea_ is another variegated leaved variety, differing from _variegata_ in that its leaves are of a purer white. It is described by some as being identical with Coboea scandens, Schuerens Seedling, but by Messrs. Leeds & Co., of Richmond, Indiana, as being "a great improvement on the old variegated variety. Leaves large, green, bordered with creamy white; calyx of the flowers variegated like the leaves." CLEMATIS. Clematis (_Virgin's Bower_), derives its name from _klema_, a vine-branch. The popular name, Virgin's Bower, was given to _Clematis Viticella_ upon its introduction into England during the reign of Elizabeth, 1569, and was intended as a compliment to that sovereign, who liked to be called the Virgin Queen. There are, it is said, two hundred and thirty described species, the majority of them free-growing, hardy climbers. They are among the most gorgeous perpetual-blooming of the class under consideration. Great improvements have been made during the past twenty-five years by hybridization, but the finest varieties have originated within ten years. Of the new English hybrids _Jackmanii_ stands in the front rank. The flowers are from five to six inches in diameter, and consist of from four to six sepals which have a ribbed bar down the center; the color is of an intense violet-purple, remarkable for its velvety richness, and a shading of reddish-purple toward the base, and they are furnished with a broad central tuft of pale green stamens. It originated with Jackman & Son, England, and was first exhibited at Kensington, 1872. It is a cross between _Clematis Viticella_ and _Clematis Lanuginasa_. From this cross many excellent seedlings have been raised, closely resembling the parent stock in color and general character. Of Jackman's Clematises the English _Gardener_ has the following: "They are magnificent; and more than this, they do give us some of the grandest things in the way of creepers the horticultural world has ever seen, making glorious ornaments either for walls, verandas, or rustic poles or pillars, varying in color from deep rich violet hue to dark velvety maroon, and in the newer seedlings, forms beautiful shades of pale bright blue." Mr. Vick says of the Clematis: "Having a rather unsightly pile of stones in the back part of our grounds, we had them thrown together more in the form of a stone-heap, perhaps, than of anything worthy of the name of rockery, and planted _Jackmanii_ and other fine sorts in the crevices, and for three summers this stone-heap has been covered most gorgeously. Thousands of flowers, in fact a mound of flowers, every day for months, has been the delight of visitors, causing one to exclaim, 'Nothing since Paradise has been more beautiful.'" These fine hybrids will endure our Northern winters if somewhat protected. A gentleman in Rochester, N. Y., had a Jackmanii which bore full exposure without protection and came out in the spring uninjured to the height of nine feet. The extremities of the shoots for about two feet were winter-killed. _Clematis Sieboldii_ is a native of Japan, whence it was introduced by Mr. Low in 1837. It is of a slender free-growing habit. "The flowers which are produced from July to September are composed of six ovate sepals of a creamy white color, which form a fine background for the large rosette of purple stamens which occupy the center and render the flowers particularly attractive." _Clematis graveolins_ is a native of the mountains of Thibet. It is of comparative recent introduction. The flowers are produced on long stalks at the axils of the leaves, and are of a light yellow--an unusual color in this genus. It grows to the height of from ten to fifteen feet, and blooms freely during the entire season. A lady writes to Vick's Magazine that she has a Clematis graveolins which is a wonderful sight. It grew from a feeble plant planted out in spring, two inches in height, into a column twelve feet high and three feet broad by August, and was a mass of yellow blossoms, and then, of the most exquisite, long-haired, silvery seed pods until hard frost. It lived through the winter, to its extreme tips, and then grew so rapidly, shading such an important part of her garden, that she had to remove it in the autumn, cutting it back severely. The seedlings from it grow, she adds, to eight or ten feet in a season. _Clematis crispa_ is of Southern origin; the flowers are one and a half inches long, produced singly on long stalks, and delightfully fragrant, a rapid grower, and perfectly hardy. _Clematis coccinea_ is of recent introduction from Texas, the flowers are bell-shaped, of a most brilliant scarlet, and are produced in great abundance. This rare variety is offered only by Woolson & Co., Passaic Falls, N. J., who make a specialty of hardy herbaceous plants. _Vesta_, a Jackman, is large and of fine form; dead white, with a creamy tinge over the center bar, delicate primrose fragrance, an early bloomer. _Mrs. James Bateman_, pale lavender, and _Thomas Moore_, violet, superb, are Jackman seedlings, which flower in the summer and autumn, successionally, in masses, on summer shoots. These are all high priced. Many fine sorts can be purchased at prices ranging from thirty cents to one dollar. The Clematis requires only ordinary garden soil. Where there are severe winters it is best to give the young plants at least some protection. They can be propagated by layering, which is rather a slow method, or rapidly by seed. WISTARIA. Very beautiful among the hard-wooded Climbers, is the Chinese Wistaria when in bloom. Its long, pendulous racemes of blue flowers are exceedingly graceful. They are frequently twelve inches in length and highly fragrant. The flowers appear about the last of May and first of June. It is not a continuous bloomer like the Clematis, but often gives a few flowers in August. It is rather slow at first, but after getting a good start the second or third year grows very rapidly. It is hardy after it gets strong, but young plants need some protection. The Chinese White Wistaria was introduced by Mr. Fortune, and is regarded as a great acquisition. The _Double Purple_ is illustrated in Ellwanger & Barry's Catalogue, by a full page engraving, which gives one an idea of its beauty better than the description which is as follows: "A rare and charming variety, with perfectly double flowers, deeper in color than the single, and with racemes of remarkable length. The plant is perfectly hardy, resembling Wistaria _Sinensis_, so well known as one of our best climbing plants. The stock which we offer was purchased of Mr. Parkman, who received this variety from Japan in 1863, and was the first to bloom and exhibit it in this country." _White American Wistaria_ is a seedling originating with Messrs. Ellwanger & Barry, of Rochester, N. Y. Flowers clear white; bushes short. Free bloomer. CHINESE WISTARIA AS A STANDARD. A novelty has been offered to the horticultural public of London this spring (1880), in the shape of standard trees of Wistaria Sinensis, raised in tubs, having heads five or six feet in diameter and covered with clusters of bloom. The plants were raised in Rouen, France, and sent to London for sale. It requires several years to attain plants of good size in this style, and as a matter of profit, a strict account would no doubt show a balance on the wrong side. In this country where the Wistaria is "at home," it may be raised in tree-shape in the open ground without expense, save the necessary care in pinching in and shaping. "So completely did the plants offered in London strike the popular taste, that there was quite a competition to become purchasers of them, and large sums were offered by those anxious to possess them. The general public, unaccustomed to this fine Chinese climber, looked on with wonder at "Lilacs" of such unwanted size and beauty of color."--_Vick's Magazine._ Mr. Vick evidently does not deem this method an improvement on the natural graceful climber, for it reminds him of an anecdote which he thus relates in reply to an inquirer respecting the Wistaria as a standard. "Once upon a time some kind of a steam cannon was invented, and a day of trial was arranged at Portsmouth, England, to which the Lords of the Admiralty and the Duke of Wellington were invited. After the exhibition, which we believe was somewhat successful, opinions of its merits were freely expressed, but the Iron Duke said nothing. When urged to give his opinion, he replied that he was thinking--'thinking if the steam gun had been first invented, what a grand improvement gunpowder would have been.' If the Chinese Wistaria had been a tree, and some one could have induced it to climb and cover our porches and arbors and old trees and buildings, what a grand improvement it would have been." Thoughts in My Garden. My faultless friends, the plants and flowers, Have only smiles for me. When drought withholds refreshing showers, Through hot and dreary summer hours, They then droop silently. When tired and worn with worldly care, Their fragrance seems like praise, A benediction in the air; Pure as an unfallen angel's prayer, Sweet'ning the saddest days. No frowns, no pouting, no complaints, In my bright garden fair, A colony of sinless saints, Whose beauty Nature's pencil paints, Are my fair darlings there. No inattention can awake Envy or jealousy; Their alabaster boxes break, As Mary's did, and I partake Of their rich fragrancy. Sometimes with weary soul and sad, I taste their sweet perfume; And then my soul is very glad, I feel ashamed I ever had A hateful sense of gloom. Flowers are the sylvan syllables, In colors like the bow, And wise is he who wisely spells The blossomed words where beauty dwells, In purple, gold and snow. O! sacred is the use of these Sweet gifts to mortals given. Their colors charm, their beauties please, And every better sense they seize, And bear our thoughts to Heaven. GEORGE W. BUNGAY. A Talk About Several Things. "Spake full well in language quaint and olden, One who dwelleth by the castled Rhine, When he called the flowers, so blue and golden, Stars, that in earth's firmament do shine. Wondrous truths, and manifold as wondrous, God hath written in those stars above; But not less in these bright flowerets under us, Stands the revelation of His love." What changes have been manifested--how unceasingly and with what deftness Nature has silently wrought in tapestry and embroidery, sculpture and painting, till beauty is all around us, in the green carpet of earth, brightened with flowers and leafage of every hue! No wonder the birds sing praises to Him who gave them life with its fullness of blessings. Sad to think that man, high over all, and under the greatest obligation, too often is silent in thanksgiving for the gifts of a Father's love. No month to me has such charms as June, when nature's robes are so fresh and clean, and the balmy air is redolent with fragrance. How delightful to be abroad with the early worm and early bird, working in the garden, while the songsters give free concerts, and the hum of the honey bird, and buzz of the bee, set forth a good example of cheerful industry! The house plants have become established in the open border, and are so glad to get away from artificial heat and confined atmosphere into the broad sunlight of heaven, and breathe in full draughts of pure air and sweet dew, that they put on their best attire, and most attractive ornaments. Before the roses bloom, the bed of geraniums looks bright with flowers, each ambitious to excel his or her neighbor, either in beauty of color, or form, or duration of bloom, thus leaving me in perplexity as to choice. When _Pliny_ bloomed everybody admired who saw his beauty; then _Romeo_ with quite another style looked charming, but when _Naomi_ unfolded her large trusses of double pips, of a rare, peculiar shade, nobody ever saw a geranium quite so lovely, and then its duration of bloom--full six weeks! _Jennie Dolfus_, however, became a dangerous rival--a deeper, richer shade, and not a pip would she allow to fade so long as _Naomi_ looked so pert. Some said, "I like _Naomi_ the best;" others said, "I think _Jennie_ is the prettiest." But _Beauty_, close by, hearing the praises lavished on her sisters, and perchance trusting in her good name, came forth one day in dress of white with deep pink ornamentation. Never had such unique beauty as this ever been seen in Geranium before, and, "Isn't it lovely!" "Just splendid!" "What a beauty!" were uttered with exclamation points, till she blushed with becoming modesty--the flush spread and deepened until her face was completely suffused with the delicate tint, making her yet more attractive. _Wellington_ donned his crimson suit, and _De Gasx_ an orange yellow; _Pauline Lucca_, prima donna though she be, appeared in dress of pure white, and _Richard Dean_ in scarlet with a white star that was very becoming. _New Life_ thought to draw special attention by odd freaks, and came out in a parti-colored dress of the most singular combinations; part of it was scarlet dotted with white--part of it half scarlet, half salmon, part of it widely striped, and part white with just a flush of pink! I must call him the clown of the family! I have only named a few of the rare Geraniums that adorn one of the beds of my garden. For beauty, free flowering, and duration of bloom they cannot be surpassed. Interspersed with them are ornamental leaved Geraniums, _Crystal Palace Gem_, an improvement on _Cloth of Gold_; _Marshal McMahon_, the best of all the bronzes; _Cherub_, deep green, white and orange, flowers carmine; _Glen Eyre Beauty_, _Dr. Livingstone_, a new, sweet-scented, fine cut-leaved Geranium; _Happy Thought_, one of the most attractive, with its dark green leaves and creamy white center. Here and there are commingled Anchryanthus of divers hues, and Coleosus, giving a fine effect to the whole. This is now the most attractive bed of all, but when the Lilies are in bloom, and the dear little Tea Roses, the bed parallel with it will be the sweetest, if not so brilliant. This year I have a tropical bed of oblong form. A Castor Bean rises majestically in the center, two beautiful Cannas each side, while a Dracæna, a splendid Croton, two fancy Caladiums, and a few other choice plants fill the space, the whole bordered with Coxcombs. In a few weeks this bed will look gorgeous, and those filled with annuals will have changed from their present inattractiveness to delightful bloom. August is really the month of fullness of blossom, and of restful enjoyment of beauty and fragrance. The weary days of preparation, of bedding out and of weeding, are over, and one may now give themselves up to the enjoyment of the fruit of their labor, till the chill nights of autumn bring a renewal of the toil. "Does the brief period of restful enjoyment repay for the many weary days antecedent and subsequent?" Yes, richly, fully, for there is pleasure with the toil, and to me health-giving influences that energize the physical system for indoor work, and stimulate the brain for literary pursuits. To me my garden is a God-send, fraught with blessings. "Gardening is a pleasant pastime." I am prepared to adopt that sentiment to-day, if I did demur somewhat last month. It is a delightful pastime, in the early morning, to spend an hour among the flowers, trowel in hand, rooting out the weeds, loosening the soil around your plants, and tying up here and there the tall and fragile, while the birds are singing in the trees around you their morning song of gladness. How the dew-laden grass and shrubs impart sweetness to the air, and your lungs inhaling its purity, are expanded and invigorated, your whole system feels the better for the tonic, and prepares for breakfast, and the work that shall follow. It is a pleasant pastime, when wearied with toil you go forth for a time among your flowers and search for the buds, or examine the newly-opened flower. How it rests you! It is a pleasant pastime, when the labors of the day are over, and the sun is throwing long shadows from the west, you take watering-pot in hand, and shower the refreshing spray upon your plants, cleansing them from the dust, and cooling them after the heat. How they thrive, and bud and bloom! The Love of Flowers. "We should love flowers, for when we are gone From this forgetful world a few short years-- Nay, months, perhaps--those whom we hold most dear, Cease to bedew our memories with tears, And no more footsteps mark the paths that lead To where we dreamless lie; but God's dear flowers Give to our very graves the loveliness That won our tender praise when life was ours." LAST WORDS OF THE POET HEINE. Of the many touching tributes paid to flowers, there is a beautiful one associated with the closing hours of Henry Heine, the poet. He was dying in Paris. The doctor was paying his usual visit, when Heine pressed his hand and said: "Doctor, you are my friend, I ask a last favor. Tell me the truth--the end is approaching, is it not?" The doctor was silent. "Thank you," said Heine calmly. "Have you any request to make?" asked the doctor, moved to tears. "Yes," replied the poet; "my wife sleeps--do not disturb her. Take from the table the fragrant flowers she brought me this morning. I love flowers so dearly. Thanks--place them upon my breast." He paused, as he inhaled their perfume. His eyes closed, and he murmured: "Flowers, flowers, how beautiful is Nature!" These were his last words. THE OLD MAN AND THE FLOWERS. A few years since the Belfast (Me.) _Journal_ gave this touching incident: "One day last week an elderly man, known to our people as an honest and hard-working citizen, was walking slowly up Main street. There was sorrow in his countenance, and the shadow of grief upon his face. Opposite the Savings Bank his eye caught sight of the flowering Oleander, that with other plants fill the bay-window of the banking-room. He looked at it long and wistfully. At length he pushed open the door, and approaching Mr. Q., said: "'Will you give me a few of those flowers?' "The cashier, leaving the counting of money and the computing of interest, came around the counter, bent down the plant, cut off a cluster of blossoms, and placed it in the man's toil-hardened hand. His curiosity led him to ask: "'What do you want them for?' "'My little granddaughter died of scarlet fever last night,' the man replied with faltering voice, 'and I want to put them in her coffin.' "Blessed be flowers, that can thus solace the bereavement of death and lend their brightness as a bloom, to the last resting-place of the loved one." CONVERTED BY A FLOWER. There is a beautiful incident told of a Texas gentleman who was an unbeliever in the Christian religion. One day he was walking in the woods, reading the writings of Plato. He came to where the great writer uses the phrase, "God geometrizes." He thought to himself, "If I could only see plan and order in God's works, I could be a believer." Just then he saw a little Texas Star at his feet. He picked it up and then thoughtlessly began to count its petals. He found there were five. He counted the stamens, and there were five of them. He counted the divisions at the base of the flower, there were five of them. He then set about multiplying these three fives to see how many chances there were of a flower being brought into existence without the aid of mind, and having in it these three fives. The chances against it were one hundred and twenty-five to one. He thought that was very strange. He examined another flower, and found it the same. He multiplied one hundred and twenty-five by itself, to see how many chances there were against there being two flowers, each having these exact relations of numbers. He found the chances against it were thirteen thousand six hundred and twenty-five to one. But all around him were multitudes of these little flowers, and they had been growing and blooming there for years. He thought this showed the order of intelligence, and that the mind that ordained it was God. And so he shut up his book, picked up the little flower, kissed it, and exclaimed: "_Bloom on little flowers; sing on little birds; you have a God, and I have a God; the God that made these little flowers made me_." A Talk About Abutilons. This species is one of the most desirable of hardy-wooded plants we possess. They are admirable for the house, for the balcony, the piazza, or the border, being handsome in foliage, and very graceful and beautiful in flowers. Some are stately, others dwarf, some are flexible and drooping. We have had for several years three that we have greatly admired for their variegated leaves, especially for the winter window-garden, where they compensate for the scarcity of flowers, by the brilliancy of their foliage, yellow and green, finely mottled and marbled. _Duc de Malakoff_ is stately, and by cutting off the top of the main stalk, it is made to branch out very largely, forming a miniature tree. It grows very rapidly, and its leaves are like the Maple in form, which has led many to call the plant Flowering Maple, but this is not correct, as it is not a Maple at all, but an Abutilon. Some of the leaves on one only a year old, measure seven inches across, and eight and a half in length. In the older plant they are not so large. _Thomsonii_ much resembles _Malakoff_, but its markings are not so handsome; the green is darker, and predominates over the yellow, so far as my observation extends, but it is a more abundant bloomer. Flowers are orange color. I have vainly searched through many catalogues to find the color of the _Duc de Malakoff_ blossom, but all are silent; it is not even said that they flower at all, but my four-year-old had one bud last year, which unfortunately blighted. The yearling has one bud, and I hope it will live and afford me the knowledge I have failed to find in books. _Malakoff_ not variegated, has large orange bells, striped with brown. My other variegated Abutilons are of trailing habit; _Mesopotamicum_ is very graceful, one droops over the side, and climbs and twines around the cords of a large hanging-pot, for which it is admirably adapted. Its small pendant blossoms, crimson and yellow, growing profusely along the slender branches, drooping among the elegantly marbled foliage, give this variety a very attractive charm. Another is trained to a pot trellis, and is very beautiful in this form. We advise every one to add this variety to their collection. _Pictum_ is very similar in every respect; the leaves are darker, and not so variegated. They require a strong light to bring out their markings, and hence are more perfect in beauty when bedded out in the garden, where they can have plenty of sunshine. _Boule de Neige_ (Fairy Bell) has long been a favorite for its pure white bells and constancy of bloom. A splendid winter bloomer. _John Hopkins_, with its rich, dark, glossy leaves and golden flowers has superseded the old _Pearl d'Or_, which was for a time the only real yellow. _Darwinii_ is one of my favorites. The flowers are more spreading than any other variety, opening like a parasol; color orange-scarlet veined with pink. It blossoms very profusely, and when only a few inches in height. The flowers are large and well formed, and borne in clusters rather than singly, like many older sorts. This variety was cross-fertilized with _Santana_, crimson flower, and as a result we have _Darwinii tessellatum_, combining the variegated foliage of Thomsonii with the free-blooming qualities of _Darwinii_. The improvements by hybridizing have been very great within a few years, and many new varieties have been sent out. One of these is _Roseum Superbum_, the flowers of which are of a rich rose color, veined with a delicate pink. Very free bloomer. _Venosum_, we find only named in an English catalogue. "The magnificent blooms of this variety place it at the top of all the Abutilons. Although it is of tall growth its beautiful palm-shaped leaves and gorgeous flowers make it invaluable for crossing and for conservatories."--_H. Cannell._ Among the new and valuable novelties of American origin are _Arthur Belsham_, _Robert George_, _J. H. Skinner_, and _Joseph Hill_. These have been three years before the public, and Mr. John Thorp, a well-known popular florist of Queens, N. Y., says of them, "We have not, amongst all the flowering Abutilons, such fine varieties as these. I have had plants between five and six feet high, pyramidal shape and literally covered with flowers." They originated with Messrs. Leeds & Co., of Richmond, Indiana, who make quite a specialty of new seedling Abutilons, and this year offer four "of new shades and colors." _A. G. Porter._ "Flowers of a beautiful lavender color, delicately suffused with a light shade of rosy pink, and handsomely veined with magenta, forming a flower of magnificent color and shape, a very free bloomer. A cross between _Boule de Neige_ and _Rosaflora_, with the habit and growth of _Boule de Neige_." _Little Beauty_, "A very dwarf grower, having a short, compact, symmetrical bush, which is completely covered with its medium-sized but well-shaped flowers, of a very light salmon color, beautifully veined with rosy carmine. It blooms in clusters and when in full bloom makes a remarkably fine appearance. A cross between _Rosaflora_ and _Darwinii_." _N. B. Stover_, "A low, compact grower. Flowers large and well-formed, almost covering the bush; color, rich ponceau, finely veined with carmine. A decided novelty, being a new color among Abutilons." _Dr. Rapples._ "Light orange salmon, veined with crimson. One of the most attractive in the set." A new Abutilon, a decided novelty in color, comes to us from "The Home for Flowers," Swanley, England, sent with other choice plants by Henry Cannell & Son. It is thus described in his _Floral Guide_: FIREFLY (Swanley Red). By far the highest and brightest color of all the family; habit dwarf, and one of the freest bloomers, throwing flowers out on strong foot stalks of the finest shape; certainly one of the noblest, and when grown in a pot it flowers all the winter, and all the summer when planted out, and forms one of the best flowering shrubs that we possess. PARENTAGE OF THIS FLOWER.--Mr. George states that he sometime since flowered a small red variety, which had a very lively shade of color, and determining to make this a seed parent, it occurred to him to use on it the pollen of the single deep color Hibiscas, which, like the Abutilon, is included in the natural order _Malvaceæ_. Mr. George thinks the fine color seen in his new variety, _Firefly_, is due to this happy inspiration of color. The _Gardener's Chronicle_ has this paragraph respecting Firefly: A red Abutilon, one of a batch of recent seedlings raised by Mr. J. George of Putney Heath, well deserves the foregoing appellation. The flowers are of large size and of a much greater depth and vividness of color than that possessed by any variety in the Chiswick collection. It has been provisionally named Firefly, and we believe the stock has passed into the hands of H. Cannell & Son, of Swanley, for distribution. A writer in _Vick's Magazine_ describes a method of training the Abutilon that must, we think, be a very attractive one. "A pretty plant may be obtained by inarching Abutilon Mesopotamicum upon _Abutilon Darwinii_, or some other strong-growing variety, and training it so as form an umbrella head, which can easily be done. The stock for this purpose should be about five or six feet high. Grown in this way it produces an abundance of bloom, and the flowers being elevated are seen in all their beauty. If _Abutilon Mesopotamicum_ is inarched upon _Abutilon Thompsonii_, the result will be _Abutilon Mesopotamicum Variegatum_. A well-formed plant of this on a stock about five feet high is one of the finest of plants; whether in blossom or not it is always adapted for decorative or exhibition purposes. Care must be taken at all times to keep them tied to stakes, as they are liable to be broken off by the wind." Abutilons are apt to be infested by the red spider, if kept in too dry an atmosphere, and not frequently sprayed. Moisture is death to this pest, but as it makes its home on the under side of the leaf, it is too often overlooked until it has destroyed the vitality of the foliage. Recently I found that my large _Duc de Malakoff_ looked sickly, and I concluded it had become root-bound. A few days later, I noticed brown spots thickly covering the bark. I removed one, and on examining the under side through a microscope, I saw several tiny insects moving about. I decided that my plant was troubled with the scale of which I had often read, but never seen. I made a pretty strong solution of soap-suds, and with a sponge quite easily removed all of the pests. In bedding out Abutilons, it is better to have them in pots, plugging the hole, or setting the pot on a stone or piece of brick, so that the roots may not go astray, for if plunged directly in the ground they throw out many roots and the plant becomes too large for re-potting to advantage. If, however, they are planted in the earth, in August they should be cut around the stock so as to bring the roots within due bounds, and the plant can be pruned in the autumn. This method is applicable to all strong plants that run largely to roots. They should be cut off sufficiently to leave only a ball of earth of convenient size to set in the pot when the plant is transplanted. A Talk About Dahlias. The genus Dahlia comprises but few species, all natives of the mountains of Mexico, whose range is from 5000 to 10,000 feet above the level of the sea. About one hundred years ago a Spanish botanist introduced seeds of the Dahlia into his native country, and named the genus in honor of a Swedish botanist, DAHL. The first seed imported seemed to be variable and not very promising. About seventy years since, HUMBOLDT sent fresh seed to Germany. Soon after this, both seeds and bulbs were introduced into England and France, and began to attract considerable attention, some enthusiast being rash enough to hazard the assertion that "there are considerable reasons for thinking that the Dahlia will hereafter be raised with double flowers." About 1812 probably the first double Dahlia was grown, but for several years after this both double and single varieties were figured in colored plates, and exhibited at horticultural shows. That the single varieties were prized is not strange, for the double were not very good, and even as late as 1818, published figures showed very imperfect flowers. The improvement of the Dahlia after this was rapid, and its popularity quite kept pace with its improvement. Dahlia exhibitions were held in England and on the continent, which were crowded by enthusiastic admirers of this wonderful Mexican flower. For many years the Dahlia maintained its popularity, but there is a fashion in flowers, as in almost everything, and for a time the Dahlia became, to a certain extent, unfashionable, and this was well; for it placed the flower upon merit alone, and growers were compelled to introduce new and superior varieties to command either attention or sale for their favorite flower. A taste for old styles is now the "correct thing," and so we have imitations of ancient earthenware, furniture, etc., and import _original_ Chinese Aster seed, and also obtain roots of the single Dahlia from Mexico. There are three pretty distinct classes, the _Show_ Dahlias, the Dwarf or Bedding, and the _Pompon_ or Bouquet, and to this we may add the _Fancy_ Dahlia. The _Show Dahlia_ grows from three to four feet in height, and embraces all our finest sorts, fit for exhibition at horticultural shows, from which the name is derived; the flowers range in size from two and a half to five inches in diameter. The striped and mottled and spotted varieties belonging to the Show section are called _Fancy_, and though not as rich, nor usually as highly prized as the selfs, or those of one color, are very attractive. The _Dwarf_ or _Bedding Dahlia_ grows about eighteen inches in height, and makes a thick, compact bush, and covers a good deal of surface; flowers of the size of Show Dahlias. They are therefore very desirable for bedding and massing. The _Pompon_ or _Bouquet Dahlia_ makes a pretty, compact plant, about three feet in height. The leaves are small, and the flowers from one to two inches in diameter. Many expect to find small flowers on their Dwarf Dahlias, and feel disappointed because they are of the ordinary size, not knowing that it is the plant, and not the flower, that is dwarfed, and that only the Pompon gives the small flowers. The word _Pompon_ is French for topknot or trinket, meaning about the same as the English word cockade. The English term _Bouquet_ is very appropriate, as the flowers are so small they are very suitable for bouquets. Being of a spreading habit, they cover a good deal of ground. Unlike most of our bedding out plants, they do best in a poor soil; if rich, they grow to branches and leaves so much, they bloom sparingly and late. Generally those who plant Dahlias purchase the tuberous roots, because they give good strong plants, that flower freely without trouble or risk. They are smaller and better than the large, coarse roots usually grown, because they are raised from cuttings, and generally form their roots in pots. When a tuber is planted, a number of buds that cluster around its top will push and form shoots, and if too numerous, a portion should be removed; indeed, one good, strong plant will suffice, and then the plant will become a tree instead of a bush. Even then, if the top become too thick, a little thinning of the branches will be of advantage. If the young shoots that start from the neck of the bulb, are cut off near a joint and placed in a hot-bed in sandy soil, they will root, form good plants, and flower quite as well as plants grown from the tuber; this, however, requires some care and experience, and amateurs generally will succeed best with bulbs. New varieties of Dahlias, of course, are from seed. Some of them prove good, others fair, and a portion utterly worthless. As a general rule, we would not advise amateurs to trouble with seeds, although there is pleasure in watching the birth and development of a new and beautiful variety. The seed of Dahlias may be sown in pots in early spring or end of winter, in a light, loamy soil; they will germinate quickly, and as soon as they begin to show their second leaves they should be pricked out into other pots or boxes, so that they may have plenty of room and air--they are very liable to damp off if at all crowded. After pricking out they should be kept in a thrifty, growing condition, by proper attention to watering and temperature; the temperature should be maintained as near 70° as possible, and the watering be sufficient to preserve a moderate moisture. If the green fly attack them, it will be best to treat them to a very weak dilution of tobacco water; the young succulent plants are very sensitive to smoke, and it is best not to fumigate them. In about two months the young plants should be large enough to pot off singly, or to be transplanted into a frame or bed, where protection can be given them from the cold of night-time, or from late frosts. As soon as all danger is past they can be transplanted into their summer quarters, and should stand at least three feet apart. The soil where they are to grow, should be rich and mellow. In August they will come into flower, and those having blooms worthy of cultivation can be retained, and the others destroyed. Only a small proportion of the plants grown from common seed produce flowers equal to those now in cultivation, but when seed is saved from a choice collection of named varieties, the chances are that a large proportion of the plants will produce very good flowers.--_Vick's Magazine._ "The Dahlia is called a _gross feeder_, but it is not. It loves moisture rather than rich elemental food. In clay it finds the best constituents of its development--moisture, silex, lime and alumnia. So we say to those who love this queenly flower, if you would see the queen in all her glory, plant in a comparatively heavy soil, no manure, and reduce the stalks to one for each tuber, set the stakes firmly, to keep the stalks from swaying, and if the season is dry, give the bulbs a _soaking_ with water every evening during the drought. My word for it you will then be proud of your success." The Pompon, or Bouquet Dahlia is a favorite variety of this genus. The little round balls of bloom are so pretty and trim. _Beatrice_, blush tinted with violet; _Dr. Stein_, deep maroon, striped and mottled; _Goldfinder_, golden yellow; _Little Philip_, creamy-buff edged with lilac; _Little Valentine_, crimson; _Mein Streifling_, salmon, striped with crimson; _Pearl_, white; _Prima Donna_, white, fimbriated; _Perfection_, deep maroon. SINGLE DAHLIAS. Anything for a change from the common order of things, seems to be the fashion now-a-days, in flowers as well as in house building and house furnishing. The antique, the antique, is the rage! So after years of labor and hybridization to bring the Dahlia up from its native state of single blessedness, to its enormous cauliflower blooms, there comes a reaction, and now single Dahlias are praised as "the most beautiful of all flowers," the "_par excellence_ the Londoner's flower!" Well, let the English florists thus praise its beauty if they want to, but we opine that on this side of the great ocean it will never be considered "the most beautiful of all flowers," however attractive some of them may be, and well adapted for bouquets. There is no danger of their superseding the doubles, but it is well to have both when one can afford it; their present high price puts them beyond the reach of those whose purses are not well filled, but in a year or two, when the novelty is worn off, they can be purchased at half or even less, perhaps, than their present price. We find in the London _Garden_ the following: "Dahlia perfecta, originally introduced by Messrs. Henderson, is perhaps the finest flower which we possess, unless Paragon, brought into notice by H. Cannell, may be considered to bear away the palm. Lutea, a quilled yellow, is also a grand bouquet flower." The single Dahlias, Paragon and Lutea, are now offered for the first time in this country, by Messrs. Hallock & Thorp of Queens, N. Y., and the former is finely illustrated in their catalogue. Color very dark velvety maroon with shadings of bright scarlet around each petal; small yellow disk. Lutea is pure yellow, with dark orange center. The same firm offer Dahlia Juarezii, of which Mr. Cannell says: "The grandest novelty of the year, and not only a novelty, but a most valuable and useful decorative plant for all purposes through the late summer and autumn months. Its blossoms are of a rich crimson, and very much resemble in shape and color the well-known Cactus, Cereus _speciosissimus_. Height about three feet, very bushy flowers of very striking appearance and quite unlike those of an ordinary double Dahlia, the flowerets being flat and not cupped. Figured in _Gardener's Chronicle_ October 4th, 1879, and awarded a Botanical Certificate Royal Horticultural Society." The following statement was made in the _Gardener's Chronicle_ respecting this new type: "A remarkable box of Dahlias was shown by Messrs. Cannell with three or four of the single forms, which, if it were not heresy to say so, we should so much prefer to the formal lumps so dear to the florist proper; and then there was a new type of Dahlia altogether, a Sea Anemone among Dahlias, with long crimson scarlet pointed petals, like the tentacles of an Antinia--a striking novelty, christened temporarily the Cactus Dahlia, and which will be the parent of a new strain. It received a Botanical Certificate; some said this ought to have a higher award, but what higher or more appropriate form of a certificate could be given to such a flower. If we were a Dahlia, we should greatly prefer the honor of a 'Botanical,' to that of a 'First Class Certificate.'" This new type is illustrated in Hallock & Thorp's Catalogue. Two new Dahlias not yet introduced in this country are included among the novelties of 1881. _Cannell's Scarlet_, a Show Dahlia, several shades higher and brighter in color than any scarlet before introduced. "Its shape is most model-like, and not excelled by any other, and is without doubt the best Dahlia of the year." _Miss Cannell_, (Eckford)--"Mr. Eckford's Dahlia, Memorial, was the king of best shapes for many years, but the one now offered is of greater excellence, and by far the best of its class; color white, tipped with rose-pink, and the depth and build of flower is most model-like." AMARYLLIS. These are the finest of all summer flowering bulbs, throwing up strong flower stems in June and July, bearing from two to six magnificent lily-like blossoms. The varieties are numerous, but only a few sorts are found catalogued. Amaryllis Johnsonii is the finest of the commonly grown varieties. Its leaves are a dark rich green, two inches broad, and two feet long. The flowers which are five or six inches long, are crimson with a white stripe through the center of each petal, and are borne upon a stalk two feet high. They usually bloom twice a year, the flowers appearing just as the leaves begin to grow. Amaryllis formosissima is of a very peculiar form. The flowers are scarlet-crimson, very velvety in appearance; there are six petals, three of them nearly erect, and three drooping very long. After being bedded out, it quickly throws up a flower stalk and blooms before the leaves appear. It is a superb flower, known sometimes by the name of Jacobean Lily. Amaryllis vittata is a splendid hybrid, red ground striped with white. Amaryllis Valotta purpurea is an evergreen variety, and should be kept growing the year round. In August it throws up a flower-stem from one foot to eighteen inches high, bearing a cluster of light scarlet flowers two or three inches in diameter. A light soil and small pot suits it best. Mr. John Lewis Child of Queens, N. Y., has a finer collection and more numerous varieties than are usually found named in the catalogues. Some of them we will specify. Johnsonii Grandiflora, an improvement on the well-known Johnsonii Harrisoni, large, pure white, with double crimson streaks running through each petal. It has a delicious, orange-blossom fragrance. Reticulata, a bright rose color, the foliage is very attractive--dark green with a white stripe running through the center of each leaf. Aulica Stenopelalon, a magnificent species, having large orange crimson flowers, beautifully veined with scarlet. "Equestre fl. pl. This grand novelty was discovered in 1877, in one of the West India Islands. The flowers are perfectly double, resembling those of a large Camellia. Its color is rich, fiery orange red. We believe we have the only stock of this beautiful flower in America." JOHN L. CHILD. This and Harrisoni, are priced at $4.50, so they must be very rare and beautiful. Aspasie, white, tinted with yellow and red; large and perfect. Crinum Amænum, new and very beautiful, white-striped crimson. Lutea, a hardy variety, which blooms in the autumn; pure yellow. Calafornica, pure white. The bulbs are of easy culture. After blooming, and the foliage fully grown, they should be allowed to rest for several months, then start into growth by watering sparingly until the flower stalks appear, when a more liberal supply should be given. Usually two successions of bloom can thus be obtained. The bulb should be planted so as to leave the upper portion uncovered. HOYA CARNOSA, OR WAX PLANT. This plant is a native of tropical Asia, where it is partially parasitical, its roots penetrating the bark of the trees which support it. It was introduced into England in 1802. There are several species, but only one is generally cultivated. Hoya Carnosa has thick waxy leaves, and bears umbels of beautiful flesh-colored flowers which are very wax-like in appearance. It is an excellent plant for house culture as it stands the extremes of heat and cold better than most plants, and is not easily injured by neglect. It can be trained to climb on trellis-work to almost any height, and when in bloom, which continues for half the year, it is a very interesting plant. There are several varieties of Hoya, but one only is generally cultivated. _Silver Variegated Foliage_ is said to be very handsome but is of slow growth and difficult to propagate. _Imperialis_ is a new variety with beautiful foliage and scarlet flowers. _Cunningham_ has light green leaves, deeper colored flowers than the Carnosa and is a rapid grower. They succeed best in peat, with some fibrous soil and sand. They must have perfect drainage, and require a period of rest. Hoya Carnosa is easily propagated from cuttings. A very good method is to wrap a cutting in moss, keeping it moist until the roots are well started. Among My Flowers. August is the month when we rest from our labor in gardening, and abandon ourselves to the full enjoyment of the varied blossoms which so abundantly meet our eye. Now we can best determine what changes may be required in the arrangement of our plants next year, in order to give the most pleasing effect. A tall plant may have been inadvertently set out in the midst of those of low growth, and we see now how awkward it looks. Short-lived annuals may have occupied a conspicuous place, and on their departure left an unseemly vacancy. A bed may have been filled with a class of plants that are not free bloomers, and so there has been little beside leaves, while another bed has been brilliant during all the summer months with flowers. Annuals of a new kind, high-priced novelties, have been tested; are they any better than our old favorites? If we cannot indulge in many sorts, what do we find the most satisfactory? Twenty-five cents per packet seemed very expensive for Heddewigii Pinks, but Crimson Belle and Eastern Queen are of such superior size and rare beauty that the investment is not regretted, and then we know that they will bloom in greater perfection next year, and that the seed saved this autumn and sown in early spring, will increase the stock. Twenty-five cents for a paper of Candytuft seed looks extravagant, but no one who invests in Tom Thumb would regret it. It is so dwarf, so compact and bushy, such a long continued bloomer, so admirable for edging a bed, that it is really almost an essential. Then it will sow itself, and the seedlings will be up as soon as the frost is out of the ground, and plants from self-sown seed are so much more thrifty and early than those one sows in the spring, that this is a great gain. Candytuft--white, pink, light purple, dark purple and crimson, I find it well worth while to culture for early and profuse flowers, and admirably adapted for bouquets. I always have large quantities of the white, to set off the brighter flowers, and by sowing seed in June and July, have a succession of blooming plants. Foxglove, both white and purple, with their thimble-shaped spotted blossoms profusely borne on tall spikes, with side branches loaded with bloom, has been one of the greatly admired flowers of my garden. Plumbago, with its clusters of tube flowers, of the palest of blue, is very beautiful. Godetia, "Lady Albemarle," I have found to be all that it is represented. For two months it has been in constant bloom, and it will continue to flower till frost. It is of a bushy, compact habit, about twelve inches high, the flowers are from three to four inches in diameter, and of a rosy-carmine color. Everybody who has seen it, has a word of praise for this most beautiful of all the Godetias. _Alba_ is a new variety, having pure white flowers; _Insignis_ is pure white with a crimson blotch on each petal; _Whitney's_ is of dwarf habit, and has large flowers, blush-colored, marked about the center with a handsome crimson stain. The new French Marigolds "Cloth of Gold," and "Meteor" are just splendid with their large and beautifully striped imbricated leaves. One has gold bars evenly marked on the rich dark velvety petals, and the other has deep orange stripes on a pale straw-colored, almost white ground. "Meteor" is a perfect gem among the Calendulas. Convolvulus minor--new crimson-violet with yellow eye encircled with a band of pure white; dark blue and light blue with yellow eye margined with white; pure white with yellow eye, and blue and white striped, are very pretty free-blooming dwarfs of this species. My Stocks are very fine, from mixed seed of the German, new large flowering. They are mostly very double. The creamy white are especially beautiful. The bright crimson and canary yellow are handsome. There are many varieties of this species, but what are generally termed Ten-weeks Stock are best known. They are classed under five heads: Dwarf, Miniature, Large-flowered, Pyramidal and Wall-flower-leaved. Then there are the Intermediate Stocks, prized for their late autumn blooming, of which there are twelve or more varieties. The German Brompton Stocks are divided into two sections; Brompton and Hybrid, or Cocordean. The latter bloom with a single stem which forms a splendid pyramid of flowers, and is cultivated largely in pots. Seeds sown in early spring will bloom in autumn, and if carefully potted will flower during winter; if sown in July and August, and cultivated in pots will flower the following spring and summer. The Imperial or Emperor stocks, sometimes called Perpetual, are large flowering, and white, rose, crimson and blood-red in color. "Hardy's All-the-Year-Round," is a perpetual bloomer. The plants grow about twelve inches high, and produce hundreds of bunches of double white flowers. Let us linger a little while at this rose bed. Are not those Teas lovely? Look at Madame Lambard, one of the finest French roses imported recently from Paris. Is not the color exquisite--a beautiful shade of silver bronze, changing to salmon and fawn, delicately shaded with carmine rose. And so deliciously fragrant! That rose so large and full, with a rare shade of violet red, brightened with crimson maroon, is Aline Sisley. It is surprising how such a tiny plant could have produced such an immense flower! And this is Letty Coles, a new French rose, very handsome and sweet; color rosy-pink, deeply shaded with intense crimson. Perle des Jardins is magnificent with its rich golden yellow, and Bon Silene has long been a special favorite. Its buds are large and beautiful. That charming white so deliciously scented is Mademoiselle Rachel, and this one with pure deep green flowers is Verdiflora, or Green Rose, scentless, and of no value except as a curiosity. This grand rose is Abel Carriere, a hybrid perpetual more beautiful I think than the popular Jacqueminot in the perfectness of its form, and richness of its color. The outer petals are bright glowing crimson-scarlet, while the center is a deep fiery red. But it will never do to linger longer among the sweet roses, for there are many other flowers to show you. I think that Hydrangea, with its immense trusses of bloom, is just one of the most desirable shrubs we can have in the garden. I have had mine six or seven years, and it bore three clusters of flowers the first year, though a wee plant. It blooms from August till hard frost, and needs no protection in the winter, though I do sometimes put a mulching of straw or a bit of brush around the roots. A lady writing to _Vick's Magazine_ says of this Hydrangea: "The first year I planted _Hydrangea Grandiflora_ it produced three heads of flowers, the second, fifty-six, and the third year ninety-two. Thorough cultivation and a pail of liquid manure once a week, helped the plant to bear this enormous load of flowers." Hydrangea _Alaska_ is a more recent acquisition. Its flowers frequently measure twelve inches across, and are of a bright pink color, not hardy at the North. _Hydrangea Thomas Hogg_ would be a very unpoetical name did it not remind one of "The Ettrick Shepherd." This variety was sent to the United States from Japan, by that eminent botanist for whom it is named, and has become deservedly popular. It belongs to the Hortensia section of the family, but is a far more abundant bloomer than any other. The flowers are of the purest white, of very firm texture, and retain their beauty for a long time. A more recent novelty sent from Japan by Mr. Hogg, is the "New Climbing Hydrangea," which he describes as clinging to trees to the height of fifty feet, producing corymbs of white flowers of the size of ordinary Hydrangeas. It clings exactly like the Ivy, and must produce a striking effect when in full bloom. It is entirely hardy. Mr. Peter Henderson was the first to offer this novelty here and in Europe. _Elegantissima_ is a novelty truly with its leaves flaked, bordered and striped with golden yellow. I do not know whether it blossoms or not, it is handsome enough without flowers. HELIOTROPE. The new Heliotrope _Le Negre_ is the darkest of this genus, and _Snow Wreath_ the nearest approach to white we have yet had; truss very large, growth compact, and fragrance exquisite. _Garibaldi_ is almost white; _Mrs. Burgess_ is dark violet, and _Duc de Lavendury_ is a rich blue, dark eye. [Illustration] Sweet Alyssum is another of the essential flowers for the border, admirable for edgings, for its dwarf habit and continuity of bloom. The great novelty of last year was the new double variegated Sweet Alyssum--"The Gem." The flowers are very full, and the foliage broad with a mid-rib of light green, bordered on each side with pure white. It is a fine, compact grower, and far superior to anything of this species yet offered. Lantanas, I think, add greatly to the attractions of the garden, so rich in color and profuse in blooming. _Clotilda_, pink with yellow center, and _Comtesse de Diencourt_, flower bright rose and yellow center sulphur, are very desirable. _Alba perfecta_, pure white, is fine, so also is _Alba lutea grandiflora_, white with yellow center. _Mine d'Or_ is a new variety, with bright orange and crimson flowers, and golden variegated foliage. _M. Schmidt_ is a beautiful novelty. Flowers of a brilliant yellow, passing into purple vermilion; grows in the style of a Petunia. A Talk About Cyclamens and Oxalis. Next to Primroses, and by no means below them in value, we place the Cyclamen. The leaves, a deep green with white embroidery, are very ornamental, but when surmounted with a wealth of bloom, what can be more charming? Two of mine have begun to blossom--a white and a pink--and the buds are numerous. Others will bloom later. They continue in bloom for a long period, and are easy of culture, though where there is over-dryness of atmosphere, they are apt to be infested with the red spider. They need to be frequently sprayed and it is well to immerse occasionally the entire plant in water so as to wet the under surface of the leaves. The water ought to be tepid, and indeed for all plants in cold weather. To keep the dirt from falling out when the plant is plunged top downward, something can be wrapped around the pot. A mixture of turfy loam and sandy peat is best, but when not available, leaf mold or a rich mellow soil mixed with silver sand will do. There are several varieties of Cyclamen, but the most common is _persicum_, and many catalogues name no other. One of mine is _gigantium_, an improvement on _persicum_, the flowers being much larger and finer in every respect. Among many catalogues I find this named in only one. _Persicum_, white and pink, is a sweet scented variety from Cyprus; _Africanum_, white and rose, from Africa; _hederæfolium_, from Britain. Other rare and expensive sorts are _Atkinsii_, white, crimson and rose colored; _Europeum_, red, and _Coum_, which in the early spring months bears above its very ornamental leaves "a profusion of small bright, rosy, crimson and snow-white turbinate blossoms of a roundish recurved outline, blotched with violet-crimson at the base, very beautiful." The bulbs of all Cyclamens, except _Coum_, should be placed on the surface of the soil, covered half an inch, and water given moderately till the leaves are fully developed, and the flowers appear, when it may be applied more liberally. Do not make a mistake and plant your bulb upside down as did a lady I know of. "I have an idea that it is put in wrong, as the leaves seem to come from the under side," she writes. It is difficult to tell sometimes which is the right side to put down. _Persicum_, with its dappled green and silvery gray, rounded, heart-shaped leaves, embroidered margins, is a fine ornament, but when these are surmounted with a profusion of pure silvery white oblong lanceolate petals, blotched with violet-crimson at their base, borne on slender flower-scopes, the plant is very beautiful. It varies in color from snow-white delicate peach and rosy crimson. Some are delightfully fragrant. During the growing and flowering season the plant should have a full exposure to the light, but not to the intense sunshine. After blooming, the bulbs may be allowed a time of rest, removing them to a cool and shady place in the border, if desired, watering rarely. In early autumn repot, and after a few weeks of growth, water more freely. It does not, however, injure the plant to keep it constantly growing, and the best florists have very generally abandoned their former method of letting them rest during the summer. _Cyclamen autumnale flore alba_, white, and _rubra_, red, blossom in the autumn. OXALIS. The winter blooming varieties are admirably adapted for hanging-pots, and being cheap and very easy of cultivation, they ought to be in every dwelling. There are one hundred and fifty known varieties, though our catalogues rarely name half-a-dozen. Some are strictly winter bloomers, others flower only in summer, and some blossom the year round. The _floribunda_ varieties belong to this class of perpetuals. _Ortgiesi_ also, which is a wonderful bloomer, and on account of its erect growth, is admirably adapted for pot culture. It is a new and somewhat rare species from Brazil. It often grows eighteen inches high, and in good form. The upper side of the leaf is rich olive green, and the under side bright violet purple. The flowers are quite small, yellow, and borne in clusters. The special beauty is in the foliage. _Floribunda alba_ and _rosea_ have tuberous roots. The foliage is very strong, and the clusters of bloom are borne on long foot-stalks starting directly from the tuber. A single small tuber will often have a hundred open flowers at a time. They are from one-half to three-quarters of an inch in diameter. This variety can be obtained and planted at any time of the year. It is admirably adapted for baskets or a hanging-pot. _Oxalis acetocella_ is the true shamrock of Ireland. Flowers are white, borne on stalks two to four inches high. _Versicolor_ is a winter bloomer; color white, with bright pink margins to the petals; requires sunshine; the flowers will not expand in cloudy weather. _Floribunda_ has no such freaks, but smiles in the storm, as well as the sunshine. A lady writing to Mr. Vick becomes enthusiastic over her Oxalis. She says: "The sixth of last October I planted a bulb of _Oxalis versicolor_, and it is just beginning to bloom. And oh! what lovely flowers; delicate and perfect in form, pure white, with just the faintest tinge of yellow in the center, and beautiful crimson stripes on the outside. The plant also is of a very graceful habit, bearing its tuft of small leaves, and clusters of flowers on the top of a short, slender stem. It seems strange that so small a bulb can produce such beautiful flowers." Of _Bowii_ she thus writes: "A year ago last October I planted a bulb of _Oxalis Bowii_ in a small bed. The bulb was so very small that I did not believe the flowers could amount to much, but was soon most agreeably disappointed. Such a mass of flowers on one small plant I had never seen before, and such large, bright-colored flowers! Many stopped to admire it, and ask its name. It continued to produce a mass of flowers the entire winter and part of the spring, until the sun became very hot. From this one bulb I obtained eight, which I wrapped in paper and kept in a dry place. About the first of August they commenced growing, and so I planted them, and the first of September they were in full bloom, though the flower grew large as the days became less hot, until they were nearly as large as Petunias. The soil in which they grew was mostly sand and rich surface earth from the woods, and I sometimes watered them with weak soap-suds." Mr. Vick, to whom we are indebted for the most of our information on this subject, says that this variety has large, thick, fleshy leaves, and large, bright, rose-colored flowers, the largest, indeed, of any of the cultivated kinds. In his illustrated article he gives an engraving of one named _Cernuus plena_, the flowers of which resemble double Portulacas; erect, borne in clusters. We regret that he gives no reference to this variety whatever. It must be a rare sort, probably not in the market here. A Talk About Lilies. "CONSIDER THE LILIES." Thus spake one wiser than Solomon, even He whose hand created and beautified the Lilies with a glory surpassing that of the greatest of Israel's kings. This department of the Floral kingdom is too vast for us to explore; we can only make a selection of a few of the numerous varieties for consideration, gathering our information from the various sources at hand, and adapting it to our present use. The Lily is the rival of the Rose, and by many is considered far superior. They certainly are far more easily cultivated. They are hardy, elegant, gorgeous sometimes, and sometimes of snowy purity. Many of them are of exquisite fragrance. There are early and late bloomers, and one can have these desirable flowers in succession for several months, by a right selection. The earliest bloomers are the _Pomponiums_, natives of Siberia, and are perfectly hardy. The _Lancifolium_ or _Speciosum_ is the autumn blooming Lily, native of Japan. _Lancifolium Album_, a fine sort, with pure white petals and a pea-green stripe, very fragrant. _Lancifolium Rubrum_, and _Roseum_, though catalogued separately, are the same with different shadings. Some purplish crimson, others a faint blush of rose. Some have a red stripe, others a dark dull green, but all are specially recommended. _Lancifolium Punctatum verum_ is a late bloomer; color, clear white with soft rose spots and green stripes. Finest of the species, _Lancifolium Praecox_; flowers white with a purplish-blush at the tips. _Lancifolium Monstrosum_ or _Corymbiflorum rubrum_, bears its crimson flowers in large clusters. Grows to a great size. The Lancifolium Lilies are of special value for their hardiness and varied beauty, and their cheapness places them within general reach. They are classed under the head of MARTAGONS, or TURKS CAP. [Illustration] _Auratum Imperial_ is the Golden-banded-Lily of Japan which has become so extensively known and popular since its introduction from Japan by Mr. Gordon Dexter. It was first exhibited in July 1862, at the Massachusetts Horticultural Exhibition. It first bloomed in England same year. It was for sometime considered too tender for the Canadas and New England states, but it proved to be hardy. We have had ours twelve years, and give it only a slight protection. The petals of the Auratum are snowy white with a golden band running down the center of each, and freely spotted on the sides with deep carmine red. They are very fragrant. Being of somewhat slender growth, they need support. It does best in a warm sandy soil that has been well manured and dug deeply. It is easily propagated from the scales of the bulbs, each scale producing a small bulbet. They should be planted in a box about a foot deep, in good friable soil about three inches deep, and one inch apart. Sink the box in some out of the way place in the garden, and water frequently. In a short time small bulbs will be found forming on the base, which rapidly grow, and must be transplanted out the second year in the bed; the third or fourth year it will bloom. The little bulbets which form on the mother bulb blossom a year earlier. They should be renewed in the fall, after the foliage is dead. Plant in a bed about four inches deep, and let them remain undisturbed for two years; then they are large enough to bloom and should be transplanted into a permanent bed, if required. LONGIFLORUM LILIES. [Illustration] These trumpet-shaped Lilies are charming in appearance, quite hardy and fragrant. They bloom in July or August, and continue in beauty for a long time. Longiflorum _Japonicum_ blooms in July, and is a fine dwarf bedder; color pure white, with occasionally a greenish tinge outside. Increases rapidly. _Eximium_ bears a longer flower, from six to nine inches in length, and is more open at the mouth than the common Longiflorum. Pure white and very fragrant. _Brownii_ is a native of Japan, and is a grand Lily of rare beauty. It resembles Longiflorum in shape, but is larger and more expanding; color white inside, exterior brownish-purple; stamens rich chocolate, which forms a distinctive feature in this species. It has been frequently confounded with _Japonicum_, but the difference is very marked in the illustrations of the two, and are thus noted in Messrs. Hallock & Thorp's "Catalogue of Lilies." "JAPONICUM (_Odorum, Japonicum Colchesterii_). One of the most beautiful and rarest Lilies in cultivation. It differs from Brownii and all the forms of Longiflorum in many respects. Note the following marked differences: Its broader, fewer and more spreading leaves, the shape of the entire flower and broader claw of its divisions, its shorter anthers with pollen tinged with red. The flower is solitary and large, interior pure white, exterior of a pinkish-brown color, tubular, bell-shaped, with spreading revolute tips; the bud shows a rich golden tint. Bulb white, or whitish-yellow, never red or brown, broad at the base, the scales which are somewhat narrow and acute at the tip, the outer ones terminate at about two-thirds of the height of the inner scales, whereas in Brownii the scales are broad, and all pass up, overlapping, and terminate together at the apex of the bulb, thus making the base much narrower than the apex." It is a native of Japan, and is so exceedingly rare that it is priced at $7.00, more than double the cost of any other in the list. Brownii was priced, when a novelty at $4.00, but is now offered for $1.75. [Illustration] _Candidum_, sometimes called Easter Lily, is one of the best known and commonly grown of all the Lilies. It has been in cultivation for about three hundred years. Bears a profusion of pure white fragrant flowers in a compact head. The double _Tiger Lily_ is a very great improvement on the old single variety. It is very double, and very showy. _Wallacei_ is a new Japanese variety, said to be magnificent; color, buff, spotted with black. _Chalcedonicum_ or _Scarlet Martagon_ is supposed to be the "Lily of the field" mentioned in the Gospel. "It is magnificent, and its intense scarlet is one of the finest shades in the whole vegetable kingdom. A full bed is a most magnificent sight, and if suddenly looked at on a bright day, has nearly the same effect for a moment as if looking at the sun. It is much scarcer than it should be, and requires careful culture, to be planted about six or eight inches deep, and watered in the summer time. It pleases every one who is capable of being pleased." Lilies, as well as many other bloomers, are greatly improved by thinning out the overplus, thus concentrating the sap to fewer blossoms, which being thus liberally nourished, greatly increase in size, and amply repay, by their superiority, for the loss in numbers. Although this is a demonstrated fact, yet few have the courage to prune where flowers are not very abundant, and many will not when they are. Those who have limited space are loth to devote much room to Lilies, preferring plants that bloom continually throughout the season, or that make more show. But it is not essential that the bed should be devoted exclusively to lilies. For early spring blooming there can be the Crocuses, Snowdrops, Hyacinths, Tulips, all of which will bloom before the lilies, and after flowering can be taken up, i.e., the Tulips and Hyacinths, and low bedding plants take their places. Portulaca, Pansy, Ageratum, Mignonnette, Nemophila, Sweet Alyssum, are all suitable for this purpose, and will not only make the bed beautiful all the season with their blossoms, but will also be of real benefit to the Lilies by shading their roots somewhat, and keeping the soil more cool and moist. Lilies must never be crowded; a foot or twenty inches is about right. The soil should be dug deep and mixed with old rotted manure and sand liberally, unless the soil is naturally sandy; if heavy, clayey soil, it ought to have in addition to sharp sand, leaf mold and bog muck. Plant the bulbs from six to eight inches deep, according to the size. Last autumn, in planting my Lily, Tulip, Hyacinth, and other bulbs, I made a little bed for each of pure sand, and then covered well with soil, over which was put a blanket of old dressing, then, before snow, a covering of boughs. The bulbs never came up so grandly, nor grew so rapidly before. October is the best month for bedding out, later will do, and many do not plant their Lilies till the frost is out in the spring. The two leading Lily growers of this country are John L. Child and V. H. Hallock & Thorp, of Queens, N. Y. [Illustration] DOUBLE WHITE BOUVARDIA, "ALFRED NEUNER." This is indeed a novelty among this class of valuable plants, being the first double ever known. It is said to be equal if not superior, in profuse blooming quality, and vigorous, healthy growth, to the single white variety, _Davidsonii_, of which it is a sport. The flowers are rather larger than those of the single flowering, and composed of three perfect rows of petals, of the purest waxy white color, each floweret resembling a miniature Tuberose. The trusses are large and perfect, and are freely and without interruption produced, even on the small side shoots, which generally make no flowers on the single one. It is highly praised by Mr. Thomas Meehan, florist and editor of the _Gardeners' Monthly_, and by Mr. Henry A. Dreer, florist, of Philadelphia. "A grand thing," says Mr. Meehan. "Gives great satisfaction. It has excelled our expectation," says Mr. Dreer. My own specimen, about four inches in height, has twelve buds; two small clusters are on side-shoots. The very fine illustration of this Bouvardia we give our readers, has been kindly loaned by the Ellis Brothers, Keene, N. H., who have a fine stock which they are offering to the public. Mr. Henry Cannell says, "Of all plants the Bouvardia, in our opinion, excels for cut flowers, no matter either for button-hole bouquets or table decoration; a spray of it is sure to be most prominent and pleasing, and the odor of several kinds is deliciously refreshing, and if well-grown they will more or less continue flowering nine months out of the year. Strange to say, they need only the ordinary course of cultivation of the winter-flowering Zonal Pelargonium; hitherto they have been treated as a stove plant, whereas they only need a temperature not higher than 50° to 60°, and in the summer to have every attention, like a specimen Chrysanthemum, and on the first appearance of frost to be taken into the house, and when growing and flowering, to be supplied with liquid manure occasionally." Our only experience with this genus has been with _Bouvardia Humboldtii Corymbiflora_, and it has proved to be a very valuable plant. Its pure white flowers are produced in large trusses; their tubes are three inches in length, and very fragrant. It blooms very freely and for a long period. This variety and _Vreelandii_ are the best single white. _Liantha_ is a dazzling scarlet, and a very profuse bloomer. _Elegans_, salmon-scarlet; large and fine. _Lady Hyslop_, a light rose. _Canspicua_ is of a blood-red color, with whitish tube. _Bicolor_, a summer-flowering variety. Flower tube purple, with tint of blue and delicately mottled flesh, tipped with white. These last we find, only in Cannell's _Floral Guide_. I have no difficulty in keeping my Bouvardia in the cellar, the leaves drop off, but they come out anew in the spring. CAMELLIA JAPONICA. This is a very popular genus on account of their rich dark-green leaves, and beautiful rose-like flowers. They are hardy greenhouse plants, and thrive best in light loam mixed with sand and peat, but will do well in light soil without the peat. It will not flourish in a limestone soil. Mr. Vick gives the following in his Magazine: "The Camellia Japonica was sent to England in 1739 by Father Kamel, a missionary, for whom it was named. As a house-plant the Camellia requires considerable care, on account of the tendency of the flower buds to drop off. A northern exposure is best, and a temperature of from forty to fifty degrees. When the buds are swelling, water plentifully with warm water, but allow none to stand in the saucer. Sponge the leaves once a week. In the spring put the plant out in a shady place on the north side of a house or fence, not under the drip of trees, and water it every day. Set the pots on a hard bottom, so that no worms can get into them. They form their flower beds during the summer, and at this time a good growth of wood must be encouraged. "In the Southern States the Camellia can be raised with not more than ordinary care; at the North it must be considered entirely a green-house plant, and as such will always be highly prized. We are often asked how it should be cared for as a house-plant, and to all such, in the northern part of the country, where it is necessary to maintain good fires in warm houses for several months of the year, we have no hesitation in saying, let it alone, do not expend care and labor where there is so little prospect of reward." Camellias are of many hues, and some are beautifully striped. _Gen. Lafayette_, bright rose, striped with white, imbricated. _Bell Romann_, imbricated, large flower and petals, rose striated with bright crimson. _Matteo Molfino_, petals cerise, with pure white band down center. _Mrs. Lurmann_, crimson, spotted, very beautiful. Pure colors of white, red, crimson, rose and carmine, can be obtained. AZALEA.--Shrubby green-house plants of easy cultivation. Very showy and hardy. Like the Camellia, they are found in all the leading colors, and also striped, blotched and spotted. They are both single and double. _Alexander II_, is white, striped with vermilion; edges of petals fringed. _Aurelia_, white, striped with rosy orange, amaranth spots. _Flag of Truce_, is a pure double white, very fine. _Her Majesty_, is rosy-lilac, edged with white. _Alice_, rose, blotched with vermilion; double. Mr. Vick gives the following directions: "Azaleas need a light soil of sandy loam, to which should be added one-half leaf mold. Repotting should be done in May, trimming the tops to bring them into shape. Then plunge in some sheltered spot in the garden. In September the plants should be brought in under cover, or into a cool room. They do best when the temperature ranges from forty degrees at night to sixty-five or seventy by day. The foliage should be showered once a week, but care must be taken that the roots are not over-watered, as they rot easily. Small plants bloom well, but their beauty increases as they get age and size. The flowers appear on the terminal shoots, and are from one inch to two and a half inches in diameter. "Azaleas if left to themselves will develop long shoots, that after a time become naked below and are furnished with leaves only at their extremities. Flower stems are formed on the new wood of each summer's growth, consequently the amount of bloom, other things being equal, depends upon the amount of new wood annually produced. In order to have plants of good shape when they become large, it is necessary to give attention to pinching and training them from the first. The pyramid form, or more properly that of a cone, and rounded at the top, is considered the best for the plant, as it allows the greatest exposure of leaf-surface. Two principal methods are adopted to regulate the growth and bring plants into shape: one is by successive pinchings as the growth proceeds, the other by allowing long shoots to grow and then bending and training them down, thus causing many of the dormant buds along their whole length to break and develop into shoots. A skillful combination of the two methods is probably better than either exclusively." Mr. John Dick, Philadelphia, has the largest stock of Camellias and Azaleas, it is stated, in the United States. Their catalogue list of these plants embraces more than a hundred varieties, to which we refer our readers. The Ingathering of the Flowers. We have come to see your garden, said a gentleman with a lady in company. They were from a neighboring town. This two weeks after the heavy frost! I told them my garden was in the stable, and thither I piloted them. It was not a very small garden if it was in a stable. A hundred or more plants had been hurriedly removed from the beds the day before that freezing night! There they were, in the soiled pots just as taken from the ground, or packed closely in boxes. Not very attractive looking, in one sense, yet in another they were, for they were bright, healthy appearing plants--leaves as fresh as when in the open air, pretty Geraniums in bloom, a mass of Lobelia, attractive with their tiny blue flowers, Coleus of varied hues, and even a few Roses struggling into bloom. Then we strolled among the despoiled beds, and the Pansies, so large and pert, elicited admiration, and the Sweet Peas, just as fragrant as though blight were not all around them, while dear little Mignonnette seemed to have taken a new lease of life. Yesterday I arranged in a shallow glass dish as handsome a bouquet as I have had for the season. Sweet Clover sprays, Mignonnette and fragrant Geranium leaves for the foundation all around the dish, a few bunches of the little white wax balls, with their glossy leaves, Geranium blossoms, and lots of Sweet Peas, from the most delicate shades to the deepest, and bunches of splendid Pansies, Sweet Alyssum, a bit of purple Verbena here and there, and white-eyed Phlox. It was just lovely. When the evidence was sure that frost was surely coming, and a great many plants must be taken up in a few hours' time, I was so glad that full half of them were in pots. I could never have potted a third of them in the time. The great object was to get them sheltered, and the repotting could be done at my leisure. But I almost changed my mind the other day after toiling several hours at the business. So many pots to wash! then fill with fresh earth, and set the plant. O dear, wasn't I tired! But then the wide door was open, the day was lovely, and I rather think potting plants in a stable is better than potting out of doors on a cold day, and when one is in a great hurry. Plants that are in pots plunged in the ground do not grow so many roots, and that is another advantage. MY WINDOW BOX. Perhaps I may as well tell you about my most important window box. I had it made last autumn, and I was greatly pleased with it. It is made of zinc, size one yard long, fourteen inches broad, seven inches in depth. To give it strength it is framed at the top with wood. You can have this of black walnut, or stained in imitation. You can have the box painted any color you wish, or leave it unpainted. In the center is Croton "Weismanni," on one side of it a fine Eranthemum pictum; its green leaves look as though they were painted with white streaks; on the other side, Acalypha "Macafeeana." These are the largest plants in my box, and they do not exceed ten inches in height. There are sixty plants in all, mostly averaging six inches in height, but a few are quite small. They consist of very choice Geraniums--some of them handsome-leaved--variegated Abutilons, Lemon Verbena, two bright Achyranthes, six very beautiful Coleuses, and four fine Begonias. There are others I cannot stop to specify. You will see that I have filled my box with what are, in themselves, beautiful without the aid of flowers, though I expect to have a few of these by-and-by. I am perfectly satisfied with it, however, just as it is. I had a large German Ivy growing out of doors, which consisted of several long vines. This I planted in one corner of the box, and then drooped and twined it on the outside. The change to indoor life caused the large green leaves to fall off, but already new ones have put forth, and the vines are rapidly growing. Everything else had been previously prepared so that there was no change in their leafage after being put in the box. It is a great addition to the beauty of the box to have vines of pretty foliage drape the sides. This autumn I have had it placed on a small, low table with castors, so I can change the plants every week, and thus avoid that turning toward the window which they always assume if kept in one position. I first put in drainage, and then filled the box with rich, mellow earth in which was a mixture of one-third sand. I have been thus particular in my description, for many, no doubt, who, like myself, have to make the most of limited space, will be glad to know just how to keep the greatest number of plants to the best advantage. Not only is there a saving of room, but of labor, and it is more cleanly. HYACINTHS. Among the essentials for winter flowers are the bulbs. Of these the hyacinth takes the lead. They are so easily grown; so lovely and so fragrant that they are worthy of a place in every collection. They should be planted so that the upper surface of the bulb is visible. Water liberally and then put away in a cool dark place for several weeks, six weeks is none too long, and some I allow to remain a longer time, bringing them to the light at intervals so as to have a succession of flowers. They are very effective planted in a group. They are very pretty in hyacinth glasses, but this method ruins the bulbs for future use. Planted out they will sometimes flower. The best time to plant them in the border is in October, but the first of November will do. It is a good plan to make a little bed of sand for the bulb, and then cover with light porous soil. Hyacinths are classed as tall and dwarf, single and double. The Roman Hyacinth is the earliest bloomer, coming into flower about the holidays if started in season. The spikes are small and flowers rather scattering. As soon as the blooms fade, the stalk should be removed, and when the leaves turn yellow, they can be cut off, and the bulb dried and packed in paper bags and kept till time for autumn planting. Hyacinth bulbs come from Holland. About Haarlem the rubbish heaps are hyacinths, and the air is oppressive with their perfume. In California there grows what is called the Twining Hyacinth. It grows in the mountains, and twines about the bushes, sometimes going up eight and ten feet. After it gets to the top of the bush and rests awhile, it lets go of the earth and goes on blooming for months, regardless of the burning sun. The flower stem breaks off near the ground, and the flowers are kept swinging in the air supported only by the bush about which it twines. The color is deep rose, and it is said to be very pretty. The picture of it certainly looks attractive. It is a large cluster composed of dozens of blossoms. For flowering in the house the Polyanthus Narcissus are very desirable. They can be put into glasses as well as the Hyacinth, but the most natural method is in a pot of earth, and the bulb is in a better condition for after use. The Jonquils are also pretty. Snowdrops, Scillas and the Crocus are cheap bulbs, and planted in the autumn will show their bright, sweet faces soon after the snow is gone. They are also very fine for house culture. Should be planted in groups. Tulips ought to have a place in every garden. They make a brilliant show in the Spring, when the beds are bare of other flowers, and afford bloom for a long time, if a good assortment is selected. The pretty little dwarf Duc Van Thols are early bloomers and very gay. They are admirable also for the house, and by planting in September, will come into flower in December. There are early single and double Tulips, and also late bloomers, so that by having a variety, the border may look gay for a long time. The Parrot Tulips are large and very brilliant in color, and picturesque in appearance. All of these varieties succeed in ordinary garden soil. They ought to be planted in October or November, about four to six inches apart, and about four inches under the surface. Before severe frost they need to be protected by branches of evergreen, straw or leaves. After blooming, and the leaves have died down, they can be taken up, dried and stored till autumn, if the bed is needed for other flowers. The Bulb catalogues issued by leading florists in the autumn, and sent free to all applicants, will enable you to select just what you want. INSECTS. In a work of this character it seems needful to treat more fully of those pests which prove so destructive to plant life, than we have in our brief references. The APHIS or green louse is the one that most frequently infests our plants, and the rapidity with which it multiplies, is astonishing. REAUMER has proved that in five generations one aphis may be the progenitor of six thousand millions, and there may be ten generations in a year! The method most generally adopted for their destruction is fumigation with tobacco. As this is attended with considerable difficulty, a weak solution may be used quite as effectively. We have had no experience with either method, having used another with good success for several years. This is white hellebore which we usually apply in the powder when the Rose-bushes are wet with dew or rain, bending the branches over, so that the application can be made chiefly on the under side of the leaves, where the pests are found. Two or three times proves sufficient. For our house plants we usually make a solution, by putting half an ounce of the hellebore into pretty warm water, and letting it stand for several hours, stirring it up however, before spraying the leaves. Afterward, the plants need to be washed. For the SCALE a strong solution of soap-suds applied with a sponge or a small stiff brush. A tooth brush is very suitable for this purpose. For MEALY BUG, a mixture of one part alcohol and three parts water, applying with a feather, or what is better, a camel hair brush. Another method is to use kerosene in the same way. A florist who has practiced this for eight years, says it is sure death to the insect. The feather should be brushed all over the mealy-looking substances found usually in the axils of the leaves. WORMS IN POTS. Lime water is a safe and effectual remedy for the little white worms often found in the soil. Slake the lime in water and after it has settled, pour off the clear water and drench the earth. ANTS. Various remedies have proved effective. One is to take a vial or a cup nearly filled with sweet oil, and sink it in the ground where the ants resort, so that the rim is on a level with the surface. The ants are very fond of it, but it is sure death to them. A German writer says that carbolic acid and water will drive ants away from any grounds--one hundred parts of water to one of the acid. Mix in a tub and stir repeatedly for twenty-four hours, taking off the scum that rises to the top. Kerosene or coal-oil mixed with water has proved very successful in the destruction of noxious insects and grubs. A tablespoonful of the oil to two gallons of water is the rule for tender plants; for hardy ones it will be necessary probably to have it of greater strength. As the compound does not mix readily, it needs to be thoroughly stirred, and then quickly applied. The best way is to draw it back and forth a few times in a syringe, and then apply. Water tainted with coal-oil, poured into little holes made in mole tracks, will, it is said, drive them effectually away. INDEX OF FLORISTS. For the convenience of our readers who may wish to procure varieties of plants of which we have treated in this work, we give the address of reliable florists who make a specialty of those connected with their address. All of them will furnish their catalogues free when requested. PANSIES. SEEDS FOR THE WILD GARDEN. B. K. Bliss & Sons, New York City. VERBENAS, PETUNIAS, FUCHSIAS. C. E. Allen, Brattleboro, Vt. GERANIUMS. Innisfallen Greenhouses, Springfield, Ohio. PELARGONIUMS, ORNAMENTAL FOLIAGE PLANTS, GLOXINIAS. John Saul, Washington, D. C. GLADIOLUS, SINGLE DAHLIAS, NOVELTY DAHLIA. V. H. Hallock & Thorp, Queens, N. Y. COLEUSES--NEW HYBRIDS, DRAC�NAS. H. A. Dreer, Philadelphia, Pa. CHINESE PRIMROSES, NEW PRIMULA, DOUBLE WHITE BOUVARDIA. Ellis Brothers, Keene, N. H. NEW MONTHLY PELARGONIUMS. John G. Heinl, Terre Haute, Ind. WISTARIA. E. H. Ellwanger, Rochester, N. Y. AMARYLLIS, RARE VARIETIES. John L. Child, Queens, N. Y. LILIES A SPECIALTY. John L. Child; V. H. Hallock & Thorp, Queens, N. Y. CAMELLIAS AND AZALEAS. John Dick jr., 53d st., and Darby Road, Philadelphia, Pa. AUTHOR'S NOTES. _Vick's Illustrated Magazine_ is the best Floricultural Monthly we know of for amateurs. We are indebted to it for much of the information we have obtained respecting the culture of flowers, and have drawn largely from its pages in this work. There is a finely colored frontispiece in each number, and it is otherwise fully illustrated. Its entire arrangement evidences the fine æsthetic taste of its editor and publisher. It is very low at $1.25 per year. Beautifully bound vols., $1.75. Mr. James Vick, Rochester, N. Y. _The Gardener's Monthly and Horticulturist_ takes a wider range, treating not only of Flowers, but also of Fruit and Vegetable Gardening, Natural History and Science, Forestry, etc. The ample Notes pertaining to the several departments, by its editor, Mr. Thomas Meehan, are of special value. Published by Chas. H. Marot, Philadelphia, Pa., at $2.10 per annum. "AN ESSAY ON ROSES." NOTICES OF THE PRESS. Mrs. M. D. Wellcome of Yarmouth, Me., whose pleasant and helpful "Talks About Flowers" are familiar to the readers of _The Journal_, has published in a neat pamphlet, _An Essay on Roses_, which was read before the Maine Pomological Convention last March, and has since been revised and enlarged for publication. This essay treats the subject historically and descriptively. It considers the classification of Roses, tells what Roses to plant, gives suggestions as to the best mode of culture, and furnishes a list of the best hybrids and of the best ever-blooming varieties. Mrs. Wellcome writes with enthusiasm, and from a thorough knowledge and a considerable experience. All lovers of roses, and all amateur horticulturists will find the little monograph interesting and suggestive. _Boston Journal._ The valuable and instructive _Essay on Roses_ read before the Maine Pomological Convention by Mrs. M. D. Wellcome, has been issued in a neat pamphlet.... Our readers who are familiar with Mrs. Wellcome's writings, will know how to value this production of her busy pen. _Portland Transcript._ Our well-appreciated correspondent, Mrs. M. D. Wellcome, has published in a neat pamphlet, an essay upon "Roses."... It is an interesting and practical little manual, and will prove a valuable aid to young horticulturists. _Zion's Herald._ The _Waterville Mail_ says: "Of this essay it is sufficient to say that it was prepared by a graceful writer,--a well-known contributor to the literary department of several prominent Journals, and a skillful florist--and that it secured the approbation of the Convention before whom it was read, and the representatives of the agricultural press." Rev. J. M. Orrock, editor of _Messiah's Herald_, after describing the work, adds: "The author says in her introduction, 'I have brought you a bouquet of Roses, and there is little of my own but the string that binds them.' It is indeed, a pretty bouquet, and we hope many of her friends will want to see and enjoy it." Mr. Samuel L. Boardman Esq., editor of the _Home Farm_, says: "This little booklet about Roses is just the plain, sensible guide all amateur growers will be profited by reading. There is just enough of history and sentiment in its opening pages, ample directions for culture, treatment, etc., closing with descriptions of the most desirable Roses, and lists from which to make selections for larger cultivators. Mechanically, the little book is as delicate as a rosebud; and every lover of this queenly flower should procure a copy." The "Essay" is issued in a neatly illustrated pamphlet of 24 pages, with ornamental cover. Price 15 cents. For sale by the author, Yarmouth, Me. GERANIUMS! We offer a fine assortment of Geraniums at =10 CENTS EACH=, for your selection; or we will send =16 FINE SORTS= of our own selection, all labeled, prepaid, by mail, for a remittance of $1.25. We have by far the largest stock of Geraniums in this country. Roses, Ever Blooming. We have a fine collection of Roses that we offer, strong flowering plants, labeled, at =10 CENTS EACH=, your choice; or we will send =16 FINE PLANTS= of our own selection, prepaid, by mail, for a remittance of $1.25. We also offer a fine assortment of all kinds of flowering plants at the above low price. Send for a catalogue. Address, INNISFALLEN GREENHOUSES, SPRINGFIELD, O. The Latest Novelty in Roses. NEW HYBRID TEAS. This new class of ROSES combine =HARDINESS=, =CONSTANT BLOOM=, and =DELICATE COLORING=. They originated in England, and are now offered for the first time in this country. For full description of these Roses, and price, send for catalogue. E. C. ALLEN, Brattleboro, Vermont. FREE! We wish to obtain 25,000 New Subscribers to THE FLORAL MONTHLY during the next few months, and we propose to give to every reader of this paper _Fifty Cents Worth of Choice Flower Seeds_. Our offer is to send, Free of Cost, 50 cents worth of Choice Flower Seeds to each and every one who will send us 25 two cent postage stamps for the FLORAL MONTHLY one year. Seeds sent free by return mail. Specimen copies free. Address =W. E. MORTON & CO., FLORISTS=, 615 Congress Street, =Portland, Me.= (NATURAL FLOWERS PRESERVED TO LAST FOR YEARS.) * * * * * Transcriber's Note: Punctuation has been standardised, and typographical errors such as missing or reversed letters have been silently corrected. Variations in hyphenation (such as greenhouse and green-house), and obsolete or variant spelling have been preserved. In particular, variations in the spelling of some botanical names have been left as printed in the original book. In the Table of Contents, the entry "A Talk About Pansies" was printed as "Pansies"; this has been changed to match the chapter title as printed on page 33. The following changes were also made: Pg 82, Verschaffellii changed to Verschaffeltii: (Verschaffeltii, we fear). Pg 109, Ainwick changed to Alnwick: (a visit to Alnwick Castle). 
40214	----	[Illustration: THE BOYS HAWKING ON THE BROAD.] THE SWAN AND HER CREW, _OR THE ADVENTURES OF_ THREE YOUNG NATURALISTS AND SPORTSMEN _ON THE BROADS AND RIVERS OF NORFOLK_. BY G. CHRISTOPHER DAVIES, AUTHOR OF "MOUNTAIN, MEADOW, AND MERE;" "RAMBLES AND ADVENTURES OF OUR SCHOOL FIELD CLUB;" "ANGLING IDYLLS;" ETC., ETC. SECOND EDITION. _WITH NUMEROUS ILLUSTRATIONS._ London: FREDERICK WARNE AND CO., BEDFORD STREET, STRAND. NEW YORK:--SCRIBNER, WELFORD AND ARMSTRONG. LONDON: R. CLAY, SONS, AND TAYLOR, PRINTERS, BREAD STREET HILL, QUEEN VICTORIA STREET. PREFACE. A preface is like the bow of an actor when he comes on the stage, or like the hand-shaking of two friends when they meet--the prelude to the entertainment, or the friendly conversation. I suppose, therefore, I must follow the fashion, and say, "How d'ye do?" in this way. I hope the answer will be, "Quite well, thank you, and much the better for seeing you." In a book of similar character to this one, which I published a short time ago, I offered to reply to any questions which any of my young readers, who wished for further information upon any of the subjects mentioned in that book, might put to me, by means of letters addressed to me, to the care of the publishers. I then had the pleasure of answering many such letters, and I now repeat the offer to the readers of this book. I am indebted to my friend Mr. William Whitwell, of Oxford, who is, like myself, a lover of boys, for the chapter on the "LIFE OF A FERN." CONTENTS. PAGE CHAPTER I. Greeting.--The Broad District.--Hickling Broad.--Felling a Tree.--Dodging the Swallows.--Shooting the Crossbills.--The Boat-house. 1 CHAPTER II. Stuffing the Crossbills.--The proposed Yacht.--An impaled Woodcock. 8 CHAPTER III. A Momentous Decision. 13 CHAPTER IV. Digging for Pupæ.--Dick Carleton.--Metamorphoses of Butterfly. 14 CHAPTER V. Building the Yacht.--The Launch.--Great Crested Grebe's nest.--A floating Coot's nest.--Golden Crested Wrens.-- Their Migration.--The Flight of a Heron. 20 CHAPTER VI. Mr. Meredith.--"Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might."--A Botanical Lecture.--The Goat Moth.--Blowing up a Tree.--An astonished Cow.--Caterpillars in the Wood. 31 CHAPTER VII. A Trial Sail.--Preparing for a Cruise.--Charging a Reed Bed.--An explosion of Birds.--The First Adventure.-- Orange-Tip Butterfly.--No Salt.--How Salt is obtained. 36 CHAPTER VIII. An Eerie Night.--A Ghostly Apparition.--The Barn Owl.--A Will-o'-the-Wisp.--The Ruff and Reeve.--Snaring Ruffs.--A Nest.--Wroxham Broad.--Mud-boards and Leaping-pole.--Wild Duck's Nest in a Tree. 43 CHAPTER IX. Chameleon.--Light-coloured Eggs.--Sitting Birds have no Scent.--Forget-me-nots.--Trespassing.--The Owner.--A Chase.--Capture.--Pintail Duck.--Drumming of Snipe.--Swallow-tail Butterfly.--A Perilous Adventure. 51 CHAPTER X. Moonlight.--Instinct and Reason.--Death's Head Moth.-- Bittern.--Water-rail.--Quail.--Golden Plover.--Hen-Harrier and Weasel.--Preserving Bird-skins. 63 CHAPTER XI. To the Rescue.--A Long-tailed Tit's Nest.--A Shower of Feathers. 75 CHAPTER XII. Yarmouth.--The "Rows."--A Stiff Breeze.--An Exciting Sail.--Sparrow-hawk's Nest.--A Nasty Fall.--Long-eared Owl.--Partridge.--Sandpiper. 79 CHAPTER XIII. A Grizzly Bear.--Gossamers.--Strike only on the Box. 88 CHAPTER XIV. Oulton Broad.--Lateeners.--Lowestoft.--Ringed Plover's Nest.--Oyster-catcher.--Shore-fishing.--A Perilous Sail. 92 CHAPTER XV. Animals which never die.--A Wonderful Tip to his Tail.-- Thunderstorm.--Swan's Nest.--Bearded Tit.--Reed-wrens and Cuckoo. 97 CHAPTER XVI. Old School-fellows.--Tom-Tit's Nest in Boot.--Nuthatch.-- Wryneck.--Ant-hill.--Marsh-Tit.--A Comical Fix. 104 CHAPTER XVII. The Boat-race.--Winning.--Mr. Marston.--Nightingale and Nest.--The noise of the Nightingales. 113 CHAPTER XVIII. A queer Umbrella.--Visit to Scoulton Gullery.--Driving Tandem.--Running away.--Black-headed Gulls.--Collecting the Eggs.--Carp.--Wood Argus Butterfly.--Scarlet Pimpernel.--Grasshopper Warbler.--Chiff-Chaff.--Gall-Fly.-- Robins' Pincushions. 121 CHAPTER XIX. Back again.--Taken in Tow.--Bobbing for Eels.--Glow-worms.-- Home.--Urticating Caterpillars. 132 CHAPTER XX. Golden Oriole.--Landrail.--House-martins in Trouble.-- Siskin.--Peacock and Red Admiral Butterflies.--Winchat's Nest.--Bitten by a Viper.--Viper and Snake.--Slow-worm. 137 CHAPTER XXI. Fishing.--Jimmy's Dodge.--Bream-fishing.--Good Sport.-- Fecundity of Fish.--Balance Float.--Fish-hatching.--Edith Rose.--A Night Sail. 149 CHAPTER XXII. Calling for Landrails.--Landrail Shamming Death.-- Yellow-Under-wing Moth and Wasp.--Dragon-Fly and Butterfly.--Stink-horn Fungus.--Sundew. 158 CHAPTER XXIII. Setting Night-Lines.--An Encounter with Poachers. 161 CHAPTER XXIV. Water Insects.--Aquaria. 165 CHAPTER XXV. Making a Fern Case.--Ferns.--Harvest Mouse.--Mole.-- Ladybird.--Grasses. 176 CHAPTER XXVI. The Life of a Fern. 185 CHAPTER XXVII. On the "War-path."--Rabbit-shooting.--Flapper-shooting.-- Duck-shooting.--Wood-pigeons.--Life in an Oak-tree.-- Burying-beetles.--Lace-wing Fly.--Stag-beetle.--Hair-worm. 194 CHAPTER XXVIII. Purple Emperor.--His taste for Carrion.--Woodpecker.-- Blue and Small Copper Butterflies.--Buff-tip Moth.--Moths at Ivy.--Strange-looking Caterpillars. 202 CHAPTER XXIX. How to Attract Perch.--Perch-fishing.--Pike.--Good Sport.--Plaster Casts.--Model Eggs. 209 CHAPTER XXX. Eel-fishing.--Setting the Nets.--Elvers.--The Merivale Float. 214 CHAPTER XXXI. Hawking. 220 CHAPTER XXXII. Heron-hawking.--Great Bustard.--Stock-Dove in Rabbit-hole.--"Dowe" Dogs.--Search for Bustard's Egg. 227 CHAPTER XXXIII. Water-hen swallowed by Pike.--Casting-net.--Trapping Water-hen for Bait.--A Monster Pike. 235 CHAPTER XXXIV. Fishing on Stilts.--A Capsize.--Wild-fowl Shooting.-- A Flare-up. 239 CHAPTER XXXV. Punt-shooting on Breydon.--A Narrow Escape. 242 CHAPTER XXXVI. Drifted to Sea.--A Perilous Position.--Rescue. 246 CHAPTER XXXVII. The Broad Frozen.--Skating.--Fish Frozen in Ice.--Birds Frozen to the Ice.--Ice Ships. 249 CHAPTER XXXVIII. The Thaw.--Cromer.--Prehistoric Remains. 251 CHAPTER XXXIX. The Boys' Note Book. 253 CHAPTER XL. The Regatta.--The "Waterlog's" Victory. 259 CHAPTER XLI. The Conclusion. 264 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. PAGE THE BOYS HAWKING ON THE BROAD _Front._ CROSSBILL 9 WOODCOCK 12 METAMORPHOSES OF BUTTERFLY 16 THE PARK IN SUMMER 17 WHITE HAWTHORN BUTTERFLY 19 BUILDING THE BOAT 22 A YARMOUTH YAWL 24 THE COMMON COOT 28 COMMON WREN AND EGG 29 HERON 30 ORANGE-TIP BUTTERFLY 40 THE BARN-OWL AND EGG 44 WILD DUCK 50 ROACH 52 CHAMELEON 53 REDBREAST AND EGG 55 YACHT 57 COMMON SNIPE 60 SWALLOW-TAIL BUTTERFLY 61 MOONLIGHT SCENE 64 DEATH'S-HEAD MOTH 65 BITTERN 66 WATER-RAIL 68 AFRICAN BUSH QUAIL 69 NEST OF GOLDEN PLOVER 71 HEN-HARRIER 74 WEASEL 74 LONG-TAILED TIT AND EGG 78 SPARROW-HAWK 82 LONG-EARED OWL 84 COMMON PARTRIDGE 85 EGG OF COMMON PARTRIDGE 86 COMMON SANDPIPER 87 LATEEN SAIL 92 RINGED PLOVER 94 OYSTER-CATCHER 95 SWAN'S NEST 100 SWAN 101 CUCKOO AND EGG 103 TOM-TIT AND EGG 106 NUTHATCH 107 WRYNECK 108 WORKING ANT AND PORTION OF ANT-HILL 109 EGG OF WRYNECK 110 MARSH-TIT AND EGG 111 PAIR-OARED BOAT 116 MR. MARSTON'S HOUSE 117 NIGHTINGALE 119 NIGHTINGALE'S NEST 120 COMMON GULL 126 YOUNG GULLS COVERED WITH DOWN 127 CARP 128 CHIFF-CHAFF 130 OAK-GALL FLY 131 GLOW-WORM 136 ORIOLE 138 NEST OF AMERICAN SPECIES OF ORIOLE 139 LANDRAIL OR CORNCRAKE 140 HOUSE-MARTIN 141 SISKIN 141 PEACOCK BUTTERFLY, CHRYSALIS, AND CATERPILLAR 142 RED ADMIRAL BUTTERFLY 143 WINCHAT AND EGG 144 VIPER 145 COMMON RINGED SNAKE 146 SLOW-WORM 148 BREAM 150 ANGLING 153 TROUT 155 DRAGON-FLY 159 METAMORPHOSES OF FLESH-FLY 166 WATER-BEETLE 166 PUPA AND COMPOUND EYE OF DRAGON-FLY 167 LARVA OF GNAT. ESCAPE OF GNAT FROM ITS PUPA-CASE 167 METAMORPHOSES OF PLUMED GNAT 168 PUPA-CASE, LARVA, AND FLY OF CADDIS-WORM 169 MINNOW 170 SMOOTH NEWT 171 METAMORPHOSES OF NEWT 172 WATER-FLEAS AND ANIMALCULÆ IN DROP OF WATER AS SEEN UNDER THE MICROSCOPE 173 FRESH-WATER AQUARIUM 174 METAMORPHOSES OF FROG 175 SEA-WATER AQUARIUM 176 WALL SPLEENWORT 177 FORKED SPLEENWORT 177 GREEN SPLEENWORT 177 OAK FERN 178 FRUCTIFICATION OF FERNS 179 WALL RUE, JERSEY FERN, MARSH FERN 180 HARVEST MOUSE AND NEST 181 MOLE 182 LADYBIRD AND ITS STAGES 183 FERN SPORES 187 SCALY SPLEENWORT OR "RUSTY BACK" 191 WILSON'S FILMY-FERN, TUNBRIDGE FILMY-FERN 192 WILD RABBITS 195 WOOD-PIGEON 197 SUSPENDED LEAF TENTS 198 LACE-WINGED FLY 200 STAG-HORNED PRIONUS AND DIAMOND BEETLE 201 GREEN WOODPECKER 204 BLUE BUTTERFLY 204 THE HAUNT OF THE PURPLE EMPEROR 205 PERCH AND GUDGEON 211 PIKE 212 EELS 218 APPARATUS USED IN HAWKING 221 COMMON HERON 228 GREAT BUSTARD 230 DOVES 231 WILD DUCK SHOOTING 244 MOLE CRICKET 254 COMMON LIZARD 255 OSPREY 256 GREAT CRESTED GREBE 256 WHITE ANTS' NEST, ANTS, ETC. 257 HEDGEHOG 258 HONEY BUZZARD 258 The Swan and her Crew. CHAPTER I. Greeting.--The Broad District.--Hickling Broad.-- Felling a Tree.--Dodging the Swallows.-- Shooting the Crossbills.--The Boat-house. With the same feeling of pleasure which one experiences when one writes to an old friend, I commence to write this new book, which I hope will be read by many a boy friend. It is very pleasant to an author to feel that he has a large circle of acquaintances whom he has never seen, and who know him only through his books. It should be his aim and endeavour to extend that circle of friends, and to increase the good feeling which they bear towards him. Therefore, my dear boys, I hope that after reading this book which I now submit to your approval, you will conceive as affectionate a regard for me as I have for you. This is a story of sport and adventure, natural history and science, and the movers in it are three boys just like yourselves; and that you may understand the better what they did, I shall first describe the scene of their exploits. It is the eastern part of Norfolk, and no better place could be found as a field for the doings of three enterprising young naturalists and sportsmen. It is known as the "Broad District," and it consists almost entirely of lake, river, and marsh. If we take Yarmouth on the sea-coast as the starting-point, and look inland, we shall see first of all a large tidal lake known as Breydon Water. From this radiate three rivers going north-west, west, and south-west. The chief of them is the Yare, which winds for thirty miles inward to the old city of Norwich. On our right is the river Bure, or North River, which after a very long and winding course leaves the marsh, and enters a richly-wooded country. To the south is the Waveney, a clear and beautiful stream, which flows past Beccles and Bungay, two towns in Suffolk. All these rivers are slow of current, wide and navigable not only for yachts, but for vessels of large burden, such as wherries, billy-boys, and small steamers. The banks of the rivers are fringed with tall reeds, and they flow through miles of level marsh, where, as far as the eye can reach, there is nothing to be seen but the white sails of the yachts and the dark sails of the wherries, and occasional windmills which are used for pumping the water out of the drains into the rivers. In order to deepen the channel of the river for the purposes of navigation, the embankments have been raised so high that the surface of the water is much above the level of the drains which carry the water off the surrounding marshes, and so the water has to be pumped into the river out of the drains by means of pumps set in action by windmills. Here and there amid the wide extent of marsh are large lakes or lagoons, which are locally termed "broads." These are very numerous and many of them very large. Most of them are connected with one or other of the rivers. Those on the Yare, are Surlingham and Rockland Broads; on the Bure, or connected with it by long dykes, are Filby and Ormesby Broads, Walsham, Ranworth, Hoveton, Wroxham, Barton, Martham and Hickling Broads, and Heigham Sounds. All these broads are full of fish, large pike and perch, and shoals of enormous bream. They are all very shallow, and are surrounded by dense aquatic vegetation, reeds, rushes, flags and bulrushes, and these are the haunts of many rare birds, and swarm with wild-fowl. The great characteristic of this part of the county is its utter loneliness and wildness, both qualities which are of especial interest to the sportsman and naturalist. As it is also the most eastern county of England, it is the first to receive many of the rarer migrants on their passage to our shores, and more rare birds are caught there each year than in any other part of our "tight little island." It is on the shores of Hickling Broad, and on a bright December day, the first of the Christmas holidays, that our story opens. A tall large-limbed boy, about sixteen years of age, yellow-haired, and blue-eyed, stands with his hands in his pockets, looking over the waste of waters on which the wavelets are dancing before a fresh breeze. His name is Frank Merivale, and he appears deep in thought. The broad waters he is gazing over are lonely and deserted save for occasional flights of wild-fowl, a marshman slowly pulling his boat across, and a wherry (as a Norfolk sailing barge is called) beating to windward along the broad, making very slow tacks to and fro, the reason of which would not be apparent to one who did not know the broad. Why does she not take long stretches which would take her more swiftly on her course? The reason is this, the broad is not more than three feet deep all over, save for a narrow channel in the middle, which is marked out by posts at long intervals, and if the wherry forsook this channel she would run aground. The Norfolk wherries are of very peculiar build and graceful appearance. They are long, low, and shallow, rather flat-bottomed, but fine and sharp in the stem and stern, which gives them a good hold of the water. They have one mast, stepped well forward and weighted at the foot so that it can be lowered to pass under bridges, and be easily raised again. This mast supports one immense sail, tanned black or red-brown. They sail wonderfully fast, even rivalling the yachts in their speed, and they can go very close to the wind. They are generally worked by two men, who live and sleep in the little cabin astern. We left Frank Merivale very much absorbed in thought. All at once a happy thought seemed to strike him, for he started from his reverie, and began to execute a step something between a walk and a war-dance. A clump of rushes put an untimely end to this by tripping him up, and causing him to measure his length upon the ground. With philosophical composure he picked himself up, and walked off, whistling merrily, towards a fir copse which stood upon the crest of a rising, lying above. We should say that while the flat marsh stretches between Hickling Broad and the sea, to the westward and inland the country is diversified with woods, and slight elevations forming a very pretty sylvan district. Reaching the fir-wood Frank entered it, and after looking about for a little time, he fixed upon a tall slender young larch-tree. He walked round and round it, and examined it critically, finally lying down on his back at its foot, and, with his eye close to its stem, glanced up it to see if it were perfectly straight. Satisfied on this point, he took out a large clasp-knife, and marked the trunk with a huge cross. Then he crossed the hedge and took his way through a large park, until he came to a paddock and pleasant house nestling among some large lime-trees, and surrounded by croquet lawns and well-kept gardens. It was an old house, built with many wings and projections and in many styles of architecture, the most prominent of which was a heavily-timbered Elizabethan style. Around the two principal sides of the house ran a wooden veranda, which in summer was luxuriantly hung with roses. This was Frank Merivale's home, and vaulting over the gate which separated the paddock from the lawn, he went into the house. Coming down the broad staircase into the hall, he met his two sisters; the eldest, a girl of thirteen, was like her brother, blue eyed and yellow-haired, with a face full of fun and mischief. Her name was Mary. The younger sister bore the same strong family likeness and was barely eleven. "Well, merry Mary Merivale," said Frank, "is the pater in?" "Yes, Frank, he is in the library." "That's all right; and where are you going?" "We are going to dig pupæ for you," answered Mary. "Then you are a good little woman," replied Frank, catching her round the waist, and giving her a kiss. "Have you got a mat to kneel upon, so as not to catch cold?" "Yes, we have got a mat and a trowel, in this basket, and we mean to get you a lot of moths. Don't we, Florrie?" "Yes, ever so many." Frank went along the passage, and entered the library. Mr. Merivale was seated at the table writing. He was a pale and studious-looking man, with a very kind and genial expression of face. He owned a small estate on the shores of the Broad, and was a deep thinker and scholarly writer, writing books which were intended chiefly for college libraries. He looked up as his son entered, and said,-- "Well, Frank, what is it?" "Please father, my birthday is next week." "I had not forgotten it, my boy." "Well, sir, I suppose you are going to give me a present of some sort as usual, and I thought, if you don't mind, that I should like to choose my present this time for myself." "If you choose wisely, you shall have what you wish, Frank." "Well, sir, all that I want is that you should let me have one of the straight young larches by the Broad. I want to cut it down at once that it may season by the spring." "It is rather a strange birthday present, Frank, but you may have it, in addition to the one your mother and I were about to get you, which was Morris's _British Birds_." "Oh, father, I am so glad. That is just the book I have been wanting." Mr. Merivale did not ask his son what the larch-tree was for. He thought that if Frank wished him to know he would have told him at once. He had a most perfect trust in his children, and he delighted to let them see that he had this trust in them. Hence it was their pride to deserve the confidence placed in them, and a happier family was not to be found in all Norfolk. Mr. Merivale supposed his son had good reasons for not making him a confidant in the matter of the larch-tree, so forbore to ask him. Frank quickly made his way to the outbuildings, where he obtained a couple of axes and a long rope. Laden with these he set off along a thickly-hedged lane until he came to a cottage, set far back in an old-fashioned garden. Here lived Jimmy Brett, his great friend, a boy about the same age as himself, who lived with his grandmother, Mrs. Brett, in this quiet little cottage. As Frank went up the garden walk he saw Jimmy perched on a ladder, engaged in painting a long board, a foot wide, which he had fixed up the whole length of the front of the cottage, just below the bed-room window. "What on earth is that for, Jimmy?" cried Frank, in astonishment. Jimmy turned round, revealing himself as a slight, pale-faced lad, with an eager and intelligent countenance, and replied-- "Well, you see, the swallows build in such great numbers in these wide old-fashioned eaves that they are rather a nuisance, and grandmother does not like the mess they make of the door-steps and windows below, so I thought if I put a board all the way along beneath their nests it would do away with the nuisance." "That is a clever idea, Jimmy; but do you not think that the swallows will build _below_ the board next year. They will think you put it there just on purpose for them." "I never thought of that, Frank," replied Jimmy, looking rather blank; "but now you mention it I think it is likely enough they will;" and by way of parenthesis I may say that next spring the swallows and house-martins did build under the new board in great numbers, and so frustrated Jimmy's plan altogether. "What are you going to do with those axes and that rope, Frank?" "Come and see; but first finish your painting, while I go in and see the grandmother." As the two boys walked off to the fir-copse, Frank told his friend that he meant to cut down the tree, but he would not tell him what it was that he wanted it for, and Jimmy's curiosity was provoked to a great degree. When they reached the wood they proceeded to the tree which Frank had marked, and Jimmy was sent up to fasten the rope to the top of it. Then while Frank took off his coat and applied the axe vigorously to the bottom of the tree, making the chips fly in all directions, Jimmy took the other end of the rope over the fence, and kept a steady pull upon it. At last the tree began to creak and groan, and then fell over with a crash. Jimmy then took the other axe, and the two began to lop off the branches. This was a long job, and when it was finished they were very warm and tired, and sat down to rest for a while on the fallen tree. A clicking and cracking sound in the wood about them now became audible to their quick ears. It might have been heard before had it not been drowned by the noise of the axes. They looked up, and to their great delight they saw a small flock of birds larger than a green linnet, and with plumage of red, brown, and yellow. They were flitting about the fir-trees, cutting off the fir-cones with their bills, and then holding them on the branches with their claws, and cracking them, and picking out the seeds, producing at the same time the noise which had attracted the attention of the boys. "What are they?" exclaimed Jimmy; "their beaks are hooked, and cross each other. I never saw birds like them before." "They are crossbills, as sure as we are here!" said Frank, excitedly. "Run to the boat-house as quick as you can, while I watch them, and bring the gun." Brett sped off like a deer, while Frank followed the movements of the strange birds with interest. Jimmy returned with the gun, and quite out of breath. "Now," said Frank, "from the difference in colour there are evidently males and females here, and we must get one of each; and we must do it without disturbing the others, as if we don't frighten them they may stay here and breed." They watched for some time before they could get the desired chance, and then two birds flew, toying with each other, to some distance from the rest. They were evidently male and female. Frank put the gun to his shoulder, a report rang through the wood, and both the crossbills, for such they were, fell dead to the ground. Frank might have shot many more, but he was a thorough naturalist, and, as such, he disliked the idea of indiscriminate and useless slaughter. He had procured specimens sufficient, and he humanely let the others go. "Now, Jimmy, we have got a prize. Crossbills are not seen every day. Let us go to the boat-house and skin them, and read something about them in our books." The boat-house, which belonged to Mr. Merivale, stood at the edge of a little bay of the Broad. It was a large, substantial structure, projecting out into the water, and having a large room above, approached by a staircase. This had been appropriated by Frank as his "den," and here it was that he and his friend transacted all their private business, held their natural history meetings, skinned and stuffed birds, and kept their collection of birds' eggs and butterflies. CHAPTER II. Stuffing the Crossbills.--The proposed Yacht.--An impaled Woodcock. Frank led the way up stairs, and unlocking the door they entered the room, and piling up some brushwood in the grate they lit it, and soon had a roaring fire. The room now presented a very cheerful appearance. A large window at one end looked out over the glittering Broad. The room itself was plainly furnished with a few deal chairs and a table, and at one side of it was an old-fashioned bureau, in the drawers of which the boys' natural history collections were stored. Around the room were several shelves, on which were some very creditably stuffed birds, flower-pots filled with mould and covered with gauze bent over cane arches, the use of which will presently appear, and a good number of books on natural history, chiefly of a cheap and popular kind. Frank got out a box containing knife-blades of various sizes fastened into handles of wood, two pairs of scissors, pliers, and other tools useful or necessary for skinning or stuffing birds; while Jimmy Brett took down a book on birds, and turned to the account of the crossbill; and as Frank was busy at one end of the table skinning the birds, Jimmy at the other end kept up a running commentary on his book for the benefit of his friend, in the following manner:-- "There is a lot about crossbills here, Frank. They are rare, but they have been found at different times and in different months of the year in many parts of the kingdom. They vary greatly in size as well as in colour, according to age, sex, and the time of the year. They are yellow, red, green, or brown at different times, so if it were not for their cross bills it would be rather hard to distinguish them. There are two pictures of them here; one has a rose-coloured back and red-brown wings, and the other has a green back and brown wings. The beaks curve and cross each other, and appear to be particularly suited for breaking open the cones of fir-trees and picking out the seeds, and they will cut open apples and other fruit to get at the pips. They come generally in the winter, but often stay until the spring, and then they may breed here, although it is very seldom that their nests are found. They breed in Norway and Sweden, and nest very early in the year, and their nest seems to be like a missel thrush's, and is placed in fir-trees. Their eggs are white with just a touch of blue or green, and spotted with brown spots." [Illustration: CROSSBILL.] "There, that is all that seems to be worth noticing, but we have got a prize worth having. I am afraid they will not stop and breed. There are not enough pine woods about, and they appear to be fond of going from place to place, so that it is not likely they will be here in the spring." While he talked, Frank quickly and skilfully skinned and cleaned the birds, and then he painted the inside of the skins with a solution of corrosive sublimate dissolved in spirits of wine, which is a most excellent preservative and much more cleanly to handle than arsenical soap. Then he loosely stuffed them with cotton-wool, smoothed the feathers, and placed them on a shelf to dry. "Now, Frank," said Jimmy plaintively, "what _are_ you going to do with that young larch-tree? I have been very patient all this time, so you may as well tell me now." "Well, Jimmy, I have thought of a grand idea. You are the inventive genius of us two, and I usually carry things out; but I have invented something now which we must both help to carry out. What do you think of having a yacht, Jimmy--a large yacht, so that we could sail all over the Broad, and down the rivers, and all over the country, and fish and birdnest, and naturalize, and shoot wildfowl to our hearts' content? What do you think of that, my boy?" "It would be an awfully jolly thing, no doubt; but as far as Hickling Broad goes, it is too shallow for any yacht. Why, except in the Channel, it is not more than four feet deep in any part, large as it is; and parts of it are only two feet deep, so that if we had a yacht we should stick fast directly. Besides, how are we to get a yacht?" "Make one." "How? It will be impossible." "We could not make a yacht of the usual shape, and if we could, it would not suit our purposes. What I propose is that we should build a double yacht. Just listen while I explain, and don't interrupt. We will make two long pontoons, pointed at both ends, and connect the two by cross-pieces, on which we can lay a deck and build a small, low cabin. Such a boat would not draw more than a foot of water, and to make her sail to windward we should have a drop keel or centre board, which we could let down or draw up according to the depth of the water. Then I think a lug sail and mizen would suit her best. We will build her ourselves. And inch deal is cheap enough, so it cannot cost so much. I have saved my pocket-money to buy a lot of books, but I can do without them for a time"---- "I have a couple of sovereigns," eagerly interrupted Jimmy. "That is right; then we can do it swimmingly. We will build her in old Bell's yard, and he will lend us what tools we have not got." Jimmy warmly welcomed the idea, and, getting out some paper and pencils, they began to draw plans and estimates of cost with great enthusiasm. "And now," said Frank, "we will go and see Bell and ask him what he thinks of it." Bell was a very eccentric old man, who lived on the shores of a small and winding creek, which ran up from the Broad. By trade he was a tailor, but he united to this the very different occupation of a boat-builder, and filled up his spare time with fishing and shooting wildfowl. He was a close observer of the habits of beasts, birds, and fishes, and was a great favourite with the boys, whose visits he liked and encouraged. Stepping into the boat that lay moored in the boat-house, the two boys rowed across a bend of the Broad and up the creek to his cottage. The old man was at work in his yard, repairing the bottom of a boat, while his old wife might be seen at the window of the house putting the finishing-touches to the Sunday coat of some village beau. "Good morning, Bell; it is a fine day." "Good morning, young master. Yes, it is a fine day, but it will be finer to-morrow. Yon robin sings higher in the poplar this afternoon than he did this morning, and that is a sure sign that finer weather is coming." "I never knew that before," said Frank. "No, you have not lived so long in the world as I have," replied Bell; "but I am glad you have come, for I have a very strange sight to show you. Look here." He went into the cottage, and returned, bringing with him a dry and withered branch, one end of which had been torn and slit, probably by the wind, so that it was a sharp and jagged spike. On the end of this was impaled a fine woodcock, dead of course, and with the sharp piece of wood imbedded in its breast. "Poor thing, how did it get into that fix?" Jimmy exclaimed. "Well, sir, you see it was in this way. The birds, as you know, are now coming from abroad--I can hear great flocks of them at night sometimes as they fly overhead calling to one another--and last night you know was pitch dark, so that this woodcock, coming over at a great speed, flew against this sharp branch in the dark and spiked itself. When I got up this morning I saw it in that oak-tree, and I sent my boy up to cut off the branch, and knowing you would like to have it, I kept it, just as it was." "We are very much obliged to you, Bell, and we will mount it and stuff it, just as it is. It will be an interesting thing to add to our museum, won't it, Jimmy?" "I have often heard of birds flying against the telegraph wires and being killed in the dark, and of their dashing against windows, either attracted by the light, or not seeing the glass, but I have not heard of anything so curious as this. One cannot help feeling sorry for the poor bird. After a long and tiring journey, and expecting to find all its troubles over, to meet with a sad end like this!" [Illustration: WOODCOCK.] The boys then unfolded their plan to Bell. Anything out of the common was sure to interest him, and hence, though he was not so sanguine of success as the boys were, yet he thought it might be done, and offered to help them as much as he could, and to let them use his yard. "There is nothing like making a beginning," said Frank, who was quick and impetuous in action, and he took off his coat and set to work vigorously to clear a space close by the water's edge, where the keel of a yacht might be laid, while Jimmy went through their calculations of cost with Bell. CHAPTER III. A Momentous Decision. When Frank went home one of the servants told him that his father particularly wished to see him in the library as soon as he came in. He went into the library, and found his father and mother both there and looking rather serious. "Sit down, Frank," said his father. "We have something to say to you about which we wish you to think carefully before you decide. Sir Richard Carleton has been here. He is not only a neighbour but a friend of mine, although as I do not go out much we seldom meet each other. He is a widower with one son, a boy about your age. Do you know him?" "Very slightly, sir." "Well, this son of his, Dick Carleton, is very delicate; he has grown very tall and beyond his strength, and the doctor says he must not be sent to a public school. Now at home he has no boy companions, and he is moping himself to death. Sir Richard says he takes no interest in anything; he won't ride or work, and if he goes on like this it will end in a serious illness. What his father wants to do is to arouse in him some interest in his life, and to awake him out of the deadly apathy he is in at present. Sir Richard knows your healthy outdoor mode of life, and your fondness for Natural History and sport, and he thinks you might, if you chose, be the means of making his boy take some interest in the same sort of thing, and if you did so you would in all probability save his son's life. Now what he proposes is this: That you should leave the Grammar School at Norwich, and that his son and you should be placed under the tuition of our Rector until it is time to go to college. Your education would be as well attended to as at Norwich, and your mother and I could have no objection to the arrangement, but we wish you to decide for yourself." Frank's decision was made at once. The life at the Grammar School was very jolly, with its cricket and football and the rowing matches on the river, but if this new arrangement were carried out there would be far better opportunities of building and sailing the projected yacht, and of sporting and naturalizing on the broads and rivers, so he at once answered-- "I shall be very willing to try it, sir; but Jimmy Brett must be included in the arrangement. I could not desert him, and he would be miserable without me at school. It would never do to separate us now, father." "Well, but do you think his grandmother can afford it? It will be more expensive than being at the Grammar School." "Then I tell you what, father and mother: the Rector must only charge Jimmy the same as the Grammar School, and you must make up the difference to him, and I will do with less pocket-money." "You shall not make that sacrifice, darling," said Mrs. Merivale; "we will put that all right, and I will go and see Mrs. Brett in the morning." And so the matter was finally arranged, and that the boys might become well acquainted with each other, Dick Carleton was invited to stay at Mr. Merivale's. But before he comes we will just go back a few hours and follow merry Mary Merivale, as her brother called her, and her younger sister Florrie, on their search for pupæ. CHAPTER IV. Digging for Pupæ.--Dick Carleton.--Metamorphoses of Butterfly. About two miles further inland from Mr. Merivale's and in the midst of a fine and well-wooded country, was Sir Richard Carleton's house. Around it was a park with larger timber trees than were to be found in the rest of the countryside. Mary and Florence Merivale had fixed on this spot as the scene of their labours in the cause of science, as represented by the collections of their brother and Jimmy Brett. Leaving the path, they trespassed boldly in search of suitable trees for their purpose. Frank had told them that the vicinity of houses was the best, because moths, in all probability attracted by the lights, laid their eggs on trees and shrubs near houses. So the two girls went up as near the large house as they thought they might venture without being seen, and commenced their search. A tall youth strolling languidly down a path through the woods saw two kneeling figures in red cloaks at the foot of a large willow-tree, and their movements aroused his curiosity, and while he stands looking at them let us say what manner of boy Dick Carleton is. He is very tall and thin, but he has a figure that only wants filling out to be handsome. He has a very beautiful face and head, and curly brown hair. His large dark eyes and pale complexion make him look more delicate than he really is, but he is afflicted with a listless melancholy that shows itself in every movement. It was this melancholy which had aroused his father's fears, and it was plain that if it were not checked in time grave results might follow. He stood for some time looking at the two girls, wishing to ask what they were doing, but too shy to do so. At last Mary caught sight of him, and rising, she said-- "I hope we are not trespassing?" "You are trespassing, but it does not matter," replied Dick, taking off his hat. "But may I ask what you are doing?" "We are digging for pupæ," answered Mary. "And what are pupæ?" "Don't you know?" asked Mary in surprise. "No." "Why they come into moths. The moth lays its egg, the eggs turn into caterpillars, which feed on leaves and trees, and then turn into these things," and she then showed him five or six large red cylindrical objects which she had in her basket. "When the spring comes these will turn into moths." "How wonderful," said Dick. "I did not know that before; but if the caterpillars feed on leaves, how is it that you dig those from the ground?" "The caterpillars of some moths go into the earth before they change into the pupæ state. I do not know why: I suppose they think it safer." "Where did you learn all this?" said Dick, his eyes lighting up with a new life and interest at this first glimpse of what was to him a new and strange world. "From my brother Frank and Jimmy Brett. They are making collections, and we are helping them as much as we can. My brother is Frank Merivale, and I am Mary Merivale." "And my name is Carleton; but please tell me more about these things. Will they turn into white butterflies?" "They won't turn into butterflies at all, but into moths, great ugly things with thick bodies; only Frank and Jimmy like them." [Illustration: METAMORPHOSES OF BUTTERFLY.] "I should like to find some if you will show me how to dig for them. I suppose if I keep them they will turn into moths some time." [Illustration: THE PARK IN SUMMER.] "Yes; put them into a flower-pot full of mould and keep it rather damp, and put something over so that the moths sha'n't fly away, and in the spring they will come out; but it is prettiest to see butterflies come out. They split open the chrysalis at the back of its neck and creep out, but their wings are all shrivelled up to nothing, and they climb up the side of the box, and then their wings spread out, and get so large and beautiful! I could find you plenty of the chrysalides of the white butterflies by your greenhouses, but if you want moths, take this trowel and dig around the other side of this tree about three inches from it and three inches deep. They do not breed on all trees; we have tried five to-day and found nothing, but at this one we have got twelve." More amused and interested than he had ever been before, Dick knelt down and began to dig. Very soon he found a large chrysalis, and, encouraged by this success, he dug more vigorously, and very soon he had found five, while the girls had increased their spoils to sixteen. "Now, Miss Merivale, will you come to the greenhouses and show me how to get some butterfly chrysalides? I shall be very glad if you will, and I should like to introduce you to my father, and I will ask him to ask your brother here, then he could tell me more about these things." [Illustration: WHITE HAWTHORN BUTTERFLY.] Mary hesitated, but Florrie said, "Oh, do go, Mary;" so she consented, and they walked up through the gardens, and Mary showed Dick where to look for the chrysalides of the common white butterfly, which are to be found through the winter attached by a silken thread to the sheltered sides of walls, and under the coping of greenhouses and buildings near the gardens where the caterpillars have fed on the lettuces and cabbages. Sir Richard Carleton was in one of the conservatories, and seeing him, Dick cried out-- "Father, these red things will turn into moths, and these greenish-white ones into butterflies." "Yes, Dick, I know they will." "But you never told me so before, father." "Well, my boy, I never thought it would interest you, but I am very glad it does interest you. This is Mary Merivale, I think. How do you do, my dears? Come into the library all of you, and I will show you some books on butterflies." They went into the house and had some tea and cake, and turned over the pages of a book on entomology with coloured plates, which had lain dusty and forgotten on the shelves until now, and Mary and her sister pointed out to Dick moths and butterflies which their brother and Jimmy had in their collection. Sir Richard saw with delight that the right chord had been touched in his son's mind, and he no longer doubted the success of the experiment he had urged Mr. Merivale to try. The time slipped rapidly away, and when it was high time to go, Mary and Florrie were driven home by Sir Richard's groom, charmed with their visit, and full of praises of Sir Richard and his son. Dick Carleton was eager to know more of entomology, and set to work at once to read about it with an energy he had never displayed for anything before, and the father wrote off to his booksellers to order a newer and more reliable book upon the science than the one he possessed, to be given to Dick. CHAPTER V. Building the Yacht.--The Launch.--Great Crested Grebe's nest.-- A Floating Coot's nest.--Golden Crested Wrens.-- Their Migration.--The Flight of a Heron. When Dick Carleton arrived at Mr. Merivale's to commence the visit which was to initiate the friendship of the boys, Frank and Jimmy were at the boat-house; and as soon as Dick had been welcomed by Mr. and Mrs. Merivale, Mary took him off to the boat-house to introduce him to Frank and Jimmy, and see that he was shown their collections. When they opened the door they saw the two boys busy at the table, with sheets of paper and drawing instruments before them. Dick felt and looked rather shy and nervous, but Frank's hearty greeting put him at his ease. Mary proceeded to do the honour of the place, and walked Dick about from side to side of the room to show him their butterflies and birds' eggs, stuffed birds, and the other natural history curiosities which the boys had collected, while they were followed by Frank and Jimmy, who smiled at her eagerness. They had a very fair collection of eggs, including most of the common kinds, but their collection of butterflies was not so good, as neither Frank nor Jimmy cared so much for entomology as they did for ornithology. "What are all these plans and drawings for?" said Mary, pointing to the litter on the table. "Shall we tell her Jimmy?" said Frank. "Yes, why not? She will know some time, so she may as well know now. Besides, she can help us to make the sails, you know. We sha'n't do the sewing so well as the wood-work." So the great project of the yacht was explained. Mary danced about the room in glee, and already fancied herself sailing about the broad. Dick said-- "If it can be done, it would be the nicest thing one could think of." "It shall be done," said Frank decisively, and Dick looked up at him with admiring envy, and replied-- "Then I will help you all I can, and go shares with you in the expense." "You are a brick," said Frank; "come and look at our plans, and see if you can make any suggestions." Later on, when Frank and Jimmy were left alone, Frank said-- "He'll do, Jimmy." Jimmy said, "Yes," but looked mournful. "What's the matter, Jimmy?" "Two are company, but three are none; and you may like him better than me." Frank's hand descended heavily on his friend's shoulder, and he shook him roughly. "Don't be a fool, Jimmy," was all that he said, but in spite of the rude speech and the rough action, Jimmy saw a meaning beyond, and was quite satisfied. His face grew bright again, and from that time forward a warm friendship existed between the three boys, and was never broken or disturbed by any twinge of jealousy. [Illustration: BUILDING THE BOAT.] They lost no time in commencing to build the boat. The first thing to be done was to make two long pontoons or floats, on which to erect the superstructure of the yacht. This was a comparatively easy matter. They made two long wooden boxes of the following sizes and dimensions. Each box was twenty-four feet long, four feet wide in the middle portion and tapering off at each end to a fine point, and two feet six inches deep. It was made of one-inch deal, and strongly supported and fastened together by ribs and cross-pieces of wood in the interior. The seams were caulked with tow and a mixture of red and white lead, and then covered or protected by slips of wood nailed along them. These two pontoons were then laid on the ground side by side with a space of three feet six inches between their centres. They were then joined together by strong pieces of wood fastened the whole way across, every two feet. On the top of these again, a flooring of planks was laid, and neatly finished off round the edges with a bulwark of rope stretched on iron uprights. On this was erected a cabin three feet six inches in height, nine feet long and seven feet wide. This was fitted with a door at the aft end, and a row of little windows along each side. Inside were two low broad seats, which were also intended to serve as beds when occasion should require. Each pontoon was fitted with a rudder and a helm, and these were connected by a cross-piece of wood, so that both rudders were worked at once. On this cross-piece were two iron loops, that the steersman, holding on by them, might have greater power over the helm. Each pontoon had a strong keel about two inches deep to protect its bottom from injury. Such a keel was not sufficient to enable the boat to sail to windward, so two drop-keels or centre-boards were added, each about seven feet long and two feet six inches deep. These were fixed in a line along the centre two-thirds of the boat, and worked on strong pivots at their foremost corners, so that by means of chains attached to their aft corners and passing through holes in the deck they could be let down to any required depth, or hauled up in the space between the pontoons. These were intended to give the yacht a greater hold on the water when beating to windward. The main-mast was stepped close to the bows. Its lower part was weighted with lead and iron, and was so arranged that if it were requisite to pass under low bridges, the mast could be lowered and raised with great facility, working on a fulcrum three feet six inches from the deck. There was no bowsprit, but the fore-stay was made fast to the cross-piece connecting the bows. The mizen-mast was attached to a cross-piece at the stern, and the mizen-sail was worked by a sheet rove through a block at the end of a fixed boom. The main-sail was a lug-sail with a large boom, and did not require to be dipped every time a tack was made. The above is a description of the yacht when completed, but it must not be supposed that it was made straight off with no labour. On the contrary, it took an immensity of time and labour before it was completed. The three boys worked at it manfully, Frank taking the lead and doing the major portion of the work. Indeed, they would have given it up many times had it not been for his pluck and determination. Unforeseen difficulties fast presented themselves, and cost them no little thought to overcome. When they had got the two pontoons and the flooring done, they fell short of cash, and for two or three days they went about very disconsolately, until Dick informed them that his father's gardener was about to demolish a summer-house in the garden, and that they might have the wood. This enabled them to make the cabin, and by dint of keeping their eyes open, and picking up every scrap of wood or iron, and every nail or screw which they came across, they got along pretty well until Frank's quarter-day came, and he received his allowance of pocket-money. Mr. Merivale, who of course soon found out what they were after, laughingly said that they went about with such greedy eyes, and looked so suspiciously at everything, that he was afraid they might take a fancy to some part of him, as being useful for some part of their boat. [Illustration: A YARMOUTH YAWL.] At last they had everything ready but the sails, and then they had an unexpected stroke of good luck. Dick discovered in an old lumber loft, a complete set of sails belonging to a yawl-rigged yacht which was formerly the property of his grandfather. These his father willingly gave to him. Although so old they were strong, and they were speedily converted into sails for the yacht. Then the yacht was painted white, and a small flat-bottomed punt with pointed bows was made to accompany her, and all was ready for launching. By this time the land was green with spring, and the boys had commenced their studies with Mr. Meredith the Rector,--a clever, sensible Welshman, just the man to attract and manage three such boys as ours. Saturday, being a holiday, was fixed for the launching, and the boys were at Bell's yard by six o'clock in the morning, getting everything in readiness for the great event, and excited with the thought of a long day's sail in a yacht of their own making. It was a warm, bright morning. The hedges were shining with a most brilliant green, and clothed in places with the creamy white of the hawthorn blossoms. The broad lay still and placid in the sunlight, and the pairing water-birds swam in and out of its reed-fringed margin, and from one to another of its dense 'ronds,' or islands of reeds. "There is not a breath of wind," said Frank, wetting his finger, and holding it up, to feel if possible by the increased coldness on one side or another, from which quarter the wind was blowing. "I think there's a slight air from the south," he said. "Yes," replied Bell, "it will blow from the south or west to-day, if it blows at all, and I think from the look of those little fleecy clouds, that there will be a breeze before long." "Well, I am sure the ancient mariner never longed for a breeze as much as we do now to try our beautiful boat with," said Frank; "but by the way, what shall we call her? We have never thought of a name for her." Dick replied: "Call her the _Swan_, because like the Swan on 'sweet St. Mary's Lake,' she will float _double_." "Bravo! that is not bad. We will call her the _Swan_ then; but come, let us launch her." They set to work with a will, and, aided by Bell, they quickly had her on the water. Jumping on board, they felt the delight of being on board their own handiwork. They pushed the yacht along the narrow channel, which was barely wide enough for it, until they came to its outlet into the broad, and then they found their progress barred. A little promontory of rushes ran out across the dyke, and on the end of this promontory was a coot's nest containing eight eggs. It was necessary to cut away the promontory before the boat could pass into the open broad. They were loath to destroy the nest, so they carefully moved it from its position; and as it was very large and substantial, they allowed it to float, thinking the old bird would come and fix it herself. Then with beating hearts they hoisted their sails. Frank went to the helm, Jimmy took the main-sail sheet, and Dick the mizen sheet, while Bell sat on the cabin and whistled for a wind. "I am sure the leaves of the trees are rustling a little bit," said Dick. "And I think I see a ripple on the water," said Jimmy. Frank looked back and saw that they were already fifty yards from the shore, and that they were rapidly increasing the distance. "Why, look! she sails fast, without any wind at all," he said; but then they became sensible that there was a slight zephyr from the south, which increased as they got out more into the open water. A ripple arose on the water, and the yacht sailed faster. A cheer broke from the boys as they saw their efforts were crowned with success. The breeze increased, and they sped along more quickly, passing over acres of shallow water that sparkled as clear as glass over the bright yellow gravel. Immense shoals of bream and perch, and many large pike, darted away from them as they sailed on, and the _Swan_ slipped as softly through the water as they could desire. They went the whole length of the broad, and then Frank cried out-- "Stand by, we are going about; haul in her sheet;" and putting the helm over, the yacht swung round like a top, and went across on the port tack up the broad. They put about again across to the reed bed, and after one more tack they came within hail of the boat-house, where they could see Mary and Florrie waiting for them, and waving their handkerchiefs. Frank took his "line" steadily, and ran her up in the wind's eye within ten yards of the boat-house; and Dick took the punt ashore for the two girls, who were loud in their expressions of delight and amazement. With this addition to their party they cruised about the broad for some hours, learning how to handle their craft, and gaining confidence in her. Towards noon it came on to blow very hard, and they landed Mary and Florrie, and set to work to enjoy themselves the more thoroughly as the breeze grew stronger. The boat behaved admirably. She was as steady as a rock, heeling over but very slightly even when the breeze blew strong on her beam. She came about well, and if she hung fire or was in danger of missing stays they had only to haul on the mizen-sheet, and her head went round "in a jiffy." She drew little more than a foot of water, so could, when her keels were drawn up, pass over the shallowest part of the broad in safety. "I say, this is fine," said Jimmy, rubbing his hands. Frank said nothing, but his kindling eye and satisfied look showed how thoroughly he enjoyed it all. While making a long tack across the broad, they ran across a straggling bed of rushes at a shallow portion. They offered but little resistance to their passage, but as they charged through them, Frank cried out-- "I say, we passed over a great crested grebe's nest. I saw the eggs roll out into the water;" and he ran the boat into the wind and let her drift back stern foremost to the spot where the nest had been. "It was only a lump of rotting weed, all broken and dirty," said Dick. "That's what all grebe's nests look like," answered Frank; "they cover them with reeds when they leave them, so that no one can see the eggs, and few would think there were any there. Here's the place, drive the boat-hook in and hold the boat steady while I get up the eggs. There were five, but two are broken. What a pity! We don't want any for our collection, and the birds look so pretty on the broad, that it is a shame to disturb them, but we must take them now I suppose. Let's go back and see how the coot's nest is getting on." They sailed back some way, and then to their great surprise, they saw the coot's nest floating across the broad, and the old bird swimming round it, and evidently very much puzzled to know what to do. "Let us tack near her and watch," said Jimmy. So they sailed round at a distance and watched the poor bird, which followed its boat-like nest as it drifted before the wind. At length the boys were pleased to see the bird make an effort to get on the nest, and so strongly built was it that it bore her weight well. There she sat, and sailed before the wind at a fair pace. "Did you ever see the like of that before?" "No," answered Bell, "but I warrant you that the eggs must have been hard set, and near to being hatched, or she would never have done that." "She deserves to hatch them, at any rate. Had we better fix the nest or leave it alone?" "Better leave it alone; I think she will stick to it if it does not sink below her." [Illustration: THE COMMON COOT.] On Monday evening the boys sailed about the broad in search of the floating coot's nest, and found it among the reeds at the north end of the broad, and from the broken egg-shells in it they had no doubt but that the coot had hatched her young ones in safety, as she deserved to do. After landing Bell they ran the yacht into a 'rond' of reeds, and proceeded to eat their dinner, which they had brought with them, and very happy and comfortable they were. The sun shone brightly, the warm wind rustled through the reeds and flags, the sky and the water were blue, their boat was a success, and they sat and talked of cruises, and planned expeditions, and were as merry and jolly as any boys need desire to be. While they were talking, half-a-dozen tiny little gold-crested wrens alighted on the cordage of the mast. They seemed very tame and tired, and descended to the deck to eat some crumbs which were thrown to them. [Illustration: COMMON WREN AND EGG.] "What pretty little things they are, with their fiery yellow heads," said Frank. "To think a tiny bird like that could make a long migration! These birds have only just arrived, that's clear." "Do gold crests migrate?" asked Jimmy. "Yes, they go south for the winter, and come back again in the spring. I don't know how far they go, but they have been taken some distance from land. More probably, however, these have been blown from the coast, for I don't think they cross the sea as a rule." As they returned homeward, the boys in running round a point of reeds, came upon a heron, which scuttled away in great haste, and in a very undignified manner. It seemed at first as if they should catch him, as they followed him so closely, but as he got fairly away, he rose in the air and distanced them. "How slowly he flaps his wings," said Dick. "How many times a minute do you think he flaps them?" asked Jimmy. [Illustration: HERON.] "Just about forty, at the outside," replied Dick. "Well, do you count, while I time you," and Jimmy took out his watch and marked the time, while Dick counted one, two, three, &c. When he had counted 120 Jimmy said-- "Stop, the minute is up. Aren't you astonished?" "I am, and no mistake. How deceptive his flight is, and just fancy at what a pace must the wings of the smaller birds go!" They brought the yacht to anchor in front of the boat-house, and went home to relate the adventures of their voyage. CHAPTER VI. Mr. Meredith.--"Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might."--A Botanical Lecture.--The Goat Moth.--Blowing up a Tree.-- An astonished Cow.--Caterpillars in the Wood. On the morrow, after morning service, the three boys (Dick having been invited to spend the day with Frank) were walking from church and talking upon the sermon which Mr. Meredith had just preached to them. It was a beautiful morning--one of those days on which it is a treat to live. The sun shone from a sky which was brilliant in its blue and white, the waters of the lake sparkled diamond-like under the stirring influence of a warm westerly wind. The scent of the honeysuckle and the roses in the cottage gardens filled the air with pleasant incense, and from every tall tree-top a thrush or blackbird sang his merriest. "That wasn't a bad motto which Meredith took for his text: 'Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might,'" said Frank. "I think it is a motto you endeavour to carry out, Frank," answered Jimmy. "Well, I think if a fellow does that he can't be far wrong," replied Frank; "but here is the parson himself." A tall, broad-shouldered man came quickly up and said to them: "Well, boys, I hope you are applying my sermon to yourselves." "We should be glad to do so if we were quite sure about the application, Mr. Meredith," replied Frank. "Ah, you young rascal, you could not have been attending; but seriously, what I meant was this: You boys, and especially Master Frank, are very prone to take up a thing with all your might when once you begin. Now that is very right and proper. Whatever you do you should do your best to do well; but what I want you particularly to understand is that before taking up a thing, you should first of all think well and decide whether it is the right thing to do, and it is not until that question is settled that it becomes right to throw your whole heart into it. Now the immediate application of this is this: You are going head over heels into the study of Natural History, and you are making collections as fast as you can. Now it won't take you long to decide that Natural History is a very right and proper thing for you to take up, and therefore you may study it with all your might, and, I doubt not, to the praise and glory of God; but be very careful about the collecting part of the business. Don't let your zeal carry you too far. Don't let collecting be your sole aim and object, or you will become very low types of naturalists. Let it be only secondary and subservient to observation. Let your aim be to preserve rather than to destroy. Remember that God gave life to His creatures that they might enjoy it, as well as fulfil their missions and propagate their species. Therefore if you come across a rare bird, do not kill it unnecessarily; if you can observe its living motions it will interest you more and do you more good than will the possession of its stuffed body when dead." "I quite understand what you mean, sir," replied Frank; "and it is only what my father has often told me before. We will try to follow our pursuits in moderation." "Just so; then, as you have heard me so patiently, I will trouble you with another application of my sermon. Do what you are doing _well_. Don't let your observation be too cursory. Don't be Jacks of all trades and masters of none. This district is teeming with bird, insect, and animal life. You boys have peculiar opportunities for learning and discovering all that is rare and interesting. You are sharp, young, and active, and nothing can escape you. Now is the time for you to store up facts which will always be valuable. Buy yourselves notebooks; put down everything in writing which seems to you to be strange and noteworthy, and don't trust to your memories. But above all, take up some one branch of study and stick to it. It is well for you to know a little of everything, but it is better for you to know a great deal of one thing. Therefore I should advise each of you to take up a line that suits him and to pay particular attention to it. Thus you, Frank, may take up Ornithology; you, Dick, should go in for Entomology; and Jimmy, why should you not take up Botany?" The boys quite concurred in the justice of his observations, but Jimmy said: "There is nothing I should like better than to know something of Botany, but there seems so much to learn that I am almost afraid to begin." "Oh, nonsense," exclaimed Mr. Meredith; "let me give you a first lesson in it now. I suppose you know the names of all the most common flowers; but just look at their beauty. See how this hedge-bank is yellow with primroses, and yonder you see the faint blue of the violets peeping from their bed of dark-green leaves, and here is the white blossom of a strawberry, which I pluck to show you of what a flower consists. First there is the root, through which it draws its nourishment from the earth. Then there is the stem, and on the top of that is this green outer whorl or circle of leaves, which is called the calyx. Within the calyx is the corolla, which is formed of petals, which in this case are of a beautiful white. The corolla is the part in which the colour and beauty of a flower generally resides. Within the corolla are the stamens, and within the stamens are the pistils. The stamens and the pistils are the organs of reproduction, and the yellow dust or pollen which you see on most flowers is the medium by which the seeds are fertilized. Now this flower which I have just plucked is the wood-sorrel. Notice its threefold emerald-green leaf and the delicate white flower with the purple veins. It is pretty, is it not? See, if I strike it roughly, it shrinks and folds up something like a sensitive plant. It is a capital weather-glass. At the approach of rain both its flowers and leaves close up, and even if a cloud passes over the sun the flowers will close a little; and, finally, its leaves taste of a pleasant acid. There, you will have had enough of my lecture for the present, but I should like to tell you more about flowers some other time." The boys were both pleased and interested with what he had told them, and expressed their thanks accordingly; and then Mr. Meredith left them and went home to dinner. "I say, he is a brick of a fellow," said Jimmy; "if all parsons were like that man everybody else in the world would have a better time of it." They went into the boat-house and sat at the open window looking over the sparkling broad. Frank said: "I tell you what we must do. We must get Meredith to give us part of our holiday at the end of May or beginning of June, and we will take a cruise over all the rivers and broads of Norfolk and Suffolk. We could do it nicely in three weeks and scour every inch of the country in that time. What do you say? I will undertake to get my father's consent and Mrs. Brett's. What will Sir Richard say, Dick?" "If you go, Frank, I am sure he will let me go; he has every confidence in you, and that you will keep us all out of mischief." "I will try. Then it is agreed that we go." "Most certainly. Frank will go in for birds'-nesting, Dick will catch butterflies and moths, and I must try to do something in the way of botany." "And now it is time to go in; but before we go I just want to say that there is an old willow-tree down by the Broad which father thinks is an eyesore. I think that it is a likely tree in which to find the caterpillars of the goat-moth, which you know live on the wood of a willow, and eat long tunnels and galleries in it. What do you say to blowing the tree up with gunpowder?--it is only good for firewood, and perhaps we may find some caterpillars. Shall we get up early in the morning, bore a big hole into the heart of the tree, and fill it with gunpowder, set a train to it, and blow the whole affair up?" Such a proposal was sure to meet with consent, and at seven o'clock the next morning the boys were down at the tree, boring a large hole into it. The caterpillar of the great goat-moth feeds upon the wood of timber trees, notably oak, willow, and poplar. He is a smooth, ugly fellow of a red and yellow colour, with black feet and claws. He makes extensive galleries through the heart of a tree, eating and swallowing all that he gnaws away from the wood in his onward passage. During the summer he eats his way slowly through the tree, making numerous and winding galleries; but during the autumn and winter he takes a siesta, first casing himself in a strong covering made of chips of wood and the silk which he weaves. The next summer he renews his work, and so he lives and grows for the space of three years, and then turns into the pupæ state, and emerges about July a dark brown but not unlovely moth, which lives for a few weeks and then lays its eggs and dies. The boring was completed and was rammed full of coarse powder, and the mouth of the hole plugged up with a piece of wood. Through this plug a small hole was bored, and through this a long hollow straw made into a fuse was inserted. Setting fire to this, they retired to some distance to await the issue of their experiment. There was unfortunately a cow in the same meadow, and this cow was very much interested in their movements; so when they left the tree the cow approached, its curiosity the more aroused by the smoke rising from the burning fuse. "Now there is an instance of unreasoning curiosity which animals possess. That cow will poke her nose into that tree, and get blown up for her pains if we don't stop her. Let's shy stones at her." But stones in that marshy meadow were not easy to procure, so they tore up clods of earth and threw them at the cow. She scampered away, but went to the other side of the tree and again approached it. The boys dared not go any nearer to the old willow, because they momentarily expected the explosion, and they were in a great fright lest the cow should suffer damage. Just then, with a loud report and much smoke the powder exploded. They threw themselves down to avoid any errant fragments, and the cow scampered off unhurt, but exceedingly astonished and frightened, jumped the ditch which separated the meadow from the next one, and finally landed herself in another ditch, from which she had to be drawn with ropes and a vast deal of trouble by some of the neighbours. The first thought of the boys was to see after the cow, and when they saw she was in a fair way of being pulled out, they returned to their tree, and found it split and torn to pieces and thrown about in all directions. It was quite a chance whether they found any caterpillars in the tree or not, and, to tell the truth, they hardly expected to be successful in their search. What was their delight then to find, that not only were there caterpillars there, but a great number of them. Three or four they found dead and mangled by the force of the explosion, but the many perforations in the wood showed that there were many more caterpillars there. With the aid of a saw and axe they dug out several caterpillars not yet full grown, and also several pupæ which they knew would be out in two months' time. They carried some large pieces of the wood up to the boat-house for living caterpillars to feed on, and reinserted the pupæ in their wooden chambers, where they were safely kept until their appearance in July. The caterpillars of the white butterflies which Dick had collected under Mary's instructions had some time since come out, and it was a very pretty sight to see the chrysalis split at the head and the insect creep out with its wings all wet and crumpled, and then to watch them gradually expand to their full size and dry and harden, until the perfect insect was ready for flight, when with a few flaps of its wings, as if to try them, it would launch into the sunshine with a strong swift flight. CHAPTER VII. A Trial Sail.--Preparing for a Cruise.--Charging a Reed Bed.-- An explosion of Birds.--The First Adventure.-- Orange-Tip Butterfly.--No Salt.--How Salt is obtained. The project of the cruise was not allowed to drop. The more the boys thought about it the more they determined to take it. The first thing to do was to obtain the consent of their elders. Mr. Merivale had no great objection to it. Sir Richard Carleton was so pleased with the rapid improvement in the health and spirits of his son that he would have consented to anything he proposed. Indeed, he was so anxious to help the boys in all their undertakings, that he would have spoilt them too much had it not been for the advice of Mr. Merivale, who said to him-- "Don't let the boys think they can have anything they like for the asking, or you will spoil their independence of character. Depend upon it they will find far more delight in making things for themselves than in having them bought for them, and it will do them more good." Sir Richard saw the wisdom of this advice, but he insisted upon giving them a book on botany; and one day when the boys went into the boat-house they saw on the shelves a nicely bound copy of Ann Pratt's _Flowering Plants of Great Britain_ in six volumes. This was a great acquisition to them, and Jimmy, in the fulness of his delight, got upon the table with a volume under each arm, and executed a war-dance of exultation. The consent of the ladies was far harder to obtain. Mrs. Brett said she would see what Mrs. Merivale said; and Mrs. Merivale was afraid that it would not be safe, and for some days she hung back, and would not say "yes" or "no," although Frank pleaded hard with her. His mother was very much afraid of the water. She did not like to see yachts heeling over as if they were going to be upset, and she thought the boys were not old enough to manage a yacht by themselves. Frank at last persuaded her to take a sail in the _Swan_, and see for herself how safe it was, and a day was fixed when everyone should have a sail on the Broad, and try the capacities both of the yacht and of the boys as sailors. When the day arrived, however, Frank put them off, saying it was not convenient. Mr. Merivale smiled as he guessed the reason. It was blowing a stiff breeze, and sailing on such a day would not reassure a timid woman. The next day, however, was fine, and came with a gentle breeze, just rippling the surface of the water, and with a confident air, Frank got his party on board. The sail was quite a success. The yacht glided about on an even keel, and Frank, who was at the helm, carefully avoided any abrupt motion in tacking or gybing. "You see it is quite safe, mother," said he. "Yes, my dear, I suppose it is, and I suppose you must go, as you have set your heart upon it; but how can you possibly think of sleeping in that small cabin?" "One of us will sleep at each side, and the third will sleep in a hammock stretched across the middle." "But you will be suffocated, dear." "Have no fear, mother, we will see to the ventilation." So they obtained permission to go, and, as time was an object, they set to work with great vigour to prepare for their voyage. They made a hammock out of an old sail. Their beds were formed of cushions placed on the bunks on either side of the cabin. To prevent the necessity of tucking in their bedclothes they adopted a well-known dodge of yachtsmen; which is to double the sheets and blankets, and sew the sides and bottoms together, so as to form a bag into which they could creep. They took fishing-tackle with them, and also their old muzzle loader. Dick took his butterfly net, Jimmy a quantity of newspapers in which to dry plants, and Frank an opera-glass, with which to watch the movements of birds at a distance. Frank also took care to see to the eating department, and with his mother's help he got a very fair stock of provisions on board. The day at length arrived for their departure. It was the Monday in the last week of May. At eight o'clock in the morning they bade farewell to Mary and Florrie, who had come to see them off, hoisted their sails, and away they went before a light breeze from the northward. A cheer broke from them as they found themselves fairly afloat, and the boat-house grow smaller in the distance behind them, and the waving handkerchiefs of the two girls could be seen no longer. It was a beautiful morning, and their spirits were high. Holidays, sport, and adventure lay before them, a stout boat under them. There were no three happier boys in the world. They sailed slowly through the narrow outlet of Hickling Broad into Whiteslea Pool, and through another narrow passage into Heigham Sounds. A dyke called the Old Meadow Dyke ran from the Broad on the left into Horsey Mere; and Frank proposed making a detour along this and exploring Horsey Mere, but the other boys were too anxious to get on. It was too near home to begin to explore. In the middle of Heigham Sounds, which is a good sized sheet of water, was a large bed of reeds, such as is locally called a 'rond.' "Let us go slap-dash into that. We shall be sure to find some nests," said Frank. "All right," said both Jimmy and Dick. So Frank put the helm up, and the yacht drove on before the wind, surging through the rustling reeds, which bowed and bent before her, until she came to a standstill well into the heart of the rond. "Down with the sails," said Frank, and the halyards were let go and the sails came down with a run. As the yacht crashed into the rond there was quite an explosion of birds from it. Water-hens, coots, and marsh-tits flew out on both sides, and from the centre of it rose a little duck with a bright, chestnut-coloured head and neck. "That is a teal," said Frank, "we shall find her nest here, so look carefully." They jumped into the shallow water, having first taken off their shoes and stockings, and began to hunt about for nests. They speedily found several coots' and water-hens' nests, and also a dab-chick's; but they wanted none of these, and continued their search for the teal's nest. At last-- "Here it is," said Dick delightedly, and sure enough there the nest was, in a small bush which grew in the very centre of the rond, where the soil was pretty firm. The nest was large and thickly lined with feathers, and it contained twelve cream-coloured eggs. They took six of them, and then, satisfied with their spoil, they went back to their yacht, and tried to push her off again. But this was no easy task. They pushed and pushed, until they were exhausted, and the only effect their pushing seemed to have was to push their own legs deeper into the mud. The yacht refused to be moved. "Well, this is a pretty go, to be wrecked at the very beginning of our cruise! We have run her almost high and dry. How they will laugh at us at home!" said Jimmy. "They sha'n't have the chance of doing that. We will get her off somehow or other. We ought to have gone to leeward of the rond, and run her up in the wind's eye into it, and then we could have backed her off with the sails," said Frank. "Live and learn," said Dick. "I vote we strip and go overboard again and try to lift her off. We can get the oars from the boat, and use them as levers." This was undoubtedly the best thing to do, and although the water was not over warm, they took off their clothes and worked and pushed away, until they made the mud around the yacht as soft as a pudding, and themselves as black as negroes. Then the yacht moved a little, and putting forth all their strength they shoved her back into deeper water. Not waiting to dress themselves, they ran the sails up and steered away for the Kendal Dyke at the south-east end of the Broad. They meant to stay at the mouth of the Broad to bathe and dress. There was no one to see them, so it did not matter. As they neared the mouth of the dyke, to their great dismay a yacht with several people on board came out of it. The people stared in blank astonishment at the strange double-bodied yacht and her still stranger crew. Jimmy and Dick dived at once into the cabin. Frank could not leave the helm, and yet could not stay where he was; so without further thought he plunged into the water at the stern of the yacht, and, holding on by the rudder, he contrived to keep her on her course until Jimmy reappeared with something thrown over him, and took hold of the tiller. When they came to an anchorage in a secluded spot among the reeds, they bathed and dressed. "Well," said Dick, "if we go on having adventures at this rate, we shall have plenty to tell when we get home." "I like adventures, but these are not the sort I like," said Jimmy. "Well, never mind, better luck next time," said Frank, soothingly. Sailing through Kendal Dyke, which in places was so narrow that the _Swan_ brushed the reeds on both sides as she passed through, they reached the Hundred Stream, and, turning to the south-westward, they sailed, with no further adventure, until they came to Heigham Bridge, where they had to lower their masts in order to get through. While Frank and Jimmy did this, Dick took his butterfly net, and went after an orange-tip butterfly, which he saw flying past. This butterfly is one of the first which makes its appearance in the spring, and it is one of the prettiest. It looks as if a bunch of red and white rose petals had taken to themselves wings and fled. It is a small butterfly, having an orange-red tip on the ends of its forewings. The male only has this ornament. The female has only a greyish black tip. The under surface of the wings of this pretty insect is no less beautiful than the upper. It is white, with bright green marblings, or what appear as bright green to the naked eye. When looked at through the microscope it will be found that the green appearance is caused by the mixture of black and bright-yellow scales. (I suppose that most of my boy readers will know that the dust which is so easily rubbed off a butterfly's wings is in reality a coating of scales arranged one over the other like feathers and of very exquisite shapes.) The caterpillar of the orange-tip is green, with a white stripe on each side, and the chrysalis is very peculiar in shape, tooth-like, and pointed at both ends. [Illustration: ORANGE-TIP BUTTERFLY.] Dick was a long time away; and when he came back, flushed with exercise, he had no less than eight orange-tips in his net, which he proceeded to kill and set there and then. They sailed on very slowly, for the breeze had fallen, until they came to the Thurne Mouth, and then they turned up the Bure until they came to St. Benedict's Abbey, the ruins of which stand on the northern bank of the river. Here they determined to camp for the night, and accordingly ran their boat into a marshy creek, and made her fast to the reeds. They were much amused at the remarks of the people whom they passed, whether on the bank or on board the wherries and yachts. The like of the _Swan_ had never before been seen on Norfolk waters. She was a _rara avis in terris_ and excited any amount of appreciatory and depreciatory comment. After making the boat snug and comfortable, the boys proceeded to cook their dinner. They brought out from the lockers some cold beef and ham, and boiled the potatoes in a small tin saucepan over the spirit-lamp. The meal was soon ready, and they sat down to it with most excellent appetites. "Where have you put the salt, Frank?" asked Dick. "The salt?" replied Frank, thoughtfully. "Yes, the salt." "Well, let me see. Dear me, we must have forgotten it." "But Frank, how can you--how can anybody eat beef without salt?" said Jimmy reproachfully. "Never mind, we will get some to-morrow," said Frank, looking guilty. "There are no shops about here, and there are no salt-mines in the marsh," said Jimmy, who refused to be comforted. "Talking about salt-mines, have you ever been down one?" said Frank, who was eager to turn the subject. "No; have you?" "Yes, and a jolly sort of place it is." "Then tell us all about it as a punishment." "It was at Northwich, in Cheshire, last year, when I was on a visit to my uncle. We drove over one day to look at the mines. They get an enormous quantity of salt from that district, and it is of two kinds, the white table salt and that dark lumpy salt they put in fields for cattle. They get the white salt from brine-pits, which are full of salt water. The water is pumped up and put into basins until it evaporates, and the white salt is left behind. There must be big holes in the earth filled with salt water, for as it is pumped away the surface of the earth caves in, and the houses lean against each other in a very tumble-down sort of fashion. The brown or rock-salt is dug out of mines, and we went down one of these. My cousin and I went down in a tub hardly large enough to hold us, and a workman clung to the rope above our heads. The shaft was dirty, narrow, and crooked, and we bumped finely against the sides. I didn't like it at all, I assure you; and when we cleared the shaft and hung suspended over a vast cavern, at the bottom of which were some dim lights, I felt rather in a funk. The man below reached up to us with a long pole, and pulled us away from the end of the shaft for fear of falling stones, and then we were lowered to the ground, and stepped out of the bucket and looked about us. We were in a very large cave, the roof of which was supported by immense square pillars of the salt rock. It was brown, of course, but it was quite translucent, and the light gleamed from it very prettily. Our guide lit a piece of magnesium-wire, and I never saw anything so magnificent in my life. The whole place seemed set with precious stones, and the dirty, half-naked men, leaning on their tools, looked as picturesque as you could well imagine. Then one of the men had finished boring a blast hole, and we waited while he filled it with powder and fired a shot. We all huddled in one corner of the cave, and then there was such a roar and smoke! The rock under our feet heaved and shook, and pieces of rock and stone flew about far too near for my liking." "I never knew how salt was got before," said Dick. "Nor I," said Jimmy; "and as Frank has told us so well we will forgive him for forgetting the salt." CHAPTER VIII. An Eerie Night.--A Ghostly Apparition.--The Barn Owl.-- A Will-o'-the Wisp.--The Ruff and Reeve.--Snaring Ruffs.-- A Nest.--Wroxham Broad.--Mud-boards and Leaping-pole.-- Wild Duck's Nest in a Tree. As the night fell the wind rose and moaned dismally over the marsh, and black clouds covered the sky, so that the night promised to be dirtier than usual at this time of the year. Lonely marshes stretched far and wide, with nothing to break their wild monotony save the ghostlike ruins of the Abbey in the foreground. It was not a pleasant night for the boys to spend out for the first time alone, and an eerie sort of feeling crept over them in spite of their efforts to appear at ease. At length Dick said-- "I feel as if wild beasts were prowling about on the watch for us, and that if we went to sleep we should be eaten up alive." "So do I," admitted Frank; "but I suppose it will wear away in time. But what is that?" he exclaimed, in a startled tone, as an unearthly cry sounded among the ruins of the Abbey, and a white shape was dimly seen gliding between the broken windows. The boys gazed in breathless silence at this apparition. The cause of their alarm, however, was made plain to them, as a white owl came forth on noiseless wings, and fluttered stealthily over the marsh. They laughed heartily at their fright, but their laugh sounded forced and unnatural. It was so weird and lonely outside, that they went into the cabin and lit the lamp, and strove to make a cheerful supper. Then they undressed and tried to make themselves comfortable for the night. Frank took the hammock, and Dick and Jimmy the berths at each side. They left the lamp burning dimly for company's sake, but they could not go to sleep. The water lapping against the planks of the yacht and amid the stems of the reeds, the wind sighing over the waste fen, and the strange cries of the night-birds--the call of the water-hen, the hoarse bark of the coot, the cackle of wild ducks, and the host of other noises which they could not account for, kept them awake and on the _qui vive_. "What's that?" said Dick, after they had been quiet for some time. [Illustration: THE BARN OWL AND EGG.] A noise like a clap of thunder was to be heard, repeated at regular intervals, and growing louder, as if approaching them. They rushed on deck to see what was the cause of it, and were relieved to find that it was only a belated wherry beating up to windward, her canvas flapping each time she put about on a fresh tack. The men on board of her shouted "Good night" as they passed, and after this the boys felt more comfortable, and again courted sleep. They were just dropping off, when "patter, patter," went something on deck. Some one, or some thing had boarded them, and Frank went out to see what it was. A coot had come aboard to see if there might be anything eatable there, and she flew away as Frank appeared. He looked about ere he went down again, and to his astonishment he saw a spot of light dancing about on the marshes in a place where he thought no human being could be at this hour. "I say, Dick and Jimmy, here is a will-o'-the-wisp dancing about on the marshes." They came quickly on deck, and watched the strange light, which now and then disappeared, and then again became visible. It now shone bright, and then faint, and an uncertain glimmer beneath it showed that it hovered over the water as well as over the marsh. "There is no such thing as _ignis fatuus_ nowadays," said Jimmy, "so what can it be?" "I vote we go and see," said Frank. "You will only get bogged if you do. It is dangerous enough to walk on the marsh in the daylight, and almost impossible by night." "It strikes me there is a narrow channel, or dyke, leading from the river, which may lead to where that light is. I saw a line of water about twenty yards off. We passed it as we were about to anchor. Let us take the boat and go up it, if you wish to see what it is," said Jimmy. His suggestion was approved of, and they dressed and stepped into the punt, and after a little while they found the dyke and pushed their way along it. They moved cautiously and with little noise, and at last emerged upon a small open piece of water, and as they did so, the light gleamed for a moment and went out. They peered eagerly through the gloom, but could see nothing. All was silent and still, and very uncanny. "It is no good staying here," said Frank; "let us go back and try to sleep, or we shall not be fit to be seen to-morrow when we meet the others at Wroxham." So they rowed back, wondering what the cause of the light had been. They tumbled into their berths again and got just an hour's broken sleep before the dawn effectually aroused them. It was very early, but they had no choice but to rise and get something to eat. The morning was bright and cloudless, the lark sang merrily in the sky, waterfowl swam on the quiet stretches of the river in peaceful security, the freshness and charm which always accompanies the early dawn of day in the country had its natural effect upon them; and their spirits, which had been somewhat depressed by the uncomfortable night which they had passed, rose again to their natural height. Dick now suggested that they should again explore the windings of the creek, and try to find out the cause of the mysterious light which had so puzzled them the night before. They accordingly rowed up the lane of water as they had done the previous night, until they came to the piece of open water. Just as they were about to emerge from the narrow opening in the belt of reeds which surrounded it, Frank checked the motion of the boat by clutching hold of the reeds, and warned his companions to be silent. Looking in the direction in which he pointed, they saw the most curious bird they had ever seen, or were ever likely to see. On a little hillock on the edge of the reeds was a bird with a body like a thrush, but with long legs. It had a long beak, staring eyes, brown tufts of feathers on each side of its head, and a large flesh-coloured ruff of feathers round its neck. "I know what that is; it is a ruff," said Jimmy. "Yes, yes, but be quiet and watch it." They drew back behind the green fringe of reeds and watched the movements of the ruff, for such it was. Its movements were as strange as itself. It pranced up and down on the little hillock and fluttered its wings, and uttered a defiant cry. It seemed as if it were particularly desirous of attention from one spot in the marsh, for towards that spot its glances and movements were directed. Looking more eagerly towards this spot the boys saw a smaller bird, with no ruff around her neck, and clad in sober brown. This was a female, or reeve, and the male was showing himself off before her and trying to attract her attention, while she, with the tantalising nature of her sex, appeared to be quite unconscious of his blandishments, and went on composedly picking up her breakfast from the insects and worms in the marsh. Presently another ruff appeared on the scene, and, joining his rival on the little hillock, he commenced to emulate his performances, and the two danced a war-dance in the most amusing fashion, to the great delight of the three observers. The natural consequence of this rivalry soon followed, and the two ruffs began to fight in good earnest, laying hold of each other with their bills, and striking with their wings. The one drove the other to the bottom of the hill, and was apparently master of the field; but instead of returning to his post on the top, he flew away, leaving his adversary fluttering vainly, and evidently fast by the leg. Then the rushes on the other side of the open space were pushed aside, and a man in a rude boat made his appearance, and proceeded to seize the ruff and kill it. "The mystery of the light is explained," said Frank. "Hallo! you there, what are you doing that for?" The man started and looked round, answering surlily, "What's that to you?" "Oh, don't get into a wax. We only want to know for information's sake. What will you sell that ruff for?" "Two shillings, sir," replied the man, in a much more civil tone. "Well, here you are. Are there many ruffs about here?" "No, sir, I have not seen any for the last two years until this spring. They used to be common enough when I was a lad, and I have taken a score in one morning with these snares. I have seen more than a dozen together on one hill, and twice as many reeves around looking on. Those were fine times for us fowlers, those were." The boys asked to be allowed to look at his snares. They were made of horsehair, and were set in this fashion:--A length of hair with a running noose at each end was fixed by the middle into the slit of a peg, which was then driven into the ground. A number of these were set round the base of the hill with the nooses projecting about an inch above the surface of the herbage, and as the birds were driven off the hill they were caught by them. It was necessary, the man said, to keep a strict watch on the snares, for the birds sometimes broke away, or the rats and weasels, of which there are plenty in the marshes, would be beforehand with the fowler and seize the captured birds. "I suppose you were setting your snares last night?" "Ay, sir," replied the man, laughing; "I heard you coming after me, so I put my light out. I did not know what sort of men you might be, and they make believe to preserve these marshes now, and it is hard work for us to get a living." "Don't you think there may be a ruff's nest somewhere about?" said Jimmy. "I found one this morning with four eggs in it, but they are hard sat." "Never mind that, we can blow them, if you will show us where it is." "Get out of the boat, then, and come into this rond; but mind how you walk. Put your foot on the roots of the reeds, or you will go up to your middle in mud directly." The nest was made of coarse grass, and was placed in a clump of sedges. It contained four eggs of an olive-green colour, spotted with brown. As the man said that if they did not take them he should, and sell them for what they would fetch, the boys felt no hesitation in plundering the nest of all its contents, giving the man a gratuity of a shilling for showing the nest to them. This commercial transaction completed, they returned to their yacht and made a second breakfast. They had arranged to meet their elders at Wroxham Bridge at twelve o'clock, and spend the rest of the day sailing and pic-nicking on the Broad, so about ten o'clock they started. The breeze was light, as it generally is in the summer; and as for a portion of the way they had to beat to windward in a rather narrow channel, it took them some time to reach Wroxham. They found that the _Swan_ was not so handy in tacking as a single-hulled yacht would have been, and they had to use the mizen to swing her round each time they put about. Their progress was, therefore, slower than they had calculated upon, and they did not reach Wroxham until 12.30. Their way was past Ranworth Broad and the two Hovetons, besides some smaller broads, all connected with the river by dykes, half hidden by tall reeds, and looking deliciously lonely, and inviting exploration. Although they were so close they could see nothing of the broads' surface, and their existence was only made manifest to them by the white sails of yachts which were now and then to be seen gliding hither and thither through forests of reeds. Sir Richard, Mr. and Mrs. Merivale, Mrs. Brett, Mary and Florrie, were all waiting for them on the staithe by the bridge, and hailed their appearance with joy. "Well, boys, we thought you were lost," said Mr. Merivale. "No fear, father," answered Frank; "the _Swan_ sails grandly, and we have had no end of fun." "And how did you sleep last night? Wasn't it very lonely?" said his mother. The boys unanimously affirmed that it had been most awfully jolly, and that they had been most comfortable. Whilst the party were embarking, Frank went to the village carpenter's and got a stout leaping-pole with a block of wood at the end, so that it might not sink into the mud when they were jumping the ditches. He also obtained a pair of mud boards to put on his feet when walking over soft ground. These were pieces of wood a foot long by eighteen inches wide, with rope loops to slip over the feet. He expected to find them useful while bird-nesting on the marshes. They sailed at a good pace down the river, and then, while Mary was asking where the Broad was, Frank put the helm over, and they sailed through a narrow channel, on either side of which the reeds were seven feet high, and while the question was still on Mary's lips, they were gliding over the fine expanse of water which is known as Wroxham Broad. They had a very pleasant afternoon, and as the breeze was steady and the yacht behaved herself very well, the two elder ladies lost much of the nervousness with which they had regarded the boys' expedition. Dick was much impressed with the loveliness of the Broad. On the one side the woods came down to the water's edge, and on the other the wide marsh stretched away miles on miles, with its waving reed beds, tracts of white cotton-grasses, and many-coloured marsh grasses, which varied in sheen and tint as the wind waved them or the cloud-shadows passed over them. Here and there a gleam of white showed where the river or a broad lay, but for the most part the whereabouts of water was only shown by the brown sails of the wherries, or the snow-white sails of the yachts, which glided and tacked about in a manner that seemed most mysterious, seeing that there was no water visible for them to float on. At one end of Wroxham Broad is a labyrinth of dykes and pools, between wooded islands and ferny banks. The boys took the two girls in the punt through this charming maze, and they pushed their way through the large floating leaves of the water-lily, and the more pointed leaves of the arrowhead, gathering the many-coloured flowers which nestled amid the luxuriant growth of plant-life that fringed the water, stooping to avoid the trailing branches of the trees, and enjoying themselves mightily in exploring. "Is that a crow's nest in yonder tree?" said Jimmy. "I expect so, and there is the bird on, but her head does not look like a crow's. Hit the trunk with the oar," said Frank. [Illustration: WILD DUCK.] As the blow vibrated through the tree, the sitting bird flew off, and what do you think it proved to be? A _wild-duck_! The boys were astounded. They had heard of ducks building in hollow trees, and at some distance from water, but to build a nest on the top of a high tree seemed incredible, so Frank said he would climb up and see the eggs, but-- "Let me go," said Dick, "I have never climbed a tall tree, and it looks an easy one, although it is tall, for there are plenty of branches." "Oh, please take care, Dick," said Mary. "Oh, he will be all right. You never tell me to take care, young woman," said Frank, laughing, while Mary blushed. Dick was soon up the tree, showing skill worthy of a practised climber, and rather to the surprise of his companions. "It is a duck's nest in an old crow's nest, and there are ten eggs in," shouted Dick from his lofty perch. "Bring two of them down then. We will write on them where they were found. I wonder how the old birds get the young ones down to the water? They can't fly for a long time after being hatched, and they must take to the water soon, or they will die." The question which Frank put has never been satisfactorily answered. The young ones must either perch on their mother's back, and hold on whilst they are being transported to their native element, or the old bird must seize them in her bill, like a cat does her kittens. When the others left, the boys sailed down stream again by the light of the red sunset, and as night stole over the marshes, they anchored by Horning ferry, and so tired were they that they fell asleep the moment they laid themselves down, forgetting their fears of the night before. They turned in at ten, and none of them awoke until eight the next morning. Before breakfast Frank and Jimmy spent some time in teaching Dick how to swim, and found him an apt pupil. CHAPTER IX. Chameleon.--Light Coloured Eggs.--Sitting Birds have no Scent.-- Forget-me-nots.--Trespassing.--The Owner.--A Chase.--Capture.-- Pintail Duck.--Drumming of Snipe.--Swallow-tail Butterfly.-- A Perilous Adventure. The young voyagers had by this time discovered that sailing about in the manner they were doing gave them tremendous appetites, and on this particular morning they found they had run short of bread and butter, so Jimmy was despatched to the little shop at Horning to procure some. After breakfast they were lounging on deck waiting for a breeze. Dick was sprawling on the roof of the cabin basking in the sun. Frank was fishing for roach in the clear slow stream, and Jimmy was perusing the newspaper in which the provisions had been wrapped. It was a still, lovely morning. White clouds sailed quickly across the blue sky, but there was no breeze to move the marsh grasses and reeds, or to ripple the placid stream. A lark sang merrily far above them, filling the air with melody. Small birds chirped in the sedges, and the water-hens and white-headed coots sailed busily to and fro. [Illustration: ROACH.] Jimmy looked up from his paper just as Frank pulled in a good sized roach, and said,-- "Do either of you know how the chameleon changes its colour?" Upon receiving an answer in the negative he read as follows from the paper in his hand:-- "M. Paul Bert has laid before the French Academy a _résumé_ of the observations of himself and others on the colour-changes of the chameleon. They appear to be due to change of place of certain coloured corpuscles. When they bury themselves under the skin, they form an opaque background to the cerulescent layer, and when they distribute themselves in superficial ramifications, they either leave the skin to show its yellow hue, or give it green and black tints. The movements of the colour corpuscles are directed by two orders of nerves, one causing their descending, and the other their ascending, motions. In a state of extreme excitation the corpuscles hide below the skin, and do so in sleep, anæsthesia, or death. The nerves which cause the corpuscles to go under the skin have the greatest analogy to vaso-constrictor nerves. They follow the mixed nerves of the limbs, and the great sympathetic of the neck, and do not cross in the spinal marrow. The nerves which bring the corpuscles upwards resemble in like manner the vaso-dilator nerves. Luminous rays belonging to the blue-violet part of the spectrum act directly on the contractile matter of the corpuscles, and cause them to move towards the surface of the skin." [Illustration: CHAMELEON.] "Now, can you tell me the plain English of that?" "Read it again, Jimmy," said Frank. Jimmy did so. "Well, I am no wiser. Read it again more slowly." Jimmy did so again. "I give it up," said Frank. "What a thing it is to be a scientific man!" "I take it," said Dick, rolling himself along the cabin roof towards them, "that it means that different coloured rays of light have corresponding effects upon coloured atoms in the skin of the chameleon. The rays of light will be affected by the colour of the place where the chameleon is, and the chameleon will be affected by the changed colour of the rays of light, so that if the beast were on a green lawn his colour would be green, and if on a brown tree-trunk his colour would be brown." "That is my idea," said Jimmy; "but what is the good of using such stilted language, when the same thing might have been said in simple English?" "I wonder why that water-hen keeps dodging about us in such a fussy manner," said Frank. "I don't," replied Dick, "for there is her nest not a yard from our bows." The mooring rope had parted the reeds, and discovered her nest, and Dick, on going to the bows had seen it. It contained twelve eggs, one of which was so light in colour as to be almost white, and one so small that it was only half the size of the others. Dick asked if it were because it was laid last, and if the pale one was so for a similar reason. Frank replied,-- "It may be so in this case, but it does not always happen so. Last year I tried an experiment with a robin's nest. I took out an egg each day, as it was laid, and still the bird went on laying until I let her lay her proper number, five. She laid fifteen eggs altogether, but they were all the same colour and size. So I expect that it is only an accident when the eggs are like these." "Bell told me the other day that sitting birds have no scent," said Dick. "Is that true?" "I am not quite sure, but I am inclined to think that they have not so strong a scent as at other times. This same robin which I have just been telling you about built in a hedge-bank close by a house, and cats were always prowling about, and I have seen puss walk right above the nest while the old bird was on. If birds would only have the sense to shut their eyes, we would often pass them over, but it is easy to see them with their eyes twinkling like diamonds." "How pretty that clump of forget-me-nots is on the opposite bank! They seem to smile at you with their blue eyes," said Dick, who was keenly alive to all that was beautiful. "But what is that flower a little lower down, right in the water, with thick juicy stems and blue flowers. Is that a forget-me-not?" "No, it is a brooklime, but it is one of the speedwells. There are more than a dozen sorts of speedwells, but the forget-me-not is the prettiest. Another name for the forget-me-not is water-scorpion, but it is too ugly a name for so pretty a plant," said Jimmy, full of his recent learning. [Illustration: REDBREAST AND EGG.] "Here comes a breeze at last," cried Frank, as their blue flag fluttered, and the reeds in the surrounding marsh bent their heads together and sighed. "Shall we explore Ranworth Broad?" "Yes, but let us take Hoveton Great Broad first, and then we can go to Ranworth as we come back," answered Jimmy. So they hoisted sail, and glided up stream with a freshening breeze, while swallows dipped in the river and whirled about them as they passed. While they were sailing steadily along with a breeze on their starboard beam, the flag became fouled in the block through which the halyard of the mainmast was rove, and Jimmy was sent up to put matters right. He clambered up the mast as nimbly as a monkey, and shook loose the flag from its ignominious position. When he had finished this he looked about him, and from his greater height he could see much further than his companions, whose view was limited by the tall reeds which shut in almost every portion of the rivers and broads. The boys did not know that they were near any of the latter, but Jimmy saw on their left hand a sheet of water sparkling in the sun and studded with many reedy islands. He cried out,-- "There is such a jolly broad to leeward! It looks so quiet and still, and there are no end of water-fowl swimming about in it. A little further on I can see a channel leading to it just wide enough for our yacht. What do you say to paying it a visit?" His friends had not the least objection. Its being unknown to them was an additional reason for their including it in their voyage of discovery. Jimmy said he should stay on his lofty perch for a time and take the bearings of the country, but as they neared the entrance to the broad and turned off before going down the narrow channel, the boom swung further out, and the jerk dislodged Jimmy, who was only saved from falling by clutching at the shrouds, down which he came with a run. They surged along through the dyke with the reeds brushing their bulwarks, and tossing and swaying in the eddies which followed their wake, and after several twistings and windings they emerged upon the broad. At the entrance to it was a pole with a notice-board upon it, which stated that the broad belonged to Mr. ----, and that any persons found trespassing upon it would be prosecuted. "Hallo! do you see that?" said Dick. "Yes, I see it," replied Frank, "but we could not turn back in that narrow channel, and now that we are on the broad we may as well sail about a bit. What a number of water-fowl there are!" "I know Mr. ---- by sight," said Jimmy. "He has a big blue yacht." The little lake was so picturesque with its islands and "ronds" and broad floating lily-leaves, that the boys sailed about for some time before they thought of leaving it, and when they turned their faces again towards the river, what was their surprise to see a large yacht creeping along the connecting canal between them and the river. The reeds hid the body of the yacht from them, but its sails betokened that it was one of considerable size. The boys wondered who it could be who had thought of paying the sequestered little broad a visit, never for a moment thinking of the owner, when the yacht shot out into the open water, and lo! it was a '_big blue yacht_.' [Illustration: YACHT.] "It is Mr. ----," said Jimmy. "Now we shall get into a row for trespassing," said Dick. "They have got to catch us first. If we can only dodge them, and get on to the river again, we can show them a clean pair of heels," said Frank, taking a pull at the sheet and trying to creep up to windward of the dyke. The blue yacht, however, stood by so as to meet them, and Frank saw, by the way she went through the water, even when her sails were hauled almost flat, that she could beat the Swan in sailing to windward. A gentleman stood up in the strange yacht and called out,-- "Bear, up alongside, you young rascals, and give me your names and addresses. I shall summon you for trespassing." "Not if I know it," said Frank, bringing the _Swan_ sharply round on her heel, and scudding away before the wind, followed by the other in full chase. "Now, Jimmy and Dick, stand by the sheets, and when we get opposite the bottom of that long island, we will bring her sharp round the other side, and then they can't get across and meet us, and then we'll cut and run for the dyke." They executed this manoeuvre very neatly, but the other was too quick for them, and instead of following them round the island, they turned back and made for the mouth of the dyke to intercept them, and at a much better angle of the wind than that at which the _Swan_ had to sail. "We shall come into collision," said Jimmy, as he took a hearty pull at the mizen sheet. "We cannot both get through the dyke." "Never mind. We'll cram her at it. Stand by with the boat-hook to push the blue 'un off, Dick!" but as Dick stood ready with the boat-hook to push off, a man stood in the other yacht with his boat-hook to pull them in, and as Dick pushed, his adversary pulled. The two boats ran alongside for a few yards, and then were jammed together at the mouth of the creek, and Mr. ---- stepped on board. "Now what is the meaning of this?" he exclaimed angrily. "We came into the broad out of curiosity, sir," said Frank; "and we could not see the notice-board until we were in the broad, and then we thought we might as well take a turn round before going out, but we are sorry you have caught us." "Oh, are you really! Well, I want to preserve the broad for wild-fowl, so I don't like it to be disturbed; but where did you get this strange boat built?" "We built it ourselves," answered the boys,--and then in reply to the inquiries, they told him all about it, and their object, and by the time all was explained to him they found that he was a very jolly sort of fellow, and he found that they were very pleasant, unaffected lads, and the end of it was that they lunched with him on board his yacht, and had full permission to go on the broad whenever they liked. Frank's attention was arrested by a pretty, light grey duck swimming about in the centre of the broad. "Is that a pintail duck?" he inquired of Mr. ----. "Yes, and the only one on the broad, I am sorry to say. Its mate has been killed, and my man found the deserted nest with four eggs in it, among the reeds on the other side of the broad. If he has not taken it you may have it." His man had not taken it, and in a few minutes the boys were the possessors of the eggs of this rare duck. The nest and eggs were of the usual duck type, and did not correspond in any degree with the extreme prettiness of the duck, which, with its mottled grey back and red-brown head and neck, is as fair to look at as it is good to eat. The yachts were disengaged from their position without any damage, and the boys took leave of their entertainer with a cheer, and made for the river again. "I hope all our adventures will end as nicely as that one," said Dick. The wish was echoed by the others; but that very day they had an adventure which startled them considerably, and might have had very serious and fatal consequences. But of this anon. Presently Dick said,--"I have noticed whenever we see a mud-bank that it is almost sure to be perforated by a number of small holes. What is the reason of that?" "Oh, that is done by the snipes, when boring in search of food. Woodcocks will do it as well, and the woodcock's upper bill is so long and flexible that it can twist and turn it about in the mud with the greatest ease," answered Frank, who was always ready with an answer on ornithological subjects. By and by Dick was observed to be looking all about with a very puzzled and curious air, peeping into the cabin, and scrutinizing the deck and the banks with the utmost attention. "What is the matter, Dick?" said Jimmy at length. "What on earth is that buzzing noise? It seems to be close to us, and I can't find out the cause of it. I did not like to ask before--it seemed so simple. Is it a big bee, or wasp, or what?" Frank and Jimmy laughed heartily, and the former said,-- "Look up in the air, Dick." Dick did so, and saw a bird which he knew to be a snipe, hovering somewhat after the manner of a kestrel, or windhover, as the country people sometimes call it. It was evident now that the noise came from it, but how was it produced, and why? Frank could not answer either of these questions. It was a habit of the snipes in breeding time to rise and 'drum' in that way. [Illustration: COMMON SNIPE.] "No doubt he does it for a lark, and no doubt he thinks he does it as well as a lark, but no one seems to be sure how the noise is produced. The general opinion seems to be that it is caused by a vibration of the tail-feathers." "Look!" cried Dick excitedly, diving into the cabin for his butterfly net. Over the marsh there fluttered one of the grandest of English butterflies, the swallow-tail. Large in size, being about four inches across the wings, which are of a pale creamy-yellow, barred and margined with blue and black, velvety in its appearance, and with a well-defined 'tail' to each of its under wings, above which is a red spot, the swallow-tail butterfly is one of the most beautiful of all butterflies. It is rare save in its head-quarters, which are the fens of Norfolk and Cambridge, and is justly considered a prize by a young collector. Frank immediately ran the yacht ashore, and Dick jumped out and rushed at the gorgeous insect with his net. Alas! he struck too wildly and missed it, and it rose in the air and flew far away, leaving Dick lamenting. Frank laughed and said,-- "Ah, you went at it too rashly. You should have given it him with more of the _suaviter in modo_ and less of the _fortiter in re_. Here comes another. Let me have a try!" [Illustration: SWALLOW-TAIL BUTTERFLY.] Dick yielded up possession of the net to him, and he advanced slowly and cautiously to where the swallow-tail was sunning himself on an early tuft of meadow-sweet, which the warm weather had tempted to bloom earlier than usual, and to perfume the air with its strong fragrance on the last day of May. Frank's approach had too much of the _suaviter in modo_, for the butterfly flew away long before he reached it. Frank forgot all about the _suaviter in modo_ then. He dashed after it at the top of his speed, making frantic dashes at it with his net, and jumping over soft ground, with utter disregard to all dangerous places. He followed it for some distance, and then he suddenly disappeared, and to their dismay they heard him shouting loudly for help. "He has got into a bog-hole," said Jimmy, "come along as fast as you can." They ran with breathless speed to where he had disappeared, and so deceptive are distances on flat surfaces, that they were surprised to see how far he had gone. When they reached him they saw him up to his waist in the soft bog, whose bright vivid green would have shown its danger had he not been too eager in his pursuit of the butterfly to notice it. He was rapidly sinking deeper into the mud, which held him fast with cruel tenacity, and sucked him further into its horrid embrace the more he struggled to get out of it. He had taken a big jump right into the very middle of it, and he was too far from them to reach their hands. His face was pale, but he was cool and collected. "All right," he said, "don't be frightened. I've got the butterfly, and if you will do what I tell you, I will soon get out of this fix. Dick, do you run to the yacht and get a rope, and you, Jimmy, get some reeds, and pitch them to me to put under my arms, and keep me from sinking further into this fearful mess." Dick sped off like an arrow, and Jimmy tore up a bundle of reeds and threw them to his friend, who had now sunk up to his shoulders, and as the reeds broke beneath his weight he sunk deeper still. "I hope Dick won't be long, or it will be all up with me, Jimmy," he said, and brave as he was, he could not keep his lips from quivering. Jimmy was in an agony of excitement. He took off his coat, and threw one end of it to Frank, but he could not reach him. Then he did what even raised a smile on Frank's face, imminent as was his danger. He took off his trousers and threw one leg to Frank, retaining the other in his hand. Pulling hard at this improvised rope, he held Frank up until Dick came tearing up with the rope trailing behind him. "Thank God!" said Frank, and Jimmy then knew by his fervent tone how great he knew the danger had been. Clinging to the rope, he was hauled out by his companions, and so tightly did the mud hold him, that it took all their strength to drag him out. They walked slowly and quietly back to the yacht, and Frank changed his clothes, and lay down and was very quiet for some time, and they none of them recovered their usual spirits for some time after this occurrence. The butterfly was set, and ever afterwards kept apart in Dick's collection as a memento of this time. Before they went home again they had got several specimens of this handsome butterfly, and still better, they discovered numbers of the bright green caterpillars and chrysalides on the meadow-sweet and wild carrot, which grew in the marsh, and so were able to breed several fine specimens, enough for their own collection and for exchange. CHAPTER X. Moonlight.--Instinct and Reason.--Death's Head Moth.-- Bittern.--Water-rail.--Quail.--Golden Plover.-- Hen-Harrier and Weasel.--Preserving Bird-skins. They anchored that night just inside Hoveton Great Broad. The moon rose large and round, and lake and marsh slept still in her mellow light. The boys sat on deck watching the reflection of the moon in the water, and listening to the cries of the night-birds around them and the splash of the fish in the shallow margins. Dick said,-- "Is it not wonderful that the butterfly knows on which plant she is to lay her eggs? How does the swallow-tail know that she must lay them on the wild carrot or on the meadow-sweet; the death's-head moth on the potato; and the white butterfly on the cabbage? How is it that they select these plants, seeing that it is all strange and new to them? It is very wonderful!" "Yes," said Jimmy, "and it cannot be reason, because they can have no facts to reason from, so it must be instinct." "Well, I don't like talking anything like cant, and you won't accuse me of that if I say that it seems to me that instinct is a personal prompting and direction of God to the lower animals for their good, and I don't believe we think of that enough," said Dick. [Illustration: MOONLIGHT SCENE.] Frank replied,--"You are right, Dick, and while man has only reason, animals have instinct and reason too. At least I believe that the larger kind of animals have some share of reason. I have never told you about our colley bitch. Last year she had pups, and she was very much annoyed by a cat which would go prowling about the building where the bitch was kept; so the bitch took the opportunity of one day killing the cat. Now the cat had just had kittens, and all were drowned but one. When the mother was killed, its kitten cried most piteously, and had to be fed with milk by the servants. The bitch had not known that the cat had kittens, until she heard the kitten scream, and then she showed as plainly as possible that she was sorry for what she had done, and took the kitten to her own young ones, and seemed quite fond of it. Whenever it was taken away she would go for it and take it back again, and the kitten grew up with the pups, and was inseparable from them. Now I call that reason on the part of the bitch, and the desire to make amends for the injury she had done--But hark! what is that?" A low booming sound not unlike the lowing of a bull, but more continued, resounded through the marsh and then ceased. Again the strange note was heard, and the boys looked at one another. "What can it be?" said Jimmy, as the noise again quivered on the moonlit air. [Illustration: DEATH'S-HEAD MOTH.] "I know," said Frank, "it is a bittern. If we can only find its nest we shall be lucky. It does not often breed in England now, although it is often shot here in winter. Let us listen where the sound comes from." They listened intently, and after an interval the sound was again repeated. They believed that it came from a reed-covered promontory which ran out into the broad on its eastern shore. "Let us take the punt and go over," said Frank; so they rowed in the direction of the sound. They rowed round the promontory, and penetrated it as far as they could, and all was still and silent, and they discovered nothing. Early the next morning they renewed their search, and while they were crashing through the very middle of the reed bed, the bittern rose with a hoarse cry, and flew away with a dull, heavy flight. And there, as good luck would have it, was its nest, a large structure of sticks, reeds and rushes, and in it were four eggs, large, round, and pale brown in colour. It was not in human nature (or at least in boy nature) to resist taking all the eggs. [Illustration: BITTERN.] The bittern is a singular bird both in shape and habits. Take a heron and shorten its legs, neck, and beak, and thicken it generally, and then deepen its plumage to a partridge-like brown, and you will have a pretty good idea of the bittern. At one time it was common enough in England, but the spread of cultivation, the drainage of the marshes, and the pursuit of the collector have rendered it rare; and while at some seasons it is pretty common all over the country where there are places fit for its breeding-ground, in other years scarcely a specimen can be seen, and its nest is now but rarely found. Its curious note has often puzzled the country people. It has been said to put its head under water or into a hollow reed, and then to blow, and so make a noise something like that produced by the famous blowing stone in the Vale of the White Horse. The fact, however, appears to be that the noise is produced in the usual manner, and Morris says that the bittern "commonly booms when soaring high in the air with a spiral flight." When suddenly surprised, its flight is more like that of a carrion crow when shot at in the air. If wounded, the bittern can defend itself remarkably well, turning itself on its back, and fighting with beak and claws. It cannot run well among the reeds, so when surprised it takes refuge in flight, although it is not by any means a good flier; and as the reeds grow too closely together for it to use its wings among them, it clambers up them with its feet, until it can make play with its wings. It is essentially nocturnal in its habits, hiding close among the reeds and flags by day. Leaving Hoveton Broad, the boys sailed quietly down the river to Ranworth Broad, without adventure. They turned from the river along the dyke which led to the broad, and with their usual enterprise they tried to take a short cut through a thin corner of reeds growing in about two feet of water, which alone divided them from the broad. They stuck fast, of course; but their usual good fortune attended them, and turned their misfortune into a source of profit. A bird like a landrail, but smaller, flew from a thick clump of vegetation near them. "Hallo, that is not a corn-crake, is it?" said Dick. "No, but it is a water-crake, or water-rail rather, and I expect its nest is in that clump," said Frank, and his shoes and stockings were off in a moment, and he was wading to the place whence the bird had flown. "Yes, here it is, and there are eight eggs in it, very like a landrail's, but much lighter in colour and a little smaller. I say, if we hadn't seen the bird fly away we should never have found the nest, it is so carefully hidden. I shall take four eggs. They are not sat upon, and she will lay some more until she makes up her full number, so it is not a robbery." The water-rail is one of the shyest of water-birds. It creeps among the herbage like a rat, and is very difficult to put to flight. When it does fly, its legs hang down as if it had not strength to hold them up, and it flies but slowly, yet during the winter time it migrates long distances. The boys spent but little time on the broad, for they were anxious to get further away from home; so, as there was a strong breeze from the west, they ran before it as far as Acle, where they had to lower their mast in order to pass under the old grey stone bridge. [Illustration: WATER-RAIL.] Leaving the yacht moored by the Hermitage Staithe, they walked to Filby and Ormesby Broads, an immense straggling sheet of water with many arms about three miles from the river. They hired a boat, and rowed about for some time, seeing plenty of wild-fowl, but meeting with no adventure worth recording. The broad is connected with the river by a long dyke called by the euphonious name of Muck Fleet, but it is not navigable, being so filled with mud and weeds. The growing obstruction of this dyke is an illustration of the process which is going on all over the Broad district day by day. Formerly a much larger portion of it must have been water, but as the reeds grew they decayed, and the rotten matter formed soil. This process was repeated year after year and is going on now. The reeds extend each year and form fresh soil each winter, and so the parts which were always very shallow become filled up, and the extent of marsh increases; and then, as the extent of marsh increases, it is drained and becomes firm, and then is finally cultivated, and waving corn-fields take the place of what was once a lake, and then a marsh, and instead of pike and wild-fowl there are partridges and pheasants. On the way back to Filby the boys took it into their heads to have a game of 'follow my leader.' Frank was chosen as leader, and he led them straight across-country, scorning roads and paths, and choosing the hardest leaps over dykes and fences. Across a meadow Frank saw a very stiff thorn fence on the other side of which was a stubble-field. Collecting all his strength, he made a rush at it, but failing to clear it, his foot caught near the top, and he fell headlong into the next field. Dick followed his leader with commendable imitation, and sprawled on the top of him; but Jimmy could only breast the hedge, and sat down on the spot whence he had taken his spring. Dick was up again in a moment, but Frank remained kneeling on the ground with something between his hands. [Illustration: AFRICAN BUSH QUAIL.] "What is it, Frank?" said Dick. "A bird. I fell upon it. It was on its nest, and I have smashed three of the eggs, but there are five left." Jimmy joined them, and asked what kind of a bird it was. It was a bird of about eight inches in length, grey in colour, plump, and with a shape which reminded them of the guinea-fowl. They looked at the poor trembling bird, and at its eggs, and came to the conclusion that it was a quail, a supposition which turned out to be right. Quails, though rare generally, were very common that year in Norfolk and Suffolk, and many nests were found, two more by the boys themselves. The nest is simply a collection of dry grass in a hollow in the ground. Morris says of the quail:-- "Quails migrate north and south in spring and autumn, and vast numbers are taken by bird-catchers. As many as one hundred thousand are said to have been taken in one day in the kingdom of Naples. Three thousand dozen are reported to have been purchased in one year by the London dealers alone. They migrate in flocks, and the males are said to precede the females. They are believed to travel at night. They arrive here at the end of April or beginning of May, and depart again early in September. Not being strong on the wing, yet obliged to cross the sea to seek a warmer climate in the winter, thousands are picked up by the shores on their arrival in an exhausted state; many are drowned on the passage, and some are frequently captured on board of vessels met with _in transitu_." I have seen them in poulterers' shops kept in large cages, until they are wanted for the table, and they seemed to be quite unconcerned at their captivity, feeding away busily. Frank said, "What shall we do with the bird? I've broken her wing, but I don't think she's much hurt anywhere else." "Here's some thin twine," said Dick. "Let us tie the bone to a splint of wood with it, and the wing may heal." They carried the suggestion out with great care, and the quail, on being allowed to go, ran away with a drooping wing, but otherwise little the worse. "I suppose we must take all the eggs," said Frank, "for she will not come back to her nest now, as it is all wet with squashed egg." "Those are not lapwings flying above us, are they?" said Dick. "No, they are golden plovers. They are not half so pretty as the lapwings. They have no crest, and are much plainer in plumage, and they have more black on them. Look out for their nests in this marshy spot." "Here is one," said Dick. [Illustration: NEST OF GOLDEN PLOVER.] "No, that is only a lapwing's, and in a very clever place too; the nest is made, or rather the eggs are placed on the top of a mud-hill, so that when the water rises the eggs will be kept dry." "Here is a golden plover's, then," said Jimmy, pointing to a depression in the ground, in which were four eggs of the usual plover type, about the same size as the lapwing's, but more blunt in outline, and lighter in ground colour. "Yes, those are they. Take two of them." It must not be supposed that I mention all the nests and eggs the boys found in their rambles. Space forbids me to notice more than those which are rare or unusual. For the nest of one rare or uncommon bird they found a dozen of the commoner sorts, for they were very quick observers. The wind had fallen, and the water was as smooth as glass. While prowling about the margin, "seeking what they might devour," Dick stooped to pick a flower which grew by the water-side, and saw the head of a large eel protruding from the mud on the bank, about two or three feet below the surface. He called his companions' attention to it, and on looking more closely they saw at intervals the heads of several more, which poked two or three inches out of the mud. If the water had not been so still and clear, they would not have been able to see them. "What are they in that peculiar position for?" said Dick. "Oh, it is a habit of theirs. They are taking it easy, and watching for any little nice morsel to float by them. When the evening comes they will come out altogether. I will show you how to sniggle them." "Do what?" said Dick. "Wait and see, old man." They went back to the Hermitage, and Frank borrowed a stocking-needle from a woman at the house. He next got some fishing-line from the yacht and whipped one end of it to the needle from the eye to the middle. He next got a long pea-stick from the garden, and dug up some lob-worms, and then went to the mud-bank where the eels were. Frank baited his tackle by running the head of the needle quite up into the head of the worm, letting the point come out about the middle. Then he lightly stuck the point of the needle into the end of the stick, and with the stick in one hand and the loose line in the other, he went quietly to the side, and selecting an eel, he presented the worm to its nose. The eel opened its mouth and took the worm in. Frank gently pulled the stick away and slackened the line, and the eel swallowed the worm head first. When it had disappeared down the eel's throat, Frank struck, and the needle, of course, stuck across the eel's gullet. Frank kept a steady hold upon him, and drew him out of his fastness inch by inch, until he was clear of the mud, and then he lifted him out of the water. It was a fine eel of two pounds in weight. "Why, what grand fun that is!" said Dick. "Let me try," and so enthusiastically did he set to work, that in an hour's time he had got eight large eels. They now went on board to make their fourth meal that day, it being then half-past four o'clock. Afterwards they all wrote their letters home. The next morning about nine o'clock they hoisted sail, and started, intending to reach Yarmouth that day. A strong breeze, almost amounting to a gale, blew from the west, and they were obliged to take in reefs in both the main-sail and the mizen, and then they spun along at a very good rate, the water foaming at their bows and surging in their wake. Above them and to the eastward the sky was blue and without a cloud, but in the west a huge black cloud was slowly rising. Against its gloom, the sunlit marsh, the windmills, and the white sails of the yachts stood out brilliantly clear, and a number of gulls which were flying over the marsh shone out dazzlingly white against it. "What bird is that? It is a hawk no doubt, but it looks so blue in this light," said Jimmy, pointing over the marsh to where a large hawk was flying in circles uttering screams, and every now and then swooping to the ground. Frank got out his glass and took a long look at it. "It must be a hen-harrier," he said. "I can see it quite clearly. It seems to be very angry with something on the ground. Run the yacht up in the wind, Jimmy, and let us watch it." "There is another harrier flying to join it as swift as the wind. It is larger and browner, and must be the female," said Frank, describing their movements as he saw them through the glass. [Illustration: HEN-HARRIER.] The second comer swooped down to the ground and rose with some long struggling object in its talons which seemed to be a weasel or stoat. Frank then through his glass distinctly saw the weasel seize the hawk by the throat, and the hawk, screaming wildly, rose high into the air--"towering," as a sportsman would say--until it was almost a speck, and its mate accompanied it, circling round it, and also uttering savage screams. Then the hawk and weasel fell through the air, turning over and over, and came plump upon the marsh. The boys landed and went to the spot, while the other hawk slowly circled far out of sight. On reaching the spot they found the hawk dead, and the weasel still alive but stunned. It was soon despatched, and they examined the beautiful hawk which had fallen a victim to its bravery. The weasel's jaws were stained with egg-juice, and not far off they found the hen-harrier's nest which the weasel had been rifling when the hawk attacked it. The nest was built on the ground, and was something like a coot's nest, large and strong in structure. It contained four bluish eggs, two of which were broken. [Illustration: WEASEL.] "I tell you what, Frank," said Jimmy, "we must stuff the hawk and weasel, and mount them just as they appeared in the air. It will make a grand group. I am sorry for the hawk, but it is a lucky find for us and our museum nevertheless." In the meantime they skinned the hawk and weasel, and simply stuffed their skins with cotton-wool and laid them by in the locker. It is not necessary to stuff birds in their natural attitude to preserve them for a cabinet. They may be loosely stuffed with cotton-wool and laid side by side in drawers and labelled, just like eggs, and if at any time afterwards it is desired to set them up in life-like positions, the skins can be softened by letting them lie for a few days in a damp place. They sailed at a great rate down to Yarmouth, and brought up just outside a row of wherries which were moored to the quay. CHAPTER XI. To the Rescue.--A Long-tailed Tit's Nest.--A Shower of Feathers. When they had made all snug, they set out for a walk through the town, and as the quay-side was not so pleasant as the open country, they determined not to sleep on board the yacht this night, but to sleep at an hotel. They therefore went to one by the beach and engaged beds. They then ordered and ate an uncommonly good dinner, at the close of which the waiter intimated to them that he had never seen any young gentlemen before who had such good appetites. After a due amount of rest they set out for a stroll. Presently they met a boy with a nest in his hand, which was evidently that of a long-tailed tit. They watched the boy join a gang of other boys, and after some conversation they took a number of tiny white eggs out of the nest, and arranged them on the ground in a row. "By Jove, they are going to play 'hookey smash' with them. What heathens!" said Frank. The boy who had brought the eggs now took a stick and made a shot at one of the eggs, and smash it went. Another boy took a stick and prepared to have his turn. "I say, I can't stand this," said Frank. "Let us make a rush and rescue the eggs," and suiting the action to the word, he ran forward, and with a well-applied shove of his foot to the inviting target which a stooping boy presented to him, he sent him rolling into the gutter. Jimmy picked up the nest and eggs, and then the three found themselves like Horatius and his two companions when they kept the bridge against Lars Porsena and his host, "facing fearful odds" in the shape of a dozen yelling street-boys. Frank was a big lad for his age, and he stood in such an excellent boxing position, his blue eyes gleaming with such a Berserker rage, and Jimmy and Dick backed him so manfully, that their opponents quailed, and dared not attack them save with foul language, of which they had a plentiful supply at command. Seeing that their enemies deemed discretion the better part of valour, our three heroes linked themselves arm in arm, and marched home with their heads very high in air, and with a conscious feeling of superiority. "What are you laughing at, Dick?" said Frank. "At the cool way in which you robbed those fellows of their eggs. You had no right to do so. They _will_ wonder why you did it." "Let them wonder. I was so savage at their spoiling those beautiful eggs in such a brutal manner. At the same time I acknowledge that it wasn't my business, no more than if it were their own ha'pence they were smashing, but all the same I feel that we have done a very meritorious action." They now found themselves at the quay-side, and they stopped there some time, being much struck by the scene which presented itself to them as they gazed out over Breydon Water. The tide was flowing in rapidly, and Breydon was one vast lake, at the further end of which, five miles away, the rivers Waveney and Yare joined it, and, at the end near Yarmouth, the Bure, down which they had just sailed. The breeze had risen to a gale, and as it met the incoming tide it raised a sharp popply sea. The sun was setting red and splendid over the far end behind a mass of black fiery-edged cloud, through rents in which the brilliant light fell upon the tossing waste of waters, and tipped each wave-crest with crimson. Above the cloud the sky was of a delicate pale green, in which floated cloudlets or bars of gold, which were scarcely more ethereal-looking than the birds which breasted the gale with wavering flight. Out of the sunset light there came a gallant array of vessels making for the shelter of Yarmouth. Dark-sailed wherries with their peaks lowered and their sails half mast high, and yachts with every possible reef taken in, all dashing along at a great pace, notwithstanding the opposing tide, and each with a white lump of foam at its bows. The parallel rows of posts which marked the sailing course stood out gaunt and grim, like warders of the sunset gates, and the whole scene was wild and impressive. It so moved Dick, that when they got back to their hotel he sat down, and tried his hand at making some verses descriptive of it. They are not good enough to quote, but Frank and Jimmy both thought them very good, only they were not impartial critics. As they were sitting in the coffee-room that evening, Jimmy said that he should like to see how many feathers the long-tailed tit's nest contained. It looked a regular hatful, and he wondered how the tiny bird could have had the patience to collect so many. So he drew a small table aside, and sat himself down at it with the nest before him, and then set to work to count the feathers, putting them in a pile at his right side as he did so. Dick joined him, and the two worked away for a long time at the monotonous task of counting. The feathers as they were piled up loosely on the table formed a big feather-heap. Frank grew tired of watching them, and a wicked idea entered his head. The window near which they sat encountered the whole force of the wind. Frank lounged up to it, and, under cover of a question, undid the latch. "How many are there?" he asked. "We have counted 2,000, and there are about 300 more. We shall soon finish." "Shall you, indeed," said Frank, as he opened the window. The wind rushed in, and catching the light feathers scattered them all over the room, which was full of people, some reading, some eating, and some enjoying a nightcap of toddy. The feathers stuck everywhere--on the food, in the glasses, sticking on hair and clothes, and tickling noses, and causing universal consternation. [Illustration: LONG-TAILED TIT AND EGG.] "Here's a pretty kettle of fish!" said Jimmy, looking up in dismay. "How could you, Frank?" But Frank had vanished out of the window laughing incontinently, and Dick and Jimmy were left alone to bear the storm of expostulations and reproaches with which they were favoured by the company, who thought the whole affair was premeditated. CHAPTER XII. Yarmouth.--The "Rows".--A Stiff Breeze.--An Exciting Sail.-- Sparrow-hawk's Nest.--A Nasty Fall.--Long-eared Owl.-- Partridge.--Sandpiper. Yarmouth is a queer old semi-Dutch town, and is often compared in shape to a gridiron, the bars of that article corresponding to the "Rows" which are such a peculiar feature of Yarmouth. These rows stretching across from the quay-side to the principal street are very narrow, yet contain the houses and shops of a great portion of the population. Many are only wide enough for foot passengers but along others, carts of a peculiar construction can pass. These carts are very long and narrow, and have only two wheels, and a stranger seeing them for the first time would wonder what they were for. Below Breydon Water the river narrows very much, and flows past numerous fish-wharves and quays to the sea. The tide rises up this narrow neck with great force, and were it not for the safety-valve which is afforded by the vast expanse of Breydon Water, where the tide can expand and waste its force, it would rush on and flood the low-lying marshes for miles up the river. The boys had resolved to start on their voyage up Breydon Water at ten o'clock in the morning, when the tide would be making and would help them on their way, but when they had staggered down to their boat in the teeth of a fierce north-wester, and saw Breydon white with foam, torn off short snappy waves caused by the meeting of wind and tide, they were rather dismayed, and held a council of war as to what should be done. Not a sail could be seen on the wide expanse of Breydon Water. The sky was of a hard and pitiless blue, and clearly foretold a continuance of the gale. "Shall we venture or not?" said Frank. "What do you feel inclined to do yourself?" asked Jimmy. "Well, I don't think there is any great risk. We will take every reef in, and the tide will be in our favour. It will be a good trial for the yacht too. If we can get to the top of Breydon against this gale we shall have every reason to be satisfied with her. I am game to try." "So am I," said Jimmy. "Then if you are, I am," said Dick. "That's right. Then do you make all snug on board, while I run back to the town. I have something to buy," and off he went. In a short time he returned with a small life-belt in his hand. "Here, this is for you, Dick. Jimmy and I swim so well that there is no danger for us, but you cannot swim so very far yet, so you had better wear this in case of a capsize, though I don't expect one. Now, are you ready?" "Yes." "Then, Jimmy, do you take the main-sheet, and you, Dick, take the mizen-sheet, and I will cast off." The sails were hoisted, and everything made taut and trim. Frank undid the moorings, and jumped on board, seizing the tiller just as the yacht's head turned from the shore, and she heeled over before the wind. No sooner was she free from the quay than she seemed to be at the opposite side of the river, at such a pace did the wind impel her. Although her raft-like frame gave her so much stability, yet she heeled over until her deck to leeward was in the water. She came back on the opposite tack with the speed of a racehorse. Frank said,-- "I say, she fairly seems to run away from us. Quick, loose the sheet, Jimmy! Here's a squall!" and the yacht ran up into the wind, and her sails fluttered as Frank kept her so until the gust had passed. They were soon out in the open water of Breydon, and were able to take longer tacks. This gave them some ease, but they found that the _Swan_ was not a "dry" boat. Her lowness and flat shape caused her to "ship" the short curling seas. They, of course, passed over her deck harmlessly, but nevertheless they made her wet and uncomfortable. As long, however, as she was safe and sailed well, the boys did not mind this at all, and they stuck to their work bravely, handling their yacht with great skill and courage. Large portions of Breydon are dry at low tide, and are there called "muds," or "flats." On these muds flocks of sea-fowl congregate. "These are capital places in the winter for wild-fowl shooting," said Frank, "we must have a day's sport here in the next hard frost. Bell will come with us, and show us some good fun, I am sure." "My father has a big swivel duck-gun somewhere about. If that will be of any use I will look it up," said Dick. "Of course it will be of use, old man. Just the thing we want. Haul in her sheet, Jimmy. We can sail a point nearer to the wind, if we choose. I say, this is fine! What muffs we were to think that there was any danger, or that the yacht could not do it. See how well she behaves! But there, I am putting her too full, and she was very nearly capsized. The man at the wheel must not speak, so don't talk to me." "This may be fine fun for you, Frank, but my hands have nearly all the skin taken off them by the rope. It is jolly hard work holding on to this, I can tell you," said Jimmy, who, indeed, had got his work cut out for him. "Same here," said Dick; "I don't care how soon it is over, for my hands are awfully flayed. I wish we could make the sheet fast." "Ah, you must not do that, or we shall be upset at the next gust," said Frank. After an hour and a half of very exciting sailing, they had sailed the five miles of Breydon Water, and ran into the smoother current of the Waveney. Here, also, they got the wind more aslant, and skimmed along at a great pace with very little labour. In this way, they sailed some fifteen miles, and at length came to anchor in a sheltered spot under a wood-crowned bank not far from Beccles. After making all snug and eating their dinner, the most natural thing to do was to explore the wood near them. They left the yacht, and crossing a meadow they entered the wood. It was a thick fir-plantation and promised well for nests. "What is that one?" said Jimmy, pointing to a nest in a tall fir-tree. "Is it a crow's, or an old wood-pigeon's, or a hawk's? Who will go up and see?" "I will," said Frank, and up he went hand over hand among the thick boughs. As he neared the top, he was obliged to proceed more cautiously, for the branches were thin, and the tree swayed in the wind. All doubts as to the kind of nest were speedily dissolved, for with a cry of rage, a sparrow-hawk came dashing up, and flew in circles around the tree, screaming angrily, and making fierce attacks at the invader of its home. Frank, nothing daunted, continued his upward way, and soon was able to see into the nest. "There are four young ones," he cried. [Illustration: SPARROW-HAWK.] "What a pity," said Jimmy. "If they had only been eggs! Look sharp and come down, Frank, you are swinging about so much that it does not seem safe up there." But Frank answered nothing, and remained on his perch. "What is the matter, Frank?" "I am thinking about something." "A tree-top is a funny place to think. Here is the other hawk coming to pay you a visit, and it is the female. She will be more savage than the other, and may attack you." "No fear," said Frank, but at that moment both hawks made a sudden onslaught upon him, and the female struck him so savagely, that she tore a big gash in his cheek. He was so startled at this unexpected and hostile measure that he lost his hold and fell. When Dick and Jimmy saw their leader crashing through the branches, and turning over and over as he fell, they could not repress a shriek, and closed their eyes to shut out the horrible accident that must happen. They waited in fearful suspense for the expected thud, but not hearing it, they ventured to look up again, and saw Frank lying on a thickly spreading branch not far below the nest. He was lying quite still, but clutching hold of the boughs with his hands. Both Dick and Jimmy flew to the tree, and commenced to climb it. With a speed that seemed wonderful to them afterwards they reached Frank. "Are you hurt, old man?" "Not at all, only all the wind is knocked out of me. I shall be all right in a minute. I say, if my mater saw that tumble, she would not let me go out alone any more, would she? That hawk was a plucky bird. I am going up to the nest again." "What for? I should think you have had enough of hawks' nests for a long time." "Yes, but I want to take two of the young ones. Two of them are much larger than the others, so they must be females. Now I'll tell you what struck me before the bird knocked me off my perch. Suppose we take these young hawks, and train them up in the way they should go--that is, let us use them for hawking." "It is a good idea and no mistake--but can we do that?" "Easily," answered Frank, gathering himself together, and resuming his ascent. "What a cool fellow he is," said Dick to Jimmy. "He does not seem to know what danger is." "He does not choose to show it, if he does. But let us go up and help him with the hawks." The young hawks were fully fledged and nearly ready to fly. They were fierce enough now, but Frank said he would undertake to tame them, and fit them for hawking before the winter, if the other boys would help him. The idea of reviving that famous old sport was a very fascinating one, and they determined to do their best to carry it out, with what result will afterwards be seen. In the meantime it was a difficult matter to dispose of the birds. They tied strings to their legs, and kept them in the cabin, feeding them, and taking as much care of them as if they were babies, until they came to Norwich, when they sent them to Bell, who took care of them until their return. After taking the hawks to the boat, the boys went back to the wood and separated, so that they might cover more ground. Suddenly peals of laughter were heard coming from the corner of the wood. Frank, pushing aside the branches to get a clearer view, was surprised to see Dick staring at a thick Scotch fir, holding his sides, and laughing until the tears ran down his cheeks. Frank hastened up to him to see where the fun was. Dick could only point, for he was too far gone for speech. Frank looked in the direction he pointed, and immediately burst into a fit of laughter far more uproarious than Dick's. Jimmy, running up as fast as he could, saw both his friends laughing and capering like mad. "What on earth is the matter? Have you both gone crazy?" They pointed to the Scotch fir. Jimmy looked, and immediately fell a roaring with laughter as hard as the others. [Illustration: LONG-EARED OWL.] This is the explanation. On a horizontal bough of the tree were seated six young long-eared owls. They were fully fledged, but unable to fly, and according to their custom they had left their nest and were perched together on this branch waiting for their parents to feed them. They looked most extremely absurd and ridiculous as they sat, each on one foot swaying to and fro after their manner on the bough, and gravely winking their large brown eyes at the intruders. It is impossible to give any idea of the comicality of the scene any more than it is possible to give a true description in words of the grotesque gestures of a clown. Of this owl Morris says,-- "It is readily tamed, and affords much amusement by the many grotesque attitudes it assumes, to which its ears and eyes give piquancy. It may often be detected that a small orifice is left through which it is peeping when its eyes would seem to be shut, and it has the singular faculty of being able to close one eye while the other is not shut, so that it may appear wide awake on one side while apparently asleep on the other, or if asleep, may be so literally with one eye open. The ears are raised by excitement; at other times they are depressed." [Illustration: COMMON PARTRIDGE.] On its head this owl has two tufts of feathers which look like donkey's ears, and give it its name. It is common in many parts of England, and frequents thick fir-woods, where it builds in old nests of crows and hawks, or even squirrels, which it lines with wool, and in which it lays two or three round white eggs. Jimmy sadly wanted to take one of the young ones home, but the hawks were as much as they could manage in the yacht, and after all, the owl would be of no use to them, and it might die, so they reluctantly left the birds on their perch to snore in peace. [Illustration: EGG OF COMMON PARTRIDGE.] "What is that partridge calling for?" said Frank. "I can't think," answered Jimmy. "It seems to come from the top of that haystack, but that is a very unlikely place for a partridge in the breeding season." "I will go up and see," said Dick, "if you will give me a back." They soon lifted him up, and as they did so, a French or red-legged partridge flew off. "Here is her nest with ten eggs in it," cried Dick, "what an extraordinary spot for a nest." And so it was, but not altogether singular, for the partridge has been known to build in a hollow tree, and in other unlikely situations. Leaving the wood, they proceeded up a small stream which empties itself into the Waveney. As they advanced, a sandpiper took short flights in front of them. It was presently joined by another, and the two seemed so uneasy, that the boys concluded that their nest could not be far off. They therefore set to work to examine every likely spot with great care. Dick was the one who found it, in fact he very nearly trod upon it. Four cream-coloured eggs with brown spots, very much pointed and very large for the size of the bird, lay in a hollow in a gravelly bank, upon a few pieces of dry grass and leaves, the birds' apology for a nest. The sandpipers flew over head, uttering their cry of "weet, weet, weet," with great anxiety, and they looked so pretty, that the boys felt sorry for them, and only took two of their eggs. The summer snipe, as this bird is also called, is well known to everyone who wanders by the side of streams or lakes. Its white stomach contrasts so prettily with its dusky back, and it walks so merrily about the water-edge, trotting over the lily leaves, and taking short flights before the angler, that it is one of my favourite birds, the kingfisher and the water-ouzel being the other two. Jimmy had gone off up a small ravine thickly covered with underwood, in search of a fern or two which he expected to find there. He had not been gone long before they heard him give a loud shout, and turning towards the spot, they saw a woodcock float out of a covert with that owl-like flight which it sometimes affect. "Here is its nest," shouted Jimmy. This news was sufficient to make the boys rush at once to the place where Jimmy stood. On the ground under a holly-bush was the nest, with four eggs in it, of a dirty yellowish white, spotted with pale brown. [Illustration: COMMON SANDPIPER.] "Well," said Frank, "I think we have had an uncommonly good day." "So do I," replied Jimmy, "and I feel uncommonly hungry. Don't you?" "It seems to me that we do nothing but eat," observed Dick. "I should like to go to bed soon. I am tired, and my ribs ache from my tumble," said Frank. CHAPTER XIII. A Grizzly Bear.--Gossamers.--Strike only on the Box. After Frank's cuts and bruises were plastered up, the boys turned into their berths and were soon fast asleep. Now the hawks had been placed in a corner at the foot of Jimmy's berth, and crouched together quiet and sullen. The foot of Jimmy's bed was only about six inches from them, and as he turned and twisted in his sleep, he pushed his foot out of the bottom of the bed, exposing his toes within tempting reach of the young hawks' talons. The natural consequence followed. One of the birds seeing this capital chance of avenging himself on his enemies, seized fast hold of Jimmy's big toe with his sharp beak. Jimmy jumped up with a loud yell, and hitting his forehead against the roof of the cabin fell down again on the floor. Frank, hearing a noise, started up not more than half awake, and fell out of his hammock on to the top of Jimmy, whom he seized by the throat. Dick awoke from a dream of Arctic exploration, and cried out,-- "Is that a grizzly bear?" "Grizzly bear!" said Jimmy, whom Frank had released. "Something ten times worse than a bear has seized my toe and bitten it off, or nearly so, and then I hit my head against the roof, and Frank half choked me. I think it is a great deal too bad." "You must have been dreaming, Jimmy," said Frank; "there is nothing here that could bite your toe." "But I can feel that it is bleeding!" answered Jimmy, in a very injured tone of voice. At that moment a noise in the corner of his berth attracted their attention. "Oh, it must have been the hawks!" said Dick, and he and Frank went off into fits of laughter, which only grew more boisterous as Jimmy proceeded to light a candle, and bind his toe up with a piece of sticking-plaster, grumbling all the time, and casting savage glances at the offending birds. The light was put out, and they once more went to bed, Jimmy taking care to tuck his feet well under him. Every now and then a smothered burst of laughter from the other berths told him that his friends were still enjoying the joke, and then, as his toe began to pain him less, his sense of the ludicrous overcame his sense of outraged dignity, and just as Dick and Frank were dropping off to sleep, they were again startled by a peal of laughter from Jimmy. "Oh dear!" said Frank, "you will be the death of us, Jimmy. Have you only now discovered the joke?" "Oh, don't make me laugh any more. My sides are aching so," said Dick. Once more composed, they went to sleep, and awoke early in the morning to find that the gale had spent itself, and that a soft air from the south blew warmly over the land. The sun shone his brightest, and the birds sang their merriest. They had a bathe in the clear river water, and dressed leisurely on the top of their cabin, while the sun, which had not risen very long, threw their shadows, gigantic in size, over the green meadows, which were covered with silvery gossamers--and then they were witnesses of a curious phenomenon. Their shadows had halos of light around them, extending about eighteen inches from each figure, all around it. The strong light from behind them, shining on the wet and gleaming gossamers, was no doubt the cause of this singular appearance. The same sight has been seen when the grass was wet with dew. "The fields are quite silvery with the gossamer," said Dick. "Is it not pretty!" "Yes, what a number of spiders there must be to cause such an appearance," answered Frank. "It always puzzles me how those spiders move about--and how is it that on some mornings they appear in such immense quantities, while on the next morning, perhaps, not one will be seen?" "I think they are always there," replied Dick, "but they are only visible when the dew is falling heavily, and wetting them so that they become visible. In the clear air, too, the sun will dry them so that we shall not be able to see them; but they will be there all the same. Let us gather a bunch of rushes with a lot of them on and examine them." He did so, and they saw great numbers of tiny spiders gliding about their tiny webs. By and by, as they watched them, the little spiders shot out long silvery threads, which floated out to leeward, and then the spiders let go their hold and launched themselves into the air, and were borne away by the faint south wind. "Oh, so that is the secret of their wandering, is it? Don't you wish you could send a long floating thread from your stomach, Jimmy, and sail away over the marshes? It would be as good as having wings." "Don't be so absurd, Frank." A wherry was being pushed up the stream by its two stalwart boatmen, by the process known in Norfolk as quanting. The men placed their long poles or quants into the river at the bow of the wherry, and, placing their shoulders against them, walked to the stern, propelling the boat along with their feet. By this laborious method, when the wind fails them, do the wherrymen work their craft to their destination. As they passed the yacht, one of them cried out-- "We have got no matches, guv'nor. Can you give us some?" "Certainly," replied Frank; and diving into the cabin, he returned with a handful. These he handed to the wherryman, who thanked him and passed on. The man stopped quanting and tried to strike a match by rubbing it on the sole of his shoe. It failed to ignite, and he threw it down. Another met with the same fate, and another also. Then he tried striking them on wood, then on iron, then on his rough jacket, but all to no purpose, and they could see him trying one after another, and throwing them down with every symptom of disgust. "Why, Frank, those matches strike only on the box," said Dick. "I know that," replied Frank, laughing quietly. "Oh, that's too bad. Fancy the fellow's disgust!" They sailed up to the pretty little town of Beccles, where they took in provisions, and Frank bought some more sticking-plaster in case of any further accident. They then had a good dinner at the principal inn, and afterwards called upon a friend, who took them over the large printing-works near the town, where many books published in London are printed. They began with the compositors' room, where, with marvellous rapidity, the workmen were selecting the letters from their respective boxes in the case of type, and arranging them in their proper order. The extraordinary illegibility of some of the MSS. from which the compositors were reading with apparent ease astonished our boys, who could make nothing of them. They then paid a visit to the reader, who has the wearisome and eye-tiring task of reading over and correcting the proofs. When the proofs have been corrected and the "revise" submitted to the author, and his corrections made, the process of stereotyping comes in. The sheet of type is covered with a layer of plaster-of-paris, which takes a perfect impression of the words on the sheet of type. From this plaster-of-paris cast another cast is taken in metal, and this forms the stereotype plate from which the book is printed. The type, which is very valuable, can then be distributed to its proper places, and used again. The stereotype plates are always kept stored in stacks, like bottles in a wine-bin. Jimmy, being of a mechanical turn of mind, was very much interested in the stereotyping process, and more particularly in the account they received of the way in which many daily papers are printed. The impression is in the first instance taken by means of a soft wet paper of sufficient thickness. This is dried, and the molten metal is poured upon it, and takes a perfect impression, without in any way spoiling the paper mould, or "matrix," which can be used again, while a plaster one cannot. Jimmy asked to be shown some wooden blocks from which wood engravings are printed, and the boys examined them curiously. They received an invitation to spend the evening at their friend's house, and after returning to the boat to feed the hawks with some "lights" bought at a butcher's shop, they had a very pleasant evening, and slept that night on shore. CHAPTER XIV. Oulton Broad.--Lateeners.--Lowestoft.--Ringed-Plover's Nest.-- Oyster-catcher.--Shore Fishing.--A Perilous Sail. [Illustration: LATEEN SAIL.] They sailed quietly down the river again, and excited much attention from the many yachts they met. They turned off along Oulton Dyke, and on to Oulton Broad. The lake was full of craft of all rigs and sizes. There had been a regatta there the day before, and the major part of the yachts still remained. There was a stately schooner, moving with dignity; a smart cutter, heeling well over, but dashing along at a great pace; a heavy lugger; and, most graceful of all, the lateeners. These are a class of boats peculiar to the Norfolk waters and to the Mediterranean. The shape of them will be familiar to all who have ever looked at a picture of the Bay of Naples. They carry immense yards, the yard of a boat thirty feet long being about sixty feet in length. Such a yard, of course, carries a very large sail. In addition to this large sail they have a fore and aft mizen astern. They sail wonderfully close to the wind, but in running before it they sometimes take it into their heads to duck under, because the weight of the sail is all thrown on the fore-part of the boat, and sometimes proves too much for it. A boat which attracted our boys' attention was a lugger, with her sails crossed by strips of bamboo, so that they looked something like Venetian blinds. These made the sails stand very flat and firm, and the boat so rigged seemed to sail very fast. The sun-lit waters of the broad, covered as they were with rapidly-moving yachts, whose white sails contrasted with the blue water and sky and the green fringe of tall reeds which encircled the lake, presented a very pretty spectacle, and one that called forth the admiration of our young yachtsmen. As they threaded their way through the numerous vessels, they saw that they themselves were an object of curiosity, and as sound travels far on the water, and people seldom think of that when they speak on it, the boys overheard many comments upon themselves. Those upon their boat were sometimes not flattering, but those upon their skill in handling her upon that crowded water were very appreciative, and at length Frank said, with something like a blush-- "Look here, this is getting too warm. I vote we moor her, and go to Lowestoft to have a dip in the sea." The others agreed to this, and having moored the yacht in a safe place, they took their departure. At the lower end of Oulton Broad is a lock, by which vessels can be raised or lowered, as the case may be, to or from Lake Lothing, a tidal piece of water, communicating with the sea through Lowestoft harbour. A brigantine collier was in the lock when our boys came up, and they stood and watched it come through, going out upon a floating raft of wood, so as to see it better entering the broad. "Why, look at her bows. They are carved all over like an old-fashioned mantel-piece." As it came through the lock, it knocked against their raft, and threatened their safety, so seizing hold of the chains that hung over its bows, they climbed on board and entered into a conversation with her skipper. He told them that his ship was 100 years old, and he considered her still stronger than many a ship of more recent build. He had on board some beautiful little dogs of the Spanish breed, pure white and curly-haired, with sharp noses, and bright black eyes. Dick insisted on buying one. "We cannot have it on board with the hawks," said Frank. "But I shall send it home by the carrier from Lowestoft," answered Dick. [Illustration: RINGED-PLOVER.] They walked along the shores of Lake Lothing to Lowestoft, and went and had a bathe. Then they walked along the cliffs towards Pakefield, and while crossing a sandy spot Dick discovered a ringed plover's nest. There were three eggs, cream-coloured, and blotched with brown. They were simply laid in a hole in the sand. They saw the old birds running along the shore before the wind, as is their habit, and looking very pretty with their grey beaks, and white stomachs, and black collars. On the shore they also saw some oyster catchers, with their plumage nearly all black, except a white belt, and white bars on their wings; and also a pair of redshanks, with their long red legs and bills, and French grey plumage; but although their nests are common enough in Suffolk (in which county our boys now were), they failed to find their eggs. The redshanks nest on the ground in marshy places, and lay eggs of a great family likeness to those of other birds which lay in similar positions. On the shore men and boys were fishing in the following manner:-- They had long lines with a number of hooks on at regular intervals, which were baited with mussels. One end of the line was pegged into the sand; the other was heavily weighted with lead. They had a throwing-stick with a slit at one end. Into this slit the line next the weight was introduced. With the aid of the stick the line was thrown out a considerable distance. After being allowed to rest some time it was hauled in, and the fish taken off. In this way they caught flat-fish and small codlings, and some of them had accumulated a large heap of fish. [Illustration: OYSTER-CATCHER.] Two boatmen came up to the boys, and asked them if they would like a sail. "We'll take you for an hour for sixpence each." "Well, it's reasonable enough," said Frank; "I vote we go." So they stepped on board and were soon tacking merrily about, a mile or two from land. "Did you ever see two uglier fellows than our boatmen?" said Dick in a whisper to Frank. "No--but what are they staring at that steamer so hard for?" A large yacht was making direct for Lowestoft harbour. "I say," said Frank, "is not that steamer standing too close in shore? There is a bank of sand somewhere about there. I remember seeing remains of a wreck there not long ago." "Hush! hold your tongue," answered the steersman. "What do you mean, sir? If she goes on in that course she'll strike." The man looked savagely at him, and replied, "Look here, young man, if she strikes there will be no harm done. The sea is too smooth, and we shall be the first on the spot to help them off, and we shall get a good long sum of money for salvage. If you hold your tongue and say nothing you shall go shares. If you don't, I'll crack your head for you, so mind you don't give her any signal." "You unfeeling fellow!" said Frank. "Shout, Jimmy and Dick, with all your might. I will settle this blackguard." Jimmy and Dick obeyed and waved their hats to the advancing yacht. The man at the helm could not let go the tiller, but his mate made the sheet fast, and rose to strike Frank. Frank seized the stretcher from the bottom of the boat and raised it in the air. "Touch me, if you dare!" he said. The brute struck at him, enraged at the prospect of losing so large a sum of money as his share of the salvage would amount to. Frank avoided the blow, and with all the strength of his lithe young body, brought the stretcher down on the fellow's skull. He dropped to the bottom of the boat, and lay there as still as a log. "Now we are three to one," he said to the steersman, "so you must do as we tell you." The man was a coward at heart, though a bully by nature, so he dared make no objection. Meanwhile the yacht sheered off, but not soon enough to avoid just touching the end of the shoal, and getting a bump, which threw the people on her deck down, and gave them a fright. They passed on without so much as shouting "thank you." They now steered for the shore, Frank retaining the stretcher in his hand, in case of an attack. The man whom he had stunned soon came to himself, and growled and swore horribly, but dared not do more. When they landed Frank said, "Now you are a pair of blackguards, and I shall not pay you anything;" and followed by his companions he turned away. Before he had gone many steps, however, he turned back and said, while he pitched them half-a-crown: "There, that's for plaster!" CHAPTER XV. Animals which never die.--A Wonderful Tip to his Tail.-- Thunderstorm.--Swan's Nest.--Bearded Tit.--Reed-wrens and Cuckoo. The next day they sailed down the Waveney, until they came to Haddiscoe, and then, instead of continuing down to Breydon Water, they went along the New Cut, a wide channel which unites the Waveney with the Yare, joining the latter at Reedham. They found the channel of the Yare very much broader than the Bure or the Waveney; and as they had a favourable breeze for the greater part of the way, and there was plenty of room to tack in the reaches where it was against them, they made rapid progress. As they sailed quietly along, Dick lay on the roof of the cabin reading a number of _Science Gossip_ which they had bought at Lowestoft. Presently he cried out,-- "Do you know that there are animals which never die?" The others laughed at the idea, but Dick proceeded to read out as follows:-- "Will the reader be astonished to hear that there are exceptions to the universal law of death, that there are animals, or at any rate portions of animals, which are practically immortal. Such, however, is really the case. I allude to a species of the genera Nais and Syllis, marine worms of no special interest to the ordinary observer, but those who have watched their habits closely, tell us of the almost extraordinary power of spontaneous division which they enjoy. Self-division, as a means of propagation, is common enough among the lower members of both animal and vegetable kingdoms, but the particular kind to which I refer now, is, I believe, peculiar to these singular worms. At certain periods the posterior portion of the body begins to alter its shape materially, it swells and grows larger, and the transverse segments become more strongly marked. At the last joint, at the point where it joins the first segment of the body, a true head is formed, furnished with antennæ, jaws, and whatever else goes to make a marine worm "perfect after its kind," and forthwith the whole drops off, a complete animal, capable of maintaining a separate existence. Whether the process goes on for ever--that is to say, throughout all generations--of course, no one can tell; but if it does--and there is no reason to suppose the contrary--then it is self-evident that the posterior portion of one of these worms is, as I observed before, practically never dying. It is simply fitted every now and then with a new head! In fact, the tail of the first Syllis ever formed, provided it has had the good luck to escape external accident, must still be in existence--a truly venerable animal, and without controversy the 'oldest inhabitant' of the seas." "It strikes me," said Frank, "that that animal would be something like the Irishman's stocking, which he had worn for a score of years. It had been re-footed and re-legged several times, yet he always asserted that it was the original stocking, although there was not a particle of the old stuff in it." "What a wonderful tip to his tail some animal has got then, if that is true," said Jimmy. I cannot say whether the statement of the writer in _Science Gossip_ is strictly accurate, for who can decide when doctors disagree; but it seems plain enough that the process of generation by sub-division is far nearer the longed-for perpetual life, than anybody has been able to get to the coveted solution of the problem of perpetual motion. "Do you know that the water we are sailing on is higher than the marshes around us?" said Frank. "Yes, and all those windmills are to pump the water up from the drains. They look very funny twirling away all by themselves." Early in the day they reached a public-house surrounded by a little grove of trees, which gave an agreeable variety to the landscape. This was Coldham Hall, and as the sky was clouding over and the wind sighing fitfully through the reeds and the trees, and there was every symptom of a violent storm, the boys decided to remain there until the morrow, and then sail up to Norwich. During the afternoon they amused themselves by fishing for eels, which were biting very freely. The heavens grew black, and the thunder muttered at intervals, but the storm held off until the evening, and then as it was getting dark it came on most violently. The rain came down in torrents. The lightning lit up the marsh for miles most vividly, and each flash was succeeded by an intenser blackness, while the bellowing of the thunder made the very earth shake. The boys stood at the door of the inn, gazing at the storm and awe-struck by its mighty power. "I don't like the idea of sleeping on the river to-night," said Jimmy. "The landlord has a bedroom vacant, and I vote we sleep here instead of going on board." The others willingly consented, and Dick and Jimmy had a double-bedded room between them, while Frank slept in a small attic. As the night wore on the storm passed away, but its mutterings could still be heard. Jimmy did not like thunder, and felt very nervous while it was about, as many otherwise brave people will. He could not for the life of him go to sleep, and lay tossing about in a most uncomfortable state for half the night, while Dick was slumbering peacefully. Jimmy could stand it no longer, and got out of bed with the intention of arousing Dick, and getting him to talk to him. He stole across the room, and by the faint starlight which came from the sky, which had partially cleared after the storm, he saw that Dick had kicked all the bed-clothes off, and lay very deep in slumber. He touched him lightly on the foot to awake him gently. To his amazement Dick lifted his leg and began to wave it slowly backwards in the air, at the same time whistling softly. Jimmy was so struck with the oddity of this procedure in a sleeping man that he burst into a peal of laughter. Even this did not wake Dick; and Jimmy, having now something to occupy his mind, went back to bed and laughed himself to sleep. When he detailed the incident to the others in the morning they would not believe him, but said that he must have been dreaming. [Illustration: SWAN'S NEST.] The morning broke sunny and with a wonderful freshness in the air, which put the boys into the highest spirits. They sailed a little way up the river to Surlingham Broad, which they wished to explore. They sailed past the main entrance to the broad, thinking there was a wider passage further on. Finding they were mistaken, they attempted to take the punt through a narrow and sinuous dyke which appeared to lead into the broad. They pushed their way along this for some distance until it became so narrow and shallow that they could scarcely get on. Just then they came round a corner of reeds, and to their dismay found that they had come suddenly upon a swan's nest. The female swan was sitting upon a huge pile of sticks placed on a small reedy island. Round this island the male swan was swimming in a very stately fashion, and when he saw the boys coming so near his beloved, he swam towards them, with his wings and tail raised and set out in a way that unmistakably told them he meant war. They hastily pushed back, but the punt stuck in the mud, and Frank had to take an oar and keep the swan at bay with it, while the others pushed the punt off and back again. [Illustration: SWAN.] "Pray, look sharp," said Frank, "I cannot keep him at bay much longer without my hurting him or his hurting me." "We're doing our best," said Jimmy, and missing his footing as he spoke he fell into the mud and water. "That's no help," said Frank, giving the swan a sharp poke with the oar. Jimmy scrambled into the boat, and the swan, satisfied that they were in full retreat, gave up the pursuit. They went back to the yacht, where Jimmy changed his clothes, and then went on to the broad by the proper channel. Their object in visiting this broad was to find the nest of the bearded tit, which Bell had told them bred there in great numbers. This beautiful little bird is now becoming very rare. Its home is among the reed-beds of Norfolk and Suffolk, but it has been so shot down wholesale by bird-stuffers, and its eggs collected for sale, that it has become exceedingly rare. It is a very pretty bird, having a long tail, fawn-coloured back, and white belly, but its distinguishing feature is that it has a pair of moustaches in the shape of black tufts of feathers depending from either side of its mouth. Very properly, too, it is only the males which have this appearance. In Norfolk it is called the reed pheasant. It is very interesting to see a flock of them flitting about the reeds. Like all the tit family, they are very lively, jerking up and down the reed-stems in all sorts of positions, and as often as not with their heads down and their tails up. Apart from the open water of the broad, there were numerous channels among the reeds which latter rose to the height of seven or eight feet above the water. Along these channels the boys made their way, listening attentively to the chirping of the birds, which they could hear but not see. By keeping very still they could at length distinguish two or three of the birds they sought, flitting about the reeds, and by the aid of their glass they could perceive the birds with great distinctness. The movements of one bird led them to its nest, and pushing their way with some difficulty they were fortunate enough to find it. It was built of dry stems of grass and sedges, and was placed about a foot from the ground (or water, for it was a compound of both), in the midst of a thick clump of reeds. It contained five eggs as large as those of a great tit, pinkish-white in colour, spotted and streaked with reddish brown, something like those of a yellow-hammer. While they were debating how many of the eggs they should take, Frank saw a tit fly from a tuft of reeds a few yards off, and on going there they found another nest with four eggs in it. This was lucky, for it enabled them to take two eggs from each nest without feeling any compunction. [Illustration: CUCKOO AND EGG.] They found several of the beautiful purse-like nests of the reed wrens attached midway up the tall reed-stems. In one of them there was a young cuckoo, the sole occupant of the nest. What had become of the little reed-wrens was plainly to be seen by the bodies which strewed the ground beneath. The poor little fledglings had been ousted from their home by the broad-backed cuckoo. I suppose we ought not to call him cruel, because it is the instinct of self-preservation which makes him behave so badly. If the young birds, the legitimate owners of the nest, had been allowed to remain, the old birds could not have fed them all, and the young cuckoo must have starved. The boys watched the nest for some time to see the old birds feed it, and they were greatly delighted to see the way in which the reed-wrens managed it. _They perched on the young cuckoo's back_ while they placed the food in its broad mouth. It was the only standing room there was, for the cuckoo more than covered the whole of the nest. "Who wouldn't be a naturalist!" said Frank, "when he can see such things as that?" Dick replied, "I did not know that life could possibly be so jolly, until I learnt something of natural history. I do wonder that so few fellows take to it. I suppose it is because books make it appear so dry. Books don't seem to me to go into the _sport_ of the thing. They only show you the surface of it, and not the life. I will try to write a book some day when--" and he hesitated. "When you get more conceited, eh, Dick?" said Frank laughingly. Then they sailed up to Bramerton, and when they brought up at the Wood's-end public-house they found a number of old school-fellows there, and the racing four-oar belonging to the school club. CHAPTER XVI. Old School fellows.--Tom-tit's Nest in Boot.--Nuthatch.-- Wryneck.--Ant-hill.--Marsh-Tit.--A Comical Fix. As the _Swan_ was brought up to her moorings at the Staithe the boys who were assembled on the green before the front of the house rushed down to inspect the strange boat and then to claim acquaintanceship with Frank and Jimmy. They were their old school-fellows, and were glad to see their old companions again. They swarmed over the yacht, criticising her, and asking questions about her and the cruise of the boys. Marston, a great big fellow, dived into the cabin exclaiming, "What a jolly little box!" and sat down on a berth to see how it felt. No sooner, however, had he sat down than he jumped up and out on deck, as quickly as a Jack in a box does when the spring is touched, at the same time uttering a howl of pain. "What is the matter?" said Frank. "I do not know," answered Marston, poking his head into the cabin again to see what was there, while he rubbed his back disconsolately. The fact of the matter was that he had sat down in the corner where the hawks were, and they, seeing an inviting bit of bare flesh between the waistband of his breeches and his jersey, had saluted him with a _one_, _two_, of very remarkable poignancy. Jimmy's delight at this incident was unbounded. He felt now that he was amply repaid for the damage to his own big toe. When the general laugh at this incident had subsided, Marston said:-- "I say, Frank, we are going to row a race with the Norwich Rowing Club. A four-oared race; it comes off the day after to-morrow; and most unfortunately our No. 3 has sprained his wrist and cannot row, and we did not know what to do. We have no other man big enough to take his place who is in condition. We were discussing the matter as you came up. Now, you are a good rower; will you row for us?" Frank was pleased at the invitation, especially as it was backed up by the others most cordially; but he said-- "I have not rowed for so long a time that I am quite out of condition." "Oh, nonsense, you look in perfect condition. If you have been out for a week's yachting you must be in capital condition. Do row, or we shall lose the race to a certainty." "You had better row, Frank," said both Jim and Dick together, but he still hesitated. "Come, Dick," said Jim, "let us go and birds'-nest in the wood while Frank listens to the voice of the charmer." So off they went, leaving Frank and the others to settle the question between them. Behind the inn there rose a steep wood-crowned bank, and it was to this that the two boys directed their steps. On their way they passed a skittle-alley, and Dick said to the man in charge-- "Can you show us any birds' nests?" "Yes, I can show you one in a very rum place. Look into that old pair of boots hanging against the wall." They did so, and to their surprise a tom-tit flew out, and upon closer inspection they found its nest in one of the boots, and in the nest twelve tiny white eggs. "These are master's marsh-boots, but when he found that the birds had begun to build in them, he gave orders that no one was to touch them until the birds had hatched off their young ones." [Illustration: TOM-TIT AND EGG.] Tom-tits have a knack of building their nests in strange places. Inside a pillar letter-box, where letters were being tossed every day; in a hole in a door-post, which was closed when the door was shut, so that the birds were shut up during the night; in the pocket of a gardener's coat hanging on a nail. Such are the places in which master tom-tit sometimes builds his nest. Even more curious, however, was a nest I read of which was built by a fly-catcher in the spring of a bell, which vibrated twenty times a day when the bell was rung. When they reached the wood, Dick's attention was attracted by the movements of a bird with a slaty blue back and fawn-coloured belly, which was flitting about the trunk of a large beech-tree. "What bird is that, Jimmy?" he asked. "It is a nuthatch. Let us watch it, and perhaps we may see its nest." [Illustration: NUTHATCH.] After a little while they saw it disappear into a hole in a neighbouring tree. Going up to this, they found that it was its nest, and that it was made after a fashion peculiar to these pretty birds. The nest was built in a hole in a tree, but the hole being larger than was required by the birds, they had built up the entrance with mud, like that which forms a swallow's nest, leaving an aperture only just large enough for the old birds to get in and out. Dick got on Jimmy's shoulders, and broke away a piece of mud, so that he could get his hand in. "There are five eggs, white with brown spots, and I have caught the old bird on." "Let her go, and take two of the eggs; I know Frank hasn't got any." Dick did so, and then moistening the piece of mud which he had removed, in a little pool which was near, he fixed it very neatly in its proper place again. Proceeding a little further, they saw a bird about as big as a nuthatch, but very different in appearance. It had a curiously mottled and brown-lined back. Every now and then it descended to the ground, and flew back again to a hole in a decayed poplar, varying the journey with wanderings up and down the trunk of that and adjacent trees. As it did so, it stretched forth its head and twisted its neck about in a very peculiar fashion. [Illustration: WRYNECK.] "That can be nothing else but a wryneck," said Jimmy, noticing its movement. "Its nest must be in that hole; but what is it picking from the ground?" [Illustration: WORKING ANT AND PORTION OF ANT-HILL.] Underneath a large fir-tree was a big conical heap of straw and leaves. Upon examination it was found to be swarming with large chestnut-coloured ants. It was a nest of the wood-ant, and thousands of the tiny creatures were busy dragging straws and sticks to build up the nest, or grains of wheat or other food. It was a grand feast for the wryneck, which had been picking up the ants' eggs, and carrying them to its young ones. The boys stood for some time looking at the busy heap, until from looking at the whole together they came to selecting particular ants and speculating on their destination, for every ant had a purpose in going and coming. One about a foot from the hill was tugging a piece of straw which was evidently too large for him to pull along unassisted, so he left it, and presently returned with a companion, and the two together managed to take the straw along capitally. Dick was much struck with this incident, which looked more like reason than instinct. And he would have stayed longer watching the ants, had not Jimmy been in a hurry to climb up to the wryneck's nest, and he could not do without Dick's help, who had to give him a back. When he got up he very nearly came down again, so startled was he to hear a loud hissing in the hole like that of a snake. The wryneck flew off, and as there could not be a bird and a snake together in the hole, he concluded that the bird had made the noise with intention to frighten him, and he boldly put his hand into the hole and popped his fingers into the gaping mouths of some young wrynecks. He nevertheless felt carefully about, in hope of finding an addled egg, and he was not disappointed. There were two addled eggs, which he brought down in safety. They were pure white, about the size of a swift's. [Illustration: EGG OF WRYNECK.] They now came to something in Dick's line. On a tall nettle-top sat a small tortoiseshell butterfly opening and shutting its wings with the fanning motion peculiar to its tribe. The rays of sunlight falling through the foliage of the trees overhead lit up the beauty of its red and black wings. Dick had not his net with him, so taking off his cap, he made after the butterfly, which launched into strong flight, and sailed away out of the wood and over the meadows with Dick in hot pursuit. Jimmy went on rambling through the wood, and presently saw a small tree which divided into two branches about a dozen feet from the ground. At this fork of the tree it was split some distance down, and, in this split, some moss betokened a nest of some kind. Jimmy threw a stone up, and as it clattered against the tree, a bird like a tom-tit, but with a black head, flew out. Jimmy watched it as it fluttered about the branches of the tree a few yards off, and soon came to the conclusion that it was a marsh-tit, and that its eggs were worth having. [Illustration: MARSH TIT AND EGG.] He accordingly climbed up the tree, and found that he could not reach the nest, which was too far down in the slit. By dint, however, of sitting on one of the forks, and pushing with all his might at the other, he succeeded in opening the crack wide enough for him to insert his hand and reach the nest. It contained eight eggs, white spotted with red. He took four of them, and sitting in the fork of the tree, he blew them and put them in his box. Then he thought of descending, and attempted to jump to the ground. To his astonishment he found himself brought up sharp, and then he saw that his trousers had caught in the slit, and that a large portion of the slack of them behind was firmly wedged in; and there he hung with his legs dangling in the air with ludicrous helplessness. He tried to haul himself up again, but he was in such an awkward position that he could not do it. He tried to open the crack with his hands, but with the weight of his body on the one side instead of in the middle, this could not be done. In despair he let go with his hands, in the hope that his trousers would tear and that he would fall to the ground; but they were too stout for that, and he only narrowly escaped turning topsy turvy and hanging in a worse position. Then he fell to laughing vigorously at the comical scrape he had got into. He did not laugh long, however, for he was very uncomfortable, and kick and struggle as he would, he could not get free. Then he felt more inclined to cry than he ever had done in his life before. It was so very humiliating to be hung up there like a cockchafer at the end of a pin. When he found he could not get down by himself he began to shout for help. "Dick, Dick, Dick!" but no Dick came. The fact was that Dick who had been unsuccessful in his chase after the butterfly, had returned to the spot from whence he started, and then not seeing Jimmy about, he concluded that he had gone back to the others--and all the time Jimmy was still up in the tree shouting lustily. Dick heard an inarticulate shouting, but never for one moment imagined it came from Jimmy. When, however, he saw that Jimmy was not with the others, he thought of the shouting; and they all went in search of the missing one, and when they found him they went into such fits of laughter that for some time no one could help him. "Oh dear, Jimmy, you will be the death of me! This is worse than the big toe affair," said Frank. "I say," said Jimmy, "don't tell anyone at home about this, there's a good fellow." "All right, I won't." Frank had agreed to row in the race, and while Jimmy and Dick sailed the yacht up to Norwich, he went for a racing spin in the four-oar, and found that he was in much better condition than he had thought. When they reached Norwich they found some letters awaiting them. Frank after reading his, said,-- "Hallo, Master Dick, you never said that you were going to send that dog you bought at Mutford to my sister Mary." "Didn't I?" answered Dick blushing. "No, of course you didn't. Well, here is a message for you from her; she says, 'Tell Dick that I am very much obliged to him for the pretty little dog. He is a sweet little dear, but he soon got into a scrape. He went into the laundry and ate up the blue-bag, flannel and all, and he isn't a bit the worse, although Florrie says she is sure his white coat will turn blue.'" CHAPTER XVII. The Boat-race.--Winning.--Mr. Marston.--Nightingale and Nest.-- The noise of the Nightingales. The next morning Frank had another row in the four-oar, and in the afternoon they practised starts. The boat went very well indeed, notwithstanding the importation of new blood into it at the last hour. The day of the race came, a beautiful summer day with a gentle breeze, and the glare of the sun subdued by light clouds. The race was at three o'clock, and a goodly company had assembled at Whitlingham to witness it. The course was from below Postwick Grove to Whitlingham, a distance of two miles, the latter part of which was a long straight course, where for nearly a mile the boats could be seen by all the spectators. "How do you feel, old man?" said Jimmy to Frank as he was in the boat-house dressing. "Oh, all right; we mean to win." "I don't know that you will though. I have seen the other crew rowing past on their way to the course. They have got such a splendid long stroke and swing so evenly." "Yes, they row well," said Marston, who was the stroke of Frank's boat, "but they have not got enough of 'go' in them. They take it too easily, and so don't get a good grip of the water; and I think they have over-trained. Still we shall have a hard job to beat them, but we all mean to try. Now look here, you fellows. This is what I mean to do. We will put on a spurt at first, and get ahead of them, and then settle down into a steady stroke." This was very good advice, for it is a well-known fact that boys row with all the more _esprit_ if they can only get a start at the beginning. They are not so good at rowing a 'waiting' race as men are, but if they can but get ahead at first they always have a very good chance against men who are much stronger than themselves. Dick and Jimmy went to their yacht, and as the wind, although light, was dead aft, they sailed down to Whitlingham before the racing-boats arrived there. There was a goodly number of spectators on the fair green meadow which lies between the river and the wood, for the race had excited some interest. The gay dresses of the ladies made the scene very lively and pretty. Dick gallantly made it known that the yacht, which they had moored by the winning-post, was at the service of the ladies, and his offer was taken advantage of, and the _Swan's_ deck was soon crowded with the fair sex. The Norwich boat was the first to appear on the scene. On they came with a long swinging stroke on their way to the starting-point. Nothing could be prettier to look at than their style of going. The crew rowed a long stroke which had every appearance of strength. They bent to and fro with the regularity of machines. The oars were pulled well home to the breast, the wrists dropped, and the oars feathered cleverly; the arms shot out, quickly followed by the body until the breast came well between the wide-open knees, but there was just one fault noticeable. The oars were put too gingerly into the water. There was no 'grip.' The men looked as if their boat were too light for them, and they were afraid of making her roll by too great an exertion of force. The men, too, looked pale and over-trained. A few minutes after they had passed, the boys came by with a quick, lively stroke, such a quick dash in it, and a firm grip of the water at the commencement of the stroke, that promised to do them good service. They did not go nearly so smoothly as their opponents; nor was this to be wondered at, seeing the change which had been effected so late in the day. Dick and Jimmy ran down the bank of the river to the starting-point, accompanied by many more. And now the boats were side by side, waiting for the signal to start. As the wind was light there was not much drifting, and a few strokes of the oars of bow and stroke kept them in position. Frank settled himself well on his seat, and waited for the word. The starter said, "I shall ask if you are ready and then say Go!" "Now mind," said Marston, "one short stroke to get her away, and then row with all your might to get her ahead." "Are you ready?" Frank grasped his oar firmly, and drew in his breath. "_Go!_" The oars flashed in the water, and then it seemed to Frank as if the other crew were fast drawing away from them. He clenched his teeth and threw all his power into the stroke, pulling with every muscle of his body from his scalp to his toes. The river was white with the foam churned by the oars. There seemed to be a deafening noise of rushing water and rattle of oars in the rowlocks. Marston's jersey had been hung on a nail, and this had caused a projection in it at the back of the neck. On this Frank fixed his eyes, neither looking to right or left of him for fear he should make the boat roll and lose time. Then out of the corner of his eye he saw that he was opposite number two in the rival boat, and he knew that they were gaining. Another dozen strokes and they were clear. Then Marston eased a bit, and the boys got into a little better time. Their coxswain tried to take the water of the other boat, and thus nearly caused a foul at the bend in the river, but Marston shook his head at him and he steered his own course. Frank had now lost his nervousness, and felt pretty comfortable and able to take a little notice of what was passing on the banks, where a small crowd was running at the top of its speed abreast of them; a noise which had been humming in his ears resolving itself into the eager shouts of the partisans of the rival crews. Dick was well in advance, saying, "Well rowed, number three; splendidly rowed, Frank;" and Jimmy was a little way behind him shouting as excitedly. Frank for a time fell into the error of thinking that he was doing the real work of the boat, and began to row somewhat too violently, when a warning voice from the bank cried out--"Steady, steady number three!" and that recalled him to himself. They were now in the straight reach, and in sight of the winning-post, and their opponents were steadily gaining on them. "Why doesn't Marston quicken?" thought Frank impatiently; but his stroke knew what he was about, and he kept on steadily until the boats were level once more. Frank's hands were becoming numbed, for he was so afraid of slipping his oar that he grasped it more firmly than was needful. His wind was going too, and his tongue seemed swollen and clove to the roof of his mouth. He ventured a side glance at number three in the other boat, and was relieved to find that he seemed in quite as bad a plight as himself. An unlucky swan got in the way, and Frank struck it violently with his oar, and very nearly caught a crab in consequence. A sudden puff of wind blew somebody's hat off, and Frank smiled as he saw it float past and knew that it was Dick's. The oars flashed with increasing quickness, the shouts on the bank grew louder, and still the long slim boats swept over the water side by side, their opponents drawing slightly ahead. [Illustration: PAIR-OARED BOAT.] "Now!" gasped Marston; and Frank knew that the time for the final spurt had come, and if the stroke had been quick before it was doubly so now. Frank felt that each stroke must be his last, but he struggled on; and just as he felt faint (for his want of training had told) and he lost sight of the other boat in a mist, he heard the sound of a pistol and knew that the winning post was reached. "Who's won?" he managed to ask. "We have, by half a length," answered the coxswain. [Illustration: MR. MARSTON'S HOUSE.] They drew close up to the bank amid the cheers of the people, and they staggered ashore; and Frank went away a little distance and leaned against a tree with his face to the wind, trying to regain his breath again. Who does not know the agony of thus fighting for breath after a severe struggle! Even the excitement of victory does not atone at the moment for the penalty of over-exertion. Dick and Jimmy fanned him with their hats--or rather Dick used his handkerchief, for his hat had gone to the bottom by this time. As soon as he had got his wind back Frank turned to the others, and was at once seized by his companions and raised on their shoulders, and then carried in triumph to a carriage where some ladies sat. A tall clergyman approached, and he said,-- "You rowed splendidly, number three; wonderful, considering, as I am told, you had no training for the race. I hope you will be none the worse for it. Will you have some champagne?" [Illustration: NIGHTINGALE.] Frank could not resist a mighty draught of the cool wine, although it is anything but a good thing to take at such a time. An orange is the best thing,--it slakes the thirst, and does no injury to the stomach. The clergyman turned out to be Marston's father, and his mother and sisters were in the carriage. They invited our three boys to dine with them that evening; and after the yacht had been taken to her moorings near the railway bridge, the boys walked a mile out of the town to Mr. Marston's house, and there spent a very pleasant evening. After dinner they played croquet, and once, when it was Frank's turn to play it was found that he was totally oblivious of the game, and had his eyes fixed on an elegant brown bird which was flitting about the shrubs in the garden. "Now then, Frank," said Marston, "it is your turn." Frank played and then asked, "Is not that bird a nightingale?" "Yes, her nest is at the bottom of that bush. Watch how she goes to it." [Illustration: NIGHTINGALE'S NEST.] The bird hopped about in a promiscuous sort of way, just as if there were no nest there, and then, when she got near it, she hopped upon it in quite an accidental manner. "She knows that we know her nest is there, because we look at it every day, but she always pretends she is only there by accident." Frank went to look at the nest. It was untidy in make, built of straw and twigs, and lined with leaves. It contained five olive-brown eggs which were near to hatching. "You must not take any of these, Mr. Merivale," said Miss Marston. "No, I do not wish to do so," said Frank, but his looks so belied his words that they all laughed at him. "There are two more nests about the grounds," said Marston, "and I have some eggs in the house which you can have." Frank thanked him, and asked if there were any more nightingales about. "There are so many about that many times I cannot go to sleep for the noise they make." "Noise!" said his sister reproachfully. "Yes, when it is dinned into one's ears so much, any singing becomes noisy." Frank thought his friend was joking, but about ten o'clock they were strolling about the grounds in the bright moonlight, and then they heard nightingales singing all round them. The boys thought they had never heard such sweet sounds. First the song would commence with an intensely sweet, low, single note or pipe. Then would follow a strong clear flood of melody which was entrancing in its richness. Then the bird would cease, and in a few seconds another bird would answer from a little distance. Then the first one would reply, and a third would take up the strain from a different quarter. The moonlight silence of the night, the ravishing strains of bird music which made the grove vocal, and the heavy fragrance of the flowers which floated on the dewy air, made the evening most perfect and beautiful. CHAPTER XVIII. A queer Umbrella.--Visit to Scoulton Gullery.--Driving Tandem.-- Running away.--Black-headed Gulls.--Collecting the Eggs.--Carp.-- Wood Argus Butterfly.--Scarlet Pimpernel.--Grasshopper Warbler.-- Chiff-Chaff.--Gall-Fly.--Robins' Pincushions. The boys slept at the Royal Hotel that night, and to their surprise found Sir Richard's groom there. He had brought the brougham to town for repairs, and had orders to wait until it was finished, which would not be until the next day but one. In the meantime his two ponies were in the stables with nothing to do. Here was a good opportunity for a long drive. Frank at once suggested that they should drive to Scoulton and see the breeding-place of the black-headed gulls. This was agreed to without hesitation. Then Frank said that as he had a pair of horses they might as well drive tandem, and he undertook to drive. Mason, the groom, objected to this, because he was afraid that Master Frank could not drive well enough; but Frank was positive that he could, although he had never driven tandem before. He said he knew the theory, and he was certain the practice was easy. At last it was agreed that the horses should be harnessed tandem, and that if Frank could not manage them he was to give the reins up to Mason. "Why do the black-headed gulls breed at Hingham, which is an inland place? I always thought they bred by the sea," said Dick. "The black-headed gulls don't. Every year as the breeding season approaches, they leave the sea and go to certain lakes or rivers, where from 'time immemorial' they have bred. Scoulton Mere near Hingham is one of these places, and they breed there in countless numbers, going there in March and leaving in July or August. It is a sight worth seeing, I can assure you. There are not many places in England now where they breed in such numbers as they do at Scoulton," answered Frank. "What a curious instinct it is which leads them there. And how funny that for half a year they should live on salt food by the sea, and then for the other half on fresh-water food," said Dick. Frank and Jimmy were standing in the archway of the Royal Hotel the next morning wondering where Dick was. It was raining heavily, and they had had to put off starting to Hingham. Presently Dick was seen running up the Walk with his coat collar turned up, evidently pretty well drenched. Under his arm however he had a very nice-looking umbrella. "Oh, Dick," said Frank as he joined them, "whatever have you been buying an umbrella for, and why, having bought one, do you not put it up when it rains?" "I believe every person I passed all the way from the top of St. Giles's Street would have liked to ask me that question. They plainly thought that I was a fool," Dick answered rather crossly. "Well, no wonder. Why didn't you put it up?" "It is not an umbrella at all, but a butterfly-net;" and he unfolded the supposed umbrella and opened it out into a good-sized butterfly-net. "I did not much like to be seen carrying a great butterfly-net through the town, so I thought this a good dodge to save appearances, and lo and behold it serves me this trick the first time I carry it." "Well, it could not help the rain, Dick," said Frank laughing. These umbrella-nets are capital things, although they are useless in a shower. The reader may easily make one for himself in this way: Get an old umbrella-stick and place the catch which holds the umbrella open, lower down, so as to increase the diameter of your net; then get two slips of strong crinoline steel, make the ends red hot, and bend them with a pliers into little loops. Then fasten one end of each to the top of the stick with a piece of wire, and the other ends to the sliding ferrule. When this ferrule is pushed up to the catch the steels form a circle, to which the net can be attached. Slip the ferrule back, and the net can be rolled up round the stick just like an ordinary umbrella, and a case put over it. A very handy and useful net is thus formed, and one which is very portable. If you do not care to make it, it may be bought from a dealer for a small sum, but I should advise every boy to make himself all the things he can. He will thus not only save his money to buy those things which he cannot make, but he will (which is far more important) learn how to turn his hand to useful purposes, and encourage habits of self-reliance which will be very useful to him in after life. In addition to this, one gets far more pleasure from using a thing one has made oneself, than one which has been bought. About twelve o'clock the rain cleared away and they decided to start. So the horses were harnessed in a dog-cart belonging to the inn, which also supplied them with the tandem harness, and the turn-out, which looked very creditable, was brought to the front of the inn, and the boys took their seats. Frank and Dick sat in front, and Jimmy and the groom behind. Frank felt nervous as he took hold of the reins, but pretended to feel quite at his ease. To his astonishment their steeds started off very quietly; and as the streets were very clear of traffic, they got out of the town without any accident. As soon, however, as they got into the open roads the leader evinced a strong desire to look about him, and presently his movements grew so erratic that Dick said he was sure he would turn round and look at them before long. Frank resented this imputation on his skill in driving by giving the leader a cut with the whip, whereupon he attempted to bolt, and it was as much as Frank could do to hold him in. Then sometimes he would hang back, so that the traces were loose, and the wheeler did all the pulling; and then he would start forward and nearly break the traces. After this sort of thing had gone on for some two or three miles, the wheeler, which had been going very steadily, began to imitate the bad example of his leader; and Frank and his companions began to wish they had let tandem-driving alone. They came to a turnpike gate and, on Frank attempting to pull in the horses in order to pay the toll, he found that they were beyond his control, and after cannoning rather severely against the gate-post, they fairly bolted, and tore away at a great pace along the road, which was fortunately pretty straight and free from vehicles. "Sit still," said Frank, "don't jump out, or you will come to grief. As long as there is nothing in the way they shall go as fast as they like. They will get tired of it sooner than I shall." Away they went like the wind, the dog-cart bounding over the ruts and small stones in the roadway so that the boys had to hold on as tightly as they could. A large waggon now appeared in sight, and they rapidly came up with it. Frank tried to turn his horses a little, but they had the bits in their teeth and would not swerve out of their course. The waggoner, seeing the state of affairs, promptly drew his horses and waggon close up to the side of the road in time for the runaways to pass them safely, but the wheels were within an inch of coming into collision. On they went until they came to a rise in the road, and here the horses, seeing that a long hill stretched before them, began to draw in. "Now," said Frank, "you have come at this pace so far for your own satisfaction, you shall go to the top of the hill at the same pace for mine." And he lashed them up and made them gallop right to the top of the hill, which was half a mile long, and then they were glad enough to be pulled up. "You will have no more trouble with them now, sir," said Mason, and he was right. The horses went as steadily as possible the rest of the way, and Frank's opinion of himself as a driver, which had been going down, again rose. Their way led through a fine and well-wooded country; and after the rain, the trees, the long stretches of corn-fields, and the meadows, shone out with their brightest emerald; and in the shady parts, where the sun had not dried up the rain-drops, it seemed as if a sheeny silk mantle had been cast over the fields. About two o'clock they reached Scoulton Mere, which lay by the road side, separated from it by a belt of trees. A keeper was entering the gate into the wood as they drove up, and Frank at once called out to him, and asked if they might go and see the gulls' nests. "Oh yes, sir, I am going to collect the eggs now, and you can come with me. Bring your horses in here. There is a shed where we can put them up." "Hurrah, we are in luck!" said Frank to his companions. They drove into the woodland glade over the softest moss and between great masses of rhododendrons which were still in flower. Leaving the horses in charge of Mason, they accompanied the keeper to the pool. It was about eighty acres in extent with a large island in the centre. As they reached the banks the air became filled with a thundering noise of wings, and as white as a snowstorm with the numbers of gulls which rose in the air at their approach. "Oh, there are thousands and thousands of them!" said Dick in amazement. "And if you look, there are as many on the water as in the air," answered the keeper. Floating with the peculiar lightness which distinguishes the gull tribe, the birds seemed to occupy almost every yard of water. "You spoke of collecting the eggs," said Dick to the keeper; "what do you do with them?" "Oh, we sell them for eating. They are as good as plovers' eggs. I can get one shilling and sixpence or two shillings a score here for them, and the men who buy them of me get a good profit in Norwich market." "How many eggs do you get?" "Oh, that depends upon whether it is a good year or a bad one. In a good year we take 12,000 eggs or more. This year we have had one take already of 2,500 in one day, and I expect to get about 1,500 to-day. You see my men are collecting already. We only take the first laying of each bird if we can help it, but nests are so close together that it is hard to remember which we have taken and which we have not. If you would like to come on the Hearth, as we call the island in the middle, you can do so, but you must put these mud boards on your feet, for it is very soft and dangerous walking." [Illustration: COMMON GULL.] They crossed to the island in a heavy tub of a boat, and were surprised to see the number of eggs and nests. The nests were not more than one yard apart, built on the ground like water-hens', but not so cup-shaped. The number of eggs seemed to be about three in each nest, and their colour was generally olive brown, blotched and spotted with darker brown, but there was a very great variety in their colour. Some were very light, some were very dark, and others were all blue like a heron's egg. The business of collecting the eggs went on very quietly and expeditiously, but the boys were almost made dizzy with the constant swooping of the gulls about their heads, and almost deafened by their cries. One part of the marshy island was so soft that no one could walk upon it, and the gulls which bred there never had their nests disturbed except by the rats and weasels, which naturally abound in such places. [Illustration: YOUNG GULLS COVERED WITH DOWN.] The black-headed gull derives its name from the black patch on its head, which, however only appears during the breeding season. "When do the gulls arrive?" the boys asked. "Well, sir, a lot of them come in March and stay for a day or two, as if to see that everything is right; and then they go away, and in a few days afterwards the whole of them come and begin to lay directly. There was some very stormy weather in March this year and they were late in coming, or most of the eggs would have been hatched by now." "And when do they leave?" "In July and August they begin to go away, and leave in the night; and by the end of August very few are left." "One would think that this small lake would scarcely afford sufficient food for them," said Jimmy. "Oh they scour the country around, sir. They follow the plough and spread over the fields like rooks. They catch moths and other insects. They eat mice, and if a young bird (not their own) came in the way they would make a meal of it." They bought a score of the eggs for the purpose of exchange, and then rowed round the pool watching the wonderful scene. There were plenty of other birds beside gulls there. Coots, water-hens, water-rails, grebes and dabchicks were in plenty. [Illustration: CARP.] "I should think that there cannot be many fish here where the gulls would eat up all the spawn," said Frank; but as he spoke Dick pointed out the backs of a couple of immense carp which were basking on the top of the water, and a little further on they saw the body of a huge eel, and they were told by the keeper that there were any number of eels there. They were invited by the keeper to take tea at his cottage, and they had some of the gulls' eggs boiled, and very good they were. After tea they went for a birds'-nesting ramble through the wood. "Oh, look here!" said Jimmy; "when we came this afternoon all this place was covered with the scarlet pimpernel, and now there is not one to be seen. They have all closed up." "Yes," answered the keeper, "they always do that about four o'clock, and all day long when the day is dull. We call them wink-a-peep, and sometimes shepherd's weather-glass." "How different to these dingy meadow brown butterflies which are fluttering all about us. I have seen them fly on the most damp and cheerless of days, when not another butterfly could be seen. I like them, although they are so dingy and ugly, because they are so hardy and homely." "What butterfly is that?" said Jimmy, pointing to one that flitted past. Dick's net was ready in a moment, and off he went in chase. Bringing back his prize, they examined it and pronounced it to be the speckled wood butterfly or wood argus. It is a common insect nearly everywhere. It has wings of a deep-brown spotted with buff, and on the wings are pure white eyes with glossy black circles around them. It may be seen in every woodland glade, and is not at all shy. "Hush!" said Frank; "is that a shrew-mouse or a grasshopper which is making that chirruping noise?" "It is neither, sir," replied the keeper; "it is a bird, and there it is creeping about the bottom of that hedge like a mouse." "Oh, I know what it is, it is a grasshopper warbler. Let us look for its nest." They searched for quite a quarter of an hour before they found it. It was placed on the ground in the middle of a tuft of grass and at the foot of a bush. It was cup-shaped, made of grass and moss, and contained six eggs which were pinkish-white in colour, spotted all over with reddish-brown. The note of this little bird seems to be of a ventriloquial character like that of the landrail or corncrake. I have searched many a time in the exact spot where the sound appeared to come from, and then perhaps discovered that the bird was on the other side of the lane. Jimmy next found a nest on the ground. It was arched over like a wren's, and was very beautifully constructed out of moss, hair, and feathers. It contained five round white eggs spotted with red. In order to identify it more positively as that of the chiff-chaff, which they suspected it was, they watched for some time, and saw the bird, a little pale-brown thing, creep up to it and enter it. I would particularly impress on my boy readers the necessity of thoroughly identifying the nest and eggs which they find. It is often impossible to tell accurately without seeing the old bird, and as the value of a collection depends upon the accuracy of its named specimens, no trouble should be spared in ensuring thorough identification. This remark applies to collections of every kind. "What is worth doing at all is worth doing well." [Illustration: CHIFF-CHAFF.] The keeper said, pointing to some red, hairy masses on a bramble bush, "We call these robins' pincushions; can you tell me what causes them?" "Oh yes," said Dick, "they are galls caused by a little grub which afterwards turns into a fly." "They are very pretty things to be caused by a dirty little grub," said Jimmy; "and pray what causes this cuckoo-spit?" pointing to one of the little lumps of water foam which are so common on plants and grasses in the summer. Dick said they were caused by the larvæ of a fly like the galls, but as they were puzzled to know how it produced this casing of spit, when they got back to Norwich they went into the library and found, in a number of _Science Gossip_, the following information about it:-- "The larvæ, as soon as it is hatched commences operations on some juicy stem or leaf, no matter what, so it be sappy enough; thrusts in its long proboscis; pumps up the sap; blows it off in small bubbles through a pipe in its tail, and so speedily constructs for itself a cool, moist, translucent home. By and by the sap dries up, and the insect changes its form and becomes winged." [Illustration: OAK-GALL-FLY.] It was now getting dusk, and the gulls were flying low over the meadows, hawking about like swallows. The boys went to see what they were catching, and saw that they were feeding on the ghost-moths which were hovering over the grass-tops with that vibrating and ghost-like flight which is so peculiar to them. Every country boy must know the ghost-moths which, large and small, white and yellow, hover over the hay-fields in the month of June. Their size alone makes them conspicuous, and they have a weird look as they flit about in the warm, still twilight. Dick got several for his collection, and then it was time to be returning; and after making due acknowledgment to the friendly keeper they drove back through the quiet night, while nightingales sang around them, and the great red moon rose over the eastern woods, and quenched the pale light of the stars. The horses went well together, and they had no trouble with them; and when they got back to the hotel they went to bed, declaring they had spent a very jolly day. CHAPTER XIX. Back again.--Taken in Tow.--Bobbing for Eels.--Glow-worms.-- Home.--Urticating Caterpillars. It will be seen that our boys had great capacities for enjoying themselves, and so oblivious had they been of the flight of time, that they had only left themselves two days in which to get home, for they felt bound not to ask for any extension of their holiday. Two days was a very short time to sail all the way down the Yare and up the Bure again; and to add to their dilemma, the wind had settled in the east, and blew light and fitfully all day until five or six, when it would drop. They could have gone back by road and left the yacht to be sent after them, but this would have been _infra dig._, and was not to be thought of while the chance remained of reaching home in a legitimate way. So they started, and with infinite labour and much tacking and clever sailing, they succeeded in reaching Brundall, about six miles down the river, by the middle of the day. "This won't do," said Frank. "Here comes a steam-wherry. I wonder if they will take us in tow." The wherry was hailed, and for a small consideration her crew consented to tow them to Yarmouth. Their sails were accordingly lowered, and a rope was made fast to the wherry; and in a few minutes' time they were being pulled along at a good pace by their great, black, ugly friend. "Now we can enjoy our _otium cum dignitate_," said Dick, throwing himself at full length on the roof of the cabin with the furled mainsail as a pillow; "and however light the breeze is to-morrow, it will take us home in time; so I shall write a note home and post it at Yarmouth." Between the waving reed-beds, through the long miles of marsh, acres of which were white with the silky globes of the cotton-grasses, by whirling wind-mills and groups of red and white cattle browsing on the reclaimed marshes, past sailing wherries that surged along before the light breeze with a lazy motion, past white-sailed yachts with gay-coloured pennants at their mast-heads and laughter-loving pleasure parties on board, underneath a bright blue sky streaked with filmy cloudlets and dotted with uprising larks, over a stream that murmured and rippled with a summer gladness, they clove their steady way. With every nerve instinct with healthy life, and hearts which had the great gift of understanding and appreciating the true and the beautiful around them, what wonder if they felt as happy as they could wish to feel, and were full of contentment with the pleasant time it was their lot to pass. They crossed Breydon Water under widely different circumstances to those in which they first crossed it. Then it was wild and stormy; now it was fair and placid. They reached Yarmouth about five, and as the wind still held they turned up the Bure with the flowing tide, and sailed on and on in that quiet peaceful evening, with lessening speed as the wind fell, until at last they barely crept through the water. Even when there was not a breath of air perceptible to the upheld hand, and the surface of the river was as smooth as glass, and the reeds were silent from their whispering, yet a magic wind seemed to fill their large sails, and still they crept on with a dream-like motion. At last that motion ceased, but then they were so close to Acle bridge that they set to work and poled the yacht along with the quants, and in another half hour they were moored by the Staithe. It was then half-past nine o'clock, but still very light; and there was a whiteness in the sky to the north-east, which told them the sun was not very far over the horizon, and that at midnight it would be but little darker than it was then. After they had had supper Frank said, "Do you remember those men whom we saw near Norwich, who sat in small boats all the night long, and with a line in each hand, bobbed for eels?" "Yes; what of them?" "Why should we not bob for eels to-night? I don't feel inclined to go to bed." "Very well," said Jimmy; "but can we get the worsted?" "I will go and ask for some at the Hermitage." "What do you want worsted for?" said Dick. "To catch the eels with; but wait a bit and you shall see. Bring the lantern and come with me." Frank marched up to the house and knocked, and when the door was opened by a woman, said, "Please can you let us have a hank of worsted? I will give you double its value." The woman looked at him in surprise, and he repeated his question. Then she went indoors, and reappeared with a hank of worsted in her hand. This she threw out to them with a frightened look, and slammed the door in their faces. "Wait, my good woman, we have not paid you," said Frank. But there was no answer. "We seem to have frightened her," said Dick. Frank put a shilling under the door, and they went away laughing heartily. Their next proceeding was to look about the damp grass and pick up the lob-worms, which were about in great numbers. When they had each collected a large number they returned to the yacht, and by Frank's directions threaded the worms on to the worsted, lengthways, with the needle they had used for sniggling. In this way they made three large bunches of worm-covered worsted. These bunches they weighted with a stone, and tied strong lengths of cord to them. "Now," said Frank, "we can begin to bob. This is the way, Dick:--let the bunch sink to the bottom and then keep the line taut. Let it lie there for some time, and when you feel some sharp quick tugs, it is the eels biting at it. Then haul it quietly on board and shake the eels off. There, I can feel them on my line now." "And I at mine," said Jimmy. "And I too," said Dick. "Then wait five minutes, and haul on board." At the end of five minutes they each hauled their lines quietly on board, and on Frank's were no less than six eels, their teeth entangled in the worsted. On Jimmy's there were two, and on Dick's three. They shook the eels on to the deck. Jimmy's two at once wriggled themselves off back into the water, and Frank and Dick had hard work to keep theirs from doing the same, until Jimmy got out the bucket they used for washing the deck, and in this they safely deposited their captives. "This is not bad fun," said Dick, as he brought up three more eels, one of them a large one. "No, is it?" answered Jimmy, as he followed Dick's example. So they went on laughing and talking and pulling in eels until two o'clock in the morning, when their bucket was so full of eels that it would not hold any more. "Now it is time to turn in," said Frank; "take up the bucket, Jimmy, and put it by the foremast with something over it to keep the eels from crawling out, while I do up the lines." Jimmy took up the bucket, and was walking aft with it, when his foot slipped on an eel that had made its escape, and was wriggling about the deck. In an instant, Jimmy, the bucket, and the eels all went into the water. Jimmy rose to the surface and swam to the yacht, and climbed on board, with the bucket still in his hands, but all the eels had of course disappeared. "What an extraordinary thing!" spluttered Jimmy, as he rose to the surface. "Very," said Frank, as soon as he could speak for laughing; "but hadn't you better dive after the eels?" "Do you mind my losing them, Frank?" said Jimmy, rather ruefully. "Not at all, old man. We don't want the eels, and a good laugh is better for us." While they were undressing, Dick was peering through one of the side lights and at length said, "I suppose it is impossible for any one to have been smoking here lately, yet there are two or three things which are like cigar-ends gleaming on the bank. Is it possible that they are glow-worms?" "Yes, of course they are," said Jimmy; "I will go and get them;" and presently he came back with the little, soft, brown things, which shed a circle of phosphorescent light for two or three inches around them. "Put them into that empty jar with some grass, and we will take them home with us." [Illustration: GLOW-WORM.] The glow-worm is the wingless female of a winged beetle. The male has a dim light, but nothing to be compared to that of his wife. The light issues from the three last segments of her body, and is of a bright yellow in colour. In general she shines from ten to twelve o'clock, but often much later, as on this occasion. Why such a brown, ugly little beetle should have such a beautiful light I do not know. Perhaps it is to guide the male to her. This beetle with the wonderful light has plebeian tastes, for she eats the flesh of snails, and, unlike our Gallic neighbours, she does not wait for the snails' decease first. The morning soon shone brightly, and again the fair east wind blew; "The sun was warm; and the wind was cool," and the _Swan_ spread her white wings to the favouring breeze and glided between the narrowing banks, where the meadow-sweet in full luxuriance waved its cloudy clusters, the forget-me-not gleamed in turquoise blue, the tall iris or white flag reared its flowers of gold over its green sword-shaped leaves, and the modest ragged-robin showed its thin red petals amid the dew-wet grass. Through Heigham Sounds and into Hickling Broad, and there at the farther end was a group of people, waving their handkerchiefs in greeting. "There they are," said Frank; "give them three cheers;" and a "Hip! hip! hurrah!" rang over the water with a hearty good will. Mr. and Mrs. Merivale, Sir Richard Carleton, and Mary, were all there to meet them. Frank brought the yacht up to her moorings in his best manner, and in a few minutes they were ashore. "Dick," said Sir Richard, "I can scarcely believe my eyes. I am delighted." There was some cause for his surprise. Dick was as brown as a berry. His form was upright and full of vigour, and his handsome face was bright with the smile of health. A greater contrast to the pale-faced delicate boy, who some months before had aroused his father's anxiety, could not well be seen. "I am glad you have enjoyed yourself, dear," said Mrs. Merivale to Frank, "but I have been very anxious about you, and it has seemed a long time." Frank laughed merrily, as he put his arm round his mother, and kissed her with all a lover's devotion. "You are like Martha, mother, who troubled herself about many things. But where is Florrie?" "Oh," said Mary, "she can't leave her room. She got a little black hairy caterpillar for you, and it has stung her. At least she has a rash all over her, and nasty little red lumps, and she suffers so much." "That must be a mistake, Mary, about the caterpillar," said Frank. "No, it is not, Frank," said Dick; "I was reading the other day about urticating caterpillars. The caterpillars of some moths will affect some people like that." "We have the creature in a glass, and you can see it, and try it, if you like, Frank," said Mary. CHAPTER XX. Golden Oriole.--Landrail.--House-martins in trouble.--Siskin.-- Peacock and Red Admiral Butterflies.--Winchat's Nest.-- Bitten by a Viper.--Viper and Snake.--Slow-worm. "Frank," said Mary at breakfast the next morning, "I have seen the most beautiful bird about the orchard and the wood next to it. It is about as big as a thrush, and is a bright yellow all over, except the wings, which are black. What can it be?" "By Jove," said Frank, "there is only one bird that is like that; but it is so very rare that very few specimens have been seen in this country, and that is the golden oriole. Come and show me where it was at once, before I go to Mr. Meredith's." [Illustration: ORIOLE.] Mary was nothing loath, and they hastily finished their breakfast and went out together. Scarcely had they got to the orchard when the gardener came towards them with a gun in one hand, and a dead oriole in the other. "I thought you would like to have him to stuff, Master Frank," said the man, and Frank took the bird and thanked him, and when they turned away Frank said, "I am awfully sorry this has happened, Mary. The idea of shooting a rare bird like this at the breeding season. It must have been nesting here, and in a few weeks perhaps, there would have been a brood of young ones about. Let us go into the wood and look for its nest." In a short time they saw its mate flying about from tree to tree, calling piteously; and after a little hunting Frank found a nest, which was like a missel thrush's, and placed in the fork of an oak branch. It contained four eggs, white in colour, covered with claret-coloured spots. Frank did not touch it, hoping that the remaining bird would sit and hatch the eggs; but she soon deserted it and left the neighbourhood, most probably to be shot, and the boys then took the eggs to add to their collection. [Illustration: NEST OF AMERICAN SPECIES OF ORIOLE.] With the same vigour which characterised their out-door sports, the boys betook themselves again to their books. In Mr. Meredith's study at the Rectory the three boys sat busily engaged in making Latin verse, an exercise which suited Dick far better than it did the others. Their brown faces and their hands, hacked and roughened as only boys' hands can become, were in great contrast to their studious occupations. Mr. Meredith looked at them with keen interest, and resolved that he would do all in his power to turn out of his workshop (as he called it) three good specimens of God's handiwork and his own, and as far as in him lay he kept his vow. Saturday was a whole holiday, and as the boys met at the boat-house to be ready for anything which might turn up, Bell came to them and said, that while cutting the hay in a small meadow which he rented, he had come upon a landrail or corncrake, sitting on her eggs, and so close did she sit that he had cut off her head with his scythe. The boys went to see the nest and found eleven eggs in it, like those of the water-rail but larger. They were hard sat, which accounted for the old bird remaining on her nest until the last; but the boys knew how to blow hard-sat eggs, and took possession of them. [Illustration: LANDRAIL OR CORNCRAKE.] Passing by Mrs. Brett's cottage they saw the old lady beckoning to them. When they went to her she explained that she wanted them to aid her swallows. A pair of house-martins were flying about their nest in the eaves, uttering cries of distress. "What is the matter? Have the sparrows taken possession of it?" said Frank. "No, dear, but it seems breaking away from the wall. There are young ones in it, and I suppose the old birds did not make it strong enough to hold their weight. I am afraid it will fall down every minute." [Illustration: HOUSE-MARTIN.] The boys undertook to put matters right, and with the aid of a ladder they climbed up to the nest, and with a hammer and nails they nailed up the nest in a broad piece of flannel. While they were engaged in doing this, the martins ceased their cries, as if they knew that a friendly act was being done for them; and when the boys left the nest the birds returned to it, and by their busy twitterings and short excited flights seemed to wish to express their gratitude. Leaving the cottage, they went for a long aimless ramble through the fields and woods, trespassing with impunity, for they were well known everywhere, and visiting every hedgerow and copse on the look-out for nests. [Illustration: SISKIN.] They came to a field round which there were hedges unusually high and thick for Norfolk, which is a county of trim hedges and clean farming. Almost the first nest they came to was that of a siskin. The old birds to which it belonged were hopping about the hedge. They were pretty lemon-coloured birds with a black patch on their heads and black on their wings. The boys watched them for some time, in order to make sure that they were indeed the siskin, for they are so very rare, especially during the breeding season, that very few nests have been found. "Well, there can be no doubt about that," said Frank. "They are siskins sure enough. What a very lucky find! Now let us have a look at the nest." Both nest and eggs were like those of a goldfinch, but the latter were much smaller than a goldfinch's eggs. The eggs were hard sat, but they took three of them and blew them safely; and as they were still doubting the reality of their good luck, when they went home they consulted their books, and Mr. Meredith, and all came to the conclusion that there could be no mistake about the birds. [Illustration: CHRYSALIS. PEACOCK BUTTERFLY. CATERPILLAR.] They found many more nests in that hedge. Most of them had young ones, for the season was now very far advanced. Dick soon found something after his own heart, and this was a large bed of nettles. Every stem was covered with large, black, hairy caterpillars. These were the caterpillars of the peacock butterfly,--that splendid insect, which with its crimson and black, and the gorgeous peacock eyes which adorn its wings, is so conspicuous an object in the country in the summer. It is a great pleasure to me to see it as it sits on its favourite perch, the top of a nettle or a bramble, and opens and shuts its wings with the fanning motion peculiar to its tribe. Dick marked this spot, and in a short time he came to gather the gilded chrysalides which on every plant shone brightly in the sunshine. These he gathered and put in a safe place, and during the summer it was a great pleasure to him to watch the outcoming of these resplendent insects. Just before they were ready to emerge, the colours of their wings could be seen through the thin case which covered them, and with this warning he was often able to catch the insect at the instant of their appearance. Not long afterwards he found a colony of the caterpillars of the red admiral butterfly, a large black insect with crimson bands round its wings, and the under surface marbled with the most delicate tracery of brown and grey. As far as size and beauty go, these two butterflies may be said to be the gems of the entomologist's cabinet. They are common enough in the south, and the young entomologist may look forward to catching or breeding them his first year. [Illustration: RED ADMIRAL BUTTERFLY.] The afternoon was exceedingly hot, and the sun blazed from a cloudless sky, and birds'-nesting and butterfly-hunting was tiring work. The scent of the hay made the air fragrant, and the sharp whisk of the scythes of the mowers in those meadows which were not yet cut, was the only sound which disturbed the evening stillness. Crossing one of the commons which are to be met with everywhere in the enclosed districts of Norfolk, they saw a little brown bird fly out of a hole in a low hedge bank. Very cleverly hidden there, in a hole covered with a clump of primrose flowers, was a winchat's nest. It contained five blue eggs spotted with rusty red at the large end. Taking two of these they went on their way, and presently entered a thick and tangled wood, where the underwood was so close that they could with difficulty make their way through it. The brambles and briars were breast high, and the ground was ankle deep in half rotten leaves of the previous year. In a bush through which Jimmy was trying to force his way he saw a nest, which he took to be a thrush's or blackbird's. He put in his hand just to see if there were any eggs in, and to his surprise he felt something cold and slimy. Before he could withdraw his hand he felt a sharp blow and a prick on his finger, and he drew back with a cry of dismay as he saw a viper uncoiling itself from the nest and wriggle down to the ground, where it was soon lost in the thick vegetation. Frank and Dick hurried up to him, and he held out his finger, in which were two small blue punctures. [Illustration: WINCHAT AND EGG.] "An adder has bitten me," he said, with blanched cheeks. Frank at once whipped out his penknife, and seizing Jimmy's hand, he made a deep cross cut over the bites, and as the blood began to flow, he put the finger to his mouth and tried to suck the poison out with all the force of his strong young lungs, only just waiting to say to Dick-- "Go at once to the village and get a bottle of olive-oil at the chemist's, and come back to the cottage at the edge of the wood. Be as quick as you can." Dick burst out of the wood and set off for the village, which was a mile away as the crow flies. As straight as an arrow and as fleet as a deer, Dick sped on his friendly errand, and in six minutes he had reached the chemist's. The chemist gave him what he asked for, saying, that if rubbed in before the fire it was the best remedy. "Are snake-bites fatal?" said Dick. "No, sir, not in England, unless the person bitten is very delicate; but they are very painful, and I should advise you to be quick back." [Illustration: VIPER.] Dick was off again at the top of his speed, and reached the cottage a quarter of an hour after he had left Frank and Jimmy. "Well done, Dick!" said Frank; "but go outside and face the wind a bit. You are dead beat." Jimmy was pale, but collected. His arm had swelled up to a great size already, and was very painful. Frank held his hand as near the fire as he could bear it, and rubbed the olive-oil in for half an hour; and then Dick and Frank walked him home between them. Mrs. Brett was naturally much alarmed, but Frank soothed her fears, and Jimmy was put to bed. "Thank you, Frank," he said, "I am awfully much obliged to you." "Then prove it by going quietly to sleep if you can. You will be all right in a day or two." "How did you know about the olive-oil being a cure, Frank?" "I was reading about it not a week ago, and as we were walking along this afternoon I was, strange to say, thinking about it, and imagining that I was bitten and curing myself, like one does make up pictures and rehearse scenes to oneself, when one has nothing better to do. It was a very strange coincidence."[1] [1] The best remedy for viper-bite is the injection of ammonia into the veins. [Illustration: COMMON RINGED SNAKE.] Frank went home with Dick, and they took a short cut through the copse. Dick was looking about him very suspiciously, seeing the coils of an adder in every twisted root. Suddenly his eye caught sight of a snake lying across the path. "There is another viper!" he exclaimed. "No, it is only a snake," said Frank, coolly stooping down and taking the snake in his hand, while it coiled about his arm. Dick looked horrified. "Won't it bite?" he said. "No, Dick. Don't you know the difference between a snake and a viper? Then I'll tell you. The viper is ash-brown in colour. Its neck is narrower and its head broader in proportion. The viper has a couple of fangs, or long hollow teeth, which lie flat along the back of its mouth, but when it is angry it opens its mouth, erects its teeth and strikes with them. They are hollow, and down through the tubes the poison comes from a bag at their roots. The snake has no such teeth, and it is harmless, for it cannot sting, as many country people think it can, with its long forked tongue which it is now shooting out. Then the snake lays eggs. I dare say if we were to dig in the manure-heaps in the farm-yard, we should find a lot of white eggs covered with a tough, soft skin and joined together with a sort of glue. The viper's eggs are hatched inside it, and the young ones are born alive." "I have read that the young ones of the viper will run down their parent's throat when alarmed for safety. Is that true?" "It seems so strange that I can scarcely think it to be true, but so many respectable people say they have seen it that one does not like to say that it is not so; and it is, of course, difficult to prove a negative. I suppose the question will be settled some day." The snake Frank held in his hand was a large and handsome one. It was olive-grey in colour, with rows of black spots on its back and sides, and greenish-yellow beneath, tinged with black. The snake changes its skin just like a caterpillar, but the skin preserves the shape of the snake, and is a very pretty object. Often have I seen a sunny corner in a quiet wood covered with many of these cast-off skins all glittering in the sunlight; and they are so very like real snakes as easily to deceive the casual observer. During the winter both vipers and snakes hybernate in holes, or under tree-roots, and require no food. The slow-worm or blind-worm is often mistaken for the snake. It is about twelve inches long, with a smooth skin, and is dull brown in colour. It possesses a curious faculty of parting with its tail when it chooses. If it is seized by the hand or otherwise annoyed, the tail separates from the body and commences a series of war-dances on its own account. While you are occupied in observing this, the body quietly and expeditiously moves away out of danger. Snakes and vipers live on frogs, small birds, &c., when they can catch them. The slow-worm lives almost entirely upon the white garden-slug. [Illustration: SLOW-WORM.] Jimmy's arm and side were very much swollen and inflamed, and it was quite a week before he was free from pain. The doctor said that if the olive-oil had not been used he would have suffered very much more from the bite, and the consequences might have been serious, for Jimmy had not a strong constitution. He was very careful after that of putting his hand into a bird's nest without getting a look into it first. CHAPTER XXI. Fishing.--Jimmy's Dodge.--Bream-fishing.--Good Sport.-- Fecundity of Fish.--Balance Float.--Fish-hatching.-- Edith Rose.--A Night Sail. It must not be supposed that the boys neglected that most fascinating of all sports, fishing. They fished in the broads and rivers whenever they had an opportunity. Pike, perch, bream, and eels--all were fish that came to their net; and now that birds' nesting was over they devoted some special days to the pursuit of the gentle art. Some years ago, and at the time of my story, the broads were as full as they could be of coarse fish, especially pike; but by the indiscriminate use of the net and the destruction of spawning fish, the poachers have so thinned the water of pike and perch, that the proprietors are preserving them, and the public are agitating for a close time at certain seasons of the year, so as to protect the breeding fish. Even at the present time, however, the bream is so abundant as to afford plenty of sport to every fisher, however poor he may be. In shape this fish is something like a pair of bellows and it is commonly met with from one to five pounds in weight. It swarms in vast shoals and when it is in the mood for biting, you may catch as many as you like--and more sometimes, for the bream is not a nice fish to handle; it is covered with thick glutinous slime, which sticks to and dries on the hands and clothes. Bream-fishers provide themselves with a cloth, with which to handle the fish and wipe off the slime. One morning Frank, while dressing at his open window, looked at the broad and was surprised to see it dotted with round, bright coloured objects. "What can they be?" he said to himself in surprise. "They cannot be trimmers. They look like bladders, but who would paint bladders red, blue, green, and yellow? I am going to see." He dressed rapidly and ran towards the water. Standing on the margin was Jimmy, his hands in his pockets and a self-satisfied smile on his face. "What have you been doing Jimmy?" said Frank. "Oh! I thought you would be astonished. I bought the whole stock of one of those fellows who sell India-rubber balloons, and I thought I would have a great haul of fish; so I fastened a line and hook to each balloon and set them floating before the wind. Don't you think it a grand dodge?" "Well, you are a funny fellow. I call it a poaching trick, of which you ought to be ashamed, Master Jimmy but I suppose you are not. I expect these balloons will burst directly a big fish pulls them a little under the water. There goes one now; I saw it disappear,--and there's another, with a pop you can hear at this distance." [Illustration: BREAM.] Jimmy began to look rather blue, and said, "Hadn't we better go off after them in a boat, or we shall lose all our lines? All we had are fastened to them." "Oh, you sinner! you don't mean to say that you have used our joint-stock lines?" "Yes, I have." "Then we had better go out at once." They got into the punt and rowed off after the toy balloons, which were floating swiftly before the breeze. The first they came up to had a small perch on. The next burst just as they reached it, and they saw the glimmer of a big fish in the water. There were twenty balloons set on the water, and it took them a long hour's work before they could recover all that were to be recovered. Out of twenty they only brought in ten. The rest had burst, and the lines were lost. Of the ten which they recovered five had small perch on, which were not worth having. So Jimmy's grand scheme turned out a failure, as so many grand schemes do. The others chaffed him very much about it, as a punishment for losing the lines, and for doing anything on his own hook without consulting the others. After a wet week in July it was resolved to have a good day's bream fishing. The broad itself was more adapted for perch and pike, for it had a clear gravel bottom; and the river was always considered the best for bream, because its bottom was more muddy, and bream like soft muddy ground. The boys collected an immense quantity of worms, and taking on board a bag of grains for ground-bait, they sailed one Friday evening down to Ranworth and selected a likely spot in the river on the outside of a curve. They proceeded to bait the place well with grains and worms, and then went to sleep, with a comfortable certainty of sport on the morrow. The white morning dawned and made visible a grey dappled sky, the silent marsh and the smooth river, off which the mists were slowly creeping. Small circles marked where the small fish were rising, but all about where the ground-bait had been put the water was as still as death. The fish were at the bottom, picking up the last crumbs and greedily wishing for more. Frank was the first to rise. "Now then, you lazy fellows, it is time to begin. There is a soft south wind and the fish are waiting. We will just run along the bank to have a dip away from our fishing-ground, and then we will begin." After their bathe their rods were soon put together. Dick fished with paste made of new bread and coloured with vermilion. Jimmy had some wasp grubs, and Frank used worms. They tossed up for stations, and Dick was posted at the bows, Jimmy, amidships, and Frank at the stern. The hooks were baited, and the floats were soon floating quietly down the stream. Frank had a float which gave him a longer swim than his companions. It was made as follows. The stem of the float was of quill (two joined together) eight inches long, and was thrust through a small round cork which was fixed in the middle of it. The upper end of the float was weighted with shots, so that it lay flat on the water. The weight at the hook end was so placed, that when a bite took place the float sprang upright and remained so, this calling attention to the fact of a bite at a great distance. Frank was thus able to let his float swim down the river much farther than he could have done with an ordinary one, because he could distinguish a bite farther off. Before the floats had completed their first swim, Dick cried "I have a bite." "So have I," said Frank. "And so have I," added Jimmy. "How absurd," said Frank, as they were all engaged with a fish at the same time. All three fishes were too large to land without a landing-net, and Dick held Frank's rod while he helped to land Jimmy's fish, and then Jimmy helped to land the others. The fishes were as nearly as possible three pounds each, great slab-sided things, which gave a few vigorous rushes and then succumbed quietly to the angler. And so the sport went on. At every swim one or the other of them had a bite, and as they did not choose to lose time by using the cloth to every fish, they were soon covered with the slime off them, which dried on their white flannels and made them in a pretty mess. "In what immense numbers these fish must breed," said Dick. [Illustration: ANGLING.] "Yes," answered Frank, "fish of this kind lay more eggs than those of the more bold and rapacious kind, such as the perch and pike. I have read that 620,000 eggs have been counted in the spawn of a big carp. You see that so many of the young are destroyed by other fish that this is a necessary provision of nature. I once saw the artificial breeding of trout by a way which I have never told you of, and it was most interesting. It was in Cheshire, where some gentlemen had preserved a trout-stream and wished to keep up the stock. Into the large stream a small rivulet ran down a cleft in the bank like a small ravine, and in this cleft they had built their sheds. The trout-spawn was placed in troughs which had bottoms made of glass rods side by side, close enough together to prevent the eggs falling through, but wide enough to let the water pass through freely. Over these troughs a continual stream of water was directed. The eggs were pale yellow in colour when alive, but if one of them became addled or dead it turned white, and it was then picked off by means of a glass tube, up which it was sucked by the force of capillary attraction without disturbing the other eggs. By and by you could see a little dot in the eggs. This got larger and larger until the covering burst, and the fish came out, with a little transparent bag bigger than themselves attached to their stomachs. They ate nothing until this dried up, and they lived upon what they absorbed out of it. When the fish were about an inch long they were put into small pools up the brook, where they were watched very carefully by the keeper, who set traps for rats and herons. Then as they got bigger they were put into larger pools, and finally into the river." [Illustration: TROUT.] "I did not know that water-rats ate fish," said Jimmy. "No, water-rats don't, although many people think they do. They live only on vegetable food, and it is a pity to kill them; but the common rat, which is as often seen by the river side as the other, will eat fish, or whatever it can get." It would be tedious to recount the capture of every fish, since one was so like another. The sport far exceeded their expectations, or anything they had previously experienced; and before six o'clock in the evening they had caught over three hundred fishes, big and little, the largest about five pounds in weight. The total weight was about twelve stone. Norfolk bream fishers will know that I am not exaggerating. "I am thoroughly tired of this," said Dick at length; "this is not sport, it is butchery, especially as we do not know what to do with them now we have caught them, except to give them to some farmer for manure." "No," said Frank; "that is why I do not care much for bream fishing, or any sport where one cannot use the things one kills; but we will give the best of these fish to old Matthew Cox and his wife, who have nothing but the parish allowance to live on. I dare say they will be glad enough of them." Cox, who was a poor old man scarce able to keep body and soul together, was glad indeed to have them, but their number puzzled him, until Mrs. Brett suggested that he should pickle them, and gave him some vinegar for the purpose. Contrary to Frank's expectation, the wind had not risen, but towards the afternoon died away, and with the exception of a shower, so summerlike that the gnats danced between the rain-drops, the day had been very fine and calm. When the boys left off fishing the water was as calm as at five o'clock in the morning, and there was not the slightest chance of their reaching home that night. This was awkward, as the next day was Sunday, and they had no change of raiment with them. They made the best of it, sending a note home by post to explain their absence. In the morning there was a debate as to whether they should go to church or not. "Let us go," said Frank. "No one will know us, so it does not matter what we have on." So to church they went, in their dirty white flannels. It was their intention to sit near the door and try to escape observation, but they found the back seats of the little church full of children, and a churchwarden ushered them all the way up the church to the front pew, which they took. Just before the service began, a lady and gentleman, and a young lady who was apparently their daughter, came into the large square pew in which our boys sat, whereupon the tanned cheeks of our heroes blushed vehemently. The young lady sat opposite Frank, and every now and then gazed at him curiously. When Frank mustered up courage to look back at her, he thought he knew the face, and as the sermon advanced he recollected that it was that of a friend of his sister Mary's, who had once stayed at his father's house. When they left the church he went up to her, and taking off his cap, said, "I beg your pardon, but are you not Miss Rose?" "Yes, Mr. Merivale, but I thought you would not have remembered me. Papa, this is Mary Merivale's brother." Mr. Rose looked rather curiously at Frank and his friends, and Frank at once answered the unspoken question by saying, "We are yachting, sir, and we are windbound, without any change of clothes. We should have been ashamed to come to church if we had thought we should meet anyone we knew." "I am very glad to have met you. You and your friends must come and dine with me," was Mr. Rose's reply. So, in spite of their slimy-covered clothes and fishy smell, they were welcomed, and had a pleasant day. Edith Rose was so very pretty and nice, that Frank began to think Dick was not quite such a goose for being spoons on his sister, as he had previously thought him. About ten they returned to the yacht, and found that the wind had risen, and was blowing tolerably hard. As they were anxious to get back in time to be with Mr. Meredith on Monday morning, they resolved to sit up until twelve o'clock and then start homeward. The night was starlight, and light enough for them to see their way on the water; and as the hands on their watches pointed to twelve they hoisted sail and glided away through the grey stillness of the night, beneath the starlit blue of the midnight sky, with no sound audible save the hissing of the water curling against their bows, the flapping of the sails as they tacked, and the occasional cry of a bird in the reeds; and about five o'clock they arrived home, and turned in on board the yacht for a couple of hours' sleep before breakfast. CHAPTER XXII. Calling for Landrails.--Landrail Shamming Death.-- Yellow Under-wing Moth and Wasp.--Dragon-Fly and Butterfly.-- Stink-horn Fungus.--Sundew. On a stile under the shade of a chestnut Frank sat, calling for landrails. Every now and then he rubbed an instrument on his thigh, which made a noise so like the cry of the corncrake that one could not have distinguished it. This instrument was very simple, and he had made it himself. It was a piece of hard wood, with a stock to it like the letter _y_. Between the prongs of the _y_ was a wooden wheel, with its circumference cut into cogs. A slip of wood was screwed to the stock, and pressed against the cogs. When the wheel was turned by being pressed against the leg, a grating noise was produced, which answered the purpose admirably. Frank sat with his gun upon his lap and called away most patiently, but not hurriedly. A landrail was answering him from the further side of the field, and was approaching nearer. At last, just as its note seemed further off, he caught sight of its long neck and head peering above the grass, which, although it was only the aftermath, had grown a good height. Frank gave another creak, and the bird ran on a few yards nearer. Frank raised his gun to his shoulder and took aim, and as the bird took fright and began to run away a report rang through the summer stillness. The corncrake ran on with one wing trailing. The distance had been too great, or Frank would not have done so little damage. Just as it seemed that the bird would get away, Dick and Jimmy appeared over the opposite hedge. The corncrake seeing them, immediately fell down and lay apparently dead. They picked it up and brought it to Frank, who laid it on the ground by his side, and went on with his calling, while the others lay on the grass and talked. A heap of hay had been left by the side of the hedge, and Dick lazily stirred it with his foot. A large yellow under-winged moth (a moth with grey upper-wings and bright yellow under-wings bordered with black and very common in our hay-fields) arose, and Dick ran after it with his hat. Another entomologist, however, was before him. A wasp pounced upon the moth, and the two fell fluttering to the ground, and Dick caught them both, and afterwards mounted them in the attitude in which he caught them. "It was a pity to kill the wasp," said Jimmy. "It was doing just the same as Frank here. I dare say that corncrake would like to see him killed." [Illustration: DRAGON-FLY.] "It is the law of nature," said Frank; "and see, there is a dragon-fly following the wasp's example." A large dragon-fly had seized a white butterfly, and then as it flew in the air, it was depriving it of its wings, which fell fluttering to the ground. Jimmy happening to cast his eyes upon the corncrake, saw it cautiously lift its head, then gather itself together, looking about, and evidently preparing for flight. "Look, Frank," he said, "the corncrake was only shamming death!" The corncrake was on its legs and running away by this time, but Frank fired and killed it. "I would have let it go for its cunning," he said, "but it would only die with a broken wing. It could not live the winter here, and of course it could not migrate. I have known the water-hen sham death in the same way, and many insects do it. I wonder if that is instinct or reason. How does it know that if it seems dead you will not touch it, and therefore it may get an opportunity to escape?" "It is very wonderful," said Jimmy; "but you will get no more birds to-day after two shots. They will be too wary. Come with me, and I will show you something equally wonderful." "What is it?" "I will not tell you. Wait and see." They followed him to the shrubbery of Mr. Meredith's garden, and he led them to a laurel-bush, and pointed out to them an upright fungus, creamy white in colour, but not by any means handsome. Dick and Frank bent forward to examine it, when suddenly they clasped their noses between their fingers, and ran away, followed by Jimmy exulting. "How terrible," said Dick, blowing his nose. "That is the vilest smell I have ever smelt," said Frank, doing likewise. "What is it?" "The common stink-horn fungus," answered Jimmy; "I thought you would like to see it." "We might have liked to see it, but not to smell it. Have not you a nose, Jimmy?" "Yes; but I wanted you to share my pleasure." "It was uncommonly kind of you, I must say." Mr. Meredith came up smiling and said, "Now, if you will come with me, I will show you a plant much more interesting, and a plant which is like Dick, in that it catches flies." In a small marsh near the end of the garden were some plants of the sundew. It is some years since I gathered one, and I have not one before me to describe, so I quote from a little book called _Old English Wild Flowers_:-- "Of all the interesting plants which grow on marsh-lands, the most singular is the sundew. Those who have never seen its white blossoms growing, can form but little idea of its singular appearance. Round the root it has a circle of leaves, and each leaf has a number of red hairs tipped with pellucid glands which exude a clear liquid, giving the leaves a dew-besprinkled appearance as it glistens in the sunshine. These have proved a fatal trap to numbers of insects. The foliage and stem are much tinted with crimson, and the plant is small." CHAPTER XXIII. Setting Night-lines.--An Encounter with Poachers. Old Cox met Frank one day, and said to him in his broad Norfolk, which would be unintelligible to you were I to render it faithfully,-- "I wish you would give me some more fish, Mr. Merivale. You catch plenty, and if you would give me some that you doesn't want, I would take them to Norwich market and sell them. I sorely want to buy a pair of blankets for the old woman and me afore the winter comes." "Well, Cox, you shall have all we catch and don't want," said Frank; and when he saw his friends he said,-- "Let us make a mighty night-line, and set it like the long lines the Cromer fishermen set for cods, and lay it in the broad for eels, and give all we catch to Cox. Two or three nights' haul will set him up for the winter." So they made a long night-line. They bought a quarter of a mile of stout cord, and at distances of a yard from each other they fastened eel-hooks by means of short lengths of fine water-cord. Cox himself got them the worms, and then one fine night they rowed the punt to the middle of the broad, and set the night-line in the deep water of the channel. "Well," said Dick, "this is the longest and most wearisome job I have ever done, and old Cox ought to be infinitely obliged to us. We have been two hours and a half setting this line." Early in the morning they went out, and took up the night-line, but to their great surprise they found but very few eels on it, and plenty of bream, which they did not want. They were much disappointed at this, and went to Bell, and asked him the reason, for there were plenty of eels in the broad. "Where did you set the line?" he asked. "In the deep water of the channel." "Then that is just the place where you ought not to have set it. At night the eels make for the shallow water to feed, and if the grass is wet they will even wriggle out among it. I have seen them myself many a time. You must set your line along the edge where the water is about a foot or two feet deep, and you will have as many eels as you can carry." They tried again, and set the line as Bell had directed them, and the next morning they began to haul it in. The first hook came up bare. So did the second, and the third. As they hauled in the line their faces looked very blank, for every hook was bare. "We are not the first," said Frank savagely, "some other fellows have been here before us, and have taken up the line, and robbed it. They must have watched us laying it. Now I'll tell you what we will do. We will set it again to-night, and watch in the yacht, and if we see any fellows touching it we will give them a drubbing. Are you game?" "Yes," answered both Dick and Jimmy readily, "we are." So the third time they set the line, and then as soon as it got dark they crept quietly on board the yacht. They had set the line within 150 yards of the _Swan_, and as there was a glitter on the water from the reflection of the stars, they could see if anyone approached it. "What shall we do if they do touch it?" said Dick. "How shall we get at them?" "I did intend to take the boat, and row after them," answered Frank; "but see, we are to windward of them, and there is a good breeze, so that if we let the yacht drift towards them until they take the alarm, and then run the sails up, we shall overtake them." "And what shall we do then?" said Jimmy, who was becoming a little nervous. "Run them down--the water is not deep enough to drown them--and take away their boat if we can, and then make them come and beg our pardon before we give it up to them. If they attempt to board us, knock them over again." Frank spoke decidedly and hotly, for he was much put out at the theft of the fish. His family had so befriended the poor people around, that it was very ungrateful of some of them to rob their line. His spirits rose, too, with a force he could not resist, at the thought of a midnight engagement, and the chance of outwitting those who had thought to outwit him. Dick and Jimmy were ready to follow their dux at any instant, and anywhere. "They won't come till about midnight," said Frank, "so we may as well take a little sleep." About two o'clock they were broad awake, and lying flat on the deck of the yacht, peering into the darkness in the direction of the night-line. "Hush," said Dick; "I heard a noise like that of oars." They listened, and sure enough they heard the noise of oars splashing in the water, and grating in the rowlocks. "Here they are," whispered Frank. "We shall soon be in the thick of it." Dick had been trembling for some time in his nervousness, and he thought somewhat bitterly, "What is the matter with me? Am I a coward?" and he felt ashamed at the thought. It was not cowardice, however, but pure nervousness, and the moment he heard the sound of the approaching voices his nervousness departed, and he felt as cool and collected as Frank. A black patch soon became visible on the water, and they could just distinguish the outline of the boat. A splash in the water told them that the mooring stone had been thrown out, and that the robbers were at work. Frank quietly slipped his mooring, and the yacht drifted quickly towards the men. They were soon near enough to see that there were two men in the boat, and they heard one of them say in a startled tone,-- "I say, Jack, that yacht's adrift." "Is there any one on board, did you see?" said the other. "No, I don't think so." "Yes, there is though. Pull up that stone and row off as fast as you can," answered his companion. "Up with the sail!" shouted Frank, as he flew to the helm. Dick and Jimmy threw themselves on the halyard, and the great sail rose with surprising quickness against the dark night. The men in the boat were now pulling away at the top of their speed, but with the wind dead aft the yacht bore swiftly down upon them. The water was only about two feet deep, and began to shallow. The yacht's centre boards were up, but still she could not go much further, and they could tell that they were continually touching the mud. "They will escape us," said Dick. "No, there is a deep bay just where they are rowing," said Jimmy. As the water deepened the yacht started forwards, and in another minute they were on the runaways. Crash went their bows against the boat: she was at once capsized, and her occupants were struggling in the water. One of them scrambled on board the _Swan_, and rushed aft with an oar upraised to strike, but Frank laid the helm over as he put the yacht about, and the boom struck the fellow on the head and knocked him overboard. Meanwhile Dick had with the boat-hook tried to catch hold of the boat. In this he failed, but he got hold of something far more important, and that was a large fine-mesh net, which the poachers had no doubt intended to use after robbing the night-line. With such nets the damage done to fishing is enormous. Shoals of fishes as small as minnows, and useless for anything except manure, are massacred with them, and it is by the constant use of such nets that the fishing on the broads falls now so far short of what it used to be. Night-lines set for eels are not poaching or destructive. The quantity of eels is so great, that, as long as the young ones are spared, either night-lines or nets of the proper kind may be used. The yacht swept on, leaving the men up to their waists in the water, and swearing horribly. Frank felt a wild impulse to return and fight them, for he was of a fighting blood, such as a soldier should have, but he thought, "If we go back there are sure to be some hard blows, and I have no right to take Dick or Jimmy into a scrimmage and perhaps get them severely hurt, for they are not so strong as I am," so he refrained, and they sailed back to the boat-house, and waited until the dawn. Their adversaries dared not attack them, but went off out of sight and hearing. In the morning they took up the line, and were well-rewarded for their previous trouble. The eels they took pretty well loaded the donkey-cart which old Cox had borrowed, and he took them to Norwich and made a good profit out of them. Having amused themselves once with the night-lines the boys did not care to use them again, for it was _infra dig._ to catch fish for profit. However the profits were good to other people, so they gave the line to old Cox, and told him that he must get some one to set it, and go shares with him. The next day Frank walked down to the village public-house and stuck up the following notice in the bar,-- "If the person to whom the nets I have belong, will call at my house and claim them, he shall have the nets and a good thrashing." Frank was five feet eleven inches high, and well built in addition, and he had always a look on his face which said "I mean what I say;" and the nets were never claimed. CHAPTER XXIV. Water Insects.--Aquaria. One July afternoon the boys had been fishing, and to seek some shade and coolness while eating their lunch, they had driven the yacht into a quiet pool among the reeds, which almost met over them. The water below them was very clear and still, and as it was only about two feet deep they could see the bottom quite plainly, and they soon found that it was well worth a close inspection. The pool was teeming with insect life. The surface of the water was covered with tiny whirligig beetles, which were skimming about in mazy, coruscating evolutions. "Those whirligig beetles," said Dick, "have their eyes made with two faces--one to look down into the water, and the other to look into the sky." "What a lot you have learnt about insects, Dick, in the course of a few months," said Frank. [Illustration: METAMORPHOSES OF FLESH-FLY.] "It is a grand study," said Dick enthusiastically; "and I have worked my best at it. When one goes hard at a thing it is astonishing how soon one picks up a lot of knowledge about it. I have read over and over again about the common insects, or those that are the most noticeable." "Well, tell us about all those insects we see now." [Illustration: WATER-BEETLE.] "Look at those long-legged narrow-bodied flies which are sliding along over the surface. These are called water-measurers. That oval beetle which is swimming on its back, and using two legs like oars, is the water boatman. It fastens on to the head of small fish, and soon kills them. It lives in the water, but if put on land it can fly. Look at that brute crawling over the mud, with its lobster-like head. It has sharp claws and a hollow snout. It lies in wait for its victims, and when it seizes them it sucks the juice out of them with its beak. It looks only of a dull brown now, but when its wings are expanded its body is of a blood red colour, and its tail is forked. It sometimes comes out for a fly at night." "And what is the fearfully ugly thing climbing up that reed-stem just out of the water?" [Illustration: PUPA OF DRAGON-FLY.] [Illustration: COMPOUND EYE OF DRAGON-FLY (SECTION).] "Oh, that is the larva of the dragon-fly. The fly is about to come out of the case. Just watch it for a while." [Illustration: LARVA OF GNAT.] [Illustration: ESCAPE OF GNAT FROM ITS PUPA-CASE.] The larva of the dragon-fly is one of the ugliest of creatures. It has a long light-brown body and six legs. It has a fierce wide mouth and projecting eyes. Attached to its head are two claws, which with a pincer-like movement, catch up anything eatable and pass it to the mouth. In its larva and pupa state it has just the same appearance, and when it is about to change into a perfect dragon-fly it climbs up out of the water and emerges out of its case, just like the butterfly, and sails away a perfect and gorgeous insect, leaving its case a transparent brown shell, still clinging to the reed or grass-stem on which it contracted its last change. "Bother the gnats!" said Jimmy brushing some off his face. "There is nothing interesting about them." "Oh yes, there is," said Dick. "They lay their eggs on the surface of the water, making a raft of them, and the larvæ escape through the bottom of each egg into the water; and I have read that it is a very pretty sight to watch the perfect insect coming out." [Illustration: METAMORPHOSES OF PLUMED GNAT.] "I would prefer their staying down below; they bite me," answered Jimmy. Crawling along the bottom were numbers of caddis-worms in tube-like cases made of sticks and stones. Inside these cases are the plump white grubs which turn into flies. "Where the bottom is gravelly these caddis-worms make their cases of little stones," said Frank. "Yes, and I read the other day that an experiment had been tried by some one, who took some out of their nests and put them into an aquarium with some finely-broken glass of different colours, and the caddis-worms made their cases of this broken coloured glass, and very pretty they looked." "Their own bodies must supply the glue which fastens the pieces of gravel or glass together?" "Yes, it does." As the fish were biting very badly the boys left the broad early and went for a stroll. While passing through the village they saw a sale of stock going on in the open space round which the houses were ranged. They stopped to look on. The goods which were being sold were the stock in trade of a chemist, and among them were three large glass bowls, such as are used for aquaria. These were put up by the auctioneer in one lot, but there was no bid for them. They were articles not in request in that rural district. [Illustration: PUPA-CASE, LARVA, AND FLY OF CADDIS-WORM.] "Will no one make me a bid? Everything is to be sold without reservation," cried the auctioneer. "Five shillings," said Frank. "Going at five shillings!--going! going!--gone!"--and the lot was knocked down to Frank. "What are you going to do with them?" asked Jimmy. "Make them into aquaria, of course. Don't you see they are just the thing. The idea came into my head as soon as I saw them." "Then we can put some water insects in," said Dick. The glass reservoirs were placed on a shelf in the boat-house, and the next morning before breakfast they were fitted up. They got a quantity of fine gravel and sand, and thoroughly washed it in water, so as to cleanse it from all mud and impurity. This was placed to the depth of a couple of inches in each vessel, and a rock-work of worn flints was built upon it. Water was poured in to within a few inches of the top, and pieces of anacharis were planted in the gravel, their roots kept down by the stones. In a day or two the water had got clear, and the plants had taken root, and the boys proceeded to stock the aquaria. The small brook near afforded minnows and sticklebacks in plenty. In a stagnant pool they got some newts and water-insects. From the broad they obtained a few small perch, roach, and bream, and an eel about six inches long. They at first put these all together without any attempt at sorting them, and then the following consequences ensued. The water-boatmen fastened on the heads of the small fish and speedily killed them, and ate them up. The sticklebacks made themselves at home at once, and proved very pugnacious, fighting each other, dashing at a stick or finger, if put into the water, but, worst of all, annoying the minnows. Each male stickleback took up a position of his own, and resented any approach to within a few inches of it. With his glaring green eyes, and scarlet breast, he would wage war against any intruder; and when an unsuspecting minnow came within his ken he would sidle up to it, till within striking distance, then dash at it, and strike it with his snout in the stomach. The perch swallowed the minnows, and when they had vanished, attempted to swallow the sticklebacks, but the spines of the latter stuck in the perches' gullets and choked them. The eel, too, would writhe and poke through the gravel and stir it up, displacing the weeds and doing a lot of mischief. [Illustration: MINNOW.] This led to a general reconstruction of the aquaria. The perch were taken out and restored to the broad, together with the eel. The roach, bream, and minnows, were put into two of the aquaria by themselves, and the sticklebacks and water-insects into the other. Many a fight took place among the sticklebacks and the water-boatmen, in which sometimes the one and sometimes the other came off victorious. [Illustration: SMOOTH NEWT.] The boys then got some caddis-worms, pulled them from their cases, and put them into a glass vessel filled with water, and having at the bottom some glass of different colours broken into small pieces. In a short time the caddis-worms had made themselves new, parti-coloured cases of glass, which were quite transparent, and through which the white bodies of the grubs could be plainly seen. Frank put these in among the minnows one day, and it was amusing to see the fish darting at the caddis-worms, thinking they would be soft, succulent morsels, and to watch their evident astonishment at being foiled by the hard cases. This suggested an idea to Frank which he afterwards carried out. None of the sticklebacks kept by the boys built nests or bred, so that they missed seeing a very pretty and interesting sight. "Fishes building nests!" I hear some of my readers exclaiming. Yes, sticklebacks do build nests, and in the number for January 1866 of _Science Gossip_ is an interesting account of this habit, which I take the liberty of quoting. When I have observed any fact in natural history myself, I describe it in my own words; but when I take it from the observation of others, it is fairer to them to use their own words, and far better in the interests of truth:-- "Two pair of sticklebacks were procured about the middle of April,--the males having already put on their spring dress of scarlet and green, and the females being full of spawn. [Illustration: METAMORPHOSES OF NEWT.] "After a few days a small hole was observed in the sand near a large stone. To this hole one of the males was paying the most assiduous and extraordinary attention. He was poising himself at an angle of forty-five degrees or thereabouts; he commenced a tremendous motion of his whole body, making the sand a pivot, and at the same time beating the water with his fins. This motion increased regularly in rapidity for a minute or so, when it ceased abruptly, and the fish darted off, either in pursuit of some trespasser whom he chastised (the females not even being exempt), or to obtain materials to increase his nest. These consisted of pieces of stick or moss, which being saturated with water, were of such gravity as to prevent their rising. He deposited these with great care, leaving a perfectly round hole in the middle, and then having procured a mouthful of sand, laid it over the looser materials to cement them together. "When completed, the nest resembled a flattened haycock. "For about a week after this completion it seemed deserted. But one morning it was found that some eggs had been laid. These for the size of the fish are very large, being about the size of a middling-sized shot. They hatched in about from ten days to a fortnight,--the young fish remaining in the nest until the yolk-bag was absorbed, when, being large enough to look after themselves, they went their way. The parent who had so tenderly guarded them took no further heed of them, and himself died--such being the case in both instances which came under notice, both parents sickening and dying from the effects of spawning and watching, or perhaps from the aquarium not being fitted for their recovery." [Illustration: WATER-FLEAS.] [Illustration: ANIMALCULÆ IN DROP OF WATER, AS SEEN UNDER THE MICROSCOPE.] Those who keep aquaria in an intelligent manner and study the habits of the creatures they imprison, will find it both interesting work, and a never-failing source of amusement. It is very little trouble. When the water is put in, and the plants begin to grow, the water need not be changed. The oxygen produced by the plants will keep the water pure, and will supply it with air. [Illustration: FRESH-WATER AQUARIUM.] The green confervoid growth which rapidly forms on the sides of the aquarium must not be all wiped off, for it assists greatly in keeping the water pure and healthy. Tie a piece of sponge to a stick, and with this you can wipe it off from that side where it obstructs the view, without disturbing the rest of the aquarium. If you have no cover, and dust accumulates on the surface of the water, it may easily be removed by means of a piece of paper laid on the surface of the water for a few minutes. The dust will adhere to this, and be taken away with it when it is removed. The confervoid growth is best kept down by the common water-snail, several of which should be kept in the aquarium. You must of course feed the fish occasionally with worms, insects, and bread; but give them very little at a time, or you will foul the water and render it muddy, and the fish will sicken and die. Keep these few hints in mind, and you will have no trouble in managing your aquarium. [Illustration: METAMORPHOSES OF FROG.] From aquaria to flowers is a sudden transition, but a bunch of violets has just been held to my nose to smell, and their sweet fragrance has borne me in thought from my study, where I am burning the midnight oil, to the green woods and fields of my boyhood, and then a sudden review of events which have happened since in my life, makes me more thankful than ever that that boyhood was, as far as natural history is concerned, a prototype to the boys of whom I am now writing, and makes me wish to urge the more strongly upon you the almost boundless advantages which follow the study to all. You will of course clearly see that my aim in writing this book is not merely to amuse, but to teach you some of the wonders which lie ready for you to explore, and the delight of seeking and discovering those wonders. I do not, however, want to moralize, because if I do you will skip my moralising, so I will pull up in time and get on with my story. [Illustration: SEA-WATER AQUARIUM.] CHAPTER XXV. Making a Fern Case.--Ferns.--Harvest Mouse.-- Mole.--Ladybird.--Grasses. [Illustration: WALL SPLEENWORT.] From ten till four the boys were engaged with Mr. Meredith, but they had a holiday on Saturday, and by rising early they could gain so many of the fairest and most beautiful hours of the day that lessons seemed but an interval between a long morning and a long afternoon. They thus made plenty of time for their numerous occupations. [Illustration: FORKED SPLEENWORT.] Mary said to Jimmy one day, "Will you make me a fern-case? Frank has so many things to do. I have been promised a lot of ferns from Devonshire. A friend of mine will send them to me by post, and I should so like to have a nice little fernery for my bedroom window." [Illustration: GREEN SPLEENWORT.] Jimmy gladly promised to make one for her, and Dick, who would have liked to have had the commission himself, volunteered to help him. They first of all made a strong deal box, about two feet six inches long, and one foot six inches broad, and six inches deep. This was lined carefully with sheet lead, which was to make it perfectly water-tight. They then made a wooden framework, with a pointed roof, to fit on the top of it. This they glazed with ordinary window-glass, and painted all the wood-work black. It was now ready for the soil. First they put a layer, about two inches deep, of broken sandstone, in order to ensure perfect drainage, and mixed with this were some lumps of charcoal to keep it pure. Then they filled up the box with earth, mixed in the proportions following:--one-third part of garden mould, one-third part of sand, and one-third part of peaty earth, with an admixture of dead leaves. In the centre of the rockery they built up a framework of curiously water-worn flints, and then they carried the affair in triumph to Mary's room, where they planted the ferns she had received from her friend--glossy, whole-leaved hart's-tongues, delicate, black-stemmed maiden-hair, ladder-like polypodies and blechnums, feathery lady-ferns, light green and branching oak-ferns, and many another species, which, notwithstanding their removal from the Devonshire lanes, grew and flourished in Mary's fern-case, and soon became a sight most pleasant to the eye. [Illustration: OAK FERN.] [Illustration: FRUCTIFICATION OF FERNS. 1. Asplenium. 2. Scolopendrium. 3. Cystopteris. 4. Blechnum. 5. Hymenophyllum. 6. Pteris. 7. Adiantum. 8. Trichomanes. 9. Woodsia.] To anyone fond of ferns nothing can be more interesting than a fern-case. Nearly all ferns grow well in them, if they are properly attended to. Whenever the soil becomes dry on the surface, they should be well watered, and this should not be done too often, or it will encourage the growth of mould. The moisture will evaporate and condense on the side of the glass, and run down again to the earth, so that there is very little waste. The plants thus create an atmosphere of their own, and will thrive in it wonderfully. [Illustration: WALL RUE. JERSEY FERN. MARSH FERN.] One day it was so intensely hot that it was impossible to do anything but lie in the shade. The boys had bathed twice, and the deck planks of the yacht were so burning hot that they could with difficulty stand upon them. They sought a shady corner of the paddock, and there underneath a tall hedge and the shade of an oak they lay, and talked, and read. Frank was teasing Dick with a piece of grass, and to escape him, Dick got up and sat on a rail in the hedge which separated them from the next field, which was a corn-field. This quietly gave way, and Dick rolled into the next field, and lay among the corn quite happy and contented. Suddenly he called out-- "Come and look at this nest in the corn-stalks! It can't be a bird's. What is it?" Frank and Jimmy went through the gap and examined it. [Illustration: HARVEST MOUSE AND NEST.] "It is the nest of a harvest mouse," said Frank, "and there are half a dozen naked little mice inside." The harvest mouse is the smallest of British animals. Unlike its relatives, it builds its nest in the stalks of grass or corn at a little distance from the ground. The nest is globular in shape, made of woven grass, and has a small entrance like that of a wren's. [Illustration: MOLE.] "And here is a mole-trap," said Jimmy, "with a mole in it. What smooth glossy fur it has! It will set whichever way you rub it." "Yes; and don't you see the use of that. It can run backwards or forwards along its narrow burrows with the greatest ease. It could not do that if the fur had a right and a wrong way." "Can it see?" asked Jimmy, pointing to the tiny black specks which represented its eyes. "Oh yes. Not very well, I dare say; but well enough for its own purposes. It can run along its passages at a great speed, as people have found out by putting straws at intervals along them, and then startling the mole at one end and watching the straws as they were thrown down." During the autumn and winter the mole resides in a fortress, often at short distances from the burrow where it nests. This fortress is always placed in a position of safety, and is of a most complex construction. It is a hillock, containing two or three tiers of galleries with connecting passages, and from the central chamber it has passages, or rows, extending in different directions. [Illustration: LADYBIRD AND ITS STAGES.] The boys returned to their couches in the long grass in the shade, and Frank was soon too sleepy to tease, but lay on the broad of his back, looking up at the blue sky through the interstices of the oak branches. Dick was studying the movements of a ladybird with red back and black spots, which was crawling up a grass-stem, and wondering how such a pretty creature could eat a green juicy aphis, as it has a habit of doing. Jimmy was turning over the pages of his book, and looking out the plates of flowers, and comparing them with some he had gathered. He was rather bewildered and somewhat discouraged at the immensity of the study he had undertaken. No sooner did he learn the name of a flower than it was driven from his head by that of another, and having attempted to do too much in the beginning, he had got into a pretty state of confusion. He had given up the idea of keeping pace with naming all the beautiful flowers he had found. He gathered and dried them, and left to the winter evenings the task of arranging and naming them. "I say," called out Frank, "around my face there are at least seven different kinds of grasses. Can you name them, Jimmy?--and how many different kinds of grasses are there?" "I can name nothing," said Jimmy dolefully, "but I will look it up in my book and tell you. Here it is, but their name seems legion. You must look at them for yourself. The plates are very beautiful, but the quaking grass, of which there is any quantity just by your head, is the prettiest." "They seem as pretty as ferns," said Frank. "I must learn something more about them." A day or two after this Mr. Meredith said to them, when they had assembled at his house in the morning: "Now, boys, from something a little bird has whispered to me, I think you stand in need of a little punishment, and I therefore mean to give you a lesson. You are by far too desultory in your study of natural history. You attempt to do too much, and so you only obtain a superficial knowledge, instead of the thorough and practical one you ought to have. You are trying to reach a goal before you have fairly started from the toe-line. I allude more especially now to botanical matters, because I know most about them, and that is all I can help you in. Therefore you will be kind enough to translate into Latin this Essay which I have written on the Life of a Fern." "That is anything but a punishment, sir," said Frank, laughing. The boys set to work with great zest at their novel lesson. I set the English of it out in the next chapter, and I particularly request my young readers to read every word of it. CHAPTER XXVI. The Life of a Fern.[1] [1] For this Chapter I am indebted to my friend Mr. William Whitwell, of Oxford. One of the most marvellous of "the fairy tales of science" has now to engage our attention for a time. The growth and fertilization of the seeds--more properly called spores--of ferns, present phenomena of remarkable singularity and interest. Growth is advisedly named first, as in the present instance it really does occur before fertilization, which is not the primary event in the life-history of a fern. But a few words must be devoted to the preliminary question: What is a fern? The vegetable kingdom is divided into two great provinces, allotted respectively to the flowering and the flowerless tribes. The flowering plants have several distinct and visible organs for the formation and fertilization of their seed, to each of which is assigned a special and necessary office. In the flowerless section, on the contrary, there are none of these visibly separate agencies in reproduction, and what are usually termed the seeds do not show any parts representative of the developed product. In the true seeds, which belong to flowering plants alone, are contained the rudiments of a stem, leaves, and root, but in the spores of the flowerless plants nothing of the kind is found. The spores, again, are microscopic, while the smallest of true seeds can be not only seen but easily picked up. You have, doubtless, met with the peculiar fungus called a puff-ball, and amused yourselves by watching the little clouds of impalpable dust which are shaken from it on the slightest motion. Those fine clouds, not nearly so visible as a film of candle smoke, are composed of innumerable spores, and such are the representatives of seeds in every member of the great section of the flowerless plants. Now it is peculiar to ferns, that the cases in which these spores are enclosed grow directly from the veins of what is usually called the leaf, but is more correctly termed the frond, and always appear upon the back or at the margin. Ferns, then, are flowerless plants which bear their spores in cases growing upon the back or margin of the leaves. In order that the phenomena of growth and fertilization in ferns may be clearly understood, it is necessary to refer to the process as taking place in flowering plants. The tulip is most appropriate for an illustration, inasmuch as its various parts will be recognised with ease. At the bottom of the blossom is a thick green oval body called the ovary, which afterwards becomes the seed-vessel. At the top, this narrows into a short column, surmounted by a three-cleft knob. Between the ovary and the gorgeously painted flower-leaves are six curious organs, termed stamens, consisting each of a long and rather slender stalk, and a head formed somewhat like a hammer. If the green oval ovary in the centre is cut in two, it will be found divided into three chambers, in one or another of which, not usually in all, will be seen a row of little knobs or buttons attached to the partition in the middle. These little buttons are ovules, or seed-germs, and the special office of the ovary is to produce these germs, and to contain them until their full development and complete ripening into seeds. But if the knobs are left just as they are, unfertilized, they can never become seeds, and the plant will fail to reproduce its kind. Turn we now to the stamens. Each of their hammer-like heads has two chambers, full of beautiful little grains which are called the pollen. Each grain is tastefully and delicately marked, and holds a transparent watery fluid, in which a number of extremely small solid particles are floating. What is required for the fertilization of the seed-germs is--that this fluid should be conveyed to and taken up by them. But they are in the centre of the thick green ovary--this in the chambers of the stamens! A simple arrangement brings all about. At a certain time we may see the black heads of the stamens covered with a fine flour, which adheres to whatever touches them. This flour is made up solely of pollen-grains, escaping in unimaginable numbers from the chambers where they are produced. At the same time the knob which crowns the seed-vessel puts forth a thick and gummy ooze. The stamens are just long enough for their heads to rise a little above this knob, upon which the pollen, when escaping as I have stated, falls in great quantity, and is there held fast. Each grain then begins to swell, and to sprout (as the Rev. J. G. Wood has it) something like potatoes in a cellar. All the sprouts, however, pierce the knob, and push downwards until they reach the seed-germs underneath. Each sprout is a tube of extreme minuteness, and when it reaches a germ, attaches itself thereto, and, through the channel so formed, the fluid is drawn out of the pollen-grain and absorbed by the embryo seed. Fertilization is thus effected, and the growth and development of the germ proceeds until it becomes a seed fully able, when planted, to reproduce a tulip. [Illustration: FERN SPORES.] In ferns, the spores ripen and are ready for dispersion and partial growth without any process of the kind. But, in truth, fertilization is as necessary to the continuance of ferns as to the perpetuation of other plants. The main difference lies in this: that the means of fertilization, and the real germs of new plants, are produced from the spores after they begin to grow. When a spore falls upon a proper place for its development, a portion of the outer membrane begins to swell, and a tongue-shaped projection is formed, which becomes a sort of root. The one chamber of the spore gradually subdivides, and becomes two, four, and so on, until for the simple spore we have a tiny leaf-like expansion, now known as the _prothallium_, or representative of a leaf. Further than this the spore alone has no power to go, and the prothallium is not truly the germ of the future plant. True germs, needing fertilization, are produced upon it, and also the means whereby they can be fertilized. These can be distinguished only by use of the higher microscopic powers. If a portion of the prothallium is examined, it will be found studded with little bladders, containing round semi-transparent bodies of a greenish hue. There may also be seen, though in fewer numbers, pellucid cells of an entirely different character, consisting apparently only of a fine membrane, forming an angular chamber, shaped in some instances like a lantern of extreme delicacy and elegance. From the top of this chamber a funnel-like shaft descends to a little germ which is situated at the bottom. This germ is the real original of the future plant, and the round bodies in their little cells, just before described, are the means whereby it is to be fertilized and receive energy to develope into the perfect fern. But how can the needful contact between the germs and the fertilizing bodies be brought about? Observation and experiment supply a strange answer to this question. The round bodies in the tiny bladders acquire a spiral or shell-like form when they become mature. If a drop of water is then placed in contact with the bladders, their contents will suddenly escape, retaining for a moment the coiled appearance, but quickly lengthening and partially unrolling. By means of hairs with which they are furnished, and which at once commence a ceaseless jerking motion, they forthwith launch out into the water, and conduct themselves therein more like creatures endowed with conscious life than mere organs of a settled and sedate member of the vegetable kingdom. These bodies, drawing near the germ-cells in the course of their travels through the, to them, vast ocean of the water-drop, have been seen arrested in their progress and passing down the funnel-shafts to the germs below--so fulfilling the purpose for which they were designed and their curious swimming powers were given. The germs, so fertilized, become the underground stems of which I have yet to speak, putting forth roots and producing the tender, rolled-up buds which finally expand into the fronds whose grace and beauty we so much admire. These germs, appearing on the prothallium or leaf-like expansion of the spore, are the true representatives of seeds, and the swimming bodies correspond to the pollen or fertilizing dust of flowers. Thus we see that germs and means of fertilization are produced in the fern as truly as in higher plants, and that the simple agency whereby the one may reach and exert the needful action upon the other, is the _dew-drop_ resting on the prothallium from which they are developed. Without the dew-drop or the rain-drop as a means of communication both must perish with their mission unfulfilled. This is, perhaps, one of the most singular instances ever to be found, of the mutual dependency of created things, or, to give different expression to the same idea, of the mode in which each link of the great network of existence is connected with every other. Returning to the fern, whose "strange eventful history" we have traced so far,--the germ enlarges and becomes what is usually called the root, but is really an underground stem. The true roots are the little fibres--often black and wiry, looking more dead than alive--which descend from this. The stem may be of two kinds--long, thin, and creeping, as in the common polypody, or short, stout, and upright, as in the common male fern. At intervals along the creeping stem, or arranged more or less regularly around the crown of the erect stem, little buds appear, which eventually form the fronds which are the really conspicuous portion of the plant, and whose aspect is familiar to us all. The buds present a character of great interest and singularity. Instead of being simply folded together, as leaves generally are,--in all but two of our British kinds the fronds are rolled up after the fashion of a crosier or shepherd's crook. In divided fronds, the sections are rolled up first, and singly, and then the whole are rolled up again, as if forming but a single piece. The aspect of some of these young fronds--in the common bracken, for instance--with their many divisions all partially unrolled, is often highly curious. But in this I am proceeding too far. The first crop of fronds, even in those kinds which when mature are most deeply cut, are usually very simple in form--almost or wholly undivided. This fact is often a source of great confusion to beginners. I well remember two perplexities of the kind in which I was involved during the earlier season of my attention to this subject. Growing upon a rock by the roadside, I found a small fern, more exquisitely beautiful than any I had seen before. I gathered and preserved it, but for many months was wholly puzzled as to its nature. Fancies arose that I was the happy discoverer of a new species,--and what if Professor Lindley or Sir William Hooker were to name it after me--Asplenium, or Polystichum, or something else, Meredithii? That would be better than a peerage. These were but fancies, and I was well pleased when further experience--for books helped me not at all--showed that it was a young plant of the common lady-fern. It was divided once only--into simple leaflets--while the fully-developed frond of the matured plant is one of the most highly subdivided our islands can produce. When I began collecting ferns, I had not seen a specimen of the rare holly-fern, and it was pardonable in me on finding some fronds which evidently belonged to the shield fern genus, and were divided into spiny leaflets only, to refer them to this species and tell a friend that I had made a great discovery. But on going to the same plant a year later, my mistake was made plain, as the new fronds were much more divided, and showed the plant to be of the common kind, the prickly shield-fern. On the rocky sides of little Welsh and Highland rivers, in glens where the sunlight seldom enters, complete series of this fern in all its stages--from the tiny simple leaf to the deeply-cut and boldly-outlined frond of nearly three feet in length--may easily be obtained, and will beautifully illustrate its varied and increasingly-divided forms. Some fronds of course, as those of the graceful hart's-tongue, are undivided even at maturity, except in occasional instances in which, like creatures endowed with more sentient life, they become erratic, and show a disposition to pass beyond the ordinary limitations. Curious examples of tendency to a greater than even their proper large amount of subdivision are occasionally shown in specimens of the lady-fern, which become forked at the extremities not only of the fronds but of the leaflets also. The manner in which the fronds divide into lobes, segments, leaflets, and so on, is of course largely dependent upon the character of the veining, which differs widely from that of the flowering plants. In these, the veins are either netted or parallel, but in ferns they are forked, each branch again forking, and so on outward to the margin. This is only partially true of the scale-fern, and not true at all of the adder's-tongue; but it is the case with all other of our native kinds. [Illustration: SCALY SPLEENWORT OR "RUSTY BACK."] Passing now to the production of the spores, and so completing the cycle of a fern's existence,--these appear in cases which spring in some instances from leafless veins or central ribs, but mostly from the veins as they usually occur, and at the back or, in the bristle-fern and filmy-ferns, at the margin of the fronds. The cases grow in clusters which are termed sori, each of which is generally protected by a covering, though in the genus of the polypodies this is entirely absent, the clusters being fully exposed to the diversities of wind and weather. In the protected kinds, the cover assumes various forms. The filmy-ferns have it as a tiny cup, enclosing the spore-cases. In the bladder-fern it is like a fairy helmet. The shield-ferns, as their name implies, produce it as a little shield, fastened by its centre. In the buckler-ferns it is kidney-shaped, in the spleenworts long and narrow, and so on. Some kinds can scarcely be credited with the formation of a real cover, but their sori are protected by the turned-down margins of the fronds. In a few sorts, separate fronds are provided for the production of the spores, and these mostly differ in shape from the ordinary or barren fronds. The spore-cases are generally almost microscopic, flask-like in shape, and encircled by an elastic ring of peculiar structure, which passes either from top to bottom like a parallel of longitude, or round the sides like the equator round the earth. The exact nature of this band,--whether its elasticity be due to the mechanical arrangement of its cells, which are narrower on the inner than on the outer side, and apparently filled with solid matter, or to a quality of its substance,--I am unable to determine. [Illustration: WILSON'S FILMY-FERN.] [Illustration: TUNBRIDGE FILMY-FERN.] When the spores are fully ripe, and ready for dispersion, the band, which has hitherto been bent around them, springs open with great suddenness and force, tearing the enclosing membrane and casting them forth upon the breeze, to undergo in their turn all the changes we have traced, or, as must be the case with multitudes, such are the countless numbers in which they are produced, to perish, humanly speaking, with all the beautiful possibilities of their nature for ever lost. The botanist is led away from care, not merely into holes and corners-- "Brimful dykes and marshes dank"-- but to glorious vales and to mountain tops, where fresh health-laden breezes play around him, and he can delight in scenes of grandeur and loveliness to a degree which only a true lover of nature knows. A poet I have read gave sweet expression to thoughts and feelings which I have often shared, when he wrote thus:-- "Oh! God be praised for a home Begirt with beauty rare, A perfect home, where gentle thoughts Are trained 'mid scenes so fair; "And where (God grant it so) the heart That loves a beauteous view, The while it grows in truth and taste May grow in goodness too. "For 'tis my creed that part to part So clingeth in the soul, That whatsoe'er doth better one, That bettereth the whole. "And whoso readeth nature's book, Widespread throughout the earth, Will something add unto his love Of wisdom and of worth." Happy are those who can find relief from the worry and turmoil of business in the observation and study of the myriad forms of life which flourish upon the earth, or whose record is laid up within its rocks. But blessed is he who, from the contemplation of objects so varied, wonderful, and beautiful, can with a full heart look upward to a God reconciled in Christ, and in reverential and loving worship exclaim, "My _Father_ made them all!" CHAPTER XXVII. On the "War-path."--Rabbit-shooting.--Flapper-shooting.-- Duck-shooting.--Wood-pigeons.--Life in an Oak-tree.-- Burying-beetles.--Lace-wing Fly.--Stag-beetle.--Hair-worm. It was a curious sight to see the boys on the "war-path." Frank generally led the way, with his eyes fixed on the hedge or tree-tops. Jimmy followed closely at his heels, and Dick brought up the rear. As their eyes were generally too much occupied in looking out for objects of interest, to take care of their feet, they lifted the latter up from the ground with an action like that of a thorough-bred colt, so as to avoid any obstacles in their path. While going along one day in this style, Frank said, "I tell you what we have nearly forgotten, and that is to go flapper-shooting." Flappers are young ducks only just able to fly, and in July it is great fun following them along the side of a dyke, the short flights of the young ones making them easy shots for a beginner. "Let us go to-morrow," said Jimmy. "You two shoot, and I will look on," said Dick, who cared very little for shooting. Dick was not by any means an enthusiastic gunner, as the following anecdote will show. He had taken the gun, saying that he was going to shoot rabbits by the Home Copse, a wood which belonged to Mr. Merivale. In a convenient spot the boys had fixed a hurdle close by a hedge-bank, and twined some brushwood through the bars. Between this and the hedge they used to take their seat, and watch for the rabbits coming out of their burrows in the evening. On a warm July evening Dick went to this spot alone, with a parting injunction from Frank not to shoot at the young ones, but to pick out the old bucks. Frank was busy with something or other, and Jimmy was away at Norwich. When Frank had finished what he was about he went in search of Dick. When he came to the edge of the field at the foot of which lay the wood, he saw numbers of rabbits skipping about close by Dick's shelter, and after waiting for some time he grew impatient, and wondered why Dick did not fire. [Illustration: WILD RABBITS.] "He must have fallen asleep," he thought; and so with infinite care and cunning he crawled down the hedge-side, and came upon Dick from behind. "Dick, why don't you shoot?" he said in a whisper. "Hush!" said Dick, "they look so pretty, I don't like to disturb them. Look at the young ones frisking about." "Give me the gun," said Frank. Dick passed it to him through the hedge, and Frank, taking aim at two fine rabbits which happened to be in a line, shot them dead. "I have had more pleasure in watching them than you have had in shooting them, Frank," said Dick. It must not be thought that Dick was mawkishly sentimental, but he had not the organ of destructiveness that Frank had, and it was, as he said, quite as much sport to him to see and watch birds and animals as to shoot them. Therefore, when the others went flapper-shooting their order of going ranged in this wise:-- Frank, armed with his double-barrelled muzzle-loader (for breech-loaders had not yet come into general use), took one side of the dyke, and Jimmy, with a single-barrel he had bought second-hand, took the other side, while Dick took the punt along the dyke ready to act the part of a retriever. It was one of those still, hot days when the distant woods lie brooding in a blue haze. The labours of the breeding-season over, the birds were resting silently, and there was no sound but the monotonous hum of insect-life. On the wide marshes all objects were distorted by the quivering of the evaporating moisture, and the long straight dykes and drains gleamed back defiantly at the sun. Frank and Jimmy trudged valiantly through the rustling flags and reeds by the water-side, and Dick pulled the punt along a little behind them. "Shooting is no fun this weather," said Frank, stopping to wipe the perspiration from his brow. Just then a wild-duck rose from the reeds, followed by half-a-dozen young ones. They rose on Frank's side of the dyke, so it was his turn to shoot. He dropped his hat and handkerchief and fired, but in his hurry he missed with the first barrel, and Jimmy, fearing they might escape, let off his big single, and one of the young ducks fell to the ground with a flop which told how fat he was. Frank winged another with his second barrel, and it fell into the water, where it was despatched by a third shot from Jimmy, who had hastily loaded. The old duck flew far away, but the young ones only flew short distances, and then settled on the dyke and hid in the reeds, one here and another there; and then for an hour or so they had good sport beating about the dykes, and flushing them one by one until they had disposed of the whole brood. "There," said Frank, as he handed the last of them to Dick in the punt, "it is too hot to shoot any more to-day. We have done enough to be able to say that we have been flapper-shooting, and that is all I care for this hot weather." "I am glad you are leaving off;" said Dick, "that villanous saltpetre smoke hangs in the air so that one can see nothing." "Then let us have a bathe, and leave the ducks until the winter-time," said Jimmy. "Yes, but we won't leave them quite yet. We must shoot them when they come to the corn-fields in August." [Illustration: WOOD-PIGEON.] And as we are now writing about wild-duck shooting we will just advance a short time in our story, and take a glance at the boys shooting wild ducks when the fields are yellow with harvest. Frank and Jimmy are perched in an oak-tree, which after many years of wrestling with the winds and storms, has assumed a very quaint and picturesque shape. Its mighty stem is riven and has great hollows in it, and its low, wide spreading branches shade more of the field than the Norfolk farmer likes. It stands in a hedge which separates the corn-field, where the stems are bowing with the weight of the ears and are ready for the scythe, from a meadow which slopes down to the marsh and the broad. Frank and Jimmy both have their guns, and Dick has been sent to the other side of the field with an old pistol, which he has been charged to let off. "Cock your gun, Dick is raising his pistol," said Frank. A puff of smoke from out the shadow of the hedge, and a few seconds after, a report, show that Dick has fulfilled his mission; and as the report reaches them, first come a number of wild-pigeons, which fly past with whistling wings. Jimmy fires and brings one to the ground. Frank has reserved his fire, and wisely, for with slow and heavy flight come four wild ducks right towards the tree. Frank gets two of them in a line and fires his first barrel. Two of them fall, and with his second barrel he wings another, which Jimmy despatches. [Illustration: SUSPENDED LEAF-TENTS.] "Come back to the tree, Dick," shouted Frank, and Dick came back. "Now if we wait here a little while, the wild-pigeons will come back, and some more ducks may come from the marsh." And so, having loaded their guns, they laid them in a hollow and made themselves comfortable, and began to chat. "Did you ever notice how much insect-life there is in an oak-tree?" said Dick. "Just watch this branch while I tap it." He struck the branch as he spoke, and immediately there fell from it scores of caterpillars, which let themselves fall by a silken thread, and descended, some nearly to the ground, others only a little distance. "I was reading the other day," said Dick, "of the immense quantity of moths which lay their eggs on the oak. There are caterpillars which build little houses of bark to live in. Others roll up the leaves and so make tents for themselves. Others eat the surface of the leaves, and so leave white tracks on their march. Others, when they are frightened, will put themselves into such queer postures: they will stretch themselves out as stiff as a twig, holding on by one end only, and you would think they were twigs; and these, when they walk, loop themselves up. They don't crawl like other caterpillars, but have feet only at each end, and so they loop up their bodies in the middle till they form the letter omega, and then stretch out their heads again and bring up their tails with another loop. And then there are cannibal caterpillars, which eat other caterpillars. Look at these little spots of bright green. See, if I make them fly, they are seen to be pretty little moths with green wings. They are called the green oak-moth." "An oak-tree seems to be a regular city," said Frank. "Look at this marvellously beautiful fly, with lace-like wings," said Jimmy. "What is that?" "That is a lace-wing fly," answered Dick. "Just put your nose as close as you can to it and smell it." Jimmy did so, and said,-- "Why it is nearly as bad as a stink-horn fungus." No more ducks came back that day, but three more wood-pigeons fell victims to their love of corn, and the boys descended, by and by, and walked home. As they were sitting on a stile, Dick pointed to the carcase of a mole which lay on the path, and to two little black beetles with yellow bands on their wing-cases, which were crawling over it. "I think those are burying beetles. Let us watch them. They lay their eggs in dead bodies of beasts or birds and then bury them, and the grub of the beetle lives on the carcase in its babyhood." They lay down on the ground by the beetles, watching them. The process of egg-laying by the female was just about being completed, and the two soon buried themselves in the earth beneath the carcase, and presently appeared at one side with a little mound of earth which they had excavated from under it. This process was repeated again and again, and very slowly the mole began to sink into the ground. The boys watched it for nearly an hour, and in that time the mole was about half-buried. One observer once kept four of these beetles in a place where he could observe them, and supplied them with carcases of small animals and birds, and in twelve days they had buried no less than fifty! [Illustration: LACE-WINGED FLY. (Manner of depositing Eggs.)] "Have you ever seen those huge stag-beetles with long horny mandibles like stag's horns?" said Frank. "Yes," replied Dick, "I caught one yesterday, and looked up all about it in my books. Its caterpillar takes four years to arrive at maturity, and it burrows in the wood of oak and willow trees. I showed the beetle I caught to our housekeeper, and she nearly went into hysterics over it. I tried to make her take it into her hand, and she said she would not have done so for 'worlds untold.'" [Illustration: STAG-HORNED PRIONUS AND DIAMOND BEETLE.] Frank stooped down to wash his hands in a small pool of water by the road-side, and he cried-- "I say, do look here. Here is a living horsehair. Look at it swimming about. It ties itself into ever so many knots in a minute, and unties them again. Is it a hair-worm?" "Yes, I have no doubt it is," said Jimmy. "Do you know that I expect that the common notion of eels being bred from horsehairs has arisen from country people seeing these long worms, and thinking they were horsehairs just come to life." The hair-worm in the first stage of its existence passes its life in the body of some tiny animal or insect. Although it lives afterwards in the water, yet it will, if put into a dry and hot place, dry up to nothing as it were; and then after a long exposure to the heat, if it is put into water again, it will swell out and resume its old proportions, and, live seeming none the worse for being baked. CHAPTER XXVIII. Purple Emperor.--His Taste for Carrion.--Wood-pecker.-- Blue and Small Copper Butterflies.--Buff-tip Moth.-- Moths at Ivy.--Strange-looking Caterpillars. One hot August day Frank and his faithful follower Jimmy were strolling arm-in-arm along the lanes to call for Dick. Presently they came upon him engaged in no very pleasant occupation. Holding his nose with one hand, with the other he was drawing along a dead dog by means of a long bramble twisted round it. The dog was highly odoriferous, and Frank and Jimmy kept at a distance while they asked him what he was doing that for. "I saw a purple emperor butterfly flying round the top of one of the oaks in the park. It is impossible to catch it with a net, but I have read that these butterflies have a taste for carrion, and will come down to it; so I just fished about until I found this dead dog, which I mean to lay under the tree as a bait." "Are you sure it was a purple emperor? They are very rare here," said Frank. "Oh yes, I saw the purple of its wings shining in the sun, and it was so large, and it flew about the tops of the oaks, and then flew higher still out of sight." The purple emperor is looked upon as the king of English butterflies. It is a large insect, with wings of dark purple bordered with white, which vary in colour like the material known as shot silk, and in the sunlight gleam most beautifully. The males only have this splendid purple gloss on their wings. The females, though larger in size, have wings of a dull brown. The purple emperor takes its station at the top of the tallest oak and rarely descends to earth. The female is more stay-at-home than the male, and is very rarely caught. The insect would be far oftener seen than caught if it were not for its habit of alighting upon carrion, and collectors take advantage of this low taste, and lie in wait for it, and catch it in the act. The caterpillar is a plump creature, with a tail running to a point, and a pair of horns or tentacles on its head. It is bright green in colour, striped with yellow down each side, and it feeds upon the willow. In the south of England this butterfly is not uncommon, but as you go north it becomes rarer. Frank and Jimmy accompanied Dick to the park where the oak-trees were, keeping at a respectable distance to windward of him. The carcase was deposited beneath the tree where Dick had seen the purple emperor, and they sat down behind another tree to wait the course of events. Two hours passed away without any sign of the butterfly, but time was no object with the boys, who found it pleasant enough to lie on the cool grass in the shadow of the oaks, and listen to the murmur of woodland sounds. Squirrels and rabbits played about them, and birds fluttered in the trees overhead. The cushat uttered her sleepy moan, and then woke up and flew away on lazy wing to the corn-fields, whence came the sound of the sharpening of scythes. The rattle of the woodpecker tapping the hollow trees was the loudest sound which disturbed the silent, broiling afternoon. The three friends were stretched on the ground talking quietly, and half disposed to doze, every now and then casting glances at the dead dog. Suddenly down a lane of sunlight there fluttered a shimmering purple thing which settled on the carcase, and stayed there, opening and shutting its wings, and sending scintillations of purple light through the green shadows. "There it is!" said Dick excitedly, and he got hold of his net. "Don't be in a hurry, Dick; wait until it feels secure and gorges itself a bit," said Frank. Dick listened to his sound counsel, and waited as patiently as he could for a few minutes, and then he raised his net, and with a single leap reached the spot where the carcase lay, and brought the net down over dog and butterfly together. [Illustration: GREEN WOODPECKER.] "I have got it!" he exclaimed. "That's right; and you have got a lot of maggots in your net as well, and stirred up the stench most tremendously. Make haste and kill the butterfly and come away, or you will catch a fever," said Jimmy. [Illustration: BLUE BUTTERFLY.] The gorgeous insect having been secured in Dick's collecting box, they went off in search of other prey. On a common just beside the wood they found abundance of the beautiful blue butterflies, which shone like flakes of summer sky, and also the small copper butterfly, which rivals the most brightly burnished copper in its sheen. These were playing about in the greatest abundance, the small coppers settling on a blue flower, or a blue butterfly on a red flower, forming most artistic contrasts of colour. [Illustration: THE HAUNT OF THE PURPLE EMPEROR.] From its throne on the top of a tall nettle, where it sat fanning the air with its black, crimson-barred wings, Dick captured a magnificent red admiral, and shortly after another of the same species. Gorgeous as the upper surface of the wings of this butterfly is, the under side is quite as beautiful in a quieter way, with its delicate tracery of brown and grey. While Dick was setting the butterfly in his box, Frank leaned against the trunk of an oak-tree, and as he did so he caught sight of a moth which was resting upon it. It was a large thick-bodied moth, and Dick on being appealed to said it must be a buff-tip moth, from the large patches of pale buff colour at the ends of its wings. Frank said,-- "I should not have seen that moth if my face had not almost touched it. Its colour suits the tree-trunk so admirably that it looks just like a piece of the rough bark. I suppose it knows that, and rests on the oak-tree for safety." "Yes," said Dick; "I have read that many moths and butterflies are so like the substances on which they rest by day, that they can scarcely be distinguished from them, and of course there must be a meaning in it. The lappet-moth looks exactly like two or three oak-leaves stuck together, and its wings are folded in a peculiar manner, so as to keep up the delusion. There are caterpillars too which can stiffen themselves and stand out on end, so as to look like sticks." "It is the same with birds'-eggs," said Frank. "Those which are laid on the ground without any attempt at concealment are of such a colour that you can hardly see them. For instance, take a partridge or pheasant. How like their eggs are in colour to the dead leaves of the ditch where they nest. The same with the lapwings, and all the plover tribe. Coots and water-hens' eggs are so like their nests, that at a little distance you cannot tell whether there are eggs in or not." "I wonder," said Dick, "if birds take any pleasure in the prettiness of their eggs. If so (and I don't see why they shouldn't), there is a reason why birds which build in bushes and branches of trees should have pretty coloured eggs, as they have, and why birds which build in dark holes should have white or light-coloured eggs, otherwise they would not see them at all." "That is a very ingenious theory, Dick, and it may have something of truth in it," answered Frank. That night was a still, warm night, and the moths were out in abundance. As soon as it became dark they all went out with a dark lantern to hunt them, and they were very successful. As they were returning home they passed by an old wall covered with huge masses of ivy. Dick going close to it said, "Do look here. There are hundreds of tiny sparkles. What can they be? Why, they are the eyes of moths. The ivy is covered with the moths, feeding on the flowers. Look how their eyes gleam." And truly it was a marvellous sight. When they turned the light of their lantern on them they saw that the moths were busy with a curious silent activity, flying from flower to flower, sipping their sweets. "There are so many that I hardly know how to set about catching them," said Dick. "Many of these must be rare and many common." "Sweep the face of the ivy all over with your net as rapidly as you can, and keep them in your net until we get home, and then we can kill and pick out all that you want," counselled Frank. Dick followed his advice, and with a dozen rapid sweeps of his net he seemed to have filled it. Closing the net by turning the gauze over the ring, they walked quickly back to the boat-house, and carefully closing the door and window, they opened the net and let them all out into the room, and then caught them singly. In a couple of hours they found that they had secured about fifty specimens, comprising twenty different species. During the summer a strange creature which fed on the potato plants had much frightened the country people, who thought it a sign of a coming plague. It was a large caterpillar, of a lemon-yellow colour, with seven slanting violet stripes on each side and a horn on its tail. The people in the neighbourhood of Hickling, knowing that Frank and his companions were fond of collecting such things, brought some to them, and by this means they became possessed of more than thirty specimens. They were the larvæ of the death's-head moth, the largest of all our British moths. It is remarkable not only for its size, but for two other things, each of which is very curious. On its thorax it has a perfect delineation in white of a skull, or death's head, with a pair of cross-bones below it. In addition to this singular mark, it--and it alone of all our moths and butterflies--has the power of making a squeaking noise, which it does when it is touched or annoyed. How it makes this noise no one seems to know. At least there are so many conflicting opinions that the matter may be said to be still in doubt. The boys fed the larvæ on potato-leaves put in a box in which there was placed about six inches of earth. When the larvæ had finished their eating, they dived into this earth and turned into the pupæ state. In the autumn the perfect moths came out, but only about half of the number reached the final stage. The others died in the pupæ state. However, Dick had plenty of specimens for his cabinet and for exchange. CHAPTER XXIX. How to Attract Perch.--Perch-fishing.--Pike.--Good Sport.-- Plaster Casts.--Model Eggs. "I say," said Frank, "you remember when the minnows ran at the caddis-worms in their transparent cases, but could not eat them?" "Yes." "And you know what shoals of perch there are about the broad, and how difficult it is to drop upon them, because the water is so shallow and clear?" "Yes." "Then what would you say to putting a quantity of minnows in glass bottles, and sinking them in the broad, in a good place, for two or three days? I think a lot of perch would collect together and prowl about trying to get at them, and then we could go and catch any quantity of them, live baiting with minnows." This project was agreed to unanimously, and after a day or two, the boys were busily engaged in collecting wide glass bottles, or wide-mouthed jars, and in fishing for minnows, of which they got a considerable number by diverting the current of a brook, and baling the water out of a pool in it. They had managed to obtain about a dozen large glass bottles or jars. They filled these with water and put a number of minnows in each, and then corked them up, making holes through the corks to admit fresh water and air to the prisoners. These bottles and jars were conveyed to a spot where perch were in the habit of congregating,--near an island of reeds, where the water was about five feet deep, with a fine gravelly bottom such as perch delight in. The large shoals of perch which roamed about the broad were very often to be met with here, and it was a favourite fishing place of the boys. One Friday night they took the yacht to this spot and moored her there in a convenient position, sinking the bottles and jars from six to twelve feet distance from her, so as just to be within easy reach of their rods. Leaving the yacht there they rowed back in the punt. The yacht was pleasanter to fish from than a small boat, and they took her there overnight to avoid making a disturbance in the morning. On the Saturday morning they rowed to the spot in the punt, armed with their rods and bait-cans filled with minnows. Getting quietly on board the yacht, so as to avoid any concussion of the water, they peered into the clear depths. Two of the jars were easily to be seen, and round each of them was a circle of perch, or rather several circles, for next to the jar were some very large ones with their noses placed against the glass. Behind these large perch were others, in circles of gradually lessening size, until they came to the very small ones, which were there, not so much attracted by the minnows as hanging on of necessity to the tails of their elders. The boys laughed quietly to each other at the success of their experiment. They had certainly succeeded in drawing the fish together. Dick was the first ready. He had baited his hook with a live minnow, the hook being run through the skin of its back near the back-fin. As the minnow sank through the water, and before the float touched the surface, there was a general rush of the perch up towards it. Dick pulled his bait out of the way of some small ones which were rushing at it, and then the largest of the shoal, a patriarch of about four pounds in weight, came hurtling at it, dashing the others to right and left of him. The poor minnow made a futile attempt to escape the wide open jaws, but it was of no use, and they closed upon it and the hook together. Dick struck and hooked the perch, which immediately made a spirited rush straight away. On being hooked it had blown the minnow out of its mouth, and it was eagerly snapped up by another perch. Dick's perch fought very gamely, and Frank and Jimmy forbore to put their lines in until it was secured, for fear of fouling. After a very sharp struggle Dick drew the perch within reach of a landing-net, which Frank slipped under it and lifted it out. It was a beauty, in splendid condition, its black bars being strongly marked across its golden scales. [Illustration: PERCH AND GUDGEON.] Frank and Jimmy now put their lines in, while Dick was rebaiting. In less time than you can say "Jack Robinson" they each had a fish on, both of them good ones. And now the sport was fast and furious. As fast as they put in they had a bite, the perch even following their struggling companions to the top of the water as they were being drawn out. The very large ones soon grew wary, but the smaller ones, fellows of about half to three-quarters of a pound, seemed not to have the slightest shyness, and rushed to their fate with the greatest eagerness. The floats lay for a very short time on the water before they went under with that quick dash which characterizes a perch's bite. "Here's a gudgeon in the bait-can," said Jimmy. "I will put it on my hook and try for a big one. It may be tempting." He did so and threw it in. Immediately the float went under water with such swiftness that he knew he had hold of a big one and he struck, to find his rod bending double and his line running rapidly off the reel with the rush of a large fish. "You have got a big one," said Frank. "Let him have line." Jimmy did so, until the line was nearly off the reel, and then he was compelled to give him the butt. The line stood the strain, and the fish was turned and came back slowly and sullenly, while Jimmy wound in his line. The fish allowed himself to be drawn up close to the yacht, and they saw it was a large pike, and then it went off again. This time the rush was not so long or strong, and after two or three rushes of lessening power, the pike was drawn within reach. Frank unscrewed the net and fixed the gaff-head on the stick, hooked Mr. Pike through, and hauled him in. It weighed nine pounds. Jimmy was proud of having conquered it with a light rod and line not very well adapted for pike-fishing. [Illustration: PIKE.] Towards noon the wind began to rise, and as the clearness of the water was then destroyed by the ripple, the big perch lost their caution in consequence. The small ones now left off biting, possibly beginning to see that it was not a profitable occupation. Presently the sport altogether grew slack, and as it was then three o'clock, and the boys had been too busy to eat anything, they left off for lunch. After lunch Frank said,-- "I am sated with slaughter; and as there is such a nice breeze, let us sail about the broad." "Frank would give up anything for sailing," said Dick laughing, as he put away his tackle. I forget how many fish they really got that day, but I know that both number and weight were very great indeed. They took up the jars and bottles the next morning when the water was clear and still, and released the prisoners which had done them such good service. It was worth while preserving a memento of a four-pound perch, and as it was a pity to spoil it for eating by skinning, it was resolved to make a plaster-cast of it, and this was done in the following manner:-- They bought some plaster-of-paris and mixed it with water until it became a thin paste. This they poured into a box, and when it began to set they laid the fish on its side in it, so that exactly one half of it was covered by the plaster. The fish had first been well oiled, so that the scales should not adhere to the mould. When the plaster was set and hard the fish was taken carefully out. Several holes about an inch deep were then bored in the plaster round the imprint of the fish. The plaster-cast was then well oiled, the fish laid in it, and more plaster poured in, until the fish was covered. When this in its turn had become hard it was taken off, and both sides of the fish were now represented in the mould. The holes which had been bored in the first mould, now had corresponding projections in the second mould. This was to insure accuracy of fit when the pieces were put together for the final cast. A hole was then bored through one side of the mould. The interior of it was well oiled, the pieces fitted together, and liquid plaster poured in through the hole. In a couple of hours the moulds were separated, and a perfect cast of the fish was the result. This Mary painted in water-colour to imitate the natural fish, and the final result was very creditable to all concerned. While upon the subject of plaster casts, I must mention an occupation which the boys resorted to in the winter-time. Their collection of birds' eggs was almost as perfect as they could hope to make it for many years to come, but at Frank's suggestion they added to it, for additional perfection, a representation of the egg of every British bird. They made these eggs of plaster and coloured them very carefully, and varnished them with white of egg. These artificial eggs could not have been distinguished from real ones as they lay in the cabinet, but each egg was marked with a label, signifying that it was only a model. I recommend this plan to all students of ornithology. CHAPTER XXX. Eel-fishing.--Setting the Nets.--Elvers.--The Merivale Float. One autumn day, when the ground was red with fallen leaves and the landscape was sodden with wet, the boys were busy in the boat-house with some of their numerous occupations, when the conversation turned upon eels and eel-fishing,--how that eels bred in the sea, and in the spring myriads of tiny eels came up the rivers; when the river was wide, ascending it in two columns, one by each bank, so thick together that you might scoop them out in bucketfuls,--and how, when they met with any obstruction, such as a weir or flood-gate, they will wriggle themselves over it; and it often happens that where it is dry they stick fast to it, and their companions make their way over them, and leave them to perish. In the autumn, too, the eels migrate to the sea in vast numbers, and are caught by means of nets placed across the river. Jimmy said,-- "I say, Frank, do you remember all those eel-nets we saw by Horning? They will be in full work now. I vote we sail down next Friday night and see them in operation." "Very well," said Frank, "I don't think we could do better. We will get a half-holiday on Friday, so as to be there in good time." Friday was wet and stormy, and the boys consulted as to the advisability of going. Frank said,-- "Let us go, as we have fixed to go. It may clear up, and if it does not, it doesn't much matter. We are used to getting wet, and it won't hurt us." The others agreed; so taking in all the reefs in their sails, they started across the broad, while the wind howled, and the rain beat with blinding force against their faces. The sky was murky with driving masses of black cloud, and the lake was lashed into angry waves. "This is a nice sort of day for a pleasure excursion," said Dick, as he placed his hat more firmly upon his head and turned his back to the wind. "Yes," said Frank. "Do you go into the cabin. I can manage the tiller and mizen, and Jimmy will take his turn at the main-sheet, and then you can have a spell by and by." "Oh no, I am not going to shirk it," replied Dick. They struggled across the broad, and into the Hundred Stream, and before very long they reached its junction with the Bure, and brought up under the lee of a sort of rough cabin which was built there. There was a bare spot among the reeds and there, upon a wooden framework, hung the eel-nets, which two or three men were busy putting in order. When the yacht was made snug, Frank went up to them and said,-- "We have come, hoping you will let us see how the eel-nets are worked; but I am afraid we have chosen a very bad night." "No, you have come the very best night you could have picked, sir," answered one of the men. "There is no moon, and the water is rising. The eels always run more freely when the night is dark and stormy." "Oh, then we are in luck's way after all," said Frank to his companions. "We shall be setting the nets directly, sir, and you had better come with us in your punt." "All right, we will." The eel-nets were like huge bags, large at one end, and narrowing rapidly. The mesh at the large end was about two inches in diameter, but it quickly lessened until it was so small that a minnow could not have got through it. The mouth of the net was made sufficiently wide to stretch across the river, and, in order to keep the body of it distended, wooden hoops were placed at intervals down it. To each hoop inside the net was attached an inner circle of net, which narrowed to a small opening, like the principle on which some mouse-traps are constructed, so that the eels having passed through the narrow inlet could not find the way back again. The end portion of the net, comprising the last four hoops, is made in a separate piece or pocket, and is only fastened to the net when it is fishing. The juncture is marked with a rope and buoy. The men now fastened a heavy chain along one half of the lower side of the mouth of the net. This was the side which was to lie along the bottom of the river, and the chain was to keep it down. The net was now taken on board the boat, and the men rowed a little way down the river, followed by the crew of the _Swan_. The net was put out so that the base rested on the bottom. Heavy weights were fixed at the two bottom corners of the net, and the two top corners were tied to posts fixed by the side of the river. The men now sounded with a pole, to see that the chain lay across along the bottom. While they did so the boat heeled over so much that Dick said,-- "Another inch and the stream would be over the gunwale, and those fellows would be pitched into the net and drowned." The net was now pulled out far down the river, and the pocket tied on, and then it was left to itself. "Don't the wherries ever do any damage to the nets?" asked Jimmy. "Sometimes, sir; but they know where they are set, and they takes care where they put their quants if they be quanting; and if they be sailing they pass over the nets without doing them any harm." After this they set another net lower down, and then they returned to the hut, and, sitting by the peat fire, they had some hot tea, and waited for an hour, knowing that the eels were rushing down stream, and into the nets. The wind howled dismally over the marshes, and the rain hissed on the water. "It's lonesome work, sir," said one of the men to Frank, who had drawn nearer the fire with a shudder. "Yes; does it pay?" "Pretty well at times, sir. This is what we should call a very fine night for our work, as the eels run so much better than they do on a calm night. It will make some pounds difference to us." "What do you do with the eels?" "Some we sells at Norwich and Yarmouth, but the most part goes to London or Birmingham. The Black Country men are very fond of a nice rich eel; but come, sir, it is time to take up the first net now." They went down the black river again, until they came to the buoy which marked the pocket, or "cod," as it is technically termed, of the net. This was hauled up and detached from the rest of the net. It was very heavy and full of eels, which were wriggling about in a black slimy mass. They put the mouth of the cod over a basket which was smaller at the top than at the bottom, so that the eels could not crawl out, and poured them into it. There were about thirty pounds weight of eels, the major part being about a pound weight each, but some were two or three pounds in weight. The cod was then tied on to the net again and lowered, and the next net was visited in the same way, and found to contain about the same quantity of eels. The nets were first laid about seven o'clock, and first taken up about eight, and at intervals of an hour through the night the nets were visited, and about the same quantity of eels taken from them each time. This lasted up to half-past one o'clock, and then there was a great falling off. "They have pretty well stopped coming down now, sir. We can leave the nets and go and have some sleep. The nets will hold all the eels which will get into them by the morning." "Did you ever meet with any accident while eel-fishing?" asked Dick. "I have only seen one, sir; but that was a bad one. It was the year before last, and my mate had had a drop too much, and he overbalanced himself and fell overboard into the net, and the stream carried him down it before I could catch hold of him. There was no one to help me, and before I could get the heavy net ashore he was dead. It was a fearful thing, and I have thought of it many a time since. I used to be fond of a glass myself at that time, but I have never touched a drop since." "Did you ever see the little eels coming up the river in the spring?" asked Jimmy, to change the subject. "Oh, you mean the elvers. Ay, and more's the pity! the people catch tons of them to feed the pigs with. If they would let them alone, they would be worth a good many pounds to some one in the autumn," answered the man. [Illustration: EELS.] "If the eels breed in the sea, Frank," said Dick, "what do the eels do which cannot get to the sea,--those which live in ponds?" "Make the best of it, I suppose, like sensible beings," answered Frank. "Do you often have such a good night as this?" asked Jimmy. "No, not very often. You see, we want so many things together--wind, rain, rising water, and no moon." After the morning dawned the nets were taken up for the day. Besides eels they contained a quantity of miscellaneous matter, such as a dead dog, sticks, weeds, old boots, a bottle or two, and various other refuse which the stream had brought down. The eels had been put overnight in the well of the boat, and now the men proceeded to sort them, separating the big ones (for which they received a larger price) from the small ones. In order to do this they constantly dipped their hands in sand, for the eels were slippery customers. The rain had ceased, but the day was dull and dreary, and the _Swan_ sailed home early, her crew satisfied with the glimpse they had had of how eels were caught for profit. In the afternoon they sailed about the broad in order to try a new float which Frank had invented for pike-fishing. They had been accustomed to trail their spinning baits after the yacht as they sailed about, but the wake left by the yacht generally disturbed the fish, so that they had to let out a very long line before they could catch anything, and the line then became fouled in the weeds. Now Frank had invented a float which did away with this drawback. You may have noticed how, when towing a boat with the tow-rope fastened a few feet from the bows, she will sheer out from you. It occurred to Frank to adapt the same principle to a float, so he cut a piece of deal a quarter of an inch thick, eight inches long, and four wide, pointed at both ends. To one side of this he attached a keel four inches deep, leaded along the bottom. This side was painted green, and the other white. To a point about one-third of the way from one end of this float was attached a rough line. To the other was fastened a shorter length of line with a spinning trace attached. When this float was laid in the water with the keel side undermost, and set in motion, it sheered out, and as the yacht sailed along and the reel line was payed out, the float swam along in a parallel course with the yacht, and as far out as they chose to let out line. It then passed over undisturbed water, and a great change was soon observed in the increased number of pike taken by the help of this float. They christened it the "Merivale float," and they were so pleased with its success as to have a dim idea of taking out a patent for it. CHAPTER XXXI. Hawking. The training of the hawks was a source of great amusement to the boys. They obtained Stonehenge's _British Rural Sports_ from Sir Richard Carleton's library, and studied the article on hawking. They found a sparrow-hawk was called a short-winged hawk, because its wings do not reach so far as the end of its tail, while a kestrel is a long-winged hawk, its wings reaching as far as the end of its tail. As a general rule, long-winged hawks are much better than short-winged ones for hawking purposes, but the sparrow-hawk is braver and better than the kestrel. Their hawks being from the nest, and not caught by a trap, were _eyasses_. Before they could fly they were _branchers_, and being reared at liberty they were _hack-hawks_. The training of a hawk is called its _reclaiming_, Fig. 3 _a_ and _b_, when it sleeps it _jouks_, its prey is its _quarry_, when it strikes it is said to _bind_. When it soars and then descends upon its quarry it _swoops_, when it flies straight after it it _rakes_. It is sent off by a _whistle_, and brought back by a _lure_. These are only a few of the technical terms peculiar to hawking. The hood, Fig. 1 and 2, which one sees so conspicuously on the heads of hawks in pictures of the sport in the olden time is not necessary in the case of the short-winged hawks, and the great object was to make the hawks as tame as possible. This the boys accomplished by continually handling them and being with them, especially at feeding-time. Around each foot of the bird they tied a soft strap of leather to correspond to a _jesse_, Fig. 4 _a b_. To these were attached some little bells _e e_, which they took off some children's toys. The jesses had also a loop _b_, to which was fastened when required a _leash_, Fig. 5, or long cord, which prevented the birds from flying away while training. They had perches with cross-bars made for the hawks, and set up at one end of the boat-house, and underneath it a tray containing a quantity of sand and a bowl of water. In a couple of months the hawks were quite tame, and then the boys proceeded to train them for sport. Every time they were fed the meat was attached to a lure, Fig. 6, which was a lump of cork with a bunch of cock's feathers attached to it. This was thrown up into the air at gradually increasing distances, and at the same time one of the boys, having the hawk ready perched on his wrist (which was protected by strong gloves such as hedgers and ditchers use), let her loose with a shrill whistle, and she was allowed to fly the length of her leash and seize the lure and the food. In a remarkably short time the birds would not only fly to the lure with alacrity, but wait until the boys came up and took them away again. When they had attained this pitch of perfection the rest was easy, and the leash was dispensed with. Then a dead bird or rabbit was fixed to the lure, and at last, one fine October day, it was resolved to try the hawks at real game. [Illustration: APPARATUS USED IN HAWKING.] "What shall we try them at first?" said Dick. "I was thinking that the best way would be to take the yacht and coast about the reeds, and try them first at the water-hens and coots. I am so afraid of someone shooting them if we take them into the meadows. If we cannot manage them with the yacht on the water, we will take them on the drained marshes," answered Frank. "I hope they will not disappoint us," said Jimmy, "for they have given us a great deal of trouble to train." "They have had very little to eat this morning, so I think they will fly at anything we show them, but it will be a sell if we lose them the very first try." There was just a light breeze on the broad, which enabled them to sail quietly about. Frank took the helm, for sailing was to him the greatest of all enjoyments, and Dick and Jimmy stood in the bows, Dick with a hawk on his wrist, ready to be flown as soon as they caught sight of anything worth flying at. Frank steered the _Swan_ so that she just brushed along the reeds, which were brown and dry, and had thinned fast under the keen October breezes. "There is a water-hen in the reeds, just before us," said Jimmy. "Drive the yacht a little further in." Frank did so, and the water-hen flew out over the broad, her legs dipping in the water. "Let her have a little law," cried Frank. "Now then!" With a loud whistle Dick let the hawk slip. She rose rapidly in the air, over the water-hen, and then swooped. The water-hen instantly dived. The disappointed hawk curved up again, just touching the surface of the water with her breast. She rose about twenty feet in the air and swooped around in small circles, her head turning this side and that, watching for her quarry. The course of the water-hen under water was marked by a line of bubbles, and Frank kept close behind her, letting the wind out of his sails in order not to overtake her and so cause her to double back. Soon she rose again to the surface, but ere the hawk, quick as she was, could reach her, she had dived again. In this manner, the water-hen rising to the surface to breathe and the hawk swooping unsuccessfully, they ran across the broad to a reed-bed, where the pursued bird remained under water so long that they knew she was holding on to the weed by her claws, with only her beak above water, as is the habit of these birds. After a little searching about they saw her yellow beak protruding above a mass of weeds. Seeing that she was discovered, she flew up uttering a despairing croak. Down came the sparrow-hawk with lightning swiftness, and struck her in the air, and they both fell into the reeds. The boys forced their way to them and the hawk allowed Dick to approach and take her in his hand. He cut off the head of the water-hen, and gave it to her to eat in the cabin, while they brought the other hawk for the next flight. "Well," said Frank, "that was as successful a flight as we could desire. There goes a water-rail. Let the hawk go." With a sharp scream the hawk dashed off in pursuit of it, and without troubling itself to soar, it struck the water-rail, and, bearing it away in its talons, it flew off to a dyke where a wherry was moored, her crew having gone ashore, and perched on the top of the mast, where it began to pick at and tear the bird. "What's to be done now?" said Jimmy. "We must try the lure," answered Frank, and taking it up he whistled and threw it in the air. The hawk dropped the water-rail and flew down to the lure and suffered herself to be taken. As a reward, she was allowed to have its head, and the other hawk was again taken out. "There is a coot swimming along yonder. Let her fly at it," cried Jimmy. As the hawk launched into the air, however, a sandpiper flew out from among the reeds, and the hawk instantly followed it. It was a very pretty sight to see the twistings and turnings of the two birds as they dashed across the broad with equal speed. Frank took a pull at the sheet so as to catch the wind, and followed them as fast as he could. The hawk had risen above the sandpiper, and was about to swoop down upon it, when the latter, to the surprise of the boys, dashed into the water and dived. "Only fancy a bird with no webs to its feet diving," said Frank. The sandpiper remained under water some time, and when it arose, which it did with great apparent ease, the sail of the yacht hid it from the hawk's sight, and it flew away unmolested. As they sailed along on the look-out for other prey, the hawk hung in the air above them, and followed, or, as it is technically called, "waited on," them in the most beautiful manner. The birds on the broad now seemed to be aware that a hawk was about, and kept close to the shelter of the reeds, so that the broad seemed quite deserted. At last, however, a coot swam out, and the hawk made a feint at it but did not strike it, and the coot swam coolly away. "Why the hawk is a coward," said Jimmy. "No, she is only cautious. You see, if she were to strike it on the water it would dive, and as it is a strong bird it would carry her under. That is the difficulty we shall meet with if we hawk on the water," said Frank, "and if we go on the land someone is sure to shoot the hawks." They called the hawk in by means of the lure, and sailed up a dyke, meaning to land and try the marshes and the low drained ground in their vicinity. They landed, and, Dick taking one hawk and Frank the other, they proceeded along a narrow drain in the hope of flushing some more water-hens. "Quick," cried Frank, "and crouch down behind these reeds. I can see a couple of wild-ducks coming towards us." They threw themselves on the ground, and soon the whirring of wings in the air told them that the ducks were coming straight towards them. On they came, within ten feet of the ground, and when they perceived the boys they turned off at a tangent with a loud quack. Both hawks were let go, and rising well in the air, one of them made a swoop on the hindmost duck and struck it, but did not lay hold. The duck swerved under the blow, but held on its course. Then while the one hawk mounted, the other, in its turn, swooped and struck the duck, so that it fell nearly to the ground. The boys ran along after the hawks and their quarry, and shouted to encourage the former. Then both hawks made a simultaneous swoop, and struck the duck to the ground. As the hawks were taken from the duck, they showed some impatience and signs of anger, so Frank said,-- "I say, they have done enough for to-day. We had better feed them, and tie them up." They accordingly gave them the head of the duck and the entrails of all the birds they had killed, and put them in the cabin, and then commenced to fish for pike. In the course of the day they caught seven, none of them over six pounds in weight; and then, when the western sky was agleam with the pink and green of sunset, they ran the yacht into the reeds while they put up their tackle. The wind had fallen to the faintest of zephyrs, which was only indicated by sudden shoots of light across the broad. The air was still, with a mellow October stillness, and flocks of starlings were wheeling in the air with unbroken regularity of rank and file, now on edge and nearly invisible; and then broadside on, and seeming as if suddenly nearer; and then settling in the reeds, where during the night they roost in vast numbers. The boys stood there talking until the gloaming was spreading rapidly over the broad, and then they made preparations for going. They had not secured the hawks, and the cabin-door had swung open. "There goes one of our hawks," cried Jimmy, as it floated out with a triumphant scream over the marsh. "Quick! get out the lure!" said Frank. But the lure was not needed. A twittering commenced among the reeds, and grew louder and more clamorous; and soon, with a noise like thunder, a crowd of starlings rose from their resting-places, and after a preliminary circle in the air they closed upon the hawk and began to mob her, screaming the while most vociferously. The hawk struck three of them down in succession, but her assailants were too many for her, and she turned tail and flew back to the yacht, where she allowed Frank to capture her, while the starlings whirled away and settled in the reeds once more. As they sailed back, Frank said,-- "Now that our hawks are trained so beautifully we shall have good sport with them." But he was doomed to be disappointed. Two days after they took them into the open country, and a rabbit darting out of a tuft of grass, they flew one of the hawks at it. It struck the rabbit, and clung to it while it ran into its burrow, and the noble bird was killed by the shock. The boys were very much grieved at this, and resolved not to fly the other hawk at four-footed game. While they were crossing Sir Richard Carleton's land they flushed a solitary partridge, which appeared to have been wounded, and flew slowly. It had doubtless been left behind by its more active companions. They let the hawk fly, and it followed the partridge around the corner of a plantation. The report of a gun followed, and, running up, they found their worst apprehensions realized. The hawk had been shot dead by one of two gentlemen, who, with a couple of dogs, were out shooting. They were guests of Sir Richard's, and when they found the hawk was a tame one they were very profuse in their apologies. The boys did not care to make very civil replies, but walked quietly and sadly away. Their cup of bitterness was for the time full. "So ends our hawking," said Frank as they separated. "Yes; this is the unluckiest day we have had yet," answered Jimmy. CHAPTER XXXII. Heron-hawking.--Great Bustard.--Stock-dove in Rabbit-hole.-- "Dowe" Dogs.--Search for Bustards' Eggs. The boys were to see a little more hawking. One of the gentlemen who shot their hawk was kind enough to give them an invitation to spend a few days at his house near Thetford, with the promise that he would show them some hawking carried on in the good old fashion, and with splendid hawks brought from Iceland. A neighbour of his cultivated hawking, and spared no expense in the noble pastime. The boys debated some time whether they should accept this invitation or not. Frank was still sore about the loss of his hawks, and hardly cared to see others more successful than himself, but Dick said,-- "Don't be selfish, Frank. When you see the sport you will forget all about our loss; and besides, the invitation is meant kindly, and we ought not to refuse it out of pique." Frank saw the wisdom of this, and so one fine November day they found themselves in company with their host, walking across the immense tract of common, or warren, which lies between Thetford and Brandon. They were on their way to "the meet." On a knoll where a single fir-tree raised its red stem in the wintry sunlight were assembled a number of ladies and gentlemen, some on horseback, and some on foot. Two men came up bearing square frames, on which were the hawks, large falcons, which had been brought at great expense from Holland and Iceland. They were hooded, and the hoods were gaily decorated with tassels and feathers. "What are they going to fly the hawks at?" asked Dick. "They won't waste the energy of such magnificent birds as those on rabbits and plovers, and I see nothing else about." "They expect some herons will pass over on their way from their feeding-grounds to the heronry," said Frank. [Illustration: COMMON HERON.] Presently the company moved forwards, as a speck on the distant horizon told of the probable approach of their quarry. As it came nearer it proved to be a heron, and its flight was directed straight towards them, and at no great distance from the ground. When the advancing bird came within one hundred yards of the group, it seemed to think there might be some danger awaiting it, and it swerved aside continuing its course so as to pass them on one side. Two of the hawks were unhooded, and the noble birds, catching sight of their quarry, launched into the air in pursuit of it. When the heron saw the hawks it uttered a cry, and immediately rose in the air and soared to a great height. The meaning of this was apparent when the hawks, instead of attacking it on a level with themselves, circled up with great swiftness, and tried to rise above the heron, so that they might swoop down upon it. The heron rose with outstretched neck, and wings which moved with great swiftness, in spite of their size; but the hawks still soared and soared in wide circles, and the party below rode and ran keeping as nearly as possible under the birds. The hawks had now risen above the heron, but still they went on circling higher and higher, until they were mere specks in the sky. Then they suddenly grew large as they swooped down, and the heron gave another cry, and half turned on his back as they struck him almost simultaneously, and hawks and heron fluttered down a struggling mass to the ground. The hawks were taken off and hooded, and after a short interval another heron came in sight, and the other two hawks were flown at it. When the sport was over, Frank got hold of one of the warreners who had come to see it and asked him if he had ever seen any great bustards about the warren, or the adjacent fens. "Oh, ay, sir, when I was a lad many and many a one have I seen, but now I have not seen one for more than three years. They be almost killed out of the land now. One is to be seen every two or three years, but it is always shot or trapped." "What sort of a bird is a great bustard?" asked Dick. "It is a game bird as large as a full-sized turkey, and far better eating. There used to be droves of them on the fens and the warrens, but they were shot and trapped right and left. I mind when I was a boy I have seen as many as twenty together on a warren, and then the warreners used to set a battery of guns, and have a long string fastened to all the triggers. Maybe the string was half a mile long, and then the men at work on the warrens, or the marshes, had orders to pull the string when they saw the bustards within reach of the guns. They used to stalk them by walking on the off-side of a horse, and, keeping it between them and the bustards, walk round and round until they came within shot." The warrener was a very intelligent man, and he told them much about the habits of this noble bird, which is now nearly extinct in England. "Have you ever found its nest?" asked Jimmy. "Yes, when I was a lad I found two or three. The eggs were good eating, so we took them, and as they were big eggs and laid on the ground, it was easy enough to find their nests if you knew where to look." "I suppose you haven't got any of their eggs now?" said Frank. "No, sir, I haven't; but I have a notion that two or three years ago I saw two or three of their eggs in a cottage somewhere over yonder." [Illustration: GREAT BUSTARD.] He pointed to the western sky, but to the boys' eyes no cottages were visible; and upon their asking him for further information, he told them that beyond a ridge of trees which crested a warren were some half-dozen cottages, and he thought it was in one of those that he had seen bustards' eggs, but he was not at all sure. "What is the meaning of this?" asked Dick, pointing to the mouth of a rabbit-hole which was barred in with sticks like a cage. Inside the sticks were the feathers and part of the skeleton of a stock-dove. The warrener replied,-- "The doves breed in the rabbit-holes, and we warreners keep a 'dowe' dog, which will tell us at once what holes have nests in them; and then, when the young ones are almost ready to fly, we fasten them in the burrow with sticks, just like that, and the old ones feed the young ones through the bars, and when the young ones are fit to eat we kill them. I suppose the man who fastened that burrow in forgot where it was, or the young one died before it was worth eating." [Illustration: DOVES.] The boys now had to go back with their host, who, by the way, made them so comfortable that they forgave him for shooting their hawk. The next day found the boys approaching the cottages where the warrener told them the bustards' eggs might be found. "Now," said Frank, as they stopped under the lee of the wood, "let us have a consultation. How had we better go to work? If we show them that we have come specially for the eggs they will ask too great a price for them. I vote we go and ask for a drink of water, and then praise the children, if any, and so get into conversation; and then ask in an incidental way about the bustards." This seemed the proper way of going to work, so they appointed Frank spokesman, and then marched up to the nearest cottage. A woman opened the door to them, and peeping in, they saw behind her half-a-dozen children, all young. "Can you give us a drink of water, ma'am?" said Frank, in his politest tone. "Oh yes, sir," answered the woman with a curtsey. "Won't you step indoors. But wouldn't you like a cup of milk better than water?" "Thank you, very much," replied Frank. "But what nice little children you have got," and he patted one on the head. "Lovely," said Jimmy enthusiastically, and picking out the cleanest he kissed it. "Well, sir," answered the woman with a smile, "they be as healthy as most, and as fine I dare say, but they are a great deal of trouble." "Ah, I have no doubt they are," replied Frank sympathizingly; and as he spoke his eyes were wandering about, looking at the ornaments on the chimney-piece to see if any eggs were there; but nothing of the kind was to be seen. "This is a fine open country, ma'am." "It is that, sir," she said. "And plenty of rabbits and plovers about." "There are that, sir." "Have you ever seen any bustards about?" "No, I have heard tell of them, but it was before my time." "And I suppose you have never seen any nests or eggs?" "No, sir, never; but my little boy has some throstle's eggs, if so be as you would like to have them." "No, thank you," said Frank; and thanking her for the milk, and bestowing a small coin on one of the children, the boys made their exit. "It is your turn to do the next kissing, Dick," said Jimmy. "All right," replied Dick cheerfully. The cottages lay at some little distance apart, and they visited them all in turn, but with the like ill success. Then, as they were thinking of giving it up as a bad job, they espied another small cottage in a little hollow, by a well. "Let us try this, for the last one," said Frank. "Very well," said Jimmy "but pray, don't ask for any more to drink. I have the best intentions in the world, but I really cannot find room for any more." Beside the cottage was a silvery-haired old man, mending a broken paling. Frank went straight at it this time. "Good morning." "Good morning, sir," replied the man, touching his hat. "Have you ever seen any bustards' eggs?" "Yes, sir, I have two in the house. Would you like to see them?" "We should." "Then step in, sirs. I can give 'ee a glass of good nettle beer." Jimmy groaned inwardly at the mention of the beer, but the sight of the eggs upheld him. "Here they be, sir," said the old man, taking down two brown eggs with rusty spots on them, off the chimney-piece. "I took them myself out of the nest in yon fen when I was a lad." "Will you sell them?" "Ay, sure. It be a wonder how they come not to be broken, for I have taken no particular heed of them." "What will you take for them?" "What you likes to give, sir." "I would rather you would fix your own price." "Well, then, if you give me a shilling, I shall be fain." "No, no, they are worth more than a shilling. We cannot afford to give you what you would get in London for them, and it is only fair to tell you so, but we will give you half-a-crown apiece for them." "I shall be very glad to have that much for them, sir, if you think they are worth it to you." So the bargain was concluded, and the boys became the happy possessors of these rare eggs. I have just been reading, in the _Field_ a very interesting account of the appearance of a great bustard in Norfolk. A gentleman there was told by one of his men that he had seen a "wonderful cur'us bird like a pelican," in a wild part of the fen. The gentleman at once went to look at it, and being a naturalist, he was much delighted to find that it was a bustard, and observation through a telescope told him that it was a cock bird. He gave strict orders that it was not to be shot, and that any prowling gunner found on his land was to be consigned without ceremony to the bottom of the nearest dyke. Then he sent for well-known naturalists from Cambridge and elsewhere, to come and watch the motions of the bird. It was feeding in a lonely part of the fen, in a patch of cole seed, and, each man being armed with a telescope of some sort or other, they had good views of it, both flying and walking. The news soon spread among the naturalists of the county, and one of them, who had some tame bustards in confinement, generously offered to give one of them to be let loose to pair with the wild cock. A female bustard was accordingly turned out into the fen as near to the wild bird as they dared to venture without frightening him away, and after a short time, they had the pleasure of seeing the two walking about together. In a day or two more the hen was found dead in a dyke. Her wings having been clipped she could not fly far enough. Another female was procured, but while seeking for an opportunity of turning it out where the wild one could see it, the wild one flew away. It was heard of afterwards in a different part of the county, and it does not appear yet to have been killed, and the landowners have given orders that it shall not be destroyed. I am looking forward with interest for further accounts of it. CHAPTER XXXIII. Water-hen Swallowed by Pike.--Casting Net.-- Trapping Water-hen for Bait.--A Monster Pike. Frank and Jimmy were punting through one of the reedy pools adjoining the broad, shooting wild-fowl, and had not been very successful, so they were disposed to shoot coots and water-hens, as well as ducks. They saw a water-hen swimming across a small pool into which they had just pushed their way, and Jimmy raised his gun to fire at it, but before he could pull the trigger there was an immense splash and swirl in the water, and the water-hen disappeared down the jaws of an immense pike. The boys stared in amazement. "That fellow must have been forty pounds in weight at the least," said Frank, as soon as he had recovered himself. "Let us row home at once and get our tackle, and fish for him." They rowed quickly back, and upon reaching the boat-house they found that Dick was there, and had just put the finishing touch to a casting net which they had been occupied in making for some time. "Bravo! that is capital!" said Frank. "We can now catch some bait with it." Before casting the net into the water they practised some time with it, for it is very difficult to throw a casting-net properly. After a little practice the boys were able to throw the net so that it described something like a circle on the ground, and then they took it to the shallow parts of the broad, and in a dozen throws they obtained a quantity of small roach and bream, as well as some large ones. Putting some of the roach into a bait-can, they rowed to the pool where the big pike lay, and first of all tried him with a live bait. But the float was undisturbed, save by the movements of the bait. Then they tried trolling with a dead gorge-bait, then spinning, and then a spoon, but with the like ill success. "I tell you what," said Frank, at length, "a big fish like that requires something out of the common to induce him to bite. Let us put a big bream on, and try and tempt him by size." So they put a bream a pound and a half in weight on the gorge-hook, and worked the heavy bait up and down every part of the pool, but still without success, and the autumn night came on and put a stop to their fishing. "We must catch him somehow," said Frank. "Let us set trimmers for him," suggested Jimmy in despair. "No, no; we will catch him by fair means if we can." The big pike, the biggest which they had ever seen, occupied their thoughts all that evening. As Frank was dressing the next morning a happy thought occurred to him, and when he met his friends after breakfast he said,-- "I have got an idea how we may catch that pike. You remember how he took the water-hen under? He decidedly prefers flesh to fish. What do you say to catching a water-hen and baiting our hook with it?" "The very thing," said Jimmy. "But how are we to catch the water-hen?" asked Dick. "I don't quite know. We must get it alive, you see." They talked it over, but could not hit upon any plan of capturing one alive, so at luncheon-time they went to Bell, and asked him if he could help them. "Well, sirs, the water-hens come to my back garden to feed with the hens and sparrows. If you could lay some sort of a trap for them like a riddle-trap for sparrows it would be an easy matter to entice one into it." "The very thing," said Jimmy. "We will put the casting-net round a wooden hoop and prop it up on a stick, and put bread-crumbs under it." So the casting-net was called into requisition, and a trap was constructed, and set in Bell's back yard, which was close to a dyke leading to the broad. The boys hid themselves in an outhouse, having a long string fastened to the stick which supported the net at an angle of forty degrees. First the hens came under it and then the sparrows, and the two began to eat up all the bread put there. At last a water-hen was seen swimming across the dyke, and with slow and cautious steps creeping up the bank towards the net. Frank took the end of the string in his hand, and peeped cautiously through a chink in the door while the others looked through a little window. The water-hen fed for some time on the outskirts of the throng of hens and sparrows, and at last ventured within the circle of the net. "Now," said Dick. "No, wait until it is further under," said Jimmy. Frank waited until the bird was fairly under the net, and then pulled the string. The trap descended upon three hens, half-a-dozen sparrows, and the water-hen. "Hurrah!" cried the boys, rushing out. It was a matter of some difficulty to secure the bird they wanted from among the struggling mass of hens and sparrows, but they did so at last without hurting any of the others, and at once pinioned it by cutting off its wing feathers. The next morning as soon as it was light they rowed to the place where the big pike lay. Everything was very still and quiet, and shrouded in a light grey mist, as they pushed their way along a narrow channel to the pool. They had brought with them their strongest rod and their stoutest line, and they carefully tried every knot and fastening of their tackle before commencing to fish. The next most important thing was to bait the water-hen or arm her with hooks properly. This was done by tying a number of hooks lightly to her with thread, and ruffling the feathers so as to conceal them. "Poor thing," said Dick, as Frank took up the rod and swung her into the pool. By keeping a slight pull on the line the bird was induced to turn in the opposite direction, and to swim towards the middle of the pool. "Another minute or two will show if our plan is successful," said Frank, "and if not, the bird shall be let loose." "I don't feel much faith in it now," said Jimmy. When the bird reached the centre of the pool she dived. "Oh dear, I did not expect that," said Frank. "What shall we do now?" "She must come up again presently. The pool is twelve feet deep, and she cannot cling to the bottom." "I felt her give such a pull just now. She is struggling hard to escape," said Frank, who was still letting out line. Two or three minutes passed away, and still the bird did not make her appearance. "Pull in the line a bit, Frank." Frank did so, and said,-- "She must be clinging to the bottom. I cannot move her," and he pulled a little harder. "I say," he cried, "I felt such a sharp tug. I do believe the big pike has got hold of her." "Nonsense!" said the others. "But it isn't nonsense," said Frank, and he held the rod bent so that they could see the top twitching violently. "It is the pike!" Frank exclaimed excitedly, and he immediately let the line run loose, so that the pike might have room to gorge his prey. "He must have seized the water-hen as she dived," said Dick. "Yes, and won't we give him plenty of time to gorge. I don't want to miss him now we have got such a chance," said Frank. And in spite of their impatience they gave the pike half-an-hour to swallow the bird, and then, at the end of that time, there were sundry twitchings of the point of the rod, and the line was taken out by jerks of a foot or two at a time. "He is moving about," said Jimmy. "It is time to strike." Frank raised his rod amid a hush of expectation. As the line tightened he struck lightly, and immediately the rod bent double with a mighty rush from the pike as he went straight across the little pool, which was about thirty yards in diameter. After this first rush the pike began to swim slowly about, keeping deep down and never showing himself. Round and round and across the pool he swam, now resting for a few minutes like a log, and from a twitching of the line apparently giving angry shakes of his head. Frank kept a steady, even strain upon him, and as the space was so circumscribed there was no danger of a breakage by any sudden rush. This sort of thing went on for half-an-hour, the line slowly cutting through the still, dark water; and Jimmy and Dick urged Frank to pull harder, and make the fish show himself. But Frank was too wise to give way, and he still kept on in a steady, cautious fashion. "If we go on much longer we shall be late for Mr. Meredith," said Dick. "Never mind," replied Frank, "he will forgive us on such an occasion as this." "Here he comes," shouted Frank, as he wound in his line. The pike came rolling up to the surface a few yards from the boat, and they caught sight of him. His proportions were gigantic, and his fierce eyes glared savagely at them. He gave a flounder on the top of the water, then sank down again into the depths. "What a monster!" In a few minutes the pike came up again, and this time more on his side, and plainly much exhausted. Three times more did he thus rise and sink again, and each time he seemed more helpless. The fourth time he remained on the surface lying on his side. Dick got hold of the gaff and held it in the water with outstretched arm, while Frank slowly drew the conquered giant towards it. Dick put the gaff under him and sharply drove it into his side, and then Jimmy and he uniting their forces, hauled the pike into the punt, almost upsetting it in their eagerness, and then threw themselves on the fish to prevent it flopping out again. They rowed home in great triumph, and on weighing the pike it was found to be 34¼ lbs. in weight, and the largest which had been caught in Hickling Broad for many years. The time it took to land it from the time it was struck was fifty-five minutes. CHAPTER XXXIV. Fishing on Stilts.--A Capsize.--Wild-fowl-Shooting.-- A Flare-up. December was ushered in with a week of storm and wet, and as the boys were shut out from outdoor pursuits they had more leisure for indoor studies; and one day a bright idea occurred to Jimmy, by the carrying out of which he said he could fish the broad without the trouble of rowing a boat. So on a Saturday afternoon, when the clouds had broken, and the rain ceased, and the still water reflected the pale blue of the December sky, Frank and Dick sat at the boat-house window watching Jimmy put his plan into execution. He had turned a couple of leaping-poles into stilts. His feet rested upon foot-rests, but were not fastened to them, so that if he fell into the water his feet would be free and he could keep himself right-end uppermost; but the crutches of the stilts which came up under his arms were lightly tied around his shoulders, to leave his arms at liberty to use a rod. And now, having been fairly started by the aid of his friends, he was stalking along like a huge heron in about five feet of water, and was spinning for pike, casting his bait to right and left of him and oftentimes behind him,--for his movements were rather uncertain and erratic; and as making a cast disturbed his equilibrium, he was obliged to execute a sort of waltz-step to recover himself. Frank and Dick were in ecstasies of laughter at his involuntary antics. "He will never catch any fish in that way," observed Dick. In a little while, however, they saw his rod bend double, and it was evident that a good-sized pike had seized his bait. Then Jimmy made a stumble, and a violent effort to recover himself, and in so doing turned his back to the pike, which resented the insult by making a savage rush, pulling Jimmy backwards. There was a violent sort of war-dance on Jimmy's part, during which one of the stilts seemed to be pointing upwards, and then Jimmy, with a last wild flourish of a stilt in the air, descended from his lofty height and disappeared beneath the waters of the broad. Frank and Dick hastened, as fast as their laughter would allow them, to the punt, and rowed to meet Jimmy, who was half wading half swimming towards them, the two long stilts trailing behind him from his shoulders, and his rod following Mr. Pike on a different course. "Swim after your rod, Jimmy," cried Frank. "Whoo, hoo! it is so cold," spluttered Jimmy. He scrambled into the punt, and, just staying to recover the rod, and with it a pike of about six pounds in weight, they rowed back, and Jimmy ran home to change. Frank afterwards said to Jimmy,-- "That stilt dodge of yours is a capital idea. You see you caught a pike directly with it. Won't you try it again?" "No, thank you," said Jimmy, "once ducked, twice shy." After a few days' fine weather a hard frost and deep snow set in. A stiff breeze prevented the broad from being frozen over, and swept the snow into drifts wherever there was anything to arrest its progress. When the snow had ceased, the wind and frost still continued, and wild-fowl in large numbers visited the broad. Dick did not care sufficiently about the shooting to make him willing to face the cold; but Jimmy and Frank had capital sport among the wild-ducks. They killed the greatest number when the ducks took their morning or evening flight across a reedy spit of land which ran out into the broad. Here the boys had sunk a large cask in the earth, and when they were both hidden in this, packed in with dry straw and a retriever with them, they were warm and comfortable. The whistle of wings cleaving the air, or a cry of wild-fowl in the starlit silence of the night, would arouse them, and, with their heads peering over the top of the cask, they had their guns in readiness to salute the dark objects passing over with a shower of shot. In the morning the retriever searched for and picked up the dead birds, and the young gunners finished off the wounded. For four successive nights they enjoyed good sport in this manner, and then it was put an end to by a singular accident. Frank lit a match to see what time it was, and a lighted splinter fell among the dry straw, which instantly blazed up. "Look out for the powder!" shouted Frank; and he and Jimmy and the dog scrambled out of the cask pell-mell, tumbling over each other in their eagerness to be away from the dangerous proximity of the fire. Frank had the powder-flask in his pocket, and fortunately no fire came near it. The boys too escaped without injury, except that their hair was pretty well singed by the rapid rise of the flame. The retriever was so frightened that he turned tail and bolted, never stopping until he reached his kennel. "This is a pretty go," exclaimed Jimmy, as with their guns under their arms they watched the tall, roaring column of flame and smoke which ascended from the burning tub. "The people all about will wonder what it is. What a pity we have nothing to hold water in, so that we could try and put it out! The tub has caught, and will be burnt up." The sound of oars was now audible across the water, and presently Dick's voice shouted,-- "What's the matter? Are you all right?" and a boat was run ashore, and Dick and Mary, well wrapped up, stepped out. Dick had been spending the evening at Mr. Merivale's, and just as he was leaving the house, the bright tongue of flame on the opposite side of the broad alarmed him, and Mary insisted upon coming with him to see what mischief her brother had been perpetrating. They rowed back, followed by the fitful glare of the fire, which shone in their eddying wake, amid the clamour of wild-fowl startled into flight by the unusual apparition. Then as Mary was silently admiring the strange weird scene, there was a blinding flash, followed by two loud reports, which made her start and scream, and then two splashes in the water, as two ducks out of a number which had been passing over the boats fell to the aim of Frank and Jimmy. CHAPTER XXXV. Punt-shooting on Breydon.--A Narrow Escape. The Christmas holidays had commenced for the boys. Frank had a consultation with Bell, which ended in Bell's borrowing a duck-shooting punt from a neighbour, and Dick's looking up the big duck-gun from his father's lumber-room. The punt was a flat-bottomed one, pointed at both ends and covered fore and aft, so as to form two watertight compartments. In the bows was a rest for the gun to lie upon. As the gun took a pound of shot at a load, Frank was rather nervous about firing it off, for the recoil, if not broken by mechanical appliances, would have dislocated his shoulder. So he bought some india-rubber door-springs, and with them constructed an apparatus to take off the recoil of the gun, and, lest it should by any chance hit his shoulder, he got Mary to make a stout cushion, which he fixed to the butt. Reports came that Breydon Water was swarming with wild-fowl, so, taking Bell with them as a guide and instructor, and with the shooting-punt in tow instead of their own, they set sail for Yarmouth, and sailing up Breydon Water they moored the yacht by the Berney Arms, a public-house situate where the Yare debouches into Breydon. As the night fell they could see and hear wild-fowl of various kinds flying to and settling on the muds. Dick preferred staying on board the yacht, for his frame was not yet so inured to winter cold as it had been to summer heat, and the other two, with Bell, set out in the punt about eight o'clock. They rowed down Breydon Water with the last of the ebb, and then floated and paddled up again as the tide rose. Bell crouched in the stern and worked the two short paddles by which the punt was propelled when approaching the birds. Frank lay in the bows, with the big gun in position in front of him, and Jimmy cuddled up in the middle, armed with Frank's light double-barrel, ready to knock over any of the wounded birds which might try to escape. The night was rather light with the brightness from the stars, which shone resplendently from the deep, dark blue, and in the east the moon lifted a faint curved horn above the trees. "There are a lot of birds on that mud-bank; I can hear them quite plainly," whispered Frank to Bell. "Hush! Don't you speak or fire until I whistle, and then pull the trigger; but have the gun ready covering the birds. They are too scattered now. Wait until the tide rises a little higher, and covers most part of the bank, and then they will huddle together, when you will kill twice as many." They waited for a quarter of an hour, gradually drawing nearer the birds, which were now collected together on a large dark patch on the mud which was still uncovered by the rippling waves. Frank had his eye on them, the gun covering them and his finger on the trigger, waiting breathlessly for the signal. A low whistle sounded behind him. A sudden silence took the place of the chattering and gobbling sounds which had before proceeded from the birds. Frank pressed the trigger. The mighty gun flashed forth its deadly contents with a tremendous roar, and Frank found himself hurled back upon Jimmy. He had incautiously put his shoulder to the gun. He was not hurt, however, for the cushion had saved his shoulder. The birds which were unhurt swept away with a great clamour, but the mud was covered with dead and dying. Two of the winged ones were swimming away, when Jimmy fired and killed them. They landed on the mud, taking care to put on the mud-boards. They picked up the dead ones, and had many a lively chase after the wounded ones on the mud and in the shallow water. They recovered five-and-twenty birds. Half of them were wild-ducks, and the rest dunlins and other shore birds. [Illustration: WILD DUCK SHOOTING.] They passed on up Breydon, but they could not get another shot of such magnitude. Another punt was on the water, and the noise of its firing and oars disturbed the birds, so that they were difficult to approach. They got, however, two more long shots, and killed six ducks at one and three at another. The tide had now covered most of the flats, and the birds had either left the water or were floating on the surface, and could not easily be seen because of the waves. Bell then said he knew of a spot where the mud had been artificially raised, so as to form a sort of island, for the express purpose of enticing the wild-fowl to gather on it as the tide rose. He therefore paddled them towards it. Some clouds had obscured much of the starlight, and the night was darker. Frank became aware of one dark patch on the water in front of them, and another to the left. He thought they were both flocks of birds, and selected the left hand one, as being the nearer. He covered it with his gun, and waited somewhat impatiently for Bell to give the signal. "Surely we are near enough;" he thought, when Jimmy crept up behind him and whispered, "Bell says that is another punt, they must be making for the mud we are, that patch in front." "By Jove," exclaimed Frank, "I was aiming at the boat, and about to fire. Perhaps they are aiming at us." "Don't shoot," cried out Bell to the other boat, and Frank immediately twisted his gun around and fired at the birds which rose from the mud-bank. "I say, you there!" cried out a man in the other boat, "that was a narrow escape for you. I was on the point of firing at you. You should give me half the birds you shot then." "All right, you shall have them, if you will help to pick them up," sang out Frank. Only a dozen, half of them dunlins, were secured and divided. "That was a danger in punt-shooting which I hadn't foreseen," said Frank to the stranger. "It was a close shave for you as well as for us. Will you come on board our yacht and have some supper?" The stranger assented, and proved to be a sporting lawyer from Yarmouth, and a very pleasant fellow. CHAPTER XXXVI. Drifted to Sea.--A Perilous Position.--Rescue. The next day Bell went off to Yarmouth to sell some of the fowl in the market, and unfortunately got fuddled, so that when the evening came he was unable to accompany the shooters. Frank and Jimmy resolved to go out by themselves. Making a mistake as to the time of the tide, they found themselves carried swiftly down Breydon Water on a tide which had yet four hours to ebb. The night was clear, cold, and starlit, with a stinging north-easter sweeping over the broad water, and whisking the snow on the land into fantastic drifts. The new moon had not yet risen, but every star was blazing brightly, and glimmering reflections shone in the water. As they listened they found that the night was full of strange noises, of quackings and whistlings, and that the air was cleft by the sweep of wings. It was a night of nights for a wild-fowl shooter, and the boys resolved to stop at Yarmouth until the tide turned. As they neared the twinkling lights of the town a flock of wild geese took wing, out of shot, and made for the estuary. "Oh, do let us follow them, they are sure to alight before they reach the bar," said Frank. "Very well; but we must take care not to drift out to sea." "There is no danger of that, we can always run ashore." So they passed by the quays and fish-wharves, and one by one the lights opened out, and passed behind them, resolving themselves into a cluster in the distance. Ghostly vessels lifted their tall spars against the sky, the water became more 'lumpy,' and prudence suggested that they should turn back; but the love of sport urged them on, and triumphed. Further still: yet the geese were nowhere to be seen, and not very far off was the white water on the bar. They were fast drifting out to sea, and thought it time to turn. They did so, but could make no headway against the wind and tide, and the shores were so white with surf that it would have been folly to have attempted to land. "I say, Frank, we've done it now," said Jimmy, as they drifted nearer and nearer to the bar. "Don't be alarmed: we are all right," said Frank,--but privately he thought they were in a very awkward fix. All the outward-bound vessels, which, had it been earlier, might have picked them up, had left at the commencement of the ebb. The punt was now in the midst of the rougher waves which broke over the banks of sand at the mouth of the estuary, and they were expecting every moment to be swamped, when Frank uttered a cry of joy, and seizing the paddle, made for a black spot which was dancing about in the foam. It was a buoy, and Jimmy seized the 'painter,' and stood up. As they neared it, a wave bore them on its summit within reach. Jimmy succeeded in slipping the rope through the ring on the top of the buoy, and in another moment they had swung under its lee. They were now safe from drifting farther out to sea, but in imminent danger of being swamped, and the time seemed very long while waiting for the tide to turn. The curling waves continually broke over them, and had it not been for the decked portions of the punt they would have been sunk by the first two or three duckings. As it was, they were kept hard at work baling with a tin scoop belonging to the punt, and fending off from the buoy. Forwards and backwards, up and down and sideways, they were tossed. A great black wall of water, with a thin crest through which the glimmer of a star could occasionally be seen, would come surging along, making their hearts sink with apprehension, and then would sometimes break and die away close by, sometimes dash them against the buoy, and sometimes with a side chop nearly fill the punt. There was a dash of excitement about it all which made it not absolutely unpleasant, as long as the sky remained clear and they could see the stars, which seemed to laugh at their puny battle with the elements. But by and by the stars began to disappear in the direction of the wind, and finally were blotted out over the whole heavens by a huge pall of cloud, and the darkness became awfully oppressive. The wind dropped, and its roar subsided into a low moaning sound. They felt the cold intensely as the snow came down quickly and silently, covering them with a white coating. A black cormorant suddenly appeared hovering over them, to be driven away with the paddle, and they could hear the swoop of gulls about them. "We are not quite food for the birds yet; but I can't stand this much longer," said Jimmy, his teeth chattering with the cold. "Hold up, old man. The tide will turn in half an hour." There was the sound of a sudden snap. The rope had parted, and a receding wave bore them away, leaving a rapidly widening distance between them and the buoy. "Keep her head to the waves," said Frank, "or we shall be upset." At this critical moment the sky cleared in one patch, and against it they saw the outlines of the dark, square sails of a schooner. The boys hailed her long and loud, and in answer came the hoarse cry, "Where away?" "Here, on your weather bow. Fling us a rope!" In a few minutes they and their punt were safe on board, and in another hour they were in an hotel at Yarmouth, dressed in borrowed suits of clothes, and enjoying a hot supper. After this, and when their own clothes were dried by the kitchen fire, they walked back to the Berney Arms by road, reached the yacht about three o'clock in the morning, to the great relief of Dick, who had been very anxious at their protracted absence. The next day they sailed down to Yarmouth in the _Swan_, picked up the punt, and went up the Bure with sheets eased out and a following wind. CHAPTER XXXVII. The Bread Frozen.--Skating.--Fish Frozen in Ice.-- Birds Frozen to the Ice.--Ice-Ships. It was dark when they sailed up the dyke leading to the broad, and the wind had fallen, so that their progress was slow. As they moved out of the dyke, where there was a gentle current, into the open broad, there was a sound of crashing and splintering at their bows, and the way of the yacht was stopped. Jimmy and Dick rushed out of the cabin, where they had been preparing supper, and said to Frank, who was at the helm,-- "What is the matter?" "Why the broad is frozen over, and we can't get any further." "Can't we break a passage through?" said Dick. "We might, but it would be a pity to spoil so much ice for skating. Let us stay here until the morning, and then we can walk across for our skates. The yacht will be as safe here as by the boat-house." They were already sufficiently wedged in by the ice to be able to dispense with the lowering of their anchor, and after supper--(which by the way consisted of, first broiled bacon, next tinned salmon, then some gooseberry-jam, followed by cheese, and finally a tin of American preserved strawberries, which they had bought at Yarmouth, the whole washed down by coffee and beer)--they turned in for a snooze. The silence of the night was broken by continual sharp, tinkling noises. It was some little time before they discovered that these arose from the ice crystals as they formed along the surface of the water, shooting out in long needles and crossing each other, until every inch of the water was covered. In the morning the ice was strong enough to bear their weight, although it bent in long waves beneath them as they hurried over it. The frost continued. The ice was smooth, and black, and hard, and perfectly free from snow. Early and late, the boys sped lightly over it on their skates, enjoying to the full this most invigorating and healthy exercise. Frank and Jimmy practised threes and eights and the spread-eagle, and the other now old-fashioned figures, with great assiduity; and Dick, having soon mastered the inside edge, tumbled about most indefatigably in his efforts to master the outside edge. The frost continued with unabated severity, and soon the ice was two feet thick, and the shallower portions of the broad were frozen to the bottom. One day Dick was skating at a good pace before the wind, when something beneath his feet in the transparent ice attracted his attention, and in his haste to stop he came down very heavily. He shouted to Frank and Jimmy to come up, and when they did so, he pointed to the ice at his feet. Midway in the water, where it was about two feet deep, was a shoal of a dozen perch, most of them good sized ones, frozen into the ice in various attitudes, betokening their last struggle to escape. The reason of their being so caught was explained by the fact that they were in a slight depression surrounded by shallower and weedy water, which had frozen so as to shut them in, and give them no means of escape before the water in which they swam became solid. "That fellow is fully two pounds weight. I wonder if they are dead," said Frank. "Of course they must be," answered Jimmy; "they cannot be frozen stiff like that and live." "I am not so sure about that," observed Dick; "caterpillars have been known to be frozen quite stiff, and to all appearance lifeless, yet they revive when they are warmed." "Well," said Frank, "I tell you what we will do. We will dig them out, and put them into water in the house, and give them a chance." They did so, and five of the perch, including the biggest and the smallest, came to life, and were subsequently restored to the broad. One day a rapid thaw set in, and the ice was covered with a thin layer of water. During the night, however, the wind suddenly changed, and this layer of water froze so quickly, that it held fast by the feet many water-fowl which had been resting on the ice. When the boys went down to the ice in the morning, they saw here and there a dead or dying water-hen or coot thus made captive, and surrounded by a group of the hooded crows, those grey-backed crows which in the winter-time are so common in Norfolk, and the rapacious birds were attacking and eating the poor held-fast water-fowl. The crowning achievement of the winter was this: They broke the _Swan_ free, and got her on to the ice; then they supported her on some runners, like large skate irons, made by the village blacksmith, and put on ordinary skates on each rudder to get steerage power, and so constructed with great ease an ice-ship after the fashion of those used in some parts of Canada. With this they sped over the ice at a far quicker rate than they had ever sailed upon the water, and they could steer her tolerably close to the wind. This amusement superseded the skating until the ice melted away, and the _Swan_ once more floated on the water and sailed in her legitimate manner. CHAPTER XXXVIII. The Thaw.--Cromer.--Prehistoric Remains. The thaw was accompanied by torrents of rain for more than a week. At the end of that time the boys were sitting in the boat-house making up their Note-book, when Mr. Meredith entered and said to them,-- "Will you drive with me to Cromer? I hear that a large portion of the cliff has fallen away and exposed a bed containing the bones and remains of prehistoric elephants and other mammalia, and all the geologists of the country are going there. I thought we might as well see these wonderful relics of the past. What do you say?" "We should like it above all things," said Frank for the others; and Mr. Merivale's horses were forthwith harnessed to the waggonette, and they started. The rain had ceased, and a cold, white sun shone out of a white space in the leaden sky. The town of Cromer is the easternmost part of England, and it is built on the summit of a gravel-hill, which the sidelong sweeping tides eat away little by little and year by year. It is said that the church of old Cromer lies buried under the sea half a mile from the present shore. Immediately in front of the village the cliff is plated and faced with flints and protected by breakwaters, but on either side the soft earth is loosened by the frosts and rains, and undermined by the tidal currents, which, running nearly north and south, sweep the débris away instead of piling it at the foot of the cliff. Putting the horses up at the principal inn, they walked to the cliff below the lighthouse, where a portion of the high cliff had slid into the sea. In one place a recent storm had swept the fallen mass of gravel away and exposed at the bottom a portion of the "forest bed." Here three or four gentlemen, presumably geologists, were freely engaged in poking and digging. One man was tugging hard at a huge bone which projected out of the cliff; another was carefully unveiling the stump of a fossil tree. Here and there were the stumps of trees--oaks and firs, and others, with their spreading roots intact, just as ages ago they had stood and flourished; and between these ancient stumps were the bones and the teeth of elephant, hippopotamus, and rhinoceros, deer of ten different sorts, bears, tigers, and many another animal, the like, or the prototype of which, are now found in tropical regions alone. The boys were very much struck with the sight of these remains of the animals which lived before the Flood, and as they wandered about, finding here a tooth and there a bone, and then the stem of a strange tree, they amused themselves by reconstructing in imagination the luxuriant woods teeming with savage monsters which once stood on a level with the shore, and speculating upon the causes which led to the piling up of the gravel strata which now cover them to such a depth. "Are these animal deposits peculiar to Cromer, Mr. Meredith?" asked Dick. "No. You can scarcely dig anywhere in Norfolk in similar deposits without coming upon these remains; this is the case in Holland and Belgium also, so that there is positive evidence that the German Ocean is of comparatively recent origin, the two countries having once been connected by a great plain, a portion of which is now covered with water. From the bottom of the sea the fishermen often dredge up bones and fragments of trees similar to those in the base of this cliff." The short winter day soon drew on to dusk, and they strolled on to the pier to see the sun set in the sea on this the east coast of England. The land so juts out, and to the northward the water so bites into the land, that not only does the sun rise from the sea, but it also sets in it. The surf-crested waves which broke heavily against the black breakwater were red and lurid with the sunset light, and in fantastic masses, flooded with red and orange, the clouds gathering about the descending sun. And then, as the strange glare faded away and the grey dusk settled over the chafing sea, a white light shot out from the lighthouse tower, and traced a gleaming pathway over sea, pier, houses, and woods, as it revolved with steady purpose. CHAPTER XXXIX. The Boys' Note-Book. A Note-book was incidentally mentioned in the last chapter. Properly speaking, it should have been mentioned long before. On the table in the boat-house lay a large folio manuscript book, in which the boys noted down whatever, in their reading or observation, struck them as noticeable or worth remembering, or of which they wished to be reminded at some future time, when they should have leisure to look up what they wished to know concerning the matter noted. Before therefore I close this "strange eventful history," I shall quote a few pages at random out of their Note-book, just to show how it was kept up. In the left-hand margin of each sheet the date of the entry was written opposite each note, and each jotting was signed by the one making it. So that the book ran after this fashion:-- "They have a novel mode of netting shore birds at Lynn. They have long nets stretched on poles about six feet high, on the sands towards dusk, one line below high water mark and the other upon the ridge."--F. M. "All grain-eating birds feed their young on insects--as a matter of course because there is no grain in the spring--so they make up for the damage they may do to the grain. I shall write a letter to this effect to the Secretary of the Sparrow Club here. The fellows in that club are as proud of their sparrow heads as a red Indian of his scalps."--F. M. [Illustration: MOLE CRICKET.] "Crickets are the thirstiest of all thirsty creatures." "Mem. How do flies walk with their heads downwards, and how do they buzz?"--R. C. "Caught a lizard in the garden to-day, and when I touched it, its tail dropped off. Curious habit some reptiles have of parting with their tails. It is done to divert attention from the body, which makes its escape."--J. B. "Our keeper set some trimmers on our little lake in the park last night, and this morning he found on one of them a great crested grebe which had swallowed the bait, and on the other an eel of four pounds weight with a kitten in its inside."--R. C. "Frank's head has a permanent set to one side, from always looking into the hedges for nests. I noticed it in church."--J. B. "You'll get a licking, young 'un."--Frank. [Illustration: COMMON LIZARD.] "Bell says that he has seen an osprey resting on one of the posts in Hickling Broad, and it was so gorged after a meal of fish that he rowed quite close to it."--F. M. "I saw a squirrel eating some toad-stools which grew at the foot of a tree near Sir Richard's house. I thought they fed only on nuts."--J. Brett. "They say that hedgehogs will go into an orchard and roll themselves on the fallen fruit, so that it sticks to their spines, and then they walk off with it. Should like to see them do it, and I wonder how they get it off again."--J. B. [Illustration: OSPREY.] [Illustration: CRESTED GREBE.] "Saw a robin kill a sparrow in fair fight this morning, and it afterwards _ate_ a portion of him! Also saw two rooks fighting like anything, and a third perched on a branch just above them, as if to see fair play."--F. M. [Illustration: 1. Nest of White Ant. 2. Suspended Wasp's Nest. 3. Common Wasp. 4. Demoiselle Dragon-fly. 5, 6. Soldiers of White Ant. 7. Hornet. 8. Worker of White Ant. 9. Wood Ant. 10. Red Ant.] "What a curious instinct it is which leads moths and butterflies, while you are killing them, to lay their eggs. It is their last will and testament!" [Illustration: HEDGEHOG.] [Illustration: HONEY-BUZZARD.] "I found a brood of caterpillars on a hawthorn-bush; they were the caterpillars of the small oak-eggar. They make a silken nest in the branches, and they come out to feed and go in to sleep. There were at the least five hundred of them. The moth, I see, is a small, dingy brown thing, with white spots on the wings."--R. C. "Bell's son took a hornet's nest the other day. He was stung by one of them, and was ill for some days, the inflammation was so bad. Bell says that hornets are much rarer now than they used to be, and a good thing too. "While going to take a wasp's nest to-day, we disturbed a large hawk-like bird, which had been digging it up and apparently eating the grubs. The wasps were flying all about it and settling on it, but it did not seem to mind them. Upon looking at our books we have decided that the bird was the honey-buzzard, one of the short-winged hawks."--F. M. CHAPTER XL. A Regatta.--The "Waterlog's" Victory. The waters of the broad once more blazed beneath the summer sun. The _Swan_ lay at anchor in a reedy bay, and the three boys were sitting on deck, busily engaged in discussing some project which seemed to interest them very much. For some years past a large yacht had been a prominent object on the Norfolk and Suffolk waters, not on account of her speed or her beauty, but because of her great ugliness of form, and her exceeding slowness of sailing. Cram on as much sail as you could, and yet the clumsiest wherry could beat her in sailing. Her owner entered her for many a race, and she was invariably so badly beaten that she became a laughing-stock. Her name was the _Waterlily_, but she was facetiously christened and universally called the "Waterlog." Her end was tragic. One time when the waters were very high after great floods, her owner sailed her into a small broad, and, not taking her off in time, the waters fell, and there was not depth enough to float her out, and she became fixed in a trap, out of which she could not be removed. She was offered for sale, but no one would buy her; so her owner, in a fit of disgust, first dismantled her and then set fire to her, and so she perished. Her nickname survived her, however, and, to the great indignation of the boys, descended upon the _Swan_, whose stiff and stately motion and peculiar appearance had made her the mark for it. They were now holding an "indignation meeting" upon the subject, and a way had just been mooted by which they hoped to sustain the dignity of their boat. "Wroxham Regatta is on the 20th of next month," said Frank, "and there is a race open to all classes of yachts except the winners of the previous races. Those will clear off the crack ships, and I don't think we need fear any of the others. I vote we enter the _Swan_ for it, and show them how she can sail. The prize is a very handsome cup." "Do you really think she will have any chance, Frank?" asked Jimmy. "Not with her present rig; but we will add a big top-sail to both main-sail and mizen. Her double shape will enable her to stand any amount of sail, and if we have a good side wind and plenty of it we shall stand a very good chance." So it was decided that the yacht should be entered for the race, and they set to work to prepare two immense yards and top-sails, and to practise sailing the yacht with them up. Mary Merivale and Edith Rose were invited to be on board during the race; the elders were to be present on board a friend's yacht to witness the regatta. The day of the regatta arrived, and a strong north-wester was raising mimic waves on the broad. The boys had taken the yacht overnight to Wroxham, and in the morning they met Mary and Edith at Wroxham Bridge, and took them on board. "Is it not dreadfully windy?" asked Edith Rose, as the wind blew her curls back from her pretty face. "It is just what we want, Miss Rose," answered Frank. "Wouldn't it be safer if we were not to be on board during the race? I am afraid you are going to be too venturesome. I heard you were going to put some more sails up, and I am sure these are large enough," said Edith. "Pray don't desert us now," said Frank, so piteously, that Edith made no more objection for fear of vexing him. Over the fence of tall reeds which now separated them from the broad they could see scores of white sails and gay pennants, and it was evident that there was a large assemblage. "Why, Frank," said Mary, "I declare you are quite nervous; I can feel your arm tremble." Frank indignantly repelled the accusation, but Jimmy, who was sitting on the roof of the cabin kicking his heels, said:-- "I am awfully, miserably nervous, and I believe we are going to make a tremendous mull of it, and we've done all we can to make ourselves conspicuous." They had entered the yacht, out of a spirit of bravado, under the name of "The Waterlog," and they had painted the name on slips of stout paper, and tacked it over the legitimate name of their yacht. "Nonsense!" was Frank's somewhat angry commentary on Jimmy's speech. They now entered the broad, which presented a lively scene. Yachts of all rigs and sizes were skimming about, with gunwales under, to the stiff breeze. When the signal for the first race was given, those yachts not engaged in it came to an anchor, and the _Swan_, on whom all eyes were turned, took up her station next to the yacht in which were Mr. Merivale and his friends. The wind continued to freshen and grow more gusty, so that of those yachts which started with their top-sails, two had them carried away in the first round, and the others had to take them down, and the yacht which won had a single reef in her huge main-sail. There were three races before the open race for which the _Swan_ was entered under her assumed name. I have not space to dwell upon the incidents of these, nor to dilate upon the glorious life and movement of the broad, with its crowd of white sails, and its waves sparkling in the sunlight. Three of the best yachts were, through being winners in the races, prohibited from sailing in the open race, but there were nevertheless a sufficient number of entries on the card of the races to make our boys dubious as to the result of their somewhat bold experiment. There were six named as to start. Two were lateeners, one a schooner, two cutters, and the sixth was the "Waterlog." The course was three times round the lake, outside of certain mark-boats; and, as the wind blew, the yachts would catch it abeam for two-thirds the course, dead aft for a sixth, and dead ahead for the remainder. As Frank said, it was a wind in every respect suitable for the raft-like _Swan_. The race excited a great amount of interest. The _Swan_ was now well known to all the yachtsmen, and her change of name provoked curiosity and interest, and as the signal came for the yachts to take their station all eyes were upon the "Waterlog" (as we will call her during the race). As the boys ran up her sails and sailed away to the starting-point, a decided manifestation of admiration arose as the great top-sails slowly ascended under the strenuous efforts of Dick and Jimmy. As they fluttered in the wind, Mary threw all her little weight on to the halyard to assist in hauling them tight and flat. Mary and Edith took up their places in the bows, where they were out of the way, as there is no jib in a lugger rig. "Now, Dick," whispered Frank, "if any accident _should_ happen--although it isn't likely--do you see to Mary, and I'll take Edith." "All right, old man." The yachts started from slip anchors, with the canvas set; and at the flash of the starting-gun, sheets were hauled in, and the six yachts which came to the starting-point bounded away almost simultaneously, the white water flashing away from their bows, and boiling and eddying in their wake. The wind was now blowing very fresh indeed, the other yachts were not only gunwales under, but the water swept all over the leeward half of their decks, and even the "Waterlog," in spite of the width of her beam and double shape, had her leeward pontoon completely submerged. On they surged, the two girls clinging to the forestay, heedless of wet feet, and breathless with the swift excitement: Frank firmly grasping the tiller, his teeth set and his blue eyes gleaming; Dick at the main-sheet, and Jimmy standing on the counter with the mizen-sheet in his grasp, both watching their captain, to be instant at his commands. The first round was quickly over, and then the position of the competing yachts was this:--The schooner was ahead, then at a little distance came the "Waterlog," and close behind her the rest of the yachts in a body. As they passed Mr. Merivale he cried out, "Well done, boys! you'll get a good place." Next they passed a small boat, in which they saw Bell, who shouted,--"Haul in your sheets a bit more,--your top-sails will hold more wind." Frank saw the wisdom of this advice, and as he followed it, the "Waterlog" shot forward and gained a little upon the schooner. "If the wind were to freshen a little we should come in second," said Frank. But as they commenced the third round the wind dropped most unexpectedly. The schooner in front rose nearer the perpendicular and her speed increased; the "Waterlog" fell back, and a large lateener behind fast overhauled her. "How dreadfully annoying," said Frank; and he hated that lateener with a very vigorous hate. They passed Bell's boat again, and the old man shouted-- "Look out, Master Frank, a squall will be on you in a minute." The sudden lull was but the precursor of a tremendously violent gust. As the yachts were beating up to round the last mark-boat before getting a straight run in to the goal, the boys saw the trees on the land bow their heads with a sudden jerk, and then the squall was upon them. It did not affect them so much when they were close hauled, but as the leading schooner rounded the boat and presented her broadside to the wind there was a great crash, and her cloud of white canvas descended upon the water. Her foremast had broken close by the deck, and in falling had snapped the remaining mast half way up, and she lay like a log on the water. The lateener, close upon her heels, heeled over so much, that she began to fill through the hatchway, and to save her from an upset her sheets were let go, and with her sails wildly fluttering she drifted on to the disabled wreck. All this was the work of a few seconds, but there was time for Frank to unloose the halyards of the top-sails, which were purposely made fast just in front of him, and to give a warning shout of "heads!" and then, to the great alarm of the girls, the sails came clattering down to leeward, and they rounded the boat in safety, though cannoning violently against the wreck as they did so. And now they were _first_! The cutter next behind them, in shooting up into the wind to save herself, lost way, and was no longer a dangerous enemy, and although the other yachts rounded the boat, yet they were far astern, and the victory of the "Waterlog" was secure. At a word from Frank the two girls, one on each side, stripped off the assumed name, and let the papers float away on the wind, and, amid vociferous cheering and clapping of hands and waving of handkerchiefs, the _Swan_ shot past the winning-post, and so gained the prize. Although gained partly by accident it was a great triumph for the boys, and the girls were quite as proud and delighted as they were. "You are a dear good boy, and I'll give you a kiss," said merry Mary Merivale to her brother, "although you would rather have one from somebody else than from me, I know." "I say, Molly, I wish you'd get her to give me one." "You will have to wait a very long time for that, Mr. Frank." "If you would give Dick one, she would give me one." "That's all you know about it, sir," said Mary, making him a saucy curtsey. CHAPTER XLI. The Conclusion. Now this chronicle of the doings of my three boys must come to an end. I have grown very fond of them, and I hope you have too. We will take a big jump from the doings recorded in the last chapter, and look in upon them at a time fraught with importance to each of them. Their pleasant school with Mr. Meredith is broken up. Frank and Dick are going to college, and Jimmy is about to be articled to a Norwich solicitor. They will always remain the best of friends, but still the new times will never again be like the old. New interests, new companions, new ambitions, all will leave their mark and have their influence, although this I am sure of, that the memory of this glorious partnership of three will always remain green and fresh with them, and have the greatest of all influences on their future lives. Mr. Meredith had invited all three of them to dinner, and when Mrs. Meredith had retired the conversation grew more personal and confidential. They looked upon Mr. Meredith as an intimate friend and counsellor, as well as a tutor and schoolmaster, and they told him their plans and hopes, just as if he were one of themselves. Presently a silence fell upon the table. Frank looked at Dick, and Dick looked at Frank, and Jimmy kicked him under the table, and at last Frank cleared his throat with a preparatory "ahem" and said,-- "I am not good at making speeches, Mr. Meredith, but we wish to express how very much obliged we have been to you for the kindness and the--in fact the--the--well, what we mean to say is--that you are a brick of a good fellow, sir." "What an awful muddle you have made of it, Frank," said Dick, in a reproachful whisper, and Jimmy launched a vicious kick at him under the table. There was a twinkle in Mr. Meredith's eye as he drank off his wine, which was partly due to mirth, and partly to a deeper feeling. He said,-- "I know what you mean, Frank, and in return I may say, that I am both glad and sorry that the hour has come for us to part for a time. I am sorry, because I have much enjoyed your companionship for the last three years, and I believe you have done me as much good as I have done you. I am glad, because you have become such fine young fellows, and I have had a hand in the making of you, and you must do us all credit. Jimmy will make a good lawyer, I think; and he must remember that the law is an honourable profession, and that lawyers take the place of the knights of old; they must do all they can to succour the widows and fatherless, and never allow themselves to be made instruments of oppression. I will give Jimmy just one piece of advice: Go straight, and never attempt to finesse. I believe that this clever finessing, and attempting to outdo other lawyers in cleverness, has been the cause of the moral ruin of many an able lawyer. Dick, I am sorry to say, will have no need to be of any occupation, but he must try to get plenty of voluntary work, nevertheless, for no man's life can be noble unless he does some of the world's work. And Frank, what are you going to be?" "I don't know yet, sir," replied Frank, "I should like to be a soldier, if I could be sure of active service pretty often." "I wish you would be a soldier in a purer army, my boy. We want some more men of your strength and energy to fight the devil with. We want men who will not only do what they have to do with all their might, but who have plenty of might to use." "I haven't the gift of the gab, sir," said Frank modestly. "That would come with practice and study, and, 'out of the fulness of the heart the mouth speaketh.' But come, we must not leave Mrs. Meredith so long alone on this your last night here." So they went into the drawing-room and had a quietly pleasant evening. When they left, they walked together down by the broad, talking of many things. It was bright moonlight, and the _Swan_ lay still and distinct on the water. It was warm, being in the middle of summer, and it was not late; and as they stood looking at the boat which they had built, and which had served them so well, they saw Mary and Edith Rose, who was staying with her, coming towards them, and Mr. and Mrs. Merivale not far behind. "Good night," said Jimmy, "I shall see you both in the morning;" and off he went. "Poor Jimmy," said Frank, "he does not like both of us going away, and he to be left behind alone." The two girls joined them, and Frank and Edith walked off together, and Dick and Mary did the same in another direction. "Mary," said Dick, "Mr. Meredith said that I ought to do some work in the world." "So you ought, Dick," she replied; "both Frank and Jimmy are going to be busy, and I did so hope you would do something too." "I mean to do something," he replied, with a quiet smile, "but I shall not tell you what it is yet. But if I do something which will show that I am of some use in the world, and not a mere drone, will you marry me?" It was not light enough to see if she blushed, but I am sure she did so very sweetly. What she said, very naively, was this:-- "I thought you would ask me some time, Dick, but I did not want you to _quite_ ask me until you came from college. We are only boy and girl, you know." "I am quite satisfied, Mary," he said, in that quiet, gentle voice of his which made you like him so much,--and so a compact was made, which both of them faithfully kept. Frank had not dared to say half so much to Edith; but the next morning, when he was saying good bye to them all, and it came to her turn, he looked her steadily in the face as she took his hand, and, moved by a sudden impulse, she put up her face to be kissed as Mary had done, and as he gravely kissed her, he said in a low tone, designed for her ear alone,-- "I am going to do my very best, Edith, and what I do will be for your sake." These were sweet words to the little maiden; but Frank received by the next morning's post a little Testament from her, with these words written on the fly-leaf-- "Not altogether for MY sake, Frank," and the half rebuke was of great service to Frank. And so, God be with them! THE END. LONDON: R. CLAY, SONS, AND TAYLOR, PRINTERS, BREAD STREET HILL, QUEEN VICTORIA STREET. * * * * * Transcriber's Notes: Italics are indicated by _underscores_. Small caps are indicated by ALL CAPS. Archaic spelling, and variations in hyphenation, punctuation, and use of accents appear as in the original. Several words appear both with and without hyphenation. End-of-line hyphenations in the original are rejoined here. Obvious typographical errors have been changed. Page 4: added comma ("Yes, Frank, he is) Page 26: "loth" to "loath" (were loath to destroy) Page 51: added full stop (The Owner.--) Page 54: added opening quote mark ("What a thing) Page 54: comma to full stop (said Dick. "Is that) Page 57: added comma (Mr. ----," said Jimmy) Page 80: italicized "Swan" (found that the _Swan_) Page 81: added full stop (fir-tree.) Page 81: capitalized "Is" ("Is it a crow's) Page 86: "affect" to "affects" (it sometimes affects) Page 87: removed opening quote mark (On the ground) Page 92: added full stop (sixty feet in length.) Page 93: removed comma (to or from Lake) Page 96: added comma (said Frank, "is not) Page 98: added comma (external accident,) Page 113: added comma (Frank's boat, "but) Page 122: full stop to comma (I was a fool,") Page 127: added opening quote mark ("Well, sir, a lot) Page 142: added full stop (about the birds.) Page 152: added comma ("So have I," said Frank.) Page 159: added comma (law of nature,") Page 160: removed closing quote mark (_Wild Flowers_:--) Page 164: single to double opening quote mark ("Up with the) Page 168: removed closing quote mark (its last change) Page 199: greek character to "omega" (the letter omega,) Page 227: "Heron.--Hawking." to "Heron-hawking." (chapter heading) Page 236: added closing quote mark (tempt him by size.") Page 250: "perfectlv" to "perfectly" (perfectly free from snow.) Page 253: "fastastic" to "fantastic" (in fantastic masses,) Page 258: added closing quote mark (last will and testament!") 
42825	----	[Illustration: Camellia Fimbriata.] THE AMERICAN FLOWER GARDEN DIRECTORY, CONTAINING PRACTICAL DIRECTIONS FOR THE CULTURE OF PLANTS, IN THE =HOT-HOUSE, GARDEN-HOUSE, FLOWER GARDEN AND ROOMS OR PARLOURS,= FOR EVERY MONTH IN THE YEAR. With A DESCRIPTION OF THE PLANTS MOST DESIRABLE IN EACH, THE NATURE OF THE SOIL AND SITUATION BEST ADAPTED TO THEIR GROWTH, THE PROPER SEASON FOR TRANSPLANTING, &c. INSTRUCTIONS FOR ERECTING A Hot-house, Green-house, and laying out a Flower Garden. ALSO _Table of Soils most congenial to the Plants contained in the Work_. THE WHOLE ADAPTED TO EITHER LARGE OR SMALL GARDENS, WITH LISTS OF ANNUALS, BIENNIALS, AND ORNAMENTAL SHRUBS, CONTENTS, A GENERAL INDEX, AND A FRONTISPIECE OF CAMELLIA FIMBRIATA. By HIBBERT AND BUIST. EXOTIC NURSERYMEN AND FLORISTS. PHILADELPHIA: E. L. CAREY & A. HART--CHESNUT STREET. BOSTON: ALLEN & TICKNOR. 1834. PREFACE. This volume owes its existence principally to the repeated requests of a number of our fair patrons, and amateur supporters, whose enquiries and wishes for a practical manual on Floraculture, at last induced us to prepare a work on the subject. That now offered is given unaffectedly and simply as a plain and easy treatise on this increasingly interesting subject. It will at once be perceived that there are no pretensions to literary claims--the directions are given in the simplest manner--the arrangement made as lucidly as was in our power--and the whole is presented with the single wish of its being practically useful. How far our object has been attained of course our readers must judge. Nothing has been intentionally concealed; and all that is asserted is the result of minute observation, close application, and an extended continuous experience from childhood. We pretend not to infallibility, and are not so sanguine as to declare our views the most perfect that can be attained. But we can so far say, that the practice here recommended has been found very successful. Some very probably may be disappointed in not having the means of propagating as clearly delineated as those of culture; but to have entered into all the minutiæ connected therewith, would have formed materials for two volumes larger than the present. We might have described that branch, as it has already been done in works published both on this continent and in Europe. In one of the former it is said, "You may now propagate many kinds (_Exotic Plants_) by suckers, cuttings, and layers, which should be duly attended to, particularly such as are scarce and difficult to be obtained." And the directions given in one of the most extensive works in Europe on the propagation of an extensive genus, varied in character and constitution, run thus: "Cuttings of most kinds will strike root. From the strongest growing kinds, take off large cuttings at a joint, and plunge them in a pot of sand under a hand-glass in the bark bed. Of the smaller kinds take younger kinds, and put them under a bell-glass, also plunged in heat. The sooner the plants are potted off after they are rooted the better." Such instructions to the inexperienced, are imperfect and unavailing, which, we flatter ourselves, is not the character that will attach to the present work. We are well aware that there are persons, who, to show their own superior abilities, may cavil and say that there is nothing new. To such critics it may be answered, if arranging, simplifying, digesting, and rendering Floraculture attainable by the humblest capacity, with useful lists and tables on a plan quite novel, as we believe--offer nothing new, it may at least be called an improvement. However, we submit all to a generous public, to whom we are already under many obligations. HIBBERT & BUIST. _Philadelphia, April 18th, 1832._ INTRODUCTION. In presenting this work, constructed as a monthly calendar, which is the most simple and easy method to convey the necessary operations of the year, considerably more labour has been expended, than was at first expected, to render it as accurate as possible. Some verbal mistakes may have been overlooked in the botanical names. Where such occur, the list of names at the end of the volume will enable the reader to correct them; as well as the accentuation. For such other errors as may be discovered, the indulgence of the reader is solicited. Frequently, in the description of plants, there are Botanical and English names compounded, in order the more clearly to elucidate their several parts to those who are not fully acquainted with scientific terms. The description of the colour of flowers and habits of plants will be useful to such as are at a great distance from collections, in enabling them to make selections judiciously. Those plants described and recommended have all, with a few exceptions, passed under our own observation, and are generally such as are most worthy of attention, either for beauty of flower, foliage, or habit, together with those celebrated in arts and medicine. Many may possibly have passed unobserved, either from their being very generally known, or difficult to obtain; but in no case has there been suppression from selfish motives. Where the words "our collections" occur, it is meant for those of the country generally, and especially those immediately in the vicinity of Philadelphia. In all our observations, no regard has been paid to what has been written by others, either in the way of depreciation, or of particular appreciation. Perhaps some other cultivators may differ from us respecting culture and soil; however this may be, we rest satisfied, as our work is designedly and professedly given as the result of our own experience, the plan laid down is our own routine of culture, and the soils are those which we adopt. We do not say that there is no soil in which the plants will not grow better, fully aware that every art and profession is subject to improvement. The table of soils has been constructed at the expense of much labour, and condensed as much as possible; to every one that has a single plant it will be found invaluable. Many are the publications in Europe on Gardening and Floraculture, the directions in which, when practised in the United States, prove almost a perfect dead letter. A work adapted to the climate must be the guide in this country, and not one which is foreign to us in every respect. On this account a work like the present has been a desideratum, considering the rapidly increasing and interesting advancement of the culture of flowers amongst the fair daughters of our flourishing republic. To aid them and others seeking information in this instructive and delightful pursuit--to enable them to examine more minutely, and judge more correctly of the qualities, properties, and beauties of plants--have been prominent objects in this publication. Here, as knowledge is increased, the warmer will be the devotion of the delighted student; and as the mind correspondingly expands, the desire for further information will keep pace--advancing constantly in the development of nature, the mind will participate in the enjoyment, and become meliorated and purified--as the study of nature's works inevitably lead to the contemplation of nature's God, and the result of the whole prove a harmonious combination of personal gratification and mental improvement. TABLE OF CONTENTS. =HOT-HOUSE.= _JANUARY._ Page Of Temperature, 9 Firing and Fuel, ib. Watering 11 Insects, to destroy, 12 Shifting Plants, 17 Cleaning do., &c., 19 _FEBRUARY._ Of Temperature, 33 Insects, 34 Shifting Plants, 35 Cleaning do. and House, 37 _MARCH._ General Observations, 56 Of Shifting Plants, 57 _APRIL._ Of Temperature, 168 Observations in general, 169 _MAY._ Of Repotting Plants, 219 Hot-house Plants described, ib. Of bringing out the Hot-house Plants, 255 Succulents 257 _JUNE & JULY._ General Observations, 272 _AUGUST._ Of Repotting, 284 Repairing the House, ib. _SEPTEMBER._ Of Dressing the Plants, 298 Taking in do., ib. _OCTOBER._ Of Airing and Temperature, 311 _NOVEMBER._ Of Temperature, 326 Cistern and Water, ib. _DECEMBER._ Of Firing, 337 Shutters, ib. Placing Bulbs in the Hot-house, 338 =GREEN-HOUSE.= _JANUARY._ Green-house, 20 Of Temperature, 21 Watering, ib. Camellia Japonica, 22 Oranges, Lemons, &c., 24 Cape Bulbs, &c., ib. Hyacinths, &c., 25 _FEBRUARY._ Of Temperature, 38 Watering, 39 Oranges and Lemons, ib. Bulbs, 40 Camellia Japonica, 41 Shifting, ib. Cleaning, &c., 43 _MARCH._ Of Temperature, 57 Watering, 58 Oranges and Lemons, ib. Myrtles and Oleanders, 59 Geraniums, 60 Herbaceous plants, ib. Cape Bulbs, ib. Repotting, 61 Enarching, 127 _APRIL._ Of Repotting, 170 Watering, ib. Oranges and Lemons, 171 Myrtles and Oleanders, 173 Geraniums, ib. Of Herbaceous Plants and Bulbs, 174 Flowering Plants, 175 Insects, ib. Flowering Stocks, 176 _MAY._ Of bringing out the Green-house Plants, 258 Repotting Plants, 259 Camellias, 264 Cape Bulbs, 265 _JUNE & JULY._ General Observations, 273 _AUGUST._ Of Geraniums, 286 Oranges and Lemons, 287 Pruning do., 289 Repotting Plants, ib. _SEPTEMBER._ Of Repairing the House, 300 Watering, 301 Preparing for taking in the Plants, ib. Stocks and Wall-flowers, 302 Chrysanthemums, ib. Cape and Holland Bulbs, 303 Repotting, 306 _OCTOBER._ Of taking in and arranging the Plants, 312 Repotting, 313 Camellias, 315 _NOVEMBER._ Of Air and Water, 327 Tender Bulbs, 328 _DECEMBER._ Of Temperature, 340 Bulbous Roots, 341 FLOWER-GARDEN. _JANUARY._ Flower Garden, 25 Of Framing, &c. 26 Pruning, 27 _FEBRUARY._ Of Pruning, 44 Planting Shrubs, 48 Hyacinths and other Bulbs, 51 Framing, ib. _MARCH._ Of Planting Box Edgings, 130 Sowing Tender Annuals, 131 Sowing Hardy " 132 Sowing Biennials, 133 Planting Perennials, ib. Bulbous Roots, 152 Repotting Carnations, Pinks and Primroses, 153 Auriculas, 154 Ranunculus and Anemone, 155 Roses, planting, ib. Pruning Climbing Roses, 159 Planting Ornamental Shrubs, ib. Grass-plats and Walks, 160 Gravel-walks, 162 Fancy-edgings, ib. Grafting, 163 _APRIL._ Of Annuals, 178 Biennials and Perennials, 179 Dahlias, 180 China Roses, 182 Climbing " 189 " Plants, 196 Deciduous Shrubs, 199 Planting Evergreens, ib. Care of choice Bulbs, 201 Anemone and Ranunculus, 203 Auriculas, 204 Carnations and Pinks, ib. Polianthus tuberosa, 205 Jacobea Lily, &c. 207 Tiger-flower, 208 Walks, 209 Evergreen Hedges, 210 Box-edgings, 211 Grass-plats & Flowering-plants, 212 _MAY._ Of Annuals, hardy and tender, 266 Hyacinths and Tulips, ib. Anemone and Ranunculus, 267 Dahlia, Tuberose, and Amaryllis, ib. Auricula, Polyanthus and Primrose, ib. Wall-flower, double, 268 _JUNE AND JULY._ Holland Bulbs, 274 Autumn flowering-bulbs, ib. Carnations and Pinks, 275 Of Laying Carnations and Pinks, 277 Pruning Roses, 278 Budding, 279 Watering, 281 _AUGUST._ Of Evergreen Hedges, 293 Carnations and Pinks, 294 Bulbous Roots, ib. Sowing Seeds of do. 295 " and gathering Seeds, 296 _SEPTEMBER._ Of Dahlias, 307 General care of Plants in pots, ib. Beds for Bulbous-roots, 308 _OCTOBER._ Of Planting various Bulbs, 317 " and transplanting, 302 Grass and Gravel-walks, 322 Planting Evergreens, ib. _NOVEMBER._ Of Protecting Choice Bulbs, 329 Tuberose, Dahlia, Tigridia, and Amaryllis 330 Erythrinas, ib. Primrose and Daisy, 331 Choice Carnations, Pinks, and Auriculas, ib. Protecting Plants, 332 " Seeding-bulbs, 333 Planting Deciduous Trees and Shrubs, ib. _DECEMBER._ General Observations, 342 ROOMS. _JANUARY._ Rooms, 28 Of Temperature, ib. Watering, 29 Camellia Japonica, ib. Insects, 30 Bulbous Roots, 31 _FEBRUARY._ Of Temperature, 54 Hyacinths, 55 Camellias, ib. _MARCH._ General Observations, 165 Of Flowering Plants, 166 _APRIL._ Of plants brought from the Green-house, 214 Flowering Plants, 215 Bringing Plants out of the cellar, ib. _MAY._ Of Bringing out the Plants, 269 Cape bulbs, 270 Repotting, 271 _JUNE AND JULY._ General Observations, 282 _AUGUST._ General Observations, 296 Sowing Mignonette, 297 _SEPTEMBER._ Of a Stage for Rooms, 309 General Observations, 310 _OCTOBER._ Of taking in the Plants, 323 Bulbous roots, 324 _NOVEMBER._ Of Camellias, &c. 335 _DECEMBER._ An outline of culture of plants, 344 Index of Plants, 353 Description of Soils, 375 Table of Soils, ib. On the construction of a Hot-house, 345, 348 " " " Green-house, 349 On laying out a Flower Garden, 349, 352 OMITTED IN MARCH. _Jasmìnum_, Jasmine. A few species of this genus are celebrated either for the Green-house or Rooms. _J. odoratíssimum_, Azorian, has very sweet-scented yellow flowers, blooming from April to November. _J. revolùtum_ is the earliest flowering one, and of the same colour; it is apt to grow straggling, and should be close pruned as soon as done blooming, which will be about June. _J. grandiflòrum_ is frequently called Catalonian, and should be pruned early in spring to make it bloom well, especially old plants. _J. officinàle_ is a hardy climbing plant for arbours, walls, &c. There are several varieties of it, and it is reported there is a double one. ERRATA. Page 104, _dele_ "_L. Silaifòlia_ has leaves bipinnatifid and smooth; segments wedge-shaped and cut; _L. dentáta_ and _L. ilicifòlia_, are the finest;" and place it to "_Lomàtia_," page 103. Page 321, ninth line from top, _dele_ "_Pèdulis_." THE AMERICAN FLOWER GARDEN DIRECTORY. Hot-House. _JANUARY._ At all times be very careful of the temperature of this department, and more especially at this season of the year, as a few minutes' neglect might materially injure many of the delicate plants. The thermometer ought to range between 58° and 65°. In fine sunshine days, admit a little air by having some of the top sashes let down, one, two, or three inches, according to the weather, and let it always be done from eleven to one o'clock; but by no means in such a manner as to cause a draught in the interior of the house, which would be very prejudicial. Therefore be always cautious during cold weather, in administering that necessary element to vegetation, which is so conducive to health. OF FIRING AND FUEL. The Hot-house ought never to be left entirely to inexperienced persons, because they are not aware of what might be the result of inattention even for an hour. Attention to the following observations will obviate every difficulty. About this season of the year, frost generally sets in very severe in the middle states. Suppose the day may have all the clemency of spring, the night may be directly the reverse. Every precaution is necessary to guard against extremes. According to what was said last month, it is understood that the shutters are put on every night at sundown, and in severe weather, they must be put on as soon as the sun goes off the glass. If the shutters are omitted till late in severe frost, it will so reduce the heat of the house, that you cannot overcome it by fire until near midnight; and when done, the fire or fires have been made more powerful than they ought to be, proving uncongenial to the plants that are near the flues. The air, as above directed, having been taken off the house at one o'clock, as soon as the mercury begins to fall in the thermometer, kindle the fire, and supposing it is anthracite coal, in twenty minutes, with a good drawing furnace, the heat will operate in the house. If a coal fire, kindled about four o'clock, it will require an addition about six, and then may be made up again about nine or ten, which will suffice until morning. The quantity must be regulated by the weather. If the fuel is wood, it must be attended to three or four times during the evening; and when the mornings are intensely cold, one fire in the morning is requisite. When there are bad drawing furnaces the fires must be made much earlier, perhaps by two or three o'clock, which will be easily observed by the time the fire takes effect upon the air of the house. The temperature ought never to be under 55° of Fahrenheit. OF WATERING THE PLANTS. To do this judiciously, is so necessary to vegetation, and so requisite to understand, and yet the knowledge so difficult to convey to others (being entirely acquired by practice,) that if the power was in man to impart it to his fellow-men, he would possess the power of perfecting a gardener by diction. However, the hints on this important point of floraculture, will be as clear and expressive as can at present be elicited. All plants in this work that are aquatic, shall be specified as such; and those that are arid shall be duly mentioned. All others will come in the medium. All the plants must be looked over every day, and those watered that appear to be getting dry on the top. It must be strictly observed not to give water to any but such as are becoming dry, and let it be given moderately at this season. Two or three days may perhaps elapse before it need be repeated. There is not so much liability to err at present in giving too little, as in administering too much. Vegetation amongst the stove or Hot-house plants will soon begin to show, and the soil will prove uncongenial if it is impregnated with stagnant moisture. Small plants should always be watered with a pot, having what is termed a rose upon it. The surface of the rose, that is, where it is perforated with small apertures, ought to be level, or a little concave, which would convey the water more to a centre, and make neater work, by preventing any water from being unnecessarily spilt in the house. The size of the pot will be regulated by the person to suit the conveniences of the place. Water, when applied either to the roots or foliage of the plants, should be about the medium temperature of the house. The cistern, built on the plan herein recommended, will always give this, and sometimes more, which can easily be reduced by adding cold water. Where there are no cisterns, a tank or barrel might be in the house, in which the water could stand for one night or more, as is most suitable. When water is given without being thus aired, it chills the roots, prevents a luxuriant growth, injures the fresh and healthful appearance of the foliage, and too frequently gives to all the plants a sickly hue. OF INSECTS, THEIR DESTRUCTION, &c. In this department, insects begin to increase by hundreds, and too frequently their ravages are very obvious before their progress is arrested. We will treat of those which are most common, under their respective heads, with their nature and cure, as far as has come under our observation. _Aphis rosæ_, of the natural order of Hemiptera, or what is commonly known by Green Fly, Green Lice, &c. infect plants in general, and are particularly destructive in the Hot-house to _Hibíscus ròsa-sinénsis_, _Asclèpias_, _Crássula coccínea_, _Alstr[oe]meria_, and many other plants of a free growing nature. They attack the young and tender shoots at the point, leaving a dark filthy appearance on the foliage. Many remedies for their destruction have been offered to the public by various writers, each equally secure in his own opinion. Extensive practice alone can show the most easy and effectual cure. Fumigating with tobacco is decidedly the most efficacious, and in the power of any to perform. Take a small circular furnace, made of sheet iron, diameter at top twelve inches, and at bottom eight; depth one foot, having a grating in it to reach within three inches of the bottom, which will leave space for the air to pass, and where the ashes will fall and be kept in safety, having a handle like a pail to carry it with. This, or any thing similar, being ready, put in it a few embers of ignited charcoal; take it into the centre of the house, and put on the coals a quantity of moist tobacco stems. If they attempt to blaze or flame, sprinkle a little water over them; and as they consume, continue to add tobacco until the house is entirely full of smoke, observing always to do it in still, cloudy weather, or in the evening. If it is windy, the smoke is carried off without having half the effect, and requires more tobacco. The house must be closely shut up. There are several plants whose foliage is of a soft downy nature, such as _Helitròpiums_, _Callacárpas_, _Sálvias_, and many of the _Lantànas_, _Víncas_, with several others, that cannot stand, without danger, strong fumigation. These should be put low down in the house, or under the stage. These fumigations will have to be repeated frequently, the time for which will easily be perceived; and, when required, ought not to be delayed. Several species and varieties of the same genus, _Aphis_, can be destroyed in the like manner. _Acaris tellurius_, or red spider, is caused by a dry atmosphere, and its havoc generally is obvious before it is arrested. With its proboscis, it wounds the fine capillary vessels; and if the leaves are fine, they will appear as if probed with a needle, and yellowish around the wound. If they have farther progressed in their destructive work, the leaves will prematurely decay. On this appearance, turn up the leaf, and you will see them running about with incredible swiftness. Their body is of a blood colour, and their feet, eight in number, light red. When very numerous, they work thick webs on the under side of the leaf, and frequently all over it, forming a mass of half dead plants, decayed leaves, and thousands of spiders. The most effectual remedy is a thorough syringing with water, and profusely under the foliage. This being done every evening, will subdue and eventually banish them. Had the house been syringed two or three times per week, these intruders would not have appeared. It is said by some writers, that watering only reduces them to a temporary state of inaction, and will not destroy them. Laying aside the many prescribed nostrums, we assert that the pure element is the most effectual cure, as well as the most easy to be obtained. _Thrips_, order _Hemiptera_, are insects so minute as scarcely to be perceptible to the naked eye. They generally lurk close to the veins of the leaves of plants, and frequently attack esculents. When viewed through a glass, they are seen, when touched, to skip with great agility. The larva is of a high brown, or reddish colour. The thrip has four wings, and walks with its body turned upwards. It frequently attacks the extremities of tender shoots, or young leaves, which become shrivelled, brown, and will rub to dust easily between the thumb and finger. When any leaves or shoots are perceived to be so, if you do not observe the green fly, expect the thrips. They may be destroyed by a fumigation of tobacco, in the same manner as the green fly. By the simple and expeditious method of fumigation, these insects and several others may be destroyed effectually at any time they appear. _Cocus hesperidus_, or mealy bug, has appeared in the Hot-houses about Philadelphia within these few years, and, if not instantly destroyed, increases rapidly. It is of a white dusty colour, when broken, of a brownish red, generally covered with down, under which it deposits its eggs; and they, in a few months, come forth in great numbers. The cocus generally is of a dormant nature, but, in warm weather, they may be seen moving rapidly up the stems of the plants. Fumigating has no observable effect on these insects; therefore, as soon as they appear, recourse must be had to other means. The liquid made from the following receipt, is death to any of the _Cocus_ tribe: Take two pounds of strong soap, one pound flour of sulphur, one pound of leaf tobacco, one and a half ounce of nux vomica, with a table spoonful of turpentine, which boil in four gallons of river water to three; then set aside to cool. When boiling, stir it well with a stick, continuing to do so until it is reduced as above. In this liquor immerse the whole plant, drawing it to and fro gently, that the liquor may penetrate every where. This done, lay the plant on its side, until it begin to dry, then syringe well with clean water, and put it in its respective station. Where a collection of plants is free from any insects of the kind, every plant that is introduced, ought to be minutely scrutinized, that the unclean may be kept from the clean: the above insect will feed almost on any plant, but indulges on _Crássulas_, any of the bristly _Cáctus_, _Gardènias_, and in fact whatever is in the way. _Cocus--------_, or brown scaly insect, is frequently found on many plants, but we never could perceive that it does any other material injury, than dirtying them. We have always observed, that it is found in winter to abound most in those situations which are most excluded from air; therefore is of less importance than the other species, which eat and corrode the leaves of tender plants. A washing with strong soap suds will destroy them, or the above liquid will do it more effectually. Tie a piece of sponge on the end of a small stick, and scrub every leaf, stem, and crevice. Fumigating destroys the larvæ of this species. _Cocus--------_, or small white scaly insect, which generally infests _Cycas revolùta_ and _circinàlis_, the varieties of _Nèrium oleánder_, _Oleas_, and several species of _Acacias_, may be destroyed by washing as above with a sponge, and a strong decoction of tobacco, using the liquid about the warmth of 100°. Being thus heated, it irritates the insect, when, by easing itself from its bed, the fluid passes under it, and causes immediate death. If it is not thus irritated, it adheres so closely to the foliage, that it will keep you at defiance. The under, or dark side of the leaves is its residence; and we have observed a plant in a house where there was only light on one side, with the dark side literally covered, while the light side was clean. So much for having houses with plenty of light. The effects of this insect are of a corroding nature, extracting all the juices from the leaf under it, even straining to the other side; and where they have got to the extremity, the foliage is completely yellow, and of a decayed appearance. _Cocus--------_, or turtle insect. We have never observed this insect arrive to any extent, but think that the _Datura arborea_ is most infested with it. It is the largest of any genus known amongst us, and very like a turtle in miniature. On lifting it from the wood, to which it generally adheres, there appear to be hundreds of eggs under it, but fumigating completely destroys the larvæ. In our opinion this turtle insect is no other than the old female of the brown scaly insect, which swells to a large size before depositing its eggs. We have frequently observed the insect dead in this enlarged state, and question if this is the last stage of its transmigration. The male insect is winged, and very active in its movements. OF SHIFTING PLANTS. At this period of the season very little is required to grow _Calceolàrias_ to perfection. They require a few months of the Hot-house, and if the directions given last month were followed up, some of these will have advanced a little in growth. The herbaceous kinds, when grown about one inch high, ought to be divided, and put into four inch pots, sprinkled gently, and kept in the shade until they begin to grow; after which, keep them near the glass, to prevent them from becoming spindly and drawn. Their farther treatment will be observed as they require. This is a beautiful genus of plants, flowering very profusely all summer, and some of them early in spring. _Alstr[oe]merias_, about the beginning or middle of the month, will have made their appearance above ground. When shot about one inch, turn them out, and carefully shake them clear of earth; and if required, divide the crowns, and put them in as small pots as possible, taking care not to break any of the strong fleshy roots. (For Soil, see Table.) To flower these plants well, they require to be frequently shifted, during their active stage of growth, which must be duly observed. The most of the species of this genus will more than repay the attention, by their abundantly and beautifully spotted flowers. _A. flósmartìna_, _A. Pelegrìna_, _A. pulchélla_, and _A. atrópurpurea_, are the most splendid. The former flowers very freely. All natives of South America. Where bulbous roots, such as _Hyacinths_, _Jonquils_, _Narcissus_, _Ixias_, _Lachenàllas_, &c. are required to be early in flower, they may, about the beginning or end of the month, be put in the front of the Hot-house, giving very little water until they begin to grow; then water freely, and tie up the flower stems as they advance. OF CLEANSING PLANTS, HOUSE, &c. This subject ought to be kept constantly in view. However correct every thing may be executed, without that adorning beauty, cleanliness, all will appear only half done. Therefore let all the dead leaves be picked off every day, and with dust and other litter swept out of the house, and when necessary, the house washed, which will be at least once a week. That the foliage of the plants may always appear fresh, syringe them in the evening, twice or three times per week; (when the weather is very cold, do it in the morning.) At present this will in a great measure keep down the insects, and will prove a bane to the red spider. A hand engine is certainly the best. Milne's patent hand engine surpasses any that we have used. Nevertheless a hand syringe is very effectual. Some of these engines are powerful, throwing the water above forty feet. Read's patent of London is excellent. At the store of D. & C. Landreth, Phila., there is a very good kind, which answers admirably in small houses. Tie up neatly with stakes, and threads of Russia mat, all the straggling growing plants; let the stakes be proportionate to the plants, and never longer, except they are climbing sorts. Do not tie the branches in bundles, but singly and neatly, imitating nature as much as possible. If any of the plants are affected with the _Cocus_ insect, let them be cleaned according to the plan already mentioned, taking particular care also in washing the stakes to which they had been previously tied, and burning all the old tyings, which contain the larvæ of the insect in many instances, especially of _Cocus hesperidus_. It is premised, when any of these things are done, that they will be well done, and not half doing, and always doing. Cleanliness, in every respect, promotes a pure air, which is congenial to vegetation, and will, with other attention, always ensure a healthful and vigorous appearance in the house. Green-House. _JANUARY._ This compartment requires particular attention, in order to preserve the plants in good health, and carry them through this precarious season of the year. A little air must be admitted at all convenient times. An hour or two at mid-day will be of the utmost importance in drying up damp, and clearing off stagnated air, which is a harbour for every corruption. The top sashes being let down, or turned a few inches, in mild days (that is, when it is not high and cutting winds) from ten or eleven o'clock to two or three, according to the intensity of the frost, will renovate the interior air of the house, and harden the plants. When the weather will permit, let the front sashes be opened about one inch or more. An assiduous, experienced hand will never omit an opportunity. With regard to fire heat, the temperature must be regulated to suit the nature of the plants in a general sense; so let the mercury, or spirits of wine, of Fahrenheit's thermometer, be from 34° to 43°; if it begins to fall, give a little fire heat. No doubt we have seen the thermometer much lower in the Green-house, than the above, even as low as 24°, without any immediate injury; but it was in an extensive collection, where the most hardy of the plants were selected into one house. Many boast how little fire they give their Green-house, and how cold it is kept, not observing the miserable state of their plants,--inexperience causing them to think, that the least fire heat will make them grow, and would rather look on naked stems than healthy plants. The above temperature will not, in exotics, cause premature vegetation, but will cause the plants to retain the foliage requisite to vegetative nature. A high temperature is not necessary for the generality of Green-house plants; on the contrary, it might very much injure them. OF WATERING. In this month very little is requisite, and must be given with great caution. Few plants will require much, and some hardly any; but all must be attended to, and have their wants supplied. Some will need it twice, some once a week, and some in two weeks, according to their shrubby and woody nature. Herbaceous and deciduous plants will seldom need water. Perhaps, from the throwing of the foliage, to the commencement of vegetation, three or four times will be sufficient. Particular attention should be paid to the state of health and of growth, in which the plants respectively are, in the application of water; otherwise much mischief may be done, and many entirely ruined. Green-house plants, being now in an absolutely inactive state, require little more water than merely to keep the earth about their roots from becoming perfectly dry, by occasionally applying a very small quantity at the root; and, if done with a watering pot, as described under this head in the Hot-house of this month, very little will be spilt in the house to increase dampness, which, if it does appear, by any of the leaves of the plants becoming musty, they must be instantly picked off; and, if it increases, give a little fire and air. Succulent plants will not need any water during this month, unless omitted in December. CAMELLIA JAPONICA. This magnificent and attractive flower, with all its splendid varieties, will, about this time, begin to open its beautiful flowers. But for this admired genus of plants, our Green-houses, at this season, would be void of allurement. It is, in this country, subject to mildew and red spider, and more especially in the city, which appears to be from the nature of the air. The effects of mildew on these plants, if not prevented, would prove fatal; as, from appearance, many have died by it in our city. If it has reached a great extent, the leaves are brownish, having the appearance of being decayed, or scorched with the sun. In taking hold of the leaf, it feels soft, and altogether seems to have lost its nutritive substance; and, when the young foliage expands, it becomes covered with dark brown spots, and finally very much disfigured; and, when in this state, it is attacked by red spider, and, ultimately, death ensues. If any of the plants are affected as above described, take a sponge, and wash every leaf minutely with soft water, and syringe them with water three or four times a week, which will clean them. All the young foliage will be healthy, and that which has been affected will fall off. However, prevention is better than cure; and if the _Camellias_ are properly syringed every evening during summer, and once or twice a week during winter, they will never be subject to the ravages of mildew or of red spider. Tie up any of the flowers that are expanded to stakes, in case of accident; and, in syringing, observe not to let any water fall on the flowers, as it causes premature decay, and change of colour. The mildew first appears like small particles of very fine flour, around the under edge of the leaves, and visible to the naked eye; so that, syringing, sponging, &c. under the leaf is most requisite; but, as the mildew extends, both sides of the leaves are covered with these white particles. OF ORANGES, LEMONS, &c. As there will perhaps be more leisure in the Green-house this month than in any other during the winter, it is presumed that there will not be a moment lost. If any of the trees are infested with insects, these, being now in their inactive state, may be more easily destroyed than at any other time. It is the brown scaly insect that generally infests them. For treatment, see _Hothouse, January_. The plant, or tree, after being washed, before it becomes dry, will require to be syringed with water, otherwise the dust will adhere to the glutinous particles of the soap. Set the plant in an airy situation to dry, in case of damp. There are several others subject to this insect, such as _Myrtles_, _Oleas_, _Oleanders_, &c. which treat in the same manner. Be careful that these trees are not over watered; if the soil is moist, it is sufficient. OF CAPE BULBS, &c. If there are any out of the ground, it is time that the whole were potted, such as _Lachenàlia_, _Wachendórfia_, _Eùcomis_, _Ixia_, _Gladìolus_, with several others. Keep them in the shade until they begin to grow; then put them on shelves near the light. Those that are growing must be kept in front of the house, to prevent them being weak. _Wachendórfia_ has a beautiful large red tuber root; and, as the new root descends, give it a pot about six or seven inches. OF HYACINTHS AND OTHER BULBOUS ROOTS. All these roots must be carefully examined. In case slugs or snails are preying upon the embryo of the flower, some of those that are farthest advanced, may be put for a few weeks in the Hot-house. It will greatly accelerate their flowering, but they must be brought out again before the florets expand, and carefully tied up, leaving room for the increase and extension of the flower stem. Give them plenty of water, and if saucers can be placed under them to retain it, it will be of advantage. Change the water every week on those that are in glasses, and keep all the growing bulbs near the light. _Narcissus_, _Jonquils_, &c. may be similarly treated. Flower Garden. _JANUARY._ If the covering of the beds of choice bulbs, herbaceous plants, or tender shrubs, has been neglected last month, let it be done forthwith. The season is now precarious, and delays are dangerous. For particular directions, see _December_. Any bulbous roots that have been kept out of the ground, should be planted immediately, according to directions in _October_. Some writers have recommended keeping some of the bulbs until this month, in order to have a continued succession. Experience will prove the inefficacy of the plan, and will satisfactorily show that the difference is almost imperceptible, while the flowers are very inferior and much degenerated; and in place of having "a long continued succession of bloom," there appear, along with your finest specimens, very imperfect flowers, calculated to discourage the admirers of these "gaudy" decoratives of our flower gardens. Whereas every art employed should be to the advancement and perfection of nature. OF FRAMING, &c. The plants and roots that are in frames, should be protected with straw mats, and the frame surrounded with litter, or leaves, or what is more advisable, banked with earth--the former being a harbour for mice and other vermin. For full directions, see _December_. Under this head the plants, such as _Auriculas_, _Polyanthus_, _Daisies_, _Carnations_, _Pinks_, _Gentianellas_, _Campanula pyramidalis_, _Double rocket_, _Double stock_, _or Stockgillys_, _Double Wall-flower_, _Anemone_, _Ranunculus_, &c. as previously enumerated as frame plants, will require very little water, and be sure to give none while they are in a frozen state. If snow should cover them, the plants will keep in a fine state under it, so never remove snow from covering cold frames, even suppose it should lay for months,--nature will operate here herself. All the above plants except _Anemone_ and _Ranunculus_ are kept in perfection in the Green-house; but where neither this nor framing can be obtained, they will, in most winters, keep tolerably, if well covered with litter--the roughest from the stable, straw or hay, or such like, using means to secure it from being blown over the whole garden. OF PRUNING AND PREPARING FOR SPRING. It is not advisable to carry on a general pruning in this month, in whatever state the weather may be. The severest frosts generally are yet to come, and too frequently in this operation, what is done now has to be repeated on the opening of spring, causing at that time work to a disadvantage; because, if pruning, when done just now, is accomplished judiciously, whatever more on the same bush is requisite to be done in spring, from the effects of frost, will be injudicious. Hence it is far preferable to delay it until the frost is over, when all can be done to advantage. There are, undoubtedly, some shrubs that may be pruned any time, from the end of November to the first of March, such as _Hibíscus syrìacus_ (_Althea_), and all its varieties, except the _Double White_, which is in some instances entirely killed by our severe winter, and certainly, for precaution, would be the better of some simple protection. In many seasons, the beginning of this month is open, and admits of the operation of digging, which if it is not all done as advised last month, ought not to be delayed. The fruits of it will appear in the mellowed state of your soil in spring. If there is any spare time, straight sticks or stakes may be prepared for summer. Tie them up in neat bundles, which will be of great service during the hurried period of the year. An opportunity of this kind should always be laid hold of; the beneficial results will in season be displayed. =ROOMS.= _JANUARY._ Plants that are kept in rooms generally are such as require a medium temperature, say 40°. Sitting rooms or parlours, about this season, are, for the most part, heated from 55° to 65°, and very seldom has the air any admittance into these apartments, thus keeping the temperature from 15° to 25° higher than the nature of the plants requires, and excluding that fresh air which is requisite to support a forced vegetative principle. Therefore, as far as practicable, let the plants be kept in a room adjoining to one where there is fire heat, and the intervening door can be opened when desirable. They will admit sometimes of being as low as 33°. If they be constantly kept where there is fire, let the window be opened some inches; two or three time a day, for a few minutes, thereby making the air of the apartment more congenial, both for animal and vegetable nature. WATERING, &c. There are very few plants killed for want of water, during winter. All that is necessary is merely to keep the soil in a moist state, that is, do not let it get so dry that you can divide the particles of earth, nor so wet that they could be beat to clay. The frequency of watering can be best regulated by the person doing it, as it depends entirely upon the size of the pot or jar in proportion to the plant, whether it is too little or too large, and the situation it stands in, whether moist or arid. Never allow any quantity of water to stand in the flats or saucers. This is too frequently practised with plants in general. Such as _Cálla Æthiòpica_, or African Lily, will do well, as water is its element, (like _Sagittària_ in this country;) and the _Hydrángea horténsis_, when in a growing state, will do admirably under such treatment. Many plants may do well for some time, but it being so contrary to their nature, causes premature decay; a f[oe]tid stagnation takes place at the root, the foliage becomes yellow, and the plant stunted; and in the winter season, death will ensue. OF CAMELLIA JAPONICA. In rooms the buds of Camellias will be well swelled, and on the Double White and Double Variegated sorts, perhaps they will be full blown. While in that state the temperature should not be below 34°; if lower they will not expand so well, and the expanded petals will soon become yellow and decay. If they are where there is fire heat, they must have plenty of air admitted to them every favourable opportunity, or the consequence will be, that all the buds will turn dark brown, and fall off. It is generally the case, in the treatment of these beautiful plants in rooms, that through too much intended care they are entirely destroyed. In the city, they do not agree with confined air, and they cannot get too much of pure air, if they are kept from frost or cutting winds. To sponge frequently will greatly promote the health of the plants, and add to the beauty of their foliage, as it prevents the attacks of mildew. In this season they do not require much water at root, which may be observed in the slight absorption by the soil. See this subject under the head of _Watering_. When the flowers are expanded, and droop, tie them up neatly, so that the flower may be shown to every advantage. OF INSECTS, &c. Insects of various kinds will be appearing on your plants. For method of destruction see _Hot-house_, _January_. It will not be agreeable to fumigate the room or rooms, or even to have the smell of tobacco near the house from this cause. Many ingredients have been compounded, and prescriptions recommended, for the destruction of these nefarious pests. Many of them are altogether ineffectual. Of receipts specified in works of this kind, not a few of them (though eagerly sought for) by men of extensive practice, have been rejected. We shall give the most simple, and in part effective receipt for the destruction of the Green fly. Take a large tub of soft water, (if the day is frosty, it had better be done in the house,) invert the plant, holding the hand, or tying a piece of cloth, or any thing of the kind, over the soil in the pot, put all the branches in the water, keeping the pot in the hand, drawing it to and fro a few times; take it out, and shake it. If any insects remain, take a small fine brush, and brush them off, giving another dip, which will clean them for the present. As soon as they appear again, repeat the process--for nothing that we have found out, or heard of, can totally extirpate them. OF BULBOUS ROOTS IN GENERAL. If you have retained any of the _Cape bulbs_ from the last planting, let them be put in, in the early part of the month. For method, see _September_. Those that are growing must be kept very near the light, that is, close to the window, or they will not flourish to your satisfaction. The fall-flowering oxalis may be kept on the stage, or any other place, to give room to those that are to flower. _Hyacinths_, _Jonquils_, _Narcissus_, _Tulips_, &c. will keep very well in a room where fire heat is constantly kept, providing that they are close to the window. A succession of these, as before observed, may beautify the drawing room from February to April, by having a reserved stock, in a cold situation, and taking a few of them every week into the warmest apartment. Wherever any of the bulbs are growing, and in the interior of the room, remove them close to the light, observing to turn the pots or glasses frequently to prevent them from growing to one side, and giving them support as soon as the stems droop, or the head becomes pendant. The saucers under the Hyacinth and Narcissus especially may stand with water, and observe to change the water in the glasses, as already mentioned. Every one that has any taste or refinement in their floral undertakings, will delight in seeing the plants in perfection; to have them so, they must be divested of every leaf that has the appearance of decaying--let this always be attended to. =Hot-House.= _FEBRUARY_. In the early part of this month the weather generally is very cold and changeable in the middle states, and strict attention, with the greatest caution, will require to be paid to the management of the Hot-house. Most of the tropical plants commence an active state of vegetation; and if checked by temperature or otherwise, they will not recover until midsummer. The thermometer may be kept two or three degrees higher with fire heat than last month; the sun will be more powerful, and this will, in a great degree, increase the vigour of the plants. Air may be admitted when the thermometer rises to 75° or 80°, not allowing it to rise higher than the latter. In giving air, let it be done by the top sashes. It is improper to give it in any way to cause a current, for the external air is very cold, although the sun is more powerful. An inch or two on a few of the sashes, as has been previously observed, will be effectual in keeping the temperature low enough, except the weather is very mild. With regard to firing, what was said last month may suffice for this. Always recollect that it is preferable to keep out the cold than to put it out. It will frequently happen in the time of intense frost, that the weather is dull. In such cases fire in a small degree is requisite all day. Heavy snows ought never to be allowed to remain on the shutters while they are on the house. If the snow lies on the sashes one day, the internal heat will dissolve some of it; night coming on will freeze it to the wood work, when it will become a solid mass, and too frequently cannot be separated without much damage. If allowed to remain on for two days, the plants are very much weakened, and the foliage discoloured. Therefore let the snow be cleared off instantly, that no inconvenience may take place. It will be observed that plants absorb more water this month than last. The quantity given will require to be increased, according to the increase of vegetation and the advancement of the season; but never give it until the soil begins to get dry, and then in such proportion as will reach the bottom of the pot. After the sun has got on the house in the morning is the best time to water, observing all the directions given in January. OF INSECTS, &c. Perhaps sufficient observations were given under this head last month; but the importance of keeping these disagreeable visitors out of the house, constrains us to make a few more remarks, and perhaps it may be necessary every month. Man cannot be too frequently guarded against his foes, more especially when they are summoning all their forces, and no profession has more than that of the Horticulturist. Let a strict examination be made about the end of the month for the Red spider; they will be in operation some weeks before their depredations are observed on the foliage. The under side of the leaf is their resort in the first instance, and on such plants as have been already mentioned. Observe daily the young shoots, in case the Green fly becomes numerous. They give the foliage a very disagreeable appearance, and with most people it is intolerable, before their career is arrested. It also takes a stronger fumigation, which has frequently to be repeated the following day to the same degree, much to the injury of many of the plants, and adding to the disagreeableness of the continued vapour in the house. OF SHIFTING PLANTS. The _Calceolàrias_ that were put in small pots about the beginning or middle of last month, will, if they have done well, require, about the end of this, to be put in pots a size larger. If any of _Lilìum longiflòrum_, _Speciòsum_, or _Japónicum_, are wanted to flower early, and were put in the Hot-house in December, without dividing, those that are to flower will have pushed their flower stems, and can be separated from those that will not flower, and put singly into pots; the two former into five or six inch pots, while the latter require six or seven inch pots. Of those that do not flower, three or four can be put into one pot. About the end of the month, some of the plants of _Eurcúma_, _Amómum_, _Kæmpféria_, _Glóbba_, _Phrynium_, _Cánna_, _Zíngiber_, _Hedychium_, and others that are on the dry shelf, will be offering to grow. Let them be taken out of their pots, some of their weakest shoots or tubers taken off, and the strong ones repotted: give gentle waterings until they grow freely, then give an abundance. _Dionæa mucípula_, or Venus fly trap, grows best in the Hot-house, and will, about the end of the month, stand in need of being repotted. This plant is very seldom grown in any degree of perfection, having been always considered a delicate plant in collections. The operator has never had courage to treat it according to its nature in a cultivated state. If it is taken out of the pot, just when beginning to grow afresh, and divested of all the soil, leaving only a few of the young roots, (it is a bulb, and will receive no injury by so doing,) put it in new soil; when potted, place the pot in a saucer with one inch of water in it, giving always a fresh supply, when necessary. A shady and moist situation is best adapted to it; this being repeated every year, it will grow, flower, and seed in perfection. _Gesnérias_, if in small pots, give larger as they advance in growth. This genus requires to be well attended to make them flower well. _G. bulbósa_ ought to have a situation in every Hot-house. It is remarkable for its many brilliant crimson flowers, and continues in flower for a length of time. When the bulb begins to push, shake it out of the earth, putting it into a small pot; and, as soon as the roots reach the side of the earth, which will be in about one month, put it in a larger pot, and continue to do so until flowering, which will be about the first of June, observing always to keep the ball of earth entire. _Gloriósas_ must be repotted in the beginning of this month. Etymologists have said that this _genus_ is named from the glorious appearance of its flowers. _G. supérba_ is the most beautiful and curious. The roots ought to be planted one and a half inch deep, taking care not to break them; if there is a bark bed, place the pots in it. Do not water much until they begin to grow. Where there is no bark bed, put the pots into others three inches larger, filling all round with sand, and place them in the warmest part of the house. Keep the sand moist, which will assist to keep the soil in a moist state. The earth must not have much water. As the plants grow, they will require a more liberal supply; yet it is necessary, at all times, to be moderate in giving it. If well treated, the superb flowers will appear in June or July. OF CLEANSING PLANTS, HOUSE, &c. With regard to cleaning the plants. Sprinkling, or syringing, is at all times, to a greater or less degree, necessary. The plants will, in this compartment, be in their first stage of growth, and, if dust or foulness be permitted to lodge on their foliage, the pores will be obstructed, the plants will become unhealthy, and the growth of insects increased. Let all moss, litter, decayed leaves, or weeds, be cleared out of the house, the earth in the pots stirred up with a round pointed stick, and fresh earth given where required, that the air may operate therein freely. The house ought always to be sprinkled before being swept, to prevent the dust rising. Attend to the bulbous roots as directed last month, such as _Hyacinths_, _Narcissus_, &c. =Green-House.= _FEBRUARY_. The directions given last month respecting the airing and temperature of the house, may still be followed, differing only in admitting air more freely as the season advances, and according to the power the sun has on the glass, which now begins to be considerable. If the weather is tolerably mild, air may be admitted in time of sunshine, so as to keep the mercury as low as 45°, but be cautious in cold, cloudy, frosty weather. It is a practice with many in such weather to keep the shutters on the house night and day, for the space of a week, and sometimes more, never entering it; and, when the weather has induced them to look in, they find that the frost and damp have made many lifeless subjects; whereas, had the house and plants been attended to, in taking off the shutters, and giving a little fire when requisite, all would have been in safety, and many that cannot be replaced still in the collection. When watering, strictly adhere to the directions of last month, except with _Geraniums_, and other soft wooded plants, which require a little more water toward the end of the month. If the days are mild and sunny about eight or nine o'clock in the morning, all the plants would be benefited by a gentle syringing, which retards the progress of insects, and accelerates vegetation. Succulents, such as _Cáctus_, _Mesembryánthemum_, _Aloes_, _Furchræas_, _Crássulas_, _Cotylèdons_, &c. will very seldom need water, at the same time keep them from getting as dry as powder. OF ORANGES, LEMONS, &c. Similar treatment to that recommended last month will do for this. Where the soil in the tubs or pots requires to be enriched, take of bone dust or shavings, and fresh sheep dung, equal quantities; put the mixture into a large tub or barrel, until one third full; and fill it up with water. Stir it well two or three times every day for a week, then give each tree one good watering with the compound. Continue to mix up afresh, and let it stand another week, and so on until all the trees requiring it are watered. This watering will greatly enrich the soil, and invigorate the roots. OF CAPE BULBS, &c. The bulbs, of _Ferrària undulata_ and _F. antheròsa_, that were taken out of the pots in October, will now require to be planted. Five inch pots will be large enough for good roots. The grand criterion for planting bulbs is when there is a protuberant appearance about the bottom, or root part of the bulb, showing, by a principle of nature, the true time for transplanting. When bulbous roots of any description appear above ground, they ought to be placed in an airy situation. They are very frequently placed under other plants, by the inexperienced, until they show their flowers, and then brought to the light, having weak flowers, and comparatively of momentary existence. _Hyacinths_, _Narcissus_, _Gladìolus_, _Ixia_, &c. having flower stems, ought to have support, to prevent accident, especially the two former; keep them nigh the glass, and water freely. Change the water regularly in the bulb glasses, observing that their roots are never allowed to become matted with f[oe]tid water. Any of the above plants that are in flower, might, if desired, be taken into the drawing room or parlour, washing the pots clean, and putting saucers under them, keeping therein a little water. Twice a week the decayed ones can be taken out, and supplanted with those that are coming into bloom. CAMELLIA JAPONICA Will, in this month, show a profusion of flowers; and, where there is a variety, they have truly a magnificent appearance. From a good selection, endless varieties, by seed, of exquisite beauty, might be obtained by attention to the following rule. The best to select for bearing seed are _Single white_, _Atoniana_, _Grandiflora_, _Waratah_, _Carnation Waratah_, _Fulgens_, and, in many instances, the pistil, or pistillum of _Variegata_, _Pompone_, _Pæoniflora_, and _Intermedia_, are perfect, with several others. When any of the above are newly expanded, (_Waratah_ is most perfect about one day before expansion,) take a fine camel hair pencil, and put it gently on the farina or pollen, which is a yellow substance on the anthers, and, when ripe, appears in thousands of small particles. Take the finest double kinds, then, with this on the pencil, rub lightly the stile of those intended to carry seed. Between the hours of ten and twelve in the forenoon, is the most proper time for the operation; the seed will be ripe in September or October, which will be taken notice of, and directions given. For other particulars on cleaning and syringing, see _January_ under this head. OF SHIFTING &c. The best time to repot _Camellias_, is just when they are done flowering, which will be before they begin to grow. There are, though not frequently, some flowers after the young foliage begins to appear, and probably it would be better to discriminate the time by the buds offering to push, which will answer to those that have no flowers, as well as those that have. The most general time in shifting _Camellias_ is in August and September, indiscriminately with other plants; and, if then not very gently handled, bad roots eventually are produced. Frequently very fine plants have been killed by probing, and breaking the young fibrous roots, thus causing mortification. In the process, do not, by any means, break, or bruise any of the roots: and do not give large pots, with the idea of making them grow fast: it acts on most plants diametrically opposite to what is intended. A pot one or one and a half inches wider and deeper than the one they have been in previously, is sufficient. Healthy plants under five feet will not require shifting oftener than once in two years; from five feet upwards in three or four years, according to the health of the plants. This treatment, in the opinion of some, will appear not sufficient: it will be found enough with a top-dressing every year to keep them in a healthy, flowering condition, the soil being according to our description. On turning the plant out of the pot, it may easily be observed if the soil has, in any degree, been congenial to it; for if so, the roots will be growing all round the ball; if otherwise, no roots will appear. Therefore, with a blunt pointed stick, probe away all the bad earth, until you come to the roots; then put the plant in the pot about one inch in diameter, larger than the combined roots, previously putting a few small pieces of broken pots, or clean gravel, to drain off the superabundant moisture, and give light waterings, as the roots in this case will grow but slowly. Top dress all that requires shifting, probe out the soil down to the roots, and by the side of the pot, taking care not to break the fibres; then fill up with fresh earth, watering gently with a rose on the watering pot to settle it. OF CLEANING, &c. If any of the plants require cleaning, either by fumigation or otherwise, let it be done before the young foliage appears, according to directions heretofore given. Likewise tie neatly all that require it, clean and top dress those that will not be shifted, having every plant and all in the Green-house, in perfect order, before the throng of spring commences. The weather will now admit, in very fine mornings, of the plants being syringed, which may be done between half past seven and half past eight: and the path or pavement should be washed out once a week, which is a great improvement to the appearance of the whole interior. In winter whenever any glass is broken it should be immediately mended. Broken glass in cold nights causes a very destructive current of air. It should always be made water tight, for if the drops fall into the pots upon the roots, they will frequently prove fatal to the plants; therefore care ought to be taken during rain to remove those that stand in any manner exposed. =Flower Garden.= _FEBRUARY_. Where the borders and beds were dug in the fall, and compost or a thin coating of well decayed manure given, the advantage will now in part be experienced. If the weather is open about the end of the month, the pruning should be done with the utmost despatch; that all may be prepared for a general dressing next month, and let nothing be delayed which can now properly be accomplished, under the idea that there is time enough. OF PRUNING, &c. Generally about the end of the month the very severe frosts are over; and when none need be apprehended that would materially injure hardy shrubs, they may freely be pruned of all dead branches, and the points cut off such shoots as have been damaged by the winter. Most of shrubs require nothing more than to be pruned of straggling, irregular, and injured branches, or of suckers that rise round the root, observing that they do not intermingle with each other. Never trim them up in a formal manner. Regular shearing of shrubs and topiary work have been expelled as unworthy of a taste the least improved by reflections on the beauty, simplicity, and grandeur of nature. In fact, the pruning of deciduous hardy shrubs should be done in such a manner as not to be observable when the plants are covered with verdure. It may frequently be observed in Flower-gardens, that roses and shrubs of every description are indiscriminately cut with the shears, the _Amórphas_ and _Althèas_ sharing the same fate. _Robínias_, _Colùteas_, _Cyticus_, _Rhús_, _Genístas_, with several of the _Viburnums_, and many others, bear their flowers on the wood of last year, and when thus sheared afford no gratification in flowering. And those shrubs that thus flower on the shoots of last year are perhaps worse to keep in regular order, than those to which the knife can be freely applied; but good management while young will ensure handsome free flowering plants. Climbing shrubs, and others that are trained against outbuildings, walls, or such as are sheltered thereby, and not now in danger of suffering by frost, may be pruned and dressed. These should be neatly trimmed, and the branches moderately thinned out, tying in all the shoots straight and regular. Avoid at all times, if possible, the crossing of any shoots. There is not a shrub in the garden that agrees so well with close cutting, as the _Althèa_, and all its varieties. These can be made either bushes or trees, and kept at any desired height. Where the wood of last year is cut to about two or three inches from the wood of the former year, the young shoots of this year will produce the largest and finest flowers, and likewise more profusely. When they have attained the desired height, let them be kept in the most natural and handsome shape that the taste of the operator can suggest. They will bear cutting to any degree. Honeysuckles of every description may with all freedom be trimmed, providing the frost is not very severe. These are very frequently allowed to become too crowded with wood, and then superficially sheared or cut. The flowers would be much finer, and the bush handsomer, if they were regularly thinned out, divesting them of all naked and superfluous shoots. Of those that remain, shorten the shoots of last year. Where any of the honeysuckle kind has become naked at the bottom, and flowering only at the top of the trellis, or extremities of the shoots, one half of the bush should be cut to within four inches of the ground. It will throw out plenty of fine young wood, which give room for, and train them straight, and to the full extent, during summer. These shoots will flower profusely the following season, and in like manner, when thought proper, the other half can be cut. Roses of the hardy kinds (termed garden roses) that were not attended to in November, should, if the weather permit, be dressed and pruned forthwith. In small gardens, where these are generally attached to the walls and fences, neatness should be a very particular object. If any of such bushes have got strong and irregular, the most proper method to bring them to order, will be to cut down each alternate shoot of the bush to within a few inches of the surface, thereby renovating it, and, in part, preserving the flowers. Those that are cut down will put out several luxuriant shoots, which must be regularly tacked in, spreading them in a fan shape. These, in another year, will flower well, when the others may go through the same operation. Thus, in two or three years, the bushes will have resumed a different, and more agreeable aspect. By the above treatment, these ornaments of the garden will always have a neat and healthful appearance, and the roses will be much finer. Where they are intended for the borders, they should never be allowed to get too high. In a border from four to six feet, they ought never to exceed four feet at the back of the border, and in front, one foot, after being pruned; they can be kept down by the above method. It is not advisable to cut down rose bushes all at once, unless no regard is paid to flowering. The roses that are in grass plats would have a superior appearance in every respect, if they were kept and trimmed like small trees. They may be of different sizes and heights, according to the extent of the grass plat or clump. A single stem may arise from six inches to six feet, with a head in proportion to the height of the stem. Where it is necessary to have them above two feet, and likewise to carry a good head, inoculation must be resorted to, which, in the months of June and July, will be fully treated of. All under two feet (except the weak growing kinds) will do on their own stems, taking care not to allow shoots to arise from the bottom during the summer. For directions for pruning climbing roses, see March and April. OF PLANTING SHRUBS, &c. As soon as the frost is out of the ground, these should be planted if the soil is not too wet. Where soil is binding, upon no consideration plant in it while wet, rather defer it until the end of March. Shrubs, if they are well arranged, are the chief ornament, give the most pleasure, and afford the greatest delight that we enjoy in our gardens. Although they give no sort of nourishment, nor produce any edible fruits, yet they are particularly grateful and conducive to our enjoyments. Our walks in summer would be oppressive, but for their agreeable shade; in the fall and winter, we would be left exposed to the chilling winds, but for the shelter they afford. Likewise they produce a great variety of flowers; a varied foliage, and are standing ornaments that give no great trouble. In the character of screens they are particularly useful, whether to hide disagreeable objects, or as a guard against the weather; and for either of these purposes, they can be planted nearer to the house than large trees. Or, if they are planted in masses at a distance, they soon become agreeable objects, frequently very much improve the scenery of the place, become objects of utility as well as ornament, and, in such case, afford the highest satisfaction. When formed so as to exclude offices from the view of the house, or for sheltering the latter, or for connecting the house with the garden, orchard, or any similar purpose, shrubs are both useful and interesting. Where many shrubs are to be planted, the disposing of them properly is a matter of considerable importance to the future welfare of the whole; and, whether deciduous or evergreens be mixed or grouped, that is, indiscriminately planted together, or the evergreens planted by themselves, as is frequently done, a regular and natural arrangement is indispensable for establishing ornament. Arranging, no doubt, depends very much on fancy; still, there ought always to be plenty of evergreens planted, that the whole may be more cheerful in winter. If shrubberies were made to a great extent, the scenery would be much more varied and characteristic by grouping judiciously than by indiscriminately planting. However, in small flower gardens and shrubberies, the latter has to be adopted. In such places, tall growing kinds should never be introduced, unless merely as a screen from some disagreeable object, for they crowd and confuse the whole. The dwarf and more bushy sorts should be placed next to the walks, or edges, in order that they may conceal the naked stems of the others. Generally when shrubs are planted, they are small; therefore, to have a good effect from the beginning, they should be planted much thicker than they are intended to stand. When they have grown a few years, and interfere with each other, they can be lifted, and such as have died, or become sickly, replaced, and the remainder can be planted in some other direction. Keep them always distinct, one from another, in order that they may be the better shown off. But, if it is not desired that they should be thicker planted than it is intended to let them remain, the small growing kinds may be four or five feet apart; the larger, or taller sorts, six or eight feet, according to the condition of the soil. Thick masses of shrubbery, called thickets, are sometimes wanted. In these there should be plenty of evergreens. A mass of deciduous shrubs has no imposing effect during winter; and, as this is not the proper season for planting evergreens, (April and October being best,) small stakes can be placed in the destined spot. Planting in rows, or in any plan of a formal character, should at all times be avoided. In planting at this season, observe that the roots are not much exposed to the air, especially if the wind be high and sharp; but it is always better, if possible, to defer the business until good, mild weather. According to directions in November, the ground will be well prepared, and only requires a hole dug for the reception of the roots, which must be considerably larger, that the roots may not be in the least confined. Break the earth well at bottom, put in as much as will receive the plant from one to two inches (according to its size) lower than it has previously been in the Nursery. If any of the roots are bruised or broken, cut them off; then place the plant in the centre of the hole, breaking fine all the soil that is put in, at the same time shaking the stem a little, that the earth may mix with the roots when full up; press all the soil down with the foot, that it may, in some degree, consolidate about the roots, and support the plant. If it is tall, or top heavy, put in a good stake for a support, and place a small, bandage between the stake and stem of the plant, shrub, or tree, where the tie is to be made, to prevent the bark from suffering by friction. Observe always before planting, if the soil is not suitable, to supply that which is congenial to the nature of the intended plant. When shrubs or trees are to be carried to any distance, the roots should be carefully kept from air, by tying damp moss, straw, or Russia mats about them, as circumstances will admit; their success greatly depends on due attention being paid to this. OF HYACINTHS AND OTHER BULBOUS ROOTS. It sometimes occurs that _Hyacinths_ and other bulbous roots that were planted in the fall, are thrown above ground by the frost. This will take place if the soil is inclined to moisture, and they not being deep enough planted. If such is the case, cover them with wood earth, old decayed tan, or soil, whichever is most convenient; if not done, the sun and air overpower the bulbs, and, although the fibres have hold of the ground, the flowers will be miserably weak. _Hyacinth_ bulbs, and many others of Holland, are very hardy. Even exposure to our severest frosts would not kill them, but they would be much weakened. OF FRAMING, &c. Where a frame or hotbed is wanted to grow some of the finest and more tender annuals, it is time, about the 20th of the month, to collect and prepare manure for the desired hotbed. And, as that operation, in many instances, is very imperfectly performed, a few observations on the subject may be useful. Take three parts of fresh hot stable manure, with one part of fresh oak leaves. Have a sufficient quantity to make the intended bed or beds from three to four feet high. Shake and mix up both together in a compact conical heap, in order to encourage fermentation. If the weather is cold and windy, cover it with straw or leaves and boards, which is necessary to produce the desired effect. If fermentation soon takes place, it will need to be thoroughly turned over in eight or ten days. If any of it has become dry and musty from excessive heat, as you proceed, water the affected parts, pile all up neatly, and leave it protected in part as before. In five or six days more, it will have to be turned again, repeating it until the first extreme heat has been over. In neglect of this, the heat, after making up the bed, will be vehement for a week or two, frequently destroying the vegetative purity of the soil, and proving destructive to the seeds. Allowing the manure to come to a lively heat, having no unpleasant, rancid smell, proceed to mark off your intended bed, running it east and west as nearly as possible, measure your frame, and allow the site of the bed eight inches each way larger than the frame: at the corners place a stick or rod perpendicularly. The ground ought to be higher than that around it, to prevent water from getting into the bed, which, if low, must be filled up; or, if supposed that water may lodge there, a little Brushwood might be put under the manure, which would keep it from being inundated. The manure must be built up square and level, shaking, mixing, and beating it regularly with the back of the fork. When you have it to the desired height, (three feet will be sufficient for annuals,) leave the centre of the bed a little higher than the sides, thus allowing it more to subside. When finished, put on the frame and sash or sashes, keep them close until the heat arises, covering them at night with mats and shutters. As soon as you feel the heat increased, give air by tilting the sashes a few inches to let off the steam and stagnated air, observing to close in the afternoon, and cover at night. If the heat is violent, about an inch of air might be left during the night. In about three days, if all has been properly attended to, the bed will be what is termed sweet. Then put in about six inches of fine garden soil; if heavy, mix a little sand with it. Spread it level, and, when the soil is heated through, sow in small drills from one eighth to an inch deep, according to the size of the seeds. Some very small kinds do best when sown upon the surface. When sown, give gentle sprinklings of water until they come up, when it will be necessary to give air to prevent them from being weak, or damping off, which many of them will do if they have not air regularly admitted. When they begin to crowd, thin them out, to allow those that remain to grow strong. It is better at all times to have one strong, healthy plant, than two weak and sickly objects. =ROOMS.= _FEBRUARY_. At this season, the plants call for the most assiduous attention. If the stage has been made according to our description, in very cold nights it should be drawn to the centre of the room, or at least withdrawn from the window, observing every night to close the window tight by shutters, or some substitute equally as good. And, if the temperature begins to fall below 34°, means should be adopted to prevent it, either by putting a fire in the room, or opening any adjoining apartment where fire is constantly kept. This latter method is the best where it is practicable, and ought to be studied to be made so. Some, very injudiciously, in extreme frosts put into the room, where there is no chimney, amongst the plants, a furnace of charcoal, in order to heat the room. The effect is, that the foliage becomes dark brown, and hardened like, and many of the plants die, the rest not recovering until summer. Watering may be attended to according to the directions of January, only observing that those that begin to grow will absorb a little more than those that are dormant. Roses, especially the Daily, if kept in the house, will begin to show flower buds. Use means to kill the Green-fly that may attack them. Hyacinths and other bulbs must have regular attendance in tying up, &c. Take care not to tie them too tight, leaving sufficiency of space for the stem to expand. Give those in the glasses their necessary supplies, and keep them all near the light. Never keep bulbous roots while growing under the shade of any other plant. _Camellias_, with all their varied beauties, will, in this month, make a splendid show. Adhere to the directions given in the previous month, and so that new varieties may be obtained, (see _Green-house_, _February_, under the head of _Camellia_,) which directions are equally applicable here. When the flowers are full blown, and kept in a temperature between 34° and 44°, they will be perfect for the space of four, five, and frequently six weeks, and a good selection of healthy plants will continue to flower from December to April. Be sure that there is air admitted at all favourable opportunities. Give a little every day that there is sunshine, if it is only for a few minutes. =Hot-House.= _MARCH_. If this department has been regularly attended to, the plants will be in a fresh healthy state. Where there is any sickly appearance, heat has been deficient, or insects of a destructive character are preying upon them. Too much water at the root frequently causes the foliage to become yellow. It will add greatly to their general improvement, to syringe the whole twice or three times a week, observing to do it in the morning about sunrise; and it is highly necessary that the water that is used should be of the same temperature as the house; and at all times, whatever water is given to the roots, the same must be observed. For airing, see last month, observing, as the season advances, to increase the quantity. Continue to fumigate when any of the Green-fly appears, (see _January_ for directions,) and where there are any of the plants infected with the white scaly insect, clean them as there directed. If overlooked for a few months, they will be increased tenfold. Very frequently, where there are only a few, they are neglected until the plant is overrun with them, and then it may be said, it is impossible to dislodge them entirely. Clear off all decayed leaves from the plants. These will have made fresh shoots, and the decayed leaves very much disfigure the whole collection. We would not have repeated this observation, if it was not an essential point, and one which is so frequently neglected. OF SHIFTING PLANTS. Those _Alstr[oe]merias_ that are growing freely, and in small pots, should be put into pots of a larger size. This genus of plants will not flower except they are encouraged with frequent shifting: they are all beautiful. =Green-House.= _MARCH_. The plants in this compartment will begin to assume a different aspect, and air must be admitted every day if practicable, giving large portions in sunshine by the sashes regularly over all the house, opening those of the front a little, and likewise the doors in fine mild days. To perform this judiciously, give a little about eight or nine o'clock, more at ten, and the whole from eleven till twelve o'clock, shutting again by degrees. Fire heat will now be dispensed with, but in frosty nights have the shutters on about sundown. The sun is now powerful, and the house can be early shut up in the afternoon, and will gain as much natural heat as will keep up the required temperature, viz. 36° to 40°. Perhaps there may be uncommonly cold weather; at such times be attentive to ward off danger by applying artificial heat. OF WATERING. Look over the pots and tubs at least every alternate day, to see where water is wanted. In watering, too much caution cannot be used, especially during winter and the commencement of spring. It was observed last month what would be the effect of too much water. It may be remarked, that if the exterior of the pot is very damp, the soil inside is too wet, and in that state is uncongenial to vegetation, which now begins to start, and ought by all possible means to be encouraged. People may be frequently observed watering all plants indiscriminately, not taking the trouble to look into or feel the state of the soil in the pots or tubs, and by going over them three or four times in this manner will be sufficient to put the plants in such a state, that they will not be recruited for some months. Hence the reason of so many sickly plants. _Caméllias_, where there are collections, will continue to flower. Treat them according to the directions given last month. OF ORANGES, LEMONS, &c. Be sure they are not too wet, as too much humidity as well as aridity causes their foliage to have a yellow appearance, with this difference, that in the former case the foliage is the same to the touch as when green; but in the latter, it is soft and dry. We have observed trees in tubs and half barrels, with holes all round their sides. This is a ludicrous idea, having the appearance of keeping the water from reaching the bottom of the tub or barrel. For the best kind of tub for large trees, see _August_ under this head. If any of the trees have stunted, straggling, or irregular heads, about the end of this month, or beginning of next, head or cut them down to the shape desired. The old wood will push fresh shoots. You may cut close, or shorten less or more, according as you desire young shoots to arise; at the same time observe that you do not cut below the graft or inoculation. Trees thus headed down should be kept until May, and then planted in the garden, (see _May_,) or if that cannot be done, turn it out, and reduce the ball of earth by probing with a pointed stick all round the sides and bottom of the ball, cutting off any very matted roots. If any of the roots are decayed, cut them into the sound wood. By being thus reduced, it will go into the same pot or tub if not a less one. Having a good supply of fresh earth ready, put a few inches in the bottom of the pot or tub, place the tree therein, and fill all round, at the same time pressing it down with the hand or a stick. Give very little water until there are signs of vegetation. MYRTLES, OLEANDERS, &c. These, with similar exotics, may be treated as above. If any of them have been infected with the scaly insect, after heading down, &c. scrub the remaining stems with a strong decoction of tobacco, heated to about 100°. Afterwards clean with soap and water. GERANIUMS. These will be growing freely. Keep them in airy situations, so that they may not grow too weak, and flower imperfect. To flower these plants strong, and of good colour, they must not be too crowded together, neither far from the light, and have plenty of air admitted to them, when the weather is favourable. Keep them free from the Green-fly by fumigating frequently. HERBACEOUS PLANTS. Plants of this character will, by the first of the month, begin to grow. The best time to divide and fresh pot them is when the young shoots are about one inch above ground. See under the head _Shifting_ in this month. OF CAPE BULBS, &c. _Cape Bulbs_, such as _Lachenàlias_, _Oxalis_, _Ixias_, _Gladìolus_, _Watsònias_, _Babiànas_, &c. will in many of the species be showing flower. Keep all of them near the glass, to prevent them from being weak and unsightly. _Hyacinths_, _Tulips_, _Narcissus_, &c. Those that have been kept in the Green-house during winter will be in great perfection. Have all the flower stems tied up neatly to small stakes, (which, if painted green, will look much better,) and keep them from the direct rays of the sun. In the front of the house perhaps will be the best situation. They must be freely watered while in flower. Where there is convenience, it will be essential to keep the pots in saucers containing water; it will strengthen both stems and flowers, and likewise preserve them longer in perfection. Those that are blooming should be put aside, and watered sparingly, until the foliage begins to decay, when the pots may be laid on their side to ripen the bulbs. REPOTTING. If you have any of the following plants that you are desirous of encouraging, they should be repotted this or next month at the latest. Large plants will not require it, if they were done in August. Pots one size larger than those that they are in, are sufficient. _Acacias and Mimòsas_ being now united into one genus, there are above two hundred species. About one hundred and thirty belong to the Green-house. Amongst such a beautiful family, both for elegance of flower and beauty of foliage, it will be difficult to specify the most handsome and desirable for this department. _A. móllis_, _A. glaucéscens_, _A. verticilàta_, _A. florabúnda_, _A. diffùsa_, _A. armàta_, _A. verniciflùa_, _A. decúrrens_, _A. armàta_--weeping variety, _A. púbescens_, _A. leucolòbia_, _A. decípiens_, _A. fragràns_, _A. pulchélla_, _A. lophántha_, _A. myrtifòlia_, &c. These will afford a great variety of foliage, and are very desirable, flowering principally in winter, or early in spring. The flowers of those belonging to the Green-house are of a yellow or straw colour; the most of those that are red or purple, with the celebrated medicinal species, belong to the Hot-house, for which see _May_. There are some of the species very subject to the white scaly insect, which must be attended to, that they may not get to any extent. _Agapánthus_, three species. They are all blue flowers. _A. umbellàtus_ is very celebrated, and well known in the collections of the country. There is a variegated variety of it highly desirable, the foliage being white striped, and frequently the flower stem and the flower are as good as the species. They have very strong roots, and require plenty of freedom. Plants are always large before they flower, and when the pots, by frequent shifting, become inconvenient, the plant should be divested of all the earth, and, if too large, divide it, cutting off the strongest of the fibres; then they will admit of being put into smaller pots. If the above operation is performed in August or September, it will not retard their flowering, which, when well grown, is very handsome, the flower stem arising about three feet, and crowned with twenty or thirty brilliant blue blossoms, continuing to bloom successively. _Alonsòas_, five species, all soft wooded, small, shrubby plants, with scarlet flowers. _A. incisifòlia_ is known amongst us under the name of _Hemímeris urticifólia_, and _A. lineàris_ as _H. lineàris_. If well treated, they form very handsome plants, and flower freely. They will not bear strong fumigation; and, when the house is under that operation, they must be put on the floor of the Green-house, where they will not be so much affected. They flower from May to August. _Aùcuba japónica_ is the only species. The flowers are small and almost insignificant, colour purple; but the foliage is a desirable object, being yellow spotted, or blotched. It is tolerably hardy, and withstands our winters. It prefers shade, and, if the situation was such when planted out, it would grow more freely. The hot rays of the sun are very prejudicial to its growth. It is an evergreen shrub, and very desirable. _Anagyris_, three species, evergreen, pea flowered shrubs, flowers yellow, nothing very attractive in either of the species. A. _f[oe]tida_ is found in many collections, and we have no doubt but it may prove, in this country, a hardy shrub. _Azàleas_, seven of the China species, which are those we shall enumerate here. The one that has been longest known in the collections of this country is _A. índica_, a most splendid shrub, with scarlet cup flowers and dark spots. _A. índica àlba_, flowers of the purest white, and rather larger than the former. _A. índica purpùrea pleno_, double purple. This variety is not so fine as any of the others. Properly it is not purple, or, if it may be termed so, the colour is very light; the flower irregular. _A. índica ph[oe]nícea_ is magnificent. The colour is darker, and the flower larger than _A. índica_, and a free grower. _A. sinénse_, flowers large, yellow. The wood is much stronger than any of those previously mentioned. It bears a very high character in Europe. It has not yet flowered in our collection, but appears as if it would in the ensuing season (1832). All the above ought to have a situation in every Green-house. They flower from March until May. There are two other varieties which have not come under our observation. Do not shift or repot them, if they are in flower, until the flowering is over. The pots must be well drained; and the plants require a shaded situation. If they are properly treated, they will be completely covered with their showy flowers every year. _Aòtus_, two species, both fine leguminose plants. _A. villòsa_, is a native of Van Dieman's Land; and _A. virgàta_, is from New Holland. The former is preferable. Both have yellow flowers, and are small evergreen shrubs. _Andersónia sprengelioídes_, is the only species, and closely allied to _Epácris_, flowers small, and of a pale yellow colour. Drain the pots well; flowers from March to August. _Arbutus_, eight exotic species, and six varieties. They are generally hardy in England; but we question if they stand out in the middle states. _A. unìdo rùbra_ has the finest crimson flowers; _A. serratifólia_, the largest panicles; and _A. Andráchne_, the finest foliage. They flower in nodding panicles; the flowers are principally white, tinged with green, and wax-like. They bear a pretty fruit similar to a strawberry; hence it is called strawberry tree, and the fruit will remain on the bush a long time. They are very fine evergreens, and if any of them become acclimated, they will be a great acquisition to our gardens. _Bánksias_. There are about thirty-two species, all curious in flower, and handsome and various in foliage; flowers in large heads and cone-shaped anthers, mostly green, and continue a considerable time in flower; produces a cone in shape of a pine, but not imbricate. The substance is as hard as bone, and contains many seeds. A cone of _B. grándis_ in our possession weighs one pound twelve ounces, and contains about 107 seeds. Those most admired for the foliage are _B. dentata_, _B. æmula_, _B. serràta_, _B. latifòlia_, _B. grándis_, which is the largest. _B. speciòsa_ has the longest foliage. _B. Cunninghámii_, _B. spinulòsa_, _B. palludòsa_, and _B. rèpens_, these will afford a good variety. _B. verticillàta_ is entirely different in appearance from the others. They should be well drained, and placed in an airy part of the Green-house. Great care should be taken that they do not get too dry, for they seldom recover if allowed to flag for want of water. This genus is named in honour of Sir Joseph Banks, a distinguished promoter of the study of natural history. _Bignònias._ Those of this genus belonging to the Green-house have been divided to _Tecòma_, and there are only three for this department. _T. austràlis_ known as _B. Pandòræ_; _T. grandiflòra_, known as _B. grandiflòra_, and has large and magnificent clusters of orange-coloured flowers, flowering from May to October. _Tecòma capénsis_ is a very pretty climbing shrub, a free grower, and flowers abundantly; flowers in dense panicles, colour orange and red, continues for several weeks in succession from April to August, greatly esteemed in Europe where it is known; being now in a few of our collections, will soon be generally admired. _Blètia hyacinthìna_ is the only species belonging to the Green-house, once known as _Cymbídium hyacinthìnum_. It is herbaceous, and when it begins to grow divide the root, putting the best into five inch pots. The spike of flowers are hyacinth-like, and of a beautiful purple, flowering from April to July. _Borònia_ is a beautiful genus of New Holland plants, contains about nine species; most of them have been universally admired; the flowers are star-like, and rose-coloured, and some of them sweet-scented. _B. pinnàta_ grows and flowers freely. _B. serrulàta_, foliage serrated and very crowded, bearing the flowers on the extremity of the shoot. _B. alàta_ has a fine appearance, and grows handsomely. The foliage is winged and pinnate, of a hardy nature, and easy culture, flowers freely. They are in flower about April and May, and continue a considerable time; are subject to mildew if not frequently syringed; drain the pots well. _Bouvárdias_, two species. _B. triphylla_ is well known amongst us, has brilliant scarlet flowers, and when well grown, will flower beautifully from May till September. To keep the plants, they should be frequently renewed; otherwise they are liable to grow straggling, and become subject to the small white scaly insect. _B. Jacquìnæ_ we suspect has got confounded with the former, being very little different, except the foliage, which is more pointed. They flower from the young wood, and often throw their foliage in winter. _Brachysèmas_, two species, both evergreen climbers. _B. latifòlium_ has the best foliage, and large purple leguminose flowers. _B. undulàtum_, flowers yellow, and more plentiful than the former, continuing in long successions. The pots require to be well drained; very few plants of either in the country. _Burchéllias_, two species. _B. capénsis_ is a beautiful dwarf evergreen shrub, with tubular scarlet flowers in large terminate clusters; when well treated, grows and flowers freely, and highly deserving of attention. _B. parviflòra_ differs from the above in the flowers being smaller and paler, and the foliage more pointed. _Beaufórtias_, only two species. _B. decussàta_ is splendid; the flowers come out of the wood with stamens in fine parcels, colour bright scarlet, foliage decussate, oval, and many-nerved, bloom persistent, and much esteemed. _B. spársa_, in flower similar to the other, colour light pink, foliage scattered, both easy of culture, and flower abundantly. _Brùnias_, about ten species, have heath-like foliage, very fine, generally, on close observation, found to be three cornered. The flowers are white and globular, the plants when young are very handsome; the finest are _B. nodiflòra_, _B. lanuginósa_, _B. comòsa_, _B. abrotanoídes_, and _B. formòsa_. They require an airy situation, and in summer to be protected from the powerful rays of the sun. Drain the pots well. _Bósea yervamóra_, Golden rod tree, leaves large, alternate, ovate, acute, with purple veins and nerves, flowers brown, in axillary dense panicles, grows strong and freely. _Bæckias_, above twelve species, of heath-like appearance, and except for variety, are not otherwise desirable. _B. camphoràta_ is camphor-scented; _B. pulchélla_ is very neat; and _B. virgàta_ flowers freely. Pots should be well drained. The flowers of all the genus are white. _Billardiéras_, about five species, are desirable as climbers, being of rapid growth, and abundant in flower. _B. longiflòra_, fruits freely, and has fine blue berries which look handsome. _B. mutábilis_ is changeable from purple to scarlet. The fruit of _B. scàndens_ is covered with down, flowers straw coloured. _B. fusifórmis_ differs in colour from the others, the flowers being blue. They require to be well drained. _Calceolàrias_, about fourteen species, besides many hybrid varieties. _C. angustifòlia_, and _C. integrifòlia_ are the best of the shrubby species. _C. plantagínea_, _C. corymbósa_, _C. purpùrea_, and _C. hopiána_, and of the hybrid varieties, _C. micàns_ and _C. hybrìda_ are very fine; but we understand they are numerous, and some of them very splendid. To grow any of these properly, they should be divided a few weeks after they begin to grow; put them in small pots at first, and enlarge them gradually. Where there is a hot-house, after dividing them, it will greatly promote their growth to keep them in it a few weeks near the glass, until the weather gets mild, when they may be removed to the Green-house. The flowers are principally yellow. _C. Fothergíllii_, _purpùrea_, and _archnoidea_ are purple; the hybrids are spotted with red and brown, and some of them streaked many colours. They continue a long time in flower. _Calothámnus_, four species. This genus is named in allusion to the splendid appearance of the branches, covered with scarlet flowers of curious construction, which come out of the old wood. All the species are of easy culture, and very like dwarf pines. _C. quadríffida_ has the largest flowers; _C. claváta_ the most abundant. They are all evergreens, and flower from April to November. _Caméllias._ There are about nine species, celebrated over the known world as furnishing the domestic drug called tea, in universal use, besides many flowering trees and shrubs as universally admired. Oil may be expressed from the seeds of all the species, and used as that of hemp and poppy in cookery. _C. víridis_ and _C. bohèa_ are said to be the species which supply the tea. Some have asserted that there is only one shrub used, but by examination it may be easily perceived that there are leaves of various shape and texture, some of them similar to _C. sasanqua_. Dr. Abel gives an explicit detail of the growing and manufacturing process of tea, from which, in compliment to our fair patrons, we give a few extracts: "The tea districts of China extend from the twenty-seventh to the thirty-first degree of north latitude. It seems to succeed best on the sides of mountains. The soils from which I collected the best specimens consisted chiefly of sand-stone, schistus, or granite. The plants are raised from seeds sown where they are to remain. Three or more are dropped into a hole four or five inches deep; these come up without further trouble, and require little culture, except that of removing weeds, till the plants are three years old. The more careful stir the soil, and some manure it, but the latter practice is seldom adopted. The third year the leaves are gathered, at three successive gatherings, in February, April and June, and so on until the bushes become stunted or slow in their growth, which generally happens in from six to ten years. They are then cut in to encourage the production of fresh roots. "The gathering of the leaves is performed with care and selection. The leaves are plucked off one by one: at the first gathering only the unexpanded and tender are taken; at the second those that are full grown; and at the third the coarsest. The first forms what is called in Europe imperial tea; but as to the other names by which tea is known, the Chinese know nothing; and the compounds and names are supposed to be made and given by the merchants at Canton, who, from the great number of varieties brought to them, have an ample opportunity of doing so. Formerly it was thought that green tea was gathered exclusively from _C. víridis_; but that is now doubtful, though it is certain that there is what is called the green tea district and black tea district; and the varieties grown in the one district differ from those of the other. I was told by competent persons that either of the two plants will afford the black or green tea of the shops, but that the broad thin-leaved plant (_C. víridis_) is preferred for making the green tea. "The tea leaves being gathered, are cured in houses which contain from five to twenty small furnaces, about three feet high each, having at top a large flat iron pan. There is also a long low table covered with mats, on which the leaves are laid, and rolled by workmen, who sit round it: the iron pan being heated to a certain degree by a little fire made in the furnace underneath, a few pounds of the fresh-gathered leaves are put upon the pan; the fresh and juicy leaves crack when they touch the pan, and it is the business of the operator to shift them as quickly as possible, with his bare hands, till they cannot be easily endured. At this instant he takes off the leaves with a kind of shovel resembling a fan, and pours them on the mats before the rollers, who, taking small quantities at a time, roll them in the palm of their hands in one direction, while others are fanning them, that they may cool the more speedily, and retain their curl the longer. This process is repeated two or three times, or oftener, before the tea is put into the stores, in order that all the moisture of the leaves may be thoroughly dissipated, and their curl more completely preserved. On every repetition the pan is less heated, and the operation performed more closely and cautiously. The tea is then separated into the different kinds, and deposited in the store for domestic use or exportation. "The different sorts of black and green arise, not merely from soil, situation, or the age of the leaf; but after winnowing the tea, the leaves are taken up in succession as they fall; those nearest the machine being the heaviest, are the gunpowder tea; the light dust the worst, being chiefly used by the lower classes. That which is brought down to Canton, then undergoes a second roasting, winnowing, packing, &c. and many hundred women are employed for these purposes." Kæmpfer asserts that a species of _Caméllia_ as well as _Olea fràgrans_ is used to give it a high flavour. _C. oleíferia_ is cultivated principally in China for the oil which is expressed from its seeds, which is much used in the domestic cookery of the country; flower single white. _C. Sesánqua_, Lady Banks's. The foliage of this species is very small, and paler, and the green not so fine, as any of the others. It seeds freely, and is often used as the female parent in producing new varieties; flowers small white and single, with many anthers. There are a Semi-double, and Double variety of it of the same colour. _C. maliflòra_ is figured in the Botanical Register, under the name of _C. Sesánqua rósea_. The foliage is about the same shape as _C. Sesánqua_, but the appearance and habit of the plant are completely different, growing very freely and quite erect; flowers very abundant. A large plant of it will continue in bloom for the space of three months. The flowers are of about six weeks' duration, colour and shape of _Rose de meaux_; has been highly esteemed. One plant of it has been sold for one hundred and eighty dollars. _C. Kíssii_. We believe it is single white, has not come under our observation, the only species that is a native of Nepaul. _C. reticuláta_ was brought from China by Capt. Rawes. The foliage is very characteristic, being rougher than any of the other flowers, about five inches in diameter, brilliant scarlet, and semi-double. It was introduced into Europe in 1822, and is still very scarce. Twenty-five dollars are paid for a small twig of it. From present appearance, it will never be so plenty as many of the others, being tardy of propagation; only a few eyes on the extremity of each shoot make young wood, and if these are cut off, the plant does not seem to push afresh. C. _japónica_, the original of many splendid varieties, probably to the amount of one hundred. The true one is in very few collections; it is single striped. C. _japónica rùbra_ is the single red of our collections, and used as stocks to enarch, graft, or inoculate the other varieties upon, being easily struck by cuttings. It seeds very freely, when the stile is impregnated, and the seedlings make the strongest and best stocks. C. _japónica álba_, single white. It is mentioned in some of our catalogues, as being very sweet-scented, though not very perceptible to us. The foliage and wood are very strong, being a free seeding variety, consequently particularly desirable, as a stock to grow new varieties from. Its flowers are large and abundant. C. _semidúplex._ This is a flower with two rows of petals. Some good varieties might be got from it, if properly impregnated. C. _rùbro-plèno_ is a strong growing and free-flowering variety. The flowers are large, double red, petals irregular, with the anthers in bunches amongst them; flowers are of long duration and showy. C. _cárnea_, frequently known as Middlemist's blush. Colour pink, one of the original varieties, and frequently produces seeds; grows freely. C. _myrtifólia_, known in some collections as _involúta_. There are two varieties of it, major and minor; the former is certainly the best, and has a very handsome, large, and regular red flower; the centre frequently is pink and purple; it is much the shape of _Double white_, only the petals are more cupped. The flower is of considerable duration. It is not properly named. The foliage, though the smallest of the variety, is much larger than that of any of our common myrtles, which might make many mistake its character; and another prominent feature is, the leaves are much recurved and shining. C. _hexanguláris_. The flower is six angled, very compact, and dark red. It is an esteemed variety, and there has unfortunately been another inferior, substituted for it, in some of our collections. The foliage is similar in shape to _anemoniflòra_, with the nerves more sunk; the flowers are of an ordinary size. C. _atro-rùbens_, Loddiges' red, is a very fine variety; colour dark red outside, petals large inside, small and irregular, forming a very distinct character; foliage stiff; grows freely and flowers well; and of long duration. We have seen a flower stand fresh on the plant two months; however, that cannot be a rule, as it depends on the situation. C. _anemoniflòra_, or _Waratah_ (from the central petals, having the appearance of the Waratah plant, _Telopìa speciosissima_.) This variety is very characteristic, both in flower and foliage. The flower is dark crimson, with five or six regular large outside petals; those of the centre are very small, and neatly plaited, with the stile (female organ) prominent; the foliage is large and oblong, nerves very smooth, and the wood strong, bark light. Had this kind not been found, we would have been deprived of many most splendid varieties, which have originated from it, and we have no doubt they may become as diversified as the roses of the garden. This variety in a collection for that alone is invaluable. It seeds freely, and the pollen of any of the others applied to the style of this, will produce a new variety, which seldom fails of being double, provided the pollen is from a double variety. It must be applied the first day that the flower is expanded, for the flower is only of a few days' duration. Those that are not acquainted with the buds of this _Caméllia_, will take them to be dead, because, before expansion, they are very dark brown. _C. dianthiflòra_, or Knight's _carnation Waratah_, is, when well grown, a very beautiful flower; shape and size same as _anemoniflòra_ (and a seedling from it by Mr. Knight, King's Road, Chelsea, London,) seemingly the stamens are crowned with small petals, red and white striped, appearing like a fine large carnation. The style appears fertile, and there is no doubt but some splendid varieties may be obtained from it. _C. blánda_, or blush Waratah, flower in shape similar to _anemoniflòra_, rather larger, and of considerable duration. _C. pompónia_, or Kew blush, flowers very large, white, with a tinge of blush at the bottom of the petals, which has a good effect in setting off the flower. They frequently bloom all blush, which appears rather curious on the same plant; shape one or two rows of guard or outside petals; those of the inside are short, stubby, and generally irregular, continues long in flower, yellow anthers among the short petals, and seeds when the female organ is perfect; foliage narrower than any of the others, a very fast grower, and flowers freely. _C. pæòniflora_. The foliage, shape, and size of the flower of this, is similar to the last mentioned, colour a rich pink; we have never seen any of them vary from this; and have seen it seed very double. _C. Walbánkii_, has a very large white irregular flower, by some called poppy-flowered. It is not so pure as the common double white; the anthers show amongst the petals, and the buds before expansion are very round, inclining to flatness; the foliage long and shining. The flowers are of considerable duration. We question with lutea-alba. _C. alba-plèna_, common double white, is admired by the most casual observer, and is generally considered a very superior flower, from the purity of its whiteness, and the abundance of its large flowers, which are thickly and regularly set with round petals. The foliage is large, and the plant grows freely; we have seen one shoot grow two feet in one summer. It was imported into Europe from China, amongst the first of the varieties, about eighty years ago. _C. flavéscens_, Lady Hume's blush, and by some called _buff_. It is a very double flower, and frequently hexangular; the bottom of the petals are most delicately tinged with blush; on looking into it, it shows more like a blush vapour than nature, and is a great favourite, and deservedly so, with the ladies: flowers and grows freely, foliage rhomboid, elongate, nerves very visible, surface smooth and pale green, distantly serrate. _C. fimbriàta._ The size, shape, and set of the flower same as _alba-plena_, and the white as pure, with the edges of the petals deeply serrated, or rather fringed; is equally as free in flowering and growing. It is universally admired, and in great demand. Its character is unique, foliage very like _alba-plèno_. [See Frontispiece.] _C. imbricàta_, said to be a very double red, with imbricated petals, and very handsome. We have not seen it in flower. _C. variagàta_, is one of the old standard varieties, and very much esteemed. It is striped with red and white; sometimes the ground is red, with white streaks or blotches, and _vice versa_. The flower when well grown is large, and very abundant; foliage very fine dark green, similar to single white. We have had seed from it. The petals are regular, with the anthers showing amongst them; the flower double, though not so much so as many of the others. _C. crassinérvis._ We have not the smallest doubt but this is the same as _hexangularis_, and in confirmation of our opinion, we have lately had the best authority in Europe to that effect. _C. conchiflòra_, shell flowered, double, a very handsome shape, petals round, stiff set, and in the centre quite erect, red with occasional splashes of white. _C. rubricáulis_, Lady Campbell's, very double, colour very rich dark red, with stripes of pure white, beautifully contrasted. The richness of this flower is very striking, and much esteemed; flowers freely. _C. longifòlia_ is a single red, the foliage is large, and longer than the generality of them. _C. chandlrerii_, or versicolor, colour vivid scarlet with occasional splashes of pure white; the flowers vary, and are of long duration, from six to eight weeks; foliage large and dark glossy green. _C. aitònia_. This variety is a beautiful specimen of a single flower affording a developement of the organ of fructification; the petals are delicately penciled, and the anthers very bold, colour pink, and the flower very large; grows freely, and, in our opinion, is surpassed by none of the single sorts, for raising fine new varieties, if impregnated with the pollen from double flowers. _C. althæiflòra_, hollyhock-flowered, is a great beauty, with large double dark red flowers, the veins are very prominent, petals frequently irregular; foliage large, and approaches to the foliage of single red; and is much esteemed. _C. corallìna_, coral-flowered, a very deep scarlet double flower, and bears a high character. _C. insígnis_, a most splendid double flower, large dull red colour; a very free grower, and highly estimated. _C. anemoneflòra álba_. Those that have seen the common _anemoneflòra_ will be disappointed in the appearance of this, not being pure white, neither properly anemone-flowered, though a very good flower, and very distinct from any other; the petals are irregular, anthers abundant, shape resembling _pompone_; flower not so large. _C. heterophylla_. The foliage of this varies very much, a character that none of the others possess; flower double red; and merits a place in collections. _C. Woódsii_, flower fine double, rose colour; and much has been said in its favour. _C. bícolor_, a single flower, with a rose ground and white streaks, very pretty, but not so large as many of the single ones. _C. speciosa_ is a most splendid variety, has been called _China striped Waratah_. The guard petals are large, round, and bold; colour red with stripes of white; the centre is full of small petals, (like _anemoneflòra_,) and spotted; the foliage large and more heart-shaped than any of the others; grows freely, flower persistent, highly esteemed, and considered one of the finest of the coloured _Caméllias_. _C. fúlgens_, flower large, and very bright double red, approaching to _C. atro-rubens_, but more brilliant; foliage a lucid green, very smooth, young wood and wood buds have a red appearance. We have no doubt but it will seed; if so, it will be a first rate breeder. _C. grandiflóra_, a very large single rich red flower, foliage very large; a most splendid single variety, and grows freely. It is recommended to all who wish to improve their collections by raising new varieties. _C. rósa sinénsis_, a very large double flower, colour bright pink, petals long and full, a very distinct variety, with a beautiful dark green shining foliage, grows and flowers freely, and is highly esteemed. C. _intermédia_, a very large flower, shape of _C. pompònia_, outside petals streaked to the extremity with a rich blush, ground colour pure white, and is in high estimation; grows and flowers freely. It is in very few collections in Europe, and only in three in the United States. C. _rose Waratáh_. The description of this flower is the same as _anemoneflòra_, but differs in colour, and being of longer duration, the foliage is uncommonly large. C. _Pressíi's invincible_. It has been asserted that it is the same as that known by _C. punctata_ and _C. Pressíi_. We have not seen it flower, but have seen a drawing of it, the flower equally as large as _double white_, and same shape, with the petals as regular; the ground colour brilliant red, and spotted with pure white. It is one of the newest varieties, and much valued for its unique beauty; hence called _Invincible_; foliage large. C. _Rose Mundií_, is like the garden rose of that name; a large flower, ground colour pink streaked with white. C. _compàcta_ is a new double white, petals and flower not so large as the common, but more compact, and is considered a very fine variety. C. _gloriòsa_, is said to be a fine dark double red. C. _Róssii_, is said to be a fine rich double scarlet. _Callicòma serratifòlia_, the only species and remarkable for tufted yellow heads of flowers, which come out at the axils, and continue from May to July. The foliage is ovate lanceolate, deeply serrated, and opposite. _Carmichælia austràlis_, the only species, has very curious foliage, which the lilac leguminose flowers come out off, and continue from April to June. _Cunònia capénsis_, the only species, and a handsome shrub, with large pinnated shining leaves, beautifully contrasted by numerous dense elongated branches of small white flowers, and twigs of a red colour, having the habit of a tropical more than a Cape of Good Hope plant. _Cléthra arbórea_, and _C. arbórea variagàta_, are both fine shrubs; the latter is preferable; leaves are oblong, accuminate, and serrated with a gold edge; flowers white, downy, in large branching racemose spikes, and sweet-scented; grows freely. _Cotoneásters_. Two of this genus are deserving a situation in the Green-house, _C. denticulàta_, and _C. microphylla_; the last is a native of the mountainous districts of Nepaul, and may prove hardy; the flowers are white, small, and solitary, but in the fall it is covered with pretty red berries, and then looks beautiful; culture very easy; will grow in any situation. _Cròwea solígna_, is amongst one of the finest and easiest cultivated plants of New South Wales. It flowers at the axils of the leaves, colour pink, with five petals, connected by entangled hairs; in flower from April to December, and frequently through the winter; foliage lanceolate, and a fine green. The plant grows neat, and requires an airy situation; drain the pots well. _Chorizèmas_, about six species, foliage very like some varieties of the _Holly_; flowers small and papilionaceous; colour red and yellow; though small, they are very neat. C. _nàna_ and C. _ilicifòlia_ are amongst the best; if grown from seed, they will flower freely the second year; drain the pots well. _Cineràrias_, Cape aster, about twelve belong to the Green-house. They are herbaceous, or half shrubby, soft wooded plants. C. _speciòsa_, C. _amelloídes_, (now called _Agathæa cæléstus_,) C. _purpùrea_, and C. _lanàta_, are among the finest; flowers blue or yellow; the latter is considered the handsomest of the genus. The exterior petals are bright purple, and the interior ones white, and with _A. cæléstus_, flowers most of the year; flowers syngenesious and star-like. The herbaceous species must be treated as previously mentioned for that kind of plants. _Cístus_, or Rock rose. There are above thirty species, principally natives of Europe, consequently hardy there, and form a great ornament to their gardens, being very abundant and various in flower; but with us they will not stand the rigour of winter. We have no doubt, however, but, through time, some kinds may be grown that will withstand the greatest cold of the middle states; they are low shrubby plants of easy cultivation. C. _ladaníferus_, C. _monspeliénsis_, C. _sálignus_, C. _popolifòlius_, and C. _undulàtus_, are perhaps the best; the flowers are of short duration, frequently only for one day; but the quantity makes up this deficiency, being constantly in flower in May and June, and sometimes flower again in autumn. C. _crèticus_ is most productive of the Gum laudanum, which is secreted about its leaves and branches. The flowers are generally five-petaled, and some of them large; centre full of stamens; the foundation of the natural order _Cistinea_. _Clématis_, Virgin's Bower. There are only six of these belonging to this, all climbing plants. C. _aristàta_ and C. _brachiàta_ are the best; flowers in racemose clusters, pure white; foliage small; and natives of the Cape of Good Hope. The foliage of C. _aristàta_ is cordate and blotched. _Cobæa scándens_, the only species. It is a climber of very rapid growth, has been known to grow above two hundred feet in one summer; large bell-shaped flowers; when they are newly expanded, they are of a pale green colour, and change to dark purple; will grow in the garden during summer, bearing a continual profusion of flowers, but will not stand frost. When this plant becomes too large in the house, do not cut it close to the root, except there is a young shoot arising to carry off the superabundant sap, for the old wood will not push, which will soon cause a mortification. The best method to adopt in such case is to turn back a shoot, and lay it in the ground to root, when it will become a young plant; which should always be done as soon as it appears unsightly. It does best to be planted in the ground, but will not give any satisfaction as to flowering in a pot. It will flower as an annual if sown in pots this month, and placed in a warm room or hot-bed, and planted into the garden about the end of May. _Coroníllas_, a very few are fine species in the Green-house. C. _glaúca_ is a celebrated plant amongst us, as a free and early flowering shrub. C. _valentíana_ and C. _viminális_ are equally so, flower from April to June, colour yellow; papilionaceous flowers in clusters; agree best with shade. In summer they ought to be kept behind a fence, or under a tree, as the sun would destroy them in a few weeks. Drain the pots well. _Corréas_, five species, all very pretty dwarf shrubs, and flower profusely; foliage ovate, cordate, and either rusty or downy beneath. C. _álba_ and C. _rúfa_ have both white flowers a little tubular. C. _pulchélla_ is a very handsome erect growing plant, flowers large and tubular, of a deep pink colour, and grows freely: it is thought the finest of the genus. C. _speciòsa_ has been long admired as a splendid free flowering plant; flowers same shape as C. _pulchélla_, but not so large; colour red and yellowish green. C. _virèns_ is a very free grower, flowers same shape as the two last, colour entirely green. These three last mentioned are abundant flowerers, having a continued succession from November to June, possessing the valuable requisite of flowering through the winter, and ought to be in every collection. They require an airy situation, and the pots to be well drained. The plants in summer must not be fully exposed to the sun. _Cratàgus._ There are none of these belonging to the Green-house; but there is a plant in the collections, known as C. _glabra_, which is _Photínia serrulàta_, a native of China, and is a very handsome plant, has long foliage, deeply serrated, very shining. _P. arbutifòlia_, a native of California, and is the finest of the genus; flowers in large dense panicles, foliage larger than the former, and not so deeply serrated; they are both comparatively hardy, and we soon expect to see them acclimated. _Cupréssus_ may be desired in collections, as erect and handsome growing evergreen shrubs. C. _lusitánica_, the famed cedar of Goa; C. _péndula_ and C. _juniperoídes_ are the most desirable; flowers are insignificant, and yellowish; we have no doubt they may prove hardy. C. _lusitánica_ is the handsomest tree of the genus. Its abundant, very long dichotomous branchlets, distinguish it from all the evergreens of the conoferious tribe. _Calámpelis scábra_, once _Eccremocárpus scáber_, is a very fine climber, where there is a convenience to plant it in the ground. It will flower profusely from March to November; foliage pinnate, with tendrils; flowers from the axils on young shoots in a kind of racemose, and of a golden colour; grows freely. _Celástris_, staff-tree, about twenty-five species; of no particular beauty. Some of them have numerous small white flowers, in cymes and panicles; foliage generally ovate, acute, and serrated. C. _pyracántha_, C. _cymósa_, C. _multiflòrus_, and C. _lúcidus_, are the most conspicuous, and all the genera are of easy culture. _Coòkia púnctata_, Wampee-tree of China, named in honour of the celebrated Capt. Cook. The fruit is much esteemed in China, where it grows to about the size of a walnut, in bunches; leaves pinnate, ovate, lanceolate, accuminate; when rubbed, have a strong odour; flower small white in racemose spikes, of slow growth. C. _allistàchys_. There are two of them very handsome large growing shrubs. C. _lanceolàta_ and C. _ovàta_, foliage silky-like, and light coloured; flowers yellow, papilionaceous, and very abundant. _Davièsias_, above ten species, principally natives of New South Wales, all yellow papilionaceous flowers. _D. ulicìna_, _D. latifòlia_, _D. aciculàris_, and _D. inricssàta_, are very fine species, flower and grow freely, and require to be well drained; bloom from April to August. _Diósmas_. This genus is now very much divided, and only contains about thirteen species: the generas that they have been given to, are _Adenándra_, _Barosma_, _Acmadènia_, and _Agathósma_. We will enumerate a few of the finest species of each. _D. capitála_, _D. oppositifólia_, _D. longifòlia_, _D. rùbra_, and _D. teretifòlia_, are the most conspicuous, all small white flowers except _D. rùbra_; foliage small, and all handsome growing evergreens. _Adenándras_, eight species. This genus is the most select of those that have been subdivided. _A. speciòsa_, _A. umbellàta_, _A. álba_, _A. fragràns_, and _A. uniflòra_, are all splendid flowers: and all white except _A. fragràns_, which is red. Pots must be well drained. _Barósmas_, above ten species. _B. serratifòlia_, _B. pulchèlla_, purple, _B. f[oe]tidíssima_, blush, _B. odoràta_, white, and _B. dioíca_, pink, are the finest. _Acmadènias_, five species. _A. lavigàta_, _A. púngens_, and _A. tetragònia_, blush, are good species. _Agathósmas_, above twenty-five species, many of them very celebrated free flowering shrubby plants. _A. accuminàta_, _A. hybrida_, _A. Thunbergiàna_, _A. imbricàta_, _A. prolífera_, _A. pátula_, and _A. pulchélla_, which is the finest of the genus, the dried leaves of which the Hottentots use as powder to mix with the grease with which they anoint their bodies. Some travellers assert that it gives them so rank an odour, that they sometimes could not bear the smell of those who were their guides. In fact the foliage of all the five last mentioned generas, if rubbed by the hand while on the plant, has a very strong smell, some of them very agreeable, others disagreeable. They are all heath-like and evergreen small neat growing shrubs. They require while growing luxuriantly to have their young shoots topped to make them bushy; drain all the pots well, and keep them in airy situations, and not crowded with other plants, or they will become slender and unsightly. _Dryándras._ This genus is closely allied in character and habits to _Bánksia_, and contains above sixteen species. D. _nívea_, has a most beautiful foliage, very long and deeply indented. D._formòsa_, has a scent like the fruit of an Apricot. D. _nervòsa_, D. _floribúnda_, D. _armàta_, D. _plumòsa_, D. _Baxtèri_, D. _nervòsa_, and D. _falcàta_, are the most conspicuous, and all highly desirable plants in collections. They are very delicate of importation; flowers are straw and orange coloured and thistlelike. Seeds in small cones. Treat them the same as directed for _Bánksias_. _Dillwynias_, above twelve species, and plants very little known. D. _floribúnda_, D. _teretifòlia_, and D. _phylicoides_, are desirable plants; flowers small, papilionaceous, and colour yellow. They are very liable to suffer from too much wet; while dormant, therefore, the pots must be effectually drained. _Dampièras_, four species. The genus is named in honour of Captain W. Dampier, a famous voyager, has Lobelia-like flowers, either blue or purple. C. _purpùrea_, C. _undulàta_, and C. _strícta_, are the finest; the two former are shrubby; the latter is herbaceous; they all flower freely. _Edwárdsias_, about four species, very beautiful foliaged plants and have very curious yellow flowers, but do not flower until the plant becomes large. _E. grandiflòra_, _E. chrysòphylla_, and _E. meirophylla_, are the best, and are tolerably hardy, though doubtful of ever being acclimated. The flowers are leguminose, foliage ovate, pinnate, from eight to forty on one footstalk, and appears to be covered with gold dust. The hardier they are grown, the more visible it will appear. _Elichrysums_. This genus is now extinct, and two splendid species of it given to others. _E. proliferum_ is now _Phænàcoma prolífera_, and has beautiful purple everlasting rayed flowers, and highly esteemed: the foliage round, ovate, smooth, and closely imbricated. _E. spectábile_ is now _Aphélexis hùmilis_, has pine-like foliage, and large light purple flowers and everlasting; care must be taken that they are not over watered; drain the pots well. _Enkiánthus_, only two species, both very fine. _E. quinqueflòrus_ has large ovate accuminate foliage, flowers pink, and pendulous; very handsome. _E. reticulátus_, the foliage is netted, and the flowers blush; they are liable when dormant to suffer from wet. Be sure to drain the pots well, and sparing in water while in that state. _Epácris_, above twelve species, and all very ornamental. _E. grandiflòra_ has been celebrated ever since it was known; the foliage is small, flat, and accuminate; flowers tubular and pendulous, bright crimson, with a tinge of white, and very abundant, in flower from January to June. _E. pulchélla_ is likewise a most beautiful plant; foliage very small and closely set, flowers pure white, and in long spikes, sweet-scented. _E. impréssa_, foliage impressed, and flowers rose-coloured. _E. paludòsa_, flowers white, and grows very handsomely. _E. purpuráscens rùbra_ is a good variety, with bright red flowers. They are mostly erect growing plants; flower from March till June, and a rough, turfy, sandy soil is found most congenial. They are natives of the mountainous districts of New South Wales. The pots must be well drained; the roots will run with avidity amongst the potshreds. _Erìcas_, heath. There are in cultivation in Europe above five hundred and fifty species and varieties of this magnificent genus. About sixty, years ago it consisted only of a few humble British plants, with the heath of Spain, _E. Mediterrànea_, which is at present most common in our collections, though in a few years we may expect to see it supplanted by others more splendid. In their native countries, they are adapted to a great many useful purposes. In the north of Britain, the poorer inhabitants cover their cabins or huts with heath, and build the walls with alternate layers of it and a kind of cement made with straw and clay. They likewise brew ale, and distil a hot spirit from the tender shoots; and it has been known to be used in dyeing, tanning, and many other useful domestic purposes. Encomium on their beauty is not requisite; they are almost as diversified in colour as colour itself. Many are graceful, and most elegant; hundreds are pretty; a few noble and splendid; others grotesque, curious, and odoriferous. To cultivate and propagate them is one of the most delicate branches of horticulture. Nevertheless, it has been said by a scientific writer, that "those who complain of the difficulty of growing the heath are ignorant people who have never had a heath to grow." The most splendid collection in Europe is under the care of Mr. M'Nab, of the Royal Botanic Garden, Edinburgh, where there are two large houses devoted to their culture; and through the whole year a continued profusion of bloom is kept up. Some of the plants are six feet in diameter, and twelve feet high. The soil used is a coarse sandy peat. Pots drained with potshreds, and pieces of freestone, are put down the sides of the large pots and tubs: where these can be had they are essential to the culture of mountainous plants, preventing them from being saturated with moisture, or from becoming dry, they being retentive of moisture, thus keeping the roots in a medium state; for if once the roots are allowed to get thoroughly dried, no art of the gardener can recover them. This may be the true reason why they are said to be difficult of cultivation. In the summer season the pots must be kept out of the sun, for in a few hours the pot would become heated, dry the roots, and cause death, or a brownness of foliage which would never again become natural. Too much fire heat will hurt them. They only require to be kept free from frost, need a great deal of air and plenty of light; consequently, should be placed near the glass, that they may have the benefit of all the air that is admitted. Their flowers are as varied in shape as variety or colour, but they all partake of a wax-like nature, and are very persistent. For the finest and most select varieties, see the catalogue at the end of this work. _Eròdiums_, Heron's bill. There are about thirty species, all of a Geranium character, and there are among them some very pretty flowering, soft wooded, shrubby, herbaceous, and annual plants. Only a few of them belong to the Green-house, of which _E. incarnàtum_, _E. crassifòlium_, and _E. laciniàtum_, are the finest; culture similar to _Gerànium_. The flowers of these are scarlet, pentapetalous, and veiny. _Eucalyptus_, above fifty species of them, and the tallest growing trees of New Holland; foliage very diversified, generally of a hard glaucous texture. From their rapid growth, they soon grow higher than the loftiest house. The most conspicuous are _E. cordàta_, _E. rostràta_, _E. radiàta_, _E. pulvigéra_, _E. glòbifera_, _E. pulverulénta_, and _E. resínefera_. In Van Dieman's Land, a manufactory has been established, where a tannin is extracted from many of the species. The last mentioned produces gum, like that which the druggists call _Kino_. They ought not to be too much fostered, as it would in some degree retard their growth. They are of a very hardy nature. When large, the plants will flower freely, and are similar in flower to _Myrtle_; many stamina proceeding from a hard nut-like capsule. _Eupatòrium._ There is only one species deserving of cultivation in the Green-house; flowers syngenesious, white, and in large flattened panicles; very sweet-scented. The plant, when growing freely, in the beginning of summer, should be topped, which would make it more bushy; if not, it is apt to grow straggling. Known as _E. elegáns_, in our collections. _Eutáxia's_, two species. _E. myrtifòlia_ is a most beautiful free-flowering evergreen shrub; foliage small, but very neat; flowers leguminose, small, and very many; colour yellow and red; grows freely. The young plants should be frequently topped, or they will grow naked and unsightly. _E. pùngens_, similar to the other except in foliage. They flower from March to June, and ought to have a place in every Green-house. Culture very easy. _Euchìlus obcordàtus_ is the only species: Flowers similar to _Eutàxia_; foliage almost unique, being inverse, cordate; time of flowering from March to June. _Fúchsias_, Ladies' ear drop. About twelve species. Several of them elegant and handsome shrubs. _F. virgáta_ and _F. cònica_ are the most splendid of deciduous Green-house shrubs; the nerves of the leaves and young wood of the former are tinged with purplish red; the large pendant flowers which are produced from the axils of the leaves of the young wood continue during the growing season. _F. cònica_ grows strong, foliage green, flowers pendant, corolla more spreading than the other, and when in flower is a complete mass of scarlet blossoms. It flowers all summer. _F. coccínea_ is a common and celebrated plant, and deservedly so. _F. microphylla_ is a neat glowing, small flowering species. _F. arbórea_, has very large foliage, and rose coloured flowers; a scarce species, but very desirable. _F. gràcilis_ and _F. thymifòlia_, are both fine; most of the flowers are a bright scarlet, the stamens are encircled with a petal of bright purple, and are of very curious construction; they bear a dark purple berry, and are of the easiest cultivation, but during summer they must be carefully kept in the shade. _Gelsèmium nìtidum_, Carolina jessamine, a most beautiful climbing evergreen, flowering shrub. In the months of April and May, it produces many large yellow trumpet-like blossoms of delicious fragrance. If much fostered in growth, it will not flower so freely. _Gnaphàlium_, everlasting. This genus has got all the beautiful Cape species taken out of it, and given to _Astélma_ and _Helichrysum_. Of _Astélma_ there are above ten species, most of them very splendid, everlasting flowers. _A. exímia_ has brilliant red flowers. _A. spiràlis_, _A. speciosíssima_, _A. frùticans_, and _A. imbricàtum_, are all very fine; pots must be well drained. _Helychrysums_, above forty species, chiefly belonging to the Green-house, all everlasting flowers. _H. grandiflòrum_, _H. arbòreum_, _H. orientàle_, _H. fràgrans_, _H. adoratìssimum_, _H. frùticans_, and _H. fúlgidum_, are all very esteemed species, mostly soft white foliage. The pots should be well drained, and the plants kept in an airy situation, as they suffer from the least damp. If the flowers are cut off before they fade, they will retain for many years all the splendour of their beauty; but if allowed to decay on the plant, they will soon become musty, and all their colour fade. _Gompholòbiums_, a genus of very pretty delicate plants, all papilionaceous; flowers generally yellow with a little red; foliage very variable. G. _barbígerum_, G. _polimórfum_, G. _latifòlium_, G. _grandiflòrum_, and G. _venústum_, are fine, the pots must be well drained, and care taken that they are not over watered; they grow freely. _Genístas_: a few of these are very pretty free flowering shrubs. G. _canariénsis_, G. _tricuspidáta_, G. _cuspidòsa_, and G. _umbellàta_, are the finest Green-house species. All of them have yellow leguminose flowers in great abundance; leaves small, lanceolate. _Gnídias_, about ten species of pretty Green-house shrubs. G. _símplex_, G. _serícea_, G. _imbérbis_, and G. _pinifòlia_, flower the most freely; flowers straw colour, tubular, and corymbose. G. _símplex_ is sweet-scented, leaves small; the pots must be well drained, and care taken that they do not get either too wet or too dry, for the roots are very delicate. The plants must be kept near the glass, or they will be drawn weak. _Goodènia_, a genus of about twelve species, with cordate, serate, alternate foliage. G. _stellígera_, and G. _suáveolens_ are sweet-scented; G. _ovàta_ and G. _grandiflòra_ are the best. They are principally small shrubs, with terminale or axillary flowers, and flower during summer. _Gortèria personàta_ is the only species that belongs to this genus, and is an annual. There are several plants in our collections known as _Gortèrias_, but which properly are _Gazània_, of which there are five species. G. _rìngens_, when the flowers are fully expanded, (which will only be while exposed to the sun, closing at night, and opening again with the influence of the sun's rays,) is a great beauty. The rays of the flowers are bright orange, and the centre dark purple. _G. pavónia_ has handsome foliage; flower similar to _G. rìngens_, except the centre of the flower being spotted, and is thought to be the finest, but does not flower so freely. _G. heterophylla_ is of the same character, except the foliage, which is variable, the colour orange and vermilion. They are half shrubby dwarf growing plants, and during the months of July, August, and September, are liable to damp off at the surface of the earth, from the action of heat, and too much water. Pots must be well drained, and the plants kept partially in the shade. Their flowers are syngenesious, and about two inches in diameter. _Grevílleas_, about thirty species. A few of them very handsome in flower and foliage, among which are _G. punícea_; _G. acanthifòlia_, (beautiful foliage); _G. concínna_, very pretty straw and rose-coloured flowers; _G. juniperìna_, green and straw-coloured; _G. lineàris_, white flowers. The flowers of the whole are curious, though not very attractive. Some carry their flowers in racemose spikes, others on flowering branches, which are recurved; the petals are very small and rugged; the stile longer than the appendage. They grow freely, flower and ripen seeds; all evergreen dwarf shrubs. _Hàkeas_, about forty species, not generally so interesting or attractive as the last genus; flowers all white; construction similar to _Grevíllea_, but the foliage more varied. _H. gibbòsa_, _H. nítida_, _H. salígna_, _H. suavèolens_, sweet-scented, _H. conculàta_, and _H. lambérti_, are the best, and afford a curious variety of foliage; flower in June. Drain the pots well. _Hemerocállis_, Day Lily. Only _H. speciòsa_ of this genus belongs to the Green-house; the flower is spacious, and of copper colour. A native of Jamaica. It has not found its way into our collections. It is herbaceous, and while growing requires much water. The plant known with us as _H. japónica_ is now _Fúnkia álba_, (and justly, for the most superficial observer could have distinguished it as not belonging to _Hemerocállis_.) It requires to be much fostered to flower well, and plenty of water. If properly treated, it is a magnificent flower, and continues flowering from July to September. We doubt not it may prove a hardy herbaceous plant, (the same as _F. cærùlea_,) if protected during the first winter. _Hermánnias_, a genus of about forty species, all natives of the Cape of Good Hope, and not worth cultivating. They have yellow cup-like flowers, and are of the easiest cultivation. Several species are in our collections. _Hibbértias_, about ten species. Three of them are very fine climbing evergreen shrubs, viz. _H. glossulariæfòlia_; _H. dentàta_; _H. volùbilis_, if closely approached has a disagreeable smell; _H. fasciculàta_, _H. salígna_, and H. _pedunculàta_, are evergreen shrubs; they have pure yellow flowers of five petals, blooming from May to September. _Habránthus_, about ten species of small South American bulbs, nearly allied to _Amaryllis_. H. _Andersónii_, H. _versícolor_, and H. _robústa_ are the finest; they are in colour yellow, blue, and lilac. We have very little doubt but these bulbs will do to plant out in the garden in April, and be lifted in October. Keep them from frost. Thus treated, they are very desirable bulbs. _Hòveas_, about eight species, pretty plants of New South Wales, blue pea-flowering evergreen shrubs; the finest are H. _lineàris_, H. _rosmarinifòlia_, H. _longifòlia_, and H. _Célsii_, which is the most superb, and flowers in abundance. They grow and flower freely; the pots should be drained. _Hydrángea horténsis_ is a well known plant, and much esteemed for its great profusion of very elegant, though monstrous, flowers. They are naturally of a rose colour, but under certain circumstances of culture they become blue. If grown in brown loam with a little sand, they will preserve their original colour; but if grown in swamp earth with a little mould of decayed leaves, they will become blue. The swamp earth and vegetable mould being more combined with aluminous salt than brown loam, is the cause of the change; and, when first found out, (which was merely by chance,) was thought a great wonder. It must have a very plentiful supply of water when in flower, which is produced on the shoots of the previous year. They will neither grow nor flower well if they are not kept constantly in the shade. When kept in the sun, the foliage is very brown; and by being neglected in watering, we have seen the flowers completely scourged. Being tolerably hardy, when the winters are mild, by a little protection in the open air, they will flower profusely; the flowers will be very large, and in bloom from June to October. They are deciduous, soft wooded shrubs. _Hypéricums_, St. John's wort, about twenty species. A few of them are very showy, and with few exceptions have yellow flowers. _H. monógynum_, H. _balearicum_, H. _floribúndum_, H. _canariénse_, H. _ægyptìacum_, and H. _cochinchinense_, which has scarlet flowers, are amongst the best, and all of them flower freely; five petals, filaments many in three or five parcels. They are all of very easy cultivation, and bloom generally from April to September. _Ilex_, Holly, of _I. aquifòlium_. There are above one hundred species of them in cultivation in Europe, differing in variegation, margin, shape, and size of the leaves; some are only prickly on the margin of the foliage, others prickly over all the surface. In Europe they are all hardy, but with us few or none of the varieties are so. If they become acclimated, they will be a great ornament to our gardens, being all low evergreen shrubs. The most common and conspicuous varieties are the _hedgehog_, _striped hedgehog_, _white edged_, _gold edged_, and _painted_; the flowers are white and small, berries yellow or red; they do not agree with exposure to the sun. _J. Cassíne_ and _J. vomitòria_ have very bitter leaves, and, though natives of Carolina, we have to give them the protection of a Green-house. It is said that at certain seasons of the year the Indians make a strong decoction of the leaves, which makes them vomit freely, and after drinking and vomiting for a few days, they consider themselves sufficiently purified. _Illíciums_, Aniseed-tree, three species. _I. floridànum_, has very sweet-scented, double purple flowers, and the plant grows freely and systematically if properly treated, and deserves the attention of the admirers of flowers. _I. parviflòrum_ has small yellow flowers; _I. anisàtum_ is so very like _I. parviflòrum_ in every respect, as to make us conclude they are the same, were _I. anisátum_ not a native of China, and the other two natives of Florida. When the leaves and capsules of either of them are rubbed, they have a very strong smell of anise;--they grow very freely. _Indigófera_; Indigo-tree, about twenty species, belong to the Green-house, and are chiefly pretty free flowering shrubs. _I. denudàta_, _I. amæna_, _I. austràlis_, _I. angulàta_, _I. càndicans_, and _I. filifòlia_, are very fine; flowers papilionaceous, in long panicles; colour various, red, blue, yellow, and pink. _Isopògons_, about ten species of _Pròtea_-like plants, all natives of New Holland. They are very stiff shrubs, with leaves very much divided, and cone-like flowers at the extremity of the shoots. _I. formòsus_, _I. anemonifòlius_, _I. attenuàtis_, and _I. polycéphalis_, are the finest; flowers are straw, lilac, white, and yellow coloured; the pots must be well drained, and the plants not over-crowded. _Justícias._ Only a few of these belong to the Green-house, and are very simple looking flowers. The most beautiful of them belong to the Hot-house. _J. nìgricans_, small striped flower; _J. orchioídes_ and _J. Adhátoda_, Malanut, are the only ones that are worth observation, and are very easily cultivated. _J. Adhátoda_ has good looking foliage, but does not flower until the plant becomes large; colour white and light purple. _Jacksònias._ A genus consisting of five species. The foliage is varied, and all natives of New South Wales. _J. scopària_ is similar to a plant in our collections, called _Vimenària denudata_. _J. hórrida_, and _J. reticulàta_, are the finest; the small flowers come out of the young shoots, are yellow and papilionaceous; the pots should be well drained. _Kennèdias_, about nine species, all evergreen climbers, of the easiest culture, and flower abundantly. _K. monophylla_, blue flowered, and _K. rubicúnda_, crimson flowered, are common in our collections. _K. prostràta_, (once _Glycine coccínea_) one-flowered scarlet, and _K. coccínea_, many flowered scarlet, are very pretty. _K. Comptoniàna_ has splendid purple flowers, and _K. inophylla_ is thought the most superb. It is very rare, and we have not seen it flower. They are large purple. The pots should be well drained; and if the plants are much fostered, they will not flower so well; flowers are either in racemose spikes, or solitary, which is rather too much distinction for the same genus. _Lambértias_, four species of very fine plants, natives of New Holland. L. _formòsa_ is the finest of the genus that we have seen; flowers large and of a splendid rose colour. L. _echinàta_ is said to be finer, but has not flowered in cultivation. L. _uniflòra_ has single red flowers, and L. _inérmis_ orange coloured. They are rare plants in the collections on this side of the Atlantic. Drain the pots well; the foliage is narrow, and of a hard dry nature. _Lasiopètalums_, only two species. There were a few more, but they are now _Thomàsias_, plants of no merit whatever, in regard to flower; foliage three lobed, small, rough, and rusty-like. _Thomàsia solanàcea_ and _T. quereifòlia_, are the best species; foliage of the former is large, cordate, and deep indented; they are all of the easiest culture. _Lavándulas_, Lavender, about seven species belong to the Green-house, and a few of them very pretty soft-wooded, half shrubby plants, and if touched, are highly scented. L. _dentàta_ has narrow serrated foliage, very neat. _L. formòsa_ and _L. pinnàta_ are desirable; blue flowers on a long spike; should be kept near the glass; they are of the easiest culture. _Laúrus._ A few species are Green-house plants. This genus has been divided to _Cinnamòmum_; still there are a few celebrated plants in the original. L. _nòbilis_, sweet bay, though hardy, is kept under protection. It will bear the winter with a little straw covering, notwithstanding there should be a plant kept in the house in case of accident by frost or otherwise; there is a variegated variety of it. _L. índica_, royal bay, _L. f[oe]tens_, _L. aggregàta_, and _L. glúaca_, are favourites. There is a species known in our collections as _L. scábra_. The Camphire tree, known as _L. camphòra_, is _Cinnamòmum camphòra_; the wood, leaves, and roots of this tree have a very strong odour of camphire. It is obtained by distillation from the roots and small branches, which are cut into chips, and put into a net suspended within an iron pot, the bottom of which is covered with water, having an earthen head fitted in it; heat is then applied, and the steam of the boiling water acting upon the contents of the net, elevates the camphire into the capital, where it concretes on the straws, with which this part of the apparatus is lined. They are all fine evergreens, (which the name denotes,) and easily cultivated, _Lìnums_, Flax, two or three species are very fine, and flower freely. _L. trigynum_ has large yellow flowers in clusters, and _L. ascyrifôlium_, whose flowers are large, blue, and white, and in long spikes. The shape of them is very like the flower vulgarly called Morning-glory. _Lobèlias._ Several of them when well treated, form most magnificent flowering plants; they are principally herbaceous. L. _Tùpa_ has the largest foliage, and fine scarlet flowers. L. _speciôsa_, flowers light purple; L. _fúlgens_, crimson flowers; L. _spléndens_, scarlet flowers. The three last are of the same habit; the colours brilliant; and to grow them well, they should be divided, (if there are several shoots arising,) when they begin to grow, putting them first into four inch pots, and shifting them frequently, having them to flower in those of nine or ten inches, which will be about the end of June, or first of July, and they will continue until October. The pots must be always kept in pans or saucers filled with water; likewise give plenty to the surface of the earth, which is to be done during their time of growth and flowering. If this is attended to, they will produce flower stalks from four to six feet in height, and covered with branches and spikes of flowers from bottom to top. The corolla is pentapetalous, three down and two up; they require a little shade. The genus consists of about eighty species; seventy of them are exotics; many of them natives of the Cape of Good Hope, with little flowers of brilliant colours. L. _cærùlea_, L. _Thunbérgii_, L. _corymbôsa_, L. _pyramidàlis_, and L. _ilicifòlia_, are very fine species, of weak growth, but flower freely. _Lomàtias_, about six species; flowers are white or straw colour, and similar to _Grevíllea_, but the foliage more handsome. _Lophospérmum scándens._ This is a magnificent new climbing soft wooded shrub, with purple, campanulate flowers, which are produced from the axils on the young wood; they bloom from May to September; leaves large, cordate, and tomentose; grows rapidly, and flowers abundantly. _Lachnæas_, about five species, remarkable for their downy heads of white flowers; leaves small, ovate, lanceolate. L. _glaùca_, L. _conglomeràta_, and L. _eriocéphala_, are the best species. The pots must be well drained, and in summer the plants protected from the sun. _Leonòtis_, Lion's-ear, four species. They have very fine scarlet tubular flowers, orifice-toothed. They come out in large whorls, and look elegant; but neither plant nor foliage has an agreeable appearance. They are of the easiest culture. L. _intermédia_, and L. _Leonùrus_, are the best flowering species. _Leucospérmums_, about eighteen species, of Proteacious plants, chiefly low growing, and are mostly downy or hairy; flowers yellow, in terminale heads. L. _formósum_, L. _grandiflòrum_, L. _tomentósum_, and L. _candicans_, rose-scented. These are fine species. For treatment, see _Pròteas_. _Lipàrias_, about five species, much esteemed for their beauty of foliage; leaves ovate, lanceolate, downy or woolly; flowers yellow, leguminose, and capitate. L. _sphærica_, L. _tomentósa_, L. _villósa_, and L. _serícea_, are the finest. L. _vistìta_ and L. _villósa_ are the same, although put in many catalogues as different species. None of them ought to be much watered over the foliage, as it adheres to the down, and causes the young shoots to damp off. Drain the pots well, and keep the plants in an airy situation. _Lysinèmas_, four species, closely allied to _Epácris_. In every respect treatment the same. L. _pentapítalum_, L. _conspicum_, and L. _ròseum_, are the best; the flowers of the two former are white. L. _silaifòlia_ has leaves bipinnatifid and smooth, segments wedge-shaped and cut. L. _dentàta_ and L. _ilicifòlia_ are the finest; the pots should be drained. _Lonícera japónica._ There is a plant in our collections known by that name, which is now _Nintooa longiflàra_; flowers of a straw colour, but come out white. It has been known to withstand the winter, but does not flower, and is frequently killed entirely. _Lychnis coroàta_, is an esteemed Chinese plant; flowers-in abundance, pentapetalous, large, and a little indented at the edges; colour a red-like orange; flowers terminale and axillary. The roots must be divided every spring, or they will dwindle away to nothing. Perhaps a good method of treatment would be to divide the roots, and plant them in the garden; they would flower well, and could be lifted in the fall, and put under protection. We have no doubt that it may become acclimated. If not done so, plant them in four inch pots, and repot them into those of six inch in May. Do not expose them while in flower to the mid-day sun, for it will deteriorate the fine colour. _Leptospérmums_, about thirty species, all pretty New Holland evergreen dwarf shrubs, with small white flowers. L. _baccàtum_, L. _péndulum_, L. _juníperinum_, L. _ovátum_, L. _stellàtum_, L. _grandiflórum_, and L. _scopàrium_, are the best of the species. The latter was used as tea by Capt. Cook's ship's crew. It is an agreeable bitter, with a pleasant flavour, when fresh. When young plants are growing, they ought to be frequently topped to make them bushy, and kept in an airy situation, or they will be drawn and unsightly. They are of very easy culture. _Leucadéndrons_, Silver tree, above forty species, all natives of Cape of Good Hope. They are evergreens with handsome, silvery-like foliage. L. _argentéum_ (once _Pròtea argentéa_) is a great beauty; foliage white, lanceolate, and silky. It is a plant that has been long in cultivation, greatly admired, and much sought for, and is the finest of the genus. L. _squarròsum_, L. _stellàtum_, (once _Pròtea stellaris_) L. _tórtum_, L. _servíceum_, L. _margìnàtum_, and L. _plumôsum_ (once _P. parviflòra_) are all fine species. The pots must be well drained, and the plants never over-watered. They are very desirable in collections for their beauty of foliage; flowers similar to _Pròtea_. _Magnòlias._ There are four species that require the protection of our Green-houses; all the others are hardy. M. _fuscàta_, and M. _annonæfòlia_, are very similar in foliage and flower: the young branches and leaves of M. _fuscàta_ is covered with a brown, rusty-like down; the other by some is considered merely a variety; flowers small, brown, and very sweet-scented. M. _pùmila_ is very dwarf growing; leaves large and netted; flowers semi-double, white, pendant, and fragrant. They are natives of China. We have several others from the east, but being deciduous are perfectly hardy. M. _odoratíssima_, now _Talàuma Candólii_, a native of the Island of Java, and said to be very odoriferous, but is very rare even in Europe; said to have a straw coloured flower. M. _conspícua_ is desirable to have in the Green-house, if enarched on a stock of M. _purpùrea_, which will always keep it dwarf, and it will flower magnificently in February and March. _Melalèucas_, above thirty species, and a beautiful genus of New Holland plants, of easy culture; flowers come out of the wood like fringes. M. _elíptica_, M. _fúlgens_, scarlet, M. _decussàta_, M. _hypericifòlia_, M. _squarròsa_, M. _linarifòlia_, M. _incana_, M. _tetragònia_, M. _thymifòlia_, are all very fine species, and flower freely if they have been grown from cuttings; the singularity of flower and diversity of foliage make them generally thought of. _Maurándias_, three species, of very pretty climbing Green-house plants, flowering from March to October. M. _Barclàyana_ has splendid flowers, large, light blue, campanulate, and very abundant. M. _semperflòrens_ has rose coloured flowers, of the same character. They will flower best if planted in the ground. _Myrsínes_, Cape Myrtle, dwarf cape evergreen shrubs covered with small flowers from March to May. M. _retùsa_ has green and purple flowers; M. _rotundifòlia_, flowers white and purple. They will grow in any situation, and are of easy culture. _Méspilus japónica._ The plant, known under that name, is now _Eriabòtrya japónica_, Loquat, is a fine plant with large lanceolate, distantly serrated leaves, white underneath; small white flowers on a racemose spike, and produces a fruit about the size of a walnut, of a fine yellow blush colour, and of delicious flavour. If it flowers in the fall, it will require the heat of a Hot-house to ripen the fruit. It is of very easy culture, and its noble aspect is never passed unobserved. _Metrosidèros_, about five species. Many have been added to _Callistèmon_. M. _flòrida_, M. _umbellata_, and M. _angustifòlia_, are the best species. C. _salígnum_, C. _lanceolàtum_, variety _semperiflòrens_, C. _glaùcum_, once M. _speciòsa_, has splendid scarlet flowers and C. _formòsum_; these are all beautiful plants, with scarlet flowers. Other two beautiful species with white flowers have been given to _Angóphora_. A. _cordifòlia_, once M. _híspida_, and A. _lanceolàta_, once M. _costàta_; these genera are very easily distinguished from any other Australasian shrubs, by the peculiar character of having both sides of the leaves alike. The flowers consist of stamens, stiles, and anthers, coming in hundreds out of the young wood for the length of three or four inches, forming a dense cone crowned with a small twig; leaving capsules in the wood, which will keep their seeds perfect for a great number of years. They grow freely, and the pots should be well drained. _Myrtus_, Myrtle, is a well known and popular shrub, especially the common varieties; and was a great favourite, (even to adoration,) among the ancients. It was the mark of authority for Athenian rulers, and is amongst the moderns an emblem of pre-eminence. They are elegant evergreen shrubs, with an agreeable odour. M. _commùnis multipléx_, double flowering, is a very neat shrub, and flowers abundantly. M. _commùnis leucocárpa_, White-fruited Myrtle, is quite unique, when the berries are on it. M. _itálica variagáta_, striped leaved; M. _itálica maculàta_, blotch leaved, are very fine shrubs; and M. _tomentòsa_, Chinese Myrtle, is a magnificent erect growing shrub, with a white down over the foliage; the flowers are the largest of the genus. When they first expand, they are white, and afterwards change to purple, so that there are beautiful flowers of several shades of colour on the plant. We have not the smallest doubt but this species will become in many instances as plentiful as the common myrtle. It is more easily grown, but cannot stand much exposure to the sun in summer. M. _tenuifòlia_ is a very fine plant, and a native of New South Wales. Myrtles in general should be sprinkled with water in the evenings, to keep off mildew and red spider. _Nandìna doméstica_, the only species, and a popular shrub in the gardens of Japan, where it is called _Nandin_. It has supra-decompound leaves, with entire lanceolate leaflets, a kind of foliage that is very rare; the flowers are small, whitish green, in panicles, succeeded by berries of the size of a pea; drain the pots well. _Nèrium_, (Oleander,) is a genus of beautiful erect growing evergreen shrubs, of the easiest culture, and abundant in flower. _N. oleánder_ is the common rose coloured single flowering species, from which six varieties have originated. At present the most popular is _N. oleánder splèndens_, which has a double rose coloured flower. There is one that has got in our collections as double white which is only semi-double. We have seen a white, variety as double as _N. o. splèndens_, and have no doubt but in a few years it will be plentiful. _N. oleánder elegantìssimum_, a most beautiful plant, with deep silver-edged foliage; and the young wood is striped white and green. We are not positive in respect to the beauty of its flowers, but it has a high character. We have heard of a double-yellow variety, but the reports are not properly authenticated; and we doubt it very much. There are likewise single yellow, single white, and single blotched varieties of _N. oleánder_. They are subject to the small white scaly insect, and should be frequently washed, as has been directed, to keep it off. _Oleas_, Olive, about twelve species and varieties. _O. Europæa longifòlia_, is the species that is cultivated to such an extent in the south of France, and Italy. _O. Europæa latifòlia_ is chiefly cultivated in Spain. The fruit is larger than that of Italy, but the oil is not so pleasant, which is obtained by crushing the fruit to a paste, and pressing it through a woollen bag, adding hot water as long as any oil is yielded. The oil is then skimmed off the water, and put into barrels, bottles, &c. for use. The tree seldom exceeds thirty feet, and is a branchy glaucous evergreen, and said to be of great longevity. Some plantations at Turin in Italy are supposed to have existed from the time of Pliny. It frequently flowers in our collections, but seldom carries fruit; flowers white, in small racemose axillary spikes. _O. cupénsis_ has a thick large oblong foliage; flowers white, in large terminale panicles. _O. verrucòsa_, foliage flat, lanceolate, and white beneath, branches curiously warted. _O. fragráns_, foliage and blossoms are both highly odoriferous; the plant is much esteemed in China, and is said to be used to adulterate and flavour teas. Leaves are elliptic, lanceolate, and a little serrated; flowers white in lateral bunches. It is subject to the small, white scaly insect, and ought to be carefully kept from them by washing. _O. paniculata_ is a fine species. They are all very easily cultivated. _Oxylòbiums_, seven species, plants very similar to _Callistachys_, with ovate, cordate, light coloured, pubescent foliage, with papilionaceous flowers. _O. obtusifòlium_ has scarlet flowers; _O. retùsum_, orange flowers; and _O. ellípticum_, yellow flowers. They grow freely, and should be well drained; flower from May to August. _Pelargòniums_, Stork's Bill. This genus, so universally known amongst us as _Gerànium_, from which it was separated many years ago, is a family of great extent and variety, for which we are principally indebted to the Cape of Good Hope. By cultivation from seed many hundred beautiful species and well marked varieties have been obtained. There are about five hundred species, with upwards of two hundred varieties. They are of every character, colour and shade, of the most vivid description. The easy cultivation of the _Pelargònium_ tribe, or _Geràniums_, as they are commonly called, has rendered them very popular; also the agreeableness of scent and fragrance of which many of them are possessed, makes them favourites. If their flowering season was of longer duration, the varieties and species would be quite indispensable in collections; but there is every appearance that in a few years the aspect of them will be changed. The present prevailing colour of the flower, (which has five petals, three hanging and two erect, the erect petals being always of the darkest shade,) is a white or pink ground, with lilac, purple, or pink stripes, flakes, or spots, and blooms from April to June; though they bloom profusely in large bunches, the time is limited. The species and varieties that have a red ground, with black or dark crimson stripes or spots, generally bloom during the whole summer. These, though scarce in the collections of the country, will in a few years root out those whose flowers are of such short duration, and by their blooms charm us half of the year. The tuberous and fleshy stemmed species are far more interesting to the discriminating inquirer than the common kinds. Their habit and constitution are so peculiar, that we have frequently wondered that they have not been separated into distinct genera. The cultivation of them is more difficult, water being very prejudicial to them when they are inactive. When they are well managed, they flower beautifully, and the colours are very superior and peculiar, having frequently bright green and purple in the same flower. If some of the colours of these could be compounded with the large flowering kinds, those hybridised would be magnificent. The best method to adopt in impregnating these, is to choose the female, one that has large flowers, of easy cultivation, and as nearly allied in character and other habits as possible. When a flower of the intended female is newly expanded, take a pair of very fine pointed scissors, and cut off the anthers before the pollen expands; then as soon as the summit of the stile divides, apply the pollen taken from the anthers of the intended male plant on a very fine camel hair pencil, or cut out the stigma entirely, and place the anther on the summit of the stile, which, if correctly done, will have the desired effect. As soon as the seed is ripe, sow it in light sandy soil; and when it has come up, take care not to over-water the soil, which would cause them to damp off. When they are about one inch high, put them into small pots, and treat as the other varieties. Have them all distinctly marked until they flower, which will be in the second year from the time of sowing. _Phórmium tènax_, New Zealand flax lily, the only species; foliage resembling an _Iris_, and very thready. In New Zealand and Norfolk Island, the natives manufacture from this plant a kind of stuff like coarse linen, cordage, &c.; the plant is very hardy, and we would be no way surprised to see it stand the severity of our winters. It bears exposure to the open air in Europe in the 56th degree of north latitude. The flowers are said to be yellow and lily-like; of the easiest culture. _Phylicas_, above twenty-five species. Several of them are very pretty growing evergreen shrubs, and of easy culture. P. _horizontàlis_, P. _squarròsa_, P. _imbricàta_, P. _myrtifòlia_, P. _callòsa_, P. _bícolor_, and P. _ericoídes_, are all neat growing; flowers small, white, in heads; drain the pots well, and keep them in an airy situation. The foliage of several of the species is downy. _Pimèleas_, about fourteen species. Most of them are highly esteemed, and are not often seen in our collections. P. _decussàta_ is the finest of the genus, both in foliage and flowers, which are red, and in large terminale clusters; P. _rôsea_, P. _linifòlia_, white, P. _spicàta_, and P. _drupàcea_, are all fine species. The latter has the largest foliage, which is ovate and accuminate; berry-bearing. They should be well drained. They are very small evergreen shrubs, with white or red flowers. _Pittósporums_, about nine species, with handsome foliage, and small white flowers in clusters, which are fragrant. P. _Tobìra_ is a native of China, and nearly hardy; leaves lucid, obovate, obtuse, and smooth. P. _undulàtum_, P. _coriàceum_, P. _revolùtum_, P. _fúlvum_, and P. _ferrugíneum_, are very ornamental evergreens, and will grow with the most simple treatment. _Platylòbiums_, Flat Pea, four species of fine free flowering plants; flowers leguminose; colour yellow. P. _formòsum_, P. _oràtum_, and P. _triangulàre_, are the best; the foliage of the two former is cordate, ovate; the latter hastate, with spiny angles. _Pistàcias_, seven species of trees, principally of the south of Europe. There is nothing particular in their appearance, except their productions in their native country. P. _terebínthus_ is deciduous, and produces the Cyprus turpentine. P. _lentíscus_ is the true mastich tree, which is obtained by cutting transverse incisions in the bark. P. _vèra_ and P. _reticulàta_ are good species; leaves pinnated; leaflets ovate, lanceolate; easily cultivated. _Plumbàgos_, Lead-wort. There are only two species of any consequence belonging to the Green-house, P. _trístis_ and P. _capénsis_. The former is a shy flowerer, but the latter flowers freely; colour beautiful light blue, and flowers in spikes; foliage oblong, entire, and a little glaucous; of very easy culture, and continues in bloom a considerable time. _Psoràleas_, above forty species. A few of them are worthy of cultivation, P. _odoratíssima_, P. _spicàta_, P. _aculeàta_, P. _argéntea_, and P. _tomentòsa_. They have all blue flowers, and leguminose. They are chiefly low shrubs; and will flower and grow freely; the pots require draining. _Podalyrias_, about fourteen species of pretty Cape shrubs; foliage oblong, obovate, and silky-like; the flowers leguminose; colour blue or pink. P. _serícea_, P. _styracifòlia_, P. _corúscans_, P. _argéntea_, P. _liparioídes_, and P. _subbiflòra_, are the finest and most distinct species, and flower abundantly. _Petsoónias_, about sixteen species of dwarf evergreen shrubs; leaves oblong, or lanceolate, hairy, or downy; flowers axillary and solitary; the pots should be well drained, and the plants in summer protected from the sun. P. _hirsùta_, P. _móllis_, P. _teretifòlia_, and P. _lùcida_, are the most distinct, and grow freely. _Pròteas_, about forty-four species. The foliage of this genus is very diversified; flowers very large, terminale; stamens protected by an involucrum; many-leaved and imbricated; which is very persistent. P. _cynaroídes_ has the largest flower, which is purple, green, and red. P. _speciòsa_, P. _umbonàlis_, once P. _longifòlia_, P. _melaleùca_, P. _grandiflòra_, P. _coccínea_, P. _cenocárpa_, P. _pállens_, P. _formòsa_, P. _magnífica_, P. _speciòsa rúbra_, and P. _mellífera_, will afford a very good variety. It is almost impossible to describe their true colour, it being so various; red, white, straw, brown, green, and purple, are most predominant, and frequently to be seen in the same flower; the plants must be well drained; and during warm weather be careful that they are not neglected in water, for if they are suffered to droop, they seldom recover. For this reason the pots ought not to stand in the strong sun; the plants can bear it, but to the roots it is injurious. _Pultenæas_, about forty species, pretty little dwarf growing shrubs of New South Wales; flowers small, leguminose, all yellow, with a little red outside of the petals. P. _villòsa_, P. _obcordàta_, P. _argéntea_, P. _plumòsa_, P. _fléxilis_, shining leaved, fragrant; P. _cándida_, and P. _strìcta_, are all fine species, and esteemed in collections. The leaves are all small; they require an airy exposure, and the pots drained. _Rhododéndrons_ (Rose tree), a magnificent genus, and contains some of the most superb and gigantic plants that adorn the Green-house. All the _Azàleas_ (except A. _procúmbens_) both Chinese and American, have been arranged under this genus. At present the most admired is _R. arbòreum_, with varieties. _R. arbòreum_ has deep scarlet flowers, with dark spots and flakes campanulated, and in large clusters; leaves lanceolate, acute, rough, and silvery beneath. _R. arbòreum albúm_ is very rare. _R. arbòreum supérbum_, flowers same shape as _arbòreum_, colour bright scarlet; foliage one third larger, but not silvery beneath; grows freely, and generally thought the finest variety. _R. arbòrea álte-Clàrance_ is also very superb. There are several other varieties of minor note. A Green-house without some of the scarlet varieties of that plant, is deficient of a flower whose beauty and grandeur are beyond the highest imagination. It is a native of Nepaul in India, and when found by Dr. Wallach awakened the ambition of every cultivator and connoisseur in Europe. There are several other species brought from that country lately, but none of them has yet flowered. They are highly valued from the productions of the above; the species are _R. campanulàtum_, _R. anthopògon_, and _R. cinnamòmeum_. This is named from the colour of the leaves, which are very peculiar and very handsome; the flowers are said to be rose-coloured. These three last cannot be purchased under an immense price; the others have been rarely seen in our collections, but another year or two will make them more plentiful. Their beauty of flower is beyond description. The pots should be well drained, and if they are large, put several pieces of sandy stones or potshreds around the side, for the fine fibres delight to twine about such, being mountainous plants. _Roéllas_, pretty leafy shrubs, with blue terminale funnel-shaped flowers, lip-spreading; _R. cilliàta_, _R. spicàta_, and _R. pedunculàta_, are the finest of the genus. The pots must be well drained, and care taken that they are not over-watered. _Sálvia_ (Sage), is an extensive genus of soft-wooded, shrubby, or herbaceous plants; very few of them do well in the Green-house, and many of them are very trifling, having no other attraction than the flower, and those of the tender species, when compared with _S. élegans_, _S. spléndens_, _S. cærúlea_, and _S. coccìnea_, (which in artificial climates constitute the standard of the genus,) are not worth cultivation. These last mentioned, if kept in the Green-house, will merely keep in life, but a situation in the Hot-house would cause them to flower frequently. The best method to adopt with the summer flowering kinds, is to plant them in the garden in May; they will grow strong and flower abundantly, and in the fall they can be lifted, and preserved during winter in pots. They neither grow nor flower so well as when planted out, and even a slip planted in the ground in moist weather will root in a few days, grow, and flower in a few weeks. _S. spléndens_ is the best to select for the purpose. _S. aùrea_, _S. paniculàta_, and _S. índica_, are fine species. The latter is white and blue, with large leaves; flowers monopetalous, and irregular; colour generally red or blue in spiked whorls. All will grow easily with encouragement. _Senècios._ Some species of this genus are pestiferous weeds all over the world. They are found near the limits of perpetual snow, where neither tree nor shrub is able to rear its head. Yet there are three species that are neat little plants, and are worthy of a situation, viz. _S. grandiflòrus_, _S. venústus_, and _S. cineráscens_, with the double white and red variety of _S. élegans_. The two last varieties are free flowering, but if allowed to grow several years, they become unsightly. Being very easily propagated, a few cuttings of them should be put in, in September, and in two weeks they will strike root, when they may be put in pots to keep through the winter, and then planted in the garden, continuing to renew them. The other mentioned species should be frequently done the same way. Do not keep them damp during winter, or they will rot off. Keep them in an airy exposure. _Schótias_, a beautiful genus of six species, which will require the warmest part of the Green-house to keep them. The foliage is handsome; leaves compound: leaflets oval-lanceolate, and in pairs from six to ten; _S. speciòsa_, crimson, flowers nearly papilionaceous, and in bunches, the most superb of the genus. _S. alàta_, _S. latifòlia_, once _Omphalòbium Schótia_, and _S. tamarindifólia_, are the finest; the flowers of the others are red. The pots require to be drained, and the plants protected from the hot sun. _Swainsònas_, four species of free flowering, soft wooded shrubs, natives of New South Wales. _S. galigifòlia_, _S. coronillæfòlia_, and _S. astragalifòlia_, are red, purple, and white; leguminose flowers in spikes from the axils, are of easy culture, and deserving of a situation; the foliage is pinnate; leaflets ovate, acute. _Scòttias_, three species of valuable plants; _S. dentàta_, with scarlet leguminose blossoms; leaves opposite, ovate, accuminate, serrate; _S. angustifòlia_ has brown flowers; _S. trapezifòrmus_, leaves ovate, acute, serrulate. We do not know the colour of its flowers; the pots must be well drained, and the plants kept in the warmest part of the Green-house, and near the light. _Sparrmánnias_, are strong growing Green-house shrubs. _S. africàna_, is a plant very common in our collections, with large three lobed cordate leaves, hairs on both sides; flowers from March to July. _S. rugósa._ The leaves are rugged; flowers of both are white, in a kind of corymb, supported by a long footstalk; buds drooping, flowers erect. There is a plant known in our collections, as the free-flowering _Sparrmánnia_, (which is _Entèlia arboréscens_,) and is easily distinguished from _Sparrmánnia_ by the leaves being cordate, accuminate, and otherwise, by all its filaments being fertile, and the flowers more branching, and blooming from November to June, profusely; very easily cultivated, and desirable. _Sphærolòbiums_, only two species of leafless plants, with yellow and red leguminose flowers, which proceed from the young shoots. _S. vimíneum_ and _S. médium_. They flower freely, and are easily cultivated. The old wood should be frequently cut out where it is practicable. Drain the pots. _Sprengélia incarnàta_,, the only species, a very pretty plant, allied to _Epàcris_; small foliage, long, accuminate; flowers small, pink, bearded, and in close spikes; grows freely, delighting in shade. The pots must be well drained, and the plants, when dormant, watered sparingly, for if they get sodden about the roots, they very seldom recover. _Stylidíums_, six species of pretty litte plants, with small linear leaves, and remarkable for the singular elasticity of the style or column, which, when the flower is newly expanded, lays to one side, and on being touched with a pin starts with violence to the opposite side. S. _graminifòlium_, S. _fruticòsum_, S. _laricifòlium_, and S. _adnàtum_, are all free flowering; flowers in spikes, very small; colour light and dark pink; blooms from April to July. S. _adnàtum_ is half herbaceous, and should, when growing, be kept nigh the glass, or it will be drawn, and the flowers become of a pale colour. They are all of easy cultivation. _Styphèlias_, seven species of very showy flowers, with mucronate leaves; corolla in a long tubular form, having several bundles of hairs in it; segments reflex and bearded. _S. tubiflòra_, crimson, _S. triflòra_, crimson and green; _S. adscéndens_, and _S. longifòlia_, are beautiful species. They grow freely, and should be well drained, as too much water is very hurtful to them. In summer they ought not to be much exposed to the hot sun, or the foliage will become brown. _Salpiglóssis_, four species of fine herbaceous Green-house plants, natives of Chili. The flowers are tubular and campanulate. _S. pícta_, flowers white and blue painted; _S. atropurpùrea_, flowers dark purple, and _S. isnuàta_, flowers crimson, are superb, and if planted in the garden during summer will flower profusely. They must be lifted in October, and taken under protection. _Tagètes lùcida_ is found in many of our collections. The leaves are simple, oblong, and finely serrated. When rubbed by the hand, they have an agreeable fragrance; the flowers are syngenesious, small, and in terminale bunches. It is herbaceous; and when about an inch grown should be divided and potted into five inch pots. Repot it again about the first of June. It keeps in flower from July to November. _Testudinària_, Elephant's foot, or Hottentot's bread, two species remarkable for their appearance. The root or bulb, if it may be so called, is of a conical shape, and divided into transverse sections. Those of one foot diameter are computed to be 150 years of age. It is a climbing herbaceous plant, with entire reniforme leaves of no beauty; flowers small; colour green. The pots must be well drained, for when the plant is inactive it is in danger of suffering from moisture, and ought not to get any water. _T. Elephántiphes_ and _T. montàna_ are the species, natives of the Cape of Good Hope, and require the warmest part of the house. _Táxus nucífera_, is the only species that requires protection, and bears a small acorn; flowers are trifling; an evergreen, with ovate, lanceolate foliage, thickly set on the wood; will grow in any situation. There is a plant in our collections known as _T. chinénsis_ or _T. elongáta_, which is _Podocárpus elongàtus_. It has lanceolate leaves, erect growing, and very hardy; flowers m[oe]onacious, and of no estimation except to the curious. _Telopèa speciosíssimus_, is the only species, and was once called _Embóthrium speciosíssimus_. It is now called _Telopèa_ in allusion to the brilliant crimson flowers, which from their great size are seen at a large distance, and which render it one of the most conspicuous productions of New South Wales. The leaves are oblong, deeply toothed, veiny, and smooth; wood strong; flower ovate, connate, and terminale, and of considerable duration. There ought to be a specimen of it in every collection. The pots must be well drained, and the plant in the extreme heat of summer not too much exposed to the sun. _Templetònia_, a very pretty genus, containing only two species. _T. retùsa_ is an erect growing shrub, with wedge-shaped green leaves. _T. gláuca_, leaves glacuous, blunt, and a little apiculate; flowers of both scarlet. They are leguminose plants of free growth, and should be well drained; blooming from April to June. _Tristànias_, seven species of evergreen shrubs. Several of them require to be very large before they flower. _T. neriifòlia_ is a very neat little plant, and flowers abundantly; colour yellow; shape star-like, and in clusters; leaves lanceolate and opposite. _T. conférta_, white flowers in spikes, leaves alternate. _T. suavèolens_, sweet-scented; flowers yellow. They are all of very easy culture. _Verbénas._ A few of these are showy, herbaceous, Green-house plants. _V. chamædryfòlia_, lately known as _V. Melíndres_, is a beautiful plant of a procumbent habit; flowers brilliant scarlet, in glomerated heads from the axils of the young shoots; blooming from April to October. A large plant will appear as a solid mass of scarlet. _V. lambértii_ and _V. pulchélla_ are also very pretty; colour, rose and lilac. A very good method of treating these plants, is, to plant them in the garden in April; and give them copious waterings in dry weather, and they will flower profusely, lifting some of the plants before frost, to preserve them during winter. They ought to be allowed to run according to their nature; for if tied up, they will not do so well, being in that way too much exposed. There is a plant known in our collections as _Verbéna triphylla_, which is _Aloysia citriodòra_. The flowers are in long spikes, very small, and pale purple. The celebrity of the plant is in the foliage, which is linear, lanceolate, ternate, and it has the most agreeable fragrance in the vegetable world. It is of very easy culture, and has been known to survive the winter, in open air, in Philadelphia. It is deciduous, and would do to plant in the garden during summer, lifting it again before frost, and putting it under protection through winter. When large before it begins to grow, in spring cut it into a neat shape or form. _Vibúrnums._ A few of these are very ornamental evergreen shrubs, and almost hardy. _V. tìnus_ is the well known Laurestine, (or what is commonly called Laurestinus,) is of the easiest culture; flowers small white, and in large flattened panicles; blooming from February to May, and universally esteemed. It will stand the winter by a little protection, but the flower buds being formed in the fall, the intense frost destroys them; consequently, it will not flower except by the buds, which sometimes form early in summer. _V. lùcidum_ is a good species, and superior in flower and foliage to the former, but does not flower so freely, when the plants are small. When they grow large, they flower profusely. There is a desirable variegated variety. _V. odoratíssimum_ has smooth evergreen, oblong, elliptic, distantly toothed, leaves, and frequently a stripe in them, is sweet-scented, and a free flowerer. _V. hirsútum_ has flowers similar to the above; foliage ovate, with rough brown hairs on both sides, and very characteristic. _V. stríctum variagàtum_ is a very fine variety, and upright growing. These plants are all very desirable, blooming early in spring, and continuing for several months; all easily cultivated. _Viminària denudàta_, the only species. This plant is remarkable for its twiggy appearance, but it has no foliage, except when growing from seed. It has at the extremity of the twigs or shoots, an ovate, lanceolate, leaf, disappearing when the plant grows old; the flowers are small, yellow, coming out of the young shoots, to the astonishment of the beholder. It grows freely. _Virgília capènsis_ is a beautiful cape shrub, with a compound leaf of twenty-five leaflets, ovate, lanceolate, edges hairy; flowers in spikes at the axils; colour blue and leguminose. The pots require to be well drained, and the plants protected from the sun. _Volkamèria japónica._ There is a plant known in our collections under that name, which is _Clerodéndron fràgrans múltiplex_. It keeps in a good Green-house, and flowers well, frequently blooming during winter, and if planted in the garden during summer, will flower superbly. The flowers have a delicious fragrance; but if the foliage is rubbed with the hand, the smell is not so pleasant. The leaves are large, round, ovate, and tomentose; flowers corymbose, compact, and terminale. There are several fine plants in _Clerodéndron_ belonging to the Hot-house. This plant will not bear much fumigation. _Witsènias_, four species. _W. corymbòsa_ is a plant that has stood in high estimation ever since it was known, but unfortunately there is a very inferior plant, _Aristèa cyànea_, got into our collections under that name. The panicles of _W. corymbòsa_ is quite smooth; those of _Aristèa_ are hairy, which is itself sufficient to detect them; but otherwise the appearance of _W. corymbòsa_ is much stronger, and more erect growing, not inclining to push at the roots so much as _Aristèa_. The foliage is lanceolate and amplexicaule, the leaves having much the nature and appearance of _Iris_. The plant is of easy culture, and blooms from November to April; colour fine blue. The true one has come into the country lately. _W. ramòsa_ is a very fine species, similar to the above; flowers yellow and blue; plant branching. _Westríngias_, a genus of four species, very like the common _Rosemary_. _W. rosmarinifórmis_, leaves lanceolate, and silvery beneath; _W. longifòlia_ is similar; both have small white silvery flowers, and are easily cultivated. _Zàmias_, about twenty species, eight of which belong to this compartment. The foliage is greatly admired, and is in large fronds, with oblique, lanceolate leaflets. Several of them glaucous. It bears heads of flowers of a brown colour in the centre of the plant, very like large pine cones. _Z. hórrida_, the finest, _Z. púngens_, _Z. spíralis_, and _Z. latifòlia_, are the most conspicuous. They must be kept in the warmest part of the Green-house; and give them large well drained pots. They are imported from the Cape of Good Hope. All the plants herein named requiring to be drained. In preparing the pots, place first a piece of broken pot, or any similar substitute, with the convex side on the hole of the pot, and then put in a few, or a handful, (according to the size of the pot,) of shivers of broken pots, or round gravel, about the size of garden pease. Those that we have mentioned in this _Repotting_, as to be done in this, or beginning of next month, is not intended to apply to plants in general, large and small, but to those that are young, and require encouragement, or to those that were not shifted last autumn. The roots must not be disturbed, but the ball turned out entire; and put as much earth as will raise the ball within about an inch of the rim of the pot. Press the earth down around it with a thin-narrow piece of wood, frequently shaking it that no vacancy may be left. If the roots are rotten, or otherwise injured, take all such off. If this be the case, the plant will be sickly. Give it a new pot of a smaller size, administering water moderately until there are visible signs of fresh growth. The plants must not be disturbed while flowering; let the repotting be done afterwards. Plants are, at certain stages of growth, if in good health, in such a state that no one can err in shifting them when desirous to hasten their growth. Those plants that make two or more growths during the summer may be repotted in the interim of any of these growths, and all others just before they begin to push in the spring; that is, when the wood buds are perceptibly swelled. Never saturate with water fresh potted plants. There are many kinds that, without injury, could be repotted when growing; but it requires an experienced operator to decide. It would be of no material service to enumerate them here. When done potting, tie all up neatly with stakes rather higher than the plant, that the new shoots may be tied thereto during their stage of growth, to prevent them from being destroyed by the wind. There may be many that do not require repotting, but would be benefited by a top-dressing. This should be done by probing off all the surface earth down to the roots, replacing it with fresh compost, suitable to the nature of the plant. When the above is done, arrange all the plants in proper order, and syringe them clean; but if there are any of the Green-fly, they must be fumigated previous to syringing. Take an opportunity, on the first fine day, to wash out all the pavement of the house, which should be made dry before the evening if the nights are cold. Thus every part of the house will be in order before the hurry of the garden commences. OF ENARCHING OR GRAFTING BY APPROACH, _also termed_ ABLACTATION. In this method of grafting, the scion is not separated from the parent plant until it is firmly united with the stock; consequently, they must stand contiguously. We intend the following method to apply directly to _Caméllias_, as they are the principal plants in the Green-house that are thus worked. The criterion for the operation is, just as the plants begin to grow, either in spring or mid-summer. Place the stock contiguous to the plant where the graft or enarch is to be taken from. If the branches, where the intended union is to take place, do not grow at equal heights, a slight stage may be erected to elevate the pot that holds the lower. Take the branch that is to be enarched, (the wood of last or previous year is the most proper,) and bring it in contact with the stock; mark the parts where they are to unite, so as to form a pointed arch. In that part of the branch which is to rest against the stock, pare off the bark and part of the wood to about two or three inches in length, and in the side of the stock which is to receive the graft, do the same, that the inside rind of each may be exactly opposite, which is the first part where a union will take place. Bind them firmly and neatly together with strands of Russia matting, and protect the joint from the air by a coat of close composition; clay of the consistency of thick paint, turpentine, or wax, will equally answer. Finish by fastening the grafted branch to the head of the stock or a rod. Many practitioners make a slit or tongue into the enarch and stock, but we find it unnecessary, more tedious, and likewise more danger in breaking. _Caméllias_ are also grafted, and budded, but these two operations require great experience and continued attention, and seldom prove so successful as enarching. When they have perfectly taken, which will be after the first growth is over, begin to separate them by cutting the scion a little at three different periods, about a week apart, separating it at the third time. If the head is intended to be taken off the stock, do it in like manner after the second growth is over. By the above method, many kinds can be grown on the same stock. The same plan applies to all evergreens. =Flower Garden.= _MARCH._ It is expected that all the pruning is finished. If not, get all expeditiously done, according to directions given in the preceding months, likewise all digging, and that which was dug in the autumn, point over, or half dig, that all may have a neat appearance. This must not be done when the ground is too much imbibed with moisture, as that would harden the soil. Break it well with the spade, leaving it one or two days before the surface is raked smooth, that all may be ready to receive the seeds or plants that are intended to be sown or planted. As soon as the frost is entirely gone, uncover all plants or shrubs that have been protected; preserving carefully such articles as will answer the same purpose next year. The frost disappears generally from the middle to the end of this month. Cut off all decayed shoots, or such as have been hurt by the frost. The _Lagerstræmias_ will flower in greater perfection if they are cut closely; that is, where the wood of last year is cut to within a few eyes of the wood of the previous year, at the same time having regard to the shape that the plant is required to take. Cut off the injured part of any of the evergreens that have had their foliage much injured by the severity of winter, leaving the part that is green, which is essential to the support of these kinds of plants. Such work as can be done in this month, should not be delayed, such as hoeing, digging, raking, and clearing away all decayed leaves, and litter of every description that have been brought or blown in the garden, during autumn or winter. BOX EDGINGS May be planted any time this month, or beginning of next, which in most seasons will be preferable. We will give a few simple directions how to accomplish the work. In the first place, dig over the ground deeply where the edging is intended to be planted, breaking the soil fine, and keeping it to a proper height, viz. about one inch higher than the side of the walk; but the taste of the operator will best decide according to the situation. Rake the surface even, and tread it down with the feet, or beat it with the spade. Where it gives most, continue to add, keeping the surface at the desired height. If the edging is to be in a direct line, either on a level or inclined plane, you may be correctly and simply regulated by making the desired level at each end of the line. Take three rods about four feet long each, having a piece of one foot to cross at one end, two of these pieces painted black, the other white. Have a black one at each end of the line on the level, take the white one for the centre, going along the line, and about every twenty feet, level a spot to the exact height, which will be seen by looking over the top of the rods from one end. Having found the level, drive in a peg to it, so that no mistake may occur; beat and level between them, leaving a smooth surface. This being done, strain the line, and with the spade proceed to cut out the trench perpendicularly on the side next the walk, six, eight, ten, or twelve inches deep, according to the length of the plants. Afterwards take the plants, and cut the tops even, with the knife or shears, at the same time shortening the roots. Then with the left hand next the line, plant forward, keeping the tops of the plants level, and from one to two inches above ground, keeping the plants close according to the required thickness. Put in the earth as you proceed, and tread it firm, then rake the surface even, and with the spade beat it smooth. If the weather sets in very dry, the box will be the better of a few waterings. Sometimes boxwood is planted without roots, but it seldom gives satisfaction; not growing equally. TENDER ANNUALS. When it is wished to have any of these flower early, if they were not sown as directed last month, on a hotbed, let it be done early in this. Those that were sown and now growing freely, must have plenty of air. In fine days the sashes may be taken off a few hours about mid-day; and where the plants are too thick, thin them out a few inches apart, that the air may circulate amongst them. Have another bed ready to transplant them into about the end of this or beginning of next month. When transplanted, sprinkle them with water, and shade them with mats from the sun, one or two days. By this treatment they will be much stronger for planting into the borders, about the first of May. For the different kinds, see list. HARDY ANNUALS May be sown in the borders about the end of the month, when the ground is prepared, and the weather fine, but avoid it at all times if the earth will not pulverise properly. The neatest and most expeditious method is to take a rod about one foot long, and one inch in diameter, rounding at the end, with which end draw a circle of nine inches diameter, from one inch to one eighth of an inch deep, according to the size of the seeds. Many very small seeds will grow best if sown on the surface of fine mould. When sown, cover in with the back of the rake, placing a small twig, or a tally with the name, in the centre of the circle, to prevent mistakes, either in sowing, planting, or hoeing. When they come above ground, the first moist day should be taken to pull up such as are too crowded. Annuals are generally too delicate to bear transplanting, therefore they ought always to be sown where they are intended to remain. A few kinds do best with removing, such as Balsam, Mary-gold, China Aster, Stockgilly, and several others of a free growing, strong-wooded nature. Annuals are such plants as grow from seed, flower, and perfect their productions, and then die, within one year. For hardy sorts, see list. Sow in rows or fancy spots the varieties of sweet pea. BIENNIALS Are such as are of two years' duration. Being sown this year they flower, seed, or fruit next year, and soon after decay. The seeds should be sown about the end of this or beginning of next month, either in the spot where they are intended to remain, or in a compartment by themselves, regularly marked, and transplanted when convenient. When they appear above ground, thin them out distinctly, that when they are to be removed, a little earth may adhere to them; and if put where they are to stand, leave only three plants. PERENNIALS. In every Flower-garden there ought to be a good selection of these plants. They are lasting ornaments, and when judiciously selected, will give yearly gratification. In making a choice, a view should be had to have those that flower abundantly, are of free growth, beauty, and continuation of flower. It would go beyond our limits, to give an extensive description of any, but a few remarks on some of the finest, with their names, are indispensable. _Adònis vernális_, is a fine border flower, and will grow in any common soil; flowers large, yellow rayed, having in the rays about twelve petals; leaves much divided, bloom in April and May. _Anemóne_, Wind-flower. Several fine species, with flowers from one to three inches in diameter. _A. Hallèri_, blue; _A. pulsatìlla_, blue pasque flower; _A. alpìna_, large white. These are fine plants, and are now given to a genus called _Pulsatìlla_. _A. palmàta flòre-plèno_, yellow; _A. stellàta versícolor_, various coloured; _A. pavonìna flòre-plèno_, scarlet; _A. narcissiflòra_, white. Any of these are very desirable. _Antirrhìnums_, Snap-dragon. All the varieties of _A. màjus_ are esteemed in the flower borders; the pure white and bright red are very showy. A few of the species, _A. mólle_ and _A. sículum_, where there is variety required, deserve a situation. The flowers are all large, and similar to the snout of an animal. _Asclèpias._ The finest of this genus are native plants, and are highly esteemed in Europe, but frequently rejected with us, because "they are wild plants." _A. tuberòsa_ has beautiful orange flowers, and delight in dry situations. _A. rùbra_, _A. nívea_, _A. purpuráscens_; and _A. incarnàta_, are the finest of the family. It is best to plant _A. tuberòsa_ in October. _Aconítums_, Wolfs'-bane, one hundred and twenty-eight distinct species, with several varieties. Many of them are of consequence and beauty; the flower stems rise from one and a half to six feet upright, and strong, furnished with many palmate and digitate leaves, terminated by spikes of blue, yellow, or white flowers, similar to a hood; hence the name of Monk's Hood is often applied to them. They are scarce in collections, but in a few years we have no doubt but many of them will be plentiful. The finest species are _A. speciòsum_, _A. anthòra_, _A. neúrbergensis_, _A. amænum_, _A. napéllus_, _A. venústum_, _A. zoóctonum_, _A. pyramidàle_, _A. lycóctonum_, _A. albùm_, and _A. versícolor_. They flower from May to September, and will grow in any common garden soil. The roots of _A. napéllus_ are like small turnips, and are said to be poisonous. _Cáltha palústris flòre-plèno_ is a good border plant, delights in moist situations, has large cordate, crenated leaves; flowers double yellow; blooming from April till June; and is a desirable plant. _Béllis perénnis horténsis_, Daisy. We might almost say with another, "every one knows the Daisy." It is named from being pretty, and is perfectly hardy, though generally kept under cover. They delight to have a shaded situation during summer, to protect them from the sun, which, as it were, scorches the roots. There are many double varieties in the gardens, which flower early. The one called _Crown_, or _Carnation_ Daisy, is twice the size of the common varieties, and has white and red petals alternately, and very double. Loamy soil, inclined to moisture, is best adapted to their growth. _Campánulas._ This genus affords many very ornamental plants for the Flower-garden and Shrubbery, and they flower superbly during the summer, agreeing better with our climate than with that of Europe. Several have two successions of flowers, _C. persicifòlia álba plèna_; _C. persicifòlia cærùlea plèno_; _C. urticifòlia_, white. Of this last there is also a double variety. _C. speciòsa_; _C. glomerata_; _C. versícolor_; with several others, are worthy of a situation in every garden. Their roots are strong, fleshy, and fibrous. They are easy of culture, and will retain their situation in the severest of our winters. _C. grandiflòra_ is now _Wahlenbérgia grandiflòra_. It has fine blue large flowers; the flower stems are slender, and should be supported as soon as they grow. _Cheiránthus Chéiri vulgàris_ is the common garden Wall-flower. There are about ten varieties of it, all admired for their various colours and agreeable odour. The common variety survives the mildest of our winters. The most esteemed variety is _Hæmánthus_, Double bloody. They should all be protected by a frame. _C. mutábilis_ is a beautiful species; it has many shades of colour from lilac to dark purple. The flowers are on extending racemose spikes; blooming from April to June; it requires a light rich soil; is a half shrubby evergreen plant. _Chelònes._ This genus belongs entirely to this continent, and possesses many fine species. It is a matter of astonishment that they are not more cultivated and sought for in our collections. _C. glábra_; _C. oblíqua_; _C. barbàta_; _C. atropurpùrea_; _C. pulchélla_; _C. venústa_; and _C. speciòsa_; are all handsome, and flower from May to September; corolla large, ringent; ventricose flowers in spikes or panicles. _Chrysánthemums._ There are few of this genus of any consequence as herbaceous plants, except the varieties of _C. sinénse_, of which there are about fifty, all desirable; but in small gardens, where there is a deficiency in room, the following are select in colour and quality: _Tubulòsum álbum_, quilled white; _supérbum_, superb white; _díscolor_, large lilac; _fúlvum_, Spanish brown; _atropurpùreum_, early crimson; _involùtum_, curled lilac; _fasciculàtum_, superb cluster yellow; _serotìnum_, late pale purple; _papyràceum_, paper white; _Waratáh_, yellow Waratah; _versícolor_, two-coloured red; _stellàtum_, starry purple; _verecúndum_, early blush; and _mutábile_, changeable pale buff. To grow these in perfection, they require rich light soil; and about the end of this month the roots should be lifted, divided, and planted into fresh soil, either by giving them a new situation, or changing the earth they were in. Two or three stems together are quite sufficient. The flowers, by the above treatment, will be much larger, more double, and finer in colour; where they are wanted to grow low and bushy, top them in June, but not later than the first of July. Where the soil is rich, and the plant having only one stem, by topping it, makes a beautiful bush. They are in flower from the first of October until severe frost; thus beautifying our gardens at a season when they would be destitute of one single attraction. If the season is dry, to water them with liquid manure will add to their vigour. They are all natives of China, and greatly esteemed by the Chinese, who only allow a few blooms to come out on the top of each stem, thereby having the flowers much finer. _Clématis_, Virgin's-bower. A few species are good herbaceous plants, of upright growth, and blue flowers, _C. integrifòlia_; _C. angustifòlia_; and _C. erécta_; they grow best in light soil. _Coreópsis_, chiefly native plants, and free-flowering; colour principally yellow; flowers rayed. _C. tenuifòlia_, _C. verticilláta_, _C. díscolor_, and _C. trípteris_, are the finest of the genus, and will grow in any common garden soil. _Delphínums._ There are some showy border flowers of these, of strong growth. The leaves are much divided; the flowers in terminale spikes; colour blue, purple, red, white and yellow, with various shades. _D. grandiflòrum_, with its varieties, are the best of the genus. _D. intermèdium_, and its varieties, _D. elátum_, Bee Larkspur, from the ringent part of the flower being very like a bee, and _D. montánum_, are good varieties, and easily cultivated. When the plants become large, they ought to be divided, and planted in fresh soil. They are in bloom from May to September. _Diánthus._ Some of the species of this genus are the most prominent of the Flower-garden, not only for their beauty, but also their fragrance, which is peculiarly grateful, especially in the well known and celebrated pink and carnation, with the Sweet-william, which was esteemed, in the days of old, "for its beauty to deck up the bosoms of the beautiful, and garlands and crowns for pleasure." The finest species are _D. barbàtus_, and _D. barbàtus plèno_, Sweet-william; _D. discolor_; _D. chinènsis_; _D. alpínus_, _D. supérbus_; _D. caryophyllus_, from which have originated the Picotee and the Carnation; _D. plumàrius_, from which originated the Double Pink; _D. fràgrans_ and _D. supérbus_. Several of these, although they will stand the severest cold, have to be protected in frames during winter, to have them in the perfection of beauty. For the character of a Pink and Carnation, see _May_. _Dictámnus._ Two species of this genus, _D. fraxinélla_ and _D. álbus_, have been cultivated and esteemed upwards of two hundred and forty years. A plant of the first of these species, when gently rubbed, emits an odour like that of lemon-peel; and when bruised emits a balsamic scent, which is strongest in the pedicles of the flowers. They have glands of a rusty colour, that exude a viscid juice, or resin, which exhales in vapour, and in a dark place may be seen to take fire. Its flowers are red, those of the other white, in loose terminale spikes; the flower has five petals, clawed and unequal, with glandular dots; in bloom from May to July; delights in sandy loam. _Dodecàtheon._ This is a native genus, and commonly called American cowslip. The generic term, a name of the Romans, signifying twelve gods or divinities, is applied with great absurdity to a plant, a native of a world the Romans never saw nor had any idea of, neither resembling, in any particular, the poetical fancy of their writers. The most admired species is _D. mèdia_; the flowers are in umbels, on a pedicle, from six to twelve inches high; the corolla is rotata reflexa, colour light purple, bottom of petals lake and yellow; blooming in May. The white variety is very much esteemed, and surpasses the preceding. The ground is pure white, the bottom of the petals the same as the other. There is also a spotted variety found on the banks of the Missouri. They delight in brown loam, a half shady situation, inclining to moisture. The foliage soon decays after flowering. _Digitàlis_, Fox-glove, about forty species of annuals and herbaceous plants. A few are cultivated in the flower borders, and are very showy. These are D. _leucophæa_, D. _ferrugínea_, D. _ochroleùca_, large yellow; and D. _purpuráscens_; and are good species. D. _purpúrea_ and D. _álba_, are very conspicuous biennials; the flowers are solitary, and in long spikes; the corolla of D. _purpúrea_ is campanulate, ventricose, and ringent; the interior is spotted, and is considered the finest of the genus. Delights in poor soil, with a little shade. _Eupatóriums._ These generally are native plants, not worthy of notice here, except for two species. _E. c[oe]lestínum_ has syngenesious flowers in flattened panicles, colour fine light blue, blooming from September to November, desirable for its beauty at that season. _E. aromàticum_ may be cultivated for its spicy odour; flowers white, in loose terminale panicles; blooming from August to October. Either of them will grow in common soil. _Gentiánas_, a genus of very showy plants, and flower in great abundance. The flowers are tubular and inflated; colour generally blue. A few species are yellow, and some white; flowers in whorls, terminale, or solitary. They grow best in a light rich soil. _G. lútea_, _G. purpúrea_, _G. septémfida_. _G. acaúlis_ is a pretty dwarf growing species, and often used as edgings in flower compartments; the flower dark and light blue; interior of the corolla spotted; has a succession of flower from April to June. We have no doubt of it succeeding in our gardens, but not being plentiful, it has not been perfectly tried. A few years will exhibit it in abundance. _G. imbricàta_ and _G. conférta_. They are all fine exotics, but many of them may give place to our native species, such as _G. Catesbæí_; _G. ochroleúca_; _G. incarnàta_; with several others, and _G. crinàta_, which is a biennial, and finely fringed; colour light blue. _Gèum._ There are only two species that are worth cultivation, viz. _G. quéllyon_, once _G. coccíneum_; and _G. hybridum_. _G. urbànum_ is sometimes cultivated for its roots, which, when chewed, sweeten the breath. They are all of easy culture. _G. quéllyon_ flowers from May to October, and is a very desirable small plant for the borders, and much esteemed in Europe. _Hemerocállis_, Day Lily; two species, _H. fúlva_ and _H. gramínea_, flower well, and are remarkable among the border flowers for their large yellow or copper coloured corollas, some of them about six inches diameter; bloom from May to July, and will grow in almost any soil. There is a plant known in our gardens as _H. cærùlea_, which is _Fúnkia cærùlea_, and has a campanulate corolla, with a cylindrical tube; flowers in spikes; leaves ovate, accuminate. _Hibíscus._ There are several herbaceous species very showy and handsome, _H. palústris_; _H. ròseus_; _H. militàris_; _H. speciòsus_; _H. grandiflòrus_; and _H. púngens_. They grow best in moist situations, and where these are not to be had, give them plenty of water, and plant in sandy soil enriched with decayed leaves. The flowers are about six inches in diameter, flowering up the stem, either solitary or in small bunches. _H. speciòsus_ is the most splendid, and deserves a situation in every garden. The roots in winter ought to be covered by litter, tan, or saw dust; but a better method is to lift them, and put them in the cellar, covered with dry earth, and kept from the frost. All the above mentioned species are improved by being protected during winter. _Iris_, Flower-de-luce, has many fine species of various shades and colours, _I. subiflòra_, _I. nepalénsis_, _I. Pallàsii_, _I. pállida_, _I. cristàta_, _I. arenària_, _I. furcàta_, _I. germánica_, _I. florentìna_, _I. vérna_, and _I. susiàna_. The last is the finest of the herbaceous species; the flowers are striped, blue, brown, and spotted; but we are not certain if it will stand the severity of our winters. The roots of _I. florentìna_ is the orrice root of the druggists. They are all of easy culture in any loamy soil inclining to moisture. The bulbous species will be treated of in _September_ or _October_. Corolla six-petaled, three erect, and three reclined alternately; proceeding from spathes or sheaths with flowers in succession. _Lìatris_ is a genus of native plants, containing several fine species, _L. squarròsa_, large purple heads of beautiful flowers; _L. élegans_; _L. paniculàta_. _L. macróstachya_, now _L. spicàta_, is a fine large growing species. They have syngenesious purple flowers in long close spikes, differing from other spiked flowering genera by blooming first at the extremity. They grow best in strong heavy soil. _Lychnis._ Three species are very desirable in the flower borders. _L. chalcedónica_ has bright scarlet crowned flowers; the double scarlet variety is splendid. There is also a double white variety, _L. fúlgens_ and _L. flós-jòvis_. They ought to be frequently lifted, and planted afresh, or they will dwindle to nothing. The best time is when they begin to grow. There is a plant known in our collections as _Lychnis flós-cucùla_, which is now _Agrostéma flós-cucùla_; it is a fine and showy border plant with double red flowers. They delight in a light sandy rich soil. _Lythrums._ A few species flower well, and have small pink blossoms in great profusion, _L. alàtum_, _L. virgàtum_, _L. diffùsum_, and _L. lanceolàtum_. They will grow in any common garden soil if not too much shaded; and flower from June to September. _Mimùlus_, Monkey-flower. A few species may be cultivated. They will grow in any soil or situation. _M. lùteus_ and _M. rivulàris_ are the best. _M. moschàtus_ has a very strong musk scent, to many agreeable. We think it will prove hardy. The two former have large gaping flowers, of a gold yellow, and beautifully spotted with purple in the interior. _Monárdas_, a fine native genus and showy. The foliage of several of the species is aromatic, and resembles mint. _M. dídyma_ has long scarlet ringent flowers, in headed whorls; _M. kalmiana_, flowers very long, and a beautiful crimson, with fragrant leaves. _M. Russelliana_ has red and white flowers; curious and handsome. _M. punctata_ has yellow and red flowers; they grow in any common soil. _Mathíola_, is the generic of the Stock-gilly. None of them will survive severe winters; yet many of them are indispensable in the Flower-garden. _M. simplicicáulis_, Brompton-stock, and its varieties; with _M. incàna_, Queen-stock, and its varieties, require the protection of a good frame in winter, and about the end of this month, or beginning of next, plant them in good light rich soil to flower, which they will do all summer, if attended to with frequent supplies of water. _M. ánnua_ has about sixteen varieties, valuable for flowering the first year from seed, and are all annuals. They ought to be sown on a gentle hot-bed about the first of this month, and carefully pricked out so as they may be ready to transplant about the end of April or the first of May. Plant them in light rich soil, and they will flower profusely through the season; if it is very dry, they must be watered to keep them growing. The scarlet, white, and purple varieties are the finest; but there are many intermediate sorts all handsome. _M. glàbra_ is the Wall-flower leaved stock, and requires the same treatment as the two former. There are about eight varieties of this, all various in colour. In planting any of these into the open ground, choose cloudy weather, except they have been in pots; in such case, plant at any time in beds, keeping each kind separate. _[OE]nothèras._ The most of them are indigenous, and in Europe they afford a continual ornament to the Flower-garden from April to November, but in our gardens they are entirely neglected. By rejecting these and many others, our Flower-gardens are deprived both of much beauty and interest they might easily possess. These plants delight in light rich soil. _[OE]. odoràta_, sweet scented; _[OE]. macrocárpa_; _[OE]. mèdia_; _[OE]. latiflòra_; _[OE]. Frazèri_; _[OE]. speciòsa_; and _[OE]. pállida_; are all fine native herbaceous plants, mostly with large yellow four-petaled corollas; in bloom from April to September. There are several of them beautiful annual and biennial plants. For the finest, see list. _Phlóx_, another American genus, and one of the most handsome in cultivation. It consists of elegant border flowers, valuable for flowering early, and more so for blossoming late in autumn. While the majority of plants blooming late in the season are generally syngenesious, with yellow flowers, these delight us with their lively colours of purple, red, and white. A collection of them properly attended to, would of themselves constitute a beautiful flower garden. It will be difficult to state which are the finest, but the following are select varieties: P. _paniculàta_; P. _acuminàta_; P. _intermèdia_; P. _odoràta_; P. _pyramidàlis_; with _pyramidàlis álba_, which is splendid; P. _suavèolens_; P. _refléxa_; P. _stolonífera_; P. _pilòsa_; P. _divaricàta_; P. _nivàlis_; and P. _subulàta_. In the spring of 1831, an eminent British collector[A] exclaimed, on seeing a patch of P. _subulàta_ in one of the pine barrens of New Jersey, "The beauty of that alone is worth coming to America to see, it is so splendid." Most of the species delight in a rich light sandy loam. When the plants become large, they ought to be divided, and planted in fresh ground. [A] Mr. Drummond. _Prímulas_, Primrose. To this genus belong the celebrated _Cowslip_, _Oxlip_, _Primrose_, and the esteemed _Aurícula_. The double varieties of Primrose have originated from _P. vulgàris_. These are such as carry their flowers on separate pedicles, rising from the root on a small stem. The double varieties are desirable for their beauty, but require the protection of a frame during winter. They are in colour red, white, yellow, lilac, purple, and crimson. P. _elàtior_ is the Oxlip, from which all the _Polyánthuses_ have been grown. They are in variety innumerable, and are those whose flowers are in umbels, on a scape or flower-stalk, rising from three to nine inches. The rules for judging of their merits are wholly artificial, agreed on from time to time by Florists. The one that is the leading beauty this year would in a few years be far in the rear. The principal character is that the corolla is not notched or fringed; the colours pure and distinct, not running into one another; the tube small; the eye round, and a little prominent. Being surrounded with white, and the ground purple, is a fine character. P. _aurícula_. From this the highly esteemed varieties have originated. The cultivated _aurícula_ has many admirers, both for its exquisite beauty and fragrance. For the criterion of a fine flower see _May_. There are several other species worthy of a situation, such as P. _cortusoídes_, P. _dentiflòra_, P. _suavèolens_, P. _decòra_, with P. _scótica_ and P. _farinòsa_, both small neat species. A shady situation agrees best with them; and they require loamy soil, free from any kind of manure, except it be fully decomposed. The leaves of P. _vèris_ are recommended for feeding silk worms. _Potentíllas._ We mention this genus here as affording several free flowering dwarf plants; not as being certain that any of the most desired species will withstand our winters, being natives of Nepaul; but, from the character of the plant, we think that they are adapted to bear severe cold. They are similar to the strawberry in habit and appearance. P. _nepalénsis_, or _formòsa_, has rose-coloured flowers; P. _atropurpùrea_; P. _Russelliàna_, scarlet; P. _Hopwoodiàna_, rose and scarlet; and P. _spléndens_, yellow, with superb leaves. These are the finest of the genus, and flower from May to September. It will be well to protect them in a frame with the Carnations; they delight in light soil. _Saponària officinàlis_, and _S. O. plèna_, are fine free-flowering dwarf plants; the colour is pink in both double and single varieties. The roots run under ground, and care should be taken to keep them within bounds: they flower from June till October. _S. cæspitòsa_ is a neat growing species of a rose colour. They will grow in any soil. _Silène._ Several of this genus are popular annuals, but the herbaceous species are very indifferent. _S. viscósa_ and S. _viscósa flòre plèna_, are frequently cultivated for their beauty; they will grow well if not too much shaded. _Saxífraga_, above one hundred species. Many of them are beautiful plants for rock-work. They are regardless of cold, but will not generally withstand much moisture. A few of them are highly deserving a situation in any garden. _S. hirsùtum_, and _S. crassifòlia_, are used in some countries for tanning. _S. granulàta multipléx_ has fine double-white flowers, and is desirable. _S. umbròsa_, London-pride, makes a beautiful edging for a flower border; the flowers are small, but on close examination its colours are unrivalled. It is vulgarly called, "none so pretty." _S. sarmentòsa_ is kept in the Green-house, but is perfectly hardy, and makes a fine plant in a shaded situation. We have no doubt but it would make a good fancy edging. _S. pulchélla_, straw coloured, and _S. pyramidàlis_; these are all easily cultivated; and flower in spikes from May to July. _Spiræas._ A few species are showy plants, and continue flowering from May to September. _S. ulmària múltiplex_, Meadow-sweet, has sweet scented white flowers, in long dense spikes. _S. Filipéndula múltiplex_, Drop-wort, double white. _S. lobàta_ is a native, and has fine rose coloured flowers, in June and July; these are the finest of the herbaceous species, and will grow in any common garden soil. _Státice_, Thrift. A genus containing many fine herbaceous plants, only a few of them are common in collections. The finest of them are scarce, and said to be "bad to cultivate." _S. vulgàris_, once _Armèria vulgàris_, is the most valuable plant for an edging, next to box, that the Flower-garden is possessed of, and does extremely well in our climate, flowering in great profusion from May to July. When done flowering, the stems should be cut off. The foliage is an agreeable evergreen; the plant increases rapidly, and in a few years may be planted to a great extent. _S. speciòsa_ has red flowers, crowded in spreading panicles. _S. tatàrica_ has also very showy flowers, and is now given to the genus _Taxànthema_. _S. latifòlia_ and _S. maritìma_ are the finest. _T. latifòlia_ and _T. conspícua_ deserve attention. They should be lifted every alternate year, and sunk deeper into the soil, because they incline to grow out, and are sometimes during summer killed by the drought. Hence they are said to be "bad to cultivate." _Tróllius europæus_, and _T. asiàticus_, are fine border plants, with large yellow semi-double flowers; the petals are much cupped, which causes the flowers to have a globular appearance. They are easily grown in any loamy soil, and flower from May to July. Few flowers have the curious globular character which these have. _Verónica_, Speed-well. This genus consists of about one hundred and twenty species of herbaceous plants, besides several varieties. The flowers are in long close spikes, either white, flesh coloured, or blue; they are generally of the latter colour. Above sixty species are equally fine, and being generally of the same character, the Catalogue at the end of this work will contain the best selection that we can make. Very few of them are in the collections of the country, although they are very showy, and flower from June to August. They will grow in any soil, but will not flourish where they are much shaded. _V. officinàlis_ has been used in Germany and Sweden as a substitute for tea. Some prefer _V. chamædrys_ for the same purpose. _Valerìanas._ Several species are showy border plants, with small flowers in large close flattened panicles. _V. dioíca_ is remarkable for having the stamens and pistils in separate flowers, situated on different plants; the flowers are of a blush colour, and the roots when planted must be protected from the cats, for they are delighted with them, and scrape them up. _V. phù_, a large growing species with white flowers; and _V. rùbra_, with its varieties, are the finest of the genus. They are now given to _Centrànthus_. They are all of easy culture in common garden earth, but preferring moist shady situations. In flower from May to September. _Vìola_, a genus consisting of upwards of eighty species, of low pretty plants, of great diversity of colour and foliage. Many of them are natives, and well worth a situation in our gardens. They mostly delight in sandy loam, and a little shade. A few of the species grow in moist situations. The most esteemed varieties for fragrance are, _V. odoràta purpúrea plèna_, double purple, with _V. odoràta àlba plèna_, double white. They flower very early, and make good edgings where they are kept in order; flowering profusely from April to June, and flowering again in autumn. _Yúcca_, Adam's-needle. This is a very showy and ornamental genus; their character forming a picturesque contrast in the Flower-garden; foliage long, narrow, lanceolate, and stiff; with white companulate flowers, about two inches in diameter, in conical spikes from two to four feet long, arising from the centre of the plant, containing frequently from two to four hundred florets. They are principally native plants. _Y. strícta_ is the freest flowerer. _Y. supérba_; _Y. aloifòlia_; _Y._ _angustifòlia_, _Y. acuminàta_, _Y. serrulàta_, and _Y. filamentòsa_, are all fine species, and will grow in any common soil. When in flower, if protected from the sun by an awning, they will be of considerable duration. There are variegated varieties of _Strícta_, _Aloifòlia_, and _Serrulàta_, which look very handsome in foliage, but are at present very rare, and it will be a number of years before they are plentiful. There ought at least to be one specimen of some of the free-flowering species in every garden. Having given the names and characters of a few herbaceous plants, all or most of them easily obtained, many of them extremely handsome, and such as agree best with transplanting at this season of the year; for several others, such as _Pæònias_, or any other strong fibrous or bulbous sorts, see _September_ and _October_. Where they are in pots, they can be planted at any time, the weather permitting, provided the ball of earth is not broken. But where they are only to be removed, the best time is just as vegetation commences. That herbaceous plants may look to the best advantage, and flower well, they must not be allowed to get into large stools; but as soon as they are above one foot in diameter, they should be divided. Very frequently those who perform this operation, take the spade, and cut a piece off all round, which to a degree improves the look of the plant; but this is only half justice. It should be lifted entirely, fresh soil given, or removed a few feet, and planted a little deeper than it was before, as the plant tends apparently to grow out of the soil when allowed to stand long. If the weather becomes dry shortly after transplanting, give them a few waterings, until they have taken fresh roots, which will be within two weeks. Colour should be diversified through the garden as much as practicable, and the highest growing sorts planted farthest from the walk, so as all may appear in view. At all times avoid crowding the plants together. BULBOUS ROOTS. About the middle of this month, let the covering of tan, saw-dust, or decayed leaves, be cleared from the beds of such as were directed to be covered in November; afterwards carefully stirring the surface among them with a kind of wooden spatula, or wedge, breaking the surface fine; then dress all the alleys smooth and neat with the hoe and rake, clearing away every particle of litter. When the leaves of Tulips are expanding, they frequently become entangled so much, that the force of growth breaks the foliage: if there are any appearance of this at any time, they should be set right with the hand. In early seasons these roots will be far advanced, and perhaps one night of frost unexpectedly might materially injure them. When there is any suspicion of cold weather, hoops should be spanned across the beds, so that the necessary mats or canvass could in a few minutes be placed over them, to ward off danger. Protect the finest sorts from heavy drenching rains, and give them small neat rods for support, as they grow up. If the rods and tyings are painted green, the effect will be improved. These directions equally apply to _Narcissus_, _Jonquils_, _Iris_, and all Holland bulbs. CARNATIONS, PINKS, PRIMROSES, &c. Which have been protected by frames through the winter, must have at all favourable opportunities plenty of air admitted to them by lifting the sashes, and in fine mild days and nights, the sashes may be taken entirely off. Divest them of all decayed leaves, and stir up the earth on the surface of the pots; those that are intended to be planted in the garden may be set to one side, while those that are to be kept in pots must be more strictly attended to. Of these the Pinks and Carnations should be repotted about the first of the month. Those that have been kept in four inch pots, should be put into pots of seven inches, and those that are in five inch pots may be put into eight inch. Give a gentle watering after repotting. Pinks do not require the pots so large, but the same treatment in every other respect. Where the extremity of the leaves are decayed, cut them off, with any other decayed leaves: the pots must be well drained with shivers or fine gravel. Give them plenty of air, otherwise they will be weak in growth. _Primroses_ require only a little fresh earth on the top of the pots. _Daisies_ may be planted out in shady situations; the sun destroys them during summer if exposed. AURICULAS. These beautiful and highly interesting plants are, to a great degree, neglected in our collections. It cannot be from want of beauty or fragrance that they have not attracted our attention, for they are exquisite in both. We are rather inclined to think that those who have them do not give them the treatment they require yearly to perfect their bloom. They should now have the surface earth taken off about half an inch down, and fresh soil added, which will cause them to put out fresh fibres about the upper part of the roots, and greatly increase their growth. The frame in which they are placed should now face the east, as the sun will be too strong for them; and about the end of the month turn it to the north. The glass of the frame may be white-washed, which will partially shade them from the sun, that being their delight. Give them water sparingly until they begin to grow, and never water them over the foliage previous to flowering, as water injures that fine mealy-like substance found on many of the sorts, and which so greatly improves their beauty. Defend them, therefore, from rain and high winds. To have them flower strongly, only one flower stem should be allowed to grow. The first one that shows is generally the best. At all events leave the strongest, and cut off all the others, or only nip off the flower pips, which answers the same end. Never keep the sash off during night, lest it should rain before morning. RANUNCULUS AND ANEMONE. The frames must have plenty of air, and give frequent sprinklings of water. The sashes or boards should be taken entirely off every mild day, and in fine nights leave them exposed to the dew; stir up the earth amongst them, breaking it fine, making all neat. They require liberal supplies of water after they begin to grow. ROSES. This is the most favourable month for planting all kinds of garden roses, which must be done as soon as the weather opens, and the ground in a proper state. The earlier in the month they flower the more perfect they will be. Never delay planting when there is an opportunity; for if delayed until the leaves are expanding, the bloom will be much weakened, and the probability is there will be no flowers, and the plants meet with a premature death. It has been said, "there is a particular advantage in planting some every ten days, even to the middle of May; for the flowering of them may be retarded in this way, and the bloom of these delightful shrubs continue for a much longer period." One moment's reflection will convince us, that nature, while in her own element, will not be retarded, suppose there was no danger of instantaneous death to the plants. The artificial means that might be judiciously adopted, with which we are acquainted, to keep back the blooming of hardy plants, is to lift them as soon in spring as is practicable, put them in boxes of earth, and then place them in the driest part of an icehouse until the desired time of planting, which may be delayed as long as the required time of flowering. This will be found a true method of retarding the flowering of roses especially, and not going counter to the rules and principles of nature. There are many beautiful varieties of the garden rose in cultivation, the names of the finest of which we will give in the Catalogue, but perhaps it may be proper to mention here a few of the most particular sorts. The finest unquestionably when in bloom, is the _Moss_ and its varieties, but the flowering is of so limited duration, that it is in a great degree surpassed by others. There is said to be a striped variety of the _Moss Rose_, but we do not credit it. The _Blush Moss_, _Clinton White Moss_, and _Mottled Moss_, at present certainly are the most superb of that kind. _Lee's Crimson Perpetual_ is a magnificent rose, and flowers in profusion from June to October. This is considered, and justly too, the finest of all the garden roses; its fragrance is exquisite, and the plant highly valued. There is a striped _Unique Rose_, and a _Rosa tricolor_, which are much thought of. We have mentioned these as the finest we have seen, but amongst two thousand cultivated varieties of the garden rose, there must be many of equal beauty. Of _Rósa spinosíssima_ there are above three hundred varieties; _R. gàllica_; two hundred; _R. centifòlia_, one hundred and fifty; _R. damascène_, above one hundred; _R. álba_, fifty; _R. rubiginósa_, thirty; and of various sorts above eleven hundred. In several individual collections of Europe, there are cultivated above fifteen hundred species, sub-species, and varieties. When planted, they are too frequently crowded indiscriminately amongst other shrubs, which prevents them having the effect they would have if planted singly or grouped. They vary in size in different sorts from one to ten feet. When planted in the latter method, they should be assimilated in size of leaves and manner of growth, with the greatest variation of flower; or if planted in many small patches, giving each a distinct colour, which has a picturesque effect. An other desirable and fanciful method, is to plant them in figures, giving them edgings of wire, willow, or any other substitute, in imitation of basket work, which is called "baskets of roses;" the ground enclosed in the basket margin to be made convex, which will present a greater surface to the eye; the strong shoots to be layered, or kept down by pegs into the ground, having the points of the shoots only to appear above the soil, which should be covered with moss. With this treatment, in a few years the whole surface of the basket will be covered with rose buds and leaves, of one or various sorts. If two or three of the larger growing sorts are taken, such as _Moss_ or _Provins_, they may be trained so as to cover a surface of several square yards. One of these covered with _Lee's Crimson Perpetual Rose_, would be one of the greatest ornaments of the Flower-garden. A modern invention in the cultivation of the rose is, to grow them in shape of trees, by budding on strong growing kinds at different heights from the ground, according to taste, and the purposes intended. They will form in a few years handsome round heads, which will flower more freely than by layers, or trained on their own stalk. They are particularly desirable amongst low shrubs. When planted, they should be well supported by strong rods, to prevent the wind from destroying them. If any of the roots have been bruised in lifting, cut off the bruised part with the knife, and likewise shorten the young shoots; breaking the earth well about their roots when planting. This has been an esteemed shrub among all civilized nations. The flowers are double, semi-double, and single; the colours are pink, red, purple, white, yellow, and striped, with almost every shade and mixture; the odour universally grateful. This plant is cultivated in every garden, from the humblest cottager to the loftiest prince, and by commercial gardeners in Europe extensively, for distilling rose water, and making the essential oil of roses. They delight in a rich loamy soil, and require plenty of moisture while in a growing state. Those sorts which throw up numerous suckers should be lifted every three or four years, reduced, and then transplanted. When thus removing them, avoid as much as possible exposing their roots; and when newly planted, mulching is of considerable advantage; that is, putting half rotten stable-manure on the surface of the ground round their roots, which prevents evaporation, and keeps up a constant moisture. If this was done in general to our roses in dry seasons, it would greatly improve their flowering. For China roses see next month. CLIMBING ROSES. This is the best time to prune ever-blooming climbing roses, such as _Champney_, _Scarlet Cluster_, _Duchesse de Dino_, _Notsette_, _Burgenville_, &c. Many of these, when allowed to grow year after year without pruning, become unsightly; they never bear flowers on the old wood, that is, wood of three or four years. Having a tendency to throw out young shoots from the bottom of the stem, the old wood should be cut out, thus encouraging the young wood, which the second year bears the most and finest flowers. In severe winters, the extremities of the shoots are frequently killed, and we have often seen all the wood black or brown, and apparently dead. When that is the case it is best to leave it until they begin to grow, which will show what is dead or alive, when they can be pruned to better advantage. DECIDUOUS ORNAMENTAL FLOWERING SHRUBS. The earlier the planting of these shrubs is attended to in this month, the more will their growth and flowering be promoted, having all finished before the buds begin to expand. (For kinds recommended see List, end of the volume.) They should never be planted too thick, but leave space for them to grow as they respectively require, and according as they are designed for open or close shrubberies, clumps, or thickets. Have all in readiness, that it may be done with as much expedition as possible, to prevent their roots from being dried by the sun and wind in time of planting. Make the holes intended for their reception round, capacious, and deep enough to hold their roots, without confining them in the least, and loosen the bottom well, putting new and fresh soil under their roots, breaking and pulverizing it during the operation, and frequently shaking the plant as you progress in filling up. When done, make all firm with the foot, leaving a circular cavity to hold the water they will require during dry weather. Give rods, and tie with bands all that need that support before they are left, lest they should be neglected. Cut off any of the bruised roots or irregular growths of the branches. GRASS PLATS AND WALKS. Rake and sweep off from these all litter and worm cast earth, and give an occasional rolling to settle the ground, and render the surface smooth, where the scythe is to be used. The grass will likewise grow better by rolling it where the frost has partially thrown it out, and add greatly to the beauty of the whole. Cut the edgings with an edging iron or spade, so that the whole will have a finished appearance. If any new turf is required to be laid down, this is a very good time to do it, before vegetation is strong; as the turf that is now laid will have taken root before the dry season commences. Where a great extent is to be done, sowing might be adopted; but it will not have the effect of turf under three years, and during that time must be carefully cut, after the first season, every three weeks, while growing, nor must it be walked upon. White clover and true perennial rye-grass are the seeds most proper for sowing. The ground must in the first place be all equally made up, and levelled with the spade and rake; not "cart loads of soil laid down and leveled," which would finally become very uneven, and would need to be lifted and relaid next year. The best turf is that of a close growing pasture or common, free from all kinds of weeds or strong roots, and the grass short. To cut it expeditiously, be provided with a turfing-iron; but if that cannot be conveniently had, a spade may do very well. Strain a line tight, cutting the turf lengthways, at equal distances, from twelve to eighteen inches. Next draw the line across, cutting from one and a half to two feet; then cut them up with the spade, about one and a half inch thick. In laying, join them close and alternately; when done, beat them firm with a level wooden beater, and roll with a heavy roller. Grass walks, in the last century, were very popular; but time having put them to the test, they are found unfit for walking upon or using in any manner, almost for one half of the year; therefore not answering the purposes intended. They require great attention to keep them in order; and if not always neat and clean, they are a disagreeable object in a garden; but when they are well dressed, their effect is very enlivening. Where they are desired, prepare the ground as above directed; making the walk a little higher than the adjoining borders, to prevent the earth from being washed on it by the rain. Allowing the walks to be six feet wide, make the centre five inches higher than the sides, or about seven-eighths of an inch to the foot whatever the breadth may be, which will form a gentle declivity to throw off the rain. When laid, beat and roll it well; cutting the edge neat and even. Water frequently if the weather sets in dry. To keep grass walks or plats in order, they should be mown once every three or four weeks from May to September, and the grass each time swept clean off. When the grass is allowed to get long before being cut, the roots become tender; and die when exposed to the sun; at last the grass is all in spots, and in another year requires to be relaid. GRAVEL WALKS. A practice once existed of turning these into heaps or ridges during winter to destroy weeds, &c. But this has almost been given up as unnecessary, unsightly, inconvenient, and not doing any material service. Where the surface of these has become foul, irregular, or mossy, they had better be turned over four or five inches deep where the gravel will admit of it; but if not, hoe and rake them perfectly clean, give a new coat of gravel, and pick up any stones that you think too large; then give them a good rolling, applying it frequently after showers of rain. When they are well attended to just now, they will look well all the season; but if neglected, they take more labour, and are never in such good condition. Fancy edgings of _Thyme_, _Thrift_, _Gentiana_, _Lavender_, and _Violets_--(_Daisies_ may be used if the situation is shaded.) The whole of these may be planted by the line with the dibber except _Thyme_, which lay as directed for _Box_. See this month, under that head. Any time in this or beginning of next month will answer to make edgings of these; and if dry weather occurs before they begin to grow after planting, they must have frequent waterings until they have taken fresh root. Thyme requires to be dressed twice during the season to keep it in order. OF GRAFTING. There are four methods of grafting. The one we will describe is _whip_ or _tongue grafting_, which is the preferable and most expeditious plan with all deciduous shrubs or trees. The stock upon which it is performed must be slender, from two-thirds of an inch to any diameter suitable to the thickness of the graft. Having headed the stock at a clear smooth part, slope it on one side with a sharp knife at a very acute angle, make a slit on the lower side of the slope about an inch downwards, to receive the tongue or wedge of the graft or scion. Secondly, having the prepared scions cut into lengths of 3, 4, or 5 eyes, take one which matches the stock in size, and slope the bottom of it so as to fit the stock, that the rinds of both may correspond exactly, especially on one side and at bottom; make also a slit upward in the graft, like that in the slope of the stock, so as the one may be inserted in the other as evenly and completely as possible. Let the graft be carefully held in its due position, while a bandage is applied. Take strands of Russian mat, and bind them in a neat manner several times round the stock and graft. Lastly, cover the joint with well worked clay, coat from half an inch below the bottom of the graft to an inch above the top of the stock, and to the thickness of half an inch all round, finish it in an oblong globular form, taking care to work it close, that no air may penetrate. If the clay is covered with moss, it will partially prevent it from cracking. The grafts will have taken when they begin to grow freely; then the clay may be taken off, and the bandage loosened, and put on again, but not so tight; give the grafts a stake for support, tying them thereto to prevent accidents from the wind. Allow no shoots to arise from the stock. Any of the rare deciduous trees may, by the above method, be grafted on one of its own family, that is more common, and in that respect is the finest species of propagation that is resorted to. =Rooms.= _MARCH._ If the plants in these situations have been properly attended to by admitting air at all favourable times, and when the apartment was below 36° a little fire heat applied to counteract the cold, keeping the heat above that degree; your attention will be rewarded by the healthy appearance of your plants. The weather by this time has generally become milder, so that air may be more freely admitted, especially from ten to three o'clock. Where the leaves are grown to one side, turn the plant with the dark side to the light. They will require a more liberal supply of water, but always avoid keeping them wet. Pick off all decayed leaves, and tie up any straggling shoots; stir up the earth on the top of the pots, breaking it fine where it is hardened by the frequent waterings. This will allow the fresh air to act upon the roots, which is one of the principal assistants in vegetation. For those that require shifting or repotting, see _Green-house_, _March_; the plants enumerated there equally apply here, if they are in the collection, with this difference, that well kept rooms are about two weeks earlier than the Green-house. After the end of this month, where there is a convenience, plants will do better in windows that look to the east, in which the direct rays of a hot sun are prevented from falling upon them, and the morning sun is more congenial for plants in this country than the afternoon sun. Where there is any dust on the leaves of any of them, take a sponge and water, and make the whole clean, likewise divest them of all insects. The green-fly is perhaps on the roses; if there are no conveniences for fumigating, wash them off as previously directed. Where there are only a few plants, these pests could be very easily kept off by examining the plants every day. For the scaly insect, see _January_. If they have not been cleared off, get it done directly; for by the heat of the weather they will increase tenfold. FLOWERING PLANTS. _Hyacinths_, _Tulips_, _Narcissus_, _Jonquils_, and _Crocus_, will be generally in flower. The former requires plenty of water, and the saucers under the pots should be constantly full until they are done blooming. The others need only be liberally supplied at the surface of the pot. Give them neat green-painted rods to support their flower stems, and keep them all near the light. The spring flowering _Oxalis_ will not open except it is exposed to the full rays of the sun. The _Lachenàlia_ is greatly improved in colour with exposure to the sun, though when in flower its beauties are preserved by keeping it a little in the shade. _Prímulas_, or Primrose, both Chinese and European, delight in an airy exposure; but the sun destroys the beauty of their flowers by making the colours fade. _Caméllias._ Many of them will be in perfection. See Green-house this month for a description of the finest varieties. Do not let the sun shine upon the blooms. Those that are done flowering, will, in small pots, require to be repotted. The _Cálla_ or Æthopian water-lily, when in flower, ought to stand in saucers with water. The Hyacinths that are in glasses must be regularly supplied with water. The roots will be very much reduced by this method; therefore, when the bloom is over, if possible plant them in the garden, or bury them in pots of earth, to ripen and strengthen the bulbs. They will take two years with good encouragement, before they can satisfactorily be again flowered in glasses, and properly they ought not be allowed to bloom next year. Those that are done flowering in pots, can be set aside, and the usual waterings gradually withdrawn. Treat all other Dutch bulbs in a similar manner. =Hot-House.= _APRIL._ Where the Hot-house has been properly conducted, the plants generally will have a vigorous and healthful aspect. An error frequently arises in the conducting of these departments, by inexperienced operators being ambitious of outstripping their competitors. They keep the house in a very high temperature, and admit little or no air. Where such mode has been pursued, the plants will have got over their first growth, and the foliage look yellow and decaying, thus throwing the plants into a state of inactivity, when nature herself commences her most active movements. The temperature should not be under 60° nor much above 75°, without admitting a little air by the top lights. It will not do yet to give air by the front sashes, the wind being cool, and a current in the house would be hurtful. The sun is not so powerful but the heat can be kept down by the air given from above. In very cold cutting winds, though the effects of sun heat be great, admitting of much air may be injurious. Whatever error may arise, let it be on the side of caution. However, when high winds prevail, there is little danger of the house becoming overheated by the effect of the sun. Hot-house or tropical plants will not be hurt with 110°, if they are not touching the glass. And if the plants are near the glass generally, the glass should have a coat of very thin white-wash (not lime), where the glass is thin and light in colour; but if it is thick and green, there need be no white-washing. The plants will need a liberal supply of water every day. We have so constantly cautioned the operator on administering this element, that a repetition here is unnecessary. Sprinkle them well with the syringe or engine in the evenings about sundown, four or five times a week, and strictly observe that none of them are omitted; for where there are such, it is probable they are attacked by the red spider. If any of these are detected, syringe them powerfully morning and evening. Water is most effectual in their destruction, and most congenial to the plants. Give regular fumigations to destroy the green-fly. Wherever there is dust or foulness contracted on the foliage, wash all clean with sponge and water; for on these insects are harboured in such quantities that they, in a short time, would overrun all the plants in the house. Keeping the house constantly clean, the plants clear of decayed leaves and every thing of a corroding nature, and duly syringing them, is the surest method of not being much troubled with insects. For repotting plants, see next month; except those that you are fostering to a great extent, such as _Alstr[oe]merias_, _Calceolàrias_, or any herbaceous plants that require great encouragement to make them flower well. These should always be repotted, as soon as the roots come to be round the outside of the ball. =Green-House.= _APRIL._ Regarding the shifting or repotting of plants, the directions given last month may be followed. If the plants are not shifted that require it, get them done as soon as possible, for they will soon get into a luxuriant state of growth, and then it would not be advisable to shift them. Those that were repotted last month will have taken fresh root in the new soil, and the advantage will soon be perceptible. In order to strengthen the plants, and keep them from becoming drawn and spindly, admit large portions of air every mild day. Indeed there will be very few days in this month, that a little air may not be given, always observing to divide the quantity regularly over the house, in cool nights closing in time. About the end of the month an abundance of air is indispensable, leaving the sashes and doors open every mild night, that the plants may be inured to the open exposure they will have in a few weeks. WATERING. As the season advances and vegetation increases, the waterings will require to be more copious and more frequent. Look over all plants minutely every day, and with judicious care supply their wants. Those that are of a soft shrubby nature, and in a free-growing state, will require a larger portion at one time than those of a hard texture, which may only want it every two or three days. The weather and situation in some instances may require a modification of these directions. Plants in general will not suffer so soon from being a little dry as from being over-watered. The health and beauty of the foliage of the plants may be much improved by syringing them freely three evenings in the week, except in moist weather, when it ought not to be done. The ravages of many insects also will be retarded, especially mildew and red spider, which will be entirely destroyed. If the red spider is on any of the plants, particularly take them aside evening and morning, and give them a good dashing with water through the syringe. Where there is mildew, after syringing the plant, dust it on the affected parts with flowers of sulphur, and set them for a few days where they will be sheltered from the wind, after which wash off the sulphur. If the cure is not complete, renew the dose. Always sweep out and dry up the water in the house when any is spilt. The succulent plants will be in want of a little water about once a week, but do not overwater them, as there is not heat enough to absorb much moisture. If the soil is damp, it is quite sufficient. ORANGES, LEMONS, &c. Will in many instances about the end of this month be showing flowers or flower buds. They must under these circumstances have plenty of air to prevent them from falling off when entirely exposed. The reason that we see so much fine blossom falling to the ground where the trees are brought out of the house in May, is from the confinement they have had. Where there is a convenience of giving air from the back of the Green-house, it should always be given in mild days, especially in those houses that have a recess back from the top of the sashes, for even if the sashes are let down every day, still the house will not be properly ventilated. Any plants that are sickly and intended to be planted in the garden next month to renovate their growth, may be cut back, (if not already done,) as far as is required to give the tree a handsome form, taking care not to cut below the graft or inoculation. Let the operation be done with a fine saw and sharp knife, smoothing the amputations that are made by the saw; and if they are large, put a little well made clay over the wound, to prevent the air from mortifying the shoot. Turpentine is preferable to clay, not being subject to crack or fall off by the weather. If there are any _Lagerstr[oe]mias_, _Pomegranate_, or _Hydràngeas_ in the cellar, they should be brought out about the first of the month, and planted in their respective situations. Give the _Hydràngea_ a very shady spot. It does not require one ray of the sun, providing it has plenty of air, and do not plant it into soil that has been lately manured. A large plant must have great supplies of water in dry weather. If the plant is very thick, the oldest branches may be thinned out, but do not cut out any of the young shoots, as they contain the embryo of the flower. _Lagerstr[oe]mias_ will flower abundantly without pruning, but to have fine large spikes of flowers, cut in the wood of last year to about three eyes from the wood of the preceding year; by this they will be much finer. _Pomegranates_ will only require a little of the superfluous wood cut out. Perhaps some of them may be desired to flower in pots or tubs during summer: the balls will admit of being much reduced, and by this a pot or tub very little larger will do for them. Do not give much water until they begin to grow. MYRTLES AND OLEANDERS. If any of these have grown irregularly, and are not headed down or otherwise pruned, as directed last month, they should now be done. Oleanders are very subject to the white scaly insect, and before the heat of summer begins, they should be completely cleansed. This insect is likewise found on _Myrtles_, which are worse to clean, and ought to be minutely examined twice every year. We have observed mildew on these shrubs, which makes the foliage brown and unsightly. If it is detected in time, syringing is an effectual remedy. GERANIUMS. Some of the earliest blooming kinds of these will now begin to flower, and the sun will greatly deteriorate their rich colours where they are near the glass with a south aspect. The glass should be white-washed, which will cast a thin shade over them, and prolong the duration of the bloom, but if they are above five feet from the glass, white-washing is not requisite. The strong kinds will be growing very luxuriantly, and require liberal supplies of water. When syringing, do not sprinkle the flowers, as it would make the colours intermingle with each other, and cause them to decay prematurely. If they have been properly attended to in that respect, it may be dispensed with after they have generally come in flower, which will not be until about the first of May. HERBACEOUS PLANTS AND BULBOUS ROOTS. If any of the herbaceous plants were neglected to be divided last month, do not omit it now. They will not flower so well if potted entire, and their growth by this time will be much hurt, if not carefully shaded from the sun. After dividing, sprinkle gently with water three times a day, until they have taken fresh root, when they can be put amongst the other plants. _Cape Bulbs._ Those that flowered late in autumn, as soon as the foliage begins to decay, may be set aside, and the water withheld by degrees. When the foliage is entirely gone, and the roots dry, clear them from the earth, and after laying exposed in the shade for a few days to dry, pack them up in dry moss, with their respective names attached, until August, when they may be again potted. Treat those that are in flower the same as directed in last month. _Dutch Roots._ All the species and varieties of these that have been kept in the Green-house during winter, will now be done flowering; the water should be withdrawn gradually from them; and then the pots turned on their sides to ripen the bulbs. Or, a superior method is, where there is the convenience of a garden, to select a bed not much exposed. Turn the balls out of the pots and plant them; the roots will ripen better this way than any other. Have them correctly marked, that no error may take place. They can be lifted with the other garden bulbs. FLOWERING PLANTS. The best situation for most plants while in flower, is where they are shaded from the sun, and fully exposed to the air. _Primroses_, both European and Chinese, flower best, and the colours are finest when the plants are in the front of the house, and entirely shaded from the sun. The Chinese _Azàleas_ and _Rhododéndrons_ require, while in flower, a similar situation. Have all the shoots tied naturally to neat rods, and keep them clear from others by elevating them on empty pots, or any other substitute. See that there are no insect upon them; for they make a miserable contrast with flowers. The _Cálla æthiopica_ should stand in water when in flower, and even before flowering they will be much strengthened by it. INSECTS. Insects will on some plants be very perplexing. The weather may admit of those that are infected to be taken out of doors, and put into a frame in any way that is most convenient. Fumigating them about half an hour, if the day is calm, will be sufficient; but if windy, they will take an hour. When done, syringe them well, and put them in their respective situations. By the above method, the house will not be made disagreeable with the fumes of tobacco. Tie up neatly all the climbing plants. Keep those that are running up the rafters of the house close to the longitudinal wires. As previously observed, running plants should not be taken across the house, except in some instances where it can be done over the pathway, otherwise it shades the house too much. Clear off all decayed leaves, and all contracted foulness, that the house and plants may in this month have an enlivening aspect, as it is undoubtedly one of the most interesting seasons of the year in the Green-house. FLOWERING STOCKS. Those that have been kept in the Green-house, or in frames, should be planted into beds or the borders, where they will seed better than if kept in the pots. The method generally adopted is to select the plants that are intended for seed; plant the different kinds distinctly and separately; then take a few double flowering plants of each kind, which plant round their respective single varieties that are to be kept for seed. Whenever any of the colours sport, that is, become spotted or striped with other colours, pull these up, and destroy them, for they will soon degenerate the whole, and ought never to be seen in collections that have any pretensions to purity. Many have been the plans recommended as the best for saving, and growing from seed the double varieties of German stock. In every method we have tried we have been successful and unsuccessful; although we generally practise planting the double kinds beside the single, where they are intended for seed. We have no scientific reason for it; not seeing what influence these monsters of flowers can have over a flower where the male and female organs are perfect; which in these are wanting. Some say that the semi-double sorts are best: we have likewise found them both abortive and fruitful in the desired results. =Flower Garden.= _APRIL._ The ambition of every attentive gardener, during this month, is to be at the head of every department, and over every spot. The operator's activity in this month regulates the whole season. Every weed ought to be cut down as soon as it appears, and the proverbial saying will be realized, "a garden that is well kept is easily kept." A wet day need cause no loss of time. Prepare rods, bands, and tallies, to be in readiness when required. Damp weather should always be taken to prick out or transplant annuals, or stocks, but by no means go on the borders while they are wet. If it cannot be done by keeping on the walks, defer it until they are in a proper state. One day of laborious attention just now will save two in the heat of summer. Many in the height of bustle never finish properly as they proceed, which is the worst of practices. Every operation ought to be completely and properly finished before another is taken in hand, which will ultimately prove the quickest and best method to work upon. Let digging, pruning, hoeing, raking, &c. be done as expeditiously as strength will allow; that the time may be devoted for a few weeks to the beautifying of the garden by sowing and planting. ANNUALS. Those that are tender and were sown last month, according to directions, will be ready to prick out into another light hot-bed, about two feet high, prepared as directed in February. Keep them a few inches apart to let the air circulate. Give them frequent sprinklings with water, and shade them with a mat for a few days until they have taken fresh root; then give them plenty of air, and by the first of next month expose them night and day to harden the plants for the open ground. A few of the annual seeds of every description, and of every country and climate, may be sown any time after the middle of the month. If the season prove favourable they will do well; but reserving a part to sow about the 15th of May, will guard against every extreme. Those that have come above ground should be thinned out, the dwarf-growing kinds to two or three inches, and the large sorts to four or five inches apart; or they may be only separated about an inch, going over them again in a few weeks; when a few might be taken of those that will bear removing, and plant them in vacant spaces that require filling up. All the varieties of French and African Marygold answer best when transplanted, likewise the species of _Coreòpsis_ that were sown in autumn. The varieties of _Ten-week Stock_, _Balsams_, _Coxcombs_, and other strong growing sorts, generally flower stronger when replanted. BIENNIALS AND PERENNIALS. Any biennials that are intended to be removed, and not done last month, must not be delayed longer. The roots of many of them will be very strong, and if possible a cloudy day should be chosen for the operation. Give copious waterings in the evenings until they begin to grow. When the sun is strong, they must be shaded by a piece of board, shingle, or any similar substitute, for some days. When the seeds of these are sown, they should be distinctly marked. The initial B. is the most appropriate. _Perennials._ For a limited description of several genera and species, see last month. Those that have not been divided and replanted, where large, they should be done directly, if the weather is dry. They must be carefully watered, and shaded as above directed for _Biennials_. DAHLIAS. _Dáhlia supérflua_, or what is now called _Georgìana variábilis_, is one of the most fashionable and popular hardy herbaceous plants of the present day. The varieties of the present species are almost endless. The double kinds only are cultivated, the single varieties having been thrown aside. Several collections in Europe contain upwards of three hundred double varieties, of every colour and taste, occupying more than two acres of ground. It will be difficult to specify the finest; but in this country the dwarf-growing sorts are preferred. To make them flower freely, they should be planted in poor heavy soil. From the end of this month to the middle of May, take the roots from their winter quarters to the garden, and with a spade make a hole sufficiently wide and deep to receive the crowns of the roots one inch deeper than the surface of the ground, cutting off with a sharp knife the old stumps close to the eyes. They have the finest effect in rows; plant them four feet apart in the row, and the rows six feet asunder. Individual plants of a dwarf nature look extremely well. The best one for this is the _Dwarf Globe Crimson_, and is perhaps the finest that is known, being prolific, compact, beautiful, and very dwarf, never exceeding three feet: if properly grown, _Púlla elècta_, _Famæa_, and _Zenò_, are also fine dwarf sorts; as tall growing kinds _Etna_; _Imperiòsa_; _Ciceró_; _Cocàde_; _Cambridge Surprise_; _Dutchess of Wellington_; _Countess of Liverpool_; _Barret's William Fourth_; _True Mountain of Snow_; _Diàna_; _Crimson Bonnet_; and _Exímia_, are all superb, and at present the highest in estimation. For the names of more of the finest varieties, with their colour, see Catalogue at the end of the work. When the roots become very large, they ought to be divided, and in dry seasons they require to be liberally supplied with water to keep them growing. If their growth is obstructed, the flowering will be imperfect. Where they are grown to any extent, it would be advisable to put up a large hot-bed about the end of March, and plant them close together therein, about the beginning of April, which would immediately cause them to grow. Give plenty of air, and about the middle of May plant them in the borders, beds, or rows, which will in cool seasons cause them to flower earlier. The flowers are from three to eight inches in diameter. There ought to be a few of the most distinct and superb varieties, in every garden. Some individuals consider the _Anemoné-flowered_ varieties the finest; but those who never saw a _Dáhlia_ flower of any character, would, in our opinion, chose the large petaled flowers. The _Anemoné-flowered_ sorts likewise are not so large in flower as the other varieties. The foliage has no particular attraction about it; the stems look strong, but are soft in substance. If seeds are sown on a hot-bed in March, most of them will flower the same year, by transplanting in the garden about the end of May; but the fine double kinds seldom produce seeds. CHINA ROSES. From the first to the middle of this month is the best time to plant the varieties of Chinese roses. If they are to be removed out of the ground, the earlier in the month the better; but where they are in pots, the precise time is not so material. There are about seventy varieties, including the species of these in cultivation; all of them do extremely well in this country, growing freely, and flowering abundantly in the open air. A few of them require protection during winter. The List at the end of the work will contain all the finest varieties; but as they are not generally known, and the greater part of them highly deserving a situation in every garden, a few limited specific observations is obviously desirable to those who are not acquainted with their beauty and fragrance. No. 1. _Ròsa índica_, common China or daily. From the last name an error has taken place, that it blooms every day. In one sense of the word it does. Plants that are young, and in good ground, will grow and flower constantly from the end of April until the buds are killed with frost; but they will never flower when not growing; the bloom being produced on the young wood. The flower is about three inches in diameter, of a dark blush or rose colour, petals large, and loose, between a semi-double and double, and perfectly hardy. No. 2. *[B]_Rose Animated_, daily, is a very fine rose, and its merits are appreciated by those who have it in their collections. It is more double, and better formed than No. 1, and partakes of the fragrance of No. 8, is perfectly hardy, colour a fine blush, grows freely, and flowers abundantly; and is coming into great repute. [B] Those marked thus * we have grown from seed. No. 3. _Rosa Indìca mínor_, is the smallest of the China roses that we are familiar with; about the end of April or beginning of May it is completely covered with pretty little flowers, and much admired for its diminutiveness: colour same as No. 1. No. 4. _Rosa Bengal elongáta_, named from the foliage being more elongate than the other common roses. It grows and flowers freely, petals large, colour light red, very distinguishable from any of the other sorts. No. 5. _Rosa belle Chinese_, is a beautiful French rose, and blooms in great abundance; flowers large and double, colour when first expanded pink, and changes to crimson, making a striking appearance, and greatly admired. No. 6. _Rosa la tendere japonica_, an erect growing rose, of a handsome purple colour, with large petals; much like the garden velvet rose. No. 7. _Rosa belle vibert_, does not produce so large flowers as the three last mentioned; but they are very double, blooming abundantly in the latter part of summer; colour very dark, and by some called the Black China Rose. No. 8. _Rosa odoràta_, or Tea-rose, celebrated in this country for its fragrance being similar to fine Hyson tea. It justly deserves the preference of all the China roses, for the delicacy of its flavour. The flowers are a cream coloured blush, the petals round and full, forming a very large rose; when full blown, it is pendulous. It will withstand the winter of the middle states with a little protection, such as straw, box, or barrel; requires very rich light soil. No. 9. _Rosa Florence_, or Scarlet-tea. This rose partakes of the fragrance of No. 8, is perfectly hardy, grows freely, and flowers profusely. The flower is well formed, very double, and a distinct variety from any that we know. The flower is lightest when first expanded. No. 10. _Rose, Purple-tea._ We have not found how this name has originated: but when the plant known in our collections under that name is compared, there is no difference between it and No. 9. No. 11. _Rosa odoràta álba_, or White-tea, is not so odorous as No. 8, but blooms more profusely, and grows more freely. The beautiful and neat appearance of the buds, when half expanded, is not surpassed; and when full blown, they are a fine delicate white. The bush in that state is showy, much admired, and scarce; we are not positive of its being hardy. No. 12. _Rosa Bengal_, or Yellow-tea, is a very free flowerer, the shape of the flower is more like No. 8. than any of the others; the petals are large and gracefully set, having a peculiar scent or flavour, and is of a sulphur colour. We cannot say as to its being hardy, but suppose it as much so as No. 8. No. 13. _Rosa Venella_, or Venella Scented-tea, is undoubtedly a handsome rose, and has many admirers; colour a bloody velvet; flowers large and very double, rising in the centre more than any of the others; blooming freely, and of pleasant flavour; rendering it altogether a desirable rose. No. 14. _Rosa belle de monza._ The flower of this rose is flatter than any of the other sorts; the petals are regularly laid over each other, making it very compact; it is about four inches in diameter when well grown; the plant is of quick growth, free in flowering, darker in colour than No. 1, equally as hardy, and ought to have a situation in every garden where roses are grown. No. 15. _Rosa amaránthe_, is a showy brilliant scarlet rose, flower compact, and of a moderate size. No. 16. *_Rosa Clintónia_, is a good rose, and in a favourable situation will produce abundantly large, round, and compact flowers, differing in shape from any of the others; colour similar to the provins rose. No. 17. _Rosa semperflòrens plèno_, or sanguinea, is a celebrated rose, the foliage small, and of a reddish appearance. The flower is well shaped, and of a blood colour; wood of a slender growth, requires some protection in winter, or it will die to the surface of the ground; delights in sandy soil. This rose is frequently called anemone-flowered, though in no respects similar to the character of an anemone-flower. The _Otaheite_ rose is of the same colour, but very inferior. No. 18. *_Rosa purple sanguinea_, is of a purple colour, same in shape as No. 17, but in size larger; is a good flowerer, making a fine variety. We do not know any similar to it. No. 19. _Rosa grandvàl_, is a magnificent rose; flower full and large, petals closely set, colour dark crimson. The wood and leaves are like the _Hamilton_ rose, but it grows and flowers more freely. It is scarce. No. 20. _Rosa Indica álba plèno_, or white China, is a rose of free growth, abundant in flower, and pure white, which renders it very desirable; is larger than No. 1, is greatly admired, and rare; requires rich light soil. No. 21. _Rosa Magnifier_, _magnificent_, or _magnìfica_. It is known under all these names. The general appearance of the plant resembles No. 19, but the flowers in shape and colour are similar to the garden Provins rose, and nearly as large. No. 22. *_Rosa florabùnda multiplèx_. This rose is very correctly named, although the plant is of a moderate stature. The whole is covered with immense clusters of various coloured flowers, changing from pink to dark crimson; the flowers very double, and greatly admired. No. 23. *_Rosa flamæa_, has a very striking appearance, is of a flame colour, and distinct from any other of the China roses; blooms freely, and is a little fragrant, which makes it desirable. No. 24. *_Rosa Hibbèrtia_, is a superb rose of a light red colour; flower of a common size, double and compact, very fragrant, and abundant in bloom. The buds are of a particular shape, being flat at the extremity where others are pointed. It is highly deserving of a situation, and universally admired. No. 25. *_Rosa Jacksónia_, is deep red, large, and very double, of luxuriant growth; is more spiny and elastic than any of the China roses that have come under our observation. The plant altogether is unique in its character, and flowers profusely. No. 26. _R. Adamsônia_, is dwarf growing; has flowers of a beautiful purple velvet colour, inclining to black; and is much admired. When well grown, it will bloom freely. No. 27. *_Rosa Webestèria._[C] None of the China roses approaches this, except _Hortensia_, and it is much inferior. The rose is very double, and particularly well formed; colour similar to No. 8, with a beautiful rich blush in the centre, flowing to the extremity of the petals. It blooms profusely, and grows freely in light rich soil. [C] Named in honour of D. Webster, Esq. whose productions deserve a place in every library; and this plant a spot in every garden. No. 28. _Rosa gigántea._ Without exception, this is the handsomest shaped China rose that has come under our observation, the colour dark crimson, with a few shades through it. The centre is full set; petals regular and large, the flower very double, plant strong, growing and free blooming--it is scarce. No. 29. _Rosa Washington_,[D] is a very good and distinct variety; the foliage is pale green with red nerves; flower full and compact, the extremity of the petals dark red, the bottom white; showing, when the flower is full expanded, a white centre, and is frequently a little striped; grows well, and blooms freely, in light sandy soil. [D] Originated on the substantial establishment of D. & C. Landreth, and called by them "Scarlet and White." No. 30. *_Rosa calyxifòlia_. The calyx of this rose has large leaflets attached to it. It blooms very early, and is of a deep crimson colour, with recurved petals, which give it a singular and beautiful appearance. The young shoots and leaves are of a purple hue. It grows and flowers freely, and is quite characteristic, and surpasses any we know for flowering early in the Green-house or Rooms. No. 31. _Rosa Montezùma_ (Mexican-rose.) This is an esteemed variety, with large double flowers of a red colour, and when the flowers begin to fade they become darker; it is of a strong growing and hardy nature, much admired, and scarce. No. 32. _Rosa horténsia._ The buds of this rose are very beautiful before expansion, and when fully expanded, are of a fine colour, assimilated to No. 8; flowers large in proportion to the growth of the plant. * * * * * These roses are all of a shrubby nature, and the finest flowering varieties that have come under our observation and culture. The China roses generally are not completely double, though going under the name of double flowers, and having the appearance of such. Those that are mentioned above as _double_ and _very double_ are those that are more double than No. 1, which is a rose that is generally known. The whole of them are much admired, and being now of great variety in colour, shade and aspect, constitute a valuable addition to the Flower-garden. A bed of varieties planted therein in good light rich soil, and well dressed by hoeing deep, raking, &c. during the early stage of their growth every season, will form an ornament varied in colour, unrivalled, and as yet not found in our Flower-gardens. Their nature agrees so well with our summer seasons, that it will not surprise us to see, in a few years, selections of them planted in rows or hedges, dividing the compartments in our gardens. They are all hardy, but of those that are not perfectly so, we have mentioned the required protection. Any of them that have not been proved hardy in your collections, it would be extremely injudicious to leave them exposed the first winter after planting out. Caution is necessary on every unknown point; therefore, we would recommend to give them slight protection, by a covering of straw, mats, boxes, &c. and if they appear to withstand the winter in perfect safety, they will not need again to be covered. The best season of the year for pruning them is about the first of this month. In doing so it is not advisable to shorten any of the young shoots, except in cutting off the injured parts, that being the wood most productive of bloom; but where there is old stinted wood, it should be cut out as close to the surface of the ground as the other parts of the bush will permit, with any other of the oldest wood that is too crowded. If the plants have been long established, dig in amongst their roots a little well decomposed manure, and stir and hoe them frequently during the summer. CLIMBING ROSES. No. 1. _Rosa Champneyàna._ This celebrated rose has a situation in almost every garden in our city, and forms a great ornament, flowering very profusely in immense clusters from May to November. Many of these having more than thirty buds upon them of a light pink colour, it is sometimes called "Pink Cluster." It is of rapid growth, and does well for covering arbours, fences, or any unsightly object. The foliage is of a lucid green, and the wood very strong in growth. This rose is at present one of the most abundant in flower, the easiest of cultivation, (growing in any exposure,) and in every respect is highly deserving of attention. No. 2. _Rosa blush Noisettià_ is very similar to No. 1. in habit; the flowers are lighter in colour, and a little larger; but the plant does not flower so profusely during the heat of the season. There is a variety of _Noisettia_ in our gardens, known from this by the bud being more rounded, and another under the name of _Charles 10th_, which has fine large flowers of a dark blush colour. No. 3. _Rosa red Noisettià_, or what we consider more properly _Scarlet cluster_. It is very distinct from any other of the Noisettias in habit. It is an excellent variety, and blooms abundantly; of a scarlet colour; forming a fine contrast with the two last, which are light in colour, and though not generally known is very desirable. No. 4. _Rosa moschàta_, musk-scented, or white cluster, is an esteemed rose both for profusion of flower and agreeableness in fragrance. It is not of so rapid growth as the three previous, and may be kept as a bush; though it will grow to a considerable height if protected by a wall or close fence, being tacked thereto. Where kept as a bush, in very severe winters, it is the better of a slight covering, and is the latest flowering rose in the garden. The flowers are frequently on the same bush single, semi-double, and double, but mostly semi-double. No. 5. _Rosa moschàta supérba_, or superb white cluster. This in habit and appearance is the same as No. 4, only the roses are double, and never vary; which makes it a very superior rose. It is highly esteemed and scarce. No. 6. _Rosa Aralie Noisettià._ This has been called by some _Purple Noisettià_, (which is a very different rose, and not generally known.) In growth it is similar to No. 4, and could be kept in the same manner. The flowers are of a dark pink colour, very prolific, but not so large as No. 2. These are all what are termed with us ever-blooming roses, being in flower from May until the buds are destroyed by frost. They should be pruned about the first of this month. The young wood is most productive of bloom; where the branches are too crowded, cut out the oldest wood as close to the ground as is practicable, and any of the dead branches. The shoots when tied to the trellis, arbour, wall, or fence, should be about six inches clear. The branches when made fast to their support ought to be in direct lines, which must at all times be strictly observed. It is very unsightly to see shoots trained crooked, or over each other, and, unsightly or unscientifical as it may be, it is too prevalent in every garden. No. 7. _R. Bourbòn_ is a double rose of brilliant red colour, petals large, stiff, and neatly set; the flower about the size of a common Provins rose, and finely scented; grows freely. The wood is strong, and undoubtedly it is the finest climbing rose that has come under our observation, and is highly admired. No. 8. R. _Boursault_. This rose is much thought of in Europe. It is of a purple colour (and once called _Purpurea_), has a little fragrance, flower nearly the size of No. 7; wood more slender, and of very rapid growth, and capable of covering a large space. When in flower it is very showy. The old wood is of a purple colour. There is a white variety of it. No. 9. R. _Lisle_, is of a light pink colour, about the shape and size of No. 8, grows freely, and flowers abundantly. This and No. 8. are the hardiest climbing roses that we know. No. 10. R. _microphylla_. This rose is unique in every character, resembling No. 21. more than any other. The foliage is very small and neat, and the calyx thick and bristly. The flowers are produced at the extremity of the young shoots in twos or threes, according to the strength of the plant; they are large and double; the exterior petals large and full; those of the interior are very short and thick set; the colour in the centre is dark, shading lighter towards the exterior; the spines are in pairs on each side of the compound leaves. It is perfectly hardy, and greatly esteemed, and not so subject to be attacked by insects as other roses. No. 11. R. _Franklinia_, or Cluster-tea, generally flowers well in May and June, but during the remainder of the season the heat appears to be too strong for it, the buds dropping off before expansion. The flower bud is larger than that of the Tea-rose; the petals large but loose, colour light blush. No. 12. R. _Bánksiæ_, or Lady Banks' rose, is a free growing kind, and has a lucid green foliage; flowers small white clusters with pink centre, very double, and sweet scented; in bloom during May. From what we have seen of it, the spring months appear too changeable for perfecting all its bloom, many falling off from the chilliness of the nights. The plant naturally is an evergreen, but in our city is deciduous; grows best in sandy soil, and should be protected by mats during winter. No. 13. R. _Bánksiæ lùtea pléno_. The habit and foliage of this are the same as No. 12, and whether hardy or not we have not proved. In Europe it is considered more hardy than the preceding variety. The flowers are larger, of a fine gold yellow, very double, and neatly set. It is considered very pretty. No. 14. R. _multiflòra_, was amongst the first climbing roses that was planted in this city, and was so highly admired, that twenty dollars were given for one plant. It bears its flowers in close clusters on the wood of last year; the colour is a deep blush; petals thickly set, making it a close and compact small rose; blooming in June. It is losing its celebrity, and giving place to _Champnèy_, _Noisèttia_, _Grevìllii_, &c. No. 15. R. _white multiflòra_. In all respects same as No. 14, except in flower, which is much lighter, but not a pure white. No. 16. R. _scarlet multiflòra_, is darker in colour than No. 14, but is not properly a scarlet flower. No. 17. R. _purple multiflòra_. We suspect that there is some confusion in this plant being confounded either with _Scarlet multiflòra_ or with _Grevìllii_. Plants imported as such have proved to be the latter. No. 18. R. _Grevìllii_, is a very curious rose, flowered the first time with us in June 1830. It is of the variety of No. 14, and of China origin; growth free and luxuriant; leaves large and deeply nerved; flowers in large clusters, almost every eye of the wood of last year producing one cluster, having on it from eight to twenty roses, according to the state of the plant, each rose expanding differently in colour or shade. Many suppose that they expand all of the same colour, and change afterwards. This is not the case. We have seen them white, pink, red, purple, and various other shades when the bloom expanded; and on two clusters we have observed twenty-two distinct shades of colour. In fact, it is a complete nondescript, having roses, single, semi-double, and double, large and small, and every colour between white and purple, forming, in every garden where it is planted, a wonder of the vegetable world. It is very hardy; an eastern aspect will answer it best, preserving the flowers from the direct rays of the sun, which will keep the colours purer. We readily recommend it to every lover of _Flora_. No. 19. R. _arvénsis scándens multiplèx_, or double Ayrshire. We imported this rose last year, as being a very double blush, sweet-scented variety. It is highly valued, and said to be more rapid in growth than any other variety, and likewise a profuse flowerer. As far as we know it remains to be proved how it will agree with our climate, and have its high characters substantiated; although we have no reason to doubt the authority we received it from. No. 20. R. _sempervírens plenò_. This is a most handsome double white rose. The strong shoots of last year will produce a large cluster of flowers from almost every eye, and as a profuse flowering double white climbing rose we have seen none to surpass it. It grows freely, the foliage and wood pure green, leaves much nerved. No. 21. R. _bracteàta plenò_, double Macartney, is a very fine large double white variety, with strongly marked red edged petals; blooming from May to July. It is very scarce, and grows best in sandy soil. The best time for pruning those roses which only bloom once in the season, and are of a climbing habit, is immediately after flowering, cutting out all the old wood that has produced flowers, thereby invigorating the young wood that is to bear the flowers the ensuing year; and the stronger the wood of this year can be made to grow, the finer and more profuse will be the flowers. The plants of Nos. 12, 14, 18, and the intermediate varieties, have been pruned on a wrong system. In place of giving them a general dressing in spring, they ought to have it immediately after flowering; the old wood cut out, leaving only the young and such as is of a healthy nature. Avoid crowding them together, and tie them all straight and regular. Never top the shoots except where there is a supply of wood wanted. In spring the only dressing requisite is to cut off the injured shoots or branches, making good the tyings that have given way. Trellises for these roses are generally made too wide; the shoots cannot be neatly kept to them. They ought never to exceed nine inches between each spar or rod. There are several species and varieties of climbing roses of high standing in character, but not being perfectly known to us in regard to hardiness, &c. we forbear making any remarks upon them, knowing that much exaggeration exists. CLIMBING PLANTS. As shade is much required in this country, and plants suitable for covering arbours, &c. eagerly sought for, we will make a few remarks on those which are preferred for their beauty, growth, hardiness, &c. _Atragène alpìna_, is a free growing deciduous shrub, with large blush-coloured flowers, which continue blooming from May to July; has small pinnated foliage. _Clématis viticélla pulchélla_, or double purple virgin's bower, is an esteemed climbing plant; of rapid growth, with large flowers in great profusion from June to September. There are several varieties of the above, two of them single, and it is said that there is likewise a double red. _C. flámmula_, sweet scented virgin's bower, is of very rapid growth. Established plants will grow from twenty to forty feet in one season, producing at the axils of the young shoots large panicles of small white flowers of exquisite fragrance; the leaves are compound pinnate; in bloom from June to November, but in June, July, September, and October, the flowers are in great profusion, perfuming the whole garden. This is one of the best climbing hardy plants that we know, and it ought to have a situation in every garden. _C. Virgiàna_, is of rapid growth, and well adapted for arbours; flowers small white in axillary panicles, di[oe]cious, leaves ternate, segments cordate, acute, coarsely toothed and lobed, in bloom from June to August. A native, and a little fragrant. _C. flòrida plenò_, is a fine free flowering plant, though generally considered a shrub, is more herbaceous than shrubby; the flowers are large double white; in growth will not exceed ten feet in one season. _Glycine frutéscens_, a beautiful native climbing shrub, known in our gardens under that name, but is properly _Wistèria frutéscens_. It has large pendulous branches of blue (leguminose) flowers, blooming from May to August; pinnated leaves with nine ovate downy leaflets; grows freely. _Glycine chinénsis_, is given to Wistèria, and is the finest climbing shrub of the phaseolious tribe. The flowers are light blue, in long nodding many-flowered racemose spikes, blooming from May to August profusely; leaves pinnated, with eleven ovate lanceolate silky leaflets, and is of a very rapid growth. We are not certain if it will withstand our winters without protection. _Bignònia crucígera_, is an evergreen which is very desirable in many situations, being likewise of luxuriant growth. It will cover in a few years an area of fifty feet; flowers of an orange scarlet colour, blooming from May to August. _B. grandiflòra_, now given to _Tecôma_, has large orange coloured flowers, blooming from June to August, and grows very fast. We are not positive that it will stand our winters without protection. _B. rádicans_, is likewise given to _Tecòma_, and is a native plant. When in flower it is highly ornamental, but it requires great attention to keep it in regular order, being of a strong rough nature; in bloom from June to August. _Periplàca græca_, is a climber of extraordinary growth. Well established plants grow thirty or forty feet in one season; flowers in clusters from May to July, of a brownish yellow colour, and hairy inside; leaves smooth, ovate, lanceolate, wood slender, twining, and elastic. _Hedéra Hélix_, Irish Ivy, is a valuable evergreen for covering naked walls, or any other unsightly object. The foliage is of a lively green, leaves from three to five angled. There are several varieties of it, all valuable for growing in confined shady situations where no other plant will thrive. _Ampelópsis hederàcea._ This plant is commonly employed for covering walls, for which the rapidity of its growth, and the largeness of the leaves, render it extremely appropriate. There are several species of the genus, all resembling the _Vine_ in habit and in flower. It is called by some _Císsus hederàcea_, which is certainly improper, this belonging to _Tetandria_, and the former to _Pentandria_. There are several other plants of a climbing habit, both curious and ornamental; but our limits will not admit of a detail. DECIDUOUS SHRUBS. Finish planting all deciduous shrubs in the early part of the month. These plants are generally delayed too long, the leaves in many instances are beginning to expand, thereby giving a check to the ascending sap, which we may safely assert causes the death of one third of the plants, when perhaps the operator or some individual more distantly concerned is blamed. These shrubs, if properly removed and planted at the exact starting of vegetation, pressing the earth close to their roots when planting, (previously taking care that the small fibres have not become dry by exposure,) will not, by these simple attentions, one out of fifty fail. Those that are late planted should have frequent waterings, and if large, firmly supported, that the wind may have no effect in disturbing the young and tender fibrous roots. OF PLANTING EVERGREEN SHRUBS. Now is the season to plant all kinds of evergreen trees and shrubs. In most seasons the middle of the month is the most proper time, the weather then being mild and moist; or if a late season, defer it to the end of the month. When planted earlier, they will remain dormant until this time, and their tender fibrous roots in that case frequently perish from their liability to injury from frost or frosty winds, being more susceptible of such injury than fibres of deciduous plants. They now begin to vegetate, which is the _grand criterion_ for transplanting any plant. The buds begin to swell, the roots to push, and if they can be quickly lifted and replanted, they will hardly receive a check. At all events care must be taken that they are not long out of the ground and exposed to the air, which greatly assists the success in planting. It may be observed that evergreens in general succeed the better the smaller they are, although we have seen plants, trees, and evergreens, successfully lifted upwards of thirteen feet high and fifteen in diameter, and carried several miles. By the second year there was no appearance that such operation had taken place. In preparing a hole for the reception of these plants, make it larger than the roots, breaking the bottom thereof fine, and putting in some fresh soil. Place the plant upright in the centre, putting in the earth and breaking it fine, and give the plant a few gentle shakes. When the roots are more than half covered, put in a pot or pail full of water, allowing it to subside, then cover all the roots, give a second or third pail full, and when subsided the earth will be close to all the roots. Cover with more earth, pressing all firm with the foot. Put more soil loosely on, which will give it a finished appearance, and prevent it from becoming dry, and not requiring mulching, which has an unsightly appearance. All that the wind will have any hurtful effect upon, must be firmly supported, especially large plants. If the weather sets in dry and hot, they should be watered as often as necessity shall direct. Those that are established, it will be necessary to go over them (if not already done) to cut off all wood killed in winter, and also to thin them if too thick and crowded. When the above is done, let every part of the shrubbery be dressed off as directed in _March_. Shrubs of all kinds will now begin to look gay and lively, which may be very much heightened or depreciated, according to the state in which the ground and contiguous walks are kept. Always keep in view that weeds are no objects of beauty. CARE OF CHOICE BULBS. _Hyacinths_ of the earliest sorts will begin to expand and show their colours, of which we can boast of a few as fine sorts in the vicinity of Philadelphia, as in any garden of Europe; but even these very superior sorts, when in bloom, are too frequently neglected, being allowed to stand without rods, stakes, or any means of support, likewise equally exposed to drenching rains and scorching suns; and the finest collections may be seen after heavy rains prostrate on the ground, whereas a few hours' trouble would give them the requisite support, thereby preserving their beauty much longer, and giving more gratification. As soon as the stems advance to any height, they should be supported by wires, rods, &c. and tied slightly thereto with threads of matting, or any other substitute, repeat the tying as they advance, avoid tying amongst the florets, because they grow by extension, and are liable to be broken off by so doing. The sun deteriorates the colours very much, especially the red, blue, and yellow sorts; whereas if they were simply protected from the sun by an awning of thin canvass, the colours would be preserved and the beauty protracted. If there are stakes drove into the ground on each side of the beds, about three feet high, with others in the centre about eight feet, having laths or hoops from the side to the centre, formed similar to the roof of a house, so that people may walk or sit under it, the canvass or awning being thin to admit of the light freely, the effect in the time of sunshine from the brilliancy of the colours is peculiarly gratifying. Where an awning is thus erected, it requires to be kept on only from nine to three o'clock in sunshine days, and during nights or time of rain, allowing the awning on the most northern side to come close to the ground when necessary, to shelter them from cold cutting winds. _Tulips_ in every respect should have the same care and protection, never neglecting to have the beds with a smooth clean surface, and the stems neatly tied up, although they are not in so much danger as Hyacinths. The properties of a good Hyacinth are, viz--the stem strong and erect, the florets or bells occupying one half of the stem, each floret suspended by a short strong footstalk, longest at the bottom, the uppermost floret quite erect, so that the whole may form a pyramid. Each floret well filled with petals rising towards the centre, that it may appear to the eye a little convex. Regarding colour, fancy does not agree, and the scrupulous cultivators differ materially. However the more pure and bright the finer, or a white with a pink centre, or the centre of the petals with a paler or deeper colour appearing striped, which is considered to have a good effect. Those of a good _Tulip_ are--the stem strong, elastic, and erect, about two feet high, the flower large and composed of six petals, proceeding a little horizontally at first, and then turning upwards, forming a flat-bottomed cup, rather widest at the top; the three exterior petals should be larger than the three interior ones, and broader at their base; the edges of the petals entire, free from notch or ruggedness; the top of each well rounded; the colour of the flower at the bottom of the cup ought to be pure, white, or yellow, and the rich coloured stripes which are the principal ornament should be pure, bold, regular, and distinct on the margin, and terminate in fine points elegantly pencilled. The centre of each petal should have one bold stripe, or blotch of rich colouring. The ground colours that are most esteemed are white, the purer the finer; or, on the other hand, the dark grounds, and of course the darker the better; but these vary in estimation, according to the prevailing taste of amateurs. ANEMONES AND RANUNCULUS. Moist weather and frequent showers are highly essential to the perfecting of these flowers, and if these should fail at this season of the year, artificial means must be used to supply the deficiency. Take a watering-pot without the rose, and run the water (river or rain water is best) gently between the rows, taking care not to make holes in the ground. When they have got a good watering at root, take the syringe and give them a gentle sprinkling in fine evenings, observing not to use force for fear of breaking the flower stems. In dry weather the result of a deficiency of water would be that the stems and flowers of the strongest roots will be weak, and make no progress, and many of them will not bloom; the foliage of a sickly, yellow appearance, from which they would not recover; and the roots when taken up of little use for farther transplanting. A good plan in dry seasons is to cover the ground between the rows with cow manure, which will prevent the moisture from evaporating, and the rain or water passing through it greatly enriches the soil, and strengthens the roots. AURICULAS. Having under this head last month given ample directions for the treatment of these plants previous to flowering, we refer to that head to avoid repetition. CARNATIONS, PINKS, &c. If any of these were omitted to be shifted last month, or planted out according to directions therein given, let it be done forthwith. Where they are still protected with frames, give them plenty of air, keeping the sashes entirely off during the day, keep the pots perfectly free from weeds, and give the foliage frequent sprinklings with water. _Polyanthus_ and _primroses_ will be exhibiting their beautiful flowers. They require the same treatment, and delight in moisture and a shaded situation. Do not sprinkle them while in flower, and keep them clear of weeds or decayed leaves, never exposing them to the sun. They are very hardy, and where required may be planted in very shady situations, for they will suffer more from the influence of the sun's rays than from frost. Those plants in pots in general that have been protected in frames, and are destined for the borders, should now as soon as possible be planted in their destined situations, having nothing to fear from chilling winds or frosts after the middle of this month, except in uncommon seasons. Those that are to be kept in pots, if not repotted, do it immediately, and give regular supplies of water. POLIANTHUS TUBEROSA FLORE PLENO. This very popular bulb, generally known as _Tuberose_, has been cultivated in England upwards of two centuries, whence we no doubt have received it, and now can return those of our production to supply their demand. The flowers are many and highly odoriferous, and of the purest white, and on a flower stem from three to five feet high. To have them in the greatest perfection, they should be planted in a lively hot-bed, about the first of this month in six inch pots filled with light rich earth, giving very little water until they begin to grow, when they ought to be liberally supplied with plenty of air, and about the end of next month they may be planted in the borders, providing a spot for them that is or has been well worked, and enriched with well decomposed manure. Secure their flower stems to proper rods. Previous to planting the roots, all the off-sets should be taken off and planted separately; keep the crown of the bulb level with the surface of the pot, and when they are replanted in the open ground, put them two inches deeper. But when the convenience of a hot-bed cannot be obtained, they will succeed very well if planted about the end of this month or first of next in the garden, in a bed of earth prepared for their reception. Let it be dug deep, and make the soil light and rich, by giving it a good supply of manure two years old, well broken and incorporated with the earth, adding a little sand where the soil is heavy. The black earth from the woods produced from decayed leaves is equally as good without sand. Having the ground in proper order, draw drills about two and a half inches deep, and eighteen inches apart; plant the bulbs (after divesting them of their off-sets) nine inches apart in the row, covering the crown of the bulb about an inch and a half. When done, carefully rake and finish off the beds. When they shoot up their flower stems, give them neat rods for their support. Plant the off-sets in closer rows to produce flowering roots for next year, because they seldom flower the second time. AMARYLLIS FORMOSISSIMA, OR JACOBEA LILY. About the end of this or beginning of next month, is the most proper time for planting out these bulbs. This flower is of the most beautiful and rich crimson velvet colour. The bulb generally produces two stems, the one after the other, about the end of May or first of June. The stem is from nine inches to one foot high, surmounted by a single flower, composed of six petals, three hanging down, three erect and recurved; the stamens droop on the centre of the under petals. The flower thus appears nodding on one side of the stem, and has a most graceful and charming appearance. If planted in a bed, prepare the ground as before directed for _Tuberoses_. Keep the rows one foot asunder, and the bulbs six inches apart in the rows, covering them two inches over their crowns. This plant is now called _Spreikèlia formosíssima_, and we think properly too, for its habit differs from _Amaryllis_. We have not the smallest doubt that in a few years, not only this superb South American bulb will adorn our flower gardens, but many of the rich bulbs of Brazil and South America generally will yearly exhibit to us the beauty of their colours and the beautiful construction of their flowers and foliage, of which we are now generally deprived, perhaps because we have not the conveniency of a proper hot-house for their protection during winter. But it will be found, in many instances, that these bulbs will do perfectly well to be kept dry in a warm room from October to May, when the heat of our summer is sufficient for the perfection of their flowers, and many species will ripen their seeds. The bulb that is known as _Amaryllis Belladónna_, now called _Belladónna purpuráscens_, is hardy. TIGER FLOWER. _Tigrídia_, a genus of Mexican bulbs belonging to _Monadelphia Triándria_, and produce the most beautiful flowers of the natural order of _Irideæ_. _T. pavònia_ is of the brightest scarlet, tinged and spotted with pure yellow. _T. conchiiflòra_, colour rich yellow, tinged and spotted with bright crimson. The colours are very rich, and purely contrasted. The corolla is about four inches in diameter, composed of six petals; the outer are reflexed, the flower of the largest, though splendid in beauty, exists only one day; but to compensate for that, a plant will produce flowers for several weeks; and where a bed of them can be collected, they will bloom in profusion from July to September. They like a light rich free soil. Lift the bulbs in October, and preserve them as directed in that month for _Tuberoses_. Be sure that they be kept dry, and secure from frost. A bed of these should be in every garden. A writer says, "it is the most beautiful flower that is cultivated." Plant them about the end of this or first of next month; if in beds keep them one foot apart each way. WALKS. The walks in general should be put in the neatest order during this month. Little requires to be added to the observations of last month, but if these have not been executed, fail not to have it done the first opportunity, choosing dry weather for the operation of _turning_ the old or adding new gravel to them, levelling, raking, and rolling neatly as you proceed. Always after rain give the whole of the gravel walks a good rolling. This being frequently done during the early part of the season, will be a saving of much labour and time through the summer. The walks having a firm surface, the growth of weeds will be retarded, and the heavy rains will not be so apt to injure them. Where there are any pretensions to keeping these in order, they ought to be picked of weeds and litter once a week, and gone over with the roller at least once every two weeks during the season. Sweep and divest the grass walks of all worm casts, litter, &c. cutting the edgings neatly. Mow the grass every two weeks from this time to October, sweeping off the grass clean each time, and give frequent rollings to keep the surface smooth. If any require to be laid with turf, delay it no longer. For directions see last month. The above observations on walks in general, will apply through the season; therefore we will not repeat this subject until October. EVERGREEN HEDGES. We have previously observed, under the head of Evergreens, that this is the best season for their replanting. We cannot pass over the observations of this month, without having reference to evergreen hedges, so much neglected amongst us, and yet so important to the diversity of aspect, and especially to soften a little the gloomy appearance of our winters. There are three indigenous shrubs, and at least one exotic, that are well adapted for the purpose, viz, _Pìnus canadénsis_, Hemlock-spruce; _Thùja occidentàlis_, American arbor-vitæ; and _Juníperis virginiána_, Red cedar. These are natives, and the two former are admirably adapted for the purpose. Where there is to be a hedge of any of these planted, select plants about two feet high; lift them carefully, preserving the roots as much as possible. Dig a trench from one and a half to two feet wide, and from one to one foot and a half deep. This will admit the soil about the roots to be well broken, which must be done in planting. Keep the plants in the centre of the trench, mixing the shortest and the tallest, that it may be of one height, putting the earth close about their roots as you proceed, and make it firm with the foot; fill up, and water as directed for evergreens in this month. If the season is very dry, give it frequent copious waterings. None of them should be topped for a few seasons, except such as are much above the others in height, keeping the sides regular and even by clipping or shearing once a year, either in this month or at the end of August. It is better to keep the top (when they have got to the desired height) pointed, than broad. The latter method retains a heavy weight of snow, which frequently breaks down, or otherwise deforms, that which has cost much labour to put into shape. BOX EDGINGS. Where these have not been laid, this month is the proper time. Do not delay the planting of such any later. For ample directions see _March_ under this head. Clipping of those should be done about the middle of this month. There will then be no danger of frosts to brown the cut leaves, and the young foliage will not be expanded. To keep these edgings in order, they must be cut once a year, and never be allowed to get above four inches high, and two inches wide. What we consider the neatest edging is three inches high, two inches wide at the bottom, tapering to a thin edge at the top. It is very unsightly to see large bushy edgings, especially to narrow walks. The use of edgings is to keep the soil from the gravel, and the larger they are allowed to grow the more ineffectual they become; growing more open below as they advance in height. The operation may be done very expeditiously by clipping the tops level, going longitudinally along with shears for the purpose, called "box shears." Strain a line along the centre of the edgings, cutting perpendicularly from the line to the bottom on each side, leaving only the breadth of the line at top. Edgings, cut in this manner, every spring will always look well, and the trouble, comparatively, is a mere trifle. GRASS PLATS, &c. If these have not been laid down where wanted, delay it no longer, for which see directions in _March_; and where these are desired to be kept in order, they should be mown every two or three weeks at farthest; from this month to October when cut, the grass should be clean swept off, and the edgings, if out of order, adjusted. To mention this subject again will be only a repetition, therefore we will let this suffice. GENERAL CARE OF PLANTS COMING INTO FLOWER. Every part of the flower ground should be put into neat order, giving such plants about the borders as are shooting up their flower stems, and are tender, and in danger of being hurt or broken by the wind, proper sticks or rods for their support. In doing this, endeavour to conceal the rods, &c. as much as possible, by dressing the stems and leaves in a natural looking manner over them. Let the stakes be in proportion to the heighth and growth of the plants. It looks very unsightly to see strong stakes to short and weak growing plants. The tyings likewise should be proportionate. Examine all the beds and patches of seedling flowers now coming up, and let them be refreshed with water as it may be necessary, and pick out the weeds as they appear. We cannot leave this department at this season of the year, without enforcing the benefit and beauty that will result from keeping the weeds down during this and next month. Therefore strictly observe that there are none running to seed in any part of the garden; in fact, they ought not to be allowed to rear their heads above one day in sight. =Rooms.= _APRIL._ We remarked last month, that about this season, where it is convenient, an eastern window is more congenial to plants than a southern. The sun becomes too powerful, and the morning sun is preferable to that of the afternoon. West is also preferable to south. Some keep their plants in excellent order at a north window. But the weather is so mild after this, that there is no difficulty in protecting and growing plants in rooms. They generally suffer most from want of air and water; the window must be up a few inches, or altogether, according to the mildness of the day. And as plants are more liable to get covered with dust in rooms than in any other department, and not so convenient to be syringed or otherwise cleaned, take the first opportunity of a mild day to carry them to a shady situation, and syringe such as are not in flower well with water; or for want of a syringe take a watering-pot with a rose upon it: allowing them to stand until they drip, when they may be put into their respective situations. DIRECTIONS FOR PLANTS BROUGHT FROM THE GREEN-HOUSE. Any plants that are brought from the Green-house during the spring months ought to be as little exposed to the direct rays of the sun as possible. Keep them in airy situations, with plenty of light, giving frequent and liberal supplies of water. Plants may be often observed through our city during this month fully exposed in the outside of a south window, with the blaze of a mid-day sun upon them, and these too just come from the temperate and damp atmosphere of a well regulated Green-house. Being thus placed in an arid situation, scorched between the glass and the sun whose heat is too powerful for them to withstand, the transition being so sudden, that, however great their beauties may have appeared, they in a few days become brown, the flowers tarnished or decayed, and the failure generally attributed to individuals not at all concerned. From this and similar causes many have drawn the unjust conclusion, viz. that "plants from Green-houses are of too delicate a nature to be exposed in rooms or windows at this early season." But every year gives more and more proof to the contrary. There are ladies in Philadelphia, and those not a few, whose rooms and windows at this period vie with the finest of our Green-houses, with respect to the health, beauty and order of their plants, and we might almost say in variety. Some of them have got above eight kinds of Camellias in their collections, which afford a continual beauty through the winter, with many other desirable and equally valuable plants. Exposure to the sun, and want of water, are the general cause of failures at this period. We have spoken so minutely and so frequently on these two subjects, that we think more repetition unnecessary. The plants generally are growing pretty freely by this time, and are not so liable to suffer from liberal supplies of water, observing never to give it until the soil in the pot is inclining to become dry, and administering it always in the evenings. FLOWERING PLANTS. Our directions last month under this head will equally apply now. The China _roses_ that are now coming plentifully in flower should be kept near the light, and in airy exposures, to brighten their colours, otherwise they will be very pale and sickly. _Geraniums_ too ought to have the like treatment. BRINGING PLANTS OUT OF THE CELLAR, &c. All or most of the plants that have been in the cellar during winter, such as _Pomegranates_, _Lagerstræmias_, _Hydrángeas_, _Oleanders_, _Sweet-bay_, _&c._ may be brought out to the open air any time about the middle of the month. If any of them stand in need of larger pots or tubs, have them turned out, the balls reduced, and put them in others a little larger; or where convenient they may be planted in the ground, except _Oleanders_, which do best to be a little confined. Be sure to keep the _Hydrángeas_ in shady situations. It will not be advisable to expose entirely the Orange and Lemon trees, until the end of this or first of next month. Where there are any scale or foulness of any kind collected on the foliage or wood, have them cleaned directly before the heat increases the one, and to get clear of the disagreeable appearance of the other. =Hot-House.= _MAY._ Very few directions for this department remain to be given; except for shifting plants, and a few observations on those that are most desirable for the Hot-house; which we will do in this month, considering May and June the best months of the year for that operation. The days and nights will be very mild by this time, and the sashes in every favourable day should be opened both in front and top, so that the plants may be enured to the open air, which they will be exposed to by the end of the month, Leave in the beginning of the month the top sashes a little open every mild night, and gradually as the heat increases leave the front sashes and doors open. Continue to syringe them at least every alternate night, and if possible every night; and give them all, according to their respective wants, liberal supplies of water every day. Absorption amongst Hot-house plants is as great during this month as in any period of the year. OF REPOTTING PLANTS, &c. It is our candid opinion that this and next month are the best periods for shifting or repotting all or most of Hot-house plants. The end of August being the time always adopted around Philadelphia for that operation (and then they are done indiscriminately,) we will assign a few reasons for our practice. _First_, that it is not congenial to the nature of these plants to have their roots surrounded with fresh soil, when they are becoming inactive; _secondly_, that there is not a sufficiency of heat naturally to quicken them to an active state when they are encouraged; and _thirdly_, being thus in new soil while dormant, they have a yellow and sickly aspect until they begin to grow; and the foliage thus deprived of its natural vigour will not appear so healthful again. Whereas, if they are shifted or repotted in this or next month, at which season they are between two stages of growth, they immediately, on receiving fresh assistance, and by the increasing heat of the summer, make new growths, are perfectly ripened before the approach of winter, and never lose that verdureal appearance they have attained. These are our reasons acquired from a close practice and observation, and are not influenced by the doings of others which are so much aside. No practical operator especially, nor in fact any individual, ought to be governed by custom in regard to the treatment of plants, without having an idea as to why and wherefore, founded on the principles of nature, and governed by her unerring results. As many are desirous of having a knowledge of plants, before they order them, and likewise which are the finest flowerers and their general character, especially those who are at a great distance, and seldom have the privilege of seeing what is most desirable, our descriptions will be limited, and simply such as are given for the Green-house in March. _Acàcias._ Several of these are desirable in the Hot-house, for the grandeur of their foliage, beauty of flower, and a few of them as specimens of valuable medicinal plants. _A. Houstóni_, now _Anneslèia Houstóni_, is one of the most magnificent of the _Mimòsa_ tribe, blooming from August to November in large terminale spikes, of a crimson colour, stamens very long, and beautiful; leaves bipinnated in pairs. _A. grandiflòra_, likewise given to _Anneslèia_, and similar to the former in colour; has very large compound bipinnate leaves, with from twenty to forty pairs. _A. Catèchu_, flowers yellow, wood spiny, leaves bipinnated, about ten pairs. The inner wood of this tree is of a brown colour, from which the _Catèchu_ used in medicine is prepared. It is disputed whether _A. Véra_, or _A. Arábica_ produces the gum Arabic. We are inclined to think it is the latter, which grows principally on the Atlas mountains. The gum exudes spontaneously from the bark of the tree in a soft half fluid state. There are many others of this genus belonging to the Hot-house, but being shy in flowering, are not generally esteemed. Most of the flowers have the appearance of yellow balls of down, and are hermaphrodite. The pots should all be well drained. _Aloe._ These grotesque looking succulent plants are principally natives of the Cape of Good Hope, and consequently will do well in the warmest part of the Green-house, although when convenient, they frequently get a situation in the Hot-house. It is not requisite, except for _A. vulgàris_, known as _A. barbadénsis_; which has orange yellow flowers; _A. oblíqua_, now called _Gastèria oblíqua_; _A. dichótoma_; and _A. lineàta_, which is perhaps the finest of the genus. The leaves are beautifully striped, with red spines, flowers scarlet and green. These are the only ones that actually need heat during winter. They ought to have very little water, once a month is sufficient. They would grow without it, and several of them would also grow by being suspended in the house, without earth or any substitute about their roots, by being frequently sprinkled with water. Few of them are admired for the beauty of their flowers, but the whole are considered curious. They flower from May to September. _Ardísias_, about eighteen species. Plants highly esteemed for the beauty of their foliage, flowers, and berries. The most popular in our collections is _A. crenulàta_. It has rose coloured star-like flowers, in terminale panicles, and produces beautiful small red berries, which continue until other berries are produced the following year, and frequently there may be seen on one plant, the berries of three successive years, thus being a very ornamental plant and very desirable. It is vulgarly called the Dwarf ever-bearing cherry. It will keep in a good Green-house, but not grow freely. _A. solanàcea_ has large oblong leaves, narrowed at each end, and bears purple berries; _A. élegans_ has entire, oblong, shining leaves; _A. umbellàta_, once _A. littoràlis_, is the finest of the genus for abundance of flower and beauty of foliage. The flowers are pink, in large decompound panicles, the leaves the largest of all the species, oblong, wedge shaped, nearly sessile, entire, smooth, and reflexed. They are all evergreens, and the pots should be well drained. They are natives of the East Indies, and delight in a high temperature. _Aristolochias_, Birth-wort. There are several of these belonging to the Hot-house, but none of them deserving particular observation, except _A. labiosa_. The leaves are reniform, roundish, cordate, and amplexicaule; the flower or corolla is of a curious construction, being incurved, and at the base swelled or saccate with a large lip, and all beautifully spotted; colour greenish brown. It is a climbing plant, and requires a strong heat. _Astrap[oe]as_, three species. _A. Wallichii_ is a celebrated plant in Europe, and a few specimens of it are in this country. It has scarlet unbellated flowers, with an involucre, has twenty-five stamens united into a tube, bearing the corolla with five petals; leaves roundish, cordate, accuminate, very large with persistent, ovate wavy stipules. The plant is of easy culture, and grows freely, wood very strong. _Areca_, Cabbage-tree, ten species. They are a kind of palms, with large pinnated leaves, or properly fronds. In their indigenous state they are from six to forty feet high, but in the Hot-house they seldom exceed twenty feet. _A. catechu_ is used in medicine. _A. olerácea_ is cultivated extensively in the West Indies, and the tender part of the top is eaten by the natives. _A. montana_ is most frequent in collections. There is no particular beauty in the flowers. They are all easily grown, if plenty of heat be given. _Brunsvigias_ are all large bulbs from the Cape of Good Hope, and will keep in the Green-house during winter, but are better where they can obtain a situation in the Hot-house. It is a splendid genus, containing about ten species. Some of the bulbs grow to an enormous size, and all of them while growing require a liberal supply of water; but when dormant it must be wholly withheld, and they should have large pots to make them grow and flower in perfection. _B. multiflora_, flowers scarlet and green; the leaves lay on the surface of the pot. _B. latìcoma_, flowers pale purple. _B. Josephinæ_ has splendid rose coloured flowers, and is the most admired species of the genus: the foliage spreading, half erect, and glacous; flowers numerous, and in large umbels, on a stem two feet high, blooming successively; there is a variety that has striped flowers. Several other species have been given to different genera. _B. falcata_ is now _Ammocharis falcata_; _B. marginata_, now _Imhofia_; and _B. cilliaris_, is now _Buphone cilliaris_. They all flower in umbels, on stems from six inches to two feet; flowers lily-like with six petals. _Bambusa_, Bamboo-cane, two species. Plants of very strong growth, and are used in the East Indies, where they are indigenous, for every purpose in the construction of huts, for furniture both domestic and rural, for fences, boats, boxes, paper, &c. It is frequently used as pipes to convey water. The species thus useful, is _B. arundinacea_, which grows to a great height. We do not mention it as interesting in beauty, but as a valuable plant, for the many useful purposes to which it is applied. It requires to be kept wet. _Banistèrias_, a genus of about fourteen climbing evergreen plants. Three of them are esteemed. _B. fúlgens_, yellow flowers in racemose spikes, leaves subovate, and downy beneath. _B. Chrisophylla_ has beautiful foliage, as if covered with a shining gold coloured dust; leaves large, oblong, acute. _B. splèndens_, flowers in spikes of a yellow colour; foliage large and silvery like; the pots should be well drained. _Barringtònias_, two species. _B. speciòsa_ has produced a great excitement amongst cultivators, and is one of the handsomest plants produced within the tropics. The leaves are large, oblong, acute, shining, with fleshy nerves, tinged with red; the flowers are large, full of stamens with four petals, opens in the evening and fades at sunrise; colour purple and white; grows freely in strong heat. _Brôwneas_, five species of splendid plants, but scarce in collections. _B. coccínea_ has scarlet flowers in pendulous bunches, corolla semi-double, foliage bipinnate, in three pairs. _B. ròsa_, mountain rose of Trinidad. _B. grandicéps_ is the finest of the genus, leaves bipinnated; leaflets cordate, accuminate, downy and pendulous, flowers rose colour, in large close heads. Drain the pots well. _Calathèa zebrìna_, frequently known as _Maránta zebrìna_, and now _Phrynum zebrìnum_, is a plant unique in its appearance. The large elongated ovate leaves are beautifully striped with green and dark purple, and called _Zebra plant_. It has light blue flowers in ovate spikes, about the size of large pine cones. It is a herbaceous plant; but in the warmest part of the Hot-house retains its splendid foliage; requires a very liberal supply of water, and ought to be in every collection. _Cánnas_, about thirty species, several of them deserving cultivation both for flower and foliage; they are principally natives of the West Indies, and might all be easily obtained. The finest are _C. gigántea_, has large leaves and orange flowers; _C. limbàta_, flowers scarlet and yellow; _C. díscolor_, has large cordate, accuminate leaves of a crimson colour, the flowers are scarlet; _C. iridiflòra_, has large crimson nodding flowers, very different from any of the others, and the finest of the genus. They all, while in a growing state, require a liberal supply of water; and being herbaceous plants watering ought to be given up about the first of November, and renewed about the first of January, thus giving them a cessation which they require to flower freely; but when water is constantly given, which is the general plan in our collections, they continue to push weak shoots and few flowers. _Cáctus._ This extensive genus is curious, grotesque, interesting, and varied in character and habit; is now divided into six distinct genera according to their natural appearance and habit. We will describe a few of each genus, none of which going under the name of _Cáctus_, we will give them the six following. _Mamillàrias_, above twenty species, and are those which are covered with roundish bearded tubercles, and with small red and white flowers. _M. coccínea_; _M. simplex_; _M. pusílla_, and _M. cònica_, are good species, and will do well with water five or six times during summer. _Melocáctus_, seven species, and are those that are roundish with deep and many angles, with spines in clusters on the top of the angle. _M. commùnis_, is the Turk's cap, named from having an ovate conate crown upon the top, from which proceed the small red flowers. _M. macránthus_, has large spines; _M. pyramidàlis_, is a conical growing species. These require the same treatment as the last. _Echinocáctus_, about twenty species; are those that have many deep angles, and have a remarkable swelling, with each parcel of spines; _E. gibbòsus_; _E. crispàtus_; _E. recúrvus_; are curious in appearance, with small white and purple flowers. These three genera in most collections are not well known specifically, but it is easy to discriminate which genus they are connected with. _Cèreus._ This is the most magnificent genus with regard to the magnitude and beauty of the flowers, but not so closely allied. It takes in all those of a trailing or erect growing habit, having spines in clusters, solitary, or spineless. _C. peruviànus_ and _C. heptagònus_, grow very erect, and to the height of thirty or forty feet in Peru and Mexico, where they plant them close together as fences, and they are in a few years impenetrable. _C. flagellifórmus_ is a well known creeping free flowering species, has ten angles; will keep in a good Green-house, and produce in May and June a great number of blooms. The petals are of a fine pink and red colour; the tube of the flower is long, and will stand a few days in perfection, when others come out successively for the space of two months, and during their continuance make a brilliant appearance. _C. grandiflòrus_ is the celebrated "Night-blooming Cereus." The flowers are very large, beautiful, and sweet-scented. They begin to open about sun-down, and are fully expanded about eleven o'clock. The corolla, or rather calyx, is from seven to ten inches in diameter, the outside of which is a brown, and the inside a fine straw yellow colour; the petals are of the purest white, with the stamens surrounding the stile in the centre of the flower, which add to its lustre, and make it appear like a bright star. Its scent is agreeable, and perfumes the air to a considerable distance; but these beauties are of momentary duration. By sunrise they fade, and hang down quite decayed, and never open again.[E] One of these ought to be in every collection, and if trained up a naked wall will not occupy much room, and grow and flower profusely. They need very little water. C. _speciosíssimus_ has most beautiful large flowers, about six inches diameter; the outside petals are a bright scarlet, those of the inside a fine light purple. One flower lasts a few days, and a large plant will produce every year from ten to twenty flowers, blooming from May to August. It has flowered in some of our collections, and is highly esteemed. _C. triangulàris_ has the largest flower of the _Cacteæ_ family; the bloom is of a cream colour, and about one foot in diameter. In its indigenous state, it produces a fine fruit called "Strawberry Pear," and is much esteemed in the West Indies as being slightly acid, and at the same time sweet, pleasant, and cooling. It seldom flowers. C. _phyllanthoídes_, once _Cáctus speciósus_, is one of the most profuse in flowering; the branches are ensate, compressed, and obovate, without spines; flowers of a pink colour, about four inches in diameter; the stamens as long as the corolla, with white anthers. It will keep well in a Green-house or Room. If in either of the two latter, give water only a few times during winter. This is becoming a very popular plant. C. _Jenkinsòni_ is a magnificent hybrid from C. _speciosíssimus_. The flowers are equally as large, and of a brilliant scarlet colour, with a profusion of pure white anthers; is greatly admired, and is only in a few collections. C. _Ackermánni_ is very similar to C. _phyllanthoídes_, flowering equally as profusely, the colour a bright scarlet, and the scarcest species of the genus that is worthy of notice. C. _truncàtus_, branches truncated, flowers deep scarlet and tubular, from two to three inches in diameter; the stamens protrude from the corolla; the plant is of a dwarf growth and branched; when in flower it is quite a picture. It is said that there are free and shy flowering varieties of this species, but we doubt it; perhaps it is owing to the cultivation and soil. [E] They may be preserved if cut off when in perfection, and put in spirits of wine, in a chrystal vase, made air tight. A plant flowered in our collection in May 1830, at 12 o'clock at noon--the only instance of the kind we ever heard of. _Opúntias_, about forty species, and are those whose branches are in joints flatly oblong, or ovate, spines solitary, or in clusters. The plants are not so desirable for beauty of flower as the species of the former genus, but many of them are remarkable for their strong grotesque and spiny appearance; besides several of the species are extensively cultivated for the Cochineal insect. The one most valued for that purpose, is _O. cochiníllifera_, which has only small clusters of bristles upon the oblong ovate joints, and produces small red flowers; C. _ficus índica_, is also used, but is very spiny. _Peréskias._ About four species, and those that are of a shrubby nature producing leaves; _P. aculeàta_ bears a fruit called "Barbadoes-gooseberry." The flowers are very small and simple, spines about half an inch long, leaves fleshy and elliptical. The whole of the plants in the family of _Cacteæ_ require very little water, and delight in a dry warm situation. They do not agree with frequent repotting; once in two or three years to young plants, and in five or six to those that are established, with the exception of the large, free flowering species, which should be repotted once in two years. _Coffèa Arábica._ It produces the celebrated coffee, and is a plant universally known in our collections, and of easy culture. The leaves are opposite, oblong, wavy and shining, the flowers white, of a grateful odour, but of short duration. There is a plant known as C. _occidentalis_, which is now _Tetramèrium odoratíssimum_. It requires a great heat to grow well, therefore should be kept in the warmest part of the Hot-house. The flowers are white, in panicles, and larger than the common jasmine, and is very sweet-scented; leaves oblong, lanceolate, accuminate. _Callicárpas._ About twelve species, and are generally admitted into collections, though of no particular interest or beauty, except in the bright purple berries they produce, which is rarely. The foliage is of a rugose, hoary appearance. _Carolíneas._ About six species of tender plants, with large digitate leaves, and of handsome growth. The flowers have numerous filaments, and are large and singular. C. _insígnis_ has the largest and compactest blossoms; C. _àlba_ is the only one of the genus that has white flowers, all the others being red; C. _prínceps_ and C. _robústa_ are noble looking species, and are much esteemed. They require a good heat, with which they will grow freely. _Caryòtas._ A genus of palms. C. _ùrens_ is an admired species, produces flowers in long pendulous spikes, which are succeeded by strings of succulent globular berries. In its native state it produces a sweet liquor in large quantities, and no stronger than water. _Coccolòbas_, Sea-side grape. This genus is admired for its beautiful large foliage, which is oblong ovate, and cordate ovate; C. _pubéscens_ and C. _latifòlia_ are the finest species. They bear berries in clusters like the grape, but never come to perfection in artificial cultivation. _Cùphea Melvílla_, is the only species of the genus that is particularly deserving of a situation, has lanceolate scabrous leaves, narrowed at each end, flowers tubular in a terminale whorl, colour scarlet and green. The plant must be well drained. It will flower from May to September. _Cròtons._ About twenty-eight species, few of them deserving cultivation; but the genus is celebrated for its beautiful C. _pìctus_, leaves oblong-lanceolate, variegated with yellow, and stained with red, flowers small green, on axillary spikes. C. _variagàtus_, variety _latifòlia_, is finer than the original _variagàtus_, the nerves in the leaves are yellow, and the leaves lanceolate, entire and smooth. To make them grow freely, give the warmest part of the Hot-house, and drain the pots well. _Cérberas._ About twelve species of strong growing trees, full of poisonous juice. C. _thevètia_ is an elegant plant, with accumulate leaves, and large, nodding, yellow, solitary, fragrant flowers, proceeding from the axil; C. _ahoùai_ produces a nut which is deadly poison. C. _odàllam_, once C. _mànghas_, has large star-like flowers, white, shaded with red. They are principally East India plants, and require great heat. _Cycas_, four species, generally called _Sago palm_, as an English name. The plant that _Sago_ is extracted from, belongs to another genus, (see _Sàgus_.) C. _revolùta_ is a well known palm, and will keep perfectly well in the Green-house. We have seen a beautiful specimen of it which is kept every winter in the cellar, but those that are kept so cool in winter only grow every alternate year, while those that are kept in the Hot-house grow every year, which shows that heat is their element. C. _circinàlis_ is a large growing species; the fronds are much longer, but not so close and thick. C. _glaùca_ is a fine species; the foliage is slightly glaucous. They require plenty of pot room, are much infested with the small white scaly insect, and ought to be frequently examined and carefully washed as prescribed in January. _Combrètums._ Nine species of beautiful flowering climbing plants, standing in very high estimation. The leaves of the principal part of them are ovate, acute, flowers small but on large branches, the flowers all coming out on one side of the branch. They have a magnificent effect. _C. èlegans_, red; _C. formòsum_, red and yellow; _C. pulchéllum_, scarlet; _C. comòsum_ has crimson flowers in tufts; _C. purpùreum_ is the most splendid of the genus. It was first cultivated in 1818, and so much admired, that the whole of the species as soon as introduced, was extravagantly bought up, and none of them has retained their character, except _C. purpùreum_, which is now called _Poívrea coccínea_. The flowers are bright scarlet, in large branches, blooming profusely from April to September, and flower best in a pot. When planted in the ground it grows too much to wood, carrying few flowers. This plant ought to be in every Hot-house. _Cràssula._ This genus has no plants in it attractive in beauty. Several beautiful plants in our collections belong to _Ròchea_ and _Kalosánthus_. There is a strong growing succulent plant, known in our collections as _C. falcàta_, which is _R. falcàta_. It seldom flowers; the minor variety blooms profusely every year from May to August, and has showy scarlet flowers in terminale panicles. The plants known as _C. coccínea_ and _C. versícolor_ are now given to the genus _Kalosánthus_. The flowers of the former are like scarlet wax, terminale and sessile; _K. odoratíssima_ has yellow terminale sweet-scented flowers. They require very little water, only a few times in winter, and about twice a week in summer; they are all desirable plants. _Córyphas_, (Large fan Palm,) five species of the most noble and magnificent of palms. _C. ambraculífera_, the fronds or leaves are palmate; in Ceylon, where the tree is indigenous, they are frequently found fifteen feet wide and twenty feet long. Knox says they will cover from fifteen to twenty men, and when dried will fold up in the shape of a rod, and can be easily carried about, and serve to protect them from the scorching sun. _C. talièra_, now _Talièra bengalénsis_, being stronger, is of great utility for covering houses. They do not grow to such immense extent in artificial cultivation, but require large houses to grow them. _Crìnums_, about one hundred species, chiefly stove bulbs, many of them beautiful. Those that are of great celebrity are _C. cruéntum_, colour red; _C. scàbrum_, crimson and white; _C. amàbile_, purple and white; the neck of the bulb of the latter is long and easily distinguished from its purplish colour, and is considered the finest of the genus. Several specimens of it are in our collections. Their flowers are in umbels, on a stalk from one to three feet high; corolla funnel shaped; petals recurved. They require large pots to make them flower well, and when growing to be liberally supplied with water. _Cyrtànthus_, a genus of Cape bulbs, containing nine species, and will do very well in the Green-house, but we find the assistance of the Hot-house a great advantage. They are closely allied to _Crìnum_. The tubes of the flowers are long and round, with various shades of orange, yellow, red, and green. _C. odòrus_, _C. striátus_, _C. oblíquus_, and _C. vittàtus_, are the finest. When the bulbs are dormant, which will be from October to January, they should not get any water; before they begin to grow, turn the bulb out of the old earth, repotting it immediately. At this time they should be potted with the balls of earth entire, which will cause them to flower stronger. _Caryophyllus aromáticus_, is the only species, and the tree that produces cloves. The whole plant is aromatic, and closely allied to _Myrtus_; the flowers are in loose panicles, the leaves oblong, accuminate, entire. It is a fine evergreen. Pots must be well drained. _Dillènias_, three species of fine plants, with beautiful foliage. _D. speciòsa_ has produced considerable excitement in our collections. The leaves are elliptic, oblong, simply serrated, nerves deep; the flower is white, with five bold petals, centre filled with barren anthers; it has not been known to flower in America. _D. scándens_ has ovate, simply serrated leaves, but is not known as to flower; it is a fine climber. _Dracænas_, Dragon-tree, about twelve species of Asiatic plants, varied in character. _D. férrea_ is plentiful in our collections, and will keep in the Green-house; but the foliage is not so well retained as when kept in the Hot-house; the leaves are lanceolate, acute, of a dark purple colour. _D. fràgrans_, when in bloom, will scent the air for a considerable distance, leaves green and lanceolate. _D. marginàta_ is rare, yet it is to be seen in a few of our collections. _D. strícta_ is now _Charlwòodia_[F] _strícta_, flowers blush and in loose panicles. _D. Dráco_ is admired, and the most conspicuous of the genus. [F] In honour of Mr. Charlwood, an extensive seedsman of London, who has made several botanical excursions on this continent. _Eránthemums_, about ten species. _E. pulchéllum_ and _E. bícolor_ are the finest of the genus; the former is in our collections, but miserably treated. The soil in which it is grown is too stiff and loamy, and it seldom gets enough of heat. The latter is indispensable to make it flower in perfection; therefore it should have the warmest part of the house, and it will produce flowers of a fine blue colour from January to September. The flowers of the latter are white and dark purple, with a few brown spots in the white; blooms from April to August. Drain the pots well, and give the plants little sun during summer. _Eugènias_, about thirty species, esteemed for their handsome evergreen foliage. This genus once contained a few celebrated species, which have been divided. (See _Jambòsa_.) The Allspice tree, known as _Myrtus Piménta_, is now _E. Piménta_; the leaves are ovate, lanceolate, and when broken have an agreeable scent. There are several varieties all of the same spicy fragrance. The plant is in very few of our collections. _E. fràgrans_ is sweet scented; the flowers are on axillary peduncles; leaves ovate, obtuse. _Euphórbia_ (spurg), a genus of plants disseminated over every quarter of the globe; a few are beautiful, many grotesque, and several the most worthless weeds on the earth. There are about two hundred species, and from all of them, when probed, a thick milky fluid exudes. Those of the tropics are the most curious, and very similar in appearance to _Cáctus_, but easily detected by the above perforation. There is a magnificent species in our collections, which was lately introduced from Mexico.[G] It goes under the name of _E. heterophylla_. The flowers of the whole genus are apetalous, and the beauty is in the bracteæ; of the species alluded to the bracteæ is bright crimson, very persistent, and above six inches in diameter, when well grown. The plant requires a strong heat, or the foliage will become yellow and fall off. We question whether this species is nondescript or as above. It is a brilliant ornament to the Hot-house three fourths of the year, and always during winter, and should have a situation in every tropical collection. [G] By Poinsett the American Consul for Mexico in 1828. _Erythrìnas_ (Coral tree), a genus containing about thirty species of leguminose, scarlet-flowering plants. Several species are greatly esteemed for their beauty and profusion of flowers, which in well established plants are produced in long spikes at the end of the stems and branches. _E. Corallodéndrum_ blooms magnificently in the West Indies, but in our collections has never flowered. Perhaps if it was kept dry during its dormant season, which is from November to January, and when growing greatly encouraged, it might produce flowers. _E. speciòsa_ is a splendid flowerer, leaves large, ternated, and prickly beneath; stem prickly. _E. pubéscens_ is valued for its large peculiar brown pubescent leaves. In regard to _E. herbàcea_, which is a native of the Carolinas, and frequently treated as a Hot-house plant, it is our opinion that it would be more perfectly grown if planted about the first of this month in the garden; and when growing, if well supplied with water, it would flower from July to September. About the first of November lift the roots and preserve them in half dry earth, in the same place with the _Dáhlias_. _E. laurifòlia_ and _E. crísta-gálli_ are likewise often treated as Hot-house plants, and in such situations they cast prematurely their first flowers, by the confined state of the air. They will keep in perfect preservation during winter in a dry cellar, half covered with earth, or entirely covered with half dry earth; consequently, the best and easiest method of treatment, is to plant them in the garden about the first of May, and when growing, if the ground becomes dry, give them frequent waterings. They will flower profusely three or four times in the course of summer. We freely recommend the last species to all our patrons, confident that it will give ample satisfaction, both in profusion of flower and beauty of colour. The soil they are to be planted into should be according to that prescribed in the list; or if they are kept in pots, they must be enlarged three or four times, when they are in a growing state, to make them flower perfectly; otherwise they will be diminutive. _Fìcus_, Fig-tree, a genus containing above fifty Hot-house species, besides several that belong to the Green-house; greatly admired for the beauty of their foliage. A few of them are deciduous, and all of the easiest culture. We have seen plants of _F. elástica_ hung in the back of the Hot-house, without the smallest particle of earth, their only support being sprinklings of water every day. _F. Brássii_ is the finest looking species that has come under our observation; the leaves are very large, shining, cordate, accuminate; nerves strong and white. As the beauty of these plants is entirely in the foliage and habit, we will select the best of them in the list to which we refer. _Gærtnèra racemòsa_, is a large climbing woody shrub, with pinnated leaves, leaflets ovate, lanceolate, flowers white, five petaled, beautifully fringed; blooms in dense panicles. When the plants are allowed to climb, they do not flower freely; but if closely cut in, they will flower every year in great profusion, after the plants are well established. It is now called _Hiptàge Madablòta_. _Geissomèria longiflòra._ This is a new genus, and closely allied to _Ruéllia_. The species alluded to, is a free flowerer, blooming from May to August, in close spikes of a scarlet colour; leaves opposite, ovate, elongate, and shining; the plants must be well drained, and in summer kept from the direct influence of the sun. _Gardènias_, a genus containing about seventeen species, several of them very popular in our collections, going under the name of _Cape Jasmine_, which do well in the Green-house, (see _May_.) The species requiring this department, and deserving attention, are _G. campanulàta_, of a soft woody nature, with ovate, accuminate leaves; flowers of a straw colour, and solitary; _G. am[oe]na_, the flowers are white, tinged with crimson, terminale and solitary; _G. costàta_, admired for its beautiful ribbed foliage, _G. lùcida_ has a handsome, ovate, accuminate, shining foliage; flowers white and solitary. They require to have the pots well drained. _Heritièra littóralis_, Looking-glass plant. This plant is unisexual, has beautiful large, ovate, veiny leaves; the flowers are small, red, with male and female on the same plant, but different flowers. It requires a strong heat, and plenty of pot room. How the English name becomes applicable to it, we are not acquainted. _Hibíscus._ This genus affords many fine species and varieties of plants for the Hot-house, besides others for every department of the garden. The most popular in our collections for the Hot-house, is _H. Ròsa sinénsis_, with its varieties, which are magnificent, and flower profusely, from April to September. The single or original species is seldom seen in cultivation; the varieties are _H. Ròsa sinénsis rùbro plénus_, double red; _H. R. S. cárnea plènus_, double salmon; _H. R. S. variegàtus_, double striped; _H. R. S. flávo-plènus_, double buff; _H. R. S. lùtea plènus_, double yellow, or rather sulphur. The plants grow freely, and produce their flowers three or four inches of diameter, from the young wood; the leaves are ovate, accuminate, smooth, entire at the base and coarsely toothed at the end. All the varieties are of the same character, and highly deserving of a situation in every collection. There is said to be a double white variety, which we doubt; it is not in artificial cultivation. _H. mutàbilis flòre plèno_ is a splendid plant of strong growth, and will, when well established, flower abundantly, if the wood of last year is cut to within a few eyes of the wood of the previous year; the flowers are produced on the young wood, and come out a pale colour, and change to bright red, and about the size of a garden Provins rose; leaves downy, cordate, angular, five-lobed, accuminate, and slightly toothed. _H. lilliiflòrus_, is a new highly esteemed species; the flowers are various in colour, being pink, blush, red, purple, and striped. We have not seen it in flower, but had its character verbally, from a respectable cultivator. The leaves vary in character, but are generally cordate, crenate, accuminate; the petioles are brown, and the whole slightly hirsute; is deciduous, and requires to be kept in the warmest part of the house. _Hóyas_, Wax-plant, seven species. All of them are climbing succulents, requiring plenty of heat and little water. _H. carnòsa_ is the finest flowering species of the genus, and known in our collections as the wax plant; the leaves are green and fleshy; the flowers are mellifluous, five parted, and in pendulous bunches, slightly bearded, and have every appearance of a composition of the finest wax; of a blush colour. _H. crassifòlia_ has the best looking foliage, and the flowers are white. The former will keep in the Green-house, but will not flower so profusely. _Hernándias_, Jack-in-a-box. The species are rare, except _H. sonòra_, which is an elegant looking plant, when well grown; the leaves are peltate, cordate, accuminate, smooth; flowers white, and in panicles; the fruit a nut. The English name is said to have been given, in allusion to the small flowers and large leaves of the plant. A great heat is required to grow it well. _Ipomæas_, a genus of tropical climbing plants, nearly allied to _Convolvúlus_, but of greater beauty. _I. paniculàta_ has large purple flowers in panicles, with large palmated smooth leaves. _I. Jálapa_ is the true jalap of the druggists, but not worthy of any other remark. _I. grandiflòra_, large white flowers, with acute petals; leaves large, cordate, ovate. _I. pulchélla_ has flowers of a handsome violet colour. They are all easily cultivated. It is said that _I. tuberòsa_ is much used in the West Indies to cover arbours, and will grow three hundred feet in one season; the flowers are purple striped with yellow, leaves palmated. We are not certain but the roots of this kind may be kept like the sweet potato, and become a useful ornament to our gardens. _Ixòras_, a genus of fine flowering plants, and does extremely well in our collections in comparison to the state they are grown in England. The genus specifically is much confused amongst us, either from error originating with those who packed them for this country, or after they have arrived. _I. purpùrea_, leaves oblong, ovate, blunt; flowers crimson; it is now called _I. obavàta_. _I. crocàta_, leaves oval, lanceolate, narrowing towards the stem, smooth, underside of the leaf the nerves are very perceptible; flowers saffron coloured. _I. ròsea_, leaves large, regular, oblong, a little acute, very distant on the wood, centre nerve strong; flowers rose coloured in large corymbs, branching: _I. Bandhùca_, leaves very close to the stem, ovate, accuminate; nerves straight, middle nerve stronger than any other of the genus; flowers scarlet, corymbs crowded. _I. Blánda_, leaves small, lanceolate, ovate; flowers blush, cymes branching in three. _I. dichotìma_, leaves largest of the genus, ovate, accuminate, undulate, footstalk 3/8 of an inch long; whereas none of the leaves of the other species has footstalks of any length. It is now called _I. undulàta_, flowers are white. _I. grandiflòra_, leaves ovate, elongate, sessile; flowers in crowded corymbs, and scarlet; is called, _I. coccínea_ in the Botanical Magazine, by which it is known in our collections, and is the same as _I. strícta_. _I. flámmea_ and _I. speciòsa_, leaves oblong, subsessile; flowers scarlet, in round spreading dense corymbs. _I. fúlgens_, same as _I. longifòlia_ and _I. lanceolàta_; foliage glossy; flowers scarlet. _I. Pavétta_, the flowers are white, and said to be sweet-scented, the leaves of all the species are opposite; there are a few other species that we are not thoroughly acquainted with, but have been thus explicit to prevent error as far as possible in this beautiful genus. They are all evergreen, low growing shrubs; the plants grow best in Jersey black sandy earth, but flower most abundantly with half loam. _Jacarándas_, a genus of beautiful shrubs, containing five species, with _Bignônia_-like blue or purple flowers. _I. mimòsifolia_ and _I. filicifòlia_ are the finest. The former has blue, and the latter purple flowers; in loose branching panicles. They are evergreen, and easy of culture. _Jambòsas_, about twelve species, which have been principally taken from _Eugènia_, and contain its finest plants, and is a splendid genus of evergreen shrubs. _E. Jámbos_ is now _Jambòsa vulgàris_, which flowers and fruits freely in our Hot-houses. The fruit is about an inch in diameter, eatable, and smelling like a rose, hence called "Rose Apple." The petals of all the species are simple, and may rather be considered the calyx; the beauty of the flowers is in the many erect spreading stamens, either straw, white, rose, or green colour. _J. malaccénsis_, Malay Apple, is greatly esteemed for the delightful fragrance of its fruit. We frequently see _J. purpuráscens_, which is a native of the West Indies, going under _J. m._ which is an Asiatic species, with white flowers and entire oblong leaves; whereas the leaves of _J. p._ are small, ovate, accuminate, young shoots and leaves purple. _J. macrophylla_, white, and _J. amplexicaùlis_, green, have very large oblong, lanceolate leaves, and is of a strong woody habit. They are all easy of culture. _Jasmìnum_, Jasmine, is a favourite genus of shrubs, for the exquisite fragrance of its flowers, of which none are more delightful than _J. Sàmbac_ or Arabian Jasmine. There are two other varieties of it, _J. S. múltiplex_, semi-double; and _J. S. trifòliatum_, Double Tuscan Jasmine. The latter requires a great heat to make it grow and flower freely. We suspect there is another variety in cultivation. _J. hirsùtum_ has cordate downy leaves; flowers many, in terminale, sessile umbels. _J. paniculàtum_, white, flowering in terminale panicles from March to November; leaves smooth, oval, obtusely accuminate; _plant scarce_. _J. simplicifòlium_ is in our collections under the name of _J. lucidum_; plant spreading; leaves oblong and shining. There are several other species, all with white flowers, and generally easy of culture. _Játropha_, Physic-nut, is a genus of six strong growing shrubs, natives of the West Indies. _J. multifida_ and _I. panduræfòlia_ have the handsomest foliage, and both have scarlet flowers; the appearance of the foliage of this genus is the only object; the flowers are small, in coarse disfigured panicles, and several of the species have not been known to flower in artificial cultivation. The seeds of _J. cúrcas_ are often received from the West Indies; the leaves are cordate, angular, and smooth. _J. manihot_, now _Manihot cannabìna_, is the Cassada root, the juice of which, when expressed, is a strong poison. They are all easy of culture: want of strong heat in winter will make them cast their leaves, but do them no other injury. _Justícia._ A few species of this genus are fine showy hot-house plants. _J. coccínea_ has large terminale spikes of scarlet flowers, blooming from December to March, and a very desirable plant, of easy culture, and should be in every collection; it is apt to grow spindly, if not kept near the glass. _I. picta_, with its varieties; _I. lúcida_ and _I. formósa_, are fine shrubby species. _I. speciòsa_ is a beautiful purple flowering herbaceous plant. _Kæmpfèria_, an Asiatic genus of tuberose rooted plants; none of them in our collections, except _K. rotúnda_; the flowers come up a few inches above the pot, without the leaves, in April and May and frequently sooner; they are purple and light blue, partially streaked and spotted; leaves large, oblong, purplish coloured beneath. The roots when dormant ought to be kept in the pot without watering, otherwise they will not flower freely. No bulbs or strong tuberose rooted plants, will flower in perfection if kept moist when they are not growing. _Lantàna_, a genus of twenty species, all free flowering shrubs; the flowers are small, in round heads blooming from the axils, in yellow, orange, pink, white, and changeable colours; the plants are of such a rough straggling growth, that they are not esteemed. There are four or five species in our collections. They will not bear a strong fumigation; therefore, when the Hot-house is under that operation, they must be set down in the pathway, or other low part in the house. _Latànias._ This genus contains three species of handsome palms. _L. borbònica_ is one of the finest of the _Palmæ_, not growing to great magnitude; the leaves or fronds are plaited flabelliform, leaflets smooth at the edge, footstalk spiny, and the plant spreading. _L. rùbra_, fronds same as the former, but leaflets more divided and serrulate; footstalk unarmed; foliage reddish. _L. glaucophylla_, same as _L. rùbra_, only the foliage glaucous. They are all valuable plants, and are obtained by seed from the East Indies. They require plenty of pot room. _Laúrus._ This genus, though of no beauty in flower, is generally admired in collections for its fine evergreen foliage, and aromatic or spicy flavour, and several trees are important in medicine. The most esteemed are given to a genus named _Cinnamòmum_, as has been observed in the Green-house, (see _March_.) _L. Chloróxylon_ is the Cogwood of Jamaica. _L. Pérsea_ is now _Pérsea gratíssima_, Alligator-pear, a fruit about the size of a large pear, and greatly esteemed in the West Indies. The plant is generally known in our collections. _C. vérum_ is the true Cinnamon of commerce. The part taken is the inside of the bark when the tree is from five to eighteen years old. The leaves are three-nerved, ovate, oblong; nerves vanishing towards the point, bright green above, pale beneath, with whitish veins. This plant ought to be kept in the warmest part of the Hot-house. C. _cássia_, is frequently given under the former name, but when compared may be easily detected by the leaves being more lanceolate, and a little pubescent. They both make handsome plants, but require great heat. Drain the pots well of the delicate sorts. _Magnífera_, Mango tree. There are two species. _M. índica_ is in our collections, and bears a fruit which is so highly esteemed in the East Indies, as to be considered preferable to any other except very fine pine apples. The leaves are lanceolate, and from six to eight inches long, and two or more broad. The flowers are produced in loose bunches at the end of the branches, but of no beauty, and have to be artificially impregnated, or it will scarcely produce fruit. The shell is kidney-shaped, and of a leathery, crustaceous substance. They contain one seed, and in their indigenous state are more juicy than an apple. Drain the pots well, as the roots are apt to get sodden from moisture. The other species goes under the name of _oppositifòlia_, but we question if it is not only a variety, for it has every character of the one just described. _Melàstoma_, was once an extensive genus, on which the natural order _Melastomaceæ_ is founded; but is now much divided into other genera contained in the natural tribe _Micomeæ_. There are about thirteen species remaining in the genus. They now display great unity of character, and many of them may be considered very ornamental. The finest are _M. malabáthrica_, rose-coloured; _M. sanguínea_, lilac; _M. decémfida_, purple; _M. pulverulénta_, red; and _M. áspera_, rose. There is a plant in several of our collections known as _M. purpùrea_ and _M. tetragòna_, which is _Ossæa purpuráscens_; leaves ovate, lanceolate, accuminate, five-nerved, pilose; the footstalk and nerves underside of the leaf covered with brown hairs; stem four-sided; flowers purple. All the species are easy of culture. _M. nepalénsis_ is a Green-house plant. _Malpíghia_, (Barbadoes-cherry,) about eighteen species, all beautiful evergreen trees or shrubs. They are easily distinguished by having bristles on the under side of the leaves. These bristles are fixed by the centre, so that either end of it will sting. We are not aware of any other plant being defended in the manner. _M. ùrens_ has oblong ovate leaves with decumbent stiff bristles; flowers pink. _M. aquifòlia_ has lanceolate, stiff, spiny leaves, and we think the most beautiful foliage of the genus. _M. fucàta_ has elliptical shining leaves, with lilac flowers. _M. glábra_, leaves ovate, entire, smooth; flowers purple. They all have five rounded clawed petals. The last species is cultivated in the West Indies for its fruit. The pots must be well drained. _Márica_, a genus of Hot-house plants, closely allied to Iris, between which there is no distinction in the leaves. The flowers of _M. cærùlea_ are beautifully spotted with light and dark blue, the scape many flowered. M. _Sabìni_ has flowers similar, but not so dark in colour. M. _Northiàna_ has splendid white and brown spotted flowers, spathe two flowered. These plants when growing require a liberal supply of water, and to be greatly encouraged by frequent potting to flower well. _Mùsa_ (Plantain-tree), contains eight species, and is greatly esteemed in the East and West Indies for the luscious sweet flavour of its fruit, which can be converted into every delicacy in the domestic cookery of the country. M. _paradisìæa_ is the true plantain tree, has a soft herbaceous stalk, 15 or 20 feet high, with leaves from 5 to 7 feet long, and about 2 feet wide. M. _sapiéntum_ is the true Banana-tree; habit and character same as the former, except it has a spotted stem, and the male flowers are deciduous. The pulp of the fruit is softer, and the taste more luscious. M. _rosàcea_, M. _coccínea_, and M. _chinènsis_, are most esteemed in artificial cultivation for their flowers, and being smaller in growth. They all require a very liberal supply of water when growing. They do best to be planted in the soil, where there can be a small corner of the Hot-house set apart for the purpose. They will be ornamental, but if kept in pots they will never attain any degree of perfection. _Nepénthes_ (Pitcher plant). There are two species of this plant. _N. distillatòria_ is an esteemed and valuable plant in European collections. The leaves are lanceolate and sessile; from their extremity there is a spiral, attached to which are lublar inflated appendages that are generally filled with water, which appears to be confined within them by a lid, with which the appendages are surmounted; hence the name of pitcher plant. We have never observed these lids close again when once open. Writers have called it a herbaceous plant, but it is properly a shrub, never dying to the ground, having a continuation of extension. The pot in which it grows should be covered with moss, and the roots liberally supplied with water every day. It delights to be in a marshy state. The flowers are small and in long spikes. _Pancràtium_ is a genus of Hot-house bulbs, and now only contains five species. They are all free-flowering. Several of them are handsome and fragrant. P. _Marítimum_ and P. _verecúndum_ are the finest; the flowers are white, in large umbels; petals long, recurved, and undulate. P. _littoràlis_, P. _speciòsum_, and P. _caribæum_, are now given to the genus _Hymenocállis_, and are fine flowering species. Care must be taken not to give them much water while dormant. The soil ought at that time to be in a half dry state. They are in flower from May to August. _Polyspòra axillàris_, once called _Caméllia axillàris_, though in appearance it has no characteristic of a _Caméllia_, and has been frequently killed in the Green-house by being too cold for its nature; leaves oblong, obovate, towards the extremity serrulate. The leaves on the young wood are entire. Flowers white; petals a little notched. It is worthy of a situation in every collection. _Passiflòra_, "Passion-Flower, so named on account of its being supposed to represent in the appendages of its flower the Passion of Jesus Christ." There are about fifty species, all climbing plants, that belong to the Hot-house. Many are of no ordinary beauty; a few species are odoriferous; others bear edible fruits, though not rich in flavour. P. _alàta_ is in our collections, and greatly admired; the flowers are red, blue, and white, beautifully contrasted, and flower profusely in pots. P. _racemòsa_, has red flowers, and one of the most profuse in flowering. P. _cærùleo-racemòsa_, purple and red, and by many thought to be the finest of the genus. P. _quadrangulàris_ has beautiful red and white flowers. The plant is in several collections, but has seldom flowered; it requires to be planted in the ground to make it flower freely, and it will also produce fruit. P. _filamentòsa_ is white and blue, and a good flowerer. P. _picturàta_ is a scarce and beautiful variously coloured species. There are many other fine species, but these are the most esteemed sorts; and when well established will flower profusely from May to August. They are desirable in every collection, and will take only a small space to hold them, by training the vines up the rafters of the Hot-house. _Pandànus_, Screw Pine. There are above twenty species in this genus, several of them very interesting, but none so greatly admired as P. _odoratíssimus_. The leaves in established plants are from four to six feet long, on the back and edges spiny; are spreading, imbricated, and embracing the stem, and placed in three spiral rows upon it. The top soon becomes heavy when the plant throws out prongs one, two, or three feet up the stem in an oblique descending direction, which take root in the ground, and thus become perfectly supported. It is cultivated in Japan for its delightful fragrance, and it is said, "of all the perfumes, it is by far the richest and most powerful." P. _ùtilis_, red spined. We question this species, and are inclined to believe that it is the former, only when the plants are newly raised from seed, the spines and leaves are red, changing to green as they become advanced in age. The plants are easy of culture, and will grow almost in any soil. _Pterospérmum_, five species of plants that have very curiously constructed flowers, of a white colour, and fragrant; the foliage is of a brown rusty nature, and before expansion silvery-like. P. _suberifòlium_ is in several of our collections, and esteemed. P. _semisagittàtum_ has fringed bractæa; leaves oblong, accuminate, entire, sagittate on one side. _Plumèrias_, above twenty species. Plants of a slow growth, robust nature, and are deciduous. The foliage is greatly admired. The plants are shy to flower, but are brilliant in colour. P. _acuminàta_, has lanceolate, acute leaves; flowers corymbose and terminale. P. _trícolor_ has oblong, acute, veiny leaves; corolla red, yellow, and white. This and P. _rùbra_ are the finest of the genus. They ought not to get any water while not in a growing state. _Ph[oe]nix_, Date-palm, about eight species, principally Asiatic plants. The foliage is not so attractive as many others of the palm family, but it is rendered interesting by producing a well known fruit called Date. P. _dactylífera_ will do very well in a common Green-house. In Arabia, Upper Egypt, and Barbary, it is much used in domestic economy. P. _paludósa_ has the most beautiful foliage, and the best habit. The flowers are di[oe]cious. _Roscòea._ A genus of about five species, all pretty, but not much known. _R. purpùrea_ has been introduced into our collections, and is the finest of the genus. The flowers are light purple, large, and in terminale sheaths at the top of the stem. _R. spicàta_ and _R. capitàta_ are both fine species, with blue flowers. They are all herbaceous, with strong half tuberous roots, requiring little water while dormant, and a liberal supply when growing. _Ruéllia._ There are a few species, very pretty free flowering plants, of easy culture. _R. formòsa_, flowers long, of a fine scarlet colour; plant half shrubby. _R. fulgída_ has bright scarlet flowers on axillary long stalked fascicles. _R. persicifòlia_, with unequal leaves, and light blue flowers, is now called _R. anisophylla_; and the true one has oblong, wavy, leaves, deeply nerved, petioles long; flowers yellow, sessile, in axillary and terminale heads, stem erect. One healthy plant will be frequently in flower from January to June. This species ought to be in every collection, both for its beauty of flower and foliage. _Rhápis_, a genus of palms, that will grow very freely with heat, and room at the roots. _R. flabellifórmis_ is an erect growing palm, with a spreading head. It is a native of China. _Thunbérgia_, a genus containing six climbing plants, of a half shrubby nature. Some of them have a fragrant odour. _T. coccínea_, red; _T. grandiflòra_, blue; _T. fràgrans_, sweet-scented; _T. alàta_, has pretty buff and purple flowers, which are in great profusion. We are not certain but the latter will make a beautiful annual in the Flower-garden. It seeds freely, and from the time of sowing until flowering is about two months, if the heat is brisk. If sown in May, they will bloom from July until killed by frost. _Sàgus_, Sago-palm. We are of opinion that the true palm from which the sago of the shops is produced, has not been introduced into our collections. It is very rare in the most extensive collections of Europe, but is not so fine as the one we have under the Sago, which is placed in the natural order of _Cycadeæ_; and Sagus is in that of _Palmæ_. The finest of this genus is _S. vinífera_ and _S. Rúmphii_. They grow to a great height; even in artificial cultivation they may be seen from ten to twenty-five feet. We have not introduced them here for their beauty, but to prevent error. _Solándra_, a genus of four species, remarkable for the extraordinary size of their flowers, and are considered beautiful. _S. grandiflòra_ and _S. viridiflòra_ are the two best. The plants will bloom best if they are restricted in pot room, and are only introduced as being worthy of cultivation. If they are repotted once in two or three years, it is sufficient, except where the plants are small and want encouragement. _Strophánthus_, a small genus of beautiful tropical shrubs. The segments of the corolla are curiously twisted before expansion. _S. divérgens_ is a neat spreading shrub, with yellow flowers, a little tinged with red; the petals are about four inches long, undulate, lanceolate. _S. dichótomus_ is rose coloured, corolla funnel shaped. The plants will flower freely in a strong moist heat. Drain the pots well. _Swietènia_ (mahogany-tree), the wood of which is celebrated in cabinet-work. _S. Mahógoni_, common. This tree varies much in general appearance according to soil and situation. The leaves are pinnated in four pairs; leaflets ovate, lanceolate; flowers small, white, in axillary panicles. _S. fubrifùga_, leaves pinnated, in four pairs; leaflets elliptical; flowers white, in terminale panicles. The wood of the last is the most durable of any in the East Indies. They are fine plants, and require heat and pot room to produce flowers. _Tecòma_, a genus of plants closely allied to _Bignònia_, and are free-flowering; several of them much esteemed. _T. móllis_, _T. digitàta_, and _T. splèndida_, are the most beautiful of those that belong to the Hot-house. They have large orange coloured, tubular, inflated, ringent flowers, in loose panicles. There is a plant known in our collections as _Bignònia stáns_, which is now _T. stàns_; has pinnated leaves, with oblong, lanceolate, serrated, leaflets; flowers in simple terminale, raceme, and of a yellow colour, and sometimes known by Ash-leaved _Bignònia_. It will always have a sickly aspect, if not well encouraged in light rich soil. Drain the pots well, as much moisture disfigures the foliage. _Tabernæmontána_, a genus of little beauty, except for one or two species. A plant known in some collections as _Nèrium coronàrium_, is now, and properly, _T. coronària_. The variety, _flòre plèno_, is the one most deserving of culture, and will flower profusely from May to August; the flowers are double white, fragrant, and divaricating. The plant will lose its foliage if not kept in a strong heat; therefore place it in the warmest part of the Hot-house. _T. densiflòra_ is a fine species, but very rare. Drain all the plants well, and keep them in the shade during summer. _Thrinax parviflòra_, is a fine dwarf palm of the West Indies, with palmated fronds, plaited with stiff, lanceolate segments. The plant is of easy cultivation, and will grow in any soil. _Zàmia_, a genus of plants in the natural order of _Cycadeæ_. Several species of them are admired. _Z. média_, _Z. furfuràcea_, _Z. ténuis_, _Z. integrifòlia_, are the most showy that belong to the Hot-house. The whole genus is frequently kept in this department. They are all plants of a slow growth, and the beauty is entirely in the pinnated fronds, with from ten to forty pairs of leaflets. The pots must be well drained. Those genera of plants which we have enumerated under the head of repotting in this or next month, are composed of the finest Hot-house plants that have come under our observation. There are perhaps a few of them that are not to be found in the United States, or even on our continent; but the great object, in a choice collection of plants, is to have the finest from all parts of the known world. There are many plants whose nature does not require much support from soil, which is frequently observed in those that are mentioned. And there are many hundreds of plants desirable for beauty, ornament, and curiosity, which are not specified, our limits not permitting such an extended detail. Those whose nature agrees better with repotting at other periods, shall be noticed, especially those that are in the collections of the country. We have previously observed, that plants ought not to be flooded with water when newly potted, as it saturates the soil before the roots have taken hold of it; and that the best draining for pots is small gravel or potshreds broken fine. We wish it to be understood that when plants are repotted, any irregular branch or shoot should be lopped off, that cannot be tied in to advantage. And repotting may take place either before or after the plants are exposed to the open air, according to convenience. OF BRINGING OUT THE HOT-HOUSE PLANTS. Where the Hot-house is very crowded with plants, the best method to have them exposed without danger is, to take out those of the hardiest nature first, that have no tender shoots upon them, thereby thinning the house gradually. This may be done from the 16th to the 20th of the month, which will admit of a free circulation of air amongst those that remain. All may be exposed from the 24th to the 28th of the month. This is a general rule, though in some seasons there maybe exceptions. Having previously given all the air possible to the house, that no sudden transition take place, which would make the foliage brown, and otherwise materially injure the plants, choose calm days for the removing of them. There are few plants while in pots that agree with the full sun upon them; or if the plants receive the sun, the pots and roots ought not. The best situation for them is on the north side of a fence, wall, house, or other building, where they are excluded from the mid-day sun, and they should stand on boards or gravel, with the tallest at the back, firmly, tied to a rail or some other security, to prevent them from being overturned by high winds. A stage erected, where it is practicable, for the reception of the smaller plants, and they set thinly and regularly thereon, is preferable to crowding them with the taller sorts. And it may be desired to have some of the plants plunged in the garden through the flower borders. Of those that are so treated, the pots must be plunged to the brim, and regularly turned round every two weeks, to prevent the roots from running into the earth. If the roots were allowed to do so, it might for the present strengthen the plant, but ultimately would prove injurious. Where a sufficiency of shade cannot be obtained, it would be advisable to go to the expense of a very thin awning, that would not exclude the light, but merely the powerful rays of the sun, attending to roll it up every evening. Plants will keep in beautiful order by the above method, which amply repays for the trouble or expense. Avoid putting plants under trees; comparatively few thrive in such situations. When they are thus all exposed to the open air, it will be very little trouble to give them a gentle syringing every evening when there is no rain, and continue your usual examinations for insects: when they appear resort to the prescribed remedies. _Green-fly_ will not affect them, but perhaps the thrips. Give regular supplies of water to their roots every evening, and some will require it in the morning, especially small pots. SUCCULENTS. These plants are habituated to exposed dry, hot, situations in their indigenous state; and an aspect, where they would have the full influence of the sun, is the best, giving them water two or three times a week. =Green-House.= _MAY._ About the first of the month, all the small half hardy plants may be taken out of the green house, and those that are left will be more benefited by a freer circulation of air, which will enure them to exposure. The _Geraniums_ ought to stand perfectly clear of other plants, while in flower and growing, or they will be much drawn and spindly. WATERING. We have advanced so much on this subject, another observation is not necessary; except as to succulents, which are frequently overwatered about this period. Before they begin to grow, once a week is sufficient. OF BRINGING OUT THE GREEN-HOUSE PLANTS. Those trees or plants of _Orange_, _Lemon_, _Myrtle_, _Nerium_, &c. that were headed down with the intention of planting them into the garden, to renovate their growth, should be brought out and planted in the situations intended for them. A good light rich soil will do for either, and the balls of earth might be a little reduced, that when they are lifted they might go into the same pot or tub, or perhaps a less one. This being done, the plants, generally in a calm day from the 12th to the 18th of the month, should be taken out, carrying them directly to a situation shaded from the sun, and protected from the wind. In regard to a situation best adapted for them during summer, see _Hot-house_ this month, which will equally apply to Green-house plants, except _Dáphne odòra_, _Dáphne hybrida_, and the Green-house species of _Coronílla_, which must be shaded from every ray of the sun, and even from dry parching winds. All Primroses and Polyanthus delight in shade. The reason of so many plants of the _D. odòra_[H] dying is from the effects of the sun and water. [H] On examining these plants, when the first appearance of decay affected them, the decayed part was without exception at the surface of the soil, which was completely mortified, while the top and roots were apparently fresh. This led us to conclude that the cause was the effect of sun and water on the stem. We have since kept the earth in a conical form round the stem, thereby throwing the water to the sides of the pot, and kept them in the shade. Previous to doing this, we had quantities died every year, and now no plants thus treated die with us. The large trees may be fancifully set either in a spot for the purpose, or through the garden. Put bricks or pieces of wood under the tubs to prevent them from rotting, and strew a little litter of any description over the surface of the soil to prevent evaporation, or about one inch of well decayed manure, which will from the waterings help to enrich the soil. A liberal supply of water twice or three times a week is sufficient. A large tree will take at one time from two to four gallons. We make this observation, for many trees evidently have too limited a supply. Continue to syringe the plants through the dry season every evening, or at least three times per week. All the tall plants must be tied to some firm support, because the squalls of wind frequently overturn them, and do much harm by breaking, &c. Keep those that are in flower as much in the shade as will preserve them from the direct influence of the sun. REPOTTING PLANTS. After the following mentioned plants, or any assimilated to them, are brought out of the house, and before they are put in their respective stations, repot them where they are required to grow well. _Aloes._ These plants so varied in character, have been divided into several genera. These are _Gastèria_, _Pachidéndron_, _Riphidodéndron_, _Howárthia_, and _Apicra_. Of these there are above two hundred species and varieties. To enter into any specific detail, would be beyond our limits; but the catalogue at the end of the work will contain the finest species. _Amaryllis._ This is a genus of splendid flowering bulbs containing about eighty species, and one hundred and forty varieties. They are natives of South America, but more than one half of them are hybrids grown from seed by cultivators. They are generally kept in the Hot-house, but in our climate will do perfectly well in the Green-house; and we have no doubt that in a few years many of them will be so acclimated, as to keep as garden bulbs, planting about the end of April, and lifting them in October. As the beauty of these plants is in the flowers, it will be proper to give a small description of a few of them. _A. striatifòlia_, has a stripe of pure white in the centre of each leaf, the flowers are purple and white, an esteemed species. _A. Johnsòni_, the flowers are a deep scarlet, with a white streak in the centre of each petal, four bloom on a stem of about two feet, each flower about six inches diameter; a bulb well established has two stems. _A. regìna_, Mexican Lily, has large scarlet pendant flowers, tube of the flower fringed-like, with three or four on the stem. _A. vittàta_ is an admired species with scarlet flowers, striped with a greenish white. There are two or three varieties of it; corolla campanulate, three or four on the stem, about five inches diameter; petals a little undulate. _A. fùlgida_, flower scarlet, large tube striped, petals acute, two flowers on the stem. _A. áulica_ is one of the most magnificent, has four flowers about seven inches diameter, erect on a stem about two and a half feet high; six petals, strongly united to the capsule, bottom of the petals green, connected with spots of dark crimson, which spread into fine transparent red, covered with rich tints, nerves very perceptible, anthers bold. It is called crowned _Amaryllis_. _A. psittácina_, Parrot Amaryllis, is scarlet striped with green, two flowers on the stem, each about five inches diameter. There are several varieties of it; the best that we have seen are _cowbèrgia_ and _pulverulènta_. A bulb known in our collections as _A. purpùrea_ is _Ballóta purpùrea_, has beautiful erect scarlet flowers, three or four on the stem, each about five inches in diameter. There are three varieties of it, differing only in habit. _A. longifòlia_ is now _Crìnum capénse_, and is perfectly hardy; flowers pink, inclining to white, in large umbels, leaves long, glaucous, and is a desirable garden bulb. There are many other superb Amaryllis, especially the hybrid sorts; from _Johnsòni_ there are above twenty cultivated varieties; from _formòsa_ above twelve; and from _Griffìni_ about ten, all of them esteemed. Where they have been kept in the earth in which they were grown last year, the ball ought at this repotting to be reduced; when the bulbs are done flowering, they ought to have little water, so that they may be perfectly ripened, which will cause them to produce their flowers more freely. _Araucària._ This noble genus contains four species, which are without exception the handsomest plants we are acquainted with, for the beauty of their foliage, and symmetry of their growth, that belong to the Green-house. _A. excélsa_, Norfolk Island Pine, has leaves closely imbricated as if with a coat of mail, and are imperishable. _A. imbricàta_, Chile Pine, is one of the grandest of trees, and is the hardiest of the genus; the leaves are also closely imbricated. The other two species are rarely seen even in European collections. The foliage of either of the species will adhere to the wood many years after the plant is dead. They are all highly valued, the pots must be well drained; for if the plants get much water while dormant, the foliage becomes yellow, and never attains its beautiful green colour again; otherwise they are easily grown. _Chamærops._ There are about seven species of these palms: four of them belong to this department, and are the finest of those that will keep in the Green-house. They all have large palmated fronds, and require large pots or tubs to make them grow freely, and are tenacious of life if kept from frost. _Gardènia._ This is an esteemed genus of plants, especially for the double flowering varieties, which are highly odoriferous, and have an evergreen shining foliage. _G. flòrida flòre-plèno_, Cape Jasmine, is a plant universally known in our collections, and trees of it are frequently seen above seven feet high and five feet in diameter, blooming from June to October. _G. rádicans_, dwarf Cape Jasmine, _G. longifòlia_, and _G. latifòlia_, are also in several collections, but not so generally known; the flowers are double, and all equally fragrant. We are inclined to think they are only varieties of _G. flòrida_. Any of the above will keep in the coldest part of the Green-house, and even under the stage is a good situation for them, where the house is otherwise crowded during winter. They must be sparingly watered from November to March. Much water while they are dormant, gives the foliage a sickly tinge, a state in which they are too frequently seen. _G. Rothmànnia_ and _G. Thunbérgia_ are fine plants, but flower sparingly; the flowers of the former are spotted, and are most fragrant during night. _Mesembryànthemum._ A very extensive genus, containing upwards of four hundred and fifty species, and varieties, with few exceptions natives of the Cape of Good Hope. They are all singular, many of them beautiful, and some splendid; yet they have never been popular plants in our collections. The leaves are almost of every shape and form; their habits vary in appearance. Some of them are straggling, others insignificant, and a few grotesque. When they are well grown, they flower in great profusion; the colours are brilliant, and through the genus are found of every shade; yellow and white are most prevalent. Each species continues a considerable time in flower. The flowers are either solitary, axillary, extra axillary, but most frequently terminale; leaves mostly opposite, thick, or succulent, and of various forms. They are sometimes kept in the Hot-house, but undoubtedly the Green-house is the best situation for them. They must not get water above once a month during winter, but while they are in flower and through the summer, they require a more liberal supply, and they seldom need to be repotted; once in two years is sufficient. _Strelítzia_, a most superb genus of evergreen perennial plants. They are greatly esteemed and highly valued in our collections. The finest flowering species are _S. regìnæ_ and _S. ováta_; the former is the strongest of the two, but in respect to the beauty of their flowers there is no difference. The scape arises about three feet, headed with a sheath which lies horizontal before the flowers burst forth. The sheath contains three, four, or five flowers, according to the strength of the plants. These arise erect, and pass in a few days to the bottom of the sheath, the one before the other. _S. hùmilis_ is another fine species, but the most rare are _S. agústa_, which has a leaf nearly like the plantain; _S. jùncea_, _S. parvifòlia_, and _S. farinòso_. The flowers of all these are yellow and blue, except those of _S. agústa_, which are white, and it flowers sparingly. A few species of these plants ought to be in every Green-house: they are vulgarly called Queen plant. While in flower they should be liberally supplied with water, but while dormant very sparingly. They will suffer sooner from the effects of too much, than too little water. The roots are strong tubers, and require plenty of pot room, and will thrive exceedingly where they can be planted in the soil. CAMELLIAS. These plants, when they are brought from the Green-house, ought to be set in a situation by themselves, that they may be the more strictly attended to in watering and syringing. An airy situation where the sun has no effect upon them is the best. They should be syringed every evening when there has been no rain through the day. After heavy rains examine the pots, and where water is found, turn the plant on its side for a few hours to let the water pass off, and then examine the draining in the bottom of the pots, which must be defective. CAPE BULBS. As soon as these are done flowering, and the foliage begins to decay, cease watering, and turn the pots on their sides, until the soil is perfectly dry; then take out the bulbs and preserve them dry until the time of planting, which will be about the end of August or first of September. =Flower Garden.= _MAY._ It is highly desirable to have all the scientific operations as much advanced in the beginning of this month as is practicable, that at all times immediate attention may be given to the destroying of weeds wherever they appear. ANNUALS, HARDY AND TENDER. By the first of the month finish sowing all hardy Annuals and Biennials; and about the middle of the month all those that are tropical. The weather being now warm, they will vegetate in a few days or weeks. Attend to thinning of those that are too thick, giving gentle waterings to such as are weak in dry weather. Those that have been protected in frames should be fully exposed therein night and day; take the first opportunity of damp cloudy days to have them transplanted into the borders or beds, after the 10th, lifting them out of the frame with as much earth as will adhere to their roots. CARE OF HYACINTHS, TULIPS, &c. For the treatment of these while in bloom, see last month. The best time to take them out of the ground is about five weeks after they are done flowering, or when the stem appears, what may be termed half decayed. The best method to dry them is to place the roots in rows, with bulb to bulb, the stems laying north and south, or east or west. Give the bulbs a very thin covering of earth, merely to exclude the sun, so that they may not dry too rapidly, being thereby liable to become soft. When they have thoroughly dried in this situation, which will be in eight or ten days in dry weather, (and if it rains cover them with boards,) take them to an airy dry loft or shade, clearing off the fibres or stems, and in a few weeks put them in close drawers, or cover them with sand perfectly dry, until the time of planting, for which see October. It is not advisable to allow any of the bulbs of either Hyacinths or Tulips to seed, as it retards their ripening, and weakens the root, except where there are a few desired for new varieties. The small offsets must be carefully kept in dry sand, or immediately planted. ANEMONES AND RANUNCULUS. These while in bloom should be carefully shaded from the sun by hoops and thin canvass, or an erect temporary awning; and as soon as they are done flowering, they must be fully exposed, and the waterings given up. DAHLIAS, TUBEROSES, AND AMARYLLIS, That are not planted, should now be done. For full directions see last month. In many seasons, any time before the twelfth is quite soon enough; but nothing ought to be delayed when the season will permit it to be done. It is necessary to have them properly labeled. AURICULAS, POLYANTHUS, AND PRIMROSES. They will now be done flowering, but still must be carefully kept in a cool, shady situation, and all decayed leaves cut off as soon as they appear. Examine them carefully and frequently, in case slugs of any description be preying upon them. A dusting of hot lime will kill them, or they may be otherwise destroyed. Some have recommended to repot and slip those plants when done flowering, "or they will contract a destructive disease;" which disease is a loss of verdure, and is induced by too much heat and drought, and a few other causes from inattention; but if attended to as above until September, when they should be fresh potted, they will have time to be sufficiently established before winter, which is the most judicious time to take off slips, for two reasons, viz.--they do not need so much nursing through the most precarious season of the year (summer) for these plants, and they begin to grow, and will root afresh sooner. DOUBLE WALL-FLOWERS. As these are very seldom grown from seed, and are semi-biennials, art has to be used to preserve or renew them. About the end of this month take shoots of this year about three inches long, cutting them carefully off, and smoothing the cut end with a sharp knife; from this cut the lower leaves off about one inch and a half, and then put it in the ground; choose a very shady spot, mixing the soil with a little sand and earth of decayed leaves. Sprinkle them three times a day until they have taken root, which will be in a few weeks. Keep the cuttings about four inches apart. GENERAL OBSERVATIONS. We do not consider that it is essential every month to repeat the necessity of tying up plants, saving seeds when ripe, cutting down weeds, raking, &c. with many other similar observations. We have already been full on these subjects, and expect these to be remembered through the season. Particular care, however, is required to _carnations_, _pinks_, or any plants that have heavy heads and slender stems. If carnations are desired to flower strongly, cut off all the buds except three, leaving the uppermost and any other two of the largest. All climbing plants should have timely support, and tied securely every week while they are growing. =Rooms.= _MAY._ All the plants will be able to withstand exposure, in the general state of the seasons, about the 10th of the month. Begin about the first to take out the hardiest, such as _Laurestínus_, _Hydrángeas_, _Roses_, _Primroses_, _Polyanthus_, &c. and thus allow the others to stand more free, and become hardened to exposure. The reason that plants are so often seen brown, stunted, and almost half dead, is from the exposed situation they are placed in, with the direct sun upon them, and too frequently from being so sparingly watered. There are no shrubby plants cultivated in pots that are benefited by the hot sun from this period to October. A north aspect is the best for every plant, except _Càctus_, _Aloe_, _Mesembryànthemum_, and such as go under the name of succulents. Where there are only a few, they should be conveniently placed, to allow water from a pot with a rose mouth to be poured frequently over them, which is the best substitute for the syringe. _Dáphne_, _Coronílla_, _Fúchsia_, _Caméllia_, _Primrose_, and _Polyánthus_, do not agree with a single ray of the sun, through the summer. There has been a general question what is the cause of the death of so many of the _Dáphne odòra_. It may be observed, that the first place that shows symptoms of decay, is at the surface of the soil, and this takes place a few weeks before there are evident effects of it. The cause is from the effect of heat or sun and water acting on the stem at least. If the soil is drawn in the form of a cone round the stem, to throw off the water to the edges of the pot, that the stem may be dry above the roots, mortification does not take place, neither do they die prematurely, when thus treated. For further remarks, see Green-house, this month. CAPE BULBS. Any of these that are done flowering, such as _Ixia_, _Oxalis_, _Lachenàlia_, &c. as soon as the foliage begins to decay, turn the pots on their sides, which will ripen the roots, and when perfectly dry, clear them off the soil, wrap them up in paper, with their names attached, and put them carefully aside until the time of planting. REPOTTING. Where it is required, repot _Cáctus_, _Aloe_, _Mesembryánthemums_, and all other succulents, with any of the _Amaryllis_ that are required to be kept in pots, also Cape Jasmines. For description of the above, see Hot-house and Green-house of this month, under the same head. =Hot-House.= _JUNE AND JULY._ As the plants of the Hot-house are all exposed to the open air, the directions will include both months. If the repotting is over, as recommended last month, all the attention they will require until the end of August, is the administering of water at the roots, and by the syringe over head. It will be impossible to say how great are their wants, that depending entirely upon the nature of the plant, the situation, and the season; but never neglect to look over them every evening, and after very dry nights they will need a fresh supply in the morning, observing to give to none except they are becoming a little dry. Make weekly examinations for insects of any description, and when they appear, have them instantly destroyed. Always after heavy rains look over the pots, in case water should be standing in them, which would injure the roots. Where any is found, turn the pot on its side, and in a few hours examine the draining which is defective; small pots in continued rains should be turned likewise. Tie up all plants and shoots to prevent them from being destroyed by the wind, and be attentive to pick all weeds from the pots. Turn round all the plants occasionally, to prevent them from being drawn to one side by the sun or light. =Green-House.= _JUNE AND JULY._ The plants being out of the house, there need be little added under this head. Their treatment is in the general, and the required attention is in giving water according to their different constitutions and habits. Where there are not rain or river water, it should stand at least one day in butts or cisterns, to take the chilly air from it, and become softened by the surrounding atmosphere. This is more essential to the health of the plants than is generally supposed. The small plants in dry weather will need water evening and morning. Continue regular syringings as directed last month. There are frequently rains continuing for several days, which will materially injure many plants, if they are not turned on their sides until the rain is over, especially small plants. The syringings should never be done till after the waterings at the roots, and they should never be seldomer than every alternate evening. Turn all the plants frequently to prevent them from being drawn to one side by the sun or light. Carefully look over them at these turnings, to detect any insects. And observe that the tuberose rooted geraniums, such as _Ardéns_, _Bicòlor_, _Trístum_, &c. are not getting too much water, they being now dormant. =Flower Garden.= _JUNE AND JULY._ HOLLAND BULBS. The lifting of these will be general in June. For directions see _May_. It is not advisable to take up _Jonquils_, _Fritillària_, _Crocus_, and _Iris_, oftener than every alternate year; _Jonquils_ may stand three years. _Anemones_ and _Ranunculus_ should be carefully lifted after their leaves begin to fade. Do not expose them to the sun, but cover slightly with earth or sand until they are perfectly dry, when they may be sifted out of the earth, and put into drawers carefully labeled. Some recommend to soak these roots in soap-suds, to destroy a worm that they are frequently attacked with. We know not how far this may be carried, nor the good or bad effects, never having practised it. AUTUMN FLOWERING BULBS. These are _Amaryllis lùtea_, now called _Sternbérgia lùtea_; _A. Belladónna_, now _Belladónna purpuráscens_; and _Nerìne sarniénsis_. This is a beautiful flowering bulb, and requires the protection of a frame during winter. The old bulb seldom flowers oftener than two succeeding years, and then decays, but the off-sets will flower the second year; therefore when the old bulbs are lifted, they ought to be immediately planted, and receive every encouragement to strengthen them for flowering. _Crôcus satìvus_, _C Pallàsii_, _C. serotìnus_, and _C. nudiflòrus_, and all the species of _Cólchicum_, with species of several other genera not introduced into the country. They should all be lifted as soon as the foliage is decayed, and kept only a few weeks out of the ground, and then again replanted in fresh soil. The economy of the genus _Cólchicum_ in regard to its bulbs, flowers, and seeds, is altogether singular, and may be termed an anomaly of nature. In producing the new bulbs or off-sets in a very curious manner, the old one perishes. The flowers which arise with long slender tubes from the root die off in October, without leaving any external appearance of seeds. These lie buried all the winter within the bulb, in spring they grow upon a fruit stalk, and are ripe about the first of June. How beautiful and admirable is this provision! The plant blooming so late in the year, would not have time to mature its seeds before winter; and is, therefore, so contrived that it may be performed out of the reach of the usual effects of frost, and they are brought above the surface when perfected, and at a proper season for sowing. CARNATIONS AND PINKS. In order to make the former flower well, if the weather is dry, give them frequent waterings at the root, and tie them up neatly to their rods. The criterion of a fine carnation is--the stem strong and straight, from thirty to forty inches high, the corolla three inches diameter, consisting of large round well formed petals, but not so many as to crowd it, nor so few as to make it appear thin or empty; the outside petals should rise above the calyx about half an inch, and then turn off in a horizontal direction, to support the interior petals, they forming nearly a hemispherical corolla. The interior petals should decrease in size toward the centre, all regularly disposed on every side; they should have a small degree of concavity at the lamina or broad end, the edges perfectly entire. The calyx above one inch in length, with strong broad points in a close and circular body. The colours must be perfectly distinct, disposed in regular long stripes, broadest at the edge of the lamina, and gradually becoming narrower as they approach the unguis or base of the petal, there terminating in a fine point. Those that contain two colours upon a white ground are esteemed the finest. Of a double pink--the stem about twelve inches, the calyx smaller but similar to a carnation; the flowers two inches and a half in diameter; petals rose edges; colour white, and pure purple, or rich crimson; the nearer it approaches to black it is the more esteemed; proportions equal as in carnation. Those that are very tasteful with these flowers are attentive to the manner of their opening. Where the calyx is deficient in regular expansion to display the petals; that is, where there is a tendency to burst open on one side more than on the other, the opposite side in two or three different indentions should be slit a little at several times with the point of a small sharp knife, taking care not to cut the petals, and about the centre of the calyx tie a thread three or four times round to prevent any farther irregularity. Some florists and connoisseurs place cards on them. This is done when the calyx is small. Take a piece of thin pasteboard, about the size of a dollar; cut a small aperture in its centre to admit the bud to pass through. When on tie it tight to the rod, to prevent the wind from blowing it about; and when the flower is expanded, draw up the card to about the middle of the calyx, and spread the petals one over the other regularly upon it. When these plants are in flower, their beauty may be prolonged by giving them a little shade from the mid-day sun by an awning of any simple description. Where they are in pots, they can be removed to a cool shady situation, (but not directly under trees.) OF LAYING CARNATIONS AND PINKS. This is a necessary and yearly operation to keep a supply of plants, and likewise to have them always in perfection. As the process of laying, though simple, may not be known to all who are desirous of cultivating these plants, we will give an outline of the mode of operation. Provide first a quantity of small hooked twigs (pieces of _Asparagus_ stems are very suitable) about three inches long, for pegging the layers down in the earth. Select the outward strongest and lowest shoots that are round the plant, trim off a few of the under leaves, and shorten with the knife the top ones even, and then applying it at a joint about the middle of the under-side of the shoot, cut about half through in a slanting direction, making an upward slit towards the next joint, near an inch in extent; and loosening the earth, make a small oblong cavity one or two inches deep, putting a little fresh light earth therein. Lay the stem part where the slit is made into the earth, keeping the cut part open, and the head of the layer upright one or two inches out of the earth; and in that position peg down the layer with one of the hooked twigs, and cover the inserted part to the depth of one inch with some of the fresh earth, pressing it gently down. In this manner proceed to lay all the proper shoots of each plant. Keep the earth a little full round the plant, to retain longer the water that may be applied. Give immediately a moderate watering, with a rose watering pot, and in dry weather give light waterings every evening. Choose a cloudy day for the above operation. In about two months they will be well rooted. PRUNING ROSES. The best time to prune what are termed "Garden roses" is immediately after flowering, which is generally about the middle of June. Cut out all old exhausted wood, and where it is too thick and crowded, shortening those shoots which have flowered to a good fresh strong eye, or bud, accompanied with a healthy leaf, but leaving untouched such shoots as are still in a growing state, except where they are becoming irregular. Such should be cut to the desired shape. There is not a better period of the year for puting these bushes in handsome order, which ought to be studied. All wood that grows after this pruning will ripen perfectly and produce fine flowers next year. Our reasons for doing so at this period are these: The points of the shoots of the more delicate sorts of roses are very apt to die when pruned in winter or spring; hence the consequences of this evil are avoided. The stronger the wood of roses is made to grow, the flowers will be the larger and more profuse, and this effect is but produced by cutting out the old and superfluous wood; at least it prevents any loss of vegetative power, which ought always to be considered. OF BUDDING OR INOCULATION OF ROSES. According to what we have previously hinted in regard to having roses as standards, where such are desired, the month of July is a proper time for the operation of budding. The kinds to be taken for stocks should be of a strong free growth. Such as _Ornamental parade_; _Dutch tree_; _R. vilòsa_; _R. canína_; and frequently the French _Eglantine_, are taken. Be provided with a proper budding-knife, which has a sharp thin blade adapted to prepare the bud, with a tapering ivory haft made thin at the end for raising the bark of the stock. For tieings use bass strings from Russia mats, which should be soaked in water to make them more pliable. The height of the stock or stem at which the bud is to be inserted, is to be determined by the intended destination of the tree, (as it may be properly called.) Choose a smooth part of the stem, from one to three years old. Having marked the place, prune away all the lateral shoots about and underneath it. With the knife directed horizontally, make an incision about half an inch long in the bark of the stock, cutting into the wood, but not deeper; then applying the point of the knife to the middle of this line, make a perpendicular incision under the first, extending from it between one and two inches. Having a healthy shoot of the growth of this year provided of the kind that is desired, begin at the lower end of this shoot, cut away all the leaves, leaving the footstalk of each. Being fixed on a promising bud, insert the knife about half an inch above the eye, slanting it downwards, and about half through the shoot. Draw it out about an inch below the eye, so as to bring away the bud unimpaired with the bark, and part of the wood adhering to it; the wood now must be carefully detached from the bark. To do this insert the point of the knife between the bark and wood at one end, and holding the bark tenderly, strip off the woody part, which will readily part from the bark if the shoot from which the piece is taken has been properly imbued with sap.[I] Look at the inner rind of the separated bark, to see if that be entire; if there be a hole in it, the eye of the bud has been pulled away with the wood, rendering the bud useless, which throw away; if there be no hole, return to the stock, and with the haft of the knife gently raise the bark on each side of the perpendicular incision, opening the lips wide enough to admit the prepared slip with the eye. If the slip is longer than the upright incision in the stock, reduce the largest end. Stock and bud being ready, keep the latter in its natural position, introduce it between the bark and wood of the stock, pushing it gently downwards until it reaches the bottom of the perpendicular incision. Let the eye of the bud project through the centre of the lips; lay the slip with the bud as smooth as possible, and press down the raised bark of the stock. The bud being deposited, bind that part of the stock moderately tight with bass, beginning a little below the incision, proceeding upward so as to keep the eye uncovered, finishing above the incision. In a month after the operation, examine whether the bud has united with the stock. If it has succeeded, the bud will be full and fresh; if not, it will be brown and contracted. When it has taken, untie the bandage, that the bud may swell, and in a few days afterwards cut the head of the stock off about six inches above the inoculation, and prevent all shoots from growing by pinching them off. This will forward the bud, which will push and ripen wood this season; but it must be carefully tied as it grows to the remaining head of the stock. Some do not head down the stock until the following spring, thereby not encouraging the bud to grow, which if winter sets in early is the safest method. [I] We once budded three eyes of the white moss rose, after they had by mistake been carried in the pocket of a coat three days. The shoot was soaked six hours in water, and two of the buds grew. From this we infer that shoots, if properly wrapped up, may be carried very great distances, and grow successfully. OF WATERING. If the season is dry, look over the late planted shrubs, and give them frequent copious waterings; and a few of the finest annuals that are wanted to flower perfectly should be attended to. _Dahlias_ suffer very much in dry seasons, therefore it is advisable to water the most beautiful (or all) of them two or three times per week, and be careful to tie up their shoots to any support that is given to them, in case of high winds breaking or otherwise destroying the flower stems. =Rooms.= _JUNE AND JULY._ The only attention requisite to _these_ plants, is in giving water, keeping them from being much exposed to either sun or high winds, and preventing the attack of insects. Water must be regularly given every evening, when there has not been rain during the day. Where they are in a growing state, they are not liable at this season of the year to suffer from too much water, except in a few instances, such as the Lemon-scented Geranium, and those kinds that are tuberose rooted, as _Ardèns_, _Bicòlor_, _Tristúm_, &c. which should have moderate supplies. All the plants ought to be turned round every few weeks to prevent them from growing to one side, by the one being more dark than the other, and keep those of a straggling growth tied neatly to rods. Wherever insects of any description appear, wash them off directly. Give regular syringings or sprinklings from the rose of a watering pot. Be particularly attentive in this respect to the _Caméllias_, which will keep the foliage in a healthy state, and prevent the effects of mildew. If the foliage of _Lílium longiflòrum_, or _japónicum_, has died down, do not water them while dormant, as they are easily injured by such treatment. =Hot-House.= _AUGUST._ The plants of the Hot-house that were repotted in May and June, according to the directions therein given, will at present be in an excellent state of health, provided they have got at all times the requisite supplies of watering. And as we already have been very explicit on that subject, more remarks now would be merely repetition. REPOTTING. If any of the repottings were neglected, during May or June, let it be done about the first of this month. Let young plants that are growing freely, where the roots have filled the pots, and the plants required to grow, have pots one size larger. In turning out the ball of earth, keep it entire, not disturbing any of the roots. OF PAINTING, REPAIRING, AND CLEANSING THE HOUSE. The necessary repairs of the Hot-house are too often put off to the last day or week; and then with hurry are superficially attended to. Previous to the first of September, have all the wood-work painted; which ought to have one coat every year, and the glass all repaired. Have the flues and furnace examined, and all rents plastered over, or any deficiency made good. Give the flue a thick coat of lime white-wash, and properly white-wash the whole interior stages and shelves to destroy any larvæ of insects; or, what is preferable for the latter, use oil paint. If there is a tan bed, have that renewed; take out what is most decayed, and add new tan. Wash out the floor perfectly clean, so that all may be in readiness for the plants next month. =GREEN-HOUSE.= _AUGUST._ Any of the _Myrtles_, _Oranges_, _Lemons_, _Oleanders_, &c. that were headed down in April or May, will be pushing many young shoots. The plant must be carefully examined, to observe which of the shoots ought to be left to form the tree. Having determined on this, cut out all the others close to the stem with a small sharp knife; and if the remaining shoots are above one foot long, pinch off the tops to make them branch out. The trees that were entirely headed down, should not have above six shoots left, which will, by being topped, make a sufficient quantity to form the bush or tree. GERANIUMS. These plants, about the first of the month, require a complete dressing. In the first place collect them all together, and with a sharp knife cut off the wood of this year to within a few eyes of the wood of last year. _Citriodórum_ and its varieties do not need pruning. The plants grown from cuttings during the season, that have flowered, cut them to about four inches from the pot. This being done, have the earth all prepared with potshreds or fine gravel for draining the delicate kinds. And in a shaded situation turn the plants progressively out of the pots they are in, reducing the balls of earth so that the same pots may contain them again, and allow from half an inch to two inches, according to the size of the pot, of fresh soil around the ball, which press down by a thin piece of wood cut for the purpose. Finish by leveling all neatly with the hand. Give very gentle waterings from a pot with a rose mouth, for a few weeks, until they have begun to grow, protecting them entirely from the sun, till that period, then take the opportunity of a cloudy day to expose them. After this repotting, the following kinds are liable to suffer from too much water: _Pavonínum_, _Davey[)a]num_, _fúlgens_, _ardens_, _citriodórum_, _rubéscens_, _florabùndum_, _ardèscens_; with those of a similar habit, and these species do not require so much encouragement at the root as the strong growing sorts. The tuberous rooted and deciduous species must be very moderately supplied. Be careful when watering that the new soil does not become saturated with water, as, though allowed to dry again, it will not be so pure. When they shoot afresh, turn them regularly every two weeks, to prevent them growing to one side. ORANGES, LEMONS, &c. As it is frequently very inconvenient to shift these trees into larger tubs in the months of March and April, this month is a period that is suitable both from the growth of the trees, and their being in the open air. It would be improper to state the day or the week, that depending entirely on the season. The criterion is easily observed, which is when the first growth is over, these trees making another growth in autumn. When they are large, they require great exertion, and are frequently attended with inconvenience to get them shifted. Where there is a quantity of them, the best plan that we have tried or seen adopted is as follows: Have a strong double and a single block trimmed with a sufficiency of rope; make it fast to the limb of a large tree, or any thing that projects, and will bear the weight, and as high as will admit of the plant being raised a few feet under it. Take a soft bandage and put around the stem, to prevent the bark from being bruised; make a rope fast to it, in which hook the single block. Raise the plant the height of the tub, put a spar across the tub, and strike on the spar with a mallet, which will separate the tub from the ball. Then with a strong pointed stick probe a little of the earth from amongst the roots, observing to cut away any that are affected by dry-rot, damp, or mildew, with any very matted roots. Having all dressed, place a few potshreds over the hole or holes in the bottom of the tub; measure exactly the depth of the ball that remains around the plant, and fill up with earth, pressing it a little with the hand, until it will hold the ball one inch under the edge of the tub. If there is from four to six inches of earth under it, it is quite enough. Fill all around the ball, and press it down with a stick, finishing neatly off with the hand. Observe that the stem of the tree is exactly in the centre. This being done, carry the tree to where it is intended to stand, and give it water with a rose on the pot. The earth will subside about two inches, thus leaving three inches, which will at any time hold enough of water for the tree. Trees thus treated will not require to be shifted again within four or five years, having in the interim got a few rich top-dressings. Frequently in attempting to take out of the tubs those that are in a sickly state, all the soil falls from their roots, having no fibres attached. When there are any such, after replanting, put them in the Green-house, and shut it almost close up, there give shade to the tree, and frequent sprinklings of water, until it begins to grow, when admit more air gradually until it becomes hardened. These trees should be put in very small tubs, and a little sand added to the soil. Give very moderate supplies of water, merely keeping the soil moist. Tubs generally give way at the bottom when they begin to decay, and in the usual method of coopering after this failure they are useless, the ledging being rotten, and will not admit of another bottom. The staves should be made without any groove, and have four brackets nailed on the inside, having the bottom in a piece by itself that it can be placed on these brackets, and there is no necessity of it being water tight. Then when it fails, it can be replaced again at a trifling expense. A tub made this way will last out three or four bottoms, and is in every respect the cheapest, and should be more wide than deep. _Large Myrtles_ and _Oleanders_ may be treated in the same manner as directed for the above. OF PRUNING ORANGES, LEMONS, &c. These trees will grow very irregularly, especially the _Lemon_, if not frequently dressed or pruned. Any time this month look over them all minutely, and cut away any of the small naked wood where it is too crowded, and cut all young strong straggling shoots to the bounds of the tree, giving it a round regular head. It is sometimes necessary to cut out a small limb, but large amputations should be avoided. Cover all wounds with turpentine or bees-wax, to prevent the bad effects of the air. OF REPOTTING PLANTS. Any of the plants enumerated in March under this head, may be now done according to directions therein given, and which apply to all sizes. This is the proper period for repotting the following:-- _Cálla_, a genus of four species. None of them in our collections, and in fact are not worth cultivation, except _C. æthiòpica_, Ethiopian Lily, which is admired for the purity and singularity of its large white flowers, or rather spatha, which is cucullate, leaves sagittate. It is now called _Richárdia æthiópica_. The roots which are tubers should be entirely divested of the soil they have been grown in, breaking off any small offsets, and potting them wholly in fresh earth. When growing they cannot get too much water. The plant will grow in a pond of water, and withstand our severest winters, provided the roots are kept at the bottom of the water. _Cyclamen._ There are eight species and six varieties of this genus, which consists of humble plants with very beautiful flowers. The bulbs are round, flattened, and solid, and are peculiarly adapted for pots and the decorating of rooms. _C. côum_, leaves almost round; flowers light red; in bloom from January to April. _C. pérsicum_, with its four varieties, flower from February to April; colour white, and some white and purple. _C. hederæfòlium_, Ivy-leaved; colour lilac; there is a white variety; flowers from July to September. _C. Europæum_, colour lilac, in bloom from August to October. _C. neapolitànum_, flowers red, in bloom from July to September. These are all desirable plants. When the foliage begins to decay, withhold the accustomed supplies of water, keeping them in a half dry state; and when growing they must not be over watered, as they are apt to rot from moisture. Keep them during the summer months in the shade. The best time for potting either of the sorts is when the crown of the bulb begins to protrude. If the pots are becoming large, every alternate year they may be cleared from the old soil, and put in smaller pots with the crown barely covered. When the flowers fade, the pedicles twist up like a screw, inclosing the germen in the centre, lying close to the ground until the seeds ripen, from which plants can be grown, and will flower the third year. _Lachenàlia_, a genus of about forty species of bulbs, all natives of the Cape of Good Hope, and grow remarkably well in our collections. The most common is _L. trícolor_. _L. quadrícolor_, and its varieties, are all fine; the colours yellow, scarlet, orange, and green, very pure and distinct; _L. rùbida_. _L. punctàta_, _L. orchoídes_, and _L. nervòsa_, are all fine species. The flowers are on a stem from a half to one foot high, and much in the character of a hyacinth. The end of the month is about the time of planting. Five inch pots are large enough, and they must get very little water till they begin to grow. _Oxalis_, above one hundred species of Cape bulbs, and like all other bulbs of that country, they do exceedingly well in our collections, in which there are only comparatively a few species, not exceeding twelve. _O. rubèlla_, branching, of a vermilion colour; _O. marginàta_, white; _O. elongàta_, striped; and _O. amæna_, are those that require potting this month. The first of September is the most proper period for the others. This genus of plants is so varied in the construction of its roots, that the same treatment will not do for all. The root is commonly bulbous, and these will keep a few weeks or months out of the soil, according to their size. Several are only thick and fleshy: these ought not to be taken out of the pots, but kept in them, while dormant; and about the end of this month give them gentle waterings. When they begin to grow, take the earth from the roots, and pot them in fresh soil. In a few years the bulbs are curiously produced, the original bulb near the surface striking a radical fibre downright from its base, at the extremity of which is produced a new bulb for the next year's plant, the old one perishing. _Ornithógalum_, Star of Bethlehem, about sixty species of bulbs, principally from the Cape of Good Hope. Many of them have little attraction. The most beautiful that we have seen are _O. lactéum_, which has a spike about one foot long of fine white flowers; and _O. aùreum_, flowers of a golden colour, in contracted racemose corymbs. These two are magnificent. _O. marítimum_ is the officinale squill. The bulb is frequently as large as a human head, pear-shaped, and tunicated like the onion. From the centre of the root arise several shining glaucous leaves a foot long, two inches broad at base, and narrowing to a point. They are green during winter, and decay in the spring; then the flower-stalk comes out, rising two feet, naked half way, and terminated by a pyramidal thyrse of white flowers. The bulb ought to be kept dry from the end of June till now, or it will not flower freely. GENERAL OBSERVATIONS. Watering, and other practical care of the plants, to be done as heretofore described. Frequently the weather at the end of this month becomes cool and heavy. Dew falling through the night will in part supply the syringing operation, but it must not be suspended altogether. Three times a week will suffice. Any of the plants that are plunged should be turned every week. In wet weather observe that none are suffering from moisture. =FLOWER-GARDEN= _AUGUST._ EVERGREEN HEDGES. These always make two growths in the season, and the best time to perform the clipping or dressing of them is before the plants begin their second growth. Choose if possible dull and cloudy days for the operation. The general practice in forming these, is to have the sides even, and the top level, forming a right angle on each side. However neat in appearance this may be considered, it certainly is stiff and formal. We never approve of shearing where it can be avoided, and when adopted, nature ought to be imitated. We consider that all hedges and edgings ought to be narrowed at the top. CARNATIONS AND PINKS. If layed about the end of June, and been properly attended, they will by the end of this month be well rotted and fit for transplanting. Clear away the earth lightly, and cut them clean off from the parent plant, nearer the stool than the original slit. Raise them neatly out of the earth, with as many of the root-fibres as possible; cut off the naked part of the stem close to the fibrous roots, and trim away the straggling leaves. Plant the finest sorts in four inch pots, and those more common three plants in five inch pots, in the form of a triangle, which can be separated in spring to plant in the garden. Any of the principal stools should be (if in the ground) lifted and put into seven inch pots to be preserved: the others may be allowed to stand through the winter, covering them with a few dry leaves. Keep them in the shade a few weeks, when they may be fully exposed. Give gentle and frequent sprinklings of water until they have taken fresh root; or if in want of pots, mark out a bed that can be covered with a frame, preparing the soil therein properly. Plant them from four to six inches apart. Shade them from the sun until they begin to grow, giving sprinklings of water over the foliage every evening. BULBOUS ROOTS. Look over the bulbs that are out of the ground, and examine those that require planting. _Fritillària_, about twenty species, but few of them generally cultivated, except _F. imperiàlis_, Crown Imperial; and _F. pérsica_. These will require planting, and ought not to be lifted oftener than every third year. There are four or five varieties of the above, showy flowers, and singular in appearance. They require a deep rich loamy soil, and if in beds, plant them from three to four inches deep, and one foot apart. They will grow under shade of trees, or any situation where the soil is adapted for them. No imbricated or scaly bulb ought to be retained long out of the ground. When any of these are lifted, and the young bulbs taken off, they should be planted at once. See particularly on bulbous roots in general next month. SOWING SEEDS OF BULBOUS ROOTS. Where any seeds of these are saved, with the intention of sowing, let it be done this month. Procure boxes about seven inches deep, and in size proportioned to the quantity to be sown. Put five inches of light sandy soil in the box, level it smoothly, and sow the seeds separately and thickly; cover with half an inch of light sandy loam, with a portion of earth from the woods. Keep the box or boxes in a sheltered situation, giving frequent sprinklings of water to keep the earth damp, which must be protected with a frame, or covered with leaves during winter. The plants will appear in spring, and must be watered and kept in the shade: when the leaves decay in June, put one inch more soil upon them, and the second year they can be planted with the small offsets in the garden, and treated as other bulbs. They must be carefully marked every year. Tulips require many years of trial before their qualities are known; and a poor soil is best to produce their characters after the first bloom. SOWING AND SAVING SEEDS. About the end of this month or first of next, is an advisable period to sow seed of _Delphínum Ajácis flòreplèno_, or Double Rocket Larkspur. This plant does not flower in perfection except it is sown in autumn, and grown a little above ground before winter, when a few leaves can be lightly thrown amongst them, but not to cover them entirely, as that would cause damp, and they would rot off. _Coreópsis tinctòria_, which is now _Calliópsis tinctòria_, and a beautiful plant, should likewise be sown. Be attentive in saving all kinds of seeds, many of which will keep best in the capsule. Name them all correctly, and with the year in which they were grown. =Rooms.= _AUGUST._ For the kinds of plants that require potting, we refer to the Green-house for this month. All that are therein specified are peculiarly adapted for rooms, and we would call attention to the genus _Cyclamen_, which has not been generally introduced into the collections of our ladies; as, from the character and beauty of the flowers, they are very attracting and highly deserving of culture. Attend to the Geraniums as there directed, and be particular in having them cut down, and repotted, as there fully described. The _Oranges_, _Lemons_, _Oleanders_, and _Myrtles_, that are kept in cellars or rooms, should have the same attention in this month as directed in the Green-house, which to repeat here would be occupying space unnecessarily. _Réseda odoráta_, or Mignonette, is one of the most fragrant annuals. To have it in perfection, the seed should be sown about the end of this month, or beginning of next, into pots of fine light earth, and sprinkled with water frequently. When it comes up the plants must be thinned out or transplanted; the former method is preferable. Keep them from frost during winter, and always near the light. This will equally apply to the Green-house. =Hot-House.= _SEPTEMBER._ DRESSING THE PLANTS. Having last month put the house in complete order, all that remains necessary to be attended to, is the state of the plants and pots, which should be regularly examined, and of those where the roots fill the soil, a little may be taken off the top, supplying its place with fresh earth, thereby giving what is called a top dressing. Give each a sufficient rod that requires it, tieing the plant neatly thereto; minutely scrutinise each for insects, and where they are detected, have them eradicated. Finally, wash all contracted foulness from off the pots, at the same time pick off any decayed leaves; thus all will be in perfect order to take into the house. If any plants have been kept in the Hot-house during summer, they must likewise go through the same operations. OF TAKING IN THE PLANTS. From the 16th to the 24th, according to the season, is the proper time to take in the Hot-house plants. It is preferable to have them what might be deemed a few days too early, than have them in the slightest affected by cold. Commence by housing the largest first, and those that stand farthest in the house, observing to place the most tender sorts nearest the heat or warmest part of the house. For observations on them, see _May_: in regard to arrangement, that must be according to the taste of the operator. We may observe that in a small collection it is better to have them in a regular than in a picturesque form. A dry shelf is indispensable in this department for placing on it all herbaceous plants, such as _Cánna_, _Hedychium_, _Zíngiber_, _Kæmpféria_, &c. the watering of which from this time should be gradually suspended, that they may have their required cessation to make them flower well. This shelf may be in any situation; one in darkness, where other plants will not grow, will answer perfectly well. If there is a bark bed, do not, until the end of December, plunge any of the pots therein. GENERAL OBSERVATIONS. The plants being now all under protection, they must have as much air as possible admitted to them every day, by opening the doors, front and top sashes, closing only at night. The syringings must be continued, and care taken that plants of a deciduous or herbaceous nature are not over watered. _Alstr[oe]merias_ are apt to rot while dormant when they are supplied with water. The tuberous species might be kept almost dry. Some practical men of sound science repot these plants in this month into fresh soil, and allow them to stand till January almost without water. We have never adopted this method with any description of plants, but do not doubt of its success with that genus. See that the ropes and pullies of the sashes are in good order, and fit to stand all winter. =Green-House.= _SEPTEMBER._ During this month every part of the Green-house should have a thorough cleansing, which is too frequently neglected, and many hundreds of insects left unmolested. To preserve the wood work in good order, give it one coat of paint every year. Repair all broken glass, white-wash the whole interior, giving the flues two or three coats, and cover the stages with hot-lime, white-wash, or oil-paint; examine ropes, pullies, and weights, finishing by washing the pavement perfectly clean. If there have been any plants in the house during summer, be sure after this cleansing that they are clean also, before they are returned to their respective situations. OF WATERING. The intensity of the heat being over for the season, the heavy dews during night will prevent so much absorption amongst the plants. They will, in general, especially by the end of the month, require limited supplies of water comparatively to their wants in the summer months. Be careful amongst the _Geraniums_ that were repotted in August, not to water them until the new soil about their roots is becoming dry. Syringing in this month may be suspended in time of heavy dews, but in dry nights resort to it again. The herbaceous plants and those of a succulent nature must be sparingly supplied. The large trees that were put in new earth will require a supply only once a week, but in such quantity as will go to the bottom of the tubs. PREPARING FOR TAKING IN THE PLANTS. About the end of the month all the plants should be examined and cleaned in like manner as directed for those of the Hot-house last month, which see. From the 1st to the 8th of October is the most proper time to take them into the Green-house, except those of a half hardy nature, which may stand out till the appearance of frost. All the Geraniums that were put in the shade after shifting, may after the 10th be fully exposed, which will in some degree prevent them from being weak. Turn them in such a manner as will make them grow equally. Always endeavour to have these plants short and bushy, for they are unsightly otherwise, except where a few very large specimens are desired for show. All Myrtles and Oleanders that were headed down, if the young shoots are too crowded, continue to thin them out, and give regular turnings, that all the heads may grow regularly. STOCKS AND WALL-FLOWERS, That are wanted to flower in the Green-house (where they do remarkably well) and are in the ground, have them carefully lifted before the end of the month, and planted in six or seven inch pots, with light loamy soil. Place them in the shade till they take fresh root, and give them frequent sprinklings of water. As soon as the foliage becomes erect, expose them to the full sun, and treat as Green-house plants. CHRYSANTHEMUMS. These very ornamental plants blooming so late, and at a period when there are few others in flower, one of each variety (or two of some of the finest) should be lifted and put in 8 inch pots, in light loamy soil, and treated as above directed for Stocks, &c. These will flower beautifully from October to December, and when done blooming the pots may be plunged in the garden, or covered with any kind of litter, until spring, when they can be divided and planted out. CAPE AND HOLLAND BULBS. About the end of this month is the period for all of these that are intended for the Green-house to be potted. We specified some of the former last month, and will here enumerate a few others. _Babìana_, a genus of small bulbs, with pretty blue, red, and yellow flowers. _B. distíca_, pale blue flowers in two ranks. _B. strícta_, flowers blue and white. _B. tubiflòra_ is beautiful, colour white and red. _B. plicàta_ has sweet-scented pale blue flowers. There are about twenty species of them, and they grow from six to twelve inches high. Four inch pots are sufficient for them. _Gladìolus_, Corn-flag, a genus of above fifty species. There are several very showy plants amongst them, and a few very superb. _G. floribúndus_, large pink and white flowers. _G. cardinàlis_, flowers superb scarlet, spotted with white. _G. byzantìnus_, large purple flowers. _G. blándus_, flowers of a blush rose colour, and handsome. _G. cuspidàtus_, flowers white and purple. _G. psittácinus_ is the most magnificent of the genus, both in size and beauty of flower; the flowers are striped with green, yellow, and scarlet, about four inches diameter, in great profusion, on a stem about two feet high, and though rare in Europe may be seen in some collections in this country. The beauty of this genus is all centred in the flowers; the leaves are similar to _Iris_. _Ixia_, a genus containing about twenty-five species of very free-flowering bulbs. _I. monadélpha_, flowers blush and green. _I. leucántha_, flowers large, white. _I. capitàta_, flowers in heads of a white and almost black colour. _I. cònica_, flowers orange and velvet. _I. columellàris_ is beautifully variegated with purple, blush, and vermilion colours. The flower stems are from six to twenty-four inches high. _Sparáxis_, a beautiful genus of twelve species, closely allied to the last, but more varied in colour. _S. grandiflòra striàta_ is striped with purple ground blush. _S. versícolor_, colours crimson, dark purple, and yellow. _S. anemonæflòra_ is of various colours, and very similar to _Anemòne_. _Tritònia_, a genus of about twenty-five species. Few of them deserve culture in regard to their beauty. _T. crocàta_ is in our collections, as _I. crocàta_, which is amongst the finest, and _T. zanthospìla_ has white flowers curiously spotted with yellow. _Watsònia_, a genus containing several species of showy flowers, several of which are in our collections, under the genus _Gladíolus_, but the most of the species may easily be distinguished from it by their flat shell formed bulbs. _W. iridifòlia_ is the largest of the genus, and has flowers of a flesh colour. _W. ròsea_ is large growing, the flowers are pink, and on the stem in a pyramid form. _W. humilis_ is a pretty red flowering species. _W. fúlgida_, once _Antholyza fúlgens_, has fine bright scarlet flowers. _W. rùbens_ is an esteemed red flowering species, but scarce. These six genera are in general cultivation. There are several of others of merit that our limits will not admit of inserting. We have no doubt there are some splendid species that have not come under our observation, and others which may be obtained from the Cape of Good Hope not known in any collection. Many hundreds of superb bulbs indigenous to that country, and of the same nature and habit of the above, have not been seen in collections. The flowers of those which we have specified are from one to four inches in diameter, ringent, tubular, or campanulate. Pots from four to seven inches diameter, according to the size of the roots, will be large enough. Give them very little water until they begin to grow; then supply moderately, and keep them near the light. Of the Holland or Dutch bulbs, the _Hyacinth_ is the favourite to bloom in the Green-house. A few of the _Tulip_, _Narcissus_, _Iris_, and _Crocus_, may for variety be also planted with any other that curiosity may dictate. When these are grown in pots, the soil should be four-eighths loam, two-eighths leaf mould, one-eighth decomposed manure, one-eighth sand, well compounded; plant in pots from four to seven inches, keep the crown of the bulb above the surface of the soil, except of the Tulip, which should be covered two inches. When these roots are potted, plunge them in the garden about three inches under ground; mark out a space sufficient to contain them; throw out the earth about four inches deep, place the pots therein, covering them with earth to the above depth, making it in the form of a bed. Leave a trench all round to carry off the rain. By so doing, the bulbs will root strong, the soil will be kept in a congenial state about them, and they will prove far superior than if done in the common method. Lift them from this bed on the approach of frost, or not later than the second week of December, wash the pots and take them to the Green-house. OF REPOTTING. _Vibúrnum._ This is a good period to repot all the flowering plants of this genus. For a full description of them, see _Green-house_, _March_. The repotting is only intended for young plants that are wanted to grow freely. When the _V. tìnus_ is much encouraged, it does not flower profusely. _Lìlium_, Lily. There are four species of this splendid genus kept in the Green-house. It has always been our practice to repot them when they begin to grow, though it is said by some that, when removed at that time, they will not flower perfectly. They will not do to be kept above a few weeks out of the ground, and we think they ought never to be kept out any period. We place them here, that a choice may be made by the cultivator of either of the periods, which is not material; observing in either case, that excess of moisture is injurious while they are dormant. _L. longiflòrum_ grows about one foot high, with one or more flowers. _L. longiflòrum suavèolens_, is sweet-scented, and has only one flower. _L. japònicum_ is the most magnificent, grows about two feet high, with three or more flowers on one stem. _L. lancifòlium_; we incline to class this with _L. speciòsum_, there being no apparent distinction in any character. The flowers are all of the purest white. They require from five to seven inch pots. =Flower Garden.= _SEPTEMBER._ OF DAHLIAS. See that all these plants are supported with proper stakes, rods, &c., that the wind may have no effect in breaking down or otherwise destroying the flower stems. Strictly observe their respective heights and colours, that they may be duly disposed and interspersed next year, if not done so this. If the early part of the month is dry, give them liberal supplies of water. GENERAL CARE OF PLANTS IN POTS. All the flowers that are in pots, and intended to be kept in frames during winter, should have a top-dressing, and a general preparation for their winter quarters, by tieing up, &c. The carnation and pink layers that were lifted and potted last month must be brought from the shade as soon as they begin to grow; and those that are not lifted, have them done forthwith, that they may be rooted afresh before the frost sets in. All Wall-flowers and Stocks should be lifted this month, and planted in five to seven inch pots, and treated as directed for carnation layers last month, until they begin to grow, when they must be fully exposed. PREPARE BEDS AND BORDERS FOR BULBOUS ROOTS. Bulbous roots of every character delight in deep free soil; consequently, wherever they are desired to be planted, due attention must be paid to put the soil in proper order, to have them in perfection. Where there are a quantity intended to be planted, to have them in beds is the general and preferable method. These ought to be dug from eighteen inches to two feet deep, at the bottom of which place three or four inches of decayed manure. Where the soil is poor it should be enriched with well decomposed manure and earth from the woods, incorporating both well with the soil, breaking it all fine. This being done, allow it to stand until the middle of next month, which see for farther directions. GENERAL OBSERVATIONS. Tie up carefully all the _Chrysánthemums_, _Tuberoses_, &c. Clear away the stems or haulm of any decayed annuals or herbaceous plants, that nothing unsightly may appear. Be attentive to the collecting of all kinds of seeds. =Rooms.= _SEPTEMBER._ Where there is a quantity of plants to be kept in these apartments, they should be disposed to the best effect, and at the same time in such a manner as will be most effectual to their preservation. A stage of some description is certainly the best, and, of whatever shape or form, it ought to be on castors, that it may, in severe nights of frost, be drawn to the centre of the room. The shape may be either concave, a half circle, or one square side. The bottom step or table should be six inches apart, keeping each successive step one inch farther apart, to the desired height, which may be about six feet. Allowing the first step to be about two feet from the floor, there will be five or six steps, which will hold about fifty pots of a common size. A stage in the form of half a circle will hold more, look the handsomest, and be most convenient. We have seen them circular, and when filled appeared like a pyramid. These do very well, but they must be turned every day, or the plants will not grow regularly. With this attention it is decidedly the best. Green is the most suitable colour to paint them. GENERAL OBSERVATIONS. The directions given for the Green-house this month are equally applicable here. The _Tasseled White Chrysanthemum_, and a few other late blooming sorts, are particularly adapted for rooms. If there is no convenience to plunge the pots with Dutch bulbs in the garden, as described in the Green-house of this month, give them very little water until they begin to grow. =Hot-House.= _OCTOBER._ Very few directions remain to be given to the department of the Hot-house. The supplies of water for this and the two preceding months are, according to the state and nature of tropical plants, more limited than at any other period of the year. This is the first month of what may be called their dormant state. Observe the herbaceous plants, that they are, as soon as their foliage decays, set aside, in case of being too liberally supplied with water. Airing is highly essential about this period, that the plants may be gradually hardened; but guard against injuring them. The temperature should not be under fifty degrees; when the days are cool, and the wind chilling, airing is not necessary; and when air is admitted, always close up early in the afternoon, whilst the atmosphere is warm, to supersede the necessity of fire as long as possible. If at any time you have recourse to it in this month, use it with great caution. Examine all the shutters and fastenings, and see that they are in good substantial order, and where deficient repair them instantly, that they may be in readiness. Remove all leaves, and give syringings twice a week. Clear off, sweep out, and wash clean, that every part may be in the neatest order. =Green-House.= _OCTOBER._ OF TAKING IN AND ARRANGING THE PLANTS. As observed in the previous month, let the housing of Green-house plants now be attended to. Have all in before the eighth of the month, except a few of the half hardy sorts, which may stand until convenient. Begin by taking in all the tallest first, such as _Oranges_, _Lemons_, _Myrtles_, _Oleanders_, &c. Limes ought to be kept in the warmest part of the house, otherwise they will throw their foliage. In arrangement, order is necessary to have a good effect; and in small houses it ought to be neat and regular, placing the tallest behind, and according to their size graduating the others down to the lowest in front. Dispose the different sorts in varied order over the house, making the contrast as striking as possible. Having the surface of the whole as even as practicable, with a few of the most conspicuous for shape and beauty protruding above the mass, which will much improve the general appearance, and greatly add to the effect. All succulents should be put together. They will do in a dark part of the house, where other plants would not grow, studying to have the most tender kinds in the warmest part, and giving gentle waterings every three or four weeks. When all are arranged, give them a proper syringing, after which wipe clean all the stages, _benches_, &c. sweeping out all litter, and wash clean the pavement, which will give to all a neat and becoming appearance. Let the waterings now be done in the mornings, as often and in such quantities as will supply their respective wants, examining the plants every day. During the continuance of mild weather, the circulation of air must be as free as possible, opening the doors and front and top sashes regularly over the house. But observe in frosty nights, and wet, cloudy weather, to keep all close shut. Be attentive in clearing off decayed leaves and insects. Any plants of _Lagerstræmia_, _Stercùlia_, _Hydrángea_, _Pomegranate_, and others equally hardy, that are deciduous, may be kept perfectly in a dry, light, airy cellar, giving frequent admissions of air. OF REPOTTING. _Anemònes._ Where _A. nemoròsa flòre plèno_ and _A. thalictròides flòre plèno_ are kept in pots in the Green-house, they should be turned out of the old earth, and planted in fresh soil. They are both pretty, low growing, double white flowering plants, and require a shaded situation. The latter is now called _Thalíctrum anemonoídes_. _Dáphne_, is a genus of diminutive shrubs, mostly evergreens, of great beauty and fragrance. Very few species of them are in our collections. _D. odòra_, frequently called _D. índica_, is an esteemed plant for the delightful odour of its flowers, and valuable for the period of its flowering, being from December to March, according to the situation; leaves scattered, oblong, lanceolate, smooth; flowers small, white, in many-flowered terminale heads. _D. hybrida_ is a species in high estimation at present in Europe, but little known here, being only in a few collections; flowers rose-coloured, in terminale heads, and lateral bunches in great profusion, and very similar to the former in habit and shape of flower; blooms from January to May, and is of a peculiar fragrance. _D. oleoídes_ is what may be termed "ever-blooming;" flowers of a lilac colour; leaves elliptic, lanceolate, smooth. _D. laurèola_, Spurge laurel; _D. póntica_, _D. alpìna_, and _D. Cneòrum_, are all fine species, and in Europe are esteemed ornaments in the shrubbery, but we are not certain if they will prove hardy in our vicinity. _Prímula._ There are a few fine species and varieties in this genus, adapted either for the Green-house or Rooms. All the species and varieties will keep perfectly well in a frame, except the China sorts. Having previously observed a few of the other species and varieties, we will observe the treatment of these. _P. sinénsis_, now _prænitens_, known commonly as China Primrose; flowers pink, and in large proliferous umbels, flowering almost through the whole year, but most profusely from January to May. Keep them in the shade, and be careful that they are not over-watered during summer. As the stems of the plant become naked, at this repotting a few inches should be taken off the bottom of the ball, and placing them in a larger pot will allow the stems to be covered up to the leaves. _P. p. albiflòra_, colour pure white and beautiful. _P. p. dentiflòra_. There is also a white variety of this, both similar to the two former, only the flower indented. All these require the same treatment. As they only live a few years, many individuals, to propagate them, divide the stems, which in most cases will utterly destroy them. The best, and we may say the only method to increase them, is from seed, which they produce in abundance every year. _Pæonia_, is a magnificent genus. There are four varieties of them, half hardy and half shrubby. They will bear the winter if well protected, but are better in the Green-house. These are _P. moután_, Tree Pæony; the flower is about four inches in diameter, of a blush colour, and semi-double; _P. M. Bànksii_ is the common Tree Pæony, and called in our collection _P. Moutàn_; it has a very large double blush flower, and is much admired. _P. M. papaveràcea_ is a most magnificent variety; has large double white flowers, with pink centres; _P. M. ròsea_ is a splendid rose-coloured double variety, and is scarce. These plants ought not to be exposed to the sun while in flower, as the colours become degenerated, and premature decay follows. If the Dutch bulbs intended for flowering during winter are not potted, have them all done as soon as possible, according to directions given last month. CAMELLIAS. These plants ought to have a thorough examination, and those that were omitted in repotting before they commenced growing, may be done in the early part of this month; but it is not adviseable, except the roots are matted round the ball of earth, which should be turned out entire. Examine all the pots, stir up the surface of the earth, and take it out to the roots, supplying its place with fresh soil. Destroy any worms that may be in the pots, as they are very destructive to the fibres. Look over the foliage and with a sponge and water clear it of all dust, &c. Frequently the buds are too crowded on these plants, especially the _Double white_ and _Variegated_. In such case pick off the weakest, and where there are two together, be careful in cutting, so that the remaining bud may not be injured. This is the best period of the year to make selections of these, as they now can be transported hundreds of miles without any material injury, if they are judiciously packed in close boxes. In making a choice of these, keep in view to have distinctly marked varieties, including a few of those that are esteemed as stocks for producing new kinds, which are undoubtedly indispensable; and will reward the cultivator in a few years with new sorts. Besides, it will afford unbounded gratification to behold any of these universally admired ornaments of the Green-house improving by our assistance and under our immediate observation. There is nothing to prevent any individual from producing splendid varieties in a few years. Mr. Hogg correctly observes, "It is very probable in a few years we shall have as great a variety of Camellias, as there are of Tulips, Hyacinths, Carnations, Auriculas, &c." It has been often said that these plants are difficult of cultivation. This is unfounded, indeed they are the reverse if put in a soil congenial to their nature. When highly manured soils are given, which are poisonous to the plants, sickness or death will inevitably ensue; but this cannot be attributed to the delicacy of their nature. We can unhesitatingly say there is no Green-house plant more hardy or easier of cultivation, and they are equally so in the parlour, if not kept confined in a room where there is a continuance of drying fire heat, their constitution not agreeing with an arid atmosphere. =Flower-Garden.= _OCTOBER._ OF PLANTING VARIOUS BULBOUS FLOWER ROOTS. From the middle of October to the beginning of November is the best period for a general planting of Dutch bulbs. _Cròcuses_ are the earliest in flower, and may be planted about six inches off the edgings, about four inches apart and two deep, or in beds four feet wide; the varieties selected and planted across the bed in rows of distinct colours, they flowering so early, and in that manner have a grand effect. There are above sixty varieties to be had. _Hyacinths._ The ground that was prepared for these last month, should be all divided into beds four feet wide, leaving between each alleys of twenty inches. Skim off three inches of the surface of the former into the latter, level the bed smoothly with the rake, and mark it off in rows eight inches apart. Plant the roots in the row eight inches asunder. Thus they will be squares of eight inches, and by planting the different colours alternately the bed will be beautifully diversified. Press each root gently down with the hand, that in covering up they may not be displaced. Put about four inches of earth over the crowns, which will make the beds from two to three inches higher than the alleys. The beds before and after planting should be gently rounded from the middle to each side to let the rain pass off. Finish all by raking evenly, straighten the edgings with the line, and clear out the alleys or pathways. _Tulips_ like a lighter and richer earth than Hyacinths. Prepare the beds in the same manner, and so as the roots will stand nine inches apart each way; cover them five inches deep, as the new bulbs are produced above the old. If it is intended to screen either of these while in flower, the beds should be made wider. Where two beds are to be shaded under one awning, make the alleys alternately two or three feet wide; the one two feet wide to be under the awning. _Polyanthus and Italian Narcissus_, may be planted in every respect as _Hyacinths_, only they require a lighter and richer soil. _Jonquils._ Plant these in the same soil as _Tulips_, six inches apart, and cover three inches deep. They do not flower so well the first year as in the second and third, therefore should only be lifted every third year. _Anemones and Ranunculuses._ These roots like a fresh rich, well pulverized, loamy soil. In light sandy soils they will languish in early droughts, and sometimes do not show their flowers fully. Cow manure is the best to use for enriching the soil. The whole should be well mixed and incorporated to the depth of eighteen or twenty inches. The roots may be planted in four-foot beds, or in such a manner as a low frame of boards can be placed over them, when the winter sets in very severe. If intended to be shaded while in flower, leave a sufficiency of space in the alleys as directed for Tulips and Hyacinths. Do not raise the beds above one inch higher than the alleys, and form the surface level, in order to detain rather than throw off moisture. Then draw drills exactly two inches deep and six inches apart across the bed. In these place the roots, claws down, about four inches distant from each other. The roots of the Anemones are flat, and the side on which there are small protuberances, is that from which the stems proceed. Press each root a little down with the hand, and cover all carefully so as not to displace them. Smooth the surface with the rake, leaving the bed quite level. Many other bulbous flowers might be added to the above; but as their culture is so similar, it would be superfluous to say more of them. They should be allowed space and depth according to the size of the bulb; a covering of two inches for the smallest, and five for the largest, will generally answer, and the intermediate roots in proportion. We will enumerate a few of the different kinds, _Starch_ and _Musk Hyacinths_; of _Narcissus_, the _Paper_, _Grand Monarque_, and _Nodding_, with the two previously mentioned, are the most profuse in flower. Some of them will have above twelve flowers on one stem. Of _Lilies_, all the varieties of _Mártagon_, _Tigrìnum_ and _Chalcedónicum_, with our native species and varieties. Of _Iris_, _Lusitánica_, two varieties, yellow and blue; _Xiphioídes_, or _Ziphioídes_; and _Pérsica_, are the finest of the bulbous sorts. Snow-drop with several other minor bulbs. All of these flowering bulbs may be advantageously planted in patches through the garden by taking out about one square foot of earth. Break it well, and if poor enrich it. Plant four bulbs in each of the same colour, and the clumps that are contiguous to contain different colours. PLANTING AND TRANSPLANTING. This is a very proper period to plant the beautiful and early flowering _Pyrus japónica_, now called _Cydónia japónica_. The blossoms are of a rich scarlet colour. It is the earliest flowering shrub of the garden, and deciduous, though said by some to be "an evergreen." The plant is bushy, and well adapted for single plants in grass plats, or forming low ornamental hedges. There is likewise _C. j. álba_, a fine white variety of the same habit, and both are of the hardiest nature--also for the various species of _Anemònes_ and all the herbaceous _Pæonias_. Of the latter there are above nineteen species and twenty-two varieties, a few of which are particularly esteemed, and exceedingly handsome. _P. èdulis whitlíji_ is a splendid large double _P èdulis_ white; _P. Hùmei_ is a beautiful large double dark blush; _P. èdulis fràgrans_ is a fine large double scarlet, rose-scented variety. These three plants ought to be in every garden. The flowers are full in the centre, and frequently above six inches in diameter; _P. álba chinènsis_ is said to be the largest and finest of the herbaceous sorts; colour pure white, with pink at the bottom of the petals--it is a scarce variety; _P. paradóxa fimbàtria_, fringed double red, and esteemed; _P. officinális rúbra_ is the common double red. There are several other very fine single species and varieties, the flowers of which are principally red or blush, but none so magnificent as the above mentioned. This is perhaps a more favourable period to plant _Dodecátheon_ than March; for its character see that month of this department. _Asclèpias tuberòsa_ should now be planted. _Double Primroses_, _Polyanthus_, _Daisies_, &c. Any of these that were planted in shaded situations in spring, and have been preserved through the summer, should have for their farther protection a bed well sheltered from the north west, in which they should be planted four inches apart. Give them a few sprinklings of water in the morning, and have a temporary frame of rough boards put together to place over them during the severity of winter. The frame may be covered with the same in place of glass, which must be kept over them while they are in a frozen state. Any other plants that are in the ground, which are intended to be protected with frames through the winter, ought to be immediately lifted and potted; and treated as directed for all new potted plants. GRASS AND GRAVEL WALKS. The former should be trimly cut and well rolled this month, that they may appear neat all winter. Never allow decayed leaves to lay any time upon them, as they are apt to rot out the grass. The latter should be divested of every weed, and receive a firm rolling. Clear them at all times of leaves and other litter. These, if on a declivity, and have not a firm substantial bottom, will be subject to be cut up with every heavy rain. A break should be put in every twenty, forty, or eighty feet, to throw off the water. A strong plank will answer perfectly well, but in such situations we would prefer grass-walks. PLANTING EVERGREENS. This month is the best period in autumn to plant these shrubs, and where there is a great extent to be planted it would be advisable to do a part of it now; but we give the preference to April, which see for directions. GENERAL OBSERVATIONS. When the plantings of bulbs, &c. are finished, every part of the garden should have a thorough cleaning. All annual flowers will have passed the season of their beauty; therefore, remove the decayed flower stems or haulm, and trim off the borders. Dig all vacant ground, especially that intended to be planted with shrubs in the ensuing spring, which ought to be dug from one to two feet deep. Roses delight in a deep light soil. =Rooms.= _OCTOBER._ Have a stage or stages, as described last month, in the situations where they are intended to remain all winter; place the plants on them from the first to the eighth of this month, beginning with the tallest on the top, graduating to the bottom. It is desirable to place flats or saucers under each, to prevent the water from falling to the floor, and the water should be emptied from the flats of all except those of _Cálla_ and _Hydrángea_. The latter while dormant should be kept only a little moist. Previous to taking in the plants, they should be divested of every decayed leaf, insects, and all contracted dust, having their shoots neatly tied up, and every one in correct order. Every leaf of the _Caméllias_ ought to be sponged, and the plants placed in a cool airy exposure, shaded from the direct rays of the sun. If the flower buds are too crowded, picking off the weakest will preserve the remainder in greater perfection, and prevent them in part from falling off. Do not on any occasion keep them in a room where there is much fire heat, as the flower buds will not expand in an arid atmosphere. See Green-house this month more largely on this subject. OF BULBOUS ROOTS. Those that are intended to flower in glasses, should be placed therein this month and kept in a cool room. After the fibres begin to push a few shoots, the glasses may be taken to the warmest apartments to cause them to flower early. Bring a few from the coldest to the warmest every two weeks, and thus a succession of bloom may be kept up from January to March. Where the roots intended for pots are still out of the ground, the sooner they are planted the better. (See last month for directions.) _Cape Bulbs._ All that are unplanted and offering to grow, should be put in pots forthwith. Ample directions are given for the planting of these in the two preceding months. Repot _Rùbus rosæfòlius_, or Bramble-rose. They should have pots one size larger than those they are now in. To make them flower profusely, when done blooming in May, divide them and put only a few stems in one pot, and repot them in this month, as above directed. GENERAL OBSERVATIONS. Any herbaceous plants in the collection ought to be set aside, and the water in part withheld. When the stems and foliage are decayed, the plants may be put in a cool cellar, where they will not be in danger of frost, and be permitted to remain there until they begin to grow; then bring them to the light, and treat as directed for these kinds of plants. Deciduous plants may be treated in a similar manner. =Hot-House.= _NOVEMBER._ The essential points to be attended to in the Hot-house during this month, are _fire_, _air_, and _water_. The former must be applied according to the weather, observing not to allow the temperature to be under fifty degrees, and it ought not to continue long at that degree; fifty-two degrees being preferable. The shutters should be on every night when there is any appearance of frost, and taken off early in the morning. Admit air in small portions every day that the sun has any effect, and the atmosphere mild, observing that the temperature of the house be above sixty degrees previous to admission. Shut all close early in the afternoon or when any sudden changes occur. OF A CISTERN AND WATER. In watering it is important to have the water of the same temperature in this department as the roots of the plants. To have this there are two kinds of cisterns, or tanks, that might be adopted; one may be sunk in the house under ground, either closely plastered, or lined with lead, and neatly covered up, having a small perpendicular pump therein, or placed so that the water could be lifted by hand. The other might, where convenience will admit, be placed over the furnace, either in the back shed, or inside of the house, and the water could be drawn off this by a stop-cock. These can be supplied in part with rain water by having spouts round the house to lead into the cisterns, supplying any deficiency from the pump. Thus water of a congenial temperature may always be at hand, which is of great importance to the healthful constitution of the plants. The water must now be given in moderate portions, examining the plants every day. Be careful in watering bulbs, as the smallest supply is sufficient for them at present. Succulents will require a little every two weeks, except they are over the flues, when they may have some every week. Constantly clear off all decayed leaves, and carry them out of the house, which sweep and wash clean, and keep all in the neatest order. =Green-House.= _NOVEMBER._ OF AIR AND WATER. Airing the house should be strictly attended to. Every day that there is no frost it may be admitted largely, and in time of slight frosts in smaller portions, never keeping it altogether close when the sun has any effect on the interior temperature of the house, which should not be allowed to be higher than fifty degrees. Water must be given in a very sparing manner. None of the plants are in an active state of vegetation, consequently it will be found that looking over them twice a week and supplying their wants will be sufficient. Succulents will need a little once in three weeks or a month. Give very moderate supplies to the _Amaryllis_ that are dormant, and keep all of these bulbs in the warmest part of the house. OF TENDER BULBS. Where there are tropical bulbs in the collection, and there is not the convenience of a Hot-house; they may be very well preserved by shaking them clear of the soil. Dry them properly, and place them in a box of very dry sand, or moss, which also must be perfectly dry, and put them in a situation where they will be clear of frost, and free from damp. These can be potted about the first of April. Give no water till they begin to grow, then plant them in the garden about the middle of May, when they will flower during the summer season, if their age will permit. GENERAL OBSERVATIONS. If there are any of the half hardy plants exposed, have them taken into the house, or under the requisite protection, in frames, pits, cellars, &c. The autumn flowering Cape bulbs should be placed near the glass, and free from the shade of other plants. Cleanliness through the whole house and amongst the plants ought at all times to be attended to. =Flower-Garden.= _NOVEMBER._ Wherever there are any Holland bulbs remaining unplanted, have them put in as soon as possible, lest frost should set in. It is not advisable to keep them later out of the ground than the beginning of this month. PROTECTION OF CHOICE BULBS. On the appearance of the severity of winter, the finer sorts of these should have a simple protection, not because they will not do without such care, but to prevent the alternate thawing and freezing of the embryo of the bulb. To give them a covering three inches deep of any of the following substances, will do perfectly well,--saw-dust not resinous, old tan bark, half decayed leaves, or very rotten manure. The last is preferable, as it would in part enrich the soil. _Anemònes_ and _Ranunculus_ ought to be protected by a frame; the foliage being above ground, none of the above will answer. It is not necessary that the frame should be covered with glass, close boards will answer perfectly, which must not be over them except during frost. TUBEROSES, DAHLIAS, TIGRIDIAS, AND AMARYLLIS. These tubers and bulbs, as soon as the frost has partly injured the foliage, should be taken up, and dried thoroughly, either in the sun or a room where there is fire heat, taking care at all times to keep them clear from frost. When they are dry, divest them of their foliage and fibres. When perfectly dry, pack them in boxes with dry sand, or moss. Store these away for the winter, either in a warm room or a dry cellar, where they will at all times be exempt from frost, the least touch of which would destroy them. We have kept them completely secure in the cellar. ERYTHRINAS. Where there are any plants of _E. herbàcea_, _E. laurifòlia_, or _E. crísta-gálla_, which are intended to be lifted, they should be carefully done and preserved in half dry earth, and kept beside the _Dáhlias_. We are not sure of the former agreeing with this treatment, but certain of the others, which are magnificent ornaments in the Flower-garden. PRIMROSES, POLYANTHUS, AND DAISIES, That were planted in a sheltered spot, as directed last month, should have a frame placed over them, and their covering in readiness for the approach of winter; giving the plants a light covering of leaves, which will preserve their foliage from the effects of frost. CHOICE CARNATIONS, PINKS, AND AURICULAS, That are in pots, should be placed in the frame intended for their abode during winter. If the pots are plunged to the rims in tan, half decayed leaves, or saw dust, it will greatly protect their roots from the severe effects of frost. Where glass is used for these frames, they should have besides a covering of boards, or straw mats; those that are in beds may be covered as above directed for Primroses, &c. They ought not to be uncovered while in a frozen state. It is not altogether the intensity of cold that destroys these plants so much as the alternate thawing and freezing. All half hardy plants, such as _Wall-flower_, _German stocks_, _Sweet-bay_, tender roses, with several others, should be protected as above directed for Carnations. Earth or tan should be put round the outside of these frames, which will be a partial shelter from the changing state of the atmosphere. Oak leaves answer the purpose very well, but they are a harbour for all kinds of vermin, especially rats and mice, which would destroy every thing. It may be useful to say a few words on the nature of tan or tanner's bark. Many suppose that the smallest quantity will produce heat, If three or four cart loads of it are put into one heap, and protected from the rain, it will ferment; and when the first fermentation is abated, by mixing it with leaves, a substantial hot-bed may be made. Or put it by itself into a pit, and where there is no pit, boards may be substituted to keep it together; either of these methods will produce a lasting heat. But in small quantities and exposed to rain, &c. no heat will be produced, but rather the contrary. It is excellent when dry in keeping out frost from any plants, being a body not easily penetrated, similar to dry sand, saw-dust, or dry leaves. Frequently the same opinion is held in regard to stable manure, small portions of which will never produce heat. OF PROTECTING PLANTS IN THE GARDEN. During this or next month, according to the state of the season, protect all the plants that are in the ground, which are not completely hardy. To avoid repetition, these will be designated in the general list. The coverings may be straw, Russia mats, canvass, boxes or barrels. The two latter must be perforated in the top, to let the damp air pass off, or the plant would become musty, or finally mortify. Those covered with straw or mats should have small stakes placed round the plants, and covering tied thereto, and remain so until the month of March or first of April. Herbaceous plants that are tender, may be covered with three or four inches of tan, saw-dust, or half decayed leaves, which will tend greatly to preserve their roots. These coverings must be carefully removed on the first opening of spring. The shrubs that are otherwise covered would be greatly benefited by having their roots protected in a similar manner as directed for herbaceous plants. PROTECTION OF SEEDLING BULBS. If any seeds of _Hyacinths_, _Tulips_, _Fritillària_, were sown in pots or boxes, let them be removed to a dry sheltered situation, and plunged level with the ground; or fill the spaces between them with dry leaves or tanner's bark, and cover the whole with new fallen leaves, laying over all a few boards to prevent the wind blowing them off. These form better coverings than straw or haulm, which is liable to become musty, and communicate the effect to the roots. The above covering is not required until the approach of severe frost. OF PLANTING DECIDUOUS TREES AND SHRUBS. It is not recommendable to make a general planting of these at this period of the year; the success entirely depending on the nature of the season and the state of the soil. If any are planted, let them be those of the hardiest nature, and in light and absorbent soil, not subject to be stagnated or over-flooded during winter. When this and next month are mild, autumn plantings are frequently as sure as those of the spring. But the precarious state of the seasons is not to be depended upon, therefore avoid largo plantings of any kind, and more especially of delicate roses, the roots of which are apt to rot off except they have been previously grown in pots. Nothing can be more injurious to a plant at this season particularly, than to bed its roots in mortar, by which the tender fibres either perish or are cramped ever afterwards. The soil at time of planting should be so friable as not to adhere to the spade, which is a good rule in planting at any season, or in any soil. GENERAL OBSERVATIONS. Carry out of the garden all decayed leaves and litter of every description, cutting down any weeds that remain. Collect all the stakes and rods that have been supporting plants; tie them up in bundles for the use of next year, and put them under cover. Look over every part of the garden, and see that nothing has been omitted in the way of covering or other protection. The sashes that are to be used on the frames should be perfectly whole, every interstice in the glass puttied, and all ready for use when occasion may require. Attend to all plants in pots, and give them gentle waterings as they stand in need; but never during the time the soil is frozen about their roots. =Rooms.= _NOVEMBER._ GENERAL OBSERVATIONS. The remarks and instructions that are given last month for these apartments will equally answer here. Where the Dutch bulbs were omitted to be placed in glasses, they ought not to be longer delayed. A few pots of those that were planted in September may be placed in a warmer situation. If they were plunged in the ground, the roots will be strongly fibred, and will produce large flowers, providing the bulbs are of a good sort. _Oxàlis._ The autumn flowering species will now be in bloom, and must be kept in the sun to make them expand freely. The neglect of this is the principal reason that these plants do not flower perfectly in Rooms. _Caméllias._ These plants, where there is a collection, flower from this period to April; and the general desire to be fully acquainted with the method of their culture has induced us to be liberal in our observations on every point and period through the various stages of their growth and flowering. We will here only remind the enquirer, that a pure air, a damp atmosphere, and giving the plants frequent sprinklings, are the present necessities, which only are conducive to their perfection. Attend to the turning of Geraniums and other rapid growing plants, that all sides of them may have an equal share of light. =Hot-House.= _DECEMBER._ The uncertainty of the weather in this month requires the operator to be constantly on guard, to ward off danger, either from frost, snow, or cutting winds. The temperature observed last month must be continued, but not exceeded, which would cause premature vegetation, of which the result and effects have already been frequently observed. Always kindle the fires in time, to prevent the heat from being lower than what has been mentioned, lest a severe frost should take, as then a considerable lapse ensues before the fire has any effect, and if the wind blows high, the result might be injurious, unless the house be very close. OF SHUTTERS. The benefit of these in severe weather is of material service, for the preservation of an even temperature in the house during the night, when changes are not observed, but they ought never to remain on through the day when the fire can be properly attended to. If the front and the lowest sash of the roof are covered with these, it is generally sufficient. They should be made of half inch boards, closely grooved together, having a cross bar in the centre, and one at each end with one at each side, which will make them substantial. If they are frequently painted with care, they will last many years. No snow ought to be allowed to lay on these while they are on the glass, for reasons that we have assigned. See _January_ and _February_. Some adopt double panes of glass to supersede the use of shutters, which, they think are attended with considerable labour, (at the most only ten minutes a day while in use.) The sash frame is made a little deeper, so as to allow half an inch between the panes of glass. The one is glazed from the out and the other from the inside. It appears to answer the purpose tolerably well, but the glass must be both fine and even in the surface, lest a lens should be produced, and cause a focus, which would evidently hurt some part of the plants. We are almost confident that we have seen this effect in some instances. There must be a small hole about an eighth of an inch in both ends of each row of glass to allow a current to dry up the moisture that may arise. OF PLACING BULBS, &c. IN THE HOT-HOUSE. If any _Hyacinths_ or other Dutch roots are wanted to flower early, a few of them may be put in the Hot-house near the front glass, which will greatly tend to forward their time of flowering. By having some brought in every two weeks, a continued succession of bloom will be kept up. _Calceolàrias._ Two or three plants of the fine blooming kinds may be placed in this department, towards the end of the month. Divide the roots as soon as they begin to grow, leaving only one stem to each root, which put in a four inch pot, enlarging it as soon as the roots extend to the outside of the ball, that by the month of May they may be in seven or eight inch pots, in which they will flower superbly. Give _Alstr[oe]merias_ the same treatment. GENERAL OBSERVATIONS. If there is a tan bed in the house, and it was renewed in September, the pots should now be plunged therein. The violent heat will partly be over, and the plants are not so liable to suffer at root in this as last month. It will in part prevent the plants from being affected by sudden changes of temperature. Be attentive in keeping all insects completely under. This is the period that these are most neglected, but by attending to the modes of their destruction, as already given, no species of them will either be hurtful or unsightly. Syringe the plants about twice a week, and always remember that decayed leaves or litter of any description do not beautify healthy plants, neither do they form a part of a well kept Hot-house. =Green-House.= _DECEMBER._ The weather may probably be now severe, and it is at all times advisable to keep the temperature as steady and regular as possible. The thermometer should be kept in the centre of the house, and free from the effects of reflection. As noticed last month, sun heat may be as high as 50° in the house, and would not be hurtful, but it should not continue so for any considerable time without admission of air. The fire heat should not exceed 43°, and never be below 33°. It ought not to continue at that point--36° is the lowest for a continuation that with safety can be practised. So that no error may occur, the temperature ought to be known in the coolest and warmest part of the house, and the variation remembered. Then whatever part of the house the thermometer is placed, a true calculation of the heat of the whole interior can be made. We would recommend to the inexperienced to keep the thermometer in the coldest part of the house. A Green-house compactly and closely built, and the glass all covered with shutters, (which no house ought to be constructed without,) will seldom require artificial heat; but by being long kept close, the damp will increase. In such case give a little fire heat, and admit air to purify the house. In fresh mild weather, give liberal portions of air all over the house; and though there is a little frost, while mild, and the sun shining, the plants will be benefited by a small portion of air for the space of an hour, or even for half of that time. Whatever state the weather may be through the winter, never keep the house long shut up. Thirty-six hours, or at most sixty, should be the longest time at once; rather give a little fire heat. We are no advocates for keeping plants long in darkness, and never think that our plants are receiving justice, if kept longer in darkness than two nights and one day. Respecting watering and other necessary operations, see next month particularly. BULBOUS ROOTS. Those that were plunged in the garden, if not lifted and brought under cover, should now be done without delay. Clean the pots, and stir up the surface of the soil. Hyacinths grow neatest by being kept very close to the top glass; the flower stems are thereby stronger and shorter. Water moderately until they begin to grow freely. =Flower Garden.= _DECEMBER._ GENERAL OBSERVATIONS. Having in the preceding month, under this head, given details for the protection of plants of a delicate nature, and the forwarding of necessary work, only a few remarks remain to be added. If there is any part therein described omitted, have it done forthwith; every day increases the danger of the effects of frost. If there is a doubt of any plants not standing without protection which are generally considered perfectly hardy, such as _Champney_, _Grevillii_, _Noisette_, and similar roses, tie straw or mats three or four feet up the stems of such, which will prevent all risk.[J] For valuable plants that are on walls, and in danger of being entirely destroyed, it is advisable to be at the expense of having a frame made to answer them, and cover the same with oil-cloth. The frame thus covered could be taken off in mild weather, and replaced again when necessary, causing very little trouble; and if properly taken care of, would last many years. Coverings of any construction and of the same material would answer for any part of the garden, and are the best in our opinion that could be adopted. [J] In the winter of 1831-1832, some of these roses were cut to the ground, where strong plants of _Lagerstr[oe]mia índica_ received not the smallest injury. =Rooms.= _DECEMBER._ As the trying season is now approaching for all plants that are kept in rooms, especially those that are desired to have a flourishing aspect through the winter, a few general instructions (although they may have been previously advanced) will perhaps be desirable to all those who are engaged in this interesting occupation, which forms a luxury through the retired hours of a winter season, and with very little attention many are the beauties of vegetative nature that will be developed to the gratification of every reflecting mind. The following is a routine of every day culture. Do not at any time admit air (except for a few moments) while the thermometer is below 32° exposed in the shade. In time of very severe frosts the plants ought to be withdrawn from the window to the centre of the room during night. Never give water until the soil in the pots is inclining to become dry, except for Hyacinths and other Dutch bulbs that are in a growing state, which must be liberally supplied. Destroy all insects as soon as they appear; for means of destruction see next month. Give a little air every favourable opportunity, (that is, when the thermometer is above 33° exposed in the shade,) by putting up the window one, two or three inches, according to the state of the weather. Clean the foliage with sponge and water frequently to remove all dust, &c. The water thus used must not exceed 96° or blood-heat, but 60° is preferable. Turn the plants frequently to prevent them growing to one side. _Roses_ of the daily sort may be obtained early by having them in a warm room, that has a south window, and as soon as they begin to grow, admit air in small portions about noon every day that the sun has any effect. Such must be well supplied with water. _Caméllias_, when in bud and flower, should never be allowed to become the least dry, neither confined from fresh air. The effects would be that the buds would become stinted, dry, and drop off. Therefore, to have these in perfection, attend strictly to watering. Give frequent airings, and wash the leaves once in two weeks with water. Never keep them above one day in a room, where there is a strong coal fire, and not above two days where wood is used as fuel. The most of _Caméllias_ will bear 3° of frost without the smallest injury, so that they are easier kept than _Geraniums_, except when they are in bloom. In that state frost will destroy the flowers. The air of a close cellar is destruction to the buds. Bulbs in glasses must be supplied with fresh water once a week, in which period they will inhale all the nutritive gas that they derive from that element, if they are in a growing state. ON THE CONSTRUCTION OF A HOT-HOUSE. There have been many plans devised and visionary projects offered to the public as the best for a well regulated Hot-house. As we intend forming one for practical purposes, we shall adopt a convenient size, have flues for the conveyance of heat, and coal or wood for fuel. _Site and Aspect._--The house should stand on a situation naturally dry, and if possible sheltered from the north west, and clear from all shade on the south, east and west, so that the sun may at all times act effectually upon the house. The standard principle as to aspect is to set the front directly to the south. Any deviation from that point should incline to east. _Dimensions._--The length may be from ten feet upwards; but if beyond thirty feet, the number of fires and flues are multiplied. The medium width is from twelve to sixteen feet. Our directions will apply to the two extreme points, viz. thirty feet by sixteen, and in height at back from twelve to eighteen feet; the height in front six feet, including about three feet in brick basement to support the front glass, which will be two and a half feet, allowing six inches for frame work. _Furnace and Flues._--It is of great importance to have these erected in such a manner as will effectually heat the house. The greatest difficulty is to have the furnace to draw well. As workmen are not generally conversant on the subject, nor yet understand the effect or distribution of heat in these departments, we will give minute details on their construction. The furnace should be outside of the house, either at back or end; the former is preferable, circumstances not always allowing it on the other plan. Dig out the furnace hole, or what is termed stock hole, about five feet deep. Let the door of the furnace be in the back wall of the house, thereby having all the heated building inside, that no heat may be lost. The brick work round the furnace should be from fifteen to eighteen inches thick, laying the inside with fire-brick. The furnace will require to be two and a half feet long, ten inches wide, and one foot high, before the spring of the arch and clear of the bars; leave one foot for an ash pit, then lay the bars. They should be sixteen inches long, one inch broad on the upper side, two inches deep, and two eighths broad on the lower side, and with the door and frame should be cast iron. Half an inch between each bar will be sufficient. The flue should rise from the furnace by a steep declivity of about two feet, and pass the door of the house (without a dip), when it must be elevated above the level of the floor of the house along the front, and at the opposite end of the house must dip to pass the door. The dip must not be lower than the top of the furnace, and should be of a concave form, (avoiding acute angles.) Lead it along the back to enter the wall over the furnace. When thus taken round the house, the heat will be expanded before it passes off, The inside of the flues should be about six inches wide and eight inches deep; plaster the bottom of it, but no other part, as plaster is partially a non-conductor. The above description is for burning anthracite coal, but where wood is to be the fuel, the furnace and flues must be one half larger. We have been particular in the description of furnace bars, as those generally used are miserable substitutes. Circumstances may cause the furnace to be placed at the end or front of the house. In either case the stock hole will not require to be so deep; or where there is only one door in the house a stock hole three and a half feet deep will be enough, which should be built like a cellar to keep out any under water. In all instances pass the first flue to the front of the house, over which have a close shelf eight inches clear, covered with two inches of sand, and by keeping it moist will afford a very congenial heat to young valuable plants. Likewise over the furnace have a frame in the same manner, which will be found valuable. Any part of the furnace or flue that is under the floor of the house, should have a vacuity on both sides to let the heat pass upward. _Bark Pit._--We consider such an erection in the centre of a Hot-house a nuisance, and prefer a stage, which may be constructed according to taste. It should be made of the best Carolina pine, leaving a passage round the whole to cause a free circulation of air. The back and end paths should be about two feet wide, and the front three feet. The angle of the stage should be parallel with the glass, having the steps from six inches to one foot apart. Where there are some large plants, they may stand on the floor behind the stage, or on tressels, according to their height. _Angle of the glazed roof._--The pitch of the roof is usually varied to agree with the design of the house, and the size of the plants to be grown therein. Where pleasure and ornament are the principal objects, the angle should be about 43°, but a few degrees of inclination either way is of minor importance, the height and elevation being regulated by the size of the plants intended to be cultivated. It is not advisable to shingle any part of the roof on the south aspect. _Materials for glazed frames._--Carolina pine is the best material for the wood work, as it is not so subject to decay from moisture and heat as the other kinds of pine wood. The frames or sashes can be of any convenient length, not exceeding ten feet, and about three and a half or four feet wide, divided so as they can be glazed with glass six inches wide. _Of glazing._ The pieces of glass should not exceed six inches by ten, the lappings about one quarter of an inch. The frames ought to have one coat of paint previous to glazing, and all under the glass puttied. Some prefer the lappings to be puttied also. It is our opinion that in a Hot-house these should not be puttied, but in the Green-house the closer they can be made the better. _Of Shutters._--These should be made of half inch white pine, and bound on both ends and sides, having a cross piece in the middle of the same. They ought to be painted once in three years. ON THE CONSTRUCTION OF A GREEN-HOUSE. In many respects, the construction of the Green-house will be the same as the Hot-house, but might be made much more an ornamental object, and could be erected contiguous to the mansion-house, with large folding doors to open at pleasure, and be connected with the drawing-room or parlour. The extent may vary according to the collection to be cultivated. It was formerly the practice to build these houses with glass only in front, and even to introduce between the windows strong piers of brick or stone: but this is now abolished, and has given way to a light and ornamental style, by which cheerfulness and the desired utility are better consulted. There should be conveniences in the back part of the house, that a free current of air may be obtained whenever desired, which is an essential point. Two or three dark windows will answer the purpose well, if made to open and shut at pleasure. ON LAYING OUT A FLOWER-GARDEN. _Soil, situation, and ground--Plan._--A soil of common good qualities, moderately light and mellow, will grow most of the hardy herbaceous flowers, and the evergreen and deciduous ornamental shrubs. The situation should not be so low as to be damp and wet, or liable to be inundated, neither so high as to be scorched or dried up by the sun. The surface should be level or moderately sloping, and if unequal, parts of it may be transposed, so as to make gentle inclinations. In regard to form, it may be of any shape, and must be often adapted to local circumstances; but if it is so circumscribed that the eye can at once embrace the whole, it is desirable that it should be of some regular figure. _Of Fences._--Where domestic buildings do not serve as a boundary, either paling or hedge-fence has to be resorted to: we would prefer the former on the north or north-west side, which is of great advantage as a screen from cutting winds. For hedge-fences and their kinds, see page 210. The exotic observed there is _Thùja orientàlis_, Chinese Arbor-vitæ. The internal fences for shade or shelter to particular compartments, or to afford a diversity of aspect, may be made of _Sweetbriar_, _hardy China roses_, _Pyrus_, _red_ and _white_, with a few others of a similar nature, all of which must be attended to, to have them in neat order. _Style of dividing the Ground._--This may vary with the extent of the ground, and the object of the cultivator. The principal designs may be delineated, but one to answer every view and situation, we pretend not to give. In the first place, carry a boundary walk all round the garden, on one or two sides of which it may be straight, the others winding. The intersecting walks should (almost imperceptibly) lead to a centre, but not to cross at right angles, or to have parallel lines, as if divided or laid down by a mathematical scale, which is too formal for the diversification of nature. All walks through these pleasure departments should be winding and enlivening, not continuing any length in one direction.[K] The continuous view of a straight walk is dull and monotonous. The divisions should be highest about the centre, that whatever is planted therein may have effect; and to make a Flower-garden fully interesting, and render it a source of natural information, where free scope might at all times be afforded to employ the leisure hours in mental improvement, there should be a good system of arrangement adopted. [K] Since writing the above we have seen the Flower-garden of J. B. Smith, Esq. and consider it a beautiful specimen, finely illustrating the taste of that gentleman. The _Linnean_ system is the most easily acquired. A small compartment laid out in beds might contain plants of all the twenty-four _classes_, and a few of all the hardy _orders_, which do not exceed one hundred. Or to have their natural characters more assimilated, the _Jussieuean_ system could be carried into effect by laying down a grass plat, to any extent above one quarter of an acre, and cut therein small figures to contain the natural families, which of hardy plants we do not suppose would exceed one hundred and fifty. The difficulties of this arrangement are, that many of the characters are imperfectly known even to the most scientific. _Mr. John Lindley_ has given additional light on the subject by his last publication. All the large divisions should be intersected by small allies, or paths, about one and a half or two feet wide. These may be at right angles, or parallel, for convenience and order, in making beds, &c. for the various Dutch roots and other flowers. Patches or plats of grass studded with shrubs, deciduous and evergreen, are indispensable, and perhaps one or two grass walks. _Of Walks._--These should have five or six inches of lime and brick rubbish, or broken stone in the bottom, covered with small pebbles, and firmly rolled with a heavy roller, over which lay two or three inches of fine gravel, giving the whole a complete rolling. Walks made on this method will stand well, and be always dry and firm. With regard to breadth, they must be made according to the extent of ground, and vary from three to thirty feet; from four to eight feet is generally adopted. _Plants described or mentioned in this Work._ _Linnæan Name_. _English Name_. ACÀCIA 61, 219. 1 móllis, downy. glaucéscens, glaucescent. verticiláta, whorl-leaved. florabùnda, many-flowered. diffùsa, spreading. _prostràta_. armàta, armed. var. pendùla, weeping. verniciflùa, varnished. decúrrens, decurrent. púbescens, hairy-stemmed. leucolòbia, white-podded. _dealbàta_. decípiens, paradoxical. fragràns, scented. pulchélla, neat. lophántha, two-spiked. _Mimósa élegans_. myrtifòlia, myrtle-leaved. Catéchu, Catechu. véra, true. Arábica, Arabian. ANNESLÈIA 219. 1 Houstóni, Houston's. _Acàcia Houstóni_. grandiflòra, large-flowered. _Acácia grandiflòra_. ACMADÈNIA 86. 6 lávigata, smooth. púngens, pungent. tetragýnia, four-sided. AGATHÓSMA 86. 6 accuminàta, taper-pointed. hýbrida, hybrid. Thunbergiàna, Thunberges. imbricàta, imbricated. prolífera, proliferous. pátula, spreading. pulchélla, pretty. ciliáta, profuse-flowering. ADENÁNDRA 86. 6 speciòsa, large-flowered. umbellàta, umbel-flowered. álba, white-flowered. fragràns, sweet-scented. uniflòra, one-flowered. ANEMÓNE 134. Wind-flower. 15 palmàta plèno, double-yellow. stellàta versícolor, various. pavonìna plèno, scarlet. narcissiflòra, narcissus-flowered. Hallèri, Haller's. alpìne, alpine. nemoròsa plèno, double-leaved. thalictròides " common-double. AMÓMUM 36. ATRÀGENE 196. alpìna, alpine. ÁPICRA 260. AMARÝLLIS 260, 271, 274. 11 striatfòlia, stripe-leaved. Jonsòni, Johnson's. regìna, Mexican-lily. vittàta, striped. fùlgida, fulged. àulica, crowned. psittácina, parrot. " Cowbèrgia, Cowberges'. " pulverulènta, powdered. Griffìni, Griffin's. formòsa, large. ANTIRRHÌNUM 134, Snap-dragon. màjus, large. mólle, soft. Sículum, Sicilian. ASCLÈPIAS 134, 321, Silk-flower. tuberòsa, tuberous. rùbra, red. nívea, white. purpuráscens, purple-coloured. incarnàta, fleshy-coloured. ACONÍTUM 134, Wolfe's-bane. speciòsum, showy. anthòra, wholesome. neúrbergensis, Syria. amæ'num, pretty. napéllus, monk's-hood. venústum, beautiful. zoóctonum, beast-bane. pyramidále, pyramidal. lycóctonum great-yellow. albùm, white. versícolor, three-coloured. ÁLOE 219, 271. 10 vulgàris, common. Barbadénsis, Barbadoes. oblíqua, oblique. dichótoma, smooth-stemmed. lineàta, red-edged. ADÓNIS 134. vernális, spring. ARISTÉA 125. 5 cyànea, blue. ALSTR[OE]MERIA 18, 57, 229, 339. 10 flós-martína, san-martin. pelegrìna, spotted. pulchélla, pretty. atro-purpùrea, dark. AGROSTÉMMA 143. flós-cucùla, ragged-robin. _Lychnìs flós-cucùla_. ARAUCÀRIA 261. 12 excélsa, Norfork-Island-pine. imbricàta, Chile-pine. APHÉLEXIS 88. 5 hùmilis, dwarf. _Elichrýsum spectábile_. AMÓRPHA 45. ASTÉLMA 93. 8 exímia, beautiful. spiràlis, spiral-leaved. speciosíssimus, showy. fruticàns, frutescent. imbricàtum, imbricated. ANGÓPHORA 107. 6 cordifòlia, heart-leaved. híspida, hispid. ALOÝSIA 123. 9 citriodòra, lemon-scented. _Verbéna tripfýlla_. AMPELÒPSIS 198. hederàcea, Virginian creeper. _Císsus hederàcea_. ARISTOLÓCHIA 221. Birth-wort. 9 labiòsa, lipped. ASTRAP`ÆA 221. 12 wallíchii, Wallich's. ARÉCA 221. Cabbage-tree. 12 cátechu, catechu. olerácea, eatable. montàna, mountain. ARDÍSIA 220. 10 crenulàta, crenulate. solanàcea, night-shade-leaved. élegans, elegant. umbellàta, umbel-flowered. _littoràlis_. AGATHAÉA 82. 12 cæléstus, blue. AGAPÁNTHUS 62. African lily. umbellàtus, umbel-flowered. var. variegàtus, striped-leaved. ALONSÒA 62. incisifòlia, nettle-leaved. _Hemímeris urticifòlia_. lineàris _Hemímeris lineàris_. AÙCUBA 63. 4 japónica, blotch-leaved. ANAGÝRIS 63. 4 fætida, strong smelling. AZÁLEA 63. 5 índica, Chinese. " álba, white. " purpùrea, double. " ph[oe]nícea, purple. sinénse, yellow. AÒTUS 64. 1 villòsa, villous. virgáta, slender. ANDERSÒNIA 64. 6 sprengelioídes, sprengilia-like. ÁRBUTUS 64. Strawberry-tree. 7 Unèdo, common. " rùbra, red-flowered. hýbrida hybrid. _serratifòlia_, _andrachnoides_. andráchne, oriental. BÁNKSIA 64. 8 dentàta, tooth-leaved. æ'mula, deeply sawed. serráta, saw-leaved. _undulàta_. latifòlia, broad-leaved. grándis, great-flowered. speciòsa, long-leaved. cunninghàmii, Cunningham's. spinulòsa, spiny-leaved. palludòsa, marsh. rèpens, creeping verticillàta, whorl-leaved. BLÈTIA 66. 9 hyacinthìna, hyacinthine. _Cymbídium hyacinthìnum_. BÒRONIA 66 5 pinnáta, scented. serruláta, rose-scented. aláta, wing-leaved. BARÓSMA 86. 6 serratifòlia, saw-leaved. pulchèlla, blunt-leaved. f[oe]tidíssima, strong-scented. odoráta, odoriferous. dioíca, dioecious. BABÌANA 303. 11 distíca two-ranked. strícta, erect. tubiflòra, tube-flowered. plicáta, plaited. BRUNSVÌGIA 222. 11 multiflòra, many-flowered. laticòma, broad-headed. Josephínæ, Josephine's falcáta, falcate margináta, red-margined cilliáris, hairy-margined. BAMBUSA 222. Bamboo-cane. 14 arundinàcea, reed-like. BANISTÈRIA 223. fúlgens, fulgent. chrisophýlla, shining. splèndens, splendid. BARRINGTÒNIA 223. 10 speciòsa, showy. BRÒWNEA 233. 10 coccínea, scarlet. ròsa, Trinidad-rose. grandicéps, grandest. BOUVÁRDIA 66. 7 triphýlla, three-leaved. Jacquínii, shark-leaved. _Ìxora americána_. BRACHYSÈMA 66. 5 latifòlium, broad-leaved. undulátum, wave-leaved. BURCHÉLLIA 67. 10 capénsis, cape. parviflòra, small-flowered. BEAUFÓRTIA 67. 8 decussáta, cross-leaved. spàrsa, alternate-leaved. BRÙNIA 67. 5 nodiflòra, imbricated. languinósa, woolly. comòsa, tufted. abrotanoídes, southern wood-like. formòsa, handsome. BÓSEA 67. Golden-rod-tree. 5 yervamóra. B`ÆCKIA 67. 6 camphoráta, camphor. pulchélla, neat. virgáta, slender. BILLARDIÉRA 68. Apple-berry. longiflòra, long-flowered. mutàbilis, changeable. scándens, climbing. fusifórmis, long-fruited. BÉLLIS 135. Daisy. perénnís hortensis var. var. garden. BALLÓTA 260. 11 purpúrea, purple-flowered. _Amarýllis purpúrea_. BELLADÓNNA 208. 11 purpuráscens, Belladonna Lily. _Amarýllis Belladónna_. BIGNÒNIA 197. Trumpet-flower. crucígera, cross-bearing. grandiflòra, large-flowered. rádicans, rooting. COTYLÉDON 39. COLÙTEA 45. CÝTICUS 45. CÁLTHA 135. palústris plèno, double yellow. CHAM´ÆROPS 262. Dwarf-fan-palm. 12 sp. sp. CÓRYPHA 232. Large-fan-palm. 11 ambraculifera, large. talìera, great. CLÉMATIS 196, 138, 83, Virgin's-bower. 12 integrifòlia, entire-leaved. angustifòlia, narrow-leaved. erécta, erect-growing. viticélla pulchélla, double-blue. flámmula, sweet-scented. virginiàna, Virginian. flòrida plèno, double-white. aristàta, awned. brachiàta, armed. COB´ÆA 83. scándens, climbing. CALLICÁRPA 229. CAROLINEA 229. Cream-nut. 17 insignis, great-flowered. álba, white-flowered. prínceps, digitated. robústa, robust. CARYÓTA 229. 12 ùrens, stinging. CALÀTHEA 223. zebrìna Zebra-plant. _Maránta Zebrína_. CÁNNA 224, 35. Indian-shot. 3 gigántea, tall. limbàta, bordered. díscolor, two-coloured. iridiflòra, nodding-flowered. CÁCTUS 224, 271. CÈRUS 225. 18 peruviànus, Peruvian. heptagònus, seven-angled. flagellifórmus, creeping. grandiflòrus, night-blooming. triangulàris, triangular. phyllanthoiídes, rosy-flowered. _Cáctus Speciosus_. Jenkinsòni, Jenkinsons'. Speciosíssimus, showy. Ackermánnia, Ackerman's. truncàtus, truncated. COREÓPSIS, 138. tenuifòlia, slender-leaved. verticullàta, whorl-leaved. díscolor, two-coloured. trípteris, three-leaved. CALCEOLÁRIA 68, 17, 35, 338., Slipper-wort. 10 angustifòlia, narrow-leaved. integrifòlia, entire-leaved. plantagínea, plantain-leaved. corymbósa, corymb-flowered. purpùrea, purple-flowered. Hopiána, Dr. Hopes'. micàns, fine. hybrìda, hybrid. Fothergíllii, Fothergill's. arachnóidea, cob-web. CALOTHÁMNUS 68. 6 quadrífida, four-cleft. claváta, club-leaved. CAMÉLLIA 69, 80., Japan-rose. 11 víridis, green-tea. Bohèa, black-tea. sesánqua, Lady Banks'. oleífera, oleiferous. maliflòra, pink-flowered. _Sesanqua rosea_. kíssi, nepaul. reticulàta, Capt. Rawes'. japónica, original. rùbra, common. álba, single-white. semidúplex, semidouble red. rùbro pléno, double red. cárnea, Middlemist's. myrtifòlia, myrtle-leaved. _involuta_. myrtifolia, minor. hexanguláris, six-sided. atrorùbens, Loddiges' red. anemoniflòra, red waratah. " rósea, rose war. dianthiflòra, carnation war. blánda, blush war. pompónia, Kew blush. pæoniflòra, pæony flowered. Welbánkii, Welbank's. álba-plèno, double white. flavéscens, ladies'-blush. fimbriàta, fringed white. imbricàta, imbricate petaled. variegàta, double striped. crassinervis? thick-nerved. conchiflòra, shell-flowered. rubricáulis, Lady Campbell's. longifòlia, long leaved. chandlèrii, Chandler's. _versìcolor_. Aitònia, Aiton's. althæflòra, holly-hock flowered. corallìna, coral-flowered. insígnis, splendid. anemoneflòra álba, white anemone flowered. heterophýlla, various leaved. Woódsii, Mr. Wood's. speciósa, striped waratah. fúlgens, fulgent. grandiflòra, large flowered. rósa-sinénsis, bright pink. intermédia, new blush. invíncible, Press's. _punctàta_. _pressíi_. rose-mundií, streaked. compàcta, compact-white. gloriòsa, dark-red. Róssii, Ross's. CALLICÒMA 80. 6 serratifòlia, saw-leaved. CARMICH`ÆLIA 81. 8 austrális, New-Zealand. CUNÒNIA 81, Decandria-digynia. 2 Capénsis, Cape. CLÉTHRA 81. 2 arbórea, tree. " variegàta, variegated-leaved. COTONEASTÈR 81. 2 denticulàta, toothed. microphýlla, small-leaved. CRÒWEA 81. 1 salígna, willow-leaved. CHORIZÈMA 81. 5 nàna, dwarf. ilicifòlia, holly-leaved. CINERÀRIA 82, Cape-aster. 12 speciósa, large-flowered. amelloìdes, blue. purpûrea, purple. lanáta, woolly. CÍSTUS 82, Rock-rose. 3 ladaníferus, gum. Monspeliénsis, Montpelier. sálignis, willow-leaved. populifòlius, poplar-leaved. undulàtus, wave-leaved. CAMPÁNULA 135, Bell-flower. persicifòlia, peach-leaved. " àlba-plèno, double-white. " cærùlea-plèno, " blue. urticifòlia, nettle-leaved. speciòsa, spacious. glomeràta, headed-flowered. versícolor, three-coloured. CHEIRÁNTHUS 136. chéiri-vulgaris, Wall-flower. " hæmànthus, double-bloody. mutàbilis, changeable. CHELONE 136. glábra, glabrous. oblíqua, oblique-leaved. barbàta, bearded-flowered. atropurpùrea, purple-flowered. pulchélla, pretty. venústa, showy. speciòsa, spacious. CHRYSÁNTHEMUM 137. sinénse, variable-chinese. " tubulòsum álbum, quilled-white. " supèrbum, superb-white. " díscolor, large-lilac. " fúlvum, Spanish-brown. " atropurpùreum, early-crimson. " involùtum, curled-lilac " fasciculàtum, superb-yellow. " serotìnum, pale-purple. " papyràceum, paper-white. " waratáh, yellow-anemone-flow'd. " versícolor, two-coloured red. " stellàtum, starry-purple. " verecúndum, early-blush. " mutábile, changeable. COCOLÒBA 229, Sea-side-grape. 15 pubéscens, downy. latifòlia, broad-leaved. CÙPHEA 229. 6 Melvílla, Melvill's. CRÒTON 230. pìctus, painted. variegàtus, variegated. " latifòlia, broad-leaved. CÉRBERA 230. 17 thevètia, linear-leaved. ahoùai, oval-leaved. odállam, spear-leaved. mànghas, blunt-leaved. CÝCAS 230, Sago-palm? 11 revolúta, revolute. circinàlis great. glaùca, glaucous. COMBRÈTUM 231. élegans, elegant. formòsum, handsome. purpùreum, scarlet. CRÀSSULA 231. CRÒCUS 275, saffron. satìvus, garden. Pallàsii, Pallas'. serotìnus, late-flowered. nudiflòrus, naked-flowered. CÓLCHICUM 275. CÁLLA 289. 12 Æthiòpica, Ethiopian-lily. CORONÍLLA 83. 12 glaúca, glaucous. valentìna, nine-leaved. _stipulàris_. viminális, slender. CORRÈA 84. 5 álba, white-flowered. rúfa, rusty-leaved. pulchélla, pretty. speciósa, showy. virèns, green-flowered. CRAT`ÆGUS 84. CUPRÈSSUS 85, Cypress. 6 lusitánica, cedar of Goa. péndula, pendulous. juniperoídes, African. CALÁMPELIS 85. 11 scábra, climbing. _Eccremocárpus scáber_. CELÁSTRIS 85. Staff-tree. 4 pyracánthus, red-fruited. cymósus, cyme-flowered. multiflòrus, many-flowered. lúcidus, shining. COÒKIA 85. Wampee-tree. 11 punctàta, punctate. CALLISTÀCHYS 85. 6 lanceoláta, lanceolated. ovàta, oval-leaved. CHARLWÒODIA 234. 11 strícta, erect. COFFÈA 227, Coffee-tree. 17 Arábica, Arabian. CINNAMÓMUM 101. 15 camphòra, camphire-tree. CLERODÉNDRON 124. 12 fràgrans múltiplex, double. CRINÙM 261, 232. 11 capénse, cape. _Amarýllis longifòlia_. cruéntum, red. scábrum, scabrous. amàbile, showy. CYRTÀNTHUS 232. 11 odòrus, scented. striátus, striped. oblíquus, oblique-leaved. vittàtus, ribanded. CARÝOPHYLLUS 233. 9 aromáticus, aromatic. CALLÌSTEMON 107. 6 salígnum, willow-leaved. lanceolàtum, lance-leaved. semperflòrens, ever-blooming glaùcum, glaucous. _metrosidèros speciòsa_. CÝCLAMEN 290, 297. 11 Coúm, round-leaved. Pérsicum, Persian. hederæfòlium, ivy-leaved. Europ'æum, round-leaved. Neapolitànum, Neapolitan. CENTRÀNTHUS 150. Phù, garden. _Valeriána Phù_. rùbra, red. _Valeriána rùbra_. DION'ÆA 36. 5 mucípula, Venus-fly-trap. DILLÈNIA 233. 7 speciòsa, spacious. scàndens, climbing. DRAC'ÆNA 233. Dragon-tree. 11 férrea, purple-leaved. frágrans, scented. margináta, margined. dráco, large DÁPHNE 313, 258, 270. 15 odòra, sweet-scented. _índica_. hýbrida, daphine. oleoídes, olea-leaved. laurèola, spurg-laurel. póntica, pontic. alpìna, alpine. cneòrum, trailing. DELPHÍNUM 138. Larkspur. grandiflòrum, large-flowered. intermèdium, intermediate. _var._ _var._ elàtum, Bee-larkspur. montànum, tall-growing. DIANTHUS 138. Pink. 17 barbátus, sweet-william. " plèno, double. díscolor, two-coloured. chinènsis, china. alpínus, alpine. supérbus, superb-red. caryophýllus, clove. plumárius, common. frágrans, sweet-scented. DICTÁMNUS 139. fraxinélla, red. àlbus, white. DODECÀTHEON 321.139. American cow-slip. mèdia, purple. " àlba, white. DIGITÀLIS 140. Fox-glove. leucoph`æa, broad-lipped. ferrugínea, rusty-flowered. ochroleùca, large yellow. purpuràscens, blush-flowered. _erubéscens_. purpúrea, purple. " àlba, white. DAVÌESIA 86. 6 ulicìna, furze-like. latifòlia, broad-leaved. aciculáris, needle-leaved. incrassáta, thick-leaved. DIÓSMA 86. 6 capitàta, crown-flowered. oppositifòlia, opposite-leaved. longifòlia, long-leaved. rùbra, heath-leaved. _ericifòlia_. treretifòlia, round-leaved. DRYÁNDRA 87. 6 nívea, white-leaved. formòsa, apricot-scented. floribúnda, many-flowered. armáta, acute-leaved. plumòsa, feathered. baxtèri, Baxter's. nervòsa, nerve-leaved. falcáta, falcate-leaved. DILLWÝNIA 87. 6 floribúnda, close-flowered. _ericifòlia_. teretifòlia, round-leaved. phylicoídes, phylica-like. DAMPIÈRA 87. 6 purpùrea, purple-flowered. unduláta, wave-leaved. strícta, upright. EDWÁRDSIA 88. 6 grandiflòra, large-flowered. chrysophýlla, silver-leaved. microphýlla, small-leaved. ELICHRÝSUM 88. ENKIÁNTHUS 88. 6 quinqueflòrus, Canton. reticulàtus, netted-leaved. EPÁCRIS 88. 5 grandiflòra, large-flowered. pulchélla, sweet-scented. impréssa, unpressed. palludòsa, marsh. purpuráscens _rúbra_. red. ERÍCAS 89. Heath. 6 mediterránea, common. 5 aristáta, awned. bàccans, arbutus-flowered. bowieána, Bowie's. conférta, crowded-flowered. élegans, elegant. fasciculáris, cluster-flowered. florabùnda, many-flowered. glomeràta, glomerate. grandiflòra, large-flowered. inflàta, inflated. mammòsa, nipple. prégnans, swelled. pubéscens, downy. refúlgens, refulgent. regérminans cluster-flowered. rùbens, red-flowered. speciòsa, specious. spléndens, splendid. tenélla, delicate. triúmphans, triumphant. vestìta, tremulous. _var._ _var._ ventricòsa, beautiful. víscaria, clammy-flowered. ERÁNTHEMUM 234. 11 pulchéllum, neat. bícolor two-coloured. EUGÈNIA 234. 11 piménta, Allspice. _Mýrtus Piménta_. frágrans, scented. EUPHÓRBIA. 234. Spurg. 18 heterophýlla.? ERYTHRÌNA 235. 330. Coral-tree. 13 corallodéndrum, smooth. speciòsa, splendid. pubéscens, downy. herbácea, herbaceous. laurifòlia, laurel-leaved crísta-gàlli, Cocks-comb. ERIABÒTRYA 107. loquat. 11 japónica, Japan. ENTÈLIA 119. 12 arboréscens, tree. ECHINOCÁCTUS 225. 18 gibbòsus, gouty. crispàtus, curled-ribbed. recúrvus, recurve-spined. EUPATÓRIUM 91. 140. 10 élegans, scented. c[oe]lestínum, blue. aromáticum, aromatic. EUTÁXIA 92. 6 myrtifòlia, myrtle-leaved. pùngens, pungent. EUCHÌLUS 92. 6 obcordáta. ERÓDIUM 91, Heron's-bill. incarnàtum, fleshy. crassifòlium, thick-leaved. laciniátum, laciniated. EUCALÝPTUS 91. 6 cordàta, Heart-leaved. rostráta, beaked. radiáta, rayed. pulvigéra. glóbifera, round-fruited. pulverulénta, powdered. resinífera, red-gum-tree. EURCÚMA 36. EÙCOMIS 24. FURCHR`ÆA. 39. FÚNKIA 96, 141. 11 álba. _Hemerocállis japónica_. cærùlea. _Hemerocállis cærùlea_. FERRÀRIA 40. 11 undulàta, curled. antheròsa, variegated. FRITILLÀRIA 295. imperiàlis, Crown-imperial. Pérsica, Persian. FÌCUS 236, Fig-tree. 12 elástica, gum-elastic. brassiì, brass. religiòsa, superstitious. lùcida, shining. Bengalénsis, Bengal. nìtida, glossy. índica, banyan-tree. exasperàta, very-rough. costàta, rib-leaved. FÚCHSIA 92, Ladies-ear-drop. 13 virgáta, twiggy. cònica, conical-tubed. coccínea, scarlet. microphýlla, small-leaved. arbórea, tree. gràcilis, slender. thymifòlia, thyme-leaved. GELSÈMIUM 93. Carolina-jasmine. 5 nìtidum, shining-leaved. GNAPHÀLIUM 93. (See _Astélma_.) GOMPHOLÒBIUM 94. 5 barbigérum, bearded-flowered. polimórphum, variable. GEORGIÀNA 180. _Dáhlia supérflua_. dwarf-globe, crimson. pulla. Electa, scarlet. flamæa, flame. Zeno. Etna, scarlet. imperiosa. Cicero. cocade. Cambridge-surprise. Duchess-of-Wellington, pink. Countess-of-Liverpool. Barret's-Wm.-4th, scarlet. mountain-of-snow, _true_. Diana, lilac. crimson-bonnet, glob. eximia, scarlet. star-of-Brunswick, pink. Lafayette, orange. morning-star, red. Romulus, scarlet. Florabunda, crimson. speciosissima, purple. Veitches-triumphant, purple. coronation, maroon. Stephenia, bloody. feathered, light crimson, _glob_. dwarf, crimson, _fine glob_. striated buff, _anemone-flowered_. large-pink, " " rose, " spectabile, " painted-lady, " early-blood, " GLÓBBA 36. GESNÉRIA 36. 10 bulbósa, bulbous. GLORIÓSA 37. 10 supérba, superb. GASTÈRIA 259. GEÙM 141. quéllyon, scarlet. _coccíneum_. hýbridum, hybrid. urbánum, common. GENTIÁNA 140. lútea, yellow. purpúrea, purple. septémfida, crested. acaúlis, dwarf. GÆRTNÈRA 237. 12 racemòsa, climbing. GEISSOMÉRIA 237. 2 longiflòra, long-flowered. GARDÈNIA 237, 262. 9 campanuláta, bell-flowered. am`æna, neat. costàta, ribbed. lúcida, shining. flòrida-pléno, Cape-jasmine. ràdicans, dwarf. longifòlia, long-leaved. latifòlia, broad-leaved. Rothmònnia, spotted. Thunbérgia, Thunberg's. GLADIÒLUS 303. Corn-flag. 11 floribùndus, many-flowered. cardinàlis, cardinal. Byzantínus, Turkish. blándus, fairest. cuspidàtus, sharp-pointed. psittàcinus, parrot. GOMPHOLÒBIUM 94. latifòlium, broad-leaved. grandiflòrum, large-flowered. venústum, showy. GENÍSTA 94. 1 Canariénsis, Canary. tricuspidáta, three-pointed, cuspidòsa, sharp-pointed. umbellàta, umbelled. GNÍDIA 94. 6 símplex, flax-leaved. serícea, silky. imbérbis, smooth-scaled. pinifòlia, pine-leaved. GOODÈNIA 94. 6 stellígera, starry-haired. suavèolens, sweet-scented. ovàta, oval-leaved. grandiflòra, large-flowered. GORTERIA 94. 6 personàta. GAZÀNIA 94. 6 rìgens, great. Pavònia, peacock. heterophýlla, various-leaved. GREVÌLLEA 95. 6 punícea, scarlet. acanthifòlia, acanthus-like. coccínea, pretty. juniperìna, juniper-like. lineàris, linear-leaved. HÀKEA 95. 6 gibbòsa gibbous-fruited. nítida, glossy. salígna, willow-leaved. suavèolens, sweet-scented. conculàta, conculate. Lambérti, Lambert's. HEMEROCÁLLIS, 96. Day-lily. 11 speciòsa, spacious. HERMÁNNIA 96. HELICHRÝSUM 93. Everlasting. 8 grandiflòrum, large-flowered. arbòreum, árborescent. orientàle, common. fràgrans, sweet-scented. odoratìssimum, odoriferous. fruticàns, shrubby. fúlgidum, splendid. HIBBÉRTIA 96. 12 grossulariæfòlia, gooseberry-leaved. dentàta, toothed. volùbilis, twining. fasciculàta, bushy. salígna, willow-leaved. pedunculàta, long-pedicled. HABRÁNTHUS 96. 2 Andersónii, Anderson's. versícolor, three-coloured. robústa, robust. HÒVEA 97. 6 lineàris linear-leaved. rosmarinifòlia, rosmary-leaved. longifòlia, long-leaved. Célsii, Cels's. HYDRÁNGEA, 97. 172. 14 horténsis, variable. hypéricum, St. John's-wort. 10 monógynum, three-styled. baleàricum, warted. floribúndum, many-flowered. canariénse, canaries. ægyptìacum, Egyptian. cochinchinénse, cochinchina. HIBÍSCUS 238. 141. 27. 45. 9 Ròsa sinénsis plénus, double red. " " cárnea, " salmon. " " variegàtus, " striped. " " lútea, " yellow. palústris, marsh. ròseus, rose-coloured. militàris, smooth. speciòsus, showy crimson. grandiflòrus, large flowered. púngens, pungent. Syrìacus, Althea. var. var. mutábilis plènus, double-changeable. lilliiflòrus, various. HEDÝCHIUM 36. HEMEROCÁLLIS 141. Day lily. fúlva, copper-coloured. gramínea, grass-leaved. HÉDERA 198. Hèlix, Irish-ivy. HERITÉRIA 238. Looking-glass-plant. 11 littoràlis, large-leaved. HOWÁRTHIA 260. HÓYA 239. wax-plant. carnòsa, common. crassifòlia, thick-leaved. HERRNÁNDIA 239. Jack-in-a-box. Sonòra, peltate-leaved. ÌXORA 240. 5 obovàta, purple. _purpùrea_. crocàta, saffron-coloured. ròsea, rose-coloured. bandhùca, stem-clasping. blànda, charming. undulàta, waved. dichotíma. coccínea, scarlet. _grandiflòra_, _strícta_, _flámmea_, _speciòsa_. fúlgens, glossy. _longifòlia_, _lanceolàta_. pavètta, scented. ÍRIS, 142, 320. Flower-de-luce. subiflòra, sub-flowered. nepalénsis, Nepaul. Pallàsii, Pallas'. pállida, pale. cristáta, crested. arenària, sand. furcàta, forked. germánica, German. florentìna, florentine. vérna, spring. susiàna, chalcedonian. lusitánica, Portuguese. _var._ _var._ Hiphioídes, great bulbous. Pérsica, Persian. ÍXIA, 203. 11 monadélphia, monadelphus. leucántha, white flowered. capitàta, headed. cònica, orange-coloured. colamelàris, variegated. IPOMAÈA 240. 9 paniculáta, panicle-flowered. ÌLEX 98. Holly. 15 aquifòlium, European. var. var. cassìne, cassine-like. vomitòria, south-sea tea. ILLÍCIUM 99. Anniseed-tree. floridànum, purple-flowered. parviflòrum, small-flowered. anisàtum, anise-scented. INDIGÓFERA 99. Indigo-tree. denudàta, smooth-leaved. am'æna, pretty. austrális, round-stemmed. angulàta, angular-stemed. cándicans, white-leaved. filifòlia, filiform-leaved. ISOPÒGON 99. 9 formòsus, handsome. anemonefòlious, anemone-leaved. attenuàtis, attenuated. polycéphalus, many-headed. jálapa, Jalap. grandiflòra, large-flowered. pulchélla, pretty. tuberòsa, tuberous. JUSTÍCIA 99. 243. nìgricans, spotted. orchioídes, orchis-like. adhàtoda, Malabar-nut. coccínea, scarlet. pícta, painted. lúcida, shining. form`osa, handsome. speciòsa, showy. JACKSÒNIA 100. 6 scopària, broom-like. hórrida, horrid. reticulàta, netted. JUNÍPERUS 210. Juniper. virginiàna, red-cedar. JÁTROPHA 242. Physic-nut. 17 multífida, multifid. panduræfòlia, fiddle-leaved. cúrcas, angular-leaved. JACARÁNDA 241. 9 mimosifòlia, mimosa-leaved. filìcifòlia, fern-leaved. JAMBÒSA 241. Rose-apple. 11 vúlgáris, common. malacénsis, Malay-apple. purpuráscens, purple-flowered. macrophýlla, large-leaved. amplexicaùlis, stem-clasping. JASMÌNUM 242. Jasmine. 3 sámbac, Arabian. " multiplex, semi-double. " trifoliàtum, double-Tuscan. hirsútum, hairy-stemmed. paniculàtum, panicled. simplicifòlium, simple-leaved. _lucídium_? shining. odoratíssimum 3, Azorian. revolùtum revolute-leaved. grandiflòrum, Catalonian. officinàle, common. KALOSANTHUS 231, 18 coccínea, scarlet. _Crassùla coccínea_. versícolor, changeable. _Crassùla versícolor_. odoratíssima, sweet-scented. KÆMPFÈRIA 243, 36. 17 rotúnda, round-rooted. KENNÈDIA 100. 5 monophýlla, simple-leaved. rubicúnda, dingy-flowered. prostráta, trailing. _Glýcine coccínea_. coccínea, many-flowered. comptoniána, comptonian. inophýlla, few-leaved. LAGERSTR`ÆMIA 129. 172. índica, crape-flower. LAMBÉRTIA 100. 6 formòsa, handsome. echinàta, lobe-leaved. uniflòra, one-flowered. inérmis, unarmed. LASIOPÈTALUM 100. LAVÁNDULA 101. Lavender. 7 dentáta, toothed. formòsa, handsome. pinnàta, pinnated. LAÚRUS 101. 244. Laurel. 15 f`ætens, til. aggregàta, clustered. glaùca, glaucous. scàbra, rough. vérum, true. cássia, false. chloróxylon, cogwood. LANTÀNA 244. LANTÀNIA 244. Dwarf-palm. 12 borbònica, borbon. rùbra, red. glaucophýlla, glaucous. LÌATRIS 142. Gay-feather. squarròsa, squarrose. élegans, elegant. paniculáta, paniculate. spicáta. _macróstachya_, large-spiked. LÝCHNIS, 143. 104. 9 chalcedònica, chalcedonian. fúlgens, fulgent. flós-jòvis, umbelled. _Agrostéma flós-jòvis_. coronáta, crowned. LÝTHRUM 143. alàtum, erect-growing. virgàtum, twiggy. diffùsum, diffuse. lanceolàtum, lance-leaved. LOMÀTIA 103. (See errata.) 6 silaifòlia, cut-leaved. dentàta, toothed. ilicifòlia, holly-leaved. LACHENÀLIA 291. 11 trícolor, three-coloured. quadrícolor, four-coloured. rùbida, dotted-flowered. punctàta, spotted-flowered. orchoídes, orchis-like. nervòsa, nerved-leaved. LILÌUM 32. 35. 306. 11 màrtagon, red. tygrìnum, spotted. chalcedònicum, Chalcedonian. speciòsum? showy. longiflòrum? japónicum. Japan. LOBÈLIA 102. 6 tùpa, mullein-leaved. speciòsa, specious. spléndens, splendid. fúlgens, fulgent. cærùlea, blue. Thunbérgii, Thurberg's. corymbòsa, corymbose. pyramidàlis pyramidal. ilicifòlia, holly-leaved. LOPHOSPHÉRMUM 103. 12 scándens climbing. LACHN`ÆA 103. 1 glaùca, glaucous. conglomeràta, clustered. eriocéphala, wooly-headed. LEONÒTIS, Lion's-ear. 7 intermédia, intermediate. LEONÙRUS, narrow-leaved. LEUCOSPÉRMUM 103. 9 formòsum, handsome. grandiflòrum, tomentose. cándicans, hoary. LIPÀRIA 104. sphæ'rica, crowned. tomentòsa, downy. villósa, hairy. serícea, silky. LYSINÈMA 104. 5 pentapétalum, five-petaled. conspícum, conspicuous. róseum, rose-coloured. LÝCHNIS 104. 9 coronàta, crowned. LEPTOSPÉRMUM 104. South-Sea-Myrtle. 6 baccàtum, berry-fruited. péndulum, pendulous. juníperinum, juniper-leaved. ovátum, ovate-leaved. stellàtum, starry-flowered. grandiflórum, large-flowered. scopàrium, New-Zealand-tea. LEUCADÉNDRON 105. Silver-Tree. 9 argentéum, silvery. _Pròtea argentéa_. squarròsum, squarrose. stellàtum, starry _Pròtea stellàris_. tórtum, twisted. seríceum, silky. marginàtum, margined. plumòsum, feathered. _Pròtea parviflòra_. MAGNÓLIA 105. 9 fuscàta, rusty. annonæfòlia, annonæ-leaved. pùmila, dwarf. conspícua, youlan. purpùrea, purple. MELALÈUCA 106. 6 elíptica, eliptic. fúlgens, fulgent. decussàta, cross-leaved. hypericifòlia, hypericum-leaved. squarròsa, square-set. linarifòlia, linear-leaved. incàna, hoary. telragònia, four-sided. thymifòlia, thyme-leaved. MAURÁNDIA 106. 6 Barclàyana, Barclay's. semperflòrens, ever-blooming. MÝSINE 106, Cape-Myrtle. 4 retùsa, erect. rotundifòlia, round-leaved. MÉSPILUS 107. Medlar. METROSIDÈROS. 6 flòrida, many-flowered. umbellàta, umbel-flowered. angustifòlia, narrow-leaved. lanceolàta, lance-leaved. MÁNIHOT 243. 17 cannabìna, cassada root. MESEMBRÝANTHEMUM 263. 271. 18 sp. sp. MÝRTUS 108. Myrtle. 12 commùnis, common múltiplex, double. leucocàrpa, white-fruited. itálica variegàta, variegated. maculàta, blotch-leaved. tomentòsa, downy. tenuifòlia, slender-leaved. MIMÙLUS 143. Monkey-flower. lùteus, yellow. rivulàris, dark-spotted. moschàtus, musk-scented. MONÁRDA 143. dídyma, Oswego-tea. kalmiána, pubescent-flowered. Russeliàna, Russells'. punctàta, spotted. MATHÍOLA 144. Stock-gilly. simplicicáulis, Brompton-stock. _var._ _var._ incàna, queen-stock. _var._ var._ ánnua, annual. _var._ _var._ glàbra, wall-leaved. MAMILLÀRIA 224. 18 coccínea, scarlet-flowered. símplex, small-red-spined. pusílla, starry. cònica, cone-headed. MELOCÁCTUS 225. 18 commùnis, Turk's-cape. macránthus, large-spined. pyramidàlis, pyramidale. MELÀSTOMA 245, 1 Malabáthrica, Malabar. sanguìnea, bloody. decémfida, ten-cleft. pulverulénta, powdered. áspera, rough. nepalénsis, Nepaul. MALPÍGHIA 246. Barbadoes-cherry. 17 ùrens, stinging, aquifòlium, holly-leaved. fucáta, painted. glábra, smooth. MÁRICA 246. 12 _cærùlea_, _blue_. Sabìni, Sabin's. northiána, spotted. MÙSA, 247, Plantain-tree. 15 paradisìaca, common. sapiéntum, banana-tree. rosàcea, rose-coloured. coccínea, scarlet-coloured. chinénsis, Chinese. MANGÍFERA 245, Mango-tree. 11 índica, common. oppositifòlia? opposite-leaved. NANDÌNA 108, Nandin. 1 doméstica, common. NINTÒOA. longiflòra, long-flowered. _Lonicéra-japónica_. NÉRIUM 108, Oleander. 12 oleánder, common. " spléndens, double-rose. " elegantìssimum, variegated. " álba, white. " " pleno? double-white. [OE]NOTHÈRA 144, Evening-primrose. macrocárpa, broad-leaved. média, intermediate. latiflòra, broad-flowered. Frazèri, Frazer's. speciòsa, handsome. pállida, pale. odoràta, sweet-scented. ÒLEA 109, Olive-tree. 11 europæa, common. " longifòlia, long-leaved. " latifòlia, broad-leaved. capènsis, Cape. verrucòsa, warted. fràgrans, scented. paniculàta, panicled. OXYLÒBIUM 110. obtusifòlium, blunt-leaved. retùsum, retuse-leaved. ellípticum, elliptic-leaved. ÓXALIS. 11 rubèlla, red. marginàta, margined. elongàta, striped-flowered. am'æna, neat. OSS'ÆA 246. 1 purpuráscens, purple. _Melàstoma-purpùrea_. ORNITHÓGALUM 292. Star-of-Bethlehem. 11 lactéum, white. aùreum, golden. marítimum, squill. OPÚNTIA 227. 18 cochinillìfera, cochineal-fig. fìcus-índica, Indian-fig. PELARGÒNIUM 110, 273, Stork's-bill. _Gerànium_. 12 álbum. macrànthum. grandiflòrum. Navarino. Longstrethium. Jacksonium. Lucretia. Leopold. Lafayette. triumphans. Jeffersoniaum. Franklinium. Queen-Adelaide. Simsium. obovatum. Pepperium. Philadelphicum. foliosum. Dutchess-of-Gloucester. verecundum. Lady Clifford. Delaware. marianum. urbanum. dissimilum. Royal-George. Washington. Scotiaum. banburyensis. florabundum. 19 pavoninum. Waterloo. ignescens. Lord-Yarborough. decorum. Sherwoodium. doubreyanum. Effi-Deans. Lord-Byron. Glorianum. Chandler's-grand-purple. Princess-Augusta, _new_. Lord-Brougham. Websterium. ardescens. Russellianum. succulentum. Rob-Roy. Davyanam. [The above begin with the lightest, and end with the darkest colours] _The following are various fancy sorts_. Lemon-scented. apple-scented. rose-scented. peppermint-scented. oak-leaved. ardens. bicolor. tristum. pulchellum. nutmeg-scented. PHÓRMIUM 112, New-Zealand. 7 tenàx, flax. PHÝLICA 113. 5 horizontàlis, spreading. _plumòsa_. squarròsa, squarrose. imbricàta, imbricated. myrtifòlia, myrtle-leaved. callòsa, callous-leaved. bícolor, two-coloured. ericoídes, heath-like. PIMÈLEA 113. 5 decussàta, cross-leaved. ròsea, rose-coloured. linifòlia, flax-leaved. spicàta, spike-flowered. drupàcea, berry-bearing. PITTOSPÓRUM 113. 13 tobìra, Chinese. undulàta, wave-leaved. coriàceum, leather-leaved. revolùtum, revolute. fúlvum, yellow. ferrugíneum, rusty. PHR'YNIUM 36. PACHIDÉNDRON 259. PÌNUS 210. Canadénsis, hemlock-spruce. PERIPLÓCA 198. Silk-vine. gr'æca, Virginian. PHÆNÀCOMA 88. 5 prolífera, many-headed. PHOTÍNIA 84. 10 serrulàta, serrulate. arbutifòlia, arbutus-leaved. PÉRSEA 244. Alligator-pear. 11 gratíssima, common. _Laúrus-pérsea_. PUNÍCA 172, Pomegranate. PULSATÍLLA 134, Pasque-flower. vernàlis, spring. PERÍSKIA 228, Barbadoes-gooseberry. 18 aculeàta, prickly. PÝRUS 320. japònica, red. " álba, white. PÓÆNIA 321, 315, 151. èdulis-whitlìjii, white. " fràgrans, scented. " hùmea, crimson. chinènsis-álba, double-white? paradòxa-fimbriàta, fringed. officinàlis-rúbra, common. 15 moután, tree. " bànksii, common. " papaverácea, white. " rosèa, rose-coloured. POTENTÍLLA 147. nepalénsis, Nepaul. _formòsa_. atropurpùrea, dark-purple. Russelliàna, Russell's. Hopwoodiàna, Hopwood's. spléndens, splendid. PLATYLÒBIUM 113, Flat-pea. 5 formòsum, handsome. ovàtum, ovate-leaved. triangulàre, triangular-stock. PISTÀCIA 113. 2 terebínthus, turpentine-tree. lentíscus, mastic-tree. vèra, true. reticulàta, netted-leaved. PLUMBÀGO 114, Lead-wort. trístis, red-leaved. Capénsis, Cape. PSORÀLEA 114. 6 odoratíssima, sweet-scented. spicàta, spike-flowered. aculeàta, prickly. argéntea, silvery. tomentòsa, downy. PODALÝRIA 114. serícea, silky. styracifòlia, storax-leaved. corúscans, glittering. argéntea, silvery. laparioídes, liparia-like. subiflòra, netted-leaved. PERSOÓNIA 114. 6 hirsùta, hairy-leaved. móllis, soft-leaved. teretifòlia, round-leaved. lùcida, shining-leaved. PRÓTEA 115. 9 cynaroídes, artichoke-flowered. speciòsa, splendid. " rùbra, red. umbonàlis, embossed. _longifòlia_. melaleùca, black-fringed. grandiflòra, large-flowered. coccínea, scarlet-flowered. cenocárpa. pállens. formòsa, handsome. magnífica, magnificent. mellífera, honey-bearing, PULTEN'ÆA 115. 5 villòsa, villous. obcordàta, heart-leaved. argéntea, silvery-leaved. plumòsa, feathered. fléxilis, fragrant. cándida, white-leaved. strìcta, erect-growing. PHLÓX 145. paniculàta, panicled. acuminàta, cross-leaved. intermèdia, intermediate. odoràta, odoriferous. pyramidàlis, pyramid-flowered. " álba, white. suavèolens, sweet-scented. refléxa, reflex-leaved. stolonífera, creeping. pilòsa, hairy. divaricáta, early-flowering. nivàlis, snowy-white. subulàta, awl-leaved. PRÍMULA 146, 314, Primrose. vulgàris, English-primrose. elàtior, ox-lip. _var._ _var._ polyanthus. aurícula, auricula. _var._ _var._ cortusoídes, cortuso-like. dentiflòra, jagged-flowered. suavèolens, sweet-scented. decòra, pretty. scótica, Scotch. farinòsa, bird's-eye. vèris, cowslip. 2 sinènsis, China. " alba, white. dentiflòra, ragged. PANCRÀTIUM 248. 11 maritímum, sea-daffodil. verecúndum, narcissus-leavad. littoràlis, sea-side. speciòsum, showy. carib'æum, Caribbean. POLYSPÒRA 248. axillàris, axil-flowered. _Caméllia axillàris_. PASSIFLÒRA 248, Passion-flower. 13 alàta, winged-stalked. racemòsa, racemose. cærulea " blue quadrangulàris, square-stalked. filamentòsa, thready. picturàta, pictured. PANDÀNUS 249, Screw-Pine. 13 odoratíssimus, scented. utilis? red-spined. PTEROSPÉRMUM 250. 13 suberifòlium, various-leaved. semisagittàtum, half-sagittate. PLUMÉRIA 250. 11 acuminàta, acuminate. trícolor, three-coloured. rùbra, red-coloured. PH'[OE]NIX 250, Date-Palm. 12 dactylìfera, common. paludòsa, marsh. RÉSEDA 297, Mignonette. 11 odoràta, scented. RÒCHEA 231. 18 falcàta. sickle-leaved. _Crussùla fulcáta_. RHÚS 45. ROBÍNIA 45. ROSCÒEA 251. purpùrea, purple. spicàta, spike-flowered. capitàta, crown-flowered. RUÉLLIA 251. 10 formòsa, handsome. fulgída, shining. anisophýlla, unequal-leaved. _persicifòlia_. persicifòlia. peach-leaved. RHÁPIS 251. 11 flabellifòrmis, creeping-rooted. RHODODÉNDRON 115, Rose-tree. 16 arbòreum, tree. " álbum, white-flowered. " supérbum, superb. " purpùreum, purple-flowered. " álte-clárance, large. campanulàtum, bell-flowered. anthopògon, bearded-flowered. cinnamòmeum, cinnamon-coloured. ROÉLLA 116. 5 cilliáta, cilliate. spícàta, spiked-flowered. pedunculàta, peduncled. RIPHIODÉNDRON 260. RÙBUS 325. 3 rosæfòlius, Bramble-rose, RÒSA 172, China-Rose, 12 índica. " mínor. animated. Bengal elongata. Belle-Chinese. La-tendere-japonica. belle-vibert. odorata, tea-scented. " alba, white-tea. Florence, scarlet-tea. Bengal, yellow-tea. Venella. Belle-de-monza. amaranthe. Clintonia. semperflòrens-plèno. Otaheite. sanguinea-purpurea. Grandvil. Indica-alba, white-China. magnifier. Florabunda-multiplex. Flamæa. Hibbertia. Jacksonia. Adamsonia. Websteria. gigantea. Washington. calyxifòlia. Montezuma. Hortensia. ROSA 156, common Moss, Garden-rose. blush " crimson " white " scarlet " Clinton " Damask " mottled " sweet-briar " de-Meaux " Lee's-crimson-perpetual. unique, or white-Provence. tricolor. spinosíssima, Scotch. gàllica, officinale. centifòlia, Provins. Damacène, damask. álba, white. rubiginósa, sweet-briar. white-monthly, red " striped " Black-Tuscany. Sponge's-provins. favourite-mignone. champion. fair-maid. rouge-superb. red-and-violet. Pomonia. black-fringe. royal-provins. royal-virgin. royal-bouquet. Great-Mogul. striped-nosegay. paragon. ornament-de-parade. York-and-Lancaster. mundii. Flanders. delicious. ROSA 189, Climbing. Champneyàna, pink-cluster. blush-noisettia. red-noisettia, scarlet-cluster. white-cluster or musk. superb " " aralie-noisettia. " purple. Bourbon. Boursault. Lisle. microphýlla. Franklin, cluster-tea. Banksiæ, white. " yellow. multiflòra, " white. " scarlet. " purple. Grevíllii, many-coloured. arvensis multiplex. sempervírens pléno. bracteàta plèno, Macartney. SÀGUS 252, Sago-Palm. 11 vinìfera, prickly-leaved. Rumphii, Rumphius'. SOLÁNDRA 252. 7 grandiflòra, large-flowered. viridiflòra, green-flowered. STROPHÁNTHUS. divérgens, spreading. dichótomus, forked. SWIETÉNIA 253, Mahogany-tree. 15 mahógoni, common. febrifùga, febrifuge. SÁLVIA 117. 12 spléndens, splendid. cærúlea, blue-flowered. coccínea, scarlet-flowered. aùrea, yellow-leaved. paniculàta, panicle-flowered. índica, Indian. élegans, elegant. SENÈCIO 117. ground-sel. 12 grandiflòrus, large-flowered. venústus, wing-leaved. cineràscens, gray. élegans plèno, elegant. SCHÓTIA 118. 1 speciòsa, spacious. aláta, wing-leaved. latifòlia, broad-leaved. _Omphalòbium schótia_. tamarindifòlia, Tamirand-leaved. SWAISÒNA 118. 1 galegifòlia, red-flowered. coronillæfòlia, purple-flowered. astragalifòlia, white-flowered. SCÒTTIA 118. 6 dentáta, toothed. angustifòlia, narrow-leaved. trapezifòrmus, trapeziforum. SPARRMÁNNIA 119. 12 africàna, African. SPHÆROLÒBIUM. 6 vimíneum, yellow-flowered. médium, red-flowered. SPRENGÉLIA 119. 6 incarnáta, flesh-coloured. STYLIDÍUM 120. 6 graminifòlium, grass-leaved. fruticòsum, shrubby. laricifòlium, larch-leaved. adnátum, adnate. STYPHÌLIA 120. 6 tubiflòra, tube-flowered. triflòra, three-flowered. adscéndens, ascending. longifòlia, long-flowered. SALPIGLÓSSIS 120. 13 pícta, painted. atropurpùrea, dark-purple. sinuáta, crimson. STRELÍTZIA 263. 19 regìnæ, Queen. ováta, oval-leaved. hùmilis, dwarf. agústa, large-leaved. jùncea, rush-leaved. parvifòlia, small-leaved. farinòsa, mealy-stalked. SPARÁXIS 304. grandiflòra striáta, striped. versícolor, various. anemonæflòra, anemone-flowered. STERNBÉRGIA 274. 11 lútea, yellow. _Amarýllis lútea_. SPREIKÈLIA 207. 11 formosíssima, Jacobea-lily. _Amarýllis formosíssima_. SAPONÀRIA 147, Soap-wort. officinális plèno, double. cæspitòsa, tufted. SILÈNE 147, Catch-fly. viscósa, clammy. " plèna, double. SAXÍFRAGA 147, Saxifrage. hirsùta, hairy. crassifòlia, thick-leaved. granolata multiplex, double. umbròsa, London-pride. sarmentòsa, sarmentose. pulchélla, pretty. pyramidális, pyramidal. SPIR'ÆA 148, ulmária multiplex, double meadowsweet. filipéndula " drop-wort. lobàta lobe-leaved. STÁTICE 148. Thrift. vulgáris, common. _Armèria vulgáris_. speciòsa, showy. latifòlia, broad-leaved. maritìma, sea-side. TAGÈTES 120. 11 lúcida, sweet-scented. TESTUDINÀRIA 221, Hottentot's bread. elephántipes, Elephant's-foot. montàna, mountain. TÁXUS 121. Yew. 14 nucífera, nut-bearing. TELOPÈA 121. 19 speciosíssimus, showy. TEMPLETÒNIA 122. 6 retùsa, erect. gláuca, glaucous. TRISTÀNIA 122. 1 neriifòlia, oleander-leaved. confertá, crowded. suavèolens, scented. TECÒMA 253, 65. 10 móllis, soft. digitàta, digitated. splèndida, splendid. capènsis, cape. stáns, ash-leaved. _Bignònia stáns_. TABERNÆMONTÁNA 11 coronària plèno, double-white. _Nèrium coronàrium plèno_. densiflòra, dense-flowered. THRÌNAX 254. 11 parviflòra, small-flowered. TAXÁNTHEMA 149. tatàrica, Tartarean. _Státice tatàrica_. latifòlia, broad-leaved. conspícua, conspicuous. THOMÀSIA 101. 1 solanàcea, night-shade-leaved. quercifòlia, oak-leaved. TRITÒNIA 304. 11 crocàta, crocus-leaved. _Ixìa crocàta_. xanthosphìla, yellow-spotted. THUNBÉRGIA 251. 1 coccínea, scarlet. grandiflòra, large-flowered. fràgrans, scented. alàta, wing-leaved. TRÓLLIUS 149, Globe-flower. Europ'æus, European. Asiàticus, Asiatic. THÙJA 210. American arbor-vitæ. accidentalis, western. orientàlis, eastern. TIGRÍDIA 208. Tiger-flower. 11 pavònia, peacock. conchiiflòra, yellow-spotted. TETRAMÈRIUM 228. 17 odoratíssimum, scented. _Coffèa occidentàlis_. VERBÉNA 122, Vervain. chamædryfòlia, scarlet. _melíndres_. Lambértii, Lambert's. pulchélla, pretty. VIBÚRNUM 123, 306, 45. 17 tìnus, laurestinus. lùcidum, shining. odoratíssimum, scented. hirsútum, hairy. strìctum, erect. variegàtum, variegated. VEMINÀRIA 124. 6 denudàta, half-naked. VIRGÍLIA 124. capènsis, cape. VOLKAMÈRIA 124. VERÓNICA 149. Speed-well. officinàlis, officinal. cham'ædrys, Germander. mèdia, long-spiked. incàna, hoary. élegans, elegant. spícàta, spiked. grándis, large white. incarnàta, flesh-coloured. cárnea, pale red. leucántha, white-flowered. bellidioídes, daisy-leaved. vérna, vernal. am'[oe]na, fine-blue. pulchélla, neat. VALERÌANA 149. dioíca, dioicious. VÌOLA 150. Violet. odoràta, sweet-scented. " plèno álba, double-white. " " purpùrea, " purple. WITSÈNIA 125. 8 corymbòsa, corymbose. WESTRÍNGIA 125. 1 rosmarinifórmis, rosemary-leaved. longifòlia, long-leaved. WACHENDÓRFIA 24. WHALÉNBERGIA 136. 7 grandiflòra, large-flowered. _Campánula grandiflòra_. WATSÒNIA 304. 11 iridifòlia, iris-leaved. ròsea, rose-coloured. hùmilis, dwarf. fúlgida, scarlet. _Antholýza fúlgens_. rúbens, red-spotted. WISTÈRIA 197. frutéscens, shrubby. _Glýcine frutéscens_. chinéusis, Chinese. _Glýcine chinénsis_. YÚCCA 150. Adam's-needle. supérba, superb. _Gloriòsa_. aloifòlia, aloe-leaved. angustifòlia, narrow-leaved. acuminàta, tapering-flowered. serrulàta, saw-leaved. filamentòsa, thready. ZÀMIA 125, 254. 11 hórrida, horrid. púngens, pungent. spíralis, spiral. latifòlia, broad-leaved. média, intermediate. furfuràcea, chaffy. ténuis, slender. integrifòlia, entire-leaved. =Zíngiber= 36. Ginger. INDEX. Airing the green-house, 20. 38. 172. hot-house, 33. Annuals, of sowing tender, 53. Awning for hyacinths, 202. for carnations, 277. for plants, 256. Box edgings, directions for planting, 139. Bulbs, of protecting, 25. preserving of Cape, 175. method of planting Dutch 318. care of tender 328. Bulbous roots, of uncovering, 152. protecting, 152. Cistern, of a, 12. 273. Cold, in the green-house, effects of, 21. Cleanliness, good and bad effects of, 38. Clipping shrubs, observations on, 44. Carnation, qualities of a fine, 275. and pink layers, care of, 307. Camellias, period of selecting, 316. Coverings, oil-cloth, 342. Damp, in the green-house, effects of, 20. 22. Dahlias, forwarding in a hot-bed, 181. Daisies, primroses, &c. method of protecting, 321. Engine for the green-house, best kind of, 19. Enarching, method of, 127. Edgings, fancy, 162. method of dressing box, 211. Fires, how to regulate the, 21. 33. Fumigating, method of, 13. Frames, of protecting, 26. Glass, effects of broken, 43. of double, 338. Grass-seeds, most approved, 161. walks, of laying down, ib. Grafting, whip or tongue, 163. Green-house, temperature of the, 340. how to regulate the, ib. Geraniums, how to prune or dress, 286. Hedges, how to keep evergreen, 211. Herbaceous plants, how to treat, 325. criterion for planting, 151. Hotbeds, of making, 52. 178. Hyacinth, properties of a good, 202. Hyacinths, of plunging new potted, 305. Insects, their destruction, 12. 30. 35. 56. effects of light on, 17. Inoculation, method of, 47. Liquid for orange and lemon trees, 39. to destroy the cocus insect, 15. Lime trees, situation in the green-house of, 312. Leaves, bad effects of, 332. Mildew on Camellias, &c., how to destroy, 22, 23. 173. Manure, fermentation of, 52. Orange and Lemon trees, when to transplant, 287. how to prune, 289. Plants, criterion for repotting, 126. of training climbing green-house, 176. in summer the best situation for, 256. Pots, method of draining flower, 126. Pruning, good or bad effects of, 27. various shrubs, manner of, 45. China roses, manner of, 189. climbing ever-blooming roses, method of, 191. roses, 195. Planting, bad effects in, 334, state of the soil when, 48. Pink, qualities of a fine, 276. Perennials, description of fine, 133. Parlours, treatment of plants in, 28. 54. 343. Repotting plants, 17. 35. 41. 57. 61. 169. Roses, how to retard the blooming of, 155. finest sorts of, 156. varieties of, ib. of fancy planting, 157. of mulching, 158. in June, reasons for pruning, 279. nature of the soil for, 323. early, how to have, 344. Shutters, benefit of, 10. how to make, 337. Slugs, detect, 25. how to destroy, 267. Stocks, of procuring seed from flowering, 176. Shrubs, of uncovering 129. pleasure and effect of, 48. Shrubs, manner of planting, 50. of supporting, 51. of packing, 51. Snow on the houses, bad effects of, 34. Syringes, best kind of, 19. Syringing, good effects of, 14. 19. 37. 39. 171. Tieing up plants, method of, 19. Tubs for trees, perforated, 59. best kind of, 288. Trees, of heading down, 59. of watering and arranging large, 259. Tanners' bark, nature of, 332. Tan-bed, plunge the plants in the, 339. Tobacco for destroying insects, decoction of, 60. Turf, of laying, 160. Trellises, of, 196. Tulip, properties of a fine, 203. Watering, good or bad effects of, 11. 21. 29. 34. 56. 58. Water on hot-house plants, effects of cold, 12. Watering-pot, best kind of, 11. Wounds on trees, composition for covering, 172. White-washing the glass with whiting, of, 173. Walks with turf, of laying, 209. Wall-flowers, how to propagate, 268. " and stocks, time of lifting, 307. LIST OF HARDY SHRUBS. _Those marked thus [*], require protection in winter, and those marked thus [+], shade in summer._ AMÓRPHA, Bastard-indigo. fruticòsa, shrubby. AMÝGDALUS, Almond. nàna, dwarf. púmila, double-flowering. aérsica, peach-leaved. ANDRÓMEDA. all the species. AZÀLEA, American honeysuckle. all the hardy species. AUCÚBA, Gold-tree. [+]japònica, Japan. BÚXUS, Box-tree. two species. CALYCÀNTHUS, Sweet-scented shrub. flòridus, purple-flowered. _var._ _var._ CASTÍNEA, Chesnut-tree. púmila, dwarf. CÉRCIS, Judas-tree. canadènsis. CHIONÁNTHUS. Fringe-tree. virgìnica, common. CLÉTHRA. all the hardy species. CÓRNUS, Dogwood. flórida, large-flowered. sangùinea, bloody. DÁPHNE. mezerium, red. _var._ _var._ red, white, and purple. GORDÒNIA, Franklinia. pubèscens, downy. HIBÌSCUS, Althæa. syrìacus, Althæa frutax. _var._ _var._ HYDRÀNGEA. all the varieties. [+][*]hortensis, garden. ÌLEX, Holly. _var._ _var._ JASMÌNUM, Jasmine, fruticàns, shrubby. officinàle, climbing white. JUNIPÈRUS, Juniper. suècica, Swedish. virgìnicus, Virginian. KÁLMIA, American Laurel. gláuca, glaucous. latifòlia, broad-leaved. LAÙRUS, Laurel. [*]nòbilis, sweet-bay. _var._ _var._ LAVENDÙLA, Lavender. spíca, spike-flowered. MAGNÒLIA. purpùrea, purple. Róbus, slender. _grácilis_. grandiflòra, large-flowered. _var._ _var._ thomsoniàna, hybrid. conspícua, zoulan. soulangeàna, hybrid. PHILADÈLPHUS, mock-orange. grandiflòra, large-flowered. màna, dwarf. variegàtus, variegated. PÌNUS, Pine or Fir-tree. balsàmea, balm of Gilead. PINCKNÉYA, Georgia bark-tree. púbens, downy. PRÚNUS, Cherry. [*]lusitánica, Portugal-laurel. [*]laurocérasus, English-laurel. RHODODÉNDRON, Rose-bay. catawhiénse, Catawba. daùricum, daurian. _var._ _var._ pónticum, pink. _var._ _var._ máximum. common. RHÙS, Sumach. cotìnus, mist-tree. RÍBES. aureum, fragrant. sanguìneum, bloody. ROBÌNIA, Locust-tree. hìspida, rose-acacia. SÓRBUS. hýbrida, mountain-ash--a beautiful shrub. SPIR`ÆA. tomentòsa, tomentose. bélla. red flowered. frútex. shawy. SYMPHÒRA, Snow-berry. racemòsa, white-berried. glomeràta. red-berried. SYRÌNGA, Lilac. all the species. TÁXUS, Yew. baccàta. hibérnica, a handsome, erect growing evergreen. THÚJA. arbor-vitæ. occidentàlis, American. orientàlis, Chinese. TÍLLIA, Lime or Linden-tree. parvifòlia, small-leaved. coccínea, scarlet. VIBÙRNUM. opùlus, guelder-rose. _var._ _var_. LIST OF ANNUALS THAT MAY BE SOWN ON A HOT-BED. AMARÁNTHUS, Amaranth. tricólor, three-coloured. hypochondrìacus, Prince's-Feather. caudàtus, love-lies-bleeding. globbòsus, globe. _var._ _var._ BALSAMÌNA, Ladies-slipper. horténsis, garden. _var._ _var._ BROWÁLLIA. elàta, blue. _var._ white. CÁNNA, Indian-shot. índica, Indian. CELÒSIA. cristàta, cockscomb. _var._ _var._ IPOM`ÆA, Cypress-vine. _var._ _var._ MIMÒSA. sensitìva, sensitive-plant. STRAMÒNIUM. purpúrea pleno double-blue. alba " " white. SCHIZÁNTHUS. pinnàtus and porrígens. ÁSTER. chinènsis, Queen Margaret's. _var._ _var._ CALENDÙLA, Mary-gold. " African, French. " dwarf and sweet-scented XERÁNTHEMUM of sorts. STOCKS, 10 week varieties. HARDY ANNUALS. ALYSSUM, white or sweet. ANTÍRHÌNUM latifòlia. medíum. speciòsum. versicolor. ARGERATUM mexicanum. odoratum. ARGEMONE, of sorts. ASTER, Chinese, of varieties. AMARANTHUS, do. do. BALSAM, do. do. CACCÀLIA Coccinea. CENTÁUREA Americàna. CALCEOLARIA of sorts. CLÁSKIA, pulchélla. CELOSIA of sorts. CALENDÙLA Mary-Gold, of sorts. CANDYTUFT, of var. CONVÓLVULUS, of var. COREOPSIS, of var. GYPSOPHÌLA elegans. HOLLYHOCK, Chinese, of var. HAWKWEED, of var. IPOMÈA, do. LARKSPUR, dwarf-rocket. LARKSPUR, branching. Neapolitan. LOVE-LIES-BLEEDING. LUPINS, of sorts. MARVEL of Peru. MIGNONETTE, sweet. MARYGOLD, of sorts. NASTURTIUM, dwarf. NIGELLA, of var. [OE]NOTHERA, do. do. PINK Indian. PEAS, sweet, of sorts. PERSICÀRIA, red and white. POPPY, double var. PRINCESS FEATHER. SNAP-DRAGON. STOCK, Prussian, in var. SUN-FLOWER, of var. SULTAN, sweet. SILENE, of sorts. VENUS' LOOKING-GLASS. Navel-Wort. XERANTHEHUM, of var. ZINNIA, elegans. of sorts. [We have not been minute in the list of annuals, as they are generally known, and a judicious selection adapted to this country may be found in the catalogue of D. & C. Landreth, Philadelphia, or that of Smith & Hogg, New York.] HARDY BIENNIALS. CAMPANULA spicàta. medium Canterbury-bells. álbida, white. DELPHÍNIUM píctum. DIAITÀLIS, Fox Glove. purpùrea. álba. HONESTY, or Lunaria. HONEYSUCKLE, French. HORNED POPPY. HÚMEA, élegans. MÁLVA ARBÒREA. MIMULUS, of var. [OE]NOTHÈRA, Evening Primrose. elata, tall. suavèolens, sweet-scented. spectábilis, showy. biénnis, common. var. var. longiflòra. long-flower. corymbòsa, corymbose. SILÈNE, Catch-fly. multiflòra, many-flowered. viscòsa, clammy. divaricàta, avaricate. WALL-FLOWER, bloody. " white. " yellow. TABLE OF SOILS. The following compound of soils are adapted to the nature of the Plants contained in this Work. The figures attached to the first species of each Genus refer to the Table of Soils, where the compost is in parts; and where any figures occur in the same Genus, the species following are of the same nature. NUMBER. | Savanna. Loam. Leaf. Sand. Manure. 1 | 2 - 1 - - - - - - 2 | - - 3 - 2 - - - - 3 | - - 4 - - - 1 - 1 4 | - - 2 - 1 - - - - 5 | all - - - - - - - - 6 | 3 - 1 - - - - - - 7 | - - 3 - 1 - 1 - - 8 | 4 - 1 - - - - - - 9 | - - 2 - 2 - 1 - - 10 | 1 - 1 - 1 - - - - 11 | - - 3 - 2 - 1 - - 12 | - - 3 - 1 - 1 - 1 13 | 2 - 2 - 1 - - - 1 14 | - - 4 - - - 1 - - 15 | - - 4 - 2 - 1 - - 16 | 4 - - - 1 - - - - 17 | - - 5 - 1 - 1 - 1 18 | - - 1 - 1 - 1 - - 19 | 1 - 1 - - - - - - REMARKS ON THE NATURE OF SOILS USED IN THE ABOVE TABLE. _Savanna soil_--is of a dark colour, with a large portion of white sand incorporated with it, and is found frequently in New Jersey. A mixture of two-thirds black earth from the woods, and one-third of pure white sand, will be similar to it, and may be used as a substitute, but is not exactly of the same nature. _Loam_--is of a light brown colour, and is that from old pastures or commons, which should lie one year, and be frequently turned before using. It ought not to be from a clay bottom. _Leaf mould_--is that which is to be found on the surface of the ground in woods, and is the decomposed leaves. It may be termed nearly of first rate importance in vegetation. _Sand_--is a substance that is generally known, and that which is found on the surface is decidedly the best. If it is from a pit, it must be spread out, and frequently turned, that it may assimilate with the atmosphere before using;--four months will be sufficient. _Manure_--before using, must be decomposed to very fine particles. It will require two years, during which time it must be often turned, and the longer it lays it will be the finer and more congenial. =HIBBERT AND BUIST=, =EXOTIC NURSERYMEN AND FLORISTS=, Respectfully inform their friends and the public generally, that in addition to the Garden in Thirteenth-street, they have purchased the Nursery Grounds, Green-Houses, &c., established by the late B. M'Mahon, Esq., on the township line, near the Germantown road, about three miles from the city, where the propagation and cultivation of Ornamental Trees, Shrubs, Plants, and Flowers, will hereafter be extensively carried on, and improved in accordance to the increasing demand. The Thirteenth-street Garden will be appropriated as a repository for the sale of plants and the receiving of orders. A splendid collection of Camellia Japonica, containing the most approved and distinct varieties; also a very large selection of the most esteemed and beautiful Roses. Their Dahlias were selected by R. Buist, last year, from the finest collection in England, together with many Ornamental and other Plants not surpassed for extent in the Union. Orders at either of the establishments, or per post, will be duly received and punctually attended to. Transcriber notes: All original typographical errors and inconsistencies other than the ones listed below are preserved in this version. Various spellings of Alstr[oe]meria have been made consistent. [OE]: in this version, is used to represent the oe ligature. [)a]: in this version, is used to represent letter a with breve. Page vi: replaced "apppreciation' with "appreciation" Page ix: replaced " and transplanting, 302" with " and transplanting, 320" Page 16-17: removed "The ance." Page 56: replaced "frequentl ycauses" with "frequently causes" Page 63: Italicized "A. f[oe]tida" for consistency. Page 96: replaced comma with period in "much water," Page 109: replaced "sbrubs" with "shrubs" Page 144: replaced "beatiful" with "beautiful" Page 160: replaced "firt" with "first" Page 163: replaced "it it" with "it is" Page 187: Replaced second "No. 27." to "No. 29." to fix sequence Page 224: replaced "end of the month," with "end of the month." Page 227: replaced "phyllnthoídes" with "phyllanthoídes" Page 280: replaced "seeif" with "see if" Page 282: Replaced "intances" with "instances" Page 304: Replaced "observatign" with "observation" 
47971	----	[Transcriber's note: Italicized text delimited by underscores (_). Bold text delimited by equal signs (=).] [Illustration: Orange Mariposa Tulip--Calochortus Kennedyi.] FIELD BOOK OF WESTERN WILD FLOWERS BY MARGARET ARMSTRONG IN COLLABORATION WITH J. J. THORNBER, A.M. PROFESSOR OF BOTANY IN THE UNIVERSITY OF ARIZONA, AND BOTANIST OF THE ARIZONA AGRICULTURAL EXPERIMENT STATION AT TUCSON [Illustration] WITH FIVE HUNDRED ILLUSTRATIONS IN BLACK AND WHITE, AND FORTY-EIGHT PLATES IN COLOR DRAWN FROM NATURE BY THE AUTHOR [Illustration] C. P. PUTNAM'S SONS The Knickerbocker Press NEW YORK AND LONDON 1915 COPYRIGHT, 1915 BY MARGARET ARMSTRONG The Knickerbocker Press, New York PREFACE. In this little book a very large number of the commoner wild flowers growing in the United States, west of the Rocky Mountains, are pictured and described. It is the first attempt to supply a popular field book for the whole West. The field is vast, including within its limits all sorts of climate and soil, producing thousands of flowers, infinite in variety and wonderful in beauty, their environment often as different as that of Heine's _Pine and Palm_. In such strange homes as the Grand Canyon and the Petrified Forest of Arizona, or the deserts of Utah and southern California, we find the oddest desert plants, forced to curious expedients in order to sustain life amidst almost perpetual heat and drought, but often displaying blossoms of such brilliance and delicacy that they might well be envied by their more fortunate sisters, flourishing beside shady waterfalls, in a "happy valley" like Yosemite, or a splendid mountain garden, such as spreads in many-colored parterres of bloom around the feet of Mt. Rainier. On the wind-swept plains hundreds of flowers are to be found; many kinds of hardy plants brighten the salty margins of the sea cliffs, or bloom at the edge of the snow on rocky mountain peaks, while quantities of humble, everyday flowers border our country roadsides or tint the hills and meadows with lavish color. The field included the States of Washington, Oregon, California, Idaho, Nevada, Utah, and Arizona and to designate this whole field the term West is used in this book. The term Northwest designates Washington, Oregon, northern Idaho, and northern California, and the term Southwest covers southern California and Arizona. The flowers found only in the Rocky Mountains are not included, and it may be noted here that exceedingly few of the western flowers cross the Rockies and are found in the East. This is the only fully illustrated book of western flowers, except Miss Parsons's charming book, which is for California only. The drawings have all been made from life. Allowance must be made for differences in appearance, owing to locality, and the text should be consulted for the size, as, on so small a page, some of the plants must be drawn smaller than others. Almost all technical botanical terms have been translated into ordinary English, as this book is intended primarily for the general public, but as a large number of the plants given have never before been illustrated, or even described, except in somewhat inaccessible or technical publications, it is hoped that the scientist also may find the contents both interesting and useful. The nomenclature used, with few exceptions, is that of the American Code. Where these names differ greatly from those in common usage the latter are given as synonyms in brackets, making the book more useful to all readers. The botanical names are marked with an accent. Two accents are used, the grave (`) to indicate the long English sound of the vowel, such as the "i" in "violet," and the acute (´) to show the short sound, such as the "i" in "lily." Professor J. J. Thornber, of the University of Arizona, is responsible for the botanical accuracy of the text and his knowledge and patient skill have made the book possible. Thanks are due for most valuable assistance in the determination of a very large number of specimens to Miss Alice Eastwood, of the California Academy of Sciences. Also to Dr. W. L. Jepson of the University of California; Professor A. O. Garrett, of Salt Lake City; Professor A. R. Sweetser, of the University of Oregon; Mr. S. B. Parish, of San Bernardino, Cal.; Mrs. Henshaw, of Vancouver, B. C.; Dr. A. Davidson, of Los Angeles; and Mr. Marcus E. Jones, of Salt Lake City. Also for advice and assistance to Dr. N. L. Britton, and Dr. H. M. Richards of New York; to Dr. Livingston Farrand, of Colorado; Mr. C. R. Orcutt, of San Diego; Mr. Carl Purdy, of Ukiah, Cal.; Professor Flett, of Mt. Rainier National Park; Miss Winona Bailey, of Seattle; Professor J. H. Paul, of Salt Lake City; and many other kind friends. The arrangement is that originated by Mr. Schuyler Mathews, in his _Field Book of American Wild Flowers_, which has been found very popular in the East, but, in this book, most of the genera, as well as the species, have been very briefly described. MARGARET ARMSTRONG. NEW YORK, _January 1, 1915_. CONTENTS. PAGE PREFACE iii LIST OF COLORED PLATES xi TECHNICAL TERMS xiii KEY TO FAMILIES xv FAMILIES: Water-plantain (_Alismaceae_) 2 Lily (_Liliaceae_) 4 Iris (_Iridaceae_) 66 Orchid (_Orchidaceae_) 72 Lizard-tail (_Saururaceae_) 80 Sandalwood (_Santalaceae_) 82 Birthwort (_Aristolochiaceae_) 84 Buckwheat (_Polygonaceae_) 86 Pigweed (_Chenopodiaceae_) 96 Four-o'clock (_Nyctaginaceae_) 100 Carpet-weed (_Aizoaceae_) 108 Pink (_Caryophyllaceae_) 112 Purslane (_Portulacaceae_) 120 Buttercup (_Ranunculaceae_) 126 Barberry (_Berberidaceae_) 152 Water Lily (_Nymphaeaceae_) 156 Strawberry Shrub (_Calycanthaceae_) 158 Poppy (_Papaveraceae_) 160 Bleeding Heart (_Fumariaceae_) 168 Mustard (_Cruciferae_) 174 Caper (_Capparidaceae_) 186 Orpine (_Crassulaceae_) 192 Saxifrage (_Saxifragaceae_) 196 Hydrangea (_Hydrangeaceae_) 206 Gooseberry (_Grossulariaceae_) 210 Apple (_Pomaceae_) 214 Plum (_Drupaceae_) 216 Rose (_Rosaceae_) 218 Pea (_Fabaceae_) 242 Senna (_Cassiaceae_) 264 Mimosa (_Mimosaceae_) 266 Krameria (_Krameriaceae_) 268 Caltrop (_Zygophyllaceae_) 268 Flax (_Linaceae_) 270 Wood-sorrel (_Oxalidaceae_) 272 Geranium (_Geraniaceae_) 274 Milkwort (_Polygalaceae_) 278 Meadow Foam (_Limnanthaceae_) 278 Buckeye (_Hippocastanaceae_) 280 Buckthorn (_Rhamnaceae_) 282 Mallow (_Malvaceae_) 284 St. John's-wort (_Hypericaceae_) 292 Fouquiera (_Fouquieriaceae_) 294 Violet (_Violaceae_) 296 Loasa (_Loasaceae_) 300 Rock-rose (_Cistaceae_) 304 Cactus (_Cactaceae_) 304 Evening Primrose (_Onagraceae_) 312 Parsley (_Umbelliferae_) 332 Dogwood (_Cornaceae_) 338 Heath (_Ericaceae_) 340 Wintergreen (_Pyrolaceae_) 354 Indian Pipe (_Monotropaceae_) 356 Primrose (_Primulaceae_) 362 Olive (_Oleaceae_) 366 Gentian (_Gentianaceae_) 368 Milkweed (_Asclepiadaceae_) 374 Dogbane (_Apocynaceae_) 378 Buck-bean (_Menyanthaceae_) 380 Morning-glory (_Convolvulaceae_) 380 Phlox (_Polemoniaceae_) 384 Waterleaf (_Hydrophyllaceae_) 402 Borage (_Boraginaceae_) 422 Verbena (_Verbenaceae_) 434 Mint (_Labiatae_) 434 Potato (_Solanaceae_) 458 Figwort (_Scrophulariaceae_) 466 Broom-rape (_Orobanchaceae_) 504 Madder (_Rubiaceae_) 506 Valerian (_Valerianaceae_) 508 Honeysuckle (_Caprifoliaceae_) 512 Gourd (_Cucurbitaceae_) 518 Bellflower (_Campanulaceae_) 520 Sunflower (_Compositae_) 522 Chicory (_Chicoriaceae_) 570 INDEX 581 COLORED ILLUSTRATIONS. FACING PAGE ORANGE MARIPOSA TULIP _Frontispiece_ WILD ONION 14 COVENA 16 INDIAN HYACINTH 24 DOGTOOTH VIOLET 28 BRONZE BELLS 38 BUTTERFLY TULIP 62 BUTTER BALLS 92 SAND-VERBENA 104 INDIAN PINK 116 FOOTHILLS LARKSPUR 128 LILAC CLEMATIS 150 CALIFORNIA POPPY 164 BUSH POPPY 166 WESTERN WALLFLOWER 176 CLIFF ROSE 226 BI-COLORED LUPINE 252 WILD SWEET PEA 254 PRIDE OF CALIFORNIA 256 HEDYSARUM PABULARE 260 DESERT SENNA 266 SPOTTED MALLOW 288 SALMON GLOBE MALLOW 290 HEDGEHOG CACTUS 306 OPUNTIA BASILARIS 308 PINCUSHION CACTUS 310 WHITE EVENING PRIMROSE 326 WESTERN AZALEA 342 SNOW-PLANT 358 SMALL SHOOTING STAR 366 CANCHALAGUA 370 SCARLET GILIA 392 LARGE PRICKLY GILIA 398 MOUNTAIN PHACELIA 404 PHACELIA GRANDIFLORA 408 BABY BLUE-EYES 412 RAMONA INCANA 438 THISTLE SAGE 450 PAINT BRUSH 472 PENTSTEMON CYANANTHUS 480 PENTSTEMON PARRYI 482 BUSH MONKEY FLOWER 490 PINK MONKEY FLOWER 492 WILD VALERIAN 510 ARIZONA THISTLE 524 EASTER DAISY 530 XYLORRHIZA TORTIFOLIA 544 CUT-LEAVED BALSAM-ROOT 558 TECHNICAL TERMS. =Corolla.= The flower-cup composed of one or more divisions called petals. =Petal.= One of the divisions of the corolla. =Calyx.= A flower-envelope, usually green, formed of several divisions called sepals, protecting the bud. =Sepal.= One of the divisions of the calyx. =Anther.= The pollen-bearing organ, usually yellow. =Filament.= The stalk-like support of the anther. =Stamen.= Anther and filament combined. =Ovary.= The seed-bearing organ. =Ovary inferior.= With the flower-parts growing from above the ovary. =Ovary superior.= With the flower-parts growing from below the ovary. =Placenta.= That particular portion of the ovary wall to which the ovules are attached. =Ovule.= The body in the ovary which becomes a seed. =Style.= The stalk-like projection proceeding from the ovary and terminated by the stigma. =Stigma.= The generally sticky and sometimes branching termination of the pistil through which pollination takes place. =Pistil.= Ovary, style, and stigma combined. =Regular Flower.= Generally symmetrical and uniform in the number of its parts. =Perfect Flower.= A flower complete in all the common parts. =Staminate.= With stamens and without pistils. =Pistillate.= With pistils and without stamens. =Polygamous.= Pistillate, staminate, and perfect flowers, on the same or on different plants. =Claw.= The narrow or stalk-like base of some petals. =Pedicel.= The stalk of a flower in a cluster. =Raceme.= A flower-cluster in which the flowers are borne along the flower-stalk on pedicels of nearly equal length. =Spike.= A flower-cluster in which the flowers have no pedicels and are arranged more or less closely along the flower-stalk. =Bracts.= Small scalelike formations. =Involucre.= A circle of bracts below a flower-cluster. =Stipule.= Small often leaflike formations, confined to the base of the leaf. =Capsule.= A dry seed-vessel, composed of more than one part and splitting open. =Akene.= A small dry one-seeded fruit, not splitting open. A KEY TO THE FAMILIES. PAGE =A. Parts of the flower nearly always in threes; leaves almost always parallel-veined.= a. Ovary superior. b. Leaves often arrow-shaped; pistils many, in a head. _Alismaceae_ 2 b. Leaves not arrow-shaped; pistil one. _Liliaceae_ 4 a. Ovary inferior b. Flowers regular; stamens three. _Iridaceae_ 66 b. Flowers irregular; stamens one or two. _Orchidaceae_ 72 =A. Parts of the flower mostly in fours or fives; leaves mostly netted-veined.= =B. Corolla absent; calyx mostly present, sometimes showy.= a. Ovary superior. b. Pistils several to many, distinct. _Ranunculaceae_ 126 b. Pistil one, one to several-celled. c. Flowers in long spikes with a white involucre at base. _Saururaceae_ 80 c. Flowers not in long spikes. d. Stipules if present sheathing the stem; sepals three to six. _Polygonaceae_ 86 d. Stipules absent; sepals mostly five. _Chenopodiaceae_ 96 a. Ovary inferior or appearing so by the closely fitting calyx. b. Ovary six-celled; stamens six to twelve. _Aristolochiaceae_ 84 b. Ovary one-celled; stamens three to five. c. Leaves opposite; flowers often showy. _Nyctaginaceae_ 100 c. Leaves alternate; flowers not showy. _Santalaceae_ 82 =B. Both corolla and calyx present.= =C. Corolla of separate petals.= =D. Ovary superior.= a. Stamens more than ten in number. b. Pistils several to many, separate or united below. c. Pistils separate and distinct. d. Pistils enclosed in a hollow receptacle. e. Leaves opposite; petals numerous. _Calycanthaceae_ 158 e. Leaves alternate; petals mostly five. _Rosaceae_ 218 d. Pistils not enclosed in a receptacle. e. Stamens attached to the calyx. _Rosaceae_ 218 e. Stamens not attached to the calyx. _Ranunculaceae_ 126 c. Pistils united below into a lobed or beaked ovary. d. Water plants with floating leaves. _Nymphaceae_ 156 d. Terrestrial or land plants. e. Pistils forming a ring; filaments united. _Malvaceae_ 284 e. Pistils not forming a ring. f. Pistils inserted on a convex receptacle; stamens attached to the calyx. _Rosaceae_ 218 f. Receptacle not convex; stamens not attached to the calyx. _Papaveraceae_ 160 b. Pistil one, the styles and stigmas often several. c. Ovary one-celled. d. Style and stigma one. e. Fruit a drupe (stone-fruit.) _Drupaceae_ 216 e. Fruit an akene tipped with a tail. _Rosaceae_ 218 d. Styles or stigmas more than one. e. Sepals falling as the flowers expand. f. Sepals two or three; fruit a capsule. _Papaveraceae_ 160 f. Sepals four or six; fruit a berry. _Ranunculaceae_ 126 e. Sepals persistent; low shrubs. _Cistaceae_ 304 c. Ovary more than one-celled. d. Water plants with floating leaves. _Nymphaceae_ 156 d. Plants not growing in water. e. Leaves with smooth margins and with transparent dots. _Hypericaceae_ 292 e. Leaves neither smooth-edged, nor with transparent dots. _Malvaceae_ 284 a. Stamens ten or fewer in number. b. Stamens of the same number as the petals and opposite them. c. Ovary more than one-celled; calyx four- to five-cleft. _Rhamnaceae_ 282 c. Ovary one-celled. d. Anthers opening by uplifted valves. _Berberidaceae_ 152 d. Anthers opening by longitudinal slits. _Portulacaceae_ 120 b. Stamens not of the same number as the petals, or if of the same number, alternate with them. c. Ovaries two or more, separate or partly united. d. Stamens united with each other and with the large thick stigma. _Asclepiadaceae_ 374 d. Stamens free from each other and from the pistils. e. Stamens inserted on the receptacle. f. Leaves and stems fleshy. _Crassulaceae_ 192 f. Leaves and stems not noticeably fleshy. g. Lobes of ovary two to five, with a common style. h. Ovary two- to three-lobed. _Limnanthaceae_ 278 h. Ovary five-lobed. _Geraniaceae_ 274 g. Ovaries with separate styles. _Ranunculaceae_ 126 e. Stamens inserted on the calyx. f. Stamens twice as many as the pistils. _Crassulaceae_ 192 f. Stamens not twice as many as the pistils. g. Stipules present. _Rosaceae_ 218 g. Stipules absent. _Saxifragaceae_ 196 c. Ovary one, the styles and stigmas one to several. d. Ovary with one cell and one placenta. e. Corolla forming standard, wings and keel; filaments mostly united. _Fabaceae_ 242 e. Corolla not of standard, wings and keel; filaments mostly not united. f. Stamens ten or five; fruit smooth, slender. _Cassiaceae_ 264 f. Stamens three or four; fruit spiny, globose. _Krameriaceae_ 268 d. Ovary with one or more cells and styles, and two or more placentae and stigmas. e. Ovary one-celled. f. Corolla irregular; petals and sepals five. _Violaceae_ 296 f. Corolla regular or nearly so. g. Ovules attached at the center or bottom of the ovary. _Caryophyllaceae_ 112 g. Ovules attached on two placentae. h. Stamens equal; pod on a stalk. _Capparidaceae_ 186 h. Stamens unequal; pod without a stalk. _Cruciferae_ 174 e. Ovary more than one-celled. f. Ovary three-celled; trees with palmate leaves. _Hippocastanaceae_ 280 f. Ovary more than three-celled. g. Cells of ovary as many as the sepals. h. Anthers opening by terminal pores; dwarf evergreen shrubby plants. _Pyrolaceae_ 354 h. Anthers opening by longitudinal slits. i. Ovules and seeds one or two in each cell. j. Herbs with lobed or cut leaves. _Geraniaceae_ 274 j. Evergreen shrubs with varnished leaves. _Zygophyllaceae_ 268 i. Ovules and seeds several in each cell; leaflets three. _Oxalidaceae_ 272 g. Cells of ovary twice as many as the sepals. _Linaceae_ 270 =D. Ovary inferior or more or less so.= a. Stamens more than ten in number. b. Plant spiny; leaves absent or soon deciduous. _Cactaceae_ 304 b. Plant not spiny; leaves persisting for the season. c. Leaves three-sided, fleshy. _Aizoaceae_ 108 c. Leaves neither three-sided nor fleshy. d. Herbs; leaves rough-hairy. _Loasaceae_ 300 d. Shrubs or trees. e. Leaves opposite; stipules none. _Hydrangeaceae_ 206 e. Leaves alternate; stipules present. _Pomaceae_ 214 a. Stamens ten or fewer in number. b. Ovules and seeds more than one in each cell. c. Ovary one-celled; fruit a berry. _Grossulariaceae_ 210 c. Ovary with two or more cells. d. Stamens four or eight. e. Shrubs; filaments two-forked at the apex. _Hydrangeaceae_ 206 e. Herbs; filaments not two-forked at the apex. _Onagraceae_ 312 d. Stamens five or ten; styles two or three. _Saxifragaceae_ 196 b. Ovules and seeds only one in each cell. c. Stamens mostly ten; ovary partly inferior. _Hydrangeaceae_ 206 c. Stamens less than ten; ovary wholly inferior. d. Stamens five; fruit dry. _Umbelliferae_ 332 d. Stamens four; fruit fleshy. _Cornaceae_ 338 =C. Corolla with petals more or less united.= =E. Ovary superior.= a. Stamens more than five in number. b. Ovary one-celled. c. Placenta one. d. Corolla very irregular; stamens not protruding from the corolla. _Fabaceae_ 242 d. Corolla nearly regular; stamens protruding. _Mimosaceae_ 266 c. Placentae two; corolla irregular. _Fumariaceae_ 168 b. Ovary two to several-celled. c. Ovary two-celled; corolla irregular. _Polygalaceae_ 278 c. Ovary three or more-celled; corolla regular or nearly so. d. Stamens not attached to the corolla. e. Style one; leaves simple. _Ericaceae_ 340 e. Styles more than one. f. Styles three; erect spiny shrub. _Fouquieriaceae_ 294 f. Styles five; low herbs. _Oxalidaceae_ 272 d. Stamens attached to the corolla, plants without green foliage. _Monotropaceae_ 356 a. Stamens five or fewer in number. b. Corolla regular. c. Stamens free from the corolla. _Ericaceae_ 340 c. Stamens attached to the corolla. d. Pistil one. e. Stamens of the same number as the corolla lobes and opposite them. _Primulaceae_ 362 e. Stamens alternate with the corolla lobes or fewer. f. Ovary one- or two-celled. g. Styles two or occasionally one. h. Capsule usually many-seeded; sepals united. _Hydrophyllaceae_ 402 h. Capsule few-seeded; sepals separate. _Convolvulaceae_ 380 g. Styles one or none. h. leaves opposite. i. Trees with pinnate leaves. _Oleaceae_ 366 i. Herbs with simple smooth-edged leaves. _Gentianaceae_ 368 h. Leaves alternate. i. Ovary one-celled; leaves with three leaflets. _Menyanthaceae_ 380 i. Ovary two-celled; leaves various. _Solanaceae_ 458 f. Ovary three- or four-celled. g. Style one; ovary three-celled. _Polemoniaceae_ 384 g. Styles two; ovary four-celled. _Boraginaceae_ 422 d. Pistils two. e. Stamens and stigmas united; flowers with hood-like appendages. _Asclepiadaceae_ 374 e. Stamens and stigmas not united; flowers without hood-like appendages. _Apocynaceae_ 378 b. Corolla more or less irregular. c. Fruit a many-seeded capsule. d. Ovary two-celled. _Scrophulariaceae_ 466 d. Ovary one-celled; plants without green foliage. _Orobanchaceae_ 504 c. Fruit of two or four seed-like nutlets. d. Ovary four-lobed; plants mostly aromatic. _Labiatae_ 434 d. Ovary not lobed; plants rarely aromatic. _Verbenaceae_ 434 =E. Ovary inferior.= a. Stamens eight or ten; evergreen shrubs. _Ericaceae_ 340 a. Stamens five or fewer in number. b. Plants tendril-bearing. _Cucurbitaceae_ 518 b. Plants not tendril-bearing. c. Stamens free, not united. d. Leaves alternate; stamens free from the corolla. _Campanulaceae_ 520 d. Leaves opposite or whorled; stamens inserted on the corolla. e. Stamens one to three. _Valerianaceae_ 508 e. Stamens four to five. f. Leaves opposite, never in whorls nor with stipules. _Caprifoliaceae_ 512 f. Leaves opposite and with stipules, or in whorls and without stipules. _Rubiaceae_ 506 c. Stamens united by their anthers. d. Corollas all strap-shaped and perfect; juice milky. _Cichoriaceae_ 570 d. Marginal corollas strap-shaped, never perfect; disk corollas perfect; juice not milky. _Compositae_ 522 FIELD BOOK OF WESTERN WILD FLOWERS [Illustration] WATER-PLANTAIN FAMILY. _Alismaceae._ A rather small family, widely distributed, growing in fresh-water swamps and streams. The leaves are all from the root, with long sheathing leaf-stalks, and the flowers are regular and perfect, or with only pistils or only stamens; the sepals three; the petals three; the stamens six or more; the ovaries numerous, superior, developing into dry, one-seeded nutlets. There are a good many kinds of Sagittaria, with fibrous roots and milky juice; the leaves are usually arrow-shaped; the lower flowers usually pistillate and the upper ones usually staminate; the stamens are numerous and the numerous ovaries are closely crowded and form roundish heads. The name is from the Latin for "arrow," referring to the shape of the leaves. [Sidenote: =Arrowhead= _Sagittària latifòlia_ =White Summer North America=] An attractive and very decorative plant, with stout, smooth, hollow flower-stems, from eight inches to four feet tall, with very handsome, smooth, olive-green leaves and papery bracts. The flowers are about an inch across, with delicately crumpled, white petals and yellow anthers, forming a bright golden center, and the plants look very pretty standing along the edges of ponds. The leaves are exceedingly variable both in size and shape. This is found throughout North America. The tubers are edible and hence the plant is often called Tule Potato, and they are much eaten by the Chinese in California. The Indian name is Wapato. [Illustration] [Illustration: Arrowhead--Sagittaria latifolia.] LILY FAMILY. _Liliaceae_. A wonderfully beautiful family, large and widely distributed, mostly perennial herbs, growing from bulbs or root-stocks, with perfect, regular, symmetrical flowers and toothless leaves. The flower-cup almost always has six divisions, the outer often called sepals and the inner petals. The six stamens are opposite the divisions and sometimes three of them are without anthers. The styles or stigmas are three and the ovary is superior, developing into a three-celled capsule or berry, containing few or many seeds. There are several kinds of Anthericum, rather small, lily-like plants, with grasslike leaves, springing from the base and surrounded by the fibrous remnants of older leaves. The slender stems are leafless, or have one, very small, dry leaf; the roots thick and fleshy-fibrous; the flowers yellow, on pedicels jointed near the middle; the style long and slender; the pod oblong, containing several flattened, angular seeds in each cell. They are common in rocky soil, at altitudes of six thousand to nine thousand feet, from western Texas to Arizona. [Sidenote: =Amber Lily= _Anthéricum Tórreyi_ =Yellow Summer Arizona=] A beautiful little plant, with delicate flowers, unusual and pretty in coloring. It grows from eight to fifteen inches tall and has a slender, pale-green stem, springing from a clump of graceful, pale bluish-green, grasslike leaves. The flowers are about three quarters of an inch long, pale orange or corn-color, with a narrow stripe on each division; the pistil green, with an orange stigma; the anthers yellow. The flowers fade almost as soon as they bloom. This grows in open woods. [Illustration] [Illustration: Amber Lily--Anthericum Torreyi.] [Illustration] There are several kinds of Zygadene, natives of North America and Siberia. They mostly have coated bulbs, resembling onions, and white or greenish flowers, in clusters, the leaves long, smooth, folded lengthwise and springing mostly from the root. The flowers are perfect or polygamous, the six divisions alike, with one or two, greenish, glandular spots at the base of each; the styles three, distinct; the fruit a three-lobed capsule, with several or many seeds in each compartment. The name is from the Greek for "yoke" and "gland," because some kinds have a couple of glands on each division of the flower. [Sidenote: =Poison Sego= _Zygadènus paniculàtus_ =Cream-white Spring, summer Utah, Nev., Idaho=] A handsome, rather stout plant, about a foot tall, with bright light-green, smooth, graceful leaves sheathing the stem, which has a papery bract around its base. The flowers are in clusters varying in shape, sometimes growing in a long, loose raceme and sometimes in a closer, pointed cluster. The divisions of the rather small, cream-white flowers have short claws, with a yellow gland and a stamen at the base of each. The stamens are conspicuous, with swinging, yellow, shield-shaped anthers, and are at first longer than the three styles, which gradually lengthen and, together with the stamens, give a delicate, feathery appearance to the whole flower cluster. This grows on dry hillsides and in meadows. The bulb is very poisonous. [Illustration] [Illustration: Poison Sego--Zygadenus paniculatus.] [Sidenote: =Zygadene= _Zygadènus élegans_ =White Summer U. S.=] A handsome graceful plant, with one or more stiff stems, from six inches to three feet tall, springing from a large clump of rather stiff, bluish-green leaves, covered with a pale "bloom," and bearing fine clusters of cream-white flowers, less than an inch across, their divisions united below and adhering to the base of the ovary and each with a sticky, bright-green, heart-shaped gland. This grows in moist places in the mountains, across the continent. [Sidenote: =Star Zygadene= _Zygadènus Fremóntii_ =White Spring, summer California=] Much like the last, but the foliage with less "bloom" and the flowers handsomer and rather larger. Their divisions are free from the ovary, only the inner divisions have claws, and the glands are greenish-yellow and toothed. This grows among bushes, on hillsides and sea-cliffs along the coast. [Sidenote: =Death Camass= _Zygadènus venenòsus_ =White Spring Wash., Oreg., Cal.=] Not nearly so handsome as the two last, but a pretty plant, from one to two feet tall, with dull-green leaves, folded lengthwise, with rough edges. The cream-colored flowers are less than half an inch across, striped with green on the outside, their divisions free from the ovary and all with claws, with roundish, greenish-yellow glands, not toothed, and with long stamens. This grows in meadows and the bulb is very poisonous except to hogs, so it is often called Hog's Potato. There are several kinds of Veratrum, natives of the north temperate zone; tall, perennial herbs, with thick, short, poisonous rootstocks; stems tall and leafy, more or less hairy; leaves broad, plaited, with conspicuous veins; flowers more or less downy, polygamous, whitish or greenish, in a cluster, their six, separate divisions colored alike, adhering to the base of the ovary, without glands, or nearly so, and without claws; stamens opposite the divisions, with heart-shaped anthers; styles three; capsule three-lobed, with several flat, broadly-winged seeds in each compartment. Veratrum is the ancient name for Hellebore. [Illustration: Zygadene--Z. elegans. Death Camass--Zygadenus venenosus.] [Sidenote: =False Hellebore= _Veràtrum Califórnicum_ =Greenish-white Spring West=] The leaves of this plant are its conspicuous feature. A few near the top are long and narrow, but most of them are boat-shaped, with heavy ribs, and from six to twelve inches long. They are bright yellowish-green and, although somewhat coarse, the general effect is distinctly handsome, as we see masses of them growing luxuriantly in rich, moist meadows and marshes in the mountains. When they first come up in the spring, the shoots are packed into green rosettes, in which the leaves are intricately folded, but they soon grow to a height of three to six feet. The flowers are beautiful, in fine contrast to the coarse foliage. They measure about half an inch across and are cream-white, streaked with green, and form a fine cluster about a foot long. The flowers are far prettier and the plants handsomer than their eastern relations and they flourish at an altitude of six to nine thousand feet. The plants are supposed to be poisonous to cattle, but in a recent bulletin of the Agricultural Experiment Station of the State of Washington, it is reported as being a popular food with horses and sheep, particularly the latter, which eat it greedily and without ill effects. There are several kinds of Hastingsia, perennials, with bulbs or rootstocks; the stamens on the base of the perianth, with swinging anthers; the ovary with a very short stalk and short style. [Sidenote: =Reed-lily= _Hastíngsia álba (Schoenolirion)_ =White Summer Oreg., Cal., Nev.=] An attractive marsh plant, with a smooth, stiff, bluish stem, over three feet tall, springing from a cluster of long, narrow, sword-like leaves. The slightly sweet-scented flowers are white, about half an inch across, forming a long, graceful, fuzzy wand of bloom, which has a pretty silvery effect and looks interesting at a distance, but is not very striking close by, as the flowers are too colorless. The seeds are black and shiny. [Illustration: False Hellebore--Veratrum Californicum. Reed Lily--Hastingsia alba.] [Illustration] [Sidenote: =Amole Soap Plant= _Chlorógalum pomeridiànum_ =Silvery-white Summer California=] There are several kinds of Chlorogalum. This odd plant springs from a big bulb, which is covered with coarse brown fiber and often shows above the ground. The leaves are sometimes over two feet long, with rippled margins, look like very coarse grass, and usually spread out flat on the ground. The plants are conspicuous and look interesting and we wonder what sort of flower is to come from them. Then some day in late summer we find that a rather ugly, branching stalk, four or five feet tall, has shot up from the center of the tuft of leaves. The branches are covered with bluish-green buds, and we watch with interest for the bloom, but we may easily miss it, for the flowers are very short-lived and come out only for a little while in the afternoons. In the lowlands the flowers are rather scattered and straggling, but in Yosemite they are lovely, close by. Each flower is an inch or more across and looks like an airy little lily, with six spreading divisions, white, delicately veined with dull-blue, and they are clustered along the branches, towards the top of the stalk, and bloom in successive bunches, beginning at the bottom. When they commence to bloom, the tips of the petals remain caught together until the last minute, when suddenly they let go and spring apart and all at once the dull stalk, like Aaron's rod, is adorned with several delicate clusters of feathery silver flowers. The thread-like style is slightly three-cleft at the tip and the capsule has one or two blackish seeds in each cell. The bulbs form a lather in water and are used as a substitute for soap by the Indians and Spanish-Californians, and as food by the Pomo Indians, who cook them in great pits in the ground. _Pomeridianum_ means "in the afternoon." [Illustration] [Illustration: Soap Plant--Chlorogalum pomeridianum.] Wild Onions are easily recognized by their characteristic taste and odor. They mostly have coated bulbs; their leaves are long and narrow, from the base; the flower-stalk bears a roundish, bracted cluster of rather small, white, pink, or magenta flowers, on slender pedicels, their six divisions nearly alike and each with a stamen attached to its base. The bracts enclose the buds, before blooming, in a case and the capsule contains six, black, wrinkled seeds. There are numerous kinds, very widely distributed, not easily distinguished, some resembling Brodiaea, but the latter never smell of onion. _Allium_ is the Latin for "garlic." [Sidenote: =Pink Wild Onion= _Állium acuminàtum_ =Pink Spring, summer Northwest=] From four to ten inches high, with a few leaves. Before blooming, the flower cluster is enveloped in two papery bracts, forming a beautiful pink and white, iridescent case, the shape of a turnip, at the tip of the stalk. Later these bracts split apart and disclose a cluster of pretty flowers, usually very deep pink in color, the divisions each with a darker line on the outside, the anthers pale-yellow. This is very gay and attractive, often growing in patches on dry hillsides and fields. The flowers last a long time in water, gradually becoming paler in color and papery in texture. The bulb is marked with veins. [Sidenote: =Wild Onion= _Állium biscéptrum_ =Pink, white Spring Utah, Nev., Cal.=] Six to ten inches tall, with two slightly thickish leaves, and usually two slender flower stalks, each bearing a graceful cluster of starry, white, pink or pinkish-purple flowers, each petal delicately striped with pinkish-brown, the anthers pink, the ovary green, with three, tiny, double crests. These flowers are exceedingly delicate and pretty, growing among rocks in shady canyons. The bulb is usually red-coated. The flower cluster of _Allium serràtum_ is much more compact than the last and the pink flowers change to deep purplish-pink as they fade, making a pretty, round, papery head, about an inch and a half across. Common on low hills in California. [Illustration: Wild Onion--Allium acuminatum.] [Illustration: Wild Onions. Allium bisceptrum. Allium serratum.] There are many kinds of Brodiaea, among the prettiest western flowers. They have a small, solid bulb, coated with brownish fibers. The stem bears a bracted, roundish head of flowers at the top, the pedicels varying in length. Their leaves, all from the root, are grasslike and soon wither and the flowers dry up, become papery, and remain on the stalk, sometimes keeping form and color for some time. The stamens are in two sets and are attached to the flower-tube, their filaments often winged. Sometimes three of the stamens are without anthers and their filaments are broadened, so that they look like small petals alternating with the ordinary stamens. [Sidenote: =Grass Nuts. Blue Dicks. Covena.= _Brodiaèa capitàta_ =Blue, violet Spring California=] All through the spring these lovely flowers grow abundantly all over the hills and fields of California. The slender stalks vary from a few inches to two feet tall. The flowers are usually purplish-blue, but vary from deep-violet to white and are rather translucent in texture. They measure over half an inch across and grow in a cluster of seven or eight flowers, with several membranous, purplish bracts at the base. There are six anthers. The three inner stamens are winged and form a crown in the throat of the flower-tube. These Brodiaeas last a long time in water and are great favorites everywhere. The little bulbs are edible and give the name of Grass Nuts. There are several other names, such as Cluster Lily and Hog-onion. The name Wild Hyacinth is poor, as it does not resemble a hyacinth in character. _B. capitàta var. pauciflòra_ of Arizona is similar, except that the bracts are white. Covena is the Arizona name. [Sidenote: =Ookow= _Brodiaèa congésta_ =Blue, violet Spring, summer Wash., Oreg., Cal.=] Much like the last, except that only three of the stamens have anthers and the stem is sometimes as much as five feet tall. This grows on open hills in the Coast Ranges. [Illustration: Covena--Brodiaea capitata var. pauciflora.] [Illustration: Ookow--Brodiaea congesta.] [Illustration] [Sidenote: =Harvest Brodiaea= _Brodiaèa grandiflòra (Hookera coronaria)_ =Blue Summer Cal., Oreg., Wash.=] In early June, at the time of the hay harvest, these handsome flowers, which look like clusters of little blue lilies, begin to appear among the dried grass of the hillsides and in open places in the woods. They vary in height from a few inches to over a foot and the number of flowers in a cluster also varies very much. Sometimes there are as many as ten of the beautiful blossoms, an inch or more long, with pedicels unequal in length and from one to four inches long, in a large cluster at the top of the stalk, with several, whitish, papery bracts at the base of the cluster. The color of the flowers is usually a deep bright blue shading to violet and the six divisions grow paler toward the base and have a brown stripe on the outside; the buds are greenish, striped with brown. The stamens are translucent white, three ordinary stamens, with long erect anthers, alternating with three without anthers, the latter tongue-shaped and petal-like. The leaves, which are thickish and about the same length as the stalk, have withered away before the flowers bloom. This plant very much resembles Ithuriel's Spear, _Triteleia laxa_, but three of the stamens are without anthers and the ovary is not on a long stalk. It is the commonest kind around San Francisco. B. _minor_ is much the same, but a smaller plant with fewer and smaller flowers. The three outer divisions are narrow, with pointed tips, and the inner blunt and broad, and the sterile stamens are notched and longer than the fertile ones. This grows on dry hills and plains in middle and southern California. [Illustration] [Illustration: Brodiaea minor. Harvest Brodiaea--B. grandiflora.] [Illustration] [Sidenote: =Twining Brodiaea= _Brodiaèa volùbilis._ (_Stropholirion Californicum_) =Pink Summer California=] This is a strange, rather grotesque-looking plant, with its slightly roughish, leafless, reddish stem contorted into curious curves, occasionally quite short but usually enormously long, sometimes as much as eight feet, and twining awkwardly in a snake-like way around and over the bushes in its neighborhood. There are sometimes a few long narrow leaves lying on the ground, but when the flower blooms they usually seem to have withered away. The flower-cluster is quite compact, sometimes six inches across, comprising from eighteen to twenty flowers, with several, large, pink, papery bracts. The flowers are rather pretty, dull pink outside but paler inside, the buds are deeper and more purplish pink, both of dry papery texture. The flowers are over half an inch across, their tubes and buds are six-angled, and they have three stamens with anthers and wings, alternating with three, notched, petal-like stamens, without anthers. In the spring the stem grows rapidly for several weeks and then the flower cluster begins to come out at the tip. If the stem is broken off the flower comes out just the same and the stem keeps on growing, even if it is brought into the house. These curious plants are found in the foothills of the Coast Ranges and the Sierra Nevada Mountains and may be seen in open sunny places along the stage route from Yosemite to Wawona. In the woods near Wawona I saw it twining around a very tall white larkspur and the combination was exceedingly pretty. The capsule is egg-shaped and pointed, the seeds black and angled. [Illustration] [Illustration: Twining Brodiaea--Brodiaea volubilis.] [Illustration] There are four kinds of Bloomeria, all Californian, resembling Brodiaea, but the stamens unlike. They have a fibrous-coated, solid bulb, long narrow leaves, and a bracted cluster of many flowers, at the top of a tall flower-stalk. The flowers are yellow, with six, nearly equal, spreading divisions, the six stamens on the base of the divisions, with slender filaments, which with a microscope are seen to have a short, two-toothed, hairy appendage at base. These are united and form a little cup surrounding the base of the stamens. The style is club-shaped, with a three-lobed stigma. The roundish capsule, beaked with the style, contains several, angular, wrinkled seeds in each cell. [Sidenote: =Golden Stars= _Bloomèria aùrea_ =Yellow Spring, summer California=] In late spring the meadows around Pasadena and other places in the Coast Range are bright with pretty clusters of Golden Stars. The plant is from six to eighteen inches tall, springing from a small bulb, covered with brown fibers, with a long, narrow, grasslike leaf, and a large flower-cluster, sometimes comprising as many as fifty blossoms, at the top of the stalk. The flowers, about an inch across, with pedicels from one and a half to two inches long, are orange-yellow, the spreading divisions each striped with two dark lines, and the anthers are bright green. This looks very much like Golden Brodiaea, but the latter has no cup at the base of the stamens. It grows in the southern part of California and is abundant wherever it is found. _B. Clevelandi_ is much the same, but the flowers are striped with green and the numerous buds are green, so that it is less golden and the general effect is not so good. It has numerous narrow leaves. [Illustration] [Illustration: Golden Stars--Bloomeria aurea.] Triteleias resemble Brodiaeas, but they have six, swinging anthers and the ovary has a stalk. [Sidenote: =Indian Hyacinth= _Triteleìa grandiflòra (Brodiaea Douglasii)_ =Blue Spring, summer Northwest and Utah=] Though the general appearance of the plant is very different, the individual flowers of this beautiful plant very much resemble the bells of a Hyacinth, for they have the same waxy, semi-translucent texture. The bluish-green leaves, folded lengthwise and withering before the flower, are sometimes a foot long and the flower-stalk often reaches a height of two feet and bends beneath the weight of its lovely crown of blossoms. The cluster has four papery bracts at the base and is from three to four inches across, comprising about a dozen flowers, each nearly an inch long. They are pale-violet, with a bright-blue mid-vein on each division, the general effect being blue, with a white pistil and six stamens in two rows, all with blue anthers and the outer ones with broad, white filaments. It is wonderful to find these lovely and exotic-looking flowers, delicately scented, gleaming in the shadow of a dusky oak thicket or a deep canyon. They last a long time in water, becoming papery as they wither. [Sidenote: =White Brodiaea= _Triteleìa hyacinthìna (Brodiaea lactea)_ =White Spring Cal., Oreg., Wash.=] From one to two feet high, with very pretty flowers, about half an inch long, delicately striped with green on the outside, with six equal stamens, their filaments broad, triangular and slightly united at base, with yellow or purple anthers, and a green pistil. The leaf is grasslike, but thickish, and as long as the flower-stalk. These flowers are quite common and last a long time in water. [Sidenote: =Ithuriel's Spear= _Triteleìa láxa (Brodiaea)_ =Blue, purple Spring Cal., Oreg.=] Very much like Harvest Brodiaea but rather taller, with more flowers in the cluster, and less waxy in texture, varying in color from blue to violet and occasionally white. This is common on hillsides and in adobe fields. The rather fanciful name was suggested by the spear carried by Milton's angel Ithuriel. [Illustration: Indian Hyacinth--Triteleia grandiflora.] [Illustration: White Brodiaea--Triteleia hyacinthina. Ithuriel's Spear--Triteleia laxa.] There are one or two kinds of Brevoortia. [Sidenote: =Fire-cracker Flower= _Brevoòrtia Ida-Màia (Brodiaea coccinea)_ =Red and green Spring Cal., Oreg.=] A handsome plant, most extraordinary both in form and color. The stem is from one to three feet tall, with a few grasslike leaves, and bears a large cluster of six to thirteen flowers, one or two inches long, hanging on slender, reddish pedicels. They have bright-crimson tubes and apple-green lobes, sometimes turned back, showing the tips of the three pale-yellow anthers. There are also three stamens without anthers and broadened so that they look like three white or yellowish petals. The buds are also crimson, tipped with green, and the whole color scheme is wonderfully brilliant and striking. This grows in mountain canyons and on wooded hillsides, blooming in late spring. * * * * * There are several kinds of Muilla, much like Brodiaea and very much like Allium, but with no onion taste or smell. [Sidenote: =Muilla= _Muílla marítima_ =White Spring Cal., Nev.=] A slender little plant, sometimes rather pretty, from three to nine inches tall, with sweet-scented flowers, about three-eighths of an inch or less across, white or greenish, striped with green outside, with six, bluish, swinging anthers. This grows in alkaline fields, on sea cliffs and mesas. * * * * * There are a good many kinds of Erythronium, all but one from North America, and, East and West, they are among our prettiest flowers. They have deep, membranous-coated, solid bulbs; a pair of netted-veined, unequal leaves, sometimes mottled with brown; flowers without bracts, large, nodding and bell-shaped, with usually six divisions, all colored alike, the tips turning back, each with a nectar-groove, and each with two or four little scales at base, or only the three inner divisions with scales; stamens on the receptacle, anthers not swinging; style more or less three-lobed; capsule more or less oblong and three-angled. The younger plants are often flowerless, with only one broad leaf, with a long leaf-stalk. The name is from a Greek word meaning "red," though these flowers are mostly yellow. The common name, Dog-tooth Violet, is old, and suggested by the little, white, toothlike offshoot often found on the bulb, but of course they are not in the least like Violets. In California they are often called Chamise Lily, and sometimes Adam and Eve, because the plant often bears a large and a small flower at the same time. Mr. Burroughs would like to call it Fawn Lily, on account of the mottled leaves of some kinds, which slightly suggest the ears of a fawn. Adder's-tongue, probably suggested by the long forked pistil, is also an old and usual name. [Illustration: Muilla maritima. Fire-cracker Flower--Brevoortia Ida-Maia.] [Sidenote: =Avalanche Lily Dog-tooth Violet= _Erythrònium montànum_ =White Summer Northwest=] An exquisite kind, peculiarly graceful in form, with from one to nine, pure-white flowers, nearly three inches across, each petal prettily ornamented at the base with some orange-colored markings, arranged in a symmetrical scalloped pattern. The anthers are orange-yellow, the pistil white, the buds are pinkish and the leaves are very bright green and not mottled. This is very common around Mt. Rainier. [Sidenote: =Glacier Lily Dog-tooth Violet= _Erythrònium parviflòrum_ =Yellow Summer Northwest=] A lovely flower, much like _E. grandiflorum_, but the anthers are white or pale yellow. Around Mt. Rainier these beautiful plants often grow in large patches at the edge of the snow, alongside of the Avalanche Lily, _E. montanum_, but the two kinds do not seem to mingle. [Sidenote: =Easter Bells Dog-tooth Violet= _Erythrònium grandiflòrum_ =Yellow Spring, summer Northwest and Utah=] One of the loveliest of a charming group, growing in rich northern woods. The delicately-scented flowers, from one to six on a stalk, are about two inches across, clear yellow shading to white at the base, with purplish-red anthers, turning brown. A patch of these flowers bordering the edge of a glacier, as if planted in a garden-bed, is a sight never to be forgotten. Pushing their bright leaves right through the snow they gayly swing their golden censers in the face of winter and seem the very incarnation of spring. There are several similar kinds. In the Utah canyons these flowers in early spring are a wonderful sight, covering the wooded slopes with sheets of gold, and they seem to me to be the largest and handsomest of their clan, growing at an altitude of six thousand to eleven thousand five hundred feet, and blooming from March to July according to height. Easter Bells is a Utah name. [Illustration: Dogtooth Viole--Erythronium grandiflorum.] [Illustration: Avalanche Lily--Erythronium montanum. Glacier Lily--E. parviflorum.] [Illustration] [Sidenote: =Desert Lily= _Hesperocállis undulàta_ =White Spring Cal., Ariz.=] This is the only one of its kind, a wonderfully beautiful desert plant, much like an Easter Lily. The stout, pale, bluish stem, from six inches to two feet tall, has a delicate "bloom" and springs from a graceful cluster of narrow leaves, which are a foot and a half long, spreading widely, but not lying quite flat on the ground. They are pale bluish-green, with a narrow, crinkled, white border and folded lengthwise. The buds are bluish and the lovely flowers are about three inches long and pure-white, delicately striped with pale-green and blue on the outside, with yellow anthers and a white stigma, and with a papery bract at the base of each pedicel. The flowers are slightly fragrant and become papery and curiously transparent as they wither. In dry seasons these plants do not bloom at all, but the slightest moisture will cause them to send up a stout stem and crown it with exquisite blossoms, which look extraordinarily out of place on the arid desert sand around Yuma and Ft. Mohave. The bulb is eaten by the Indians. [Illustration] [Illustration: Desert Lily--Hesperocallis undulata.] [Illustration] Lilies, the "lords of gardens," are perhaps the most beautiful and popular flowers everywhere and there are some wonderful ones in the West. They have tall, smooth, leafy stems, springing from scaly bulbs; large showy flowers, solitary or in terminal clusters; smooth, netted-veined leaves, often in whorls, and leaflike bracts. The flower-cup is funnel-formed, or bell-shaped, and has six, equal, spreading divisions, with a honey-bearing groove at the base of each; the stamens, with long anthers, swinging from the tips of long filaments; a long pistil, with a three-lobed stigma and the capsule oblong, with two rows of flat seeds in each of its cells. There are no true Lilies in Utah. [Sidenote: =Small Tiger Lily= _Lílium párvum_ =Orange-red Summer Cal., Oreg.=] These tall plants carry a brilliant crown of small lilies, glowing like jewels in the dark moist woods they love. The stem is from one and a half to six feet high, covered with a slight down that rubs off, and springs from a small bulb with short, thick scales. The long, pointed, rich-green leaves are in whorls of five or six below, more scattered towards the top of the stalk. The flowers are rather more than an inch long, yellow at the base of the petals, shading through orange to vermilion at the tips and dotted with crimson in the throat. Usually there are six or seven in a cluster, but they have been found with many more in favorable situations and single plants in Yosemite have been seen with as many as thirty blossoms. The capsule is roundish and less than an inch long. These little Lilies are among the most attractive of their kind and grow somewhat freely in the high Sierras to an altitude of seven thousand feet and as far north as Oregon. [Illustration] [Illustration: Small Tiger Lily--Lilium parvum.] [Illustration] [Sidenote: =Washington Lily Shasta Lily= _Lílium Washingtoniànum_ =White Summer Cal., Oreg.=] In the Sierras, at an altitude of from three to over seven thousand feet, and as far north as the Columbia River, we may be fortunate enough to find this glorious Lily, growing in the forest in moderate shade and protected by the chaparral. It is not rare but nowhere very abundant. I shall never forget finding a group of three or four, growing near a huge fallen tree, in the woods at Wawona near Yosemite, where it is very fine. Their raiment is even more "white and glistering" than the cultivated Easter Lilies. The smooth, stout, purplish stem is from two to five feet high, adorned all the way up with successive whorls of handsome dark-green leaves, three or four inches long, thin in texture, with rippling margins, and shining as if they had been varnished. There are from two to twenty blossoms of shining white, each one from three to four inches long and as much across. The petals are cleft to the base, spreading wide apart when the flower is fully open, sometimes finely dotted with purple, and becoming purplish in fading. The anthers are yellow and the pistil green, and the bulb is large, with thin scales. The scent is delicious, having a whiff of spicy carnation added to the usual lily fragrance. This is never found in the Coast Range and is the only pure white American Lily. Shasta Lily is a variety with a small bulb. _L. Párryi_, the Lemon Lily, of southern California and Arizona, is similar in the form of its flowers, which are large and clear yellow, dotted lightly with deeper yellow. It grows in shady, moist spots in cool canyons and is very beautiful. [Illustration] [Illustration: Washington Lily--Lilium Washingtonianum.] [Sidenote: =Leopard Lily= _Lílium pardalìnum_ =Orange Summer Wash., Oreg., Cal.=] A magnificent plant, from three to six feet tall, with bright-green leaves, thin in texture, smooth but not shiny, and mostly in whorls. The stem is crowned by a splendid cluster of flowers, usually about half a dozen together, but sometimes as many as thirty on one stalk. They measure three or four inches across and are pale-orange outside and deep-orange inside, spotted with maroon, often blotched with orange-yellow in the throat and tipped with scarlet. The anthers are purplish, changing to reddish-brown, and the pistil is bright-green. These plants often grow in large companies, in moist spots in the mountains, and are unrivaled in decorative beauty and brilliancy of coloring. [Sidenote: =Tiger Lily= _Lílium Columbiànum_ =Orange Summer Wash., Oreg.=] A good deal like the last, but not so large. The petals are more turned back and they are orange-color all over, dotted with dark-red, and the anthers are pale orange-color, ripening to golden-brown. This is common in the Hood River Valley. [Sidenote: =Ruby Lily Chaparral Lily= _Lílium rubéscens_ =White, pink Summer Cal., Oreg.=] A glorious plant, from two to five feet tall, with leaves mostly in whorls, with rippled edges. The stem bears a magnificent cluster of blossoms, most wonderful in coloring, for the buds and young flowers are white, dotted with purple inside, with yellow anthers and a pale-green pistil, but they gradually change to pink, and deepen to ruby-purple as they fade, and the anthers and pistil also darken in color. The effect of the whole cluster is therefore white at the top, shading through pink to almost crimson below. The flowers are even more deliciously fragrant than the Washington Lily, which they resemble, except that they are not quite so large as the latter and stand more erect and the petals are not so spreading. This usually grows among chaparral in the Coast Ranges. [Illustration: Tiger Lily--Lilium Columbianum. Leopard Lily--Lilium pardalinum.] There are many kinds of Fritillaria, natives of the north temperate zone. In the East there are only cultivated ones, such as the familiar Crown Imperial, but we have a number growing wild in the West. They have bulbs with round, thick scales, developing into bulblets and sometimes resembling grains of rice. The flowers are bell-shaped, and nodding, with separate and nearly equal divisions, each with a nectar-spot at its base. They resemble Lilies, but the style is three-cleft, the honey-gland is a shallow pit and the flowers are smaller. The capsule is roundish and six-angled, containing numerous flat seeds. It is conspicuous and perhaps suggested the Latin name, meaning "dice-box." [Sidenote: =Bronze Bells Brown Fritillary= _Fritillària atropurpùrea_ =Brown Spring, summer West=] This plant is beautiful and decorative, and yet there is something weird about it. The flowers, an inch or more across, grow four or five in a cluster, on a smooth stalk about a foot tall, the long, narrow leaves scattered or in whorls. The bells, nodding on slender flower-stalks, are very unusual in coloring. They are greenish-yellow, streaked and spotted with maroon, and the long curling tips of the three-pronged pistil project like the forked tongue of an adder, so that somehow we feel that, in a previous existence, beautiful as it is now, it may have been a toad or some reptile. When we found this flower growing in the Grand Canyon, halfway down Bright Angel trail, it seemed entirely suitable to the mysterious spirit of the place. The general effect is bronze-color and the attractive name of Bronze Bells, or Mission Bells, is very appropriate. It has a small bulb of numerous, roundish scales. The pistils are often rudimentary. [Sidenote: =Yellow Fritillary= _Fritillària pùdica_ =Yellow Spring West, except Ariz.=] A pretty little flower, a favorite with children, growing on grassy plains, with a smooth stem about six inches tall, and smooth, somewhat thickish, alternate or whorled leaves. The nodding flowers, about an inch long, are usually single, but sometimes as many as six on a stalk, various shades of yellow and orange, tinged with crimson and fading to dull-red. The smooth bulb is pure white, and made up of a number of rounded, thickish scales not resembling grains of rice, so the name Rice Root is not appropriate and the local Utah names, Crocus, Snowdrop, and Buttercup are absurd. [Illustration: Bronze Bells--Fritillaria atropurpurea.] [Illustration: Yellow Fritillary--Fritillaria pudica.] There are several kinds of Yucca, natives of North and Central America; large plants, with dagger-like leaves, usually with long, thread-like fibers along the margins; flowers with bracts, nodding in a terminal cluster, somewhat bell-shaped, with six, thickish, white divisions; stamens short, with thickened filaments and small anthers; ovary with three united stigmas; capsule containing many, flat, black seeds. The flowers are pollinated by a little white moth, which lays its eggs in the ovary, but previously gathers pollen from many flowers and pushes it against the stigma after the eggs have been laid. [Sidenote: =Our Lord's Candle Spanish Bayonet= _Yúcca Whípplei_ =White Spring, summer Cal., Ariz.=] A noble plant, with no trunk, but sending up a magnificent shaft of flowers, from five to fifteen feet tall, springing from a huge, symmetrical bunch of dagger-like, bluish-green leaves. The cluster is composed of hundreds of waxy, cream-colored blossoms, sometimes tinged with purple, two inches across, crowded so closely together along the upper part of the stalk that the effect is a great, solid mass of bloom, three feet long. The white filaments are swollen, tipped with pale-yellow anthers; the pistil cream-color, with green stigmas. The large, white bracts are stiff and coarse, something like parchment, folded back so that the pinkish stalk is ornamented with a series of white triangles, symmetrically arranged. A hillside covered with hundreds of these magnificent spires of bloom, towering above the chaparral, is a wonderful sight. After they have blossomed, the tall, white stalks remain standing for some time, so that the hills look as if they had been planted with numbers of white wands. The genus Cleistoyucca resembles Yucca, but the divisions of the flower are very thick and there is no style. [Sidenote: =Joshua Tree Tree Yucca= _Cleistoyúcca arboréscens (Yucca)_ =Greenish-white Spring, summer Cal., Ariz., Utah=] A tree, grotesque and forbidding in aspect, but with a weird sort of beauty, looming black against the pale desert landscape, with a great, thick, rough trunk, fifteen to thirty feet high, and a few thick, contorted branches, stretching out like a giant's arms and pointing ominously across the sandy waste. The branches are thatched with the shaggy husks of dead leaves and from their tips they thrust out a great bunch of dagger-like leaves and a big, ponderous cluster of pallid, greenish flowers or heavy, yellowish fruits. The coarse flowers are about two inches across, with a clammy smell like toadstools, and the bracts are dead white. This grows in the Mohave Desert and is at its best around Hesperia, where one may see the most fantastic forest that it is possible to imagine. Elsewhere it is smaller and more like other Yuccas in shape. It was called Joshua Tree by the early settlers, it is said because they fancied that its branches pointed towards the Promised Land. The fruits are relished by the Indians, who utilize the fibers from the leaves for weaving baskets, ropes, hats, horse-blankets, etc., and make a pulp from the stems, used for soap. [Illustration: Our Lord's Candle--Yucca Whipplei. [very small part of cluster]] [Illustration] * * * * * There are several kinds of Trillium, of North America and Asia; with tuberous root-stocks; three, netted-veined leaves, in a whorl at the top of the stem; a single flower with three, green sepals, three petals, six, short stamens, and three styles; capsule berry-like and reddish, containing many seeds. The Latin name means "triple." [Sidenote: =Wake-robin Birthroot= _Tríllium ovàtum_ =White Spring, summer Northwest=] A charming plant, about a foot tall, with a single beautiful blossom, set off to perfection by its large, rich green leaves. The flower is two or three inches across, with lovely white petals, which gradually change to deep pink. It is a pleasure to find a company of these attractive plants in the heart of the forest, where their pure blossoms gleam in the cool shade along some mountain brook. They resemble the eastern Large-flowered Trillium and grow in the Coast Ranges. [Illustration] [Illustration: Wake-robin--Trillium ovatum.] There are three kinds of Xerophyllum. [Sidenote: =Squaw-grass Bear Grass= _Xerophýllum tènax_ =White Summer Northwest=] This is a magnificent plant, from two to six feet high, with a very stout, leafy stem, springing from a very large tuft of wiry, grass-like leaves, which spread out gracefully like a fountain. They are from one to two and a half feet long, dark-green on the upper side and pale-gray on the under, with rough edges. The imposing flower cluster is borne at the top of the stalk and is about a foot long, broad at the base and tapering to a blunt point, and composed of hundreds of fragrant, cream-white flowers, each about half an inch across, with slender, white pedicels, and so closely crowded together that the effect is very solid, yet made feathery by the long stamens. It is a fine sight to come across a company of these noble plants in a mountain meadow, rearing their great shafts of bloom far above their neighbors. They are very handsome around Mt. Rainier. They are said to blossom only once in five or seven years and then to die. The leaves are used by Indians in making their finest baskets. Unfortunately the size of this book does not admit of an illustration. * * * * * There are two kinds of Maianthemum, an eastern one and the following, which also grows in Europe and Asia. [Sidenote: =Wild Lily-of-the-valley= _Maiánthemum bifòlium_ =White Spring, summer Wash., Oreg., Cal.=] This is a very attractive, woodland plant, from four to fourteen inches tall, with handsome, glossy, rich green leaves, and a rather stout stem, bearing a pretty cluster, two or three inches long, of many, small, waxy-white flowers, with four divisions. They have four stamens, with thread-like filaments and small, yellowish anthers, the stigma has two lobes and the berry is red. This grows in rich soil in the mountains and is much handsomer than its eastern relation and strongly sweet-scented. The Latin name means "blooming in May." [Illustration: Wild Lily-of-the-valley--Maianthemum bifolium.] There are several kinds of Streptopus, much like Disporum, but the pedicels of the flowers are twisted or bent. [Sidenote: =White Twisted Stalk= _Stréptopus amplexifòlius_ =Whitish Spring, summer U. S. except Southwest=] This is a fine plant, two or three feet tall, with a smooth, branching, bending stem and handsome leaves, thin in texture, with strongly marked veins and pale with whitish "bloom" on the under side. The greenish-white flowers are about half an inch long and hang on very slender, crooked pedicels, from under the leaves, and the oval berries are red and contain many seeds. This grows in moist soil, in cold mountain woods, up to an altitude of ten thousand feet and across the continent. The Greek name means "twisted stalk." [Sidenote: =Pink Twisted Stalk= _Stréptopus ròseus_ =Pink Spring, summer U. S. except Southwest=] A smaller plant, from one to two and a half feet tall, with a slightly hairy stem, ornamented with pretty leaves, green on both sides and hairy along the edges, and hung with pretty, little, dull purplish-pink flowers, more or less streaked with deeper color and less than half an inch long. This grows in the same sort of places as the last and is also found across the continent. * * * * * There are two kinds of Stenanthella; smooth herbs, with bulbs and small nodding flowers, in bracted clusters, the divisions of the perianth separate, without glands or distinct claws; the short stamens inserted at the base of the divisions; the styles three; the capsule with three beaks and containing oblong, winged seeds. [Sidenote: =Stenanthella= _Stenanthélla occidentàlis_ =Brownish Spring, summer Northwest=] This is a graceful plant, from ten to twenty inches tall, with long, rather narrow leaves and a slender stem, terminating in a long spray of about ten, rather pretty, little brownish-green or purplish flowers, each less than half an inch long. This grows in shady places. [Illustration: White Twisted Stalk--Streptopus amplexifolius. Pink Twisted Stalk--Streptopus roseus. Stenanthella occidentalis.] There are several kinds of Camassia, one eastern; herbs with onion-like bulbs, long, narrow leaves and thin, dry bracts. The flowers are blue of various shades, with six, separate, somewhat spreading divisions, each with a stamen on its base, the anthers swinging, the style threadlike, with a three-cleft tip; the capsule three-lobed, with several seeds in each compartment. Varieties of Camassia have long been cultivated in European gardens. The name is derived from Quamash, the Indian name for these plants. * * * * * [Sidenote: =Camass, Quamash= _Camássia quámash_ =Blue Summer Northwest and Utah=] Looking across the vivid green of wet meadows and marshes, the deep blue patches of this flower are often conspicuous and beautiful. They grow from one to over two feet high, taller than the grasslike leaves, forming a loose cluster, with papery bracts. The flowers are from an inch and a half to over two inches across, the six divisions spreading out into a star. The buds are tinged with turquoise-blue and striped with purple, giving a fine iridescent effect, and the flowers, which fade very quickly, are often exceedingly handsome, varying in color from dark-blue to white, but usually deep, bright purplish-blue, with a green ovary, a long purple style and yellow anthers, with purple filaments. They are larger and handsomer in northern California than in Yosemite. Grizzly bears are fond of the bulbs and the Indians of the Northwest prized them as a delicacy, indeed the Nez Percé war in Idaho was caused by encroachments on a territory where they were abundant. They were cooked elaborately in pits, care being taken to avoid the poisonous bulbs of the Death Camass, which resemble them. The Indians also boil the bulbs in water and make good molasses from them, which they use on festive occasions. This is sometimes called Wild Hyacinth, but the name is poor, as it does not resemble a hyacinth in character. [Illustration: Camass--Camassia quamash.] There are six kinds of Clintonia, of North America and Asia; with creeping rootstocks and a few, broad root-leaves; flowers without bracts, their divisions separate, equal or nearly so, each with a stamen at its base; style with two or three, inconspicuous lobes; fruit a berry. These plants were named in honor of De Witt Clinton, Governor of New York, a naturalist, interested in botany, so Thoreau need not have been so annoyed at their having been given this name. [Sidenote: =Red Clintonia= _Clintònia Andrewsiàna_ =Red, pink Spring, summer Oreg., Cal.=] A magnificent plant, one or two feet high, with five or six, exceedingly handsome, glossy, rich green leaves, very conspicuous and sometimes a foot long, and a tall, slightly downy flower-stalk, usually with a few flowers scattered along it, and crowned with a large, roundish cluster of beautiful flowers. They are about three-quarters of an inch long, very rich in color, a deep shade of warm reddish-pink, or crimson, not common in flowers. The form of the cluster varies a good deal; sometimes the flowers are not mostly at the top, but clustered quite thickly along all the upper part of the stalk. The large, deep-blue berries are very handsome and, altogether, this is one of our most conspicuous and attractive woodland plants, especially when growing in the deep shade of redwood forests. [Sidenote: =Queen-cup White Clintonia= _Clintònia uniflòra_ =White Spring Northwest=] In rich moist soil, in shady woods, we find this lovely flower, with a white chalice and heart of pale gold, surrounded by two or three, beautiful, large, glossy leaves, resembling those of Lily-of-the-valley, and fairly carpeting the ground in favorable situations. The slender flower-stalk is hairy, six to ten inches tall, and usually bears a single flower, an inch or more across, with pure-white petals that soon drop off. The fruit is a handsome blue berry. [Illustration: C. uniflora. Red Clintonia--C. Andrewsiana.] There are a good many kinds of Vagnera, natives of America and Asia, with a single stem, scaly below and leafy above; the leaves alternate, with short leaf-stalks or none; the flowers small, the divisions equal and spreading, white or greenish, in a cluster; the berry round, usually with one or two seeds. [Sidenote: =False Solomon's Seal. Wild Spikenard= _Vágnera amplexicàulis (Smilacina)_ =White Spring West=] It is a pity that all flowers cannot have really individual names. "False" is especially unattractive and "Solomon's Seal" is confusing, as the flowers are not alike, but this is the old name used all over the world, so it will have to stand, though unworthy of this pleasing plant. It is from one to three feet high, with large, light-green leaves, usually slightly downy on the under side. The flower-cluster is sweet-scented and composed of numerous, very small, cream-white flowers, the conspicuous parts of which are the stamens, white and larger than the petals, giving a feathery appearance to the whole cluster. The fruit is a light-red berry, very finely sprinkled with dark-red dots. This fine tall plant is very decorative and is common in rich moist woods. The name was given in honor of Wagner. [Sidenote: =Star-flowered Solomon's Seal= _Vágnera sessilifòlia (Smilacina)_ =White Spring West=] A gracefully bending plant, from one to two feet high, springing from a slender root-stock. The bright light-green leaves, without leaf-stalks and clasping at base, have a slight "bloom" like some lily leaves and are handsome and conspicuous, but not at all coarse, and are usually very smooth, but sometimes minutely downy. The small, delicate, cream-white flowers, on a very slender, angled flower-stalk, grow in a loose cluster and the berries are reddish-purple or nearly black. This charming plant sometimes forms large patches in moist, rich soil in shady places and its pretty foliage is often very noticeable beside the railroad tracks in Utah. [Illustration: Star-flowered Solomon's Seal--V. sessilifolia. False Solomon's Seal--Vagnera amplexicaulis.] [Illustration] Fairy Bells are graceful plants, growing in rich, moist, mountain woods, with smoothish, or slightly hairy, branching stems, leafy above and with scaly bracts below, springing from slender root-stocks; leaves netted-veined, alternate, without leaf-stalks, smooth and thin in texture and often clasping the stem; rather small, bell-shaped flowers, hanging from under the leaves, with six stamens and a slender style, with one or three stigmas; the fruit a yellow or red berry. _Disporum_ is from the Greek meaning "double-seed," as in some kinds there are two seeds in each cell of the ovary. [Sidenote: =Fairy Bells Drops of Gold= _Dísporum trachycàrpum (Prosartes)_ =Yellowish-white Spring, summer West=] A very attractive mountain plant, growing near streams. It is from nine to twenty-four inches tall, with an angled stem, pale green above and reddish below. The delicate flowers, about half an inch long, with a three-lobed green stigma and yellow anthers, grow singly or in clusters of two or three, nodding shyly under the pretty leaves, which are dull above and very shiny on the under side, with oddly crumpled edges and set obliquely on the stem. The berry when unripe is orange color and suggested the name Drops of Gold, but becomes bright red when it matures in June. _D. Hookeri_ is similar, but the style is not three-lobed and the leaves are slightly rough to the touch and are not so thin or crumpled. They spread out so flat that they make a green roof over the flowers, completely screening them from the passer-by. This grows in shady woods, but not near streams. [Illustration: Fairy Bells--Disporum trachycarpum. Drops of Gold--Disporum Hookeri.] Perhaps the most characteristic western flowers are the members of the genus Calochortus. They grow freely all through the West, as far north as British America, and down into Mexico, but they never get east of Nebraska, so these gay and graceful flowers may be considered the peculiar property of the West. Calochortus means "beautiful grass" and the leaves are usually grasslike, the stems slender and the flowers bright in color, decorative and interesting in form. They have three sepals, often greenish, and three large, colored petals, with a honey-gland, usually covered with hairs, at the base of each. They are allied to true Tulips, so the popular name is suitable, and they fall into three groups: Globe Tulips, with nodding, globular flowers, and nodding capsules; Star Tulips, with erect, star-like flowers and nodding capsules; and Mariposa Tulips, with large, somewhat cup-shaped flowers and erect capsules. Mariposa means "butterfly" in Spanish and is appropriate, for the brilliant hairy spots on the petals are wonderfully like the markings of a butterfly's wing and the airy blossoms seem to have but just alighted on the tips of their slender stalks. They usually grow on dry open hillsides and their leaves have often withered away before the flowers bloom. The various forms run into each other, so that it is impossible to determine all the different species. They have solid bulbs, some of which are edible, considered a delicacy by the Indians and called Noonas. [Sidenote: =Golden Lily Bell Yellow Globe Tulip= _Calochórtus amàbilis_ =Yellow Spring California=] A charming plant, with pale bluish-green foliage, with a beautiful "bloom," which sets off the clear-yellow blossoms to perfection. There are from two to twenty flowers on each stem and the petals are smooth, except for a neat, stiff fringe of hairs along the margins and the matted hairs on the glands, which are often reddish. These lovely flowers, common in northern California, are peculiarly fresh in color and when growing among the grass in the shade of oak trees they have the springlike charm of Daffodils in English woods. [Illustration: Yellow Globe Tulip--Calochortus amabilis.] [Illustration] [Sidenote: =Satin-bell. White Globe Tulip= _Calochórtus álbus_ =White Spring California=] Beautiful and popular flowers, with a great deal of individuality and quite Japanese in the decorative arrangement of the graceful stems and glossy, rich green foliage. The narrow root-leaf is over a foot long and spreads on the ground and other smaller leaves are disposed along the bending stem, which is from one to two feet tall and hung with pretty light-green buds and beautiful drooping blossoms, over an inch long, pearly white, sometimes tinged with lilac, with a satiny sheen and delicate yet crisp in texture. The papery sepals are greenish-white and the petals are sometimes tinged with purple at the base and are prettily fringed with hairs along the edges and often cross their tips in a very engaging way. They are covered inside with long, silky, white or yellow hairs and the glands are crescent-shaped, with close, short, sticky, white or yellow hairs, and form pale-green humps on the outside of the petals; the anthers are cream-color and the pistil whitish. The capsule is one or two inches long, with a short beak and brown seeds. These plants grow on shady banks in the Coast Ranges and have several pretty common names, such as Lantern of the Fairies and Alabaster Tulip, as well as the misleading name Hairbell, which causes this flower to be confused with the Harebell or Campanula. [Illustration] [Illustration: Satin Bell--Calochortus albus.] [Illustration] [Sidenote: =White Star Tulip= _Calochórtus nùdus_ =White Summer California=] This is a delicate and charming little flower, growing best in meadowy places in the woods of the Sierra Nevada Mountains at moderate altitudes, sometimes to a height of over seven thousand feet. The single, ribbonlike leaf is much taller than the flower-stalk, which is only a few inches high and bears several pretty flowers, measuring over an inch across, with pale-green sepals and three pure-white or pale-lilac, fan-shaped petals, with a little notch in the edge, almost without hairs and marked with a lilac crescent at the base; the honey-gland is divided crosswise by a toothed scale and the anthers are light blue. The nodding capsule is pointed at both ends. [Sidenote: =White Pussy's Ears= _Calochórtus Maweànus_ =White, gray Spring Cal., Oreg.=] A charming little plant, with lovely little flowers, about an inch across, with white or pale-lilac sepals and white petals, hairy all over inside, often lilac at the base, the crescent-shaped gland covered with violet hairs and the anthers and pistil lilac. Usually the general effect is of a most delicate shade of gray and the little blossoms do not droop, but look straight up at one from among the grass. This is common in northern California. [Sidenote: =Yellow Pussy's Ears. Yellow Star Tulip.= _Calochórtus Bénthami_ =Yellow Spring California=] Much like the last in character, from three to seven inches tall, with bluish-green, stiffish leaves and a few quaintly pretty flowers. They are about an inch across, clear light-yellow, with smooth sepals and the petals thickly covered with yellow hairs and sometimes brown at the base. This is common in the Sierra foothills. [Illustration] [Illustration: Star Tulip--Calochortus nudus. Pussy's Ears--C. Maweanus.] [Sidenote: =Butterfly Tulip Mariposa Tulip= _Calochórtus lùteus var. oculàtus_ =Many colors Spring, summer California=] The commonest kind in northern California, found in both the Sierra Nevada and Coast Mountains, and one of the most beautiful of all the Mariposas. The broad petals, each about an inch and a half long, are usually white, lilac, or yellowish, with an "eye" like that on a peacock's feather, giving the name _oculatus_. Occasionally they are deep rose-color, as in the colored picture, though this is not typical, and have a vivid blotch of shaded maroon and crimson and an orange spot on each petal, with some maroon-colored hairs at the base. The sepals are striped with pink and maroon and twist into spirals as they fade; the pistil and the blunt anthers are mauve; the honey-gland narrowly crescent-shaped; the leaves pale-green and the delicate stem over a foot tall. This Mariposa is extremely variable and seems sometimes to merge into _C. venústus_, a similar kind, and gorgeous varieties of both may be seen along the Yosemite road on the down grade to Wawona. There are many similar Mariposas, but the casual flower-lover who finds any of these beautiful flowers will probably be satisfied to know that they are Butterfly Tulips, without going into the technical peculiarities which differentiate them. [Sidenote: =Yellow Mariposa Tulip= _Calochórtus lùteus var. citrìnus_ =Yellow Spring California=] A fine robust plant, about a foot tall, with a stout stem, light, bright green leaves, and exceedingly handsome flowers, over two inches across. The sepals are yellowish, with a black spot and streaks of brown, and the petals are deep lemon-yellow, each with a rich maroon spot near the center and a hairy, brown, crescent-shaped gland below, often flecked with maroon at the margins and base, with cream-colored anthers and a yellowish pistil. This is very much like a Tulip in character and looks very gay and cheerful growing in green fields. The typical _C. luteus_ is similar, but smaller and duller in color. [Illustration: Butterfly Tulip--Calochortus luteus. var. oculatu.] [Illustration: Yellow Mariposa Tulip--Calochortus luteus var. citrinus.] [Sidenote: =Orange Mariposa Tulip= _Calochórtus Kénnedyi_ =Orange-red Spring Cal., Ariz.=] A wonderful flower, exceedingly brilliant and unusual in color, not quite like anything else in nature. The stout, firm stem is from two inches to over a foot tall and the leaves are dark-green, with a delicate bluish "bloom." The flowers are about two inches across, with pale-green sepals, bordered with pale-pink and orange inside, and beautiful petals, thick in texture and easily bruised, delicate peach-color outside and bright orange-vermilion within, each petal ornamented with a purplish gland, covered with matted hairs and crossed with a band of long vermilion hairs. When the stems are very short the flaming flowers look like Crocuses, sprouting out of the barren desert soil, but when they are tall they have the gorgeous effect of Tulips. These plants grow in the Mohave Desert, but are rather rare in California. They are very abundant in the foothills and on the mountain slopes of Arizona, giving a beautiful orange-red color to the landscape for miles in spring, there being literally thousands in a small area. [Sidenote: =Sego Lily Mariposa Tulip= _Calochórtus Nuttállii_ =White, pale lilac Early summer Ariz., Cal., Utah=] These pretty flowers are about two inches across, their white petals tinged with yellowish-green or lilac, and often delicately fluted at the edges, often with hairy spots inside the petals at their base, the whole flower very variable in coloring. These Mariposas grow all through the Southwest. In the Grand Canyon they begin to come out early in May, among the dry grasses halfway down the Bright Angel trail, and are a lovely shade of clear lilac. The slender stem, about a foot tall, often bears a small bulb near the base. It is called Sego Lily (pronounced Sègo) in Utah and is the "State flower." Its bulbs formed a substantial part of the food of the early Mormon pioneers when they crossed the desert and the flower is therefore held in great esteem in Utah. [Illustration: Sego Lily--Calochortus Nuttallii.] IRIS FAMILY. _Iridaceae._ A large family, widely distributed and found throughout our continent. Perennial herbs, with bracts; the leaves long, narrow, toothless, and sheathing; the flowers showy, perfect and regular, twisted in the bud, not falling off in withering, of three and six parts; the three stamens on the base of the sepals, their anthers turning outward; the single style with three branches; the ovary inferior, becoming a three-celled, usually three-angled, many-seeded capsule. This family is noticeably distinguished from the Lily family by the inferior ovary, and from the Amaryllis family by the three stamens. There are many kinds of Iris. To the casual observer the flowers appear to have nine petals of different sizes, but in reality there are three sepals, three petals, and three petal-like branches of the style. The three outer divisions, or sepals, are large and spread or turn down; the three inner divisions, or petals, are usually narrower and are erect; the style branches arch over and under each is a stamen. The sepals and petals have claws, which are united below and form a tube; the capsule is large and contains many, flat, black seeds, in one or two rows in each cell; the large rootstock is usually fleshy. Iris is from the Greek for "rainbow," in allusion to the variegated tints, and Flower-de-luce from the French "fleur-de-lis," or "lily-flower." Many odd and beautiful kinds are cultivated from the Old World. Orris-root is made from the roots of a Florentine species. [Sidenote: =Western Blue Flag= _Ìris Missouriénsis_ =Violet, blue Spring, summer West, except Wash, and Oreg.=] A very handsome and decorative plant, growing in large clumps, in damp situations, from stout, creeping rootstocks. The stiff, sword-shaped leaves, mostly shorter than the stems, are smooth and light bluish-green and the stout stems, from one to two feet high, bear usually two, pale-violet flowers, about three inches long, emerging from thin, papery bracts. The sepals are white, or pale blue, delicately veined with violet, with a yellow-veined rib down the middle, the petals are pale blue or pale violet, veined with purple, and the buds are yellowish, veined with brown. This grows in profusion in the Yosemite meadows, at the foot of El Capitan, and is delicately beautiful, but would be more effective if the coloring were a little stronger. [Illustration: Western Blue Flag-Iris Missouriensis.] [Sidenote: =Douglas Iris= _Ìris Douglasiàna_ =Purple, lilac, cream Spring, summer Cal., Oreg.=] A beautiful kind, very common in the Coast Ranges. It grows in patches, or singly, and has rather dark green leaves, longer than the flower-stalks, and lovely flowers, which vary exceedingly in color. Near the coast they are usually bluish-purple, but in mountain woods they run from violet and mauve to pink, yellow, and white. They are often striped with white and yellow, delicately veined with purple, and measure three or four inches across. In the redwood forests, in northern California, they are peculiarly large and beautiful, their delicate tints of cream and straw-color, tinged with mauve and marked with reddish-purple, and wonderfully set off by their dark forest background. This kind often blooms throughout the rainy season, but chiefly in early spring. [Sidenote: =Hartweg's Iris= _Ìris Hartwégi_ =Yellow and violet Summer California=] This odd and pretty little Iris grows in half-dry, open forests, in the Sierra Nevada Mountains. The many flower-stems, from six to twelve inches tall, are overtopped by some of the long, narrow leaves and the flowers are from one and a half to two inches long, either yellow, veined with violet, or pale-violet, veined with purple. The two color forms often grow together and attract much attention from tourists. They look very pretty, springing from a carpet of fallen pine-needles, in the forests along the Wawona road near Yosemite. [Sidenote: =Ground Iris= _Ìris macrosìphon_ =Blue, purple Spring, winter California=] A beautiful kind, forming low clumps of many, very narrow leaves, from five to twenty inches long and much taller than the flower-stalks. The handsome flowers are over three inches across, bright purplish-blue, the sepals veined with darker color and marked with a white stripe. This is common on grassy hills near the coast and farther inland becomes taller and paler in color. The flowers are slightly sweet-scented and begin to bloom in January. The Hupa Indians used the leaves for making twine and rope for their nets and snares. There are many other beautiful western Irises. [Illustration: Iris Douglasiana.] There are numerous kinds of Sisyrinchium, attractive little plants, all American, many from South America; with fibrous roots; grasslike leaves; slender, flat stems, sometimes branching; papery and green bracts and pretty flowers, that soon wither, on very slender pedicels, the six spreading divisions all alike; the filaments of the stamens united; the style branches slender, the capsule roundish, containing round seeds. [Sidenote: =Blue-Eyed Grass= _Sisyrínchium béllum_ =Blue Summer Cal., Oreg.=] The deep blue stars of this pretty plant are a beautiful feature of the fields near Santa Barbara, and in other parts of California, in summer; in fact they are so plentiful in some places that they are a menace to the farmers. They grow in clumps, about a foot tall, among the grass. The stems are somewhat branching, the leaves are shorter than the stem, and the bracts are about an inch long, green and sheathing. There are about seven flowers on each stem, in a loose cluster, each about an inch across and handsomer than their relations in the East. They vary in tint from bright blue to purple, with a yellow "eye," and their divisions are prettily notched at the tips, with a little prong. The anthers are arrow-shaped, the style short, with three very small stigmas, and the small, oddly-shaped, little capsule is dark-brown when ripe, and perhaps suggested one of the common names, Nigger-babies. It is called Azulea and Villela by Spanish-Californians. [Sidenote: =Golden-Eyed Grass= _Sisyrínchium Califórnicum_ =Yellow Spring, summer Cal., Oreg.=] This is very much like Blue-eyed Grass, but the flowers are bright yellow, the stems are about a foot tall, broadly winged and not branching, and the leaves are somewhat broader. The pretty flowers are nearly an inch across and there are from three to seven in a cluster. The filaments are united at the base only, the style is cleft to below the middle, and the small capsule is rather oblong. This grows in swampy places near the ocean. _S. Arizònicum_ has yellow flowers and branching stems and grows in Arizona. _S. Élmeri_ also has yellow flowers, with purple lines, and is found in wet places in the Sierras. When pressed and dried the yellow-flowered Sisyrinchiums stain the paper reddish-purple. [Illustration: Blue-eyed Grass--Sisyrinchium bellum.] ORCHID FAMILY. _Orchidaceae._ A very large family, most abundant in the tropics; curious plants, with oddly beautiful flowers. Perhaps because they are also rather rare they seem to have a peculiar fascination for the public; in fact almost any strangely-shaped flower is apt to be dubbed an orchid by the passer-by. They are perennial herbs, with various kinds of roots, some of them parasitic, usually with alternate, toothless leaves, the lower ones sheathing the stem. In some kinds the leaves have dwindled to scales. The flowers are perfect, irregular, with six divisions; the three sepals are alike and colored like petals; two of the three petals are alike, but the central one differs in size and shape and is called the lip. This is conspicuously colored, often spurred, and contains nectar for the attraction of "long-tongued" insects, on which these plants depend mostly for cross-pollination. The mechanism for this purpose is curious and interesting. The stigma is usually a broad sticky surface and its style is united with the filaments and forms, in front of the lip, a column which is usually capped by a single two-celled anther, containing two clusters of pollen, one in each cell. Each cluster consists of a few waxy grains, held together by cobweb-like threads, which run together and terminate in a sticky disk. These disks adhere to the insects, which push in to get the nectar, and are transported to the gummy stigma of another flower. The inferior ovary develops into a three-valved capsule, containing numerous minute seeds. Orchis is the ancient Greek name. There is only one kind of Cephalanthera in North America; with creeping rootstocks; flowers in terminal spikes, with bracts; sepals and petals nearly equal; petals somewhat united and hooded; lip more or less pouched. [Sidenote: =Phantom Orchis= _Cephalanthèra Austínae_ =White Summer Northwest=] In dense mountain forests these strange plants shimmer like pallid ghosts among the dark trees. They are pure translucent white throughout, stem and all, and the leaves have shrunk to white sheaths, an inch or two long. The stems are one to two feet tall and bear spikes of numerous flowers, each over half an inch long, with the lip shorter than the sepals and petals, which are alike. They are beautiful and yet not quite pleasing, for we feel instinctively that there is something unnatural about them and, indeed, the strange absence of any green coloring matter in their make-up indicates that they are incapable of making their own food from the elements and draw their nourishment from decaying vegetation, or are parasitic on other plants. They range northward from Yosemite but are nowhere very abundant. I found several growing near the trail from Little Yosemite Valley to Cloud's Rest and a good many in the woods near the foot of Mt. Shasta, where they seem to be quite common. [Illustration: Phantom Orchis--Cephalanthera Austinae.] There are several kinds of Serapias, widely distributed; tall, stout herbs, with creeping rootstocks and leafy stems; the leaves plaited lengthwise and clasping at base; the flowers with leafy bracts, in terminal racemes. The flowers have no spur; the sepals and petals are separate and nearly equal; the lip broad, free, concave below, constricted near the middle. [Sidenote: =Stream Orchis Chatter-box= _Seràpias gigantèa (Epipactis)_ =Reddish and greenish-yellow Summer West, etc.=] A handsome plant, decorative and curious in form and unusual in coloring. It is from one to four feet tall, with a stout, leafy stem bearing three to ten flowers and smoothish leaves, with prominent veins. The sepals are reddish or greenish-yellow and the petals pinkish, veined with maroon. The lip is pouched at the base, with a winged margin and a pendulous tip, which swings freely as if on a hinge, so that it quivers when the plant is shaken. Although the flowers are very handsome this curious tremulous motion, which makes them seem almost alive, gives them a quaint likeness to an old woman in a sunbonnet, with a hooked nose and chattering jaw. They have a slight scent and the plant is quite common along streams and in wet places, in the West and in Colorado and Texas. Some botanists think it is identical with a variety which grows in the Himalaya Mountains. It was named for the Egyptian deity, Serapis. [Illustration: Stream Orchis--Serapias gigantea.] There are several kinds of Corallorrhiza, widely distributed in the north temperate zone and growing in dense woods; pinkish or straw-colored plants, more or less parasitic, with large roots resembling branches of coral; the leaves all reduced to sheathing, papery scales; the flowers in terminal racemes, without bracts, on short pedicels, which turn down in fruit, mostly with a short spur, the sepals and petals about equal, the upper ones curving in. [Sidenote: =Coral-root= _Corallorrhìza multiflòra_ =Reddish-yellow Summer Wash., Oreg., Cal., Utah=] The curious knobby rootstock, shaped like a bit of coral, gives the name to this strange and rather unwholesome looking plant. From living on decayed vegetation it has lost its green leaves, and has only a few papery sheaths in their place, and the thick, translucent stem is pale and smooth, from one to two feet tall, pink at the base, shading to golden-brown towards the top. The flowers, less than half an inch across, are usually yellow, with reddish-brown tips, and the white, three-lobed lip is spotted with purple. The buds are yellow and brown and the whole color effect is very pretty, as if the plant were trying to match the russet tints of the floor of the forest. The flowers vary from several to many and grow in a long cluster, hanging down when their seeds begin to ripen. This is widely distributed, growing also in the East, but nowhere common. [Sidenote: =Coral-root= _Corallorrhìza Bigelòwii_ =Reddish-yellow Summer Wash., Oreg., Cal., Utah=] This is a similar plant, but handsomer, with much larger flowers, duller in coloring and striped not spotted. Instead of a spur the base of the sepals is swollen over the ovary, which develops gradually into an oblong fruit to which the flower still clings, so that the older flowers, on the lower part of the stalk, give an odd effect of having long, swollen necks. The seeds are small and numerous. There are other kinds, similar in general effect. [Illustration: Flowers of C. Bigelowii. Coral-root--Corallorrhiza multiflora.] There are numerous kinds of Limnorchis; the lower leaves clasping or sheathing the stem; the flowers mostly in spikes or racemes; sepals nearly equal, petals mostly smaller than the sepals; lip spreading or drooping, not toothed or lobed, with a spur. The Latin name means "marsh-dweller." [Sidenote: =Sierra Rein Orchis= _Limnórchis leucostàchys_ (_Habenaria_) =White Summer Cal., Oreg., Wash.=] Often in some favorable corner of a marsh, near the woods, we may see a dozen of these lovely plants, their robust leafy stalks sometimes as much as four feet tall, rearing their delicate spires of bloom above the lush grass. The long narrow leaves are bright-green and smooth and the numerous, small, delicate blossoms, sprinkled thickly along the stem, are pure white, each with a very long spur like a little tail, each with a green bract at the base of its little pedicel, and deliciously fragrant. There are several similar kinds, mostly with green flowers; this is the handsomest and least rare. There are many kinds of Cypripedium, with large, broad leaves and one or several, large, drooping flowers, with two fertile anthers, with short filaments, one on each side of the column below the stigma, and a conspicuous, petal-like, sterile anther, arching over the stigma. They are easily known by the curious lip, which is a large inflated sac, suggesting both the common names, Lady's Slipper and Indian Moccasin, and the Greek, meaning "foot of Venus." [Sidenote: =Mountain Lady's Slipper= _Cypripèdium montànum_ =Brown and white Summer Northwest=] Beautiful and decorative, with a stout, hairy stem, one to two feet tall and a few handsome flowers, rich and harmonious though not brilliant in coloring, with a lip about an inch long, dull-white, veined with purple, and brownish or purplish sepals and petals, very long, narrow, and twisted. This grows in mountain woods and is found around Yosemite. There is a picture in Miss Parsons's _Wild Flowers of California_. _C. Califórnicum_ is similar, but with more flowers, the sepals and petals greenish-yellow, the lip pinkish. _C. parviflòrum_ has a yellow lip and purplish sepals and grows in northern woods, across the continent. None of these plants is common. [Illustration: Sierra Rein Orchis--Limnorchis leucostachys.] [Illustration] LIZARD-TAIL. _Saururaceae._ A small family; ours are perennial astringent herbs, with alternate, toothless leaves, with leaf-stalks; flowers perfect, with bracts, in a dense, terminal spike, without calyx or corolla; stamens generally three or six; ovary with one to five stigmas; fruit a capsule or berry. There are two kinds of Anemopsis. [Sidenote: =Yerba Mansa= _Anemópsis Califórnica_ =White Spring Cal., Ariz.=] This plant bears several, large, cream-white flowers, which at the first glance appear to have from five to eight petals and a long, projecting knob in the center, but what appears to be a corolla is in reality an involucre, about an inch and a half across, and surrounding the base of a long, conical spike of numerous, small, greenish flowers. These are half-sunk in the fleshy substance of the spike and have no sepals or petals, but each has a small, white bract at its base, so that the spike appears to be covered with scales symmetrically arranged. The flower has from six to eight stamens on the base of the ovary and from three to four stigmas. The ovaries, which are superior, form small pods, opening at the top when ripe, so that in the end the spike is neatly pitted with holes. The rather thick, hollow, reddish stems are from six inches to two feet tall, covered with hair, and the smooth, light-green leaves, from two to ten inches long, are mostly from the root, with leaf-stalks which broaden at the base and partly sheathe the stem. The creeping rootstocks are peppery and acrid, used medicinally, and considered exceedingly valuable by Spanish-Californians. These pretty, odd-looking plants grow in alkaline or salty swamps in the south. The name is from the Greek meaning "anemone" and "appearance," but the flowers do not look very much like Anemones. [Illustration] [Illustration: Yerba mansa--Anemopsis Californica.] [Illustration] SANDALWOOD FAMILY. _Santalaceae._ This is a very small family in this country, for they prefer the tropics, and in those regions some are trees. Ours are usually parasitic on the roots of their neighbors. They have toothless, mostly alternate leaves, mostly without leaf-stalks or stipules, and small flowers, with a four- or five-lobed calyx and no corolla. The four or five stamens are opposite the calyx lobes, at the edge of a fleshy disk, and the ovary is one-celled and inferior, with one style, developing into a one-seeded fruit. There are four kinds of Comandra, one of them European; smooth, perennial herbs, with alternate leaves, and flowers in clusters, without bracts. The calyx is more or less bell-shaped, usually with five lobes, its tube lined with a disk, the stamens inserted at base of the lobes and the anthers attached to the lobes by tufts of hairs. [Sidenote: =Pale Comandra= _Comándra pállida_ =Flesh-color, greenish, purplish Spring, summer Northwest, Nev., Utah, Ariz.=] This is a rather pretty plant, growing from a few inches to about a foot tall, branching and rather woody below, with pale-green, smooth, slightly thickish, rather stiff leaves, which are reduced to pinkish scales on the lower stem. The flowers are small, usually flesh-color, thickish in texture, with slender pedicels, and form terminal, rather flat-topped clusters. The fruit, which is about the size of a small pea, is crowned by the remains of the calyx, like a rose-hip. This is common on dry plains and hillsides and is noticeable because of its pale and somewhat peculiar coloring. [Illustration] [Illustration: Pale Comandra--C. pallida.] [Illustration] BIRTHWORT FAMILY. _Aristolochiaceae_ A rather small family, chiefly of warm countries, but widely distributed; herbs or shrubs; the leaves alternate or from the root, with leaf-stalks, more or less heart-shaped, without stipules; the flowers perfect, mostly large, symmetrical or irregular in form, with or without a corolla; the calyx with three or six lobes, or irregular; the stamens six to many, inserted on the pistil; the ovary wholly or partly inferior; the fruit a mostly six-celled capsule, containing many seeds. There are several kinds of Asarum. [Sidenote: =Wild Ginger= _Ásarum Hartwégi_ =Brown Spring Cal., Oreg.=] The handsome leaves of this perennial are its conspicuous feature. They have long, hairy leaf-stalks and are heart-shaped and toothless, from three to five inches broad, dark rich green, prettily veined and often also beautifully mottled with white, smooth on the upper surface and hairy on the under. We notice them immediately in the damp, dark woods they live in, but unless we look carefully we miss the single, large, strange, purplish-brown flower, the color of dead leaves, which nestles close to the ground as if trying to hide itself. This has twelve stamens, with stout filaments, and six styles, united at the base. There are no petals, but the hairy calyx has three lobes, which are sometimes an inch and a half long, and have long points like tails. The seed-vessel is roundish, crowned by the withered calyx and stamens. The rootstock cannot be used as a substitute for ginger, but smells and tastes very aromatic and pungent. This resembles the Wild Ginger of the East, but is handsomer. [Illustration] [Illustration: Wild Ginger--Asarum Hartwegi.] BUCKWHEAT FAMILY. _Polygonaceae._ A large family, widely distributed, mostly herbs or low shrubs, with toothless leaves, often with stipules sheathing the swollen joints of the stem. The small flowers have no petals, the calyx usually resembles a corolla and has from three to six divisions. There are from four to nine stamens and a superior, mostly triangular, ovary, with two or three styles or stigmas, becoming a dry, one-seeded fruit, generally brown or black. The kind from which flour is made is cultivated from northern Asia, and the name Buckwheat, from the German, means "beech-wheat," because the grain resembles minute beech-nuts. There are several common "weeds" belonging to this family, such as Dock, Sorrel, and Smartweed. Chorizanthes are low herbs, with branching stems, without stipules, the leaves forming a rosette at the base and withering early. The small flowers have six sepals and are clustered in small heads, usually one flower in each papery involucre, which has from two to six teeth, with bristles at the tips; stamens usually nine, on the base of the perianth; styles three, with round-top stigmas. [Sidenote: =Turkish Rugging= _Chorizánthe fimbriàta_ =Pink Spring California=] An odd, dry-looking plant, making pretty patches of purplish color on dry mesas. The stiff, roughish, purplish stem is a few inches tall, springing from a few dull-green or reddish root-leaves, branching abruptly and widely towards the top and bearing many small flowers. The involucres are deep-red or purple, with very prickly teeth, the sepals bright-pink, prettily fringed with white and striped with deeper color, and the filaments are long and threadlike, with purple anthers. The flowers are exceedingly pretty when closely examined, though too small to be very effective, but the plant as a whole is conspicuous both in color and form. _C. staticoìdes_ is similar, but the sepals are not fringed. [Illustration: Turkish Rugging--Chorizanthe fimbriata.] [Illustration] There are many kinds of Rumex, or Dock, coarse herbs, with leafy, branching, grooved stems, sheathed with conspicuous, papery stipules, strong tap-roots and acid or bitter juice. The large leaves are alternate, with smooth or wavy edges; the flowers small, greenish or reddish, on jointed pedicels, in branching clusters; the stamens six; the styles three, the stigmas shield-shaped, with a tuft of hairs at the tip. The six divisions of the flower are in two sets, the three outer small and green, the inner ones larger, colored and becoming veiny and larger in fruit, forming valves or wings, (often with a grain on the back of one or all of them,) which closely cover the three-sided fruit. These wings make the fruits of Docks more conspicuous than the flower. The Latin name comes from a word meaning "to suck," because the Romans sucked the leaves to allay thirst. [Sidenote: =Sand Dock= _Rùmex venòsus_ =Greenish Spring, summer West=] In favorable situations this is a very handsome member of a rather plain genus, about a foot tall, with a smooth, stout reddish stem and smooth, pale, blue-green leaves, that feel like thin rubber, with a prominent mid-vein front and back. The small inconspicuous flowers develop into clusters of showy valves or wings, wonderfully odd and beautiful in coloring, resembling Begonia flowers. At first these wings are pale green, but they gradually brighten until they are all shades of salmon, rose-color, and red, fading to brown, and forming lovely combinations of vivid color, particularly against the arid background of the sand hills they frequent, and they last a long time in water and are exceedingly decorative. If these wings, which are nearly an inch across, are pulled apart, a three-sided akene, like a little nut, will be found inside them. [Illustration] [Illustration: Sand Dock--Rumex venosus.] [Illustration] There are many kinds of Eriogonum, herbs or shrubs, natives of America, mostly western, growing in dry places, very numerous and difficult to distinguish. The leaves, without sheaths or stipules, are often covered with white down and usually grow in a spreading cluster at the base of the stem. The numerous small flowers, on very slender little pedicels, have six sepals, thin in texture and usually colored, and form clusters of various shapes, which emerge from more or less bell-shaped or top-shaped involucres, with six teeth. There are nine stamens, with threadlike filaments, often hairy, and a three-parted style with round-top stigmas. The name is from the Greek meaning "wooly knees," in allusion to the wooly joints of the stem. [Sidenote: =Bottle-plant= _Eriógonum inflàtum_ =Yellow Spring Southwest=] This is a most extraordinary looking plant, with queer inflated, hollow stalks, about two feet high, swelling larger towards the top, and the branches, which are also swollen, sticking out awkwardly in all directions and bearing a few minute, yellow flowers. The stalks, which are pale bluish-green, suggest some strange sort of reed, but the dark-green leaves, growing in a rosette at the base, are something like the leaves of cultivated violets and seem entirely out of keeping with the rest of the plant. This grows on the plateau in the Grand Canyon and in similar places. [Sidenote: =Swollen-stalk= _Eriógonum elàtum_ =White, pink Summer Northwest=] This is about a foot and a half tall and the stem is swollen, but not so much so as the last, and the flowers are more conspicuous, forming rather flat-topped clusters, about three-quarters of an inch across. The tiny flowers are cream-white or pinkish, the buds are deep-pink, and the stamens are long, with tiny, pinkish anthers. The leaves are dull-green on the upper side and pale with close down on the under and grow in a cluster at the base. [Illustration] [Illustration: Swollen-stalk--E. elatum. Bottle-plant--Eriogonum inflatum.] [Illustration] [Sidenote: =Butter Balls, Snow Balls= _Eriógonum orthocàulon_ =Yellow, white Spring, summer Northwest=] These are attractive plants, with pretty odd little balls of flowers, and are very conspicuous on dry, rocky mesas. They have a number of slender, pale, downy stems, about ten inches tall, springing from a close clump of small, dull-green leaves, pale with down on both sides and the smaller ones almost white, and bearing at the tip a dense flower-cluster, about an inch and a half across, which is very fuzzy and pretty. The little flowers have cream-color, downy involucres, the outer sepals are broader than the inner, and the pedicels, stamens, and pistil are all the same color as the sepals, either very bright sulphur-yellow or cream-white, but not mixed on the same plant, and sometimes tinged with red. These flowers are very popular with children in Idaho and they make necklaces of the fuzzy balls, something like "daisy chains." [Sidenote: _Eriógonum compósitum_ =White, yellow Summer Northwest=] This is a big handsome plant, with a thick, smooth stem, one or two feet tall and woody at base, and with thickish leaves, slightly downy, dark green in color on the upper side and white with close down on the under. The flowers form feathery, cream-white or yellow clusters, often more than six inches across, with red buds, and are beautiful and conspicuous on bare mountainsides, smelling of honey. [Illustration] [Illustration: Butter Balls--Eriogonum orthocaulon.] [Illustration: Eriogonum compositum.] [Illustration] [Sidenote: =Buckwheat Bush, Flat-top= _Eriógonum fasciculàtum_ =White Spring, summer Southwest=] In favorable situations this is an attractive shrub, from two to four feet high, with shreddy, reddish bark and long, straight branches, standing stiffly up and crowded with small, thickish, stiffish leaves, dark olive-green on the upper side and pale with down on the under, with rolled-back margins. The flowers are about three-eighths of an inch across, dull-white or pinkish, with pink buds, forming large, feathery, flat-topped clusters, on long, stiff, bare, reddish flower-stalks, standing up stiffly all over the bush. This is a very valuable bee-plant and grows on mesas and mountain slopes. [Sidenote: =Sulphur Flower= _Eriógonum Bàkeri_ =Yellow, Summer Ariz., Utah, New Mex., Col., Wyo.=] This plant is quite pretty and conspicuous, as the flowers are bright in color and a peculiar shade of sulphur yellow. The stem is downy and often reddish, about a foot tall, with two or three branches at the top, each bearing a cluster of numerous small sweet-scented flowers with pretty stamens. The gray-green leaves grow mostly in a rosette on the ground and are covered with close white down on the under side. Their soft tints tone in well with the bright color of the flowers and the pale sandy soil in which they grow. _E. flàvum_ is similar and widely distributed. _E. incànum_ is the same color but much smaller, often tinged with red, the gray leaves forming a dense velvety mat, and it grows at high altitudes, in sandy spots on rocks, and is found around the Yosemite Valley. The alpine form is very small. There are several other kinds of Sulphur Flower. [Illustration] [Illustration: Sulphur Flower--E. Bakeri. Buckwheat Bush--Eriogonum fasciculatum.] [Sidenote: =Wild Buckwheat= _Eriógonum racemòsum_ =Pink, white Summer Ariz., Utah=] A pretty desert variety of Wild Buckwheat. The pale downy stem is from one to two feet tall, rather stout, with two or three erect branches at the top, and the leaves are all from the base, gray-green in color and covered with close white down on the under side. The small white and pink flowers are clustered along the branches in small heads, with reddish involucres, forming a spike about three inches long. The whole effect of the plant is curiously pale, but quite pretty. It grows plentifully on the rim of the Grand Canyon. There are many kinds of Polygonum, East and West, many of them insignificant, some aquatic, some woody at base, with alternate leaves, and sheathing stipules; the sepals four or five; the stamens five to nine; the style with two or three branches and round-top stigmas. The name is from the Greek, meaning "many knees," in allusion to the swollen joints of some kinds. [Sidenote: =Knot-weed Alpine Smartweed= _Polýgonum bistortoìdes_ =White Summer West=] This is about two feet tall, very pretty and rather conspicuous, and the general effect of the smooth stem and sheathing, green leaves is somewhat grasslike. The flowers, which are small and cream-white, with pretty stamens and pinkish bracts, grow in close, roundish, pointed heads, an inch or two long, at the tips of the stalks. The buds are pink and the heads in which the flowers have not yet come out look as if they were made of pink beads. This is an attractive plant, growing among the tall grasses in mountain meadows, and smells deliciously of honey. PIGWEED FAMILY. _Chenopodiaceae._ A large family, widely distributed, growing usually in salty or alkaline soil; herbs or shrubs, generally succulent and salty or bitter, often covered with white scurf or meal, without stipules; leaves thick, usually alternate, sometimes none; flowers perfect or imperfect, small, greenish, without petals; calyx with two to five sepals, rarely with only one, pistillate flowers sometimes with no calyx; stamens as many as the sepals, or fewer, and opposite them; ovary mostly superior with one to three styles or stigmas; fruit small, dry, with one seed, sometimes with a bladder-like covering. Spinach and Beets belong to this family; many are "weeds," such as Lamb's Quarters. [Illustration: Wild Buckwheat--Eriogonum racemosum. Alpine Smartweed--Polygonum bistortoides.] There are two kinds of Grayia, named after Asa Gray; low shrubs; the stamens and pistils in separate flowers, on the same or on different plants. [Sidenote: =Hop Sage= _Gràyia spinòsa_ (_G. polygaloides_) =Greenish, with red bracts Spring Calif., Nev., Utah, Ariz.=] An odd and beautiful desert shrub, about three feet high, very dense in form, with interlacing, angular, gray branches, spiny and crowded with small, alternate, toothless leaves, pale-green and thickish, but not stiff. The flowers are small and inconspicuous, but the pistillate ones are enveloped in conspicuous bracts, which enlarge and become papery in fruit, something like those of Docks, and often change from yellowish-green to all sorts of beautiful, bright, warm tints of pink, or to magenta, and the branches become loaded with beautifully shaded bunches of these curious seed-vessels, giving a strange, crowded look to the shrub, which in favorable situations, such as the Mohave Desert, makes splendid masses of color, especially when contrasted with the pale gray of Sage-brush. There is only one kind of Cycloloma; leaves alternate, smooth or downy, irregularly toothed; flowers perfect or pistillate, with five sepals, five stamens, and two or three styles; fruit winged horizontally. [Sidenote: =Tumbleweed= _Cyclolòma atriplicifòlium_ =Purple or green Summer West of Mississippi River=] Very curious round plants, six to twenty inches high, usually purple all over, sometimes green and rarely white, giving a brilliant effect in the fall to the sandy wastes they inhabit. They are a mass of interlacing branches, with hardly any leaves, except at the base, and very small flowers. When their seeds are ripe, and they are dry and brittle, the wind easily uproots them and starts them careening across the plain, their seeds flying out by the way. They turn over and over and leap along, as if they were alive, bringing up at last against a wire fence, or some such obstacle, where perhaps a traveler sees them from the train and wonders at the extraordinary-looking, dry, round bunches. There are other Tumble-weeds, such as Tumbling Mustard, _Sisymbrium allissimum_, and _Amaránthus álbus_, not of this family. [Illustration: Hop Sage--Grayia polygaloides.] FOUR-O'CLOCK FAMILY. _Nyctaginaceae._ A rather large family, widely distributed, most abundant in America. Ours are herbs, often succulent, with no stipules; stems often fragile, swollen at the joints; leaves opposite, usually toothless, often unequal; flowers perfect, with no petals, but the calyx colored like a corolla, with four or five lobes or teeth, and more or less funnel-shaped; one or several flowers in a cluster with an involucre; stamens three to five, with slender filaments; style one, with a round-top stigma; the green base of the calyx drawn down around the ovary, making it appear inferior, and hardening into a nutlike fruit; seeds sometimes winged. Quamoclidions have the odd habit of opening in the afternoon, hence the common name, Four-o'clock. The flowers usually have five stamens, and are grouped several together in a cluster, which emerges from an involucre so much resembling a calyx that it is often mistaken for one. The effect is of the flowers having clubbed together and made one calyx do for the lot. The fruit is hard, smooth, and roundish. [Sidenote: =Four-o'clock= _Quamoclídion multiflòrum._ (_Mirabilis_) =Pink, purple Spring Southwest and Col.=] The leaves of this low, stout, and spreading perennial are an inch or two long, light bluish-green, somewhat heart-shaped, rather rough and coarse, and the stems are often hairy and sticky. The foliage contrasts strikingly in color with the gaudy pink or magenta flowers, an inch across and slightly sweet-scented, the shape of Morning-glories and resembling them, as they have the same stripes of deeper color. The long stamens droop to one side, the pistil is long and purple and the bell-shaped involucre contains about six flowers. These plants are conspicuous and quite handsome. They grow on the plateau in the Grand Canyon. There are several kinds of Hesperonia, much like Quamoclidion, but the bell-shaped involucre contains only one flower, which is also bell-shaped, usually with five separate stamens. The fruit is roundish, not angled or ribbed, usually smooth. [Illustration: Four o'clock--Quamoclidion multiflorum.] [Sidenote: =California Four-o'clock= _Hesperònia Califórnica_ (_Mirabilis_) =Magenta, pink Spring, summer California=] This is very common in southern California and forms quite large, low clumps of rather yellowish green, sticky and hairy foliage, sprinkled with numbers of bright little flowers, opening in the afternoon. The base is woody and the weak, hairy stems are supported on bushes, as if climbing over them. The leaves are rather thick, about an inch long, and the flowers are open bell-shaped, about three-quarters of an inch across, usually magenta, but often pink of various shades, sometimes quite pale in tint with long stamens drooping to one side, and the involucre is often purplish and very hairy and sticky. The effect at a distance is gay and attractive, though the plant is not quite so pretty close by. [Sidenote: _Hesperònia glutinòsa var. grácilis_ =White, pinkish Spring Arizona=] This has a straggling, hairy, sticky stem, over a foot long, and thickish, dull-green leaves, hairy and sticky. The flowers are about half an inch long, white or tinged with pink, and are rather delicate and pretty, though the plant is not especially attractive. It blooms at night, the flowers gradually closing with the morning sun. This variety is common in the southern part of the state, in mountain canyons, and _Hesperonia glutinosa_ is common in the north. There are several kinds of Abronia, all American, with branching, usually sticky-hairy stems, thick, toothless leaves, with leaf-stalks, in pairs and one of each pair somewhat larger than the other. The flowers are more or less salver-form, with five lobes, a threadlike style, and from three to five, unequal stamens, on the tube of the perianth and not protruding from it. They are numerous and in clusters, with involucres, on long flower-stalks, from the angles of the leaves. The fruit is winged. The name is from the Greek meaning graceful, but most of these plants are rather awkward in their manner of growth. [Illustration: Hesperonia glutinosa var. gracilis. California Four o'clock--H. Californica.] [Sidenote: =Sand Puffs= _Abrònia sálsa_ =White Spring, summer, Autumn Utah=] This plant is, as a whole, so delicately tinted and so decorative in form, that it is most attractive, particularly against the sandy soil where it grows, deserving the Greek name more than some of its slightly awkward sisters. It is about fourteen inches tall, with a stoutish, rather straggling, prostrate stem, which is pale, pinkish, sticky and fuzzy. The leaves have long leaf-stalks and are pale bluish-green, leathery and smooth, but fuzzy on the mid-vein of the under side, and the flowers are numerous, rather small, in handsome roundish clusters, which are about two inches across, with a papery, pinkish or yellowish involucre, of about five, separate, rounded bracts. The calyx is corolla-like and salver-form, with a long, yellowish or greenish tube and five lobes, prettily crinkled at the edges. The seed-vessel is very curious, resembling a round, yellowish sponge, with hooks sticking out of it, and the flowers are deliciously sweet-scented. This is sometimes called Snowball. [Sidenote: =Pink Sand-Verbena= _Abrònia villòsa_ =Pinkish-lilac Summer Ariz., Cal., Utah=] The coloring of this plant, one of the prettiest of its kind, is striking and unusual, and makes it very conspicuous, growing in the sand near the sea or in the desert. The thickish leaves are light bluish-green and the thick stem, which straggles rather awkwardly over the ground, is a peculiar shade of pink and sticky and hairy, as are also the involucres. The small delicate flowers are an odd tint of pinkish-lilac, light but vivid, in striking contrast to the coloring of stems and foliage, and form very pretty clusters, with an involucre of five to fifteen papery bracts. They are very fragrant and look much like garden Verbenas, so the name is not so unhappy as some. _A. umbellàta_ has slender stems and almost smooth leaves, sometimes with wavy margins, about an inch long, narrowed at base to a slender leaf-stalk, and deep-pink flowers. It is common all along the California coast and blooms in the summer and autumn. _A. marítima_ is found from Santa Barbara to San Diego and is a very stout, coarse, sticky plant, with small, deep-magenta flowers. [Illustration: Sand Verbena--Abronia villosa.] [Illustration: Sand Puffs--Abronia salsa.] [Sidenote: =Yellow Sand-Verbena= _Abrònia latifòlia_ =Yellow Spring, summer, autumn Wash., Oreg., Cal.=] Pretty at a distance, but rather coarse close by, a straggling plant, with long, thick, rubbery stems, lying on the ground, thickish leaves, and small yellow flowers, slightly fragrant and forming pretty clusters about an inch and a half across, with five bracts. This is common along the seashore, blooming more or less all through the year. It has a long, thick root, which is eaten by the Indians. There are a good many kinds of Allionia, one Asiatic, the rest American. The bell-shaped flowers have unequal stamens, usually three, on the receptacle. The peculiar, five-lobed involucre, which becomes large and papery after flowering, contains from three to five flowers. The fruit is ribbed and often hairy. The shape of the involucre probably suggested the common name Umbrella-wort. [Sidenote: =Narrow-leaved Umbrella-wort= _Alliònia lineàris_ =Purple, pink, white Summer Utah, Ariz., etc.=] A pretty plant, one to four feet tall, with a slender stem and long, narrow, bluish-green leaves, with somewhat wavy margins, and almost no leaf-stalks. The flowers are fragile and pretty, of various shades of pink, the shape of small Morning-glories, half an inch across, the stamens and style protruding. There are from three to five in a cluster, in a purple and green involucre. This involucre is curious, for before the flowers come out it is closed around a bunch of buds, looking as if it were itself a pretty five-angled bud, and one would not suspect that there were other little buds inside it. When the flowers bloom and drop, which they do very soon, this involucre unfolds and expands until it becomes an exceedingly thin, papery, five-lobed disk, three-quarters of an inch across, veined with purple, very pretty and delicate, looking like an odd little flower without a heart. The smooth stem forks towards the top and the branches, which are slightly hairy, bear numerous clusters of involucres with flowers inside them. This grows in dry soil, is widely distributed and found as far east as Illinois. [Illustration: Involucre of Allionia linearis. Yellow Sand Verbena--Abronia latifolia.] [Illustration] CARPET-WEED FAMILY. _Aizoaceae._ Not a very large family, mostly natives of warm regions. Ours are branching herbs, lying mostly on the ground; leaves mostly opposite or in whorls; flowers perfect; sepals four or five; petals numerous, small or none; stamens few or many, usually on the calyx; ovary sometimes superior; fruit a capsule. In this country most of this family are dull little plants, with inconspicuous flowers. There are many kinds of Mesembryanthemum, mostly African; ours are smooth, very succulent perennials; without stipules; leaves opposite; calyx-lobes unequal and leaf-like; petals long, narrow and very numerous, inserted with the innumerable stamens on the calyx-tube; ovary with ten or twelve styles, becoming a sort of berry, containing many minute seeds, and opening at the top in rainy weather. The terribly long name is from the Greek, meaning "noonday flower." [Sidenote: =Ice-plant= _Mesembryánthemum crystállinum_ =White, pinkish Spring California=] One of the queerest looking plants that it is possible to imagine, the stout stems and large flat leaves thickly encrusted with millions of small translucent beads, resembling glass or ice and giving a glistening effect to the whole plant. They cluster especially thickly along the wavy margins and under sides of the leaves, and on the calyxes, and feel quite hard to the touch, but when they are crushed underfoot they exude a watery juice, which is said to be alkaline and injurious to shoe-leather. The stems and leaves are light bright-green, the tips and margins tinged with bright pinkish-red, especially on dry mesas, where this plant sometimes covers the ground for long distances with flat rosettes, forming a thick, red carpet, beautiful in color. In shadier, damper places, such as the crevices in the sea-cliffs at La Jolla, it becomes quite a large, tall plant, scarcely tinged with red and very glistening. The flowers are about an inch across, with a greenish center, surrounded by numerous, small, yellowish anthers and a single row of many, white or flesh-colored petals, suggesting the tentacles of a sea-anemone. In fact the whole plant is curiously suggestive of some low form of animal life. It is very troublesome to farmers in the south near the sea, and also flourishes in the Mohave Desert, in France and the Canary Islands. [Illustration] [Illustration: Ice-plant--Mesembryanthemum crystallinum.] [Sidenote: =Sea Fig, Fig-marigold= _Mesembryánthemum aequilateràle_ =Pink Spring California=] A very strange and conspicuous plant, often clothing sandy slopes with a curious mantel of trailing, fleshy stems and foliage thickly sprinkled with thousands of gaudy flowers. The stems are stout and flattish, several feet long; the leaves three-sided, with flat faces, tipped with a small reddish point; the calyx-lobes three-sided like the leaves. The stems, leaves, and the calyx-lobes are all pale bluish-green with a "bloom" and exceedingly succulent, the watery juice running out in large drops when the plant is broken. The twigs seem to be fitted into a sort of socket, from which they come out very easily, so that the plant comes apart almost at a touch. The fragrant flowers are two or three inches across, bright but crude in color, the numerous, purplish-pink petals resembling the rays of a composite and encircling a fuzzy ring of innumerable stamens, with white, threadlike filaments and small, straw-colored anthers, around a dark-green center, composed of the top of the calyx and the six to ten styles of the ovary. This accommodating plant is very useful and ornamental in hot, sandy places, where not much else will grow, and may be seen hanging its long stems over the sea-cliffs all along the coast, from Patagonia to Marin County in California. It also grows in Africa and is extensively cultivated. The fruit is edible, with pulp and tiny seeds something like a fig. [Illustration: Sea Fig--Mesembryanthemum aequilaterale.] PINK FAMILY. _Caryophyllaceae._ A large family, widely distributed, most abundant in the northern hemisphere, including both the handsome Pinks and the insignificant Chickweeds. They are herbs, with regular, mostly perfect flowers, with four or five sepals; usually with four or five petals, sometimes with none; stamens as many, or twice as many, as the petals; ovary superior, one-celled; styles two to five in number; fruit a capsule, containing several or many, kidney-shaped seeds, opening by valves, or by teeth, at the top; leaves opposite, toothless; stems usually swollen at the joints. The name Pink comes from the petals of some kinds being cut into points, or "pinked." There are numerous kinds of Arenaria, widely distributed, difficult to distinguish, with small, white flowers with five petals, usually not notched, ten stamens and usually three styles; leaves usually long and narrow, often stiff and growing in tufts; capsule roundish, splitting into usually three valves, each with two parts. These plants often grow in dry, sandy places, some at very high altitudes, some by the sea, hence the Latin name meaning "sandy," and the common one, Sandwort. [Sidenote: =Fendler's Sandwort= _Arenària Féndleri_ =White Summer Utah, Ariz., etc.=] This has pretty little white flowers, about half an inch across, and is variable. Sometimes the stem is roughish, only three or four inches tall, springing from a tuft of small leaves, stiff and almost prickly. Sometimes the stem is smooth, six or eight inches tall, and the leaves resemble rather fine, stiff grass. This grows on dry hills and mountains, up to thirteen thousand feet, from Nebraska and Wyoming to Utah, Arizona, and New Mexico. There are many kinds of Silene, widely distributed, more or less sticky plants, hence the common name, Catchfly; flowers mostly rather large; calyx inflated or tubular, with five teeth; petals five, with long claws, which often have scales at the top, forming a "crown"; stamens ten; styles usually three; capsule opening by three or six teeth at the tip; seeds numerous. [Illustration: Sandwort--Arenaria Fendleri.] [Sidenote: =Moss Campion. Cushion Pink= _Silène acàulis_ =Purple Summer Alpine regions=] An attractive little dwarf, living only in the high mountains. It has a long tap-root and many spreading stems, crowded with tiny, stiff, pointed, dark-green leaves, forming close tufts, from six to twenty inches across, resembling cushions of harsh moss and spangled all over with pretty little flowers. They are less than half an inch across with a bell-shaped calyx and five bright pinkish-purple petals, occasionally white, with a "crown" of small scales. We find this brave little plant crouching on bleak mountain tops, blossoming gayly at the edge of the snows that never melt, in arctic alpine regions across the world, up to a height of thirteen thousand feet. It is variable. There is a picture in Mrs. Henshaw's _Mountain Wild Flowers of Canada_. [Sidenote: =Windmill Pink= _Silène Ánglica_ (_S. Gallica_) =White Spring Northwest, etc.=] A rather inconspicuous "weed" from Europe, common in fields and along roadsides, with a slender, hairy stem, about a foot tall, and hairy leaves. The small flowers grow in a one-sided cluster and have a purplish calyx, sticky and hairy, and white or pinkish petals, with a small "crown," each petal twisted to one side like the sails of a windmill. This is widely distributed in nearly all warm temperate regions. [Sidenote: =Indian Pink= _Silène Califórnica_ =Red Summer Northwest=] From six inches to over a foot tall, with a thick, perennial tap-root, one to two feet long, and branching, half-erect stems, both leaves and stems covered with fine down, the dull-green foliage contrasting well in color with the vivid vermilion of the gorgeous flowers. They are more than an inch across, the petals usually slashed into two broad lobes, flanked by two narrower, shorter points at the sides, the "crown" conspicuous. The flowers are even more brilliant in color than _S. laciniata_ and are startlingly beautiful, glowing like coals of fire on the brown forest floor, in the open mountain woods they usually frequent. It is widely distributed in the Coast Ranges and Sierra Nevada Mountains, but nowhere very common. _S. Hookeri_ has beautiful large pink flowers, often more than two inches across, sometimes white, and grows on shady hillsides in the Northwest, except in Idaho. [Illustration: Windmill Pink--Silene Anglica. Indian Pink--Silene Californica.] [Sidenote: =Indian Pink= _Silène laciniàta_ =Red Summer California=] This has handsome conspicuous flowers, clear vermilion or pinkish-scarlet in color, about an inch and a half across, with the five petals prettily slashed at the ends into four long divisions. Each petal has two little crests, which form a pretty "crown" in the throat of the corolla. The roughish, slender stems, from one to over two feet high, have several branches, the flowers growing two or three at the ends. The leaves are long, narrow, and rather rough and the whole plant is hairy and sticky. This is common around Pasadena and other places in southern California and is beautiful on Point Loma, where the brilliant flowers gleam among the underbrush like bits of flame. _S. laciniàta var. Gréggii_ is common in Arizona and New Mexico. [Sidenote: _Silène Lyalli_ =White Summer Northwest=] Rather pretty, with a slender stem about a foot tall, smooth, bluish-green leaves, and flowers about three-quarters of an inch across; the calyx much inflated, yellowish-white and papery, with brownish veins, and the petals cream-color, with two lobes and a "crown." There are a few kinds of Vaccaria, of Europe and Asia, smooth annuals, with clasping leaves and red or pink flowers in terminal clusters; calyx five-angled and inflated in fruit, five-toothed, without bracts; petals longer than the calyx, without appendages; stamens ten; styles two. Both the Latin and common names allude to the value of some kinds for fodder. [Sidenote: =Cow-herb= _Vaccària vaccària_ (_Saponaria_) =Pink Summer Across the continent=] Quite pretty, with a leafy, branching stem, from one to three feet tall, bluish-green leaves, and flowers less than an inch long, with a ribbed, yellowish-green calyx, with reddish teeth, and the petals a very pretty and unusual shade of deep, warm reddish-pink, veined with deeper color. This is a European "weed," common in waste places and cultivated fields. [Illustration: Indian Pink--Silene laciniata.] [Illustration: Cow-herb--Vaccaria vaccaria. Silene Lyalli.] There are many kinds of Alsine, widely distributed, low herbs, liking moist ground and shady places, with small, starry white flowers; with four or five sepals; four or five petals, deeply two-lobed or none; three to ten stamens and three to five styles; capsule roundish or oblong, rather shorter than that of Cerastium, splitting to below the middle, with twice as many valves as there are styles and many seeds. Many of these plants are weeds. They are often called Stitchwort. The Greek name means "grove," the home of some kinds. [Sidenote: =Tall Chickweed= _Alsìne lóngipes._ (_Stellaria_) =White Summer Northwest, Nev., Utah, etc.=] An attractive little plant, with smooth stems, from six to fifteen inches tall, and pretty little flowers, less than half an inch across, growing singly, or in loose clusters, with white petals which are deeply two-lobed, so that they appear to be ten. The capsule is almost black when ripe. This is common in moist and grassy places in Yosemite and when growing in the shade is taller and more slender than in the open. It reaches an altitude of ten thousand feet and is found in the East and in Asia. There are many kinds of Cerastium, abundant in the temperate zone, resembling Alsine, but usually downy and therefore called Mouse-ear Chickweeds. The flowers are white, usually with five sepals, five petals notched at the tips or with two lobes, ten or five stamens and five stigmas. The cylindrical capsule, often curved, splits at the top into ten teeth. [Sidenote: =Field Chickweed= _Cerástium arvénse_ =White Spring, summer U. S.=] On the ledges moistened by the mist and spray that blow from the Yosemite waterfalls, among the glistening, wet grasses, these pretty little white flowers are quite conspicuous. They smell pleasantly of honey, measure about half an inch across, and have more or less downy stems, from five to ten inches tall. This is the prettiest Cerastium, though not so "mousy" as some, and grows in dry as well as moist situations. [Illustration: Field Chickweed--Cerastium arvense. Tall Chickweed--Alsine longipes.] [Illustration] PURSLANE FAMILY. _Portulacaceae._ A rather small family, mostly American; herbs, usually with thick, succulent leaves and stems, with flowers opening only in sunlight. They usually have only two sepals, but the petals number from two to five or more; the stamens are sometimes numerous, but when they are of the same number as the petals they are opposite them; the one-celled ovary is superior, becoming a many-seeded capsule. Pusley, or Purslane, is one of the commonest garden weeds; everybody knows how difficult it is to keep the spreading rosettes out of gravel walks, and we are all familiar with the gaudy, ephemeral flowers of the cultivated Portulaca. The Purslane-tree, or Spek-boom, of South Africa is often the principal food of elephants and its foliage gives the characteristic coloring to the landscape. There are several kinds of Montia, closely related to Claytonia, mostly natives of North America, rather succulent plants, very smooth and often with a "bloom." The flowers are white or pinkish, with two sepals; the five petals, equal or somewhat unequal, separate or more or less united at base; the stamens five or three; the style branches three; the capsule with three valves and one to three, shiny, black seeds, which when ripe are shot out of the capsule by the elastic closing of the valves. [Sidenote: =Miner's Lettuce= _Móntia parviflòra_ =White Spring, summer West, except Ariz.=] The Indians gather these pretty succulent little plants for salad and indeed the tender, bright-green leaves look as if they would taste very nice. They grow in a loose bunch, with several stems, a few inches to a foot high. The root-leaves have long leaf-stalks and vary very much in size and shape, the earliest being long and narrow, like little green tongues, but the later ones oval, round and kidney-shaped, and they vary also in tint, in dry places being sometimes a dull yellowish-pink. The stem-leaves are quite odd, for a single pair have united around the stem and become a circular or somewhat two-lobed disk, one or two inches broad, the stalk piercing right through its center. This leaf forms a pretty, shallow saucer, with a small, loose cluster of tiny flowers, on slender flower-stalks, springing from the middle. This is common everywhere in orchards or vineyards, and in shady places in the foothills and canyons, and has long been cultivated in England for salad. It is also called Indian Lettuce and Squaw Cabbage. _M. perfoliàta_ is similar. [Illustration] [Illustration: Miner's Lettuce--Montia parviflora.] [Sidenote: =Spring Beauty= _Móntia parvifòlia_ =White and pink Spring Northwest=] This charming little flower resembles the Spring Beauty of the East, _Claytonia Virginica_, and blooms in late spring, among the ferns and wet grasses near the Yosemite waterfalls and in similar places. The white flowers, about three-quarters of an inch across, are often tinged with pink and the five stamens are violet. The tender stems, about eight inches tall, are weak and almost trailing and the pale-green leaves are smooth, the lower ones slightly thick and succulent, with little bulblets in the axils, which drop off in drying; the capsule mostly has only one seed. There are several kinds of Claytonia, resembling Montia. [Sidenote: =Spring Beauty= _Claytònia lanceolàta_ =Pink and white Spring Northwest, Cal., Nev., and Utah=] A pretty little plant, three or four inches high, with a juicy, reddish stem and thickish, bluish-green, juicy leaves, the root-leaf narrow, the two stem-leaves broader. The flowers, over half an inch across, are white, tinged and delicately veined with pink, with a little yellow at the base of the petals; the pistil and stamens pink; the two sepals yellowish-green. This grows on moist mountain slopes, up to an altitude of nine thousand feet, sometimes at the edge of the snow, is pretty and delicate and also resembles the eastern Spring Beauty. [Illustration: Spring Beauties Claytonia lanceolata. Montia parvifolia.] [Illustration] There are only one or two kinds of Spraguea, natives of North America; low herbs, not very succulent, with fleshy roots; the leaves alternate, or from the root; the small flowers in coiled clusters; the two sepals and the four petals all papery; the stamens one, two, or three in number; the style long, with two stigmas; the capsule roundish, with two valves, containing few or many, shining, black seeds. [Sidenote: =Pussy-paws= _Spràguea umbellàta_ (_Calyptridium_) =Pink Summer, autumn Northwest=] Sandy spots in the mountains are often brightened by lovely patches of the soft pink blooms of this attractive and odd-looking little plant. Near Wawona, on the Glacier Point trail, I saw at least half an acre of sand carpeted with beautiful rose-color. In moderate altitudes the plants are about ten inches tall, but they get dwarfish as they climb and on the mountain-tops they are only an inch or so high, with close mats of small leaves. They have strong tap-roots and the leaves are dull gray-green, rather thick and stiff but hardly succulent, and grow mostly in rosettes at the base, those on the stem having shrunk to mere bracts, with several, smooth, reddish stalks springing from among them. Each stem bears a close, roundish head, two or three inches across, consisting of many tightly-coiled tufts of shaded pink, each composed of innumerable, small, pink flowers, the papery, pink and white sepals and bracts being the most conspicuous part. They overlap each other and have daintily ruffled edges. The three stamens are long and protruding and the style long and threadlike. The flower-clusters are like soft pink cushions, so the pretty little name of Pussy-paws is appropriate, both to form and coloring. Chipmunks are very fond of the small, black seeds. [Illustration] [Illustration: Pussy-paws--Spraguea umbellata.] BUTTERCUP FAMILY. _Ranunculaceae._ The members of this large and handsome family vary so much in appearance that it is difficult for the amateur to realize that they are nearly related. In fact they have no very distinctive characteristics. They are all herbs, except Clematis, which is shrubby, and all have bitter juice, which is never milky or colored, numerous stamens and usually several pistils, which are superior and one-celled, bearing a single style, and all the parts of the flower are separate from each other and inserted on the receptacle. The flowers are often of eccentric forms, with spurs or hoods; sometimes they dispense with petals altogether and instead have colored sepals which resemble petals. The leaves are of all sorts and shapes, usually more or less lobed and cut, but have no stipules and often their bases clasp the stem. The fruit is an akene, pod, or berry. Many of our most beautiful and popular garden flowers are included in this family, which is large and distributed throughout the world, but not abundant in the tropics. There are numerous kinds of Ranunculus, mostly perennials, with fibrous roots, growing in temperate and cold regions. Ours have yellow or white flowers, with three to five sepals and from three to fifteen petals, each of the petals with a nectar-gland at its base; the numerous pistils developing into a roundish or oblong head of akenes. The leaves are variously cut and lobed, the stem leaves alternate. Some sorts grow in the water and some have creeping stems. Some kinds of Ranunculus are liable to be confused with some sorts of Cinquefoils, but the calyx of a Buttercup has no bractlets, as has that of a Cinquefoil. The Latin name means "little frog," as these plants like marshes. [Sidenote: =Common Western Buttercup= _Ranúnculus Califórnicus_ =Yellow Winter, spring Wash., Oreg., Cal.=] The commonest kind are attractive, often coloring the fields for miles with bright gold, but the flowers are not so pretty as some common eastern kinds. The stems are branching and more or less hairy, nine inches to a foot and a half tall, with dark-green leaves, smooth, hairy or velvety, and velvety, hairy buds. The flowers are about an inch across, with from nine to sixteen, bright-yellow, shiny petals and pale-green sepals, turned closely back. The akenes have hooked beaks. This runs into many scarcely distinguishable varieties. [Illustration: Common Western Buttercup--Ranunculus Californicus.] Few flowers are more beautiful and interesting in color and construction than Larkspurs. We are all familiar with their tall spires of oddly-shaped blossoms, growing in gardens, and we find them even more charming in their natural surroundings, glowing like sapphires on desert sands, or adorning mountain woods with patches of vivid color. There are many kinds; ours are perennials, with palmately-divided leaves and usually blue or white flowers, very irregular in form, with five sepals, resembling petals, the upper one prolonged into a spur at the back, and usually four petals, two of which are small and inside the calyx-spur, the larger two partly covering the pistils and the numerous stamens. The pistils, from one to five, become many-seeded pods. Some Larkspurs are poisonous to cattle. The Latin name is from a fancied resemblance of the flower to the dolphin of decorative art. Spanish Californians call it Espuela del caballero, Cavalier's spur. [Sidenote: =Blue Larkspur= _Delphínium scapòsum_ =Blue Summer Ariz., New Mex.=] Though sometimes rather small, this is extremely pretty. In the Grand Canyon, on the plateau, it is about a foot tall, with rather leathery, brownish-green leaves, mostly from the root, and from five to twelve flowers in a cluster. They measure nearly an inch across and are brilliant and iridescent in coloring, as except for two small whitish petals, they are the deepest, brightest blue, exquisitely tinted with violet, with brown anthers. At Tucson, among the rocks above the Desert Laboratory, it grows to over a foot in height, with a cluster over six inches long and light dull-green leaves, slightly stiff and thick, with long leaf-stalks, the lobes tipped with a bristle, forming a handsome clump. This grows on dry plains and rocky hillsides, up to seven thousand feet. The picture is from a Grand Canyon plant. [Sidenote: =Larkspur= _Delphínium Hánseni_ =White, pinkish Summer California=] If the flowers were a little less pale in color this would be a gorgeous plant, for it sometimes grows nearly four feet high. The branching stem springs from a cluster of thick, tapering roots, each branch terminating in a long, crowded cluster of twenty or thirty flowers, opalescent in tint, either white, with a bluish or greenish spot on the tip of each sepal, or very pale pink, with a purplish or bluish spot. The dull, yellowish-green leaves are rather thickish and downy, the pods erect. This grows in dryish places, at moderate altitudes, and freely around Yosemite. [Illustration: Foothills Larkspur--Delphinium scaposum.] [Illustration: Larkspur--Delphinium Hanseni.] [Illustration] [Sidenote: =Blue Larkspur= _Delphínium bícolor_ =Blue Spring, summer Northwest and Utah=] A splendid flower when at its best, from six inches to a foot and a half tall, with a smooth stem, reddish below, and smooth, bright-green leaves, pale on the under side, round in general outline, the lower ones with long, reddish leaf-stalks sheathing the stem, the roots thick but not tuberous. The beautiful flowers are sometimes an inch and a half across, on long, rather spreading pedicels, few or many, in a long loose cluster, the buds slightly downy. The general effect of the flowers is deep bright-blue, but when we examine them more closely we find that the slightly woolly spurs are purplish, the blue sepals have on the back protuberances, which are pinkish on the front and greenish on the back, the two, small, upper petals are white, delicately striped with purple, and the lower ones, which are fuzzy with tufts of white down and two-cleft, are deep pinkish-purple; sometimes the whole flower is much paler in color. The anthers are large and green at first, becoming small and yellow, their threadlike filaments curling. This grows on dry hills. _D. Párryi_, of California, is about two feet tall, similar in coloring, but even handsomer, with a cluster nearly a foot long, closely crowded with beautiful flowers, each an inch and a half across. The lower leaves are slashed nearly to the center, into seven divisions, each with three, long, narrow lobes. [Illustration] [Illustration: Blue Larkspur--Delphinium bicolor.] [Sidenote: =Sacramento Larkspur= _Delphínium variegàtum_ =Purple Spring, summer California=] Very handsome, over a foot tall, the upper stem downy, the lower more or less hairy and the leaves more or less velvety. The flowers are an inch or more long and rather few, with long pedicels, forming a loose cluster. They are downy on the outside, all bright-purple, except the two upper petals, which are white tipped with purple, the lower petals edged and tipped with hairs, the spur stoutish and wrinkled. These flowers, though described as blue, seem to me to have more true purple than most Larkspurs. They probably vary a good deal in color. This grows in the Coast Ranges and the Sacramento Valley. There are many similar blue Larkspurs. [Sidenote: =Scarlet Larkspur, Christmas-horns= _Delphínium nudicaùle_ =Red Spring Wash., Oreg., Cal.=] Scarlet seems an odd color for a Larkspur, but there are two red ones in the West. This is an exceedingly airy, graceful plant and suggests a Columbine more than a Larkspur. The stem is slender and branching, from one to over two feet tall, with a "bloom"; the leaves thickish, smooth, dark rich green on the upper side and pale on the under. The flowers are far apart, from two to twelve, on long pedicels, forming a very loose, open cluster. Each flower is about an inch long; the sepals scarlet shading to yellow, the spur tipped with deeper red, the petals yellow tipped with crimson, not woolly, the two upper notched and much larger than the two lower ones, which are small and slashed into two points, the edges of both sepals and petals more or less hairy; the buds pale yellowish-green, tinged with pink and red. These charming flowers have an elfin look all their own, as they swing their little pointed red caps in the light shade of cool canyons along the mountain streams they love. In southern California we find _D. cardinàle_, a handsomer plant, sometimes six feet tall, its flowers larger and deeper red and forming a larger, closer cluster. [Illustration: Scarlet Larkspur--Delphinium nudicaule.] The picturesque Columbine gets its melodious name from the Latin for "dove," because the spurs suggest a circle of pretty little pigeons, and this common name is less far-fetched than the Latin one, Aquilegia, which comes from a fancied resemblance of the spurs to an eagle's claws. These plants are well known and easily recognized by the peculiar shape of the flowers. Everything about them is decorative and beautiful, the foliage is pretty and the flowers large, brightly colored, and conspicuous. They are all perennials, with branching stems and compound leaves; the flowers usually nodding, with five sepals all alike and resembling petals, and five petals, also all alike, with conspicuous, hollow spurs. The stamens, the inner ones without anthers, are numerous and the five pistils develop into a head of five, erect, many-seeded pods. There is honey in the spurs, which can be reached only by "long-tongued" insects or humming birds, which thus assist in cross-pollination, and bees obviate the difficulty of having short tongues by ingeniously cutting holes in the spurs. There are a good many beautiful kinds, both East and West. [Sidenote: =Scarlet Columbine= _Aquilègia truncàta_ =Red and yellow Spring Wash., Oreg., Cal.=] This charming plant grows from one to over three feet high, is branching and smooth, and has pretty light-green leaves and nodding flowers, which are over an inch and a half across. The outside of the corolla is pale-scarlet, veined and tipped with yellow, the inside is yellow and the spurs are erect and three quarters of an inch long. The flower resembles the Scarlet Columbine of the East, but the plant is taller, with fewer flowers. It is common in moist, rich woods in Yosemite and the Coast Ranges, from the foothills well up to the alpine zone. [Sidenote: =White Columbine= _Aquilègia leptocèra_ =White Summer Northwest and Utah=] An exceedingly beautiful flower, a white sister of the large Blue Columbine, which is the "State flower" of Colorado, and sometimes sufficiently tinged with blue to show the relationship. It is a rather slender plant, usually with several stems, from one to two feet tall, the foliage rather bluish-green, the flowers large and usually pure-white, and is found in the mountains. [Illustration: Scarlet Columbine--Aquilegia truncata.] [Illustration] Monkshoods have almost as much charm as their cousins Columbine and Larkspur, with a quaintness and individuality all their own. There are a good many kinds; mountain plants, growing in temperate regions, with rather weak stems and leaves much like those of Larkspur. The blue and white blossoms have a "hood," which gives these plants their very appropriate name. This is formed by the upper and larger one of the five, petal-like sepals arching over and forming a hood, or helmet, under which the two small petals, with spurs and claws, are hidden; sometimes there are three or more petals below, which are minute and resemble stamens. The real stamens are numerous and ripen before the pistils, thus ensuring cross-pollination, and the fruit consists of a head, of from three to five, many-seeded pods. The thick or turnip-shaped root is used medicinally and is virulently poisonous, so these plants are sometimes called Wolfsbane. Aconite is the ancient Greek name and other common names are Blue-weed and Friar's-cap. [Sidenote: =Monkshood= _Aconìtum Columbiànum_ =Blue and white Summer West=] This handsome perennial, from two to six feet tall, grows near streams, in mountain meadows or open woods. The flowers measure from half an inch to over an inch long and are mostly bright-blue and white, tinged with violet, but shade from almost white to deep-blue, veined with purple. They are paler inside and grow on slender pedicels, in a long loose cluster, on a somewhat bending stem. The two, small, hammer-shaped petals are nearly concealed under the hood. The leaves are alternate, the lower ones with long leaf-stalks, and deeply cleft into three or five, toothed or lobed, divisions. This reaches an altitude of twelve thousand feet. [Illustration] [Illustration: Monkshood--Aconitum Columbianum.] [Illustration] [Sidenote: =Wild Peony= _Paeònia Bròwnii_ =Dark-red Winter, spring Wash., Oreg., Cal.=] There are two kinds of Peony. This is a robust and very decorative perennial, rich and unusual in coloring, the fine foliage setting off the dark flowers to perfection. The roots are woody, the stems smooth, from eight inches to a foot and a half tall, and the leaves are smooth, rich green, but not shiny. The nodding flowers are an inch and a half across, with five or six greenish-purple sepals, five or six petals, rich deep-red, tinged and streaked with yellow and maroon; dull-yellow stamens and green pistils. The whole flower is quite thick and leathery in texture and rather coarse, sometimes so dark that it is almost black. The flowers are often fragrant, but the plant has a disagreeable smell, something like Skunk-cabbage, when crushed. The large seed-pods, usually five, are thick, leathery and smooth, with several seeds and are a very conspicuous feature, the stems drooping as they ripen and the pods resting on the ground in big bunches. The whole plant is rather succulent and the foliage and stems are more or less tinged with red and have a "bloom," especially on the sepals. This grows in all sorts of places, in the hot plains of the south and at the edge of the snow, in northern, mountain canyons. In the south it blooms in January and is sometimes called Christmas-rose. The root is used medicinally by the Spanish-Californians and by the Indians, "to give their horses long wind." These plants were named in honor of Paion, the physician of the gods. [Illustration] [Illustration: Wild Peony--Paeonia Brownii.] [Illustration] There are only a few kinds of Actaea, tall perennials, with large, alternate, thrice-compound leaves and small, white flowers, in short, terminal clusters. The sepals number about four and resemble petals; the petals are from four to ten, or sometimes none, with claws; the stamens are numerous, with conspicuous white filaments; the one pistil has a broad, somewhat two-lobed, stigma, and the fruit is a large, showy, red or white, somewhat poisonous berry, containing many, smooth, flat seeds. [Sidenote: =Baneberry= _Actaèa argùta_ =White Spring, summer West, except Ariz.=] This is a fine plant, from one to two feet tall, with a stoutish, smooth, branching stem and handsome leaves, prettily cut, with pointed teeth, thin and soft in texture, with conspicuous veins. The sepals and petals of the small cream-white flowers are less conspicuous than the numerous white stamens, which give a very feathery appearance to the flower-cluster, which is one or two inches long and speckled with the dark tips of the pistils. The sepals and petals drop off early and the stamens lengthen, so that the cluster becomes very airy and delicate. The general effect of the plant, which grows near shady mountain streams, is striking and graceful. It grows also in the East and is sometimes slightly sweet-scented, but often has an unpleasant smell. The handsome, poisonous berries are oval or round, red or white, with a polished surface, and contain many seeds. This reaches an altitude of ten thousand feet. A very similar kind, _A. viridiflòra_, grows in the mountains of Arizona. [Illustration] [Illustration: Baneberry--Actaea arguta.] [Sidenote: =Globe-flower= _Tróllius láxus_ =White Spring U. S.=] This is our only kind of Trollius. It is an exceedingly beautiful flower, particularly when found growing in the snow, or near the edge of a field of melting ice, in high mountains and along the margins of glaciers. The handsome, toothed leaves are palmately-lobed or divided, the lower ones with long leaf-stalks, rich green and glossy and setting off the flowers, which grow singly at the tips of smooth, rather weak stems, from one to two feet tall, and measure about an inch and a half across. The sepals, from five to seven in number, are large, cream-white, slightly greenish outside, and are the conspicuous part of the flower, for the petals are very small and yellow, so that they resemble stamens. From fifteen to twenty-five of these little petals, in a row, surround the numerous, real stamens and form a beautiful golden center. The fruit is a head, measuring an inch across, composed of eight to fifteen small pods, with beaks, containing many, smooth, oblong seeds. This plant looks very much like an Anemone but it has these small yellow petals and Anemones have none, and the center is larger and brighter yellow and the foliage coarser. There are three kinds of Trautvetteria, two American and one Asiatic. [Sidenote: =False Bugbane= _Trautvettèria grándis_ =White Summer West=] A handsome plant, with a smooth, pale-green stem, from two to three feet tall, and fine large leaves, prettily cut, smooth and rather bright green, the lower ones sometimes eight inches across. The white flower clusters are large, very pretty, airy and feathery, consisting of numerous small flowers, with small petal-like sepals, usually four, and no petals, the numerous stamens, with white filaments, being the conspicuous part and forming a little pompon. The akenes are numerous, inflated and four-angled, and form a head. It is a pity that this attractive plant has such a horrid name. It grows in moist woods at Mt. Rainier and in similar places. [Illustration: False Bugbane--Trautvetteria grandis.] Anemones grow in temperate and cold regions everywhere. They have no petals, but their sepals, numbering from four to twenty, resemble petals. The stem-leaves are in whorls, forming a kind of involucre below the flower. There are many kinds; some have nearly smooth, pointed akenes, some densely woolly ones, and in some the akenes have feathery tails. The name, pronounced anemòne in Latin and in English anémone, is appropriate to the fragile kinds, such as the eastern Wood Anemone, for it means "flower shaken by the wind." [Sidenote: =Canyon Anemone= _Anemòne sphenophýlla_ =White Spring Arizona=] An attractive plant, eight inches to a foot tall, with pretty flowers and foliage. The flowers are white, tinged with pink, less than an inch across, often downy outside, and the head of fruit is oblong, sleek, and silky downy. This grows on dry, rocky slopes in the Grand Canyon, above the plateau. Around Tucson the flowers are less pretty, but the foliage handsomer. [Sidenote: =Three-leaved Anemone= _Anemòne deltoìdea_ =White Summer Wash., Oreg., Col.=] Delicate, pale flowers, conspicuous in dark mountain woods, with slightly downy, purplish stems, from eight to ten inches tall, and pretty leaves, thin in texture, the involucre-leaves without leaf-stalks, rather light-green, dull on the upper side, paler and shiny on the under. The pretty flowers are an inch and a half to over two inches across, with five, pure-white sepals, usually two of them larger and longer than the others, and a light bright-yellow center. This is abundant at Mt. Rainier. _A. quinquefòlia var. Gràyi_, of the Coast Ranges, is similar, the flower often tinged with blue, the involucre-leaves with leaf-stalks. [Sidenote: =Northern Anemone= _Anemòne parviflòra_ =White Summer Northwest=] A pretty little plant, with a rather hairy, reddish stem, from four to twelve inches tall, glossy, dark-green leaves, paler and downy on the under side, and flowers about half an inch across, cream-white, tinged with purple or blue on the outside; the akenes very woolly. This reaches an altitude of ten thousand five hundred feet, growing in the East and in Asia and is the smallest of the mountain Anemones. [Illustration: Northern Anemone--A. parviflora. Three-leaved Anemone--A. deltoidea. Canyon Anemone--A. sphenophylla.] [Illustration] [Sidenote: =Western Anemone= _Anemòne occidentàlis_ =White Spring Northwest=] These beautiful mountain flowers bloom in early spring, sometimes poking their pretty faces right through a hole melted in a snow-bank, and the brave little things are quite thickly covered with silky wool all over, as if to keep themselves warm. The flowers, which often bloom before the leaves expand, are about two inches across, with five to eight, cream-white sepals, tinged with blue and hairy on the outside, and are much less delicate looking than most Anemones. The stout stems are very woolly, from six to eighteen inches tall, and the leaves are beautiful, cut into numerous, very fine divisions, exceedingly feathery and pretty. The akenes have long, feathery tails and form very large, silky, fluffy heads, which are very handsome and conspicuous. There are a good many kinds of Caltha, succulent marsh plants, of temperate and arctic regions; the leaves undivided, mostly from the base and more or less heart-shaped; the flowers with large, petal-like sepals and no petals. This is the Latin name of the Marigold. [Sidenote: =White Marsh Marigold= _Cáltha leptosépala_ =White Summer Northwest=] A pretty little mountain, marsh plant with a smooth, stout, purplish stem from four to eight inches tall, and smooth, light-green leaves, often veined with purple on the under side. The flowers are an inch and a quarter across, with eight or ten, cream-white sepals, tinged with blue on the outside, and pretty golden centers of numerous stamens. This blooms at the edge of the retreating snow and reaches an altitude of twelve thousand feet. _C. palústris_, the Yellow Marsh Marigold, found in the Northwest and common in the East, has beautiful yellow flowers, resembling large Buttercups. [Illustration] [Illustration: Western Anemone--Anemone occidentalis. White Marsh Marigold--Caltha leptosepala.] [Illustration] There are many varieties of Clematis, or Virgin's Bower, familiar to us all, both East and West, and general favorites, widely distributed and flourishing in temperate regions; perennials, woody below, which is unusual in this family. Usually they are beautiful trailing vines, which climb over bushes and rocks, holding on by their twisting, curling leaf-stalks. The flowers have no petals, or only very small ones, but their sepals, usually four, resemble petals; the stamens are numerous. The numerous pistils form a round bunch of akenes, their styles developing into long feathery tails, and these gray, plumy heads are very conspicuous and ornamental, when the flowers are gone. The leaves are opposite, which is unusual in this family, with slender leaf-stalks, and are usually compound. Some plants have only staminate flowers and some only pistillate ones, and the appearance is quite different, the flowers with stamens being handsomer. [Sidenote: =Virgin's Bower, Pipe-stem= _Clématis lasiántha_ =White, pale-yellow Spring California=] Near the summit of Mt. Lowe, and in similar places, we find this beautiful vine clambering over the rocks. The flowers measure an inch and a quarter to over two inches across and they vary in tint from almost pure white to a lovely soft shade of pale-yellow, the handsome clusters forming a beautiful contrast to the dark-green foliage. The stamens and pistils are on different plants. The flowers, leaves, and stems are all more or less velvety and the akenes have tails an inch long, forming a head, about two inches across. The flowers are often so numerous as to make conspicuous masses of pale color on canyon sides, in the Coast Range and Sierra Nevada Mountains. [Illustration] [Illustration: Virgin's Bower--Clematis lasiantha.] There are a few kinds of Atragene, resembling Clematis. [Sidenote: =Purple Clematis= _Atrágene occidentàlis (Clematis)_ =Violet, blue Summer West=] This is peculiarly attractive, as the flowers are large and beautiful and the foliage very pretty. The leaves are divided into three, pointed leaflets, which are thin in texture, light bright-green and prettily cut or lobed, and the trailing or climbing stems are almost smooth, slender and purplish above and woody below. The flowers, which are not in clusters, measure from two to three inches across, with four, sometimes five, violet or blue sepals, spreading widely as the flower grows older, and the outer stamens are broad and resemble small petals. The flowers are followed by handsome feathery heads, which are large and silky. This pretty vine is found in the Grand Canyon, not far below the Rim, and in many mountain places. The foliage varies somewhat in different climates. There are many kinds of Thalictrum, not easily distinguished, widely distributed, a few in the Andes, India, and Africa; perennials, with tall stems, from a short rootstock, and handsome, compound leaves; the flowers perfect or imperfect, many, small, in clusters, with four to seven sepals and no petals; the akenes tipped with the long styles and forming a head. Some of these plants have a disagreeable smell. They grow in moist places, both East and West. [Sidenote: =Meadow Rue= _Thalíctrum Féndleri_ =Greenish-white Summer West=] Though its flowers are small and colorless, this plant is conspicuous for delicacy and grace. The leaves of tender green suggest the fronds of Maidenhair Fern and are almost as beautiful, while the flowers are odd and pretty. A shower of numerous, pale-yellow stamens, with purplish, threadlike filaments, falls from the center of four, greenish-white sepals and forms a charming little tassel. These tassels hang on the ends of very slender pedicels, in loose clusters. The smooth stems are from one to three feet tall and the smooth leaves are thin in texture, thrice-compound, with many, rounded leaflets, the lower leaves with long leaf-stalks. This Meadow Rue has its pistils and stamens on different plants, the flowers with tassels of stamens being prettier and more conspicuous than the small, green, pistillate ones. The variety _Wrìghtii_ is common in Arizona. [Illustration: Lilac Clematis--Atragene occidentalis.] [Illustration: Meadow Rue--Thalictrum Fendleri.] BARBERRY FAMILY. _Berberidaceae._ Not a large family, widely distributed; shrubs or herbs; leaves alternate or from the root; flowers perfect; sepals and petals few, many, or none, generally in several overlapping rows; stamens on the receptacle, usually as many as the petals and opposite them; pistil one, with a short style, or none; fruit a berry or capsule. There are several kinds of Vancouveria, perennial herbs with slender, creeping rootstocks; named after Vancouver the explorer. [Sidenote: =Inside-out Flower, Barrenwort= _Vancouvèria parviflòra_ =White, lilac Spring Wash., Oreg., Cal.=] A charming woodland plant, its airy flower cluster, which has much the effect of an Alum-root, in beautiful contrast to the crisp, evergreen foliage. The large leaves are all from the root, with wiry, purplish leaf-stalks and beautifully-shaped leaflets, each an inch or more broad, pale on the under side, the older leaves dark, rich green, leathery and very glossy and the younger ones bright apple-green and thinner in texture. They form a handsome cluster, varying a good deal in size, and the general effect suggests some very crisp and sturdy sort of Maidenhair Fern. The stem is from one to two feet tall, wiry, purplish, and hairy, and bears a very loose cluster of tiny, drooping, white or lilac-tinged flowers. The six, white sepals resemble petals; the six, white petals are smaller than the sepals, lined with yellow, and there are six to nine bracts, resembling sepals, and six stamens. The minute buds are purplish and the little flowers are exceedingly pretty and odd, when we examine them closely, for the sepals turn back so abruptly from the tiny petals, and from the projecting cluster of stamens, that the name Inside-out Flower is appropriate. The fruit is a kind of capsule with many seeds. This grows in shady woods, especially among redwoods, up to seven thousand feet. _V. hexándra_ has thinner leaflets, not evergreen, and the leaflets of _V. chrysántha_ have white margins. [Illustration: Inside-out Flower--Vancouveria parviflora.] [Illustration] There are many kinds of Barberry, widely distributed; shrubs, with yellow wood; the leaves often spiny and the flowers yellow; the sepals six to nine, with bracts and resembling petals; the petals six, in two overlapping rows, each with two glands at the base; the stamens six, with anthers that open by little valves like trap-doors, hinged at the top, sensitive and, when they are touched, closing around the shield-shaped stigma; the fruit a berry, with one or few seeds. [Sidenote: =Oregon Grape, Trailing Barberry= _Bérberis rèpens_ =Yellow Spring Cal., Ariz., Utah, Nev.=] This does not look much like the common cultivated kinds of Barberry, for it grows close to the ground in a straggling bunch. In favorable situations it is a handsome and conspicuous plant. The leaves, with from three to seven leaflets, are stiff, prickly, and evergreen like Holly, and the yellow flowers are in clusters at the ends of the stems, with opposite bracts. The six sepals, petals, and stamens are all opposite, that is, with a petal in front of each sepal and a stamen in front of each petal. In Arizona the flowers are rather small and the clusters short, but in Utah they are far handsomer, rich golden-yellow and sweet-scented, forming clusters two inches long. The fruit is a handsome blue berry with a "bloom," the color of wild grapes, contrasting well with the foliage when it turns red in the autumn, and delicious jelly is made from them. _B. aquifòlium_, of Oregon and Washington, is similar, with much more beautiful, very shining leaves. _B. Féndleri_, of the Southwest, is from three to six feet high, the branches smooth and shiny as if varnished, the leaves with smooth edges or spiny teeth, and the flowers in numerous drooping clusters. The calyx has conspicuous, red bracts and the berry is red. [Illustration] [Illustration: Oregon Grape--Berberis repens.] [Sidenote: =Sweet-after-Death= _Áchlys triphýlla_ =White Summer Wash., Oreg., Cal.=] The only kind, an attractive perennial, popular on account of its sweet-smelling foliage, which, however, is not fragrant until the leaves are dried. It has a very slender rootstock and only one large leaf, with a very long, slender leaf-stalk and three, oddly-shaped leaflets, from two to six inches across, bright-green, smooth and thin in texture, but not glossy. The single, very slender flower-stalk, from one to two feet tall, bears a crowded spike of many, tiny, scentless, white flowers, without either calyx or corolla, but consisting of a cluster of stamens, with long, threadlike filaments, the outer ones broader, and a pistil with a broad stigma and no style. The effect of the cluster is feathery and pretty and the broad leaf is very conspicuous, on account of its size and shape. The crescent-shaped fruit contains one seed, is at first fleshy, but becomes dry and leathery. This grows in the woods in the Coast Ranges, from near sea-level up to seven thousand feet. It is also called Vanilla Leaf and Deer-foot. WATER LILY FAMILY. _Nymphaeaceae_. A small family, widely distributed in fresh-water lakes and streams; aquatic, perennial herbs, with thick, horizontal rootstocks, or with tubers, large, floating, or erect leaves, and large, solitary flowers, with long flower-stalks; sepals three to twelve; petals three to many; stamens six to numerous; ovary superior, stigmas distinct or united into a disk. We have no white Water Lilies in the West. [Sidenote: =Indian Pond Lily, Spatter-dock= _Nymphaèa polysépala (Nuphar)_ =Yellow Summer Cal., Oreg., Wash., Col., Wyo.=] Like the eastern Spatter-dock, this is a coarse, but rather handsome and decorative plant. The leathery leaves are shaped like a rounded heart and sometimes a foot long. The cup-shaped calyx, two to four inches across, is the conspicuous part of the flower, consisting of seven to twelve, thickish sepals, yellow and petal-like, the outer greenish. There are twelve to eighteen petals, half an inch long, resembling stamens. The real stamens have dark-red anthers, but yellow pollen, and both petals and stamens are densely crowded around the ovary. The round fruit has a narrow neck, concave top, and many seeds. In quiet mountain ponds we find these yellow flowers, on stout stems standing up out of the water, the lily-pads floating idly on its surface. Indians grind the seeds into meal for porridge, or else roast them and eat them like popcorn. [Illustration: Sweet-after-Death--Achlys triphylla.] STRAWBERRY SHRUB FAMILY. _Calycanthaceae_. A very small family, of only two genera, one North American, one Japanese; aromatic shrubs, with opposite, toothless leaves, with short leaf-stalks, without stipules; flowers large, solitary, at the ends of leafy branches; sepals, petals, and stamens, indefinite in number, in many, overlapping series, passing one into the other, so that one cannot tell which is which, and all borne on the receptacle, which is hollow, resembling a rose-hip, almost enclosing the numerous pistils; stamens short, the inner ones without anthers; receptacle becoming a large, leathery, oblong or pear-shaped fruit, containing few or many, smooth, shining akenes. There are three kinds of Calycanthus in this country, two of them eastern; flowers purple or red, stamens inserted in several rows. [Sidenote: =Strawberry Shrub= _Calycánthus occidentàlis_ =Red Summer California=] This resembles the familiar shrub of old-fashioned gardens and the flowers have the same pleasant and elusive aroma, something like strawberries, much more spicy when crushed. The shrub is four to ten feet high, with rather coarse, harsh foliage and large, handsome flowers, two or three inches across, warm maroon in color, shading to brown and purple, with yellow stamens. This is handsome and conspicuous, because of the uncommon and rich coloring of its flowers, and grows along watercourses in the canyons of the foothills and is most common in northern California. It has many other names, such as Sweet Shrub, Carolina Allspice, Wineflowers, etc. [Illustration: Strawberry Shrub--Calycanthus occidentalis.] POPPY FAMILY. _Papaveraceae_. A rather large family, widely distributed, most abundant in the north temperate zone; herbs, rarely shrubs, with milky, mostly yellow juice and narcotic or acrid properties; the leaves mostly alternate, without stipules; the parts of the flower usually all separate and distinct, borne on a top-shaped receptacle. There are usually two sepals, which fall off when the blossom opens, and usually four petals, overlapping and crumpled in the bud; the stamens are usually numerous and conspicuous, with thread-like filaments; the superior ovary becomes a many-seeded capsule. There are only two kinds of Romneya, much alike, smooth, stout, perennial herbs, several feet high, with colorless sap, the leaves alternate and more or less divided; three sepals, each with a broad wing on the back; six, large, white petals; many stamens; the ovary covered with bristles. These plants are nowhere common, but are found from Santa Barbara south, and in lower California sometimes grow in great profusion. They are extensively cultivated and much admired abroad. [Sidenote: =Matilija Poppy, Giant Poppy= _Romnèya trichocàlyx_ =White Summer California=] This is often considered the handsomest flower in the West and it would be hard to find anything more beautiful and striking than its magnificent blossoms. The plant has somewhat the effect of a Peony-bush, sometimes, in cultivation, as much as five feet high, with many smooth stems and handsome, smooth, light-green foliage, the leaves cut and lobed, those near the top with a few prickles. The splendid flowers are enormous, from five to nine inches across, with diaphanous, white petals, crinkled like crêpe tissue-paper, and bright golden centers, composed of hundreds of yellow stamens surrounding a greenish-white pistil. The blossoms remain open for several days. The hard, round buds are covered with short, brown hairs. This is the true Matilija Poppy, (pronounced Matíliha,) as it is the kind that grows in the canyon of that name, but the tremendous floods of 1914 drowned most of these beautiful plants in that locality. _R_. _Còulteri_ is similar, but the buds are smooth and the stems more robust. [Illustration: Matilija Poppy--Romneya trichocalyx.] There are several kinds of Argemone, natives of the warmer parts of America, with bitter, yellow juice, spiny-toothed leaves and large, conspicuous flowers, the buds erect; sepals two or three, with odd little horns; petals twice as many as the sepals; stamens numerous; style very short, with a radiate stigma; capsule prickly, oblong, opening at the top, containing numerous seeds. [Sidenote: =Thistle Poppy, Milk Thistle= _Argemòne híspida_ =White Summer Southwest=] The prickly, bluish-green foliage of this decorative and handsome plant is thistle-like both in form and color. The leafy, branching stems, two or three feet high, are covered with dense, white or yellowish prickles and bear several lovely flowers, over three inches across, with delicately crumpled, white petals and beautiful golden centers, composed of numerous yellow stamens, both stem and leaves having a bluish "bloom." The three prickly green sepals each have a spine-like beak and form a queer-looking, three-horned bud; the pistil has a purplish, cap-shaped stigma, with six lobes, and the prickly ovary becomes a very prickly capsule. This grows in dry places and looks very beautiful and striking when we find its fragile flowers waving in the wind against a background of hot desert sand. It varies a good deal in prickliness and in the form both of plant and flower. When there is only one large flower in bloom, surrounded by a circle of prickly buds, it suggests a fairy princess, guarded by a retinue of fierce warriors. The flowers are often quite broad and flat, and then are sometimes given the prosaic name of Fried-eggs. There are many kinds of Papaver; with milky juice, leaves lobed or cut, nodding flower buds, showy regular flowers, with two or three sepals and four to six petals. The stigmas are united to form a disk with rays and the fruit is a round or oblong capsule, opening near the top. Both the Latin and common name, Poppy, are ancient. Opium is made from _P. somníferum_ of the Mediterranean. [Illustration: Thistle Poppy--Argemone hispida.] [Sidenote: =Wind Poppy= _Papàver heterophýllum_ =Red Spring California=] A slender, graceful plant, one or two feet tall, with smooth, branching, purplish stems, smooth leaves, variously cut and lobed, and charming flowers, gay yet delicate. They are about an inch and a half across, usually with four, scarlet petals, each with a spot of maroon at the base, and a bright-green pistil and maroon filaments with pale-yellow anthers. The buds and seed-pods are smooth. This varies a good deal, smells strong of opium when picked, and its flowers glow like jewels among the underbrush on open hillsides, but fall to pieces when gathered. There are a good many kinds of Eschscholtzia, with bitter, watery juice; leaves alternate, cut into many fine divisions; buds erect; flowers yellow; receptacle cuplike, often with a rim; the two sepals united to form a pointed cap, which is pushed off by the four petals as they expand; stamens numerous, with short filaments and long anthers; style very short, usually with four stigmas; pod long, narrow and ribbed, containing many seeds. These plants were collected at San Francisco in 1816 by von Chamisso, a German poet and naturalist, and named in honor of his friend Eschscholtz, a botanist. [Sidenote: =California Poppy= _Eschschóltzia Califórnica_ =Yellow Spring Cal., Oreg.=] Probably the most celebrated western flower and deservedly popular. It varies a great deal in general form and coloring, but is usually a fine plant, over a foot tall, with stems and leaves a beautiful shade of light bluish-green, and the flowers two or three inches across, usually bright-yellow, shading to orange at the base, but sometimes almost cream-color. They open in sunlight and when blooming in quantities are a beautiful sight, covering the hillsides with a cloth of gold. In southern Arizona a similar kind often borders the dry beds of streams with bright color, with much the same value in the landscape as the Marsh Marigolds along New England streams. It is the State flower of California and has many poetic Spanish names, such as Torosa, Amapola, and Dormidera, besides Copa de Oro, meaning "Cup of gold." [Illustration: California Poppy--Eschscholtzia Californica.] [Illustration: Wind Poppy--Papaver heterophyllum.] There are several kinds of Dendromecon, smooth shrubs, with alternate, toothless, leathery leaves and yellow flowers, with two sepals and four petals; stamens numerous, with short filaments; ovary with a short style and two, oblong stigmas. The name is from the Greek for "tree" and "poppy." [Sidenote: =Tree Poppy= _Dendromécon rígida_ =Yellow All seasons California=] This is not a true Poppy, but the flowers are sufficiently like to be quite surprising when we find them growing on what appears to be a small willow tree! It is a handsome and decorative shrub, both in form and color, two to eight feet high, with pale woody stems, the main stem with shreddy bark, and light bluish-green foliage, the leaves something like those of willow, but quite stiff and leathery, with a little pointed tip, the short leaf-stalks twisted so as to bring the leaf into a vertical position. Sprinkled all over the bush are numbers of beautiful, clear golden-yellow flowers, one to three inches across, with orange-colored anthers and a pale-yellow pistil. This grows on dry, sunny hillsides, at middle altitudes, and is common in southern California, but is particularly fine near Santa Barbara. The flowers have a slight smell like cucumber and may be found in bloom at all seasons of the year. The ribbed seed-pod is long and narrow. There is only one kind of Platystemon, with stem leaves opposite or in whorls; sepals three, soon falling; petals six; stamens many, with broad, flat filaments. The numerous pistils are at first partly united, forming a compound ovary; when ripe they separate into knotted pods, which break apart between the seeds. The name means "broad stamens." [Sidenote: =Cream-cups= _Platystèmon Califórnicus_ =Cream-color Spring Cal., Oreg., Ariz.=] Pretty graceful plants, their creamy blossoms often whitening the spring meadows. The slender hairy stems are about a foot tall, the leaves and the nodding buds light-green and hairy, and the pretty flowers, about an inch across, are delicate cream-color, the petals often stained with bright-yellow, either at the tip or base, or both, with pretty creamy centers. This is common in the foothills, plains, and valleys. [Illustration: Bush Poppy--Dendromecon rigida.] [Illustration: Cream-cups--Platystemon Californicus.] BLEEDING HEART FAMILY. _Fumariaceae._ A small family, widely distributed; very smooth, tender, perennial herbs, with watery juice; alternate, compound leaves, finely cut, lobed and fringed into many divisions, and irregular, perfect flowers, of peculiar shape, with two, scale-like sepals, and four petals, the inner pair narrower than the outer and united by their tips over the stamens and style. The six stamens are in two, equal sets, the filaments of each set somewhat united, the middle anther of each set with two cells, the others with only one. The superior ovary develops into a long, dry, one-celled capsule, containing shiny, black seeds. This family has been united to the Poppies by Bentham and Hooker, because the plan of the flowers is similar, though their appearance is unlike. There are several kinds of Bicuculla, natives of North America and Asia; perennials, with beautiful foliage and decorative flowers, of the curious and intricate shape we are familiar with in old-fashioned gardens. The pedicels have two bracts; the corolla is heart-shaped at base; the outer pair of petals are oblong and concave, with spreading tips and spurred or pouched at base, the inner pair are narrow and clawed, with crests or wings on the back; the style is slender, with a two-lobed stigma, each lobe with two crests. The creeping rootstock is surrounded by a bulb-like cluster of fleshy grains. These plants are often called Dutchman's Breeches, from the shape of the flower, which, of course, also gives the pretty name Bleeding Heart. Bicuculla is from the Latin, meaning "double-hooded." [Sidenote: =Bleeding Heart= _Bicucúlla formòsa (Dicentra)_ =Pink Summer Cal., Oreg., Wash.=] This is a very beautiful and interesting plant, about two feet tall, with delicate pale-green leaves, beautifully cut and lobed, all from the root, with very long leaf-stalks, and a few, graceful sprays of purplish-pink flowers, each about three-quarters of an inch long. This has a fleshy, spreading rootstock and grows in shady spots, in rich, moist woods, at moderate altitudes, but is not very common. It is found in the Yosemite Valley. _B. uniflòra_ is a diminutive alpine plant, from one to three inches high, usually with only one white or flesh-colored flower, about half an inch long, which is often hidden among dead leaves. This grows in rich soil on mountain sides in the Wasatch and Teton Mountains and in the Sierra Nevada, and is found in the Yosemite Valley and on Mt. Lyall, at a height of ten thousand five hundred feet. This is called Squirrel Corn and Steer's Head. [Illustration: Bleeding Heart--Bicuculla formosa.] [Illustration] [Sidenote: =Golden Eardrops= _Bicucúlla chrysántha (Dicentra)_ =Yellow Summer California=] The general appearance of this handsome plant is striking and Japanese in effect, and the coloring of the feathery, pale-green foliage and the golden-yellow flowers is exceedingly odd and beautiful. The large, finely-cut leaves are sometimes a foot long, and resemble delicate ferns, and the smooth, stout, rather coarse flower-stems bear a few pretty flowers, which are a soft shade of yellow, about three-quarters of an inch long, the usual Bleeding Heart shape, but not drooping, and with a strong narcotic odor, much like that of poppies. This is sometimes as much as four feet high and grows in sunny places on dry ridges in the Coast Ranges, but is nowhere common. There are many kinds of Capnoides, natives of the north temperate zone and Africa. They have oddly-shaped flowers, something like Bleeding Heart, but with only one spur, at the back on the upper side, instead of two. The name is from the Greek, meaning "smokelike," in allusion to the odor of some kinds. [Illustration] [Illustration: Golden Eardrops--Bicuculla chrysantha.] [Illustration] [Sidenote: =Golden Corydal= _Capnoìdes aùreum_ (_Corydalis_) =Yellow Spring West=] This has hollow, branching and spreading stems, from six to fourteen inches tall, with very pretty, delicate, pale-green foliage and bright-yellow flowers, each about half an inch long, on slender pedicels, in a loose cluster. The spurs give them a quaint and pert effect. The style stays on the tip of the long curved capsule, which looks like a bean-pod, drooping or sticking out at an awkward angle from the stem. This is especially fine in some of the mountain valleys in Utah, making beautiful clumps of foliage; it is widely distributed and is also found in the East. In the West it is sometimes called Dutchman's Breeches and confused with that plant, but rather absurdly so, for the Dutchman could have only one leg! [Sidenote: =Pink Corydalis= _Capnoìdes Scoúleri_ (_Corydalis_) =Pink Summer Wash., Oreg.=] A very beautiful and decorative plant, two or three feet tall, with large, exceedingly graceful leaves, vivid yet delicate in color and thin in texture, beautifully cut and lobed. The flowers are about an inch long, pale-pink shaded with deeper color, each with a long, cylindrical spur, and form pretty clusters, which show up very effectively against the tender green of the large clumps of delicate foliage, which are conspicuously beautiful. This grows in rich soil, in mountain woods, and is charming in the forests in Mt. Rainier National Park. [Illustration] [Illustration: Golden Corydal--C. aureum. Pink Corydalis--Capnoides Scouleri.] MUSTARD FAMILY. _Cruciferae._ A large family, widely distributed. Both the English and Latin names are appropriate, for the watery juice of these plants is pungent, like mustard, and the flowers spread out their four petals in the form of a cross. They are herbs, the leaves alternate or from the root, usually with no leaf-stalks. The flowers have four petals, with claws; four sepals, the two outer ones narrow, apt to drop off; six stamens, two of them short. The ovary is superior, usually with a single style and stigma, and usually develops into a pod, divided in two by a transparent partition, which remains after the pod has opened from below; in some kinds the pod remains closed. The flowers generally grow in clusters and though they are often small they produce honey and so are frequented by bees and flies. The family is easily recognized by the four petals and in most species by two stamens being shorter than the others, but the flowers are so much alike that the various kinds have to be determined by examining the fruit. Radish and Horse-radish, Mustard and Water-cress all belong to this family, as well as many familiar garden flowers, such as Sweet Alyssum, Candytuft, Rockets, and Stocks, and many are common weeds, such as Peppergrass and Shepherd's Purse. There are several kinds of Dentaria, smooth perennials, with rather large white or pink flowers and tuberous rootstocks. [Sidenote: =Milk Maids, Pepper-root= _Dentària Califórnica_ =White, pink Spring Cal., Oreg.=] A charming plant, with a purplish stem, from six inches to two feet tall, and pretty leaves, varying in shape, those from the root being roundish in outline, or with three leaflets, but the stem-leaves with three or five leaflets. The flowers are about three-quarters of an inch across, with pure-white or pale-pink petals. This is one of the loveliest of the early spring flowers in the Coast Ranges and usually found in damp spots, both in woods and open places, often whitening the meadows with its blossoms. [Illustration: Milk Maids--Dentaria Californica.] There are a good many kinds of Thelypodium, natives of North America, all western or southwestern; mostly smooth plants, the leaves usually with leaf-stalks, the flowers in clusters; stamens long, conspicuous, with very narrow, arrow-shaped anthers; pods long, cylindrical or four-sided, often twisted, sometimes on a slender stalk; seeds oblong, flattish, in one row in each cell. [Sidenote: _Thelypòdium torulòsum_ =Lilac Spring, summer West, etc.=] This has small flowers, but often grows in such quantities on the flats near Salt Lake that it tints the fields with purple. The purplish stem is from twelve to fifteen inches tall and the leaves are light bluish-green and very smooth, the root-leaves with long leaf-stalks, and the stem-leaves arrow-shaped and clasping at base. The flowers are about half an inch across, with a purplish-tinged calyx and pale pinkish-lilac petals, and form flat-topped clusters. The pods are spreading and rather knobby. This usually grows on dry hills, reaching an altitude of over nine thousand feet, as far east as Wyoming. There are many kinds of Arabis, widely distributed, with small, white or purplish flowers. [Sidenote: =Fendler's Arabis= _Árabis Féndleri_ =Magenta Spring Arizona=] This is a rather pretty plant, a foot or more tall, with more or less hairy stems and leaves and pretty clusters of magenta flowers, each about a quarter of an inch across. It grows on the rim of the Grand Canyon. There are many kinds of Erysimum, most abundant in Europe and Asia. They are usually biennial or perennial, more or less downy; mostly with yellow flowers; the pods long, narrow and squarish or flattish, rarely round, with numerous seeds, in one row. In Europe these plants often grow in the crannies of old walls, hence the common name. [Sidenote: =Western Wallflower= _Erýsimum ásperum_ =Orange, lemon-yellow Spring, summer West, etc.=] The vivid glowing orange of these handsome flowers is exceedingly effective among the dark tree-trunks of the mountain forests where they often grow. They are widely distributed as far east as Ohio. The stout, purplish stems are from one to two feet tall and the long, narrow leaves, often toothed, are apt to be purplish on the under side, and both stem and leaves are rather rough. The fragrant flowers, each about three-quarters of an inch across, form a handsome cluster, about three inches across. The calyx is yellow, the pistil green, and the anthers brown. The conspicuous, four-sided pods are spreading or erect, from one to five inches long, with a stout beak. In the high mountains the orange-color gives way to the variety _perénne_, with lemon-colored flowers, perhaps commoner than the orange, not so tall, and wonderfully handsome in the Wasatch Mountains, around Mt. Rainier and similar places, and widely distributed. The Cream-colored Wallflower, _E. capitàtum_, blooms early, growing near the coast; the flowers large, handsome, but not sweet-scented. [Illustration: Western Wall-flower--Erysimum asperum.] [Illustration: Thelypodium torulosum. Arabis Fendleri.] There are a good many kinds of Thlaspi, of temperate and arctic regions: smooth low plants, mostly mountain; root-leaves forming a rosette; stem-leaves more or less arrow-shaped and clasping; flowers rather small, white or purplish; sepals blunt; style slender, sometimes none, with a small stigma; pod flat, roundish, wedge-shaped, or heart-shaped, with crests or wings. [Sidenote: =Wild Candytuft, Pennycress= _Thláspi glaùcum_ =White Spring, summer, autumn Northwest and Utah=] A rather pretty little plant, with several flower-stalks, springing from rosettes of leaves, dull-green, somewhat purplish and thickish, smooth and obscurely toothed, all more or less covered with a "bloom"; the flowers small, slightly fragrant, forming clusters less than an inch across, the white petals longer than the thin, greenish sepals. This grows on moist, mountain slopes. _T. alpéstre_, of the Northwest, is similar, but without "bloom." There are only a few kinds of Dithyrea, grayish, hairy plants, resembling Biscutella of the Mediterranean, with yellowish or whitish flowers. [Sidenote: _Dithýrea Wislizéni_ =White Summer Ariz., New Mex., Tex., Okla., Ark.=] A little desert plant, from six to twelve inches tall, with branching stems; pale, yellowish-green, downy leaves, about an inch long, with wavy or toothed margins; small white flowers and funny little seed-pods, sticking out at right-angles from the stem. This grows at an altitude of three to four thousand feet and is found in the Petrified Forest. There are many kinds of Streptanthus, difficult to distinguish, smooth plants, often with a "bloom"; stems branching; leaves often clasping at base, the lower ones usually more toothed or lobed than the upper. The flowers are very peculiar in shape, not like most Mustards, but suggesting the shape of a Bleeding Heart flower; the sepals usually colored like the petals, two or all of them bulging at base, so that the calyx is broad below and contracted above; the corolla regular or irregular, the petals purple or white, with claws and narrow, wavy or crisp borders; the stamens four long and two short, or in three unequal pairs, the longest pair often united below; the pods long, narrow, flattish or cylindrical, on a broad receptacle; the seeds flat and more or less winged. These plants are called Jewel-flower, but the name does not seem particularly appropriate. [Illustration: Dithyrea Wislizeni. Wild Candytuft--Thlaspi glaucum.] [Sidenote: =Shield-leaf= _Streptánthus tortuòsus_ =Yellowish, purplish Summer California=] Nothing about this odd-looking plant is pretty and it almost seems as if it were trying to make up by eccentricity for its lack of beauty. It is common in dry, sandy places in the mountains and our attention is first attracted to the tall, branching stalks, because they are strung with such queer-looking leaves. In summer the upper ones are bright-yellow or dull-purple and they clasp the stem and curve over, so that they look like small brass shields, pierced by the stem. There are three or four of these curving leaves, very smooth and shiny, and several more below, which are flatter and dark-green, and the stem, from six inches to three feet high, is oddly twisted and leans to one side. The small flowers are yellowish or mauve, veined with purple, less than half an inch long and peculiar in shape. The contrast in color between the flowers and leaves is very odd and very ugly, but as if this were not enough, later in the season the curious thing hangs itself with ridiculously long, slender pods, like great hooks, and looks queerer and more disheveled than ever. [Sidenote: =Arizona Streptanthus= _Streptánthus Arizònicus_ =White Spring Arizona=] Prettier and not so queer-looking as the last. The leaves are arrow-shaped, clasping at base, rather leathery, bluish-green, with a "bloom" and tinged with purple on the backs, the lower ones toothed, and the pods are about two inches long, flat and tinged with purple. The flowers are half an inch long, pearly-white, the petals yellowish, veined with purple, and are quite pretty. This grows in dry places. [Illustration: Arizona Streptanthus--Streptanthus Arizonicus. Shield-leaf--S. tortuosus.] There are only a few kinds of Stanleya, all western; tall, stout, smooth perennials, or biennials, with a "bloom"; flowers large, mostly yellow, without bracts, in long, terminal, clusters; sepals long, narrow; petals long, narrow, with long claws; stamens six, very nearly equal; ovary on a short stalk, with a short style or none; pods long, narrow and flattish, with long stalks; seeds numerous. Named for Lord Edward Stanley, President of the Linnaean Society. [Sidenote: =Golden Prince's Plume= _Stánleya pinnatífida_ =Yellow Spring Southwest and New Mex.=] The pretty common name of this tall, handsome plant was given by Helen Hunt Jackson and the long, feathery wand of numerous blossoms is beautiful and suggests a plume. On the other hand, the straggling flowers have such long, narrow, curling petals, the threadlike filaments look so much like curling antennae and the long, thin pods stick out so awkwardly, like insects' legs, from among the flowers on the lower part of the stalk, that we find the general effect is rather weird and spidery. In fact the plant I drew had a large yellow spider, precisely the color of the flowers, half-concealed among them. The stem is from two to five feet high; the leaves are smooth, pale bluish-green, the lower ones with leaflets and a leaf-stalk, and the flowers are bright-yellow, or cream-color, about an inch across. This grows usually in dampish spots, in arid regions. The picture is of one I found in Indian Garden Canyon, a branch of the Grand Canyon. [Sidenote: _Dryopétalon runcinàtum_ =White Spring Arizona=] The only kind, a fine plant, well worth cultivation; smooth and branching, about two feet tall, with handsome, bluish-green leaves, with a "bloom," the root-leaves with long, purplish leaf-stalks and sometimes nine inches long; the flowers half an inch across, with a lilac-tinged calyx and white petals, prettily toothed, forming a pretty, rather flat-topped cluster. The pods are very slender, nearly straight, one or two inches long. This grows among rocks, in protected situations, and is not common. Only a few, separate flowers are given in the picture, as the plant I found, near the Desert Laboratory at Tucson, was almost out of bloom. [Illustration: Dryopetalon runcinatum. Golden Prince's Plume--Stanleya pinnatifida.] There are a good many kinds of Lesquerella, all American; low plants, more or less hairy or scurfy; flowers mostly yellow, in clusters; petals without claws; pods roundish, more or less inflated, and giving the common name, Bladder-pod, also used for _Isomeris arborea_. [Sidenote: =White Bladder-pod= _Lesquerélla purpùrea_ =White, pink Spring Arizona=] Pretty little plants, often growing in quantities among rocks in mountain canyons. The slender stems are from a few inches to over a foot tall, springing from a cluster of root-leaves, varying a good deal in shape, dull-green and harsh to the touch. The flowers are half an inch or more across, with white petals, often tinged with pink, with a little yellow in the throat, and form a pretty, rather flat-topped cluster. [Sidenote: =Yellow Bladder-pod= _Lesquerélla Arizònica_ =Yellow Summer Arizona=] In desert places, such as the terrible sandy wastes of the Petrified Forest, where it seems a miracle that anything should grow, we find the close, pale, gray-green tufts of this little plant, crowned with racemes of small bright-yellow flowers. The small, thickish leaves are long, narrow and white with close down, the stems, about three inches high, branch at the root and the little pods are tipped with a style of about their own length. _L. Gordóni_, of Arizona, also has clusters of little yellow flowers, often covering sandy hillsides with bright color; the leaves slightly stiff and rough, the pods much inflated. It resembles _L. purpurea_ in general form and size. There are many kinds of Brassica, coarse "weeds" in this country. This is the ancient Latin name for Cabbage, which belongs to this genus, as well as Cauliflower, Turnip, and Brussels Sprouts. [Sidenote: =Black Mustard= _Brássica nìgra_ =Yellow Summer U. S.=] A European "weed," common everywhere. In California it grows to an enormous height, sometimes twelve feet, and when in bloom is a beautiful feature of the landscape, covering the fields with a shimmering sheet of pale gold. The leaves are dark-green, smooth or with a few hairs, all with leaf-stalks, the lower leaves large and jagged, cut into leaflets, the upper leaves mostly toothless. The fragrant flowers form long clusters, each flower about three-quarters of an inch across; the small, cylindrical pods stand erect, close to the branching stem. A valuable, antiseptic oil is made from the black, pungent seeds, exported from California by the ton. [Illustration: White Bladder-pod--Lesquerella purpurea.] CAPER FAMILY. _Capparidaceae._ The flowers of this family are much like the Mustards, but the stamens are all of equal length and are often more than six; the leaves are alternate and consist of three or several leaflets, with stalks, and the plant usually tastes bitter and disagreeable instead of pungent. There is no partition in the pods, which are on long, threadlike stalks; the ovary is superior and the seeds are kidney-shaped. Many flowers have only a rudimentary pistil and never produce fruit. The Caper, of which we eat the pickled flower-buds for a relish, is a shrub which grows in the Levant. The family is quite large and flourishes in warm regions. There are several kinds of Cleomella, resembling Cleome, except that the pods are different. [Sidenote: =Cleomella= _Cleomélla lóngipes_ =Yellow Spring Nev., Cal., Oreg.=] This is a handsome, rather odd-looking plant, with a stout, smooth, yellowish or purplish stem, sometimes branching and over a foot tall. The leaves are bright light-green, smooth, toothless and slightly thickish, and the three leaflets are sometimes each tipped with a hair, and have a tuft of small hairs at the base of the leaf-stalk, in place of a stipule. The flowers are about half an inch across, and are a beautiful warm shade of golden-yellow, the long stamens being of the same color and giving a very pretty feathery appearance to the large cluster. The pods are queer-looking little things and stick straight out from the stem. This has a slightly unpleasant smell, but looks very gay and pretty in the fields and along the edges of the mesas around Reno. [Illustration] [Illustration: Cleomella--C. longipes.] [Illustration] There are many kinds of Cleome; ours are branching herbs, with palmately-divided leaves; the flowers with four sepals, four petals, and six stamens. The ovary has a stalk with a gland at its base and becomes a long pod, with a long stalk and many seeds. [Sidenote: =Bee-plant= _Cleòme serrulàta_ =Pinkish-lilac, white Summer Southwest, etc.=] In Arizona this exceedingly handsome plant often covers the dry beds of rivers with acres of beautiful color. The smooth, branching stem is sometimes as much as eight feet high. The upper leaves are long and narrow and the lower are larger and usually have three leaflets, but all are bluish-green and peculiarly soft and smooth to the touch. The buds are purple and the delicate flowers, with threadlike flower-stalks, grow in a handsome, feathery cluster, sometimes a foot long, with numerous bracts. They have four, pinkish-lilac or white petals and six exceedingly long, threadlike stamens with minute, curling, green anthers. The lilac pistil is also very long and before the flower drops off begins to develop into a small, flat, green pod. These gradually lengthen, until the stem is ornamented with many hooklike pods, with slender stalks, hanging all along it. Many of the flowers do not produce fruit. The foliage when it is crushed gives off a rank, unpleasant smell, which is responsible for the local name of Skunk-weed. This is widely distributed and is found in the central and northern part of the United States, as well as in the Southwest. [Illustration] [Illustration: Bee-plant--Cleome serrulata.] [Illustration] [Sidenote: =Yellow Cleome= _Cleòme platycàrpa_ =Yellow Spring Nevada=] An odd-looking plant, with very pretty, feathery flower-clusters. The hairy stem is over a foot tall and the leaves are bright yellowish-green and mostly smooth on the upper side, with hairy margins and hairy on the under side. The flowers are a warm shade of bright golden-yellow and form a handsome, rather flat-topped cluster, with long stamens, and the oblong pods are an inch long or less, flat and much broader than those of the last. The flowers are slightly sweet-scented and the whole plant exudes a faint unpleasant odor. This is conspicuous on the dreary mesas around Reno, often growing with _Cleomella longipes_, which it very much resembles in general appearance, except for the pods, which are quite different. There is only one kind of Isomeris. [Sidenote: =Bladderpod= _Isómeris arbòrea_ =Yellow Spring California=] This is a shrub about three feet high, which is attractive except for its unpleasant smell. The leaves are smooth, toothless, stiffish and thickish, and bluish-green, with a small bristle at the tip, and mostly with three leaflets. The pretty flowers are nearly an inch across and warm yellow in color, not very bright but pretty in tone, with six very long, yellow stamens, and form a short, oblong cluster. The ovary has such a long stalk, even in the flower, that it gives an odd appearance and it develops into a very curious and conspicuous, drooping pod, an inch and a half long, much inflated and resembling a very fat pea-pod, on a long stalk, with two rows of seeds like little peas inside it, which taste very bitter. This is quite common on southern mesas. The name Bladderpod is also used for Lesquerella, which belongs to the Mustard Family. [Illustration] [Illustration: Bladderpod--Isomeris arborea.] ORPINE FAMILY. _Crassulaceae._ A rather large family, widely distributed; odd-looking, mostly very succulent herbs, with smooth, fleshy leaves and stems, without stipules; flowers in clusters; sepals, petals, pistils, and stamens, all of the same number, usually four or five, sometimes the stamens twice as many; ovary superior; receptacle with honey-bearing scales, one behind each pistil; pistils separate, developing into small dry pods, containing few or many, minute seeds. Some of these plants look like tiny cabbages and we are all familiar with their tight little rosettes in the formal garden-beds of hotels and railway stations, where they are so stiff and unattractive that we hardly recognize them when we find them looking exceedingly pretty in their natural homes. The Latin name means "thick." There are many kinds of Sedum, no one kind very widely distributed; fleshy herbs; leaves usually alternate; flowers star-like, often in one-sided clusters; stamens and pistils sometimes in different flowers on different plants; sepals and petals four or five; stamens eight or ten, on the calyx, the alternate ones usually attached to the petals; styles usually short. The Latin name means "to sit," because these plants squat on the ground, and Stonecrop is from their fondness for rocks. [Sidenote: =Douglas Stonecrop= _Sèdum Douglásii_ =Yellow Spring, summer Northwest=] This makes beautiful golden patches, on dry slopes or more or less open hilltops, usually among limestone rocks. The reddish stems are from six to ten inches tall, the leaves are rather long and narrow, thick but flat, forming pretty pale-green rosettes, more or less tinged with pink and yellow, and the pretty starry flowers are three-quarters of an inch across, bright-yellow, with greenish centers, the stamens giving a feathery appearance. [Sidenote: =Yosemite Stonecrop= _Sèdum Yosemiténse_ =Yellow Summer California=] On moss-covered rocks, moistened by the glistening spray blowing from the Yosemite waterfalls, we find these beautiful plants, covering the stones with a brilliant, many-colored carpet. The flowers are stars of brightest gold, about half an inch across and delicately scented, and form flat-topped clusters, three or four inches across. The upper part of the stalk, which is about six inches tall, and the upper leaves are delicate bluish-green, but both stem and leaves shade to vivid scarlet at the base. Spreading out on the ground from the base of the stem in all directions are numerous little runners, each bearing at the end a small rosette of thick, blue-green leaves, forming a beautiful contrast to the vivid color of flowers and stems. The leaves and runners are very brittle and break off at a touch. [Illustration: Douglas Stone-crop--S. Douglasii Yosemite Stonecrop--Sedum Yosemitense.] There are several kinds of Dudleya; perennials, very thick and fleshy; root-leaves in a conspicuous rosette, stem-leaves mostly bract-like, usually with a broad, clasping base; flowers mostly yellow or reddish; calyx conspicuous, with five lobes; petals united at base; stamens ten. Most of these plants grow in the South, often on rocks, in such shallow soil, that they would die in dry weather, except that the juicy leaves retain their moisture for a long time and nourish the plant. They resemble Sedum in appearance, but as the petals are more or less united the flowers are not starlike. The Indians make poultices out of the leaves. [Sidenote: =Hen-and-Chickens= _Dúdleya Nevadénsis (Cotyledon)_ =Orange-red Summer California=] The succulent, reddish flower-stalks of this handsome plant bear large, loose, rather flat-topped clusters of orange-red flowers, on coiling branches, and are about a foot tall, with scaly bracts, springing from a large handsome rosette on the ground of very thick, pale-green leaves, often tinged with pink. Other smaller rosettes form a circle around it, hence its nice little common name. _D. pulverulénta (Echeveria)_ is beautiful but weird-looking. It has red flowers, and the rosette, resembling a small Century-plant, is covered all over with a white powder which, among ordinary herbage, gives an exceedingly striking and ghostlike effect. This plant is sometimes a foot and a half across, with as many as eight, tall stalks, and is found from San Diego to Santa Barbara. [Illustration: Hen-and-Chickens--Dudleya Nevadensis.] SAXIFRAGE FAMILY. _Saxifragaceae._ A large family, almost all herbs, living usually in temperate regions. They have no very peculiar characteristics and resemble the Rose Family, but sometimes their leaves are opposite, usually they have no stipules and have fewer stamens than Roses, not more than twice as many as the sepals, and usually the pistils, from two to five in number, with distinct styles, are united to form a compound ovary, which is superior or partly inferior; sepals usually five; petals four, five, or rarely none, alternate with the sepals; petals and stamens borne on the calyx; fruit a dry pod or berry, containing numerous seeds. The Latin name means "rock breaker," as many grow among rocks. There are several kinds of Parnassia, of north temperate and arctic regions; smooth perennials; leaves toothless, almost all from the root; flowers single; sepals five; petals five, each with a cluster of sterile filaments, tipped with glands, at the base; fertile stamens five, alternate with the petals; ovary superior, or partly inferior, with a very short style, or none, usually with four stigmas; fruit a capsule, containing numerous winged seeds. These plants were called Grass of Parnassus by Dioscorides, but are not grasslike. They resemble the other members of this family so little that they have been made into a separate family by some botanists. [Sidenote: =Grass of Parnassus= _Parnássia fimbriàta_ =White Summer Northwest=] A charming plant, with several slender stems, about a foot tall, springing from a large cluster of handsome, very smooth, glossy leaves. The flowers are about an inch across and have cream-white petals, delicately veined with green and prettily fringed towards the base, and pale yellow anthers. At the base of each petal there is a queer little stiff cluster of sterile filaments, like a tiny green hand. This grows on banks of streams and in moist places, reaching an altitude of eleven thousand feet. _P. Californica_ is similar, but the petals not fringed. There are several kinds of Leptasea, perennials, with alternate, thick or stiffish leaves; flowers white or yellow, single or in terminal clusters; sepals five; petals five, with claws or claw-like bases; stamens ten; ovary mostly superior. [Illustration: Grass of Parnassus--Parnassia fimbriata.] [Sidenote: =Dotted Saxifrage= _Leptàsea austromontàna. (Saxifraga bronchialis)_ =White Summer Northwest=] Pretty little plants, about six inches tall, forming matted clumps of stiff, rather dark green foliage, the twigs crowded with leathery, toothless leaves, bristly along the edges and tipped with a little stiff point. The pretty flowers are about half an inch across, their white petals dotted with dark red or purple towards the tips, sometimes dotted with yellow near the center, with yellow anthers and a pale green ovary, partly inferior. These little plants sometimes cover rocky slopes for long distances with their leafy mats and are common in the mountains at moderate altitudes. There are several kinds of Muscaria, perennial, matted herbs; leaves alternate, usually three-lobed, mostly from the root; flowers white, single, or a few in terminal clusters; sepals five; petals five, without claws; stamens ten; ovary about one-half inferior. [Sidenote: =Tufted Saxifrage= _Muscària caespitòsa (Saxifraga)_ =White Summer Northwest, etc.=] Pretty little plants, from two to six inches tall, with small leaves, with from three to five lobes or teeth, forming matted patches of pretty foliage, from which spring many slender, slightly hairy flower-stems, with a few bracts or leaves, and bearing one or more pretty flowers, less than half an inch across, with white petals, yellow anthers, and a greenish-yellow ovary. This grows in rocky crevices in the mountains, across the continent, also in arctic and alpine Europe and Siberia. There are a good many kinds of Lithophragma, perennials, bearing bulblets on their slender rootstocks and sometimes also on the stems; leaves more or less divided, mostly from the root; stipules small; flowers few, in a loose, terminal cluster; sepals five; petals five, white or pink, with claws; stamens ten, short; ovary superior or partly inferior, with three short styles. [Sidenote: =Woodland Star= _Lithophrágma heterophýlla_ =White Spring, summer California=] A little woodland plant, delicate and pretty, with a slender, hairy stem, from nine inches to two feet tall, springing from a pretty cluster of hairy leaves, variable in shape, but usually with three or five lobes. The starry flowers are three-quarters of an inch across, with white petals, prettily slashed. This is sometimes called Star of Bethlehem, but that name belongs to an Ornithogalum, grown in gardens. [Illustration: Dotted Saxifrage--Leptasea austromontana. Tufted Saxifrage--Muscaria caespitosa. Woodland Star--Lithophragma heterophylla.] [Sidenote: =Youth-on-age= _Leptáxis Menzièsii. (Tolmiea)_ =Purplish Summer Wash., Oreg., Cal.=] The only kind, a perennial, over a foot tall, with a hairy stem bearing a graceful wand of small flowers, springing from a cluster of root-leaves, bright green and thin in texture, but roughish and sparsely hairy. The flowers are about a third of an inch long, the calyx, which is the conspicuous part, dark-purple or pinkish-red and slightly irregular, with three large and two small sepals, and the petals of the same color, but so narrow that they look like long curling filaments. The three stamens are opposite the three upper sepals, the ovary is superior and the capsule has two long beaks. Young plants often spring from the base of the leaf, where it joins the leaf-stalk, and this habit gives the common name. This grows in mountain woods and is attractive, for though the flowers are dull in color they are unusual in form and the leaves are pretty. There are a good many kinds of Heuchera, North American, difficult to distinguish; perennials, with stout rootstocks; leaves mostly from the root; flowers small, in clusters; calyx-tube bell-shaped, with five lobes; petals small, sometimes lacking, on the throat of the calyx, with claws; stamens five, inserted with the petals; ovary partly inferior, with two slender styles, becoming two beaks on the capsule. [Sidenote: =Alumroot= _Heuchèra micrántha_ =Pink and white Summer Cal., Oreg., Wash.=] These feathery sprays are so airy and delicate that they might almost be made of mingled mist and moonshine, blown from the waterfalls they love to haunt, but are not so fragile as they look, for the clusters of tiny pink and white flowers last a long time in water. The stem is very slender, rather hairy, from one to three feet tall, springing from a cluster of roundish leaves, prettily lobed and scalloped, bright green, with some white hairs on the backs and on the long leaf-stems, often with red veins. The handsome leaves and lovely feathery spires are conspicuous, decorative and quite common, among mossy rocks in dark, rich mountain woods, up to six thousand feet. [Illustration: Alumroot--Heuchera micrantha. Youth-on-age--Leptaxis Menziesii.] [Sidenote: =Alumroot= _Heuchèra rubéscens_ =Pink and white Summer Southwest, Utah, Nev.=] This is not so tall and the leaves, with blunt teeth and sometimes slightly lobed, are smaller. In Utah they are dark green and shining on the upper side, smooth or slightly downy, with a bristle at the tip of each lobe, often reddish on the under side, and in Yosemite quite rough, with hairs on the edges and veins. The flowers are about a quarter of an inch across, the calyx deep-pink, with blunt, green teeth, the petals long, narrow and white, the general effect of the flower being pink. The clusters are not nearly so airy as those of _H. micrantha_ and in the high Sierras the stems are shorter and the clusters still more compact. This was first found on one of the islands in Great Salt Lake. There are other similar kinds, some with greenish flowers. There are several kinds of Micranthes, perennials, sometimes with bulblets at the base of the stem; leaves thickish, from the root; flowers white, in terminal clusters; petals five, mostly without claws; stamens ten; ovary slightly inferior. [Sidenote: =Tall Swamp Saxifrage= _Micránthes Oregàna (Saxifraga)_ =White Summer Northwest=] This is conspicuous on account of its height, with a stout, stiff, leafless, hairy flower-stalk, three feet or more tall, springing from a loose rosette of smooth, thickish, bright-green leaves, not standing up stiffly but spreading, sometimes nearly a foot long, paler on the under side and obscurely toothed at the ends, with some minute hairs along the lower margins. The flowers are small, with cream-white petals, orange-red anthers and a green ovary, and form a long branching cluster towards the top of the stalk. This grows in swamps in the mountains. [Sidenote: =Saxifrage= _Micránthes rhomboídea (Saxifraga)_ =White Spring, summer Southwest, Idaho, Utah, Col.=] A little alpine plant, growing in moist soil, or on mossy rocks. The sticky-hairy flower-stem is from two to twelve inches tall, springing from a cluster of dull-green root-leaves, toothless, or toothed towards the ends, slightly thickish and very slightly downy and the flowers are small, and form a compact cluster. [Illustration: Saxifrage--Micranthes rhomboidea. Tall Swamp Sáxifrage--M. Oregana.] [Sidenote: =Modesty= _Whípplea modésta_ =White Spring Wash., Oreg., Cal.=] The only kind, a pretty little under-shrub, with many woody stems, spreading and trailing on the ground, the branches clothed with more or less hairy leaves, with three veins, and bearing clusters of very small flowers, with a pleasant honey-like fragrance. They usually have ten stamens, the ovary is partially inferior, with from three to five styles; sepals whitish; petals white, becoming greenish. The low masses of green foliage, spotted with white flower clusters, are a pretty feature of the Coast Range forests and thickets, especially among redwoods. There are several kinds of Mitella, perennials, of North America and Asia. [Sidenote: =Bishop's Cap, Mitrewort= _Mitélla ovális_ =White Summer Northwest and Utah=] An inconspicuous little plant, of mountain woods, with pretty leaves and tiny flowers. The slender, hairy, leafless stem, about ten inches tall, springs from a cluster of root-leaves, smooth on the upper side, except for a few bristly hairs, with bristly hairs on the under veins and on the long, slender leaf-stalks. The flowers grow in a graceful, one-sided spray and have a five-lobed, green calyx, five minute petals, five stamens with short filaments, and a roundish ovary, almost wholly inferior. The petals have pretty little bits of feathery fringe between them, which make the little flowers look like tiny snow crystals in shape, when we examine them closely. There are several kinds of Spatularia, perennials, sometimes with bulblets; leaves from the root, mostly toothed; flowers white, in open clusters; sepals five; petals all clawed, the three upper differing from the two lower; ovary chiefly superior. [Sidenote: _Spatulària Brunoniàna (Saxifraga Nutkana) (Saxifraga Bongardi)_ =White Summer Northwest=] A beautiful plant, with such slender stems and branches that, at a distance, the little white flowers look like specks of foam. The hairy, reddish stems, from a few inches to over a foot tall and very branching, spring from clusters of thickish, stiffish, hairy root-leaves and bear dozens of flowers, about three-eighths of an inch across, with white petals, spotted with yellow or red at the base and slightly irregular, the three upper petals being narrower than the two lower. The anthers are orange; ovary white or pinkish; calyxes and buds purplish-red. This grows among rocks in mountains. [Illustration: Spatularia Brunoniana (small part of cluster). Modesty--Whipplea modesta. Bishop's Cap--Mitella ovalis.] HYDRANGEA FAMILY. _Hydrangeaceae._ Shrubs or trees, with opposite leaves and no stipules. The flowers are in clusters and usually perfect, but sometimes those at the margins of the clusters are without pistils or stamens and larger than those in the middle; the calyx usually with four to ten sepals, and in sterile flowers often conspicuously enlarged; the petals four to ten; the stamens eight to many; the ovary wholly or partly inferior; the styles separate or united, sometimes lacking; the fruit a capsule. Many very ornamental garden shrubs, such as Deutzia and Hydrangea, are included in this family. There are several kinds of Fendlera, natives of North America; shrubs, with white or pink flowers, with four sepals and four petals, the latter with claws. The eight stamens have two-forked filaments and the ovary is partly inferior, with four styles. [Sidenote: _Féndlera rupícola_ =White, pink Spring Ariz., Utah, Nev.=] Among the many beautiful plants to be found in the Grand Canyon one of the most conspicuous is the Fendlera. It is a tall, handsome shrub, growing along the upper part of Bright Angel trail, and in May it is covered with charming white blossoms. These flowers measure an inch across, and have cream-white or pale pink petals, narrowing to a claw at the base, and purplish sepals, and they grow in clusters of three or four, mixed with pink buds, on the ends of short branches. The small oblong leaves have three nerves and the wood is tough and gray, with deeply furrowed bark. Though their scent is rather unpleasant, the flowers are lovely and look just like some novel variety of fruit-blossom, but this resemblance is deceptive for they produce nothing but dry pods. There are a good many kinds of Philadelphus, natives of North America, Asia, and Europe; shrubs, with large, white or cream-colored flowers; the calyx top-shaped, with four or five lobes; the petals four or five; the stamens twenty to forty, inserted on a disk; the ovary inferior, with three to five styles; the capsule top-shaped, containing many oblong seeds. These plants were named in honor of King Ptolemy Philadelphus. They are often called Mock-Orange, because the flowers often resemble orange-blossoms. The commonest name, Syringa, is confusing, because that is the generic name of the Lilac. [Illustration: Fendlera rupicola.] [Illustration] [Sidenote: =Syringa= _Philadélphus Califórnicus_ =White Summer Cal., Oreg., Wash.=] In June and July, in the high Sierras, up to an altitude of four thousand feet, this lovely shrub forms fragrant thickets of bloom. It looks very much like the familiar garden Syringa and the smell is just as delicious. The bush is from four to twelve feet high, with smooth, pale, woody stems, dark-green leaves, sometimes slightly toothed, very smooth and shiny, and pretty flowers, in clusters at the ends of the branches. They are each about an inch across, with four or five, cream-white petals, rolled in the bud, and a golden center, composed of numerous, bright-yellow stamens. [Sidenote: =Small Syringa= _Philadélphus microphýllus_ =White Summer Ariz., Cal., New Mex.=] A small shrub, not nearly so handsome as the last, from two to three feet high, with slender, pale-gray, woody stems, branching very abruptly. The small leaves are smooth and very bright green on the upper side, but the under side is very pale and covered with close white down. The flowers are much smaller than the garden Syringa, with white petals and numerous yellow stamens, the calyx reddish outside and downy within, and have a delicious smell, like lemon-blossoms. This pretty little shrub may be found growing in small shady canyons, in northern Arizona and elsewhere in the Southwest. [Illustration] [Illustration: Small Syringa--P. microphyllus. Syringa Philadelphus Californicus.] GOOSEBERRY FAMILY. _Grossulariaceae._ A small family, shrubs, with alternate, palmately-lobed leaves, often sticky or resinous; the flowers almost always in clusters; the pedicels with a bract at the base and usually with two bractlets halfway up; petals five, or rarely four, usually smaller than the calyx-lobes; stamens of the same number as the petals and alternate with them; ovary inferior, with two styles, more or less united; fruit a berry, crowned with the withered remains of the flower. There are several kinds of Grossularia, or Gooseberry; shrubs, sometimes with trailing branches, almost always spiny; flowers with bracts; ovary often spiny. [Sidenote: =Wild Gooseberry= _Grossulària Roèzli (Ribes)_ =Maroon and white Spring California=] This is a stout shrub, one to four feet high, with thick, short, rigid little branches, the knobby joints more or less spiny. The roundish leaves, less than an inch across, are lobed and scalloped, rather dull green and slightly downy, and the flowers are about half an inch long, with maroon-colored sepals and white petals, the base of the calyx-tube downy. The purple berry is half an inch in diameter and covered with stout prickles. This Gooseberry is common at moderate altitudes. The drooping, red and white flowers resemble tiny Fuchsias, both in color and form. _G. Menzièsii_, the Canyon Gooseberry, also has pretty fuchsia-like flowers and grows in the Coast Ranges of California and Oregon, blooming in the winter. [Sidenote: =Fuchsia-flowered Gooseberry= _Grossulària speciòsa_ =Red Spring California=] In spite of its name, the flowers of this handsome shrub do not look as much like Fuchsias as the two last. The stems are armed with long thorns and the leaves are thick, dark green, and glossy. The flowers have four sepals, four petals, and four stamens and are about an inch long and beautiful bright-red in color. The berry is dry and very prickly. This is common in the southern part of California. [Illustration: Fuchsia-flowered Gooseberry--G. speciosa. Wild Gooseberry--Grossularia Roezli.] There are many kinds of Ribes, or Currant, of temperate regions; shrubs, almost always smooth; flowers sometimes blooming before the leaves, with five petals, smaller than the five calyx-lobes, which are often colored; stamens five; ovary inferior, fruit a smooth, many-seeded berry. In general the low shrubs, with their pretty foliage, may be recognized by their resemblance to cultivated kinds. Ribes is the ancient Arabic name. [Sidenote: =Black Currant= _Rìbes Hudsoniànum_ =White Spring, summer Utah, Wash., Idaho, etc.=] Except that its foliage has a strong disagreeable smell, this is an attractive shrub, three to six feet high, with pale gray, woody stems, without thorns, and smooth, bright green leaves, five-lobed and thin in texture, paler on the under side, with resinous dots and broad, papery stipules, in clusters, with reddish bracts at the base. The flowers form close, erect clusters, less than two inches long, springing from the same bud as the leaves; the calyx, which is the conspicuous part, cream-white, greenish in the center; the petals very small and white. The berry is smooth or hairy, round and black, without "bloom," and possibly edible, but so bad-smelling as to be avoided. This grows beside mountain streams and is found as far north as British Columbia. [Sidenote: =Sierra Currant= _Rìbes Nevadénse_ =Pink Summer Cal., Oreg., Wash., Nev.=] A thrifty, mountain bush, from three to six feet high, the upper stems pale gray and the lower ones reddish; the leaves thin and smooth, prettily scalloped and lobed, often with a few white hairs at the base of the leaf-stalks. The flowers are fragrant and pink, over half an inch long, and form a close cluster, of eight or more. The berry is black, with a white "bloom," and tastes sweet and insipid. This reaches an altitude of eight thousand feet. _Rìbes glutinòsum_ is called Incense-shrub, because of its strong fragrance. It is a large handsome shrub, sometimes fifteen feet high, with beautiful drooping clusters of gay pink flowers. The leaves are sticky when they first come out and the berry is blue, with a dense "bloom," bristly, dry and bitter, or insipid. This blooms in winter or early spring and is common in canyons near the coast. [Illustration: Sierra Currant--Ribes Nevadense. Black Currant--R. Hudsonianum.] [Sidenote: =Golden, Missouri or Buffalo Currant= _Rìbes àureum_ =Yellow Spring, summer West, etc.=] A very handsome bush, from five to twelve feet high, with pretty foliage and smooth, pinkish-gray, woody stems. The bright green leaves, with three or five lobes, are thin in texture, with a few hairs on the leaf-stalks, fresh and glossy-looking, and setting off the bright clusters of clear yellow flowers, of which the calyx, half an inch across, with a long greenish-yellow tube, is the conspicuous part. The small petals are sometimes yellow, but often bright red and the fruit is smooth, yellow, red, or black, and edible. This is deliciously fragrant and spicy, very handsome and attractive, growing beside brooks and in moist canyons, where sometimes, in masses, it has at a distance the effect of Forsythia, but purer in color. It grows as far east as Missouri and is often cultivated. APPLE FAMILY. _Pomaceae._ A rather large family, widely distributed, including many attractive trees and shrubs, such as Mountain Ash and Hawthorn, as well as Pears and Apples, with pretty blossoms and conspicuous, often edible fruits; leaves alternate; stipules small; flowers regular, perfect, single or in clusters; calyx usually five-toothed or five-lobed; petals mostly five, usually with claws; stamens numerous, or rarely few, separate, with small anthers; ovary inferior and compound; styles one to five. The calyx-tube gradually thickens and becomes a "pome," or apple-like fruit, in which the core is the ovary. There are several kinds of Amelanchier, of the north temperate zone; shrubs or trees, with thornless branches and white flowers, usually in clusters; calyx-tube bell-shaped, with five narrow sepals; petals five; stamens numerous, on the throat of the calyx; styles two to five in number, united and hairy at base; ovary wholly or partly inferior; fruit small and berry-like. The name is from the French for the Medlar. These shrubs are called Shadbush in the East, because they bloom just when the shad are beginning to run in the rivers. [Illustration: Golden Currant--Ribes aureum.] [Sidenote: =Service-berry, June-berry= _Amelánchier alnifòlia_ =White Spring, summer West, etc.=] A pretty shrub with woody, branching stems, reddish twigs and smooth, bright green leaves, sometimes downy on the under side, toothed only at the ends. The flowers, less than an inch across, have long, narrow, straggling petals, and are so mixed with leaves, and crowded so irregularly on the branches, that the effect is rather ragged. The roundish, pulpy, black fruit is liked by the Indians, but though sweet is insipid. When thickets of this shrub are in bloom on mountainsides the effect is very pretty, especially in Utah, where the shrubs are more compact and the flowers less straggling than in Yosemite, giving at a distance much the effect of Hawthorn. It grows as far east as Nebraska and in British Columbia. PLUM FAMILY. _Drupaceae._ A rather small family, widely distributed, trees or shrubs, the bark exuding gum, the foliage, bark, and seeds bitter, containing prussic acid; leaves alternate, toothed, with leaf-stalks; stipules small; flowers mostly perfect, regular, single or in clusters; calyx five-lobed, dropping off after flowering; petals five, inserted on the calyx; stamens numerous, inserted with the petals; pistil one in our genera; ovary superior, developing into a stone-fruit. There are many kinds of Prunus, including Cherry as well as Plum, with white or pink flowers and usually edible fruits. Prunus is the ancient Latin name for plum. [Sidenote: =Holly-leaved Cherry, Islay= _Prùnus ilicifòlia_ =White Summer California=] Mountain slopes near Santa Barbara are beautiful in June with the creamy flowers of this very ornamental evergreen shrub, from five to twenty-five feet high, with shiny, leathery, dark green leaves, with prickly edges, looking much like Holly. The small flowers form close but feathery clusters, from one to three inches long, and smell pleasantly of honey. The sweetish fruit, not particularly good to eat, is a dark red cherry, about half an inch in diameter. In dry places these shrubs are small, but in favorable situations, such as the old mission gardens, where they have been growing for perhaps a hundred years, they develop into small trees. [Illustration: Islay--Prunus ilicifolia. Service-berry--Amelanchier alnifolia.] ROSE FAMILY. _Rosaceae_. A large and important family, widely distributed and including some of our loveliest flowers and most delicious fruits; herbs, shrubs, or trees; generally with stipules and usually with alternate leaves; the flowers rich in pollen and honey and usually perfect. The calyx usually five-lobed, often with bracts, with a disk adhering to its base; the petals of the same number as the calyx-lobes, separate or none; the stamens usually numerous, separate, with small anthers; the ovary superior, or partly inferior; the pistils few or many, separate or adhering to the calyx, sometimes, as in the true Rose, enclosed and concealed in a hollow receptacle; the fruit of various kinds and shapes. There are several kinds of Opulaster, branching shrubs, with clusters of white flowers and grayish or reddish, shreddy bark. [Sidenote: =Ninebark= _Opuláster malvàceus_ (_Physocarpus_) =White Summer Northwest, Utah, Ariz.=] This is a handsome bush, from three to six feet high, with pretty, almost smooth, bright green leaves, with large stipules. The flowers are sweet-smelling, about half an inch across, with cream-white petals, and form very beautiful and conspicuous rounded clusters, about three inches across, the long stamens giving a very feathery appearance. At a distance this shrub has the effect of Hawthorn in the landscape. It grows on mountainsides in rich soil. [Sidenote: =Apache Plume= _Fallùgia paradóxa_ =White Spring Ariz., New Mex.=] There are two kinds of Fallugia. This is usually a low undershrub, but in the Grand Canyon, on the plateau, it is a fine bush, four or five feet high, with pale woody, branching stems; the small, somewhat downy, evergreen leaves, resembling those of the Cliff Rose, but the flowers larger. They are white, two inches across, like a Wild Rose in shape, with beautiful golden centers, and grow on long, slender, downy flower-stalks, at the ends of the branches. Individually, they are handsomer than the flowers of the Cliff Rose, but not nearly so effective, as the bloom is much more scattered. The calyx-tube is downy inside and the five sepals alternate with five, small, long, narrow bractlets. The hairy pistils are on a small conical receptacle, surrounded by a triple row of very numerous stamens on the margin of the calyx-tube. [Illustration: Ninebark--Opulaster malvaceus.] Wild Roses are widely distributed in the northern hemisphere and are too familiar to need much description. There are numerous kinds; some are climbing, all are prickly and thorny, with handsome, often fragrant, flowers and compound leaves, with toothed edges. The numerous yellow stamens are on the thick margin of a silky disk, which nearly closes the mouth of the calyx. The numerous pistils develop into akenes, or small, dry, one-seeded fruits. These look like seeds and we find them inside the calyx-tube, which in ripening enlarges and becomes round or urn-shaped. These swollen calyx-tubes are the "hips," which turn scarlet and add so much to the beauty of the rose-bush when the flowers are gone. Rosa is the ancient Latin name. [Sidenote: =Fendler's Rose= _Ròsa Féndleri_ =Pink Spring, summer Idaho, Utah, Ariz.=] This is a very handsome thrifty bush, about four feet high, with smooth, or slightly downy, bright green leaves, and thorny stems, with slightly curved thorns. The flowers are more or less fragrant and about two inches across, with bright pink petals, which gradually become paler as they fade, and pretty crimson-tipped buds. This has smooth "hips" and is a beautiful and conspicuous kind, growing in valleys and along streams, up to an altitude of nine thousand feet. It is widely distributed and variable, probably including several forms. [Sidenote: =California Wild Rose= _Ròsa Califórnica_ =Pink Spring, summer, autumn Cal., Oreg.=] A large bush, three to six feet high, with erect, branching stems, armed with a few, stout thorns, which turn back. The leaves are more or less downy, especially on the under side, with from three to seven leaflets, and the flowers usually form a cluster of few or many and are each from one to nearly two inches across, with pale pink petals. They are lovely flowers, with a delicious fragrance, and are common at low and moderate altitudes in California, usually growing near streams. [Illustration: Rosa Fendleri. California Wild Rose--R. Californíca.] [Sidenote: =Redwood Rose= _Ròsa gymnocàrpa_ =Pink Spring, summer Northwest=] A charming kind, delicate both in foliage and flower, usually growing in shady, mountain woods. The slender bush is from one to three feet high, with dark brown stems, armed with some straight, slender thorns, and light green leaves, usually with quite a number of neat little leaflets, smooth and thin in texture. The flowers are an inch or less across, usually single, with light yellow centers and bright pink petals, very clean and fresh in tone, usually deeper towards the margins. The sepals are not leafy at the tips, the flower-stalks, and sometimes the leaf-stalks also, are covered with small, dark, sticky hairs and the buds are tipped with carmine. Neither leaves nor flowers are fragrant. [Sidenote: =Mountain Misery= _Chamaebàtia foliolòsa_ =White Summer California=] This is the only kind. In open places, in the Sierra forests, the ground is often carpeted for acres with the feathery foliage of this charming shrub, sprinkled all over with pretty white flowers. Mountain Misery does not at first seem an appropriate name for so attractive a plant, but when we walk through the low, green thickets we find not only that the tangled branches catch our feet but that the whole plant is covered with a strong-smelling, resinous substance, which comes off on our clothes in a most disagreeable manner. On a warm day the forest is filled with the peculiar, medicinal fragrance and when, later in the season, we unpack our camping outfit we are apt to be puzzled by the smell of "Pond's Extract" which our clothes exhale. The shrub is usually less than two feet high, with downy, evergreen foliage, the numerous small leaflets so minutely subdivided and scalloped that they have the appearance of soft ferns. The flowers resemble large strawberry-blossoms, and have a top-shaped, five-lobed calyx, many yellow stamens and one pistil, becoming a large, leathery akene. The smell and foliage attract attention and the shrub has many names, such as Bear-mat and Kittikit, or Kit-kit-dizze, so-called by the Indians. Bears do not eat it, so the name Bear-clover is poor, and Tarweed belongs to another plant. It is used medicinally. [Illustration: Redwood Rose--Rosa gymnocarpa. Mountain Misery--Chamaebatia foliolosa.] This is the only kind of Stellariopsis; perennial herbs; the leaves with many, minute, crowded, overlapping leaflets; the flowers white, in open clusters; bractlets, sepals, and petals five; stamens fifteen; pistil one, surrounded by bristles. [Sidenote: =Pussy-tails= _Stellariópsis santolinoìdes_ (_Ivesia_) =White Summer California=] The leaves of this odd little plant look like catkins, or the sleek, gray tails of some little animal. They are cylindrical in form, three or four inches long, composed of many minute leaflets, crowded closely around a long, central stem. These little leaflets, hardly more than green scales, are smothered with soft, white down, which gives the whole "tail" a silky, silvery-gray appearance. From the midst of a bunch of these curious leaves, which are mostly from the root, spring several very slender stems, widely branching above, from six to twelve inches tall, and at the ends of the branches are airy clusters of pretty little flowers, like tiny strawberry-blossoms. These little plants grow in sandy soil, at high altitudes, and are plentiful on the gravelly "domes" around Yosemite. There are a good many kinds of Horkelia; perennial herbs, with compound leaves, usually with many leaflets, and flowers in clusters; calyx cup-shaped, or saucer-shaped, with five teeth and five bractlets; stamens ten; pistils two or many, with long slender styles, and borne on a receptacle like that of Potentilla, which these plants resemble, though the flowers are usually smaller, in closer clusters. [Sidenote: _Horkèlia fúsca_ =White Summer Cal., Oreg., Nev.=] A rather attractive plant, for the foliage is pretty, though the flowers are not very conspicuous. The rather stout, roughish stem, often purplish, is from one to two feet tall and the leaves are rather dark green, slightly sticky and sometimes downy. The flowers are about half an inch across, with white petals, tinged with pink, and are well set off by the dark reddish or purplish calyxes and buds, but the petals are too far apart, and there are not enough flowers out at one time, for the effect to be good. This varies a good deal in hairiness and there are several varieties. It is common in Yosemite. [Illustration: Pussy-tails--Stellariopsis santolinoides. Horkelia fusca.] There are several kinds of Cowania. [Sidenote: =Cliff Rose= _Cowània Stansburiàna_ =Yellow Spring, summer Southwest=] Altitude and soil make a great difference in the beauty of this shrub. On the rocky rim of the Grand Canyon it is from four to eight feet high, picturesquely gnarled and twisted, but stunted looking, the gray bark hanging off the crooked branches and thick, distorted trunk in untidy shreds, the flowers pale, scanty, and but faintly scented. Halfway down Bright Angel trail it is a glorious thing, full of color and fragrance, about twelve feet high, luxuriant and healthy-looking. The small, leathery, evergreen leaves, crowded in bunches along the branches, are glossy and rich in color, setting off the light yellow flowers, with golden centers, which form long wands of bloom. The upper branches are clustered closely their whole length with blossoms, and when the wind sways the flowering branches to and fro they exhale an exquisite fragrance like orange flowers. The bloom is at its best in the Canyon in May, but there are still some lingering flowers in August. The calyx is top-shaped, with the petals and the two rows of numerous stamens on the throat of the tube. The pistils, from five to twelve, are densely woolly. The akenes have pale, silky-hairy tails, two inches or more in length, suggesting gone-to-seed Clematis. For some occult reason this shrub is called Quinine Bush at the Grand Canyon. There are two kinds of Aruncus, resembling Spiraea; with small white flowers, the stamens and pistils in separate flowers on different plants. Aruncus is a word used by Pliny to designate a goat's beard. [Sidenote: =Goat's Beard= _Arúncus sylvéster_ (_Spiraea aruncus_) =White Summer Northwest, etc.=] A pretty plant, from three to seven feet high, with somewhat branching stems and smooth leaves, thin in texture. The minute, cream-white flowers are crowded closely along the many sprays which make up the very loose cluster, which is about a foot long, the effect of the whole being exceedingly airy and graceful and in fine contrast to the handsome foliage. This grows in mountain woods, across the continent and in Europe and Asia. [Illustration: Cliff Rose--Cowania Stansburiana.] [Illustration: Goat's Beard--Aruncus sylvester.] There are only a few kinds of Adenostoma, evergreen shrubs, with small, narrow, resinous leaves and clusters of small, white flowers. [Sidenote: =Chamise, Greasewood= _Adenóstoma fasciculàtum_ =White Spring California=] This is a very attractive shrub, from two to ten feet high, with long, slender branches, clothed with close bunches of leaves and bearing large clusters of tiny flowers, something like Spiraea. They have a feathery, creamy appearance, owing to the pale yellow stamens, and the olive-green foliage sets them off to perfection, the effect of the whole being very graceful, as the slender, flower-tipped branches sway to and fro in the wind. This is the most abundant and characteristic shrub of the higher Coast Ranges and Sierra Nevada Mountains and sometimes covers miles of mountain slopes, looking a good deal like heather when it is not in bloom. When the chaparral is composed entirely of this shrub it is called chamisal. _A. sparsifòlium_ of southern California, has scattered leaves and larger flowers. It is very fragrant and used medicinally by Spanish Californians and Indians, who call it Yerba del Pasmo, or "convulsion herb." There are many kinds of Spiraea, natives of the north temperate zone; shrubs, without stipules and with clusters of white or pink flowers. [Sidenote: =Flat-top Meadowsweet= _Spiraèa corymbòsa_ =White Spring, summer Northwest, etc.=] This is an attractive plant, from one to three feet tall, with slender, reddish-brown stems, with but few branches, and smooth, bright green leaves, paler on the under side. The small flowers are cream-white, with pinkish buds, and form very pretty, feathery, flat-topped clusters, about three inches across. This is found on banks and rocky places, in the mountains, and grows also in the East. [Sidenote: =Pyramid Bush= _Spiraèa pyramidàta_ (_S. betulaefolia in part_) =Pink, white Spring, summer Northwest=] An attractive plant, but not so pretty as the last. It is about the same height, but more branching, with dark bluish-green leaves, somewhat pale on the under side. The flowers are white or pale pink, with deep pink buds, and form long clusters, not so feathery as the last, because the stamens are not so long. This grows in the mountains. [Illustration: Chamise--Adenostoma fasciculatum. Flat-top Meadow-sweet--Spiraea corymbosa. Pyramid Bush--S. pyramidata.] [Sidenote: =Hardhack, Steeple-bush= _Spiraèa Doúglasii_ =Pink Spring, summer Wash., Oreg., Cal.=] A handsome shrub, from three to five feet high, with rather coarse leaves, smooth, but with a dull surface, and pale with close down on the under side, and bearing many beautiful, compact spires of small, pink flowers, warm in tone and deeper in color towards the center, with numerous, long, pink stamens, which give a very feathery appearance. The flowers are slightly sweet-smelling and bloom first at the top of the cluster, so that the effect of the whole spire, which is six or eight inches long, is light pink and fuzzy at the top, deepening below to the raspberry-pink of the buds. This grows along the edges of meadows and near brooks. There are two kinds of Chamaebatiaria, both western; low shrubs; the flowers with five sepals, five petals, and about sixty stamens; the pistils five, more or less united. [Sidenote: =Fern-bush= _Chamaebatiària millefòlium_ (_Spiraea_) =White Summer Arizona=] A pretty and unusual-looking shrub, about three feet high, with reddish stems and shreddy bark, the downy leaves, pale yellowish-green in color, arranged at intervals along the branches in soft feathery bunches. The flowers are like small strawberry blossoms, slightly fragrant, and form pretty clusters. This grows on rocks, along the rim of the Grand Canyon, clinging to the edge and overhanging the depths. There is only one kind of Coleogyne. [Sidenote: _Coleógyne ramosíssima_ =Yellow Spring Southwest=] The plateau in the Grand Canyon is covered for miles with this low shrub, which gives the landscape its characteristic pale desert coloring. The flowers, over half an inch across, with one or two pairs of three-lobed bracts at base, grow singly at the tips of the twigs and, unlike most of this family, have no petals and only four, spreading sepals, bright yellow inside, two of them pointed and the alternate two more round in shape. The ovary is enclosed in a yellow, hollow, urn-shaped receptacle, surrounded by numerous stamens inserted on its base, the yellow anthers with threadlike filaments. The very small, narrow, toothless leaves are evergreen, leathery and stiff, opposite, grayish in color and imperceptibly downy, clustered in small separate bunches along the rigid twigs, which are set almost at right angles to the reddish-gray branches and rather swollen at the joints. The whole shrub is from two feet to four feet high, stiff, almost thorny, and rather forbidding in appearance, but the odd little flowers are pretty. [Illustration: Coleogyne--ramosissima. Hardhack--Spiraea Douglasii. Fern-bush--Chamaebatiaria millefolium.] There are several kinds of Argentina, differing from Potentilla in the leaflets and the style. [Sidenote: =Silver-weed= _Argentìna Anserìna_ (_Potentilla_) =Yellow Spring, summer, autumn North America, etc.=] This forms large straggling clumps of many, pale, downy stems, lying on the ground and rooting at the joints, like strawberry runners, with handsome foliage and pretty flowers. The leaves are rich green on the upper side and covered with silky white down on the under, giving a silvery appearance, and the flowers are an inch or more across, bright yellow, with centers of the same shade, and have long flower-stalks, sometimes as much as a foot tall. This is common and conspicuous in wet meadows and also grows in Europe and Asia. There are only a few kinds of Dryas, shrubby plants, living in cold and arctic regions. The Latin name means "wood-nymph." [Sidenote: =Alpine Avens= _Drýas octopétala_ =White Summer Northwest, etc.=] This is a charming little plant, from two to five inches tall, forming low, matted clumps of many branching stems, lying on the ground and woody at the base, and many stiffish leaves, with prominent veins, dark green and smooth on the upper side and white with close down on the under, their dark tones setting off the pure-white flowers, which have downy flower-stalks and are about an inch across, with about eight petals, a golden center and the calyx covered with sticky hairs. The seed-vessels are large and feathery. This grows in alpine places, across the continent, reaching an altitude of fourteen thousand feet, and in Europe and Asia. [Illustration: Silver-weed--Argentina Anserina. Alpine Avens--Dryas octopetala.] There are many kinds of Cinquefoils, mostly natives of the north temperate zone, usually herbs, with compound leaves and yellow, white or purple flowers, always with pedicels; the flat or cup-shaped calyx, with five, main teeth, alternating with five, tooth-like bractlets; petals five, broad, often notched; stamens numerous, with threadlike filaments and small anthers, near the base of the calyx-cup; pistils numerous, on the conical, hairy receptacle, which does not become fleshy or juicy, each pistil maturing into a dry, seed-like akene. Potentilla means "powerful," as some sorts are medicinal. They often resemble Buttercups, but never have shiny petals, and Buttercups do not have bractlets between the calyx-lobes. [Sidenote: =Arctic Cinquefoil= _Potentílla emarginàta_ =Yellow Summer Northwest=] A dear little plant, forming low tufts, two or three inches high, with thin, brownish stipules, bright green leaves, more or less hairy, and bright yellow flowers, deeper in color towards the center and about half an inch across. This grows in high northern mountains across the continent and in Siberia. [Sidenote: =Silky Cinquefoil= _Potentílla pectinisécta_ =Yellow Spring, summer Utah, Ariz., Wyo.=] The foliage of this plant is a lovely shade of silvery gray, which suits the yellow flowers. It has several stoutish, reddish, stems, a foot to a foot and a half tall, springing from clumps of leaves, with long leaf-stalks and five to seven leaflets. The bright-yellow flowers are each three-quarters of an inch across and the whole plant is conspicuously covered with long, thick, white, silky down, particularly on the under side of the leaves. [Sidenote: =Shrubby Cinquefoil= _Dasíphora fruticòsa_ (_Potentilla_) =Yellow Spring, summer West, etc.=] This is the only kind of Dasiphora, a pretty shrub, very branching and leafy, one to four feet high, dotted all over with charming flowers. The bark is shreddy and the gray-green leaves are covered with silky down, with rolled back margins, and paler on the under side. The flowers, single or in clusters, are over an inch across, with clear yellow petals and deeper yellow anthers. This is common in the mountains, across the continent, up to an altitude of ten thousand feet, and is a troublesome weed in northern New England. It is also found in Europe and Asia. [Illustration: Arctic Cinquefoil--P. emarginata. Shrubby Cinquefoil--Dasiphora fruticosa. Silky Cinquefoil--Potentilla pectinisecta.] There are several kinds of Sericotheca, much like Spiraea, except the fruits. [Sidenote: =Ocean Spray= _Sericothèca discolor (Spiraea) (Holodiscus)_ =White Summer Northwest and Southwest=] A handsome conspicuous shrub, from three to eight feet high, without stipules, with roughish, dull-green leaves, toothed or lobed, but not with leaflets, and pale and woolly on the under side. The tiny flowers form beautiful, plumy, branching clusters, eight inches or more in length and almost as much across, cream-white and fuzzy, drooping and turning brownish as the flowers fade. This is common in the mountains. There are numerous kinds of Rubus, in temperate regions, with white, pink, or purple flowers, and red, black, or yellowish "berries." The fruit is not really a berry, but a collection of many, tiny, round stone-fruits, crowded on a pulpy, conical receptacle. That of the Raspberry has a "bloom," and falls off the receptacle when ripe, but the Blackberry has shining, black fruit, which clings to the receptacle. Rubus, meaning "red," is the ancient Latin name for the bramble. Raspberries were cultivated by the Romans in the fourth century. [Sidenote: =Salmon-berry= _Rùbus spectàbilis_ =Red Summer Northwest=] A handsome bush, not at all trailing, from three to nine feet high, with dark-brown, prickly stems, fine foliage and flowers, and conspicuously beautiful fruit. The leaves are nearly smooth, with three leaflets, and the flowers, about two inches across, are a brilliant shade of deep pink, not purplish in tone, with yellow centers, and grow singly, or two or three together. The fruit is a firm, smooth raspberry, over an inch long, bright orange-color, more or less tinted with red, with a rather pleasant but insipid taste and not very sweet. This grows in woods. It is rather confusing that this should be called Salmon-berry in the West, for in the East that is the common name of _Rubus parviflorus_. [Sidenote: =Common Blackberry= _Rùbus vitifòlius_ =White Spring, summer California, etc.=] An evergreen bush, a few feet high and more or less erect; or the prickly stems trailing on the ground, or climbing over other shrubs, and sometimes eighteen feet long. The leaves are downy, or almost smooth, usually rather coarse in texture, and all but a few of the upper ones have from three to seven leaflets. The flowers are about an inch across and the petals vary a good deal, being sometimes broad and sometimes rather long and narrow. This is common from southern California to British Columbia. [Illustration: Salmon-berry--R. spectabilis. Common Blackberry--Rubus vitifolius.] [Sidenote: =Thimble-berry= _Rùbus parviflòrus_ =White Spring, summer West, etc.=] In shady mountain woods we find this attractive plant, which is called Salmon-berry farther east. It also resembles the eastern Thimble-berry, but its flowers are prettier, for they are white instead of purplish-pink. It has several branching stems, from two to six feet high, the lower ones woody, with shreddy bark and the upper stems pale green, slightly rough and hairy, but with no thorns. The large maple-like leaves are thin in texture, but almost velvety, with hairs on the veins of the under side and on the leaf-stalks, and are bright green, with three or four, toothed lobes. The flowers are occasionally pinkish and measure about two inches across, and grow, a few together, at the ends of long flower-stalks. The petals are slightly crumpled and there are usually five of them, but both sepals and petals vary a good deal in number; the green sepals are velvety, pale inside and tipped with tails, and the pale yellow center is composed of a roundish disk, covered with pistils and surrounded by a fringe of numerous yellow stamens. The fruit is a flattish, red raspberry, disappointing to the taste, for it is mostly seeds. This is found as far east as Michigan. [Sidenote: =Creeping Raspberry= _Rùbus pedàtus_ =White Summer Northwest=] A charming little vine, without prickles, the stems from one to three feet long and rooting at the joints, trailing over rocks and moss and creeping along the ground, ornamented with pretty leaves, with from three to five leaflets, and sprinkled with white flowers, half an inch or more across, and often also with juicy, red raspberries. This grows in rich soil, in mountain woods. [Illustration: Thimble-berry--Rubus parviflorus. Creeping Raspberry--R. pedatus.] There are a good many kinds of Strawberry, natives of the north temperate zone and the Andes. They are perennials, with running stems, rooting at the joints; the flowers white, or rarely pink, with slender, often drooping pedicels, forming loose clusters; the flower-stalks springing from tufts of root-leaves, which have three, toothed leaflets and a pair of sheathing stipules at the base of the long leaf-stalk; the sepals five, alternating with sepal-like bractlets; the petals five, with short claws and not notched; the stamens numerous, with slender filaments; the receptacle roundish or cone-shaped, becoming enlarged, red and juicy, in fruit, bearing minute, dry akenes, scattered over its surface, or set in pits. Fragum is the Latin name for strawberry, meaning "fragrant." [Sidenote: =Wood Strawberry= _Fragària bracteàta_ =White Spring, summer West=] A slender little plant, growing in light shade, in rich soil, along streams, in rocky woods and producing runners very freely. The stipules are papery and reddish, the thin, dull-green leaves are slightly silky on the upper side, when young, and the leaflets are sharply and coarsely toothed, somewhat wedge-shaped, broad at the tips, the two side ones uneven at base. There is usually a little bract, halfway up, on both the flower-stalk and the leaf-stalk. The flowers are nearly an inch across, with fuzzy, bright yellow centers, and the fruit is light red, with a good flavor, somewhat cone-shaped, the akenes scattered over its smooth, shining, even surface and but slightly attached to it. [Sidenote: =Sand Strawberry= _Fragària Chiloénsis_ =White Spring, summer Wash., Oreg., Cal.=] A charming plant, a few inches tall, with thick, glossy, dark green leaves, paler and hairy on the under side, and pure-white flowers, with bright yellow centers. They are about an inch across and are well set off by the masses of dark foliage. This has large, delicious berries and grows abundantly on beaches and sand dunes near the sea, from San Francisco to Alaska. It is often cultivated. [Illustration: Sand Strawberry--Fragaria Chiloensis.] PEA FAMILY. _Fabaceae_. A very large family, including many important plants, such as Clover, Alfalfa, Peas, and Beans; herbs, shrubs, vines, and trees, distinguished principally by the flower and fruit, resembling the butterfly-like corolla and simple pod of the common Pea; leaves alternate, usually compound, with leaflets and stipules; calyx five-toothed or five-cleft; petals five. The upper petal, or "standard," large, covering the others in the bud, the two at the sides standing out like "wings," the two lower ones united by their edges to form a "keel," enclosing the stamens, usually ten, and the single pistil with a curved style; the ovary superior. There are numerous kinds of Anisolotus, widely distributed, common, difficult to distinguish; mostly herbs, some slightly shrubby; leaves with two or many, toothless leaflets; calyx-teeth nearly equal; petals with claws, free from the stamens, wings adhering to the keel, incurved, blunt or beaked; stamens joined by their filaments, in two sets of one and nine, anthers all alike; style incurved; pods two-valved, often compressed between the seeds, never inflated. These plants have several common names, such as Bird-foot, Trefoil, Cat's-clover, etc., and are called Crowtoes by Milton. [Sidenote: =Pretty Bird-foot= _Anisolòtus formosíssimus (Lotus) (Hosackia)_ =Pink and yellow Spring Wash., Oreg., Cal.=] A gay and charming kind, with smooth stems, spreading on the ground, light green leaves, with five or more leaflets, and flowers about half an inch long, with a golden-yellow standard, pink or magenta wings and wine-colored keel, forming a flattish cluster, the contrasting colors giving a vivid effect. This grows in damp places along the sea-coast. [Sidenote: =Bird-foot= _Anisolòtus argyraèus (Lotus) (Hosackia)_ =Yellow Spring California=] A shrubby, branching plant, a foot and a half high, forming a pretty clump, two or three feet across, with downy, gray-green stems and foliage, sprinkled with clover-like heads of yellow flowers. The leaflets are slightly thickish, covered with silky down, the twigs and young leaves silvery-white. The small flowers are a soft shade of warm-yellow, and the buds form neat, fuzzy, silvery balls. This grows on dry hillsides in the Catalina Islands. [Illustration: Pretty Bird-foot--A. formosissimus. Bird-foot--Anisolotus argyraeus.] [Sidenote: _Anisolòtus strigòsus (Lotus) (Hosackia)_ =Yellow Spring, summer, autumn California=] This is only a few inches high, with slender, slightly downy stems, branching and spreading, and bright green leaves, with seven or more, small, narrow leaflets, slightly thickish, with some minute, bristly hairs. The few flowers are about a quarter of an inch long, mostly single, bright yellow, tinged with red, fading to orange, and have a sort of miniature prettiness. This grows in the south. [Sidenote: =Bird-foot= _Anisolòtus decúmbens (Lotus) (Hosackia)_ =Yellow Summer Northwest=] An attractive little perennial, forming low clumps, harmonious in coloring, of pale gray-green, downy foliage, sprinkled with small clusters of charming little flowers, each less than half an inch long, various shades of yellow, and arranged in a circle. The pods are hairy and it grows on sunny, sandy slopes. [Sidenote: =Deer-weed= _Anisolòtus glàber (Lotus) (Hosackia)_ =Yellow and orange All seasons California=] Though the flowers are small and the foliage scanty, the shaded effect of mingled yellow and orange of these plants is rather pretty, as we see them by the wayside. The many, long, smooth, reed-like stems grow from two to five feet high, branching from the root, somewhat woody below, loosely spreading, or sometimes half lying on the ground. The leaves are almost smooth, very small and far apart, with from three to six, oblong leaflets, and the flowers, from a quarter to half an inch long, are clustered in close little bunches along the stem, forming long wands, tipped with green buds, and shading downward through the bright yellow of the larger buds to the orange of the open flowers and the dull red of the faded ones. The pod is incurved, tipped with the long style. This is common and widely distributed, a perennial, but said to live only two or three years. In the south it often makes symmetrical little bushes, pleasing in appearance. It is a valuable bee-plant. _A. Wrìghtii_ of Arizona, Utah, New Mexico, and Colorado, is quite leafy, with erect stems and branches, bushy and woody at base, the small leaflets from three to five in number. The flowers, without pedicles, are much like the last, but over half an inch long, yellow becoming reddish, with a blunt keel, and scattered all over the plant. [Illustration: Bird-foot--A. decumbens. Deer-weed--Anisolotus glaber. A. strigosus.] There are several kinds of Thermopsis, of North America and Asia; stout, perennial herbs, with woody rootstocks; leaflets three; stipules conspicuous, leaf-like; flowers large, yellow, with short, bracted flower-stalks; calyx bell-shaped, five-cleft; standard broad, in the western species, shorter than the oblong wings, keel nearly straight, blunt, the same length as the wings; stamens ten, separate, curving in; style slightly curving in, stigma small; pod flat, long or oblong, straight or curved, with a very short stalk and several seeds. Thermopsis, sometimes called False Lupine, is distinguished from Lupinus by its stamens, which are separate, instead of united into a sheath. The Greek name means "lupine-like." [Sidenote: =Golden Pea Buck-bean= _Thermópsis montànà_ =Yellow Spring, summer Northwest, Utah, Ariz.=] A very handsome, thrifty-looking plant, about two feet high, the smooth, bright green foliage contrasting finely with the clusters of clear yellow flowers, each about three-quarters of an inch long. The erect, straight pods, two or three inches long, are silky and also the calyxes and buds. This thrives in the mountains, up to an altitude of nine thousand feet, in somewhat moist spots, and its fresh coloring is most attractive. The foliage seems to me to be especially handsome in northern Arizona, but these plants are also beautiful in the Utah canyons. The flowers are scentless and last a long time in water. _T. Califórnica_ has silvery, silky foliage and is common in California, in damp ground in the hills. There are many kinds of Parosela, of western North America, Mexico, and the Andes, no one sort common; generally shrubs; leaves almost always compound; leaflets odd in number, small, toothless, with minute stipules, often with glandular dots; flowers small, in terminal clusters; calyx with nearly equal, long, occasionally feathery teeth; corolla with wings and keel longer than the standard, their claws adhering to the lower part of the stamen-tube, but the claw of the small, heart-shaped standard free; stamens nine or ten, filaments united, anthers alike; ovary with a short stalk, or none, style awl-shaped; pod small, membranous, included in the calyx, usually with one seed. _P. spinòsa_, the Smoke Tree, or Ghost Tree, of western Arizona, is almost leafless, with grayish or whitish branches. [Illustration: Golden Pea--Thermopsis montana.] [Sidenote: _Parosèla Califórnica (Dalea)_ =Blue Spring California=] This little spiny desert shrub grows two or three feet high and is conspicuous on account of the odd contrast in color between its foliage and flowers. The woody stems and branches are very pale in color and the very small leaflets, so narrow and stiff that they look like evergreen needles, are covered with pale down and have glandular dots. All over this colorless foliage are sprinkled small spikes of indigo-blue flowers, so dark in color that the effect, against a background of desert sand, is of pale gray, speckled with black. It has a pleasant smell like balsam. [Sidenote: _Parosèla Émoryi (Dalea)_ =Magenta Spring, summer Southwest=] A low, desert shrub, with slender, abruptly branching stems and small, soft, thickish leaves, usually with three leaflets, obscurely toothed, the stems and leaves all thickly covered with white down. The flower-clusters are about three-quarters of an inch across, like a small clover-head, the woolly calyxes giving a yellowish-gray effect to the whole cluster, which is ornamented with a circle of tiny purple flowers. The effect of these specks of dark color on the pale bush is odd; the plant smells like balsam and grows in sandy soil. [Sidenote: =Chaparral Pea= _Xylothérmia montàna (Pickeringia)_ =Crimson Spring, summer California=] This is the only kind, an evergreen shrub, flourishing on dry hills in the Coast Ranges, with tough, crooked branches and stout spines, forming chaparral so dense that it is impossible to penetrate. It grows from three to eight feet high, the gnarled, knotty, black branches terminating in long spines, which are often clothed with small leaves nearly to the end, the leaves with one to three, small leaflets and without stipules. The bush is often covered with quantities of pretty, bright, deep purplish-pink flowers, three-quarters of an inch long, forming a fine mass of color. The calyx has four, short, broad teeth; the petals are equal, the standard roundish, with the sides turned back and a paler spot at base, the wings oblong, the keel straight; the filaments of the ten stamens not united; the pod is two inches long, flat, straight, sickle-shaped when young. This very rarely produces fruit. Stevenson was probably describing this shrub when he wrote, "Even the low thorny chaparral was thick with pea-like blossoms." [Illustration: Parosela Californica. Chaparral Pea--Xylothermia montana. Parosela Emoryi.] There are so many western kinds of Lupinus that it is hopeless for the amateur to distinguish them; herbs, sometimes shrubs; leaves palmately-compound, stipules adhering to the base of the leaf-stalk, leaflets, more than three in number, usually closing at mid-day; flowers showy, in terminal racemes; calyx deeply toothed, two-lipped; standard broad, the edges rolling back, wings lightly adhering above, enclosing the incurved, pointed keel, sometimes beaked; style incurved, stigma bearded; stamens united by their filaments, alternate anthers shorter; pod two-valved, leathery, flat, oblong; seeds two to twelve. Lupines always have palmately-divided leaves, and are never trailing, twining, or tendril-bearing and thus may be superficially distinguished from Vetches and Peas, and from Thermopsis, by the united stamens. [Sidenote: =River Lupine= _Lupìnus rivulàris_ =Blue and white and purple Summer Northwest=] A stately perennial, about three feet high, with stout, branching reddish, slightly downy stems, bearing several tall spires of flowers. The handsome leaves are bright green, smooth on the upper side, slightly downy, but not silvery, on the under, with from seven to thirteen leaflets, and the flower-cluster is very erect and compact, eight or ten inches long, beautifully shaded in color, from the pale, silky buds at the tip, to the blue and purple of the open flowers, which are about five-eighths of an inch long, with a lilac standard, tipped with purple. The upper flowers have white wings, veined with blue, and a green calyx, with reddish teeth, and the lower flowers have bright blue wings, veined with purple, and a reddish-purple calyx. This grows in wet places. [Sidenote: =Tree Lupine= _Lupìnus arbòreus_ =Yellow Spring California=] A conspicuous shrub, four to eight feet high, with a thick trunk, gnarled and twisted below, with purplish, downy branches, silvery twigs and dull bluish-green leaves, downy on the under side, with about nine leaflets. The fine flower clusters are sometimes a foot long, composed of beautiful canary-yellow flowers, deliciously sweet-scented. This is easily recognized by its size and fragrance and is common in sandy soil near the sea, where it has been found very useful, as its very long roots keep the sand dunes from shifting. [Illustration: River Lupine--Lupinus rivularis.] [Sidenote: =Parti-colored Lupine= _Lupìnus Stìversii_ =Pink and yellow Summer California=] One of the prettiest and most conspicuous kinds, for its coloring is unusual, with branching, downy, leafy stems, about a foot high, thickish leaflets, pale bluish-green in color and rather hairy, and fragrant flowers, over half an inch long, with rose-colored wings and a yellow standard, changing to orange in fading. The combination of pink, orange, and yellow is very striking. This grows in warm, dry spots in Yosemite, and other places in the Sierras and Coast Ranges. _L. citrìnus_, of similar situations, has all yellow flowers. [Sidenote: =Quaker Bonnets= _Lupìnus laxiflòrus_ =Blue Spring, summer West=] A handsome perennial, forming fine clumps on dry, gravelly hillsides, with several, slender, rather downy stems, from one to two feet tall, the leaflets six to nine in number, rather bluish-green, downy on the upper side, paler and silkier on the under. The younger leaves and calyxes are silvery with down, the flower buds form long, pretty, silvery clusters, resembling ears of wheat in form, and the flowers are in handsome loose racemes, from five to six inches long, of various shades of blue, mostly bright and somewhat purplish, the standard with a little white at its base and the keel purplish. The pod is covered with silky hairs and contains from three to five seeds. This is very common in Utah, handsome and conspicuous, and when growing in quantities, among Balsam-roots, Forget-me-nots, and Wild Geraniums, makes a combination unequaled in any flower-garden. [Sidenote: =Milk-white Lupine= _Lupìnus lactèus_ =White Spring California=] A handsome plant, with a very stout, branching stem and soft, bluish-green leaves, with silky hairs on the edges and under sides, forming a fine clump of foliage, from which the flower-stalks stand up very stiff and straight. The cluster is most symmetrical in form and the flowers, which are nearly three-quarters of an inch long, are a beautiful, pearly white, tinged with yellow at the base of the standard and with creamy buds. The lower lobe of the calyx is large and very dark green, the stems have a pale, satiny surface, sprinkled with hairs and the leaflets are ten or eleven in number. This grows in the grass along the roadsides and is common around San Bernardino. [Illustration: Bi-colored Lupine--Lupinus Stiversii.] [Illustration: Milk-white Lupine--Lupinus lacteus. Quaker Bonnets--L. laxiflorus.] There are numerous kinds of Lathyrus, widely distributed and difficult to distinguish. In technical character and habit they very much resemble Vetches, but sometimes have no tendrils and the flowers are larger, the leaflets are broader, and the style is flattened and hairy, not only at the tip, but also along the upper side. The leaflets are equal in number, the leaf-stalk usually terminating in a branching tendril; the flowers are in clusters; the calyx with five teeth, the upper commonly shorter; the style flattened and usually twisted; the pod flat or cylindrical, with no partitions between the seeds. Lathyrus is the old Greek name of the Pea. [Sidenote: =Narrow-leaved Sweet Pea= _Láthyrus graminifòlius_ =Pink and violet Spring Arizona=] This has flowers resembling the cultivated Sweet Pea, but the whole effect is more airy and graceful. It is a loosely-trailing vine, with slender, angled stems, long, narrow leaflets, eight in number, and three-cleft tendrils. The flowers are about three-quarters of an inch long, brightly yet delicately tinted with shaded pink and violet, and are so lightly poised on the long slender stalks that they look like a row of butterflies about to take flight. This grows on the plateau in the Grand Canyon and all through Arizona in the mountains. [Sidenote: =Utah Sweet Pea= _Láthyrus Utahénsis_ =Lilac Spring, summer Utah, Col.=] A smooth, trailing perennial, very graceful, with beautifully tinted flowers and bright green foliage. The stipules are large, broad and leafy, and the leaflets are usually ten in number, veined and thin in texture, one or two inches long, with tendrils. The flowers are nearly an inch long, from four to eight in a cluster, on a long flower-stalk; the standard pinkish-lilac, delicately veined with purple, the wings pale lilac and the keel cream-color. The flowers, as they fade, although keeping their form, gradually change in color to all shades of blue, turquoise, and sea-green, finally becoming buff, so that the effect of the whole cluster is iridescent and very lovely. This grows on mountain slopes, often in oak-thickets, clambering over the bushes to a height of several feet and clinging to everything with its tendrils. [Illustration: Wild Sweet Pea--Lathyrus graminifolius.] [Illustration: Utah Sweet Pea--Lathyrus Utahensis.] [Sidenote: =Pride of California= _Láthyrus spléndens_ =Crimson Spring California=] This has such glorious flowers, so superb in color and form, that it is by far the handsomest of its kind and not to be mistaken for any other. The stout, smooth, stems are dark green, the stipules small, and the leaves are smooth, slightly thickish and stiffish, rather dark bluish-green, with about ten leaflets. The flowers are over two inches long, from the tip of the standard to the end of the keel, and form a massive cluster of eight or ten blossoms, hanging on drooping pedicels and shading in color from the pale-salmon of the buds to the brilliant rose, carmine, and wine-color of the open flowers, the older flowers being very dark and rich. Only a small part of the flower-cluster is given in the picture. These plants, which are found around San Diego and farther south, clamber over the neighboring bushes to a height of several feet and adorn them with wonderful color, giving an effect of tropical splendor. There are innumerable kinds of Astragalus; most abundant in Asia, usually perennial herbs, sometimes woody; leaves usually with numerous leaflets, flowers narrow, in spikes, with long flower-stalks; calyx tube-shaped, with nearly equal teeth; petals usually narrow, with slender claws, standard erect and somewhat oblong, wings oblong, keel with blunt tip, about the same length as the wings; stamens ten, in two sets of nine and one; pods numerous, more or less two-celled, often inflated, so the wind can distribute the small seeds, therefore these plants are often called Rattleweed. Another name is Milk Vetch and many kinds are called Loco-weed, from the word "loco," or crazy, because they are poisonous to horses and cattle. I was told by a cow-boy in Arizona that "horses eat this because it tastes sweet, but it gives them water on the brain and they die, unless the skull is split with an axe and the water is let out!" [Sidenote: _Astrágalus Menzièsii_ =White Spring, summer California=] A decorative plant, its pale flowers contrasting well with the dark foliage, with stout, branching stems, from two to three feet tall, hairy above, and many leaflets, dark-green on the upper side, hairy and paler on the under. The flowers are half an inch or more long, with a pale, yellowish-green, downy calyx and cream-white corolla, and form a fine cluster, from four to ten inches long. The egg-shaped pods are much inflated and almost papery, an inch or more long. This grows on sea-cliffs and in sandy soil near the coast. [Illustration: Pride of California--Lathyrus splendens.] [Illustration: Astragalus Menziesii.] [Sidenote: =Pink Lady-fingers, Sheep-pod= _Astrágalus Utahénsis_ =Pink Spring, summer, autumn Utah, Nev.=] A pretty plant, unusual in coloring, the short stems spreading on the ground and springing from a short, perennial root; the foliage all very pale bluish-gray, covered with silvery down, the thickish leaflets from eleven to seventeen in number, the younger leaves and flower buds almost white. The flowers are about an inch long, in loose clusters, with flower-stalks from three to four inches long; the calyx long, pinkish-gray and downy, the standard pale pink, the wings deeper purplish-pink, the keel yellowish-pink. The pod is short, leathery, woolly, and stemless. This grows in dry, gravelly soil and in favorable situations makes low, circular clumps of foliage, suggesting the old-fashioned crochet lamp-mats that we used to see in New England farmhouses, for the pale leaves are symmetrically arranged in neat clusters and ornamented at intervals with pink flowers. Unlike, however, the worsted ornament, its coloring is delicately harmonious and beautiful. [Sidenote: _Astrágalus nothóxys_ =Purple Spring Arizona=] A very slender plant, with trailing stems, one or two feet long, the leaflets odd in number and downy on the under side. The flowers are about half an inch long, with a whitish, downy calyx and a bright purple corolla, shading to white at the base. This grows in mountain canyons and looks a good deal like a Vetch, except that it has no tendrils. [Sidenote: =Rattle-weed, Loco-weed= _Astrágalus pomonénsis_ =White Spring California=] This is a straggling plant, a foot and a half tall, smooth all over, with stout stems and many bluish-green leaflets. The flowers are over half an inch long, with a very pale calyx and yellowish-white corolla, forming a rather pretty cluster, about three inches long. The pods are each over an inch long and much inflated, forming a large bunch, odd and very conspicuous in appearance. [Illustration: A. nothoxys. Pods of Rattle-weed--A. pomonensis. Pink Lady-fingers--Astragalus Utahensis.] [Sidenote: =Loco-weed= _Astrágalus MacDoùgali_ =White, lilac Spring Arizona=] An attractive plant, about a foot high, with straggling, reddish stems and delicate foliage. The flowers are over half an inch long, with a hairy calyx and pale lilac and white corolla, and form pretty clusters about two inches long. There are many kinds of Hedysarum, some from Africa and only a few in this country; perennial herbs, sometimes shrubby; the leaflets toothless, odd in number; the flowers in handsome racemes, with bracts, on stalks from the angles of the stem; the calyx with five, nearly equal teeth; the standard rather large, round, or inverted heart-shaped, narrow at base, the wings oblong, shorter than the standard; the keel blunt, nearly straight, longer than the wings; the stamens in two sets of nine and one, not adhering to the corolla; the pod long, flat, and oddly jointed into several, strongly-veined, one-seeded, roundish divisions, which separate when ripe. The name is from the Greek, meaning "sweet-broom." [Sidenote: _Hedýsarum pabulàre_ =Pink Spring, summer Utah=] A very handsome and decorative plant, with large brilliant flower-clusters, contrasting well with the foliage and making spots of vivid color on dry plains and hillsides. It has many stems, springing from a rootstock, which are from eight to fifteen inches long, yellowish-green, ridged, and covered with inconspicuous down, the leaflets are light bluish-green, thickish, nine to seventeen in number, and the bracts are thin and dry. The flowers are about three-quarters of an inch long, with a pinkish-green and downy calyx, and the corolla all bright deep pink, fading to blue, with a veined standard. The pod has from three to five divisions. This flourishes at rather high altitudes, up to seven thousand feet, and is conspicuously beautiful near the entrance to Ogden Canyon in Utah. There are a great many kinds of Trifolium, or Clover, difficult to distinguish; low herbs; leaves usually with three leaflets, usually toothed; stipules adhering to the leaf-stalks; flowers in heads or spikes; stamens usually in two sets of nine and one; pods small, mostly enclosed in the calyx, usually with one to six seeds. [Illustration: Hedysarum pabulare.] [Illustration: Loco-weed--Astragalus MacDougali.] [Sidenote: =Clover= _Trifòlium tridentàtum_ =Purple Spring, summer Cal., Oreg., Wash.=] This is very common from the coast to the Sierra foothills, but there are many named varieties. It is smooth all over and grows from eight inches to two feet high, with spreading stems and narrow leaflets, which are toothless, or have teeth and bristles on the edges. The pinkish-purple flowers form a broad head, over an inch across, with an involucre. [Sidenote: =Sour Clover= _Trifòlium fucàtum_ =Cream-color Spring, summer Wash., Oreg., Cal.=] This has queer-looking flowers and is conspicuous on that account. The branching stems are a foot or more tall, the stipules are large, with papery margins, and the leaves are bright green, with a paler spot near the middle of each of the leaflets, which are toothed, or sometimes only bristly on the edges, and the flowers form a head about an inch and a quarter across, with a broad involucre. The calyx is very small and the corolla is cream-color, becoming much inflated and changing to deep pink as the flower withers. The effect of the cluster is curiously puffy and odd in color. This grows rankly in low alkaline and brackish places. There are many kinds of Psoralea, widely distributed; ours are perennial herbs, without tendrils, the leaves with three or five leaflets, with glandular dots on them and usually bad-smelling. The flowers are white or purplish, and the pod is short, with only one seed. [Sidenote: =Native California Tea= _Psoràlea physòdes_ =White Spring, summer Cal., Oreg., Wash.=] This is a rather pleasing plant, for the foliage is pretty, though the flowers are too dull in color to be effective. It is almost smooth all over, a foot or more tall, with several spreading stems and rich green leaves, thin in texture and giving out a rather pleasant aromatic smell when crushed. The flowers are less than half an inch long, with a somewhat hairy calyx, covered with dots and becoming inflated in fruit, and a yellowish-white corolla, more or less tinged with purple. This is common in the woods of the Coast Ranges. The foliage was used as tea by the early settlers. [Illustration: Sour Clover--Trifolium fucatum. Clover--T. tridentatum. Native California Tea--Psoralea physodes.] There are many kinds of Cytisus, natives of Europe, Asia, and Africa, named for Cythrus, one of the Cyclades, where the first species was found. [Sidenote: =Scotch Broom= _Cýtisus scopàrius_ =Yellow Spring, summer West, etc., except Ariz.=] A handsome branching shrub, about five feet high, with almost smooth or quite hairy leaves, with three, toothless leaflets, and fine clusters of flowers, each an inch or more long, with a yellow two-lipped calyx and a golden-yellow corolla, deeper in color at the base of the standard and at the tips of the wings; the stamens ten, in one set; the style curved in. The pod is flat, smooth on the sides, but hairy along the edges, one or two inches long and curling when ripe. This is said to have been brought to California by Cornish miners. SENNA FAMILY. _Cassiaceae._ A large family, most of them tropical; trees, shrubs, and herbs, with flowers more or less irregular in form, but not like the flowers of the true Pea, though sometimes resembling them; calyx usually with five sepals; corolla with five petals, overlapping in the bud, the petal which corresponds to the standard folded within the two side petals, instead of covering them, as in the Pea flower; stamens, ten, or fewer, in number, usually not united; ovar superior; fruit a pod, mostly splitting into two halves, containing one to many seeds. To this family belong the handsome Red-bud, or Judas Tree, of our woodlands, both East and West; the spiny Honey-locust; the Kentucky Coffee-tree, with its fine foliage, of the central and eastern states; the interesting Palo Verde, with greatly reduced leaves, of the Southwest, and the fine Bird-of-paradise flowers, of the tropics and Mexico, one or two of which are just beginning to grow wild in southern Arizona and California. There are many kinds of Cassia, abundant in tropical America; herbs, shrubs, or trees; leaflets even in number; flowers usually yellow; calyx-teeth nearly equal; corolla almost regular, with five, nearly equal, spreading petals, with claws; stamens usually ten, sometimes five, often unequal, some of the anthers often imperfect, or lacking; pod flat or cylindrical, often curved, sometimes with partitions between the numerous seeds. [Illustration: Scotch Broom--Cytisus scoparius.] [Sidenote: =Desert Senna, Golden Cassia= _Cássia armàta_ =Yellow Spring Southwest=] The peculiar orange-yellow of these handsome flowers at once attracts our attention, for their tint is quite different from the greenish-yellow, which is so much more common. They grow in the desert, forming big clumps, two feet high and two or three feet across, but have almost no foliage. The numerous, smooth stems are very pale in color, often bluish or gray, with a few dark-green leaves, with six, very small, stiff leaflets, and bearing clusters of numerous, sweet-smelling flowers, almost regular and about three-quarters of an inch across, with a downy calyx and the small, flat pod also downy. MIMOSA FAMILY. _Mimosaceae._ A large family, most of them tropical; herbs, shrubs, or trees; leaves alternate, generally compound, usually with two or three leaflets; flowers small, regular and perfect, in clusters; calyx with three to six lobes or teeth; petals of the same number, separate, or more or less united, neither sepals nor petals overlapping in the bud; stamens as many as the petals, or twice as many, or numerous, separate or united; ovary superior; fruit a pod. There are several kinds of Calliandra, low shrubs or herbs. [Sidenote: =Fairy Dusters= _Calliándra eriophýlla_ =Pink Spring Arizona=] An odd little shrub, pretty and very Japanese in character, about a foot tall, with a few, pale-gray, spreading branches and very scanty foliage. The small leaves are cut into many tiny leaflets and look like those of a Mimosa, the buds are deep pink and the flowers are in clusters towards the ends of the branches and slightly sweet-scented. They are very queer-looking, but exceedingly pretty, for the purplish calyx and corolla are so small that the flower appears to be merely a tuft of many stamens, about an inch long, with threadlike filaments, white at base and shading to bright pink at the tips. The pistil is also long and pink, so the whole effect is a bunch of pink fuzz, airy in form and delicately shaded in color. These little shrubs sometimes bloom when they are only a few inches high, looking very quaint, like dwarf plants in a toy garden, and are among the earliest spring flowers. [Illustration: Desert Senna--Cassia armata.] [Illustration: Fairy Dusters--Calliandra eriophylla.] KRAMERIA FAMILY. _Krameriaceae._ A small family, distributed from the southern United States to Chili; hairy herbs or low shrubs, without stipules; leaves alternate; two bracts on the flower-stalk; flowers purplish, irregular, perfect; sepals four or five, usually large, the outer one commonly wider than the others; petals usually five, smaller than the sepals, the three upper ones with long claws, often united by their claws, sometimes the middle one of the three lacking, the two lower ones reduced to mere fleshy glands and not resembling petals; stamens three or four, united at least at base; ovary superior, with a slender style; fruit spiny, seed one. [Sidenote: =Crimson-beak= _Kramèria Gràyi_ =Purplish-pink Spring Arizona=] A desert shrub, with a pleasant smell like balsam, two to four feet high, with gray, woody stems, abruptly branching, armed with long, brown and gray thorns, and clothed with very small, silvery-gray leaves, downy and thickish. The flowers are curious in shape and color, with five, large, purplish-pink sepals and five, small petals, the two lower ones minute and reduced to glands. The pistil is dark red, the three stamens have green filaments and red anthers, the ovary is downy and prickly, and the downy buds are pale pink. CALTROP FAMILY. _Zygophyllaceae._ Not a large family, widely distributed in warm and tropical regions; ours are herbs or shrubs, with opposite or alternate, compound leaves, with stipules and toothless leaflets; flowers complete, usually with five sepals and five petals, and usually twice the number of stamens, with swinging anthers, alternate stamens sometimes longer, filaments often with a small scale near the middle; ovary superior, usually surrounded at the base by a disk; style one, with a five- to ten-lobed stigma; fruit dry. There are several kinds of Covillea. [Sidenote: =Creosote-bush, Hediondilla= _Covíllea glutinòsa (Larrea Mexicana)_ =Yellow All seasons Southwest=] A graceful, evergreen shrub, common in arid regions and a characteristic feature of the desert landscape, filling the air with its very strong, peculiar odor. It is from three to ten feet high, with many little branches, with blackish knots at the joints, clothed with sticky, dull yellowish-green foliage, the thickish, resinous leaflets very small, in pairs, with almost no leaf-stalk, and uneven at base. The pretty flowers are nearly an inch across, with bright yellow petals, with claws, and silky, greenish-yellow sepals which soon drop off. The filaments are broadened below into wings and have a scale on the inner side. The ovary is covered with pale, silky hairs, so that the older flowers have a silky tuft in the center, and becomes a round, densely hairy fruit, with a short stalk, tipped with the slender style. These little white, silky balls of down are very conspicuous and, as they are mingled with yellow flowers, the bush has an odd and pretty effect of being spotted all over with yellow and white. [Illustration: Creosote-bush--Covillea glutinosa. Crimson-beak--Krameria Grayi.] FLAX FAMILY. _Linaceae._ A small family, widely distributed in temperate and tropical regions. Ours are smooth herbs, with loosely clustered, complete flowers, having five sepals; five petals, alternating with the sepals; five stamens, alternating with the petals, with swinging anthers and filaments united at the base; ovary superior; fruit a capsule, containing eight or ten, oily seeds. There are many kinds of Flax, sometimes shrubby at base; with tough fibers in the bark; leaves without stipules, sometimes with glands at base in place of real stipules; flowers mostly blue or yellow. There are numerous, small-flowered, annual kinds, difficult to distinguish and usually somewhat local. _L. usitatíssimum_, an annual, with deep blue flowers, is the variety which, from time immemorial, has furnished the world with linen from its fiber and oil from its seeds. Linum is the ancient Latin name. [Sidenote: =Blue Flax= _Lìnum Lewísii_ =Blue Spring, summer West, etc.=] An attractive plant, from one to two feet tall, with several, erect stems, springing from a woody, perennial root, with numerous, small, narrow, bluish-green leaves and loose clusters of pretty flowers, each about an inch across. The petals, delicately veined with blue, vary in tint from sky-blue to almost white, with a little yellow at the base. This is common and widely distributed, from Manitoba to Texas and westward, but the fiber is not strong enough to be used commercially. [Illustration: Blue Flax--Linum Lewisii.] WOOD-SORREL FAMILY. _Oxalidaceae._ Not a large family, mostly tropical. Ours are low herbs, with sour juice, often with rootstocks or scaly bulbs; leaves with three or several leaflets; flowers perfect; sepals five, often unequal; petals five, stamens ten to fifteen; ovary superior, five-celled, the five styles usually separate; fruit a capsule, containing several or many seeds. By some botanists this is merged in the Geranium Family. There are many kinds of Oxalis. The Greek name means "sour," in allusion to the sour taste of these plants, which contain oxalic acid. The leaves are alternate, at nightfall the leaflets droop and fold together; the stamens are ten, five long and five short, all with anthers, with filaments broadened and united at base. [Sidenote: =Yellow Wood-sorrel= _Óxalis corniculàta_ =Yellow Spring, summer, autumn Southwest=] A pretty little plant, a few inches tall, more or less downy all over, with very slender, reddish, branching stems and light green leaves, about an inch across and thin in texture. The flowers are over half an inch across, with clear yellow petals, often tinged with pale red on the outside, yellow anthers and a green pistil. The capsules are long and downy. [Sidenote: =Redwood Sorrel= _Óxalis Oregàna_ =White, pink Spring Cal., Oreg., Wash.=] One of the most attractive of our woodland plants. The succulent, hairy, reddish flower-stalks, about six inches tall, with two small bracts near the top, spring from a clump of root-leaves. The larger leaves are three inches across, with long leaf-stalks, pale and hairy on the under side, rich green on the upper, each leaflet marked with an irregular blotch of pale green. The younger leaves are lighter green than the older ones and in the bud are neatly folded together, the middle leaflet inside the other two. The leaflets fold back, when it is either too hot or too cold to suit the plant. The delicate flowers are about an inch and a half across, white, pale pink, or rose-color, often veined with deeper color and with a spot of yellow at the base of each petal, and well set off by the foliage, which makes patches of rich and variegated green in dense forest shade. [Illustration: Yellow Wood-sorrel--Oxalis corniculata. Redwood Sorrel--O. Oregana.] GERANIUM FAMILY. _Geraniaceae._ Not a large family, herbs, of temperate regions; leaves lobed or compound, usually with stipules; flowers perfect; sepals and petals usually five and stamens five or ten; ovary superior; fruit a capsule. There are many kinds of Geranium; stems with swollen joints; stipules papery; five glands on the receptacle, alternating with the petals; stamens ten, five long and five short, filaments united at base; ovary with a beak formed by the five-cleft style, and becoming a capsule, which splits open elastically, the style-divisions becoming tails on the seeds. The Greek name means "crane," in allusion to the long beak of the capsule, and these plants are often called Crane's-bill. Cultivated Geraniums are Pelargoniums, from South Africa. [Sidenote: =Wild Geranium= _Gerànium incìsum_ =Pink Spring, summer West=] In the Sierra woods, and along Yosemite roadsides, in summer we see the purplish-pink blossoms and nodding buds of this attractive plant, resembling the Wild Geranium of the East, growing from thick, perennial roots, with hairy, branching stems, from one to two feet high. The hairy leaves, with three or five, toothed lobes, are fragrant like cultivated geraniums; the flowers, over an inch across, are hairy inside, the petals veined with magenta. They are occasionally white and the plants vary in size and hairiness. _G. furcàtum_, of the Grand Canyon, has magenta petals, which turn back more. [Sidenote: =Wild Geranium= _Gerànium Fremóntii_ =Pink Spring, summer Southwest, and Utah, Ida., Col., New Mex.=] This has similar flowers, but is a finer plant, forming large, thrifty-looking clumps, one or two feet across, of slightly thickish leaves, dark green on the upper side and paler, with prominent veins, on the under, the root-leaves with about seven, main divisions, the stem-leaves three- to five-cleft, each clump of leaves with several tall, slightly downy flower-stalks springing from it. The calyxes and buds are downy and the flowers bright pink or rose-purple, delicately veined. This grows in somewhat moist ground, at the edges of fields and woody roadsides and on mountain slopes, and is perhaps the handsomest of its clan. [Illustration: Geranium incisum. Wild Geranium--Fremontii.] [Sidenote:= Long-stalked Crane's-bill= _Gerànium columbìnum_ =Purple Spring, summer California, etc.=] A slender plant, about a foot tall, with pinkish, hairy stems and pretty leaves, thin in texture, with a dull surface; the seed-vessels erect, with bristly beaks. The flowers grow in pairs and are less than half an inch across, with hairy calyxes and notched, purple or magenta petals. This is naturalized from Europe, and common in the East and grows along roadsides, at the edges of fields and woods. There are many kinds of Erodium, three native in the Southwest and several more introduced, weeds in the Old World and important forage plants in the West; leaves often unequal, with one stipule on one side and two on the other. They resemble Geranium, flower and fruit being nearly the same, but only five of the stamens have anthers, the alternate ones being scale-like, without anthers; styles hairy inside. The Greek name means "heron," in allusion to the long beak of the capsule. [Sidenote: =Red-stem Filaree= _Eròdium cicutàrium_ =Pink All seasons West, etc.=] Though not native, this is the commonest kind, in the interior and semi-arid regions, and most valued for forage. When young it forms rosettes close to the ground, but grows taller and more straggling. The stems are often reddish; the leaves somewhat hairy; the flowers small, in clusters of four to eight, with four bracts at the base; the petals purplish-pink, with darker veins, and hairy at the base, the two upper petals slightly smaller; the sepals tipped with one or two bristles. The ovary is beaked by the united styles, the beak, when the seeds ripen, separating into five, long tails, which twist spirally when dry and untwist when moistened. This is common west of the Rockies, blooming more or less all the year round, varying in size in different soils. Filaree is a corruption of the Spanish Alfilerilla, from "alfiler," a "pin." Other names are Pinkets, Pinclover, Storksbill, and Clocks, so-called by children because they amuse themselves by watching the tails twist about like the hands of a clock. White-stem Filaree, _E. moschàtum_, common in rich soil, has larger, coarser leaves and a faint scent. [Illustration: Long-stalked Crane's-bill--Geranium columbinum. Red-stem Filaree--Erodium cicutarium.] MILKWORT FAMILY. _Polygalaceae._ Not a very large family, widely distributed; ours are herbs, sometimes shrubby, with no stipules; flowers perfect, irregular, resembling those of the Pea Family, but not like them in structure; sepals five, the two at the sides large and colored, like "wings," the upper sepal forming a "keel"; petals three, more or less united into a tube; stamens usually eight and united; ovary superior, two-celled, with a broad, curved stigma. There are many kinds of Polygala. [Sidenote: =California Milkwort= _Polýgala Califórnica_ =Pink Spring, summer Cal., Oreg.=] A rather attractive little plant, three to eight inches tall, with smooth leaves and many slender, smooth, woody, stems, springing from slender rootstocks. The purplish-pink flowers become deeper in color as they fade and are quaint in form, over half an inch long, with pink "wings" and yellowish "keel," the petals downy inside and the middle one curving over to form a hood, in which the stamens and style are concealed. This plant has the odd habit of bearing another sort of flower near the root, maturing most of the seed, but without petals, and grows on dry, shady hillsides in the Coast Ranges. MEADOW FOAM FAMILY. _Limnanthaceae._ A very small family, all North American, included in the Geranium Family by some botanists; smooth herbs, of wet places, with bitter juice; leaves alternate, lobed and cut, without stipules; flowers perfect; sepals and petals two to five; stamens twice as many as the petals; ovary superior, the five lobes becoming five nutlets; style one. There are several kinds of Floerkea; sepals and petals three to five; five, small glands on the receptacle, alternating with the sepals; style two- to five-cleft. [Sidenote: =Meadow Foam= _Floérkea Douglásii (Limnanthes)_ =White, yellow Spring Cal., Oreg.=] A charming plant, often covering the meadows with drifts of creamy bloom. The stems are smooth, succulent, brittle and branching, from six to twelve inches tall; the delicate flowers over an inch across, the petals hairy at base, sometimes pinkish, but usually white and yellow. [Illustration: Meadow Foam--Floerkea Douglasii. California Milk-wort--Polygala Californica.] BUCKEYE FAMILY. _Hippocastanaceae._ A small family, widely distributed; trees or shrubs, with opposite, compound leaves, no stipules and terminal clusters of irregular flowers, some perfect and some with only pistils or only stamens; the calyx tubular or bell-shaped, with five, unequal lobes or teeth; the petals four or five, unequal, with claws; the stamens five to eight, with long filaments; the ovary superior, with no stalk, three-celled, with a slender style; the capsule leathery, roundish or slightly three-lobed, smooth or spiny, with one to three, large, polished seeds. There are a good many kinds of Aesculus, or Horse Chestnut, natives of America and Asia; the leaves palmately compound, with toothed leaflets; the flowers of two sorts, the fertile ones few in number, near the top of the cluster, with long, thick styles, and the sterile flowers with short styles. [Sidenote: =California Buckeye= _Aésculus Califórnica_ =White Spring, summer California=] One of our handsomest western shrubs, usually from ten to fifteen feet tall, with gray bark, and dark bluish-green foliage, the leaflets from five to seven in number, glossy on the upper side, pale and dull on the under, and firm in texture. The flowers have a rather heavy scent and are about an inch across, with four or five, slightly irregular, white petals, which become pink in fading, a pinkish ovary and long stamens with curling, white filaments, unequal in length, with buff anthers. They are crowded in a magnificent, pyramidal cluster, about a foot long, which has a pinkish-red, downy stem, and the buds are also downy and pinkish, so that the color effect is warm-pink above, merging into cream-white below, the whole made feathery by the long stamens. The shrub has a rounded top of rich green foliage, symmetrically ornamented with spires of bloom, standing up quite stiffly all over it. The large, leathery pod contains a big, golden-brown nut, supposed to be poisonous to cattle. The leaves fall off very early in the season, leaving the pods hanging on the bare branches. This is at its best in the mountain valleys of middle California, sometimes becoming a good-sized tree. [Illustration: California Buckeye--Aesculus Californica.] BUCKTHORN FAMILY. _Rhamnaceae._ A large family; shrubs, or small trees, of temperate and warm regions, some with bitter, astringent properties, often thorny; leaves mostly alternate; stipules minute; flowers often in showy clusters, small, regular; calyx-lobes and stamens four or five; petals usually four or five, sometimes lacking, with claws. The short calyx-tube is lined with a fleshy disk and on this are borne the petals and the stamens, alternate with the sepals and opposite the petals, with swinging anthers. In some cases, some of the flowers have only pistils or only stamens. The ovary superior or partly inferior; the fruit a berry or capsule. There are many kinds of Ceanothus, largely western; flowers small, blue or white, in clusters; calyx bell-shaped, five-lobed, with a colored, petal-like border; petals five, the tips arching to form a tiny hood, with long claws; stamens five, long, protruding, with threadlike filaments; ovary partly inferior; style three-cleft; capsule splitting open elastically so as to scatter the three, hard nutlets. The flowers make a soapy lather when rubbed in water, hence the name Soap-bush, and the kinds with rigid branches are called Buckbrush. Red-root is another name. Mountain Lilac is the commonest name, but misleading. Lilacs belong to another family. [Sidenote: =Squaw Carpets, Mahala Mats= _Ceanòthus prostràtus_ =Blue Spring, summer Cal., Oreg.=] This decorative shrub is common in the Sierras and carpets the forest floor with a rich green, leafy mat, sprinkled with small, feathery clusters of blue flowers. The trailing stems are clothed with leathery leaves, opposite and very glossy, and the little flowers are deep purplish-blue, with yellow stamens, and slightly scented. These plants are equally attractive late in the season when the flowers are replaced by scarlet seed-vessels, with three horns. [Sidenote: =Snow Brush, Mountain Lilac= _Ceanòthus velùtinus_ =White West, except Ariz.=] A fine shrub, two to twelve feet high, with stout trunk and branches, easily recognized by its leaves, which are rich green, thick and resinous, shiny as if varnished on the upper side and sometimes rich chocolate-brown in color, but pale on the under side, with three, conspicuous nerves. The small, sweet-scented flowers are crowded in compact, creamy clusters, sometimes four or five inches long, very handsome, but not so delicate as Deer-brush. This is common on hillsides and in the mountains, up to seven thousand feet. [Illustration: Snow Brush--C. velutinus. Squaw-Carpets--Ceanothus prostratus.] [Sidenote: =Deer-brush, Mountain Lilac= _Ceanòthus integérrimus_ =White, blue Summer Cal., Oreg., Wash., Ariz.=] A graceful shrub, or small tree, six to fifteen feet tall, the slender trunk and branches covered with dull yellowish-green bark and the bright green foliage setting off the feathery flower clusters, two to six inches long, scattered lightly over the bush and composed of innumerable, tiny, sweet-scented blossoms. The leaves are alternate, half an inch to three inches long, toothless, thin in texture, very slightly downy or smooth, with three veins, and the flowers cream-white, occasionally blue or pink, with conspicuous stamens, which give the plume-like sprays a delicate foamy effect against the dark forest background. This shrub is a beautiful sight when in flower and sometimes covers the mountainsides with drifts of snowy bloom, filling the air with delicate perfume. It is quite variable and sometimes has dark shiny leaves and small compact clusters of flowers. It is often called White Tea-tree, because the bark is used medicinally. [Sidenote: =Blue Mountain Lilac= _Ceanòthus parvifòlius_ =Blue Summer California=] An attractive mountain shrub, growing in Yosemite, and elsewhere in the Sierra Nevada Mountains at similar altitudes, low and spreading, about three feet high, with smooth, pale green branches and small, smooth, toothless leaves, dark green and shining on the upper side, pale on the under. The oblong clusters of minute blue flowers are slightly sweet-scented and about two inches long. MALLOW FAMILY. _Malvaceae._ A large family, widely distributed; mostly herbs, with mucilaginous juice and tough, fibrous bark; leaves alternate, mostly palmately-veined and lobed, with stipules; flowers regular, perfect, or the stamens and pistils on different plants; sepals five, often with an outer row of bracts below, resembling another calyx; petals five, their bases or claws united with each other and with the base of the stamen-tube; stamens numerous, united by their filaments into a column, forming a tube enclosing the pistils; fruit a capsule, breaking when ripe into several one-seeded parts, or splitting down the back of the valves, allowing the seeds to escape. The little fruits are commonly called "cheeses." True Mallows are introduced "weeds" in this country. [Illustration: Deer Brush--Ceanothus integerrimus. Blue Mountain Lilac--C. parvifolius.] [Sidenote: =Arizona Wild Cotton= _Thurbéria thespesioìdes (Ingenhouzia triloba)_ =White Summer Arizona=] The only kind, a fine shrub, from four to eight feet high, with smooth leaves, most of them with three lobes, and handsome cream-white flowers, tinged with pink on the outside and measuring two inches across. This grows in the mountains of southern Arizona and is beautiful under cultivation, often growing to a height of six or eight feet in a season. There are a number of kinds of Sidalcea, difficult to distinguish; perennials; leaves round in general outline, variously cut and lobed; flowers showy, in terminal clusters; calyx with no outer bracts, or with only one; stamen-column double; stigmas threadlike, distinguishing them from Malvastrum and Sidalcea. [Sidenote: =Rose Mallow= _Sidálcea Califórnica_ =Pink Spring California=] This has velvety leaves, those from the root much less deeply lobed than the others, and a slender, slightly hairy stalk, one to two feet tall, leaning to one side and bearing a loose raceme of rose-pink flowers, with petals about an inch long. Only one or two flowers are open at a time, but they are very pretty and conspicuous in open woods and along the edges of fields, around Santa Barbara, in May. [Sidenote: =Oregon Mallow= _Sidálcea Oregàna_ =Pink Summer, autumn Northwest=] A pretty plant, with one or more smooth, pale, branching stems, about two feet tall, and dark green leaves, with conspicuous veins. The buds are downy and the flowers are about three-quarters of an inch across, with pale pink petals, prettily veined, shading to white at the center. The anthers are white and the pistil, when the stigmas have expanded, is prettily tipped with a tiny crimson brush. [Illustration: Oregon Mallow--Sidalcea Oregana. Rose Mallow--S. Californica.] [Illustration] [Sidenote: =Checker-bloom= _Sidálcea malvaeflòra_ =Pink Spring California=] A pretty perennial, with several leaning, hairy stems, one or two feet tall, and dark green leaves. Some plants have perfect flowers, an inch or more across, often very pale pink, and others have only rudimentary stamens and smaller flowers, usually deep pink in color, but the plant is very variable. This is common near the coast. It is sometimes called Wild Hollyhock. [Sidenote: =Mallow= _Sidálcea Neo-Mexicàna_ =Pink Summer Ariz., Utah, New Mex., Col., Wyo.=] This is from one to three feet tall, with smooth, rather dark green leaves and very pretty, pale purplish-pink flowers with pale-yellow anthers and pinkish pistil. This grows in the mountains. There are many kinds of Malvastrum, natives of America and Africa; perennial herbs or shrubs; the calyx often with three outer bracts; the stamen-column bearing anthers at the top; the stigmas with round heads. The name is from the Greek, meaning "star-mallow." [Sidenote: =Spotted Mallow= _Malvástrum rotundifòlium_ =Pink Spring Southwest=] A very pretty desert plant, from six to eight inches tall, the coloring of the flowers, stems, and leaves vivid and oddly contrasting, for the stems are bright red and hairy, and the leaves stiff, hairy, and bronze-green in color, while the lovely globe-shaped flowers, which are over an inch across, are delicately shaded from lilac to rose outside and paler inside, with conspicuous round blotches of orange-vermilion at the base of each petal within. The calyx and buds are very hairy, the petals each have a twist to one side, and the mauve stamens form a pretty cluster in the center. These flowers last a long time in water, closing at night and opening again in the morning. [Illustration] [Illustration: Spotted Mallow--Malvastrum rotundifolium.] [Illustration: Checker-bloom--S. malvaeflora. Mallow--Sidalcea Neo-Mexicana.] [Sidenote: =False Mallow= _Malvástrum Thúrberi_ =Pink Spring, summer California=] A handsome shrub, from five to ten feet high, woody below, with long, slender, wandlike branches and thick, very downy, light bluish-green leaves. The pretty lilac-pink flowers are from one to nearly two inches across and pleasantly scented, and the foliage is soft and pretty in appearance, though rather harsh to the touch, its pale tones blending harmoniously with the delicate blossoms. This is common in southern California. There are several kinds of Lavatera, mostly from the Old World. [Sidenote: =Tree Mallow= _Lavàtera assurgentiflòra_ =Pink Spring California=] This was planted in the mission gardens by the Fathers and is now common around San Francisco. It is a branching shrub, from six to fifteen feet high, with a twisted, gray trunk and large handsome leaves, light green and very soft and smooth to the touch, paler and downier on the under side. The flowers are handsome and conspicuous, two or three inches across, with bright pink petals, warm and rich in tone, beautifully striped with maroon and shading to yellowish-white towards the center, with a purple pistil and grayish anthers. The flowers and seed-vessels hang on curved pedicels, like pipe-stems, giving a rather odd effect. The leaves and twigs are very mucilaginous. There are many kinds of Sphaeralcea, much like Malvastrum, except that they have two or three ovules, instead of one, in each cavity of the ovary. The name is from the Greek, meaning "globe-mallow," in allusion to the usually roundish fruit. [Sidenote: =Scarlet Mallow= _Sphaerálcea pedàta_ =Red Spring Southwest=] These graceful wands of brilliant bloom are very common in spring in Arizona. The flowers are over an inch across, vivid yet delicate in color, shading from luminous scarlet to clear pale-orange. The buds are tipped with deeper red and the foliage is rather pale green, somewhat hairy and downy. The stems are from one to two feet tall and bend slightly to one side, swaying to and fro in the wind and displaying their flaming blossoms to great advantage. [Illustration: Salmon Globe Mallow--Sphaeralcea pedata.] [Illustration: Tree Mallow--Lavatera assurgentiflora. False Mallow--Malvastrum Thurberi.] ST. JOHN'S-WORT FAMILY. _Hypericaceae._ Not a large family, mostly natives of temperate and warm regions. Ours are herbs, sometimes shrubby, without stipules, with opposite, toothless leaves, with clear or black dots; the flowers regular and complete, all the parts borne on the receptacle; the sepals and petals usually five; the stamens usually numerous, sometimes grouped in three to five clusters; the ovary superior; the fruit a capsule. There are many kinds of Hypericum, widely distributed; the leaves without leaf-stalks, the flowers yellow, with three to six styles. This is the ancient Greek name. These plants bloom in June, about St. John's Day, and so tradition gives them magic properties, appropriate to the Eve of that day, when fairies and witches are abroad, and they are commonly called St. John's-wort. [Sidenote: =St. John's-wort= _Hypéricum concínnum_ =Yellow Summer California=] This has very pretty flowers and grows from three to eighteen inches tall, with smooth stems, branching and woody at base, and smooth, rather bluish-green leaves, usually folded, not clasping at base, usually with only a few dots. The flowers are an inch or more across, with bright golden petals, with some black dots, and numerous stamens in three bunches, forming large, fuzzy, golden centers. This grows on dry hills and is supposed to be poisonous to sheep. [Sidenote: =St. John's-wort= _Hypéricum formòsum var. Scoúleri_ =Yellow Summer West=] A pretty plant, from six inches to three feet tall, with a stiff stem, often branching towards the top, and rather dull green leaves, blunt, oblong and clasping at base, about an inch long, thin in texture, with black dots on the margins. The flowers are from half an inch to an inch across, with bright yellow petals, dotted with black, and are very pretty, but not so handsome as the last. This grows in moist places, chiefly in the mountains, and is common in Yosemite. [Sidenote: =Creeping St. John's-wort= _Hypéricum anagalloìdes_ =Orange Summer Northwest=] An attractive little plant, only a few inches tall, with many weak, slender, branching stems, spreading on the ground and rooting at the joints, and small, smooth, light yellowish-green leaves, often tinged with red. It grows in wet places and forms close mats of foliage, sprinkled with light-orange or salmon-colored flowers, a quarter of an inch or more across, with fifteen to twenty, yellow stamens. The effect is something like Anagallis, Scarlet Pimpernel, hence the name. This is common in Yosemite and similar places, up to nine thousand feet. [Illustration: H. concinnum. St. John's-wort--Hypericum formosum var. Scouleri. Creeping St. John's-wort--H. anagalloides.] FOUQUIERA FAMILY. _Fouquieriaceae._ A very small family, with one genus and only a few species; natives of the Southwest and Mexico; the flowers are brilliant red, in terminal clusters; the sepals five, not united; the petals five, united into a tube, the lobes somewhat spreading; the stamens ten to fifteen, protruding, inserted under the pistil; the ovary imperfectly three-celled; the styles three, long, somewhat united; the seeds three to six, oblong, flattened, surrounded by a membranous wing or long, white hairs. These plants are very puzzling, but interesting, and as they are not nearly related they have at various times been classified with other families. [Sidenote: =Flaming Sword, Ocotillo, Candle Flower= _Fouquièra spléndens_ =Red Spring Ariz., Cal., New Mex.=] A magnificent desert shrub, when in full bloom, but strangely forbidding in aspect in spite of its beauty. Its many stiff stems, from six to twenty feet tall, entirely without branches, stand up stiffly from the root, like a bunch of wands, and are armed their whole length with terrible thorns, which in the spring are masked with beautiful foliage, like little apple leaves. From the tip of each wand springs a glorious cluster, from six to ten inches long, composed of hundreds of scarlet flowers, each about an inch long, and crowded closely together, suggesting a flame and waving to and fro in the wind with a startling effect against the pale desert sand. When the flowers and leaves are gone, the clumps of dry, thorny sticks look quite dead and it is hard to believe that they were so splendid early in the season. They make an impenetrable fence and are much used by the Indians for hedges. [Illustration: Flaming Sword--Fouquiera splendens.] VIOLET FAMILY. _Violaceae._ A rather large family, widely distributed, but we have only three genera, the principal one being Viola, which is the ancient Latin name, used by Virgil. There are many kinds of Viola, widely distributed, blooming in spring, but often flowering again in the autumn; low, perennial herbs, with stipules; leaves alternate, or from the root; flowers complete, irregular, nodding, nectar-yielding, usually single; sepals five, with small ear-shaped projections at the base; petals five, slightly bearded within, so as to afford a foothold for bees, the lowest petal larger and with a spur at the back; stamens five, short, with broadened filaments and anthers opening inward, so as to cover the pistil all but the end of the style, the two lower anthers with spurs at the base, which project into the spur of the petal; ovary superior and one-celled; style club-shaped, with a one-sided stigma. The flowers are often of two kinds, the earlier ones with long flower-stalks, with petals and showy, but not producing seed; the later ones with short stalks, with small or no petals, but fertile, often cleistogamous, that is, fertilized in the bud. The capsule splits open and as the three valves dry they fold firmly together lengthwise and force out the seeds. [Sidenote: =Pine Violet= _Vìola lobàta_ =Yellow Spring, summer Cal., Oreg.=] A pretty plant, growing in the woods, with leafy stems, from four to fourteen inches high, with leafy stipules and smooth, rather light green leaves, deeply lobed, so that they look unlike most Violet leaves. The flowers are more or less clustered, an inch or more across, with bright yellow petals, veined with purple inside, tinged with purplish-brown outside, the two side petals with a little hairy patch at the base inside. [Sidenote: =Western Heartsease= _Vìola ocellàta_ =White and yellow Spring, summer Cal., Oreg.=] A shy little woodland plant, from five to twelve inches tall, with creeping rootstocks and small, dry stipules. The flowers are an inch or less across, the two upper petals white, tinged with reddish-purple on the outside, and the other petals white or yellow, with a splash of purple on each of the two side petals and the lower one veined with purple. This grows in shady woods. [Illustration: Western Heartsease--Viola ocellata. Pine Violet--V. lobata.] [Sidenote: =Yellow Mountain Violet= _Vìola venòsa_ =Yellow Spring Northwest and Utah=] An attractive kind, usually about three inches tall, with almost smooth leaves, often with purplish veins, with blunt tips and margins obscurely or coarsely toothed, or almost toothless, and with long leafstalks. The flowers are usually less than half an inch long, with clear yellow petals, more or less tinged with purple on the outside, the lower petal usually with several, purplish-black veins, the two side petals with one or two veins. This has no scent, the capsule is roundish and hairy, and the cleistogamous flowers are abundant. It grows on dry mountainsides and is very variable both as to flower and foliage and much smaller at great altitudes, the whole plant being not more than an inch high. The drawing is of a Utah plant. [Sidenote: =Canada Violet= _Vìola Canadénsis_ =Pale-violet, white Spring, summer West, etc., except Cal.=] This is quite tall, the slender, rather weak stems being sometimes over a foot high, with smooth leaves, often with some hairs on the veins of the under side. The flowers, over half an inch across, with a short petal-spur, are almost white, delicately veined with purple, yellow in the throat and tinged with violet or purple on the outside. Occasionally they are pure-white all over and sometimes sweet-scented. The capsule is oval and smooth. This is common in eastern mountain woods, and to eastern eyes looked far from home when we found it in Walnut Canyon in Arizona. [Sidenote: =Pale Mountain Violet= _Vìola adúnca var. glàbra_ =Pale-blue Spring, summer Utah=] This is small and low, about three inches high, with leafy stems, forming a clump of small, smooth, more or less toothed leaves, with blunt tips, dark green on the upper side and paler on the under, with two, quite large, fringed bracts at the bases of the leaf-stalks, and two, small, fringed bracts on the flower-stems, half an inch below the flower. The flowers are scentless, measure less than half an inch across, and are pale-blue or almost white, with veins of dark blue on the lower petal and tufts of white, fuzzy hairs inside, at the base of the side petals, the spur purplish. This grows in mountain canyons, at a height of five thousand to nine thousand feet, and is very small at great altitudes. [Illustration: Yellow Mountain Violet--V. venosa. Canada Violet--Viola Canadensis. Pale Mountain Violet--V. adunca var. glabra.] [Sidenote: =Blue violet= _Vìola adúnca var. lóngipes_ =Blue, purple Spring Cal., Oreg.=] A pretty plant, two to four inches high, with slightly hairy leaves and flowers nearly an inch long, with bright purplish-blue or violet petals, more or less veined with purple, the side petals hairy at base inside. This grows near the coast. [Sidenote: =Johnny Jump-up, Yellow Pansy= _Vìola pedunculàta_ =Yellow Spring California=] Charming flowers, often growing in quantities on open hillsides. The leafy stems are from two to six inches high, the leaves rather dark green and the scentless flowers, about an inch across, have bright golden petals, with some purple lines at the base of the three lower ones, the spur and upper petals tinged with brownish-purple on the outside, the two side petals hairy at base inside, and the stigma hairy. The Spanish-Californian name is Gallito. There is no technical difference between Pansies and Violets. LOASA FAMILY. _Loasaceae._ Not a very large family, all but one natives of America; herbs, armed with hooked, stinging or sticky hairs; without stipules; the flowers perfect, with five sepals and five to ten petals; the stamens numerous, with threadlike filaments, the outer ones sometimes petal-like, inserted with the petals on the throat of the calyx and usually arranged in clusters opposite the petals; the ovary inferior, with a threadlike style; the capsule crowned with the calyx-lobes. There are many kinds of Mentzelia, all western, often with white shining stems and alternate leaves; the calyx cylindrical or top-shaped, with five lobes; the petals five or ten; the styles three, somewhat united. The barbed hairs which clothe the stems and leaves make the plant stick to whatever it touches, probably helping to distribute the seeds, hence the common name Stick-leaf. [Sidenote: =Blazing Star= _Mentzèlia laevicàulis_ =Yellow Summer, autumn West, except Wash. and Ariz.=] A stout, branching biennial, two to over three feet tall, with shining white stems, almost smooth, long, rather narrow, wavy-toothed leaves and enormous flowers, in clusters of two or three at the ends of the branches and opening only in bright sunlight. They are from three to five inches across, with five, broad, light yellow petals and quantities of very long stamens, making a beautiful center. Five of the stamens have broadened filaments, resembling narrow petals, the style is three-cleft, and the capsule is oblong, containing many flat, winged seeds. These plants usually grow in dry stream-beds and are not rare, but through various accidents I have never been able to secure a drawing of either this or the next. [Illustration: Blue Violet--V. adunca var. longipes. Johnny Jump-up--Viola pedunculata.] [Sidenote: =Evening Star= _Mentzèlia Líndleyi_ =Yellow Summer California=] A more slender plant than the last, with magnificent flowers, two and a half inches across, which open in the evening and remain open during the following morning. They have five, broad petals, with pointed tips, bright golden-yellow, colored with vermilion at the base, and handsome yellow centers. The filaments are very slender, some of the outer ones slightly broadened at base, and the style is not cleft. This grows in the mountains. There is a drawing of it in Miss Parsons's _Wild Flowers of California_. It is called Buena Mujer, or Good Woman, by the Spanish Californians, because the leaves stick so tightly to one. [Sidenote: _Mentzèlia multiflòra_ =Yellow Spring Southwest, Utah, etc.=] An odd-looking plant, with very pale, straggling stems and thickish leaves, a pretty shade of pale green, all exceedingly disagreeable to touch. The buds are tipped with salmon-color and the flowers are an inch and a half to two inches across, with a long green calyx-tube with buff lobes, ten petals, bright yellow inside and pale buff outside, and pretty, fuzzy, yellow centers. They open in the evening, about five o'clock, and the plant would be pretty, in spite of its harsh foliage, if more of the flowers were out at one time. This is common along roadsides in the Southwest and in New Mexico and Colorado. [Sidenote: _Mentzèlia gracilénta_ =Yellow Spring Southwest=] This has several pale greenish or pinkish stems, from a few inches to a foot and a half tall, which look smooth but are very harsh to the touch, springing from a cluster of stiff, harsh, dull-green leaves, variously lobed or toothed. The flowers are nearly an inch across, with glossy, bright yellow petals and beautiful, fuzzy, yellow centers, and are very delicate and pretty. [Illustration: Mentzelia multiflora. M. gracilenta.] ROCK-ROSE FAMILY. _Cistaceae._ A rather large family, mostly of the Mediterranean region; herbs or low shrubs; flowers regular, perfect, all the parts borne on the receptacle; sepals five, the two outer ones smaller and bract-like, or lacking; petals three to five; stamens many; ovary superior, one-celled, with a single style, or none; fruit a capsule, with several or many seeds. There are many kinds of Helianthemum, widely distributed, perennials; leaves alternate, undivided, toothless; flowers yellow and, in most North American species, of two sorts; the earlier ones with large, yellow petals, very numerous stamens and a many-seeded pod; the later ones, small, clustered, with small petals or none, three to ten stamens, and small, few-seeded pods. [Sidenote: =Rock-rose= _Heliánthemum scopàrium_ =Yellow Spring California=] A pretty plant, with many, slender stems and narrow, yellowish-green leaves, forming clumps from one to two feet high. The flowers are half an inch to three-quarters of an inch across, the buds and calyxes reddish and the petals clear yellow, the pistil greenish, with a three-lobed stigma. In favorable situations, such as Point Loma, this makes attractive little bushes, neat yet feathery, suggesting large clumps of grass, sprinkled thickly with flowers. CACTUS FAMILY. _Cactaceae._ A large family, nearly all natives of America and of dry or desert places, with strange characteristics, which make them easily recognized as a whole, but many of the individuals have not yet been studied or described; fleshy plants, with thick stems, often flattened, ridged or covered with knobs, mostly without leaves, usually with spines, which generally protrude from cushions of small bristles; the flowers perfect, regular, showy, and mostly single; sepals, petals, and stamens all numerous; ovary inferior, with a long style and several stigmas; fruit usually a pulpy berry, containing many seeds. There are many kinds of Echinocactus, round or oval plants, mostly ribbed, with bunches of spines of several kinds, arranged in straight or spiral rows; the fruits scaly, though spineless. [Illustration: Rock-rose--Helianthemum scoparium.] [Sidenote: =Barrel Cactus, Bisnaga= _Echinocáctus Wislizèni_ =Yellow, reddish Summer Southwest=] A common and useful kind, the shape and often the size of a barrel, covered with spines. The Indians cut off the top of the plant and pound the pulp with a stick into a soft mass, which they squeeze with their hands, extracting a large amount of watery juice, which is wholesome and not unpalatable and has often saved lives in the desert. Indians use the spines for fish-hooks, hence a common name, Fishhook Cactus, and the celebrated cactus candy is made from it. The flowers are large. There are many kinds of Echinocereus, oblong or cylindrical, spiny plants, generally a few inches tall, usually growing in clumps; stems ridged, or with spiny ribs; fruits spiny. [Sidenote: =Hedgehog Cactus= _Echinocèreus Polyacánthus_ =Red Spring Ariz., New Mex. Tex.=] This forms a clump of several stems, each about the shape and size of a cucumber, and armed with bunches of long, stiff spines. The flowers are two or three inches long, with deep red petals, dull pink anthers, and a bright green pistil. This grows in the Grand Canyon. There are many kinds of Opuntia, with jointed stems, cylindrical or flattened, armed with bristles, usually with spines. The fruits and fleshy joints are good for fodder, if the spines are removed, and hence there has been much inquiry into the economic value of these plants. It has been found that the spiny species are the most valuable for fodder, under extremely arid conditions, as the spines can be burned off, while the unarmed forms are subject to the attacks of so many animals that a crop cannot be secured without the protection of fences. The spines are removed either by singeing the growing plant with a torch, or the upper parts are cut off and thrown into a fire, or sometimes the plants are made into fodder by being chopped up, spines and all, in a machine. The Prickly Pears in Sicily and the Orient came from America. [Sidenote: _Opúntia acanthocàrpa_ =Yellow Spring Southwest=] From three to six feet tall, resembling Cholla, with long, cylindrical joints and whitish spines. The pretty flowers are about two inches long, with orange-yellow petals and an ivory-white pistil. The fruits are spiny and become dry when ripe. This grows in the desert around Needles. [Illustration: Hedgehog Cactus--Echinocereus polyacanthus.] [Illustration: Opuntia acanthocarpa.] [Sidenote: =Cholla= _Opúntia fúlgida_ =Red Spring, summer Arizona=] A horrible shrub, or dwarf tree, four to six feet high, with a thick trunk and several, spreading, contorted branches, with cylindrical joints, twisting in awkward ways. The trunk and larger limbs are brownish-gray, starred with dead, dry spines, but the twigs are pale bluish-green, covered thickly with stars of pale-yellowish spines, each an inch or so long, with a barbed tip. From the numerous magenta flowers strange, yellowish, cup-shaped fruits develop, seeming to spring one out of the other in a haphazard way, hanging in long chains, awkward but rather ornamental, and remaining on the plants for several years without change, except that they grow slightly larger. The distant effect of this plant is a pale, fuzzy mass, attractive in color, giving no hint of its treacherous character--more like a wild beast than a plant! The joints suggest a very ferocious chestnut-burr and break off at a touch, thrusting their spines deeply into the flesh of the unwary passer-by, so that the Indian story, that this plant flings its darts at wayfarers from a distance, might almost as well be true, and the barbs making the extraction difficult and painful. The ground under the plants is strewn with fallen joints, which take root and propagate themselves. Small animals pile these around their holes for defense, several kinds of birds build in the thorny branches and are safe from enemies, and the fruits, being spineless and succulent, are valuable for fodder, so the Cholla is not entirely malevolent. The name is pronounced _Choya_. There are many similar kinds, some with very handsome rose-like flowers, others with bright scarlet fruits. They are curious and interesting inhabitants of the desert. [Sidenote: =Prickly Pear= _Opúntia basilàris_ =Pink Spring Arizona=] Low plants, with no main stem, with spreading, flattened branches, the joints of which are flat disks, resembling fleshy, bluish-green leaves. These disks are half an inch to an inch thick and six inches long, more or less heart-shaped, sprouting one out of the other, at unexpected angles. The beautiful flower is about three inches across, like a tissue-paper rose, pale or very deep pink, with a whitish pistil, yellow anthers, and crimson filaments. The joints have a strong fishy smell, when cut, and are dotted with tufts of small, brown bristles, exceedingly unpleasant to get in one's fingers. This is rare and grows at the Grand Canyon. Prickly pears usually have yellow flowers and long spines. [Illustration: Opuntia basilaris.] [Illustration: Cholla (fruit). Opuntia fulgida.] [Sidenote: =Common Prickly Pear= _Opúntia_ =Yellow Spring, summer Southwest=] There are fifty or more common kinds of Prickly Pear, many of them as yet undescribed and little known. They have flattened joints and yellow flowers, like the one illustrated, which is typical, often measuring three or four inches across, the petals variously tinted outside with salmon, rose, and brown. There are many kinds of Cactus, round, cylindrical, or oval plants, covered with knobs, bearing clusters of spines, those of some species having hooked tips. They may be known by their smooth fruits, without scales or spines. [Sidenote: =Pincushion Cactus= _Cáctus Gràhami (Mamillaria)_ =Pink Spring Arizona=] A quaint little plant, often no bigger than a billiard ball, with long, blackish, hooklike spines, projecting from stars of smaller spines. The flowers are pink and the berries are smooth, fleshy fingers of brightest scarlet, edible, pretty and odd. Sometimes we see one of these prickly little balls peeping from under a rock and again we find them growing in a colony, looking much like a pile of sea-urchins. This grows in the Grand Canyon, and there are similar kinds in southern California. There are many kinds of Cereus, with cylindrical or oval stems, from a few inches to forty feet tall, not jointed, with ribs or rows of knobs, running lengthwise, and clusters of spines. [Sidenote: =Column Cactus, Sahuaro= _Cèreus gigantèus_ =White Spring, summer Arizona=] These tree-like plants are wonderfully dignified and solemn in aspect, with none of the grotesque or ferocious effect so common among their relations. They grow in numbers on the mountain slopes around Tucson and are easily recognized by their size and very upright form, rearing their thick, cylindrical branches straight up in the air, to a height of thirty or forty feet. They are smooth and light green, armed with rows of spines in stars along the ridges, and ornamented during May and June with handsome, large, whitish, wax-like flowers, very perfect in form, opening in the daytime, blooming most abundantly on the sunny side of the plant and remaining open but a short time. Woodpeckers often make holes for nests in the branches, which are used afterwards by a little native owl, the smallest kind in the world, and by honey-bees, and these holes often lead to decay and to the ultimate death of the tree. The fruits, with crimson flesh and black seeds, are valued by the Papago Indians for food, and mature in enormous quantities in midsummer, but birds eat up many of the seeds and of the millions reaching the ground only a very few germinate and develop into odd, little round plants, a few inches high, often eaten by some animal before they become sufficiently prickly for protection. [Illustration: Pincushion Cactus--Cactus Grahami.] [Illustration: Common Prickly Pear--Opuntia.] EVENING PRIMROSE FAMILY. _Onagraceae._ A large family, widely distributed, most abundant in America; herbs, with no stipules; flowers usually perfect, their parts usually in fours; calyx-tube attached to the usually four-celled, inferior ovary and usually prolonged beyond it; stamens four or eight, inserted with the petals, on the throat of the calyx-tube, or on a disk; style single with a four-lobed or round-headed stigma; fruit usually a four-celled capsule, containing small seeds or a nut. The flowers are generally showy and many are cultivated. [Sidenote: _Eulòbus Califórnicus_ =Yellow Spring Southwest=] This is the only kind of Eulobus. It would be a pretty plant, if more flowers were out at one time and if they did not close so soon. The smooth, hollow, loosely-branching stem is from one to three feet tall, with a "bloom," the leaves are smooth, rather light dull-green, and the buds are erect. The flowers are about three-quarters of an inch across, with a very short calyx-tube, light-yellow petals, fading to reddish-pink, eight stamens, four of them smaller and shorter, and the light-green stigma with a round top. The slender pods are three inches long, smooth, cylindrical, and turning stiffly down, with many seeds. This grows in mountain canyons. [Illustration: Eulobus Californicus.] There are a few kinds of Chamaenerion; perennials, often woody at base; leaves alternate; flowers in clusters, perfect, slightly irregular, white or purplish; petals four; stamens eight; style threadlike, with a four-cleft stigma; capsule long, four-sided, containing numerous seeds, tipped with a tuft of hairs. The calyx-tube is not prolonged beyond the ovary, which chiefly distinguishes this genus from Epilobium. [Sidenote: =Fire-weed, Great Willow-herb= _Chamaenèrion angustifòlium (Epilobium)_ =Purple, pink Summer Across the continent=] A striking and decorative perennial, from two to six feet tall, with alternate leaves, pale on the under side, the veins making a scalloped border near the margin, the upper leaves and stems sometimes slightly downy, and the drooping buds deep reddish-pink or purple. The flowers form a fine cluster, with small bracts, each flower an inch or more across, the sepals often pink or purple and the petals bright purplish-pink; the stamens drooping, with purplish anthers; the style hairy at base, the capsule two or three inches long. This is very common, both East and West, reaching an altitude of ten thousand feet, and often growing in such quantities in the mountains as to cover large tracts with bright color. The seeds are furnished with tufts of white, silky hairs, making the plant very conspicuous when gone to seed, covering it with untidy bunches of pale down and giving a strange shaggy effect. It often flourishes in places that have been burned over, hence the name Fire-weed, and Willow-herb is from the leaves and the silky down on the seeds, suggestive of willows. [Sidenote: =Water Willow-herb= _Chamaenèrion latifòlium (Epilobium)_ =Magenta Summer Northwest=] This grows in wet places; the flowers are larger and handsomer than the last, but it is not so tall. The stems are stout, reddish, and branching, from six to eighteen inches high, both stem and leaves with a "bloom," and the leaves are thickish, bluish-green on the upper side and paler yellowish-green on the under, sometimes toothed, with no veined border. The buds are deep-red and the flowers form a handsomer cluster, shorter than the last, with leafy bracts, each flower from one to over two inches across, with reddish-pink sepals, deep-red outside, and magenta petals veined with deeper color, sometimes notched, one petal longer than the others; the anthers purplish; the pistil drooping and purplish, with a smooth style. This plant is also covered with tufts of white down when gone to seed. The contrasting purples and reds of the flowers give a very vivid effect, set off by the bluish-green foliage, especially when growing among the gray rocks of moraines, watered by icy glacier streams. It reaches an altitude of ten thousand feet, growing in the East and in Europe and Asia. [Illustration: Water Willow-herb--Chamaenerion latifolium. Fire-weed--C. angustifolium.] There are many kinds of Epilobium, differing from Chamaenerion chiefly in the calyx-tube, which is prolonged beyond the ovary. [Sidenote: =Willow Herb= _Epilòbium Franciscànum_ =Pink Spring Northwest=] A perennial, not especially pretty, with a stout, reddish stem, from one to three feet tall, slightly downy above, and dull green leaves, mostly smooth and the lower ones opposite. The flowers are less than half an inch across, with bright or pale, purplish-pink petals, deeply notched and not spreading. This grows in wet spots around San Francisco. There are several kinds of Gayophytum; differing from Epilobium in the capsule and seeds, and easily distinguished from them by the hairy buds; leaves alternate, long, narrow, and toothless; flowers small; petals four, white or pink, with very short claws; stamens, with swinging anthers, eight, four shorter and usually sterile; capsule club-shaped. The species are difficult to distinguish, because of the smallness of the flowers. [Sidenote: _Gayophýtum eriospérmum_ =White Summer Cal., Oreg.=] A delicate little plant, with smooth, purplish stems, exceedingly slender branches, dull green leaves, and pretty little flowers, an eighth of an inch to half an inch across, white, with a little yellow in the center, fading to pink. This grows in sandy soil, at rather high altitudes, in Yosemite. [Illustration: Willow-herb--Epilobium Franciscanum. Gayophytum eriospermum.] There are numerous kinds of Godetia, variable and difficult to distinguish, not yet fully understood by botanists, all western and mostly Californian, with narrow, alternate leaves and handsome flowers, which close at night. They have four petals and resemble Onagra, but the flowers are never yellow and the anthers are not swinging, but fixed to the tips of the filaments by their bases; also resembling Clarkia, but the petals are without claws. The calyx is often colored, tube more or less funnel-form, lobes turned back, or more or less united and turned to one side; stamens eight, unequal, the shorter ones opposite the petals; style threadlike; stigma with four, short lobes; capsule four-sided, or cylindrical, mostly ribbed, rather leathery, splitting open, with four valves, containing many seeds. These plants bloom in late spring, hence the pretty name, Farewell-to-Spring. [Sidenote: =Farewell-to-Spring= _Godètia defléxa_ =Pink Summer California=] A branching plant, woody at base, two feet high, with smooth stems; smooth, toothed leaves; nodding buds and large handsome flowers. The petals are pale-pink, about an inch long, the pistil pink, and at a distance the effect of the flower is much like a Mallow. As is usual with Godetias, the sepals are stuck together and stand out at one side, giving the flower a quaint effect of having thrown back a little hood in order to look about. This grows in light shade. [Sidenote: =Farewell-to-Spring= _Godètia quadrivúlnera_ =Pink, lilac Spring, summer Northwest=] This is common in the foothills of the Sierras and Coast Ranges and has a slender stem, about a foot tall, with more or less downy leaves, sometimes slightly toothed, and a few very pretty flowers, about an inch and a half across, with bright lilac-pink petals, usually splashed with carmine. This red spot gives a vivid effect and the delicate flowers look exceedingly gay and charming, as they sway in the wind among tall grasses on open hillsides. [Sidenote: _Godètia Góddardii var. capitàta_ =Pink Spring, summer California=] From one to two feet tall, with a rather stout, more or less branching stem and soft, rather downy, dull green leaves. The flowers are about an inch across, with purplish-pink petals, often stained with crimson at the tips. This is found on dry hills in the Coast Ranges. [Illustration: G. Goddardii var. capitata. Godetia quadrivulnera. Farewell-to-Spring--G. deflexa.] [Sidenote: _Godètia vimínea_ =Purplish-pink Summer Northwest=] A handsome plant, with nearly smooth, slender, reddish stems, a few inches to two feet tall, and smooth, pale-green, toothless, narrow leaves, mostly without leaf-stalks. The buds are erect and the flowers form a long, loose cluster, with bright purplish-pink petals, half an inch to over an inch long, with a large, magenta blotch near the center, or at the tip, and yellowish at base; the stamens and pistil all purple; the calyx-lobes not caught together, but turned primly back. This forms fine patches of bright color in rather meadowy places in Yosemite and elsewhere in the Sierra Nevada foothills. _G. Dudleyàna_ is pretty and slender, with drooping buds and light lilac-pink flowers, the petals paler at base, with darker dots, the calyx-lobes caught together and turned to one side, and also makes beautiful patches of color on sunny slopes around Yosemite. There are several kinds of Clarkia, resembling Godetia, but the petals have claws. The stems are brittle; the leaves mostly alternate, with short, slender leaf-stalks; the buds nodding; the flowers in terminal clusters, with four petals, never yellow, and four sepals, turned back; the stamens eight, those opposite the petals often rudimentary; the stigma four-lobed; the capsule long, leathery, erect, more or less four-angled, with many seeds. Named in honor of Captain Clarke, of the Lewis and Clarke expedition, the first to cross the Rocky Mountains to the Pacific, in 1806. [Sidenote: =Clarkia= _Clàrkia élegans_ =Pink Spring, summer California=] A conspicuous plant, on account of the oddly contrasting colors of the flowers, and very variable both in size and smoothness. It grows from six inches to six feet high; the stems more or less branching; the leaves sometimes toothed and often reddish; the buds and calyxes often woolly. The flowers are very gay; the sepals being dark red or purple, the petals, with long, slender claws, bright pink and the anthers scarlet! The stamens, four long and four short, have a hairy, reddish scale at the base of each filament, the anthers of the shorter stamens often white, and the capsule is usually curved, with no stalk, nearly an inch long, often hairy. When the foliage is red, as it often is, the various combinations of red in the flowers and leaves are quite startling. This is common in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada and Coast Ranges and is often rather shabby looking, but in favorable situations is very handsome. [Illustration: Godetia viminea. Clarkia elegans.] [Sidenote: =Clarkia= _Clàrkia rhomboídea_ =Purple Spring, summer Northwest, Nev., Utah=] Pretty and delicate and not nearly so conspicuous as the last, with a slender, smooth, branching stem, one to three feet tall, with smooth leaves, mostly alternate, nodding buds, and a few pretty flowers, about three-quarters of an inch across. The sepals are reddish-yellow; the petals pinkish-purple, often dotted with purple at base, with a short, broad, toothed claw; the stigma magenta; the filaments purple, with a whitish, hairy scale at the base of each; the anthers grayish, all perfect; the capsule four-angled, slightly curved, about an inch long. This grows in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada and Coast Ranges and is widely distributed in Yosemite, but nowhere very abundant. [Sidenote: =Pink Fairies= _Clàrkia pulchélla_ =Pink Summer Northwest=] Odd and exceedingly charming flowers, with very slender, very slightly downy, purplish, branching stems, from six inches to a foot tall, and smooth leaves. The flowers are fantastic in form, the airiest and most fairy-like blossoms that can well be imagined, over two inches across, their delicate petals with long, toothed claws and three lobes, bright rose-pink, shading to a deeper tint at the base, the calyx slightly downy and reddish. Four of the stamens are perfect and four are rudimentary; the anthers are reddish; the pistil white; the capsule an inch long, eight-angled, with a spreading stalk. It is a pretty sight to see these gay flowers dancing in the wind on open mountain slopes. _C. concínna (Eucharidium)_, of the Coast Ranges, is similar, equally beautiful and even more brilliant in coloring; the flowers sometimes in such quantities as to make patches of bright pink color, very effective when growing among yellow Sedums, Scarlet Larkspurs, and scarlet Indian Pinks, in shady mountain canyons. [Illustration: Clarkia rhomboidea. Pink Fairies--C. pulchella.] [Illustration] There are several kinds of Sphaerostigma; leaves alternate; flowers yellow, white or pink, turning green or reddish; stamens eight, with oblong, swinging anthers; style threadlike, with a round-top stigma; capsule four-celled, usually long and narrow, four-angled, often twisted, with no stalk. [Sidenote: =Evening Primrose= _Sphaerostígma bistórta (Oenothera)_ =Yellow Spring California=] A common kind, very variable in its manner of growth, being tall and erect in moist, shady places and spreading flat on the ground in dry, sunny spots. The leaves are dull green, more or less downy and more or less toothed, and the flowers are three-quarters of an inch across, clear yellow, usually with a speck, or blotch, of reddish-brown at the base of each petal; the stamens and pistil also yellow; the pods reddish and very much twisted. Gravelly washes are often thickly sprinkled with these gay and charming flowers. [Sidenote: _Sphaerostígma Veitchiànum (Oenothera)_ =Yellow Spring California=] Much like the last, but the flowers are only a little over a quarter of an inch across. The pods are dark red and shiny, with a few hairs. [Sidenote: =Beach Primrose= _Sphaerostígma viridéscens (Oenothera cheiranthifolia var. suffruticosa)_ =Yellow All seasons California=] A beautiful seashore plant, forming large, low clumps of reclining stems and pale gray, downy foliage, the twigs and younger leaves silvery-white. The flowers are about an inch and a quarter across, clear yellow, often with two, dark red dots at the base of each petal; the stamens and pistil also yellow of the same shade; the pods pinkish, downy, and much twisted. The flat masses of pale foliage, strewn with golden disks, are exceedingly effective, growing in drifting sand hills along the coast, from San Francisco south. [Illustration] [Illustration: S. Veitchianum. Beach Primrose--Sphaerostigma viridescens. Evening Primrose--S. bistorta.] [Sidenote: _Sphaerostígma tortuòsa. (Oenothera)_ =White Spring Nevada=] A queer little, stunted-looking, desert plant, with almost no stem, but with several branches, spreading flat on the ground, stiff, smooth and purplish, with crowded clusters of flowers, leaves, and pods, mostly at the ends, the whole forming flat clumps, from six to ten inches across. The leaves are smooth, slightly thickish, pale bluish-green and toothless; the buds are erect, and the flowers are over a quarter of an inch across, white, with yellow anthers and a green stigma. The pods are very much twisted and form odd little snarly bunches. There are only a few kinds of Chylisma; the flowers in terminal clusters; the calyx with a more or less funnel-form tube and four lobes; the petals four, not notched; the stamens eight, unequal; the stigma with a round top, the capsule long, membranous, with a stalk. [Sidenote: =Chylisma= _Chylísma scapoìdea var. clavaefórmis (Oenothera)_ =White Spring Ariz., Utah=] A charming desert plant, from a few inches to a foot tall, with one or more, pinkish, smooth, rather leafy stems, springing from a pretty clump of smooth, bluish-green leaves. The delicate flowers are about three-quarters of an inch across and form a graceful cluster of several or many blossoms. The petals are white or yellow, often tinted with pink, with some specks of maroon at the base, and the sepals are pinkish-yellow; the stamens pale yellow; the stigma green; the pods erect. There are several kinds of Pachylophus; perennials, stemless or nearly so; leaves from the root; calyx downy, with a long tube; petals white or pink; stamens eight, with threadlike filaments, the alternate ones longer; style threadlike; stigma four-cleft; capsule woody. [Sidenote: =White Evening Primrose= _Pachýlophus marginàtus (Oenothera)_ =White Summer Ariz., Utah, Nev., Col.=] This has a few large flowers, three inches or more across, with pure-white diaphanous petals, fading to pink, and pink calyx-lobes. The buds are erect, hairy and pink, and the flowers spring from a cluster of long, downy root-leaves, narrowing to slender leaf-stalks, with hairs on the veins and on the toothed and jagged margins, and have almost no flower-stalk, but the hairy calyx-tube is so long, sometimes as much as seven inches, that it looks like a stalk. The root is thick and woody and the capsule is egg-shaped and ribbed, with no stem. There is a patch of these wonderful flowers in the Grand Canyon on Bright Angel trail, halfway between the rim and the plateau, where in a shaded spot beside a great rock the pure blossoms seem to shed a moonlight radiance. They are equally beautiful on the dry plains of Utah, where they grow in quantities. [Illustration: White Evening Primrose--Pachylophus marginatus.] [Illustration: Chylisma scapoidea var. clavaeformis. Sphaerostigma tortuosa.] There are several kinds of Anogra, resembling Onagra, but with white or pink flowers and the seeds differently arranged; the stems often clothed with papery bark; the buds drooping. The name is an anagram of Onagra. [Sidenote: =Prairie Evening Primrose= _Anogra albicàulis. (Oenothera)_ =White Spring, summer Southwest, etc.=] A conspicuous kind, often growing in large patches, with whitish, downy, branching stems, from a few inches to a foot tall, often with shreddy bark, and downy, pale bluish-green leaves, more or less toothed. The drooping, downy buds are tinted with reddish-pink and the lovely flowers are from one and a half to three inches across, with pure white petals, tinted with yellow at base, changing to pink after pollination and fading to crimson. The stamens have cobwebby threads, white filaments, and yellow anthers, the pistil is green and the curved capsule is downy or hairy. The whole color scheme, of pale sea-green foliage, reddish buds, and white, rose-color, and crimson flowers, is delicate, harmonious, and effective. This grows in sandy places, and on the prairies from Dakota to Mexico. [Sidenote: =Cut-leaved Evening Primrose= _Anogra coronopifòlia (Oenothera)_ =White Summer, autumn Ariz., Utah, etc.=] A pretty plant, with an erect, leafy stem, six inches to two feet tall, springing from running rootstocks, and pale green, more or less downy, leaves, finely cut into numerous, small, narrow lobes, so that they look like rather dry little ferns. The delicate flowers are the usual Evening Primrose shape, about an inch across, in the axils of the leaves, with pure white petals, greenish at the base and turning pink in fading, and a calyx-tube two inches long, with turned-back, pinkish-green lobes. The anthers are brown, the pistil green, the throat of the corolla is closed by a fringe of white hairs, the buds are drooping and the capsule is oblong and hairy. This is common on prairies and plains, from Nebraska to Utah, and south to New Mexico, reaching an altitude of nine thousand feet. [Illustration: Prairie Evening Primrose--Anogra albicaulis.] There are several kinds of Onagra, differing from Anogra in having yellow flowers and in the arrangement of the seeds; with stems; leaves alternate, with wavy or toothed margins; buds erect; flowers night-blooming, in terminal clusters; calyx-tube long; petals four; stamens eight, equal in length; stigma four-cleft; capsule four-angled, more or less tapering. [Sidenote: =Evening Primrose= _Ónagra Hóokeri (Oenothera)_ =Yellow Summer West=] A fine biennial, with stout, leafy stems, from three to six feet high, bearing splendid flowers, over three inches across, with clear yellow petals, fading to pink, and reddish calyx-lobes. The leaves, stems, and buds all downy and the buds erect. The stigma has four, slender lobes, forming a little cross, and the yellow pollen is loosely connected by cobwebby threads, clinging to visiting insects, and is thus carried from flower to flower; the capsule is an inch long. This is much handsomer than the common Evening Primrose, _O. biénnis_, and especially fine in Yosemite. As the mountain shadows begin to slant across the Valley the blossoms commence to open, until the meadows are thickly strewn with "patens of bright gold." They stay open all night, withering with the noonday sun. There are several kinds of Lavauxia; low, usually stemless; leaves mostly from the root; calyx-tube slender; petals four; stamens eight, the alternate ones longer; ovary short, stigma four-cleft; capsule stout, four-angled or winged. [Sidenote: =Sun-cups= _Lavaùxia primivèris (Oenothera)_ =Yellow Spring Arizona=] An attractive little plant, in the desert, with no stem, the flowers with long, slender calyx-tubes, resembling stems, springing from a clump of rather downy root-leaves. The buds are hairy and the flowers are about an inch across, light yellow, with pale yellow stamens and stigma. This plant varies a good deal in size, bearing one or several flowers, and the margins of the leaves almost toothless or irregularly slashed. It superficially resembles _Taráxia ovàta_, the Sun-cups so common on the southwestern coast, for the flowers have the same little fresh, sunny faces, but the latter has a round-topped stigma. [Illustration: Evening Primrose--Onagra Hookeri. Sun-cups--Lavauxia primiveris.] PARSLEY FAMILY. _Umbelliferae._ A large family, widely distributed, not abundant in the tropics; usually strong-smelling herbs, remarkable for their aromatic oil, mostly with hollow, grooved stems; leaves alternate, compound, generally deeply cut, leaf-stalks often broadened at base; flowers very small, usually in broad, flat-topped clusters, generally with bracts; calyx usually a five-toothed rim around the top of the ovary; petals five, small, usually with tips curled in, inserted on a disk, which crowns the ovary and surrounds the base of the styles; stamens five, with threadlike filaments and swinging anthers, also on the disk; ovary two-celled, inferior, with two threadlike styles; fruit two, dry, seedlike bodies, when ripe separating from each other, and usually suspended from the summit of a slender axis, each body marked with ribs, usually with oil-tubes between the ribs. The examination of these oil-tubes in mature fruits, with a microscope, is necessary to determine most of the genera and species, so description of genera is omitted here, and botanists have added to the difficulties of the amateur by giving almost every genus more than one name. The flowers are much alike, yet the leaves often differ very much in the same genus. Many kinds are poisonous, although others, such as Parsley, Carrot, and Parsnip, are valuable food plants. [Sidenote: _Peucédanum Euryptèra_ =Yellow Spring California=] A fine robust plant, a foot or more tall, with stout, purplish stems and smooth, crisp leaves, the lower ones with three leaflets, the upper with five, and the teeth tipped with bristles. The flowers are greenish-yellow and the main cluster measures four or five inches across, with no bracts at base, but the small clusters have bracts. The flowers are ugly, but the foliage is handsome and the seed vessels richly tinted with wine-color, making the plant decorative and conspicuous on the sea cliffs of southern California. [Sidenote: =Turkey Peas= _Orogènia linearifòlia_ =White Spring Northwest and Utah=] A quaint little plant, only about three inches high, with a tuberous root, spreading, slanting stems, and smooth leaves, all from the root, with three, long, narrow leaflets; a reddish, stiff, papery scale sheathing the stem at base. The minute, white flowers form a cluster less than an inch across, without bracts, with a stout, ridged flower-stalk and composed of from two to ten smaller clusters, with small bracts; the anthers red. This grows in rich moist soil, in shady valleys, on mountain ridges; in the Wasatch Mountains, sometimes on the edge of the snow. [Illustration: Turkey Peas--Orogenia linearifolia. (fruit) Peucedanum Euryptera.] [Sidenote: _Pterýxia Califórnica (Cymópterus)_ =Yellow Summer Cal., Oreg.=] Over a foot tall, with very pretty, dark green foliage and rather ugly, dull yellow flowers, in flat-topped clusters, three inches across. The leaves are in a cluster at the root, with long leaf-stalks sheathing at base, very finely cut and toothed, with stiffish points; the main flower-cluster without bracts, but the smaller clusters with narrow bracts. [Sidenote: =Whisk-broom Parsley= _Cogswéllia platycàrpa (Peucedanum simplex)_ =Yellow Spring Northwest and Utah=] An odd-looking plant, for the foliage looks like pieces of a whisk-broom stuck in the ground. It is six to fourteen inches tall, with a thickish root and minute, sulphur-yellow flowers, forming a flat-topped cluster, about two inches across, without bracts, and composed of three to fifteen smaller clusters, with small bracts; usually only the outermost flowers of both the large and small clusters are fertile. The stem and leaves are stiff and sage-green, the root-leaves with broad leaf-stems, reddish and papery at base, sheathing the stem, and all the leaves cut into narrow divisions, not much thicker than pine needles, folded together so that they appear to be cylindrical. This grows on dry gravelly hills, at an altitude of from six to eight thousand feet. [Sidenote: _Leptotaènia multífida (Ferula)_ =Yellowish-green Spring, summer Northwest, Nev., Utah, New Mex.=] A fine, stout plant, about two feet tall, with a thick, spindle-shaped root and dark, rich-green, feathery foliage; the large leaves, over a foot long, appearing smooth but really imperceptibly downy, finely cut and lobed, with long, stout leaf-stalks; the small flowers, yellowish-green or bronze-color, in flat-topped clusters, two or three inches across, with few or no bracts, with tall, stout flower-stalks, and composed of about eighteen, small clusters, forming round knobs, with many bracts, on slender pedicels of various lengths. This grows in rich soil and is conspicuous on account of its size and foliage. [Illustration: Pteryxia Californica. Whisk-broom Parsley--Cogswellia platycarpa.] [Sidenote: _Velaèa argùta_ =Yellow Spring California=] This has a stout, brownish stem, about eight inches tall, and fine, conspicuous foliage, mostly in a clump at the base, the leaves rich-green and very glossy, stiff and crisp in texture, though not thick, with bristle-tipped teeth. The rather ugly little flowers are greenish-yellow and the main cluster has no bracts. This grows in canyons in southern California. [Sidenote: =Purple Sanicle, Nigger-babies= _Sanícula bipinnatífida_ =Purplish Spring, summer Cal., Oreg.=] This has branching, purplish stems, from six inches to three feet tall, and handsome foliage. The flowers are maroon-color and are crowded into balls, less than half an inch across, forming a loose, irregular cluster, with leafy bracts at the base. The effect of the dark flowers and fine foliage is rather attractive and it is common on grassy slopes in the hills. [Sidenote: _Eulòphus Bolánderi_ =White Summer Northwest=] This has a smooth, stiff stem, one to two feet tall, the leaves cut into long, narrow divisions, and the flowers very small, cream-white or pinkish, forming a flat-topped cluster, about two inches across, with narrow, pale bracts. This is quite pretty and common in Yosemite. [Sidenote: =Indian Parsnip= _Aulospérmum lóngipes (Cymopterus)_ =Yellow Spring Utah, Col., Wyo.=] Decorative in form and color and unusual looking, with smooth, pale bluish-green foliage, with a "bloom," the leaves prettily cut and lobed, with pinkish leafstalks, forming, when young, a large rosette, close to the ground, but the stem gradually lengthens until the cluster of leaves, after the flowers are gone, finds itself on the summit of a long stem, sheathed at base. The minute, bright yellow flowers form flat-topped clusters, with flower-stems two or three inches tall, not hollow, the main cluster about an inch across, usually without bracts, and composed of five to ten smaller clusters, with bracts. When the plant is young the general effect of the flat, pale gray rosette of fern-like leaves, spotted with the contrasting yellow of the flowers, is pretty and striking. Sometimes a few of the flowers are purple. This has a thick root and grows on dry sunny hills, in gravelly soil. [Illustration: Velaea arguta. Eulophus Bolanderi. Purple Sanicle--Sanicula bipinnatifida.] DOGWOOD FAMILY. _Cornaceae._ Not a very large family, most abundant in the northern hemisphere, mostly trees or shrubs. They have simple, mostly toothless leaves, without stipules, usually opposite or in whorls. The flowers are in round or flat-topped clusters and have four or five sepals and petals and four to many stamens. The inferior ovary becomes a stone-fruit that looks like a berry. Cornus is from the Greek for "horn," in allusion to the toughness of the wood. There are many kinds of Cornus, some natives of Mexico and Peru, with small, white, greenish or purple flowers, in clusters, which often have an involucre of large, white bracts. [Sidenote: =Pacific Dogwood= _Córnus Nuttállii_ =White Spring, summer Oreg., Wash., Cal.=] A handsome shrub or small tree, from ten to thirty feet high and growing in rich woods, often near streams. The flower clusters are composed of numerous, small, greenish flowers, forming a large, protruding knob, which is surrounded by large, white, petal-like bracts, usually six in number, giving the effect of a single handsome flower, measuring from three to six inches across. It resembles the Flowering Dogwood of the East, but as the flowers have six instead of four "petals," the tips of which in Yosemite are neither puckered nor stained with pink, they look different to eastern eyes and the general appearance, though equally fine, is less picturesque, probably because the shrub is rather larger and less straggling, the flowers bigger and more symmetrical, and the leaves brighter green. The effect of the flat masses of creamy white bloom among the darker forest trees is magnificent, and in Washington and Oregon the leaves turn to brilliant red in the autumn. The fruit is a cluster of bright red berries. The wood is exceedingly hard and is used in cabinet-making. There is a tradition that when Dogwood blooms corn should be planted. [Illustration: Pacific Dogwood--Cornus Nuttallii.] [Sidenote: =Red-osier Dogwood= _Córnus stolonífera var. ripària_ =White Spring, summer, autumn Utah, Ariz., New Mex., Col.=] A handsome shrub, five to eight feet high, with smooth, dark red branches and bright red twigs. The leaves are thin in texture, smooth and rich-green on the upper side, paler on the under, and the small, cream-white flowers, with long, yellow stamens, form handsome, flat-topped clusters, about two inches across, smelling pleasantly of honey; the berries are dull white. This is common. [Sidenote: =Bunchberry= _Córnus Canadénsis_ =White Summer West, except Ariz.=] A charming little plant, about six inches high, growing in moist, cool woods and common in the East. The slender stem, with one or two pairs of small leaves, springs from creeping, woody shoots and is crowned by a circle of larger leaves, six, or rarely four, in number, smooth and bright green, setting off a pretty white blossom, with a slender flower-stalk. This looks like a single flower, measuring about an inch across, but it is really composed of a number of tiny, greenish flowers, forming a cluster in the center, and surrounded by four white bracts, which look like large petals. The flowers are succeeded by a bunch of red berries, insipid in flavor, but vivid scarlet in hue. HEATH FAMILY. _Ericaceae._ A large and interesting family, of very wide geographic distribution, in temperate and cold regions; herbs, shrubs, or trees; the leaves undivided, without stipules; the flowers mostly perfect; the calyx with four or five divisions; the corolla usually regular, with four or five, usually united, petals; the stamens inserted under the pistil, usually as many, or twice as many, as the petals; the ovary usually superior, with one style; the fruit a capsule, berry, or stone-fruit, usually with many small seeds. There are many kinds of Gaultheria, mostly of the Andes; ours are evergreen shrubs, with alternate, aromatic leaves and nodding flowers; the calyx five-cleft; the corolla more or less urn-shaped, with five teeth; the stamens ten; the fruit a berry, composed of the fleshy calyx surrounding the ovary and containing many seeds. The Wintergreen, or Checkerberry, used for flavoring, belongs to this genus. [Illustration: Bunch-berry--C. Canadensis. Red-osier Dogwood--Cornus stolonifera var. riparia.] [Sidenote: =Western Wintergreen= _Gaulthèria ovatifòlia_ =White Summer Northwest=] A pretty little shrub, growing in mountain woods, a few inches high, with woody stems, spreading on the ground, and glossy foliage, almost hiding the flowers. The twigs are fuzzy and the leaves are dark rich-green, the small flowers white and the berries red. [Sidenote: =Salal, Shallon= _Gaulthèria Shállon_ =White, pink Spring, summer Northwest=] An attractive little shrub, usually from one to three feet high, with handsome foliage. The leaves are finely toothed, dark olive-green, leathery and rather glossy, pale on the under side, and the waxy flowers hang gracefully on a stiffly bending flower-stem, which is sticky and hairy and often bright red, with large, scaly, red bracts at the base of the pedicels and smaller bracts halfway up. The flowers are nearly half an inch long, with a yellowish calyx, covered with reddish hairs, and a white corolla, tipped with pink, or all pink; the filaments hairy, with orange anthers. There is often so much bright pinkish-red about the flower-stems and bracts that the effect, with the waxy flowers and dark foliage, is very pretty. This plant often grows in great quantities, thickly covering the floor of the redwood forests. It is called Salál by the Oregon Indians, who value the black, aromatic berries as an important article of food. There are many kinds of Azalea, of North America and Asia, mostly tall, branching shrubs; leaves alternate, thin, deciduous; flowers large, in terminal clusters, developing from cone-like, scaly buds; calyx small, five-parted; corolla funnel-form, five-lobed or somewhat two-lipped; stamens five, rarely ten, protruding, usually drooping; style long, slender, drooping; capsule more or less oblong. [Sidenote: =Western Azalea= _Azàlea occidentàlis (Rhododendron)_ =White Summer Cal., Oreg.=] One of the most beautiful western shrubs, from two to ten feet high, loosely branching, with splendid clusters of flowers and rich-green leaves, almost smooth, from one to four inches long, with a small, sharp tip and clustered at the ends of the twigs. The corolla is from one and a half to three inches long, slightly irregular, white with a broad stripe of warm-yellow on the upper petal and often all the petals striped with pink. The western woodland streams are bordered with these wonderful blossoms, leaning over the water and filling the air with their delicious fragrance. [Illustration: Western Azalea--Azalea occidentalis.] [Illustration: Salal--G. Shallon. Western Wintergreen--Gaultheria ovatifolia.] There are many kinds of Rhododendron, most abundant in Asia, resembling Azalea, but with evergreen, leathery leaves. The name is from the Greek, meaning "rose-tree." [Sidenote: =California Rose Bay= _Rhododéndron Califórnicum_ =Pink Spring, summer Northwest=] A magnificent shrub, the handsomest in the West, from three to fifteen feet high, with a grayish trunk and fine, evergreen foliage. The leaves are from three to ten inches long, rich-green and leathery, smooth but not shiny, paler on the under side, spreading out around the large flower-clusters, so as to set them off to great advantage, and the flowers are over two inches across, scentless, with small, pale sepals and pink corollas, almost white at the base and shading to deep pink at the edges, which are prettily ruffled. The upper petal is freckled with golden-brown, or greenish spots and arrow-shaped markings, the pistil is crimson and the stamens, with pale pink filaments and pale yellow anthers, curve in, like little serpents' heads. The coloring of the flower clusters, mixed with the crimson-tipped buds, is a combination of delicate and brilliant tints and in such places as the redwood forests, along the Noyo River in California, where the shrub develops into a small tree, the huge clusters, glowing high above us among the dark forest trees, are a wonderful sight. This is the "State flower" of Washington. There are a good many kinds of Arctostaphylos, mostly western; evergreen shrubs, with very crooked branches; smooth, dark red or brown bark; alternate leaves, and usually nodding, white or pink flowers, with bracted pedicels, in terminal clusters, the parts usually in fives; the corolla urn-shaped; the stamens usually ten, not protruding, the filaments hairy; the ovary raised on a disk on the receptacle; the fruit berry-like, several nutlets surrounded by soft pulp. The leaves, by a twisting of their stalks, assume a vertical position on the branches, a habit which enables many plants of dry regions to avoid unnecessary evaporation. These shrubs are often very abundant and with Chaparral Pea, Buck Brush, Scrub Oak, etc., form the extensive brush thickets known as chaparral, so characteristic of the western mountain scenery. The Greek name means "bear-berry," as bears are fond of the berries, and Manzanita is from the Spanish for "little apple," as the fruits often resemble tiny apples. They are dry but pleasantly acid and are popular with Indians, bears, and chipmunks, and jelly can be made from them. The largest Manzanita tree known is one in Napa County, California, thirty-five feet high and as large across. [Illustration: California Rose Bay--Rhododendron Californicum.] [Sidenote: =Green Manzanita= _Arctostáphylos pátula_ =Pink Winter, spring California=] A decorative shrub, from four to six feet high, with spreading branches. The leaves are from one to two inches long, smooth, pale green, and leathery and the flowers are waxy, a quarter of an inch or more long, crowded in pretty, roundish clusters, of various shades of pink. The very smooth trunk and branches are picturesquely gnarled and twisted and, in fine contrast to the pale foliage, are rich mahogany-color, with here and there openings in the outer bark, showing the gray, under layer, as if the branches had been dipped in hot chocolate, which had melted off in some places. The berry is about a quarter of an inch across, smooth and fleshy. This forms most of the chaparral on the slopes around the Yosemite Valley, ranging from over four thousand to nine thousand feet in altitude, and is widely distributed in the Sierra Nevada Mountains. [Sidenote: =Manzanita= _Arctostáphylos bícolor_ =Pink Spring California=] A handsome shrub, three or four feet high, with rich-green leaves, very glossy on the upper side and covered with close white down on the under. The waxy flowers are a lovely shade of pink and the pretty fruit is about the size of a pea, like a tiny greenish-yellow apple, with a brownish-red cheek. This grows in the South near the coast. [Sidenote: =Kinnikinic. Red Bearberry= _Arctostáphylos Ùva-Úrsi_ =White Spring, summer West, etc.=] An attractive little shrub, with many trailing branches, creeping over the ground and often covering the rocks with a beautiful mat of evergreen foliage. The leaves are small, toothless, shining and leathery and the little white or pinkish, bell-shaped flowers hang in pretty little clusters and are succeeded by smooth, round, red berries. This is common in the mountains, across the continent, reaching an altitude of ten thousand feet. The Indians use it medicinally and in the curing of animal skins. There is a picture of this in Schuyler Mathews' _Field Book_. [Illustration: Manzanita--A. bicolor. Green Manzanita--Arctostaphylos patula.] There are a great many kinds of Vaccinium, widely distributed; branching shrubs, with alternate leaves and small flowers, usually in clusters; the ovary inferior, the fruit a many-seeded berry, crowned with the remains of the calyx-teeth. This is the classic Latin name. These plants include Blueberry, Huckleberry, and Bilberry. [Sidenote: =California Huckleberry= _Vaccínium ovàtum_ =White, pink Spring, summer Cal., Oreg.=] An attractive shrub, from four to eight feet high, with beautiful, glossy, evergreen foliage, which is very ornamental and much used in household decoration. The older leaves are rich dark green, contrasting finely with the younger, apple-green leaves and, in the spring, with the charming little red ones, with which the twigs are tipped. They are leathery in texture and very neatly arranged along the branches, which are ornamented with pretty clusters of waxy, white or pink flowers, a quarter of an inch long, or with purple berries, without a "bloom," which are edible and make excellent preserves. This grows on hills near the coast, especially among the redwoods. There is one kind of Azaleastrum; resembling Rhododendron, but with deciduous leaves; and resembling Azalea, but the flowers developing from lateral instead of terminal buds, the corolla with five, regular lobes, and the stamens shorter. [Sidenote: =Small Azalea= _Azaleástrum albiflòrum (Rhododendron)_ =White Summer Northwest=] An attractive shrub, from two to six feet high and loosely branching, with grayish-brown bark and rich-green leaves, glossy, but not stiff or leathery. The flowers are about an inch across, with a sticky, aromatic, pale green calyx and waxy-white corolla, the style and stamens pale yellow or white. They have no scent and are not so handsome as the last, but are very beautiful, growing in high mountains, often close to the snow line. [Illustration: Small Azalea--Azaleastrum albiflorum. California Huckleberry--Vaccinium ovatum.] There are several kinds of Kalmia, almost all of eastern North America, the flowers alike in form. [Sidenote: =Swamp Laurel= _Kálmia microphýlla (K. glauca var. microphylla)_ =Pink Summer Northwest, etc.=] A very pretty little evergreen shrub, from a few inches to over a foot high, with glossy, leathery, rich-green leaves, whitish on the under side, with the margins rolled back. The flowers are single or in clusters, each about half an inch across, with five sepals and a bright purplish-pink, saucer-shaped corolla, with five lobes, which is prettily symmetrical and intricate in form. There are ten little pouches below the border and in these the tips of the ten anthers are caught, so that the filaments curve over from the center, and at the touch of a visiting insect they spring out of the pouches and dust the visitor's back with pollen, which is carried to another flower. The little, pointed buds, angled and deep in color, are also pretty and the capsule is roundish, with many small seeds. This grows in northern swamps, across the continent. There are several kinds of Menziesia, some Japanese; branching shrubs, with alternate, deciduous, toothless leaves, and small, nodding flowers, in clusters, developing from scaly buds, their parts almost always in fours; stamens eight, not protruding; capsule more or less egg-shaped. [Sidenote: =Fool's Huckleberry= _Menzièsia urcelolària (M. ferruginea)_ =Yellowish, reddish Summer Northwest=] A rather attractive little bush, from two to six feet high, with light brown bark, hairy twigs and slightly hairy leaves, with hairy margins. The flowers are less than half an inch long, with a hairy calyx and dull cream-colored corolla, tinged with dull-pink or red, and hang prettily in a circle, on drooping pedicels, which become erect as the capsules ripen. When crushed, the stems and foliage have a strong skunk-like smell. There are only a few kinds of Ledum, all much alike. [Sidenote: =Woolly Labrador Tea= _Lèdum Groenlándicum_ =White Spring, summer Northwest, etc.=] A loosely-branching, evergreen shrub, from one to four feet high. The bark is reddish and the twigs are covered with reddish wool, the color of iron rust, and the leathery, dark green leaves, which are alternate, with rolled-back margins, are also covered with reddish wool on the under side. The flowers are a good deal less than half an inch across, with five, very small sepals; five, spreading, white petals; a green ovary, and from five to seven, long, conspicuous stamens, giving a feathery appearance to the pretty flower-clusters, which before blooming are enclosed in large, scaly buds. Both foliage and flowers are aromatic. This is found across the continent, as far south as Pennsylvania, and in Greenland. _L. glandulòsum_ is similar, but not woolly. These plants grow in swamps and damp places and are considered poisonous. [Illustration: Fool's Huckleberry--Menziesia urcelolaria. Swamp Laurel--Kalmia microphylla. Woolly Labrador Tea--Ledum Groenlandicum.] There are only a few kinds of Phyllodoce, of arctic and alpine regions; low shrubs, with small, leathery, evergreen leaves; flowers nodding, with bracts, in terminal clusters; calyx usually with five divisions; corolla more or less bell-shaped, usually five-lobed; stamens usually ten; stigma with a round top, or four to six lobes; capsule roundish: often called Heather, but we have no native Heather. [Sidenote: =Red Heather= _Phyllódoce Bréweri (Bryanthus)_ =Pink Summer Northwest=] A charming little shrub, from six to ten inches tall, with gay flowers and dark yellowish-green leaves, standing out stiffly from the stem, like the bristles of a bottle-brush. The flowers are sweet-scented, nearly half an inch across, with reddish calyxes and pedicels and bright pink, saucer-shaped corollas, with from seven to ten, long, purple stamens, a purple pistil and crimson buds. This makes heathery patches on high mountain slopes, up to twelve thousand feet in the Sierra Nevadas. [Sidenote: =Red Heather= _Phyllódoce empetrifórmis (Bryanthus)_ =Pink Summer Northwest=] Much like the last, but the nodding flowers are smaller and not quite so pretty, with bell-shaped corollas and the stamens not protruding. It forms beautiful patches of bright purplish-pink color on mountainsides, up to eleven thousand feet, farther north than the last. [Sidenote: =Yellow Heather= _Phyllódoce glanduliflòra (Bryanthus)_ =Yellowish Summer Northwest=] This makes heather-like patches on rocks and has many rough, woody stems, crowded with yellowish-green leaves, shorter and broader than those of Red Heather. The drooping flowers are about three-eighths of an inch long, with a hairy, greenish-yellow calyx and yellowish corolla, something between cream and pale-lemon in color. At a distance the effect of the flowers is much more yellow than close by, but they are not so pretty as either the red or white heathers. [Illustration: Red Heather--P. Breweri. Red Heather--P. empetriformis Yellow Heather--Phyllodoce glanduliflora.] There are several kinds of Cassiope, named for the mother of Andromeda, resembling Heather; the sepals four or five, without bracts at the base; the corolla bell-shaped, with four or five lobes; differing from Phyllodoce in capsule, form of corolla and filaments. [Sidenote: =White Heather= _Cassìope Mertensiàna_ =White Summer Northwest=] This makes thick patches of many woody stems, a few inches high, the twigs thickly clothed with odd-looking, small, dark green leaves, overlapping like scales and ridged on the back. The single flowers are white and waxy, resembling the bells of Lily-of-the-valley, often with red calyxes and pedicels, and are pretty and delicate, set off by the stiff, dark foliage. This grows in the highest mountains, at an altitude of ten thousand feet and above. WINTERGREEN FAMILY. _Pyrolaceae._ A small family, natives of the northern hemisphere; low, generally evergreen, perennials, with branched rootstocks; leaves with leaf-stalks; flowers perfect, nearly regular, white or pink; calyx with four or five lobes; corolla with four or five lobes, or five petals; stamens twice as many as the divisions of the corolla; ovary superior, stigma more or less five-lobed; fruit a capsule, with many minute seeds. [Sidenote: =Single Beauty= _Monèses uniflòra_ =White Summer Northwest, etc.=] The only kind, much like Chimaphila, a charming little perennial, with a single flower-stalk, from two to six inches tall, springing from a cluster of glossy, bright green leaves, with toothed edges, and bearing a single, lovely sweet-scented blossom, about three-quarters of an inch across, with usually five sepals and five, spreading, waxy-white petals; the long, straight style, with a five-lobed stigma, projecting from the ovary, which forms a green hump in the center of the flower, surrounded by eight or ten stamens. This little flower modestly turns its face down to the ground and we have to pick it to find how very pretty it is. It grows in wet, northern mountain woods, across the continent. [Illustration: Single Beauty--Moneses uniflora. White Heather--Cassiope Mertensiana.] There are a good many kinds of Pyrola; leaves mostly from the root; flowers usually nodding, in clusters, with bracted flower-stalks; sepals and petals five; stamens ten; capsule roundish, five-lobed, cobwebby on the edges. These plants are often called Shinleaf, because English peasants used the leaves for plasters. Pyrola is from the Latin for "pear," because of the resemblance of the leaves of some kinds. The aromatic Wintergreen, or Checker-berry, used for flavoring, is a Gaultheria, of the Heath Family. [Sidenote: =Pyrola= _Pýrola bracteàta_ =Pink Summer California=] One of our most attractive woodland plants, from six to twenty inches tall, with handsome, glossy, rather leathery, slightly scalloped leaves. The buds are deep reddish-pink and the flowers are half an inch across, pink or pale pink, and waxy, with deep pink stamens and a green pistil, with a conspicuous style, curving down and the tip turning up. The pretty color and odd shape of these flowers give them a character all their own and they are sweet-scented. This is found in Yosemite and in other cool, shady, moist places, and there are several similar kinds. There are several kinds of Chimaphila, of North America and Asia, with reclining stems and erect, leafy branches. [Sidenote: =Pipsissewa= _Chimáphìla Menzièsii_ =White Summer Northwest and California=] A very attractive little evergreen plant, three to six inches high, with dark green, glossy, leathery, toothed, leaves, sometimes mottled with white, and one to three, pretty flowers, about three-quarters of an inch across, with yellowish sepals and waxy-white or pinkish petals, more or less turned back. The ovary forms a green hump in the center and has a broad, flat, sticky stigma, with five scallops, and the ten anthers are pale yellow or purplish. This has a delicious fragrance, like Lily-of-the-valley, and grows in pine woods in the Sierra Nevada and Coast Ranges. Chimaphila is a Greek name, meaning "winter-loving." INDIAN PIPE FAMILY. _Monotropaceae._ A small family, mostly North American; saprophytes, (plants growing on decaying vegetable matter,) without leaves; flowers perfect; calyx two- to six-parted; corolla united or not, with three to six lobes or petals, occasionally lacking; stamens six to twelve; ovary superior; fruit a capsule. [Illustration: Pipsissewa--Chimaphila Menziesii. Pyrola--P. bracteata.] [Sidenote: =Snow-plant= _Sarcòdes sanguínea_ =Red Spring, summer Cal., Oreg., Nev.=] The only kind, a strange plant, widely celebrated for its peculiar beauty. The name is misleading, for the splendid creatures push their way, not through the snow, but through the dark forest carpet of pine-needles, soon after the snow has melted. The fleshy stems are from six inches to over a foot tall, the leaves reduced to red scales, and the bell-shaped flowers, with five lobes, are crowded towards the upper half of the stem and mingled with long, graceful, curling, red bracts. The plants are shaded with red all over, from flesh color, to rose, carmine, and blood-red, and are translucent in texture, so that when a shaft of sunlight strikes them they glow with wonderful brilliance, almost as if lighted from within. They sometimes grow as many as fifteen together, and are found in the Sierras, up to nine thousand feet. They are pointed out to tourists by Yosemite stage drivers, but the government forbids their being picked, for fear of extermination. [Sidenote: =Indian Pipe= _Monótropa uniflòra_ =White Summer West, etc.=] The only American kind, an odd plant, all translucent white, beautiful but unnatural, glimmering in the dark heart of the forest like a pallid ghost, mournfully changing to gray and black as it fades. The stem is about six inches tall, springing from a mass of fibrous roots and bearing a single flower, beautiful but scentless, about three-quarters of an inch long, with two to four sepals, five or six petals, and ten or twelve stamens, with pale yellow anthers. Sometimes the whole plant is tinged with pink. This grows in rich moist woods, almost throughout temperate and warm North America, in Japan and India, and is also called Ghost-flower and Corpse-plant. [Sidenote: =Pine-sap= _Hypópitys Hypópitys (Monotropa)_ =Flesh-color Summer West, etc.=] There are two kinds of Hypopitys. This is much like the last, but not so pallid, with several stout stems, about eight inches tall, bearing a long one-sided cluster of flowers, sometimes slightly fragrant, each about half an inch long. The whole plant is waxy, flesh-color or yellowish, tinged with red or pink, and though interesting is not so delicately pretty as Indian Pipe. It seems to be a stouter plant around Mt. Rainier than in the East and grows in thick woods, across the continent and in Europe and Asia. _H. sanguínea_ is a new kind, recently discovered in the Arizona mountains; six to twelve inches tall, growing in dense shade at high altitudes, and brilliant red throughout. [Illustration: Snow Plant--Sarcodes sanguine.] [Illustration: Indian Pipe--Monotropa uniflora. Pine Sap--Hypopitys Hypopitys.] [Sidenote: =Pine-drops= _Pteróspora Andromedèa_ =White Summer Across the continent=] The only kind, found only in North America, a strange plant, harmonious in color, with a fleshy, brownish or reddish stem, from one to four feet tall, with yellowish bracts and covered with sticky hairs, springing from a mass of matted, fibrous, astringent roots. The flowers are a quarter of an inch long, with pink pedicels, brownish bracts, a brownish-pink calyx, with five lobes, and an ivory-white corolla, with five teeth; the stamens ten, net protruding; the style short, with a five-lobed stigma; the capsule roundish, five-lobed, with many winged seeds. We often find dead insects stuck to the stem. In winter, the dry, dark red stalks, ornamented with pretty seed-vessels, are attractive in the woods. This usually grows among pine trees, across the continent, but nowhere common. The Greek name means "wing-seeded." It is also called Giant Bird's-nest and Albany Beech-drops. _Allótropa virgàta_, of the Northwest, is similar, but smaller, with five, roundish sepals and no corolla. [Sidenote:= Flowering-fungus= _Pleuricóspora fimbriolàta_ =Flesh-color Summer California=] There are two kinds of Pleuricospora; this is from three to eight inches tall, with flowers half an inch long, deliciously fragrant, with four or five, scale-like, fringed sepals, four or five, separate, fringed petals, resembling the sepals, and eight or ten stamens. The ovary is egg shaped, one-celled, with a thick style and flattish stigma, and the fruit is a watery berry. If the waxy, flesh-colored flowers were set off by proper green leaves they would be exceedingly pretty, but they are crowded on a fleshy stem, of the same color as themselves, mixed with fringed bracts, with brownish scales instead of leaves, and have an unnatural appearance. I found thirty of these curious plants, growing in a little company, pushing their way up through the mold and pine-needles, in the Wawona woods. [Illustration: Flowering-fungus--Pleuricospora fimbriolata. Pine drops--Pterospora Andromedea.] PRIMROSE FAMILY. _Primulaceae._ A rather large family, widely distributed; herbs; leaves undivided; flowers perfect, regular, parts usually in fives, corolla mostly with united petals, stamens on the base or tube of the corolla, opposite its lobes, sometimes with some extra, sterile filaments; ovary one-celled, mostly superior, with one style and round-headed stigma; fruit a capsule, with one or many seeds. There are several kinds of Anagallis, not native in this country. [Sidenote: =Scarlet Pimpernel Poor-man's Weather-glass= _Anagállis arvénsis_ =Red Summer West, etc.=] A little weed, common in gardens and waste places, with smooth, four-sided, stems, branching and half trailing on the ground, smooth, toothless, bright green leaves and charming little flowers, a quarter of an inch or more across, with a five-lobed calyx and wheel-shaped, five-lobed corolla, usually bright orange-red and darker in the center, rarely white; the stamens five, with hairy filaments; the capsule smooth and roundish, containing many minute seeds. The flowers and leaves are usually in pairs, the seed-vessels on the tips of slender stems, curving around and toward each other, as if the plant were stretching out its little hands, and opening its little blossoms only in bright weather and closing them at night. The Greek name means "amusing." The plant was used medicinally by the ancients. There are three kinds of Trientalis, much alike, perennials, with tuberous roots. The Latin name means "one third of a foot," the height of these plants. [Sidenote: =Star-flower= _Trientàlis latifòlia_ =White, pink Spring, summer Northwest, Cal., Nev.=] A little woodland plant, with a slender stem, from three to six inches tall, bearing at the top a circle of from four to six, smooth, bright green leaves and one or two, threadlike flower-stalks, each tipped with a delicate flower. The corolla is about half an inch across, wheel-shaped, with no tube and usually with six, white or pinkish petals, sometimes deep pink, or flecked with lilac outside. The ovary makes a purplish dot in the center, surrounded by curling, yellow anthers, with threadlike filaments united at base. The capsule contains a few, rather large, white seeds. We often find these dainty little plants growing in companies, their starry blossoms glimmering in the shade, prettily set off by their neat circle of leaves. [Illustration: Star-flower--Trientalis latifolia. Scarlet Pimpernel--Anagallis arvensis.] There are a good many kinds of Dodecatheon, of North America and Asia; perennials, with root-leaves; flowers in bracted, terminal clusters; calyx with four or five lobes, turned back in flower but erect in fruit; corolla with four or five, long lobes, turned strongly back over the short tube and thick throat; stamens of the same number as the lobes, the anthers pointing straight forward, inserted on the throat of the corolla, filaments short, flat and united, or lacking; style long; capsule containing many seeds. The Greek name, meaning "twelve gods," seems far-fetched, but Linnaeus fancied the cluster of flowers resembled a little assembly of divinities. Common names are Prairie Pointers, Mosquito-bills, Wild Cyclamen, and American Cowslip, the latter poor, because misleading. [Sidenote: =Large Shooting-star= _Dodecàtheon Jéffreyi_ =Pink Summer Cal., Oreg.=] A very decorative plant, with a smooth, stout, reddish stem, five to eighteen inches tall, very slightly hairy towards the top, springing from a cluster of root-leaves, five to eighteen inches long, smooth, sometimes slightly toothed, and bearing a cluster of from five to fifteen beautiful flowers. The corolla is usually an inch or more long, usually with four petals, purplish-pink, paler at the base, with a yellow and maroon ring and maroon "bill." This has a faint, oddly sweet scent and grows in wet, mountain meadows. I found a very beautiful white form at Lost Lake, in Yosemite, more delicate, with lighter green foliage and pure white corollas, ringed with yellow and maroon. [Sidenote: =Shooting-star= _Dodecàtheon Clèvelandi_ =White Spring California=] Not so handsome as the last, but very attractive, with a slightly roughish stem, twelve to sixteen inches tall, bearing a fine crown of flowers and springing from a cluster of smooth, slightly thickish leaves, paler on the under side, with a few teeth. The sepals are slightly downy and the corollas are about three-quarters of an inch long, with pure-white petals, sometimes lilac-tinged, yellow at base, with a ring of maroon scallops and a dark purple "bill." The flowers are deliciously fragrant, like Clove Pinks. This grows in the south. [Illustration: Large Shooting Star--Dodecatheon Jeffreyi. D. Clevelandi.] [Sidenote: =Small Shooting-star= _Dodecàtheon pauciflòrum_ =Pink Spring, summer West=] A charming little plant, growing in wet, rich mountain meadows, with a smooth reddish stem, about eight inches tall, bearing a bracted cluster of several delicate flowers, and springing from a loose clump of smooth leaves. The flowers are about three-quarters of an inch long, with bright purplish-pink petals, with a ring of crimson, a ring of yellow and a wavy line of red, where they begin to turn back; the stamens with united filaments and long purplish-brown anthers; the pistil white. OLIVE FAMILY. _Oleaceae._ A rather large family, widely distributed, including Olive, Lilac, and Privet; trees and shrubs; leaves mostly opposite; without stipules; flowers perfect or imperfect, with two to four divisions, calyx usually small or lacking, corolla with separate or united petals, sometimes lacking; stamens two or four, on the corolla, ovary superior, two-celled, with a short style or none; fruit a capsule, berry, stone-fruit, or wing-fruit. There are many kinds of Fraxinus, almost all trees. [Sidenote: =Flowering Ash, Fringe-bush= _Fráxinus macropétala_ =White Spring Arizona=] An odd and beautiful shrub, growing on Bright Angel trail, in the Grand Canyon, about as large as a lilac bush, with smooth, bright-green leaves, some of the leaflets obscurely toothed, and drooping plumes of fragrant white flowers. The calyx is very small, and the four petals are so long and narrow that the effect of the cluster is of a bunch of white fringe. The fruit is a flat winged-seed. [Illustration: Small Shooting Star--Dodecatheon pauciflorum.] [Illustration: Flowering Ash--Fraxinus macropetala.] GENTIAN FAMILY. _Gentianaceae._ A large family, widely distributed, most abundant in temperate regions; smooth herbs, with colorless, bitter juice; leaves toothless, usually opposite, without leaf-stalks or stipules; flowers regular; calyx four to twelve-toothed; corolla with united lobes, twisted or overlapping in the bud, of the same number as the calyx-teeth; stamens inserted on the tube or throat of the corolla, as many as its lobes, alternate with them; ovary superior, mostly one-celled, with a single style or none, and one or two stigmas; fruit a capsule, mostly with two valves, containing many seeds. These plants were named for King Gentius of Illyria, said to have discovered their medicinal value. There are several kinds of Frasera, North American, all but one western; herbs, with thick, bitter, woody roots; leaves opposite or in whorls; flowers numerous; corolla wheel-shaped, with four divisions, each with one or two fringed glands and sometimes also a fringed crown at base; stamens on the base of the corolla, with oblong, swinging anthers, the filaments often united at base; ovary egg-shaped, tapering to a slender style, with a small, more or less two-lobed, stigma; capsule leathery, egg-shaped, with flattish seeds. [Sidenote: =Columbo, Deer's Tongue= _Fràsera speciòsa_ =Greenish-white Spring, summer, autumn West, etc.=] A handsome plant, though rather coarse, from two to six feet tall, with a pale glossy stem, very stout, sometimes over two inches across at the base, and very smooth, pale green leaves, in whorls of four and six, the lower ones sometimes a foot long. The flowers are mixed with the leaves all along the upper part of the stem, but mostly crowded at the top in a pyramidal cluster about six inches long, and are each nearly an inch and a half across, with a greenish or bluish-white corolla, the lobes bordered with violet and dotted with purple, and on each lobe two glands covered by a fringed flap, resembling a small petal, these fringes forming a sort of cross on the corolla. The four stamens stand stiffly out between the corolla-lobes and the general effect of the flower is so symmetrical that it suggests an architectural or ecclesiastical ornament. Though the flowers are not bright, this plant is decorative on account of its luxuriant size and pale foliage, and if Mr. Burbank could make the flowers clear white or purple it would be magnificent. It grows in the western mountains, as far east as Dakota and New Mexico. The finest I ever saw were on an open slope, in a high pass in the Wasatch Mountains, where they reared their pale spires proudly far above the surrounding herbage. [Illustration: Columbo--Frasera speciosa.] [Sidenote: =Small Columbo= _Fràsera nitìda_ =Bluish-white Summer Cal., Oreg.=] Quite a pretty plant, too colorless to be effective at a distance, but not coarse, with a smooth, pale stem, over a foot tall, and smooth, dull, bluish-green leaves, slightly stiffish, prettily bordered with white, mostly in a clump near the base. The flowers are about half an inch across, shaped like the last; with bluish-white petals, specked with dull-purple, with a green line on the outside, with one green gland near the center, fringed all around; large whitish anthers, becoming pinkish, and a white pistil. There are a good many kinds of Erythraea, widely distributed, usually with red or pink flowers; calyx with five or four, narrow lobes, or divisions; corolla salver-form, with five or four lobes; anthers twisting spirally after shedding their pollen; stigmas two, oblong or fan-shaped. The Greek name means "red" and the common name, Centaury, from the Latin, meaning "a hundred gold pieces," alludes to the supposedly valuable medicinal properties of these plants. [Sidenote: =Canchalagua, California Centaury= _Erythraèa venústa (Centaurium)_ =Pink Spring, summer California=] From three to twelve inches tall, with apple-green leaves, mostly on the stems, smooth and thin in texture, and flowers an inch or more across, a very vivid shade of purplish-pink, with a yellow or white "eye," bright yellow anthers and green pistil. These are attractive, because they look so gay and cheerful, but the color is a little crude. The flowers are not so large in Yosemite as they are in some places, such as Point Loma, but are very numerous and cover large patches with brilliant color. These plants are called Canchalagua by Spanish-Californians, who use them medicinally. [Illustration: Canchalagua--Erythraea venusta.] [Illustration: Small Columbo--Frasera nitida.] [Sidenote: =Tall Centaury= _Erythraèa exaltàta (E. Douglasii) (Centaurium)_ =Pink Spring, summer, autumn West, etc.=] This has a slender, leafy stem, from a few inches to over a foot tall, and flowers not so large as the last, but pretty and gay, about half an inch across, bright pink with a distinct white "eye." This grows in sandy soil, as far east as Wyoming. There are many kinds of Gentiana, of northern regions and the Andes; calyx tubular, usually with five teeth; corolla variously shaped with from four to seven lobes, often fringed, or with folds between the teeth; style short or lacking; stigma two-lipped. [Sidenote: =Northern Gentian= _Gentiàna acùta_ =Purple Summer West, etc.=] A pretty plant, with leafy, often branching stems, from six to twenty inches tall, and numerous flowers, with stiff pedicels and leafy bracts, forming several small clusters along the upper part of the stem. They are each about half an inch long, various shades of purple or blue, sometimes white, and easily recognized by the little crown of white fringe in the throat of the rather tubular, five-lobed corolla. These plants have very small roots, so that it is difficult to pick them without pulling them up, and as they are annuals they are easily exterminated. They are common in northern mountains, in moist places across the continent, and in Europe and Asia. [Sidenote: =Gentian= _Gentiàna propínqua_ =Purple Summer Northwest=] This has smooth, thin leaves and pretty flowers, three-quarters of an inch long, with lilac or purple corollas, satiny in texture, with four lobes, pointed at the tips and more or less fringed. This grows in high mountains. [Sidenote: =Blue Gentian= _Gentiàna calycòsa_ =Blue Autumn Northwest=] A handsome perennial, with leafy stems, from five to fifteen inches tall, bearing one or several, fine flowers at the top. They are an inch and a half long, with a bright blue corolla, dotted with green, with plaited folds and small teeth between the five lobes. This has been found in Yosemite, but is more common at Lake Tahoe. There are many other handsome large Blue Gentians in the West. _G. lùtea_, with yellow flowers, is the German kind from which the well-known drug, gentian, is made. [Illustration: Tall Centaury--Erythraea exaltata. Northern Gentian--Gentiana acuta. Gentian--G. propinqua.] MILKWEED FAMILY. _Asclepiadaceae._ A large family, widely distributed, most abundant in warm regions; ours are perennial herbs, usually with milky juice and tough fibrous inner bark; leaves generally large, toothless, without stipules; flowers peculiar in shape, in roundish clusters; calyx with a short tube or none and five lobes; corolla five-lobed; stamens five, on the base of the corolla, with short, stout filaments, anthers more or less united around the disk-like stigma, which covers and unites the two short styles of the superior ovary. The two parts of the ovary develop into two conspicuous pods, opening at the side, containing numerous flattish seeds, arranged along a thick, central axis, usually each with a tuft of silky down to waft it about. There are many kinds of Asclepias, with oddly-shaped flowers, interesting and decorative in form; calyx rather small, the pointed sepals turned back; corolla with its petals turned entirely back, so as to cover the sepals and expose the peculiar-looking central arrangements of the flower, called the "crown." In the middle is the large, flat, shield-shaped, five-lobed or five-angled stigma, surrounded by the anthers, which are more or less united to each other and to the stigma, encircled by five, odd, little honey-bearing hoods, the same color as the petals, each with a horn, either enclosed within it or projecting from it, the whole collection of stigma, anthers, and hoods, forming the "crown." The pods are thick and pointed. Named for Æsculapius, as some of these plants are medicinal. Indians used to make twine from the fibrous bark of some kinds. [Sidenote: =Showy Milkweed= _Asclèpias speciòsa_ =Pink Spring, summer West=] A handsome plant, decorative in form and harmonious in coloring, with a stout stem, from one to four feet tall, and light bluish-green leaves, usually covered with white down. The flowers are sweet-scented, with woolly pedicels, purplish-pink petals, and waxy, white "hoods," the buds yellowish-pink. The cluster, about three inches across, sometimes comprises as many as fifty flowers and is very beautiful in tone, being a mass of delicately blended, warm, soft tints of pink, cream, and purple. This grows in canyon bottoms and along streams. [Illustration: Showy Milkweed--Asclepias speciosa.] [Sidenote: =Pale Milkweed= _Asclèpias eròsa_ =Greenish-white Spring California=] This is three feet or more tall, fine-looking, though too pale, with a stout, smooth, gray-green stem and gray-green leaves, mottled with white and very stiff, the under side white-woolly, and flower-clusters two and a half inches across, composed of numerous greenish-white flowers, each half an inch long, their stalks covered with white wool. [Sidenote: =Desert Milkweed= _Asclèpias vestìta var. Mohavénsis_ =Yellow and pink Spring California=] A foot and a half tall, with very fragrant flowers, and very woolly all over, especially the upper leaves, stems and buds, which are thick with long white wool. The buds are pinkish-purple and the flowers have dull pink petals and cream-colored hoods, becoming yellow, and form clusters over two inches across. This grows in the Mohave Desert and the effect is harmonious, but not so handsome as the last. The genus Gomphocarpus is distinguished from Asclepias by the absence of horns or crests in the hoods. [Sidenote: =Purple Milkweed= _Gomphocàrpus cordifòlius (Asclepias)_ =Purple and yellow Summer Oreg., Cal.=] A handsome plant, smooth all over and more or less tinged with purple, with a stout, purple stem, from one and a half to three feet tall, with rubbery, dull, light bluish-green leaves. The flowers are scentless, with purplish sepals, maroon or purple petals, and yellowish or pinkish hoods, and form a very loose graceful cluster, over three inches across, dark in color and contrasting well with the foliage. This is common in Yosemite and elsewhere in California, at moderate altitudes. The genus Asclepiodora, of the southern part of North America, resembles Asclepias, but the flowers are larger, the petals not turned back, the hoods flatter, with crests instead of horns; leaves mainly alternate; corolla wheel-shaped; petals spreading; hoods oblong, blunt, spreading and curving upward, crested inside; five tiny appendages alternating with the anthers and forming an inner crown around the stigma. The name is from the Greek, meaning the gift of Æsculapius. [Illustration: Pale Milkweed--Asclepias erosa. Purple Milkweed--Gomphocarpus cordifolius.] [Sidenote: =Spider Milkweed= _Asclepiodòra decúmbens_ =Green and maroon Spring, summer Southwest=] A striking plant, though dull in color, from one to one and a half feet tall, with a rough, rather slanting stem, dull green, roughish, rather leathery leaves, and clusters of slightly sweet-scented, queer-looking flowers, each over half an inch across, with greenish-yellow petals, the hoods white inside and maroon outside, their tips curved in, a green stigma and brown anthers. The effect is a dull-yellow rosette, striped with maroon, curiously symmetrical and stiff in form, suggesting an heraldic "Tudor rose." The pods, three or four inches long, stand up stiffly, on pedicels curved like hooks. This grows on dry hillsides and is widely distributed. DOGBANE FAMILY. _Apocynaceae._ A large family, widely distributed, chiefly tropical; ours are perennial herbs, with milky, bitter juice; leaves toothless, usually opposite, without stipules; flowers perfect, parts in fives; corolla united; stamens on the corolla, as many as its lobes, alternate with them, ovary superior, in two parts, united by a single or two-parted style, developing into two pods; seeds often tufted with hairs. The Greek name alludes to the superstition that these plants are poisonous to dogs. There are many kinds of Apocynum, with branching stems, tough fibrous bark, and small, white or pink flowers, in clusters; calyx with pointed teeth, its tube adhering to the ovaries by means of a thickish, five-lobed disk; corolla bell-shaped, five-lobed, with five, small, triangular appendages, inside the tube, opposite the lobes; stamens with short, broad filaments and arrow-shaped anthers, slightly adhering to the blunt, obscurely two-lobed stigma; pod slender, cylindrical; seeds numerous, small, feathery. [Sidenote: =Spreading Dogbane, Honey-bloom= _Apócynum androsaemifòlium_ =White, pink Summer West, etc.=] An attractive plant, from one to four feet high, with many, smooth, widely spreading branches, purplish on one side, and smooth leaves, rather dark green above, pale underneath, with yellowish veins. The little flowers are white, tinged with pink, often striped with pink inside, mainly in loose clusters at the ends of the branches, and though not conspicuous are delicate and pretty. The pods are from two to seven inches long. This is widely scattered in fields and open woods, occurring in a variety of forms, and common in the East. [Illustration: Dog-bane--Apocynum androsaemifolium. Spider Milkweed--Asclepiodora decumbens.] BUCK-BEAN FAMILY. _Menyanthaceae._ A small family, widely distributed; perennial herbs, with creeping rootstocks, growing in water or marshes; the leaves smooth, alternate, or from the root; the flowers perfect, regular, in clusters; the calyx five-lobed; the corolla more or less funnel-form with five lobes or teeth; the stamens five, on the corolla and alternate with its lobes; the ovary superior, or partly so, with one cell; the fruit usually an oval capsule, with a few flattish, smooth seeds. [Sidenote: =Buck-bean= _Menyánthes trifoliàta_ =White Spring, summer Northwest=] This is the only kind, a handsome plant, eight or ten inches tall, with a stout, yellowish-green stem and rich green leaves, with long, sheathing leaf-stalks and three leaflets, with toothless or somewhat scalloped edges. The flowers are about half an inch long, with a white corolla, tinged with pink or lilac, the spreading lobes covered with white hairs, with black and yellow, swinging anthers and a green pistil, with a two-lipped stigma. There are from ten to twenty flowers in each cluster and the effect is charming, suggesting a bunch of little fringed lilies. This grows in northern bogs across the continent and also in Europe and Asia. It used to be found around San Francisco, but is now extinct. MORNING-GLORY FAMILY. _Convolvulaceae._ A large family, most abundant in the tropics; ours are herbs, usually with twining or trailing stems; the leaves alternate, or mere scales, without stipules; the flowers perfect, with five sepals; the corolla with united petals, more or less funnel-form and more or less five-lobed, folded lengthwise and twisted in the bud; the stamens five, on the base of the corolla; the ovary superior, with from one to three styles; the fruit usually a capsule, with from one to four large seeds. [Illustration: Buck-bean--Menyanthes trifoliata.] There are a great many kinds of Convolvulus, widely distributed; ours are mostly twining or prostrate perennials; the flowers large, with a slender style and two stigmas; the fruit a capsule, usually with two large seeds. The name is from the Latin, meaning "to entwine." These plants are often called Bindweed. [Sidenote: =Field Morning-glory= _Convólvulus arvénsis_ =White, pinkish Spring, summer, autumn West, etc.=] This is a troublesome weed, introduced from Europe, with very deep roots and pretty flowers. The leaves are dull green and look roughish, though they are smooth or nearly so, and the flowers are about an inch across, white inside, striped with pink and tinged with yellow at the base, and pink outside, striped with duller, deeper color. The stamens and pistil are white and the buds purplish-pink. The flower stalks usually have a pair of bracts near the middle. [Sidenote: =Yellow Morning-glory= _Convólvulus occidentàlis_ =Cream-color Summer Northwest=] An attractive plant, with pretty foliage and large, pale flowers, the stems trailing on the ground and climbing over low bushes. The leaves are smooth and dark bluish-green and the flowers are about two inches and a half across, very pale yellow, almost cream-color, with stripes of slightly deeper yellow, tinged with pink. The anthers and the pistil are pale yellow and the flower-stalks have two bracts just beneath the calyx. There are many kinds of Cuscuta, or Dodder, widely distributed and difficult to distinguish; leafless parasites, without green coloring, with twining, threadlike stems and inconspicuous flowers, in clusters. The seed germinates in the soil and produces a twining stem, which attaches itself to a neighbor by means of suckers. These plants are easily recognized, for they look like tangled bunches of coarse thread, and are often very conspicuous on account of their coloring, sometimes making fine masses of bright orange-color, beautiful in tone, though the plants are very unattractive. They have other names, such as Love-vine and Strangle-weed. [Illustration: Field Morning-glory--C. arvensis. Yellow Morning-glory--Convolvulus occidentalis.] PHLOX FAMILY. _Polemoniaceae._ Not a large family, most abundant in western North America, a few in Europe and Asia; sometimes slightly woody; the leaves without stipules; the flowers generally regular; the calyx with five united sepals; the corolla with five united petals, rolled up in the bud and often remaining more or less twisted to one side in the flowers; the stamens with slender filaments, with swinging anthers, often unequally inserted, on the tube or throat of the corolla and alternate with its lobes; the ovary superior, with a slender style and three-lobed stigma, but in immature flowers the three branches are folded together so that the style appears to have no lobes; the pod with three compartments, containing few or many seeds, which are sometimes winged and sometimes mucilaginous. There are a good many kinds of Polemonium, growing in cool places, usually perennials; the leaves alternate, with leaflets, not toothed; the calyx not ribbed or angled, bell-shaped; the corolla more or less bell-shaped; the stamens equally inserted, but often of unequal lengths; the seeds mucilaginous when wet. This is the Greek name, used by Dioscorides. [Sidenote: =Jacob's Ladder= _Polemònium occidentàle (P. coeruleum)_ =Blue Summer Northwest=] A graceful plant, with attractive and unusual-looking foliage. The juicy stem and tender, bright green leaves are smooth or hairy and the pretty flowers are nearly three-quarters of an inch across, bright rather purplish blue, paler inside and delicately veined with blue, with a yellow "eye." The stamens are protruding, with white anthers, and the pistil is long and protruding, even in quite small buds. This is variable and grows in damp places in the mountains, across the continent and also in the Old World. The common name comes from the shape of the leaf and it is also called Greek Valerian. Another handsome sort is _P. carnèum_, with flowers varying in color from salmon to purple, growing in the mountains of California and Oregon, but rather rare. [Illustration: Jacob's Ladder--Polemonium occidentale.] There are many kinds of Linanthus; low, slender annuals, with opposite, palmately-divided leaves and thus differing from Gilia, the divisions narrow or threadlike, looking almost like whorls in some kinds, or rarely toothless, occasionally some of the upper leaves alternate; the flowers scattered, or in terminal, roundish clusters; the calyx-tube thin and dry between the ribs or angles, the teeth equal; the corolla more or less wheel-shaped, funnel-form, or salver-form; the stamens equally inserted on the corolla; the seeds few or many, developing mucilage when moistened. The Greek name means "flax flower." [Sidenote: _Linánthus Párryae (Gilia)_ =White Spring California=] A queer little plant, only about two inches high, with almost no stem, very small, stiff leaves, and several large, pretty flowers, with cream-white corollas, about an inch across, with five crests in the throat, and the tube tinged with purple on the outside. They are exceedingly fragile and diaphanous in texture and form little white tufts, which look very odd and attractive, sprinkled over the sand in the Mohave Desert. [Sidenote: _Linánthus brevicùlus (Gilia)_ =Pink, violet Spring California=] This has slender, purplish, rather hairy stems, from six to eight inches tall, stiff, dull green, hairy leaves, tipped with bristles, and flowers over half an inch across, with sticky, hairy calyxes. The slender corolla-tubes are half an inch long, with delicate rose-pink or violet petals, white anthers, and a whitish pistil. This looks very pretty growing on the bare sand of the Mohave Desert. [Sidenote: _Linánthus androsàceus (Gilia)_ =Lilac, pink, or white Spring, summer California=] This is very pretty, with a stiff, slender, hairy, branching stem, from three inches to a foot tall, with stiffish, dull green leaves, apparently in whorls and cut into very narrow divisions, with bristles or hairs along the margins. The flowers are over half an inch across, with a long threadlike tube, and are usually bright lilac but sometimes pink or white, with a yellow, white, or almost black "eye," orange-colored anthers and a long, yellow pistil. The flower-cluster is mixed with many bracts and the stems often branch very symmetrically, with clusters at the tips. This is common on dry hillsides, growing in the grass, and often makes bright patches of color. There are several named varieties. [Illustration: L. androsaceus. L. Parryae. Linanthus breviculus.] [Sidenote: =Evening Snow= _Linánthus dichótomus (Gilia)_ =White Spring California=] Exceedingly pretty flowers, with very slender, brown stems, often branching, from two to twelve inches tall, and a few, rather inconspicuous, dull green leaves. The flowers are an inch or more across, with a salver-form corolla, with a long slender tube, white and beautifully sheeny in texture, bordered with dull pink on the outside, showing where the petals overlapped in the bud; the stamens and pistil not showing in the throat. They have a strong and unpleasant odor, but the effect of the airy flowers is beautiful, especially in the desert, as they sway to and fro in the wind on their slender stalks. They open only in the evening, but stay open all night and keep on opening and closing for several days, getting larger as they grow older. This is common on open slopes and hills, but is variable and not easily distinguished from similar species. [Sidenote: =Yellow Gilia= _Linánthus àureus (Gilia)_ =Yellow Spring Arizona=] A charming little desert plant, about three inches tall, with a very slender, usually smooth, widely branching stem and small, pale green leaves, apparently in whorls and cut into very narrow divisions, quite stiff and tipped with a bristle. The flowers are about half an inch across, bright yellow, with an orange-colored "eye" and tube, orange anthers and a yellow pistil, and they look exceedingly gay and pretty on the pale sand of the desert. [Sidenote: _Linánthus parviflòrus (Gilia)_ =White, pink, lilac Spring California=] A very pretty little plant, slightly hairy, with a slender stem, from three to ten inches tall, and clusters of small, stiff, dark green leaves. The flowers are about three-quarters of an inch across, with long, threadlike, yellow tubes, sometimes an inch and a half long, and white, pink, or lilac petals, with an orange or white "eye" and often brownish on the outside, with yellow anthers and a conspicuously long, yellow pistil. This is common throughout California, growing in open ground on hills and sea-cliffs. _L. parviflorus var. aciculàris_ is similar, but smaller. The flowers are similar, but often have so little white about them that they are yellow in general effect, and are sometimes specked with crimson at the base of the petals. They grow in sandy places in southern California. [Illustration: Evening Snow--L. dichotomus. Yellow Gilia--L. aureus. Linanthus parviflorus.] [Sidenote: =Ground Pink, Fringed Gilia= _Linánthus dianthiflòrus (Gilia)_ =Pink Spring California=] Charming little flowers, exceedingly delicate and gay. The stem is usually only a few inches tall, the leaves are very narrow, and the flowers are three-quarters of an inch across, with bright pink petals, prettily toothed at the tips, shading to white and yellow in the center and often with a purple ring in the throat. This is common in southern California and often grows in quantities, sprinkling the ground with its bright little flowers. [Sidenote: _Linánthus liniflòrus (Gilia)_ =White Spring, summer California=] This is a few inches tall, with purplish stems, which are so very slender and wiry that they look hardly thicker than hairs and the flowers seem to be hovering in the air, giving an exceedingly pretty and delicate effect. The leaves are stiff and dark green and the flowers are half an inch or more across, with a yellowish tube and white petals, delicately veined with blue, with a pale yellow pistil and orange anthers. This grows on the dry tops of mesas, in southern California. There are many kinds of Phlox, natives of North America and Asia, usually perennials, the leaves toothless, mostly opposite, at least the lower ones; the calyx five-ribbed; the corolla salver-form; the stamens inserted very unequally in the tube and not protruding; the seeds not mucilaginous. The salver-form corolla and the seeds not being mucilaginous distinguishes Phlox from Gilia. The name is from the Greek, meaning "flame." [Sidenote: =Alpine Phlox= _Phlóx Douglásii_ =White, lilac Summer Northwest, etc.=] A charming little plant, with woody stems a few inches tall and partly creeping along the ground, densely crowded with numerous needle-like leaves, forming dull green, cushion-like mats, sometimes over a foot across and suggesting some sort of prickly moss. These prickly cushions are sprinkled thickly all over with pretty lilac flowers and the effect is most attractive. The flowers vary in tint from white to pink and purple and are nearly three-quarters of an inch across and slightly sweet-scented. The tube is longer than the hairy calyx, and the petals fold back in fading. This grows on gravelly slopes and summits around Yosemite and in the Northwest, from the Rocky Mountains to Nebraska, and its patches of pale color are often conspicuous in dry rocky places, or in open forests, at an altitude of three to seven thousand feet. [Illustration: Linanthus liniflorus. Alpine Phlox--Phlox Douglasii. Ground Pink--Linanthus dianthiflorus.] [Sidenote: =Wild Sweet William= _Phlóx longifòlia_ =Pink Spring, summer, autumn West, etc.=] Very attractive common flowers, with many stems, three to eight inches high, from a woody base. The leaves are smooth or somewhat downy, stiffish, pale gray-green and rather harsh, and the flowers are over three-quarters of an inch across, clear pink, of various shades from deep-pink to white, with an angled calyx. Only two yellow stamens show in the throat and the style is long and slender. This grows on hills and in valleys, as far east as Colorado, and its pretty flowers are very gay and charming, particularly when growing in large clumps in fields or beside the road. _P. Stánsburyi_, common on the plateau in the Grand Canyon, blooming in May, is similar, but has sticky hairs on the calyx. There are many kinds of Gilia, variable and not easily distinguished; the leaves nearly always alternate and thus differing from Linanthus; the corolla funnel-form, tubular, or bell-shaped, but, unlike Phlox, rarely salver-form and the seeds are usually mucilaginous when wet. These plants were named for Gil, a Spanish botanist. [Sidenote: =Scarlet Gilia, Skyrocket= _Gília aggregàta_ =Red Spring, summer, autumn Southwest, Utah, etc.=] A brilliant biennial or perennial plant, varying in general form and color. In Utah it is somewhat coarse and usually has a single, leafy, roughish, rather sticky stem, from one to two feet tall, purplish towards the top, and thickish, somewhat sticky leaves, deeply lobed and cut, in a cluster at the root and alternate along the stem, dull bluish-green in color, smooth on the under side, with more or less sparse woolly down on the upper side, as if partially rubbed off. The flowers have no pedicels, or very short ones, and form small clusters in the angles of the leaves along the upper part of the stem, but are mainly at the top, in a large, handsome, somewhat flat-topped, loose cluster. They are each more than half an inch across, with a corolla of clear scarlet, the lobes shading at base to white, finely streaked with crimson and prettily fringed at the tips. The stamens are equally or unequally inserted in the corolla throat, the buds are prettily twisted and fringed at the tips and usually have a dark purplish calyx. Sometimes the flowers are all scattered along the stalk, making a wand of bloom. This grows on mountain sides and sometimes has a very disagreeable smell, hence the local name of Polecat Plant. In Yosemite it is much more delicate in character, with several, smooth or downy, reddish, leafy stems, from one to four feet high, from a branched base, bearing very graceful clusters of flowers, the petals of various shades of scarlet, pink, and crimson, often streaked with white, or yellowish dotted with red, their long points curled back. Often the buds are scarlet and the flowers pink, giving a very vivid effect. The protruding stamens are inserted in the notches between the lobes of the corolla, with red or pink filaments and yellow or purple anthers. This has the look of a hothouse flower and is very beautiful and striking when growing in masses in high mountain woods. This has several common names which are very misleading, such as Wild Cypress and Wild Honeysuckle. There are several named varieties. It grows in the Southwest and also from British Columbia to New Mexico. [Illustration: Scarlet Gilia--G. aggregata.] [Illustration: P. longifolia. Wild Sweet William--Phlox Stansburyi.] [Sidenote: =Bird's Eyes= _Gília trìcolor_ =White and purple and yellow Spring Southwest=] A beautiful kind, with rather hairy, branching stems, from six inches to over a foot tall, and dull green, rather hairy leaves, prettily cut into long narrow lobes. The flowers are in clusters, sweet-scented and beautifully marked, with corollas a half-inch or more in length, open funnel-shaped, with a yellow tube marked by a white border, and two dark purple spots in the throat below each of the blue or whitish corolla-lobes, forming an "eye." The calyx lobes often have purple margins, the anthers are bright blue, with lilac filaments, and the pistil is lilac. This is common on low hills in western California. [Sidenote: =Blue Desert Gilia= _Gília rigídula_ =Blue Summer Arizona=] A strange little desert plant, stunted-looking but with brilliant flowers, forming low, prickly clumps of stiff, dry, dull green, needle-like foliage, suggesting cushions of harsh moss, with numerous woody stems, two or three inches high, and numbers of pretty flowers, half an inch across, deep bright blue, with a little yellow in the center; the stamens, with bright yellow anthers, projecting from the throat. This bravely opens its bright blue eyes in the desert wastes of the Petrified Forest. [Illustration: Blue Desert Gilia--G. rigidula. Bird's Eye--Gilia tricolor.] [Sidenote: =Downy Gilia= _Gília floccòsa_ =Blue Spring Southwest=] A little desert plant, about three inches tall, more or less downy all over, the upper leaves and buds covered with soft white down and the lower leaves dark green and stiff, tipped with a bristle. The tiny flowers have a blue corolla, varying from sky-blue to almost white, with a yellow throat and white stamens, and although they are too small to be conspicuous, the effect of the bits of blue on the desert sand is exceedingly pretty. [Sidenote: =Small Prickly Gilia= _Gília púngens_ =White Summer California=] This resembles Alpine Phlox in general effect, but the corolla is funnel-form instead of salver-form, for the lobes do not spread so abruptly. The many stems are woody below, a few inches high, and crowded with leaves, which are dull green, stiff, and cut into needle-like divisions, which look like single leaves, about half an inch long. The flowers are pretty and fragrant, half an inch across, white or pale pink, often with purplish streaks on the outside, with rounded lobes, the edge of each overlapping the next, and yellow anthers, not projecting from the throat of the corolla. This forms loose mats on rocky ledges, at high altitudes. [Sidenote: _Gília multicàulis_ =Lilac Spring California=] A rather pretty little plant, about eight inches tall, with several slender, slightly hairy stems and leaves cut into very narrow divisions. The little flowers are pale lilac, quite delicate and pretty, though not conspicuous, and form clusters at the tips of the branches. This sometimes grows in quantities in the hills of southern California and is variable. [Illustration: Downy Gilia--G. floccosa. G. multicaulis. Small Prickly Gilia--G. pungens.] [Sidenote: =Large Prickly Gilia= _Gília Califórnica_ =Pink Summer California=] An unusual-looking, conspicuous, shrubby plant, suggesting some kind of small prickly pine or cedar, with lovely flowers. It forms large straggling clumps, about two feet high, with many woody stems and rich-green foliage, the leaves cut into small, spreading, needle-like lobes, and ornamented with numbers of brilliant flowers. They are an inch or more across, with bright pink petals and a white "eye," and are most delicate in texture, with a satiny sheen and smelling sweet like violets. This grows on hills and is very beautiful on Mt. Lowe. [Sidenote: _Gília achillaefòlia_ =Blue, white Spring, summer California=] This varies a good deal in color and beauty. The stems are smooth and slender, from one to two feet tall, and the leaves are alternate, smooth or downy, delicately cut into many fine divisions. The numerous small flowers are funnel-form, with projecting stamens, and form a close round head, which is an inch or more across, without bracts. The calyx is more or less woolly, with sharp triangular teeth, the tips turned back. Usually the flowers are blue of some shade, deep or pale, sometimes forming patches of color in the fields, but the prettiest I have seen grew in the woods near Santa Barbara, the individual flowers larger than usual and pure white, with bright blue anthers. It is common in Yosemite, but rather dull bluish-white and not pretty. [Sidenote: _Gília capitàta_ =Blue Spring, summer Northwest and California=] Very much like the last, but the flowers are smaller and form a smaller, more compact head. The corollas are blue, with narrow petals, varying in tint from purplish-blue to pale lilac, the calyx not woolly, and the cluster is about an inch across, the stamens giving it a fuzzy appearance. The leaves are smooth or slightly downy and the seed-vessels form pretty pale green heads. This is common and sometimes grows in such quantities as to be very effective. [Sidenote: _Gília multiflòra_ =Blue Summer Ariz., New Mex.=] The general effect of this plant is inconspicuous, though the flowers are quite pretty close by. The roughish woody stem is only a few inches tall and then branches abruptly into several long sprays, clothed with many very small, narrow, pointed, thickish, dull green leaves and ornamented towards the end with small clusters of flowers, which are lilac or blue, marked with purple lines, less than half an inch across, with five irregular lobes and blue anthers. This grows at the Grand Canyon and in dry open places in the mountains. [Illustration: Large Prickly Gilia--Gilia Californica.] [Illustration: G. capitata. Gilia achillaefolia.] There are several kinds of Collomia, almost all annuals; leaves alternate, usually toothless; flowers in clusters; differing from Gilia and Linanthus in the calyx, which increases in size as it grows older; corolla tube-shaped, funnel-form, or salver-form, with spreading lobes; stamens unequally inserted on the corolla-tube, with unequal filaments; seeds usually mucilaginous. [Sidenote: _Collòmia grandiflòra (Gilia)_ =Buff Summer Cal., Utah, Wash.=] Very pretty flowers, which attract attention because of their unusual coloring. The leafy stem is from one to two feet tall and slightly downy and the leaves are generally toothless, smooth, and rather dark green. The flowers form a roundish terminal cluster, which is about two inches across, surrounded by broad bracts, which are sticky to the touch. The corolla is funnel-form, about an inch long, various shades of buff or salmon-color, and as the downy buds are yellow, the newly-opened flowers buff, and the older ones pinkish or cream-white, the combinations of color are odd and effective. This is quite common in Yosemite, in warm situations, and much cultivated in Germany. It is sometimes called Wild Bouvardia, but this is a poor name, as it is that of a plant belonging to an entirely different family. [Sidenote: _Collòmia lineàris (Gilia)_ =Pink Summer West=] From six inches to over a foot tall, with a rather stout, very leafy stem, more or less branching, and alternate leaves, smooth, toothless, and rather dark green, the upper stems and buds hairy and sticky. The flowers have no pedicels and narrow funnel-form or salver-form corollas, bright pink, about a quarter of an inch across, and are crowded in roundish clusters, at the tips of the leafy branches, the larger clusters toward the top. Though the tiny flowers are bright and pretty this is not an effective plant. It grows in dry, open, sandy places and the foliage has a rather disagreeable smell when crushed. [Illustration: Collomia grandiflora. C. linearis.] WATERLEAF FAMILY. _Hydrophyllaceae._ Herbs or shrubs, mostly natives of western North America; often hairy; with no stipules; the leaves mainly alternate or from the root; the flowers chiefly blue or white, often in coiled clusters; the calyx with five united sepals; the corolla with five united petals; the stamens five, on the base of the corolla and alternate with its lobes, with threadlike filaments and usually with swinging anthers; the ovary superior, the styles two or two-cleft; the fruit a capsule, containing few or many seeds. The leaves were formerly supposed to have water-cavities in them, hence the misleading name. Some of this family resemble some of the Borages, but the stamens are long, the styles are two, at least above, and the ovary has not the four conspicuous lobes of the latter family. There are many kinds of Phacelia, hairy plants, with no appendages between the sepals; resembling Hydrophyllum, except that the petals overlap in the bud, instead of being rolled up, and the seeds are different. The name is from the Greek, meaning "cluster." [Sidenote: =Phacelia= _Phacèlia lóngipes_ =Purple Spring California=] This has pretty and rather unusual looking foliage, for the leaves are a peculiar shade of bluish-green, with purplish margins. They are somewhat sticky, soft and velvety, and although hairy are not disagreeable to touch. The hairy, purplish stems grow from a few inches to a foot tall and the pretty flowers are lilac or purple, with yellow anthers, and measure three-quarters of an inch across. This grows on sunny, sandy mountain slopes. [Sidenote: =Phacelia= _Phacèlia glechomaefòlia_ =Lilac, white Summer Ariz., Utah, Cal.=] A low plant, partly creeping, with weak, brittle, sticky stems and soft, slightly thickish, very dull yellowish-green leaves, sticky and often dingy with dust. The flowers are usually violet, but sometimes pure white, about three-eighths of an inch across, with yellow stamens, and are rather pretty. I found this little plant growing under a huge red rock in the Grand Canyon, on apparently perfectly dry, bare soil. It has an aromatic and slightly unpleasant smell and is rare. [Illustration: Phacelia longipes. Phacelia glechomaefolia.] [Illustration] [Sidenote: =Phacelia= _Phacèlia serícea_ =Purple Summer Northwest, Nev., Utah=] A mountain plant, which in favorable situations is exceedingly handsome and conspicuous, about a foot tall, but sometimes more, with downy, leafy stems, and handsome, silky-downy foliage, cut into many narrow divisions. The bell-shaped flowers are three-eighths of an inch across, rich purple, with very long, purple filaments and yellow anthers, and are crowded in magnificent clusters, sometimes eight inches long and very feathery. The corolla dries up and remains on the fruit. This has a disagreeable smell and grows at very high altitudes, where it is unusual to find such large showy flowers. In dry unfavorable situations it is often small and pale in color. [Sidenote: =Phacelia= _Phacèlia Párryi_ =Purple Spring California=] This has very handsome flowers, but the plant is too straggling. The branching, reddish stems are very hairy and rather sticky, from one to nearly two feet tall, with dull green, hairy leaves, which are harsh but not disagreeable to touch, and the flowers are over three-quarters of an inch across, with a very hairy calyx and a bright purple corolla, with a cream-colored spot, the shape of a horseshoe, at the base of each petal. The filaments are purple and hairy, with cream-colored anthers and the style is white, tipped with purple. This sometimes grows in such quantities as to give a very brilliant color effect and is found from Los Angeles to San Diego. [Sidenote: =Vervenia= _Phacèlia dístans_ =Violet Spring Southwest=] This is from eight inches to two feet high, with hairy, soft, dull green leaves and hairy stems, which are usually branching and spreading. The flowers are less than half an inch across, with a very hairy, sticky calyx, a violet corolla, varying in tint from dull white to bright blue, fading to purple, and purple filaments with whitish anthers. This grows in dry places and is common, often forming large clumps covered with flowers which are quite effective in color, though the plants are too straggling and hairy to be very attractive close by. _P. ramosíssima_ is similar but coarser, the flowers are larger, and the plant is exceedingly hairy, the calyxes being covered with conspicuous, long, white hairs, and the whole plant unpleasant to touch. [Illustration] [Illustration: Mountain Phacelia--Phacelia sericea.] [Illustration: Vervenia. P. distans. Phacelia Parryi.] [Illustration] [Sidenote: =Phacelia= _Phacèlia Fremóntii_ =Purple Spring Southwest and Utah=] A charming little desert plant, four or five inches high, with one or more, purplish, branching stems, springing from a pretty cluster of thickish, dull green root-leaves. The flowers are half an inch across, with sticky, hairy calyxes and buds and bright purple corollas, with bright yellow throats, from which the stamens do not protrude. These little flowers look very gay and pretty against the desert sand. [Sidenote: =Phacelia= _Phacèlia lineàris_ =Purple Spring, summer Northwest and Utah=] This is a delicate and pretty plant, in spite of its hairy foliage, from six inches to a foot high, with a hairy stem, purplish and somewhat branching, and alternate leaves, which are sometimes deeply cleft, usually have no leaf-stalks and are hairy and light yellowish-green in color. The flowers are pretty, grouped in rather long clusters, and are each about half an inch across, with a hairy calyx and a corolla delicately tinted with various shades of clear lilac and blue, shading to white in the center, with long narrow appendages in the throat between the stamens, which are long and conspicuous, giving a feathery appearance to the cluster. The anthers are dark purple and mature before the stigma, and the buds are pink and white. This grows on dry hillsides, often under sage-brush. [Illustration] [Illustration: Phacelia linearis. Phacelia Fremontii.] [Illustration] [Sidenote: =Phacelia= _Phacèlia grandiflòra_ =Lilac Summer California=] A very handsome kind, though rather coarse, and hairy and sticky all over, but with lovely, delicate flowers. The stems are from one to three feet tall and the dark green leaves are velvety on the upper side and hairy on the under. The flowers often measure two inches across, with a lilac or mauve corolla, shading to white in the center, flecked and streaked with brown, blue, or purple, and the stamens have purple filaments and pale yellow anthers. This plant is unpleasantly sticky, with a viscid fluid which stains everything with which it comes in contact, is poisonous to some people, and is found from Santa Barbara to San Diego. [Sidenote: _Phacèlia víscida var. albiflòra_ =White Spring California=] This is a white variety, with pretty, delicate white flowers. _Phacelia viscida_ is very much like _P. grandiflora_, and has about the same range, but is not so large a plant, usually about a foot tall, with smaller flowers, about an inch across. The corollas are blue, with purple or white centers. [Sidenote: =Wild Canterbury-bell= _Phacèlia Whitlàvia_ =Purple Summer California=] Charming flowers, though the foliage is rather too hairy. The stout, reddish stems are hairy, brittle, and loosely branching, about a foot tall, and the leaves dull green and hairy. The handsome flowers are in graceful nodding clusters, with a bell-shaped corolla, about an inch long, a rich shade of bluish-purple, the long conspicuous stamens and pistils giving an airy look to the blossoms. The filaments are purple and the anthers almost white and, as in other Phacelias, when the corolla drops off the long forked style remains sticking out of the calyx like a thread. This grows in light shade in rich moist soil in the hills. [Illustration] [Illustration: Phacelia grandiflora.] [Illustration: Wild Canterbury-bell--P. Whitlavia. Phacelia viscida var. albiflora.] [Sidenote: =Alpine Phacelia= _Phacèlia alpìna_ =Lilac Summer Utah, Nev., etc.=] This just misses being a very pretty plant, for the leaves are attractive, but the flowers are too small and too dull in color for the general effect to be good. The stems are about ten inches tall, purplish and downy, and the leaves are dull green and rather downy, with conspicuous veins. The buds are hairy and the flowers are lilac and crowded in coiled clusters, to which the long stamens give a very feathery appearance. This is found in the mountains, as far east as Montana and Colorado, and reaches an altitude of over twelve thousand feet. [Sidenote: =Wild Heliotrope= _Phacèlia crenulàta_ =Lilac Spring Arizona=] This is a fine plant, from six to eighteen inches tall, with purplish stems and handsome coarse foliage, all rough, hairy, and very sticky. The flowers are lilac, with purple stamens and pistil, and the general effect is that of a large coarse Heliotrope. The flowers have a pleasant scent, but the foliage has a strong and disagreeable smell, and it grows on the plateau in the Grand Canyon. [Sidenote: =Arizona Phacelia= _Phacèlia Arizònica_ =White, mauve Spring Arizona=] A little desert plant, not very pretty, with several hairy flower-stalks, from three to six inches tall, springing from a rosette of soft thickish leaves, slightly hairy, dull green in color, and something the shape of the leaves of _P. Fremontii_, but the lobes not nearly so small. The flowers are in tightly coiled clusters; the corolla a little more than a quarter of an inch across, dull white, with a pinkish line on each lobe and lilac anthers, the general effect being mauve. There are a good many kinds of Nemophila, natives of North America, mostly Californian, slender, fragile herbs, with alternate or opposite leaves, more or less divided, and usually large, single flowers, with rather long flower-stalks. The calyx has an appendage, resembling an extra little sepal, between each of the five sepals, which makes these plants easy to recognize, and the corolla is wheel-shaped or bell-shaped, usually with ten, small appendages within, at the base, and the petals are rolled up in the bud; the stamens are short; the styles partly united. The name is from the Greek, meaning "grove lover," because these plants like the shade. [Illustration: Alpine Phacelia--P. alpina. Wild Heliotrope--Phacelia crenulata.] [Illustration] [Sidenote: =Baby Blue-eyes, Mariana= _Nemóphila insígnis_ =Blue and white Spring California=] These are exceedingly charming little plants, with slender, weak, hairy stems, varying a good deal in height, but usually low and spreading, and pretty, light green, soft, hairy foliage, sprinkled with many lovely flowers, an inch or more across, with hairy calyxes and sky-blue corollas, which are clear white in the center and more or less specked with brown, with ten hairy scales in the throat. The blue of their bright little faces is always wonderfully brilliant, but they are variable and are usually deeper in color and rather smaller in the South. This is one of the commonest kinds of Nemophila in California and it is a general favorite. It is called Mariana by the Spanish Californians. [Sidenote: =Baby Blue-eyes= _Nemóphila intermèdia_ =Blue and white Summer California=] This is much like the last, but it is a taller and more slender plant, usually about ten inches high. The lovely delicate flowers are less than an inch across, with light blue corollas, usually shading to white at the center and delicately veined with blue, or speckled with purple dots. This grows among the underbrush. [Sidenote: =Spotted Nemophila= _Nemóphila maculàta_ =White and purple Summer California=] These are charming flowers, their corollas oddly and prettily marked. The weak, hairy stems, from three to twelve inches long, are usually spreading and the leaves are opposite, hairy, and light green. The flowers are about an inch across, with hairy calyxes and white corollas, which are prettily dotted with purple and usually have a distinct indigo spot at the tip of each petal, which gives an unusual effect. The filaments are lilac and the anthers and pistil are whitish. This is common in meadows around Yosemite and in other places in the Sierras at moderate altitudes. [Illustration] [Illustration: Baby Blue-eyes--Nemophila intermedia.] [Illustration: Spotted Nemophila--N. maculata. Baby Blue-eyes--Nemophila insignis.] [Illustration] [Sidenote: =Climbing Nemophila= _Nemóphila aurìta_ =Purple Summer California=] This is a straggling plant, with pretty delicate flowers, which suggest some sort of Nightshade. The stems are pale, square, juicy and very brittle, from one to three feet long, and the leaves are bright green and most of them are alternate, with leafstalks which are winged and clasping at base. The backs of the leaves, and the stems and calyxes, are covered with hooked bristles, which enable the plant to climb over its neighbors and give it the feeling of Bed-straw to the touch. The flowers are nearly an inch across, with purple corollas, shading to white in the center and paler outside, with purple scales in the throat and purple stamens. This is rather coarser than most Nemophilas and grows in light shade on hillsides. There are several kinds of Conanthus, low hairy herbs, with alternate, toothless leaves. The calyx and corolla are without appendages; the stamens are not protruding, and are unequal in length and unequally inserted in the tube of the corolla; the style is two-lobed and the capsule is roundish and contains from ten to twenty, smooth seeds. [Sidenote: =Conanthus= _Conánthus aretioìdes_ =Pink Spring Idaho, Nev., Ariz.=] This is a pretty little desert plant, spreading its branches flat on the ground and bearing tufts of grayish-green, very hairy foliage and a number of charming little flowers, which are three-eighths of an inch across, with very hairy calyxes and bright purplish-pink corollas, with a white and yellow "eye" and a long, slender, yellow tube, which is slightly hairy on the outside. The styles and anthers are of various lengths in different plants. These gay little flowers look very pretty on the dreary mesas around Reno and suggest some sort of Gilia. [Illustration] [Illustration: Conanthus aretioides. Climbing Nemophila--N. aurita.] There are only two kinds of Romanzoffia. [Sidenote: =Romanzoffia= _Romanzóffia sitchénsis_ =White Summer Northwest, etc.=] This is a charming little perennial plant, which forms beautiful clumps of delicate foliage and flowers, suggesting some sort of Saxifrage. The many, smooth, slender, pale green stems, from four to nine inches tall, spring from slender, threadlike rootstocks, bearing tubers, and the leaves are mostly from the root, smooth, bright green, and prettily scalloped, with long leaf-stalks. The flowers are in loose clusters and are each half an inch or more long, with a white corolla, which is without appendages inside and is exceedingly beautiful in texture, with yellow stamens, unequally inserted, and a long, threadlike style, with a small stigma. These little plants grow in moist, shady spots among the rocks, as far north as Alaska and often reach very high altitudes, where it is a delight to find their pearly flowers and lovely foliage in some crevice in the cliffs watered by a glacier stream. These plants are found as far north as Alaska and were named in honor of Count Romanzoff, who sent the Kotzebue expedition to Alaska. There are several kinds of Emmenanthe, much like Phacelia, but the stamens not protruding, and the corolla bell-shaped, cream-color or yellow, becoming papery in withering and not falling off, hence the Greek name, meaning "lasting flower." [Sidenote: =Emmenanthe= _Emmenánthe lùtea_ =Yellow Spring, summer Idaho, Nev., etc.=] A low plant, with many, downy branches, spreading almost flat on the ground, and small, thickish leaves, light dull green, and slightly downy. The flowers are rather more than a quarter of an inch across, with hairy calyxes, and bright yellow corollas, hairy outside, with ten little appendages inside, and grow in coiled clusters. The little flowers are gay and pretty and look bright and cheerful on the desert sands where they live. This is found as far east as Oregon. [Illustration: Emmenanthe lutea. Romanzoffia sitchensis.] [Sidenote: =Whispering Bells= _Emmenánthe penduliflòra_ =Yellowish Spring, summer Southwest=] Pretty plants, from eight to fourteen inches tall, with branching, hairy stems and light green, soft, downy leaves. The flowers are less than half an inch long, with pale yellow corollas, and are at first erect, but gradually droop until they hang gracefully on their very slender pedicels. They become dry and papery as they wither, but keep their form, and when the wind shakes their slender stems they respond with a faint rustling sound. This grows in dry places and is common in the South. In Arizona it grows only in protected canyons. There are several kinds of Hydrophyllum, perennial or biennial herbs, with fleshy running rootstocks and large, more or less divided leaves, mostly alternate. The corolla is bell-shaped, with a honey-gland at the base of each of the petals, which are rolled up in the bud. The filaments are hairy, the style two-cleft above, both stamens and style are generally long and protruding, and the ovary is one-celled and hairy, containing from one to four seeds. [Sidenote: =Cat's Breeches, Waterleaf= _Hydrophýllum capitàtum_ =Lilac Spring Northwest, Utah=] This is a pretty plant, from six to twelve inches high, with a rather weak stem and conspicuous leaves, which are alternate, pale green, soft and downy, or hairy, with five or seven divisions, prettily lobed and cut, with rather prominent veins, and long, succulent, pinkish leafstalks, sheathing the stem. The flowers are rather small, with short pedicels, and a number are crowded together in roundish clusters, about an inch across, with almost no flower-stalk. The calyx is covered with white hairs, the corolla is lilac or white, somewhat hairy on the outside, and the stamens and style are long and conspicuous, sticking out like cats' whiskers and giving a pretty feathery appearance to the whole cluster, which becomes in fruit a conspicuous, very fuzzy, round head, covered with bristly white hairs, making the children's quaint common name for this plant quite appropriate. It grows in rich soil, in mountain woods, and is one of the earliest spring flowers. It is sometimes called Bear's Cabbage, but this name is far fetched, both as regards bears and cabbages! [Illustration: Cat's Breeches--Hydrophyllum capitatum. Whispering Bells--Emmenanthe penduliflora.] There are several kinds of Eriodictyon, shrubs, with alternate, toothed, leathery, evergreen leaves, which are netted-veined, generally green and smooth on the upper side and whitish and downy on the under, with leaf-stalks; the flowers in coiled clusters; the corolla more or less funnel-form or salver-form, without appendages in the tube; the stamens and the two distinct styles not protruding; the capsule small, with few seeds. The name is from the Greek for "wool" and "net," in allusion to the netted wool on the under surface of the leaves. [Sidenote: =Yerba Santa, Mountain Balm= _Eriodíctyon Califórnicum_ =White, lilac Summer Cal., Oreg., Wash.=] A branching shrub, from two to six feet high, with thickish leaves, with toothed or wavy margins, from two to six inches long, dark and shiny on the upper side, pale with close down and netted-veined on the underside. The flowers are not especially pretty, about half an inch long, with white, lilac, or purple corollas, and are slightly sweet scented. The leaves are strongly and pleasantly aromatic when they are crushed and were used medicinally by the Indians, hence the Spanish name, meaning "holy herb." Cough-syrup is made from them and also substitutes for tobacco and hops. This grows on dry hills and is very variable, being sometimes a handsome shrub. There are intermediate forms between this and the next, _E. tomentosum_, which are difficult to distinguish. [Sidenote: =Woolly Yerba Santa= _Eriodíctyon tomentòsum_ =Lilac Spring California=] A large leafy shrub, about five feet high and much handsomer than the last, with velvety, light green branches and very velvety, purplish twigs. The beautiful leaves are veined like chestnut leaves and made of the thickest, softest, sea-green or gray velvet, like a mullein leaf in texture, but much smoother and softer. The flowers are three-quarters of an inch long, with a pale pinkish-lilac corolla, shading to purple and white, downy on the outside, and form quite handsome clusters, mixed with pretty gray velvet buds, the lilac of the flowers harmonizing well with the gray foliage. This grows in quantities on Point Loma, and other places along the coast, from San Diego to Santa Barbara. There are several similar varieties. [Illustration: Woolly Yerba Santa--E. tomentosum. Yerba Santa--Eriodíctyon Californicum.] BORAGE FAMILY. _Boraginaceae._ A large family, widely distributed, chiefly rough-hairy herbs, without stipules; usually with alternate, toothless leaves; flowers usually in coiled, one-sided clusters; calyx usually with five sepals; corolla usually symmetrical, with five united petals, often with crests or appendages in the throat; stamens five, inserted in the tube of the corolla, alternate with its lobes; ovary superior, with a single, sometimes two-cleft, style, and usually deeply four-lobed, like that of the Mint Family, forming in fruit four seed-like nutlets. Mature fruit is necessary to distinguish the different kinds. These plants superficially resemble some of the Waterleaf Family, but the four lobes of the ovary are conspicuous. There are many kinds of Lappula, chiefly of the north-temperate zone; leaves narrow; corolla blue or white, salver-form or funnel-form, with a very short tube, the throat closed by five short scales, the stamens, with short filaments, hidden in the tube; ovary deeply four-lobed; style short; nutlets armed with barbed prickles, forming burs, giving the common name, Stickseed, and the Latin name, derived from "bur." Some of them resemble Forget-me-nots, but are not true Myosotis. [Sidenote: =White Forget-me-not= _Láppula subdecúmbens_ =White Spring, summer Northwest=] Though the foliage is harsh, this plant is so graceful and has such pretty flowers that it is most attractive. It is from ten to eighteen inches tall, with several yellowish, hairy stems, springing from a perennial root and a cluster of root-leaves, the stem-leaves more or less clasping at base, all bluish-green, covered with pale hairs, with prominent veins on the back and sparse bristles along the edges. The flowers form handsome, large, loose clusters and the hairy buds are tightly coiled. The calyx is hairy, with blunt lobes, and the corolla, about half an inch across, is pure white, or tinged with blue, often marked with blue, with two ridges on the base of each petal, and the throat closed by five yellow crests, surrounded by a ring of fuzzy white down. This grows on dry plains and hillsides, sometimes making large clumps. [Illustration: White Forget-me-not--Lappula subdecumbens.] [Sidenote: =Wild Forget-me-not= _Láppula velùtina_ =Blue Summer California=] Beautiful flowers, resembling true Forget-me-nots, but larger, with velvety, often reddish stems, from one to two feet tall, velvety leaves, and flowers in handsome, loose, somewhat coiling clusters. The corolla is about half an inch across, sky-blue, the most brilliant blue of any flower in Yosemite, with five, white, heart-shaped crests in the throat; the buds pink. This is rather common in the Sierra Nevada at moderate altitudes. _L. nervòsa_, of high altitudes, is similar, but with smaller flowers, the leaves rough-hairy, but green. This has very prickly nutlets, which stick in the wool of sheep and are dreaded by shepherds. _L. floribúnda_, also growing in the mountains of California and Oregon, has similar, small, blue flowers, sometimes pink, and hairy, gray foliage. _L. Califórnica_, of the northern Sierra Nevada mountains, has small white flowers. There are many kinds of Lithospermum, chiefly of the northern hemisphere; with reddish, woody roots, hairy leaves, without leaf-stalks, and flowers crowded in clusters, mixed with leaves and leafy bracts; corolla funnel-form or salver-form, the throat often hairy or crested; stamens with short filaments, not protruding from the throat of the corolla; ovary four-lobed, with a slender style, stigma with a round head or two lobes; nutlets usually white and smooth. The Greek name means "stony seed." Puccoon is the Indian name, and these plants are also called Gromwell, and sometimes Indian Dye-stuff, because the Indians made dye from the roots, which yield a beautiful delicate purple color. [Sidenote: =Hairy Puccoon= _Lithospérmum pilòsum_ =Yellow Spring, summer Northwest, Utah, etc.=] A rather pretty plant, about a foot tall, with several, stout, yellowish-green stems, covered with white hairs and very leafy, springing from a thick perennial root. The leaves are bluish-gray green and downy, harsh on the under side, and the flowers are numerous and pleasantly scented, with a very hairy calyx and a salver-form corolla, about three-eighths of an inch across, silky outside, the throat downy inside, but without crests. The flowers are yellow, an unusual shade of pale corn-color, and harmonize with the pale foliage, but are not conspicuous, and the flower cluster is so crowded with leaves and leafy bracts that it is not effective. This grows in dry fields, as far east as Nebraska, and sometimes makes pretty little bushes, over two feet across. [Illustration: Hairy Puccoon--Lithospermum pilosum. Wild Forget-me-not--Lappula velutina.] [Sidenote: =Pretty Puccoon= _Lithospérmum angustifòlium_ =Yellow Spring West, etc.=] These are pretty flowers, but have a disagreeable smell. They are perennials, with a deep root and hairy or downy, branching stems, from six inches to two feet high, and hairy or downy leaves, which are rather grayish green. The flowers are in terminal leafy clusters and are of two sorts. The corollas of the earlier ones are very pretty, clear bright yellow, sometimes nearly an inch and a half long, with toothed lobes, which are charmingly ruffled at the edges, and with crests in the throat, but the later flowers are small, pale, and inconspicuous. This grows in dry places, especially on the prairies, and is very widely distributed in the western and west central states. [Sidenote: =Gromwell= _Lithospérmum multiflòrum_ =Yellow Summer Ariz., Utah, etc.=] This has a rough, hairy stem, about a foot tall, and dull green, rough, hairy leaves, with bristles along the edges. The yellow flowers are half an inch long and form rather pretty coiled clusters. This grows in open woods at the Grand Canyon, and is found as far east as New Mexico and Colorado. There are a good many kinds of Amsinckia, natives of the western part of our country and of Mexico and South America. They are rather difficult to distinguish, rough, hairy or bristly, annual herbs, the bristles usually from a raised base, and with yellow flowers, in curved, rather showy, clusters. The corolla is more or less salver-form, without crests, but with folds; the stamens and pistil not protruding, the stigma two-lobed. In order to insure cross pollination by insects, in some kinds the flowers are of two types, as concerns the insertion of the stamens on the corolla and the length of the style. Several of these plants are valuable in Arizona for early spring stock feed, and the leaves of young plants are eaten by the Pima Indians for greens and salads. [Illustration: Pretty Puccoon--Lithospermum angustifolium. Gromwell--L. multiflorum.] [Sidenote: =Saccato Gordo, Fiddle-neck, Buckthorn Weed= _Amsínckia inlermèdia_ =Yellow Spring, summer West=] This has bright flowers, but the foliage is dreadfully harsh. The stem is from one to three feet tall, often widely branching, with white bristles scattered over it, and the leaves are dull green and bristly. The flowers are pretty, about half an inch long, with narrow sepals and bright orange corollas, with five bright red spots between the lobes. The nutlets are roughened with short, hard points. These plants are very common and sometimes form rank thickets in fields and waste places. They are very abundant in southern Arizona and are valued as a grazing plant for stock and are therefore known as Saccato Gordo, which means "fat grass." There are many kinds of Cryptanthe, most of them western and difficult to distinguish. They are slender, hairy plants, with small flowers, which are usually white, in coiled clusters; the calyx bristly; the corolla funnel-form, usually with five crests closing the throat; the nutlets never wrinkled. These plants resemble white Forget-me-nots and are sometimes so called. The Greek name means "hidden flower," perhaps because of the minute flowers of some kinds. [Sidenote: =Nievitas= _Cryptánthe intermèdia_ =White Spring Cal., Ariz.=] A rather attractive little plant, but inconspicuous except when it grows in patches, when it powders the fields with white, like a light fall of snow, and suggests the pretty Spanish name, which is a diminutive of "nieve," or snow. The slender, roughish stem is about ten inches tall, the light green leaves are hairy, with fine bristles along the edges, and the pretty little flowers are white, about a quarter of an inch across, with yellow crests in the throat. Popcorn Flower, _Plagiobòthrys nothofúlvus_, of the Northwest, is also called Nievitas, as it often whitens the ground with its small, fragrant, white flowers, which are very much like the last. [Illustration: Nievitas--Cryptanthe intermedia. Saccato Gordo--Amsinckia intermedia.] There are a good many kinds of Mertensia, natives of the northern hemisphere. They are handsome perennials, never very hairy and sometimes perfectly smooth all over, with leafy stems and broad leaves, sometimes dotted, the lower ones with leaf-stalks. The pretty, nodding flowers are in clusters and have a purple, blue, or white corolla, often turning pink, more or less trumpet-shaped, the lobes not spreading much, the throat open, with or without crests; the ovary deeply four-lobed, with a threadlike style and one stigma; the nutlets wrinkled. These plants are all commonly called Lungwort. [Sidenote: =Languid Lady, Lungwort= _Merténsia Sibírica_ =Blue Summer Northwest=] A very attractive and graceful mountain plant, with pretty flowers and fine foliage. The stems are hollow and usually smooth, from one to five feet tall, and the leaves are rather thin and soft in texture, usually smooth, with a "bloom." The flowers are in handsome loose clusters, most of them drooping, and have a corolla over half an inch long, which is a beautiful shade of bright light blue, often tinged with pink, with white crests in the throat, and the style is long and protruding. The buds are bright pink, contrasting well with the blue flowers. This grows near streams, in the higher mountains. It is often called Mountain Bluebell, but that name belongs to Campanula and is therefore misleading. (This has recently been "separated" into several species.) [Sidenote: =Lungwort= _Merténsia brevístyla_ =Blue Spring, summer Utah, Col., Wyo.=] This is an attractive plant and looks a good deal like a Forget-me-not. It grows from four to ten inches tall and has dull bluish-green leaves, which are downy on the upper side and smooth on the under, and graceful clusters of pretty little flowers. The buds are pinkish-purple and the flowers are small, with hairy calyxes and brilliant sky-blue corollas, the stamens and style not protruding. This grows in mountain canyons, up to an altitude of seven thousand feet. [Illustration: Mertensia--M. brevistyla. Languid Lady--Mertensia Sibirica.] There are many kinds of Heliotrope, widely distributed in temperate and tropical regions; ours have small, white or blue flowers, in coiled spikes; the corolla salver-form or funnel-form, without crests or hairs; the stamens not protruding, the filaments short or none, the anthers sometimes joined by their pointed tips; the ovary not four-lobed, but sometimes grooved, with a short style, the stigma cone-shaped or round. [Sidenote: =Sea-side Heliotrope, Chinese Pusley= _Heliotròpium Curassávicum_ =White Summer, autumn Cal., Oreg., etc.=] This is not a pretty plant and is rather insignificant because of its dull coloring. It forms low, branching, straggling clumps, with thickish stems and leaves, which are succulent and perfectly smooth, with a "bloom," and the flowers are small, the corolla white or pale lilac, with a yellow "eye" which changes to purple, forming crowded coiled spikes, mostly in pairs, without bracts. The fruit consists of four nutlets. This is widely distributed, in moist, salty or alkaline places, growing also in the East and in South America and the Old World. There are several kinds of Oreocarya, natives of western North America and Mexico, coarse, hairy, perennial or biennial herbs, with thick woody roots; the leaves narrow, alternate or from the root; the flowers small, mostly white, in clusters, with a funnel-form or salver-form corolla, usually with crests and folds in the throat; the stamens not protruding; the style usually short. The name is from the Greek, meaning "mountain-nut," which does not seem very appropriate. [Sidenote: =Oreocarya= _Oreocàrya multicàulis_ =White Spring Ariz., Utah, etc.=] A rather pretty plant, about six inches tall, not rough and harsh like most kinds of Oreocarya, for the pale grayish-green stem and leaves are covered with white down. The flowers are quite pretty, about three-eighths of an inch across, with white corollas, with yellow crests in the throat. This is found as far east as southern Colorado and New Mexico. _O. setosíssima_ is quite tall, growing in the Grand Canyon, and has a large cluster of small white flowers and is harsh and hairy all over, covered with such long stiff white hairs as to make it conspicuous and very unpleasant to touch. [Illustration: Chinese Pusley--Heliotropium Curassavicum. Oreocarya multicaulis.] VERBENA FAMILY. _Verbenaceae._ A large family, widely distributed; herbs and shrubs; leaves opposite, or in whorls; flowers perfect, in clusters; calyx with four or five lobes or teeth; corolla with four or five united lobes, almost regular or two-lipped; stamens on the corolla, usually four, in two sets; ovary superior, with one style and one or two stigmas, when ripe separating into from two to four, one-seeded nutlets. There are many kinds of Verbena, chiefly American; perennials; calyx tubular, with five teeth; corolla usually salver-form, with five lobes, usually slightly two-lipped; stigmas with two lobes, only the larger lobe fertile; fruit four nutlets. This is the Latin name of some sacred plant. [Sidenote: =Wild Verbena= _Verbèna Arizònica_ =Lilac Spring Arizona=] This is very much like a garden Verbena, an attractive little plant, from four to six inches tall, with hairy stems and prettily shaped leaves, dull green, soft and hairy. The gay little flowers are about half an inch across, with a bright pinkish-lilac corolla, with a white or yellowish "eye," and a sticky-hairy calyx, and form a charming flat-topped cluster. This grows among the rocks, above the Desert Laboratory at Tucson and in similar places. [Sidenote: =Common Vervain= _Verbèna prostràta_ =Lilac Spring, summer, autumn California=] A loosely-branching plant, from one to two feet tall, with dull green, hairy stems, dull green, soft, hairy leaves, and very small flowers in a long spike, too few open at one time to be effective. The corolla is lilac or bluish, often with a magenta tube and magenta "eye." This grows in dry open hill country. MINT FAMILY. _Labiatae._ A very large family, with distinctive characteristics; widely distributed. Ours are herbs or low shrubs, generally aromatic, with usually square and hollow stems; leaves opposite, with no stipules; flowers perfect, irregular, in clusters, usually with bracts; calyx usually five-toothed, frequently two-lipped; corolla more or less two-lipped, upper lip usually with two lobes, lower lip with three; stamens usually four, in pairs, on the corolla-tube, alternate with its lobes; ovary superior, with four lobes, separating when ripe into four, small, smooth, one-seeded nutlets, surrounding the base of the two-lobed style, like the four nutlets of the Borage Family, but the flowers of the latter are regular. These plants are used medicinally and include many herbs used for seasoning, such as Sage, Thyme, etc. [Illustration: Wild Verbena--V. Arizonica. Common Vervain--Verbena prostrata.] There are a few kinds of Micromeria; trailing perennials; flowers small; calyx tubular, with five teeth; corolla two-lipped, with a straight tube; stamens four, all with anthers, not protruding. The Greek name means "small." [Sidenote: =Yerba Buena, Tea-vine= _Micromèria Chamissónis (M. Douglasii)_ =Lilac, white Spring, summer Cal., Oreg., Wash.=] An attractive little plant, resembling the little eastern Gill-over-the-ground, with slender trailing stems, slightly downy foliage, and lilac or whitish flowers, about a quarter of an inch long. The calyx and corolla are hairy on the outside; the corolla has an erect upper lip, sometimes notched, and a spreading, three-lobed lower lip, and the stamens are four, the lower pair shorter. This is common in shady places near the coast. It has a pleasant aromatic fragrance and was used medicinally by California Indians, so it was called "good herb" by the Mission Fathers, and is still used as a tea by Spanish-Californians, who call it Yerba Buena del Campo, "field herb," distinguishing it from Yerba Buena del Poso, "herb of the well," the garden mint. There are several kinds of Monardella, fragrant herbs, all western, chiefly Californian; leaves mostly toothless; flowers small, in terminal heads, on long flower-stalks, with bracts, which are often colored; calyx tubular, with five, nearly equal teeth; corolla with erect upper lip, two-cleft, lower lip with three, nearly equal lobes; stamens four, protruding, sometimes the lower pair longer. [Sidenote: =Western Pennyroyal, Mustang Mint= _Monardélla lanceolàta_ =Lilac Summer California=] An attractive plant, pretty in color and form, with purplish, often branching stems, from six inches to over two feet high, smooth leaves, and small bright pinkish-lilac flowers, crowded in terminal heads, about an inch across, with purplish bracts. The outer ring of flowers blooms first and surrounds a knob of small green buds, so that the effect of the whole flower-head slightly suggests a thistle. This has a strong, pleasant smell like Pennyroyal and is abundant in Yosemite, and elsewhere in the Sierra Nevada foothills. [Illustration: Yerba Buena--Micromeria Chamissonis. Mustang Mint--Monardella lanceolata.] There are several kinds of Ramona, abundant in southern California; shrubby plants, with wrinkled leaves and flowers like those of Salvia, except for differences in the filaments; stamens two. They are very important honey-plants, commonly called Sage, and by some botanists considered to be a species of Salvia. [Sidenote: =Desert Ramona= _Ramòna incàna (Audibertia)_ =Blue Spring Southwest=] A low desert shrub, from two to three feet high, varying very much in color. On the plateau in the Grand Canyon it is delicate and unusual in coloring, with pale gray, woody stems and branches and small, stiffish, gray-green, toothless leaves, covered with white down. The small flowers are bright blue, projecting from close whorls of variously tinted bracts, and have long stamens, protruding from the corolla-tube, with blue filaments and yellow anthers, and a blue style. The bracts are sometimes lilac, sometimes pale blue, or cream-color, but always form delicate pastelle shades, peculiar yet harmonizing in tone with the vivid blue of the flowers and with the pale foliage. This is strongly aromatic when crushed. In the Mohave Desert it is exceedingly handsome, but the coloring is often less peculiar, as the foliage is not quite so pale as in other places, such as the Grand Canyon, and the flowers vary from blue to lilac or white. It blooms in spring and when its clumps of purple are contrasted with some of the yellow desert flowers, clustered about the feet of the dark Joshua Trees which grow around Hesperia, the effect is very fine. [Sidenote: =Humming-bird Sage= _Ramòna grandiflòra (Audibertia)_ =Red Spring California=] This is a handsome and very decorative plant, though rather coarse and sticky, with a stout, bronze-colored stem, which is woody at base, from two to three feet tall, and velvety, wrinkled leaves, from three to eight inches long, with scalloped edges and white with down on the under side. The flowers are an inch and a half long, with crimson corollas of various fine shades, which project from the crowded whorls of broad, bronze or purplish bracts, arranged in tiers along the stem. Sometimes there are as many as nine of these clusters and the effect of the whole is dark and very rich, especially in shady places. This is common in the hills, from San Francisco south. Humming-birds are supposed to be its only visitors. [Illustration: Ramona incana.] [Illustration: Humming-bird Sage--Ramona grandiflora.] [Sidenote: =White Ball Sage= _Ramòna nívea (Audibertia)_ =Lilac Spring California=] A very conspicuous, shrubby plant, much handsomer than Black Sage, from three to six feet high, with many, downy, stout, leafy stems, woody below, forming enormous clumps of pale foliage. The leaves are covered with pale down and are a delicate shade of sage-green and feel like soft thick velvet, and the mauve or lilac flowers, about three-quarters of an inch long, are arranged in a series of very round, compact balls along the stiff stalks. This is a honey-plant and smells strong of sage, and is common in the South, giving a beautiful effect of mingled mauve and gray. [Sidenote: =White Sage= _Ramòna polystàchya (Audibertia), (Salvia apiana)_ =White, lilac Spring California=] Not so handsome as the last, but a very conspicuous plant, on account of its size and the pale tint of its foliage, though the flowers are too dull in color to be striking. It is shrubby and has a number of stems, which form a loose clump from three to six feet high, with rather leathery, resinous leaves, all but the upper ones with scalloped edges, and the whole plant is covered with fine white down, so that the general effect is pale gray, blending with the white or pale lilac flowers and purplish buds. The flowers are about half an inch long and are very queer in form, for the only conspicuous part is the lower lip, which is very broad with a ruffled edge and is turned straight up and backward, so as to conceal almost all the rest of the flower. The long jointed stamens, which are borne on the lower lip, stand out awkwardly like horns and from one side of the flower's face a long white pistil sticks out, with something the effect of a very long cigar hanging out of the corner of its mouth! All these eccentric arrangements are apparently for the purpose of securing cross-pollination from the bees, which frequent these flowers by the thousand, as this is a famous bee-plant and the white honey made from it is peculiarly delicious. It grows abundantly in valleys and on hillsides, from Santa Barbara to San Diego, and has a very strong disagreeable smell. [Illustration: White Ball Sage--Ramona nivea. White Sage--R. polystachya.] [Sidenote: =Black Sage, Ball Sage= _Ramòna stachyoìdes (Audibertia)_ =Lilac, white Spring California=] A conspicuous shrubby plant, from three to six feet high, with stiffish leaves, which are downy on the under side, wrinkled on the upper, and grayish-green and downy when young, but become smoother and dark green as they grow older. The flowers are pale lilac or white, half an inch long, and the calyx-lobes and bracts are tipped with bristles. The compact flower clusters, usually about five in number and rather small, are arranged in tiers on long slender stalks, which stand up stiffly all over the bush. This is common on southern hillsides, often forming dense thickets for long distances, smells strong of sage and is an important bee-plant. There are several kinds of Hyptis, very abundant in South America and Mexico, but only a few reaching the southwestern border of our country; the calyx with five almost equal teeth; the corolla short, the lower lip sac-shaped and abruptly turned back, the other four lobes nearly equal and flat; the stamens four, included in the sac of the lower lobe. [Sidenote: =Hyptis= _Hýptis Émoryi_ =Purple Spring Arizona=] A shrub, from three to five feet high, with very pale, roundish, woody stems and branches and small, very pale gray leaves, thickish and soft, covered with white woolly down. The little fragrant, bluish-purple flowers, with white woolly calyxes, are crowded in close clusters about an inch long. Only a few flowers are out at one time and they are too small to be pretty, but the effect of the shrub as a whole is rather conspicuous and attractive, on account of its delicate coloring, the lilac of the flower-clusters harmonizing with the gray foliage, which gives out a very strong smell of sage when crushed. This grows among the rocks above the Desert Laboratory at Tucson and in similar places, blooming in early spring and much visited by bees. [Illustration: Black Sage--Ramona stachyoides. Hyptis--Emoryi.] [Sidenote: =Self-heal= _Prunélla vulgàris_ =Purple Spring, summer, autumn Across the continent=] There are several kinds of Prunella, widely distributed, but this is the only one common in this country and is probably not native. It is abundant in dampish places, in the far West often staying green all winter, a perennial, sometimes hairy, from two inches to over a foot high. The leaves, often obscurely toothed, have leaf-stalks and the small flowers are crowded in a series of whorls, with purplish bracts and forming a spike or head. The calyx is two-lipped, with five teeth and often purplish, and the corolla is purple, pink, or occasionally white, with an arched upper lip, a spreading, three-lobed lower lip, and four stamens, under the upper lip of the corolla, the lower pair longer. This is usually not pretty, but in favorable situations in the West is often handsome, with brighter-colored, larger flowers. The name, often spelled Brunella, is said to be derived from an old German word for an affection of the throat, which this plant was supposed to cure. There is a picture in Mr. Mathews' _Field Book_. There are many kinds of Stachys, widely distributed; herbs, often hairy, with a disagreeable smell; the calyx with five, nearly equal teeth; the corolla with a narrow tube, the upper lip erect, the lower lip spreading and three-lobed, the middle lobe longest; the stamens four, in pairs, usually under the upper lip of the corolla. [Sidenote: =Hedge Nettle= _Stàchys ciliàta_ =Magenta Spring, summer Northwest=] This is a handsome plant, with a stout, rough, hairy stem, over two feet tall, and very bright green leaves, which are thin in texture but velvety. The flowers are in whorls, making a large cluster, and have a purplish calyx, smooth or with a few stiff hairs, and a corolla about an inch long, deep pink or magenta, sometimes spotted with white inside. Though the flowers are rather crude in color, they contrast finely with the bright green foliage. _S. coccínea_ is a very handsome kind, with a tubular scarlet corolla, and grows in the mountain canyons of Arizona. [Illustration: Hedge Nettle Stachys ciliata.] [Sidenote: =Common Hedge Nettle= _Stàchys bullàta_ =Pink, purple Spring, summer Wash., Oreg., Cal.=] This is common and varies in appearance, being often a coarse-looking weed, but sometimes the flowers are pretty. The rough, hairy stem is about a foot tall, the wrinkled leaves are soft and more or less hairy, and the flowers are about half an inch long, usually pale purplish-pink or purple, streaked and specked with deeper color, but are sometimes bright pink and then the long clusters are quite effective, growing in the road-side hedges. The plant is aromatic when crushed. There are many kinds of Scutellaria, widely distributed; bitter herbs, some shrubby, with blue or lilac flowers; the calyx with two lips, the upper one with a protuberance on its back; the corolla smooth inside, the upper lip arched, sometimes notched, the lower lip more or less three-lobed; the stamens four, under the lip, all with anthers, the upper pair hairy. The curious helmet-shaped calyx, in which the seeds are generally enclosed at maturity, suggests the common names, Skullcap and Helmet-flower. [Sidenote: =Skullcap= _Scutellària angustifòlia_ =Blue Spring, summer Cal., Oreg., Wash.=] A pleasing plant, from six inches to over a foot tall, not aromatic, with almost smooth leaves, most of them toothless. The flowers are pretty, though not striking, in pairs from the angles of the leaves, with a purplish-blue corolla, nearly an inch long, with a white tube, the lower lip woolly inside. The calyx is curiously shaped and after the flower drops off resembles a tiny green bonnet. When these little calyxes are pinched from the sides they open their mouths and show the seeds inside. This is quite common throughout the Sierras. _S. antirrhinoìdes_ is similar, growing in Utah and the Northwest. _S. Califórnica_ has cream-white flowers, less than an inch long, the lower lip hairy inside, and downy leaves, narrow at base, the lower leaves purplish on the under side and more or less toothed, the upper ones toothless. It grows in open woods in the Coast Ranges and Sierra Nevada mountains. _S. tuberòsa_ is from three to five inches high, with tuberous rootstocks; the leaves more or less oval, downy, thin in texture, with a few teeth, the lower ones purplish on the under side, with long leaf-stalks, the flowers dark blue, about three-quarters of an inch long, each pair, instead of standing out at opposite sides of the stem, generally turn sociably together, first to one side and then to the other. This blooms in spring and grows in the Coast Ranges of California and Oregon. [Illustration: Common Hedge Nettle--Stachys bullata. Skullcap--Scutellaria angustifolia.] [Illustration] [Sidenote: =Bladder-bush= _Salazària Mexicàna_ =Blue and white Spring Southwest=] This is the only kind, a very curious spiny desert shrub, about three feet high, varying a great deal in general appearance in different situations. The stems and foliage are gray-green and imperceptibly downy and the flowers are over three-quarters of an inch long, with a corolla which is hairy outside and has a lilac and white upper lip and a dark blue lower one. The calyxes become inflated and form very curious papery globes, over half an inch in diameter, very pale in color, tinged with yellow, pink, or lilac, and extremely conspicuous. In the desert around Needles, in California, the general form of the shrub is very loose and straggling, with slender twisting branches and small, pale gray-green leaves, both flowers and leaves very scanty and far apart, so that the bunches of bladder-like pods are exceedingly conspicuous. In the Mohave Desert it becomes a remarkably dense shrub, a mass of dry-looking, criss-cross, tangled branches, spiky twigs, and dull green leaves, speckled all over with the dark blue and white flowers and the twigs crowded with pods. Sometimes the flowers are magenta instead of blue, but are all alike on one bush. The stems are not square, as in most Mints. The drawing is of a plant at Needles. [Illustration] [Illustration: Bladder-bush--Salazaria Mexicana.] There are only a few kinds of Sphacele. [Sidenote: =Pitcher Sage, Wood-balm= _Sphácele calycìna_ =White Spring, summer California=] This is a rather handsome shrubby plant, from two to five feet high, woody at base, with many stout, leafy, woolly or hairy stems, and rather coarse leaves, hairy, more or less wrinkled and toothed, and rather dark green. The flowers are over an inch long, in pairs along the upper stem, something the shape of a Monkey-flower, with a five-toothed calyx and a corolla with four, short, spreading lobes and the fifth lobe much longer and erect, the tube broad and dull-white, with a hairy ring at the base inside, the lobes tinged with pink or purple; the stamens four, one pair shorter. After the flowers have faded the large, pale green, inflated calyxes, veined with dull purple, become conspicuous. If the flowers were brighter in color this would be very handsome. It is strongly but rather pleasantly aromatic and grows on dry hills in southern California. The name is from the Greek, meaning "sage," as these plants have sage-like foliage and smell, but the flowers are quite different. There are several kinds of Salvia, widely distributed, herbs or shrubs; flowers usually in whorls, with bracts; upper lip of the corolla erect, seldom two-lobed, lower lip spreading and three-lobed; resembling Ramona, except that the two stamens have filaments which are apparently two-forked, one fork bearing an anther cell and the other only the mere rudiment of an anther; the smooth nutlets are mucilaginous when wet. The Latin name means "to save," as some kinds are medicinal. [Sidenote: =Thistle Sage, Persian Prince= _Sálvia carduàcea_ =Lilac Spring, summer California=] A fantastically beautiful and decorative plant, very individual in character. The stout purplish stem, a foot or two tall and covered with white wool, springs from a rosette of thistle-like leaves of palest green, so thickly covered with cushions of white wool that they appear to be inflated, their teeth tipped with brown spines. The stem bears a series of flower-clusters, resembling large, round, pale balls of wool, pierced here and there by long prickles and encircled by lovely flowers, so etherial that they appear almost to hover in the air. They are each about an inch long, the corolla clear bright lilac with an erect upper lip with two lobes, their fringed tips crossed one over the other, and the lower lip with small side lobes and a very large, fan-shaped, middle lobe, which is delicately fringed with white. The pistil is purple and the anthers are bright orange, which gives a piquant touch to the whole color scheme of pale green and lilac. There are several tiers of these soft yet prickly balls, which suggest the pale green turbans of an eastern potentate, wreathed with flowers. The buds poke their little noses through the wool, in a most fascinating way, like babies coming out of a woolly blanket, and fresh buds keep on coming through and expanding as the faded blossoms fall, so that these flowers last longer in water than we would expect from their fragile appearance. The plants when they are crushed give out a rather heavy smell of sage, with a dash of lemon verbena. They grow on the dry open plains of the South. [Illustration: Thistle Sage--Salvia carduacea.] [Illustration: Pitcher Sage--Sphacele calycina.] [Illustration] [Sidenote: =Chia= _Sálvia columbàriae_ =Blue Spring Southwest=] This is an odd-looking plant, but is often quite handsome. The stout purplish stem, from six inches to over two feet tall, springs from a cluster of rough, very dull green leaves, sometimes so wrinkled as to look like the back of a toad, and bears a series of round, button-like heads, consisting of numerous, purple, bristly bracts, ornamented with small, very bright blue flowers. Though the flowers are small, the contrast between their vivid coloring and the purple or wine-colored bracts is very effective. The seeds have been for centuries an important food product among the aborigines and this plant in ancient Mexico was cultivated as regularly as corn, the meal being extremely nourishing and resembling linseed meal. The Mission Fathers used it for poultices and it is still in demand among the Spanish-Californians. This grows on dry hillsides and smells of sage. [Illustration] [Illustration: Chia--Salvia columbariae.] There are several kinds of Trichostema, all North American; herbs, sometimes shrubby; leaves toothless, or with wavy margins; flowers in clusters; calyx usually with five unequal lobes; corolla with a long slender tube and five oblong lobes nearly alike, forming in bud a roundish ball, enclosing the coiled stamens; stamens four, the upper pair longer, with very long, blue or purple filaments, conspicuously protruding from the corolla, suggesting both the Greek name, meaning "hair-like stamens," and the common name, Blue-curls. [Sidenote: =Romero, Woolly Blue-curls= _Trichostèma lanàtum_ =Blue Summer, autumn California=] This is shrubby and usually has many stems, from two to four feet high, with stiffish leaves, dark green on the upper side, paler and woolly on the under, the margins rolled back, and beautiful flower-clusters, which are sometimes a foot long. The bright blue corolla is nearly an inch long, with a border shaped like a violet, the smaller buds are pink, and the purple stamens and style are two inches long and very conspicuous. The calyxes, stems, and buds are all covered with fuzzy, pink wool, forming a most unusual and beautiful color scheme, giving a changeable almost iridescent effect of mauve and pink, in remarkable contrast to the brilliant blue of the flowers. This grows on rocky hills in southern California, is pleasantly aromatic and used medicinally by Spanish-Californians. _T. lanceolàtum_ is called Camphor Weed, because of its strong odor, like camphor but exceedingly unpleasant. It grows on dry plains and low hills in the Northwest and is an important bee-plant, blooming in summer and autumn, and is also called Vinegar Weed. There are a few kinds of Agastache, all North American, perennial herbs, mostly tall and coarse; leaves toothed, with leaf-stalks; flowers small, in a terminal spike, with bracts; calyx bell-shaped, with five teeth and slightly two-lipped; corolla with a two-lobed, erect, upper lip, the lower lip spreading and three-lobed, the middle lobe broader and scalloped; stamens four, all with anthers, the upper pair longer; nutlets smooth. The Greek name means "many spikes." [Illustration: Romero--Trichostema lanatum.] [Sidenote: =Giant Hyssop= _Agástache urticifòlia (Lophanthus)_ =Pink Summer West, etc.=] A handsome plant, from three to five feet high, with stout, branching stems, usually smooth, sometimes hairy, and smoothish, dark green leaves. The small flowers have a green calyx, with mauve teeth, a white or pale violet corolla, and long, protruding stamens, with lilac anthers. They are crowded in spikes, from two to six inches long, and the whole effect is rather bright purplish-pink, feathery and pretty. This has a strong aromatic smell and grows along the edges of meadows and is abundant in Yosemite at moderate altitudes, but in other places reaches an altitude of over eight thousand feet and is found as far east as Colorado. _A. pallidiflòra_, with greenish-white calyxes and white corollas, too dull in color to be pretty, grows in the Grand Canyon and in New Mexico and Colorado. There are several kinds of Monarda, all North American; aromatic herbs; leaves toothed; flowers crowded in heads, usually with bracts, which are sometimes colored; calyx tubular, with five teeth, often hairy inside; corolla more or less hairy outside, two-lipped, upper lip erect or arched, sometimes notched, lower lip spreading and three-lobed, the middle lobe larger; stamens two, with swinging anthers, sometimes also two rudimentary stamens; nutlets smooth. These plants are called Balm, Bergamot, and Horse-mint. [Sidenote: =Horse-mint= _Monàrda pectinàta (M. citriodora in part)_ =Pink Summer Ariz., Utah, etc.=] This is handsome when growing in masses, though the flowers are not sufficiently positive in color. It grows from one to three feet high, with a stout, roughish stem, sometimes branching, and leaves which are thin and soft in texture, with a dull surface, but not rough, and more or less toothed. The flowers are nearly an inch long and project from crowded heads of conspicuous purplish bracts, tipped with bristles. The calyx is very hairy inside, the lobes tipped with long bristles, and the corolla is pale pink, lilac, or almost white, not spotted, with a very wide open, yawning mouth, the stamens and the curling tips of the pistil protruding from under the upper lip. This grows on dry plains, especially in sandy soil, as far east as Colorado and Texas, reaching an altitude of six thousand feet, and is strongly aromatic when crushed. [Illustration: Giant Hyssop--Agastache urticifolia. Horse-mint--Monarda pectinata.] POTATO FAMILY. _Solanaceae._ A large family, widely distributed, most abundant in the tropics. Ours are herbs, shrubs, or vines; leaves alternate, without stipules; flowers perfect, usually regular, in clusters; calyx and corolla usually with five united lobes; stamens on the throat of the corolla, as many as its lobes and alternate with them; ovary superior, two-celled, with a slender style; fruit a berry or capsule, with many seeds. Many important plants, such as Tobacco, Belladonna, Tomato, Egg-plant, Red-pepper, and Potato, belong to this family. Many have a strong odor. There are several kinds of Datura, widely distributed; ours are chiefly weeds, coarse, tall, branching herbs, with rank odor and narcotic properties; leaves large, toothed or lobed, with leaf-stalks; flowers large, single, erect, with short stalks, in the forks of the stems; calyx with a long tube and five teeth, the lower part remaining in the form of a collar or rim around the base of the capsule; corolla funnel-form, with a plaited border and broad lobes with pointed tips; stamens with very long, threadlike filaments, but not protruding; style threadlike, with a two-lipped stigma; fruit a large, roundish, usually prickly capsule, giving these plants the common name, Thorn-Apple. Datura is the Hindoo name. [Sidenote: =Tolguacha, Large-flowered Datura= _Datùra meteloìdes_ =White Spring, summer Southwest, Nev., Utah=] A handsome and exceedingly conspicuous plant, forming a large clump of rather coarse, dark foliage, adorned with many magnificent flowers. The stout, velvety stems are bronze-color, from two to four feet high, the leaves are dark green, velvety on the under side, and the flowers are sometimes ten inches long, white, tinged with lilac outside, drooping like wet tissue-paper in the heat of the afternoon, and with sweet though heavy scent. I remember seeing a grave in the desert, marked by a wooden cross and separated from a vast waste of sand by clumps of these great white flowers. It grows in valley lands, reaching an altitude of six thousand feet. It is used as a narcotic by the Indians and resembles _D. stramònium_, Jimson-weed, from Asia, common in the East and found also in the West, but it is far handsomer. _D. suaveòlens_, Floriponda or Angels' Trumpets, is a large shrub, with very large, pendulous, creamy flowers, and is often cultivated in the old mission gardens in California. The flowers are very fragrant at night. [Illustration: Tolguacha--Datura meteloides.] There are many kinds of Physalis, most of them American, difficult to distinguish; herbs, often slightly woody below; flowers whitish or yellowish; corolla more or less bell-shaped, with a plaited border; style slender, somewhat bent, with a minutely two-cleft stigma. In fruit the calyx becomes large and inflated, papery, angled and ribbed, wholly enclosing the pulpy berry, which contains numerous, flat, kidney-shaped seeds. The name is from the Greek, meaning "bladder," and refers to the inflated calyx, and the common names, Ground-cherry and Strawberry-tomato, are suggested by the fruit, which is juicy, often red or yellow, and in some kinds is edible. [Sidenote: =Ground-cherry= _Phýsalis crassifòlia_ =Yellow Southwest=] A pretty, delicate, desert plant, from six to eight inches high, with branching stems and light green leaves. It is sprinkled with pretty cream-yellow flowers, which are not spotted or dark in the center, with yellow anthers, and is hung with odd little green globes, each about three-quarters of an inch long, which are the inflated calyxes containing the berries. [Sidenote: =Bladder-cherry= _Phsýalis Féndleri_ =Yellow Summer Ariz., Utah=] A straggling perennial plant, about a foot high, with widely-branching, roughish stems, springing from a deep tuberous root. The leaves are dull green, roughish, rather coarse in texture, but not large, mostly less than an inch long, coarsely and irregularly toothed, and the flowers are the shape of a shallow Morning-glory, half an inch across, pale dull-yellow, marked with brown inside, with yellow anthers. This does not bear its berries close to the ground, as do many of its relations, and is not pretty. It grows in dry places, reaching an altitude of eight thousand feet. [Illustration: Ground-cherry--Physalis crassifolia.] There are a great many kinds of Solanum, abundant in tropical America; herbs or shrubs, sometimes climbing; often downy; calyx wheel-shaped, with five teeth or lobes, corolla wheel-shaped, the border plaited, with five angles or lobes and a very short tube; anthers sometimes grouped to form a cone, filaments short; fruit a berry, either enclosed in the calyx or with the calyx remaining on its base. This is the Latin name of the Nightshade, meaning "quieting." [Sidenote: =Purple Nightshade= _Solànum Xánti_ =Purple Spring, summer California=] This is much handsomer than most of the eastern Nightshades, hairy and sticky, with several spreading stems, from one to three feet high, springing from a perennial root, with thin, roughish leaves, more or less toothed. In favorable situations the flowers are beautiful, each about an inch across, and form handsome loose clusters. The corolla is saucer-shaped, bright purple, with a ring of green spots in the center, bordered with white and surrounding the bright yellow cone formed by the anthers. The berry is pale green or purple, the size of a small cherry. This is sometimes sweet-scented and is very fine on Mt. Lowe and elsewhere in southern California, but is paler and smaller in Yosemite. Blue Witch, _S. umbellíferum_, is very similar, more woody below, with deep green stems, shorter branches, smaller, thicker leaves, and a dull white or purplish berry. It grows in the foothills of the Coast Ranges and Sierra Nevada Mountains and flowers chiefly in summer, but more or less all through the year. [Sidenote: =Nightshade= _Solànum Douglásii_ =White Spring, summer Southwest=] A branching plant, about two feet high and across, with roughish stems and thin, smooth or slightly hairy, dark green leaves, toothless, or the margins more or less coarsely toothed. The flowers are white, tinged with lilac, with a purplish ring surrounding the yellow cone formed by the anthers. In southern California the flowers are nearly half an inch across, but smaller elsewhere. The berries are black. This is common throughout California near the coast. _S. nìgrum_, the common Nightshade, is a weed in almost all countries, common in waste places and in cultivated soil, and has small white flowers and black berries, about as large as peas and said to be poisonous. [Illustration: Purple Nightshade--Solanum Xanti.] There are many kinds of Nicotiana, or Tobacco, chiefly American; acrid, narcotic herbs or shrubs, usually sticky-hairy; leaves large, toothless; corolla funnel-form or salver-form, with a long tube and spreading border, plaited in the bud; stamens with threadlike filaments and broad anthers, not protruding; capsule smooth, containing numerous small seeds. The name is in honor of Nicot, diplomat and author of the first French dictionary, who sent some of these plants to Catherine de' Medici from Portugal in 1560. [Sidenote: =San Juan Tree, Tree Tobacco= _Nicotiàna glaùca_ =Yellow Spring Southwest=] A very slender, loosely-branching evergreen shrub, from six to fifteen feet high, with graceful, swaying branches and smooth, thick leaves, with a "bloom," the lower leaves eight inches long. The flowers are nearly two inches long, greenish at first and then becoming a rather pretty shade of warm dull-yellow, and hang in graceful clusters from the ends of the branches. The calyx is unequally five-toothed, the tube of the corolla downy on the outside; the anthers whitish; the ovary on a yellowish disk, with a long style and two-lobed stigma, and the capsule oblong, half an inch long. This was introduced into California from South America about fifty years ago and is now common in waste places and cultivated valleys. There are many kinds of Lycium, shrubs or woody vines, named for the country Lycia. [Sidenote: =Desert Matrimony= _Lycium Còoperi_ =White Spring Southwest=] An odd-looking desert shrub, everything about it so closely crowded as to give a queer bunchy and clumsy effect. It is three or four feet high, with thick, dark gray, gnarled, woody branches, crowded with tufts of small, dull, light green leaves, which are thickish, stiffish, obscurely downy and toothless, and mingled with close little bunches of flowers. The flowers are about half an inch long, with a large, yellowish, hairy calyx, with five lobes, a white corolla, which is slightly hairy outside, with five lobes and a narrow, greenish tube, and pale yellow anthers, not protruding. They are rather pretty near by, but the appearance of the whole shrub is too pale to be effective. The familiar Matrimony Vine of old-fashioned gardens belongs to this genus. [Illustration: San Juan Tree--Nicotiana glauca. Desert Matrimony--Lycium Cooperi.] FIGWORT FAMILY. _Scrophulariaceae._ A large family, widely distributed, most of them natives of temperate regions; chiefly herbs, with bitter juice, sometimes narcotic and poisonous; without stipules; the flowers usually irregular; the calyx usually with four or five divisions, sometimes split on the lower or upper side, or on both sides; the corolla with united petals, nearly regular or two-lipped, two of the lobes forming the upper lip, which is sometimes beaklike, and three lobes forming the lower lip; the stamens on the corolla and alternate with its lobes, two or four in number, two long and two short, and sometimes also a fifth stamen which often has no anther, the anthers two-celled; the ovary superior, usually two-celled, the style slender, the stigma sometimes forked; the fruit a pod, splitting from the top into two parts and usually containing many seeds. This is a curious and interesting family, its members very dissimilar in appearance, having expressed their individuality in many striking and even fantastic forms. There are several kinds of Maurandia, perennial herbs, climbing by their slender twisted leaf-stalks and occasionally also by their flower-stalks; the leaves triangular-heartshaped or halberd-shaped, only the lower ones opposite; the flowers showy, purple, pink, or white; the corolla with two lines or plaits, instead of a palate, which are usually bearded. [Sidenote: =Snap-dragon Vine= _Maurándia antirrhìniflora_ (_Antirrhinum maurandioides_) =Purple or pink and yellow Spring Ariz., New Mex.=] This is a beautiful trailing or climbing vine, smooth all over, with charming foliage and twining stems, much like those of a Morning-glory, springing from a thickened, perennial root. The pretty flowers are over an inch long, with a purple or raspberry-pink corolla, with bright yellow blotches on the lower lip, forming an odd and striking combination of color. This blooms all through the spring and summer and may be found growing in the bottom of the Grand Canyon, near the river, where its delicate prettiness is in strange contrast to the dark and forbidding rocks over which it clambers and clothes with a mantle of tender green. [Illustration: Snap-dragon Vine--Maurandia antirrhiniflora.] There are many kinds of Antirrhinum, natives of Europe, Asia, and western North America; herbs; the lower leaves often opposite, and the upper ones alternate; the sepals five; the corolla two-lipped, swollen at the base on the lower side, but with no spur, the palate nearly closing the throat; the stamens four. The name is from the Greek, meaning "nose-like," because the shape of the flowers suggests the snout of an animal. [Sidenote: =Sticky Snap-dragon= _Antirrhìnum glandulòsum_ =Pink, purple Spring California=] This is a conspicuous perennial, handsome though rather coarse, hairy and sticky all over, with stout leafy stems, from two to five feet tall, with branches but no tendrils, and soft, rather dark green leaves. The flowers are half an inch long, the corolla pink with a yellow palate, and they are crowded in fine, long, one-sided clusters. This is common in the South and looks a good deal like some of the cultivated kinds; when its flowers are pinched from the sides they open their mouths in the same funny way. [Sidenote: =White Snap-dragon= _Antirrhìnum Coulteriànum_ =White and lilac Spring California=] This has tendril-like pedicels, which curl around nearby plants, but the stem is stout and erect, over two feet tall, smooth below and hairy above, with smooth, dark green leaves, and bears a long, crowded, one-sided cluster of pink buds and pretty white flowers. They are each about half an inch long, with hairy calyxes, and the corollas are prettily tinged with lilac or pink, but are too pale in color, though the general effect of the plant is rather striking. The anthers are bright yellow. This grows in the South. _A. vírga_ is a smooth plant, from two and a half to five feet tall, with many wand-like stems, springing from a perennial base, and reddish-purple flowers, about half an inch long, forming a long, rather one-sided cluster. This grows in the chaparral, on ridges of the Coast Ranges, blooming in June, but is not common. [Illustration: White Snap-dragon--A. Coulterianum. Sticky Snap-dragon--Antirrhinum glandulosum.] [Sidenote: =Trailing Snap-dragon= _Antirrhìnum stríctum_ =Blue Spring California=] This is an odd-looking plant, from one to two feet tall, which seems unable to decide whether or not it is a vine, for the pedicels of the flowers are exceedingly slender and twist like tendrils and by their means the plant clings to its neighbors and raises its weak stems from the ground, or, if it finds no support, it stands almost erect and waves its tendrils aimlessly in the air. It is smooth all over, with dark green leaves and pretty, bright purplish-blue flowers, about half an inch long, with a pale, hairy palate, which almost closes the throat. This grows in the South, near the sea. _A. vàgans_ is similar and is common farther north in California, growing on dry open wooded hills or in canyons of the Coast Ranges, blooming in summer and autumn. There are many kinds of Castilleja, almost always perennials, usually parasitic on the roots of other plants, usually handsome and striking, the conspicuous feature being the large leafy bracts, colored like flowers, which adorn the upper part of the stem. They usually have several stems, springing from woody roots; leaves alternate, without leaf-stalks, green below and gradually merging above into colored bracts; flowers crowded in terminal clusters, mixed with bracts; calyx tubular, flattened, more or less cleft in front or behind, or on both sides, the lobes sometimes two-toothed, colored like the bracts, enclosing the tube of the corolla; corolla less conspicuous and duller in color than the calyx, tubular, two-lipped, the lower lip short and very small, not inflated, with three small teeth, the upper lip long and beaklike, enclosing the four stamens and single threadlike style; stigma cap-shaped or two-lobed; anther-sacs unequally attached to the filament, one by its middle and the other hanging by its tip; capsule egg-shaped or oblong, splitting open, containing many seeds. These gaudy plants are well named Indian Paint Brush, for the flower-cluster and leaf-tips look as if they had been dipped in color. Red Feather is also good but Painted Cup is rather poor, as there is nothing cup-like about the flower. They were named for Castillejo, a Spanish botanist. [Illustration: Trailing Snap-dragon--Antirrhinum strictum.] [Sidenote: =Paint Brush= _Castillèja miniàta_ =Red Summer Northwest=] This is a very handsome kind, from two to four feet tall, with a smooth stem, and smooth leaves, which are not crinkled, toothed, or lobed, and with more or less hairy bracts, which are beautifully tinted with many shades of pink, red, and purple. This is a magnificent plant, especially when we find it growing along irrigation ditches, among blue Lupines, yellow Mimulus and other bright flowers, where the combinations of color are quite wonderful, and it is the handsomest and commonest sort around Yosemite, where it grows in meadows and moist places, from the foothills nearly up to timber-line. [Sidenote: =Scarlet Paint Brush= _Castillèja pinetòrum_ =Red and yellow Summer Cal., Oreg.=] This is not quite so large or handsome as the last, but gives much the effect of a brush dipped in red paint, for the yellowish bracts are beautifully tipped with scarlet and the flowers are also bright red. The rough stem is a foot or more tall, the roughish dark green leaves are not toothed or lobed, but have crinkled edges, and the bracts usually have three lobes. These plants grow in the mountains and often make bright patches of color in the landscape. [Sidenote: =Paint Brush= _Castillèja angustifòlia_ =Red Spring, summer Utah., Nev.=] This is very variable, and is usually about a foot high, with several hairy stems, springing from a long yellow root. The leaves are slightly rough, but not coarse, with fine white hairs along the margins, and light gray-green in color, the lowest ones not lobed, a few of the upper ones with two lobes, but most of the leaves, and the bracts, slashed into three lobes. The calyx is covered with white hairs, and the upper lip of the corolla is bright green. The whole plant is most beautiful and harmonious in color, not coarse like many Castillejas, and the upper part is clothed with innumerable delicate yet vivid tints of salmon, rose, and deep pink, shading to scarlet and crimson, forming a charming contrast to the quiet tones of the lower foliage. This grows in gravelly soil, on dry plains and hillsides, and the clumps of bloom are very striking among the sage-brush. [Illustration: Indian Paint Brush--Castilleja miniata.] [Illustration: Scarlet Paint Brush--Castilleja pinetorum.] There are a good many kinds of Stemodia, widely distributed, only two in the United States; the corolla blue or purplish and two-lipped; the stamens four, not protruding. [Sidenote: =Stemodia= _Stemòdia durantifòlia_ =Blue Spring Southwest, etc.=] This is a rather pretty plant, which is quite effective when growing in quantities. The stem is hairy and sticky, from a foot to a foot and a half tall, with hairy leaves, which have a few sharp teeth. The flowers are three-eighths of an inch long, with sticky-hairy calyxes and bright purplish-blue corollas, white and hairy in the throat. This has a slightly unpleasant, aromatic smell and grows in moist spots, often in mountain canyons near streams, as far east as Texas and also in the tropics. There are many kinds of Linaria, most abundant in the Old World; herbs; the upper leaves alternate, the lower opposite, usually toothless; the corolla like Antirrhinum, but with a spur; the stamens four, not protruding. [Sidenote: =Toad Flax= _Linària Canadénsis_ =Blue, lilac Spring, summer West, etc.=] A slender plant, from six to eighteen inches tall and smooth all over, with branching stems, dark green leaves, and pretty little flowers, delicately scented, from a quarter to half an inch long, with bright purplish-blue or pale lilac corollas, veined with purple. This is found in dry soil across the continent and sometimes grows in such quantities around San Diego as to form blue patches in the landscape. There are many kinds of Veronica; ours are rather low herbs, though some are trees in the tropics, widely distributed, living in meadows and moist places; flowers small, usually blue or white, never yellow; calyx with four divisions, rarely five; corolla wheel-shaped, with a very short tube and four, rarely five, lobes, the lower one narrower than the others; stamens two, sticking out at each side of the base of the upper lobe; anthers blunt, with slender filaments; ovary two-celled, with a slender style and round-top stigma; capsule more or less flattened, two-lobed or heart-shaped, splitting open, containing few or many seeds. They were named in honor of St. Veronica. [Illustration: Toad Flax--Linaria Canadensis. Stemodia--S. durantifolia.] [Sidenote: =Hairy Speedwell= _Verónica Tournefórtii_ =Blue Spring, summer, autumn Utah, Cal., etc.=] This is one of the most attractive of the little Speedwells, for its flowers are bright and quite large. The stems are branching, hairy and purplish, some short and erect, others long and trailing, and the leaves are alternate above and opposite below, dull yellowish-green, hairy and rather soft, with scalloped edges. The flowers grow singly, on slender flower-stalks over an inch long, springing from the angles of the upper leaves, and the corolla is three-eighths of an inch across, the upper lobe deep brilliant blue, veined with dark blue, the side lobes similar in color but not so bright, the lower lobe almost white, without blue veins, and each lobe with a little pale yellow at its base. The stamens and pistil are white, the anthers becoming brown and the style bent to one side, and the capsule is somewhat heart-shaped, containing several cup-shaped seeds. This forms patches along roadsides and in fields, the soft foliage dotted with the quaint bright blue flowers, opening a few at a time in bright sunlight and closing at night. This is a native of Europe and Asia and is found across the continent. [Sidenote: =American Brooklime= _Verónica Americàna_ =Blue Summer Across the continent=] In shallow water, or in very wet meadows, we find these little flowers. They are smooth perennials, with straggling, branching, purplish stems, more or less creeping, and rooting from the lower joints, from one to three feet long. The yellowish-green leaves usually have short leaf-stalks and are often toothed and the very small, pale blue flowers, with white centers and veined with purple, grow in loose spreading clusters. [Sidenote: =Alpine Speedwell= _Verónica Wormskjòldii_ =Blue Summer Northwest, Ariz., etc.=] A pretty little plant, with smooth, stiffish, toothless leaves and deep bright blue flowers, with a little white at the base of the petals and veined with purple. This is found in damp spots in the mountains, up to twelve thousand feet, in northern places across the continent, and as far south as Arizona. [Illustration: Hairy Speedwell--V. Tournefortii. Alpine Speedwell--V. Wormskjoldii. American Brooklime--Veronica Americana.] There are a great many kinds of Pentstemon and some of our handsomest and most conspicuous western flowers are included among them. They are natives of North America, chiefly herbs, sometimes branching below; the leaves usually opposite, the upper ones without leaf-stalks and more or less clasping; the flowers showy, in long clusters; the calyx with five lobes; the corolla two-lipped, with a more or less swollen tube, the upper lip two-lobed, the lower three-cleft and spreading; the stamens four, in pairs, and also a fifth stamen, which is merely a filament without any anther, but is conspicuous and often hairy; the style threadlike, with a round-top stigma; the pod usually pointed; the seeds numerous. The common name, Beard-tongue, is in allusion to the usually hairy tip of the sterile filament. Pentstemon is from the Greek meaning five stamens. This name is often mispronounced; the accent should be on the second syllable and long. [Sidenote: =Large Beard-tongue= _Pentstèmon glandulòsus_ =Lilac, purple Summer Oreg., Wash., Idaho=] An exceedingly handsome plant, a foot and a half tall, with a stout reddish stem, rather downy and sticky, and dark green leaves, rather shiny and stiff, and downy on the under side. The flowers are an inch and a half long, so large that they look like Fox-glove, and are beautifully shaded from pale lilac to deep reddish-purple, with purple filaments and white anthers and pistil. The calyx is reddish, sticky and downy, and the outside of the corolla glistens with sticky fuzz. This grows in the mountains. [Sidenote: =Pentstemon= _Pentstèmon Rattáni var. mìnor_ =Blue Summer Utah, Oreg., Cal.=] This forms pretty clumps of bright color, with several stems about eight inches tall, smooth below, and smooth dark green leaves. The flowers are less than half an inch long, with a downy calyx and bright purplish-blue corolla, with a purplish throat. This grows in mountain canyons. [Illustration: Penstemon--P. Rattani var. minor. Large Beard-tongue--P. glandulosus.] [Sidenote: =Blue Pentstemon, Beard-tongue= _Pentstèmon cyanánthus_ =Blue Spring, summer Utah, Ariz., Wyo.=] This is perhaps the most beautiful of all the Pentstemons, with several smooth, stoutish, pale green, leafy stems, from one to two feet tall and smooth, pale bluish-green leaves, with more or less "bloom," toothless and thickish, the upper ones somewhat clasping. The flowers are not hairy or sticky, and are over an inch long, forming a handsome cluster about eight inches long. The sepals are narrow and pointed, the corolla is tinted with various beautiful shades of blue and purple, often with a white throat and blue lobes, or with a pink throat and deep blue lobes, the sterile filament has a thickened, more or less hairy, yellow tip, and the pale yellow anthers are more or less hairy. This plant is beautiful in every way, for the foliage is fine in form and color and the flowers are brilliantly variegated, yet harmonious and graceful. This grows on hillsides and in mountain valleys, at rather high altitudes, and used to be common and conspicuous on the "benches" around the Salt Lake Valley, but it is gradually being exterminated by sheep. It thrives and improves when transplanted into gardens. _P. acuminàtus_ is similar, but the cluster is looser and the flowers often pink and purple. It forms fine patches of color at the Grand Canyon. [Sidenote: =Honeysuckle Pentstemon= _Pentstèmon cordifòlius_ =Red Summer California=] A handsome shrub, with much the general appearance of a Honeysuckle, woody below, with long slender branches and pretty heart-shaped leaves. The flowers are often in pairs and are each an inch and a half long, with bright scarlet corollas, conspicuously two-lipped, the stamens protruding, and form large clusters towards the ends of the branches. This grows in light shade in the woods and trails its long branches and garlands of bright flowers over the neighboring shrubs and trees. [Sidenote: =Pride-of-the-mountain= _Pentstèmon Newbérryi_ =Pink, lilac Summer California=] A beautiful little shrub, making splendid patches of vivid color on high bare rocks in the mountains, where it is very conspicuous, hanging over the edges of inaccessible ledges. The stems are woody below and very branching, about a foot high, and the leaves are usually toothed, smooth, stiffish, and thickish. The flowers are an inch and a quarter long, with a rather sticky calyx and bright carmine-pink corolla, moderately two-lipped, with a patch of white hairs on the lower lip; the stamens protruding, with conspicuous, white, woolly anthers, and the style remaining on the tip of the capsule like a long purple thread. This is slightly sweet-scented and is common around Yosemite. The alpine form is less than four inches high, with larger, lilac flowers and toothless leaves. [Illustration: Penstemon cyananthus.] [Illustration: Honeysuckle Penstemon--P. cordifolius. Pride-of-the-mountain--Penstemon Newberryi.] [Sidenote: =Bushy Beard-tongue= _Pentstèmon antirrhinoìdes_ =Yellow Spring California=] This is a rather pretty shrub, about four feet high, with pale woody branches, purplish twigs, and many, small, rich green leaves. The flowers have a glossy, bright green calyx and a yellow corolla, which is three-quarters of an inch long, streaked with dull-red outside and slightly hairy, the sterile stamen hairy and yellow. [Sidenote: =Variable Pentstemon= _Pentstèmon confértus_ =Yellow, blue, purple Summer Northwest and Cal.=] This has a smooth stem and smooth, toothless leaves, but is very variable both in form and color, for the typical plant, from Oregon and the Rocky Mountains, has yellow flowers, but in Yosemite the variety _caerùleo-purpùreus_ always has blue or purple flowers, but the plants vary in general appearance. In good soil, such as the floor of the Valley, the stem is sometimes two feet tall and the flowers are about half an inch long, grouped in whorls along the stem, but at high altitudes the plant shrinks to a few inches in height. [Sidenote: =Cardinal Pentstemon= _Pentstèmon Párryi_ =Scarlet Spring Arizona=] These wands of flaming scarlet are conspicuous along the trails in the Grand Canyon and are exceedingly beautiful, very graceful in form and vivid in color. The smooth, purplish, somewhat leafy stems, from one and a half to two feet tall, spring from a clump of rather small leaves, which are toothless, smooth, and rather light green in color. The flowers are three-quarters of an inch long, the corolla with five rounded lobes and very slightly two-lipped, and look something like Scarlet Bugler, but are smaller and more delicate, and are sometimes mistaken for Cardinal Flowers by people from the East. [Illustration: Penstemon Parryi.] [Illustration: Bushy Beard-tongue--P. antirrhinoides. Variable Penstemon--P. confertus. var. caeruleo-purpureus. P. confertus.] [Sidenote: =Pentstemon= _Pentstèmon Wrìghtii_ =Pink, purple Spring Arizona=] This is very much like the last in every way, except the color of its flowers. The leaves are smooth and thickish, bluish-green, with a "bloom," the lower ones with a few irregular, blunt teeth, or with wavy margins, and the flowers, which are the same shape and size as the last, are deep, bright pink, with a magenta line on each lobe and some white hairs on the lower lip. The filaments are purple, with whitish anthers, and the fifth stamen resembles a tiny brush, with yellow bristles on the upper side and pointing into the throat. The whole effect of the graceful flower-cluster is bright, beautiful, and conspicuous, growing among the rocks, on hillsides and in canyons. [Sidenote: =Pentstemon= _Pentstèmon laètus_ =Blue, purple Summer California=] This is very beautiful and varied in color and is the commonest kind in Yosemite, from one to two feet high, with roughish, toothless leaves and several slender, erect, somewhat hairy branches, ending in long loose clusters of flowers. The corollas are an inch long, and vary from deep bright blue through all shades of violet to deep pink, with two white ridges in the throat, and with two white anthers visible and two purple ones hidden in the throat. The flowers' faces have a quaint, wide-awake expression. This grows on dry rocky slopes and is often mistaken for _P. heterophýllus_, which is rather common in open places in the Coast Ranges. _P. linarioìdes_, blooming in late summer at the Grand Canyon, is somewhat similar, but the flowers are smaller and more delicate, and the leaves are smooth, small, and narrow. [Sidenote: =Scarlet Bugler= _Pentstèmon Èatoni_ =Red Spring Ariz., Utah=] Very beautiful, from two to three feet high; with purplish stems, smooth leaves, and flowers an inch long, with a bright scarlet, funnel-shaped corolla, not much two-lipped, the stamens not protruding. These graceful wands of vivid color are conspicuous in the Grand Canyon. _P. centranthifòlius_, common in California, is similar, the corolla less two-lipped, and has very smooth, thickish leaves. _P. Bridgésii_, found in Yosemite, is similar, but the corolla is decidedly two-lipped. [Illustration: Penstemon--P. laetus. Scarlet Bugler--P. Eatoni.] [Sidenote: =Yawning Pentstemon= _Pentstèmon breviflòrus_ =Flesh-color Summer California=] A bushy plant, from two to five feet high, with many smooth, slender branches, terminating in long loose clusters of flowers. The leaves are smooth, rather dark green, the lower ones sharply toothed, and the flowers are three-quarters of an inch long; the corolla flesh-color, tipped with pink, with some purple lines on the lower lip, and some fine white hairs on the upper; the buds yellow, tipped with dark red. These flowers are too dull in color to be effective, but they are sweet-smelling and have ridiculous faces with widely yawning mouths. This is quite common in Yosemite, forming large clumps on open rocky slopes. Indians use the tough stems for making baskets. [Sidenote: =Scarlet Pentstemon= _Pentstèmon Tórreyi_ =Red Summer Arizona=] Exceedingly handsome, with smooth, pale green stems, two feet or more tall, and smooth, rather bluish-green leaves, with slightly rippled edges. The corolla is an inch and a quarter long, vivid scarlet, paler inside, strongly two-lipped, with long, conspicuous stamens, with pale yellow anthers, the style remaining on the tip of the capsule like a long purple thread. This makes splendid clumps of gorgeous color and is common on the rim of the Grand Canyon. There are a number of kinds of Collinsia, natives of North America, with the leaves opposite or in whorls; the flowers single or in whorls; the calyx five-cleft; the corolla irregular, with a short tube and two-lipped; the upper lip two-cleft and more or less erect, the lower lip larger and three-lobed, the side lobes spreading or drooping, the middle lobe keel-like and folded together and enclosing the two pairs of stamens and the threadlike style, which has a small round-top or two-lobed stigma. The fifth stamen is represented by a minute gland on the upper side of the corolla tube near the base. The form of the flowers somewhat suggests those of the Pea Family. If we pull the lower lip apart we find the odd little crevice in which the stamens are concealed. [Illustration: Scarlet Penstemon--P. Torreyi. Yawning Penstemon--P. breviflorus.] [Sidenote: =Chinese Houses= _Collínsia bícolor_ =Purple and white Spring, summer California=] These are charming plants, from six inches to a foot and a half tall, with very delicately made flowers. The leaves are smooth or downy and more or less toothed, with rough edges, and the flowers are arranged in a series of one-sided clusters along the upper part of the stem, which is more or less branching. The corollas are about three-quarters of an inch long and vary in color, being sometimes all white. In the shady woods around Santa Barbara they often have a white upper lip, which is tipped with lilac and specked with crimson, and a lilac lower lip, and here they are much more delicate in appearance than on the sea-cliffs at La Jolla, where they grow in quantities among the bushes and are exceedingly showy. In the latter neighborhood the flowers are nearly an inch long and the upper lip is almost all white and marked with a crescent of crimson specks above a magenta base, and the lower lip is almost all magenta, with a white stripe at the center, the contrast between the magenta and white being very striking and almost too crude. The arrangement of the flowers is somewhat suggestive of the many stories of a Chinese pagoda and the plant is common. [Sidenote: =Blue-lips= _Collínsia multiflòra_ =Lilac, blue, and pink Summer Northwest=] A very attractive little plant, smooth all over, about six inches tall, with toothless, light green leaves and pretty flowers, each over half an inch long. The upper petals are pinkish-lilac, the lower petals a peculiar shade of bright blue, and the tube is pink; the contrast between the blue and pink giving an odd and pretty effect. This grows in the woods around Mt. Shasta. There are many kinds of Scrophularia, most of them natives of Europe. They are rank perennial herbs, usually with opposite leaves; the corolla with no spur and with five lobes, all erect except the lowest one, which is small and turned back; the stamens five, four of them with anthers and the fifth reduced to a scale under the upper lip. These plants are supposed to be a remedy for scrofula. [Illustration: Blue-lips--C. multiflora. Chinese Houses--Collinsia bicolor.] [Sidenote: =California Bee-plant= _Scrophulària Califórnica_ =Red, green Spring, summer Northwest, Cal.=] This is a coarse plant, smooth, or rather sticky and hairy, with several stout, square stems, and forming a large clump, from two to six feet high. The little flowers have a quaint appearance, but are usually only about a quarter of an inch long, with brownish-red or greenish corollas, which are neither pretty nor conspicuous, but the variety _floribúnda_, of southern California, has flowers which are nearly half an inch long, with rich red corollas, handsome and brilliant in effect. These plants yield a great deal of honey and are common and widely distributed. There are several kinds of Diplacus, much resembling Mimulus, except that they are shrubs, with evergreen leaves. [Sidenote: =Sticky Monkey-flower, Bush Monkey-flower= _Diplácus longiflòrus (Mimulus)_ =Salmon-color (varying from pale yellow to red) Spring, summer California=] When in full bloom, this is a handsome and very conspicuous shrub, for the flowers are numerous and unusual in coloring, being usually a peculiar shade of salmon-color, which at a distance gives the effect in the landscape of some sort of exotic rhododendron. It is from two to six feet high, with very dark green, sticky, usually toothless leaves, with their margins rolled back, dark sticky buds and large flowers, which are sometimes three inches long, the corolla varying in color from almost white to scarlet, with a white stigma. They bloom more or less all the year round and there are several similar, named varieties. [Sidenote: =Bush Monkey-flower= _Diplácus puníceus (Mimulus)_ =Red Spring, summer, autumn California=] This is much like the last, and is often very handsome. In the crevices of the sea-cliffs at La Jolla it makes tangled thickets of woody stems and dark green foliage, ornamented with many scarlet or rich deep-red flowers, with a velvety surface like that of a pansy and with orange ribs in the throat. This is common throughout California. [Illustration: Bush Monkey-flower--Diplacus longiflorus.] [Illustration: California Bee-plant--Scrophularia Californica var. floribunda.] There are many kinds of Mimulus, or Monkey-flower, usually growing in moist places, with erect or slanting, juicy stems; leaves opposite, usually toothed; flowers generally handsome, on flower-stalks from the axils of the leaves; calyx covering the tube of the corolla, bell-shaped, five-angled and five-toothed, upper tooth usually larger; corolla two-lipped, the upper lip with two lobes, erect or turned back, the lower with three, rounded, spreading lobes, the tube not swollen at base and with a pair of ridges within on the lower side; stamens four, in pairs, not inclosed in the upper lip, their two anther-cells spreading apart, no rudiment of a fifth stamen; style threadlike, stigma with two, flat, spreading tips. When an insect alights it touches the stigma, which immediately folds its tips together, thus exposing the anthers, so that the insect becomes dusted with pollen. This can be observed by touching the stigma with a pencil. The odd little grinning face of these flowers suggested both the common name and the Greek, derived from "ape." [Sidenote: =Monkey-flower= _Mímulus brévipes_ =Yellow Spring California=] A very handsome plant, from one to two feet high, rather hairy and sticky all over, with dark green leaves, usually toothless, and large, clear bright yellow flowers, an inch and a half long, with a pair of ridges in the throat and a pale green stigma. This grows on hillsides, the rich green foliage and bronze-colored buds contrasting finely with the bright flowers. The leaves are quite unlike those of the Common Yellow Monkey-flower. [Sidenote: =Pink Monkey-flower= _Mímulus Lewísii_ =Pink Spring, summer West, etc.=] A graceful mountain perennial, growing near streams, from two to three feet tall, with bright green, toothed leaves, thin in texture, more or less hairy, without leafstalks; the stems and buds slightly sticky. The lovely flowers are nearly two inches long, the corolla varying from pale pink to rose-red, with two, hairy, yellow ridges in the throat, the stamens not protruding from the tube. This pink kind takes the place in the high mountains of the Scarlet Monkey-flower of lower altitudes and is found as far east as Colorado. [Illustration: Pink Monkey-flower--Mimulus Lewisii.] [Illustration: Monkey-flower--Mimulus brevipes.] [Sidenote: =Scarlet Monkey-flower= _Mímulus cardinàlis_ =Red Spring, summer Southwest. Oreg.=] An exceedingly handsome kind, sometimes nearly five feet high, much like the last, but with vivid scarlet corollas, decidedly two-lipped, the upper lip erect and the lower lobes turned back, the stamens protruding from the tube. I first saw these gorgeous flowers glowing like bits of flame among the ferns and grasses that bordered a beautiful spring in a cave in the Grand Canyon, where icy water fell on them drop by drop through a crevice in the rocky roof far above them and kept them glistening with moisture. This is often cultivated in gardens. [Sidenote: =Little Yellow Monkey-flower= _Mímulus primuloìdes_ =Yellow Summer Cal., Oreg.=] A charming little plant, from three to six inches tall, with pretty delicate flowers, from half an inch to an inch long, the corolla-lobes all alike, bright yellow, often dotted with crimson, growing singly on the tips of very slender flower-stalks, springing from a cluster of bright yellowish-green leaves, usually toothed, smooth, or sometimes hairy. This grows in moist mountain meadows. [Sidenote: =Little Pink Monkey-flower= _Mímulus Tórreyi_ =Pink Summer California=] A delicate little plant, from three inches to a foot high, rather hairy and sticky, with very slender branching stems, yellowish-green, toothless leaves, and bright flowers, about three-quarters of an inch long, with almost no flower-stalks; the corolla-lobes pink, veined with purple, the tube crimson, with two yellow ridges in the throat. A patch of these little flowers scattered over a sandy slope in Yosemite, sometimes growing with a tiny blue and white Lupine that likes the same sort of place, is an exceedingly pretty sight. It grows in the mountains, preferring moderate altitudes, becoming lower and deeper in color in higher places. [Sidenote: =Desert Monkey-flower= _Mímulus Fremóntii_ =Pink Spring California=] A charming little plant, something like the last but prettier, three or four inches tall, with very slender, stiff, purplish, branching stems and smooth, thickish, light green leaves, purplish on the under side. The flowers are nearly an inch across, with a hairy calyx and bright purplish-pink corolla, streaked with magenta, with yellow ridges on the lower lip and plaits inside the throat. They look exceedingly pretty on the pale sand of the Mojave Desert. [Illustration: Desert Monkey-flower--M. Fremontii. Little Pink Monkey-flower--M. Torreyi. Little Yellow Monkey-flower--Mimulus primuloides.] [Sidenote: =Common Yellow Monkey-flower= _Mímulus Langsdórfii_ =Yellow Spring, summer Southwest, Utah, etc.=] There are several varieties of this common and attractive plant, some tall and robust, others very short. The stems are smooth, not sticky, thickish and pale, sometimes branching, about a foot tall, and the leaves are from one to three inches long, smooth, or slightly downy, especially on the under side of the upper leaves, and usually bright green, the veins prominent on the back, the upper leaves without leaf-stalks and more or less clasping, the lower ones with leaf-stalks varying in length. The flowers are from three-quarters of an inch to two inches long, clear bright yellow, the throat nearly closed and hairy, usually with some dark red dots between the hairy ridges on the lower lip. This grows in wet places in the mountains and in canyons, is widely distributed in the West, and has now strayed as far east as Connecticut. [Sidenote: =Musk-plant= _Mímulus moschàtus_ =Yellow Spring, summer West, etc.=] This plant is more or less hairy and seems to be wet all over with slimy dew and smells of musk. When the stems are cut and put in water a slimy sort of mucilage drips from them. It is about ten inches tall, with rather pretty yellow flowers, barely an inch long, with some hairs and reddish specks in the throat. This is widely distributed, in wet places, from Ontario westward. There are numerous kinds of Orthocarpus, many of them Californian, difficult to distinguish. Like Castilleja, their upper leaves often pass into colored bracts and the calyx is colored, but the corolla is not similar, for the upper lip is small and the three-lobed lower lip is swollen and conspicuous; calyx short, four-cleft; stamens four, two of them short, enclosed in the upper lip; style long, with a round-top stigma; leaves without leaf-stalks, usually alternate, often cut into three to five narrow divisions; fruit an oblong capsule with many seeds. Perhaps it is called Owl's-clover because, in some kinds, the flowers look like the faces of owls. [Illustration: Musk-plant--M. moschatus. Common Yellow Monkey-flower--Mimulus Langsdorfii.] [Sidenote: =Yellow Pelican Flower= _Orthocàrpus faucibarbàtus_ =Yellow, whitish Spring California=] One of the handsomest of its kind, a fine thrifty plant, but not at all coarse, and much prettier and more effective than the next. The branching stem is about a foot tall, and the leaves are very light, bright yellowish-green, and thin in texture. The flowers are about an inch long, with very clear bright yellow "pouches" and greenish "beaks" tipped with white. They have a curiously solid appearance, as if carved out of yellow wax, and are very pleasing and fresh in color, harmonizing well with the light green bracts, which give a very feathery effect to the top of the cluster. Like most of its relations, the flowers are more effective when we look down on them, growing among the grass, than when they are picked and we see them in profile. The corollas are sometimes pinkish-white. This is common in the valleys of the Coast Ranges. [Sidenote: =Johnny-tuck= _Orthocàrpus eriánthus_ =Yellow Spring Cal., Oreg.=] From five to ten inches tall, with a slender, downy, purplish stem, often branching, dull green, downy leaves and purplish-tipped bracts. The sulphur-yellow flowers are usually an inch long, with a magenta "beak" and a very slender, white tube. They are pretty and very common on plains. [Sidenote: =Pink Johnny-tuck, Pink Popcorn Flower= _Orthocàrpus eriánthus var. rosèus_ =Pink Spring California=] A delicate little plant, from five to ten inches tall, with a slender, downy, reddish stem, hairy, dull green leaves and bracts, and very pretty little flowers, nearly an inch long; the corollas varying from almost white to bright pink, but all the same shade on one plant, with a little yellow at the center and a maroon-colored "beak." They are deliciously sweet-scented, like violets, and grow in dry places. The variety _versícolor_, Popcorn Beauty, has fragrant white flowers. [Sidenote: =Yellow Owl's Clover= _Orthocàrpus lùteus_ =Yellow Summer West, etc.=] This often makes patches of bright color. It is from six to twelve inches tall, with stiff, slender, hairy stems, hairy leaves, and pretty bright yellow flowers, nearly half an inch long. This grows in dry sunny places as far east as Colorado, reaching an altitude of ten thousand feet. [Illustration: Johnny-Tuck--Orthocarpus erianthus. Yellow Pelican Flower--O. faucibarbatus.] [Sidenote: =Escobita, Owl's Clover= _Orthocàrpus densiflòrus_ =Purplish-pink Spring California=] The Spanish name, which means "little broom," is very appropriate for this pretty plant. The stiff, downy stem is from five to fifteen inches tall and the downy leaves are light green and become tipped with purplish-pink as they mount up the stalk. The flowers are about three-quarters of an inch long and have a white lower lip, which is tipped with yellow and has a crimson dot on each lobe, and the straight, erect "beak" is crimson. The cluster is crowded with purplish-pink and white bracts and though the flowers themselves are not conspicuous the effect is feathery and very pretty, especially when the plants grow in such quantities as to color a whole field with soft pink, or when mixed with beautifully contrasting patches of blue Lupine. This is common along the coast. _O. purpuráscens_, common in the Northwest and Southwest, is similar, but it has a hairy "beak," hooked at the tip, and the general effect is handsomer and much brighter in color, but less feathery. [Sidenote: =Owl's Clover= _Orthocàrpus purpureo-álbus_ =Pink and White Summer Ariz., Utah, New Mex.=] An interesting annual plant, quite pretty, about a foot high, the stem sometimes branching and the branches suggesting those of a candelabrum, clothed with soft, finely divided, dull green leaves and ending in spikes of green bracts and pretty little flowers, three-quarters of an inch long. The calyx is green, the upper lip of the corolla is purplish-pink and the lower lip is swollen, three-lobed and cream-white, turning pink in fading. This grows in dry places at altitudes of from six to eight thousand feet. Only one of the branches is given in the picture. [Sidenote: =Owl's Clover= _Orthocàrpus exsértus_ =White and pink Spring, summer California=] A pretty little plant, from six to eight inches high, with hairy leaves cut into narrow divisions and passing into pinkish-lilac bracts towards the top of the stalk, which are mixed with pink and white flowers, each about an inch long, so that the effect of the whole is a spike of pink and white. The lower lip of the corolla is white and the upper lip is pink, with a furry tip. This grows in fields. _O. attenuàtus_, common in fields in the Northwest, is a slender inconspicuous kind, about nine inches tall, with soft, thin, dull green leaves, most of them not lobed, and pale green bracts, often tipped with white. The corollas are dull white, the lower lip dotted with purple or yellow, and the whole effect of the cluster is feathery, very slender, and pale in color. [Illustration: Owl's-clover--O. purpureo-albus. Escobita--Orthocarpus densiflorus. Owl's-clover--O. exsertus.] There are a good many kinds of Pedicularis, usually with finely-cut leaves and spikes of queerly-shaped flowers, usually yellow, sometimes red or white; the corolla conspicuously two-lipped, the upper lip hood-like, long and narrow, the lower lip three-lobed; the stamens four, two of them short, in the upper lip; the capsule flattened or compressed, beaked, splitting open, and containing many seeds. These plants are supposed to cause lice in sheep that feed on them, so they have the ugly name of Lousewort, both in English and Latin. [Sidenote: =Indian Warrior= _Pediculàris densiflòra_ =Crimson Spring Cal., Oreg.=] A robust and very decorative plant, with rich coloring. The stout, purplish stems are slightly hairy, from nine inches to nearly two feet tall, and spring from a graceful cluster of large leaves, which are crisp in texture and smooth or slightly downy, rich green and often tinged with bronze. The flowers are an inch or more long, with purplish, hairy calyxes and crimson corollas, and form a very handsome though rather coarse-looking cluster, mixed with purplish bracts, and finely shaded in color, from the carmine buds at the top to the wine-color of the faded flowers at the base. This grows on wooded hillsides and in deep shade. The flowers are sometimes white. [Sidenote: =Duck-bill= _Pediculàris ornithorhýncha_ =Pink Summer Wash., Oreg.=] This is an odd-looking plant, about six inches tall, with a stout, purplish stem, woolly at the top, springing from a pretty cluster of smooth, bright green leaves. The flowers are about three-quarters of an inch long, with purplish, woolly calyxes and bright pink corollas, which are veined and tipped with deeper color, with purplish bracts. They are very eccentric in shape and the upper lip has a ludicrous resemblance to the head of a duck. This grows in the mountains. [Illustration: Duck-bill--P. ornithorhynca. Indian Warrior--Pedicularis densiflora.] [Sidenote: =Alpine Betony= _Pediculàris centranthèra_ =Magenta and white Spring Utah, Ariz., New Mex.=] This grows in dry rocky soil at high altitudes, forming a low clump of pretty bronze-colored leaves, cut into many small crinkled lobes, and giving the effect of stiff little ferns, with a short spike of oddly pretty flowers, each over an inch long, with a purplish, hairy calyx and a corolla with a white tube and magenta lips, the anthers projecting like sharp little teeth from under the arching upper lip. _P. semibarbàta_, growing in dry woods in Yosemite, forms a rosette of crinkled bronze foliage, with short spikes of yellow flowers. [Sidenote: =Elephants' Heads, Butterfly-tongue= _Pediculàris Groenlándica_ =Pink Summer West, etc.=] A handsome plant, with quaint flowers. The smooth, slender, purplish stem is a foot or more tall, with a few alternate leaves, and springs from a cluster of smooth, fern-like foliage, much like that of _P. ornithorhyncha_, often tinged with bronze, and bears a long, crowded spike of many flowers. They are slightly fragrant, about three-quarters of an inch long, with purplish calyxes and deep pink or reddish corollas, which look absurdly like little elephants' heads. This grows in the mountains, across the continent. BROOM-RAPE FAMILY. _Orobanchaceae._ A rather small family, resembling Scrophulariaceae, widely distributed; parasitic herbs, without green foliage, with alternate scales instead of leaves; flowers perfect, irregular; calyx five-cleft, or split on one or both sides; corolla two-lipped; stamens four, in pairs, with slender filaments, on the corolla-tube (sometimes also the rudiment of a fifth stamen); ovary superior, style slender, stigma disk-like, with two or four lobes; fruit a capsule. There are several kinds of Thalesia. [Sidenote: =One-flowered Cancer-root= _Thalèsia uniflòra (Orobanche)_ =Purplish Spring, summer Northwest, Utah, etc.=] A queer little thing, but pretty and delicate, with a very short stem, mostly underground, bearing one or more slender, slightly hairy, dull yellow, scaly flower-stems from three to eight inches tall, each with a single flower, less than an inch long, with a dull yellow, hairy calyx, and a hairy, lilac corolla, tinged with dull yellow and veined with purple, with two yellow ridges in the throat. This is not common and is found across the continent. [Illustration: Alpine Betony--Pedicularis centranthera. Elephants' Heads--P. Groenlandica. One-flowered Cancer-root--Thalesia uniflora.] MADDER FAMILY. _Rubiaceae._ A large family, widely distributed, chiefly tropical. Ours are herbs, or shrubs; leaves opposite or in whorls; flowers regular, usually perfect; calyx with four teeth or none; corolla with four or five united lobes, often hairy inside; stamens on the corolla, as many as its lobes and alternate with them; ovary inferior, with one or two styles; fruit a capsule, berry, or stone-fruit. Coffee, Quinine, and Madder, used for dye, belong to this family. I am told that the latter plant is escaping around Salt Lake and is well established there. The Latin name means "red." There are many kinds of Houstonia, North American, usually growing in tufts, leaves opposite; flowers small; calyx four-lobed; corolla funnel-form or salver-form, four-lobed; style slender, with two long stigmas; fruit a capsule. Sometimes the flowers are perfect, but usually they are of two kinds, one kind with high anthers and short pistil, the other kind with long pistil and anthers inside the corolla-tube; visiting insects carry pollen from the high anthers of the one to the high stigmas of the other, and from the low anthers to the low stigmas, thus ensuring cross-pollination. [Sidenote: =Desert Innocence= _Houstònia rùbra_ =Pink and white Summer Arizona=] A pretty little desert plant, about two inches high, forming close tufts of sage-green foliage, like harsh moss, with stiff needle-like leaves and woody stems, sprinkled with charming little pink and white flowers. The corolla is three-eighths of an inch across, with a long slender tube, the stamens lilac, and the odd little nodding capsules have two round lobes. This grows in the dreadful sandy wastes of the Petrified Forest. [Sidenote: =Kelloggia= _Kellóggia galioìdes_ =Spring, summer White, pink, yellowish West, etc.=] The only kind, a slender little plant, from six inches to a foot tall, usually with smooth leaves, with small stipules. The tiny flowers are white, pink, or greenish-yellow, with a bristly calyx, and the corolla usually has four petals, but sometimes five or three; the stigmas two. The fruit is covered with hooked bristles. This grows in mountain woods, as far east as Wyoming. [Illustration: Kelloggia galioides. Desert Innocence--Houstonia rubra.] There are many kinds of Galium, widely distributed; sometimes shrubs; stems square; leaves in whorls, without stipules; flowers small, usually perfect, in clusters; calyx usually with no border; corolla wheel-shaped, four-lobed; stamens four, short; ovary two-lobed; styles two, short, with round-top stigmas; fruit dry or fleshy, consisting of two similar, rounded parts, each with one seed. The common name, Bed-straw, comes from a tradition that the manger of the Infant Christ was filled with these plants. Other names are Goose-grass and Cleavers. [Sidenote: =Northern Bed-straw= _Gàlium boreàle_ =White Summer Northwest, etc.=] A rather attractive, smooth, perennial, with a stout, leafy stem, sometimes branching, and the leaves in fours, with three veins, the margins sometimes rough and hairy. The small flowers are white and so numerous as to be quite pretty. The fruit is small, at first bristly, but smooth when ripe. This grows in northern mountains across the continent, also in Europe and Asia, up to ten thousand feet. VALERIAN FAMILY. _Valerianaceae._ Not a large family, widely distributed, most abundant in the northern hemisphere; herbs, with opposite leaves and no stipules; flowers usually perfect, rather small, in clusters; the calyx sometimes lacking, or small, but often becoming conspicuous in fruit; corolla somewhat irregular, tube sometimes swollen or spurred at base, lobes united and spreading, usually five; stamens one to four, with slender filaments, on the corolla, alternate with its lobes; ovary inferior, with one to three cells, only one containing an ovule, the others empty; style slender; fruit dry, not splitting open, containing one seed. There are many kinds of Valerianella, much alike, distinguished principally by their fruits. [Sidenote: =Corn-salad= _Valerianélla macrosèra (Plectritis)_ =Pink Spring, summer Northwest, Cal.=] This has a juicy stem, from a few inches to over a foot tall, springing from a clump of smooth, very bright green leaves, and bearing most of the flowers at the top, in a small close cluster, with narrow purplish bracts. They are tiny, with a slightly irregular corolla, light pink, with two tiny crimson dots on each side of the lowest lobe, three dark brown anthers, and a calyx without a border. This is rather pretty, growing in long grass in damp places, but the flowers are too small to be effective. [Illustration: Corn-salad--Valerianella macrosera. Northern Bedstraw--Galium boreale.] There are many kinds of Valerian, rather tall perennials, chiefly of cool regions and some in the Andes. They are more or less bad-smelling plants, especially the root; the leaves mostly from the base and the small flowers in terminal clusters, some of them perfect, some with stamens and pistils on separate plants, some with the two sorts mixed; the calyx with from five to fifteen bristle-like teeth, curled up and inconspicuous in flower, but spread out and feathery in fruit; the corolla white or pink, more or less funnel-form, with five nearly equal lobes; the stamens three; the style sometimes with three minute lobes. The name is from the Latin, meaning "strong," in allusion to the medicinal properties. [Sidenote: =Wild Valerian= _Valeriàna sitchénsis_ =White, pinkish Summer Wash., Oreg.=] A very handsome and attractive plant, much like the kind that is cultivated in gardens. It grows from one to three feet tall, from a creeping rootstock, with smooth, juicy, hollow stems and handsome bright green foliage. The leaves are smooth and the leaflets of the stem-leaves are coarsely toothed. The flowers are white or pinkish, with pink buds, and are crowded in fine large, rather flat-topped clusters. The stamens are long and give a pretty feathery appearance to the cluster. The flowers are strongly sweet-scented, but the roots usually have a horrible smell when they are broken. _V. sylvática_ looks much the same, but the leaves are mostly toothless, and it is widely distributed in the United States, both East and West, also growing in Asia. Both are woodland plants, liking rich moist soil. [Sidenote: =Arizona Valerian= _Valeriàna Arizònica_ =Pink Spring Arizona=] An attractive plant, from three to nine inches tall, with smooth hollow stems, smooth leaves, and pretty clusters of flowers, but not nearly so large as the last. They are purplish-pink and slightly sweet-scented. This grows in crevices in the rocks in moist places. [Illustration: White Valerian--Valeriana sitchensis.] [Illustration: Arizona Valerian--Valeriana Arizonica.] HONEYSUCKLE FAMILY. _Caprifoliaceae._ Not a large family, mostly of the northern hemisphere; herbs, shrubs, shrubby vines or trees; leaves opposite, usually without stipules; flowers perfect, regular or irregular; calyx with three to five divisions; corolla usually with five united lobes, sometimes two-lipped; stamens on the corolla tube, usually as many as its lobes and alternate with them; ovary inferior, with one style; fruit a berry, stone-fruit, or capsule. There are many kinds of Lonicera, shrubs, or twining woody vines; leaves usually without teeth or lobes, the upper ones sometimes united around the stem; flowers usually irregular; calyx with five, minute teeth; corolla more or less funnel-shaped, often two-lipped, four lobes forming the upper lip and one lobe the under, tube often swollen at base; stamens five; style with a cap-like stigma; fruit berrylike. [Sidenote: =Orange Honeysuckle= _Lonicèra ciliòsa_ =Orange and scarlet Summer Northwest=] A climbing or trailing shrub, with brilliant flowers, set off by bright green leaves, thin in texture, with pale "bloom" on the under side and usually hairy margins, the lower ones with short leaf-stalks, the upper usually united and forming a disk. The flowers are scentless, about an inch and a quarter long, with smooth, trumpet-shaped corollas, bright orange at base, shading to scarlet above, with a bright green stigma and crimson or brownish anthers. This lives in the woods and sometimes climbs to the tops of quite tall trees, ornamenting them with its splendid clusters of flowers and sprinkling the forest floor with its fallen blossoms in a shower of scarlet and gold. [Sidenote: =Black Twinberry= _Lonicèra involucràta_ =Yellow Spring, summer West=] A bush, from three to seven feet high, with thick, woody, pale gray stems and bright green leaves, glossy and thin in texture, or rather coarse and hairy, with fine hairs along the margins. The flower-stalks each bear a pair of flowers, without scent, emerging from an involucre of two bracts. The corolla is rather hairy and sticky, half an inch or more long, a pretty shade of warm dull yellow, sometimes tinged with red outside, with five, short, nearly equal lobes, the tube swollen at base. The involucre becomes dark red, its lobes turn back and display a pair of berries, disagreeable to the taste, as large as peas, nearly black, the whole affair striking in color and form. This grows in moist mountain woods and seems to have smoother, glossier foliage, and smaller flowers, in Utah than elsewhere. [Illustration: Orange Honeysuckle--L. ciliosa. Black Twinberry--Lonicera involucrata.] [Sidenote: =Pink Honeysuckle= _Lonicèra hispídula_ =Pink Summer Wash., Oreg., Cal.=] Rather pretty, with a woody trunk and hairy twigs, climbing over shrubs and trees, sometimes to a height of twenty feet. The leaves are pale on the under side, the upper ones usually united around the stem, and the flowers are about three-quarters of an inch long, with pink corollas and long stamens, and form long clusters, which are pretty but not effective, though the translucent, orange-red berries are handsome and conspicuous. This varies very much, especially in hairiness and color of the foliage, and is quite common in canyons and along streams in the Coast Ranges. The Yellow Honeysuckle, _L. Califórnica_, is similar, but with smooth branches and leaves and pale yellow flowers; growing in Oregon and northern California. There are two kinds of Linnaea. [Sidenote: =Twin-flower= _Linnaèa boreàlis var. Americàna_ =Pink Summer Northwest, Utah, etc.=] One of the loveliest of woodland plants; the long, woody stems trail over the ground and send up straight, slender branches, a few inches tall, clothed with leathery, evergreen leaves, bright green and glossy, and terminating in a slender, slightly hairy flower-stalk, which bears a pair of little nodding flowers, about half an inch long, hanging on very slender pedicels, with two bracts. The corollas are regular, with five lobes, delicate pink, veined with deeper color and paler at the margins, with a white pistil and four, white stamens, not protruding. The fruit is roundish and dry, with one seed. This often carpets the forest floor with its glossy foliage, ornamenting the moss with its fairy-like blossoms, which perfume the air with a fragrance like Heliotrope. It is found in cold, mountain woods, up to thirteen thousand feet, across the continent and also in Europe and Asia, and was named after Linnaeus because it was a favorite of his. [Illustration: Pink Honeysuckle--Lonicera hispidula. Twin-flower--Linnaea borealis var. Americana.] There are several kinds of Symphoricarpos, of North America and Mexico; low, branching shrubs, with small leaves, scaly leaf-buds, and small, pink or white flowers, with two bracts, in clusters; the calyx roundish, with four or five teeth; the corolla regular, more or less bell-shaped, with four or five lobes; the fruit a roundish, white or red berry, containing two bony seeds. We often find Snowberries cultivated in old-fashioned gardens. [Sidenote: =Snowberry= _Symphoricàrpos racemòsus_ =Pink Spring, summer U. S.=] An attractive shrub, about four feet high, with slender branches and yellowish twigs. The pretty leaves are mostly smooth, rich green, but not glossy, paler and sometimes downy on the under side, thin, but rather crisp in texture, usually with a few shallow scallops along the margins. The flowers are about a quarter of an inch long, with bell-shaped corollas, purplish-pink outside, white and woolly in the inside, the stamens and style not protruding. The berry is large and pure-white, with white, almost tasteless pulp, which is said to be slightly poisonous. This is very common in California, in the hill country, and is found across the continent. [Sidenote: =Snowberry= _Symphoricàrpos longiflòrus_ =White Summer Arizona=] A straggling shrub, from two to three feet high, with small, slightly velvety, rather pale green leaves, white on the under side, sometimes set edgewise on the stem. The flowers are about half an inch long, with a slender, white, salver-form corolla, with widely separating lobes and very smooth inside, the anthers partially protruding from the throat, and the pretty berries are waxy-white. This grows at the Grand Canyon. [Sidenote: =Snowberry= _Symphoricàrpos oreóphilus_ =Pink Spring, summer Idaho, Utah, Ariz.=] A branching shrub, not especially pretty, about three feet high, with shreddy bark, pinkish twigs, and light, bluish-green, toothless leaves, usually smooth. The flowers are about half an inch long, with a tubular corolla, with short lobes, flesh-color, tinged with purplish-pink, the stamens and style not protruding and the buds purplish-pink. This grows in the mountains, up to eight or ten thousand feet. [Illustration: S. oreophilus. S. longiflorus. Snowberry--Symphoricarpos racemosus.] GOURD FAMILY. _Cucurbitaceae._ A large family, chiefly of the tropics, climbing or trailing, herbaceous vines, usually with tendrils, rather juicy, with no stipules; leaves alternate, with leaf-stalks, usually lobed or cut; flowers some staminate and some pistillate; calyx bell-shaped or tubular, usually five-lobed; petals mostly united, usually five, on the calyx; stamens generally three, with short filaments, often united; ovary inferior; fruit fleshy, often with a hard rind, usually with flat seeds. There are many kinds of Micrampelis, natives of America. [Sidenote: =Chilicothe, Wild Cucumber= _Micrámpelis fabàcea (Echinocystis)_ =White Summer California=] A graceful, decorative vine, with many tendrils and spreading to a great distance, sometimes as much as thirty feet, partly climbing over bushes and partly on the ground, springing from an enormous bitter root as large as a man's body, the leaves slightly rough. The pretty little flowers are half an inch across, the calyx with small teeth or with none and the corolla cream-white, with from five to seven lobes; the staminate flowers in loose clusters and the pistillate ones single. The fruit is peculiar and conspicuous, a big green ball, very prickly and measuring two inches across. The Indians used to make hair-oil out of the seeds. This is also called Big-root and Man-in-the-ground. There are several kinds of Cucurbita, natives of America, Asia, and Africa. This is the Latin name for the Gourd. [Sidenote: =Calabazilla, Gourd= _Cucúrbita foetidíssima_ =Yellow Spring Southwest, etc.=] This is a near relation of the common Pumpkin and Squash and resembles them. It is an exceedingly coarse, but very decorative vine, with bristly stems, trailing on the ground and sometimes twenty-five feet long. The leaves are about eight inches long, bluish-gray, thick and velvety, covered with bristles and exceedingly unpleasant to touch but handsome in appearance. The gaudy flowers measure five or six inches across, with a bristly calyx and bell-shaped, orange-yellow corolla. The root is enormous, sometimes six feet long, the fruit is a smooth, yellow gourd, and the whole plant has a horrible smell. This is found in dry soil, from Nebraska west, and is common in southern California. [Illustration: Chilicothe--Micrampelis fabacea.] BELLFLOWER FAMILY. _Campanulaceae._ A large family, widely distributed. Ours are small herbs, with bitter milky juice; leaves alternate, without stipules; flowers perfect, usually with five sepals; corolla with five united lobes; stamens five; ovary inferior, style long, sometimes hairy, with two to five stigmas, which do not expand until some time after the flower opens. There are a great many kinds of Campanula; ours are chiefly perennials, with more or less bell-shaped corollas; the capsule tipped with the remains of the calyx and opening at the sides by minute holes. The name is from the Latin, meaning "little bell." [Sidenote: =Harebell, Blue Bells of Scotland= _Campánula rotundifòlia_ =Violet Summer West, etc.=] This is the well-known kind, sung by the poets, and found across our continent and in Europe and Asia, reaching an altitude of twelve thousand feet. A charming, graceful little plant, with slender stems, from six inches to two feet tall, springing from a cluster of dull green, roundish or heart-shaped leaves, which usually wither away before the flowers bloom; the stem-leaves long and narrow. The flowers hang on threadlike pedicels, usually in a loose cluster, and are less than an inch long, violet or blue and paler at the base, with a long white pistil and pale yellow or lilac anthers. Neither the plants nor the flowers are nearly so fragile as they look, for the stems are wiry and the flowers are slightly papery in texture. This plant is variable and may include more than one kind. It seems hardly necessary to remark that it is not to be confused with _Calochortus albus_, which is unfortunately sometimes called Hairbell and is entirely different, but I have several times been asked whether they were the same. [Sidenote: =Bellflower= _Campánula Scoúleri_ =White, lilac Summer Northwest, Cal.=] A pretty little plant, with smooth, slender stems, from six to eight inches tall, and smooth, toothed leaves. The flowers are in a loose cluster and are more the shape of little Lilies than of Blue Bells, white tinged with lilac, or pale blue, with yellow anthers and a long pistil with three pink stigmas. The California Harebell, _C. prenanthoìdes_, has blue flowers, similar in shape. [Illustration: Bell-flower--Campanula Scouleri. Harebell--C. rotundifolia.] SUNFLOWER FAMILY. _Compositae._ The youngest and largest plant family, comprising about seven hundred and fifty genera and ten thousand species, highly specialized for insect pollination, easily recognized as a whole, but many of its members difficult to distinguish. Some tropical kinds are trees; ours are usually herbs, sometimes shrubs, without stipules; the leaves opposite, alternate or from the root; the flowers all small and crowded in heads, on the enlarged top of the flower-stalk, which is called the "receptacle," and surrounded by a common involucre of separate bracts, few or many, arranged in one or more rows; the receptacle also sometimes having scale-like or bristle-like bracts among the flowers, its surface smooth, or variously pitted and honey-combed. The flowers are sometimes perfect, or with only pistils, or only stamens, or with stamens and pistils on different plants, or all kinds mixed. The calyx-tube is sometimes a mere ring, or its margin consists of hairs, bristles or scales, called the "pappus." The corollas are chiefly of two sorts; they are tubular and usually have five lobes or teeth, but often the flowers around the margin of the head are strap-shaped, that is, the border of the corolla is expanded into what is called a "ray." For instance, the yellow center, or "disk," of a Daisy is composed of a crowded mass of tiny tube-shaped flowers, which is surrounded by a circle of white, strap-shaped flowers, or rays, which look like petals. A Thistle, on the other hand, has no rays and the head is made up of tube-shaped flowers only. Stamens usually five, on the corolla-tube, alternate with its lobes, anthers usually united into a tube surrounding the style, which has two branches in fertile flowers, but usually undivided in sterile flowers; ovary inferior, one-celled, maturing into an akene, often tipped with hairs from the pappus to waft it about, or with hooks or barbs to catch in fur of animals. (Descriptions of genera have been omitted as too technical.) There are many kinds of Carduus (Cnicus) (Cirsium), widely distributed; with tubular flowers only. [Sidenote: =Thistle= _Càrduus Còulteri_ =Pink, crimson Spring, summer California=] A strikingly handsome, branching plant, from three to seven feet high, with light green leaves, very decorative in form, more or less downy on the upper side and pale with down on the under. The flower-heads, about two inches long, have bright lilac-pink or crimson flowers and more or less woolly involucres. This grows in the hills and mountains of the Coast Ranges. [Illustration: Thistle--Carduus Coulteri.] [Sidenote: =Arizona Thistle= _Càrduus Arizònicus_ =Pink Summer Arizona=] A very striking and decorative plant, both in form and color, from two to six feet tall, with a pale, branching, leafy stem, covered with close, white down, springing from a cluster of large root-leaves. The leaves are gray-green, covered with white down, and show great beauty of design, being sharply and symmetrically lobed and toothed, the margins armed with long yellow prickles. The flower-heads are an inch and a half long, with beautiful carmine and pale-pink flowers, all with no tinge of purple, the vivid spots of color giving a very brilliant effect in contrast with the pale foliage. This grows in the Grand Canyon and is conspicuous along the Berry trail, a little way below the rim. [Sidenote: =Thistle= _Càrduus candadíssimus_ =Pink, crimson Summer California=] A very handsome and decorative plant, about three feet tall, with spreading stems, covered with white down, and dull-green leaves, pale with down on the under side and often covered with white down all over. The handsome flower-heads are two inches or more long and have deep pink or crimson flowers and very woolly involucres. [Sidenote: =California Thistle= _Càrduus Califórnicus_ =White Spring California=] A branching plant, from two to six feet tall, very leafy below, with very dark bluish-green leaves, with more or less woolly down on the upper side and pale with matted down on the under side. The flower-heads are nearly three inches across, with cream-white or rarely purple flowers, and the bracts are caught together with silky, cobwebby down. This is common in the Sierra Nevada. [Sidenote: =Western Thistle= _Càrduus occidentàlis_ =Red, purple Spring Cal., Oreg.=] A stout plant, two or three feet high, with large prickly leaves, and more or less covered all over with cottony wool. The flower-head is about two inches long, and nearly as wide, and is a ball of white, cobwebby wool, pierced all over with brown spines, and tipped with wine-colored flowers. This is common on sandy hills, near the coast, from San Francisco south. Yellow-spined Thistle, _C. ochrocéntrus_, found in Nevada and Arizona and as far east as Colorado, has purple flowers and leaves deeply slashed and armed with long yellow spines. This grows at the Grand Canyon. [Illustration: Arizona Thistle--Carduus Arizonicus.] [Illustration: Thistles. Carduus Californicus. C. candadissimus.] There are a good many kinds of Anaphalis, natives of the north temperate zone, but only one in North America. [Sidenote: =Pearly Everlasting= _Anáphalis margaritàcea_ =White Summer U. S., etc.=] This is the prettiest of the Everlastings, from one to three feet tall, with a leafy stem, covered with white wool, and alternate, toothless leaves, which are rather long and narrow, gray-green and more or less woolly on the upper side, pale and woolly on the under. The flower-heads are numerous, forming close, roundish clusters. The heads are without rays, but the tiny, yellow, tubular flowers are surrounded by many small, white, papery bracts, resembling petals, making the involucre the conspicuous feature and forming a pretty little, round, white head. This is common in dry places, East and West, and found in Asia. There is a picture in Mathews' _Field Book_. Rosy Everlasting, _Antennària ròsea_, has the same general appearance, but the bracts are pink, giving a pretty pink tint to the flower-cluster, and is found in the Northwest at high altitudes. Another kind of Everlasting is _Gnaphàlium microcéphalum_, Cudweed, a mountain plant of the Northwest and California, with similar foliage, but with larger, looser clusters of cream-white flowers, conspicuous at a distance, though not pretty close by. There is a picture of a similar species in Mathews' _Field Book_. There are several kinds of Encelia. [Sidenote: =Encelia= _Encèlia eriocéphala_ =Yellow Spring Southwest=] A handsome, desert plant, with rough, purplish stems, a foot and a half tall, dull-green, hairy leaves, and flowers over an inch across, in loose clusters, with bright golden-yellow rays, yellow centers, and woolly involucres. This makes fine conspicuous clumps of bright color on the pale desert sand. [Sidenote: =Golden Hills, Brittle-bush= _Encèlia farinòsa_ =Yellow Spring Arizona=] A conspicuous shrubby plant, from two to four feet high, with many stout, branching stems, grayish, downy twigs, and large clumps of downy, gray-green leaves, from which spring the long, slender flower-stalks, bearing loose clusters of handsome flowers. They are each over an inch and a quarter across, with bright yellow rays and orange centers and are well set off by the rather pale foliage. This grows on hillsides among the rocks and gives a golden hue which may be seen at a distance of seven or eight miles. [Illustration: Golden Hills--Encelia farinosa. Encelia frutescens.] [Sidenote: =California Encelia= _Encèlia Califórnica_ =Yellow Spring California=] A handsome conspicuous shrub, two feet or more high, gray and downy when young but becoming smoother and greener, with downy, reddish twigs, dark green leaves, and numerous flowers, on long flower-stalks. They are two or three inches across, with three-toothed, bright yellow rays and very dark maroon or brown centers, specked with yellow, and velvety or hairy involucres. This grows on sea-cliffs, where it makes very effective masses of color, in fine contrast to the blue of the sea below and the sky above. [Sidenote: _Encèlia frutéscens_ =Yellow Spring Southwest=] A rather straggling shrub, about two feet high, with whitish, woody stems, pale reddish twigs, and bright green leaves, which are roughened with minute prickles on the margins and under sides, but look quite shiny. The flower-heads are over half an inch long, in western Arizona usually without any rays, and are not especially pretty, like a starved Sunflower whose rays have shrivelled away in the dry heat of the desert, but the effect of the foliage, which suggests little apple leaves, is decidedly attractive in the arid sandy places it frequents. There are many kinds of Helianthus, natives of the New World. [Sidenote: =Common Sunflower= _Heliánthus ánnuus_ =Yellow Summer West, etc.=] A handsome kind, with a rough stem, from two to ten feet tall, roughish leaves, more or less toothed, the upper alternate, the lower opposite, and a flower-head from two to four inches across, with bright golden-yellow, toothless rays, a maroon center, and a very dark green involucre, with stiff, overlapping bracts. This is larger in cultivation and is a very useful plant, for its flowers yield honey and a yellow dye, its seeds oil and food, the leaves are good for fodder, and the stalks for textile fiber. It is common nearly everywhere along roadsides, as far east as Missouri, and is found as a stray in the East. [Illustration: California Encelia--E. Californica. Encelia frutescens. Common Sunflower--Helianthus annuus.] [Sidenote: =Sunflower= _Heliánthus fasciculàris_ =Yellow Spring Nev., Ariz., etc.=] A handsome kind, forming a clump from two to four feet high, with several leafy, rough stems and harsh, rather shiny leaves. The fine flowers measure four inches across, with bright yellow rays, deeper yellow centers, and bronze, rough, rather resinous involucres. This is common around Reno and grows in dry mountain valleys as far east as Colorado. [Sidenote: =Hairy Golden Aster= _Chrysópsis villòsa_ =Yellow Summer Arizona, etc.=] A striking plant, quite handsome, with a hairy, pale, leafy stem, from six inches to two feet tall, and gray-green, rather velvety leaves, generally toothless. The flowers are an inch or more across, with bright golden-yellow rays and centers of the same shade, growing singly, or in a more or less crowded cluster at the top of the stalk. This is common in open ground and dry hills, up to an altitude of ten thousand feet, as far east as Alabama, and there are many varieties. The Greek name means "golden aspect." [Sidenote: =Velvet-rosette= _Psathyròtes ánnua_ =Yellow Spring Southwest=] A curious and pretty little desert plant, that looks as if it were trying to protect itself from cold rather than heat, as its pretty foliage and stems seem all made of silvery, gray velvet, forming a symmetrical rosette, dotted with the small, rayless, yellow flower-heads, like fuzzy buttons. The rosette is decorative in form, about a foot across, spreading flat and close to the ground, and is conspicuous on the bare sand of the desert. Only one of the branches is given in the picture. [Sidenote: =Easter Daisy, Ground Daisy= _Townséndia exscàpa_ =Pink Spring Ariz., New Mex. to Saskatchewan=] This is a charming and quaint little plant, with close, downy rosettes of small, gray-green leaves and two or three, pretty, daisy-like flowers, all crowded together close to the ground. The flowers are over an inch across, with numerous, pale-pink rays, deeper pink on the under side, and a bright yellow center, and when they bloom in early spring, on bare rocky soil, they are exceedingly attractive. There are a great many kinds of Erigeron, widely distributed, most abundant in the New World, easily confused with Asters, but usually with numerous and finer rays, so that the effect is more delicate. [Illustration: Easter Daisy--Townsendia exscapa.] [Illustration: Velvet-rosette--Psathyrotes annua. Hairy Golden Aster--Chrysopsis villosa. Sunflower--Helianthus fascicularis.] [Sidenote: =Fleabane= _Erígeron Bréweri_ =Purple Summer California=] This is rather pretty, with slender, brittle, downy stems, from six to eighteen inches tall, and small, narrow, rough, dull green leaves. The flowers grow singly, at the ends of short leafy branches, and are each less than an inch across, with rather few violet or pinkish-purple rays and a yellow center. This is common around Yosemite and looks a good deal like an Aster. [Sidenote: =Whip-lash Fleabane= _Erígeron flagellàris_ =White, pink Summer Ariz., Utah, etc.=] A rather odd-looking plant, with numerous, very slender, weak, branching stems, trailing on the ground, and very small, toothless, grayish-green, downy leaves, forming a rather dense, low bush, about two and a half feet across, the long sprays interlacing and dotted here and there with pretty little flowers, with numerous fine, white, pink-tipped rays and a yellow center. The sprays often take root at the tip. This grows in the Grand Canyon, and is found as far east as Colorado. [Sidenote: =Rayless Fleabane= _Erígeron concínnus var. aphanáctis_ =Yellow Spring Utah, Nev., Cal. etc.=] A rather attractive little plant, forming small clumps, about five inches high, with several very hairy stems and light dull green, very hairy leaves. The many flower-heads are less than half an inch across, deep yellow, without rays. This grows on dry plains and mesas, as far east as Colorado, and has a rather starved appearance. [Sidenote: =Spreading Fleabane= _Erígeron divérgens_ =Violet Spring, summer, autumn West, etc.=] A dear little common plant, from six to fifteen inches high, with several slender, branching, hairy stems, and soft, hairy, gray-green leaves, the upper ones small and narrow, without leaf-stalks and the lower ones sometimes with two or three lobes and with leaf-stalks. The flower-heads, several or many, on slender flower-stalks, measure nearly an inch across in spring, but are smaller in summer, and have numerous very narrow rays, white towards the center, shading to bright violet or pink at the tips, with a bright yellow center. This often grows in quantities on dry plains and mountain-sides, as far east as Texas, and is quite charming, the tufts of foliage, dotted with pretty delicate little flowers, not touching each other, but sprinkled over a large space, recalling the little flowers in early Italian pictures. _E. pùmilis_, of the Northwest and Utah, is much the same, with white rays. [Illustration: Spreading Fleabane--E. divergens. E Breweri. Whip-lash Fleabane--Erigeron flagellaris. Rayless Fleabane--E. concinnus var. aphanactis.] [Sidenote: =Large Mountain Fleabane= _Erígeron salsuginòsus_ =Lilac Summer West, etc.=] A large, handsome kind, abundant in the higher mountains and growing in moist places, as far east as Colorado. The stems are downy and leafy, from one to two feet tall, the leaves are smooth or slightly hairy, with bristle-like points, and the flowers are an inch and a half or more across, with bright yellow centers and clear bright lilac rays, not very narrow. [Sidenote: =Yellow Fleabane= _Erígeron àureus (Aplopappus Brandegei)_ =Yellow Summer Wash., Oreg.=] A little alpine plant, about three inches tall, with downy stems, thickish, gray-green leaves, covered with close white down and forming a mat of foliage on the rocks at high altitudes. The flowers are rather more than half an inch across, with a woolly involucre, dark yellow center, and deep yellow rays, an unusual color among Fleabanes. [Sidenote: =Seaside Daisy, Beach Aster= _Erígeron glàucus_ =Violet, pink Spring, summer Cal., Oreg.=] Very cheerful, sturdy-looking flowers, with stout, hairy stems, four to ten inches tall, and stiffish, slightly hairy leaves, rather pale in color. The handsome flowers are an inch and a half across, with numerous violet, lilac, or pink rays and rather dark yellow centers. This grows near the sea and is common on cliffs and sandy shores, where it makes beautiful spots of bright color. [Sidenote: =Skevish, Philadelphia Fleabane= _Erígeron Philadélphicus_ =Pink, mauve Spring, summer U. S.=] A pretty perennial, from one to three feet tall, usually soft and hairy, the slender stems usually branching above and most of the leaves toothed. The flowers usually form a loose cluster at the top, the buds drooping, and the heads are from half an inch to an inch across, with yellow centers and a very feathery fringe of pink or pinkish rays. This grows in fields and woods. There is a picture in Mathews' _Field Book_. _E. Còulteri_, the large White Mountain Daisy, is a beautiful kind, from six to twenty inches tall, with bright green leaves, often toothed, sometimes downy, and the flowers usually single, an inch and a half across, usually with pure white rays. This grows in Yosemite meadows and similar mountain places, in Utah, California, and Colorado. _E. compósitus_ is a little Alpine plant, forming dense leafy mats, easily recognized by the broad tips of the leaves being cut into lobes, usually three. The flowers are an inch or more across, with violet or white rays. This grows on the granite peaks around Yosemite, and in other Alpine regions, as far east as Colorado. [Illustration: Yellow Fleabane--E. aureus. Seaside Daisy--Erigeron glaucus. Large Mountain Fleabane--E. salsuginosus.] [Sidenote: =Ptilonella= _Ptilonélla scàbra (Blepharipappus)_ =White Spring Oreg., Ida., Nev., Cal.=] A charming little desert plant, graceful and airy in character, with stiff, very slender, branching, roughish stems, about ten inches tall, and dull green leaves, very rough to the touch, with the edges rolled back. The delicate little flowers are an inch across, with pure white rays, and with white centers, which are specked with black and pink. This is common on the mesas around Reno and looks much like some kinds of Madia. [Sidenote: =Desert Holly= _Perèzia nàna_ =Pink Spring Ariz., Tex.=] An odd little desert plant, only two or three inches high, with stiff, smooth, dull bluish-green leaves, with prickly edges, like holly leaves but not so stiff, and one quite pretty, light purplish-pink flower, the head about an inch long, with purplish bracts. The effect of the whole plant is of a little sprig stuck into the sand. [Sidenote: =Brown-foot= _Perèzia Wrìghtii_ =Pink Spring Ariz., Tex.=] Much like the last, but more commonplace looking, for the flowers are smaller and the plant much larger. It is about a foot high and grows among rocks, and the general effect of dull mauve is rather pretty, though not bright in color. The common name alludes to the plant being covered with a mass of brown hairs at the base. There are several kinds of Gutierrezia, all American. [Sidenote: =Brown-weed= _Gutierrèzia Saròthrae (G. Euthamiae)_ =Yellow Summer, autumn West, etc.=] A bushy plant, resinous, smooth or nearly so, from six inches to two feet high, with many stiff, upright branches and alternate, toothless, narrow leaves, an inch or so long. The flowers have yellow centers and small yellow rays, forming clusters at the ends of the branches, and though very small are so numerous as to make effective clumps of bright color. This grows at the Grand Canyon, and in dry rocky places, as far east as the Central States. [Illustration: Ptilonella--P. scabra. Brown-foot--Perezia Wrightii. Desert Holly--P. nana.] There are a good many kinds of Helenium, natives of North and Central America. [Sidenote: =Sneeze-weed= _Helènium Bigelòwii_ =Yellow Summer, autumn Cal., Oreg.=] A handsome plant, with a roughish stem, from two to four feet tall, and toothless, rather coarse leaves, rougher on the underside, the lower part of the leaf grown to the stem along its middle in a curious way. The flowers are from an inch and a half to two inches across, with bright golden-yellow rays and a rich-brown center, powdered with yellow pollen, and the budding flower heads look like brown buttons. This grows in meadows and along streams, at moderate altitudes, and is found in Yosemite. [Sidenote: _Hymenopáppus lùteus_ =Yellow Summer Ariz., New Mex., Col., Utah=] A pretty and rather unusual-looking plant, with a cluster of root-leaves, gray-green and downy, cut into many fine divisions, and slender stems, about a foot tall, with two or three, narrow, alternate, toothless leaves, and bearing at the top a few pretty, bright yellow flower-heads, nearly an inch across, with tube-shaped flowers only. This grows in dry, open places. There are many kinds of Madia, sticky, heavy-scented herbs, commonly called Tarweed and called Madi in Chili. They are used medicinally by Spanish-Californians. [Sidenote: _Common Madia, Tarweed_ _Màdia élegans_ =Yellow Summer, autumn West=] Pretty flowers, with hairy stems, from six inches to three feet tall, and velvety or hairy leaves, more or less sticky and the upper ones alternate. The flowers grow in loose clusters and are from one to over two inches across, with bright yellow rays, sometimes with a spot of maroon at the base which gives an extremely pretty effect, and a yellow or maroon center. This often makes pretty patches of color in sandy places, and is widely distributed and very variable. Woodland Madia, _M. madioìdes_, is similar, but not so pretty. [Sidenote: =Gum-weed= _Màdia dissitiflòra_ =Yellow Summer California=] A slender plant, over a foot tall, with hairy stem and leaves, which are aromatic when crushed, and rather pretty little flowers, about half an inch across, with pale yellow rays, yellow centers specked with black, and sticky-hairy involucres. This grows along roadsides and the edges of woods. [Illustration: Madia--M. elegans. Hymenopappus luteus. Sneeze Weed--Helenium Bigelowii. Gum-weed--Madia dissitiflora.] There are many kinds of Coreopsis, natives of America, South Africa, and Australasia, several of them cultivated in gardens. They are called Tickseed. [Sidenote: =Desert Coreopsis= _Coreópsis Bigelòwii_ =Yellow Spring California=] This is very pretty, with one or several, slender, smooth stems, about ten inches tall, springing from a tuft of pretty, bright green, smooth, shiny leaves, cut into narrow divisions and slightly succulent. The flowers are an inch and a half to two inches across, with bright yellow rays, lighter at the tips, and an orange center, and look exceedingly pretty in the Mohave Desert. [Sidenote: =Sea Dahlia= _Coreópsis marítima (Leptosyne)_ =Yellow Spring California=] A magnificent plant, forming large clumps, two feet high, but not at all coarse in character. The leaves are very bright green, smooth and quite succulent, and cut into narrow lobes, so that the effect is graceful and unusual looking. The superb flowers are often four inches across, with clear light yellow rays and orange-yellow centers, and the lower row of bracts stand out stiffly like a ruffle and are like the leaves in texture and color, contrasting oddly with the upper bracts, which are satiny in texture and almost as yellow as the rays. These plants are conspicuously beautiful on the sea cliffs near San Diego. [Sidenote: =Trixis= _Tríxis angustifòlia var. latiúscula_ =Yellow Spring Southwest, New Mex.=] A small evergreen shrub, about a foot high, with smooth, light dull green leaves, with a few fine teeth, and loose clusters of rather pretty, bright yellow flowers, the heads about three-quarters of an inch long. This grows on rocky hillsides and is quite effective. There are a great many kinds of Chrysanthemum, widely distributed in the northern hemisphere. [Sidenote: =Ox-eye Daisy= _Chrysánthemum Leucánthemum_ =White Spring, summer, autumn Northwest, etc.=] This is the well known common kind, a general favorite, except with farmers, naturalized from Europe and also found in Asia; a perennial weed in pastures, meadows, and waste places, more or less all over the United States, but much more common in the Northeast. It grows from one to three feet high, the leaves toothed and cut, and the flower-heads measuring from one to two inches across, with bright golden centers and pure white rays. [Illustration: Trixis angustifolia--var. latiuscula. Desert Coreopsis--C. Bigelowii. Sea Dahlia--Coreopsis maritima.] There are several kinds of Coreothrogyne, some resembling Lessingia, others Aster. [Sidenote: =Woolly Aster= _Coreothrógyne filaginifòlia_ =Pink, purple Spring, summer, autumn California=] This forms a clump from one to three feet high, with many erect stems, white with woolly down, at least when young, and crowded with alternate, pale grayish-green leaves, thin and soft in texture and covered with down. The flower-heads are an inch across, with purplish-pink rays and dark yellow centers, and contrast rather prettily with the pale foliage. In Yosemite this grows on rocky ledges below five thousand feet and blooms late. It is common from Monterey to Santa Barbara, blooming at almost all seasons, and is very variable. [Sidenote: _Psilóstrophe tagetìna var. sparsiflòra (Riddellia)_ =Yellow Spring, summer Arizona=] These flowers do not look much like those of a composite, but give more the effect of yellow Wallflowers. The plant is very attractive, from one to two feet tall, with alternate, bluish-green leaves, most of them toothless, and handsome clusters of lemon-yellow flowers. They are each about three-quarters of an inch across, delicately scented, and usually have four large rays, mixed with a few smaller and more irregularly shaped, all much more like petals than rays and becoming papery in fading. The picture is of a plant growing in the Grand Canyon. [Sidenote: =Paper Flowers= _Psilóstrophe Coòperi_ =Yellow Spring Southwest=] A pretty, compact, shrubby plant, woody below, about a foot high, with tangled branches, pale downy twigs, and thickish, dull green, downy leaves. The pretty flowers are an inch and a quarter across, with an orange-yellow center and five or six, large, clear bright yellow rays, twisted to one side and puckered at the base, turning back and becoming papery as they fade. This plant is at its best in sandy soil and is very effective in the desert. When fully developed it is very symmetrical in outline, forming a charming yellow globe of flowers. There are several kinds of Xylorrhiza, nearly related to the Aster group and by some authorities regarded as Asters. [Illustration: Woolly Aster--Coreothrogyne filaginifolia. Psilostrophe tagetina--var. sparsiflora. Paper Flowers--P. Cooperi.] [Sidenote: =Xylorrhiza= _Xylorrhìza tortifòlia_ =Lilac Spring Southwest, Utah, Col.=] A handsome plant, growing in clumps over two feet high, with prickly leaves and beautiful flowers, two inches and a half across, with rays shading from bright lilac to nearly white and yellow centers. This is common in the Grand Canyon. There are a good many kinds of Arnica, natives of the northern hemisphere. This is the ancient name and a European kind is much used medicinally. [Sidenote: =Heart-leaved Arnica= _Árnica cordifòlia_ =Yellow Summer West, except Ariz.=] A handsome mountain flower, with a hairy stem, from six inches to two feet tall, and velvety leaves, coarsely toothed, the lower ones usually heart-shaped. The flower-heads are usually single, over two inches across, with bright yellow rays, an orange center, and a hairy involucre. This is common in rich moist soil in mountain valleys, as far east as Colorado. [Sidenote: =Broad-leaved Arnica= _Árnica latifòlia_ =Yellow Summer Northwest=] A handsome kind, sometimes a foot and a half tall, with pretty flowers, about two inches across, with very bright yellow rays. The bright green leaves are thin in texture and practically smooth, the lower ones more or less roundish, with leaf stalks. This grows in mountain woods. There are many kinds of Artemisia; herbs or shrubs, usually bitter and aromatic, widely distributed. [Sidenote: =Common Sage-brush= _Artemísia tridentàta_ =Yellow Summer, autumn West, etc.=] This is the characteristic sort, often immensely abundant and found as far east as Colorado, often tinting the landscape for miles with its pale and beautiful foliage and one of the dominant shrubs in the Great Basin. It is very branching, from one to twelve feet high, with a distinct trunk and shreddy bark, and the twigs and alternate leaves are all gray-green, covered with silvery down, the upper leaves small and toothless, the lower wedge-shaped, with usually three, blunt teeth. The small yellow flowers have no rays and grow in small, close clusters, forming long sprays towards the ends of the branches. Sagebrush is a "soil indicator" and when the prospective rancher finds it on land he knows at once that it will be good for even dry farming, as the soil contains no salt or alkali. [Illustration: Xylorrhiza tortifolia.] [Illustration: Heart-leaved Arnica--A. cordifolia. Broad-leaved Arnica--A. latifolia.] There are a good many kinds of Eriophyllum, common and very variable, woolly plants. [Sidenote: =Woolly Yellow Daisy= _Eriophýllum lanàtum_ =Yellow Spring, summer Cal., Oreg., Wash.=] This is a handsome kind, in favorable situations forming large conspicuous clumps, from one to two feet high, covered with bright golden flowers, each over an inch across. The leaves are dull green on the upper side, but the under side and the buds and stems are all covered with fine white down. The leaves are variable in form, sometimes neither lobed nor toothed, and sometimes cut into narrow toothed divisions. This has a variety of forms and grows on hillsides. [Sidenote: =Eriophyllum= _Eriophýllum caespitòsum var. integrifòlium_ =Yellow Summer Northwest, etc.=] This forms low tufts of pale gray downy foliage, contrasting well with the bright yellow flower-heads, each about an inch across. This grows around Yosemite and in other mountain places, as far east as Wyoming, and has a variety of forms. [Sidenote: =Golden Yarrow= _Eriophýllum confertiflòrum_ =Yellow Summer California=] This has small flowers, but it forms such large clumps that the effect of the golden-yellow clusters is handsome and very conspicuous, on dry hills and mountains and along roadsides in summer. It is woody below, from one to two feet high, and the leaves are more or less woolly. The variety _discoídeum_ has no rays. There are many kinds of Anthemis, natives of Europe, Asia, and Africa. [Sidenote: =Mayweed, Chamomile, Dog Fennel= _Ánthemis Cótula_ =White Summer, autumn U. S., etc.=] This little weed is common in waste places and fields and along roadsides, almost all over the world. It is a branching annual, from one to two feet tall, with feathery light green foliage, cut into many long, narrow divisions, almost smooth, with a disagreeable smell and strong acrid taste. The many daisy-like flowers have heads about an inch across, with from ten to eighteen white rays and convex yellow centers. There is a picture of this plant in Mathews' _Field Book_. [Illustration: Golden Yarrow--E. confertiflorum. Woolly Yellow Daisy--E. lanatum. Eriophyllum caespitosum--var. integrifolium.] There are a good many kinds of Chaenactis, the flower-heads with tubular flowers only, but in some kinds the marginal flowers are larger and have a broad border resembling a kind of ray. [Sidenote: =Chaenactis= _Chaenáctis Douglásii_ =White Spring, summer Utah, Cal., New Mex.=] A rather pretty plant, from eight inches to over a foot tall and more or less downy, with stiffish, gray-green, leaves, cut into many short, blunt lobes and teeth. The flower-heads are about an inch long, and contain numerous small, pearly-white or pinkish, tube-shaped flowers, with long, purplish pistils. This grows in dry open places, the flowers turn pink in fading and are sweet-smelling and quite pretty, though not striking. _C. macrántha_, which grows in the Grand Canyon, has similar flowers, rather prettier, with a somewhat sickly scent, but it is a lower plant. [Sidenote: =Golden Girls= _Chaenáctis lanòsa_ =Yellow Spring California=] A charming desert plant, with several downy stems, over a foot tall, springing from a feathery cluster of pretty, bright green, thickish leaves, cut into narrow divisions, rather downy and often tinged with red. The flower-head is nearly an inch and a half across, without rays, but the marginal flowers in the head are larger and have broad borders that look like rays. They are a beautiful shade of clear bright yellow. [Sidenote: =Morning Bride= _Chaenáctis Fremóntii_ =White Spring Southwest=] This is very much like the last in size, form, and foliage and is equally charming, but the flowers are all pure white, or pinkish, instead of yellow. It is one of the most attractive of the white desert flowers. [Sidenote: =Desert Star= _Erimiástrum bellidoìdes_ =Lilac Spring Arizona=] A charming little desert plant, with spreading stems and small, narrow, toothless, gray bluish-green leaves, which are soft, but sprinkled with small, stiff, white bristles, the whole forming a rosette, five or six inches across, growing flat on the sand and ornamented with many pretty little flowers. They are each set off by a little rosette of leaves and are over half an inch across, with pinkish-lilac rays, shading to white towards the yellow center and tinted with bright purple on the back. [Illustration: Desert Star--Erimiastrum bellidoides. Chaenactis--C. Douglasii. Golden Girls--Chaenactis lanosa.] [Sidenote: =Venegasia= _Venegàsia carpesioìdes_ =Yellow Summer California=] These big, leafy plants, with their bright flowers, are a splendid feature of the California woods and canyons in June, especially on the slopes of the Santa Inez mountains, where they often cover large areas with green and gold; unfortunately the smell is rather disagreeable. The leafy stems are four or five feet high, nearly smooth, with alternate, bright green leaves, almost smooth and thin in texture, and the flowers, resembling Sun-flowers, are over two inches across, with clear yellow rays, an orange center, and an involucre of many green scales, overlapping and wrapped around each other, so that the bud looks much like a tiny head of lettuce. This was named for Venegas, a Jesuit missionary, and is the only kind, growing near the coast in the South. [Sidenote: =Lessingia= _Lessíngia leptóclada_ =Lilac Summer California=] This is a slender plant, from six inches to two feet tall, with pale gray green, woolly leaves, the lower ones somewhat toothed, and pale pinkish-lilac flowers, not very conspicuous in themselves, but sometimes growing in such quantities that they form pretty patches of soft pinkish color in sandy places. The flower-head is about half an inch long, with no rays, but the outer flowers in the head are larger and have long lobes resembling rays. This is very variable, especially in size, and is common along dry roadsides and quite abundant in Yosemite. The picture is of a small plant. _L. Germanòrum_, which is common on sandy hills along the coast from San Francisco to San Diego, has yellow flowers and blooms in autumn. There are many kinds of Baeria, not easily distinguished. [Sidenote: =Sunshine, Gold Fields= _Baéria grácilis_ =Yellow Southwest=] This is a dear little plant, often covering the fields with a carpet of gold. The slender stems are about six inches tall, with soft, downy, light green leaves, usually opposite, and pretty fragrant flowers, about three-quarters of an inch across, with bright yellow rays and darker yellow centers. This is sometimes called Fly Flower, because in some places it is frequented by a small fly, which is annoying to horses. _B. macrántha_ is a much larger plant, a biennial, with a tuberous root, from seven inches to a foot and a half tall, with long, narrow, toothless leaves, with hairy margins, and flower-heads from an inch to an inch and a half across, with yellow rays and hairy involucres. This grows along the coast in California, blooming in May and June. [Illustration: Venegasia--V. carpesioides. Sunshine--Baeria gracilis. Lessingia--L. leptoclada.] There are several kinds of Bahia, natives of western North America, Mexico, and Chile, herbs or shrubs, more or less woolly. [Sidenote: =Bahia= _Bàhia absinthifòlia_ =Yellow Spring Arizona=] This is from eight to fifteen inches tall, with pretty flowers, an inch and a half across, with bright yellow rays and deep yellow centers, contrasting well with the pale gray-green foliage, which is covered with close white down. This grows in arid situations on the mesas and often forms clumps. There are several kinds of Crassina, natives of the United States and Mexico. [Sidenote: =Desert Zinnia= _Crassìna pùmila (Zinnia)_ =White Spring Arizona=] Nothing could look much less like a garden Zinnia than this dry, prickly-looking dwarf shrub. It is from three inches to a foot high, the branches crowded with very small, stiff, dull green leaves, and the flowers are about an inch across, rather pretty but not conspicuous, with a yellow center and four or five, broad, cream-white rays, often tinged with dull pink. This plant grows on the plains and is a "soil-indicator," as it flourishes on the poorest, stoniest, and most arid land. [Sidenote: =Wild Marigold= _Bàileya multiradiàta_ =Yellow Spring, summer, etc. Southwest, Tex.=] Charming flowers, with a thrifty, cultivated appearance like that of a garden flower. The plant is a foot tall, with grayish-green, woolly stems and foliage, and the handsome flower is an inch and a half across, with a fine ruffle of many bright yellow rays, prettily scalloped, and a yellow center, rather deeper in color. In Arizona bouquets of these flowers may be gathered during every month in the year. [Sidenote: _Bàileya pauciradiàta_ =Yellow Spring Southwest=] An odd little desert plant, about six inches tall, with a thickish stem and soft, thickish leaves, covered all over with silky, white wool, giving a pale, silky effect to the whole plant, which is quite pretty, though the pale yellow flowers, each about half an inch across, are not striking. [Illustration: Desert Zinnia--Crassina pumila. Baileya pauciradiata. Bahia absinthifolia. Wild Marigold--Baileya multiradiata.] [Sidenote: =Pentachaeta= _Pentachaèta àurea_ =Yellow Spring California=] Gay, yet delicate little flowers, with slender branching stems, about eight inches tall, and light green, very narrow leaves. The flowers are an inch across, with a feathery ruffle of very numerous narrow rays, light yellow at the tips, growing deeper towards the orange-colored center, and the pretty buds are often tinged with pink or purple. This often grows in patches and is common in southern California. [Sidenote: =Daisy Dwarf= _Actinolèpis lanòsa_ =White Spring Arizona=] A quaint little desert plant, only two or three inches tall, with thickish, pale gray-green leaves, covered with close white down, and pretty little flowers, growing singly at the ends of tiny branches, each half an inch across, with a yellow center and pure white rays, which fold back at night. These little flowers are too small to be very conspicuous, but are charming in effect, sprinkled over the bare sand, and when growing in quantities on nearly bare mesas give a whitish appearance to the ground. There are a good many kinds of Blepharipappus. [Sidenote: =Yellow Tidy-tips= _Blepharipáppus élegans (Layia)_ =Yellow Spring California=] Very pretty flowers, with slender, branching, hairy stems, about a foot tall, and light green, hairy leaves. The flowers are about two inches across, with yellow rays, tipped with white or very pale yellow, neatly arranged around the deep yellow centers, which are specked with black. The rays twist up in fading and turn to a pretty shade of dull pink. This is common and a very handsome kind. [Sidenote: =White Tidy-tips= _Blepharipáppus glandulòsus (Layia)_ =White Spring Southwest, Oreg., Wash.=] A beautiful kind, eight or nine inches tall, with pale green, hairy leaves, the lower ones toothed, and a slender stem, bearing a charming flower, nearly an inch and a half across, with neat pure white rays and a bright yellow center. This grows in mountain canyons and is widely distributed as far north as British Columbia. There are several kinds of Gaillardia, all American. They are much cultivated in gardens, were named in honor of Gaillard de Merentonneau, a French botanist. [Illustration: Daisy Dwarf--Actinolepis lanosa. Pentachaeta aurea. White Tidy-tips--B. glandulosus. Yellow Tidy-tips--Blepharipappus elegans.] [Sidenote: =Blanket-flower, Gaillardia= _Gaillàrdia pinnatífida_ =Yellow Summer Ariz., Col., Tex.=] This is handsome and conspicuous, with a slender, rough stalk, about a foot tall, dull green, stiff, rather hairy leaves, mostly from the root, and beautiful flowers, an inch and a half across, with golden-yellow rays, with three teeth, and a center of shaded maroon and yellow, which is very velvety and pretty and becomes an attractive, purplish, fuzzy, round head when the rays drop off. This grows on the plains. _G. aristàta_, found throughout the West and as far east as Colorado, is an exceedingly handsome kind, sometimes over two feet tall, with beautiful yellow flowers, sometimes measuring four inches across. [Sidenote: =Arizona Gaillardia= _Gaillàrdia Arizònica_ =Yellow Spring Arizona=] A pretty little desert plant, from four to eight inches tall, with a slender, downy flower-stalk, springing from a cluster of roughish, light dull green leaves, more or less hairy and bearing a single handsome flower, nearly two inches across, with a downy involucre and three-toothed rays of an unusual and pretty shade of dull light yellow, finely veined with brown on the back, surrounding a darker yellow, fuzzy center. [Sidenote: =Tiny Tim= _Hymenathèrum Hartwégi_ =Yellow Spring Arizona=] A neat little evergreen, shrubby plant, only about three inches high, with branching stems, clothed with small, narrow, dull green leaves, which look prickly but are actually not very stiff, though tipped with tiny bristles. The flowers are three-eighths of an inch across, very perfect in outline, with bright yellow rays and deeper yellow centers, and the whole effect, of a tiny shrub sprinkled with flowers, is quite attractive, growing on very dry ground along the roadside. The plant has a pronounced smell, which is not unpleasant. [Sidenote: =Tall Purple Aster= _Machaeranthèra incàna (Aster)_ =Purple Spring Southwest, Utah, New Mex.=] This looks a good deal like an Aster, a branching plant, from two to nearly three feet high, with grayish-green, slightly downy leaves, with very sharp teeth. The flowers are an inch and a half across, with narrow, bright violet rays and bright yellow centers. This grows abundantly in valleys. [Illustration: Purple Aster--Machaeranthera incana. Tiny Tim--Hymenatherum Hartwegi. Blanket-flower--Gaillardia pinnatifida. Arizona Gaillardia--G. Arizonica.] [Sidenote: _Laphàmia bisetòsa_ =Yellow Summer Ariz., New Mex., Tex.=] An insignificant plant, except that it grows on the sides of bare, red rocks or head-downward on the under side of overhanging ledges, apparently needing little or no soil, and is therefore noticeable. It forms round clumps, one or two feet across, with many slender stems, about six inches high, small, pale yellowish-green, roughish leaves, and small yellow flower-heads, without rays. This is rare and grows in the Grand Canyon. There are several kinds of Grindelia, common in the West, recommended as a remedy for Poison Oak. [Sidenote: =Gum Plant= _Grindèlia latifòlia_ =Yellow Spring California=] Coarse but rather effective flowers, with smooth, stiff, branching stems, about three feet high, and dark dull green leaves. The flower-heads are over an inch and a half across, with bright yellow rays and centers and very resinous, shiny buds. There are several kinds of Balsamorrhiza. Both the Latin and common names allude to the aromatic roots. [Sidenote: =Arrow-leaf Balsam-root, Big Root= _Balsamorrhìza sagittàta_ =Yellow Spring Utah, Ida., Cal., Nev., Col.=] A very handsome plant, the contrast between the gray-velvet leaves and the great yellow flowers being very striking. It forms large clumps, about a foot and a half high, with slightly downy flower-stalks and heart-shaped or arrow-shaped, toothless leaves, pale gray-green and velvety, covered with silvery down, whiter on the under side. The flowers are over three inches across, with clear bright yellow rays, and a deeper yellow center, fuzzy and greenish-yellow in the middle. The involucre is almost white, thickly covered with silvery, silky wool, and the flowers are pleasantly sweet-smelling. This grows on dry hillsides. [Sidenote: =Cut-leaved Balsam-root= _Balsamorrhìza macrophýlla_ =Yellow Spring, summer Utah, Wyo.=] A strikingly handsome plant, forming clumps even larger than the last, with similar flowers, but with quite different foliage. The leaves are rich-green, and decorative in form, more or less slashed into lobes and very sticky, with hairy margins and leaf-stalks, and are nearly as tall as the hairy, sticky flower-stems, from one to two feet high. This grows in rich soil in mountain valleys. [Illustration: Cut-leaved Balsam Root--Balsamorrhiza macrophylla.] [Illustration: Laphamia bisetosa. Gum Plant--Grindelia latifolia. Arrow-leaf Balsam-root--Balsamorrhiza sagittata.] [Sidenote: =Balsam-root= _Balsamorrhìza Hóokeri_ =Yellow Spring West, except Ariz.=] Rather handsome, though a coarse plant, over a foot tall, with hairy, dull green or grayish leaves, crisp and harsh to the touch, variously lobed and cut, chiefly in a clump at the root. The flowers are numerous, from an inch and a half to over two inches across, with deep orange-yellow rays, and grow singly on long flower-stalks. This flourishes on dry plains and mesas. There are several kinds of Wyethia, resembling Balsam-roots, but their thick roots not resinous. [Sidenote: =Yellows, Mule-ears= _Wyéthia amplexicàulis_ =Yellow Spring, summer Utah, Nev., etc.=] A robust and exceedingly handsome plant, one or two feet tall, with rich foliage and gorgeous flowers. The leaves are stiffish, dark rich green, smooth but somewhat sticky, often toothed; the stem-leaves alternate, their bases partly clasping, and the root-leaves a foot or two long and two or three inches broad, with leaf-stalks. The flower-heads are about four inches across, with bright yellow rays, almost orange color, and the center with three rows of yellow disk-flowers, surrounding a clump of pointed, overlapping, stiff, greenish scales in the middle. This sometimes forms immense patches on dry hills at rather high altitudes, as far east as Colorado. It is sometimes called Compass Plant, because its leaves are thought to point North and South, and the Indian name is "Pe-ik." [Sidenote: =Woolly Wyethia= _Wyéthia móllis_ =Yellow Summer California=] Not so handsome as the last, but a striking plant, from one to four feet high, with gray-green, velvety foliage, all covered with soft wool, forming large clumps of leaves, from six to fifteen inches long. The flowers are two or three inches across, with orange rays and very woolly involucres. This is common in dry places in Yosemite. There are several kinds of Rudbeckia, all North American. [Sidenote: =Black Eyed Susan= _Rudbéckia hírta_ =Yellow Summer California, etc.=] From one to four feet high, with rough leaves and one or a few handsome flowers, from one to four inches across, with deep yellow rays and a purplish-brown conical center. This comes from the Mississippi Valley, is very common in the East, and becoming common in Yosemite meadows. [Illustration: Woolly Wyethia--W. mollis. Balsam-root--Balsamorrhiza Hookeri.] [Sidenote: =Brass Buttons, Butter-heads= _Cótula coronopifòlia_ =Yellow Spring, summer, autumn Cal., Oreg.=] This little weed comes from South Africa, but is now common in wet places, especially in the salt marshes around San Francisco Bay, often carpeting the sand and mud with its succulent, trailing stems. The bright green leaves are alternate and smooth, clasping the stem at base, some with toothless edges, others variously cut and lobed, and the flower-heads are about half an inch or less across, like the bright yellow center of a Daisy, without rays. _Matricària matricarioìdes_ is another little weed, common along roadsides, with conical, greenish-yellow flower-heads, without rays, and feathery foliage, which has a strong pleasant fruity smell when crushed, giving it the name of Pineapple-weed and Manzanilla. [Sidenote: =Tetradymia= _Tetradýmia spinòsa_ =Yellow Spring West, etc.=] An odd desert shrub, about three feet high, with gray bark and crooked, gnarly, tangled branches, armed with long spines and clothed with small, downy, pale green leaves. The flower-heads are three-quarters of an inch long, without rays, with pale yellow tube-shaped flowers and downy, white involucres, and are so crowded on the twigs that they appear to be loaded with them, but the coloring is too pale to be effective. This is common in the Mohave Desert and elsewhere on dry hills and plains, as far east as Colorado. There are a great many kinds of Solidago, most of them natives of North America. On the whole, the western Golden-rods are not so fine as the eastern ones, nor are there so many kinds, though there are quite enough to puzzle the amateur, as they are difficult to distinguish. [Sidenote: =Arizona Golden-rod= _Solidàgo trinervàta_ =Yellow Summer Arizona=] A handsome kind, from one to two feet high, with flower-heads nearly three-eighths of an inch across, with bright yellow rays and centers, forming a large, handsome, plume-like cluster. The stem and leaves are dull bluish-green, rather stiff and rough, the lower leaves with a few obscure teeth. This grows at the Grand Canyon. _S. occidentàlis_, Western Golden-rod, is smooth all over, with leafy stems, from three to five feet tall, toothless leaves, and flat-topped clusters of small, yellow, sweet-scented flowers. This grows in marshes and along the banks of streams, in California, Oregon, and Washington, blooming in summer and autumn. _S. Califórnica_, California Golden-rod, is from two to four feet high, with grayish-green, roughish leaves, the lower ones toothed, and small yellow flowers, forming dense pyramidal clusters, from four to thirteen inches long. This grows on dry plains and hillsides and in the mountains, throughout California and in Oregon, blooming in the autumn. It is called Orojo de Leabre by the Spanish-Californians. [Illustration: Tetradymia spinosa. Arizona Golden-rod--Solidago trinervata. Brass Buttons--Cotula coronopifolia.] There are probably over a thousand different kinds of Senecio, very widely distributed. The name is from the Latin for "old man," in allusion to the long white hairs of the pappus, when "gone to seed." Our kinds have many common names, such as Groundsel, Ragwort, and Squaw-weed. [Sidenote: =Ragwort= _Senècio perpléxus var. díspar_ =Yellow Spring, summer Utah, Idaho=] A conspicuous plant and quite handsome, though its flowers are rather untidy-looking, for, like many other Senecios, the rays do not come out evenly. It is about two feet high, with a stout, hollow, ridged stem, sparsely woolly, and dark green, thickish leaves, with shallow and uneven teeth and covered with sparse, fine, white woolly hairs, as if partially rubbed off. The flowers are over an inch across, with bright yellow rays, curling back in fading, an orange center, fading to brown, and the bracts of the involucre tipped with black. This grows in moist rich soil, in mountain valleys. [Sidenote: =Creek Senecio= _Senècio Douglásii_ =Yellow Spring, summer, autumn Southwest=] A handsome bush, about three feet high, covered with many flowers, on slender flower-stalks, sticking up out of a mass of rather delicate foliage, which is often covered with white cottony wool. The flowers are an inch and three-quarters across, with bright light yellow, rather untidy rays and yellow centers. This grows in dry stream beds and on warm slopes in the foothills. [Illustration: Creek Senecio--S. Douglasii. Squaw-weed--S. perplexus var. dispar.] [Illustration] [Sidenote: _Senècio Lémmoni_ =Yellow Spring Arizona=] This is quite effective, with attractive flowers and foliage, growing among rocks on hillsides and forming large clumps over a foot high. The stems are slender and often much bent, the leaves are dark green and thin in texture with toothed edges, rolled back, and the numerous flowers are an inch across, with bright yellow rays and deep yellow centers. This plant blossoms both as an annual and as a perennial. [Sidenote: =White Squaw-weed= _Senècio cordàtus_ =White Summer Northwest=] A rather handsome plant, with a stout stem, about two feet tall; the upper leaves more or less downy and the root-leaves rather thick and soft, covered with whitish hairs on the under side. The flower-heads are about three-quarters of an inch across, with a fuzzy, pale yellow center and white rays. This grows in open woods, at rather high altitudes. [Sidenote: _Senècio Riddéllii_ =Yellow Spring, winter Arizona=] A rather showy plant, from six inches to two feet tall, blossoming both as an annual and as a biennial, after which it dies. The whole plant is smooth and the foliage is green or bluish-green, rather delicate and pretty. The flowers are an inch to an inch and a half across and they begin to appear in winter when there is little else to brighten the desert mesas. This plant is abundant in valley lands, though it has a wide range. [Sidenote: _S. multilobàtus_ =Yellow Summer Ariz., Utah, etc.=] A rather pretty plant, about a foot tall, with a few small leaves on the slightly woolly stem, but most of them in a rosette at the base. They are smooth, thickish and slightly stiff, about an inch and a half long, and neatly cut into small, toothed lobes. The few flowers are in a loose cluster at the top of the stem and have heads about three-quarters of an inch across, with pale yellow rays and brighter yellow centers. This grows at the Grand Canyon and on the dry plains of Utah and Colorado, at altitudes of about seven thousand feet. [Illustration: Leaf of S. multilobatus. S. Riddellii. S. Lemmoni. White Squaw-weed--Senecio cordatus.] [Sidenote: =African Senecio= _Senècio élegans_ =White and mauve Spring California=] A handsome plant, which is noticeable on account of its unusual coloring. The stout, smooth stem is two or three feet tall, with smooth, slightly thickish leaves, the margins rolled back, a very peculiar shade of light bright yellowish-green. The handsome flowers are an inch and three-eighths across, with bright deep yellow centers and white rays shading to mauve at the tips, and form a large flat-topped cluster. This is a native of Africa and is not yet common in this country, but grows on the sand dunes near San Francisco. There are many kinds of Baccharis, all American, chiefly shrubs. [Sidenote: =Groundsel-tree Chaparral Broom= _Báccharis pilulàris_ =Whitish, yellowish Autumn Cal., Oreg., Wash.=] A branching evergreen shrub, from two to five feet high, with smooth dark green, leathery leaves, an inch or less long, rather wedge-shaped, usually coarsely toothed. The flower-heads are very small, without rays, and are crowded at the ends of the twigs. Some plants have only staminate flowers and some only pistillate ones, and the effect of the two sorts is very different, for the staminate flowers are ugly, but the pistillate ones are provided with quantities of long, white, silky pappus, giving a beautiful, snowy appearance to the shrub. This is very variable, being a fine shrub in favorable situations, and is common along the coast on the sand dunes, on low hills and on high mountain slopes. There are a great many kinds of Aster, most abundant in North America, difficult to distinguish, the flowers never yellow. Though there are some fine ones in the West, they are not so numerous or so handsome as in the East. [Sidenote: =Aster= _Aster Chamissónis_ =Purple Summer, autumn Cal., Oreg.=] This is one of the commonest kinds and is quite handsome, from two to five feet high, with leafy, branching stems and alternate, lance-shaped leaves, from two to five inches long, usually toothless, without leaf-stalks. The many flowers are an inch or more across, with yellow centers and white, violet, or purple rays, the bracts of the involucre in several rows, with short and rounded tips. This is rather variable. _A. radulìnus_, Broad-leaf Aster, has stiff, rough leaves, sharply toothed towards the broad tips, and usually many flowers, an inch or so across, with whitish rays. This is rather common on dry hills in California and Oregon, blooming in summer and autumn. _A. Andersóni_, of Yosemite, has toothless, grasslike root-leaves and one beautiful flower, an inch across, with purple rays. [Illustration: African Senecio--S. elegans.] CHICORY FAMILY. _Cicoriaceae._ A large family, of wide geographic distribution, resembling the Sunflower Family and by some authors included in it. They are herbs, rarely trees, almost always with milky, acrid, or bitter juice; the leaves alternate or from the root; the flowers small and crowded in heads, with involucres, the bracts in one or several rows; the receptacle flat or flattish, sometimes naked or smooth, sometimes scaly, pitted or honeycombed; the flowers all perfect; the calyx-tube without pappus, or with pappus of scales or bristles, sometimes feathery; the corollas not of two sorts, like those of the Sunflower Family, but all with a strap-shaped border, usually five-toothed, and a short or long tube; the anthers united into a tube around the style, which is very slender and two-cleft or two-lobed; the ovary one-celled and inferior, developing into an akene. There are several kinds of Ptiloria, of western and central North America. [Sidenote: =Flowering-straw= _Ptilòria pauciflòra (Stephanomeria runcinata)_ =Pink Spring West, etc.=] In the desert this is a very strange-looking, pale plant, forming a scanty, straggling bush, about two feet high, with slender, brittle, gray stems, most of the leaves reduced to mere scales, and delicate, pale pinkish-lilac flowers, less than half an inch long. This grows on the plains, as far east as Texas, and is not always so leafless as in the picture, which is that of a desert plant, but has some coarsely-toothed leaves. [Sidenote: =Desert Pink= _Ptilòria Wrìghtii (Stephanomeria)_ =Pink Summer Ariz., New Mex.=] Much like the last, but not a queer-looking plant, with pale green foliage and larger, prettier flowers, three-quarters of an inch long, giving the effect of tiny, pale pink carnations. This grows at the Grand Canyon. [Illustration: Flowering-straw--Ptiloria pauciflora. Desert Pink--Ptiloria Wrightii.] There are a good many kinds of Agoseris, natives of western and southern North America and of southern South America. [Sidenote: =Goat Chicory, Large-flowered Agoseris= _Agóseris glàuca_ =Yellow Spring Utah, Ida., Wash., etc.=] A pretty perennial plant, about fourteen inches tall, with a slender, slightly woolly flower-stem, springing from a pretty cluster of smooth bluish-green leaves, sometimes toothless, and bearing a handsome bright yellow flower, from one to two inches across, the involucre often covered with white wool. This grows on dry slopes, as far east as Colorado. There are a good many kinds of Malacothrix, natives of the western and southwestern United States. [Sidenote: _Malácothrix glabràta_ =Yellow Spring Southwest, Nev., Utah=] A very attractive plant, with several flower-stalks, from six inches to a foot tall, springing from a pretty feathery tuft of bright green root-leaves, cut into almost threadlike divisions and often tinged with deep red. The handsome flowers are nearly two inches across, clear very pale yellow, shading to brighter color towards the middle. This is common on open plains in southern California, where it passes almost gradually into _M. Califórnica_, which is similar, but conspicuously woolly when young, covered with very long, soft hairs. [Sidenote: =Snake's Head= _Malácothrix Còulteri_ =White Spring California=] A smooth plant, with a "bloom," from five to sixteen inches high, often branching from the base, the leaves cut into wavy lobes, with no leaf-stalk. The handsome flowers are about an inch across, white, turning pink in fading, the involucres with shining, papery, green and white bracts. This is one of the most conspicuous annuals in the San Joaquin Valley. _M. saxàtilis_, the Cliff Aster, is a handsome perennial, common in southern California and often growing on sea-cliffs. It has a leafy branching stem, from one to four feet high, the leaves toothless, or cut into slender divisions, and often quite fleshy, and many pretty flowers at the ends of the branches. They are each about an inch across, white, changing to pink or lilac, with an involucre of many narrow bracts, running down the flower-stalk. This is common in southern California, blooming in summer and autumn. [Illustration: Malacothrix glabrata. Goat Chicory--Agoserìs glauca.] [Sidenote: =Desert Dandelion= _Malácothrix Féndleri_ =Yellow Spring Arizona=] An attractive little desert plant, about five inches tall, with stiffish, pale bluish-green leaves, forming a rosette, and pretty, very pale yellow flowers, nearly an inch across, like a delicate sort of Dandelion. It is a near relation of the common Dandelion and blooms early in the spring. [Sidenote: =Salsify, Oyster Plant= _Tragopògon porrifòlius_ =Purple Spring, summer West, etc.=] This is the common Salsify, the root of which is used as a vegetable. It is naturalized from Europe and is now quite common in the West as a "stray" and also in the East. It has a smooth, stout, hollow stem, from two to over four feet tall, rather dark green, smooth leaves, clasping at base, and handsome flowers from two to four inches across, which are a very peculiar shade of reddish-purple, not usually seen in flowers. They open early in the morning, closing by midday and fading almost immediately when picked, and may be seen growing along the edges of fields and just outside garden fences where they are often quite conspicuous. This plant has many common names, such as Jerusalem Star, Nap-at-noon, and Vegetable Oyster. [Sidenote: =Desert Chicory= _Nemosèris Neo-Mexicàna (Rafinesquia)_ =White Spring Ariz., New Mex.=] A straggling desert plant, from a few inches to a foot and a half high, with smooth branching stems and smooth, very pale bluish-green leaves, rather thick in texture. The pretty flowers are from one to two inches across, white, tinged with pink or cream-color and a little yellow in the middle, often striped with magenta on the outside, and the bracts of the involucre tinged with pink and bordered with white. _N. Califórnica_ is a branching plant, from one to five feet tall, with a stout stem and smooth oblong leaves, lobed, toothed, or almost toothless, and quite pretty flowers at the ends of the branches. They are about an inch across, white, often tinged with magenta on the outside. This grows in California and Oregon, usually in shady or moist places. There are several kinds of Cichorium, natives of the Old World. The name is from the Arabic. [Illustration: Salsify--Tragopogon porrifolius. Desert Chicory--Nemoseris Neo-Mexicana. Desert Dandelion--Malacothrix Fendleri.] [Sidenote: =Chicory, Blue Sailors= _Cichòrium Íntybus_ =Blue Summer, autumn Northwest, etc.=] This is a straggling plant, from one to three feet tall, a perennial, with a long, deep tap-root, stiff, branching stems, and leaves irregularly slashed into toothed lobes and chiefly from the root. The pretty flowers are from an inch to an inch and a half across, much like those of Desert Chicory, but very brilliant blue, occasionally white. This plant has escaped from cultivation and is now very common in waste places and along roadsides in the East and often found in the West. The ground-up root is used as a substitute for coffee. There is a picture in Mathews' _Field Book_. There are several kinds of Microseris, rather difficult to distinguish. [Sidenote: =Silver-puffs= _Microsèris linearifòlia_ =Yellow Spring Southwest, Nev.=] This is about a foot tall, with smooth, hollow flower-stems, smooth leaves, and rather small yellow flowers, not particularly pretty. The "gone-to-seed" flower-heads are, however, very conspicuous, for they are nearly an inch and a half across, and each seed is tipped by a little silvery paper star, the effect before the wind carries them away being exceedingly pretty, a good deal like a Dandelion puff. This grows in the Grand Canyon on the plateau. There are many kinds of Sonchus, natives of the Old World. [Sidenote: =Sow Thistle= _Sónchus oleràceus_ =Yellow All seasons West, etc.=] A common weed, from Europe, found across the continent, coarse but decorative in form, with a stout leafy stem, from one to four feet tall, and smooth leaves, with some soft prickles on the edges, the upper ones clasping the stem and the lower ones with leaf-stalks. The pale yellow flowers are three-quarters of an inch or more across. There are several kinds of Taraxacum, natives of the northern hemisphere and southern South America. [Sidenote: =Dandelion= _Taráxacum Taráxacum_ =Yellow All seasons U. S., etc.=] This is a weed in all civilized parts of the world, growing in meadows, fields, and waste places. It has a thick, deep, bitter root, a tuft of root-leaves, slashed into toothed lobes, and several hollow flower-stalks, from two to eighteen inches tall, each bearing a single, handsome, bright yellow flower, from one to two inches across, which is succeeded by a beautiful silvery seed puff. This plant has many common names, such as Blow-ball, Monk's-head, Lion's-tooth, etc. [Illustration: Sow Thistle--Sonchus oleraceus. Silver-puffs--Microseris linearifolia.] [Illustration] There are a great many kinds of Crepis, natives of the northern hemisphere. [Sidenote: =Gray Hawksbeard= _Crèpis occidentàlis_ =Yellow Spring, summer West, etc.=] This is a pretty plant, for the gray-green foliage sets off the yellow flowers. It is from six to eighteen inches high, more or less hairy or downy all over, with one or several, stout, branching, leafy stems, and thickish leaves, variously cut, mostly jagged like Dandelion leaves, with crisp margins, dark bluish-green in color and often covered on the under side with obscure white down, the root-leaves narrowed to leaf-stalks at the base. The flower-heads are about an inch across, with bright yellow rays, the involucre sprinkled with short, dark hairs. This grows on dry plains, as far east as Colorado. [Sidenote: =Smooth Hawksbeard= _Crèpis vìrens_ =Yellow Summer Cal., Oreg., etc.=] This is a weed from Europe, growing in fields and waste places, in the East and on the Pacific Coast. It is a smooth plant, from one to two feet tall, with green leaves the shape of Dandelion leaves, chiefly in a bunch at the root. The many, small, yellow flowers, each about a quarter of an inch long, are in a loose cluster at the top of the stem. This is very variable. [Sidenote: =Hawksbeard= _Crèpis acuminàta_ =Yellow Spring, summer West, except Ariz.=] A handsome and conspicuous plant, often forming large clumps, from one to three feet tall, with dull green, downy, rather leathery leaves, irregularly slashed and cut, and large clusters of light bright yellow flowers, each about three-quarters of an inch across. This grows on hillsides and on high dry mesas. [Illustration] [Illustration: Gray Hawksbeard--C. occidentalis. Hawksbeard--Crepis acuminata.] INDEX. _Abronia_, 102. _Abronia latifolia_, 106. _Abronia maritima_, 104. _Abronia salsa_, 104. _Abronia umbellata_, 104. _Abronia villosa_, 104. _Achlys triphylla_, 156. _Aconitum_, 136. _Aconitum Columbianum_, 136. _Actaea_, 140. _Actaea arguta_, 140. _Actaea viridiflora_, 140. _Actinolepis lanosa_, 554. Adam and Eve, 28. Adder's tongue, 28. _Adenostoma_, 228. _Adenostoma fasciculatum_, 228. _Adenostoma sparsifolium_, 228. _Aesculus_, 280. _Aesculus Californica_, 280. _Agastache_, 454. _Agastache pallidiflora_, 456. _Agastache urticifolia_, 456. _Agoseris_, 572. _Agoseris glauca_, 572. Agoseris, Large-flowered, 572. _Aizoaceae_, 108. Alfalfa, 242. Alfilerilla, 276. _Alismaceae_, 2. _Allionia_, 106. _Allionia linearis_, 106. _Allium_, 14. _Allium acuminatum_, 14. _Allium bisceptrum_, 14. _Allium serratum_, 14. _Allotropa virgata_, 360. _Alpine Avens_, 232. _Alsine_, 118. _Alsine longipes_, 118. Alumroot, 200, 202. Amapola, 164. _Amaranthus albus_, 98. _Amelanchier_, 214. _Amelanchier alnifolia_, 216. Amole, 12. _Amsinckia_, 426. _Amsinckia intermedia_, 428. _Anagallis_, 362. _Anagallis arvensis_, 362. _Anaphalis_, 526. _Anaphalis margaritacea_, 526. _Anemone_, 142, 144. _Anemone deltoidea_, 144. _Anemone occidentalis_, 146. _Anemone parviflora_, 144. _Anemone quinquefolia var. Grayi_, 144. _Anemone sphenophylla_, 144. Anemone, Canyon, 144. Anemone, Northern, 144. Anemone, Three-leaved, 144. Anemone, Western, 146. Anemone, Wood, 144. _Anemopsis Californica_, 80. Angels' Trumpets, 460. _Anisolotus_, 242. _Anisolotus argyraeus_, 242. _Anisolotus decumbens_, 244. _Anisolotus formosissimus_, 242. _Anisolotus glaber_, 244. _Anisolotus strigosus_, 244. _Anisolotus Wrightii_, 244. _Anogra_, 328. _Anogra albicaulis_, 328. _Anogra coronopifolia_, 328. _Antennaria rosea_, 526. _Anthemis_, 546. _Anthemis Cotula_, 546. _Anthericum_, 4. _Anthericum Torreyi_, 4. _Antirrhinum_, 468. _Antirrhinum Coulterianum_, 468. _Antirrhinum glandulosum_, 468. _Antirrhinum maurandioides_, 466. _Antirrhinum strictum_, 470. _Antirrhinum vagans_, 470. _Antirrhinum virga_, 468. Apache Plume, 218. _Aplopappus Brandegei_, 534. _Apocynaceae_, 378. _Apocynum_, 378. _Apocynum androsaemifolium_, 378. Apple Family, 214. Apple, 214. _Aquilegia_, 134. _Aquilegia leptocera_, 134. _Aquilegia truncata_, 134. _Arabis_, 176. _Arabis Fendleri_, 176. _Arabis, Fendler's_, 176. _Arctostaphylos_, 344. _Arctostaphylos bicolor_, 346. _Arctostaphylos patula_, 346. _Arctostaphylos Uva-Ursi_, 346. _Arenaria_, 112. _Arenaria Fendleri_, 112. _Argemone_, 162. _Argemone hispida_, 162. _Argentina_, 232. _Argentina Anserina_, 232. _Aristolochiaceae_, 84. _Arnica_, 544. _Arnica cordifolia_, 544. _Arnica latifolia_, 544. Arnica, Broad-leaved, 544. Arnica, Heart-leaved, 544. Arrowhead, 2. Arrow-leaf, 558. _Artemisia_, 544. _Artemisia tridentata_, 544. _Aruncus_, 226. _Aruncus sylvester_, 226. _Asarum Hartwegi_, 84. _Asclepiadaceae_, 374. _Asclepias_, 374, 376. _Asclepias erosa_, 376. _Asclepias speciosa_, 374. _Asclepias vestita var. Mohavensis_, 376. _Asclepiodora_, 376. _Asclepiodora decumbens_, 378. Ash, Flowering, 366. _Aster_, 532, 542, 544, 556, 568. _Aster Andersoni_, 570. _Aster Chamissonis_, 568. _Aster radulinus_, 568. Aster, Beach, 534. Aster, Broad-leaf, 568. Aster, Cliff, 572. Aster, Hairy Golden, 530. Aster, Tall Purple, 556. Aster, Woolly, 542. _Astragalus_, 256. _Astragalus MacDougali_, 260. _Astragalus Menziesii_, 256. _Astragalus nothoxys_, 258. _Astragalus pomonensis_, 258. _Astragalus Utahensis_, 258. _Atragene_, 150. _Atragene occidentalis_, 150. _Audibertia_, 438, 440, 442. _Aulospermum longipes_, 336. _Azalea_, 342. _Azalea occidentalis_, 342. Azalea, Small, 348. Azalea, Western, 342. _Azaleastrum_, 348. _Azaleastrum albiflorum_, 348. Azulea, 70. Baby Blue-eyes, 412. _Baccharis_, 568. _Baccharis pilularis_, 568. _Baeria_, 550. _Baeria gracilis_, 550. _Baeria macrantha_, 550. _Bahia_, 552. _Bahia absinthifolia_, 552. _Baileya multiradiata_, 552. _Baileya pauciradiata_, 552. Balm, 456. Balm, Mountain, 420. Balsam-root, 558, 560. Balsam-root, Cut-leaved, 558. _Balsamorrhiza_, 558. _Balsamorrhiza Hookeri_, 560. _Balsamorrhiza macrophylla_, 558. _Balsamorrhiza sagittata_, 558. Baneberry, 140. Barberry Family, 152. Barberry, 154. Barberry, Trailing, 154. Barrenwort, 152. Bean, 242. Bearberry, Red. Bear's Cabbage, 418. Bear-clover, 222. Bear Grass, 44. Bear-mat, 222. Beard-tongue, 478, 480. Beard-tongue, Bushy, 482. Beard-tongue, Large, 478. Bedstraw, Northern, 508. Beech-drops, Albany, 360. Bee-plant, 188. Bee-plant, California, 490. Beet, 98. Belladonna, 458. Bellflower Family, 520. Bellflower, 520. Betony, Alpine, 504. _Berberidaceae_, 152. _Berberis_, 154. _Berberis aquifolium_, 154. _Berberis Fendleri_, 154. _Berberis repens_, 154. Bergamot, 456. Berry, Salmon, 236, 238. Berry, Thimble, 238. _Bicuculla_, 168. _Bicuculla chrysantha_, 170. _Bicuculla formosa_, 168. _Bicuculla uniflora_, 170. Big Root, 558. Bilberry, 348. Bird's Eyes, 394. Bird-foot, 242, 244. Bird-foot, Pretty, 242. Bird-of-paradise, 264. Birthroot, 42. Birthwort Family, 84. _Biscutella_, 178. Bishop's Cap, 204. Bisnaga, 306. Blackberry, 236. Blackberry, Common, 236. Black-eyed Susan, 560. Bladder-bush, 448. Bladder-cherry, 460. Bladderpod, 184, 190. Bladderpod, White, 184. Bladderpod, Yellow, 184. Blanket-flower, 556. Blazing Star, 300. Bleeding Heart Family, 168. Bleeding Heart, 168. _Blepharipappus_, 536, 554. _Blepharipappus elegans_, 554. _Blepharipappus glandulosus_, 554. _Bloomeria_, 22. _Bloomeria aurea_, 22. _Bloomeria Clevelandi_, 22. Blow-ball, 578. Bluebell, Mountain, 430. Blue Bells of Scotland, 520. Blueberry, 348. Blue-curls, 454. Blue-curls, Woolly, 454. Blue Dicks, 16. Blue-eyes, Baby, 412. Blue-eyed Grass, 70. Blue-lips, 488. Blue Sailors, 576. Blue-weed, 136. Blue Witch, 462. _Boraginaceae_, 422. Borage Family, 422. Borage, 402. Bottle-plant, 90. Bouvardia, Wild, 400. Brass Buttons, 562. _Brassica_, 184. _Brassica nigra_, 184. _Brevoortia, Ida-Maia_, 26. Brittle-bush, 526. _Brodiaea_, 16. _Brodiaea capitata_, 16. _Brodiaea capitata var. pauciflora_, 16. _Brodiaea coccinea_, 26. _Brodiaea congesta_, 16. _Brodiaea Douglasii_, 24. _Brodiaea grandiflora_, 18. _Brodiaea lactea_, 24. _Brodiaea minor_, 18. _Brodiaea volubilis_, 20. Brodiaea, Golden, 22. Brodiaea, Harvest, 18, 24. Brodiaea, Twining, 20. Brodiaea, White, 24. Bronze Bells, 38. Brooklime, American, 476. Broom, Chaparral, 568. Broom, Scotch, 264. Broom-rape Family, 504. Brown-foot, 536. Brown-weed, 536. _Brunella_, 444. Brussels Sprouts, 184. _Bryanthus_, 352. Buck-bean Family, 380. Buck-bean, 246, 380. Buckbrush, 282. Buckeye Family, 280. Buckeye, California, 280. Buckthorn Family, 282. Buckthorn Weed, 428. Buckwheat Bush, 94. Buckwheat Family, 86. Buckwheat, Wild, 96. Buena Mujer, 302. Bugbane, False, 142. Bunchberry, 340. Butter Balls, 92. Buttercup Family, 126. Buttercup, 38, 234. Buttercup, Common Western, 126. Butter-heads, 562. Butterfly-tongue, 504. Butterfly Tulip, 62. Cabbage, 184. _Cactaceae_, 304. Cactus Family, 304. Cactus, 310. _Cactus Grahami_, 310. Cactus, Barrel, 306. Cactus, Column, 310. Cactus, Fish-hook, 306. Cactus, Hedgehog, 306. Cactus, Pincushion, 310. Calabazilla, 518. _Calliandra_, 266. _Calliandra eriophylla_, 266. _Calochortus_, 56. _Calochortus albus_, 58. _Calochortus amabilis_, 56. _Calochortus Benthami_, 60. _Calochortus Kennedyi_, 64. _Calochortus luteus_, 62. _Calochortus luteus var. citrinus_, 62. _Calochortus luteus var. oculatus_, 62. _Calochortus Maweanus_, 60. _Calochortus nudus_, 60. _Calochortus Nuttallii_, 64. _Calochortus venustus_, 62. _Caltha_, 146. _Caltha leptosepala_, 146. _Caltha palustris_, 146. Caltrop Family, 268. _Calycanthaceae_, 158. _Calycanthus_, 158. _Calycanthus occidentalis_, 158. _Calyptridium_, 124. Camass, 48. Camass, Death, 8, 48. _Camassia_, 48. _Camassia quamash_, 48. _Campanulaceae_, 520. _Campanula_, 520. _Campanula prenanthoides_, 520. _Campanula rotundifolia_, 520. _Campanula Scouleri_, 520. Camphor Weed, 454. Campion, Moss, 114. Cancer-root, One-flowered, 504. Canchalagua, 370. Candle Flower, 294. Candle, Our Lord's, 40. Candytuft, 174. Candytuft, Wild, 178. Canterbury Bell, Wild, 408. Caper Family, 186. Caper, 186. _Capnoides_, 170. _Capnoides aureum_, 172. _Capnoides Scouleri_, 172. _Capparidaceae_, 186. _Caprifoliaceae_, 512. Cardinal Flower, 482. _Carduus_, 522. _Carduus Arizonicus_, 524. _Carduus Californicus_, 524. _Carduus candadissimus_, 524. _Carduus Coulteri_, 522. _Carduus occidentalis_, 524. _Carduus ochrocentrus_, 524. Carolina Allspice, 158. Carpet-weed Family, 108. Carrot, 332. _Caryophyllaceae_, 112. _Cassiaceae_, 264. _Cassia_, 264. _Cassia armata_, 266. Cassia, Golden, 266. _Cassiope_, 354. _Cassiope Mertensiana_, 354. _Castilleja_, 470. _Castilleja angustifolia_, 472. _Castilleja miniata_, 472. _Castilleja pinetorum_, 472. Catchfly, 112. Cat's Breeches, 418. Cat's-clover, 242. Cauliflower, 184. Cavalier's Spur, 128. _Ceanothus_, 282. _Ceanothus integerrimus_, 284. _Ceanothus parvifolius_, 284. _Ceanothus prostratus_, 282. _Ceanothus velutinus_, 282. _Centaurium_, 370, 372. Centaury, California, 370. Centaury, Tall, 372. _Cephalanthera_, 72. _Cephalanthera Austinae_, 72. _Cerastium_, 118. _Cerastium arvense_, 118. _Cereus_, 310. _Cereus giganteus_, 310. _Chaenactis_, 548. _Chaenactis Douglasii_, 548. _Chaenactis Fremontii_, 548. _Chaenactis lanosa_, 548. _Chaenactis macrantha_, 548. _Chamaebatia foliolosa_, 222. _Chamaebatiaria_, 230. _Chamaebatiaria millefolium_, 230. _Chamaenerion_, 314. _Chamaenerion angustifolium_, 314. _Chamaenerion latifolium_, 314. Chamise, 228. Chamomile, 546. Chatter-box, 74. Checkerberry, 340, 356. Checker-bloom, 288. _Chenopodiaceae_, 96. Cherry, 216. Cherry, Holly-leaved, 216. Chia, 452. Chickweed, 112. Chickweed, Field, 118. Chickweed, Mouse-ear, 118. Chickweed, Tall, 118. _Chicorium_, 574. _Chicorium Intybus_, 576. Chicory Family, 570. Chicory, 576. Chicory, Desert, 574. Chicory, Goat, 572. Chilicothe, 518. _Chimaphila_, 356. _Chimaphila Menziesii_, 356. Chinese Houses, 488. Chinese Pusley, 432. _Chlorogalum pomeridianum_, 12. Cholla, 308. _Chorizanthe_, 86. _Chorizanthe fimbriata_, 86. _Chorizanthe staticoides_, 86. Christmas-horns, 132. Christmas-rose, 138. _Chrysanthemum_, 540. _Chrysanthemum leucanthemum_, 540. _Chrysopsis villosa_, 530. _Chylisma_, 326. _Chylisma scapoidea var. clavaeformis_, 326. _Cicoriaceae_, 570. Cinquefoil, 126, 234. Cinquefoil, Arctic, 234. Cinquefoil, Silky, 234. Cinquefoil, Shrubby, 234. _Cirsium_, 522. _Cistaceae_, 304. _Clarkia_, 320, 322. _Clarkia concinna_, 322. _Clarkia elegans_, 320. _Clarkia pulchella_, 322. _Clarkia rhomboidea_, 322. _Claytonia_, 120, 122. _Claytonia lanceolata_, 122. Cleavers, 508. _Cleistoyucca_, 40. _Cleistoyucca arborescens_, 40. _Clematis_, 126, 148, 150. _Clematis lasiantha_, 148. Clematis, Lilac, 151. Clematis, Purple, 150. _Cleome_, 188. _Cleome platycarpa_, 190. _Cleome serrulata_, 188. Cleome, Yellow, 190. _Cleomella_, 186. _Cleomella longipes_, 186, 190. Cliff Rose, 226. _Clintonia_, 50. _Clintonia Andrewsiana_, 50. _Clintonia uniflora_, 50. Clintonia, Red, 50. Clintonia, White, 50. Clocks, 276. Clover, 242, 260, 262. Clover, Sour, 262. _Cnicus_, 522. _Cogswellia platycarpa_, 334. Coffee, 506. _Coleogyne ramosissima_, 230. _Collinsia_, 486. _Collinsia bicolor_, 488. _Collinsia multiflora_, 488. _Collomia_, 400. _Collomia grandiflora_, 400. _Collomia linearis_, 400. Columbine, Blue, 134. Columbine, Scarlet, 134. Columbine, White, 134. Columbo, 368. Columbo, Small, 370. _Comandra_, 82. _Comandra pallida_, 82. Comandra, Pale, 82. Compass Plant, 560. _Compositae_, 522. _Conanthus_, 414. _Conanthus aretioides_, 414. _Convolvulaceae_, 380. _Convolvulus_, 382. _Convolvulus arvensis_, 382. _Convolvulus occidentalis_, 382. Copa de Oro, 164. Coral-root, 76. _Corallorrhiza_, 76. _Corallorrhiza Bigelowii_, 76. _Corallorrhiza multiflora_, 76. _Coreopsis_, 540. _Coreopsis Bigelowii_, 540. _Coreopsis maritima_, 540. Coreopsis, Desert, 540. _Coreothrogyne_, 542. _Coreothrogyne filaginifolia_, 542. _Cornaceae_, 338. _Cornus_, 338. _Cornus Canadensis_, 340. _Cornus Nuttallii_, 338. _Cornus stolonifera var. riparia_, 340. Corn-salad, 508. Corpse-plant, 358. _Corydalis_, 172. Corydal, Golden, 172. Corydalis, Pink, 172. Cotton, Arizona Wild, 286. _Cotula coronopifolia_, 562. _Cotyledon_, 194. Covena, 16. _Covillea glutinosa_, 268. _Cowania Stansburiana_, 226. Cow-herb, 116. Cowslip, American, 364. Crane's-bill, 274. Crane's-bill, Long-stalked, 276. _Crassina_, 552. _Crassina pumila_, 552. _Crassulaceae_, 192. Cream-cups, 166. Creosote-bush, 268. _Crepis_, 578. _Crepis acuminata_, 578. _Crepis occidentalis_, 578. _Crepis virens_, 578. Crimson-beak, 268. Crocus, 38. Crown Imperial, 38. Crowtoes, 242. _Cruciferae_, 174. _Cryptanthe_, 428. _Cryptanthe intermedia_, 428. _Cucurbitaceae_, 518. _Cucurbita_, 518. _Cucurbita foetidissima_, 518. Cucumber, Wild, 518. Cudweed, 526. Currant, Black, 212. Currant, Buffalo, 214. Currant, Golden, 214. Currant, Missouri, 214. Currant, Sierra, 212. _Cuscuta_, 382. Cyclamen, Wild, 364. _Cycloloma_, 98. _Cycloloma atriplicifolium_, 98. _Cymopterus_, 334, 336. Cypress, Wild, 394. _Cypripedium_, 78. _Cypripedium Californicum_, 78. _Cypripedium montanum_, 78. _Cypripedium parviflorum_, 78. _Cytisus_, 264. _Cytisus scoparius_, 264. Dahlia, Sea, 540. Daisy, 522 Daisy Dwarf, 554. Daisy, Easter, 530. Daisy, Ground, 530. Daisy, Ox-eye, 540. Daisy, Seaside, 534. Daisy, White Mountain, 534. Daisy, Woolly Yellow, 546. _Dalea_, 248. Dandelion, 576. Dandelion, Desert, 574. _Dasiphora fruticosa_, 234. _Datura_, 458. _Datura meteloides_, 458. _Datura stramonium_, 460. _Datura suaveolens_, 460. Datura, Large-flowered, 458. Deer-brush, 284. Deer-foot, 156. Deer-weed, 244. Deer's Tongue, 368. _Delphinium_, 128. _Delphinium cardinale_, 132. _Delphinium bicolor_, 130. _Delphinium Hanseni_, 128. _Delphinium nudicaule_, 132. _Delphinium Parryi_, 130. _Delphinium scaposum_, 128. _Delphinium variegatum_, 132. _Dendromecon_, 156. _Dendromecon rigida_, 166. _Dentaria_, 174. _Dentaria Californica_, 174. Desert Holly, 536. Desert Star, 548. Desert Zinnia, 552. _Deutzia_, 206. _Dicentra_, 168, 170. _Diplacus_, 490. _Diplacus longiflorus_, 490. _Diplacus puniceus_, 490. _Disporum_, 54. _Disporum Hookeri_, 54. _Disporum trachycarpum_, 54. _Dithyrea_, 178. _Dithyrea Wislizeni_, 178. Dock, 86, 88. Dock, Sand, 88. Dodder, 382. _Dodecatheon_, 364. _Dodecatheon Clevelandi_, 364. _Dodecatheon Jeffreyi_, 364. _Dodecatheon pauciflorum_, 366. Dogbane Family, 378. Dogbane, Spreading, 378. Dog Fennel, 546. Dog-tooth Violet, 28. Dogwood Family, 338. Dogwood, Flowering, 338. Dogwood, Pacific, 338. Dogwood, Red-osier, 340. Dormidera, 164. Drops of Gold, 54. _Drupaceae_, 216. _Dryas_, 232. _Dryas octopetala_, 232. _Dryopetalon runcinatum_, 182. Duck-bill, 502. _Dudleya_, 194. _Dudleya Nevadensis_, 194. _Dudleya pulverulenta_, 194. Dutchman's Breeches, 168, 172. Easter Bells, 28, 30. _Echeveria_, 194. _Echinocactus_, 304. _Echinocactus Wislizeni_, 306. _Echinocereus_, 306. _Echinocereus polyacanthus_, 306. _Echinocystis_, 518. Egg-plant, 458. Elephants' Heads, 504. _Emmenanthe_, 416. _Emmenanthe lutea_, 416. _Emmenanthe penduliflora_, 418. _Encelia, Californica_, 528. _Encelia eriocephala_, 526. _Encelia farinosa_, 526. _Encelia frutescens_, 528. Encelia, California, 528. _Epilobium_, 314, 316. _Epilobium Franciscanum_, 316. _Epipactis_, 74. _Ericaceae_, 340. _Erigeron_, 532. _Erigeron aureus_, 534. _Erigeron Breweri_, 532. _Erigeron compositus_, 536. _Erigeron concinnus var. aphanactis_, 532. _Erigeron Coulteri_, 534. _Erigeron divergens_, 532. _Erigeron flagellaris_, 532. _Erigeron glaucus_, 534. _Erigeron Philadelphicus_, 534. _Erigeron pumilis_, 532. _Erigeron salsuginosus_, 534. _Erimiastrum bellidoides_, 548. _Eriodictyon_, 420. _Eriodictyon Californicum_, 420. _Eriodictyon tomentosum_, 420. _Eriogonum_, 90. _Eriogonum Bakeri_, 94. _Eriogonum compositum_, 92. _Eriogonum elatum_, 90. _Eriogonum fasciculatum_, 94. _Eriogonum flavum_, 94. _Eriogonum incanum_, 94. _Eriogonum inflatum_, 90. _Eriogonum orthocaulon_, 92. _Eriogonum racemosum_, 96. _Eriophyllum_, 546. _Eriophyllum caespitosum var. integrifolium_, 546. _Eriophyllum confertiflorum_, 546. _Eriophyllum confertiflorum var. discoideum_, 546. _Eriophyllum lanatum_, 546. _Erodium_, 276. _Erodium cicutarium_, 276. _Erodium moschatum_, 276. _Erysimum_, 176. _Erysimum asperum_, 176. _Erysimum asperum var. perenne_, 178. _Erysimum capitatum_, 178. _Erythraea_, 370. _Erythraea Douglasii_, 372 _Erythraea exaltata_, 372. _Erythraea venusta_, 370. _Erythronium_, 26. _Erythronium grandiflorum_, 28. _Erythronium montanum_, 28. _Erythronium parviflorum_, 28. _Eschscholtzia_, 164. _Eschscholtzia Californica_, 164. Escobita, 500. Espuela del caballero, 128. _Eucharidium_, 322. _Eulobus Californicus_, 312. _Eulophus Bolanderi_, 336. Evening Primrose Family, 312. Evening Primrose, 324, 330. Evening Primrose, Cut-leaved, 328. Evening Primrose, Prairie, 328. Evening Primrose, White, 326. Evening Snow, 388. Evening Star, 302. Everlasting, Pearly, 526. Everlasting, Rosy, 526. _Fabaceae_, 242. Fairy Bells, 54. Fairy Dusters, 266. _Fallugia paradoxa_, 218. Farewell-to-Spring, 318. _Fendlera_, 206. _Fendlera rupicola_, 206. Fern-bush, 230. _Ferula_, 334. Fig-marigold, 110. Figwort Family, 466. Fiddle-neck, 428. Filaree, Red-stem, 276. Filaree, White-stem, 276. Fire-cracker Flower, 26. Fire-weed, 314. Flag, Western Blue, 66. Flaming Sword, 294. Flat-top, 94. Flax Family, 270. Flax, Blue, 270. Fleabane, 532. Fleabane, Large Mountain, 534. Fleabane, Philadelphia, 534. Fleabane, Rayless, 532. Fleabane, Spreading, 532. Fleabane, Whip-lash, 532. Fleabane, Yellow, 534. Fleur-de-lis, 66. _Floerkia_, 278. _Floerkia Douglasii_, 278. Floriponda, 460. Flower-de-luce, 66. Flowering-fungus, 360. Flowering-straw, 570. Fly Flower, 550. Forget-me-not, 422, 430. Forget-me-not, White, 422, 428. Forget-me-not, Wild, 424. _Fouquieriaceae_, 294. Fouquiera Family, 294. _Fouquiera splendens_, 294. Four-o'clock Family, 100. Four-o'clock, 100. Four-o'clock, California, 102. _Fragaria_, 240. _Fragaria bracteata_, 240. _Fragaria Chiloensis_, 240. _Frasera_, 368. _Frasera nitida_, 370. _Frasera speciosa_, 368. _Fraxinus_, 366. _Fraxinus macropetala_, 366. Friar's cap, 136. Fried-eggs, 162. Fringe-bush, 366. _Fritillaria_, 38. _Fritillaria atropurpurea_, 38. _Fritillaria pudica_, 38. Fritillary, Brown, 38. Fritillary, Yellow, 38. _Fumariaceae_, 168. _Gaillardia_, 556. _Gaillardia aristata_, 556. _Gaillardia Arizonica_, 556. _Gaillardia pinnatifida_, 556. Gaillardia, Arizona, 556. _Galium_, 508. _Galium boreale_, 508. Gallito, 300. _Gaultheria_, 340, 356. _Gaultheria ovatifolia_, 342. _Gaultheria Shallon_, 342. _Gayophytum_, 316. _Gayophytum eriospermum_, 316. _Gentianaceae_, 368. _Gentiana_, 372. _Gentiana acuta_, 372. _Gentiana calycosa_, 372. _Gentiana lutea_, 372. _Gentiana propinqua_, 372. Gentian Family, 368. Gentian, 372. Gentian, Blue, 372. Gentian, Northern, 372. _Geraniaceae_, 274. _Geranium_, 274. _Geranium columbinum_, 276. _Geranium Fremontii_, 274. _Geranium furcatum_, 274. _Geranium incisum_, 274. Geranium Family, 274. Geranium, Wild, 274. Ghost Tree, 246. Ghost-flower, 358. Giant Bird's-nest, 360. _Gilia_, 386, 388, 390, 392, 400. _Gilia achillaefolia_, 398. _Gilia aggregata_, 392. _Gilia Californica_, 398. _Gilia capitata_, 398. _Gilia floccosa_, 396. _Gilia multicaulis_, 396. _Gilia multiflora_, 398. _Gilia pungens_, 396. _Gilia rigidula_, 394. _Gilia tricolor_, 394. Gilia, Blue Desert, 394. Gilia, Downy, 396. Gilia, Fringed, 390. Gilia, Large Prickly, 398. Gilia, Scarlet, 392. Gilia, Small Prickly, 396. Gilia, Yellow, 388. Ginger, Wild, 84. Globe-flower, 142. Globe Tulip, White, 58. Globe Tulip, Yellow, 56. _Gnaphalium microcephalum_, 526. Goat's Beard, 226. _Godetia_, 318. _Godetia deflexa_, 318. _Godetia Dudleyana_, 320. _Godetia Goddardii var. capitata_, 318. _Godetia quadrivulnera_, 318. _Godetia viminea_, 320. Golden Eardrops, 170. Golden-eyed Grass, 70. Golden Girls, 548. Golden Hills, 526. Golden Stars, 22. Golden-rod, Arizona, 562. Golden-rod, California, 564. Golden-rod, Western, 564. Gold Fields, 550. _Gomphocarpus_, 376. _Gomphocarpus cordifolius,_ 376. Gooseberry Family, 210. Gooseberry, Canyon, 210. Gooseberry, Fuchsia-flowered, 210. Gooseberry, Wild, 210. Goose-grass, 508. Gourd Family, 518. Gourd, 518. Grass Nuts, 16. Grass of Parnassus, 196. _Grayia_, 98. _Grayia polygaloides_, 98. _Grayia spinosa_, 98. Greasewood, 228. Greek Valerian, 384. _Grindelia_, 558. _Grindelia latifolia_, 558. Gromwell, 424, 426. _Grossulariaceae_, 210. _Grossularia_, 210. _Grossularia Menziesii_, 210. _Grossularia Roezli_, 210. _Grossularia speciosa_, 210. Ground-cherry, 460. Groundsel, 564. Groundsel-tree, 568. Gum Plant, 558. Gum-weed, 538. _Gutierrezia_, 536. _Gutierrezia Euthamiae_, 536. _Gutierrezia Sarothrae_, 536. Hairbell, 58, 520. Harebell, 58, 520. Harebell, California, 520. Hardhack, 230. _Hastingsia_, 10. _Hastingsia alba_, 10. Hawksbeard, 578. Hawksbeard, Gray, 578. Hawksbeard, Smooth, 578. Hawthorn, 214. Heartsease, Western, 296. Heath Family, 340. Heather, 352. Heather, Red, 352. Heather, White, 354. Heather, Yellow, 352. Hediondilla, 268. _Hedysarum_, 260. _Hedysarum pabulare_, 260. _Helenium_, 538. _Helenium Bigelowii_, 538. _Helianthemum_, 304. _Helianthemum scoparium_, 304. _Helianthus_, 528. _Helianthus annuus_, 528. _Helianthus fascicularis_, 530. _Heliotropium_, 432. _Heliotropium Curassavicum_, 432. Heliotrope, Sea-side, 432. Heliotrope, Wild, 410. Hellebore, 8. Hellebore, False, 10. Helmet-flower, 446. Hen-and-Chickens, 194. _Hesperocallis undulata_, 30. _Hesperonia_, 100. _Hesperonia Californica_, 102. _Hesperonia glutinosa_, 102. _Hesperonia glutinosa var. gracilis_, 102. _Heuchera_, 200. _Heuchera micrantha_, 200, 202. _Heuchera rubescens_, 202. _Hippocastanaceae_, 280. Hog's Potato, 8. Hog-onion, 16. Holly, Desert, 536. Hollyhock, Wild, 288. Holly-leaved Cherry, 216. _Holodiscus_, 236. Honey-bloom, 378. Honey-locust, 264. Honeysuckle Family, 512. Honeysuckle, Pink, 514. Honeysuckle, Orange, 512. Honeysuckle, Yellow, 514. Honeysuckle, Wild, 394. _Hookera coronaria_, 18. _Horkelia_, 224. _Horkelia fusca_, 224. Horse Chestnut, 280. Horse-mint, 456. Horse-radish, 174. _Hosackia_, 242, 244. _Houstonia_, 506. _Houstonia rubra_, 506. Huckleberry, 348. Huckleberry, California, 348. Huckleberry, Fool's, 350. Hyacinth, Indian, 24. Hyacinth, Wild, 16, 48. _Hydrangeaceae_, 206. Hydrangea Family, 206. Hydrangea, 206. _Hydrophyllaceae_, 402. _Hydrophyllum_, 418. _Hydrophyllum capitatum_, 418. _Hymenatherum Hartwegi_, 556. _Hymenopappus luteus_, 538. _Hypericaceae_, 292. _Hypericum_, 292. _Hypericum anagalloides_, 292. _Hypericum concinnum_, 292. _Hypericum formosum var. Scouleri_, 292. _Hypopitys Hypopitys_, 358. _Hypopitys sanguinea_, 360. _Hyptis_, 442. _Hyptis_, _Emoryi_, 442. Hyssop, Giant, 456. Ice-plant, 108. Incense-shrub, 212. Indian Dye-stuff, 424. Indian Pipe Family, 356. Indian Pipe, 358. Indian Warrior, 502. _Ingenhouzia triloba_, 286. Innocence, Desert, 506. Inside-out Flower, 152. _Iridaceae_, 66. _Iris_, 66. _Iris Douglasiana_, 68. _Iris Hartwegi_, 68. _Iris macrosiphon_, 68. _Iris Missouriensis_, 66. Iris Family, 66. Iris, Douglas, 68. Iris, Ground, 68. Iris, Hartweg's, 68. Islay, 216. Isomeris arborea, 190. Ithuriel's Spear, 18, 24. _Ivesia_, 224. Jacob's Ladder, 384. Jerusalem Star, 574. Jimson-weed, 460. Johnny Jump-up, 300. Johnny-Tuck, 498. Johnny-Tuck, Pink, 498. Joshua Tree, 40. Judas Tree, 264. June-berry, 216. _Kalmia_, 350. _Kalmia glauca var. microphylla_, 350. _Kalmia microphylla_, 350. _Kelloggia galioides_, 506. Kentucky Coffee-tree, 264. Kinnikinic, 346. Kittikit, 222. Kit-kit-dizze, 222. Knot-weed, 96. _Krameriaceae_, 268. _Krameria Grayi_, 268. Krameria Family, 268. _Labiatae_, 434. Labrador Tea, Woolly, 350. Lady's Slipper, Mountain, 78. Lamb's Quarters, 98. Languid Lady, 430. Lantern of the Fairies, 58. _Laphamia bisetosa_, 558. _Lappula_, 422. _Lappula Californica_, 424. _Lappula floribunda_, 424. _Lappula nervosa_, 424. _Lappula subdecumbens_, 422. _Lappula velutina_, 424. Larkspur, 128. Larkspur, Blue, 128, 130. Larkspur, Foothills, 129. Larkspur, Sacramento, 132. Larkspur, Scarlet, 132. _Larrea Mexicana_, 268. _Lathyrus_, 254. _Lathyrus graminifolius_, 254. _Lathyrus splendens_, 256. _Lathyrus Utahensis_, 254. Laurel, Swamp, 350. _Lavatera_, 290. _Lavatera assurgentiflora_, 290. _Lavauxia_, 330. _Lavauxia primiveris_, 330. _Layia_, 554. _Ledum_, 350. _Ledum glandulosum_, 352. _Ledum Groenlandicum_, 350. _Leptasea_, 196. _Leptasea austromontana_, 198. _Leptaxis Menziesii_, 200. _Leptosyne_, 540. _Leptotaenia multifida_, 334. _Lesquerella_, 184, 190. _Lesquerella Arizonica_, 184. _Lesquerella Gordoni_, 184. _Lesquerella purpurea_, 184. _Lessingia_, 542, 550. _Lessingia Germanorum_, 550. _Lessingia leptoclada_, 550. Lettuce, Indian, 122. Lilac, Blue Mountain, 284. Lilac, Mountain, 282, 284. _Liliaceae_, 4. _Lilium_, 32. _Lilium Columbianum_, 36. _Lilium pardalinum_, 36. _Lilium Parryi_, 34. _Lilium parvum_, 32. _Lilium rubescens_, 36. _Lilium Washingtonianum_, 34. Lily Family, 4. Lilies, 32. Lily, Amber, 4. Lily, Avalanche, 28. Lily Bell, Golden, 56. Lily, Chamise, 28. Lily, Chaparral, 36. Lily, Cluster, 16. Lily, Desert, 30. Lily, Fawn, 28. Lily, Glacier, 28. Lily, Indian Pond, 156. Lily, Lemon, 34. Lily, Leopard, 36. Lily, Ruby, 36. Lily, Sego, 64. Lily, Shasta, 34. Lily, Small Tiger, 32. Lily, Tiger, 36. Lily-of-the-valley, Wild, 44. Lily, Washington, 34. Lily, Water, 156. _Limnanthaceae_, 278. _Limnanthes_, 278. _Limnorchis_, 78. _Limnorchis leucostachys_, 78. _Linaceae_, 270. _Linanthus_, 386. _Linanthus androsaceus_, 386. _Linanthus aureus_, 388. _Linanthus breviculus_, 386. _Linanthus dianthiflorus_, 390. _Linanthus dichotomus_, 388. _Linanthus liniflorus_, 390. _Linanthus Parryae_, 386. _Linanthus parviflorus_, 388. _Linanthus parviflorus var. acicularis_, 388. _Linaria_, 474. _Linaria Canadensis_, 474. _Linnaea borealis var. Americana_, 514. _Linum_, 270. _Linum Lewisii_, 270. _Linum usitatissimum_, 270. Lion's-tooth, 578. _Lithophragma_, 198. _Lithophragma heterophylla_, 198. _Lithospermum_, 424. _Lithospermum angustifolium_, 426. _Lithospermum multiflorum_, 426. _Lithospermum pilosum_, 424. Lizard-tail Family, 80. _Loasaceae_, 300. Loasa Family, 300. Loco-weed, 256, 258, 260. _Lonicera_, 512. _Lonicera Californica_, 514. _Lonicera ciliosa_, 512. _Lonicera hispidula_, 514. _Lonicera involucrata_, 512. _Lophanthus_, 456. Lotus, 242, 244. Lousewort, 502. Love-vine, 382. Lungwort, 430. _Lupinus_, 250. _Lupinus arboreus_, 250. _Lupinus citrinus_, 252. _Lupinus lacteus_, 252. _Lupinus laxiflorus_, 252. _Lupinus rivularis_, 250. _Lupinus Stiversii_, 252. Lupine, Bi-colored, 253. Lupine, False, 246. Lupine, Milk-white, 252. Lupine, Parti-colored, 252. Lupine, River, 250. Lupine, Tree. _Lycium_, 464. _Lycium Cooperi_, 464. _Machaeranthera incana_, 556. Madder Family, 506. Madder, 506. _Madia_, 538. _Madia dissitiflora_, 538. _Madia elegans_, 538. _Madia madioides_, 538. Madia, Common, 538. Madia, Woodland, 538. Mahala Mats, 282. _Maianthemum_, 44. _Maianthemum bifolium_, 44. _Malacothrix_, 572. _Malacothrix Californica_, 572. _Malacothrix Coulteri_, 572. _Malacothrix Fendleri_, 574. _Malacothrix glabrata_, 572. _Malacothrix saxatilis_, 572. Mallow Family, 284. Mallow, 286, 288. Mallow, False, 290. Mallow, Oregon, 286. Mallow, Rose, 286. Mallow, Salmon Globe, 291. Mallow, Scarlet, 290. Mallow, Spotted, 288. Mallow, Tree, 290. _Malvaceae_, 284. _Malvastrum_, 288. _Malvastrum rotundifolium_, 288. _Malvastrum Thurberi_, 290. _Mamillaria_, 310. Manzanilla, 562. Manzanita, 346. Manzanita, Green, 346. Mariana, 412. Marigold, White Marsh, 146. Marigold, Wild, 552. Marigold, Yellow Marsh, 146. Mariposa Tulip, 62, 64. Mariposa Tulip, Orange, 64. Mariposa Tulip, Yellow, 62. _Matricaria matricarioides_, 562. Matrimony, Desert, 464. Matrimony Vine, 464. _Maurandia_, 466. _Maurandia antirrhiniflora_, 466. Mayweed, 546. Meadow Foam Family, 278. Meadow Foam, 278. Meadow Rue, 150. Meadowsweet, Flat-top, 278. _Mentzelia_, 300. _Mentzelia gracilenta_, 302. _Mentzelia laevicaulis_, 300. _Mentzelia Lindleyi_, 302. _Mentzelia multiflora_, 302. _Menyanthaceae_, 380. _Menyanthes trifoliata_, 380. _Menziesia_, 350. _Menziesia ferruginea_, 350. _Menziesia urcelolaria_, 350. _Mertensia_, 430. _Mertensia brevistyla_, 430. _Mertensia Sibirica_, 430. _Mesembryanthemum_, 108. _Mesembryanthemum aequilaterale_, 110. _Mesembryanthemum crystallinum_, 108. _Micrampelis_, 518. _Micrampelis fabacea_, 518. _Micranthes_, 202. _Micranthes Oregana_, 202. _Micranthes rhomboidea_, 202. _Micromeria_, 436. _Micromeria Chamissonis_, 436. _Micromeria Douglasii_, 436. _Microseris_, 576. _Microseris linearifolia_, 576. Milk Maids, 174. Milkweed Family, 374. Milkweed, Desert, 376. Milkweed, Pale, 376. Milkweed, Purple, 376. Milkweed, Showy, 374. Milkweed, Spider, 378. Milkwort Family, 278. Milkwort, California, 278. _Mimosaceae_, 266. Mimosa Family, 266. _Mimulus_, 490, 492. _Mimulus brevipes_, 492. _Mimulus cardinalis_, 494. _Mimulus Fremontii_, 494. _Mimulus Langsdorfii_, 496. _Mimulus Lewisii_, 492. _Mimulus moschatus_, 496. _Mimulus primuloides_, 494. _Mimulus Torreyi_, 494. Miner's Lettuce, 120. Mint Family, 434. Mint, Horse, 456. Mint, Mustang, 436. _Mirabilis_, 100, 102. _Myosotis_, 422. Mission Bells, 38. _Mitella_, 204. _Mitella ovalis_, 204. Mitrewort, 204. _Moccasin, Indian_, 78. Mock-orange, 208. Modesty, 204. _Monarda_, 456. _Monarda citriodora_, 456. _Monarda pectinata_, 456. _Monardella_, 436. _Monardella lanceolata_, 436. _Moneses uniflora_, 354. Monkey-flower, 492. Monkey-flower, Bush, 490. Monkey-flower, Common-yellow, 496. Monkey-flower, Desert, 494. Monkey-flower, Little Pink, 494. Monkey-flower, Little Yellow, 494. Monkey-flower, Pink, 492. Monkey-flower, Scarlet, 494. Monkey-flower, Sticky, 490. Monk's-head, 578. Monkshood, 136. _Monotropaceae_, 356. _Monotropa_, 358. _Monotropa uniflora_, 358. _Montia_, 120. _Montia parviflora_, 120. _Montia parvifolia_, 122. _Montia perfoliata_, 122. Morning Bride, 548. Morning-glory Family, 380. Morning-glory, Field, 382. Morning-glory, Yellow, 382. Mosquito-bills, 364. Moss Campion, 114. Mountain Ash, 214. Mountain Lilac, 282, 284. Mountain Misery, 222. _Muilla_, 26. _Muilla maritima_, 26. Mule-ears, 560. _Muscaria_, 198. _Muscaria caespitosa_, 198. Musk-plant, 496. Mustard Family, 174. Mustard, 174. Mustard, Black, 184. Mustard, Tumbling, 98. _Myosotis_, 422. Nap-at-noon, 574. _Nemophila_, 410. _Nemophila aurita_, 414. _Nemophila insignis_, 412. _Nemophila intermedia_, 412. _Nemophila maculata_, 412. Nemophila, Climbing, 414. Nemophila, Spotted, 412. _Nemoseris Californica_, 574. _Nemoseris Neo-Mexicana_, 574. Nettle, Common Hedge, 446. Nettle, Hedge, 444. _Nicotiana_, 464. _Nicotiana glauca_, 464. Nievitas, 428. Nigger-babies, 70, 336. Nightshade, 462. Nightshade, Purple, 462. Ninebark, 218. Noonas, 56. _Nuphar_, 156. _Nyctaginaceae_, 100. _Nymphaceae_, 156. _Nymphaea polysepala_, 156. Ocean Spray, 236. Ocotillo, 294. _Oenothera_, 324, 326, 328, 330. _Oenothera cheiranthifolia var. suffruticosa_, 324. _Oleaceae_, 366. Olive Family, 366. _Onagraceae_, 312. _Onagra_, 330. _Onagra biennis_, 330. _Onagra Hookeri_, 330. Onion, Pink Wild, 14. Onion, Wild, 14. Ookow, 16. _Opulaster_, 218. _Opulaster malvaceus_, 218. _Opuntia_, 306, 310. _Opuntia acanthocarpa_, 306. _Opuntia basilaris_, 308. _Opuntia fulgida_, 308. _Orchidaceae_, 72. Orchid Family, 72. Orchis, Phantom, 72. Orchis, Sierra Rein, 78. Orchis, Stream, 74. Oregon Grape, 154. _Oreocarya_, 432. _Oreocarya multicaulis_, 432. _Oreocarya setosissima_, 432. _Ornithogalum_, 200. _Orobanchaceae_, 504. _Orobanche_, 504. _Orogenia linearifolia_, 332. Orojo de Leabre 564. Orpine Family, 192. _Orthocarpus_, 496. _Orthocarpus attenuatus_, 500. _Orthocarpus densiflorus_, 500. _Orthocarpus erianthus_, 498. _Orthocarpus erianthus var. roseus_, 498. _Orthocarpus erianthus var. versicolor_, 498. _Orthocarpus exsertus_, 500. _Orthocarpus faucibarbatus_, 498. _Orthocarpus luteus_, 498. _Orthocarpus purpureo-albus_, 500. _Orthocarpus purpurascens_, 500. Owl's-clover, 496, 500. Owl's-clover, Yellow, 498. _Oxalidaceae_, 272. _Oxalis_, 272. _Oxalis corniculata_, 272. _Oxalis Oregana_, 272. Oyster Plant, 574. Oyster, Vegetable, 574. _Pachylophus_, 326. _Pachylophus marginatus_, 326. _Paeonia Brownii_, 138. Paint Brush, 472. Paint Brush, Indian, 470. Paint Brush, Scarlet, 472. Painted Cup, 470. Palo Verde, 264. Pansy, Yellow, 300. _Papaveraceae_, 160. _Papaver_, 162. _Papaver heterophyllum_, 164. _Papaver somniferum_, 162. Paper Flowers, 542. _Parnassia_, 196. _Parnassia fimbriata_, 196. _Parnassia Californica_, 196. _Parosela_, 246. _Parosela Californica_, 248. _Parosela Emoryi_, 248. _Parosela spinosa_, 246. Parsley Family, 332. Parsley, 332. Parsley, Whisk-broom, 334. Parsnip, 332. Parsnip, Indian, 336. Pea Family, 242. Pea, 242. Pea, Chaparral, 248. Pea, Golden, 246. Pear, 214. _Pedicularis_, 502. _Pedicularis centranthera_, 504. _Pedicularis densiflora_, 502. _Pedicularis Groenlandica_, 504. _Pedicularis ornithorhynca_, 502. _Pedicularis semibarbata_, 504. Pe-ik, 560. _Pelargonium_, 274. Pelican Flower, Yellow, 498. Pennycress, 178. Pennyroyal, Western, 436. _Penstemon_, 478. _Penstemon acuminatus_, 480. _Penstemon antirrhinoides_, 482. _Penstemon breviflorus_, 486. _Penstemon Bridgesii_, 484. _Penstemon centranthifolius_, 484. _Penstemon confertus_, 482. _Penstemon confertus var. caeruleo-purpureus_, 482. _Penstemon cordifolius_, 480. _Penstemon cyananthus_, 480. _Penstemon Eatoni_, 484. _Penstemon glandulosus_, 478. _Penstemon heterophyllus_, 484. _Penstemon laetus_, 484. _Penstemon linarioides_, 484. _Penstemon Newberryi_, 480. _Penstemon Parryi_, 482. _Penstemon Rattani var. minor_, 478. _Penstemon Torreyi_, 486. _Penstemon Wrightii_, 484. Penstemon, Blue, 480. Penstemon, Cardinal, 482. Penstemon, Honeysuckle, 480. Penstemon, Scarlet, 486. Penstemon, Variable, 482. Penstemon, Yawning, 486. _Pentachaeta aurea_, 554. Peony, Wild, 138. Peppergrass, 174. Pepper-root, 174. _Perezia nana_, 536. _Perezia Wrightii_, 536. Persian Prince, 450. _Peucedanum Euryptera_, 332. _Peucedanum simplex_, 334. _Phacelia_, 402, 404, 406, 408. _Phacelia alpina_, 410. _Phacelia Arizonica_, 410. _Phacelia crenulata_, 410. _Phacelia distans_, 404. _Phacelia Fremontii_, 406. _Phacelia glechomaefolia_, 402. _Phacelia grandiflora_, 408. _Phacelia linearis_, 406. _Phacelia longipes_, 402. _Phacelia Parryi_, 404. _Phacelia ramosissima_, 406. _Phacelia sericea_, 404. _Phacelia viscida_, 408. _Phacelia viscida var. albiflora_, 408. _Phacelia Whitlavia_, 408. Phacelia, _Alpine_, 410. Phacelia, Arizona, 410. Phacelia, Mountain, 405. _Philadelphus_, 206. _Philadelphus Californicus_, 208. _Philadelphus microphyllus_, 208. _Phlox_, 390. _Phlox Douglasii_, 390. _Phlox longifolia_, 392. _Phlox Stansburyi_, 392. Phlox Family, 384. Phlox, Alpine, 390, 396. _Phyllodoce_, 352. _Phyllodoce Breweri_, 352. _Phyllodoce empetriformis_, 352. _Phyllodoce glanduliflora_, 352. _Physalis_, 460. _Physalis crassifolia_, 460. _Physalis Fendleri_, 460. _Physocarpus_, 218. _Pickeringia_, 248. Pigweed Family, 96. Pimpernel, Scarlet, 294, 362. Pinclover, 276. Pineapple-weed, 562. Pine-drops, 360. Pine-sap, 358. Pink Family, 112. Pink, 112. Pink, Cushion, 114. Pink, Desert, 570. Pink, Ground, 390. Pink, Indian, 114, 116. Pink, Windmill, 114. Pink Lady-fingers, 258. Pink Fairies, 322. Pinkets, 276. Pipe-stem, 148. Pipsissewa, 356. _Plagiobothrys nothofulvus_, 428. _Platystemon_, 166. _Platystemon Californicus_, 166. _Plectritis_, 508. _Pleuricospora fimbriolata_, 360. Plum Family, 216. Plum, 216. Polecat Plant, 394. _Polemoniaceae_, 384. _Polemonium_, 384. _Polemonium carneum_, 384. _Polemonium coeruleum_, 384. _Polemonium occidentale_, 384. _Polygalaceae_, 278. _Polygala Californica_, 278. _Polygonaceae_, 86. _Polygonum_, 96. _Polygonum bistortoides_, 96. _Pomaceae_, 214. Poor-man's Weather-glass, 362. Popcorn Beauty, 498. Popcorn Flower, 428. Popcorn Flower, Pink, 498. Poppy Family, 160. Poppy, Bush, 167. Poppy, California, 164. Poppy, Giant, 160. Poppy, Matilija, 160. Poppy, Thistle, 162. Poppy, Tree, 166. Poppy, Wind, 164. _Portulacaceae_, 120. _Portulaca_, 120. Potato Family, 458. Potato, 458. _Potentilla_, 232, 234. _Potentilla emarginata_, 234. _Potentilla pectinisecta_, 234. Prairie Pointers, 364. Prickly Pear, 306, 308, 310. Pride of California, 256. Pride-of-the-mountain, 480. _Primulaceae_, 362. Primrose Family, 362. Primrose, Beach, 324. Prince's Plume, Golden, 182. _Prosartes_, 54. _Prunus_, 216. _Prunus ilicifolia_, 216. _Prunella vulgaris_, 444. _Psathyrotes annua_, 530. _Psilostrophe Cooperi_, 542. _Psilostrophe tagetina var. sparsiflora_, 542. _Psoralea_, 262. _Psoralea physodes_, 262. _Pterospora Andromedea_, 360. _Pteryxia Californica_, 334. _Ptilonella scabra_, 536. _Ptiloria_, 570. _Ptiloria pauciflora_, 570. _Ptiloria Wrightii_, 570. Puccoon, Hairy, 424. Puccoon, Pretty, 426. Purslane Family, 120. Purslane-tree, 120. Pusley, 120. Pusley, Chinese, 432. Pussy's Ears, Yellow, 60. Pussy's Ears, White, 60. Pussy-paws, 124. Pussy-tails, 224. Pyramid Bush, 228. _Pyrolaceae_, 354. _Pyrola_, 356. _Pyrola bracteata_, 356. Quaker Bonnets, 252. Quamash, 48. _Quamoclidion_, 100. _Quamoclidion multiflorum_, 100. Queen-cup, 50. Quinine, 506. Quinine Bush, 226. Radish, 174. _Rafinesquia_, 574. Ragwort, 564. _Ramona_, 438. _Ramona grandiflora_, 438. _Ramona incana_, 438. _Ramona nivea_, 440. _Ramona polystachya_, 440. _Ramona stachyoides_, 442. Ramona, Desert, 438. _Ranunculaceae_, 126. _Ranunculus_, 126. _Ranunculus Californicus_, 126. Raspberry, 236. Raspberry, Creeping, 238. Rattleweed, 256, 258. Red-bud, 264. Red Feather, 470. Red-pepper, 458. Red-root, 282. Reed-lily, 10. _Rhamnaceae_, 282. _Rhododendron_, 342, 344, 348. _Rhododendron Californicum_, 344. _Ribes_, 210, 212. _Ribes aureum_, 214. _Ribes glutinosum_, 212. _Ribes Hudsonianum_, 212. _Ribes Nevadense_, 212. Rice Root, 38. _Riddellia_, 542. Rocket, 174. Rock-rose Family, 304. Rock-rose, 304. _Romanzoffia_, 416. _Romanzoffia sitchensis_, 416. Romero, 454. _Romneya_, 160. _Romneya Coulteri_, 160. _Romneya trichocalyx_, 160. _Rosaceae_, 218. _Rosa_, 220. _Rosa Californica_, 220. _Rosa Fendleri_, 220. _Rosa gymnocarpa_, 222. Rose Family, 218. Rose Bay, California, 344. Rose, California Wild, 220. Rose, Cliff, 226. Rose, Fendler's, 220. Rose, Redwood, 222. _Rubiaceae_, 506. _Rubus_, 236. _Rubus parviflorus_, 236, 238. _Rubus pedatus_, 238. _Rubus spectabilis_, 236. _Rubus vitifolius_, 236. _Rudbeckia_, 560. _Rudbeckia hirta_, 560. _Rumex_, 88. _Rumex venosus_, 88. Saccato Gordo, 428. Sage, 436, 438. Sage, Ball, 442. Sage, Black, 442. Sage, Hop, 98. Sage, Humming-bird, 438. Sage, Pitcher, 450. Sage, Thistle, 450. Sage, White, 440. Sage, White Ball, 440. Sage-brush, Common, 544. _Sagittaria_, 2. _Sagittaria latifolia,_ 2. Sahuaro, 310. Sailors, Blue, 576. Salal, 342. _Salazaria Mexicana_, 448. Salmon-berry, 236. Salsify, 574. _Salvia_, 438, 450. _Salvia apiana_, 440. _Salvia columbariae_, 452. _Salvia carduacea_, 450. Sandalwood Family, 82. Sand Dock, 88. Sanicle, Purple, 336. _Sanicula bipinnatifida_, 336. San Juan Tree, 464. Sand Puffs, 104. Sandwort, 112. Sandwort, Fendler's, 112. _Santalaceae_, 82. _Saponaria_, 116. _Sarcodes sanguinea_, 358. Satin-bell, 58. _Saururaceae_, 80. _Saxifragaceae_, 196. _Saxifraga_, 198, 202. _Saxifraga Bongardi_, 204. _Saxifraga bronchialis_, 198. _Saxifraga Nutkana_, 204. Saxifrage Family, 196. Saxifrage, 202. Saxifrage, Dotted, 198. Saxifrage, Tall Swamp, 202. Saxifrage, Tufted, 198. Scarlet Bugler, 482, 484. _Schoenolirion_, 10. _Scrophulariaceae_, 466. _Scrophularia_, 488. _Scrophularia Californica_, 490. _Scrophularia Californica var. floribunda_, 490. _Scutellaria_, 446. _Scutellaria angustifolia_, 446. _Scutellaria antirrhinoides_, 446. _Scutellaria Californica_, 446. _Scutellaria tuberosa_, 448. Sea Dahlia, 540. Sea Fig, 110. _Sedum_, 192. _Sedum Douglasii_, 192. _Sedum Yosemitense_, 192. Sego Lily, 64. Sego, Poison, 6. Self-heal, 444. _Senecio_, 564. _Senecio cordatus_, 566. _Senecio Douglasii_, 564. _Senecio elegans_, 568. _Senecio Lemmoni_, 566. _Senecio multilobatus_, 566. _Senecio perplexus var. dispar_, 564. _Senecio Riddellii_, 566. Senecio, African, 568. Senecio, Creek, 564. Senna Family, 264. Senna, Desert, 266. _Serapias_, 74. _Serapias gigantea_, 74. _Sericotheca_, 236. _Sericotheca discolor_, 236. Service-berry, 216. Shadbush, 214. Shallon, 342. Sheep-pod, 258. Shepherd's Purse, 174. Shield-leaf, 180. Shinleaf, 356. Shooting-star, 364. Shooting-star, Large, 364. Shooting-star, Small, 366. _Sidalcea_, 286. _Sidalcea Californica_, 286. _Sidalcea malvaeflora_, 288. _Sidalcea Neo-Mexicana_, 288. _Sidalcea Oregana_, 286. _Silene_, 112. _Silene acaulis_, 114. _Silene Anglica_, 114. _Silene Californica_, 114. _Silene Gallica_, 114. _Silene Hookeri_, 114. _Silene laciniata_, 116. _Silene laciniata var. Greggii_, 116. _Silene Lyalli_, 116. Silver-puffs, 576. Silver-weed, 232. Single Beauty, 354. _Sisymbrium allissimum_, 98. _Sisyrinchium_, 70. _Sisyrinchium Arizonicum_, 70. _Sisyrinchium bellum_, 70. _Sisyrinchium Californicum_, 70. _Sisyrinchium Elmeri_, 70. Skevish, 534. Skullcap, 446. Skunk-weed, 188. Skyrocket, 392. Smartweed, 86. Smartweed, Alpine, 96. Smoke Tree, 246. Snake's Head, 572. Snap-dragon, Sticky, 468. Snap-dragon, Trailing, 470. Snap-dragon Vine, 466. Snap-dragon, White, 468. Sneeze-weed, 538. Snow-Balls, 92, 104. Snowberry, 516. Snow Brush, 282. Snowdrop, 38. Snow-plant, 358. Soap-bush, 282. Soap Plant, 12. _Solanaceae_, 458. _Solanum_, 462. _Solanum Douglasii_, 462. _Solanum nigrum_, 462. _Solanum umbelliferum_, 462. _Solanum Xanti_, 462. _Solidago_, 562. _Solidago Californica_, 564. _Solidago occidentalis_, 564. _Solidago trinervata_, 562. Solomon's Seal, False, 52. Solomon's Seal, Star-flowered, 52. _Sonchus_, 576. _Sonchus oleraceus_, 576. Sorrel, 86. Sorrel, Redwood, 272. Sow Thistle, 576. Spanish Bayonet, 40. Spatter-dock, 156. _Spatularia_, 204. _Spatularia Brunoniana_, 204. Speedwell, Alpine, 476. Speedwell, Hairy, 476. Spek-boom, 120. _Sphacele calycina_, 450. _Sphaeralcea_, 290. _Sphaeralcea pedata_, 290. _Sphaerostigma_, 324. _Sphaerostigma bistorta_, 324. _Sphaerostigma tortuosa_, 326. _Sphaerostigma Veitchianum_, 324. _Sphaerostigma viridescens_, 324. Spikenard, Wild, 52. Spinach, 98. _Spiraea_, 228, 230, 236. _Spiraea aruncus_, 226. _Spiraea betulaefolia_, 228. _Spiraea corymbosa_, 228. _Spiraea Douglasii_, 230. _Spiraea pyramidata_, 228. _Spraguea_, 124. _Spraguea umbellata_, 124. Spring Beauty, 122. Squaw Cabbage, 122. Squaw Carpets, 282. Squaw-grass, 44. Squaw-weed, 564. Squaw-weed, White, 566. Squirrel Corn, 170. _Stachys_, 444. _Stachys bullata_, 446. _Stachys ciliata_, 444. _Stachys coccinea_, 444. _Stanleya_, 182. _Stanleya pinnatifida_, 182. Star of Bethlehem, 200. Star, Blazing, 300. Star, Evening, 302. Star-flower, 362. Star Tulip, White, 60. Star Tulip, Yellow, 60. Star, Woodland, 198. Steeple-bush, 230. Steer's Head, 170. _Stellaria_, 118. _Stellariopsis_, 224. _Stellariopsis santolinoides_, 224. _Stemodia_, 474. _Stemodia durantifolia_, 474. _Stenanthella_, 46. _Stenanthella occidentalis_, 46. _Stephanomeria_, 570. _Stephanomeria runcinata_, 570. Stickseed, 422. Stitchwort, 118. St. Johnswort Family, 292. St. Johnswort, 292. St. Johnswort, Creeping, 292. Stock, 174. Stonecrop, Douglas, 192. Stonecrop, Yosemite, 192. Storksbill, 276. Strangle-weed, 382. Strawberry, 240. Strawberry, Sand, 240. Strawberry, Wood, 240. Strawberry Shrub Family, 158. Strawberry Shrub, 158. Strawberry-tomato, 460. _Streptanthus_, 178, 180. _Streptanthus Arizonicus_, 180. _Streptanthus tortuosus_, 180. Streptanthus, Arizona, 180. _Streptopus_, 46. _Streptopus amplexifolius_, 46. _Streptopus roseus_, 46. _Stropholirion Californicum_, 20. Sulphur Flower, 94. Sun-cups, 330. Sunflower Family, 522. Sunflower, 530, 550. Sunflower, Common, 528. Sunshine, 550. Sweet-after-Death, 156. Sweet Alyssum, 174. Sweet Pea, Narrow-leaved, 254. Sweet Pea, Utah, 254. Sweet Shrub, 158. Sweet William, Wild, 392. Swollen-stalk, 90. _Symphoricarpos_, 516. _Symphoricarpos longiflorus_, 516. _Symphoricarpos oreophilus_, 516. _Symphoricarpos racemosus_, 516. Syringa, 208. Syringa, Small, 208. _Taraxia ovata_, 330. _Taraxacum_, 576. _Taraxacum Taraxacum_, 576. Tarweed, 222, 538. Tea, Native California, 262. Tea-tree, White, 284. Tea-vine, 436. _Tetradymia spinosa_, 562. _Thalesia uniflora_, 504. _Thalictrum_, 150. _Thalictrum Fendleri_, 150. _Thalictrum Fendleri var. Wrightii_, 150. _Thelypodium_, 176. _Thelypodium torulosum_, 176. _Themopsis_, 246. _Themopsis Californica_, 246. _Themopsis montana_, 246. Thimble-berry, 238. Thistle, 522, 524. Thistle, Arizona, 524. Thistle, California, 524. Thistle, Milk, 162. Thistle, Sow, 576. Thistle, Western, 524. Thistle, Yellow-spined, 524. _Thlaspi_, 178. _Thlaspi alpestre_, 178. _Thlaspi glaucum_, 178. Thorn-Apple, 458. _Thurberia thespesioides_, 286. Thyme, 436. Tickseed, 540. Tidy-tips, White, 554. Tidy-tips, Yellow, 554. Tiny Tim, 556. Toad-flax, 474. Tobacco, 458, 464. Tobacco, Tree, 464. Tolguacha, 458. _Tolmiea_, 200. Tomato, 458. Torosa, 164. _Townsendia exscapa_, 530. _Tragopogon porrifolius_, 574. _Trautvetteria_, 142. _Trautvetteria grandis_, 142. Trefoil, 242. _Trichostema_, 454. _Trichostema lanatum_, 454. _Trichostema lanceolatum_, 454. _Trientalis_, 362. _Trientalis latifolia_, 362. _Trifolium_, 260. _Trifolium fucatum_, 262. _Trifolium tridentatum_, 262. _Trillium_, 42. _Trillium ovatum_, 42. _Triteleia_, 24. _Triteleia grandiflora_, 24. _Triteleia hyacinthina_, 24. _Triteleia laxa_, 18, 24. _Trixis_, 540. _Trixis angustifolia var. latiuscula_, 540. _Trollius laxus_, 142. Tule Potato, 2. Tulip, Alabaster, 58. Tulip, Butterfly, 62. Tulip, Mariposa, 56, 62, 64. Tulip, Orange Mariposa, 64. Tulip, Yellow Mariposa, 62. Tulip, Globe, 56. Tulip, White Globe, 58. Tulip, Yellow Globe, 56. Tulip, Star, 56. Tulip, White Star, 60. Tulip, Yellow Star, 60. Tumbleweed, 98. Turkey Peas, 332. Turkish Rugging, 86. Turnip, 184. Twinberry, Black, 512. Twin-flower, 514. Twisted Stalk, Pink, 46. Twisted Stalk, White, 46. _Umbelliferae_, 332. Umbrella-wort, Narrow-leaved, 106. _Vaccaria_, 116. _Vaccaria vaccaria_, 116. _Vaccinium_, 348. _Vaccinium ovatum_, 348. _Vagnera_, 52. _Vagnera amplexicaulis_, 52. _Vagnera sessilifolia_, 52. _Valerianaceae_, 508. _Valeriana_, 510. _Valeriana Arizonica_, 510. _Valeriana sylvatica_, 510. _Valeriana sitchensis_, 510. Valerian Family, 508. Valerian, Arizona, 510. Valerian, Greek, 384. Valerian, Wild, 510. _Valerianella_, 508. _Valerianella macrosera_, 508. _Vancouveria_, 152. _Vancouveria chrysantha_, 152. _Vancouveria hexandra_, 152. _Vancouveria parviflora_, 152. Vanilla Leaf, 156. _Velaea arguta_, 336. Velvet-rosette, 530. _Venegasia carpesioides_, 550. _Veratrum_, 8. _Veratrum Californicum_, 10. _Verbenaceae_, 434. _Verbena_, 434. _Verbena Arizonica_, 434. _Verbena prostrata_, 434. Verbena Family, 434. Verbena, Yellow Sand, 106. Verbena, Pink Sand, 104. Verbena, Wild, 434. _Veronica_, 474. _Veronica Americana_, 476. _Veronica Tournefortii_, 476. _Veronica Wormskjoldii_, 476. Vervain, Common, 434. Vervenia, 404. Vetch, 250. Vetch, Milk, 256. Villela, 70. Vinegar Weed, 454. _Violaceae_, 296. _Viola_, 296. _Viola adunca var. glabra_, 298. _Viola adunca var. longipes_, 300. _Viola Canadensis_, 298. _Viola lobata_, 296. _Viola ocellata_, 296. _Viola pedunculata_, 300. _Viola venosa_, 298. Violet Family, 296. Violet, Blue, 300. Violet, Canada, 298. Violet, Dog-tooth, 28. Violet, Pine, 296. Violet, Pale Mountain, 298. Violet, Yellow Mountain, 298. Virgin's Bower, 148. Wake-robin, 42. Wallflower, Cream-colored, 178. Wallflower, Western, 176. Wapato, 2. Water-cress, 174. Waterleaf Family, 402, 422. Waterleaf, 418. Water Lily Family, 156. Water-plantain Family, 2. _Whipplea modesta_, 204. Whispering Bells, 418. Willow-herb, 316. Willow-herb, Great, 314. Willow-herb, Water, 314. Wineflowers, 158. Wintergreen Family, 354. Wintergreen 340, 356. Wintergreen, Western, 342. Wolfsbane, 136. Wood-balm, 450. Woodland Star, 198. Wood-sorrel Family, 272. Wood-sorrel, Yellow, 272. _Wyethia_, 560. _Wyethia amplexicaulis_, 560. _Wyethia mollis_, 560. Wyethia, Woolly, 560. _Xerophyllum tenax_, 44. _Xylorrhiza_, 544. _Xylorrhiza tortifolia_, 544. _Xylothermia montana_, 248. Yarrow, Golden, 546. Yellows, 560. Yerba Buena, 436. Yerba Buena del Campo, 436. Yerba Buena del Poso, 436. Yerba Mansa, 80. Yerba del Pasmo, 228. Yerba Santa, 420. Yerba Santa, Woolly, 420. Youth-on-age, 200. _Yucca_, 40. _Yucca Whipplei_, 40. Yucca, Tree, 40. _Zinnia_, 552. Zinnia, Desert, 552. Zygadene, 6, 8. Zygadene, Star, 8. _Zygadenus_, 6. _Zygadenus elegans_, 8. _Zygadenus Fremontii_, 8. _Zygadenus paniculatus_, 6. _Zygadenus venenosus_, 8. _Zygophyllaceae_, 268. _A Selection from the Catalogue of_ G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS [Illustration] Complete Catalogue sent on application _By F. SCHUYLER MATHEWS_ FIELD BOOK OF WILD BIRDS AND THEIR MUSIC 16mo. With 38 Colored and 15 other Full-page Illustrations, and numerous Musical Diagrams. Cloth, net $2.00 Full Flexible leather, net 2.50 (Postage, 15 cents) FIELD BOOK OF AMERICAN WILD FLOWERS 16mo. Revised and Enlarged Edition. With 24 Colored Plates and 215 Full-page Illustrations in the text. Cloth, net $2.00 Full leather, net 2.50 (Postage, 15 cents) FIELD BOOK OF AMERICAN TREES AND SHRUBS 16mo. Uniform with "Field Book of Wild Birds." Many Illustrations, some in color, and maps. Cloth, net $2.00 Full leather, net 2.50 (Postage, 15 cents) G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS New York London [Transcriber's Note: Page 79, "Limnorchis leuchostachys" was changed to read "Limnorchis leucostachys", typo in illustration. Page 563, "Tetradimia spinosa" was changed to read "Tetradymia spinosa", typo in illustration. Inconsistent spelling and punctuation are as in the original.]