many different shapes of flowers we have, and find out what are their names. Here is the Rosaceous flower, and the Liliaceous, which explain themselves, so many of the fruit-blossoms and our wild rose have given us the shape of the petals of the first, and the gay field-lily now shows us that of the second. The Caryophyllaceous flower might need more explanation, which we can find in the Wild Pink, late in June, or in the Soapwort, or "Bouncing Bet," that grows by roadsides. The five petals have long, narrow claws, that are enclosed in the tube of the calyx. The cruciate or cruciform flower gives its name to the order of the Crucifera, to which the Mustard and Radish belong. This is a large family, and all its flowers bear much resemblance to each other. They have four petals placed in the form of a cross, and of their six stamens four are equal in length, while two are shorter and exterior. These are all somewhat regular in form; but the Ground-Nut and the Lupines we picked some weeks ago are irregular, and have a papilionaceous, or butterfly-shaped corolla. The petals of such a corolla bear separate names. The upper petal is termed the vexillum (standard or banner); the two lateral ones are called wings (alæ); and the two lower, which are usually somewhat united along their anterior edges, and are more or less boat-shaped, form together the keel (carina). There are other forms of Polypetalous flowers (those with many petals) that you can recall in the Columbine (Aquilegia), and in the Larkspur and Monk's-hood in the gardens. All children have found in the latter the "Venus's car drawn by doves," by pulling back the purple hood.

The monopetalous corolla and calyx have, too, as varied forms. Among the more regular shapes is the campanulate, or bell-shaped flower. Where shall you go to find an example of this? I will tell you. You must think of the very prettiest place in woods, near river-banks, of which you know, some place so lovely, with all its scenery, its wild growth, its shade of trees, its moss-grown, rocky seats, that you would think not one more thing was needed to make it the loveliest place in the world. You will find that one more thing has come, - the Harebell. On the bank, by the broad riverside, looking across to glowing sunsets; in wet, rocky glens, where the pathway is slippery with moist moss; on islands, hanging over the edge of the water; almost dipping into the foam of hidden waterfalls; on the shore of Niagara ;-in the prettiest and the grandest places, all by itself, or in large companies, it grows. Nobody can paint it, for no one could make it tremble, or take into the picture the loveliness of the spot where it chooses to live. So you must find it for yourself, if you want to know it, and you will see what a campanulate flower is.

We can venture to come back to the funnel-shaped flowers; for among these is the Morning-Glory, beloved of our childhood, almost the only flower that was willing to come up from the seeds we planted and dug over. The wild Convolvulus, or Bindweed, has an uncommonly pretty leaf.

Then there is the tubular form. For a representative of this look in the wild, uncultivated bits of land by the roadside, where tall plants cluster on the edge of a brook, or marshy place. Among these, lifting themselves

above all the rest, are some rough-looking, stout-stemmed herbs, that bear large clusters of handsome, purplish flowers, which have a picturesque effect, and are gorgeous among the thick green of the tangled mass. The flowers are in dense corymbs; that is, they form clusters, each flower resting on a pedicel, or small stalk, that lifts them up to an even head, each flower being tubular. This is the Eupatorium, or Joe-Pye Weed. Its color varies from pink to purple. It is common in low grounds. It belongs to a sub-order of the large family of Composite.

There is a large order among the monopetalous flowers of the Labiates, Labiata, which are more frequent, however, in Europe. The various kinds of mint are of this form. The corolla is two-lipped, and sometimes the calyx also. Two of the petals grow together, higher than the rest, and form an upper lip, and the three remaining ones join on the other side of the flower to form the lower lip, and the flower is, therefore, monopetalous. When the

two lips are separated, and the throat open, it is said to be ringent. But when it is closed by the bringing together of the two lips, or by an elevated protuberance of the lower, called the palate, the corolla is said to be personate, or masked. This can be seen in the common Snapdragon and Toadflax.

The Whiteweed, Succory, and Dandelion are examples of the Compositæ. Each apparent flower is

rather a collection of distinct blossoms, closely crowded together in a head, and surrounded by an involucre. In the Whiteweed, the flowers round the edge have flat and open or strap-shaped corollas, which are pistillate, bearing a pistil only. In the Dandelion and Succory, the flowers are perfect, bear both stamens and pistils, and are all strap-shaped.

The Clematis keeps on a long, continuous beauty. It climbs over and around the shrubs in the wild hedges with its twisting branches. Its flower has no corolla, but four sepals, and gains its showy appearance from its seedvessels, or achenia. These bear persistent styles, that are long and feathery. So to the flowers succeed, through autumn, the "conspicuous feathery tails" of the fruit.

In the hedges, too, is the Clethra, of the brilliant Heath Family. It does not inherit the rich color of its tribe, but it has none the less of its beauty. Its flowers are white, in "terminal racemes"; that is, the flowers cluster along a common stalk. It has a corolla of five obovate-oblong petals, a calyx of five sepals, and its blossoms have a delightful fragrance. But we must leave the dry hedges, and the woods, and penetrate into moister spots, and find the myriad beauties that are hidden in a swamp.

Willow-bushes hedge it in, and a thicket of reeds and sedges, through which we must search for a safe footing far in, if we are only wise enough

(not to be armed, but) to be footed with India-rubber boots. The tall Cat-tail (or Cat-o'-nine-tails), or Reed-mace, stands among the reeds with its rich redbrown clubs, either as a defender of the pass or to invite us in. As we plunge on, among the black mud, and the green reeds and grasses, we seem to have come into the very centre of all growing things. Dragon-flies hover over the pools of water, clouds of insects swarm among the bushes, frogs croak under our feet, there is a mass of life, animal and vegetable, around us. Green all about, and glimpses of blue sky above, and blue reflected in the pools that lie at the foot of great moss-grown trunks of trees. We press on, for besides all the wonders of swamp-life that encourage us and stay us, we are aiming for a great prize. We have not time to look at all the microscopic Algæ that form a green growth over the water itself, but we plunge along.

Here is the Iris, or Blue Flag, with its sword-like leaves. Some of its blue flowers still linger, deep blue, veined with green, yellow, and white dashes at its base. And the leaves of the Side-saddle-flower grow closely together around its roots, pitcher-like in form, holding water still. Here are huge shrubs or trees of Laurel, the Dog-wood growing rankly, delicate Goldthread, and such Mosses! Happy mud-turtles sitting on projecting roots or flat stones, as if conscious of being in the very heart of their own dominions,

by the side of nodding lilies. This is the land of the Arethusas, and of the Calopogon.

In wet places, near Plymouth, grows the Sabbatia, with its handsome, rose-colored flowers.

Great hemlocks rise amongst the luxurious growth. There is a mound of

moss-grown rock, and a dry spot, among the roots of one of these great trees, where one can stop to look round. Grape-vines and Clematis are trailing among the shrubs and trees, and fill up all the passages, so that now we cannot tell where we came in, or how we shall get away from the tangle of growth. Here are alders, and elders, and birches, and strange deepening blueberries, that we do not venture to pick. Little rabbit-paths lead in among the bushes; if we were only small enough to follow them, what might we not find? We could penetrate into the mounds of ferns and brake that grow rankly all around. We seem to have reached a strange, unknown, tropical country, and could fancy that from behind the jungle some wild beast might appear, or some imp look out from the bushes, or a snake crawl from the slime. Down among deep bogs such as these lie, and are found, relics of old, old times, of other races; and, in the moist, earthy atmosphere, we feel as if we too might vegetate, then stay and fossilize, to be dug up and wondered over some millions of years hence. But there is a path through it all over stones, clutching at briers, stopping to admire smooth reeds, strange tall grasses, thick brakes, we come at last to a sunshiny place, where the wonder of our swamp breaks in upon us. We are in one of the favored spots where the Rhododendron grows.

High overhead, all around us, the rich pink blossoms fill us with a new wonder. What a strange place for this brilliant foreign-looking plant to choose! It must miss the flamingoes and parrots and palm-trees of a home in the South. No, it is native born and bred. It is found "sparingly in New England, New York, and Ohio, but very common along shaded watercourses in the mountains of Pennsylvania and southward." It grows sometimes twenty feet high. Its beautiful corolla is of pale rose-color, or nearly white, greenish on the upper side, and spotted with yellow or reddish, bellshaped, or partly funnel-form. It is somewhat two-lipped. Its color varies with its position and in its growth. I could wish the swamps where it grows might be even more fiercely guarded by dragon-flies, or snake-root, or frogsbit, spike-rush, grass-blades, or spear-grass, so that these oases of glorious flowers might not be disturbed or cut away, but left to rule in their strange solitude.

We might keep on in our walk to where the water spreads out, away from its reedy margin, into a pond. But we must take an early morning for our search after Water-Lilies, -a morning time, when we can catch them just as the morning sun is waking them up from their night's sleep. We shall have to leave our sleep still earlier, and have a chance to see the first dawning glow above the hills, to watch the spiders' webs along the roadside, freshly spread for their day's work. They must have been up early, too! No, the webs were spread the last thing before going to bed, so that the spider can take a late nap, while the silly insects that are out earlier are caught in his toils. The webs make a lovely tapestry in the grass before the dust has weighed them down, and while the morning dew is sprinkled over them.

But who can describe the sight, when, one after another, the Water-Lily buds open to meet the sun, across the broad pond? It is indeed bewildering

with its flashing beauty. How the half-opened flowers float gracefully on the surface of the water, sending their deep green smooth stalks far down into the deep earth below, so that they can sway at their ease, supported by the waves! I shall not describe it to you botanically, as you must find it for yourself in your Gray's Botany. Only observe its four green sepals and white petals, and how these last pass gradually into yellow stamens in the centre.

In among the lilies is other water-growth, - pink and blue flowers that you must study, the wonderful Vallisneria, a sort of Eel-grass. The flowers are diæcious; that is, the pistils and stamens are found in separate plants. The staminate flowers grow on so short a scape, or flower-stalk, that they are confined to the bottom of the water. The fertile flowers are borne on an exceedingly long scape. So, when the staminate clusters are ready, they break away from their stalks, and float on the surface, where they open and shed their pollen around the pistillate flowers, which are raised to the surface at the same time. Afterwards, the fertile scapes-from two to four feet long, if the water is as deep-coil up spirally, and draw the seed-vessel under water to ripen.

We shall want to carry away some of our prize of Water-Lilies in the bud. They are in the habit of opening day after day, three times, and then their little life is over. If their pretty long stalks are cut away, we can keep them afloat in a shallow dish, opening for three days, and shutting at night for sleep.

In August, and late in July, we can find the Cardinal-flower, "the superb Lobelia, flashing among the sedges," as Willis calls it. Its deep red, fivelobed, monopetalous corolla is split down to its base on one side, and its five stamens hang free from the corolla.

The Kalmia, the Rhododendron, the Water-Lily, and the Cardinal-flower are some of the glories of midsummer. It is hard to name them all, when we think of meadows, fields, hillsides, swamps, and deep glens, - glens with all the varieties of Ferns and Maiden-hair. And already over the stone walls stretch the long branches of the Golden-Rod, Hypericon, and Blue Vervain. But these can wait for us till September.

VOL. II. NO. VIII.

32

Lucretia P. Hale.