How to know the wild flowers

Scape.—About two feet long. Leaves.—Divided into three broad leaflets, crowded at the summit of the flowerless stems. Flowers.—Papilionaceous, purplish-pink, small, growing in an elongated raceme on a mostly leafless scape.

This is a smaller, less noticeable plant than D. Canadense. It flourishes abundantly in dry woods, where it often takes possession in late summer to the exclusion of nearly all other flowers.

The flowers of D. acuminatum grow in an elongated raceme from a stem about whose summit the leaves, divided into very large leaflets, are crowded; otherwise it resembles D. nudiflorum.

D. Dillenii grows to a height of from two to five feet, with erect leafy stems and medium-sized flowers. It is found commonly in open woods.

Many of us who do not know these plants by name have uttered various imprecations against their roughened pods. Thoreau writes: “Though you were running for your life, they would have time to catch and cling to your clothes.... These almost invisible nets, as it were, are spread for us, and whole coveys of desmodium and bidens seeds steal transportation out of us. I have found myself often covered, as it were, with an imbricated coat of the brown desmodium seeds or a bristling chevaux-de-frise of beggar-ticks, and had to spend a quarter of an hour or more picking them off in some convenient spot; and so they get just what they wanted—deposited in another place.”

Bouncing Bet. Soapwort.
Saponaria officinalis. Pink Family.

Stem.—Rather stout, swollen at the joints. Leaves.—Oval, opposite. Flowers.—Pink or white, clustered. Calyx.—Of five united sepals. Corolla.—Of five pinkish, long-clawed petals (frequently the flowers are double). Stamens.—Ten. Pistil.—One, with two styles.

A cheery pretty plant is this with large, rose-tinged flowers which are especially effective when double.

Bouncing Bet is of a sociable turn and is seldom found far from civilization, delighting in the proximity of farm-houses and their belongings, in the shape of children, chickens, and cattle. She comes to us from England, and her “feminine comeliness and bounce” suggest to Mr. Burroughs a Yorkshire housemaid. The generic name is from sapo—soap, and refers to the lather which the juice forms with water, and which is said to have been used as a substitute for soap.

Steeple-bush. Hardhack.
Spiræa tomentosa. Rose Family.

Stems.—Very woolly. Leaves.—Alternate, oval, toothed. Flowers.—Small, pink, in pyramidal clusters. Calyx.—Five-cleft. Corolla.—Of five rounded petals. Stamens.—Numerous. Pistils.—Five to eight.

The pink spires of this shrub justify its rather unpoetic name of steeple-bush. It is closely allied to the meadow-sweet (Pl. XXVI.), blossoming with it in low grounds during the summer. It differs from that plant in the color of its flowers and in the woolliness of its stems and the lower surface of its leaves.

Deptford Pink.
Dianthus Armeria. Pink Family.

One or two feet high. Leaves.—Opposite, long and narrow, hairy. Flowers.—Pink, with white dots, clustered. Calyx.—Five-toothed, cylindrical, with awl-shaped bracts beneath. Corolla.—Of five small petals. Stamens.—Ten. Pistil.—One, with two styles.

In July and August we find these little flowers in our eastern fields. The generic name, which signifies Jove’s own flower, hardly applies to these inconspicuous blossoms. Perhaps it was originally bestowed upon D. caryophyllus, a large and fragrant English member of the genus, which was the origin of our garden carnation.

Purple Loosestrife.
Lythrum Salicaria. Loosestrife Family.

Stem.—Tall and slender. Leaves.—Lance-shaped, with a heart-shaped base, sometimes whorled in threes. Flowers.—Deep purple-pink, crowded and whorled in an interrupted spike. Calyx.—Five to seven-toothed, with little processes between the teeth. Corolla.—Of five or six somewhat wrinkled petals. Stamens.—Usually twelve, in two sets, six longer and six shorter. Pistil.—One, varying in size in the different blossoms, being of three different lengths.

One who has seen an inland marsh in August aglow with this beautiful plant, is almost ready to forgive the Old Country some of the many pests she has shipped to our shores in view of this radiant acquisition. The botany locates it anywhere between Nova Scotia and Delaware. It may be seen in the perfection of its beauty along the marshy shores of the Hudson and in the swamps of the Wallkill Valley.

When we learn that these flowers are called “long purples,” by the English country people, the scene of Ophelia’s tragic death rises before us:

Dr. Prior, however, says that it is supposed that Shakespeare intended to designate the purple-flowering orchis, O. mascula, which is said to closely resemble the showy orchis (Pl. LXII.) of our spring woods.

The flowers of the purple loosestrife are especially interesting to botanists on account of their trimorphism, which word signifies occurring in three forms, and refers to the stamens and pistils, which vary in size in the different blossoms, being of three different lengths, the pollen from any given set of stamens being especially fitted to fertilize a pistil of corresponding length.

Meadow-beauty. Deer-grass.
Rhexia Virginica. Melastoma Family.

Stem.—Square, with wing-like angles. Leaves.—Opposite, narrowly oval. Flowers.—Purplish-pink, clustered. Calyx-tube.—Urn-shaped, four-cleft at the apex. Corolla.—Of four large rounded petals. Stamens.—Eight, with long curved anthers. Pistil.—One.

It is always a pleasant surprise to happen upon a bright patch of these delicate deep-hued flowers along the marshes or in the sandy fields of midsummer. Their fragile beauty is of that order which causes it to seem natural that they should belong to a genus which is the sole northern representative of a tropical family. In parts of New England they grow in profusion, while in Arkansas the plant is said to be a great favorite with the deer, hence one of its common names. The flower has been likened to a scarlet evening primrose, and there is certainly a suggestion of the evening primrose in the four rounded, slightly heart-shaped petals. The protruding stamens, with their long yellow anthers, are conspicuous.

Of the plant in the late year, Thoreau writes: “The scarlet leaves and stem of the rhexia, sometime out of flower, make almost as bright a patch in the meadows now as the flowers did. Its seed-vessels are perfect little cream-pitchers of graceful form.”

Clammy Cuphea. Wax-weed.
Cuphea viscosissima. Loosestrife Family.

Stem.—Sticky, hairy, branching. Leaves.—Usually opposite, rounded, lance-shaped. Flowers.—Deep purplish-pink, solitary or in racemes. Calyx.—Tubular, slightly spurred at the base on the upper side, six-toothed at the apex, usually with a slight projection between each tooth. Corolla.—Small, of six unequal petals. Stamens.—Eleven or twelve, of unequal sizes, in two sets. Pistil.—One, with a two-lobed stigma.

In the dry fields and along the roadsides of late summer this plant is found in blossom. Its rather wrinkled purplish-pink petals and unequal stamens suggest the flowers of the spiked loosestrife, L. Salicaria, to which it is closely related.

Sea Pink.
Sabbatia stellaris. Gentian Family.

Stem.—Slender, loosely branched. Leaves.—Opposite, oblong to lance-shaped, the upper narrowly linear. Flowers.—Large, deep pure pink to almost white. Calyx.—Usually five-parted, the lobes long and slender. Corolla.—Usually five-parted, conspicuously marked with red and yellow in the centre. Stamens.—Usually five. Pistil.—One, with two-cleft style.

The advancing year has few fairer sights to show us than a salt meadow flushed with these radiant blossoms. They are so abundant, so deep-hued, so delicate! One feels tempted to lie down among the pale grasses and rosy stars in the sunshine of the August morning and drink his fill of their beauty. How often nature tries to the utmost our capacity of appreciation and leaves us still insatiate! At such times it is almost a relief to turn from the mere contemplation of beauty to the study of its structure; it rests our overstrained faculties.

The vivid coloring and conspicuous marking of these flowers indicate that they aim to attract certain members of the insect world. As in the fireweed the pistil of the freshly opened blossom is curved sideways, with its lobes so closed and twisted as to be inaccessible on their stigmatic surfaces to the pollen which the already mature stamens are discharging. When the effete anthers give evidence that they are hors de combat by their withered appearance, the style erects itself and spreads its stigmas.

S. angularis is a species which may be found in rich soil inland. Its somewhat heart-shaped, clasping, five-nerved leaves and angled stem serve to identify it.

S. chloroides is a larger and peculiarly beautiful species which borders brackish ponds along the coast. Its corolla is about two inches broad and eight to twelve-parted.

Marsh St. John’s-wort.
Elodes campanulata. St. John’s-wort Family.

Stem.—One or two feet high, often pinkish, later bright red. Leaves.—Opposite, set close to the stem or clasping by a broad base. Flowers.—Pinkish or flesh-color, small, closely clustered at the summit of the stem and in the axils of the leaves. Calyx.—Of five sepals, often pinkish. Corolla.—Of five petals. Stamens.—Nine, in three sets, the sets separated by orange-colored glands. Pistil.—One, with three styles.

If one has been so unlucky, from the usual point of view, or so fortunate, looking at the matter with the eyes of the flower-lover, as to find himself in a rich marsh early in August, his eye is likely to fall upon the small, pretty pinkish flowers and pale clasping leaves of the marsh St. John’s-wort. A closer inspection will discover that the foliage is dotted with the pellucid glands, and that the stamens are clustered in groups after the family fashion. Should the same marsh be visited a few weeks later dashes of vivid color will guide one to the spot where the little pink flowers were found. In their place glow the conspicuous ovaries and bright leaves which make the plant very noticeable in late August.

Elodes is a corruption from a Greek word which signifies growing in marshes.

Stem.—Stout and tall, four to eight feet high. Leaves.—The lower three-lobed, the upper oblong, whitish and downy beneath. Flowers.—Large and showy, pink. Calyx.—Five-cleft, with a row of narrow bractlets beneath. Corolla.—Of five large petals. Stamens.—Many, on a tube which encloses the lower part of the style. Pistils.—Five, united into one, with five stigmas which are like pin-heads.

When the beautiful rose mallow slowly unfolds her pink banner-like petals and admits the eager bee to her stores of golden pollen, then we feel that the summer is far advanced. As truly as the wood anemone and the blood-root seem filled with the essence of spring and the promise of the opening year, so does this stately flower glow with the maturity and fulfilment of late summer. Here is none of the timorousness of the early blossoms which peep shyly out, as if ready to beat a hasty retreat should a late frost overtake them, but rather a calm assurance that the time is ripe, and that the salt marshes and brackish ponds are only awaiting their rosy lining.

The marsh mallow, whose roots yield the mucilaginous substance utilized in the well-known confection, is Althæa officinalis, an emigrant from Europe. It is a much less common plant than the Hibiscus, its pale pink flowers being found in some of the salt marshes of New England and New York.

The common mallow, Malva rotundifolia, which overruns the country dooryards and village waysides, is a little plant with rounded, heart-shaped leaves and small purplish flowers. It is used by the country people for various medicinal purposes and is cultivated and commonly boiled with meat in Egypt. Job pictures himself as being despised by those who had been themselves so destitute as to “cut up mallows by the bushes ... for their meat.”^[7]

Stem.—Two to five feet high. Leaves.—Pale, thickish, oblong or lance-shaped, toothed. Flower-heads.—Pink, small, in flat-topped clusters, composed entirely of tubular flowers.

In the salt marshes where we find the starry sea pinks and the feathery sea lavender, we notice a pallid-looking plant whose pink flower-buds are long in opening. It is late summer or autumn before the salt marsh fleabane is fairly in blossom. There is a strong fragrance to the plant which hardly suggests camphor, despite its specific title.

Hairy Willow-herb.
Epilobium hirsutum. Evening Primrose Family.

Three to five feet high. Stem.—Densely hairy, stout, branching. Leaves.—Mostly opposite, lance-oblong, finely toothed. Flower.—Purplish, pink, small, in the axils of the upper leaves, or in a leafy, short raceme. Calyx.—Four or five-parted. Corolla.—Of four petals. Stamens.—Eight. Pistil.—One, with a four-parted stigma.

The hairy willow-herb is found in waste places, blossoming in midsummer. It is an emigrant from Europe.

Fireweed. Great Willow-herb.
Epilobium angustifolium. Evening Primrose Family.

Stem.—Four to seven feet high. Leaves.—Scattered, lance-shaped, willow-like. Flowers.—Purplish-pink, large, in a long raceme. Calyx.—Four-cleft. Corolla.—Of four petals. Stamens.—Eight. Pistil.—One, with a four-lobed stigma.

In midsummer this striking plant begins to mass its deep-hued blossoms along the roadsides and low meadows. It is supposed to flourish with especial abundance in land that has newly been burned over; hence, its common name of fireweed. Its willow-like foliage has given it its other English title. The likeness between the blossoms of this plant and those of the evening primrose betray their kinship. When the stamens of the fireweed first mature and discharge their pollen the still immature style is curved backward and downward with its stigmas closed. Later it straightens and lengthens to its full dimensions, so spreading its four stigmas as to be in position to receive the pollen of another flower from the visiting bee.

One to three feet high. Leaves.—Rather large, lance-shaped, sharply toothed. Flowers.—Pale pink, small, more or less nodding, resembling in structure those of the hairy willow-herb. Pistil.—One, with a club-shaped stigma.

This species is found in abundance in wet places in summer.

Purple Gerardia.
Gerardia purpurea. Figwort Family.

Stem.—One to four feet high, widely branching. Leaves.—Linear, sharply pointed. Flowers.—Bright purplish-pink, rather large. Calyx.—Five-toothed. Corolla.—One inch long, somewhat tubular, swelling above, with five more or less unequal, spreading lobes, often downy and spotted within. Stamens.—Four, in pairs, hairy. Pistil.—One.

In late summer and early autumn these pretty noticeable flowers brighten the low-lying ground along the coast and in the neighborhood of the Great Lakes. The sandy fields of New England and Long Island are oftentimes a vivid mass of color owing to their delicate blossoms. The plant varies somewhat in the size of its flowers and in the manner of its growth.

The little seaside gerardia, G. maritima, is from four inches to a foot high. Its smaller blossoms are also found in salt marshes.

The slender gerardia, G. tenuifolia, is common in mountainous regions. The leaves of this species are exceedingly narrow. Like the false foxglove (Pl. LIX.) and other members of this genus, these plants are supposed to be parasitic in their habits.

Joe-Pye-weed. Trumpet-weed.
Eupatorium purpureum. Composite Family (p. 13).

Stem.—Stout and tall, two to twelve feet high, often dotted. Leaves.—In whorls of three to six, oblong or oval, pointed, rough, veiny, toothed. Flower-heads.—Purplish-pink, small, composed entirely of tubular blossoms, with long protruding styles, growing in large clusters at or near the summit of the stem.

The summer is nearly over when the tall, conspicuous Joe-Pye-weed begins to tinge with “crushed raspberry” the lowlands through which we pass. In parts of the country it is nearly as common as the golden-rods and asters which appear at about the same season. With the deep purple of the iron-weed it gives variety to the intense hues which herald the coming of autumn.

“Joe Pye” is said to have been the name of an Indian who cured typhus fever in New England by means of this plant. The tiny trumpet-shaped blossoms which make up the flower-heads may have suggested the other common name.

Pink Knotweed.
Polygonum Pennsylvanicum. Buckwheat Family.

One to four feet high. Stem.—Branching. Leaves.—Alternate, lance-shaped. Flowers.—Bright pink, growing in thick, short, erect spikes. Calyx.—Mostly five-parted, the divisions petal-like, pink. Corolla.—None. Stamens.—Usually eight. Pistil.—One, with a two-cleft style.

In late summer this plant can hardly escape notice. Its erect pink spikes direct attention to some neglected corner in the garden or brighten the fields and roadsides. The rosy divisions of the calyx persist till after the fruit has formed, pressing closely against the dark seed-vessel within.

Sand Knotweed.
Polygonella articulata. (Formerly Polygonum articulatum.) Buckwheat Family.

Erect, branching, four to twelve inches high. Leaves.—Linear, inconspicuous. Flowers.—Rose-color, nodding, in very slender racemes. Calyx.—Five-parted. Corolla.—None. Stamens.—Eight. Pistil.—One, with three styles.

Under date of September 26th, Thoreau writes: “The Polygonum articulatum, giving a rosy tinge to Jenny’s desert, is very interesting now, with its slender dense racemes of rose-tinted flowers, apparently without leaves, rising cleanly out of the sand. It looks warm and brave, a foot or more high, and mingled with deciduous blue curls. It is much divided, with many spreading, slender-racemed branches, with inconspicuous linear leaves, reminding me, both by its form and its colors, of a peach-orchard in blossom, especially when the sunlight falls on it; minute rose-tinted flowers that brave the frosts, and advance the summer into fall, warming with their color sandy hill-sides and deserts, like the glow of evening reflected on the sand, apparently all flower and no leaf. Rising apparently with clean bare stems from the sand, it spreads out into this graceful head of slender, rosy racemes, wisp-like. This little desert of less than an acre blushes with it.”

Note.—The Moss Pink, Phlox subulata, with purple-pink flowers, and Phlox glaberrima, with pink or whitish flowers, will be found in the Blue and Purple section (p. 235). The Mountain Laurel (p. 57) and the American Rhododendron (p. 60) are frequently found bearing pink flowers. At times it has been difficult to determine whether certain flowers should be described in the Pink or in the Purple section. The reader should bear this in mind, consulting both in dubious cases.

Wild Columbine.
Aquilegia Canadensis. Crowfoot Family.

Twelve to eighteen inches high. Stem.—Branching. Leaves.—Much-divided, the leaflets lobed. Flowers.—Large, bright red, yellow within, nodding. Calyx.—Of five red petal-like sepals. Corolla.—Of five petals in the form of large hollow spurs, which are red without and yellow within. Stamens.—Numerous. Pistils.—Five, with slender styles.

declares Emerson; and while perhaps few among us are able to make so light-hearted and sweeping a claim for ourselves, yet many will admit the soothing power of which the woods and fields know the secret, and will own that the ordinary annoyances of life may be held more or less in abeyance by one who lives in close sympathy with nature.

About the columbine there is a daring loveliness which stamps it on the memories of even those who are not ordinarily minute observers. It contrives to secure a foothold in the most precipitous and uncertain of nooks, its jewel-like flowers gleaming from their lofty perches with a graceful insouciance which awakens our sportsmanlike instincts and fires us with the ambition to equal it in daring and make its loveliness our own. Perhaps it is as well if our greediness be foiled and we get a tumble for our pains, for no flower loses more with its surroundings than the columbine. Indeed, these destructive tendencies which are strong within most of us generally defeat themselves by decreasing our pleasure in a blossom the moment we have ruthlessly and without purpose snatched it from its environment. If we honestly wish to study its structure, or to bring into our homes for preservation a bit of the woods’ loveliness, its interest and beauty are sure to repay us. But how many pluck every striking flower they see only to toss it carelessly aside when they reach their destination, if they have not already dropped it by the way. Surely if in such small matters sense and self-control were inculcated in children, more would grow up to the poet’s standard of worthiness:

The name of columbine is derived from colomba—a dove, but its significance is disputed. Some believe that it was associated with the bird-like claws of the blossom; while Dr. Prior maintains that it refers to the “resemblance of its nectaries to the heads of pigeons in a ring around a dish, a favorite device of ancient artists.”

The meaning of the generic title is also doubtful. Gray derives it from aquilegus—water-drawing, but gives no further explanation, while other writers claim that it is from aquila, an eagle, seeing a likeness to the talons of an eagle in the curved nectaries.

Wake Robin. Birthroot.
Trillium erectum. Lily Family.

Stem.—Stout, from a tuber-like rootstock. Leaves.—Broadly ovate, three in a whorl a short distance below the flower. Flower.—Single, terminal, usually purplish-red, occasionally whitish, pinkish, or greenish, on an erect or somewhat inclined flower-stalk. Calyx.—Of three green spreading sepals. Corolla.—Of three large lance-shaped petals. Stamens.—Six. Pistil.—One, with three large spreading stigmas. Fruit.—A large, ovate, six-angled reddish berry.

This wake robin is one of the few self-assertive flowers of the early year. Its contemporaries act as if somewhat uncertain as to whether the spring had really come to stay, but no such lack of confidence possesses our brilliant young friend, who almost flaunts her lurid petals in your face, as if to force upon you the welcome news that the time of birds and flowers is at hand. Pretty and suggestive as is the common name, it is hardly appropriate, as the robins have been on the alert for many days before our flower unfurls its crimson signal. Its odor is most unpleasant. Its reddish fruit is noticeable in the woods of late summer.

The sessile trillium, T. sessile, has no separate flower-stalk, its red or greenish blossom being set close to the stem-leaves. Its petals are narrower, and its leaves are often blotched or spotted. Its berry is globular, six-angled, and red or purplish.

The wake robins are native to North America, only one species being found just beyond the boundaries in the Russian territory.

Wood Betony. Lousewort.
Pedicularis Canadensis. Figwort Family.

Stems.—Clustered, five to twelve inches high. Leaves.—The lower ones deeply incised, the upper less so. Flowers.—Yellow and red, growing in a short dense spike. Calyx.—Of one piece split in front. Corolla.—Two-lipped, the narrow upper lip arched, the lower three-lobed. Stamens.—Four. Pistil.—One.

The bright flowers of the wood betony are found in our May woods, often in the company of the columbine and yellow violet. Near Philadelphia they are said to be among the very earliest of the flowers, coming soon after the trailing arbutus. In the later year the plant attracts attention by its uncouth spikes of brown seed-pods.

Few wayside weeds have been accredited with greater virtue than the ancient betony, which a celebrated Roman physician claimed could cure forty-seven different disorders. The Roman proverb, “Sell your coat and buy betony,” seems to imply that the plant did not flourish so abundantly along the Appian Way as it does by our American roadsides. Unfortunately we are reluctantly forced to believe once more that our native flower is not identical with the classic one, but that it has received its common name through some superficial resemblance to the original betony or Betonica.

Painted Cup.
Castilleia coccinea. Figwort Family.

Stem.—Hairy, six inches to a foot high. Root-leaves.—Clustered, oblong. Stem-leaves.—Incised, those among the flowers three to five-cleft, bright scarlet toward the summit, showy. Flowers.—Pale yellow, spiked. Calyx.—Tubular, flattened. Corolla.—Two-lipped, its upper lip long and narrow, its lower short and three-lobed. Stamens.—Four, unequal. Pistil.—One.

But we need not go to the prairie in order to see this plant, for it is equally abundant in certain low sandy New England meadows as well as in the near vicinity of New York City. Under date of June 3d, Thoreau graphically describes its appearance near Concord, Mass.: “The painted cup is in its prime. It reddens the meadow, painted-cup meadow. It is a splendid show of brilliant scarlet, the color of the cardinal-flower, and surpassing it in mass and profusion.... I do not like the name. It does not remind me of a cup, rather of a flame when it first appears. It might be called flame flower, or scarlet tip. Here is a large meadow full of it, and yet very few in the town have ever seen it. It is startling to see a leaf thus brilliantly painted, as if its tip were dipped into some scarlet tincture, surpassing most flowers in intensity of color.”

Wood Lily. Wild Red Lily.
Lilium Philadelphicum. Lily Family.

Stem.—Two to three feet high. Leaves.—Whorled or scattered, narrowly lance-shaped. Flower.—Erect, orange-red or scarlet, spotted with purple. Perianth.—Of six erect narrowly clawed sepals, with nectar-bearing furrows at their base. Stamens.—Six. Pistil.—One, with three-lobed stigma.

Here and there in the shadowy woods is a vivid dash of color made by some wild red lily which has caught a stray sunbeam in its glowing cup. The purple spots on its sepals guide the greedy bee to the nectar at their base; we too can take the hint and reap a sweet reward if we will, after which we are more in sympathy with those eager, humming bees.

This erect, deep-hued flower is so different from its nodding sister of the meadows, that we wonder that the two should be so often confused. When seen away from its surroundings it has less charm perhaps than either the yellow or the Turk’s cap lily; but when it rears itself in the cool depths of its woodland home we feel the uniqueness of its beauty.

Turk’s Cap Lily.
Lilium superbum. Lily Family.

Stem.—Three to seven feet high. Leaves.—Lance-shaped, the lower whorled. Flowers.—Orange or scarlet, with purple spots within, three inches long, from three to forty growing in pyramidal clusters. Perianth.—Of six strongly recurved sepals. Stamens.—Six, with long anthers. Pistil.—One, with a three-lobed stigma.

How they come back to us, the beautiful hackneyed lines, and flash into our memories with new significance of meaning when we chance suddenly upon a meadow bordered with these the most gorgeous of our wild flowers.

We might doubt whether our native lilies at all resembled those alluded to in the scriptural passage, if we did not know that a nearly allied species grew abundantly in Palestine; for we have reason to believe that lily was a title freely applied by many Oriental poets to any beautiful flower.

Perhaps this plant never attains far inland the same luxuriance of growth which is common to it in some of the New England lowlands near the coast. Its radiant, nodding blossoms are seen in great profusion as we travel by rail from New York to Boston.

Stem.—Clothed with soft hairs. Leaves.—Alternate, hairy, the upper ones lance-shaped, clasping somewhat by a rounded or heart-shaped base. Flowers.—Purplish-red, growing in a curved raceme-like cluster which straightens as the blossoms expand. Calyx.—Five-parted. Corolla.—Funnel-form, five-lobed. Stamens.—Five. Pistil.—One. Fruit.—A large nutlet roughened with barbed or hooked prickles.

This coarse plant, whose disagreeable odor strongly suggests mice, is not only a troublesome weed in pasture-land but a special annoyance to wool-growers, as its prickly fruit adheres with pertinacity to the fleece of sheep. Its common name is a translation of its generic title and refers to the shape and texture of the leaves. The dull red flowers appear in summer.

Butterfly-weed. Pleurisy-root.
Asclepias tuberosa. Milkweed Family.

Stem.—Rough and hairy, one or two feet high, erect, very leafy, branching at the summit, without milky juice. Leaves.—Linear to narrowly lance-shaped. Flowers.—Bright orange-red, in flat-topped, terminal clusters, otherwise closely resembling those of the common milkweed (p. 192.) Fruit.—Two hoary erect pods, one of them often stunted.

Few if any of our native plants add more to the beauty of the midsummer landscape than the milkweeds, and of this family no member is more satisfying to the color-craving eye than the gorgeous butterfly-weed, whose vivid flower-clusters flame from the dry sandy meadows with such luxuriance of growth as to seem almost tropical. Even in the tropics one hardly sees anything more brilliant than the great masses of color made by these flowers along some of our New England railways in July, while farther south they are said to grow even more profusely. Its gay coloring has given the plant its name of butterfly-weed, while that of pleurisy-root arose from the belief that the thick, deep root was a remedy for pleurisy. The Indians used it as food and prepared a crude sugar from the flowers; the young seed-pods they boiled and ate with buffalo-meat. The plant is worthy of cultivation and is easily transplanted, as the fleshy roots when broken in pieces form new plants. Oddly enough, at the Centennial much attention was attracted by a bed of these beautiful plants which were brought from Holland. Truly, flowers like prophets are not without honor save in their own country.

Stem.—Hairy, erect. Leaves.—Hairy, oblong, close to the ground. Flower-heads.—Orange-red, composed entirely of strap-shaped flowers, clustered.

In parts of New York and of New England the midsummer meadows are ablaze with the brilliant orange-red flowers of this striking European weed. It is among the more recent emigrants to this country and bids fair to become an annoyance to the farmer, hence its not altogether inappropriate title of devil’s paintbrush. In England it was called “Grimm the Collier,” on account of its black hairs and after a comedy of the same title which was popular during the reign of Queen Elizabeth. Both its common and generic names refer to an ancient superstition to the effect that birds of prey used the juice of this genus to strengthen their eyesight.

Oswego Tea. Bee Balm.
Monarda didyma. Mint Family (p. 16).

Stem.—Square, erect, about two feet high. Leaves.—Opposite, ovate, pointed, aromatic; those near the flowers tinged with red. Flowers.—Bright red, clustered in a close round head. Calyx.—Reddish, five-toothed. Corolla.—Elongated, tubular, two-lipped. Stamens.—Two, elongated, protruding. Pistil.—One, with a two-lobed style, protruding.

We have so few red flowers that when one flashes suddenly upon us it gives us a pleasant thrill of wonder and surprise. Then red flowers know so well how to enhance their beauty by seeking an appropriate setting. They select the rich green backgrounds only found in moist, shady places, and are peculiarly charming when associated with a lonely marsh or a mountain brook. The bee balm especially haunts these cool nooks, and its rounded flower-clusters touch with warmth the shadows of the damp woods of midsummer. The Indians named the flower O-gee-chee—flaming flower, and are said to have made a tea-like decoction from the blossoms.