OUR winter broke up unusually early this year: by the end of February
the ground was quite free from snow, and the weather continued all
through March mild and pleasant, though not so warm as the preceding
year, and certainly more variable. By the last week in April and the
beginning of May, the forest-trees had all burst into leaf, with a
brilliancy of green that was exquisitely lovely.
On the 14th, 15th, and 16th of May, the air became suddenly cold, with
sharp winds from the north-west, and heavy storms of snow that nipped
the young buds, and destroyed many of the early-sown vegetable seeds;
fortunately for us we were behindhand with ours, which was very well, as
it happened.
Our woods and clearings are now full of beautiful flowers. You will be
able to form some idea of them from the dried specimens that I send you.
You will recognize among them many of the cherished pets of our gardens
and green-houses, which are here flung carelessly from Nature's lavish
hand among our woods and wilds.
How often do I wish you were beside me in my rambles among the woods and
clearings: you would be so delighted in searching out the floral
treasures of the place.
Deeply do I now regret having so idly neglected your kind offers while
at home of instructing me in flower-painting; you often told me the time
would come when I should have cause to regret neglecting the golden
opportunity before me.
You proved a true prophetess; for I daily lament that I cannot make
faithful representations of the flowers of my adopted country, or
understand as you would do their botanical arrangement. With some few I
have made myself acquainted, but have hardly confidence in my scanty
stock of knowledge to venture on scientific descriptions, when I feel
conscious that a blunder would be easily detected, and expose me to
ridicule and contempt, for an assumption of knowledge that I did not
possess. The only botanical work I have at my command is Pursh's North
American Flora, from which I have obtained some information; but must
confess it is tiresome blundering out Latin descriptions to one who
knows nothing of Latin beyond what she derives through a knowledge of
Italian.
I have made out a list of the plants most worthy of attention near us;
there are many others in the township that I am a stranger to; some
there are with whose names I am unacquainted. I subjoin a slight sketch,
not with my pencil but my pen, of those flowers that pleased me
particularly, or that possessed any remarkable qualities.
The same plants do not grow on cleared land that formerly occupied the
same spot when it was covered with forest-trees. A distinct class of
vegetation makes its appearance as soon as the fire has passed over the
ground.
The same thing may be remarked with regard to the change that takes
place among our forests. As one generation falls and decays, new ones of
a different character spring up in their places. This is illustrated in
the circumstance of the resinous substance called fat-pine being usually
found in places where the living pine is least abundant, and where the
ground is occupied by oak, ash, buck, maple, and bass-wood.
The fire-weed, a species of tall thistle of rank and unpleasant scent,
is the first plant that appears when the ground has been freed from
timbers by fire: if a piece of land lies untilled the first summer after
its being chopped, the following spring shows you a smothering crop of
this vile weed. The next plant you notice is the sumach, with its downy
stalks, and head of deep crimson velvety flowers, forming an upright
obtuse bunch at the extremity of the branches: the leaves turn scarlet
towards the latter end of the summer. This shrub, though really very
ornamental, is regarded as a great pest in old clearings, where the
roots run and send up suckers in abundance. The raspberry and wild
gooseberry are next seen, and thousands of strawberry plants of
different varieties carpet the ground, and mingle with the grasses of
the pastures. I have been obliged this spring to root out with
remorseless hand hundreds of sarsaparilla plants, and also the
celebrated gingseng, which grows abundantly in our woods: it used
formerly to be an article of export to China from the States, the root
being held in high estimation by the Chinese.
Last week I noticed a succulent plant that made its appearance on a dry
sandy path in my garden; it seems to me a variety of the hour-blowing
mesembryanthium. It has increased so rapidly that it already covers a
large space; the branches converging from the centre of the plant; and
sending forth shoots from every joint. The leaves are rather small,
three-sided and pointed, thick and juicy, yielding a green liquor when
bruised like the common sedums. The stalks are thick and round, of a
bright red, and trail along the ground; the leaves spring from each
joint, and with them a constant succession of yellow starry flowers,
that close in an hour or so from the time they first unfold. I shall
send you some of the seed of this plant, as I perceived a number of
little green pods that looked like the buds, but which, on opening,
proved to be the seed-vessels. This plant covers the earth like a thick
mat, and, I am told, is rather troublesome where it likes the soil.
I regret that among my dried plants I could not preserve some specimens
of our superb water-lilies and irises; but they were too large and too
juicy to dry well. As I cannot send you my favourites, I must describe
them to you.
The first, then, is a magnificent water-lily, that I have called by way
of distinction the "queen of the lakes," for she sits a crown upon the
waters. This magnificent flower is about the size of a moderately large
dahlia; it is double to the heart; every row of petals diminishing by
degrees in size, and gradually deepening in tint from the purest white
to the brightest lemon colour. The buds are very lovely, and may be seen
below the surface of the water, in different stages of forwardness from
the closely-folded bud, wrapped in its olive-green calix, to the half-
blown flower, ready to emerge from its watery prison, and in all its
virgin beauty expand its snowy bosom to the sun and genial air. Nor is
the beauty of the flower its sole attraction: when unfolded it gives out
a rich perfume not unlike the smell of fresh lemons. The leaves are also
worthy of attention: at first they are of a fine dark green, but as the
flower decays, the leaf changes its hue to a vivid crimson. Where a
large bed of these lilies grow closely together, they give quite a
sanguine appearance to the waters, that is distinguishable at some
distance.
The yellow species of this plant is also very handsome, though it wants
the silken texture and delicate colour of the former; I call this the
"water-king." The flower presents a deep golden-coloured cup, the
concave petals of which are clouded in the centre with a dark reddish-
brown, that forms a striking contrast to the gay anthers, which are very
numerous, and turn back from the centre of the flower, falling like
fringes of gold one over the other, in successive rows, till they fill
up the hollow flower-cup.
The shallows of our lakes abound with a variety of elegant aquatic
plants: I know not a more lovely sight than one of these floating
gardens. Here you shall behold near the shore a bed of azure fleur-de-
lis, from the palest pearl colour varying to the darkest purple. Nearer
in shore, in the shallowest water, the rose-coloured persecaria sends up
its beautiful spikes trailing below the surface; you see the red stalks
and smooth dark green leaves veined underneath with rosy red: it is a
very charming variety of this beautiful species of plants. Then a bed of
my favourite white lilies, all in full bloom, floating on the water,
with their double flowers expanding to the sun; near these, and rising
in stately pride, a tall plant, with dark green spear-shaped leaves, and
thick spike of bright blue flowers, is seen. I cannot discover the name
of this very grand-looking flower, and I neglected to examine its
botanical construction; so can give you no clue by which to discover its
name or species.
Our rice-beds are far from being unworthy of admiration; seen from a
distance they look like low green islands on the lakes: on passing
through one of these rice-beds when the rice is in flower, it has a
beautiful appearance with its broad grassy leaves and light waving
spikes, garnished with pale yellow green blossoms, delicately shaded
with reddish purple, from beneath which fall three elegant straw-
coloured anthers, which move with every breath of air or slightest
motion of the waters. I gathered several spikes when only just opened,
but the tiresome things fell to pieces directly they became dry. Next
summer I will make another attempt at preserving them, and it may be
with better success.
The low shore of the lake is a complete shrubbery. We have a very pretty
St. John's-wort, with handsome yellow flowers. The white and pink spiral
frutex also abounds with some exquisite upright honeysuckles, shrubby
plants about three feet in height; the blossoms grow in pairs or by
fours, and hang beneath the light green leaves; elegant trumpet-shaped
flowers of a delicate greenish white, which are succeeded by ruby-
coloured berries. On gathering a branch of this plant, you cannot but be
struck with the elegant arrangement of the flowers along the under part
of the stalks. The two blossoms are connected at the nectary of each in
a singular manner. The Americans call this honeysuckle "twinflower." I
have seen some of the flowers of this plant pale pink: on the whole it
is one of the most ornamental shrubs we have. I transplanted some young
trees into my garden last spring; they promise to live and do well. I do
not find any description of this shrub in Pursh's Flora, but know it to
be a species of honeysuckle, from the class and order, the shape and
colour of the leaves, the stalks, the trumpet-shaped blossom and the
fruit; all bearing a resemblance to our honeysuckles in some degree.
There is a tall upright bush, bearing large yellow trumpet-shaped
flowers, springing from the extremities of the branches; the involucrum
forms a boat-shaped cup that encircles the flowers from which they seem
to spring, something after the manner of the scarlet trumpet-
honeysuckle. The leaves and blossoms of this plant are coarse, and by no
means to compare to the former.
We have a great variety of curious orchises, some brown and yellow,
others pale flesh-coloured, striped with crimson. There is one species
grows to the height of two feet, bearing long spikes of pale purple
flowers; a white one with most fragrant smell, and a delicate pink one
with round head of blossoms, finely fringed like the water-pinks that
grow in our marshes; this is a very pretty flower, and grows in the
beaver meadows.
Last autumn I observed in the pine-wood near us a very curious plant; it
came up with naked brown stems, branching off like some miniature tree;
the stalks of this plant were brown, slightly freckled and beset with
little knobs. I watched the progress of maturity in this strange plant
with some degree of interest, towards the latter end of October; the
little knobs, which consisted of two angular hard cases, not unlike,
when fully opened, to a boat in shape, burst asunder and displayed a
pale straw-coloured chaffy substance that resembled fine saw-dust: these
must have been the anthers, but they bore more resemblance to seeds;
this singular flower would have borne examination with a microscope. One
peculiarity that I observed, was, that on pulling up a plant with its
roots, I found the blossoms open under ground, springing up from the
lowest part of the flower-stems, and just as far advanced to maturity as
those that grew on the upper stalks, excepting that they were somewhat
blanched, from being covered up from the air. I can find no description
of this plant, nor any person but myself seems to have taken notice of
it. The specimen I had on being dried became so brittle that it fell to
pieces.
I have promised to collect some of the most singular of our native
flowers for one of the Professors of Botany in the Edinburgh University.
We have a very handsome plant that bears the closest affinity to our
potatoe in its floral construction; it grows to the height of two or
three feet in favourable situations, and sends up many branches; the
blossoms are large, purely white, freckled near the bottom of the
corolla with brownish yellow spots; the corolla is undivided: this is
evidently the same plant as the cultivated potatoe, though it does not
appear to form apples at the root. The fruit is very handsome,
eggshaped, of a beautiful apricot colour when ripe, and of a shining
tempting appearance; the smell, however, betrays its poisonous nature:
on opening one of the fruits you find it consists of a soft pulp filled
with shining black seeds. The plant continues in blossom from June till
the first frosts wither the leaves; it is far less coarse than the
potatoe; the flower, when full blown, is about the size of a half crown,
and quite flat; I think it is what you call salver-shaped: it delights
in light loamy soil, growing on the upturned roots of fallen trees,
where the ground is inclined to be sandy. I have never seen this plant
elsewhere than on our own fallow.
The hepatica is the first flower of the Canadian spring: it gladdens us
with its tints of azure, pink, and white, early in April, soon after the
snows have melted from the earth. The Canadians can it snow-flower, from
its coming so soon after the snow disappears. We see its gay tufts of
flowers in the open clearings and the deep recesses of the forests; its
leaves are also an enduring ornament through the open months of the
year; you see them on every grassy mound and mossy root: the shades of
blue are very various and delicate, the white anthers forming a lovely
contrast with the blue petals.
The wood-cress, or as it is called by some, ginger-cress, is a pretty
white cruciform flower; it is highly aromatic in flavour; the root is
white and fleshy, having the pungency of horseradish. The leaves are of
a sad green, sharply notched, and divided in three lobes; the leaves of
some of them are slightly variegated; the plant delights in rich moist
vegetable mould, especially on low and slightly swampy ground; the
flower-stalk is sometimes naked, sometimes leafed, and is crowned with a
loose spike of whitish cruciform flowers.
There is a cress that grows in pretty green tufts at the bottom of the
waters in the creeks and small rivulets: it is more delicate and
agreeable in flavour than any of the land-cresses; the leaves are of a
pale tender green, winged and slender; the plant looks like a green
cushion at the bottom of the water. The flowers are yellow, cruciform,
and insignificant; it makes a very acceptable salad in the early spring,
and at the fall of the year. There are also several species of land-
cress, and plants resembling some of the cabbage tribes, that might be
used as spring vegetables. There are several species of spinach, one
known here by the name of lamb's quarter, that grows in great profusion
about our garden, and in rich soil rises to two feet, and is very
luxuriant in its foliage; the leaves are covered with a white rough
powder. The top shoots and tender parts of this vegetable are boiled
with pork, and, in place of a more delicate pot-herb, is very useful.
Then we have the Indian turnip; this is a very handsome arum, the root
of which resembles the cassava, I am told, when boiled: the leaves of
this arum are handsome, slightly tinged with purple. The spathe is of a
lively green, striped with purple: the Indians use the root as a
medicine, and also as an esculent; it is often eaten by the settlers as
a vegetable, but I never tasted it myself. Pursh calls this species
_Arum atropurpureum_.
I must not pass over one of our greatest ornaments, the strawberry
blite, strawberry-bearing spinach, or Indian strawberry, as it is
variously named. This singular plant throws out many branches from one
stem, these are garnished with handsome leaves, resembling in appearance
our long-leaved garden spinach; the finest of this plant is of a bright
crimson, pulpy like the strawberry, and containing a number of purple
seeds, partially embedded in the surface, after the same manner as the
strawberry. The fruit grows close to the stalk, completely surrounding
it, and forming a long spike of the richest crimson berries. I have
gathered branches a foot in length, closely covered with the beautiful
looking fruit, and have regretted that it was so insipid in its flavour
as to make it uneatable. On the banks of creeks and in rich ground, it
grows most luxuriantly, one root sending up twenty or thirty branches,
drooping with the weight of their magnificent burden. As the middle and
superior stems ripen and decay, the lateral ones come on, presenting a
constant succession of fruit from July till the frosts nip them off in
September.
The Indians use the juice of this plant as a dye, and are said to eat
the berries: it is often made use of as a substitute for red ink, but it
is liable to fade unless mingled with alum. A friend of mine told me she
had been induced to cross a letter she was sending to a relative in
England with this strawberry ink, but not having taken the precaution to
fix the colour, when the anxiously expected epistle arrived, one-half of
it proved quite unintelligible, the colours having faded nearly to
white; so that instead of affording satisfaction, it proved only a
source of vexation and embarrassment to the reader, and of mortification
to the writer.
The blood-root, sanguinaria, or puccoon, as it is termed by some of the
native tribes, is worthy of attention from the root to the flower. As
soon as the sun of April has warmed the earth and loosened it from its
frozen bonds, you may distinguish a number of purely white buds,
elevated on a naked footstalk, and partially enfolded in a handsome
vine-shaped leaf, of a pale bluish green, curiously veined on the under
side with pale orange. The leaf springs singly from a thick juicy
fibrous root, which, on being broken, emits a quantity of liquor from
its pores of a bright orange scarlet colour: this juice is used by the
Indians as a dye, and also in the cure of rheumatic, and cutaneous
complaints. The flowers of the sanguinaria resemble the white crocus
very closely: when it first comes up the bud is supported by the leaf,
and is folded together with it; the flower, however, soon elevates
itself above its protector, while the leaf having performed its duty of
guardian to the tender bud, expands to its full size. A rich black
vegetable mould at the edges of the clearings seems the favourite soil
for this plant.
The scarlet columbine is another of my favourite flowers; it is bright
red, with yellow linings to the tubes. The nectaries are more elongated
than the garden columbines, and form a sort of mural crown, surmounted
with little balls at the tips. A tall graceful plant, with its brilliant
waving blossoms, is this columbine; it grows both in the sunshine and
the shade, not perhaps in deep shady woods, but where the under brush
has been removed by the running of the fire or the axe of the chopper;
it seems even to flourish in poor stony soils, and may be found near
every dwelling. The feathered columbine delights in moist open swamps,
and the banks of rivulets; it grows to the height of three, and even
four and five feet, and is very ornamental.
Of Violets, we have every variety of colour, size and shape, lacking
only the delightful _viola odorata_ of our home woodlands: yet I know
not why we should quarrel with these meek daughters of the spring,
because they want the fragrance of their more favoured sisters. Many of
your wood-violets, though very beautiful, are also devoid of scent; here
variety of colour ought to make some amends for want of perfume. We have
violets of every shade of blue, some veined with purple, others shaded
with darker blue. We have the delicate white, pencilled with purple: the
bright brimstone coloured with black veinings: the pale primrose with
dark blue veins; the two latter are remarkable for the luxuriance and
size of the leaves: the flowers spring in bunches, several from each
joint, and are succeeded by large capsules covered with thick white
cottony down. There is a species of violet that grows in the woods, the
leaves of which are exceedingly large; so are the seed-vessels, but the
flower is so small and insignificant, that it is only to be observed by
a close examination of the plant; this has given rise to the vulgar
belief that it blooms under ground. The flowers are a pale greenish
yellow. Bryant's beautiful poem of the Yellow Violet is descriptive of
the first-mentioned violet.
There is an elegant _viola tricolor_, that blooms in the autumn; it is
the size of a small heart's-ease, and is pure white, pale purple, and
lilac; the upper petals are white, the lower lip purple, and the side
wings a reddish lilac. I was struck with the elegance of this rare
flower on a journey to Peterborough, on my way to Cobourg; I was unable
to preserve the specimens, and have not travelled that road since. The
flower grew among wild clover on the open side of the road; the leaves
were small, roundish, and of a dark sad green.
Of the tall shrubby asters, we have several beautiful varieties, with
large pale blue lilac, or white flowers; others with very small white
flowers and crimson anthers, which look like tufts of red down, spangled
with gold-dust; these anthers have a pretty effect, contrasted with the
white starry petals. There is one variety of the tall asters that I have
seen on the plains, it has flowers about the size of a sixpence, of a
soft pearly tint of blue, with brown anthers; this plant grows very
tall, and branches from the parent stem in many graceful flowery boughs;
the leaves of this species are of a purple red on the under side, and
inclining to heart-shape; the leaves and stalks are hairy.
I am not afraid of wearying you with my floral sketches, I have yet many
to describe; among these are those elegant little evergreens, that
abound in this country, under the name of winter-greens, of which there
are three or four remarkable for beauty of foliage, flower, and fruit.
One of these winter-greens that abounds in our pine-woods is extremely
beautiful; it seldom exceeds six inches in height; the leaves are a
bright shining green, of a long narrow oval, delicately notched like the
edges of a rose-leaf; and the plant emerges from beneath the snow in the
early part of the year, as soon as the first thaw takes place, as fresh
and verdant as before they were covered up: it seems to be a shy
blossomer. I have never seen specimens of the flowers in bloom but
twice; these I carefully preserved for you, but the dried plant will
afford but an imperfect idea of the original. You always called, you
know, your dried specimens corpses of plants, and said, that when well
painted, their representations were far more like themselves. The
flower-stalk rises two or three inches from the centre of the plant, and
is crowned with round crimson buds and blossoms, consisting of five
petals, deepening from the palest pink to the brightest blush colour;
the stigma is of an emerald greenness, forming a slightly ribbed turban
in the centre, around which are disposed ten stamens of an amethyst
colour: in short, this is one of the gems of the floral world, and might
aptly be compared to an emerald ring, set round with amethysts. The
contrast of colours in this flower is exceedingly pleasing, and the
crimson buds and shining ever-green leaves are scarcely less to be
admired than the flower; itself it would be considered a great
acquisition to your collection of American shrubs, but I doubt if it
would flourish when removed from the shade of the pine-woods. This plant
appears to be the _Chimaphila corymbosa_, or winter-green, described by
Pursh, with some trifling variation in the colour of the petals.
Another of our winter-greens grows in abundance on the Rice-Lake plains;
the plant does not exceed four inches; the flowers are in little loose
bunches, pale greenish white, in shape like the blossom of the arbutus;
the berries are bright scarlet, and are known by the name of winter-
berry, and partridge-berry; this must be _Gaultheria procumbens_. But a
more beautiful little evergreen of the same species is to be found in
our cedar swamps, under the name of pigeon-berry; it resembles the
arbutus in leaf and flower more closely than the former plant; the
scarlet berry is inserted in a scarlet cup or receptacle, divided at the
edge in five points; it is fleshy, seeming to partake of the same nature
as the fruit. The blossoms of this elegant little shrub, like the
arbutus, of which it looks like the miniature, appear in drooping
bunches at the same time the ripened berry of the former year is in
perfection; this circumstance adds not a little to the charm of the
plant. If I mistake not, this is the _Gualtheria Shallon_, which Pursh
likens to the arbutus: this is also one of our winter-greens.
There is another pretty trailing plant, with delicate little funnel-
shaped flowers, and a profusion of small dark green round buds, slightly
variegated, and bright red berries, which are produced at the
extremities of the branches. The blossoms of this plant grow in pairs,
closely connected at the germen, so much so, that the scarlet fruit that
supersedes the flowers appears like a double berry, each berry
containing the seeds of both flowers and a double eye. The plant is also
called winter-green, or twin-berry; it resembles none of the other
winter-greens; it grows in mossy woods, trailing along the ground,
appearing to delight in covering little hillocks and inequalities of the
ground. In elegance of growth, delicacy of flower, and brightness of
berry, this winter-green is little inferior to any of the former.
There is a plant in our woods, known by the names of man-drake, may-
apple, and duck's-foot: the botanical name of the plant is Podophyllum;
it belongs to the class and order _Polyandria monogynia_. The blossom is
yellowish white, the corolla consisting of six petals; the fruit is
oblong; when ripe, of a greenish yellow; in size that of an olive, or
large damson; when fully ripe it has the flavour of preserved tamarind,
a pleasant brisk acid; it appears to be a shy bearer, though it
increases rapidly in rich moist woodlands. The leaves come up singly,
are palmated and shade the ground very much when a number of them grow
near each other; the stalk supports the leaf from the centre: when they
first appear above the ground, they resemble a folded umbrella or
parasol, all the edges of the leaves bending downward, by degrees
expanding into a slightly convex canopy. The fruit would make a delicate
preserve with sugar.
The lily tribe offer an extensive variety from the most minute to the
very largest flowers. The red martagon grows abundantly on our plains;
the dog's tooth violet, _Erythronium_, with its spotted leaves and
bending yellow blossom, delicately dashed with crimson spots within, and
marked with fine purple lines on the outer part of the petal, proves a
great attraction in our woods, where these plants increase: they form a
beautiful bed; the leaves come up singly, one from each separate tuber.
There are two varieties of this flower, the pale yellow, with neither
spots nor lines, and the deep yellow with both; the anthers of this last
are reddish-orange, and thickly covered with a fine powdery substance.
The daffodil of our woods is a delicate bending flower, of a pale
yellow; the leaves grow up the flower-stalk at intervals; three or more
flowers usually succeed each other at the extremity of the stalk: its
height is from six to eight inches; it delights in the deep shade of
moist woods. This seems to unite the description of the jonquil and
daffodil.
A very beautiful plant of the lily tribe abounds both in our woods and
clearings; for want of a better name, I call it the douri-lily, though
it is widely spread over a great portion of the continent. The Americans
term the white and red varieties of this species, the "white" and "red
death." The flower is either deep red, or of a dazzling white, though
the latter is often found stained with a delicate blush-pink, or a deep
green; the latter appears to be caused by the calix running into the
petal. Wherefore it bears so formidable a name has not yet transpired.
The flower consists of three petals, the calix three; it belongs to the
class and order _Hexandria monogynia_; style, three-cleft; seed-vessel
of three valves; soil, dry woods and cleared lands; leaves growing in
three, springing from the joints, large round, but a little pointed at
the extremities.
We have lilies of the valley, and their cousins the Solomon's seals, a
small flowered turk's-cap, of pale primrose colour, with an endless
variety of small flowers of the lily tribe, remarkable for beauty of
foliage or delicacy of form.
Our Ferns are very elegant and numerous; I have no less than eight
different specimens, gathered from our immediate neighbourhood, some of
which are extremely elegant, especially one that I call the "fairy
fern," from its lightness. One elastic stem, of a purplish-red colour,
supports several light branches, which are subdivided and furnished with
innumerable leaflets; each leaflet has a footstalk, that attaches it to
the branch, of so slight and hair-like a substance that the least breath
of air sets the whole plant in motion.
Could we but imagine Canada to have been the scene of fairy revels, we
should declare that these graceful ferns were well suited to shade the
elfin court of Oberon and Titania.
When this fern first appears above the ground, it is scarcely to be
distinguished from the decaying wood of the fallen pines; it is then of
a light reddish brown, curiously curled up. In May and June, the leaves
unfold, and soon assume the most delicate tint of green; they are almost
transparent: the cattle are very fond of this fern.
The mocassin flower or lady's-slipper (mark the odd coincidence between
the common name of the American and English species) is one of our most
remarkable flowers; both on account of its beauty and its singularity of
structure. Our plains and dry sunny pastures produce several varieties;
among these, the _Cypripedium pubescens_, or yellow mocassin, and the
_C. Arietinum_ are the most beautiful of the species. The colour of the
lip of the former is a lively canary yellow, dashed with deep crimson
spots. The upper petals consist of two short and two long; in texture
and colour resembling the sheath of some of the narcissus tribe; the
short ones stand erect, like a pair of ears; the long or lateral pair
are three times the length of the former, very narrow, and elegantly
twisted, like the spiral horns of the Walachian ram: on raising a thick
yellow fleshy sort of lid, in the middle of the flower, you perceive the
exact face of an Indian hound, perfect in all its parts, the eyes, nose,
and mouth; below this depends an open sack, slightly gathered round at
the opening, which gives it a hollow and prominent appearance; the
inside of this bag is delicately dashed with deep crimson, or black
spots: the stem of the flower is thick towards the upper part, and takes
a direct bend; the leaves are large oval, a little pointed and ribbed;
the plant scarcely exceeds six inches: the elegant colour and silken
texture of the lower lip or bag renders this flower very much more
beautiful to my taste than the purple and white variety, though the
latter is much more striking on account of the size of the flower and
leaves, besides the contrast between the white and red, or white and
purple colours.
The formation of this species resembles the other, only with this
difference, the horns are not twisted, and the face is that of a monkey;
even the comical expression of the animal is preserved with such
admirable fidelity, as to draw a smile from every one that sees the odd
restless-looking visage, with its prominent round black eyes peering
forth from under its covering.
These plants belong to class and order _Gynandria diandria_; are
described with some little variation by Pursh, who, however, likens the
face of the latter to that of a sheep: if a sheep sat for the picture,
methinks it must have been the most mischievous of the flock.
There is a curious aquatic plant that grows in shallow, stagnant, or
slow-flowing waters; it will contain a full wine-glass of water. A poor
soldier brought it to me, and told me it resembled a plant he used to
see in Egypt, that the soldiers called the "Soldier's drinking-cup" and
many a good draught of pure water, he said, I have drank from them.
Another specimen was presented me by a gentleman who knew my
predilection for strange plants; he very aptly gave it the name of
"Pitcher-plant;" it very probably belongs to the tribe that bear that
name.
The flowers that afford the most decided perfumes are our wild roses,
which possess a delicious scent: the milk-weed, which gives out a smell
not-unlike the night-blowing stock; the purple monarda, which is
fragrance itself from the root to the flower, and even after months'
exposure to the wintry atmosphere; its dried leaves and seed-vessels are
so sweet as to impart perfume to your hands or clothes. All our Mints
are strong scented: the lily of the valley is remarkable for its fine
smell; then there is my queen of the lakes, and her consort, the water-
king, with many other flowers I cannot now enumerate. Certain it is that
among such a vast assemblage of flowers, there are, comparatively, very
few that are gifted with fragrant scents. Some of our forest-trees give
out a fine perfume. I have often paused in my walks to inhale the
fragrance from a cedar swamp on some sunny day while the boughs were
still wet with the dew-drops or recently fallen shower.
Nor is the balsam-poplar, or tacamahac, less delightfully fragrant,
especially while the gummy buds are just beginning to unfold; this is an
elegant growing tree, where it has room to expand into boughs. It grows
chiefly on the shores of the lakes and in open swamps, but it also forms
one of the attractions of our plains, with its silver bark and waving
foliage; it emits a resinous clear gum in transparent globules on the
bark, and the buds are covered with a highly aromatic gummy fluid.
Our Grasses are highly interesting; there are varieties that are wholly
new to me, and when dried form the most elegant ornaments to our
chimney-pieces, and would look very graceful on a lady's head; only
fashionists always prefer the artificial to the natural.
One or two species of grass that I have gathered bear a close but of
course minute resemblance to the Indian corn, having a top feather and
eight-sided spike of little grains disposed at the sidejoints. The
_sisyrinchium_, or blue-eyed grass, is a pretty little flower of an
azure blue, with golden spot at the base of each petal; the leaves are
flat, stiff, and flag-like; this pretty flower grows in tufts on light
sandy soils.
I have given you a description of the flowers most worthy of attention;
and, though it is very probable some of my descriptions may not be
exactly in the technical language of the correct botanist, I have at
least described them as they appear.
My dear boy seems already to have a taste for flowers, which I shall
encourage as much as possible. It is a study that tends to refine and
purify the mind, and can be made, by simple steps, a ladder to heaven,
as it were, by teaching a child to look with love and admiration to that
bountiful God who created and made flowers so fair to adorn and fructify
this earth.
Farewell, my dear sister.