8 THE AMERICAN BOTANIST 



On the southern shore of Lake Michigan, in the very 

 shadow of Mount Tom — a sand-dune one hundred and nine- 

 ty-two feet high — is a ten-acre tamarack swamp where tas- 

 seled trees stand close together with water-kjving ferns be- 

 tween. The fronds of the ferns reach to the height of a man's 

 shoulder and little starry blossoms, that love to stand in water, 

 hide among them and wear their jewels of dew. 



Lupines flourish in the sand and acres are blue with their 

 blossoms while their long ramifying roots are sewing the sands 

 into solidity. On the steep dune banks I have found wild 

 lilies and delicate hair-bells, swept by storms of wind that 

 wear rocks like a graving tool, but the flowers were as beau- 

 tiful and care-free, as if lifting censors and swinging bells 

 before the face of God — and who can say they were not? 



This is near the southern limit of the jack-pine and 

 against their green, fire-weeds blaze, phloxes wave, and col- 

 umbines weave their charm. "Rosy mound" is a dune at the 

 lower extremity of the region, crowned with wild roses which 

 are themselves thornless. Out of apparently desert sand 

 spring four kinds of lady-slippers. 



Masses of marsh-marigolds — called by an Indian name 

 which means "to light up the swamp" — are like patches of 

 sunshine, as are also the brilliant yellow flowers of the puc- 

 coon — another Indian name whose significance we wish we 

 knew. The tall milkweed stalks — and they grow very tall 

 and abundant in the sand — may seem in the twilight to be 

 the shades of tall Pottawattami sachems who still keep guard 

 over their ancient hunting grounds. 



The bogs and marshes among the dunes are an especial 

 part of dune-land. Imagine if you can the sweep of a dune 

 marsh in May or June when acres upon acres are lit with the 

 sky color of millions of wild iris flowers. And in autumn the 



