4 THE AMERICAN BOTANIST 



But I must speak particularly of the beautiful evening 

 snow. Opening in the late afternoon, it covers the earth with 

 its fragrant white mantle, like feathery snowflakes, to lie in 

 heavier drifts in the lower places, there to watch the night 

 through, only to close again when the morning light dispels 

 the shadows and coaxes the tightly closed poppies to unfold 

 their golden crowns to meet the blazing sun. 



To quote from "Ramona" by Helen Hunt Jackson, "Myr- 

 iads of low blossoming plants, so close to earth that their 

 tints lapped and overlapped on each other and on the green of 

 the grass, as feathers in fine plumage overlap each other and 

 blend into a changeful color." * * * "The countless 

 curves and hollows and crests of hills in Southern California 

 heighten these chameleon effects like nothing in nature except 

 the glitter of a brilliant lizard in the sun, or the iridescent sheen 

 of a peacock's neck." 



But even this borrowed description fails before the living 

 splendor of California's hills and plains, where mile after mile 

 of dazzling color rolls in waves over the sun-drenched earth, 

 with always one color predominating. Here a long wave 

 of flaming golden poppies; there the shadowy purple bro- 

 diaea or lupin. Now a vast wave of pink or yellow, again 

 mingling hormoniously in flower and hue, they delight the 

 eye and soul of all who are privileged to gaze upon this flow- 

 er-'decked land. 



