RED 



The first finding of even the leaves of the pitcher plant is 

 not to be forgotten. For the leaves not only attract attention 

 by their occasional rich markings, and by their odd pitcher-like 

 shape, but they arouse curiosity by the trap which they set for 

 unwary insects. They are partly lined with a sugary exudation, 

 below which, for a space, they are highly polished, while still lower 

 grow stiff, down-pointing bristles. Insects attracted by the sweet 

 secretion soon find themselves prisoners, as they can seldom fight 

 their way upward through the opposing bristles, or escape by a 

 flight so perpendicular as would be necessary from the form of the 

 cavity. It is rarely that one finds a plant whose leaves are not 

 partially filled with water and drowned insects, and these latter 

 are believed to contribute to its nourishment. In an entry in 

 his journal one September, Thoreau writes of a certain swamp : 



" Though the moss is comparatively dry, I cannot walk with- 

 out upsetting the numerous pitchers, which are now full of water, 

 and so wetting my feet ; " and continues : "I once accidentally 

 sat down on such a bed of pitcher plants, and found an uncom- 

 monly wet seat where I expected a dry one. These leaves are 

 of various colors, from plain green to a rich striped yellow or 

 deep red. Old Josselyn called this 'hollow-leaved lavender.' 

 I think we have no other plant so singular and remarkable." 

 And November 15th he finds "■ the water frozen solid in the 

 leaves of the pitcher plant. ' ' But singular and interesting though 

 these leaves are, the greatest charm of the plant, it seems to me, 

 lies in its beautiful and unusual flower. This flower we find, if 

 we have the luck, during the early part of June. Although I be- 

 lieve its most frequent color is red (Thoreau likens it to " a great 

 dull red rose," but Gray accuses it of being ''deep purple"), 

 I have usually found it either pink or green — fresh delicate 

 shades of both colors — and with a fragrance suggesting sandal- 

 wood. 



And though (unlike some fortunate friends) I have never found 

 these blossoms rearing themselves by the hundred in an open 

 swamp, baring their beauty to the sunlight, it will be long before 

 I forget the throb of delight which followed my first sight of the 



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