May and Early June / 



most capacity, we reach finally masses of 

 the funnel-shaped, white-bearded flowers 

 of the buckbean. 



Near at hand we excitedly espy the 

 " brimming beakers " of the pitcher-plant 

 — winged, hooded leaves relentlessly hold- 

 ing captive a host of unfortunate insects, 

 which have been tempted into their hol- 

 lows by the sugary exudation for which 

 they have unwittingly bartered their lives 

 — for the downward pointing bristles will 

 prevent their escape. The plant is said 

 to be nourished by the decomposing bod- 

 ies of these captives, and we fancy that 

 the great, purple-red flowers which nod 

 from their tall stalks have drawn their hue 

 and vigor from the blood of a hundred 

 victims. 



Our homeward way leads us through 

 pastures reddened with sheep - sorrel, 

 gemmed with the yellow constellations of 

 the stargrass, and enamelled with delicate 

 bluets, or Quaker-ladies. As we cross a 



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