IN THE FLAT-WOODS. 29 



And so it is ; hardly prettier, however, to my 

 thinking, than the blossoms of the early 

 creeping blackberry (Rubustrimalis). With 

 them I fairly fell in love : true white roses, 

 I called them, each with its central ring of 

 dark purplish stamens ; as beautiful as the 

 cloudberry, which once, ten years before, I 

 had found on the summit of Mount Clinton, 

 in New Hampshire, and refused to believe 

 a Rubus, though Dr. Gray's key led me to 

 that genus again and again. There is some- 

 thing in a name, say what you will. 



Some weeks later, and a little farther 

 south, in the flat-woods behind New 

 Smyrna, I saw other flowers, but never 

 anything of that tropical exuberance at which 

 the average Northern tourist expects to find 

 himself staring. Boggy places were full of 

 blue iris (the common Iris versicolor of New 

 England, but of ranker growth), and here 

 and there a pool was yellow with bladder- 

 wort. I was taken also with the larger 

 and taller (yellow) butterwort, which I 

 used never to see as I went through the 

 woods in the morning, but was sure to find 

 standing in the tall dry grass along the 

 border of the sandy road, here one and 



