26 THE CLERK OF THE WOODS 



Now it is July. The tall swamp rose- 

 bushes are in full flower, here and there a 

 clump, the morning sun heightening their 

 beauty, though for the most part there is 

 no getting near them without wading to the 

 knees. More accessible, as well as more 

 numerous, are the trailing morning-glory 

 vines (Convolvulus sepium), with showy, 

 trumpet-shaped, pink-and-white blossoms ; 

 and in one place I stop to notice a watery- 

 stemmed touch-me-not, or jewel-weed, from 

 which a solitary frail-looking, orange-colored 

 flower is hanging the first of the year. 

 What thousands on thousands will follow 

 it ; no meadow's edge or boggy spot will be 

 without them. The pendent jewel makes me 

 think of hummingbirds, which is another 

 reason for liking to look at it. Years ago I 

 used to plant some of its red and white con- 

 geners (balsams, we called them) in a child's 

 garden. I wish I were a botanist ; I am 

 always wishing so ; but I am thankful to 

 know enough of the science to be able to 

 recognize a few such relationships between 

 native " weeds " and cultivated exotics. 

 Somehow the weeds look less weedy for that 



