1 82 A GARDEN DIARY 



bogs of south Cork. For nine months of the 

 year that is all that there is to see. In June a 

 flower-stalk rises out of the centre of the rosette, 

 crowned with a pendulous bell of the most 

 pellucid, the most ethereal shade of violet. Hap- 

 pily for the susceptibilities of the investigator 

 this is not the flesh-eating portion of the plant, 

 that office being strictly confined to the leaves. 

 Stooping down and examining these leaves we 

 find that, whereas some are flat, others are 

 slightly dog-eared along the edges. If further 

 we unroll a few of the dog-ears we discover the 

 remains, not of one alone, but often of a dozen 

 unfortunate flies and midges, in all stages of 

 assimilation ; some already half-digested, others 

 still alive, and struggling to escape from their 

 glutinous prison. If further we place a fragment 

 of bone, of meat, or indeed of any nitrogenous 

 substance, upon the edge of one of the fully 

 expanded leaves, we shall find that little by little 

 the leaf begins curling upwards, until the two 

 edges approach, and then join. Finally the 

 morsel is lost to sight, becoming entirely im- 

 mersed in its bath of secretion, where it remains 

 until all its nutritive parts are absorbed. 



Viscous as the whole surface of the leaf is, it 

 does not seem as if this process of digestion was 

 carried on with the same rapidity in the centre 

 as at the sides, and, as there are in this case 

 no long hairs to act as locomotive organs, it 



