J <BJl(e HILLSIVS 65 



from the touch of man, its delicate blue -veined petals 

 fall away when once the flower is gathered. 



In all the blaze of colour, among centaury and St. 

 John's wort, clover and hawkweed, the sober tone of the 

 bee-orchis at first is hardly noticed. It has flowers of 

 singular beauty, of shape and marking so suggestive of 

 the name it bears, that they might easily be taken for 

 bees clinging to the stem. For wings there are the soft 

 rose-tinted sepals. For body, there is the lip of the 

 corolla with its rich brown velvet and bright yellow 

 lines. Among the two hundred and twelve species of 

 our native bees, perhaps there is none of which the 

 flower is a perfect imitation, but there is more than one 

 to which it bears a strong resemblance. 



The reason for this curious mimicry is yet to seek. 

 Many flowers are fertilised by insects, which, visiting 

 them in search of honey, carry involuntarily from one 

 plant to another the pollen which is needed to produce 

 fertile seeds. But the bee-orchis has a special arrange- 

 ment for fertilising itself, and Darwin states that he 

 never saw an insect visit this flower. It is not long, 

 however, since the writer saw a specimen gathered while 

 a real bee was clinging to one of its unconscious copies. 



A summer noon is with the birds a time of rest and 

 silence. The few that make their presence felt are 

 youngsters for the most part, dull of dress and of un- 

 polished speech. Such are the young jays and magpies 

 whose voices now and then are heard among the 

 larches, as they roam from tree to tree. Yonder is a 

 little troop of stonechats five young birds and their 



