186 NATURE-STUDY REVIEW [14:5— May, 1918 



stigmas poking her long tongue among the stamens for the nectar 

 at the base of the petals; honey bee flies in with more grace and 

 selects her place to sip with more care but brings just as surely 

 her contribution of pollen from the last rose visited to rub off 

 on the fuzzy stigmas. 



The bees have paid their debts to the rose, and pink petals are 

 no longer of use so off they tumble. The stigmas were only 

 doorways through which the pollen grains went to the tiny seeds 

 inside the calyx. Now the whole business of these seeds is to 

 grow. This they do throughout the summer and by October 

 are hard bony white seeds. The calyx too is changed. It has 

 become an urn-shaped vessel one-half to three-fourths inch in 

 diameter and of a hue to match the autumn. "The scarlet 

 berries tell where bloomed the sweet wild rose" says Whittier. 

 The leaves too assume exquisite tints of crimson and maroon 

 before being swept away by November's gales. But the wind 

 does not take the scarlet rose hips. They remain to remind one 

 of flaming jewels as they swing above the snowclad world. The 

 birds have many a winter feast off the pulpy urns and scatter 

 the seeds afar. Cedar wax-wings seem to get most enjoyment from 

 this dainty treat. 



Some classify this rose among the undesirable plants, but one 

 who knew this flower in the home of his childhood can but say 

 with Thomas Warton, — 



"Ever after summer shower 

 When the bright sun's returning power, 

 With laughing beam has chased the storm, 

 And cheer'd reviving Nature's form, 

 By sweet brier hedges bathed in dew, 

 Let me my wholesome pathe pursue." 



The Meadow Lark 



"Fine, clear, dazzling morning, the sun an hour high, the air just tart enough. 

 What a stamp in advance my whole day receives from the song of that meadow 

 lark perched on a fence stake twenty rods distant! Two or three liquid-simple 

 notes, repeated at intervals, full of careless happiness and hope. With its peculiar 

 shimmering slow progress and rapid noiseless action of the wings, it flies on a way , 

 lights on another stake, and so on to another, shimmering and singing many minute 

 lights on another stake, and so on to another, shimmering and singing many 

 minutes." — Walt Whitman. 



