K^C-StoteC 



RIVERBY 



AMONG THE WILD-FLOWERS 



Nearly every season I make the acquaint- 

 ance of one or more new flowers. It takes 

 years to exhaust the botanical treasures of any 

 one considerable neighborhood, unless one 

 makes a dead set at it, like an herbalist. One 

 likes to have his floral acquaintances come to 

 him easily and naturally, like his other friends. 

 Some pleasant occasion should bring you to- 

 gether. You meet in a walk, or touch elbows 

 on a picnic under a tree, or get acquainted on 

 a fishing or camping-out expedition. What 

 comes to you in the way of birds or flowers 

 while wooing only the large spirit of open-air 

 nature seems like special good fortune. At 

 any rate, one does not want to bolt his botany, 

 but rather to prolong the course. One likes to 

 have something in reserve, something to be on 

 the lookout for on his walks. I have never 

 yet found the orchid called Calypso, a large, 

 variegated purple and yellow flower. Gray says, 

 which grows in cold, wet woods and bogs, very 

 beautiful, and very rare. Calypso, you know, 

 was the nymph who fell in love with Ulysses 



