FLOWERS THAT BLOOM IN JUNE 



341 



more frequently, wherever patches of soil are to be found 



among the granite cliffs and on the sides of rocky ravines. 



There its lovely red and yellow flowers bob away in the 



breeze, often in such inaccessible nooks 



as to be quite beyond the reach of the 



ordinary climber. Many a venturesome 



swain has had his tumble, in his endeavor 



to gratify the wish of his sweetheart 



standing far below him for a bunch to 



take home for a vase on her mantel. 



Mrs. William Starr Dana has written 

 very feelingly about this. She says of 

 the Columbine that "it contrives to 

 secure a foothold in the most precipitous 

 and uncertain of nooks, its jewel-like 

 flowers gleaming from their lofty perches 

 with a graceful insouciance, which 

 awakens our sportsmanlike instincts, and 

 fires us with the ambition to equal it in 

 daring and make its loveliness our own. 

 Perhaps it is as well if our greediness be 

 foiled and we get a tumble for our pains, 

 for no flower loses more with its sur- 

 roundings than the Columbine. Indeed, 

 these destructive tendencies, which are 



strong within most of us, generally defeat themselves by 

 decreasing our pleasure in a blossom the moment we 

 have ruthlessly and without purpose snatched it from 



THE COMMON* TREE FROG, A WELL-KNOWN DENIZEN OF THE 

 FORESTS IN JUNE 



Fig. 3. Le Conte named this remarkable little imp of the woods Hyla versicolor 

 for very excellent reasons; and Mary C. Dickerson, in her splendid volume "The 

 Frog Book," says of it, on page 117: "Probably more familiar than any other 

 member of the batrachian group, if we except the common toad, is this entertain- 

 ing little acrobat of the frog world. Some June morning, when we are admiring 

 the blue flowers of the clematis that climbs the porch, we see what looks like a 

 yellowish white oval of putty plastered against the white pillar shaded by the 

 vine. It is our Common Tree Frog (or Tree Toad, as it is called) sound asleep." 

 This author gives no fewer than 18 colored and plain figures of this species from 

 life in her book, as well as a beautiful plate of a piece of woods or forest where 

 they are to be found; its history is an extremely interesting one. 



. NEW JERSEY TEA, A CONSPICUOUS FLOWER 

 OF THE WOODLANDS 



Fig. 4. This tall, shrubby plant, with its pretty clusters of white flowers 

 received its name, New Jersey Tea. from the fact that, during the War of the 

 American Revolution, its leaves were quite extensively used to take the place 

 of tea leaves for the making of tea; it belongs to the Small Buckthorn family 

 (Khamnacea) . It also occurs on gravelly shoies, ranging from central Maine to 

 western Ontario and southward. In the neighborhood of Washington D C 

 it is quite abundant in open and dry woods, and early in July is abundantly 

 visited by a black beetle of no great size, three specimens of which are shown 

 in the picture. New Jersey Tea is the Cranothus americanus of the botanies 

 and there appears to be but one other species of it described for our flora c' 

 ovalus, which is of rare occurrence in the eastern districts. 



its environment. If we honestly wish to study its 

 structure, or to bring into our homes for preserva- 

 tion a bit of the woods' loveliness, its interest and beauty 

 are sure to repay us. But how many pluck every striking 

 flower they see, only to toss it carelessly aside when they 

 reach their destination, if they have not already dropped 

 it by the way!" 



There is great variance of opinion as to how the Col- 

 umbine got its vernacular and scientific names. The dove, 

 the eagle, and other forms enter into the discussion, but 

 the story is too long to print here. 



Fertilization is performed principally by a number of 

 species of bees, though the humming birds play no mean 

 part in this role. The honey is held in the five backward- 

 extending spurs which are called the nectaries, and the 

 five sepals are red like the petals. 



But on this long and sultry day toward the very last 

 week in June, let us pass out of the cool ravine where the 

 Columbines grow, into the blazing sun, as it mercilessly 

 heats the air, and the fields, and everything growing in 

 them for acres around. Near at hand is a sluggish, muddy 

 stream, with a great mass of bramble skirting a part of its 

 bank. But all this, and all this scorching temperature, is 

 precisely what the flower about to be noticed fully enjoys. 

 This is the Black-eyed Susan, and there are hundreds of 

 these gorgeous, orange fellows in sight, standing up boldly 

 against the heat everywhere. It would make a salamander 



