EARLY AUGUST 



with tufts of violet wool, which we fancy shields 

 some hidden nectar, as its whole appearance sug 



gests that it aims to attract insect visitors. 



Despite the aversion with which it is regarded 

 by the farmers, and the carelessness with which it 

 is overlooked by those who value only the unusual, 

 the wild-carrot is one of the most beautiful of our 

 naturalized plants. There is a delicacy and sym- 

 metry in the feathery clusters suggestive of cob- 

 webs, of magnified snowflakes, of the finest of laces 

 (one of its common names is Queen Anne's lace), 

 of the daintiest creations in the worlds of both art 

 and nature. 



Perhaps the most omnipresent flower just now 

 is the yarrow. Its finely dissected leaves and close 

 white clusters border every road-side. Indeed, 

 when passing through New York a short time 

 ago it showed its familiar face in a Fifth Avenue 

 door-yard. Despite what seems to me an obvious 

 unlikeness, it is confused frequently with the wild- 

 carrot. Five minutes' study of the two plants Yart 

 with a common magnify ing-glass will fix firmly in 

 the mind the difference between them. It requires 

 little botanical knowledge to recognize at once 

 that the wild-carrot is a member of the umbellif- 

 erous parsley family. But the small heads <>t the 

 yarrow so perfectly simulate separate flowers that 

 this plant is less readily identified as a composite. 



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