IN THE FLAT-WOODS. 29 
And so it is ; hardly prettier, however, to my 
thinking, than the blossoms of the early 
ereeping blackberry (/2ubus trivialis). With 
them I fairly fell in love: true white roses, 
I called them, each with its central ring of 
dark purplish stamens; as beautiful as the 
cloudberry, which once, ten years before, I 
had found on the summit of Mount Clinton, 
in New Hampshire, and refused to believe 
a Fubus, though Dr. Gray’s key led me to 
that genus again and again. There is some- 
thing in a name, say what you will. 
Some weeks later, and a little farther 
south,—in the flat-woods behind New . 
Smyrna, —I saw other flowers, but never 
anything of that tropical exuberance at which 
the average Northern tourist expects to find 
himself staring. Boggy places were full of 
blue iris (the common /7is versicolor of New 
England, but of ranker growth), and here 
and there a pool was yellow with bladder- 
wort. I was taken also with the larger 
and taller (yellow) butterwort, which I 
used never to see as I went through the 
woods in the morning, but was sure to find 
standing in the tall dry grass along the 
border of the sandy road, here one and 
