134 OLD PLYMOUTH TRAILS 



think no blossom has its equal. The white alder 

 at this time of year is prodigal of rich and delect- 

 able odors. The jewel-weed with all its beauty 

 has none that my sense can perceive. But that 

 of Chelone glabra, as modest and withdrawn as 

 the flower itself, seems hardly to belong in the 

 swamp for all the beauty of the place. It should 

 rather be that of some delicately nurtured plant, 

 some rare orchid of sheltered conservatories, it 

 is so delicate and delightful. 



The jewel-weed is as frail as a dream for all 

 its vigorous growth which reaches sometimes six 

 feet. If you pluck it it withers before you can 

 get it home to put in water and its jewels shrivel 

 to nothing on the way. Turtle-head is far dif- 

 ferent and I like it for its sturdiness, but most 

 of all I like it because it is the hast of a small 

 friend of mine, the Baltimore butterfly. In 

 summer you may see this little fellow, a plaid of 

 yellow and orange on black, the Baltimore colors, 

 whence his name, flitting about, never far from 

 the place where the turtle-head grows. If you 

 see one you may be almost sure that the other is 

 nearby. I have not seen the butterfly for many 

 weeks, but among the stalks of Chelone I find the 

 webs which shelter its children. These tiny 



