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the characteristic honeysuckle odor, proclaim its 

 presence. The tall red lilies along the edge of 

 the swamp have long since made their summer 

 display ; but the fading flower - spikes of the 

 greater orchid are still seen in low places just as 

 the ladies-tresses are forming their flower-heads 

 amid the meadow grasses. The spring beauty 

 and Trillium have vanished from the woods, 

 and Hepaticas and Violas are hidden by the 

 stronger growing plants of midsummer. There 

 is a crowd of tall evening primroses, white and 

 purple Eupatar turns, pink Epilobiums, blue ver- 

 vains, pale asters, yellow golden-rods, and heli- 

 anthuses, all jostling and striving for supremacy. 

 Growth is rank on every side. It is the seed- 

 time and harvest of the big weeds, when the 

 waste places become a veritable jungle, perilous 

 and almost impassable to man and beast. It is 

 the high carnival of sticktights, nettles, burdocks, 

 briers, brambles, tares, thistles, teasels, and noli 

 me tangeres innumerable, among which the true 

 touch-me-not or jewel-weed least deserves its 

 name, for there is nothing noxious about it or 

 vicious in the strange bursting of its seed-pods 

 at the touch, whence it derives its appellation. 

 The sticktight, the tare, and the burdock are the 

 true fiends incarnate among the sticking and 

 stinging weeds. I revere the inventor of cordu- 



