August Heather 161 



hum and stir of the bees seem to goad the butter- 

 flies of the heather to a supreme activity. Large 

 fritillaries come dancing across the moor on tawny 

 wings, and alight on a purple thistle bloom. Blue 

 butterflies in twos and threes pass like petals in 

 a whirlwind ; and the handsome but destructive 

 antler moth and other day-flying species vibrate 

 about the heather-tops with an unmothlike joy in 

 the sun. 



These marshy slopes and hollows, with their 

 vivid green carpet, are set with many of the most 

 beautiful and curious moorland flowers. They are 

 the chief haunt of those strange little carnivorous 

 plants, the butterworts and the sundews. Two 

 species of butterwort are common among the moors 

 and mountains of the northern and western parts of 

 the country, where their violet-like blossoms, above 

 a rosette of pale, greasy-looking leaves, are conspicu- 

 ous on most wet ground. When a small insect 

 gets caught in the sticky secretion which coats 

 the leaves, the plant slowly and steadily sets to 

 work upon it in three separate ways. From one 

 set of minute but innumerable glands it pours 

 forth an increased amount of glue to hold it. From 

 another it secretes a different acid liquid which 

 dissolves and digests it. Meanwhile the upturned 

 edges of the leaf slowly fold inward upon the 

 prisoner, to diminish its chance of escape from the 

 clinging glue. Such a system might well appear 

 sufficient for the needs of all plants which capture 

 animal prey. But we need look no further than 

 the sundews to find a different and a more highly 

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