Yellow and Orange 



Tallest and most prolific of bloom among our native lilies, as 

 it is the most variable in color, size, and form, the Turk's Cap, or 

 Turban Lily {L. superbum), sometimes nearly merges its identity 

 into its Canadian sister's. Travellers by rail between New York 

 and Boston know how gorgeous are the low meadows and 

 marshes in July or August, when its clusters of deep yellow, 

 orange, or flame-colored lilies tower above the surrounding 

 vegetation. Like the color of most flowers, theirs intensifies in 

 salt air. Commonly from three to seven lilies appear in a ter- 

 minal group; but under skilful cultivation even forty will crown 

 the stalk that reaches a height of nine feet where its home suits 

 it perfectly; or maybe only a poor array of dingy yellowish caps 

 top a shrivelled stem when unfiworable conditions prevail. There 

 certainly are times when its specific name seems extravagant. 



Its range is from Maine to the Carolinas, westward to Minne- 

 sota and Tennessee. A well-conducted Turk's cap is not bell- 

 shaped at maturity, like the Canada lily: it should open much 

 farther, until the six points of its perianth curve so far backward 

 beyond the middle as to expose the stamens for nearly their 

 entire length. One of the purple-dotted divisions of the flower 

 when spread out flat may measure anywhere from two and a half 

 to four inches in length. Smooth, lance-shaped leaves, tapering 

 at both ends, occur in whorls of threes to eights up the stem, or 

 the upper ones may be alternate. Abundant food, hidden in a 

 round, white-shingled storehouse under ground, nourishes the 

 plant, and similarly its bulb-bearing kin, when emergency may 

 require — a thrifty arrangement that serves them in good stead 

 during prolonged drought and severe winters. 



Why, one may ask, are some lilies radiantly colored and 

 speckled; others, like the Easter lily, deep chaliced, white, spot- 

 less.? Now, in all our lily kin nectar is secreted in a groove at 

 the base of each of the six divisions of the flower, and upon its 

 removal by that insect best adapted to come in contact with 

 anthers and stigma as it flies from lily to lily depends all hope of 

 perpetuating the lovely race. For countless ages it has been the 

 flower's business to find what best pleased the visitors on whom 

 so much depended. Some lilies decided to woo one class of 

 insects; some, another. Those which literally set their caps for 

 color-loving bees and butterflies whose long tongues could easily 

 drain nectar deeply hidden from the mob for their special benefit, 

 assumed gay hues, speckling the inner side of their spreading 

 divisions, even providing lines as pathfinders to their nectaries in 

 some cases, lest a visitor try to thrust in his tongue between the 

 petal-like parts while standing on the outside, and so defeat their 

 well-laid plan. It is almost pathetic to see how bright and 

 spotted they are inside, that the visitor may not go astray. Thus 

 we find the chief pollenizers of the Canada and the Turk's cap 

 lilies to be specialized bees, the interesting upholsterers, or leaf- 



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