0-iL 



THE 



BOTANIST. 



Vol. I. 



BINGHAMTON, N. Y., MARCH i, 1891. 



No. III. 



OUR COMMON VIOLETS. 



BY WILLABD N. CLUTE, BINGHAMTON, N. V. 



When the violets come, spring may be said 

 to have begun in earnest. The stormy days of 

 March are past; many of the birds have come 

 back; woods and fields have §ssumed a spring- 

 like look; and Nature seems in her happiest 

 mood. Although the latter half of April sees 

 here and there a blossom of the earlier violets, 

 they are not common, with us, till May. 



It is not too much to say that the violet is a 

 favonte wherever known, whether called violets, 

 or " Johnny- jump-ups," " hookers," " roosters " 

 and the other names by which children know 

 them. I fancy there are few of us who have not 

 beguiled more than one hour " fighting roosters," 

 seeking for the strongest stems thai our violets 

 might not be decapitated. 



Not only in the violet loved in our own 

 country, but it is held in high esteem abroad. 

 It was one of Napoleon's favorite flowers, and, 

 during his absence from France, was the symbol 

 by which his adherents recognized one another. 

 In ancient times the violet was the badge of 

 Athens, and one of the prizes in the floral games 

 was a golden violet. 



One of the violets' greatest charms, is their 

 abundance. The vast region extending from 

 Arctic America to the Gulf States and from the 

 Atlantic Ocean to the Mississippi river, is strewn 

 thick with violets, each spring, and in such lo- 

 calities as our common ones are rare, other 

 kinds grow as if specially created to fill the 

 vacant places. 



The violets blooni well into summer and then' 

 they must stop, perforce, for the old proverb 

 says that " when roses and violets flourish in 

 autumn, it is a sign of plague or pestilence 

 during the coming year." Despite this fact, I 



find the common blue violet in blossom every 

 autumn while hunting for arrowheads in com 

 or potato fields; often I have picked bunches 

 of them, late in October. At this time there are 

 no violets in their usual haunts, and it would 

 seem as if the removal of the crops and the 

 consequent flooding of their retreats with the 

 warm sunlight of Indian Summer is what sets 

 them to blooming in these fields. 



The name, violet, originally had no reference 

 to color. Hilderic Friend, in " Flowers and 

 Flower Lore," remarks: " Since the name was 

 applied to a flower of a bluish tint, the word 

 gradually came to be associated with a species 

 of flower whose color was regarded as fixed." 

 And so we speak of white violets, blue violets, 

 yellow violets etc. 



Botanists divide the violets into two groups — 

 the leafy-stemmed, and the acaulescent or stem- 

 less in which the leaves and flowers grow from 

 a scaly root-stalk. Our prettiest violets — the 

 white one of the swamps, the blue one of the 

 fields, and the early yellow one — are acaules- 

 cent. 



We have six common violets. Of these the 

 tallest and most common is the large deep-blue 

 violet (Viola cucullata) that grows in low grounds 

 from high northern latitudes to Florida. The 

 leaves are heart-shaped, as, in fact, those of 

 nearly all violets are, and when young the sides 

 are rolled inward like a hood. A variety of 

 this violet, growing in the same localities, with 

 leaves cleft into from three to seven lobes is 

 called the hand-leaf violet (V. palmata.) 



The sweet white violet ( V. blanda) that grows 

 in swamps and damp shady woods is the only 

 one of our violets that is fragrant. It seems 

 attached to the North, seldom growing farther 

 south than Pennsylvania. A small bunch will 

 scent a whole room with a delicious odor. 



