ON THE ISLAND OF MINNEWAWA. 177 



sharing it with the other little birds, with whom they 

 seemed on the best of social terms. 



There were sweet warbling notes, low and tender, 

 uttered among them, but which were the musical birds 

 of the flock I could not discover. 



Blue harebells grow in the crevices of the rocks, and 

 when in the canoe my companions are ever ready to 

 indulge my covetous desires and to paddle close into the 

 shore and climb the rocks to gather me the treasures. 



How often in years long gone by have I gathered the 

 lovely blue-bell from among the heather, both in Eng- 

 land and Scotland ! How different the soil in which it 

 flourishes here to the dry black sand of the heath-lands 

 there, yet the flowers seem just the same. Although I 

 knew the species to be that of the Campanula rotundi- 

 folia, I had often questioned the correctness of the 

 descriptive name, the root leases being so little seen; but 

 here they were all right, though withered. I had the 

 whole plant — root, stem and flowers — and saw that the 

 leaves were, or had been, round or rounded, so the botan- 

 ists were right, and the flower deserved the specific 

 name. Though faded, the foliage had fulfilled its office 

 of caterer to the slender stems and delicate buds and 

 blossoms. It might now render up to Mother Earth 

 such earthy particles as had been borrowed from her to 

 perfect the fair desert flowers. They had not needed 

 much — a little black mould, a rift in the dark rugged 

 rock to hold them in position, the rain and the dews to 



