THE WILD GARDEN. 157 
we all know—the daisies, the clovers, buttercups, lilies, and mead- 
ow-rue. Even in the burning sand-dunes of the sea-shore or the 
desert we may be sure of a number of faithful missionaries, while 
the same sand that chances to rim the lake 
nurses a distinctly different brood. 
The swamp claims a long list of choice 
favorites, while even from the ripples of the 
lake or the “depths beneath” you may 
gather the same consistent bouquet. 
When the geologist hears of the open- 
ing of a new quarry or the blasting of a 
tunnel he is quickly on the spot for his 
harvest of crystal. So with the botanist; 
the same new conditions turn up nuggets 
for him also. 
Burroughs discovered a blasted ledge 
draped in the beautiful climbing fumito- 
ry where the plant had never before been 
known, which singular fact may possibly 
throw some light on the old belief 
which is said to have christened the 
flower. ‘“ The fumitory,’ as Gerarde 
says of an allied plant with similar 
ways of sudden appearance in broken 
ground, “is fabled to be engendered of 
a coarse fumosity rising from the earth, 
which windeth and wrieth about, and £44 
— 
* % 7 é: a a9 oy 
by working in the air and sun is turned Eo ee 
into this herb.” How simple it all seems i = 4 
when it is explained ! , 
I once visited a similar blast in a haunt 
known all my life, and was astonished to 
| find the ruins rosy with literal beds of the 
small catchfly pink, accompanied by a rank 
growth of pasture mullein, growing in the depths of a dense wood ! 
Who knows what a wild garden might be coaxed from a 
A GROUP OF ORCHIDS. 
