MORE OF THE SMALLER BOG-PLANTS 257 



feet, and put at the bottom a lot of garbage, including a 

 quantity of superfluous Menyanthes, weeded from the 

 lake. Through three feet of ordinary dry soil those 

 mutilated sprays ran up to the level of the upper air, 

 and have continued to flourish ever since — though I 

 admit they never flower. 



Though Menyanthes is not common in this country, I 

 often find it, curiously enough, growing desperately 

 among the rough grass in high moorland bogs, where it 

 throws a few tentative leaves from year to year, but can 

 no more flower than Convallar'ia maialis in the crevices 

 of the denuded stone-flats above. Probably, as there was 

 once more copse for the ConvaUaria, so there was once 

 much more water for the Menyanthes, which was thus 

 able in old days, before the draining of the land, to climb 

 higher and prosper with greater freedom. Now its low- 

 land haunts have almost all been cultivated out of exist- 

 ence, and it only lingers in these difficult inauspicious 

 spots high up on the mountains. 



Of tiny, tiny things for the bog-garden I will now 

 mention three of commanding merit. The first is 

 Myosotis Rehsteineri, if that be its correct name — a wee 

 Forget-me-not, spreading along the damp rich ground, 

 with smooth bright green leaves, and spikes of azure 

 blossom about two inches high. This, however — I do not 

 know whence it hails, — is not of absolutely trustworthy 

 constitution, and must be carefully looked after if it is not 

 to get crowded out and worsted in the battle with fellow- 

 plants, winds and weather. The next is Mentha Requienii, 

 a little Mint from Corsica so microscopic as to be hardly 

 larger than a lichen. This little plant grows into 

 spreading invisible mats over any damp soil, and you 

 spend your life in utter ignorance of its existence, until 

 one day you tread heedlessly over what seems ordinary 

 naked earth, and are instantly assailed by the intense 



