A YEAR IN THE FIELDS 



firmed in this opinion when, on turning to 

 some of our most beautiful and striking 

 native flowers, like the laurel, the rhododen- 

 dron, the columbine, the inimitable fringed 

 gentian, the burning cardinal-flower, or our 

 asters and goldenrod, dashing the roadsides 

 with tints of purple and gold, he found 

 them scentless also. "Where are your 

 fragrant flowers ? " he might well say ; " I 

 can find none." Let him look closer and 

 penetrate our forests, and visit our ponds 

 and lakes. Let him compare our matchless, 

 rosy-lipped, honey-hearted trailing arbutus 

 with his own ugly ground-ivy ; let him com- 

 pare our sumptuous, fragrant pond-lily with 

 his own odorless Nymphcea alba. In our 

 Northern woods he shall find the floors 

 carpeted with the delicate linnsea, its twin 

 rose-colored nodding flowers filling the air 

 with fragrance. (I am aware that the lin- 

 nasa is found in some parts of Northern 

 Europe.) The fact is, we perhaps have as 

 many sweet-scented wild flowers as Europe 

 has, only they are not quite so prominent 

 in our fiora, nor so well known to our people 

 or to our poets. 



Think of Wordsworth's " Golden Daffo- 

 dUs : " — 



126 



