182 A GARDEN DIARY 
bogs of south Cork. For nine months of the 
year that is all that there is to see. In June a 
flower-stalk rises out of the centre of the rosette, 
crowned with a pendulous bell of the most 
pellucid, the most ethereal shade of violet. Hap- 
pily for the susceptibilities of the investigator 
this is not the flesh-eating portion of the plant, 
that office being strictly confined to the leaves. 
Stooping down and examining these leaves we 
find that, whereas some are flat, others are 
slightly dog-eared along the edges. If further 
we unroll a few of the dog-ears we discover the 
remains, not of one alone, but often of a dozen 
unfortunate flies and midges, in all stages of 
assimilation ; some already half-digested, others 
still alive, and struggling to escape from their 
glutinous prison. If further we place a fragment 
of bone, of meat, or indeed of any nitrogenous 
substance, upon the edge of one of the fully 
expanded leaves, we shall find that little by little 
the leaf begins curling upwards, until the two 
edges approach, and then join. Finally the 
morsel is lost to sight, becoming entirely im- 
mersed in its bath of secretion, where it remains 
until all its nutritive parts are absorbed. 
Viscous as the whole surface of the leaf is, it 
does not seem as if this process of digestion was 
carried on with the same rapidity in the centre 
as at the sides, and, as there are in this case 
no long hairs to act as locomotive organs, it 
