you will see that each grain is in reality a 

 cluster of four tiny balls resembling oranges. 

 Indeed, in passing it may be observed that each 

 species of plant seems to possess some special 

 whim in the shape of its pollen, with its own 

 peculiar devices of exterior decoration and 

 structural form. The laurel's clusters of tiny 

 balls ride safely on the bee as he flies to the 

 next flower, and as he stoops for a sip of that 

 blossom's honey they are brushed off by the 

 ready pistil and the flower is fertilized. 



Since ants can never render it any pollen- 

 bearing service, the mountain laurel has set 

 traps to protect its nectar from their ravages. 

 It mounts its flowers on hairy stems and covers 

 the hairs with a sticky substance, so that if 

 Mr. Ant does not heed the warnings of the 

 bristles that no trespassing will be allowed he 

 promptly finds himself wading through a field 

 of glue that pinions his feet until he dies an 

 ignominious death as a would-be thief. 



No friend of the stock-raiser is the moun- 

 tain laurel. In the springtime, when the cattle- 

 growers in the valleys of the East drive their 

 herds to the grazing farms on the mountains, 

 the laurel is the greenest thing in sight. A 

 winter on dry fodder has made every animal 

 hungry for a change of diet ; so that, although 

 the herd is urged on, one nip after another is 

 taken of the laurel bushes along the roadside, 

 until, the first thing the drover knows, two or 

 three members of his herd have an overdose 

 of laurel, with "blind staggers" as a result. 

 Usually a day or two brings the affected cattle 

 around, and once on the range, they seldom 

 or never touch the laurel. Only when there is 

 nothing else green in reach will they leave the 

 straight and narrow way of abstinence to in- 

 dulge in "sheep kill," as it is sometimes called. 



There are many plants that are poisonous, a 

 quality developed as a weapon of defense. 

 And what would we do without our plant 

 poisons? Opium, which in spite of its abuses 

 is a boon to humanity, is merely the self-de- 

 fense of the poppy turned to the service of 

 man. The laurel, too, belongs to the class of 

 poison-producers. If let alone it drapes the 

 mountainside with lacy bloom, and never hurts 

 any creature that treats it with respect ; but 

 woe betide the one that dares to eat it. 



The mountain laurel is distinctly an Eastern 

 plant. It flourishes from New Brunswick to 

 the Gulf of Mexico, but, unlike so many flow- 

 ers that have kept pace with man as he has 

 followed the star of empire westward, it has 

 never crossed the Mississippi Valley. Once 

 there came to the United States a Swedish 

 naturalist, Peter Kalm. After making the ac- 

 quaintance of our American flowers, he de- 

 cided that the laurel was his preference. He 

 leathered some young plants, took them to 

 Europe, and introduced them on many a fine 

 estate. He also contributed to the plant its 

 scientific name, "kalmia." 



THE COLORADO COLUMBINE 



(Aquilegia coerulea James) 



The school children and the legislature of 

 Colorado do not agree upon the issue of a 



State flower. Both have voted the honor to 

 the columbine, but the legislature nineteen years 

 ago awarded the wreath of fame to the white- 

 and-lavender, while six years ago the school 

 children chose the blue-and-white. An out- 

 sider may declare his neutrality and admira- 

 tion for both (see page 503). 



It is reputed that in no other region does 

 the columbine grow more beautiful or so large 

 as in Colorado. The people of the Centennial 

 State have no hesitancy in declaring that their 

 flower is four times as large as the "Down 

 East" species. 



A native of the lower mountain regions, 

 blooming from April to July and ranging from 

 Montana to Mexico, the columbine cheers 

 every pathway that leads up toward the realm 

 of summer snows. 



The name "columbine" comes from the 

 Latin for dove, and was applied because the 

 flower has a fancied resemblance to a group 

 of dainty little doves. Its other name, "aqui- 

 legia," was given it because the spurs of the 

 flower possess a resemblance — somewhat indis- 

 tinct in the Colorado blossom — to the talons 

 of the eagle. Thus the columbine may with 

 equal claim play the role of dove of peace or 

 eagle of war. 



It has many exquisite relatives, among them 

 the clematis, the anemones, the hepaticas, the 

 rues, the spearworts, the buttercup*, the mari- 

 golds, the larkspurs, and the monkshoods. 



The various species of columbine have a 

 wide range. The flower possesses all Europe 

 and occupies that part of Asia between north- 

 ern Siberia and the Himalayas. 



In the northern half of the world there are 

 about fifty varieties of columbine, of which 

 some twenty occur in North America. 



THE BITTER ROOT 

 (Lewisia rediviva Pursh) 



The bitter root played a part, though a small 

 and inconspicuous one, in that epic of Ameri- 

 can exploration, the Lewis and Clark Expedi- 

 tion. It was the specimen taken from the her- 

 barium of Meriwether Lewis that was first 

 described by the botanist Pursh and named 

 Lewisia rediviva (see page 504). 



The acquisition of a dignified Latin name 

 seems to have been the first forward step in 

 its career ; from the simple ornament of the 

 primeval wilderness and friend of the Indian, 

 this blushing beauty has risen to the magnifi- 

 cent position of chosen flower of Montana, the 

 Treasure State, and has given its English 

 name — bitter root — to a mountain range, a 

 river, and to the famous Bitter Root Valley. 



Bitter Root Valley, the depression which sep- 

 arates the Bitter Root Mountains from the 

 Rockies for a distance of about 105 miles, long 

 before the white man penetrated the great 

 West, was a favored spot. The snow melted 

 earliest within its sheltered heart; the storms 

 blew less fiercely over its mountain walls ; 

 spring smiled there soonest, and answering 

 smiles seemed to brighten the meadows when 



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