territory to the western group of States, from 

 Montana and Wyoming to Washington and 

 California. Its flowers matching the orange 

 blossom in beauty, its bursting buds appearing 

 to be fairly pin-cushions, its fragrance as de- 

 lightful as the odors that sweep over Elysian 

 fields, its leaves a delicate, soft, shimmering 

 green, the Idaho syringa is a shrub well 

 equipped to awaken enthusiasm in every lover 

 of flowers (see page 505). 



The syringa belongs to the saxifrage family, 

 which has some 250 species scattered through- 

 out the North Temperate world. It has many 

 close relatives — various species of Philadel- 

 phus, which is the botanical name for all the 

 species we in our common garden variety of 

 nomenclature call the syringas. There is Phil- 

 adelphns grandiflorus, which grows in the 

 South Atlantic States and is famous for its 

 rich and fragrant flowers ; Philadelphia ino- 

 dorus, with the same range, but without the 

 same fragrance; Philadelplius hirsutus, dwell- 

 ing in the North Carolina-Alabama mountains 

 and arraying itself in hairy leaves; Philadel- 

 plius coronarius, the mock orange of the East- 

 ern States and everywhere loved for its beau- 

 tiful and wonderfully fragrant blossoms. 



The syringas are unfortunate in their popu- 

 lar name. Ptolemy Philadelplius loved them 

 and they became Philadelplius this or Phila- 

 delplius that. But the world at large wanted 

 a name more to popular liking and by common 

 consent they became syringas. Now that would 

 be all right if it did not happen that syringa is 

 the botanical name of the lilac, to which family 

 the popularly named syringas bear no relation. 



THE VIOLET 

 (Viola) 



One does not often meet two flowers so 

 different in appearance, so dissimilar in dispo- 

 sition, so unlike in their tastes, as the modest 

 blue violet and the gorgeous goldenrod, the 

 one content to be seen only by the eyes that 

 search for it, the other seeking the spotlight 

 of every landscape, so that no eye may over- 

 look it (see page 505). 



And yet the little violet blossom and the big 

 yellow flower are rivals for the highest honors 

 in flowerland. Three States have adopted the 

 violet and a fourth is not yet sure on which 

 side of the issue between them it will finally 

 line up. Illinois has cast its lot with the violet 

 by legislative action. Nebraska has come out 

 for the goldenrod by the same route. Rhode 

 Island; and Wisconsin have by the votes of 

 their school children declared themselves cham- 

 pions of the violet. On the other hand, Mis- 

 souri and Alabama are reputed to favor the 

 goldenrod, although no action recognized by 

 either State government has been taken. New 

 Jersey is agreed that her flower shall be one 

 or the other, and there is a rumor that she 

 wishes it could be both. Yet no one can blame 

 this indecision on the lack of grounds for 

 choice between them, for there is certainly 

 little else than choice. Habit, color, haunt, dis- 

 position, almost every point, is different in 

 them. 



There are many violets scattered over the 

 country, among them the "bird- foot," the 

 "common," the "arrow-leaved," the "marsh," 

 the "sweet white," the "lance-leaved," the 

 "downy yellow," and even the "dog." But, 

 whatever their distinctions, they are all good 

 to look upon, interesting to study, and modest 

 to a fault. Best of all, they manage in their 

 several species to gladden all communities 

 from the Arctic to the Gulf and from the 

 Atlantic Ocean to the Pacific. 



Perhaps first among all the species is the 

 common or purple hooded. Its royal color, 

 its gentle dignity, its rich profusion, its wide 

 range of territory, have given it a deep hold 

 on popular affection. The different species 

 are distinguished as stemmed and stemless, 

 bearded and beardless, by the character of the 

 spur, the color of the flower, and the shape of 

 the leaf. In most of them the lower petal is 

 prolonged backward so as to form a spur and 

 a nectar jar, which is usually protected by 

 little tufts of hair at the throat of the flower. 



Some violets have put< away the ordinary 

 processes of inbreeding and now strive, by pro- 

 ducing liberal supplies of nectar, to attract the 

 bees and butterflies and to enlist their services 

 as carriers. But, knowing how readily their 

 insect friends are wooed away by the more 

 showy, more thickly clustered flowers of other 

 families, they have not abandoned entirely the 

 old idea of self-fertilization. If they fail to 

 set seed by the cross-fertilization method, they 

 promptly develop small, inconspicuous blos- 

 soms that fertilize themselves, and therefore 

 enable the plant to produce sufficient seeds to 

 prevent its extinction by the race-suicide route. 



One writer who knows the poetry of flower- 

 land tells us that the witch-hazel is not the 

 only sharpshooter of the autumn wood. Down 

 among the dry leaves, he declares, it has a 

 tiny rival, the blue violet, with which it occa- 

 sionally exchanges a salute. The latter closes 

 its reign as a debutante among the blossoms 

 in May. Then it settles down to the stern 

 realities of life and the production of seeds. 

 As the late autumn comes, its pods begin to 

 force out their tiny seeds just as the small boy 

 shoots a cherry stone by pressing it between 

 his thumb and finger. Each pod in its turn 

 fires away, hurling the seed babies as far as 

 10 feet, with an admonition that they creep 

 down into the soil, there to dwell in darkness, 

 silence, and inactivity until the winds whisper 

 to the pines the glad news that spring is com- 

 ing, and that message is passed along to the 

 seeds under the snow. 



Violets have figured in many of the ro- 

 mances of civilization. An old tradition has it 

 that the flower was raised from the body of Io 

 by the agency of Diana. Homer and Virgil 

 knew its delicate beauty, and the Athenians 

 were never so much complimented as when 

 they were said to be violet-crowned. 



The pansy that we love so well and for 

 which our English cousins have so many nick- 

 names is, after all, only a violet that has had 

 a chance. Some call it "Heart's-ease," others 

 "Meet-her-in-the-entry," others "Kiss-her-in- 

 the-buttery," and still others "Jump-up-and- 

 kiss-me" and "Tickle-my-fancy." 



491 



