THE AMERICAN BOTANIST. 



107 



queenly flower. Growing always in groups and attaining 

 a height of ten or twelve feet, bearing masses of pure, 

 white flowers, no plant need ever hope to enjoy more en- 

 thusiastic admiration than you must give to this one. 



It comes in June, when the sun has grown hot and the 

 rains so long past that most flowers have given up trying 

 to look fresh and vigorous. Not so my poppy tall, stately 

 and serene. 



From five to seven inches in diameter, these flowers, 

 petals thin and fluted, globe of anthers an inch through, of 

 deepest, clearest yellow borne on black filaments, the black 

 more felt than seen — each branch bearing a great terminal 

 cluster — flowers glorious beyond your dreams. 



You carry home an armful and your way is marked 

 by a stream of sweetest incense swung from these chalices 

 of white and gold. 



Orange, California. 



THE CLIMBING FERN. 



BY BESSIE W, STILLMAN. 



ONE of the most interesting sights, to the plant lover, 

 in the beautiful city of Washington, is Center Mar- 

 ket on a "Market Day," Then the country people, most- 

 ly negroes, come in to dispose of the w^ares, which they 

 display upon stands on the side- walk surrounding the 

 market. 



Upon these stands I found a strangely miscellaneous 

 collection — wild flowers in profusion, "garden sass," 

 "yarbs," "baccy" in rolls strongly resembling great pret- 

 zels, butter, eggs, fowls, etc. Beside the stands were 

 crates containing grunting pigs and bleating calves, while 

 wagons filled with produce were backed up to the walks. 



A friend wanted some arbutus. While she was exam- 

 ining the various bunches exposed for sale, I wandered 

 around for a general survey. From a stand covered with 

 dainty bluets, partridge berries and moss, hung a delicate 

 vine which, with a thrill that set my blood a tingling, I at 

 once recognized as the climbing fern, Lygodium palma- 



