158 
CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE HISTORY OF THE 
ROTIFERA, OR WHEEL ANIMALCULES. 
BY PHILIP HENRY GOSSE, F.R.S. 
II. 
THE FLOSCULES 
( Floscularia). 
*> r | MS a lovely morning in tlie end of April. We have taken 
a long walk, and find ourselves in the midst of a bowery 
lane, with tall hedges overarching on either side — elm, and sloe, 
and hawthorn, — all glowing in the bright tender green, the 
fresh verdure of the opening spring. The road is hard and 
firm to the tread, for tlie nocturnal shower has only sufficed to 
lay the dust, and has been absorbed, while its myriad drops 
yet sparkle on the shooting grass-blades. Vegetation is 
marching with a giant’s pace, after the dull sleep of frozen 
winter. Tlie large glossy black-spotted leaves of the wake- 
robin are fringing the hedge-bank, and the swelling spathe is 
here and there seen, sending up its pointed canopy ; but you 
must violently tear open the curtain if you would see the fair 
lady within, for she is not yet dressed to receive company. 
The beautiful heart-like leaves of the black bryony, vying with 
those of the arum in polish, and excelling them in shape, are 
rising on their slender twining stems, and rapidly creeping to 
the summit of the hedge. Even the very nettles look so fresh 
and tender that we half forget their insidious ferocity, and look 
with complacency on them as an essential element in the 
verdant scene. 
But it is not all verdure : Flora smiles here too. Thick 
clusters of pale-yellow primroses sit in their crumple-leafed 
crowns, and scores of deeply-purpled violets are revealed by 
the gushes of fragrance that ascend from the tangled herbage. 
The white starry blossoms of the stitchwort spangle the bank, 
and among them the laughing blue eyes of the germander 
speedwell — “ angels’ eyes,” as our country lads poetically call 
them — peep out by hundreds. Yonder, the tall erect spikes of 
the blue hyacinth are nodding, and the rose campion and ragged 
robin display their crimson flowers. Higher up, the sloes are 
white with bloom, and in the orchard over the hedge the 
delighted eye gazes on great masses of blushing silver. 
The early butterflies are abroad. The garden whites, those 
