The Leopard Flower 
borne in generous panicles and are about the latest of the 
year’s tree blossoms to appear. The individual blooms 
remind one of small white sunbonnets frilled at the 
edges, and are handsomely mottled within in purple and 
orange. Sometimes one finds them transformed to ogre’s 
dens by the webs of small spiders, which feed on the flies 
that come there hunting. 
The catalpa as we know it in Pennsylvania is an intro¬ 
duced tree, its native heath being the rich woods of the 
Gulf States. The long seed pods which follow the flowers 
remain on the trees sometimes the year round, and their 
resemblance to extra long “stogies” tempts country boys 
sometimes to smoke them. The wood of the tree is soft 
and weak, but, like Antaeos of classic myth, whose strength 
was great so long as he kept his feet on the ground, it is 
very durable when in contact with the earth, for which 
reason it is a favorite material for railroad ties. 
July 21. —Compatriot of Ah Sin is the pretty leopard 
flower, which I sometimes find sprawling over roadside 
banks these days of midsummer. Its petals are purple- 
spotted on a yellow background—a combination which 
suggests a bit of leopard’s skin, and so the flower’s name. 
Its introduction to this country was as an honored guest 
in old-fashioned gardens, but it has found the conditions 
of life in our Middle States so much to its taste that it 
has taken out naturalization papers and set up house¬ 
keeping for itself—in a timid sort of way, though, for it is 
not yet by any means common as a wild flower. Many 
people know it best by the name of blackberry lily, be¬ 
cause of the seedpods which late in the year split open 
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