A SUMMER CAMPAIGN. 
295 
Some of the species described appear to be separated by very 
trivial differences, blit this is an age of hair-splitting. It would have 
been interesting, if space allowed, to have called attention to common 
species that are apparently absent in this flora, such as Campylopus 
pyriformis, G. fragilis, and very many others. The descriptions are 
excellent, and have evidently been carefully worked out. The analysis 
of the genera will be found of great service, more especially to young 
students. In addition to this general analysis there is a very useful 
key to the subgeuera of the vast and difficult genus Hypnum. The 
six plates are ably drawn, and will be familiar to those students who 
use Scliimper’s Synopsis, the author of that work having borrowed 
them without acknowledgment. The type, printing, and whole 
get-up of the work is excellent, and does great credit to both author 
and publishers. James E. Bagnall. 
A SUMMER CAMPAIGN. 
Four Botanists met on a cliff by the sea, 
Old friends who had trudged over forest and lea 
In search of the wonders that lurk in the bog, 
Or cling to the rock and the moss-painted log. 
The hot days of August were just in their prime, 
The wasps were abundant, the dust was sublime, 
But the Botanists, each in his own summer rig, 
Replied to Dame Nature “We don’t care a fig! 
You may boil, you may roast, you may pepper or drown, 
We’re here for a week, we’ve escaped from the town, 
We’ll rifle your treasures on sand-hill and fen, 
We’ll find out your secrets, the Where and the When, 
But the How and the Why we acknowledge are harder, 
One may dine at an inn but not pry in the larder. 
The rare long-leaved Sundew we’ll hunt on the moor, 
And Statice caspia down by the shore. 
Where the shrubby Suceda just fringes the land 
And Salsola spreads out his thorns on the sand. 
We’re in for real work, not a mere boyish game; 
So kindly prepare us a welcome, old Dame.” 
And Nature looked out from her great shining eye, 
She dried up the fens and she polished the sky, 
She soothed the sea wind to a sweet-tempered breeze 
That refreshed the white sand-plains and fanned the hot trees, 
She opened the doors of her treasure-house wide, 
From her well-beloved sons she had nothing to hide. 
“ Come search me, and count me, and read me,” she said, 
“ I’m a riddle profound that has never been read. 
You that love me unravel the threads of my life 
So blended in beauty, so knotted with strife. 
See ! I give you carte blanche , use my tools or my toys, 
They are all at your service; go at it, my boys !” 
