August 8. 
THE COTTAGE GARDENER. 
351 
sunny spot in life’s chequered landscape to look back 
upon. Few scenes in life will better bear retrospection 
than a happy botanical day spent in congenial company. 
But such recollections, perhaps, press more strongly upon 
those whose early botanical life was intermingled with that 
of many others, as in tlio case of fellow students at a 
university. The University of Edinburght has for many 
years been known as the ‘ Alma Mater ’ of many enthusiastic 
botanists ;• nor has it, under the rule of the present respected 
professor of the science, lost any of the prestige which it 
acquired when the manly, frank, Professor Robert Graham, 
so successfully stimulated his students to the cultivation of 
botany. The success of the Edinburgh system of botanical 
teaching, is perhaps greatly owing, first, to the circumstance, 
that whilst the lecture-rooom is not neglected, neither are 
the fields, and the Saturday excursions give force and 
interest to the lessons of the past week; and second, to the 
almost unrivalled opportunities for botanical exploration' 
which exist in the environs of the beautiful capital of the 
north. Let the first parts of our little work be to our 
readers at the lecture in the class-room, and our following 
‘ Monthly Illustrations,’ stand as the Saturday ramble—the 
latter the practical exposition of the former, and, therefore, 
at times it may be involving some repetitions both of matter 
and of illustration. 
“ We have said so much about these students’ botanical 
excursions, that we must give a sketch of one of the best; 
moreover, that this very excursion is pleasingly remembered 
by others than the author, he has evidence, from recently 
meeting with a notice of it in a Madras journal, now edited 
by one of the merriest and most enthusiastic of those who 
took part in it. 
“ The rendezvous for one of the Saturdays of July, 1835, 
had been fixed at the village of Currie, six miles from 
Edinburgh, not then of course, as now, a railway station ; 
and, as botanists do not ride, it was walking distance. The 
trysting time at the inn eight o’clock, and breakfast ready ; 
six, therefore, must be the time to start from town. As 
bright a July morning as ever dawned it was as the author 
with one friend, now the Madras editor, Dr. Alexander 
Hunter, started for the meet. Parties of twos, threes, and 
fours soon gathered, all tending towards the same destina¬ 
tion, and before the quarter after eight had elapsed, upwards 
of fifty young men were gathered in the large room of the 
inn, eagerly looking for the advent of the rolls, the eggs, 
and all etceteras which were to satisfy appetites sharpened 
by a six-mile walk. Fearful would have been the consterna¬ 
tion of our host, had this inroad come upon him unprepared; 
but two days’ notice, and a previous knowledge of botanical 
appetites—by no means vegetarian, however—had served to 
allow ample provision, testified by the clothes-baskets heaped 
full of rolls, the huge wickers of eggs, the beef and the 
hams. 
“ Almost we hear now the merry laughter of that break¬ 
fast table, almost see the air of bonhommie, with which our 
good professor, after himself diving to the kitchen, re¬ 
appeared with another basket of eggs, when all were thought 
to be exhausted ere appetites were satisfied. Almost can 
we see the grave humour beaming in the genuine Scottish 
face of ‘ old Macnab,’ known far and wide in Europe as the 
skilful manager of the Botanic Gardens, the professor’s 
lieutenant, and whose walking powers of three-score could 
tire out many, if not most, of the younger limbs then present. 
Now and then would the laugh become doubly hearty as 
some laggard straggled in late, and looked ruefully around 
at the almost cleared board. But, breakfast over, then 
came the start for the hills and moorlands which were to be 
the scene of the day’s explorations. Most of the band 
were really practical botanists, were well shod for the 
purpose, wore the light shooting-jacket and light cap, and 
carried boxes which would hold good store of plants ; not a 
few with good stout hand-spades slung to the waist or 
button-hole; some only evidenced their novitiate by appear¬ 
ing in white trousers and natty boots, of whom more 
hereafter, 
“ A short two miles, and the first exploring ground is 
reached, an extensive bog, where grew not only most of our 
common bog-plants, but a few rarer species; one, more 
especially, of the orchis family, the spurless coral-root, found 
only in a very few situations in Scotland. No sportsman 
can feel more eager interest than the enthusiastic botanist 
in search of a rare plant—the plant was soon found, but 
well was that bog searched over, and more than once did 
eagarnoss or ignorance lead some to venture on treacherous 
surfaces, to find themselves, without warning, sunk up to 
the middle in the black bog-water. To the men of strong 
shoes and rough trousers this was but a small calamity; 
but woe betide the well-cut boot and white inexpressibles, 
whose luckless owner had the laughs of the entire party to 
meet. By high noon, the bog having been exhausted, the 
hills had to be breasted, and more than one covey of grouse 
whirred off from among the patches of the mountain cloud¬ 
berry ( Ruins chammcemorus) , to reach which formed the 
outside limit of the excursion. Then, along the dry open 
moorlands, gathering on our way the small white butterfly 
orchis, the ( Habenaria albida) the curious little fern- 
moonwort ( Botrychium Lunaria) and many other’s, till we 
come to, in a small hill bog, the thread-like stems of the 
(Vaccinium Oxgcoccos) resting on the surface of the white 
sphagnum moss, and bearing its rose-coloured blossoms 
and berries together. But the sun of this July day has 
shone fiercely, and by three o’clock, thirst oppresses many 
who have not had a sip from a pocket flask of cold tea or 
wine and water. There, on the side of the “ the black hill,” 
a line of fresh green tells that a spring rises no far way up, 
and sure enough we find it, clear and pure as only these 
hill streams are—cold too—almost too cold for safety ; but 
many a thirsty one drinks from the ‘ diamond of the desert’ 
notwithstanding. Thirst quenched, e’er long something 
tells that the stomach has long since disposed of the ample 
supplies of the morning. Some had been careful enough 
to provide a biscuit, or to pocket a roll from the breakfast- 
table, and some were happy enough to own such a pro¬ 
vident friend willing to share with them; but the supplies 
were sadly scanty. 
“ There is the professor—his tall handsome form was 
ever distinguishable—striding off to that hill farm steading— 
or rather on Scottish ground ‘ farm town,’—and soon his 
hearty call was heard. He has brought up the whole of 
the good wife’s dairy store, and milk, food and drink together, 
is there for the whole party. We wonder if the good 
woman ever had her milk pans so thoroughly cleared before 
—they were then. 
“Another stretch across the moorland, a search down the 
narrow glen of the bonny burn which makes its way through 
it, in alternate stream, cascade and pool, stream and cascade 
again, and seven o’clock in the evening finds most of the 
party—some few had deserted early in the day—at the scene 
of the morning breakfast. But, alas! our host had not 
calculated upon an evening foray as well as a morning raid, 
and the late furnishing of comestibles was but scant com¬ 
pared with the early—actually there was not enough. One 
of the party we detected—we almost think it was our friend 
of Madras—laying violent hands on some rather musty beef 
bones in the pantry, which the host had been ashamed to 
bring out, 
“ Then came the dispersion. Some, unused to the 
exertion, must stop at the inn, some lagged on the road, 
some stopped at the half-way village; and a few only, with 
the professor and his veteran lieutenant, marched into town 
at ten o'clock, well tired, but well satisfied, and one, at least, 
of the party to remember the day as one of the green spots 
in life’s retrospect, which, like a thing of beauty 
“ Is a joy for ever.’* 
“Butnow the shade. E’er the next summer flowers were 
blossoming, some of the merry laughers of that excursion 
were laid low by fever caught in the study of their profession 
in the hospital wards; another year or two and all were 
dispersed on their different roads of life. Short roads to 
some, very short. A West Indian appointment with one led 
to yellow fever and an early grave ; one, at least, fell in the 
Khyber Pass under the knives of the Affghans; consumption 
and other diseases have claimed their victims, and Graham 
and Macnab fill respected graves; yet many live engaged in 
the successful exercise of their profession, and may some¬ 
times lighten anxious thought by a recall of the botanical 
rambles of student days. 
“ Perhaps our readers will accept our narrative as a practical 
exposition of the uses and pleasures of botanical pursuits. 
