268 
THE LADIES’ FLORAL CABINET. 
most charming orchidaceous plants, wax-like and fra¬ 
grant, though too often it 
“ Wastes its sweetness on the desert air,” 
for though not uncommon in some localities it is an un¬ 
known plant to the majority. Relative to the popular 
name of this flower, Professor Meehan says: “ The old 
English name was ‘ladies’ traces,’ from the resemblance 
of the twisted spikes to the silken cords or laces, for¬ 
merly called ‘traces,’ with which fair dames used to gird 
themselves and fasten their various articles of dress be¬ 
fore hooks-and-eyes, buttons, pins and the like were in¬ 
vented. The word has become almost obsolete now 
in this connection, being applied only to the straps 
by which horses are attached to vehicles. The original 
meaning of the word having thus been forgotten, 
modern authors spell the name of our plant‘tresses,’ 
and suppose it to have been adopted from the resem¬ 
blance to a tress or curl of hair; and perhaps the 
two words may originally have been derived from 
one root, for certainly many flowing tresses have 
proved to be the traces by which masculine hearts 
were chained to the triumphal car of Beauty.” Down 
in the meadows we see great masses of bright rose- 
purple, turning the sober-hued grass into a surface 
of glowing color—it is Gerardia purpurea, one of the 
false foxglove tribe, with large bell-shaped flowers, or 
rather more like the conventional cap of Liberty. Rhexia 
virginica, the little meadow beauty, is usually found 
with it, and these two flowers make a charming addition 
to an autumn bouquet. 
In the water we find a belated Sagittaria or Helonias, 
shaded by the melancholy cat-tails ; but autumn offers us 
few attractions in aquatic plants. 
But the asters ! Who can give them their full meed of 
praise, as they shade from deepest purple to purest 
white ?• They form a most variable family, running 
through numberless varieties of color and growth. The 
smallest flowered form, with pure white petals, is known 
as “ Michaelmas daisy,” from the fact that it flowers near 
the Feast of St. Michael—indeed, this name is often ap¬ 
plied to the whole tribe. The deepest purple form ( A . 
spectabilis) forms a gorgeous contrast with the golden-rod. 
Taking all in all, Dame Autumn is a kindly season 
to us, whether, when the meadows are gay with blos¬ 
soms, or later, when— 
“ Red leaves trailing, 
Fall unfailing, 
Dropping, sailing, 
From the wood, 
That, unpliant, 
Stands defiant, 
Like a giant, 
Dropping blood.” 
—E. L. TAPLIN. 
A RETROSPECT. 
T HIS is bracing weather. The dandelions have donned 
their white frizzes and gone on a visit. They will 
reappear next spring down near your door-step, or laugh 
at you when the water ripples by a moss-grown rock. 
“ O dandelion, you are a gay fellow, 
With your spotless coat of downy yellow ! ” 
The apple and cherry blossoms mingled with the in¬ 
cense of lilacs over the graves of dead heroes. The 
war brought an increasing fondness for flowers, those 
blooming the best and longest proving the most satis¬ 
factory. The annuals are a long time coming up, until 
one learns by experience how to start them on the road 
to Blossomland. To have success in raising them, sow 
in drills, with a slight covering of dirt, then lay boards 
over the drills and in three days they will be sprouted ; 
uncover and do not allow them to dry out. One can 
have a great variety started this way, thinning and trans¬ 
planting until there are just enough to take care of pleas¬ 
antly. To have flowers grow successfully one must 
study their various needs, and watch as carefully after 
their welfare as does the mother robin her featherless 
nestlings. 
Spring was a long time coming to Northern Illinois, 
but came suddenly one day and staid only long enough to 
awaken the crocus, and left with a bound before our work 
was half done. The April days were short and cold, but 
May came and the work went bravely on. June bloomed 
with roses for the sweet girl graduate, and which was the 
sweeter would be hard to decide. July came with its 
tornadoes, wind-storms and sultry breezes, the rain filled 
each flower cup, beating it down to the earth. August 
was unusually cool and wet, a few sunny days, and just 
as the flowers were looking like a gorgeous pageant, 
flaunting all the colors of the rainbow in ribbon beds and 
borders, down went the curtain and the scene was dis¬ 
solved in a mist—one would declare a waterspout sud¬ 
denly bursting had swept out the gold and left the green. 
But the weeds throve apace, neither storms nor hoes 
could down them; eternal vigilance wins the prize in 
every contest. The author of “ Back-Yard Studies ” in 
Harper s for October would have needed only a glimpse 
at my flower-garden when I returned from a trip to the 
North this summer to have found food for his pencil- 
sketches for all time. I left everything spick and span 
clean, but it was a wonder and a wilderness of weeds 
and grass when I returned. It all looks very pretty in 
a picture, but in reality the trailing purslane and the 
feathery grasses are not so pretty, at least when you 
come in contact with them among the flowers, and you 
know it is either death to one or the other. Some very 
hard rains had produced a quickening into life of trash 
not set down in the catalogues. It took two days to set 
things to rights again.- I told John that the next time I 
left him to keep house I should leave my garden in care 
of a professional weed-killer. 
M. Lou. Medlar. 
