THE AUSTRALIAN NATURALIST. 189 
(-letinotus helianthi), and Boronia, especially B. serrulata, wil! 
some day he as rare about Sydney as the Waratah? The de- 
stroyers make no secret of their doings, the flowers are openly 
exposed for sale in our streets—and we are silent. Yet we are 
field naturalists; we have, by virtue of that title, taken the 
flowers and all the creatures of the bush under our care.  Cer- 
tain of our birds and of our other fauna are protected; why 
should not the same justice be extended to our flora? If people 
want to admire our flowers, let them go out and see them where 
nature meant them to be seen, not in the baskets of flower- 
sellers, not lying crushed and trampled in the mud of city 
pavements, or stuffed in vases in heated rooms. Let them see 
the Flannel Flowers starring the slopes, instead of buying them 
crushed into bunches; let them see the Boronia making splashes ‘ 
of vivid pink among the grey standstone; let them admire the 
Waratah where it is alone worthy of admiration, on the hill 
sloves, tall and stately, among the pink trunks of. the Ango- 
phoras and the grey or brown of Euealypts. We should insisr 
in season and out of season on the preservation of our wild 
flowers. The destruction is wholesale and rapid. Even in the 
five years I have spent at Lindfield J can see the results; I used 
to find slopes white with Flannel Flowers; then came the same 
slopes strewn with uprooted plants; now a rare flower here and 
there is all I find. T must walk miles to find Boronia serrulata 
and Blandifordia, though a few years ago they were both plenti- 
ful enough. I am thankful that as yet our orchids have eseap- 
-ed; perhaps it is beeanse they have no market value. It is our 
work, our duty as field naturalists, to put an end to this as seen 
as we can, or at least to check it. We have a distinct duty to 
educate the public to appreciate and protect our wild flowers. 
Does anyone here remember the Manly flats and swamps a few 
years ago? Think what they are now; remember that, if nothing 
is done, we shall have to write Ichabod on the glories of Kuring- 
gai Chase as it has heen written on those of Manly. Surely on: 
flowers are worth the effort. The thought, the fancy of gener- 
ations of poets and writers have thrown a halo round even the 
simplest English wild-flower. Tennyson writes of “the little 
speed-well’s darling blue.” Is it any more a “darling blue” than 
that of our Lobelia, of our Dampiera? The Cowslip and 
Primrose are not more golden than our Hibbertias, the Wood- 
bine and Honeysuckle cannot compare with our Hardenbergias 
and Kennedyias. Why is there not more respect for our flow- 
