f Professor Agassiz's new museum, the arethusa and the gentian, the cardinal-flower and the gaudy rhexia,—we who remember the last secret hiding-place of the rhodora in West Cambridge, of the yellow violet and the Viola debilis in Watertown, of the Convallaria trifolia near Fresh Pond, of the Hottonia beyond Wellington's Hill, of the Cornus florida in West Roxbury, of the Clintonia and the dwarf ginseng in Brookline,—we who have found in its one chosen nook the sacred Andromeda polifolia of Linnaeus.
Now vanished almost or wholly from city suburbs, these fragile creatures still linger in more rural parts of Massachusetts; but they are doomed everywhere, unconsciously, yet irresistibly; while others still more shy, as the Linnaea, the yellow Cypripedium, the early pink Azalea, and the delicate white Corydalis or Dutchman's breeches, are being chased into the very recesses of the Green and White Mountains.
The relics of the Indian tribes are supported by the Legislature at Martha's Vin
ur queen keeps her chosen court, nor can one of these mere land-loving blossoms touch the hem of her garment.
In truth, she bears no sister near her throne.
There is but this one species among us, Nymphoea odorata, the beautiful little rose-colored Nympoea sanguinea, which still adorns the Botanic Gardens, being merely an occasional variety.
She has, indeed, an English half-sister, Nymphoea alba, less beautiful, less fragrant, but keeping more fashionable hours,–not opening (according to Linnaeus) till seven, nor closing till four.
And she has a humble cousin, the yellow Nuphar, who keeps commonly aloof, as becomes a poor relation, though created from the self-same mud,— a fact which Hawthorne has beautifully moralized.
The prouder Nelumbium, a second-cousin, lineal descendant of the sacred bean of Pythagoras, has fallen to an obscurer position, but dwells, like a sturdy democrat, in the Far West.
Yet, undisturbed, the water-lily reigns on, with her retinue around her. The tall