PART III.

MONTHLY ILLUSTRATIONS

OF

BRITISH WILD FLOWERS.

A BOTANICAL EXCURSION.

HITHERTO, Our botanical lessons may have taken our readers no further than their reading table or easy chair; but now we must beg them to change the slippers for walking shoes, and good stout ones withal, and go forth with us into the fields in search of our practical experiences. Many a pleasant ramble will they have, if their experience should be similar to the author's; and, if they are in life's spring-time, many a pleasing reminiscence for its after time will they lay up for themselves, many a green 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 the case of fellow students at a university. The University of Edinburgh 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-room 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 as 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 destination, 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 et-ceteras which were to satisfy appetites sharpened by a sixmile walk. Fearful would have been the consternation 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 breakfast table, almost see the air of bonhomie 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 threescore 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 wrist or button-hole; some only evidenced their novitiate by appearing 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 eagerness 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 cloudberry (Rubus chamamorus), 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 others, till we come to, in a small hill bog, the thread-like stems of the cranberry (Vaccinium Oxycoccus) 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 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, ere 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 provident 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 is heard. He has bought 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