e bench or mesa the land falls away,
often by a fault, to the river hollows, and along the drop one looks for
springs or intermittent swampy swales. Here the plant world resembles a
little the lake gardens, modified by altitude and the use the town folk
put it to for pasture. Here are cress, blue violets, potentilla, and, in
the damp of the willow fence-rows, white false asphodels. I am sure we
make too free use of this word FALSE in naming plants--false mallow,
false lupine, and the like. The asphodel is at least no falsifier, but
a true lily by all the heaven-set marks, though small of flower and
run mostly to leaves, and should have a name that gives it credit for
growing up in such celestial semblance. Native to the mesa meadows is a
pale iris, gardens of it acres wide, that in the spring season of full
bloom make an airy fluttering as of azure wings. Single flowers are
too thin and sketchy of outline to affect the imagination, but the full
fields have the misty blue of mirage waters rolled across desert sand,
and quicken the senses to the anticipation of things ethereal. A very
poet's flower, I thought; not fit for gathering up, and proving a
nuisance in the pastures, therefore needing to be the more loved. And
one day I caught Winnenap' drawing out from mid leaf a fine strong fibre
for making snares. The borders of the iris fields are pure gold, nearly
sessile buttercups and a creeping-stemmed composite of a redder hue. I
am convinced that English-speaking children will always have buttercups.
If they do not light upon the original companion of little frogs
they will take the next best and cherish it accordingly. I find
five unrelated species loved by that name, and as many more and as
inappropriately called cowslips.

By every mesa spring one may expect to find a single shrub of the
buckthorn, called of old time Cascara sagrada--the sacred bark. Up
in the canons, within the limit of the rains, it seeks rather a stony
slope, but in the dry valleys is not found away from water borders.

In all the valleys and along the desert edges of the west are
considerable areas of soil sickly with alkali-collecting pools, black
and evil-smelling like old blood. Very little grows hereabout but
thick-leaved pickle weed. Curiously enough, in this stiff mud, along
roadways where there is frequently a little leakage from canals, grows
the only western representative of the true heliotropes (Heliotropium
curassavicum). It has flowe