. Oiseaux et nature . l'hosh, ou racine de serpent noir, pousse dans des bois riches de CanadanEarly au golfe du Mexique. C'est une plante aconiqueuse, avec sa longue tige, qui pousse parfois à une hauteur de huit pieds, et ses grandes feuilles composées, ainsi que son long racéme de petites fleurs blanches nu-merous. Ce racemedurant le mûrissement du fruit souvent ac-quires une longueur de deux à trois pieds. Cette plante est parfois appelée Bug-bane. Le nom Cimicifuga est de llatin cimex, un bug, et fugo, à partir de la route. Le nom technique et le nom Bugbane font allusion à l'offensiveodor des fleurs,

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. Birds and nature . hosh, or Black Snake-root, grows in rich woods from Canadanearly to the Gulf of Mexico. It is aconspicuous plant, with its long stem, which sometimes grows to a height ofeight feet, and its large compound leaves, as well as with its long raceme of nu-merous small white flowers. This racemeduring the ripening of the fruit often ac-quires a length of two to three feet. This plant is sometimes called Bug-bane. The name Cimicifuga is from theLatin words cimex, a bug, and fugo, to drive away. Both the technical name andthe name Bugbane allude to the offensiveodor of the flowers, which was supposedto drive away insects. In fact, the BlackCohosh is held in high repute by someIndians as a cure for the bite of poison-ous snakes, as well as a powerful aid indriving away insects. Were it not forthe strong, disagreeable odor of the flow-ers, which are only frequented by thoseflies which enjoy the odor of carrion, withits **tall white rockets shooting upwardfrom a mass of large, handsome leaves, 182. it would be a striking ornament for theflower garden. Someone has said that the Black Co-hosh may truly be classed among thoseobjects which, from the standpoint of frail humanity, distance lends enchant-ment. Though this be true, may we notsay with Wordsworth, To me the meanest flower that blows can giveThoughts that do often lie too deep for tears. THE VEERIE. Darkness descends in shadowy foldsOver the distant hills; the breezeShivers and stirs in the leafy trees, And a single star beholds. The brook murmurs low in the tangled copse, The jewel-weed stands with its feet in the stream, B}/ my lantern light the dew-drops gleamOn the leaves like diamond drops. And lo! like the shuddering wind-stirred leaves, Like the trembling weed where the waters glide, A voice from the depths where the wood-birds hideIts thrilling melody weaves. What shakes the harp-strings in thy throat?Is it joy or woe? Is it love or fear?The mystery of the woods I hearIn the passion of your note. Do

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