Tall palmettos, wide-spreading oaks, orchids, trailing vines and festooning mosses sweeping the greener mosses beneath, ferns, lilies!—but, ’twould fill a volume to enumerate the many beauties which meet the eye at even a single glance, each plant and flower in itself being worthy of a chapter. There is one plant which especially attracts our attention and admiration; and this plant is one of the prettiest and most useful of the greeneries used for decorations in the far north in winter. It is called, variously, “Comptie,” “Coontie,” “Starch-root,” or “Indian-bread.” The two latter names are due to its large, bulbous root, which, when grated, makes a good starch, and which was also made, by the primitive Indians, into ash-cake, or bread—as Indians knew bread. It is fern-like; but, unlike most ferns, it is of a sturdy, independent growth, bearing handling as well as cedar, yet with all the graceful pliancy of the more tender ferns. Its stems grow two or three feet long; the fronds on each side of the stem being three or four inches in length, and of a glossy dark green color. From one to two dozen such stems put out from a single stalk, growing up into the most graceful curves. Seeds, deep crimson in color, and of the size of a chestnut, form in the center of the plant, and so compactly as to present one continuous bulbous form, the size and shape of a round quart bottle with part of its neck broken off. This crimson seed-form, surrounded by the dark green foliage, is, of itself, a pretty curiosity, more novel than a flower. The reason why it is especially valued for decorations is, because it can be had at all seasons of the year, and retains its verdure for several weeks, even after it has been shipped long distances. Many of these plants, cut close to the ground, have been shipped from Florida to Canada, and have retained their fresh, glossy appearance for two months. Even without placing the stems in water, using them for motto work, they will last two or three weeks. And this is but one of Florida’s novelties in plant life. Mary Stratner. THE RIVER PATH. There’s a path beside the river, Winding through the willow copse Where I love to walk in autumn Ere the season’s curtain drops. On far hillsides beech and maple, Touched by early nipping frost, Have their brown and crimson jackets To the boisterous breezes tossed. Still the willow leaves are clinging, Latest foliage of fall, Shading yet my river pathway Underneath the osiers tall. On the wimpling water’s surface Drift a million truant leaves, Stolen from the woodland reaches By the wind, the prince of thieves. All along the river edges Verdure’s turned to brown and gray, Rustling through the dying sedges Autumn’s low voiced breezes play.