7. For instance, Plate VII. represents, of its real size, an ordinary spring flower in our English mountain fields. It is an average example,--not one of rare size under rare {180} conditions,--rather smaller than the average, indeed, that I might get it well into my plate. It is one of the flowers whose names I think good to change; but I look carefully through the existing titles belonging to it and its fellows, that I may keep all I expediently can. I find, in the first place, that Linnaeus called one group of its relations, Ophryds, from Ophrys,--Greek for the eyebrow,--on account of their resemblance to the brow of an animal frowning, or to the overshadowing casque of a helmet. I perceive this to be really a very general aspect of the flower; and therefore, no less than in respect to Linnaeus, I adopt this for the total name of the order, and call them 'Ophrydae,' or, shortly, 'Ophryds.' 8. Secondly: so far as I know these flowers myself, I perceive them to fall practically into three divisions,--one, growing in English meadows and Alpine pastures, and always adding to their beauty; another, growing in all sorts of places, very ugly itself, and adding to the ugliness of its indiscriminated haunts; and a third, growing mostly up in the air, with as little root as possible, and of gracefully fantastic forms, such as this kind of nativity and habitation might presuppose. For the present, I am satisfied to give names to these three groups only. There may be plenty of others which I do not know, and which other people may name, according to their knowledge. But in all these three kinds known to me, I perceive one constant characteristic to be _some_ manner of _distortion_ and I desire that fact,--marking a {181} spiritual (in my sense of the word) character of extreme mystery,--to be the first enforced on the mind of the young learner. It is exhibited to the English child, primarily, in the form of the stalk of each flower, attaching it to the central virga. This stalk is always twisted once and a half round, as if somebody had been trying to wring the blossom off; and the name of the family, in Proserpina, will therefore be 'Contorta'[49] in Latin, and 'Wreathe-wort' in English. Farther: the beautiful power of the one I have drawn in its spring life, is in the opposition of its dark purple to the primrose in England, and the pale yellow anemone in the Alps. And its individual name will be, therefore, 'Contorta purpurea'--_Purple_ Wreathe-wort. And in drawing it, I take care to dwell on this strength of its color, and to show thoroughly that it is a _dark_ blossom,[50] before I trouble myself about its minor characters.