To Mr. Norton's Daughter, Sara.

Sept. 1, 1875.

On going yesterday to Shady Hill to call on your father, I was most agreeably introduced to the interesting little animal-plants which you so kindly and thoughtfully sent me. Last evening I read about them in Mr. Darwin’s book; and this morning, after they reached my room, I gave a dead fly to one of them, and while writing other letters I have been watching the sun-dew close upon it. Only a few hair-like arms have yet laid hold on the fly, though the rest are slowly heading towards it. The sun-dews are not so lively as animals which have minds, but seem, according to Mr. Darwin’s account, to be almost as sensitive and intelligent, though they don’t appear to know it. I suppose that it takes so long for them to act that they have at the time no energy to think. They seem so well provided with intelligence for their wants, that they do not need any minds to gather more for them.

Instead of catching a new fact every day to remember and think about, a fresh fly once a week to digest is all they get or want from the world they live in, besides water, air, and a little earth, — and sunlight and warmth. Not many wants! Don’t you wish you were a Drosera rotundifolia, — such a fine name to have, too, — to which a fly is as welcome as a letter, or more so? They only feel, probably, if they feel at all, just as you do when you get nearly or quite asleep, and

a fly lights on your nose; only with your arms you would brush it away, instead of folding it in them so fondly as the Drosera seems to do. The Drosera seems to love flies; but really does not care for their minds, and has not any sympathy or pity for them, I think, — not having any mind of its own.

When I was in Northampton lately, I found some dried pressed plants which I had preserved when a boy, and among them was a pitcher-plant, a sort which also catches flies and drowns them with other insects, and is thought to live on them, though it does not digest them like the Drosera and the Dionaea. There ought to be some pitcher-plants in Ashfield, in the swampy places; for I remember finding some in a swamp among the hills, not far from Ashfield, many years ago; they are also called side-saddle flowers and huntsman’s caps. Their botanical name is Sarracenia purpurea.

It will not be long before we shall meet again in Cambridge, and then we will talk more about your nice present, for which I thank you very much.