THE AMERICAN BOTANIST 137 



spring, the valley of the Nashua widens into a swamp and 

 there great quantities of cranberries were growing. They 

 were large and ripe and prime and it seemed a pity that they 

 should lie there ungathered. Scattered among them were 

 many clumps of the carnivorous pitcher plants, their curious 

 pitchers filled with water and containing the remains of 

 numerous luckless insects trapped by these wonderful devices. 

 Two muskrat houses rose from a tiny pond in the swamp. 

 All about through the marsh nodded the snowy plumes of the 

 cotton grass. 



To add ot the enjoyment of the afternoon, the migratory 

 birds were all about, mostly silent except the crows and jays. 

 The myrtle warblers were especially numerous, but most 

 abundant of all were the juncos. They were everywhere their 

 white tail beacons flashing out as they flew from place to place. 

 There were white-throated sparrows also, slipping silently 

 through on the migration, as well as blue birds, chickadees 

 and song sparrows. Occasionally a ruffed grouse would burst 

 upward on thunderous wings and go hurtling through the 

 woods. 



The afternoon was one of rare enjoyment and when home 

 was reached, after a circle of perhaps, five miles, and the 

 tramper sat before the open fire, living over again the events 

 of the day, there descended upon him a feeling of supreme 

 peace and content. Old Mother Nature had laid her hand in 

 kindly benediction upon his head. 



