1915] The Ottawa Naturalist. 107 



for this would have brought me past at least two of my favorite 

 haunts in Fernland: a roadside colony of the Hay-scented Fern, 

 and a series of grassy slopes and low knolls in a willow swamp, 

 on which in the short turf are scores of enormous plants of 

 Boirychium ramosum (Matricary Grape-fern). But it was not 

 to be, and this, one of the earliest of my all-day fern-hunts, 

 proved curiously typical of the whole season : a promise of sun- 

 shine that ended in rain. 



In the first week of July I had to report for duty in Toronto, 

 and mark matriculation papers in the arid waste of a Varsity 

 lecture room, while ever and anon the wizard's wand of imagina- 

 tion transformed the bare space into a leafy grove with ferns 

 and orchids unfurling their crosiers and gay bannerets about 

 my desk. On July 2 5th, a drudge no more, I hurried down to 

 the Yonge Street wharf, and got the fresh lake breeze from the 

 upper deck of a Niagara boat to blow the dust and grime of city 

 haunts away, clear my head of cobwebs, and sweeten my heart 

 for the reception once more of the fair works of nature. 



From headquarters at Queenston village next day, before 

 5 a.m., I went up to the Heights on foot, and then along the 

 electric railway track towards Niagara Glen. This meant 16 

 hours — an all-day revel — among woods and thickets near the 

 stupendous gorge, or down in the moist, shady glen, within 

 sight and sound of the rushing cataract. It was a glorious day, 

 and on the New Jersey Tea blossoms by my path I found, among 

 scores of insect visitors, several strange beetles of the Leptura 

 and S'ringHii genera, besides many little chrysomelians busy 

 at their various food plants. The Glen itself is famous for its 

 flora, and I wandered for hours among the giant growth of 

 Goldie's Shield-fern and Narrow-leaved Spleenwort, past huge 

 boulders wreathed with Walking-leaf and crowned with Poly- 

 pody, or under cliffs studded with the Purple Cliff-brake and 

 Black Spleenwort. Soon after twelve o'clock I left the last 

 fountain and followed the footpath upstream as far as it went ; 

 then I made my way on over loose stones and tangled under- 

 growth to a grove of hemlock and cedar, where I sat down in 

 silent communion with my favorite denizen of this silvan re- 

 treat: a tiny colony of the Ebony Spleenwort. This beautiful 

 fern is far from common, the only other colony of my acquaint- 

 ance being on the north shore of the Upper Rideau, nearly op- 

 posite Sand Island. 



It was far on in the afternoon when at last I climbed reluct- 

 antly out of this fern paradise by the steep flight of wooden 

 stairs. Having absorbed all the beauties of the wayside on my 

 morning's tramp, I had myself flashed back to Brock's Monu- 



