104 FIVE DAYS ON MOUNT MANSFIELD. 
grows in a pretty tuft, and throws out its 
blossoms in a graceful, loose cluster. The 
eye is caught by the cluster, and yet each 
flower shows by itself, and its own proper 
loveliness is in no way sacrificed to the 
general effect. How wise, too, is the sand- 
wort in its choice of a dwelling-place! In 
the valley it would be lost amid the crowd. 
On the bare, brown mountain-top its scat- 
tered tufts of green and white appeal to all 
comers. 
To what extent, if at all, the sandwort de- 
pends upon the service of insects for its fer- 
tilization, I do not know, but it certainly has 
no searcity of such visitors. ‘Bees will 
soar for bloom high as the highest peak of 
Mansfield;’’ so runs an entry in my note- 
book, with -a pardonable adaptation of 
Wordsworth’s line; and I was glad to no- 
tice that even the splendid black-and-yellow 
butterfly (Zurnus), which was often to be 
seen sucking honey from the fragrant or- 
chids, did not disdain to sip also from the 
sandwort’s cup. This large and elegant but- 
terfly — our largest —is thoroughly at home 
on our New England mountains, sailing over 
the very loftiest peaks, and making its way 
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