Gregor IVocKs 193 



precipice in Pownall, hundreds of feet high, and, if the 

 tale be true, being buoyed up by her clothes, came 

 safely to the bottom." ' She told me the name of the 

 girl who had made the leap. She was a half-witted 

 creature who, descending the cliffs at twilight with a 

 package of wool rolls, thought to save time by throwing 

 her burden ahead of her and leaping from the rocks. 

 Her homespun garments caught and held her in the 

 cedars below, until the villagers heard her screams and 

 rescued her. The rocks are called ' * Weeping Rocks ' ' 

 —for what reason it is not quite clear, unless through 

 some exaggeration of this story. 



I collected some perfect ferns, and told my companion 

 their names. She glowed with interest, and told me 

 she had never been to these cliffs since she was a child, 

 until now. She said if she had her life to live again, 

 she would have devoted more time to exploring these 

 rugged hills and vales. Soon our baskets were filled, 

 and with a warm handclasp we parted. 



I proceeded up Wash-Tub Brook, and secured some 

 fresh plants of the Walking Fern in Hemlock Glen; 

 then I returned to my horse. I was laden with rare 

 treasures from the roadsides before I reached Mount 

 CEta, late in the afternoon. 



Many of the present names of ferns, lichens, and 

 mosses originated with the ancients. Dioscorides 

 knew and designated two kinds of fern. They were 

 thought to put forth no seed in those days, since they 

 produced no flowers — except as Dodoens in 1578 wrote: 



' Hawthorne's American Notes. 

 13 



