FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 59 



XI. 



EIJKEKA ! Shall I say it ? Nothing less 

 would seem appropriate after the mile upon 

 mile that I have rambled and scrambled and 

 tangled this afternoon in search of the trail 

 ing arbutus. I have been in the most proba 

 ble places, and I think that I may frankly 

 say in the most uncomfortable. The climax 

 was capped when I found myself upon a 

 hillside in the midst of a wood of shrubs 

 and saplings, over which fire had evidently 

 passed within a few years, so weakening 

 the young trees that they had subsequently 

 fallen under the stress of storms, and lay 

 crossed in all directions, with frequent briars 

 among them, as always happens after a fire 

 in the wood. Once caught in such a tangle, 

 progress seems almost hopeless, and no in 

 ducement is offered to return. In that di 

 rection you know it is bad ; there is always 

 something to be hoped for in the unknown. 

 And so I struggled onward, tripping and 

 slipping, the twigs springing back and strik 

 ing my glasses, the thorns clinging to me 



