ALONG THE HILLSBOROUGH. 83 



to Massachusetts, and then almost by acci- 

 dent, that I learned what they were. They, 

 it turned out, were ferns ( Vittaria lineata 

 grass fern), and my discomfiture was 

 complete. 



This comparative dearth of birds and flow- 

 ers was not in all respects a disadvantage. 

 On the contrary, to a naturalist blessed now 

 and then with a supernaturalistic mood, it 

 made the place, on occasion, a welcome re- 

 treat. Thus, one afternoon, as I remember, 

 I had been reading Keats, the only book I 

 had brought with me, not counting man- 

 uals, of course, which come under another 

 head, and by and by started once more 

 for the pine lands by the way of the cotton- 

 shed hammock, " to see what I could see." 

 But poetry had spoiled me just then for 

 anything like scientific research, and as I 

 waded through the ankle-deep sand I said 

 to myself all at once, " No, no ! What do 

 I care for another new bird? I want to 

 see the beauty of the world." With that I 

 faced about, and, taking a side track, made 

 as directly as possible for the river road. 

 There I should have a mind at ease, with no 

 unfamiliar, tantalizing bird note to set my 



