3 6 LITERARY PILGRIMAGES 



fringed orchid, its dainty petal-mist rising like 

 flower steam of an August noon, a shy child of 

 woodland bogs, which often runs away out into 

 the open meadow to hear the blackbirds sing. This 

 year I have not found the larger fringed orchid, 

 the Habenaria fimbriata, which comes to the 

 meadow less often, a flower which one might 

 fancy the mother of the other, coming to lead the 

 truant home again to the seclusion of the wood- 

 land shadows. In all the fairy nooks of this valley 

 ferns spring up like vagrant, delicate fancies that 

 are real while you hold them in close contem- 

 plation, yet vanish into the green of the surround- 

 ings, as the form of a poet's thought fades when 

 you take your eye from the printed page, though 

 the thought itself lingers long in your memory. 

 In the shallow meadow that was once the tiny 

 pond stands, shoulder high to the feeding cattle, 

 a solid, serried phalanx of the tall sagittaria, its 

 heart-shaped, lanceolate, pointed leaves aiming 

 this way and that, as if to fend it with keen tips 

 from the eager browsers. These wade through 

 it indeed, but do not feed on it, plunging their heads 

 deep amoung the spear points to gather the tender 



