136 A TASTE OF MAINE BIRCH. 



one of the halves moved a few feet out of its bed. It 

 looked recent and familiar, but suggested gods instead 

 of men. The force that moved the rock had plainly 

 come from the north. I thought of a similar bowlder 

 I had seen not long before on the highest point of the 

 Shaungunk Mountains, in New York, one side of 

 which is propped up with a large stone, as wall- 

 builders prop up a rock to wrap a chain around it. 

 The rock seems poised lightly, and has but a few 

 points of bearing. In this instance, too, the power 

 had come from the north. 



The prettiest botanical specimen my trip yielded 

 was a little plant that bears the ugly name of horned 

 bladderwort (Utricularia cornuta), and which I 

 found growing in marshy places along the shores of 

 Moxie Lake. It has a slender, naked stem nearly a 

 foot high, crowned by two or more large deep yellow 

 flowers, flowers the shape of little bonnets or hoods. 

 One almost expected to see tiny faces looking out of 

 them. This illusion is heightened by the horn or spur 

 of the flower, which projects from the hood like a long 

 tapering chin, some masker's device. Then the 

 cape behind, what a smart upward curve it has, 

 as if spurned by the fairy shoulders it was meant 

 to cover ! But perhaps the most notable thing 

 about the flower was its fragrance, the richest and 

 strongest perfume I have ever found in a wild flower. 

 This our botanist, Gray, does not mention, as if one 

 should describe the lark and forget its song. The fra- 

 grance suggested that of white clover, but was more 

 rank and spicy. 



