THE WILD GARDEN 



shrinks from the sunlight; pushing away dead 

 leaves, we find plantations of the lovely trail- 

 ing arbutus, which is fast becoming extinct 

 as a wild flower, because of the reckless man- 

 ner in which it is gathered, whole plants being 

 too often torn up by the roots. In these 

 woods, too, lives the maidenhair fern, loved 

 by all who know it; and in brighter spots, 

 growing about the foot of some great rock, 

 is the bluebell, Campanula rotundifolia, which 

 grows alike in sunshine and in shadow, in 

 rich, mouldy soil or barren sandy hilltop. 



A most beautiful path takes us through a 

 gap in the tallest ledge of rocks, down a hill- 

 side where many cedars grow along the path, 

 with just enough of intention to emphasize 

 the alignment. Here, in blustering weather, 

 no winds can penetrate, and in summer heats 

 cool quiet dwells. In this fragrant, dense 

 seclusion, one would fain sit and read or 

 dream for hours. At the curve of this path 

 we see the Gray Glen, with the tall gray 

 trunks of swamp ash, elm, oak, tulip and 



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