WILD PASTURES 



sniffs of the wax of altar candles 

 lighted at high mass in fairy land, 

 and over by the brook the sweet-gale 

 gives a finer fragrance even than these. 

 There are but three members of this 

 family, the Myrica or Sweet-Gale fam- 

 ily, yet it is one that the pasture 

 could least afford to miss. The fra- 

 grance of their spirits descends like a 

 benediction on all about them, and I 

 have a fancy that it is steadily influenc- 

 ing the lives of the other pasture folk. 

 I know that the low-bush black huckle- 

 berry, the kind of the sweet, glossy 

 black fruit that crisps under your teeth 

 because of the seeds in it, grows right 

 amongst sweet-fern whenever it can. 

 Now if you crush the leaves of the low- 

 bush black huckleberry you shall get 

 from them a faint ghost of resinous 

 aroma which is very like that of the 

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