IN THE PONKAPOAG BOGS 



Then indeed the bog steps forward with 

 vigor, for the pickerel weed is its firing 

 line. All summer you shall see its blue 

 banners flaunting gayly in the southern 

 breezes, tempting the land-loving bumble- 

 bee to sea, calling the honey-bee from 

 the mile-distant hive, and offering rest 

 and luncheon to a myriad lesser insects, 

 all with genial hospitality. Its serried 

 millions in close ranks breast the waves 

 in a broad blue line from one end of the 

 bog to the other, a half-mile or so. 



Behind these are shallow pools, where 

 again you find the white water-lilies. 

 Here they bloom in enormous profusion 

 from late June until early September, 

 reaching their grand climax during late 

 July. On such a day, standing in the 

 boat at the southerly end of the bog, 

 counting those within a given space and 

 multiplying, I estimated that there were 



