126 MY SUMMER IN A GARDEN. 



that, if we turn our attention to " pusley," 

 we can beat the world. 



I had no idea, until recently, how gener- 

 ally this simple and thrifty plant is feared 

 and hated. Far beyond what I had regarded 

 as the bounds of civilization, it is held as 

 one of the mysteries of a fallen world ; ac- 

 companying the home missionary on his wan- 

 derings, and preceding the footsteps of the 

 Tract Society. I was not long ago in the 

 Adirondacks. We had built a camp for the 

 night, in the heart of the woods, high up on 

 John's Brook and near the foot of Mount 

 Marcy. I can see the lovely spot now. It 

 was on the bank of the crystal, rocky stream, 

 at the foot of high and slender falls, which 

 poured into a broad amber basin. Out of 

 this basin we had just taken trout enough 

 for our supper, which had been killed and 

 roasted over the fire on sharp sticks, and 

 eaten before they had an opportunity to feel 

 the chill of this deceitful world. We were 

 lying under the hut of spruce-bark, on fra- 

 grant hemlock-boughs, talking, after supper. 



