124 SIGNS AND SEASONS 



and most striking mountain to be seen was Mount 

 Bigelow, rising above Dead River, far to the west, 

 and its two sharp peaks notching the horizon like 

 enormous saw-teeth. We walked around and viewed 

 curiously a huge bowlder on the top of the moun- 

 tain that had been split in two vertically, and one 

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

 looked recent and familiar, but suggested gods in- 

 stead of men. The force that moved the rock had 

 plainly come from the north. I thought of a simi- 

 lar bowlder I had seen not long before on the high- 

 est point of the Shawangunk 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 in- 

 stance, 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, 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 



