36 East and West 
of a cathedral is the haunt of clintonia, gold- 
thread, and bunchberry, while the mitchella, 
creeping humbly over the rich humus, is dis- 
covered none the less by the wandering bum- 
blebee. In little bogs scattered through the 
hemlocks and filled with sphagnum the rose 
pogonia conceals itself, a rare and beautiful 
spirit imprisoned in the mud of the swamp. 
Even to a somewhat matter-of-fact mood, 
such as is habitual with most of us in our 
uninspired lives, a hemlock wood has a certain 
remoteness from the busy world. It has an 
atmosphere of its own; is peopled by a shy and 
less assertive race who attend to their own 
affairs and do not intrude upon our privacy. In 
the tree tops I hear the woodsy speech of 
blackthroated and green warblers and the 
little trumpet of the redbreasted nuthatch, 
eminently self-contained and peaceful voices 
which have no suggestion of human mo- 
tives. Here are diminutive beings living 
their lives quite as if mankind did not 
exist. They show none of the vexations of 
the civilised life and their conversation is 
peculiarly refreshing. It is agreeable to en- 
counter a race who live from so different a 
standpoint from ours and who appear so con- 
tented withal. Other pleasant little beings— 
