36 SUMMER IN A BOG. 



perfect and regular, but new to me; and yet, 

 from botanical mention, I was not unprepared 

 to find it. 



Between joy over its discovery, and as- 

 tonisihmenit at its cbiaracteristics, a variety of 

 feelings awakened. Not a vestige of green 

 throughout ! Cold, pallid, like the dead ! What 

 unc!anny thing of the dark earth is this? 



How uniform is the track in which human 

 thought runs : for I found, in tracing the Indian 

 Pipe in the botany, that "corpse-flower," "ice- 

 flower," "ghost-flower," are its common names. 

 Although termed a saprophyte or humus flower, 

 I found its roots imbedded in a nucleus of what 

 appeared to be grains of sand. Nor did it be- 

 come soft in decay, but held its solidity to the 

 last. But from white it turned black through- 

 out. A few days afterward I looked further 

 in the same locality, and found several more 

 clusters which had grown to maturity, the 

 scapes standing out of the ground to a height 

 of three or four inches. In this variety of the 

 Indian pipe but one flower terminates a scape. 



The specimens which attract attention are 

 not always confined to the vegetable kingdom. 

 There is an interesting old party who frequents 

 the most sequestered woods in search of gin- 

 seng, the roots of which he sells profitably to 



