THE WILD GARDEN. 163 
you proceed, half dazed in the witching fragrance, which hangs 
like incense in the evening mist—an aromatic perfume giving 
no hint of any other flower, unless, perhaps, the witch-hazel. It 
is an event to date from, this first victory over Calypso, Arethu- 
sa, or even the purple-fringed orchid, just described—not that 
the latter is so great a rarity as the others; but, then, it is an 
ORCHID. 
Indeed, what is that occult attribute of an orchid which should 
so differentiate it in our fancy from all the floral tribe? Long be- 
fore I had heard of Darwin, except as a name, I had been brought 
beneath their spell. 
What wild-flower hunter can ever forget his first glimpse of 
the white cypripedium sunning its snowy cup far out in the cin- 
namon ferns or brakes, or its yellow counterpart in the dark 
woods, or the common moccasin-flower of the hemlocks, or the 
rattlesnake plantain, which divulged its orchidaceous spirit to me 
long before I knew its name, and whose unique reticulated leaf 
has always haunted my fancy as a futile reminder of something 
which will not be recalled —a relic of the old Adam within me, 
perhaps? 
Calypso and Arethusa are often found in questionably queer 
company; indeed, to the lovers of the eccentric our flora affords 
quite a variety show. The botanical enthusiast who has never 
found the side-saddle-flower or pitcher-plant has a sensation in 
store for him. I recall one such notable swamp; it nestles in a 
huge bowl on the side of Black Mountain, Lake George, a quak- 
ing sphagnum bog closing in around a tiny lake. I make no 
hesitation in placarding the haunt, not only because its inaccessi- 
bility protects it, but because its army is more than a match for 
the whole tribe of vandals. 
I had heard for some time as a sort of tradition of a certain 
impassable bog nestling somewhere towards the summit of the 
mountain, where brimming pitchers were offered to all guests, and 
one day, like Rip Van Winkle, I determined to sample the good 
cheer. With what meagre directions I could obtain I mounted 
my mustang and set out. For the first mile the path was clear, 
