A Rocky Ramble. i6i 



landscape. How vividly I recall one long, bare 

 ledge of pale-gray rock, capping the precipitous 

 wall of a deep ravine ! As at first seen, it was 

 mere Titanic masonry, but soon I caught a glimpse 

 of one trembling fern fluttering in the fitful breeze. 

 The rocks were changed; they were no longer 

 grand by reason of their desolation, but glorious 

 because of the little fern that clung to them. A 

 fig for the name of the species ! That it grew at 

 such a dizzy height and brightened the grim gray 

 wall was fact enough for the rambler. It is some- 

 times well not to be a botanist. Whether ignoble 

 or not, I always yield to the temptations of aim- 

 lessness. 



And now let us to the mountain : the hill is not 

 high, but the path is very rough. Whether man 

 was or was not once a creeping animal, it is well 

 that at times he can go upon all-fours ; otherwise 

 many a chance to see goodly sights would be lost 

 to him. It was so to-day. Loose rocks could 

 not have been better arranged to prevent our 

 progress, — there were three of us, — and so our 

 satisfaction was increased as we gained, from time 

 to time, a promising outlook. But there were 

 I 14* 



