4 EIVERBY 



shielding it. In Plymouth County, Massachusetts, 

 where the arethusa seems common, I have heard 

 it called Indian pink. 



But I was going to recount my new finds. One 

 sprang up in the footsteps of that destroying angel. 

 Dynamite. A new railroad cut across my tramping- 

 ground, with its hordes of Italian laborers and its 

 mountains of giant-powder, etc. , was enough to banish 

 all the gentler deities forever from the place. But 

 it did not. 



Scarcely had the earthquake passed when, walk- 

 ing at the base of a rocky cliff that had been partly 

 blown away in the search for stone for two huge 

 abutments that stood near by, I beheld the debris at 

 the base of the cliff draped and festooned by one 

 of our most beautiful foliage plants, and one I had 

 long been on the lookout for, namely, the climbing 

 fumitory. It was growing everywhere in the great- 

 est profusion, affording, by its tenderness, delicacy, 

 and grace, the most striking contrast to the destruc- 

 tion the black giant had wrought. The power that 

 had smote the rock seemed to have called it into 

 being. Probably the seeds had lain dormant in 

 cracks and crevices for years, and when the catas- 

 trophe came, and they found themselves in new soil 

 amid the wreck of the old order of things, they 

 sprang into new life, and grew as if the world had 

 been created anew for them, as in a sense it had. 

 Certainly, they grew most luxuriantly, and never 

 was the ruin wrought by powder veiled by more 



