112 



THE FERN BULLETIN 



Nearly twenty years went by before this fern was 

 again seen growing by a white man. Then a govern- 

 ment botanist searching for new plants in the unex- 

 plored virgin forest beyond New Haven Gap found 

 it, but under somewhat trying circumstances, for he 

 lost his way, (a somewhat disquieting thing to do in 

 a region where the unbroken forest stretches away for 

 miles in every direction and over the most irregular 

 country) and after wandering about until dark, finally, 

 almost exhausted, came out upon the trail, a long dis- 

 tance from home. He was then, so far as known, the 

 only living white man who had set eyes on the plant in 

 its native haunts and it was with unusual pleasure that 

 the writer acepted his offer to guide him to the locality 

 for a peep at it. 



Although not so very far away from our head- 

 quarters, in a straight line, the trip, which for lack of 

 trails had to be made on foot and by a circuitous route, 

 occupied us from sunrise until nearly dark. Our com- 

 pany made a rather imposing appearance at starting. 

 Surrounding the two white men who were the nu- 

 cleus of the expedition were negroes with hampers of 

 provisions, negroes with collecting cases and still 

 others armed with heavy machetes for clearing a path 

 through the forest. 



As we wound slowly up the short trail leading to 

 New Haven Gap, one of the finest mountain prospects 

 to be found anywhere on the globe burst upon our 

 sight. To our right rose the great bulk of Blue 

 Mountain peak, nearly 7500 feet high while lying be- 

 tween and separating us from it, lay a gulf nearly a 

 mile deep. The distance across the gulf was so short 

 that the tree ferns on its further bank could be distin- 

 guished easily with a glass, and it was difficult to re- 



