The growing, living odour of matted Sphagnum moss 
makes even the sultry moisture of the entangled 
swamp an irresistible attraction* That perpetually 
damp and spongy moss growing up in tinted, spread- 
ing domes and hollows, while dying at the roots, 
slowly converting ancient ponds into peat bogs and 
nourishing a heterogeneous gathering of seedlings 
into elbowing, struggling trees, seems a perpetual 
fountain of vegetable life. The charm of renewal 
that makes the call of spring irresistible where the 
early flowers look up for recognition seems to last 
throughout the growing year where this yielding 
moss continues its endless transformation of death 
into life. The seedlings nursed by its moisture and 
fed by its continuous fertilising growth interlace 
their roots below the changing surface, and mingle 
their aggressive branches in the struggle upward 
toward the excluded light. The bristling Tamarac 
is a favourite, and seems to delight in obstructing 
and closing every possible avenue. The conical 
ioi 
