THE HEART OF THE MOUNTAIN. 
21 
anything resembling a fly which I tossed upon 
the surface of the foam. 
As I neared the heart of the mountain I saw, 
towering above twin cascades which fell into a 
single pool at its feet, the rough likeness of a 
sphinx. It was a huge boulder, dividing the 
torrent by its lichen-covered mass, and lifting 
its frost-hewn face towards the narrow strip of 
sky left between the trees overarching the ravine. 
Close above the sphinx a spring in the eastern 
bank filled a hollow in the hill with cold, fern¬ 
decked mud. A flower I never should have 
sought in this lofty nook had taken possession 
of the spot and raised hundreds of its white 
spikes towards the sky. It was a white orchis, 
Habenaria dilatata. In a space six feet by 
ten, I counted seventy-five of its plants, each in 
full bloom. On the edges of this miniature 
swamp the leaves of the mayflower mingled with 
those of the linnsea. The blossoms of the may- 
flowers were dry and brown; those of the lin¬ 
nsea, with one fragrant exception, had fallen. 
Close by, the open-eyed flowers of the oxalis 
smiled from their beds of clover-shaped leaves. 
A few rods farther up the stream, the land 
grew steeper and the walls of the ravine drew 
more closely together. Taller trees presided 
over the torrent, and the water struggled down¬ 
ward between larger boulders. A stream, turn- 
