FERNS. 
Ix the cool, dewy dusk of shadowy thickets. 
Their plumey lengths unfold. 
Below them, in the thick ranks of the sedges 
The Cowslips shine like gold. 
Nature has given them no vivid color, 
No sweetness of perfume, 
Yet they in their unfolding are as lovely 
As flowers in full bloom. 
And though denied the crowning joy of blossoms, 
Still in their simple grace. 
Sufficient in itself to fill with beauty 
A solitary place. 
— Selected. 
IN THE ADIRONDACKS. 
m. 
Why We Wext Home. 
“ Good morning, Old Beauty, you had a rough time 
last night, didn't you ?” was Aristarchus’ greeting, as I 
opened my eyes in the morning after an hour or two of 
restless slumber. 
“ Ye shades of my fathers ! Is that Cordelia ?” ejacu¬ 
lated Furguson, as I made my appearance at the camp 
fire. And I heard Dickson saying in an undertone, “ No 
wonder the woman yelled!” and the other guide 
answered, “ Isn’t she a beauty, though !” 
As I had never before been mistaken for a beauty, I 
naturally felt a little surprised at the attention I was 
evidently attracting, but Aristarchus soon enlightened 
me by explaining that my face was covered with mos¬ 
quito bites, that my eyelids were swollen with them, 
that my upper lip protruded on account of them, that 
my nose presented a twisted appearance by reason of 
them, and that my chin was disfigured by them. I 
rejoiced that I had left my hand-mirror at Bartlett’s. 
The camp presented a cheerful appearance in the 
morning sunlight. The lake was again bright and 
sparkling; the pine woods, lighted here and there by 
glmnn of sunshine, looked enticingly cool and peaceful, 
and I felt ashamed of the terrors I had conjured up in 
the night. Bright red Partridge-berries with their 
glossy green leaves peeped up through the brown pine 
needles that covered the ground, and around the point 
were blossoming Boses. 
“What a charming place this is for a camp,” I ex¬ 
claimed, as I came to breakfast laden with spoils. 
“You’re not the only lady to think so,” observed 
Dickson, as he handed me a cup of fragrant coffee, 
“ there were five old maids camped here last summer.” 
“ Horrors! Five of them ! ” exclaimed Furguson. 
“ Perhaps that accounts for the fact that these Roses 
are all single ones! ” I remarked. 
“Dickson, what is the name of this place?” asked 
Aristarchus. 
“Never heard that it had any, sir,” was Dickson’s 
reply. 
“We will give it one then, suppose we name it Camp 
Furguson,” proposed the egotistical owner of that 
name. 
“Why not let the lady name it, sis?” ventured 
Dickson. 
“ Thank you, Dickson,” said I, “ this point of land 
shall hereafter be known as the Camp of the Five 
Virgins.” 
“ So it shall, Cordelia," agreed Aristarchus. 
“ O, ever thus, from childhood’s hour,” quoted Fer¬ 
guson. “ I believe you are always trying to extinguish 
me, Cordelia.” 
“ Oh, no, it requires no effort at all,” said I, mildly. 
One of the guides was to return to Bartlett’s now that 
our camp was fairly started, while Dickson was to re- 
