flowers grow in clusters at the end of the stems, from two to a dozen, or fifteen in a bunch, pink or white, larger or smaller, varying in size, number, and tint; they are not very much unlike the blossom of a hyacinth, though scarcely so large, and not curled at the edges. They are very fragrant; not only sweet, but with a wild freshness in the perfume, which is very agreeable. Our search began in an old pine grove, on the skirts of the village, but we found nothing in flower there; the soil is good, and there is no want of young plants of various kinds, which will blossom by-and-bye, but at present there are no flowers to be gathered there. In the adjoining wood, we had no better luck; it is a dense growth of young hemlocks and pines, where nothing else thrives—much the darkest and gloomiest about the village; the sunshine never seems to penetrate the shade enough to warm the earth, which is covered with rusty pine leaves. We climbed to higher ground, but no arbutus was there; still we persevered, and at last, near the top of the hill, some remarkably fine clusters were discovered, and from that moment they were found in abundance. They seem often to open first on the hill-tops, but they are in full bloom now in many places.
There is more than usual interest in gathering these flowers, from their peculiar habits. One may easily pass over ground where they abound without observing them, unless one knows their tricks of old; for they often play hide and go seek with you, crouching about old stones, and under dead leaves, and among mosses. But here and there you may see a pretty fresh cluster peeping out from among last year’s withered herbage, as though it bloomed from lifeless stalks; and when you stoop to gather it, raking away the dead leaves, you find a dozen bunches
