"SPEAK to the earth and it shall teach thee."— JOB.
WITHIN a half mile of the main road on the way to Molega there is a sharp upraise, and a sudden turn to get over a quartzite ledge that abruptly bars the way. One may see it, like an old battered hand-made wall running off to east and west through the brackens and scrub underbrush. It is only five or six feet in height at best, and it dips or slants a little to the northward. All this steep side is more or less cracked and rent, affording rootage for rock polypod, ferns, dwarf spruce and firs, and other plants of the locality. On the more or less bare surface of this ledge, a few rods in width, there is a most interesting variety of vegetable life. There are great gray carpets of white lichens, clean and cool, and in June they are bordered with nodding lady's-slippers, or cypripediums, fashioned like daintiest shells. Slender wire-birches, clad in gray and green, stand guard over those woodland gems, that the