This region is being slowly despoiled of its stately pines. I saw fresh scars of the axe among them. Three first-growth trees were laid low, piled on the side of the road. I followed, as usual, the path through the Swamp of Oracles beside Ball Brook, leading out through the clearings of Ball Farm. Here I waded through Iris Swamp beyond, coming out to the pasture-land of Kimball Farm. This season, many changes have occurred in the Kimball Bogs, the hillsides closing in about them having been almost sheared of their trees. This results in flooding the heart of the swamp with sunshine, and may in time dry up the growth of the beautiful moss known as _Sphagnum_, and also destroy the Buckbeans. The cows were browsing among the small tamaracks, and no signs of the Showy Queen of the Moccasin-Flowers were visible hereabout this June. The Tall Green Orchis (_Habenaria hyperborea_) grew luxuriantly in a pool over the fence near the clearing. Purple Trilliums were also very abundant along my path. I passed out through the vale, keeping the winding road until I reached the brow of the orchard beyond, which was in full bloom. The distant hills wore a delicate clear blue tone, and as I caught glimpses of them between the round hills about me, I distinguished Mount Æolus, that distant pile of Dorset marble far to the northeast of the Gap. Leaving the orchard, I crossed the road and entered the deep grasses of the old lake meadow, where the sphagnum is knee-deep. Here, as last June, the Indian Poke and cowslip blossoms freshened the borders of the stream. Along the edges of this wet region, I waded carefully until I reached the famous Spring of Arethusa, around the glacial hill to the left. I searched in the open meadow beyond the mill for Pitcher-Plant blossoms,—and found many in full bloom. The grasses were ablaze with tasselled sedges and nodding flowers of Iris,—a sight well worth a long journey to see. I rounded about the swamp, and passed out at the north end, near Washon Bridge House. Here I ascended westward,—over the knob-like hill north of Pownal Pond. On the opposite slope I descended, finding nothing but trees and fences in my way. I observed a hollow-hearted chestnut tree,—a shell and nothing more. I could scarcely see where its green branches could gain nourishment. The leaves were, however, the largest in the wood, and the buds were perfect. The heart of this old tree was an empty, blackened space, the outer bark weather-worn and crumbling in decay. Arriving on the north shore of the pond, I searched for the aquatic plant _Polygonum amphibium_, which I had observed last season along the muddy pools. The fencing of the sheep-pasture here debarred very free progress about the shore. I was forced to climb the hill for some distance to find an opening through the network of barbed wires. The day was warm, and the sheep had taken shelter in the shade of the pines on the hillside.