Although an idea I had in my head,
Those fellows work better than I."

* * * * *


AMONG THE CRANBERRY BOGS.

New Jersey, 1877.

DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT: You would not think, from their names,
that cranberry bogs are pleasant places, but I enjoyed very much a
visit to one last year in the fall. Seen merely from the road,
a bog doesn't show very well, for the leaves are small, and the
vines are crowded in heavy masses; but, when you get near, the
white and red berries look pretty among the dark-green leaves.

The meadow is checquered with little canals by means of which the
whole surface is flooded in winter-time, so as to protect the
vines from the ill effects of frosts and thaws. In the spring, the
water is drawn off at low tide through the flood-gates.

When the cranberry-pickers are at work, they make a curious sight,
for there are people of all ages, odd dresses, and both sexes
among them, and often a tottering old man may be seen working
beside a small child. The little ones can be trusted to gather
cranberries, for the fruit is not easily crushed in handling.
Where cranberries grow thickly, one can almost fill one's hand at
a grasp.