The woods were brilliant with wild flowers, although it was so late in the season that the glory of the summer was well nigh past. But the lupin, the moss-pink, and the yellow wallflower, with all the varieties of the helianthus, the aster, and the solidago, spread their gay charms around. The gentlemen gathered clusters of the bitter-sweet (celastrus scandens) from the overhanging boughs to make a wreath for my hat, as we trod the tangled pathway, which, like that of Christabelle, was
“Now in glimmer and now in gloom,”
through the alternations of open glade and shady thicket. Soon, like the same lovely heroine,
“We reached the place—right glad we were,”
and without further delay, we were again on board our little boat and skimming over the now placid waters.
WINNEBAGO LAKE—MISS FOUR-LEGS