144 Bog-Trotting for OrcKids 



monuments that time cannot remove. The few re- 

 maining gable-roofed houses with their gaping doors 

 and windows, along the East Road, during the next 

 few years will become obliterated entirely. The over- 

 grown hedges of cherry-trees and grape-vines are 

 still struggling for existence by the road ; while the 

 cinnamon-rose and southernwood are choked amid the 

 cat-mint and burdock along the border of the door- 

 yard path. 



These vales of Etchowog are deserted, and the thrift 

 of the Revolutionary days has departed. Nature is re- 

 turning to her pristine state, and seeks to subdue these 

 traces of man by covering all with weeds, slow decay, 

 and mould. 



Once in the pine grove, I discovered that I was in 

 the vicinity of a small cabin, which stood on the brow 

 of the hill overlooking the pond. A door opened 

 southward from the house, and pasted upon it in bold 

 handwriting was the declaration that it was inhabited. 



" Rented by Edward Green, Esquire. 

 Do not trespass on these premises." 



The water along the muddy edges of the pond dis- 

 played innumerable wriggling pollywogs and small 

 fishes. About midway along the shore, I found the 

 Polygo7iiim in blossom. I recognized the pink clusters 

 nodding on the water at some distance from the bank. 

 The wind, blowing in little whirling gusts, ruffled the 

 waves. The distant Yellow Lily pads (^Nymphcea ad- 

 vend) flapped strangely for an instant or two, — turning 



