lilUbcn Grass id Green 



goldenclub. This plant made a superb show 

 early in the spring, and, being one of those culti- 

 vated by the Indians, has for me an added interest. 

 There may have been in their day some method 

 of cooking the root that we white folks cannot 

 guess, but the goldenclub is a failure in modern 

 kitchens. 



What an endless procession of strange living 

 forms pass by, when we gaze into the still waters 

 of a remote creek ! I say " remote," for the stream 

 that has a factory on its banks has too often no- 

 thing in its waters. Here, where I am afloat to-day, 

 manufacturing has not reached. There is a saw- 

 mill a mile or more away, but no saw-dust clogs 

 the current here, and the more distant grist-mill 

 only asks aid of the water, and does not repay its 

 kindness with a flood of filth. Indeed, about the 

 old saw-mill the fish love to congregate, and at the 

 foot of the race-way the troubled waters are often 

 glittering with the silvery fins of a minnow that 

 shines like metal. But here, with marshy mea- 

 dows and a swampy forest to hem me in, the 

 creek has greater attractions. 



Here comes a mud-turtle. As we look upon 

 motion, this creature is clumsy, but it does not 

 find itself hampered by awkwardness when there 

 is reason for agility. Its paddle-like feet can do 

 excellent service when the animal desires to swim, 

 and how the mud flies when it sees fit to dig. To 

 be sure the mud is very soft in the bed of the creek, 



