MIDSUMMER 



we turn into the interior, passing through farm- 

 lands where the plants which follow in the wake 

 of civilization line our way. Suddenly we leave 

 these behind. Darting into the deep forest we 

 catch glimpses of the shyer woodland beauties. 

 Now and then we span a foaming river, on whose 

 steep shores we may detect, with the eagerness 

 of a sportsman, some long-sought rarity. 



It is always a fresh surprise and disappoint- 

 ment to me to find that I can seldom reach on 

 foot such wild and promising spots as the rail- 

 way window reveals. Is it possible that the Charm of 

 swiftly vanishing scene has been illuminated by atSk* 

 the imagination which has been allowed the 

 freer play from the improbability of any neces- 

 sity for future readjustment? However that 

 may be, I find that my book possesses but little 

 charm till an aching head warns me to refrain 

 from too constant a vigil. 



Just now, from such a coign of vantage, when 

 the unclouded sun beats upon their surfaces, cer- 

 tain pastures look as though afire. The grasses 

 sway about great patches of intense orange-red, 

 suggestive of creeping flames. This startling Milkweeds 

 effect is given by the butterfly-weed, the most 

 gorgeous member of the milkweed family. Al- 

 most equally vivid, though less flame-like, is the 

 purple milkweed, a species which abounds also in 



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