most consequential crafts on the lakes, necessity. One owes a requisite amount 



buzz about the harbors like so many of rest and recreation to one's self, and 



bumble-bees, and the large steamers where can one better breathe new life 



come into port ladened with passengers and gain new vitality from the lake 



from the heat-bound cities of the middle breeze, than at Mackinac Island, the 



west. "Gem of the Inland Sea?" 



A summer's outing has come to be a — Illyria Turner. 



THE MOUNTAIN FORGET-ME-NOT. 



God's thought is in the mountain ; 



He plants His beauty there 

 In each cool-flowing fountain, 



In every blossom fair. 



This dainty flower is hidden ; 



It loves its lonely lot, 

 For one will stop sometime and say, 



"Lo! God forgets me not." 



It gazes on the deep blue sky, 



It scans the old sun's face ; 

 Each lends a glimpse of color and 



A touch of Nature's grace. 



No skill can paint its beauty's hue ; 



No artist can replace 

 The blossom torn with ruthless hand 



From Nature's fond embrace. 



"This is my native rock-bound home, 



I give you welcome here ; 

 But bear me not to other climes, 



Nor deem these regions drear. 



"For here, though snows may gird me round 



And dwarf with wintry chill, 

 The sun shines bright with summer light, 



And starts each sparkling rill. 



"Then pluck me not from my mountain rock 



Beside the streamlet clear. 

 Revere the beauties Nature placed, 



Love me and leave me here." 



— Ada M. Griggs. 



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