is also in flower, growing in lower and more open grounds; a bit of meadow-land, on the border of one of our brooks, is now brilliantly colored with these handsome flowers. The very showy Martagon, or Turk's-cap lily, also belongs to our neighborhood. Last summer a noble plant—a pyramid of twenty red blossoms on one stalk—was found growing in a marshy spot on the hill, at the Cliffs.
Brought home a beautiful bunch of these orange lilies, with the leaves of the sweet-fern, and the white flowers of the fragrant early wintergreen.
Tuesday, 17th.—Rambled about Mill Island and the woods beyond. The red wooden grist-mill, standing here, is the oldest and most important of the neighborhood. In dry seasons, when water fails in the lesser streams, grain has been brought here from farms twenty miles distant. This present summer, however, the water has been so low, that the wheels have stopped. The low saw-mill, on the farther bank, is one of half a dozen within a few miles. It does a deal of work. Some of the logs float down the lake and river; others are drawn here on the snow in winter; but the basin above the dam is generally well filled with them. As the stream runs a mere rivulet now, many of the logs are lodged on the mud, and the mill is idle. We rarely see the river so low.
We are told that for some years after the village was commenced, Mill Island was a favorite resort of the Indians, who, at that time, came frequently in parties to the new settlement, remaining here for months together. The island was then covered with wood, and they seem to have chosen it for their camp, in preference to other situations. Possibly it may have been a place
