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Ogg's was certainly the day of the bazaar, when her simple noble beauty, clad in a white muslin of some soft-floating kind, which I suspect must have come from the stores of aunt Pullet's wardrobe, appeared with marked distinction among the more adorned and conventional women around her.
"Morning so bright, Wild-flowers so gay, Where high grass so dewy Crowns the wavy lake's border. On the meadow's verdant bosom What glimmers there so white? Have wreaths of snowy blossoms, Soft-floating, fallen from heaven? Ah, see! a tender infant! It plays with flowers, unwittingly; It strives to grasp morn's golden beams. O where, sweet stranger, where's your home?
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