Year: 1866

The days grow short the evenings
/ lengthen. The dew falls early and
1 glitters on the grass late in the morn
ing. The locust and the katydids are
/ noisy all day long, and the crickets
/ chirp In season and out. An amazon
among them, or it may be the ghost of
some mighty chirper, haunts the cell
lar, and fills the house with nightly
lamentations. But with this happy
exception, the crickets note Is a happy,
CHEEKY one, associated with a wood fire


blazing on the hearth and a kettle his


sing on the Goals, and thus It suggests


both warmth and cheer.


The glory of autumn IS soon to be


revealed to US. There are delicate


hints of its coming, already; tokens


In crimson and gold daintliy displayed
or cOyly hidden among the thick ma


pie leaves. We have had warmth, and


sunshine, and some cold, but very lit


tie frost yet the death of the leaves


Is near. The autumn IS barbaric IN


splendor before the end comes, but it


IslstiI too early to go into the forests.


The ferns and moses overlying the


rocks and stones are bright and green,


and the foliage keeps its perfect mala-


chite; only the outstanding trees, the


picket guard of the wood, dumbly fore


token the glory that Is to be. The air


IS cool and clear; there are no fogs, no


offensive -vapOrs, The south wind


blows, and the west wind breathes, and


all the autumual flowers by the road


side burn. Golden rod stands tall and


rank IN the fields, and slender and


dropping In the woody ways, and every


fOOtpath and cart track wears a jauDty


cashmere border Of crimson, purple,


bronze and gold The sturdy sUmach


thrusts It's pyramid of berries upon us


and will not set aside to blush unseen.


Every stone wall and neglected rail
fence blossoms. The white eVerlast-


ing is in bud and the purple thistle is


unfolding The Virginia creeper clasps
the tree in a last embrace, and tarries
to add crimson beauty to emerald
grace. Under foot are starry wild
asters, springing up by myriads =
weeds we call them, and trample them
down again In the common dust from
which they shoot, unsOWn and UncaTed
for. Their position Is plainly IN the
lower rHuks3 snd-tlfeys-t t1re-usod- to
Sights and ignOminy. In a kings
garden they would be the least deli
cate, and perfect of their kind, and
very far beyond their second cousin
daisies


These are things that live over in
memory, when winter comes with its
inexorab BILE blockade. Beside the fire
we shall sit and dream of autumn
woods, and quiet ways like path to
heaven" all hallowed with wOndrous /
sunsets and live for long months on /
the nectar we are distilling now. For |
beautiful as September is In reality, it /
loOses nothing under the artist-tOuch /
of memory. Bleak winds make re-
sunshine brighter; roaring |
tempests are the grand setting Of peace /
fUl pictures many summer bird or /
brook goes singing through our winter I
dreams, many a garden Of rare delight I
blossoms on our hearth-stOne. We /
remember the weary picnic days of the |
summer gone with their frolic and fun,
forgetting only the warmth and Weari-
ness as In the August twilight we re-
call a winters evening around the fire
with It's story telling, and nut-eracking, |
and apple-roasting and the dusky, IN
couth shadows creeping over the wall.
The time for books draws near
Lamplights and study are twins, and
daylight IS no respecter OF the broth
erhood. Morning brings practical
thoughts, and mortal care, and mani
fold toll the family circle Is broken
and its members scattered far and wide;
but with evening comes reunion, and
possibly, rest and ease. The rich man
goes to his city place" and tired Of
the ceaseIess din Of the streets closes
the shutters and curtains in the quiet
which is bordered all about with
sound The poor man smokes his
pipe on the worn doorstep, or chats
with his neighbor over the fence and
the rattling Of carts and shouts of chill
dren are music to him after the
ten hours clash and whirl Of ma
shinery. But he who can go from
his shop or Office, beyond man
sion and cabin, to a spot where
trees where fruit ripens and streams
run, where birds build and sing in
summer, and crickets chirp the golden
autumn through,-he has home, and
if there be peace and content within,
has attained already to all he should
desire this side of heaven.