An Autumn Twilight 17 
a winter’s night fireside gossip at the 
season’s close. But when the litter and 
fragments of our repast had at last been 
packed away, there seemed to be a gen- 
eral, though unexpressed, desire for a 
siesta, to which the drowsy hum of in- 
sects, and the warm atmosphere wooed 
us most lovingly. At this point, how- 
ever, our guide, thinking, perhaps, that 
it wasincumbent upon him to contribute 
to our entertainment, asked us if we 
knew why the great rock, which lay at 
our feet, was called ‘‘Panther Rock,”’ 
and as no one of our party could give 
an affirmative answer, and each one 
appeared to have suddenly scented a 
yarn, he proposed to relate the legend 
of ‘‘Panther Rock, ’” and which he was 
careful to inform us was ‘‘ gospel 
truth,”’ 
[TO BE CONTINUED. | 

AN AUTUMN TWILIGHT. 
DVViow os 
V. JR. 
I hear the cricket softly calling 
To his mate beneath the stone; 
I hear the rasping Katy-did 
Repeat her cry in monotone. 
Around me tinted leaves are falling, 
Loosened by the autumn gale. 
From far across the meadow land 
I hear the whistling of the quail. 
The sun sinks low behind the hills, 
The evening shadows gently fall, 
And silence all the valley fills, 
And night her curtain drops o’er all. 
The moon comes up, her silvery beam 
Makes myriad diamonds of the dew; 
While here a glow, and there a gleam, 
Shows where the stars are breaking through. 
The wind, which but an hour ago 
Breathed warm and pleasant on my brow, 
Comes colder as the shadows grow 
And with the frost is tempered now. 
The cricket's song no more I hear, 
And Katy-did somewhere is fled, 
Instead of ‘‘ Bob Whites’ ”’ whistle clear 
A solemn owl hoots overhead. 
