A SEPT^EMBElR RAMBLE. 85 



A September Ramble. 



BY MARY HAZEX ARNOLD. 



If a walk through the woods on a bleak March day, dis- 

 closes manifold treasures, what words can do justice to the 

 delights of a September ramble, when we absorb supplies 

 of sunshine and vigor 'gainst the coming wintr>' days ? 

 The charm of it all is too illusive to put on paper. 



' ' What is so rare as a day in — Septeinber — 



Then, if ever, come perfect days. 

 Days whose charm we long shall remember, 



Visions of beauty wherever we straj'." 



These woodland notes give nothing of scientific knowl- 

 edge, but may bring at least a suggestion of the magnetic 

 influences from the beautiful outdoor world. As we climb 

 the hill through the wood, ruthlessly crushing beneath 

 our feet the rich green carpet of bear's grass, the bluejays 

 scream to us — Stay ! Stay ! Stay ! And we fain would 

 heed their call ; dainty, black-capped sprites gather about 

 us with " Chickadee, dee, dee. We're glad to see thee, 

 thee." Cheery little fellows, they must be the Mrs. Wiggs 

 of the Bird Patch. 



The wood path overflows with treasures ; here a lacy Bo- 

 trychium dissectum spreads out its hand of lace, the 

 prince's pine with varnished leaf, the rattlesnake plantain 

 with delicate silver}' veins, and rattleboxes for the chil- 

 dren. 



Brer Rabbit plaj'S peek-a-boo from a thicket ; he sees no 

 gun, but has learned to put no trust in man, so turns tail — 

 shows the white feather — and seeks safe quarters in a hole 

 beneath a convenient rock. Master Chipmunk gives us 

 greeting from the wall where the bitter sweet with its 

 bright clusters of fruit runs riot. 



Next we pass an immense anthill, whose inmates scurry- 

 back and forth in dire confusion, lest one of those great 



