FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 299 



LIX. 



One-ery, two-ery, hickory Ann, 

 Phillis arid Phollis and Nicholas John, 

 Que-by, Qua-by, Sister Mary, 

 Single em, Sangle em, Buck begone! 



IT was just a year ago yesterday that I 

 wrote the first of these encyclical letters. 

 As then, this morning was bright and 

 sunny, but it was cold, and with frost in 

 the lowlands. The day has continued ab 

 solutely cloudless, save just enough at sun 

 set to let it end in glory, the sky a dome 

 of perfect blue. 



Looking from the terrace, I see that 

 October has been tinting the foliage here 

 and there, now a touch of yellow or orange 

 en a sassafras, and now scarlet and gold on 

 a maple, or crimson upon sumach or wood 

 bine. In the steely atmosphere the lines 

 of the hills come out sharp and clear, and 

 even those upon my farthest horizon, thirty 

 miles away, approach to a friendly nearness. 



I have tried many of the roads and paths 

 which cross the valleys and climb the hills, 



