IN "THE MOON OF FALLING 

 LEAVES" 



afield eVery day of it. 

 Whether sun shines, or rain 

 drips, or white frost bites and 

 stings, you shall find a liberal 

 education in the hectic beauty 

 of death ; not cruel death, but a tender doom, 

 sweet with the glory of full harvest, and 

 spanned with the rainbow of spring resur- 

 rection. Truly, the red men called it well 

 "the moon of falling leaves." Each waft of 

 winy air brings fleets of fairy argosies rus- 

 set, scarlet, gold, and crimson to anchor 

 on the breast of earth. With what drifts of 

 them the south wind covers fallow and grass 

 land ! All the woods are pathless now 

 footway, cart track, mill road, alike knee- 

 deep in leaves. The highway, even, broad 

 and beaten though it be, shrinks to a ghost- 

 ly trail through a fluttering world of color. 

 Here big walnuts overhang it, and overhead 

 you see the blue heavens through lacework 



