Martinmas Summer 383 



all about it the leaves are falling, and when the 

 brook by which it loves to grow runs turbidly, 

 swollen by the heavy rains of the latter year. 



The flowers provide a last feast for the flies and 

 bees which are tempted abroad by the sunshine 

 of Indian summer, and the pale gold of the strap- 

 shaped petals is conspicuous in the general color- 

 lessness of the thickets. 



There are two sets of stamens, longer ones which 

 produce pollen, and shorter ones which do not and 

 which have dwindled to mere reminiscent scales. 

 The fruit, like that of the orange-tree, takes nearly 

 a year to ripen, and will not be fully matured till next 

 September, so that last year's fruit and this year's 

 blossoms may be seen on the branches together. 



The flowers issue in trios from little downy buds 

 and begin to open as the leaves fall. Spring and 

 summer, which called forth all the other blossoms 

 of field and woodland, failed to draw out the hid- 

 den beauties of the witch-hazel buds, but now at 

 the threshold of winter they don their gold. And 

 as we gather them for the last wild-flower bouquet 

 of the season, we think of their analogies in human 

 lives the late-developed talent, the fulfilling of 

 the long-deferred hope, the coming of the happi- 

 ness, denied in youth, to one whose hair is gray. 



