2 1 2 Walks in New England 



beneath the sun display the grand artistry of Na 

 ture ; nor can these change the magic of the leafy 

 woodland paths, which one treads as if in another 

 world from that of business, books, newspapers 

 and politics, which compel his attention where he 

 and his fellow-mortals confront their artificial 

 existence. 



The forest bloom has departed, the birds have 

 flown, the squirrels and the boys are a-nutting ; 

 on the roadsides few flowers besides the asters 

 linger and the long sprays of the wreath golden- 

 rod, the humbler members of the sunflower kin 

 dred and the late gentians ; in the fields appear 

 those second blossoms that spring from the mowed 

 down golden-rods, ox-eye daisies and black-eyed 

 Susans. Down the forest aisles streams the unique 

 magnetic fragrance of the witch hazel, which 

 only of all fragrances could harmonize with the 

 sacred sweetness of the autumn woodland. A 

 familiar of the flowers knows that a month hence 

 he shall find these and a score of flowers besides, 

 in places that he wots of, but to the general eye 

 the gay children of Nature have departed, and 

 winter seems waiting around the corner to close 

 the door. 



Still the charm of the fall air softens the omens 

 of departure. The wild fragrance of the fallen 

 foliage rises like an oblation to the generous gen- 



