the wonted rich warmth, though the apples Sep- 

 have made a brave show. Yesterday there tember. 

 was a hush in the wind ; a delicate frost 

 lingered after a roseflusht dawn ; and the in- 

 ward light came out of the heather, the bracken 

 and the gorse, out of the yellow limes and the 

 amber, planes and the changing oaks, and upon 

 the hillside turned the great pine on the 

 further crag into a column of pale gold and 

 made the lichened boulders like the half-sunken 

 gates of buried cities of topaz and jasper and 

 chalcedony. But to-day vast masses of sombre 

 cloud have been swung inland from the 

 Atlantic, and the gale has the wild mournful 

 sough that we look for in the dark months. 

 It is in the firelight that one must recapture 

 September. It lies hidden in that warm heart, 

 amid the red and yellow flowers of flame : arid 

 in that other heart, which, also, has its 'darke 

 fyre,' that heart in whose lands lit by neither 

 sun nor moon are the secret glens where old 

 dreams live again, and where the dreams of 

 the hour are radiant in their new wonder and 

 their new beauty. 



241 R 



