Country Roads in August 



molested, crowd together in rustling masses 

 between the roadway and the fence. Rank 

 and tufted, they toss their plumed heads in 

 the breeze, grateful that they have been 

 spared to ripen their fruits and mature their 

 seeds. Even the fences themselves are over 

 run with vines, upon which the fruits or 

 berries already hang in ripening clusters. 

 Yes, everybody's farm is dear to nature; 

 and there she gathers, every summer, her 

 broods of vagabond children, marching 

 them in long lines of beauty up hill and 

 down dale, across counties, States, and con 

 tinents. 



In this procession, or rather by its side, 

 I also love to march during the warm, redo 

 lent August days, when you can fairly taste 

 the innocent wild wines in odors of ripen 

 ing berries, and feel nature's exultation and 

 delight in emanations from bourgeoning 

 fruit and pod. Verily, I believe that many 

 of our most beautiful and familiar native 

 growths of field and meadow would stand 

 a fair chance of being exterminated, were 

 it not for the refuge they find in the coun 

 try road. Golden-rod, the gentians, elder 

 berries, tansy, milkweed, primroses, cara- 

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