LATE SUMMER NOTES 



ON this bright morning I am passing fields 

 and kitchen gardens that I have not seen 

 since a month ago. Then the fields were 

 newly mown stubble-fields, such as all men 

 who knew anything of the luxury of a bare- 

 footed boyhood must have in vivid remem- 

 brance. (How gingerly, with what a sudden 

 slackening of the pace, we walked over them, 

 if circumstances made such a venture neces- 

 sary, in pursuit of a lost ball, or on our 

 way to the swimming-hole, setting the 

 foot down softly and stepping high I I can 

 see the action at this minute, as plainly as I 

 see yonder fence-post.) Now the first thing 

 that strikes the eye is the lively green of the 

 aftermath. It looks as soft as a velvet car- 

 pet. I remember what I used to hear in 

 haying time, that cattle like the second crop 

 best. I should think they would. 



Grass is man's patient friend. Directly 



