132 THE CLERK OF THE WOODS 



a question of " surface walking." The soul 

 is concerned, and life has begun anew. 



Thus far, the present November (I write 

 on the 4th) has been unusually mild ; some 

 days have been really summer-like, too warm 

 for comfort ; but the sun has shone only by 

 minutes now and then an hour, at the 

 most. Deciduous trees are nearly bare, the 

 oaks excepted; flowers are few and mostly 

 out of condition, though it would be easy to 

 make a pretty high-sounding list of names ; 

 and birds are getting to be almost as scarce 

 as in winter. There is no longer any quiet 

 strolling in the woods. If you wish to lis- 

 ten for small sounds you must stand still. 

 The ground is so thick with crackling leaves 

 that it is impossible to go silently. Every- 

 thing prophesies of the death of the year. 

 It is almost time for the snow to fall and 

 bury what remains of it. 



Yet in warm days one may still see dra- 

 gon-flies on the wing. Yesterday meadow 

 larks were singing with the greatest aban- 

 don and in something like a chorus. I 

 must have seen a dozen, and most if not 

 all of them were in tune. On the 1st of 



