FLYING, FLYING SOUTH, 



^THE genial sunshine of bright September days half 

 tempts us to forget the stormy moods of an un- 

 gracious summer. 



True it is that cold and clinging mists linger late 

 into the mornings; sadly true that the days are 

 shortening fast, and that evening airs are chill ; that 

 now and then there is a touch of frost upon the 

 meadows, and a film of ice upon the pools. 



But a look of summer lingers in the landscape ; the 

 woods still wear their summer dress. Worn and 

 faded are the leaves, pierced and torn by myriad 

 caterpillars, but still the trees are green, hardly touched 

 as yet by the fiery fingers of the Autumn. The foliage 

 of the beech is thinning fast ; the dry leaves of the 

 lime begin to rustle on the path. But there is not 



yet 



' The wonder of the falling tongues of flame ' 



that crowning glory of chill October. 



In the strange autumnal stillness the leaves hang 



