A DAY IN FRANCONIA 85 



and yellows of all degrees of brilliancy. The 

 glory of autumn is nearly at the full, and at 

 every step the panorama shifts. As for the 

 day, it continues perfect, deliciously cool in 

 the shade, deliciously warm in the sun, with 

 the wind northwesterly and light. Many 

 yellow butterflies are flitting about, and once 

 a bright red angle-wing alights in the road 

 and spreads itself carefully to the sun. While 

 I am looking at it, sympathizing with its 

 comfort, I notice also a shining dark blue 

 beetle an oil-beetle, I believe it is called 

 as handsome as a jewel, traveling slowly 

 over the sand. 



I have been up this way so frequently of 

 late that the individual trees are beginning 

 to seem like old friends. It would not take 

 much to make me believe that the acquaint- 

 ance is mutual. " Here he is again," I fancy 

 them saying one to another as I round a turn. 

 Some of them are true philosophers, or their 

 looks belie them. Just now they are all 

 silent. Even the poplars cannot talk, it ap- 

 pears (a most worthy example), without a 

 breath of inspiration to set them going. The 

 stillness is eloquent. A day like this is the 



