AUTUMN 17 



of all is the place itself : the solitude, the 

 brooding sky (the lake's own, it seems to be), 

 the solemn momitain top, the encircling for- 

 est, the musical woodsy stillness. The rowan 

 trees were never so bright with berries. 

 Here and there one still holds fidl of green 

 leaves, with the rij^e red clusters shining 

 everywhere among them. 



After luncheon I must sit for a while in 

 the forest itself. Every breath in the tree- 

 tops, unfelt at my level, brings down a 

 sprinkling of yellow birch leaves, each with 

 a faint rustle, like a whispered good-by, as 

 it strikes against the twigs in its fall. 

 Every one preaches its sermon, and I know 

 the text,— "We all do fade." May the 

 rest of us be as happy as the leaves, and 

 fade only when the time is rijoe. A nut- 

 hatch, busy with his day's work, passes near 

 me. Small as he is, I hear his wing-beats. 

 A squirrel jumps upon the very log on which 

 I am seated, but is off in a jiffy on catching 

 sight of so unexpected a neighbor. So short 

 a log is not big enough for two of us, he 

 thinks. By and by I hear a bird stirring 

 on a branch overhead, and look up to find 



