THE SPIRIT OF SEPTEMBER 



" What's i' the air? 



Some subtle spirit runs through all my veins, 

 Hope seems to ride this morning on the wind, 

 And Joy outshines the Sun." 



HEN the finches are 



IT Y rfi^l leanin & the corn from 

 1 W m\ the last * the straws 



which the briars raked 

 from the loaded carts as 

 they passed down the 

 narrow lanes, when even 

 the swallows seem to 

 float on tired wings, and the yellow- 

 hammers scarcely have the energy to 

 sing, the summer awakes from her slum- 

 bers. Then the blue shades of the far val- 

 leys pale into lavender, the lavender into 

 a cold gray, and the mist comes down the 

 hillsides. A west wind hurries it over 

 the mountain-top and moor, now tearing 

 it into shreds, disclosing, for brief mo- 

 ments, fleeting visions of emerald grass, 

 of sunlit heather, of flaming gorse ; now 



