OF SEPTEMBER 121 



flashing in prismatic tints from a thou- 

 sand strands of gossamer unseen before, 

 until the lower branches of the elms are 

 afire with gold, and the wet brambles are 

 smouldering in aburning rust, is to drink 

 deep of the wine of the country, the good 

 wine that has been kept until the end. 



In September early summer returns 

 again. The earth is born anew. Fresh 

 flowers spring upon the graves of those 

 which are dead. The old turf, cracked 

 and scarred, hard as the very roads, be- 

 comes friable and moist. A young green 

 comes to the scorched meadows, wild 

 roses and honeysuckle to the hedgerows. 



A cooler earth and a brisker air inspire 

 a desire for action, exercise. Man shares 

 with nature the common revival. The 

 angler who has tapped the barometer for 

 six melancholy weeks of drought and 

 dwindling streams, takes down his rod 

 again and finds the trout imbued with 

 new life. They are scarcely so robust, 



