THE FLOWER OF THE 

 FISHES 



A REMINISCENCE 



HE gales which one is 

 accustomed to expect at 

 the season of the autum- 

 nal equinox had long de- 

 layed theircoming. Day 

 after day the sun, ris- 

 ing,lookedupona silent 

 world of silver dews and 

 deep blue mists. Every evening the 

 bracken, long dead, on the eastern hills 

 burned warm and ruddy in the won- 

 drous glow of his setting. The rooks 

 finished the acorns. Squirrels rum- 

 maged among the dead black leaves of 

 the hedge bottoms, lest any fallen wal- 

 nuts should have escaped their quick 

 eyes. The hum of bees ceased when the 

 ivy shed the last of its blossom, but still 

 the yellow-hammers sang on, dozing, 

 dreaming in the sun. And November 

 was far spent before the rattle of falling 



