Short Summer Days. 



SHORT summer days that at sunrise give us a 

 foretaste of autumn are days of both gladness 

 and sadness. No longer the enervating heat, 

 but too strongly are we reminded of the chill- 

 ing breath of winter that even now is astir in 

 the north country ; but he deserves evil who 

 persistently anticipates it. These short summer 

 days are not mere sorry remnants of the season's 

 fulness, the scattered debris left by the merry 

 throng that crowded the green world when days 

 were long. If such were the rambler's thought, 

 his would be a melancholy state, the tree-tops 

 sighing for him in a funereal way ; but away with 

 retrospection ! The days are short, but merit is 

 not lacking. The meadows yet are all ablaze 

 with brilliant bloom ; purple ironweed of match- 

 less hue, and golden-rod that seems each year 

 to be brighter than before ; the dodder, frag- 

 ments of a silken net, and rose-mallow, all are 



