An October Outing. 



OCTOBER is the charming prelude to the 

 stern tragedy of winter. It means a clear at- 

 mosphere and colored leaves, and with them, 

 never to be overlooked, the screaming blue-jay 

 and the fretful crow. Better still if a red-tailed 

 hawk sends his shrill cry down to you from the 

 depths of the deep blue sky. Frost has dulled 

 the golden-rod and the asters have lost their 

 freshness, but the grass is green, and a snowy 

 orchid on its slender stalk has a goodly array 

 of pure, waxy flowers that seem out of place. 

 Much remains to the rambler for which to be 

 thankful, but the month's chief glory is the har- 

 vest of nuts. So I have always maintained, and 

 with the regularity of a religious fanatic gone 

 expectantly to the nut-trees to gather my share 

 of the harvest. Strangely enough, it is the in- 

 cidents of the journey to and fro that I most 

 distinctly remember, and the goal is not promi- 

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