THE SALUTE 



FROM THE VIOLET 







October 2?th 



HE witch-hazel is not the only sharp- 

 shooter of the autumn woods. It has 

 a tiny rival down there among the dried 

 leaves, which, in proportion to its size, 

 quite as valiant the blue spring violet 

 and with which it doubtless exchanges an oc- 

 casional salute. 



" But the season of the violet was closed some 

 six months ago," you remark. " What has Novem- 

 ber to do with violet seeds?" 



Yes, the " blue violet " which the world knows closed 

 its season in May; but having devoted a month or so to 

 vanity, it has since been settling down to sober realities 

 of life, and the cares of maternity scattering its broods 

 through the woods. 



There are blossoms there among those seeds even 

 now which the frost will probably kill perfect blos- 

 soms. To be sure they have no petals, but all these 

 shooting pods, that are pinching out their pear-shaped 

 seeds a distance of ten feet upon the dried leaves, were 

 preceded by just such blossoms, tiny, pointed affairs, 



