OCTOBER 105 



In the afternoon, it was '^ November-like," witli 

 clouded skies and a chilling wind from the north. 

 The back-yard is littered with fallen leaves, and 

 dead, damp foliage occupies the catbird's nest in 

 the barberry hedge. The scarlet barberries are 

 shriveling, though some decorated the table in the 

 dining-room today. The asparagus bed is mostly 

 of rich yellow color, mixed with some green, the 

 effect being like that of tidal shore waters carry- 

 ing yellowish masses of weeds and touched by sun- 

 light and wind. The cherry and apple trees are 

 still in fairly full, quite green foliage, one hard 

 maple tree is bare at the top with scattered areas 

 of leaves on the lower limbs, while the poplar and 

 the box-elder are nearly bare, and the ash fruit 

 clings to a leafless tree. 



Hereafter follows a paragraph or two of senti- 

 ment, if not of sentimentality. Let the reader 

 who will, look and pass. Low in the garden shelter 

 — of current bushes, barberries, and the grape ar- 

 bor — a solitary mockingbird lurked today, silent, 

 A\dth huddled form, as if cold, or frightened, or 

 lost or lonely. This is a rare visitor to central 

 Iowa, and seemed especially alien on such a chilly 

 day. We have a very dim memory of a visit of 

 this southern singer to another back-yard of this 

 town, many years ago ; but we never knew and 

 never will know wdiether the memory rested on 

 fact. It is even possible that the supposed stranger 



