4 WINTER SUNSHINE 



earth in passing through the fire of summer seems 

 to have lost all its dross, and life all its impedi- 

 ments. 



But what does not the dweller in the National 

 Capital endure in reaching these days! Think of 

 the agonies of the heated term, the ragings of the 

 dog-star, the purgatory of heat and dust, of baking, 

 blistering pavements, of cracked and powdered 

 fields, of dead, stifling night air, from which every 

 tonic and antiseptic quality seems eliminated, leav- 

 ing a residuum of sultry malaria and all-diffusing 

 privy and sewer gases, that lasts from the first of 

 July to near the middle of September! But when 

 October is reached, the memory of these things is 

 afar off, and the glory of the days is a perpetual 

 surprise. 



I sally out in the morning with the ostensible 

 purpose of gathering chestnuts, or autumn leaves, 

 or persimmons, or exploring some run or branch. 

 It is, say, the last of October or the first of Novem- 

 ber. The air is not balmy, but tart and pungent, 

 like the flavor of the red-cheeked apples by the 

 roadside. In the sky not a cloud, not a speck; a 

 vast dome of blue ether lightly suspended above the 

 world. The woods are heaped with color like a 

 painter's palette, — great splashes of red and orange 

 and gold. The ponds and streams bear upon their 

 bosoms leaves of all tints, from the deep maroon of 

 the oak to the pale yellow of the chestnut. In the 

 glens and nooks it is so still that the chirp of a 

 solitary cricket is noticeable. The red berries of 



