A YEAR IN THE FIELDS 



a savage chief the fair Indian maiden gave 

 birth to ! 



This halcyon period of our autumn will 

 always in some way be associated with the 

 Indian. It is red and yellow and dusky 

 like him. The smoke of his camp-fire 

 seems again in the air. The memory of 

 him pervades the woods. His plumes and 

 moccasins and blanket of skins form just 

 the costume the season demands. It was 

 doubtless his chosen period. The gods 

 smiled upon him then if ever. The time 

 of the chase, the season of the buck and 

 the doe, and of the ripening of all forest 

 fruits ; the time when all men are incipient 

 hunters, when the first frosts have given 

 pungency to the air, when to be abroad on 

 the hills or in the woods is a delight that 

 both old and young feel, — if the red abori- 

 gine ever had his summer of fullness and 

 contentment, it must have been at this sea- 

 son, and it fitly bears his name. 



In how many respects fall imitates or 

 parodies the spring ! It is indeed, in some 

 of its features, a sort of second youth of 

 the year. Things emerge and become con- 

 spicuous again. The trees attract all eyes 

 as in May. The birds come forth from 



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