AUTUMN 



the most famous, though by no means the most 

 frequent representative is the fringed gentian, a Fringed 

 flower which owes, I fancy, much of its reputation ******* 

 to Bryant's well-known lines; not that it does not 

 deserve the interest which has centred about it, 

 but that, while everyone has heard of it, compara- 

 tively few people seem to have ferreted out its 

 haunts. Probably Bryant, also, is largely respon- 

 sible for the somewhat inaccurate notions which 

 are afloat concerning its usual season of blooming. 

 This is in September, long before the 



" woods are bare and birds are flown " ; 



although Thoreau, if I remember rightly, records 

 that he found it in flower as late as November 7th, 

 when, certainly, 



" frosts and shortening days portend 

 The aged year is near his end." 



My first fringed gentian was the reward of a 

 forty-mile drive, taken one cold autumn day for A long 

 the sole purpose of paying court to its blue loveli- 

 ness. It enticed us into a wet, green meadow 

 where, picking our way from hummock to hum- 

 mock, without appreciably diminishing the supply, 

 we gathered one tall cluster after another of the 

 delicate, deep-hued blossoms. In bud the fringed 

 petals are twisted one about the other. When the 



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drive 



