IN THE OCTOBER MOON 



AN October night, calm, crisp, and moonlit ! 

 JL\. There is a delicate aroma from the falling 

 leaves in the air, as sweet as the scent of fresh- 

 filled haymows. The woods are silent, shadowy, 

 and sleepful, lighted dimly by the moon, as a 

 vague, happy dream lights the dark valley of our 

 sleep. Dreamful is this night world, but yet not 

 dreaming. When, in the highest noon, did every 

 leaf, every breeze, seem so much a self, so full of 

 ready life ? The very twigs that lie brittle and 

 dead beneath our feet seem wakeful now and on 

 the alert. In this silence we feel myriad mov- 

 ings everywhere ; and we know that this sleep 



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