FULL-BLOWN SUMMER 



THE town-pent millions who take their Whitsuntide 

 holiday in the country cannot fail to be astonished at 

 the intensity of summer that has been prepared for 

 them. The fresh and flowery beauty of it all is 

 heightened or softened, we cannot say which, by 

 the perception of how much we have missed, and how 

 soon all this exquisite blossom will be gone. There 

 is autumn in the midst of spring indeed, autumn is 

 sometimes the predominant note. Down by the river 

 the willows are shining as white as the May, but not 

 like the May with blossom. Where the palms were 

 are now tufts of shining willow cotton, the wings of 

 the seed which, even while we watch, the wind comes 

 and lifts into the air, as a snow-storm of Tantalus on 

 this sweltering day. And the meadows which were 

 last week, or a very little earlier, full of golden dande- 

 lions are now full of round clocks also, for Shawondasee 

 to scatter with his sighs. The greater shower of all 

 comes from the elms, which have been for the last 

 month crusted on every twig with winged seeds. 

 Now these million papery parachutes come careering 

 down, filling the air as with a flight of locust, cumbering 

 the ground almost as thickly as when the leaves fall, 

 covering the river with a flowing skin, through which 

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