S46 UPLAND AND MEADOW. 



of grit ; not a vestige of dust on any leaf, and by some 

 means, I know not what, the flowers of yesterday had 

 not been battered or their colors washed out. Rose- 

 mallow in the meadows ; golden-rod along the road ; a 

 cluster of crimson sumac on the hillside, and scattered 

 patches of color everywhere, greeted the eye. " Sum- 

 mer, this year, means to leave a good impression, for to- 

 day she abandons us," I remarked to the winds. A 

 Carolina wren heard me, and yelled indignantly, "No, 

 she doesn't ! No, she doesn't !" " Yes, she does," I re- 

 plied, and the excitable wren grew more indignant and 

 emphatic; and half that morning screamed, as it flew 

 along the hillside, " No, she doesn't ! No, she doesn't I" 



