302 UPLAND AND MEADOW. 



October 9. — This is the first typical antunin day. It 

 is cold, not cool, and, but for a higii wind through the 

 night, there would have been frost. To-morrow, if the 

 wind falls, there will be an abundance of it — a carni- 

 val of needle-points that will cause one's face to tingle, 

 if out before sunrise, and bring the red leaves of the 

 maples, in a reluctant shower, to the ground. I antici- 

 pate waiting but one day longer, before the shady wood- 

 path will be carpeted with crimson and gold, and the 

 rustling of the fallen leaves, as I walk to the creek, will 

 do fairly well for the death-song of summer. 



But what of to-day ? The wind chilled even the blue- 

 jays, and the woods were silent. In quiet nooks along 

 the banks of the creek the crested titmice whistled, 

 perhaps because their toes were cold, on the principle 

 that small boys whistle when their fingers are numb. 

 The prominent feature of the morning was the remark- 

 able abundance of spiders' webs. Geometrically ar- 

 ranged webs were on all the fences, and every available 

 projecting limb of a tree supported one. The grass was 

 starred with dewy circles of gossamer, and even the 

 nooks, crannies, and corners of woodpiles and brush- 

 heaps were tenanted with spiders, whose banner-like 

 webs spread over every entrance to their dens. I saw 

 no insects anywhere. Not a web was disturbed, save 

 by the crowding dewdrops waiting for kindly sunbeams 

 to return them to the clouds. This at sunrise — but afl 

 the morning wore away, and insect-life was warmed into 

 activity, there was a marked change, and, before noon, 

 every spider had broken its fast. Insects were tangled 

 in every web, and the spiders, at noon, were not aroused 

 by fresh victims becoming entangled therein. 



