AUGUST 



Our American goldfinch is one of the loveliest of 

 birds. With his elegant plumage, his rhythmical, 

 undulatory flight, his beautiful song, and his more 

 beautiful soul, he ought to be one of the best be- 

 loved, if not one of the most famous. . . . He is like 

 the chickadee, and yet different. He is not so ex- 

 tremely confiding, nor should I call him merry. 

 But he is always cheerful, in spite of his so-called 

 plaintive note, from which he gets one of his 

 names, and always amiable. So far as I know, he 

 never utters a harsh sound ; even the young ones, 

 asking for food, use only smooth, musical tones. 

 TORRE Y: Birds in the Bush. 



6 



Early apples begin to be ripe about the first of 

 August ; but I think that none of them are so good 

 to eat as some to smell. One is worth more to 

 scent your handkerchief with than any perfume 

 which they sell in the shops. The fragrance of 

 some fruits is not to be forgotten, along with that 

 of flowers. Some gnarly apple which I pick up in 

 the road reminds me by its fragrance of all the 

 wealth of Pomona, carrying me forward to those 

 days when they will be collected in golden and 

 ruddy heaps in the orchards and about the cider- 

 mills. 



THOREAU: Wild Apples. 



