NOVEMBER. 285 



their united voices. It matters not to them whether it 

 be spring or autumn, summer or winter ; there is melody 

 in their hearts at all seasons, and they mean that the 

 world shall know it. 



The flowers of summer, even the everywhere present 

 golden-rods of September, are not missed at such a time. 

 A single happy bird will make glad the dreariest land- 

 scape; and before Indian summer came, the meadows 

 and creek-side were filled with a cheerful, chirping host 

 that will spend the winter with us. I never want for a 

 companion when I come to the creek. It is the great 

 highway of an endless host, and to be one with them, if 

 not of them, is a treat fit for the gods. 



However full the day, the thought that this sweet 

 " summer " is so short will constantly intrude. Not a 

 cloud flecks the sky but we wonder what of the morrow ? 

 Not a breeze stirs the branches and rattles the withered 

 but still clinging leaves but we scan the northern skies 

 for a herald of winter. As quickly as the Indian summer 

 came, so she departs. The storm-king takes up the 

 scepter, and a new order is established. 



The Delaware Indians called the eleventh month Wini- 

 gisclmcli, or Snow Moon, and our records show that the 

 first snow-fall is usually before December 1st. Hence the 

 common saying that the date of the first rabbit-tracking 

 snow in November indicates the number of snow-storms 

 of the winter ; and trustworthy meteorological records 

 show that snow and ice are more a feature of the eleventh 

 month than is a week of beautiful, warm, and hazy 

 weather. Nevertheless, November is neither a winter nor 

 a wintry month. 



A jumping mouse that I have had for weeks has be- 

 come so stupid since the mild days of last month that I 

 have generously passed it over to a friend. A word is in 



