374 



THE NATURE BOOK 



sink lightly once again to earth, but a 

 stone's-throw it may be from the thistle- 

 top of embarkation. 



The bramble leaves are many shades 

 of crimson now, the wild rose brown 

 and crumpled ; but there is all the gloss 

 and glory of the 

 reddening hip. 

 The limes are bare, 

 the sycamore re- 

 duced to drab and 

 yellow rags, the 

 horse- chestnuts 

 dingy ; but the 

 elms are still glori- 

 ously yellow, and 

 the roadside 

 hedges brighter 

 than they have 

 been for weeks, 

 bronzed hawthorn 

 and ruddy - hued 

 beech leaf com- 

 mingling. 



Green lingers on, 

 but the withering 

 pinch of Autumn 

 is upon it. Russet 

 tints and brown 

 deepen in the dy- 

 ing foliage like a 

 great stain. The 

 leaf's labours are 

 nearing a close. 

 Beneficent in life, 

 dying it gives to 

 the tree that will 

 yet weather many 

 a storm all that it 

 has worth having, 

 since the swallows 



It seems but 

 twittered so 



a day 

 loqua- 



ciously under the eaves. They are gone 

 long since, a wild, excited rush to the 

 sunny south ; many a dreary month to 

 be lived through ere they come again 

 with Spring. Memory creeps back to 

 those warm September hours by the 

 wayside, hours of the yellow corn 

 and the ripened seed. 'Twas a pleasing of forgetting where he puts things. What 



nounced the dispersal of new whin and 

 broom generations : and in the garden 

 the artillery of the noli-me-tangere bal- 

 sam — touch it and prove the " impatiens " 

 — out-shot the seeds in every direction. 

 The thistledown floating hither and 



thither in clouds as 

 the breeze streng- 

 thened ; how sug- 

 gestive of the Fall 

 these tiny nutlets 

 borne away on the 

 daintiest of para- 

 chutes. One mar- 

 vels at the in- 

 genuity displayed 

 for securing the 

 widespread d i s - 

 persal of seeds. 

 For what purpose 

 the prickles of the 

 burdock burr, or 

 the minute hooks 

 on the "cleaver" 

 fruits of the sticky 

 goose-grass ? None 

 other than to cling, 

 for a time, to fleece 

 and fur and feather. 

 Why the wings of 

 the maple fruit ? — 

 watch its twisting 

 fall. But the 

 poppy capsule pre- 

 sents a puzzle. 

 When it cracks, 

 little windows open 

 just under the 

 crown. When the 

 rain comes little eaves protect the open 

 windows. Only when the wind sways 

 it to and fro will you see how the seeds 

 roll out, one by one. Though the thrush 

 devours the rose hip, the seeds are sown 

 none the worse for their intestinal travels ; 

 nor is there any reason to suppose that 

 the squirrel's hoards of nuts are destined 

 to be eaten, for the squirrel has a habit 



/ .:c:\,raM by J. H. Poivell. 



THISTLEDOWN. 



sound, the splitting and cracking of m- 

 numerable pods and capsules in the heat 

 of the sun ; quite a pleasure, too, watch- 

 ing the little violets and hedge geraniums 

 throw forth their seeds to fate or fortune. 

 A quick succession of 

 from among the whins 



amazmg prodigality, and how provi- 

 dential, too, is all this broadcast seed- 

 scattering. 



How well one remembers the comfortable 



coo roo, coo, 00-00 of the cushat in the 



little e.x])losions fir-tops through the sleepy hours of the 



and broom an- warm September afternoon, and the 



