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SEPTEMBER DAYS 



September days have the warmth of 

 summer in their briefer hours, but in 

 their lengthening evenings a prophetic 

 breath of autumn. The cricket chirps 

 in the noontide, making the most of 

 what remains of his brief life ; the bum- 

 blebee is busy among the clover blos- 

 soms of the aftermath ; and their shrill 

 cry and dreamy hum hold the outdoor 

 world above the voices of the song birds, 

 now silent or departed. 



What a little while ago they were our 

 familiars, noted all about us in their ac- 

 customed haunts — sparrow, robin, and 

 oriole, each trying now and then, as if 

 to keep it in memory, a strain of his 

 springtime love song, and the cuckoo 

 fluting a farewell prophecy of rain. The 

 bobolinks, in sober sameness of traveling 

 gear, still held the meadowside thickets 

 of weeds ; and the swallows sat in sedate 

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