SEPTEMBER DAYS 



their songsters had departed, rarely 

 stirred but by the woodpecker's busy 

 hammer, the chatter and bark of squir- 

 rels, and the crows making vociferous 

 proclamation against some winged or 

 furred enemy. The grouse have waxed 

 fat among the border patches of berry 

 bushes, rarely disturbed in the seclusion 

 of the thickets but by the soft footfall 

 of the fox, the fleeting shadow of a cruis- 

 ing hawk, and the halloo of the cowboy 

 driving home his herd from the hillside 

 pasture. Now come enemies more re- 

 lentless than beast or bird of pfey, a 

 sound more alarming than the cowboy's 

 distant call — man and his companion 

 the dog, and the terrible thunder of the 

 gun. A new terror is revealed to the 

 young birds, a half -forgotten one brought 

 afresh to the old. The crows have found 

 fresh cause for clamor, and the squirrels 

 lapse into a silence of fear. 



Peace and the quietness of peace have 

 departed from the realm of the woods, 

 and henceforth while the green leaves 

 grow bright as blossoms with the touch 

 of frost, then brown and sere, and till 

 long after they lie under the white 

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