50 A Foretaste of Autumn 



spiders with their long, limp legs at rest ; or 

 like the after-scene of a great battle among 

 such creatures, their brilliant purple legs, 

 victors and vanquished alike, in a hopeless 

 tangle. I have often noticed a scarcely 

 defined purple cloud along the horizon, in- 

 deed, it is seldom absent on sunny days, 

 but here were the richest tones of the royal 

 color near at hand. 



But I was not on a color hunt, nor yet de- 

 sirous of much bird music ; neither did the 

 shade of sturdy oaks woo me. Nothing that 

 suggested even active thoughts could induce 

 me to turn from my pathless, aimless wan- 

 dering. August now, and the fittest time for 

 day-dreams, for chasing idle nothings in a 

 languid way, for loitering where my last step 

 led me, and, turning to the object nearest at 

 hand, I plucked the bloom from a bush yar- 

 row, and revelled in its pungent, fancy-stir- 

 ring odor. 



Curled at the foot of a beech, where only 

 greenest moss and silky grasses grow, I held 

 the yarrow blossoms to my nose until my 

 lungs were filled with the subtle odor that 

 revived all my waning energies. It is not a 

 summer scent that recalls June roses or the 



