NOVEMBER DAYS 



landscape beyond the near foreground, 

 till nothing is distinct but some golden 

 gleam of sunlit water, bright as the orb 

 that shines upon it. Flocks of migrating 

 geese linger on the stubble fields, and 

 some laggard crows flap lazily athwart 

 the sky or perch contentedly upon the 

 naked treetops as if they cared to seek 

 no clime more genial. The brief heav- 

 enly beauteousness of Indian summer 

 has fallen upon the earth, a few tran- 

 quil days of ethereal mildness dropped 

 into the sullen or turbulent border of 

 winter. 



In November days, as in all others, 

 the woods are beautiful to the lover of 

 nature and to the sportsman who in 

 their love finds the finer flavor of his 

 pastime. Every marking of the gray 

 trunks, each moss-patch and scale of 

 lichen on them, is shown more distinctly 

 now in the intercepted light, and the 

 delicate tracery of the bare branches 

 and their netted shadows on the rum- 

 pled carpet of the forest floor, have a 

 beauty as distinctive as the fullness of 

 green or frost-tinted leafage and its sil- 

 houette of shade. 



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