178 THE JOY OF GARDENS 



"A haze on the far horizon, 

 An infinite tender sky, 

 The ripe, rich tint of the cornfields, 

 And the wild geese sailing high; 



Knd all over upland and lowland 



The charm of the goldenrod 

 Some of us call it Autumn, 



And others call it God." 



As the night falls, the beauty lingers. Though as- 

 sured yesterday that summer had taken her gentle pres- 

 ence away, the evening was warm and fragrant. The 

 children had gathered herb balls, twisting the stems and 

 dried leaves to place among their linen, and the house was 

 redolent with minty vapors, while through the open win- 

 dow stole the breath of autumn, perfumed with calamus 

 and the odor of ripening grasses. 



A mystic autumn night is such an opportunity for 

 revelings! Let us call together the children, fling wide 

 the doors, and, escaping from the familiar paths of the 

 home inclosure, cross the- lots to the wood and the walnut 

 grove. 



How fast the shackles of convention fell from the 

 limbs as we climbed the fences and hasted along in Indian 

 file, the dullest alive in the freedom of rapid motion. 

 The full moon looked over the eastern tree tops, with a 

 ruddy face diffusing a pale light that did not penetrate 



