THE PROCESSION OF THE FLOWERS 5! 
rootless plants of the delicate Bladderwort, 
spreading over acres of shallows, still impurple 
the wide, smooth surface. Harriet Prescott 
Spofford says that some souls are like the 
Water-Lilies, fixed, yet floating. But others 
are like this graceful purple blossom, floating 
unfixed, kept in place only by its fellows around 
it, until perhaps a breeze comes, and, breaking 
the accidental cohesion, sweeps them all away. 
The season reluctantly yields its reign, and 
over the quiet autumnal landscape everywhere, 
even after the glory of the trees is. past, there 
are tints and fascinations of minor beauty. 
Last October, for instance, in walking, I found 
myself on a little knoll, looking northward. 
Overhead was a bower of climbing Waxwork, 
with its yellowish pods scarce disclosing their 
scarlet berries,—a wild Grapevine, with its 
fruit withered by the frost into still purple 
raisins, — and yellow Beech-leaves, detaching 
themselves with an effort audible to the ear. 
In the foreground were blue Raspberry-stems, 
yet bearing greenish leaves, — pale yellow 
Witch-hazel, almost leafless, — purple Vibur- 
num-berries, — the silky cocoons of the Milk- 
weed, —and, amid the underbrush, a few lin- 
gering Asters and Goldenrods, Ferns still 
green, and Maidenhair bleached white. In the 
background were hazy hills, white Birches bare 
