IN THE CANADIAN WOODS. 139 



the pines warn me it is time to retrace my steps, and 

 the sound of the jangling cow-bells speaks audibly of the 

 hour when the children will be looking for their tea. 



AUTIJMN. 



" See how the great old forest vies 

 With all the glories of the skies, 



In streaks without a name ; 

 And leagues on leagues of scarlet spires, 

 And temples lit with crimson fires, 



And palaces of flame ! 

 And domes on domes that gleam afar, 

 Through many a gold and crimson bar 



With azure overhead ; 

 While forts, with towers on towers arise, 

 As if they meant to scale the skies, 



With banners bloody red." 



— Alexander McLachluii. 



, Silently but surely the summer with all its wealth of 

 flower has left us, though we still have a few of its 

 latest blossoms lingering on into the ripened glory of 

 the autumn days. Our roadsides and waste places are 

 brilliant With the gay waving Golden Rod (Solidago) — 

 that sun-loving flower which does not fade and droop its 

 golden spikes under the August and September heat. 



Graceful asters, too, of many sorts are blooming in sun- 

 shine and in shade, and many a beautiful gentian, both 

 the fringed-flower of the poet and the later variety, 

 have I gathered late in October. 



August suns have ripened the grain, and the harvest 



