AUTUMN. 103 



between the two, that should make my thoughts jump half a mile at the 

 sight of a roadside weed. But that old woollen-mill offered a premium on 

 the extermination of one weed at least, for all the teasels of the neighbor- 

 hood were required to keep its cloth brushes in thorough repair ; but I 

 fear its buzzing wheels are silent, for in olden times no such splendid 

 clump as this could have remained to go to seed upon the highway. 

 This old mill lies right upon our path, only a short walk down the road 

 beyond. It nestles among a bower of willows in a picturesque ravine 

 known as the " Devil's Hollow " — an umbrageous, rocky glen, by far too 

 cool and comfortable a place to justify the name it bears. 



Following the road, we now descend into a long, low stretch, hedged 

 in between two tall banks of alder, overtopped with interwoven tangles of 

 clematis, with its cloudy autumn clusters — that graceful vine which, like 

 the dandelion, is even more beautiful in death than in the fulness of its 

 bloom. And so, indeed, are nearly all those plants whose final state is 

 thus endowed by nature with feathery wings to lift them from the earth. 



When has this swamp milk -weed by the roadside looked so fair as 

 now, with its bursting pods and silky seeds — those little waifs thrown out 

 upon the world with every passing breeze. How tenderly they seem to 

 cling to the little cosy home where they have been so snugly cradled and 

 protected ; and see how they sail away, two or three together, loth to part, 

 until some rude gust shall separate them forever. 



And here's the great spiny thistle, too, that armed highwayman with 

 florid face and pompon in his cap. But he has had his day, and now we 

 see him old and seedy ; his spears are broken, and his silvery gray hairs 

 are floating everywhere and glistening in the sun. 



Now we leave the alders, and another roadside mosaic of rich color 

 opens up before us, where the old half -wall fence, with its overtopping 

 rails, is luminous with a crimson glow of ampelopsis. It covers all the 

 stones for yards and yards; it swings from every jutting rail; it clambers 

 up the tree trunks and envelops them in fire, and hangs its waving fringe 

 from all the branches. 



Above the wall, like an encampment of thatched wigwams, the corn- 

 shocks lift their heads ; a prospecting colony encamped among a field 

 rich with outcroppings of gold — a wealth of great round nuggets all in 

 sight. And were we to tear away that thatch, we might see where they 

 have stowed away their accumulated grains of wealth. We hear their 

 rustling whispers: " Hush! hush!" they seem to say to each other as we 



