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of the autumn, when the trees are rustling their rich- 

 est robes of crimson and gold, when the air, almost 

 silent, trembles with the subdued hum of insects and 

 the mellow haze of faint, gray purple mists wreathe 

 the trees and lake with the witchery of their mystery. 

 Come here then and let the loveliness of the place move 

 through you as the mists move through the trees, still- 

 ing you with the serene communion with dreaming 

 Nature that is indeed beyond the power of words to 

 tell. The soft, golden sunshine falls upon you with a 

 gentle warmth, as if caressing you, the trees rustle, 

 the crimson and yellow leaves float gently down about 

 you like the quiet thoughts of an idle reverie. All is 

 hushed, subdued, mellowed. No harsh note comes to 

 you. The very voices of the passers-by are softened, 

 as if the scene possessed some subtle power of enchant- 

 ment to enforce silence. If you have aught of artist 

 or poet in you, and every one has or should have, come 

 to this lovely spot when autumn is hanging about it its 

 dream veils and do thou sit here and dream too. Let 

 the city with its cares float away in its enfolding mists 

 while you sit here amid the falling leaves, the warm, 

 golden sunshine and the subdued colors of an autumn 

 day and live! 



In this maze of winding paths, crossing and recross- 

 ing as they do, it is quite impossible to follow out 

 clearly any single line of rambling. Confusion would 

 most certainly result from any such attempt. So I have 

 pursued in the treatment of this chapter the plan of plot- 

 ting, at easily distinguishable-points on the map, such as 

 crossings, intersections and other determinable points. 



