later, goldenrod. The last is hardly gone before 

 the advance guard of skunk-cabbage appears again. 

 Autumn nourishes a vigorous brood — whole acres 

 of wild sunflowers, acres again of joepye-weed, and 

 salt marshes aglow with the great rose-mallow. 

 Presently there will be only asters and golden- 

 rod — everywhere purple and gold; royal robes 

 worn not for long, to give way to the sober dress 

 of early winter — a monk's garb. 



Early in September the common brakes turn, 

 imparting a faint glow to the woods. Dicksonia 

 has a brighter hue, and patches surrounding a 

 pasture boulder fairly seem to emit light. But this 

 is as nothing to the splendor of cinnamon-ferns in 

 the open bogs, now dry, and the spagnum withered 

 and sear. It is as if the smouldering earth-fires 

 leapt at the touch of autumn and glowed in these 

 stately fronds. In the woods is always a predomi- 

 nance of yellow at this season; so lately somber 

 and damp, heavy with the mustiness and humidity 

 of the dog-days, they are now full of imprisoned 

 sunshine. As by a touch of enchantment, the falling 

 of the lower leaves on all shrubbery and in brier 

 thickets has suddenly given us distances, larger 

 perspective and new vistas, where before we were 



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