These same earth-fires which blazed in the 

 osmunda now glow deep red in the dwarf sumacs — 

 a dull, fierce flame, as if for the nonce Pluto's 

 fires shone through the thin shell of earth. The 

 poison-ivy is in its glory, and no tupelo, no sugar- 

 maple, can rival its scarlet and vermilion. Earth 

 indeed wears a jewel now. But there is nowhere 

 a warmer, mellower tint than the shadbush has 

 caught and held, — not brilliant nor showy, not a 

 shining mark in the woods, but a cheery sight 

 that warms the cockles of your heart. Little 

 clumps of the maple-leaved viburnum are now of 

 a delicate smoky pink, while the ash turns an 

 indescribable hue — a greenish maroon or purplish 

 green if such there be. 



Already the hickory leaves are falling, detaching 

 themselves one by one and floating leisurely to 

 earth. It will now be our gentle pleasure to walk 

 through crisp and rustling leaves. Barberries are 

 ripe, and old-fashioned folk gather them for jelly 

 or preserve them in molasses, wherein they are as 

 so many shoe-pegs drowned in sweetness. The 

 solitary sandpiper comes again to preside briefly 

 over the ponds — a lone, wild spirit. Little flocks 

 of coots scud low over the water, and in the dark, 

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