MY GARDEN are still sultry days and close nights, but the 

 OF DREAMS j lurr y Q f S p r i n g and the intensity of summer 

 are over. Things are ripening. 



There is a growing restfulness as if the zest 

 of making bloom and fruit were over. The 

 summer apples fall, and here and there are 

 already a few yellow leaves on the maples and 

 red on the sumac. There is a quiet over nature 

 as if softly subdued to the season. 



Then comes a very rush of color. "The 

 spirit of the season waves his wand, and the 

 world is hung with the richest drapery that 

 ever the wizard drew from his enchanted loom. 

 It is as if a splendid sunset had fallen down in 

 fragments on the earth and set it all ablaze." 



But it is a beauty that subdues. The glory 

 of color, orange and purple, scarlet and crim- 

 son, grows less and less glorious, but strangely 

 more and more beautiful. 



"The year's at rest in the mellow haze 

 That crowns with gold these royal days." 



Mysterious and prophetic voices now fill the 

 air with the music of elegiac hymns, and again 

 with songs of hope and faith. 



[ i34 1 



