194 
WEATHER PROPHETS 
The odour of burning leaves is in the air. There is a 
natural freshness about it that prompts the expansion 
of the lungs. It seems an assurance of a wave of real 
air in the midst of the sulphurous fumes of a thousand 
chimneys and the penetrating dust of the abraded 
streets. The smoke of the leaves seems but a 
strengthening of the natural leafy smell that fills the 
naked woods, where the scattered foliage is returning 
again to the earth to enrich it for a new season's 
growth. There is no more satisfying forest odour 
than the exhalations from the fallen leaves, when 
they spread the moist, misty warmth of Indian 
summer among the rugged trunks and naked 
shrubbery. They seem to give forth again the breath 
of life that made the spring an invitation. The season 
is so complete that the active preparations of the 
Muskrats in the marsh become almost annoying 
in their persistent suggestions of coming change. 
Smoke arises from the marsh and hangs in the 
still atmosphere, showing that the natural processes 
of decay are helped by juvenile destructiveness. 
Primitive man worshipped fire, and the spell has 
never been thrown off through centuries of civilisa- 
