OCTOBER. 
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Autumn’s sighing, 
Moaning, dying, 
Clouds are flying 
On like steeds ; 
While their shadows 
O'er the meadows 
Walk like widows 
Decked in weeds. 
Red leaves trailing 
Fall unfailing— 
Dropping, sailing 
From the wood, 
That, unpliant, 
Stands defiant, 
Like a giant 
Dropping blood. 
T. B. Read. 
golden October. “The harvest is past, the 
Summer is ended.” The lovely flowers of 
Spring and Summer are gone. The fruit trees 
have yielded up their fruit; but the forest trees are 
now in their riches of golden glory, and the foliage is 
indeed lovely. The noble oak, the horse-chestnut, the 
elm, the beech, the ash, the lime, and the poplar, vie 
with each other in the brilliancy and beauty of their 
autumnal tints. The graceful firs and hardy ever- 
