sters came out like stars on a frosty evening, pricking
through the pale glow of sunset. The meadow has lacked vivid color
masses since June. Now it is a veritable mixing pat for the autumn
colors to come, yellow with goldenrod, blue with asters, purple
with Joe-Pye weed, rosy because of the hardhack, and rimmed with
delicate gray-white of thoroughwort. These colors it will hold
until the maples take fire and the green of birches pales to
softest yellow at the expectation of October. So the flash of
coolness in the air after rain set all the wood folk busy. The
squirrels seemed to scold more shrilly and dance along the boughs
inspecting the swelling chestnut burrs with a livelier kick than
before. About this time, too, the bluejays begin to be prophetic
of autumn. Hardly through July and early August has a loud note
been heard from these birds. Often the recesses of the pines have
been full of a gentle tinkling whicker as of muted tin pans that
practised in the hope of some day becoming real phonographs,
voices of young and old bluejays holding family councils
interspersed with quiet joviality, but there has been none of the
strident clamor which is the autumn voice of the bird. Today,
however, in the cool, refreshing breeze out of the northwest it
rang through the wood with familiar vigor, a herald, blowing
trumpets in advance of autumn. It is really all settled; the
bluejay has announced it and summer is over. As the rain brings
down early twilight it brings not only dreams of faint odors of
far Cathay, it brings also clinging in the gray garments of the
east wind films of its mystery and romance. As the prince in his
brief outlook through the window of paradise saw on the panes
moving pictures of life which Time had set there, so through the
dusk of the fields and into the tangle of the forest it is easy to
see this wind from far Cathay moving pictures of Oriental magic
and mystery. Gray djinns stalk across the open spaces in the
gathering dusk and what magician from Samarcand or what prince or
princess of India may float to earth on these billowing
praying-carpets of rain gusts it is impossible to tell. In the open
fields and on the forest edges the effect of ghostly mystery is
enhanced by the strange personality which all things take on. The most
familiar path becomes new to us and each shrub and stump stands
forth, pressing upon our attention, a newly arrived being out of
the realms of space.

Monday afternoon