upon them, seem almost as bright as the rainbow, though they have not so many colors. A grove of young sassafras on a sloping bank is as glorious as a sunset. The leaves are scarlet, and orange, and gold, and yellow, and all the hues between,--blending and running into one another as nothing but the hand of the Creator could picture them.

And there are the maples, red and yellow, and splashed with blood. Here is a tree with a part of it as red as flame, while the rest is a dark green.

Yonder is another, with some of the leaves red, some green, and some half red and half green; and these colors are so mingled all through the thick, leafy top of the tree that it looks as if a thousand little torches had been lit in the midst of it.

By the side of the road are some tall oak shoots that have grown from the stumps of small trees that were cut down last year. It would be hard to think of anything more beautiful than their leaves,-maroon, crimson, and dark green blended together.

Over there are some hickories, yellower than golden grain that is waiting for the harvester.

Down near the river are some ash trees with a kind of greenish-brown color that I cannot describe; but none of the bright colors are quite so charming to my eye as the modest colors of these ash leaves, and the leaves of some beeches. Look at those beeches on the hillside above the river;—what would one not give if he could hang them up

in his room, and have them stay that color all through the year? But they are prettier just where nature has placed them. Let us enjoy them as they are, and praise the Giver for such a grand sight once a year.

THE BAREFOOT BOY.

Blessings on thee, little man,
Barefoot boy with cheek of tan!
With thy turned-up pantaloons,
And thy merry whistled tunes;
With thy red lip, redder still,
Kissed by strawberries on the hill;
With the sunshine on thy face,

Through thy torn brim's jaunty grace;
From my heart I give thee joy,—
I was once a barefoot boy.

Prince thou art,-the grown-up man
Only is republican.

Let the million-dollared ride!

Barefoot, trudging at his side,

Thou hast more than he can buy
In the reach of ear and eye,-
Outward sunshine, inward joy:
Blessings on thee, barefoot boy!

O for boyhood's painless play,
Sleep that wakes in laughing day,
Health that mocks the doctor's rules,
Knowledge never learned of schools,
Of the wild bee's morning chase,
Of the wild-flower's time and place,
Flight of fowl and habitude
Of the tenants of the wood;
How the tortoise bears his shell,
How the woodchuck digs his cell,
And the ground-mole sinks his well;
How the robin feeds her young,
How the oriole's nest is hung;
Where the whitest lilies blow,
Where the freshest berries grow,

Where the groundnut trails its vine,
Where the wood-grape's clusters shine;
Of the black wasp's cunning way,
Mason of his walls of clay,
And the architectural plans
Of gray hornet artisans!

For, eschewing books and tasks,
Nature answers all he asks;

Hand in hand with her he walks,
Face to face with her he talks,
Part and parcel of her joy,-
Blessings on the barefoot boy!

O for boyhood's time of June,
Crowding years in one brief moon,
When all things I heard or saw,
Me, their master, waited for.
I was rich in flowers and trees,
Humming-birds and honey-bees;
For my sport the squirrel played,
Plied the snouted mole his spade;
For my taste the blackberry cone
Purpled over hedge and stone;
Laughed the brook for my delight
Through the day and through the night,
Whispering at the garden wall,
Talked with me from fall to fall;
Mine the sand-rimmed pickerel pond,
Mine the walnut slopes beyond,

Mine, on bending orchard trees,
Apples of Hesperides!

Still as my horizon grew,
Larger grew my riches too;
All the world I saw or knew,
Seemed a complex Chinese toy,
Fashioned for a barefoot boy!