XIII.

THE FIRST KATYDID.

The first katydid of the season has whipped out his bow and drawn the
preparatory note across the strings of his violin. He is alone at
present and he plays to an empty house, but it will not be long before
the orchestra fills up and the music is in full blast. The cricket is
getting ready to throw aside the green baize that has held his piccolo
so long, and before the middle of the month there will not be a tuft of
grass nor a shelter of low-lying leaves that is not alive with the
shrill, complaining sweetness of his theme. The goldenrod has lighted
the candles in the candelabra that skirt the borders of the wood, and
the aster has already hung out her purple gown and her yellow laces
upon the bushes that follow the windings of the steep ravine. Only six
weeks to frost! Only six weeks to the time for the unbottling of the
year's vintage and the exchange of tea for sparkling wine. Hasten
forward, then, oh, days of radiant life and sparkling weather! We are
tired of torrid waves and flies; of snakes, hornets and cyclones.




XIV.

A PLEA FOR MEN.