the stem, there will be several other blossoms, in the axils. In the
swamps and bogs the barrel-shaped blossoms of the closed gentians are
growing larger day by day and by the twentieth of the month the
fringed gentian, known only to a favored few, here in Iowa, will show
the first of its blossoms.

* * * * *

In these last days of the summer there comes a grateful sense of the
ripeness which crowns the year. Nothing in nature has hid its talent
in a napkin. Every tree and shrub and herb has something to show in
return for the privilege of having lived and worked in a world of
beauty. Catbirds on the eve of their departure for the southland are
feasting on the red and yellow wild plums, and the crab apples are
beginning to give forth a faint fragrance which will grow more
pronounced from now until October. The amber clusters of the hop are
poured in profusion over the reddening fruit of the hawthorn. Farther
on is the brook Eschol where the purple grapes are hanging. The snowy
clusters of the sweet elder, which were so beautiful in July and early
August, have developed into ample clusters of juicy berries which
bring memories of the wine that grandmother used to make. Flocks of
robins are feeding greedily on the abundant wild cherries. Thickets of
panicled dogwood are feeding stations for other migrants; already the
crimson fruit-stalks have been stripped of half their white berries.
These native fruits are so many and so varied, they make the walk a
constant delight. Each plant is a revelation. Who ever saw for the
first time the huge clusters of fruit hanging from the wild spikenard
on the face of the cliff and did not thrill with the charm of a great
discovery? Each cluster of ruby, winey berries is as large as a
hickory-nut and the clusters are aggregated upon stalks so as to