SEPTEMBER WEATHER.
Day after day, even week after week, we have had good reason to sing paeans to the charm of England. What
seductive days September has given us : a heavy night dew, a morning mist, a conquering sun, a warm noon and afternoon, a sweet-scented evening. The hedgerows are rich with ripening blackberries and gay with hips and haws, though still the leaves of tree and shrub are fresh and green with no more than a hint of autumnal colour. The orchard trees are bright with maturing fruit. On the cleared stubbles either the ploughs are active or the clover leaves top the shaved straws. Every stackyard is rich with solid ricks of hay and corn. The roses are blooming again in exceptional profusion, and on the later flowers the Red Admirals, gorgeous in searlet and white on a black ground, sun themselves luxuriantly. Even Scotch moors or a Cornish seaside can scarcely compete with an ordinary Midland scene, where the robins sing the sun to bed and the swallows circle high in the long twilight. You may travel the world and not meet the like of a September day in "this England."
W. BEACH THOMAS.
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