rthies, Caius and Balbus. Jeanne-Armande had not failed to
proclaim far and wide her candidate's qualifications as to vocal music.
"A pupil of Belzini," she remarked, with a stately air, "was not often
to be obtained so far inland." The principal, a clear-headed Western
woman, with a keen sense of humor, perceived at once (although smiling
at it) the value of the phrase. It was soon in circulation. And it was
understood that at Christmas-time the pupil of Belzini, who was not
often to be obtained so far inland, would assume charge of the music
class, and lift it to a plane of Italian perfection hitherto unattained.

The autumn opened. Anne, walking on the lake shore at sunset, saw the
vessels steal out from port one by one, and opening white sails, glide
away in the breeze of evening silently as spirits. Then came the colored
leaves. The town, even in its meanest streets, was now so beautiful that
the wonder was that the people did not leave their houses, and live
out-of-doors altogether, merely to gaze; every leaf was a flower, and
brighter than the brightest blossom. Then came a wild storm, tearing the
splendor from the branches in a single night; in the morning, November
rain was falling, and all was desolate and bare. But after this, the
last respite, came Indian summer.

If there is a time when the American of to-day recalls the red-skinned
men who preceded him in this land he now calls his own, it is during
these few days of stillness and beauty which bear the name of the
vanished race. Work is over in the fields, they are ready for their
winter rest; the leaves are gone, the trees are ready too. The last red
apple is gathered; men and the squirrels together have gleaned the last
nut. There is nothing more to be done; and he who with a delicate
imagination walks abroad, or drives slowly along country roads, finds
himself thinking, in the stillness, of those who roved over this same
ground not many years ago, and tardily gathering in at this season their
small crops of corn beside the rivers, gave to the beautiful
golden-purple-hued days the name they bear. Through the naked woods he
sees them stealing, bow in hand; on the stream he sees their birch-bark
canoes; the smoke in the atmosphere must surely rise from their hidden
camp fires. They have come back to their old haunts from the happy
hunting grounds for these few golden days. Is it not the Indian summer?
The winter came early, with whirling snow followed by b