September.
We have now reached the ninth month in the year—the first month of autumn—September—the pleasantest month of all the twelve. It is true the leaves of the trees are beginning to turn yellow; many of the birds are departing for more southern climes; the evenings are getting chilly; the summer flowers are gone; and all around there is an air of soberness, almost of sadness. Yet there is something in all this, that makes the heart content, tranquil and happy.
The earth is now abounding with fruit. The peaches, the plums, the pears, the apples, the grapes, are ripe, and seem to invite us to taste them. How pleasant it is to be in the country now! Say, my little friends, is not September the finest of all the months?