The Green caldron - University Library

12 The Green Caldron
tramps happily through the drifts of chattering leaves, wondering at the glossy
beauty of a chestnut that emerged from such an ugly shell; laughing at the
busy squirrels who scamper from their occupations at his noisy approach
running to catch a glimpse of a wedge of honking geese, who announce their
approach as efficiently as any streamliner. The brisk wind, which playfully
ruffles his hair, carries the poignant smell of leaf smoke and brings near the
distant scrape of a rake on cement. A season of festivities, harvest moons,
pumpkin pies, trees letting down their golden hair—these are autumn to
I'Allegro.
Yet, in spite of all the splendor about him, II Penseroso registers only
increasing melancholia. He wanders through a trackless maze of leaves, which
by their falling have left the bare arms of their nourishers stretched imploringly
against a pitiless sky. Absent-mindedly, he pulls at a burr in his trouser-leg,
as he pauses to look at a half-grown rabbit, which stares back at him with dark,
liquid eyes, bidding a final, silent farewell until spring. Suddenly, the word-
less conversation is interrupted by a harsh shriek overhead, quickly followed
by another, and another. The geese are flying south, to food and shelter and
security from cold ; the rabbit disappears in a thicket. II Penseroso turns
toward home, the chilly wind tossing and twisting his coat about him. Gone
are the dewy violets, the gliding butterflies, the nodding goldenrod, the long,
lazy days. Autumn is here.
The Phenomenon on the Prairie
ONE
Helen Levin
Rhetoric 102. Theme 4
HUNDRED AND THIRTY MILES FROM CHICAGO AND
thirty-five miles from the University of Illinois is one of the most
unusual notches on the "Corn Belt"—Danville. This small city, like
a spider's web encircling the neighboring farming communities, is just far
enough from Chicago to be free of cosmopolitan chaos, yet close enough to
absorb some of the city's more notorious habits. A typical midsummer Satur-
day well illustrates the vacillating personality of this unusual town.
After supper, there are Municipal Band concerts in the park. Most of
the town attends, the eldest sitting in canvas camp chairs, wearily flicking
away flies and reliving the days when they were young, as the band director
leads the aggregation of local instrument players in the perennial Strauss
waltzes and Sousa marches. Younger couples push baby carriages down
the lantern-illuminated walks, and as the music weaves its spell, they forget
for a time the budget and other immediate problems. In a remote corner of
the park, some of the high-school crowd play tennis. Their buoyant laughter
drifts over the courts: the only other sounds are those of the tennis balls
;