The oak is rich with russet, bronze and brown, And there a purple crest Gleams o'er the forest like a lifted crown Some color-god has blest. Loosed by the frost, the sumac's pallid leaves Like yellow lance-heads fall, While lights and shadows ever shifting weave A net-work over all. O queenly autumn! though you proudly lead The old year to its death, A glory comes and goes where'er you tread With every dying breath, The year is dying--dying as a king Dies in his purple. Now His shroud is woven, and its colors fling A glory o'er his brow. The cold, the night, the storm, were especially congenial to him. He almost literally "kept open house" throughout the year; for he would hardly permit his doors to be closed even in the coldest weather. On his gallery he delighted to stand or walk and watch a thunder storm, especially by night, as his graphic picture of "The Night Storm" fully testifies. But nature in her gentler aspects was also at times very attractive to him, as this stanza must suffice to show: "O warm South Wind! awake and send Across the sea that breath of thine, And let its lotus fragrance blend With the rich odor of the pine. O'er land and sea your treasures bring, From zones with health and beauty rife, To youth the fullness of its spring, To age, the aftermath of life." Particularly noticeable, and often fascinating through their witchery or weirdness are a number of Mr. Ward's poems. Of those through which fancy sports most winsomely are "The Lake of the Golden Isle," "St. Nicotine, a Christmas Phantasy," "Just Twenty-Two," and "Katie Did." The last was extensively copied in the press and much admired. It will bear another repetition. KATIE DID. Naughty Katie, saucy Katie, Is your secret aught to me That you hide it, nor divide it, In a tree? In a tree before the trellis, Where I have a secret hid, And provokingly you tell us, Katie did, Katie didn't, Yes, she did, No, she didn't, Katie did. Prithee, Katie, by what penance Are you nightly doomed to be Trilling to the quiet tenants Of the tree, Safely hidden from espial Of what Katie said or did, That incessant, shrill denial, Katie did, Katie didn't, Yes, she did, No, she didn't, Katie did? Little disputant, securely Ambushed, from intrusion free, Don't I see you so demurely From the tree, Peeping through the latticed branches. Where the moon its arrows slid, Piping forth with cunning glances, Katie did, Katie didn't, Yes, she did, No, she didn't, Katie did?