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JOURNAL OF VARIATION. 



No. 12. Vol. IV. December 15th, 1893. 



AN AUTUMN DAY. 



By Eev. G. M. a. HEWETT, M.A. 



It was a late autumn morning, one of those rare mornings of No- 

 vember whereon autumn mistakes itself for spring. A gale from the 

 south had blown itself out during the night, scattering the last withered 

 leaves from the lower boughs of the elms. But thei-e was still breeze 

 enough to send the shadows of the clouds racing over the downs, and 

 on the breeze was the indefinable perfume of the spring. The ear 

 listened for the abrupt and broken melody of the storm-cock's song, and 

 the eye turned instinctively to the hedgerow banks, to note the little 

 green things of the earth peeping up to spy if winter was really gone. 

 But there was after all no calling of birds in the air, and on the banks 

 nothing but the mouldering remains of the nettles and the brown 

 hedge-leaves, still shining after the night's rain. And so the dull apathy 

 of the season settled down again upon the mind. It was as if an old 

 man should dream of youth and youth's voices and visions — and then 

 awake. There is an alertness and expectation about a spring walk 

 which is altogether wanting in an autumn ramble : but an autumn 

 naturalist has this advantage over his spring brother, that he has less 

 often to face a feeling of disappointment at the end of his day. Some 

 expeditions in April require a phenomenal amount of luck to leave that 

 feeling of satisfaction on the mind which is kindled by a very moderate 

 bag in the autumn. And again ; in spring a day over is a day gone and 

 lost for ever, one day less of the splendour of young life ; but in 

 autumn it is enough to have lived ; we regard the past -with a feeling 

 of complacency and equanimity. We have come to look upon change 

 and decay as the established order of things, and the death of another 

 day stirs few feelings of regret within us. And so, perhaps, age is 

 happier than youth. 



I am afraid that A. found me rather a silent companion as Ave 

 strolled along on the morning in question. I may have been thiukino- 

 such thoughts as I have expressed, but I doubt whether I was conscious 

 of anything more than the absolute blessedness of the first and best i^ipe 

 of the day, and the merits of porridge first and then kidne^^s and bacon, 

 and then cold pie, and then toast and strawberry jam for breakfast. I 

 may, perhaps, j)ause to defend myself from the charge of gluttony, I 

 do not always refresh myself in this somewhat lavish manner. But we 



