AUTUMN.—WINTER. 47 
three portions can be perceived in the stem,—the 
bark, the ring of wood, and the pith. 
As the year goes on, the whole plant still 
increases in size, until Autumn, with its “sere 
and yellow leaf,” comes apace. The leaves now 
formed are converted into various coverings for 
the little buds, which are to be found studding 
over the branches in various places. The old 
leaves fall from the plant, withered and dead, 
having fulfilled their allotted part. The buds 
become coated with a waterproof resin, which 
defends them from rain, whilst they are guarded 
from frost by several layers of leaves admirably 
folded over these tender points. These prepara- 
tions tell us that Winter is coming, and strikingly 
illustrate the forethought characterizing all the 
works of Creation. By-and-by, Winter, wrapped 
in his white raiment, comes, and showers down 
on the head of the young tree a load of snow, 
while his cold breath covers the branches with a 
varnish of ice. But the plant has nothing to fear 
for itself, or for its tenderest organs,—all are 
safe; and thus, in that very scene which we so 
generally consider the most forcible representa- 
tion of desolation, the snow-covered forest, a very 
