OCTOBER 
lO one perhaps realizes as strongly as 
| the naturalist (or he who has the 
spirit of the naturalist, even if too 
“modest to apply the pretentious 
title to himself)—no one else, I say, feels so 
keenly the characteristic mood of the several 
seasons ; a mood and atmosphere so peculiar to 
itself as to give to each of the seasons much of 
the dignity of personality. 
Autumn has a mellow, ripened glow dis- 
tinctively its own. The inflection of its cad- 
ence is downward, as that of spring is upward. 
The two seasons have all the contrast of youth 
and maturity: the symbol of the one, inquiry ; 
of the other, assurance. If the jubilant and vi- 
vacious song sparrow be a type of spring-time, 
autumn is represented by the rich and noble song 
of the wood thrush. Spring is silvery ; autumn, 
golden. Even spring’s climax, June—queen- 
month of all the year—is fairly rivalled by Oc- 
tober’s regal splendor—the consummation and 

273 
