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THE AUTUMN PANORAMA 



IN a blase of glory the growing season is passing 

 away, and the returning tints of autumn make the 

 suburban ravines as attractive as in spring. The moist 

 warmth that settles down among the half-denuded 

 trees seems filled with the spirit of completeness and 

 satisfaction. The crisp rustle of fallen leaves under- 

 foot becomes a whispered story of transition. There 

 is a noisy felicity in pushing the feet through the 

 gathered heaps under the Maples and scattering them 

 about. It seems a protest against the ever-insistent 

 spirit of sadness that comes with the passing of the 

 year, and will not be thrown off. At every point the 

 passing panorama presents a new scene. Against the 

 rising hill is a dark Cedar, with Virginia Creepers 

 twined around it, contrasting their vivid red with its 

 deep green. Beyond is a bare stretch of hillside, 

 with just a few trees at the top sentinel Pines 

 and, towering gaunt and skeleton-like above them, 

 the bare and blackened trunks of their long-dead 

 progenitors. Below is the bright Sumach and the 

 more sombre tints of denser shrubs and bushes. 

 The Beeches are half-denuded, and the picturesque 

 outlines of their smooth grey trunks and branches 

 stand out distinctly in the new landscape. 



