AUTUMN. Ill 



and tliey have got their leaves above ground. The only 

 other work that remains is lifting and potting the green- 

 house plants, cutting down flowering sterns, dividing roots 

 of herbaceous plants, transplanting shrubs, and the usual 

 routine occupations of putting beds and borders in winter 

 order. Stocks and wall-flowers for spring flowering should 

 be planted out now, and everything about the garden 

 premises made and kept as tidy as possible. Still, — look 

 forward hopefully as we will, work cheerily on as we 

 may, and enjoy as we can and ought the many beauties 

 that autumn brings — her bright, clear days, the brilliant 

 colouring of tree and shrub, the rich array of scarlet berries 

 on rowan, rose, and hawthorn, — still, there is no denying 

 that, late in autumn, our hearts feel saddened at the decay 

 and death around us, and most people feel it a season of 

 pensive retrospect rather than of cheerful looking forward. 

 Rain and wind do their wild work among trees and flowers, 

 the walks are littered with damp decaying leaves, and the 

 last lingering blossoms hang wet and heavy on their stalks, 

 and Tennyson's mournfidly beautiful lines are realized 

 vividly as we stroll around our garden, — 



" A spirit haunts the year's last hours, 

 Dwelling amid these yellowing bowers : 



To himself he talks. 

 For at eventide, listening earnestly, 

 At his work ^'■ou may hear him sob and sigh, 



In the walks. 

 Earthward he boweth the heavy stalks 

 Of the mouldering flowers ; 

 Heavily hangs the broad sun-flower 



