274 FROM A MIDDLESEX GARDEN 



the mist gathered thick upon its brown dead blooms. In 

 other gardens there seems to remain a sense of consolation 

 and happy rest in the newly-dug borders and beds, as though 

 here visible Nature was glad to be at peace after months of 

 colour and busy blossoming of flowers, gay butterflies and 

 glittering insects. 



There is tender beauty and pictures of loveliness for us 

 to admire in the Autumn light : the sun seems of a distinct 

 hue, seen at no other time as in 



" Golden-girt November," 

 when 



" The lustrous foliage, waning 



As wanes the morning moon, 

 Here falling, there refraining, 



Outbraves the pride of June 

 With statelier semblance, feigning 



No fear lest death be soon," 



as Swinburne sings. The sunlight, as it shines through the 

 branches of the trees when the mist is banished by the sun's 

 power, makes the leaves transparent with dew, and appear to 

 one's eyes as a fanciful resemblance of golden hands full of 

 silver veins. And how many of us, as we watch the falling of 

 the leaves in the Autumn sunlight, think of Nature as taking 

 her rest, forgetting the work that is in progress under- 

 ground in root, overhead in branch, beside us in trunk of 

 tree. For an illustration of this, take the witch-hazel, that 

 has just shed its Summer raiment. No sooner have its dead 

 leaves fallen, no sooner has it parted with its old life, than 

 it directly begins its new by forming its leaf-buds. This 



