"A garden should hold nothing but pure and tender 

 thoughts; the flowers seem to whisper; 'This is a 

 world of peace, a place of calm retirement, a haven of 

 restful dreams/ " -CONSTANCE MEREDITH. 



NOVEMBER 



VERYWHERE it is gossamer-time. 



Tennyson sings 



u Calm and deep peace on this high wold, 

 And on the dews that drench the furze, 

 And all the silvery gossamers 

 That twinkle into green and gold." 



Even Autumn will soon be over, and the " calm and deep 

 peace" that is characteristic of this season will be changed 

 for the bitter, boisterous winds, ringing through the leafless 

 woods, telling " O' coming winter's biting, frosty breath." 



c< Nae mair the flow'r in field or meadow springs, 

 Nae mair the grove with airy concert rings, 

 Except, perhaps, the robin's whistling glee, 

 Proud o' the height o' some bit half-lang tree-: 

 The hoary morns precede the sunny days, 

 Mild, calm, serene, wide spreads the noontide blaze, 

 While thick the gossamer waves wanton in the rays." 



In the foregoing lines faithfully has Burns described these, 

 the latter days of Autumn. One of the prettiest of natural 

 objects in Autumn is this fairy-like hazy filament of the 

 gossamer, mentioned by both the poets quoted above ; and 

 indeed by almost every one of our sweet singers. Did not 

 Michael Drayton tell us of Queen Mab's chariot with the 

 nimble gnats' " harness of gossamere " ? From branch to 



branch, along the hedges, from pale to pale, it may now be 



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