XL 



ONCE more has the Equinox come and 

 dropped into the past. Autumn the Fall, 

 as our older and more 

 poetic term had it to 

 balance the image of 

 Spring, and as America 

 still prefers to call it- 

 is about us. 

 We disagree radically 

 with Chateaubriand's 

 estimate of the " russet 

 and silver days/' 

 "A moral character" 

 <thus does the Father 

 ofRomantisme meditate, 

 in his usual melancholy 

 mood, upon the season of shorten- 

 ing days and long-drawing nights) 

 " is attached to autumnal scenes. . . The leaves falling 

 like our years, the flowers withdrawing like our hours, 

 the colours of the clouds fading like our illusions, the 

 light waning like our intelligence, the sun growing colder 

 like our affections, the rivers becoming frozen like our 

 lives everything about Autumn bears secret relations to 

 our destinies. . ." 



Yes, we disagree with every one of these similes. Rather 

 should Autumn be considered as the happy season of the 

 task accomplished. The wine is pressed and stored, the 

 fruit is garnered. ... In the garden it is the time of eager 

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