84 By Leafy Ways. 



of the Spring. We expect her to play us false. We 

 are only too well accustomed, after welcoming the 

 early primrose, to see the landscape whiten under a 

 fresh touch of winter. Yes 



' The Spring, she is a young maid 

 That does not know her mind.' 



And Summer too, for all the charm of her early 

 dawns and pleasant twilights, her green draperies, and 

 her wealth of flowers : 



1 And Summer is a tyrant 

 Of most unrighteous kind.' 



But we look away from all this with the firm faith 

 that Autumn at least will be kind to us : 



' But Autumn is an old friend 

 That loves one all he can, 

 And that brings the happy barley 

 To glad the heart of man.' 



Btrt now that Autumn is upon us he deals his gifts 

 with grudging hand. The days are marred with rain. 

 The half-reaped fields are waiting for the sun. 



Now and then there comes, as if by way of conso- 

 lation, a perfect day, a day of Royal weather. Across 

 the fair blue overhead drift a few soft dreamy clouds. 

 A flood of warm sunshine fills the landscape. 



Breast-high among the bearded grain stand groups 

 of stalwart reapers. On every side there rises the 

 whirr of the machine or the clink- of a whetted blade. 

 Along the hedgerows wait the feathered gleaners 



