XXXVI 

 FALLING LEAVES 



The preparation of these notes has occupied 

 various idle hours during my summer in the country. 

 Opposite my window in the edge of a wood the 

 oaks had just put forth their leaves as these 

 recollections first began to take on the form of a 

 settled purpose. Meantime, another seed time and 

 harvest have come and gone. 



Last night there was an unmistakable note in 

 the wind that tossed the branches overhanging the 

 cottage roof. It was ominous of sleet and snows 

 to come. Today the leaves are falling fast. One 

 by one they silently part from the parent twigs 

 and find rest upon the bosom of the earth that 

 gave them birth. They have fulfilled their mission 

 and the bare arms that bore them stand out now 

 in bold relief against the autumn sky, awaiting the 

 resurrection of another April's sun and showers. 

 And as the maple, elm and oak cast aside their 

 wondrous raiment, word comes that a comrade-in- 

 arms, one who for more than twenty years has 

 marched closely by my side, has put off that which 

 is corruptible and put on incorruption. JOE WING 

 is dead. He too has spent many happy hours in 

 and about the International showyard and the Club. 



320 



