WHITS 



AUTUMN has come and gone with 



" - the light of his majestic look, 

 The wonder of the falling tongues of flame, 

 The illumined pages of his Domesday Book." 



Following swiftly on the sudden putting off of summer, 

 and the brief and splendid pageantry of red and gold, 

 a few stormy days have scattered to the winds the 

 fiery splendour. There is colour still upon a beech-tree 

 here and there ; the yellow leaves still flutter on the 

 elm ; the few last sprays of creeper shine like fire upon 

 the cold grey walls. But the branches for the most 

 part are bare and shelterless. 



No leafy screen hides now the secrets of the wood. 

 He who will may watch the jays as they wrangle in the 

 tree-tops; can follow the woodpecker's flight as he 

 sweeps from tree to tree ; can mark more plainly now 

 than ever the black and white plumage of the pie. 



The magpie is a bird who never seems desirous to 

 cultivate a close acquaintance. Your mere appearance 



