OCTOBER 231 



To men, in whose hearts the ancient land 

 hunger of the Aryan aches unsatisfied by all 

 the white paper ever bleached and pressed, 

 the true October is not red, but brown, the 

 colour of 



" The good gigantic smile of the brown earth;" 



There can be nothing more subtle than the 

 mellow tones of a freshly ploughed field, 

 velvet black if we look across them sunward ; 

 brown and grey with silver lights and purple 

 shadows if we face the pole star. Horses seem 

 glad to turn the furrows, and the farmer, cast- 

 ing the seed into the loam, is performing the 

 highest and most symbolic of all human 

 labours. Fellow - worker, he, with the sun 

 and the wind and the rain and the frost, 

 marrying the potent germ of the bread that 

 is to be, with the dark secret forces, for ever 

 working together with the awful First Cause, 

 to care for that which, in its turn, must go 

 back to the elements again and again in 

 endless cycles. 



Elizabeth, who needs no other name to the 

 guests who flock to her German garden, tells 

 us how she longs to imitate her servants and 



