AUTUMN TIDES 103 



marked, the gloom more solid, the contrasts more 

 sharp, etc. The rays of the morning sun chisel out 

 and cut down the shadows in a way those of the 

 setting sun do not. Then the sunlight is whiter 

 and newer in the morning, — not so yellow and dif- 

 fused. A difference akin to this is true of the two 

 seasons I am speaking of. The spring is the morn- 

 ing sunlight, clear and determined ; the autumn, the 

 afternoon rays, pensive, lessening, golden. 



Does not the human frame yield to and sympa- 

 thize with the seasons? Are there not more births 

 in the spring and more deaths in the fall? In the 

 spring one vegetates; his thoughts turn to sap; an- 

 other kind of activity seizes him; he makes new 

 wood which does not harden till past midsummer. 

 For my part, I find all literary work irksome from 

 April to August; my sympathies run in other chan- 

 nels; the grass grows where meditation walked. 

 As fall approaches, the currents mount to the head 

 again. But my thoughts do not ripen well till 

 after there has been a frost. The burrs will not 

 open much before that. A man's thinking, I take 

 it, is a kind of combustion, as is the ripening of 

 fruits and leaves, and he wants plenty of oxygen in 

 the air. 



Then the earth seems to have become a positive 

 magnet in the fall; the forge and anvil of the sun 

 have had their effect. In the spring it is negative 

 to all intellectual conditions, and drains one of his 

 lightning. 



To-day, October 21st, I found the air in the 



