SIGNS OF AUTUMN 243 



autumn, our pleasure seems more a matter of cul- 

 tivation than of instinct. We cultivate the sense 

 of beauty and rejoice in it. But the trees not only 

 please the optic nerve, they suggest attractive 

 trains of thought. With their gnarled stems 

 firmly set in the ground, they tower above lesser 

 vegetation, each one 'the living result of inherited 

 tendencies to grow and rise and spread in the 

 sunshine. The girdling armature of bark, seem- 

 ing harsh and rough, conceals and guards the 

 delicate machinery of life and growth. It aids in 

 the contest with enemies, and nullifies the chill of 

 winter. Harsh and rough to the warring world, it 

 enfolds that which at a safer elevation spreads a 

 palace of greenery. Were the rind soft and yield- 

 ing the tree would probably soon die. But, grow- 

 ing upward in the light, the tree must also dig 

 downward in the dark for the wealth of nourish- 

 ment by which it is sustained. As though intelli- 

 gent, it thrusts its rootlets, tender as they are, 

 through the dank mould, seeking always those 

 particles which are the first necessity. And in this 

 search it is in active competition with other vege- 

 table growths, seeking, striving, gathering up the 



