NOVEMBER. 



Our leaves are shaken from the tree, 



And hopes laid low, 

 That after our spring nurslings, we 



May long to go. 



— Gerald Massey. 



u \ CHRISTIAN," says some old quaint 

 /\ writer, " must be very careful to 

 keep his spirits up when his condition in 

 the world goes down." The words came 

 to me this morning, when I thought of the 

 present condition of things in my Fairyland. 

 There is no time, the season through, when 

 the garden should take such heed to its 

 personal appearance as now. The spring 

 promise makes you forget much ; the sum- 

 mer fulness makes you overlook more. 

 Even the blankness of winter brings its ex- 

 cuse, for what can you expect then? But 

 the fall is a time of struggle and change 



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