io AUTUMN AND WINTER 



ness than these newcomers with their noise and brilliance 

 pressing insistently on our observation. And the drills are 

 not long after the ploughs. Almost before we know it the 

 thin blades of wheat have taken the place of the plough 

 which displaced the stubble, which succeeded the plain of 

 gold. All this may happen, if the weather is all that it 

 should be, within the compass of a month or little more. 



So it comes about that autumn more resembles the begin- 

 ning of a new year than the waning period of an old. We 

 seem to have passed the year's Rubicon in September rather 

 than in January. Autumn is welcomed by some, and by 

 others feared, because it ends a long truce. We may say 

 that the year is divided into two halves. In one half you 

 may kill, in the other you may not. During spring and 

 summer everywhere has been sanctuary. Behind the screen 

 of leaves on tree and bush and lowly plants, within the 

 corridors of corn and among the long grasses, birds and 

 beasts have paired, have nested, have produced young, have 

 trained the young and launched them into the world. Our 

 law has followed nature and our sympathies : it has made 

 the life and homes of the birds sacred, and in a less degree 

 other living things have been left alone to multiply their 

 species. With autumn the spirit of the primeval hunter is 

 revived. The curtain of the sanctuary is worn thin, is torn 

 quite away. We see the hidden mysteries. The frail nest 

 of the whitethroat, that we sought in vain, appears almost 

 aggressively obvious outside the briar bush, as it seems. 

 The golden corridors of the corn are laid low. Roosting 

 birds are cleanly silhouetted against the sky. A wandering 

 spirit comes upon birds and beasts. Foxes begin to lie out 

 in the spinneys and the litters are broken up. The hunt 

 is up. Guns are heard and the break-up of the homes is 

 complete. All sanctuary is violated. Another spirit prevails. 



