AUTUMN 



woods, brushing the trees and fields 

 with its wonderful colours, swinging 

 its magic incense in the air, flooding the 

 day with golden light, starting the 

 subtle hum of music, and investing all 

 the tranced hours with a touch of 

 romance. Yet above the contentment 

 and the hush, greater than the attrac- 

 tion of colour, more luring than the 

 opalescent light, was this spicy incense 

 of the Autumn air. Magical and mys- 

 terious is the potency of these pungent 

 odours, so different from those of the 

 Spring, and yet the call to the woods 

 is the same. Perhaps the flowers of 

 the Autumn have a more lasting and 

 stronger perfume than those of other 

 seasons, and grow more abundantly, if 

 not in such a rich variety. The yellow 

 goldenrod is everywhere along the 

 fence rows and in the open, sharing 

 the ground with the fragrant purple 

 aster. And there is the old-fashioned 

 everlasting with its old-fashioned re- 

 dolent aroma, a flower of the dying 

 year. These, added to the spicy scent 

 of burning leaves, would seem to form 

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