THE FALL OF THE LEAF 251 



quantity of sugar and more complex carbon-compounds, 

 which are laid up in reserve in various parts of the plant. 

 In Autumn, however, the vitality is checked ; the move- 

 ments of the sap become very slight ; and the leaves begin 

 to die. It is partly that they are in some measure worn 

 out by the Summer's work, just as the bees are ; it is partly 

 that the physical world has changed. It is well that they 

 should die, lest they begin to undo what they have so well 

 done. 



But before they die they behave in a beautifully adaptive 

 way. They surrender to the plant that bears them all the 

 residue of their industry that is worth having. There is a 

 gentle current of sugar and more complex things, even, they 

 say, of the subtler wealth of living matter, which ebbs from 

 the dying leaf into the stem before the breath of approach- 

 ing Winter. 



The leaf, useful in dying as well as in living, becomes 

 more and more empty of all but waste, and as the retreat 

 of valuable material into Winter quarters is being accom- 

 plished, there is also preparation for the actual fall. Across 

 the base of the leaf-stalk, in a region which is normally 

 firm and tough, there grows inward a partition of soft 

 juicy cells, actively multiplying and expanding into a 

 springy cushion, which either foists the leaf off, or makes 

 the attachment so delicate that a gust of wind will soon 

 snap the bridge binding the living and the dead. This is 

 fine surgery, that the scar should be ready before the opera- 

 tion is performed. The more we look into the matter the 

 more we see how perfect are the adaptations connected 

 with the fall of the leaf. 



Virtually dead the leaves now are, empty houses, all 

 dismantled, with little more than ashes on the hearth. But 

 these ashes how glorious! for in yellow and orange, in 

 red and purple, in crimson and scarlet, the withering leaves 



