1 92 Windfalls 



year's old age, I listened to the steady hum 

 of unseen crickets that did not intermit; 

 a steady, unbroken sound, as if earth was 

 winding herself up for another year's aftiv- 

 ity. Then, suddenly, there was neither 

 scent nor sound. A noisy silence filled the 

 air, the wind was blowing. Wind is the 

 great silencer, and yet is itself impotent 

 when unheard. That morning it was the 

 first blast of the autumn wind that plucks 

 the dying leaf, but brings a singing bird to 

 take its place. Leaves now will soon be a 

 feature of the past, shadowy figures that 

 memory but dreamily recalls, but in their 

 place are hundreds of cheerful sparrows from 

 the northern woods. This is a compensa- 

 tion worth considering ; and there is little 

 logic in moaning over the sad, sighing, pro- 

 phetic autumn wind. What if it does hint 

 of winter and the fierce wind that then 

 seems to be rejoicing over the victory of 

 darkness over light, of death over life, of 

 desolation over prosperity. So we hear of 

 it, and what better proof of the world's 

 ignorance of what winter really is. Winter 

 is the flood-tide of intellectuality ; and the 

 brain-power that has moved and will move 



