AUTUMN. 



" Lightly He blows, and at His breath they fall, 



The perishing kindreds of the leaves ; they drift, 

 Spent flames of scarlet, gold aerial, 



Across the hollow year, noiseless and swift. 

 Lightly He blows, and countless as the falling 



Of snow by night upon a solemn sea, 

 The ages circle down beyond recalling, 



To strew the hollows of Eternity. 

 He sees them drifting through the spaces dim, 



And leaves and ages are as one to Him." 



(^ I HE summer wanes; the days 

 ^ I grow shorter and the evenings 

 q) I longer, heralding the advent 

 of Autumn, and the woods 

 and fields are mellowing under the 

 genial glow of the sun. All Nature 

 is taking on a warmer tinge, glad- 

 dening the eye with its fullness of 

 beauty — rich in the promise of 

 autumnal harvest. 



It is a sad fact, but none the less 

 true that a great many of us go 

 through life with unseeing eyes. Why 

 must we be taught to see the beauties 

 around us? What a tale might be 

 told by the little flower that we pass 

 carelessly by, or tread upon in our 

 haste: if we would but listen! 



There is beauty everywhere — in the 

 early dawning when the iris-tinted 

 morning-glories are radiant with glit- 

 tering dew drops; when the sun is 

 high overhead; when the soft twilight 

 has enveloped the land in its mantle 

 of calm; whether the rain is falling 

 or whether the skies are blue and 

 sunny beauty is everywhere. 



" How strikingly the course of 

 Nature tells by its light heed of human 

 suffering that it was fashioned for a 

 happier world !" Listen to the songs 

 of happy birds. How care-free ! How 

 joyously they outpour from over-flow- 

 ing little throats their God-given 

 melodies of love and gladness! Is not 

 the world brighter and better for their 

 being? 



Overhead in the maple a little life 

 was struggling for being. It was only 

 a pebble thrown by a thoughtless boy 

 "to see if he could hit it," but the 

 cruel act was done, and the little 

 songster, the happy bird whose early 

 morning matins together with the 

 carol ings of his mate, had greeted us 

 all through the summer lay in the 

 little nest greviously wounded. The 

 hurried, distressed movements of his 

 little mate told of her anxiety to do 

 what she could for the sufferer. She 

 seemed to know it would not be long, 

 now, — that he would never sing with 

 her again. 



After awhile everything was still in 

 the maple bough. It was growing 

 dark as we softly appro iched the nest, 

 and we thought the remaining bird 



had flown away. It had not, however, 

 for as the inquisitive face of our little 

 girl peeped into the leafy retreat we 

 heard a rustle of wings, and the bird 

 flew out from its place of repose. 

 Perhaps she was watching the little 

 dead form of her mate, sure that her 

 vigil would be rewarded and that he 

 would greet her in the morning with 

 love as he had done for so long. 

 Who knows ? 



Next day we buried the little martyr 

 and the other bird went away. She 

 has not returned since, but the nest 

 still remains in the old place. The 

 boy who had done the mischief went 

 on his way unconscious of the thing 

 he had done, but 



"He can never, never repay 

 The little life that he took awav " 

 — E. S. 



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