i6o THE WANING YEAR 



its more pretentious neighbours will glow forth in 

 the misty morning completely arrayed in the bright 

 colours of the passing year. If beauty is ever un- 

 welcome, it is in the varied tints of the autumn 

 leaves. But the feeling of rebellion passes in a moment. 

 The chill is transitory. The portent of the change is 

 forgotten in the infinite variety of tints and markings 

 revealed on closer investigation. And with the 

 momentary regret comes the sustaining thought that 

 the falling of the leaves and the passing of the season's 

 vegetation are but phases of the perpetual life in 

 which nature renews her youth. " There is no death, 

 what seems so is transition." 



