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," 
