IRatuve IRotes : 
^Cbc Selbovne Society’s flDaoasine. 
No. 94. OCTOBER, 1897. Vol. VIII. 
AUTUMN. 
HE late Autumn, — Avhen the fields have been shorn of 
their golden burdens, and when the orchards are no 
longer bowed down with a weight of rosy apples and 
russet pears, — is generally looked upon as a rather 
dreary and cheerless time. A reason for this may perhaps be 
found in the fact that Nature at this season seems to tell very 
plainly, to all who care to listen to her, of the cold, dead winter 
months which must pass, ere we can once again expect to 
welcome the budding leaves and blossoms of springtime. 
Yet, as the Psalmist observed, so many years ago, “ day 
unto day uttereth speech, and night unto night showeth know- 
ledge ; ” and surely this season speaks as loudly as any of the 
others, telling us anew that wonderful, never-ending story of 
life, decay and death, and leading our minds to look onward to 
the time when, out of this very decay and death, new and 
vigorous life will arise. 
To one who loves Nature, a walk in the country is always 
fraught with deepest pleasure and interest, no matter what the 
season. Away in the fields, the lanes and the woodlands, there is 
so much to see, and learn, and meditate upon ; so much to wake 
up in the heart that indescribable feeling— a feeling partaking 
alike of worship, wonder and delight, known only to the true 
Naturalist. 
At this season the trees are gorgeous in their display of 
lovely colours, and will remain so until the first sharp frosts 
scatter the leaves on the ground below. The foliage of the 
chestnut turns to a beautiful golden yellow. Under the trees, 
amongst the grass, lie the polished “ conquerors ; ” it is always 
a pleasure to look at them, and the desire to pick them up and 
