THE RIPENING AUTUMN 
1 19 
magic, and seems to shine of its own proper virtue upon 
the darkening scene. And, indeed, it has succeeded 
beyond my expectation; even yet its ghostly serenity 
lights the pleasaunce as with a lamp of alabaster lighted 
by the moon. White Stocks, White Poppies, Mallows, 
Verbenas, Pelargoniums, Nicotianas—alas! it was too 
late for lilies—-made up a broken but harmonious mass 
of varied whites that I must remember to repeat, and 
try to better for another year. 
Surely Spring and Autumn are the English orchard’s 
two great moments, and of the twain I could not 
honestly declare which shows the greater beauty—per¬ 
formance for once may even outshine promise. It was 
only in the famous orchard of Alcinous that you might 
fairly judge of both. The low, twisted trees above the 
emerald grass are hung with chrysoprase, ruby, russet, 
and coral, where apples still ungathered blush or 
glimmer palely-green; though the pears that hung one 
above the other heavy with sweetness, some coloured 
like honey and amber, some touched with the ruddy 
bronze of pine boles lit at sunset, are safely gathered in. 
Those light-green ovals that light up the silver boughs 
and dark aromatic leafage of the great walnut-trees 
give little hint to the unwary gatherer of their detain¬ 
ing store; they look as innocent of gypsy craft as the 
green apples themselves. But I know better, and am 
not to be taken unawares, 
“ Festina lente ” would seem to be the watchword of 
the frost as yet, for the out-door chrysanthemums begin 
their shy blossoming beside the high south wall un¬ 
hindered. Soon the last pale roses will deck the bushes 
