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." 
HE summer wanes; the days 
grow shorter and the evenings 
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 agajn. 
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 away." 
— E. S. 
132 
