The Republican journal. [volume] (Belfast, Me.) 1829-current, 1912-11-07
The Fallen Leaves.

Most of the trees which during the
past weeks have been so gorgeously ar
rayed now stand stripped and bare. II
was as if nature wanted to typify human
life by giving her utmost of glory only
to snatch it away again, so that the con-
trast might be all the more profound and
striking. The ground is carpeted with
russell and brown Those who live ex.
clusively in the city have no notion of
the enormous volume and weight of dead
foliage which is precipitated upon the
bosom of Mother Earth in the process
of denuding the forests of their royal
garments. 1t must amount to millions
and millions of bushels and hundreds of
thousands of tons. In the forests they
lie thick at the feet Of the uncrowned
kings; they gradually decay and form
new soil-unless fires get started in their
dry and highly combustible masses.
Vast quantities are annually burned
under the watchful care of farmers and
gardeners, and the spicy odor of the
smoke, if it is not too dense, is pleasant
to the nostris; it is one of the signs of
autumn. Those who have lawns and like
to see them kept neat are at the present
time in a constant battle with the leaves.
Rake and brush broom will clear away
the accumulations of day; but let a
strong wind arise and the leaves instant
ly thrill with the very spirit of mischief.
They will be seen whispering together;
soon half dozen will start up as if alive
and run like mice across the shaven
grass. AS the wind increases thousands
of them, like Goths and Huns, will en-
gage in mad race to see which cohort
will first spread itself over the paths and
steps. Vast heaps of them will accu-
mulate in the corners; they will rush into
the flower beds and fill up the hedges.
There is no dislodging them except by
taking them like fishes by the tail and
yanking them out. They love to get
into the cracks of the piazza and the
broom is useless in sweeping them away.
They dance with delight to see ones
vexation; they are perfectly conscious of
what they are doing.
The man who looks after suburban
places drives them as far as he can
(after the wind Las subsided) into the
gutter, and if he is certain that there is
no policeman in sight slips newspaper
under one end of the pile and applies
match to them. Then he goes away and
let's the fire take its own will. A thin
blue smoke rises; little tongues of fame
flicker here and there, and presently the
whole mass is glowing. In an incredibly
short space OF time, nothing is lett but
gray ashes. If it is not burned school
children passing scuffle through it and
scatter it, and then comes the wind
again and enters into the conspiracy to
make the lawns and grounds once more
disorderly and unkempt.
1t is no small delight to scuffie through
dry leaves. The cracking, rustling
sound has music of its own. Children
of larger growth will do it if no one is
spying on them. 1t recalls their own
youth; all such noises and actions and
odors bring back pleasant memories; the
autumn is time Of retrospection: it is a
sort of old age when the ''good old
times" seem vivid in the memory. It
has melancholy of its own. 1t some
how suggests vanished hopes. How
many plans have fallen from the tree of
your ambition, have turned brown and
sere and can only be trampled under
foot! Not wholly melancholy either, for
now the early frosts begin to open the
chestnut burrs and the leaves cover the
delicious nuts-others also, walnuts and
butternuts, or as they call them in Maine
Oil nuts-and the pleasant bitter acorns.
1t is the time when the squirrels are set
ting human beings good, honest ex-
amples of providence. One can see them
at their work through the woodlands,
hiding away their stores against the
winter. They are too busy to play; no
longer will two or three gray squirrels
chase one another up and down the tree
trunks or make Looping leaps as they race
across the open spaces. 1t is their har-
vest time and they feel instinctively that
the day is short and the snow will soon
be here, when they can no longer gather
in their treasures. 1t is pleasant to hear
their patter among the forest leaves.
Their big nests stand out in the treetops
where when the foliage was on the
branches they could scarcely be seen.
Beautiful as a full-fiedged tree is in
summer, its beauty when quite bare is
not less striking. The fall Of the leaves
is therefore afforded with many lessons
and with no little charm. Boston Her
aid.
C1-ouhooap E,vpos