The Washington herald., 1915-09-30
Autumn.

; Yesterday VIC were willing in the heat OF
summer days. Today autumn is in the air and
the dead leaves fluttering about the highways
Nature does not herald the coming OF her seasons
! with noise OF flies and drums. Her banners OF
rcd and gold her ceremonial carpets OF azure and
white are brought forth without oStcntation. Only
her friends and lovers know when she is making
a new magic. A gleam OF scarlet in the woods, a
fluttering Of restless wings, tarnShed air about
the archcd splendor OF the goldcnrod-theSe are
her advance notices to the initiated. To the most
oi us her appeal must be material and phys
cal. She reminds that we need an umbrella or
should be looking up our, heavy underclothcs. And
we say This is SO sudden!' But Nature does
nothing abruptly to those who understand her
ways.
1t is with lie Yesterday it was summer,
but gathered no flowers saying Let me first
reach such and such mark. There is plenty of
time And today it is autumn and there are no
flowers left only the dead leaves fluttering upon
the dusty highways OF discomfort.
At fugt, interea fugt, rreparabc tcmpus,
Singua dunn acti convectamur amore.
And again VIC say How suddenr' But the
fault is with ourselves. No solemn bell hangs
above the neck of pussy footed Time, but all about
us, would we but look up from our task stands
the warning sign. even it used to stare at us
from the faces OF the grandfather clocks:
Time flies.
Man dies.
To die is the event that is rendered insignifi-
cant by its certainty. But grow old unless one
has first been young, is tragedy For the soul
is like certain plants that in the season of growth
draw from the sweet earth the store of nourisf-
ment that shall sustain them in the time OF fruit
age. In youth we live obectivcly drawing spir-
tual life from all sides. We build up an individu-
ality which is the total OF all our experiences
But in old age we live respectively; our souls
feed upon the stored-up treasure OF old sorrows
and old delights We live, but in a world which
is not our world, OF which we are no longer an
integral part. We are like who passes his
days in gallery of beautiful pictures the dimly
remembered scenes OF youth that can never be re-
visited The passing of years has mellowed every
vista to strange and haunting loveliness
o gay the day with shine Of sum- and bright the
breeze and bhe the throng.
Met on the river bank TO play, when | young, !
when was young!
But ii youth has been empty. il in age we look |!
in vain through the storehouse OF memory for I
treasure that never was laid away, then old age
will be tragedy indeed. without joy in the past |
without vitality in the present without hope in tho
utrre. For what do men look for in their intilna-
ions OF Immortality except a refrigeration of the
>enh oi their lie An idle but lovely vision, But |
now often do think Of life in youth as a store
mouse oi experience, goblet to be filled with !
precious win- There SO few things in liic that
arc really worth whilr--lovc beauty. knowledge
hc friendship oi minds in harmony with our own |
And how tremendously worth while these things
arc! But do we consciously take thought OF !
our need OF them plan to make them a part of
ourselves? Alas the generations come and go and i
c>s than do seek enlarge their spiritual
1t is enough TO junction. to respond |
10 the contact OF events against
which VIC arc thrown BY blind chance by mean
nglcss activity. Like the leaves OF autumn blown
,ithcr and ththcr by tho gusts OF circumstance we
vhrl and toss upon the highways of life till Death
he Sweeper bears hence, presently to refer
ilizc an unregrctful earth
l. It not strange that the strongest champions
IT Immortality are those whose individuality the
world would be least interested in preserving!