Autumn is youthful, mirthful, frolicsome--the child of summer's joy--and
on every side there are suggestions of juvenility and mischief. While spring
is a careful artist who paints each flower with delicate workmanship,
autumn flings whole pots of paint about in wild carelessness. The crimson
and scarlet colours reserved for roses and tulips are splashed on the brambles
till every bush is aflame, and the old creeper-covered house blushes like a sunset.