aid: "The moon and stars are shining; the Milky Way glitters in
the sky. Nowhere is there any noise of men. The noise must be in the
trees."

"I-hsi! alas!" I said, "this must be the sound of Autumn. Oh, why has
Autumn come? For as to Autumn's form, her colours are mournful and pale.
Mists scatter and clouds withdraw. Her aspect is clean and bright. The
sky is high and the sunlight clear as crystal. Her breath is shivering
and raw, pricking men's skin and bones; her thoughts are desolate,
bringing emptiness and silence to the rivers and hills. And hence it is
that her whisperings are sorrowful and cold, but her shouts are wild and
angry. Pleasant grasses grew soft and green, vying in rankness. Fair
trees knit their shade and gave delight. Autumn swept the grasses and
their colour changed; she met the trees, and their boughs were stripped.
And because Autumn's being is compounded of sternness, therefore it was
that they withered and perished, fell and decayed. For Autumn is an
executioner,[3] and her hour is darkness. She is a warrior, and her
element is metal. Therefore she is called 'the doom-spirit of heaven and
earth';[4] for her thoughts are bent on stern destruction.

[3] Executions took place in autumn. See _Chou Li_, Book xxxiv (Biot's
translation, tom. ii, p. 286).

[4] "Book of Rites," I. 656 (Couvreur's edition).

"In Spring, growth; in Autumn, fruit: that is Heaven's plan. Therefore
in music the note _shang_ is the symbol of the West and _I-tse1_ is
the pitch-pipe of the seventh month. For _shang_ means '_to strike_';
when things grow old they are stricken by grief. And _I_ means '_to
slay_'; things that have passed their prime must needs be slain. Plants
and trees have no feelings; when their time comes they are blown down.
But man moves and lives and is of creatures most divine. A hundred
griefs assail his heart, ten thousand tasks wear out his limbs, and each
inward stirring shakes the atoms of his soul. And all the more, when he
thinks of things that his strength cannot achieve or grieves at things
his mind cannot understand, is it strange that cheeks that were steeped
in red should grow withered as an old stick, and hair that was black as
ebony should turn as spangled as a starry sky? How should ought else but
what is fashioned of brass or stone strive to outlast the splendour of a
tree? Who but man himself is the slayer of his youth? Why was I angered
at Autumn's voice?"

The boy made no answer: he