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windows, linnets congregate, and bulls make their shrill autumnal bellowing: and towards the end, the beech-tree turns yellow-the first symptom of approaching autumn."
The gentle refreshing breezes by day, and the delicious. calms by night, at this time of the year, draw a vast concourse of persons of leisure to the shores of Great Britain and France in the months of August and September. There is perhaps no period of the year when the sea-side is more agreeable. Bathing, sailing, and other marine recreations, are at no time better suited to beguile the hours of the warm summer day than at present: and the peculiar stillness of a seaside evening scene by moonlight is now to be enjoyed in perfection; as the orb of night begins to ascend higher in her car after the termination of the nightless summer solstice, and when the unremitted heat of the dog-days at length gives place to the more refreshing dews of a longer period of nocturnal coolness. The peculiar beauty of a sea-scene, and the hushed poetry of night, are thus woven in undying words by Byron :
"The moon is up, and yet it is not night
Sunset divides the sky with her-a sea
Melted to one vast Iris of the West,
Where the Day joins the past Eternity;
While, on the other hand, meek Dian's crest
A single star is at her side, and reigns
With her o'er half the lovely heaven; but still
Which streams upon her stream, and glass'd within it glows,
Fill'd with the face of heaven, which, from afar,
And now they change; a paler shadow strews
The last still loveliest, till-'tis gone-and all is gray.
It is the hush of night, and all between
He is an evening reveller, who makes
At intervals, some bird from out the brakes
Ye stars! which are the poetry of heaven!
A beauty and a mystery, and create
In us such love and reverence from afar,
That fortune, fame, power, life, have named themselves a star!
All heaven and earth are still-though not in sleep,
Where not a beam, nor air, nor leaf is lost,
Of that which is of all Creator and defence."
SCARCELY has Autumn assumed her garment of solemn gold before there is a change in the aspect of Nature,-a furrowing of deep thought upon the woods,-a silent spirit walking abroad, which speaks only to the heart-passes over the still harvestfields without an audible word, and only shows us the falling leaf with the motion of its finger, or brings to our minds the majestic grandeur of the Scripture, where it is written that "we
all do fade as a leaf; and our iniquities, like the wind, have
"Thick as autumnal leaves that strow the brooks
In Vallombrosa, where th' Etrurian shades
But let us not yet look at the melancholy side of the year, for autumn is a lovely season.
Many and pleasant are my recollections of September, for it was the long-looked-for month in which we annually sallied forth a-nutting. How the wild lanes rang with laughter, as we sauntered through them, as merry a group of lads and lasses as ever bore a bottle of berry-brown ale! Over many a pleasant meadow we wandered before we reached the old wood. At length it rose before us, green and silent, as though all its hoary trees slumbered. Then we had to find an entrance; and there was the deep dyke to cross, over which weeds and rushes hung; and the tangling fence to scale, armed with thorns and ragged brambles. At length a gap was discovered; and then we had to hand our fair companions across the ditch, who screamed at fears of their own creating, while a watching briar caught hold of their passing drapery and claimed a portion for toll. On we rambled toward its gloomy centre, threading our way among the entangling underwood, then making a circuit to avoid some impenetrable thicket,-now stooping, or almost creeping, to pass under the low branches,—anon tearing our garments with the brambles, or hunting for a lost shoe amid the furze. At last we reached an open glade where the full sun streamed upon the untrodden grass. This we claimed as our resting-place; and having drunk a foaming bumper, we deposited