27 
Aut. 
HE chilly mornings of autumn are beginning to prevail, 
although, as yet, they are only the forerunners of bright 
sunny days; and nature is doffing her cheerful robe of green for 
a motley garment of gold and brown, gayer perhaps on the ex- 
terior, but a sign of decay within. 
‘‘There is a beautiful spirit breathing now 
Its mellow richness on the clustered trees.”’ 
Look at our glorious woods, as the beams of the Autumn sun 
gild their summits, and say is not the year lovely in its decay ? 
Look at those splendid masses of green foliage, crowded on the 
lower branches of the elm, dying away upwards into a lighter 
hue ; see the glowing red of the beech, the bright yellow of the 
chestnut, set off here and there by the sombre green of the firs. 
The old age of the year is to us ever a lovely season, and yet, we 
confess, it is sad withal, for it speaks so plainly of Death, that it 
cannot be misunderstood. What say ye who profess to believe 
in the ‘‘ Religion of Nature” only? Does she not speak in plain 
words? ‘There is a death of all things around us every year, but 
a resurrection follows; we see it in every living thing; there is 
nought but change, yet there is no destruction, the same elements 
reappear in anew form, nothing is lost, it comes back again 
clothed anew in finer apparel. 
Our autumn rambles may not perhaps be so productive as 
those we took in the summer, yet they will be none the less in- 
teresting. We may note the retirement of each bird and beast 
to its winter quarters, and we may also hail the arrival of our 
northern visitors. The martins are to be seen now congregating 
* on our roofs, and exercising for their long journey; among the 
osier beds or aits of the Thames they may be found roosting by 
hundreds every night, appearing when disturbed in the dusk like 
a thick cloud. The Swift left us by the middle of August; his 
stay 1s always short, he is the first of his family tv come, and the 
B 
