FROM A NEW ENGLAND 

 HILLSIDE. 



I HAVE not spent October in the country 

 for nearly forty years : 



As one who long in populous city pent, 

 Where houses thick and sewers annoy the 

 air, 



I roam among these hills and look out over 

 the valleys with quite indescribable emo 

 tions. 



Tears, idle tears, I know not what they 



mean, 



Tears from the depth of some divine despair 

 Rise in the heart and gather to the eyes, 

 In looking on the happy autumn fields, 

 And thinking of the days that are no more. 



How fortunate it is that some have been 

 gifted with the power of expression, &quot;that 

 the thoughts of many hearts might be re 

 vealed.&quot; My friend objects to Sir John 



1! I 



