NATURALIST'S AUTUMNAL WALK. 117 



the bumblebee, torpid on the disc of the purple 

 thistle, just lifts a limb to pray forbearance of in- 

 jury, to ask for peace, and bid us 



" Leave him, leave him to repose." 



The cinquefoil, or the vetch, with one lingering 

 bloom yet appears, and we note it from its lone- 

 liness. Spreading on the light foliage of the fern, 

 dry and mature, the spider has fixed her toils, and 

 motionless in the midst watches her expected prey, 

 every thread and mesh beaded with dew, trembling 

 with the zephyr's breath. Then falls the "sere 

 and yellow leaf," parting from its spray without a 

 breeze tinkling in the boughs, and rustling scarce 

 audibly along, rests at our feet, and tells us that 

 we part too. All these are distinctive symbols of 

 the season, marked in the silence and sobriety of 

 the hour ; and form, perhaps, a deeper impression 

 on the mind, than any afforded by the verdant 

 promises, the vivacities of spring, or the gay, profuse 

 luxuriance of summer. 



Such notes as these, such passing observations, 

 are perhaps little fitted for, or deserving of, ar- 

 rangement, yet, in a woodland autumnal ramble, 

 we are naturally, almost irresistibly, led to contem- 

 plate that beautiful and varied race of vegetation 

 included under the name of fungi, so particularly 

 fostered by this season, and which so greatly de- 

 light to spring up in sylvan moisture and decay : 

 nor is there perhaps any country better consti- 



