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DEVOTSD TO AGRICULTURE AND ITS KINDRED ARTS AND SCIENCES. 



VOL. XI. 



BOSTON, OCTOBER, 1859. 



NO. 10. 



NOLTtSE, EATON &TOLM AN, Proprietors. cjTMnw Tiwnww -PDiTm? 



Office. ..34 Merchants Row, 



FRED'K HOLnROOK, ) Associate 

 HENRY F. FRENCH, \ Editors. 



OCTOBER. 



"Splendor is on the bough ! 



The withering leaves fall fast ; 

 Yet wilder beauty crowns the forest now, 



Than through the summer past. 



"A more resplendent blase,. 



Of rich and radiant hues, 

 Gleams through the autumn has?, 



Than 'mid the summer dews " — IVm. Homtt. 



CTOBER, with its 

 bright sunshine, 

 its bracing air, its 

 gorgeous coloring, 

 would be one of 

 our fairest months, 

 only that a shade 



'feVS^ of melancholy 

 && . .1 \ 





thrown over all, 

 by the thought 

 that this beauty is 

 but the last gleam 

 which precedes the 

 gloom of death. 

 We do not like 



^ /^i to see our old friends, the 



.J«C^I 



fresh young leaves of last 

 May, getting old and drop 



^^^§3^ I ping off one by one; nor do we like 



^^"S^r I to read the lesson which Autumn 



^"^ teaches to all thoughtful souls. — 



There is a sad significance in her symbols which 



we would put aside if we could — but 



"It is written on the trees, 

 As their young leaves glistening play, 

 And on brighter things than thcst — 

 Passing away !" 



But, apart from considerations like these, 

 what a splendid panorama October, stretches 

 out before us ! It is true, there are no blossoms 

 on the trees, and few flowers by the wayside, 

 save the golden rod and "everlasting," or in 

 some sheltered spot, where the sun lies long, 

 warming the earth, and the frost is late, the 



modest aster is still bright, and spreads its clus- 

 ters to the autumnal breeze : but we can well 

 spare these, when every leaf is crimson and scar- 

 let and yellow, and the meanest shrub at our 

 feet is hung with rubies. 



During the exhibition of a painting at Boston, 

 some years ago, one of the spectators was heard 

 to remark by way of criticism, that a certain por- 

 tion of the foliage was too bright to be natural. 

 Probably no one would have doubted the cor- 

 rectness of the criticism, had it not afterwards 

 been discovered that the foliage referred to was 

 a broken bough from a real tree, and so placed 

 as to seem a part of the picture ! And this was 

 the only thing about the painting that seemed 

 too brilliant to be natural. Nor is this necessa- 

 rily a reflection on the acuteness of the critics. 

 Nature paints in colors so bright, in a style so 

 original, that the artist who should copy her 

 faithfully, might well be liable to the charge of 

 exaggeration. 



From our window we look out upon a hill in 

 the distance. We have seen it all summer, and 

 it has seemed to be nothing but an eminence 

 covered with trees — but every fall that forest is 

 changed to a regiment of red-coated soldiers, 

 marching, and over the hill we plainly discern 

 the British Regulars retreating from our village ! 

 If we would carry out the fancy, we may easily 

 find a counterpart for the "old continentallers" 

 in the groups of hardy looking pines, and scrub- 

 by apple trees scattered here and there ! 



The grapes which grow over your sunny trel- 

 lis have hitherto been hidden by their large 

 green leaves, but now you can see the rich pur- 

 pl"^ clusters all ready to shed their blood in your 

 behalf. There is something exceedingly pictur- 

 esque, too, as well as rational, in the loads of 

 corn and pumpkins bound to their winter quar- 

 ters, and the little boy who is perched on top 

 of them enjoys his ride better than many a rich 

 man in his coach. 



Somebody calls Indian Corn "the Golden 



