2Tf)e JLast #a<mtt's=f)ooTj <&j)fre. 335 



Thomson's old etching of Autumn still stands 

 out as sharply as when first defined : 



Crown'd with the sickle and the wheaten sheaf, 

 While Autumn, nodding o'er the yellow plain, 

 Comes jovial on. 



Its expressiveness must have caught the fancy 

 of the French, for a Gallic couplet reads : 



Couronnee d'epis, tenant en main la faucille, 

 L'Automne joyeuse descend sur nos campagnes jau- 

 nissantes 



which, if not a literal transcription, bears its col- 

 oring in a marked degree. 

 Herrick paints Autumn as 



The Northern Plunderer 



To strip the Trees and Fields to their distresse, 

 Leaving them to a pittied nakednesse. 



I have always admired a version of Autumn 

 by an old master who painted in prose : 



Autumn is the barber of the year who shears the 

 bushes, hedges, and trees the ragged prodigal who con- 

 sumes all and leaves himself nothing ; and this bald- 

 pated Autumn is seen going up and down orchards and 

 groves, fields, parks, and pastures, shaking off fruit and 

 beating leaves from the trees. 



Charles Tennyson Turner's "October," like 

 all his sonnets, is stamped with a delicate and 

 graceful fancy : 



