190 NATURAL HISTORY READER. 



tumn, they come timidly from the North,- and, pausing 

 on their anxious retreat, lurk within the fading copses and 

 twitter snatches of song as fading. Others fly as openly as 

 ever, but gather in flocks, as the robins, most piteous of all 

 birds at this season — thin, faded, ragged, their bold note 

 sunk to a feeble quaver, and their manner a mere carica- 

 ture of that inexpressible military smartness with which 

 they held up their heads in May. 



4. Yet I can not really find anything sad even in No- 

 vember. When I think of the thrilling beauty of the sea- 

 son past, the birds that came and went, the insects that 

 took up the choral song as the birds grew silent, the pro- 

 cession of the flowers, the glory of autumn, and when I 

 think that, this also ended, a new gallery of wonder is 

 opening, almost more beautiful, in the magnificence of 

 frost and snow, there comes an impression of affluence and 

 liberality in the universe, which seasons of changeless and 

 uneventful verdure would never give. The catkins already 

 formed on the alder, quite prepared to droop into April's 

 beauty ; the white edges of the May-flower's petals, already 

 visible through the bud — show in advance that winter is 

 but a slight and temporary retardation of the life of nature, 

 and that the barrier which separates November from March 

 is not really more solid than that which parts the sunset 

 from the sunrise. ,,, ,■ ,,- ,,, 



Atlantic Monthly. 



ROBERT OF LINCOLN 



Merrily swinging on brier and weed, 

 Near to the nest of his little dame, 



Over the mountain-side or mead, 



Robert of Lincoln is telling his name : 



