ke the rest?_"

CHAPTER VII.

ON THE COUNTRY.

At which season, I wonder, is the country most lovely, most enjoyable!
Is it in the spring, with its richly-colored carpet, its young green
leaves, its delicious perfumes, its glorious freshness? Ah, why cannot
we, like the trees, put off our old sinful world-steeped habits, and
year by year bud out in purest innocence once again? The hedges, but a
week ago barren and bare, are now clothed in brightest apparel, the
greenest of cloaks thrown over them, lifting up their heads and
sharing in the general rejoicing, in the glory of their annual
resurrection. Is it in summer, with its myriads of blooms, and its
thousand thousand happy voices, the silent torpid river, basking in
the light of the sun, and responding only to the fishes as they frisk
near the surface? Or is it in the autumn, with its many shades, with
its long avenues on which nature has lavished whole tubes of burnt
sienna and vermilion; when you tread on gorgeous paths heavy with
golden leaves? Oh, why are we not as lovely in our autumn of life as
nature is in hers? Why, when she decks herself in the gayest coloring,
do we don our soberest garb? _We_ do not gain in splendor as we grow
older. We lose our beauties and our charms one by one, till at last we
stand destitute. Oh, cruel Time to treat us so!

"Time that doth transfix the flourish set on youth,
And delves the parallels in Beauty's brow."

And yet "God tempers the wind to the shorn lamb." While He takes from
us our youth He also takes away the inclination to be young. We pine
for the happy days of childhood; yet, if the power were given us, who
would wish himself back in the past? We feel we should always like to
be young, but should we not get very weary of the world, should we not
wish for some kind of change?

Or is nature at her best when the year is dead and the earth puts on
her spotless white shroud, when everything around has fallen asleep,
and only robins are left to join in the wake?

Unanswerable question. There are too many opinions. Some prefer
winter, some summer; some like the heat, some like the cold. Only in
one thing do we agree, and that is, in our taste for variety, for
change. Much as we admire the country, lovely as it is, it would not
suit many to live there all the year round. The peace and quiet of our
woodland scenes make us enjoy the town life all the more, while the
unceasing turmoil of the season makes u