crimson, and of brown;
and finally, yielding to swift winds, as youth's pride yields to manly
duty, strew the ground with the scattered glories of their summer
strength, and warm and feed the earth with the _debris_ of their leafy
honors.

The maple in the lowlands turns suddenly its silvery greenness into
orange scarlet, and in the coming chilliness of the autumn eventide
seems to catch the glories of the sunset, and to wear them--as a sign of
God's old promise in Egypt--like a pillar of cloud by day, and of fire
by night.

And when all these are done,--and in the paved and noisy aisles of the
city the ailantus, with all its greenness gone, lifts up its skeleton
fingers to the God of Autumn and of storms,--the dogwood still guards
its crown; and the branches, which stretched their white canvas in
April, now bear up a spire of bloody tongues, that lie against the
leafless woods like a tree on fire!

Autumn brings to the home the cheerful glow of "first fires." It
withdraws the thoughts from the wide and joyous landscape of summer, and
fixes them upon those objects which bloom and rejoice within the
household. The old hearth, that has rioted the summer through with
boughs and blossoms, gives up its withered tenantry. The fire-dogs gleam
kindly upon the evening hours; and the blaze wakens those sweet hopes
and prayers which cluster around the fireside of home.

The wantoning and the riot of the season gone are softened in memory,
and supply joys to the season to come,--just as youth's audacity and
pride give a glow to the recollections of our manhood.

At mid-day the air is mild and soft; a warm, blue smoke lies in the
mountain gaps; the tracery of distant woods upon the upland hangs in the
haze with a dreamy gorgeousness of coloring. The river runs low with
August drought, and frets upon the pebbly bottom with a soft, low
murmur, as of joyousness gone by. The hemlocks of the river-bank rise in
tapering sheens, and tell tales of Spring.

As the sun sinks, doubling his disk in the October smoke, the low
south-wind creeps over the withered tree-tops, and drips the leaves upon
the land. The windows, that were wide open at noon, are closed; and a
bright blaze--to drive off the easterly dampness that promises a
storm--flashes lightly and kindly over the book-shelves and busts upon
my wall.

As the sun sinks lower and lower, his red beams die in a sea of great
gray clouds. Slowly and quietly they creep up over the nigh