inks nothing of the rich hues
into which the sober green changes; he likes the dull uniform of
summer."

"No, it is not that," said Charles; "I never saw anything so gorgeous as
Magdalen Water-walk, for instance, in October; it is quite wonderful,
the variety of colours. I admire, and am astonished; but I cannot love
or like it. It is because I can't separate the look of things from what
it portends; that rich variety is but the token of disease and death."

"Surely," said Mary, "colours have their own intrinsic beauty; we may
like them for their own sake."

"No, no," said Charles, "we always go by association; else why not
admire raw beef, or a toad, or some other reptiles, which are as
beautiful and bright as tulips or cherries, yet revolting, because we
consider what they are, not how they look?"

"What next?" said his mother, looking up from her work; "my dear
Charles, you are not serious in comparing cherries to raw beef or to
toads?"

"No, my dear mother," answered Charles, laughing, "no, I only say that
they look like them, not are like them."

"A toad look like a cherry, Charles!" persisted Mrs. Reding.

"Oh, my dear mother," he answered, "I can't explain; I really have said
nothing out of the way. Mary does not think I have."

"But," said Mary, "why not associate pleasant thoughts with autumn?"

"It is impossible," said Charles; "it is the sick season and the
deathbed of Nature. I cannot look with pleasure on the decay of the
mother of all living. The many hues upon the landscape are but the spots
of dissolution."

"This is a strained, unnatural view, Charles," said Mary; "shake
yourself, and you will come to a better mind. Don't you like to see a
rich sunset? yet the sun is leaving you."

Charles was for a moment posed; then he said, "Yes, but there was no
autumn in Eden; suns rose and set in Paradise, but the leaves were
always green, and did not wither. There was a river to feed them. Autumn
is the 'fall.'"

"So, my dearest Charles," said Mrs. Reding, "you don't go out walking
these fine days because there was no autumn in the garden of Eden?"

"Oh," said Charles, laughing, "it is cruel to bring me so to book. What
I meant was, that my reading was a direct obstacle to walking, and that
the fine weather did not tempt me to remove it."

"I am glad we have you here, my dear," said his mother, "for we can
force you out now and then; at College I suspect you never walk at all."

"It's only for