scythe, and the grain for the sickle; for they grow by commandment, for the service of man, and death is every where the fate and issue of life. a But it is not only senseless things which are thus visibly springing at this their appointed season. XThe various tribes of animated nature show that it is spring also with them The birds rise up on elastic wing, and make a joyous music for the growing plants to spring to. Animals, that have lain torpid through the benumbing winter, spring up from their secret beds and dormitories, and resume their habits of activity once more. Innumerable insects spring up from the cells which they had formed beyond the reach of frost, and in new attire commence their winged existence. The hum of happy life is heard from myriads of little creatures, who, born in the morning, will die ere night. In that short term, however, they will have accomplished the purposes of their living; and, if brought to this test, there are many human lives which are shorter and vainer than theirs; and what is any life, when past, but a day? Let us go abroad amidst this general springing of the earth and nature, and we shall see and feel that God's blessing is there. The joy of recovery, the gladness of escape, the buoyancy of youth, the exultation of commencing or renewed existence, these are the happiness and blessing which are given from above, and the praise and the hymn which ascend from beneath. Another and a milder order of things seems to be beginning. The gales, though not the warm breathings of summer, flow to us as if they came from some distant summer clime, and were cooled and moderated on their way; while, at no distant intervals, the skies, in their genial ministry, baptize the offspring of earth with their softest and holiest showers. "Thou visitest the earth and waterest it; thou makest it soft with showers; thou blessest the springing thereof.” Surely we cannot stand still in such a scene, and, when every thing else is springing, let it be winter in our souls. Let us rather open our hearts to the renovating influences of S sheaven, and sympathize with universal nature. If our love to God has been chilled by any of the wintry aspects of the world, it is time that it should be resuscitated, and that it should spring up in ardent adoration to the Source of light and life. It is time that our gratitude should be waked from its sleep, and our devotion aroused, and that all our pious affections, shaking off their torpor, should come out into the beams of God's presence, and receive new powers from their invigorating warmth. It is time, too, that our social charities, if any "killing frost" has visited them, should be cured of their numbness and apathy, and go forth among the children and brethren of the great family, and feel, as they rise and move, that the blessing of the Almighty Father is upon their springing. 100 C. AUTUMN. HAWTHORNE. IF ever my readers should decide to give up civilized life, cities, houses, and whatever moral or material enormities, in addition to these, the perverted ingenuity of our race has contrived, -let it be in the early autumn. Then Nature will love him better than at any other season, and will take him to her bosom with a more motherly tenderness. I could scarcely endure the roof of the old house above me, in those first autum nal days. How early in the summer, too, the prophecy of autumn comes! earlier in some years than in others, sometimes even in the first weeks of July. There is no other feeling like what is caused by this faint, doubtful, yet real perception, if it be not rather a foreboding of the year's decay so blessedly sweet and sad, in the same breath. Did I say that there was no feeling like it? Ah, but there is a halfacknowledged melancholy, like to this, when we stand in the perfected vigor of our life, and feel that Time has now given us all his flowers, and that the next work of his never idle fingers must be to steal them, one by one, away! I have forgotten whether the song of the cricket be not as early a token of autumn's approach as any other that song which may be called an audible stillness; for, though very loud and heard afar, yet the mind does not take note of it as a sound; so completely is its individual existence merged among the accompanying characteristics of the season. Alas for the pleasant summer time! In August, the grass is still verdant on the hills and in the valleys; the foliage of the trees is as dense as ever, and as green; the flowers gleam forth in richer abundance along the margin of the river, and by the stone walls, and deep among the woods; the days, too, are as fervid now as they were a month ago; and yet, in every breath of wind, and in every beam of sunshine, we hear the whispered farewell, and behold the parting smile of a dear friend. There is a coolness amid all the heat, a mildness in the blazing noon. Not a breeze can stir but it thrills us with the breath of autumn. A pensive glory is seen in the far, golden gleams, among the shadows of the trees. The flowers, even the brightest of them, and they are the most gorgeous of the year, have this gentle sadness wedded to their pomp, and typify the character of the delicious time, each within itself. The brilliant cardinal flower has never seemed gay to me. Still later in the season, Nature's tenderness waxes stronger. It is impossible not to be fond of our mother now; for she is so fond of us. At other periods, she does not make this impression on me, or only at rare intervals; but in those genial days of autumn, when she has perfected her harvests, and accomplished every needful thing that was given her to do, then she overflows with a blessed superfluity of love. She has leisure to caress her children now. It is good to be alive, and at such times. Thank Heaven for breath! yes, for mere breath!-when it is made up of a heavenly breeze like this. It comes with a real kiss upon our cheeks; it would linger fondly around us, if it might; but, since it must be gone, it embraces us with its whole kindly heart, and passes onward, to embrace likewise the next thing that it meets. A blessing is flung abroad, and scattered far and wide over the earth, to be gathered up by all who choose. I recline upon the still unwithered grass, and whisper to myself, "O, perfect day! O, beautiful world!-0, beneficent God!" And it is the promise of a blessed eternity; for our Creator would never have made such lovely days, and have given us the deep hearts to enjoy them, above and beyond all thought, unless we were meant to be immortal. This sunshine is the golden pledge thereof. It beams through the gates of Paradise, and shows us glimpses far inward. By and by-in a little time -the outward world puts on a drear austerity. On some October morning, there is a heavy hoar frost on the grass, and along the tops of the fences; and at sunrise the leaves fall from the trees of our avenue without a breath of wind, quietly descending by their own weight. All summer long, they have mirmured like the noise of waters; they have roared loudly, while the branches were wrestling with the thunder-gust; they have made music, both glad and solemn; they have attuned my thoughts by their quiet sound, as I paced to and fro beneath the arch of intermingling boughs. Now, they can only rustle under my feet. 101 CI. A SNOW STORM. THOMSON. [James Thomson was born in the county of Roxburgh, Scotland, September 7, 1700, and died August 27, 1748. He was the author of the Seasons, an admirable descriptive poem, of the Castle of Indolence, Liberty, and several plays. This lesson is from Winter, one of the four books of the Seasons.] THROUGH the hushed air the whitening shower descends Fall broad, and wide, and fast, dimming the day Put on their winter robe of purest white. 'Tis brightness all, save where the new snow melts Against the window beats; then, brisk, alights And pecks, and starts, and wonders where he is; * Embroiling, disturbing, or perplexing. |