The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 18, No. 110, December, 1866: A Magazine of Literature, Science, Art, and PoliticsVarious
History
The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 18, No. 110, December, 1866: A Magazine of Literature, Science, Art, and Politics
Various
American periodicals
* * * * *
_October 14._--The brilliancy of the foliage has past its acme; and,
indeed, it has not been so magnificent this season as usual, owing to
the gradual approaches of cool weather, and there having been slight
frosts instead of severe ones. There is still a shaggy richness on the
hillsides.
* * * * *
_October 16._--A morning mist, filling up the whole length and breadth
of the valley, between the house and Monument Mountain, the summit of
the mountain emerging. The mist reaches to perhaps a hundred yards of
me, so dense as to conceal everything, except that near its hither
boundary a few ruddy or yellow tree-tops rise up, glorified by the early
sunshine, as is likewise the whole mist-cloud. There is a glen between
our house and the lake, through which winds a little brook, with pools
and tiny waterfalls, over the great roots of trees. The glen is deep and
narrow, and filled with trees; so that, in the summer, it is all in dark
shadow. Now, the foliage of the trees being almost entirely of a golden
yellow, instead of being obscure, the glen is absolutely full of
sunshine, and its depths are more brilliant than the open plain or the
mountain-tops. The trees are sunshine, and, many of the golden leaves
having freshly fallen, the glen is strewn with light, amid which winds
and gurgles the bright, dark little brook.
* * * * *
_October 28._--On a walk yesterday forenoon, my wife and children
gathered Houstonias. Before night there was snow, mingled with rain. The
trees are now generally bare.
* * * * *
_December 1._--I saw a dandelion in bloom near the lake, in a pasture by
the brookside. At night, dreamed of seeing Pike.
* * * * *
_December 19._--If the world were crumbled to the finest dust, and
scattered through the universe, there would not be an atom of the dust
for each star.
* * * * *
KATHARINE MORNE.
PART II.
CHAPTER IV.
Soon after Fanny's funeral, Miss Mehitable told me she had found out who
the lady was that wished for my painting at the fair. Her niece had
pointed her out as she drove by in a barouche; and it was Miss Dudley.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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