To me, there is nothing of that dark solemnity about the autumnal season, which it has to the morbid or the foreboding. It comes, laden with plenty, and breathing of peace. There seems a sweet monition in every whisper of the gale, and the rustle of every painted leaf, which may speak a world of tranquillity to the contemplative mind. If there be sadness around and within, it is the sadness which is cherished, and the gloom that purifies; it is that doubtful twilight of the heart, which is succeeded at last by a glorious morning. We think with the serene and heavenly-minded Malcolm, of the distant, or the departed, who have gone before us to lay down their heads upon pillows of clay, and repose in the calm monotony of the tomb. Reflection asserts her sway, and the spirit expands into song: Sweet Sabbath of the Year! When evening lights decay, Thy parting steps methinks I hear, Steal from the world away. Amid thy silent bowers, 'Tis sad but sweet to dwell, Where falling leaves and fading flowers, Around me breathe farewell. Along thy sun-set skies, Their glories melt in shade; And like the things we fondly prize, Seem lovelier as they fade. A deep and crimson streak, The dying leaves disclose, As on Consumption's waning cheek, Mid ruin, blooms the rose. The scene each vision brings Of beauty in decay; Of fair and early-faded things, Too exquisite to stay: Of joys that come no more; Of flowers whose bloom is fled; Of farewells wept upon the shore; Of friends estranged, or dead! Of all, that now may seem To memory's tearful eye The vanished beauty of a dream, O'er which we gaze and sigh! * * * * * AND now, reader, _Benedicite_! 'Hail--and farewell!' Decidedly thine, OLLAPOD. FOOTNOTE: [20] SANDS. LAMENT OF THE LAST OF THE PEACHES.[21] 'LONE, trembling one! Last of a summer race, withered and sere-- Say, wherefore dost thou linger here? Thy work is done!' W. G. C. I. IN solemn silence here I live, A lone, deserted peach; So high that none but birds and winds My quiet bough can reach; And mournfully, and hopelessly, I think upon the past-- Upon my dear departed friends, And I--the last--the last! II. My friends!--oh daily one by one I see them drop away, Unheeding all my tears and prayers, That vainly bade them stay; And here I hang, alone--alone! While life is fleeing fast, And sadly sigh that I am left, Alas!--the last--the last! III.