In dusty pods the milkweed Its hidden silk has spun; The sedges flaunt their harvest In every meadow nook, And asters by the brookside Make asters in the brook; From dewy lanes at morning The grapes' sweet odors rise; At noon the roads all flutter With yellow butterflies By all these lovely tokens September days are here, With summer's best of weather And autumn's best of cheer.

Chestnuts in the ashes Bursting through the rind; Red leaf and gold leaf Rustling down the wind; Mother "doin' peaches" All the afternoon, Don't you think that autumn's Pleasanter than June?

When autumn's bending boughs and harvests burdened the ground An early laborer, chancing to pass that way alone, Saw a small glove gleaming whitely upon the mound, And into the delicate wrist was woven "Ione,"

Dwindles the pear on autumn's latest spray, And apple sickens pale in summer's ray; 1815.]

Mid stormy vapours ever driving by, Where ospreys, cormorants, and herons cry, Where hardly giv'n the hopeless waste to chear, Deny'd the bread of life the foodful ear, 320 Dwindles the pear on autumn's latest spray, And apple sickens pale in summer's ray, Ev'n here Content has fix'd her smiling reign With Independance child of high Disdain.

And lavishly beneath the sun, In liberal splendor rolled, The Fennel fills the dipping plain With floods of flowery gold; And widely weaves the Iron-Weed A woof of purple dyes Where Autumn's royal feet may tread When bankrupt Summer flies.

Fair morn, I bring my greeting To lofty skies, and pale, Save where cloud-shreds are fleeting Before the driving gale, The weary branches tossing, Careless of autumn's grief, Shadow and sunlight crossing On each earth-spotted leaf.

Already Autumn's fiery finger laid On heath and marsh and woodland far and wide

The virtuous pair, in milder regions born, Dread the rude blast of Autumn's icy morn; Round the chill fair he folds his crimson vest, And clasps the timorous beauty to his breast.

And as he straightened his back, pointed to the tubers strewn about him, and beamed like the sun at his good fortune, he looked the very picture of autumn's riches.

But we have starry business, such a grief As Autumn's, dead by some forgotten sheaf, While all the distance echoes of the wain; Grief as an ocean's for some sudden isle Of living green that stayed with it a while, Then to oblivious deluge plunged again!

Spring, the young morn, and Summer, the strong noon, Have dreamed and done and died for Autumn's sake: Autumn that finds not for a loss so dear Solace in stack and garner hers too soon Autumn, the faithful widow of the year.

The accounts he brought of sufferings he had witnessed in the camps prepared us for the approaching autumn's work, when many of the happy fellows who had started to the gold-fields in vigorous health and with great expectations returned haggard, sick, and out of luck.

And suddenly, as we ride along, a lovely valley is seen below: old-world farmhouses and gabled cottages come into view, nestling amid stately elms and beech trees already touched by autumn's hand.

Rough Winter's blasts to Spring give way, Spring yields to Summer's sovereign ray; 10 Then Summer sinks in Autumn's reign, And Winter chills the world again: Her losses soon the moon supplies, But wretched man, when once he lies Where Priam and his sons are laid, Is nought but ashes, and a shade.

" On Hearing a Bird Sing, December, 1826. Cease, little warbler, cease thy lay, For summer, with her sunny day, Far to the south has fled away; And autumn's chilly finger Has touch'd the leaf on ev'ry tree, And blighted everything we see; Then, warbler, do not linger.

For autumn's chilling finger Has touch'd them, by decay; And now the slightest zephyr's wing Bears their frail form away: And strews them o'er the barren glebe, In withered heaps to lie The sport of many a wintry storm, As it comes surging by.

Death surely loves a shining mark, And sweetly feeds on youthful bloom! Go, wander in the place of graves, When softly steals the autumn's sigh,

TWO TRIOLETS OF AUTUMN KARL E. WESTON '96 'Neath fading leaves and dreary skies, A late-born rose burst into bloom And gazed about with sad surprise, 'Neath fading leaves and dreary skies; Let fall from Summer's bier, it lies In Autumn's pathway 'mid the gloom Of fading leaves and dreary skies, A late-born rose, burst into bloom.

RICHMOND, DOROTHY. Autumn's torch.

LOMBARDI, CYNTHIA. Autumn's torch.

The leaf that rustles here Has more than autumn's mournfulness.

Under the old apple-trees, golden-brown mushrooms are already pushing upward through the leaf-loam, rank with many an autumn's dropping.

" She listened to love's second tale That came with Autumn's misty gale, And hid her heart within the fold Of satins rare, and lustrous gold, Sadness so deep, must live untold Shut in her marble palace high, Reared almost up to touch the sky.

A flower beheld a lofty oak, And thus in mournful accents spoke; "The verdure of that tree will last, Till Autumn's loveliest days are past, Whilst I with brightest colours crown'd, Shall soon lie withering on the ground.