. LESSON CXXXV. To the Autumn Leaf.-ANONYMOUS. [From "The Memorial."] Lone trembling one! Last of a summer race, withered and sear, Thou hast seen all The summer flowers reposing in their tomb, Why didst thou cling So fondly to the rough and sapless tree? The voice of Spring, Which woke thee into being, ne'er again Will greet thee-nor the gentle summer's rain The zephyr's breath, No more will wake for thee its melody- Yet a few days, A few faint struggles with the autumn storm, Pale autumn leaf! Thou art an emblem of mortality, The broken heart once young and fresh like thee, Whose hopes are fled, Whose loved ones, all have drooped and died away Still clings to life-and lingering loves to stay, Above the dead! But list-e'en now, I fear the gathering of the autumn blast. It comes-thy frail form trembles-it is past! LESSON CXXXVI. Description of a Herd of Wild Horses.-FLINT. THE day before we came in view of the Rocky mountains, I saw in the greatest perfection that impressive, and, to me, almost sublime spectacle, an immense drove of wild horses, for a long time hovering round our path across the prairie. I had often seen great numbers of them before, mixed with other animals, apparently quiet, and grazing like the rest. Here there were thousands unmixed, unemployed; their motions, if such a comparison might be allowed, as darting and as wild as those of humming-birds on the flow ers. The tremendous snorts with which the front columns of the phalanx made known their approach to us, seemed to be their wild and energetick way of expressing their pity and disdain for the servile lot of our horses, of which they appeared to be taking a survey. They were of all colours, mixed, spotted, and diversified with every hue, from the brightest white to clear and shining black; and of every form and structure, from the long and slender racer, to those of firmer limbs and heavier mould; and of all ages, from the curvetting colt to the range of patriarchal steeds, drawn up in a line, and holding their high heads for a survey of us, in the rear. Sometimes they curved their necks, and made no more progress than just enough to keep pace with our advance. Then there was a kind of slow and walking minuet, in which they performed various evolutions with the precision of the figures of a country dance. Then a rapid movement shifted the front to the rear. But still, in all their evolutions and movements, like the flight of sea-fowl, their lines were regular, and free from all indications of confusion. At times a spontaneous and sudden movement towards us, almost inspired the apprehension of an united attack upon us. After a moment's advance, a snort and a rapid retrograde movement seemed to testify their proud estimate of their wild independence. The infinite variety of their rapid movements, their tamperings, and manœuvres were of such a wild and almost terrifick character, that it required but a moderate stretch of fancy to suppose them the genii of these grassy plains. At one period they were formed for an immense depth in front of us. A wheel, executed almost with the rapidity of thought, presented them hovering on our flanks. Then, again, the cloud of dust that enveloped their movements, cleared away, and presented them in our rear. They evidently operated as a great annoyance to the horses and mules of our cavalcade. The frighted movements, the increased indications of fatigue, sufficiently evidenced, with their frequent neighings, what unpleasant neighbours they considered their wild compatriots to be. So much did our horses appear to suffer from fatigue and terrour, in consequence of their vicinity, that we were thinking of some way in which to drive them off; when on a sudden a patient and laborious donkey of the establishment, who appeared to have regarded all their movements with philosophick indifference, pricked up his long ears, and gave a loud and most sonorous bray from his vocal shells. Instantly this prodigious multitude, and there were thousands of them, took what the Spanish call the "stompado." With a trampling like the noise of thunder, or still more like that of an earthquake, a noise that was absolutely appalling, they took to their heels, and were all in a few moments invisible in the verdant depths of the plains, and we saw them no more. LESSON CXXXVII. Spring.-PAULDING. Now the laughing, jolly spring began sometimes to show her buxom face in the bright morning; but ever and anon, meeting the angry frown of winter, loath to resign his rough sway over the wide realm of nature, she would retire again into her southern bower. Yet, though her visits were at first but short, her very look seemed to exercise a magick influence. The buds began slowly to expand their close winter folds; the dark and melancholy woods to assume an almost imper ceptible purple tint; and here and there a little chirping blue bird hopped about the orchards of Elsingburgh. Strips of fresh green appeared along the brooks, now released from their icy fetters; and nests of little variegated flowers, nameless, yet richly deserving a name, sprung up in the sheltered recesses of the leafless woods. By and by, the shad, the harbinger at once of spring and plenty, came up the river before the mild southern breeze; the ruddy blossoms of the peach-tree exhibited their gorgeous pageantry; the little lambs appeared frisking and gambolling about the sedate mother; young, innocent calves began their first bleatings; the cackling hen announced her daily feat, in the barnyard, with clamorous astonishment; every day added to the appearance of that active vegetable and animal life, which nature presents in the progress of the genial spring; and, finally, the flowers, the zephyrs, the warblers, and the maidens' rosy cheeks, announced to the senses, the fancy, and the heart, the return, and the stay of the vernal year. LESSON CXXXVIII. A Visit to Wordsworth.-GRISCOM. AMBLESIDE is a small market-town, or large village, on the sides of a mountain, where the valley opens to the head of Windermere. It is an ancient place, and has very little of modern comfort in its general appearance; but some of the houses being covered with white cement, and several of them neatly enclosed, there is in its whole aspect, viewed at a little distance, a rural sweetness not often excelled. It contains one or two good inns. After breakfasting at one of them, I hastened to Rydal Mount, the residence of W. Wordsworth, the lyrick poet, about two miles from Ambleside. The mansion is neat, but altogether unostentatious, and not very large. Its position is one of the most charming; at a short distance from the head of Windermere, overlooking the lake, the village of Ambleside, and the wild undulations which spread themselves on each side of this beautiful water. Behind, and on each side, rocks and hills are piled irregularly, and streams of water, tumbling over precipitous channels, give an air of enchantment to the scenes which this poetick describer of physical and moral nature has chosen for his residence. On reaching the house, the servant girl informed me he had gone out on a walk with his family, and would soon return; but wishing to reach a distant place before night, I gave my letter of introduction to the maid, and requested her to go after, and present it to her master. He soon entered, and calling me by name, received me with as much affability and kindness, as if I had been an old acquaintance. His wife, too, who soon came in, manifested the same unceremonious hospitality; and, notwithstanding my recent meal, insisted on spreading the table, and giving me a cold cut before I left them. Wordsworth is, I should judge, about fifty, or fifty-five, of rather a grave aspect, strong features, and easily susceptible of kindling into an expression of benevolence. He entered, without hesitation, into a conversation on America, on our literature and politicks; on poetry, and various other topicks which incidently presented themselves. Finding that my time was short, he proposed a walk, and conducted me over the grounds to a situation which commanded a view of Windermere and Rydal waters, and thence to a romantick bridge, on a stream which falls, in a fine little cascade, among the rocks, in front of which is an arbour bearing the date of 1617, and still in good repair. It is a spot, to which even a Milton might have fitly resorted, to wait for the most lofty inspiration of his muse, had he been blessed with a temporary enjoyment of external vision, and anxious to derive from the objects around him, impressions, the most appropriate to the solemnity of his theme. We stopped to look at a cottage, belonging to S. T********, of St. Peter's College, Cambridge, to whom I am indebted for my introduction to Wordsworth. It is on a rustick mound, commanding a view of both the lakes. A part of the oaken furniture of this cottage, curiously and grotesquely carved, appears as if it might be at least coeval with the arbour just mentioned, and have owed its origin to the taste of the same individual. On taking leave of the interesting scenery and family of Rydal Mount, where I spent a truly delightful hour, Wordsworth kindly offered to walk with me to Ambleside. His conversation is replete with sound remark and didactick wisdom. Its most peculiar trait, is a sort of epick measure, which I could readily imagine was derived from those habits of |