Burlington free press. [volume] (Burlington, Vt.) 1827-1865, 1858-09-17
NJ is c E L L A n Y.
TIL e SEASON.


Is 1t autumn? By calendar it is: by ca
loric, it is still summer. The weather, we
judge, must have adopted the continuous
rail, so that when its train passed the joint
that separates the seasons, the transit was
not felt. Day after day the sun swings over
us softly, balmily, charmngly, like Poe's
marvellous censor,
Swung by angel. whose faint footballs
Tinkle On the tufted floor"
After all, if one will walk abroad in the
fields and gardens, the devastating influence
of autumn will be quite apparent. The
corn, though risen to the rank of kernel
with abundant feathers in its cap, and silk
handkerchief sticking out of its breeches
pocket, is entirely out of milk, and affords a
melancholy instance of the association of
poverty with titled honors and outside show
The "fruit of the vinc,'' which crawls at
the foot of the corn-sycophant that it is
subsists entirely on fish, ana has nothing
within 1t but pumpkin seeds" the pc
tatoes which used neither to toll nor spin,-
which nestled pleasantly among the hills with
eyes grown pink with lazy slumbcr, now
grove in the dust as MERGERS, and carriers and
row-hands, though not great deal of row.
en- has been done yet. There is rot at the
end oil carrot; the parsnips are snipt and the
turnips are nipt at the examinations and
the melons have a melon-colic influence uron
all who eat them; and we are made sad on
every side by reminders that the glory of the
year is past.-"Sick transit - must be our
exclamation, as we think of the past and sur
vey the future.
After all, to a mind like our own, which
is accustomed to contemplate most the bright
side of things, there arises pleasant visions
of the future. To say nothing of the Horse
show and the low price of coal, it is not I'M
pleasant to look forward to the bath of brac-
ing autumn air, the pomp of the au-
tumn woods, the home-ward tending
cattle, the gathering of ruddy fruits, the
husking OF the golden corn, the small thunder
of loads of potatoes as they are tipped into
the cellar-window, the brisk metallic click OF
cold boot-heels on the sidewalk, and the rosy
cheeks of pretty maidens-cheeks made rosy
by cold kisses, and not warm. And now
that we think of it, what a pretty thing a
woman's cheek is, when it is in good condi-
tion oh peaches, roses, sunsets, aurora
borealis, and the conf Igration of Moscow
But to return to our muttons. Weare not
sorry that autumn has come again. The
Good Being who takes care Of us, knows just
how much of a season we can stand without
getting tired Of it, and has divided up the
year in the very best way. We always did
love autumn, from it's asters to its snow,
fakes from it's cricket songs to the sweeI
Of its closing storms. The gently graded de
cline by which We descend from the fervor,
Of summer TO the regions of winter is gol
den stairway, where we love to linger and
sing The season is part OF that great piect
of machinery by which Natures God con
tinues to feed and clothe us, and to furnish
that succession of impressions and expert
ences necessary to the healthful, harmonious
and prosperous growth of the soul. May
the autumn live for-three months Spring
field Republican.