New-York tribune. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1866-1924, 1874-11-24

nymphs. Neither will he be sure OF that gra-
cious company, who merely goes out to SEQ
what he can see. But the November
stroll to tho unoccupied stroller is
full of genuine surprises and extempora-
Moons revelations. These are not the skies
which we saw when we were last here-these
tender grays, broken by long lateral ribs Of
silver and deepening with faint remnis-
cence of the roses of Summer as they fall
into the horizon There is something OF the
motionless and meditative III all the land
scape the river has lost its restless feeks and
spangles, and the foliage is gone with its
underwriting viyacity. The leafy screens
have blazed and burned into these poor, dead
things which Crackle under our tread, or 20
whirliDg down the lane, the sport of the lnsO-
lent northwestern wind. But the great. green
wall has disappeared only to open for MS new
mixtures and q fresh world of surprises. We
have been travelling, we say, in our sleep, IKE
some bewitched knight in folk-story-or
has foreign land been marvelousy brought
by some good Prospero TO our door, Upon
what magic carpet have we been unconsciOusly
seated 2-by aid of what seven league boots
have we emigrated All the lolg Summer,
without our knowing it, did yonder sleepy
guardian trees about it--a crypt for jewcled
dragon-fies, with unseen flowers bluslhng
upon its borders and patches OF blue SKY
and sunny cloud coming and gong IN It's
dcpths7 Did the white cottage with inc
column Of smoke absolutely standing upon It's
chimney, arrive last nght' When, in all the
oppressive pomp of rosy June, saw we any
thing like this delicate iilament OF 1rost
which has spread itself over the lingering
green of the meadow, so beautiful in ITS
contrast. that we forgive its murderous
work among our flowers which are
hanging in utter ugiiness from tho
backened stalks7 Are these CIR bridges
these arches, springing from one strange bank
to another, and through whose light tresue
work we catch glimpses of fresh fields ana
pastures new7 And did the leaves, lovely as
they WERE in sheer jealousy hide from us tn..ss
marvel of bough and twig and spray-this
arabesque tracery of tho trees which have
become suddenly lie denizens of the sky,
peering through their long, naked arms and
providing fresh foil for the sturdy and per-
petual trunksl
But we are making a catalogue raiSonne OF
the fine things to be seen for the seeing. We
nave Deeu DeUTdycu IIllS Oul io'O ioi
our honest friend November, who is surely
not to blame if foolish men will hang them
selves during his visit, or wise men even, If
they fully comprehend that this is pretty
poor world for those who do not know how
TO live in It, catholic accommodation is
tho divine secret of a serene existence. No
sky, while it is yet day, is heavy enough to
be absolutely dark, and the tint of November
is at least silvern, if it be not golden.
And yet golden it is, sometimes, when
as we stand upon the yellow grass,
listening in vain for some lonesome
bird to sing the mOnody of the year. the God
of Light above us, breaking with sublime
impotence through the rifted clouds, sends
down again his arrows in a shining and slant
ing shower, to waken once more the memory
of the summers bygOne briliancy. No life is
so somber, no corpse so stark, no grave so
hidden that the light never shines upon it,
All other ties may be severed; mortal affection
may cease, and friendship; men who spoke
well Of us may begin to speak i'll OF us;
women who were fond Of us may grow impa-
tient Of our caresses; but Nature, in whom
and by whom we live, the Mother of All, knows
no calendar of love, and includes every wan
derng and distempered child i'll her exhaust
less miniSratiOns.