plains, without any signals to direct him. He reads his course in the heavens. A needle, which wonderfully points perpetually to the pole, and the observation of the stars, inform him where he is. A few lines and points mark out to him the islands, coasts, and shoals, which his skill enables him to approach or avoid at pleasure. Yet has he cause to tremble, notwithstanding all his science and all his genius! The fire of the clouds is kindling over his head, and may consume his dwelling. Unfathomable gulfs are yawning beneath his feet, and he is separated from them only by a single plank. His confidence might make us imagine he knew himself immortal; yet he must die-die never to revive again, except in another state of being.'

No. LXI.

ON THE DECAY AND FALL OF THE
LEAVES.

How sweetly pleasing to behold
Forests of vegetable gold!

How mixed the many chequered shades between
The tawny mellowing hue, and the gay vivid green!

FAWKES.

Quam multa in sylvis Autumni frigore primo
Lapsa cadunt folia.

VIRGIL.

Thick as autumnal leaves that strow the brooks,
In Vallombrosa, where th' Etrurian shades
High over-arched imbower.

MILTON.

EACH season of the revolving year produces a variety of picturesque appearances peculiar to itself.

The emotions which affect the mind, while it contemplates scenes which every month contributes to diversify, must consequently be of various kinds, all suitable to the season. The vivid beauties of Spring, the glowing skies of Summer, the fading scenes of Autumn, and the dreary aspect of Winter, excite respectively, vivacity, languor, solemnity, or de jection.

6

Summer, refulgent Child of the Sun' retires, with his ardent look,' from our northern regions, in the month of September. Each gaudy flower disappears, and Winter approaches fast. But the gloom of the falling year is in some measure enlivened in that month, especially by the variety of colours, some lively and beautiful, which are then assumed by the fading leaves of trees and shrubs.

Those virgin leaves of purest vivid green,
Which charmed ere yet they trembled on the trees,
Now cheer the sober landscape in decay;
The Lime first fading; and the golden Birch,
With bark of silver hue; the moss-grown Oak,
Tenacious of its leaves of russet brown;

Th' ensanguined Dogwood, and a thousand tints
Which Flora, dressed in all her pride of bloom,
Could scarcely equal, decorate the groves.

What a beautiful description is this, of the appearance which some of the trees, in particular, are observed to exhibit! But the great poet of the Seasons, with comprehensive eye, extends his view, and describes the diversified aspect of the changing woods, in one magnificent landscape far diffused around.

The fading many-coloured woods,

Shade deep'ning over shade, the country round
Imbrown; a crowded umbrage, dusk and dun,
Of every hue, from wan-declining green
To sooty dark. These now the lonesome Muse,
Low whispering, lead into their leaf-strown walks,
And give the season in its latest view.

From the gradual change and decay of the leaf, we are next invited to contemplate its fall. This last circumstance is so striking, that the whole declining season of the year is often, in common language, called the fall. Here Thomson again presents us with a prospect. What he had before described, the general aspect of the woods, was obvious, perhaps, to every admirer of Nature. But what poet had ever before described so minute a circumstance as the effect which the falling leaf often has upon the contemplative mind?

Now the leaf
Incessant rustles thro' the mournful grove,
Oft startling such as studious walk below,
And slowly circles thro' the waving air.
But should a quicker breeze, amid the boughs
Sob, o'er the sky the leafy deluge streams:
Till choaked, and matted with the dreary shower,
The forest walks, at every rising gale,

Roll wide the withered waste, and whistle bleak.
Fled is the blasted verdure of the fields;
And, shrunk into their beds, the flowery race
Their sunny robes resign. Ev'n what remained
Of stronger fruits, falls from the naked tree;
And woods, fields, gardens, orchards, all around
The desolated prospect thrills the soul.

The Abbé de Lille in his beautiful didactic poem, Les Jardins, has likewise been very happy in describing the variegated appearance of the woods, and the philosophic emotions which this vicissitude of Nature has a tendency to inspire. The fine effect of the falling leaf he has evidently borrowed from Thomson:

Que de varieté, que de pompe et d'éclat!
Le pourpre, l'orangé, l'opale, l'incarnat,
De leurs riches couleurs étalent l'abondance.

Helas! tout cet éclat marque leur decadence.
Tel est le sort commun. Bientôt les aquilons
Des dépouilles des bois vont joncher les vallons;
De moment en moment la feuille sur la terre,
En tombant, interrompt le rêveur solitaire.

Mais ces ruines mêmes ont pour moi des attraits.
Là, si mon cœur nourrit quelques profonds regrets,
Si quelque souvenir vient rouvrir ma blessure,
J'aime à mêler mon deuil au deuil de la Nature.
De ces bois desséchés, de ces rameaux flétris,
Seul, errant, je me plais à fouler les débris.
Ils sont passés les jours d'ivresse et de folie;
Viens, je me livre à toi, tendre Melancolie;
Viens, non le front chargé des nuages affreux
Dont marche enveloppé le Chagrin ténébreux,
Mais l'œil demi-voilé, mais telle qu'en Automne
A travers des vapeurs un jour plus doux rayonne :
Viens, le regard pensif, le front calme, et les yeux
Tout prêts à s'humecter de pleurs delicieux. Chant ii.

What pomp, what vast variety of hues
The woodland scenes adorn. The purple deep,
Orange, and opal, and carnation bright,
To the rapt eye their rich profusion spread.
Alas! this splendour all bespeaks decay.

Such is the common lot. The north winds soon
Their sylvan spoils will strow along the vales.
The leaf incessant flutters to the ground,
And, flutt'ring, startles such, who musing stray,
Lonely and devious through the solemn shades.
Yet have these leafy ruins charms for me.
There, should my heart some poignant woe conceal,
And sad Remembrance ope the bleeding wound,
How sweet to mingle then my sorrowing gloom,
With the deep gloom that saddens all the scene!
Wand'ring, recluse, how sweet to tread the spoils
Of the stripped woods and withered branches round!
The giddy days of gay aspiring Hope,

And all my youthful follies, now are fled.
Come then, O soothing Melancholy, come;
To thee each moment I devote: But come,
Not o'er thy visage hov'ring frightful clouds,
Involved in which depressing Sorrow walks,
But with eye half-veiled, as in Autumn when
Through congregated fogs a brighter sun
With sudden radiation cheers the day:
O come, with pensive look, and front serene,
While the big drops sit trembling in thine eye,
Or steal adown thy cheek delicious tears.

Such are the appearances and effects which result

from the gradual decay and fall of the leaves. But the Contemplative Philosopher, not content with general appearances and effects, delights to explore with curious eye, their latent cause. And when he examines the structure of the leaves of trees, and inquires into their uses, with what a grateful heart must he acknowledge, that the all-wise Creator has not designed them for ornament only, but for the most important service in vegetation.

Botanists define a leaf to be a part of a plant extended into length and breadth, in such a manner as to have one side distinguished from the other. They are properly the extreme part of a branch, and the ornament of the twigs. They consist of a very glutinous matter, being furnished every where with veins and nerves. Of the different distinctions of leaves, according to their position and form, above one hundred are enumerated. In all of them, one of the offices is to subtilize and give more spirit to the abundance of nourishing sap, and to convey it to the little buds.

There are two orders of veins and nerves in leaves, one belonging to each surface; and it has been generally observed, that the lower laminæ, or under sides of the leaf, have the ramifications larger, and are capable of admitting a liquid to pass through them, which those of the upper surface will not. These two orders of veins are inosculated at several places; but not so closely connected, but that they may be easily separated, after they have been steeped in water a proper time. Both, it is supposed, are destined for very different purposes. The upper lamina, or coat of veins, is thought to consist of air-vessels, through which the perspiring matter is protruded, and by which the air is inspired. This is evident from the clammy substance called honeydew, which is always found sticking on the upper surface of leaves. The lower lamina is supposed to