annuated age, proceeding, not from a vigorous flow of animal spirits, but from the decay and imbecility of the mind. We might, perhaps, be deceived by this gaudy garb of nature, were it not for the rustling of the falling leaf, which, breaking on the stillness of the scene, seems to announce in prophetic whispers the dreary winter that is approaching. When I have sometimes seen a thrifty young oak changing its hue of sturdy vigour for a bright but transient glow of red, it has recalled to my mind the treacherous bloom that once mantled the cheek of a friend who is now no more; and which, while it seemed to promise a long life of jocund spirits, was the sure precursor of a premature decay. In a little while, and this ostentatious foliage disappears - the close of autumn leaves but one wide expanse of dusky brown, save where some rivulet steals along, bordered with little stripes of green grass the

woodland echoes no more to the carols of the feathered tribes that sported in the leafy covert; and its solitude and silence are uninterrupted except by the plaintive whistle of the quail, the barking of the squirrel, or the still more melancholy wintry wind, which, rushing and swelling through the hollows of the mountains, sighs through the leafless branches

of the grove, and seems to mourn the desolation of the

year.

To one who, like myself, is fond of drawing comparisons between the different divisions of life and those of the seasons, there will appear a striking analogy which connects the feelings of the aged with the decline of the year. Often as I contemplate the mild, uniform, and genial lustre with which the sun cheers and invigorates us in the month of October, and the almost imperceptible haze which, without obscuring, tempers all the asperities of the landscape, and gives to every object a character of stillness and repose, I cannot help comparing it with that portion of existence, when the spring of youthful hope, and the summer of the passions having gone by, reason assumes an undisputed sway, and lights us on with bright but undazzling lustre, adown the hill of life. There is a full and mature luxuriance in the fields that fills the bosom with generous and disinterested content. It is not the thoughtless extravagance of Spring, prodigal only in blossoms, nor the languid voluptuousness of Summer, feverish in its enjoyments, and teeming only with immature abundance it is that certain fruition of the labours of the past that prospect of comfortable realities, which

those will be sure to enjoy who have improved the bounteous smiles of heaven, nor wasted away their Spring and Summer in empty trifling or criminal indulgence.

Washington Irving.

FALSE friends are like the shade of a sun-dial,

which appears

when the sky is serene, and which

hides itself when it is cloudy.

FLATTERY is like the smoke of the incense - it defiles the object it pretends to adore.

It is generally the fate of a double-dealer to lose. his friends and keep his enemies.

TO DAFFODILLS.

FAIR Daffodills, we weep to see
You haste away so soon;
As yet the early-rising sun
Has not attain'd his noon.

Stay, stay,

Until the hastening day

Has run

But to the even-song;

And having pray'd together, we
Will go with you along!

We have short time to stay, like you;

We have as short a spring,

As quick a growth to meet decay

As you, or any thing.

Oft water fairest meadows, and the bird
That flutters least is longest on the wing.

VERY excellent men excel in different ways; the most radiant stones may differ in colour when they do not in value.