Government of the World by General Laws, Government of the World by a Particular Providence, 373 'Contrast between Savage and Civilized Life, as re- Contrast between Savage and Civilized Life, as re- . 397 403 SACRED PHILOSOPHY OF THE SEASONS. AUTUMN. FIRST WEEK-MONDAY. GENERAL CHARACTER OF AUTUMN. ON considering the autumnal quarter, as indicated by the calendar, we shall find it more various in its character than any of the other seasons of the year. It seems, indeed, if we only regard its temperature, to form a kind of softened epitome of all the rest, in an inverted order. First, we have, in August, the warmth, and gentleness, and brilliancy of Summer; in September, the "ethereal mildness," the elasticity, the variety of Spring; in October, many of the features of a mitigated Winter,—its gloom, its hoar-frosts, its chilling breath, its howling storms,―alternating, however, with days, and even weeks, of the calm repose peculiarly characteristic of the season. For, let it be observed, that, although, in a general view, the analogy we have noticed holds good, yet Autumn has a remarkable character of its own, which distinguishes it from all the other seasons. It has succeeded a period of intense heat, from which it has only begun to emerge. Soon after the middle of June, the sun arrives at his highest altitude in the heavens; but although, from this period, he begins to recede, the heat ceases not to accumulate till the middle or end of July, after which the effects of the decreasing intensity of his rays, and of the lengthening nights, become slightly perceptible. At the commencement of Autumn, therefore, the earth and the atmosphere still remain heated, and, although the periodical rains, about this time, create a copious evaporation, which serves to diminish its fervor, it is still sufficiently powerful to prevent those extremes, which mark the whole of the Spring quarter, and sometimes even the commencement of Summer. The peculiar feature of autumnal weather, therefore, is that of tranquillity, though allowance must be made for numerous exceptions. When we turn from the atmosphere to the surface of the earth, we find a still greater peculiarity. The vegetable tribes, speaking generally, have advanced through the various stages of production and maturity, and, at the commencement of the season, are approaching the verge of old age. The bountiful earth, however, is still full of beauty, and vegetation appears yet to be in its vigor. The hay has been cut, and gathered into the parn-yard, and the young clover has again covered the mown fields with the liveliest green, or adorned them with its various-tinted flowers of red, white, and yellow. The crops of corn are beginning to beam with gold, about to invite the joyous labors of the reaper bands. The pastures still teem with a profusion of succulent herbage, on which the flocks and herds luxuriate, without anticipating the coming rigors of Winter,-happy at once in the protection of man, and in their ignorance of the future. The woods, which have long exchanged the soft green of Spring for the more sober shades that indicate maturity, still retain all their leafy pride, and hide in their shady bosom myriads of the feathered tribes, which have not yet left our shores, to seek for that subsistence in warmer climes, about to be denied them in the land of their birth. They have, however, in general, ceased to sing ; and the redbreast, and the mellow-toned wood-lark, thrush, and blackbird, which, after a period of silence, resume their notes early in this season, continue almost alone to render the groves vocal with their sweet music. Another peculiarity of Autumn is a diminution both in the varieties and the profusion of its flowers. The blossoms of June had long run to seed, under the excessive heat of July, and had been succeeded by other flowers, chiefly of aromatic, thick-leaved, and succulent plants, and of those called compound-flowered; but now, even these are in general casting their petals, and taking the form of seed. The meadow-saffron and Canterburybells, however, still ornament the English lawns, and the beautiful purple blossoms of the heath shed a rich glow over the uncultivated commons and craggy hills, covered with sheep. [In New England, the various species of Aster, of Golden Rod, (Solidago,) of Gerardia, of Eupatorium, the wild Sunflower, (Helianthus divaricatus,) the Conyza, and the Life Everlasting, (Gnaphalium,) are in their glory in this month and the next, and are among the most showy of our wild plants.] This is peculiarly the season of ripeness. It is true, that, during the whole summer, herbs and fruits of various kinds have in succession been coming to maturity, and have thus diffused labor and enjoyment over a wider space. Several productions of the garden have already been gathered; among which, the strawberry, the gooseberry, and the cherry have yielded their grateful fruits, to add to the pleasures of the summer months. But the vegetable productions capable of being stored for use, have been chiefly reserved for the autumnal season. It was not requisite, and would, in various respects, have been attended with disadvantage, both to man and the lower animals, for Nature to give forth her superabundant productions before that period when it should be necessary to lay them up for future supply. According to that admirable forethought, which the inquiring mind never ceases to perceive in the arrangements of the Creator, we find the ripening of corn and of various fruits immediately preceding the sterility of winter, not only that seeds fit for the sustenance of the wild tribes of granivorous animals might thus be more profusely scattered over the surface of the earth, but also that man might hoard in his storehouses whatever is necessary dur IV. 2 X. ing the unproductive season, for his own subsistence and that of the animals he domesticates for his use. It was formerly observed, that labor is most beneficently diffused over the year, so as not to cause too great a pressure of agricultural employment in any one season ;* and this remark, which is true of the whole year, is equally true of Autumn. Harvest, indeed, is the farmer's busiest season; but he is seldom overwhelmed with his labors, which follow in succession; and many hands which, at other times, are engaged in different kinds of employment, are now found unoccupied, and ready to aid in the useful task. The season of reaping oats succeeds that of reaping barley; and this again is followed by the wheat harvest, while the time for gathering peas and beans, potatoes and turnips, is still later, and seldom interferes with the former important operations. Thus it happens, that, while the farmer is enabled to store his produce in safety, the peasant obtains a desirable share of the toil and emolument arising from the operations of the season. As the season advances, its character changes. At first it is full of enjoyment; an exhilarating softness is in the air; serenity and beauty is in the bright blue sky; the fields, checkered with gold and lively green, speak of plenty and enjoyment; every living thing is glad. The flocks grazing on the hills, the cattle ruminating in the shaded woodlands; the birds silently flitting from bough to bough, or sporting in flocks through the perfectly transparent air, while they prepare their young for the long migrations which instinct teaches them now to meditate; and not less the bands of reapers plying their task in the harvest field, and the spectators, who, emancipated from the din and smoke, and artificial employments of the city, come to breathe health and refreshment in the country ;all partake of the general joy of Nature in its most joy ous season. Towards the close of Autumn, however, a deeper sentiment occupies the mind. The warmth and brightness *Spring,' Art. The Labors of the Husbandman wisely Distributed over the Year. |