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Fifth Series,
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}

No. 1536.- November 15, 1873.

From Beginning,

Vol. CXIX.

387,

400

407

THE

By Miss

414

CONTENTS. 1. THE FRENCH PRESS. Part II.,

Cornhill Magazine,
II. NINA, THE WITCH. By Julia Kavanagh.
Conclusion,

Argosy,
III. PETRARCH: His LIFE, TIMES, AND WORKS.
Part II.,

Macmillan's Magazine,
IV. JACK AND

BEAN-STALK.
Thackeray. Conclusion,

Cornhill Magazine,
V. MADAME DU BARRY, AND THE LAST YEARS

OF LOUIS THE FIFTEENTH. By the Author
of “Mirabeau," &c.,

Temple Bar,
VI. SUNSET ON MONT BLANC,

Cornhill Magazine, VII. THE USE OF LOOKING AT PICTURES,

Westminster Review,
VIII. PROPHETIC DAYS,

Chambers' Journal,
IX. THE USELESSNESS OF ABSTRACT PREACH-
ING,

Spectator,

POETRY. SEPTEMBER,

· 386 1 OCTOBER,

.

422 432 439 444

.

446

386

MISCELLANY,

448

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letters when requested LITTELL & GAY.

SEPTEMBER

Calmer than breezy April, An April burst of beauty,

Cooler than August blaze,

The fairest time of all may be
And a May like the Mays of old,
And a glow of summer gladness

September's golden days.
While June her long days told;

Press on, though Summer waneth,

And falter not, nor fear, And a hush of golden silence

For God can make the Autumn All through the bright July,

The glory of the year. Without one peal of thunder

Sunday Magazine Or a storm-wreath in the sky;

And a fiery reign of August,

Till the moon was on the wane, And then short clouded evenings

And a long and chilling rain.

I thought the summer was over,

And the whole year's glory spent, And that nothing but fog and drizzle

Could be for Autumn meant :

Nothing but dead leaves falling

Wet on the damp, dark mould, Less and less of the sunshine,

More and more of the cold.

OCTOBER
Child of the grand old Autumn,

October floateth by,
A regal grace on her sun-kissed face,

And light in her beaming eye ;
Over her polished shoulders

To the dull and fading grass,
The golden brown of her hair flows down,

As her springing footsteps pass.
She will breathe on the dim old forest;

And stainings of crimson light,
Like the blushes that speak
On her own bright cheek,

Will fall on the leaves to-night;
And the mellow sight of the dawning,

When the first faint sunbeams play,
And the flushes that rest
On the sunset's breast,

She will leave on the trees to-day.

But oh! the golden day-time ;

And oh ! the silver nights;
And the scarlet touch on the fir-trunks

Of the calm grand sunset lights !

And the morning's bright revealings,

Lifting the pearly mist,
Like a bridal veil, from the valley

That the sun hath claimed and kissed;

And oh! the noontide shadows,

Longer and longer now On the river margin resting,

Like the tress on a thoughtful brow.

She will tap at the cottage window,

One tap with her fingers cold,
And the fire will be bright
On the hearth to-night,

As it was in the nights of old;
And hearts will draw close together,

In the lights of the cheery flame,
While fond lips will bless
For their happiness

The sound of October's name.

Rich fruitage bends the branches

With amber, and rose, and gold, O’er the purple and crimson asters,

And geraniums gay and bold.

The day is warm and glowing,

But the night is cool and sweet; And we fear no smiting arrows

Of fierce and fatal heat.

Then she'll touch the tree-tops softly,

And a carpet all fresh and sweet,
In colors as bright
As the rainbow's light

Will fall at her fairy feet ;
Sometimes she woos the summer

By the light of her magic smile,
Sometimes she calls
At the past king's halls,

And bids him reign awhile.

The leaves are only dropping

Like flakes of a sunset cloud; And the robin's song is clearer

Than Spring's own minstrel crowd.

A soft new robe of greenness

Decks every sunny mead ;
And we own that bright September

Is beautiful indeed.

Then when the hills are woven

With many a tinted strand,
When a veil of romance
(Like the bright clouds' dance)

Is wrapped over sea and land,
Like a dream that is wild with splendor,

Like the sun at the close of day,
Like the visions that rest
In a maiden's breast,
October will float away!

ANON.

Is thy life-summer passing?

Think not thy joys are o'er ! Thou hast not seen what Autumn For thee may have in store.