On the other hand, the fall of the year, possesses a
sweetness, a repose, and a consistency, which may be justly likened to the
decline of a well-spent life. It is, in all countries and in every
climate, the period when physical and moral causes unite to furnish the
richest sources of enjoyment. If the Spring is the time of hope, Autumn is
the season of fruition. There is just enough of change to give zest to the
current of existence, while there is too little of vicissitude to be
pregnant of disappointment. Succeeding to the nakedness of Winter, the
Spring is grateful by comparison; while the glories of Autumn are enjoyed,
after the genial powers of Summer have been lavishly expended.
In obedience to this great law of the earth, let poets sing and fancy as
they may, the Spring and Autumn of America partake largely of the
universally distinctive characters of the rival seasons. What Nature has
done on this Continent, has not been done niggardly; and, while we may
boast of a decline of the year that certainly rivals, and, with few
exceptions, eclipses the glories of most of the climates of the old world,
the opening months rarely fail of equalizing the gifts of Providence, by a
very decided exhibition of all the disagreeable qualities for which they
are remarkable.
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