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Rh picture of the season than many of their contemporaries, on another point, at which we are looking just now, they do not differ from others—neither of them sees any beauty in the foliage of the season. It is true, Thomson speaks, in one line, of

but this seems an accidental epithet, for it does not occur in the descriptive part of the season. When he is expressly engaged in painting autumn for us, he tells us of the “tawny copse.” Another passage of his commences in a way which at first leads one to expect some praise of the autumn foliage, for he speaks of the “many-colored woods.” To an American, this immediately suggests the idea of scarlet and golden tints; but he proceeds in a very different tone—his “many-colored woods” are all sad.

Sober enough, in good sooth. And then he strips the trees amid gloomy fogs and mists:

It would require a general and accurate knowledge of English verse, and a very correct memory, to say positively that no allusion to the beauty of the autumnal woods may be found in the older poets of England; but certainly, if such are to be met with, they do not lie within the range of every-day reading. Are there