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Rh any such in Milton, skillful as he was in picturing the groves and bowers of Eden?

will occur to the memory; but we have no coloring here. Is there a single line of this nature in Shakspeare, among the innumerable comparisons in which his fancy luxuriated? Shall we find one in the glowing pages of Spenser? In Dryden? In Chaucer, so minute in description, and delighting so heartily in nature—from the humble daisy to the great oaks, with “their leavès newe?” One is almost confident that in these, and every other instance, the answer will prove a negative.

Much the boldest touch of the kind, remembered at present, in European verse, is found in a great French rural writer, Delille; speaking of the woods in Autumn, he says:

But these lines stand almost alone, differing entirely from other descriptions of the season by himself and many of his countrymen, with whom it has very generally been “la pâle automne.” Probably in these lines Delille had some particular season in view. European autumn is not always dull; she has her bright days, and at times a degree of beauty in her foliage. From the more northern countries, as far south of Italy, one may occasionally see something of this kind, reminding one of the season in America. More than a hundred years since, Addison alluded briefly, in his travels, to the beauty of the autumnal woods in Southern Germany, where, indeed, the foliage is said to be finer