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Rh The birds are quite numerous still; many robins running about the lawn. Gnats and gray flies, innumerable, are dancing in the sunshine. Saw yellow butterflies. Heard a few field-crickets chirruping cheerfully.

Tuesday, 17th.—In our walk this morning, observed a large stone farm-house, with maples grouped about in most brilliant color; a party of men were husking maize in the foreground; a group of cows grazing, in one direction, and a cart with a pile of noble pumpkins lying in the other. It would have made a good picture of an American autumn scene. The coloring of the trees was just what one could wish for such a purpose, and the contrast with the stone house and gray barns was all that could be desired.

It is to be regretted that we have not more superior pictures of autumnal scenes, for the subjects are so fine that they are worthy of the greatest pencils. It is true, Mr. Cole, and some others of our distinguished artists, have given us a few pictures of this kind; but in no instance, I believe, has a work of this nature been yet considered as a chef-d'œuvre of the painter. No doubt there must be great difficulties, as well as great beauties, connected with the subject. There is no precedent for such coloring as nature requires here among the works of old masters, and the American artist must necessarily become an innovator; nay, more, we are all of us so much accustomed to think of a landscape only in its spring or summer aspects, that when we see a painting where the trees are yellow and scarlet, and purple, instead of being green, we have an unpleasant suspicion that the artist may be imposing on us in some of his details. This is one of those instances in which it requires no little daring simply to copy nature. And