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Updated: June 27, 2025
The place of rest where the red man unstrung his bow and slept two hundred years ago, beneath the shades of an overgrown forest, where the grandsires of that much-abused race planted their orchard, which bore the gems of bright abundance in autumn's golden days to regale their taste and satisfy their appetites, whilst they rested from the chase, this Garden of Eden so much famed in Indian story, the red man's resting-place, where he gathered in his stock of furs for his winter clothing and dried his venison to sustain his own life and the life of his family during the cold stormy winters of this latitude, around whose fertile plain the towering hills stand as sentinels to guard the plain below from furious winds and drifting storms, was highly esteemed by the Indian tribes for the abundance of fish that inhabited the waters of the Susquehanna and its tributaries.
It was a familiar place to him; but hitherto it had been only the haunt of happy holidays, from the time when he had been a school-boy until his last autumn's shooting of grouse and woodcock on the wide moors. Old Marlowe had been one of his earliest friends, and Phebe had been something like a humble younger sister to him.
It lay deep among tall grasses and the withered brittle stalks of last autumn's goldenrod, and here Gissing rambled in the green hush of twilight, after the puppies were in bed. In less responsible days he would have lain down on his back, with all four legs upward, and cheerily shrugged and rolled to and fro, as the crisp ground-stubble was very pleasing to the spine.
I'd rather be the one red leaf, Waving 'midst Autumn's sombre groves: On the heart to breathe that sadness Which contemplation loves. I will not be the morning ray, Dancing upon the river's crest, All light, all motion, when the stream Turns to the sun her breast.
So we love, with no less loving, Hair that turns to grey; Or a step less lightly moving In life's autumn day. And if thought, still-brooding, lingers O'er each bygone thing, 'Tis because old Autumn's fingers Paint in hues of Spring.
One man builds for to-day, another man builds for to-morrow; and he that plants a fruit tree for his children to eat of is doing as much good work in the world as he that sows the corn in spring to be reaped and eaten at this autumn's harvest. 'Perhaps so, Ernest answered softly. 'I wish I could think so.
One part of my autumn's work during his absence was the delivery and subsequent publication of six lectures on the French Revolution. That stormy time had for me an intense fascination. I brooded over it, dreamed over it, and longed to tell the story from the people's point of view.
Christine and Palmer were out; Harriet, having presented Sidney with a blouse that had been left over in the shop from the autumn's business, had yawned herself to bed. When the bells announced midnight, Sidney roused with a start. She realized that neither of them had spoken, and that K.'s eyes were fixed on her.
There is the use of the favourite word "windy," and later in the piece "The troublous autumn's SALLOW gloom." The young poet from boyhood was original in his manner. Byron made him blase at fourteen. Then Byron died, and Tennyson scratched on a rock "Byron is dead," on "a day when the whole world seemed darkened for me." Later he considered Byron's poetry "too much akin to rhetoric."
They searched the Scriptures not to find passages to hurl at theological antagonists, or so-called ecclesiastical tyrants, but to find texts for sermons to save sinners, build up saints and glorify the Saviour whom they loved better than their own lives. These sermons they preached under the open ceiling of the skies in Summer's heat, and Autumn's storms, and Winter's snow.
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