these colors as might at first appear. The more you
consider them, the more they seem to have one element among them all,
which is the reason that the most brilliant display of them soothes the
observer, instead of exciting him. And I know not whether it be more a
moral effect or a physical one, operating merely on the eye; but it is a
pensive gayety, which causes a sigh often, and never a smile. We never
fancy, for instance, that these gayly-clad trees might be changed into
young damsels in holiday attire, and betake themselves to dancing on the
plain. If they were to undergo such a transformation, they would surely
arrange themselves in funeral procession, and go sadly along, with their
purple and scarlet and golden garments trailing over the withering
grass. When the sunshine falls upon them, they seem to smile; but it is
as if they were heart-broken. But it is in vain for me to attempt to
describe these autumnal brilliancies; or to convey the impression which
they make on me. I have tried a thousand times, and always without the
slightest self-satisfaction. Fortunately there is no need of such a
record, for Nature renews the picture year after year; and even when we
shall have passed away from the world, we can spiritually create these
scenes, so that we may dispense with all efforts to put them into words.

Walden Pond was clear and beautiful as usual. It tempted me to bathe;
and, though the water was thrillingly cold, it was like the thrill of a
happy death. Never was there such transparent water as this. I threw
sticks into it, and saw them float suspended on an almost invisible
medium. It seemed as if the pure air were beneath them, as well as
above. It is fit for baptisms; but one would not wish it to be polluted
by having sins washed into it. None but angels should bathe in it; but
blessed babies might be dipped into its bosom.

In a small and secluded dell that opens upon the most beautiful cove of
the whole lake, there is a little hamlet of huts or shanties, inhabited
by the Irish people who are at work upon the railroad. There are three
or four of these habitations, the very rudest, I should imagine, that
civilized men ever made for themselves,--constructed of rough boards,
with the protruding ends. Against some of them the earth is heaped up to
the roof, or nearly so; and when the grass has had time to sprout upon
them, they will look like small natural hillocks, or a species of
ant-hills,--something in w