I must not forestall my
narrative.
CHAPTER VII.
"Go to the ant."--_Proverbs._
IT was now the middle of September: the weather, which had continued serene
and beautiful for some time, with dewy nights and misty mornings, began to
show symptoms of the change of season usual at the approach of the equinox.
Sudden squalls of wind, with hasty showers, would come sweeping over the
lake; the nights and mornings were damp and chilly. Already the tints of
autumn were beginning to crimson the foliage of the oaks, and where the
islands were visible, the splendid colours of the maple shone out in
gorgeous contrast with the deep verdure of the evergreens and light
golden-yellow of the poplar; but lovely as they now looked, they had not
yet reached the meridian of their beauty, which a few frosty nights at
the close of the month was destined to bring to perfection--a glow of
splendour to gladden the eye for a brief space, before the rushing winds
and rains of the following month were to sweep them away, and scatter them
abroad upon the earth.
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