In Eske, or Liddel, fords were none,
But he would ride them, one by one;
Alike to him was time or tide,
December's snow or July's pride;
Alike to him was tide or time,
Moonless midnight or matin prime.
--WALTER SCOTT.
All the members of the Wharton family laid their heads on their pillows
that night, with a foreboding of some interruption to their ordinary
quiet. Uneasiness kept the sisters from enjoying their usual repose, and
they rose from their beds, on the following morning, unrefreshed, and
almost without having closed their eyes.
On taking an eager and hasty survey of the valley from the windows of
their room, nothing, however, but its usual serenity was to be seen. It
was glittering with the opening brilliancy of one of those lovely, mild
days, which occur about the time of the falling of the leaf; and which,
by their frequency, class the American autumn with the most delightful
seasons of other countries. We have no spring; vegetation seems to leap
into existence, instead of creeping, as in the same latitudes of the Old
World; but how gracefully it retires! September, October, even November
and December, compose the season for enjoyment in the open air; they
have their storms, but they are distinct, and not of long continuance,
leaving a clear atmosphere and a cloudless sky.
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