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Take comfort.
for the last few days the fine weather has lured me away from books and papers and the close air of dwellings into the open fields, and under the soft, warm sunshine, and the softer light of a full moon.
The loveliest season of the whole year—that transient but delightful interval between the storms of the ‘wild equinox, with all their wet,’ and the dark, short, dismal days which precede the rigor of winter—is now with us. The sun rises through a soft and hazy atmosphere; the light mist-clouds melt gradually away before him; and his noontide light rests warm and clear on still woods, tranquil waters, and grasses green with the late autumnal rains.
The rough-wooded slopes of
Dracut, overlooking the falls of the river;
Fort Hill, across the
Concord, where the red man made his last stand, and where may still be seen the trench which he dug around his rude fortress; the beautiful woodlands on the
Lowell and
Tewksbury shores of the
Concord; the cemetery; the
Patucket Falls,—all within the reach of a moderate walk, —offer at this season their latest and loveliest attractions.
One fine morning, not long ago, I strolled down the
Merrimac, on the Tewksbury shore.
I know of no walk in the vicinity of
Lowell so inviting as that along the margin of the river for nearly a mile
