yet without a wrinkle, though the season is so far advanced. Like a
Parisian female of forty years old, dressed for court, and stored with
such variety of well-arranged allurements, that the men say to each
other as she passes.--"Des qu'elle à cessée d'estre jolie, elle n'en
devient que plus belle, ce me semble[E]."

[Footnote E: She's grown handsomer, I think, since she has left off
being pretty.]

The prospect from St. Salvadore's hill derives new beauties from the
yellow autumn; and exhibits such glowing proofs of opulence and
fertility, as words can with difficulty communicate. The animals,
however, do not seem benefited in proportion to the apparent riches of
the country: asses, indeed, grow to a considerable size, but the oxen
are very small, among pastures that might suffice for Bakewell's bulls;
and these are all little, and almost all _white_; a colour which gives
unfavourable ideas either of strength or duration.

The blanche rose among vegetables scatters a less powerful perfume than
the red one; whilst in the mineral kingdom silver holds but the second
place to gold, which imbibing the bright hues of its parent-sun, becomes
the first and greatest of all metallic productions. One may observe too,
that yellow is the earliest colour to salute the rising year, the last
to leave it: crocuses, primroses, and cowslips give the first earnest of
resuscitating summer; while the lemon-coloured butterfly, whose name I
have forgotten, ventures out, before any others of her kind can brave
the parting breath of winter's last storms; stoutest to resist cold, and
steadiest in her manner of flying. The present season is yellow indeed,
and nothing is to be seen now but sun-flowers and African marygolds
around us; _one_ bough besides, on every tree we pass--_one_ bough at