Our beloved American poet has wreathed in song the love of nature's wooing in his immortal Hiawatha.

Forests in their primeval grandeur, lovely landscapes, sunrise, noonday and sunset--each has attracted the keen poetic gaze.

Though not the theme of poet or pen--who that looks upon our autumn sunset can deny its charms?
The western horizon, a mass of living gold, flitting in incessant array and mingling with the different layers of purple, violet, pink, crimson, and tempting hues of indescribable beauty; at intervals forming regular and successive strata of deep blue and red, deepening into bright red.
Suddenly as with magic wand a golden cloud shoots through and transforms the whole with dazzling splendour.

The bewildering reflection upon the trees as they raise their heads in lofty appreciation, forms a pleasing background, while Heaven's ethereal blue lies calmly floating above.

The gently sloping hills lend variety to the scene, stretching in undulations of soft and rich verdure; luxuriant meadow and cultivated fields lie in alternate range.