No;—­Annie is singing in the hall.

She sings to herself, I think, this autumn morning, and would not like to be interrupted.  I will therefore take a ramble—­and you shall accompany me, O friend of my youth, far away in distant lands, but beside me still!  Whither shall we go?  It is hard to decide, for all the world is lovely.  Shall we go to my favorite woodland?  It skirts the river, and I love the river; so we pass into the forest.

How regal is the time of the fall of the leaves!  A thousand brilliant colors charm the eyes—­the eyes of their faithful lovers.  How the mighty oaks reach out their knotty, muscular arms to welcome us!—­how their ponderous shoulders bear aloft the imperial trappings—­trappings of silk and velvet, all orange, blue, and purple!  The haughty pines stand up like warriors—­or call them spears of nordland heroes, holding on their summits emerald banners!  The tulip-trees are lovely queens with flowers in their hair, who bend and welcome you with gracious murmurs; the slender elms sway to and fro, like fairest maidens of the royal blood; and sigh, and smile, and whisper, full of the charming grace of youth, and tenderness, and beauty.

I salute my noblemen, and queens, and princesses; they bow in return to me, their king.  Let us wander on.

—­Ah! that is well; my river view!  Of all my broad domain, I think I like this part the best.  Is it not beautiful?  That clump of dogwood, however, obstructs the view somewhat; I must cut it down.  Let us move a little to the right.  Ah! there it is!  See my lovely river; surely you must admire my swan-like ships, flying, with snowy canvass spread, before the fresh breeze.  And see that schooner breaking the little waves into foam.  Is that a telescope which the captain of my vessel points toward us?  He salutes me, does he not?  But I fear the distance is too great; he could hardly recognize me.  Still I shall bow—­let us not neglect the laws of courtesy.

My ship is sailing onward.  In earlier days I had many barks which sailed from shore; they were freighted with the richest goods, and made me very anxious.  So my argosies went sailing, but they never came again.  One bore my poem, which I thought would make me very celebrated, but the ship was lost.  Another was to bring me back a cargo of such beautiful things—­things which make life delightful to so many!—­pearls, and silks, and wines, and gold-laced suits—­garters, rosettes, and slips of ribbon to be worn at the button-hole.  This, too, was lost, and yet it did not grieve me much.  The third caused me more regret; I do not think I have yet wholly recovered from its loss.  It bore a maiden with sunny hair, and the tenderest, sweetest eyes!  She said she loved me—­yes a thousand times! and I—­I loved her long and dearly.  But the ship in which she sailed went down—­the strong, good ship, as I regarded it.  She died thus,—­did she not?—­or is it true that she was married to a richer suitor