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diff --git a/36167-h/36167-h.htm b/36167-h/36167-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..84f77b0 --- /dev/null +++ b/36167-h/36167-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,8193 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + Mirror of the Months, by Peter George Patmore (A Project Gutenberg eBook) + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + +body { +margin-left:10%; +margin-right:10%; +} + +h1,h2 { +clear:both; +padding-top:1.5em; +text-align:center; +} + +h1 { +line-height:1.5em; +} + +h2.note { +font-size:115%; +padding-top:0; +} + +h2.ads { +font-size:115%; +padding-bottom:1em; +padding-top:2em; +} + +p { +margin-bottom:.75em; +margin-top:.75em; +text-align:justify; +} + +hr { +clear:both; +margin:2em auto; +visibility:hidden; +width:33%; +} + +table { +font-size:90%; +margin-left:auto; +margin-right:auto; +} + +p#begin { +font-size:175%; +font-weight:700; +padding-top:2em; +text-align:center; +} + +p.hang { +margin-left:1em; +padding-left:1em; +text-indent:-2em; +} + +p.ralign { +padding-right:8em; +text-align:right; +} + +div#tn { +background-color:#CFC; +border:solid #38610B 1px; +font-size:90%; +margin-top:2em; +padding:1em; +} + +span.pagenum { +color:gray; +font-size:small; +font-style:normal; +left:92%; +position:absolute; +text-align:right; +} + +span.wide { +letter-spacing:1.25em; +} + +.center { +text-align:center; +} + +.smcap { +font-variant:small-caps; +} + +.pad-tb { +padding:1em 0 2em; +} + +.pad-tb2 { +padding:2em 0; +} + +.med { +font-size:115%; +} + +.wee { +font-size:50%; +} + +.u { +text-decoration:underline; +} + +div#footnotes { +background-color:#F2F2F2; +border:solid #A4A4A4 1px; +margin-top:3em; +padding:1em; +} + +div.footnote { +font-size:85%; +margin-left:10%; +margin-right:10%; +} + +div.footnote a { +text-decoration:none; +} + +div.footnote .label { +padding:8px; +} + +.fnanchor { +background-color:#F2F2F2; +font-size:.7em; +font-weight:400; +text-decoration:none; +vertical-align:super; +} + +.poem { +font-size:85%; +margin-left:10%; +margin-right:10%; +max-width:30em; +text-align:left; +} + +.poem br { +display:none; +} + +.poem .stanza { +margin:1em 0; +} + +.poem span.i0 { +display:block; +margin-left:0; +padding-left:3em; +text-indent:-3em; +} + +.poem span.i1 { +display:block; +margin-left:1.5em; +padding-left:3em; +text-indent:-3em; +} + +.poem span.i2 { +display:block; +margin-left:2em; +padding-left:3em; +text-indent:-3em; +} + +.poem span.i3 { +display:block; +margin-left:3em; +padding-left:3em; +text-indent:-3em; +} + +.poem span.i5 { +display:block; +margin-left:5em; +padding-left:3em; +text-indent:-3em; +} + +.poem span.i6 { +display:block; +margin-left:6em; +padding-left:3em; +text-indent:-3em; +} + +.poem span.i7 { +display:block; +margin-left:7em; +padding-left:3em; +text-indent:-3em; +} + +.ucsmcap,.sm { +font-size:85%; +} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Mirror of the Months, by Peter George Patmore + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Mirror of the Months + +Author: Peter George Patmore + +Release Date: May 19, 2011 [EBook #36167] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MIRROR OF THE MONTHS *** + + + + +Produced by Chris Curnow, S.D., and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was +produced from scanned images of public domain material +from the Google Print project.) + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<h1>MIRROR<br /> +<span class="wee">OF</span><br /> +THE MONTHS.</h1> + +<p class="center sm pad-tb">Delectando pariterque monendo.</p> + +<p class="center">LONDON:</p> +<p class="center sm">PRINTED FOR GEO. B. WHITTAKER,<br /> +<span class="sm">AVE-MARIA-LANE.</span></p> + +<p class="center">1826.</p> + +<h2>CONTENTS.</h2> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary="Table of Contents"> +<tr><td></td><td align="right">Page</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#PREFACE">PREFACE.</a></td><td align="right">v</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#JANUARY">JANUARY.</a></td><td align="right">1</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#FEBRUARY">FEBRUARY.</a></td><td align="right">23</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#MARCH">MARCH.</a></td><td align="right">43</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#APRIL">APRIL.</a></td><td align="right">57</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#MAY">MAY.</a></td><td align="right">87</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#JUNE">JUNE.</a></td><td align="right">111</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#JULY">JULY.</a></td><td align="right">145</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#AUGUST">AUGUST.</a></td><td align="right">169</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#SEPTEMBER">SEPTEMBER.</a></td><td align="right">197</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#OCTOBER">OCTOBER.</a></td><td align="right">215</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#NOVEMBER">NOVEMBER.</a></td><td align="right">237</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#DECEMBER">DECEMBER.</a></td><td align="right">257</td></tr> +</table> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">{v}</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="PREFACE" id="PREFACE"></a>PREFACE.</h2> + +<p>As the first few pages of this little +volume will sufficiently explain its purport, +the reader would not have been troubled +with any prefatory remarks, but that, since +its commencement, two existing works have +been pointed out to me, the plans of which +are, in one respect, similar to mine: I allude +to the Natural History of the Year, +by the late Dr. Aikin and his Son; and +The Months, by Mr. Leigh Hunt.</p> + +<p>I will not affect any obligations to these +agreeable little works, (I mean as a writer); +because I feel none; and I mention them +here, only to add, that if, on perusing them, +either, or both united, had seemed to su<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">{vi}</a></span>persede +what I proposed to myself in mine, +I should immediately have abandoned my +intention of writing it. But the above-named +works, in the first place, relate to +country matters exclusively. In the next +place, the first of them details those matters +in the form of a dry calendar, professedly +made up from other calendars +which previously existed, and <i>not</i> from +actual observation; and the second merely +throws gleams of its writer’s agreeable genius +over such of those matters as are most +susceptible of that treatment: while both +occupy no little portion of their space by +quotations, sufficiently appropriate no doubt, +but from poets whose works are in everybody’s +hands.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Mirror of the Months</span>, therefore, +does not interfere with the abovenamed +works, nor do they with it. It is in substance, +though certainly not in form, a +Calendar of the various events and ap<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">{vii}</a></span>pearances +connected with a Country and a +London life, during each successive Month +of the Year. And it endeavours to impress +upon the memory such of its information +as seems best worth retaining, by either +placing it in a <i>picturesque</i> point of view, +or by connecting it with some association, +often purely accidental, and not seldom +extravagant perhaps, but not the less likely +to answer its end, if it succeed in changing +mere dry information into amusement.</p> + +<p>I may perhaps be allowed to add, in +extenuation of the errors and deficiencies +of this little volume, that it has been +written entirely from the personal observations +of one who uses no note-book but +that which Nature writes for him in the +tablets of his memory; and that when +printed books have been turned to at all, it +has only been with a view to solve any doubt +that he might feel, as to the exact period +of any particular event or appearance.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">{viii}</a></span> +It is also proper to mention, that the four +first Months have appeared in a periodical +work. In fact, it was the favourable reception +they met with there which induced +the careful re-writing of them, and the appearance +of the whole under their present +form.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">{1}</a></span></p> + +<p id="begin">MIRROR OF THE MONTHS.</p> + +<h2><a name="JANUARY" id="JANUARY"></a>JANUARY.</h2> + +<p>Those “Cynthias of a minute,” the Months, +fleet past us so swiftly, that though we never +mistake them while they are present with us, +yet the moment any one of them is gone by, we +begin to blend the recollection of its features +with those of the one which preceded it, or that +which has taken its place, and thus confuse them +together till we know not “which is which.” +And then, to mend the matter, when the whole +of them have danced their graceful round, hand +in hand, before us, not being able to think of +either separately, we unite them all together in +our imagination, and call them the Past Year; +as we gather flowers into a bunch, and call them +a bouquet.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">{2}</a></span> +Now this should not be. Each one of the +sweet sisterhood has features sufficiently marked +and distinct to entitle her to a place and a name; +and if we mistake these features, and attribute +those of any one to any other, it is because we +look at them with a cold and uninterested, and +therefore an inobservant regard. The lover of +Julie could trace fifty minute particulars which +were wanting in the portrait of his mistress; +though to any one else it would have appeared a +likeness: for, to common observers, “a likeness” +means merely a something which is not so absolutely +<i>un</i>like but what it is capable of calling +up the idea of the original, to those who are intimately +acquainted with it.</p> + +<p>Now, I have been for a long while past accustomed +to feel towards the common portraits +of the Months, of which so many are extant, +what St. Preux did towards that of his mistress: +all I could ever discover in them was the particulars +in which they were <i>not</i> like. Still I had +never ventured to ask the favour of either of +them to sit to me for her picture; having seen +that it was the very nature of them to be for +ever changing, and that, therefore, to attempt<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span> +to <i>fix</i> them, would be to trace the outline of a +sound, or give the colour of a perfume.</p> + +<p>At length, however, my unwearied attendance +on them, in their yearly passage past me, and +the assiduous court that I have always paid to +each and all of their charms, has met with its +reward: for there is this especial difference between +them and all other mistresses whatever, +that, so far from being jealous of each other, +their sole ground of complaint against their +lovers is, that they do not pay equal devotion to +each in her turn; the blooming <span class="smcap">May</span> and the +blushing <span class="smcap">June</span> disdain the vows of those votaries +who have not previously wept at the feet +of the weeping <span class="smcap">April</span>, or sighed in unison with +the sad breath of <span class="smcap">March</span>. And it is the same +with all the rest. They present a sweet emblem +of the <i>ideal</i> of a happy and united human family; +to each member of which the best proof +you can offer that you are worthy of <i>her</i> love, is, +that you have gained that of her sisters; and to +whom the best evidence you can give of being +able to love either worthily, is, that you love all. +This, I say, has been the kind of court that I +have paid to the Months—loving each in all, +and all in each. And my reward (in addition to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">{4}</a></span> +that of the love itself—which is a “virtue,” and +therefore “its own reward”) has been that each +has condescended to watch over and instruct me, +while I wrote down the particulars of her brief +but immortal life—immortal, because ever renewed, +and bearing the seeds of its renewal +within itself.</p> + +<p>These instructions, however, were accompanied +by certain conditions, without complying with +which I am not permitted to make the results +available to any one but myself. For my own +private satisfaction I have liberty to personify +the objects of my admiration under any form I +please; but if I speak of them to others, they +insist on being treated merely as portions or +periods of their beautiful parent the <span class="smcap">Year</span>, as +<i>she</i> is a portion of <span class="smcap">Time</span>, the great parent of all +things; and that the facts and events I may +have to refer to, shall not be essentially connected +with <i>them</i>, but merely be considered as taking +place during the period of their sojourn on the +earth respectively.</p> + +<p>I confess that this condition seems to savour a +little of the fastidious, not to say the affected. +And, what is still more certain, it cuts me off from +a most fertile source of the poetical and the pic<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">{5}</a></span>turesque. +I will frankly add, however, that I +am not without my suspicions that this latter +may have been the very reason why this condition +was imposed upon me; for I am by no means +certain that, if I had been left to myself, I +should not have substituted cold abstractions +and unintelligible fictions (or what would have +seemed such to others), in the place of that +simple <i>information</i> which it is my chief object to +convey.</p> + +<p>Laying aside, then, if I can, all ornamental +figures of speech, I shall proceed to place before +the reader, in plain prose, the principal events +which happen, in the two worlds of Nature and +of Art, during the life and reign of each month; +beginning with the nominal beginning of the +dynasty, and continuing to present, on the birthday +of each member of it, a record of the beauties +which she brings in her train, and the good deeds +which she either inspires or performs.</p> + +<p>Hail! then, hail to thee, <span class="smcap">January</span>!—all hail! +cold and wintry as thou art, if it be but in virtue +of thy first day. <span class="smcap">The day</span>, as the French call +it, par excellence; “Le jour de l’an.” Come +about me, all ye little schoolboys, that have +escaped from the unnatural thraldom of your<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">{6}</a></span> +taskwork—come crowding about me, with your +untamed hearts shouting in your unmodulated +voices, and your happy spirits dancing an untaught +measure in your eyes! Come, and help +me to speak the praises of New Year’s Day!—<i>your</i> +day—one of the three which have, of late, +become yours almost exclusively, and which have +bettered you, and been bettered themselves, by +the change. Christmas-day, which <i>was</i>; New-year’s-day, +which <i>is</i>; and Twelfth-day, which +<i>is to be</i>; let us compel them all three into our +presence—with a whisk of our imaginative wand +convert them into one, as the conjurer does his +three glittering balls—and then enjoy them all together,—with +their dressings, and coachings, and +visitings, and greetings, and gifts, and “many +happy returns”—with their plum-puddings, and +mince-pies, and twelfth cakes, and neguses—with +their forfeits, and fortune-tellings, and blind-man’s-buffs, +and snap-dragons, and sittings up to +supper—with their pantomimes, and panoramas, +and new penknives, and pastrycooks’ shops—in +short, with their endless round of ever new +nothings, the absence of a relish for which is +but ill supplied, in after life, by that feverish +hungering and thirsting after excitement, which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">{7}</a></span> +usurp without filling its place. Oh! that I +might enjoy those nothings once again in fact, as +I can in fancy! But I fear the wish is worse +than an idle one; for it not only may not be, +but it ought not to be. “We cannot have our +cake and eat it too,” as the vulgar somewhat +vulgarly, but not the less shrewdly, express it. +And this is as it should be; for if we could, +it would neither be worth the eating nor the +having.</p> + +<p>If the reader complains that this is not the +sober style which I just now promised to maintain, +I cannot help it. Besides, it was my subject +that spoke then, not myself; and it spoke to +those who are too happy to be wise, and to whom, +therefore, if it were to speak wisely, it might as +well not speak at all. Let them alone for awhile, +and they will grow too wise to be happy; and +then they may be disposed and at leisure to +listen to reason.</p> + +<p>In sober sadness, then, if the reader so wills +it, and after the approved manner of modern +moral discourses, the subject before us may be +regarded under three distinct points of view; +namely, January in London—January in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">{8}</a></span> +country—and January in general. And first, of +the first.</p> + +<p>Now—but before I proceed further, let me +bespeak the reader’s indulgence at least, if not +his favour, towards this everlasting monosyllable, +“Now,” to which my betters have, from time to +time, been so much indebted, and on which I +shall be compelled to place so much dependence +in this my present undertaking. It is the pass +word, the “open sesame,” that must remove +from before me all lets and impediments; it is +the charm that will alternately put to silence my +imagination when it may be disposed to infringe +on the office of my memory, and awaken my +memory when it is inclined to sleep; in fact, it +is a monosyllable of infinite avail, and for which, +on this as on many other occasions, no substitute +can be found in our own or any other language; +and if I approve, above all other proverbs, that +which says, “There’s nothing like the time +present,” it is partly because “the time present” +is but a periphrasis for <span class="smcap">Now</span>!</p> + +<p>Now, then, the cloudy canopy of sea-coal +smoke that hangs over London, and crowns her +queen of capitals, floats thick and threefold; for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">{9}</a></span> +fires and feastings are rife, and every body is +either “out” or “at home,” every night.</p> + +<p>Now schoolboys don’t know what to do with +themselves till dinner-time; for the good old +days of frost and snow, and fairs on the Thames, +and furred gloves, and skaiting on the canals, +and sliding on the kennels, are gone by; and for +any thing in the shape of winter one might as +well live in Italy at once!</p> + +<p>Now, on the evening of Twelfth-day, mischievous +maid-servants pin elderly people together +at the windows of pastry-cooks’ shops, +thinking them “weeds that have no business +there.”</p> + +<p>Now, if a frosty day or two does happen to +pay us a flying visit, on its way home to the +North Pole, how the little boys make slides on +the pathways, for lack of ponds, and, it may +be, trip up an occasional housekeeper just as he +steps out of his own door; who forthwith vows +vengeance, in the shape of ashes, on all the slides +in his neighbourhood; not, doubtless, out of +vexation at his own mishap, and revenge against +the petty perpetrators of it, but purely to avert +the like from others!</p> + +<p>Now, Bond Street begins to be conscious of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">{10}</a></span> +carriages; two or three people are occasionally +seen wandering through the Western Bazaar; +and the Soho Ditto is so thronged, that Mr. +Trotter begins to think of issuing another decree +against the inroads of single gentlemen.</p> + +<p>Now, linen drapers begin to “sell off” their +stock at “fifty per cent. under prime cost,” and +continue so doing all the rest of the year; every +article of which will be found, on inspection, to +be of “the last new pattern,” and to have been +“only had in that morning!”</p> + +<p>Now, oranges are eaten in the dress-circle of +the great theatres, and inquiries are propounded +there, whether “that gentleman in black” (meaning +Hamlet) “is Harlequin?” And laughs, and +“La! Mammas!” resound thence to the remotest +corners of the house; and “the gods” make +merry during the play, in order that they may +be at leisure to listen to the pantomime; and +Mr. Farley is consequently in his glory, and Mr. +Grimaldi is a great man; as, indeed, when is he +not?</p> + +<p>Now, newspapers teem with twice-ten-times-told +tales of haunted houses, and great sea-snakes, +and mermaids; and a murder is worth a +Jew’s eye to them; for “the House does not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">{11}</a></span> +meet for the despatch of business till the fifth of +February.” And great and grievous are the lamentations +that are heard in the said newspapers, +over the lateness of the London season, and its +detrimental effects on the interests of the metropolis; +but they forget to add—“erratum—for +<i>metropolis</i>, read <i>newspapers</i>.”</p> + +<p>Now, Moore’s Almanack holds “sole sovereign +sway and mastery” among the readers of that +class of literature; for there has not yet been time +to nullify any of its predictions; not even that +which says, “we may expect some frost and +snow about this period.”</p> + +<p>Finally, now periodical works put on their +best attire; the old ones expressing their determination +to become new, and the new ones to +become old; and each makes a point of putting +forth the first of some pleasant series of essays +(such as this, for example!), which cannot fail +to fix the most fugitive of readers, and make +him her own for another twelve months at least.</p> + +<p>Let us now repair to the country. “The +country in January” has but a dreary sound, to +those who go into “the country” only that they +may not be seen “in town.” But to those who +seek the country for the same reason that they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">{12}</a></span> +seek London, namely, for the good that is to be +found there, the one has at least as many attractions +as the other, at any given period of the +year. Let me add, however, that if there <i>is</i> a +particular period when the country puts forth +fewer of her attractions than at any other, it is +this; probably to try who are her real lovers, +and who are only false flatterers, and to treat +them accordingly. And yet—</p> + +<p>Now, the trees, denuded of their gay attire, +spread forth their thousand branches against the +gray sky, and present as endless a variety of +form and feature for study and observation, +as they did when dressed in all the flaunting +fashions of midsummer. Now, too, their voices +are silent, and their forms are motionless, even +when the wind is among them; so that the +low plaintive piping of the robin-redbreast can +be heard, and his hiding-place detected by the +sound of his slim feet alighting on the fallen +leaves. Or now, grown bolder as the skies +become more inclement, he flits before you from +twig to twig silently, like a winged thought; +or like the brown and crimson leaf of a cherry-tree, +blown about by the wind; or perches +himself by your side, and looks sidelong in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">{13}</a></span> +your face, pertly, and yet imploringly,—as much +as to say, “though I do need your aid just +now, and would condescend to accept a crum +from your hand, yet I’m still your betters, for +I’m still a bird.”</p> + +<p>Now, one of the most beautiful sights on which +the eye can open occasionally presents itself: +we saw the shades of evening fall upon a waste +expanse of brown earth, shorn hedge-rows, bare +branches, and miry roads, interspersed here and +there with a patch of dull melancholy green. +But when we are awakened by the late dawning +of the morning, and think to look forth upon the +same, what a bright pomp greets us! What a +white pageantry! It is as if the fleecy clouds +that float about the sun at midsummer had descended +upon the earth, and clothed it in their +beauty! Every object we look upon is strange +and yet familiar to us—“another, yet the +same!” And the whole affects us like a vision of +the night, which we are half conscious <i>is</i> a +vision: we know that it is <i>there</i>, and yet we +know not how long it may remain there, since a +motion may change it, or a breath melt it away. +And what a mysterious stillness reigns over all! +A white silence! Even the “clouted shoon” of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">{14}</a></span> +the early peasant is not heard; and the robin, +as he hops from twig to twig with undecided +wing, and shakes down a feathery shower as he +goes, hushes his low whistle in wonder at the +unaccustomed scene!</p> + +<p>Now, the labour of the husbandman is, for +once in the year, at a stand; and he haunts the +alehouse fire, or lolls listlessly over the half-door +of the village smithy, and watches the progress +of the labour which he unconsciously envies; +tasting for once in his life (without knowing it) +the bitterness of that <i>ennui</i> which he begrudges +to his betters.</p> + +<p>Now, melancholy-looking men wander “by +twos and threes” through market-towns, with +their faces as blue as the aprons that are twisted +round their waists; their ineffectual rakes resting +on their shoulders, and a withered cabbage +hoisted upon a pole; and sing out their doleful +petition of “Pray remember the poor gardeners, +who can get no work!”</p> + +<p>Now, the passengers outside the Cheltenham +night-coach look wistfully at the Witney blanket-mills +as they pass, and meditate on the merits of +a warm bed.</p> + +<p>Now, people of fashion, who cannot think of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">{15}</a></span> +coming to their homes in town so early in the +season, and will not think of remaining at their +homes in the country so late, seek out spots on the +seashore which have the merit of being neither +town <i>nor</i> country, and practise patience there (as +Timon of Athens did), en attendant the London +winter, which is ordered to commence about the +first week in spring, and end at midsummer!</p> + +<p>But we are forgetting the garden all this +while; which must not be; for Nature does not. +Though the gardener can find little to do in it, +<i>she</i> is ever at work there, and ever with a wise +hand, and graceful as wise. The wintry winds +of December having shaken down the last lingering +leaves from the trees, the final labour of +the gardener was employed in making all trim +and clean; in turning up the dark earth, to give +it air; pruning off the superfluous produce of +summer; and gathering away the worn-out attire +that the perennial flowers leave behind them, +when they sink into the earth to seek their winter +home, as Harlequin and Columbine, in the pantomimes, +sometimes slip down through a trapdoor, +and cheat their silly pursuers by leaving +their vacant dresses standing erect behind them.</p> + +<p>All being left trim and orderly for the coming<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">{16}</a></span> +on of the new year. Now (to resume our friendly +monosyllable) all the processes of nature for the +renewal of her favoured race, the flowers, may +be more aptly observed than at any other period. +Still, therefore, however desolate a scene the +garden may present to the <i>general</i> gaze, a particular +examination of it is full of interest, and +interest that is not the less valuable for its depending +chiefly on the imagination.</p> + +<p>Now, the bloom-buds of the fruit trees, which +the late leaves of autumn had concealed from +the view, stand confessed, upon the otherwise +bare branches, and, dressed in their patent wind-and-water-proof +coats, brave the utmost severity +of the season,—their hard unpromising outsides, +compared with the forms of beauty which they +contain, reminding us of their friends the butterflies +when in the chrysalis state.</p> + +<p>Now, the perennials, having slipped off their +summer robes, and retired to their subterranean +sleeping-rooms, just permit the tops of their +naked heads to peep above the ground, to warn +the labourer from disturbing their annual repose.</p> + +<p>Now, the smooth-leaved and tender-stemmed +Rose of China hangs its pale, scentless, artificial-looking +flowers upon the cheek of Winter; re<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">{17}</a></span>minding +us of the last faint bloom upon the face +of a fading beauty, or the hectic of disease on +that of a dying one; and a few chrysanthemums +still linger, the wreck of the past year,—their +various coloured stars looking like faded imitations +of the gay, glaring China-aster.</p> + +<p>Now, too,—first evidences of the revivifying +principle of the new-born year—for all that we +have hitherto noticed are but lingering remnants +of the old—Now, the golden and blue crocuses +peep up their pointed coronals from amidst their +guarding palisades of green and gray leaves, that +they may be ready to come forth at the call of +the first February sun that looks warmly upon +them; and perchance one here and there, bolder +than the rest, has started fairly out of the earth +already, and half opened her trim form, pretending +to have mistaken the true time; as a +forward school-miss will occasionally be seen +coquetting with a smart cornet, before she has +been regularly produced,—as if she did not +know that there was “any harm in it.”</p> + +<p>We are now to consider the pretensions of +January in general.</p> + +<p>When the palm of merit is to be awarded +among the Months, it is usual to assign it to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">{18}</a></span> +May by acclamation. But if the claim depends +on the sum of delight which each witnesses or +brings with her, I doubt if January should not +bear the bell from her more blooming sister, if +it were only in virtue of her share in the aforenamed +festivities of the Christmas Holidays. +And then, what a happy influence does she not +exercise on all the rest of the Year, by the family +meetings she brings about, and by the kindling +and renewing of the social affections that grow +out of, and are chiefly dependent on these. And +what sweet remembrances and associations does +she not scatter before her, through all the time +to come, by her gifts—the “new year’s gifts!” +<i>Christmas-boxes</i> (as they are called) are but +sordid boons in comparison of these; they are +mere money paid for mere services rendered or +expected; wages for work done and performed; +barterings of value for value; offerings of the +pocket to the pocket. But new year’s gifts are +offerings of the affections to the affections—of +the heart to the heart. The value of the first +depends purely on themselves; and the gratitude +(such as it is) which they call forth, is measured +by the gross amount of that value. But the +others owe their value to the wishes and in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">{19}</a></span>tentions +of the giver; and the gratitude <i>they</i> call +forth springs from the affections of the receiver.</p> + +<p>And then, who can see a New Year open upon +him, without being better for the prospect—without +making sundry wise reflections (for <i>any</i> +reflections on this subject <i>must</i> be comparatively +wise ones) on the step he is about to take towards +the goal of his being? Every first of January +that we arrive at, is an imaginary mile-stone on +the turnpike track of human life; at once a +resting-place for thought and meditation, and a +starting point for fresh exertion in the performance +of our journey. The man who does not at +least <i>propose to himself</i> to be better <i>this</i> year +than he was last, must be either very good or +very bad indeed! And only to <i>propose</i> to be +better, is something; if nothing else it is an +acknowledgment of our <i>need</i> to be so,—which is +the first step towards amendment. But in fact, +to propose to oneself to do well, is in some sort +to <i>do</i> well, positively; for there is no such thing +as a stationary point in human endeavours; he +who is not worse to-day than he was yesterday, +is better; and he who is not better, is worse.</p> + +<p>The very name of January, from Janus, two-faced, +“looking before and after,” indicates the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">{20}</a></span> +reflective propensities which she encourages, and +which when duly exercised cannot fail to lead to +good.</p> + +<p>And then January is the youngest of the +yearly brood, and therefore <i>prima facie</i> the +best; for I protest most strenuously against the +comparative age which Chaucer (I think) has +assigned to this month by implication, when he +compares an old husband and a young wife to +“January and June.” These poets will sacrifice +any thing to alliteration, even abstract truth. I +am sorry to say this of Chaucer, whose poetry +is more of “a true thing” than that of any other, +always excepting Mr. Crabbe’s, which is too +much of a true thing. And nobody knew better +than Chaucer the respective merits of the Months, +and the peculiar qualities and characteristics +which appertain to each. But, I repeat, alliteration +is the Scylla and Charybdis united of +all who embark on the perilous ocean of poetry; +and that Chaucer himself chose occasionally to +“listen to the voice of the charmer, charmed she +never so <i>un</i>wisely,” the above example affords +sufficient proof. I am afraid poets themselves +are too self-opiniated people to make it worth +while for me to warn <i>them</i> on this point; but I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">{21}</a></span> +hereby pray all prose writers pertinaciously to +avoid so pernicious a practice. This, however, +by the by.</p> + +<p>I need scarcely accumulate other arguments +and examples to show that my favourite January +deserves to rank first among the Months in merit, +as she does in place. But lest doubters should +still remain, I will add, ask the makers-out of +annual accounts whether any month can compare +with January, since then they may begin to <i>hope</i> +for a settlement, and may even in some cases +venture to <i>ask</i> for it; which latter is a comfort +that has been denied them during all the rest of +the year; besides its being a remote step towards +the said settlement. And on the other hand, ask +the contractors of annual accounts whether January +is not the best of all possible months, since +then they may begin to <i>order</i> afresh, with the +prospect of a whole year’s impunity. The answers +to these two questions must of course +decide the point, since the two classes of persons +to whom they are addressed include the whole +adult(erated) population of these commercial +realms.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">{22}</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23"><br />{23}</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="FEBRUARY" id="FEBRUARY"></a>FEBRUARY.</h2> + +<p>Some one has said of the Scotch novels, that +that is the best which we happen to have perused +last. It is thus that I estimate the relative +value and virtue of the Months. The one which +happens to be present with me is sure to be that +one which I happen to like better than any of +the others. I lately insisted on the supremacy +of January on various accounts. Now I have a +similar claim to put in in favour of the next in +succession. And it shall go hard but I will +prove, to the entire satisfaction of all whom it +may concern, that each in her turn is, beyond +comparison, the “wisest, virtuousest, discreetest, +best.” Indeed I doubt whether, on consideration, +any one (but a Scotch philosopher) will be +inclined to dispute the truth of this, even as a +logical proposition, much less as a sentiment. +The time present is the best of all possible times, +<i>because</i> it is present—because it <i>is</i>—because it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">{24}</a></span> +is something; whereas all other times are nothing. +The time present, therefore, is essentially +better than any other time, in the proportion of +something to nothing. I hope this be logic; +or metaphysics at the least. If the reader determines +otherwise, “he may kill the next Percy +himself!” In the mean time (and <i>that</i>, by the +by, is the best time next to the present, in +virtue of its skill in connecting together two +refractory periods)—in the mean time, let us +search for another and a better reason why every +one of the Months is, in its turn, the best. +The cleverest Scotch philosopher that ever lived +has said, in a memoir of his own life, that a +man had better be born with a disposition to +look on the bright side of things, than to an +estate of ten thousand a year. He might have +gone further, and said that the disposition to +which he alludes is worth almost as much to +a man as being compelled and able to earn an +honest livelihood by the sweat of his brow! Nay, +he might almost have asserted that, with such a +disposition, a man may chance to be happy even +though he be born to an estate of <i>twenty</i> thousand +a year! But I, not being (thank my stars!) +a Scotch or any other philosopher, will venture<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">{25}</a></span> +to go still farther, and say, that to be able to +look at things <i>as they are</i>, is best of all. To +him who can do this, all is as it should be—all +things work together for good—whatever is, is +right. To him who can do this, the present +time is all-sufficient, or rather it is all in all; +for if he cannot enjoy any other, it is because no +other is susceptible of being enjoyed, except +through the medium of the present.</p> + +<p>From the sublime to the ridiculous is but a +step. Consequently, from the ridiculous to the +sublime must be about the same distance. In +other words, the transition from metaphysics to +love is easy; as Mr. Coleridge’s writings can +amply testify. Hail! then, February! month +and mother of Love! Not that love which requires +the sun of midsummer to foster it into +life; and is so restless and fugitive that nothing +can hold it but bands made of bright eye-beams; +and so dainty that it must be fed on +rose-leaves; and so proud and fantastical that +bowers of jasmine and honeysuckle are not good +enough for it to dwell in, or the green turf soft +enough for its feet to press, but it must sit beneath +silken canopies, and tread on Turkey +carpets, and breathe the breath of pastiles; and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">{26}</a></span> +so chilly that it must pass all its nights within a +gentle bosom, or it dies. Not <i>this</i> love; but its +infant cousin, that starts into life on cold Saint +Valentine’s morning, and sits by the fire rocking +its own cradle, and listening all day long for the +“sweet thunder” of the twopenny postman’s +knock!—Hail! February! Virgin mother of +this love of all loves, which dies almost the day +that it is born, and yet leaves the odour of its +sweetness upon the whole after life of those who +were not too wise to admit it for a moment to +their embraces!</p> + +<p>The sage reader must not begrudge me these +innocent little rhapsodies. He must remember +that all are not so wise and staid as he; and as +in January he permitted me to be, for a moment, +a ranting schoolboy, so in February he must not +object to my reminding him that there are such +persons in the world as young ladies who have +not yet finished their education! He must not +insist that, “because <i>he</i> is virtuous, there shall +be no more cakes and ale.” Besides, to be candid, +I do not see that it is quite fair to complain of +us anonymous writers, even if we do occasionally +insinuate into our lucubrations a few lines that +are directed to our own exclusive satisfaction.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">{27}</a></span> +In fact, the privilege of writing nonsense now +and then is the sweetest source of our emolument, +and one which, if our readers attempt to +cut us off from altogether, they may rest assured +that we shall very soon <i>strike</i>, and demand higher +pay in other respects than those only true patrons +of literature, the booksellers, can afford to give; +for if a man is always to write sense and reason, +he might as well turn <i>author</i> at once,—which we +“gentlemen who write with ease” flatter ourselves +that none of us are. I put it to the candour +of Mr. Whittaker himself, whether, if I +would consent to place my name in the corner +of each of these portraits of the Months (<i>so and +so pinxit</i>, 1825), he would not willingly give +me double price for them, and reckon upon +remunerating himself from the purchaser in +proportion? Then let him use his interest +with the critics to allow me but half a page +of nonsense in each paper, and I consent to +forego all this profit. As for the fame, I am +content to leave posterity in the lurch, and live +only till I die.</p> + +<p>Having now expended <i>my</i> portion of this paper, +I shall henceforth willingly “keep bounds” till +the next month; to which end, however, I must<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">{28}</a></span> +be permitted to call in the aid of my able suggestive, +Now.</p> + +<p>Now, the Christmas holidays are over, and all +the snow in Russia could not make the first +Monday in this month look any other than <i>black</i>, +in the home-loving eyes of little schoolboys; and +the streets of London are once more evacuated +of happy wondering faces, that look any way +but straight before them; and sobs are heard, +and sorrowful faces seen to issue from sundry +postchaises that carry sixteen inside, exclusive of +cakes and boxes; and theatres are no longer +conscious of unconscious <i>eclats de rire</i>, but the +whole audience is like Mr. Wordsworth’s cloud, +“which moveth altogether, if it move at all.”</p> + +<p><i>En revanche</i>, now newspaper editors begin to +think of disporting themselves; for the great +national school for “children of a larger growth” +is met in Saint Stephen’s Chapel, “for the +<i>despatch</i> of business” and of time; and consequently +newspapers have become a nonentity; +and those writers who are “constant readers” +find their occupation gone.</p> + +<p>Now, the stones of Bond Street dance for joy, +while they “prate of the whereabout” of innumerable +wheels; which latter are so happy to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">{29}</a></span> +meet again after a long absence, that they rush +into each other’s embraces, “wheel within wheel,” +and there’s no getting them asunder.</p> + +<p>Now, the Italian Opera is open, and the house +is full; but if asked on the subject, you may +safely say that “nobody was there;” for the +<i>flats</i> that you meet with in the pit evidently indicate +that their wearers appertain to certain +counters and counting-houses in the city, or serve +those that do—having “received orders” for the +Opera in the way of their business.</p> + +<p>Now, a sudden thaw, after a week’s frost, +puts the pedestrians of Cheapside into a pretty +pickle.</p> + +<p>Now, the <i>trottoir</i> of St. James’s Street begins +to know itself again; the steps of Raggett’s are +proud of being pressed by right honourable feet; +and <i>the dandies’ watch-tower</i> is once more peopled +with playful peers, peering after beautiful frailties +in furred pelisses.</p> + +<p>Now, on fine Sundays, the citizens and their +wives begin to hie them to Hyde Park, and +having attained Wellington Walk, fancy that +there is not more than two pins to choose between +them and their betters on the other side +the rail; while these latter, having come abroad<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">{30}</a></span> +to take the air (of the insides of their carriages), +and kill the time, and cure the vapours, +permit inquisitive equestrians to gaze at +them through plate-glass, and fancy, not without +reason, that they look like flowers seen through +flowing water: Lady O——, for example, like +an overblown rose; Lady H——, like a painted-lady +pea; the Countess of B——, like a newly-opened +apple-blossom; and her demure-looking +little sister beside her, like a <i>prim</i>-rose.</p> + +<p>Now, winter being only on the wane, and +spring only on the approach, Fashion, for once +in the year, begins to feel herself in a state of +interregnum, and her ministers, the milliners and +tailors, don’t know what to think. Mrs. Bean +shakes her head like Lord Burleigh, and declines +to determine as to what may be the fate of +future waists; and Mr. Stultz is equally cautious +of committing himself in the affair of collars; +and both agree in coming to the same conclusion +with the statesman in Tom Thumb, that, “as +near as they can guess, they cannot tell!” Now, +therefore, the fashionable shops are shorn of their +beams, and none can show wares that are strictly +in season, except the stationer’s. But <i>his</i>, which +for all the rest of the year is dullest of the dull,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">{31}</a></span> +is now, for the first fourteen days, gayest of the +gay; for here the poetry of love, and the love of +poetry, are displayed under all possible and impossible +forms and metaphors,—from little cupids +creeping out of cabbage-roses, to large overgrown +hearts stuffed with double-headed arrows, and +uttering piteous complaints in verse, while they +fry in their own flames. And this brings us +safe back to the point from which we somewhat +prematurely set out; for Now, on good Saint +Valentine’s eve, all the rising generation of this +metropolis, who feel that they have reached the +age of <i>in</i>discretion, think it full time for them +to fall in love, or be fallen in love with. Accordingly, +infinite are the crow-quills that move +mincingly between embossed margins,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“And those <i>rhyme</i> now who never rhymed before,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And those who always rhymed now rhyme the more;”<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>to the utter dismay of the newly-appointed twopenny +postman the next morning; who curses +Saint Valentine almost as bitterly as does, in her +secret heart, yonder sulky sempstress, who has +not been called upon for a single twopence out +of all the two hundred thousand<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> extra ones +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">{32}</a></span> +that have been drawn from willing pockets, and +dropped into canvas bags, on this eventful day. +She may take my word for it that the said sulkiness, +which has some show of reason in it to-day, +is in the habit of visiting her pretty face oftener +than it is called for. If it were not so, she would +not have had cause for it now.</p> + +<p>But good Bishop Valentine is a pluralist, and +holds another see besides that of London:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i3">“All the air is his diocese,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And all the chirping choristers<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And other birds are his parishioners:<br /></span> +<span class="i3">He marries every year<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The lyrique lark, and the grave whispering dove;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sparrow, that neglects his life for love;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The household bird with the red stomacher;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He makes the blackbird speed as soon<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As doth the goldfinch or the halcyon.”<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Let us be off to the country without more +ado; for who can stay in London in the face of +such epithets as these, that seem to compel us, +with their sweet magic, to go in search of the +sounds and sights that they characterise? “The +<i>lyric</i> lark!” Why a modern poet might live for +a whole season on that one epithet! Nay, there +be those that <i>have</i> lived on it for a longer time, +perhaps without knowing that it did not belong +to them!—“The sparrow that <i>neglects his life<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">{33}</a></span> +for love</i>!” “The <i>household</i> bird, <i>with the red +stomacher</i>!”—That a poet who could write in this +manner, for pages together, should be almost entirely +unknown to modern <i>readers</i> (except to those +of a late number of the Retrospective Review), +would be somewhat astonishing, if it were not for +the consideration that he is so well known to +modern <i>writers</i>! It would be doing both parties +justice if some one would point out a few of the +<i>coincidences</i> that occur between them. In the +mean time, <i>we</i> shall be doing better in looking +abroad for ourselves into that nature to which +<i>he</i> looked, and seeing what she offers worthy of +particular observation, in the course of this last +month of winter in the Country, though it is the +first in London. Not that we shall, as yet, find +much to attract our attention in regard to the +movements of the above-named “parishioners” +of good Bishop Valentine; for though he gives +them full authority to marry now as soon as they +please, Frost forbids the bans for the present; +and when there is no love going forward in the +feathered world, there is little or no singing. +On the contrary, even the pert sparrows still go +moping and sulking about silently, or sit with +ruffled plumes and drooping wings, upon the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">{34}</a></span> +bare branches, watching all day long for their +scanty dole of crums, and thinking of nothing +else. The “lyric lark,” indeed, may already +be heard; the thrush and blackbird begin to +practise their spring notes faintly; and the +yellow-hammer, the chaffinch, and the wren, +utter a single stanza or so, at long intervals: +but all this can scarcely be called singing, but +rather talking of it; for</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“I shall not ask Jean Jacques Rousseau<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If birds confabulate, or no;”<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>but shall determine at once that they do; at +least if any dependence can be placed on eyes +and ears. In short, the only bird that really <i>is</i> +a bird this month, is he “with the red stomacher.” +And he, with his low plaintive piping, +his silent spirit-like motions, and sudden and mysterious +appearings and disappearings,—coming +in an instant before us no one can tell whence, +and going as silently and as suddenly no one +knows whither,—and, above all, his sweet and +pert, yet timid confidence in man—all these, to +those who are happy enough to have nothing +better to do than to watch them, almost make +up for the absence of all his blithe brethren.</p> + +<p>As for the general face of nature, we shall<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">{35}</a></span> +find <i>that</i> in much the same apparent state as we +left it last month. And we must look into its +individual features very minutely, if we would +discover any change even in them. The trees +are still utterly bare; the skies are cold and +gray; the paths and ways are, for the most part, +dank and miry; and the air is either damp and +clinging, or bitter, eager, and shrewd. But then +what days of soft air and sunshine, and unbroken +blue sky, do now and then intervene, and transport +us into the very heart of May, and make us +look about and wonder what is become of the +green leaves and the flowers!</p> + +<p>Now, hard frosts, if they come at all, are followed +by sudden thaws; and now, therefore, if +ever, the mysterious old song of our school days +stands a chance of being verified, which sings of</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Three children sliding on the ice<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All on a <i>summer’s</i> day!”<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Now, the labour of the husbandman recommences; +and it is pleasant to watch (from your +library window) the plough-team moving almost +imperceptibly along, upon the distant upland +that the bare trees have disclosed to you. And +now, by the way, if you are wise, you will get +acquainted with all the little spots that are thus,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">{36}</a></span> +by the bareness of the trees, laid open to you, +in order that, when the summer comes, and you +cannot <i>look at</i> them, you may be able to <i>see</i> +them still.</p> + +<p>But we must not neglect the garden; for +though “Nature’s journeymen,” the gardeners, +are undergoing an ignoble leisure this month, it +is not so with Nature herself. She is as busy as +ever, if not openly and obviously, secretly, and +in the hearts of her sweet subjects the flowers; +stirring them up to that rich rivalry of beauty +which is to greet the first footsteps of Spring, +and teaching them to prepare themselves for her +advent, as young maidens prepare, months beforehand, +for the marriage festival of some dear +friend.</p> + +<p>If the flowers think and feel (and he who dares +to say that they do not is either a fool or a philosopher—let +him choose between the imputations!)—if +the flowers think and feel, what a +commotion must be working within their silent +hearts, when the pinions of Winter begin to grow, +and indicate that he is at least meditating his +flight! Then do <i>they</i>, too, begin to meditate on +May-day, and think on the delight with which +they shall once more breathe the fresh air, when<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">{37}</a></span> +they have leave to escape from their subterranean +prisons; for now, towards the latter end of this +month, they are all of them at least awake from +their winter slumbers, and most are busily working +at their gay toilets, and weaving their fantastic +robes, and shaping their trim forms, and +distilling their rich essences, and, in short, getting +ready in all things, that they may be duly prepared +to join the bright procession of beauty +that is to greet and glorify the annual coming on +of their sovereign lady, the Spring. It is true +none of all this can be seen. But what a race +should we be, if we knew and cared to know of +nothing, but what we can see and prove!</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Whose mind is but the mind of his own eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He is a slave—the meanest you can meet.”<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>But there is much going on in the garden now +that may be seen by “the naked eye” of those +who carefully look for it. The bloom-buds of +the shrubs and fruit-trees are obviously swelling; +and the leaves of the lilac are ready to burst +forth at the first favourable call. The laurestinus +still braves the winds and the frosts, and blooms +in blithe defiance of them. So does the China +rose, but meekly, and like a maiden who <i>will</i> not +droop though her lover <i>be</i> away; because she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">{38}</a></span> +knows that he is true to her, and will soon +return.</p> + +<p>Now, too, the viable heralds of Spring approach, +but do not appear; or rather, they appear, +but have not yet put on their gorgeous +tabards or surcoats of many colours. The tulips +are but just showing themselves, shrouded closely +in their sheltering alcoves of dull green. The +hyacinths, too, have sent up their trim fences of +green, and are just peeping up from the midst +of them in their green veils,—the cheek of each +flower-bud pressed and clustering against that of +its fellow, like a host of little heads peeping out +from the porch of an ivy-bound cottage, as the +London coach passes.</p> + +<p>Now, too, those pretty orphans, the crocuses +and snowdrops—those foundlings, that belong +neither to Winter nor Spring—show their modest +faces scarcely an inch above the dark earth, +as if they were afraid to rise from it, lest a +stray March wind should whistle them away.</p> + +<p>Finally, now appear, towards the latter end of +the month, those flowers that actually belong to +Spring—that do not either herald her approach, +or follow in her train, but are in fact a part of +her, and prove that she is virtually with us,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">{39}</a></span> +though she chooses to remain incognita for a +time. The prettiest and most piquant of these +in appearance are the brilliant little Hepaticas, +crowding up in sparkling companies from the +midst of their dark ivy-like leaves, and looking +more like gems than flowers.</p> + +<p>The next in brilliance are the Anemonies, as +gay in their colours, and more various, but not +so profuse of their charms as their pretty relation +Hepatica, and more jealous of each other’s +beauty; as well they may, for what flower can +vie with them for exquisite delicacy of hue and +elegant fragility?</p> + +<p>The primroses, polyanthuses, and daisies that +venture to show themselves this month, we will +not greet; not because we are not even more +pleased to see them than their gayer and more +gaudy rivals; but the truth is, that they have +no real claim upon our attention till next month, +as their pale hues and weakly forms evidently +indicate.</p> + +<p>In taking leave of the Country for this month, +let me not forget to mention that sure “prophet +of delight and mirth,” the Common Pilewort, or +Lesser Celandine; about which (and what more +can I say to interest the reader in its favour?)<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">{40}</a></span> +Mr. Wordsworth has written two whole poems. +Its little yellow stars may now be seen gemming +the woodsides, when all around is cold, comfortless, +and dead.</p> + +<p>I have said that I designed to prove this to +be the best of all possible months. Is the reader +still incredulous as to its surpassing merits? +Then be it known to him that I should insist on +its supremacy, if it were only in virtue of <i>one</i> +birthday which it includes: and one that the +reader would never guess, for the best of all +reasons. It is <i>not</i> that of “the wisest of mankind,” +Lord Bacon, on the third; or of “the +starry Galileo,” on the nineteenth; or of the +“matchless master of high sounds,” Handel, on +the twenty-fourth. True February does include +all these memorable days, and let it be valued +accordingly. But it includes another day, which +is worth them all <i>to me</i>, since it gave to the +world, the narrow world of some half dozen +loving hearts, one who is wiser in her simplicity +than the first of the abovenamed, since +the results of that wisdom are virtue and happiness; +who is more far-darting in her mental +glance than the second, inasmuch as an instinctive +<i>sentiment</i> of the truth is more infallible<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">{41}</a></span> +than the clearest <i>perception</i> of it; and whose +every thought and look and motion are more +“softly sweet” and musical than all the “Lydian +measures” of the third; and, deprived of +whom, those who have once been accustomed to +live within the light of her countenance would +find all the wisdom of the first to be foolishness, +all the stars of the second dark, and all the +harmony of the third worse than discord.</p> + +<p>Gentlest of readers (for I had need have +such), pardon me this one rhapsody, and I promise +to be as “sobersuited” as the editor of an +Encyclopedia, for this two months to come. Nothing, +not even the nightingale’s song in the last +week in April, shall move me from my propriety. +But I will candidly confess, that the effects of +May-day morning are more than I can venture +to answer for. Even the chimney-sweepers are +allowed to disport themselves then; so that +when that arrives, there’s no knowing what may +happen.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">{42}</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43"><br />{43}</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="MARCH" id="MARCH"></a>MARCH.</h2> + +<p>If there be a Month the aspect of which is +less amiable, and its manners and habits less +prepossessing, than those of all the rest (which +I am loath to admit), that month is March. The +burning heats of midsummer (when they shall +come to us at the prophetic call of the Quarterly +Reviewers—which they never will) we shall find +no difficulty in bearing; and the frosts and snows +of December and January are as welcome, to +those who know their value, as the flowers in +May. Nay—the so much vituperated fogs of +November I by no means set my face against; +on the contrary, I have a kind of appetite for +them, both corporeal and mental; as I shall +prove, and endeavour to justify in its due +place.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">{44}</a></span> +In fact, and by the by, November is a month +that has not been fairly dealt by; and, for my +part, I think it should by no means have been +fixed upon as that which is <i>par excellence</i> the +month best adapted to hang and drown oneself +in;—seeing that, to a wise man, <i>that</i> should never +be an affair of atmosphere. But if a month must +be set apart for such a proces, (on the same +principle which determines that we are bound to +<i>begin</i> our worldly concerns on a particular day—viz. +Saturday—and would therefore, by parity +of reasoning, call upon us to end them with a +similar view to times and seasons), let that month +be henceforth March; for it has, at this present +writing, no one characteristic by which to designate +it,—being neither Spring, Summer, Autumn, +nor Winter, but only March.</p> + +<p>But what I particularly object to in March is +its winds. They say</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“March winds and April showers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bring forth May flowers.”<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>But I doubt the fact. They may <i>call</i> them +forth, perhaps,—whistling over the roofs of their +subterraneous dwellings, to let them know that +Winter is past and gone. Or, in our disposition<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">{45}</a></span> +to “turn diseases to commodities,” let us regard +them as the expectant damsel does the sound of +the mail coach horn that whisks through the +village, as she lies in bed at midnight, and tells +her that <i>to-morrow</i> she may look for a letter +from her absent swain.</p> + +<p>The only other express and specific reason +why I object to March, is that she drives hares +mad; which is a great fault. But be all this as +it may, she is still fraught with merits; and let +us proceed, without more ado, to point out a few +of them. And first of the country;—to which, +by the way, I have not hitherto allowed its due +supremacy—for</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“God made the Country, but man made the Town.”<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Now, then, even the winds of March, notwithstanding +all that we have insinuated in their +disfavour, are far from being virtueless; for they +come careering over our fields, and roads, and +pathways, and while they dry up the damps that +the thaws had let loose, and the previous frosts +had prevented from sinking into the earth, “pipe +to the spirit ditties” the words of which tell tales +of the forthcoming flowers. And not only so, +but occasionally they are caught bearing away<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">{46}</a></span> +upon their rough wings the mingled odours of +violet and daffodil, both of which have already +ventured to</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Come before the swallow dares, and take<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The winds of March with beauty.”<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The general face of nature has not much +changed in appearance since we left it in February; +though its internal economy has made +an important step in advance. The sap is alive +in the seemingly sleeping trunks that every where +surround us, and is beginning to mount slowly +to its destination; and the embryo blooms are +almost visibly struggling towards light and life, +beneath their rough, unpromising outer coats—unpromising +to the idle, the unthinking, and the +inobservant; but to the eye that “can see +Othello’s visage in his mind,” bright and beautiful, +in virtue of the brightness and the beauty +that they cover, but not conceal. Now, too, the +dark earth becomes soft and tractable, and yields +to the kindly constraint that calls upon it to +teem with new life,—crumbling to the touch, +that it may the better clasp in its fragrant bosom +the rudiments of that gay, but ephemeral creation +which are born with the spring, only “to run<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">{47}</a></span> +their race rejoicing” into the lap of summer, +and there yield up their sweet breath, a willing +incense at the shrine of that nature the spirit +of which is endless constancy growing out of +endless change. Must I tell the reader this in +plainer prose?—Now, then, is the time to sow +the seeds of most of the annual flowering plants; +particularly of those which we all know and +love—such as Sweet Pea, the most feminine of +flowers, that must have a kind hand to tend its +youth, and a supporting arm to cling to in its +maturity, or it grovels in the dust, and straggles +away into an unsightly weed; and Mignionette, +with a name as sweet as its breath,—that loves +“within a gentle bosom to be laid,” and makes +haste to die there, lest its white lodging should +be changed; and Larkspur, trim, gay, and bold, +the gallant of the garden; and Lupines, blue, +and yellow, and rose coloured, with their winged +flowers hovering above their starry leaves; and +a host of others, that we must try to characterise +as they come in turn before us.</p> + +<p>Now, too, we have some of the bulbous rooted +flowers at their best, particularly the pretty +Crocuses, yellow, blue, striped, and white; while<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">{48}</a></span> +others, the Narcissus, Hyacinths, and Tulips, +are visibly hastening towards their perfection.</p> + +<p>Those spring flowers, too, which ventured to +show themselves last month before they had well +recovered from their winter trance, have now +grown bold in their renewed strength, and look +the winds in the face fearlessly. Perhaps the +most poetical of these, because the most pathetic +in their pale and pining beauty, are the Primroses. +Their bold and bright-eyed relatives the +Polyanthuses (no two alike) are also now all on +the look out for lovers, among the bees that +the warm sunny mornings already begin to call +forth.</p> + +<p>These, with the still prevailing Hepaticas and +Anemonies, the Daisies that start up singly here +and there, an early Wall-flower, the pretty pink +rods of the Mezereon, and (in the woods) the +lovely Wind-flower, or white Wood-anemone, +constitute the principal wealth of this preparatory +month.</p> + +<p>Now, too, the tender green of spring first +begins to peep forth from the straggling branches +of the hedge-row Elder, the trim Lilac, and the +thin threads of the stream enamoured Willow;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">{49}</a></span> +the first to put on its spring clothing, and the +last to leave it off. And if we look into the +kitchen garden, there too we may chance to find +those forest trees in miniature, the Gooseberries +and Currants, letting their leaves and blossoms +(both of a colour) look forth together, hand in +hand, in search of the April sun before it arrives, +as the lark mounts upward to seek for it before +it has risen in the morning. It will be well if +these early adventurers-forth do not encounter a +cutting easterly blast; or still worse, a deceitful +breeze, that tempts them to its embraces by its +milder breath, only to shower diseases upon +them. But if they <i>will</i> be out on the watch for +Spring before she calls them, they must be content +to take their chance.</p> + +<p>NOW, about the middle of the month, a +strange commotion may be seen and heard among +the winged creatures, portending momentous matters. +The lark is high up in the cold air before +day-light; and his chosen mistress is listening +to him down among the dank grass, with the dew +still upon her unshaken wing. The Robin, too, +has left off, for a brief season, his low plaintive +piping, which it must be confessed was poured<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">{50}</a></span> +forth for his own exclusive satisfaction, and, +reckoning on his spruce looks and sparkling +eyes, issues his quick peremptory love-call, in a +somewhat ungallant and husband-like manner.</p> + +<p>The Sparrows, who have lately been sulking +silently about from tree to tree, with ruffled +plumes and drooping wings, now spruce themselves +up till they do not look half their former +size; and if it were not pairing-time, one might +fancy that there was more of war than of love +in their noisy squabblings. But the crouching +forms, quivering wings, and murmuring bills, of +yonder pair that have quitted for a moment the +clamorous cabal, can indicate the movements of +but <i>one</i> passion.</p> + +<p>But we must leave the feathered tribe for the +present:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Sacred be love from sight, whate’er it is.”<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>We shall have many opportunities of observing +their pretty ways hereafter.</p> + +<p>Now, also, the Ants (with whom we shall have +a crow to pick by and by) first begin to show +themselves from their subterranean sleeping-rooms; +those winged abortions, the Bats, per<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">{51}</a></span>plex +the eyes of evening wanderers by their +seeming ubiquity; and the Owls hold scientific +converse with each other at half a mile distance.</p> + +<p>Lastly, now we meet with one of the prettiest, +yet most pathetic sights that the animal world presents; +the early Lambs, dropped, in their tottering +and bleating helplessness, upon the cold skirts +of winter, and hiding their frail forms from the +March winds, by crouching down on the sheltered +side of their dams.</p> + +<p>Now, quitting the country till next month, +we find London all alive, Lent and Lady-day +notwithstanding; for the latter is but a day, +after all; and he must have a very countrified conscience +who cannot satisfy it as to the former, by +doing penance once or twice at an Oratorio, and +hearing comic songs sung in a foreign tongue; +or, if this does not do, he may fast if he pleases, +every Friday, by eating salt fish in addition to +the rest of his fare.</p> + +<p>Now, the citizens have pretty well left off their +annual visitings, and given the great ones leave +to begin; so that there is no sleep to be had +in the neighbourhood of May-fair, for love or +money, after one in the morning.</p> + +<p>Now, the dress boxes of the winter houses can<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">{52}</a></span> +occasionally boast a baronet’s lady; this, however, +being the extent of their attainments in +that way; for how can the great be expected to +listen to Shakespear under the same roof with +their shop-keepers? There is, in fact, no denying +that the said great are marvellously at the mercy +of the said little, in the matter of amusement; +and there is no saying whether the latter will +not, some day or other, make an inroad upon +Almack’s itself. Now, however, in spite of the +said inroads, the best boxes at the Opera do begin +to be worth exploring, since a beautiful Englishwoman +of high fashion is “a sight to set before +a king.”</p> + +<p>Now, the actors (all but the singing ones) in +their secret hearts put up periodical prayers for +the annual agitation of the Catholic Question; +for without some stimulus of this kind, to correct +the laxity of our religious morals, there is no +knowing how soon they may cease to give thanks +for three Sundays in the week during Lent.</p> + +<p>Now, (during the said pious period) occasionally +an inadvertent apprentice gets leave to go +to “the play” on a Wednesday or Friday; and, +having taken his seat in the one shilling gallery, +wonders during six long hours what can have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">{53}</a></span> +come to the players, that they do nothing but +sit in a row with their hands before them, in +front of a pyramid of fiddlers, and break silence +now and then by singing a psalm; for a psalm +he is sure it must be, though he never heard it +at church.</p> + +<p>Now, every other day, the four sides of the +newspapers offer to the wearied eye one unbroken +ocean of <i>long-primer</i>; to the infinite abridgement +of the labour of Chapter Coffee House quidnuncs, +who find that they have only one sheet to +get through instead of ten; and to the entire discomfiture +of the conscientious reader, who makes +it a point of duty to spell through all that he +pays for, avowed advertisements included; for +in these latter there is some variety—of which no +one can accuse the parliamentary speeches. By +the by, it would be but consistent in the Times +to bestow their ingenuous prefix of [<i>advertisement</i>] +on a few of the last named effusions. +And if they were placed under the head of +“Want Places,” nobody but the advertiser +would see cause to complain of the mistake.</p> + +<p>Now, Fashion is on the point of awaking from +her periodical sleep, attended by Mesdames Bean, +Bell, and Pierrepoint on one side of her couch,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">{54}</a></span> +and Messieurs Myers, Stultz, and Davison on the +other; each individual of each party watching +with apparent anxiety to catch the first glance +of her opening eye, in order to direct their several +movements accordingly; but each having +previously determined on those movements as +definitively as if their legitimate monarch and +directress had nothing to do with matter; for, to +say truth, notwithstanding her boasted legitimacy, +Fashion has but a very limited control, +even in her own court; the real government being +an Oligarchy, the members of which are each lords +paramount in their own particular departments. +Who, in fact, shall dispute an epaulet of Miss +Pierrepoint’s? and when Mr. Myers has achieved +a collar, who shall call it in question?</p> + +<p>Now, Hyde Park is worth walking in at four +o’clock of a fine week day, though the trees are +still bare; for there, as sure as the sunshine +comes, shall be seen sauntering beneath it three +distinct classes of fashionables; namely, first, the +fair immaculates from the mansions about May +Fair, who loll listlessly in their elegant equipages, +and occasionally eye, with an air of infinite disdain, +the second class, who are peregrinating on +the other side the bar,—the fair frailties from the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">{55}</a></span> +neighbourhood of the New Road; which latter, +more magnanimous than their betters, and less +envious, are content, for their parts, to appropriate +the greater portion of the attentions of the +third class—the ineffables and exquisites from +Long’s, and Stevens’s. Among these last-named +class something particular indeed must have +happened if you do not recognise that <i>arbiter +elegantiarum</i> of actresses, the marquis of W——; +that delighter in dennets and decaying beauties, +the honourable L—— S——; and that prince-pretty-man +of rake-hells and roués little George +W——.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">{56}</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57"><br />{57}</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="APRIL" id="APRIL"></a>APRIL.</h2> + +<p>April is come! “proud—pied April!” and +“hath put a spirit of youth in every thing.” +Shall our portrait of her, then, alone lack that +spirit? Not if words can speak the feelings +from which they spring. “Spring!” See how +the name comes uncalled-for; as if to hint that +it should have stood in the place of “April.” +But April <i>is</i> spring—the only spring month that +we possess in this egregious climate of ours. +Let us, then, make the most of it.</p> + +<p>April is at once the most juvenile of the +Months, and the most feminine—never knowing +her own mind for a day together. Fickle as a +fond maiden with her first lover;—coying it with +the young Sun till he withdraws his beams from +her, and then weeping till she gets them back +again. High-fantastical as the seething wit of +a poet, that sees a world of beauty growing be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">{58}</a></span>neath +his hand, and fancies that he has created +it, whereas it is it that has created him a poet; +for it is Nature that makes April, not April +Nature.</p> + +<p>April is doubtless the sweetest month of all +the year; partly because it ushers in the May, +and partly for its own sake, so far as any thing +can be valuable without reference to any thing +else. It is, to May and June, what “sweet +fifteen,” in the age of woman, is to passion-stricken +eighteen, and perfect two-and-twenty. +It is, to the confirmed Summer, what the previous +hope of joy is to the full fruition; what +the boyish dream of love is to love itself. It is +indeed the month of promises; and what are +twenty performances compared with one promise? +When a promise of delight is fulfilled, +it is over and done with; but while it remains a +promise, it remains a hope: and what is all +good, but the hope of good? What is every +<i>to-day</i> of our life, but the hope (or the fear) of +to-morrow? April, then, is worth two Mays, +because it tells tales of May in every sigh that it +breathes, and every tear that it lets fall. It is +the harbinger, the herald, the promise, the prophecy, +the foretaste of all the beauties that are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">{59}</a></span> +to follow it—of all, and more—of all the delights +of Summer, and all the “pride, pomp, and circumstance +of glorious” Autumn. It is fraught +with beauties itself that no other month can +bring before us, and</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“It bears a glass which shews us many more.”<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>As for April herself, her life is one sweet +alternation of smiles and sighs and tears, and +tears and sighs and smiles, till it is consummated +at last in the open laughter of May. It is like—in +short, it is like nothing in the world but “an +April day.” And her charms—but really I +must cease to look upon the face of this fair +month generally, lest, like a painter in the presence +of his mistress, I grow too enamoured to +give a correct resemblance. I must gaze upon +her sweet beauties one by one, or I shall never +be able to think and treat of her in any other +light than that of <i>the Spring</i>; which is a mere +abstraction,—delightful to think of, but, like all +other abstractions, not to be depicted or described.</p> + +<p>Before I proceed to do this, however, let me +inform the reader that what I have hitherto said +of April, and have yet to say, is intended to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">{60}</a></span> +apply, not to this or that April in particular—not +to April eighteen hundred and twenty-four, +or fourteen, or thirty-four—but to <span class="smcap">April</span> <i>par +excellence</i>; that is to say, what April (“not to +speak it profanely”) <i>ought to be</i>. In short, I +have no intention of being <i>personal</i> in my remarks; +and if the April which I am describing +should happen to differ, in any essential particulars, +from the one in whose presence I am +describing it, neither the month nor the reader +must regard this as a covert libel or satire. The +truth is that, for what reason I know not—whether +to put to shame the predictions of the +Quarterly Reviewers, or to punish us Islanders +for our manifold follies and iniquities, or from +any quarrel, as of old, between Oberon and +Titania—but certain it is that</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“The seasons alter: hoary headed frosts<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And on old Hyems’ thin and icy crown<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is, as in mockery, set: the Spring, the Summer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The chilling Autumn, angry Winter, change<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their wonted liveries; and the amazed world,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By their increase, now knows not which is which.”<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>It is of April, then, as she is when Nature is +in her happiest mood, that I am now to speak;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">{61}</a></span> +and we will take her in the prime of her life, and +our first place of rendezvous shall be the open +fields.</p> + +<p>What a sweet flush of new green has started +up to the face of this meadow! And the new-born +Daisies that stud it here and there, give it +the look of an emerald sky powdered with snowy +stars. In making our way to yonder hedgerow, +which divides the meadow from the little copse +that lines one side of it, let us not take the +shortest way, but keep religiously to the little +footpath; for the young grass is as yet too tender +to bear being trod upon; and the young lambs +themselves, while they go cropping its crisp +points, let the sweet daisies alone, as if they +loved to look upon a sight as pretty and as innocent +as themselves.</p> + +<p>I have been hitherto very chary of appealing +to the poets in these pleasant papers; because +they are people that, if you give them an inch, +even in a span-long essay of this kind, always +endeavour to lay hands on the whole of it. They +are like the young cuckoos, that if once they get +hatched within a nest, always contrive to oust +the natural inhabitants. But when the Daisy, +“la douce Marguerite,” is in question, how can<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">{62}</a></span> +I refrain from pronouncing a blessing on the +bard who has, by his sweet praise of this “unassuming +commonplace of nature,” revived that +general love for it, which, until lately, was confined +to the hearts of “the old poets,” and of +those young poets of all times, the little children? +But I need not do this, for he has his reward +already, in the fulfilment of that prophecy +with which he closes his address to his darling +flower:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Thy long-lost praise thou shalt regain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dear shalt thou be to future men,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As in old time.”<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Does the reader, now that I have brought before +him, in company with each other, “this child +of the year,” and the gentlest and most eloquent +of all her lovers, desire to hear a few more of +the compliments that he has paid to her, without +the trouble of leaving the fields, and opening a +book? I can afford but a few; for beneath +yonder hedgerow, and within the twilight of the +copse behind it, there are flocks of other sweet +flowers, waiting for their praise.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“When soothed awhile by milder airs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thee Winter in the garland wears<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That thinly shades his few gray hairs;<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">{63}</a></span> +<span class="i1">Spring cannot shun thee;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Autumn, melancholy wight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Doth in thy crimson head delight<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When rains are on thee.”<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>[By the by, I cannot let pass this epithet, +“melancholy,” without protesting most strenuously +against the above application of it. Seldom, +indeed, is it that the poet before us falls +into an error of this kind; and it is <i>therefore</i> +that I point it out.]</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“In shoals and bands, a morrice train,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou greet’st the traveller in the lane.<br /></span> +<span class="i1 wide">* * * *<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And oft alone in nooks remote<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We meet thee, like a pleasant thought,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When such are wanted.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Be violets, in their secret mews,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The flowers the wanton Zephyrs choose;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Proud be the Rose, with rains and dews<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Her head impearling;<br /></span> +<span class="i1 wide">* * * *<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Thou</i> art the poet’s darling.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If to a rock from rains he fly,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or some bright day of April sky<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Imprisoned by hot sunshine lie<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Near the green holly,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wearily at length should fare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He need but look about, and there<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou art, a friend at hand, to scare<br /></span> +<span class="i1">His melancholy!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If stately passions in me burn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And one chance look to thee should turn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I drink out of an humbler urn<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">{64}</a></span> +<span class="i1">A lowlier pleasure;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The homely sympathy, that heeds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The common life our nature breeds;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A wisdom fitted to the needs<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of hearts at leisure.”<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>And then do but see what “fantastic tricks” +the poet’s imagination plays, when he comes to +seek out <i>similies</i> for his fair favourite:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“A nun demure, of lowly port;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A sprightly maiden of love’s court,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In thy simplicity the sport<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of all temptations;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A queen in crown of rubies drest;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A starveling in a scanty vest;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are all, as seem to suit thee best,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Thy appellations.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A little Cyclops, with one eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Staring, to threaten or defy—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That thought comes next—and instantly<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The freak is over;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The shape will vanish—and behold!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A silver shield with boss of gold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That spreads itself, some fairy bold<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In fight to cover.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I see thee glittering from afar,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And then thou art a pretty star;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not quite so fair as many are<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In heaven above thee!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet like a star, with glittering crest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Self-poised in air thou seem’st to rest!<br /></span> +<span class="i1 wide">* * * *<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sweet flower! for by that name at last,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When all my reveries are past,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I call thee, and to that cleave fast;<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">{65}</a></span><span class="i1">Sweet silent creature!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That breath’st with me in sun and air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Do thou, as thou art wont, repair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My heart with gladness, and a share<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of thy meek nature!”<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>What poetry is here! It “dallies with the +innocence” of the poet and of the flower, till we +know not which to love best. But we must turn +at once from the fascination of both, and not +allow them again to seduce us from our duty to +the rest of those sweet “children of the year” +that are courting our attention.</p> + +<p>See, upon the sloping sides of this bank, beneath +the hedgerow, what companies of Primroses +are dedicating their pale beauties to the +pleasant breeze that blows over them, and looking +as faint withal as if they had senses that +could “ache” at the rich sweetness of the hidden +Violets that are growing here and there among +them.</p> + +<p>The intermediate spots of the bank are now +nearly covered from sight by the various green +weeds that sprout up every where—beginning to +fill the interstices between the lower stems of the +Hazel, the Hawthorn, the Sloe, the Eglantine, +and the Woodbine, which unite their friendly +arms together above, to form the natural in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">{66}</a></span>closure,—that +prettiest feature in our English +scenery, or at least that which communicates a +picturesque beauty to all the rest.</p> + +<p>Of the above-named shrubs, the Hazel, you +see, is scarcely as yet in leaf; the scattered +leaves of the Woodbine, of a dull purplish green, +are fully spread; the Sloe is in blossom, offering +a pretty but scentless imitation of the sweet +hawthorn bloom that is to come next month. +This latter is now vigorously putting forth its +crisp and delicate filigree work of tender green, +tipped with red; and the Eglantine, or wild +rose, is opening its green hands, as if to welcome +the sun.</p> + +<p>Entering the little copse which this inclosure +separates from the meadow, we shall find, on the +ground, all the low and creeping plants pushing +forth their various shaped leaves—stars, fans, +blades, fingers, fringes, and a score of other fanciful +forms; and some of them bearing the prettiest +flowers in the world. Conspicuous among +these, in addition to those of February and +March, are the elegant little Wood-sorrel, with +its delicately pencilled cups; the pretty Wild +Strawberry; the common blue Hyacinth,—so +delightful when it comes upon you in innu<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">{67}</a></span>merable +flocks while you are thinking of nothing +less; the gently-stooping Harebell, the most +fragile of all flowers, yet braving the angriest +winds of heaven, by bowing to the ground before +them; and, lastly, that strangest of flowers (if +flower it be) called by the country folks Cuckoo-pint, +and by the children Lords and Ladies.</p> + +<p>Still passing on through this copse, we shall +find all the young forest trees, except the oaks, +in a kind of half-dress, like so many village +maidens in their trim bodices, and with their +hair in papers. Among these are conspicuous +the graceful Birch, hanging its head like a half-shamefaced, +half-affected damsel; the trim Beech, +spruce as a village gallant dressed for the fair; +the rough-rinded Elm, grave and sedate looking, +even in its youth, and already bespeaking the +future “green-robed senator of mighty woods.” +These, with the white-stemmed Ash, the Alder, +the artificial-looking Hornbeam, and the as yet +bare Oak, make up this silent but happy company, +who are to stand here on the same spot all +their lives, looking upward to the clouds and +the stars, and downward to the star-like flowers, +till we and our posterity (who pride ourselves +on our superiority over them) are laid in that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">{68}</a></span> +earth of which <i>they</i> alone are the true inheriters.</p> + +<p>But who ever heard of choosing a warm April +morning to moralize in? Let us wait till winter +for that; and in the mean time pass out of this +pleasant little copse, and make our way windingly +towards the village.</p> + +<p>In the little green lane that leads to it we +meet with nothing very different from what we +have already noticed; unless it be an early Bee +booming past us, or hovering for a moment over +the snowy flower of the Lady-smock; or a village +boy looking upward with hand-shaded brow after +the mounting Lark, while he holds in his other +hand the tether of a young heifer, that he has +led forth to take her first taste of the fresh-sprouting +herbage.</p> + +<p>On reaching the Village Green, we cannot +choose but pause before this stately Chestnut-tree, +the smooth stem of which rises from the earth +like a dark coloured marble column, seemingly +placed there by art to support the pyramidal +fabric of beauty that surmounts it. It has just +put forth its first series of rich fan-like leaves, +each family of which is crowned by its splendid +spiral flower; the whole, at this period of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">{69}</a></span> +year, forming the grandest vegetable object that +our kingdom presents, and vying in rich beauty +with any that Eastern woods can boast. And +if we could reach one of those flowers, to pluck +it, we should find that the most delicate fair ones +of the Garden or the Greenhouse do not surpass +it in elaborate pencilling and richly varied +tints. It can be likened to nothing but its own +portrait painted on velvet.</p> + +<p>Farther on, across the Green, with this little +raised footpath leading to it, stands a row of +young Lindens, separating in the middle to admit +a view of the Parsonage-house; for it can be +no other. What a lovely green is theirs! and +what an exact shape in their bright circular +leaves, all alike, clustering and flapping over +each other! And their smooth pillar-like stems +shoot out from the hard gravel pathway like +artificial shafts, without a ridge, a knot, or an +inequality, till they spread forth suddenly just +above the reach of branch-plucking schoolboys.</p> + +<p>The Honeysuckles, that wreathe the trellised +door of the neat dwelling, have already put forth +their dull purple-tinged leaves, at distant intervals, +on the slim shoots; but the Jasmin, +that spreads itself over the circular-topped win<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">{70}</a></span>dows, +is not yet sufficiently clothed to hide the +formality of its training.</p> + +<p>To the right, the fine old avenue of Elms, +forming the Walk leading to the low Church, +are sprinkled all over with their spring attire; +but not enough to form the shade that they +will a month hence. At present the blue sky +can every where be seen through them.</p> + +<p>We might wander on through the Village and +its environs for a while longer, pleasantly enough, +without exhausting the objects of novelty and +interest that present themselves in this sweetest +of months; but we must get within more confined +limits, or we shall not have space to glance +at half those which more exclusively belong to +this time.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>If the Garden, like the Year, is not now absolutely +at its best, it is perhaps better; inasmuch +as a pleasant promise but half performed +partakes of the best parts of both promise and +performance. Now, all is neatness and finish, or +ought to be; for the weeds have not yet began +to make head; the annual flower seeds are all +sown; the divisions and changes among the perennials, +and the removings and plantings of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">{71}</a></span> +shrubs, have all taken place. The Walks, too, +have all been turned and freshened, and the Turf +has began to receive its regular rollings and +mowings. Among the bulbous-rooted perennials, +all that were not in flower during the last two +months, are so now; in particular the majestic +Crown-imperial; the Tulip, beautiful as the panther, +and as proud,—standing aloof from its own +leaves; the rich double Hyacinth, clustering +like the locks of Adam; and Narcissus, pale and +passion-stricken at the sense of its own sweetness.</p> + +<p>But what we are chiefly to look for now are the +fibrous-rooted and herbaceous Perennials. There +is not one of these that has not awakened from its +winter dreams, and put on at least the half of its +beauty. A few of them venture to display all +their attractions at this time, from a wise fear of +that dangerous rivalry which they must be content +to encounter if they were to wait for a month +longer; for a pretty villager might as well hope +to gain hearts at Almack’s, as a demure daisy of +a modest polyanthus think to secure its due share +of attention in presence of the glaring peonies, +flaunting roses, and towering lilies of May and +midsummer.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">{72}</a></span> +Now, too, those late planted Stocks and Wallflowers, +that have had strength to brave the +cutting blasts of winter, feel the benefit of their +hardihood, and show it in the profusion of their +blooms and the richness of their colours.</p> + +<p>Finally, among flowers we have now the +singular spotted Fritillary; Heart’s-ease, the +“little western flower,” that cannot be looked at +or thought of without feeling its name; and the +Auricula, that richest in its texture and colour of +all the vegetable tribe, and as various as rich.</p> + +<p>Among the Shrubs that form the inclosing +belt of the flower-garden, the Lilac is in full leaf, +and loaded with its heavy bunches of bloom-buds; +the common Laurel, if it has reached its +flowering age, is hanging out its meek modest +flowers, preparatory to putting forth its vigorous +summer shoots; and the Larch has on it hairy +tufts of pink, stuck here and there among its +delicate threads of green.</p> + +<p>But the great charm of this month, both in +the open country and the garden, is undoubtedly +the infinite <i>green</i> which pervades it every where, +and which we had best gaze our fill at while we +may, as it lasts but a little while,—changing in a +few weeks into an endless variety of shades and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">{73}</a></span> +tints, that are equivalent to as many different +colours. It is this, and the budding forth of +every living member of the vegetable world, +after its long winter death, that in fact constitutes +<span class="smcap">the Spring</span>; and the sight of which affects us +in the manner it does, from various causes—chiefly +moral and associated ones; but one of +which is unquestionably physical: I mean the +sight of so much tender green after the eye has +been condemned to look for months and months +on the mere negation of all colour, which prevails +in winter in our climate. The eye feels +cheered, cherished, and regaled by this colour, +as the tongue does by a quick and pleasant taste, +after having long palated nothing but tasteless +and insipid things.</p> + +<p>This is the principal charm of Spring, no +doubt. But another, and one that is scarcely +second to this, is, the bright flush of Blossoms +that prevails over and almost hides every thing +else in the Fruit-garden and Orchard. What +exquisite differences and distinctions and resemblances +there are between all the various +blossoms of the fruit-trees; and no less in their +general effect than in their separate details! The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">{74}</a></span> +Almond-blossom, which comes first of all, and +while the tree is quite bare of leaves, is of a +bright blush-rose colour; and when they are +fully blown, the tree, if it has been kept to a +compact head instead of being permitted to +straggle, looks like one huge rose, magnified by +some fairy magic, to deck the bosom of some +fair giantess. The various kinds of Plum follow, +the blossoms of which are snow-white, and as full +and clustering as those of the almond. The +Peach and Nectarine, which are now full blown, +are unlike either of the above; and their sweet +effect, as if growing out of the hard bare wall, or +the rough wooden paling, is peculiarly pretty. +They are of a deep blush colour, and of a delicate +bell shape, the lips, however, divided, and +turning backward, to expose the interior to the +cherishing sun.</p> + +<p>But perhaps the bloom that is richest and +most <i>promising</i> in its general appearance is that +of the Cherry, clasping its white honours all +round the long straight branches, from heel to +point, and not letting a leaf or a bit of stem be +seen, except the three or four leaves that come +as a green finish at the extremity of each branch.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">{75}</a></span> +The other blossoms, of the Pears, and (loveliest +of all) the Apples, do not come in perfection +till next month.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>In thinking of the circumstances which happen +this month in connexion with the animal world, +I scarcely know where to begin my observations, +so numerous are the subjects, and so limited the +space they must be despatched in. The Birds +must have precedence, for they are now, for once +in their lives, as busy as the bees are always. +They are getting their houses built, and seeing +to their household affairs, and concluding their +family arrangements, that when the summer and +the sunshine are fairly come, they may have +nothing to do but teach their children the last +new modes of flying and singing, and be as happy +as—birds, for the rest of the year. Now, therefore, +as in the last month, they have but little +time to sing to each other; and the Lark has the +morning sky all to himself. Not but we have +other April melodies, and one or two the <i>prémices</i> +of which belong so peculiarly to this month, +that we must listen to them for a moment, whatever +else is awaiting us. And first let us hearken +to the Cuckoo, shooting out its soft and mellow, +yet powerful voice, till it seems to fill the whole<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">{76}</a></span> +concave of the heavens with its two mysterious +notes, the most primitive of musical melodies. +Who can listen to those notes for the first time +in Spring, and not feel his school days come +back to him? And not as he did then</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“————look a thousand ways<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In bush, and tree, and sky?”<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>But he will be likely to look in vain; for so shy +are they, that lucky (or rather <i>un</i>lucky, to my +thinking) is he who has ever <i>seen</i> a cuckoo. I +well remember that from the first moment I +saw one flutter heavily out of an old hawthorn +bush, and flurr awkwardly away across the meadow, +as I was listening in rapt attention to its +lonely voice, the mystery of the sound was gone, +and with it no small share of its beauty.</p> + +<p>If we happen to be wandering forth on a warm +still evening during the last week in this month, +and passing near a roadside orchard, or skirting a +little copse in returning from our twilight ramble, +or sitting listlessly on a lawn near some thick +plantation, waiting for bedtime, we may chance +to be startled from our meditations (of whatever +kind they may be) by a sound, issuing from +among the distant leaves, that scares away the +silence in a moment, and seems to put to flight<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">{77}</a></span> +even the darkness itself;—stirring the spirit, and +quickening the blood, as no other mere sound +can, unless it be that of a trumpet calling to +battle. That is the Nightingale’s voice. The +cold spells of winter, that had kept him so long +tongue-tied, and frozen the deep fountains of his +heart, yield before the mild breath of Spring, +and he is voluble once more. It is as if the +flood of song had been swelling within his breast +ever since it last ceased to flow; and was now +gushing forth uncontrollably, and as if he had +no will to control it: for when it does stop for +a space, it is suddenly, as if for want of breath. +In our climate the nightingale seldom sings above +six weeks; beginning usually the last week in +April. I mention this because many, who would +be delighted to hear him, do not think of going +to listen for his song till after it has ceased. I +believe it is never to be heard after the young +are hatched.</p> + +<p>Now, too, the pretty, pert-looking Blackcap +first appears, and pours forth his tender and +touching love-song, scarcely inferior, in a certain +plaintive inwardness, to the autumn song of the +Robin. The mysterious little Grasshopper Lark +also runs whispering within the hedgerows; the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">{78}</a></span> +Redstart pipes prettily upon the apple trees; the +golden-crowned Wren chirps in the kitchen-garden, +as she watches for the new sown seeds; +and lastly, the Thrush, who has hitherto given +out but a desultory note at intervals to let us +know that he was not away, now haunts the +same tree, and frequently the same branch of it, +day after day, and sings an “English Melody” +that even Mr. Moore himself could not write +appropriate words to.</p> + +<p>Though all the above-named are what are +commonly called birds of passage, yet from +their not congregating together, and from their +particular habits (except of singing) being consequently +but little observed, we are accustomed +to blend them among the general class of English +birds, and look upon them as if they belonged to +us. But now also first come among us (whether +from a far off land, or from their secret homes +within our own, remains to this day undetermined) +those mysterious and interesting strangers that +enliven all the air of Spring and Summer with +their foreign manners, and the infinite variety of +whose movements it is almost as pleasant to +watch as it is to listen to the modulations of +their vocal brethren. I allude to the Swallow<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">{79}</a></span> +tribe, who come usually in the following order, +namely, first the Sand-Martin, the least noticeable +of the tribe, and not affecting the dwellings of +man; then the House or Chimney Swallow; then +the House Martin; and lastly the Swift. Those +who can see shoot past them, like a thought, +the first swallow of the year, and yet continue +pondering on their own affairs as if nothing had +happened, may be assured that “the seasons +and their change” were not made for them, and +that, whatever they may fancy they feel to the +contrary, Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Winter +are to them mere words, indicating the +periods when rents are payable and interest becomes +due.</p> + +<p>As the Swallow tribe do nothing, for the first +fortnight after their arrival, but disport themselves, +we will leave them and the rest of the +feathered tribe for the present. We shall have +sufficient opportunities of observing all their +pretty ways hereafter.</p> + +<p>I am afraid we must now quit the country +altogether, <i>as</i> the country; not however without +mentioning that now begins that most execrable +of all practices, Angling. Now Man, “lordly +man,” first begins to set his wit to a simple fish;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">{80}</a></span> +and having succeeded in attracting it to his lure, +watches it for a space floundering about in its +crystal waters, in the agonies of death; and +when he is tired of this <i>sport</i>, drags it to the +green bank, among the grass, and moss, and +wild-flowers, and stains them all with its blood!<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> +The “gentle” reader may be sure that I would +willingly have refrained altogether from forcing +upon his attention this hateful subject, especially +amid such scenes and objects as we have just +been contemplating: but I was afraid that my +“silence” might have seemed to “give consent” +to the practice.</p> + +<p>We must now transport ourselves to the environs +of London, and see what this happy season +is producing there; for to leave the very heart +of the country, and cast ourselves at once into +the very heart of town, would be likely to put +us in a temper ill suited to the time.</p> + +<p>Now, on Palm Sunday, boys and girls (youths +and maidens have got much above so “childish” +a practice) may be met early in the morning, in +blithe though breakfastless companies, sallying<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">{81}</a></span> +forth towards the pretty outlets about Hampstead +and Highgate on one side of the water, +and Clapham and Camberwell on the other (all +of which they innocently imagine to be “The +Country”), there to sport away the pleasant hours +till dinner-time, and then return home, with joy +in their hearts, endless appetites in their stomachs, +and bunches of the Sallow Willow with its silken +bloom-buds in their hands, as trophies of their +travels.</p> + +<p>Now, at last, the Easter week is arrived, and +the Poor have for once in the year the best of +it,—setting all things, but their own sovereign +will, at a wise defiance. The journeyman who +works on Easter Monday should lose his <i>caste</i>, +and be sent to the Coventry of Mechanics, wherever +that may be. In fact, it cannot happen. +On Easter Monday ranks change places; Jobson +is as good as Sir John; the “rude mechanical” +is “monarch of all he surveys” from the summit +of Greenwich Hill, and when he thinks fit +to say “It is our royal pleasure to be drunk!” +who shall dispute the proposition? Not I, for +one. When our English mechanics accuse their +betters of oppressing them, the said betters should +reverse the old appeal, and refer from Philip sober<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">{82}</a></span> +to Philip drunk; and then nothing more could +be said. But <span class="ucsmcap">NOW</span>, they <i>have</i> no betters, even +in their own notion of the matter. And in the +name of all that is transitory, envy them not their +brief supremacy! It will be over before the end +of the week, and they will be as eager to return +to their labour as they now are to escape from it; +for the only thing that an Englishman, whether +high or low, cannot endure patiently for a week +together, is, unmingled amusement. At this time, +however, he is determined to try. Accordingly, +on Easter Monday all the narrow lanes and blind +alleys of our metropolis pour forth their dingy +denizens into the suburban fields and villages, +in search of the said amusement, which is plentifully +provided for them by another class, even +less enviable than the one on whose patronage +they depend; for of all callings, the most melancholy +is that of Purveyor of Pleasure to the +poor.</p> + +<p>During the Monday our determined holiday +maker, as in duty bound, contrives, by the aid +of a little or not a little artificial stimulus, to be +happy in a tolerably exemplary manner. On +the Tuesday, he <i>fancies</i> himself happy to-day, +because he <i>felt</i> himself so yesterday. On the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">{83}</a></span> +Wednesday he cannot tell what has come to +him, but every ten minutes he wishes himself at +home, where he never goes but to sleep. On +Thursday he finds out the secret, that he is +heartily sick of doing nothing; but is ashamed +to confess it; and then what is the use of going +to work before his money is spent? On Friday +he swears that he is a fool for throwing away +the greatest part of his quarter’s savings without +having any thing to show for it, and gets gloriously +drunk with the rest to prove his words; +passing the pleasantest night of all the week in +a watch-house. And on Saturday, after thanking +“his Worship” for his good advice, of which he +does not remember a word, he comes to the wise +determination, that, after all, there is nothing +like working all day long in silence, and at +night spending his earnings and his breath in +beer and politics!—So much for the Easter week +of a London holiday maker.</p> + +<p>But there is a sport belonging to Easter Monday +which is not confined to the lower classes; and +which fun forbid that I should pass over silently. +If the reader has not, during his boyhood, performed +the exploit of riding to the Turn-out of +the Stag on Epping Forest—following the hounds<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">{84}</a></span> +all day long at a respectful distance—returning +home in the evening with the loss of nothing but +his hat, his hunting whip, and his horse, not +to mention a portion of his nether person—and +finishing the day by joining the Lady Mayoress’s +Ball at the Mansion-House; if the reader has +not done all this when a boy, I will not tantalize +him by expiating on the superiority of those who +have. And if he <i>has</i> done it, I need not tell +him that he has no cause to envy his friend who +escaped with a flesh wound from the fight of +Waterloo; for there is not a pin to choose between +them.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>I have little to tell the reader in regard to +London exclusively, this month; which is lucky, +because I have left myself less than no space at +all to tell it in. I must mention, however, that +now is heard in her streets the prettiest of all +the cries which are peculiar to them—“Come, +buy my Primroses!” and but for which the +Londoners would have no idea that Spring was +at hand.</p> + +<p>Now, too, spoiled children make “fools” of +their mammas and papas; which is but fair, +seeing that the said mammas and papas return<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">{85}</a></span> +the compliment during all the rest of the year. +Now, not even a sceptical apprentice (for such +there be now-a-days, thanks to the enlightening +effects of universal education) but is religiously +persuaded of the merits of <i>Good</i> Friday, and the +propriety of its being so called, since it procures +him two Sundays in the week instead of one.</p> + +<p>Finally,—now, Exhibitions of Paintings court +the public gaze, and obtain it, in every quarter; +on the principle, I suppose, that the eye has, at +this season of the year, a natural hungering and +thirsting after the colours of the Spring leaves +and flowers, and rather than not meet with them +at all, is content to find them on painted canvas!</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">{86}</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87"><br />{87}</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="MAY" id="MAY"></a>MAY.</h2> + +<p>Spring is with us once more, pacing the earth +in all the primal pomp of her beauty, with flowers +and soft airs and the song of birds every where +about her, and the blue sky and the bright +clouds above. But there is one thing wanting, +to give that happy completeness to her advent, +which belonged to it in the elder times; and +without which it is like a beautiful melody without +words, or a beautiful flower without scent, +or a beautiful face without a soul. The voice +of Man is no longer heard, hailing her approach +as she hastens to bless him; and his choral +symphonies no longer meet and bless <i>her</i> in return—bless +her by letting her behold and hear +the happiness that she comes to create. The +soft songs of women are no longer blended with +her breath as it whispers among the new leaves; +their slender feet no longer trace <i>her</i> footsteps +in the fields and woods and wayside copses, or +dance delighted measures round the flowery of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">{88}</a></span>ferings +that she prompted their lovers to place +before them on the village green. Even the +little children themselves, that have an instinct +for the Spring, and feel it to the very tips of +their fingers, are permitted to let May come +upon them, without knowing from whence the +impulse of happiness that they feel proceeds, or +whither it tends. In short,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“All the earth is gay;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Land and sea<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Give themselves up to jollity,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And with the heart of May<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Doth every beast keep holiday:”<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>while man, man alone, lets the season come +without glorying in it; and when it goes he lets +it go without regret; as if “all seasons and +their change” were alike to him; or rather, as +if he were the lord of all seasons, and they were +to do homage and honour to him, instead of he +to them! How is this? Is it that we have “sold +our birthright for a mess of pottage?”—that we +have bartered “our being’s end and aim” for a +purse of gold? Alas! thus it is:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“The world is too much with us; late and soon,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Little we see in nature that is ours;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">We have given our hearts away—a sordid boon!”<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">{89}</a></span> +And the consequence is, that, if we would know +the true nature of those hearts, and the manner +in which they are adapted to receive and act +upon the impressions that come to them from +external things, we must gain what we seek at +secondhand; we must look into the records that +have been copied from hearts that lived and beat +ages ago; for in our own breasts we shall find +only a blurred and scribbled sheet, or at best +but a blank one. Even among our poets, the +passions, characters, and events growing out of +an over-civilized state of society, have usurped +the place of those primary impulses and impressions +in the susceptibility to receive which +the poetical temperament mainly consists; and +instead of Nature and her works being any longer +the theme of our verse, these are only brought in +as occasional aids and ornaments, to show off, +not <i>man</i> as he essentially is in all time, but <i>men</i> +as they accidentally are in the nineteenth century. +It is true that one of our poets, and he +the greatest, has nearly escaped the polluting +influence of towns and cities. But in doing so, +he has been compelled to take such close shelter +within the citadel of his own heart, that his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">{90}</a></span> +mental health has somewhat suffered from a +want of due airing and exercise. And this it is +which will, in a great measure, prevent his +works from calling us back to that vigorous and +healthful condition which they otherwise might. +No, even Mr. Wordsworth himself has not been +able, from the loopholes of his retreat, to take +that kind of glance at “man, nature, and society,” +which will enable him so to adapt himself +to our wants as to do more than persuade us +of their existence. To supply or set aside those +wants will demand even a greater than he: unless +indeed (as I fear) we are “hurt past all <i>poetry</i>,” +and must look for a cure to that Nature alone +which we have so long despised and outraged. +But be this as it may, we are still able to <i>feel</i> +what Nature is, though we have in a great measure +ceased to <i>know</i> it; though we have chosen +to neglect her ordinances, and absent ourselves +from her presence, we still retain some instinctive +reminiscences of her beauty and her power; and +every now and then the sordid walls of those +mud hovels which we have built for ourselves, +and choose to dwell in, fall down before the +magic touch of our involuntary fancies, and give<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">{91}</a></span> +us glimpses into “that imperial palace whence +we came,” and make us yearn to return thither, +though it be but in thought.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Then sing ye birds, sing, sing a joyous song!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And let the young lambs bound<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As to the tabor’s sound!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We <i>in thought</i> will join your throng,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ye that pipe and ye that play,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ye that through your hearts to-day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Feel the gladness of the <span class="smcap">May</span>!”<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Meet me, then, gentle reader, here on this +Village Green, and forgetting that there are such +places as cities in the world, let us “do observance +to a morn of May:” we shall find it +almost as pleasant an employment as money-getting +itself! From this spot we can observe +specimens of many of those objects which are +now in their fullest beauty, and which we were +obliged to pass over at our last meeting.</p> + +<p>The stately Horse-chestnut is in still greater +perfection than it was last month—each of its +pyramidal flowers looking like a “picture in +little” of the great American Aloe. The Limes, +too, that shade the lower windows of the Parsonage, +and the Honeysuckles that make a little +bower of its trellised doorway, are now in full +leaf.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">{92}</a></span> +By the sunshine, which falls in bright patches +on this broad walk leading to the Church, we +may observe that the Elms are not as yet in full +leaf; and casting our eyes upward, we shall see, +through the intervals between the thinly spread +leaves, spots of blue sky looking down upon us +like a host of blue eyes. In the little Churchyard +the graves are all covered with a flush of +new green, spotted here and there with Daisies, +which make even them look gay; the Ivy, which +binds together the stones of the old belfry, is +every where putting forth its young shoots; and +the dark Yew itself, that shades the low porch, +feels the influence of the season, and is once more +putting on a look of green old age.</p> + +<p>Let us now pass over the little stile that divides +this sadly sweet inclosure from the adjacent +paddock, and make our way into the open fields +beyond. But what is this rich perfume, that +comes floating past us as we go, borne on the +warm breeze like incense? What but the sweet +breath of the Hawthorn, blended (for those who +have organs delicate enough to distinguish it) +with that of the Violet, which grows about its +roots, and steams up its plaintive odours from a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">{93}</a></span> +crowd of hidden censers, till they reach the +clouds of sweetness that are hanging above, and +both are borne away together on the wings of +every wind that passes. Those who are not accustomed +to the <i>harmony of scents</i>, and cannot +detect two or three together when they are +blended in this manner, are exactly in the situation +of those who are only susceptible of the +<i>melodies</i> of music, and can hear nothing in +<i>harmony</i> but a <i>single sound</i>.</p> + +<p>One of the loveliest objects in the vegetable +kingdom is a fine-grown Hawthorn tree, in the +state in which we meet with it this month. +But they are scarcely ever to be found in the +open country, being of such extremely slow +growth that they require particular advantages +of soil, protection from the depredations of cattle, +&c. before they can be made to reach the state +of <i>a tree</i>. They are seldom to be met with in +this state except in parks and pleasure-grounds; +and even then they require to stand perfectly +alone, or they do not gain that picturesque elegance +of form on which so much of their beauty +depends. There are some, I remember, both +pink and white, in the deer-park of Maudlin<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">{94}</a></span> +College, that are <i>a sight</i> to look upon. The +extreme beauty of this tree when in blossom +arises partly from the delightful mixture of the +leaves and blossoms together,—almost all the +other trees that can properly be called <i>flowering</i> +ones putting forth their blossoms before they +have acquired sufficient green leaves to contrast +with and set them off. There is another tree +that we have not yet noticed, the Sycamore, the +effect of which, when it is suffered to grow +singly, is extremely elegant at this season.</p> + +<p>Now, too, and not till now, the Oak, the +Walnut, and the Mulberry begin to put forth +their leaves, offering us, even till the commencement +of June, a seeming renewal or lengthening +out of the Spring, when all the rest of the vegetable +world has put on the hues of Summer. +The two first of these, however, have during the +first fortnight of their vegetation the brown and +golden hues of Autumn upon them.</p> + +<p>But we must be more brief in our search +after the beauties of May, or we shall not have +space to name the half of them. Let us turn, +then, towards our home inclosures; glancing, as +we pass, at a few more of those sweet sights which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">{95}</a></span> +belong to the fields exclusively. And first let +us feed our eyes with the brilliant green of +yonder Wheat-field. The stems, you see, have +just attained height enough to wave gracefully +in the wind; which, as it passes over them, +seems to convert the whole into a beautiful lake +of bright green undulating water. That Meadow +which adjoins it, glittering all over with yellow +King-cups, is no less bright and beautiful. It +looks like the bed where Jupiter visited Danäe +in a shower of gold. How pretty, too, are these +Cowslips, starting up close beside our path, as if +anxious to be seen, and yet hanging down their +modest heads, as if afraid to meet the gaze that +they seem to court.</p> + +<p>We must delay for a moment beside this +pretty Hedgerow, to observe a few more of the +various coloured weeds (so called by those manufacturers +of artificial flowers, the gardeners) +which first put forth their blossoms this month. +Conspicuous is the Campion, rising from the +bank, with its single lake-coloured flowers scattered +aloof from each other, upon their long +bare stems. Among the lower leaves of these, +rising from the ditch below, the Water-violet<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">{96}</a></span> +rears its elegant head, consisting of rosy clusters +ranged tier above tier, and lessening towards the +top, till they form a flowery pyramid. About +the edges of the banks, low on the ground, +are scattered the Hyacinths in blue profusion, +relieved here and there by the white Cuckoo-flower, +or Lady-smock, the plain, but sweet-scented +Woodruff, and the sunny Dandelion; +while, close beneath the overhanging hedgerow, +the Cuckoo-pint stands motionless in its green +pavilion, and seems to keep watch, like a sentinel, +over the flowery tribe around.</p> + +<p>But see! yonder Butterfly, fluttering past us +like a winged flower, reminds us that now come +forth that ephemeral race whose lives are scarcely +of longer date than those of the flowers on whose +aroma they feed.</p> + +<p>Now, shoot past us, like winged arrows, or +hover near us like Fairies’ messengers come to +bring us tidings of the Summer, those frail +creatures—green, and purple, and gold—borne +on invisible gossamer wings,—of which the flying +dragons of fairy and of pantomime-land are but +clumsy imitations. Now, blithe companies of +Gnats hum and hover up and down in the warm<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">{97}</a></span> +air, like motes in a sunbeam. Now, the wayside +Cricket begins to chirrup forth its monotonous +mirth; for ever harping on one note, +and never tiring or growing tired. Now, the +great Humble Bee goes booming along, startling +the pleased ear as he passes; or hurries suddenly +out of the heart of some wayside flower, and +leaves it trembling at his departure, as if a +thought of his distant home had disturbed him +in the midst of his blithe labours. Now, in the +early dusk, the heavy Cockchafer hums drowsily +along, or flurs from out some near lime-tree, +and flings his mailed form (as if on purpose) +into the face of the startled passenger. Now, at +night, the Glow-worm shows her bright love-lamp +to her distant mate, as he floats in the dim +air above; and, seeing it, he closes his thin +wings about him, and drops down to her side.</p> + +<p>Now, the most active and industrious of all +the smaller birds, the Swallow tribe, begin to +devote themselves seriously to the business of +the season. They have hitherto, since their +first appearance, been sporting about in seeming +idleness. But without this needful exercise and +relaxation they would not be fit to go through +the henceforth unceasing toils of the Summer;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">{98}</a></span> +for they have two or three broods to bring up +before they retire, each of which, when hatched, +requires the incessant toil of the parents from +light till dark, to provide them food,—so dainty +and delicate are they in the choice of it. Now, +during this month, they begin and complete +their dwellings; the House-swallow in the shafts +of chimneys, thus providing their young at once +with warmth and safety; the confiding Martin +in the windows, and under the eaves, of our +houses; and the Swift within the clefts of castles +and other high old buildings, where “the air is +delicate.”</p> + +<p>Finally, now many of the earlier builders are +<i>sitting</i>, and some few have hatched their broods. +Let those who would contemplate, in imagination, +the most perfect state of tranquil happiness +of which a sentient being is susceptible, gaze +(still in imagination, for actual sight would break +the spell for both parties) on the mother bird, +breasting her warm eggs beneath the shade of +some retired covert, while her vocal lover (made +vocal by his love) sits on some near bough +beside, and pours into her listening heart the +joy that <i>will</i> not be contained within his own.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">{99}</a></span> +In the Garden we now find all the promises of +April completed, and a host of others springing +up, to be fulfilled in their turn during the rest of +the season. But May, notwithstanding its reputation +in this particular, is not to be considered +as, <i>par excellence</i>, the Month of Flowers, at +least in this climate, and in respect to those +flowers which have now become exclusively +garden ones: though of <i>wild</i> flowers, and of +blossoms which are afterwards to produce fruit, +it is the month. Of the annuals, for instance, +which make so rich a show in common gardens, +(and it is of those alone that these unexotic +pages profess to speak), none flower in May; but +all of them mix up their many-shaded greens, +and contrast their various shaped forms, with +those that do. Among these latter are, in addition +to those of last month which still continue +in blow, the rich-scented Wall-flower; the flower +of as many names as colours, the prettiest of +which is taken from that feeling which the sight +of it gives—Heart’s-ease; Crown-imperial; Lily +of the Valley, most delicate of all the vegetable +tribe, both in shape and odour,—its bright little +illumination-lamps looking out meekly from their +pavilions of emerald green; the towering, blue<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">{100}</a></span> +Monk’s-hood; the pretty but foreign-looking +Fritillary, or Snake’s-head, as it is more appropriately +called, from its shape and colours; +and sometimes, when the season is unfavourably +favourable, the Rose herself. But her and her +attractions we must leave till they come upon us +in showers, in her <i>own</i> month of June.</p> + +<p>Among the flowering shrubs we have now, +also, many which demand their Spring welcome. +And first the Lilac; for it was scarcely in full +bloom last month; and it is its rich fulness +that constitutes much of its charm, though its +scent is delightful. Now, too, the Guelder-rose +flings up its spheres of white light into the air, +supported on their invisible stems, and looking, +as the wind blows them about, like the jugglers’ +balls chasing each other as if in sport. The +Mountain-ash, too, puts forth its fans of white +blossom, which the imagination converts, as soon +as they appear, into those rich bunches of scarlet +berries that make the winter months look gay; +and which said “imagination” would do the +same by the Elder-bloom, which also now appears, +but that its delicious odour, when scented +at a sufficient distance from its source, tells tales +of any thing but winter and elder-wine. Lastly,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">{101}</a></span> +the Laburnum now hangs forth its golden glories, +and shows itself, for a few brief days, the most +graceful of all the inhabitants of the shrubbery. +The blossoms of the Laburnum, where they are +seen from a little distance, and have (from circumstances +of soil, &c.) acquired their due dependent +posture, can scarcely be looked at +steadily without a seeming <i>motion</i> being communicated +to them, as if some invisible hand +had detached them from their stems, and they +were in the act of falling to the earth in the +form of a yellow rain.</p> + +<p>In the orchard, the loveliest of all fruit-blossoms, +the Apples, are now in full perfection. +These flowers are scarcely ever examined or +praised for their beauty; and yet they are +formed of almost every other flower’s best. +They are as fresh as the Rose, and more delicate; +as innocent as the Vale Lily, and more +gay; as modest as the Daisy, and less prim. +And surely they are not the worse for being +followed by a beautiful fruit; any more than a +beautiful bride is the worse for being a rich one. +I have been “cudgelling my brains” (which, to +speak the truth, I am seldom called upon to do) +for a likeness to this lovely blossom; and I can<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">{102}</a></span> +find none but that which I have used already. +The Apple-blossom is like nothing, in nature or +in art, but the Countess of B——’s face; which +is itself not wholly in either, being a happy +mixture of the best parts of both—the sweet +simplicity of the one, and the finished grace of +the other; and which—but I beseech her to +take it away from before my imagination at +once, if she has any desire to see these pleasant +papers come to a conclusion; for if it should +again open upon me from among the flowers, +like Cupid’s from out the Rose, I cannot answer +for the consequences on the remainder of this +history; for, though I am able to find in the +Apple-blossom no likeness to any thing but <i>her</i> +face, if once I am put upon pointing out resemblances +in <i>that</i>, it shall go hard but I will +prove it to be, in some particular or other, the +prototype of all beautiful things,—always excepting +Sir Thomas’s portrait of her; which, +however <i>she</i> may be like <i>it</i>, is <i>not like her</i>. Her +face is like—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">’Tis like the morning when it breaks;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">’Tis like the evening when it takes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Reluctant leave of the low sun;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">’Tis like the moon, when day is done,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rising above the level sea;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">’Tis like——<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">{103}</a></span> +But hold!—if my readers, in consideration of +the brief limits which confine me, are not to be +treated with other people’s poetry, they shall, +at least, not be troubled with mine; to which +end I must bid adieu to the abovenamed face, +once and for ever.</p> + +<p>We may now quit the garden for this month; +though it would be ungrateful to do so without +condescending to take one glance at that portion +of it which is to supply our more substantial +wants. Now, then, the Kitchen-garden is in its +best trim, its orderly inhabitants having all put +on their Spring liveries, and their sprightliest +looks, but not being yet sufficiently advanced in +growth to call down that havoc which will soon +be at work among them. We must not venture +into detail here; though the real lover of the +Garden (unless he affects the <i>genteel</i>) would +scarcely be angry with us if we did. But we +may notice, in passing, the first fruits of the +year—Gooseberries and Currants; the successive +crops of Peas and Beans, “each under each,” +the earliest just getting into bloom; green lines +of Lettuces, so spruce and orderly, that it seems +a pity ever to break them; (ditto of Cabbages +we of course utterly exclude, seeing that such<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">{104}</a></span> +things were never heard of in the polite purlieus +of Piccadilly;) Melon and Cucumber frames, +glittering in the bright light, and half open, to +admit the morning visits of the sun and air. In +short, a flower-garden itself is but half complete, +if we cannot step out of it at pleasure into the +kitchen one, on the other side of the green screen +or the fruit-clothed wall that bounds it.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Must we, after all this pleasant expatiation +among the natural delights of May, repair to +the metropolis, and see whether there is any +thing worthy of remark among the artificial +ones? I suppose we must; for it is mid-winter +in London now, and the fashionable season is at +its height. But we must not be expected to +look about us there in the best possible humour, +after having left the flowers and the sunshine +behind us. We will, at all events, contrive to +reach London on May-day, that we may not +lose the only relic that is left us of the sports +which were once as natural to this period as the +opening of the leaves or the springing of the +grass. I mean the gloomy merriment of Jack +in the Green, and the sad hilarity of the chimney-sweepers. +This is, indeed, a melancholy affair,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">{105}</a></span> +contrasted with what that must have been of +which it reminds us. The effect of it, to the +bystanders, is like that of a wobegone ballad-singer +chanting a merry stave. It is good as +far as it goes, nevertheless; inasmuch as it procures +a holiday, such as it is, for those who +would not otherwise know the meaning of the +phrase. The wretched imps, whose mops and +mowes produce the mock merriment in question, +are the <i>parias</i> of their kind; outcasts from the +society even of their equals, the very charity-boys +give themselves airs of patronage in their +presence; and the little beggar’s brat, that leads +his blind father along the streets, would scorn +to be seen playing at chuck-farthing with them. +But even they, on May-day, feel themselves +somebody; for the rout of ragged urchins, that +turned up their noses at them yesterday, will +to-day dog their footsteps with admiring shouts, +and, such is the love of momentary distinction, +would not disdain to own an acquaintance with +them. Nay, some of them are trying, even now, +to recollect whether it was not with that young +gentleman, in the gilt jacket and gauze trowsers, +that they had the honour of playing at marbles<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">{106}</a></span> +“on Wednesday last.” There was not a man +in the crowd, when Jack Thurtell was hanged, +that would not have been proud of a nod from +him on the scaffold.</p> + +<p>Now, on the first day, the hats of the Hammersmith +coachmen grow progressively heavy, +and their heads light, with the “favours” they +receive from the barmaids of the fifteen public-houses +at which they regularly stop to refresh +themselves between Kensington Gravel Pits and +Saint Paul’s.</p> + +<p>Now, the winter being fairly set in, London +is full of life; and Bond-street seems an enviable +spot in the eyes of coach-makers, and cavalry +officers on duty.</p> + +<p>Now, the innocent inhabitants of May-fair +wonder what the people in the street can mean +by disturbing them at six in the morning, just +as they are getting to sleep, by crying, “come +buy my nice bow-pots!” not having any notion +that there are natural flowers “in the midst of +winter!”</p> + +<p>Now, the Benefits have began at the winter +theatres, and consequently all “genteel” persons +have left off going there; seeing that the only<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">{107}</a></span> +attraction offered on those occasions is a double +portion of amusement: as if any body went to +the theatre for <i>that</i>!</p> + +<p>Now, the high fashionables, for once in the +year, permit their horses’ hoofs to honour the +stones of the Strand by striking fire out of +them; and, what is still more unaccountable, +they permit plebeian shawls and shoulders to +come in contact with theirs, on the stairs of +Somerset House. And all to encourage the +Arts! That their own portraits, by Sir Thomas, +are among the number of the works exhibited, +cannot for a moment be considered as the moving +cause at such marvellous condescension.</p> + +<p>Now, too, flowing through the Strand in opposite +directions towards the same spot, may be +seen, on fine days of the first fortnight, two +streams of white muslin, on which flowers are +floating, and which form a confluence at the gates +of the Academy, and ascending the winding staircase +together (which streams are seldom in the +habit of doing), presently disperse themselves +into a lake at the top of the building, which +glows with as many colours as that on the top +of Mount Cenis.</p> + +<p>Now, too, still on the same spot, may be seen,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">{108}</a></span> +peering half shamefacedly in the purlieus of his +own picture, some anxious young artist, watching +intently for those scraps of criticism which +the newspapers have as yet withheld from him +(but which will doubtless appear in <i>tomorrow’s</i> +report); and believing, from the bottom of his +soul, that the young lady, aged twelve years, +who has just fetched her mamma to admire <i>his</i> +production, is the best judge in the room; which, +considering that he is a reasonable person, and +nowise prejudiced, is more than he can account +for in one so young!</p> + +<p>Now, an occasional butterfly is seen fluttering +away over the heads of the pale pedestrians of +Ludgate Hill, who wonder what it can portend. +Now, country cousins pay their triennial visits to +the sights of London; and having been happy +enough to secure lodgings in a side street in the +Strand, have no doubt whatever that they are +living at the west end of the town. Accordingly, +they perambulate Parliament-street with exemplary +perseverance, and then return to the country, +to tell tales of the fashionables they have +seen.</p> + +<p>Finally, now the Parks really are the pleasantest +imitations of the country that can be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">{109}</a></span> +met with away from it. That of Hyde is worth +walking in at five on a fine week-day, if it be +only to see how the footmen and the horses enjoy +themselves; and still more so at four on a fine +Sunday, to see how the citizens do the same. +The Green Park, in virtue of the youths and +maidens who meander about it in all directions +on the latter day, looks, at a distance, like +a meadow strewn all over with moving wild-flowers. +And the great alley in Kensington +Gardens, when the fashionables please to patronise +it, is as pretty to look down upon, from +the Pavilion at top, as one of Watteau’s pictures.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">{110}</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111"><br />{111}</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="JUNE" id="JUNE"></a>JUNE.</h2> + +<p>Summer is come—come, but not to stay; at +least, not at the commencement of this month. +And how should it, unless we expect that the +seasons will be kind enough to conform to the +devices of man, and suffer themselves to be called +by what name and at what period <i>he</i> pleases? +He must die and leave them a legacy (instead +of they him) before there will be any show of +justice in this. Till then the beginning of June +will continue to be the latter end of May, by +rights; as it was according to the <i>old style</i>. And, +among a thousand changes, in what one has the +old style been improved upon by the new? +Assuredly not in that of substituting the <i>utile</i> +for the <i>dulce</i>, in any eyes but those of almanack +makers. Let all lovers of Spring, therefore, be +fully persuaded that, for the first fortnight in +June, they are living in May; and then, all the +sweet truths that I had to tell of the latter month, +are equally applicable to half the present. We<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">{112}</a></span> +shall thus be gaining instead of losing, after all, +by the impertinence of any breath, but that of +Heaven, attempting to force Spring into Summer, +even in name alone.</p> + +<p>Spring, therefore, may now be considered as +employed in completing her toilet, and, for the +first weeks of this month, putting on those last +finishing touches which an accomplished beauty +never trusts to any hand but her own. In the +woods and groves also, she is still clothing some +of her noblest and proudest attendants with their +new annual attire. The oak until now has been +nearly bare; and, of whatever age, has been +looking old all the Winter and Spring, on account +of its crumpled branches and wrinkled +rind. Now, of whatever age, it looks young, in +virtue of its new green, lighter than all the rest +of the grove. Now, also, the stately Walnut +(standing singly or in pairs in the fore-court of +ancient manor-houses; or in the home corner of +the pretty park-like paddock at the back of some +modern Italian villa, whose white dome it saw +rise beneath it the other day, and mistakes for a +mushroom), puts forth its smooth leaves slowly, +as “sage grave men” do their thoughts; and +which over-caution reconciles one to the beating<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">{113}</a></span> +it receives in the autumn, as the best means of +at once compassing its present fruit, and making +it bear more; as its said prototypes in animated +nature are obliged to have their brains cudgelled, +before any good can be got from them.</p> + +<p>Among the ornamental trees, the only one +that is not as yet clothed in all its beauty is, the +most beautiful of all—the white Acacia. Its trim +taper leaves are but just spreading themselves +forth to welcome the coming summer sun; as +those pretty female fingers which they resemble +are spread involuntarily at the approach of the +accepted lover.</p> + +<p>The Mulberry, too, which in this country +never sees itself unprovided with a smooth-shaven +carpet of green turf beneath it, on which to drop +(without injuring) its tender fruit, is only now +rousing itself from its late repose. Its appearance +is at present as poverty-stricken, in comparison +with most of its well-dressed companions, +as six weeks hence it will be rich, full, and +umbrageous.</p> + +<p>These are the chief appearances of the early +part of this month which appertain exclusively +to the Spring. Let us now (however reluctantly) +take a final leave of that lovely and love-making<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">{114}</a></span> +season, and at once step forward into the glowing +presence of Summer—contenting ourselves, however, +to touch the hem of her rich garments, and +not attempting to look into her heart, till she lays +that open to us herself next month: for whatever +school-boys calendar-makers may say to the +contrary, Midsummer never happens in England +till July.</p> + +<p>The most appropriate spots in which first to +watch the footsteps of Summer are amid “the +pomp of Groves, and garniture of Fields.” There +let us seek her, then.</p> + +<p>To saunter, at mid June, beneath the shade of +some old forest, situated in the neighbourhood of +a great town, so that paths are worn through +it, and you can make your way with ease in any +direction, gives one the idea of being transferred, +by some strange magic, from the surface of the +earth to the bottom of the sea! (I say it gives +<i>one</i> this idea; for I cannot answer for more, in +matters of so arbitrary a nature as the association +of ideas). Over head, and round about, you hear +the sighing, the whispering, or the roaring (as +the wind pleases) of a thousand billows; and +looking upward, you see the light of heaven +transmitted faintly, as if through a mass of green<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">{115}</a></span> +waters. Hither and thither, as you move along, +strange forms flit swiftly about you, which may, +for any thing you can see or hear to the contrary, +be exclusive natives of the new world in which +your fancy chooses to find itself: they may be +<i>fishes</i>, if that pleases; for they are as mute as such, +and glide through the liquid element as swiftly. +Now and then, indeed, one of larger growth, and +less lubricated movements, lumbers up from beside +your path, and cluttering noisily away to +a little distance, may chance to scare for a moment +your sub-marine reverie. Your palate too +may perhaps here step in, and try to persuade +you that the cause of interruption was not a fish +but a pheasant. But in fact, if your fancy is +one of those which are disposed to “listen to +reason,” it will not be able to lead you into spots +of the above kind without your gun in your +hand,—one report of which will put all fancies +to flight in a moment, as well as every thing else +that has wings. To return, therefore, to our +walk,—what do all these strange objects look +like, that stand silently about us in the dim twilight, +some spiring straight up, and tapering as +they ascend, till they lose themselves in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">{116}</a></span> +green waters above—some shattered and splintered, +leaning against each other for support, or +lying heavily on the floor on which we walk—some +half buried in that floor, as if they had +lain dead there for ages, and become incorporate +with it; what do all these seem, but wrecks and +fragments of some mighty vessel, that has sunk +down here from above, and lain weltering and +wasting away, till these are all that is left of it! +Even the floor itself on which we stand, and the +vegetation it puts forth, are unlike those of any +other portion of the earth’s surface, and may +well recall, by their strange appearance in the +half light, the fancies that have come upon us +when we have read or dreamt of those gifted +beings, who, like Ladurlad in Kehama, could +walk on the floor of the sea, without waiting, +as the visitors at Watering-places are obliged to +do, for the tide to go out.</p> + +<p>“But why,” exclaims the reasonable reader, +“detain us, at a time of year like this, among +fancies and associations, when facts and realities +a thousand times more lovely are waiting to be +recorded?” He is right, and I bow to the +reproof; only I must escape at once from the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">{117}</a></span> +old Forest into which I had inadvertently wandered; +for <i>there</i> I shall not be able to remain a +moment fancy-free.</p> + +<p>Stepping forth, then, into the open fields, +what a bright pageant of Summer beauty is +spread out before us! We are standing, you +perceive, on a little eminence, every point of +which presents some particular offering of the +season, and from which we can also look abroad +upon those which require a more distant and +general gaze. Everywhere about our feet flocks +of Wild-Flowers</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Do paint the meadow with delight.”<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>We must not stay to pluck and particularize +them; for most of them have already had their +greeting from us in the two preceding months; +and though they insist on repeating themselves +during this, they must not expect us to do the +same, to the exclusion of others whose claims are +newer and not less noticeable. That we may +duly attend to these latter, let us pass along +beside this flourishing Hedge-row, that skirts the +Wood from which we have just emerged.</p> + +<p>The first novelty of the Season that greets us +here is perhaps the sweetest, the freshest, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">{118}</a></span> +fairest of all, and the only one that could supply +an adequate substitute for the Hawthorn bloom +which it has superseded. Need the Eglantine +be named? the “sweet-leaved Eglantine;” the +“rain-scented Eglantine;” Eglantine—to which +the Sun himself pays homage, by “counting +his dewy rosary” on it every morning; Eglantine—which +Chaucer, and even Shakespeare—but +hold—let me again insist on the Poets not +being permitted to set their feet even within +the porticos of these pleasant papers; for if once +they do, good bye to the control of the rightful +owner! I did but invite Mr. Wordsworth in, two +months ago, as the reader may remember, just +to say a few words in favour of the Daisy, in +pure gratitude for his having made it a sort of +sin to tread on one,—and lo! there was no getting +him out again, till he had poured forth two +or three pages full of stanzas, touching that one +“wee, modest, crimson-tipped Flower!” Besides, +what need have we for the aid of Poets (I mean +<i>the</i> Poets, so called <i>par excellence</i>) when in the +actual presence of that Nature which made <i>them</i> +such, and can make <i>us</i> such too, if any thing +can. In fact, whatsoever the Poets themselves +may insinuate to the contrary, to read poetry in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">{119}</a></span> +the presence of Nature is a kind of impiety: +it is like reading the commentators on Shakespeare, +and skipping the text; for you cannot +attend to both; to say nothing of Nature’s book +being a <i>vade mecum</i> that can make “every man +his own poet” for the time being; and there is, +after all, no poetry like that which we create for +ourselves. Away, then, with the Poets by profession—at +least till the winter comes, and we +want them.</p> + +<p>Begging pardon of the Eglantine for having +permitted any thing—even her own likeness in +the Poets’ looking-glass—to turn our attention +from her real self,—look with what infinite grace +she scatters her sweet coronals here and there +among her bending branches; or hangs them, +half-concealed, among the heavy blossoms of the +Woodbine that lifts itself so boldly above her, +after having first clung to <i>her</i> for support; or +permits them to peep out here and there close +to the ground, and almost hidden by the rank +weeds below; or holds out a whole arch-way +of them, swaying backward and forward in the +breeze, as if praying of the passers hand to pluck +them. Let who will praise the Hawthorn—now +it is no more! The Wild Rose is the Queen of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">{120}</a></span> +Forest Flowers, if it be only because she is as +unlike a Queen as the absence of every thing +courtly can make her.</p> + +<p>The Woodbine deserves to be held next in +favour during this month; though more on account +of its <i>intellectual</i> than its personal beauty. +All the air is faint with its rich sweetness; and +the delicate breath of its lovely rival is lost in +the luscious odours which it exhales.</p> + +<p>These are the only <i>scented</i> Wild Flowers that +we shall now meet with in any profusion; for +though the Violet may still be found by looking +for, its breath has lost much of its spring power. +But if we are content with mere beauty, this +month is perhaps more profuse of it than any +other, even in that department of Nature which +we are now examining—namely, the Fields and +Woods. The rich hedge-row from which we +have just been plucking the Eglantine and the +Wild Honeysuckle is fringed all along its borders, +and festooned in every part, with gay +clusters, some of which appeared for the first +time last month, and continue through this, +and with numerous others which now first come +forth. Most conspicuous among the latter are +the brilliant Hound’s tongue; the striped and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">{121}</a></span> +variegated Convolvulus; the Wild Scabious, pale +and scentless sister of the rich garden one; the +Ox-eye, or Great White Daisy, looking, with its +yellow centre surrounded by white beams, like +the miniature original of the Sun on country +sign-posts; the Mallow, that supplies the little +children with <i>cheeses</i>; and two or three of the +almost animated Orchises, particularly the Bee-Orchis,—which +escapes being rifled of its sweets +by that general plunderer who gives his name +to it, by always seeming to be pre-occupied.</p> + +<p>Before quitting the little elevation on which +we have commenced our observations, we must +take a brief general glance at the various masses +of objects that it brings within our view. The +Woods and Groves, and the single Forest Trees +that rise here and there from out the bounding +Hedge-rows, are now in full foliage; all, however, +presenting a somewhat sombre, because +monotonous, hue, wanting all the tender newness +of the Spring, and all the rich variety of the +Autumn. And this is the more observable, because +the numerous plots of cultivated land, divided +from each other by the hedge-rows, and +looking, at this distance, like beds in a garden +divided by box, are nearly all still invested with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">{122}</a></span> +the same green mantle; for the Wheat, the Oats, +the Barley, and even the early Rye, though now +in full flower, have not yet become tinged with +their harvest hues. They are all alike green; +and the only change that can be seen in their +appearance is that caused by the different lights +into which each is thrown, as the wind passes +over them. The patches of purple or of white +Clover that intervene here and there, and are +now in flower, offer striking exceptions to the +above, and at the same time load the air with +their sweetness. Nothing can be more rich and +beautiful in its effect on a distant prospect at +this season, than a great patch of purple Clover +lying apparently motionless on a sunny upland, +encompassed by a whole sea of green Corn, +waving and shifting about it at every breath that +blows.</p> + +<p>Before quitting this Wood-side, let us observe +that the hitherto full concert of the singing birds +is now beginning to falter, and fall short. We +shall do well to make the most of it now; for in +two or three weeks it will almost entirely cease +till the Autumn. I mean that it will cease as a +full concert; for we shall have single songsters +all through the Summer at intervals; and those<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">{123}</a></span> +some of the sweetest and best. The best of all, +indeed, the Nightingale, we have now lost. It +is never to be heard for more than two months +in this country, and never at all after the young +are hatched, which happens about this time. So +that the youths and maidens who now go in +pairs to the Wood-side, on warm nights, to listen +for its song (hoping they may <i>not</i> hear it), are +well content to hear each other’s voice instead.</p> + +<p>We have still, however, some of the finest of +the second class of songsters left; for the Nightingale, +like Catalani, is a class by itself. The +mere chorus-singers of the Grove are also beginning +to be silent; so that the <i>jubilate</i> that +has been chanting for the last month is now +over. But the Stephenses, the Trees, the Patons, +and the Poveys, are still with us, under +the forms of the Woodlark, the Skylark, the +Blackcap, and the Goldfinch. And the first-named +of these, now that it no longer fears the +rivalry of the unrivalled, not seldom, on warm +nights, sings at intervals all night long, poised +at one spot high up in the soft moonlit air.</p> + +<p>We have still another pleasant little singer, +the Field Cricket, whose clear shrill voice the +warm weather has now matured to its full<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">{124}</a></span> +strength, and who must not be forgotten, though +he has but one song to offer us all his life long, +and that one consisting but of one note; for it +is a note of joy, and <i>will</i> not be heard without +engendering its like. You may hear him in +wayside banks, where the Sun falls hot, shrilling +out his loud cry into the still air all day long, as +he sits at the mouth of his cell; and if you +chance to be passing by the same spot at midnight, +you may hear it then too.</p> + +<p>We must now make our way towards home, +noticing a few of the remaining marks of mid-June +as we pass along. Now, then, in covert +Copses, or on the skirts of dark Woods, the +Foxglove rears its one splendid spire of speckled +flowers from the centre of its cone of dull, down-hanging +leaves.—Now, scarlet Poppies peer up +here and there in bright companies among the +green shafts of the Corn, and scatter beauty over +the mischief they do.—Now, Bees and little boys +banquet on the honey-laden flowers of the white +Hedge-nettle.—Now, the Brooms put forth their +gold and silver blossoms on hitherto barren +Heaths, and change them into beauteous gardens.—Now, +whole fields of Peas send out their +winged blossoms, which look like flocks of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">{125}</a></span> +purple and white butterflies basking in the sun.—Now, +too, the Bean, which has little or no +perceptible scent when gathered and smelt to +singly, growing together in fields breathes forth +the most enchanting odour,—only to be come at, +however, by the wind, which bears and spreads +it half over the adjacent plains.</p> + +<p>Now, also, we meet with several new objects +among the animated part of the creation, a few +only of which we must stay to notice.—Now, +the Grasshopper vaults merrily in the meadows, +leaping over the tops of their mountains (the +molehills), and fancying himself a bird.—Now, +the great Dragon-flies shoot with their shining +wings through the air, as if bearing some fairy +to its distant bower; or hover, apparently motion +and motiveless, as if they had forgotten their +way, or were waiting to look at some invisible +direction-post. We had best not inquire too +curiously into their employment at those moments, +lest we should find that they are only stopping +to take a bait, consisting of some beautiful +invisible that had just began to enjoy its age of +half an hour.—Now, lastly, as the Sun declines, +may be seen, emerging from the surface of +shallow streams, and lying there for a while till<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">{126}</a></span> +its wings are dried for flight, the (misnamed) +<i>May</i>-fly. Escaping, after a protracted struggle +of half a minute, from its watery birth-place, it +flutters restlessly, up and down, up and down, +over the same spot, during its whole era of a +summer evening; and at last dies, as the last +dying streaks of day are leaving the western +horizon. And yet, who shall say that in that +space of time it has not undergone all the vicissitudes +of a long and eventful life? That it has +not felt all the freshness of youth, all the vigour +of maturity, all the weakness and satiety of old +age, and all the pangs of death itself? In short, +who shall satisfy us that any essential difference +exists between <i>its</i> four hours and <i>our</i> fourscore +years?</p> + +<p>Before entering the home inclosure, we must +pay due honour to the two grand husbandry +occupations of this month; the Hay-harvest, and +the Sheep-shearing.</p> + +<p>The Hay-harvest, besides filling the whole air +with its sweetness, is even more picturesque in +the appearances it offers, as well as more pleasant +in the associations it calls forth, than <i>the</i> Harvest +in Autumn. What a delightful succession of +pictures it presents! First, the Mowers, stoop<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">{127}</a></span>ing +over their scythes, and moving with measured +paces through the early morning mists, interrupted +at intervals by the freshening music of +the whetstone.</p> + +<p>Then—blithe companies of both sexes, ranged +in regular array, and moving lengthwise and +across the Meadow, each with the same action, +and the ridges rising or disappearing behind +them as they go:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“There are forty <i>moving</i> like one.”—<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Then again, when the fragrant crop is nearly +fit to be gathered in, and lies piled up in dusky-coloured +hillocks upon the yellow sward, while +here and there, beneath the shade of a “hedgerow +elm,” or braving the open sunshine in the +centre of the scene, sunburnt Groups are seated +in circles at their noonday meal, enjoying that +ease which nothing but labour can generate.</p> + +<p>And lastly, when Man and Nature, mutually +assisting each other, have completed the work +of preparation, and the cart stands still to receive +its last forkfull; while the horse, almost hidden +beneath his apparently overwhelming load, lifts +up his patient head sideways to pick a mouthful; +and all about stand the labourers, leaning listlessly +on their implements, and eyeing the completion +of their work.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">{128}</a></span> +What sweet pastoral pictures are here! The +last, in particular, is prettier to look upon than +any thing else, not excepting one of Wouvermann’s +imitations of it.</p> + +<p>Sheep-shearing, the other great rural labour +of this delightful month, if not so full of variety +as the Hay-harvest, and so creative of matter for +those “in search of the picturesque” (though it is +scarcely less so), is still more lively, animated, and +spirit-stirring; and it besides retains something +of the character of a Rural Holiday,—which rural +matters need, in this age and in this country, more +than ever they did since it became a civilized and +happy one. The Sheep-shearings are the only +<i>stated</i> periods of the year at which we hear of +festivities, and gatherings together of the lovers +and practisers of English husbandry; for even +the Harvest-home itself is fast sinking into disuse, +as a scene of mirth and revelry, from the +want of being duly encouraged and partaken in +by the great ones of the Earth; without whose +countenance and example it is questionable whether +eating, drinking, and sleeping, would not +soon become vulgar practices, and be discontinued +accordingly! In a state of things like +this, the Holkham and Woburn Sheep-shearings +do more honour to their promoters than all their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">{129}</a></span> +wealth can purchase and all their titles convey. +But we are getting beyond our soundings: +honours, titles, and “states of things,” are what +we do not pretend to meddle with, especially +when the pretty sights and sounds preparatory +to and attendant on Sheep-shearing, as a mere +rural employment, are waiting to be noticed.</p> + +<p>Now, then, on the first really summer’s day, +the whole Flock being collected on the higher +bank of the pool formed at the abrupt winding +of the nameless mill-stream, at the point perhaps +where the little wooden bridge runs slantwise +across it, and the attendants being stationed +waist-deep in the midwater, the Sheep are, after +a silent but obstinate struggle or two, plunged +headlong, one by one, from the precipitous bank; +when, after a moment of confused splashing, their +heavy fleeces float them along, and their feet, +moving by an instinctive art which every creature +but man possesses, guide them towards the opposite +shallows, that steam and glitter in the +sunshine. Midway, however, they are fain to +submit to the rude grasp of the relentless +washer; which they undergo with as ill a grace +as preparatory-schoolboys do the same operation.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">{130}</a></span> +Then, gaining the opposite shore heavily, they +stand for a moment till the weight of water +leaves them, and, shaking their streaming sides, +go bleating away towards their fellows on the adjacent +green, wondering within themselves what +has happened.</p> + +<p>The Shearing is no less lively and picturesque, +and no less attended by all the idlers of the +Village as spectators. The Shearers, seated in +rows beside the crowded pens, with the seemingly +inanimate load of fleece in their laps, and +bending intently over their work; the occasional +whetting and clapping of the shears; the neatly +attired housewives, waiting to receive the fleeces; +the smoke from the tar-kettle, ascending through +the clear air; the shorn Sheep escaping, one by +one, from their temporary bondage, and trotting +away towards their distant brethren, bleating all +the while for their Lambs, that do not know +them;—all this, with its ground of universal +green, and finished every where by its leafy +distances, except where the village spire intervenes, +forms together a living picture, pleasanter +to look upon than words can speak, but still +pleasanter to think of when <i>that</i> is the nearest +approach you can make to it.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">{131}</a></span> +We must now betake ourselves to the Garden, +which I have perhaps kept aloof from longer +than I ought, from something like a fear that +the flush of beauty we shall meet there will go +near to infringe upon that perfect sobriety of +style on which these papers so much pique themselves, +and which, I hope, has not hitherto been +departed from! What may happen now, however, +is more than I shall venture to anticipate. +If, therefore, in passing across yonder smooth +elastic Turf, now in its fullest perfection, and +making our way towards the Flower-plots that +are imbedded in it, my imagination should imbibe +some of the occasionally undue warmth of +the season, and my fancy find itself “half in a +blush of clustering roses lost,” and these should +together engender a style as flowery as the subject +about which it is to concern itself, the +reader will be good enough to bear in mind, that +even the Berecinian blood of an Irish Barrister +can scarcely be made to keep within due bounds, +when he has a beauty for his client! nay, that +even <i>the</i> Irish Barrister <i>par excellence</i> is sometimes +misled into a metaphor, and inveigled into +an allitteration, when his theme happens to be +more than ordinarily inspiring!</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">{132}</a></span> +As the Wild Rose is the reigning belle of the +Forest during this Month, so <i>the</i> Rose occupies +a similar rank in the more courtly realm of the +Garden; and the latter is to her sweet relative +of the Woods what the centre of the court circle +in town (whoever she may be) is to the <i>Cynosure</i> +of a country village. Here, in these oval clumps, +which she has usurped entirely to herself, we +find her greeting us under a host of different +forms at the same time, all of which are her own, +all unlike each other, and yet each and all more +lovely than all the rest! I must be content merely +to call by name upon a few of the principal of +these “fair varieties,” and allow their prototypes +in the reader’s imagination to answer for themselves; +for the Poets, those purloiners of all +public property that is worth possessing, have +long precluded us plain prosers from being epithetical +in regard to Roses, without incurring the +imputation of borrowing that from <i>them</i>, which +<i>they</i> first borrowed from their betters, the Roses +themselves.</p> + +<p>What, then, can be more enchanting to look +upon than this newly-opened Rose of Provence, +looking upward half shamefacedly from its fragile +stem, as if just awakened from a happy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">{133}</a></span> +dream to a happier reality? It is the loveliest +Rose we have, and the sweetest—<i>except</i> this by +its side, the Rose-unique, which looks like the +image of the other cut in marble—the statue of +the Venus de’ Medici beside the living beauty +that stood as its model. <i>This</i>, surely, <i>is</i> the +loveliest of all Roses—<i>except</i> the White Blush-Rose, +that rises here in the centre of the group, +and looks like the marble image of the two +former, just as the enamoured gaze of its Pygmalion +has warmed it into life. You see, its +delicate lips are just becoming tinged with the +hues of vitality; and it <i>breathes</i> already, as all +the air about it bears witness. Undoubtedly +<i>this</i> is the loveliest of Roses—<i>except</i> the Moss +Rose that hangs flauntingly beside it, seemingly +the most careless, but in reality the most coquettish +of court beauties; apparently the sport +of every coxcomb Zephyr that passes, but in +truth indifferent to all but her own sweet self; +and if more modest in her attire than all other +of her fair sisterhood, only adopting this particular +mode because it makes her look more +pretty and piquant. Her “close-fit cap of green,” +the fashion of which she never changes, has ex<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">{134}</a></span>actly +that <i>becoming</i> effect on her face which a +French <i>blonde</i> trimming has on the face of an +English <i>londe</i> beauty. But I must refrain from +further details, touching the attractions of the +Rose family, or I shall inevitably lose my credit +with all of them, by discovering some reason why +each, as it comes before me, is without exception +preferable to all the rest. And, in fact, without +wishing to be personal in regard to any, I must +insist that, philosophically speaking, that Rose +which is nearest at hand <i>is</i>, without exception, +the best of Roses, in relation to the person +affected by it; and that even the gaudy Damask, +and the intense velvet-leaved Tuscan (each of +which, in its own particular ear be it said, is +handsomer than any of the beforenamed), must +yield in beauty to the pretty little innocent +blossoms of the Sweet-briar Rose itself, when +none but that is by.</p> + +<p>I am afraid the other Garden Flowers, that +first appear in June, must go without their fair +proportion of praise, since they <i>will</i> risk a rivalry +with the unrivalled. They must be content with +a passing “now” of recognition. Now, then, +the flaring Peony throws up its splendid globes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">{135}</a></span> +of crimson and blush-colour from out its rich +domelike pavilion of dark leaves.—Now, the elegant +yet exotic-looking family of the Amaranths +begin to put on their fantastical attire of fans, +feathers, and fringes. Those, however, which give +name to the tribe, the truly <i>Amaranthine</i>, or Everlasting +ones, are not yet come; nor that other, +most elegant and pathetic of them all, which is +known by the name of Love-lies-bleeding.</p> + +<p>Now, the Ranunculus tribe begin to scatter +about their many-coloured balls of brilliant light. +The Persian ones, when planted in beds, with +their infinite varieties of tint and penciling, and +their hundred leaves, lapped over each other +with such inimitable art, eclipse all the Tulips +of the Spring, and would eclipse their Summer +rivals the Carnations too, but that the latter are +as sweet as they are beautiful.</p> + +<p>Now, the delicate Balsams rejoice in the fresh +air which is allowed to blow upon them, and +which, like too tender maidens, they have been +sighing for ever since they came into bloom, +without knowing that one rude breath of it +would have blown them into the grave.</p> + +<p>Now, too, the Fuchsia, that most exquisitely +formed of all our flowers, native or exotic, is no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">{136}</a></span> +longer confined, like an invalid, to a fixed temperature, +but is permitted to mix with its more +hardy brethren in the open air.</p> + +<p>Now, also, the whole tribe of Geraniums get +leave of absence from their winter barracks, and +are allowed to keep guard on each side the hall-door, +in their gay regimentals of scarlet, crimson, +and the rest, ranged “each under each,” according +to their respective inches, and all together +making up as pretty a show as a crack regiment +at a review. What the passers in and out can +mean by plucking part of a leaf as they go, +rubbing it between their fingers, and then throwing +it away, is more than they (the Geraniums) +can divine.</p> + +<p>The other flowers, that present themselves for +the first time in this most fertile of all the months, +must be dismissed with a very brief glance at the +commonest of them: which epithet, by the way, +is always a synonyme for the most beautiful, +among flowers. Now, the favourite family of +the Pinks shoot up their hundred-leaved heads +from out their low ground-loving clump of frosty-looking +leaves, and are in such haste to scatter +abroad their load of sweetness, that they break +down the polished sides of the pretty green vase<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">{137}</a></span> +in which they are set, and hang about it like +the tresses of a school-girl on the afternoon of +dancing-day.</p> + +<p>Now, Sweet-Williams lift up their bold but +handsome faces, right against the meridian Sun,—disdaining +to shrink or bend beneath his most +ardent gaze: whence, no doubt, their claim to +the name of William; for no lady-flower would +think of doing so!</p> + +<p>Now, the Columbine dances a <i>pas-seul</i> to the +music of the breeze; “being her first appearance +this season;” and she performs her part to admiration, +notwithstanding her Harlequin husband, +Fritillary, has not been heard of for this +month past.</p> + +<p>Now, the yellow Globe-flower flings up its +balls of gold into the air; and the modest little +Virginia Stock scatters its rubies, and sapphires, +and pearls, profusely upon the ground; and Lupines +spread their wings for flight, but cannot, for +very fondness, escape from the handsome leaves +over which they seem hovering; and Mignonette +begins to make good its pretty name; and, +finally, the princely Poppy, and the starry Marigold, +and the innocent little wild Pansy, and the +pretty Pimpernel, and the dear little blue Ger<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">{138}</a></span>mander, +<i>will</i> spring up, unasked, all over the +Garden, and you cannot find in your heart to +treat them as weeds.</p> + +<p>In the Fruit Garden, all is still for the most +part promise: not, however, the flowery and +often fallacious promise of the Spring; but that +solid and satisfying assurance which one feels in +the word of a friend who never breaks it. So +that, to the eye and palate of the imagination, +this month and the next are richer than those +which follow them; for now you can “<i>have</i> +your fruit and <i>eat</i> it too;” which you cannot do +then. In short, now the fruit blossoms are all +gone, and the fruit is so fully <i>set</i> that nothing +can hurt it; and what is better still, it is not +yet stealable, either by boys, birds, or bees; so +that you are as sure of it as one can be of any +thing the enjoyment of which is not actually +past. Enjoy it now, then, while you may; in +order that, when in the Autumn it <i>disappears</i>, +on the eve of the very day you had destined for +the gathering of it (as every body’s fruit does), +<i>you</i> alone may feel that you can afford to lose +it. Every heir who is worthy to enjoy the estate +that is left to him in reversion, <i>does</i> enjoy it +whether it ever comes to him or not.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">{139}</a></span> +On looking more closely at the Fruit, we +shall find that the Strawberries, which lately +(like bold and beautiful children) held out their +blossoms into the open sunshine, that all the +world might see them, now, that their fruit is +about to reach maturity, hide it carefully beneath +their low-lying leaves, as conscious virgins +do their maturing beauties;—that the Gooseberries +and Currants have attained their full +growth, and the latter are turning ripe;—that +the Wall-fruit is just getting large enough to be +seen among the leaves without looking for;—that +the Cherries are peeping out in white or +“cherry-cheeked” clusters all along their straight +branches;—and that the other standards, the +Apples, Pears, and Plums, are more or less +forward, according to their kinds.</p> + +<p>For reasons before hinted at, and in deference +to the delicacy of that class of readers for whom +these papers are in part propounded, I must, +however reluctantly, refrain from descending any +lower in the scale of vegetable life. It would ill +become me to speak in praise of Green Peas in +presence of a Peeress—who could not possibly +understand the allusion! Think of mentioning +Summer Cabbages within hearing of a Countess,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">{140}</a></span> +or French Beans to a Baronet’s Lady! I could +not do it. I cannot even persuade myself to +“mention <i>Herbs</i> to ears polite!” If it were not +for this proper, and indeed necessary restriction, +there would be no end to the pleasant sights +I might show the ordinary reader during this +month, in the Kitchen-garden. But it may not +be. I know my duty, and in pursuance of it +must now at once “stay my hand, and change +my measure.”</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Behold us, then, in the heart of London. In +the Country, when we left it, Midsummer was +just at hand. Here mid-Winter has just passed +away! and the Fashionable World finds itself in +a condition of the most melancholy intermediateness. +It is now much too late to stay in Town, +and much too early to go into the Country. +And what is worse, all fashionable amusements +are at an end in London, and have not yet commenced +elsewhere; on the express presumption +that there is no one at hand to partake of them +in either case. There are two places of public +resort, however, which still boast the occasional +countenance of people of fashion; probably on +account of their corresponding with the inter<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">{141}</a></span>mediate +character of the month—not being situated +either in London or the Country, but at +equal distances from each. I mean Kensington +Gardens and Vauxhall. Now, in fact, during +the first fortnight, Kensington Gardens is a place +not to be paralleled: for the unfashionable portion +of my readers are to know, that this delightful +spot, which has been utterly deserted +during the last age (of seven years), and could +not be named during all that period without +incurring the odious imputation of having a +taste for trees and turf, has now suddenly started +into vogue once more, and you may walk there +even during the “morning” part of a Sunday +afternoon with perfect impunity, always provided +you pay a due deference to the decreed +hours, and never make your appearance there +earlier than twenty minutes before five, or later +than half-past six; which is allowing you exactly +two hours after breakfast to dress for the +Promenade, and an hour after you get home to +do the same for dinner: little enough, it must be +confessed; but quite as much as the unremitting +labour of a life of idleness can afford! Between +the abovenamed hours, on the three first Sundays +of this month, and the two last of the pre<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">{142}</a></span>ceding, +you may (weather willing) gladden your +gaze with such a galaxy of Beauty and Fashion (I +beg to be pardoned for the repetition, for Fashion +<i>is</i> Beauty) as no other period or place, Almack’s +itself not excepted, can boast: for there is no +denying that the fair rulers over this last-named +rendezvous of the regular troops of <i>bon ton</i> +are somewhat too <i>recherchée</i> in their requirements. +The truth is, that though the said +Rulers will not for a moment hesitate to patronise +the above proposition under its simple +form, they entirely object to that subtle interpretation +of it which their sons and nephews +would introduce, and on which interpretation +the sole essential difference between the two assemblies +depends. In fact, at Almack’s Fashion +is Beauty; but at Kensington Gardens Beauty +and Fashion are one. At any rate, those who +have not been present at the latter place during +the period above referred to, have not seen the +finest sight (with one exception) that England +has to offer.</p> + +<p>Vauxhall Gardens, which open the first week +in this month, are somewhat different from the +above, it must be confessed. But they are unique +in their way nevertheless. Seen in the darkness<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">{143}</a></span> +of noonday, as one passes by them on the top of +the Portsmouth coach, they cut a sorry figure +enough. But beneath the full meridian of midnight, +what is like them, except some parts +of the Arabian Nights’ Entertainments? Now, +after the first few nights, they begin to be in their +glory, and are, on every successive Gala, illuminated +with “ten thousand <i>additional</i> lamps,” +and include all the particular attractions of every +preceding Gala since the beginning of time!</p> + +<p>Now, on fine evenings, the sunshine finds (or +rather loses) its way into the galleries of Summer +Theatres at whole price, and wonders where it +has got to. Now, Boarding-school boys, in the +purlieus of Paddington and Mile End, employ +the whole of the first week in writing home to +their distant friends in London a letter of not +less than eight lines, announcing that the “ensuing +vacation will commence on the —— instant;” +and occupy the remaining fortnight in +trying to find out the unknown numerals with +which the blank has been filled up.</p> + +<p>Finally, now, during the first few days, you +cannot walk the streets without waiting, at every +crossing, for the passage of whole regiments of +little boys in leather breeches, and little girls in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">{144}</a></span> +white aprons, going to church to practise their +annual anthem singing, preparatory to that particular +Thursday in this month, which is known +all over the world of Charity Schools by the name +of “walking-day;” when their little voices, ten +thousand strong, are to utter forth sounds that +shall dwell for ever in the hearts of their hearers. +Those who have seen this sight, of all the Charity +Children within the Bills of Mortality assembled +beneath the dome of Saint Paul’s, and heard the +sounds of thanksgiving and adoration which they +utter there, have seen and heard what is perhaps +better calculated than any thing human ever was +to convey to the imagination a faint notion of +what we expect to witness hereafter, when the +Hosts of Heaven shall utter, with <i>one voice</i>, +hymns of adoration before the footstool of the +Most High.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">{145}</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="JULY" id="JULY"></a>JULY.</h2> + +<p>At last Summer <i>is</i> come among us, and her +whole world of wealth is spread out before us in +prodigal array. The Woods and Groves have +darkened and thickened into one impervious mass +of sober uniform green, and having for a while +ceased to exercise the more active functions of +the Spring, are resting from their labours, in +that state of “wise passiveness” which <i>we</i>, in +virtue of our so infinitely greater wisdom, know +so little how to enjoy. In Winter, the Trees +may be supposed to sleep in a state of insensible +inactivity, and in Spring to be labouring with +the flood of new life that is pressing through their +veins, and forcing them to perform the offices +attached to their existence. But in Summer, +having reached the middle term of their annual +life, they pause in their appointed course, and +then, if ever, <i>taste</i> the nourishment they take in, +and “enjoy the air they breathe.” And he +who, sitting in Summer time beneath the shade<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">{146}</a></span> +of a spreading Plane-tree, can see its brave +branches fan the soft breeze as it passes, and +hear its polished leaves whisper and twitter to +each other, like birds at love-making; and yet +can feel any thing like an assurance that it does +<i>not</i> enjoy its existence, knows little of the tenure +by which he holds his own, and still less of that +by which he clings to the hope of a future. I +do not ask him to make it an article of his <i>faith</i> +that the flowers feel; but I do ask him, for his +own sake, not to make it an article of his faith +that they <i>do not</i>.</p> + +<p>Like the Woods and Groves, the Hills and +Plains have now put off the bright green livery +of Spring; but, unlike them, they have changed +it for one dyed in almost as many colours as a +harlequin’s coat. The Rye is yellow, and almost +ripe for the sickle. The Wheat and Barley are +of a dull green, from their swelling ears being +alone visible, as they bow before every breeze +that blows over them. The Oats are whitening +apace, and quiver, each individual grain on its +light stem, as they hang like rain-drops in the +air. Looked on separately, and at a distance, +these three now wear a somewhat dull and monotonous +hue, when growing in great spaces;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">{147}</a></span> +but this makes them contrast the more effectually +with the many-coloured patches that every where +intermix with them, in an extensively open country; +and it is in such a one that we should make +our <i>general</i> observations, at this finest period of +all our year.</p> + +<p>What can be more beautiful to look on, from +an eminence, than a great Plain, painted all over +with the party-coloured honours of the early +portion of this month, when the all-pervading +verdure of the Spring has passed away, and +before the scorching heats of Summer have had +time to prevail over the various tints and hues +that have taken its place? The principal share +of the landscape will probably be occupied by +the sober hues of the above-named Corns. But +these will be intersected, in all directions, by +patches of the brilliant emerald which now begins +to spring afresh on the late-mown meadows; by +the golden yellow of the Rye, in some cases cut, +and standing in sheaves; by the rich dark green +of the Turnip-fields; and still more brilliantly, +by sweeps, here and there, of the bright yellow +Charlock, the scarlet Corn-poppy, and the blue +Succory, which, like perverse beauties, scatter +the stray gifts of their charms in proportion as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">{148}</a></span> +the soil cannot afford to support the expenses +attendant on them.</p> + +<p>Still keeping in the open Fields, let us come +into a little closer contact with some of the +sights which they present this month. The high +Down on which we took our stand, to look out +upon the above prospect, has begun to feel the +parching influence of the Sun, and is daily growing +browner and browner beneath its rays; but, +to make up for this, all the little Molehills that +cover it are purple with the flowers of the wild +Thyme, which exhales its rich aromatic odour +as you press it with your feet; and among it +the elegant blue Heath-bell is nodding its half-dependent +head from its almost invisible stem,—its +perpetual motion, at the slightest breath of +air, giving it the look of a living thing hovering +on invisible wings just above the ground. Every +here and there, too, we meet with little patches +of dark green Heaths, hung all over with their +clusters of exquisitely wrought filigree flowers, +endless in the variety of their forms, but all of +the most curiously delicate fabric, and all, in +their minute beauty, unparalleled by the proudest +occupiers of the Parterre. This is the singular +family of Plants that, when cultivated in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">{149}</a></span> +pots, and trained to form heads on separate +stems, give one the idea of the Forest Trees of a +Lilliputian people. Those who think there is +nothing in Nature too insignificant for notice, +will not ask us to quit our present spot of observation +(a high turf-covered Down) without +pointing out the innumerable little thread-like +spikes that now rise from out the level turf, with +scarcely perceptible seed-heads at top, and keep +the otherwise dead flat perpetually alive, by +bending and twinkling beneath the Sun and +breeze.</p> + +<p>Descending from our high observatory, let us +take our way through one of the pretty green +Lanes that skirt or intersect the Plain we have +been looking down upon. Here we shall find +the ground beneath our feet, the Hedges that +inclose us on either side, and the dry Banks and +damp Ditches beneath them, clothed in a beautiful +variety of flowers that we have not yet had +an opportunity of noticing. In the Hedge-rows +(which are now grown into impervious walls of +many-coloured and many-shaped leaves, from +the fine filigree-work of the White-thorn, to the +large, coarse, round leaves of the Hazel) we shall +find the most remarkable of these, winding up<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">{150}</a></span> +intricately among the crowded branches, and +shooting out their flowers here and there, among +other leaves than their own, or hanging themselves +into festoons and fringes on the outside, +by unseen tendrils. Most conspicuous among +the first of these is the great Bind-weed, thrusting +out its elegantly-formed snow-white flowers, +but carefully concealing its leaves and stem in +the thick of the shrubs which yield it support. +Nearer to the ground, and more exposed, we +shall meet with a handsome relative of the +above, the common red and white wild Convolvolus; +while all along the face of the Hedge, +clinging to it lightly, the various coloured +Vetches, and the Enchanter’s Night-shade, hang +their flowers into the open air; the first exquisitely +fashioned, with wings like the Pea, +only smaller; and the other elaborate in its construction, +and even beautiful, with its rich purple +petals turned back to expose a centre of deep +yellow; but still, with all its beauty, not without +a strange and sinister look, which at once points +it out as a poison-flower. It is this which afterwards +turns to those bunches of scarlet berries +which hang so temptingly in Autumn, just +within the reach of little children, and which it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">{151}</a></span> +requires all the eloquence of their grandmothers +to prevent them from tasting. In the midst of +these, and above them all, the Woodbine now +hangs out its flowers more profusely than ever, +and rivals in sweetness all the other field scents +of this month.</p> + +<p>On the bank from which the Hedge-row rises, +and on <i>this</i> side of the now nearly dry water-channel +beneath, fringing the border of the green +path on which we are walking, a most rich +variety of Field Flowers will also now be found. +We dare not stay to notice the half of them, +because their beauties, though even more exquisite +than those hitherto described, are of that +unobtrusive nature that you must stoop to pick +them up, and must come to an actual commune +with them, before they can be even seen distinctly; +which is more than our desultory and +fugitive gaze will permit,—the plan of our walk +only allowing us to pay the passing homage of a +word to those objects that <i>will</i> not be overlooked. +Many of the exquisite little Flowers, now alluded +to generally, look, as they lie among their low +leaves, only like minute morsels of many-coloured +glass scattered upon the green ground—scarlet, +and sapphire, and rose, and purple, and white,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">{152}</a></span> +and azure, and golden. But pick them up, and +bring them towards the eye, and you will find +them pencilled with a thousand dainty devices, +and elaborated into the most exquisite forms +and fancies, fit to be strung into necklaces for +fairy Titania, or set in broaches and bracelets for +the neatest-handed of her nymphs.</p> + +<p>The little flowers of which I now speak,—with +their minute blossoms, scarcely bigger than pins’ +heads, scattered singly among their low-lying +leaves,—are the Veronicas, particularly that called +the Wild Germander, with its flowers coloured +like no others, nor like any thing else, except the +Turquoise; the Scarlet Pimpernel; the Red Eyebright; +and the Bastard Pimpernel, the smallest +of flowers. All these, however, and their like, +I must pass over (as the rest of the world does) +without noticing them particularly; but not +without commending them to the reader’s best +leisure, and begging him to give to each one of +them more of it than I have any hope he will +bestow on me, or than he would bestow half so +well if he did.</p> + +<p>But there are many others that come into +bloom this month, some of which we cannot pass +unnoticed if we would. We shall meet with most<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">{153}</a></span> +of them in this green Lane, and beside the paths +through the meadows and corn-fields as we proceed +homeward. Conspicuous among them are +the Centaury, with its elegant cluster of small, +pink, star-like flowers; the Ladies’ Bed-straw, +with its rich yellow tufts; the Meadow-sweet—sweetest +of all the sweeteners of the Meadows; +the Wood Betony, lifting up its handsome head +of rose-coloured blossoms; and, still in full perfection, +and towering up from among the low +groundlings that usually surround it, the stately +Fox-glove.</p> + +<p>Among the other plants that now become conspicuous, +the Wild Teasal must not be forgotten, +if it be only on account of the use that one of the +Summer’s prettiest denizens sometimes makes of +it. The Wild Teasal (which now puts on as +much the appearance of a flower as its rugged +nature will let it) is that species of thistle which +shoots up a strong serrated stem, straight as an +arrow, and beset on all sides by hard sharp-pointed +thorns, and bearing on its summit a hollow +egg-shaped head, also covered at all points +with the same armour of threatening thorns—as +hard, as thickly set, and as sharp as a porcupine’s +quills. Often within this fortress, im<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">{154}</a></span>pregnable +to birds, bees, and even to mischievous +boys themselves, that beautiful Moth which +flutters about so gaily during the first weeks of +Summer, on snow-white wings spotted all over +with black and yellow, takes up its final abode,—retiring +thither when weary of its desultory +wanderings, and after having prepared for the +perpetuation of its ephemeral race, sleeping itself +to death, to the rocking lullaby of the breeze.</p> + +<p>Now, too, if we pass near some gently lapsing +water, we may chance to meet with the splendid +flowers of the Great Water Lily, floating on the +surface of the stream like some fairy vessel at anchor, +and making visible, as it ripples by it, the +elsewhere imperceptible current. Nothing can +be more elegant than each of the three different +states under which this flower now appears;—the +first, while it lies unopened among its undulating +leaves, like the Halcyon’s egg within +its floating nest; next, when its snowy petals are +but half expanded, and you are almost tempted +to wonder what beautiful bird it is that has just +taken its flight from such a sweet birth-place; +and lastly, when the whole flower floats confessed, +and spreading wide upon the water its +pointed petals, offers its whole heart to the en<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">{155}</a></span>amoured +sun. There is I know not what of <i>awful</i>, +in the beauty of this flower. It is, to all other +flowers, what Mrs. Siddons is to all other women.</p> + +<p>In the same water, congregating together towards +the edge, and bowing their black heads +to the breeze, we shall now see those strange +anomalies in vegetation, the flowers, or fruit, or +whatever else they are to be called, of the Bullrush, +the delight of village boys, when, like their +betters, they are disposed to “play at soldiers.” +And on the bank, the handsome Iris hangs out +its pale flag, as if to beg a truce of the besieging +sun.</p> + +<p>Before entering the Garden, to luxuriate +among the flocks of Flowers that are waiting +for us there, let us notice a few of the miscellaneous +objects that present themselves this month +in the open country. Now, then, cattle wade +into shallow pools of warm water, and stand half +the day there stock still, in exact imitation of +Cuyp’s pictures.—Now, breechesless little boys +become amphibious,—daring each other to dive +off banks a foot high, to the bottom of water +two feet deep.—Now, country gentlemen who +wander through new-cut Rye-fields, or across +sunny meadows, are first startled from their re<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">{156}</a></span>veries +by the rushing sound of many wings, and +straightway lay gunpowder plots against the +peace of partridges, and have visions redolent +of double-barrelled guns.—Now, another class of +children, of a smaller growth than the above, go +through one of their preparatory lessons in the +pleasant and profitable art of lying, by persuading +Lady-birds to “fly away home” from +the tops of their extended fingers, on the forged +information that “their house is on fire, their +children at home.”</p> + +<p>Now, those most active and industrious of the +feathered tribes, the Swallows and House Martins, +bring out their young broods into the cherishing +sunshine, and having taught them to provide for +themselves, they send them “about their business,” +of congregating on slate-roofed houses and +churches, and round the tops of belfry towers; +while they (the parents) proceed in their periodical +duty of providing new flocks of the same +kind of “fugitive pieces,” as regularly as the +editors of a Magazine.</p> + +<p>Now may be observed that singular phenomenon +which (like all other phenomena) puzzles all +those observers who never take the trouble of observing. +Whole meadows, lanes, and commons,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">{157}</a></span> +are covered, for days together, with myriads of +young Frogs, no bigger than horse-beans,—though +there is no water in the immediate neighbourhood, +where they are likely to have been +bred, and the ponds and places where they <i>are</i> +likely to breed are entirely empty of them. +“Where <i>can</i> they have come from in this case, +but from the clouds?” say the before-named +observers. Accordingly, from the clouds they +<i>do</i> come, the opinion of all such searching inquirers; +and I am by no means sure they will +be at all obliged to me for telling them, that the +water in which these animals are born is not +their natural element, and that, on quitting their +Tad-pole state, they choose the first warm shower +to <i>migrate</i> from their birth-place, in search of +that food and home which cannot be found <i>there</i>. +The circumstance of their almost always appearing +for the first time after a warm shower, no +doubt encourages the searchers after mystery in +assigning them a miraculous origin.</p> + +<p>Now, the Bees (those patterns of all that is +praiseworthy in domestic and political economy) +give practical lessons on the Principles of Population, +by expelling from the hive, <i>vi et armis</i>, +all those heretofore members of it who refuse to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">{158}</a></span> +aid the commonweal by working for their daily +honey. When they need those services which +none but the Drones can perform, they let them +live in idleness and feed luxuriously. But as the +good deeds of the latter are of that class which +“in doing pay themselves,” those who benefit by +them think that they owe the doers no thanks, +and therefore, when they no longer need them, +send them adrift, or if they will not go, sacrifice +them without mercy or remorse. And this—be +it known to all whom it may concern (and those +are not a few)—this is the very essence of Natural +Justice.</p> + +<p>Now, as they are wandering across the meadows +thinking of nothing less, gleams of white +among the green grass greet the eyes of bird-nesting +boys, who all at once dart upon the +welcome prize, and draw out from its hiding-place +piece-meal what was once a Mushroom; +and forthwith mushrooming becomes the order +of the day.—Now, the lowermost branches of +the Lime-tree are “musical with Bees,” who +eagerly beset its almost unseen blossoms—richer +in sweets than the sweetest inhabitants of the +garden.</p> + +<p>Finally, now we occasionally have one of those<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">{159}</a></span> +sultry days which make the house too hot to +hold us, and force us to seek shelter in the open +air, which is hotter;—when the interior of the +Blacksmith’s shop looks awful, and we expect +the foaming porter pot to hiss, as the brawny +forger dips his fiery nose into it;—when the +Birds sit open-mouthed upon the bushes; and +the Fishes fry in the shallow ponds; and the +Sheep and Cattle congregate together in the +shade, and forget to eat;—when pedestrians +along dusty roads quarrel with their coats and +waistcoats, and cut sticks to carry them across +their shoulders; and cottagers’ wives go about +their work gown-less; and their daughters are +anxious to do the same, but that they have the +fear of the Vicar before their eyes;—when every +thing seen beyond a piece of parched soil quivers +through the heated air; and when, finally, a +snow-white Swan, floating above its own image, +upon a piece of clear cool water into which a +Weeping-Willow is dipping its green fingers, is +a sight not to be turned from suddenly.</p> + +<p>But we must no longer delay to glance at the +Garden, which is now fuller of beauty than ever: +for nearly all the flowers of last month still +continue in perfection, and for one that has dis<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">{160}</a></span>appeared, +half a dozen have started forward to +supply its place.</p> + +<p>Against the house, or overhanging the shaded +arbour, among Shrubs, we have the Jasmin, +shooting out its stars of white light from among +its throng of slender leaves; and the white +Clematis (well worthy of both its other names, +of Virgin’s Bower, and Traveller’s Joy) flinging +its wreaths of scented snow athwart the portico, +and rivaling the Hawthorn in sweetness; and +the Syringa, sweeter still. Now, too, the large +Lilies lift up their lofty heads proudly, and do +not seem to forget that they once held the rank +of Queens of the Garden;—the rich-scented white +one looking, in comparison with the red, what a +handsome Countess does to a handsome Cook-maid.</p> + +<p>Among the less aspiring we have now several +whose beauty almost makes us forget their want +of sweetness. Conspicuous among these are the +Convolvulus, whose elegant trumpet-shaped cups +open their blue eyes to greet the sun, and, at +his going down, close them never to open again; +and the Nasturtium, as gaudy in its scarlet +and gold as an Officer of the Guards on a levee +day; and the fine-cut Indian Pink; and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">{161}</a></span> +profuse Larkspur, all flower, shooting up its +many-coloured cones here and there at random, +or ranging them in rich companies, that rival the +Tulip-beds of the Spring.</p> + +<p>In the Orchard and Fruit-Garden the hopes +of the last month begin in part to be realized, +and in all to be confirmed. The elegant Currant, +red and white (the Grape of our northern +latitudes), now hangs its transparent bunches +close about the parent stem, and looks through +its green embowering leaves most invitingly. +But there you had best let it hang as yet, till +the Autumn has sweetened its wine with sunbeams: +for Autumn is your only honest wine-maker +in this country; all others sweeten with +sugar-of-lead instead of sunshine.—The Gooseberry, +too, has gained its full growth, but had +better be left where it is for awhile, to mature +its pleasant condiment. As for the Tarts into +which it is the custom to translate it during this +and the last month,—they are “pleasant but +wrong.”—Now, too, is in full perfection the most +grateful fruit that grows, and the most wholesome—the +Strawberry. I grieve to be obliged +to make “odious comparisons” of this kind, between +things that are all alike healthful, where<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">{162}</a></span> +the partakers of them are living under natural +and healthful circumstances. But if Man <i>will</i> +live upon what was not intended for him, he +must be content to see what <i>was</i> intended for him +lose its intended effect. The Strawberry is the +only fruit in which we may indulge to excess with +impunity: accordingly I hereby give all my +readers (the young ones in particular) Mr. Abernethy’s +full permission to commit a debauch of +Strawberries once every week during this month, +always provided they can do it at the bed itself; +for otherwise they are taking an unfair advantage +of nature, and must expect that she will make +reprisals on them.—Now, too, the Raspberry is +delicious, if gathered and eaten at its place of +growth. There it is fragrant and full of flavour, +elsewhere flat and insipid.</p> + +<p>The other fruits of this month are Apricot, +one or two of the early Apples, and if the season +is forward a few Cherries. But of these, the two +latter belong by rights to the next month; so till +then we leave them. And as for Apricots, they +look handsome enough at a distance, against the +wall; but they offer so barefaced an imitation of +the outward appearance of Peaches and Nectarines, +without possessing any one of their intrinsic<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">{163}</a></span> +merits, that I have a particular contempt for +them, and beg the reader to dismiss them from +his good graces accordingly.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Of London in July—“<i>London</i> in <i>July</i>?”—surely +there can be no such place! It sounds +like a kind of contradiction in terms. But, alas! +there <i>is</i> such a place, as yonder thick cloud of +dust, and the blare of the horn that issues from +it, too surely indicate. And what is worse, we +must, in pursuance of our self-imposed duty, +proceed thither without delay. We cannot, +therefore, do better (or worse) than mount the +coming vehicle (the motto of which at this time +of the year ought to be “per me si va nella +citta, dolente,”) and,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Half in a cloud of stifling road-dust lost,<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>get there as soon as we can, that we may the +sooner get away again.</p> + +<p>Of London in July, there is happily little +to be said; but let that little be said good +humouredly; for London <i>is</i> London, after all—ay, +even after having ridden fifty miles on the +burning roof of the Gloucester Heavy, to get at +it. Now, then, London is entirely empty; so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">{164}</a></span> +much so that a person well practised in the art of +walking its streets might wager that he would +make his way from St. Paul’s to Charing Cross +(a distance of more than a mile) within forty +minutes!</p> + +<p>Now, the <i>Winter</i> Theatres having just closed, +the Summer ones “make hay <i>while the sun +shines</i>.” At that in the Hay-market Mr. Liston +acts the part of Atlas,—supporting every thing +(the heat included) with inimitable coolness; +while, in virtue of his attractions, the Managers +can afford annually to put in execution their +benevolent and patriotic plan, of permitting the +principal <i>Barn-staple</i> actors to practise upon the +patience of a London Pit with impunity.</p> + +<p>At the English Opera-house the Managers, +(Mr. Peake),—for fear the public, amid the refreshing +coolness of the Upper Boxes, should +forget that it is Summer time,—transfer the +country into the confines of their Saloon (having +purchased it at and for half-price in Covent +Garden Market); and there, from six till eight, +flowers of all hues look at each other by lamp-light +despondingly, and after that hour turn +their attention to the new accession of flowers, +the Painted Ladies, which do not till then begin<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">{165}</a></span> +blowing in this singular soil. In the mean time, +on the stage, Mr. Wrench (that easiest of actors +with the hardest of names) carries all before him, +not excepting his arms and hands. I never see +Wrench, [who, by the bye, or by any other means +that he can, ought by all means to get rid of the +roughening letter in his name, and call himself +Wench, Tench, Clench, Bench, or any other +that may please him and us better. Indeed I +cannot in conscience urge him to adopt either of +the above, if he can possibly find another guiltless +of that greatest of all enormities in a name, +the susceptibility of being punned upon; for it +is obvious that if he <i>should</i> adopt either of the +above, he must not, on his first after appearance +in the Green Room, hope to escape from his +punegyrical friend Mr. Peake, without being told, +in the first case, (Wench) that his place is not +<i>there</i> but in the <i>other</i> Green Room (the Saloon);—in +the second, (Tench) that he need not +have changed his name, for that he was a sufficiently +<i>odd fish</i> before;—in the third, (Clench) +that he (Mr. P.) is greatly in want of a clever +one for the finale of his next farce, and begs to +make use of <i>him</i> on the occasion;—and in the +fourth, (Bench) that, belonging to a Royal Com<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">{166}</a></span>pany, +he is neither more nor less than the <i>King’s +Bench</i>, and “as such” must not be surprised if +his theatrical friends fly to <i>him</i> for shelter and +protection in their hour of need, in preference to +his name-sake over the water.—I beg the reader +to remember, that the punishment due to all +these prospective puns belongs exclusively to +Mr. Peake; and on him let them be visited accordingly. +Though I doubt not he will intimate +in extenuation, that they are quite <i>pun-ish-meant</i> +enough in themselves.—But where was I?—oh]—I +never see Wrench without fearing that, some +day or other, a gleam of common sense may by +accident miss its way to the brain of our winter +managers, and they may bethink them (for if +one does, both will) of offering an engagement +to this most engaging of actors. But if they +should, let me beseech him to turn (if he has +one) a deaf ear to their entreaties; for we had +need have something to look for at a Summer +Theatre that cannot be had elsewhere.</p> + +<p>I am not qualified to descend any lower than +the Major of the Minor Theatres, in regard to +what is doing there at this season; though it +appears that Mr. Ducrow is still satisfying those +who were not satisfied of it before, that Horse<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">{167}</a></span>manship +is one of the Fine Arts; and though +the Bills of the Coburg append sixteen instead +of six notes of admiration to Mr. Nobody’s name. +Being somewhat fastidious in the affair of phraseology, +the only mode in which I can explain my +remissness in regard to the above particular is, +that, whereas at this season of the year <i>Steam +conveys us</i> to all other places,—from the theatres +frequented by throngs of “rude mechanicals” it +most effectually keeps us away.</p> + +<p>Now, on warm evenings after business hours, +citizens of all ages grow romantic; the single, +wearing away their souls in sighing to the breezes +of Brixton Hill, and their soles in getting there; +and the married, sipping syllabub in the arbours +of White Conduit House, or cooling themselves +with hot rolls and butter at the New River +Head.</p> + +<p>Now, too, moved by the same spirit of Romance, +young patricians, who have not yet been +persuaded to banish themselves to the beauty +of their paternal groves, fling themselves into +funnies, and fatigue their <i>ennui</i> to death, by +rowing up the river to Mrs. Grange’s garden, +to eat a handful of strawberries in a cup-full of +cream.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">{168}</a></span> +Now, adventurous cockneys swim from the +Sestos of the Strand stairs to the Abydos of the +coal-barge on the opposite shore, and believe +that they have been rivaling Lord Byron and +Leander—not without wondering, when they find +themselves in safety, why the Lady for whom the +latter performed a similar feat is called the Hero +of the story, instead of the Heroine.</p> + +<p>Finally,—now pains-and-pleasure taking citizens +hire cozey cottages for six weeks certain in +the Curtain Road, and ask their friends to come +and see them “in the country.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">{169}</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="AUGUST" id="AUGUST"></a>AUGUST.</h2> + +<p>The Year has now reached the parallel to +that brief, but perhaps best period of human life, +when the promises of youth are either fulfilled or +forgotten, and the fears and forethoughts connected +with decline have not yet grown strong +enough to make themselves felt; and consequently +when we have nothing to do but look +around us, and be happy. It has, indeed, like a +man at forty, turned the corner of its existence; +but, like him, it may still fancy itself young, +because it does not begin to feel itself getting +old. And perhaps there is no period like this, +for encouraging and bringing to perfection that +habit of tranquil enjoyment, in which all true +happiness must mainly consist: with <i>pleasure</i> it +has, indeed, little to do; but with <i>happiness</i> it +is every thing.</p> + +<p>August is that debateable ground of the year, +which is situated exactly upon the confines of +Summer and Autumn; and it is difficult to say<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">{170}</a></span> +which has the better claim to it. It is dressed +in half the flowers of the one, and half the fruits +of the other; and it has a sky and a temperature +all its own, and which vie in beauty with those +of the Spring. May itself can offer nothing so +sweet to the senses, so enchanting to the imagination, +and so soothing to the heart, as that genial +influence which arises from the sights, the sounds, +and the associations connected with an August +evening in the Country, when the occupations +and pleasures of the day are done, and when all, +even the busiest, are fain to give way to that +“wise passiveness,” one hour of which is rife +with more real enjoyment than a whole season +of revelry. Those who will be wise (or foolish) +enough to make comparisons between the various +kinds of pleasure of which the mind of man is +capable, will find that there is none (or but one) +equal to that felt by a true lover of Nature, when +he looks forth upon her open face silently, at a +season like the present, and drinks in that still +beauty which seems to emanate from every thing +he sees, till his whole senses are steeped in a +sweet forgetfulness, and he becomes unconscious +of all but that <i>instinct of good</i> which is ever +present with us, but which can so seldom make<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">{171}</a></span> +itself felt amid that throng of thoughts which +are ever busying and besieging us, in our intercourse +with the living world. The only other +feeling which equals this, in its intense quietude, +and its satisfying fulness, is one which is almost +identical with it,—where the accepted lover is +gazing unobserved, and almost unconsciously, on +the face of his mistress, and tracing there sweet +evidences of that mysterious union which already +exists between them. The great charm of +Claude’s pictures consists in their power of generating, +to a certain degree, the description of +feeling above alluded to; a feeling which no +other pictures produce in the slightest degree; +and which even his produce only enough of to +either remind us of what we have experienced +before, or give us a foretaste of what Nature +herself has in store for us. And I only mention +them here, in order that those who are accustomed +to expend themselves in admiration of the +copies may be led to look at the originals in the +same spirit; when they will find, that the one is +to the other, what a thought is to a feeling, or +what a beautiful mask is to the beautiful living +face from which it was modelled. Let the professed +enthusiasts to Claude look at Nature’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">{172}</a></span> +pictures through the same eyes, and with the +same prepared feelings, as they look at his (which +few, if any of them have ever done), and they +will find that they have hitherto been content to +<i>fancy</i> what they now <i>feel</i>; and this discovery will +not derogate from the value of the said fancy, +but will, on the contrary, make it more effective +by making it less vague. When you hear people +extravagant in their general praise of Claude’s +Landscapes, you may shrewdly suspect that they +have never experienced in the presence of Nature +herself those sensations which enabled Claude to +be what he was; and that, in admiring him, they +have only been yielding to involuntary yearnings +after that Nature which they have hitherto +neglected to look upon. They have been worshipping +the image, and passing by the visible +god.</p> + +<p>The whole face of Nature has undergone, +since last month, an obvious change; obvious to +those who delight to observe all her changes and +operations, but not sufficiently striking to insist +on being seen generally by those who can read +no characters but such as are written in a <i>text</i> +hand. If the general <i>colours</i> of all the various +departments of natural scenery are not changed,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">{173}</a></span> +their <i>hues</i> are; and if there is not yet observable +the infinite variety of Autumn, there is as little +the extreme monotony of Summer. In one department, +however, there <i>is</i> a general change, +that cannot well remain unobserved. The rich +and unvarying green of the Corn-fields has entirely +and almost suddenly changed, to a still +richer and more conspicuous gold colour; more +conspicuous on account of the contrast it now +offers to the lines, patches, and masses of green +with which it every where lies in contact, in +the form of intersecting Hedge-rows, intervening +Meadows, and bounding masses of Forest. These +latter are changed too; but in <i>hue</i> alone, not in +colour. They are all of them still green; but it +is not the fresh and tender green of the Spring, +nor the full and satisfying, though somewhat +dull, green of the Summer; but many greens, +that blend all those belonging to the seasons +just named, with others at once more grave and +more bright; and the charming variety and interchange +of which are peculiar to this delightful +month, and are more beautiful in their general +effect than those of either of the preceding periods: +just as a truly beautiful woman is perhaps +more beautiful at the period immediately<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">{174}</a></span> +before that at which her charms begin to wane, +than she ever was before. Here, however, the +comparison must end; for with the year its incipient +decay is the signal for it to put on more +and more beauties daily, till, when it reaches the +period at which it is on the point of sinking +into the temporary death of Winter, it is more +beautiful in general appearance than ever.</p> + +<p>But we must not anticipate. We may linger +upon one spot, or step aside from our path, or +return upon our steps; but we must not anticipate; +for those who would duly enjoy and +appreciate the Present and the Past, must wait +for the Future till it comes to them. The Future +and the Present are jealous of each other; and +those who attempt to enjoy both at the same +time, will not be graciously received by either.</p> + +<p>The general appearance of natural scenery is +now much more varied in its character than it +has hitherto been. The Corn-fields are all redundant +with waving gold—gold of all hues—from +the light yellow of the Oats (those which +still remain uncut), to the deep sunburnt glow of +the red Wheat. But the wide rich sweeps of +these fields are now broken in upon, here and +there, by patches of the parched and withered<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">{175}</a></span> +looking Bean crops; by occasional bits of newly +ploughed land, where the Rye lately stood; by +the now darkening Turnips—dark, except where +they are being fed off by Sheep Flocks; and +lastly by the still bright-green Meadows, now +studded every where with grazing cattle, the +second crops of Grass being already gathered +in.</p> + +<p>The Woods, as well as the single Timber +Trees that occasionally start up with such fine +effect from out the Hedge-rows, or in the midst +of Meadows and Corn-fields, we shall now find +sprinkled with what at first looks like gleams of +scattered sunshine lying among the leaves, but +what, on examination, we shall find to be the +new foliage that has been put forth since Midsummer, +and which yet retains all the brilliant +green of the Spring. The effect of this new +green, lying in sweeps and patches upon the old, +though little observed in general, is one of the +most beautiful and characteristic appearances of +this season. In many cases, when the sight of +it is caught near at hand, on the sides of thick +Plantations, the effect of it is perfectly deceptive, +and you wonder for a moment how it is, that +while the sun is shining so brightly <i>every where</i>,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">{176}</a></span> +it should shine so much <i>more</i> brightly on those +particular spots.</p> + +<p>We shall find those pretty wayside Shrubberies, +the Hedge-rows, and the Field-flower-borders +that lie beneath and about them, less +gay with new green, and less fantastic with +flowers, than they have lately been; but they +still vie with the Garden both in sweetness and +in beauty. The new flowers they put forth this +month are but few. Among these are the pretty +little Meadow Scabious, with its small purple head +standing away from its leaves; the various Goosefoots, +curious for their leaves, feeling about like +fingers for the fresh air; the Camomile, shooting +up its troops of little suns, with their yellow +centres and white rays; and a few more of lesser +note. But, in addition to these, we have still +many which have already had their greeting +from us, <i>or should have had</i>; but really, when +one comes every month, self-invited, to Nature’s +morning levees, and meets there flocks of flowers, +every one of which claims as its single due a +whole morning’s attention, it must not be taken +as unkind or impolite by any of them, if, in +endeavouring hastily to record the company we +met, for the benefit of those who were not there,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">{177}</a></span> +we should chance to forget some who may fancy +themselves quite as worthy of having their presence +recorded, and their court dresses described, +as those who do figure in this Court Calendar of +Nature. It is possible, too, that we may have +fallen into some slight errors in regard to the +places of residence of some of our fair flowery +friends, and the particular day on which they +first chose to make their appearance at Nature’s +court; for we are not among those reporters who +take short-hand notes, or any other, but such as +write themselves in the tablet of our memory. +But if any lady <i>should</i> feel herself aggrieved in +either of the above particulars, she has only to +drop us a leaf to that effect, stating, at the same +time, her name and residence, and she may be +assured that we shall take the first opportunity +of paying our personal respects to her, and shall +have little doubt of satisfying her that our misconduct +has arisen from any thing rather than a +wilful neglect towards her pretensions, or a want +of taste in appreciating them. In the mean time +let us add, that, in addition to the new company +which graces this month’s levee, the following +are still punctual in their attendance; namely, +Woodbine, Woodruff, Meadow-sweet, and Wild<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">{178}</a></span> +Thyme; (N. B. These ladies are still profuse in +their use of perfumes); and, among those who +depend on their beauty alone, Eyebright, Pansie, +the lesser and greater Willow-herb, Daisy, two +or three of the Orchises, Hyacinth, several sisters +of the Speedwell and Pimpernel families, and the +scentless Violet.</p> + +<p>Now, after the middle of the month, commences +that great rural employment to which all +the hopes of the farmer’s year have been tending; +but which, unhappily, the mere labourer +has come to regard with as much indifference +as he does any of those which have successively +led to it. This latter is not as it should be. +But as we cannot hope to alter, let us not stay +to lament over it. On the contrary, let us rejoice +that at least Nature remains uninjured—that +<i>she</i> shows more beautiful than ever at harvest +time, whether Man chooses to be more happy then +or not. It is true Harvest-home has changed its +moral character, in the exact proportion that the +people among whom it takes place have changed +<i>theirs</i>, in becoming, from an agricultural, a mechanical +and manufacturing nation; and we may +soon expect to see the produce of the earth +gathered in and laid by for use, almost without<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">{179}</a></span> +the intervention of those for whose use it is provided, +and in supplying whose wants it is chiefly +consumed: for the rich, so far from being “able +to live by bread alone,” would scarcely feel the +loss if it were wholly to fail them. But Nature +is not to be changed by the devices which man +employs to change and deteriorate himself. She +has willed that the scenes attendant on the gathering +in of her gifts shall be as fraught with +beauty as ever. And accordingly, Harvest time +is as delightful to look on to <i>us</i>, who are mere +spectators of it, as it was in the Golden Age, +when the gatherers and the rejoicers were one. +Now, therefore, as then, the Fields are all alive +with figures and groups, that seem, in the eye of +the artist, to be made for pictures—pictures that +he can see but one fault in; (which fault, by the +bye, constitutes their only beauty in the eye of +the farmer;) namely, that they will not stand +still a moment, for him to paint them. He must +therefore be content, as we are, to keep them as +studies in the storehouse of his memory.</p> + +<p>Here are a few of those studies, which he may +practise upon till doomsday, and will not then be +able to produce half the effect from them that +will arise spontaneously on the imagination, at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">{180}</a></span> +the mere mention of the simplest words which can +describe them:—The sunburnt Reapers, entering +the Field leisurely at early morning, with their +reaphooks resting on their right shoulders, and +their beer-kegs swinging to their left hands, while +they pause for a while to look about them before +they begin their work.—The same, when they are +scattered over the Field: some stooping to the +ground over the prostrate Corn, others lifting up +the heavy sheaves and supporting them against +one another, while the rest are plying their busy +sickles, before which the brave crop seems to +retreat reluctantly, like a half-defeated army.—Again, +the same collected together into one group, +and resting to refresh themselves, while the lightening +keg passes from one to another silently, and +the rude clasp-knife lifts the coarse meal to the +ruddy lips.—Lastly, the piled-up Wain, moving +along heavily among the lessening sheaves, and +swaying from side to side as it moves; while a +few, whose share of the work is already done, lie +about here and there in the shade, and watch the +near completion of it.</p> + +<p>I would fain have to describe the boisterous +and happy revelries that used to ensue upon +these scenes, and should do still. And what if<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">{181}</a></span> +they were attended by mirth a little over-riotous, +or a few broken crowns? Better so, than the +troops of broken spirits that now linger amidst +the overflowing plenty of the last Harvest-field, +and begin to think where they shall wander in +search of their next week’s bread.</p> + +<p>But no more of this. Let us turn at once to +a few of the other occurrences that take place +in the open Fields during this month. The +Singing Birds are, for the most part, so busy in +educating and providing for their young broods, +that they have little time to practise their professional +duties; consequently this month is +comparatively a silent one in the Woods and +Groves. There are some, however, whose happy +hearts will not let them be still. The most persevering +of these is that poet of the skies, the Lark. +He still pours down a bright rain of melody +through the morning, the mid-day, and the +evening skies, till the whole air seems sparkling +and alive with the light of his strains.—His +sweet-hearted relation, the Woodlark, also still +warbles high up in the warm evening air, and +occasionally even at midnight—hovering at one +particular spot during each successive strain.—The +Goldfinch, the Yellowhammer, and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">{182}</a></span> +Green and Brown Linnet, those pretty flutterers +among the summer leaves,—as light hearted and +restless as they,—still keep whistling snatches of +their old songs, between their quick fairy-like +flittings from bough to bough. As for the solitary +Robin, his delicate song may be heard all +through the year, and is peculiarly acceptable +now in the neighbourhood of human dwellings—where +no other is heard, unless it be the common +wren’s.</p> + +<p>By the middle of this month we shall lose +sight entirely of that most airy, active, and indefatigable +of all the winged people,—the Swift—Shakespeare’s +“temple-haunting Martlet.” Unlike +the rest of its tribe, it breeds but once in the +season; and its young having now acquired much +of their astonishing power of wing, young and +old all hurry away together—no one can tell +whither. The sudden departure of the above +singular species of the Swallow tribe, at this very +moment, when every thing seems to conform together +for their delight,—when the winds (which +they shun) are hushed—and the Summer (in +which they rejoice) is at its best—and the air +(in which they feed) is laden with dainties for +them—and all the troubles and anxieties attend<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">{183}</a></span>ant +on the coming of their young broods are at +an end, and they are wise enough not to think of +having more;—that, at the very moment when +all these favourable circumstances are combining +together to make them happy, they should suddenly, +and without any assignable cause whatever, +disappear, and go no one knows whither, +is one of those facts, the explanation of which has +hitherto baffled all our inquiring philosophizers, +and will continue to do so while the said inquirers +continue to judge of all things by analogies +invented by their own boasted <i>reason</i>: as if +reason were given us to explain instinct! and as +if a being which passes its whole life on the wing—(for +sleep is not a part of life, and the Swift, +during its waking hours, never sets foot on tree +or ground—almost realizing that fabled bird +which has wings but no feet) were not likely to be +gifted with any senses but such as <i>we</i> can trace +the operations of! The truth is, all that we can +make of this mysterious departure is, to accept +it as an omen—the earliest, the most certain, and +yet the least attended to, because it happens +in the midst of smiling contradictions to it—that +the departure of Summer herself is nigh at +hand.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">{184}</a></span> +It is not good to cull out the sad points of reflection +which present themselves, in the various +subjects which come before us, in contemplating +the operations of Nature. But as little is it good, +studiously to avoid those points. Perhaps the +only wise course is, to let them suggest what +they will, of sadness or of joy; and then, so to +receive and apply those suggestions, that even the +sad ones themselves may be made subservient to +good. To me, this early departure, in the very +heart of our summer, of the most bird-like of all +the birds that visit us only for a season, always +comes at first like an omen of evil, that I cannot +doubt, and yet will not believe. It might as well +be told me, that the being who sits beside me +now, in all the pomp of health, and all the lustre +of loveliness, will leave me to-morrow, and go—like +the bird—I know not whither. And yet, if +such a prediction <i>were</i> made to me, what should +I do in regard to it, but (as one ought in the case +of the omen of departing summer) to <i>believe</i> that +it is true, and yet <i>feel</i> that it is false; and, acting +upon the joint impulse thus created, enjoy the +blessing tenfold, while it remains mine, and leave +the lamentations for its loss till I can no longer +feel the delight that flows from its presence?</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">{185}</a></span> +But, enough of philosophy—even of that +which is intended to cure us of philosophizing. +Let us get into the air and the sunshine again; +which can bid us be happy in spite of all +philosophy, and <i>will</i> be obeyed even by philosophers +themselves,—who have long since found +that they have no resource left against those +enemies to their art, but to fly their presence, and +shut themselves up in schools and studies.</p> + +<p>The Swift, whose strange flight has for a +moment led us astray from our course, is the +only one of its tribe that has yet made any preparations +towards departure: though the young +broods of House-swallows and House-martins are +evidently <i>thinking</i> of it, and congregating together +in great flocks, about the tops of old +towers and belfries, to talk the matter over, and +wonder with one another what will happen to +them in their projected travels—if they <i>do</i> travel. +Their parents, however, who are to lead them, +are still employed in increasing their company, +and have just now brought out their second +broods into the open air.</p> + +<p>Now, on warm still evenings, we may sometimes +see the whole air about us speckled with +another class of emigrants, who are not usually<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">{186}</a></span> +regarded as such; namely, the flying Ants, whom +their own offspring, or their inclinations (for it is +uncertain which), have expelled from their birth-place, +to found new colonies, and find new habitations, +where they can. It is a ticklish task to +make people more knowing than they wish to be, +and one which, even if I were qualified for the +office, I should be very shy of undertaking. +But when a race of comparatively foolish and +improvident little creatures have for ages enjoyed +the credit of being proverbial patterns of wisdom, +prudence, and forethought, I cannot refuse +to assist in dispelling the delusion. Be it +known, then, to the elderly namesakes of the +above, that when they bid their little nephews +and nieces “go to the Ant, and consider its +ways,” they can scarcely offer them advice less +likely to end, if followed, in teaching them to +“be wise:” for, in fact, one of those “ways” is, to +sleep (“sluggards” as they are!) all the winter +through; another is, never to lay up a single +morsel of store even for a day, much less for a +whole year, as has been reported of them; and a +third is, to do what they are in fact doing at +this very moment—namely, to come out in myriads +from their homes, and fill the air with that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">{187}</a></span> +food (themselves) which serves to fatten the +<i>really</i> wise, prudent, and industrious Swallows +and Martins, who are skimming through the air +delightedly in search of it. It is true, the Ants +are active enough in providing for their immediate +wants, and artful enough in overcoming +any obstacles to their immediate pleasures. But +all this, and more, the <i>other</i> Aunts, who hold +them up as patterns, will find their little pupils +sufficiently expert in, without any assistance.</p> + +<p>Now, we may observe that pretty pair of rural +pictures (not, however, <i>peculiar</i> to this month); +first, when the numerous Flock is driven to fold, +as the day declines,—its scattered members converging +towards a point as they enter the narrow +opening of their nightly enclosure, which they +gradually fill and settle into, as a shallow stream +runs into a bed that has been prepared for it, +and there settles into a still pool.—And again, in +the early morning, when the slender barrier that +confines them is removed, they crowd and hurry +out at it,—gently intercepting each other; and +as they get free, pour forth their white fleeces +over the open field, as a lake that has broken its +bank pours its waters over the adjoining land:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">{188}</a></span> +in each case, the bells and meek voices of the +patient people making music as they move, and +the Shepherd standing carelessly by (leaning on +his crook, even as shepherds did in Arcady itself!) +and leaving the care of all to his half-reasoning +dog.</p> + +<p>As I have again got my pencil in hand, instead +of my pen, let me not forget to sketch a +copy of that other pretty picture, at once so still +and yet so lively, which may be had this month +for the price of looking at, and than which Paul +Potter himself could not have presented us with +a sweeter: and indeed, but that he was a mere +imitator of Nature, one might almost swear it to +be his, not hers.—Fore-ground: on one side, a +little shallow pond, with two or three pollard +willows stooping over it; and on the other a low +bank, before which stand as many more pollard +willows, with round trim heads set formally on +their straight pillar-like stems: between all these, +the sunshine lying in bright streaks on the green +ground, and made distinguishable by the straight +shadows thrown by the thick stems of the trees. +Middle distance: a moist meadow, level as a line, +and on it half a dozen cattle; three lying at their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">{189}</a></span> +ease, and “chewing the cud of sweet” (not “bitter”) +herbage—two cropping the same—and one +lifting up its grave matronly face, and lowing out +into the side distance; while, about the legs of +all of them, a little flock of Wagtails are glancing +in and out merrily, picking up their delicate +meal of invisible insects; and upon the very back +of one of the ruminators, a pert Magpie has +perched himself. Of the extreme distance, half +is occupied by dim-seen willows, of the same +stunted growth with those in front; and the rest +shows indistinctly, and half hidden by trees, a +little village,—its church spire pointing its silent +finger straight upward, as if bidding us look at a +sky scarcely less calm and sweet than the scene +which it canopies.—How says the connoisseur? +Is this a picture of Paul Potter’s, or of Nature? +But no matter,—for they are almost the same. +There is only just enough difference between +them to make us feel (as the possessor of twin +children does) that we are blessed with <i>two</i> instead +of <i>one</i>.</p> + +<p>In the Plantation and Flower-garden we must +hardly expect to find much of novelty, after the +profusion of last month. And in fact there are +very few flowers the first appearance of which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">{190}</a></span> +can be said to be absolutely <i>peculiar</i> to this +month; most of those hitherto unnamed choosing +to be the medium of a pleasant interchange between +the two months, according as seasons, and +circumstances of soil and planting, may dispose +them. It must be admitted, however (though +I am very loth, even by implication, to dissever +this month from absolute summer), that many +of the flowers which do come forward now are +<i>autumn</i> ones. Conspicuous among those which +first appear in this month, is the stately Holyoak; +a plant whose pretensions are not so generally +admitted as they ought to be, probably on +account of its having, by some strange accident, +lost its character for <i>gentility</i>. Has this (in the +present day) dire misfortune happened to it, because +it condescends to flower in as much splendour +and variety when leaning beside low cottage +porches, or spiring over broken and lichen-grown +palings, as it does in the gardens of the great? +I hope not; for then those who contemn it must +do the same by the vaunted Rose, and the rich +Carnation; for where do <i>they</i> blow better than +in the daisy-bordered flower-beds of the poor? +The only plausible plea which I can discover, +for the reasonableness of banishing from our<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">{191}</a></span> +choice parterres this most magnificent of all +their inhabitants, is, that its aspiring and oriental +splendour may put to shame the less conspicuous +beauties of Flora’s court. I hope the latter have +not, through envy, been entering into a conspiracy +to fix an ill name upon the Holyoak, and +thus stir up in the hearts of their admirers a dislike +to it, that nothing else is so likely to produce: +for, give even a flower “an ill name,” +and you may as well treat it like a dog at once. +In fact, I do not think that any thing short of +calling it <i>ungenteel</i> could have displaced the +Holyoak from that universal favour with us +which it always acquires during our youth, in +virtue of its being the only flower that we can +distinguish in “garden scenes” on the stage.</p> + +<p>As the Holyoak is at present a less <i>petted</i> +flower than any other, perhaps the Passion-flower +(which blows this month) is, of all those +which bear the open air, the most so; and, I +must say, with quite as little reason. In fact, +its virtue lies in its name; which it owes, however, +to its fantastical construction suggesting +certain religious associations, and not to any romantic +or sentimental ones; which latter, when +connected with it, have grown out of its name,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">{192}</a></span> +and not its name out of them. If, however, +it has little that is beautiful and flower-like +about it, it has something bizarre and recherchée, +which is well worth examining. But we +examine it as we would a watch or a compass, +and not a flower; which is its great fault. It +is to other flowers, what a Blue-stocking is to +other women.</p> + +<p>Among the other flowers that appear now, the +most conspicuous, and most beautiful, is that one +of the Campanulas which shoots up from its +cluster of low leaves one or more tall straight +spires, clustered around from heel to point with +brilliant sky-blue stars, crowding as closely to +each other as those in the milky way,—till they +look like one continuous rod of blue, or like the +sky-blue ribbons on the mane of a Lord Mayor’s +coach-horse. These are the flowers that you see in +pots, trained into a fan-like shape, till they cover, +with their brilliant galaxy of stars, the whole window +of the snug parlour where sits at her work +the wife of the village apothecary. Of course I +speak of a not less distance from town than a +long day’s journey: any nearer than that, all +flowers but exotics have long since been banished +from parlour windows, as highly ungenteel.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">{193}</a></span> +There are a few other very noticeable flowers, +which begin to show themselves to us late in this +month; but as they by rights rank among the +autumn ones, and as I am not willing to admit +that we have as yet arrived even on the confines +of that season, I must consider that they have +chosen to come before their time, and treat +them accordingly.</p> + +<p>In the Shrubbery, too, we shall find little of +novelty. We will, therefore, at once pass through +it, and reach the Orchard and Fruit Garden; +merely observing as we go, that the Elder is +beginning to cast a tinge of autumnal purple on +its profuse berries; that those of the Rowan, or +Mountain Ash, are on the point of putting on +their scarlet liveries, which they are to wear all +the winter; and that the Purple Clematis is +heavy with its handsome flowers.</p> + +<p>Perhaps the Fruit-Garden is never in a more +favourable state for observation than at present; +for most of its produce is sufficiently advanced to +have put on all its beauty, while but little of it +is in a state to disturb: so that there it hangs in +the sight of its satisfied owner—at once a promise, +and a fulfilment, without the attendant ills of +either.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">{194}</a></span> +The inferior fruit, indeed (so at least it is +reckoned with us, though in the East Indies a +plate of Currants is sometimes placed in the +centre of the table, as a Pine-apple is here, and +holds exactly the same relative value in respect to +the rest of the dessert), the Currants and Gooseberries +are now in perfection, and those epicures +from the nursery, who alone condescend to eat +them in their natural state, may now be turned +loose among them with impunity. A few of the +Apples, too, are now asking to be plucked; +namely, the pretty little, tender, and pale-faced +Jeannotin (vulgaricè <i>Gennettin</i>); the rude-shaped, +but firm, sweet, and rosy-cheeked Codling; and +the cool, crisp, and refreshing Nonsuch,—eating, +when at its best, like a glass of Apple-ice; and +with a shape and make which entitles it to be +called the very Apollo of Apples.</p> + +<p>The Cherries, too, have most of them acquired +their “cherry-cheeks,” and are looking down +temptation</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Unto the white upturned wond’ring eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of <i>school-boys</i>, that fall back to gaze on them,”<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>as they hang over the garden-wall, next to the +road.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">{195}</a></span> +As to the other fruits, they look almost as +handsome and inviting as ever they will. But +we must be content to let them “enjoy the air +they breathe” for a month or so longer, if we +expect them to do the same by us.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Of London what shall we say, at this only one +of its seasons when it has nothing to say for itself? +when even the most immoveable of its citizens +become migratory for at least a month, and +permit their wives and daughters to play the +parts of mermaids on the shores of Margate, +while they themselves pore over the evening +papers all the morning, and over the morning +ones all the evening?—when ’Change Alley +makes a transfer of half its (live) stock every +Saturday to the Steine at Brighton, to be returnable +by Snow’s coaches on Monday morning?—nay, +when even the lawyers’ clerks themselves +begin to grow romantic, and, neglecting their +accustomed evening haunts at the Cock in Fleet-street, +Offley’s, and the Cider Cellar, permit +themselves to be steamed down from Billingsgate +to Broadstairs, where they meditate moonlight +sonnets to their absent Seraphinas (not without +an eye to half-a-guinea each in the magazines),<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">{196}</a></span> +beginning with “Oh, come unto these yellow +sands!”</p> + +<p>What <i>can</i> be said of the Town at a time like +this? The truth is, I am not disposed to quarrel +with London (any more than I am with my +“bread and butter,” and for a similar reason) at +any season; so that the less I say or think of it +now the better. Suffice it, that London in August +is a species of nonentity, to all but those +amateur architects who “go partnerships” in +candle-lit grottos at the corners of courts. But, +<i>en revanche</i>, it is to them a month that, like May +to the chimney-sweepers, “only comes once a +year.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">{197}</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="SEPTEMBER" id="SEPTEMBER"></a>SEPTEMBER.</h2> + +<p>I am sorry to mention it, but the truth must +be told, even in a matter of age. The Year, +then, is on the wane. It is “declining into the +vale” of months. It has reached “a certain +age.” Its <i>bloom</i> (that indescribable something +which surpasses and supersedes all mere beauty) +is fled, and with it all its pretensions to be regarded +as an object of passionate admiration.</p> + +<p>A truce, then, to our treatment of the Months +as mistresses. But let us henceforth look upon +them as the next best thing, as dear and devoted +friends: for</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">“Turn wheresoe’er we may,<br /></span> +<span class="i7">By night or day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The things which we have seen we now can see no more.”<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>’Tis true that still</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">“The Rainbow comes and goes,<br /></span> +<span class="i3 wide">* * *<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The moon doth with delight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Look round her when the heavens are bare;<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">{198}</a></span> +<span class="i1">Waters on a starry night<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Are beautiful and fair;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sunshine is a glorious birth;—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But yet we know, where’er we go,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That there hath passed away a glory from the Earth.”<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Let me be permitted to make use of a few +more words from the same poem; for by no others +can I hope so well to kindle in the reader, that +feeling with which I would fain have him possessed, +on the advent of this still delightful +season of the year, if it be but received and enjoyed +in the spirit in which it comes to us.</p> + +<p>“What,” then——</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“What though the radiance which was once so bright<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be now for ever taken from our sight—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though nothing can bring back the hour<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We will grieve not—rather find<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Strength in what remains behind;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the primal sympathy<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which, having been, must ever be;<br /></span> +<span class="i2 wide">* * * *<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the faith that looks through death;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In thoughts that bring the philosophic mind.”<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>I cannot choose but continue this strain a little +longer; and I suppose my readers will be the +last persons to complain of my doing so; it is +the poet alone who will have cause to object to +his meanings throughout, and in one or two +instances his words, being diverted from their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">{199}</a></span> +original purpose, but I hope not degraded in their +application, nor disenchanted of their power.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“And oh! ye Fountains, Meadows, Hills, and Groves,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Think not of any severing of our loves!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might.<br /></span> +<span class="i2 wide">* * * *<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The innocent brightness of a new-born day<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Is lovely yet;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The clouds that gather round the setting sun<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Do take a sober colouring from an eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That watches o’er the Year’s mortality.<br /></span> +<span class="i2 wide">* * * *<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thanks to the human heart by which we live;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thanks to its tenderness, its joys and fears;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To me the meanest flower that blows can give<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.”<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Reader, this is said by the greatest poet of our +age, and one of the deepest, wisest, and most virtuous +of her philosophic sages. And it is said +by him even in the sense in which it is here +applied, <i>now that it has been once so applied</i>: +for much of his words have this in common with +those of Shakspeare, that you may turn them to +an almost equally apt and good account in many +different ways, besides those in which they were +at first directed. Let them be received, then, +in the spirit in which they are here uttered, and +we shall be able and entitled to continue our +task, of following the year through its vicissi<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">{200}</a></span>tudes, +and still (as we began it) “pursue our +course to the end, rejoicing.”</p> + +<p>The youth of the year is gone, then. Even +the vigour and lustihood of its maturity are +quick passing away. It has reached the summit +of the hill, and is not only looking, but descending, +into the valley below. But, unlike that +into which the life of man declines, <i>this</i> is not +a vale of tears; still less does it, like that, lead +to that inevitable bourne, the Kingdom of the +Grave. For though it may be called (I hope +without the semblance of profanation) “The +Valley of the <i>Shadow</i> of Death,” yet of Death +itself it knows nothing. No—the year steps +onward towards its temporary decay, if not so +rejoicingly, even more majestically and gracefully, +than it does towards its revivification. And +if September is not so bright with promise and +so buoyant with hope as May, it is even more +embued with that spirit of serene repose, in which +the only true, because the only continuous enjoyment +consists. Spring “never <i>is</i>, but always +<i>to be</i> blest;” but September is the month of +consummations—the fulfiller of all promises—the +fruition of all hopes—the era of all completeness. +Let us then turn at once to gaze on, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">{201}</a></span> +partake in, its manifold beauties and blessings, +not let them pass us by, with the empty salutation +of mere praise; for the only panegyric that is +acceptable to Nature is that just appreciation +of her gifts which consists in the full enjoyment +of them.</p> + +<p>Supposing ourselves, as usual, in the middle +of the month, we shall find the seed Harvests +quite completed, and even the ground on which +they stood appearing under an entirely new +aspect,—the Plough having opened, or being +now in the act of opening, its fragrant breast, +and exposing it for a while to the genial influence +of the sun and air, before it is again +called upon to perform its never-failing functions.</p> + +<p>There are other Harvests, however, which are +still to be gathered in; in particular, that most +elegant and picturesque of all with which this +country is acquainted, and which may also be +considered as <i>peculiar</i> to this country, upon any +thing like a great scale: I mean the Hop Harvest. +In the few counties in which this plant is +cultivated, we are now presented with the nearest +semblance we can boast, of the Vintages of Italy +and Spain.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">{202}</a></span> +The Apple Harvest, too, of the Cider counties +takes place this month; and though I must not +represent it as very fertile in the elegant and picturesque, +let me not neglect to do justice to its +produce, as the only one deserving the name of +British Wine; all other so-called liquors being, +the reader may rest assured, worse than poisons, +in the exact proportion that specious hypocrites +are worse than open, bold-faced villains.</p> + +<p>I hope the good housewives of my country (the +only country in the world which produces the +breed) need not be told, that, in thus placarding +the impostor above-named, I have not the slightest +thought of hurting the high reputation of her +immaculate “home-made,” which she so generously +brings out from the bottom division of +her shining beaufet, and presses (somewhat importunately) +on every morning comer. She shall +never have to ask me twice to taste even a second +glass of it, always provided she calls it by its +true and trustworthy name of “home-made”—to +which, in <i>my</i> vocabulary, Montepulciano itself +must yield the pas. But if, bitten perhaps +by some London Bagman, she happen to have +contracted an affection for fine phrases, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">{203}</a></span> +chooses to call her cordial by the style and title +of “<i>British wine</i>”—away with it, for me! I +would not touch it,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Though ’twere a draught for Juno when she banquets.”<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>In fact, she might as well call it <i>Cape</i> at once!</p> + +<p>The truth is, I once, to oblige an elderly lady +at Hackney, <i>did</i> taste two glasses of “British +wine” at a sitting; and my stomach has had a +load (of sugar of lead) upon its conscience ever +since.</p> + +<p>It must be confessed, that the general face of +the country has undergone a very material change +for the worse since we left it last month; and +none of its individual features, with the exception +of the Woods and Groves, have improved +in their appearance. The Fields are for +the most part bare, and either black and arid +with the remains of the Harvest that has been +gathered from them, or at best but newly furrowed +by the plough. The ever green Meadows +are indeed still beautiful, and the more so for the +Cattle that now stud them almost every where; +the second crops of grass being long since off. +The Hedge-rows, too, have lost much of their +sweet tapestry of flowers, and even their late +many-tinted greens are sobered down into one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">{204}</a></span> +dull monotonous hue. And the berries and +other wild fruits that the latter part of the season +produces, do not vary this hue,—having none of +them as yet assumed the colours of their maturity. +It is true the Woodbine again flings +up, here and there, its bunches of pale flowers, +after having ceased to do so for many weeks. +But they have no longer the rich luxuriance of +their Spring bloom, nor even the delicious scent +which belonged to them when the vigour of +youth was upon them. They are the pale and +feeble offspring of the declining life of their +parent.</p> + +<p>It follows, from this general absence of wild +flowers, that we are now no longer greeted, on +our morning or evening wanderings, by those +exquisite odours that float about upon the wings +of every Summer wind, and come upon the captivated +sense like strains of unseen music.</p> + +<p>Even the Summer birds, both songsters and +others, begin to leave us—urged thereto by a +prophetic instinct, that will not be disobeyed: +for if they were to consult their <i>feelings</i> merely, +there is no season at which the temperature of +our climate is more delightfully adapted to their +pleasures and their wants.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">{205}</a></span> +But let it not be supposed that we have nothing +to compensate for all these losses. The +Woods and Groves, those grandest and most +striking among the general features of the country, +are now, towards the end of the month, beginning +to put on their richest looks. The Firs +are gradually darkening towards their winter +blackness; the Oaks, Limes, Poplars, and Horse-chestnuts, +still retain their darkest summer +green; the Elms and Beeches are changing to +that bright yellow which produces, at a distance, +the effect of patches of sunshine; and the Sycamores +are beginning, here and there, to assume +a brilliant warmth of hue almost amounting to +scarlet. The distant effect, therefore, of a great +company of all these seen together, and intermingled +with each other, is finer than it has +hitherto been, though not equal in beauty and +variety to what it will be about the same time +next month.</p> + +<p>But we have some other pretty sights belonging +to the open country, which must not be +passed over; and one which the whole year, in +point of time, and the whole world, in point of +place, can scarcely parallel. The Sunsets of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">{206}</a></span> +September in this country are perhaps unrivalled, +for their infinite variety, and their indescribable +beauty. Those of more southern countries may +perhaps match, or even surpass them, for a +certain glowing and unbroken intensity. But for +gorgeous variety of form and colour, exquisite +delicacy of tint and pencilling, and a certain +placid sweetness and tenderness of general effect, +which frequently arises out of a union of the +two latter, there is nothing to be seen like what +we can show in England at this season of the +year. If a painter, who was capable of doing it +to the utmost perfection, were to dare depict on +canvas one out of twenty of the Sunsets that we +frequently have during this month, he would be +laughed at for his pains. And the reason is, +that people judge of pictures by pictures. They +compare Hobbima with Ruysdael, and Ruysdael +with Wynants, and Wynants with Wouvermans, +and Wouvermans with Potter, and Potter with +Cuyp; and then they think the affair can proceed +no farther. And the chances are, that if +you were to show one of the sunsets in question +to a thorough-paced connoisseur in this department +of Fine Art, he would reply, that it was very<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">{207}</a></span> +beautiful, to be sure, but that he must beg to +doubt whether it was <i>natural</i>, for he had never +seen one like it in any of the old masters!</p> + +<p>Another singular sight belonging to this period, +is the occasional showers of gossamer that +fall from the upper regions of the air, and cover +every thing like a veil of woven silver. You +may see them descending through the sunshine, +and glittering and flickering in it, like rays of +another kind of light. Or if you are in time to +observe them before the Sun has dried the dew +from off them in the early morning, they look +like robes of fairy tissue-work, gemmed with +innumerable jewels.</p> + +<p>Now, too, Thistle-down, and the beautiful +winged seeds of the Dandelion, float along +through the calm air upon their voyages of +discovery, as if instinct with life.</p> + +<p>Now, among the Birds, we have something +like a renewal of the Spring melodies. In particular, +the Thrush and Blackbird, who have +been silent for several weeks, recommence their +songs,—bidding good bye to the Summer, in the +same subdued tone in which they hailed her +approach.</p> + +<p>Finally, in connexion with the open country,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">{208}</a></span> +now Wood-owls hoot louder than ever; and the +Lambs bleat shrilly from the hill-side to their +neglectful dams; and the thresher’s Flail is heard +from the unseen barn; and the plough-boy’s +whistle comes through the silent air from the +distant upland; and Snakes leave their last +year’s skins in the brakes—literally creeping out +at their own mouths; and Acorns drop in showers +from the oaks, at every wind that blows; and +Hazel-nuts ask to be plucked, so invitingly do +they look forth from their green dwellings; and, +lastly, the evenings close in too quickly upon the +walks to which their serene beauty invites us, and +the mornings get chilly, misty, and damp.</p> + +<p>Thanks to the art of the cultivator, we shall +find the Garden almost as gay with flowers as it +was last month; for many of those of last month +still remain; and a few, and those among the +most gorgeous that blow, have only just opened. +The chief of these latter is the China-aster; +the superb <i>Reine Marguerite</i>, whose endless variety +of stars shoot up in rich clusters, and glow +like so many lighted catherine-wheels. The great +climbing Convolvulus also hangs out its beautiful +cups among its smooth and clustering leaves; +and the rich aromatic Scabious lifts up its glow<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">{209}</a></span>ing +purple flowers on their lithe stems; and the +profuse Dahlia, that beautiful novelty, which +was till so lately almost unknown to us, scatters +about its rich double and single blooms, some of +them so intense in colour that they seem to <i>glow</i> +as you look upon them. And lastly, now the +pendulous Amaranth hangs its gentle head despondingly, +and tells its tender tale almost as +pathetically as the poem to which it gives a +name<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a>.</p> + +<p>Among the flowering Shrubs, too, we have +now some of the most beautiful at their best. In +particular, the Althea Frutex, and the Arbutus, +or Strawberry-tree.</p> + +<p>As for the Fruit Garden, <i>that</i> is one scene +of tempting profusion. Against the wall, the +Grapes have put on that transparent look which +indicates their complete ripeness, and have dressed +their cheeks in that delicate bloom which enables +them to bear away the bell of beauty from all +their rivals.—The Peaches and Nectarines have +become fragrant, and the whole wall where they +hang is “musical with bees.”—Along the Espaliers, +the rosy-cheeked Apples look out from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">{210}</a></span> +among their leaves, like laughing children peeping +at each other through screens of foliage; +and the young standards bend their straggling +boughs to the earth with the weight of their +produce.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Quitting the Country, we shall find London +but ill qualified to compensate us for the losses +we have sustained there; and if there be any +reason in betaking oneself to places at the seaside, +that are neither London nor the Country, now is +the time to do it—as the citizens of London, and +the liberties thereof, know full well. Accordingly, +now the mansions in Finsbury and Devonshire +Squares on the East, and Queen and +Russell on the West, are changed for mouse-traps +(miscalled marine villas); and the tradesman +who does not send his wife and family to +wash themselves in sea-water cannot be doing +well in the world. Now, therefore, the Brighton +boarding-houses bask in the sunshine of city +favour, always provided their drawing-rooms +look upon the sea; and if you pass them on a +warm afternoon about five o’clock, you may see +their dining-room windows wide open, and their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">{211}</a></span> +inmates acting a picturesque passage in one of +Mr. Wordsworth’s pastorals:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“There are forty feeding like one.”<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>But if the citizens (because they cannot help +it) permit their wives and daughters to be in +their glory, <i>out</i> of London at this period, they +permit their apprentices, for the same reason, to +be so <i>in</i> it: for now arrives that Saturnalia of +nondescript noise and nonconformity, Bartlemy +Fair;—when that Prince of peace-officers, the +Lord Mayor, changes his sword of state into a +sixpenny trumpet, and becomes the Lord of Misrule +and the patron of pickpockets; and Lady +Holland’s name leads an unlettered mob instead of +a lettered one; when Mr. Richardson maintains, +during three whole days and a half, a managerial +supremacy that must be not a little enviable even +in the eyes of Mr. Elliston himself; and Mr. +Gyngell holds, during the same period, a scarcely +less distinguished station as the Apollo of servant-maids; +when “the incomparable (not to +say <i>eternal</i>) <i>young</i> Master Saunders” rides on +horseback to the admiration of all beholders, +in the person of his eldest son; and when +all the giants in the land, and the dwarfs too,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">{212}</a></span> +make a general muster, and each proves to be, +according to the most correct measurement, at +least a foot taller or shorter than any other in the +fair, and, in fact, the only one worth seeing,—“all +the rest being impostors!” In short, when +every booth in the fair combines in itself the +attractions of all the rest, and so perplexes with +its irresistible merit the rapt imagination of the +half-holiday schoolboys who have got but sixpence +to spend upon the whole, that they eye +the outsides of each in a state of pleasing despair, +till their leave of absence is expired twice +over, and then return home filled with visions of +giants and gingerbread-nuts, and dream all night +long of what they have <i>not</i> seen.</p> + +<p><i>Au reste</i>, London must needs be but a sorry +place in September, when even its substantial +shopkeepers are ashamed to be seen in it, and +when a careful porter may, if he pleases, carry +a load on his head from Saint Paul’s to the +Mansion House, without damaging the heads of +more than half a dozen pedestrians.</p> + +<p>As for the West End at this period, it looks +like a model of itself, seen through a magnifying +glass—every thing is so sad, silent, and empty +of life. The vacant windows look blank at each<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">{213}</a></span> +other across the way; the doors and their +knockers are no more at variance; the porters +sleep away the heavy hours in their easy chairs, +leaving the rings to be answered from the area; +and if you want to cross the street, you look +both ways first, for fear of being run over—thinking, +from the absolute stillness, that the +stones of the pavement have been put to silence +by the art-magic of Mr. Macadam.</p> + +<p>But notwithstanding all this, the Winter +Theatres, having permitted their Summer rivals +to play to empty benches for nearly three months, +now put in their claim to share this pleasing +privilege, lest it should be supposed that they +too cannot afford to lose a hundred pounds a +night as well as their inferiors. Accordingly, +every body can have orders now (except those +who ask for them); and the pit is the only place +for those who are above sitting on the same +bench with their boot-maker.</p> + +<p>Let us not forget to add, that there is <i>one</i> +part of London which is never out of season, +and is never more <i>in</i> season than now. Covent +Garden Market is still the Garden of Gardens; +and as there is not a month in all the year in +which it does not contrive to belie something or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">{214}</a></span> +other that has been said in the foregoing pages, +as to the particular season of certain flowers, +fruits, &c. so now it offers the flowers and the +fruits of every season united. How it becomes +possessed of all these, I shall not pretend to say: +but thus much I am bound to add by way of +information,—that those ladies and gentlemen +who have country houses in the neighbourhood +of Clapham Common or Camberwell Grove, may +now have the pleasure of eating the best fruit +out of their own Gardens—provided they choose +to pay the price of it in Covent Garden Market!</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">{215}</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="OCTOBER" id="OCTOBER"></a>OCTOBER.</h2> + +<p>They tell us, in regard to this voyage of +ours, called Human Life, that</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Hope travels through, nor leaves us till we die.”<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>But they might have gone still farther, and +shown us that Hope is not only our companion +on the journey, but at once the vehicle which +bears us along, the food which supports us as +we go, and the goal to which all our travels +tend, not merely in the great voyage of discovery +itself, but in all the little outlets and byeways +which break in upon and diversify it.</p> + +<p>Even in regard to the objects of external nature, +Hope is the great principle on which we +take any thing like a continuous moral interest +in the contemplation of them; and if we never +cease to feel that interest during all the different +periods of the year, it is because hope is no +sooner lost in fruition, than, like the Phœnix, it +revives again, and keeps fluttering on before us, +like the beautiful Green Bird before the lover, in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">{216}</a></span> +the fairy tale; leading us—no matter where, so +that it do not leave us to plod on by ourselves, +through a world that, however beautiful <i>with</i> it, +were without it an overpeopled wilderness.</p> + +<p>The month that we have just left behind us +was indeed one made up, for the most part, of +consummations; the promises of the year being +almost forgotten in the fulness of their performance, +and the season standing still to enjoy +itself, and to let its admirers satiate themselves +upon the rich completeness of its charms. It is +now gone; and October is come; and Hope is +come with it; and the general impulse that we +feel is, to <i>look forward</i> again, as we have done +from the beginning of the year.</p> + +<p>It must be confessed, however, that the hopes +of <i>this</i> month, in particular, are not unblended +with that sentiment of melancholy—gentle and +genial, but still melancholy—which results from +the constant presence of decay. The year has +reached its grand climacteric, and is fast falling +“into the sere, the yellow leaf.” Every day a +flower drops from out the wreath that binds its +brow—not to be renewed. Every hour the Sun +looks more and more askance upon it, and the +winds, those Summer flatterers, come to it less<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">{217}</a></span> +fawningly. Every breath shakes down showers +of its leafy attire, leaving it gradually barer and +barer, for the blasts of winter to blow through it. +Every morning and evening takes away from it +a portion of that light which gives beauty to its +life, and chills it more and more into that torpor +which at length constitutes its temporary death. +And yet October is beautiful still, no less “for +what it gives than what it takes away;” and +even for what it gives during the very act of +taking away.</p> + +<p>Let us begin our observations with an example +of the latter. The whole year cannot produce +a sight fraught with more rich and harmonious +beauty than that which the Woods and Groves +present during this month, notwithstanding, or +rather in consequence of, the daily decay of their +summer attire; and at no other season can any +given spot of landscape be seen to much advantage +as a mere picture. This, therefore, is, +above all others, the month for the artist to ply +his delightful task, of fixing the fugitive beauties +of the scene; which, however, he must do +quickly, for they fade away, day by day, as +he looks upon them.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">{218}</a></span> +And yet, if it were represented faithfully, an +extensive plantation of Forest Trees now presents +a variety of colours and of tints that would +scarcely be considered as <i>natural</i> in a picture, +any more than many of the Sunsets of September +would. Among those trees which retain their +green hues, the Fir tribe are the principal; and +these, spiring up among the deciduous ones, now +differ from them no less in colour than they +do in form. The Alders, too, and the Poplars, +Limes, and Horse-chestnuts, are still green,—the +hues of their leaves not undergoing much +change as long as they remain on the branches. +Most of the other Forest Trees have put on +each its peculiar livery; the Planes and Sycamores +presenting every variety of tinge, from +bright yellow to brilliant red; the Elms being, +for the most part, of a rich sunny umber, varying +according to the age of the tree and the +circumstances of its soil, &c.; the Beeches having +deepened into a warm glowing brown, which the +young ones will retain all the winter, and till the +new spring leaves push the present ones off; +the Oaks varying from a dull dusky green to a +deep russet, according to their ages; and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">{219}</a></span> +Spanish Chestnuts, with their noble embowering +heads, glowing like clouds of gold.</p> + +<p>As for the Hedge-rows this month, they still +retain all their effect as part of a general and +distant view; and when looked at more closely, +though they have lost nearly all their flowers, +the various fruits that are spread out upon them +for the winter food of the birds, make them little +less gay than they were in Spring and Summer. +The most conspicuous of these are the red hips +of the Wild Rose; the dark purple bunches of +the luxuriant Blackberry; the brilliant scarlet +and green berries of the Nightshade; the wintry-looking +fruit of the Hawthorn; the blue Sloes, +covered with their soft tempting-looking bloom; +the dull bunches of the Woodbine; and the +sparkling Holly-berries.</p> + +<p>We may also still, by seeking for them, find +a few flowers scattered about beneath the Hedge-rows, +and the dry Banks that skirt the Woods, +and even in the Woods themselves, peeping up +meekly from among the crowds of newly fallen +leaves. The prettiest of these is the Primrose, +which now blows a second time. But two or +three of the Persicaria tribe are still in flower, +and also some of the Goosefoots. And even the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">{220}</a></span> +elegant and fragile Heathbell, or Harebell, has +not yet quite disappeared; while some of the +ground flowers that have passed away have left +in their place strange evidences of their late presence; +in particular, the singular flower (if it +can be called one) of the Arums, or Lords and +Ladies, has changed into an upright bunch, or +long cluster, of red berries, starting up from out +the ground on a single stiff stem, and looking +almost like the flower of a Hyacinth.</p> + +<p>The open Fields during this month, though +they are bereaved of much of their actual beauty +and variety, present sights that are as agreeable +to the eye, and even more stirring to the imagination, +than those which have passed away. The +Husbandman is now ploughing up the arable +land, and putting into it the seeds that are to +produce the next year’s crops; and there are +not, among rural occupations, two more pleasant +to look upon than these: the latter, in particular, +is one that, while it gives perfect satisfaction +to the eye as a mere picture, awakens +and fills the imagination with the prospective +views which it opens.</p> + +<p>Another very lively rural sight, on account of +the many hands that it employs at the same<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">{221}</a></span> +time, men, women, and children, is the general +Potato gathering of this month.</p> + +<p>Among the miscellaneous events of October, +one of the most striking and curious is the interchange +which seems to take place between our +country, and the more northern as well as the +more southern ones in regard to the Birds. +The Swallow tribe now all quit us; the Swift +disappeared wholly, more than a month ago; +and now the House Swallow, House Martin, +and Bank or Sand Martin, after congregating +for awhile in vast flocks about the banks of +rivers and other waters, are seen no more as +general frequenters of the air. And if one or +two <i>are</i> seen during the warm days that sometimes +occur for the next two or three weeks, +they are to be looked upon as strangers and +wanderers; and the sight of them, which has +hitherto been so pleasant, becomes altogether +different in its effect: it gives one a feeling of +desolateness, such as we experience on meeting +a poor shivering Lascar in our winter streets.</p> + +<p>In exchange for this tribe of truly Summer +visitors, we have now great flocks of the Fieldfares +and Redwings come back to us; and also<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">{222}</a></span> +Wood Pigeons, Snipes, Woodcocks, and several +of the numerous tribe of Water-fowl.</p> + +<p>Now, occasionally, we may observe the singular +effects of a mist, coming gradually on, and +wrapping in its dusky cloak a whole landscape +that was, the moment before, clear and bright as +in a Spring morning. The vapour rises visibly +(from the face of a distant river perhaps) like +steam from a boiling caldron; and climbing up +into the blue air as it advances, rolls wreath over +wreath till it reaches the spot on which you are +standing; and then, seeming to hurry past you, +its edges, which have hitherto been distinctly +defined, become no longer visible, and the whole +scene of beauty, which a few moments before +surrounded you, is as it were wrapt from your +sight like an unreal vision of the air, and you +seem (and in fact <i>are</i>) transferred into the bosom +of a cloud.</p> + +<p>Drawing towards the home scene, we find the +Orchard by no means devoid of interest this +month. The Apples are among the last to shed +their leaves; so that they retain them yet; and +in some cases of late fruit, they retain that too,—looking +as bright and tempting as ever it did.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">{223}</a></span> +The Cherry-trees, too, are more beautiful at this +time than ever they have been since their brief +period of blossoming, on account of the brilliant +scarlet which their leaves assume,—varying, however, +from that colour all the way through the +warm ones, up to the bright yellow. There are +also two species of the Plum, the Purple and the +White Damson, which have only now reached +their maturity.</p> + +<p>The Elders, that frequently skirt the Orchard, +or form part of its bounding hedge, are also now +loaded with their broad outspread bunches of +purple and white berries, and instantly call up +(to those who are lucky enough to possess such +an association at all) that ideal of old English +snugness and comfort, the farm-house chimney +corner, on a cold winter’s Saturday night; with +the jug of hot Elder-wine on the red brick +hearth; the embers crackling and blazing; the +toasted bread, and the long-stemmed glasses on +the two-flapped oak table; and the happy ruddy +faces of the young ones around, looking expectantly +towards the comely and portly dame +for their weekly <i>treat</i>.</p> + +<p>The gentle (query <i>genteel</i>) reader will be +good enough to remember that I am now speak<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">{224}</a></span>ing +of old times; that is to say, twenty years +ago; and will not suppose me ignorant enough +to imagine that <i>they</i> can possibly know what I +mean either by “<i>Elder-wine</i>,” or a “<i>chimney +corner</i>.” But though the merits of mulled claret, +an ottoman, and a hearth-rug, shall never be +called in question by me, I must be excused for +remembering that there <i>was</i> a time when I knew +no better than the above, and that I have not +grown wise enough to cease sighing for the return +of that time ever since it has passed away. +Accordingly, though I would on no account be +supposed to permit Elder-wine to pass my actual +palate, I could not resist the above occasion of +tasting it once more in imagination; and I must +say, that the flavour of it is quite as agreeable as +it was before claret became a common-place.</p> + +<p>Now is the time for performing another of +those praiseworthy operations which modern refinement +has driven almost out of fashion. I +mean the brewing of Beer that is to be called, +<i>par excellence</i>, “October,” some ten or fifteen +years hence, when it is worth drinking. Country +folks brew as usual, it is true; because the drink +which is sent them down by the London dealers +is what they cannot comprehend: but it has be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">{225}</a></span>come +a regular monthly work; bearing, however, +about the same relation to those of the good old +times which have passed away, as the innumerable +“twopenny trash” of the present day do to the +good old “Gentleman’s Magazine” that they +have almost superseded. Brewing, nowadays, +(thanks to Mr. Cobbet’s Cottage Economy) is an +affair of a tea-kettle, a washing-tub, and a currant-wine +cask; and “October,” now, will scarcely +keep till November.</p> + +<p>Now, the Hives are despoiled of their honey; +and by one of those sad necessities attendant on +artificial life, the hitherto happy and industrious +collectors of it are rewarded with death for their +pains.</p> + +<p>It is not till this month that we usually experience +the Equinoxial Gales, those fatal visitations +which may now be looked upon as the +immediate heralds of the coming on of Winter; +as in the Spring they were the sure signs of its +having passed away. Bitter-sweet is it, now, to +lie awake at night, and listen wilfully (as if we +would not let them escape us) to the fierce howlings +of the winds, each accession of which gives +new vividness to the vision of some tall ship,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">{226}</a></span> +illumined by every flash of lightning—illumined, +but not rendered <i>visible</i>—for there are no eyes +within a hundred leagues to look upon it; and +crowded with human beings—(not “souls” only, +as the sea-phrase is, for then it were pastime—but +<i>bodies</i>) every one of which sees, in imagination, +its own grave a thousand fathom deep beneath +the dark waters that roar around, and feels +itself there beforehand.</p> + +<p>Returning to the home enclosures, we shall +find them far from destitute of attraction; and +indeed if they have been properly attended to, +with a view to that almost unceasing succession +of which the various objects of cultivation admit, +we shall scarcely as yet perceive any of the ravages +which the mere approach of Winter has +already made among their uncultivated kindred.</p> + +<p>In the Flower Garden, if much of the beauty +of Summer has now passed away, its place has +been supplied by that which affords one of the +pleasantest employments of the lover of gardening; +for those who do not grow and collect their +own seeds know but half the pleasures of that +most delightful of all merely physical occupations. +The principal flower seeds come to per<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">{227}</a></span>fection +this month, and are now to be gathered +and laid by, before they scatter themselves abroad +at random.</p> + +<p>Now, too, is the time for employing another +and an equally fertile and interesting mode of +propagation; that by means of offsets, suckers, +cuttings, partings, &c. Now, in short, most of +the fibrous-rooted perennial plants (regardless of +Mr. Malthus’s principles of population) put forth +more offspring than the ground which they occupy +can support; and unless the Government +under which they live were to provide them with +due means of colonization, they would presently +over-run and destroy each other, until the whole +kingdom, which now belongs to them jointly, became +the exclusive property and possession of +some one powerful but worthless family among +them: as we see on lands that are left to themselves, +and suffered to lie waste: whatever variety +of plants may spring up spontaneously upon +them during the first season or two, at the end +of three or four years all is one unbroken expanse +of rank unproductive grass.</p> + +<p>It may be a childish pleasure, perhaps, but it +is a very unequivocal and a very innocent one, to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">{228}</a></span> +bid the perennial plants “increase and multiply,” +and to see how aptly and willingly they obey the +mandate. Making plants by this means is a pleasant +substitute for making money, to those who +have none of the latter to begin with. Indeed +I question whether a dozen money-bags, made +out of one, ever yet afforded the maker half the +real satisfaction that a dozen Daisies have done, +multiplied in a similar manner. Not that I can +pretend to judge by experience of the comparative +merits of these multiplication tables; and I +am liberal enough to be willing to give the former +a fair trial, on the very first opportunity that +offers itself.</p> + +<p>But though most of the Garden plants are +now busily employed in disseminating themselves +by seeds and offsets, many of them are +still wearing their merely ornamental attire, and +looking about them for admiration as if they +were made for nothing else. If the arrangements +of the borders have been attended to with +a properly prospective eye, they still present us +with several of the Amaranths, and particularly +the everlasting ones; with some of the finest Dahlias; +the great climbing Convolvolus; French<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">{229}</a></span> +and African Marigolds, which have now increased +to almost the size of flowering shrubs; +Scabious; China-Asters; Golden-rod; the interminable +Stocks; and, running about among +them all, and flowering almost as profusely and as +prettily as ever, sweet-breathing Mignonette.</p> + +<p>Among the Shrubs, too, there are still some +whose flowers continue to look the coming Winter +in the face. In particular, the Arbutus is in +all its beauty,—hanging forth, like the Orange, +its flowers, fruit, and leaves, all at once. The +Ivy, too, is covered with its unassuming blossoms, +which are as rich in honey as they are +poor in show, and are rifled of their sweets by the +all-wooing bees, with even more avidity than the +fantastical Passion-flower, or the flaunting Rose.</p> + +<p>It is a little singular that the most gorgeous +show which the Garden presents during the +whole year should occur at this late period of the +season, and without the intervention of flowers. +I allude to the splendid foliage of the Great +Virginian Creeper, which may now be seen hanging +out its scarlet banners against some high +battlement, or wreathing them into gay and +graceful tapestry about the mouldering walls<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">{230}</a></span> +of some old watch-tower, or, still more appropriately, +fringing and festooning the embayed +windows of some secluded building, sacred to the +silence of study and contemplation. If I remember +rightly, some beautiful examples of it, +under the latter character, may be seen in two +or three of the inner quadrangles both of Oxford +and Cambridge.</p> + +<p>Finally, now, that at once wildest and tamest +of birds, most social and most solitary, the Robin, +first begins to place its trust in man; flitting +about the feet of the Gardener, as he turns up +the freshened earth, and taking its food almost +from the spade as it moves in his hand; or +standing at a little distance from him among the +fallen leaves, and singing plaintively, as if practising +beforehand the dirge of the departing year.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>October is to London what April is to the +Country; it is the Spring of the London Summer, +when the hopes of the shopkeeper begin to bud +forth, and he lays aside the insupportable labour +of having nothing to do, for the delightful leisure +of preparing to be in a perpetual bustle. During +the last month or two he has been strenuously<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">{231}</a></span> +endeavouring to persuade himself that the Steyne +at Brighton is as healthy as Bond-street; the +<i>pavé</i> of Pall Mall no more picturesque than +the Pantiles of Tunbridge Wells; and winning +a prize at one-card-loo at Margate as piquant a +process as serving a customer to the same amount +of profit. But now that the time is returned +when “business” must again be attended to, +he discards with contempt all such mischievous +heresies, and re-embraces the only orthodox faith +of a London shopkeeper—that London and his +shop are the true “beauteous and sublime” of +human life. In fact, “now is the winter of his +discontent” (that is to say, what other people call +Summer) “made glorious Summer” by the near +approach of Winter; and all the wit he is master +of is put in requisition, to devise the means of +proving that every thing he has offered to “his +friends the public,” up to this particular period, +has become worse than obsolete. Accordingly, +now are those poets of the shopkeepers, the investors +of patterns, “perplexed in the extreme;” +since, unless they can produce a something which +shall necessarily supersede all their previous productions, +their occupation’s gone.</p> + +<p>It is the same with all other caterers for the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">{232}</a></span> +public taste; even the literary ones. Mr. Elliston, +“ever anxious to contribute to the amusement +of his liberal patrons, the public,” is already +busied in sowing the seeds of a New +Tragedy, two Operatic Romances, three Grand +Romantic Melodrames, and half a dozen Farces, +in the fertile soil of those <i>poets</i> whom he employs +in each of these departments respectively; while +each of the London publishers is projecting a +new “periodical,” to appear on the first of January +next; that which he started on the first of +<i>last</i> January having, of course, died of old age +ere this!</p> + +<p>As to the external appearance of London this +month, the East End of it shows symptoms of +reviving animation, after the two months’ trance +which the absence of its citizens had cast over it; +and Cheapside, though it cannot boast of being +absolutely impassable, is sufficiently crowded to +create hopes in its inhabitants that it soon +will be.</p> + +<p>But the West End is as melancholy as the +want of that which ever makes it otherwise can +render it: for the fashionables, though it is more +than a month since they retired from the fatiguing +activity of a London Winter in July, to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">{233}</a></span> +the still more fatiguing repose of an October +Summer in the Country, pertinaciously refuse +themselves permission to return to the lesser evil +of the two, till they have partaken of the greater +to such a degree of repletion as to make them +fancy, when the former is on the point of being +restored to them, that it is none at all; thus +making each re-act upon the other, until, to their +enfeebled and diseased imaginations, “nothing +is but what is not;” and being in London, they +sigh for the Country; and in the Country, for +London.</p> + +<p>But has London no one positive merit in October, +then? Yes; one it has, which half redeems +all its delinquencies. In October, Fires have +fairly gained possession of their places, and even +greet us on coming down to breakfast in the +morning. Of all the discomforts of that most +comfortless period of the London year which is +neither winter nor summer, the most unequivocal +is that of its being too cold to be without a fire, +and not cold enough to have one. At a season +of this kind, to enter an English sitting-room, +the very ideal of snugness and comfort in all +other respects, but with a great gaping hiatus in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">{234}</a></span> +one side of it, which makes it look like a pleasant +face deprived of its best feature, is not to be +thought of without feeling chilly. And as to +filling up the deficiency by a set of polished fire-irons, +standing sentry beside a pile of dead coals +imprisoned behind a row of glittering bars,—this, +instead of mending the matter, makes it worse; +inasmuch as it is better to look into an empty +coffin, than to see the dead face of a friend in it. +At the season in question, especially in the +evening, one feels in a perpetual perplexity, whether +to go out or stay at home; sit down or walk +about; read, write, cast accounts, or call for the +candle and go to bed. But let the fire be lighted, +and all uncertainty is at an end, and we (or even +<i>one</i>) may do any or all of these with equal satisfaction. +In short, light but the fire, and you +bring the Winter in at once; and what are twenty +Summers, with all their sunshine (when they are +gone), to one Winter, with its indoor sunshine of +a sea-coal fire?</p> + +<p>Henceforth, then, be Winter my theme; and +if I do not grow warm in its praise, it shall not +be for want of inditing that praise beside as +pleasant a fire as nubbly Wall’s Ends, a register-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">{235}</a></span>stove +(not a Cobbett’s-Register one, I am sorry +to say<a name="FNanchor_4_4" id="FNanchor_4_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a>), and a slim-pointed poker, can produce.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">{236}</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237"><br />{237}</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="NOVEMBER" id="NOVEMBER"></a>NOVEMBER.</h2> + +<p>Of the twin maxims, which bid us to “Welcome +the coming, speed the going guest,” the +latter is better appreciated than practised. The +over refinements of modern life make people +afraid of giving in to it, who yet feel it to be an +excellent one. The truth is, that when a guest, +of no matter how agreeable a presence, or how +attractive an air, has made up his mind to go, +the sooner he goes the better. Let him go at +once, therefore. Do not press him to stay, or +detain him at the door, but “speed” him on his +way. It is best for both parties, if they like +each other. When, indeed, an unpleasant intruder +is about to depart, there is a kind of +satisfaction in detaining him a little. We dally +with the prospective pleasure of having him gone, +till we forget that he is present. But when those +we love are leaving us, the best way is, to wink, +and part at once; for to be “going” is even +worse than to be “gone.”</p> + +<p>Thus let it be, then, with that delightful<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">{238}</a></span> +annual guest, the Summer (under the agreeable +alias of Autumn), in whose presence we have +lately been luxuriating. We might perhaps, by +a little gentle violence, prevail upon her to stay +with us for a brief space longer; or might at +least prevail upon ourselves to believe that she +is not quite gone. But we shall do better by +speeding her on her way to other climes, and +welcoming “the coming guest,” gray-haired +Winter. So be it, then.</p> + +<p>The last storm of Autumn, or the first of +Winter, call it which you will, has strewed the +bosom of the all-receiving earth with the few +leaves that were still clinging, though dead, to +the already sapless branches; and now all stand +bare at once,—spreading out their innumerable +ramifications against the cold, gray sky, as if +sketched there for a study, by the pencil of your +only successful drawing-mistress—Nature. Of +all the numerous changes that are perpetually +taking place in the general appearance of rural +scenery during the year, there is none so striking +as this which is attendant on the falling of the +leaves; and there is none in which the unpleasing +effects so greatly predominate over the pleasing +ones. To say truth, a Grove, denuded of its<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">{239}</a></span> +late gorgeous attire, and instead of bowing majestically +before the winds, standing erect and +motionless while they are blowing through it, is +“a sorry sight,” and one upon which we will +not dwell. But even this sad consequence of the +coming on of Winter, sad in most of its mere +visible effects, is not entirely without redeeming +accompaniments; for in most cases it lays open +to our view objects that we are glad to see again, +if it be but in virtue of their association with +past years; and in many cases it opens vistas +into sweet distances that we had almost forgotten, +and brings into view objects that we may +have been sighing for the sight of all the Summer +long. Suppose, for example, that the summer +view from the windows of a favourite sleeping-room +is bounded by a screen of shrubs, shelving +upward from the turf, and terminating in a little +copse of Limes, Beeches, and Sycamores—the +prettiest boundary that can greet the morning +glance, when the shutters are opened, and the +Sun slants gaily in at them, as if glad to be +again admitted. How pleasant is it,—when, as +now, the winds of Winter have stripped the +branches that thus bound our view in,—to spy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">{240}</a></span> +beyond them, as if through net-work, the sky-pointing +spire of the distant village church, +rising from behind the old Yew-tree that darkens +its portal; and the trim parsonage beside it, +its ivy-grown windows glittering perhaps in the +early sun! Oh—none, but those who <i>will</i> see +the good that is in everything, know how very +few evils there are without some of it attendant +on them.</p> + +<p>But though the least pleasant sight connected +with the coming on of Winter in this month is, +to see the leaves, that have so gladdened the +groves all the Summer long, falling everywhere +around us, withered and dead,—that sight is +accompanied by another which is too often overlooked. +Though most of the leaves fall in Winter, +and the stems and branches which they +beautified stand bare, many of them remain all +the year round, and look brighter and fresher +now than they did in Spring, in virtue of the +contrasts that are everywhere about them. Indeed +the cultivation of Evergreens has become +so general with us of late years, that the home +enclosures about our country dwellings, from the +proudest down to even the poorest, are seldom<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">{241}</a></span> +to be seen without a plentiful supply, which we +now, in this month, first begin to observe, and +acknowledge the value of. It must be a poor +plot of garden-ground indeed that does not now +boast its clumps of Winter-blowing Laurestinus; +its trim Holly-bushes, bright with their scarlet +berries; or its tall Spruce Firs, shooting up their +pyramid of feathery branches beside the low, +ivy-grown porch.</p> + +<p>Of this last-named profuse ornamenter of whatever +is permitted to afford it support (the Ivy), +we now too everywhere perceive the beautifully +picturesque effects: though there is one effect of +it, also perceived about this time, which I cannot +persuade myself to be reconciled to: I mean +where the trunk of a tall tree is bound about +with Ivy almost to its top, which during the +Summer has scarcely been distinguished as a +separate growth, but which now, when the other +leaves are fallen, and the outspread branches +stand bare, offers to the eye, not a contrast, but +a contradiction.</p> + +<p>But let us not dwell on any thing in disfavour +of Ivy,—which is one of the prime boasts of the +village scenery of our island, and which, even at +this season of the year, offers pictures to the eye<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">{242}</a></span> +that cannot be paralleled elsewhere. Perhaps +as a single object of sight, there is nothing +which gives so much innocent pleasure to so +many persons, as an English Village Church, +when the Ivy has held undisputed possession of +it for many years, and has hung its fantastic +banners all about it. There is a charm about +an object of this kind, which it is as difficult +to resist as to explain the secret of. <i>We</i> will +attempt neither; but instead, continue our desultory +observations.</p> + +<p>Now, as the branches become bare, another +sight presents itself, which, trifling as it is, fixes +the attention of all who see it, and causes a +sensation equally difficult with the above satisfactorily +to explain. I mean the Birds’ nests +that are seen here and there in the now transparent +hedges, bushes, and copses. It is not difficult +to conceive why this sight should make +the heart of the schoolboy leap with an imaginative +joy, as it brings before his eyes visions of +five blue eggs lying sweetly beside each other, +on a bed of moss and feathers; or as many +gaping bills lifting themselves from out what +seems one callow body. But we are, unhappily, +not all schoolboys; and it is to be hoped not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">{243}</a></span> +many of us ever <i>have been</i> bird-nesting ones. +And yet we all look upon this sight with a +momentary interest, that few other so indifferent +objects are capable of exciting. The wise may +condescend to explain this interest, if they please, +or if they can. But if they do, it will be for their +own satisfaction, not ours, who are content to be +pleased, without insisting on penetrating into the +cause of our pleasure.</p> + +<p>Now, the felling of Wood for the winter store +commences; and, in a mild still day, the measured +strokes of the Woodman’s axe, heard far +away in the thick Forest, bring with their sound +an associated feeling, similar to that produced by +a wreath of smoke rising from out the same +scene: they tell us a tale of</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Uncertain dwellers in the pathless Woods.”<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The “busy flail,” too, which is now in full employment, +fills the air about the homestead with +a pleasant sound, and invites the passer by to +look in at the great open doors of the Barn, and +see the Wheatstack reaching to the roof on either +hand; the little pyramid of bright Grain behind +the Threshers; the scattered ears between them, +leaping and rustling beneath their fast-falling +strokes; and the flail itself flying harmless round<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">{244}</a></span> +the Labourers’ heads, though seeming to threaten +danger at every turn; while, outside, the flock +of “barn-door” Poultry ply their ceaseless search +for food, among the knee-deep straw; and the +Cattle, all their summer frolics forgotten, stand +ruminating beside the half-empty Hay-rack, or +lean with inquiring faces over the gate that looks +down into the Village, or away towards the distant +Pastures.</p> + +<p>Of the Birds that have hitherto made merry +even at the approach of Winter, now all are +silent; all save that one who now earns his title +of “the Household Bird,” by haunting the +thresholds and window-cills, and casting sidelong +glances indoors, as if to reconnoitre the +positions of all within, before the pinching frosts +force him to lay aside his fears, and flit in and +out silently, like a winged spirit. All are now +silent except him; but <i>he</i>, as he sits on the +pointed palings beside the doorway, or on the +topmost twig of the little Black Thorn that has +been left growing in the otherwise closely-clipt +Hedge, pipes plaintive ditties with a low <i>inward</i> +voice,—like that of a love-tainted maiden, as she +sits apart from her companions, and sings soft +melodies to herself, almost without knowing it.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">{245}</a></span> +Some of the other small Birds that winter +with us, but have hitherto kept aloof from our +dwellings, now approach them, and mope about +among the House-sparrows, on the bare branches, +wondering what has become of all the leaves, and +not knowing one tree from another. Of these +the chief are, the Hedge-sparrow, the Blue Titmouse, +and the Linnet. These also, together +with the Goldfinch, Thrush, Blackbird, &c. may +still be seen rifling the hip and haw grown +hedges of their scanty fruit. Almost all, however, +even of those Singing-birds that do not +migrate, except the Redbreast, Wren, Hedge-sparrow, +and Titmouse, disappear shortly after +the commencement of this month, and go no one +knows whither. But the pert House-sparrow +keeps possession of the Garden and Court-yard +all the Winter; and the different species of +Wagtails may be seen busily haunting the clear +cold Spring-heads, and wading into the unfrozen +water in search of their delicate food, consisting +of insects in the <i>aurelia</i> state.</p> + +<p>Now, the Farmer finishes all his out-of-door +work before the frosts set in, and lays by his +implements till the awakening of Spring calls +him to his hand-labour again.</p> + +<p>Now, the Sheep, all their other more natural<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">{246}</a></span> +food failing, begin to be penned on patches of +the Turnip-field, where they first devour the +green tops joyfully, and then gradually hollow +out the juicy root,—holding it firm with their +feet, till nothing is left but the dry brown husk.</p> + +<p>Now, the Herds stand all day long hanging +their disconsolate heads beside the leafless Hedges, +and waiting as anxiously, but as patiently too, +to be called home to the hay-fed Stall, as they +do in Summer to be driven afield.</p> + +<p>Now, (for they will not be overlooked or forgotten, +do what we will to dwell on other things), +now come the true disagreeables of a Winter in +the Country; and perhaps at no other time are +they so determinate in making themselves felt, +or is it so difficult to escape from them. And +yet what are they after all, (<i>i. e.</i> after they are +over) but wholesome bitters thrown occasionally +into the cup of life, to keep the appetite in health, +and give a true tone to those powers of enjoyment, +upon which the luxuries of Summer would +pall, if they were not frequently to pass away in +fact, and exist only in fancy? We may talk as +much as we will about the perpetual blue skies +of Southern Italy, and enjoy them, if we please, +in imagination. And we may even <i>wish</i> for them +here, without any great harm, provided we are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">{247}</a></span> +content to do without them. But no Englishman, +who was at once a lover of external Nature, +and an attentive observer of her effects on his +own heart and mind, ever, by absolute choice, +determined to live away from his own variable +climate, even <i>before</i> he had tried that of other +countries, still less after. Even if there were +nothing else to keep him at home, he would +never consent to part with the perpetual <i>green</i> +of his native Fields, in exchange for that perpetual +<i>blue</i> with which it cannot coexist: and +this, if for no other reason, because green is +naturally a more grateful colour to the eye than +blue. But, in fact, to those who have the means +of enjoying all that England has the means of +offering for enjoyment, its climate is the best +in the world; and it is even that which, upon +the whole, gives rise to the greatest number of +beautiful natural appearances. We boast, not +without reason, of our unrivalled skill in gardening, +and our taste in taking advantage of the +natural beauties of picturesque scenery. But +we claim too much credit for ourselves, and give +too little to our climate, for the creation of this +taste. If we had lived under Italian or French +skies, our Gardens and Pleasure-grounds would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">{248}</a></span> +have been Italian or French. Where can the +Sunsets and Sunrisings of England be equalled +in various beauty? But that beauty depends, in +a great measure, on her mists, clouds, and exhalations. +The countries of clear skies and unbroken +sunshine scarcely know what a Rainbow +is: and yet what pageant of the earth, the air, +or the water, is like it? In short, the climate +of England, like her people, is the best in the +world; and what is more, the latter are the best +precisely <i>because</i> the former is. And that this +can be said with perfect sincerity, in the heart of +the country during the heart of November, is a +proof, not to be gainsaid, that the joint proposition +is true.</p> + +<p>Perhaps I may now safely return to my duty, +of depicting the several unamiable aspects which +the face of November is apt to assume; and +which, in my lover-like disposition to “see Helen’s +beauty in a brow of Egypt,” I had serious +thoughts of either passing over altogether, or +denying the existence of outright!</p> + +<p>Now, then (there is no denying it), cold rains +do come deluging down, till the drenched ground, +the dripping trees, the pouring eaves, and the +torn ragged-skirted clouds, seemingly dragged<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">{249}</a></span> +downward slantwise by the threads of dusky +rain that descend from them, are all mingled +together in one blind confusion; while the few +Cattle that are left in the open Pastures, forgetful +of their till now interminable business of +feeding, turn their backs upon the besieging +storm, and hanging down their heads till their +noses almost touch the ground, stand out in +the middle of the Fields motionless, like dead +images.</p> + +<p>Now, too, a single rain-storm, like the above, +breaks up all the paths and ways at once, and +makes home no longer “home” to those who are +not obliged to leave it; while, <i>en revanche</i>, it +becomes doubly endeared to those who are. What +sight, for instance, is so pleasant to the wearied +Woodman, who has been out all day long in the +drenching rains of this month, as his own distant +cottage window, seen through the thickening +dusk, lighted up by the blazing faggot that is to +greet his sure return at the accustomed minute? +What, I say, is so pleasant a sight as this, except +the window of the village alehouse, similarly seen, +and offering a similar greeting, to him who has +<i>no</i> home?</p> + +<p>The name of home warns us that we are too<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">{250}</a></span> +long delaying our approach to its environs, even +though they have little to offer us different from +the comparative desolation that prevails elsewhere.</p> + +<p>In short, the Fruits of the Orchard are all +gathered in, and all but the keeping ones are +gone; and the Flowers of the Garden are gradually +growing thinner and thinner, and the +places where they lately stood are forgotten.</p> + +<p>Still, however, of the former we have the +Winter store, laid by in fragrant heaps in the +low-roofed loft over the Granary; and of the +latter we have yet left some that scatter their +till now neglected beauties up and down the +half-deserted Parterre, and gain that admiration +by their rarity, which in the presence of their +more fleeting rivals they were fain to do without; +and even a few that have not ventured to show +their faces to the hot sun of Summer, but are bold +enough to bare them before the chilling winds +of Winter. Of these the most various and conspicuous +are the Chrysanthemums, shooting out +their sharp rays of different lengths, like stars—purple, +and pink, and white, and yellow, and +blue; but all pale, faint, and scentless, and looking +more like artificial flowers than real ones.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">{251}</a></span> +Some of the rich Dahlias, too, still remain, +unless the killing frosts have come; and the +Geraniums, that have been turned out of their +winter homes into the open earth, still keep +flowering profusely. But a single night’s frost +makes sad havoc among both these bright ornaments +of the Autumn Flower-garden; and what +is to-day a rich cluster of green leaves, interspersed +with gay groups of flowers, may to-morrow +become, by an invisible agency, an unsightly +heap of corruption.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>London is so perfect an antithesis to the +Country in all things, that whatever is good for +the one is bad for the other. Accordingly, as +the Country half forgets itself this month, so +London just begins to know itself again. Not +that I would insinuate any thing so injurious to +the reputation of the high fashionables, as that +they have as yet began to entertain the remotest +thought of throwing themselves into the arms of +one another, merely because they have become +wearied of themselves. On the contrary, persons +of fashion are perpetual martyrs to the selfdenying +principles on which they act, of doing every +thing for or with a reference to other people.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">{252}</a></span> +Every body knows, that if there <i>is</i> a month of +the year in which the Country puts forth less +claims than usual to the undivided love of her +admirers, it is November. But people of fashion +never yet pretended either to love or admire any +thing—even themselves;—any thing but that +abstraction of abstractions from which they take +their title. Accordingly, to them the Country +is as much the Country in November as ever it +was, simply because London is not yet London. +In short, to be in London, is to be <i>in the world</i>; +and to be in the Country, or any where else but +in London, is to be <i>out of the world</i>; and therefore, +to say that one is “in the Country,” when +it is not decorous to be in London, is a mere +<i>façon de parler</i>, exactly equivalent to that of +“not at home,” when one does not choose to be +seen; so that there is no difficulty whatever in +being “in town” all the year round, and yet +“out of town,” exactly when it is proper and +becoming to be so.</p> + +<p>But if the world of fashion belongs exclusively +to London, luckily London does not belong exclusively +to the world of fashion; and if that has +not yet began to enlighten London with its presence, +all the other worlds have. Accordingly,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">{253}</a></span> +now its streets revive from their late suspended +animation, and are alive with anxious faces, and +musical with the mingled sounds of many wheels.</p> + +<p>Now, the Shops begin to shine out with their +new Winter wares; though as yet the chief profits +of their owners depend on disposing of the +“Summer stock” at fifty per cent. under prime +cost.</p> + +<p>Now, the Theatres, admonished by their no +longer empty benches, try which shall be the +first to break through that hollow truce on the +strength of which they have hitherto been acting +only on alternate nights.</p> + +<p>Now, during the first week, the citizens see +visions and dream dreams, the burthens of which +are Barons of Beef; and the first eight days are +passed in a state of pleasing perplexity, touching +their chance of a ticket for the Lord Mayor’s +Dinner on the ninth.</p> + +<p>Now, all the little boys give thanks in their +secret hearts to Guy Faux, for having attempted +to burn “the Parliament” with “Gunpowder, +treason, and plot,” since the said attempt gives +them occasion to burn every thing they can lay +their hands on,—their own fingers included: a +bonfire being, in the eyes of an English school<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">{254}</a></span>boy, +the true “beauteous and sublime of human +life.”</p> + +<p>Finally,—now the atmosphere of London begins +to thicken overhead, and assume its <i>natural</i> +appearance—preparatory to its becoming, about +Christmas time, that “palpable obscure” which +is one of its proudest boasts; and which, among +its other merits, may reckon that of engendering +those far-famed Fogs of which everybody has +heard, but to which no one has ever done justice. +A London Fog in November is a thing for which +I have a sort of natural affection;—to say nothing +of an acquired one, the result of a Hackney-coach +adventure, in which the fair part of the +fare threw herself into my arms for protection, +amidst the pleasing horrors of an overthrow.—As +an affair of mere breath, there is something +tangible in a London Fog. In the evanescent +air of Italy, a man might as well not breathe at +all, for any thing he knows of the matter. But +in a well-mixed Metropolitan Fog there is something +substantial, and satisfying. You can feel +what you breathe, and see it too. It is like +breathing water,—as we may fancy the fishes to +do. And then the taste of it, when dashed with +a due seasoning of sea-coal smoke, is far from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">{255}</a></span> +insipid. It is also meat and drink at the same +time; something between egg-flip and omelette +soufflée, but much more digestible than either. +Not that I would recommend it medicinally,—especially +to persons of queasy stomachs, delicate +nerves, and afflicted with bile. But for +persons of a good robust habit of body, and not +dainty withal—(which such, by the by, never +are)—there is nothing better in its way. And it +wraps you all round like a cloak, too—a patent +water-proof one, which no rain ever penetrated.</p> + +<p>No—I maintain that a real London Fog is a +thing not to be sneezed at—if you can help it.</p> + +<p><i>Mem.</i> As many spurious imitations of the +above are abroad,—such as Scotch Mists, and +the like—which are no less deleterious than disagreeable,—please +to ask for the “True London +Particular,” as manufactured by Thames, Coal-gas, +Smoke, Steam, and Co. No others are +genuine.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">{256}</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257"><br />{257}</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="DECEMBER" id="DECEMBER"></a>DECEMBER.</h2> + +<p>My pleasant task approaches to its pleasant +close; for it is pleasant to approach the close of +<i>any</i> task—even a pleasant one. The beautiful +Spring is almost forgotten in the anticipation of +that which is to come. The bright Summer is +no more thought of, than is the glow of the +morning sunshine at night-fall. The rich Autumn +only just lingers on the memory, as the +last red rays of its evenings do when they have +but just quitted the eye. And Winter is once +more closing his cloud-canopy over all things, +and breathing forth that sleep-compelling breath +which is to wrap all in a temporary oblivion, no +less essential to their healthful existence than is +the active vitality which it for a while supersedes.</p> + +<p>Of the mere external appearances and operations +of Nature I shall have comparatively little +to say in connexion with this month, because +many of the former have been anticipated in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">{258}</a></span> +January, while the latter is for the most part a +negation throughout the whole realms of animate +as well as inanimate nature.</p> + +<p>The Meadows are still green—almost as green +as in the Spring, with the late-sprouted grass +that the last rains have called up, since it has +been fed off, and the Cattle called home to enjoy +their winter fodder. The Corn-fields, too, are +bright with their delicate sprinkling of young +autumn-sown Wheat; the ground about the +Hedge-rows, and in the young Copses, is still +pleasant to look upon, from the sobered green of +the hardy Primrose and Violet, whose clumps of +unfading leaves brave the utmost rigour of the +season; and every here and there a bush of +Holly darts up its pyramid of shining leaves and +brilliant berries, from amidst the late wild and +wandering, but now faded and forlorn company +of Woodbines and Eglantines, which have all the +rest of the year been exulting over and almost +hiding it, with their quick-growing branches and +flaunting flowers. The Evergreens, too, that +assist in forming the home enclosures, have altogether +lost that sombre hue which they have +until lately worn—sombre in comparison with +the bright freshness of Spring and the splendid<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">{259}</a></span> +variety of Autumn; and now, that not a leaf +is left around them, they look as gay by the +contrast as they lately looked grave.</p> + +<p>Now, the high-piled Turnip cart is seen labouring +along the narrow lanes, or stands ready with +its white load in the open field, waiting to be +borne to the expectant Cattle that are safely +stalled and sheltered for the season; while, for +the few that are still permitted to remain at the +mercy of the inclement skies, and to make their +unwholesome bed upon the drenched earth, the +moveable Hay-rack is daily filled with its fragrant +store, and the open shed but poorly supplies +the place of the warm and well-roofed stalls +of the Straw-yard.</p> + +<p>Now, too, some of the younger members of +the herd (for the old ones know by experience +that it is not worth the trouble), seeing the +tempting green of the next field through the +leafless Hedge-rows, break their way through, +and find the fare as bitter and as scanty as that +which they have left.</p> + +<p>Now, the Hazels throw out their husky blossoms +from their bare branches,—looking, as they +hang straight down, like a dark rain arrested in +its descent; and the Furze flings out its bright<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">{260}</a></span> +yellow flowers upon the otherwise bare common, +like little gleams of sunshine; and the Moles +ply their mischievous night-work in the dry +meadows; and the green Plover “whistles o’er +the lea;” and the Snipes haunt the marshy +grounds; and the Wag-tails twinkle about near +the spring-heads; and the Larks get together +in companies, and talk to each other, instead +of singing to themselves; and the Thrush occasionally +puts forth a plaintive note, as if half +afraid of the sound of his own voice; and the +Hedge-sparrow and Titmouse try to sing; and +the Robin does sing still, even more delightfully +than he has done during all the rest of the year, +because it now seems as if he sang for us rather +than for himself—or rather <i>to</i> us, for it is still +for his supper that he sings, and therefore for +himself.</p> + +<p>There is no place so desolate as the Orchard +this month; for none of the fruit-trees have any +beauty <i>as trees</i>, at their best; and now, they have +not a leaf left to cover their unsightly nakedness.</p> + +<p>Not so with the Kitchen Garden; <i>that</i>, if it +has been duly attended to, is full of interest +this month,—especially by comparison with the +scenes of decay and barrenness by which it is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">{261}</a></span> +surrounded. The Fruit Trees on the walls are all +nailed out with the most scrupulous regularity; +and by them, as much as by any thing else, may +you now judge of the skill and assiduity of your +gardener. Indeed this is of all others the month +in which <i>his</i> merits are put to the test, and in which +they often seem to vie with those of Nature herself. +Anybody may have a handsome garden +from May to September; but only those who +deserve one can have it from September to May. +Now, then, the walls are all covered with their +wide-spread fruit fans; the Celery beds stretch +out their unbroken lines of fresh-looking green; +the late-planted Lettuces look trim and erect +upon the sheltered borders where they are to +stand the Winter, and be ready, not to open, +but to shut up their young hearts at the first +warm breath of Spring; the green strings of +autumn-sown Peas scarcely lift their tender +downward-turning stems above the dark soil; +the hardy Endives spread out their now full-grown +heads of fantastically curled leaves, or +stand tied up from the sun and air, doing the +penance necessary to acquire for them that agreeable +state of unhealthiness without which (like +modern fine ladies who contrive to blanch them<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">{262}</a></span>selves +in a similar manner, and by similar means) +our squeamish appetites could not relish them; +the Cauliflower, Brocoli, and Kale plants, maintain +their unbroken ranks; and, finally, even +the Cabbages themselves (Mr. Brummel being +self-banished to Boulogne, and therefore not +within hearing, I may venture to say it), even +the young Cabbages themselves contrive to look +genteel, in virtue of their as yet heartless state; +which is, in fact, the secret of all gentility, +whether in a Cabbage or a Countess.</p> + +<p>As to the Flower-garden this month, it looks +a picture either of pleasantness or of poverty, +according to the degree of care and skill which +has been bestowed upon it; for though Nature +wills that we shall enjoy her beauties during a +certain period of the year, whether we use any +efforts towards the obtaining them or not, yet +she lays it down as a general principle, in regard +to her gifts, that to seek them, is at once to deserve, +to have, and to enjoy them; and that without +such seeking, we shall only have just enough +to make us sigh after more. Accordingly, her +sun shines with equal warmth upon the Gardens +of the just and the unjust; and her rains fertilise +the Fields of all alike. In short, as it is with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">{263}</a></span> +the loveliest of her works, Woman, her favours +are to be obtained by assiduous seeking alone; +her love is the reward, not of riches, nor beauty, +nor power, nor even of virtue, but of love alone. +No man ever gave a woman his entire love, and +sought hers in return, that he did not, to a certain +extent, obtain it; and no man ever paid similar +court to Nature, and came away empty handed.</p> + +<p>But we are wandering from the Garden; +which should not be, even at this least attractive +of all its seasons; for though the honours which +it offers to the close of the year cannot vie with +those which it scatters so profusely about the +footsteps of the Spring, we shall find them full +of interest and beauty, where we find them at all.</p> + +<p>Now, then, if the frosts have not set in, +the Garden contains, or ought to contain, a numerous +variety of the Chinese Chrysanthemums, +which resemble and take the place of the more +glaring, but less delicately constructed China-asters. +The most beautiful of these is the Snow-white, +looking, with its radii of different lengths, +like a lighted catherine-wheel. To have these +in any perfection, however, their growth must +have been a little retarded by art; for their +natural time of blowing is during the last<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">{264}</a></span> +month. But it must be remembered, that the +Winter Garden is an affair of Art assisted by +Nature, rather than of Nature assisted by Art. +So that I doubt, after all, whether I shall not +be overstepping the path I had marked out for +myself, in describing what a Winter Garden <i>may +be</i>. As this is what I would, above all things, +avoid, let me at once refrain from pointing out +any thing but what <i>must</i> be found in my prototype, +Nature, under ordinary circumstances; +for I would rather omit from my portraits much +of what their originals do contain, than introduce +into them any thing that they do not. And, even +with this restriction, we shall find the Garden +replete with pleasant objects.</p> + +<p>The Annuals, even the latest blowing, have all +been rooted up, and their straggling stems cleared +away; all, except perhaps a few lingering Marigolds, +and some clumps of Mignonette, that will +go on blowing till the frost cuts them off. The +Geraniums that were turned into the open ground +in the Autumn, to fill up the vacancies left by the +falling off of the early annuals, are still in flower, +always provided there has not yet been a night’s +sharp frost: if there has, they have all withered +beneath its (to them) baleful influence, as if by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">{265}</a></span> +magic. The same may be said of the Dahlias, +with this difference,—that the destruction of +their luxuriant upper and visible growth is but +the renewal of the vigorous vitality that lies hid +for a season in their self-generating roots.</p> + +<p>Now, the Monthly, or China Rose, begins to +be again appreciated. It has been flowering all +the Summer long for its own peculiar satisfaction, +and almost unnoticed amidst the flush +of fresher looking beauty that surrounded it. +But now, its pale blossoms, with their faint perfume, +are the favourites of the Garden; and a +whole company of them, wreathing about a low +trellised porch, make a momentary Summer in +the most wintry of scenes.</p> + +<p>Finally, now, every here and there, start up +those stray gifts which have “no business” to +be seen at this season, but which, like fragments +of blue sky scattered among black overhanging +clouds, remind us of the beautiful whole to which +they belong. I mean the little precocious Primroses, +Snowdrops, &c. that sometimes during +this month find, or rather lose, their way from +their Winter homes, where they ought now to +be hiding, and peep up with their pale faces, as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">{266}</a></span> +if in search of that Spring which they will now +never see.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>If there is no denying that the Country is at +its worst during this much abused month, it +must be conceded, in return, that London is at +its best: for at what other time is it so difficult +and disagreeable to get along the streets? and +when are they so perfumed with the peculiar +odour of their own mud, and is their atmosphere +so rich in the various “choice compounds” with +which it always abounds?</p> + +<p>But even these are far from being the prime +merits of the Metropolis, at this season of its best +Saturnalia. The little boys from school have +again taken undisputed possession of all its pleasant +places; and the loud laughter of unchecked +joy once more explodes on spots from whence, +with these exceptions, it has long since been +exploded. In short, Christmas, which has been +“coming” all the year (like a waiter at an inn), +is at last actually come; and “merry England” +is, for a little while, no longer a phrase of mockery +and scorn.</p> + +<p>The truth is, we English have fewer faults<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">{267}</a></span> +than any other people on earth; and even among +those which we have, our worst enemies will not +impute to us an idle and insane levity of deportment. +We still for the most part, as we did five +hundred years ago, <i>nous amusons tristement, +sêlon l’usage de notre pays</i>. We do our pleasures, +as we do our duties, with grave faces and +solemn airs, and disport ourselves in a manner +becoming our notions of the dignity of human +nature. We feel at the theatre as if it were a +church, and consequently at church as if it were +a theatre. Our processions to a rout move at the +same rate as those to a funeral, and there are, +in proportion, as many sincere mourners at the +former as the latter. We dance on the same +principle as that on which our soldiers do the +manual exercise; and there is as much (and as +little) of impulse in the one as the other. And +we fight on the same principle as we dance; +namely, because circumstances require it of us.</p> + +<p>All this is true of us under ordinary circumstances. +But the arrival of Christmas-time is +<i>not</i> an ordinary circumstance; and therefore <i>now</i> +it is none of it true. We are merry-makers +once more, and feel that we can now afford to +play the fool for a week, since we have so re<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">{268}</a></span>ligiously +persisted in playing the philosopher +during all the rest of the year. Be it expressly +understood, however, by all those “surrounding +nations” who may happen to meet with this +candid confession of our weakness in the above +particular, that we permit ourselves to fall into +it in favour of our children alone. They (poor +things!) being as yet at so pitiable a distance +from “years of discretion,” cannot be supposed +to have achieved the enviable discovery, that +happiness is a thing utterly beneath the attention +of a reasoning and reasonable being. Accordingly, +they know no medium between happiness +and misery; and when they are not enjoying +the one, they are suffering the other.</p> + +<p>But that English parents, generally speaking, +love their children better than themselves, is +another national merit which I must claim for +them. The consequence of this is natural and +necessary, and brings us safely round to the +point from which we started: an English father +and mother, rather than their offspring should +not be happy at Christmas-time, will consent to +be happy at that time themselves! It does not +last long; and surely a week or so spent in a +state of foolish felicity may hope to be expiated<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">{269}</a></span> +by a whole year of unimpeachable indifference! +This, then, is the secret of the Christmas holiday-making, +among the “better sort” of English +families,—as they are pleased somewhat invidiously +to call themselves.</p> + +<p>Now, then (to resume our details), “the raven +down” of metropolitan darkness is “smoothed” +every midnight “till it smiles,” by that pleasant +relic of past times, “the waits;” which wake us +with their low wild music mingling with the +ceaseless sealike sound of the streets; or (still +better) lull us to sleep with the same; or (best +of all) make us dream of music all night long, +without waking us at all.</p> + +<p>Now, too, the Bellman plies his more profitable +but less pleasant parallel with the above; +nightly urging his “masters and mistresses” to +the practice of every virtue under heaven, and +in his own mind prospectively including them +all in the pious act of adding an extra sixpence +to his accustomed stipend.</p> + +<p>Now, during the first week, the Theatres +having begun to prepare “the Grand Christmas +Pantomime, which has been in active preparation +all the Summer,” the Carpenter for the time +being, among other ingenious changes which he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">{270}</a></span> +contemplates, looks forward with the most lively +satisfaction to that which is to metamorphose <i>him</i> +(in the play-bills at least) into a “machinist;” +while, pending the said preparations, even the +“Stars” of the Company are “shorn of their +beams” (at least in making their transit through +that part of their hemisphere which is included +behind the scenes), and all things give way before +the march of that monstrous medley of “inexplicable +dumb show and noise,” which is to delight +the Galleries and Dress-circle, and horrify +the more <i>genteel</i> portion of the audience, for the +next nine weeks.</p> + +<p>Finally, now occur, just before Christmas, +those exhibitions which are peculiar to England +in the nineteenth century; I mean the Prize-Cattle +Shows. “Extremes meet;” and accordingly, +one of the most unequivocal evidences we +have to offer, of the surpassing refinement of the +age in which we live, consists in these displays +of the most surpassing grossness. The alleged +<i>beauty</i> of these unhappy victims of their own +appetites acting with a view to ours, consists in +their being unable to perform a single function +of their nature, or enjoy a single moment of their +lives; and the value of the meat that they make<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">{271}</a></span> +is in exact proportion to the degree in which it +is <i>un</i>fit to be eaten.</p> + +<p>To describe the joys and jollifications attendant +on Christmas, is what my confined limits +would counsel me not to attempt, even if they +were describable matters. But, in fact, there +is nothing which affords such truly “lenten +entertainment” as a feast at secondhand: the +Barmecide’s dishes were fattening by comparison +with it. In conclusion, therefore, let me say that I +shall think it very hard, if the gentle readers of +these pen and ink sketches of the Months have +not been persuaded, during the perusal of each, +that I have fulfilled my promise made at the +commencement, of proving each, in its turn, to +be better than all the rest. At any rate, if they +are not so persuaded, they must, to be consistent, +henceforth abandon all pretended <i>admiration</i>,—which +is an affair of impulse, not of judgment,—and +must proceed to <i>compute</i> the value of every +thing that comes before them, according to its +comparative value in regard to some other thing. +In short, they must at once adopt Horace’s hateful +worldly-minded maxim of “nil admirari” +&c. as rendered still more hateful and worldly-minded +by Bolingbroke and Pope’s version of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">{272}</a></span> +it; and must “make up their minds,” as the +mechanical phrase is, that not merely “not to +<i>wonder</i>,” (which is what Horace meant, if he +meant any thing) but</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Not to <i>admire</i>, is all the art <i>they</i> know,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To make men happy, and to keep them so.”<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>But, in truth, as it is only for the satisfaction of +living friends and lovers that people sit for their +portraits; not to gratify the spleen of cavilling +critics, nor even to convey their effigies to a +posterity that will not care a penny about them; +so it is only to please the friends and lovers of +Nature, that I have painted the merely natural +portion of these “pictures in little” of the +Months.</p> + +<p>As to the artificial portions,—being of no +use to any one else, the posterity of a twelve-month +hence is welcome to them, as records of +the manners of the day, caught, not “<i>living</i> as +they <i>rise</i>,” but dying as they fall: for in the +gardens of Fashion and Folly there are happily +no perennials; and though the plants which grow +there for the most part belong to that species +which have winged seeds, and therefore disperse +themselves to wheresoever the winds of heaven +blow, the same provision causes them to escape<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">{273}</a></span> +from the spot where they sprang up, and make +way for those which the chances and changes of +the season may have deposited there. Thus +each plant in turn has its day; and each parterre +has an annual opportunity of priding itself upon +an exhibition of specimens, which last year it +would have laughed at, and which next year it +will despise. And “thus runs the world (of +Fashion) away.”</p> + +<p>But not so with the world of Nature. Here, +all as surely returns as it passes away; and +whatever is true in these papers in regard to +that, will be true of it while time shall last. +Wishing my readers, therefore, “many happy +returns of the <i>present</i> season” (meaning whichever +it may happen to be during which they +are favouring these light leaves with a perusal), +let me conclude by counselling such of them (if +any there be) as have hitherto failed to appreciate +and enjoy the good that is every where scattered +about them, not to waste themselves away in +vain regrets over what cannot be recalled, but +hasten to atone to that Nature which they have +neglected, by making the Future repay them for +the Past, until their reckoning of happiness is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">{274}</a></span> +even. Of this they may be assured, that it is +rarely if ever too late to do so, and that the +human mind never parts with the power of righting +itself, so long as “the human heart by which +we live” is not wilfully closed against the counsel +which comes to it from all external things.</p> + +<p class="center sm pad-tb2">FINIS.</p> + +<p class="center">LONDON:<br /> +<span class="sm">PRINTED BY THOMAS DAVISON, WHITEFRIARS.</span></p> + +<h2 class="ads">BOOKS<br /> +<span class="wee">PUBLISHED BY</span><br /> +GEO. B. WHITTAKER, LONDON.</h2> + +<p class="hang">PANDURANG HARI; or, Memoirs of a Hindoo. 3 vols. price 24<i>s.</i></p> + +<p class="hang">OUR VILLAGE; Sketches of Rural Character and Scenery. By <span class="smcap">Mary +Russel Mitford</span>, Author of “Julian,” a Tragedy. Second Edition. +Post 8vo. 7<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> boards.</p> + +<p class="sm">“This is an engaging volume, full of feeling, spirit, and vivacity; +and the descriptions of rural scenery and rural life are +vivid and glowing.”—<i>New Monthly Mag.</i></p> + +<p class="sm">“These ‘Sketches,’ we are of opinion, will, ere long, be extremely +popular; for they are highly-finished ones, and evince +infinite taste, judgment, and feeling. They are somewhat in the +manner of <i>Geoffrey Crayon</i>; but, to our liking, are far more interesting.”—<i>Examiner.</i></p> + +<p class="hang">ALICE ALLAN; The COUNTRY TOWN, &c. +By <span class="smcap">Alexander Wilson</span>. Post 8vo. 8<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> boards.</p> + +<p class="hang">BRITISH GALLERIES of ART; being a Series +of descriptive and critical notices of the principal +Works of Art, in Painting and Sculpture, now existing +in England; arranged under the Heads of +the different public and private Galleries in which +they are to be found.</p> + +<p class="sm">This Work comprises the following Galleries:—The National +(late the Angerstein) Gallery—The Royal Gallery at +Windsor Castle—the Royal Gallery at Hampton Court—The +Gallery at Cleveland House—Lord Egremont’s Gallery at Petworth—The +late Fonthill Gallery—The Titian Gallery at Blenheim—The +Gallery at Knowle Park—The Dulwich Gallery—Mr. +Matthews’s Theatrical Gallery.</p> + +<p class="center">In post 8vo. price 8<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> boards.</p> + +<p class="center med"><i>Books published by Geo. B. Whittaker, London.</i></p> + +<p class="hang">BEAUTIES of the DULWICH PICTURE GALLEY. +In 12mo. price 3<i>s.</i> boards.</p> + +<p class="sm">“A very useful and interesting little work has just appeared, +entitled, ‘<i>Beauties of the Dulwich Picture Gallery</i>.’ The object +of the book is to increase the pleasure of the visitor to Dulwich, +by pointing out the characteristic excellencies of most of the celebrated +works of art which adorn the Gallery. The work before +us will be found a pleasant companion to the Gallery, since it is +so well calculated to shorten the road to its beauties. The Author +has selected a number of the principal pictures, and has so classed +them in his pages as to render his remarks, which are very sensibly +put, highly pleasing and instructive to the general observer.”—<i>Courier.</i></p> + +<p class="hang">SCENES and THOUGHTS. Post 8vo. 7<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> +boards.</p> + +<p class="sm">“The <i>Scenes</i> in this volume are highly descriptive, and the +<i>Thoughts</i> are sensible and correct. The Author, throughout, displays +a most amiable feeling, and is an eloquent advocate in the +cause of morality. The articles are on well-selected subjects, and +are altogether of a domestic nature.”—<i>Literary Chron.</i></p> + +<p class="hang">HIGH-WAYS and BY-WAYS; or, Tales of the +Road Side, picked up in the French Provinces, by +a <span class="smcap">Walking Gentleman</span>. Fourth Edition. In +2 vols. post 8vo. price 14<i>s.</i> boards.</p> + +<p class="sm">“There is a great deal of vivacity and humour, as well as pathos, +in these Stories; and they are told with a power of national +character-painting, that could have only resulted from long residence +in France, and from habits of social intimacy with the +unsophisticated and country-part of the French community, with +whom the English traveller seldom gives himself the trouble of +getting acquainted.”—<i>New Monthly Mag.</i></p> + +<p class="hang">The LUCUBRATIONS of HUMPHREY RAVELIN, +Esq. late Major in the * * * Regiment +of Infantry. 2d Edition. Post 8vo. 8<i>s.</i> boards.</p> + +<p class="sm">“The author’s remarks exhibit the frankness, acuteness, ease, +and good-feeling, which we are proud to think, and pleased to say, +so often belong to the character of the experienced British officer; +while they are so well conveyed, and, in fact, with such particular +correctness, that not only few military men have the opportunity +of forming and maturing so good a style, but many of the practised +writers must <i>fall into the rear</i> in competition with <i>Major +Ravelin</i>, who must <i>stand muster</i> with Geoffry Crayon.”—<i>Monthly Rev.</i></p> + +<div id="footnotes"> + +<h2 class="note smcap">Footnotes</h2> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> This was the number of letters that passed through the +Twopenny Post-Office on the 14th of February, 1821, in addition +to the usual daily average.—See the official returns.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> There is poetical authority for this expression, but I believe +no other:</p> +<div class="poem"> +<p>“And weltering dies the primrose with his blood.”</p> +<p class="ralign smcap">Graham.</p> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> “O’Connor’s Child; or the Flower of Love lies Bleeding.”</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_4_4" id="Footnote_4_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> I modestly propose, that the stoves lately introduced by +Mr. Cobbett, and recommended in his Register, be henceforth +known by no other than the above style and title:—Cobbett’s-Register +Stoves. And if they are, it shall never be said that, +anonymous as I am, I have lived or written in vain; for the next +best thing to <i>having</i> a name, is the being able to <i>give</i> one, even +to a fire-place. Let me add, for fear of being taxed with that +meanest of all our mental propensities, the habit of joking at the +expense of justice, that I offer the proposed name as any thing +but a “nick” one. In fact, nothing but that change of climate +which the Quarterly Reviewers have promised us can prevent +Mr. Cobbett’s stoves from one day or other gaining him almost +as sure a passport to immortality, as any other of his works.</p></div> +</div> + +<div id="tn"> +<h2 class="note smcap">Transcriber’s Note</h2> + +<p>Minor punctuation errors have been corrected without note. Irregular +hyphenation and archaic or unusual spellings have also been left as in +the original.</p> + +<p>The Table of Contents was added by the transcriber.</p> + +<p>The following correction was made to the text:</p> + +<p><a href="#Page_264">p. 264</a>: thier to their (their straggling stems)</p> + +</div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Mirror of the Months, by Peter George Patmore + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MIRROR OF THE MONTHS *** + +***** This file should be named 36167-h.htm or 36167-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/6/1/6/36167/ + +Produced by Chris Curnow, S.D., and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was +produced from scanned images of public domain material +from the Google Print project.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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